Bernie Movie Quotes

weekend at bernie's is not a realistic movie

She fished inside and brought out two movie choices. “This evening’s distraction. Do you want to watch pretty people fall in love or things blowing up?” I eyed them both. “Do you have anything with pretty people blowing up?” I asked, and Charlotte threw a pillow at me. This right here? This is why I have a bestie.

I rode to the fourth floor, poked around until I found the stairway, and walked down a flight. I almost always do this and I sometimes wonder why. I think someone must have done it in a movie once and I was evidently impressed, but it’s really a waste of time, especially when the elevator in question is self-service.

Pride of the Yankees invented the visual grammar of the baseball film, discovering and employing editing techniques to turn a movie star with little baseball experience into a reasonable facsimile of one of the most talented players of all time. In later years, these techniques were used to make actors as disparate as John Cusack (Eight Men Out), Rosie O’Donnell (A League of Their Own), and Bernie Mac (Mr. 3000) look like they’re zinging line drives all over the field.

Bernie never questioned occurrences that had already happened. It was a pointless waste of time. She didn’t read fiction. She no longer went to movies. Art and music did nothing for her. She existed in reality, a place she liked to be. She’d wasted a lot of time filtering movies, TV, through everyone else’s eyes, trying to understand her fellow humans. Fake. All of it fake. Especially the portrayal of death. Death was the total absence of spirit—something that no one could emulate, no matter how good the actor.

I trudged out of my cell and over to the large, thick window to face once more Bernie and his fabulous flying documents—and I stopped dead only halfway there. Because Bernie was nowhere to be seen. Instead, another man sat in his place in the chair on the far side of the glass. He was a man unlike any I have ever seen, outside of the movies. Everything about him seemed to radiate calm assurance, power, and money. He was tanned where Bernie was pale, relaxed and confident instead of hassled, harried, and exhausted, and he was dressed in a suit that was so unlike the poor ill-fitting grubby thing Bernie wore that it cannot really be thought of as the same kind of garment.

Bernie Sanders is the Michael Moore of USA politics.