sarcastig

Is this film gorgeous or what? What else would you expect, of course, from Anton Corbijn, who surprisingly didn't act as his own DP here. I cannot find a right picture to illustrate it, but his compositions are amazingly simple, so stark, yet they work beautifully.

I almost can't believe Sam Riley is a first time actor: he's great here. I'm not even talking about the mimicry - I'm not very familiar with Joy Division and until I searched youtube fifteen minutes ago, I'd never seen Ian Curtis dance - but simply about the intensity of his portrayal, the openness, too. The tragedy of Curtis' life is that it really wasn't all that tragic, but he couldn't take it, and Riley shows us the little boy he really still was. When he was my age, he was already married, with a kid, a band to lead and a lover. All of this happened more or less impulsively. Then, when he was one year older, he had one fatal impulse.

I only have one gripe, really, and it's not even the predictable rise-and-fall structure inherent in biopics. There is one scene where Ian Curtis is -more or less- hypnotized, and Corbijn unfortunately resorts to the old method of repeating phrases he heard before in voice-over. It's such an unfortunate trick, and the scene would have been much more effective had we been able to fill in his thoughts ourselves: we've heard what's been said to him, it's even been filtered for us since this is a film, and we really don't need to be told explicitly what's in his head.

Ok. I'm off to download Joy Division songs now.
Originally posted on:As cool as a Fruitstand

I have a conflicted relationship with romance, and romantic movies in particular. Thing is, I'm kind of a cynic about "Love" with a capital, yet at heart I really am hopelessly romantic. I just don't put any stock in the formulaic, by the book kind of romance movies usually serve up. I don't buy two beautiful people being meant for one another just 'cause, I don't buy big romantic gestures, and that's not even mentioning the sneaky sexism often present, with many movies operating under the assumption that the main goal in a woman's life is to find "the one".

My sister suggested, yesterday, that I draw out my studies because it's in college that you have the highest probability of meeting this mysterious "one", and I don't even think she was kidding. I laughed at her, of course, and it's true: I don't make any life decisions based on how they will affect my probability of finding a mate. I don't believe there is one person out there for me who's perfect. That doesn't mean, however, that I don't long to make a connection with someone, somehow, if only for a little while.

All this is a much too long and personal detour to bring me to a simple point: I believe that aside from being a perfectly crafted and written masterpiece, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind is one of the most honestly romantic movies ever made. Not romantic like my #1. Not romantic in the sense that it makes you believe, for just a moment, in the magic Hollywood is so good at selling. But romantic in the sense that it doesn't let realism get in the way of hope.

Carrey's Joel and Winslet's Clementine aren't "meant to be", not even particularly well-matched in certain respects. They know, at the end, that they have many fights and difficulties ahead, that their relationship will be flawed. And it's knowing that, that they say "okay" to going through all of it again.

Charlie Kaufman is a brilliant screenwriter, I don't think there's anyone who'd deny it. I'd love to spend 15 minutes in his head, if not more. And I don't think he's heartless, either, his insecurities are much too close to the surface for that. His brain does however get in the way of his heart a lot of the time, leaving his films interesting, but a little cold, mental exercises that lead you to analyze them right away instead of getting lost in them. In this film, however, there's a perfect balance of the genius crazy idea and the feelings involved, and after the Science of Sleep I am inclined to give Gondry much of the credit for that. His imagery fills his film with wonder, but because he does most of his effects in camera the film never loses its footing in the real world. He managed to make this the best Kaufman movie to date, and that's no mean feat.



Next up: well, no hints this time, since any hint would give it away. Any guesses?
Originally posted on:sarcastig's blog

Finally then! Craig was right again.


One of the best cinematic experiences I've ever had was watching The Man Who Wasn't There on the big screen, 4 years after it came out, and after two or three viewings on DVD. Roger Deakins' own print was being shown, and the man himself was in attendance. I've never seen black and white more glorious, more crisp but at the same time also oddly warm, and this screening is when my love for this film turned to adoration.

Deakins also did a Q&A afterwards. I didn't really understand half of the Q's and three quarters or the A's due to all the technical lingo, but I sat there fascinated anyway because he spoke with such enthusiasm about his craft. He was impressively modest. It wasn't any sort of false humility: he knows he's good at what he does. He clearly sees what he does as a craft though, something you need some talent for but mostly a lot of experience, and there was not an ounce of pretentiousness to detect. I really think he's on the best cinematographers working today, and it's ridiculous that he has yet to win an Oscar (he was nominated 5 times, but never got to take home that statuette).

