The Earrings of Madame de... (1953, Max Ophuls)

Look in the dictionary next to "elegance" and "sophistication" and it'll say "see The Earrings of Madame De...". But if this was all about making a movie look pretty and moving the camera like a champ, this wouldn't be a classic. What sets it apart is that it successfully overcomes the biggest trap for films about the privileged classes- the thing most of these movies get wrong but what nearly all the best ones (Barry Lyndon aside) get very right. Its characters transcend their social class and are engaging and sympathetic, and Ophüls makes us forget that they were all born with loads of money and are passing around earrings that are probably worth more than most people's cars. And that's no mean feat. People never tire of quoting Rules of the Game in reviews when they say, "everybody has his reasons," but they almost never quote the whole line, which begins, "the great tragedy of life is this." By the time Madame de..., approaching death, staggers up the hill to the place where her husband and lover are dueling, this idea is unmistakable in Ophüls' film as well. Rating: ***1/2 out of ****.

Les Enfants Terribles (1950, Jean-Pierre Melville)

I wasn't sure what to expect from a Melville/Cocteau collaboration, but their styles fit together surprisingly well. It's not as fanciful as one of Cocteau's own directorial efforts- compare the snowball fight here with the one in Blood of a Poet- but Melville is able to stylize this in his own way. The biggest kinship I see between the two filmmakers is that their best works deal with death, although they diverge there, and instead of the blurred line between the living and dead common to Cocteau's work, Melville imbues the story with a sense of gloom, like a fog that settles in over the action. Watching it, I never quite felt like I was watching events play out- rather that they'd been filtered through the prism of memory. But whose? Cocteau's, I dare say. I can definitely see the debt The Dreamers owes to this film, and Dreamers writer Gilbert Adair freely admits it, to his credit. Rating: ***1/2 out of ****.

The Bourne Ultimatum (2007, Paul Greengrass)

The most exciting Bourne adventure yet, all the more surprising from being crafted seemingly from thin air. Bourne may be impeccably played by Matt Damon, but he's still defined largely by his momentum, not unlike Walker in Point Blank. His motivation never changes- he wants to find out who he was before he lost his memory, and will barrel through anyone who tries to stop him. While this has been called a "thinking man's action movie," that has less to do with any substance than with the chilly, Jean-Pierre Melville-esque tone that's maintained throughout. Truth be told, the Bourne movies have always been more setpiece-dominated than most action movies, and this has three of the series' best- the Waterloo Station sequence, the three-way pursuit in Tangier, and the New York switcheroo followed by a car chase that's simultaneously ridiculous and grounded in real-world physics. And even more than the other Bourne films, this is wonderfully cast- even Julia Stiles seems more at ease now that she's more than a surveillance functionary behind a desk. Sure, it's all motion, but when you're watching you'll be too wrung out to complain. Rating: 7 out of 10.

Talk to Me (2007, Kasi Lemmons)

Solid entertainment, and occasionally more than that. Don Cheadle's performance as Petey Greene has been getting most of the press, and it's nice to see him really dig into a showy lead role- he sells the funny stuff but also the more serious moments, especially when Petey takes to the airwaves on the night of Dr. King's murder. But Chiwetel Ejiofor is just as good, taking an upright Sidney Poitier type and showing both the careerist hunger that drives him and the difficulties he has as a minority in a white-driven world. Dewey may be an exec at a station catering to an urban audience, but aside from the on-air talent and the receptionist he's the only black face in the office, which obviously weighs on him. I appreciated that the film doesn't shy away from the racial issues at play, not only in Dewey's life, but in his relationship with Petey as well, which play out nicely in an early game of pool and take off from there. Ultimately, despite the historical backdrop, the film works primarily as a story of their friendship, which causes both of them to grow. This is why I think the film's final half-hour is necessary- rather than finishing up at the high point of Petey's professional career, Lemmons shows us how their rather unlikely friendship plays out over the years. Rating: 7 out of 10.

Red Desert (1964, Michelangelo Antonioni)

Visually, as gorgeous as anything Antonioni has ever done, but as wonderful as the images are, they're never comforting or reassuring. As with L'Avventura and later Blow-Up, Antonioni places his protagonist in a situation from which she'll never emerge, but unlike those films she's already there when the film begins. Having sustained minor injuries in what was by all accounts a small car crash, Giulietta (Monica Vitti) has become deeply wounded psychologically. Those around her can't relate to her troubles, and the only one who tries is her husband's friend Zeller (Richard Harris). But despite his attempts to get to the bottom of her condition, nothing changes. It's a deeply existential problem from which she suffers, and one can't help but wonder if she's been predisposed to her mental illness all her life and the accident merely set it off. But Antonioni isn't about analysis, nor does he even try to answer the question, and good on him for that. As expected, there are a handful of magnificent setpieces, like the extended party/aborted group sex experiment at a boathouse, as well as a strange fairly tale Giulietta tells her ailing son during his temporary paralysis (when he recovers, it's almost as though he's mocking his mother's lingering malaise). The film lacks the kind of bravura ending usually associated with Antonioni's work, but the film was so deeply rewarding that I didn't really miss it. Two more thoughts: (1) I need to see this on a big screen, like, yesterday, and (2) maybe it's just me, and I know this is kind of heretical, but Monica Vitti was actually foxier with dark hair. Rating: ***1/2 out of ****.

Bamako (2006, Abderramane Sissako)

My reaction as the credits rolled: "if the trial scenes weren't real, they should have been; if the non-trial scenes were't fake, they could have been." In many ways, Bamako is a unique achievement- an unapologetically political statement about the World Bank and the pragmatic side of international humanitarianism in which the African people, usually presented only as smiling children or miserable adults in charity ads, have a say about their plight. It's talky as hell, but all the better for it, and the trial scenes are so fascinating that they give didacticism- a word often connoted as negative- a good name. I could've watched 90 minutes of these scenes, frankly. The scenes not devoted to debate are more uneven, sadly- Sissako too often resorts to uninspired setup-and-payoff, most egregiously in the subplot involving some business over a gun. Some of this seeps into the trial as well, when the man not permitted to speak in the early scene finally leaps up during the final arguments and pours out his heart in song (I was kind of troubled by the lack of subtitles here- if it was the filmmakers' idea, it strikes me as a clumsy way to portray a pure, un-Westernized bit of African culture; if it was the subtitlers' doing, what gives?). Fortunately, the good stuff far outpaces the dodgy stuff, and Bamako proves far superior to Sissako's last film, the inexplicably-lauded snoozer Waiting for Happiness. Also, while I'm not as high on Bamako as this guy is, I'm with him on what the final shot should have been. Don't you hate it when directors have a perfect finish in their grasp but can't manage to stop there? Rating: 7 out of 10.

Broken Trail (2006, Walter Hill)

There seems to be a strain of hybrid Western, existing between the old-guard oaters of John Wayne and the bleaker, more self-aware reinventions that sprung up starting in the late sixties. Like its spiritual brother Open Range- and to a lesser extent the films of Sam Peckinpah- Broken Trail contains some blood and brutality, but it nonetheless has a moral code to it (loyalty, caring for women and the helpless, etc.), and its tone isn't so much despair as elegy. A lot of the charm comes from the leisurely pacing- the baddie don't even show up until an hour in, giving us time to immerse ourselves in the lives of the heroes and to enjoy their relationship before the plot comes a-callin'. Mostly Broken Trail is just a rock-solid Western, with an entertaining old-lion performance from Robert Duvall- also in Open Range- and a surprisingly effective taciturn one from Thomas Haden Church. Broken Trail touches on some unsavory ideas about the old West- our government's eradication of Native Americans, the selling of young Chinese girls into sex slavery, and so on- but the film treads lightly, with Hill satisfied to simply make a good cowboy yarn. And it's a damn good one, truth be told, which is too rare a breed nowadays, no matter what strain of cowboy movie you're talking about. Rating: 8 out of 10.

Superbad (2007, Greg Mottola)

Consider this rating highly tentative, as it's hard to this independently of the obviously-awesome experience of seeing it in a full auditorium. But yeah, it's damn funny stuff. Strangely enough, compared to most of the best recent comedies, this goes fairly light on the real-life themes, although a few times when they pop up, they overwhelm the plot by being used in fairly unimaginative ways (like the temporary falling-out between Evan and Seth, to be followed by the inevitable reconciliation). There's also a strange but not unwelcome tension between the authentic nature of the heroes' friendship and the sumo-wrestler's-ass-broad scenes involving the local police. But while the tension makes the film interesting, it's the slapsticky, repetitive feel of the cop scenes that keep Superbad from really attaining classic status. Don't get me wrong, the movie is funny as hell, but only sporadically does it show real comic inspiration, although when it does, buckle up (I especially loved the bit involving a stain on Seth's trousers). Jonah Hill (as Seth) and Christopher Mintz-Plasse (as Fogell aka McLovin) are awesome and will almost certainly become fan favorites, but I think Michael Cera should be singled out for recognition. While his costars play to the rafters, Cera grounds the film firmly in reality, reacting in a wholly believable- and hilarious- manner to the chaos that mounts around him. Plus his timing is spooky and- at age 19!- he's already a master of the throwaway line, as when he randomly references a lesson in health-class while in mid-seduction. I was also pleasantly surprised by the strangely bittersweet tone of the final scene, which true to form the movie follows with a bunch of drawings of cocks. Rating: 7 out of 10.

A Nightmare on Elm Street 3: Dream Warriors (1987, Chuck Russell)

It's refreshing to look at an early entry in this deathless series again, from back when they were still trying to make them interesting, rather than just a series of clever, convoluted kills. Part of it is that there's just enough Freddy to make this a Nightmare movie- in the small doses we see him in here, he's still a frightening boogeyman, rather than the quippy parody of same that he would become later on. I also enjoyed the effort they put into advancing the mythology of the Nightmare universe- the characters still relate somewhat to the events that started it all, and in an interesting twist, one is even able to call others into her nightmare to fend off Freddy. Watching this, I figured out what bugs me about Patricia Arquette nowadays- it's that marble-mouthed girlishness, which doesn't really wash when you're 40 years old but actually suits this role pretty well. Rating: **1/2 out of ****.

