Weathered

To Die For

1995, USA/UK

Gus Van Sant

As far as the cast is concerned, To Die For is pretty great. As the bubbly, ambitious, murderess/weather girl, Suzanne Stone, Nicole Kidman gives one of the finest performances of her wildly divergent career. I shutter to think of another major Hollywood actress who has delivered more of a range of performances and film choices than Kidman has—for better (Dogville, The Others), worse (The Stepford Wives, The Paperboy), and up for debate (Eyes Wide Shut, Moulin Rouge!). The supporting cast—particularly Illeana Douglas as Suzanne's figure skater sister-in-law and Joaquin Phoenix as one of the juvenile delinquents Suzanne hires to kill her husband (Matt Dillon)—is also uniformly wonderful. Look for a cameo of sorts by David Cronenberg near the end of the film.

In terms of satire though, it's pretty limp. I struggle to call it "dated," but its commentary on celebrity and fame has become an inescapable subject since the dawn of the Internet. Television satires like Network or The Truman Show still feel viable and relevant, even if TV has changed significantly since their release, but To Die For ultimately has very little to say that doesn't sound rather obvious nowadays. Gus Van Sant does provide some excellent touches in the film, notably the homage his makes to Howard Hawks' Scarface with two tiny X's reflecting off Suzanne's blue eyes as she delivers the weather forecast the night her husband is murdered (pictured above). To Die For almost rises to the occasion (pun sort of intended) when the U.S. National Anthem puts Suzanne into a trance as she realizes the murder of her husband doesn't just lift the weight off her "shooting star" but places it in front of more cameras than she ever dreamed. This is hardly an epiphany for anyone familiar with the current trends in "unscripted" television and tabloids, but Van Sant and Kidman's combined efforts do stand tall here, if only for a glimmering moment.

With: Nicole Kidman, Matt Dillon, Joaquin Phoenix, Casey Affleck, Illeana Douglas, Alison Folland, Dan Hedaya, Holland Taylor, Wayne Knight, Kurtwood Smith, George Segal, Susan Traylor, Maria Tucci, Tim Hopper, Michael Rispoli, Buck Henry, David Cronenberg

Vice Magazine interviews Lars von Trier

Leave it to Vice to conduct my favorite interview thusfar with our old pal Lars von Trier. Henrik Saltzstein gets some great shit out of LvT: complications with Willem Dafoe's dick double, pill-popping, Björk writing a letter to Nicole Kidman telling her not to do Dogville, gardening and the woes of having liberal parents. For more fun, check out the rest of Vice's Film Issue, with a cover by Christopher Doyle and interviews with Werner Herzog, Spike Jonze, the Kuchar brothers, Doyle, Anthony Dod Mantle, Ross McElwee, Gaspar Noé, Dario Argento, Jack Bond, Terry Gilliam, Les Blank and a photospread of Natasha Lyonne (??) by Richard Kern (!!).

The Decade List: The Others (2001)

The Others - dir. Alejandro Amenábar

Coming two years after The Sixth Sense, The Others could have been a knock-off brand version of M. Night Shyamalan's wildly popular film or, worse, a late entry in Hollywood's silly haunted house revival two years earlier with The Haunting and House on Haunted Hill. However, under the direction of Alejandro Amenábar direction whose Abre los ojos [Open Your Eyes] would see its dreadful Hollywood remake Vanilla Sky the same year, The Others blossomed into something much more chilling and wonderful than any of the films you might have thought it was imitating. The end twist is, well, what it is, and for me, it doesn't really matter whether you saw it coming or not as the creepiest aspects of The Others don't involve ghosts.

Instead, the real eeriness of The Others comes in the film's claustrophobia in which the house is the ominous prison for the possibly widowed Grace (Nicole Kidman, in one of her best performances) and her two young children (Alakina Mann, James Bentley). The isolation has already become the ruin of Grace, in both her strict Christianity and assumption of the role of man of the house. She's a stone of a person, unable to even remotely sympathize with her children who still retain their own imagination and spirit despite this suffocation. That Kidman was nominated for an Oscar for Moulin Rouge! for 2001 instead of this goes to show the Academy's cluelessness. Her depiction of a WWII-era woman repressed is absolutely remarkable.

