The Return of Tribeca - And Me

I've been a terrible blogger the past two months, I know. I promised I'd write a Watchmen review - and didn't. I wanted to sing the praises of Sugar and Duplicity - never got around to it. I wanted to rave about how Amy Adams finally played something beyond charming (in Sunshine Cleaning) - so much for that idea.

Now we're at my favorite time of the cinema year, the Tribeca Film Festival. Once again, I'm volunteering in the Industry department. Alas, this year we don't have formal press and industry screenings, so I have no fun buzz to pass along. All the flicks I see will be as an audience member. I sprung for a fancy ticket package that allowed me early access to my purchases, and it was worth every bit of that $225. The only thing I couldn't get between that and my American Express card was the fancy, talking-heads screening of The Girlfriend Experience. I'll have to "settle" for the world premiere instead.

Here's what I'll be seeing in the coming weeks. I'll be filing dispatches as I did in 2008.

1) Lost Son of Havana, a Luis Tiant documentary.
http://www.tribecafilm.com/filmguide/The_Lost_Son_of_Havana.html

2) Black Dynamite, a blaxsploitation sendup. If it's even half as good as Undercover Brother, I'll be gleeful. P.S. This sold out faster than anything else at the festival. Thank goodness for the Harrison Package.
http://www.tribecafilm.com/filmguide/Black_Dynamite.html?c=y&3301=170131&curView=browseDetail&sortBy=title

3) Soundtrack for a Revolution, a documentary combining history and soul music. All it would need to be a perfect blend for me: sports. I guess I'm getting that fix three days earlier. I'm also excited my friend Carrie K. came down from Boston for the weekend for, among other things, the festival.
http://www.tribecafilm.com/filmguide/Soundtrack_for_a_Revolution.html?c=y&page=2&&sortBy=title&curView=browseDetail&searchStartDate=04-18-2009&3301=170216&pageSize=15

4) Burning down the House: The Story of CBGB. More music documentary, more friends from out of town - this time Amy from Kansas.
http://www.tribecafilm.com/filmguide/Burning_Down_the_House_The_Story_of_CBGB.html?c=y&3301=170131&curView=browseDetail&sortBy=title

5) Playground. Michelle's and my trifecta of tough women's documentaries begins. Amy, who's in the NYC area for the entire festival, joins us. http://www.tribecafilm.com/filmguide/Playground.html?c=y&3301=170201&curView=browseDetail&sortBy=title

6) The Girlfriend Experience. The aforementioned world premiere.
http://www.tribecafilm.com/filmguide/The_Girlfriend_Experience.html?c=y&3301=170156&curView=browseDetail&sortBy=title

7) Easy Virtue. I know the film has a distributor and a release date, but I am such a sucker for British costume productions based on literary works. How can I resist?
http://www.tribecafilm.com/filmguide/Easy_Virtue.html

8) Rachel. Part 2 of my documentary tour with Michelle.
http://www.tribecafilm.com/filmguide/Rachel.html?c=y&3301=170211&curView=browseDetail&sortBy=title

9) Fixer: The Taking of Ajmal Nagshbandi. The last of the tough-issues collection with Michelle. The flick has received great buzz in several publications, including New York magazine. Of course, as a good journalist, I find this intriguing.
http://www.tribecafilm.com/filmguide/Fixer_The_Taking_of_Ajmal_Naqshbandi.html?c=y&3301=170151&curView=browseDetail&sortBy=title

More Oscar Thoughts (fashion and show)

A long-lost Oscar buddy chose to reply to my last blog post over email, the form of communication I used when I wrote back to her. I'm copying and pasting the majority of that email over here as my show review.

How could I forget to mention Goldie Hawn??? My mother and I were aghast when we saw her. Meryl Streep was a beautifully dressed mature woman; in fact, it was the best we'd ever seen her look at an awards show. The dove gray is not my favorite color in the world, but at least Ms. Streep looked age-appropriate. Hawn, on the other hand, continues to think she's her daughter. I don't want to see that much of my own cleavage in the shower, never mind the cleavage of a woman twice my age on the Academy stage.

Brad Pitt also had distracting jewelry. Did he show up in his class ring?

The commentators on the E! fashion-show recap last night said Tilda Swinton was fashion-forward. Eh? I thought it was better than the Hefty bag, but that's not saying much.

THE SHOW:

I've found reaction to Hugh Jackman interesting. Most TV critics have been "meh," but message-board posters have been a lot more positive. I'm with the on-the-couch crowd. I really enjoyed the opening number and him in general. The Steve Martin/Tina Fey patter was awesome, but most comedy stuff doesn't work for hours on end. I'm so glad the Academy decided to go non-comedian for a year.

