Pile that schmaltz up. Back up a truck full of sugar and tip it over this gooey mess.
I don't know which was worse. To have this drippy load of nonsense play out, or to listen to Pavey next to me ooohing and aaaaahing every time the horse in question stubbed his toe.
And then to have her mutter to the cat, "He doesn't have a heart, does he?".
Trust Spielberg to load every cliche, every piece of hard earned pity on this horse, just to get the audience tugged even deeper.
Bah, humbug!
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