The film's twist ending works only in understanding the sort of ice cold depravity that comes from Grace's isolation, not so much in the cute tricks that are being played to conceal the film's mystery. Unlike most films that rely on said motif, The Others benefits from a repeat viewing as you can then enter the film with the frightening knowledge of the severity of Grace's descent. With that knowledge, every slam of a door, turn of the key and closing of the drapes becomes all the more unsettling.

With: Nicole Kidman, Alakina Mann, Fionnula Flanagan, James Bentley, Christopher Eccleston, Eric Sykes, Elaine Cassidy
Screenplay: Alejandro Amenábar
Cinematography: Javier Aguirresarobe
Music: Alejandro Amenábar
Country of Origin: Spain/USA/France/Italy
US Distributor: Dimension

Premiere: 2 August 2001 (USA)

Awards: Best Film, Director, Cinematography, Editing, Production Design, Production Supervisor, Sound (Goya Awards, Spain)

Countdown to the Oscars (bleh), Part 3

Here are the actor/actress/supporting actor/supporting actress rundowns of the past 10 years. I'll be the first to admit that I'm cheating a bit, as some of these films (usually the ones in the bottom category) are films I never finished watching after getting bored/uninterested/pissed off at the films when they would come on HBO. The bold font denotes a winner that particular year. Again, I realize the list would be more effective had I gone by release year instead of ceremony year, but I caught myself too late on that one.

Ten Best "Best Actor" Nominees

1. Daniel Day-Lewis, There Will Be Blood (2008)
2. Ryan Gosling, Half Nelson (2007)
3. Heath Ledger, Brokeback Mountain (2006)
4. Javier Bardem, Before Night Falls (2000)
5. Sean Penn, Milk (2009)
6. Richard Farnsworth, The Straight Story (2000)
7. Mickey Rourke, The Wrestler (2009)
8. Daniel Day-Lewis, Gangs of New York (2003)
9. Viggo Mortensen, Eastern Promises (2008)
10. Russell Crowe, The Insider (2000)

Ten Worst "Best Actor" Nominees

1. Jamie Foxx, Ray (2005)
2. Johnny Depp, Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Seville (2008)
3. Brad Pitt, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button (2009)
4. Jude Law, Cold Mountain (2004)
5. Will Smith, The Pursuit of Happyness (2007)
6. Johnny Depp, Finding Neverland (2005)
7. Will Smith, Ali (2002)
8. Russell Crowe, A Beautiful Mind (2002)
9. Peter O'Toole, Venus (2007)
10. Leonardo DiCaprio, Blood Diamond (2007)

Ten Best "Best Actress" Nominees

1. Helen Mirren, The Queen (2007)
2. Penélope Cruz, Volver (2007)
3. Charlize Theron, Monster (2004)
4. Marion Cotillard, La Vie en rose (2008)
5. Sissy Spacek, In the Bedroom (2002)
6. Hilary Swank, Boys Don't Cry (2000)
7. Julianne Moore, Far from Heaven (2003)
8. Julie Christie, Away from Her (2008)
9. Diane Lane, Unfaithful (2003)
10. Laura Linney, The Savages (2008)

Ten Worst "Best Actress" Nominees

1. Nicole Kidman, Moulin Rouge! (2002)
2. Renée Zellweger, Chicago (2003)
3. Angelina Jolie, Changeling (2009)
4. Halle Berry, Monster's Ball (2002)
5. Diane Keaton, Something's Gotta Give (2004)
6. Cate Blanchett, Elizabeth: The Golden Age (2008)
7. Felicity Huffman, Transamerica (2006)
8. Juliette Binoche, Chocolat (2001)
9. Judi Dench, Notes on a Scandal (2007)
10. Annette Bening, Being Julia (2005)