I thought the grouping of similar awards was a great idea: It sped the show along, and it kept us from suffering through minor stars cluttering up my time. On the other hand, this means we had to sit through killer yearbook filler. Why? Sure, the Judd Apatow short was funny - stoner James Franco watching Milk James Franco was hysterical - and my mother enjoyed the musical sequence (I found it too slapped together), but why were they there?

Also a mess: The presentation of the best-song numbers (again, five songs could've been nominated this year) and the bizarre pan-and-scan during the dead-people montage. I didn't mind Queen Latifah singing - her jazz albums are great - but I didn't know where to focus. It didn't help that I couldn't read the names of some of the people who died.

I really enjoyed the way the acting awards were presented, and it allowed us to see stars we haven't in some time. (Eva Marie Saint: another classily dressed older woman. Goldie? Whoopi? Are you taking notes?) Some of the patter bugged me - see Nicole Kidman introducing Angelina Jolie - but for the most part, the presenters seemed so excited to be introducing their peers' work. I especially enjoyed Swinton on Marisa Tomei, Shirley MacLaine on Anne Hathaway (and Hathaway's reaction), and Robert DeNiro (!!!) on Sean Penn.

As for the winners ... I like Slumdog, but it's overhyped. (I support Best Director for Danny Boyle, though.) I favored Frost/Nixon or Milk. I was thrilled for Sean Penn, although a teeny part of me hoped against hope for Richard Jenkins. I know this is an unpopular sentiment, but I was not rooting for Kate Winslet. I didn't like her in The Reader at all. Had she been nominated for Revolutionary Road, I would have been all over that. (My pick was Hathaway.) Heath Ledger's family handled his award acceptance very well. As for Penelope Cruz: I normally don't like her or Woody Allen. That I enjoyed her and Vicky Cristina Barcelona as much as I did means that was one justly deserved award.

White-Out

A review of the show will come later. I'm including a link to USA Today's photo gallery and numbers in parentheses so you can judge some shots for yourself. See the fashions link about a third of the way down on the left.

http://www.usatoday.com/life/default.htm

Boston is experiencing yet another snow and ice storm today. That doesn't mean I needed to have Hollywood fashionistas create a homage to it on the red carpet last night.

Yes, Oscar fashion was one big yawn and miss. We didn't see black, black, black - or, as we did at the Screen Actors Guild Awards, red, red, red - so I suppose that left us with the last remaining generic neutral: white, or something really close to it. A couple of people did this well, namely Penelope Cruz (2). My mother and I simultaneously said her Balmain dress looked bridal (we did this with the same vocal inflections; clearly, we are related), but it was pretty nevertheless, and it fit. My father liked it, too. Unlike Anne Hathaway (4) and Evan Rachel Wood (27), Cruz's neckline didn't aim for artistic: With Hathaway and Wood, their structured tops made them look as if they weren't filling out their strapless dresses enough. Unlike Sarah Jessica Parker (6) and her "barely mint," Marisa Tomei (5), and Miley Cyrus (17), Cruz had a dress that was poufy without being over-the-top busy. Unlike Jennifer Aniston (16), Cruz mixed up her usual looks. (Note to Aniston: Beach hair, tan skin, black or off-white dress are overdone. I feel as if I saw that look in 1999 ... and 2003 ... and...)

Oh, Annie and SJP! I adore you both. Ms. Hathaway, you're someone I've eagerly awaited on the carpet for years, and your style is one I admire in my real life. This time, though ... I like the Armani Prive dress more in photos than I did on TV. I can see that it's more silver than white, and it has some nice pleating. It's just that a column dress disappoints me, and the severe updo/pale face/dark lip look has become fallback makeup for you at the Oscars. (I did enjoy you on stage with Hugh Jackman. Shirley MacLaine is right: You should keep singing.) As for SJP, I know you frequently take style risks and make over-the-top choices. This Dior haute couture dress, though, seemed like a reject from the Sex and the City movie. Oh, Miley? You're much, much too young for a dress than big. It's pretty, but it does weigh more than you.

Another white dress I mostly liked: Taraji P. Henson's (3), by Cavali. She had to keep picking up her train, which I found distracting, but she owned her look. The ruffles were subtle and made the column dress more interesting, she went for one mega piece of bling, and she sported short, shiny, healthy hair. That last part alone made her a carpet standout.

Nothing was worse than Jessica Biel (7), in Prada. "Her face looks tired," I said to my mother when Biel first appeared on screen. "She looks like she rolled out of bed and tied a sheet around her," my mother complained. I couldn't have said it better myself.