The Man With Two Brains (1983, Carl Reiner)

As the Bible might have said, it's easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a movie this silly to actually be good, but somehow this one manages it. Really, either it works for you or it doesn't- like the fellow said, these are the jokes, people. But if it's your thing, The Man With Two Brains is pretty sublime in its ridiculousness. The closest recent equivalent I can think of is something like Anchorman, in which the story is a clothesline for the silliness, and the whole cast is completely game. Compare Steve Martin here to contemporary comics like Adam Sandler or Dane Cook- whereas those guys seem just as concerned with looking cool and acting likable as they do with making you laugh, Martin was 100% committed to the silliness, and wasn't shy about making himself look like an ass if it would get laughs. Martin's innate likability helped- it's the disconnect between his whitebread charm and the goofiness of his early characters that made them so funny. But most of all, The Man With Two Brains survives on its jokes, mini-masterpieces of silliness. From the time Martin recited "In Dillman's Grove" (written by John Lillison, England's Greatest One-Armed Poet) to the bedridden Kathleen Turner- so soon after Body Heat, no less!- I was hooked. I just feel sorry for those kids out there who don't recognize the true identity of the Elevator Killer, since this deprives them of perhaps the film's biggest laugh. But if the face of Merv Griffin hasn't quite permeated the consciousness of the younger generation, they can always enjoy "Pointy birds, oh pointy-pointy / anoint my head, anointy-nointy..." Rating: ***1/2 out of ****.

Lady Chatterley (2006, Pascale Ferran)

What I enjoyed most about Lady Chatterley was its focus on the physicality of sex, something that is often sketched over by most "erotic" films, with their sex positions which are dictated more by their effect on the audience than their relation to the characters involved. In addition, the lack of physicality in most American films seems to be a way of turning attention to the emotional and psychological states of the characters in those films, perhaps due to the guilt and shame that has been handed down from our forefathers. But enough of this tangent- Lady Chatterley is pretty potent stuff, beginning with the strange tension between Britishness of the original story and the Frenchness of the production. In addition, I appreciated the sensuality that went hand in hand with the Lady's sexual awakening- as in other female-directed sex-themed films like The Piano and Friday Night, Lady Chatterley makes one acutely aware of the sensory possibilities of the film's setting, be they a field covered in daffodils, or the layer of sweat that covers the heroine after a day planting in the garden. Most Chatterley adaptations before this concentrated mostly on the erotic aspects of the story, but much of the added running time of this one is devoted to painting the mundane, repetitive life of the Lady, who as a result of her position has almost nothing to do with her days, which makes her ripe for an awakening, both sexually and to the possibilities of life in general. There are a few things that don't quite work, in particular the simplistic dichotomy between Parkin, the personification of the physical, and Lady Chatterley's husband, all upper-class haughtiness in his wheelchair (although the scene of the motorized chair struggling up the hill is a vivid portrait of impotence). However, it's a major work, and certainly one of the best sex-themed films to come along in years, and good on Ferran for not casting the lead roles with toned, contemporary-looking hotties- Marina Hands has a tantalizing bit of tummy, and Jean-Louis Cullo'ch looks like a burly outdoorsman, and since that's who he's playing it works. Also, this is the rare erotic film that doesn't front-load its nudity, which was nice. Rating: 8 out of 10.

Regular Lovers (2005, Philippe Garrel)

In a way, this movie is almost all third act, with most of the film comprised with the fallout of May '68. The funny thing about revolutions- people can only sustain their revolutionary impulses for so long before their more basic concerns can no longer be ignored. In other words, changing the world is good and noble until the food and money run out. So it goes in Regular Lovers, and the tragedy of Francois (Philippe Garrel) is that he lives for his ideals long after everyone has moved on. The revolution is over, the survivors are hooked on drugs or in debt or working for a living, anyone who looks suspicious is subject to random frisking by cops, and the pure artist of the bunch dies without publishing a word. Also, William Lubtchansky's black and white cinematography is pretty breathtaking in my opinion, and man it's been ages since I listened to the Kinks. Will rectify this situation momentarily. Rating: 7 out of 10.

In the Shadow of the Moon (2006, David Sington)

This is a solid crowd-pleasing documentary that should do good business with arthouse audiences and maybe get an Oscar attention. But while the copious NASA footage is impressive, this is the rare documentary where the talking heads (all former Apollo astronauts) are actually the highlight. What comes through even now in the interviews is Tom Wolfe's idea of "the right stuff"- that these men were intelligent, engaging, and above all fearless. The Apollo program captured the hearts of the nation in large part because it presented them with real heroes at a time when they needed them. And while I'm skeptical of people being anointed as heroes willy-nilly, these guys really deserved it. Rating: 6 out of 10.

Janus Films Retrospective

Vengeance Is Mine (1979, Shohei Imamura)- What makes this work is the way it so resolutely resists psychoanalysis. A lesser film would fixate on Iwao's shame at his father for being the wellspring of his insanity, but here it's at most the incident that sets him off. Many people experience disillusionment when they're young, but they don't all go on murderous rampages- clearly there was something amiss with Iwao, and a simple Freudian reading of the story seems woefully inadequate. But I also was taken with the way the film portrays all of its principal characters as highly flawed- Iwao's father and wife have a quasi-incestuous fixation with each other, Iwao's inkeeper mistress is basically kept woman to her landlord, and so on. Perhaps what separates Iwao from the rest isn't simply his acts, but that he doesn't feel guilty about them? Rating: ***1/2 out of ****.

WR: Mysteries of the Orga[ni]sm (1971, Dusan Makavejev)- In many ways, this feels like a "you had to be there" sort of experience- distant as we've grown from the world of the Iron Curtain and Vietnam, there's something vaguely alien about a movie that takes on both of these targets, and more besides, but doesn't so much take them down as tickle them for 80-odd minutes. One gets the impression that Makavejev put just enough controversial stuff in his movies to get the censors steamed, without actually compelling them to cut him down, which is no small feat considering the environment he was working in. Plus it's really goddamn funny, which shouldn't be ignored. But even more than with most movies, your mileage may vary. Rating: ***1/2 out of ****.

Cria Cuervos... (1976, Carlos Saura) This is one of the most bracingly unsentimental portraits of a young girl dealing with the presence of death in her life I've ever seen. Little Ana has been present for the deaths of her mother and father, but she doesn't know how to process it in a mature way, and as such the concept of death becomes almost trivial to her (for example, how casual she is about trying to poison those she dislikes). I also liked the ambiguousness of the scene with her father's handgun. I doubt she actually intends to use it, and I'm not even sure she knows it's loaded, but what would an 8-year-old want with a gun? To be honest though, I don't think this would have been nearly so effective if not for the perfect pairing of Ana Torrent and Geraldine Chaplin- there's one scene in particular in which Torrent is photographed from below and her facial structure matches Chaplin's so well that it's almost eerie. Also, there's a guinea pig, which was fun, although I have to admit that mine are cuter. Rating: ***1/2 out of ****.

Death of a Cyclist (1955, Juan Antonio Bardem)- Alternately compelling and hamfisted exploration of upper-class morality in Franco's Spain works better now as a cultural artifact than as straight drama. Unfortunately, Bardem's use of a reluctant member of the ruling class strikes me as misguided, since he's too obviously meant to be a surrogate for the director's own feelings about social stratification in his native land. Technical issues aside (it appears than Spanish dramas of the period were roughly equivalent to mid-30s Hollywood from a tech standpoint) the film would have been helped most with a greater emphasis on its female protagonist over the more wishy-washy male lead, not least because of Lucia Bosé, who had screen presence to burn. Rating: **1/2 out of ****.

Autumn Sonata (1978, Ingmar Bergman) This, folks, is what you might call "minor Bergman"- not a disaster like The Serpent's Egg, but more of a regurgitation of pet Bergman themes and tropes than a fully-realized vision. The film works mostly because of the onscreen pairing of Liv Ullmann and Ingrid Bergman as daughter and mother, and the clash of styles that results. Ingrid always feels a little out of place in Ingmar's world, which creates an interesting tension that might not have resulted had the director cast one of his regulars in the role. Ingrid feels too composed for Bergman-land, but that's the point- she's so unwilling to feel the world around her, so prone to keeping them at a distance with lots of talk and easy laughter, that she's become alienated from everyone, especially those who love her most. If the long and impassioned two-hander that dominates the film's second hour works at all, it's because of her and Ullmann. Rating: **1/2 out of ****.

Cléo From 5 to 7 (1962, Agnès Varda)- I love how much Cléo grows during the course of this film. At the beginning, she seems to fear death mostly because it'll wreak havoc on her looks and her youth, but she has very little stake in anything else. But it's as though when she whips off that wig and storms out of her flat alone, she willfully pursues her own betterment. Could make an interesting double feature with INSIGNIFICANCE, another movie about a famous blonde who refuses to play the vapid sex object so many others would have her be. Rating: ***1/2.

The Cranes Are Flying (1957, Mikhail Kalatozov)- Still gorgeous. It's actually more emotionally overwhelming on the big screen, and not just because of Kalatozov and ace cinematographer Sergei Urusevsky's use of closeups. Amid all the bravura direction, the emotional timbre of this feels almost like Jacques Demy, trading in the same kind of sad irony as a film like THE UMBRELLAS OF CHERBOURG. Rating: ***1/2.

Summer With Monika (1953, Ingmar Bergman)- First time seeing the original cut [as compared to the STORY OF A BAD GIRL cut]. While I admit that this one works better, I still have my reservations about it. From a storytelling standpoint, the deck feels a little too stacked to me. Aside from his drunk and largely-absent dad, practically every adult in Harry's life at the beginning of the film is an asshole, and so when Monika comes along the choice to steal away with her is remarkably easy. And then after she gets pregnant and has the kid, her character turns on a dime into a bitch (I almost said irresponsible as well, but she was always that). As a result, the film comes off as baldly moralistic- if you turn your back on responsibilty to spend your youth frivolously, you'll end up paying for it the rest of your life. What mostly makes the film work in spite of the message is the magical middle section, in which Harry and Monika enjoy their titular summer together. In keeping with the film's message, Bergman's style in this segment of the film is strictly in-the-moment, as heedless of what is to come as his protagonists. Once the fun stops, it gets more boilerplate, although two extended closeups- one of Monika, one of Harry- are justifiably acclaimed. Rating: ***.

