Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps (2005)

Normally I like to avoid these types of personal blogs, as this site is supposed to be covertly, not overtly, all about me, my opinions, and everything I hold dear, but the occasion calls for it.

I don't have a lot of time for movies lately (which is all shades of suck), and Graham Ware's comments got me thinking. Maybe, just maybe, I'm taking this whole independent/hidden gem thing a little too far. Not that I have the inclination to watch more mainstream movies (and I likely never will), but it had occurred to me that you, gentle readers, are vast stores of information. You are all out there, watching movies, liking and disliking with perhaps equal passion to mine.

Okay, maybe not that last part.

In any case, although I tear into movies with Macian gusto most days, I don't want you to be afraid to send your suggestions to me. Drop me an e-mail if you are worried about sharing your opinions publicly. I know, after all, that there are those who avoid leaving comments behind for that reason.

If it's a movie that you truly love, you might want to keep that to yourself. But send me movies you hate then. Movies that just plain went over your head. They'll probably go over my head, too, but at least we'll be in it together.

Okay, I think that's the end of my latest appeal to your generosity.

I am pumped about one movie coming out today, and that is Sin City. I invite any and all Ottawa readers to go see the movie with me this week-end. Check the comments section for updated showtimes.

Hopefully this will go better than my last Clive Owen inspired outing.

Iris (2001)

Brief: The beginning of the life-long romance between Iris Murdoch (Kate Winslet) and John Bayley (Hugh Bonneville) is juxtaposed with her later descent into Alzhemier's as John (Jim Broadbent) struggles to care for Iris (Judi Dench) on his own.

I'm watching a lot of juxtaposition lately, aren't I?

Unfortunately, I'm also watching a lot of movies that I don't really connect with emotionally. Broadbent earned his many awards and nominations and then some. His portrayal was so brutal. Everything he did and said was so honest. It hurt to watch. It just hurt.

Dench pretty much seemed like she was slowly losing her mind, so I approve of her as well. I can't help but wonder if it is more like Hagar's point of view in The Stone Angel, but I guess I don't really want to know anyway.

What I failed to connect with - and this may shock you - was the Kate Winslet/Hugh Bonneville early years bit. What I didn't get at all, what Richard Eyre and Charles Wood's screenplay never gave me, was what was so darn great about Iris. Why did John put up with her? Where was this legendary lust for life and love? She would have made a fun friend to be sure, but there was nothing more to it.

Could it be that Martin Walsh left all the good bits on the cutting room floor? He's edited other movies that I've very much enjoyed, so it's tough to say.

But something went wrong here. Something's missing. The heart, perhaps. C

Casa de los babys (2003)

Summary: Six women wait in a Mexican hotel/resort to adopt a Mexican baby. Their stories are juxtaposed with those of the employees at the hotel and those of a group of street kids.

When I heard that this movie was from the critically acclaimed director John Sayles, I knew something was off. I wanted to see it, and I did, but I just kept rolling his name over and over in my head, trying to figure out what was wrong with what I was hearing.

And then it hit me: Eight Men Out.

I'll remind you that that movie made no impression on me. I watched the whole thing, and I didn't care about anything that was going on there. To me, there is no greater failure in a film than the failure to connect with your audience.

This is, of course, different from being misunderstood (kind of like me and modern/post-modern art). Art is made to express something that the artist cannot express otherwise. But when you give your audience nothing at all to connect to, when you cut them off, you may have failed to create art at all.

I mean, even Alexander made me really, really angry. But not this one. It made me feel nothing at all.

That's the problem with Sayles' direction. Something's off about it. Something austere and clinical. It's like watching the movie unfold in a museum. I love museums, by the way. My grandma and I have traveled many a kilometre for a worthy exhibit.

Even so, there's this twinge of disappointment that I feel in museums. It's that whole stripper-like look-don't-touch rule. Never caress the fabric of the beautiful 17th century Acadian dress. Never run your fingers over Van Gogh's loving brush strokes. They have good reasons for these rules, but I still wish I could, y'know?

It's not the performers' faults, mind you. Daryl Hannah, Marcia Gay Harden, Maggie Gyllenhaal, Lili Taylor, Susan Lynch, and Mary Steenburgen all did excellent jobs. They had this way of slowing letting out their characters that suggested there was always more to them than you already knew.

There was this one little part where Vanessa Martinez, who plays one of the cleaning ladies, and Susan Lynch share stories about their daughters. They don't speak the same language and seem to completely misunderstand each other, but it's there. That love that only a mother can know - it's right there. If nothing else, Sayles can write a monologue like nobody's business.

Unfortunately, I do mean nothing else. The cast is this movie's saving grace, so I can't condemn it. C

. . . and justice for all (1979)

Summary: An ethical lawyer, Arthur Kirkland (Al Pacino), is blackmailed into representing a judge, Henry T. Fleming (John Forsythe), who is accused of the rape and battery of a young woman.

I don't have much to say about this magnificent piece of work except to point out that Norman Jewison (director) rocks. I've always questioned his choices, but I'm right behind him here. Man, that final (courtroom - who woulda thunk it?) scene was filmed in a single take! How could that be if everything had no come together so seamlessly? So flawlessly? Who else could be responsible for that exceptional scene if not the director?

Sure, Pacino was in fine form. He may have even been in top form. Pacino may be insanely operatic now but back then . . . oh, Pacino in the seventies. Barely taller than me, he's one of the most commanding screen presences I've ever seen. He is there, and you will look! He speaks, and you will listen! It's a wonderment to see him like this.

And Jack Warden as the possibly crazy Judge Francis Rayford. That's a good time right there. Kirkland reveals something about his character that I didn't think of on my own, and, after that, suddenly that was all I could see. He's good.

All I can say about the screenplay is that inspired me to watch more Barry Levinson. You might think it's riddled with clichés, but I don't think most of them existed a quarter century ago.

Heck, you should watch it just for Dave Grusin's jaunty music. A

Rent

Premise, Act I: It's Christmas Eve. Mark and Roger are best friends and roomies. Benny, who used to be one of their roomies and now owns the run-down former music publishing house they live in, shows up demanding last year's rent. Mark and Roger, of course, can't pay, so Benny offers them an exchange. Benny also owns the lot next door, and he plans to evict the tent city that has sprung up there. Maureen, Mark's ex, is planning a protest, and they are golden if they can get her to stop it. They don't even bother trying.

Meanwhile, their friend Tom Collins is rescued by drag queen Angel after he is mugged, and they take up together. Roger meets their downstairs neighbour Mimi, and they like each other, too.

Premise, Act II: Everyone breaks back into their padlocked building on New Year's, and the rest of the musical chronicles their lives for the next year.

Now I can't technically review something I saw in the theatre. I just wanted to tell you that I went to see it at the NAC, that it was amazing, and that I think you should go.

That's it. Really. Rock operetta's rock, and I would recommend this Pulitzer Prize winning adaptation of Puccini's La Boheme to anyone.

Only don't go see it with Drew Lachey and Melanie Brown. That offends me and Rent, I think. The people I saw peform were virtual unknowns, and I think it was better than way.

My only problem was the trecaley ending.

Return to Paradise (1998)

Idea: In eight days, Lewis McBride (Joaquin Phoenix) will be hung in Malaysia for drug trafficking unless his lawyer, Beth Eastern (Anne Heche), can convince Sherrif (Vince Vaughn) and Tony (David Conrad) to return and exchange three years of their lives for his.

I actually worked the tagline of this movie into a plot description. Good tagline. Tells me just want I want to know, and the poster tells me the names of the three leads.

Too bad it features Vaughn's and Heche's stupid heads. Yes, that's right, for the sake of sweet, sexy Phoenix, I watched a movie that starred two actors that I basically don't like.

Big mistake. I don't know why the three of them are billed above title since Phoenix is barely even on screen, which sucks. He does the insanity that comes from isolation and the certainty of death very well.

Unfortunately the audience spends most of their time following around the antics of the charmless assclown that is Vaughn. He's not charming, and I think he goes for smarmy but ends up coming across as a charmless sadist in everything I see him in. Everything. To call him one note is an understatement. Don't get me wrong - sometimes that works. Sometimes that works exceedingly well, like in Swingers.

It just doesn't work for me here.

Heche is another story. Her singular voice gives me the creeps, as does her nearly singular facial expression. I just don't care about her in movies. Also, what was with the way her character dressed in Muslim Malaysia? Could she be more inconsiderate of their culture? No wonder no one wanted to listen to her.

The only good thing about Wesley Strick and Bruce Robinson's screenplay is that it allowed me to end a sentence with "in the Biblical sense", if you know what I mean. And I think you do. If you don't, you're not reading enough Television Without Pity.

Overall, it's not that bad. I don't want you think that I watch a lot of drug movies now. It's just that this movie focused on two people that I couldn't care less about. Their characters failed to be compelling, and the movie featured a serious lack of resolution in the conclusion. Just don't bother with it unless you love Vaughn. Then you should go ahead. C-

Maria Full of Grace (2004)

Premise: Maria (Catalina Sardino Moreno) takes a job trafficking cocaine from Columbia to New York through her digestive system after she discovers she is pregnant. Her best friend Blanca (Yenny Paola Vega) decides to join up to, and Maria makes friends with Lucy (Guilied Lopez), another mule, who puts her in contact with her sister, Carla (Patricia Rae).