Someone who wore white who worked: Mickey Rourke (8). Seriously. At this point, he has a style all his own, as Diane Keaton does, and we might as well accept it. He accessorized his outfit with a sparkly vest, sharp eyewear, and a pendant of his recently deceased dog, Loki, who died six days earlier.

She didn't wear white, but Freida Pinto (15) also disappointed me. Her choices during awards season have been fantastic, and I told my father before the show that I'd been looking forward to her more than just about anyone else on the carpet. The color of the Galliano dress: vibrant. That sleeve, on the other hand: vicious. It reminded me of a heavily tattooed man. This isn't the image one wants to evoke for the most glamorous night on the Hollywood calendar.

Angelina Jolie (1) - another black dress. Ho hum. The Elie Saab was a little less of a sack than usual, but it remainded flowy and drapy and ... By the way, something in her face looks off, and it's distracting. Will she be able to smile and emote in five years?

With Beyonce Knowles (24), a clean, fresh face and a swingy ponytail meet some crazy gold embroidery (although I think it looks more painted on) and an unusual hem. Most people hated it. I don't mind it so much on her because she's Beyonce. Put that on, say, Tomei, and I would have gone screaming to the Cher Hall of Shame.

Kate Winslet (9) looked too severe, and the structured hairstyle was way too distracting: I kept wondering how much gel went into that look. At 33, Winslet is just a year older than I am, but last night I thought she could pass for my aunt rather than my sister. It reminded me of the year Reese Witherspoon won: another woman my age, looking way too old. (Speaking of Witherspoon (43), she didn't walk the carpet, but she was on the telecast. I'm not sure what that neckline was. It made the dress look cheap.)

The reds didn't have it. Heidi Klum (13) in Mouret, also with bordering-on-greasy hair; Amanda Seyfried (23) and a ginormous bow in Valentino; Amy Adams (12) in Carolina Herrera. I liked the shade of red on Adams, but it blended exactly into the red carpet. Not good. I also HATED the necklace. Beer-bottle shards strung together?

So, did I fully embrace anyone? Yes. One person. When I first saw her on the Oscar preshow, I sighed and said, "She looks just lovely." Natalie Portman (10) and your pink Rodarte, thank you. You picked a color no one else did - Alicia Keys' dress, also very nice, is similar but lilac - and you didn't make yourself older than you are. You recognized that you were a presenter, not an attendant or a nominee, so you didn't go over the top. It was just a heavenly concoction.

I Miss Siskel, Too

I remember when Gene Siskel died. It was 10 years ago tomorrow, and I was on my first trip to Hollywood. I was on my then-boyfriend's couch, and we were stunned into silence for a good five minutes.

At the Movies hasn't been the same since, and the current incarnation is just awful. Look, I'm young, too, but I think I'm smarter and more critical than at least one of those hosts.

http://blogs.suntimes.com/ebert/2009/02/i_remember_gene.html

Buttoning Down the Hatches to Write

I can picture parts of a Slumdog Millionaire review, but not a beginning or an end. However, I made myself sit at the computer while doing laundry this afternoon, and somehow a review of The Curious Case of Benjamin Button came to be.

I dragged my feet on seeing this and finally went more than a week after Oscar nominations were announced. I can't remember the last time I hadn't seen all the Best Picture nominees before the reveal of the final five - pathetic for me. I wish the wait had been worth it. I wish I liked Button as much as Sandra, my cousin Tom, and later my parents did. Nope.

I'll say this much: It's the better Brangelina film of 2008.

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button represents a case of grand moviemaking gone curiously stillborn.

About an hour and a half into this Oscar-nominated epic, I wrote, “This is supposed to be a big, great, sweeping, magical film, and yet … this movie is inert.” That I could compose that coherent a sentence while watching this time-traveling drama proves how unengaged I felt. When Cate Blanchett and her Australian counterpart, Tilda Swinton, were on screen, I found Button involving (as long as Blanchett wasn’t slathered in makeup). Otherwise, David Fincher’s direction needed more vigor to keep boredom from pervading my thoughts.

That’s right. This is David Fincher, the same Fincher who made Fight Club and Zodiac. While those films mesmerize and energize, Button is, all too often, sluggish and remote. For every well-shot, suspenseful torpedo tugboat scene, we have dialogue overwhelmed by Alexandre Desplat’s score and Brad Pitt looking as if he’s auditioning for a remake of The Way We Were. We also have a movie where pancake and powder are the order of the day, characters in their own distracting way. “Pretty” usually wins out over “substance” in Button.