Lola (1981, Rainer Werner Fassbinder)- Sweet Jesus is this movie gorgeous. For my money, Fassbinder's talent as a visual stylist doesn't get nearly enough press- most of the stuff I see about his work tends to focus on his pet themes (sexual power dymanics, recent German history, etc.) and how the film relates to Fassbinder's own life. But any filmmaker who does work that's even remotely "personal"- even visually-impaired dudes like Kevin Smith who might as well be directing for radio- has his own bunch of pet themes and obsessions. But Fassbinder is visually gifted, and versatile to boot, which may have been why his talent as a stylist are overlooked (stylistically speaking, The Merchant of the Four Seasons is not Effi Briest, which in turn is not The Marriage of Maria Braun). Of the Fassbinders I've seen, Lola has to be the most visually ravishing. Fassbinder's use of color and lighting is stunning, especially in scenes where he washes different actors in different hues, even within the same shot. It's also sort of amazing how quickly he was able to get his cast, many of whom were Fassbinder newcomers, on his wavelength so quickly, a testament not only to the strength of his material but also to his sure-handed direction. I'm so glad I saw this for the first time on the big screen, since the directorial niceties wouldn't have hit me nearly as hard on DVD. Rating: ***1/2.

The Flowers of St. Francis (1950, Roberto Rossellini)- I'm woefully underversed in Rossellini, since Italian New Wave has never been my favorite period in film history. Like many Italian works of the period, I respected this but didn't quite manage to love it, although admittedly if I was one of the faithful I might feel differently about it. I'm just waiting for some Final Cut Pro-savvy movie nerd to post The Wacky Adventures of Brother Ginepro on YouTube. Rating: ***.

The Boss of It All (2006, Lars Von Trier)

In a way, this feels of a piece with Von Trier's more polemic works, particularly the way it holds the greedy capitalists up to scorn. This time around, Von Trier goes about this by making the big-business character a coward who would rather be loved by his coworkers than fess up to the unpopular decisions he makes, and eventually the character he exploits- an actor he hires to play the feared "boss of it all"- ends up taking him down by giving him a big, bitter spoonful of his own medicine. But this is also a film about ceding control, not only by the characters in the film, but also by Von Trier himself, who famously used a computer program called Automovision, designed to control camera framing, editing, and sound mixing randomly. Surprisingly, it's not as distracting as I'd feared, especially not the visual style, which merely feels skewed and sort of quirky (the non-matching soundtracks did get jarring at times). Mostly though, it's just funny, and if you'd told me a year or so ago that the biggest impression I'd take from an upcoming Von Trier film was that it was funny, I would have looked at you funny. But there you go. Rating: 7 out of 10.

My Best Friend (2006, Patrice Leconte)

Fascinating and exasperating in equal measure, Leconte's latest film is a step toward lighter fare that left me conflicted. Many of my negative feelings toward the film comes from the dum-dum premise, in which a friendless man is bet by his business partner that he can't produce a best friend within 10 days. The film's first reel or so is easily the least interesting part, as associates of Daniel Auteuil's character, with next to no provocation, come right out and tell him that he doesn't have any friends. Now come on dudes- I don't think there are any adults, particularly not in the cultivated circles Francois runs in, who come right out and tell someone this. They'd be more likely to simply humor him until he does something abominable, at which time someone would blurt it out and everyone else would find themselves inclined to agree. Fortunately, the film gets better, due in large part to the performances of Auteuil and Dany Boon, who plays a cab driver Auteuil enlists to teach him about friendship. The two actors have an easy chemistry, and their scenes together are charming, up until a boorish miscalculation on Auteuil's part alienates his new pal and they have a sudden falling-out, in a scene that feels forced and silly. However, the film rebounds in the final act, involving Boon's last-minute booking on Who Wants to Be a Millionare?, works like gangbusters, with Leconte milking real suspense partly by exploiting the manufactured suspense of the game show, and partly by the turn of events. My Best Friend is inconsistent and occasionally exasperating, but I'll certainly take it over the somnambulent Intimate Strangers. Rating: 5 out of 10.

Blue Collar (1978, Paul Schrader)

On one level this is a bitter portrait of organized labor, but delve a little deeper and you'll see that this is Schrader's attempt at bemoaning the death of 60s idealism. The film's multiracial trio of heroes gets pissed off with their lot in life and decide to stick it to the man by ripping him off, but they end up either dead or manipulated so that they're against each other in the end. Schrader comes right out and says it- the powers that be keep the rest of us down by steering our hostilities away from them and toward each other, and most of us don't realize it until it's too late, if ever. Harvey Keitel and Yaphet Kotto are solid as expected, but Richard Pryor owns this movie. It's fascinating to see him outside his straight comedy element, with the anger that he leavened with hilarity onstage standing on its own here. Pryor's character is the one who changes most over the course of the film, and not always for the better, but throughout his metamorphosis from angry worker bee to union patsy he's always completely authentic. It's sad to think what potential he held as an actor that remained untapped due to his self-destructive tendencies and his all-too-frequent retreat back to safe low-comedy vehicles and late-period Superman sequels. Rating: *** out of ****.

Offside (2006, Jafar Panahi)

It's a crying shame that this never made it to Columbus screens, since it's really the sort of crowdpleaser that should be enjoyed with a nice big audience. As with many of the most lauded Iranian films, Panahi is dealing with his country's treatment of women, this time by centering the story around the banning of women from sporting events. But his approach is neither satirical nor didactic. Instead he tells his story in microcosm, focusing on a small group of female soccer fans and the soldiers who guard them after the women are arrested and sequestered from the male spectators. By situating his story at the fringes of a major soccer game (Panahi shot large portions of the film at a 2005 World Cup qualifying match versus Bahrain), the absurdity of the situation can come out through the characters and their actions rather than the convolutions of the story. It's telling that the soldiers are extremely pissed off about their task, not just because they can't enjoy the game, but also because they're sort of at a loss to explain why female soccer spectators are such a bane on society. They hem and haw and regurgitate the orders they're given, but in the face of the women's conviction they're sort of helpless. Against this lazily united front, the women band together. They knew the risk when they came to the game, and now that they've been caught they're going to make the best of it. After Iran wins the game, the women end up getting away, but it's telling that their joyous escape isn't a victory for feminism, but nationalism. And what is nationalism if it can't be shared by everyone? Rating: 8 out of 10.

August 2007 mini-reviews

8/31- Lonely Hearts (2006, Todd Robinson) [4] {Mostly forgettable, aside from the ways in which director Robinson practically jumps through hoops to lionize his grandfather, the detective who cracked the case, played by John Travolta. The connection is pretty cool, I guess, but it doesn't exactly make for riveting cinema. The real story is Beck and Fernandez, and whenever we're not with them the movie sags, sags, sags.}

8/26- Ball of Fire (1941, Howard Hawks) [***1/2] {Was Barbara Stanwyck the coolest actress from the golden age of Hollywood? She very well might've been. She was just about the most versatile- not in the Master Thespian look-how-I-transform-myself-for-my-art sense, but in the sense that she could kill in damn near any genre. And she was sexy as hell, all the more wondrously so because she wasn't as conventionally glamorous as many of her counterparts, but unlike them she realized that sex appeal was above behavior more than appearance. Who else could've pulled off a character named Sugarpuss O'Shea? Yeah, didn't think so. Oh, and the movie's pretty damn great too.}

8/24- She Done Him Wrong (1933, Lowell Sherman) [***] {If Mae West's innuendos have lost much of their shock value, they're as funny as they ever were. What keeps this from being a really great film like the best work of Fields and the Marx brothers was West's use of conventional plotting. Much of the charm of those Fields and Marx classics was their cavalier disregard for conventional narrative setup-and-payoff, but in the world of She Done Him Wrong the true wrongdoers get punished, and the wrongs are made right. If there's any outlaw charge at all, it's that West herself is exempt from these rules, partly because she talks bad but isn't a crook, but also because of her ever-present belief that sex cuts through morality, rather than the other way around.}

8/24- Cobra Woman (1943, Robert Siodmak) [**] {Not a good movie by any means- I can't imagine watching this alone- but certainly a lot of fun. Sequences of this movie, especially the notorious King Cobra dances, are so jaw-dropping that they're unforgettable. Easy to see Jack Smith's obsession with Maria Montez too. Like many B-movie icons, she may not have been much of an actress, but she had style and presence out the wazoo, so much that you could forgive her shortcomings as a thespian.}

8/23- Pennies From Heaven (1981, Herbert Ross) [***1/2] {What he said, basically. I actually prefer this to Dancer in the Dark because of Ross' fidelity to the style of elaborate Hollywood musicals in the fantasy sequences. Whereas Von Trier's visions look like just regular Von Trier but with music, the contrast of the fantasies in Pennies make them switch between fantasy and "reality" all the more jarring. And strangely poignant too, as when Steve Martin finds himself alone but for his Hollywood-fed fantasies at the end of the film. I guess I need to see the BBC original, but as a remake this blows the 2003 Singing Detective out of the water.}

8/19- The Band Wagon (1953, Vincente Minnelli) [****] {Doesn't quite sustain the level of joy one gets from Singin' in the Rain, but that's about the only thing you can say against this. So many pleasures to be had- the urbane elegance of Fred Astaire, the in-every-way awesome legs of Cyd Charisse, the great songs, the gorgeous sets, and so much more. And why has Eli Roth's Thanksgiving trailer been posted dozens if not hundreds of times on YouTube while nobody has bothered to post "Triplets?" A sad state of affairs for today's tech-savvy movie lovers...}

8/7- Lorna (1964, Russ Meyer) [**] {As propulsive and convulsive as Meyer's films tend to be, I never expected to say this, but Lorna is mostly just kinda meh. A lot of the blame can be heaped on Lorna Maitland who, far from being the archetypal Meyer Amazon, is just sort of a wet blanket. Admittedly she has considerable natural, um, talents (lovely talents too, I must add) but she doesn't have much else going for her. As a result, the film is built around a vacuum, so despite some entertaining business on the fringes- especially Hal Hopper egging on Lorna's husband- the center cannot hold. In addition, the fire-and-brimstone morality of the story (including the "Man of God" narrator) feels fairly cynical here, a spoonful of medicine given to the audience so they don't feel so bad about eating the sugar.}

8/1- # /Mala Noche (1985, Gus Van Sant)/ [**1/2] {It's very much a first film, which doesn't quite make it good but certainly makes it interesting. The black-and-white helps- it lends the images a beauty they would otherwise lack, not to mention that it gives me more motivation to lend the film some extra goodwill. And some of the images are legitimately beautiful, especially the shot of Pepper's newly-dead body, having just fallen out of a window into the street, with steam rising from it as the rain comes pouring down. Still, more interesting as an early indication of Van Sant's later films- especially My Own Private Idaho and his Tarr-inflected "Death" trilogy.}

Transformers (2007, Michael Bay)

