The Academy Award Nominations will be announced tomorrow. 

I do not care.

Or at least that’s what I say.  I’ve made no secret of my distaste for this gaudy, self-congratulatory, unimaginative “celebration” of movies.  I wrote extensively about it here.  But I can’t deny that my interest is piqued for tomorrow’s announcement.  And for one reason only - other than bitter curiosity:

Ten Best Picture nominees.

People have been complaining that this dilutes the supreme, unimpeachable power of the FIVE nominations.  But, really… really? … have the five nominees for Best Picture been powerful? Really?

Last year was not a great year for movies.  There were few shining stars.  Even so, The Academy disregarded at least two of the more interesting choices (In Bruges and Gran Torino - the only English-speaking masterpieces of the year that I can think of) and went with the more inevitable indie-feel-good movie (Slumdog Millionaire), the “small” historical/issue movies (Milk, Frost/Nixon), the bloated Oscar-bait (The Curious Case of Benjamin Button) and the holocaust story (The Reader).   

Those are all fine movies (except for Benjamin Button - David Fincher, what in the WORLD, dude???).  One is pretty great.  But In Bruges and Gran Torino are at least much more interesting choices…if not infinitely better than all the aforementioned selections.  Even these near-greats of 2008 would have been better choices: The Dark Knight, Wall-E, Doubt, The Wrestler…

I’ll go back a few years to when the Oscars did go head over heels for an Eastwood flick - Million Dollar Baby.  Its fellow nominees included a much better movie (the quiet, astringently funny, eccentric masterpiece Sideways) that the Academy should be extremely proud to have noticed; an extremely entertaining, exotic, smart, but somehow faltering biopic (The Aviator); and then two awful awful atrocious movies made with the sole intent to grab the Oscar gold (Finding Neverland and Ray). 

That’s a typical year for the Oscars.  There’s always some good stuff.  Of course there is.  These are industry people.  They understand what makes a good movie.  More importantly - they LIKE movies.  But they’re also old.  And easily fooled.  And hesitant to embrace the truly dangerous or unique.  The year of Million Dollar Baby also saw Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Kill Bill 2, Anchorman, Shaun of the Dead, Before Sunset, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban…even The Passion of the Christ.  Most of them aren’t masterpieces.  But wouldn’t it have been great to have seen some of these (and I’ll take a few of your others) celebrated and revered so publicly?

This is a chance for these movies to shine in front of millions of people who may not otherwise get to see them shine.  To see them celebrated because of their excellence and gleeful filmmaking rather than simply because of their boxoffice returns.  Does the stricter limitation of the category really contribute to any of these movies being regarded more highly in the future? Don’t forget that even Citizen Kane lost the award for Best Picture (to John Ford’s How Green Was My Valley - ever see that one?) back in 1941.  Yeah, sure, it got nominated.  But is its nomination the thing that’s remembered?

2007 was an incredible year for movies.  And it was a rare year to see a complete compilation of five terrific Best Picture nominees.  And yet the thing still bothered me.  There were so many other movies to celebrate besides No Country for Old Men, Michael Clayton, Atonement, Juno and even the co-best movie of the decade, There Will Be Blood (24 Hour Party People ties with it).  2007 also saw these masterpieces - Ratatouille, Zodiac, Sweeney Todd; and these great movies - Knocked Up, Eastern Promises, Once, Before the Devil Knows You’re Dead, Superbad…and many more. 

And here’s a short list of some of the other movies they’ve missed throughout the years…

City Lights, King Kong, Duck Soup, Singin’ in the Rain, Rear Window, The Night of the Hunter, The Searchers, Sweet Smell of Success, Vertigo, Touch of Evil, North by Northwest, Some Like it Hot, Rio Bravo, Psycho, 2001: A Space Odyssey, Close Encounters of the Third Kind, Big, The Last Temptation of Christ, Crimes and Misdemeanors, The Player, Short Cuts, Boogie Nights, Jackie Brown, Waiting for Guffman, Rushmore, Mulholland Drive, Pride & Prejudice (2005), Children of Men…

1999 was a particularly egregious year that saw The Cider House Rules, The Green Mile and the Sixth Sense nominated over Being John Malkovich, Magnolia, The Talented Mr. Ripley, Toy Story 2, and, yeah goddammit, South Park: Bigger, Longer & Uncut…among others.  (American Beauty was great but didn’t deserve to win; at least they got the incredibly powerful The Insider right…)

Again.  I don’t really care that these movies weren’t nominated.  It doesn’t hurt their places in history.  It just hurts the Oscars. 

