Wit

Not quite as profound as it thinks it is, but still an intelligent, emotional, and, yes, witty look at the life of a highly-educated, terminally ill woman. It goes without saying, but Emma Thompson is fantastic.

The monologues of her cold character are warmed with clever wordplay and the cloaked glow in Thompsons presence. Bearing's ongoing stoicism forces the viewer to become an emotional surrogate. These underplayed emotions paying off nicely with isolated gestures of comfort suitably affecting. 'Keep pushin the fluids', great phrase.

One of the most amazing performances given by an actress, period.

Wit is a good -- nay, great -- movie. But I didn't enjoy watching it even a little bit, and frankly I'd like to forget all about it as soon as possible. I don't like thinking about cancer or death unless I absolutely have to; doing so only makes me feel despondent and hopeless and it has absolutely no positive effect on my state of mind. I guess I'm a coward.

All those differences add-up to nothing in the end. Every thought you had that made you feel unique and intelligent, they all evaporate with time. Death patiently awaits us all.

Emma Thompson is spectacular. However, the movie is about the heartbreaking reality of incurable cancer. The steady loss of health and vitality while undergoing aggressive chemotherapy. About reflection, giving up on your dreams and accepting death. Along with each revelation about her life, you become more invested and ultimately are more affected by her inevitable demise. A brutal reminder to anyone who has ever lost a loved one this way. At least, I learned a new word.

If you don't have time or money to go to the theater, watch this. It's really good theatrical adaptation. Although it may seem rather dull, lead makes every scene enjoyable with juicy language and witty monologues.

ne mogu disat

"Doctor?" "Yes, I have a Ph.D." Emma Thompson is fabulous, sliding seemingly effortlessly between dialogue and monologues that break the fourth wall. Jonathan Woodward is near-perfection as the smug embodiment of everything abhorrent about American medicine. And Nichols' direction could hardly be bettered. It never quite *not* feels like a play, but it's the finest play I've encountered in years. The whole exercise may feel a bit twee if you're not in the right mood. Be prepared to think.

Poetry about death, as the film makes clear, captures none of its horror, none of the actual EXPERIENCE, so it's ironic that so much time is spent pedantically discussing its grammatical minutiae (which is no doubt intentional, but can push all but the most pretentious viewers away). If you can get past that however, you'll find Thompson delivering the kind of powerful performance that will leave you praying you never get any closer to experiencing what it is to know you are dying than this.