One Girl's Impression

Becoming Jane

2007-03-28T18:00:00.000-04:00

"What's she doing?"

"Writing."

"Can't something be done about it?"

So goes the reaction to Jane Austen's inclination to start writing in the middle of social engagements, at least as depicted in the upcoming Becoming Jane. It doesn't hit theaters on this side of the pond until August, but the movie's finished and I'm important, so I got to see it this morning.

Based on the few remaining letters between Austen and her sister, Cassandra, the film follows the pre-fame author as she navigates through the courtships, true love, familial duties, and financial responsibilities of an eligible young woman in late-18th-century England.

I'm such a sucker for this stuff. The proprieties of the day, the marriages forged more for standing than affection, the women's corsets and men's tails, the wax-sealed notes delivered on silver trays...I'm fairly certain that it all could stand as the definition of "romantic" in my book. And Austen's story, much like Elizabeth Bennet's or Elinor Dashwood's, is rife with romantic drama and unusual levels of independent thinking. There are worthy suitors and poetic inspirations at every turn and more than once I had to remind myself I wasn't watching the Bennet or Dashwood girls, just their inspiration.

Anne Hathaway adopts a British accent and an air of entitlement to portray Austen, her most demanding title role to date. Her Austen is the sort that dreams with eyes open, preferring to stay up writing while the house around her sleeps. Like Elizabeth, she at first hates the man she'll soon fall for and, like Elinor, a miscommunication threatens to cost her her happiness. Austen's Mr. Darcy is Tom Lefroy, a man who'd ultimately rise to Lord High Justice of Ireland (like the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court?), but is nothing more than a penniless womanizer when he firsts visits the country and encounters Jane.

James McAvoy's come a long way from his faun days, effortlessly carrying the romantic lead with passion and sincerity. These two fresh faces are welcome changes to the Colin Firths and Renee Zellwegers who've been so prominent in period pieces of late, and these solid performances are likely to put them on the map of bankable stars. Both are building reputable resumes; Jane is certainly a good career move.

Clocking in at exactly two hours, it could be said that the whole picture is too long and too slow. But director Julian Jarrold's pace--calm, eloquent and steady--echoes that of the author's writing style. The understated segments are complimented sufficiently by pops of drama, either between Jane and Tom (the ball), Jane and her mother (after a proposal denied) or two characters playing on the margins of the story, ever intertwined in the action as Austen has a way of placing her books' players (the news of Cassandra's fiance). It's these moments that romantics like me cheer for or tear up over and string us along willingly until the satisfying resolution.

On several levels, Jane is nothing new. Fiercely independent young woman with no money to her name seeks to simultaneously better herself and marry for love. Surrounded by the worry-wart mother, the wealthy distant relative, the dashing playboy with more than meets the eye...we've seen it before. But then, what we've seen are just adaptations on Austen's work. "Becoming Jane" isn't just a re-tooled British romance. It's the orginal.

Watch the international trailer (they can show naked bums over there, I guess).

Remember Me?

2006-03-22T13:46:00.000-05:00

It's all right. You can be honest and say no, you don't remember me. I'm not sure I remember what it is I used to do around here...something to do with movies, right??

The last month hasn't been particularly busy, really; I've actually seen a lot of movies. Something's keeping me from writing them up, though. At first, it was lack of motivation. I was just not interested in writing for a non-existant audience. Were I an employed columnist or revered opinionista, I might have kept up my musings. But I started to wonder how much my insights really mattered on any given film, which turned quickly into a failure to blog consistently.

Then things changed and suddenly I did get sorta busy. I started a third job. And I started another blog.

Call me a traitor if you must, but this one comes with a paycheck, so you're more likely to find me there than here. Where is there exactly? Indie Fodder, of course, the latest addition to Film Fodder, a group of blogs on everything pop culture. On a whim, I sent an email to the head honcho over there; we had a quick phone conversation, and 48 hours later I'm an official Fodder blogger.

So that's where I've been. I'm not sure how much I'll be back here in the near future. I don't know where reviewing is getting me, and for now I feel like I should be doing the things that get me where I want to be. So if this site lacks a bit, I hope you understand. But I hope you don't erase that bookmark all together. I'll be back, I'm sure--I see big things for my reviews in the future.

Until then...

Imagine Me & You

2006-02-16T21:19:00.000-05:00

Cinema is changing. Art is imitating life, more and more every day. Brokeback Mountain might be getting all the glory for bringing homosexuality to the local cineplex, but it's found a little sister in the lesbian-themed Imagine Me & You. Like Brokeback, Imagine is a love story, the players of the game inconsequential, the emotions and affections universal. Unlike Brokeback, Imagine trivializes those emotions and wraps the entire package up all too neatly; by the end of the film, Imagine proves to be nothing more than your run-of-the-mill romantic comedy, only this one's about two girls.

Girl next door Rachel (Piper Perabo) is about to marry long-time boyfriend/best friend Heck (Match Point's Matthew Goode) when, walking with her father down the aisle, she spies Luce (Lena Headey), the florist, across the church. In nothing more than a flash, a connection is felt between both women. Weeks later, while Heck is busy bidding on a vintage couch for their new flat (for our enviable locale is Londontown), Rach waxes philosophical about "that click", that feeling that says you've found a friend for life. All too conveniently, Luce keeps popping into Rachel's life, though the first encounter is of her own doing when she stops by the flower shop to thank Luce and invite her to dinner. She plans on setting the florist up with Heck's best friend; Luce lets Heck in on her sexual orientation, and awkward moments abound. (One gem in this formulaic sequence is the grocery store scene, dialogue shot off like rapid gunfire and the low-level physical comedy genuinely entertaining.)

With a few clever plot twists, Heck is actually the one who sets the women up on their first date, asking Luce to keep Rachel company at a football (that's soccer, Yanks) game he has to work through. And while Rachel's busy falling for Luce and struggling (sort of) with her decisions, Heck's worried about a spanking new marriage already on the rocks. In a pivotal scene, the true reasons behind Rachel's distance are revealed, and its just about at this point that an otherwise sharp, charming comedy starts to unravel like a ball of yarn rolling down a hill.

There are several parts about the motivation of these fairly flat characters that fall short when the script finally tries to resolve the conflicts it's created. Rachel apparently loves Heck, but isn't in love with the poor guy; why does she marry him, and why is this the jumping off point in the film? By the end, the writers were far too concerned with a happy ending (and one that comes in under the two hour mark) to pay much attention to the damage caused by Rachel's seemingly easy decision to choose Luce over her husband. We get one scene to see all of Heck's pain, and the only one to comfort him is Rachel's ten-year-old sister. The whole thing could have told the same story without getting itself in such deep quicksand had the wedding happened at the end instead of the beginning (I'm thinking a retooled My Best Friend's Wedding, perhaps). Instead, writer/director Ol Parker disappointingly ends with a cheesy "catch the girl" scene that I couldn't root for; I was too worried about the headaches of divorce, the unbelievable grace with which Heck handles losing the woman he loves, and the trials of explaining to the world you're suddenly (at least as far as their concerned) a lesbian.

The performances populating Imagine are hardly spectacular, but they're not stale either. The talented group of actors does well with the weak material their given, particularly the men in the cast. Goode's sincerity and morality make it easier to believe he'll bounce back from the break-up; side-kick Coop (Darren Boyd) is just the right balance of vulgar and sarcastic. Even Rachel's dad, Ned, is played well by one Anthony Head, turning from bitter old married to supportive, loving dad in the blink of an eye. Perabo convinces with a well-kept British accent (she's from New Jersey), and Headey lets Luce be herself, quietly pining for Rachel but mostly unwilling to stir up any trouble.

The first two thirds of Imagine are sparkling; dialogue is turned ever so slightly as to keep an audience listening and emotions are well expressed not only though actors but directorial choices as well (Rachel leans in to kiss Luce after their football date, only to have the headlights from a car awkwardly interrupt; the device works perfectly). It's only in the tail end of the film that resolution starts to sputter and it becomes apparent that Parker didn't know how to wrap up what he'd started. Imagine is quaint and entertaining; like most movies of it's kind, it manages to leave the audience smiling, feeling validated that love wins out in the end, regardless of the plotholes encountered along the way.

Mrs. Henderson Presents

2006-02-12T23:48:00.000-05:00

How delicious!

Laura Henderson (Judi Dench) is a woman ahead of her time. She won't be bothered with pretending to be one of those rule-following, prim and proper British ladies minding their Ps and Qs during World War II. She's newly widowed, and the funeral isn't even over before she declares to a friend how bored she is with widowhood. It's time for Mrs. Henderson to find a hobby.

She settles on The Windmill Theater, in London's eventual theater district of the West End, buying the place without the slightest idea what she'll do with it. To lend some direction to her new endeavor, she hires the equally fiery Vivian van Damm (Bob Hoskins) to produce the shows. At it's inception, The Windmill didn't start out as anything extraordinary; the first shows opened to sold out audiences. Ticket sales quickly declined, and as WWII looms, van Damm and Henderson know something's got to change in order to keep people coming back. It's forward-thinking Mrs. Henderson who, as if inquiring after the weather, suggests adding nudity to the shows. She pulls a few strings and convinces the Lord Chamberlain to allow women to disrobe on stage, provided they don't move a muscle (because, of course, "still life" nudity is perfectly acceptable).

And just like that, all's well again at The Windmill. Van Dammand his leading man, Bertie (Will Young), stumble across the beautiful Maureen (Kelly Reilly), who quickly becomes the pin-up of the theater. As London is bombed, Mrs. Henderson keeps her laides on the stage and soldier morale (among other things) up. When the buildings across the street are leveled in a truly unexpected turn of events, the movie's most touching (and perhaps most saccharine) moment comes as Mrs. Henderson stands before a motley group of Allied soldiers, vowing to keep The Windmill open and revealing a bit of the humanity inside her that's kept her going strong for so long.

Mrs. Henderson Presents is based on truth--there is a Windmill Theater, and there were naked women on its stage during the war. Beyond that, there were certainly liberties taken for the film's sake; the story flows splendidly, however, balancing the humor of the whole situation with the gravity of the realities of war. Dench, who can do no wrong on screen, sparkles as Mrs. Henderson, and while I'd be willing to say she deserves the Oscar next month, I won't put my money on it (the Academy can be finicky, after all). The chemistry on screen between she and Hoskins rivals that of Bogart and Bergman; Mrs. Henderson manages to go years without knowing van Damm has a wife, reacting jealously when she finally meets her. After the introduction, though, the love between them (that, admittedly, often borders on hate!) only strengthens on a platonic level, each being the foundation the other leans on, both where the theater is concerned and otherwise.

There's this wonderful trend popping up in movies these days, that of music playing an integral role in the film, almost as a character of its own. De-Lovely is one of my favorites of the last few years, and it was what I like most about Walk the Line. Presents does well with the music here, too, the mood of the music and shows setting time and place, standing center stage rather than getting lost under dialogue and action like run of the mill scores tend to do.

Mrs. Henderson Presents is funny, the crowd in the movie theater laughing along with the crowd in The Windmill. It is poignant, drawing just enough on the pasts of its characters to make them real, yet careful not to inundate and push an audience away with unnecessary backstories. And as the cast of Revudeville (van Damm's "ingenious" blend of Review and Vaudeville) sings us out of the show, it might take you a moment to remember you're not in 1945 London. And any movie that can transport like that in the span of two hours is all right by me.

Transamerica

2006-02-11T23:46:00.000-05:00

"My body may be a work in progress, but there's nothing wrong with my soul."

If the subject matter scares you away--a preoperative transsexual who meets her drug addicted, hustling son and drives across the country with him--it's the tone of the film--optimistic and inspiring--that will win you over. Transamerica, while grounded in content almost as controversial as Brokeback Mountain, is much more than a movie about a man who wants to be a woman. It embodies that elusive notion that all movies aspire to: its message is universal.

Sabrina Osborne (Felicity Huffman), nee Stanley, is one week away from her final sexual-reassignment surgery when one phone call turns her world on its side. A son she fathered (never thought I'd see that pronoun with that verb) seventeen years ago is in jail in New York, and before her therapist will submit the paperwork for her surgery, she insists Bree meets the teenager and come to terms with parenthood. Bree, unwilling to admit she's the father Toby (Kevin Zegers) daydreams about finding, poses as a missionary and bails her son out of jail for a buck. Toby is the Oscar to Bree's Felix in this unlikely Odd Couple, and the two have plenty of time to get on each other's nerves over the course of a drive from New York to Los Angeles. Bree is a stickler for grammar and dresses in layers; Toby snorts coke and wears the same pairs of jeans until they walk on their own.

Their drive to LA turns into a sort of comedy of errors; during one pit stop, Toby takes a look out the rearview mirror just in time to see Bree relieve herself...standing up. Freak out follows, but this news isn't nearly as shocking as the secret she's still keeping from him. Kindness to a stranger ends in their car being stolen, leaving them with nothing but the clothes on their backs. The two are forced to hitch a ride to Phoenix with Calvin Many Goats (Graham Greene), a soft-spoken Native American with a bit of a crush on Bree, and find their way to Bree's parent's house. It's here, when a vulnerable and confused Toby tries to kiss Bree, that the truth about the reality of their relationship comes out.

Huffman's performance--a woman acting as a man who wants nothing more than be a woman--is for female roles this year what Phillip Seymour Hoffman's performance was for male roles. Details like a scarf worn to cover what's supposed to be a protruding, obviously male Adam's apple and lipstick lined well outside the natural lips in an effort to make them more feminine keep an audience believing this character really is struggling to become something completely different. And Huffman has a solid grasp of both the stoicism of a man and the vulnerability of a woman, allowing just enough of each to be visible at appropriate times.

Likewise, Kevin Zegers delivers a stellar performance, holding his own opposite the soon to be Oscar winner. He masters that look of utter detachment most teenagers have perfected while leaving room for child-like daydreams of his father and his future as an actor. Toby's efforts to grow up too soon might be out of necessity, but his need for someone to depend on is just as pressing.

The thread running the length of Transamerica is acceptance--of oneself, the ones we love, the cards life deals us, and the results of the decisions we make. And the message behind the idea of acceptance is that everything really will be OK. In a genuine way, despite whatever abuse Toby's endured and whatever struggles Bree's overcome, the film reflects positively on the effect acceptance will ultimately have on our lives. Through moments so subtle you might have missed them, we're reminded what it is that really matters in life--the people who populate it. Transamerica is a welcome change from the dark, take-themselves-too-seriously films of the season; if you walked out of Syriana questioning the state of the world today, Transamerica will most certainly have the opposite effect on you, restoring a bit of faith in your fellow man, woman and man wanting to be a woman.

I don't know the breakdown of the requirements a film must meet to be considered a Truly Moving Picture by Heartland Film Festival, but all I could think of as Dolly Parton sang over the credits was how fitting this film would be for such an honor. This funny, inspiring and ultimately optimistic film is, as far as I'm concerned, truly a moving picture.

Batman Begins

2006-02-11T10:45:00.000-05:00

The latest installment in a relatively fragmented franchise, Batman Begins takes a new look at an old bat. We've seen Bruce Wayne in several incarnations (Michael Keaton, Val Kilmer, George Clooney) and watched him battle a slew of comic villains (Nicholson's Joker, DeVito's Penguin, Carey's Riddler, Schwarzenegger's Mr. Freeze). None have taken the approach writers Christopher Nolan (who also directed) and David Goyer chose for this version, one that searches for the motivation and inception of Wayne's alter ego. The result is one visually impressive, well-crafted film that lives up to the expectations an audience has for this particular superhero.

When a young Bruce Wayne (Christian Bale) witnesses his parents' murders, he rebels from the life of wealth and privilege he's inherited, finding himself immersed in a life among criminals. He lands in prison, finding a way out in the League of Shadows, a group of ninjas more cult than social club. Rebelling again, Wayne takes the strength and stealth he's learned back to Gotham, inspired now to rid the disintegrating city of the evil lurking in its dark alleys. Loyal butler Alfred (Michael Caine) and gadgets whiz Lucius Fox (Morgan Freeman) by his side, Wayne adapts a suit into the Batsuit, a tank into the Batmobile, and a bevy of otherwise mundane objects into a crime-fighting toolbelt. When one asks why he chose to use bats as his theme, as it were, Wayne responds that it's his fear of them that makes the symbol powerful.

Batman quickly realizes there's more than run of the mill muggings and drug deals going down in a city run by crime boss Carmine Falcone (Tom Wilkinson); off-balance psychiatrist Dr. Jonathan Crane (a surprisingly masculine Cillian Murphy) is planning on sending the city into mass chaos when, as the Scarecrow, he'll vaporize the city's water supply and drive everyone into a crazed panic. Childhood friend and current D.A. Rachel Dawes (Katie Holmes) and yet-to-be Commisioner Gordon (Gary Oldman) become his allies in the fight to save Gotham and, as all superhero stories do, Begins ends happily.

What the filmmakers get so right here is the backstory and motivation they provide for our protagonist. He's tormented by guilt over his parents' death; he doesn't seek vengance but justice; he's learning the ropes, adlibbing the life-saving gig as he goes. There's nothing believable in this story (it's a comic book, after all) but we buy into every minute of it. Wayne invites the who's who of Gotham over for a party, only to go off crime-fighting for the majority of it and find it crashed by an arch enemy when he returns. At the risk of alienating the Society of the city, he insults them into leaving, effectively saving all of their lives. He's a guy just trying to do right by the world, whatever ther personal cost.

The ensemble cast fits snugly into their roles much like the man slips into his black suit and cape. Freeman, Caine and Wilkinson bring an air of credibility to the creative script. Murphy's villain is both sinister and laughable; he allows Crane to grandstand his own evilness and gets us to question just how intimidating this guy with a mask could really be. And Christian Bale is perhaps the best Batman yet (though I do remember liking Val Kilmer in the role, too). He fought hard for the part (up against Murphy, in fact), and he does it justice in such an effortless way you'd think he never perspired a moment under that cape. The only blip on the cast radar is that of Katie Holmes, whose acting chops I've never been too impressed with. There was too much Joey Potter in Dawes's smirks, though maybe there's just too much Holmes in any role she plays. Regardless, she still manages to fit into the boys club, holding her own against so many names.

With all the other pieces in such perfect place, the action sequences became truly enjoyable. Special effects awe and intensity is high; the monorail fight scene at the end must have been impressive in all its bravado on the big screen. The whole movie, from the roar of the tank on steroids Batmobile to the sweeping shots of the sprawling Wayne Manor, would certainly be an experience in the theater. It's for movies like these that screens are two stories high and speakers carry more punch than a boxer on fight night. The whole film is dark and obscured by well-placed shadows, but it retains a crispness and clarity that the earlier films in the franchise lacked. Where the others were comically colorful and round around the edges, Begins is sharp, jagged and will cut you if you get to close.

I'm a girl who likes a cold beer, a good football game and even an action movie now and then. Make it an action movie with a coherent plot and characters with more depth than a puddle and I'm definitely in. I found my kind of action movie in Batman Begins (and it didn't hurt that Christian Bale looks pretty damn good in a Batsuit).

Walk The Line

2006-02-09T21:52:00.000-05:00

If the two hours and twenty minutes that make up Walk the Line could have been pared down to the forty-five or so that are spent singing the driving Cash tunes appropriate the the subject matter, we'd have a stellar film on our hands. As it stands, there's plenty of filler between musical scenes, chronicling Johnny Cash's (Joaquin Phoenix) rough childhood, adolescence, rise to fame, addictions and eventual sobriety and prosperity. While there are moments of clarity in the film, select scenes where performances shine, chemistry is tangible and camera shots are seemless, the film as a whole comes off less than stellar.

Laid out in a circular framework, the film begins at Folsom Prison, the site of Cash's famous concert for the inmates, the recording of which would become one of the best selling live albums ever. Flashback to little JR and his big brother Jack, picking cotton in Arkansas alongside his alcoholic father and music-loving mother, and we're at the beginning of a long road to stardom. I'm not sure how true to life the facts in the movie are, but this Johnny Cash goes off to Germany with the Air Force where he writes his first songs and keeps in touch with Vivian (Ginnifer Goodwin), the girl waiting for him back home. They marry and, with one daughter and another on the way, Cash lands an audition with producer Sam Phillips (Dallas Roberts). And here, over a half hour into the film, we get our first lucid moment. Cash and his bandmates churn out a gospel tune so stale Phillips doesn't let them finish. With one perfectly-worded pep talk, he gets the man in black (because it's the only color shirt all three men have) to perform one of his own songs.

In no time, Cash is on the road with Jerry Lee Lewis and June Carter (Reese Witherspoon), the darling of country music whom he's loved since his cotton pickin' days. Years of touring and success follow, as well as years of turmoil at home ("Cindy doesn't like mustard," Vivian snips at him when he offers to help make lunches for children he barely knows.) and a growing addiction to precription pills. Through it all, he's struggling with a father who, despite sobering up, remains impossible to please and a love for a woman he can't have. These two factors, were we left to believe the movie, seem to be the sole catalysts in Cash's spiral into physical and emotional ruin, eventually landing himself in jail after getting busted for buying pills illegally in Mexico. June is by his side through it all, her unique brand of tough love turning into exactly the kick in the pants he needs to get his act together. By the time we get back to the show at Folsom Prison, it's obvious there will be a happy ending to this rock 'n' roll tale.

Of the many elements that go into making a film spectacular, Line gets it right in only a couple places. Performances are excellent; Witherspoon and Phoenix deserve every nomination they've been granted this season. She is effervescent and powerful as the woman juggling a larger than life stage presence with motherhood, divorce and the stress of loving a man like Johnny Cash. He is solid and confident in an intimidating role, creating a layer of vulnerability in a man hard as steel. And the music! Filmmakers and actors alike made it no secret that they worked tirelessly to perfect their singing for the film, and their efforts paid off. For one who didn't grow up with his music, I was as riveted as the biggest fan, his "steady as a train, sharp as a razor" style captivating. And if Phoenix doesn't sound just like the man, I'm not a broke twenty-something with my own movie site.

It's also in these stage scene that director James Mangold gets it right, as well. For most of the film, shots are flat and nothing to take notice of. But on stage, the spotlights, footlights and backlights come together to create chemistry that's palpable. Cash's onstage proposal to Carter (which apparently really happened) is a beautiful scene, the picture of him lifting her in his arms perfect for the fairy tale moment.

When the Academy chose which films to recognize, they did right by Line. Its performances are genuine and worthy of praise (both Witherspoon and Phoenix are nominated for their work). But I'd have to agree with Oscar in their decision to leave the film off the Best Picture list. It was good, but not that good.

The Constant Gardener

2006-02-07T23:03:00.000-05:00

By the time the credits roll at the end of Fernando Meirelles's The Constant Gardener, the line that reads "Based on the novel by John le Carre" comes as a bit of a shock. Not because it's a well-kept secret, but because the film plays out so organically, so honestly, that a "Based on actual events" credit seems more fitting. From the documentary-like cinematography, complimented by the crisp beauty of the Kenyan landscape, to the intense performances from both Ralph Fiennes and Rachel Weisz, Gardener is a story that unfolds with perfect timing and precision.

The first half of Gardener is pieced together in fragmented scenes, bouncing back and forth between past and present like a tennis ball rocking between either side of the court. Tessa (Weisz), an outspoken young activist and wife of Justin (Fiennes), a mild British diplomat, has been murdered; Justin visits a shabby morgue to identify her body. Cut to the first time the two meet, at a lecture on diplomacy, then to their passionate courtship and her sincere request to travel to Africa with him. Back in the present, Justin hears that a close friend of his wife's, Arnold (Hubert Kounde), has been tortured and killed as well. Something in the murders isn't adding up and, taking a cue from his determined spouse, Justin starts looking for answers.

His search, aided by the flashes of past investigations by Tessa and Arnold, leads him into a labrynth of money, lies and murder fueled by huge pharmeceutical corporations looking to turn a buck. After a stay in a local hospital, Tessa believes she saw a young girl being murdered via drug testing; the manufacturers use these citizens of the Third World as human guinea pigs, indifferent to any adverse effects on "people who don't count anyways." The activist in her keeps Tessa from keeping quiet about what she saw, and the trail of clues she leaves her husband when she dies reveals a story so stark and heartless it's almost too believable.

Meirelles's choices in capturing the images on screen serve the story perfectly; the hand-held camera shots, jumpy and choppy and sometimes held by the characters themselves, is a rugged technique that reflects the rugged environment of Africa. His decision to jump between timeframes with little else than a clean cut between them is one that respects the audience's intelligence, rightly assuming that we'll follow the winding road to the answers Justin seeks. What one reviewer noted as "mucked-with cinematography" that "tires the eye long before the tale runs out of steam" (via filmfodder.com), I'd be more likely to call enthralling and vastly successful in creating a sense of urgency and intensity.

Performances in Gardener set the film apart as well, though I'm not as impressed with Rachel Weisz's performance as the Foreign Press or the Academy. More intriguing is the believability Ralph Fiennes lends to Justin, a character that grows so much from beginning to end that he's hardly recognizable. As he and Tessa leave the hospital, comfortable in their SUV, Tessa sees a young brother and sister who'd walked miles to seek care at the same hospital. She entreats Justin to give them a ride, but he places his wife's well being ahead of theirs, telling Tessa that there are millions of children needing help. "We could help them," she says, meaning the two walking. Later, up to his elbows in death threats and unanswered questions, Justin tries to save a young girl from a raid on her village. The pilot refuses to take her on board, following rules designed to keep aidworkers safe. Now it is Justin's turn, evoking Tessa's spirit, to entreat that they help this one child. This is, to this reviewer, the most poignant moment of the film, and Feinnes creates a man so in love with his wife and so determined to find answers, it's a wonder his performance isn't garnernig more attention from awards-givers.

There is a juxstaposition in The Constant Gardener that runs parallel to Justin's hunt for the truth throughout the entire film. Alongside the corruptness of greedy corporations and the secrets they're trying to hide are bold, beautiful images of sprawling countryside marked by thriving rivers, bustling cities and stark deserts. Among the deaths and mass graves are flocks of birds taking flight and children laughing. It's worth reminding ourselves that the story of Gardener is not based in fact. One can only hope that such atrocities are not really taking place in a country as diverse and breathtaking as the Kenya depicted here.

Match Point

2006-02-01T00:46:00.000-05:00

"Men think I may be something special." "Are you?" "No one's ever asked for their money back."

Oh, the tangled webs we weave. And oh, how curious the impact a little luck can have.

So that last one might not have been Scott, but both fit nicely into describing the latest from Woody Allen. Match Point, Allen's first film to be set outside of New York, is a gripping look at lust, greed, luck and the lengths one is willing to take in order to hold on to what they've got. In a plot as twisted as any Shakespearean drama, Allen creates characters too reprehensible to be believable but too recognizable to be forgotten.

Chris Wilton (Jonathan Rhys-Meyers), a semi-talented tennis player from the wrong side of Ireland's tracks, finds himself a teaching position at a posh London club. When Tom Hewett (Matthew Goode) turns up for lessons, the two quickly develop a friendship that just as quickly turns into a relationship between Chris and Tom's sister, Chloe (Emily Mortimer). Toss in an irresistable Nola Rice (Scarlett Johannson) and you've got a pretty foursome for double dates. Tom soon grows tired of Nola, perhaps influenced by his too-rich parents who don't want him ending up with a struggling American actress who's been around the block, but Chris is infatuated with her from the moment he meets her. Despite a blossoming relationship with Chloe (guided along by those too-rich parents of hers), Chris can't keep his lust for Nola under wraps, pursuing her even after he's married into money, privilege and class.

It isn't long after Chloe and Chris marry that his affair with Nola goes from passionate and insatiable to threatening and unstable to downright out of control. From here, there are too many sharp turns and jagged edges in the intricacies of the plot to give them away in some watered-down synopsis. Suffice it to say that no one in Allen's dark observance of human nature is left innocent by the end. Instead, this masterful writer/director takes the question of luck and lust to the hilt, forcing his characters to ask themselves just what price they're willing to pay to keep what they've worked so hard for. The answer from each is different, but there is no one who won't stoop to some level of manipulation and imorrality.

In Match Point, Allen has crafted each aspect of the film to perfection. Casting is spot-on, with the beauty of the subjects of the affair only intensifying the ultimate demise of one's conscience. Johannson's Nola easily exudes a sexuality irresistable to Rhys-Meyers' bored Wilton. Where the film starts out slow, so does the development of these two; Wilton is at first dull and even-tempered, quite a contrast to the actions and reactions he is capable of by the end of the film. And Nola, at first a defeated, self-conscious actress, eventually reveals more passion and poison than even her scorned lover expected she had in her. Mortimer's Chloe plays the stage wife seamlessly (albeit in the background); the future she desires is such because it's what she's expected to have, no matter how miserable it really makes her. Until the bitter end, she's determined to want what she's meant to want.

It's obvious, too, that each shot in the film was as meticulously places as each bit of dialogue. Though parts of the banter could have been trimmed in editing stages, the majority of words are essential and intriguing. And for each moment where it seemed to take too long to get to the next shot, there were three more perfectly timed, framed and delivered images drawing the audience in deeper. Without words, the passion and chemistry between Chris and Nola is palpable; without words, the formation and execution of a plan (and the resulting guilt) is painted painfully on Rhys-Meyers' face in each essential close up.

Standing back a few paces from the film, it would seem to be broken into three acts: the social climb, the loss of control and the actions and their aftermath. These three sections are so different in the taste each leaves, they would have spoiled in anyone else's less capable hands. With Allen's unmistakable eye for texture, passion and human behavior, though, Match Point is a tapestry woven so intricately it can only be seen to be believed. The web is tangled, to be certain; tangled into knots some might not see a way out of. But where there's luck, there's the chance that the ball just might land in your court.

The Nominees Are...

2006-01-31T08:40:00.000-05:00

It's Christmas in January for every little actor and actress, director and cinemetographer, make-up artist and composer. The Academy announced the nominees for the 78th Annual Oscars. What does this mean to you and me? Well, to you, probably not a hill of beans. To me? Let's just say I have a reason to get up every morning between now and March 5. My list of movies to see just got quite a bit longer, mainly because of the Academy's penchant for tossing movies into the running that you didn't expect to see there.

Or, for leaving a few out. The biggest shocker, in my humble opinion, is the omittence of Walk the Line in the Best Picture category. Of course Phoenix and Witherspoon nabbed noms in their respective acting categories, but the otherwise forgotten Munich took Johnny Cash's spot in the biggest category of them all. I can't say yet how I really feel about this, because I haven't seen either movie (which I'm working on!), but I can say it was the biggest surprise.

On the "good surprise" side of the coin, I beamed to see Jake Gyllenhaal included in the names for Best Supporting Actor. I think most award-giving organizations shunned him for his just-as-worthy role in Brokeback Mountain, and while Ledger's Best Actor nod was expected, props to the Academy for recognizing Gyllenhaal. And while we're on Brokeback, my heart (sort of) goes out to Anne Hathaway. She's the only one of the four not nominated for her role. But really, next to Michelle Williams (and with that hair!), what did she expect? She'll still get to go to the best party in Hollywood, she just won't be winning her own little man.

And my biggest coup in the the announcement? Catherine Keener definitely got a Supporting Actress nomination, as I had predicted she might way back when. Go me!

The writer in me was happy to see a few underdogs recognized in the Screenplay categories; the Academy divides nominees into Adapted and Original work. Adapted noms include the obvious Capote and Brokeback, but I didn't know Munich was adapted from something (I'll figure it out...). On the original side, I really hope it goes to the highly-underrated The Squid and The Whale, though after I see Match Point (tonight!!!) I might feel differently.

Once the big dogs are announced, bringing both the expected and the slightly less expected, one of the most enjoyable parts of the announcment of nominees is checking out the more obscure categories. You just never know what's going to pop up in Art Direction or Sound Mixing or the like. Some of the more notable? Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire can now call itself an Oscar Nominated film, along with Batman Begins, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and (now I think they're just running short on decent films) War of the Worlds. I guess it means little Dakota Fanning gets to play dress-up, and that's every little girl's dream (OK, it's mine and I'm jealous. Shoot me).

I digress...thanks to the Academy's variety of choices, I have an insane list of movies to see in the next 33 days. They include:

Batman Begins
Cinderella Man
The Constant Gardener
Darwin's Nightmare*
Don't Tell**
Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room*
A History of Violence
Hustle & Flow
Joyeux Noel**
Junebug
Match Point
Mrs. Henderson Presents
Munich
Murderball*
North Country
Paradise Now**
Sophie Scholl: The Final Days**
Street Fight*
TransAmerica
Tsotsi**
Walk The Line
War of the Worlds

*Documentaries: I'll do my best to fit these in, though the only one I could snag from Netflix was Murderball. I doubt the others will be coming to any theaters near me, but I'll keep an eye out.

**Foreign films: I'd love to see them, like the documentaries, before the awards, but they won't be at any Indy theaters between now and then and won't make DVD releases until after the show.

If you need me, I'm the one watching a movie.

Full list of nominees, after the jump.
Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences
78th Annual Academy Awards Nominations
PERFORMANCE BY AN ACTOR IN A LEADING ROLE
Philip Seymour Hoffman - CAPOTE
Terrence Howard - HUSTLE & FLOW
Heath Ledger - BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN
Joaquin Phoenix - WALK THE LINE
David Strathairn - GOOD NIGHT, AND GOOD LUCK.

