A Personal Journey with Martin Scorsese Through American Movies (1995)

Premise: Legendary filmmaker Martin Scorsese shares his personal view and knowledge of the films, directors and actors that have shaped the world's most popular art form.

I stole that from Zip, but it was close enough for me.

It's hard to say exactly when Scorsese transitioned from known to me to my favourite director - just like it's hard to say if Pacino or Lemmon will win the grand battle for Best Actor at the Elfin April Oscars.

There's a reason that something like this seems perfect to me. A few reasons, I suppose. For one, its simplicity. Scorsese sits in a director's chair and talks to you about a movie. Then you see a clip from the movie, perhaps with some Scorsese voiceover. Then, if available and relevant, maybe a bit of an interview with the director* or an actor from the picture. Then back to Scorsese, sitting there in his little suit jacket and tie, legs crossed, bushy eyebrows waggling - a bit like my grandfather that way. And then he moves on to the next picture, the next idea, the next section. All smoothly and beautifully done.

Another, perhaps the most important reason, is how truly personal it is. Scorsese isn't going to comment on the big movies - there's no talk about Gone with the Wind or Ben Hur. He opens with Duel in the Sun, a picture his mom took him see when he was four years old. He talks about Cat People. And he stops talking when the movies catch up with him. He has to then.

But it's more than that. It's not a laundry list of movies that he viewed in his formative years; it's a look back on them through the director's lens. When I hear him talk about his pictures now, when I watch them, I see all these little nods to those he feels to indebted to. It's one of those rare instances where filmmaking comes across as a craft passed down instead of the money-grubbing mediocrity that poses in its place. Scorsese invites you to sit at his feet as he tells you all the secrets that make up the difference.

*Seriously, guys, three of them have eye patches. One has an eye patch and a monocle. It's awesome.

The documentary's divided up into three parts, each a little over an hour long. You can watch it all in one sitting or pace yourself, as I did. On the other hand, I probably would have watched it all in one go if I had been able to. And that's when I thought it was six hours long.

As for my new blog description, I quoted it directly from the last two sentences of Scorsese's closing monologue, which, I admit, moved me to tears. I have more of it written down somewhere else, just for me. It's an elegy, a lament, a praise, and a hope for the future. It's why I go to the movies, and why those who care take the time to craft them. A+

V for Vendetta (2005)

Premise: Out one night past curfew, Evey Hammond (Natalie Portman) is accosted by government henchmen that have a far more sinister plot in mind for her than a fine. Rescued by a man in a Guy Fawkes mask who introduces himself as V (Hugo Weaving), he invites Evey to witness a sensational performance: the bombing of Old Bailey. Through a series of events, Evey becomes embroiled in V's plot to pick up where the real Guy Fawkes left off to put a stop to England's totalitarian regime.

Oh, dear. Oh dear oh dear oh dear.

The Wachowski brothers produced a script that they cowrote and had it directed by their protégé, James McTeigue. That doesn't exactly sound like the recipe for a film I would like, does it? They made those other movies together that didn't work for me; movies, in fact, that I have spoken out against. And, see, the secret truth is that I kind of like the first movie. The second is so awful that I never saw the third, but that's neither here nor there. The first movie? Was a pretty okay action flick with a nice dose of serious subtext. It was everyone's obsession with it that made me, well, hate it. I used to like to watch it from time to time, say of a lazy Saturday afternoon on TBS or the like. But all that bother about its religious underpinnings? No, thanks, folks.

All of which is to say that it makes it seem like I wouldn't want to walk down another similar road with the Wachowskis. Except for the fact that I did. Unlike Sars, it wasn't a love of Weaving that drew me in. As much as I adore Portman, I'm skilled at avoiding the unfortunate tripe she all-too-frequently appears in.

It is an adaptation of a graphic novel, which like their "lowbrow" counterparts, are turned into movies I generally enjoy. Yet writer Alan Moore deliberately had his name removed from the project, which doesn't speak well of it.

Also, the original V, James Purefoy, stepped out of the role, and Weaving had to step in.

Why am I telling you all of this? Because I knew it before I saw the movie, and the knowledge may have skewed my expectations. Maybe I'm trying to do the same for you. Because, really, this movie has no business being as good as it is.

The reviews so far have hovered around the good to very good zone, but I tell you that those all understate what I saw. There are a million things to put my finger on to point out what made this movie above and beyond my expectations, but I'll just try to give you the highlights.

First and foremost, Weaving and Portman. I get why Purefoy would want to walk away - acting behind a complete mask (not even the eyes show) can't be easy. Entirely encased in an elaborate costume, V's manner and attitude come across as a little artificial at first, but his beautiful baritone seduces the viewer. With a penchant for theatricality (V likes to quote Shakespeare while dispensing of his enemies), his ostentatious style comes across not as camp but as a vaudevillian indictment of his government's puppeteering. Over the course of the film, even the mask seems to disappear. Though it never leaves Weaving's face and though it is itself a fixed entity, through lighting and camera angles and imagination the mask seems to emote. Sometimes the smirk looks, well, smirkier. Sometimes it seems as though the jolly little eye slits start to turn down. It is as though V's humanity, not his ideals, begin to possess the mask and contort it.

Which is how, I suppose, Weaving manages to create such a sweet chemistry with Portman. I'd be surprised if even she could see his eyes, but the two of them manage to catch fire anyway. Portman could have easily made Evey a somnambulist and gotten away with it, but she didn't. She lets all of Evey's vulnerability show how beautiful her weakness and, later, her strength made her. She makes all of her varied feelings about a person that she never sees completely plausible. Hell, even I was starting to feel as she did in the end.

Moore may have intended his graphic novel as an incrimination of where he felt Thatcherism was leading his nation, but it seems more powerfully relevant today. The brothers and McTeigue call up Abu Ghraib, the Gulf Wars, and Nazism as part of their own incrimination, and all of it feels just as important as anything George Clooney did last year (which is not to denigrate Clooney. Cloons, love ya!). Plus, they throw in a slick action flick for your viewing pleasure.

Sure, I freely admit that the quickly paced and tightly drawn first act is followed up by a somewhat turgid second one that dives perhaps a bit too deeply into V's hazy backstory, but, what're ya gonna do? Sometimes people think you need a whackload of backstory. McTeigue ratches it back into high gear by the end anyway. You sort of put it behind you.