There's much more, of course, than just the cinematography. One of its greatest assets is Billy Bob Thornton as Ed Crane, the barber who rarely speaks except in his voice-over. He's the ultimate noir protagonist: essentially good, well, not evil, but cursed by his one flaw, which ironically enough is ambition.

Ambition? You wouldn't say it from the way he flatly says "Me? I don't talk much. I just cut the hair", but there is a spark there. He doesn't want much, but he does want a little bit more. Just a bit of independence, a bit more than just cutting the hair. An escape: something undetermined, unplanned.There are too many great moments to mention. Ed shaving his wife's legs, carefully, then his legs getting shaved later on. The murder scene. The Riedenschneider speech, and the shadows of the bars. The UFO's. But the two that resonate most with me have to do with Birdie, played by Scarlett Johanssen before she got all glamorous. The first is when Ed's brought her to a fancy piano teacher. He asks him "How did she do?" and the piano teacher answers:

"She seemed like a very nice girl. She plays, monsieur, like a very nice girl. Stinks. Nice girl. However: stinks."

It's a crushing moment, and Thornton underplays it beautifully. Later, in the car, Birdie calls him an enthusiast, and it's an assessment both ridiculous and strangely accurate. He is an enthusiast, even if he never betrays any emotion more acute than slight surprise, he is someone who likes things in a quiet, but unwavering way.

Or maybe I'm just reading things into him, because above all else, Thornton's Ed is a blank slate, someone everyone projects their own idea upon, like you can see images in clouds, or in the billowing smoke that comes from Ed's permanent cigarette. To his wife he's the reliable dud she married. To her brother he's a pillar of strength and a listening ear. To her lover he's harmless, an innocent. To Birdie he's a strange sort of sugar daddy, to the wonderfully named Creighton Tolliver he's a mark. Most memorably, to Riedenschneider, he's nothing less than "the modern man".

"What kind of man are you?" Big Dave asks, repeatedly. What kind of man is he? The kind you can make an endlessly fascinating film about.




Next up... a movie which ends memorably, with both main characters saying..."Okay"
Originally posted on:sarcastig's blog

The Shrek sequels are surprisingly inoffensive. Yes, they lack the freshness of the original, but whereas with the bloated, convoluted Pirates sequels this bothered me to no end, the Shrek movies keep it simple and short, without any more ambition than entertaining, and in that ambition they succeed, despite a falling lpm ratio. The Shrek-based humor is quite repetitive at this point in particular, but there are lovely little visual jokes - the trees using their branches as a parachute, for instance. Also, the celebrity voices are well-cast, I especially liked that after already using John Cleese in the second movie, they now also added fellow Monty Python alum Eric Idle as a somewhat loony Merlin. The subplot about villains taking back their stories could have been more interesting and fleshed out, but it feels petty to complain about a movie that knows to stay simple, short, and light.

Of course I prefer originality, daring, and so on. But for an evening like yesterday, when I was spending the evening with a friend I hadn't spent time with in a while, there could not have been a more appropriate movie.
Originally posted on:sarcastig's blog

I'm never quite sure what to think about Wes Anderson. Oh, he's brilliant, especially visually, there's no debating that; unfortunately, he knows it a little too well. Still, when iTunes was being infuriatingly local last night and I was unable to download Hotel Chevalier due to being outside the US, it ruined my evening.

I managed to get a version. Low quality, and I believe the beginning has been chopped off (please tell me, my version starts with Jason Schwartzman opening the door of his room), but I was very happy with it nonetheless.

It's a strange little movie. It's unmistakably Anderson, from the way it's shot to the small details in the set decoration, and even in the way the two characters talk. It never quite takes off, but I was left wanting more, and that can't be a bad sign, can it? Unusually enough for Anderson, it doesn't feel like the characters' whole world is contained on screen, like all they ever were and will be is here, it feels like they are fully realized characters with interesting stories beyond the screen. They breathe. And that's a welcome change.

I'm looking forward to The Darjeeling Limited. The three brothers setup makes me hope it will be more Royal Tenenbaums than Life Aquatic. And to keep me entertained in the meantime, I just ordered Bottle Rocket, which I found clumsily charming the first time around.
Originally posted on:As cool as a Fruitstand

This film's not quite the masterpiece it wants to be, but I liked it, liked it a lot even. It's a western without many of the standard elements: no shoot-outs, here, no chases on horses, no cowboy hats, even, just bowlers. It's almost as much a period drama as a western, in fact. It's a movie I'd sooner recommend to my mother than to my little brother, which you don't expect from a western.

