The lack of self-awareness in the writing of this screenplay is unbelievable. I'm not even sure I can classify this as "pretentious nonsense," because it appears the screenwriters really did believe themselves to be doing something groundbreaking. They really thought, somehow, this would break the mould or move the needle in some way by combining every Kerouac-Sallinger-Woody Allen male fantasy trope about success that seems to pair so well with the toxic mixture of uncontrollable desire and unbridled disgust for women.
There is a moment where you think the film is at least attempting to be self-reflexive - pointing out Sidney's absolute narcissism as a metaphor for the writers' own unqualified foray into naval-gazing - narrated in unapologetic detail, and you think that is going to somehow inform the rest of the film, but no. It prattles on like that endlessly - a level of entitlement that is almost humorous: as though both success and oblivion are equally victimising and lamenting this publicly somehow is inherently worthy of the consumption of other people's time.
As with so many books, the authors of this screenplay seem to reveal much more about their own character than they do about the fictitious people they are trying to construct. Even on a shallow viewing it becomes obvious the writers are in desperate need of praise, "suffer" the "unbearable" burden of longing to be qualified as "genius" and grasping (albeit desperately) at anything that might bring them closer to that moniker, and being terrified of the truth of the matter: at best, this is a knockoff of more revolutionary thought, at worst, it's an unintentional indictment of their own insignificance.
Additionally, it's pretty woman-hating. The deaths, abuses, and rapes of women are stories that are only referenced in the context of how they affect the males of this story. The women of this film are never once given their own agency or autonomy or even character beyond the ruinous effects they have on the male psyche.
There is a moment where you think the film is at least attempting to be self-reflexive - pointing out Sidney's absolute narcissism as a metaphor for the writers' own unqualified foray into naval-gazing - narrated in unapologetic detail, and you think that is going to somehow inform the rest of the film, but no. It prattles on like that endlessly - a level of entitlement that is almost humorous: as though both success and oblivion are equally victimising and lamenting this publicly somehow is inherently worthy of the consumption of other people's time.
As with so many books, the authors of this screenplay seem to reveal much more about their own character than they do about the fictitious people they are trying to construct. Even on a shallow viewing it becomes obvious the writers are in desperate need of praise, "suffer" the "unbearable" burden of longing to be qualified as "genius" and grasping (albeit desperately) at anything that might bring them closer to that moniker, and being terrified of the truth of the matter: at best, this is a knockoff of more revolutionary thought, at worst, it's an unintentional indictment of their own insignificance.
Additionally, it's pretty woman-hating. The deaths, abuses, and rapes of women are stories that are only referenced in the context of how they affect the males of this story. The women of this film are never once given their own agency or autonomy or even character beyond the ruinous effects they have on the male psyche.