A Public Service Announcment

I'm going to say it while it's fresh in my mind. Whatever you do, do not go to see Destino Oculto or The Adjustment Bureau as it is known to some. Yes, it's based on a Philip K. Dick short story. Yes it attempts to tackle profound questions of free will and reality. Yes, it is the most tremendous pile of bullshit in existence. There might be some forgotten movie gathering dirt at the bottom of a very deep ditch that can top the disappointment level of this film, but it's not likely. Two hours of grey paint drying to the sound of a neverending high pitched squeal might do it. Might.

If you're still reading you might be wondering why I'm being so nasty. After all, I'm usually so nice, and Matt Damon hasn't really done me any wrong. Maybe you're right, perhaps I'm being too hasty a judge. Different people have different tastes and perhaps you're the sort of person that enjoys a bit of love story tacked on to their action. There's nothing wrong with that, everyone needs an occasional whiff of sloppy romantic cheese. Even Billy Builder and Kevin the Cage Fighter. Sometimes you just want to curl up with a hot chocolate and watch two unsettlingly good looking people decide whether or not they're going to spend a prolonged chunk of their lives fucking each other. It's sweet when you think about it. Even when they're the most despicably carefree and hence hateable people in existence, blithely stumbling from dance studio to luxury restaurant to apartments built entirely from lobster bisque and pretty thoughts about the environment. Ok, I made the last one up, but the concept is basically the same. Aside from constantly legging it from the behatted manipulators of destiny that are The Bureau, Matt Damon's only real dillemma throughout the film is whether he's going to hook up with a beautiful woman he doesn't know or choose become the future president of the United States. The poor thing. You can tell that deep down he's just like you or me though, because he gets the bus and thinks that politicians are tools.

The Bureau itself is a divine collection of suits whose sole objective is upholding the divine 'plan' of the 'chairman'. They're obviously not doing a great job otherwise they wouldn't have let the film exist in the first place. It's not too surprising when you consider that their powers include briefly stopping time, wearing hats and being allergic to water. Kind of like angels, except really, really, really shit. Throughout the endless navel gazing you're never really sure whether they're being nazi or nice, one minute preaching the word of the lord, the next threatening to suck Matty boy's brains out through his ear. They've got to be good though, because love conquers all and love is God and God is good? Right? This is the kind of logic we're working with here.

Anyway, between the stilted dialogue, endless staring into each other's eyes, gut wrenching boredom and poncy monologues about the nature of authenticity, there's... Well there's not much. There's some running, some dancing, some sailing the sea. Unfortuantely it's done by someone who thinks dropping phones in coffee is a sign of a free spirit, the only black person in heaven and an American version of Nick Clegg. Avoid.