Michael Bay movies are like race cars- they're sleek and loud, and every spare inch of surface area is devoted to selling you something. It's not just that this is a movie based on a series of toys. Bay is a commercial veteran, and while you can take Bay out of the commercial, you can't take the commercial out of Bay. As a result, TRANSFORMERS mostly feels like a 2 1/2 hour advertisement- Hasbro, GM, Nokia, the U.S. Military, Dance Dance Revolution, and a little kid waiting for the Tooth Fairy are all shot for maximum selling power. And as with any commercial, this one is chock full of babes- aside from the hero's mom and Anthony Anderson's grandma, I'm not sure I remember a single actress with a speaking role who doesn't look like she stepped out of the pages of Maxim. Of course, I don't think I'd be complaining about all of this if the movie worked, but it really doesn't. The first half of the movie has some of the charm of a Spielberg-lite boy-and-pet robot adventure (if nothing else, Shia LaBoeuf justifies his recent hype), although with doofy Bay humor- LaBoeuf riding a pink girl's bike, lines like "I want to ride you, er, drive you home," the business with the dad's lawn, and so on. But the big action stuff, frankly, sucks. There's no coherence or spatial dynamics in these scenes at all, especially when the Transformers are fighting. Heck, Bay's famously-antic editing style is so omnipresent here that the film never even affords us a good long look at the Transformers, which might afford us a good chance to enjoy the fruits of the FX teams' labors (compare to something like STARSHIP TROOPERS, which gave us some nice long shots of the giant bugs). Bay shoots his action scenes using a whole mess of whip pans and perspective shots and shakycam closeups, so that it's hard to make out what's happening outside of "OK, they're fighting." This would be OK if there were two humans engaged in hand-to-hand combat, since we've seen the human body so many times that it's easy to figure which body part is which in closeup. But since the Transformers aren't just robots but robots that have been reconfigured from automobiles, these shots become little more than metal grinding against metal. And these scenes drag on FOREVER. By the end of the movie, we're back in advertising mode, with porny-pouty ingenue Megan Fox making out with LaBoeuf on the hood of his pet Camaro named Bumblebee, and Optimus Prime standing on a hill overlooking an all-American vista (I half expected the voiceover to contain the line: "I'm Optimus Prime, and I approved this message"). Let it not be said that TRANSFORMERS is not the ultimate Michael Bay vehicle, playing to all of his fetishes and (for lack of a better word) his strengths. But while I recognize the skill and care that have gone into this movie, they aren't my cup of tea. We may very well be living in a Michael Bay world, but I don't have to like it. Rating: 3 out of 10.

The Big Lebowski (1998, Joel Coen)

Funny how most viewers and even critics simply shrug off the fact that Lebowski is stuck in the 60s, because honestly, I think the fish-out-of-water formula is the key to why this movie works so well. The unreformed hippie meets up with a Raymond Chandler plot- this is more or less The Big Sleep, with some Coen-style wrinkles added- and nothing quite turns out as it should. Whereas Marlowe's efforts, intentional or accidental, usually bring him closer to the truth, The Dude keeps running into dead ends and slammed doors. Is it simply that he's listless, or is it the more confounding world he lives in? It's both, really. Not only is The Dude out of place in the plot, but the plot is strangely out of place in near-contemporary L.A. But while the storyline never pans out in a satisfying way, that's the point (Sam Elliott's wrap-it-all-up final monologue is the final, ironic nail in the coffin if you're paying attention). But while the story and the setting don't quite mesh, The Dude fits in perfectly, one of those only-in-L.A. types that populate the world of the film. This is not the cops'n'robbers L.A. of detective fiction, but a circus of humanity in which The Dude can co-exist with a rich-bitch artist, a yammering millionaire, a body-stockinged pederast, a sarsaparilla swilling cowboy, and John Milius as a security store owner. Rating: ***1/2.

The Face of Another (1966, Hiroshi Teshigahara)

As with Teshigahara's masterpiece Woman in the Dunes, it'll take more than one viewing for me to be able to satisfactorily explain this film's effect on me. Based on the synopsis, I expected this to be a mood piece like Eyes Without a Face, but it comes across more as a Tod Browning/Lon Chaney film with added dissonance (Takemitsu rules!). From the opening moments, it's clear that the unseen incident that caused the protagonist's disfigurement cut him more deeply than any cosmetic procedure could ever hope to cure, and part of the charge of the final scenes is how inevitable they all were from the get-go. I also found the story's use of the other disfigured woman to be interesting, especially given how sharply she contrasts with the protagonist- his injury was partly his fault while hers was, we gather, due to the A-bomb; likewise, he goes to great lengths to cover his face, while the most she does is comb her hair down over it, and so on. I'd complain about the over-literariness of the idea of the conflict between our antihero and his new face if I thought Teshigahara and writer Kobo Abe meant it to be taken at face value, but it goes deeper than that, to issues of identity and the responsibility that comes with it. And what to make of the hallucinatory mise-en-scene in the director's office? Rating: ***1/2.

Kiss Me, Stupid (1964, Billy Wilder)

Wilder's late-period farce is sinfully fun, and not just because it got condemned by the Catholic Legion of Decency. One of Wilder's biggest assets was his understanding that placing characters at cross purposes is positively ripe with comedic potential. And so it is here, as Ray Walston's Orville Spooner is so at war with his impulses- his jealousy over his wife Zelda, his desire to make it as a songwriter, etc.- that he ends up painting himself into the proverbial corner, and half the fun of the film is watching him trying to get out. But if he's the comedic crux of the film, Kim Novak's Polly is its heart. On the surface, the character seems like your garden variety tart-with-a-heart, but Novak gives the character a touching vulnerability, with her head cold and her attempts at domesticity. One of the most magical moments in the film comes when Orville realizes that he genuinely cares about Polly as well- not as a husband or a lover, so much as a protector of the honor she mostly lost years ago. The film isn't so much an flat-out farce a la ONE, TWO, THREE as a classic comedy of remarriage, but what sets it apart is that both husband and wife end up getting their hands dirty before coming back together (more so in the European version than in the American). SPOILER: The film's title ends up doubling as its final line of dialogue, and one that takes on a poignant meaning in light of what has come before. Zelda says more in three simple words than she could in a long and teary-eyed soliloquy- "OK, honey, we both fucked up. You put me in a terrible spot and I didn't exactly act like a saint when I was in that spot. But I know that your mistake came from a place of love, and even if I had some selfish reasons for what I did, I also did it to help you. And it worked. But it won't mean anything unless we can forgive each other. And to do that we have to put it behind us, accept the past, and above all stop worrying so damn much about the impossible perfection we want from our marriage. So..." Also, Dean Martin is nothing if not a good sport here, and if his role is more as a plot device than an emotional anchor for the film, he nonetheless plays the part impeccably. Rating: ***1/2.

Day Night Day Night (2006, Julia Loktev)

This is the film I hoped PARADISE NOW would be- no ideological discussions or hand-wringing, but a portrait of the last days of a suicide bomber. But we shouldn't mistake this for pure realism- with a few exceptions, Loktev sticks to her heroine, played by Luisa Williams, using the camerawork and the exaggerated sound scheme (kudos to Leslie Shatz) to suggest a first-person experience. The film is divided into three clear acts- the protagonist arriving in town and waiting to be contact, the preparations for her operation, and finally her being turned loose to go through with the plan. The first two acts have a certain fascination, as Loktev observes the goings-on in detail, and Williams' performance really sells it- she's not a zealot or even a lamb being led to slaughter, but simply a girl who is fully committed to what she is about to do. But the film really takes off in the third act, in which Williams is practically the only character of note. As she wanders around in Times Square looking for the ideal moment to carry out her task, the film becomes almost unbearably tense. The emotional turmoil manifests itself on Williams' face- the fear she'll be caught, the last-minute misgivings about her task, her unwillingness to end her life. SPOILER: And when she finally does decide to blow herself up, it turns out that the device doesn't work. Some reviewers have complained about this, but frankly I thought it took the film to another, more existential level. Before this, she knew she was going to die, and she knew more or less when. She was prepared for every eventuality except for this one. So instead of blowing herself up- which she was fully ready to do- she's now alone in New York, wandering around with an undetonated explosive strapped to her back. She can't tell the police, and she can't contact her handlers. By the time Williams sits down on the sidewalk, whispering "why don't you want me?" to God or whoever she's doing this for, DAY NIGHT DAY NIGHT has turned into a film about limbo, and as a result it's one of the loneliest films I've seen in a long, long time. Rating: 8 out of 10.

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (2007, David Yates)

After the perfunctory feel of GOBLET OF FIRE, the franchise finds itself back on solid ground with its fifth entry. Due credit should be given series newbies David Yates as director and Michael Goldenberg as screenwriter for distilling one of the longer Potter novels into a fairly satisfying 2 1/2 hours- whereas GOBLET felt almost like a highlight reel in its storytelling, this film fairly successfully boils down to feature length. Likewise, the supporting characters get more time to make an impression this time out. Best in show is chirpy little terror Dolores Umbridge, played by Imelda Staunton, as much of a pink lover as Elle in LEGALLY BLONDE, but with a positively Rumsfeldian heart. Plus it's nice to see Oldman, Thewlis, Smith and especially the priceless Alan Rickman back on their game this time after being skimmed over in the last installment. That said, the series suffers as ever from a workmanlike feel, the better to court both Potter-philes and non-reading moviegoers. Even the installment directed by Cuaron (the only true artist to helm a Potter film so far) hasn't gotten over this hump. In addition, the story is too dependent on last-second entrances and coincidences to be really effective in a narrative sense- I know these are magical folk, but come on. Rating: 6 out of 10.

