I Make Movie Review-500 Days of Summer

I know I've been wearing the "A" grade out lately-but the truth is, it's been a great summer at the movies. Up, Hurt Locker, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Star Trek, etc. etc.-formidable triumphs all. But it's the romantic comedy that's really come to the fore this summer. From Julie and Julia to Away We Go and now the wholly original dazzler 500 Days of Summer, the recent season has been jam-packed with great romantic comedies-genuine, tender-hearted films that re-charge the old Boy Meets Girl conventions for the new millenium. And, yet again, I'll be ladling out an "A" grade for Summer. While the other two romances mentioned above meddle gently and movingly with the conventions of the Model Movie Romances, this one smashes the model to pieces and makes its own. Tom and Summer (Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Zooey Deschanel), love and lose, as is typical of this type of cinema. But, unlike other love stories, this one has no linear structure-we learn the details of this relationship in a series of vignettes culled from this date or that night in bed. Instead of trapping the movie in Gimmickry Hell, this gives debut director Marc Webb total freedom-freedom he uses to excellent effect. Without the restrictions of space and time, we see scenes in the order that will amount to the greatest emotional impact. In one scene, Tom and Summer climb sit happily at the movies. In the next, God knows how many months later, Tom is in the same movie theatre, hungover, asleep, alone. Webb has little need for reality either-fairy-tale narrators, hysterical post-coital musical numbers, cartoons-they all make appearances here than, enhancing the story instead of overloading it. It's an ambitious experiment that wouldn't work without the two phenomenal leads. Gordon-Levitt gets so deep under the skin of Tom that the line between actor and character almost disappears. And Deschanel scores a knockout, conveying both confusion and confidence with her tremulous smile. I can only fault the film for siding a tad too much with Tom from time to time. But a movie this invigorating, this brilliantly written and smartly soundtracked, this wickedly witty and shocking close-the-bone, is more than worth taking a chance on. I'll be going back to see this one again very soon. A-.

I Make Movie Review-Julie and Julia

Saying Meryl Streep's latest performance is great is like stating that cake is bad for you or Michael Jackson was occasionally a tad loopy; it's just a fact of life. But in Julie and Julia, the savory stunner of a Julia Child biopic, Streep outdoes herself. Decked out in high heels and bewigged with a brown hairpiece to play do-it-yourself American chef, she doesn't just nail the walk, the laugh, the famous sing-song voice-she digs deeper, making Julia a deeply prideful, deliciously animated bon vivant, at once larger-than-life and utterly human. In what may come to be her defining performance, She takes risks that pay off big time-and oughta earn her her 192034903904930902940935093431 billionth Oscar, too. This is an exemplary star turn-it's just flat-out unmissable. Streep's magnificent, laudable high-wire act of a performance is the special ingredient that makes this dish so tasty. But the rest of the recipe ain't half-bad, either. Take Amy Adams, a sassy wonder as Julie Powell, a modern day New Yorker whose in-the-kitchen odyssey becomes a parallel story to Child's. Or Stanley Tucci, who offers such a touching portrait of pure devotion as Paul Child. Or Chris Messina, who makes the old cliche of Husband Pushed Aside work again. Or Mary Lynn Rajskub, Linda Emond, Helen Carey-splendid, memorable performances all. The attention to period detail is nothing short of remarkable, Alexandre Desplat's score shimmers, and Nora Ephron writes and directs with a tart insightfulness that more than makes up for her recent flops. The laughs and tears come with such frequency that the movie's 123 minutes fly by. Oh, and the food looks GOOD. The only downside of Julie and Julia-an unexpected summer surprise that ranks among the year's very best-is that, with all the mouth-watering food onscreen, you'll leave hungry. But you'll also leave full in a way, smiling and more than satisfied with a creation as hearty, rich, and rhapsodic as the lady it celebrates. A.

I Make Movie Review-GI Joe

Okay, let's face it--critics would trash any movie with the GI Joe stamp on it, even if it were, say, a Hurt Locker-esque stroke of celluloid brilliance. But that's not what you want from GI Joe: Rise of Cobra. You pretend to be too good for it, but you secretly crave the ultimate empty-headed, badasses-go-to-war, landmarks-go-kerblooey of your machine-gun wet-dreams. In that context, Joe delivers-sometimes. Word is Paramount Studios meddled big-time with Stephen Sommers directorial vision before this one hit the 'plexes. Perhaps this explains why this film feels like two different pictures spliced together; a mindless, Mummy-esque thrill ride, and a weighty, subplot-infested, cliffhanger-riddled behemoth designed to spawn sequel after sequel after big-money sequel. When Film 1 wins, it's action-movie nirvana-Sommers knows his way around the whoop-ass road, and he orchestrates action set pieces of such pedal-to-the-medal ingenuity that the occasional sloppy special effect or cheap stunt really doesn't matter. Best in show is a chase that literally spans the entire city of Paris-characters jump, dodge, and shoot with enough slow-motion gusto to give Neo bad-boy penis envy. Sadly, as cool as Film 1 is, we see a LOT more of Film 2 here. This is the film that tacks on about 800 vapid backstories (the one set on the most backlot-looking China since the Bruce Lee days got gobs of unintentional laughter), turgid one-liners , god-awful speeches about honor, and country delivered with typical dryness by Dennis Quaid (COME BACK TO THE LIGHT, MAN!), and, of course, plenty of set-ups for a sequel. The sad thing is, the actors here seem game to make a good movie, and the cast-Channing Tatum, Sienna Miller, Marlon Wayans, Joseph Gordon-Levitt (!), Christopher Eccleston. But for all their enthusiasm, they just can't make this bloated balloon of a story float. Still, give Sommers points for leaving out the soft-core porno and nagging misogyny that plagued the summer's other big toy-based movie. Also, under doubtless pressure from the studio to not change the sucky-script, Sommers is samrt enough to let the character that isn't in the dialogue come out in our heroes and villains fighting styles. Miller's dysfunctional Dominatrix, Wayan's cocky sidekick, Gordon-Levitt's wounded baddie-we learn more about all of them from the way they dodge a blow or wield a blade than from the shit script. Overall, it's not good enough to lavish your recession-era cash on. But seeing it on TV would suck out out a lot of the limited thrills this movie has to offer. Therefore, GI Joe earns the dubious honor of being the must-see flick at the Dollar Theater. C.

