After everyone from Roger Ebert to Rupert Bottenberg recommended Magnolia (Roger: "Operatic... a great joyous leap"; Rupert: "The best movie of the '90s!"), I finally decided to bite the bullet and rent it. Now, I normally have reservations about any movie that is over three hours long, but nothing could have prepared me for this mess. Where to begin slagging it? How about that it is pretentious, self-indulgent, irritating, histrionic, shallow while pretending to be deep, and just plain dull. Annoying one-dimensional characters move from one mind-numbingly over-long scene to the next, trailed by Paul Thomas Anderson's beloved tracking cam and a ponderous, heavy-handed musical score. Enough to make you want to croak.

Thinking that perhaps there was something wrong with me, hating a movie so critically acclaimed, I went on the Net to see if anyone else was in their right mind. Thankfully, there are a few of us: "This movie made me hate myself," read one distraught post. "I may never rent another movie again." Another described Magnolia's convoluted melodramatic plot perfectly: "Sad, sad, sad, frogs, end."

So why do people whose opinions I normally respect love Magnolia? My theory is that this distressing film is operating on some sort of subliminal level, casting a spell that is perplexing if not downright evil. Rent at your peril.

--Alastair Sutherland