Let Slumming Dogs Lie!

I watched "Slumdog Millionaire" last night. In my opinion, it was not a good movie. It had the look and feel of a "foreign art film," the likes of which have become popular during the last eighty years. I think people attend "foreign art films" because they think they are smart. That is, they think others will look upon them as intelligent because they have attended a "foreign art film." How silly. Such "films" are not smart and those who attend them are not smart, or intelligent. This movie appeared to attempt to latch on to the cachet of "foreign art films." It was about India, and the people in the film spoke Hindi or English, and had Asian Indian accents. But, so what? Speaking with an Asian Indian accent does not ipso facto make one artistic, sensitive or intelligent. The music was particularly embarrassing, as if Broccoli Spears or Janet Jackson had tried to write and perform Asian Indian music. The movie was about poetry, but in a very Nascar style. That is, the explication of Indian poetry in the movie was by violent acts. Poetry is not illuminated by abject violence and mayhem. One thing is true: India is a vast country, with a long and distinguished history, yet with, unfortunately, many political and social catastrophies in its experience, and tremendous current societal problems or ills. This movie does not contribute one iota to a better understanding of India or its people.