Ms. Strange

atheist bad driver: I will rely on my own skill to see myself safely home after a mere 8 drinks

buddhist bad driver: stop getting mad you are too attached to material things (your car that I rear ended)

jewish bad driver: according to this highly controversial interpretation of the melachot which five separate rabbis have told me is completely stupid, driving during Shabbat is fine as long as you ask your non jewish neighbor to turn the car on because then the engine is already on. However, using turn signals is prohibited and you can't turn headlights on or off which is why I just leave my high-beams on at all times

muslim bad driver: muslims are never required to yield the right of way to non muslims

neopagan bad driver: if we follow the teachings of the Great Earth Mother, traffic is like a flowing river. Turbulence and disorder are part of nature. "Lanes" are a product of a Christian society obsessed with rigid status and social control. You gotta just go with the flow, man. (jerks wheel and sends 2004 Subaru Outback with COEXIST bumper sticker and Etsy Dreamcatcher hanging from the rear view mirror careening across 3 lanes of traffic to make an exit)

satanist bad driver: much as great Lucifer defied god's oppressive vision of rigid order and obedience, I am treating this "stop" sign as a suggestion

pastafarian bad driver: this interchange is a sacred place. the convoluted mess of twisted, tangled ramps reflects the form of His divine noodley appendages. When I enter it I must meditate on the interchange and lose all awareness of surrounding cars.

amish bad driver: I don't need to pay attention to the road, my horses know the way home (is currently in the oncoming lane and has just run over a toddler because a leaf fell 200 yards away and spooked the horses)

Gonna be honest

Idgaf if Christopher Nolan put every actor in an 80s torn sweater, socks with sandals, and poodle skirts, that shit does not matter

^ this is an Italian site that doesn't allow adblock btw

"Ah, well," he says, a brief look of disappointment crossing his face. "That would have made this case entirely too easy to solve. It is perhaps for the best you have reconsidered, no?"

You ask if he's going to turn you in. He looks genuinely shocked.

"Turn you in for a crime you didn't even commit? Mon Dieu! Not even Hercule Poirot could be successfully doing this!"

"Truly?" you say, your hands shaking slightly. "But...you know I fully intended to kill him. If I hadn't seen you on the train, I would have gone through with it."

"But you did not," he says precisely. "And you will not ever, now that you know the eye of Hercule Poirot will forever be upon you. There is no crime in anger. There is no crime in hatred. There is even no crime in wishing to do the murder. The only crime is in the doing. And Hercule Poirot only concerns himself with crimes."

He looks you in the eye, then. And now you can see it, the truth of this silly little man. Past the little body and the prissy outfits, past the ostentatious moustaches and egg shaped bald pate. You thought yourself so smart, so clever, so righteous in your anger. And he saw through you in an instant. This silly little man who wears his own vainglory like a polished, perfectly straight tie pin would have sent you to the gallows without a second thought.

He didn't need one. He'd figured you out with the first.

"You have chosen not to do. You have done so for the best of reasons, because you recognize the folly of trying to outsmart Hercule Poirot. But even if your reason was not so great, I would celebrate your choice all the same. There is no such thing as the bad reason to choose against staining your soul with murder."

With a polite smile, he pays for your meal and leaves before you can say anything else. You never see him again. The next morning you book passage back home. You see the man you were going to kill occasionally, out and about. But for some reason the old anger you always felt in his presence, the righteous fury that burned in your breast at the very whiff of his cologne, the pain that tore through your body every time you thought of how he has wronged you, never returns.

He is just a person, you realize. A loathsome person, but a person nevertheless. In the end, it is not your place to judge him. It had never been your place. His judgement rests in the hands of someone much wiser and more just than you could ever be. Than even the great Hercule Poirot could hope to be.

You never see that silly little man again. But you keep him in your prayers for the rest of your life.

Not getting into ending spoilers but Steven Spielberg plays a character who is pivotal to the climax of the film.

Ray Charles fires a warning shot from a pistol at a shoplifter.

They did location filming in a mall that had closed the previous year in 1978. The production fucked that mall up so bad that it remained abandoned until it was finally demolished in 2012.

then I looked in the notes and y’know.

some people seems confused.

Why a shopping cart with stained glass? 

or This would be cool to shop with

or something about religion and NO

NO

THIS. Is about HOMES.

That style stained glass? Those diamonds? They speak to me, and they say “Townhouse”. and FANCY townhouse, at that. They say “City home, old home, a home that is RICH, a shelter from the storm and a safe place for a family”.

But on! a! shopping cart!

That evokes - to me - Homelessness.

The person on the street who had no other choice but to steal the best cart they could from a store’s corral just to have a way to transport the meager belongings that are all they fucking have in this world. And it’s NOT a home or a safe place or a shelter but it’s all you fucking have!

And this piece goes and puts them fucking together! AND NAMES IT.

I’m sorry but that’s thinking way too small, hear me out:

We need to have Miss Piggy as Odysseus, and Kermit as Penelope.

Think about it… who’s the more fickle, prideful, warlike one in that relationship? Who is absolutely ready to go ham, at a moment’s notice?