Thursday, July 30, 2009

I hate Greenpeace pt. 2 and HOME MOVIE

Perhaps a few of you read my recent post about an obtrusive Greenpeace "frontliner" and how she concreted every opinion about the monstrous enviro-organization I'd had in the past twenty-seven years of my life. If not, at least one person did, a slap-happy fellow named BGT86 who was completely unhappy with curt dismissal of the organization. He literally posted the a two page comment, minutes after I aired my grievances, as if he'd been trolling the interwebs searching for Greenpeace haters.

I'm not going to post the entire thing, just a few of his thoughts and my reactions:

GP: "Your opinion about Greenpeace is unfortunate in that it is based on a lack of knowledge for the organization and an interaction with a Greenpeace frontliner."

NS: True, I do not know that much about Greenpeace. All of my information was garnered from the obnoxious lady who harassed me at Dolores Park, the supposed "frontliner" who's supposed to fill me with enough pertinent facts that I feel so positive about the organization that I actually throw money in to her waiting arms. Sure, I could research the organization, but after such a negative first encounter dear BGT86, why would I?

GP: "When Greenpeace decides to take action they do so with a dedication to non-violence. They do not spray paint hummers (you may be getting confused with Earth Liberation Front) or throw smoke bombs onto whaling ships (that is Sea Shepherds my friend)."

NS: Again, as per usual, I'm a bit ill-informed about a few things, but my thoughts on the actions Greenpeace has taken in the past prove me right. Just from a brief perusal of Greenpeace's Wikipedia page I've already found nods to "spraypainting of whalers" and "chipping of nuclear chimneys" and the dropping of "150, 2 to 3 ton boulders in to the North Sea". I'm sorry, maybe I said Hummer instead of whaling ship or smokes bombs instead of boulders, but my opinion stands, a good deal of Greenpeace's direct action borders too heavily on violent action for my taste.

GP: "A global organization that has a presence in 40+ countries is likely to have some ill representatives at times (that is how the world turns my friend)."

NS: This is a good thing and bad thing. A global organization in 40 countries that supports enviro-friendly causes makes me smile. On the other hand, an organization this big has to have holes the size of the sun in their ability to control what exactly is going on. I don't want to give my money to a group of people who barely know where these dollars are going. If they're letting aggravating folk like my un-friend at Dolores be a part of their organization, who knows who's leading the charge up top.

GP: "So please, before you pass judgment and voice your hatred become aware. I am sure if you did that you would find that there are many things you would support about Greenpeace - even if it is not all."

True, true true. I need to be better informed, and I'm sure I would agree with Greenpeace on a lot of their ideas and concepts. I just personally think my semi-hard-earned dollar does better in the grubby mitts of another organization.

Wow, I'm actually pretty shocked at the maturity and research put in to that. Somebody quickly pat me on the back. Ahhh ... better.

Alex is a documentary nerd. Any night we spend together in the presence of a movie, especially when we're fairly clueless about what we're watching, we almost always end up snatching a documentary from a local video store or from the sorely lacking vaults of Netflix Instant. She's a wonderfully quirky lady, so when we we're stumbling about the other night, unable to decide upon, well, anything, Home Movie leaped out of me.

Home Movie, of course, is the follow up film from Chris Smith (director of American Movie, a classic that I've never seen). It's a slight little bit of filmmaking that focuses on five unique people and the absolutely crazy houses they live in. There's a tree house in remote Hawaii, a floating home in the swamps of Louisiana, a suburban "future home", a house dedicated to, sigh, kittens, and a hippy home in a reused missile silo.

The film clocks in at 66 minutes, so don't expect an in-depth peek at the lives, or even the homes of these five folk. Instead what Chris Smith does, quite admirably, is allow us a look at the more obscure side of America, something on a day-to-day basis is sorely overlooked. There's a wild, wacky, strange and beautiful side to this country that we pass by everyday, rarely acknowledging. Chris Smith brings it to the forefront.

Which brings a sad counterpoint to the idea of America's hidden wackiness: this sort of thing is dying. The future home is a shoddy mess in this film, and though it was popular in the 60s and 70s, nowadays it's a joke, an old man's pipe dream come true. The folk from the cat house seem so obsessed with the idea, that they might never leave their home. The three remaining homes (bayou, remote tropics, and silo) seem happy and well-adjusted to a certain degree, but they live on the very outskirts of society. Perhaps they aren't even looking to be a part of "normal" society, but it makes me a bit sad to see this sort of ingenuity and excitement only allowed on the fringe.