PERFORMANCE BY AN ACTOR IN A SUPPORTING ROLE
George Clooney - SYRIANA
Matt Dillon - CRASH
Paul Giamatti - CINDERELLA MAN
Jake Gyllenhaal - BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN
William Hurt - A HISTORY OF VIOLENCE

PERFORMANCE BY AN ACTRESS IN A LEADING ROLE
Judi Dench - MRS. HENDERSON PRESENTS
Felicity Huffman - TRANSAMERICA
Keira Knightley - PRIDE & PREJUDICE
Charlize Theron - NORTH COUNTRY
Reese Witherspoon - WALK THE LINE

PERFORMANCE BY AN ACTRESS IN A SUPPORTING ROLE
Amy Adams - JUNEBUG
Catherine Keener - CAPOTE
Frances McDormand - NORTH COUNTRY
Rachel Weisz - THE CONSTANT GARDENER
Michelle Williams - BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN

BEST ANIMATED FEATURE FILM OF THE YEAR
HOWL'S MOVING CASTLE
TIM BURTON'S CORPSE BRIDE
WALLACE & GROMIT IN THE CURSE OF THE WERE-RABBIT

ACHIEVEMENT IN ART DIRECTION
GOOD NIGHT, AND GOOD LUCK.
HARRY POTTER AND THE GOBLET OF FIRE
KING KONG
MEMOIRS OF A GEISHA
PRIDE & PREJUDICE

ACHIEVEMENT IN CINEMATOGRAPHY
BATMAN BEGINS
BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN
GOOD NIGHT, AND GOOD LUCK.
MEMOIRS OF A GEISHA
THE NEW WORLD

ACHIEVEMENT IN COSTUME DESIGN
CHARLIE AND THE CHOCOLATE FACTORY
MEMOIRS OF A GEISHA
MRS. HENDERSON PRESENTSPRIDE & PREJUDICE
WALK THE LINE

ACHIEVEMENT IN DIRECTING
BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN
CAPOTE
CRASH
GOOD NIGHT, AND GOOD LUCK.
MUNICH

BEST DOCUMENTARY FEATURE
DARWIN'S NIGHTMARE
ENRON: THE SMARTEST GUYS IN THE ROOM
MARCH OF THE PENGUINS
MURDERBALL
STREET FIGHT

BEST DOCUMENTARY SHORT SUBJECT
THE DEATH OF KEVIN CARTER: CASUALTY OF THE BANG BANG CLUB
GOD SLEEPS IN RWANDA
THE MUSHROOM CLUB
A NOTE OF TRIUMPH: THE GOLDEN AGE OF NORMAN CORWIN

ACHIEVEMENT IN FILM EDITING
CINDERELLA MAN
THE CONSTANT GARDENER
CRASH
MUNICH
WALK THE LINE

BEST FOREIGN LANGUAGE FILM OF THE YEAR
DON'T TELL
JOYEUX NOèL
PARADISE NOW
SOPHIE SCHOLL - THE FINAL DAYS
TSOTSI

ACHIEVEMENT IN MAKEUP
THE CHRONICLES OF NARNIA: THE LION, THE WITCH AND THE WARDROBE
CINDERELLA MAN
STAR WARS: EPISODE III REVENGE OF THE SITH

ACHIEVEMENT IN MUSIC WRITTEN FOR MOTION PICTURES
(ORIGINAL SCORE)
BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN
THE CONSTANT GARDENER
MEMOIRS OF A GEISHA
MUNICH
PRIDE & PREJUDICE

ACHIEVEMENT IN MUSIC WRITTEN FOR MOTION PICTURES
(ORIGINAL SONG)
"In the Deep" - CRASH
"It's Hard Out Here for a Pimp" - HUSTLE & FLOW
"Travelin' Thru" - TRANSAMERICA

BEST MOTION PICTURE OF THE YEAR
BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN
CAPOTE
CRASH
GOOD NIGHT, AND GOOD LUCK.
MUNICH

BEST ANIMATED SHORT FILM
BADGERED
THE MOON AND THE SON: AN IMAGINED CONVERSATION
THE MYSTERIOUS GEOGRAPHIC EXPLORATIONS OF JASPER MORELLO
9
ONE MAN BAND

BEST LIVE ACTION SHORT FILM
AUSREISSER (THE RUNAWAY)
CASHBACK
THE LAST FARM
OUR TIME IS UP
SIX SHOOTER

ACHIEVEMENT IN SOUND EDITING
KING KONG
MEMOIRS OF A GEISHA
WAR OF THE WORLDS

ACHIEVEMENT IN SOUND MIXING
THE CHRONICLES OF NARNIA: THE LION, THE WITCH AND THE WARDROBE
KING KONG
MEMOIRS OF A GEISHA
WALK THE LINE
WAR OF THE WORLDS

ACHIEVEMENT IN VISUAL EFFECTS
THE CHRONICLES OF NARNIA: THE LION, THE WITCH AND THE WARDROBE
KING KONG
WAR OF THE WORLDS

ADAPTED SCREENPLAY
BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN
CAPOTE
THE CONSTANT GARDENER
A HISTORY OF VIOLENCE
MUNICH

ORIGINAL SCREENPLAY
CRASH
GOOD NIGHT, AND GOOD LUCK.
MATCH POINT
THE SQUID AND THE WHALE
SYRIANA

SAGs are Out, Oscar is In

2006-01-30T12:30:00.000-05:00

Last night, while I enjoyed my new Grey's Anatomy addiction on broadcast TV, the Screen Actor's Guild awards were passed out, the ceremony airing on TNT and TBS. I left it until this morning to find out who took home the honors, mainly because I fell asleep shortly after my show ended.

Turns out there were some obvious wins and expected oversights. Phillip Seymour Hoffman and Reese Witherspoon both took top Actor/Actress awards, and Rachel Weisz won again for her supporting role in The Constant Gardner. On the TV side, Outstanding Casts for drama and comedy fell to Lost and Desperate Housewives, respectively. No big shock there. Sandra Oh was rewarded again for her role on Grey's Anatomy (as she was at the Golden Globes), and I only wonder if her speech was as effervescent as it was at the Globes!

The biggest "shock" came down to the winner of Outstanding Cast in the movie category (these are actors we're talking about; they reward their own). Crash took home the award, beating out standards like Capote, Brokeback Mountain and Good Night & Good Luck. This isn't so shocking because Crash wasn't a good movie or something; rather, I think the film was one of the most underrated of 2005 and one with the best message. Instead, it's interesting because it's pointing to an all too unwanted trend for award nominantion (and personal) favorite Brokeback Mountain. Last night's awards sent another message to everyone involved in the film--as a whole, it's a masterpiece. Ang Lee won for his direction again, after all. But where the actual acting is concerned, Guilds, Presses, Circles and Academies are proving less and less impressed. Sure, Heath Ledger is getting nominated; his chances of winning the golden guy, though, are falling rapidly.

Which segues us nicely into the biggest news yet this award's season...OSCAR NOMINEES COME OUT TOMORROW!!!

I certainly don't plan on breaking the news on this site. I'll read them from IMDB or Cinematical or somewhere else. But I will post them here and I will see every movie up for an award in the main categories (maybe even the documentaries if I'm feeling especially motivated). And after I've seen all the films I want to see, I fully intend on posting my predictions up for public consumption. They might amount to diddly squat, but at least I can play along from home. After tomorrow's Hollywood version Christmas morning, it's only a matter of time until the best night in movies. Let the countdown begin!

Finally!

2006-01-26T08:26:00.000-05:00

It only took a month from its limited release, but Indy is finally getting Woody Allen's Match Point.

I'm positive that, as far as images on the screen goes, these two are the next Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie. Sheer beauty.

And I hear the plot's pretty good, too. I'm going on Saturday. I'll let you know.

Dancing in the Sun

2006-01-25T08:30:00.000-05:00

There's buzz all over the movie universe this week about Robert Redford's oh-so-popular baby, the Sundance Film Festival. The yearly bruhaha in Park City, Utah is the mecca of film festivals, premiering movies that otherwise wouldn't have a shot at big-time distribution. Last year, new it-boy Terrance Howard's Hustle & Flow sold for a hefty $9 million, a record at the festival.

I'm admittedly not as up to speed on my Sundance news as I'd like to be. Last year, I watched a handful of interviews and reports on E!, Bravo, IFC and yes, the Sundance channel; this year, I'm resigned to broadcast TV, leaving me to scrounge up what I can from other avenues.

Thank goodness for the internet!

The folks at Cinematical are doing a lovely job with the play-by-play, scoring interviews and even hosting video from Q&As for those of us nowhere near Park City. Not only are they collecting all the tidbits of gossip a movie-lover could want, but they're reviewing films, too. Imagine that! A list is accessible here.

My guilty pleasure Perez Hilton is in Utah for the festivities, though I'm sure he's missing the sun and fun of his LA stomping ground about now. Oh, who am I kidding? So far, he's met John Waters, chilled with his "cousin" Paris and scooped a pretty embarrassing story on former NSync-er and wannabe astronaut Lance Bass. He's having a ball!

The revered (at least as far as I'm concerned) Roger Ebert is soaking in as much film as he can, and has updates on his site daily. He's also put together a few photo albums, which are particularly fun because they're his own pics, not some paparazzo's that he's just reposting for your viewing pleasure. It's fun to think that this film-reviewing god is up there like I would be, snapping away every time someone even slightly famous is in the frame (although I'm sure he's got access to a few more VIP perks than I could ever dream of).

And finally, if you prefer your updates "from the horse's mouth," I suppose there's always the official Sundance website. They're posting videos and blogs about each day's events, including updates on ticket availability if you happen to find yourself in Utah in the next few days (the fest ends on teh 29th). If you won't be able to make it out there this weekend (like me), you can catch some of the featured shorts right from their site, no lines, schedules or tickets to worry about.

What does all this amount to for you and me? Well, I can't speak for you, but I'm seriously considering the idea of taking a trip to Utah next year. I know a family whose five daughters all went to BYU (one is still there, I believe) and I'd be willing to bet I could find a floor to crash on with her. The Festival website seems very visitor friendly, and just because Park City turns into a mini (and colder) Hollywood for the week doesn't mean your average Jane can't steal a seat to a few shows, too.

Now, all I have to do is find some way to have the trip covered for me. I've got a year to convince someone--independent, on-line magazine or regional, weekly newspaper or anywhere inbetween--to take me on as their official film (and film festival) correspondent. Applications welcome.

Movie Shortage

2006-01-21T09:24:00.000-05:00

For the dozen of you who stop by on a semi-regular basis to see what movies I've seen lately, I apologize. I haven't seen any recently. After my movie-watching blitz over the holidays, I'm both burned out on popcorn and big screens and devoid of any funds with which to return to the theaters. A new job has kept me busy these last couple of weeks as well, so I fully blame the fact that I have three unopened Netflix envelopes collecting dust on my DVD player on my hectic schedule as of late.

Those envelopes, by the way, contain Wedding Crashers, The United States of Leland and disc one of the third season of Six Feet Under. When I get to them, you'll know.

Till then, as Ebert would say, the balcony is closed.

Oozing Gold

2006-01-17T08:08:00.000-05:00

There were few surprises at last night's Golden Globes. Brokeback Mountain took top prizes for Best Drama, Director, and Screenplay, while Walk The Line dominated the Musical/Comedy genre, garnering Best Picture, Actor and Actress. Dramatic Actor and Actress were just as obvious: Phillip Seymour Hoffman for Capote and Felicity Huffman for Transamerica. The awards for television maintained the predictablity of the evening with Lost and Desperate Housewives winning in the TV Drama/Comedy categories, respectively. I was a little stunned by Mary Louise Parker's win for Best Actress (TV); she was up against four housewives and managed to pull off a win for a role in a basically-unknown show (Showtime's Weeds).

Despite my ability to forsee the winners, I enjoyed the show. There's something more relaxed about the Globes than the Oscars (maybe it's the table seating and endless champagne...). And since there aren't nearly as many awards given out by the Hollywood Foreign Press Association as the Academy, the winners get a chance to say their piece and the crowd stays more attentive.

My thoughts on the night? First, the awards, then the fashion.

Everyone's speeches were lovely, even the boring ones (I'm talking to you, Diana Ossana and Larry McMurtry of BM fame). Geena Davis (the little girl who didn't say, "Because of you, I want to be president") and Steve Carell (whose wife "wrote" his speech) got a genuine laugh. Sandra Oh's sincere shock ("I think I'm on fire!") was adorable and Ang Lee's thanks actually got me a little teary-eyed. First he acknowledged that sometimes making movies makes him overly critical of the movies he sees, then assured his colleagues that their movies this year renewed his faith. And when he dedicated the award to his dad (who was one of the first to tell him to do Brokeback, then passed away before he could see it finished), I dabbed at my eyes. Joaquin Phoenix's "Who'd have thought I'd win in the Musical/Comedy category" quip was pretty clever, too. Everybody loves somebody that can laugh at themselves.

As predictable as some awards were, they said a lot about this year's movies. As in, Walk the Line (which I know I still have to see) is great all around and Brokeback, though an impressive whole, doesn't have the strong performances necessary to get the kudos. I do wish Michelle Williams had won Best Supporting Actress over Rachel Weisz, but maybe I'll feel differently after I see The Constant Gardener. And as amazing as Heath Ledger was, Hoffman deserves every Best Actor award this year. No question.

And the fashion? Oh, this is the fun part!

Surprisingly, I wouldn't point to anyone who really messed up (think Bjork). Pam Anderson didn't look too hot, and I really didn't like Reese Witherspoon's look all that much. She looked like she was wearing chain-mail in all her close-ups. (And while I wasn't the only one who thought this, there were those who enjoyed her look. Guess that's what they mean by "free country.")Gwyneth Paltrow looked stunning in her belly-flattering empire waist, though I'd have taken off the sleeves and the ruffle around the neck. Anne Hathaway was by far the worst off; I think I wore that to my junior prom. The best dressed, in my opinion, is a tie between two young starlets: Scarlett Johannson and Kiera Knightly. The Housewives all looked lovely, and even Mariah Carey managed to look demure. Imagine that. Best dressed couple (because it's really hard for guys to mess up) had to be Heath Ledger and Michelle Williams. Gorgeous...and she just had a baby!

So if this was Hollywood's version of the Rose Bowl, I'm pumped for the Super Bowl. Save the date...March 5th!

Breakfast on Pluto

2006-01-16T22:29:00.000-05:00

Unwavering optimism and an unfailing sense of self are all you really need to get by. That is, it's enough for Patrick Braden (Cillian Murphy), or Kitten as she'd prefer you call her. His story, an odd road traveled in search of the mother that left him as an infant and sprinkled with one strange encounter after another, is draped over 1960s and '70s Ireland and London. All the visuals that are conjured in such a setting are present, from bell-bottoms and big hair to IRA marches and bombings. Kitten tells his own story, breaking it into cleverly titled chapters that fluidly move us from otherwise random incident to incident.

While he's still in school, Patrick's identity reveals itself, first when his conservative foster mother finds him wearing her daughter's dress and further when he convinces the headmaster to let him take the Irish equivalent of Home Ec to keep him out of trouble. Kitten smiles with girlish glee while affixing sequins and embroidered patches to his uniform sweater. These colorful, expressly unique, sometimes heartbreaking and dangerious events are the backbone of the journey. As a teenager, yearning for the parental love he was denied and searching for a group to belong to, he leaves for London in search of his mother, his only clue in that she looks like screen siren Mitzi Gaynor. Hitching a ride with a band on tour, Kitten and lead singer Billy Hatchet (Gavin Friday) fall in love, leading to a singing stint for Kitten and sidways glances from the rest of the band. Hatchet, storing arms for the IRA, puts Kitten in a few sticky situations; the stickiest, though, Kitten puts herself in. When she dumps the guns in a nearby lake, she almost gets herself killed.

Homeless and penniless in London, a chance encounter in a cafe leads to another showbiz gig, this time as magician Bertie's (Stephen Rea) assistant. In the midst of getting cut in half and being the target of thrown daggers, childhood friend Charlie (Ruth Negga) reappears in Kitten's life, pregnant and alone. By now Kitten is living daily as a woman and though there's a short scene where she finally tells Bertie, whom she fears is falling for her, what she really is, director Neil Jordan treats it masterfully. Bertie admits he's known all along and that's the end of it; there's still love, still friendship, still acceptance.

The chain of encounters is solidly present by the time Kitten happens to be at a nightclub when it's bombed. From the outside, Kitten's a woman; when the paramedics discover the truth, he somehow becomes the suspect in the bombing. The week-long interrogation that follows is one of those heartbreaking scenes to watch. First because the abusive detectives don't believe his innocence and then because Kitten, in his deep desire to be loved, must be dragged from the station, all the while offering to live in one of the cells and keep house for the detectives.

There are obviously more incidents than these; too many to recount in a simple review. At some point the message is received and the events in Kitten's unpredictable life become redundant, but that moment came late for me. Up until then, and even after, the sentiment in Kitten's simultaneous risky behavior and complete certainty in his decisions is to be admired. There's no mental war he's fighting with himself; he's as sure of who he is as it is hard to walk in the platforms he prefers. His certainty and optimism (Kitten questions the merit in being serious several times) is misunderstood by those in his world, leading to hurtful words and going so far as to incite violence. Jordan does well to remind us that their actions are out of confusion and an inability to express themselves otherwise rather than of hate and intolerance. It's as if we're to wonder what the world would be like if everyone could be as open about themselves as Kitten.

Murphy slides easily into Kitten, allowing her (or his; I've been struggling with that all along) to wholly consume his (Murphy's, that is) every mannerism and movement. He even manages to put a certain twinkle in his eye, as if reflecting all the good Kitten manages to see in the world through the rubble and desctruction she's constantly surrounded by. Liam Neeson, often guilty of turning in rather vanilla performances, plays Father Bernard, a compassionate priest (who happens to be Kitten's father) torn between his passions and his duties, surprisingly well. When the movie finally gets near resolution (Kitten and Charlie are back in Ireland, living with Father Bernard), Neeson finally gets emotional, revealing his true identity to Kitten.

Uniquely laid out, Breakfast on Pluto is a choppy, lengthy series of encounters and events that could have easily been bland and transparent given a different treatment. Instead, Jordan and his cast deliver a multi-layered, ultimately universal story of optimism, light-heartedness and acceptance.

Casanova

2006-01-08T10:14:00.000-05:00

One critic recently said something along the lines of "After proving his acting chops in Brokeback Mountain, Heath Ledger proves in Casanova that his earlier performance was no fluke."

What? Did we see the same movie? Or did you catch that special, we-promise-this-one's-good version??

Because what I saw was a poor mixture of insincere sentimentality, stale comedy and predictable, tired plot twists that, when none of them can hold their weight individually, add up to a shoddy whole. Sure, the costumes are pretty and the scenery (save the horrendous green-screen during the hot-air balloon scene) is nice to look at. Beyond that, Casanova is has about as much substance as a box full of bubblewrap.

I've never seen other movie versions of Casanova's story, though I'd be willing to bet they'd be better than this newest incarnation. Director Lasse Hallstrom's version starts far outside the story with an old man introducing us to the tale he's going to tell us. If your the sort of person for whom one movie set up isn't enough, you're in luck, because Hallstrom moves into a quick, ever-so-provincial look into Giacamo Casanova's (Ledger) childhood, specifically the incident where is actress mother abandons him, leaving him in his grandmother's care. In a forced moment of seriousness, his mother (Helen McCrory) tells her son she'll be back one day for him. (If you don't catch the forshadowing in this scene, you've got no business going to the movies.) Fast forward to the real "meat" of the story (finally!), Casanova's promiscuous days and a short montage of his conquests begging him for more as he runs from the Pope's inquisitors. An inexplicable friendship with the Doge of Venice (Notting Hill's Tim McInnerny) means his neck is saved this time, though the Doge insists he marry to save himself from further prosecution.

The rest of the plot is dedicated to his misguided pursuits for an engagement, complete with falling for the cross-dressing, absurdly-ahead-of-her-time upstart Francesca Bruni (Sienna Miller); assuming the identity of not one but two different people to deceive the other; and fighting off a half-dozen inquisitors as he makes his escape from the gallows. A case of mistaken identity can often lend a good dose of excitement to an otherwise quiet plot; in Casanova, however, all they do (because there are multiple) is bog down an already over-worked and over-tired story. Running just under two hours, there's an entire final scene that would have done better to stay on the editing room floor. It's painfully obvious that it only drags on so long in one last attempt to breathe life into the yawn that is the rest of the film.

I won't be so bold as to rip apart the existing plot without offering my (unsolicited) suggestions on how to improve upon it; I actually do have a few ideas. First of all, decide who's telling the story. Is it the old man (whose identity we learn at the end)? Then let's get more from his perspective (there can be that whole "So that's why he was so involved!" revelation when his identity is revealed). And as for Casanova himself? I would have been much more intrigued by a little more backstory (beyond the one they try to sell but no one's buying, that of a man looking to fill the hole in his heart left by his disappearing mum). Specifically, how did he go from being raised by his peasant grandmother to being friends with the Doge? Which women did he dupe into supporting him and how has he avoided their scorn when he moves on? And that whole "I am Woman!" idea that Bruni is pushing? It works for Gwyneth Paltrow's Viola De Lesseps in Shakespeare in Love, mainly because she's leading a personal revolution, not a gender-wide one. Burn your corsets?! I don't think my tongue could go far enough into my cheek to appreciate this, as I'm aware the filmmakers intend it to be a joke. It's just a bad one.

The single highlight of the film is that of the casting of Oliver Platt as Bruni's betrothed, lard-mogul Paprizzio. He is this generation's Oscar Levant and his comic timing in an otherwise off movie is perfect. Sienna Miller gives better perfomances to the paparazzi that flock to her (and in my opinion, should stay there and off the big screen) and Ledger, who obviously committed to Casanova long before he knew what the reception for Brokeback would be, would do better to let fiancee Michelle William's pick his scripts. As far as I can tell, the movies she makes might be small, but still of a better quality than this fodder.

Casanova might be worth renting, but even that is a big might. Ledger took a gamble doing two movies that would come out so close together. Sometimes it works (think the deluge of Jude Law in 2004) and sometimes it doesn't. Ledger lucks out, though; at least he's got Brokeback to keep his career afloat.

Glory Road

2006-01-07T15:20:00.000-05:00

Most of the time, by the time I see a movie it's been in theaters for a while. Maybe only a day or a week, but available for public consumption nevertheless. That's mainly because, unlike those who write up reviews as a career, I have to pay my own way into whichever movie I want to see. I don't have anything close to a press or VIP pass getting me into advanced screenings or premieres (not that there's many of those in Indy anyway).

When such a thing showed up in my mailbox, then, I knew I couldn't turn down the chace to see a new film a whole week before its nationwide release, much less get my impression of it out there for you before you head out to the theaters. As it happened, Heartland Film Festival (who has designated Glory Road as one of its Truly Movie Pictures.) partnered with the NCAA to show Glory Road, a new Disney release that "will do for basketball what Remember the Titans did for football." What exactly that is, I'm not so sure, though I'm assuming it's a good thing. Either way, I grabbed my pass and headed downtown to grab a seat to a free movie.

Glory Road is Titans-esque. It takes place in the sixties, it deals with racism on a sports backdrop, it's a formulaic underdog-makes-good story. And it's good at what it is. Very good.

In 1966, the Texas Western Miners were the first team to win the NCAA National Championship with an all-African American starting line-up. That's big, and judging by the feedback last night, it still is. Movie-worthy big? If it wasn't at first, writer Gregory Allen Howard, director James Gartner and producer Jerry Bruckheimer (two thirds of the team behind Titans) made sure it became one. Taking a handful of artistic liberties, Disney crafts the story of coach Don Haskins (Sweet Home Alabama's Josh Lucas) and the street-ball players he recruits and molds into a cohesive, championship whole into what will likely turn into a family classic and staple on "Best Sports Movies" lists.

The story is as saccharine as would be expected from a Disney flick. The plot can't go ten minutes without an "intense" moment, hearalded by a swell in the score and an actor's brow furrowed in seriousness. In fact, within the first half hour, we've already been treated to more than one pep talk by tough-loving Haskins. There are the requisite funny moments, too, amplified at this screening by a theater (as in stage theater, complete with balcony) without a single open seat. The large crowd laughed, on cue, when assistant coach Moe Iba (Evan Jones) loses his suit (literally) to a gang of rowdy street players he'd been sent to recruit and when player Harry Flournoy's (Mehcad Brooks) mom crashes his college partying to follow him to class and make sure he's taking his studies seriously. These predictable story elements (not the least of which is the ever-present underdog theme) coupled with a catchy, golden-oldies soundtrack add up to a glossy, fluffy picture of 1960s America.

The movie could have easily gotten pulled under by the weight of such an over-done plotline, especially if this cast of first-timers hadn't lived up to their end of the bargain; that is, had the cast sucked. I'm happy to report, however, that they don't. In fact, save more over-delivered lines than I can throw a basketball at, the actors do well with their one-liners, their player-to-player banter and even their more serious moments. Where as movies like Center Stage cast dancers they hope can act (and therefore actors we'll never hear from again), Glory Road smartly casts actors who they know can play ball. Lucas, as well, must have wanted to be a basketball coach in another life. He easily inhabits that rough, mind-only-on-the-game facade, masterfully throwing his stack of notes on the floor in disgust and keeping his team rallied when racial tensions and attacks threaten to undo them. And though it's a small role, Jon Voight (as University of Kentucky head coach Adolph Rupp) leaves the same indelible mark on the screen as Judi Dench did in Shakespeare in Love (the small role that won her an Oscar). Despite wearing a prosthetic nose (and ears as well) and adopting a sqeaky southern drawl, there's no questioning the fire in those piercing eyes and the presence of this true screen giant. Just his appearance on screen lends a credibility to this underdog of a movie that the whole cast combined couldn't do.

I have a friend who, no matter how comfortable a theater's seats are or how good the movie is, spends entire viewings watching with her elbows on her knees. Looking at her, you'd think she's watching the best movie ever made, on the edge of her seat in such a way that it's as if she can't peel herself from the screen. I, on the other hand, am not often moved to the edge of my seat nor are my elbows ever drawn to my knees. Maybe it was the stiff backs of these theater seats, but during the final game I found myself leaning into the row in front of mine. To the filmmaker's credit, that final scene is lean-enducing and, though we all know how it ends, it's well-shot and the definition of dramatic.

Glory Road is no Munich. It's no Syriana, and it's definitely no Capote. It won't be up for any awards come March (well, maybe soundtrack or something else mundane). But it isn't supposed to be a Spielberg masterpiece or George Clooney mouthpiece. It's supposed to make you feel good, supposed to remind you what can be accomplished with a little sweat and a lot of heart. And with that in mind, it does so beautifully.

Melinda and Melinda

2006-01-05T21:10:00.000-05:00

There's no doubt that, love them or hate them, Woody Allen's movies are an experience. Two words: Annie Hall. And do I have to tell you again how incredibly impatient I'm getting waiting for Match Point to make its way to Indianpolis? It's starting to get painful.

Probably as an unconscious way to tide myself over until then, I recently asked Netflix to send me Melinda and Melinda (Dear Netflix,...), Allen's last film to hit theaters. I don't know why I didn't catch this one while it was out; that might have been back in my pre-movie addiction days. I only wonder because, after watching it in the comfort of my own living room, I would have liked to see this one in the theater. Not because of the stunning special effects and booming surround sound...this is Woody Allen we're talking about, not Peter Jackson. Instead, it would have been nice to see this unique take on storytelling as it was meant to be told, on a larger-than-life screen.

Allen's concept is fresh, however simplistic. Every movie with a story worth telling is a movie that asks its audience a question. While some would say the art of moviemaking is in the subtlety with which that question is asked (and I would agree), there's obviously something to be said for asking that question outright, turning the asking into the plot itself.

The setup is more John Favreau's Dinner for Five than run-of-the-mill movie exposition. We're at dinner with four friends, two of whom we quickly find out are playwrights (how bohemian!). One (Wallace Shawn) sees life through the eyes of comedy, while the other (Larry Pine) prefers the tragic mask. Both believe their view is the best grasp of the reality they write about. Their guest, then, offers a challenge, thus setting up the movie that's about to unfold. He plainly asks the question: are the stories we tell ultimately clouded by how we choose to see the world? To expound, he offers details of a story he'd heard recently, just enough to get our playwrights thinking. What follows is perhaps the most frank, yet entertaining, look at how our perspectives can change our attitudes.

There are three stories within Melinda and Melinda--the one of the playwrights and friends at dinner, the comedic take on Melinda's story, and the tragic take on the same series of events. In the comic, an amiable, talkative Melinda crashes her upstairs neighbor's (Will Ferrell and Amanda Peet) dinner party and a funny, light romantic comedy follows. In the tragic, a strung-out, broken Melinda appears unannounced at her childhood friend's (Chloe Sevigny) loft during a dinner party and a twisted, yet still manageably light, tale of love and lust unfolds. It gets tricky to follow the two simultaneous plots, if only because shifting from tragic to comic and back again without warning can get tiring.

The real kudos should go to (besides Allen) Rhada Mitchell as Melinda. The two characters could not be farther apart on frame of mind and personality. This basically unknown, however, pulls off the duality effortlessly, making the chasm between the two sides of the story that much wider. The rest of the cast rounds out their respective tales beautifully. I'm continually impressed by Will Ferrell and I haven't even seen Anchorman. Amanda Peet and Chloe Sevigny are probably the only other names you'd recognize, though a cameo by Steve Carell is welcome, albeit unexpected.

The movie as a whole proves entertaining fare; there's nothing stellar about either story, nothing gripping or life-changing. But then, neither story is really the point of the movie. The dialogue is choppy and better suited for the stage (though I'm guessing that's an intentional choice); the relationships in both the comic and tragic are stale and forced. I never really buy the idea that Melinda falls for cooky Hobie (Ferrell) or that uptight Laurel (Sevigny) gives in to an affair with Melinda's boyfriend (Chiwetel Ejiofor). But unlike Annie Hall and Match Point, it's not the relationships Allen wants us to buy into. He's more concerned with making a point here on the influence our own frame of mind has on the stories well not only hear, but tell as well.

A friend admitted she had more trouble getting into the tragic Melinda than the comic one, but subsequently admitted that she finds her sense of humor infecting her entire outlook, not just her take on movies. She was drawn to the light-hearted side of the story; she related to it better. I wouldn't say that there was one story I found myself attached to more than the other. Instead, I watched the credits play out and could only manage an intrigued "Huh," the kind that says "interesting" more than "What just happened?" Because, though Allen's approach is more straightforward than I usually pefer, the idea of "In the eye of the beholder" is expressed in a unique and ultimately amusing way.

It's the most Wonderful time of year!

2006-01-05T12:02:00.000-05:00

No, it's not Christmas. I'm aware that it's January, thank you.

We're talking Awards Season, lovelies. That beautiful time of year when red carpets line every sidewalk in Hollywood and every somebody comes out dressed to the nines for the opening of an envelope (or two or ten!).

I've already posted the Golden Globe nominees and expressed my confusion at how they can predict Oscar nominations. Now, I've got the Screen Actor's Guild Award nominees to share with you (in case you turn to little ol' me for breaking news!). You'll note that Brokeback Mountain takes the cake in nominations (and even Michelle Williams took one, just like I predicted!) and that Phillip Seymour Hoffman is up for Best Actor. These awards, unlike the Globes, are decent predictors of what might come when the Academy announces nominees at the end of the month. You see, everyone who's in the Screen Actor's Guild (the group voting on these awards) is most likely a member of the Academy (voting on the Oscars, too). So save some covert campaigning by some of the underdogs, it's usually the case that those winning at SAG will win with Oscar.