Yeah, I struggled with how much I was giving away there, but Maria throws up pretty early in the movie. As you well know, no one just gets the flu or food poisoning in a movie, so it's pretty easy to figure out what's up at that point.

Oh, fine, we'll go over this really quickly. If a character throws up in a movie, it means one of the following three things:
a) She is pregnant.
b) S/he has cancer/is responding to their cancer treatment.
c) S/he is hung over/just drank way too much.

Any other reasons? Give me a shout out if you think of something.

Moving right along. Let's all give our props to Joshua Marston (writer-director) for his tense and brilliant sophomore offering. How does a Californian man know so much about the Columbian drug industry? I don't know. Call it research, call it a work of pure fiction. Don't care - it was lovingly crafted, beautifully framed, and seamlessly told.

Much of this can be credited to his pitch perfect leading lady. Moreno, only just shy of 23, has never done anything else if IMDb is to be believed. Nothing at all. Maria was supposed to be one of those head-strong, stubborn, singularly beautiful types who always gets herself into trouble because of her chronic inability to rely on anyone other than herself. But in Moreno's hands she was so much more. Not once did I feel like chastising her. Instead, I was struck by how stupid and mean all the other people she had to put up with were.

Consider Blanca, for example. Blanca had no reason to quit her job at the flower plantation. Blanca had no reason to suddenly need a lot of money. Blanca had no particular personality beyond dumb, whiny brat. Above all, she possessed the kind of jealousy that only a best friend can possess in the face of one who is clearly bigger and better than the former ever thinks she will be.

I kept waiting and hoping for the moment when Maria would just reel back and slap her stupid face anyway.

Normally I find this sort of juxtaposition grating and trite, but Moreno and Vega make it work. Mostly Moreno. She is such a rarity that I could have watched her do pretty much anything.

Including waiting for her bowels to pass. Yup, this movie involves watching her swallow cocaine pellets and crapping them out. And it was worth seeing. She's that good.

I know I already made my list top ten for last year, but I'd likely bump one of them for this gem. If I had only known. A+

The Jacket (2005)

Plot: Jack Starks (Adrien Brody) receives a head wound in the first Gulf War and develops retrograde amnesia as a result. Back home in Vermont, he is framed for murdering a cop and ends up in an institution for the criminally insane. Dr. Thomas Becker (Kris Kristofferson) chooses Jack for an experimental sensory deprivation treatment wherein Jack is put in a full body straight jacket and locked inside a morgue drawer. While inside, Jack sees another life, this one involving Jackie Price (Keira Knightley).

Second movie I've gone to see for the male lead[s] despite this particularly leading lady. I don't want to feel like I'm personally forwarding her career, but sometimes I wonder.

Knightley's attempt at an ingenue is not to be rewarded. Her character was over-the-top, just like her American accent which simply involved speaking in a poorly suited, exaggeratedly deep voice. There was nothing compelling about a character that was supposed to be broken and ends up coming across as bratty.

Wait, that's Mischa Barton's Marissa. Holy crap, kid, that's never something to aspire to be.

Brody was fantastic, though, every bit as frustrated and confused and angry and lonely and lovely as he needed to be. I felt bad that he is so much and can do so much, but the script didn't give him clear direction one way or the other. Sometimes it was a thriller, sometimes it was a love drama, sometimes it was both, sometimes it was neither. Because of the consummate actor I believe him to be, I believe he tried to fit his character into the whatever the movie was trying to be at that particular moment, so he can't be held accountable if it didn't all jive.

Jennifer Jason Leigh was there to hand me a beautifully understated performance combined with a bad dye job, and Daniel Craig stole the show with his scary physical chameleon-ness. If it weren't for those eyes, I'd never recognize him.

I didn't really understand where they were going with Craig's character. I thought, "So, what, everyone can do it? Are they supposed to be connected in some way? What does he see?", but, alas, those questions go unanswered.

Oooo, Brad Renfro and Steven Mackintosh were around as well! Hurrah!

Kristofferson gave it the old college try, but I felt like he was distancing himself. Maybe he was trying to do that through his character, a man divided between his paternal desire to help heal wounded souls and the more justice-minded desire to punish criminals for their sins.

Jay Maybury (director) and Peter Deming (cinematographer) kept the camera moving, lulling us with desolate and sterile winter landscapes and the griminess of the world around them. Maybury's a video director at heart, but it works for him here. The middle doesn't start sagging like it should, and he throws all his energy into keeping you from getting bored.

Although, and this is just a knit-picky point, but when you film a movie in Canada that isn't set in Canada, you should try to avoid having Canadian road signs in the frame. It's just a thought.

But, oh, Massy Tadjedin's screenplay. Gaping holes and leaps in logic abound. She wrote a great main character but neglected to fill in the rest. Also, what was the Jack-Jackie-Jacket combo supposed to signify? Is Jack the necessary prerequisite for them both?

Perhaps. B

P.S. I got to experience an entirely empty movie theatre for the first time this week-end. Joy!

They Shoot Horses, Don't They? (1969)

Plan: Gloria's (Jane Fonda) partner is immediately disqualified, so she enlists the aid of a drifter, Robert (Michael Sarrazin), to win a dance marathon during the Depression.

There are all sorts of other characters who are trying to win or draw attention to themselves for various reasons, but they all existed in relation to Gloria and Robert. It's almost as though they weren't characters at all, just reflections of the past and the future.

Hmmm.

Good work James Poe and Robert E. Thompson in your adaptation of Horace McCoy's novel of the same name. It's more difficult to involve your audience and hold them at arm's length simultaneously than to simply draw them in. Their screenplay was so cold. I find it odd when movies set in the Great Depression can seem so empty but never gritty. I always thought it would be a gritty time.

I will warn you that this is quite the mood piece. I was in the right mood just to sit and stare without having to spend much time thinking. Of course, I knew the ending before I started, so maybe I didn't have too much to think about it.

Even so, I loved watching Fonda and Sarrazin. Her Gloria was as tough as nails, so angry and frustrated. When she finally cries over a torn stocking, you don't even feel sorry for her. You just feel confused, and you wish Robert had some more change in his pocket. I suppose it wouldn't change a thing.

Sarrazin was something else entirely. He wanted to see the sun so much that he grew to hate it as the days passed by, as though it had betrayed him by staying outside. I went into the movie wondering how he could do it, and I know now that the question should be, "How could he not?"

Syndey Pollock (director) is downright ballsy. You suffer through this unrelenting movie right along side the contestants, all so you can see what is either the best or the worst movie ending of all time. It's so simple, so mysteriously obvious, so . . . natural? Can it be that it was natural?

Knit-picky point: Did mirror balls exist in the 30s?

Don't watch it if you don't have two solid hours to commit to it and many more yet to its lingering presence in the back of your mind. B+

Oscar Wrap-Up (2005)

April takes requests!

I know you are probably already sick of the endless commentary about one night that always runs too long, but I have a few things to throw out there upon request. I think you can sit through a few more minutes.

Plus, I have more freedom to say whatever the hell I want, and I usually do. So you've got that.

Let it be known that April did not stay up to watch the end of the awards. I had to get up and go to work the next day, so I couldn't. I watched enough to be able to comment on the coups, the high points, and the disasters of the evening.

Truth be told, Gil Cates runs a tight ship. Things were moving along at a pretty good clip by the time I turned in. The supportings were already neatly tucked away, I had heard three crappy songs (during which Beyoncé sported two fugly outfits), and Sideways had received the only award it was bound to get.

But were the sacrifices he made to keep things so tight worth it? Handing out awards in seats or having everyone stand on stage like beauty pageant contestants for so-called "minor" awards?

In a word? No. Those changes, while offering something refreshing in a pretty cut-and-dry world of award shows, were an offence. That's like pretending that sound or editing aren’t important and essential components of a film. It also suggests that that documentary or short films are lesser forms of filmmaking.

Stupid Gil Cates.

Morgan Freeman was the only dark horse candidate that threw me off my game, and his speech was among the best. I wasn’t sure what was going on with his scarf, so I convinced myself that it was a nod to the upcoming Nelson Mandela biopic. I say upcoming like you will soon see it in a theatre near you, but that’s not really the case.

Since Blanchett took the award I knew she would, Madsen wins best dressed Supporting Actress Contender. Her blue and black Versace was sexy and lavish. I was in awe and glad to see her forgo the “Old Hollywood” rule.

Swank beat out poor Bening again, but her simple and silly looking Guy Laroche didn’t compare Bening’s sleek Armani jersey. I think she was hoping that the dress would detract from the scary monotone way she was speaking.

Of course, Kate Winslet gave them both a run for their money is a gorgeous Greek inspired blue Badgley Mischka.

I can’t find Catalina Sardino Moreno’s designer, but someone must tell me as she was the most gorgeous creature there. Her sleek white body skimming dress with thick jewelled straps, hair pulled back in a plain ponytail, and minimal make up to show off her beautiful skin – the combination was breath taking.