Ten Best "Best Supporting Actor" Nominees

1. Javier Bardem, No Country for Old Men (2008)
2. Clive Owen, Closer (2005)
3. Jackie Earle Haley, Little Children (2007)
4. Jude Law, The Talented Mr. Ripley (2000)
5. Ben Kingsley, Sexy Beast (2001)
6. Willem Dafoe, Shadow of the Vampire (2000)
7. Mark Wahlberg, The Departed (2007)
8. Casey Affleck, The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford (2008)
9. Djimon Hounsou, In America (2003)
10. Chris Cooper, Adaptation. (2003)

Ten Worst "Best Supporting Actor" Nominees

1. Eddie Murphy, Dreamgirls (2007)
2. Matt Dillon, Crash (2006)
3. John C. Reilly, Chicago (2003)
4. William Hurt, A History of Violence (2006)
5. Joaquin Phoenix, Gladiator (2001)
6. Jeff Bridges, The Contender (2000)
7. Hal Holbrook, Into the Wild (2008)
8. Ethan Hawke, Training Day (2002)
9. Alan Alda, The Aviator (2005)
10. Jake Gyllenhaal, Brokeback Mountain (2006)

Ten Best "Best Supporting Actress" Nominees

1. Amy Adams, Jubebug (2006)
2. Penélope Cruz, Vicky Cristina Barcelona (2009)
3. Catherine Keener, Being John Malkovich (2000)
4. Patricia Clarkson, Pieces of April (2004)
5. Chloë Sevigny, Boys Don't Cry (2000)
6. Samantha Morton, Sweet and Lowdown (2000)
7. Maggie Smith, Gosford Park (2002)
8. Tilda Swinton, Michael Clayton (2008)
9. Rinko Kikuchi, Babel (2007)
10. Catherine Zeta-Jones, Chicago (2003)

Ten Worst "Best Supporting Actress" Nominees

1. Kate Hudson, Almost Famous (2001)
2. Natalie Portman, Closer (2005)
3. Cate Blanchett, Notes on a Scandal (2007)
4. Frances McDormand, Almost Famous (2001)
5. Kate Winslet, Iris (2002)
6. Judi Dench, Chocolat (2001)
7. Ruby Dee, American Gangster (2008)
8. Saoirse Ronan, Atonement (2008)
9. Renée Zellweger, Cold Mountain (2004)
10. Frances McDormand, North Country (2006)

List #4: Questionable Praise

What’s perhaps more indicative of a person’s best of or worst of any given year is where they feel the general public has been mistaken. Certainly, frat boys and soccer moms galore will scoff at my pick of 300 for the worst film of the year (if you need proof, I believe Maxim magazine named it the best film of the year… that says it all). There are a number of critical bandwagons that always end up puzzling me, even if it doesn’t outright offend my sensibilities. Sean Penn’s Into the Wild was easily the most over-bloated junk of the year (hence it’s placement on my worst of the year list), but it was hardly the sole offender of a clusterfuck of a year where the only real agreement seems to have been that Cannes had a pretty phenomenal crop of films this year (No Country for Old Men, Zodiac, 4 Months 3 Weeks and 2 Days, Persepolis, The Diving Bell and the Butterfly to name a few). Here’s nine films (consider Into the Wild your tenth) that perplexed this reviewer as to their wild critical praise.

I’m Not There – dir. Todd Haynes – USA

I’ve been a long-time fan of Haynes ever since I got my hands on an edited VHS copy of his Poison. Haynes never really seemed to adhere to what most people would expect of him; after all, what would you have really expected him to follow Poison with anyways? There’s no doubt in my mind that he’ll never top the brilliance of Safe, but even with his haughty ambition in I’m Not There, I think I wanted something more than I got. Haynes has always been a visual director, though I wouldn’t say his films are necessarily from the same spectrum. Yet… I’m Not There feels like his best attempt to throw everything and the fucking kitchen sink into something that’s, well, a mess (purposeful or not, it’s still annoyingly untidy). You have Nicolas Roeg’s Performance, 8½, Don’t Look Back (naturally), and even Haynes’ own Velvet Goldmine. And what do you do with all that? I’m afraid I’m going to have to toss it back. I don’t usually like to spit upon others’ interpretations of films (unless, of course, you thought Into the Wild was painted with the stroke of God), but I think most of the praise for I’m Not There comes from looking really hard and trying to find something that’s really not there (no pun intended). Certainly, though, if you rummaged through someone’s messy house you’d likely find a stray twenty-dollar bill or maybe a great vinyl somewhere within the wreckage. I just don’t see why you’d want to find out.