But wouldn’t it have been great to see all these movies proudly celebrated together? At this glorified party that thinks it’s a lot more important that it is? It’s a party.  Just that.  And that’s how it should be performed - as the biggest party for movies of every year.  I believe that expanding the Best Picture category to ten strengthens the Oscars.  The more nominees, the more celebration, the better.

I devour movies and music with a voracious appetite.  All styles, all forms, genres, old and new - I am a junky for this stuff.  Music and movies are my favorite things.  They have been for a long time, and I have done as much as I’ve been able to get to know these two glorious art forms.  I consider myself an expert in both. 

But I am still a baby.  There is still so much more to learn, to experience.  Particularly with music - which has been around since the dawn of man.  But movies - well, I’ve got a little more of a hold on that art form since it has been around for a considerably shorter time…about 100 years. 

I can see the arch, from foundation to present innovation, very clearly.  I am aware of almost all the landmarks and have been able to witness most of them firsthand - that is the beauty of film.  But the form is still so deep and rich, every time you get past another layer, a layer you think is the most significant, you discover another layer that is its equal, if only stranger and more personal.  I love discovering.

So, it has troubled me that I have largely ignored one of cinema’s most important and intoxicating and romantic of landmark eras - the French New Wave. 

I saw Breathless years ago, often considered the best (or first or most important) film of the movement, and did not care for it.  At all.  It left a bad taste in my mouth.  Whenever I tried going back, to almost ANY French Flick made after 1960 (I love the earlier stuff, particularly Renoir), that same icky taste returned to my taste buds.  Just…icky.  Right? I have always had a deep respect for the advances the French New Wave brought to us, but I have been less respectful to the movies themselves - almost kinda like special effects extravaganza crap-fests that have forwarded the look of films, but not so much the storytelling. 

Yikes! I hadn’t really had that analogy in mind when I started writing this, but there it is.  That said, I decided recently to shove several of them down my throat like the good medicine they are:

Weekend (’67)

Okay, this is exactly what I’m talking about.  Godard.  What a fucker.  He’s the one who put me off this whole movement from the very beginning.  This movie is a perfect example.  Some really interesting stuff every once in a while.  But mostly, he just delivers noise.  I know that I’m missing something.  I know that it’s me.  Maybe someday something will click and I’ll go “OHHHHH!!!” But for now, Godard seems like a little smart-ass jaggoff who hates movies and makes them only to poop all over them.

Last Year at Marienbad (’62)

Now, this movie is just as bizarre as Weekend.  Just as utterly inscrutable.  You think Mulholland Drive is enigmatic? Try this weirdie out.  But, holy shit, is it haunting.  Frustrating and slow and pretentious and slow and repetitive and slow - but absolutely completely totally mesmerizing.  I really really liked this one.  I’m looking forward to seeing it again to soak in some more of its mystery.

Cleo from 5 to 7 (’62)

This is another I had a problem with.  I always have this idealistic notion of the French New Wave that I want to see in their movies.  You ever see Bertolucci’s thrilling, sexy The Dreamers from 2003? That’s the type of giddy youthful atmosphere I want to see bleeding onto the celluloid of this unforgettable era.  Sometimes it’s there.  But mostly, I feel that these films are stuck in their conceited, self-conscious, bratty brains.  In this one: a young woman is waiting to hear the results of her biopsy, find out whether she has cancer, yada yada.  Really interesting premise.  Shallow results.  Yeah, I know it’s about a shallow woman.  But the movie itself feels shallower than she.  It’s only in the last 10-15 minutes, when she meets an intriguing stranger, that the movie allows any genuine interaction to take place. 

