Some joint called Film Drunk announced the "Worst Movie Ending Ever" and I'll admit, their selection is an impressive doozy. But of all the dramatically disappointing film endings, the one that stands out as the most personally jarring is, sadly, Jack Dawson's death in Titanic.
I'm a pretty dreadfully selfish person, but let the guy on the floating door! My GOD. I don't know that I'd make my worst enemy clutch to my glorious lifesaving raft while I basked in the moonlight, much less the love of my life. And while, I'll say it, I love Titanic, I will always hate Rose. Not just because she let Jack die, which is obviously murder in my book, but because she kept saying "Jack" like she was worried he wouldn't know she was speaking to him. "I'm flying....Jack!"
Yeah, we got it, Rose.
It always seemed to me like Rose was 37 years old and Jack was this charming 17 year old badass who tossed lighters around with suave style of the streets. I realize this makes me seem like one of those crazy people who invent Titanic fan fiction, and quite frankly, I don't really care. I saw Titanic 8 (yes, eight) times in the theater, after the first of which I was speechless for 45 minutes. The whole car ride home, I just stared at buildings in silence and thought, "That. That building was built after she sank."
I find it a great injustice that no one ever really talks about the fact that our "heroine" is a murderous, advantageous vixen who should've jumped in the first place. Hello? Rose killed Jack.
Whatever. I always like Cal the best anyway...