CRITERION QUEST

laid out.

2010-09-03T09:50:00.000-07:00

i've been sicker than a dog the last day or so. i blame faulty chicken or some sort of airborne death cloud but my life has been relegated to couch and toilet. thus, the lack of writing and such and such. i'm mildly better today, drinking water is only vaguely stomach-unsettling, and the thought of food doesn't break me out in sweat.

that said, i haven't been doing a terrible amount of thinking either. instead i spent the day tangled in blankets on a couch watching odd episodes of the Inspector Clouseau cartoon series from the late 1960s and revisiting the still brilliant Up.

really, i wish my brain was functioning properly so i could write more, but it ain't, so we'll call this a short one.

enjoy labor day weekend. hopefully i'll be in full fighting fitness by tuesday.

watch this: CATFISH

2010-08-30T09:00:00.000-07:00

friday was a bit poor in terms of my scheduling. i'm in the midst of writing a story about exercise boot camps and have been putting off attending a particularly grueling 'boxing bootcamp' for weeks now. friday was the big day, but after kiss the criterion conquistador goodbye and then lying in bed, dreading said bootcamp for four hours, i managed to sleep right through my 5:15 wake-up call.

after waking up, i stumbled across town to one screening, which i arrived at punctually and with enough time to scan my book while i waited. afterwards i had an hour to get down the street to see my second screening of the day. on bike i decided that i'd pop by a popular coffee shop and grab a cup before the film started to fight off the sleep that was nagging at my eyes. sadly, the line for said popular coffee shop was so long and so slowly attended to, that even with a solid forty minutes between films, i was unable to get a cup of coffee. now under-caffeinated and starving i had to settle for an apple and a bag of pretzels purchased from the 7-11 (that didn't have any change in any of the registers) as my screening snack. perturbed but feeling better, i sauntered in to the screening of indie-documentary catfish, only to find that the film had started at 1:30 and i was already a half an hour late.

it's disconcerting to stumble in to a film late. at home it doesn't make a difference, you just ask a bunch of questions to those watching and hope you didn't miss the juicy stuff. in a theater though you have to push past a bunch of completely involved viewers and then quietly open your bag of pretzels and stare at the screen completely bewildered by what the fuck is going on. to say the least my purchase of an apple and a bag of pretzels was predicated on the idea that i could eat one and open the other prior to the film, thus there wouldn't be bag crinkling and apple slurping. poor choice.

with all of this falling around my shoulders though, the last hour or so of henry joost and ariel schulman's catfish totally floored me. it's a documentary about a man who falls for a lady through facebook and, well, that's pretty much all i want to say. the story that unravels within this picture says so much about the social media-soaked world we live in. it's really a searing look at the idea of what it is to meet someone without ever having actually seeing them, and about the sort of pain we as human beings going through to combat loneliness and the abject dread of life failure.

it's really all i can say without giving away too much. but please, if you have the opportunity, you really need to get out there and see this film.

i, grouchy and hungry, loved the shit out of it, and i imagine if you're lucky enough to see the first half an hour it will only increase your love.

a little unfair

2010-08-26T12:15:00.000-07:00

i saw a single man on tuesday night. i thought it was a visually stunning film anchored by an impressive, unfolding performance by colin firth, an actor i often times overlook. stylistically the film kills and you can see tom ford's obsessive need for all things beautiful blazed across it. at times, especially near the end, the film falters with stiff performances and dialogue that can't ascend that, but in general it is a great film, original and challenging and one everyone should see.

and of course, everyone cannot. the film, about gay man who months after the death of his life partner still fails to move past this love, is touching, beautiful, truly expressing in many scenes, what love is and what it must be like to no longer have that love in ones life. there are hints, touches of sexuality, the glimpse of naked man (his genitalia artfully covered by shadow and pose) and of course the film, a scandalous occurrence in our modern times, is about a relationship between two men.

thus, the mpaa gives the film an r, limiting its release and applying a massive scarlet letter across it that reads 'this film is unfit for your children to see, possibly too disturbing even for you who might be weak of heart.'

i saw flipped this week as well. rob reiner's new film about the budding romance between two eleven year olds set in the 1950s. it's not a terrible film by any means, it adeptly shoots for a series of predictable plot points and with a few flourishes manages to hit them. it is so predictable it borders on the provincial, barely attempting to push the status quo even for a moment.

and of course, everyone can see it. the film, again about a heterosexual relationship set in the 1950s was awarded a pg by the mpaa, opening its bland white-bread doors wide open for the entire world to feast their eyes upon.

i saw centurion this week as well (it's been a big week for films), the new film by genre-film master neill marshall. the film follows a group of roman soldiers on the run behind enemy lines from a hunting party of dangerous pagans. it is beyond gory. there beheadings and impalings and throat-cuttings and spearings and all other forms of horrible blood-letting through out. there is just as much skin of the man shown in this film as in a single man but all of this is buffered by some of the most entertaining bloodshed i've seen in a while. it's a great gory picture, entirely unsuited for most children.

and of course, not everyone can see it. the mpaa gave the film, quite accurately i believe, a hard-r for violence and thematics and child-murder.

a single man a touching, beautiful story about the grief of losing the love of your life gets an r. flipped a low-key, period piece about meeting the love of your life gets a pg. centurion a brutally violent tale of war and revenge gets an r.

seems a tad unfair if you ask me. for the film and for those who won't have the opportunity to watch the film because it challenges conventional norms.

just saying.

happy 90th ray harryhausen!

2010-08-24T10:28:00.000-07:00

who might you ask is ray harryhausen? just the most innovative stop-motion animator of all time. the man who single-handedly helped to plant the love of the fantastical deep in to my mind. the man behind jason and the argonauts' skeletal rampage, the man behind the one eyed-centaur battling a griffin to a punch-frenzy death, the man who made it possible to bring fantasy to life on the silver screen.

this god of the film world jumped the fence in to the pastures of nonagenerianism this past weekend and hopefully you, and your friends and family, got a chance to dive in to the smattering of retrospectives of his work that popped up across the country. i for one eschewed the societal trappings of friendship for five hours and, in the lovely castro theater, feasted on jason and the argonauts and the surprisingly entertaining golden voyage of sinbad. i can't say that the directors the bookended the work of harryhausen's clay-genius always brought the most amazing films to bear, but i can certainly say that even fifteen, twenty years after seeing it, the arrival of titan talos in jason and the argonauts still had my glossy-eyed and slack-jawed.

harryhausen, may you live another 90.

what's in the theaters this weekend?

2010-08-19T21:38:00.000-07:00

i used to write a column for another website that basically gave me the opportunity to predict which films i thought were going to smash at the box office and which films i thought were going to spew radioactive waste on time the lifeless forms of the viewers. i always thought it entertaining, but started to feel awkward because i wasn't actually seeing any of these films, i was just sort of guessing if they were going to be good or bad. i wasn't offering the audience any sort true fact, just a series of educated guesses on what i thought might be the best film for them to actually spend their hard earned money on.

after being subjected to the wide world of reviewing, to seeing nearly every shitty film that exists on the planet that has plopped on to the silver screen, i've decided that, whether or not i've seen everything, i'm going to return to this educated guess system of critiquing. hell, i'm seeing a lot of films that i usually wouldn't, and i'm buffering those with even more films, thus i think i can spend at least a small portion of time each week making sure you, my sensitive readers, don't mire yourself in some shit storm of a film because the advertising tricks you in to thinking it is an intelligent bit of comedy. or on the other side of the spectrum, perhaps lead you towards a film that looks terrible, but is actually a glowing diamond in the rough.

the films

nanny mcphee returns, d. susanna white

cast: emma thompson, maggie gyllenhaal, ralph fiennes

what is it?: the sequel to the first film about nanny mcphee, a beloved though hideously warted english nanny whom takes a trio of children on a magical ride ... or something

prediction: you know, from the cast present, you'd think this film would be some sort of stuffy british period piece involving a comedy of manners and perhaps a few big, flowery hats. ralph fiennes and maggie gyllenhaal joining a cast that already features emma thompson? i mean on a certain count it just smells like a bunch of actors watching the ink dry on a couple of six or seven digit paychecks, but maybe, just maybe this is one of this under-the-radar children's flicks that actually has some merit, and when you're forced by your bawling four and five year olds to pay three hundred dollars to attend this flick, you won't actually have the unstoppable urge to end the lives of your entire family.

or it could just be another shit-show sequel aimed to cut holes in your money tree and change your whining blobs in to even more testaments the youtube generation.

will i see it?: was offered, and kindly rejected.

piranha 3d, d. alexandre aja

cast: elisabeth shue, jerry o'connell, ving rhames, richard dreyfuss

what is it?: a film about mutant radioactive piranha's ... in 3d

prediction: i worry about this film, not because of its premise, but more so because of the studios decision not to screen it for critics. usually when a film has this dump of a concept, the studios throw it out to the critics hoping they'll either lambast it so badly it'll draw people's attention like a freeway accident or that it'll actually be entertaining enough that they'll give it a "gee shucks, pretty good" review. with out a screening though, it might just be bland horror crap. though alexandre aja's the hills have eyes and haute tension are both absolute gore-fests that worked on almost every level. though the ending of haute tension is a total bust.

will i see it?: my weekend is pretty open, and i know one particular roomie who might just be game for a beach-centric gore-splosion rife with cheesy dialogue and the slim possibility of nudity.

vampires suck, d. jason friedberg, aaron seltzer

cast: no one you've ever heard of

what is it?: another one of those fucking spoofs, this time of, sigh, vampire flicks

prediction: somehow this film will make money. it probably cost six cents to film as its actors are probably dredged from the cast-off pile of amateur porn and the visual effects look to be made by a toddler. thus if six people, high on north korean manufactured "ice" attend, it'll make nearly 180 percent profit, insuring years and years and years of more similarly toned spoofs. will it be good? no, not even a chance. when the pr agency sent me the screening notice for this i'd never even heard of it. being a person who spends an inordinate amount of time reading about films, it is a bad sign when i have not heard of a film.

will i see it?: oh no.

lottery ticket, d. erik white

cast: lil bow-wow, ice cube

what is it?: a lil bow-wow film about a kid who finds a lottery ticket. hilarity ensues.

prediction: when i was in chicago i visited the gene siskel film center, a beautiful, sparse theater playing an incredible collection of films, new and old and retrospective, and this film was the opening night film in a festival dedicated to the works of african-american filmmakers. this creates a few possibilities in my mind:

1. perhaps this a strong african-american ensemble film deservedly placed at the front of an exciting selection of new films from up-and-coming black filmmakers.

2. perhaps this is another vapid shitty ensemble mess that because of a few big named actors is shunted in to the front of a respectable festival to draw in a public that might not attend films quite as often at the gene siskel film center.

thus, the question ...

will i see it?: no, regardless of which possibility this film falls in to, i will not risk wasting my twelve dollars to view it.

the switch, d. josh gordon, will speck

cast: jennifer aniston, jason bateman

what is it?: seemingly another rom-com about single mothers and swapped baby batter.

prediction: this movie is going to make a lot of money. i saw it, with a rom-com loving friend, this week and was, quite frankly, more than impressed by the film. the ads and trailers and such make this out to be a brainless slapstick shitfest aimed at the lowest common denominator. but alack, this is a smart, funny, at times depressing film about man-children, narcissism and the unexpected onset of responsibility. thus, thanks to the ads, the mouth-breathers of the world are going to rush to theaters in the hope that it'll spawn a night of baby-making (rom-coms seemingly have this ability in the mouth-breather world), but when the critics review the film and it's actually accepted as a well-written, at times touching bit of film, the snot-nosed film lovers of the world will throw their cash-filled hats in to the ring.

will i see it?: already did, and you should follow my lead.

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so, my suggestion for the week. the switch. get at it.

2010-08-17T22:59:00.000-07:00

i've been accused, for as long as i can remember as being someone who 'falls asleep during every movie.'

this is quite true.

david thomson, san francisco resident and hugely prolific film critic seemingly faces a similarly ironic dilemma. his thoughts on the matter:

'it is the just reward for insomnia that i sleep most easily at the movies. why not? i always suspected they were dreams.'

from the brilliant compilation of tiny film reviews entitled have you seen ... a monster of a tome that i'm still working through.

watch: japanese department store ad from the 1970s

2010-08-17T10:04:00.000-07:00

faye dunaway, hard-edged femme fatale of bonnie and clyde.

faye dunaway, lover of eggs and pitch black rooms.

finally.

2010-08-11T19:44:00.001-07:00

i've been waiting for this for too long. i feared perhaps because the film was the a lesser work in the amazing oeuvre of wes anderson that perhaps the huge fans at the criterion collection would spite this cheeky tail of brothers gone to india. wes anderson and the criterion collection have always had a brilliant relationship, the good folk behind the collection always seeming to translate anderson's coy visual style in to brilliant little bits of packaging and extra features. there's no better way to watch a wes anderson film (aside from sprawled big across the silver screen) then through a perfect transfer by these film fanatics.

i'm just glad my fears were unrealized.

this, again, is the beautiful new art for the upcoming release of the darjeeling limited (540). i will hover strangely near the door of the local DVD store awaiting its release.

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criterion counsel: might be time for another break from this. life is busy right now and kurosawa is barely a glimmer in my eye.

what i'm watching tonight: scott pilgrim, d. edgar wright

2010-08-10T01:09:00.000-07:00

i'm not the bryan o'malley super-geek that's buffeting the internet in absolute panicky, cold-sweaty excitement you see so many of trolling the internet right now. what i am though is a huge fan of the film ethic and prior work of director edgar wright (shaun of the dead and hot fuzz), a man who deftly weaves his immense knowledge of film in to films that openly acknowledge that, well, knowledge while craftily weaving their own impressively original stories. in the past wright, and co-conspirator nick frost, have chopped their own ideas from the ether, and i'm more than curious to see what edgar wright and company are going to do with the sort of bizarre, manga-influenced love/fight story of scott pilgrim and his lovelorn battle for the beautiful ramona.

from everything i'm hearing and everything i'm seeing (and let me tell you, i've watched the various trailers more than enough times in the last few hours) this movie looks to be melding comic books and film in a way barely done before. yes, ang lee and his much-maligned hulk adaptation tried to blur the line, but lee fell on the side of artsy, not nerdy, and the brace-faced crowd turned quickly and angrily against him.

edgar wright is one of that crowd, and it seems he's bringing his full onslaught or nerd-knowledge to the plate. this, after inception, is my most anticipated of the summer season, so here's sitting with fingers crossed.

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criterion counsel: nothing. take that judgement from your face.

what i'm watching tonight: The Expendables d. Sylvester Stallone

2010-08-09T16:10:00.000-07:00

for some reason, i'm still mulling it over in my head, i signed up for the screening of the 80s action-hero testosterone festival of lights that is sylvester stallone's the expendables. i don't know if you've been outside of your home or flipped on a boob-tube in the last three months, but if so you've certainly seen the line of formerly famous stars that make up the poster for this blood-n-guts shoot-out.

honestly, i think, especially if stallone continues his unlikely streak of enjoyable action flicks, this could be a fun movie. it could exploit the star powers that these washed-up duds once emitted and could abort the idea of a logical story in favor of explosions and bloodshed and be so ridiculously dumb that it, on some basic level, works. or, and i worry deeply this might be the case, it could try to take itself too seriously or too farcically and just be an absolute bit of trash. the kind of low-rent action thriller i used to stay up past my bedtime just so i could watch the sex scenes through the grainy static of my downstairs television.

why am i going though? i don't know, some sort of distant nostalgic thread connected to my love of bruce willis and the actioneers of my past perhaps. or maybe just the need to dive back in to the theatrical film experience after three weeks of literature and road-trip.

i have no clue. this could be ugly.

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criterion counsel: sigh, don't even know where i put that film ...

watch this: terry zwigoff's CRUMB (533) trailer

2010-08-06T09:00:00.000-07:00

terry zwigoff is a stocky, bald-headed son of a bitch who once locked himself in to his trailer during a shoot with a gun threatening to kill himself. i saw him speak once and though he seemed tart, the percolating anger just didn't seem to be present. this film, his greatest if you ask me, is acerbic and odd in the way only zwigoff can nail, but the majority of this caustic behavior stems from its subject, the erstwhile famous fellow 60s comic icon robert crumb. if a film produced by david lynch and filmed by zwigoff doesn't tempt you enough, just know there's a character in the film (another crumb brother who incidentally i'm privy to his sf whereabouts) who swallows a string and allows it to cleanse his digestion bits for nearly 12 days.

brilliant pic, just released from my savior the criterion collection.

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criterion counsel: just got back, but a big screen is floating in my future, so chances are looking good for mr. kurosawa's film.

a return and thoughts

2010-08-05T15:53:00.000-07:00

i'm back from a road trip of epic proportions with the criterion conquistador by my side and the whole of upper-northern america streaming past us. there was a yellow lab, a few cramped nights in tents, the broad foreheads of america's presidents sprawled out before us, a laser show with booming quotations splayed across the sprouting features of crazy horse, there were steaming geysers, battles with rapids, a whole lot of hot dogs and so much more i'm unable to jot it all down.

i do, on the occasion of returning from such a cross-continental journey, a few thoughts:

1. the midwest is sort of like the perpetual eighth grader of the united states. the coasts are a cooler older sibling that keeps there eye on the newest fashions, the sizzling new musical acts, the changes in hairdos. the south is an estranged cousin living on the edge of the compound who people think about fondly sometimes but still wonder why that sum'bitch shot a beebee in to the neighbor's cat. texas is like a crotchety grandfather who smokes a corn cob pipe and is damned sure that what they're doing is right on the nose, but hasn't looked around in twenty-five years. the midwest though is certainly the awkward pre-adolescent, sometimes churning with pubescent energy, sometimes still yearning to fall back in to their parents arms, most often friendly to a fault, unperturbed by the need to stand out. i say this in the most positive of ways as i found the people and the culture of the midwest (though flat in inflection and lacking in the love of spice) to be wonderful and welcoming, but there's a certain feeling that the midwest is still, and always will be, waiting for the hairs on their chest and pits to sprout.

2. for nine dollars on the cc and i's final day we purchased these things: two hot dogs (chicago style with tomatoes and celery salt and relish and onions and spicy peppers and pickles), a small coke (in the midwest this is a bladder-filling beverage) and a 'pizza puff' (a deep-fried pizza pocket, more delicious than you might think). for nine dollars. less than a ten dollar bill. in san francisco for nine dollars you would get a napkin, a sardonic smile and perhaps the sneaky opportunity to steal a couple packets of ketchup. we stayed on the couch of strangers who's sprawling apartment was enough to fit eleven bikes, the dank odor of rotting wood, and a two of my sf apartments, and i nearly lost myself when they said their rent was just under six hundred dollars. my rent is just under six hundred dollars and that's for a spacious room i share with a very lovely conquistador. to say the least, the midwest, gawky as it might be, is a cheap, delicious place.

