18 May 2006


If I hear one more thing about any of the following:
  • deciphering the code
  • the Real Da Vinci Code
  • the missing code
  • Dan Brown's push-ups
  • Tom Hanks's hair
  • religious protests
  • the secrets within the secrets of the Da Vinci Code
  • Mary Magdelene's lingerie
  • Scions
  • Opus Dei
  • Psycho albino priests
or any of that shit I shall not be held responsible for my actions.

And no, I'm going to go see the fucking movie. And if I were to see the movie, it would just be because of Audrey Tautou and Ian McKellan. But I'm not.

And this excerpt from the New York Times review makes me happy that I never bothered with the book:
"To their credit the director and his screenwriter, Akiva Goldsman (who collaborated with Mr. Howard on "Cinderella Man" and "A Beautiful Mind"), have streamlined Mr. Brown's story and refrained from trying to capture his, um, prose style. "Almost inconceivably, the gun into which she was now staring was clutched in the pale hand of an enormous albino with long white hair." Such language — note the exquisite "almost" and the fastidious tucking of the "which" after the preposition — can live only on the page."
But feel free to discuss Audrey Tautou ad nauseum, as she seems lovely.

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