Can someone please explain to me what the hell Johnny Depp was thinking? Your lady is a Chanel model, my good man, and you are one of the most attractive people on the planet! Shape up, buddy!

I may get stoned for saying this, but, after the Golden Globes and then the Academy Awards, I confess that I think Leonardo DiCaprio has turned out to be a class act. He carries himself through all of this hoopla with composure and even a measure of grace. He’s aged a lot since Hollywood first started beating down his door.

Who else found Clint Eastwood’s green bowtie cute?

People that should be charged for crimes against humanity (or at least April’s eyes) for their ensembles: Scarlett Johansson, Kirsten Dunst, Melanie Griffith, Carlos Santana, Robin Williams, Laura Linney, Orlando Bloom (wrong collar for the no-tie look), and P. Diddy.

I wish Kidman had been there to pick up were so many starlets left off in the fashion department.

Those they will need to defend the above for their fashion crimes: See above, plus Clive Owen, Emmy Rossum, Sophie Okonedo, Chris Rock, Don Cheadle’s wife (she was wearin’ that dress), Cheadle himself, and Jamie Foxx. The latter two weren’t stellarly dressed, but there was nothing offensive about their outfits.

How is it that P. Diddy does both his suit and Rock’s, but Rock doesn’t look like an asshat?

As a host, though, kind of racist. Died during that “If you can get the star, then wait!” bit. Russell Crowe certainly could be three weeks ago.

Applause goes to Charlie Kaufman for seeing his day (yay!), as well as Alexander Payne and Jim Taylor. Screenplays were good this year.

I was all teary eyed when everyone kept thanking Marty because I knew he had a snowball’s chance of holding a gold statuette of his own. Makes a girl sad.

And so, I bring you something I have no doubt you’ve been patiently waiting for for two months now: April’s personal top 10 of 2004 list. I reviewed nearly 40 movies that came out last year, and I’m sure I will yet see many more. Until that day, though, here’s a sample based on personal enjoyment and final grade.

The 10:

Hotel Rwanda
Million Dollar Baby
Sideways
Finding Neverland
Outfoxed: Rupert Murdoch’s War on Journalism
Mean Creek
Before Sunset
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
Garden State
The Aviator

Holy crap that was tough. I spent nearly two hours picking those out from the crowd. There are many, many others who were close contenders, but I think just mentioning them will make me want to change my mind.

Hotel Rwanda (2004)

Premise: Paul Rusesabagina (Don Cheadle) is the house manager at the Hotel des Milles Collines in Kigali in 1994. His wife, Tatiania (Sophie Okonedo), is Tutsi, while Paul is Hutu. After the assassination of the Hutu Prime Minister, the Hutus begin a massacre of the Tutsis, whom they believe is responsible. Paul transforms the Milles Collines into a refugee camp, using whatever political savvy he has to protect as many as he can while clinging to the hope that the UN, represented by American Colonel Oliver (Nick Nolte), will rescue them.

Yet another example of how everything can come together so perfectly in one film.

Cheadle gave one of the most reserved and understated performances I have seen in a long time. It wasn't even a performance. He simply was. Paul had only low level politico skills to defend himself and his loved ones, and his struggle to keep everyone alive in such extraordinary circumstances was nothing short of heartbreaking.

Okonedo provided a perfect balance to Paul, and she too seemed as though she wasn't performing at all. Everything that Tatiania did and said seemed so natural, so real.

Apparently Nick Nolte's character is only loosely based on Roméo Dallaire, and he really did care, so I'll not be upset over this one. I just don't like Nolte, though. He kind of gives me the creeps.

Oh, alright, I'll say it: Joaquin Phoenix sports a wicked beard and makes an excellent point.

Congratulations to Terry George! He helmed and co-wrote this project with brilliant simplicity. There were only a few parts of the film where I felt I was watching (I'm gonna say it) a genocide movie. Other than that, the bare bones story was told with more heart than most things I've see all year.

As much as I'm a crier in movies, I could barely cry in this one. My chin did that shakey thing that it sometimes does, and I mostly felt like I was doing the very wrong thing by crying. I felt like the Rwandans didn't want or need my tears. They needed my help, all of our help, and we completely ignored them.

You could argue that I was ten and probably couldn't have done that much personally, but I wouldn't let you get that far. We're letting the same thing happen all over again in the Sudan and the Democratic Republic of Congo. Why won't we stop it this time, knowing what we know now?

Why such a outpouring of love and aid for tsunami victims? Sure, they need our help, and it's great that we give it. But why are we willing to let so many other people die?

I was at a lunch a few weeks back where this question came up. The only answer I could come up with was culpability. Tsunamis are no one's fault. Genocides are. It's a simple as that. You think we'd like fighting an enemy we could see and maybe even beat after all this time, but I guess not.

Are we too afraid?

For this opus: A+. Humanity might be getting a failing grade, though.

On a more light hearted note: April got 4/5 last night! Or 5/6, depending on how you look at it. Probably beginner's luck.

Oscar Round-Up (2005)

April lays odds on the Academy Awards!

Okay, not really. I realize that there's something to laying odds, and I don't know what it is, so my odds would automatically be wrong. I am, however, going to lay out some predictions and preferences and the like in case you were wondering what someone obsessed with movies was thinking about what some septuagenarians had to say about last year's motion pictures.

First off, let me remind you that while I do like the Academy Awards, and, while I do think that are some measure of merit, they absolutely do not represent the best movies of any given year. Most years, I am disappointed in the nominees. None the less, David Edlestein and I both like that they get people talking about movies, so I'm going to throw down about them anyway.

Or at least some of them.

And yes, it's true that I haven't seen all the movies, so maybe I shouldn't be judging. I think you know as well as I do, though, that seeing the movie isn't necessary when it comes to awards shows.

Performance by an actor in a leading role:

Nominees: Don Cheadle, Hotel Rwanda; Johnny Depp, Finding Neverland; Leonardo DiCaprio, The Aviator; Clint Eastwood, Million Dollar Baby; Jamie Foxx, Ray.

I love Cheadle. I really do. I think that all these nominations for Hotel Rwanda, though, represent old white men saying "Genocide? Yeah, that shit's bad" rather than their feelings about the film. They don't care about Cheadle's brilliantly understated performance. They just want to remove some latent guilt for the way the world sat back and did nothing.

I also love Depp and DiCaprio, but Depp wasn't anything special. I've seen him do stuff that required much more than this performance, and he got nothing for that work. He doesn't deserve the win here.

For DiCaprio, I think the Golden Globe combined with the nod is enough. He's mature enough to take the loss.

Eastwood was spectacular, but you shouldn't get an award just for finally crying.

Who will win: Foxx. Who should win: Paul Giamatti for Sideways, Jeff Bridges for The Door in the Floor, Jim Carrey for Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.

I can't always get what I want, can't I?

Performance by an actor in a supporting role:

Noms: Alan Alda, The Aviator; Thomas Hayden Church, Sideways; Jamie Foxx, Collateral; Morgan Freeman, Million Dollar Baby; Clive Owen, Closer.

Foxx was a lead in Collateral, but you cannot be nominated in the same category twice in the same year. He can't win twice, so that pretty much makes this nod moot.

Giving Church a nod but not Giamatti is just a slap in the face. Church was good but not good enough for the award.

Freeman's Scrap was good, but it will likely continue as a thankless role. It's not quite enough to push him out ahead of the rest of the pack.

Complete toss up between Alda and Owen. Both were equally fantastic in their deliciously villainous roles.

Who will win: Either Alda or Owen. Too close to call. Who should win: Can't you give the award to both of them?

Performance by an actress in a leading role:

Noms: Annette Bening, Being Julia; Catalina Sandino Moreno, Maria Full of Grace; Imelda Staunton, Vera Drake; Hilary Swank, Million Dollar Baby; Kate Winslet, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.

It doesn't matter who else was nominated or how good they were - this is a return of 2000's grudge match between Swank and Bening. Bening's a tremendously talented actress while Swank is merely a product of the overall production, but she'll win out again.

Who will win: Swank. Who should win: Moot point.

Performance by an actress in a supporting role:

Noms: Cate Blanchett, The Aviator; Laura Linney, Kinsey; Virginia Madsen, Sideways; Sophie Okonedo, Hotel Rwanda; Natalie Portman, Closer.

Portman was chilly and winsome, but the Golden Globe's enough. She's too young for anything more.

Poor Linney. Changing your appearance pretty much guarantees the Best Actress award (e.g. Nicole Kidman's fake nose in The Hours, Charlize Theron's transformation for Monster) but not supporting actress. You will remain egregiously under-rated.

What I said about Cheadle goes for Okonedo.

Blanchett's embodiment of Katherine Hepburn is nothing short of a miracle, and I think the Academy liked the real thing enough to hand over the trophy. Plus the really should have just given her one back in '99 instead of the vapid and useless Gwyneth Paltrow

But Madsen's the real prize here. I would die to have enough one iota of what she gave up there on the screen. She was luminous.

Who will win: Blanchett. Who should win: Madsen, without a shadow of a doubt.

Best motion picture of the year

Noms: The Aviator, Finding Neverland, Million Dollar Baby, Ray, Sideways.

