Maps to the Stars

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The funniest thing of Maps to the Stars is Robert Pattinson driving a limousine instead of having a proctoscopy in the rear seat. Outside the car it’s not Cosmopolis, it’s much worster: it’s Hollywood, baby. A place where people is envious, sick, unhappy and most of the times not particularly talented. The interlaced lives of a young pyromaniac, a chaffeur/actor/screenwriter, a wonder boy star and his twisted family and an actress on the verge of a nervous breakdown are pretestuous stories that Cronenberg uses to describe a deterior society of the appearence that potentially is the perfect environment for some of the favorite obsessions of the canadian director.

Sadly, Maps to the Stars is quite confused and almost senile in its need of being trasgressive and screenwriter Bruce Wagner is definitely not Don DeLillo. Cronenberg tries to save this patchwork of arranged and not so brilliant ideas, remembering similar stuff from some of his previous movies, especially the brotherhood of Dead Ringers, but he’s not much committed this time.

Too bad, mostly for the gorgeous cast with Julianne Moore and John Cusack absolutely brilliant.

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