Si una pelÝcula logrˇ insultar a cada persona en cada rincˇn del planeta, Ústa fue Crash, y al parecer esta mi*rda logrˇ ganar el Oscar a mejor pelÝcula.
Structurally, Crash is a resounding example of unconformity (though its rearranged chronology is an ever-growing theme and its multi-focal yarn is an age-old cliche of priggish cinema, yet not always implemented by films of such). It is likely to become the template by which many subsequent mystery/thrillers are drawn, though that wouldn't be all that bad: it hooks its audience by immediately proposing a problem to which the answer comes together, piece-by-piece, as the story -- which jumps backwards, then proceeds in real-time, ending with its opening scene -- progresses. As we the audience travel alongside the film's event timeline, our attention is maintained thoroughly by its three climaxes, which are evenly distributed within the film's last half. Yet what is unrealized by a majority of viewers is that while their emotions have been forged and manipulated by these peaks, the movie's story -- and more specifically its script (co-penned by Bobby Moresco) -- runs amok in a cesspool of racially-directed propaganda, which is grossly mistaken for morally-motivated and "necessary" exposure to the cultural/ethnic differences that set aside and bring hardship to the diverse citizens of America (or, in this particular case, Los Angeles).
Crash is a textbook example of exploitation, presented with a slew of disgustingly (and abnormally) xenophobic characters, each of whom spit bigoted slurs as if they were the letters of the alphabet. Simply put, when it tries to address intolerance (which occurs with just about every interaction -- an unfortunate truth), it is smothered rather by its own impudence, which appears more political than it does substantial. In fact, Crash is packed so tight full of asinine stereotypes that, if it exploded into a million pieces, its fragments would have enough false piety in them to supply their own feature-length pictures. The film's self-importance swallows all of its positive qualities (which admittedly are not in short supply and include winning efforts by Don Cheadle, Matt Dillon, Terrence Howard, and Michael Pena) and amasses to an indigestible cinematic experience without the uplift of conciliatory sensitivity or social spotlighting, which it almost embarrassingly thinks it embodies (and forever will, thanks to its three Oscars and national acclaim).