One blog. Two opinions. One zillion films.

Updated with the very sentence you are reading to reflect the author’s opinion that the following post might give the movie short shrift. It’s worth seeing.

Tam, while you’re once again far removed from our ever-snowing valley, I’ll resume the task of watching David Fincher movies. Actually, his previous movie, Zodiac, is very good. Fincher let his actors do modern acting for a change.

Zodiac got off to a horrifying start — it was all the serial killing I hope to see for  good while — after which Fincher wisely let the tension simmer for the rest of this unusually well-informed cop caper. Hence, the complex 2.5-hour-plus movie, while quite talkative, is a movie like no other. One high-tension scene towards the end pays off in spades.

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button also weighs in at over 2.5 hours. Fincher kept my squirming to a minimum by dilly-dallying for the first hour, at which point a non-digitized, grizzled-runt Brad Pitt gets to ambulate under his own power, become a war hero, etc. (The sea battle scenes are brilliantly staged. You really want to duck.)

Except for Cate Blanchette and Tilda Swinton plus a couple of the background characters, the acting is again melodramatic, generic, what Brando tried to save us from back in the Fifties. The story meanwhile is quite chewable. It’s a new wrinkle (literally) on that well-worn theme of the Fate! Destiny! Timing is Everything!; namely, two star-crossed lovers are just made for each other save one damned insoluble inconvenience. In this case, one of them ages. The other youths.

Fincher is meticulous but about the wrong things. Being meticulous about the biological details of this fantasy backfires. It leads to distracting questions where, say, the same story on radio would not. Meanwhile, Fincher can’t get the chemistry to percolate. We know they are timeless lovers because the diagram says so. Poor David Fincher, for all his technique, does not seem have a romantic bone in his body. (Those yearning for the Thelma & Louise version of Brad Pitt will disagree. That cad pops up near the end, glowing Gaussian.)

If time makes possible all things good and bad, like the movie says, David Fincher someday will release a director’s cut of this movie. At 90 minutes it’ll be twice as good.

The title of this post is a lie.  ”10 Best Movies for 2008″ is my blatant troll for search engine legitimacy.

Ten Best lists are irresistible. I spent an hour last weekend indulging in 10 Bests. Much fun. But we’re hobbled here in Jax-town; here are 13 movies as yet un-arrived which show up in quite a few 10-best stashes:

happy go lucky the edge of heaven 
wendy and lucy the wrestler synecdoche, ny
milk encounters at the end of the world
trouble the waters waltz With bashir 
revolutionary road rachel getting married
cadillac records the visitor

Besides, I’m not sure I recall 10 movies, period, of the 2008 ilk. I am a sucker for relevance. Can anyone direct me to a movie that was relevant? (Some say The Dark Knight was relevant — those goofy die-hard wingnuts who swore the Batsignal was really a W. Meanwhile, Oliver Stone’s W. was a history that feels irrelevant, at least until our national nightmare is over.)

Man on Wire was relevant in that fact-based genius is always tonic. Man on Wire struck me as a perfectomundo, sweet-spot-hitting end-to-end bliss-sender. Man on Wire dares to be that good without, somewhere along the line, trying to blow your mind with some mind-blowing cinematic concoction. It’s proud to be merely a poem writ large.

I subscribe to the Spalding Gray school of hapless existence. You endure most of life, which is not so perfect, in order to exult the occasional perfect moment.  If a movie can deliver a few moments of thrall, I’m happy.

In lieu of 10 Best Movies of 2008, here are An Indefinite Few Perfect Movie Moments of 2008: 

The Joker: We lost an extraordinarily gifted actor one year ago and I’m still glum. I caught a bit of 10 Things I Hate About You on cable not long ago; Heath Ledger was 19 when he shot it. You could see then how the guy instinctively worked from the inside out, how he intended to create pure art without a trace of ego. Reports say it was Ledger who came up with The Joker’s makeup for The Dark Knight. Why go for campy affectation when deliberate madness better describes our era? (Now, every time we watch the Tim Burton Batman, all we can do is imagine Jack Nicholson spending hours in the morning fussing to get the day’s make-up just right.) While The Dark Night was largely a hifalutin hodgepodge of action and tail-chasing dialogue, Ledger’s performance could barely be contained on a 40-foot wide screen. 

Uh-Oh, Here Comes Another Paradigm-Shifting Internet Thing: Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog is 45 minutes long. It never played in theaters. It’s a musical about low-rent superheroes, sublimely absurd and perfectly realized. 

