If you add up the numbers from the date of the Titanic sinking, you get 23. Shakespeare was born and died on April 23rd. There are 23 pairs of chromosomes in the human genome. Even during the opening credits, we're bombarded with all manner of tinfoil-hatted statistics about it. The point of The Number 23 – the one that's explained over and over and over again, possibly because it seems so inexplicable that anyone would ever bother making a film about it – is that the number 23 is either the secret of the universe or haunted or whatever. 92 divided by four, 20-fucking-three!" – Suicide Blonde You know what pink is? Red 27, white 65 … 65 plus 27 = 92. Sit back, turn off your brain and let this colossal orgy of nonsense wash over you. ![]() But, somehow, The Number 23 was both completed and released, and the results stand shoulder to shoulder with other epic, misjudged, endlessly quotable misfires like The Room and the Wicker Man remake. Memories should have been surgically wiped to stop anyone from finding out that this film was ever even an idea. ![]() At some point, someone should have heard the premise (a man goes fully off the rails because he sees the number 23 a lot), or read the script, or discovered that Jim Carrey had been cast as the lead, or watched the rushes, and pulled the plug. Thrillers like The Number 23 simply shouldn't be made.
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