Hairspray (2007, Adam Shankman)

Easily the best Hollywood musical I've seen since the otherwise completely different MOULIN ROUGE! A lot of this has to do with the relative lack of LET! US! ENTERTAIN! YOU! direction, which worked in ROUGE since it was such an oddball, but gets tiresome in stuff like DREAMGIRLS or CHICAGO. By contrast, HAIRSPRAY is more in the spirit of classic Hollywood, lighter on the pyrotechnics and much heavier on the dancing than most of its contemporaries. I also liked the relative innocence of the narrative- this isn't the wink-wink nostalgia trip of GREASE, but a timewarp back to a mindset of the early sixties. Some of the harder (weirder) edges have been sanded off the John Waters original in translation- there's no Pia Zadora reading "Howl" this time out- but much of the naughtiness manifests itself instead in the sexed-up dance moves of lead newcomer Nikki Blonsky, a plus-sized dynamo possessed of an infectious energy. Unexpectedly, I also enjoyed John Travolta in drag- his performance is distracting at first, given that it's both heavily stylized and unmistakably Travolta-esque, but once Edna begins coming out of her shell, Travolta's performance feels less fussy and more fanciful. Plus it's nice to see him dancing again as something more than just a gimmick (Christopher Walken, as her husband, is a joy as well). As for the rest of the cast, top marks go to Elijah Kelley, who's got a smooth voice and dance moves to spare, and surprisingly, James Marsden as the ever-smiling Corny Collins. Some of the supporting characters are too sketchy to be very interesting- Motormouth Maybelle (Queen Latifah) is more a symbol than anything, and Aryan stage-mother-and-daughter terrors Michelle Pfeiffer and Brittany Snow are broadly-drawn villainess cariactures. Also, the portrayal of the civil rights movement in Baltimore '62 is simplistic- not so much the marching and the protests, but the quickness with which integration is embraced by the viewing audience. But then, we don't come to HAIRSPRAY expecting MALCOLM X, do we? As an entertainment, it's fairly irresistible, reminding us of the pleasures only a good musical can provide. Rating: 7 out of 10.

Eureka (1983, Nicolas Roeg)

The party line seems to be that Roeg tailed off once the eighties hit, which probably explains why despite my love for his 70s work, I'm only now getting to the stuff that followed. The film never quite lives up to the operating opening section, complete with a river of gold that erupts from the ground to the strains of Wagner's Overture to Das Rheingold. As with THE MAN WHO FELL TO EARTH, Roeg's previous collaboration with screenwriter Paul Mayersburg, EUREKA is the story of a man who gained the whole world only to lose his soul. But while its predecessor was distinguished by its innovative style and unexpected characters, this film treads a more worn narrative path. As such, it lacks Roeg's usual mastery of tone, and consequently only really comes alive during the scenes of heightened emotion. Thankfully, the film's three principals- Gene Hackman, Theresa Russell, and Rutger Hauer- are up to the task. Hauer in particular is a marvel, especially during the scene where he destroys a party after learning his mother has died. His talent and magnetism serves as a reminder of what a magical actor he can be, despite being mired in dreck most of his career (come to think, you could say much the same of Russell). The film becomes a kind of magnificent folly in the final act, following an brutal, protracted murder scene. By the time Russell takes the witness stand to be interrogated by Hauer (playing her husband!) about his own possible involvement in the killing for almost ten minutes, a kind of Rubicon has been passed- either you give up and laugh or give in and hold on. It's implausible, absurd and kind of stupid, but it's anything but lazy, and it's impossible to watch it without reacting. It's entirely possible that EUREKA is a bad movie, but if it is it's my kind of bad movie, the kind that can only be made by a great filmmaker so sure of himself that he's willing to go for broke. Whether that means I'm over- or under-rating the film, I'm not sure. Plus it's got naked Theresa Russell in her prime, which is always welcome. Rating: **1/2.

Sunshine (2007, Danny Boyle)

For the first hour or so, I was seriously thinking this was going to be Boyle's best yet. The film does a splendid job of portraying life on a long space mission like this- the human chaos resulting from people cooped up together for long periods, the small pleasures each crew member finds, the things that can go wrong, and how they have to be fixed. And there's enough interesting character business to make them interesting and even sympathetic- for example, the way Cliff Curtis takes time out to look at the sun in the observation deck, and the way his skin is a little more burnt every time we see him. Unfortunately, the awesomeness can't last. For some reason, Boyle and screenwriter Alex Garland decided that it wasn't dramatic enough to show us a mission beset by technical woes on its way to detonate a nuclear device into the sun. I'm not sure why they felt it necessary to turn the third act into a slasher movie, in which a sun-charred survivor of a previous, lost mission finds his way onto the ship and begins killing in the name of God. It just doesn't work, and frankly I don't think I've seen a movie shoot itself in the foot so grievously since BATTLE IN HEAVEN. What happened, dudes? How do you start out shooting for 2001 only to end up aiming for EVENT HORIZON? On a more positive note, the cast is good, but it's more than a little surprising that the film's most interesting performance is given by Chris "Human Torch" Evans, who starts as the requisite jocked-up American but ends up as the one who's most fully committed to the mission. Way to grow, bud. Rating: 6 out of 10.

Insignificance (1985, Nicolas Roeg)

It feels vaguely like an exercise, but one of a particularly intoxicating sort, an experiment to bring together Marilyn Monroe, Joe DiMaggio, Joe McCarthy and Albert Einstein in one room in one night. The center of the film is the kinship between "The Actress" and "The Professor," which leads to a magical discussion of the theory of relativity that ought to be shown in high school physics classes, followed by some efforts to connect on her part and a great deal of reluctance on his. But all of the characters pull their weight, even "The Senator," who comes off initially as little more than a hateful demagogue. Also, remember when Tony Curtis was still trying? Remember when Gary Busey wasn't a joke? Most of all, I just miss seeing Theresa Russell in movies like these rather than showing up for a scene in SPIDER-MAN 3 while barely concealing her contempt for the hackneyed dialogue she was given. Rating: ***1/2.

The Simpsons Movie (2007, David Silverman)

I laughed fairly steadily throughout this, but didn't laugh as hard as I did during the greatest of the classic-years episodes. The problem isn't so much the jokes aren't there as that they don't have the same spark, the inspiration that makes them come off both as inevitable and out of left field. Now you get some of the former, some of the latter, but rarely both. I honestly can't imagine this holding up on multiple viewings, which seems strange for a phenomenon that owes much of its enduring success to syndication. It's been scarcely four hours since I saw this, and the only quote I remember that gives me that old feeling is, "Have you ever been mad without power? It's boring! Nobody listens to you?" Oh, and would it have killed them to include some kind of tribute to Phil Hartman? Rating: 6 out of 10.

Czech Dream (2004, Vit Klusák and Filip Remunda)

As a performance piece, this is actually more like an 8 or 9, but since the filmmakers are also the perpetrators, grading this is a little tricky. For a film that credits itself as a reality show, the filmmaking is fairly unpolished- the directors get the insistent camerawork down cold, but I didn't think they really captured much else (the Mickey-Mousing music, the graphic bumpers, the montages, and so forth), or maybe it's just that these aren't as prevalent in Czech TV. In addition, I wish they hadn't felt the need to appear on-camera again after the prank went down and discuss it with the "victims." Better, I think, to stand back and observe the fallout, both among the people there and in the media. Still, it's pretty potent stuff, especially its commentary on marketing and manufacturing hype. In our age of viral marketing of movies (e.g. the 1-18-08 hype) the lessons learned here are relevant as ever. But what really hit home was the portrait of the particular Czech mindset, a society that's still new to capitalism, with adults full of wonderment at the opportunities it's finally presented them, and the children who've basked in its glow practically all their lives. If we take our shopping malls and our Wal-Marts for granted, it's because we've never known another way, but these people have seen the alternative and they like the current option better. Sure, standing in line at the opening of a new hypermarket looks much the same as standing in line under Communism, but at least now you just might bring home a cheap TV and 20 lbs of bananas. Rating: 7 out of 10.

July 2007 mini-reviews

7/28- Rescue Dawn (2006, Werner Herzog) [6] {Most certainly Herzog's most conventional fiction film, but still very Herzogian in its observation of the details of Dengler's story. Bale's performance feels overly fussy at the outset, but once he gets in the camp his work becomes more effective, or maybe I'm just saying that because he's acting opposite Jeremy Davies, twitchy as ever. Steve Zahn is sort of a revelation as Bale's escape companion, as frightened and doomed as Bale is determined. Still not sure about the "up" ending, but it's not nearly as jingoistic as I've been hearing.}

7/24- The Shining (1980, Stanley Kubrick) [****] {May be the 2001 of horror movies, reconfiguring the DNA of the traditional fright flick into trippy, uncompromising art. Like 2001, it ends up falling down the rabbit hole into another, more twisted dimension, and by the time it's over you realize that it asks more questions than it answers. Perhaps the key to the movie is that Danny knows that, as Halloran told him, the visions are "just like pictures in a book. It's not real." Whereas Jack lets them get to him, and they drive him off the deep end. Also, Garrett Brown is a god.}

7/15- Paprika (2006, Satoshi Kon) [5] {Meh. Some clever and well-drawn dream imagery amidst a muddle of convoluted narrative. Never boring, but doesn't exactly make the heart leap either.}

7/14- Private Fears in Public Places (2006, Alain Resnais) [8] {Although honestly I'll have to watch this again to be able to really appreciate what's going on in a really deep thematic sense. Mostly I just grooved on Resnais' direction, as prone to experimentation now as it ever was. There's got to be more going on here than people failing to connect (reflected in the shots of people talking through screens and panes of glass and the like), but for the first viewing the style is more than enough for me to chew on.}

7/9- Sherlock Jr. (1924, Buster Keaton) [****] {In the old days before CGI, when an enterprising director wanted to do something that hadn't been done before, he figured that shit out or he didn't do it. Thank goodness for Keaton, who took the former route, and it led him to big-screen immortality. Plus this is just really goddamn funny. But I mean, duh, it's Keaton.}

7/7- Pride (2007, Sunu Gonera) [4] {These sports movies might wash better with me if I was a sports fan, but I'm not. Is there a screenwriting program out there that allows people to input their true inspirational sports stories so they can be spat out in screenplay form? Terrence Howard is solid as expected, and I liked Bernie Mac as well- he does his avuncular-grouch routine here, but doesn't really play it for laughs as much as usual, and his expressive face could prove well-suited for more dramatic roles in the future. Otherwise, this is pretty mediocre stuff. Under the circumstances, could it possibly have been otherwise?}

7/4- To Be and to Have (2002, Nicholas Philibert) [***] {Most successful documentaries work because they illuminate what we don't know already, or at least what we don't know that well. However, nearly everyone has gone to school, yet this still works beautifully because it reminds us of things we've long forgotten. That coloring requires deep concentration. That playing in the rain or snow can be a whole different kind of fun. That the only thing worse than writing in cursive is learning to write in cursive. That a field trip or anything else out of the ordinary can be exciting. That there's always one new kid who cries on his first day. And, above all, that there was a time in our lives when the idea that nothing stays the same forever was still a novel idea to us.}

7/3- /Jaws (1975, Steven Spielberg)/ [****] {In today's bigger-is-better blockbuster climate, it's a little amazing to think that one of the most popular movies ever (not adjusted for inflation) eventually boils down to three guys in a boat, hunting a shark. Not only are the guys interesting, but Spielberg wisely sticks with them once they've cast out to sea. This is the rare big movie that actually becomes smaller-scaled as it progresses, and that's why it still works. As far as movies like this go, JAWS is perfect.}

Bug (2006, William Friedkin)

Tense as hell, and rare in that the tension stems primarily from the unhinged nature of the film's principal characters. Yes, there are moments of shock, and by the time the principals have wallpapered the set in tinfoil the style has long since gone off the deep end, but it all feels like the extension of the main characters' frenzied personalities. With such ratcheted-up-to-11 material, you need completely committed performances, and Michael Shannon and Ashley Judd don't let us down. Lots of reviews have questioned why a woman would take in a guy as nuts as Shannon is here, but Judd's damaged goods too. She's had problems with dangerous men (I doubt her ex-husband is the only one) and there's the issue of her missing kid. So when Shannon- strange and intense but surprisingly gentle to her- comes around, he may be crazy, but he's the RIGHT kind of crazy for her. P.S.: Friedkin is back, making his best movie in two decades. I only wish that meant more... Rating: 7 out of 10.