I also enjoyed the supporting cast, from Stephen Rea, whose name I always remember and whose face I always forget, to Stephen Fry, who I am starting to associate with a certain kind of character, to Sinéad Cusack, who played a remorseful doctor. What? I didn't have anything special for her, okay?

Wonder of wonders, I really liked this movie. My chin was quivering by the film's final breaths, and I must confess that it was a struggle to keep from crying. I kind of love Hugo Weaving now. I'm excited about Portman's post-Lucas career. And, if I could have more of what I got Friday night, I'd take it. A-

P.S. But what in the world was the song in the end credits? Crazy, that's what.

Flight of Fancy (2008)

Obviously I put the specific links on the side for one reason or another. Mostly I look for funny, well written, and informative stuff.

Every one in a while, however, these sites exceed my expectations. And what Heather wrote here about Leafquin is on of the funniest damn things I have read in quite some time. Because, well, it sounds kind of likely, doesn't it?

If Lucy Fell (1996)

Summary: Two friends (Sarah Jessica Parker, Eric Schaeffer) make a pact to kill themselves by the time they're 30 if their love lives don't pick up before then.

Naturally, that's also in month's time.

I think it happens to every actor. You're not getting call backs, not getting auditions even for the worst scripts that your agent passes along. Your agent threatens to drop you. Maybe he even does. It happens. It's not nice, but it happens.

So you set out to rectify what you assume is this terrible wrong. You write a script, direct it, and cast yourself in the lead to showcase your talents, your leading man allure, your charm and good looks. It certainly seems like a sensible path, especially if you can get someone to produce and agree to leave you in all three roles.

Unfortunately for Schaeffer, this little plan of his backfired. Instead of writing the kind of characters that capture the hearts and minds of his audience, he created self-centered childish brats who lacked anything approaching a sense of humour or warmth and who refused to behave in ways that were sensible or in keeping with their characters, never mind rational.

Plus, he's unattractive and only minimally talented.

So you combine a plot involving features as poorly explained and developed as a "hug test" and is still completely obvious at the same time, and highlights really bad hair styles and fashion choices while you're at it. Makes viewers want to beat their own heads in with their remotes. F

While we're here, I might as well tell you about another crap movie I watched recently.

I Shot Andy Warhol (1996)

Summary: Occasional prostitute and playwright Valerie Jean Solanas (Lili Taylor) enlists the aid of Andy Warhol (Jared Harris) in her quest to produce the accompanying play to her feminist manifesto but shoots Warhol in the end when she decides that he has "too much control over [her] life."'

Sad but true story.

I'm not terribly surprised that these two movies are from the same year. Makes sense to me.

Listen, Taylor, as much as I love you, and you know I do, this movie was painful to watch. It only had two rewards, and neither of them involved your character. I should probably think it was bold of you to play her amoral antics without a hint of judgment or remorse, but, well, I didn't. I just thought it was crap. Not you, per se, but your character. Mostly because she preached a helluva lot more than she ever practiced.

No, those rewards were Reg Rogers - who rocks - as Warhol's nebbish director and Jill Hennessey as a CBC reporter. She's got a husky voice like Taylor, and I dig.

As for the rest of it, though, not so much. Maybe it would mean more to me if I read Solanas' manifesto, but this movie kind of put me off of the idea. F

Batman Begins (2005)

There's nothing like a little RE-view action to get you through your days, is there?

I did not give Bale the mad props he deserved last time around. Bale is one of those actors that just makes everything so completely believable. I very much believed that Bruce loved Rachel, although I really have no idea why. His loyalties, loves, and losses were all so present, even if some of them had to remain under the surface. That's my boy.

Speaking of the evil one, Holmes is even more annoying this time around. What is it, exactly, that Rachel wants from Bruce? She acts like a crazy bitch to him instead of being glad that he's alive after all this time, and, when she discovers that he's gone to incredible lengths to do exactly what she's always telling him to do, she tells him that's why they can't be together? What the shit? Stupid, stupid, made up, not from any of the source material character. I personally believe that there is absolutely no reason for you to be in the sequel, so you just better not show up.

Also, Neeson is a giant. There's only a three, four inch height difference between him and Bale, but he absolutely towered over him. Towered. I don't know if it was camera angles or other trickery (Bogart had to stand on a milk crate to achieve the same advantage over Becall), but it really added to how intimidating Ducard was.

Also also, special thanks to Sarah for fan wanking a bit for us last night. Indeed, a little reading around has born her theory out. Good thinking, Sars.

May I just say that that was a bit of a waste of Ken Watanabe? Just a little bit. Sadly, more of him is not to be had. Ah, well. Sacrifice and all that.

Did anyone else sense a vibe between Lucius Fox and Alfred? No? Just me?

Mad props also go out to Murphy. Em was right: Dr. Crane is all the more frightening because of the way Murphy overarticulates. That's exactly what makes English villains seem so extra-creepy to American audiences, and he brought that to his American accent. Smart move, Cillian. The fact that they've yet to find you means you could still pop up, which would be delightful. Besides, the fact that the mask is so basic is what makes it so harrowing. Those peeps over at Supernatural totally ripped off the whole idea.

Finally, I said it once, and I'm about to say it again: If I had my druthers, I would take that perfect shot of Bruce coming down the stairs of Wayne Manor (at left, although it's a wide angle shot in the film) and mate it with the shot in The Count of Monte Cristo where the Count walks down the steps to his gala after he arrives is a hot air balloon, switching his walking stick in front of him and his coat blowing in the wind behind him?* Anyway, I'd mate them and have perfect shot babies.

*I'd show you, but I can't seem to find the image anywhere.

Kung Fu Hustle (2004)

Outline: A gang tries to take over a small town, and they are resoundly defeated by three kung fu masters. So the gang calls in some masters of their own. So the town antes up with more masters. And so on and so on.

Trust me, it's not really about the plot. Or, really, the kung fu.

I'm going to go out on a limb and say that any movie can be improved by dance fighting. Dance fighting is so much better than ordinary fighting. And what does this movie have? Tons of dancing and fighting, of course.

In the above picture, the leader of the axe gang, Brother Sum (Kwok Kuen Chan) is leading all his members in a nice little dance sequence. He may be the bad guy, but I can assure you he's also my favourite character. Because of the dancing, really. He does it 'cause he cares, you know.

