Rabbits rabbits! (and here I thought my father and I only did that. We prefer to use the plural, though. "Rabbit rabbit" is reserved for when you're sitting at the campfire and the smoke is blowing in your face.)

I had no idea the critical reaction to this film would be so vehemently abrasive. I thought the thing just looked mediocre. But man, Ebert's in fine form with this bad review. He probably won't the only critic to use something like this in his review, but closing with "...the hope that the title proves prophetic" is a brilliant over-the-shoulder kiss-off.

Someday I ought to drag out the argument or theory or assertion that Ebert is the Damon Runyon of this generation or century or whatever time period we choose.(Maybe one was not so prolific with the short story as the other, but them's quibbles.) I am too tired to present the full details, but it really gets good when you learn that throat cancer also robbed Damon Runyon of his voice, and that he too communicated solely through the written word for the last few years of his life.