Movie Mondays: Soapbox Rant - Twilight

Let me say from the start that I really, seriously, do not like Twilight. Commence the clutching of pearls.

To be fair, I've never read the books, so it could be said that I'm forming an opinion in ignorance. But I think that I've participated in/read enough commentary and discussion to at least have a bead on things. Now, if I were the fan and someone made such a sweeping statement about a beloved book series, I'd be all "if you haven't read it, then you don't get to have an opinion."

Oh, if only the world were that fair.

Still, I felt a nagging sense that I should at least gain some – and by some, I'm mean the very least I could possibly get away with – exposure to this, and I shudder to use the word in connection with this claptrap, phenomenon.

But, there it is.

I wasn't going to spend money doing it though because I am an exceptional cheapskate. But Showtime was kind enough to debut the movie Twilight this weekend and I though, eh, why not?

Oh, how I long for those 2 hours of my life back.

It wasn't a total loss. I identified the Arizona landscape in one frame (thanks Sis!) and that's always pretty in its own barbaric way. Remember, I've never read the books, so all I knew to expect was the towering trees of the Pacific Northwest and I only knew that much thanks to the proliferate marketing campaign. So I got pretty scenery from the get go. Check.

THINGS BEYOND MY ABILITY TO ENDURE

Bella is the greatest thing since sliced bread. Really? She shows up in this small, woodsy community and her shrinking violet self is immediately targeted by the most interesting boys in the school, to the detriment of the girls that have been vying for their attention for probably ever. I get the whole "new toy" concept, but all Bella does is send off signals of "please don't realize that I exist". I'm a far stretch away from high school, but I don't remember those being particular turn-ons for the popular crowd. Also, those same girls practically embrace their apparent competition. Again, it's been awhile, but where I grew up, if some new girl instantly started pulling guys away from the herd, the resident girls would label said interloper with welcoming terms like "cold bitch" followed quickly by "freaking weirdo". That much, I do remember.

Vampires GLOW in the sunlight. Are you freaking kidding me? Look, I'm all for reinventing the genre. I think what Laurel K. Hamilton did by creating her whole Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter world around vampires being acknowledge beings who hold legal status was a genius concept and, at first, equally engrossing execution (right up to when Hamilton lost her mind and screwed up the core of Anita beyond salvation. But that's another rant.) But even in Hamilton's world, the vamps still couldn't go into the sunlight. They are creatures of darkness, cursed to forever walk the night, no longer allowed the healing grace of the sun, damned for eternity people! But not in the Twilight-verse. Here, they glow like diamonds. I call, massive, irredeemable, bloody foul. Bram Stoker is doing triple solchows in his grave.

What the hell kind of acting is that? Granted, all I've seen of Robert Pattinson is his brief spell in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, but there were enough moments in Twilight where he showed signs of talent and skill to throw a big heaping spotlight on where he was just oh so bad. Much of that is the God-awful dialogue he was stuck prattling off like it had some Legends of the Fall level of angst. And I think the directing had a lot to do with it too. Plus, this sucker was churned out lickity-split to capitalize on Twilight fervor.

But still. Come on! Many of the articles I read when the film was released spouted off about how committed Pattinson was into getting Edward's emotional struggle and conflict, how he wasn't sleeping, how he was as torn as his character in some moments. Whahuh? I'm sorry to say, darling, but it really didn't pay off. Also, why are you making such contortions to your face? Is this your director-guided idea of emotional dilemma? Or are you digesting something poorly? AB negative, perhaps?

And don't get me started on Kristen Stewart. I can give pity points for inexperience, and I'm even willing to allow that this may actually be a job well done where she's created a character that is just so very bland as that's probably how she was originally written. It seems in keeping with the poor characterization I've been told is in the novel. But the pursing lips, open mouth, heaving breaths is straight out of the Keira Knightly school of acting (who I usually like, for the most part) and is not the template young actress should be following these days.

Complete lack of romantic chemistry or entanglement. OK, I remember enough of being a teenager to realize that the anticipation is really what winds girls up. But still, these two have the romantic chemistry of a pair of gnats. Really, it's just annoying. And for all the climbing of trees and the walking through woods we get one kiss and an eventual "no, don't touch!" response from Edward. Too much of their "relationship" is built in montage with romantic music overlaid so that we can't actually hear what they're saying. But it doesn't matter! She's Mary Sue – er – blessed Bella! He's her immortal, undead, tortured lover. Who can't stand the smell of her. Oh-kay.

Bella's voiceover. Lady, you're blandness has already a nonentity as far as I'm concerned. I already have to endure you on the screen to watch pretty, pretty Robert. Why would I want to hear what's rattling around in your head as well?

Jasper is a new "vegetarian" vampire. Which is why it makes perfect sense to send him off with the human to be her protection. Uh huh.

Peter Facinelli is blonde. I suspect this is again dictated by the characterizations in the novel, but it made this prime example of a smoldering man into a pale, blonde, boob. Which leads me to -

The most neutered vampires I have ever seen. I respect the fact that this particular group of the fanged variety is especially dedicated to not feeding off humans. But they are otherworldly creatures; surely there should be some sense of dread or threat beyond a fixed gazed on a bleeding hand. I guess this is because they glow. Again, faulty children, I refer you to Buffy season three, and the palpable fear and menace regularly created by The Mayor without a single drop of blood.