See for yourself (oh, and their "ensemble" awards are basically the "Best Picture" award, just under a different name):
12TH ANNUAL SCREEN ACTORS GUILD AWARDS® NOMINATIONS

THEATRICAL MOTION PICTURES

Outstanding Performance by a Male Actor in a Leading Role
Russell Crowe / CINDERELLA MAN – Jim Braddock (Universal Pictures)
Philip Seymour Hoffman / CAPOTE – Truman Capote (UA/Sony Pictures Classics)
Heath Ledger / BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN – Ennis Del Mar (Focus Features)
Joaquin Phoenix / WALK THE LINE – John R. Cash (20th Century Fox)
David Strathairn / GOOD NIGHT, AND GOOD LUCK. – Edward R. Murrow (Warner Independent Pictures)

Outstanding Performance by a Female Actor in a Leading Role
Judi Dench / MRS. HENDERSON PRESENTS – Mrs. Laura Henderson (The Weinstein Company)
Felicity Huffman / TRANSAMERICA – Bree (The Weinstein Company)
Charlize Theron / NORTH COUNTRY – Josey Aimes (Warner Bros.)
Reese Witherspoon / WALK THE LINE – June Carter (20th Century Fox)
Ziyi Zhang / MEMOIRS OF A GEISHA – Sayuri (Sony Pictures Entertainment)

Outstanding Performance by a Male Actor in a Supporting Role
Don Cheadle / CRASH – Graham (Lions Gate Films)
George Clooney / SYRIANA – Bob Barnes (Warner Bros.)
Matt Dillon / CRASH – Officer Ryan (Lions Gate Films)
Paul Giamatti / CINDERELLA MAN – Joe Gould (Universal Pictures)
Jake Gyllenhaal / BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN – Jack Twist (Focus Features)

Outstanding Performance by a Female Actor in a Supporting Role
Amy Adams / JUNEBUG – Ashley (Sony Pictures Classics)
Catherine Keener/ CAPOTE – Nelle Harper Lee (UA/Sony Pictures Classics)
Frances McDormand / North Country – Glory (Warner Bros.)
Rachel Weisz / THE CONSTANT GARDENER – Tessa Quayle (Focus Features)
Michelle Williams / BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN – Alma (Focus Features)

Outstanding Performance by a Cast in a Motion Picture

BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN (Focus Features)
Linda Cardellini - Cassie
Anna Faris - Lashawn Malone
Jake Gyllenhaal - Jack Twist
Anne Hathaway - Lureen Phillips
Heath Ledger - Ennis Del Mar
Randy Quaid - Joe Aguirre
Michelle Williams - Alma

CAPOTE (UA/Sony Pictures Classics)
Bob Balaban - William Shawn
Clifton Collins, Jr. - Perry Smith
Chris Cooper - Alvin Dewey
Bruce Greenwood - Jack Dunphy
Philip Seymour Hoffman - Truman Capote
Catherine Keener - Nelle Harper Lee
Mark Pellegrino - Dick Hickock

CRASH (Lions Gate Films)
Chris “Ludacris” Bridges - Anthony
Sandra Bullock - Jean Cabot
Don Cheadle - Graham
Matt Dillon - Officer Ryan
Jennifer Esposito - Ria
Brendan Fraser - Rick Cabot
Terrence Howard - Cameron Thayer
Thandie Newton - Christine Thayer
Ryan Phillippe - Thomas Hansen
Larenz Tate - Peter

GOOD NIGHT, AND GOOD LUCK. (Warner Independent Pictures)
Rose Abdoo - Millie Lerner
Alex Borstein - Natalie
Robert John Burke - Charlie Mack
Patricia Clarkson - Shirley Wershba
George Clooney - Fred Friendly
Jeff Daniels - Sig Mickelson
Reed Diamond - John Aaron
Tate Donovan - Jesse Zousmer
Robert Downey, Jr. - Joe Wershba
Grant Heslov - Don Hewitt
Peter Jacobson - Jimmy
Frank Langella - William Paley
Tom McCarthy - Palmer Williams
Diane Reeves - Jazz Singer
Matt Ross - Eddie Scott
David Strathairn - Edward R. Murrow
Ray Wise - Don Hollenbeck

HUSTLE & FLOW (Paramount Classics)
Anthony Anderson - Key
Chris “Ludacris” Bridges - Skinny Black
Isaac Hayes - Arnel
Taraji P. Henson - Shug
Terrence Howard -DJay
Taryn Manning - Nola
Elise Neal - Yevette
Paula Jai Parker - Lexus
D.J. Qualls - Shelby

PRIMETIME TELEVISION

Outstanding Performance by a Male Actor in a Television Movie or Miniseries
Kenneth Branagh / WARM SPRINGS – Franklin Delano Roosevelt (HBO)
Ted Danson / KNIGHTS OF THE SOUTH BRONX – David MacEnulty (A&E)
Ed Harris / EMPIRE FALLS – Miles Roby (HBO)
Paul Newman / EMPIRE FALLS – Max Roby (HBO)
Christopher Plummer / OUR FATHERS – Cardinal Bernard Law (Showtime)

Outstanding Performance by a Female Actor in a Television Movie or Miniseries
Tonantzin Carmelo / INTO THE WEST – Thunder Heart Woman (TNT)
S. Epatha Merkerson / LACKAWANNA BLUES – Rachel “Nanny” Crosby (HBO)
Cynthia Nixon / WARM SPRINGS – Eleanor Roosevelt (HBO)
Joanne Woodward / EMPIRE FALLS – Francine Whiting (HBO)
Robin Wright Penn / EMPIRE FALLS – Grace Roby (HBO)

Outstanding Performance by a Male Actor in a Drama Series
Alan Alda / THE WEST WING – Arnold Vinick (NBC)
Patrick Dempsey / GREY’S ANATOMY – Dr. Derek Shepherd (ABC)
Hugh Laurie / HOUSE – Dr. Gregory House (FOX)
Ian McShane / DEADWOOD – Al Swearengen (HBO)
Kiefer Sutherland / 24 – Jack Bauer (FOX)

Outstanding Performance by a Female Actor in a Drama Series
Patricia Arquette / MEDIUM – Allison Dubois (NBC)
Geena Davis / COMMANDER IN CHIEF – Mackenzie Allen (ABC)
Mariska Hargitay / LAW & ORDER: SPECIAL VICTIMS UNIT – Det. Olivia Benson (NBC)
Sandra Oh / GREY’S ANATOMY – Dr. Cristina Yang (ABC)
Kyra Sedgwick / THE CLOSER – Deputy Chief Brenda Leigh Johnson (TNT)

Outstanding Performance by a Male Actor in a Comedy Series
Larry David / CURB YOUR ENTHUSIASM – Himself (HBO)
Sean Hayes / WILL & GRACE – Jack McFarland (NBC)
Jason Lee / MY NAME IS EARL – Earl Hickey (NBC)
William Shatner / BOSTON LEGAL – Denny Crane (ABC)
James Spader / BOSTON LEGAL – Alan Shore (ABC)

Outstanding Performance by a Female Actor in a Comedy Series
Candice Bergen / BOSTON LEGAL – Shirley Schmidt (ABC)
Patricia Heaton / EVERYBODY LOVES RAYMOND – Debra Barone (CBS)
Felicity Huffman / DESPERATE HOUSEWIVES – Lynette Scavo (ABC)
Megan Mullally / WILL & GRACE – Karen Walker (NBC)
Mary-Louise Parker / WEEDS – Nancy Botwin (Showtime)

Outstanding Performance by an Ensemble in a Drama Series

THE CLOSER (TNT)
G.W. Bailey Det. - Lt. Provenza
Tony Denison - Det. Andy Flynn
Robert Gossett - Captain Taylor
Corey Reynolds - Sgt. David Gabriel
Kyra Sedgwick - Dep. Chief Brenda Leigh Johnson
J.K. Simmons - Asst. Chief Will Pope
Jon Tenney - FBI Agent Fritz Howard

GREY’S ANATOMY (ABC)
Justin Chambers - Alex Karev
Patrick Dempsey - Derek Shepherd
Katherine Heigl - Isobel “Izzie” Stevens
T.R. Knight - George O’Malley
Sandra Oh - Cristina Yang
James Pickens, Jr. - Richard Webber
Ellen Pompeo - Meredith Grey
Kate Walsh - Addison Forbes Montgomery Shepherd
Isaiah Washington - Preston Burke
Chandra Wilson - Miranda Bailey

LOST (ABC)
Adewale Akinnuoye-Agbaje - Mr. Eko
Naveen Andrews - Sayid
Emilie de Ravin - Claire
Matthew Fox - Jack
Jorge Garcia - Hurley
Maggie Grace - Shannon
Josh Holloway - Sawyer
Malcolm David - Kelley Walt
Daniel Dae Kim - Jin
Yunjin Kim - Sun
Evangeline Lilly - Kate
Dominic Monaghan - Charlie
Terry O’Quinn - Locke
Harold Perrineau - Michael
Michelle Rodriguez - Ana Lucia
Ian Somerhalder - Boone
Cynthia Watros - Libby

SIX FEET UNDER (HBO)
Lauren Ambrose - Claire Fisher
Joanna Cassidy - Margaret Chenowith
Frances Conroy - Ruth Fisher
James Cromwell - George Sibley
Rachel Griffiths - Brenda Chenowith
Michael C. Hall - David Fisher
Tina Holmes - Maggie Sibley
Peter Krause - Nate Fisher
Justina Machado - Vanessa Diaz
Freddy Rodriguez - Federico Diaz
Jeremy Sisto - Billy Chenowith
Mathew St. Patrick - Keith Charles

THE WEST WING (NBC)
Alan Alda - Arnold Vinick
Kristin Chenoweth - Annabeth Schott
Janeane Garofalo - Louise Thornton
Dulé Hill - Charlie Young
Allison Janney - C.J. Cregg
Joshua Malina - Will Bailey
Mary McCormack - Kate Harper
Janel Moloney - Donna Moss
Teri Polo - Helen Santos
Richard Schiff - Toby Ziegler
Martin Sheen - Josiah Bartlet
Jimmy Smits - Matthew Santos
John Spencer - Leo McGarry
Bradley Whitford - Josh Lyman

Outstanding Performance by an Ensemble in a Comedy Series

ARRESTED DEVELOPMENT (FOX)
Will Arnett - Gob Bluth
Jason Bateman - Michael Bluth
Michael Cera - George-Michael Bluth
David Cross - Tobias Fünke
Portia de Rossi - Lindsay Bluth Fünke
Tony Hale - Buster Bluth
Alia Shawkat - Maeby Fünke
Jeffrey Tambor - George Bluth, Sr./Oscar Bluth
Jessica Walter - Lucille Bluth

BOSTON LEGAL (ABC)
Rene Auberjonois - Paul Lewiston
Ryan Michelle Bathe - Sara Holt
Candice Bergen - Shirley Schmidt
Julie Bowen - Denise Bauer
Justin Mentelli - Garrett Wells
Rhona Mitra - Tara Wilson
Monica Potter - Lori Colson
William Shatner - Denny Crane
James Spader - Alan Shore
Mark Valley - Brad Chase

CURB YOUR ENTHUSIASM (HBO)
Shelley Berman - Nat David
Larry David - Himself
Susie Essman - Susie Greene
Jeff Garlin - Jeff Greene
Cheryl Hines - Cheryl David
Richard Lewis - Himself

DESPERATE HOUSEWIVES (ABC)
Roger Bart - George Williams
Andrea Bowen - Julie Mayer
Mehcad Brooks - Matthew Applewhite
Ricardo Antonio Chavira - Carlos Solis
Marcia Cross - Bree Van De Kamp
Steven Culp - Rex Van De Kamp
James Denton - Mike Delfino
Teri Hatcher - Susan Mayer
Felicity Huffman - Lynette Scavo
Brent Kinsman - Preston Scavo
Shane Kinsman - Porter Scavo
Eva Longoria - Gabrielle Solis
Mark Moses - Paul Young
Doug Savant - Tom Scavo
Nicollette Sheridan - Edie Britt
Brenda Strong - Mary Alice Young
Alfre Woodard - Betty Applewhite

EVERYBODY LOVES RAYMOND (CBS)
Peter Boyle - Frank Barone
Brad Garrett - Robert Barone
Patricia Heaton - Debra Barone
Monica Horan - Amy McDougal-Barone
Doris Roberts - Marie Barone
Ray Romano - Raymond Barone
Madlyn Sweeten - Ally Barone

MY NAME IS EARL (NBC)
Jason Lee - Earl Hickey
Jaime Pressly - Joy Darville
Eddie Steeples - Darnell
Ethan Suplee - Randy Hickey
Nadine Velazquez - Catalina

Screen Actors Guild Awards 42st Annual Life Achievement Award
Shirley Temple Black

Works for me

2006-01-04T17:34:00.000-05:00

The Movie Of Your Life Is An Indie Flick

You do things your own way - and it's made for colorful times.
Your life hasn't turned out how anyone expected, thank goodness!

Your best movie matches: Clerks, Garden State, Napoleon Dynamite

If Your Life Was a Movie, What Genre Would It Be?

Brokeback Mountain

2006-01-02T22:54:00.000-05:00

Like every other movie out there, Brokeback Mountain originated in the imagination of one very talented writer; in this case, it was Annie Proulx. The story is barely twenty pages and is found at the end of a collection of other short tales, stories just as worthy as this seemingly provocative one. I haven't got the back story on how a script evolved from the story or how it ended up in Ang Lee's worthy hands, but it did. And the rest, as they say, is cinematic history.

Dubbed "The Gay Cowboy Movie" by anyone even remotely related to the movie industry and not the slightest bit familiar with the story, Brokeback Mountain follows Jack Twist (Jake Gyllenhaal) and Ennis Del Mar (Heath Ledger), two cowboys who happen to show up looking for work on the same sheep ranch. Sent to the mountain that gives the movie its title, the two spend days herding a thousand sheep from one side of the mountain to the other. At night, Twist heads up the mountain to sleep in a pup tent, keeping coyotes away from the herd, while Del Mar keeps the real camp a few miles away in tact.

Before I go any farther with my take on the film, it would be worth noting that unlike Memoirs or Harry Potter, where writers struggled to fit a full-length novel into two hours or so, Brokeback is so short that every last detail has been transplanted from the page to the screen; it's the perfect length from which to create a feature-length film. And having read the story already (and anticipating this film for the last four months), I was looking for each little moment, each telling detail. I can happily report that they were all present; even the majority of the dialogue is kept verbatim.

Once I could relax about the treatment of what is ultimately an undeniably touching love story, I was able to soak up the stellar performances, the breathtaking scenery and the pulsing energy of seeing a movie in a packed theater (because I didn't expect it to be as full as it was at 8 o'clock on a Monday night).

Jack and Ennis, with as much in common as not, find themselves opening up to each other during their long days herding. After a night of drinking, Ennis (who's since taken Jack's place) can't make his way back up to the sheep. That night, in a surge of lust, confusion and undeniable passion, the two fall into each other and cross from a growing friendship into insatiable lovers. Over the next twenty years, through marraige, children, divorce and countless jobs, they keep up an affair under the guise of being fishing buddies, seeing each other a few times a year.

What I can't express in this post is the humanity of this story, the complete universality of its message. It'd be best to read it for yourself to get that. What's important about this film, and what everyone is so stunned to realize as the movie unfolds, is that Brokeback is not a "gay" movie. It's not a political commentary on the state of the world (like the vocal "Syriana" or "Good Night and Good Luck"). Instead, Brokeback is a study in characters, emotions and choices made over the course of our lives. It is unassuming and quiet, letting a love story unfold over a lifetime of lost chances and hidden desires. We see more into Ennis's life than we do Jack's--the demise of his marraige, his struggle to lead an "acceptable" life, the loneliness in the final scene--though Jack is faced with issues of his own, an overbearing father-in-law and disengaged wife among them.

The cast all turn in noteworthy performances; Ledger impresses with a depth you wouldn't have thought possible from his past roles, Gyllenhaal's innocent face plays to his advantage in the obvious longing Jack has for Ennis and the life they could have together. The women shine as well, though Michelle Williams (as Alma, Ennis's wife) does so much brighter than Anne Hathaway (as Laureen, Jack's wife). Alma sees the two men in an embrace when Jack reappears in Ennis's life four years after their summer on Brokeback. The heartbreak on her face as she realizes what she's seeing is that sort of genuine that makes you forget she's acting. There's buzz about an Oscar nod for Ledger and while I think it'd be a nice gesture (though Phillip Seymour Hoffman is going to win!), I'd much more appreciate a Supporting Actress nomination for Williams.

There's been so much talk about this film (see here, and here, and here, and here, and here, and...here, too) that I don't think anything I can say would be new or different. I believe, though, that Brokeback, in whatever ground-breaking it's going to do where movies are concerned, really isn't such an outrageous story at all. Everyone's been in love, and probably in a love they shouldn't have been involved in, no matter how strongly pulled to the other person. That it's been played out between two men, in the 60s and on a mountain only make for a prettier story than yours or mine would be.

The Producers

2006-01-01T17:53:00.000-05:00

Everything that Rent did wrong in it's transition to the screen, The Producers did wonderfully right. That might be because, unlike Rent, this version of The Producers was adapted from a stage show that was adapted from a movie. Maybe it was this extra footing that gave director Susan Stroman the confidence to create a fun, funny, true-to-the-stage-show production. Maybe it was because the people behind The Producers didn't wait ten years to make the film, then try to use a geriatric Matthew Broderick and Nathan Lane (I'm sorry, but I know Rosario Dawson isn't anywhere near Mimi's 19). Whatever it was, the crew behind the newest version of The Producers hit the proverbial nail on the head with this one.
Mel Brooks's story of Broadway's odd couple--coniving, slimy Max Bialystock (Lane) and timid, straight-laced Leo Bloom (Broderick)--is a two-hour romp in cheesy jokes and predictable plot, but is so far from taking itself seriously that it might even get a smile out of George Clooney. Accountant Bloom shows up at producer Bialystock's dank office to check his books; while Max bemoans his latest flop, Leo discovers that, "under the right circumstances," a producer could make more money on a show that tanks than one that's a hit. After a little coaxing (and the first of many show-stopping numbers), Leo's convinced that he too can be a producer; he and Max set out to find the worst script, the worst director and the worst cast in New York. The show, an ode to Hitler written by a goofy, lederhosen-clad Franz Liebkind (Will Ferrell), turns out to be a smash, landing the two producers in Sing Sing when the IRS finds their cooked books. Brooks's story wouldn't be a Brooks story and end sourly, though, so after another handful of songs, Leo and Bloom are back on Broadway and as the curtains close...or rather, the credits role...they're the hottest producers on the Great White Way.

The Producers is silly. It's predictable. And it's packed with a laugh in every shot, from the seemingly permanent furrow of Lane's brow to the little old ladies dancing with their walkers to Swedish beauty Ulla (Uma Thurman) mezmerizing Leo with her swaying hips and "That face." Chuckles, chortles and outright belly laughs are milked out of every possible moment. And to a degree, this is one of the film's weaknesses. When on stage, even if the leads weren't Lane and Broderick, the cast could hear the reaction to their antics. They knew which looks worked and which didn't and knew where to throw in more and where to play it down. Bloom has an attachment to a swatch of his childhood blanket; on stage, the calming effects of Blankie were played to the hilt, drawn out as long as someone was still laughing. On screen there's an obvious dimension lost. Those thirty-foot-tall heads can't hear whether you're laughing or not. In fact, I early on wished there'd been a sitcom-esque laughtrack added; I felt bad that the actors couldn't tell that people enjoyed their performances.

And what spot-on performances they were. While Gene Wilder (of the original version) is a comic genius unto himself, I don't think I've seen a movie as perfectly cast as this one in ages (except perhaps, on the far end of the genre spectrum, Capote). After creating the roles of Bloom and Bialystock on Broadway, every man who filled either role on tour played merely an imitation of either Broderick or Lane, trying hard to capture their perfection. Seeing these two in the roles that were, obviously, the beginning of a beautiful frienship (see The Odd Couple) is priceless. In casting the characters that round out the story, filmmakers chose wisely in going with known faces instead of their lesser-recognizable stage counterparts (I think the decision to do the opposite is was kept last year's Phantom from being a bigger hit). Uma Thurman, though I'm not convinced of her acting chops from this role, is the perfect Ulla, in both the accent and assets. And funnyman Will Ferrell treats Liebkind with the moronic charm that is his calling card, garnering as many laughs as the leads.

The biggest hurdle in putting a stage show on screen is the actual process of filming it. When a performance goes from something 3-D, from sweat and cake make-up, to the flatness of the movie screen and the director's choice of any number of shots, there is an element lost. Several times I found myself wishing for a wide shot. All through the stage show, you can see the whole office, see everything that's going on. When all we're given is a close up, you might feel as gipped as I did. There are two sides to every coin, though, and this version of the show does well in taking the story "on location." Watching the uniformed old ladies (some of them played by guys) topple like dominoes in Centreal Park is a treat, and the glossy sets of both the accounting firm where Bloom works and the "Keep It Gay" director's apartment are far more lavish that a quick set change can do justice with.

I don't know the original film (though I'm tempted to add it to my Netflix queue) and I think it helped here. Roger Ebert seems to think so, at least. Whether I saw the film differently than Ebert aside, what we agree on is that this treatment of Brooks's creative, light and smart comedy is a hit. The Producers can be proud.

Memoirs of a Geisha

2005-12-31T20:59:00.000-05:00

If you're looking for opinions about whichever movie you want to see, I can understand that you wouldn't immediately click over to my little site. You're more likely to check out something comprehensive like Rotten Tomatoes. I know I am. It's a great resource for finding lots of reviews--of every opinion--all in one place on whichever movie you're thinking about catching. I have it bookmarked and often I end up checking a movie's "rottenness" not only before the show, but afterwards as well. See, I don't want to leave you with any illusions about my ever-insightful reviews; much of the time, I second guess my own opinion, wondering if I'm seeing (or not seeing) what everyone else did. So I pop in on RT and see what the rest of the review world is thinking, either validating my take or inciting me to prove my point that much more.

Do yourself a favor and see what Rotten Tomatoes found people had to say about Memoirs of a Geisha. Because after reading their compilation of opinions, the next five minutes you spend reading this will leave you with a very different taste in your mouth...something a little sweeter than rotten tomatoes, at least.

Adapted from the best-selling novel of the same name, by Arthur Golden, Memoirs is the recounting of a life most never knew existed. Chiyo and her sister Satsu, from a small fishing town on one of Japan's coasts, are sold to okiyas (or geisha houses) by her ailing father. Satsu, the plain one, is sent to a house in the "pleasure district," while Chiyo, captivating with her water-filled eyes, is kept by the Nitta okiya, a proper geisha house sustained by the formidable Hatsumomo (Gong Li). After working hard as a maid and servant to Hatsumomo and the family at the okiya (Mother does the books, Auntie looks after the house), Chiyo is taken under the wing of renowned geisha Mameha (Michelle Yeoh) to begin her apprenticeship. Sayuri (Chiyo's new name as a geisha) quickly becomes a success, garnering more for her mizuage (aka virginity) than any geisha ever has. Her success is at Hatsumomo's expense and the three (Mameha included) become entangled in a chess game of wit and beauty and kimonos. While dealing with Hatsumomo's evil ways, Sayuri (Ziyi Zhang) spends what time she calls her own in persuit of the Chairman (Ken Watanabe), whom she encountered on the street as a child and immediately fell in love with.

It would be pointless to go into the intricacies of Chiyo's new life; there are simply too many details of a geisha to explain in a simple blog. Suffice it to say that these women, though they pride themselves on the art of their...career choice?...are in fact in very little control of their own lives, a theme director Rob Marshall chose to highlight. Instead, Sayuri has no say over where she spends her days (in training), her evenings (at any number of teahouses, entertaining businessmen and soldiers) or her affections (wasted on the Chairman, since she's forced into expressing interest in his business partner, Nobu). She doesn't see any of the money she earns; it all goes to the okiya. She doesn't even own the gorgeous kimonos she's adorned in; they're either Mameha's or the okiya's as well.

The biggest problem all those voices over at RT have with Memoirs is the twist of perspective Marshall employs in the film version of this unique story. Readers are effortlessly consumed by Golden's world of geisha, Sayuri's wise and expressive voice creating someplace "as mysterious as it is fragile." Japan, Gion (the city) and the Nitta okiya are as much characters as Hatsumomo and Mameha. The details in movement and word choice and setting are what make the story so captivating. In Marshall's Memoirs, that world is suddenly very American, more air-brushed fantasy than authentic glimpse of culture. Every review you'll read is certain to mention the fact that the three lead women are in fact actreses of Chinese descent rather than Japanese. They'll mention that Sayuri's fiesty words (whom some would argue should have been spoken in Japanese and subtitled) are more like a rebellious American teenager's than a prim, courteous young Japanes apprentice. And they'll surely mention that even the World War II scenes are too pretty, too idolized for the world Golden's book creates.

Excuse me for being short, but last I checked Mel Gibson isn't a native Scotsman, Sophie's Choice wasn't all in German and not every war movie is as authentic as Saving Private Ryan.

I think we tend to forget that movies are fantastic, and I don't mean in the "Oh my God that was such a great movie!" kind of way. They are the tangible incarnations of the visions of any number of creative people, worlds brought to screen that otherwise only existed in our minds. That translation means there's inherently some bias, some personalization, some decisions made that not everyone will agree with. So what if the actresses are Chinese? They're actresses! Let them do their job! So what if they're not speaking Japanese? Sure it would lend some authenticity, but you read the book in English, didn't you? And frankly, I think the scenes and settings in Memoirs are some of the most gorgeous I've seen in a movie in recent memory. Glossy? Sure. Artificially perfect? You bet. Rich and consuming and beautifully foreign? Absolutely, and I loved them all.

What I was afraid would be a boring story once on film (since so much of the novel is dedicated to those intricacies I haven't gone into here) actually managed to take the meat of the plot and create a unique love story in an intriguing world. Those intricacies were noted as one would expect: tea ceremonies mentioned when Chiyo is tied to Mameha as her little sister; "Geisha School" covered in a couple quick scenes of girls rushing to their shamisen lessons and such; money matters hinted to in scenes of Mother fussing over an abacus. Asking for more coverage beyond that would have turned Memoirs into a documentary. And while I'd watch that documentary, I'm glad that this fictonal version of what is surely not such a glamourous world was treated as just that: fiction.

So while the folks over at Rotten Tomatoes have found only issues with Memoirs, I'm of a different camp. If you'd like the full geisha experience, read the book. It's gripping and you'll forget that it's fiction (and written by a guy, for that matter). But as far as movies go, this one holds it's own. It's a fair adaptaion of the big stuff in the book and a beautiful glimpse of the smaller stuff, too.

King Kong

2005-12-30T23:45:00.000-05:00

I can respect a man who persues his dreams. In fact, I admire him. If there's one thing that's obvious from Naomi Watt's first close-up to Jack Black's last line (the over-delivered "It was beauty killed The Beast."), it's that Peter Jackson put every pound he lost into making his dream come true (see here, then here). He's a man who loves the movies, the escapism of a good story, a world brought to life on a big screen in a dark theater. And he's said time and time again that the 1933 version of Kong was what inspired him to make movies in the first place. With this latest incarnation of the ape story, Jackson reminds audiences what going to the movies was like way back when, creating a world so extraordinary we forget our lives outside those four walls.
There's a joke out there somewhere about the statute of limitations on spoiling the end of movies. The protagonist of the joke doesn't feel bad for ruining the end of Kong for his friend; "The movie's eighty years old!" he shouts. Considering it's been around so long, I knew the basics of the story going in. Movie cast and crew shoots on location on a remote island, discovers Kong, who steals starlet. Cast and crew rescue her and capture the beast, bringing him (somehow) back to New York to exploit him. Ape freaks out, rampages across city and up the Empire State Building, all while holding a limp Fay Rey (or Naomi Watts). Attacked by a few very brave pilots, Kong falls to his death. That story should not take three hours and seven minutes to tell.

Mr. Jackson would disagree, because if he's going to bring a story like King Kong back to the screen, he's going to bring it back with all pistons firing.

There's a level of drama created within the first few minutes of the film that sets the stage for a movie with either a good dose of tongue-in-cheek, just-have-fun-with-it humor or too much of a this-cost-a-lot-to-make, take-us-seriously seriousness. I'm betting on the former. The score of the film is always on; the moment Ann (Watts) steps on the boat taking the cast and crew to Skull Island, the orchestra swells somewhat prematurely. We haven't even seen Kong yet and we're getting timpanies and crescendos? If anything, the dramatics only add to that sense of an old movie, an angle that works for Jackson's baby.

Where he loses ground, however, is in the the seemingly endless sequences of "Just when you thought you were out of harm's way, you turn around and...." At first, the scenes are impressive. After Ann is abducted, the crew sets out on a rescue mission. Denham wanders off to get a few shots and stumbles on a valley of brontosaurus...es... who, for whatever reason, stampede towards the group. A scene that is impressive at first--men weaving in and out of legs as thick as redwoods--soon becomes tired. First it's just a stampede. Then it's a stampede with velociraptors snapping at legs and head and arms. Then one creature stubmles and topples over, tripping the others, dinasaurs falling like dominoes. Couldn't we have just moved on after the stampede? Cut to Ann and Kong, who are now caught in their own battle with dinasaurs. First he's saving her from their clutches. Then they're falling down a canyon, caught in the think vines. Then they're wrestling in a clearing, Kong body slamming the dinasaur. Then he's fending off three at a time. Then...on and on and on. The men get past one cavern filled with mosquitos the size of house cats only to find themselves in a swamp with worms as thick as a brontosaurus's neck, complete with fangs that extend (and yes, we get to watch as one of the crew is eaten, head first, by said worm). Going into the film, I read over and over that Kong could have been a shorter movie. This is where Mr. Jackson should have trimmed at least a half hour of footage. After a while I get the sense he's just showing off, rubbing in all the cool things he can make his expensive computers and talented graphic artists do.

As tired as the show-off scenes got, anyone will admit that movie magic is at its best in the animation of the beast himself. His eyes speak volumes more than his impressive roar; his scars and weathered hands suggest a backstory of an animal that is really nothing more than pretend. The early 1900's New York and the savage Skull Island, the shoddy, dirty boat and the view from the top of the Empire State building--each world Jackson creates is intensely vivid and sparkling with a character of its own.

Where Jackson also goes right is in the sentimental department. As odd as it sounds to write about it, there is a believable connection between Ann and the big monkey. A vaudeville comedienne, Ann manages to make Kong laugh with her tumbling and juggling. Falling asleep on his massive arm, Kong offers her a sense of security she apparently hasn't felt much of in her life. Kong rages through Times Square and up the Empire State Building with the tiny Ann in his grasp; he sets her down ever-so-gently, though, when he moves to climb to the very top. When she follows on her own, despite his effort to keep her safe, you're suddenly cheering for her, hoping that despite the inevitable, she might be able to save him.

Kudos to Peter Jackson for turning a childhood dream into a cinematic reality (if there is such a thing). And thanks for creating a movie that proves just what it is movies are good for--a chance to slip away, to get lost in a story and a world we'd only imagined exists. I have to say, I might just pick up the DVD of this one...only I'm hoping there's a shorter Director's Cut version.

Four Days, Four Movies

2005-12-30T14:42:00.000-05:00

Friday: King Kong

Saturday: Memoirs of a Geisha

Sunday: The Producers

Monday: Brokeback Mountain

Happy New Year!

Love Me If You Dare

2005-12-29T20:21:00.000-05:00

When it comes to which foreign films I'll watch, I try not to discriminate. If it looks good and it's from the Ukraine, I'll watch it. Subtitles are subtitles, whether the actors are speaking Chinese or Yiddish. I'm willing to watch anyone's attempt at cinematic glory. The more foreign movies I watch, though, the more I find myself leaning towards French films. I think part of it is because I can understand some of what they're saying, meaning I know if the subtitles have fudged a little in the translation. I think a bigger part of it is the type of movie you're guaranteed when you pop in a French film. You're going to see something crisp, something fanciful and something original. (Or at least you'll be fooled into it's originality because you don't know much about French cinema.) A Very Long Engagement, Ma Vie en Rose, Amelie...all fanciful, all original, all good movies.

Love Me If You Dare is no exception.

Eight year old Julien's (Guillaume Canet) dying mother gives him a trinket to remember her by, a candy tin with a Merry-go-round painted on the outside. When he leaves for school and sees Sophie (Marion Cotillard) getting teased by other children for her Polish heritage, Julien offers his new toy to make her feel better. He immediately regrets his gesture and asks if he can have it back. Sophie, revealing early how smart she can be, retorts, "If you want it back, you'll have to earn it." She dares him to send the bus the other children have boarded on its way without a driver. So begins a game that will last their lifetimes, the stakes getting higher as the players mature. It's obvious from the beginning, though, that this is a game between lovers--soulmates, even--a game that will bring out the best and worst in each.

The game starts in fun; as children, Sophie dares Julien to spill ink on their teacher. Julien dares Sophie to used lewd words as examples in their grammar lesson. At a wedding, Sophie dares Julien to say no at the altar when it's his wedding. In high school, hormones rage and sex enters the picture. Sophie sees Julien flirting with the school slut and, most likely out of jealousy, dares him to bring back her earrings after a tryst, only to get upset when he goes through with it.

As the two grow up, the plot becomes a fast-paced race to see who can outdo whom in their dares. Life forces their separation for years at a time, but in one way or another, when they reappear on each other's radar, the game picks up as if it'd never left off. Julien goes away to school, Sophie works at a cafe. He announces his engagement to another woman and, crashing the wedding, Sophie reminds him of the dare he took so long ago. Julien, forced to live in the mold he's been cast in, goes on with the wedding, leading Sophie to declare a ten-year hiatus on their friendship and the game.

In the decade they pass apart, both marry and create picture-perfect lives for themselves, he as a contractor with a lovely wife and two children, she as the beautiful wife of a famous footballer. And, on cue, Julien receives a package the day the ten years are up: the tin trinket they'd been exchanging all these years. A simple message is enclosed: Cap ou pas cap? Game or no game? And it's on once more.

Throughout the movie, it's apparent that the fanciful, exhilirating, and sometimes dangerous game the friends play is only a vehicle for a much bigger story. These two are meant for each other. But because of the games they play, they're left with uncertainties and insecurities and are unable to be honest with each other. They're intersecting at just the wrong moment--while one's got a green light, the other's sitting at a red. Life and expectations move in on each, forcing decisions to be made and words left unspoken. The result is missing opportunities to be open and honest and uninhibited with their emotions, ultimately changing the course of life and love. The result is leading a life that is only a shell of what it could be.

There's a certain Aida quality to the love story; in the end, the two soulmates do end up together. But the journey and the realization of this love that can't be denied is the real experience, the part of life that makes an eternity together something to cherish.

Dare is a dazzling picture, filled with color and vibrance that are rarely seen on American screens. A young Julien flies through cottonball clouds after his mother; a grown Sophie strikes a stunning pose in a red ball gown in the final scenes. Images are so rich they're practically tangible. The pace of the movie is dizzying, but in such a way that it's as if we're playing the game as well. There are moments of confusion--those "Wait, how did we get here?" moments--and no one--not actors, directors, writers--attempt to explain them away or make excuses for them. You're left to decide for yourself who these two daredevils are, where their passion and pain and distorted sense of adventure is coming from. And it's a wild ride.

So....cap ou pas cap?

Old News?

2005-12-27T22:14:00.000-05:00

First, the requisite apology. I've been absent for far too long. Blame it on the holidays--too much wrapping and baking and not enough movies. Blame it on being down one job--more time on my hands but less money equals fewer trips to the theater. Believe me, I miss it as much as you do, probably more.

In the meantime, though this may already be old news to you, let me direct you to this list of Golden Globe nominees. What do you think? The Globes are traditionally the precursor to those films that can expect at least a chance at an Oscar nod. My biggest problem with this theory is that the Globes, the awards bestowed on the film by "the press," is the number of categories they've broken films into. How can the 10 films nominated for Best Picture (in both drama and musical/comedy) be a hint to who'll be nominated by the Academy? There's five films that are SOL. And the same for actors and actresses in both leading and supporting roles. Thankfully, that's where the distinction ends. Best directors, best screenplays, best songs? They're all lumped into one category, suggesting it might be easier to read into who'll get recognized come Oscar night. Then again, we all know that Oscar nominations and awards are a bunch of hooey and that the whole process is nothing but industry types patting other industry types on the back. I'll still be watching.... ;)

Is it May yet?