I usually hate movies that are so self-serious and solemn, but I found myself entranced by this one, its slow pace and elegiac tone, maybe because it's content not to give any straight answers. We spend a lot of time with Jesse James and Bob Ford, we get the feeling that we know them, but their precise motivation remains opaque. There are a lot of themes here, from hero worship to celebrity culture, but luckily Dominik doesn't try to convey any specific message, and the assassination of the title is left wonderfully ambigious. Some of the symbolism is heavy handed (Jesse playing with and then killing the two snakes comes to mind), but while this bothered me to no end in The Brave One, here it seemed to fit.

I know a lot of people dismiss Brad Pitt, and he does tend to pick lighter, easier roles he can just coast through on charisma, but he's perfect as Jesse James. Sure, he falls back on his familiar ticks, opening his mouth and showing his tongue, squinting, but who cares when it works? His Jesse is fascinating and charismatic, but you never forget that he is also dangerous and unpredictable.

And then, Casey Affleck. I agree his is the knock-out performance here, keeping his Robert Ford exactly on the fine line between repulsive, sympathetic, and pathetic. He gives you the willies, as another character says at some point, but at the same time you want to put your arms around his protectively and yell out "he's just a kid!". Affleck is 32, but he is totally believable as a gawky 19 year old still finding himself (and imdb tells me he studied physics, which raises him a few points more in my esteem). I could go on about the supporting cast too, but I'll just point out that Garett Dillahunt from Deadwood and John from Cincinnati is great as well.

Why not a masterpiece, then? Well, it's a pacing thing, I think. The coda feels too short, and other parts feel a little uneven. I think the elliptic storytelling works, but it just doesn't feel quite right. I also think the narration had some problems: I had a hard time getting used to it, and it is sometimes a little too explicit about what the characters are feeling. I'm not against it, and I believe the sectioning of the story into "chapters" by the narration was a good idea, but it feels like it could have used a little more tweaking.

I know, this film has been tweaked with forever already, but just like in poetry you need the exact right word in the exact right place, a film can only be a masterpiece if every cut or shot feels like it couldn't possibly have been any different, and this film still feels too fluid for that, too wavering. Too many threads are left dangling.


I do think it's a timeless movie, in the sense that it feels detached from any time and place, feels like it's on some different place, and I can imagine returning to it in ten years, in twenty, if only for some gorgeous images - like Jesse waiting for a train and disappearing in the fog - and the absolutely beautiful Nick Cave soundtrack.
Originally posted on:

This film's not quite the masterpiece it wants to be, but I liked it, liked it a lot even. It's a western without many of the standard elements: no shoot-outs, here, no chases on horses, no cowboy hats, even, just bowlers. It's almost as much a period drama as a western, in fact. It's a movie I'd sooner recommend to my mother than to my little brother, which you don't expect from a western.

I usually hate movies that are so self-serious and solemn, but I found myself entranced by this one, its slow pace and elegiac tone, maybe because it's content not to give any straight answers. We spend a lot of time with Jesse James and Bob Ford, we get the feeling that we know them, but their precise motivation remains opaque. There are a lot of themes here, from hero worship to celebrity culture, but luckily Dominik doesn't try to convey any specific message, and the assassination of the title is left wonderfully ambigious. Some of the symbolism is heavy handed (Jesse playing with and then killing the two snakes comes to mind), but while this bothered me to no end in The Brave One, here it seemed to fit.

I know a lot of people dismiss Brad Pitt, and he does tend to pick lighter, easier roles he can just coast through on charisma, but he's perfect as Jesse James. Sure, he falls back on his familiar ticks, opening his mouth and showing his tongue, squinting, but who cares when it works? His Jesse is fascinating and charismatic, but you never forget that he is also dangerous and unpredictable.

And then, Casey Affleck. I agree his is the knock-out performance here, keeping his Robert Ford exactly on the fine line between repulsive, sympathetic, and pathetic. He gives you the willies, as another character says at some point, but at the same time you want to put your arms around his protectively and yell out "he's just a kid!". Affleck is 32, but he is totally believable as a gawky 19 year old still finding himself (and imdb tells me he studied physics, which raises him a few points more in my esteem). I could go on about the supporting cast too, but I'll just point out that Garett Dillahunt from Deadwood and John from Cincinnati is great as well.