I Make Movie Review-The Hurt Locker

Every war gets at least one great madness-of-combat movie, it would seem-Saving Private Ryan for WWII, Apocalypse Now for 'Nam. And now, for the Iraq War, The Hurt Locker, Kathryn Bigelow's courageous, raw, riveting portrait of a trio of US bomb specialists stationed in Kuwait in 2004, back when the war was not only young but still officially occurring. ("Mission: Accomplished?") If you're going in looking for Spielbergian grandeur, battle speeches, and the like, keep looking. The makers of this blood-boiler understand that this is a war unlike any other-and thus deserves a film style all its own. Following her three main characters-James (Jeremy Renner), Sanborn (Anthony Mackie), and Eldrige (Brian Geraghty)-on a series of missions to detonate this or defuse that, Bigelow skimps on music, puts her camera in close, and lets the action play out. We learn from the jarring opening scene to expect the unexpected-important characters, sympathetic characters, good ones, bad ones-all could be fodder for gun or grenade at any given moment. These characters are on constantly shifting ground-laughing one moment, ducking for cover the next. By playing keenly on our sense of uncertainty, Bigelow gives us a cathartic glimpse of what the horror of war most feel like. Each scene is a mini-masterpiece, building character while ratcheting up the tension at the same time. It's a feat very few could pull off, but Mark Boal's incisive script-shepherded beautifully to the screen by Bigelow-manages to make it look easy. In a nail-biter of a shootout between US snipers and Jihad gunners, we finally have a battle scene to match Private Ryan's D-Day opener for sheer grit and you-are-there intensity. Cameraman Barry Ackroyd, composer Marco Beltrami, and editor Chris Innis work in seamless tandem to vividly capture the tricks war plays-on time, on memory, on behavior. But in a film featuring only three major characters, good acting is the glue that's gotta put whole the foundation together. Luckily, the lead trio scores a home-run on all accounts. Mackie underplays effectively as a noble, sober veteran, and Geraghty gives a tender turn as a reluctant newbie. But in the end, it's Renner's show. In a year where Big Star Turns-from Christian Bale to J-Depp and beyond-have fizzled, Renner turns in the firecracker of a performance we've been waiting for all year. His Sgt. James is a cocky, wacked-out thrill seeker with a smartass smirk and an itchy trigger finger. But Renner digs deep, slowly exposes his characters bruised heart, and paints a harrowing portrait of a man in desperate need of attention-a man who's dammed up genuine emotion and replaced it with ego and unadorned id in order to live with himself. Renner and "winner" (Oscar?) rhyme for a reason. It's a thought-provoking, well-crafted thrill ride-a ride whose wheels occasionally fall off, especially in the overstuffed, ending-after-multiple-ending finale. But it's still a knockout of a movie, made by a director who chooses not to jam opinions or easy answers down your throat. Instead, Bigelow tells her story, and invites you to listen. You really should. A-.

I Make Late Movie Review-Watchmen

Who watches the Watchmen? Not many Americans, apparently, considering this uber-hyped graphic novel adaptation underperformed at the box-office. But DVD's given this flick a second chance-and seeing as this fierce, fiery epic is one of the year's very best, you should too. The plot is a doozy-Rorschach's (Jackie Earle Haley) hunt to find out who's knocking off costumed heroes in an alternate-reality-1980's NYC introduces at least a dozen main characters, spawns a wide web of subplots, and tackles Big Issues ranging from democratic reform to homosexuality. If that last sentence gave you a headache, never fear-while Watchmen rewards deep thinkers with a challenging, brilliant story line (originally dreamed up by temperamental genius Alan Moore), it also succeeds as a compulsively watchable whodunit with plenty of A-grade whoopass gas in the tank. Credit Zack Snyder for this coup de cinema-he's mercilessly whittled down the sprawling novel to its bare necessities, making this a movie perfectly accessible to the average moviegoer, but not neglecting to add a dash or two of fan-friendly, geektastic detail along the way. His previous films have been monuments to his impeccable eye for acting talent, and Watchmen continues the trend-the ensemble cast is across-the-board excellent, turning in commendable performances of great depth and daring. Extra kudos to Billy Crudup, who, along with CGI magicians, miraculously turns his Dr. Manhattan-a giant blue ball of atomic energy with eyes-into the story's most emotionally resonant character. Snyder has also finally found the perfect balance of pop-art glimmer and real-life grain with which to paint this universe-it bursts with invention without ever looking storyboarded. The story-which says just as much about the state of mankind as the state of Supermankind-has been shepherded with great care to the screen by a talented team of screenwriters, cinematographers, musicians (both the brilliantly selected licensed songs and Tyler Bates electro-fueled score fit impeccably), set designers, caterers, you name it. They built the foundation of this world. But you couldn't truly get lost in it without characters you care about-and care you do. It's a tad too long and occasionally overdone, but would you prefer perfect boredom or a flawed miracle? Think about it. A.

I Make Movie Review-"Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince"

They may not fly as high as Carl and co. did in Up, but Harry Potter and his fellow wizards return triumphant in a movie that casts a spell so potent that even the most magic-averse viewer won't be able to resist. First things first: Potterphiles (and Oscar voters) everywhere oughta kiss David Yates's feet. He's found the perfect balance of otherwordly magic and down-to-Earth feeling with which to take the series into its darker final chapters. There's not much plot in the sixth installment of JK Rowling's modern epic-Harry's hunt to collect an old memory from dawdy Professor Slughorn (Jim Broadbent) exists merely to mask the fact that all we're doing here is being set up for the series brilliant, complex final installment (being split into two films). Yates and screenwriter Steve Kloves whittle the Slughorn story down to a subplot, pushing the blossoming teen romances of the tale to the fore. It's a smart move-making what's basically 672 pages of superbly written exposition both fast-paced and personable. It's also a risky move, but then again, these actors can handle it. Props to Radcliffe, whose clever, deeply conflicted Harry will enter the pantheon of Immortal Movie Characters. Rupert Grint's Ron, Evanna Lynch's loopy Luna, Emma Watson's sharp Hermione, Bonnie Wright's fiery Ginny-brilliant, incisive performances all around. Old hands Maggie Smith and Robbie Coltrane still know how to surprise us. Newcomers Broadbent and Jessie Cave-as Ron's squeeze-craft fully realized characters with minimal amounts of screentime. Alan Rickman still makes a fascinating Snape, and Helena Bonham Carter injects her sadistic Bellatrix Lestrange with a shot of kinky malice and a surprising dash of humanity. But the true standout here is Tom Felton, whose Draco Malfoy more than comes into his own this time 'round. It doesn't hurt that the effects, as usual, are stunning; that Nicholas Hooper's score is sensational; or that lenser Bruno Delbonnel gives Hogwarts shadings and darkness and claustrophobia that have never before been implied. But gives "Prince" such punch is its glorious heart. We've watched these characters grow up on film, age and gain and lose and love. The first few films were the set-up-we're inching towards the pay-off now, that place where everything counts double; every hope, every action, every death-yes, death rears its head here, and the effect is wrenching and staggering in ways you don't expect from any film, much less a kid's flick. Is it the best Potter yet? No. Order of the Phoenix is such a flat-out perfect picture that it's likely to remain the crowning jewel in the Potter series. This is not a perfect film. Some of the final scenes seem strangely underheated and sloppy, and Michael Gambon's Dumbledore never hits that perfect note of wizened whimsy that the late Richard Harris had down pat. But this is a damned good film-the kind we need in this day and age. A-

Showstoppers-A Pointless Rant

I'm in Grease right now *JUMPS UP AND DOWN, WAVES*-ask me about tickets!-and there's a song called "Beauty School Drop-Out". In a show full of fun, funky music, this is the song that isn't just content with making you smile. It aims to get you out of your seat, to shake that thang, to clap along, to hoot instead of politely clap-to ride along on the sudden outpouring of crackling energy. This kind of musical number has a name-The Showstopper. Every good show worth it's salt has one-even C-Grade crapola like Seussical has that one song that drives the crowd wild. So what's the Best Showstopper ever? What stands head-and-shoulders over the others to send the audience over the edge every time? Onscreen, there's really no doubt-Jennifer Hudson has the category all locked up. But what about live? Onstage? I really struggled with this, trying to recall every show I'd ever seen-yes, I'm that bored right now. There are a TON of truly great showstoppers. Some find their strength in numbers and sheer choral force-"Circle of Life" with its parade of brilliant "animals" ascending to the stage as the sound of the song builds and builds, "One Day More" with its unforgettable hook and dizzying vocal crescendos. Others are love duets on steroids-"I'll Cover You", "Wheels of A Dream". But the most common showstoppers-from Thoroughly Modern Millie to Company-consist of a troubled woman, left abandoned onstage to let her agonies out in song. It was in this category that I uncovered what I have deemed the Ultimate Showstopper-"Rose's Turn" from Gypsy. The plot is this-stage mama Rose Hovick has alienated her kids. She's out of a job. Her almost-husband has broken off the engagement. If the show is the story of a confused woman quietly imploding, this song is where she explodes-where she lets out her inner thoughts, her deep regrets about being "born too soon and starting too late." It's a song full of key changes, flats and sharps that grows higher, louder, stronger, until that famous final note that seems to come from the soul and not the throat. The entire show we've watched this woman fight the odds and lose. So when she finally declares, that, no matter what, "everything's coming up roses this time for ME!", the explosion of audience approval is potent and palpable. Every actress brings something different to it-Bette Midler a greedy clinginess, Bernadette Peters a sexy vigor, and PATTI LUPONE-who I SAW LIVE IN THIS SHOW-a childlike sense of misplaced anger and need. But the sensation that comes after this number is always the same-the audience shoots to its collective feet like puppets on wires, the whistles and "woo-hoo's!" growing louder and louder as Rose walks about the stage, smile on her face. Often tears, exhilarated laughs, excitable chatter, struggled to catch one's breath. We've been blown away, entertained and made happy in the most primal, simple way-by watching someone standing alone on a stage do something really incredible. That's just my two cents. There are plenty of other excellent showstoppers-"Tomorrow", "Take Me Or Leave Me", everything in between. What's your favorite?

