I count my blessings that I have learned to stay away from Deborah Kerr movies except out of morbid fascination with what moviegoers could possibly have seen in her.
I count my blessing that the PVR makes it possible to record bad movies, zip through the terrible parts, stop, delete, and then move on to better movies, most not starring Deborah Kerr.
I count my blessings that for all its failings, Hollywood has consistently made far, far better movies than the British.
Oh, the movie: Kerr is a frigid soccer mom, from what I can see. Some Italian guy I've never heard of plays the French husband. They have all the chemistry of oil and vinegar. He goes away. He comes back. They find out they hate each other, or something. I think I fell into an irreversible coma.
I count my blessing that the PVR makes it possible to record bad movies, zip through the terrible parts, stop, delete, and then move on to better movies, most not starring Deborah Kerr.
I count my blessings that for all its failings, Hollywood has consistently made far, far better movies than the British.
Oh, the movie: Kerr is a frigid soccer mom, from what I can see. Some Italian guy I've never heard of plays the French husband. They have all the chemistry of oil and vinegar. He goes away. He comes back. They find out they hate each other, or something. I think I fell into an irreversible coma.