An Amores Perros review, among other things

This acclaimed flick by first-time director Inarritu came in for raves when it first jumped out 4 years back. So what can I say? Well there are 3 otherwise isolated plots united in one incident: a ballistic car-crash; i loved the way he shows that on the second/third account - out of nowhere. Translated AP goes like: Love's a bitch. And so it is, going by all the crap love entails in the lives of the 3 protags. Ofcourse its unfortunate theyre all said from the man's point; the lady love objects are curd brains who either eventually part their legs then protest or break a family then get crippled or who remain more incorrigible than a dirigible (really?). This film comes with an R rating but I don't know what that was all about. The gore was the dogfights and one carcrash and I still don't understand why some reviewers say they couldn't watch past the opening sequences. The beats and numbers were cool; it's no wonder - Inarritu has deejaying somewhere on his cv. The soundtrack makes the scene of Ramiro's urgent copulation behind racks in the supermarket workplace, seem almost doable.
All the threads are tied in the end, with one guy getting ditched, another getting hitched, and the other getting rich - he makes his confessions and walks with wads of stolen money. And the moral of it all is, you guessed it smarty: Love is a bitch. even if you do get rich.
(For all the people who love watching good-looking men, theres Ramiro and his brother, Octavio. Though Octavio is kind of mesmeric in a dreamyeyed loverboy way, I thought Ramiro was magnetic; always had a thing for the evil kind.)
A good reviewer would have a lot to say about El Chivo; but since I only have pretentions to being one I'll say: he's a committed and powerful vagabond.

There was meant to be a discussion immediately after the screening but clearly they couldnt make up their minds so I didn't stay.
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This week saw the passing away of Derrida of deconstruction fame. This is how a too clever by half Steven Plaut put it in frontpagemag.com:
"He had been conducting a terminal "narrative" with cancer. Well, at least that is the subjective unproven conclusion we have, since, after all, how do we REALLY know that death and cancer exist? ... (deconstruction being) the nonsensical infantile "philosophy" that argues that words have no meaning, there are no facts nor truth ..."

Ofcourse don't depend on Plaut to put it right, you have do the unravelling yourself.
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I'm struggling making out my first invoice. I hope noone dies or the house crashes and I'm the lone survivor left with bills and inheritance tax because one shall most certainly break.