As Soderbergh has risen to the stratosphere of Hollywood enablers, he seems to have replaced character with something else -- odd collections of in-jokes, hand ringing and Oscar-worthy speeches. If he's connected with the pulse of America, he has done so by losing the pulse of his stories. Even his small anti-commercial films seem to have lost their human touch. Oh, they're fun, and technically masterful all -- but looking back only this one suggests the small Satyajit Ray style humanist Soderburgh might have become if he didn't have the mega-hit touch. A part of me mourns the loss, though another part of me imagines how horribly treakly Erin Brockovich would have been with any other helmer. I've spent a lot of good hours watching his works, but only a couple great hours, and this 1 hour and 43 minutes of greatness
Review of King of the Hill
