When I went to see Roland Emmerich's Anonymous, it was at a local multiplex. Approximately two-thirds of the way through this somewhat insufferable, albeit with periodic glances of great fun, motion picture experience, I began to hear snoring coming from behind me. Lo and behold, about three rows back was a gentleman, head cocked back as if by spinal cord injury, and mouth agape, sawing enough wood to rebuild the Globe Theater after it was burned down (see how I tie everything in nicely with the subject at hand). Now normally this would bother me a great deal, but considering this obnoxious noise was no worse than what was going on up on the big screen, I just went about my business of watching the damn movie.
Okay, perhaps I am being a bit too harsh here. Emmerich, as silly and as ridiculous and as arrogant as he wants to be (only witless conspiracy theorists still hold to the story that Shakespeare was not really Shakespeare), has made yet another overblown spectacle of cinema, but it is not really as insufferable as I claim it to be. Rhys Ifans and Dame Redgrave do make it more than tolerable, and even some of Emmerich's normal pretensions work in the film's favour at times. And remember, this opinion is coming from a guy who actually enjoyed The Day After Tomorrow a surprisingly goodly amount. Anyway, by damning by faint praise appraisal of Anonymous is currently up and running over at The Cinematheque. Peruse if you so wish.