Bobby G. Can't Swim Review
Extraordinary
Having just watched probably the worst single-man-show I had ever seen (Happy Birthday, Mr. Mograbi), I walked into the theatre for Bobby G. Can't Swim with the same queasy trepidation of Jodie Foster sitting in front of Hannibal the Cannibal in Silence of the Lambs. Another one-man show awaited me, this one in a genre (the street movie) that is overdone at the best.
Sitting in the theatre, still aching for Pepto-Bismol after Mograbi's shaky camerawork, I began to compose my negative review in advance. I began to figure out insults that I could pass off later on. This process occupied my mind for almost five minutes, at which point the thoroughly excellent and surprising Bobby G. Cant' Swim came on the screen and made me vow yet again to save coming up with snide wise ass comments until after I have watched the movie.
Continue reading: Bobby G. Can't Swim Review
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