Overrated
The word “overrated” is overused, and (yes) overrated. It suggests that not only the reviewer/poster/cinephile dislikes a movie which has been praised by the easily “taken in,” but that a growing group of the more discerning are courageously lining up to tell the truth, out of respect for the art form. The unimpressed individual who is among the first to make the call “Overrated” is in the vanguard of those who calmly, objectively keep up standards in a cinema world where too many are “losing their way.” Of course, we all have movies we intensely dislike and there is nothing wrong with letting others know our reasons for thinking so. I merely wonder why the word overrated is necessary to differentiate between a personal expression of disappointment and/or revulsion and the suggestion of a conga line of those who speak--presumably with one voice--for the film’s future reputation.
“I have learned to love money and what it can do for me, unequivocally,” Hilda said. “Now I have the time and freedom to consider what else might be worth loving.”
Peter considered it worth noting in his journal how an object he happened to look at closely--a soiled napkin-- affected his sense of time. It seemed to seize him for one expansive instant. But the seizing was something he allowed, indeed welcomed. It was an act of self-willing. Then, two minutes later, another instant arose from the passing time flow, bearing a different perceptual gift: a woman’s brightly coloured scarf. Time is full of such pleasing breaks and discontinuities. We can make time bend, grow still, lift up, like a beloved pet performing tricks. Another large force which complies with our needs more often than we suppose, and with an unfathomable beauty.
He had lost count of the number of new acquaintances who told him he was not the sort of thing they were accustomed to.