As someone who’s yet to eat whatever ergot is making everyone idolize Zooey Deschanel, my feelings toward her range from indifference to mild anxiety. I don’t want to stare longingly into her half-dollar-sized eyes; I find them unsettling.
If, after taking in Cold Mountain, you’re not yet sick of watching Kidman wield enormous shotguns, she does this plenty more in The Others, where she plays -- you’ll never guess -- a woman trying to hold a household together as she awaits a lover who may or may not be returning from war.
If you’re a statistically average person, what are your chances of following these people’s lead and successfully preparing for social collapse? Well, pretty long, unless you have quite a few acres of land lying fallow in the country and a couple hundred thousand extra dollars.
Robert Altman's films often reveal in dreams the strangeness of being alive. This more than anything sums up the timeless greatness of Altman at his best, and starts to convey what’s lost when cinema is thought of as commodity rather than art.