Thanks to Jeffrey Lord for pinning the tail on The Graduate, that odious donkey of a movie. Even in 1967, well before I became a conservative, I thought the movie was preposterous. I couldn’t understand what all the hooraying was about.
Dustin Hoffman’s near catatonic Ben Braddock is not just a moron. He’s a pluperfect moron. At least Mrs. Robinson knows what she wants to do with her time. And this opera buffa is spun out to the childish music and mawkish libretto from Simon and Doofunkle. Hard to imagine a bigger waste of two hours (unless of course this is Dustin Hoffman Week at TAS and Lord will next strap on the loathsome Midnight Cowboy).
The only thing worth knowing that we took away from Graduate is that the late Anne Bancroft could light up even bad material.
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