I'm suffering writer's block while composing my Wanted review. In the meantime, I figured I'd jot down a list of what I have even a passing desire to see. Feel free to share your reviews or what you want to watch. The only rule: NO MOCKING!
1) Brideshead Revisited - Despite its English pedicree, literay background, and the existence of Emma Thompson, I haven't run out to see this, and now it's almost gone. My friend Josee said she was having difficulty getting into the book. Still, I'm curious.
2) Death Race - My classmate Patricia and I think Jason Statham is HOT. Plot is irrelevant. I'll be seeing it for free with her Sept. 2, thanks to AMC MovieWatch rewards.
3) The House Bunny - It looks like a lesser Legally Blonde, but still cute. (That makes sense, as the screenwriters are the same.) A good girls night out or an afternoon matinee.
4) Man on Wire - A huge hit at Tribeca, a New York documentary ... why haven't I seen this yet? Well, if a certain best friend of mine didn't have such a busy life (ahem, TIM) ... seriously, we're looking at Wednesday.
5) Tell No One - The Boston Herald compared this French drama to Laura (my No. 2 all-time); the New York Times name-checked North by Northwest (another of my top 10). The only thing that's stopped me from going to Lincoln Plaza, the art theater by Central Park: As I learned while watching The Seventh Seal last weekend, I can't concentrate on subtitled films after long runs.
6) Vicky Cristina Barcelona - Woody Allen and I have a very hit-and-miss relationship, overwhelmingly in the latter category. This doesn't look like typical Woody, though, giving me some hope.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Saturday, August 23, 2008
A postscript to April 28
2) Gunnin’ for That #1 Spot - now in theaters (June 27)
I love question-and-answer sessions.
It turns out the music rights weren’t finalized when Adam Yauch screened the basketball documentary at the Tribeca Film Festival in April. http://womanonfilm.blogspot.com/2008/04/tribeca-dispatch-monday-april-28.html
My favorite musical sequence, “Hypnotize,” disappeared from the final cut! I asked Yauch at the Q&A on the 27th; apparently, the estate that holds the rights to the sample in the Notorious B.I.G. joint wouldn’t grant permission for use in the film. Even a Beastie Boy doesn’t have all the sway. Wow!
I love question-and-answer sessions.
It turns out the music rights weren’t finalized when Adam Yauch screened the basketball documentary at the Tribeca Film Festival in April. http://womanonfilm.blogspot.com/2008/04/tribeca-dispatch-monday-april-28.html
My favorite musical sequence, “Hypnotize,” disappeared from the final cut! I asked Yauch at the Q&A on the 27th; apparently, the estate that holds the rights to the sample in the Notorious B.I.G. joint wouldn’t grant permission for use in the film. Even a Beastie Boy doesn’t have all the sway. Wow!
Moving On To June
1) My Blueberry Nights (June 15)
I forgot I'd even seen this until I was going through my movie diary to write all these five-sentence reviews. It's a god thing I write down what I watch.
Norah Jones’ pop-jazz standards are creamy, gorgeous - but downright drowsy after a bit. The same applies to the languid road-trip drama in which she makes her acting debut, Wong Kar-Wai’s My Blueberry Nights. Not much happens: Heartbroken by a boyfriend, Elizabeth (Jones) leaves New York and ends up first in Memphis, then out West, where more takes place around her than to her. Jones doesn’t have the experience to give the sketchily written Elizabeth any depth, a circumstance made most glaring against a vibrant Natalie Portman as a blond Vegas con artist. As most Wong films are, My Blueberry Nights is really pretty, though: Melting desserts and honky-tonk bars never looked so seductive.
I forgot I'd even seen this until I was going through my movie diary to write all these five-sentence reviews. It's a god thing I write down what I watch.