Why not a masterpiece, then? Well, it's a pacing thing, I think. The coda feels too short, and other parts feel a little uneven. I think the elliptic storytelling works, but it just doesn't feel quite right. I also think the narration had some problems: I had a hard time getting used to it, and it is sometimes a little too explicit about what the characters are feeling. I'm not against it, and I believe the sectioning of the story into "chapters" by the narration was a good idea, but it feels like it could have used a little more tweaking.

I know, this film has been tweaked with forever already, but just like in poetry you need the exact right word in the exact right place, a film can only be a masterpiece if every cut or shot feels like it couldn't possibly have been any different, and this film still feels too fluid for that, too wavering. Too many threads are left dangling.


I do think it's a timeless movie, in the sense that it feels detached from any time and place, feels like it's on some different place, and I can imagine returning to it in ten years, in twenty, if only for some gorgeous images - like Jesse waiting for a train and disappearing in the fog - and the absolutely beautiful Nick Cave soundtrack.
Originally posted on:As cool as a Fruitstand

My 200th post, already, or so blogger tells me. Not taking this month into account, I'm kinda glad with the posting rhythm I have now, and the tone. Now, on to business.


They Drive by Night really has no right to work as well as it does. It's a weird genre-blend, part social commentary/underdog story, part noir. The plot meanders: first it's about these truckers and their hard life, then it's about how they plan to make it, then about the danger of the road, then all of a sudden it's a noir with a murder and an attempted frame-up. A pre-High Sierra Bogie is one of the two main characters in the first half, then more or less ignored, or at least neglected, afterwards.

Still, it works surprisingly well together. Part of it is because the characters are consistent through the tonal shifts. For instance, Ann Sheridan's Cassie might give in at some point, and go from hard-to-get to loving and trusting fiancee, but she never becomes so soft that we don't recognize her. Part of it is also simply that the dialogue is so good, sharp and witty, and it rolls off everybody's tongue. The cast, including supporting players, is also good, and look for our old pal Shapely in the small role of Irish.

A classic this is not, by any stretch. But just as it's possible to enjoy an unremarkable, yet well-made and entertaining film made today, it's possible to enjoy a film like that made 67 years ago.
Originally posted on:

"How's your mother?"
"Oh...I'm afraid she's on her way out."
"We all are. Act accordingly."

I liked this film a lot better the second time around, to be honest. Don't get me wrong, I liked it the first time around too, but I thought it was a little too detached, too cold. Somehow that bothered me less this time. It's quite a focussed, fast picture, a lesson in how to cut the fat without skimping on the details that make a story, and in particular characters, work. It's not subtle in any sense of the word, but it is effective: every detail we're supposed to notice is zoomed in on for a partial second, long enough so we see it but short enough not to hit you over the head with it. The quote above is just a throwaway line, but it summarizes the spirit of the movie perfectly, just like Sullivan's "Okay" just before he, too, goes with a spray of blood.

I know, I know, after railing about the Brave One, how can I endorse this film's all-too-obvious symbolisms and dualities/doublings? Well, maybe because Scorsese doesn't pretend, for all of his flourishes, that this is a crime movie, a movie meant to entertain first and foremost. Also, maybe, because the ending here is honest, more than many other movies of its kind, while the ending of the Brave One is flabbergastingly offensive.

One small quibble: my mother commented in the many fucks in the film. No, I don't mind the word myself, and I think it's a valid - and sometimes very effective - stylistic tool. It can really tell you something about a character, or a milieu. In this film though, I believe it's overused, not so much in quantity (237 fucks, google tells me), but because everyone uses it equally and in the same way, with the exception of Queenan and the shrink (Vera Farmiga, incidentally, it an actress I'm fascinated by). Only Alec Baldwin and Mark Wahlberg manage to infuse something of their characters in the word, and first scene together is priceless for it: but this is not so much because of the f-word but because their profanity is so creative. The use of **** by the two rats starts feeling old pretty soon.

Oh well. If you can't get enough of the word, you can always check out my post on the Big Lebowski. Or, of course, watch what's below.


Originally posted on:

Craig guessed it, so here goes...

We see a desert. Sand, mostly. Then, all of a sudden, our eyes jump from background to close-up as one of the ugliest faces you've probably seen slides into the frame from the side. Later in the scene, a man jumps out of a broken window, meat in hand.

Later, a boy is getting water from a well when, with ominous Morricone music playing, a small dot appears on the horizon, and gets bigger and bigger as it approaches. The boy runs inside. A man appears in the doorway, walks in, eats some food.