3. after driving for nine days, near eight hours each cycle of the sun, and then to my deep consternation sitting through two, sigh, two flights over the course of two days, i'm here to say that driving is the way to see this world. flying, at least in our recession sucker-punched economy is no longer the luxury adventure it once was. oh yeah sure, say goodbye to blankets (they cost eight dollars now), food (also unreasonably priced), and anything else once considered a good natured compensation, that's been spoken about. but toss in a bevy of unfriendly flight attendants who will bark angrily at you when you attempt to use the bathroom while it's being 'serviced', screaming children, a selection of movies better suited to a colony of ingrates, uncomfortable seats, and a general sense of panicky malaise and i would prefer to be squished underneath a greyhound bus for sixteen hours than to step foot on an aircraft.

4. america is amazing. i saw a hotel called americinn. i shot a six shot revolver. i heard a chinless man talk about taking a bullet for his gun shop. i saw big hair and the badlands, big people and the big horn national forest. we slept on the couches of people we'd never even heard of. my painted toenails were ridiculed, i swam in rivers and lakes and quarries and swimming holes. i ate at the oldest bar in madison. i ate bison and venison and chorizo stuffed figs and pork shoulder swimming in its own broth. i drove across the flat, empty expanse of south dakota and let my mind wander. i stopped and i started and suddenly realized why the great road trip has become such a rite of inspiration for the writing world. i don't know what you do, but whatever it is, you should stop it for a moment and find away to travel across the country, stopping as you may, a destination just creeping up on the horizon.

four presidents carved in to stone.

2010-07-23T09:04:00.000-07:00

breathtaking.

hot dang, america!

2010-07-22T09:00:00.000-07:00

wooooooo-weeeee, taller than a car that steam spouting sum'bitch is.

billings!

2010-07-21T09:00:00.000-07:00

children in montana love sitting on stoops and staring out across the dusty plain, their earth-caked futures percolating in the distance.

boise!

2010-07-20T09:10:00.000-07:00

across this wild place

2010-07-19T01:46:00.000-07:00

see that tiny town that enormous giant of a person is pinching? that's chicago. one time crux of the midwest. former meat-packing capitol of the world. home to the cubs, the white soxs, the bears, the bulls and the blackhawks.

well guess what lingering readers? the criterion conquistador and i are hitting the road in, well, just about four and half hours on a massive road trip across this oft times great country of ours. through bois and billings and the dakotas and minnesota and wisconsin, we're cutting across this wild place we call america to see what it has to offer, with chicago as our end goal.

the postings are going to be sparse around here and if not sparse, particularly short and sweet.

wish us luck in our travels, we'll certainly do the same for you.

mmmmm ... samurai

2010-07-15T11:04:00.000-07:00

toshiro mifune is such a glowing statue of japanese masculinity.

he makes my loins quiver and my hair stand on end.

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criterion counsel: it's been a busy coupla days. sadly none of that business has been aimed at the criterion collection.

go, run, see inception

2010-07-14T11:38:00.000-07:00

i was lucky, privileged, blessed to see christopher nolan's new film inception on monday night and i can't (both legally and scholarly) gush more about the film. people will call this the new matrix (i heard them as i left the theater, already dropping the wachowski's sci-fi classic) and if you're thinking mind-bending science-fiction that pushes far past what has come before, then yes, this is the new matrix. but inception is so so so much more. this is the matrix on massive steroids, but undercut with an emotional core. this is a trick on reality (on realities actually) that never lets up. from moment one you're thrust in to the world of a group of thieves that operate on an entirely different level than anyone who's come before, and you hold on with all your might to their adventure(s).

i want to write nothing more about the plot or the characters or the resolution of this film, because i came in blank, only the oddball images of the teaser posters emblazoned on my brain, and it allowed for everything to be a surprise, everything to be a revelation.

just know this, the forty minute heist at the end of the film rivals any and all that've come before it. perhaps the greatest execution of a complicated bit of filmmaking i've ever seen. acting, writing, cinematography, action choreography - it doesn't get better than this.

mr. nolan, i tip my hat to you.

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criterion counsel: did some real damage on the kurosawa piece the other night. but life has imposed itself once again. we'll see if i can get to it before i leave for chicago next week.

watch this: the hidden fortress (116) sneak preview

2010-07-09T08:02:00.000-07:00

getting back to the classic masters these days. yesterday dassin, today kurosawa, tomorrow bunuel - it's a stroll through a museum of the greats.

this film supposedly influenced the star wars films, though it's hard for me to see that amongst the screaming samurai women and flame dancing tribal men.

RIFIFI (115)

2010-07-08T15:06:00.000-07:00

the film: rififi (115)

the director: jules dassin (the naked city (380), brute force (383), etc.)

what is it: only my favorite film amongst the sizable number of criterion collection films i've perused. gritty, grim, depressing 'till the end - almost the perfect crime film.

a lil' bit of history: the film's centerpiece, an immaculate 30-minute heist sequence that features no words, no music, no imposed sound, has actually been recreated by real life criminals. the types with guns and rap sheets.

the expectation: i've seen it before and couldn't wait to dive back in to the glowing perfection of this seamless film.

the experience: sequestered in a beautiful home with a whopping sound system and an enormous television, the experience, though broken apart by much needed sleep, was near perfect.

1. the way crime should be portrayed

rififi (115) is a beautiful film. a beautiful film about characters that as a viewer you feel drawn too, entranced by, even rooting for by film's end. but in the long run rififi (115) isn't a film about glorifying the world of crime. instead it's a dark peek in to the brutal rules that govern the world. yes, you will be amazed by how artfully put together the heist in the film is, but the aftermath quickly disperses the hollywood sheen. these characters live and die by a code, a series of life-long traditions that govern their professional existence, and the lines of friends and family and co-workers mean nothing when they come in to question. the final twenty-five minutes of this film are brutally heart-wrenching, the kind of bait-and-switch that boosts you up only so it hurts more when it knocks you over. crime, on a basic level, can be a terrible terrible thing and rififi (115) in all its black and white glory, deftly portrays this.

2. the heist

read anything about rififi (115) and you'll read about the heist sequence in the film. near thirty minutes long, the heist sequence is told without sound of any kind (aside from the normal scuffle of your average heist). as a reviewer, who on a weekly basis is force-fed enormous, big budget bits of hyper-kinetic action rife with ear-grating explosions and mind-manipulating music, rififi's (115) silent crime finale is refreshing. instead of being "wowed" by the giant special effects and cheesy one-liners you're locked in to the characters and the very simple, yet difficult act of breaking in to a well-secured diamond merchant's vault-like storefront. the character's tenseness, the sweat that drips from their faces, the pin-drop atmosphere isn't obscured by booming timpanis or synthy reverb. instead it sits in the foreground and each tick of the cinematic clock seems to crush the air out of your chest a little bit more.

3. the after-heist

modern movies, at least those birthed from the loins of hollywood, have a need to wrap everything up in a fiery finale. to tie the loose ends that the film has unearthed in a blaze of action. bad guys die, good guys live, lovers love - it's just the manner of film we've become accustomed to. yet, rififi (115) doesn't even attempt to pull together the loose ends in a action-packed ending. instead the heist finishes with

thirty minutes left in the film, and the unresolved bits then start a-flowing. all of sudden the magic of the heist has fallen to the wayside and the dark underbelly that rests below the surface quickly takes center stage. bullets are fired, friendships are tested, loyalties are broken, and the world of crime suddenly doesn't seem so magical. instead it seems exactly what it is: dangerous, seedy, and all about the love of money.

4. tony the stephanois

there's something about the portrayal of tony the stephanois by jean servais, the star of les miserables and le plaisir (444). this is a gangster we've seen before, but not at this stage in his life. this is a crook fresh out the slammer but without the fresh gleam hollywood usually presents them with. this is a broken man, one who once supped on caviar at fancy restaurants and wooed beautiful women in lavish apartments dripping with antiquity. this is a broken man who now sweats when he walks, smokes cigarettes to ease the pain, and finds solace in the peaceful suburbanity of another man's family. he is violent and angry and ready to no longer be a part of this world. servais plays him like a character who has seen too much, a man who has lived by the rules for too long and now has emerged from a stint in the pen without the knowledge of how the rules have evolved. he's an old-timer in a newbies world, and the violence that marks the end of the film, seems to adequately fit the stephanois' grim life view. he performed a crime, and because he didn't see it from every angle, he has to kill or be killed to survive. his is a deep, dark, depressing world, and even the rekindled love of a woman can't bring him back from the edge.

final thoughts:

don't even need 'em. watch this film. many times over.

---

criterion counsel: on a rampage right now. who knows how many films i can devour before i leave!

200 bonsai

2010-07-07T09:19:00.000-07:00

i want nothing more than to be finishing this movie this morning, the lovely criterion conquistador locked in to the crook in my arm. but alas, i have 200 bonsai to water and a film about human-hunting to digest.

and i have forty-five minutes to do so.

thus, give me the time today to finish the film and expect a glut of praise tomorrow.

hope your america-loving weekend was long and stained with bbq.

tony le stephanois est exact au rendez-vous ...

2010-07-02T09:00:00.000-07:00

i can't explain anymore just how brilliant this film is.

does this poster further it's brilliance?

does the jagged red lines and language of love make my mouth-slobber a little more mutual?

and you call yourself a film lover ...

why so hazy?

2010-07-01T17:31:00.000-07:00

i saw the last airbender a few days ago. it was, disappointingly, awful. poor story, teenage editing, awful acting, and maybe some of the poorest script choices ever conceived.

and sadly (strangely? inevitably?) the terribleness of the actual film wasn't even what irked me the most. oh no, i'm so used to shit dripping on to my lap near every time i venture in to a movie theater, the fact that i was watching yet another set-up for yet another trilogy of soulless big budgetry, barely phased me. i simply stared at the screen, allowing the mind-numbing imagery to batter out another few brain cells.

what torqued my movie-loving soul the most was the fact that the film, like so many already this summer and so many more to come, was in (cue booming drums and flashy visuals) 3-D! i've vocalized my distaste for the cheap gimmick that is 3-D! before, and even sliding the glasses on to my face prepares me for yet another brown backed slide down shit mountain. before the last airbender though i accredited my dislike for 3-D! to the fact that it usually signaled a film that spun on the lazy axis of visual effects. with so much money thrown towards the ability to see leaves flutter in to your face, i can never imagine that a whole lot is left for a little thing called story. sure toy story 3 blasted me from the bay inland, but i consider it a fluke of the new found medium. 3-D! is a death rattle from a bloated tech-whale, and every time i force those hipster-glasses-gone-wrong over my eyes, i shudder a bit, knowing exactly what comes next.

and still, this aspect of 3-D! wasn't what kicked me the most times in the uvula. during the film, in a boorish bit of dialogued exposition, i decided that in no way whatsoever could my 3-D! glasses be helping or hampering my viewing experience. thus, rebel that i am, i pulled the glasses off of my face and to see what would a 3-D! film in un-3-D! would look like.

as it turns out 3-D! films in un-3-D! look much like the films we we're happily watching for years and years before some pea-brained ass in a leather chair on sunset boulevard decided that 3-D! was the wave of the future. well, they look similar, except for the colors portrayed on screen are actually those colors. one fails to realize that the trick behind, ahem, 3-D! glasses is polarization, a way of pushing the brain and eye to disconnect slightly, drawing the image on screen seemingly closer to the face. to achieve polarization one must tint the glasses slightly, making it so we're viewing our films, our beloved films, through cheap-o sunglasses. yes, the laser beams shot from the laser beam gun are seemingly "wizzing" past our head, but also every bit of beautiful color we could be laying our eyes on is, relegated to somewhere between it's original color and a muted, charcoal-like gray. we are not feasting on an array of delicious colors, but instead chewing the ash of a film put to the fire. it is the sad, unheralded truth, that 3-D! is not only robbing our films of the need for story, but also robbing us of the true visual nature of what we might be seeing.

what i want from the studios isn't the dismissal of 3-D! as a viable filmic option as there are those small-brained individuals in the world who would like to watch jennifer lopez getting a pap smear in enormous, monstrous 3-D!. what i would enjoy rather is the opportunity to never, ever, have to view a 3-D! film again. that i could see films that sucked as hard as the last airbender (and oh how hoover-ish this beast of a film was) in all of the visual glory they were meant to be presented in. i don't want to be an extra four to five dollars to have my optic rainbow painted over with opaque paint.

---

criterion counsel: film rented. film unwatched.

watch this: RIFIFI (115) trailer

2010-06-30T11:46:00.000-07:00

lord knows how long it might be until i get to dip in to this film, but the trailer, all cigarette smoke and seedy mood makes my feet tingle.

---

criterion counsel: er, well, no.

MY MAN GODFREY (114)

2010-06-29T10:24:00.000-07:00

the film: my man godfrey (114)

the director: gregory la cava

what is it: perhaps the depression era comedy. a fast-talking bit of lunacy that ably dissects the befuddled brains of the fabulously wealthy.

a lil' bit of history: william powell, the stunning actor who portrays "godfrey" in the film, was no spring chicken (forty-five and getting older), thus when powell carries irene (carole lombard) up the stairs and in to her bedroom, a stunt double had to be used.

the expectation: i spoke on this yesterday, but the possibility of a 1930s comedy used to turn my snooze-factor up to high. my man godfrey (114) had my tongue lolling from moment one. i'm growin' up mama.

the experience: i've been so impressively busy over the course of the last four months, that movies, especially criterion ones are gems to be shoved in to the cracks of my schedule. thus, sadly, annoyingly, my man godfrey (114) was watched in fragments before sleep, upon waking, on off-afternoons.

1. not your staid 1930s pic

there's a feeling amongst the public these days that if something's old, especially if an item of historical remembrance harkens back to the early parts of the century, that it might be, ahem, boring. i, occasionally dunder-headed, have in the past subscribed to these theory as well. but let me tell you, as soon as godfrey (william powell) pushes the sharp-faced cornelia (gail patrick) in to the ash pile and confirms that yes he'll be a part of the bullock family's lunatic experience, this film is as entertaining as anything in theaters right now. this isn't just run-of-the-mill comedy either, there is a sense of silliness and surrealism that tints the edges of the film. the shit show that is the rich person scavenger hunt at the beginning had my eyes wide, my mouth agape. the cast of characters the inhabit the bullock's household aren't just your tired, stuffy rich folk, oh no, these are beautifully crafted bits of insanity that make you giggle and cringe at the same time. yes, yes, the film doesn't feature sweaty megan fox fighting a robot vacuum cleaner or jennifer lopez getting impregnated by a machine. instead it features silliness and stunning acting and a sure-footed cameraman. and in the end, it's all you really need.

2. william powell

i've feel as if i've shorted myself in life by not knowing more about william powell before this film. his is a name that any good cinephile knows and, truthfully or not, reveres. in my case, he's a series of blocky letters on the blindingly lit marquee of my mind. a name with no face as so many of the brilliant contracted actors of the studio era have become. thus, when this film opens and a dirty faced powell lambasts one half of the bullock family as articulately as any one on screen possibly ever has, i nearly lost it. powell is the sort of well-polished screen gem hollywood of the 1930s adored. a mannered actor with a sharp, speedy, delivery and the sort of upper class good looks a country in the midst of the great depression strove for. his godfrey is a sharp-tongued charmer done with the world of wealth and women, a hard-working mystery setting out in the world to learn a few life lessons. i can imagine that william powell, star of the the thin man films (all fourteen of them), was much like godfrey in real life, a sort of well-spoken cynic, who didn't take shit from anyone, regardless of their class or stature.

i've got powell on the brain, i feel a bio coming on.

3. eugene pallette

dig in to enough depression era comedies and you're going to stumble upon the enigma that is eugene pallete (the actor who portrays alexander bullock in the film). pallette's a short, stocky actor who speaks like a frog with lung cancer. he's the perfect epitome of studio-era hollywood's love of a sideman, a character actor, an off-beat yahoo who adds just a spin of wackiness to a film. even though palllete's bullock is a sort of straight man in the film, the hard-wrought center of the absolutely bonkers bullock clan, his voice, his stature, his sort of pug-nosed masculinity, puts him decidedly off to the side. if william powell's godfrey is the character an unemployed joe on the street in the 1930s aspired to be, eugene pallette was the everyman (regardless of his onscreen characters wealth) they thought themselves to be.

final thoughts:

one of the great comedies i've ever seen. i wish i had more time and more space to fill your brains with the oddball lunacy and structural hilarity this film brings but i can't and i won't. all i can say is that godfrey and clan is the sort of film our country used to hang its hat on. a solid, dependable laugh riot that featured strong acting and even stronger writing. a film that didn't challenge our sensibilities perhaps but entertained with out dropping its standard to anything offensively lowball. william powell is a discovery i'll dig much deeper in to in the next few months, the sort of treasure found that makes me wish i could stop time and just dig in to his entire oeuvre.

---

criterion counsel: ah c'mon, gimme a break!

what's in store #10

2010-06-24T09:00:00.000-07:00

it's been a while since i've actually seen enough films to knock out another what's in store. so long that i forgot to actually discuss the next five films in the collection when i polished off the last round. that said, with my man godfrey (114) now a delightful afterthought, it seemed a reward even to announce to you folk what you can be looking forward to, if you're following along (which i'll be honest, seems a stretch).

it's strong five coming out of the gate, and i can't wait to polish up the silverware and get to eating.

#114. my man godfrey, d. gregory la cava

my man godfrey (114) is the type of film that gets bandied around in classic film circles as a favorite, a classic, a must-see. and as is typical of the lax cinephile that i am, i haven't seen it. scoff, please, guffaw even, but no my man godfrey (114) has alluded me for a long while now. but the cinematic pairing of william powell and carole lombard is enough to wet my pits. funny isn't it, years ago a black and white comedy from the 1930s would've been just enough to knock me unconscious, these days though, i'm percolating with excitement over it.

#115. rififi, d. jules dassan

of all the films i've seen in the criterion collection (roughly 120) jules dassan's classic caper flick rififi (115) is my favorite. ever aspect of this film, the accumulation of "the talent", the banter, the twist, and especially the completely silent twenty-one minute heist are perfect. perfect in the way where blood bubbles up to my face throughout the film and i feel a bit like i'm having a cinematic heart-attack. that kind of perfect.

#116. the hidden fortress, d. akira kurosawa

there was a spell, long ago, where not only was i obsessed with the beauty of the films in the criterion collection, but with actually owning the entirety of this expansive catalog. no birthday or christmas or easter list existed that didn't have a request for a list of criterion films somewhere on it. ebay was hunted for cheapies, video stores were perused for discount films - i was, and am, obsessed with the beautiful packaging this stunning collection released to the world. the hidden fortress (116) was one of these films that, sadly, was purchased and never viewed. stashed away underneath my bed (and concurrently my bed in san francisco) awaiting the day when i had a moment to watch it. the film? another beautiful take on the samurai genre by criterion favorite akira kurosawa. seemingly, much of star wars was based upon it.

#117. diary of a chambermaid, d. luis bunuel

keep the big names a'coming. luis bunuel has to be the second most represented director in the collection and for good reason. the spanish surrealist deftly, and wildly, dissected the philandering ways of the bourgeoisie and this, another beloved entry in his oeuvre, finds a chambermaid lost amongst the sexy scandals of a rich family. i expect it be strange, slightly uncomfortable, and entirely enjoyable.

