Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? (1966, Mike Nichols)

I've seen this before, but the older you get, the more it hits home. I really liked the way the filmmakers didn't really disguise the film's theatrical roots, but at the same time added some subtle touches to make it work as cinema. Of particular interest are the occasional bits of behavior that might involve a character walking offstage, doing something, and then returning to the main action, but here Nichols holds on these people for just a moment, not just as a concession to the new medium, but also because that's where the really interesting stuff is happening. And make no mistake, this works like gangbusters as cinema. Despite the theatrical acting and the talkiness of the script, the end result is a movie instead of simply a filmed play (hard to believe it was Nichols' first feature). On top of that, this is one of the few movies that actually benefits from the very public relationship between its stars. Rather than distracting us, the film assumes that the audience knows all about its principal performers, and it builds on this knowledge only to shoot it right in the ass. Liz gets the really showy moments, and she sells them wonderfully, but it's Burton who really kills here. Instead of simply indulging in histrionics, he gives a magnificent, completely lived-in performance that's a wonder to behold. Oh, that voice! Rating: ***1/2 out of ****.

Zoo (2007, Robinson Devor)

While I certainly applaud Devor's avoidance of sensationalism in addressing "zoo culture" in general and the late Enumclaw horsefucker specifically, but I'm not sure this is a satisfactory alternative. So committed to making non-exploitative art is he that his film is gorgeous but has nothing to say. Devor speaks with everyone except those who might have made the film complex and interesting- no interviews with the deceased's ex-wife, no ER doctor or coroner, but hey, they found time for one of the actors in the re-enactment. Another problem is the idea of "bad laughs"- sure, I understand that with such a touchy subject you can't tear your hair out about the parts that will elicit nervous titters in audience members, but certain parts of this movie (like the bit with the miniature horse) were just a bad idea. Rating: 4 out of 10.

Brand Upon the Brain! (2006, Guy Maddin)

As clever as anything Maddin has done, but doesn't quite satisfy otherwise. Maybe it's just that it's too long- all the frenzied imagination wears me out after a while, while Cowards kept it brief at a little over an hour. Pure unadulterated Maddin can be wearying, at least for me, and around the 80 minute mark it just got to be a little much. Still, if that's the worst I can say about it then maybe I'm underrating it after all... Rating: 6 out of 10.

3:10 to Yuma (2007, James Mangold)

Fair to middling oater for most of its running time, but rallies in the final reel with an exciting final gun battle. Nice to see Crowe playing his role with a light touch for a change, and Bale's just as good here. Biggest complaint is that Ben Foster as Crowe's lieutenant is too self-conscious to work in the context of the film. Mangold is mostly an anonymous hack, but at least he's smart enough to stay out of the way until he's needed. Rating: 6 out of 10.

Angel-A (2005, Luc Besson)

Dopey, semi-worthless cinema du look version of It's a Wonderful Life, with a statuesque blonde angel coming to Earth to pull shlumpy loser Jamel Debbouze out of his rut despite the fact that he's one of the least appealing onscreen heroes I've seen in ages (not his appearance necessarily, but the fact that the character is such a cartoonish, uncomplicated loser). Notable only for the black-and-white 'Scope views of Paris, and for the super-foxy Rie Rasmussen- previously featured as the slow-motion legs in Femme Fatale- as the angel. Not that she's very good in the movie (or has much to work with) but she's extremely easy on the eyes, and this film made them eager to latch onto anything worth looking at. Rating: 3 out of 10.

2 Days in Paris (2007, Julie Delpy)

Unlike many films set in Paris, both good and bad, this one doesn't romanticize it, and it's this warts'n'all portrayal of the city that really makes the film feel lived-in. I also like that the central relationship story never quite goes where one would expect it to go- yes, he's jealous and neurotic, but she's no prize either, and if they decide there's going to be a happy ending then it's going to be a hard road to get there. Also, Adam Goldberg gets more comedic mileage with his sotto voce kvetching asides than anyone since Woody Allen in his heyday. The ending is a botch, but it's still well worth seeing. Rating: 6 out 0f 10.

