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Clarke’s “The World’s End” Is Not as Sexy as Its Picture

In response to Donald Clarke’s 242‑word review of The World's End on Irish Times

By ,

In “The World’s End,” Donald Clark pretends to be smarter than we are, so for the sake of argument let’s allow him this indulgence, Shall we? In a work that everyone seems to be calling a review, we find Clarke working out what I assume to be a middle-tween man trying to escape the fact that his friends who are published novelists are more successful than he is. He only has time to give us the specs before giving us “the thing.”

The criticism Clarke employs wears thin about halfway through the absurdly overextended review of this film. But, like the actors playing the protagonists of the film he’s bashing, Clark can’t stop himself from digging out his old critical snot and returning to past glory of the “let’s pretend” opening.

The sneer is still fast and rhythmic. The breeze voice still sweeps dramatically. There is gentle snark galore. But the review already feels tired and wearily familiar.  

Aside from a brief encounter with a compliment, there is nothing to prepare us for Clarke’s ludicrously sudden conceit about the film’s supposed self-believing significance. The review ends with the same class of pomposity that drove aging, progressive reviewers to compose works about how clever film makers are not.    

Quality of Writing Quality of Argument Spoiler Avoidance Presentation