Jules and Jim (’62)

Francois Truffaut.  I like this guy.  Always have - ever since I saw him in Close Encounters.  He brought a new sense of urgency and playfulness to film that translates well to the present.  His storytelling hasn’t dated like much of his dusty colleagues’.  The story is driven by whimsy and momentary happiness.  It’s an exhilarating thing to see unravel.  It comments on and laughs at itself while still having fun.  In the meantime, there’s storytelling innovations galore.  Part of the importance of the French New Wave (I keep the “French” bit on there because there were many other international “New Waves”, including the current “Mexican” one) was that they were tearing apart the thing they loved, in order to put it together again.  Truffaut, to me, is one of the few FNW-ers to put it back together so lovingly…

Everyone loves a monkey shit fight, right? Sploosh, thhhpthpthpthpth, boom, stinky, poopy - monkey shit fight.  One at another.  A return.  Some collateral splatter and then more angry participants.  It’s difficult to clarify who got it started, but it sure is beautiful to see all that shit flying through the air, shit exploding onto faces, shit dripping from eye brows…

I mean, that’s why we have Jerry Springer, right? That’s why we have Cops and Cheaters and The Hills, right? To watch the silly monkeys bare their gapped tooth snarls, speak in a new language consisting mostly of beeps, whip their tits out to use as weapons, grab hair, gargle, hiss and like totally diss one another, bitch.  That’s why we’ve enjoyed the feud between Conan, Leno and NBC - to see the monkeys fling their shit.  Right? And maybe toss in a few juicy nuggets of our own?

Jay Leno is a cowardly, opportunistic, impassive, pandering hack.  There’s my piece of flying shit.  He seems like a good man - nice, loyal, fairly humble.  He’s certainly done good things.  But he is not harmless.

Here’s how it looks to me:

When Johnny Carson announced his retirement about twenty years ago, Jay Leno went into secret talks with NBC to secure his place on The Tonight Show behind the back of his friend (and heir extremely apparent) David Letterman.  Yeah, he had a ball-bashing agent who talked him into it, who made all the nasty moves.  And, yeah, he sacrificed her to his shocked (SHOCKED!) gods (after she got him what he wanted) lest it look as though he had condoned all those helpful sins.

Letterman moved to CBS and crushed Leno for some time.  So, Leno learned to find a more populist tone to his comedy - making easy targets out of woeful public figures like all talk show hosts, but reciting punchlines that anyone at home could easily sing along to, conducting by the numbers, vacant interviews with celebrities who surely could not be THIS boring.  

The man is brilliant at allowing you to turn off your mind, wait for keywords like OJ or Lewinsky and then laugh along with the studio audience who are laughing along to a light-up sign cueing them to laugh.  He eventually triumphed over Letterman by snagging an interview with the recently all-too-woeful Hugh Grant, obviously because Leno would never dream of asking him an interesting (aka scary) question.  Oh, how we Americans love our sticky scandals and grotesque mass apologies.  What better way for Leno to gain his permanent leg-up?

Leno continued to deliver America its cheap, greasy, fast-food comedy - perfecting wildly popular bits like Jaywalking, that basically just showed some people talking…you know, dumb.  Because if there ain’t no scandal we can laugh at, we want to see people act dumb real good and laff at ‘em.  He was the King of Late Night, without doubt.  The all-seeing man in the tower shaking his head at his lowly, trivia-impaired peasants… tossing them half-eaten, centuries old bits of parsnip and fruitcake. 

Somehow, NBC thought that this couldn’t possibly last.  They decided to give in to the popular later night kid, and de-throne the King a good 5-10 years prematurely.  His older-skewing audience surely would not be dead by 2009.  But, evidently, NBC thought that they would at least be getting to bed earlier - they would give Leno a prime-time show to keep him from becoming competition, hooray!