The Savages – dir. Tamara Jenkins – USA

I always find the need to defend myself when I refer to something as “boring.” My definition of “boring” probably doesn’t mirror the general consensus; to go back to Haynes, I don’t think Safe is boring in the least (though I’m sure many would beg to differ). The Savages bored me to sobbing tears. It was the sort of boredom that would make most equate to watching paint dry. I’m serious. Laura Linney’s character, when discussing her as-of-yet-unwritten play, constantly begrudges her brother (Philip Seymour Hoffman), making sure he doesn’t think it’s terribly bourgeouis, and I can’t help but wonder if it wasn’t Jenkins voice coming out on the screen, shaken and uncertain as to whether anyone could muster up an ounce of caring for what might as well have been a pipe slowly rusting. Yeah, sure, the film was smart, unsentimental (thank God), and well-acted, but none of that added up to something I’d want to sit through again.

Margot at the Wedding – dir. Noah Baumbach – USA

What bothers me most about Margot at the Wedding was what preceded Baumbach on his way to another bitter tale of intellectual malaise. The Squid and the Whale was just wonderful. Absolutely fantastic, and yet it was one of those movies a friend of mine described as a film everyone raved about for the two weeks it was in theatres only to forget about it shortly afterward. And, yeah, that’s probably true. So with Margot, Baumbach needed something that would stick, not something that felt like a day-old coffee pot version of something he’d already made. I’ll watch Jennifer Jason Leigh in fucking anything, so when even her presence fails to hit me in the right spots, my alarm signal goes off. Margot is stale, familiar, and, worst of all, wholly forgettable. Like she does in To Die For and The Others, Nicole Kidman always makes for a great cunt, all tightly-wound with Botox, tin-lipped and viper-tongued. Most of Margot’s detractors complained that no one in the film was likeable, but it was precisely the opposite case for me. No one in Margot at the Wedding was nearly as dislikable as I would deem necessary to hold interest further than the first explosion of words between its snake-y characters.

I Don’t Want to Sleep Alone – dir. Tsai Ming-liang – Taiwan/Malaysia/China/France

I’ve never known anyone to casually like the work of Taiwanese director Tsai Ming-liang (or his compatriot Hou Hsiao-hsien, for that matter), as their films seem geared toward the most avid of international film aficionados. There’s nothing in the realms of accessible to their agonizing long-shots of, usually, nothing, and that was just splendid… for a time. With I Don’t Want to Sleep Alone, Tsai has continued this streak, painfully. What seemed like radiance and freshness in What Time Is It There? or Vive l’amour has grown tiresome. He doesn’t really break any new ground with his latest, and for once, I’ll stand by you, the MTV generation, and concur, “this shit is fucking tedious.”

Superbad – dir. Greg Motolla – USA

I’m one of those jerks that usually make for a bad person to ask about films. I’d decided, before seeing either, that I would hate Knocked Up and love Superbad for purely superficial reasons. Firstly, I laughed a grand total of once during Judd Apatow’s sketch comedy-cum-romantic yarn The 40-Year Old Virgin (and I saw that grueling two hour “unrated” version). I also don’t follow the notion that his beloved, cancelled TV series Freaks and Geeks was anything special. With Superbad, the crudeness seemed without Apatow’s signature schmaltz, without that thin message of acceptance that makes me run for the eject button on my DVD player. And it had that Michael Cera in it expanding his life past the criminally-axed Arrested Development where he proved to have the best comic timing of the whole bunch. Unfortunately, my expectations got the better of me, and I ended up sheepishly enjoying Knocked Up and just-about loathing Superbad. I don’t do zany, and I don’t do antics. And for every minute of awkward teenage dialogue about cocks and Orson Welles, there was another nine of zany antics. Superbad is a comedy of errors, and to throw a zing at ya, I made an “error” watching this crap. Yeah, see, that joke was about as funny as most of what I witnessed in Superbad.

