Djoo Know?

Well, now that I, too, have been dragged to see Juno, I guess I ought to say something that differs from or adds to what Roy E. said, although I think he was pretty much right on.

What I found particularly galling and preposterous was that the titular character is bruited and advertised as a punk, a fan of Iggy and the Stooges, and yet I sat in a dark theater for ten thousand hours listening to some boy-and-girl band croon nonsense pop. There is no one on earth I find quite so aesthetically despicable as Wes Anderson, so you can imagine my dismay. Emo is supposed to be short for Emotion or Emotive or something, and yet for all its saccharinity, it lives as a veil of cheaply purchased irony and an absence of real feeling. Falsetto chirping is inapposite to psychic distress, and yet here is a character whose most difficult test is sountracked by the sound of uninventive chords on acoustic guitars. How I longed for John Belushi to smash one against a wall in the stairs.

Otherwise, what Roy said. Slight.