I for one found this movie, on second viewing, even better. It doesn't have the depth or insight of a more intricate documentary, but it isn't trying to. Home Movie just wants to expose a little bit of the wackiness we forget to see each and every day.

Friday: Finally, the end of The French Connection II

Thursday, July 23, 2009

I hate Greenpeace and 1/2 of THE FRENCH CONNECTION II

I was accosted at Delores Park yesterday. Not by a gun-toting hoodlum. Not by a bottle-seeking bum. Not by a "special jello shot" selling vagrant. Nope, I was accosted by a representative of the most annoying organization on Earth, Greenpeace. When I was little I remember my dad giving me the stern look when I answered the door to the greasy haired Greenpeace representative. My dad would tersely address the man, and I never understood. These people were champions of the environment right? Why would my dad not enjoy conversating with them for a few minutes, even tossing them a few bones?

I quickly learned when an aggressive Greenpeace lady busted her way in to my conversation yesterday afternoon. Though the two other gentlemen I was with very firmly told her we weren't going to give her any money, the boorish lady plopped herself down on the ground and began to regale us with the woes of our global climate.

My issues with said Greenpeace lady and this aggravating organization in general:

1. The way she addressed us was rude and demeaning. She attempted to say things like "dudes" and make fun of George Bush, but in the end, even though she made the effort to bridge the hip gap, she was still a bullying jerk, who talked over all of us, and unloaded a bunch of unsupported facts and statistics, before calling us all apathetic and disappearing.

2. She made fun of the fact that we were drinking beer and not using the beer money to save the polar bears. This is a terrible way to get me to want to support your organization. I understand that I could be better spending my money than on tall boys of Tecate, but you know what Greenpeace Asshole (as I will now refer to her)? I wanted to spend my money on a frosty tall can of beer, and in the moment I was purchasing the beer I wasn't thinking a single bit about the environment, just soon enough ice cold hops would be in my throat and I would be slightly buzzed. Then you arrived in the middle of said delicious beverage, and started mouthing off about polar bears and how I sucked for drinking beer and not saving them. You ruined my beer and because of that I hope a polar bear that you probably won't save tears you in to pieces and then buries you in the snow.

3. Though she was mad at us for drinking beer and not saving polar bears, she didn't seem to know exactly where the money she kept demanding from us would go. She talked about planting flags on Mt. Rushmore, and shutting down Italian coal plants, but I don't want my money going there or to smoke bombs that will be thrown on to whaling ships. Here's a better idea: if I give you money, give me smoke bombs and something to throw them at. Now that sounds fun. Channeling money in to your giant, crappy organization that harasses me and makes me feel bad about myself, does not sound fun. It makes me want to start an Anti-Greenpeace organization that hires thugs to put your Greenpeace representatives in to recycling bins and drag them around town as the entire world looks on and laughs.

4. I'm poor. I told her this and she told me it was just about "rearranging my priorities." I told her maybe she should be talking to someone who has more money like my parents, but then thought to myself, "My parents hate you and your organization because they're older and wiser and understand that putting flags on statues doesn't make change. It just angers rich people, and those rich people won't give you money, and then you'll just keep defacing SUVs and being laughed at behind your backs." That's what I thought.

5. Greenpeace is like an environmental PETA. I agree with both their causes (yeah for the environment, yeah for fuzzy animals) but spray painting car dealerships and throwing blood on Pamela Anderson do not make change. It just makes annoyed people.

After begrudging our lifestyles for nearly an hour, the clock hit five, and she scurried off. And you know what? She justified every hatred I've ever had for the organization. Greenpeace, I will spread my hatred of you far and wide.

The French Connection is a great movie. A hard-hitting, gritty, disturbing look at the obsession and amoralilty of a 1970s NY detective. Gene Hackman is brilliant as Popeye Doyle and the whole film made me smile. Thus, I was titillated by the possibilities of The French Connection II, a film catching up with Popeye Doyle, this time set in France, and this time directed by the dearly departed John Frankenheimer.

Alex and I dug in to a bit last night, and I was sadly a bit disappointed. Hackman's Popeye Doyle in the first film is an asshole, a thug, and a man obsessed with crime, but you still like him. You can still relate to him and his need to catch the bad guy. In the second film, Doyle is so hateable he's almost unbearable. He's a fish out of water in a Marseilles and everyone's against him sure, but Frankenheimer draws him as a sleaze, a liar, and a drunken cheat. His bull-in-a-china-shop method of policing is so extreme that I detested him, couldn't even really bear to have him on screen. Sure, maybe the point is that after while, after you've been a part of this world for so long, you become so jaded that you aren't likeable, but he's too much.