I know, this isn't much of a review, but I just wanted to tell you that I watched this movie and it was funny and you should watch it, too. It's not particularly violent if violence isn't your thing, and it's not particularly dance-y, if the dancing is going to turn you off. It's just a terrific spoof of traditional kung fu movies with their hidden masters and balletic sequences (not that this movie doesn't deliver both in spades).

At the end of the day, all the movie tries to be is funny about kung fu, and it succeeds. That's enough for me. A

I also took in Elia Kazan's On the Waterfront (1954), which is everything they say it is and more. For someone known for all this methody brooding and screaming in the street, it's astonishing how understated Marlon Brando could be. Of course, I recently discovered that I might just be a sucker for union movies. Nonetheless, this is one of the best movies ever made.

One thing, though: how is it that Eva Marie Sant's voice could contain so much emotion while her face remained blank? Did anyone else notice that?

Top 10 of 2005 (2006)

As promised, here is my top ten list of the 37 movies I saw that were distributed last year. As always, some were better than others, some more personal to me than others, and some were so great that it really doesn't matter who watches them or when.

They are in a particular order, but perhaps not in the way you think. I've kind of alphabetized them and kind of rank ordered them at the same time.

1. Brokeback Mountain

2. Capote
3. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory
4. Good Night, and Good Luck.
5. Frank Miller's Sin City
6. Munich
7. Mysterious Skin
8. Serenity
9. Walk the Line
10.5 Batman Begins

10.5 Match Point

Kind of blows your mind, doesn't it? I've got a tie and a Woody Allen movie up there. I've got a movie from 2004 that wasn't distributed until 2005. I've got all sorts of serious, dark, dispassionate films, and I've got a crazed children's movie. If you think about it, I've got something for everyone. 2005 may have been no 2004, but, heck, it wasn't half bad, was it?

Oscar Wrap-up (2006)

All in all, it seemed like my night. Not my dear Jon Stewart's night. Not Cloons' night, although those camera people certainly thought it was. No, it seemed like my night. The night for Elfin April to shine.

First, George Clooney stepped up to the podium to collect his conciliation Oscar since he sure as hell wasn't going to pick up anything else that night (that is, aside from a willing female companion, unless he really is dating Teri Hatcher. Heck, even then). He, as is his wont, looked dapper and sexy and basically maintained his duties as the Platonic Ideal of Movie Stars even though he's never so much as attended the Academy Awards before. Then he gave a speech that both nodded to the fact that the Oscars are stupid and acknowledged his (mostly) worthy peers. Elfin April was one for one and feeling fine.

Rachel Weisz ascended the stage next and rattled off rote little speech that I had no real problems with because I was much, much too distracted by those little rectangles of fabric that had been stitched over her shoulders at the last minute to cover up her gang tats. So distracted, in fact, that I couldn't marvel over how well disguised the seven month old baby living in her belly was. Elfin April: two for two.

By the time Hoffman ascended the stage for his expected speech, all quivering hands and forehead rubbing, I was charmed enough to think that the love of his single mom and the complete lack of thank yous to anyone else in the cast seemed logical enough. I mean, he's either a credible enough actor to convince us that he was surprised by his win or he was genuinely surprised. Plus, he's won so many of these things by now, in addition to giving such a moving speech about the cast working together at the SAG Awards, that I don't really know who else he could have to thank (besides me, of course, tireless champion of the Hoff for some time now). Elfin April: three for three.

I had to steel myself for best actress for I had considered a Huffman upset remotely possible. But, huzzah, all my steeling was unnecessary as Witherspoon collected her due, gave the only speech of the evening to move me to tears, thanking both the real life inspirations behind the roles in Walk the Line, her wonderful costar, Joaquin, and never mentioning her obviously addicted husband by name. At four for four, I assumed I was a lock.

So much so, I'll have you know, that I started throwing up predictions on the fly and getting them right: both screenplay categories and foreign film. I've not seen a single foreign film nominee, and I still called that one. Because that's my job people. That's my job.

When they handed over Lee's supremely earned Oscar, Elfin April was flying high. Everything was turning out exactly the way I said it would, and I had no cause for complaints. Well, at least not about anything I had predicted. I mean, Dolly Parton owned that stage, and she sure as shootin' didn't have dumb ass "interpretative" dancers behind for the sole purpose of annoying me.

And, then, Jack Nicholson appeared for the top of the show. He already knew he was going to be tapping Keira Knightley that night (why else would they have been sitting together?), and now all he had to do was crack the seal on the final envelop. So he did. And he announced. And then he said, "Whoa."

Warning: This is the point in the show where Elfin April looses all senses of decency and sanity. Cover your virgin ears, or eyes, as the case may be.

WHAT THE FUCK?! Crash? Crash?! Are you fucking kidding me with this shit? Never mind the fact that it wasn't even the same league as the other four nominees, it wasn't even in the top 10! Or the top 25! I mean, people, this is the year that I submitted to Constantine, Aeon Flux, and Fantastic Four. I'd still rather see any of them again than have to suffer through Crash again. I mean, I know Paul Haggis' previous work, Million Dollar Baby, has its detractors, but, really, this movie wasn't even in the same league as that one. It doesn't even come close. I'm pretty sure that it could eclipse Crash, stereotypical subplot included.

Sure, I probably should have calmed down by now. On the grand scale, you could say, it's not like they elected Bush for a third term or anything as painful as that. Except for one thing, hunny: you've come to the wrong blog. It is that bad. In fact, I'm sitting here, and I'm starting to see similarities between the two. And, frankly, to enumerate them would be insulting to Bush.

Nonetheless, allow me to share my ire for a few seconds more.

Among my numerous pet peeves are people who talk during lectures. Whatever it is you have to say isn't important on any level. One of the things I am hearing could help me get an A, and one will surely drive me to a homicidal rage. Guess which category the stupid bitches sitting behind me this afternoon fall into? They buzzed, buzzed, buzzed all through class because they are illiterate and therefore cannot manage to write notes back and forth like normal people. Class ends, and they continue talking. I overhear this conversation as I pack up:

1: Did you watch the Oscars last night?
2: Yeah. They were really long, though.
Me: Shut the fuck up. They moved along at an extraordinarily good clip, especially when you consider the 4 hour plus crap fest Gil Cates submitted us to last year. It's pretty clear that neither one of you peroxided idiots have watched the program before.
1: Yeah, I was really glad that Crash won, though.
Me: Fuck off.
2: Yeah, me, too. I mean, I liked Brokeback Mountain and all, but Crash was just so . . . (she completely trails off, at a loss for words to describe how much of whatever it was to her. I had her back)
Me: Asinine? Infantile? Narrow-minded? Smug? Unnecessary? Poorly casted?