#118. sullivan's travels, d. preston sturges

shit, there's too much to say about this film. preston sturges is a comic genius unlike any other. a true master of the classic genre of screwball comedies and this, a sort of 30s take on the odyssey is a renowned classic. the film inspired the coen brother's o brother where art thou? and is considered one of the all-time greats. and ... i haven't seen it. i had it in my possession in college for years and years and somehow the damned thing just alluded my view. shortly, hopefully, this will be fixed.

here's where i want someone to invent a time-stopper that allows me the ability to stop time, uh huh, and just sit and watch films until the cows come home. i'd watch all of these in a day. one glorious time-stopped day.

---

criterion counsel: my man godfrey (114), i am victorious. no no please, keep the clapping to a minimum, i get so easily embarrassed.

a suggestion: see I AM LOVE

2010-06-23T12:06:00.000-07:00

my mother, saint that she is, told me via phone the other night that her and my father, mustachioed stallion that he is, would no longer see films in the theater for any more than the price of their local second-run theater. unless said film was unanimously agreed upon by critics and peers alike to be a truly fantastic film. thus, big budget blockbusters would not be in my parent's future. films like robin hood and prince of persia and all the other shit clogging our screens this summer would be vacant from my parental units evening plans.

strangely, this idea, so distant from someone who gets to see free films, stuck in my mind. i sit in the darkness of the theater at each screening trying to figure out if this film would fit the bill for my parents to fork up the requisite ten-fifty (plus popcorn and soda, a sanders' family tradition) to see the film.

i am love, the new film starring (and produced by) tilda swinton is a film i believe my parents, and your parents, and the whole world should see. set amongst unimaginable wealth in milan and london and san remo, the film follows the slow dissolution of a family. a family built on secrets and lies and mistrust. it is, and this is saying much, as beautiful a film as any i've seen in recent years - part italian neo-realism, part subtly photographed painting, part scenic tour of the amazing imagery that makes up these ancient cities. the criterion conquistador and myself, sat in mute shock, staring at the credits as they limped across the screen. completely taken by this powerhouse of a film.

mom, dad, completely worth your ten-fifty. i promise.

---

criterion counsel: it returns. what with the swarms of fellow criterion questers flitting about, i need to get hustling. first to the top gets a bacon-wrapped hot dog! still stuck on my man godfrey (114). but not for long.

criterion copier.

2010-06-21T00:27:00.000-07:00

when i started criterion quest almost three years ago, i assumed that like the bolt of lightning that struck me whilst sitting in the back seat of light in the attic records founder matt sullivan's beat-up car, that the idea was, sigh, and original one. i, wrongly, believed that the idea of climbing to insurmountable peak that is the criterion collection was one that though possibly thought of before, had never been attempted.

today though, i received a lovely comment from a reader named "criterionaffection". comments in general are rare on the old criterion quest, thus, i've come to acknowledge and recognize the various members of the peanuts gallery who on a bi-weekly basis lambast me in some way. thus, the sheer idea that someone whom i'd never spoken to at great lengths was reading my blog and had been inspired, for good or for bad, to comment on it.

that in mind, i followed the comments url thread back to a website called criterion affection, a blog, that for better words, is doing exactly what i'm doing. sure, yes, they, whomever they might be are diving in to the criterion collection in alphabetical order, opposed to my numerical order, but still, criterion affection is attacking the criterion collection, film by film, just like me.

baffled, bewildered, even saddened by the sheer fact that my dim hope that what i was doing was original in any way, i peered, through salty tears at the sidebar, realizing that a slew of other criterion related websites loomed at the edges. i quickly, curtly even, clicked through the other criterion-ed monikers, finding, to my dismay, that a slew of other folk were attempting a similar feat.

criterion confessions. criterion contraption (endorsed by none other than one of my cinematic heroes, roger ebert). the list went on and on.

stunned, wide-mouthed even, i jotted down a few reactions which i would like to share with you:

1. happiness. it's nice to know that other folk are also as obsessed with this amazing cinematic collection. it's nice to know that other people have spent countless hours of their lives watching a handful of esoteric foreign films that only another small handful of people have seen, let alone enjoyed and would be willing to talk about. hearing that there's one, two, maybe countless other websites dedicated to this, perks me up a bit, gives me hope when the lights are dim and a pile of carl th. dreyer films loom in the distance.

2. relief. matthew dessem, the wildly recognized author of criterion contraption, he who lord ebert lauded with praise, has only watched 98 of the films in the criterion collection. yes his reviews are insightful and foot-noted and filled to the brim with interesting observations steeped in a worldly knowledge of cinema, but nonetheless, he's been doing it for four years and he's barely cracked the three digit mark. i, on the other hand, have been watching criterion films for an equal period of time and am already in the mid-teens. turns out obsessing your way through a five hundred film collection is tough work for me, and for everyone.

"if I live to be 80, I'll end up writing about 902 of criterion's 2,350 titles. i think i'd be happy with that." - matthew dessem

agreed.

i don't need to blindly march through these films, the finish line always in sight. i need to live life and watch the films when i can and enjoy and interpret them as i see fit. that's what watching films, criterion aside, is all about, and i'll happily step outside the stress ring and just let the films fall as they may.

3. shock and dismay, awe even. i am truly embarassed and stupified that for even an instance i thought that this idea was somehow original. i think alex was shocked at how shocked i was. she asked questions like, "did you search the internet for other criterion-related websites?" no. "are you doing okay?" yes, just a little red-in-the-face. "do you need me to hold the hankie while you blow your nose?" no, no thank you, i can do it myself.

4. full of scheme. what's great about finding a group of like-minded people is that a group can always do more than a single person. i'm already planning, scheming about how to break the barriers of solitude we criterion nerds have imposed upon ourselves and try to make something else out of this. what? i have no fucking clue.

in the end, i feel inspired. thank goodness i'm not the only one out there slogging through some of these films. i've found a support group for my obsession and though it knocked me for a loop, i'm already feeling better.

childhood.

2010-06-17T09:00:00.000-07:00

i was 13 when toy story came out, a five foot one punk who'd just barely escaped junior high with all limbs intact.

i was 17 when toy story 2 came out, bogged down in the social nitpicking of a high school, still coming home and raiding the cookie jar and watching reruns of saved by the bell.

i am 28 and saw toy story 3 two nights ago, a completely different individual than the human being who started the journey of woody and buzz and mr. and mrs. potato head and the whole motley crew. the original toy story film dropped in to theaters almost fifteen years ago, and long after the credits rolled on tuesday night, a sentimental bead rested upon my forehead, the tears just below the surface, my stomach in knots over bidding adieu to these characters i've shared a good portion of my life with.

it was a strange feeling, a new feeling lets say, and one i'm sad to say will probably grow more frequent with age. as i said above, i'm 28 now, and as i, we lets say, get older, saying goodbye to things, to people, to friends, to portions of our life in general, will become more and more frequent. we will move to new locations, new jobs, new fields. we will fight, and fall out, and on occasion make up. we will make terrible decisions and only know so when we have the luxury of hindsight. but i think what touched me the most about toy story 3 is the fact that, as we grow older, we will lose more and more. the nostalgic bits of our lives that make up this thing we call the past, will become more and more the individual strings of the tapestry of our memories. films, even great ones like the toy story trilogy, will fade in to better-lit locales, glowing with the gentle light of nostalgia. we will talk about them and about the people we used to know and love in the past tense, wondering where they are now or what they've done with themselves.

during the credits, criterion conquistador firmly at my side, a tear streamed down my face. i can't say if it was because of the emotional pay off of such a fantastic film or because the story of woody and buzz, and their birth and life and eventual, i'll say it, death, felt so familiar.

hats off to you pixar, you've made magic again.

the week

2010-06-15T10:33:00.003-07:00

i'm spent on ideas this morning. somehow amongst the cubic ton of paint cans and trash i tossed in to various dumps and receiving buildings through out the city, any ideas i've ever had about anything were plum smashed. instead, lets just talk about what i'm seeing this week, what might be coming out, what i might be doing.

call it "the week" and see what happens.

1. toy story 3

wow, for the first time in a long time, i'm teeth-grittingly excited to be attending a screener. sure, once in a while, i'm happy to battle the wet-mouthed masses to sit, slump-shouldered in a theater eyes half-open. usually it pans out that hollywood has dropped another steaming pile in my mouth and i'm stuck trying to digest without throwing up. this time though, this is toy story 3, this is pixar, this is the end of a trilogy that wasn't planned years in advance. this is an animated film that ends the stories of beloved characters as created by the absolute masters of field. i'm pee-dancing in excitement.

2. jonah hex

again, a film, in the theaters, produced by a major studio that has me on the verge of excitement. not as much excitement as toy story 3 but still. a supernatural cowboy flick starring josh brolin and the sweaty chest of megan fox? john malkovich as a world-ending bad-boy with that nasally voice of gravel and glass? sure, there's franchise spraypainted all over this, but perhaps, due to its sheer weirdness and the weight of its main player (oh brolin, you were made for the dusty bowls of a the western screen) this could leap frog its grim predecessors and be something entirely different.

maybe.

3. this trailer for the illusionist

magic. the new trailer for the new film by the man behind the triplets of belleville. a film based on an unfinished screenplay by jacques tati, starring a sort of animated version of the masterful m. hulot.

magic. the moment with the motorcycles, the bunny, the bra ... i need to see this film.

---

what a week.

watch this: dogtooth

2010-06-10T09:41:00.000-07:00

this movie looks horrifying, in all the right ways.

somehow they've taken the sort of constrictive boxes of wes anderson's new york and injected a sense of unruly violence. which i can only imagine is going to be amazing.

if anyone can tell me what this film is about ...

a boycott.

2010-06-09T08:56:00.000-07:00

alex and i ended up seeing, for review shockingly enough, a fairly good movie starring michael douglas called solitary man last week. and though yes, the fact that i was allowed to see a film that wasn't a soul-sucking piece of shit, was quite shocking, but even more shocking was the fact that we screened the film at one of the sort of upper-class independent cinemas in san francisco, and on two of its screens ... sex and the city 2 was playing. i would be angry only at the theater, as perhaps the money grubbing owners were unable to look past the solid good pile of shit the film is, and they just had to insert it in to one of their girls-night-out perfect theaters.

but alas, the film, as awful and offensive as it is, is playing at the castro (the bastion for amazing cinematic experiences in san francisco) as well as a handful of other truly great theaters. this shitty, revolting bit of film has somehow transcended the wide-ranging and acidic feedback from the majority of film critics the world over and snuck itself past the megaplexs and in to the art houses.

a few thoughts on this:

1. for a moment lets blame the theaters. if you want to spend the majority of your time screening awesome, exciting, challenging bits of film, every once in a while you're going to have let your guard down and just let some shitty hollywood turd go to town on you. it could be sex and the city 2 or prince of persia or the davinci code or some other oozy pile that will line your pockets, bring your studio an entirely different demographic of audience members, and generally help to wash away the acrid tang of bankruptcy. it isn't easy being an arthouse theater these days and a little money in the back pocket could turn a lot of heads away from trash.

2. but truly, lets blame ourselves. we're a bunch of stupid fuckers these days, buying in again and again in to the absolute shit the studios keep thrusting our way. we're creating a landscape in which small, amazing theaters have to put up there arms and surrender to the likes of carrie and her quartet of small brained ninnies. by supporting these films we're saying, "yup, brainless as we are, we're giving you a reason to continue to clog our theaters, big and small, with this kind of shit. you keep putting 'em out, we will continue to fork over the money needed to give you the impetus to do it all over again." and of course when we're all wasting our hard earned money on these big, awful pictures, of course we're not going to be heading on over to the lumiere or the embarcadero one to see rialto pictures new transfer of ran (316) or the new documentary on banksy. and thus these little theaters are forced in some way to fill there screens with these crappy movies, and with these small theaters putting on the clothes of the multiplex-chains, all of sudden the smaller flicks have just one less screen to possibly fill. it's a dangerous cycle we're stepping in to right now and the only way we as a cineaste community can change it is this: boycott. we have to, as i've said before, stop going to these big budget pictures, stop giving the theaters, big and small, any reason to continue to carry films like prince of persia. sure, the hollywood machine is going to keep churning this shit out and some zombie-like section of society will continue their streak of de-evolution by sticking out their furry-palmed hands, crumpled wads of money resting gingerly atop. but if we, the people who give a shit about what we'll be watching in five, two, even a year, stop attending, stop filling the coffers, it's going to make a mark, small but noticeable. perhaps without our dollars and bodies filling the spaces, a bow-tied manager will wander past an entirely empty screening room where sex and the city 2 blasts on the silver screen and they'll think to themselves, "hmmmmm ... there has to be something better."

maybe.

excuses, they return

2010-06-08T10:33:00.000-07:00

i've been pushing myself hard for the last week or so. writing and estate sale throwin' and socializing and working and trying amongst all of these things to find some sort of nook to crawl in to and sleep for a few moments.

things i have to do this month:

1. break down the home of a 85 year old woman who's been collecting, well everything for the the last mmmmmmmm forty years.

2. clean, price, and stage a new house full of antique chairs and coffee mills and clocks and other detritus of a life lived and loved.

3. write 1600 words on the chocolate scene and my adventures within it.

4. work four extra shifts.

5. prepare for a trip to chicago.

6. sleep, socialize, eat, watch and write movie reviews, continue the criterion quest ...

and on and on it goes.

so for today you just get an amazing video by the very talented drew christie.

Fire Fire I Heard The Cry from Drew Christie on Vimeo.

tomorrow, i've got more words on boycotts.

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criterion counsel: this is just depressing me lately, so i'm going to give it a break.

watch this: goat v. gfos

2010-06-04T00:40:00.000-07:00

as good but not better than no mas' other spectacular animation about dock ellis and his LSD assisted no-hitter.

this time muhammad ali battles james brown.

i quiver.

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criterion counsel: getting there folks, getting there.

they eat yogurt instead of pasta

2010-06-02T19:20:00.000-07:00

don't know much about RSAnimated, but this enormous white-board retelling of a speech entitled "the secret power of time" blows my mind. it brings me back to a PBS show that i can only think of in fragments. one where a slightly creepy artist drew space ships on a giant piece of butcher paper.

any one got a title for this one?

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criterion counsel: wow, my priorities are on a whole new planet.

stuttering

2010-06-01T12:00:00.000-07:00

"But when you keep rebooting and discarding continuity and starting over, you're not telling a story spread over several films. You're just stuttering. You're just using familiar iconography while running in place. It is, quite frankly, pathetic. And yet we stand here, all of us in this business, looking at the flames that keep getting higher and higher around us while we say nothing and do nothing and make no efforts to stop the ruin of this art form that we love. We run these stories as news instead of dire warnings"

from perhaps my favorite film critic currently working, drew mcweeney. not enough people can say it enough times in as many ways.

---

that's the end

2010-05-31T19:13:00.000-07:00

"The cocaine problem in the United States is really because of me. There was no cocaine before Easy Rider on the street. After Easy Rider it was everywhere."

"When we were making the movie, we could feel the whole country burning up - Negroes, hippies, students, I meant to work this feeling into the symbols in the movie, like Captain America's Great Chrome Bike - that beautiful machine covered with stars and stripes with all the money in the gas tank is America - and that any moment we can be shot off it - BOOM - explosion - that's the end. At the start of the movie, Peter and I do a very American thing - we commit a crime, we go for the easy money. That's one of the big problems with the country right: everybody's going for the easy money. Not just obvious, simple crimes, but big corporations committing corporate crimes."

"I want to make movies about us. We're a new kind of of human being. In a spiritual way, we may be the most creative generation in the last nineteen centuries ... We want to make little, personal, honest movies ... The studio is a thing of the past, and they are very smart if they just concentrate on becoming distributing companies for independent productions."

rest in piece Mr. Hopper, you crazy sum'bitch you.

---

criterion counsel: sigh, watched the first twenty minutes of My Girl Friday last night, but alas the film i'm supposed to be viewing seems out of reach ...

a lil' bit of old hollywood

2010-05-27T22:03:00.000-07:00

amongst all my raging against the bloated whale of hollywood this week, i stumbled across this amazing little map of the california from the days of the studio system. the studio system was perhaps just as noxious as the cinematic world we live in today (what with actors being property and such and such) but somehow looking back the films just resonate more.

the above map showcases how paramount, a major then and a major now, broke down the californian climes in to the various landscapes and countries one would need for any good film. need the sahara desert? try southeastern california. the chilled salmon of the alaskan rivers? try the south bay. need a handful of code-crunching programmers to turn your green screen in to a pixelated version of a jungle? try any film that's come out in the last five years.

sigh, the hatred, i'm literally hemorrhaging it.

---

criterion counsel: don't point that judgy finger at me, i'll take it right off.

i implore you.

2010-05-27T09:51:00.000-07:00

i'm wont to conceptualize, compose and create an entire week of loathing for sex and the city 2. each day a different lambasting bit of vitriol aimed at the two hours and fourteen minutes this downright abysmal film robbed me of. i'd want to pick apart the film as a piece of cinematic garbage, ream the movie for its offensive nature towards other cultures, run a cyber-smear campaign about the film's unabashedly american sensibilities. i want to seriously go door-to-door to the films obvious demographic (women and gay men age 17 - 35) and roughly assert that this film is not worth watching.

i implore you viewers of the world, do not go and see this film this weekend. you will hear your friends talk about "how dumb it is, but the clothes are great!" you will hear critics dismiss the film as a mere triffle, another stupid summer blockbuster that thuds without consequence. you will hear those close to you hint that maybe, as they are tired and they just want to consume something stupid, that sex and the city 2 is a possibility for your friday cinematic viewing. but please, do not listen.

sex and the city 2 is a clear an indication of the future of hollywood as any shitty sequel/remake/video game adaptation i've seen in the last year, and we as a culture need to draw the line. we need to say that this sort of superficially blase film, rife with churning currents of racism and overt consumerism is not something that we as film viewers will accept. hollywood is quickly and quite aggressively becoming the sort of beast that we as film lovers will no longer understand in two or three years. and it's doing so with our silent complacency.

i know, and have already experienced the sort of backlash disapproval of a film like this brings. "oh noah, who cares, it's just not your type of film," or "you are not the target audience," and "it's just a stupid film." and guess what? that means hollywood wins. we've rolled over, we've let our national cinema become a stew pot of shit brimming with corporate sponsors and unoriginal thought and it's time to say no. i'm not proposing a boycott or anything even slightly protest related, i'm just saying, go support other film this weekend. find a good independent cinema and just relax amongst a film you've never heard about.

don't be a faceless ten dollars in the millions this awful movie will certainly rake in.

---

criterion counsel: our viewing of the film was sidetracked last evening by weighty conversation. soon though, soon.

pain.

