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+