Notting Hill

E=MC2. That’s a formula.

Notting Hill. That too is a formula, only Notting Hill is the kind that will make you wish you were like Einstein…dead.

Hugh Grant plays an average English boob, William Thacker. Into his life walks world-known (read: talentless) American actress Anna Scott, played by the eminently delicious Julia Roberts. Willie the schlub accidentally sloshes orange juice on Anna and a relationship soon ensues.

William obsesses over her, she is attracted to him…yada, yada, yada…they finally screw. Of course, Anna doesn’t have a team of sycophants, isn’t a royal bitch…until the shit hits the fan and she flies in a rage when the British tabloid press shows up. She disses Willie, calls her posse, and rolls on.

Cue the sappy “Ain’t no sunshine when she’s gone” music as William mopes around the streets. This isn’t a film. It’s simply a sad commentary on the average sap’s fascination with fame, wealth and the insatiable desire for a happy ending. If you ask me, I’ll take “Seven” any day. Fucked up murders. Lots of rain. Kevin Spacey. Bitch’s head in a box. That’s how you end a movie.

Any asshole who thinks a wealthy AND famous individual is going to fall for a broke-ass schlep deserves to watch this movie over and over and over and over again, which is what Hollywood will happily provide for you. Last time it was…Pretty Woman? Seen that? Notting Hill is the same crap, different shovel. If you liked this oily discharge, do us all a favor: Go buy a copy of National Enquirer, a box of bon-bons, watch the Daytime Emmys alone, and never go out in public again.

Notting Hill gets 51 Swayzes:

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