Eargh, what pap. I’m still pissed I wasted two and a half hours on this–and we didn’t even watch the “extended version.” Jamie Foxx’s wobbling, whispering performance is somewhat interesting, but that’s the best thing I can say about this massive piece of schlock, with it’s cartoonishly exaggerated emotions, the stock flashbacks, the cliche heroin plot, the canned scenes of betrayal and heaven-sent inspiration. People thought this sticky, icky mindnumbing fest of stereotypes was  best-of-the-year? Yuck.