Sudden Big Bad comes out of nowhere for a compressed anticlimactic ending. Yeah they were there from the beginning, James, Victoria, and some abominable version of La Croix, picking off those poor, unwary and unworthy ancillary characters. Obviously, any guy who'd give little bottles to the kids when playing Santa deserves to be the prey of blood-sucking fiends? (We're all agreed that those were little liquor bottles, right?) None of our vegetarian vampires are really troubled by this, beyond the concern that these outsiders are trespassing on their territory and might be exposing our resident brood. But suddenly, poor blessed Bella is in danger from some vampiric whelp who's just met her, and it's all hands on deck. And it's not like she holds the key to the universe or will give birth to the ultimate vampire killer, or discovered The Key or whatever. It's only for the sport of it.

James, let me introduce you to Spike, an actually bad ass vampire who scared the piss out of me right up till he got neutered, but that wasn't till around season five, so you've a wealth of material as example. He even sniffs better than you. Hey, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, except when it sucks. Go undo your hair and be a good boy. Oh, wait, you're dead already because being undead doesn't mean that a girl can't break your neck before tearing your body to pieces and throwing those pieces into a fire. Or so we're told.

Not one single flash of fang. What kind of vampires are they? FOUL!!!

Despite this vitriol, there were a few things that I did actually like. Really, I'm as surprised as you are.

The baseball game. I really enjoyed watching the vamps play together like the family the purported to be. It showed their history together and their affection. Why couldn't we have more of that? Also more Elizabeth Reaser!

Edward's alpha strut through the high-school parking lot. Oh yeah, he's the man. He's got the blessed Bella on his arm. And he's having fun.

Robert Pattinson is an exceptionally attractive man, mostly, to my eyes, because his features are so unique and striking. It makes the contortions he utilized to exude emotional strain all the more disturbing, but it also makes him – dare I say it – glow when he's not trying so hard and when he's just having fun.

The apple trick. Nifty. Those English soccer skills pay off, huh Robert?

Sex, money, sex, money, cat. A genuine "Hee" for that, increased by the priceless expression on the cat man's face. Though that, for once, was a little scary in a weird way.

Bella's "friends". The quotes are because they don't really seem to be her friends off campus. Srrsly, no one seems to call her at night to chat, they don't hang out at the diner together, she's only ever on the phone with her mom. Any other woman would get the rap of thinking she's too good for them. But not our blessed Bella. The little group at Forks High School have a good time together and constantly, despite blessed Bella's pathological constant rejection of them, invite her to be a part of their fun-loving, exuberant group. Your loss lady.

The wolves: I am a downright sucker for good foreshadowing. I compulsively have to know what is going on, so any time even the hint of a deeper, continuing story is thrown out there I am compelled to carry on just to find out What Happened. So all those little moments with Jacob and his father, the drive by glare-off, the "I leave you alone for two minutes and the wolves descend" double entendre. I like it. I like the promise it shows and I'm sad for all the dropped opportunity it exhibits. This time, it's our loss.

I think there could be a fine story in here somewhere, but it so covered by the treacle and the failures that I couldn't even tell where to begin. I certainly don't see why it's engendered so much lavish devotion in its fan base.

Or maybe I can. Look, I was nearly in fits over The Outsiders in my day, and spent gobs of money on repeat viewings of Top Gun, Ferris Bueller, Sixteen Candles, Pretty and Pink – you get the idea. So I can relate. Sense rarely intervenes in this kind of devotion and I wouldn't have it any other way. But I do take onus with the quality. This is a feature film. It should call out all the stops, regardless of its source material. And when a good season finale of Buffy
the Vampire Slayer (I'll pull out season three here again because it rocks) can deep-six this entire movie for physical, emotional, and storytelling commitment, I'm totally in the dark as to what generates the fervor that surrounds this franchise.

Even if it glows.

Movie Mondays - Up

Confession time: I am not a big fan of Pixar films. I'm probably one of the very few who doesn't like Finding Nemo. I only really start to enjoy The Incredibles once they're all on the island and the action picks up (plus I just hate the boy child Speed or Fleet of Foot, or whatever he's called). And I have never seen Cars and just don't really feel its lack in my life. None of the other Pixar triumphs, not even Toy Story, have made any real sort of pleasurable impact on me. I've lived The Velveteen Rabbit, my friends. Imitations need not apply.

What I do like about Pixar is its commitment to telling complex stories within the fish and car and superhero motifs and the flat out refusal to dumb down the material simply because it's in an animated film. This meshes nicely with their frequent use of pop culture references and their vast appreciation for some of the classics (more on this later) as I love a good tongue-in-cheek jibe. But this is the source of my dissatisfaction at the same time. I cringe when Mr. Incredible is abused by his Napoleon-esque boss. The nebbishness of Papa Fish annoys me, and the whining, good Lord, the whining, really aggravates me. I do admit that his fear for his child does somewhat reflect mine for that which lurks beneath the surface of the deep, deep ocean. An odd sensibility particularly in light of the fact that I could swim almost before (or at least as soon as) I could walk and grew up spending summers body surfing down the Jersey Shore (grammatically, that phrase doesn't make sense, but if you're from Jersey, it does). But the weirdo creatures of the deep, while fascinating and often extremely beautiful even in their creepiness, freak me out. I figure this has more to do with "fear of things unseen" and therefore uncontrollable (have you met me? Control. Freak.) then it does with the actual creatures, but I'm not signing up to scuba dive any time soon just the same.