Norah Jones’ pop-jazz standards are creamy, gorgeous - but downright drowsy after a bit. The same applies to the languid road-trip drama in which she makes her acting debut, Wong Kar-Wai’s My Blueberry Nights. Not much happens: Heartbroken by a boyfriend, Elizabeth (Jones) leaves New York and ends up first in Memphis, then out West, where more takes place around her than to her. Jones doesn’t have the experience to give the sketchily written Elizabeth any depth, a circumstance made most glaring against a vibrant Natalie Portman as a blond Vegas con artist. As most Wong films are, My Blueberry Nights is really pretty, though: Melting desserts and honky-tonk bars never looked so seductive.
The Best Movie I've Seen This Summer
4) Bigger, Stronger, Faster* (May 31)
I've decided to make an effort to see Tribeca flicks if they make it to theaters. Here's one. P.S. The tiny text after the star says "the side effects of being American."
For those who remember when Michael Moore wasn’t about his image, when he just wanted to educate and entertain, I give you Christopher Bell and his raucous steroid documentary, Bigger, Stronger, Faster*. First-time director Bell attacks the American culture of winning at any cost: Patton, Rocky, Hulk Hogan, the amphetamine-using Air Force. But Bell also comes to the world of steroids firsthand: His body-building brothers use them, influenced by their supposedly pure childhood wrestling heroes, and he’s obviously conflicted about society’s message versus his familial feelings. Bell doesn’t make direct judgments, instead using varied talking heads, statistics, and animation to illustrate the hypocrisy surrounding performance enhancers - the congressman who called the steroid hearings doesn’t even know what drugs are banned; no one’s ever done a study on steroids’ long-term effects; a cold supplement with a prohibited substance didn’t keep Carl Lewis out of the 1988 Olympics. By the end of this difficult, fascinating film, I could pay Bell the ultimate compliment: I’m willing to re-examine my views on performance enhancers.
I've decided to make an effort to see Tribeca flicks if they make it to theaters. Here's one. P.S. The tiny text after the star says "the side effects of being American."
For those who remember when Michael Moore wasn’t about his image, when he just wanted to educate and entertain, I give you Christopher Bell and his raucous steroid documentary, Bigger, Stronger, Faster*. First-time director Bell attacks the American culture of winning at any cost: Patton, Rocky, Hulk Hogan, the amphetamine-using Air Force. But Bell also comes to the world of steroids firsthand: His body-building brothers use them, influenced by their supposedly pure childhood wrestling heroes, and he’s obviously conflicted about society’s message versus his familial feelings. Bell doesn’t make direct judgments, instead using varied talking heads, statistics, and animation to illustrate the hypocrisy surrounding performance enhancers - the congressman who called the steroid hearings doesn’t even know what drugs are banned; no one’s ever done a study on steroids’ long-term effects; a cold supplement with a prohibited substance didn’t keep Carl Lewis out of the 1988 Olympics. By the end of this difficult, fascinating film, I could pay Bell the ultimate compliment: I’m willing to re-examine my views on performance enhancers.
I Can't Help But Wonder ... Do They Still Matter?
3) Sex and the City: The Movie (May 30)
I was very opposed to seeing this for a long time, but marathon TV viewing parties with my co-workers changed my mind.
I didn’t think we needed a two-hour-plus feature continuing the adventures of Carrie Bradshaw (Sarah Jessica Parker) and company, as the series ended in 2o04 (I REALLY wish Carrie picked herself); still, my friend Michelle and I (and many bedazzled women) saw Sex and the City: The Movie on opening night.
Garnier Fructis should have created a dye to cover the film’s obvious television roots, as writer/director Michael Patrick King can’t make the flick feel like anything more than five consecutive shows. Miranda (Cynthia Nixon) and Carrie have more balanced, complex storylines than Samantha (Kim Cattrall) and especially the shafted Charlotte (Kristin Davis); subsequently, Nixon and Parker give the movie’s most complete, nuanced performances.