2005-12-14T14:39:00.000-05:00

Because this looks hot! Better than hot. Seriously, I don't care that I sound like Paris Hilton. I'm too busy being giggly as a girl scout about this.

If you haven't read The DaVinci Code, what rock were you living under for the last two years? The book stayed on the Times's Best Seller List for, like, ever. And I'm as skeptical as anybody when it comes to the movie adaptation of a book. Will they keep the plot in tact? Will my favorite character get cut or minimized? Most importantly, will the tone of the words on paper be translatable to images on screen? That last one is a tricky one, and all too easily lost.

Not so with Mr. Brown's work. From the looks of it, Hanks is a perfect Langdon, Paris is as elusive and dark as in the book and the hand that reaches from the chapters to grab a reader has segued perfectly onto film.

Can't wait!

The Squid and The Whale

2005-12-11T16:20:00.000-05:00

After Syriana, I needed a dose of the tangible. Enough of this smart movie stuff, making me work to understand what's going on up there. I want something easy, something fun to follow without having to think too hard about the jokes.

American Pie, anyone??

OK, maybe I'm looking for something a little more cerebral than that.

The Squid and the Whale might be just what the cinematic doctor ordered. Loosely based on writer/director Noah Baumbach's childhood, this short (only 80 minutes long) study of a family disintegrating is as insightful as any philosophy text the fading patriarch, Bernard (Jeff Daniels), might quote.
We meet the Berkman's at the end of their run together. Or at least, at the beginning of the end. Bernard is a washed up, one-time novelist; Joan (Laura Linney) is homely but intelligent, a soon-to-be-published novelist herself. Their children are the product of a two-PhD home: high schooler Walt (Jesse Eisenberg) quotes from Kafka without the slightest idea of what he's saying and 10-year-old Frank's (Owen Kline, son of Kevin) resistance to all things cultural comes across more out of exhaustion than rebellion. There isn't much exposition here, just immediate immersion in all things Berkman. Had Baumbach spent too much time setting us up with them, we might have grown tired, unsure as to why we should care about this family as it falls apart.

Instead, there is a duality in the film that creates a connection between the Berkmans and the audience. Each character quirk is endearing and ingratiating at the same time. Bernard's ego fills not just the screen but the theater as well. He speaks like he's constantly writing the next Great Novel ("It's the filet of the neighborhood"), but we never see him put pen to paper. Despite his arrogance, he's somehow vulnerable in a distant way, especially when he's making small efforts to salvage what family he has left. There's pain in his eyes when he sees Joan with another man. Joan is a caring, concerned mother, but often mistakes her sons for peers. And when Frank gets caught in some inappropriate behavior at school, she rages at Bernard, placing blame everywhere but where it belongs.

The duality manifests in the story as well, the small moments in the film adding up to a much bigger picture. (In many ways, there's a similarity to the moments in Garden State that ultimately create such a beautifully pieced together picture.) Walt tells his girlriend, "I wish you didn't have so many freckles." The comment is out of the blue and, oddly, his look mirrors hers; it is one of "I have no idea why I just said that, why I just hurt you like that." Frank learns to depend more and more on himself rather than either parent and ends up acting like the pissy eighteen year old he's got a decade to grow into. He drinks beer and curses in front of both parents; he idolizes his mimbo of a tennis instructor (William Baldwin) until he discovers his mother's relationship with him.

And just what does "the squid and the whale" reference? Well, there's a moment of emotional clarity (there are several, spaced out just long enough that they become poignant) when Walt talks with the school psychologist. He tells the story of their trips to the museum, seeing an exhibit with a huge display of the two creatures fighting, and how scared he got watching the scene. It isn't until they get home (and here's where the emotional clarity comes in) that his mother comforts him, assures him everything's ok. It's the only time he can remember her being so gentle, so loving with him.

There's already Golden Globe nominations out there for this one, and Oscar buzz as well. Of course, there are some bigger names in every category, and there's no telling whether Squid will even make a blip on the radar. Awards or not, Squid is a gem of familial discourse, a perfect combination of comedy and drama...a comedrama?...with just enough to say that we appreciate it instead of tiring of it. Syriana it may not be, but good it is.

It's a Wonderful Life

2005-12-10T22:10:00.000-05:00

I love Christmastime as much as Indianapolis loves the Colts. That's no secret.

What I don't broadcast so much (until now, I suppose) is the complete emotional havoc these six weeks wreak on my well being. Because I'm a bit of a masochist (I kid!), I allow myself to listen to a constant stream of Christmas songs, most of which are about getting "home for the holidays." This, in turn, makes me more than a little homesick, putting me in a funk of lonliness and...well, homesickness. Inexplicably, I have a tick I can't seem to control, one that forces me to buy anything and everything as a gift for someone the moment it "speaks to me." This proves rather costly. And finally, for absolutely no reason at all, I find myself being incredibly sappy (more than usual, that is). And I do mean sappy. I was blubbering all over myself during the last ten minutes of Oprah the other day. She and Maya Angelou performed a poem Angelou wrote for the White House, complete with a gospel choir singing "Joy to the World" in the background. Flipping channels later that night, I got all teary eyed during the last 5 minutes of a stock sitcom ("But Jane, you know we love you for you, not the Christmas presents you bring!"). Who is this girl??

The feather in my emotionally-purging cap is my wonderfully cathartic, annual viewing of Frank Capra's It's a Wonderful Life. Perhaps this "review" will end up a scotch biased, giving my unabashed reverie of this film. But to that I say, too bad. If you can't appreciate IaWL on even a basic level--for that of a finely crafted plot and beautifully played roles--you should perhaps check that heart of yours, because I'd dare say it's three sizes too small (Mr. Grinch!).

Though it's become as much a staple in holiday viewing as A Charlie Brown Christmas, the majority of the film doesn't, in fact, have anything to do with the holiday. Released in December 1946, the studio obviously wanted to play up the connection, but unfortunately were met with indifference from audiences. It wasn't really until the copyright on the classic expired in 1973, when network television put it on loop for the month between Thanksgiving and Christmas every year, that it became both a holiday favorite and pop culture running joke. No matter which side of that fence you land on, most audiences can agree on the sheer cinematic value of the film. This is what classics are made of--perfect casting, flawless story and universal relatability.

I'm foregoing the requisite synopsis paragraph, assuming you're familiar with the film. If not, read this. Instead, I'll skip right to what I love about this film. Simply put, it's the sentiment. There's something within every scene that just makes you feel good. From the Charleston contest that ends with George and Mary in the pool to the town banding together to save the ol' Building and Loan, there isn't a single moment that my heart doesn't swell with any number of emotions. When I popped the movie in tonight, I already knew I was in one of my holiday-induced sappy moods. The effect, as you might imagine, of watching such a film in this state was simultaneously disatrous and perfect. I cried through pretty much the whole thing:
When George offers to rope the moon for Mary.
When Bert and Ernie sing to the newlyweds from outside their new home.
When Mary admits she wants her baby to look like George.
When Uncle Billy hands the newspaper (and the $8000) to crotchety Mr. Potter.
When the Bailey's welcome the Martinis to their new home with gifts of salt (That life will always have flavor), bread (That this house will never know hunger) and wine (That there will always be something to celebrate...or something like that).
When Clarence jumps into the river to save George.
When George realizes no one has any idea who he is.
When George begs Clarence to bring him back.
All bets are off, though, for the entire final scene. Those werent' just tears I cried. Those were sobs. The corners of my mouth started to hurt, though, from the stupid smile plastered on my face through the whole thing:
When Mary rushes in, happy to see George has returned but knowing the entire town is right behind her.
When the neighbors he's helped all his life rally around George, bringing the money he so desperately needs.
When Harry returns a hero.
And of course when Zuzu offers her legendary, "Teacher says every time a bell rings, and angel gets his wings."
And definitely when George reads Clarence's message inside the copy of Tom Sawyer: Dear George, Remember no man is a failure who has friends.

Maybe it's the naivete in me, that innocent little girl who still tries to see a silver lining in everything, but there's something about Christmas that always reminds me of the good there really is left in the world. Because sometimes it's too easy to forget. And if ever there were a movie to convey the same sense of "We're all here to take care of each other," It's a Wonderful Life is it.

Syriana

2005-12-09T23:30:00.000-05:00

I regard myself as an intelligent person. I did pretty well on my ACTs in high school. I managed to graduate college with honors. I keep up with the news and do my best to keep an active mind (I'm as addicted to Sudoku as the rest of the world). I would even say that I appreciate an intelligent film, that I can see the value in a movie that requires active participation from an audience. Wedding Crashers and the like let moviegoers check out of their own brains and escape for a couple of hours. Syriana, on the other hand, demands a level of attention most audiences aren't used to paying. I was game, though, knowing I'd have to catch every word and see every moment in order to follow the intense plot.

Syriana is very Traffic-esque. Which is understandable, considering they're written by the same guy (who's also adapting Blink...Hollywood is one big game of Six Degrees of Separation). But it's not just the myriad of characters all intertwined in the same web that marks the similarities. There's the picture itself, often times looking like an embedded photo-journalist's footage or a camerman hidden in the bushes, overhearing the heated conversations. The effect is an interesting one, leaving a distance between audience and characters where usually the goal is to draw the two together. We feel like more of an evesdropper, overhearing conversations between Emirs (that's King to you and me) and advisors, hostages and captors, and husband and wife. The covertness of the shots only adds to the overall feeling of presumtiousness within the film; much like George Clooney's other flick this fall, Syriana knows it has something important to say.

The only problem, then, would be that I have no idea what that might be. At least, I don't think I do. The best guess I can come up with is the ultimate inseparability of the different elements within the politically-driven plot. Clooney is Bob Barnes, a CIA agent/assassin. When his current assignment goes awry thanks to a traitorous contact (who proceeds to pull out Barnes's fingernails with a set of industrial plyers--ouch!), his bosses in the government rescind their affiliation with him. Meanwhile, the target of Barnes's current assignment (one Prince Nasir (Alexander Siddig), a forward-thinking heir to an oil-hungry throne) is working to create an alliance with the Chinese, a move that upsets a handful of old white guys with deep pockets. Small Oil Company, therefore, gets rights to oil elsewhere, meaning Big Oil Company wants to own Small Oil Company. The merger draws the attention of the government; Bennett Holiday (Jeffrey Wright) is put in charge of offering up at least one lamb for public consumption, just enough to distract the masses while the merger passes successfully. And somewhere in there energy analyst Bryan Woodman (Matt Damon) attends one of the Emir's parties in Spain where his son dies in a freak poolside accident. As a result, Nasir befriends Woodman; that is, until the government ultimately succeed in their initial goal and bombs the hell out of Nasir's motorcade. The end.

Did you follow any of that?? You can imagine, just by how exhausting that (not so brief) summary was, how intense the actual movie turned out to be. And of course, that's only a snapshot of the numerous plot lines that play into the whole picture. My brain started to hurt long before the credits ran, just because it was working so hard to follow it all. (Though I should clarify that this isn't necessarily a criticism. I can appreciate a movie that makes me work to comprehend all its levels.)

So what lessons do we take away from that demanding blend of plotlines? Maybe a couple of things: the US government and those with the money know what they want and will end up getting it, one way or another. The oil, and the money it can produce, is and always will be the only thing lawmakers, businessmen and Emirs ever care about. The job you're given as a CIA operative probably has much larger ramifications than even you can fathom, but if you dare look for them, expect to be the next target. I don't know...are any of those on the mark?

The only reason Syriana didn't lose me completely was the completeness of the sphere of existence we're brought into (or rather, looking into). Where the movie could have easily stayed in the Persian Gulf, showing us more of the oil that drives so many governments and lives, or stayed in a CIA/military mode, ultimately cold and unwelcoming, Gagahn (who also directed)and his cast took the time to introduce us to the lives of the players. While some of these fall short (Holiday's biggest stressor is an embarrassing alcoholic father), others are what give the film a sense of fullness. The impact of their son's death on the Woodman's relationship (wife Julie played by an uncharacteristically stoic Amanda Peet) is intriguing to watch; both run away from it, except in different directions. And though we don't see him for more than a few moments, just meeting Barnes's college-bound son allows us to toss some additional sympathy in his father's direction.

While I can respect it for being an interesting, poignant work, I think I might have to rent Syriana when it comes out, just to be sure I caught the message I was supposed to.

A Different Kind of Review

2005-12-09T22:17:00.000-05:00

One about the theater, not the movie.

Landmark's Keystone Art Cinema & Indie Lounge opened tonight, to the public at least. Billed as a "state-of-the-art" Independent Film venue and touting seven screens on which to bring said films to Indianapolis, the place had some impressing to do. At least as far as I'm concerned. After all, Landmark's invasion did mean the demise of the quintessential Arthouse movie theater, one Castleton Arts, beloved by many. Any theater that proposes filling the void left by that closure has something to prove before the projectors even turn on.

Keystone Art is hidden from plain view, like much of the Fashion Mall. Turning into the area, the mall doesn't look like much more than a few storefronts facing the street. But go a little farther, driving under the bridge connecting the two wings of the mall, and before you know it you're looking at a four-level parking deck connected to a two-story expanse of shops and restaurants. Going into the mall from this entrace, I knew the theater was back there somewhere, but I'd allowed myself enough time before the movie to find the place, worried I might not know where I was going. My worrying proved unfounded though, when I caught sight of a huge sign for the theater right on the side of the building. That was easy enough.

The theater is on the mall's second floor, and designers took full advantage of the way one's view gradually increases on the ride up an escalator. At the top of the moving staircase are three flat-screen televisions, two playing current previews on loop and one welcoming you to the theater. It's obvious from the very first glimpse: when they said "state-of-the-art," they meant it. On one side, the Indie Lounge. I didn't go in, but it looked chic enough; they've even posted signs reminding you you're welcome to take cocktails into the show. Every screen is a monitor, including the marquees outside each theater. While there is a wall of "coming soon" posters, the majority of displays are screens, many constantly looping previews like the ones above the escalators.

They've thought of everything at Keystone Art, including a bit of cross marketing. Right at the box office there's a small display with items for sale. Items like Memoirs of a Geisha in paperback and the In Cold Blood DVD. How fitting. How considerate.

Opposite the lounge is the concession stand, and here there isn't much difference from any other theater. Popcorn is $10 a bucket, sodas are $4 (for a small). Separating them from other concession stands is the Starbucks logo on the wall; they know the crowd they're serving, and they know we like our Starbucks. If I hadn't just spent $8.50 on a ticket, I'd have gotten a mocha.

I made my way into the actual theater my movie was showing in, and I had to smile as soon as I walked into the auditorium. Stadium seats are nothing new; even the ones with armrests that move out of the way are old news. These weren't just stadium seats, though. These are stadium thrones. They automatically recline a bit when you lean back and, while I'm sure it's bound to wear off, there was a distinct new-car smell to the whole room.

Missing from the whole experience was the incessant advertising that's become commonplace in most theaters. I had to search to find the Coke logo, displayed inconspicuously on the fountain drink station at the concession stand. Even inside the theater, where there's usually a tired loop of mind-numbing trivia questions brought to you by Coke running before the previews start, they were pleasantly absent. Instead, they ran a quick ad for Landmark Giftcards (it is Christmastime after all) and showed a montage of clips from other independent films. Made for a nice change of pace.

Before long, I was comfy in my movie theater throne, surrounded by a decent-sized crowd of other curious movie goers, all engrossed in the latest flick to find its way to Indy.

Pride and Prejudice

2005-12-07T23:46:00.000-05:00

I should be reading more Jane Austen.

The latest adaptation of her work, starring a scintillating Keira Knightly, might have fudged with the material a bit, but being that (unlike most of the movies I've seen recently) I have absolutely no knowledge of the original story, I was blissfully ignorant to any cinematic surgery performed. I should say, I knew the story of the fiery Elisabeth Bennet first hating then falling for the impenetrable Mr. Darcy. Beyond that, I didn't really know the twists and turns of Austen's charming narrative.

At the risk of tangling myself up in the web woven by the Bennets and their friends and relations, I'll spare you the minutiae (that, and you might have already read the book). It boils down to a family blessed (or cursed, depending) with five daughters and a mother hell-bent on marrying off each of them. A new neighbor falls for the eldest, a gallivanting soldier seduces the youngest, and Darcy, despite his best efforts, grows to love Lizzy. There are, of course, miscommunications, rich but ornery Aunts and societal expectations to deal with along the way. But through every sharp left and U-turn, there isn't a moment that we don't willingly follow along. A story that could have easily turned into a soap opera is instead lively and entertaining in the era of carriages and balls and chivalry and propriety.

The love stories wrapped up in this provincial package are as endearing today as they were almost two hundred years ago, I'm sure. The sweetest of the secondary stories is that of Mr. Bingley (Simon Woods), the new neighbor, and Jane (Rosamund Pike), the eldest Bennet daughter. Mr. Bingley loves Jane, Jane's too shy to admit she loves him too. By the end of the film (and with a few nudges from close friends and family), he's down on one knee and she's proclaiming "A thousand times, Yes!" through tears of happiness.

Overshadowing their adorable courtship, though, is the inadvertent one of Mr. Darcy (Matthew MacFadyen) and Elisabeth Bennet (Knightley). Upon first impressions, when he declines Lizzy's invitation to dance, the stage is set for an awkward and inexplicable attraction between the two. Lizzy thinks he's cold and bitter; Darcy thinks she's flighty and outspoken. It would have been easy to let the small moments and almost imperceptible exchanges between the two get lost in the course of the film, leaving audiences with an all-too-familiar feeling of missing out on something, of being gipped, of scratching their heads when these two otherwise hardly-connected people end up together in the end. I can happily say, though, that director Joe Wright focused wonderfully on the glances, the hands brushing, the turns of a smile, all those small notes that keep you rooting for these two to come to their senses and fall into each other's arms.

Perhaps it's the incurable romantic in me, but I have to admit that I was giggling through the entire movie as much as the boy-crazy youngest Bennet girls (and I'm sure I quickly became just as annoying as them, too). Because let's be honest: the scene at the end, when Darcy emerges--silhouetted--from the mist, long coat billowing behind him, and he admits to Lizzy that all he's done has been for her (read the book!), for his love of her...what girl doesn't wish she were Lizzy Bennet at that moment?! All I could do was swoon. I apologize.

Cinematically, P&P is a beautiful film. The more formal of the balls is filmed in one long, sweeping shot, creating a fluidity simultaneously at odds with the era but complimentary to the family at the center of the story. The entire cast is placed perfectly within their roles, from an awfully frail but brilliant Donald Sutherland as Mr. Bennet to an unassuming yet entrancing MacFadyen as Darcy. And as expected, though she's only on screen for no more than fifteen minutes, Judi Dench steals the movie within her first "So you're Elizabeth Bennet." She is only one of many reasons I'd compare P&P to the marvelous Shakespeare in Love.

I know that many "Austen purists" are upset with this adaptation, and I can understand their point of view. I shredded Rent, after all, for the way it treated the source material. And it's very possible that this version did the same to Ms. Austen's novel. I won't know, though, until I get around to reading the book. So for the sake of the movie, while I would never discount the opinions of others, I will offer this: rather than allow the knowledge of the book keep you from the film, spend the $8 to laugh (as I did all too often) and sigh with the lovable and familiar story, if only as an excuse to get yourself to a movie.

And while you're catching the flick, I'm headed to the library.

Update (or: Turn that frown upside down!)

2005-12-05T12:09:00.000-05:00

Just when I thought all hope was lost for the Indianapolis film scene (we're like that pathetic kid no one ever picked for their kickball team), my new blog buddy Shane filled me in on this. An "upscale," seven-screen, cinematic experience, comeplete with drinks you can take into screenings and a lounge instead of a lobby. And all of it right here in my own backyard!

Wahoo!

I probably shouldn't get my hopes up too high. I haven't even driven by the place yet, so there's no telling what's in store when I get my first look. In fact, I don't even know if there's a sign as you drive by that would alrert you that the theater even exists (it's at the back of the mall, hidden from the street). Thank goodness for word of mouth and friends of blogging, otherwise I might have been farther behind the time than I already am.

The latest addition to my bookmarks, The Indy Scribe, posted this today, noting the first movies to christen the screens. The theater's website only mentions 6 films (Syriana, The Squid and The Whale, Bee Season, Jesus is Magic, The Passenger and Capote) as opening on the 9th. My investigative journalism got me as far as the recorded message at the number provided where a woman assures callers that movie times will be available on Wednesday. Expect a call back, Answering Machine Woman.

Here I was, sad to see what was ultimately a sad excuse for an arts theater in a city as big as Indy close its doors, when all the while those corporate brains over at the Fashion Mall had my cinematical future in the palm of their hands.

Keystone Art Cinema, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

A Sad, Sad Day for Movies

2005-12-02T08:35:00.000-05:00

I'm double posting this (it's here, too) because it fits here as well.

I thought it was odd last night when I tried to look up movie times on my phone (gotta love technology!) and Castleton Arts wasn't listed as an option. Figuring it was because I was checking times at 1AM and there must be some sort of glitch, I didn't think much of it.

It wasn't until today, when I found this post from a fellow Indy blogger, that I realized what had happened. And seriously, my heart broke. I posted previously about the rumors of a closure, but something in me kept ignoring the immenent. I guess the idea that the one theater bringing quality movies to Indianapolis (those arthouse, independent, not-your-average-audience types of movies) closing down was a little to difficult to stomach. Since I've lived literally across the street from the place for the last couple of months, I've been there more times than I can count. It was amazing to have a theater so close that brought the movies anyone who knows anything about cinema was talking about.

I don't know what's happening with the building that used to house Castleton Arts. Moviefone is calling it Castleton Square, though it doesn't have any times or information really listed. Shane (blogger metioned above) notes that Simon now owns the theater. Does that mean it'll be the next machine in the chain of theaters, showing the Yours, Mine and Ours and Just Friends that are screened at every other theater in the city? Or maybe they'll turn it into a dollar theater, coaxing the masses to buy their wildly overpriced popcorn with second run flicks? And I suppose it's entirely possible that it might not stay a theater at all...though it makes me wince just thinking something like that, so I'd rather not.

If I had the money, the resources, the connections, the whatever it takes to do it, I'd take that theater back. I'd take it back and solicit only the best movies that exemplify what film is supposed to be. The ones you've only heard of in passing and the ones you've never heard about at all. None of these cookie-cutter excuses for movies that get churned out by money hungry studios. I'd attach a Starbucks, or some coffee shop equivilent, and I'd have a little stage off to one side in the lounge (there will be no lobby in my theater), a place for poetry and literary readings, a place for the next big solo singer/songwriters to get a little exposure. I'd organize movie clubs, sort of like book clubs, and after a free screening of the latest films, we'd sit on the plush couches and rugs discussing the nuances of the movie, sipping our coffee and listening with one ear to the next Jack Johnson.

I might have gotten a little carried away there, but you get the idea. I really am heartbroken to see Castleton Arts go. While it didn't have as much a place in my life as it did Shane's, it still meant (and means) something to me. I can only hope that this next incarnation of that small movie house behind the mall is as endearing to the film lovers in Indy as Castleton Arts was and always will be.

Fever Pitch

2005-11-29T00:46:00.000-05:00

There were a few years there that Saturday Night Live was DOA every week. The cast just didn't gel, the jokes tanked and no one was watching. One by one, new actors filtered into the studio and revived the aging sketch show. Jimmy Fallon, who would eventually co-host Weekend Update (doing as good a job as the role-creating Chevy Chase), stepped into the cast at the beginning of what would be a high for the series. It only took a handful of years before Hollywood realized what SNL fans already knew: Fallon is as deserving as any Adam Sandler or David Spade to get his own shot at the big screen.

Unfortunately, Hollywood responded with Taxi. Ouch.

Fallon gets his shot at redemption, though, in Fever Pitch, a comedy brought to us by the same guys who created gems (insert your own level of sarcasm, if any) like Shallow Hal, There's Something About Mary and Dumb and Dumber. Teamed with the ever-endearing Drew Barrymore, Pitch follows rabid Red Sox fan Ben through the two sides of his courtship and relationship with Barrymore's Lindsey. As she quickly realizes, there's Winter Ben, whom she falls for, and Summer Ben, whose life revolves around all things Sox. Having inheirited choice season tickets, Ben would prefer to spend time with his "summer family" (the other ticket holders) instead of his new main squeeze. This, in these simple terms, is the extent of the plot within Pitch. Though it's crafted as a "Will they or won't they end up together?" sort of romantic comedy, we know all along that they will.

With the ultimate destination already obvious, the ride could easily become stale and boring. The Farrelly brothers keep life interesting though, at least through the course of the movie, with endearing characters and a pace that, while sometimes a little off the beat, manages to stay pretty consistent. The script could have taken one more pass through revisions, losing the narrated, setting-the-scene part at the beginning, since Ben later explains the whole thing to Lindsey anyways. And often the lines that, on paper, I'm sure looked hip and clever often came out as flat and forced when spoken by otherwise talented actors.

I feel like writing a simple review here, because that's what this movie is. It ranks up there with The Wedding Planner and Fools Rush In. They're cute, they work, but there isn't much to them besides an attractive cast and a script that doesn't trip over its own feet.

An interesting note: This version of the film was adapted from Nick Hornby's book. Appears, upon further investigation, that there's a British version of the adapted book, this one actually written for the screen by Hornby. And starring Colin Firth. I think I'll be adding it to my Netflix queue.

Rent

2005-11-28T12:19:00.000-05:00

On film, "Rent" is the sound of one hand clapping.--Roger Ebert

Mr. Ebert, I couldn't agree more.

Aside from the awkward rearranging of the timeline, the complete change of venue for certain scenes, and the shallow potholes in the story along the way, the movie version of Rent is truly a well-done movie. It's glossy and colorful and, like they promised it would, it stays true to Jonathan Larson's message of love and community.

As the credits ran, after Mark (Anthony Rapp) had screened his film for the resurrected Mimi (Rosario Dawson) and friends, I sat mildly contented, happy with the final product of a movie that I wasn't sure I'd even appreciate or not. A day later, though, I'm remembering the film and all that I can think of are the slip ups, the chances they had to do right and instead did so wrong.

Right away I was offput by the insertion of a year in the first line, "December 24, 9 PM, Eastern Standard Time..." 1989 tossed in there like "Here's where we are, and this will explain all the funny clothes you'll see us wearing." Am I the only one that noticed that this has to be wrong? Not only does Larson reference "the end of the millenium" in "What You Own," (a thought not on anyone's mind in '89), but Angel mentions Thelma & Louise in "Today 4 U," a movie that didn't even come out until 1991! Any PA with half a brain should have caught that red flag and not let the big shots take such liberty with the timeframe.

The entire first half of show takes place on Chrismas Eve. For whatever reasons, Chris Columbus and screenwriter Steven Chbosky chose to draw out the first part of the movie, pushing Maureen's protest, the Life Support meeting and dinner at Life Cafe to Christmas Day, leading to a wierd change in lyrics on a number of occasions. Not quite sure how to fit in the tension in Maureen (Idina Menzel) and Joanne's (Tracie Thoms) relationship, they create an engagement party for the two of them, where Maureen flirts with the bartender and the two bust into their "Take Me for What I Am." Then there's (metaphorically) poor Benny (Taye Diggs), who as Ebert pointed out only serves as a plot catalyst, has his part pared down to the bare minimum, losing all but two opportunities to really sing.

While much of this might lead you to see me as some sort of Rent purist, let me point out that, on the whole, the effort in transfering the show to the screen was a valiant one. Taking a stage production onto a flat screen is no easy task; Phantom succeeded last year, but only because the filmmakers pressed play on the soundtrack and allowed the actors to go to town. There was no reworking, rehashing, or rewriting to blur the show so many audiences are familiar with.

By the time I reached my car, though, the sufficient content that lingered during the credits was dissapating and I started feeling shortchanged. There was something missing in this movie experience, something I expected to get from Rent, but didn't. And it wasn't until I read Ebert's eloquent review that I could put a finger on it: I missed the audience. I missed the complete feeling of consumption that floods the theater during the show. I missed the fast pace, the sweat on the actors' foreheads, the crowd really mooing back to Maureen.

Performances, given the shredded material they had to work with, are stellar. Rosario Dawson owns Mimi, and the sequence played out in "Take Me Out" works. Wilson Heredia shines as Angel, a part I was never hugely taken with in the stage version, but was captivated by on screen. And though the original cast is 10 years older than they were when they created their roles, they play the starving artists to the hilt (Adam Pascal's Roger remains a personal favorite...something about that voice). The music is as gripping as it is on stage (here I'll disagree with Ebert), words and music eliciting chills and tears at all the same moments that they did in the theater. (A sidenote, speaking of performances...I laughed out loud at Sarah Silverman cast as Alexi Darling. Perfect. She lit up the screen in two lines.)

What's important, and what those involved in the film will tell you, is that Mr. Larson can be proud of this newest incarnation of his work. Sure, things could have been written differently, material could have been presented in a format truer to the original. But in the end, I still cried when Collins sings at Angel's funeral, when the Life Supporters wonder about their final days, when Roger jumps in a car and leaves for Santa Fe. I keep hearing, "The show's integrity is in tact," and I'd agree. The filmmakers didn't change the storyline so much that you forget what show you'd come to see. And perhaps most importantly, they didn't let the 10 years between it's stage debut and movie premiere dim the passion and the emotion behind this truly moving story.

I'm comfortable recommending the movie; it is worth catching while it's in the theaters. But with a word of caution. If you've seen the stage production, know you will be caught off guard by the jerkiness of the adaptation. And if you've never seen it live, know that you will be missing out on the whole story. At the very least, I'll add it to my DVD collection a few months from now, if only as a way to see the characters and actors again, and you will bring those memories (of the stage version) with you to the movie, as sort of a commentary track.

Thanks for your help with this one, Rog.

Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

2005-11-22T12:15:00.000-05:00

Scaling a seven hundred plus page book into a consumable movie is no easy task to begin with. When it’s the fourth tome from the monumental Harry Potter series, such a task becomes all the more daunting. Rowling is showing no signs of thinning the spines of her wildly successful books, but so far screenwriter Steven Kloves has kept a solid pace with her. The first film in what’s likely to turn into a bigger series than Star Wars (seven movies to Lucas’s six) was a given; avid readers seeing for the first time the wonder of Hogwart’s and Dumbledore on the screen. The second film, a treat like second helpings of pumpkin pie on Thanksgiving (I’m feeling festive, I admit). The third, helmed by a new director, grew darker but just as magical (in every sense of the word). And now, the fourth installment carries on the imagery and majesty of this movie/book dynasty.

I’ve read a lot of interesting points about these movies, everything from “Why bother promoting the movies when the books have pretty much guaranteed an audience?” to “What happens to these last three movies when the Next Big Thing steals the attention of the pre-teens endeared to the franchise?” All valid points, but all trumped by the “Finish what you started” sentiment that seems to be prevailing where the movies are concerned. Daniel Radcliff is reportedly getting $14 million dollars for Half-Blood Prince (that’s movie #5 for you Muggles), twice what he was paid for Goblet of Fire and chump change compared to the $187+ million dollars the film brought in in its first (worldwide) weekend. Doesn’t seem to me like they’ll stop making these movies anytime soon.

And good thing, too, as despite the revolving door of directors (I’ll admit, I stole that from somewhere), the movies continue to stay incredibly true to the books and incredibly well done in general.

Without spoiling anything, but assuming a certain level of Potter-literacy (that one’s my own!), Goblet of Fire follows Harry, Ron and Hermione through their fourth year at Hogwart’s, the year the international Quidditch Cup comes to England and the Triwizard Tournament comes to Hogwart’s. The entrancing ladies of Beauxbatons and the broodish young men of Durmstrang arrive at the school to participate in three highly advanced challenges. In a turn of events only reserved for poor Harry Potter, his name is mysteriously drawn from the Goblet of Fire and he’s forced to capture a golden egg from beneath a dragon, rescue Ron from the Merpeople in the lake and find his way to the Cup through a hexed hedge maze. The massive book (how do 13 year olds read it?!) is understandably pared down to the bare minimum of a plot line. Still, it’s a plot line true to the book in that nothing new happens; no liberties are really taken with outcomes or events.

It’s hard with this one to take the Harry Potter fan out of my review and look at the movie as just another movie, but I’ll try. I know I can find a few things to note, if I look for them.

While the plot was seamlessly thinned to only the necessary points, I noticed that the filmmakers took artistic freedom in interpreting the challenges the four young wizards face. Where in the book Harry simply distracts the Hungarian Horntail (that’s the dragon) to snatch the egg, in the movie he’s flying all over campus, scaling rooftops and eventually holding on to the edge of one before falling to the broom that’s teetering on the eve below him. Since this is the first movie without a Quidditch scene (or a Hogwart’s one, at least), the desire to get in one good sequence of Harry working his… magic…on a broomstick is understandable. The flying scenes are always fun to watch.

The second task, when the champions confront the Merpeople who are holding their friends hostage, is perhaps one of the reasons this film is the first in the series to garnish a PG-13 rating. In the book, it appeared to everyone I’ve spoken with that these underwater creatures are of an amiable nature, along the lines of Ariel (think Disney). But these Merpeople are downright scary, no literary dancing around it. Creepy seaweed hair, teeth like a shark’s and practically transparent green skin; I can see why parents might think twice about bringing their eight year old.

As impressed as I’ve been with this growing troupe of movies, I’ll be the first to admit that the acting, at least from the younger half of the cast, has always left me feeling like my mug of butterbeer is half empty rather than half full. The casting, from an image standpoint, it perfect. Danielle Radcliffe, plucked from a crowd of a bazillion Harry wannabes, is Potter. Rupert Grint has gotten Ron’s constant look of bewilderment down to an art. And Emma Watson is a wonderful, bookwormish Hermione. But did anyone ever consider sending these children to a few classes before cameras started rolling? Some lines are delivered as if the script is still in their hands. Poor Hermione—less than halfway through the movie, I want to shake her, plead with her to smile a little, just a little, please? You don’t have to be so angry all the time, honey. And Ron, while your brow furrowing is mostly enduring, please close your mouth. I really do think flies might find their way in; one can only take so many “jaw drops in disbelief” cues.