I find that these nods are always tied up with the director nods. If your movie is nominated, but you aren't, it means that your movie was good, but the Academy thinks you suck. If you are nominated, but your movie isn't, you are a talented filmmaker, but the movie doesn't represent your best work. As such Finding Neverland will never win.

I've resigned to the fact that the Academy hates Martin Scorcese. They never let him win! Just give him a freaking award already. Eastwood's going to win director, and with good reason, so The Aviator's out.

Million Dollar Baby is the front runner in this close race, and it was truly one of the best movies from last year. All three performers are truly inhabit their characters, and Eastwood's turned back to the kind of brilliant filmmaking that Academy probably misses. With good reason, again.

I haven't been able to bring myself around to Ray since I found out he co-author of his autobiography hated it so much. Sure, Ray got off the horse, but he made it through most days after that with copious amounts of Mary Jane and alcohol. He also still got divorced. And, unfortunately, he wasn't very successful during his lifetime. The movie just shouldn't win, and it likely won't.

Almost every critic on the planet this year agrees that Sideways is the best movie they've seen all year. They're right.

What will win: Million Dollar Baby. What should win: Sideways.

All in all, a very good year for movies.

Million Dollar Baby (2004)

Premise: Frankie Dunn (Clint Eastwood) is a trainer and gym owner. He's one of the best trainers in the biz, but he protects his fighters away from the title match. Scrap (Morgan Freeman), his long-suffering best friend and a former boxer himself, helps Frankie run the gym. Maggie Fitzgerald (Hilary Swank) shows up one day begging to be trained, and, while Frankie refuses (he doesn't train girls), Scrap sees something in her and sticks it out until Frankie comes around.

I really don't want to give too much away, but it's hard not to write one lengthy plot description for this one.

You know why? Because it's a plot driven movie. Even more than that, though, it's a character driven movie. Developing characters is the most important thing in Paul Haggis' screenplay. He never lets you down with any of them - never relying on clichés or plot contrivances to get you through. But what a plot it is. I'm very nervous about giving a single aspect of it away, and, as much as I'll try not to, I warn you now that something might slip.

Remember when I said that Eastwood should direct everything? I wasn't wrong. If anyone looks back to when the septuagenarian was on Rawhide or making spaghetti westerns, no one could say that they saw him coming. Yet here he is. Eastwood tells his stories simply, with beautifully framed shots and the best use of lighting I've seen in a really long time. He takes time to develop his characters, along with the brilliant screenplay, always pacing himself, always pacing his audience for the best natural reaction.

I think that's what he's really concerned with. In a movie about how unnatural boxing really is, Eastwood tells a story about the natural bonds that develop between different people without the faintest whiff of sexuality.

And his score. His elegant, bare bones score will be the death of me. There's this part in the beginning of the second act where an envelope goes in a box. There is no dialogue, and I was in absolute tears. Hot pricking tears, and, in my head I started saying, "I'm sorry, Clint Eastwood." I don't know why, except maybe because I knew he intended to break my heart, and I thought I could maybe apologize my way out of it.

If you don't already know the end of this movie, stay that way until you see it. I will tell you, though, that there's a single shot in the top of the third act with Scrap and Maggie, and I swear he gives it all away right then. Eastwood always struck me as one to breast his cards, but he allows you a tiny peek right at that moment. I tell you, I started to cry then, and I didn't stop until after the credits had rolled.

Of course, by then the hot stinging tears were gone and replaced by cooler ones than ran down my cheeks, and I refused to wipe away. At that point I felt resigned to my fate.

Somehow, magically, despite my crying, by the time I walked out of the movie theatre I had the biggest grin on my face, and nothing could take it away. I felt peaceful and driven and lifted. I don't know if God will speak to you through this film, but I think it's worth your money to find out. In fact, I think it's worth your money anyway.

Swank does her best impersonation of a great actress here. She's as plucky and quietly sad as the script requires but no more. I've yet to be sold on her as an actress (I could never bring myself to see Boys Don't Cry), but I know she's smart enough to make something worthwhile out of herself. Maggie was 31 when the movie started and much too old to be starting out as a fighter. I knew that Swank understood exactly how Maggie felt in that situation, and I believe she's the only actress who could bring that to the role.

Freeman serves as much as the movie's emotional core as he does as its narrator. It's astonishing to see how much he and Eastwood have aged since Unforgiven, but Freeman never stops giving. That's his true talent. And he's got a great voice for narration.

As an added bonus, my immense pleasure in seeing this film was doubled when Jay Baruchel appeared on screen. I love Baruchel! He should assuredly be in many more things, and I know he was dutifully pleased to be given this chance.

Another solid movie that is easily one of last year's best, and better, for going back to a kind of filmmaking long forgotten. A+

P.S. Rideau Famous Players had the gall to close the curtains before the credits stopped rolling and then turn them off before they were done. Annoyed.

Intermission (2003)

Sum: The various lives of none-too-pleasant people living in Dublin intersect in funny and violent ways.

I'd get into it, but basically speaking it was one of those movies where lots of different plot lines come together, and none of them in a particularly spectacular way. It's a good use of that genre, if you like to call it one as I do, but it doesn't provide any new insight into that we haven't already seen in, say, Magnolia.

I've waited for a few weeks now for the thoughts to come together on this one, and they're still not doing that. I think that's because there's nothing remarkable about this movie. It's enjoyable, and I won't come out against it. But it's nothing special, you know?

Director John Crowley has only one other movie under his belt, and writer Mark O'Rowe has nothing else. That's just as well. I laughed when things were funny, and I was dutifully horrified at horrifying times. There was nothing more to do.

Mostly I just kept thinking that Colin Farrell should stop punching women in the face, and that the TV guy was pretty darn cute. It's been so long, however, that I don't even remember his character's name. Or there was nothing memorable about it.

Oh, okay, I shouted "Yay! Kelly MacDonald!" because I have had an absolutely baseless love for her ever since Gosford Park. That was the most memorable bit, though.

Now, we all know that I find people from the UK far more hilarious that people from the US, so why didn't this movie work for me?

Because it was nothing short of average. Average is great if that's all your looking for, but sometimes you want something more. Something special. C

Constantine (2005)

Brief: John Constantine (Keanu Reeves) is a powerful psychic who fights demons in order to redeem his immortal soul since he knows he is doomed to hell. After her twin sister kills herself, Angela Dodson (Rachel Weisz) wants to know more about the dark forces at play, and her search leads her to Constantine.

Oh, who cares. If you really want to know, I suggest you read Hellblazer, the comic book on which this mediocre movie is based. For the love of peace, don't go see this movie.

Consider this April taking one for the team. As such, I feel no responsibility toward you for keeping any part of the movie's plot a secret.

It was a waste of my money and then some, and I only paid 6.95$. In fact, the most exciting part of the movie came before hand when Emily finally saw David Bowie's hand double and proved that I wasn't crazy. Serious, that was it right there.

Otherwise, classic example of how trailer people can make anything seem much more worthwhile than it really is.

Also a classic example of why music video directors (here Francis Lawrence) shouldn't be movie directors. Music videos are not mini-movies - they're acid trips mixed with speed pretending to be movies. I mean that in the nicest possible way. Music videos are great for music. I'm not sure I'd want them any other way.

But movies are another ball game, and it's a very difficult transition to make.

Luckily, Lawrence had embraced Lois's advice of always keeping everything moving, so I can vouch for it never getting boring. It didn't excite me, per se, but I wasn't bored.

I did forget what we were watching before the movie started and again in the middle somewhere. Bad sign.

The glorious Klaus Badelt scored this movie! (Along with Brian Tyler, but let's ignore him) I can now safely attribute anything good in this movie to him. Oh, Klaus.

Alyson Dee Moore, the foley artist, must have had a field day with this one. Despite the fact that Klaus is one of the best movie composers writing today, the movie went for one of those everything's-really-quiet-so-this-cigarette-lighter-is-now-the-loudest-thing-you've-ever-heard things. Cue loud cigarette smoking! Cue loud spatulas!

Despite the fact that he's quite adept with Shakespeare, Reeves is not an actor. He's a thin, tall man who can utter his lines with just enough confidence to convince you not to throw things at his head.

Of course, you just knew that Constantine had to be a bad ass. He called demons "asshole", and he SMOKED! As much as smoking is bad, and I can't understand why anyone would take up smoking knowing what we know now, smokers are not necessarily evil. It really is an addiction, folks.

Weisz is actually much better than this, so I'm not sure what she's doing here. Also, I'm not sure why a grown woman wouldn't know better than to wear a black bra under a white shirt, but that's another story.

Who knew Gavin Rossdale was British? Not me, that's for sure. I had to look it up to make sure he wasn't faking his accent. I remain unconvinced that an acting career is the way to establish yourself as something other than Gwen Stefani's husband, though.

Also, just in case you were wondering, angels and demons don't wear shoes. Bare feet abound. They do, however, get pedicures.

If I started in on Kevin Brodbin and Frank A. Cappello (co-writers) for the gaping holes in their story, I might never stop. Instead, I'm left wondering why Catholic dogma is always the source for these quasi-theological movies that never actually stop to consider the theological ramifications of what they are saying.