Aannnddd that concludes today's tangent.

Pixar's use of its medium to explore aspects of the real world is both a mark for and against it in my mind. I'm all for using new avenues to dramatize the issues of our lives, but when it comes with talking fish, cars, or portly, retired superheroes, it depresses me, happy ending or no. If the cute, fictionalized cartoon creatures of celluloid are having identity crises, the rest of us are seriously screwed.

UP is the latest offering from Pixar. I caught (unintentionally) the 3-D version of the film to kick off my Fourth of July holiday weekend, doing my solo act in a late afternoon viewing so as not to be bothered by having to be polite and nice to a companion, however welcome he/she may have been. I like going to movies with people because I like having someone to talk with about the film afterward (and, yes, during) but I'm also just as happy on my own. Sometimes more so.

UP tells the story of balloon salesman Carl Fredrickson. A shy, young boy who won't step on a sidewalk crack, Carl secretly wishes he was brave enough to be a swashbuckling adventurer. Then one day, Carl meets Ellie, herself a fearless dreamer determined to set off for the wilds of South America. Carl, she quickly decides, can come along for the ride. It's not long before these childhood best friends grow up to become man and wife. Over the years, Ellie's fierce exuberance balances Carl's practicality and they share the many happy adventures of everyday life together. But when their dream to have children is squashed, Carl decides now is the time to stop talking about going to South America and just do it. They set aside a fund jar to save their loose change for the journey. But, as so often happens, life frequently invades and the jar is smashed time and again to pay for things like a new roof, a mortgage, an illness. Now in the twilight of their lives, South America is as far away as its ever been. And when Ellie succumbs to illness and old age, Carl is left alone in the house they built together as condos and high-rises increasingly encroach around him.

And this is only the first 10 minutes or so of the movie.

Carl has vehemently resisted the developers vying for his property, but when he inadvertently assaults a construction worker, Carl is forced to relocated to a retirement community. On his last night at home, Carl remembers the promise he once made to Ellie. When the men in the white coats can pick him up the next day, it's to watch the house float away, anchored to thousands of balloons as Carl finally begins the journey to fulfill Ellie's lifelong dream and plant their home at the top of a waterfall in South America.

Immediately after lifting off, though, Carl discovers that he has a stowaway: 8-year-old Russell, a dedicated member of a Boy Scout-like wilderness explorer club who has been trying to complete his badge requirements by fulfilling his "assisting the elderly" responsibilities. Stuck with the nonstop chatterbox that is Russell, Carl is forced to take him along to South America.

From start to finish, UP is a total delight. The opening montage featuring Carl and Ellie's life together lasts merely the (OK, considerable) length of the opening credits and is heart-warming, tender, and lovely. My heart winced over and over for Carl as first his Ellie and then his treasured home and, more importantly, his independence is taken from him. I couldn't help but superimpose my own beloved grandfather over Carl's likeness as he, like Carl, struggles to find purpose for his every day life in the two years since my grandmother's death with no yard or house to maintain, no wife or children to care and provide for, just a lonely retirement apartment and a failing physical frame. Watching the early scenes of Carl's life and the desperate crisis that finally causes him to lose control (scaring himself to death in the process) and leads to him being forced to vacate his home, well, it quite simply broke my heart.

We are not doing anywhere near our part for our seniors, my friends. We simply aren't. They are our past. They have given us our future. They should be feted and pampered, they should be honored and revered. We cannot ever, not ever, do enough for them.

But I digress.

The humor runs nonstop through this film, effortlessly partnering the pathos without it all ever becoming schmaltzy. Ed Asner gives voice and life to Carl with his trademark lovable gruffness and newcomer Jordan Nagai makes Russell frustratingly endearing, playing up to the edge of supremely annoying (see Fleet of Foot above), but never trundling past it.

I was surprised and pleased that the actual balloon flight didn't take up the majority of the movie. It's not long before Russell and Carl land in South America - just not exactly at the spot where Carl was aiming. Thus the land journey commences and soon, Carl and Russell meet the rare bird Russell dubs Kevin, and the dogs chasing him.

This is where I must make my second confession.

The dogs just kill me. Observe: http://www.imdb.com/video/imdb/vi4071227929/

They crack me up. From the moment Dug comes on the screen, it all just slays me. No description I could come up with can do it justice. You'll just have to trust me on this. And watch the clip. The dogs rock.

I felt real peril in this film, not just for Carl and Russell and eventually Kevin and Dug. There was definitely a lot of that - how could there not be when the only thing holding them all up was a bunch of balloons? But mainly, I was worried about the house. I found myself gasping out loud at certain points, whispering (to myself of course) the house! WHERE'S THE HOUSE? I was so invested in getting Carl his happy ending, of him somehow finding ease for some of his grief at losing Ellie that I was wound up tight each time it was in jeopardy. I was well and truly along for the ride.

Ellie would be so proud.

UP heralds the notion that that it is never too late and you are never too old to fulfill your dreams. There should be no point at which any of us says, "I'm too old for that". UP also reminds us that we can never know exactly how our lives will change or who or what will do the changing. It takes courage to recognize those moments and to make the best of them. Often it needs a helping hand; sometimes it even requires a talking dog.