Syndromes and a Century (2006, Apichatpong Weerasethakul)

As with most of "Joe's" films, I watched this like Homer Simpson watching TWIN PEAKS- "amazing! Incredible! I have no idea what's going on..." I mean, yeah, I got most of the broad outlines of this, but how everything fits together doesn't exactly compute. But then, is it really supposed to? As with TROPICAL MALADY, I think the most important thing when watching this film is to be mindful of the strange corners it lights up in your mind. Joe's movies refresh the parts most other movies can't even reach. Also, they've got what plants crave and, as Chris observed, they most likely have curative powers. If only we give ourselves over to them, that is. P.S.: Filmbrain uploaded the awesome song from the final scene. You're welcome in my opinion. Rating: 8 out of 10.

Waitress (2007, Adrienne Shelly)

Might have been a 6 had I not just seen a better exploration of a troubled marriage- that'd be KNOCKED UP, folks- earlier today. The simplistic brushstrokes with which Shelley paints the marriage between Russell and blue-collar meathead Jeremy Sisto takes quite a bit of the fun out of this. When he protested her pregnancy by saying "I'm afraid you'll end up loving the baby more than me" I was sort of tempted to give up on this. Glad I didn't since the rest is pretty beguiling. The stuff in the diner is fun on the level of a good sitcom and the affair between Keri Russell and Nathan Fillion (both very good) has an off-kilter sweetness. But it's Shelley who steals her own movie as Russell's mousy coworker, Dawn, hiding under lank hair, butterfly specs, and an eternally-worried expression. The joy that overtakes her once she has fallen in love is really a touching sight, and it's a damn shame she didn't live to see the film's release. Two final thoughts: (1) the Fillion-is-the-new-Harrison-Ford hype is totally warranted, although Fillion's even better with the romantic stuff; and (2) I'm not usually one for movie tie-ins, but I'd be seriously tempted to buy a WAITRESS recipe book. Rating: 5 out of 10.

The Valet (2006, Francis Veber)

Why do I keep bothering with Veber? I don't expect histrionics from my farces, but the dude's movies are so anti-dramatic that scenes that might lend the characters a little, I dunno, CHARACTER are elided completely. Like, say, the scene where our hero actually meets the supermodel for the first time- rather than allowing us to observe them getting first impressions of one another, so as to have those impressions transcended later on, she just fucking shows up in his apartment all of a sudden. What gives? Are these people only meant to serve as pawns in this dopey plot? That's pretty boring in my opinion. Also, for a movie that barrels through its narrative like Refrigerator Perry, this thing is pretty damn slack. Plus it's chintzy-looking and hardly anyone outside of Kristen Scott Thomas seems to be having any fun. Watching a great actor like Daniel Auteuil mugging and foaming at the mouth is just depressing. Rating: 3 out of 10.

Knocked Up (2007, Judd Apatow)

People need to stop bitching about how long this is in my opinion. Yes, we all know that comedies should only be 90 minutes long. But I'd be selling this movie short if I thought it was merely a comedy. Yes, it's often hilarious- there are surprisingly few dry patches among the obvious comedy scenes. But Apatow's game plan here is less like THE 40 YEAR OLD VIRGIN than like FREAKS AND GEEKS- using the funny to leaven the dramatic scenes. There has also been some complaining that the film's central relationship- smokin' career woman Heigl and unemployed shlub Rogen- strains credibility, and admittedly this is a little hard to swallow if you don't think Rogen is awesome. However, I do, and he's pretty damn great here- funny as hell, as expected, but also more than pulling his weight in the more serious moments (helps that he has a better face for drama than, say, Will Ferrell or Ben Stiller). Heigl holds up her end of the bargain too, projecting a real intelligence and sensitivity so that her role doesn't turn into a killjoy or worse, eye candy. But what distinguishes this from a facile pregnancy dramedy a la SHE'S HAVING A BABY is the storyline involving Paul Rudd and Leslie Mann as an uneasily married couple, one that addresses some thorny issues in marriages and relationships. Whereas a plot thread like this would in a lesser movie feel mostly like a little break for the main stars, here it comes off less as a garden-variety subplot as something akin to a counter-melody in music, complementing the main story while possessing an emotional tenor all its own. And as good as Rudd is, it's Mann who shines in these scenes- she's never had a chance to really dig into a role like she does here, and the character feels like a gift from Apatow, her husband (also, their kids, who appear as Rudd and Mann's daughters, have clearly benefited from their comedic pedigree). Good stuff all around- I plan to see it again soon, and I don't anticipate it dipping in quality the second time the way THE 40 YEAR OLD VIRGIN did- funny as that was, this one's funnier, and deeper besides. Rating: 7 out of 10.

Ocean's Thirteen (2007, Steven Soderbergh)

Yes, it's more or less a "cavalcade of starfuckery," but it treads so lightly one would be churlish to complain. While TWELVE had a ramshackle, whoever-was-available-that-day story construction, this one feels like the cast actually came to play, and it shows- everyone gets a little vignette of his own to dig into, and it's nice to see guys like Cheadle, Casey Affleck, and even Eddie Jemison get some of the spotlight for a change. And why haven't more critics mentioned how bloody gorgeous this movie is? With its rich, screen-filling colors, this is the most Vegas-y OCEAN'S yet, which is a good thing. Doesn't add up to much, but you can't have it all. Also (swipe once you've seen the movie): is it just me, or has Super Dave Osborne done more funny stuff so far this decade than little brother Albert Brooks? Between this and ARRESTED DEVELOPMENT, dude's on a pretty sweet run. I don't believe for a second that he and Cherry Jones could've produced a kid who looks like Matt Damon, but he's so funny here that I didn't mind.} Rating: 6 out of 10.

Paris, je t'aime (2006, various)

The first thing that jumps out at you even before you actually watch it is the relatively low caliber of directors participating in this thing. Sure, you've got the Coen brothers, Cuaron, and Assayas, but Wes Craven? Gurinder Chadha? Vincenzo Natali? Gerard frickin' Depardieu? Compared to the equally blah TEN MINUTES OLDER movies, this feels like they were scraping the bottom. This wouldn't be such a problem, however, if the shorts themselves were better. Alas, they're mostly mediocre, with a few risible entries (Sylvain Chomet, Christopher Doyle) and one or two memorable ones. The biggest sin many of the filmmakers commit, aside from not trying all that hard, is that they really don't do much with Paris. Not a problem per se, except when the project is called "Paris, je t'aime" it would probably be good to tell stories that couldn't just have easily taken place in Sheboygan. In the end, Cuaron's film proves the most disappointing- more listless than a Cuaron film set in Paris and starring Nick Nolte and Ludivine Sagnier has any right to be. On the other end of the spectrum is Alexander Payne's closing short, which contains some of the patronizing humor that marred his last couple of features but also culminates in a surprisingly moving epiphany. Way to go out on a high note, folks. Better luck with your NYC film. Rating: 4 out of 10.

Malcolm X (1992, Spike Lee)

One of the most unlikely of masterpieces, an "important" movie that actually does justice to its subject. Not only that, but it's a great adaptation, a great grand epic, and a great entertainment to boot. MALCOLM X is the kind of movie that could have only been done right by a filmmaker who has both genius and a whole lot of bravado going for him. It's not perfect- I'm a bit iffy on the SPARTACUS-inspired coda, and I find the Theresa Randle subplot kind of offensive even while I recognize the intent behind it- but it's so powerful that the problems are of a piece with the tapestry of the movie as a whole. Most of all, MALCOLM X is a superior example of its genre because it's one of the few that really cut to the heart of the idea that great men and women are all products of their circumstances. Like him or not, Malcolm was important because he was called to action by his times, and oh man did he ever answer. Rating: ****.

Hostel (2005, Eli Roth)

Starts off with a pretty potent premise, seemingly cribbed from travelers' urban legends- American backpackers get seduced by hot European chicks only to find themselves caught in a torture-by-the-highest-bidder ring. But what might in other hands be a good way of milking the ugly-Americans-abroad archetype instead turns into little more than a lot of fake blood and gore makeup. The big problem is Roth, who (a) isn't director enough to make this thing atmospheric, stylish, or even, y'know, scary, and (b) can't be bothered to keep his cheesedick tendencies in check. It's not even clear that he really wants the audience to be scared, really- more than he grooves on the geek factor of showing lingering closeups of a principal characters slashed Achilles' tendons or a girl with an eye hanging out of its socket. Plus he forgets to give us an identification figure- we see most of the action through Jay Hernandez's eyes, but he's not compelling or sympathetic to really care much. Honestly, I'm inclined to believe that Roth identifies most with the Rick Hoffman character, a vulgar American would-be torturer who can't contain his excitement about getting in on the torture. Overall, it's juvenile, a little boring and just kind of sad. Rating: 3 out of 10.

