One blog. Two opinions. One zillion films.

Sorry for the radio silence. I’ve been in  pretty much the opposite of Woody Allen’s world, the Red Desert. Now that I’m back home, and having just Q-Tipped sand from my ears, I feel it’s time to announce earth-shattering news.  On Sunday we finally commenced principle photography of our movie,  Killpecker! 

As you know, the story of Lord Killpecker is yet to be told. We are fixing that. We’re still researching the Killpecker history. Like, did you know that cheap and plentiful hasps were key to the organization of the Wild West? Apparently it was Lord Killpecker’s grandfather who discovered most of southwest Wyoming’s prolific hasp mines.

Jamie Reilly is Lord Killpecker!

We spent two days documenting Lord Killpecker, filming an unusual personal quest of his. There was a terrible bit of bad luck — it’ll be a while before we clear up things with the authorities. I’ll have more details later. For now, rest assured that the first hanging bivouac on a sand dune has been filmed.

– D, who really wants to direct.

David,

Vicky Cristina Barcelona is both a romp and a Woody Allen visit to the comic and absurd aspects of the human condition; or the human condition as experienced by privileged, creative intellectuals. The persistent curious tug, that niggling twitchy voice – that the heart wants whatever is in the neighbor’s yard, because its own grassy patch has become dull and predictable.

Once the fence is jumped, however, and you’re trying out the neighbor’s lawn furniture, maybe the plastic still sticks to your ass and the only difference is the waffle print on the back of your thighs.

Woody is always pining away. He’s also fascinated with betrayal, or the contemplation of betrayal.

This story takes place in romantic Spain, against Gaudi’s fantastic, undulating architecture and a hopelessly golden light; there’s a fairytale quality here. Two young women, Vicky (Rebecca Hall) and Cristina (Scarlett Johansson) travel to Barcelona to, respectively, study Catalan culture and sightsee. Vicky is conservative, sensible and ‘with fiancé.’ Cristina is a voluptuous Monroe and a restless artiste. Hunky, snake-in-the-Garden-of-Eden painter Juan Antonio (Javier Bardem) picks them up.

A bumpy plane ride ensues.

Vicky resists, Cristina jumps and both women find themselves felled by Spanish he-siren Juan. Although both women are beautiful, they’re paper cut outs compared to Penelope Cruz’s explosive Maria Elena—Juan’s crazy ex-wife. Emotional quests and criss crossed romances are racked up and broken like ricocheting billiards.

In the end, all motion rests, and their lives are pretty much in the same place they were when the story began. For all the exploration and risk and passion, things end up the same, safe and inert.

And that bums Woody out.

Johansson is gorgeous, but not such a great actress. For all her sexuality, she comes off as tentative. A young Johansson appears in “The Horse Whisperer,” by the way. Cruz’s Maria Elena is one of her most interesting portrayals; I often find Cruz dull to watch. Bardem is hypnotic. His character ultimately is not very likable. He’s a bit pathetic, actually.

It sounds like I didn’t enjoy this film, but I did, because I love Woody! I love therapy and anyone who loves therapy gets off on Woody. His narration runs through the film, but not his voice, and I miss it. Baby, come back!

T.

Disclaimer: In no way do I proscribe an imperative that you screen certain movies according to my edict. I am not the boss of you. Do as you will. But if you cannot summon normative tip-of-the-tongue quips and propaganda points necessary for civil conversation, don’t come crying to me.

Ok, Tam, my Number 1 is . . .

Some Like It Hot. Why the first on my list? Luck of the draw. It’s on TV right now. I’m waiting for Jon Stewart  (Clinton! Bill!) and, klik, there’s  Jack Lemmon and Tony Curtis in drag. This will be the third time  this year that I bumped into Some Like It Hot  on TMC. It’s like a clean piece of pop music, on in the background and delivering one well-known payoff line after another.   Considering the era, 1959, Jack Lemmon and Tony Curtis showed real balls to not only jump into their subversive roles, but they cleared the fences with long, smooth swings.

It’s also a real period piece, an artifact reminding of the way women like Marilyn Monroe were winkingly trotted across the screen as garish T&A shows. That was before muscle tone. 

Brazil. Terry Gilliam’s masterpiece is the greatest movie ever. I can prove it.

Did I mention Memento?

I call this set The Movies That When Taken Together Completely Explain Why We Are Where We Are Today Trilogy:

Pan’s Labyrinth

The Lives of Others

Children of Men

Finally, my  Artier Than Thou pick: Dead Man. Heck, the entire Jim Jarmusch oeuvre. His calm strangeness is a thing unto itself, dream states I’ll never turn down.

Now. Your modest list. A lot of topnotch stuff there. Just reading some titles makes me laugh: A Fish Called Wanda. Election. The Princess Bride. (I think you meant “in-con-SHEEV-able.”)

