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An ordinary mail delivery route turns deadly for two mail carriers who may have seen too much. When everyone starts getting killed and taken hostage, and THEN things get completely out-of-control when a series of double-crosses and conspiracies are revealed in this dark comedy.

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Postmarked movie full length review - Wow (sarcastic)

If there were ever someone who embodied the old adage, "those that can't do, teach," it would be Professor Gene Gassel. Where do I begin?

Surely it was my fault for going to see his horrid picture, Postmarked, for when a teacher advertises extra credit for going to their premier, let that be a warning that to stay far away. I was ignorant of this however. After I paid my $10 dollar ticket, I sat in the theater and watched decades of cinema raped by the uninspired, vacuum sealed, Anglo- Saxon garbage that is this film. I have never been more inclined, nor had the gall to walk out of a theater within the first thirty minutes of a film, and trust me, I tried putting in my headphones and shutting out the garbage, but the wondrous cultural pull of the outside world was too strong, the light of the exit was beckoning to me. I was seated next to a former student of the professor who did the sound design for the film and unfortunately, for several other films. Gassel's folly as a director is no doubt evident in his folly as a professor, and in his students. The "sound designer" I was near was probably a production major, and thus had scarce knowledge of the finer theories of film, reflected in the professor. I guess I should mention that the sound was worse than a mute's first speech, groaning, screeching, unpleasant. You'd think they'd never heard an instrument before. This is not supposed to be an essay on a terrible film because if that were the case, I could sum up in three points why it should be put on a rocket and shot into the sun. 1) The cinematography was absolutely aimless and futile from a technical and narrative standpoint. 2) The color palette was so dry they may have used ungraded footage straight out of the camera. 3) The dialogue was probably written by a prepubescent boy whose sheltered days are spent behind a computer screen, for it had no ground in reality. Not to mention the scenes were painfully overwritten. I could go on forever but that would be an unavailing waste of time. The reason I have taken to note this tragedy is because it gave me an epiphany, not all professors are as seasoned in their study as they would lead you to believe. Professor Gassel, who I will refer to from now on as Gene because he doesn't deserve the title, taught an online indie film class which I was enrolled in, where I got to see some wonderful films like Shadows, Slacker, and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, but any presence of depth expected of an upper division course was nowhere to be found. We simply defined indie, watched some movies, and collected a grade. What are these people teaching and how are they allowed to waste students time and money? Any substance which I desired to gain from the course had to be explored through channels separate from what its syllabus provided. Even Gene's fellow professor, Mr. Blah Blah, who I spoke with during office hours, was equally incompetent. Surely when a student inquires about proper literature on cinema, it's the professor's job to provide it out of the bosom of their knowledge. Instead I get a blank face, which quickly transforms into conversational gymnastics in order to avoid their shameful ineptitude.