Well, Leno likes to go with the flow, be a team player…a “company man”, if you will - so he didn’t fight this decision.  Nevermind that he was absolutely the most powerful man in Late Night - he just went right along without holding out for a better deal.  Oh poor Jay Leno: NBC cancelled him and there wasn’t a thing he could do, not a thing the most powerful man in Late Night could do………

That’s the history of it.  We all know what’s going on now.  There’s been shit flying all over the place, from every possible direction, and it’s been extremely entertaining. 

Some of the harshest stuff has been coming from Letterman, who has been bringing up a bit of the history I just painted.  There will be a few who will tell him to “get over it”.  But I say: history happened for a reason.  History teaches.  History informs.  Letterman has a long, complicated history with Leno.  Move past it, yes.  But do not forget it.  That’s over thirty years worth of memories there.  Valuable stuff.  It’s not like he’s brought up the history every day on the show for the past twenty years.  He’s bringing it up now because it is relevant now.  Because there is something he sees as a link between the past injustices and the present.  And it’s very funny.  If in a depressing sort of way.

But Conan has been the one who has generated the most viewership from this.  And there’s a reason: because of the drama.  Because no comedy is as funny as angry comedy.  Comedy that comes from a direct emotional response.  Conan has been sharp and honest and passionate.  And candid.  His final goodbye Friday night - when he pleads with his young audience not to become cynical, to be kind and work hard - is one of the most gorgeous moments I’ve seen on TV. 

Leno, on the other had, has gained no added viewership over the past few weeks… because he doesn’t really give a shit and it’s absolutely clear to anyone who watches him.  He has just been making some dumb business-as-usual dumb jokes about how dumb the heads of dumb fat gay NBC are.  Oh, and that one jab about Letterman’s marriage.  Classy.  Smart.  Imaginative.  Jay Leno. 

I know that you can’t always be passionate and dramatic late at night, every single night.  But you can at least come at it from a personal, creative point of view.  Especially in these days of such political and ethical tension.  Yeah, late at night we want to wind down and laugh lightly.  But should we really just turn our minds off? Isn’t it better to tease our minds to the very end, watching real humans interact honestly and intelligently, taking a humorous and elegant look at the very things that trouble us when the sun’s out? Isn’t that smarter? Isn’t that better?

Is this all Jay Leno’s fault? No.  It’s not his fault at all.  It’s NBC.  It’s the lawyers and agents.  It’s ambition.  Jay Leno didn’t do a thing at all.  And he’s going to keep doing nothing for a long time.

I’m not being cynical, Conan, I promise.  I’m just being passionate and honest and (hopefully) sharp.  And candid.  Because I believe people are more interested in those things than just monkey shit fights.

If they really think about it.

A response to Janine’s Crazy Heart: If Only It Was All Music

A live concert featuring the music from the movie “would save folks the trouble of sitting through the two-plus hour glorified made-for-TV movie.”  “That characterization sounds harsh, but save for Bridges nuanced performance…the film has ‘Lifetime’ written all over it.”

-Janine

It’s easy to characterize Crazy Heart as Lifetime fluff.  You watch the previews, you think you’ve seen this movie before.  Heck, even while you’re watching it, you can probably guess what’s going to happen and be right.  This story’s been told.  Sure.  Many many many times - it’s been told.  There have been at least two other major musical biopics in recent years that have garnered much acclaim and attention…(even though they told essentially the same story)…

Ray - a real piece of horse shit, which panders to its audience a terrific impersonation (by the terrific ham Jamie Foxx) to make them feel as though they are watching something deeper than merely a checklist of events. 

Walk the Line - even though it fumbles with the requisite crisis and simplistic psychological cause for said crisis (a prick father and dead brother, in this…racism and a dead mother, in Ray…), the performances are alive, the music is alive, the whole thing feels very alive and very exciting.

And then there’s Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story, which rips these and many others apart (and somehow manages to create a sort of liveliness of its own). 

These stories CAN be told effectively, entertainingly, deeply.  Even though they’ve been told before. 

Even though they’ve been told before…on Lifetime.

