110 minutes of pure nonesense, this movie was. I know nothing about the life of Sylvia Plath, but after seeing this movie, I know enough about it to say it wasn't worth doing a movie.

According to the movie "Sylvia," poet, author and teacher Plath, an American, went to the U of Cambridge where she met prize winning poet Ted Hughes. They hang out and write together and have lots of sex. Hughes comes to America and meets her mother. He learns she's tried committing suicide a bunch of times since her father passed away.

Anyways, Plath is extremely jealous and untrusting. Which she should be, cause this English fucker Hughes keep cheating on her with students and colleagues. They have two kids together and all the while she is unable to write decently.

Finally, she balls up and kicks him out. THEN she starts writing like a mad woman, getting high quality and provacative stuff like her notable novel "The Bell Jar." Those who took a literature course in college will recognize the title.

So anyways, Plath goes to kill herself again, but then realizes she has two children to take care of and keeps moving on. Then she hooks up with Hughes again for a romp in the sack, until he tells her the woman from his last affair is pregnant. After that, Plath kills herself. What a joke.

110 minutes of "I'm gonna kill myself. No, I'm not. I'm gonna kill myself. No, I'm not. What do you mean she's pregnant? I killed myself." This picture is a huge yawn. The only thing that makes it worth enduring at least for a while is Gweneth Platrow (Shakespeare in Love) as the true life title character. There are scenes with her where you simply cannot look away. In my mind, she saves the film from getting my worst rating. She can really grab a viewer if she's locked into a role.

Platrow's mother Blythe Danner (Meet the Parents) appears as her mother in this one. Daniel Craig (Road to Perdition) plays the asshole poet Ted Hughes. He was all right at best.

I knew I was in trouble when in one of the first few scenes with both Plath and Hughes, we see Hughes and his friends' idea of English scholarly fun is getting liquored up and reciting poetry and Shakespearian dialogue as fast as they can. Wow, what a bunch of wild men. Move over "Animal House."

To give you an idea of how much a piece of crap this picture was, by the way it was English made-blame them, is Sylvia Plath's daughter Freida Hughes, executor of her mother's literary works, saw how bad this production was going to be and did not allow the producers to use a single scrap of Plath's actually works. Plus, she publically denouced the production in a poem of her own.

So, for those Sylvia Plath fans out there, preparing to endure this garbage film and learn more about one of their favorite writers, there is no actual Plath material in the picture. That may give you the inspiration to simply skip it.

As I said, this woman's work may have been awesome, but her life was not and did not warrant a motion picture about it. Her daughter apparently felt the same way. I should have to, but I didn't and I paid the price. 110 minutes of my life wasted to a women who kills herself for the poetry of it. Ho-hum.

Benn - Where's the Humanity?