“I know what dude I am. I’m the dude playin’ the dude, disguised as another dude.”: No one logged more blissful screen time than Robert Downey, Jr., not even close. “He’s so compelling,” K grinned as we exited Iron Man. In Tropic Thunder, Downey takes on a role that, on paper, had utter foolishness written all over it: a self-absorbed Method actor who wants to play a black man by literally blackening himself. Downey’s execution is smart, ballsy, hilarious and too subtle for the gold statuette people. 

Product Placement for iPod People : Eve, in Pixar’s WALL-E. She had “Designed in California by Apple” written all over her. Of course, WALL-E is overall excellent (Pixar’s 1.000 batting average is quite a thing to behold), a fable born of our consumption-based society without too stern a lecture. 

The Monobrow Finally Gets One Right: The oddly employable Colin Farrell actually made good use of his space in In Bruges. It’s a witty, offbeat thingie, hit men as Laurel and Hardy stuck inside of Mobile with the Memphis blues again.

How Do It Know?: Iron Man is probably the best superhero movie to date. It wasn’t just Robert Downey, Jr., either. Jon Favreau has learned that most delicate balancing act, making successful Hollywood movies that reward habitual thinkers. Favreau thought this: “Okay, you finally got your new rocket boots tuned up. How do you teach yourself to ride ’em?”

Not much of a list. Maybe I can flesh out this post by March 2009. I admit that four hours per week of available sit-and-stare time — two movies’ worth! —  was allocated to The Daily Show and The Colbert Report. Will I never become tired of mockery?

Yes, To Die For is Kidman’s best.  The Hours rendered her totally unrecognizable, and as I believe she received a nomination–if not the Oscar–for that performance I wonder why she doesn’t seek out more character roles.

Kidman is manikin-like.  Prop her up in Macy’s front window, she’d be the perfect department store dummy.  I bet her figure serves as the blank for many a fashion designer’s workshop.   She’s become totally icy; plastic, like a Barbie doll.   Move her arms and legs around, sit her behind down in the Barbie Doll House in front of her closet full of evening gowns, Valley of the Dolls style.  See Barbie rescue Keith Urban!

Nicole’s been laying lots of box office eggs.  She’s bloodless.  And as you point out, she’s capable of so much more.   Kidman is the other reason I’ve not been tempted to see Australia. Hard to reward repeatedly dull performances.

I used to torture my Barbie dolls.

T.

Tam, a friend wrote to ask if we’re planning Top Flicks of 2008, or The Three Best and 22 Worst Films, or some-such. I think we’d show a lot of gall to do such a thing. It’s plain that we’re poseurs. We just don’t see that many films, period. Experts, schmexperts.

I did finally watch Man on Wire, making me apparently the last person in Jackson Hole to do so. (It was a huge hit at the local festival earlier this year.) Man on Wire is a documentary about the extraordinary acrobat-juggler-daredevil Philippe Petit. It’s easily my favorite film the past year. (Second place: Iron Man?) 

Man on Wire is epic, witty, poetic, romantic, heartbreaking, and adventurous with the added bonus of a gripping, clever heist. Unlike other heist movies, no one innocent loses anything of value here and the heist is 100% real.

Have you noticed how documentaries are replacing fictional film as the more impressive cinema-as-art form?  Supersize Me, King Corn, Standard Operating Procedure  and several more — these films are public services, reporting things that are no longer reported by . . .  reporters. These are original visions, entertaining with a dash of good old-fashioned enlightenment. 

In particular, Man on Wire is great cinematic art reporting on great performance art. The director, James Marsh, stages quite a few reenactments in woozily dreamlike and downright funny fashion. I put Marsh’s previous film, Wisconsin Death Trip, on my Netflix queue. That sounds really fun too.

I love taking dictation.  Quite old fashioned, but I’ve become good at it, so I like it.  QED!

I mention this because I just spoke with our friend Susan Carlman about Australia.  She did go to see it, and, like K., enjoyed it.  Susan is an ‘old soul.’  That’s a compliment; she values tradition and feels epic, romantic tales in her heart.  Goose bump city.  Anyway, Susan spoke, I typed, and here’s her review:

“Australia is an old-fashioned story.  Lots of people have compared it to Gone With the Wind, and I suppose that is fine if one agrees that this is a panoramic love story.

My favorite part of the story line is the connection between the Aboriginal elder and his grandson; the spirit magic they shared and the ways they communicated with each other using that magic.”

