Rex Reed is a fool. He writes like a freshman who is working on the "colorful language" section of a writing textbook, hacking out his next review with bits of popcorn stuck to his face. He is a leader in the pack of mindless, twittering spectators who speak of "movies" in between dull pronouncements about the "durn election". For years he has lowered the bar for written interpretations of film, clamoring for more flash-bang and explanatory direction. The blame isn't really Reed's, though. Whoever hired this wet sandbag to write is the one who ought to be ashamed.