The screenwriter of Forrest Gump, Eric Roth, is adapting again, this time his own 1994 movie ... I mean, an F. Scott Fitzgerald story about a man (Pitt) aging backward. (The adaptation is very, very loose.) A babe is born, looking eightysomething, in 1918 New Orleans and abandoned by his father on the steps of an old folks’ home run by a Gone with the Wind-esque mammy (Taraji P. Henson). As time advances, our boy, played by Pitt in various layers of makeup and computer manipulation, becomes physically younger, and he connects with one resident’s granddaughter (Blanchett; Elle Fanning as a child). At points, we break from the flashbacks for wheezy dying sequences in August 2005 in a Southern hospital.

In Gump, history pivoted around Tom Hanks’ character. In Button, the characters aren’t connected to the outside world, minus the badly shoehorned Hurricane Katrina framing. We didn’t need Benjamin to, say, overhear Truman planning the use of the atomic bomb, but Button uses history the way lazy filmmakers employ the Empire State Building as an establishing New York shot. It’s throwaway at best, Symbolism 101 at worst.

Surprisingly, the love story between Benjamin and Daisy captivated this grouchy cynic. “Sleep with me,” she moans when they’re finally in an age-appropriate relationship. “Absolutely,” he replies, eagerly. It’s the sexiest thing People’s two-time Sexiest Man Alive has ever said, and it catapults Button in a way none of the special effects do.

In a long black jersey dress and flowing red hair, ballet dancer Blanchett isn’t the siren one expects but instead a lovely evoker of wistful melancholy. Swinton plays an earlier Benjamin lover, an older, dissatisfied woman whose arc comes to a delightful, quirky conclusion. As for Pitt, it’s hard to say how what he’s doing for much of Button is acting. He’s mostly posing and reacting, often deficient in emotion. Brad, give your nomination to Leo.

Good, Not Great

This was supposed to be the intro to my Slumdog Millionaire review. It became so long I decided it merited its own post. The Slumdog review will appear later Thursday, under separate cover.

I've seen Slumdog Millionaire twice. The first time was day before Thanksgiving, the week after the movie opened in Boston. I liked the structure, and I enjoyed it as a director's movie (which is odd - I'm more a written than visual kind of gal), although even then I remarked to my mother that I found Slumdog slightly overhyped.

Ten weeks later, Slumdog had won just about every award out there, and it seems to be on its way to an Oscar trouncing Sunday. My movie buddy Patricia had yet to see the film; meanwhile, I wondered if I'd missed a sprinkling of the fairy dust that would result in me salivating as much as many other critics.

My second viewing only enforced the feelings I had the first time around.

Will I be OK with the inevitable Slumdog victories Sunday, namely Best Picture? Yeah, I guess. I'm rooting for Danny Boyle to win Best Director. Slumdog is much better than The Reader and the endless inertia known as The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. (That review is coming Friday.) It isn't Frost/Nixon or Milk, though. Patricia's one-word description hits upon many of my Slumdog gripings: "contrived."

Today's Highway-Robbery Reminder

I know I live in the most expensive place around to go to the movies. I know the Regal Cinemas seem to be especially pricey, even having the nerve to charge more for flicks on Fridays and Saturdays. Unlike the AMC chain, Regal doesn't offer a delightful $6-before-noon special on weekends. Still, I don't think I realized how absurd New York prices are until just now, as I was editing Regal Entertainment's earnings in my real-world job.

Please see the chart below. Note the bolded section:
Operating Data Quarter Ended
Jan. 1, Dec. 27
2009 2007
Theatres at period end 552 527
Screens at period end 6,801 6,388
Average screens 12.3 12.1
per theatre
Attendance 61,756 53,320
(in thousands)
Average ticket price $ 7.75 $ 7.58
Average concessions $ 3.13 $ 2.97
per patron

Excuse me: The average ticket price across Regal is $7.75? What??? In New York City, it costs almost $13 for a regular ticket! Where is it significantly less than $13 to give us this $7.75 average? And the average concession per patron is $3.13? I'm not kidding: I'm not even sure I can find anything for less than $3.13 at the Battery Park or Times Square concession stands!

Back to work and mulling a Slumdog Millionaire review ...

The Best Film of 2008

Frost/Nixon and Milk are two of the best movies of 2008. Rarely do films live up to their hype or even your own hopes. That it happened for me twice on Christmas week indicates that yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.

I saw Frost/Nixon on Broadway in August 2007, and I've been awaiting its screen adaptation pretty much ever since. I saw Doubt a week beforehand, though, and given how shaky a move that made to celluloid, I began to worry.

Thank goodness I didn't have to worry here. My fellow Frost/Nixon fan Patricia accompanied me. We loved it. I can't wait to see this again.

