Fight Club

#32 at time of writing.

I think I am in an overly emotional mood.

I've just watched this film again and I'm hysterical. More than once, and especially at the end, I was laughing uncontrollably and even crying. Not in a funny way. In a nihilistic, abandoned, insane way.

This isn't a film, it's a kick up the ass.

Fight Club brings a dirty, aggressive dignity to the dark side of the male soul. The primal side that sometimes feels like biting someone's ear off just because you've had a bad day. The side that feels like life is just too much effort because everyone takes it so damn seriously. The side that fucking hates frilly cushions.

Chuck Palahniuk has created a Dice Man for the jaded Nineties. If you're not careful, it will make you reassess your priorities in life. And David Fincher has created a film that feels more like a manifesto for the revolution.

There's evidence that the actors and crew got into the spirit of the film while making it. According to the (unusually intelligent) DVD commentary, in the short scene when Brad Pitt and Edward Norton are drunk and hitting golf balls, they really are drunk, and the golf balls are sailing directly into the side of the catering truck.