Hell, the second film might be too much. Every character is despicable, every action murky and dark. The subplot of Doyle's addiction to heroin is creepy and made my skin shiver, especially when the brown-toothed old woman steals his watch - horrifying.

We aren't done with it yet, hopefully tonight, but I'm not nearly as excited by this film. It just doesn't pop like the first film, it's too amoral, too much on the periphery.

Friday: the end of The French Connection II ... hopefully.

Wednesday, July 22, 2009


Damn it. I always feel like a huge movie snob hater when I see a film that's universally adored by everyone and I just can't get behind it. Sadly, The Wrestler is just that.

I know more about Darren Aronofsky and his filmography than most people. I've seen all his movies, including the ones he's written (Below anyone?). I enjoyed The Fountain (a rare opinion I've heard) and actually owned Requiem for a Dream. Thus, I was excited as shit that Aronofsky had jumped back from his financial flop of The Fountain and was making a film about a washed up professional wrestler trying to pull his life together. And one that starred sleazy, washed up actor trying to make a comeback Mickey Rourke. Jesus, Aronofsky, Rourke, a film about pro-wrestling? I was sold.

For the first thirty minutes of the film I was entirely pleased with what the combination had burned in to the celluloid. Rourke's Randy "The Ram" is as bitter sweet a character ever written. His face and body language beautifully expose this wounded man, this destroyed wreck that can only do one thing and one thing alone - wrestle. The first thirty minutes of the film follow his life as a wrestler, the matches, the drugs, the strange community that exists within this bizarre world - and its amazing. You really feel what his life is, and the hardcore staple match that changes the tone of the movie is almost unbearable to watch, cut as it is with the after effects, the staple pulling, the cauterizing, the bleeding. It's painful and you see the effect it has on the body and mind of a 50-something wrestler.

But after that, after The Ram's heart attack, and his need to fix his life, I was surprised at how formulaic the movie became. Oh sure, it still looked pretty and it still felt a little gritty, but in the end it was a very typical sort of change of life film about a man who's lost himself to obsession and is trying to bring himself back in to the real world. Marisa Tomei's Cassidy is your typical "stripper with the heart of gold" and her relationship with The Ram seems to hit beat by beat every other relationship ever. Also, the story arc involving his daughter (Evan Rachel Wood) is so stereotypical, and Wood's shrieky portrayal is borders on melodramatic.

It isn't that I didn't like the movie, as I was entirely entertained at least the entire time, it's just that I wasn't as impressed as everyone else. Sure, Mickey Rourke deserved the Oscar nod, the movie deserved a lot of kudos (especially Oscars, as its formulaic portrayal seems to fit its viewers a little more), but I just don't think it did anything different, or even that original. I would've preferred to watch a film about The Ram from the first thirty minutes and his life as a wrestler, not his attempt to change that life.

This is a good movie. It just could've been great.

Tomorrow: Hopefully, The French Connection II

Friday, July 17, 2009

Look, I'm a writer! ... and other thoughts.

Look, look! I got a piece of writing on the SF Weekly Music Blog:


Yup, the good folk at The SF Weekly have me attending some shows in the next few weeks and writing my thoughts for their early morning music review column (aptly titled Last Night). Strangely enough, as it always seems to happen, I've once again been selected as their hip-hop reviewer, thus last night I was sent out by the lovely Jennifer Maerz to review Kanye West's DJ A-Trak. The review gets across my general, slightly more positive thoughts on the whole affair, but I thought I'd share my less positive feelings in whole with you.

- I had a hip-hop radio show a long time ago. We drank Mad Dog 20/20 and I usually ended up insulting someone or some entity on air. Like most things in the early stages of music criticism career, I was in it mostly for free music and the chance to hear my own voice on the radio. The only free album I ever received was some sort of Halloween related track that talked about killing babies. My brief career as a hip-hop DJ ended after a few too many 40s and a brief, curse-filled argument with administration. I was not terribly disappointed.

- Still, this brief, volatile career has landed me a lot of writing gigs in my life, and last night's A-Trak show was just one of them. Yup, Noah Sanders - Hip-Hop Reviewer, what a strange, strange world.

