Jodie Foster has found her next directing project that hopefully won't suddenly implode because its star begins screaming about blowjobs and black people, signing on to helm the drama Money Monster. Unfortunately, though her previous films have all displayed a reassuring literalism—Little Man Tate featured a little man named "Tate;" the people in Home For The Holidays were, indeed, home for the holidays; there was a non-euphemistic beaver in The Beaver—Money Monster is apparently a metaphor, concerning a Jim Cramer-type who uses insider trading tips to become a Wall Street big shot, only to be held hostage on his own show by a disgruntled viewer. It does not, regrettably, feature a fearsome ogre with skin made of dollar bills who farts coins, provoking a character to say, "Yeah, but at least his shit makes cents," even though that would be hilarious. Way to hate fun, Jodie Foster.
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