Once upon a time in the West is the film most often regarded as a masterpiece, and when people talk about it one of the things they mention is the opening scene, and how long it takes before the first word is spoken. Once upon a time was clearly meant to be a masterpiece, but I think that the less serious-minded The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly is the real masterpiece. Here also, it takes forever for the first word to be spoken: Leone always was a visceral, visual director,

For every good scene in Once upon a time I can easily think of a similar, better one in GBU, as I'll call it from now on. Take the introduction of Henry Fonda as the villain: it's great, absolutely, but does it rival the gradual reveal of Blondie? First we see his hat, his gun, his hands, we hear his sarcastig voice and then finally, see his face. The hanging scene? I'll grant that it's more poignant than anything in GBA, but it's not by far as funny as the successive hangings here, and there's no rivaling the last one for an ending.

Finally, I think GBA is more succesful because its morality is more muddled, less black and white. "the Good" really isn't all that much better than Angel Eyes, "the Bad", maybe just a little more compassionate, and I've always thought Tuco, "the Ugly", is the heart of the film. His scene with his brother is amazing, and his love/hate relationship with Blondie anchors the film, makes it about more than just three men who want money. Also here, it's not words that express it, but imaged: Blondie finally handing Tuco his cigar. Muddying the moral waters even more is the cival war, which suddenly makes what three men do so much less important. The scene jars a little with the rest of the film, but I love it, and I think it's what Blondie and Tuco do for the general that redeems them.

This film is 3 hours long, but that fact still surprises me, because while this is a deliberate movie, it never feels slow or long, and when I watch it time flies. The plot is intricate, but easy to follow, and the power keeps shifting: who has the information, who has the gun, who has the upper hand?

You can't talk about Leone's spaghetti westerns, of course, without mentioning Morricone. The score is amazing, and integral to the feel of the movie, to its texture. Just listening to the music brings back images. The amazing opening titles. The scorching sun. Weathered faces. And, of course, close-ups of eyes, tense and prepared, waiting for the guns to go off.

Recently, my love for and knowledge of westerns was called into question. My gender was the main reason, the guy even admitted to it. But I dare anyone to say now that I don't love westerns. I'm seeing The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford on Monday, and I can hardly wait.

Next up: a movie named for two guys which really is all about a girl...
Originally posted on:

"How's your mother?"
"Oh...I'm afraid she's on her way out."
"We all are. Act accordingly."

I liked this film a lot better the second time around, to be honest. Don't get me wrong, I liked it the first time around too, but I thought it was a little too detached, too cold. Somehow that bothered me less this time. It's quite a focussed, fast picture, a lesson in how to cut the fat without skimping on the details that make a story, and in particular characters, work. It's not subtle in any sense of the word, but it is effective: every detail we're supposed to notice is zoomed in on for a partial second, long enough so we see it but short enough not to hit you over the head with it. The quote above is just a throwaway line, but it summarizes the spirit of the movie perfectly, just like Sullivan's "Okay" just before he, too, goes with a spray of blood.

I know, I know, after railing about the Brave One, how can I endorse this film's all-too-obvious symbolisms and dualities/doublings? Well, maybe because Scorsese doesn't pretend, for all of his flourishes, that this is a crime movie, a movie meant to entertain first and foremost. Also, maybe, because the ending here is honest, more than many other movies of its kind, while the ending of the Brave One is flabbergastingly offensive.

One small quibble: my mother commented in the many fucks in the film. No, I don't mind the word myself, and I think it's a valid - and sometimes very effective - stylistic tool. It can really tell you something about a character, or a milieu. In this film though, I believe it's overused, not so much in quantity (237 fucks, google tells me), but because everyone uses it equally and in the same way, with the exception of Queenan and the shrink (Vera Farmiga, incidentally, it an actress I'm fascinated by). Only Alec Baldwin and Mark Wahlberg manage to infuse something of their characters in the word, and first scene together is priceless for it: but this is not so much because of the f-word but because their profanity is so creative. The use of **** by the two rats starts feeling old pretty soon.

Oh well. If you can't get enough of the word, you can always check out my post on the Big Lebowski. Or, of course, watch what's below.


Originally posted on:As cool as a Fruitstand

Craig guessed it, so here goes...

We see a desert. Sand, mostly. Then, all of a sudden, our eyes jump from background to close-up as one of the ugliest faces you've probably seen slides into the frame from the side. Later in the scene, a man jumps out of a broken window, meat in hand.

Later, a boy is getting water from a well when, with ominous Morricone music playing, a small dot appears on the horizon, and gets bigger and bigger as it approaches. The boy runs inside. A man appears in the doorway, walks in, eats some food.