One quibble. Lost in Translation. One of the many movies that everyone seems to like more than me. Its quirks are affectations. I could not care about either person. They were in Tokyo, a dazzling place it seems. They had time on their hands. They were bored. What type of person chooses to be bored? A boring person. Maybe it should have been a movie about the benefits of Prozac.

Greatest Double Feature Ever, Cold War Div: Dr. Strangelove and The Manchurian Candidate. I own both DVDs. These movies crackle with an energy 15 years ahead of their time. One’s hilarious, the other is profoundly scary. Both are prescient.

One must sleep. 

d

Yes, David, you have a spaceship named after you.  Don’t bug me about it.

I have a movie, Tammy and the Doctor, attached to my name.  Sigh.  Well, my mother, Thyrza, and my dad, Norbert, decided to give their kids pigtails-and-freckles type names.

And please don’t EVER sing “Tammy’s in Love.”  Even if you channel Sandra Dee.

Up next for us both: punching it out over the Coen Bros. and Woody Allen.  Can’t wait….

T.

Whoa, Tammy. I duck out for a quickie-flick, post a post, and fail to notice your most excellent post re: black holes. Attention must be paid! Remember the <BLINK> tag? Maybe you should use it on me.

NOVA means a lot to me, not only for its always excellent science but for playing a role in the primo romantic interlude of my life. (Note to guys: find a woman who knows science. They’re more rational.)

How can I see Black Holes: Infinity Just Got Smaller? I must see it. Quantum cosmo scientists flatter moi?Colbert merely had a spider named after him.

Tam,

I could not forestall the inevitable any longer. I played hooky to catch a 4:30 of Burn After Reading. If you are my client and are reading this: no, hey, really, you’ll get that stuff tomorrow, I swear.

Coen Brothers movies run hot and cold but they always have this in common: as they unreel in front of mine eyes, I’m in heaven. They make Eye Jazz. The Coens are meticulous about their intent in every frame, they obviously love to laugh, and they never, ever give us what years of Hollywood repetition makes us expect. They demand we think and observe. An unnamed character can remain motionless in a scene and you have to laugh, just because he was cast and lit and shot solely for his stern cheekbone. 

There was a sparse crowd. We all laughed plenty throughout. Does this sound like a hilarious line to you?: “You think it’s a Schwinn.” Just you wait.

Maybe it’s the wrong thing to do, but I mostly liked the fact that a bunch of actors who have stayed on top of their game for a long time seemed to relish their sad, lonely, confused, prideful, greedy, indignant characters.  Richard Jenkins, JK Simmons, Frances McDormand, George Clooney, John Malkovich, Brad Pitt — what a cast.

It’s not a topnotch Coen Bros film. But even a lousy Coen Bros is more entertaining than most. To that end, one of the better film writers today, Christopher Orr, posted a Gratuitous Coen Brothers Argument Starter which I think is as dandy as it is pointless. However, Orr as 1 and 2 swapped. Although No Country for Old Men is certifiably perfect in every respect, Miller’s Crossing is the best Coen Brothers Film.

The story is a series of tendrils that arc then snarl. A lot of pesky human nature. Am I talking about Miller’s Crossing or Burn After Reading? Why, both! I’ll wait until you see Burn After Reading before commenting further.

Meanwhile I loved your list. Not too much to fight about, sad to say. I’ll comment on a few next post.

däv

David,

I spent 30 minutes at lunch today viewing the Denver Museum of Nature and Science’s film, Black Holes: The Other Side of Infinity. Co-produced with NOVA, this is a large format film usually shown inside the museum’s digital planetarium, with accompanying surround sound.  The film was screened as part of the Jackson Hole Wildlife Film Festival’s interactive media conference.

Black holes and super novas are the topic; but the half-hour film is a great primer on the impossible-to-conceive gigantic, colossus nature of…the nature of space.  There’s a NASA telescope out there, programmed to chart the “frontiers of human knowledge and beyond.”  Guess what they call it?

“Swift.”

Swift is looking for telltale signs of space phenomena hiding in the dark: black holes.  Super novas signal the existence of black holes.   And black holes exist, as Einstein theorized, in space that is flexible as fabric. Planets, he said, put dents in “space time.”

The film’s graphics are cool; perhaps the most effective graphic for non-scientists is the kayakers-being-sucked-down-the-tidal wave-drain image.   If you find yourself on the face of a black hole, you aren’t headed back to shore any time soon.   It’s not clear WHERE you’ll end up, but it’s not on the beach.

Unless you’re Jodi Foster in Contact, and then you do end up on a beach, gazing at your long-lost dad, or an alien in the personage of your long lost-dad, in another universe.  A universe that looks just like the picture of the beach, ocean and palm tree you had on your bulletin board in your childhood bedroom.