Radcliffe has a few acting chops to sharpen as well, but the final scenes of his fight with You Know Who, with Cedric lifeless next to him, are as intense as Rowling could have imagined them. The ghosts of his parents stand beside their teenaged son, and his mother whispers, “Go ahead, sweetheart. You’re ready.” I’ll admit, I cried a little. I’m not sure if it was the mother’s love Harry finally got to feel, the look of sheer determination on his face, or the death of the innocent Diggory and his father’s subsequent cries that got me more, but I shed a tear or two.

Transferring a book to a movie is never an easy go; filmmakers are bound to miss details, rework scenes and change the movie the reader’s already created in their mind’s eye. Goblet had it easy, adding to a brand as solidified as McDonald’s or Barbie. But Goblet had it hard, creating a movie for the masses from a book as revered as the classics. In the end, though, everything worked, the final product coming off effortlessly. Jo should be proud.

Free Screenings, My Ass

2005-11-16T16:40:00.000-05:00

I'm not addicted to blogs, but I do have a few I check on a regular basis (some less intellectual than others). One of them feeds my insatiable need for useless movie trivia: Cinematical. I believe that's a cross between Cinema and Fanatical, so it only makes sense that I visit.

Every so often, the folks at Cinematical drop a link to the latest free movie screenings for whatever movie's about to be released. I've grown accustomed to these screenings being in places like New York, Chicago, LA, Duluth...OK, maybe not that last one. But still, if the movie isn't up for a free screening in Boston, it might as well not be released. Every movie screens in Boston apparently.

I had to read ever so carefully, then, to be sure I read this post correctly. That's a longer list of cities than I've ever seen a movie being offered at. And wouldn't you know, it's coming to Indianapolis, too?! What are the odds?

Two things wrong with this picture (aka the situation, not the actuall film. Well, I'll get to that in a minute). One, it's for Just Friends, a movie that looks almost as bad as...God, I can't even think of a movie as bad (although I do think Ryan Reynolds is a funny guy). That's how forgettable this flick will be. Two, I'm headed to New England tomorrow, landing safely in Providence about the time opening credits would be rolling. So even if I wanted to see said bad movie for free, the one time a screening has been kind enough to include little ol' Indy in its list of stops, I couldn't. Because I'll be in BOSTON. Where's the justice in that?!

Despite my frustration in the poor timing and lack of options where Indianapolis free movie screenings are concerned, I will continue to frequent Cinematical, hoping with every post there will be a movie nearby for me to enjoy free of charge. A girl's gotta dream...

Shopgirl

2005-11-10T21:56:00.000-05:00

There’s something precious in a movie preview. It’s like looking through the keyhole of the door you’re just dying to open so you can get into that world you’ve never been to before. I think you could make a pretty solid argument on the idea that previews are an art form unto themselves and, when done well, you’ll want to see the preview again more than the movie itself. Right now, I’m loving the Brokeback Mountain preview; maybe it’s because I’ve read the story and I know what happens, but I cry watching the two minute teaser (and I’ve watched it plenty, given all the movies I’ve seen lately).

I’ve also read Shopgirl, Steve Martin’s little novella that made a little splash back in the day, if only because it proved that some entertainers can cross mediums and do well (at least, better than Jennifer Lopez) in their new arena. I thought then that it would make a good movie, and I still think it can. Maybe next time they’ll get it right.

You see, it’s the preview’s fault. Watch it, and then think about the type of movie you’d expect to see. From that preview, a few words that came to mind were: hip, independent, bittersweet, witty, original. But then, I’m reminded of the first thing they teach you in movie critic school: If you go into a movie with expectations, expect to be let down. I’m not sure how many times I’ll have to touch the stove before I learn that it’s hot, but this is yet another example where I expected to be moved and instead just got a gentle nudge.

Maribelle Buttersfield (Claire Danes) is the latest of transplants to L.A., working the seldom-frequented glove counter on the top floor of Saks. Washing her laundry one day, she meets Jeremy (Jason Schwartzman), the flighty, quirky graphic artist who means well despite his eccentricities. Not much later, one Ray Porter (Martin) stumbles into her department, buying an expensive pair of gloves only to present them to Maribelle in his first of many gifts during their May-December courtship. So begins the story of a unique sort of love triangle based in each party’s search for whatever it is they need most. While the concept is original, something gets lost in the execution, leaving the movie version of the story sorely lacking.

It’s sad, probably, but the little touches were what put me off from this otherwise noble effort of a film. Were you to Google “Plain Jane” in Martin’s world, you’d most assuredly get Mirabelle as a result of your search. Great casting, as Danes’ average looks and waif-like figure scream vanilla; but does she have to dress like my Catholic grade school librarian through the whole movie? Even on dates with the dapper (and very wealthly) Ray Porter, she’s in dresses even a 1950s housewife would feel restricted in.

I’m the farthest thing from a music snob; most of the time, I don’t even notice what songs/melodies are playing during a good scene. But then, that might just be a nod to how well the music fits the scene. Going back to my point about the preview…the music had a Garden State sort of feel to it, that original, underground, emo sort of stuff. I searched high and low through this feature and couldn’t find a single piece of good music. The stuff the preview is made of never even appears in the film! And exciting moments, as Maribelle falls for Ray or then finds love with Jeremy, are practically ruined by the insertion of cheesy oldies and sappy orchestral numbers.
And perhaps the most unsettling factor in Shopgirl is the lack of chemistry between Danes and Martin. Their first kiss is tender and gentle; Ray’s been a gentleman the whole time, giving Maribelle as much room as she needs before moving in for the kill. But the moment their lips meet, I had to force myself not to cringe. It might have just been me imagining what it would be like to kiss (or sleep with…gross!) a man 35 years older than me, or it might have been that there’s about as much of a flame between these two as you get from one of those sparklers everyone waves around on July 4th.

Shopgirl is funny, a mark a movie with any influence from Steve Martin couldn’t do without. I did laugh a lot; when Jeremy and Maribelle do the awkward “Are we or arent’ we?” dance before sleeping together the first time, when Ray promises to remember Mariebelle’s birthday the next year and she tells him he’ll be dead by then. There is funny stuff here, but it’s a side note to the deeper story Martin wanted to tell.

The performances (and casting for that matter) are spot-on, too. Danes plays a lost, insecure twenty-something well, and despite her matronly wardrobe, I totally believed her infatuation with a man that pampered her as much as Porter did. Martin plays the serious role easily, and while there are instances he might be seen as a bit of a rat, he’s never deceiving about what it is he wants. The best performance, by far, comes out of Schwartzman. This guy’s got it, sort of the way Peter Sarsgaard’s got it, and I don’t think there’s a role he can’t roll into effortlessly.

I could go on about the points I found lacking in this movie, but I’ll spare you. What matters is that, in the end Shopgirl sends a sweet message. The lesson learned is that love can’t be portioned out like dinner rations; it is there one hundred percent or it is not there at all. And its reciprocation is essential to the viability of the human heart.

For a much friendlier (and far more eloquent) review, pay Roger Ebert a visit. I guess this is why he gets paid to write these things.

Jarhead

2005-11-10T00:54:00.000-05:00

The thing about Jarhead is that it’s a war movie without any war. If you’re looking for the gore of Saving Private Ryan or the brutality of Full Metal Jacket, you’re best to stay with the real thing. While Jarhead is a good movie, it is its own kind of war movie (though some would say it stole too much from its predecessors). At the very least, it is a fresh story about war, and the men who fight, that you most likely haven’t heard before.

Based on the best-selling book of the same name by ex (or former…not sure which, and I know there’s a huge difference) Marine Anthony Swofford, Jarhead follows Swoff (Jake Gyllenhaal) through enlistment, basic training and deployment into that first Bush’s war in Iraq, Desert Shield and Storm. When Staff Sgt. Sykes (Jamie Foxx) picks him to train for a position as a sniper, Swoff finds himself in select company, eventually becoming one of eight trained to shoot and kill on command. The news comes that they’re going to the Gulf, off to war as soldiers. And so begins the waiting that is central to Jarhead.

War movies like Ryan have a story mapped out for them. The idea is, “Gentlemen, this is your mission. We’ll roll the credits as soon as it’s completed. Good luck.” In that sense, Jar is unlike those other movies, the idea being that the reality of life as a marine is getting used to a lot of “hurry up and wait.” But if we’re not seeing war from this guy’s point of view, what are we seeing? Well, that’s a tough one. It seems like director Sam Mendes’s plan was to take a handful of poignant moments in a Marine’s life and make their day-to-day lives more relatable. Which sounds like a good plan. Unfortunately, Mendes hits the mark only a handful of times; the rest of these moments are either cheesy, disconnected, or both.

The ones that work:
>Swoff’s breakdown, when he threatens a fellow soldier’s life, turns the gun on himself and realizes just how far off the deep end he’s fallen.
>Swoff’s partner, Troy’s breakdown (played by the awesome Peter Sarsgaard), when they’re about to get their only kill of the war, only to be usurped by an air strike (the picture of what happens to a man when the one thing he’s been trained to do is the one thing he doesn’t do at all is believable.).
>The horniness (for lack of a better word) of all of the guys; let’s be honest, it happens.
>And on a similar note, the stress and frustration that the women at home cause the guys. I’d never heard of a “Wall of Shame” before, but I totally buy that they exist.
>Right before they’re deployed, they all pack into a theater to watch Apocalypse Now and get so riled up, you want to cheer right along with them.

The ones that don’t:
>The squad watching Iraq’s invasion of Kuwait on TV and Troy’s melodramatic “We’re going to fucking war.” 1. I said the line before he did; never a good sign when I can predict things. 2. I believe the movie would have been a half hour shorter if they’d taken even half of the “fucks” out of the dialogue, but then I guess that’s a reality of military life.
>Swoff’s lame attempt to stay behind and watch the homemade porn a commrade’s cheating wife sent to him after Troy moves all the men out of the room. In his defense, he’s only doing it because he’s already hurt by the girlfriend that left him, but still, it’s just creepy.
>The end, when the crew is celebrating the end of the war. 1. Swoff mentions that he never got to fire his rifle; at Troy’s suggestion they fire them into the air. In a moment of cinematic bravado, the rest of the men follow suit. Cheese. 2. Throwing odd and ends into the bonfire, a few men also throw out lines like “Thank God we’ll never have to come back here” and “Out of the desert forever.” Double cheese, if only for the blatant disrespect towards the people back there today and their families. Something tells me this could have found its way out during editing.

I’ll admit that I was excited for this flick, and I did enjoy it. I wouldn’t put it on the same level as I did Capote, but save the few moments that left me wincing, it was a good movie. I got into, covering my eyes during Swoff’s breakdown and laughing out loud at the other guys’ antics. It’s an exciting film, despite the lack of combat. And I’ll agree with a few critics and say that it’s a beautiful film, the scenes depicted exquisitely and proving what I’ve always said about film as an art form for expressing things no other medium can. The endless sand and sky, the billowing smoke towers from the burning oil wells, the moment of a bomb’s impact frozen on the charred faces of its victims (maybe there’s a little gore) all speak to the vision of the film, making up for the spots where the story lacked.

That, and I’m a sucker (like most women) for a man in uniform.

Ma Vie En Rose

2005-11-08T22:22:00.000-05:00

We all have to go through it. Some of us get through it before we hit puberty, others are still figuring it out as adults. Whenever we face reality and admit it, it’s then that our lives really start. That is, once we have found an identity, have named who it is we choose to be in this life, we are truly able to experience all that life offers.

What, then, happens when the identity we’ve discovered as ours is one at odds with the world we have to live in?

Ma Vie en Rose, a French film from the late ‘90s, asks this very question in a unique arena. Ludo, the seven-year-old protagonist of the story, is convinced there’s been some sort of mistake. He’s meant to be a girl, he knows he’s a girl, he’s determined to convince the rest of the world he’s a girl. He’s stuck, though, in a world that only sees him as the boy his body announces he is.

From the first scene in the movie, when Ludo appears at the party his parents are hosting for their new neighborhood in a dress and make-up, it is clear that this is a different sort of movie, original in the best sense of the word. It is bright and light and playful, Ludo and friends taking flight over the houses when tensions run high. But it is simultaneously complex, full of depth and leaves an audience with plenty of self and societal reflections to ponder.

Ludo won’t cut his hair, he brings dolls to show and tell and he’s positive that he and his friend Jerome will marry one day, when he’s the girl he’s meant to be. The boys act out the wedding, Ludo playing the part of the priest and the bride. As the priest, he’s asking the man and wife to kiss when Jerome’s mother peeks her head in and promptly faints. From there, the ball that is the fabric of the family and the community begins to unravel. At a school play, Ludo locks the girl playing Snow White in the bathroom, taking her place for the scene where Prince Charming (played by Jerome) is to kiss her and wake her. This stunt is the last straw; Ludo’s father loses his job (and as his boss is also Jerome’s father, it comes as no surprise), his mother’s mild temper turns to indignation and the two cart Ludo to a therapists, hoping to shrink the tendencies out of him.

The pieces that make Rose so endearing (and perhaps heart wrenching) are those intangibles that a movie either gets right or gets wrong. Rose gets it right. Through every stunt Ludo pulls, we’re not once mad at him or angry that he’s been so careless. Instead, his endless innocence and utmost sincerity redeem his otherwise inexcusable actions. We believe that he knows he’s supposed to be a girl (a “scientific error” he calls it; he’s just waiting on his other X). And the results, namely the reactions from the community, are just as believable. In a world that thrives on anonymity, we’d feel shorted if the neighbors had reacted in any way but fear and confusion. They petition the Headmaster, forcing Ludo to attend a school an hour away. The boys on his soccer team beat him up; someone graffitis the family’s garage.

The ensemble around Ludo is as eclectic as the boy himself, lending a welcome layer to this already intricate film. His mother, Hanna, enables him at first, proud of a son as unique as he is. But at his antics escalate, she becomes more and more desperate and angry. His father, Pierre, is adamant that he act like a boy, the gentle man we see in the first scenes becoming violent and unpredictable later. His siblings, two brothers and a sister, are mostly set decorations until later in the film. His sister gets her period and, when Ludo overhears their mother calling her a “real lady,” he begs her to tell him when he’ll get his. And his brothers stand by as Ludo is attacked, later facing the guilt of their cowardice. The gem of the family is Ludo’s grandmother, a free spirit desperate to bridge the gap between loving the child for who he is and making him who society demands he become. She goes so far as to let Ludo live with her during the family’s most tumultuous moments.

I’ll admit that, as the movie progressed, I found myself asking a question I normally don’t seek an answer for: How will it end? Most of the time, I’m happy to let the end find me, rather than the other way around. But short of this torn soul running away from home (or worse, ending his short life), I wasn’t sure where the story could end without leaving us unsatisfied.

This, then, is why I don’t make movies.

In a wonderful, everything-happens-for-a-reason twist, the family moves when Pierre gets a new job. At first the family is understandably resentful that they’re forced to start their lives over in a new place. But in the final, climactic scenes of Rose, all is resolved. Where the film had brought to life the worst picture of society and intolerance, it finds a way (which I’ll demand you watch the film to discover) to redeem all of that, reminding us that we do live in a (cliched as it may be) loving and supportive world. And, while I’ve been known to cry at pretty much anything, it’s a shoe-in that a mother’s love turns on my waterworks. So when Hanna comes full circle to accept her son, hugging him to her like she hadn’t in ages, I not only had tears in my eyes but chills as well.

Rose asks a simple question at the outset of the film: what happens when who we know we are isn’t what they say we’re supposed to be? In a story that’s touching, heartbreaking and most importantly believable, it answers it’s own question wholly.

Why I will see Jarhead:

2005-11-04T10:57:00.000-05:00

and Brokeback Mountain.

And that's all.

Capote

2005-11-03T22:26:00.000-05:00

This was the film on the opposite side of my buzz-o-meter, if you will. Where Good Night was off the charts, Capote barely registered. Until I saw the credits tonight, I couldn't have told you who played even the lead role (whom I can now tell you is a very talented Phillip Seymour Hoffman). When you're done here, then, I suggest you have a listen to these guys and see if what I had to say is anything fairly similar or vastly different from what they had to say (or maybe somewhere in between).

Capote (which from now on refers to the film, while Truman refers to the man) is the story of how Truman's last complete book, In Cold Blood, came to fruition. In the process, a little is revealed about Truman as a person, about the lengths selfishness will drive a person to, and about the climate of the times in the literary community of the early 1960s. The man who wrote both the book and screenplay for the classic Breakfast at Tiffany's was searching for a topic for his next article in The New Yorker magazine. After reading about a quadruple homicide in a small town in Kansas, he and his research assistant, one Nelle Harper Lee (yes, that Harper Lee), set off to see the community for themselves. What starts as a small inquiry into how the town copes with such an incident quickly turns into an obsession for Truman or, at the very least, his next book. Little by little he and Lee are able to work their way into the tight-knit group, and while the film doesn't focus so much on how the killers are found or even the trial of the two men, we're given enough to latch onto that we willingly jump on for this ride.

Perry, one of the killers, and Truman form a friendship based on what one can get from the other. Truman helps find the men a good lawyer, delaying their ultimate execution for years; Perry has the gory details Truman needs for the end of "the best non-fiction book of the decade." There is a deception within both men, though, that keeps the relationship interesting. While Perry gently talks about his mother and sketches effortlessly in his journal, there is, after all, a homicidal monster lurking inside him. And though Truman spends countless amounts of time and money on both men, he is the definition of selfishness, only thinking about the fame and fortune that could come from the book he plans to write. "When I think about how good this book could be," he says to Lee, "I can hardly breathe." Eventually both men must face the reality of the finite friendship. Perry realizes he really will be hung for his crimes and Truman realizes how helpless he is now that he genuinely does want to help.

I'm extremely scared to do this, as I can see it blowing up in my face (especially if what I'm about to type is blasted by everyone who really matters), and I know it's incredibly early in the season to be putting these sort of predictions out there....but I'm going for it. If Hoffman doesn't get nominated for an Oscar for his role in this film, it will be a tragic oversight on the Academy's part. Hoffman artfully and effortlessly creates this persona of a man who runs with the best packs in New York's social scene while dragging himself through the emotionally draining production of the book. His consistent mannerisms (I swear, that pinky never touches a glass, and Truman drinks through the whole movie!), his effortless tone and lisp in his speech and the sincerity of his tears in saying goodbye to Perry before his execution...if these alone aren't deserving of at least a nomination, I could go and watch the film again, bringing back more reasons to justify this limb I'm hanging from. This film, contrary to the confusion in Good Night, really is about Truman and the journey he's forced to travel in searching out this book. Where Murrow is the same staunch reporter at the end of the film as he was at the beginning, Truman has metamorphosized. He's been called out by friends and been made to see that his motives, no matter how he manipulated them, weren't all that selfless after all.

If I had to find one thing to worry about in this gem of a film (probably the best I've seen so far in this Fall Movie Blitz I'm venturing into), it would be the following: I had a conversation today about the idea that the majority of violence and sex in films is unecessary and only placed there to draw in a crowd. This thought occurred to me when, at the end of the film, we're taken back to the night of the murders. There a few scenes so graphic I wondered why they were included at all in a film so easy to watch until then. But then, maybe I just have a weak stomach. And if that's the only complaint I have of the entire film, I'd say we're not doing too poorly.

So there you have it: my unabashed praise of Capote and my outlandish prediction of the breakout performances (I could see Catherine Keener getting a Supporting Actress nod, but I'm not as positive about it) therein. I'm as curious as you, now, to see what other people are saying about the film, so you'll excuse me if I go from watching movies and writing about movies to reading and listening about movies.

Good Night, and Good Luck.

2005-11-03T21:23:00.000-05:00

As I dapple in this world of reviewing films (there's something too harsh in the word critic), I notice the many different places each review is starting from in reviewing a movie. Some make it a point to read everything they can on a film, knowing exactly what to expect on the screen, researching every last detail. Some make it a point to absolutely avoid the buzz around a film, believing it will tarnish their ability to look impartially at the film, reviewing it more for what they've heard about it than what they really saw. And then, despite efforts on either side of the theater aisle, there are some movies you simply can't avoid hearing something about. Thus far I've stayed pretty ambivilent over the whole issue. Tonight I found myself simultaneously on both sides, though, as I've heard a ton about Good Night, and Good Luck, and hardly anything at all about Capote. It should be interesting, then, to see how my take differs from, parallels to and/or is influenced by those reviews I seek out for their opinions.

First, then, is George Clooney's latest foray into the director's chair in a "biopic" about McCarthy-era broadcast journalist Edward R. Murrow. I intentionaly place the genre in quotations here because, even after letting the movie sink in for the evening, I still don't believe the movie was about Murrow. Or if it was, I think it terribly missed the mark and completely overlooked the real story it could have told. More than a story, the film is a history lesson, yet not a very good one at that. Best case scenario, I think it's a film that couldn't settle on just which topic it felt was important enough to focus on, so it bounced around to quite a few.

First, there's Murrow, the story of the man. It can hardly be said that the film is about his life. We only see a window of a few years of it; we never meet family; we barely see the man smile. Though maybe that's who this man was. As one born long after the days of Person to Person (Murrow's "soft" interviews with celebrities) and the Communist-hunt McCarthy went on, I really don't have more to go on about Murrow than what's given to me in the movie. And if I'm to walk away from the film with a picture of this man, it would be an awfully stark one, albeit one with convictions and principles. I'm not convinced Good Night can be described as a "biopic."

Next, there's the on-air battle between Murrow and McCarthy. I'll be honest and admit that I don't know much about McCarthy and his ruthlessness in finding and revealing Communists across the country in the mid-1950s. The film, while not a picture about Murrow per se, is certainly on the side of Murrow and the integrity of his journalism at the time of these "investigations" (lots of quotes in this, I know). I'd be curious to see a final script of the movie, more specifically what percentage of the film was original writing and what large chunk were direct transcripts of Murrow's broadcasts and McCarthy's hearings (which, actually, were not transcripts at all but real archival footage). This remarkably literal historical look at this period in American history left me intrigued, yes, but also feeling like I'd stumbled into a documentary. I have to say that I agree with the guys at Cinecast on this one: Clooney relied too much on archival footage to tell the story for him.

Finally, the story that most piqued my interest was the one that the film was parenthetically wrapped in at the beginning and end. The film starts with Murrow being introduced and honored at a Radio and Television News Directors Association (they still exist!) event. Within the first few moments of his speech, he's succeeded in insulting the profession of every man in the room (it is still 1958, so I'm safe in saying "every man") by insisting that if television keeps up its current trends it will become the bane of society. Immediately we're taken back four years and into the thick of the aforementioned battle. But towards the end of the 90-minute film (guess they ran out of archives to run...) the story of the television industry and the effect Murrow would have on it returns when Paley, the head of CBS, reminds Murrow and producer Fred Friendly (Clooney) that he is, in the end, running a business. "See It Now" has just lost their main sponsor and Paley reminds them, "The $64,000 Question brings in $80,000 in advertising an episode and costs a third of what yours does to make." After baring fangs and claws, Paley ultimately lays down the law, moving Murrow's news show from Tuesday's prime time to Sunday afternoon. "Why don't you just fire me?" asks Murrow. And he's right; a move like that, even among only the three networks of the time, was the kiss of death.

When we return to the 1958 affair where we started, Murrow continues on his ever-eloquent soliloquy about the state of television and the idea that, if those makers of the content that goes on air do not take a personal interest in what is broadcast, media as a whole will be nothing more than the lowest common denominator of a lazy, indifferent society. I wonder if Mr. Murrow could tell the future?

The film remarkably captures the time and tension of its setting;
the black and white picture automatically lend it an air of authenticity. David Strathain bears a striking resemblance to the real Edward Murrow, and while the archival footage might be excessive, it certainly does well to let McCarthy and the hearings of the time make a case for themselves. In certain scenes the camera shifts in and out of focus, bounces unsteadily between the banter of the reporters and sometimes lingers too long on nothing. And while at first the camerawork seems shoddy, it doesn't take long to forget you're in a theater at all and instead be consumed by the atmosphere, feeling like you're sitting in the screening rooms right alongside these newsmakers.

With all the buzz I'd heard, I found myself mentally slapping my own hand, reminding myself to just watch the movie. "So and so totally mentioned that," I kept thinking to myself. Or "What's his name was so right about that!" And while I think the preconceptions I had going into Good Night were present in my viewing, I can say I found more in it than I'd expected to, and more, perhaps than the real reviewers.

Heads Up

2005-11-03T07:58:00.000-05:00

Yes, the trusty weatherman in my radio said to expect sunny skies and temperatures topping 75 degrees…on November 3. Yes, any sane person would spend such a day soaking up the unexpected nice day, taking a walk or tossing a Frisbee with friends or cleaning out the car (as I keep telling myself I need to do before it gets too cold and I don’t want to do it at all). But then, I’ve never been called sane.

Instead, I’ll be enjoying my night off tonight by sequestering myself in a dark, empty movie theater for not one but two films tonight. On the agenda: enjoying the offerings at Caslteton Arts while it’s still around (rumor has it that my favorite theater won’t be around to ring in 2007). First up, Good Night, and Good Luck, George Clooney’s apparently rather pretentious look (“I’m an important movie and I know it!”) look at the career of one Edward R. Murrow (you might have heard of him). I’m impressed by the cast (including highly the highly underrated Patricia Clarkson and David Strathairn, playing the man himself), and frankly I’m all about seeing the movies with buzz around them (though decidedly not the buzz that From Justin to Kelly had about it).

After the hour and a half spent with that crew, I’ll have time to jump across the street (one of many reasons why Castleton Arts is my fave) and grab a quick dinner at home, only to return a little after seven to catch Capote. I haven’t heard nearly as much buzz about this one, but my new friends Adam and Sam just reviewed it and, in the spirit of objectivity, I’m going to wait to listen to what they have to say until after I see it. While this movie isn’t so much the story of a life (think De-Lovely), it is the story of the creation of a book, a mysterious, murderous book and the intriguing relationships forged in the process. Looks promising at least.

So consider yourself warned. Reviews are on their way. And Lee, I promise I’m going to watch Ma Vie en Rose soon!

A Sad State of Affairs

2005-10-31T22:02:00.000-05:00

Social lives are highly overrated. Seriously. Who needs having friends over on a Friday night? Who wants to dance and people watch all night on a Saturday? Why would you ever bother going to lunch with the girls, and where’s the use of helping the couple that’s moving to Philadelphia with getting all their stuff together? Highly unnecessary, I’m sure…

Because all this socializing has kept me away from the truly important stuff. I haven’t been able to sit in the small space of my apartment and read a book for an hour or more in over a week. I haven’t found the time to sit alone in a dark theater, living my life through images on screen, in almost twice as long. I haven’t had time to vacuum out my car or wash my windows or alphabetize my DVDs, all of which are valid, fulfilling ways to spend one’s Saturday night, thank you very much. I haven’t been talking to my cat; I haven’t been posting on message boards while I’m endlessly surfing the internet; I haven’t been fiddling with my TV to see if I can get in more than three channels.

The good news, friends, is that this influx of social plans seems to come in waves. And I owe you a lot for sticking with me in these difficult days while I’ve been off gallivanting with drag queens (don’t ask!) and rehashing the weekends over brunch with hung over friends. The dark times are passing, though, I can tell. Soon, I’ll be back to my loner ways, watching movies to pass the time and sharing my thoughts with the dozen of you out there. Save the handful of nights I’ll be working, I have every intention of spending time putting a dent in my Netflix queue and learning the concession stand guy’s name. Good times are in store!

Crash

2005-10-23T21:08:00.000-05:00

Crash will make you angry. It will frustrate you, and it might even make you look at the world differently, though not necessarily in the vein of those quaint pictures at the Heartland Film Festival.

The movie covers one 24-hour window in the lives of a half-dozen Los Angelinos. I knew the idea was to take a look at the racism that is still at work in our daily lives; I didn’t know that it would be done in such a raw, no-holds barred way. The ensemble cast (with well-knowns like Sandra Bullock, Don Cheadle, Matt Dillon, Ryan Phillippe, Brendan Fraser, Terrence Howard) weaves a story connected mainly by coincidences. Jean (Bullock) and Rick (Fraser) are leaving the theater when Anthony (Ludacris) and Peter (Larenz Tate) (not very “black” names, if we’re going to talk about stereotypes) carjack them from their black Lincoln Navigator at gunpoint. Officer Ryan (Dillon), who’d just gotten the brush off from an insurance provider named Sheniqua (Loretta Divine), and Officer Hanson (Phillippe) pull over an SUV fitting the description, knowing it’s not the car. Ryan takes his frustration out on the affluent couple, harassing Cameron (Howard) and even molesting wife Christine (Thandie Newton). A murder (on the fringe of the story, but also racially charged) brings Detectives Graham (Cheadle) and Ria (Jennifer Esposito) into the picture. And that’s only half the plotlines involved in this constanly revolving door of a film. The story comes full circle as it progresses, though, and what’s redeeming about such a dark look at reality is that each character we’re introduced to changes in some way. Not necessarily for the better, mind you, but the basic need of an audience is to see the characters change with their experiences, and Crash’s do.

The honesty of Crash is simultaneously refreshing and appalling. After the carjacking, Jean and Rick (who happens to be L.A.’s district attorney) change their locks. Out of paranoia and racism (the locksmith is Hispanic), Jean demands that the locks be re-changed the next day, saying

I just had a gun pointed in my face... and it was my fault because I knew it was gonna happen. But if a white person sees two black men walking towards her and she turns and walks away, she's a racist, right? Well I got scared and I didn't do anything and ten seconds later I had a gun in my face. Now I am telling you, your amigo in there is going to sell our key to one of his homies and this time it would be really fucking great if you acted like you gave a shit!

It is this candor in the script that, while cringe-worthy, keeps us interested in these lives, wondering which direction our train of thought might have taken were we in a similar situation.

Paul Haggis, a successful TV writer, directed and wrote the film. His seamless integration of the stories is even more universal in that he doesn’t just focus on racism in one community. Partners and lovers Graham and Ria get into a heated argument when Graham refers to her as white (incorrect) and then Mexican (also incorrect, as she tells him her family is from Puerto Rico and El Salvador). This inclusion of stereotypes across the board only make the picture relatable to a larger audience, which is never a bad thing.

There was a time when movies were meant as an escape. Spend a nickel, spend the day at the theater watching Charlie Chaplin waddle with his cane. Over time, films have evolved into a reflection of the world we live in and, while many movies still sugar-coat that world (glossy models as actors, pretty sets as scenery). Every now and then there’s one that shifts your focus ever-so-slightly; one that sees you leaving the theater actually thinking more than you were when you entered. I’ve yet to see if it’s a lasting effect, but I know for the time being I’m looking at the things everyone says and does differently, wondering under what light they’re meant to be cast. For now, though, the optimistic naiveté holds out in me. Maybe it’s only because I want to so badly, but I feel like this movie is a magnifying glass, putting a mass amount of racial tension into one small square foot of life. There really isn’t that much animosity in the world…is there?

A Couple Great Finds

2005-10-21T08:33:00.000-05:00

Coming down from the movie high I've been on for the last week, I've had to find other ways to get my fix of the cinematic world. Dancing around the internet, I stumbled (I'm not a great dancer) onto a couple great finds, which you'll see links to at the left of these posts.

First, I've added The Movie Review Diary, a blog that was noticed on Bloggers homepage. Apparently Paul McElligott has been at this review thing since 1997, so he's got a few movies on me. But give me 5 years!

Next, a site I'm really excited I came across: CinecastShow. These two guys, Adam and Sam, take a few minutes a couple times a week to record a podcast about whatever movie's on it's way into theaters, or whatever top 5 list they can think of, or whatever classic film they feel like revisiting. They're very easy to listen to, make valid points and express interesting opinions. I highly reccommend that if you ever find yourself with an extra half hour or so, download (or better yet subscribe to) their podcast and listen about movies while you balance the checkbook or do the dishes. Great show, gentlemen!

So, these and the other links over there are keeping me satisfied for now. Already, though, I have a list of at least three movies I want to see this weekend...now if I could only find the time!

Heartland Film Festival, I'll miss you!

2005-10-20T23:37:00.000-05:00

Note: these entries will be posted for your viewing slightly out of order. Check back often for more reviews of the films at the Festival.

And what a great ride it was while it lasted.

I'm sure it sounds crazy, but you know how some people fall in love with musicians and follow them around the country on their tours? I would have no problem, if I had the resources, doing the same with film festivals. I might not be able to make it to Cannes, but I know there are a bazillion festivals out there, in every city. And if I have a fraction of the fun I had going to these movies, it would be worth the cost within the first screening.

Right from the start of that first night (oh, it seems so long ago!) I knew I was going to enjoy myself. I mean, all the elements were there: free movie tickets, two movies at each screening, my pen and paper to take all my insightful notes, and best of all, filmmakers willing to let me (and the rest of the audience, I guess) pick their brains about each film. The best part, though, about all of this has been having this blog to document it all. Because for me, movies and writing go together like peanut butter and jelly. So if I'm basically asked to go to movies then given the green light to write all I want about them, how could I ever turn that down??

I hope you've enjoyed reading about the screenings I've sat in on and about the little encounters and conversations I've had. It's been fun to stretch my writing legs and force myself to get these "reviews" on the record. I mentioned the fact that this sort of seemed like a job to me, and it was one I did happily. And one that forced me to show some self-discipline, to write when I would have otherwise...watched a movie...