I would be remiss if I didn't mention the exciting, thrilling, wonderfully impossible climax of the film, where the slightly twisted homages to Raiders of the Lost Ark and Star Wars (and one to the infamous Dogs Playing Poker velvet painting) had me cackling with delight. As soon as I saw the bi-plane hanging from the dirigible, I knew what had to come next and those Pixar boys did not disappoint. It just never gets old, man.

Go see UP. It'll remind you to hope. It'll encourage you to dream. It'll help you appreciate all the people in your life that make you happy. And it might make you want to buy a balloon or two.

Just in case.

UP is rated PG: Parental Guidance suggested for some peril and action

Movie Mondays Snow Day Edition - The International

Welcome to the snow day edition of Movie Mondays. I was off yesterday due to a happy, happy snow day and reveled in doing nothing (not really; got a bunch of work done, actually) so what would have been yesterday's post is now today's. Follow? Good.

In The International, Interpol agent Louis Salinger (Clive Owen) has been tracking the nefarious dealings of the International Bank of Business and Credit (IBBC) for years. Its crimes range from money laundering to armament sales and the destabilization of small governments. Now, along with Manhattan ADA Eleanor Whitman (Naomi Watts), Salinger's obsession has put him in a high-stakes chase around the globe as he investigates a powerhouse that will stop and nothing to maintain its control over the financing of terror and power.

Early last fall, I went to a viewing of The International as part of a marketing focus group. I get invites to such things from time to time, but only rarely does time, place, and content flow together as well as it did with The International. I enjoyed it - really enjoyed the centerpiece shoot out, but I'll get to that in a minute - but I felt it had a few hiccups that needed work. This past weekend I got the chance to go see the final cut.

At both viewings, I immediately liked the global span of this film; it travels from Berlin to Lyon to Milan to Istanbul and beyond. The visual landscapes are striking. There are also several aerial shots of locations that I felt really emphasized a sense of the vastness of our world while also giving scope to the vast control of the fictional IBBC bank. Vertigo might sweep through you on some of those high-altitude Milan shots, but push past it to gape in spite of it.

I was pleased that those rough spots I'd noticed in the early viewing had been, for the most part, fixed. It was much easier to follow the convoluted plot in the final version and I didn't find Naomi Watts nearly as annoying as I did the first time around. Much of this is thanks to the elimination of the subplot involving her home life and family issues and a poorly executed romantic attraction between her and Clive's Salinger. Instead we get a scene of her working through the night with a frisson of her husband's displeasure with her workaholic ways. It doesn't arrest the pace or plot as it once did. We're not in this for her family angst; we're along for the ride with Clive and the bad guys.

This is really a boy's club of a movie. Watts is there for the female vote and she lacks the charisma and onscreen presence to put any real heft behind her attempt at a balls-to-the-wall ADA. I thought she was extraordinary in The Painted Veil, a movie I like more and more every time I see it. It's filled with fascinating character moments, especially as a good percentage of the film involves barely any words being spoken. Watts excels at presenting her character journey, revelation, and transformation in this difficult non-verbal arena, but this skill is misplaced in a thinking action film like The International.

That said at least she's been pared down and tightened to be as little a distraction as possible for someone who is carrying the secondary lead. And to be fair, it's hard to be paired up with someone who carries the hot diggity damn charisma that is Clive Owen. He smolders his way through the film, his righteous indignation nearly vibrating off the screen. Clive's Salinger grows rougher and rougher around the edges as the film progresses, his outer deterioration reflecting his inner turmoil as he gradually discovers exactly what depths he will sink to in order to bring down this bank.

The villains are ably represented. Armin Mueller-Stahl does his always nuanced elder bad guy variation on a theme. If his sly evil creeped you out as much as it did me in Eastern Promises, this return to the weary, veteran spymaster/manipulator role will be welcomed. As head of the IBBC, Ulrich Thomsen oozes the corporate insouciance that values people's lives by where they fit on a balance sheet. And Brian F. O'Bryne keeps death coming as the assassin du jour, highlighted with whiz bang ferocity in the climatic shoot out.

The Guggenheim Museum shoot out. Oh my giddy aunt. When I first saw the film as part of the marketing group, I gasped and chortled my way through this shoot out, equal parts aghast and exhilarated by the fact that they were shooting up The Guggenheim!

Maybe that's why they haven't asked me back since.

And what a shoot out it is. Since I absolutely cannot see the museum allowing a movie production to actually shoot its famous rotunda to bits (though clearly they filmed the less bang bang shots on location), I cannot begin to tell you how they did it. In a world where the next big moment is often obviously shot against a green screen, it's nice to see movie magic where I can't differentiate the real from the make-believe. This entire sequence totally rocks. Bullets fly everywhere with whole chunks of the rotunda exploding from one moment to the next. The film clicks along up to this point with the info dumps and the murders as the pieces of the puzzle coming together and then - Boom! It all explodes at the Guggenheim.

It's eerie, how on point this film is about the financial world today. Not about managing the armaments etc. per se, but about managing the debt created by these criminal dealings as well as more legitimate banking ventures. Art imitates life perhaps too keenly here as we daily see news of new economic debris from greedy management. This particular too-close-to-the-truth plot has no doubt impeded the movie's overall success as people are perhaps more interested in escapism oriented films right now, but don't let the weighty associations of The International keep you away from this robust, meaty, good ride of a film.

You'll be missing out.

"Don't Fall in Love With Me" - The Oscars

Something in my DNA will combust if I don't make some comment on the Oscars, but I'm pressed for time so I will revert to bullet points to speed things up.

