One Paragraph Movie Review: Fight Club

One hundred and forty-fifth film: Fight Club. This, like The Usual Suspects, The Sixth Sense, and (if you believe the theories) Ferris Bueller’s Day Off only gets better with each subsequent watch because then you know secrets and can really get a proper feel for what smug, clever buggers the filmmakers are. Even without the Fight Club spoiler reveal though, the idea of a club based on blokes beating the cathartic crap out of each other is a very great idea to watch, with the bonus of essentially understanding the accurately mapped timeline of the birth of a cult. From Edward Norton’s weedy, panicked malevolence to Brad Pitt’s grimy, extreme handsomeness to Helena Bonham Carter’s overly-melodramatic smoke-acting, even the plumbing noises in this movie shove you deeply into its world with equal parts distaste and delight. I can’t think of a single other film like it, but admittedly I’m only a fifth of the way through the alphabet. I am Jack’s satisfied eyeballs. Five Fetlosse dining tables out of five.