Not that Baptists, for example, have as much going in ritual department. It occasionally seems to me, a Protestant, that Catholics are obsessed with pain, and that can make for good movie fodder. Still, other religions have interesting stuff about them, but when was the last time you saw a reincarnation thriller?

Also, Heaven and Hell are right there behind what we see all the time? Hell is just this world but on fire and very windy? Why windy? And Heaven is very glowy?

And everyone wears their shoes under water? Am I the only person who doesn't like wet shoes?

For a movie that raises far more questions than it could ever possibly answer, it's not that bad. I've seen far, far worse (ahem, Alexander). It is, however, mediocre, and not worthy of your attention. C-

The United States of Leland (2003)

Summary: Although he can't remember it, Leland P. Fitzgerald (Ryan Gosling) is in a juvenile hall for killing another young boy, the brother of his ex-girlfriend, Becky (Jena Malone). Pearl Madison (Don Cheadle), his teacher there, smells a book in this quiet, asocial teen, and he visits with Leland's father, the great author Albert T. Fitzgerald (Kevin Spacey), to find it.

There are other plot lines about the family of the young boy, but I don't feel like writing about them.

Not recommended for those who have difficulty following plots that jump around in time.

Ryan Gosling, ladies and gentlemen. Ryan Frickin' Gosling. For those of us who watched Breaker High or, yes, it's true, Young Hercules, we so did not see this one coming. Not in the slightest. And then, poof, Murder by Numbers. At least that's how it was for me. He was magnetic and dangerous and unlike anything I expected of him.

And now . . . he's shaping up to be one of the best character actors of my generation. A complete transformation from last year's The Notebook to this movie, including physically. There he pulled off looking like a grown man, but here he possesses all the innocence and pain of a twelve year old. It was stunning. Leland came across as gentle and kind of apathetic, but the absolute torment he possessed is pricking my eyes with tears as I write this.

I like that Malone. She's sweet and trouble all at the same time. I'm a little worried that those are the only two characters she can play, but I'm going to wait until she's older to make that call. After all, the roles out there for teen girls are incredibly limited. Even more so than for teen boys, I would say.

Cheadle is something closer to a conduit than an actor. He's very reserved in his performances, and he makes his co-stars glow without reducing his own brilliance.

I only wish that Spacey could have shared some scenes with Gosling. I would have liked to see that. Nonetheless, this is the kind of character Spacey was born to play. A smarmy asshole who cares for naught but himself. Only he does care, maybe too much, and his desire to cut himself off from those feelings cuts deeper than he realized. Perhaps the true measure of this performer was that I got all that from about 20 mins on screen.

I'm going to go ahead and mention Chris Klein at this point. I have always thought very little of him and, while only one year older than Gosling, looks way too old to be playing a high school boy. But he wasn't awful here. I will say that.

For Matthew Ryan Hoge's (writer/director) second time out of the gate, it's not bad. It's actually very good but not quite as good as it thinks it is. I may have a different opinion about the level of pretention this movie possesses if I had watched it straight through, but I had some where I had to be.

Hoge has something there, though. He had a lot of high calibre actors here, but they wouldn't have come together the way they did if not for his direction. I'd like to see where he's going to go next. A-

Shaun of the Dead (2004)

Idea: Shaun (Simon Pegg) finally wakes up from his intense self-involvement to realize that he's lost his girlfriend, Liz (Kate Ashfield), has no relationship with his step father, Philip (Bill Nighy), or his mother, Barbara (Penelope Wilton), and lives with the biggest slacker known to man, Ed (Nick Frost). Of course, the day he realizes this is also the day he realizes his community is being attacked by flesh eating zombies, so he's got some other stuff to deal with as well.

Oh, man. I wanted to see this movie when it came out, but I'm not very good with gore. Zombie movies always have gore, even if they are terrific comedies with stellar ensemble casts, so I shyed away.

Don't make the same mistake! Gory and gross - yes. Hilarious - also yes. Good times were had by all.

Sure, Simon Pegg (yes, Shaun was the co-writer, which explains his fantastic character) and Edgar Wright's (writer and director - fancy that) set up was a year and a half long, but it was well worth it to see how completely oblivious Shaun could be to zombies. Honestly, you'd think that they all move so slowly that you couldn't miss them, but Shaun sure could. Endless comedy right there.

I was disappointed in myself, though, that I didn't recognize anyone but Nighy and Wilton. The cast was good and worked so well with each other and off each other that I know I've been missing out.

There's very little to comment on besides how funny it is. Of course, I don't think it was meant to be anything more than funny, and Wright carries it all off with a wonderful sense of "I don't care what you think."

I'm wondering how important that is in a director. You need that feeling to a certain extent but not too much, or you will alienate your audience. Now, I can think of some directors who might not care if the audience doesn't understand their "work", but it's their job to make something at least partially palatable, so they should just suck it up.

Which is what this is, despite watching bodies get ripped apart. Immensely palatable. B+

Twist (2003)

Plot: An updated version of Dickens' Oliver Twist, wherein Dodge (Nick Stahl) is the protagonist. And instead of being pickpockets, they're male prostitutes. I just thought I'd warn you now. In any case, Dodge meets Oliver (Joshua Close) and takes him to Fagin (Gary Farmer), who is kind of like their pimp. They have a super-pimp, Bill, who also pimps young ladies and owns the diner where they all congregate, which is run by his old lady, Nancy (Michèle-Barbara Pelletier).

That was really difficult to explain, man. It's not complex when you watch it, should you want to. I should have just stuck with the first two sentences, no?

I'll admit now that I'm not really a Dickens fan, and I did always think that Dodge was the more compelling character. As such, I can understand why Jacob Tierney (writer/director) chose that route.

Plus, he's got Stahl in the role. Despite some of his choices, he's a solid actor. What kills me, though, - and this might give something away - is that I thought his Canadian accent (for it is a Canadian movie set in Toronto) sound a lot like a certain French-Canadian young man that I know. Low and behold if his character doesn't turn out to be from Québec. That stuff can't be beat! If nothing else, you've gotta give an actor research. Also, I never doubted for a moment that what we learned about Dodge's background from Stahl's performance. He was every bit the haunted child forced to grow up much too soon.

Close was also good, although not as magnetic. He's young and fairly new, though, so I'll go as far as to say that he as promise. He didn't give me quite enough to figure out why Oliver would prostitute himself so quickly, though.

Farmer was your usual tough sweetheart, and Pelletier was lovable and sympathetic, although I don't know how she would have played Nancy not to be sympathetic.

I also like Tierney's decision to never show us Bill. It's hard to imagine who would have played such a demon. Tierney frames the movie well, although it is a bit heavy handed at times. I also got the feel of not independent, per se, but amateur. I don't mean that in an immature way; I mean that he's still finding his feet as a director, and I like that.

I waited for over a year for a chance to see this movie. Was it worth the wait? Not really. Especially since I really don't understand big brother David's point. If someone can explain it to me, I might go it for it. B

Sideways (2004)

Premise: Rather than a bachelor party, Miles (Paul Giamatti) takes his best friend Jack (Thomas Hayden Church) on a week touring through wine country. Jack finds himself a pour girl, Stephanie (Sandra Oh), and tries to get Miles to noticed that a waitress, Maya (Virginia Madsen), has a crush on him.

I have for some time now oscillated in my desire to see this movie. I want to, I'll wait for the DVD. I want, I'll wait for the DVD. Over and over again.

One day, however, I really wanted to see a movie, and I thought, "Why not see what American critics have almost unanimously declared the movie of the year?"

Why not indeed.

Of course, my wary desire for the movie reminds me a lot of Alexander Payne's (co-writer and director) protagonists. There's something about his leading men that's so accessible and off-putting. There usually likeable chaps in one way or another, but they are also unapologetic asses who keep everyone at arm's length - especially themselves. They do try to relate, at least when they want to, but they always fail because they can't connect with their own emotions.

And, of the three Payne movies I've see, Giamatti is the most natural fit for that kind of a character. I was reading TWoP the other day, and, in a small comment about the commercials, the recapper called him the "anti-Tom Hanks." I've been trying to figure that out ever since. I think it has to do with the way they both seem like the "every man" type, but Hanks is also good looking and charming and gets heaps of awards. Giamatti, on the other hand, is the real kind of every man - he's snarky and makes slightly less than funny jokes and isn't as good looking. There's something about him, though. I really felt like I knew Miles.

And when he gives that speech about the pinot grape - man - I wanted to hand over every award I could lay my hands on. My breath just caught in my chest at how painfully blind and poetic he is.

Here's the kicker - Payne and co-writer Jim Taylor gave Maya a speech that tops it to follow. That may all by Madsen's doing, but I had absolute tears in my eyes. It was so passionate and sexy and raw. Nothing was rushed or off in the delivery.

Where has she been hiding all these years? I have literally never seen anything else she's been in, and I've clearly been missing out.

Also, Oh is very hot. I just thought I'd mention it.

I don't have much to say about Church, except that he was the perfect foil for Miles/Giamatti, which I realize is saying a lot.