Sadly, number two just went on and on about how "people" were "divided" about Brokeback and how her mom liked Crash better. Thanks for that, number 2.

I don't care about how Crash had been "building" "momentum" for the last two weeks. I really, really don't. It takes a truly arrogant writer to attempt to boil down all the problems in Los Angeles on any given day to one single issue, try to prove that by creating any number of improbable situations, and then finally weigh the whole thing down with impossible dialogue. Or, as I have said before, any movie that pretends that the only problem in the world today is racism is just as stupid as one that pretends racism doesn't exist.

Or, as I said last night, "Fuck you, Crash." Same goes for the Academy right about now. Now I'm stuck at my last year's average, which is 5/6.

Okay, moving right along in this already lengthy post. Props to Jon. The opening monologue was a little shaky, but you brought it back. You made us laugh but not too hard, suggesting that you could only get better at the gig with time. Plus, you know, that little dance you did right at the end of the intro sequence? Priceless. Still sexy, baby.

Dressing room: Jake needs to shave, thank goodness Philip S. did, Michelle's lipstick clashed with her dress, Ziyi looked lovely, Naomi/Charlize offended my eyes, Nicole was as beautiful as ever, Judi totally punched Jon in the nads after the show. Oh, and Lily and Meryl rocked even if I didn't entirely understand all of Robert's speech (no, seriously, why are you telling us about some dead woman?).

Most importantly, someone, for the love of peace, tell me who Joaquin loves. WHO DID HE SAY I LOVE YOU TO?! Because it, unfortunately, did not look like Elfin April.

P.S. I know now is the time for the annual top ten list, and I have one, but this post is already so damn long that it will have to wait. Plus, I'm needed for a game of Minesweeper Flags.

Oscar Round-Up (2006)

'Bout that time, eh, chaps? Right-o.

To review the rules, click here.

To review the nominees in all categories (as Elfin April will only be concerning herself with six), click here.

Alright, kiddies, I'm just gonna call 'em like I see 'em. And, when it comes right down to it, you know I see a lot more of 'em than you do.

2005 was no 2004 in a lot of ways, including box office receipts. It was, however, better in at least one way: movies decided to mean something this year. They decided to have messages, morals, and values. To stand for something. To believe in something. To fight.

Don't get me wrong, I know that the Academy Awards are nothing more than a legitimizing exercise that celebrates a handful of truly worthwhile movies in a given year, so that Hollywood can get away with churning out hundreds of crappy movies that make money. I'm okay with that.

And so, without further ado, get out your pens and get ready to start handicapping the odds of your office Oscar pool:

Performance by an actor in a leading role:

Nominees: Philip Seymour Hoffman as Truman Capote in Capote; Terrence Howard as Djay in Hustle & Flow; Heath Ledger as Ennis Del Mar in Brokeback Mountain; Joaquin Phoenix as Johnny Cash in Walk the Line; and David Strathairn as Edward R. Murrow in Good Night, and Good Luck.

Were these movies spread out over five years, everyone one of these men would be walking away with a golden statuette in their hands. Unfortunately, that is not the case. And, really, it's such an one man race it's silly. Okay, maybe a two man race.

Those men, by the way, would be Hoffman and Ledger. Ledger mined depths of the soul previously unseen for his performance as a lover so tortured that he had nothing and was nothing, and you're lying if you tell me that the bottom doesn't fall out of your stomach during the last 45 seconds of that film. The heart aches just thinking about it.

But, really, does anything compare to the chameleon that is Hoffman? Can anything approach his pitch perfect performance that could have slid so easily into caricature? Does anyone still doubt this man's masterful control of the screen? I didn't think so.

Who will win: Hoffman. Who should win: Hoffman. Or any of them, really. I'll gladly offer up a snuggling service for any of these gentlemen after they get passed over (and I'm really just talking to you, Phoenix).

Performance by an actor in a supporting role:

Nominees: George Clooney as Bob Barnes in Syriana; Matt Dillon as Officer Ryan in Crash; Paul Giamatti as Joe Gould in Cinderella Man; Jake Gyllenhaal as Jack Twist in Brokeback Mountain; and William Hurt as Richie Cusack in A History of Violence.

Well, I can certainly tell you that Hurt isn't going to be picking up any consolation prizes for what A.V. Club readers deemed the best movie of the year. Sure, Dame Judi gets an award for eight minutes of screen time, but you did 10, sir, which is two too many. (I hold it distinctly possible that I will never get over the 1999 Academy awards. I'm just leveling with ya).

Baring a Brokeback sweep (odds: highly unlikely), Gyllenhaal will be heading home empty handed as well, although probably not by his lonesome. What, you think men who look like that go home alone if they don't want to? Neither do I.

I just don't want Dillon to win. I don't want Crash to win anything, ever, even though I acknowledge that it will pick up at least one statuette tomorrow evening. Just not this one. Pinning all of the acting hopes of an ensemble cast on, well, what wasn't the best performance of the lot is just plain dumb. Here's what I think should have happened: break-out star Howard should have pulled a reverse Jamie Foxx from last year: nominated in both categories and goes home with the Supporting award.

So, let's see. Will the Academy acknowledge their offensively poor treatment Giamatti in the past with a win this time around*, or will they hand it off to Clooney as a conciliation for the awards he certainly won't be hoisting in the same night**?

Who will win: Clooney. No one saw Cinderella Man last summer, after all. Who should win: Giamatti. Or Terrence Howard. Just sayin'.

*Although, really, how funny is it that what must have seemed like a surefire Oscar juggernaut about a year ago gets only three nods and only one of those is for acting? The acting, that is, of the lead that doesn't already have an Academy award?

