The Retarded
Perhaps a more apt title for the murderous mayhem that ensues towards the end of The Departed, where I feel Martin Scorcese just decided to have martinis all day and let some Tisch-flunk-Tarantino-wannabe take over the wheel. I agree with the starkness and retro-silence that is associated with his movies, but I think there was a tad bit of obscurity of vision towards the end of this flick.
In other news, "Happiness isn't happiness without a violin playing goat" - Anna Scott, Notting Hill
Keep playin'
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