• Hugh: awesome, of course. You were expecting something else from me? The opening rocked and I can't decide if I want to kill Anne Hathaway or become her, but that segment was delightful and I was laughing a ton throughout the whole number. Still, I'll agree with many other critics that his extended absence from the stage in the later half of the show was disappointing. Some of those same critics accrue this to his lack of comedy improv chops, but I'd refer them to Hugh's performance in THE BOY FROM OZ; he worked plenty of improv into that puppy night after night.

• The length: It's the Oscars, it's always going to be long. I may be glad I'm not enduring this in person sometimes, but I admit that I'd be disappointed for a shorter, less fulfilling program. Take Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix for example. Though I've watched the film to death, I still feel cheated by it's demonstrably shorter length and am justifiably worried about what this means for the remaining movies in the franchise that will be made by OOTP's same director. I'm sure I'd feel similarly if they so cut the Oscars. So buck up baby.
  

• The five masters' presentations of the acting awards: I liked it a lot and yet the first thing I said when they began with the Supporting Actress category was "They are never going to be finished on time if they keep this up." (Yes, I said it out loud, to myself, because that's what I do.) If I were one of those nominees, I would be in a puddle on the floor to be addressed with such familiarity and grace, and to be given such praise by someone with acting heft like Shirley MacLaine (I'm looking at you again, Hathaway!) So I was moved and touched by the tributes and by the look on the nominees' faces, for the most part they were too. Still, I don't see them repeating it any time soon.

• The multiple-awards presenters: By far, Fey and Martin were the best. I read one review that likened their banter to a soap opera spoof, but I thought it was meant more to twiddle the Jane Austen motif. I thought Tina Fey made a reference to Austen herself and the look she gave Steve Martin before his priceless delivery (quoted above in the headline) struck me as being more lost-in-unrequited-love-while-bound-in-a-corset related than anything else.
  

• The Copacabana set atmosphere: I confess to really enjoying the staging of the night and the efforts that were made to instill a more intimate feeling in the room than the cavernous setting that is the Kodak Theater. It may have been elitist to wall off the top runners in the front gaggle of rows, but visually, it worked. Not having the cameras pan out to the middling crowd helped to maintain it too.

• The sound awards and whatnot: How are these not technical and thus part of that separate event? Please don't give me the real reason why - I don't really care; I just want to move the ceremony along. Granted, it didn't grate as much as it could have, most due to a self-awareness and brevity (for the most part) among the winners. And to sign off with "Domo arigato, Mr. Roboto" shows a man who knows how to play his audience. But please, can we move these off the main ticket?
  

• The second Big Number: When you've got a triple threat like Hugh Jackman, you've gotta milk him for all he's worth (Ahem). And I'm not going to complain about something that gives me more Hugh, but I viewed this second song and dance number with puzzled brow and a general feeling of "Oh - Kay." Then I heard that Baz Luhrmann choreographed/arranged it and it made a little more sense. Some of it. It was like a schizophrenic medley up there. Sure it was an amazing technical feat and everyone performed it incredibly well, but, eh. Still, God bless those poor High School Musical and Mamma Mia kids though as they experienced the joys of live theatre complete with torn stockings, missing hats, and entangled bow ties and microphones to finish the number with joie and poise.
  

• What was Peter Gabriel's problem?: Look, I understand wanting your Oscar nominated theme song to be heard by itself, in its entirety, on awards night. But I thought the medley of the three nominated numbers was very well done and the blending of the three at the end an act of music wizardry and talent that is very difficult to nail as well as they did. Kudos to John Legend and company for pulling that all off. Honestly it just made PG look like an asshat for refusing to participate. Apparently, they didn't need him after all.
  

• Brevity of musical choices: What the hell is up with only three nominated songs? I seem to remember Beyoncé crooning more songs than that back when Jay-Z produced the show and gave his girlfriend nearly all the performances. This only emphasizes the crime that is the lack of a nomination for Bruce Springsteen's The Wrestler.

• The acting wins - men: Sean Penn - you betcha. He made be a prick of a perfectionist, but the man can act extraordinarily well. After years of getting passed over for damn good work, it's nice to see him picking up an heir and a spare. I did have a hope for Mickey Rourke, but the man has yet to learn from his mistakes as his behavior in the last few weeks demonstrates. You can be weird and odd and out there when you have the talent, backlist of work, and damn good looks of a Johnny Depp. But when you're crawling your way out from the bottom of the heap after deep-sixing your promising career, you have to shut up (and please God, clean up) and play the game. And he didn't. And he lost. Of course Heath Ledger won for Supporting Actor. How can you compete against a dead man who gave the performance of his career? I thought his family's acceptance was very classy and well done. Good on ya.
  

• The acting wins - women: You rock Kate Winslet! I was scared to death La Streep would pull it out in the end. Also, I admit I secretly hoped to see Melissa Leo force an upset because she is awesome and undersold, but it was Kate's night and I could not be more pleased. Many people first met her in Titanic - I first saw her in Sense and Sensibility and while that movie has its flaws, she was never one of them. Kate is at the top of her game, one of the most talented, unbelievably skilled, focused and exceptional actresses of her generation (I'd add Rachel Weisz to that group too, but right now can't think of any others). It should never take that stuffy academy six nominations to give this goddess the big baldy, but at least now they pulled their heads from their butts and done the right thing. Huzzah! As for Supporting Actress? Shut up Penelope Cruz. I do not get the obsession with this woman, nor do I care to. She won. Whatever.
  