Once upon a time in the West is the film most often regarded as a masterpiece, and when people talk about it one of the things they mention is the opening scene, and how long it takes before the first word is spoken. Once upon a time was clearly meant to be a masterpiece, but I think that the less serious-minded The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly is the real masterpiece. Here also, it takes forever for the first word to be spoken: Leone always was a visceral, visual director,

For every good scene in Once upon a time I can easily think of a similar, better one in GBU, as I'll call it from now on. Take the introduction of Henry Fonda as the villain: it's great, absolutely, but does it rival the gradual reveal of Blondie? First we see his hat, his gun, his hands, we hear his sarcastig voice and then finally, see his face. The hanging scene? I'll grant that it's more poignant than anything in GBA, but it's not by far as funny as the successive hangings here, and there's no rivaling the last one for an ending.

Finally, I think GBA is more succesful because its morality is more muddled, less black and white. "the Good" really isn't all that much better than Angel Eyes, "the Bad", maybe just a little more compassionate, and I've always thought Tuco, "the Ugly", is the heart of the film. His scene with his brother is amazing, and his love/hate relationship with Blondie anchors the film, makes it about more than just three men who want money. Also here, it's not words that express it, but imaged: Blondie finally handing Tuco his cigar. Muddying the moral waters even more is the cival war, which suddenly makes what three men do so much less important. The scene jars a little with the rest of the film, but I love it, and I think it's what Blondie and Tuco do for the general that redeems them.

This film is 3 hours long, but that fact still surprises me, because while this is a deliberate movie, it never feels slow or long, and when I watch it time flies. The plot is intricate, but easy to follow, and the power keeps shifting: who has the information, who has the gun, who has the upper hand?

You can't talk about Leone's spaghetti westerns, of course, without mentioning Morricone. The score is amazing, and integral to the feel of the movie, to its texture. Just listening to the music brings back images. The amazing opening titles. The scorching sun. Weathered faces. And, of course, close-ups of eyes, tense and prepared, waiting for the guns to go off.

Recently, my love for and knowledge of westerns was called into question. My gender was the main reason, the guy even admitted to it. But I dare anyone to say now that I don't love westerns. I'm seeing The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford on Monday, and I can hardly wait.

Next up: a movie named for two guys which really is all about a girl...
Originally posted on:As cool as a Fruitstand

Somehow, I almost feel like reviewing this film as if it was a CD, track by track, and only at the end trying to summarize my feelings about the thing as a whole. It's strange, because this film has much more of an overarching narrative than, say, masculin/feminin, and it's more coherent in tone as well than for instance L'Eclisse, yet at the same time it feels more like a collection of terrific songs than those movies. Take the Billy the Kid moment:

It's not entirely random (it foreshadows a later moment in the film), but it feels like an inspired little riff, a moment that could stand by itself, almost, without knowing who and what it's about. The Louvre sequence is another example, memorably paid homage to in The Dreamers. But the moment that suddenly made me realize I was falling in love with this film was the minute of silence followed by the dance sequence:


There is so much pleasure here just watching these three people move, each with their own thoughts and dreams and motivation but in this moment moving so beautifully together. If you want to be deep about it, it's a metaphor for cinema itself: lives and personalities converging for a moment to create a unit, forever united on screen.

I'm not sure I'll watch the film as a whole very often, though it's entertaining enough - as with all CD's, there are some 'songs' that just aren't that memorable or special. I am sure, however, that in lost moments this is one of the films to pop into your DVD player just to enjoy a single scene.
Originally posted on:As cool as a Fruitstand

Somehow, I almost feel like reviewing this film as if it was a CD, track by track, and only at the end trying to summarize my feelings about the thing as a whole. It's strange, because this film has much more of an overarching narrative than, say, masculin/feminin, and it's more coherent in tone as well than for instance L'Eclisse, yet at the same time it feels more like a collection of terrific songs than those movies. Take the Billy the Kid moment:

It's not entirely random (it foreshadows a later moment in the film), but it feels like an inspired little riff, a moment that could stand by itself, almost, without knowing who and what it's about. The Louvre sequence is another example, memorably paid homage to in The Dreamers. But the moment that suddenly made me realize I was falling in love with this film was the minute of silence followed by the dance sequence:


There is so much pleasure here just watching these three people move, each with their own thoughts and dreams and motivation but in this moment moving so beautifully together. If you want to be deep about it, it's a metaphor for cinema itself: lives and personalities converging for a moment to create a unit, forever united on screen.