In spite of my complaints (the ending, AGAIN!), I had a great time: Whatever the screen size, Sex and the City addresses love, relationships, friendships, and even New York with a directness and honesty that feel ripped from my most intimate life. Sex and the City: The Movie is like a class reunion: somewhat unnecessary, but a blast once you’re there.
I was very opposed to seeing this for a long time, but marathon TV viewing parties with my co-workers changed my mind.
I didn’t think we needed a two-hour-plus feature continuing the adventures of Carrie Bradshaw (Sarah Jessica Parker) and company, as the series ended in 2o04 (I REALLY wish Carrie picked herself); still, my friend Michelle and I (and many bedazzled women) saw Sex and the City: The Movie on opening night.
Garnier Fructis should have created a dye to cover the film’s obvious television roots, as writer/director Michael Patrick King can’t make the flick feel like anything more than five consecutive shows. Miranda (Cynthia Nixon) and Carrie have more balanced, complex storylines than Samantha (Kim Cattrall) and especially the shafted Charlotte (Kristin Davis); subsequently, Nixon and Parker give the movie’s most complete, nuanced performances.
In spite of my complaints (the ending, AGAIN!), I had a great time: Whatever the screen size, Sex and the City addresses love, relationships, friendships, and even New York with a directness and honesty that feel ripped from my most intimate life. Sex and the City: The Movie is like a class reunion: somewhat unnecessary, but a blast once you’re there.
Light Vs. Dark
2) (or Iron Man [May 13] and The Dark Knight [July 29])
I like my superhero flicks to have quality filmmaking - but I also want them to have an element of fun. That’s why I respect The Dark Knight, but I came away from Iron Man positively alive.
The essence of Iron Man, my favorite feature of this genre since the first two Spider-Man movies, comes when Tony Stark (the treat that is Robert Downey Jr.) tries on his amped-up suit of armor for the first time. Tony may be a billionaire inventor with women and toys galore, but put him in a shiny red gadget-laden suit, and his giddiness while zooming airborne crosses all economic classes. In those moments, Downey Jr. and director Jon Favreau have created pure movie magic. Iron Man isn’t just about dazzling special effects: Stark has a definable arc, going from a pro-military, Bush-like weapons designer to a world savior of a different model, and Downey Jr.’s wit and smarts complement his character. Only the climactic battle with Obadiah Stane (Jeff Bridges) disappoints, two robots clanking together clumsily like some outtake from a Star Wars movie.
While Iron Man proves you can make a summer movie with both playfulness and a point, The Dark Knight seems to know only ponderousness. The sequel to 2005’s Batman Begins brings director Christopher Nolan and Caped Crusader Christian Bale back to Gotham (a sleek-looking Chicago) for an increased dose of mayhem and malevolence, this time led by the Joker (the late Heath Ledger, as much of an evil marvel as you’ve heard). Nolan said he wanted to create a crime epic, and The Dark Knight has psychology and political-science lessons to spare: on vigilantism and copycats, on the search for the person to “save” us - if this is even attainable. It’s almost Shakespearian in its approach to tragedy, yet it’s so black it’s draining, with none of the poetry of the Bard to ease the message. In fact, what I remember most fondly about the film is Hans Zimmer and James Newton Howard’s score, its incessant foreboding and distant sirens literally making me bolt up in nervous anticipation.
Yes, Ledger deserves an Oscar nomination - but you know? So does Downey Jr. He IS Iron Man, and I can’t wait to see what he and Favreau come up with next. As for Batman, wake me up when he’s obtained some antidepressants.
I like my superhero flicks to have quality filmmaking - but I also want them to have an element of fun. That’s why I respect The Dark Knight, but I came away from Iron Man positively alive.
