Chariots of Fire

A list of things I'd rather do than consider watching Chariots Of Fire ever again: Mow the lawn when the heat index is over 100. Clean the bathrooms with a toothbrush. Watch any "Real Housewives" or other reality show where the subject is fame-adjacent but not actually famous of their own accord. Sit through an MLM pitch. Eat a spoonful of mayonnaise. Talk about politics with someone who is on the opposite side of every issue I stand for. Play a Mario Party game by myself. Is Chariots Of Fire the worst Best Picture winner I've seen? No. Annie Hall exists. But it is, by leaps and bounds the most boring one, and the gap between it and the next most boring at this point in my journey is a canyon. Out Of Africa is Terminator 2 compared to this. Chariots Of Fire is so dry, a glass of water on a table next to me evaporated in its presence. Chariots Of Fire's pacing can only be described as immobile. It aspires to have themes about obsession with perfection and patriotism, but it carries these themes with all the passion and exuberance of a parent carrying their child's backpack on a nature hike because the kid doesn't want to anymore, even though the parent is also carrying their own. I have been to funerals that have more emotion and conflict. I felt myself growing older watching this, and I'm tempted to file a lawsuit against Plex for having ad breaks every five minutes in the last forty of this movie's run time. In every measurable, conceivable way, Chariots Of Fire is excruciating to watch, and in no way imaginable did this deserve to be even submitted for a nomination.