I’d put the 2005 version on my Netflix queue some time ago, and it’s been sitting here for a week or so, waiting for me to get the necessary round tuit. Tonight was the night; I knew this version had been panned, but I really wasn’t expecting quite so much padding. I kept comparing Nathan Lane and Matthew Broderick to Zero Mostel and Gene Wilder and finding them lacking (though I must admit that Uma Thurman was up to Lee Meredith’s standards).
I stuck with the movie for about 30 minutes, then started making heavy use of the remote control to get to the good parts — well, good part. “Springtime for Hitler” was certainly worth watching, but then the movie went off the rails again.
If I’d bought the DVD, I’d feel like an idiot. If I’d paid to rent it, I’d’ve felt obligated to see the whole thing. But since I got it from Netflix, all I lost was a little time — it was never the only Netflix movie sitting at home, so there wasn’t even any real opportunity cost (and I’m still using Mom’s prepaid membership).
Why do I feel guilty anyway?