...not a complete and utter waste...

I think the only redeeming quality of Vanity Fair (aside from the absolute beauty of James Purefoy) was the performance of Gabriel Byrne, who proved with this film (though he proved it with Point of No Return as well) that he is now, as he ever was, the sexiest man in the entertainment industry. Good heaven.

But aside from that, garbage. I don't know what that silly little Indian director chick was thinking, but she thought it wrong. No climax, no proper ending, it just... stopped. There was a strange India theme followed through the entire movie, with odd cheesy music in each India scene. And just a horrible adaptation of the book, honestly. And Reese Witherspoon was not a good Becky Sharpe, at ALL. She tried, bless her heart, but no. Although I think that is more the fault of the director again, than her own because I generally enjoy Reese Witherspoon.

But again, just for Gabriel Byrne and his eyes, I would probably pay another exorbitant fee to see the movie. An even more exorbitant fee I would pay to have an evening (...or a lifetime) alone with him.

He was going to be a priest at one time, you know. I'm glad he chose otherwise. Glad, even though I will not be able to benefit from that choice probably (unless I turn out to be reeeaaaly lucky). Also he's 54. Is that too old? 34 years? Maybe? Damn.