Hey, remember when people used to make ambitious films? You go to the theater these days, and the best you can hope for is something approximating a coherent plot. Acting is a bonus. Special effects, sure. You never have the expectation of seeing interesting themes or ideas presented on the screen. Buttered movie popcorn helps mitigate the pain, but it can only go so far. It's just like that Smiths song says: "the [movies] they constantly play, they say nothing to me about my life." But every now and again, a director comes along who sweeps you off your feet and restores your faith in the medium of film. Enter Danny Boyle, master of the visual perspective, herald of the inexplicably gorgeous, and disciple of the human condition. He's the one who brought us the filthiest toilet in Scotland as the location of an ethereal swimming scene. He's the one who brought us an existential zombie movie. He's the one who made Hitchcock-style camera angles cool again. He's a revelation. He's a burning bush. He's a prophet from the creative ether, sent to save us all from the cinematic ennui that threatens to devour us.