This Is England – dir. Shane Meadows – UK

If I had one word of advice for filmmakers working today, I’d say, “lay off the cheap sentimental bullshit.” And I’d say it just like that. This Is England (what a stupid title) is director Meadows’ recounting of his youth during the early stages of the Thatcher regime, and, yet, hindsight for him is less 20/20, more a lousy sermon. I always want to go back to a quote from Bernardo Bertolucci where he criticized the youth of today for not rebelling against the forces that be like his generation did in the 60s (his own auto-fellatio can be seen in The Dreamers). Let’s face it, budding filmmakers, cinema hasn’t changed anything in this world in a long time. And it ain’t going to anytime soon. Therefore, you don’t need to be vomiting up lessons and messages to your potential audience (unless that lesson happens to be that lessons don’t do a damn thing… subversive, eh?). This Is England isn’t a complete waste and probably isn’t even one of the great offenders of 2007, but for garnering an impeccable 86/100 rating on Metacritic (a slightly better version of Rotten Tomatoes), I could have used my history lesson away from the pulpit.

Gone Baby Gone – dir. Ben Affleck – USA

I guess what confuses me most is whether critics actually liked this one or were just surprised that Ben Affleck happens to be a better director than he is an actor, because Gone Baby Gone isn’t phenomenal by any stretch. One of its main detractors, as I discussed in my review for it, was that Affleck chose to cast two primary cast members from the television show The Wire (Amy Ryan and Michael K. Williams), which may very well be the finest thing to grace television screens… ever. Affleck didn’t need the comparisons; in fact, I can hardly muster up any interest in any films crime-related any more after my eyes have officially been opened by the uncompromising brilliance of The Wire. Gone Baby Gone suffers from the Pumpkin syndrome: a film that ends with a bang, almost forgiving the missteps taken throughout the rest of its running time. Almost.

The Simpsons Movie – dir. David Silverman – USA

I haven’t watched anything from the latest seasons of The Simpsons, but general consensus is that, without most of their original writers, the show blows. Like Seinfeld though, when The Simpsons officially signs off the air, it will always be remembered for its high points instead of its low ones. Therefore, it won’t be remembered for The Simpsons Movie, an eighty-seven-minute expansion of what would have been a mediocre episode (despite the return of many of the series’ creators) in the first place. About a third of The Simpsons Movie is hysterical, but you’d really have to rack my brain to recall any of those moments (and I just saw it two weeks ago). Instead we’re left with a missed opportunity, the first (and supposedly last) foray of America’s favorite animated family onto the big screen.

Before the Devil Knows You’re Dead – dir. Sidney Lumet – USA

In my review of Sidney Lumet’s latest, I said something along the lines of “if Lumet chose to retire now, he’d retire on the high note he’d failed to achieve in the past twenty years of his career.” What I said was true; Before the Devil Knows You’re Dead is probably better than all of the films he’s made since the 90s put together. However, you have to consider that adding Critical Care, Gloria and Find Me Guilty together would result in something slightly better than the last Jennifer Lopez movie. Before the Devil Knows You’re Dead is one of those films that’s just “fine.” It’s well-acted by PSH, Marisa Tomei, and even Ethan Hawke (I think Albert Finney is kinda hammy here), and I love the kaleidoscopic structure of Lumet’s modern tragedy. And, yet, I still can’t muster up any real excitement for the film. Maybe it’s my loss here, but its universal praise strikes me the same way Gone Baby Gone’s does. Here’s a film no one expected to be good, it ended up being pretty decent, and the praise flew in. See Match Point for another example of a once-great filmmaker who’d been stuck making mediocre films for years, only to come back with something comparatively better with accolades to follow.