Like the recent Doubt, Frost/Nixon transitions from stage to screen. Unlike Doubt's John Patrick Shanley, Frost/Nixon director Ron Howard and screenwriter Peter Morgan (who also wrote the play) allow their story - British talk-show host David Frost's somewhat fictionalized 1977 interviews with Richard Nixon - to breathe and even grow.

Michael Sheen and Frank Langella reprise their Broadway work as Frost and Nixon. Joining them onscreen: Kevin Bacon as Nixon loyalist Col. Jack Brennan, Matthew Macfayden as Frost producer John Birt, Oliver Platt as ABC journalist Bob Zelnick (looking nothing like his real-life counterpart) and Sam Rockwell as Nixon-hating professor James Reston.

It's easy to hate Nixon, yet the filmmakers and performers don't opt for this simplicity. Howard shoots the drama's opening moments, Nixon's resignation, from behind, giving the man respect and privacy; he echoes this with the film's last frame. Langella had Morgan include dialogue to illuminate Nixon's loneliness in office, and Howard features a scene of the consummate politician petting a dog - but in that uncomfortable, forced-jovial Nixon way.

When Anthony Hopkins played Nixon in Oliver Stone's 1995 biopic, it felt like a hammy imitation. Langella doesn't look like the 37th president - for one thing, he's several inches taller - but he captures the man's awkward essence. He's that socially backward soul who never learned how to make a joke, that brooder with a permanent chip on his shoulder. Morgan imagines a phone call where a drunken Nixon exposes his insecurities. It's the type of scene where an actor could chew scenery, but Langella plays it perfectly, giving us a portrait of alienation.

As Frost, Sheen shows he can play more than Tony Blair (The Deal and The Queen, other Morgan scripts), and he play this role well, too. Frost starts off a starry-eyed, "Insider"-like journalist, nowhere near as serious as he believes himself to be. Only when he's met someone more manipulative and savvy than himself in Nixon, outwardly his opposite, does the charmer slump and slouch. Like Nixon, Frost is desperate; unlike his adversary, Frost doesn't let desperation overwhelm him.

The newcomers to Frost/Nixon work wonders, too, notably Kevin Bacon, who personifies "steely gaze" and "stiff upper lip." When is this man ever going to receive recognition from the Academy?

Howard, Morgan and their cast have presented us with an engrossing cat-and-mouse game. Frost/Nixon makes for history at its most riveting.

Milking Good Acting for All It's Worth

I meant to do a combo review, but time is getting away from me. Take what I have so far.

A pioneering homosexual district supervisor and a disgraced Republican president make an unlikely duo. This winter, you'll find these 1970s icons, Harvey Milk and Richard Nixon, in some of the same multiplexes in two absorbing, Oscar-nominated dramas with towering lead performances.

Sean Penn smiles! Sean Penn can be ebullient! Sean Penn's immense range includes "joy!" Milk, Gus van Sant's biopic of the rise and death of America's first openly gay politician, is a marvel in casting; just about every portrayer is a ringer for his or her real-life counterpart. Although Milk ends with death, this tale of 1970s San Francisco oozes life.

Van Sant and screenwriter Dustin Lance Black do several things right. First, they present Harvey Milk not as a martyr (although they beat the death premonitions heavily) but as a funny, shrewd, distracted businessman, politician and lover.

"Politics is about theater. It isn't about winning; it's about making a statement," Harvey explains as he makes run after run before being elected supervisor of District 5. He's not a one-issue candidate: We see Harvey forging alliances with the unions over Coors and reaching out to the conservative Dan White (Josh Brolin). He's also caught up in his work, to the detriment of relationships with longtime lover Scott (James Franco) and unstable boyish Jack (Diego Luna, a love story not well-developed).

The filmmakers don't muffle Harvey's flamboyance. Three years after the chaste love scenes in Brokeback Mountain, Milk depicts Penn picking up Franco in a subway station and bringing him home the same night - within the first five minutes of the movie. Penn's speech pattern and body language are in your face, daring the Dan Whites of the audience to squirm. Yet Harvey is so charming and open it's easy to accept him.

Van Sant recreates the Castro of the 1970s and incorporates actual footage and newspaper articles of the era. Black engaged in meticulous research, speaking with 40 or so people from campaign manager Anne Kronenberg (Alison Pill) to Milk protege and AIDS-quilt founder Cleve Jones (a stunning Emile Hirsch). This makes Milk feel more documentary than biography.

In a stroke of good timing for distributor Focus Features, Milk parallels the Proposition 8 fight in California with the failure of Proposition 6, which would have mandated the firing of gay teachers. (Anita Bryant, who led the battle for Prop 6, is the one person Van Sant didn't cast: She appears only in television clips.) Milk also echoes the election of another minority hope-filled politician, the one occupying the White House. Harvey notes that hope can't be all one has, but "without hope, life's not worth living."