2010-05-26T10:05:00.000-07:00

i'm angry right now at the state of cinema. in the last two days i've seen, and please forgive me my cinematic transgressions, sex and the city 2 and prince of persia: sands of time. both, for varying reasons, differing all the way, have left me entirely bereft of love for film, my once true love. i've sat and stared at a list of reasons why i hate both of these films, trying, oh god trying, to dig out some sort informative bit of thought that would let me lambast these films in an intelligent way.

but, jesus christ, i just don't know if they exist anymore. both of these films are so awful in so many ways, they are literally the cappers of a solid month of terrible new cinema. an almost dreadful portent of where i think hollywood is taking us. all the signs are there: a lackluster cannes, disney pulling the plug on original thought, the proliferation of remakes and rehashes - we're spiraling towards destruction.

or maybe we're not. i've had a few thoughts lately about why modern cinema and i just aren't jiving:

1. perhaps cinema, in all it's monstrously blockbustery form is a young person's game, like rap music and technology. perhaps the flashy explosions and sweat-cleavaged women flopping about don't appeal to me as much anymore because my maturity level as risen above that of a fourteen year old. not to say that a good, stupid action movie doesn't sometimes float my boat (ask anyone about my prematurely named Dayz of Swayz marathon), it just seems like everything is big and stupid and flashy and sometimes, most of the time, i want a little originality, a lot of plot, and some strong steady camera work. i've gotten past, for the most part, the awkward morning boners and high-pitched cracks of filmic puberty, i've even moved past the binge drinking of my college days of cinema. i'm getting older and, not surprisingly, so is my movie taste. i don't need fruitless action and swiss-cheese plots. i need a good solid piece of cinema that i can wrap my arms around and dig in.

2. also, i'm no longer a part of modern pop culture. i've slipped out of the cultural tunnel. i don't care about reality television, or i-pads, or the season finale of lost or who's winning in the nba finals. i just don't care anymore. i jettisoned a television almost a year ago, and have blissfully been ignoring the modern's world sensibilities every since. thus, when the criterion conquistador and i were curled in to the fetal position watching carrie and samantha spit on the cultural traditions of the arabic world, i couldn't even laugh, because half of the jokes about taylor swift and miley cyrus and justin beiber just flew right on over my head. i mean in general satc2 flew right over my head as even back in the day i couldn't embrace the show or it's film spin-off. every aspect, the characters, the romances, the clothes, none of this shit registers because as a human existing in the real world, i just don't give a shit.

3. that said, satc2 and prince of persia are terrible films. awful, offensive bits of muck that are completely and totally indicative of film hollywood today. i will have much to say in the weeks to come about both of them, but i thought, before unleashing the weapons of destruction, i'd at least paint a picture of where i am in terms of film and why we're starting not to get along.

---

criterion counsel: sleep is at such a premium these days. and that is all i will say.

watch this: michael winterbottom's the killer inside me trailer

2010-05-25T14:04:00.000-07:00

michael winterbottom is a strange, strange director who makes ethereal films that often times defy any and all genre. i tell you, see nine songs and then code 46 and then 24 hour party people and try to pin down the director. toss in a little in this world and you've got perhaps the most diverse director working today.

and then toss in the killer inside me, based on jim sheridan's nasty little book, starring casey affleck and a host of attractive women and i'm spinning about in some kind of tizzy.

after the assassination of jesse james by the coward robert ford, it's near impossible for me to shake the notion that casey affleck isn't anything but a serial killer. seriously if i ran in to him in a dark alley, i'd quake with fear.

let this trailer make you feel the same way.

---

criterion counsel: it's a great movie, i just haven't had time to finish it up yet. i'm trying though. had to expose myself to the plague that is sex and the city 2 last night and re-immersing myself today in the horror that will be prince of persia, so i might need to swallow a healthy dollop of good old american classic to help ease the pain.

wide-eyed stares

2010-05-21T11:01:00.000-07:00

let there wet eyes and longing impulses carry you in to the weekend.

---

criterion counsel: just getting started. the credits rolled yesterday.

BIG DEAL ON MADONNA STREET (113)

2010-05-20T11:02:00.000-07:00

The Film: Big Deal On Madonna Street (113)

The Director: Mario Monicelli

What Is It: The tender branch between the end of the true crime caper and the beginning of the New Wave. It's a classic caper flick with crooks and plot twists a plenty but these crooks, they ain't got no skill. Thus, hilarity.

A Lil' Bit Of History: All my bitching and moaning about franchises, sequels and remakes, and this, a wonderful little bit of comedic fluff spawned, ahem, two sequels and two, count 'em two, American remakes of the film.

A Lil' Bit More History: The film was a knock-off/satire of my most favorite of Criterion films, so far, Rififi (115). A film that this film, no matter how much I enjoyed it, holds nary a candle too.

The Expectation: The Italian tradition of comedia all'Italiana has soured me in the past, but I've been so enamored with film in general lately, I was ready to try anything that didn't feature Jennifer Lopez or that hadn't derived from a SNL skit. Thus, expectations were high.

The Experience: Life has, as it always does, reared its shaggy mane yet again and it took me nearly a month to slough through this one. Which is strange as the film is one peppy burst of enjoyment after another. I felt at times like I had swallowed a time-release pain-killer, and that every few days another lump of relief soaked in to my body.

1. Marcello Mastroianni

If you love film, especially Italian film, you're a fan, or in-the-know about Marcello Mastroianni. A staple of Fellini's films, Mastroianni was quite possibly the inventor of cool in the late 50s and 1960s. He raged across film, embodying all the stereotypes of hip we now take for granted. Which is why it is so strange in Big Deal On Madonna Street (113) (the film that would push him over the cliff of success) that he's a sort of complaining photographer-turned-thief with a crying baby on one arm and stern-browed wife on the other. He's nothing like the sunglasses-wearing, lady seducing character we all know him as now. He's a blunderer and terrible crook, and though he plays second man to Peppe (Vittorio Gassman), he's still, quite possibly the least "cool" character in the film. This would be the type of stunt casting an actor might take on late in his career, when they'd already adopted a screen presence, and antithetical pairing like this would play off that presence. But here it's as if Mastroianni's bumbling Tiberio, is a hint of things to come. A shadow of the character he had hidden with him that somehow Mario Monicelli pulled to the surface.

2. Chuckles.

I'll be honest, old films don't make me laugh as much as new films. Don't start throwing rocks, the humor, the language, hell, the entire culture these films derived from is different and thus the possibility of me giggling my way through one is, well, a wee bit smaller. Oh, I appreciate that a good old comedic film has the potential to bust a gut, it's just most likely not mine. Big Deal On Madonna Street (113) had me laughing though. The story of a cobbled together caper gang and their attempt to rob a pawn shop isn't a riot, I wasn't rolling on the floor, but there were scenes and moments that had me barking in laughter. The gang, in a dingy basement full of broken bikes and bottles, trying to hide from an attractive young lady - classic. Peppe beating the hell out of a room full of drunken suitors - amazing. I can't say why, but the collusion of actors in this film had me twisted up in chuckles, an absolute surprise and delight.

3. A gang of side-liners.

Is it strange that in the middle of this Italian comedy about thieves in Rome, that I found myself thinking about underdog sports films? Sure, this isn't exactly that. There's no big beefy rival teams or inspiring moments or any of the sort, but there's something about this likable lump of losers that had me thinking about Bad News Bears and the sort. Though each and every one of these characters is sort of a putz, I found myself rooting for their caper to succeed, their romances to be fruitful, their lives not to be so down right depressing. I rooted from the sidelines for a bunch of knuckleheads to strut on to the field an win the big game.

4. Losers once and for all.

And what's great about the film is, and not to ruin anything, but no one's a winner in this pick. No one's a loser either, but if you're judging the success of the film through the success of a crime, this one's a big failure. But that's the great thing about the film - the caper is the ruse. The ploy to draw you in and make you comfortable, excited about action and adventure, while they're unraveling the sad little lives of these hilarious characters. All of these louts are losers in their own right, but this little gig somehow gives them, and us, meaning. If they can pull this off (for a never revealed sum of money) they'll have lives to live, not poverty to exist amongst. And the film hardly focuses on the crime at hand, it focuses on these characters as fully-rounded bits of screenwriting who collide with each other for a brief moment before spinning off on to their own. The final scene in the movie, as the characters, beaten, battered and burned are slowly peeling off in to their own respective lives (together for such a short time) drives it on home - who cares about the caper, what are these characters going to do next?

---

criterion counsel: alright, alright, getting started again. might be another month or so before anything like this pops up though.

watch this: MY MAN GODFREY (114) trailer

2010-05-19T10:50:00.000-07:00

it's coming.

black and white and full of sass. feels like the collection is winding its way through a humorous bit on its way to the carl dr. theyer section.

i quiver in fear.

apologies for the link and lack of embed, this old film trailers are sneaky like foxes.

---

Watch the trailer HERE.

film ain't nothing but televison these days

2010-05-14T15:50:00.000-07:00

first off: this is my 300th post. three hundred huh? that's a sizable number, and hope all of you my loyal readers are steadily wrapping as many presents as possible to help me celebrate. you don't even have to wrap anything of worth in these presents, because as the criterion conquistador will tell you, anything wrapped - be it package or present or loonie in straitjacket - peaks my interest wildly. empty boxes with glue on them, if i can't see within, almost always got me wet at the corners of the mouth.

i'll mimic blowing out 300 candles and you can sing some sort of festive birthday song and that'll be the end of it.

---

i wish, what with this momentous post and all, that i had some sort of positive thing to say about the state of film, but after seeing russell crowe and ridley scott's new robin hood film and i'm more down on the film industry than i have been in months. i feel almost bad lately, as i've been coaxing the amazing criterion conquistador to all the films i'm attending for review, and they're literally all shit. i thought that a big historical epic, directed by a filmmaker of note might sway this notion and the criterion conquistador might actually sit through a decent film.

but, alack, robin hood is not only a fairly stupid film, but it highlights a trend in film that scares the shit out of me: it's more television pilot than film. i don't watch a lot of television anymore, but when i did, i was an enormous fan of pilot season, because you'd get twenty or thirty hints of shows and then be able to decide what you might watch based on that. the television pilot doesn't have to be a complete story, because there will be one or two or three or whatever more seasons following it that will fill out the story and characters. thus the opening show of a good long television series is just an admirable way of introducing the central concept of the story and those players who might make up that story. that's what a pilot is.

film on the other hand, if you've been paying attention, is a singular story, told within the confines of two or so hours, where hopefully, everything wraps up and we leave satisfied, sick on shitty popcorn, and ready for another, completely different movie. film in nutshell: single story, round characters, satisfying ending.

or at least it used to be. with the onset of sequel upon sequel upon sequel upon sequel we no longer have to look at film as singular entity. every film has the potential of starting a series of films, and if those films fail, there's always the chance to just reboot it from start and hope that those new films will catch on and another series will come out of that. this is awful for many reasons, as the space for original cinema is slowly being relegated to art houses and the internet, but what bothers me the most is that films are now becoming pilots. yup, the opening salvo of any trilogy is just that, an opening introduction, the first act of a three-part play.

take robin hood, a film quite clearly made as a prequel. we meet robin hood and his merry men and we meet prince john and his unmerry men and we meet maid marion and her cast of characters and the film goes through some rote plot work that slightly fills us in on who these characters might be, and then boom, film over. we've been teased, tricked and tickled in to becoming curious and now we're downright ready to get invested in another "episode". we don't wait a week though, we wait years and when the next film comes (already bristling with new cliffhangers to get us ready for the third "episode") we're rosy with excitement.

but this doesn't work behind the central conceit of film. what this does is create poorly written stories and badly conceived characters that flop about on screen in stories that are built just to be built upon. i don't want to look at the foundation of a house, i want to see the whole damn thing. but, no, we're being given the bare bones, so the hollywood producers can fill them in with on-going additions to the series. we're not watching movies, we're watching introductions.

there's grim times on the horizon people, keep your heads down.

---

criterion counsel: getting almost to the end of this film and it's only been four weeks since i finished the last one. with this sort of timeline in place i might finish the criterion collection with arthritis just barely tickling my hands.

my camera, r.i.p.

2010-05-13T16:26:00.000-07:00

i will step away from writing about film for a brief moment to memorialize my old/new camera that i lost last night, with a smattering of pictures i've taken over the last eight months.

a little bit sad right now, but it's my own fault, so i'll toss out some money to buy myself a newer, nicer one.

g'bye camera, we had a good time together.

---

rest in peace my slow moving friend.

the festival experience

2010-05-11T15:44:00.000-07:00

when i lived in seattle, folk were always boasting about how amazing the seattle international film festival was. how big it was and how long it went on for and how you could see so many films because the festival was just that massive. and i sat in seattle, a life long film fan and, up to that point, a life long resident of the city, and imagined how amazing it must be to see films at such a well recognized festival.

and, aside from a press screening of a terribly boring documentary about japanese internment entitled rabbit moon (which all i remember of is the dry fresh rolls we were given afterwards) i never saw a single seattle international film festival screening. i can't say why. perhaps it was just all too overwhelming, or maybe my life in seattle, grey and boring, just couldn't bother to wrap itself around going somewhere and doing something.

even last year, fresh off in to the bay, i remember seeing the lineup for the san francisco international film festival, being palpably excited, discussing this excitement with the criterion conquistador and still, never seeing a film at the festival.

i can't explain it, but something about the pressure of so many films in one place, and so many people all crammed together excited to see those films did the opposite for me, a supposed film fan, it sort of scared me.

until this year.

i covered the san francisco film festival for a variety of sources (mainly mission loc@l), dove in head first you might say, saw seven films in two weeks (which is nothing compared to the ingestion rate in which full time film journalists devour film during the fest), wrote reviews in press lounges, saw roger ebert speak, held the criterion conquistadors hand and cried a little bit when philip kaufman spoke about his dearly deceased rose. quite honestly, my first experience as festival-goer was more than amazing and i implore you to visit a festival in your town.

perhaps these, a handful of thoughts, will push you to get out and watch:

1. i saw seven films, as mentioned about, and they ranged from french films about suicide and family to the also aforementioned documentary about a wacky japanese inventor and his 80th birthday. films about the mexican border and about the communion between man and son and the wild expanse of the mexican caribbean. i saw films about the idea of what a "union" is and films about drunken kidnappers and the bonds between child and thief. i saw films i loved and films i hated, but at the end of the festival, one thing was clear: i love film and this sort of beautiful upchuck of all things cinema is more than inspirational.

2. festival film goers are a different breed. this isn't head to the cinema and buy a ticket and some popcorn and sleep your way through a film. this get to a film an hour early with a magazine or a cell phone and elbow your way in to line and then voraciously with teeth bared, growl and snarl to keep your border. once the line starts moving, don't let your guard, because this selection of old ladies and film dorks will be fight for a spot in that cinema like a mother guarding her young. they will bitch and whine and moan, and somehow you will not be annoyed you will be ecstatic that people in this country of ours still love film enough to wholeheartedly defend their position so. i found myself at once irritated and infatuated with a group of women who pleaded with me to save their seats as i looked like a "nice man."

3. i don't know about all festivals but SFIFF was perhaps the nicest experience in terms of reviewing i've ever had. i'm notoriously a fuck-up when it comes to getting things like accreditation and the like for festivals and in classic noah-fashion, i managed to acquire late accreditation and then request screeners for films from, ahem last year's festival. which spun the website, the festival's press people and myself in to a spiral of anxiety. it worked out, but when i approached the festival offices for my press pass i found myself sweaty and nerve-wracked, awaiting a stern word and a gentle push that only an angered publicist can manage. instead i got treated like a prince by the staff. there were no angered publicists, only helpful sffs members. booze and juice and snacks were given, happy hours were had, exclusive parties were opened up to me. it was amazing, and i can only thank the staff of the festival for presenting me with such an amazing experience.

that's the rub: film festivals are amazing, they're just a little more work. you have select few theaters playing films a select few times, and if you're a real film fan (which i'm slowly working my way towards) you'll get out and find those films and meet other film fans, and drool and ogle and be immersed in exactly the place you're supposed to be.

can't wait for next year.

---

criterion counsel: sigh, it's like kicking a dead horse.

watch this: alejandro jodorowsky's THE INCAL trailer

2010-05-10T10:14:00.000-07:00

alejandro jodorowsky is a maniac. a filmmaker with out the barriers of rational thought that created films like holy mountain and el topo, films that melted minds with nary a regret to be had. if you've never experienced a jodorowsky film (first, shame on you) and second, get out there, find one, and let you perceptions of reality drastically change.

this trailer for an unmade jodorowsky/moebius film called the incal. listen how the crowd giggles when they're throwing people off that wall.

amazing.

---

criterion counsel: stagnant good friends. stagnant.

a few things about THE INVENTION OF DR. NAKAMATS

2010-05-06T09:28:00.000-07:00

i had the great pleasure of seeing roger ebert speak last saturday. he was introduced by a series of famous directors (terry zwigoff, philip kaufman, jason reitman, and of course errol morris) and the criterion conquistador and i left the theater a little teary-eyed and completely in awe of well, cinema. star-studded and fairly glamorous what i left the castro theater with was the sense that roger ebert is as well respected as he is not because of the sheer breadth of his output (though that isn't so shabby itself) or the pure beauty his writing emits (again, right on the money there) but more so because of his ability and want to champion the smaller films. ebert, though i can't say we've always agreed on everything, loves film, big or small, and when he latches on to something he loves he fights for it in every way. all of his presenters made the point that their films would've gone nowhere without the two-fisted fighting of the great ebert. it left me inspired and more than ready to champion a few films of my own.

sure this is a tiny blog with a tiny readership but hell, maybe if i shout a little louder about some of the great movies i have the opportunity to see each week, someone will listen.

that said:

i saw a film called the invention of dr. nakamats at this years san francisco international film festival. clocking in at only a brief 54 minutes (with opening and closing credits) the film left me stunned and excited about the prospect of cinema. the highest honor for any film is its ability to inspire in me the urge to watch more films.

dr. nakamats certainly did so. can't say so about the rest of the festival's offerings but this film, all 54 minutes of its slow expansive peek in to the can't-believe-this-man-real life of dr. nakamats had my hungering for more, more, more.

this is the trailer, and then, a few things about dr. nakamats:

ahhhhhhh, dr. nakamats, you wily old codger you.

a few more facts for the kiddies reading at home:

1. dr. nakamats invented the floppy disk. above, in that amazing trailer, you'll see dr. nakamats standing in front of his house in front of what he deems "the dr. nakamats floppy disk gate." and it is just that, a gate made to resemble a floppy disk.

2. dr. nakamats believes that oxygen in high quantities is bad for the brain. thus, the amazing dr. nakamats submerges himself in water, letting his brain de-oxygenate, waiting for amazing ideas to bubble to the surface.

3. dr. nakamats has his own fan club and is considered to be one of the highest paid lecturers in the entire world.

4. that music you hear in the trailer above is certainly pieced together by none other than mark mothersbaugh of devo and the soundtracks of amazing films like the royal tenenbaums (157). this is that sort of movie but dragged out of the mind of wes anderson and gently heaved in to the real world.

i could talk about this film for days. but you should just go and read my absolutely glowing review of it over at mission loc@l.

check it out HERE.

watch this: to have and to hold

2010-05-05T09:49:00.000-07:00

wow, that opening shot that's all sliced and diced and dragged through the household and then boom, right on ?love and the slow head turn.

you count me in.

To Have & To Hold - Taster Tape from Jony Lyle on Vimeo.

watch this: anton corbjin's the american trailer

2010-05-04T15:25:00.000-07:00

i know, i know, posting a trailer for a new film is barely my style, but i'm knee deep in festival coverage right now and have a little less than forty-five minutes to crank out a review on a series of shorts i absolutely abhor.

any-who, anton corbjin and george clooney in a film about assassins, final hits, tails and love? have to say it has a sort of epic, 1940s casablanca feel to it.

and that i love.

