It’s an over caffeinated day. If I had the power of life and death in Hollywood, there’s two directors I’d never allow to make pictures ever again. One is Wes Anderson, the other is Kathryn Bigelow.

Since Anderson doesn’t enter the equation of this argument, Bigelow’s Zero Dark Thirty, which just got nominated for Best Picture, is my evidence to the jury that she be waterboarded with extreme prejudice.

Because that’s all Zero Dark Thirty is about, really. Till now, I thought waterboarding, as a form of torture, was being strapped to a surf board and having to listen to The Beach Boys non-stop for 24 hours.

Which is my argument that Bigelow’s Zero Dark Thirty is a blown-out episode of “24” but not nearly as good. Remember, Bigelow was also responsible for Hurt Locker, albeit Best Picture but a box office disaster and for good reasons.

Story telling, you don’t have a clue of what’s going on in Zero Dark Thirty until your at least 0:60 minutes into the film. You know Osama Bin Laden [referred to here as OBL] is going to be taken out by the SEAL’s, and for your efforts, all you get is an Osama nose protruding from a body bag. That’s it. That’s the movie.

Jessica Chastain’s featured in the role of Claire Danes. [A little Homeland humor.] She screams at her bosses, and we learn that the Osama detail is all she’s been on since she was recruited by the CIA out of high school.

A little back story of that would have been way more entertaining than Chastain’s frenetic Sharpie scribblings reminding her bosses that they’re been sitting on their collective asses over three months since they’ve been fed a lead on Osama’s whereabouts. Saving the day is James Gandolfini. Tony Soprano, go figure.

Finally, in the dark hours, on a raid of a compound that reminds you of an Afghani Levittown, America discovers that it’s been held hostage since 9/11 by a third world shit hole of dusty computers, VHS tapes and filing cabinets.

I think George Bush has a lot of explaining to do.