Our makeup department passed out a handful of moisturizing face masks to us lot in production the other week, though they have a feminine vibe, I thought I'd give one a shot during this lazy Sunday. After washing my face, Rebecca helped me apply what was essentially a soaked piece of seaweed with creepy slits for my eyes, nose and mouth. I looked like Halloween had come early, I felt wet and miserable on the inside for the whole 15 minutes it lingered on my cheekbones, like an unwanted mollusc. Once I peeled it off, I felt no different either. Lets just say I'm not a convert.
Another thing I wasn't mad about was Ben Wheatley's take on Rebecca which recently appeared on Netflix. It's obviously unfair to compare this film to the Hitchcock version, I went in with a blank canvas of expectations, hoping to see a creepy, but gripping chiller/drama. What I got was an unaired Downton Abbey Halloween special mascerading as a poor-man's Shutter Island. The original story is so remarkable, yet here, it fails to raise an eyebrow because it lacks any soul or identity. It's not that it's a bad film, it's just not a good one - arguably that's the most damning criticism there is.
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