Superman (1978, Richard Donner)

There seems to be a school of revisionist thought among the kids today that says this movie isn't awesome. Sorry, but you're wrong. Sure, by today's CGI standards the effects are shoddy, but that's what I love about this movie. It's from a time when spectacle wasn't simply about photo-realism, and the filmmakers' ambitions outweighed the technology at hand. In other words, they didn't have computers to do the effects work- if they wanted to do something, they had to figure it out (e.g. the unbroken shot in which Superman flies off Lois's rooftop and Clark comes in her door a few seconds later, accomplished with a screen and a projector). In our angsty, super-sensitive age, we've all gotten used to anguished, workaday superheroes, but Superman's always been a breed apart- he's not human, after all- and I like that the filmmakers don't try to psychoanalyze the Blue Boy Scout. If I want work-class heroes, I'll watch a SPIDER-MAN movie; if I want darkness, I'll catch BATMAN. What I want from Superman is stalwart heroism, and grandeur, and above all fun, which this has in spades. Seriously, this movie makes me laugh more than most comedies, especially when Lex Luthor (whose brilliance is only rivaled by his enormous amusement with himself) shows up. One word: "Otisburg?" Plus Christopher Reeve does effortlessly what his successor, Brandon Routh, couldn't- he makes Clark Kent as much fun to be around as Superman. Whereas with Routh we were just marking time until he got back into the suit, we care about Reeve's Clark. Man, this movie's so damn cool. Rating: ***1/2.

Hostel, Part II (2007, Eli Roth)

Markedly better than the first one, mostly because it's got much more of the sick humor that's Roth's real forte. In addition, now that he's gotten the initial shock of his premise out of the way, we can now delve into the mechanics of the hostel operation, seen mostly but not entirely through the eyes of a pair of Americans who "pay for the privilege," so to speak. Still not scary, but more interesting from a thematic standpoint, and I'd give this thing a 5 or even a 6 if not for the whole Heather Matarazzo thing. It's abundantly clear from the get-go that she's doomed- simpering around and generally acting like a grown-up Dawn Wiener, she exists to be a victim. Granted, she accepted the role and no doubt read the script, and as Hollywood's token nerd girl she's had more than her share of onscreen indignities vested upon her over the years (after all, she's worked with Todd Solondz). But seeing her hanging upside down, naked, as a female torturer (torturess?) toys with her with a scythe, not to get all Ebert/BLUE VELVET on you, but I honestly felt bad for her. Not the character, mind, but Matarazzo herself, and this feeling took me right of the movie and left me with a really bad taste in my mouth. I won't use the word "rape" like David Poland did, but goddamn Roth, that's pretty shameless. Rating: 4 out of 10.

A Mighty Heart (2007, Michael Winterbottom)

Basically, this is made up of two different stories at cross purposes with each other- a gritty true-life procedural, and a less interesting but more Oscar™-baity portrait of the Strong, Courageous Mariane Pearl. For a while, the procedural side dominates, with Mariane part of the ensemble, and even some extended scenes that don't feature her at all (e.g. the actual searching for Daniel Pearl). Alas, the prestige-picture side of the story ends up winning the day, overtaking its competition around the time Daniel gets beheaded- when Winterbottom's camera follows Mariane into her bedroom and takes in every second of her anguished cries, the movie stops working. Tight storytelling might have helped remedy this problem, but narrative tightness has never been Winterbottom's strong suit, even in his best work (hell, both 24 HOUR PARTY PEOPLE and A COCK AND BULL STORY seemed to take the idea of flailing about as a narrative governing principle, and bless them for that). Also, it's not that Angelina is bad in the role, or even that she doesn't disappear into it like she should- a.k.a. Nicole Kidman/COLD MOUNTAIN disease- but that her performance just doesn't mesh with the rest. Jolie's performance is very actorly, very "on," while everyone else around has been cast to type, and even the recognizable faces give naturalistic performances. Then again, Jolie has always been more of a soloist, and engagement with other people onscreen is not her strong suit, which doesn't help. Rating: 4 out of 10.

Comedy of Power (2006, Claude Chabrol)

Not so much a suspense movie as a study in behavior, with judge Isabelle Huppert pitting herself against the patriarchal forces at the center of French society. Most of the points this has to make are made early and often- a woman has to be more ruthless than the men around her to survive, et al- and compared to something like, say, DEMONLOVER it's pretty quaint. Still, Huppert never fails to fascinate. I was a little taken aback by her character's voice at the outset- deeper and throatier than Huppert's normal speaking voice- but when she eased off of it in the scenes at home it became clear that it was just part of the character's mystique. Chabrol may never make another masterpiece, but I'm glad he's still around to make movies like this. He can practically do them in his sleep, but when they're better than most directors' A games it seems churlish to complain. Rating: 6 out of 10.

Two or Three Things I Know About Her (1967, Jean-Luc Godard)

Perhaps the wankiest of Godard's 60s classics, but it's fascinating stuff. It's pretty much a feature-length defying of expectations, a game that Godard has played for decades. Godard has his protstitute heroine (foxy Marina Vlady) disrobe repeatedly but always frames her from the neck up. She's married with kids, but it's unclear whether he knows about her other job- at any rate, he never finds out during the course of the film. And being conditioned by Godard to expect a death at the end of the film, it's surprising that it never comes. Visually, it's Godard playing around with the 'Scope frame, isolating his characters at the corners or at the bottom center of the frame as they're dwarfed by Paris behind them. Otherwise, the style feels almost comic book-ish, with colorful intertitles, shots dominated by brightly-colored consumer products, and dialogue that feels mostly like thought balloons. And just when it runs the risk of getting a little old, Juliet Berto shows up. Good times. Rating: ***1/2.

Live Free or Die Hard (2007, Len Wiseman)

Never quite feels like a DIE HARD movie- even McClane himself doesn't feel the same- but it's highly entertaining for a Hollywood action programmer. Much like the original DIE HARD, LIVE FREE is a fish-out-of-water story, only whereas the original film saw his New York sensibility in a high-stakes white-collar milieu, this one shows the McClane taking on the "digital world." Consider his two major fight scenes, the first with Asian stunner Maggie Q- and her stunt double- as he counters her martial arts skills with old-school brawling, and the second being totally confounded by a henchman's parkour skills, prevailing only by smartly evading his athletically superior opponent. Honestly, that's always been McClane's trump card- his street smarts and ability to improvise under extreme pressure. The rest of the movie is a serviceable cyber-terrorism story writ large- dig the way the villain uses a YouTube-style montage of Presidential speeches as a televised threat- but it's fun and the action scenes are sweet and surprisingly well-sustained. This being a DIE HARD movie, the plot details don't so much strain credibility as leave it with giant stretch marks, but honestly- what do you want from this? Rating: 6 out of 10.

Sicko (2007, Michael Moore)

In terms of the issues it addresses, this may be Moore's most important film yet, as it explores the way certain policies and practices have more or less killed quite a few unfortunate people. Moore paints the American health care establishment as an institution that has betrayed its trust with these people by valuing profit margins over people's well-being- after all, people don't sign up and pay for health insurance without expecting the companies to help them in their time of need, making them bankrupt, disillusioned, and even left to die. But in Moore's eyes, it goes deeper than that- the insurance companies, health care providers, and even our government have created a giant cluster fuck that has made this dire situation practically unsolvable in our current societal climate. In Moore's eyes- and frankly, in mine- this feels like a betrayal of our democratic principles, and that a government of the people, for the people and by the people should be accountable to the people first rather than maybe eventually. Despite Moore's occasional- and increasingly unfortunate- on camera shenanigans, many of his points are made by those he interviews, especially British parliamentarian Tony Benn, who credits the UK's universal health care to a renewed faith in democracy and neighborly goodwill that sprung up after WW2 (compare this to the audiotape that Moore plays of Nixon and Ehrlichman musing on the benefits of then-nascent HMO plans). Moore largely avoids the issue of the tax increases necessary to fund national health care- which would no doubt be a sticking point for many Americans who want others to help them but would rather not pay for it- but otherwise his points hit home. It's not perfect, but as agitprop it cuts deep. Rating: 7 out of 10.

June 2007 mini-reviews

6/29- The Adjuster (1991, Atom Egoyan) [**1/2] {I guess I'm not a die-hard Egoyan fan, since while I respected this early title beloved by his fans, it just didn't hit me like his best work does. It's very chilly stuff, with Elias Koteas' character proving to be a fascinating conundrum- a man who bends over backwards to serve people for his job, but who's distant from his own family. Egoyan shines a light in rarely-illuminated corners of society- the mindset of censors, the escalating sexual gamesmanship between an affluent married couple- but it doesn't really build as much as I was hoping. Can't argue with the performances though, in particular Koteas and Maury Chaykin.}

6/26- Sacco and Vanzetti (2005, Peter Miller) [6] {Still-fascinating (and timely) true crime story gets a somewhat pedestrian documentary treatment, but thankfully the format is sturdy enough that it takes a backseat to the material, instead of dragging it down. No big revelations here, but a damn good primer to those unfamiliar with the case. Tony Shalhoub's Italian-accented reading of Sacco's last letter to his son is a highlight.}

6/23- I Don't Want to Sleep Alone (2006, Tsai Ming-liang) [5] {After the phantasmagoria of THE WAYWARD CLOUD, this feels like Tsai's greatest hits again- urban alienation, a sudden half-explained climate emergency (this time smog), a polysexual love triangle, heroes who are practically mute, Lee Kang-Sheng getting harm visited upon him (we always hurt the ones we love, eh Tsai?). All seen through Tsai's impeccable eye, although I still think his post WHAT TIME IS IT THERE? films have suffered visually from the lack of Benoit Delhomme. Can't argue with the framing, but this gets kinda draggy at times, and really I do wish Tsai would try a little harder.}

6/22- 1408 (2007, Mikael Håfström) [5] {A pretty decent haunted-house flick distinguished by the presence of John Cusack, who's better here than he's been in years. After too many bad chick flicks in which Cusack got called on fill in the blanks for his character, it's nice to see him wandering well outside his usual comfort zone. I'd go so far as to say that this wouldn't be half as good without Cusack- it's one thing to see an actor prone to histrionics in the central role here, but because it's Cusack, perhaps the most composed and laid-back of contemporary leading men, it actually works. We buy the self-possessed cynic at the beginning ("let's Encyclopedia Brown this bitch"), which makes it all the more effective when he loses his shit. Bonus points for (SPOILER) actually pulling off the double-fakeout, which to my recollection no film has done since AUDITION. Well done, guys.}

6/20- Mutual Appreciation (2005, Andrew Bujalski) [5] {Pretty good, but this movie talks so much that when it's over there isn't a whole lot left to say about it. I still prefer FUNNY HA HA somewhat- the hem'n'haw dialogue feels less affected here, but the unpredictability of that film's characters made it more compelling. Also Kate Dollenmeyer > Justin Rice, acting-wise. Thusfar, I'm cool with Bujalski, but I think the people proclaiming him the voice of my generation need to settle the hell down. Although I certainly prefer him to, say, Zack Braff.}