I'm not sure I'll watch the film as a whole very often, though it's entertaining enough - as with all CD's, there are some 'songs' that just aren't that memorable or special. I am sure, however, that in lost moments this is one of the films to pop into your DVD player just to enjoy a single scene.
Originally posted on:As cool as a Fruitstand

I would be lying if I called myself a true Simpsons fan - when I channel surf across it I always stick around to watch, but don't ask me which episode goes in which season, or to get obscure quotes - but I have to say I was thoroughly entertained by this movie. The joke-per-minute ratio is quite amazing, and the writers manage to keep your attention throughout, with a true ark going through the movie and one joke (see image above) not being resolved until the end. The satire doesn't really bite, just nibble, but the general irreverence is still, after all these years, admirable.

Also, Bart's penis!
Originally posted on:As cool as a Fruitstand

Is this a kissing book?

Yes, yes it is, a tale of true wuv, but it's so much more too. Yet I have a lot of trouble saying anything about it except that I cannot watch any part of it without immediately getting a huge grin on my face. Watching the whole movie means jaw cramps the next morning. Shall I try, anyway?

As you wish.

Half the time when I mention this movie, people think I'm talking about the Princess diaries. No, people, no! That doesn't have fencing and the dread pirate Roberts and R.O.U.S.es. That couldn't leave a little boy asking for more.

Grandpa: She doesn't get eaten by the eels at this time
The Grandson: What?
Grandpa: The eel doesn't get her. I'm explaining to to because you look nervous.
The Grandson: I wasn't nervous. Maybe I was a little bit "concerned" but that's not the same thing.

Maybe the best thing I can say about this movie is that I cannot pick a favorite part, not even a favorite character. I love the chemistry between Buttercup and Westley, but who can resist Wallace Shawn's "in-con-ceivable", or Fezzik, who's the prototypical brute but at the same time doesn't want his opponents to die embarrassed? Humperdinck and his six-fingered henchmen are wonderful, and then, off course:

Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.

Inigo makes sure this movie isn't just all laughs and lightness: his pain for the loss of his father is real and as such grounds the movie just enough to make sure we keep caring. Through the whole movie, bubbly as it is, there is a cynical strain that you wouldn't quite expect. Consider what Westley says:

Life is pain, highness. Everyone who says differently is selling something.

Most movies have a certain demographic. I don't take my mom to see Kill Bill, nor my dad to see a romantic comedy, nor my little brother or sister to an obscure arthouse classic. This film, however, truly has something for everyone, and though I know there are people out there who don't like it, I'm just gonna go ahead and ignore their existence.

The Grandson: Grandpa, maybe you could come over and read it again to me tomorrow.
Grandpa: As you wish.



Next up: #9, featuring nihilists, cut-off toes, and bowling.
Originally posted on:As cool as a Fruitstand

I love going to Paris. By now, I've been there so often that I don't feel the need to do any of the touristy things any more, and especially since this time I was there all by myself, I could just wander around at my own pace, at each intersection going into the street that looked nicest, with only the vaguest of goals in mind.

I was in the same hostel I also went to with my sister two years ago. It's not that great a hostel, but the location is perfect: it's on the Rue Mouffetard, a road with many small eateries, bars and shops and people walking around at all times of the day.

I'd never really been on holiday by myself. I'd traveled alone, yes, and I'd been by myself for a day, but never two whole days. It was a bit lonely, but in the end I liked it a lot: there's a freedom to it that really allows you to relax. Nobody gets bothered if you decide to take twenty pictures of one statue, if you spend half an hour browsing in a DVD shop (bought a wonderful version of The Science of Sleep, filled with extras, and Orson Welles' The Stranger), if you just sit in a park or next to the Seine for an hour, reading or making notes. The first evening, was, however, a bit strange, I had no idea what to do with myself, but the second night I had dinner with a big group from the hostel and had a lot of fun.

You have experiences by yourself you otherwise probably wouldn't have. I had myself a "free" massage, for example (I gave a 3 euro tip), and I had a really nice conversation in a park with two clochards who were lying in the park there, one with a half a liter can of beer, the other with a bottle of wine standing next to him in the grass. When the can was finished, the guy dutifully stood up to throw it in the garbage bag, and when they left, the other even offered me a piece of flan as they left. I checked: up was still up, down was still down.

