It is January 3rd, 2024, and as I sit in my toilet after experiencing this movie in an alcohol induced mania of Coppolan proportions, an epiphany comes to mind: this will remain the worst, yet most memorable movie I will watch this year.
I may only hope that the Godfather’s praised director’s future vineyards are as profitable as his past, so I may selfishly delight in many more to come.