- Even stranger that last night's "hip-hop DJ set" was actually a loosely defined rave, minus the candy jewelry and ecstasy, add douchey frat boys, Red Bull and Vodka and weed smoke. It could've been my fault, perhaps I came in to the evening expecting breaks, beats, and flat-billed baseball caps, and instead was greeted with house music better listened to in the early 90s. Throughout most of Treasure Fingers hour plus set, I literally cringed, my head down on my arms, acid spewing from my mouth as the crowd cheered after each euro-bass drop. If not for the presence of kindly JM, a shiny-shirted dancer might've gotten hurt last night. That's all I'm saying.

- My final thought on electronica, especially the 90s cheese house that was blasting out of the speakers last night is this: has the genre really progressed that little? Is this some sort of nostalgic revamp like 80s butt-metal had a few years back? And you, you old school electronica-heads, how can you still be supporting this shit? Oh, and you, you new school electronica fans, why aren't you listening to all the other, newer sub-genres being created every day?

Sigh, I should just stop talking about it, I never have any thing nice to say.

Here's a bit of exciting news for you. The first images for Wes Anderson's stop-motion take on Mr. Fox (with voice work by George Clooney, amongst others) is online.

Sure, the foxes look a little bit like creepy baby dolls, but I have full faith that this will be an amazing film. Any thoughts?

Still getting this thing back in to shape. Stick it out with me.

Thursday, July 16, 2009

Sincere Apologies.

I've been a terrible blogger.

I've abandoned you my friends and family and loyal readers and all I can blame is a crisis of creativity. I took a break a while back, a week long sojourn so I could recharge, and possibly watch a few movies that weren't old, weird and stemming from the amazing entity that is The Criterion Collection.

And here is where my problem started. Pulling away from The Quest for a week or so lead to an influx of self-consciousness about what I was supposed to be doing with this little blog. Was I trying to be funny and make comments on my life and the life around me? Or was I trying to write a credible movie blog rife with information and criticism and all that goodness? Was I trying to do both? Was I trying to be serious or funny? Was anyone actually reading this? Would anyone care if this blog disappeared off the face of the interwebs?

And so forth and so forth and on and on ...

Until all I could think to do was just stop writing. It's a cope out I know, but for the last two weeks I've had no desire to pound out a Quest blog, nor watch a film from the company, nor do anything even slightly related to this endeavor of mine. It's a problem of mine, I get self conscious about the work I do and in turn I just lose all follow through. The number of short stories that've fallen to the wayside in my short life would put a writing lifer to shame. And here's the thing: I don't want Criterion Quest to end. I love writing this blog, I love watching movies, and I love subjecting innocents to my oft times skewed perceptions of the world.

What I'm going to do is continue to write this blog on a daily basis, but pull back from my strict structure of Criterion Questing. I will still write about films and film news and Criterion, but I need something a little looser. I want this blog to be a way for me to relieve the stress of writing, to let me unwind my creative muscles, and as of now, it's just not doing it for me.

I can't say exactly what this blog is going to be about or what it's going to look like over the next couple of weeks, but I'm going to try and get back in to some sort of swing where I'm excited in the morning, or at night to write it. Whatever that might be.

Stick with me, I think this could be interesting.

Thursday, July 9, 2009

The shady world of The Criterion Collection

These are shady, secretive organizations I'm privy to: the CIA, the NSA, the Stonemasons, the Illuminati, whomever the excessively boring group of religious nuts Tom Hanks chases after in those shitty Dan Brown movies, and, quite surprisingly, The Criterion Collection.

I've been digging around looking for the back end information about my absolutely favorite filmic production company as of late (well, actually on and off, for well, years) and so far I've discovered this information:

1. Aside from their beautifully simplistic, surprisingly cheery website dedicated to all things wonderfully Criterion, almost nothing exists online about this company. Years back I sought out the contact information so I could inquire about employment at the company, and I literally ran in to dead end after dead end. Cyber-brick walls that allowed me no forward progression in my search. I went through their parent company (the equally shady Janus Films) and again nothing. For whatever reason the company has no interest in a public persona.

2. This was furthered by the fact that I've found almost no interviews, no write-ups, no nothing in print or interweb form regarding this renowned production company. They're the ghosts of the DVD/HD world, a group of a shadowy film nerds operating from the darkness. The one interview I did stumble across with Peter Decker, the one time president of Criterion was from years ago, discussing their first few films and their time as Laser Disc kings and Queens. This is an interview from over ten years ago though, and it's the most recent piece of media I can find. Beyond strange.

