Morbid curiosity.
Those two words are the only reason we finished watching The Twonky (1953). This wretched flick about an artificial intelligence masquerading as a television bought by a woman for her philosophy professor husband flops wretchedly from incident to incident, filled with illogic, grasping frantically at plot twists to pass the time. True, it does occasionally produce an unexpected character, such as the failed football coach who, in the accent and words attributable to a coach, quotes Freud and various physics texts, and says that women put him in the mood for french fries; the bill collector has a certain joie de vivre I found enjoyable; and just when you thought it was a total loss, some character or another will toss off a delightful zinger with barely a shrug of the shoulders.
But, trust me, don’t waste your time digging for them. Only watch The Twonky if it’s been prescribed as penance for some horrid crime.