• Not playing off the winners: About bloody time. Again, there's the time constraints to be considered. But these people just achieved the professional pinnacle of their careers. Let 'em talk, for crying out loud.
  

• The rest of the awards: It was a Slumdog night and really there isn't much else to say about that. You couldn't find more appreciative, star-struck, is-this-really-happening-to-me? people than the cast and crew present last night from Slumdog Millionaire. 'Nuff said.

• The fashions: Nobody was horribly attired - at least none of the people that I saw. I thought Kate might be a bit too bronze, but she was stunning otherwise. Angelina's emeralds were so big I wondered if they were glass (shows what kind of eye for jewelry I have). But in general, everyone was very classy (I'm not looking at you Rourke!) I loved, absolutely LOVED, having Tim Gunn of Project Runway fame interviewing on the red carpet. He's a class act, he knows his fashion and his stars and he's just a darling. Perfect choice.
  

Halfway though the ceremony, I texted my sister and said "this is my favorite Oscar show in a while and I don't mean the award winners. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't but I had a great time watching nonetheless, which is the point, after all, of tuning in in the first place.

And Hugh, of course.

From the "Some People Are So Bloody Clever" File

This link that re-envisions movies as book jackets.

Pick your favorites.

Mine? Not too surprisingly I'm tickled by Highlander, Shaun of the Dead, Batman Returns, Back to the Future and Labyrinth.

Hee.

007 Is Tone Deaf - Movie Mondays

Oh, Mamma Mia. Here I go again.

OK, this one I had my doubts on. I only had a passing urge to see it in the theater this summer especially as, based on the previews, I thought for once here was something that Meryl Streep couldn't do, namely sing and dance. Turns out she isn't all that bad and actually manages to sing The Winner Takes It All rather well. It's not an easy song and one that goes on for-evah at that, so doing it really well is saying something. As for her dancing, well, not everyone was born with rhythm and she certainly plunges in fearlessly so points for that. It's still looks a tad odd - La Streep cavorting around a Greek isle in overalls while always trailing flowing pieces of cloth, shawls, sweaters, or disco arm bands like some sort of Pied Piper for textiles - but, okay.

I confess, I like ABBA songs, particularly Dancing Queen, Waterloo, SOS, Take A Chance on Me, and to a slightly lesser extent, Mamma Mia itself. Chirpy, bouncing, fun, and romantic tunes with good harmonies. What's not to like? And with this movie, I also get nearly 2 hours of Pierce Brosnan, Colin Firth, and Stellan Skarsgard being cute and silly. Plus both Pierce and Colin take their shirts off and get wet - Remington Steele AND Mr. Darcy in the same scene dancing and singing bare chested in the faux rain. I don't need much more than that to be having a good time (maybe a little more.) I think the film may have caught fire at one point.

Good on ya.

The movie is really delightful. I laughed out loud over and over again at all the antics. Yes, it's mostly a chick flick, but so what? Julie Waters - best known far and wide and forever to the masses as Harry Potter's Mrs. Weasley - is an absolute scream and Christine Baranski and her never ending legs and wicked humor are as much of a good time as ever. Plus, it's filmed on location in Greece (or somewhere like it) and the scenery is absolutely stunning. And then there are those three lovely lads. I can turn a deaf ear to the musical missteps and general unlikeliness for the most part to get all that and just fall into the silliness and have a good time, which, after all, is all the film wants you to do.

Except for one thing.

Pierce Brosnan is tone deaf. Lord bless him, 007 can't carry a tune if it was strapped on his back. Only either no one making the film noticed - incredibly unlikely - or it's all good to them as it's freaking Pierce Brosnan and women from 4 to 104 will fill the seats to see him. So he has not one, not two, but at least three solo moments. I cringed every time he ballyhooed, repeatedly groaned Oh poor Pierce!, and prayed for temporary loss of hearing. With the chorus behind him and when he's not trying to be, you know, melodic, then he's - er - um - okay, but please God, don't give the man his own microphone ever again.

Good thing he's pretty. Still, oh so very pretty.

Speaking of the chorus, there is a gaggle of Greek laborers - maids, gardeners, plumbers, farmers, etc - that pop up behind the stars throughout the movie, mostly during the big numbers, to serve as the chorus. The Greek Chorus. I nearly peed my pants laughing when I figured that out (I'm Polish; it took me about 20 minutes, but I was there eventually). An actual Greek Chorus. During the end credits - and do, please watch the credits, don't flip the DVD right back to the menu or turn it off. Totally. Worth. It. - they show the actors who played the chorus floating on clouds, wearing ivy leaves on their brows, playing harps and accompanied by sheep just to point out for those of us that STILL didn't get it that they're the Greek Chorus.

Oh my giddy aunt.

It's not quite free, but take a chance on Mamma Mia anyways.

Rated PG-13 for risque themes and humor and one shot of Stellan Skarsgard's bare butt.

Alan Rickman is a god

I adore the actor Alan Rickman. For those of you who only know him as Snape in the Harry Potter films, you're missing out on the expanded repertoire of an accomplished, wicked, delightful, talented man. Who else could have imbued Snape with such humanity and complexity? Having finished reading the HP oeuvre, I'm even more keen than ever to watch Snape's vindication unfold onscreen and to see what amazing things Rickman does with it.