The only thing I would like to have done differently, honestly, is to just have spent more time at the festival. I would, next year, like to make time to devote the week to the events and the screenings, to be around for all the big stuff and all the little stuff. I wish I could have blogged what Dakota Fanning wore to the Dreamer premiere, or what bits of wisdom the writers at the Brunch had to offer, or what movie the audience chose as their favorite. I didn't get to do any of that this year, mainly for a lack of planning on my part. I saw this opportunity present itself too late, and I didn't get anywhere near as much time to spend with you, Heartland, as I would have liked.

You've been a good friend to me, though, despite my coming and going. Every night (or morning), I walked into your theater not knowing just what to expect, and every night (or morning) when I walked out, I was always smiling, always leaving with those expectations exceeded. I know you're getting into those teenage years, Heartland, and with the big 1-5 coming up next year we could expect some very interesting things from you. One thing you can certainly expect from me, though: loyal, consistent attendance at all you have to offer, so that I might be able to know you better than I already do.

Thank you, again, for a great ride. See you next year.

End of the Spear

2005-10-20T23:02:00.000-05:00

Jim Hanon; 2005; 111 minutes

Carolyn and I caught dinner before we went to see this movie, and I made sure it was a quick one. When I picked up my seating cards, the volunteers reminded me that this screening looked like it would be popular. The last night of the Festival, tonight was the last chance to catch the Grand Prize winning film on the big screen. Which, quite honestly, was the reason I (along with the rest of Indianapolis) wanted to be at this show. For a 9:25 start time, we got there just a few minutes after nine. And it was a good thing we did. Within five minutes after grabbing two seats, the theater was, as I’ve seen it a handful of times this week, teeming with people.

One of the first things anyone who’s caught more than a couple films this week would notice about this film is apparent from the start. The sheer quality of this film, the sharpness of picture, the crispness of the images, is comparable to any film you’ll see in wide release. This simple difference is, in fact, a huge one when you consider the other low-budget films that look like they’re low budget films. I’d be willing to say that this high quality of the film was the singular reason it won the grand prize.

But then, the movie unfolds. And it is easily obvious, through story and scenery and performances, why the jury at Heartland chose Spear as their top film this year. Based on the true story of missionaries based in Ecuador who seek to make contact with the native Waodani people, Spear is told from the point of view of one of the missionary’s sons. The natives are a violent people, stuck in a spiral of vengeful killing (be spear, of course) that is leading them to an eventual extinction. When missionary Nate Saint (how fitting) flies over the Waodani settlement in his little yellow plane (which contrasts gorgeously against the green of the jungle and blue of the rivers in the aerial shots), he slowly begins contact with them. Nate and his fellow missionaries land the plane on a sandbar and, using the minimal Waodani words they know, attempt to draw the people out of the woods. The attempts prove fatal, as the confused people do what they’re so accustomed to doing—they kill the group.

Eventually, the widowed women and now fatherless children are able to gain access to the Waodani, thanks in whole to the one Waodani woman the missionaries had adopted over a decade ago. Thought dead, when Dayumae returns to her people with foreigners in tow, the others slowly begin to accept them and their message. One of the best parts of this film, among many, is that message and the subtlety with which it’s worked into the film. Where the movie could have easily become a “God film,” forever resigned to the Christian section at Blockbuster (do they even have that section?), the theme of forgiveness and breaking the cycle of violence is intertwined so seamlessly that we easily accept Dayumae’s simplistic explanation of the concept of Jesus. It’s mentioned momentarily, and we move on. When one branch of the tribe comes down with polio, one of the missionaries asks the man on the other end of the radio to pray for them. It is these little moments of faith slipped into the intriguing story of the families that accept their husbands’ killers that add one more layer to the many in the film.

If you’ve caught previous reviews here, you’ll know that while I’ve enjoyed every movie I’ve seen, none have grabbed me, whisked me into them and set me down as the credits started to roll in a better place than I was when I entered the theater. None until End of the Spear. I don’t know if it was the stunning cinematography, the captivating performances (including a wonderful one by child actor Chase Ellison) or the ultimate message of the film as a whole, but this movie is most certainly deserving of the top honors it received while in Indianapolis.

The idea behind those honors is that whatever movie is on the receiving end would be the one that most exemplifies the mission of the Festival, that is to create a film that explores the human journey by artistically expressing hope and respect for the positive values of life. Quite possibly the most profound lesson we all learn on that human journey is the one reminding us to turn the other cheek when we’ve been wronged. Beautifully and effortlessly, Spear epitomizes this lesson (I kept thinking throughout the film of that old adage, “An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.”), not only through the whole film, but most poignantly in one of the final scenes. Nate’s now-grown son has spent his life with the people who killed his father, wondering all the time who it was who actually threw the spear. When Mincayani takes him to where the plane is now buried and where, 40 years ago, he speared Nate Saint, Steve’s rage brings him to the brink of spearing Mincayani in retaliation. Our entire journey through the movie is resting on the outcome of this moment, and as Steve drops the spear, exhausted by his own rage, there is a solidification of the film’s message.

While I’m incredibly sad to see the Festival end (even though tomorrow is the last night, I won’t be attending so this is the final evening of movies for me), I couldn’t have chosen a better film to end my experience with. I wonder if it was placed in the last slot on this last night because, when making the schedule, the facilitators already knew it was chosen as the top film, or if it was merely a happy coincidence. Either way, it was a perfectly timed treat.

Ticker-tape Parade!

2005-10-20T15:06:00.000-05:00

In the style of those days gone by, I'd like to cordially invite you to a ticker-tape parade down mainstreet (and past the one-screen movie theater, of course!) celebrating the bridge recently crossed by this little movie blog of mine! Scroll down to the end of the page and there you have it...over 500 hits! And it only took....well, however long, it wasn't really that long at all. Thanks for popping in now and again, thanks for clicking over when I show up in your search results. Thanks for reading the sometimes long but (hopefully) always informative reviews and musings. You can bet I'll be keeping this going well into the forseeable future!

Cheers!

Nothing if not committed

2005-10-19T22:13:00.000-05:00

And no, I don't mean that in the certifiable sense of the word, thank you.

I had to work again tonight and, though I left in time to make it to a movie, I ultimately decided against it. Trust me, though. It took quite the inner monologue to convince me to stay home and get caught up on these posts I've been getting behind on, throw some laundry in, balance my checkbook and just relax and read for a little while instead of cramming one more movie into my life right now. I was giving myself a mild mental beating because I really feel like I need to be taking full advantage of this chance to see all these movies (I was going to add a "great" before that, but the critic in me won't let me!). So when I get off of work at 9:40 and I could potentially catch a screening at 9:50, there's more than a little ping of guilt when I opt out of it like I did tonight.

To be fair, though, this is the first time I've decided not to see a film when I was perfectly able and available to do so. And were I not working as much (next year, I've been seriously considering picking one day to take off from work and spend in the theater), you couldn't keep me away from the shows. So I'm not going to feel bad, and I am going to get a few of the things done that I've been putting off for the last five days.

Don't worry, friends. More movies are in my future!

Crud!

2005-10-19T12:21:00.000-05:00

Because the man who writes the schedules at job #2 takes his sweet time in posting them for his employees, I didn't know until yesterday that I do, in fact, have Friday night off. I was waiting...and waiting...and waiting...to see whether I'd be working or not before I called to get my ticket to see Duma at the Festival's closing night.

Damn procrastination!!

Now the showing/reception/awards presentation is "SOLD OUT" Crap!

Any Indianapolis-ites out there with an extra ticket?? I really want to go.

What will I do with my Friday night if I know a hundred happy movie-goers are at this event and I'm stuck painting my apartment?! This makes me incredibly sad.

Kathryn: The Story of a Teller

2005-10-18T08:55:00.000-05:00

Norton Dill; 2002(?); 88 minutes

Of the more than thirty films being screen at the Heartland Film Festival, I have only seen a handful. Granted, there’s still the tail end of the Festival to go and many more movies to sit in on. And granted, too, that I won’t be able to see every single film up for screening, so I can’t definitively name a best or (were I in a cruel mood) worst film. And even if I did name one or both, they would (and should) only be taken for what they are: the opinions of a novice critic, nothing more.

All of that said, however, will not keep me from what I’m about to say.

Kathryn is, indisputably, the best film at the Festival this year.

I should have known it would turn out this way. The screening started at 9:55 and until about 9:54 I was still convincing myself that I wanted to stay up for the late showing, wanted to sit through another movie, wanted to see a documentary I wasn’t too sold on. The theater was practically empty, only about a dozen of us clustered among the seats towards the center. The short was well done but ill-received by this moody reviewer, and as The Story of a Teller began, I was glad I’d brought my coffee into the show.

Because, right or wrong, I’ve begun looking at these screenings as a sort of job. Not a job I mind doing by any means, but a job nonetheless. I’ve made a commitment to myself, to a couple of the volunteers, to Jeff Sparks (whether he remembers or not, the man is so busy!) and to the handful of you reading this that I will go to these movies, take in every moment of the festival that I can, and recount them to you here. How can I do my job if I’m sitting in my apartment?

Kathryn, both the person and the movie, sneaks up on you. At first glance, you’ve got something rather unassuming in front of you. The person is a gentle old woman who moves with the confidence of one who’s lived a full life and the patience of one with no reason to be in a hurry. The movie is a gentle portrait of a culture fading into the disappearing tapestry of this country’s roots and a patient look at one of the most unpretentious, genuine subjects ever to be documented on film. But as you let the movie take you on a stroll through Selma, Alabama and around to various Storytelling Festivals (yes, they’re really out there), you realize you’re completely taken by the charm and mild manners of Kathryn and the film about her.

Born in Alabama, Kathryn was an unexpected addition to her family, coming when the sibling closest in age to her was already 13 years old. Admittedly spoiled in her childhood and growing up in a house teeming with books and magazines and newspapers, Kathryn studied journalism and would eventually work as an editor for the Birmingham paper at a time when women were the editor's secretaries. She explains, in her soft southern drawl (heard here at the bottom of the page), how Jeffrey the ghost came into her life and how, when Selma was in the crux of the Civil Rights movement, she never felt the need to take sides. She simply covered the event as the journalist she was trained to be.

Simultaneously fascinated by and comfortable with death, we sit in on a picnic Kathryn and friends have in a cemetary without it feeling awkward in the least. And when she approaches a woodworking friend about building her own coffin (She'll need one eventually, she acknowledges), there's a stark lack of queeziness. Instead, we're touched by her candor ("Just wrap me in a quilt and get this thing over with!") and find ourselves laughing out loud with the Festival crowd she's performing for when she admits that these days, since she's not going anywhere anytime soon, the coffin makes for great storage space.

It's when I least expect to be impressed that I find myself more touched than ever. I stayed in the theater until the last of the credits ran, smiling at the little moments played under the names (my favorite: Kathryn stops what she's doing to look down at the caterpillar crawing by at her feet). Only one other attendee waited until the very end as well and, as we walked out together, I realized that Heartland had surely chosen a gem with this one: we were both smiling broadly on our way back into the lobby.

A Silent Night

2005-10-18T08:40:00.000-05:00

Andy Nguyen; 2004; 12 minutes

As I'll explain more in my post about Kathryn, I was a minute or so late into this short. I believe that all I missed was the Heartland Film Festival logo clip before the films started; as I walked in, I caught the year and location inserted in the corner of the screen--1972, Viet Nam.

One thing I've been impressed with in these shorts is the depth of stories that are told without a single word of dialogue. I guess that's not completely true. In Lift, we heard the radio and the elevator's passengers ask for floors. And in A Silent Night, the Vietnamese children prattle on about the young monk's soda can creations. But there's no significant exchange of words, only looks and gestures to tell a touching Christmas story.

When the young monk sneaks into an American base to collect the cans he uses to make flowers and candleholders, he nearly gets himself shot by the unsuspecting soldier. Out of curiosity, the soldier follows the boy to the temple where he lives and studies. A friendship is formed in the short moments they exchange; the boy gives the soldier the aluminum flower, the soldier gives the boy his helmet to play in for a little while. And as the short ends, the two solidify their newfound connection by joining hands while the flower (symbolically) lights the shot.

I think I entered this film in the wrong state of mind and while Kathryn would later win me over, there wasn't enough here to do so. I may not have been alive for it, but I know Viet Nam was a lot grittier than the glossy film sets constructed for this piece. And a monk playing Silent Night on whatever that instrument was? I'm sorry, but how does a monk know Silent Night? That's like a Methodist lighting candles for Hannukah. I wish I had not seen this film until about this time next month or, even better, December. I'll be in the mood for it then and able to appreciate its sentimentality and artfullness (which were very present, just not taken at their worth as they should have been). In the end, good film, poor audience.

A Bear Named Winnie

2005-10-17T23:04:00.000-05:00

John Kent Harrison & Simon Vaughn; 2004; 90 minutes

I’m not sure what sort of crowd I expected to be at a ten AM screening, but whatever it was I didn’t expect a large one. Because who takes time out of those precious Saturdays that are meant for getting to all the things you didn’t get to all week, to see a movie first thing in the morning? Quite a few people, apparently. And the fact that Heartland really does have a presence around this city doesn’t hurt attendance, either.

I thought I might see a handful of families in the audience for this wholesome flick, but really it seemed I’d stumbled into the retiree’s screening. Which was fine; these folks remember when going to movies was a special event, something you treated with respect and admiration. That, assuredly, makes for a good audience to watch a film with.

The story, as the title implies, is about the bear that inspired British author A.A. Milne to write the Winnie the Pooh stories. He and his son visited Winnie at the London Zoo following World War I but, as we learn through the film, her story starts long before she found herself in a cage and on display.

When the hunter who killed her mother can’t bear to shoot the cub, he leaves her with a blacksmith who in turn gives her to Harry, a lieutenant with the Canadian Expeditionary Force. Before long, the bear (named Winnepeg—they’re Canadian, remember?—Winnie for short) is the unit’s mascot and accompanies them all the way to England. With the loyalty of a dog and the slyness of a fox, Winnie’s infectious love gets onto even the Colonel’s better side. No matter how many times Harry and Mcray try to leave her on her own in the woods (“War is no place for that bear!”), she always finds her way back. And when Harry is forced to go to the front lines, he arranges for the Zoo to keep her while he’s gone. Once returned, though, after losing comrades and being injured himself, Harry realizes just how adored she is by the children and parents who visit her.

As I walked into the theater, I saw who I would later find out was the producer of the movie taking a picture of the movie’s title displayed in the marquee. Turns out this was the first (and probably only) time A Bear will be shown on the big screen. Originally, it turns out, the movie was made for TV audiences. Once I heard this gem of information (in the now-expected Q&A w/ Mr. Vaughn at the end of the film), everything suddenly made sense. That explains that hankering I had for commercial breaks every 22 minutes or so! The story, while as wholesome as the Disney versions of Winnie the Pooh, was, in a few scenes, a bit over the top. Mcray’s rampage into the smoke-filled front when the horses he’d been caring for are killed in a bombing was, in this ever-developing viewer’s opinion, a bit over dramatic. And the end of the movie, when Winnie visits Harry at the VA hospital, I found my mind wandering more to that scene in Finding Neverland when Depp dances with the bear than paying attention to the movie on screen. I blame it on the toothache I was developing from the sweetness of it all.

As they’ve done over and over again, however, Heartland certainly hit the target dead-on with this family-friendly, feel-good flick.

The Man Who Walked Between the Towers

2005-10-17T22:18:00.000-05:00

Michael Sporn; 2005; 10 minutes

A film version of the story written by Mordicai Gerstein, the title of this animated short does a pretty good job summarizing the plot of this little cartoon. Note sarcasm in those last two words. "Little cartoon" hardly does this fanciful piece justice.

Narrated by Jake Gyllenhaal (and we all know how I love him), the man mentioned in the title is one Pierre Petit, a man who'd once walked a tight rope between the towers atop Notre Dame in his native Paris. In the seventies, while the World Trade Center was nearing completion, Petit manages to convince a few friends to help him string a heavy-duty wire across the towers so he might walk across it. When he finally steps out onto it, it takes a little while before the world so far below realizes what he's doing. After he'd had enough on the rope, he surrendered himself to the police waiting for him on the roof and, when taken to trial, was sentenced fittingly. He was forced to perform for children in Central Park, much closer to the ground this time.

The start of this short didn't bode to well for its reception, though through no fault of the film itself. Instead, it appeared we were having technical problems so severe that the film was restarted from the beginning at one point. No complaints here, though, as it was a pleasure to watch the simple animations (clean, thick lines with just enough movement to keep us occupied but not so much that we forgot it was a drawing) again. And what animations they were! Given a bird's perspective as Petit steps onto the taut wire, I found myself squirming at the sight of the distance below. And when, just to gloat, he lays down on the wire, I had to sip water to keep my stomach from doing nervous flip-flops. Either my fear of heights is that intense or Sporn's animation is that well done. I'm going with the latter.

Work and Movies

2005-10-17T21:41:00.000-05:00

That's pretty much all I've been doing these days. Now I have 4more to catch you up on, with another two to be added to the list in about 10 minutes:

The Man Who Walked Between Two Towers
A Bear Named Winnie
Lift
Pearl Diver

And I'm off to Silent Night and Kathryn: The Story of a Teller as soon as my coffee's done brewing.

Tonight's turning out just as well as Friday--the theater was packed again for tonight's program, and while the female to male ratio was something like 20:1, it was still great just to see people in seats on a Monday night (the night of the Colts home game, none the less...crap...did they win?!). And the best moment, perhaps of all the screenings I've been to so far, was when filmmaker Sidney King made the audience wait until the last credit rolled before taking any questions. Not out of cockiness, mind you. But out of wonder; it was the first time he'd seen the credits run all the way through on the big screen. He watched with the pride of a father watching his child take her first steps. That is a moment that only happens at Festivals.

Shakespeare Behind Bars

2005-10-16T22:27:00.000-05:00

When deciding which films to see at the Festival this year (since I came into all this on such short notice), I’ve been more bound by my schedule than I’d care to be. Instead of seeing the films I want to, whenever they happen to be playing, I’m forced to catch the movies I can whenever I can. If that means a late screening after work, or the first show of the day on Saturday morning, count me in (I’ve made time to see films in both those timeslots).

Last night, with the luxury of a whole night off from work, I decided to take in a double feature. (I’ve already shared how exhilarating the night quickly became, so I’ll stick to the movies here.) What a treat—I actually had my pick of the cinematic litter tonight, a handful of movies to catch. I narrowed down the first show I would see to A Mind of Her Own (see below), as it seemed like my kind of movie from the tiny description in the preview guide. After that, I had a to choose which late show I would sit in on—Shakespeare Behind Bars, Earthling or Innocent Voices. It’s obvious from this post’s title which I decided on. While I’ve heard great things about Earthling (during one of the friendly conversations I had with fellow Festival-goers), and while Innocent Voices sounds like a riveting story, something about the concept of SBB intrigued me: hardened criminals serving life sentences rehearse and perform The Tempest for family, friends and fellow inmates. As if Shakespeare isn’t dramatic enough.

It would help to know that the film came about as a desire from filmmaker Hank Rogerson to make a film about actors (which I heard directly from Mr. Rogerson as he answered our questions after the screening. I love film festivals!). After hearing about the program and looking into obtaining the necessary permissions to being filming, Rogerson and his producer, Jiliann Spitzmiller, headed into a Kentucky prison to follow Curt, a volunteer director, as he spent the better part of a year rehearsing Shakespeare with murderers, child molesters and bank robbers.

The cast of characters is two-fold--the man and their role in the play. Hal--intelligent, out-spoken and fatherly--is cast as Prospero, the fatherly outcast who ultimately chooses forgiveness over vengence. Big G--a towering, intimidating figure--plays Caliban, a deformed, beastly slave. Leonard, who eventually must leave the cast when he's sent into "The Hole" for breaking computer usage rules, was set to play Antonio (or maybe it was Alonso...I forget), the spiteful brother of Prospero who exiled him in the first place. Sammie (I've forgotten his role) stands out among the group, though, as a patriarch of sorts. He's been in SBB since its inception 17 years ago, and is set for a parole hearing immediately following the performances.

But there's a darker side Rogerson (thankfully) wasn't afraid to delve into. Hal strangled his wife. Big G killed a police officer. Leonard molested seven young girls. Sammie killed his girlfriend. The prison they're in might be medium security (Hal puts on a weekly TV show, Big G is shown doing his own laundry. It really looks like a college campus save the two barbed-wire fences and armed outposts surrounding the complex.), but the men inside have committed some of the worst crimes a human can.

What Rogerson does right (among many things in this skillfully crafted doc) is tell enough of their stories to remind us who it is we're dealing with while keeping the majority of the focus on rehearsals--the frustrations, the realizations. Ultimately, the workshop becomes a sort of therapy for these men. The inmate playing Miranda, Prospero's daughter learning to live and love without a mother to guide her, finds the similarities in his own eyes and we see the moment his eyes and mind open to the idea that the issues he's dealing with are far from unique and far from unmanageable. Leonard talks about what he'd done and where he's at now saying "I hope one day somone will look at the totality of my life and maybe have the scales balance."

The most heartbreaking of the stories is Sammie's. It's never clear how long he's been in prison, but at one point, as we watch him work as supervisor in the prison's data center (managing hundreds of fellow inmates at any given time), we're forced to remind ourselves the context of the movie. It's just that easy to forget that these men are criminals. Rogerson, in his Q&A session following the film, acknowledged that the plan all along was to return to the prison after Sammie's parole hearing to shoot the last shot of the film--Sammie leaving Kentucky as a free man. When news comes, then, that he'd been denied (and that he wouldn't be eligeable again for 6 years), I swear I could hear the hearts breaking around me.

If SBB is anything, it is bittersweet. We want so hard to like these men, to applaud their efforts and performances. Sammie is the uncle we all wish we had. Hal is the kind of bossy you can't help but get along with. Big G has so many lessons about how to make the right choices, how to take the right road. But at the end of each rehearsal, the harsh reality is inescapable. They return to their cells and their khaki jumpsuits; they must be strip searched after the performance for their families lest any enthusiastic mother or brother has slipped them something illegal; they are shackled and chained together for the trips they take when the show goes on "tour."

Chosen as one of 16 documentaries featured at Sundance (out of like, 2000 submissions or something!), Shakespeare Behind Bars is just the beginning, it would seem, of the quality pictures the Festival has brought to Indianapolis this year.

Thin Ice

2005-10-16T22:08:00.000-05:00

Jeffrey Courter; ?; 6 minutes

It's like getting the prize inside the Cracker Jacks box.

These short films before the feature are an added bonus of sorts, a chance to see the quick ideas that budding filmmakers find the means to bring to life. After my first run-in with a short (see Knock Knock), I was eager to find a spot in this next screening in time to catch Thin Ice, the mini-movie being featured before Shakespeare Behind Bars (post to come). Some of these shorts are foreign, some are student films. Some are glossy, some are gritty. Some are diamonds and some, unfortunately, are just the rocks that want to be diamonds when they grow up.

Thin Ice, written and directed by a recent grad of Taylor University in Indiana, is a glimpse into the head of a young man wondering, while ice fishing, about the choices he's made in his life. It starts out promising, the young man bemusing about those who call themselves fishermen but do so with fancy equipment and gadgets. Fishing (which he's doing, in the dead of winter, snow and ice layered across the ground), he figures, is more for the experience than for the fish you'll catch. More for the chance to think. And we follow him as he thinks of life--his short-lived entrepreneurial career selling candy in grade school, his path crossing with Emily's, who would "hold more of my heart than I did," and then...well, I'm not quite sure where we went from there.

Running beside traintracks...walking onto the frozen lake where Emily is standing...and then, we're seeing shots we'd just seen, only now with a mysterious figure noticeable that had blended in with the hibernating trees in the previous scenes.

To be honest, the best I can gather of this brave attempt at philosophy is that, through all the decisions our young protagonist makes, someone has been there with him, guiding him and protecting him. A guardian angel, perhaps. Because, towards the end, as he's about to walk to Emily and the thin ice (get it?) starts to crack, a mysterious hand reached out to catch his coat, keeping him from falling in.

I think there's a diamond in here somewhere; it's just not as polished and clear as the gem that is Knock Knock.

A Mind of Her Own

2005-10-15T09:22:00.000-05:00

Owen Carey Jones; 2005; 90 minutes

I didn't realize the movie had started until the title came up on screen, but I blame that mainly on the lack of breathing room between the two films in the program. Knock Knock (see below) ended and, without so much as a pause for a chance to stretch our legs (so the first film was only 10 minutes…) the feature began.

Once I’d shifted gears, though, and settled into the images in front of me, I was quickly absorbed into the story of Sophie, a talented young gymnast who, despite her struggles in school, dreams of being a doctor. We join Sophie as a girl in London, performing her tumbles and twirls for an audience of parents at a school pageant. Slowly, we move ahead first 6, then 4, then three, then four years forward in her life. I deliberately say slowly here because the snail’s pace this movie trods along at is its only shortcoming. The story, complete with cutting class and rebelling against parents, finding true love and realizing one’s dreams, is heartfelt. Yet I kept finding myself thinking, “Just be patient. It’ll all make sense. It’ll all come together.” It isn’t until about thirteen years after we’ve started this journey with Sophie that we finally hit a stride and see where it’s all going.

The film was written, produced and directed by Owen Carey Jones, a former banker who, after heart bypass surgery, embarked on a new career as a filmmaker. This his second feature film, it’s largely based on his own daughter’s struggles and triumphs (with a little bit of artful flair thrown in to make for a good story). Understandable, then, that in writing and executing this story on film, he wanted to tell the whole story. It isn’t until high school that Sophie’s dyslexia is discovered, along with a vision problem that requires tinted glasses to help her read black text on white paper (if anything, the red hippie-like sunglasses at least make all the studying she’ll do look cool). Around the same time, a back injury ends her thriving, and fulfilling, gymnastics career. Diving headfirst into her studies, we watch as Sophie climbs through school towards a medical degree and very influential research regarding paralysis.

While I sat wondering why the movie didn’t pick up with Sophie ten years later than it did, and why it seemed the poor girl couldn’t have anything work out for her, the rest of the theater—every seat filled—was, I’m sure, having reactions that varied in every direction from mine. As the credits rolled (after a final scene where Sophie speaks to a major medical conference about her findings and revels in the standing ovation they bestow upon her), the crowd milled around a bit but settled when, over the microphone, one of the Festival volunteers introduced Jones and Nikki Talacko (Sophie).

It must be my inexperience at film festivals, but I was floored by the appearance of the filmmakers (Henrie-McCrea, below, was there as well). I was even more surprised when the volunteer handed the mic over and opened the floor to questions from the audience. Frantically, I flipped through the pages of notes I’d scribbled out in the dark. Questions? I just wrote down a dozen of them. Where are they? Where are they?!

The first woman to speak commended Jones on his touching story of a girl with dyslexia. Her daughter, she said, grappled with the same thing and she was ecstatic to see such a success story on the screen. Apparently she’d been watching the movie differently than I had been.

The questions that followed were along the lines of “Who is the movie based on?” and “How much did it cost to make?” One man asked one of the lesser questions I’d posed to myself during the film. He asked if the way the movie had been filmed—in seemingly low light at times, the subjects being drowned out by the blinding external light from a window at others—was in any way a depiction of the way Sophie saw the world with her difficulties deciphering contrasts. While the realist in me eventually figured out that this was just a result of low-budget moviemaking (sans professional lighting it would appear), the literary voice in my thought, “How insightful! To make the world we see in this movie look like it would were we looking through Sophie’s eyes. What a great touch!” The thought, it would seem, never crossed Jones’s mind. “It was unintentional,” he assured us.

Finally finding words for the question I wanted to ask most, I raised my hand to ask (in paraphrase) “Why did you choose the time stamping device (i.e. London, 1989) when deciding how to express the passage of time? Which other styles did you consider and play with, and why, ultimately, did you choose this one?” (And yes, I’d like to think I sounded that intelligent!)

Jones nodded and replied that, yes, he had indeed toyed with the idea of telling the story in flashbacks, or through more subtle cues to suggest the passage of time. Ultimately, though, as the story came together, it became more and more reasonable to stick to a linear format. And as if reading my mind and sensing my next question, he even acknowledged that, yes, he probably could have started the story a little later in Sophie’s life and still have told a wonderfully touching story. But, he argued, we would not have been as attached to her had we not seen all the obstacles she’d hurdled over on her way to her successes as a doctor. And besides, how often does a screenwriter get to tell his oldest daughter’s life story? Why not tell it all?

In the midst of the questions, I caught the answer to, “Do you have a distributor?” as being an enthusiastic, “No, but we’re shopping it around!” My guess (and it is purely my guess) is that, for this to be picked up and widely distributed, many changes and edits would have to occur, not the least of which would be to pick up the pace of the entire story. Mainstream audiences, I’m afraid, are too conditioned to our MTV culture to sit for an hour and a half through a film that drags even a little bit. If…no, when it finds a home and a distributor, though, I’ll be glad to say I caught it in Indy.

Knock Knock

2005-10-15T08:16:00.000-05:00

Jeron Henrie-McCrea; 2005, 10 min.

In the world of science, where animals and plants are concerned, they're called tautonyms. They're words that repeat themselves, and they're usually used to describe the genus and species of a particular flora, fauna, mammal or reptile. Gorilla gorilla. Webster, however, should add one more definition to what looks like a rather stuffy concept in this scientific light. It would read something like:

Tautonym: phrases created by repeating a word (see: title of movie) and phrases that, when isolated and grouped with similar phrases, create a unique, clever and refreshing short film that restores one's faith in the idea that the wellspring of oringinality has not, as is so often suspected, run dry.

Because really, in ten short minutes, that's exactly what this Ball State alum's little flick does. Not only is the concept fresh--Zsa Zsa ditches boyfriend J.J. for Bora Bora, but he soon meets neighbor LuLu and, over a dinner of Mahi Mahi, the two live happily ever after after (I couldn't resist)--but the presentation impresses as well. It's shown in a split screen, the track on the right just a split second behind the track on the left. The result is an echo that, in dialogue, creates the tautonyms and, in visual effect, keeps our eyes glued to the screen. The film won a Gold Medal at this year's student Academy Awards, and the creator is currently in NY studying film at Columbia. And if there's any justice in this world, he'll continue creating such quirky, original films despite the strong arm big Hollywood seems to lower on budding filmmakers. This is one new fan of his that can't wait to see what else he'll draw up from that well he's tapped.

Stay Tuned!

2005-10-15T01:05:00.000-05:00

It's one AM and I'm very tired. But I'm also wide awake. I'm still buzzing from tonight. It was like a mini-Hollywood. They're doing everything right over there at Heartland.

I have 4 films to post about:

Knock Knock
A Mind of Her Own
Thin Ice
Shakespeare Behind Bars

Rest assured I have thoughts on them all. And I have thoughts on the evening, too. The Q&A sessions, the people, the vibe in general. I'm still living it all, still thriving in the community being cultivated tonight. Let me sleep on it now, though, and I'll return tomorrow to at least start the writing efforts.

In Between Screens

2005-10-14T21:15:00.000-05:00

I've still got a screening to go before I call an end to my first night at the Festival, but already it's succeeded my expectations enormously. And for a number of reasons:

Maybe it's an Indiana thing, and maybe I can be so bold as to figure it's an entire Midwest thing, but it's true what they say about the friendliness and generosity of the people in this area. This is not Sundance, this is not Toronto, this is not Hollywood. There are no millions in distribution deals being made on a handshake, no red carpets as bright as day from the flash of photographers' bulbs as the stars arrive. Instead, there are grandparents and young parents and college students and couples on dates and families and friends out to see a movie. Sure, there was a limousine outside the theater tonight--filmmakers deserve to arrive in style. But no one is here to be seen, no one is here to pitch anything. We're here because we love movies, because we're curious what Heartland has brought us this year. And it shows. Just now, between screenings tonight, I've shaken hands with the director of one feature and watched as another snapped a quick picture of the title of his film up in the marquee. "It might be the only time I see it up there," I overheard him say. And as I walked into the lobby, waiting for this next show I'm going to, I didn't hesitate to sit on a bench next to a couple old enough to be my grandparents. Both their noses were buried in the Festival's program, but when I interrupted to ask what film they were waiting on, they smiled broadly, happy to engage in conversation. We exchanged casual reviews of the movies we'd just come from, and I mentioned how wonderful it was to be attending. They said they'd been coming for almost a decade and they'd never been disappointed in a movie yet.

Also between these screenings, the President of the organization happened to be pointed out to me. He's nothing if not hands-on; already he's introduced the film, played usher to those stragglers looking for seats, and been gracious enough to acknowledge that as soon as his audiences leave, the theater's staff will be able to as well. Watching him, a tiny lightbulb sparked in some corner of my brain and, sensing he'd be receptive, I wrote down my contact information on a sheet of the notebook paper I've brought with me. If I cross his path before the night is through, I might have to ask him to visit this humble site of mine. Maybe he'll see what I'm up to and want to make it work for Heartland.

Keep checking back for reviews and musings. I'm busy, busy, busy, but I have every intention of finding time for the Festival and, while I might not be able to make it into every event and screening, I'll make a dent with my attendance. And I'll be sure to tell you all about it.

Heartland Film Festival, the Pre-cap

2005-10-14T19:15:00.000-05:00

The bargain went something like this: pass out a box full of Preview Guides (the schedule of films for the Festival), get a handful of complimentary movie passes. Free movies? Sign me up. Over the course of a couple emails, plans are made to meet Mary, my in-house Festival connection, at the theater tonight for a screening of A Mind Of Her Own. She says she’ll have my tickets for me there.

I live (literally) across the street from the three-screen theater where a majority of the movies are showing, so I figured I would be safe to leave around ten after to make a 7:30 show. How naïve this HFF newcomer was! Not only did I have to park in the parking lot next to the theater’s lot, but I wondered if I’d even get a seat in the theater, the lobby was so packed.