I Make Movie Review-MY Sisters Keeper

Tearjerkers generally fall in to one of two categories:
1. The Genuine Sobber-Wherein you've come to care about a group of characters so much that you, for a moment, share their wrenching pain.
2. The Tear-Yanker-Wherein, in lieu of actual characters and plot, the filmmakers throw sad situation after sad situation at you until your tear ducts have been sucked dry like so many cow utters.
"My Sister's Keeper", the sleek, tasteful, and occasionally underheated adaptation of the spectacular Jodi Picoult book of the same name, lies somewhere strangely in-between. The story is this: Kate (Sofia Vassilieva) has cancer. So her mom and dad (Cameron Diaz and Jason Patric), birth a "donor child", Anna (Abigail Breslin), made exclusively to provide her ailing big sis with surgically removed body parts. It works well enough, until Anna decides to hire a lawyer shes seen on TV (Alec Baldwin-always playing this kinda part these days) to sue her own mum and pop for the rights to her own body. Intriguing, eh? There's a premise for a damn good though-provoking, character-based thriller here. But director Nick Cassavetes (of "The Notebook" fame) pushes the legal drama out of the spotlight, focusing instead on the effects of childhood disease on a family. It's a good approach-taking a plot that flirts with gimmickry and making it personable. But occasionally, so much time is spend on lengthy, often repetitive scenes of relapse and recovery that we actually forget about the legal case--which, seeing as its the central plot point, isn't good. Throw in a lop-sided multiple-narrators at one time techique, and It's not surprising that the film sometimes comes across as meandering and self-important. In the midst of the action however, the story-and the movie-plays its trump card as Anna falls in love with a fellow cancer patient, Taylor (Thomas Dekker). It is here, where movies like this normally derail, that Cassavetes and his actors succeed in a big way. The romance is genuine-laced with the exaggerated emotions and warped thoughts that puppy loves inspires. It's a golden 30 minutes of movie storytelling, and the two actors sell the hell out of it, right up until it's inevitable coda that hits you even harder than you might think-and produces real, deep tears. Other scenes make a truthful connection, too-Diaz's vanity-free bitch-fit when Brian breaks Anna out of the hospital, the shocking (albeit different from the book) revelation at the trial, which hits particularly hard thanks to insightful work from the talented-beyond-her-years Breslin. Sure, there are screw-ups aplenty-the mama-slaps-daughter scene that's typical in these kind of movies doesn't work any better than it normally does, and a sunset-flaked trip to the beach-complete with slow jazz and home-movie style shots-goes way, way overboard. Cassavetes also gives Baldwin the shaft in terms of screen-time or characterization, and shoots the opening scenes in a fade-in, fade-out style that is as frustrating as it is ineffective. But it's a summer movie with A-grade performances, an actual story, and several scenes that cut deep. Take that, John DIllinger. B

Why I Hate Public Enemies

"Public Enemies"...not awful. But horribly, copiously disappointing. I'm so put-out with everyone involved, I'm gonna offer a few more things about this movie that made me really livid-
1) There's this new invention called editing-it involves cutting out scenes that don't matter or that add nothing to the propulsion of the plot. However, in this movie, Michael Mann has apparently hired a chimpanzee (Bubbles??) to perform this task. Pointless scenes that add nothing to anything whatsoever are featured ad nauseum. For example, after a bank robber, Dillinger and crew hide out at a friends house and wrap sandwiches for the road. It has nothing to do with character, as we don't ever get to know any of these people other than Dillinger by name. It's not plot-related. It's just sandwiches, in all their deli-fied glory. Again. Sandwiches.
2) The script. Mann helped write it. You wouldn't know it from lines like "He could be anywhere. But he's not anywhere, he's somewhere-right...here." Wha-?? He also steals several lines verbatim from his older, better movies.
3) Marion Cotillard!! She's crazy talented and won a deserved Oscar...for a French-speaking role. She learned English while making this movie, and boy does it show. Note to Mann: feel free to cast actors who have at least a 3rd-grade education in the language you're filming your picture in.
4) The score. It's big, lavish, and orchestral, which jars with the smaller-than-life performances, the reflective tone, and, most importantly-
5) THE CAMERAWORK.-I'm not just talking about the much-maligned shaky camerawork in this movie. I'm talking about the fact Mann seems to have forgotten how to work a camera. For example, when Depp and Christian Bale have their big "Heat"-esque scene (singular) together, he shoots much of it either from far away or overhead. NOTE: When you are shooting a classic confrontation between two of the best actors of our time, SHOW US THEIR FACES!
in short, Michael Mann has really blown it here. As for why I didn't give it a D or an F??? That implies it was awful enough to deserve some kind of notoriety. Nope. Instead, it's just shamefully shabby.

You NEED to see...what??

"DUDDEEEEEE, YOU NEED TO SEE (insert movie/cd/book/tv show here)"
It's about the most frequently said thing in America, right next to "How bout them Cowboys" and "Did you hear about Michael Jackson?" Everywhere we turn, someone's telling us, whether in person or via text or Twitter or carrier pigeon that this or that is a MUST-SEE or a MUST-READ. But in reality, how many things exist that every person alive NEEDS to see-things that will actually improve or add to their quality of life if they experience it??? Sure, I know I would REALLY ENJOY seeing "Knocked Up" or "Titanic", but Katherine Heigl's tummy and Swim Class with Katie and Leo could not be called necessary. I love the Harry Potter books, but giants and wizards and broomsticks (oh my!) say nothing about the human experience. I am a proud member of the Colbert Nation, but even that TV show isn't really a "must-watch." When you start to think about what movie you think people NEED to watch, you'll find the list narrows down very quickly--in my case to one film.
The movie is Steven Spielberg's "Schindler's List", which will surprise absolutely no one who's talked to me for over five minutes. Ironically, it's not any kind of an enjoyable experience-it's a three-hour visual document of the Holocaust, coupled with the tale of a Nazi who secretly tries to save Jewish lives. Why this one? Because it's bigger than a movie. And because
1. The obvious-we cannot forget the Holocaust. This movie should be shown in schools everywhere.
2. It's a way of explaining the universe. Okay, don't laugh, listen. Here is a movie that, within a few hours, manages to present the entire broad spectrum of human morality. We have the true evil-the Nazis, who trap 1/3 of Europe's popular in their own private hell. We have the in-betweens-member of Hitler's party who feel pity or sympathy and are willing to save a few Jews, as long as it's not at their own personal expense. And then we have the flawed, beautiful good-the titular character, who utilizes his skills to save millions. To quote a line from the movie, there will be generations because of what he did. The movie single-handedly asserts and explains the presence of good, evil, and moral ambiguity in the world. No small task, eh?
3. As a bonus, you can't beat the acting or production value. Ralph Fiennes, Ben Kingsley, and Liam Neeson have never topped their peerless work here. The black-and-white photography is breathtaking. The script is masterful. The music is beautiful as a stand-alone CD. Oh, and for what it's worth, it walked away with a Best Picture Oscar.
So what are you waiting for?? You NEED to see this movie-one that actually helps us to understand the world and appreciate our place in it. As for what you REALLY REALLY FREAKIN' SHOULD SEE...
Check out my Away We Go review =)