Wandering, Hearing, Feeling

Old Joy - dir. Kelly Reichardt - 2006 - USA

A heterosexual Brokeback Mountain? Sideways for realists? These are just a few comparisons I’ve heard made toward Old Joy, Kelly Reichardt’s second feature-length film after appearing briefly in Hal Hartley’s The Unbelievable Truth and working as a costume designer on Todd Haynes’ Poison. Neither comparison does her film justice, as the film is never particularly “heterosexual” and is far more wonderful than any comparison to the painfully overrated Sideways. Two men escape their differing personal lives to rekindle their friendship on a two-day camping trip. Mark (Daniel London) is about to become a father; he hasn’t seen his friend Kurt (Will Oldham) in what seems to be a long time. Their life paths appear to have taken separate directions, but, organized by Kurt, they embark on their nature excursion. Old Joy is hardly the “get lost to find yourself” film you’re afraid it might become (Sideways), but instead a powerfully acute depiction of personal relations. In an all-to-brief seventy-six minutes, Reichardt leaves you wanting more, and that’s her particular strength, other than creating a fully-alive atmosphere. Old Joy is snippets of conversation, shadows of backstory, and richly textured emotions that seem too much to fill up the running time. But, like most great films, Old Joy resonates with mystery and, especially, intrigue and stands as one of the finest cinematic experiences I’ve endured.

The Secret Life of Words (La vida secreta de las palabras) - dir. Isabel Coixet - 2005 - Spain

You have to hand it to a director that, unlike so many of their peers, strays away from the falseness of beautiful imagery and composition. In her second film, Coixet paints her film in monochromatic colors, unflattering lighting, and ugly set decoration. Though never forcibly unsightly as a number of films I can think of (particularly Gary Oldman’s Nil by Mouth, though I have no idea what made me think of it), Coixet knows exactly what she means to convey with The Secret Life of Words. Though dialogue is key (and “words” is in the title), it doesn’t serve as the distraction one might think. Instead, The Secret Life of Words becomes a film of expressions, both between characters and within the frame itself. The film takes place in what we’re lead to believe is the loneliest place on earth, an oil rig in the middle of the ocean. Hanna (Sarah Polley), to cure the boredom of her month-long vacation from working in a factory, assumes the role of a nurse by chance, caring for Josef (Tim Robbins), who was temporarily blinded and badly burned during a fire on the rig. Hanna, deaf and closed-off, predictably sheds her armor with Josef late in the film, but the relationship between her and Josef isn’t the sole focus of the film. Coixet attempts, and often succeeds, at creating this landscape of desolation, from the two leads to the other, remaining members on the rig, including Simon (Javier Cámara) as the cook who hides his own sadness with the guise of culture and jovialness. Ultimately, The Secret Life of Words isn’t nearly as emotionally gratifying as Coixet intended, though in her second venture as director (her first was My Life Without Me, also with Polley, and also produced by the Almodóvar brothers), she continues to show promise, creating a detailed world and provoking the same sort of unexpected feelings that one of her producers has become known for.

El Calentito - dir. Chus Gutiérrez - 2005 - Spain

I suppose it’s sort of difficult to discuss contemporary Spanish cinema without a small mention of Pedro Almodóvar. El Calentito owes much to Almodóvar’s Labyrinth of Passion, a depiction of post-Franco youth run wild in Spain, so much so that it even includes a directly lifted scene from the film with the director himself on stage. Naturally, with such inspiration, the film contains some signatures of Almodóvar: strong females, hot lesbians, punk music (which was more prevalent in his earlier films), and (of course) transvestites. In the early months of 1981, a college-bound virgin (Verónica Sánchez) finds herself naked and hung-over at the pad of Carmen (Ruth Díaz) and Leo (Macarena Gómez), two hot punk gals in a band called Las Sioux. After being dumped by her date and ending up drunk, likely for the first time, in the bathroom of the titular bar, she repays the girls with filling in for the estranged third of Las Sioux in a meeting with a record producer in hot pursuit of a punk girl band. Considerably more interesting than a coming-of-age tale of the newly-liberated Spanish youth, El Calentito works in its time setting, perfectly capturing the youth-gone-wild punk spirit. As we’ve learned from the works of New Queer Cinema, the bonds of family become the only thing that these characters can hold onto in a way to combat the political and social forces outside. El Calentito, the bar, serves as the “living room” for this family of angry youth and disgruntled trannies. When the horrors of the real-life coup that attempted to take over the Spanish government falls on the date of Las Sioux’s big concert (what luck!), the film loses some of its spirit in trying too hard. But, how can you not forgive a film that ends with three girls ripping off their leather nun habits and writing on their bare chests, “Libertad!”?