Enter my connection. Like a blind date, there were Mary and I on our phones, craning our necks to see which corner of the lobby the other person’s voice was coming from. When we finally did connect, she promptly handed me my tickets—an entire book of tickets. Ten tickets. Ten free movies. Ten! Jackpot! She’d even gotten an extra seating card for me (the tickets are all general admission, so they release a limited number of seats to each show to be sure they’re not overbooked), and had her gentlemanly husband save seats for the both of us. A smart move, as luck (or misfortune, depending on which side of the coin you look at) would have it; one of the other movies being screened was cancelled, channeling that audience into our theater. There wasn’t a seat in the house.

So here’s my frame of mind going into the first screening of this festival:
*Free tickets to up to ten screenings. I’m hoping to get 7 in, which could be up to 14 films, as most features are preceded by at least one short film.
*Meeting new people. For one who grew up in the Midwest, I sometimes take for granted just how gracious people around these parts are.
*Packed theater = great vibe. A festival means that everyone in the audience is there with a desire to see a quality film, so the air, already pulsing with a quiet anticipation, was only intensified by the quantity of bodies in seats.
*Note pad and pen in hand. I’m no dummy. I know I’m here for more than one reason. While I’m eager to see aforementioned quality films, I’m almost more eager to shape the words I’ll use to describe each moment to you, loyal reader.

And then, without much pomp and circumstance, the lights dim and it’s showtime.

Because of Winn-Dixie

2005-10-09T21:36:00.000-05:00

If you keep up with my other blog, you might have read that I've been talking with someone who works with the Heartland Film Festival here in Indianapolis. As mentioned on their website, the Festival seeks to

recognize and honor filmmakers whose work explores the human journey by artistically expressing hope and respect for the positive values of life.

The line-up this year seems to follow that general theme, as did last year's. In 2004, Because of Winn-Dixie was a recipient of the Truly Movie Pictures award, an honor given to films that exemplify the mission of the Festival. Figuring I might be working with Heartland in the future (if only on a minor, volunteer basis), I thought I should do some research. That and I'd been wanting to see it since I heard about it at last years Festival. I didn't know too much about the movie when I popped it in, but quickly found out that it's based on a rather well-selling book of the same name (aren't most movies these days?) and that it's rated PG (meaning one can't expect anything too daring). Keeping these in mind, allow me to share my thoughts with you...

Ten year old India Opal and her father The Preacher (we rarely hear her call him "Daddy") move to small Naomi, Florida so he can preside over a church run out of an old convenience store. Without friends or the mother who left when she was three, Opal spends most of her days riding her bike through the lazy town. Her summer takes a twist when she rides to the grocery store for The Preacher, walking in to pick up bread and leaving with a dog. I'll leave you to imagine the hilarity of a dog in a grocery store and continue with...once it's cornered by various clerks, Opal (in a very Annie-like moment) claims the dog as hers, going so far as to name him Winn-Dixie after the store she's in when they meet. The rest of the movie plays out like the script was gleamed from each page of the book; every detail, every character makes their appearance and you feel like you need to turn the page in the book, like it's a new chapter. The "dog where it shouldn't be" gag is played to the hilt, from chasing a mouse through church to wrecking the house during a thunderstorm. He interrupts a game of softball, catching the ball in midair and running off with it over the fence that borders The Scary Woman Who Lives in Seclusion's house. The characters Opal and WD encounter are as cookie-cutter as the plot--there's the crochety old landlord who insists WD be sent off to the pound; the woman in the house with the yard no kid goes near for fear of what she'll do to them; the misunderstood drifter of a pet-store owner who happens to play a mean guitar (conveniently played by one Dave Mathews).

We've been spoiled lately by child actors, from Freddie Highmore to Dakota Fanning, so while Annasophia Robb is a gem, she leaves something to be desired. Lines are too practiced, too force-fed in most places (except when she finally confronts her father about his distance and inability to talk about her mother, accusing him of drawing his head back into "that stupid turtle shell" of his. I finally believe her!). Dave Matthews and Cicelyn Tyson are also gems, him in an unassuming, I-just-want-to-play-my-guitar kind of way; her in a gentle, let-me-teach-you-something-about-the-world kind of way. I've never been a fan of the voice-over, and I do think this film could have been written without it. But what it does lend is a sense of the book; often while Opal is speaking over a scene, I feel like we're being read to, being told the story straight from the pages. And instead of grating on me, it's more like listening to a parent or teacher read aloud, and I'm sure has a similar effect on the children whom the filmmakers knew would be watching.

After an hour and a half of light-hearted fun, Opal convinces Gloria (the woman all the kids think is a witch, but who's now their newest comrade) to throw a party for the motley group of friends they've established. Just as they're to dive into egg salad sandwiches and pickles, rain disrupts the shindig. In the rush of moving the party inside, Opal loses track of WD (insert classic "Oh, no!" and look of shock on a little girl's face here). After searching the small town street by street and no sign of WD, The Preacher convinces Opal to return to Gloria's for the party. In a somber silence, he asks Otis (Matthews) if he knows any hymns on that there guitar of his. "Why don't you just hum it, Daddy? Then Otis can play along," pipes in Opal. The gang (formerly-crochety landlord included) begins a melancholy version of "Lay My Burden Down," only to be interrupted by something scratching to burst through the front door.

I'd be lying if I didn't say this final scene gave me a few goosebumps and dampened my eyes a bit. WD returns, soaked but in one piece, and the look of pure joy on Opals face would melt even the most cynical of movie-goers. The group reprises their impromptu hymn, now a grateful, joyful, relieved tune. And in Opal's last voice-over, the deal is sealed. There may not be any surprises in Because of Winn-Dixie, but it does what it sets out to do--it leaves you feeling good, heart warmed by the love between a girl and her dog. And frankly, if this is the way all the movies featured at the Festival leave you feeling, I might be one to petition that it last year 'round.

Lost In Translation

2005-10-07T23:32:00.000-05:00

It’s the kind of movie that people who dream about making movies (me) want to make. The kind of movie that reminds an audience what it is that makes this medium so special: images, emotions and circumstances brought to the screen and displayed in a way no book, song, stage show or still photo could ever express. The sheer exoticism of the setting (Tokyo) immediately forces the story into a focus so crisp we don’t have time to worry about anything else but Mr. Bob Harris (Bill Murray) and Charlotte (Scarlett Johansson). Add to the unfamiliarity one quarter/mid/anytime life crisis and an insatiable need for someone who understands you and you’ve got the makings of one interesting story.

Bob’s in Tokyo for a photo and commercial shoot. Charlotte’s there keeping her on-assignment husband company. For the first half hour of the movie, it’s unclear whether the two will ever cross paths. But their eyes meet one night in the lounge (complete with bad lounge act and even worse singer) and later, when neither can sleep, they strike up a conversation at the bar. Friendship soon follows, both delighting in the attention and acceptance of the other. They hit the town, make eyes at each other over karaoke, stay up watching badly dubbed TV and eat fresh sushi lunches. As if director and writer Sophia Coppola (my new hero, second only to Tina Fey) senses that it’s about know when her audience will be getting bored with their seemingly-pointless friendship, she tests the waters by adding one bad judgment call to the mix. Sparing us the details, we wake up with Bob one morning, the lounge singer enjoying breakfast in bed. Charlotte pops in to ask Bob to lunch and can’t help but hear the chanteuse in the background. Oops. The lunch is awkward, painful, heartbreaking. They reconcile (as friends do, with little pomp and circumstance and an unspoken apology) making their imminent goodbye that much harder for them and us. And sure enough, unless this movie were to go on forever and neither of them were ever to leave Tokyo, the two say goodbye with an appreciation of the role each has played in the other’s life.

The ingenuity of this film is in the small things. The flower arranging class Charlotte stumbles into, the aquatic aerobics Bob swims past in the hotel pool. The bride Charlotte watches approach the temple, the psychedelic talk show Bob agrees to appear on (only because it means he’ll be in Tokyo, with her, an extra day). And in the even smaller things—how masterfully Bill Murray expresses apathy on Bob’s face, how sincerely lonely Scarlett Johannson makes Charlotte in a city that swarms with people. And the most rewarding part for the audience is watching the life return to these sad souls; they smile again, talk again (not much dialogue to be had when you’re alone).

The tension in the relationship, surely of sexual nature, is undeniable. Again Coppola senses what her audience wants, only this time she denies us the contact we crave between them. And we crave it so deeply that at one point, when Bob lays a gentle hand on the sleeping Charlotte’s foot, we can instantly breathe again. Later, when we want a hug as they make up after Bob’s tryst, we get nothing. It’s as if Coppola’s telling us outright, “Not now. It’s not right for them yet. Be patient.” Trusting her, we get an awkward kiss when they part ways for the last time on the elevator, but it’s somehow not enough. When Charlotte meets him in the lobby to return his coat, again there’s nothing. So finally, when Bob sees her walking on the street his chauffer takes him down on their way to the airport, he goes to her, the tension and pain in goodbye now too much for either of them. And we finally get our hug, our breathe-each-other-in, hold-on-for-dear-life hug.

There’s a whisper here, a whisper as speculated about as who Carly Simon wrote You’re so Vain about. Bob says something in Charlotte’s ear, then asks “Ok?” She replies, “Ok.” This diehard romantic wants to believe that he says something dramatic like “I’m going to kiss you now, once, like I’ve wanted to for so long. And then I’m walking away. Ok?” Who wouldn’t give that an “Ok!” back? I’m going to think this is what he says because it’s exactly what he does. Before we can think to ask him to stay, to keep this friendship going so well, they’ve parted ways. Before we know it the trip has ended, the fun is over, and life, though it goes back to normal, seems somehow sweeter in even the littlest ways.

Proof

2005-10-07T23:27:00.000-05:00

My extensive knowledge of Gwyneth Paltrow goes something like this: girl who wore that exquisite pink dress to the Oscars the year she won for Shakespeare in Love (which certainly deserved the Best Picture nod it got), and girl who’s married to a very sexy lead singer in this little band called Coldplay (you might have heard of them) with a penchant for naming her children after fruit. Sound about right?

So when I decided I’d catch Proof tonight, I wasn’t really sure what to expect. While her Viola in SiL was classic and well played and all, I’ve never really been moved to bet the farm on her dramatic laurels. She’s always been more of a pretty face than anything. But to be perfectly honest, one of the reasons I chose Proof (over Just Like Heaven and In Her Shoes) was the chance to stare at her and Jake Gyllenhaal (swoon) for two hours. (There’s something to be said for “bankable stars;” sometimes you just want to see beautiful people on screen).

Proof is an adaptation of a play by David Auburn and like that other movie that I love that’s adapted from a play, Auburn also wrote the screenplay. If I’ve learned one thing from Closer, it’s that when your original story is in the form of a play, you can bet the movie script is going to be dialogue heavy. Because aside from some strategically placed props and carefully chosen costumes, what more does a playwright have to rely on than the words he puts in his characters’ mouths? And sure enough, right off the bat this film is non-stop banter, short lines spit from father to daughter, sister to sister, daughter to father and so on. And yes, I said spit. There’s an anger in the film that’s noticeable from the beginning and only grows more tangible as the plot progresses. The other standard of movies developed from plays is the size of the cast: it’s always small, with only a handful of lead roles and supporting ones that only have a couple lines, if any (again, think Closer). Proof follows precedent, our story revolves around Robert (Anthony Hopkins) a recently deceased, brilliant mathematician who makes his appearances in both flashbacks and hallucinations; Catherine (Paltrow), Robert’s daughter, who worries she might have inherited some of her fathers insanity along with his brilliance; Hal (Gyllenhaal) the budding mathematician who’s under Robert’s wing and falling for Catherine; and Claire (Hope Davis), the break-away sister who left “dead” Chicago for New York and who returns to bury her father and fix up her sister, complete with a pretty bow to tie up the whole package.

And that pretty much sums up the plot. At least, for the first three quarters of the movie. Once Jake and Gwyn...I mean Hal and Catherine...have consumated their budding relationship, she trusts him enough to give him the key she always wears around her neck. It turns out to open a drawer in Robert's desk where Catherine has hidden some humongous proof she wrote while caring for Dad. To be quite honest, I don't do math. I know it has something to do with prime numbers and whatever she was able to prove had some huge impact on the math world (because apparently there is such a thing). But don't ask me for the gory, logical details of that plot twist. What I do know is that the anger and resentment had only shown its tip, the rest of the proverbial iceburg came storming to the surface upon the notebook's discovery and, more importantly, the identity of the author. The angry scenes get tired around the 57th time; Catherine and Claire fight, Catherine and Hal fight, Claire and Hal fight. It's all very believable, but the yelling and screeching did start to hurt my ears after a bit.

What struck me most about Proof were the performances. Anthony Hopkins just can't turn in a bad run. Hope Davis got the career-oriented, holier-than-thou, I'll ride in and save the day thing down to a science. While Gyllenhaal certainly carried his own in scenes with the seasoned Hopkins and Paltrow, my mind kept straying to "Are mathemeticians really that hot? I was in the wrong major!" Above all, though, Paltrow shone as the strong but vulnerable, sharp yet frayed genius of a daughter. She effortlessly adds beauty to whatever screen she's on, but I can honestly say I was impressed by the fine line she was able to walk with Catherine through the entire film. Moments of complete clarity have her sounding more sane than her uptight sister who wants to sell the old house they grew up in and take Catherine back to New York. And then, as if flipping a switch, we're in a moment of chaos, the cacaphony of numbers and figures and thoughts and inspiration all but convincing us that she has succumbed to her father's illness. So while there are those pretty faces who have very little to offer beyond appearances, Paltrow can hold her head up with confidence, the control of her craft in the palm of her hand.

I'm not sure what sort of Oscar buzz is out there, and I'm not going to say I think she should get a nod for this one; I don't think she should, and I haven't seen the rest that this bountiful movie season has to offer. I'm sure there'll be performances to trump hers. But what I will say is that, to my list of What I Know About GP, I can add "damn good actress."

The Upside of Anger

2005-10-05T22:11:00.000-05:00

There’s a critical moment in the first five minutes of The Upside Of Anger, and if you’re not giving the film your full attention—say, deciphering the instructions for building the $30 bookcase you just bought at Target—you might miss a rather integral part of the plot.

It’s not of “Rosebud” caliber, a secret whispered on Kane’s deathbed that shapes the rest of the movie and keeps you guessing until the end.  Instead, it’s three simple words, words that aren’t even a part of the dialogue.  They appear on screen after the first scene—a funeral with a bit of a voice over from the youngest of Terry Wolfmeyer’s (Joan Allen) daughters—while Terry and the girls sit down for dinner.  All they say are “Three Years Earlier.”

Had I not been figuring out which piece was 62A and which screw was supposed to go where, I would have seen these words, plain as day.  I also would have been saved many a headache and many a question throughout the rest of the film, as you can imagine.  I had a review all mapped out, one chiding the writer for leaving us so confused for so much of the film, only to come to a resolution that leaves us feeling like the hour and a half of the movie we’ve already seen was pretty much a waste.  But now I’m forced to reconsider.  I didn’t have the time to re-watch the whole darn thing, so I’m going to adjust my comments as if I did see this essential bit of information the first time around.

After the funeral, once we’ve been transported back three years, we join the Wolfmeyers at the dinner table, sans the man of the house.  No time is wasted in breaking the ice, no idle chitchat in getting to know these women.  Terry cuts to the chase, immediately telling her daughters that their father has left, taken his wallet and run off with is Swedish secretary.  Terry, at the table in her nightgown with the ever-present drink in her hand, is bitter and—you guessed it—angry from the start, and her words bite.  In response, each daughter (a who’s who of Hollywood starlets) has some sarcastic remark or insult, a box these young ladies never quite step out of for the course of the film.  Consider the groundwork laid.

Denny (Kevin Costner playing another ex-baseball player) shows up, a friend of Terry’s departed husband, and though he’s apparently both drunk and stoned, offers to stay and keep her company when he hears that she’s been left.  What a sweetie.  This part of the movie seems rushed, and while I’m of the school of thought that movies shouldn’t have to spell every little thing out (good writing means you catch the cues about age, season, location where you’re supposed to), the script seems to leave too much to the imagination.  For starters, we never get a clear picture on the age of the daughters, and they look so similar in age, it appears Terry must have been pregnant for the better part of four years running.  But as far as she and Denny are concerned, one minute she’s asking him to leave, the next she’s asking if he’ll sleep with her.  When they finally do hook up, we go from a contrived meeting in an intersection (they were each on their way to the other’s place) to the two of them presumably naked in bed, their consummating presumably over with.  The jump in scenes is jarring, mainly because if this woman really has just been left by her husband and really is as angry as she seems, how are we to believe that she’s capable of the intimacy involved in this coupling?  Why don’t we get to see the awkward first kiss, the fumbling that surely comes with a new partner, the lack of enjoyment painted across her face (as she assures Denny it will be)?

This line between spelling too much out for your audience and leaving them lost for lack of details is an issue throughout the film.  When Hadley (Alicia Witt, whom I remember as the clarinet player in Mr. Holland’s Opus) announces her engagement and pregnancy, we follow the change in seasons (one detail that is hinted at well, through images of snow, falling leaves and one college graduation) and even attend the wedding, but never once see a baby.  And later, when she and her now husband announce that they’re expecting again, we still don’t see a child.  Would it have hurt to have a couple kids running around in a scene, playing at the adults’ feet?  Guess it wasn’t in the budget.

There’s a level of predictability to the scenes as well.  I called it long before Popeye (yes, that’s the youngest daughter’s name) ever saw it coming that her crush would reveal that he’s gay.  And after a toast when the family is out with Hadley’s future in-laws, Terry raises her empty glass.  When the rest of the family follows suit, expecting another toast, I heard her line (“Oh, no…I’m just ordering another drink.”) before she uttered a word.
That said, however, there’s another integral plot moment late in the film that defies the predictability of the small parts just mentioned.  SPOILER ALERT:  if you’re going to watch and would like to be surprised, stop reading.  Terry agrees to let the property behind her house be developed into a subdivision, and when the excavators begin their work, they find something disturbing at the bottom of a long forgotten well.  The wallet they scoop up from the remains proves to be her husband’s, and suddenly the groundwork that was laid so early crumbles.  Because, if she spent the whole movie being angry and bitter about his leaving, what does she have to be angry and bitter about when it turns out that he really just fell down a well while out walking the property one day?

Turns out we were at his funeral at the beginning of the film, and now at the end we’re at the gathering after the service.  Popeye’s voice over returns and answers the one question we couldn’t have left unanswered (I’ll survive not knowing where Hadley’s kids are):  what exactly is the upside of anger?  It might have been ok to leave us to answer it ourselves, having given us enough of Terry’s journey for us to see that the upside is the growth in coming to terms with the anger, the capability for love no matter how consumed by anger you are.  But writer Mike Binder decides that’s one detail he wants to spell the answer out on for us.  According to Popeye, the upside is “the person you become” after the anger.

A story with all the right intentions, Upside takes a few missteps in the execution.  If you can look beyond the gaps in the details, and the forced nature of some of the interactions, you might just enjoy this flick.  But a caution:  don’t attempt to assemble any store-bought shelves while you do so.  You’ll be more confused than the movie leaves you on its own, and that’s just not worth it.

Netflix movie fix

2005-10-03T11:22:00.000-05:00

I recently took a good hard look at my Blockbuster habit and came to a startling conclusion: I give them far too much of my money every month.

For a little while there, it was really getting rediculous. Like a kid in a candy store (forgive the cliche), I could never walk out of there with just one movie. More likely I was toting three or four flicks out with me at around $3 a pop. Ouch! And when you figure I did that a couple times a month...Double Ouch!

So I finally gave in and took a good hard look at Netflix. For $18/month you get unlimited movies at your beckon call; all you have to do is add them to your Queue (how British of them!) on their user-friendly website, and voila! Movies at your doorstep. Not a new concept, I know, but new to me. And when I figured out how much I spend at BB, plus the time and gas to get there and back...well, the decision was pretty much made for me.

I'll let you know how my Netflix adventure goes. I'm set to receive my first few movies tomorrow, and I do have my DVD player hooked up (one of the few things connected in my new apartment), so hopefully this means there are more movies...and therefore more movie posts...in our futures.

Where have you been?

2005-10-01T15:58:00.000-05:00

Oh, I'm sorry...that should read "Where have I been?" Because it certainly hasn't been around these parts.

No, I've been otherwise occupied for the last couple of weeks. I moved into a new apartment, which is both exciting and frustrating. Loving the new place (the walls of my living room would go perfectly with the decor of this site!), and enjoying the decorating and all. Hating the boxes, the clutter, the lack of order in general.

I promise, I haven't forgotten you, my movie-loving friends.

In the meantime

2005-09-15T11:32:00.000-05:00

I thought I'd have time off this week to watch a couple movies and let you know what I thought of them. But then, two bartenders got fired, and seeing how my life consists of nothing but work, I agreed to pick up a couple shifts. So I've been working and not watching.

But I've been reading, which just as good, if not better.

And reading got me thinking, specifically thinking about all the movies coming out that have books behind them. If you haven't already, read Memiors of a Geisha and Shopgirl before seeing the movies. I'm borrowing Brokeback Mountain from a friend so I can read that story before the movie (which won top honors recently at the Venice Film Festival. Sorry, George.). I've read Good in Bed, so I want to get to In Her Shoes (by the same author) before that one comes out. The Producers and Rent aren't from books, per se, but I've seen both shows already (multiple times, in fact). And while I think it would make me a better person for reading the classics, I don't think I'm going to make it to Pride and Prejudice before the movie's in theaters. But who knows; stranger things have happened.

The point being, of course, that even if the time isn't there to be watching movies, this fledgling reviewer's work is never done!

Update: Did borrow Brokeback Mountain, did stay up till 2AM to read it, did love it, can't wait to see the film.

The Aristocrats

2005-09-09T16:07:00.000-05:00

No, that's not the Disney animated feature about fancy cats. Moving on...

I have to admit that one of the biggest reasons (OK, the only reason) that I sought out this movie to see was because of the slightly elitist quality of it. Granted, the subject matter is some of the most vulgar, base content to grace movie screens. But ask anyone about the movie and they'll either never have heard of it, or think you're talking about the afore mentioned Disney flick. I only learned about it because of my obsessive movie research and reading. And even when I did, I figured I would have to wait until it came out on DVD, as Indianapolis seems to have a struggling movie culture (although the Heartland Film Festiva l is doing great things, to be sure.) . But then, a break in the clouds and there, at one of Indy's dozens of theaters, a listing for The Aristocrats. And wouldn't you know, it's Thursday night and on Friday, as theaters are known to do, a new line-up of films is moving in and sending The Aristocrats packing. So it was now or never for me and this pseudo-documentary, and I jumped at it.

So there I am, the only one in the theater. Previews end (The Exorcism of Emily Rose looks pretty damn freaky, btw) and in no time at all I'm thrust into what was either the most lude hour and a half of film ever made, or the most in-depth look into what really goes on after the curtain closes on a stand-up's act.

The brainchild of the talking half of Penn and Teller (that hybrid comedy/magic act), Aristocrats looks like it was shot on any number of hand held digital video cameras, and it probably was. The shots are amatuer, but it's ok; it's not the quality of the shots that we're worried about in this one. The "cast" reads like a present-day comic hall of fame, with Phyllis Diller, Bob Sagat and George Carlin alongside Sarah Silverman, the editorial staff of The Onion, and the kids from South Park. (And I'm sure you're thinking "Danny Tanner? WTF?" But bear with me here; I'm going somewhere with it.) And the subject matter? One joke. One joke that's been around since Vaudeville, and told privately (until now) between comics, in the green room after the show. And the idea is simple: ask this myriad of comedians for their take on the set up of this crude, not-even-that-funny joke. Because, as we quickly learn, it's only the set up we're concerned with. The punchline, also known as the title of the film, turns into a bit of an afterthought.

The joke is simple at the outset. "A guy walks into a talent agency and says to the agent, 'Listen, have I got an act for you!' 'OK,' the agent says. 'Show me what you've got.'" From there, it's up to the teller to create an act so wrong, so horrible, so grotesque as to make the punchline funny. Because, when the agent finally asks "So, what do you call this act?", the reply is to seem so ironic that you can't help but laugh.

As a whole, the film is a crafty quilt of short takes from a variety of recognizable and not-too-recognizable faces sewn together to pace us perfectly through what could be a redundant couple of hours. There are two threads to this flick, two very different threads. First, the cerebral: it's classics like Carlin and Diller that paint a reasonable picture of what devolves into one of the worst "jokes" ever told. That it's an exercise in improvisation, and that creating the most outlandish, never-before-heard set up is a comic's version of writing a best seller. Even Goldberg notes the changes the joke and undergone over time. Where once the images of unspoken sex acts were enough to shock the listener, now it seems comedians are finding ruder, cruder subjects, crossing racial and sexual orientation lines. The discussion of the cultural metamorphosis of this oft-taboo joke validates what is otherwise a base, simplistic comedy.

The second thread is the joke itself, and the versions each of the comedians offer. First, let me share some of my favorites. Carlin gives a good one, as does Paul Reiser and Sarah Silverman. It's fun as an audience to see the personalities come out in their personalized versions. Some of the gems, however: the mime who acts out the joke so perfectly that its meaning is far from lost and in fact intensified. Kevin Pollack's impersonation of how Christopher Walken would tell the joke...priceless. The South Park boys do a great, simple version, with a reference to 9/11 that leaves you unsure if you should laugh or throw something at the screen. By far, though, in this product-of-Full-House's opinion, Bob Saget's version is the best. It's vulgar, over-the-top, off-the-wall, completely absurd, and I was crying I was laughing so hard. It might have been because I was listening to D.J.'s dad joke about incest and beastiality, or it might have been the sheer release he took with the words flowing out of him without any sort of filter. I think, though, the funniest part was when he realized the things he was coming up with and started laughing at himself, a confused "What the fuck am I talking about?" with a shake of his head.

If you're expecting high-brow, stay away. There's no pretense here, no attempt to find the bigger meaning in the joke; at least, not really, save the few sincere moments mentioned above under the "cerebral" thread. But then, if you're expecting low-brow, you're selling yourself--and the movie--short, because there really is some substance to it. It's too late now for those of you in Indy to catch it on the big screen, and it might be too late for those of you elsewhere as well. But if you're in Blockbuster one day a couple months from now and are in the mood for having some horribly disturbing, albeit hilarious, images brought to mind, grab it.

Let's be honest

2005-09-07T10:51:00.000-05:00

I'm not lying when I say I watch a lot of movies. I do, compared to the average person. What I've noticed lately, though, is that there is more non-movie time between movies than I ever realized. I feel bad checking back on this site and seeing my last review getting older and older as days filled with work and weekends out of town fly by. I feel like I should be adding reviews a lot more often than I am.

The reality is, though, that I just don't have much movie-watching time. So I wanted to put my cards on the table and say outright that this blog just won't be updated as often as my other one. Life keeps me from movies more than I'd like it to, unfortunately. My goal would be to add at least one new movie review a week. If I get more than that in, you can bet on this: I must not be working as much as other weeks, which means I have more time to watch movies, which means I'm a happy camper.

I will say, too, that recently there just haven't been movies that I want to see. Anyone even slightly interested in the movie industry knows that this has been a horrible summer for movies, both in box office receipts and in the quality of the films released. The drought is coming to an end, though, my child; soon, the fall movies will break into theaters like water through a dam, drowning us all in the welcome flood of Oscar-worthy films. And of the many I've heard about, there are a TON I'm excited to see:

Memoirs of a Geisha, Rent (SO excited for this one), Brokeback Mountain, Capote, The Producers, Waiting, In Her Shoes, Shopgirl, Elizabethtown, The Weather Man (I saw them filming this in NY), Jarhead, Pride and Prejudice, Walk The Line, Rumor Has It, Match Point, Proof...a pretty eclectic blend, I admit, and probably not all Oscar worthy (and probably some Oscar worthy I didn't mention that I'll see as well). But suffice it to say I'm WAY excited for this season and all the good movies in the next few of months. I always have liked the fall best...

Harold and Maude

2005-09-02T22:59:00.000-05:00

There is a fine line between endearingly eccentric and just plain crazy. Both Harold and Maude walk the tightrope of a line between the two, falling more than once to either side. Together, though, they each seem to find a sort of balance, in their own quirky, May-December sort of way.

Harold, a young man caught in the pretentious world of his aloof mother and her money, finds entertainment in creating new ways to fake his own death. His fascination with dying finds him hanging from a noose, covered in fake blood in the bathtub and shooting himself in the head with a blank bullet, all while his mother rolls her eyes and continues with her dinner parties. Despite psycho-analysis and the threat of the draft, nothing seems to quench Harold's thirst for the morbid until he meets Maude, a 79-year-old child living life as if she only had days to live. Stealing cars (even a cop's motorcycle), posing nude for art, uprooting a tree from a city block and replanting it in the forest; nothing proves too out of the ordinary for Maude to try at least once. Harold looks at his mother with the wide eyes of one staring at a Martian; in Maude, he finds the spirit and personality every fiber of his being is longing for, his eyes wide instead with wonder. The two form an unlikely friendship, and while it's more understandable why Harold would want to be Maude's friend, I have to admit I'm not so sure why Maude is so keen on Harold. But the partnership works for the movie and what begins as a dark, disturbing story of a dark, disturbing teen ultimately turns into a funny, bright look at the simple beauty of life and the moments that make it worth living.

The two leads couldn't be more different, and as we get to know them better, we see both struggling to find any kind of purpose. Harold started his attempts at suicide in boarding school, and now insists on driving a hearse (going so far as to revamp the saucy Jaguar his mother presents him with to resemble the sportiest hearse ever fashioned). While at the beginning of the film his antics are borderline grotesque, before long we're conditioned to them and can easily predict that no, he won't really shoot himself, and yes, that's a retractable blade and a pouch of ketchup he just stabbed himself with. (No matter how predictible, though, it's a compliment to the actor and the film that I still found myself crossing the fingers in my mind, a sliver of me worried that each time, maybe this time he wouldn't break into a smile and lift his head.)

Maude is surely on the crazy side of the line when we first meet her at one of the random funerals both characters happen to be attending. Soon, however, her endearing side comes out; we spend timewith her in her knick-knack laden traincar turned house, we drive circles with her around a young Tom Skerrit of a policeman. Her spirit is infectious, and it's easy to see why glum Harold slowly becomes happy Harold, Maude's cooky wisdom rubbing of on him. (She asks what flower he'd like to be, and he answers perhaps a daisy, because they're all the same. Effortlessly, she points out their "observable differences," and Harold--nor us--will ever see the flower the same way again.) There's something lurking under Maude's zest, though, as her cheery disposition fades for the few lines she speaks about the man who was once in her life. And while she reminds Harold of her upcoming birthday several times, and even comments that anything after 80 is just passing time, her wisdom never falters. Eccentric or crazy, she just might know what she's talking about: "Take a chance, reach out, get hurt even. Live!"

I've heard that movies, stories in general, should never end sadly unless it's completely unavoidable. Sure, bad things happen, hearts break, and characters die. But the ultimate end of the story should be good, should be redeeming, even in just some small way. So when Maude makes good on her comments about life after 80 and Harold must face life without the woman who made it worth living (and whom he falls in love with and wants to marry--Creepy factor? Off the charts.), I don't think any audience would hold it against him were there to be a Romeo & Juliet sort of ending to the tale. But Harold has tasted a life too sweet to let go of now, and were he to leave, all of Maude's time and influence would have been wasted on him and us. The happy ending is the only ending, even in H&M's off-the-wall brand of dark humor.

I never would have picked up this movie had it not been suggested, and I've got Freethinker to thank for that. I have to admit, I wasn't sure what I'd gotten myself into through the first half hour or so, but that quickly changes as the quirkiness of the friendship unfolds and you find yourself laughing at Maude's reckless driving and Harold's mocking his uncle's passion for the military. Apparently there is quite the crowd that really loves the film, and while I can't say I'd add it to any top ten lists, the ultimate message--that life is made for living, for experiencing good and bad, and that it's the people in our lives that make it that much more meaningful--was not lost on me. And that 70's fashion...man, you can't beat it!

Intimate Strangers

2005-08-31T10:22:00.000-05:00

You know there's something innately wrong (or that you've discovered a true passion) when you go to Blockbuster and leave with two French films and a documentary and never think twice about the lameness of it all. This'll be the last of the three for me to review here, as I've already posted about A Very Long Engagement and Gunner Palace. Then it's off to Blockbuster again, and who knows what craziness I might leave with this time!

A friend and I recently lamented that there's something about these French films--maybe it's because you have to watch the screen to read the subtitles--that, although nothing really ever happens, we're inexplicably attached to the movie from beginning to end. I think what these filmmakers have caught on to (some Americans included, i.e. Woody Allen), and what others refuse to admit (Steven Spielberg's War of the Worlds, James Cameron's Titanic) is that all an audience cares about his the human story of a movie. Sure, a big sinking boat, exploding buildings and breathtaking stunts are fun to watch, but in the end what kept Titanic in theaters for so long was Jack and Rose (Don't let go, Jack! Don't let go!). It's understandable then, that in this quiet movie you might find yourself glued to the soft spoken William (Fabrice Luchini) and slightly screw-loose Anna (Sandrine Bonnaire) for no other reason than to see where their relationship goes.

Anna, looking for an outlet to flesh out her marital problems, bursts into Dr. Monnier's office and starts relating her woes at lightning speed, hardly letting her new doctor get an word in. Turns out this is for the best, however, because were he able to speak up, he'd have informed her that his name is really Mr. Faber and he is not a doctor at all, but a tax lawyer whose office and flat are next to Dr. Monnier's. But Anna leaves as quickly as she's arrived and William is left shaking his head and unsure what do to next. Dr. Monnier and William's ex, Jeanne, whom he remains on friendly (and apparently biblical) terms with, give the same advice: you have to tell her. Before he gets a chance to, and after he's already formed an attachment to this wounded bird who flew into his office one afternoon, Anna finds out on her own. Angry, she disappears; the film only gets interesting when, for some reason, she comes back to William's office and the chats continue. She's disclosed too much to walk away from her unexpected confidant, and while we learn much more about her than William, we're just as attached to both as they are to each other.