I think what made me fully accept the being alone part was seeing 2 Days in Paris on Sunday. In this Julie Delpy directed film, she and her American boyfriend (played by ex Adam Goldberg) spend, well, 2 days in Paris. Before Sunset, however, this is not. Before Sunrise and also Before Sunset are about the start of a relationship, when you discover each other and are amazed by the connection you find. Two days in Paris, on the other hand, is about what happens two years later when all the character traits and habits you used to find adorable are now highly irritating, you wonder whether it's worth all the effort and bickering, and you discover you don't really know each other at all. This sounds pretty depressing, I know. But while it is true that it made me realize that spending two days alone in Paris is definitely better than spending two days fighting with a boy or girlfriend in Paris, that wasn't why I left the theatre with a grin on my face: this is probably the funniest movie I've seen all year, funnier than Clerks 2, for instance. How funny? Well, one noise it incited in me got its own laugh from a fellow moviegoer.

The criticism the film will get is, of course, that the characters are caricatures. And yes, the are. But at the same time, let's not forget what a caricature is: a depiction that takes the flaws and funny things that are there, and magnifies them. For instance, I don't know if all French families are as open about their sex lives and sex in general as Delpy's family (her parents plaid by her real-life parents) is here, but they are definitely much more open than American families. And Adam Goldberg? His character is not a hick, he's one of those Americans who is critical of his country, who is a democrat and who images he has a European sensibility: he knows French authors, even speaks a few words, and when he encounters a group of American "code-breakers" (i.e. Dan Brown aficionados) looking for the Louvre...well, I won't spoil what he does, but you can smell his contempt. He is, nonetheless, American, in his food preferences, his paranoid sense of hygiene, and the way he thinks about relationships, and that's where the conflict stems from.

Ok, ok, admittedly, it also stems from the many exes of Delpy's Marion they run into, and their -unfortunately very French- behavior. It also comes from the fact that French people will just go on talking in French even if there's someone who doesn't speak the language in their midst. But who cares, really, where it stems from, when the result is so funny: each taxi driver they run into is worse than the previous one, a "fairy" shows up to give Goldman advice, and there's a scene with Goldman holding a phone in one hand and a dictionary in the other getting progressively angrier that had me doubled over. Its maybe a little exaggerated, ok, a lot, but the comedy stems from human behavior and emotion, not from convoluted misunderstandings and toilet humor, and that's incredibly refreshing.

The best film this year? Not by a long shot. But the funniest? I definitely think so.
Originally posted on:As cool as a Fruitstand

I've always been on the fence when it comes to Cameron Crowe. He has a true talent for writing believable characters and great dialogue, and a fantastic ear for music, but many of his films fail to convince me in the end. I think it's his inherent sentimentality that does him in, but this seems a strange accusation for a man who tries so hard to avoid typical Hollywood sentiment.

He creates indelible scenes: Jerry Maguire yelling "Show me the money!", Billy Crudup standing on the roof yelling "I am a Golden God", John Cusack holding his boombox playing "in your eyes" over his head... Even the exercise-machine suicide and the road trip in Elizabethtown are scenes that are memorable even if the film is now. But ultimately, to me, his films are often more a collection of nice moments than a good, coherent, film. I like his films, but I don't love them

Say Anything was the first exception to that rule. This movie is also not coherent, it kind of meanders, but for the first time it didn't bother me. I identified with these characters and their aimlessness. Lloyd's indecision about his future was painfully familiar, his reluctance to "sell anything, buy anything, or process anything as a career", and more than that, the resolution of his dilemma feels right: he decides that what he want to be is be with Diane. Because he's good at it. As for Diane, she truly is the center of this film. One of the things I really liked here is that her relationship with her father is just as fleshed out and important as the one with Lloyd, and I recognized much of my relationship with my father in it (though luckily, he's not under investigation by the IRS).

Most high school movies date fairly easily, but this one has not lost any relevance in the 18 years since its release, because it doesn't so much focus on what's "hip" at the time (clothing, language, even music) but on something more essential: where do we go from here? Fashions and lingo change, but that question still faces every graduating senior.

Of course, John Cusack's performance is crucial here. He is Lloyd Dobler: a thoroughly decent and even gallant but also fundamentally aimless guy. He's not perfect. But you can imagine just anyone falling for him: his nervous talking, his ridiculous trench coat, and of course his grand romantic gesture.

But what really makes this film better, in my opinion,, is the ambivalence of the ending. You want these two characters to make it together, but at the same time you doubt they will. The film doesn't end in a kiss or a laugh, but in tense expectation, with a plane taking off. the dialogue says it all:

DIANE: Nobody thought we'd do this. Nobody really thinks it's going to work, do they?
LLOYD: No. You just described every great success story.
Originally posted on:As cool as a Fruitstand