This book is an example of how even though you can have the same sense of humour and interests as someone, that doesn’t mean you’ll enjoy the same things the same way.
I don’t get this book. At all. I don’t get the fanfare around it. I don’t get the raving reviews. It’s basically a series of modestly amusing if ancient jokes interspersed with just descriptions of what is happening in a movie, which you need to have seen to find any of the jokes even remotely funny. I could slap something like this together in a week, easy, and I don’t mean that as a brag.
Maybe I’m just annoyed because I’ve said these exact things about these exact movies and when I say it I’m a “buzzkill” who “doesn’t let people enjoy things” which are objectively terrible. And that’s the entire book. I don’t get it. Why is her milquetoast take on Love, Actually resulting in reverence online while there exists a trove of better takes on the same thing. And that’s what it felt like – like reading a book about pop culture by someone who somehow missed out on the existence of Pajiba, only I know lots of Pajibians who love this book, which brings me back around to a deep confusion.
I like Lindy West. I wish her well, and I’m glad she could find some creative outlet during some very dark times that allows her to keep putting food on the table until she finds some real inspiration. Hopefully, this at least gets more eyes on Face/Off, which while West tries to, is impossible to understand until you come face to face with it.