3. I went to the all-knowing Wikipedia to find more information and found this:
Due to the company's private nature, very little publicly accessible information regarding the business or its relationships with other entities is available. Nevertheless, what information can be gathered from media sources reveals that the Criterion Collection shares a close business relationship with Janus Films.

And that's pretty much it. Yes, there's a brief outline of their business plan, of who started it, but aside from that, it's just a list of their release and links to their various sundry relations.

It's baffling, it's fascinating, it makes me love these filmic sum'bitches even more.

Friday: Lord knows.

Monday, July 6, 2009

Not a Criterion in site, but I did watch SNEAKERS twice.

This might be the first time in the entire time I've been putting together Criterion Quest that there hasn't been a DVD, wrapped in the plastic shell of the video store, staring at me from my desk. I dropped off I Know Where I'm Going (94) at the local video store on Thursday night, and for the first time in a long time, just didn't pick up anything else. Just plunked that film down in the drop-box and walked out in to the warm July night, sans movie of any kind.

Thus, I've spent my holiday weekend (goooooooo America!) without the looming fear of a film to watch ... and it was kind of nice. Spent the weekend instead working and relaxing in a the sort of stay-cation I've rarely been allowed in my life.

And instead of immersing myself in British classics or other films from countries far away from me, I lay in bed with Alex and watched Sneakers (yes, Sneakers) for the second time in two weeks. Quite honestly, I was impressed, stupified at how much I enjoyed this movie.

In bullet form fashion, why I think this:

1. This has to be the mid-1990s film that has been dated the least. I watched this movie the other night, thinking it would probably be silly and shitty and just sort of a crappy stroll down nostalgia lane, but shit-storms, this movie was actually pretty awesome. If you look at the directors and the actors who participate in this film you can tell this was a semi-big budget film for the year. Redford, Poitier, Akroyd, Phoenix, Kingsley, all in a big cyber-thriller directed by Phil Alden Robinson? This is a huge fucking movie! I can remember, just barely, sitting wide-eyed in a theater with my parents enjoying the shit out of every second of this film, and now, years later, I watched it twice in two weeks and I enjoyed it just as much.

2. Look at at that cast. This is an all-star cast. An Oscar-nominated, classically trained, just fucking elephant of a cast. Redford and Poitier? Akroyd and Phoenix? Kingsley as the pony-tailed bad guy? Jesus, this is the Ocean's 11 of early Nineties spy flicks.

3. Be shocked at how well this film is written. Sure, there's a few plot smudges in the end of the film that give some serious lee-way to the more moral aspects, but all in all this is a seriously entertaining, twisted plot bit of thriller that I can truly endorse. I laughed at loud, at least a few times while watching this movie and that's saying a lot.

4. There's a James Earl Jones cameo in this film and all it made me think was - what happened to this guy? Did he die and no one told me? Did he die and I'm an insensitive prick and just completely missed out? Or is he done with acting and has just drifted to the edge and we will hear about his passing in a few sad years? I don't know, but criminy, the man had some serious gravitas.

And that's all I've got to say.

I'll snatch my next Criterion flick in the next few days. I am almost back, I promise.

Thursday, July 2, 2009

The beauty of a stay-cation and I KNOW WHERE I'M GOING! (94)

I've been a bit cabin fever-ish as of late. I've been living in SF for three months (as of yesterday to be specific) and I've yet to leave the city aside from a few brief, and bizarre, trips to the wild woods of the East Bay. My house is tiny and fraught with roommate related drama, and though I love Alex and I's room, I'm still a bit edgy from not having gotten out and seen even a small bit of this beautiful state.

Yet, today, I'm feeling much better, as I've started the first of a five day stay-cation. Oh yes, I'm still working, I'm still inside the walls of this amazing city, but gone are the dark halls and awkward conversations of my half-house. 'Cause we're house-sitting a mansion for five days. This isn't your Greek columned, 900-room, marble tiled, stereotypical mansion of the rich and famous. Oh no, this is a beautiful, might I say gorgeous, two story SF-style dream home that thanks to Alex's charming personality and oddly connected job, we'll be taking care of.