I Make Movie Review-Away We Go

Whilst robots are duking it out for a pin-up girl and the dude from Even Stevens and Captain Jack Sparrow is running around with a tommy-gun and making goo-goo eyes behind sunglasses, you're all missing the funniest, cleverest, most affecting live-action movie of the year thus far-a true diamond in the rough called Away We Go. The plot? John Krasinki (he owns in "The Office") and Maya Rudolph (she owns on SNL) play Burt and Verona, a thirty-something unmarried couple trekking across America to find the perfect place to raise their soon-to-be-born baby. A young couple, a long road-trip, an indie-rock soundtrack-think you've seen it before? Think again. The script by Dave Eggers and Vendela Vida is, in a word, splendid. If you thought Juno was funny, get a load of this story-it's so jam-packed with great dialogue and intriguing detail that, if printed on paper, it would be a great stand-alone novel. But for all the odd folks the couple runs into along the way-a delusional hippie-baby mama (Maggie Gylenhaal), a howler of a foul-mouthed ex-boss (Alison Janney-love her), and a quirky, aloof dad (Jeff Bridges) to name a few-the writers and director Sam Mendes always take the time to make them real, heartfelt people. We're never laughing at them, just at their actions. And then there's the lead couple. Thanks to two gorgeously textured and Oscar-worthy performances by Krasinki and Rudoplh, Burt and Verona ooze so much natural humor and chemistry that they may very well be the sweetest, most believable couple the movies have given us this millennium. These are people who, after the movie, you feel like you want to know personally. By the end of the movie, which packs a surprising emotional punch, we've fall in love with Burt, Verona and their whole crazy odyssey. This isn't a movie to sit back and admire. It's one to be madly, passionately crazy about-and one to celebrate. A

I Make Movie Review-Public Enemies

"I'm John Dillinger", Johnny Depp mutters in Public Enemies opening minutes. "I rob banks." If you wanna know anymore about Dillinger, the Robin Hood-esque bank robber gunned down by FBI agent Melvin Purvis (Christian Bale) and his crew at age 31, Wiki the guy. Watch the History Channel. Go to the local library. Because "I rob banks" is about the only thing this clunky, repetitive, incoherent let-down of a movie has to say about its lead subject. That's right, Michael Mann, one of the best directors of his time-Heat and The Insider are among the flat-out best movies ever-has finally made a Good Ol' Fashioned Flop-a self-important, bloated mess of a movie that even its formidable stars can't save. Dillinger was a man who fed off the public perception of him as an everyman striking back against the Depression-era finanical system-in short, a legend in his own time. Unfortunately Mann, a director notorious for his attention to factual accuracy, turns out to be the wrong guy for a movie about a semi-mythical figure. Unwilling to fudge reality and show the glamorous, badass Dillinger America saw, he shoots in gritty, grainy HD, sticks to the mundane, well-known facts of Dillinger's life, and leaves Depp without much direction. Depp, normally one of the most inventive and impressive actors alive, makes an honorable attempt to rise above the mess, but Mann gives him little to do except mumble and bore into the camera with his pretty-boy eyes. Also left non-plussed and stuck in underwritten roles are Bale and Marion Cotillard (as Dillinger's beau). Even Bale and Depp's one scene together lacks any semblance of drama. At least Billy Crudup has some flamboyant fun in a bit part as FBI head J. Edgar Hoover. And Mann is still the best action director the movies have ever given us, and the movies two big knock-down-blow-outs-an explosive gunfight in a dark forest and the masterfully Hitchockian murder that ends the film-are it's only two true thrills. Everything in between-all 143 minutes of it-isn't any good. It isn't awful either. It's something worse-disappointing. C-

Things to love in the world

Farah Fawcett-dead. Michael Jackson-dead. Head of the state of South Carolina-accused of running away from duty with his mistress. A movie about robots and boobies is number one at the box office. It's a day like this-a rare day where good news, never exactly in the majority, seems to be purged altogether from the national radar screen. In short, the glass is totally half-empty-or so says the media, the public, etc. etc.

This is in response to someone who said to me earlier today, basically, the following: "Gah this world sucks. It's awful. This world is awful."

I beg to differ.
There's something beautiful about a world that gives us ears to listen to music-then tops that off by giving us music ranging from Moby to Jason Robert Brown to Kanye West to Rob Thomas to Coldplay to yes, Michael Jackson.

There's something to treasure about country that mixes the "Transformers" and "Slumdog Millionaires" of the world and finds an audience for both.

There's something incredible about the resolve of a human being who struggles so ferociously against disease-who loves life so much they'll fight for it.

There's something beautiful about damn near everything-and there is no day but today.

I Make Movie Review-The Taking of Pelham 123

There's a moment early on in The Taking of Pelham 123, Tony Scott's lean, mean visual assault of a remake, that immediately indicates what you're in for over the next 106 minutes. "You were always gonna be the first one to go", Travolta says flatly, dispatching an non-plussed civil servant in a totally unrealistic, jaggedly edited bloodbath set to pounding music so emphatic it almost seems to rip open the sound system. This is where Scott, the flashy, music-video influenced dude who gave us Man On Fire and Deja Vu, makes it perfectly clear what kind of movie we're watching-if ya want depth, go find a pool. This one's a shallow, button-pushing joy ride that trafficks in gratuitous F-bombs, overwrought car wrecks, scantily clad women and dirty jokes. Having said that, Scott's the master of the amoral, free-for-all crime picture, and he's produced a pretty decent one here. Neither Travolta (he hijacks an NYC subway)nor Denzel Washington (he's the civil servant who winds up drawn into the mess)aim for Stanislavsky here-they're both hamming it up in fine style. The screenplay does a serviceable job getting from Point A to Point B--and throws in a line or two that rank above-average for this type of movie. The supporting actors-especially James Gandolfini as the quirky Mayor-do a nice job. And Scott covers up the plot holes (most of them anyway) with an endless barrage of overexposed colors, tense jump cuts and clever camera angles. Even as the movie skids way off the tracks in it's shaky final scenes, you're still enjoying yourself. Pelham 123 doesn't make the slightest imprint on the heart or the head-but then again, it doesn't try. Instead, it goes straight for the jugular, and as far as bang-bang, in-your-face actions flicks go, this is a modestly successful piece of summer escapism. B-