6/18- /Punch-Drunk Love (2002, Paul Thomas Anderson)/ [****] {I think a big reason why I had trouble fully embracing this the first few times I saw it is that the small, incidental touches are pretty much the entire movie here. The way Barry cordially says "goodbye" after his sister has already hung up on him. The small cake he brings to the birthday party. Lance faithfully showing up at work in a suit just like Barry does. The matter-of-fact, indifferent voice Lena's desk clerk uses when asking "are you Barry?" The inside-joke feel of the comedic moments- "business is very food." Barry randomly noticing the 99 cent sign when he's cornered by the Mormon brothers. Lena's red dress, out of focus, down the aisle from Barry at the supermarket. The exaggerated soundtrack when Barry tears apart the men's room. How Barry, thwarted in his attempt to acquire his frequent flier miles, simply buys a ticket to Hawaii. The presence of the Atlas Van Lines truck in several key shots. Lena girlishly swinging her arms as she runs toward Barry. The way Barry hands the tire iron to the weakest Mormon brother, cowering in the back of the truck, after Barry has used it to beat up his brothers. Barry carrying the phone receiver back to the hospital, and then all the way to Utah. Mattress Man getting his haircut when Barry shows up. The phrase "beat the hell from you." And all the little lens flares, momentary swaths of color, funky shadows, and percussive Jon Brion music in between.}

6/17- Man's Favorite Sport? (1964, Howard Hawks) [***1/2] {I might be risking sacrelige here, but I actually prefer this to BRINGING UP BABY, of which this is a quasi-remake. This is mostly due to the more relaxed style that Hawks had when he was older, which gives the characters and comedy a little breathing room, all the better to be taken off guard by the bizarre touches (the bear, the stock footage of the trains, and so forth). And while Rock Hudson would never be mistaken for Cary Grant, I prefer Paula Prentiss' daffy performance to Kate Hepburn's more studied comic style, which has always been my big hangup with BABY. In other words, I believe Prentiss in the role in a way I don't believe Hepburn, whose fussy performance upstages the character. Lots of fun.}

6/17- /The Fugitive (1993, Andrew Davis)/ [***1/2] {Even better than I'd remembered. The direction is solid but not great, but I'm not sure it'd work with flashier filmmaking. In fact, it'd probably get in the way of the acting (not just Ford and Jones, but from a supporting cast chock full of handpicked character actors) and the taut screenplay. What really makes this work is that the film's two opposing protagonists are both smart- Dr. Kimble time and again makes good decisions and avoids falling into easy traps, and Gerard is left to piece together not only where Kimble's going, but also why he's been where he's been. Probably couldn't be made today- not only is it rare to see a big-star vehicle this lean, but the policier has become so self-aware since '93 that studios (let alone big audiences) couldn't be bothered with one this straightforward.}

6/14- In the Pit (2006, Juan Carlos Rolfo) [6] {As one interviewee says, "this bridge has taken many souls," and this film deals with a handful of the souls who've survived its building. Rolfo wisely sticks with the people who pour their sweat and energy into the project but will never receive any credit other than a little money. Not only that, but the workers are so poor that few have cars and probably won't get much benefit from it. Also, special mention to the dude who says, "a man can get used to anything, except work." Amen to that, hermano.}

6/13- La Vie en Rose (2007, Olivier Dahan) [4] {There's a reason why musical biopics are irresistible prestige projects- there's a familiar story arc, ample opportunities for the stars to indulge in great big Acting, and a ready-made soundtrack. Unfortunately, Dahan's only new wrinkle on the genre is that he insists on telling the story out of order, which was no doubt an attempt to shake up the formula, but instead only underlines the episodic nature of these things. Seeing as how Piaf's songs can be easily found, the only reason to watch this is Marion Cotillard, who might engage in awards-friendly mimicry, but does it so convincingly and fiercely that she's kind of hypnotic to watch. But other than that, this is little more than an arthouse MARCHE LA LIGNE.}

6/10- /Modern Romance (1981, Albert Brooks)/ [***1/2] {Man, it's been too long since I saw this last, and having been through a start-and-stop-and-start-again relationship myself (though not to the same extent) it hit me a lot harder this time. In a comedic way, yes, but the laughs catch in the throat, like when Brooks spends the night after the breakup getting gooned on quaaludes (in my case it was booze, but never mind) and randomly calling a girl in his Rolodex. Perhaps the key to the movie can be found in Brooks' ironic use of Joe Cocker's "You Are So Beautiful," whose simple-to-the-point-of-being-dopey lyrics contrast rather sharply with Brooks' constant neurosis and self-analysis. Plus it's really funny, which you already knew.}

6/9- Manufactured Landscapes (2006, Jennifer Baichwal) [6] {I liked how Baichwal's camera mimicked the style of the film's subject, Edward Burtynsky, while at the same time probing into his photographic subjects in ways he can't with a still camera. Overall, an interesting look of industrialization and modernization in contemporary China.}

6/9- Sex and Fury (1973, Norifumi Suzuki) [***1/2] {Righteous. This is about six notches above Suzuki's SCHOOL OF THE HOLY BEAST in terms of quality, not least because the characters and story are more engaging, rather than simply functioning as a clothesline for sacreligious imagery. Was expecting the film to go downhill after an amazing early fight scene, but surprisingly it kept on truckin'. I was a little let down that protagonist Reiko Ike didn't end up teaming with foreign guest star Christina Lindberg for some two-headed ass-kicking, but at least we got the scene of Lindberg whipping Ike, so that was cool. Will definitely have to seek out more (a) Japanese pinky-violence flicks, and (b) Lindberg movies- not sure if she's much of an actress, but she's some kind of wonder, and that's just as special in movies like this, perhaps even more so.}

6/8- Surf's Up (2007, Ash Brannon and Chris Buck) [6] {Between MONSTER HOUSE and this, Sony Pictures Animation is the only animation house who's actually trying to compete with Pixar from a visual standpoint. The filmmakers actually get a lot of mileage from the mockumentary format, as the unconventional (for a 'toon) camera movements freshen up a somewhat pro forma sports storyline. Bonus points for Jeff Bridges for more or less resurrecting The Dude, currently abiding in animated penguin form.}

6/7- Jigoku (1960, Nobuo Makagawa) [**1/2] {The first hour of this is actually kind of a slog, mostly devolving into a pattern of sudden killings taking place around the most cursed character probably ever. Gets more interesting once everyone winds up in Jigoku (which doesn't translate as "Heaven," fyi), with some sweet colored lighting schemes- gee, wonder if Argento saw this?- and theatrical effects. Still not sure how good this is, but it's pretty fascinating.}

6/5- El Topo (1970, Alejandro Jodorowsky) [***1/2] {It's not quite on the HOLY MOUNTAIN plane of awesomeness, but it's still pretty astounding stuff. Unlike HOLY MOUNTAIN, which is amazing from stem to stern, this only really kicked into gear for me after the big honkin' jump-forward in the middle. Don't get me wrong, the stuff with the gun masters is pretty fun, but this really cooks in the last 45 minutes or so. Man, I'd love to see me some Jodo on the big screen.}

The Bridesmaid (2004, Claude Chabrol)

Chabrol's late-period filmography has become as tightly-focused- some might say as narrow- as Ozu's did near the end of his life, but if anything Chabrol's only gotten more perverse, and thank goodness for that. This is probably his best since LA CEREMONIE, another Ruth Rendell adaptation. What I dug most about THE BRIDESMAID was the way Senta treated killing much like most "good girls" treat sex- as a sign of trust, a giving of oneself for another (love the payoff of this during the final sequence). As usual with Chabrol, he only provides the slightest hint of psychoanalysis, and just as typical is that it doesn't explain nearly as much as we hope and/or fear. Also, Laura Smet- yowza. Chabrol may be the most reliable filmmaker nowadays for the sheer variety of smokin' young ladies in his movies, but she's really something else. It's not that she's alternately hot and scary- it's that she's often both at the same time. Her face is really marvelous too- sometimes hard, sometimes soft, sometimes Eurasian, sometimes vaguely extraterrestrial. I have no idea what kind of range she has beyond this film, but I'll be damned if she wasn't perfect for this one. Rating: 7 out of 10.

Spider-Man 3 (2007, Sam Raimi)

Too much plot, Sam. With three villains to work with, plus Parker's relationship issues and a new girl waiting in the wings, this lacks the narrative simplicity of its predecessors. The idea of Raimi going back to the Spidey well again looks kind of unlikely, given the finality of the film's ending- there's not even a swinging through the city capper like in the two previous Spidey adventures. Also, too much goofy comic relief in the middle- I understand that with this much plot it probably had to be every minute of its 2 1/2 hours, but this stuff just distracts from what we came to see. Perhaps the filmmakers feared being too serious, lest they turn out like HULK. And when are they gonna use The Lizard? I mean, they already have a Dr. Connors in the movie, so you know it's got to happen eventually...} {A day later- man, does the fun stuff evaporate quickly while the problems stick out all the more. For one thing, I forgot to mention what a harpy Mary Jane turns out to be- yeah, it sucks that your career isn't working out as you'd hoped, but you see what Peter (who loves you) is doing? It's called empathizing, and I don't think Raimi does a very good job calling her on her petty crap. Being Spider-Man is just as much a performance as being an actress, and any performer with a shred of self-awareness could see this. Also, fans are probably gonna be semi-pissed by the short-changing given to Venom (admittedly a contentious figure) and especially Gwen Stacy. Gwen might have made for an ideal rebound girl in a subsequent Spidey movie, given how mood swing-y and prone to being victimized Mary Jane is, but instead Raimi relegates (read: wastes) her in a stock other-woman part. Pity, because not only is Bryce Dallas Howard a better actor than Dunst (hotter too, imho) but she captures the movie's spirit better than Dunst, who's always been a wet blanket in these things. My after-the-fact suggestion? Split this installment into two movies. First half: bring Sandman onboard, work out the stuff with Harry, and let the alien oozing stuff and the antagonism of Sandman and Harry bring out Spidey's dark side. Find a way to kill of Mary Jane during a battle with one of the baddies, thus causing a crisis of conscience in Peter. Introduce Gwen and hash out the dynamic with the pre-Venom Eddie Brock. Second half: Peter casts off his dark side, Eddie reaps the benefit, becomes Venom. In fact, Peter isn't sure he wants to be Spidey anymore, so he takes a hiatus to grieve and get his life together. Gwen gravitates to him and helps him move on, but jealous ex Eddie (teamed with the non-dead Sandman) kidnaps her to bring Spidey out of hiding to humiliate and destroy him. Could work, I think. Too late now. Rating: 4 out of 10.