---

criterion counsel: i am so excited about the film i'm digging in to right now. i'm so excited about the world of criterion awaiting me. alas, all this excitement is worthless as i've had barely a moment to dive in. sigh. forgive me readers. forgive me.

sylvain chomet's upcoming tribute to jacques tati

2010-04-30T15:42:00.000-07:00

I know, my obsession with Tati has no end, but when you hear that the director of the amazing Triplets of Belleville has recently completed a film, entitled The Illusionist, based on an unfinished screenplay by the French comic master my mouth gets a little wet around the edges.

Though I can't believe that Hulot will actually appear in the film, the main character, an aging magician fumbling his way through the changes in modern France, is based on the bumbling everyman. Look at that stance, the way he spins a cane! Hulot, he lives again.

Color me excited.

---

criterion counsel: i have fallen asleep the last three nights and the dvd has spun it's way to a similarly blaring big band dance scene each night. last night i got a little further in the film though and couldn't be more excited. it has that feel of a great caper flick - the team, the plan, the heist - but all turned on its merry head.

what ever happened to jennifer lopez?

2010-04-29T13:47:00.000-07:00

i have a problem saying no to a free movie, regardless of what it is, thus last week the criterion conquistador and i sat through the new jennifer lopez film the back-up plan. it was as awful as one might imagine: trite, surprisingly boring, and unsurprisingly homophobic in several scenes. even though the audience was stacked with the j-lo loving public, laughs (aside from the criterion conquistador's dishonest chuckle) were few and far between.

i left theater with two thoughts in mind:

1. every film offered doesn't need to be seen.

and

2. what ever happened to jennifer lopez? seriously, at one point in time, at the crux of her soon-to-be immense stardom jennifer lopez seemed imbued with the sort of star quality of a talent like frank sinatra or marilyn monroe. an all-around performer with the ability to command a stage or a big-budget film or lower her wages and slide in to a devastating performance under some artsy director. sure, the one-time fly girl who's become a perennial subject of the tabloids, when viewed in hindsight, doesn't seem to have had that sort of career bubbling within her, but please, can we just take a look at Out of Sight.

for many reasons, steven soderbergh's unheralded crime classic is five-star film. the witty adaptation of elmore leonard's beloved book is not only headlined by two drop-dead amazing performances (george clooney as the never-use-a-gun robbery expert jack foley, and of course j-lo herself as the hard-nosed romance-begone u.s. marshall karen sisco) but it's supported by an unnervingly talented cast of supporters. steve zahn's stoner crook, ving rhames quotable sidekick, dennis farina's hard-loving cop - it just doesn't stop. pile that one with the sort of new wave edit, elliot davis' almost hazy cinematography and a blisteringly hot bit of chemistry between clooney and lopez, and this is really one of the great films of the last twenty years.

jennifer lopez's karen sisco is a crucial element of this film. she's the perfect balance of steamy sexuality (and please the motel scene with clooney near the end is a raging pile of hot) and toughened cop. you can imagine her kicking the shit out of some no-good perp while still completely buying her romantic woes. karen sisco is so desperate for romance in her perpetually unbalanced life, that even her exact opposite, a dashingly handsome felon keen on robbery, sucks her in, and lopez plays it in a way where her softer side seems accessible. if soderbergh, in choosing an actress for the role, had slid in either direction - too soft, or too hard - the interplay between the two main characters would never have succeeded. but soderbergh, in a bit of out-of-the-box casting that has to be lauded, chose a spicy latina from the bronx who was on the verge of stardom, both as an actress and a singer.

and lopez nails it. she's such a deft combination of hard and soft in this film, that i, as a late-pubescent male, wanted her both to arrest me and touch me. to slap me around a bit and then romp in the hay with me. against a formidable opponent/lover like george clooney a lot of good looking lead actors become just that, looks. but here lopez uses her curves as a weapon in the game they play. they're both strikingly attractive in this film (again, thank elliot's gauzy photography for that) but the attractive elements of both of them are the emotions and the way their played just right.

credit soderbergh and the script and a complete fluke for j-lo's only good performance, or perhaps just give the talented lady a hand. i can't say what happened to j-lo, perhaps the draw of bigger money in bigger pictures sabotaged the burgeoning acting career she had, or perhaps the small, more intense roles weren't ever really in the picture. or perhaps, j-lo's much lauded ego just got the best of her but out of sight, sweet sweet film that it is, gave us a glimpse of a new force in hollywood. a star in the mold of the ultra-attractive, quick-witted ladies of the 1940s and 50s, and sadly, for whatever reason, that glimpse was all we got.

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criterion counsel: ah jaysus, barely gave it peep. but i have written two reviews for the film festival that you can find here and here.

what's next: BIG DEAL ON MADONNA STREET (113)

2010-04-22T09:24:00.000-07:00

just a taste:

Big Deal on Madonna Street

Mario Monicelli | MySpace Video

the glamour of critique

2010-04-21T14:38:00.000-07:00

Wow, you'd think that seeing free movies three or four times a week would be a dream come true for an absolute filmic nut like myself. And to a degree it really is. I love going to theater. Love sitting amongst a crowd and watching a film, be it big and dumb or small and intimate or just a standard old Hollywood clunker - I love the theatrical film experience. As I've gotten older though, finding the money or time to get to a movie in the theater has gotten harder and harder and my precious moments spent amongst the cinema's open arms have become less and less frequent. To the point where I'd actually started to think that perhaps home theater experiences (tiny lap-top, bed) were more enjoyable than a trip to the local moviehouse.

Thus when the opportunity to review films came along I nearly lost it. This would mean a few things: I'd be able to see films - for free -; I'd be able to write about films; and I'd be able to head to the theater on a near weekly basis to immerse myself in the strange sweetness of the theatah.

My little heart pittered and pattered with joy.

It's been almost three months now since I started reviewing and in some way, the glossy sheen of excitement as worn off. It's not that I don't love films and reviewing films, it's more so the films that I'm given the opportunity to few on a weekly basis, are well, for the most part, pure shit. I'm not joking here. I've seen five films in the last two weeks and two of them were amongst the worst films I've ever seen with one bordering on a high school History Day project and the other two sating me at least a little bit.

What I guess I never understood about being a critic is that all the shit that you get to avoid as a discerning viewer is thrust upon you in waves and instead of being able to duck out, eyes closed, screaming for the exit, you have to sit amongst it. The Criterion Conquistador and I have sat through some truly terrible films lately and if it was not for her presence I think I might've cracked. Even scarier, the studios do such a good job of profiling these pictures that every audience seems completely and totally won over by these horrid flick. So not only am I permanently scarred by a J-Lo rom-com and Pierce Brosnan crying like a clown, but I have to deal with the fact that people actually enjoy these films. That these films will make money. That perhaps my dislike of shit-piles like The Greatest or The Perfect Game are the minority amongst a culture in love the fart jokes and melodrama.

I stand outside of almost every film I see and wonder why exactly I do this. And I think, I hope, it's because I love movies and my need to see all of them is some sort of unending quest to find gems amongst the shit piles and not some perverse need to punish myself.

Alex and I were slowly, dazedly, walking away from The Back-Up Plan last night in near silence (a real stinker can do that to you) and as I started to chatter about my dislike of the film, my dear dear lady friend said just this:

"Maybe you shouldn't see every film they offer you."

So true. So very, very true.

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Criterion Counsel: Saw perhaps a minute of Big Deal On Madonna Street (113) last night before those strangling arms of sleep took me under. Looked good though, let me tell you.

PLAYTIME (112)

2010-04-20T15:04:00.000-07:00

The Film: Playtime (112)
The Director: Jacques Tati (M. Hulot's Holiday (110), Mon Oncle (111))

What It Is: The most ambitious, in my humble opinion, of Tati's M. Hulot Criterion-represented trifecta, Playtime (112) is yet another foray in to the bumbling bachelor's interactions with an incredibly modern France. This go around finds M. Hulot courting a young tourist amongst technology fairs, imploding restaurants and so much more. Quite honestly brilliant.

A Lil' Bit Of History: This is only Tati's fourth film as a director (he only made five) and it took nearly three years to shoot. The film was shot on a massive, custom built sound stage (deemed 'Tativille') on an equally massive 70mm camera. It's release drew critical praise, but financially it struggled to make back the enormous production costs Tati had accrued.

A Lil' Bit More History: To save money on the film, as Tati had invested a substantial bit of his own cashola in to the film, many of the background sets are actually just enormous photos.

The Expectation: Brilliance, exponentially compounding brilliance.

The Experience: It's been a sort of wild week of film, what with Mon Oncle (111) sliding down the hatch last week, House this weekend, and then a madcap rendezvous with this fantastic film over the course of the last three days. I've taken to early morning film watching, with the Criterion Conquistador snoozing besides me, and after a failed attempt to work this morning, I came back and blissfully slipped in to Tativille and all that it entailed.

1. Stunning

Over the course of the last month of Tati immersion, I've found myself more and more drawn to the director's ability to imbue scenes full of extras and set pieces with a sort of lonely sparseness. Tati, in a gentle way, was at war with the idea of creeping modernity, and in each of his films, especially Mon Oncle (111) and this film, the scenes of hustle and bustle are projected as insincere, almost draining. Yet Playtime (112), amongst it's subtle humor and sadness, is a stunning display of monochromatics. Grey, black and white dominate most of the film, and my oh my, does Tati do a brilliant job of painting a stunning visage of a 1960s-style automated future. The opening scene in an airport almost choked me up it was so attractive, and the film just snowballs in terms of cinematography from that point forth. Tati's been referred to as a master of 'mise-en-scene' and Playtime (112) certainly proves that.

2. Hulot as a character, not a lead.

Before doing any research on the film, you'll watch Playtime (112) and scratch your head, briefly, wondering where Tati's M. Hulot actually is. The film, amazing nonetheless, is decidedly lacking M. Hulot. The trenchcoated gentlemen appearing infrequently and for only short intervals. Though the film doesn't suffer a lick from his absence, there is reason to Tati's Hulot-less madness: he was tired of the character. By the time Playtime (112) rolled around, Tati was more interested in lambasting the modern France he lived in than starring in the films he made. The character of M. Hulot was so popular in France though, that he couldn't disconnect completely without losing a sizable bit of his audience. Thus, Playtime (112) appears to be a Hulot film, but truthfully he's just another part of the crowd. Luckily, Tati's films have always relied on a sort of communal feel, where Hulot exists as a important part, a softly lobbed pipe bomb, but never dominates the film. His fleeting appearance in this film seem only a part of the general malaise towards city life and all its abysmal traits.

3. Hulot's lacking pt. 2

That said, even if Tati pulled his beloved character to focus more on his true love - directing - Hulot's disappearance in the film seems to fit right at home in the Hulot-quartet (the final film being Trafic (439)). Through each film we learn more about the character of M. Hulot (his family, his jobs, his aversion to technology) and in each film we're pulled more and more in to the modern world Tati creates. Where M. Hulot's Holiday (110) finds M. Hulot a central character in a beach-side vacation town, Mon Oncle (111) finds him a bumbling uncle in a town slowly being consumed by rampant consumerism, and finally Playtime (112) finds him a wary visitor to a super-modern city. And each film he's less and less involved in the actual plot, as if Hulot as a character disassociates more and more with the all-consuming advent of technology. He's just got a pipe, an umbrella and a penchant for comical disaster, and the wild world of chugging cars and shiny glass windows isn't his place. His bumbling lack of direction never has seemed so poignant, as the big, glowing city nearly swallows him up.

4. Big, big, and bigger.

Tati literally built a city for this film and it's not even the biggest thing about it. The near forty-minute Royal Garden scene is one of the largest, longest, most impressive set pieces created in the history of film. With no Hulot in site, we the audience are invited in to the opening night festivities of entirely too-new upscale restaurant. Everything, everything, quite quickly goes to shit, and the appearance of M. Hulot, an uproarious jazz band and a host of drunkards pushes right over the edge. It's almost like a giant version of Where's Waldo where each time you look you find a new sight gag taking place, a new character to fixate on, a new explosion to giggle at. It wanes and grows and swells and fluctuates in a way scenes, let alone films, just don't anymore.

Last Words: Brilliant. Mouth-watering. Stunning. I can't write more about this film. On a superficial level it's an achievement unequaled today. Dig deeper though and this is a film rife with deep thoughts on technology, city life, the way we as a society are slowly losing ourselves to machines. Playtime (112) is a film sixty years ahead of it's time, and anyone with a love for film needs to repeatedly lose themselves in it.

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Criterion Counsel: Gasping at the Tati-less near future, but excited as hell for whatever might come next.

WATCH THIS: HOUSE

2010-04-19T10:28:00.000-07:00

Had been waiting for months and months to catch a peek of the new print of Nobuhiko Obayashi's House. Janus Film has been touring this brilliantly crazy film around the country for months now and if you've already been lucky to have seen it in some packed theater in the waning hours of the night, you'll understand my new found obsession with it.

I don't know a lot about Japanese culture, but somehow this strange, creepy bit of playful horror seems to hit the nail on the head in terms of everything I've ever thought about it. The story of a group of seven girls who retire to a distant relatives house for summer vacation is one fourth hilarious 80s horror film, though the film was released in the late 1970s, a fourth teenage romance, and perhaps half, if not more, what-the-fuck. From frame one this film holds nothing back in embracing the sort of brightly colored, tube-socked aesthetic of the late 70s/early 80s, and I was reminded of a sort hyper-realized take on every American horror film that eeked its way in to the cinemas around this time.

I'm having difficulty even typing about this film because of the experience of watching it in a theater surrounded by hyped up fans of the film is more than I can explain. Know these things:

- a girl is eaten by a piano in this film
- there is an evil, lazer-eyed kitty named Blanche
- there is a hungry teen named Mac who ends up headless and biting on rear-ends
- Kung Fu is a character in the film and with much to do she does just that
- I left this film thinking that any lo-fi video producer worth his salt today has seen this film over and over again and has taken notes on burning make-up application and hyper-color piano playing
- bananas, bananas, bananas

Go see this film.

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Criterion Counsel: In love with the film, but not finished just yet.

watch these: michel gondry's semi-new video & an amazing trailer about tiny furniture

2010-04-15T11:29:00.000-07:00

quick posts for a quick day.

seeing two films back-to-back today. films that might actually enable me to love modern cinema again. not cry myself to sleep after the barrage of badness i was subject to last week. apologies to the criterion conquistador for dragging her along.

cheech marin should never be a priest.

for your enjoyment:

a trailer by science of sleep director michel gondry for a video by big-voiced crooner mia doi todd's track "open your heart." not my favorite song, but the gondry's childlike sense of color always strikes me as particularly unique in it's sort of rag-tag simplicity.

i wonder if he's a giggling school boy in person. i hope so.

Mia Doi Todd "Open Your Heart" dir. Michel Gondry from Viewers Like You on Vimeo.

and this, a new trailer for lena durham's second feature, tiny furniture. aesthetically, she's a real beaut, but i worry that the content of the film might be a hodge-podge mix-up of woody allen, wes anderson, and every other new york director of the last five years.

not a clue though. not even a small one.

Tiny Furniture Trailer from Lena Dunham on Vimeo.

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criterion counsel: started the jacque tati's third film in the criterion collection the other day and have been wet at the corners of my mouth in excitement to grab another peek. i'm thinking the whole film done by tonight or tomorrow. lofty i know.

tati talk

2010-04-14T10:42:00.000-07:00

I know it seems as if I'm obsessively posting about the master of French silent comedy, Jacques Tati lately, but I've been deeply immersed in his works over the last, sigh, two or months. Each layer I pull up just reveals another facet of how talented this director/comedian was, and how in contrast to the American comedies of the time, his sweet, near-ambient films were.

Mind my obsession, it will fade soon as Playtime (112) sadly, so sadly comes to an end.

Here, a smattering of trailers and clips that will give you just a hint at why I obsess ...

monsieur hulot you will not smoke

2010-04-13T15:20:00.000-07:00

Not exactly current news, but the French, stringent observers of taste and culture that they are put the kibosh on the iconic pipe of one M. Hulot last year, decorating posters of the befuddled comedian with yellow sparks over his signature smoking vessel.

Aghast you disrespecting Frenchies you.

The crime (quite punishable if you ask me) in question:

An explanation:

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Criterion Counsel: Soon my friends, soon.

MON ONCLE (111)

2010-04-12T09:54:00.000-07:00

The Film: Mon Oncle (111)
The Director: Jacques Tati (M. Hulot's Holiday (110), Playtime (112))

What Is It: The second in Criterion's three-disc set of all things Jacques Tati. Tati was, and continues to be posthumously, a renowned comedic director and actor. The moustached director used his character M. Hulot (a sort of bumbling everyman) to poke and prod at the machinations of the post-war French government. In Mon Oncle (111) we find M. Hulot breaking and bumbling his way through the post-war consumerism that, ahem, consumed France in the wake of World War II. There's post-modern houses, oil spewing fish statues, and a slew of oddly dressed socialites.

A Lil' Bit of History: On its release, Mon Oncle (111) was, to a degree, critically reviled as many of the to-do critics at the time saw is un-patriotic in its depiction of a France awash with needless spending and industry. This lasted only as long as the film wallowed in the shadows, barely weeks before the international press rejoiced, awarding it the Oscar for Best Foreign Film, amongst others.

The Expectation: Another spot-on, darling romp from a master of French cinema I'd previously been un-hip to.

The Experience: I started a business with the Criterion Conquistador and our good friend Dartanyan, thus this film was lost in the cracks for a long while. It may have been almost a month, or longer since I started the film, but in the wee hours of the morning today I crossed the Mon Oncle (111) finish line.

1. Subversion in the silliest way.

M. Hulot is as subversive as a pipe bomb thrown through a storefront. Yes, the nattily dressed everyman, seems only to fumble his way through each and every set piece, in his gentle manner he's flipping an enormous bird to all the rumbling mechanics of the French government. The scene: a provincial town in France slowly being consumed by the shining metal of the post-modern consumerism. M. Hulot stays at his brother-in-law's Jetson like house, rife with automated switches and stark interiors. Over the course of the film, Hulot interacts with the beacons of the upper-crust, a series of stuffed-shirt CEOs and other fans of the rampant consumerism. Never does Hulot aggressively poke fun, he just lives his life, a simple polite existence, and everything else just looks absurd in comparison. Throw in a town full of the sort of smiley drunks and working class individuals Tati populates all his films with and this is muted attack on French aristocracy.

2. Monsieur Arpel

No one speaks a great deal in the films of Jacque Tati. He's a master of painting a scene and allowing the physical aspects of comedy run amok. But Monsieur Arpel (Jean-Pierre Zola) is even less need of words. He is a sausage of a man, squeezed in to expensive suits, an almost physical representation of all things wealthy. He forces himself in to boat-like cars, his sheer bulk echoing the needless spending he's obviously a perpetrator of. As I watched the film this morning I couldn't take my eyes off of him.

3. So simple and quiet.

I can't imagine an American film in the 1950s that could exist without the influx of constant chatter. Yes, some of the Westerns at the time dilly-dallied with silence equaling strength, but Tati creates a world where conversation is background noise, an ambient addition that helps highlight the proceedings at hand (most likely M. Hulot absent-mindedly breaking something). Characters speak (more so in Mon Oncle (111) than M. Hulot's Holiday (110)) but what they say means nothing, instead we as an audience are lost in the simple sound effects, the scene composition, the spewing blue liquid of a broken fish. I found myself bored at first when watching these films, and I imagine anyone beaten down with the sort of slam-bam filmmaking of the US of A would be, but allow yourself to slide in to the world Tati creates. It's not big and bold but nonetheless all-inclusive. A slighty, silly bit of existence that might not make you laugh out loud, but will linger in your mind on the bus, on a walk, on the vertiginous edge of sleep.