I’m going to end this post, unintentionally focusing on three female directors, with pointing you away from a few films:

Fur: An Imaginary Portrait of Diane Arbus - dir. Steven Sheinberg - 2006 - USA

I truly hope that Steven Shainberg’s horrendous, laughable “portrait” of famed photographer Diane Arbus, played cluelessly by Nicole Kidman, will do for Secretary what Terry Zwigoff's Art School Confidential has done for Ghost World with many of my closest confidants. In other words, maybe after seeing this mess, people will go back to Secretary with a more critical eye and see it as the lousy film that it is.

Don’t Look for Me (Such mich nicht) - dir. Tilman Zens - 2004 - Germany

A major blemish on the esteemed reputation of Home Vision Entertainment, this German dud follows the final hit of a hired killer (Lea Mornar, who looks like the lovechild of Patricia Arquette and Robin Tunney) which, naturally, doesn’t go as smoothly as it should. Rent Shadowboxer instead, please.

Loving Couples (Älskande par) - dir. Mai Zetterling - 1964 - Sweden

Damn me for giving Zetterling another chance after The Girls. Loving Couples manages to be even worse, another annoyingly calculated portrait of three women, expecting a child, and flashing back to their childhood.

Problem Child - dir. Dennis Dugan - 1990 - USA

In an attempt to watch a bunch of films we remembered (not particularly fondly) from our childhood, my coworker and I made the mistake of popping this into the VCR, only to find ourselves in utter horror at this insipid, mean-spirited, and absolutely laughless garbage that actually grossed $53 million at the box office seventeen years ago. I want to say, “boy, have the times changed,” but they really haven’t (hello, Wild Hogs). I can’t think of many films where I’ve wished such extreme harm against every single person involved (except John Ritter, whose premature death makes me wonder…) The piece of fuck director, Dugan, has since went on to give us such classics as Saving Silverman, The Benchwarmers, and Big Daddy. I feel dirty just thinking about this trash.

Penny for your thoughts? How about 20,000 of them?

Yes, the quote that titles this blog is from The Brady Bunch movie -- and, I'm sorry, but it's a guilty pleasure of mine. Christine Taylor has brilliant comic timing, though she's never used properly, and I can't think of any other film based on a TV show that I hate which actually amused me (um, well, yes, I can... Miami Vice... scratch that). PS: What Carol Brady (Shelley Long) doesn't realize is that 20,000 pennies would equal $200, not $20,000 which is needed to save their house from foreclosure... just a minor blemish.

MTV should be shot for including the film 300 in a category that recognizes the "best" of anything in their Movie Award nominations. Granted, who gives a fuck? But my hatred for the film 300 runs so deep, even this irks me.

Why do people (particularly black people) find men in drag... or more specifically, men dressed as fat women... amusing? Christ, it's barely funny any more in Some Like It Hot, and that's a recognized "classic." Now we have to have Norbit, Mrs. Doubtfire, any fucking Tyler Perry abortion, White Chicks, Big Momma's House 13, To Wong Foo, the Hairspray remake (mind you, no John Waters films are included in this blasting) and probably a bunch that were recently green-lit. Mrs. Doubtfire earns some minor respect in my book, solely for Arrested Development's brilliant parody of it.

