
His heartbeat feels like a dull thud against his unyielding rib cage. He begins to breathe deeply. Then, his heart races so wildly that he gently strokes his pounding chest. His stomach churns with unease. A numbing sensation spreads through his body, interrupted by frantic tremors that rattle his flesh and bones. He tries to calm himself, but the terror only intensifies. It feels like he’s dying.
Remakes. Reboots. Reinventions. Redundancy. It's the common practice in Hollywood of late, sometimes offering us victorious reimagining of what can be considered cinematic classics while also, more often, falling flat on their UN-imaginative faces in utter defeat and lackluster results. Admittedly, with this in mind, I went into the newest incarnation of "The War of the Roses" with typical trepidation and cautious optimism.
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