So was it the best movie of the year? Quite possibly. A+

13 Going on 30 (2004)

Plan: On her thirteenth birthday, Jenna faces the age-old movie question: She should stick it out with her bubble gum best friend, possibly to her socially detriment, or shuck any signs of a personality in favour of popularity? Tough one. So tough, in fact, that Jenna wishes that she were 30, so she could bipass the decision. Thanks to some wishing dust, she wakes up 17 years later to a prosperous life as a magazine editor in New York. She also gets to look like Jennifer Garner. In her freaked out state, she seeks out Matt (Mark Ruffalo), who is no longer her best friend. Jenna chose those cool kids, and now she has the chance to see the results of her juvenile reasoning.

How shocking is it that I deliberately chose this movie? Actually, considering the Ruffalo part, I suppose it's not. That, and I had no desire to see Shall We Dance, no matter what I think of Susan Sarandon.

In any case, I watched this movie not once, but twice, to confirm my feelings about it. I was 100% in the right mood for it the first time, so I thought it might just be a fluke. It wasn't.

This is downright one of the best girl movies I have ever seen. I got all uppity when it first came out, saying things to the commercials like, "Didn't they already do this with Big?" Yes, they did, but it's the same enough and different enough to really work.

I have also never thought that highly of Garner. I know, she's all big and awardy now, but I never really got into Alias, I never caught Significant Others when it was on, and all that Daredevil/Elektra fetishist crap turns my stomach. There was one thought, however, that struck me all the way through this movie - She's a star.

There's no denying it, no pretending it will go away. Garner's a star. She's sweet, charming, sensitive, and shy. I cared about Jenna. I believed Garner was a teen trapped in a grown up's body. I thought I was going to be annoyed by everyone dancing to thriller, but Garner made it kitchy and funny. It worked.

And while the chemistry wasn't quite there, I loved her with Ruffalo. Because it was a magical movie land, fat young Matt grew up to be a hottie with an un-ironic CBGB's t-shirt, and all the cool kids were big ol' losers whose lives ended right after graduation. Serious, Ruffalo has the kind of leading man qualities that you don't shake a stick at. He's been in some seriously questionable movies, and he always manages to rise above. I've had my eye on him and his sexy, serious, sarcastic, sweet routine since the three seconds he was in Ride with the Devil, and I'm so glad I'm no longer the only one.

While Josh Goldsmith and Cathy Yuspa's story couldn't have been more obvious, they had a refreshing take on the whole lost love thing. The two were the team behind What Women Want, another obvious and hilarious chick flick. It's great when you can take some old and still work it like they do. They don't make it new again, but how much do you really ask from girl movies anyway?

Although, one word to the not-so-wise: no one needs that long of a set-up. I get it - she's 13. I was 13 when I needed this much exposition. Actually, I was about 6, which is why you should cut it much, much shorter.

I credit the making it work, however, (and better than What Women Want) to director Gary Winick, who brought us 2002's under received Tadpole, which was a movie largely about Sigourney Weaver's sex appeal for males of all ages. Not kidding. And how Bebe Neuwirth should be in everything. It was also a great coming of age tale, and I do have a soft spot for those.

While I wouldn't go as far as Owen G (Entertainment Weekly) and proclaim this little gem one of 2004's 10 best, I would keep it on the list for a runner up. A-

The Stepford Wives (1975)

Brief: Walter Eberhart (Peter Masterson) moves his wife, Joanna (Katharine Ross), and his two kids out of the city and into the small quiet community of Stepford, Conneticut. Joanna has difficulty fitting in, but she makes friends with the equally outspoken Bobby Markowe (Paula Prentiss). As you may know, "something strange is happening in the town of Stepford." It's happening to the women, and it's only a matter of time before Joanna's next.

I was watching this sci-fi/mystery/thriller, and I thought that the MPAA should seriously rethink the PG rating. Or someone should seriously rethink the costume decision to have Ross never wear a bra.

I realize it's a small point that bears no relevance on anything of import in the movie, but it's so distracting! I saw Susan Sarandon talking to James Lipton once about why she didn't or doesn't or doesn't anymore (I'm not wholly familiar with her movie history) do topless scenes. She said that it doesn't matter what's going on or what an actor is saying because, at least for the first 15 seconds or so, everyone is staring at the nipple.

And it's true. Even when I willed myself to pay better attention to Ross's performance, I found myself sneaking a little peak like a greedy kid on Christmas Eve. For that reason alone I would have gone with PG-13.

Of course, the rampant and frank discussions of "christening every room in the house" or Bobby's admission that "it had to happen sometime" about losing her virginity also made me wonder. I don't think I'm a prude when it comes to film, but I knew when it first flashed "PG" across my screen that something just wasn't right.

Not that any of this is important. What is important is that Bryan Forbes (director) and William Goldman's (writer) adaptation of Ira Levin's dark warning of the very possible future is the movie I should have been watching back in May. I'm about to delve into something that you should already know if you know anything about either story, but I'll warning to stop reading now anyway.

So stop it if you really don't want to know.

This is how it should go down! Microchips made by Glenn Close? I think not. It's too easy, too gimmicky, too reversible. But real women murdered and replaced by passionless robots, that's good. Now that I'm thinking about it, the fact that they weren't robots in the remake makes for a lot of plot holes. I'm ignoring it, though.

It also explains why Ross was much better as the protagonist than Nicole Kidman. My love for Nicole knows nearly no bounds, but Ross understood the absolute terror that drove Joanna. Kidman seemed more, well, pissed. Ross's Joanna worried and plotted and created the sort of insomnia-ridden paranoiac that we all know we'd turn into in a similar situation. Kidman loved Broderick out it it; Ross smashes Masterson in the head with a fireplace poker.

As it should be. That final close up on Ross' eyes, the slight flicker of fear left you wondering if she really was simply faking it - that's what movies are about.

And Liz was right - this is one of the best clothes movies I have ever seen. I wanted to steal every piece of Bobby's and Joanna's wardrobe that didn't strike me as hopeless dated (read: skanky).

A better movie than Frank Oz's remake? Definitely. That good a movie on its own? Maybe. B-

The Merchant of Venice (2004)

Sum: Remember grade 10 English? Okay, good. If not, Bassanio (Joseph Fiennes) wants to borrow money from his depressed friend, Antonio (Jeremy Irons), the title character, so he can woo the beautiful and rich Portia (Lynn Collins). Antonio's a little down on his luck as well, so he borrows money from the Jewish Shylock (Al Pacino), who, instead of charging his usual high rate of interest, requires a pound of Antonio's fair flesh at the forfeitsure of the bond.

You can guess where this is going to end up, can't you?

I remember way back when I read this that I was too busy laughing right out loud at Shakespeare's hilarity (that dude's funny) while the rest of my class stared at me for many obvious reasons instead of wondering what my Jewish teacher thought of the play's outrageous Anti-Semitism. He basically brushed it off as saying that it was very common in the day, and Shakespeare's audience would find Shylock's forced conversion at the end merciful.

Our timid curriculum did nothing to stand up against it, and we all just let it slide.

Adapter-director Michael Radford rightly puts Shylock at the centre of the story, and Pacino restrains himself more than he has in years, making his heartbreak and eventual lashing out all the more painful to watch. Radford, though, like my English teacher of yore, brushed off the racism that haunts the play. He plays it lip service with a historical note at the beginning, and he doesn't seem to give it a second thought after that. I felt like he was missing the point.

He was quick to note, however, the highly suspect relationship between Bassanio and Antonio. I have never doubted that it was Antonio's more-than-friends love that pushed him so far for Bassanio's sake. Irons conveys that love that dares not speak its name well, and I did feel a bit bad for him the whole way through, even if he was a little villain-y himself.

Before I saw the movie, I read that Collins had replaced a very pregnant Cate Blanchett in the play's pivotal role. Now I wish I had never gained this piece of information. Although she bears a physical resemblance to Blanchett, Collins is an actress of nowhere near the calibre. She did a good job, but knowing that it should of been Blanchett made it not good enough.

As for Fiennes, I haven't liked him since he worked with Blanchett in 1998's masterful Elizabeth. I was much too distracted by his eyes being way too close together to think much of his performance.

There were some bright spots in the performances of Kris Marshall as Gratiano, Zuleikha Robinson as Jessica, and cute Charlie Cox as Lorenzo but not in Benoît Delhomme's cinematography. This was the most dreary, cold, and depressing Venice I have ever seen. Ever. I know no one place is permanent sunshine and happiness, but the wintery feel to this movie juxtaposed with the CGI'ed kingdom of love where Portia resides is too much. That's where they are keeping all the happiness, I guess.

I can't argue with Shakespeare's comedy or his time-representative racism. Nonetheless, I can argue with how we refuse to deal with it today. B

Casino (1995)

Premise: When I tried to watch this movie on IFC one night, the guide's description said "Two men turn a casino into an empire." Not quite, IFC or StarChoice people. Two New York men seek to turn a Las Vegas casino into an empire, but they approach it from very different angles. Sam 'Ace' Rothstein (Robert DeNiro) is trying to go legit while Nicky Santoro (Joe Pesci) is out to steal all he can. Throw in Ginger (Sharon Stone), a hustler who becomes Sam's trophy wife, and you know you're in for trouble.