** There is the off chance he could walk away with Original Screenplay, but I doubt it.

Performance by an actress in a leading role:

Nominees: Judi Dench as Mrs. Laura Henderson (durr) in Mrs. Henderson Presents; Felicity Huffman as Bree in Transamerica; Keira Knightley as Elizabeth Bennet in Pride & Prejudice; Charlize Theron as Josey Aimes in North Country; and Reese Witherspoon as June Carter in Walk the Line.

Man, women just don't get their fair share, do they? I mean, look at these nods. Two of them, tops, should even be nominated. The rest are just filler. Offensive filler.

So let's just skip ahead to those two ladies, shall we? Huffman, you and I know both know that prosthetics are usually a surefire way to walk away with an award, but, well, Witherspoon's got ya beat. I don't know if it's the autoharp, but her sass, spunk, and unconditional love are going to lock this one up.

Who will win: Witherspoon. Who should win: Witherspoon. Don't get on Tracey Flick's bad side.

Performance by an actress in a supporting role:

Nominees: Amy Adams as Ashley in Junebug; Catherine Keener as Harper Lee in Capote; Frances McDormand as Glory in North Country; Rachel Weisz as Tessa Quayle in The Constant Gardener; and Michelle Williams as Alma Del Mar in Brokeback Mountain.

Before I get into this, let me just say one quick thing: Anne Hathaway, in your last scene in Brokeback, you were stunning. You deserve at least some consideration for those two minutes alone. All that silent, glorious work, and people aren't even paying attention. Life isn't fair.

The most volatile category of the year in any given year, and this year seems even more difficult than the last. So it is.

Adams may be the critical darling of this category, but the chances of the Academy picking her as well are slim to none. Keener might just as well wrap herself up in one of Nell's cardigans because she's getting left out in the cold as well (yes, I did just make that bad of a pun. What's it to you?). McDormand - it isn't going to happen.

The question is: will they pick the hot, older pregnant lady or the hot, younger one? Again, barring a Brokeback sweep, they'll go with the English. The Academy loves an accent, after all.

Who will win: Weisz. Who should win: Adams.

Achievement in Directing/Best Motion Picture of the Year

Nominees: Ang Lee, Brokeback Mountain; Bennett Miller, Capote; Paul Haggis, Crash; George Clooney, Good Night, and Good Luck; Steven Spielberg, Munich.

On the plus side, I've seen all the nominees this year. On the negative side, the fact that each corresponding director and picture has been nominated means that I can't just eliminate nominees from each race for that very reason. They like to keep me on my toes, I guess.

Neither Haggis nor his monstrosity will pick up either award, but he will walk away with Original Screenplay. Good enough for me, in the sense that this movie deserves no awards consideration.

I've already said that I think Cloons is out of the running, and his beautifully crafted and shot picture, natch, is out with him.

With no acting nods to accompany it, Spielberg and Munich don't have much of a chance either. Too bad, really. It was a wonderfully suspenseful drama-thriller.

When it comes right down to it, will the Oscar go to the the guy nobody's heard of or the guy we already know the Academy likes?

Who will win: Ang Lee/Brokeback Mountain. Who should win: Ang Lee/Brokeback Mountain.

Gentle reader, we will talk again Monday about my accuracy or lack thereof, who wore what, and whether his performance has caused my love of Jon Stewart to grow or diminish.

Appetizer (okay, I'll give you a little review, too)

Listen, it's not like I've not been watching movies. I don't want you to think that. But, well, I think the last whole movie I watched was Lord of War (2005), and I'm definitely going to need to see that again before I can form anything approaching an opinion about it. I can tell you that the stellar opening sequence (set to the perennial fav protest song, Buffalo Springfield's "For What It's Worth") was almost diminished by the by-the-numbers plot writer/director Andrew Niccol churned out. When some people fall, they hit the ground pretty damn hard. Sure, he managed to subdue Nicholas Cage's schtick (for, I tell you truly, that man gives schtick. Schtick is not acting. Mind you, there is a great place in this world for schtick. Beloved Jimmy Stewart was generally a purveyor of the finest quality schtick available), so I'll grant him that.

As pretty as Jared Leto is, I found myself distracted by Ethan Hawke. I know! So soon after I swore him off! But, and just think about this, has anyone else noticed how foxy he's become in the last two years or so? I would have been the first to publicly declare my love for him at the top of his Gen-X, greasy haired slacker days. But, now, it's likely he's magically developed this raw animal magnetism. Like he's suddenly remembered his own sexuality, even if his lovely wife did dump his ass. Oh, Ethan, why must you toy with me this way?

But that stupid, stupid plot. It had all the makings of a wonderful little amoral thriller, only it had to stop full stop and start proselytizing on me. Niccol, I used to think you could be subtle when you were moralizing. If you keep this up, I'm going to have to stop getting excited about your movies and instead look on the ads with disdain. Also, if you must have one character deliver the stupid "voice of audience" speeches, try not to have Bridget Moynahan do it. Nonetheless, you did give Ian Holm the best line of the night, and those Sutherlands do give great voice over.

Oh, but how do I feel? I feel pretty B, maybe even B- right about now. I'll give ya another chance, though. I'm feeling generous.

And now onto the only reason I was going to post before all that crazed stream of consciousness stuff came out. Two videos for ya, kids, because I care. Here's something funny. Here's something funny in the creepy could be true kind of way.

Match Point (2005)

Premise: Social climbing Chris Wilton (Jonathan Rhys Meyers) takes a position as a tennis pro in a ritzy country club, where he is befriended by the fabulously wealthy Tom Hewett (Matthew Goode). Although Chris begins romancing Tom's sister, Chloe (Emily Mortimer), it's really Tom's fiancee, Nola (Scarlett Johansson) that Chris can't keep his eyes, or his hands, off of.

Lady: It's the best Woody Allen movie.
Man: It's not much of a Woody Allen movie.

Isn't it nice when the two people sitting behind you do all your work for you? Of course it is!

Oh, Woody, you really shouldn't have. Except that you totally should have. It's about damn time, really, that you left behind the stuffy corners of New York where your alleged creativity has been stagnated for years and wrote something completely different: a sleek thriller. It's about time that someone picked the new Hugh Grant, so you did that, too (that would be Matthew Goode, for the record). It's about time that no one forced pretty American ingenues to adopt ridiculous and unflattering English accents, so you let your new muse stay American (Scarlett Johansson, if you're keeping score). And, finally, it's about time that you stopped writing the "you" character in and expecting someone else to do it because everyone fails at it. Sure, Will Ferrell hinted at this in Melinda and Melinda, but here the transformation is complete.