Yes, goddammit, for the millionth time in print - Jeff Bridges is fucking incredible in this movie.  He lives in this character, relaxes in this character, charms in this character, and sometimes pukes violently (VIOLENTLY)…in this character - this character, this dude who feels so real - the larger-than-life, but all too human…Bad Blake.

But enough about him.  Bridges isn’t the only doing heavy lifting here.  There’s so much more to this movie than one goddamn performance.  I’m not going to make a list - that’d be silly.  Let’s just say that all the elements come together here to create something that feels alive (the catch-phrase of the day) and fun and moving.  It’s good storytelling that doesn’t get in its own way.

There are moments here that are little masterpieces.  Beautiful little moments - scattered about without much effort.  Just watching Bad Blake meeting people - and he meets a lot of people - is such a pleasure…sharing a few words (kind or surly), negotiating a bar bill, negotiating a one night stand, arguing with the sound check, maybe making some music before a gig…

Would a Lifetime movie have that stunning, quiet scene with Maggie Gyllenhaal’s character Jean watching Bad Blake write a song in her bed and realize, devastatingly, everything she is going to remember and feel about that moment well into her future? That scene killed me.  Just about every scene between Jean and Bad Blake killed me.  Theirs is some of the sexiest chemistry I have seen in a movie for years.

“In a plot devoid of twists and edge-of-your-seat conflicts, [the song]“The Weary Kind” serves as a satisfying coda and any preview of the song’s lyrics or penetrating melody cancels out the need to see the movie.”

Yes, Janine, the music is genuinely exceptional.  And, no, there are no twists or edge-of-your-seat conflicts.  We’ve seen that.  Many times.  World-weary but talented man, haunted, tormented, broken, but charismatic and exciting, an understanding woman, a breakdown, a deeper breakdown, a cry for help, a slow ascent from hell, bitter-sweet redemption.  Yeah.  Got it. 

Crazy Heart follows it right down the line.  One long cliché, I admit it.  But one of the reasons we have clichés is because clichés are so often lived.  Or dreamed.  Either way, there is truth to be found there.  Some use clichés for cynical reasons.  Others…well, for that big T word, I just used.  I believe this movie is in love with that big T.  And it shows.  Achingly, at times.

This movie is not perfect.  It is probably not a masterpiece.  But it is beautiful.  And it is no Lifetime movie.

It’s Monday, which means list time. However, I’m breaking a few rules. First, this list contains just five items instead of 11. Why? Maybe it’s my own mini protest against the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences’ decision to include 10 nominees in the Best Picture category at this year’s Academy Awards. This new practice cheapens the significance of scoring a nomination and I’m not going to do the same to the items below. Also, I’m focusing on television. Deal with it.

Without further adieu, here are the top five greatest moments in television history:

1) “Clarabell’s Big Surprise”

On the final episode of the long-running children’s program, “The Howdy Doody Show,” Clarabell the Clown reveals to Buffalo Bob that he can, in fact, talk. After years of communicating through the honk of a horn and a penchant for spraying seltzer on fellow cast members, the loveable clown looks into the camera in the final seconds of the show and just barely above a whisper, tearfully says “goodbye kids” before the screen fades to black. I’ve seen a total of two episodes of “The Howdy Doody Show” in my life, but the characters cross generations. For anyone who has had to bid farewell to a favorite television show after multiple seasons, this moment encapsulates the feeling of loss. Looking at the show from an outsider’s perspective, it’s also heartbreaking to witness these guys basically losing a job they needed and loved. Just try watching this without shedding a tear. The big moment comes in at the 2:51 mark.