There’s mathematic  proof of parallel universes.  I read it in Scientific American.  My sister is there.

Many of the film’s effects reminded me of tie dye t-shirts, lava lamps and screen savers.  Mostly, though, they were way cool and cosmic.  The film is great for all ages.

Going Super Nova,

Tammy

David,

Here’s my list of movie ‘must sees.’ A partial list, full of partiality.  Girl movies for girls, boy movies for girls, movies for both…but no girl movies for boys, ’cause they don’t exist in this universe.  Movies are not listed in order of preference, but simply in the order they came to mind.

Spinal Tap

Best in Show

Lost in Translation

Caddy Shack

Clueless

Nashville

The Conversation

Spiderman, first installment

Superman

Radio Days

Sleeper

Milagro Beanfield War

Star Wars

Psycho

The Birds

The Shining

The Dark Knight

Toy Story

Big

Forrest Gump (This is my Jenny!)

Princess Bride (Inconceivable!)

Fargo

The Manchurian Candidate ( Original )

American Gangster

Harold & Maude

A Fish Called Wanda

Sophie’s Choice

Monty Python and the Holy Grail

Brokeback Mountain

Boys Don’t Cry

Million Dollar Baby

Woodstock

HELP!

The Last Waltz

Singles

Election

Pink Panther

Being There

Dr. Strangelove

Casa Blanca

French Kiss

Junebug

Juno

Howard’s End

The Namesake

What’s Eating Gilbert Grape?

Wonder Boys

Chaplin

Contact

You’ve Got Mail

Shakespeare In Love

High Fidelity

Gross Point Blank

Pulp Fiction

Truly, Madly, Deeply

The Usual Suspects

As Good As It Gets

&

To be continued….

T.

thanks for covering my (now very tan) ass!

This is the internet. It’s inconceivable that you would not post a photo of that.

Ah, the old book-v-movie brawl. A trap, I tell ya! A lengthy movie script is 120 pages (“a minute a page” is the old rule’o'thumb), and that’s with a lot of double spacing. A novella is longer. Anyone hoping to relive a novel’s experience while eating Milk Duds at the Bijou is asking for it.

Like the poor saps who bought into Love in the Time of Cholera. I saw that coming.

Still, it’s fun to trash movies that deign to cop a great novel’s enigma. The most horrifyng example is formerly good, now totally-full-of-it director Robert Zemeckis’ Contact. Carl Sagan was one of our great thinkers. Zemeckis ignored Sagan’s lifelong plea for humans to grow out of their clumsy habit of superstition-based decision making. Contact-the-movie is mush for the I Want My Daddy! crowd.

There are such things as intelligent, literate directors, like Alan J. Pakula, who did Sophie’s Choice. For me, the gold standard is George Roy Hill’s Slaughterhouse Five. Anyone reading Vonnegut’s book would think, “Oh, wow, too trippy, all that getting unstuck in time — no way can you film that.” Yet I can think of no other film that so closely captures the tone of its novel, leaving all of its joys intact. (It came out in 1972. I saw it recently. Holds up wonderfully.)

Then there are films that vastly improve on the novel. Jaws, anyone?

David, thanks for covering my (now very tan) ass! I’m no longer “pale-in.” I.O.U.

Whenever I read an exceptional book subsequently adapted for the screen, I’m likely not interested in the film unless there are plenty of intriguing reviews. When crucial, defining literary detail is lost or poorly manipulated a story is sapped of its strength.

Worst case in point: Cold Mountain. Mangled. Hideous. Filmmakers should be pumped full of buckshot and left in the Appalachian snow to be eaten by badgers for all the damage they did to that miraculous story.

Happiest adaptation surprise: Styron’s Sophie’s Choice.

Your thumbs up/thumbs down book adaptations would be…?

I digress.

Into the Wild: Almost unwatchable. Couldn’t take the flattened characters. Silly caricatures, and I had little empathy for any of them. It seemed a ridiculous tale instead of the tragic, intricate true story Krakauer wrote. A more effective and gripping film about naïve wilderness venture is Grizzly Man.

Atonement: opted to miss the movie. A period story with such delicate psychology, a transforming, didn’t-see-it-coming twist, and the memory of the book’s entire shattering arc was too much to risk.

Starting Out in the Evening and I’m Not There: Can’t think why I missed the former, and I’ll get back to you on the many-sides-of-Dylan flick.

King Corn: BRILLIANT. How easily the boys turned a seemingly breezy story into a lesson in Americana and industry gone berserk. Our narrators discover their roots, as well as how government subsidized corn has transformed Midwest farming and our bodies. Watch this documentary and you’ll not forget its ‘window on a cow’s digestive world’ sequence. The tale is told with empathy because, I believe, the filmmakers honor farming’s early dreams and initiative.

Hold the sweet pickle relish!

T.