Oh, my little septuagenarian, what a delight this was! The way you filmed London after you abandoned the idea of setting the film in the Hamptons was fresh and lovely. In addition, you very kindly gave me the exact ending that I've been craving for years and years, the likes of which no movie has seen fit to deliver.

You made me forget all about the corpse-like appearance Johansson made on the cover of Tom Ford's skeevy Vanity Fair Hollywood issue. You made me remember why I liked her in the first place. She's spunky as Nola, all husky whispers and knowing sexuality, while actively involved in luring men and refusing to acknowledge her power over them. By the end I may have considered her on the verge of becoming bat shit crazy, but, hey, I kind of liked that, too.

The winsome Mortimer worked wonderfully in what I have come to expect as her type. For a couple of scenes in there, I had half-wished that you had cast someone with a bit more of Kelly Macdonald's dynamism, but I suppose that would have resulted in a different kind of Chloe. Ah, well.

At his relatively young age, the fact that Goode seems to have embraced both sides of the Hugh Grant persona (bumbling and shy love interest and charming rake) will serve him well for years to come on this side of the Atlantic. We like that sort of thing around here.

In the nearly ten years that have slipped by since I first glimpsed Rhys Meyers writhing in the Irish sea in The Governess, he's done a lot with himself. He's all swagger and bluster and on the verge of snapping into a homicidal rage most of the time, but, when he gets to hint at the vulnerability underneath it all, not the typical male ingenue low self-esteem/no-body-sees-the-real-me crap, but the guilt, the remorse that plagues a pretty man who does whatever he has to to get everything he wants, well, that's something worth staying tuned for. Besides, he manages to look highly feminine and kind of like a cold fish and still be sexy. That's a feat, my friend.

I can only hope the next Johansson/Allen match turns out as well. A

P.S. Watched Mr. Smith Goes to Washington last night. I love the combination of Jimmy Stewart and Frank Capra. So cheesy and full of warm fuzzies.

Transamerica (2005)

Brief: A week before her final surgery in the gender reassignment process, Bree (Felicity Huffman) discovers that she has a teenage son, Toby (Kevin Zegers). And that son just happens to be in lock up. Because her therapist (Elizabeth Pena) won't approve the surgery until Bree deals with her past, she heads to New York and ends up driving across the country with Toby, posing as a church member trying to help him reform.

It's been almost a week since I saw this movie, and I've been reluctant to post about it ever since. I liked it, and Huffman's tender tour-de-force is indeed Oscar-worthy, but, well, I'm going to have to say some things that, um, I don't know . . . every critic in the country will disagree with?

Actually, this will be good for us. So that you know that I, too, wonder why critical praise is lavished on some films and not on others. Sure, most of the time the critics and I are like this (if you know what I'm saying, and I think you do) but not this time.

So you know the road movie? You've seen it a thousand times before. Strangers or semi-strangers head out on the road, maybe they don't like each other at first, then things go pear shaped and grudging respect generally gives way to friendship, which is tossed up in the air when some secret or other is revealed, but the friendship survives and grows stronger. Throw in some crazy relatives/backwoods weirdos (or combine them!) for comedy/pathos. Mix well and serve hot.

You've seen it before. Don't tell me you haven't. I've seen it before as well. And writer/director Duncan Tucker, in his feature length debut, must have since he presents it to us here. Which is fine, I suppose, because he's using the form as a foundation for the fresh twists he provides. Makes sense. It works most of the time.

An instance where it doesn't work, you ask? Toby. As wonderful is Zegers is, much like the formulaic plot, his character is also a pastiche we've all seen before. As soon as you know what landed Toby in jail, you know what his big secret will be. Doesn't diminish the dramatic irony, per se, but it does give you the slightest hint of what this movie could have been.

In the film's defense, the reason we have formulas is the fact that they work. Or Adorno's right, and the culture industry perpetuates itself through self-cannibalization,* while reinforcing goals that cannot be achieved by the average movie goer. I guess my view depends on whether it's a glass half empty kind of day.

*Is there a word for self-cannibalization?

Nonetheless, formulas exist because we want them to. It's easier for us to see and respond to a theme and variations than it is to understand and accept the variations on their own. I wouldn't have gone to see this movie if it wasn't a formula I didn't respond to, and I really enjoyed what I saw. Huffman, with her voice dipping down a few octaves, makes Bree such a full, breathing delight that it's impossible to ignore her plight, whether it's her desire to conceal her son's true parentage or to see herself the same on the outside as she feels on the inside. In the kind of role that nearly demands a showy performance, Huffman manages to resist that impulse and gives a beautifully internal performance that is nothing short of legendary.

I was going to give this movie a B+ when I first started this review. Thinking back on the strength of the performers, it's fair to bump it up to an A-.

I'm it, I guess

(click and scroll)

Four jobs I have had:
i) Environmental Emergencies Communications Officer
ii) Junior Communications Officer
iii) Operations Implementation Liaison Communications Officer
iv) Staff writer

Four movies I could watch over and over:
a) Sin City
b) Swing Kids
c) Rushmore
d) Quills

Yes, I did just randomly choose some titles I own. Think about what site you're reading, people.

Four books I could read over and over:
1) The Bible (New Living Translation, please!)
2) Gail Anderson Dargatz's A Recipe For Bees
3) Harper Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird
4) Corrie Ten Boom's The Hiding Place

Places I have lived:
Sarnia
Ottawa

Four places I have been on vacation:
i) Tenerife, Canary Islands
ii) South of Spain
iii) Paris, France
iv) East coast of Canada

Four websites I visit daily:
a) CBC weather
b) Ice Conditions on the Rideau Canal (seasonal)
c) Girls are pretty
d) Television Without Pity

Four favourite foods:
1) my homemade pizza
2) cheeseburger and fries
3) shepherd's pie
4) Anjou pears (they are the stillest of fruits, after all)

Four favourite non-alcoholic drinks:
i) root beer floats
ii) milkshakes at The Works
iii) green tea
iv) Dr. Pepper

Four favourite musicians:
a) Joni Mitchell
b) Bob Dylan
c) Johnny Cash
d) Steven Curtis Chapman

Four places I would like to be right now:
1) Paris
2) Fiji
3) Berlin International Film Festival (on now!)
4) Machu Picchu

Last four books I read:
i) C.S. Lewis' The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe
ii) Christopher Gidlow's The Reign of Arthur: From History to Legend
iii) Stephen Glass' The Fabulist
iv) Robert S. Boynton's The New New Journalism

Last four movies I have seen:
a) Transamerica
b) Equilibrium
c) Gattaca
d) Boondock Saints

What's on my desk right now?
Stack of CD jewel cases, spindles of CDs, pic of my sister, mug that once contained mint tea, moisturizer with sunscreen, external disc drive, modem, laptop, globe, container full of pens, DVD player remote control

Bloggers I'm tagging:
It's up to you, kids, but I'd go from some Sarah, Alexia, Amy, and Jenelle action.