1967: In the Heat of the Night

I probably should have started the 1967 project with In the Heat of the Night, as it's the big winner of the year at the Oscars, but I wanted to get the first "Revisiting" post out. Now I can do this in a more proper order.

2) In the Heat of the Night (winner of five Oscars, including Best Picture, Actor, Adapted Screenplay). My first viewing

Based on what I read before Pictures at a Revolution, I viewed In the Heat of the Night as the "compromise" Best Picture: more daring than Guess Who's Coming to Dinner, not as edgy as Bonnie and Clyde or The Graduate. I also thought it was a typical black/white buddy movie, with saintly Sidney Poitier educating racist Rod Steiger (who won Best Actor).

My impressions were incorrect. In the Heat of the Night is a worthy winner, mostly eschewing sappy bonding moments in favor of biting dialogue - Stirling Silliphant adapted John Bell's novel - and uneasy relationships. Sometimes the words amuse: "What do you mean I have the wrong man? I have the motive which is money and the body which is dead!" Steiger's exasperated Chief Gillespie huffs. More often, the story sears, a murder mystery on the surface but at its core an honest look at racial interactions featuring an educated, “interloping” black detective, Virgil Tibbs (Poitier), and a long-established, wary white police chief (Steiger).

Poitier seethes in depicting the treatment Virgil receives in Sparta, Mississippi. "May I see the man I'm supposed to have killed?" the Philadelphia-based detective sneers at one point. When a white man, Endicott, bristles at being questioned and slaps him, Virgil slaps Endicott back. Poitier developed an ulcer during production, and it seems he decided Virgil had one, too. "They call me Mister Tibbs," Poitier hisses in his most famous line. The actor said Virgil is his favorite of his roles; it's an absurd oversight the Academy didn’t even nominate him.

Director Norman Jewison rarely lapses into stereotype, and he uses a great bluesy opening by Ray Charles and a Quincy Jones score a flavor to accompany the oppressive Southern summer heat. (The movie was shot in fall in Illinois, and the actors kept ice chips in their mouth so their breathe wouldn’t appear on camera.) Forty years later, In the Heat of the Night still crackles.

Revisiting ... The Graduate

Late last year, I told my cousin Mary that I wanted to start a monthly feature for the blog in which I watched a movie I hadn't seen in years. It could be something I adored when I first saw it or a flick I didn't care for even though many others do. I even watched The English Patient and took notes on it to prepare for this project. Then, of course, life interfered.

While cleaning out my 2008 notebook, I remembered another project I wanted to start. Therefore, this entry gives me the opportunity to do that and to start "Revisiting."

The 1960s were a turbulent decade, a furious energy reflected in Hollywood and many films of 1967. Mark Harris, a longtime presence at Entertainment Weekly, traces the evolution of the five movies nominated for Best Picture, four with social leanings and one old-fashioned big-budget song-and-dance epic. Inspired by Harris' book, Pictures at a Revolution, I decided to watch or re-watch the five flicks in question, looking at their quality overall and their relevance today. It's funny how time has changed opinions - including mine.

1) The Graduate (winner of Best Director Oscar). My second viewing; first was in 1996.

When I first watched The Graduate, I was 20 years old and, like our protagonist, a soon-to-be college graduate. I related to Benjamin's (Dustin Hoffman) anxiety and disaffect (although I always had too much ambition to be like him). The script by Calder Willingham and Buck Henry spoke to me, as it did to many people in their teens and 20s in the late 1960s: It was nominated for Best Adapted Screenplay. As for Anne Bancroft, I remember thinking her Mrs. Robinson a cold, bitter shrew. Otherwise, The Graduate held a place on my all-time Top 10 list for years.

Funny what a decade or so of life experience can do for you.

Today, I notice The Graduate more as a directorial achievement - that's a well-deserved Oscar for Mike Nichols - and less for its storyline, now so often copied. Nichols uses light and shadow for great dramatic effect, e.g., staging conversations between Benjamin and Mrs. Robinson in the dark. He sets up a heartbreaking moment when Robinson daughter Elaine (Katharine Ross) uncovers her mother's affair with her boyfriend: As the camera pans out, she's tinier and tinier, in a corner, face wet from tears and rain. Nichols' greatest act may be the ways he employed the oft-played Simon and Garfunkel tunes: sometimes whistled, sometimes heavy on the guitar, rarely played all the way through.