2) “Shut the Door, Have a Seat”

The season three finale of “Mad Men” will go down as one of the greatest finales ever broadcast. Between the caper-like feel of assembling a rogue team to launch a new advertising firm with Don Draper at the helm and the excrutiating demise of Draper’s marriage, the episode popped on so many levels. But, the stand-out moment occurs between Draper and his protégé Peggy. Angered by the way Don assumes she’ll do whatever he tells her and still smarting from a past meeting where Don takes all of his bottled-up frustrations and unjustly lays into her, Peggy takes a stand and flirts with other offers. This forces Don to pay Peggy a special visit at her home to convince her to join him in this new endeavor. He doesn’t beg or plead (that’s not Don Draper’s style), he calmly states her worth both professionally and personally. Peggy knows if she stays with the man who single-handedly allowed her to break the glass ceiling and move up from the secretary pool into her own office, she’ll have to endure Don’s mood swings and ego, but if she walks away from the offer, she’ll lose her mentor forever. “If I say no, you’ll never speak to me again,” she tearfully says knowing the answer before she even utters the words. And then, unexpectedly, almost uncharacteristically, Don looks her straight in the eye and stoically says, “No, I will spend the rest of my life trying to hire you.” After three seasons of rooting for Don Draper despite the infidelity, the lies, the inability to connect with another human being on any level other than “it’s just business,” this moment confirms that all is not lost. Don Draper can be redeemed. The heart-dropping scene occurs at the 3:40 mark.

Mad Men: Season three recap

3)  “Losing My Religion”

The season two finale of “Grey’s Anatomy” stands as the most impressive multi-part episode in the show’s history.  It’s a feat the show’s writers have yet to beat.  In fact, it’s probably impossible.  Izzy risked her medical license to ensure Denny finally received a heart transplant by cutting his LVAD wire while Burke suffered a gunshot wound to the arm, which threatened to end his career.  They somehow managed to even squeeze in a prom at the hospital for the chief’s dying niece.  In an episode with a jaw-dropping amount of emotional high and low points, the most memorable was the sight of Izzy, dressed in a rose-hued formal prom dress, draped across Denny’s dead body in his hospital bed.  Somewhere between coming out of surgery successfully, proposing to Izzy and making it through the night, Denny’s new heart petered out.  Meredith, George and Christina stand by helplessly while Izzy refuses to leave the side of her dead patient/boyfriend after all she risked to give him a happily-ever-after.  Alex — battling his own feelings for Izzy and disdain for the patient who stole her affections — carries Izzy away from Denny’s lifeless body.  While she sobs in Alex’s arms, the opening notes of Snow Patrol’s “Chasing Cars” begin.  This moment made Snow Patrol stars in the States, contributed to Katherine Heigl’s Emmy win and induced the biggest cryfest among women ages 18 to 35 since “Titanic.”

3)  “Self-esteem”

Angela Chase spends most of “My So-Called Life” pining for the elusive Jordan Catalano.  When she finally gets to lock lips with the boy of her dreams, he wants to keep it a secret.  Ditching out on friends and skipping a much-needed geometry review, Angela stealthily meets Jordan Catalano in the infamous boiler room for hot-and-heavy make-out session.  Unsurprisingly, Jordan Catalano ignores her infront of his friends and at school.  Fed up with the duality of the situation, Angela puts the kibosh on swapping spit in the boiler room and decides to turn her attention to more pressing matters like her failing grade in geometry.  In the end, Jordan Catalano realizes he’s a bonehead and upon seeing Angela standing by her locker, struts towards her to the surging sounds of Buffalo Tom’s “Late at Night” in the background and asks if they can find a better place to…er…talk.  She concedes and as they walk away, he takes her hand and leads her down the crowded hallway while everyone looks on.  Some look on deflated, consumed by unrequited love (Brian), some with genuine surprise (Jordan’s friends) and others take in the view with a mixture of envy and joy (Ricky).  In the series’ short-lived, but critically-acclaimed run, the moment Jordan Catalano clasps Angela’s hand remains a turning point and an enduring romantic gesture.  Never mind that only a few episodes later he dumps the girl for not giving up her V-card.  This is what high school dreams are made of.

5)  Day 4:  1:00 p.m. - 2:00 p.m.