Reds (1981)

Premise: A socialist journalist, Jack Reed (Warren Beatty) becomes passionately involved with the Bolshevik revolution and fellow writer Louise Bryant (Diane Keaton), to point of covering the revolution from Russia.

To be honest with you, I only recently discovered that this movie exists. I have been missing out.

Never mind the sizzling chemistry between sometime paramours Keaton and Beatty, never mind the juicy proportions of young Edward Herrmann, Jack Nicholson, and an uncredited Gene Hackman, the real jewel here is writer/director Beatty.

He already had all the movie star good looks, charisma, and talent he needed to set him up for the easy come good life. So, why, why get himself involved in a hot political piece about a man few remember? And then turn it into a three hour plus epic?

Well, I guess he had something to say. To make a movie about a man so overtly communist and dare to neither condemn or elevate your subject? To look at him as both a man and a legend, to find the way both those things overlap and diverge, and to refuse to criticize his failings, which, in turn, beautifully plays as his humanity? That takes some cojones, my friends.

In addition, he packs every frame with actions and gives the movie virtually no score. There's nothing to direct you how to feel besides the exceptional work on the many wonderful character actors who fill the screen.

The movie's subject matter may overtly deal with the rise of communism, but it's plea is much more subtle: one of freedom. It makes it all the more disappointing that Beatty hasn't worked since 2001. I don't care if you are turning 70 next year, Warren. We need ya. A

Because I care, here's something funny. And here's something funny and movie related. Automagically, people. Automagically.

Flirting with Disaster (1996)

Plan: After the birth of his son, Mel (Ben Stiller) seeks out his birth parents with his wife, Nancy (Patricia Arquette), and a case worker, Tina (Téa Leoni), much to the chagrin of his adoptive parents (Mary Tyler Moore and George Segal).

There's a thing about watching David O. Russell movies, kind of like how I always say there's a thing about Wes Anderson movies or how I recently said that there's a thing about Terrence Malik movies. In any case, there are certain writers and directors that you instantly know when you are watching one of their pictures. For some it's style, for others it's thematic, and still others it's content. For David O. Russell, it's audience reaction.

First of all, while the sentence I typed above sounds like a simple enough plot, things are never simple in Russell's world. Everything always goes wrong. Not just in the movie way that things go wrong in order to draw out a three sentence pitch into a full length feature. Things go wrong in a very special way in a Russell movie: they go wrong for no discernible reason, and there is no real solution to the inanity. Only the most absurd things can occur, yet the follow their own special Russellian logic.

And so it goes for you, the viewer. The first few minutes seem normal. Then sense flies out of the window and you start to wonder what the heck you're watching. You're compelled to roll with it, and, suddenly, in spite of your objections or perhaps because of them, you realize that you are enjoying yourself.

Personally, I found this one a little too warm family fuzzies and a little less absurd than I would have liked, but that's how it goes with Russell. The work is sort of on the same vibe as the previously viewed material and completely different. I'll have to watch it a few more times to be certain of exactly where I stand with it and it with me. B

Should you be concerned about the dearth of reviews, please remind yourselves that it's February. Besides catching up on the contenders, there's really nothing to see in the first few months of the year.

Holy Crap

Yeah, just yeah. As it should be. I'm looking forward to this one.

Pleasantly Surprised and Seriously Offended

I would be remiss if I did not post about the Academy Award nominations, which were announced this morning.

It's way too early to handicap the races, but it's not too early to congratulate Terrence Howard for his leading actor nod. This was Howard's breakout year, and he knocked other more obvious contenders (ahem, Russell Crowe, ahem) out of the running.

It's also not too early to be pleased that Capote is getting the attention it richly deserves (direction, motion picture of the year, adapted screenplay). I know it is easy to focus on Hoffman's stellar work, and I'm pleased the Academy realized that it was the result of a trifecta (acting/directing/writing) working in perfect harmony.

As for the offenses (for they are numerous and grievous), let me just ask you this: who woke up one morning and said, "You know, that Keira Knightley is definitely on the same level as Judi Dench is all the time and Felicity Huffman is in Transamerica"? Who thought that up? I'm willing to accept that this version of Pride and Prejudice is all kinds of kick ass if someone will only help me come to terms with this insanity.

Finally, finally, someone needs to offer me the crack pipe next time I hear of more praise for Crash. This has got to stop. Crash isn't that good. I saw other, much better movies last year. It is not an achievement in anything, unless you think coaxing a great performance out of, say, Don Cheadle, is some big thing. I mean, isn't he "on" all the time? As for the lauded performance of Matt Dillon, again, I question the sanity of these people. Why single him out if it was such an ensemble movie? Why not single out Terrence Howard? If Jamie Foxx could score two different nominations last year, I think Howard deserves the same consideration.

Broadcast News (1987)

Outline: Young, driven news producer Jane Craig (Holly Hunter) works with talented reporter/best friend Aaron Altman (Albert Brooks) until she's assigned to charismatic (albeit less talented) Tom Grunick (William Hurt).

Could they be rivals for the same anchor position and the same woman's heart?! Oh, I bet you figured that out already.

Listen, can I tell you something? I don't get this movie. Imagine, if you will, that because Jane's played by Hunter, she's the Holly Hunter specialty: prickly and super intelligent but still warm and passionate. So, basically, pretty awesome.