Beyond the HP films is the fantastic Truly, Madly, Deeply with the supreme Juliet Stevenson, directed by the late, great Anthony Mingella. Probably his most famous movie role is the villainous role of Hans Gruber in Die Hard, his first American film role, where he set the standard for the modern villain while uttering these immortal lines:

"'When Alexander saw the breadth of his domain, he wept for there were no more worlds to conquer.' The benefits of a classical education."

And of course Rickman's wickedly delightful Sheriff of Nottingham in the best damn thing about Robin Hood Prince of Thieves:

"I'll eat your heart out with a spoon!"
"Why a spoon cousin?"
"Because it hurts more, you twit!"

Campy and cartoony, but oh so much fun.

(Folks, I didn't even have to look those quotes up.)

I could go on and on - as you all no doubt are well aware - but I do have a point; this clip below.




Sizzling hot, sexy and tender with a world of class.

And then there's that tango.

Gotta go stick my head in the freezer now.

Oscar Dish

I'm keeping my Oscar dish short (my kind of short) because the whole world is blogging about the Academy Awards in one form or another. I think we have the Writer's Strike to thank for what feels like an unusual amount of coverage, even considering the hundreds of millions that watch the telecast every year in countries around the world. The dearth of awards shows this season, thanks to fears of picketing and, oh yeah, a distinct lack of writers to write the often cheesy intros and presentation banter, have made the Oscars the one sure thing for Hollywood's self-congratulatory love fest. The only other of note was the Screen Actor's Guild Awards. For once the Golden Globes presentation actually reflected the hypocrisy of the Globes themselves as the pitiful news conference/Entertainment Tonight slag fest it devolved into was an exercise in embarrassment and a case study in not knowing when to quit.

But what made the Oscars shine tonight was a miraculous event not seen in many a year: Everyone was having fun! Usually, by the time the gaggle of actors, directors, producers, cinematographers, costumers, documentarians, animators, and musicians, etc. get to the Oscars, the official conclusion to Spring's annual award frenzy, some just seem exhausted (underneath the layers of make up and designer togs), presumably worn down by the campaigning and the marketing and the glad handing and by answering the same questions over and over again. But with the strike deep-sixing the larger awards shows, last night was a somewhat rare occasion for the Hollywood elite (and aspiring elite) to have a good time looking gorgeous and celebrating each other (never mind the possible catty exchanges in the ladies room.) It was just plain fun.

Here are the bulleted highlights of things I enjoyed:

• How awesome is John Stewart? I enjoyed so many of his quips (I am NOT You Tubing them - much too much work for a Monday morning) but my favorite bit was him bringing out Marketa Irglova after the commercial break so she could add her thanks for the Best Song win, making up for the orchestra cutting her off pre-commercial. A thoughtful act for a woman who may never grace that stage again to have her moment in the sun.
  
• I've loved Daniel Day-Lewis since The Last of the Mohicans, but have admired him and been in awe of his talent and process longer than that. Somehow I missed his poetry of words (which shouldn't be that surprising considering that his father was Poet Laureate of England) but after the SAG awards acceptance speech and last night's speech, I am suitably in awe of his tongue (not that way!) as well.
• The seeming array of foreign winners last night, with Italian-, French-, and Spanish-accented English flowing out from the podium during acceptance speeches.
  
• Enjoyed Josh Brolin and James McAvoy's banter together and with Jack. I always like it when the presenters have fun with what they're doing. (Sorry Katherine Heigel, but get over yourself. You've been headlining Grey's Anatomy and taking on the boys in the Apatow oeuvre - you can handle this. It was like when Ashley Judge said she was just a Southern girl in the big city - for, like, 10 years already. Please.)
  
• Is Jack the Oscar mascot now? Always in the front row, repeatedly referenced by host and presenters alike, yucking it up with Regis. It's fun, but it's a little weird.
• Loved Helen Mirren, Hilary Swank, and Jennifer Garner's dresses (though Garner needs to get the hair out of her face and Mirren should know better than to wear fabric that wrinkles in the limo ride over - see what I learn from reading The Fug Girls!) Not so good? The vine climbing Anne Hathaway's chest, Jennifer Hudson's my-breasts-point- in-different-directions Grecian ode, Diablo Cody's I-really-was-a stripper-see-I- still-dress-like-one, nearly transparent, leopard-print mu-mu, and Tilda Swinton's I-was-so-nervous-I-ate-the-sleeve-on-one-side-of-my-dress-but-spared-the-other- side-so-you-wouldn't-think -I-was-strange black caftan-like dress. Didn't work honey. I think Swinton's an amazing actor, ever since her awe-inspiring turn in Orlando, but the girl seems a tad odd.
  
• Lovely, lovely George Clooney was everyone's favorite gent, despite not winning last night (always a winner in my book though, George!) I particularly enjoyed Tilda Swinton's recognition of the nipple-prominent Bat Suit she claims he continues to wear under his designer togs (I knew it!) And Day-Lewis' recognition of him on his (Daniel's) way up the stairs was a charming nod to lovely George. I love those impromtu moments.
• Daniel Day-Lewis' knighthoood. She may not be the real Queen Elizabeth, but Helen Mirren certainly rules that realm.
• Marion Cotillard. I found her win surprising - I thought Julie Christie had that one locked after the SAG awards - but I found Marion's enthusiasm and delight infectious. (Though what is the deal with having the Best Actress award at 10:30 and waiting another hour for the Best Actor award, coupling that award with the juggernauts of the evening, Best Director and Best Picture? I'm not liking the implications there.)
• Love that Glen Hansard and the aforementioned Marketa Irglova not only sang their ballad "Falling Slowly" at the awards show, but won Best Song over all the productions of Enchanted (which I saw and enjoyed) and the somewhat annoying "Raise it Up". Once is so the little movie that could.

