That is both accurate and inaccurate.

“Oh, that movie? You’ll be in there by yourself,” the usher told me.

How does that happen? This was opening weekend.

You do not need me to tell you that this movie is bad. The fact that this section had the word “spiteful” in the title should have really been enough. “Life Itself” has some of the most pretentious, obnoxious and outright stupid writing I have ever heard in my life.

It is a film about a man sitting in therapy. Talking about how his wife and child are dead, except not really. And at first it seems quirky, even a little funny. Oscar Isaac can breathe life into just about anything, which is great because about 30 minutes in, Dan Fogleman hits him with a bus, not kidding.

Fogleman then decides to cut to an unrelated story on the other side of globe. As if being whisked to Spain will somehow “wow” audiences into caring. Nice try, trash is trash no matter what language you filter it through.

What about all that pretentious garbage I was complaining about? Well the writers seem to have slowly become the uninspiring suburban dad, texting you fleeting advice he found in his fortune cookie. One moment in particular was enough to get me cough up cheap theater soda and blood.

One character begins bragging about her senior thesis on character tropes, particularly that of the “unreliable narrator.” To which she grasps Isaac’s face lovingly and goes “That’s when I realized, life itself is the most unreliable narrator!” And trust me when I say the people behind the moon landing were not as pleased with themselves as these two croaking toads were.

On the brightside, I was able to “boo” the movie as loud as I wanted. That is something I think everyone should be allowed to experience.