Naturally, her best friend is in love with her. Who wouldn't be? Sadly, between Brooks and writer/director James L. Brooks, Aaron's such an asshole that I never wanted her to end up with him. He's miserable, so he seeks to make her miserable in turn. That's not what best friends or people who are in love with you are supposed to do. How can he honestly tell Jane that he "semi-seriously" thinks that Tom is the devil, prevent the two of them from being together at every turn, and then tell Jane that he's mad at her? What the hell is that? Am I supposed to sympathize with this jerk?

I guess journalistic ethics mean nothing to me because I didn't entirely understand why what Tom did was so wrong. I liked Tom. I liked Jane with Tom. He wasn't perfect by a long shot, but he cared about her, and he liked her the way she was (condescension and all). I think Jane's problem could have been solved if she could just get Tom to understand why what he did was a breach of ethics.

So this leads me to the important question of the evening: do I even like writer/director James L. Brooks? He's directed five movies, I have seen four. Terms of Endearment rocks - no doubt about it. I have no real feelings about As Good As It Gets, but I think whatever I used to like about it has been diluted by its numerous airings on the superstation. Spanglish? Well, I saw that.

I'm going to level with you: James L. Brooks movies kind of suck. I think the characters are supposed to come off as real because of their quirkiness or eccentricity (for more on the problem with that, click here), but, most of the time, they're just mean. I don't like that. I don't want that from a movie. It's like watching only the episodes of Gilmore Girls written by Daniel Palladino. You're selling yourself short. B

My real concern in posting today, though, is the results of last night's SAG awards, which I can assure you I watched. Reese Witherspoon? Yes. Philip Seymour Hoffman? Absolutely. But the cast of Crash? WTF?! There was nothing wrong, per se, with any individual performance in the movie. Even so, as I read somewhere and would surely link to if I could remember, any film that cites race as the only source of conflict in the world today is just as ridiculous as one that pretends that race doesn't matter.

Sin City (2005)

Oh, how I do love RE-view time. I expect you know the rules by now.

How is it possible that I wrote the entire review last time without talking about the electric guitar driven score? That's crazy talk! John Debney, Graeme Revell, and Robert Rodriguez (director/editor/cinematographer extradorinaire) rock my world. When I find myself walking down the street, humming the selection that you can hear with the menu on the DVD, feeling (to be honest) sexier, I can't help but thank these gentlemen for their fine work.

While Jessica Alba's many failings were a bit more obvious to me this time (I know she's smokin', but people have really got to stop putting her in movies), I did notice that she had a personality for half a line. Apparently a green screen and Bruce Willis bring these things out in her. So much the better I say.

If anyone let me down during my second screening (which was very shortly followed by my third screening), it was Brittany Murphy. I've never thought much of the peroxided actress, and I confess that most of the time she handles her simple role well. That is, until, she's forced to tell Dwight (Clive Owen) what a damn fool he is. Murphy, there's a little trick to clunky/unrealistic dialogue - you either say it winkingly or you pretend it's perfectly normal. There's no half way, no in between. Your over the top deliver (are you hoping for one of those out-of-left-field supporting actress nominations?) grates.

Personal loyalties to Owen aside, Mickey Rourke owns this movie. By the time he utters his rousing speech about the "old days, the bad days, the all-or-nuthin days" being back, I'm so completely on his side that it's a little scary. He's the magnetic north of these disparate yet connected stories.

I still love every violent, vengeful, blood soaked frame. Can't wait for the sequel. A+

Munich (2005)

Premise: After 11 Israeli athletes are murdered at the 1972 Olympics, Golda Meir (Lynn Cohen) asks former bodyguard Avner (Eric Bana) to lead a team to find and kill the 11 men responsible for that bloody day. Ephraim (Geoffrey Rush) connects Avner with a getaway driver, Steve (Daniel Craig); a clean-up man, Carl (Ciaran Hands); a toy-designing bombmaker, Robert (Mathieu Kassovitz); and a documents expert, Hans (Hanns Zischler). Avner makes a contact with a man of no political accord, Louis (Mathieu Amalric), who trades information for an extravagant fee.

I'm just going to get the little stuff out of the way, so I can move on to the big issue at hand.

If the real Golda Meir was anything like Cohen's portrayal, that she was one of the most amazing women to ever walk the earth. To reconcile such a difficult political and religious decision while still acting like everyone's favourite spunky grandmother is an impressive feat.

Bana continues to astonish as a dramatic actor, mining the doomed dramatic fate business he took on in Troy. Avner's almost compulsive need for their victims to understand why they had to die was utterly compelling. It's difficult to imagine such a squeamish assassin, given that his squeamishness was more moral than physical.

All of the team worked together splendidly, but it was with a touch of sadness that I watched Craig as a hip swaggering, blood thirsty, accent nailing South African. He's so great a chameleon that you can hardly recognize him from role to role, and I'm more than a little sorry that we are going to lose him to 007 for at least the next few years. Oh, well, maybe he'll do one flick and quit. I can dream, right?

I would like to take a moment to point out how distractingly stylish Louis was. Open market shopping on a Parisian bridge, double breasted suit, three different patterns? What does this man want from me?

John Williams steals music, "era of the musical footnote" be damned. The under current of tension that he builds to such dramatic heights (with texture instead of dynamics) leading up to the first kill is powerful . . . until you realize that it's putting you in mind of Bernard Hermann's fantastic work in Psycho.

Eric Roth's screenplay, with touch ups by Tony golden boy Tony Kushner? Excellent.

Moving right along to the matter at hand: my relationship with director Steven Spielberg. Sometimes, a lot of the times even, I wonder what the big deal about Spielberg is. After all, the man doesn't direct movies, he directs events. To be honest, I've only seen a dozen or so, and I haven't fallen head over heels for many (maybe Catch Me If You Can and Saving Private Ryan).

And yet, with the exception of one sequence toward the end, this work was flawless. All the right notes hit and never without exceptional consideration and purpose. When he filled the screen with his final shot, I actually muttered, "son of a bitch." He's just that good.

I feel as though I should point out how heavy this movie is. I could barely lift my shoulders, utter a sound, or maintain a thought for hours afterwards. It doesn't mean that you shouldn't see it, and immediately, but simply that you should prepare yourself. A

P.S. Saw Martin Scorsese on Dinner For Five yesterday, making yesterday one of the greatest days ever.