Those were the moments that are still in my head (it was a VERY late night at my house, which had little to do with the Oscars). People said that in 2003 we had a return to glam after the subdued tone the 2002 Oscars had less than six months after 9/11. I would never lift anything to the same significance as 9/11 and certainly nothing as trivial (in comparison) as the Writer's Strike, but I had the sense of a return to having a good time and enjoying the evening in a similar way.

I know I enjoyed it.

Cinematic Harmony

I've been listening to the CD soundtrack from the movie Once in my car since I picked it up last Friday and I just have to mention it here because it's great and makes me happy.

But first a little about the film. Once is an independent film released last year about a Guy in Dublin with a newly dented heart (courtesy of ex-girlfriend) who fixes vacuums in his father's business but whose real passion is music. Every day he goes and sings on Grafton Street as a street musician, his playlist made up of the songs that attract the tourists and their money, but he breaks out his own material at night. He meets an Eastern European Girl who passes out flowers on Grafton Street. She approaches him while he's playing one night and sings (pun intended) his praises. They bond. They make music - literally. She inspires and encourages him to record a demo and helps him secure a bank loan to do so. He rustles up some street musician friends to be the band and they record said demo so that he can go to London, make up with soon-to-be-not-ex-girlfriend, and we are left to believe that success lies around the corner for him as he conquers the music business with his singer/songwriter tunes.

I thought the movie was lovely, but I can't laud it without caveats. It's a little slow and is basically a series of songs linked together by a nice little script, which makes it great if you're a fan of music but not so great if you're looking for a more traditional movie. It's has a typical independent film feel with a little shaky camera work and lots of use of authentic locations, which include the wonderful treat of seeing different parts of Dublin. Movies like this one often makes me wonder whether the people in the background are extras hired for the scenes or just regular people going about their day. I love the ambiguity of that. This guerilla style film making is most obvious when filming our street musician performing on Grafton Street in Dublin while hoards of shoppers and tourist flow naturally around him.

It's such a sweet story of a thirty-something man with a dented heart still seeking his dreams, playing his music when he can while fixing vacuums with his newly widowed father. He clicks with this woman who plays piano in the back of a piano shop on her lunch hour b/c she can't afford one for herself. In a very short time, these people have an enormous effect on each other, their lives subtly reinvigorated from their time together. They're never given names - simply listed as Guy and Girl in the credits - and I for one never noticed the lack till the end. And for a film marketed as a romance, there's very little overt romance in the film. They're just two people who click with together and fill a need in each other's lives long enough to get to the next step in their journey.

And then there's the music. I've been listening to it nearly nonstop since I bought the CD. I really like it; for some reason, the songs are still spinning around in my car and in my head. They're written (with the exception of two Van Morrison covers) and sung by Glen Hansard a singer/songwriter who is the former front man for The Frames and who plays Guy. I'd never heard of him before, but he's very talented and he sings every song on the CD accompanied on many by Marketa Irglova (Girl), also a singer/songwriter who contributes material as well. They're musicians, not actors, which makes me think that they were probably playing themselves for the most part in the movie, but it works, so no worries.

Really, it's the music that resonates with me more so than the movie. One scene that sticks with me where the music and movie function inextricably - one unable to exist without the other in order to create the desired effect - is when Guy takes Girl to a large dinner party where it's loud and boisterous with everyone having a good time eating and talking and then the instruments come out and there was music. I watched this scene and thought "this would be a perfect evening for me" and that's true because that is indeed what I would consider a perfect evening; good friends, great food and conversation, and then music and singing and joy.

I listen to track 14 on the soundtrack "And the Healing Has Begun" where Glen Hansard sings a cover of Van Morrison's great song with such passion and commitment...

we're gonna make sweet music under the stars/
we're gonna play to the violin and the two guitars/
and we'll sit down and play for hours and hours and hours and hours/
when the healing has begun

...and I think of that scene and the times I've sat around with people and music and just sang (something that hasn't happened in a long time) and had joy . I still find myself driving along listening to this track, thinking on this scene and smiling. Sweetly, sadly, but smiling.

Track #2 is another favorite where a very different emotion is evoked when Marketa sings:

are you really here or am I dreaming?/
I can't tell dreams from truth/
it's been so long since I have seen you/
I can hardly remember your face anymore/
when I get real lonely/
and the distance causes our silence/
I think of you smiling/
with pride in your eyes/
a lover that sighs/
if you want me/
satisfy me

It's so haunting, so aching with loneliness and desire, and yet so beautiful. I get out of the car and that song just stays with me, floating around in my head all day. Cinematic harmony.

So go rent the movie for a lovely film about two people at a crossroads who, for a short time, find kindred spirits in one another and are able to move to their next stage of life because of that brief relationship. Then get the CD and dive into the music. If you like acoustic guitar heavy, singer/songwriter music like Dave Wilcox, early Cademon's Call, or the great Van the Man, then give this a listen. And the healing may begin.