An Open Letter to Frank Miller in Regards to his film, The Spirit (2008).

Dear Frank,

I had to see it.

I had to see if it was as bad as people were claiming.

Including myself, there were 15 other folks who ponied up for the same screening. By the time it was barely half over, there were only four of us left. Myself included, determined to see this sucking, cinematic chest-wound through to the bitter end and then auger it deep into the earth, right where it belongs.

I stuck it out because I wanted to take in every ounce of this wonderful, wonderful film. (That's irony, Frank. Look it up. And while you're at it, try a few other words like subtlety, pacing, and reiteration. See also plodding, hackneyed, and tedious.) E'yup. I wanted to take it all in so that all of your defenders and apologists couldn't accuse me of bailing, not buying into your artistic vision, or simply "not getting it."

I got it all right. The first third was laughable, at the end of the second it was annoying, by the third I wanted it to be all kinds of dead. And by then, I and my friend were the only ones left in the theater.

Ah, Frank; remember the glory days when all you had to do was wipe your ass and all the little fan-boys would be clamoring for it, and then sing the praises of the resulting soiled toilet paper?

Well, I called you on your bullshit back in 1986, and I'm calling you on it now.

You got some issues, dude.

Big ones.

Kindly seek some therapy.

Sincerely, xxxx
W.B. Kelso xxxx