Sure, it's exactly one ten minute bike ride from my home, but who cares, this is a different world, a magic place that already has my stomach churning less, my heart beating a little bit slower, my brain barely spinning, and I couldn't be happier. Live a different life for five days, clear a little dust off my not-so weary shoulders. I suggest it to any and all.
Strangely enough I Know Where I'm Going! (93) is a film about a similar sort of different life. The film, another by Pressburger and Powell (two of my favorites), follows Joan Webster (Wendy Hiller from Pygmalion (85)) a sort of social climbing gold-digger on an adventure to be married in the windy isles of Scotland. From the start she's an obnoxious character, someone who's pulled herself up by her sheer force of personality, so stubborn that she endangers her life in her pursuit of her own ideals.

It's a classic fish-out-of-water story as Joan Webster finds herself not in the castle of as rich man, awaiting her nuptials, but instead stranded on an island of salt-of-the-Earth Scots by the gusty gales of these Northern Isles. Of course, stubborn as get-all, Webster meets an attractive lord, and fights the urge to achieve her dreams and not fall in love with this man of the people.

At times, Wendy Hiller plays the part of a stubborn socialite so well that I could barely watch her, so annoyed was I by her insistence that the upper class was her final resting place. To be quite honest, I was put off by the character to the degree that I didn't enjoy the film as much as I could've. I didn't care if Joan Webster drowned, hell, I was sort of rooting for it. "I want to be rich. I have dreams, blah, blah, blah," and so on. "Whate'er you say Ms. Webster, in to the boiling mouth of a whirlpool you go, everyone the better for it." At least that's how my version of this movie would go.

Certainly not my favorite Archer's film, but nonetheless and enjoyable detour on my quest.

I'm almost at 100. My palms, they sweat.

Friday: All That Heaven Allows (95)

Wednesday, July 1, 2009

Excuses and NETFLIX (1)

Alright, my break in Criterion viewing has thrown me for a loop. My regimented routine of shunning social interaction and work to immerse myself in the world of classic film has fallen to the wayside. I'm out and about talking to live humans about non-film related things, enjoying the golden rays of Mr. Sun, and drinking copiously (with other people!). I know, film nerds of the world remove me from your inner circles, your secret meetings, your silent film screenings feature high profile indie bands - I just don't deserve it anymore.

I'll get back on track though. The shuddering DTs of Criterion withdrawal can only be held at bay for so long, and I've already wiled away hours of work today, perusing the next film in the series.

To keep you, my rabid, oft times violent fans at bay though, I want to give you a peek in to what I'm watching outside of the rigid lines of The Criterion Collection. And to do that I'll give you the films I've received from Netflix, and my thoughts and reasons for placing them in my home, and the next three films soon to be heading my way. It's a varied and sometimes silly collection of films, more of a way of keeping track of films I might want to see than an actual realistic collection.

Here's what I've got, and what's coming down the line:

Blue Velvet dir. David Lynch

Anyone who hasn't seen Blue Velvet and doesn't like David Lynch is a troglodyte. This is a brilliant, fucking bizarre film, that features a performance by Dennis Hopper that I'm pretty sure is just the man how he actually in real life (angry, crazed and hopped up on drugs). I've seen this film too many times to be healthy, but Alex hasn't had the pleasure, so we threw it on the queue.

The French Connection II dir. John Frankenheimer

The first French Connection was such a delightful, dark, exploration Gene Hackman's obsessed Popeye O'Doyle, that I couldn't resist tossing this one in to the mix as well. From the description, it's a European adventure rife with heroin addiction and Gene Hackman kicking ass and taking names. Sounds downright sequel-like, but the late, great John Frankenheimer is manning this cruise, so I more than up for the challenge.

Okie Noodling dir. Bradley Beesley

A documentary about the extreme sport of catfish wrangling (using only the hand) in the South. I imagine many, many missing teeth and a whole lot of semi-serious hilarity. Alex is a documentary devotee, and highly recommended this one.

Zodiac dir. David Fincher

This is a long in-depth movie about SF and the Zodiac Killings that held the city in fear for an entire summer in the 1970s. I've seen it twice, as Fincher is one of my favorite directors, but Alex has not, thus, it made the hallowed slots of the queue.

The Curious Case of Benjamin Buttons dir. David Fincher

More, much maligned, Fincher. I saw this in the theatre and bawled like a school boy. I'm almost embarassed to watch it with someone else as I think I might drown in tears and snot, but Alex started the film and was curious to finish. She's used to my blurbling during movies, so I guess this is okay. Hankies and buckets will be on hand.

That's what I've got. Anyone else got a Netflix 5 they'd like to share? Start a little dialogue in the comment box? Or not, you silent readers you.

Thursday: I Know Where I'm Going! (94)