The really, really good kind of trouble. The kind where you only stop yourself from focusing on the film long enough to comment on how good it is. Unfortunately, everyone and their brother kept trying to ruin it for Princess Conseula and I.

You can see how it might be difficult for us to scrape together 178 minutes, right?

Martin, oh Martin, why do they all have to be so long? I'll never understand that part. I can handle it when you have such a beautifully crafter piece as this one, but I am not among the majority. Hitch always said that the length of a film should be directly proportional to the size of the human bladder.

On the other hand, when was the last time you watch a grand casino epic? I'm thinking never.

This isn't one of Martin's most celebrated movies, but we all know that the Academy has never cared for him. Fools. Still, I found it to be one of the most affecting I have seen. Martin pushed Stone to heights previously unknown, as well as depths. I've always thought she was a hottie, but I never knew she had this in her. Stone's Ginger is strong and stupid, brave and disloyal. It was one of the whirlwind performances where the actress throws herself in head first. Martin was there to catch her.

But Martin and Nicholas Pileggi's screenplay, while elegant, did function as well as a net. I never fully understood why Ginger acted the way she did. I mean, I sort of did, and it wasn't enough. Pileggi also wrote the book, and it is adapted from a true story. Without giving too much away, only one of the three survive, so they'd be the only source on the whole affair, right? Which means that they'd really only have their insight into the story.

Martin and Pileggi did make narration work, even for me. Ace and Nicky had such different interpretations of events that you wanted to hear what each of them would say about what happened over the ten years. You wanted to know what their spin on it would be.

I loved Pesci in this role. I loved to think of him as Brooklyn, so that part was no surprise. What was surprising was what a great villain he made. He put a man's head in a vice, and I still didn't want anything bad to happen to him. It wasn't reserved, but it was glorious.

DeNiro, on the other hand, was cool as a cucumber. Or as cold as ice. Basically, Ace was a calculating iceberg, but he still broke your heart with his love for Ginger. He was one of those mostly easy going men that you would never want to see get angry. When you do, you know someone's gonna get it.

Martin Scorcese, in case you were wondering. We're on a first name basis now. I've decided.

In the end, while long and incredibly difficult to watch it my home, Casino was powerful, messy, and violent. I loved it. A

Happy Anniversary, Feria Films! I was going to review my favourite movie of all time on such a special day, but it has yet to arrive from Zip. It will have to wait.

The first anniversary is paper, so be sure to send a card, cash, or a book. You know, whatever you have.

Fever Pitch (1997)

Summary: Paul Ashworth (Colin Firth) cares more about his favourite losing football team, Arsenal, than he does about the rest of his life. While he's an English teacher, he cares more for the school's football team that he coaches. He becomes involved with an uptight math teacher, Sarah Hughes (Ruth Gemmell), who does her best to keep up with it all until she discovers that she's preggers.

It has all the makings of what April looks for: Colin Firth and a screenplay based on a best selling Nick Hornby autobiographical novel. In fact, Hornby wrote the screenplay himself.

Too bad it's not interesting in anyway. I mostly thought about how it should be funnier and debated turning it off when I watched it months ago. Then I didn't want to write about it because I couldn't think of anything to say about it.

I mean that. It wasn't so bad that I could ridicule it because we all know that I find sweet delight in ridiculing bad movies. It's cathartic. It was so bad that I didn't care about what happened between Paul and Sarah.

Alright, so I wished Sarah would grow a spine a little. It's not that she didn't giver Paul a piece of her mind many times over, but Gemmell didn't do enough to make it seem like it was difficult to deal with Paul's obsession.

Firth was good enough, but I find that I have typecast him in my head. I expect him to be all upper class, stiff upper lip, randy in the bedroom, and he's really not here. He even worked for me in Girl with a Pearl Earring as one hell of a sexy artist. He didn't sell sports fanatic, though. He mostly sold dumbass.

I'm going to go ahead and blame both Hornby's screenplay (if you can imagine), and the plodding pace that director David Evans gave the piece. It's very hard to make a slow comedy work, and Evans' shouldn't have attempted it his first time around.

Also, there was no real need to juxtapose Paul's relationship with Sarah to young Paul's (Luke Aikman) relationship with his father (Neil Pearson). I like Pearson, and I'm all for him in more movies. Even so, showing Paul giving up his dad for football and potentially losing Sarah for that same reason is like writing "Durr!" across the screen for those who didn't see the similarities. I don't care how autobiographical it is, we get it - the man loves his football.

Actually, that was also how I felt about having Firth narrate Paul's feelings about Arsenal, and how everyone loving and supporting one team was like having a big, sweaty, violent, slightly crazed family. I realize that narration is now par for the course in Hornby books-cum-movies, but I believe I recently mentioned that it's starting to grate on my nerves. I think it should be done only if there is no other way to show that something is happening. I don't need to see a happy couple being happy and then be told by some condescending voice-over that they are falling in love - I get it.

I had no idea how annoyed I was with this one. Sorry about the attitude. Basically, I don't want movies to tell me the same thing eight times over and never once make it interesting. C-

Could Graham and I survive with only one movie between us?


Fight Club!

What movie Do you Belong in?(many different outcomes!)
brought to you by

Garden State (2004) and The Village (2004)

So, if you're a loyal reader, and, even if you're not, you might have a sneaking suspicion that I have reviewed both these movies before. And you'd be right - I reviewed them when I saw them in theatres this summer.

But for about four months now, or at least as long as I have been exploring and extolling the wonders of Zip.ca, I've been thinking of a new feature for Feria Films. As you well know, if I like a movie, I want to watch it again and again.

Esp. if it has hotties like Joaquin Phoenix in it.

Okay, well that's not entirely true. I don't think I'll be watching To Die For again any time soon.

But the point is that I like to rewatch movies, and I find that my opinions occasionally differ the second time around. I never go from loving to hating a movie, or vice versa, but the dark, cold, quiet full-emptiness of the movie theatre tends to polarize my responses to movies in a way that the TV screen never does. (I do, however, long for one of those projector and white screen home combos - I knew someone who had one once, and I thought it was the greatest thing since cheese).

I realize that this is the longest intro since the dawn of the running narrative (I device I've started to loathe due to a rash of biopics), so the basic point is that I will occasionally feature running commentary on movies that I've already reviewed. New ideas that I've come across or thought of or read somewhere between now and the original review. Feria Films is only a little less than a year old, so I'll do my best to let a few months pass before I drudge anything up. Bear in mind that these commentaries will feature no warnings and no holds barred, so those who like to live spoiler free had better steer clear.

First up - Zach Braff's quiet, sweet, subconscious rip-off of Beautiful Girls. Still the voice of an age group long since abandoned by Hollywood in favour of money grubbing teen look-a-likes, I found Garden State more quotable and Peter Sarsgaard more captivating this time around. It took Princess Conseula a while to get into it (who can blame her?), and I'm still the only person who laughed their head off at the lady singing "Three Times a Lady" at his mom's funeral. It's just funny, okay?

I also still feel a bit sold out by the ending. It's that battle I brought up earlier about whether it's better (movie-wise) to simply know that you need to find yourself or to actually find yourself. I think Large should have either headed off to California or he should never have even gotten on the plane. If he did a), I would have liked it if Sam showed up with a bunch of cardboard boxes and a roll of packing tape. The end. Or b) He goes up that escalator and comes right back down the other side. Because that struck me as the kind of thing he would do, and he would have raised quite the customs ruckus to get back out there so quickly, unless we are supposed to believe that Sam stood there crying for over an hour.

Now, onto The Village: Joaquin is definitely the sexiest thing since sex. I know because Princess Conseula and I actually agreed on a guy, and that never happens. But the movie's pretty much not surprising or scary after you see it once. The love story is still killer, but I found myself more entranced with all the clues I should have noticed before to care much about Those We Do No Speak Of.

See, as much as I think that M. Night Shaymalan delivers psychological thrillers that actually thrill, they don't have the staying power of, say, Memento. At least not when it comes to my psyche. I've watched Memento way more times than Signs or The Village, but I still always root for the wrong guy.

Christopher Nolan really knows how to put a puzzle together.

Quickie

I just wanted to leave you a brief note to remind you that the Oscar nods are out now. I'm doing an excellent job of controlling my smugness. Really, it's quite impressive. As always, the link:
http://www.oscars.org/77academyawards/noms.html
Feel free to share your thoughts.

Introducing Dorothy Dandridge (1999)

Short: The rise and fall of Hollywood singer-starlet Dorothy Dandridge (Halle Berry), the first African-American woman to be nominated for the Best Actress Academy Award.

Yup, that's all you need to know right there.

Alright, I confess that it's another made-for-TV movie, although not as obscenely long as Attlia.

This was supposed to be Berry's breakout role, and, to her credit, it is a breakout performance. Berry's the whole show as an African American woman who paved the way in Hollywood while everyone else was reduced to slaves or prostitutes. Of course, when I watch 24, I'm not sure Miss Dandridge would be pleased with the way things turned out for black female characters. She would, I think, find it fitting that Berry's the first African American actress to win the award. Berry is whirlwind as Dandridge, singing and dancing her little heart out. It's not wonder Dandridge was so successful.