I Make Movie Review-Lemon Tree

No, it's not just cause I'm Jewish. I see a lot of Israeli movies because they're perfectly enjoyable to damn near anyone who occasionally wants to experience something deeper than CGI poop jokes and lavish robot-on-robot kerffuffles. Israelis are by their nature a generally humble and resourceful people-and both qualities apply to their filmmaker's as well. A new generation of Israeli filmmakers has come to the forefront in recent years, specializing in it's own kind of cinema. These motion pictures, such as Nina's Tragedies and Band's Visit are dry, wise comedies with simple-but-striking plots and characters as rich and complex as those in any great novel. Lemon Tree, while made in the vein of these two masterpieces, is not quite as polished and clever as its stylistic predecessors. It is, however, something fresh and colorful in the age of Dance Flick, as well as a showcase for the considerable talents of a superbly talented Palestinian actress named Hiam Abbass. Abbass plays Salma, a Palestinian widow who joins forces with a local lawyer (Ziad Daud) to combat the excavation of her prized lemon grove. The grove is getting in the way of the Israeli Secret Service, who are setting up shop at the home of the Defense Minister (Doron Tavory) and his wife (Rona Lipaz-Michael) right next door. As Salma wages her personal battle, the film tries on many different tonal hats-small-scale soap opera, political barn-burner, gentle fable, Greek tragedy, romantic comedy, foodie flick, and more. Not all of them work, and as a consequence the middle section of the story-particularly in scenes without Salma-has a tendency to drag noticeably. But all is well when Abbass is onscreen. Possessed of an eye-catching physicality and a sturdy beauty that the camera embraces, she uses the power of both speech and silence to convey the plight of a woman imploding from inside while her world explodes from without. She won an Israeli Oscar for the performance, and it's no surprise-Abbass transcends the shaky foundation of the film, turning in one of the surest and most organic performances of the year. Thanks to one very talented actress, Lemon Tree is a cinematic dish that, while not exactly a scrumptious, full-course meal, is peppered with enough spice and color to provide it's share of savory moments. B

I Make Movie Review-Angels and Demons

Let's start off with a proclamation of heresy-I liked The Da Vinci Code. Was it Schindler's List> Hellz no. But it had an intriguing visual language, a spry Ian McKellen, and an Indiana Jones-esque one-thing-after-another quality that made it a modestly entertaining diversion. All three of these things are missing from Angels and Demons, the ham-fisted, irritatingly tame adaptation of what was actually Dan Brown's best novel. The set-up?? Robert Langdon (Tom Hanks, with hair and emotional connection cut) and physicist Vittoria Vetra (Ayelet Zurer looks totally lost) work with the Vatican to stop an ancient organization from killing four cardinals eligible for election to the papacy--a grisly act that the villains plan to cap off by blowing Vatican City sky high. It's a far-fetched, fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants premise that works best as a pulpy, spirited joy ride--the kind the book provides. But Howard and screenwriters Akiva Goldsman and David Koepp have missed the point, providing a sloppy, static exercise in how not to stage the page onscreen. The script is so off-kilter it defies explanation. Readers of the book, remember that shocking twist about a not-so-celibate clergyman?? Gone. Remember the Lecter-esque glimpses into the mind of the Hassassin (Nikolaj Lie Kaas, who does what he can under the circumstances)?? Axed. What remerges is a shapeless, ungainly blend of half-hearted chases, PG-13-safe murders, and interminable stretches of exposition that-even when being delivered by the welcome voices of Stellan Skarsgard and Armin-Muehler Stall-drag the movie down like a lead weight. There's also an overdone score, a hokey CGI helicopter, an unintentionally hilarious opening scene that belongs in a bad Hammer horror flick, and poor, poor Ewan McGregor, miscast in the pivotal role of the Camerlengo, the caretaker of the throne in between the death of one pope and the election of the next. The Camerlengo is the heart of the story, the quiet man whose fervent faith is supposed to bring some emotional urgency to the ticking-bomb plot. But McGregor, his Scottish lilt doing him no favors, is given a series of big, clunky speeches about belief and morality that fall noticeably flat. Only in a cleverly edited escape from an oxygen-deprived chamber does the movie truly lift off. Otherwise, this Angel remains infuriatingly stuck to the ground it's entire 138 minutes. There are worse movies out there. Rarely, however, has there been a more disappointing one. D+

I Make Movie Review-Up

Ever want a litmus test of just how good a movie is??? See it in a theater with a gaggle of teenagers trading retainer-mouthed gossip, a Mexican businesswoman conducting a phone call en Espanol, a cried banshee of a newborn, and two college kids participating in a series of very movement-oriented larcenies in the front row. If you don't leave, it must be a pretty good one, right?? Well, I saw Up under the said circumstances, and didn't move a muscle the whole time. And the movie isn't good, it's great--a total triumph, a celebration of the boundless power of imagination, a surprisingly mature and smart thrill ride of a movie that, in addition to being the best picture of the year so far, may very well become the most iconic and beloved kiddie flick since The Wizard of Oz. The set-up is this; sad-eyed, lock-jawed widower Carl Frederickson (props for the perfect casting of Ed Asner), has become such a cantankerous old badger that he's being forced into one of those over-advertised, aggressively cheery retirement homes. But, when two blank-faced social works come to pick him up from his house, they get an unexpected surprise-the house takes off. As I watched this rickety old place being lifted off the ground (by a cluster of buoyant balloons, I might add), soaring unfettered across the city skyline, I felt something that must be similar to what baby boomers experienced when they took in Star Wars for the first time-the electric chill of the body telling the mind that what was once impossible to even conceive is now right there for all to conceive--and maybe it's not so impossible to bring to life, either. Carl is planning a trip to an exotic South American island his adventurous wife always wanted to explore. He expects a few navigatory hitches. What he doesn't expect is an endearingly pudgy pre-pubescent stowaway, a cabal of uproarious talking dogs, a mustache-twirling villain from his childhood past (hammed to a glorious high by Christopher Plummer), and a rainbow-bright birdy who's at the heart of the madcap series of chases, searches, and PG-rated battles that ensue. And what we as an audience don't expect is for something this absurd and off-kilter to work like a charm. Director Pete Docter, he of Monsters Inc. fame, blends the wacky the warm and the witty with expert finesse. Whenever you're cracking up, the laughs are always heartfelt and clever-no fart jokes here. And when you're tearing up (it's likely), during one of the film's more meditative stretches, the next perfectly orchestrated action scene or marvelously ingenious sight gag is just around the corner, ready to greet you like a good friend. Add the ground-breaking animation--the 3D cut I didn't see must be even better-, the golden, uber-hummable Michael Giachinno score (Oscar, take notice), and even the primo short film proceeded the actually feature, and you've got a Pixar movie that flies far and above their previous formidable efforts; an exemplary blend of craft and commerce that soars so high it brushes with legend. A+

I Make Movie Review-"Every Little Step"

Even if you aren't a theatre geek.
I'll repeat that a gajillion times in this review so get used to hearing it. But let's start with some theatre geek shtick:
'Chorus Line' is the glorious pinnacle of modern theatre, the show that turned the American musical on it's head. It's only appropriate, then, that a movie about the making of this show's great revival is equally awesome, perhaps the most truthful and touching movie ever made about acting of any kind...
Even if you aren't a theatre geek, I'll bet you're a human being (or maybe a Jew). And assuming you have a heart, there's no way it won't be tugged by the stories of the down-and-out performers auditioning for the newest production of Michael Bennett's masterpiece. This movie about music does 'American Idol' one better by banishing mean spirits and cheap laughs from the proceedings. (And by picking the right singers...but we won't go there.) For a movie that basically plays as a montage of audition tapes, backstories and clips from the 24-hour brainstorming session that birthed the original show, Every Little Step is surprisingly non-geeky, and totally accessible. It is also by turns the most emotional (Jason Tam's wrenching audition for the "Paul" role) and funniest (the phrase "Eat nails" will forever be engraved in your memory) movie of the year so far. Directors Adam Del Deo and James D. Stern have mercilessly cut down hours and hours of footage to make a lean, clean movie that introduces over 40 budding thespians and gets you to care about each one. If movies (and life) are about journeys, than what journey is more complex, more arduous than this one? And what payoff is sweeter than strutting your stuff in front of a full house?? This movie doesn't let us sit back and watch. It takes us on an engrossing journey with these people-every little step of the way. You'll love it. Even if you aren't a theatre geek. A.