Half Moon (2006, Bahman Ghobadi)

Starts off promisingly, as Ghobadi's direction feels more expressionistic than usual, and his story contains quite a bit of humor. However, the spirit of the early scenes eventually gives way to Ghobadi's usual miserablist portrayal of modern Kurdish life. And while I know that life isn't easy for the Kurds, Ghobadi's insistence on turning every film of his into a tragedy makes it feel like he's making his films solely for Western festival audiences grooving on liberal guilt. Put it another way- if Kurdish life was as consistently bleak as Ghobadi shows it to be, how could they possibly live? Rating: 5 out of 10.

Halloween (2007, Rob Zombie)

Sure, it's an uneasy mix of the original's narrative and Zombie's frenzied imagination, but it's pretty fascinating stuff. And despite all the references to the original series and to other old-school B-movies, Zombie mostly takes his story seriously. My favorite scene finds the grown-up Michael Myers killing a mental hospital orderly played by Danny Trejo. As Myers drowns his victim in a sink, Trejo can only whimper and cry out, "but I was good to you!" It says so much about Trejo's character that he would be nice to this monster and that he believed his kindness would be returned, and so much about Michael that he could find no place for gratitude or sentimentality. Also, great art direction- as in The Devil's Rejects, Zombie takes sets that are atmospheric as hell and makes them look grimy and lived-in instead of simply dressed the morning of the shoot. Rating: 6 out of 10.

Eastern Promises (2007, David Cronenberg)

Pretty good genre film, but little more. Could have done without the plot device of the newborn baby, for one- Naomi Watts gives a solid performance, but I'm not sure an audience surrogate was altogether necessary here. Much more interesting is Cronenberg's portrayal of the cutthroat underworld of the Vory v zakone, ruled over by the sinister yet avuncular Semyon (the great Armin Mueller-Stahl), and the rise of driver Nikolai (Viggo Mortensen) in the Vory's ranks. Here's where the film's fascination lies, and whenever we step outside that world the interest flags. Likewise, I'm not sure I liked the plot revelations that occurred near the end of the film, but after the already famous naked fight scene I was willing to forgive quite a bit. Worth seeing, but something of a disappointment from Cronenberg. Rating: 6 out of 10.

In the Valley of Elah (2007, Paul Haggis)

Yes, you read that right- I preferred the new Paul Haggis movie to the new David Cronenberg. Maybe Crash was a movie Haggis needed to get out of his system, as if the film's success allowed him to make a movie that wasn't trying nearly as hard to impress people. Or maybe it's just that the murder mystery story of Elah hews more closely to Haggis' background in episodic television, giving him a clean narrative through line rather than the tortured contrivances of the previous film. Wisely, Haggis lets his actors shoulder much of the emotional weight of the film, and Tommy Lee Jones is more than up to the task, giving perhaps the best performance of his career. Hank Deerfield is a hard, emotionally withdrawn veteran, and Jones gives a performance with no wasted gestures or actorly mannerisms. Look at the way he trembles during the fateful phone call to his wife, or the un-softened manner with which he tells the story of David and Goliath to Charlize Theron's young son. In the Valley of Elah is surprisingly apolitical in his approach to the War in Iraq, as Haggis doesn't lay the blame at the feet of the government or the armed forces, but merely questions and despairs at the logic of our country sacrificing its young on the battlefield. Much to my surprise, I was actually thinking Elah might be one of the best films of the year, but then I saw the final few minutes of the film, in which we first see the characters underscored by a baldly heartrending ballad, after which Haggis feels the need to go and Haggis up an otherwise fine film with a positively groan-worthy final shot. Why, Haggis? I was with you right up until the end, pal- why did you have to piss it away? Rating: 7 out of 10.