A little research of Jerome Tonnere (writer) and Patrick Leconte (director) revealed that this "talkfest" of a film isn't a far cry from their other works, and talkfest it is. We rarely leave William's old-world office (when we do, it's so he can follow Anna home, or disect her latest visit over a glass of wine with Jeanne), and the most action of the movie is a quick tangle between Anna's jealous husband and Mr. Faber (but even then, it's a tangle of words). The balance of the movie is a little askew to begin with as we learn very little about William but oodles about Anna; the scales slowly balance as we get a glimpse into his relationships with his father (who's life he seems to just be repeating) and Jeanne and her fitness-buff new boyfriend. And eventually, after Anna continues to visit once she's found out William's true identity, the sexual tension in the makeshift doctor's office is thick; you might find yourself waiting for the two to kiss and get it over with, but (SPOILER) you'll be waiting in vain. The romance, the lust, isn't necessarily the point of this two-hour-long conversation. More so is the question of, why does she keep coming? What refuge has she found in this unlikely ear, and what about her keeps him watching the door and eyeing the phone should she reappear? At the very least, it seems to be that idea that we all need to be needed and likewise need to need someone. And no, no one has ever used "need" more times in a sentence.

You can't multi-task while you're watching Strangers, unless of course you speak fluent French and can listen and still follow the film. For those of us with just a rudimentary grasp of the language, subtitles work wonders. Which means you'll have to stay in front of the TV for the whole time. But if it's the subtitles that suck you in, it's the premise, and the unfolding of it, that will keep you in your seat.

The 40 Year-Old Virgin

2005-08-30T23:04:00.000-05:00

It's never a good idea to go into a movie with expectations. Really, it's best if you see the previews, decide it looks interesting and just go. Don't go because everyone raves about it and you just have to see it, and don't go because everyone says it's dumb and you're curious what all the fuss is about. Either way, you will be disappointed.

Such is the case with Steve Carell's first foray into Leading Man world.

Perhaps I had done it to myself; all the hype around it made me figure it was worth the $8.75 to see it at the theater. But then, I should have learned my lesson with Sideways. Over and over, I heard how great it was, and while it was a good movie, the real masterpiece last year was The Aviator (but then, I went into that one not expecting much and was blown away. Go figure.). With Virgin, though, it's definitely worth seeing, but maybe just renting.

Andy Stitzer is everything you'd expect of a 40-year-old virgin: his apartment is littered with unopened action figures; he rides his bike to work, helmet and all; he's relegated to the stockroom at the electronics store he works at thanks to his inept social skills. The only bone the writers throw this sad dog is that at least Andy lives on his own, not with his overbearing mother and disappointed father (adjectives added, because actually, we never even meet his parents). He does a pretty good job of hiding his inexperience until one night over a friendly game of poker the guys begin to exchange "war stories." When Andy's version of what a woman's breast feels like fails to impress his buddies, the jig is up as they say.

Never fear, three funny sidekicks are here to save the day. The rest of the movie proves semi-formulaic: friends try getting Andy to hook up with drunk girls at clubs, easy girl that works at the bookstore. Andy really likes Trish, the single mom/shop owner that works across the street. Clueless Andy doesn't know how to pursue her, calls and hangs up, even starts to buy into his buddies' idea that he needs to "practice" on other girls so he's at least mediocre when he finally gets Trish where he wants her. And I hope it's not too much of a spoiler to concede that all ends well and Andy and Trish live happily ever after; Andy even gets a little piece of ass, that cad.

The film has a good premise, obviously. Social anomolies are welcome fodder for these comedies (Adam Sandler has a dynasty built on guys who are just left of the norm). But the execution, and the fast-moving plot lose feasibility as each scene flies through what is probably a soul-searching, pretty grueling process. Buddy one mentions it's easier to hit on girls who've had a couple drinks? "OK," Andy smiles, and goes along willingly. Girls don't like men as hairy as an ape? "OK," Andy smiles, and suffers through some of the worst waxing in the history of waxing. (Which, to be fair, is the funniest part of the whole film. My stomach hurt I was laughing so hard.) If you sell all your collectibles, you'll have enough money to start your own store? "Ok," Andy smiles and starts posting his treasures on ebay.

To Carell's credit, there is often more communicated through Andy's expressions than all the chit-chatty dialogue combined. Pedalling furiously away from the poker game where his secret comes out, Andy scolds himself for being "so stupid" in his made-up descriptions. It's as if he reaches out and sits the embarrassment in our laps it's so tangible. Later, when he tries calling Trish the first time and hangs up as soon as she says hello, you wish you could hug the thirty foot tall little boy on the screen. Every furrowed brow, quizzical glance and dropped jaw is placed perfectly. And while the rest of the cast coasts unnoticeably through their scenes (even Paul Rudd, who is just itching to break out of the small-time gates and into the majors), Carell shines in what will surely be the first of many leading funnyman roles.

The verdict? Expect a few good laughs, maybe even one or two great ones, but don't expect anything extraordinary. Expect a sweet story, but don't expect a stellar treatment of the material. And finally, forget everything you've just read and just go see a movie, for the fun of it.

2005-08-27T13:41:00.000-05:00

I know I've been slack in getting postings up here, and to those of you who might stop by from time to time, I apologize. But know that I'm working on it. I am still watching movies, but to be quite honest I haven't had the inclination to sit and stare at a computer screen for longer than necessary lately. So while nothing has found it's way here, there's still plenty going on in this little head of mine. Some upcoming posts (dare I say, to look forward to) include:

Intimate Strangers...a French film I almost caught in the theaters while it was out, but ended up renting recently instead.

Phantom of the Opera...I have a wonderful memory of the night I went to see this. It was just after Christmas, and I saw it at the Lake in downtown Oak Park. When I left the theater it was snowing that snow that whispers as is floats to the cold ground, and I took a break at the Starbucks by the theater after the movie. So I'm not sure if it's the memory that makes me like the movie, or the movie that makes me like the movie. But I'll figure it out before I post on it.

The Forty Year Old Virgin...I did go see it. I do have an opinion. You'll just have to wait.

And don't think that I've forgotten about Harold & Maude or Ma Vie en Rose. I just haven't had the chance to stop by Blockbuster.

Closer

2005-08-26T12:51:00.000-05:00

If you stripped away the dates and the dinners, the phone calls and emails, the meeting the parents and meeting the friends, the manners and the polite niceties, the walks and the talks and the drinks and the drives; if you stripped away everything that makes dating and relationships into the game that we all hate so much to play, and really only took the skeleton, the barest, basest, most primative look at men and women and relationships, it might look something like Closer.

Keep in mind that I am commenting on the movie version here, not the play (written and adapted for the screen by Patrick Marber). I've read parts of the play, and it is different than the movie. Understandable, however, as the two media offer much different possibilities for the same script. I would love to see the stage version of the show, lesser known actors creating Anna and Alice and Dan and Larry, every scene played out on the same small stage; if I ever see that it's being put on somewhere, you can bet I'll be there. But for now I just have the movie, so that's what I'll focus on here.

I could write for ages on the nuances of each scene, each character. I could turn this into something resembling the essays I wrote in college, dissecting each line, the motivation for each knife verbally stabbed into whomever happens to be the target. But I don't want to go on forever like that; instead, there are just a few things I want to cover in this "review." First, the flawless dialogue and how efortlessly it takes the audience through place and time. Second, the lack of a hero in this foul-mouthed drama (it did, after all, receive an R rating and there isn't so much as the crest of a breast revealed. Language only earned it that "adult" rating, and what cruel language it is.). And lastly, the casting choices and my take on them. It should also be noted that this will differ from other reviews in that I'm not going to spend a whole lot of time recounting the plot; it's simply too intricate and interwoven to do so. Instead, I'll assume you've seen the movie. And if you haven't, you hopefully will want to by the end of this post. Let's begin then:

Adapted from a play, Closer had a head start right out of the gate. I don't care who you talk to about movies, but if they ever disagree that the writing is the most important part of any film, they have no idea what they're talking about. The casting, the costumes, the special effects all take a back seat to the writing. And in my opinion, Closer is one of the strongest scripts ever produced. Because of it's origins on the stage, Marber couldn't rely on film's oft-used crutches like titles with time and place spelled out. Instead, he had to weave this progression into the story, into the dialogue. And it is done so seamlessly the viewer is never left wondering how or why we got to where we are. The timeline goes: Dan and Alice meet; a year later, Dan publishes his book and meets Anna. The next year, Dan and Anna meet again at her exhibition. Another year latar and Anna and Larry have married, and Dan and Alice go to the country for their third anniversary. The end of the movie doesn't clearly state months that pass, but it can be gathered that between half a year and a year pass while Anna and Dan have a go at a real relationship, Larry finds Alice at the strip club, Anna goes back to Larry and Alice takes Dan to the airport, surprising him with a trip to New York they'll never take.

The clues are there, planted solidly in the dialogue; they just have to be picked up by the observant audience. At her exhibition, Anna tells Dan she hasn't seen him for a year. "You have seen me," he says. "Only because you've been stalking me." Dan returns to the flat he shares with Alice and opens the conversation that will break them up with an honest, "This will hurt. I've been with Anna." He tosses in the detail that his seeing her started a year ago, at her show. Where less skilled writers would have made these details sound forced and out of place, Marber's conversations would be left with holes were they not there.

The majority of the dialogue is expressed in short phrases and one word responses. There really are no monologues, and all too often it's as if we've come to watch a tennis match, our eyes darting from one party to the other as the dialogue is tossed quickly and skillfully between characters. The momentum built by such exchanges is palpable, exemplified in the counter scene to Dan and Anna's break up, where Alice admits her infidelities to a borderline-barbaric Larry. He presses her for intimate details of their encounters and despite her protests, she gets caught up in the shouting and eventually screams that Dan tastes "like you only sweeter!" Perhaps the best, most sincerely delivered line in Julia Roberts' career, but that's another post. And just like that, the momentum subsides, the moment quiets and Larry thanks her for her honesty, adding ever so politely that she can "fuck off and die."

While the above is surely the most intense scene, every exchange is just as passionate, words chosen with the utmost of care. Alice's randomness in the first scene, at the hospital, is vocalized by her comments. "I don't eat fish," she tells Dan. "Why not?" "Fish piss in the sea." Then, as if asking the time, "Who cuts the crusts off your sandwiches?" and "What's my euphamism?" Larry's lines are like venom most of the time; even when the words are gentle ones, they come out with sharp edges. If anyone of the four-person casts were a bumbler, Dan would be it. The writer of the group seems to have the most difficulty with words, forming them carefully before speaking and in some instances, almost anticipating the response (the above mentioned "This wil hurt."). Anna's lines are fewer than the others, at least in perception, and shorter as well. She is the one-word-response woman, never offers more information than what was asked for.

Subject two: the lack of a hero. Every movie is based around a basic principle of good and bad, and from the westerns with hero and villain spelled out in black and white (even down to the color of their horses!) to the Supermans and Batmans and Spidermans of today, there is always a hero and always a villain. Except in Closer. Watching the movie the first few times, you'll find yourself searching for who it is we're supposed to like in the end. Who do we root for? Who should come up smelling like roses? The next few times you watch, there are fleeting moments with each of the four that we want them to be the good guy; from the start Alice seems simple and lovable. Let's like her. Wait, Dan needs to be taken care of, needs to be loved. Let's like him. No, Anna deserves to be with a man who adores her. She should live happily ever after. But no one deserves to be as broken as Larry, poor guy. Who wants to see a guy like him with a broken heart. Buck up, man; we'll cheer for you.

In the end, and after you've watched the movie as many times as I have, it becomes clear: there is no hero. All four are incredibly human, incredibly fallible and incredibly relatable. All four are selfish, all four are deceptive and manipulative and unhappy in one way or another. Alice lies about her name; Dan poses as Anna on a sex chat site (the least of his offenses, probably); Anna plays a martyr, suffers for love but cheats to get what she wants; Larry is venomous, playing the worst mindgames of all four. As Alice walks through customs alone and Anna turns off the light over a sleeping Larry, there is no other way the four could end up. They have, as the cliche goes, made their beds. All that's left to do is...you get the point.

Finally, one last (quick) point: casting. I've heard tell that some were dissappointed with the choice of Natalie Portman. Not old enough, not mature enough, too pretty, etc, etc. And Clive Owen might seem an obscure choice to some, when propped up next to the jauggernaut that is Julia Roberts and this generation's James Earl Jones, aka Jude Law, who shows up in every movie on either side of the Atlantic. But both certainly hold their own with these heavyweights, enough so that they were the one's awarded the Golden Globes for their "supporting" roles. If anything, the oddest bit of casting is that of Julia Roberts as the damaged Anna. Perhaps America's sweetheart was itching to stretch her acting muscles when she landed the role, because it's a far cry from the other Anna she played years ago in Notting Hill, the type of role audiences have become comfortable seeing her in. You will certainly be shoved ruthlessly out of your JR comfort zone with Closer, but once you let go of the notion that this is just like her other films, you might just be pleasantly surprised.

I wrote an entire paper once on When Harry Met Sally; I was asked by my Interpersonal Communications professor to write about the communication in the movie, the things the opposite sexes say to each other and how they affect the relationships. I would most certainly have liked to write that paper on Closer and perhaps when I'm a tenured professor somewhere, I might just have my students do that.

Gunner Palace

2005-08-22T22:47:00.000-05:00

I want to preface this review by saying that I have every respect for anyone who has served in this war, is serving in this war, or will serve in this war. I never thought that, like my grandmother, I would be moving into adulthood in a time when more than a few of my friends (and even a family member now) chose to serve their country instead of start their own lives.

I also want to preface this by saying that if you'd like to see a good documentary about the war in Iraq, rent Control Room. Certainly a film with a different message, but a film nevertheless. Which is more than can be said about Palace.

What can be said is that this hodge-podge of footage bounces between raids on suspected terrorists (which come up empty more than once) and parties at Uday Hussein's palace (aka Gunner Palace)--complete with swimming, golf and live music--more than a tennis ball at Wimbledon. What can be said is that while there are touching moments--the soldier holding a premature Iraqi child while he tells the camera that he hasn't held his own son yet; the view through the window of two Iraqi women comforting each other after their husbands have been arrested; the children running after the humvees, shouting about "A-mer-eek-ah"--the lack of a story (because yes, even documentaries have stories) or flow to the film leaves you confused and unsatisfied. What can be said is that instead of showing the "real life" of these soldiers, we're shown the frat boys and wanna-be rappers stationed at Gunner Palace. PFC Wilf pops up often, first playing The Star Spangled Banner a la Jimi Hendrix on his electric guitar (yes, somehow he has an electric and an acoustic guitar in Iraq), then dancing on the top of the tank he's guarding for the day, and even wearing the strings of an old mop around his chin like a beard, mocking the chanted prayers of the Muslims he's getting paid to protect. Is this the real soldier you wanted us to see, Mr. Tucker?

On parole one day, the troops shut down a busy street, believing they've sighted a bomb. Turns out to be an empty plastic bag, and the Iraqis get a nice chuckle at the American's expense. While the American in me is quick to defend with a "Hey, they were just doing their job. What if it had been a bomb and they just saved your life?", the film critic (if I may be so bold!) in me wonders why on earth a filmmaker would ever put such an embarrassing moment in a film meant to endear these soldiers to us? Are we really supposed to believe that these young men (for one thing Tucker does point out is that the average soldier is only 20) spend their days freestyling raps about how hard life is in Baghdad, and their nights playing guitar around a bonfire in the back of the palace? The few glimpses we get of the commanding officers are from a distance, their words only background noise and their faces undiscernable. I can't help but wonder if they might have painted a picture about the "real life" Mr. Tucker was so desperate to share with us.

The flaws do not lie only in the poor subject matter Tucker chooses to highlight. Mechanically, even the least trained eye can tell that this film is not put together well. I'll admit that I have no idea who Michael Tucker is, and at the beginning of the film it would appear I'm not supposed to. There's always a moment at the beginning of documentaries that you wonder just what style the filmmaker is going to use to tell their story. Since there is no script to offer exposition and explanation, often they'll rely on subtitles or a voiceover (done superbly in March of the Penguins) or even both. Tucker doesn't seem able to make up his mind, though. We're introduced to the Palace and soldiers, the scene in general, through a series of titles on screen. Making me believe this will be the status quo, and we'll only hear the soldiers speak. Imagine my surprise, then, when 20 minutes into the film I hear a displaced voice. That's fine, I'm thinking, they can't say everything in a title. I let my surprise fade. Until I'm jarred again by the indrodution of the "I" pronoun. Wait a second. I have no idea who you are. Now you're telling me your story as well as the soldiers? As if to answer my question, there's still a half hour left in the film when we're suddenly at home in Seattle with Tucker, watching him make coffee and check his email in that nauseating film technique of strapping the camera to your head so your audience gets the same perspective you do. I had a sneaking suspicion that this was slapped together in a home editing bay somewhere, and our trip to Tucker's only confirmed it. We actually get to see the monitors and computer he used to edit this sloppy, choppy doc.

I rented this one out of curiosity. I ran across it at Blockbuster and remembered a preview I'd seen somewhere of a guy doing a somersault off a diving board. I hadn't gone in knowing what movies I wanted to get, so I thought "Why not? We'll see if there's much to it." The answer, I'm afraid, is no. There is not much to it at all.

Requests anyone?

2005-08-22T13:40:00.000-05:00

Ok, so I'm pretty excited. Not only did I just come across a comment from someone I'm assuming just stumbled into this blog, but he mentioned a movie he'd "like to read [my] take on." As in, someone might actually think I know what I'm talking about. What a compliment! Freethinker, if you happen to be reading, I'm working on finding Harold and Maude. I feel like a DJ taking requests at the prom. And I'm happy to oblige.

A Very Long Engagement

2005-08-21T11:42:00.000-05:00

I'm not sure why, but from the previews I'd seen, I was expecting something more whimsical. I thought it was a fairy tale of sorts. And I suppose it was, if your fairy tales involve self-mutilation, adultery and one woman's weird confidence in "signs" that anyone else wouldn't even note for their ordinariness. (If I finish this post before "Split Screen Sadness" comes up on my playlist, I'm going to make $100 at work tonight. That sort of thing...) But it wasn't such a pleasant fairy tale that filmmaker Jean-Pierre Jeunet put together in this saga of love in the time of war.

Friends since childhood, Mathilde and Manech are 17 and already engaged when Manech is called up to serve in the French army in WWI. By 1919, he and four other soldiers are court-martialed and sentenced to execution for varying degrees of self mutilation (all involving guns and fingers...you do the math. Or watch the movie, since they show it in pretty graphic detail). No one wants to kill their own soldiers, though, so instead the commanding officers send the five condemned men into a no man's land, leaving them at the mercy of the enemies. By 1920, Mathilde (a pleasant Audrey Tautou, who will soon be appearing in the adaptation of The DaVinci Code!) knows in her head that Manech is surely dead, but refuses to let her heart believe it. Enlisting the help of the aunt and uncle that have raised her, a private investigator from Paris, and the vengeful lover of one of the other four men, Mathilde embarks on a search for the love she just can't forget.

This is a slippery one, so I suggest you focus in should you ever decide to sit down with Engagement (unless you're one of those movie-phobes who refuses to watch anything w/ subtitles). The plot takes so many twists and turns you might as well be in a Tea Cup at Disneyland. The names seem to run together, the faces begin to look the same, and it's hard to follow who's who before long. Mathilde looks in a handful of different directions, following leads like a dog on the trail, until that clue is exhausted and the next break in the case appears. Which it always does. Which works out nicely for Mathilde. The perspective is well balanced, though, and we're not always looking through Mathilde's eyes. We see what the soldiers see, what Manech sees. The changes are welcome, and shed a light for the audience that Mathilde is still working on uncovering.

While most certainly one of the most committed love stories in recent movie memory, Engagement has no problem also qualifying as one of the goriest films since Saving Private Ryan. We're on the battlefields, we're in the trenches. Bullets in the head, bayonnets through the heart. There's no sugar-coating over this war. Likewise, the sex is raw as well. The single love scene between our separated pair is romantic the way first encounters always are; they make love. They fall asleep spooning, and we sigh that "aren't they precious?" sigh. The rest of the movie, when it comes into play, shows pure sex. One soldier with the whore he pimped out. Sex. One soldier's wife with her husband's best friend. Sex. (The wife, by the way, happens to be played by Jodie Foster. I didn't know she spoke French, did you?) Thrusting and gripping and sweating. Maybe it's a French thing.

So it wasn't exactly whimsical, in any sense of the word really. But it was still well done, still gripping, still poignant. I won't ruin the end, but suffice it to say that all is resolved and as the credits roll, even the most cynical might just believe in love, if even just a little bit.

A Love Song for Bobby Long

2005-08-17T22:49:00.000-05:00

The title is a bit misleading. While Bobby Long is certainly at the center of this pseudo-family drama, it is more a story of the lies we tell and the truth that eventually finds its way to the surface.

When Perslane (Persy, to all except her grandmother) learns of her mother Loraine's death via a belated phone message from her white-trash boyfriend, she leaves the trailer they share in Florida's panhandle to return to New Orleans and the house her mother lived in. An angry, independent high school drop out, Percy stubbornly insists on claiming her third of the house, becoming an unlikely roommate to Bobby Long, an alcoholic ex-professor and quoter of all great poets of the 20th century, and Lawson Pines, also an alcoholic and a close friend and sometime biographer of Bobby's. The two have been living in the run down house for years, and though Lawson points repeatedly to "the truth," neither of them seem to be in any hurry to rescind their claims to the rooms.

For much of the movie, we're left wondering what it is exactly that we don't know as observers of this whole scene. Bobby, in his constant drunkenness and with fairly regular flairs for the dramatic, attempts to invoke authority in the household; Persy's learned enough in her 18 years to not take shit from the likes of Bobby, and she doesn't. No matter how mad she is at the mother that's abandonded her, Percy (named after a flower, only to be told as a child that her namesake is really a weed and the bane of many a gardener) stays in New Orleans with this new "family," letting them mold her and vice versa. She learns enough from the professor and writer to graduate high school; they learn enough to clean up their act, putting down the bottle and opening up the window shades of the dank old house.

All's not well in N'awlins, however, as would be expected. Love Song would be a pretty sad excuse for a film, and certainly not one John Travolta or Scarlett Johannson would star in, were it all perfect. There's the future the drunk Bobby fantasizes about, allowing him to forget the skeletons of his and Lawson's pasts, the sexual tension brewing in the house the three share, and the secrets in the boxes Loraine has left behind. Before long, all is revealed when Persy discovers Bobby and Lawson have been lying to her about the ownership of the house. (SPOILER ALERT: If you're planning on watching the movie, skip the rest of this paragraph!) While packing up her mother's house, she stumbles on the letters Loraine wrote her but never sent. The pieces quickly fall into place after that, and we learn that the relationship Bobby and she has formed is not in vain; Bobby is her father.

From here, the puzzle loses some of its attraction; everything slides into place quite easily. There's no wiggling to see if you can make it work, no wondering which side of the picture those few you've grouped together really belong in. Instead, the last twenty-five minutes or so are filled with father-daughter pride and instant bonding. The two even share a sappy dance to the song Loraine had written before she died.

Love Song is well done, however, and less forced than many movies with such a complex story become. The music, the city, the bit characters all add a texture to the film that leave a rich taste even after the credits are rolling. And Travolta's turn as the decaying Bobby Long is one of his more believable roles (although compared to Ladder 49, watching him read the ingredients off my cereal box might be more entertaining). Johannson proves yet again that she's got the chops to be around for awhile, and even little-known Gabriel Macht (yes, I think he's amazingly gorgeous) plays perfectly into the chemistry of the two bigger names.

Based on a book, the film relies just enough on narration from writer Lawson; the format of the story, with the book about Bobby Long always in progress, lends itself well to the voice overs. And kudos to the filmmakers for using them sparingly. Too often they become the crutch of an inept storyteller. They arrive only during a change of season and are as unobtrusive as the seamless soundtrack accompanying the film (we're even treated to a couple serenades from Travolta, though his guitar picking leaves a lot to be desired).

Lawson eventually publishes his book about Bobby Long, and angry little Persy makes good and heads off to college. The title's subject passes away, and although we've spent more time on the drama he's created, we're sad to see him go. In the end, it seems all our questions about the truth, the secrets and the "where do we go from here" are answered. And while the package is sewn up nicely, complete with a little bow on top, we've been on enough of a journey in this year with Persy, Bobby and Lawson that it seems the story couldn't end any other way but happily.

Love Actually

2005-08-09T21:44:00.000-05:00

*I never said they'd be recent movies...*

Entertainment Weekly named it the best love song of all time, so it's only fitting that the Beach Boy's "God Only Knows" caps off the end of one of the best romantic comedies of recent memory.

Written and directed by Richard Curtis, the London-based, Christmastime tale follows a mish-mash of characters and their pursuits of love in an often harsh city. There's Sarah, the American working in the presence of the man of her dreams. And Colin Frissell, who's as lame as his name sounds, and on the hunt for the perfect bit of action. And Jack and Just Judy, the movie stand-ins who fall in love in a number of compromising positions. And theirs are just the backstories.

Curtis almost seamlessly weaves together a number of stories, from the desk clerk lusting after her boss to the Prime Minister falling for his assistant. I say almost because there are a few hitches; it's not always clear how each character interacts with the others, and it's hard to fathom at one point how Tony, the trusty side-kick of the film, is at once in his apartment at night, then at work on the movie Judy and Jack are working on, too. But then, it's just a movie; glitches are easily set aside.

I have two favorite story lines in this zig-zagging love story; at the top of the list, the frustrated Mark whose stand-offish-ness is only a result of his crush on best friend Peter's new wife. The story is interesting from the start. In one of the first scenes, Mark surprises the newlyweds with a send-off like none other, serenaded with "All You Need is Love." After Juliet discovers Mark's feelings, she is gracious and flattered. By far, the best scene in the movie is the night Mark stops by their flat with a message for Juliet. He's written on large poster board that he wants "To tell you...without hope or agenda...that my wasted heart will love you...until you look like this," revealing a picture of a funny-looking mummy. As he leaves, having bared his heart , Juliet follows and gives him one perfect, brief kiss. Mark's satisfied "Enough. Enough now," is all the dialogue needed in the whole scene. Anyone who's ever had feelings for someone they can't have knows exactly what his lines mean.

The second story is just as romantic, though perhaps more endearing as no morals are in question. From the moment she meets the new Prime Minister, Natalie fumbles and stutters. Their working relationship turns to friendship, with meaningful glances after one another as either leaves a scene. But the relationship turns cool after a misunderstanding with a rather shady US President (we've never had one of those!); it's only Natalie's Christmas card to David (a surprisingly genuine Hugh Grant) that convinces him to go after her. "The truth is, I'm actually yours, with love," she writes. Awwww. While their surprise on-stage kiss is fun--in an attempt to hide from prying eyes, they end up backstage of a grade school Christmas pageant, only to be exposed when the curtain is opened in front of an auditorium full of parents (and voters, I'd imagine)--my favorite scene of the two is at the very end, "God Only Knows" in full swing in the background. David, among others, arrives at Heathrow and Natalie runs into his arms, leaping up into them. "God, you do weigh a lot," he chides, in reference to a scene earlier when Natalie disclosed an old boyfriend told her she was fat. "Oh, shut your face," is all she replies, kissing him squarely on the lips. They smile and embrace and at least for me, that's love. That simultaneous I'll-be-the-first-to-give-you-a-hard-time and I-can't-get-enough-of-you rapport are exactly the things that make loving someone fun.

I'm probably a bit partial with this film; I loved it before I'd been to London, and now that I've been there (hell, I even watched it while I was there), it's only become that much more special to me. But it's not without flaws. While original in so many ways, even Curtis falls victim to cliches. Once Colin Firth's Jamie decides to go after Aurelia, he tells his dismayed family, "A man's gotta do..." You finish the line. That's rough. And one of the running jokes is that Liam Neeson's Daniel would meet and fall in love with Claudia Schiffer after his wife passes away; how convenient that a fellow single parent is a dead ringer for the model/actress! I've said it before: it's just a movie. I guess those things can happen. And really, the only criticism I'd offer for the movie on the whole is that it seems a little cluttered at times. If you're watching for the first time, pay attention. You might lose track of everyone otherwise; they have this annoying habit of showing up in each other's story lines. Those of us really into the movie might have been served better having only seen a few of the meatier stories, losing the extras so we might learn more about those relationships we really get into. But maybe that's for "Love Actually 2."

I've mentioned a couple of the songs, and the soundtrack certainly deserves a nod of its own. There's almost as much music as there are storylines, and the songs play perfectly into each. Joni Mitchell laments love while Karen comes to the realization that her husband is, if not having, at least considering an affair. And little Sam falls for songbird Joanna, played by the stellar Olivia Olsen, who does her own version of "All I Want for Christmas is You." Even a little known Kelly Clarkson adds to the soundtrack with "The Trouble with Love," one of her first singles as America's "Idol."

All in all, a perfect movie for me. It's overflowing with romance, leaves you wishing you were even a smidgen as passionate about someone as these characters are about the loves in their lives, and even takes place over Christmas; my kind of movie!

March Of The Penguins

2005-08-01T15:42:00.000-05:00

If watching a penguin, or better yet a penguin and his hundred closest friends, waddle across the screen--heads bobbing left and right, feet scuffling along the ice, arms flush with their cubby sides--doesn't make you giggle, nothing ever will. Had filmmaker Luc Jacquet chosen to capture a year in the life of a creature less endearing, perhaps a snake or an insect, this would be a much different review. But penguins he chose, and penguins he's turned into many a movie-goers new favorite animal.

What could have been relegated to a Sunday-evening special on the Discovery Channel is instead one of the most touching films I've seen recently. And though the backdrop is ice cold, literally, the compassion in narrator Morgan Freeman's voice and the actions of these flightless birds warm the screen effortlessly.

Jacquet had what seemed like a simple idea: document the mating season of the Emporer Penguins of Antarctica. Without much manipulation (the wonders of film editing being the only exception), he tells a story of intuition, determination, and ritual that has been played out for thousands of years. It is a story of family and mourning and--with as little cliche added as possible--dare I say a story of love.

Like the salmon that swim against the current to mate, Emporer Penguins have a long road to procreation. A seventy-mile road, to be precise, waddled in sheer determination to find the clearing where they congregate every year. Once there, the arctic birds pair off; Freeman explains that it's unknown what they look for in a mate, only that it's obvious when they've found one; the penguins stand belly to belly, often with heads together. What follows is the closest thing to a sex scene in a movie about penguins--the couple necks and nips at each other in awfully affectionate ways. But they're spared the indignity of having the actual consummation put on film--maybe that'll be in the unedited DVD.

If mating is successful, as most of the newfound lovers are, the next six months or so (condensed into sixty minutes of film and narration) are a series of babysitting stints for mother and father. And through each delicate stage of this age-old process, the risk of losing the reproductive battle is ever-present. A young couple loses track of the egg, leaving it exposed and losing it to the harsh temperatures. In a movie about insects this would be unfortunate (I might even cheer were it one less mosquito biting me!). In March it's downright sad. Even the couple recognizes the loss, their efforts to this point in vain. Both hang their heads in mourning, nudging the now frozen egg in one last attempt to save the unborn chick.

The film moves on from the disappointment, as do the penguins, and we watch as the fathers huddle together, hundreds of black backs hunched together for warmth from the fierce South Pole blizzards. When the weather begins to break, so do the shells of the eggs, tiny penguin beaks poking out into the world. Cute Alert: If you're one who's never seen the appeal in puppies or kittens or even baby elephants, this might not be the movie for you. Because what emerges from the egg is perhaps one of the world's most adorable young animals. Silver-blue and all fluff, the chicks are weak but curious; they are hungry and they are vocal. As they grow, they learn to walk like a child learns to dance, standing on their mothers' feet as she waddles among the group.

Nature at it's core is a series of cycles, and the Emporer Penguin is no exception. Soon each mother and father know they can leave their young; the chicks, now in an awkward teenager phase--only patches of fluff remain, the rest replaced by the smooth down of the tuxedos they'll wear for life--go their own way back to the sea. They've become a new tribe of penguins, diving into the water they've never seen yet they know they belong in.

The mechanics of the film are what separate it from the Sunday evening Discovery Channel specials. The footage is incredible enough to cause one audience member to question its authenticity. "It's got to be computers," I overheard. We are immersed in the arctic water, at eye level on the ice and soaring above the glaciers at any given moment. Freeman's narration first the perfect compliment to the scene and second is almost telepathic, answering questions practically before you've thought of them.

In the end, the magic in March of the Penguins is the same magic that makes any "normal" movie with actors and dialogue great: It's in the humanity. To a degree, a movie is only as good as it is relatable to our own lives. And in the struggles and triumphs and deaths and births of these silly, chubby birds, we see the struggles and triumphs of our lives as well.

Welcome

2005-08-01T14:49:00.000-05:00

If you're here, it's because you heard that I really like movies. Either I told you, or someone who I told told you, or you stumbled over here of your own accord. Whatever your path here, welcome. And thanks for stopping in. Check back often, because with each movie I see I'm going to try to write a real review. Define real? I'm thinking of it as something you can use, something that tells you whether or not this movie is worth your time. Granted, there will be a margin of bias thrown in, as I have movies that I'll always like and movies that I never will. But I'll try to be objective when it comes to the mechanics of the movie, and probably will succumb to my subjective side when recommending whether or not to see it.

Maybe you'll enjoy what you read and agree with me; maybe you'll loathe my every word and disagree completely. Either way, you'll be reading what I write, and really that's all a writer can ask for. So, let the movie reviewing begin!