I Make Movie Review-Star Trek

'Star Trek' cannot cure the common cold. It cannot raise your children, pay your mortgage, fill up your car, or patch up the economy. It is not, contrary to popular belief, the Second Coming. What this movie is, however, is two hours of peerless, light-as-a-feather, uninterrupted fun. I couldn't be more surprised. When I saw 'Trek' on TV, I was unimpressed--a bunch of men shouting orders and talking philosophy in what appeared to be spatulas with rocket engines. Leave it to 'Lost' empresario JJ Abrams and writers Robert Orci and Alex Kurtzman to take the often soggy TV series (and it's 525, 600 reboots) and make a movie as fly-by-the-pants energetic as a shot of caffeine straight to the heart. Beginning with the opener-in which the mother of Captain Kirk (Chris Pine) gives intergalactic birth while a starlit battle rages around her-the movie plunges into warp-speed and never loses loft. Within minutes we are introduced to Spock (Zachary Quinto, who deserves some awards attention for adding some mournful emotion to the proceedings), Bones (Karl Urban, sharp as a tack), Chekhov (show-stealer Anton Yelchin), and the rest of what will eventually be the Enterprise Crew. This time, they're up against Nero (Eric Bana), a cold-eyed, punked-out baddie who wants to wreak havoc on the galaxy as revenge for...something that happens 130 years in the future. Just go with it. It's not the plot that matters here. It's the gut-level ride this crew takes you on. Every action scene plays like a promise the next big dogfight will have to deliver on-and they all do, especially an interstellar skydive-turned-swordfight that's probably the most enjoyable and volcanically geeky duel the movies have given us this millennium. And there are moments of genuine depth and wit (particularly from Simon Pegg's Scotty and the beginnings of the classic Spock-Kirk dynamic) that let us see the band of brotherhood and teamwork that binds those aboard the starship. Winona Ryder and even Leonard Nimoy show up for smaller but equally important parts. Sweet. Does it all work? No. Bana is never really any kind of scary as the villain, and I almost needed a dictionary to understand some of the wonky space jargon. But this is a movie where the beginning has you on the edge of your seat, the ending gives you goosebumps, and 99% of what's in between works--and a movie like that, especially in the heat of the summer, is worth cheering. A-

I MAKE MOVIE REVIEW-The Soloist

You can scoff at the story, which reeks of sappiness and Oscar bait-Lowlife reporter Steve Lopez (Robert "Iron Man" Downey Jr.) tries to reform diseased genius Nathaniel Ayers (Jamie Foxx). You can brush off The Soloist as more blah based-on-a-true story crap. Or you can leave your reservations at the door and experience the weirdest, smartest, most thrillingly alive movie biopic to come along in ages. Let's start out with Susannah Grant's script. As she proved with Erin Brokovich, Grant knows how to move and involve audience without clubbing them over the head with a Big Ass Message (TM). She paces the story nicely, and isn't afraid to journey into pitch-black corners of Ayer's strange mind--the kind that often get glossed over in this type of movies. However, Grant also knows when enough is enough-just when there's no light to be found in this roller-coaster ride of a story, she tosses in a rococo gag involving coyote urine (you read that right) or a uses a coffee cup to produce a much-needed chuckle. It all works. The standard of excellence continues to the production staff as well. Director Joe Wright works in tandem with composer Dario Marinelli and lenser Seamus McGarvey to create a thousand different visual tricks-anything from theatrical spotlighting to thoroughly creepy, repetitive, Lynch-esque images of crying children-to get at what's going on inside the head of a schizophrenic. Not all of them work, but when they do-a la the Kubrick-esque light show that translates Ayer's connection with music into a kaleidoscope of color and emotion-they're nothing short of magic. And then there are the actors. With the exception of a dryly funny Catherine Keener as an overworked colleague of Downey's, the entire movie belongs to the two men. A pairing such as this comes along rarely-think Pacino and Deniro in Heat. Both actors are known for their commitment to reality over preachiness, and they don't disappoint here. Downey shows unflinchingly how Lopez's desire to help Ayers overcome his illness turns into helpless frustration as he realizes not everything can be cured. Foxx deftly sidesteps cliche, delivering his lines with a loose off-handness, mutter feverishly in a confessional almost-whisper, so that when the Big Stereotypical Cray-Cray True Story Movie Mental Breakdown does arrive, it's a harrowing, wholly unexpected explosion that seems to knock the world as we know it straight off its axis. The film offers not one easy answer in its entire 117 minute run-time. What it does offer is a great, ripped-from-the-headlines tale, tears that are eased out with honestly instead of being forcibly jerked, and two of our greatest male actors doing a high-wire act of a duet that pays moving dividends. They make beautiful music together. A-

I Make Movie Review-Duplicity

Those looking for proof that Julia Roberts is NOT another washed up forty-something doomed to romantic slop *COUGH MegRyan COUGH* need look no further than Duplicity, a consistently smart, occasionally frustrating drama that rests squarely on Ms. Pretty Woman's slender shoulders. Sure, she shares the screen with Clive Owen as Ray Koval, an ex-MI6 agent with whom she swaps beds and blueprints as they attempt to scam two competing CEO's (Tom Wilkinson, hamming it up, Paul Giamatti, hamming it up down and all-around). But although Owen is more than capable of keeping up, and the supporting cast earns five stars as well, this is Julia's show. Whether she's biting into Tony Gilroy's delicious dialogue or just letting her eyes say it all-a priceless, wordless confrontation with a floozy Ray banged to get information is some of Robert's best work ever-Roberts is back from her movie maternity leave, refreshed, a tad maturer, and ready to rumble. Even when the overcomplicated plot stoops into show-offy reveals or our heroes journey to one exotic locale too many (even if cinematographer Robert Elswit captures them beautifully), the Divine Miss R and her delightfully droll Brit sidekick are there to guide us to caper-movie paradise. Welcome back, Erin. Stay for good this time. B+

I Make Movie Review: "Sunshine Cleaning"

There's a film that comes out every late February or early March-I call it the crap-clearer. It's the one that, with a brave hand, boldly wipes from our faces the shit dropped down upon us by the soulless mechanical flocks of rom-coms and slash-em-ups. It's the film that lets us know, that, for this year at least, the worst is over.
Cue "Sunshine Cleaning".
In this tart, cannily constructed cream puff of a movie, Amy Adams and Emily Blunt play Rose and Norah, sisters who want to stop depending on Daddy (Alan Arkin) and strike out on their own-so what better way than to start a crime-scene cleanup business?
Sunshine. Alan Arkin. A fractured family.
Sound familiar, kiddies?
It is-a few surprises are too sparse to hide the fact that this production delves way too often and far too deeply into the paint-by-numbers cliches we've come to expect from just about everything labeled "low-budget indie comedy". But what sets this same-old same-old souffle apart is a spicier-than-usual key ingredient-the cast. Blunt and Adams are two of the most spectacular young talents around today, and they make a more convincing pair of movie siblings than anyone I can think of since Mia Farrow and co. bitched and bickered memorably in "Hannah and Her Sisters". No actress can win you over as fast and as decidedly as Adams, and even when the script fails to explain the motivation behind her every move (her affair with Steve Zahn's cop, for example), you can catch an umistakable glimpse of it in her eyes. Blunt's bitter shoe-gazer Norah gets (and commands) the spotlight in both the funniest (a bedtime story gone hysterically wrong) and most touching (a relevatory breakdown in the falling snow), and she holds your attention even when her character's dialogue leans toward the stereotypical. Even the bit players-Clifton Collins Jr. as a one-joke amputee, the always reliable Mary Lynn Rajskub as a straight-laced woman with whom Norah forms an unlikely, tragically fated friendship-trascend the tired tropes of the screenplay, evade the self-consciously "quirky" palette that confines the score, the photography, even the title fonts to a fey rip-off of so many lighter-than-air dramedies that have come before. Even as the final product sent chills of emotional emptiness up your spine, the extremely talented cast comes together and dodges the various potholes to provide the first honest movie laughs of 2009. So go see it. After all, in a season of downs, a film in which even a part of the whole is so well developed deserves a look. B