The essence of Iron Man, my favorite feature of this genre since the first two Spider-Man movies, comes when Tony Stark (the treat that is Robert Downey Jr.) tries on his amped-up suit of armor for the first time. Tony may be a billionaire inventor with women and toys galore, but put him in a shiny red gadget-laden suit, and his giddiness while zooming airborne crosses all economic classes. In those moments, Downey Jr. and director Jon Favreau have created pure movie magic. Iron Man isn’t just about dazzling special effects: Stark has a definable arc, going from a pro-military, Bush-like weapons designer to a world savior of a different model, and Downey Jr.’s wit and smarts complement his character. Only the climactic battle with Obadiah Stane (Jeff Bridges) disappoints, two robots clanking together clumsily like some outtake from a Star Wars movie.
While Iron Man proves you can make a summer movie with both playfulness and a point, The Dark Knight seems to know only ponderousness. The sequel to 2005’s Batman Begins brings director Christopher Nolan and Caped Crusader Christian Bale back to Gotham (a sleek-looking Chicago) for an increased dose of mayhem and malevolence, this time led by the Joker (the late Heath Ledger, as much of an evil marvel as you’ve heard). Nolan said he wanted to create a crime epic, and The Dark Knight has psychology and political-science lessons to spare: on vigilantism and copycats, on the search for the person to “save” us - if this is even attainable. It’s almost Shakespearian in its approach to tragedy, yet it’s so black it’s draining, with none of the poetry of the Bard to ease the message. In fact, what I remember most fondly about the film is Hans Zimmer and James Newton Howard’s score, its incessant foreboding and distant sirens literally making me bolt up in nervous anticipation.
Yes, Ledger deserves an Oscar nomination - but you know? So does Downey Jr. He IS Iron Man, and I can’t wait to see what he and Favreau come up with next. As for Batman, wake me up when he’s obtained some antidepressants.
Bad Blogger, Bad Blogger!
I have been a horribly remorse blogger this summer. I took up running in the middle of May, and being the Type A personality I am, I’ve become kind of obsessive about it. I also hadn’t been to a lot of movies until early August, so very little inspired me to write. Now, though, I’m presenting myself with a challenge: Review every 2008 release I’ve seen in a theater or on DVD since the Tribeca Film Festival ended May 4 … in a maximum of five sentences per film. Gulp.
1) Then She Found Me (May 9)
Helen Hunt hasn’t stitched her writing and directorial debut, Then She Found Me, as neatly as one might hope, but the thought and care that went into the filmmaking bind the flick through any messiness. Hunt’s April Epner yearns to be a mother - a situation complicated by the end of her marriage to fellow teacher Ben (Matthew Broderick), a burgeoning relationship with a high-strung Colin Firth and the sudden reappearance of her birth mother, a drama-queen talk-show host (a relatively restrained Better Midler). Hunt doesn’t manage the emotions or storylines that steadily, but what she struggles with structurally she makes up for in details: a financially appropriate wardrobe for each character, for example, or visible strain as April’s emotional cauldron boils. Hunt also depicts something rarely seen in contemporary cinema: an openly observant Jewish woman, and April’s emphasis on her faith is deeply moving. Seek out Then She Found Me because, ultimately, it has something to say: about identity, religion, the many forms of motherhood, and what it means to be a woman.
1) Then She Found Me (May 9)
Helen Hunt hasn’t stitched her writing and directorial debut, Then She Found Me, as neatly as one might hope, but the thought and care that went into the filmmaking bind the flick through any messiness. Hunt’s April Epner yearns to be a mother - a situation complicated by the end of her marriage to fellow teacher Ben (Matthew Broderick), a burgeoning relationship with a high-strung Colin Firth and the sudden reappearance of her birth mother, a drama-queen talk-show host (a relatively restrained Better Midler). Hunt doesn’t manage the emotions or storylines that steadily, but what she struggles with structurally she makes up for in details: a financially appropriate wardrobe for each character, for example, or visible strain as April’s emotional cauldron boils. Hunt also depicts something rarely seen in contemporary cinema: an openly observant Jewish woman, and April’s emphasis on her faith is deeply moving. Seek out Then She Found Me because, ultimately, it has something to say: about identity, religion, the many forms of motherhood, and what it means to be a woman.
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