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Criterion Counsel: Riding high after completing a film. Trying to finish off Playtime (112) the third and last Tati film in the days to come. Wish me luck ardent readers, I've needed it lately.

a forgotten behemoth

2010-04-08T11:34:00.000-07:00

I stumbled upon a stack of somewhere between 80 and 100 laserdiscs yesterday. Films that ranged from the seminal transfer of Snow White to the Brian DePalma's Nic Cage eye-roller Snake Eyes. Quite honestly, I've barely searched through this pile of digital frisbees as the concept of laser discs was a brief flash in my eye somewhere around my freshmen year in high school.

But it makes me wonder? Is there still a small handful of laserdisc enthusiasts out there drooling over a clean copy of Lost Boys? Is this three hundred pound pile of oversized CD worth something to someone out there?

Or maybe this distaste of laserdiscs is just another slew of misguided ageism. Perhaps these hulking behemoths are truly the greatest, the sharpest, the best sound versions of these films, and I, already well on my way in to the wilds of DVD-dom by the time I even had the financial means to purchase a laserdisc, have unjustly dismissed them. Perhaps I should be in the market for a device that will allow me to peruse these monstrous bits of filmic vinyl.

Or perhaps I should throw a 1 dollar price tag on each and every one of them, stuff them in to a dirty cardboard box, and let someone who cares a little bit more indulge to their hearts content.

Thoughts film enthusiasts on laserdiscs and their ill-fated careers?

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Criterion Counsel: The goings are rough. Criterion Conquistador and I are planning to power through the remaining M. Hulot pictures this weekend. But after a slew of evenings where I've nearly passed out standing, this is a bold claim.

perhaps the worst thing i've ever seen

2010-04-06T23:39:00.000-07:00

Is this the future of Hollywood? Or perhaps this is the present and we're so deeply mired we can't get our head above water.

Either way, I share the pain of dancing CGI great danes with you my loyal readers.

Apologies for my sluggish forward momentum in terms of all things Criterion. I'm in the midst of a new business venture and it is, to say the least, time consuming.

Now, pain.

bird's eye view

2010-04-06T00:37:00.000-07:00

A bird's eye view of M. Hulot's ultra-modern abode (think The Jetson's but, well, French) in Mon Oncle (111) done by the painter Jacques Larange, a constant and vastly important collaborator with the late, great Jacques Tati.

There's a fantastic article about the collaborative process between the two men up on David Bordwell's blog. A perusal is highly recommended.

I always suspected they were dreams.

2010-04-02T09:00:00.000-07:00

"It is the just reward for insomnia that I sleep most easily at the movies. Why not? I always suspected they were dreams."

- David Thomsen, The Guardian's resident film critic, speaks quite beautifully about snoozing during films in his massive and impressive book Have You Seen ... ?

A very elegant dog.

2010-04-01T09:00:00.000-07:00

"Some women would have done anything to have one of these dogs. They were distributed all over Paris. One settled down in the very chic Avenue du Bois. He was a very elegant dog. Another ended up with a little retired man in a suburban house in Asniere."

- Jacques Tati, director, on the dogs of Mon Oncle (111)

The only one to blame.

2010-03-31T09:00:00.000-07:00

"I can assure you that in this film I did everything I wanted to do. If you don't like it, I'm the only one to blame."

- Jacques Tati, director, on his film Mon Oncle (111)

How's my film viewing shaping up?

2010-03-30T16:24:00.000-07:00

I've been wondering lately what I've watched so far this year and what those films say about my film tastes. So, here we go.

I've seen these films so far this a year: The Wolfman, Shutter Island, The Ghost Writer, The Good Guy, The Crazies, The Yellow Handerkerchief, Alice In Wonderland, Brooklyn's Finest, Green Zone, Our Family Wedding, Mother, The Runaways, City Island, How To Train Your Dragon, Greenberg, Hot Tub Time Machine.

First off, I've only been reviewing films since the end of February and I've already ingested 16 films. 16 films hand-fed to me as well. I did no searching or perusing or prodding to be invited to these films, I'm just on a list like so many other critics and when they beckon I come slouching on through. All said, that's an average of 2-3 films a week over the course of the last six weeks. Cinema overload.

Lets break these films down to ones I loved, the ones that didn't make me nauseous, and the ones I would love to fire out of a cannon in to the icy depths of the great, blue sea.

Loved: Shutter Island, The Crazies, The Yellow Handkerchief (minus the film's searing hatred deserving final frame), Mother, Greenberg

Lack of Nausea: Hot Tub Time Machine, Green Zone, Alice In Wonderland, Kick-Ass

Searing Hatred: The Wolfman, The Ghost Writer, The Good Guy, Brooklyn's Finest, Our Family Wedding, The Runaways, City Island, How To Train Your Dragon

What does this breakdown say about my filmic viewing so far?:

Not much. Seemingly I more interested in the smaller, more cerebral stories. Ones that challenge, regardless of the genre or subject of the film. The films that rode down the well worn paths of a thousand big budget shit-fests before routinely put me to sleep. Serious films, the non-comedic ones I mean, seem to mean more to me. This is probably because I see most of these films without a cinema partner, and trying to force yourself to guffaw when there's no one to prompt you is strangely hard. Comedic films are a shared experience, thus many of them fell flat on my solo jaunts. Hot Tub Time Machine, a fairly hilarious if not forgettable film, was seen with the Criterion Conquistador in tow, and even though it wasn't her favorite film, I found myself chuckling more, amused by her rare amusement.

Action films have a soft-spot in my heart, so I can see why the non-nauseating films were stocked with action films that I consider at least a little sub-par. I haven't been blown out of the water by a heavily weighted actioneer yet this sun-cycle, and I'm a little worried that I might not ever be again. Action films can be great, but I want the glut of my story to be based around characters and their moral dilemmas, regardless of the genre. The modern action film spends too much time, well, blowing shit up, and nearly never incorporates characters or a solid plot and that just doesn't do it for me anymore.

In general I think I'm fairly hard on films, a trait I hate but can't seem to shake. I love films so much and all I want is that love to be reciprocated, but of the 16 films I've seen and reviewed, I've only truly loved 5 of them. I'd only pay money to see 5 of these films, and honestly, I was spared some of the worst ones.

So does this mean movies are shittier or I'm just because a crotchety old man set in my feeble beliefs about what film should do and be? Probably a little bit of both.

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Criterion Counsel: Again, I feel terrible. This quest is sandbagged.

WATCH THIS: Art Clokey's - Mandala

2010-03-28T23:26:00.000-07:00

It's Monday morning and I can pretty much assure you that I'm exhausted. Luckily, Art Clokey, the creator of the beloved Gumby spent a small part of his life creating a short claymation film called Mandala. It's the evolution of consciousness as told through delightful, tiny bits of clay.

It feels like an acid trip in clay as soundtracked by the original NES.

Wow.

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Criterion Counsel: Almost done. Don't judge me, my life is very busy.

It was Akira Kurosawa's Birthday!

2010-03-25T09:43:00.000-07:00

He would've been 100.

He made nearly a film a year for 40 years.

He directed High and Low (24) my favorite film of the Criterion Collection.

He turned Toshiro Mifune in to a star.

Long may your memory live Kurosawa-san. Happy belated birthday.

Why aren't we superheroes yet?

2010-03-24T14:34:00.000-07:00

I saw Kick-Ass on Monday morning (let me tell you, seeing a 12 year old girl cut mobsters in half before I've had my daily sannich perhaps not the way director Matthew Vaughn had intended his film to be consumed) a film about a kid existing in a "real world" who decides to forgo the rampant saneness of our times and put on a wetsuit and fight "evil". I've got opinions and they'll be posted soon enough, but what the film drew from me, a latent comic book geek who has, many many times over, fantasized about wearing spandex and beating up muggers, is why haven't we seen this happen in real life yet?

We're a culture in love with heroes. We love lauding an individual who's performed an act of stupifying "good". We love wrapping up our anger at the violence and terror of the world in to a single person, a single act, a single tip-of-the-iceberg bit of expulsion. We label our good and our bad with terms like "heroes" and "villains" regardless of what they're wearing.

Alongside this we're fixated on films that remove us from the grays of our casual existence. We as a culture love the notion of black and white. Of, again, good, evil, right, wrong and on and on. Comic books, films, books - the most popular of our times are those that give power in to the hands of one we can easily associate with one side of the moral coin. Look at the rise in popularity of the super-hero film! We want nothing more than to be able to skip past the rules and moral regulations that hamper our abilities and throw on a pair of tights, grab a few guns and take to the streets.

And I ask: why hasn't anyone yet? Why are our news stories every night focused on car crashes and shootings in schools and fluffy bits of emotionalized fluff? What keeps us as a society from taking a step over that line of proposed sanity and bedecking ourselves in colorful costumes and fighting the "criminals" of the world?

Even our superhero films and comic books have slanted more towards the realistic. Look at Iron-Man and Kick-Ass, films that put weight behind being a superhero, that transpose the spandex clad heroes of our youth in to slightly skewed versions of our real world. In both films the scrapes that our heroes take leave scars and cause death. The villains of these pieces our mobsters and weapon developers (sure weapon developers with giant robot suits, but give me a break), real life characters that we as an audience can recognize and hate even more. Public consensus seems to be that we enjoy a bit of fantasy immersed in the reality of our day-to-day lives. We like the notion that out there somewhere a superhero is battling the forces of evil, keeping us safe in our beds. Look at the military and their need to make out as if each and every soldier is some sort of power-endowed superman, fighting the noxious forces of terrorist evil.

Yet, when am I going to be able to turn on the news and see a nineteen year old kid with lazer guns on his wrists, flying across the sky in pursuit of a grandma's floral purse? Have we relegated ourselves to the mundane, the military, the simple notion that heroes wear uniforms and have badges?

I hope not. I hope that someday I walk past a television store and a crowd of people has gathered outside and we are not watching the State of the Union, but instead we are tuned in to a fellow dressed like a bat, grappling with a bank robber wearing the guise of a clown.

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Criterion Counsel: My brother said I should try and finish one a week. And I think that's a pretty doable bit of quest quota. Thus, I'll fire up M. Hulot's Mon Oncle tonight, for at least a few moments.

Cozy Lummox

2010-03-22T22:16:00.000-07:00

I was initially, long ago, drawn to the Criterion Quest not because of their impressive selection of films (something I honestly realized later in my life) but rather because of the amazing sense of design applied to each and every one of their releases. There isn't a Criterion film that sits on a shelf that isn't an example of how to draw one's eye, how to use negative space, how to apply font to really highlight the thematic elements of a film. I was slack-jaw obsessed from the start and at point even shot over an email suggesting/requesting that they turn a few of their more amazing covers in to full-on poster art.

That said my excitement was off the charts when, amongst my constant internet perusal, I discovered the blog of designer Eric Skillman. This talented fellow has been the all-powerful force behind a good deal of the Criterion films that I love best, and his blog allows us, the layman, to take a peek in to what exactly what went in along the way to a completed project.

The above image is a unused cover for the recent release of Steven Soderbergh's Che (496). One of hundreds Skillman went through in trying to pinpoint exactly the colors, themes, photographic representations to use on the box art. His descriptions and his reasoning are well worth a look.

It's fascinating.

I highly suggest you give it a peek.

WATCH THIS NOW: Asian Madness

2010-03-19T09:00:00.000-07:00

Seeing Mother the other night really got me in a mood for some Asian film-madness.

Thus I came promptly home and stumbled upon this:

And this:

Mind-goo is dripping out of my ears.

WATCH THIS NOW: Bong Joon-ho's MOTHER Trailer

2010-03-18T09:00:00.001-07:00

Just saw Bong Joon-ho's new film Mother and was just as completely stunned by it as I was by his earlier film Memories of Murder and his more popular monster flick The Host from a few years back. It's twisty and tangled and dips in to a skewed sort of Korean version of mom-son noir on occasion, and damn if I wasn't riveted for the entire film.

The films out in limited release and I highly recommend tossing a dollar or nine at it.

WATCH THIS NOW: John Lasseter's Where The Wild Things Are CGI Test Animation

2010-03-17T09:00:00.001-07:00

John Lasseter's Where The Wild Things Are test animation.

Back in the day when Disney was struggling (in a time called the '80s) and in the midst of a possible hostile takeover, a man who would be king (of PIXAR) named John Lasseter realized there might be something in using computers in animation. He presented the above test-clip to his superiors and they promptly fired the shit out of him.

Nonetheless, Lasseter went on to found PIXAR and now sleeps in a bed made of illegal elephant ivory. His pillows are made of cheetah fur I hear.

WATCH THIS NOW: The Kinks - Waterloo Sunset

2010-03-16T09:00:00.000-07:00

The Kinks - "Waterloo Sunset"

Headed off to the sunset climes of San Luis Obispo this afternoon and I've been dreaming of all the bits and pieces that make up a perfect road-trip mix. The Kinks, a favorite band of mine, always figure one way or another in to a great driving soundtrack.

WATCH THIS: The Incredible San Francisco Artist' Soapbox Derby

2010-03-15T09:00:00.000-07:00

The Incredible San Francisco Artists' Soapbox Derby, 1975. from Mike Haeg on Vimeo.
Director: Amanda Pope

75 cars, 32 trophies, 104 artistically minded individuals - yes sah, this is The Incredible San Francisco Artists' Soapbox Derby, 1975.

Even better? Each and every year, up on Potrero Hill, an event much like this still exists. San Francisco, to your weirdness, I tip my beaten hat.

Source: Pacific Standard

The Wide World: 3.11.10

2010-03-11T15:37:00.000-08:00

Alex Healy w/ shoes :: Photo by Noah Sanders

Been a pretty high-octane week of activity around the old Criterion Quest office. Trying to find balance -in my life right now between my constant urge to enjoy the freedom working three days a week affords me, watching films, writing, and moving forward in terms of getting said writing seen.

On top of those weighty goals, the amazing Alex Healy is starting an estate sale business, Old Hat, and I've been bopping around helping her and her partner pull things together in lieu of this weekends inaugural sale.

There's a lot out there and I'm only poking the iceberg.

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Did you hear what I said? The lovely Alex Healy is throwing a San Francisco based estate sale this weekend at 19th and Guerrero. She has an amazing website, with a fantastic blog, and all the details HERE.

To go along with that, the amazing Elisabeth Carr wrote up the coming estate sale on local blog Mission Local, and not only is it a charming bit of writing, but yours truly took all of the photographs. Check out the article HERE and Elisabeth's fantastic fashion blog Mission Closet HERE.

The always amazing Criterion Collection has done it again. After shoveling half of their library on to Netflix instant, they just introduced a Hulu channel that lets you screen films they deem worthy. Right now their showcasing all of the Zaitochi the Blind Swordsman pics, and you'd be sad to miss out on them ... for free. This makes me happy as it says a few things about the film company I've dedicated so many hours to lauding: one, they aren't in it solely for the money. Sure they want to make a dollar as much as the next guy, but more so, it seems that they want to bring good films to the diehards, regardless of their financial gain. Secondly, they're not stodgy technological peons, lost to the world of internet freedom. The Criterion Collection is on it folks, and you best keep your peepers peeled.

There's a big beautiful, world famous film studio on the suburban outskirts of Rome called the Cinecitta. Built by Mussolini (yes, the fascist murderer) in 1937, this prime piece of cinematic real estate has undergone a series of ups and downs in its long history. It's been used by some of the great directors (Fellini, Scorsese, etc.) and rightly so, as the studio is a sprawling complex, almost a town in itself that just seems to bleed cinema. There's a great write-up of the legacy of Cinecitta over at Cineaste that you should probably read.

I'm pretty short-lived in my knowledge of documentaries. I've only come to truly appreciate the genre in the last three, four years of my life, and thus my tastes run to the more recent style. Quite honestly, some of the older documentaries evade me, coming across as tone poems more than anything else, but regardless, I'm excited that the good people of the Manhattan Anthology Film Archives are digging out the works of the New York School of Documentary, as it's a completely unknown entity to me. They're starting out with the works of Leo Hurwitz, a political documentarian whom made the film Native Land (369) with Paul Robeson. Check out the whole program HERE. Manhattan, I envy you.

There's so much more out there, I'm near-overwhelmed.

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Criterion Counsel: Actually kicked off the beginning of Mon Oncle (111) yesterday afternoon, regardless of the beautiful sun outdoors. Perhaps I'll finish this one before summer hits.

M. HULOT'S HOLIDAY (110)

2010-03-10T13:35:00.000-08:00

The Film: M. Hulot's Holiday (110)
The Director: Jacque's Tati (Mon Oncle (111), Playtime (112))

What Is It: The first of three Jacque Tati, semi-surreal, almost-entirely-silent films starring Tati's character M. Hulot. Bumbling, and surprisingly charming, M. Hulot journeys to a seaside vacation town and, well, generally causes trouble.

A Lil' Bit of History: M. Hulot's Holiday (110) was Jacque Tati's first dance with this renowned bumbler. Tati played the character in the four films he made over the course of his career, each one a monstrous hit. As Roger Ebert writes, "There was a time when any art theater could do a week's good business just by booking Hulot.''

The Expectation: I was on a high coming out of my surprising enjoyment of The Scarlet Empress (109) and as a burgeoning film snob I'm required to be excited about any French film from 1980 or before. Thus, I was keener than keen.

The Experience: Life really took a front seat for a while here at the old Criterion Quest. Hulot and his wonderful holida were always present, always lingering in the back of mind, but it took weeks and weeks of self-motivation to finally sit down and swirl my toes in this beach-side comedy.

Strangely enough, whilst watching M. Hulot's Holiday (110) I found myself thinking about The Marx Brother's famous Duck Soup and the differences between the films and how they seem to unintentionally observe the very opposing traits of the two origin countries. Duck Soup is an assault on the senses, a machine-gun rattle of jokes, insults and near-psychotic bouts of hilarious violence that leave you dry-mouthed and confused. M. Hulot's Holiday (110) is, quite literally, a trip to the beach, a slowly-paced, saunter through a stylish world of France's bourgeoisie, interjected with dalliances of surreal humor that are appreciated but not necessarily gut-laughs. Where Grouch and company are borderline obnoxious (in the most gratifying of ways), M. Hulot is a lovable dope, a silently spinning vortex of distraction that unknowing pulls all within striking distance in.

Both films play with the notion of the ruling class, the government, the need for change. Duck Soup puts us at the forefront of the action. Rufus T. Firefly is, quite quickly, the ruler of a country, and all of his actions are direct satires of the fumbling American government. In M. Hulot's Holiday (110) we're given a look at the upper classes strict routines - the dinner bell, the beachside walks, the tightly-assed annoyance of those disturbed - and M. Hulot is a quiet bull in the China shop. He's not trying to break anything, but his mere presence is enough to, quietly, turn these routines on their head. He's a distraction - in tennis, in the dining hall, on the beach - that forces bridge-playing upper class to stop what they're doing and turn around. In the final moments of the film as M. Hulot and Martine (Nathalie Pascaud) dance, alone in the dining room, every one is watching. Jealous? Maybe, but certainly aware that something else exists outside of their small little bubbles.