I MAKE MOVIE REVIEW-The Reader

The answer for you other moviephiles is hell to the no. This little-movie-that-could about a 15-year old drawn into a passionate affair with a Nazi did NOT deserve to snatch Batman's Best Picture slot. What The Reader does deserve attention, discussion, and (the Paul Blart: Mall Cop throng won't like this) lots and lots of incisive interpretation-in short, overall intellectual engagement from start to finish. Here is a movie that challenges you, fascinates you, yanks you in-even if it never does draw an emotional response. Despite being billed as the Kate Winslet Show (more on that later), more credit should be given to Stephen Daldry's tender guiding hand, the pairing of Roger Deakins and Chris Menges poetic eyes, and Nico Mulhy's mesmeric score. Not to mention the other actors-not a weak one among them. David Kross (I have a small man-crush on the guy due to his orgasmic talent) knocks the role of the 15-year-old out of the park, and Lena Olin brings her unique brand of ocean-deep complexity to the small but crucial part of a concentration camp survivor. Now back to Winslet. "Amazing" does not suffice. No adjective in the English language exists to describes the intensity of her commitment to the character of Hanna Schmitz, tempress, trolley conductor, and Nazi. She imbues her simple opening entrance-a walk up a flight of stairs-with more detail and feeling then many actors can put into a Big Movie Speech. It's not a show-offy performance, but it is a warts-and-all possession that more than justifies the Oscar buzz In fact, I'd actually somewhat maybe sort of almost be okay with her winning over my favorite performance of the year, Anne Hathaway's turn in Rachel Getting Married. You see the potential for greatness here? Well, here comes the let down. Daldry knows how to direct this actor and capture that scene with plenty of oomph and finesse to spare, but frustratingly, he lets this delicate story fall into the worst trap of tragedy-you spend every minute of the movie feeling sorry for every character, with each person treated like a martyr or a helpless victim. One thing you never want to feel in a drama is a sense that all is lost from the beginning, Since you're knee-deep in the Pity Pool from frame one, the movie has no place to go. Part of this is due to screenplay error. Part of it seems to be due to the film's editing (scenes later in the film, with Ralph Fiennes as the all-growed-up boy, are cumbersome, unfocused, and abruptly placed.) It's not as boring as the Craptacular Case of Benjamin Button, nor nearly as disappointing as Doubt. It's got superb production value, a smart balance of tough questions and intriguing answer, and a risky, commendable turn from one of our greatest performers. It's certainly ahead of the normal Hollywood pack. What separates it from most of it's fellow awards-season contestants, though, what earns it the adjective "better" but not "best" (i.e. "Best Picture"), is not what it has but what it lacks-because, to paraphrase a song from an old, demonically cheerful musical, "you gotta have heart."-B+

I MAKE MOVIE REVIEW-The Wrestler

Forget the shocking comeback story of Mickey Rourke-the real shocker is that the unthinkable physical and, for that matter, emotional requirements of this role didn't kill him. Rourke plays Randy "The Ram", a washed-up ex-wrestler who blasts Guns N' Roses, gets off on lap dances and steroids, and saves his own memorabilia to show off at low-budget "legend signings". With his in-the-ring career cut short by heart trouble, Randy must try to piece together the life he destroyed in his pre-fame years, taking odd jobs at deli counters, reconnecting with his estranged daughter (Evan Rachel Wood, fearless as always), and attempting to settle down with a stripper (Marisa Tomei, who, despite not looking the part, acts the hell out of it). Add Randy's freakish addiction to pain and his sharply mounting insecurities, and you've got one of the most complex roles created in recent memory. Better yet, Rourke nails it. His own beaten-down face, with creases so deep they look like proverbial tire tracks, fits Randy's personality perfectly, as does his quavery voice. It's not an in your face performance-like the movie, it's a slow-burner, building and building until it all explodes in a shattering meltdown. As the camera locks onto him like a hunter chasing it's prey, Rourke explodes, literally bleeding his heart out as we watch with horror and nailing every little nuance. This scene alone is enough to secure "The Wrestler" a spot in movie immortality. The thing is, there are plenty more great scenes-the one where Rourke plays video games with a tween resident of his trailer park, the hilarious back-and-forth chat with his deli manager, and, of course, the final scene, where the sport in all its tragic beauty calls Rourke, and he makes a choice that is both insanely suicidal and selflessly redemptive-a choice that, like the rest of the movie, is writ clear as day on the face of one of our greatest actors. Sure, we see a little more of Randy's tough life than we need to (his drug habits are shown in needlessly long takes that are nearly impossible to stomach), and occasionally there are some flubs in logic, but when a movie is this blatantly ambitious, when a film wears it's flawed heart on it's bloodsoaked sleeve, I think it's worth a watch-maybe even worth some Oscar-season honors. A-

Perspektiven (its German)...and more

More word vomit (I swear, sometimes I think movies like "Mean Girls" aren't scripts but simply treasure trove of snarky but snazzy quotes...).
1) I just had another sensation that can only be called a Guettel-gasm. Yupp, Adam Guettel. The song was "Love to Me"-in it, an Italian boy tries to explain his puppy love for an American woman, doing what he can to break the language barrier. What makes it so ravishing is the way Guettel strips down love to the simplest, and therefore most expressive form. No grand gestures or preppy metaphors hear. "The way you lean against the wind/and do not know that you are beautiful-"-don't you get a picture in your head? Between this and the guitars (they seem to be urging the kid on, keeping the tempo to the beat of his innocent heart), you don't just hear pretty music-this guy is genuinely trying to express to his love just how inexpressively amazing she is. By the time the song ended, I felt like I had found a bottle of all the human warmth in the world (an emotional milkshake, if you will), and swallowed it whole, enamored by the rush of feeling and wanting more. And the best part is this feeling isn't even illegal. ITUNES IT.
2) "Do the Helen Keller and talk with your hips"....sad excuse for modern music. "If I Were A Boy"....okay, even I can't hate on it. Damn good video too! Beyonce is a Doris Day, a do-it-all great for the Obama age.
3) I had a random thought: People often talk about how nothing that happens in your youth is THAT important. That teen relationships aren't important. We draw a line in the sand and say "after college you're permitted to find true love, true happiness, the IMPORTANT stuff." Bullshit. I had...in bed last night...(bwahaha)...an epiphany. (Not the Sweeney Todd song, or, of course, the Catholic Holy Day.) A realization. Part of the reason we all do stupid crap during our teenage years is we're always being told that they aren't THAT important and that "its okay, you'll make new friends, nothing lasts from those days anyway." Well if nothing's important, why not make as many mistakes and screwups as you ca? No. Cause if you start to write off so much as a single second of your life off as unimportant, then everything else becomes unimportant. College is the unimportant bridge to work. Work is the unimportant drudgery separating you from home. Home is the unimportant place where you sleep and raise kids, which feels unimportant cause they are off at school or you at work. SEE?! If you start to regard one part of your life as insignificant, then you give yourself permission to write off EVERYTHING! And then, Sonny, you done sucked the purpose out of your existence. And then, YOU become unimportant. Which no one is. I'm sure there are plenty of holes in this philosophy, but I'm just rambling. I'm just saying, even in the toughest situations, find the importance. Not the good, their isn't always good. But find the importance. That's my goal for '09 (is it really almost the end of a decade?). Find the importance in everything I do, everything that's done to me. Probably some epic failures along the way, but hey, they're important too-they make the successes look pretty.
(what
the
hell
am i
talking
about?)
4) I'm gonna ramp up the amount I write. Mainly because after you see a Holocaust film or one where the hero dies young *COUGH (SPOILER SPOILER) MILK COUGH (END SPOILER END SPOILER)*, you realize that what you ultimately leave behind are words. And if you happen to be my grandmother, a LOT of recipes for the exact same stew. God love the woman.

