Last year, Nobel prize winning mathematician and the man whom this movie was based upon was killed in a taxi coming home from the airport. The moron driving him, most likely some Turk, was new to the business of livery. Previous to killing John Nash and his wife, the livery cab driver was a fucking iced cream truck driver.
(Pause)
This movie was about Nash cracking Russian code for the lug wrenches in the US military, circa 1950s. It was also about Nash’s schizophrenia, something that haunted him for his entire life. It was a supreme cinematic accomplishment for director Ron Howard and lead actor Russel Crowe.
Personally, I rather enjoyed Ed Harris menacing Nash throughout the film, fucking with his big, crazy, brain.
If it were my tombstone, it’d read: ‘Genius. Helped win Cold War. Won Nobel Prize for Game Theory. Professor at MIT, Princeton. Killed by fucking iced cream truck driver. Fuck this shit.’
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