People love movies for different reasons. For example, I love The Blues Brothers for nostalgic purposes.

First, it captures my home town at a time when it was gritty, spunky and devoid of trixies. Second, I remember watching it with my dearly departed grandma (bushia, for my Polish friends.) She sat through the whole movie, without a word. She tapped her toe doing the music scenes (grandma always loved musicals) and smiled whenever they showed neighborhoods she recognized. She had no problem with flying Baptists, Ray Charles shooting a gun with precision, or Nazi vehicles falling through the air. These things she accepted. But at the very end of the movie, when the Blues Brothers make it to the Daly Center to pay the orphanage's taxes, she folded her arms and said sternly, "The tax department is on the SECOND floor." The movie's authenticity was forever tainted for her. It was almost as fun watching The Blues Brothers with her as it was watching Monty Python and the Holy Grail (Hey! They don't have any horses!)

Then, there are movies I hate. Simply being bad does not place a movie in the hated category. For example, if a movie promises no more than mindless escapism, then provides mindless escapism, I have no quarrel with it. But if a movie garners numerous Oscars, promises to be touching and poignant, and then is The Titanic, then I hate it.

Titanic had soulless characters for whom I had no feeling, a stupid storyline, not to mention a predictable ending (but I suppose it can't be blamed for that. You mean, the ship SINKS?) Yes, the Titanic was not merely bad, but eye-gougingly bad. With ear drum-poppingly bad music by Celine Dion.

Speaking of Celine Dion, I would now like to address our sweet, cuddly neighbors to the north, the Canadians (ou Canadiennes, si tu prefieres.) Why, Canada, why? Why Celine Dion? Why Melissa Manchester? Why Anne Murray? Oh, Canada.