Random ramblings

The title says it all. But I've organized my intellectual vomit, as it were.
1) I've started writing music. Lyrics, rather. The music can't make it out of my head because i haven't a shred of music theory in my dense little brain. I wish I did! Consider this a "wanted ad". If anyone (or any two or three or twelve) wants to help me figure out some melodies and such, then you and I shall become the inseparable saviors of Melodopolis (da da da!).
2) On a broader note what's REALLY frustrating me is how awful I am at expressing myself. I have all these grandiose ideas and values and blah blah blah, but when I try to put them into action everything goes kaput. In a way I'm letting myself down. And what I could be. I'll work on it.
3) I HAVE NO LIFE, I UPDATE THIS WAY TOO MUCH!
4) I'm somewhat in love with Adam Guettel...in a non-sexual, very harmonious manner. He's THE future of musical theatre. Sure Jason Robert Brown and Lin Manuel-Miranda are unreal, but Guettel is NEW. With every chord, every soaring melody, every resounding counterpoint, the guy treads fresh soil. Must theatre songs "build". Guettel's music climbs, ascends, leaps. Heavy on strings but light as a feather, a Guettel piece isn't a big, dramatic explosion-it's a series of subtle, precise changes and shifts that move, stop, grow, fight, and give in, just like life itself. Listen to "The Light in the Piazza" and "Hero and Leander". Every note is coated with gold. I hear this guy may be doing a "Princess Bride" musical-how gasmic would that be?! Like a multi-generational "Into The Woods." Maybe even better.
5) On a Bruce Springsteen jag ever since I found 24 hr E Street Band station on my XM. What a writer! What a singer!

I MAKE ONE MORE BLOODY MOVIE REVIEW-Frost/Nixon and Revolutionary Road

FROST/NIXON-
Wa wa wee wa. This wasn't supposed to be one of the best movies of the year. Buttt it is. Set in the 70's, it's the story of the interviews TV host David Frost (underrated Michael Sheen) conducted with resigned ex-President Richard Nixon (Frank Langella). What began as a series of puffball chat shows became the trial the hastily-pardoned Nixon never had. If you're an actor, see it solely for Langella's performance, which will enter cinematic immortality. The classic scene where Nixon drunk-dials Frost to intimidate him shows shadings of his lonely soul and stinging self-revulsion-one of the most complex and richly acted moments in movie history. Sam Rockwell, Oliver Platt, and Matthew MacFayden all give great performances as Frost's assistants. But Kevin Bacon (yes, Ren McCormick gets all up in dat political bizness o.0) is the one who should get some Oscar love as Jack Brennan, Nixon's assistant. Bacon makes us see the twisted motivation Brennan had in aiding a man viewed by many as a modern monster-to him, Nixon back in office would mean the rebirth of a conservative crackdown era in which he would have both status and place. Ron Howardd directs with palm-sweating intensity and a keen eye for human drama. The score and production values astound. All-in-all, it's a credit to the film's brilliance that you both love and loathe EVERY single character at different points in the film. This may be the best adaptation of a Broadway play in movie history. A.
REVOLUTIONARY ROAD-
Get a deep cut, sprinkle it with salt, dive headfirst into pie grinder. That's the kind of pain you can expect to feel in Revolutionary Road. The Wheelers (Leo and Kate reunited!) are married couple who hate each other with the relish you can only get at the movies. Frank has given up on his dream, content and happy with kids and a high-paying job. His wife April silently hates him for it. April won't give up her dreams of acting and traveling, and is always looking for a way out. Frank silently hates her for it. Throw in a dinner with a neighbor's lunatic son (Michael Shannon) who can see these truths, and the hates start to voice themselves. That's all the plot there is. What director Sam Mendes smartly does is make you side with a character very early on (I personally sided with Frank), so that when they are hurt it's all the more devastating. Whatever side you took, you picked a losing one-the film ends in an orgy of bloodshed, law-breaking, and bitter self-destruction that both characters end up crushingly unhappy. Oh, and then there is the lunatic son played to creepy perfection by Shannon. "Thank God I'm not your kids. You know, the ones you don't love?", he spouts out of the side of his mouth, drooling and cackling like a 1950's-model Joker. It's scary as hell. So ultimately...the acting is good....production is good....very well-done movie...sharp script that will weigh in your mind after you see it...but the whole thing is so depressing, nihilistic, and bluntly hateful towards its audience, I haven't a clue why anyone would WANT to see it. NO GRADE for this one. It's a well-made movie that's excruciating to watch. I can't say whether or not it's worth your time, because I haven't a clue.

I MAKE MOVIE REVIEWS-MARLEY AND ME AND GRAN TORINO

MARLEY AND ME
Let us begin with this. Marley and Me has no earthly right to be half as good as it is. Even half of that half, considering my burning, acid-deep hatred for dog movies. I'm a dog person, but watching a bunch of glaze-eyed Hollywood Barbie and Ken dolls trying to out-cutesy the puppy just always turned me off. But this one (*GASP*) is about more than a puppy. It's about modern life, how to survive it and even have a little fun along the way. If you've ever seen a dog movie, you know the story. And you know what's gonna happen to Fluffy at the end. What makes this one different is that thanks to Owen Wilson and Jennifer Anniston, giving shockingly vanity-free performances, is you don't just care about the dog because he's got big warm-chocolate-chunk eyes and a heart of gold and incandescent poop and a glowing, puppy-chow strewn soul. You care about Marley because he's a part of this family, a sibling or a child, and you do care, very much, about the very real lives of this family. Speaking of reality, as the owner of a beautiful, mess-making dog myself, I can say this is the most truthful movie about human-dog relationships EVER MADE. If you're a dog-lover, you'll agree. And like me, you'll bawl openly and freely at the end. David Frankel ("Devil Wears Prada") is making a habit of taking movies that should suck and making them...well...not. Score two for Mr. Frankel. (I can't believe I'm saying this butttt)-A-.
GRAN TORINO
"Get off my laaaaawwwwwwn", Clint Eastwood growls. He sounds tired, shaky, scratchy, old as a broken record-and unequivocally bad-ass. If your reaction to that last statement was "cooooooool", Gran Torino is for you. If you expect "Million Dollar Baby II", then you're in for a royal screwing. The sooner you embrace this as a campy classic, the more fun you'll have at this moviefilm. Eastwood plays a horribly racist Korean War vet who gets caught up in a blood war between his new immigrant neighbors and a brutal local gang (all of whom hang out on their porches and sulk...and sulk. Again, campy.) The movie knows it's gonna get some laughs, and it doesn't shy away from them, making it a highly enjoyable experience. However, towards the end, when things do get serious, the film packs a real wallop in a brilliantly played scene that Eastwood takes on, both in front of and behind the camera, with an eye for irony, beauty, tragedy, and so much more. It's destined to be a cult classic, and it's the rare "bad-ass" movie that draws genuine emotion from you. An anomaly and somewhat of a miracle. A-