I also have an empathy for Mrs. Robinson I lacked before cynicism and disappointment entered my life. Through reading Harris' book, I learned the emotion Bancroft tapped into was anger, a discovery that illuminated her performance. Conversely, I now find Benjamin spoiled and lazy, one of those tired people forever trying to find themselves. Dude, stop flitting about. Join the Peace Corps if you're bored. Be grateful you aren't going to 'Nam.

DVD Duo

No, these aren't Oscar movies. I saw them in the theaters in late summer and early fall, but it took me so long to write these reviews that I decided to save them up for their DVD releases in January.

Swing Vote wants to be political satire with a dash of Frank Capra. Igor aims for the Shrek crowd as well as fans of Tim Burton animation. Neither film hits its mark, although Igor comes closer to success.

Although only two hours, Swing Vote feels as long as one of star Kevin Costner’s epic production. Director/co-writer Joshua Michael Stern tries to present Bud Johnson (Costner) as an everyday factory-working single dad whose vote really counts. Political operatives Nathan Lane and Stanley Tucci reshape their respective platforms and candidates, Kelsey Grammer and Dennis Hopper, to cater to the random comments of one Texico, New Mexico, voter. Besides these repetitive scenes, which aren’t that funny to begin with, Swing Vote’s problem is that its good ol’ boy isn’t worth rooting for. Bud’s a drunk who barely raises daughter Molly (newcomer Madeline Carroll, a find); Swing Vote wouldn’t even exist had the plucky preteen not had to sneakily cast a ballot for her hung-over father.

Igor wants to be a European Madagascar, fast-talking lines littered with pop-culture references, but it’s pitched awkwardly between young’uns (who won’t get it) and their parents (who will be bored). John Cusack leads a hip vocal crew as the title character, a little Igor who dreams of winning the Evil Science Fair; instead, he creates an Annie-loving creature voiced by Molly Shannon who’s anything but mean. Igor scores most of its points on technical merit, not artistic interpretation. The quirky, stylized look of Anthony Leondis’ film recalls The Hunchback of Notre Dame crossed with Corpse Bride. If only the message of acceptance weren’t so generically pat: It doesn’t mesh with vocal talent as varied as Steve Buscemi, Jennifer Coolidge and Eddie Izzard as Dr. Schadenfreude.

Stars in Their Eyes

More on one of my pet peeves: the star system. Hey, that's my film-critic teacher (Josh) in there!

http://online.wsj.com/article/SB123265679206407369.html

Oscar Talk (or Musings for Amy)

First - where is my 10 best list? Where are reviews of the year-end prestige picks? Why am I slacking on my blog again? It's not like summer: This time, I have quality product to view.

Answer: I had a race in Florida, and I'm working weekends. This curtails both my movie-watching time and review-writing opportunities. (I write on bus and train rides to and from Boston.) I haven't see The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, Revolutionary Road or Frozen River (or, for that matter, Gran Torino or Wendy and Lucy), so I don't want to make a Best of 2008 list until I catch at least some of those. (Right now, though, Frost/Nixon is tops.) I'm pledging that I'll have reviews of all five Best Picture nominees by Oscar night, one month from today. I already published one for The Reader, and I've been working on a combined Milk and Frost/Nixon critique for a couple of weeks.

Now to the nominees ... I thought the five Best Picture pics were supposed to be a slamdunk, so I'm shocked that The Reader somehow beat out The Dark Knight ... or Wall-E ... or even Doubt ... to make it to the top 5. During the week between Christmas and New Year's, I read Top 10 movie lists from around the country, an average of 100 or so. Wall-E appeared on 81 of those lists, The Dark Knight on 63, Slumdog Millionaire on 58, Milk on 56, Frost/Nixon on 40.

The Reader was on five.

This may be the most ridiculous Best Picture nominee since Chocolat - which, come to think of it, is also a Harvey Weinstein marketing production. Groan.

Actor: This is a tough, tough category. The Richard Jenkins nomination made me squeal with delight, but I also thought Frank Langella, Sean Penn, and Mickey Rourke were masterful. They're all winners so far, with a slight edge to Penn, although I THINK it's Rourke's to lose.

Actress: Keep in mind I haven't Melissa Leo in Frozen River. I'm very disappointed, although not surprised, Kristin Scott Thomas was ignored for I've Loved You So Long (buzz peaked too early). Given that I actively loathed Angelina Jolie in Changeling and disliked the Meryl and Kate Oscar Grab, for me Anne Hathaway wins by default. Fortunately, I also liked her in Rachel Getting Married. That said, I suspect this will be the Meryl/Kate race. Ugh. At least Winslet's Reader role is in the right category.