The Matador (2005, Richard Shepherd)

As expected it's even better the second time. The funny stuff is just as funny, the emotional stuff hits even harder, and my misgivings about the ending melted away. Julian and Danny are more than just an odd couple- they're yin and yang, and that's the key to their friendship. They don't need to spend all their time together, but each needs the other in the world, and they both acknowledge this without having to come out and say it. It's there in the way Danny runs to answer the door to his hotel room when the drunk, sobbing Julian comes knocking, and it's there in the way Julian makes his final exit at the end of the film. Also, if there was ever a director who was born to adapt Hunter S. Thompson, it's Richard Shepard. Rating: 8 out of 10.

Killer of Sheep (1977, Charles Burnett)

After I saw this for the second time in two days, I was leaving the theatre and the two douchebags leaving behind me complained about how it sucked because "it didn't have a plot." Yes, and? Killer of Sheep isn't a plot movie, but that's why it's a masterpiece, I think. It's a portrait of lives from which there is no escape- with a plot there has to be resolution, and resolution would magically clear up the troubles from which Burnett's characters suffer. It's the difference between the games the kids in the film play and the lives of their parents. When something happens to a kid, he'll walk away, cry it out, and then continue like nothing happened- problem resolved. But the problems facing the adults linger. The gangsters who try to bring Stan in on a crime will eventually be replaced by other gangsters, the white woman who runs the liquor store will keep trying to sweet-talk him into working for her (and screwing her on the side). And Stan's bone-deep weariness won't subside, despite his wife's hopes that it will. I didn't get a good look at the naysaying cheesedicks behind me, but when they complained that Killer of Sheep "didn't have any redeeming value," I quickly pegged them as spoiled rich kids. Anyone who has ever worked paycheck to paycheck, or has despaired that life seems like nothing but a long string of jobs interrupted occasionally by sleep, or has simply gazed at a loved one and wanted to cheer him but had no idea how, will find something in Killer of Sheep that speaks to them, no matter what color he is. And all that aside, Burnett gives us one small, perfect moment after another. Like Stan's daughter singing along with Earth Wind and Fire's "Reasons" and stumbling through the words until she gets to the "la la la" interlude, which she sings with the utmost confidence. Or Bracy berating Eugene in rhyme for getting a flat during a road trip to the track, but running out of words to rhyme: "you need to have a spare/but you's a square/that's why you ain't got no spare." Or the rare instance of Stan smiling in the film, when he jokingly explains to his daughter why it rains, and his wife beams back at him, as though she's finally seen the sun break through the clouds.

Also, having come to Killer of Sheep through George Washington- a film I love, mind you- I couldn't help but think of something John Lennon once said in an interview. When a reporter asked him what he thought of kids imitating the band by wearing Beatle wigs, he responded, "they aren't imitating us because we don't wear Beatle wigs." It was a joke, but it says a lot about the nature of homage. Whereas David Gordon Green paid homage to Killer of Sheep as a deliberate, affected style, Burnett simply made his film that way because it was the best way to tell his story under the circumstances. It was born of necessity, but it worked. Someone also needs to take a look at the influence of Killer of Sheep on Stranger Than Paradise. Jarmusch's film is more self-conscious to be sure, but it's also a similarly low-key, black and white portrait of go-nowhere city life. Even when Jarmusch's heroes take to the road, they don't really go anywhere in a deeper sense. Rating: 10 out of 10.

Across the Universe (2007, Julie Taymor)