I asked Susan if any part of the movie surprised her.  She had to think about that.  This  is why I’ve not gone to see Australia, because I sense no big surprises.  I sense formula.

Her answer: No big surprises, other than the lovers reunite.  “From a female point of view, I’m not a fan of Kidman’s,” says Susan.  “She’s glamourous, drop-dead gorgeous, but I haven’t liked her in a film in a long while; not since The Hours.  Jackman is gorgeous, too.   I felt the story could have continued—not that there’s a sequel suggested.  I mean that it is a long film, and many times you think it’s over, and it’s not.   I mean that I enjoyed it enough to sit there longer, if there’d been more.

That’s a surprise; just when you think the movie is over, WWI erupts.  The battleship scenes were obviously computer generated, though.”

Susan likes happy endings. She’s sick of cynical “love never works out” resolution.  She refuses to stop believing in romance.  Favorite planet: Venus.

She mentioned two themes:  Jackman’s drover character realizes he is running away from life and its perceived entanglements.   Kidman adopts an Aboriginal child because she cannot have children.

Predictable?

Oh, and the scenery, like Kidman and Jackman, is gorgeous.

Oh, and I spelled glamorous in a British way: glamourous.  Because it’s more glamourous.   Ignoring red line!

T.

Merry Christmas to you, Bill O’Reilly! I’m sincere, and when I say sincere, Mr. O’Reilly, I mean that. If that’s the only seasonal greeting that floats your boat, sir, have another. Merry Christmas!

Tam, I wish peace love and understanding on you, and I hope what sails by you lands on everyone else. I come bearing the gift of a globe-calming, all-inclusive seasonal greeting: Happy Saturnalia-Thru- Festivus™ to everyone!

In “Happy Saturnalia-Thru- Festivus™” I have encompassed more than two thousand years of solstice-ish winter celebrations in one easy-to-dispense phrase. The royalties I earn will be awesome. (Also includes “Merry Saturnalia-Thru-Festivus©” and “Have a Joyous S-T-F®.”) Let world peace begin at last, and you’re welcome.

All snark aside, I’m indulging in the spirit. The simple heartswell that is good friends gathering over K’s revelatory bacon’n'date sammiches tomorrow morn means

all shall be well
all shall be well
and all manner of things shall be well.

While others may poo an overabundance of  seasonal music, my son has been keeping our home joyous with the absolute latest in traditional Christmas music, The Greatest Gift of All: A Colbert Christmas. Seriously. The rendition here of “(What’s So Funny ’bout) Peace Love and Understanding” — with beautiful harmonies by Feist, Toby Keith, Willie Nelson, John Legend, Stephen Colbert and Elvis Costello — must enter the A-list canon, the sooner the better.

Dire world news notwithstanding, I’m keeping a benign faith in my fellow man and controlled chaos. That splendid dump of snow on Monday? Well, I had been carbon-fabulous so far this winter, moving snow  on the natch. Monday, six-eight inches of squeeky powder. It was time to get fossil.  Pulled the snowblower from storage. Get this: it started on the first pull. Good portents sneak their way into every day.

Dear David, K. and Dyson-

The Happiest of Holidays to you.  And will you join me in sending wishes for Peace and Joy to all our community and friends?  We may even get a little of that action come 2009.    I believe in lighting lots of candles, rubbing one’s face in the snow, making snow angels, reading, writing, singing, music, skiing of the x-country kind, small white rabbits named Minnie & Pearl,  Oscar-worthy movies, beloved family, beloved friends, and treating all as we, ourselves, would want to be treated.   Oh, and many dogs out there that I love, too!    Merry Christmas Louie, Jessie, Patton, Hazell, Sasha, Athena, and Harpo!

Susan went to see Australia.  Perhaps I can phone interview her and post her thoughts.

Shameless Obama/Inaugural promotion:  Ring in the New Administration on 1/20/09 at Pub Place with the Recessions and some get down dancing!

Tammy

The New York Times has a fine piece on Philip Seymour Hoffman. I don’t know about you, Tam, but the man simply gives me paroxysms of pleasure every time he’s on screen.

I mean, Charlie Wilson’s War was bopping along just fine. Then along comes Hoffman, as a too-confident and wholly competent spook. Suddenly the movie has depth. Hoffman stands for the genius civil servants who made the American Century what it was. We get a little background on the unseen mechanisms running our republic during the Cold War. Maybe this exchange will refresh your memory:

Charlie Wilson: You’re no James Bond. 