Supporting Actor: I actually prefer Emile Hirsch from Milk over Josh Brolin or the non-nominated James Franco. Since the Oscar is supposed to be for a particular performance and not a body of work (Al Pacino, Renee Zellweger, cough, cough), I'll join the Heath Ledger/Dark Knight masses. But can't we just give Robert Downey Jr. a statue for Performer of the Year?

Supporting Actress: Penelope Cruz. Unless Taraji P. Henson blows me away in Benjamin Button, this category isn't up for discussion.

Original Screenplay: Um, Rachel Getting Married? Vicky Cristina Barcelona? Gran Torino? Where are they??? I can't even remember what's nominated. ... (checking) ... Oh, gosh, I don't care, and that's sad for an editor. All of these fell apart for me at one point or another. I guess In Bruges?

Adapted Screenplay: Because I don't know the source material in most cases, I find this category tough to judge. This time, I DO know source material in two cases. Go, Frost/Nixon!

Other categories: Why do we have only three Best Song options, and where's the one from Bruce Springsteen and The Wrestler? I've seen only one Best Documentary nominee, way off from the four I watched last year pre-Oscar night. Waltz with Bashir should have been nominated for Best Animated Flick. Persepolis was last year, so it's not as if the Academy can't be bold.

That's enough babbling from me. Your turn!

The Oscars nominations, in brief

Yay to Richard Jenkins!!!

Thank you, Academy, for realizing that Kate Winslet's performance in The Reader is in fact a lead one.

However ... The Reader over The Dark Knight or Wall-E for Best Picture and Best Director??? The overbearing influence of Harvey Weinstein is back, it seems.

More grousing and musing to come tonight. ...

Cary Grant

Last year, when I started to make a more conscious effort to watch old movies, I decided Cary Grant and Katharine Hepburn were my favorite classic actors. Check out this Washington Post tribute to my man. The subhead says it all.

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2009/01/09/AR2009010901212.html

A Child and the Holocaust

I don't know what to say about The Boy in the Striped Pajamas. Some critics on Metacritic gave it 100; others, such as the New York Times, despised it. The film inspired such passionate reactions that I had to see what the fuss was about. I understand both reactions. More than once, I nearly walked out in disgust, but then I reminded myself that if I sat through Life Is Beautiful twice, I could handle this Holocaust/child take for 90 or so minutes. Right? Would I recommend it, though? I think I'm in the "no" group.

I'm still vacillating about The Boy in the Striped Pajamas. Based on a young-adult novel, Pajamas views the Holocaust through 8-year-old Bruno (Asa Butterfield), son of a Nazi general (David Thewlis), who befriends a boy in a concentration camp. Vera Farmiga stands out as Bruno's mother, physically and mentally unraveling after discovering her husband's work. Director Mark Herman doesn't flinch at the horrifying end, though the impact would've been greater with silence rather than James Horner's intrusive score. But several points defy logic, from the British accents to the camp's lax security to the dropped angle of Bruno’s sister’s anti-Jewish rhetoric. Mostly, Pajamas wants one to accept a lot about innocence. Bruno is 8, not 4 - is he really supposed to be that naive?

Starting Off 2009 ...

with releases from 2008.

I'm a sucker for a good Brit flick and anything tinged with melancholy. I like Emma Thompson. This movie was going to be catnip for me. I knew it wasn't much, but for 10:30 a.m. on a U.K.-gray Friday, I thought it would be just right. And it was.

More deeply felt than one might expect, Last Chance Harvey pairs lonely souls Dustin Hoffman and Emma Thompson in a slight yet tender romance. Harvey Shine (Hoffman) comes to London for his somewhat estranged daughter's wedding, only to be let go from his jingle-writing gig and shunted to the side at the nuptials. His return to New York thwarted, Harvey strikes up conversation with greeter Kate (Thompson) in an airport bar, and they progress - OK, he pushes, she relents - to a day of exploration and reconciliation. That's it, save a third-act contrivance that pads the 99-minute film.

Last Chance Harvey has the feel of an extended Love, Actually segment; several typical London sights recur in both movies. While his filming style isn't much, writer/director Joel Hopkins has given us two real grown-ups and two talented actors to play them.

Hoffman tones down recent mannered performances (Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium, Perfume: The Story of a Murderer) to portray a man of desperation and yearning, sad about being an embarrassment to his family. Although Kate doesn't have the same arc, Thompson grasps her character's pain in one image: On an awkward blind date in a pub, she escapes to a bathroom stall to dab her eyes and choke back sobs. Her closest companion is her cellphone and the codependent mother (Eileen Atkins) attached to it.

On these cold, raw days, grab tea and a scone and take a chance on the sweet poignancy of Harvey.