And here's where the difference between America and France sticks out the most. The big, bold presence of the Marx's brother was how America wanted to be seen. A sizable presence that "walked tall and carried a big stick." And sure, Duck Soup pokes fun at the idea, but at the same time it embodies the in-your-face stylings of American comedy. It's gaudy and broad and absolutely hilarious. In comparison, in general, M. Hulot's Holiday (110) is stylized and sweet, a warm breeze off the ocean, that you smile at each and every time it rustles your hair. I know little about France, but from stereotypes alone, I imagine that this sort of quiet humor embodies much of the Frenchie's way of thought. Poke fun, but do so politely.

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Criterion Counsel: Mon Oncle (111) is Tati's second attempt (in color) and it features a Jetson's like house of the future. Hulot and hilarious modernity? I'm in.

A few thoughts on The Oscars

2010-03-08T23:09:00.000-08:00

Had a lot of Oscar-related thoughts kicking around the dusty attic twixt my ears and I thought, in smaller perhaps more digestible screes, I'd air 'em out.

Little gold man, I present you with vitriol.

They've always been a bit of a big deal in the Sanders family. I credit an enormous amount of my adoration of cinema to my mother's twitchy-eyed obsession with the glitz and glamour of the yearly Hollywood telecast. As I've grown older, and more keen on the corporate pie-fingering so troubling in Tinseltown, I've lost some interest in the big show.

This years show? Unsurprisingly ho hum. The producers continue to marginalize the host's ability to smart-aleck the audience. The speeches, oh the speeches, continue to be laundry lists of veritable unknowns, and I'm always baffled at why folks thank The Academy. My most egregious complaint? They chose to include 10 pictures for the coveted Best Picture category and do they reach out across the land to stock the larders with interesting and unique films to balance out the steaming piles already guaranteed spots? Not a chance. Instead they backslide, awarding a handful of truly awful films chances to take home Oscar gold.

Now I haven't seen it, but The Blind Side? My initial viewing of the trailer had me wondering who'd snuck the Lifetime Channel on to my computer. Is this the direction the Oscars are veering towards cramming absolute sentimental pap around true winners like The Hurt Locker and to some degree, Avatar? In lieu of Sandra Bullock vehicles, why not plug the newly minted Best Picture holes with deserving independent films or foreign pictures or a healthier dose of genre pictures? Because these smaller pictures aren't going to bring in the piles of money the suit-and-tie, sun-tanned execs running the movies need to sleep on at night.

I think what bothers me the most about the blockbuster-clogged Best Picture category is the possibility that could exist. Regardless of your feelings about the Oscars, the broadcast is watched by an enormous selection of people. The films that are nominated are going to get a boost regardless of what they are, as just the nomination creates interest. Thus, why not let smaller, more intelligent films gain some of the kudos, financial and critical, the Best Picture noms are lauded with?

Why not create a film culture based around quality and not financial success?

I'd love to know.

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Criterion Counsel: Making headway.

The Screener, pt. 1.

2010-03-05T16:04:00.000-08:00

Public screenings are funny things. I imagined, when I first started doing this pseudo film-reviewing gig screeners would be private affairs filled with hirsute intellectuals debating the pros and cons of late Kurosawa and the like. I imagined angered stares when cell-phones rang, the gentle sound of pen scratching note-paper, and the scent of pensive viewing permeating the air.

I was exceptionally wrong. Public screenings are chaotic in nature. Various outlets (radio stations, blogs, production companies, etc.) advertise for screeners of their films in a variety of ways: ticket giveaways, flyering, free passes to the public, etc. There's never a mention in any of these advertising forms of the fact that theaters have limited seats and in terms of early screenings, nearly half of those limited seats are reserved for press. Thus the mob that arrives hungry for free cinema, is always, much to their surprise only partially allowed in. Even those "lucky" film-goers released in to the cinema, are then faced with a selection of seats abysmal to say the least. The press section of a public screener is almost the entire middle of the theater. A hefty chunk of the center section is plastered with obnoxious red "Reserved Section" signs, forcing the lovers of free film in to tight sections close to the screen or in the far back of the cinema.

Almost always, every single time, there's anger about the press section. Loaded down with popcorn and candy, the public always attempts to just circumvent the various Promotions people and plop themselves down in the prime seats ten rows back, center. And almost always, said Promotions people appear out of nowhere to redirect them to some tiny nook. The early moments before any of these screenings always seem anxiety-charged, with people looming on the edges waiting for the chance to drop themselves in to a seat once reserved for press, or angrily espousing their hatred of the privilege inherent in the reserved seating. I find myself half-amused by the proceedings, hunkered down in my gated community, waiting to watch the newest blockbuster early. At times though I'm worried, "Are these free-cinema loving fans going to take out their misguided anger on we who've been giving the opportunity to enjoy the center seats?" All of sudden I feel upper class, I feel as if I've got something someone else isn't allowed, and quite honestly, it makes me feel a little jumpy.

My worry, in the moments before the film starts, is that the always raucous screener crowd will be unable to contain their excitement during the film and I'll have to silently curse the public throughout, distracting me from my precious movie, and there by running my experience. Up to now (and Alex claims that this is always true) the screeners have been perfect in their audience participation. Cellphones have been kept to a minimum, talking has been almost non-existent, and the audience has clearly enjoyed the films whooping and hollering when necessary, gasping when scared. These screener audiences have been some of the best I've encountered.

I've got a lot to say on this newly experienced screener. Next time I'll be talking about what I like to call "screener profiling" a curious side-topic to the screener that I find fascinating.

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Criterion Counsel: Today my friends, today I finish M. Hulot's Holiday (109).

The Work of Al Jarnow

2010-03-05T13:26:00.000-08:00

Al Jarnow was a big name in animation for a long time. Cut his teeth working on such animation hotbeds as the old school Sesame Street shows. I was never a Sesame Street kid myself, I preferred the kicks and punches and costumes of Batman and the Power Rangers, but now, as a pseudo-adult, Jarnow's work just speaks to me.

Lucky for us, for you and me, Jarnow's collected works (40 shorts and an Al Jarnow-centric documentary) are being put out by the bastions of all things amazing, The Numero Group. The collection is entitled Celestial Navigations and I can only wish it was my birthday so I could harangue some friend or another in to gifting it to me.

QUICK NOTES: Ballast, d. Lance Hammer

2010-03-03T18:32:00.000-08:00

In my gentle opinion, every film I watch merits a write-up. Perhaps it isn't the academic dissection of a great film, or the study of a film in its chronological context, but still, I believe, and please disagree with me (everyone else seems to), that ever film warrants discussion. Yes, this discussion may just for me to better place the film within the vast filmic storage unit that is my brain, but perhaps a brief write-up will get you excited, stray your opinion, turn you on to a burst of cinema you'd have blindly passed in the street.

Or maybe it's just because I love to write about film.

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The Film: Ballast
The Director: Lance Hammer

The Hype: Quite honestly, I can't recall as to where or when or why I've heard about this film. A roommate (two roommates actually) had mentioned it in passing, but somewhere amongst the stunning disorganization of my life, it must've slipped my mind. That said, Ballast swept and mopped the award shows in 2008, and when it serendipitously fell in my possession I dove right in.

The Truth: Filmed in beautiful desolation of the Mississippi Delta, Ballast focuses on the relationship between a depressed twin (Michael J. Smith Jr.), his nephew (JimMyron Ross) and sister-in-law (Marlee) in the wake of his brother's suicide. The Mississippi Delta is a stark and dangerous seeming place for a bored teenager to be running amok, and with the help of a group of non-actors, director Lance Hammer brings this harsh reality to life in a poetic, yet stunningly realistic manner.

I was most impressed with Michael J. Smith Jr.'s portrayal of the obviously intelligent yet numbingly depressed twin Lawrence. There's a deep set softness in the character, a sort bumbling naivete, hardened by a sharp edge of lonely anger against the world. The film follows Lawrence as he's forced, at gunpoint even, to re-enter the life of a woman, and her child, who hate him, and Hammer show's us the world with out reserving any judgment. These characters are immensely broken and attempting to survive in a world that continues to pile on the misery, and this film isn't about their redemption or their success, it's just about them, and the small period of life in which we get to view them.

Final Thoughts: As I get older and view more films, I find more and more enjoyment in these weighty character studies. I've grown bored with big budget (as any aging film fan should) and this sort of quiet, tense look in to a whole different way of living was both gorgeous and fascinating.

THE BASICS: Manhattan

2010-03-02T15:34:00.000-08:00

What is The Basics? In brief:

Drew McWeeny (of Ain't It Cool fame, now prolifically covering film over at Hitfix) will throw out a film that he considers a must see for any film fan, a film that William Goss (a film lover in my own vein, versed but not encyclopedic, chugging away over at Cinematical, surely as we speak) will watch and respond to. What McWeeny hopes is that in discussing these classic films he'll not only give readers an assortment of films to peruse in their own time, but also start a conversation about these important pieces of culture.

I love film. You might call me a film "geek". I might secretly feel sort of sad when I wake up to a sunny day, knowing that I'll spend it outside away from my precious films. Truthfully though, the gaps in my film knowledge could fit whole theaters in them. I haven't seen all the great works by all the great directors (let alone the American masters) or dug in deep to the exploitation genre. I can't name off every film starring Steve McQueen or tell you what film won Best Picture in 1965. But I want to. Thus, with McWeeny throwing down the gauntlet, I've decided to follow along.

His second choice is Woody Allen's Manhattan. Now I've seen a lot of Woody Allen, but somehow, someway, I've completely and totally missed out on this, his oft times claimed masterwork.

Check out McWeeny's post HERE, and then William Goss's response HERE.

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I'm conflicted when it comes to Woody Allen. As much as I love his classics (the one's I've seen) - Annie Hall, Hannah and Her Sisters, Sweet & Lowdown (minor classic) - I think at times the characters he writes for himself (or whatever high-profile performer he's shuffling in to the role of nebbish worry-wart) border on caricature. I was shocked at times during my watching of Manhattan how much Woody Allen, both in delivery and appearance, reminded me of Groucho Marx. The eyebrows, the softly spoken follow ups to his gags, the thick glasses and machine gun comedy - Woody Allen and Groucho Marx are like distant cousins. But where Marx and company seemed blissfully happy to leap in to insanity, I alway expect a great sense of subtlety from Woody Allen, a restraint that reflects the intellectuals he always plays.

In Manhattan though, sweet, amazing Manhattan, Woody Allen sheds the cigar-chompin' caricature of Sleepers and Bananas and creates a film that shows not only the humor in the lost love and remorse of a broken relationships, but the deep pain and sadness it creates.

Woody Allen plays Isaac, a burgeoning writer dating a seventeen year-old. His good friend Yale (Michael Murphy), is married and having an affair with Mary (Diane Keaton). When Yale introduces Isaac to Mary, Isaac begins to question his relationship with Tracy (the seventeen year old played with amazingly sincere innocence by Mariel Hemingway). It's simple and direct, and allows Woody Allen to add a layer of emotion to the character he'd been building in films like Annie Hall.

Manhattan is still a film about Woody Allen and the character he's defined and redefined over and over again throughout his career. Insecure and anxious, quick with a razor-sharp bit of observation, Isaac is the nebbish ladies man Woody Allen always seems to write (and I consider a mark of his talent that he can always make me believe that 5'3" Jewish writer from New York could bag both Mariel Hemingway and Meryl Streep). What's different in Manhattan is that this nebbish character doesn't just steamroll over the women in his life, instead Isaac makes errors, mistakes, and he feels pain because of it. There's a scene near the end of the film when Isaac admits to Yale's ex-wife (Anne Byrne Hoffman) that he's made an error in letting go of Tracy, and instead of it being a joke or a gag, it's a truly personal monologue. Isaac knows he's made an error, knows that he's lost the woman that truly inspires him, that he might actually love. And as Isaac confesses to the camera you can see it in his eyes, his slumped shoulders, the slow-ish rhythm of his voice. He's done something wrong, and in Manhattan those mistakes have true emotional resonance.

You might say that Manhattan is the logical progression of Woody Allen's stock cast of characters. Diane Keaton's Mary isn't the bubbly goofball of Annie Hall, she's a hard-nosed writer, rife with nervousness and fears, Ms. Hall ten years in the future, her heart and persona battered around a bit by a rough series of break-ups. And that's what draws me to Manhattan in a way so many of Allen's newer films (hell, early films) fail to do - the sense of consequence to the actions of these characters. It gives a depth to Allen's humor, a sense of pathos to his witty repartee that just gets me right under the rib cage.

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Criterion Counsel: I don't even want to talk about it.

Ben Stiller's aging face.

2010-03-01T15:14:00.000-08:00

I have issues with aging. The slow degradation of items, objects, landscapes, and most scarily, we as human beings. At times I find it difficult to purchase new things because I know that even if they look amazing, spotless, untouched within the hard plastic shells of their packaging, as soon as I remove them from their consumer armor, they'll be dinged, dirty, already on the long (or short) road to decomposition.

I saw the new film by Noah Baumbach, Greenberg, last week and, regardless of my glowing anxious love for the film, was shocked by Ben Stiller's appearance. It isn't that he looks different, or deformed, rather, he looks more like Ben Stiller. There's the famous Michelangelo saying about he wasn't trying to carve anything out of rock, but rather trying to remove the bits and pieces of that were surrounding what was already there. That's what Stiller's face in Greenberg reminded me of, as if the years of life he's lived have slowly peeled away the parts that weren't him, revealing this perfect representation of Ben Stiller.

Of course this could be a trick of the camera, an intentional move by Baumbach and company. Stiller's character in the film is an anxious mess, the sort of outwardly-blaming headcase that life drags at. He writes letters to big corporations, lashes out at those who thinks who are wrong - he's pretty much that kind of asshole. Thus, the newly taut lines of Stiller's face might have been played up to point out that life has hardened this man.

But I think not. I think Stiller, as he gets older, is becoming all angles, the softness of his face peeling away to the point of caricature. He's condensing, the pressure of age, contracting his features in to a compounded version of the Stiller we know and love. I wonder how, with Stiller still blindly attaching himself to ridiculous concept-comedies, his now-more angular face, rife with pained anxiety, will play. Is he going to be forced in to an era of seriousness due to his ever-sharpening visage?

If his performance in Greenberg has anything to say of it, I certainly hope so.

The story up to now ...

2010-03-01T14:24:00.000-08:00

In the last two months, these things have happened:

1. I quit my long-time job at Light In The Attic Records in the hopes that I could focus on my own projects. This created the near perfect situation where I work for barely three days a week, still managed to live in a fantastic part of the city, and had four days to focus on my true loves: films, films, and films.

2. Literally a week after deciding that LITA was no longer the home I wanted to have, I received an email from another blog I write for informing me that with the lightest flick of the wrist I would now be on a screener list for the greater San Francisco area. This would mean that nearly any and all films that opened on the big screen in my area, the Yay Area, I would be invited to, sans payment, to reflect upon and then review. Life long goal accomplished. Pop the bubbles, turn on the hottub, cook up a steak.

3. For the last three, maybe four weeks, I've literally been immersed in film. I worried at first that because of Side One: Track One's smallish readership that perhaps I would only be invited to the films that every outlet was allowed. Or even worse I be shuffled in to side theaters to see made-for-television melodramas and focus group discussions. As I often do when presented with anxiety, I started knockin' on doors to make sure that all was right and the floodgates were open for Hurricane Noah to slide through. I've been sending emails, by the bucket full, to those in charge of screeners to make sure that the films that are being released each and every week are being viewed ... by me. My first week I saw three films, then two, films and now steadily, for the last two I've seen four films a week, sometimes two a day. A literal engorgement of cinema. I'm bloated, but Jesus, if this isn't the life for me.

You can follow my reviews, for the moment at Side One: Track One, and I'll surely be linking to each and every film as I review them.

4. On top of that, my beautiful Criterion Conquistador has started a new business involving the excavation and sale of dead people's effects. The talented lady, and her equally talented business partner are in all engines go mode and as a diligent supporter (and infatuated follower) I've been assisting as much as possible. Eleven hours spent amidst Jesus paraphernalia and rat shit, as you might imagine, can be a bit exhausting.

5. Thus my Quest, my sweet sweet Quest, has fallen behind a bit. I've been festooned amongst Jacque Tati's near-silent masterworks for weeks now, and with four films bubbling up on the horizon and a trip to San Luis Obispo and, and, and ... well, lets just say it might be a while. But in the meantime, as I've said recently and frequently, this blog will continue, and for god's sake it will be more about film and my increasing love for it, than ever before.

Stay with me people. Stay with me.

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Criterion Counsel: Have spent the last three days watching Manhattan. The French must be put on hold when Manhattan comes a-callin'.

Short, brief, Friday hilarity.

2010-02-26T15:14:00.000-08:00

I think this is Russian.

I know it's hilarious.

Why are horror films still so gendered?

2010-02-25T09:36:00.000-08:00

Sat down in the luxurious Metreon Theater (I kid this place is like a living Playstation, with snot-nosed kids and all still intact) in SF yesterday morning to watch the debut film of Breck Eisner, The Crazies. Due to embargo, you'll have to wait 'till tomorrow to read my review, but I'll say this - it's a great, gory, tense bit of horror that had me on edge for all two hours.

That said, I was, have been, shocked at how the film manages to avoid the trappings of cheap characters produced only to have their heads pitchforked off, but still managed to craft a bevy a female characters seemingly pulled directly from the 1950s. Judy Dutton (Radha Mitchell) is a well written character, she's likable and flawed and at times a strong, smart and funny and on and on, but throughout the film the character is forced time after time in to damsel in distress situations. She's tied up, she's threatened with a shotgun, she's nearly pulled through the window of a car, and each and every time (sans the last few moments of the film) she always turns, voluntarily or involuntarily to her wiry sheriff husband David Dutton (Timothy Olyphant).

Again and again, David Dutton, town sheriff and all-around good guy is brought in to a situation where he has to put himself at risk to save his darling wife. Even more shocking are the moments when his "emotional" and "head-strong" spouse is spouting off and David has to "calm her down." It's strange, bad-taste leaving, and wonder why we as as a society able to build cyber-worlds still can't craft a female character in an action film that doesn't fall in to the arms of her male compatriot whenever shit gets rough. Sure, Judy Dutton has some comeuppance moments, but they're played as just that, new additions to her character. David Dutton doesn't have to worry about ever having to "get tough" when things get dangerous, oh no, he's a man, so he's hardwired to kill, kick ass and protect the feeble.

This isn't just something I've seen lately in film either. This is a widespread epidemic that just won't go away. Did anyone else watch the Super ~~Bro~~ Bowl? Or at least the seven hours of commercials that surrounded the eleven minutes of actually played football? Oh you did? So you also noticed that every single ad featured burly men drinking beer and their scantily clad wives scurrying about the kitchen or the yard or wherever? Thought so. And the Super Bowl isn't the event, it's the catalyst. We're still pumping out films, television shows, and commercials (hell, books as well I'm sure) that are referring to the gender norms of forty years ago. In a time when we sexuality as a whole is in total upswing, we're still, as Americans, broadcasting the idea that men are big burly tough guys and women are they big-breasted, small-waisted, good-in-the-kitchen side-kicks.