Gust Avrakotos: You’re no Thomas Jefferson, either. Let’s call it even. 

No Philip Seymour Hoffman movies in town. But there’s Jim Carrey, whose career is a lesson in how difficult great acting is. Carrey hit TV (In Living Color) and the movies with a wallop, with his own miraculous brand of rubbery physical genius.

Alas, the movies can contain only so many talking-butt scenes. Thus Carrey went trolling for Oscars in heavy-handed clunkers like The Majestic. (The comedian-as-thespian shtik probably hit its most pathetic low with Adam Sandler begging for his gold statuette life in Click.)

Now Carrey must be content with middling comedies like Yes Man. With expectations duly lowered, Yes Man turns out to be decent fun.

Plenty of chuckles throughout. Solid cast. A few clever turns of the story plus one startling moment involving Homeland Security. Its requisite life-affirming theme is the importance of serendipity; the script has that committee-polish feel, which explains why no one utters the word “serendipity.”

Yes Man is a Hollywood “product” film, efficient and style-free. I showed up to see Zooey Deschanel, and indeed she gives the movie some zing. Why, I actually sensed a bit of real chemistry between her and Carrey, and in one scene she wallops him a good one. Carrey-the-actor looks briefly shocked and goes with it.

I wonder what Zooey could to with a complex role, the kind Philip Seymour Hoffman always gets.

If your final glyph is a question mark, however, the temptation might be too much.

Let’s take turns having the final say, what say? Question mark!

Then again, I could come up with a special font style for our New! For 2009! look, an outlined, underlined purplish font that when applied means “rhetorical question.”

“Purple is the color of good judgment. It is the color of people seeking spiritual fulfillment. It is said if you surround yourself with purple you will have peace of mind. Purple is a good color to use in meditation.

Purple has been used to symbolize magic and mystery, as well as royalty. Being the combination of red and blue, the warmest and coolest colors, purple is believed to be the ideal color.”

Sure, use purple! ☺ Or was that a rhetorical solution? QED at the end, perhaps—Latin for “quod erat demonstrandum” Proof is demonstrated!

Do you approve of the new art? Makes me laugh. You look healthy — such sinewy arms! Full disclosure: I did a little Photoshop work on my vitiligo.

LOVE the new art!!!! I didn’t notice any work on your vitiligo, but can you Botox my lips? It is funny! I still have the licorice left over from that shoot in my freezer. That shoot was a hoot!

K loves House. I enjoy it on occasion. It’s another example of how the best writers all seem to be doing TV, not movies. I am not biologically disposed to comment on all your sexy guys. I drift instead to thoughts of Zooey Deschanel, who is enough reason to see the new Jim Carrey mug-a-thon, Yes We Can. (I think that’s the title — our editor will fix it.)

GOOD! You have raved about a girl! Very good! I can’t be the only one slobbering. Zooey cute.

I’ve gotten fond of KHOL (89.1 FM), our fledgling radio station. The other morning they played The New Mastersounds followed by Tom Waits’ cover of the Ramones’ “I Don’t Wanna Grow Up.” Lordy! It may require clandestine research on the Large Hadron Collider to find a dimension of equivalent coolness.

I can’t get KHOL very clearly on my radio. Tried, quite fuzzy most of the time. My sister likes the station a lot, too. Why don’t they ask us to fight about movies on the air? Now that would be fun, and we wouldn’t have to produce much, just watch some movies, show up and start yammering!

The group on Thursday night at Lyndsay’s was a wonderful group, a strong and beautiful gathering. Many un-dry eyes in the house when Terry and Louie read; my own eyes very wet. Wet with hope, wet with the enormity of the world and how every tiny thing in it is a prayer. And the message is, and will always be, “Seize the Day.” How often I’ve thought of traveling to Africa, but stop short because, in part, of the very feelings Terry expressed; she’d not wanted to go because she did not feel comfortable entering a place so torn asunder; how can we explain our presence? But she realized that her humanity depended on her going with Lily. And so it did; so came this book. She and Brooke have Louie, and he has them.

Lesson: Look to those tiny moments, those small occurrences and instincts to find true magic.

Holiday Heads Up: I have some gigs to prepare for–tourists coming in to see art! Also must add to other blog, Jackson Hole Art Blog. Many cookies to bake. What I’m trying to get at is, my new attempt at every-other-day posts may lag off a tiny bit until just after the big 25, but will do my best not to lag too much.

And Lord, here come more Homestead Press orders! Why is everyone so last-minute? I want a bigger tip!

T.