Jack Bauer can’t afford friends.  He either ends up killing them, getting them killed, torturing them or suffering a betrayal at their hands.  In season four of “24″ Jack calls on “the only person I can trust right now” to help him and Audrey out of a pickle.  The list couldn’t have been very long, but viewers searched their brains to figure out the identity of the one who would come in and save the day — something Jack usually accomplishes on his own.  As Jack and Audrey fend for their lives against a group of terrorists, Jacks’ knight in shining armor appears and it’s none other than the long-thought-dead Tony.  The appearance of the original cast member elicited shouts of joy from viewers.  There may have even been a few instances of fist pumping in certain households.  The writers of “24″ have killed and resurrected Tony too many times as a tiresome plot device, but this was the first and sweetest.

Honorable Mention:

“You Don’t Bring Me Flowers”

Oh the pain!  Barbra Streisand and Neil Diamond’s duet on “You Don’t Bring Me Flowers” at the Grammy Awards has appeared on nearly every highlight reel since it aired in 1980.  The two mega-stars stand on opposite sides of the stage as they begin the divorcing couples lament and inch closer together as the lyrics pinpoint the happier times.  When Streisand brushes Diamond’s cheek with a soft caress of her hand the crowd goes nuts.  It’s seductive, it’s sweet, it’s pained and poignant.  Say what you will about the sappy factor of the song and the loss of street cred one would endure by admitting allegiance to either artist, but based on this tour de force alone, they deserved every minute of their standing ovation.

]]> http://www.thedevilsavocado.com/2010/01/25/list-top-five-moments-in-television-history/feed/ http://www.thedevilsavocado.com/2010/01/05/crazy-heart-if-only-it-was-all-music/ http://www.thedevilsavocado.com/2010/01/05/crazy-heart-if-only-it-was-all-music/#comments Tue, 05 Jan 2010 07:30:58 +0000 Janine Schaults http://www.thedevilsavocado.com/?p=628

Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans

Nothing like the 1992 original masterpiece. And NOTHING like that bland, generic poster they’re trying to promote this thing with. This is a lively, funny, bizarre, BIZARRE ride that dances wildly on the boundaries of taste, genre and sanity. You’ll be hearing a lot about how this is Cage’s best performance in years. This performance is everything you  used to love about Cage, while having a little fun with everything you now hate.  And let’s not forget director Herzog, who is just as visible here as the star - this is possibly the most entertaining movie he’s ever made.  That might not mean much to some, so I’ll go further - this is definitely one of the most entertaining movies of 2009.

The Merry Gentleman

Michael Keaton hasn’t done his career (once glowing huge with blockbusters like Batman and several classic comedies and dramadies) any favors since inexplicably taking on Jack Frost. But few actors are capable of being this smart, this funny, this watchable, this dark and eccentric on such a quiet, understated level (though he has certainly had his showboat numbers).  He brings those same sensibilities to his directorial debut - a movie that brilliantly puts to use Chicago and a nice selection of her actors (most notably the great Guy Van Swearingen).

Land of the Lost

Really really really not a good movie. Personally, I think the problem rose from deciding to make it PG-13 instead of PG and casting Ferrell as a prideful doofus scientist rather than a dad. You may know very little about the original show - but if you know anything, you likely know that it is about a dad and his two kids in a sort of Dino Land.  Most of the gags are unbelievably inapporopriate for the only audience young enough to follow the story with any interest.  And wouldn’t you rather see Ferrell as a Dad instead of his usual jackass character? Wouldn’t that have been fun? But I love Ferrell and Danny McBride - and they do what they can here.  Plus I geek out over sci-fi/fantasy settings - however cheesy.  I was about to say I still like this movie a tiny little bit…and then I listened to jag-bag Brad Silberling’s director commentary.  What a jag.

Memories of Murder

If you liked Fincher’s masterpiece Zodiac, you should try this flick from Korea. Another one that is much more about the maddeningly unsatisfying years of detective work trying to catch a serial killer…rather than the serial killing. I suspect that’s one of the reasons kids didn’t like Zodiac, actually - the lack of stabbery. (This is also based on a true story…and one of Tarantino’s favorite movies of the last two decades…)