Last night I tried to watch Limitless, an inane movie starring Bradley Cooper (who is, in case you weren’t aware, the Sexiest Man currently Alive).
Cooper plays a blocked writer whose life turns around with the help of an illegal drug. After only a few days of taking this wunderpill NZT-48, he finishes his long-overdue first novel in a mere four days. I know, right?
But herein lies the movie’s fatal flaw: it misses probably the most important point about writing a book. In a complete reversal of all my previous kvetching, I’m actually now going to contend that the process is what makes the whole thing worthwhile. Protracted? Yes. A constant source of crippling self-doubt and -loathing? Sure. But something I wish I could skip? No frakking way.
Clearly Ryan Gosling got robbed. I mean, he was in a movie called The Notebook. You can’t get much more writerly cred than that.