There's a good reason why Beatles songs are covered again and again- aside from the band's enduring popularity, the songs are compulsively singable. However, most people can't resist the temptation to over-sing- whereas the Beatles themselves generally sang the songs pretty straightforwardly, most who cover them feel the need to squeeze every drop of emotion from the lyrics, tricking them up in order to make them their own. This is one of my big issues with Taymor's film as well- she just can't stay out of the way of the songs. She lavishes layers of visual pageantry on songs that don't really need the extra goosing. For the most part, the numbers that are most effective are the ones that are fairly straightforward- the dual-funeral "Let It Be," "Because" in nine-part harmony, and especially Martin Luther McCoy's take on "While My Guitar Gently Weeps." Meanwhile, the big production numbers are mostly labored, none more so than the Army-induction number that funds a group of new draftees carrying the Statue of Liberty on their backs while singing "She's So Heavy." The screenplay doesn't help matters- the format is little more than the miniseries The 60s but with all-Beatles music, and too often the transitions between the songs and the dramatic scenes are forced and obvious, as when a lovesick girl named Prudence locks herself in a closet. Gee, wonder what song her friends will sing to cheer her up? Might have been more interesting- if not necessarily better- had Taymor ditched the spoken dialogue altogether and made the movie all Beatles, all the time. There was a dust-up earlier this year between Taymor and studio head Joe Roth when Roth tried to pare down this movie. Now, I don't condone studio intrusion on an artist's vision, but on the basis of the three films she's made to date, Taymor could really use someone to keep her more indulgent side in check. Not studio meddling, mind you, but friendly constructive criticism. Someone to tell her, say, that the Eddie Izzard version of "Being For the Benefit of Mr. Kite" serves no purpose in the film, shoots the pacing all to hell, and is incredibly annoying to boot. Rating: 4 out of 10.

September 2007 mini-reviews

9/29- Feast of Love (2007, Robert Benton) [w/o] {Now that I'm paying to watch movies, you'll probably see more of these than before. Between Freeman on autopilot, Kinnear as the world's most oblivious man, and the vapid kids, I found absolutely nothing to latch on to here. I bailed just after Fred Ward threatened his son's girlfriend with a knife. No compelling reason to stick around- even the musical choices are lazy. I hope I never hear the Jeff Buckley cover of "Hallelujah" again in my life, and the Frames song just made me wish I was watching Once instead.}

9/23- Inferno (1980, Dario Argento) [***] {Bugfuck and nonsensical, but not in a bad way. Definitely suffers with home viewing (I saw it dubbed onto VHS from a DVD), will need to catch this on the big screen. Only real quibble is how dated the Keith Emerson (of ...Lake, and Palmer fame) score is, although it also contributes to the crazy otherworldliness of it all. And the scene with Kazanian and the rats is pretty goddamn incredible.}

9/23- Phantom Lady (1944, Robert Siodmak) [***1/2] {What she said, basically. Ella Raines- whoa. Raines aside, what really makes this cook is that it's a scruffy, seedy noir, but it's also at its heart a love story. Raines isn't a goody-goody, but she's not a femme fatale. She's a smart, resourceful woman who will do whatever it takes to free the man she loves. In a genre full of double-crosses and friends who are really users, this kind of unconditional devotion is rare and special.}

9/16- The Crying Game (1992, Neil Jordan) [***1/2] {What more can be said? Jordan's knack for switching gears both tone-wise and narratively is uncanny here. Jaye Davidson gives one of the great one-off performances in cinema history, but it never feels like a stunt. And Stephen Rea is of course a treasure.}

9/15- No End in Sight (2007, Charles Ferguson) [7] {The perfect film to pair with Redacted for your why-Iraq-is-a-clusterfuck double feature. Still mainly a talking-heads-and-stock-footage affair, but the talking heads are so well-chosen and insightful that I didn't really mind.}

9/14- The Italian Job (1969, Peter Collinson) [***] {It's illustrative to compare this to the 2003 version, which added a revenge plotline and the father issue, while subtracting the very specific British humor and setting the main heist in L.A. instead of Turin. Also, I like Wahlberg, but he can't match Caine at his most caddish, plus there's no Noel Coward or Benny Hill ("I like 'em biiiiiiiiiig!") equivalent. I think the chase is actually more exciting in the original, and certainly more intentive. Also, LOVE the ending.}

9/12- Wojaczek (1999, Lech Majewski) [**1/2] {If Aki Kaurismaki made a biopic, it'd probably look something like this. Worth seeing, but lacks the rigor of Van Sant's Last Days and doesn't give much insight into what made the title character a compelling poet. But then, that may be the point- he drank and screwed, he threw himself out of windows, he finally OD'd on pills, but before that he wrote some poems. It's almost an afterthought.}

9/6-9/11- Toronto International Film Festival

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.