The rest of it didn't really turn my crank, though. It had lots of people I like, but I didn't buy the idea that Dandridge would define her life by the men she was with at the time. Her sexual conquests wouldn't be nearly as important to her movie ones. I suppose some of them were inexorably linked but likely not as much that Shonda Rhimes and Scott Abbott's teleplay would have us believe.

Of course, the narrative device of having Dorothy telling her entire story to her sister-in-law who was there the whole time was ill-advised at best.

While Martha Coolidge's direction is powerful, it's not nearly as astonishing as it should be. I wanted to feel like Dorothy was breaking down barriers and paving the way. I wanted to feel like she was at the precipice of something great, not a great big bed. I didn't get any of it, though.

Call me crazy, call me a feminist, call me both. I'd still like to believe that a woman, especially one as important as Dandridge, is more than just the sum of her sexual parts. B

Eight Men Out (1988) and Missing Brendan (2003)

I know that you might be confused by the two movie titles up there, and I don't want you to think that one of them is in some way the sequel to one another. I'll get to my point in a minute if you'll just bear with me.

Plot 1: A dramatized telling of the reasoning and actions behind the Chicago "Black" Sox scandal of 1919.

Plot 2: A family of men go back to Vietnam to try to locate a missing member or at least his body.

Some time ago, I decided that part of the mandate of Feria Films was to warn gentle readers about movies that suck and should be avoided for that reason alone. The problem, though, is that I sometimes feel like I watch a lot of movies that such, and I don't want to write about them after.

I actually watched Eight Men Out on December 20 or 21, and I've been trying to work up a review for it between now and then. I couldn't even come up with a complete plot description. While I sat through the exceptionally long feeling 119 minutes of this ode to not the actual game of baseball, I spend more time wondering when I will ever wise-up and stop renting movies just because a given actor is in it (in this case John Cusack, and the answer is probably never) then caring what happened to anyone in the movie.

Except David Strathairn's down-and-out pitcher, Eddie Cicotte. Even then, I mostly thought about how I sure do like that David Strathairn.

In the second case, I was moronically lured into Missing Brendan by Adam Brody's first season charm, which has promptly evaporated, I assure you. I spent the only twenty minutes I watched of this movie wondering how to tell the person I was watching it with that I wanted to stop watching the movie. By consequence, you know I can't actually review the movie, but I sure can tell you to steer clear. So steer that way.

So, if I ever felt like handing out Fs, this might have been a good place to start. But I won't go that far today.

Solomon and Gaenor (1999)

Premise: On his first day as a packman, Solomon (Ioan Gruffudd) meets the beautiful Gaenor (Nia Roberts). In order to pursue a relationship with her, Jewish Solomon pretends to be the English Sam Livingston. Because no one tells a lie in a movie for no reason, his secret threatens their relationship as Gaenor develop a secret of her own. I should mention that it's Wales in 1911.

Alright, so I'll admit that I was initially a little weary of this movie. My dear Ioan, despite being a very talented and sexy young man, is very often in crap movies. It's just the way it is.

So I watched the preview right before I watched the movie, as is my wont. Not only did excite me for what followed, it also pointed out that the movie won a bunch of awards and nominations, including a nod for best Foreign Language Film at the 2000 Academy Awards. I can assure you that I thought, "What kind of a foreign language is English?" Then I remembered the fluent Yiddish Ioan learned for this part, and I surrendered the sneer. Turns out that another third, I would say, of the film is in Welsh. Complicated stuff, I tell ya.

The other two previews were for East-West, which was an actually good movie that I had to watch for school, and the actual Foreign Language winner for that year, Pedro Almodóvar's All About My Mother. So, I gotta admit, I was all the more excited for it.

Excitement that paid off, which I thought was something that just didn't happen any more. I find that really good and really bad movies have one thing in common: they stick with you. After I saw Alexander, I was moaning about for weeks about what a terrible movie it was. With this film, I get little flashes of it in my head, and I find myself caught up in heartbreak or elation, depending on the scene. It's really quite refreshing.

Gruffudd and Roberts stole my heart from the get-go, him for bringing the kind of passion and restraint I love him for and her for being strong, loyal, and feisty. Roberts delivers the kind of tour de force performance that the rest of us only dream of witnessing, and Gruffudd keeps everything in check to balance it out. It's smolderingly wonderful and tragic to watch the two of them together.

Writer-director Paul Morrison had me in knots over each challenge the couple faced, and he also had me yelling at the screen. It was another adventure in the arrogance of youth, as well as one in finding yourself. In this case, they both do find themselves by curtain call. His screenplay and direction have their telling moments, but he hides it well for the most part, creating more tragedy with every passing frame in his Romeo and Juliet story.

Morrison has created something spellbinding through his fantastic leads. Damp looking Wales calls you back through the fog with stories of such passion that you can do little but weep. For my part, I could do naught but fall silent. A

I'm experimenting with fonts, in case you can't tell. Let me know if you have any preferences via comments section.

In Good Company (2004)

Situation: Shortly after 51 year-old Dan Foreman (Dennis Quaid) discovers that his impossibly beautiful wife, Ann (Marg Helenberger), is expecting another child, he is replaced as the head of ad sales at Sport America (faux Sports Illustrated) by 26 year-old wunderkid, Carter Duryea (Topher Grace), who did something good with cell phones. In order to keep his job, Dan works closely with Carter. The two develop a precarious friendship that is jeopardized when Carter falls for Dan's impossibly beautiful college-aged daughter, Alex (Scarlett Johansson).

A Topher Grace double bill! I was going to review another movie in between, but I couldn't pass up this opportunity for double bill. Have I ever knowingly had a double bill before? I'm not sure.

Anyway, I doubt I will be able to discuss this movie without talking about the end, so you should just stop reading if you, like me, are allergic to spoilers. In the sense that you want to react with violence towards the ruiner who didn't at least warn you.

Because it's so rude.

Okay, that should be long enough for those with less than stellar will power to click off. On to the real reviewing.

And the real Topher Grace! Damn you sitcom that ran out of fuel about one season after it started. Damn extreme thinness than stopped me from seeing it before! Grace has got it goin' on, and I mean that in more ways than one. His still sitcom-esque delivery didn't entirely jive with p.s., but it works wonderfully here. Grace shines like he was born to play a disillusioned yuppie, and his Carter is sweet, funny, and even a bit silly. He won the National Board of Review's award for Best Breakthrough Performance by an Actor for this movie coupled with yesterday's.

Quaid, whom I've never entirely understood as an actor, seems to be relishing this latter-day come back. And, unlike another actor with four movies out this year (of course I'm not talking about you, Jude), he never seems tired or worn-out. I mean, he does in the sense that his character does, but Quaid's lined faced and furrowed brow only serve to cover some truly sparkling eyes. He's having fun, never worried about making the comedy bits comedic or the drama bits dramatic. I'm not too sure what they did to his hair colour, though.

Paul Weitz, writer-director of the rollickin' Nick Hornby adaptation, About a Boy, has attempted a Nick Hornby story of his very own. Sure, he forgot that part of Hornby's charm is that his protagonist is always a lovable asshole, but I suppose that isn't necessary. Instead of relying on a gimmick, as so many writers do, Weitz gives his audience something worth so much more: heart. You just don't get enough of that anymore.

Johasson basically has no character to speak of, so Weitz made up for that by naming her Alex. Yes, the names convey it all here, folks. Dan Foreman - he's a good ol' boy but not in the evil Republican way. Carter Duryea - He's new and got a foreign sounding last name! Can we trust him? Alex - it's the kind of girl's name that suggests that she's got something going on upstairs but not in a pretentious way. Of course, girls with boy's or boy-like names are always tomboys in some sort of a way, like how Alex plays tennis. She wants to do creative writing, too, don't you see, and she has pretty fabric to cover her lamps with, so she's also artistic and sensitive. It's a good thing I like Johasson up there on the movie screen, or I might have had to riot at her caricature rather than character.

I was especially pleased that they didn't waste all the feel good moments in the preview, unlike, say, Spanglish. That said, the movie ended exactly the way I knew it would for Dan. Carter ended up as he should have, except without Alex. He's better off in the long run for it because she was simply too full of the arrogance of youth to appreciate him. Notice I said "arrogance of youth" not "youthfully arrogant" because I'm referring to the kind of arrogance that we all possess while we are young simply because we don't know any better. If it were the other way around, it'd be the combination of youth and arrogance that, even as a youth, you should really know better.

Even so, I kind of wanted to berate her for losing "one of the good ones." The reality is that guys like that don't come walking around the corner everyday, so she really is the one who is losing out. Ah, well, Carter had to find himself and such.

Maybe a movie where you realize that you need to find yourself is even better than one where you do find yourself by the third act. Or maybe not. Stay tuned. B+

As you well know, those Golden Globe things happened the other night, and they smacked of more vindication for April. Somebody better call the Academy before I get really smug. Here's a link to recap what you missed:http://www.hfpa.org/goldenglobeawards.html.