And this, this just makes my head hurt.

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Criterion Counsel: Wow, it's been so long since I've even peeked at the film, I'm going to need to start from frame one. No worries though, I've got a nice big chunk of time tomorrow and the next day and I'm finishing at least one of Jacque Tati's little masterpieces.

TRAILER: Animal Kingdom

2010-02-23T11:15:00.000-08:00

Doesn't this film look amazing?

I spent a good twenty minutes last week interviewing Joel Edgerton, a star and producer of the film and all-around nice guy.

I'm interviewing his brother and director of The Square Nash Edgerton on Thursday, and then winding the results in to an enormous brotherly bit of interview.

Get ready for it.

QUICK NOTES: Drag Me To Hell, d. Sam Raimi

2010-02-19T17:40:00.000-08:00

I'm trying to up the ante in terms of the films I watch in general right now and as much as I'd love to write huge, Sanders-sized reviews about each and all, well I just can't. Thus, I'm retooling Quick Notes in to just exactly what their moniker begs: quick reviews of all the films I'm watching. I'll be doing my full reviews of new movies, and films that I love still, I just want to write about as much film as possible and this seems the very best way.

Think we can all handle that?

Lets get started then.

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The Film: Drag Me To Hell

The Director: Sam Raimi

The Hype:

You know, everyone's been saying that this is Sam Raimi's return to form. That the abysmal (literally terrible) Spider-Man 3 freed Raimi from his long lease on shittiness, and that Drag Me To Hell was his re-immersion in to the gooey gore of his beloved Evil Dead series.

The Truth:

I blame Allison Lohman for all of my dislike for this film. It's a pretty decent little adventure-horror flick. Christine Brown (Allison Lohman) gets cursed by a gypsy and she has three days to figure out how to expel the curse or the Lamia will, ahem, drag her to Hell. There's a lot of upchucked liquids in the film, a lot of creepy practical effects, and pretty healthy dosage of Allison Lohman getting smashed in to things, which all allude to a Sam Raimi film, but something is certainly lacking.

I've never been able to understand why people are so obsessed with Allison Lohman. I find her extremely one-note, and that one note is typically a sort of bland, naivete. In Drag Me To Hell she's cardboard, flat and unemotional and this is a film about campy-emotions. Big chills and big thrills and with Lohman in the driving seat, they just don't work.

Final Thoughts:

I'm hoping this is Raimi ramping up, recovering even, from the big studio pie-fingering of the Spider-Man films. That this is just a taste of what's to come and in the years to follow we'll be seeing some truly classic horror films from Mr. Raimi.

The Wide World: 2.19.2010

2010-02-19T16:06:00.000-08:00

It's late on a Friday and you know what that means: a short post full of links.

Honestly, it's been a pretty great day for me as a writer. If you checked in yesterday I posted a look at the Marx's Brother's 1933 classic Duck Soup in response to a favorite writer's of mine column The Basics (which you can read all about HERE). And you know what? He posted a link to my review on his site. It's in THIS column, and it's barely a head-nod, but hell, makes me feel all a-titter in my insides.

While we're on the topic of, well, me, my review of Martin Scorcese's excellent new film Shutter Island is up at Side One: Track One right now. You can check it out HERE.

Oh yeah, and I wrote this short piece on the abysmal turd-bomb that is The Good Guy, a film you've blessedly never heard of. Check out my short dismissal of it HERE.

I love Roger Ebert, he was a driving force in my original passion for film. I knew he'd had cancer and surgeries and all sorts of terrible things happen, but I hadn't known the full spectrum until THIS brilliant bit of profile that ran in Esquire this week. You must read it HERE.

That's all I got today. Thanks for reading!

THE BASICS: Duck Soup

2010-02-17T19:28:00.001-08:00

If you love film, and you love good writing, I hope to goodness you've been paying attention to the massive output of work that Drew McWeeny (original Moriarity of Ain't It Cool News fame, and now a massively productive columnist and editor over at HitFix) has shoveled in to the public sphere over the course of the last ten years or so. I can't remember when I started reading McWeeny, but each and every article he writes is a must read, regardless of what the film is. He's a bastion of film knowledge and manages to bring both humor, personality and a sense of himself to each and every piece he composes. On top of that, every piece isn't just a separate read on its own (though all of them are excellent in that regards as well) but a poke, a stab, a peek at the general culture of film as it exists today. Drew McWeeny has always inspired my own writing, and his ability to watch the amount of films that he does is baffling to me.

Praise gushed (something I've been meaning to do for years), I write about McWeeny for a reason. He's started a, how you might say conversation with William Goss of Cinematical, entitled "The Basics". Here's what it is: McWeeny will throw out a film that he considers a must see for any film fan, a film that Goss (a film lover in my own vein, versed but not encyclopedic) will watch and respond to. What McWeeny hopes is that in discussing these classic films he'll not only give readers an assortment of films to peruse in their own time, but also start a conversation about these important pieces of culture.

I think it's a fucking fantastic idea, I've decided that invited or not, I'm going to follow along. McWeeny chose Duck Soup (the 1933 Marx Brothers film) as his first film, and oh how it shames me to admit that I've never dipped my wick in the Marx Brother's candle. I've always meant to I just never have.

Before you read my response to the film catch up with Drew McWeeny's post HERE, and then read William Goss' excellent response HERE.

The Marx Brothers are fucking insane. I swear after dunking my head in to the fictional political state of Freedonia and its satirical leader Rufus T. Firefly (Groucho Marx), I'm bloody well certain that Groucho, Harpo, and Chico Marx are all certified lunatics (I exclude Zeppo, because, well from his looks and abilities he might be adopted). The humor at play in the comedic sibling's 1933 political satire Duck Soup isn't refined or subtle, oh no, there is a manic, almost surreal quality to laughs generated in this film that feel like a whirlpool at times.

The film begins with the make-believe land of Freedonia poor and in need of a new leader. And who better to lead this destitute nation than the wise-cracking, cigar-chomping figure of the one, the only Rufus T. Firefly. What occurs in this 74-minute film is a lambasting of not just the government of 1930s America, but government in general. In its satire this film is timeless, a savage bit of pugilism that just shucks and jives, punching until you don't think there's anything left to hit.

If anything I'd describe the film's humor (as there really isn't anything to the film but the torrent of humor, the plot is merely a shaky outline for the Marxs Brothers to inject their insanity) as the best sort of downward spiral. As a modern day film viewer, one used to plots and meaningful conversations, I found Groucho's non-stop patter to be off-putting at first. I kept wondering, why are people singing? Why would anyone elect this man in to office? What in the hell is going on in this film? But as you keep watching and the jokes just keep coming, and Harpo and Chico suddenly cutting pockets and burning hats, you can't help but enjoy the madness. And when the film wraps on a ten minute banjo dance-off, you blink your eyes and shake your head and wonder just what the fuck happened ... and that, I imagine, is exactly what these masters of comedy intended.

What's interesting about this film to me is the way it swings with no gloves on. The humor isn't always friendly or politically correct or hell, logical (a live dog comes out of the tattoo on Harpo's chest, indeed), but that character of humor never falters. The film is always quick and downright mean, and when it ends you feel a dirty chuckle still resonating in your chest.

I have a special place for the absolute insanity of Harpo Marx, as I was completely stunned at his broad sense of physical comedy each and every time he stepped on screen. His scenes with the lemonade stand owner are as funny as anything I've ever seen, and I absolutely believe that if you met this gentleman in real life you'd leave your meeting with scissor-shorn pockets, a burning hat and a look of absolute confusion sprawled across your face.

Absolutely excited to continue on this Basics kick. I love a recommendation.

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Criterion Counsel: I tell you it's been busy and Jacques Tati is just sitting there waiting, staring at me with his silent French eyes.

THE SCARLET EMPRESS (109)

2010-02-16T23:35:00.000-08:00

The Film: The Scarlet Empress (109)
The Director: Josef von Sternberg (The Blue Angel, Blonde Venus)

What Is It: The type of period piece you just don't see anymore. Huge, I mean enormous, set pieces, gauzy lady bits, historical revisionism ... and on and on. This is a true period piece in the vein of Cleopatra.

A Lil' Bit Of History: Josef von Sternberg was a king in the days of black and white, a master of opulence that managed to blend history with Hollywood. Wildly in love with his muse, Marlene Dietrich, Sternberg made six films with her, each time capitalizing on the idea of a woman using her sexual wiles and intelligence to gain power. Though their collaboration, The Blue Angel was what shot her in to stardom, this film is oft times considered an overlooked classic.

The Expectation: As I've mentioned many, many times before, these old 1930s flicks have a tendency to zonk me in to comatose states. I very much believed that this film, the story of Catherine II's (Marlene Dietrich) scandalous rise to Russian royalty, would a be a blowdart to the neck.

The Experience: The Criterion Conquistador and I sat down to watch this, my trepidations firmly in tact, and I ended up skipping a free show to finish it out. One big gulp of Russian royalty and I was hooked.

1. It's been a while.

I watched this movie maybe three weeks ago and I've been sitting on my thoughts on the film for just as long. Not for any good reason either, I just haven't been able to muster the time or energy to write a cohesive sounding piece on it. Thus, I'm sort of wading through the grey parts of my brain right now to try and remember exactly what I was thinking when I watched the film, and let me tell you, it's a kind of a stretch.

2. Marlene Dietrich lives up to her "star."

At the beginning of this film both Josef von Sternberg and Marlene Dietrich perform an impressive task: creating the illusion that a massive star like Dietrich is a brainless, big-eyed child. This is performed by cutting nearly all of Dietrich's lines, but her wide-eyed expression and childlike clothes make her look like a stupid doll, exactly what the film needs - a doddling child that the audience, and the royalty of Russia think they can play like a fool. As the film unfurls though, Catherine II becomes a force to be reckoned with, and her youthful naivete is a stark contrast. Ms. Dietrich, I owe your corpse an apology, you are quite an actress.

3. A fast-talking bit of period piece.

You'd expect this film to be chock full of antiquated language and drawn out boring conversations, but this is a clearly a child of the 1930s. Each and every character feels as if it was raised on the streets of Brooklyn, never having stepped in to the highest classes of Russia. You'd think it'd be jarring and awkward, but no, the speedy chatter of the characters helps to play in to the strategies and games playing out on screen. If the dialogue was slow and ponderous than the film would be equally ponderous. Luckily, it's neither.

4. Wow, the Hays Code missed out on this one.

This film snuck right past the censors. Perhaps it's the historical context or the fact that Dietrich and Sternberg were murdering the box office at the time, but this film breaks rule after rule after rule with seemingly no consequence. Not only is there nudity (though it may be of the nipple-less variety), it's torturous nudity. There's a strong focus on sexuality in the film (late night trysts, overtly sexual conversations, etc.) and no one seemed to give a shit. When Catherine II and Count Alexi (John Lodge) are tumbling about in the hay, hands fast and loose, the definition of "lover" quickly coming to the fore, you have to know, somebody in the Hays Code production office was getting a brown envelope full of money.

5. Full of great character actors.

Empress Elizabeth (Louise Dresser), Count Alexei (John Lodge), Grand Duke Peter (Sam Jaffe) - each of these impressive actors is given a juicy role to chew in to and all do so with aplomb. Sam Jaffe, you shouldn't be allowed schools. John Lodge, I imagine you were quite the lady killer in your time. Louise Dresser, you define the term "nag."

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Criterion Counsel: I was so excited about the Jacque Tati films, and after thirty minutes of near silent, surreal slapstick, I'm a bit skeptical. We're thirty minutes in and I don't see completion rearing its head any time soon.

I'm a poor Quester.

2010-02-16T11:25:00.000-08:00

I am. Busy with life and new found film endeavors.

I'll be back soon, Criterion films stacked to the nose.

Until then, I posted a review of The Wolfman over at Side One: Track One.

Read it right HERE.

Comments, critiques, opinions - I want them all.

Things are going to change.

2010-02-10T13:17:00.001-08:00

I guess it's time for a change.

I quit a job last week. After three years of selling myself as a PR representative/blogmaster, I hit a three hundred foot wall of brick and just couldn't see any way around it. So I threw in the towel and went home.

Thus, as I only work three days a week slinging joe to the caffeine deprived of the world, I am now faced with what just to do with four, almost five, entire extra days off each and every week. As if by magic, as these thoughts of loneliness and inactivity and long walks in the greyness of the afternoon begin to increase in size and fear, a little bird dropped down on my shoulder and told me I should start writing about film.

Film, sweet film, my passion my love, that I've relegated to the sidelines for the last three to five years of my life. Yes, you little bird all ruffled and dewy from the rain, film is what I should writing about.

Thus, I reached out to the very few folks I know populating the critical side of film and asked, "How do I do this?" And quite quickly and impressively, a slew of publicists and aides and assistants were battering my door with offers to see films early, to interview and to review.

And you know what? I'm running with it. This week alone I've already seen two screeners (with a third tomorrow), I've interviewed an actor/screenwriter that was just cast in the remake of John Carpenter's The Thing, and this is just the start. In the weeks to come I'm saying yes to every single opportunity, film-related that I can possibly say yes to. I will go to every event, see every movie, talk to anyone regardless of what film they're apart of. I'm going to throw myself head first in to this world of film criticism.

So what does that mean for you, my Criterion Quest faithful? It just means that on top of my current ruminations on the wide world of Criterion I'm going to be discussing with you my quest to become a part of the circle of people that talks about film. That discusses and reviews and generally adds to the culture of film that I love so much. I'm going to keep my reviews and my interviews and my general dalliances as possible fodder for other sites, but on this site I'm going to talk about the actual experience of being a newbie in this wild world. What are screeners like? Other critics? Audiences? Interviews? What's the other side like? What are festivals like?

If you can't tell, I'm excited. Sweaty and half-clothed, just ready for the film onslaught to begin.

Hope you're excited too.

It's Friday! Read a book?

2010-02-05T14:41:00.001-08:00

Robert Altman was one of the greats of cinema. He died last year and we're all the worser for it. The Criterion Collection has celebrated his films on a variety of occasions, and their releases have been some of the great. From the well known (Short Cuts (265) to the obscure Secret Honor (257)) they've produced some amazing releases paying due to this fantastically prolific and talented man.

Mitchell Zuckoff produced a series of interviews with Robert Altman in the later years of his life. These interviews, completely vacant of personal touches, were the only things Altman would allow to be considered "his biography." Collected here for the first time in book form, I'm slavering to give this a shot.

My film professor in college, Robert Sickels, had a hankering for Altman like no other, and I remember an anecdote of his that still makes me laugh: at the end of every day Robert Altman would refuse to call it a day, instead he'd pull a production assistant aside, order up a bottle of Cutty Sark and disappear in to his trailer. Everyone would just know.

This book looks amazing. Let me just finish the stack of five I recently bought and then I'll pick this one up.

Check it out HERE.

EXPECTORATING: THE SCARLET EMPRESS (109)

2010-02-03T14:03:00.000-08:00

I've decided to name my new column "Expectorating." "Why?" You might ask. It started out that I wanted to name the new column something that had to do with expectations and what each of these gems of films promised as I came closer to them. The first term that popped in to my head was "Expectations", but upon writing it I felt more akin to a crystal-piled New Age convention. It turns out that there aren't that many words in the dictionary that "expectation" is a part of, so when I stumbled up expectorate, I was excited to say the least. Expectorate, sounds like expectation, looks like expectation, it certainly must have something to do with expectations.

Alex and are I driving somewhere and I'm proudly running through my new column's name and she turns to me and says, "Expectorate means to spit." There is a slight debate about what the term might mean, and then, as usual, I turn out to be completely clueless.

But guess what? I'm keeping it. I love the idea that expectorate means to expel, to spit, to get something not just off your chest, but out of your chest. I'm an opinionated chap on occasion and if this little ditty of a column seems to be a symbolic form of hacking up phlegm, I don't mind that.

Thus, get out your hankies, it's expectoration time.

The Film: The Scarlet Empress (109)

The Director: Josef von Sternberg. An Austrian-American with an enormous, oft times over-the-top personality that was once threatened to be thrown off a pier by Robert Mitchum. Had a long tempestuous relationship with 20s and 30s star Marlene Dietrich.

The Synopsis: A mighty bit of 30s period piece featuring a lavishly dressed Marlene Dietrich, thousands of extras and I'm quite sure of 104 minutes of nappy time for No-No.

My Prior Experience: I've heard the name many many times and am pretty sure I've seen at least a part of The Blue Angel, but aside from that, I'm a dedicated newcomer to this whole Austrian-American period piece.

My Expectation: I'm expecting a nap. Seriously, his biography describes the public's response to his film as "inert." Inert sounds like a pleasant slumber. The clothes are supposed to be amazing, so I'm sure my Criterion Companion will need to wipe the drool from her mouth on more than a few occasions.

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Criterion Counsel: Not even a peek yet. The DVD looks pretty though. Was busy yesterday catching up on, well, new, positively riveting bits of noir and sci-fi. Sorry, Austrian period piece, just not cutting it.

WHAT'S IN STORE #9

2010-02-02T15:53:00.000-08:00

I. Just. Keep. Churning. Along.

And it is a great pleasure to crawl from the pool of shit that is The Rock (108) into the next five films in this crazy Quest 'o' mine. It's a big old batch of Euro this go-around, dominated strongly by French surreal comic Jacques Tati. Never seen any of the exploits of M. Hulot, but hot damn if I'm not licking my sunbaked lips with anticipation.

Criterion films scene 108, Criterion films to watch, currently, 402.

Must. Keep. Watching.

#109. The Scarlet Empress dir. Josef von Sternberg

I've expressed my worry many times over, that near-silent films of the 1930s are like potent sleeping pills to me. This one's set in Russia in the 19th century though and is supposed to feature "lavish sex and deceit." Sex and deceit always keep me wide awake, so maybe this'll be the new precedent. Also, director von Sternberg was obsessed with his lead, Marlena Dietrich, and obsession always leads to fascinating film.

#110. M. Hulot's Holiday dir. Jacques Tati
#111. Mon Ocle
#112. Playtime

Criterion threw together a three film run of films by the renowned actor and director Jacques Tati that focuses on his famed character M. Hulot. Each of the films, released across two decades, features the incorrigible Hulot getting himself in to some sort of slapstick situation amongst the rich and famous. I'm most excited about entry number two that finds Hulot stuck inside a Jetson's like home where technology goes hilariously awry.

#113. Big Deal on Madonna Street

1950s Italian crime-caper ... satire? Mmmmmm ... sounds brilliant. The 1950s are a goldmine of film and whenever the Criterion Collection, and it often times does, dips its pretty little head in to those waters, well, I get a little sweaty on my back. It's not weird, it's natural.

This is an interesting batch of films for me as they're all well known bits of European filmmaking that I've never touched upon in my perusal of cinema. Sometimes these work out, sometimes I find myself sprawled on my floor in a puddle of my own drool.

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Criterion Counsel: The Scarlet Empress (109) she's still just sitting there, mouth all pout-filled, waiting for a watching, I just haven't found a moment to enjoy yet. Soon my lady, soon.