JA from MNPP here. The night before last I watched the 2006 French thriller Tell No One (Ne le dis à personne). I'm sure many of you have seen it. It's a nice, solid, little piece of work - smart and character-based in a way not enough American thrillers are and just twisty enough (plus it's got Kristin Scott Thomas flexing her Gallic-skills, which is always a treat). I had a couple of issues with the film (I'm never gonna hate on getting to listen to the entire length of a Jeff Buckley song, but the music-video-like montages were a little distracting), but mostly I was entirely involved in its drama - I found myself shouting at the screen! - and enjoyed it thoroughly.And then it ended. Or rather, it should've ended. I saw the cut to black coming, I felt it in my very bones. Right... now. Black.... now? Fin. The End? No? You gonna keep going movie? Okay... another thirty seconds of overly sentimental hooey. Blurgh. Thanks for that, movie! Thanks. Send me out on an annoyed note.
It's just... it was so there. In my mind. That cut to black. I wanted numerous heads of lettuce and cauliflower to toss at the screen. Bales of hay. I wanted to rewind time, step into the editing suite, and smack them about the face and hands until they got it.
The movie that always gets called out for its over-extended ending is Return of the King, but that one didn't so much bother me (but then, I am a geek). I last remember this feeling hitting during Australia (and there was like forty more minutes of film to go on that one). But this did get me thinking of that very specific gut-feeling I get when I sense a perfect ending and the subsequent sense of violation when it is crossed, and was curious when the last time y'all felt that twinge... and if you take it as personally as I appear to....