Dear filmmakers (and TV producers),
If you feel the urge to put any incarnation of Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah" in your film, slap yourself. This applies to you: Amy Berg (Deliver Us from Evil), anyone involved in Shrek, Andrew Niccol (Lord of War), Hans Weingartner (The Edukators), Julien Schnabel (Basquait), and the producers of that ridiculously successful show House. The song no longer emits any serious emotional response from the audience except for a groan.

Back on the subject of music, Yo La Tengo should score every film out there. With three amazing scores in just two years, they have a perfect understanding of the relation between visuals and music. See: Shortbus, Old Joy, and Junebug for reference.

Christians are scary. See: Danielson: A Family Movie (or, Make Joyful Noise Here) or Deliver Us from Evil for just two cinematic examples of such.

In addition to Christians being scary, I’m scared of Dakota Fanning. Though I think the name The Dakota Fanning Rape Conspiracy is a wonderful band name (I trademarked it, so don’t try to steal it from me), I don’t know what to make of her. She seems to always be “acting” to ludicrous extents--extents that are completely distancing from the audience. She’s not a human; she’s some sort of alien or acting robot. Granted, I am basing this solely on my “I’m-bored-on-a-Saturday afternoon” watching of Uptown Girls on TV, but I’ve been told that she’s not much different elsewhere.

I’m sick of hearing about this being the summer of “threequels.” That’s not a word, fuck off.

With this year’s Cannes film festival coming very soon, I wonder how long it will take for the Palme d’Or winner to make it stateside. Other than Fahrenheit 9/11, which had a release date before it even premiered at Cannes, most of the past winners have taken over a year, including the Dardennes’ L’enfant and Ken Loach’s The Wind That Shakes the Barley, which will be on DVD in July, a year and two months after it's big win.

Is there a “respected” Oscar winner out there who has had their name involved in more shitty film projects than Nicole Kidman? (I say “respected,” because Cuba Gooding Jr., Mira Sorvino, Marisa Tomei, and Angelina Jolie don’t count.) Though I think she needs to stay away from the Botox, I can admit that she was wonderful in The Hours, The Others, and To Die For, but look at the rest of her films. Some of them may have sounded worthwhile in the pre-production stages only to get fucked in the end (see Fur, The Human Stain, Eyes Wide Shut, and Birth), but some of them were just destined to suck (see Bewitched, The Stepford Wives, The Interpreter, Batman Forever, and Practical Magic). With all these failures, she doesn’t seem to be touched by it, perhaps because everyone forgets about her shittier projects.

I wish Steve Carrel would stick to lower-key comedy like Little Miss Sunshine; his performance in that film will keep him forever in my fondest memories, even if I dislike everything else he does.

Why do directors want to work with Kirsten Dunst? She’s only given one worthy performance in her life and she was like 10 when that happened (Interview with the Vampire, if you’ve forgotten). Ms. Dunst has managed to woo “hip” directors like Sofia Coppola, Michel Gondry, and Sam Raimi to cast her in their films (in Sofia’s case, twice!). Her performances lack any interest or, worst of all, soul, and yet I still have to hear about her. If the rumors of Kiki playing Debbie Harry in a biopic are true, God help us all.

Also on the subject of actresses, how come Jordan Ladd seems to be showing up in… everything (at least everything on my American cinema radar)? I once only remembered her as the sex-crazed Alyssa who warned her friends about the coming of the rapture (not the Siouxsie and the Banshees album, mind you) in Nowhere. Now, she’s in Grindhouse, Inland Empire, Cabin Fever, and--of course--Hostel 2. Don’t get me wrong, I quite enjoy her, and though I hate her mother (Cheryl Ladd), she inadvertently gave the world the glory that is Rose McGowan by vetoing Jordan’s involvement in The Doom Generation. McGowan replaced her as Amy Blue last minute, and the rest is history.

Quentin Tarantino has an unhealthy foot fetish. Expect a blog with numerous photo examples of such soon. Someone else has already spotted this.

And, if you haven't yet seen Kelly Reichardt's Old Joy, it has officially taken Mutual Appreciation's spot of the best film of 2006, only six months late. It's a rapturous experience that I can't say I've had in a long, long time.