Entries Tagged 'Film' ↓

I get to watch these movies (see below) for free and then write about them, for which they pay me money. That is so cool. I still can’t believe that movie reviewing is an actual job. 

• The Real Dirt on Farmer John
• Lbs.
• Robbing Peter
• Mardi Gras: Made in China
• Obstinato: Making Music for Two

Top 10 Favorite Films I Saw in 2004 Plus One

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
Sideways
I *Heart* Huckabees
Shaun of the Dead
Farenheit 9/11
The Manchurian Candidate
Mean Girls
Garden State
Maria Full of Grace
We Don’t Live Here Anymore
Super Size Me

Films I Thought I’d Like But Did Not
The Life Aquatic
Napoleon Dynamite

Films I Did Not See Due to Laziness or Being Poor
Spider-man 2
House of Flying Daggers
The Aviator
The Machinist
Spongebob Squarepants: The Movie
Mean Creek
Word Wars
Ginger Snaps 2: Unleashed
The Motorcycle Diaries
Kinsey
Harold and Kumar Go To White Castle
Kill Bill Vol. 2
Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban
Collateral
Before Sunset
Ray
Closer
The Incredibles
Team America: World Police

My boyfriend’s sister was in town this weekend. She flew in from Art School, Iowa to spend time with her family in Chattanooga. Her last night in Tennessee was spent with us, here in Nashville. While in Chattanooga she saw The Day After Tomorrow with her aunt, and I think the consensus was that they thought it was dreadful. So, I suggested we maybe see a better movie while she was in town, and threw out Napoleon Dynamite. I’d heard it was very funny and got good reviews (even though the Nashville Scene’s Noel Murray opined, “Napoleon Dynamite is to indie films what Franz Ferdinand is to indie rock—a cozy lump of familiar feelings and easy hooks, devoid of real substance.”), and I wasn’t sure how much longer it would be in theatres. We passed up opening night of Godzilla at the Belcourt because we were afraid it was already sold out. Napoleon Dynamite was an easy second choice.

I had popcorn, a bit of a buzz on–I was ready to laugh. The film opens with the Napoleon, the lead character (played by John Heder), boarding a school bus filled with grade school children. He has a big, fuzzy red afro, tucks his t-shirts into sweat pants and is a mouth-breather with a slobber problem. And everything he says is monotone, completely deadpan. The first joke of the film is Napoleon’s response to a kid’s inquiry about what he would do that day. “Whatever I feel like I wanna do, ok?” is our protagonist’s drearily droll answer, but it’s less about what he says than how he says it. The whiny, weird way he slams himself into the seat of the school bus as he does. This got big laughs from the audience. I hoped there would be some variety in the script. I would be disappointed.

I can admit the guy looks funny. And sounds funny. And he’s very obviously trying to BE funny, but that is all the film offers up as comedy. A single, dorky character with a deadpan disposition. It’s like a pretty good Mad TV sketch stretched to it’s absolute end. The film doesn’t try to actually do or say anything, which isn’t nessecarily a requirement, but you’ve got to provide something else. A witty script, a sense of irony, any sort of devotion to the characters at all. Something like that.

Napoloeon Dynamite invests everything in their one-dimensional cast of characters plagued by irritating affectations. You either find that schtick funny or you don’t. I fall hesistantly into the “don’t” category.

I say hesitantly because I wanted to like it. I wanted to laugh. But I’ve seen Rushmore and Welcome to the Dollhouse before, and this looked like a dilluted and entirely lazy and clumsy homage to those. I know no more about Napoleon Dynamite than I did before I entered the theatre, not even how he got so incredibly nerdy.

I guess in the end it just seems half-assed. I bet I could have liked Napoleon, or learned what is so funny about him, or there could have been an interesting plot to accompany the endless empty eccentricity. Instead the filmmakers were so sure that their basket was big enough that they went ahead and put all the eggs in there.

[Big love to my sister for paying my TypePad bill while I wait for my new debit card from my new bank. And also big love to Anil for his help in keeping the page up and comments open. Treat yourself to a cookie or something nice. Then take out a piece of paper. Write on it, “Love, Brittney.” That is from me to you.]

I saw Fahrenheit 9/11. But it was on Saturday, rather than on opening Friday night, like I said before. That’s because all shows were sold out. As far as I know, the single theatre in Nashville that is showing Michael Moore’s new documentary was sold out through the middle of the week. It was on two screens and was filled up at every show time.

I fandangoed some tickets on Friday night for a matinee the next day. We had to wait in the enormous around-the-building line, which was horribly inconvenient despite a $1 convenience fee. There was no kiosk so we had to get our pre-bought tickets from the overwhelmed ticket teens at the gates. By the time we made it into theatre 15 the only seats available in pairs were on the second row. I accepted my future headache as taking one for the cause and settled in.

* * *

All of what I just told you has made it very difficult for me to critique in writing a movie like “Fahrenheit 9/11.” How do you give a movie with so this much hype a fair review? Should you even try? Should you attempt to critique the film based only on its elements, trying to leave out all the talk about death threats and egotism and lies masquerading as truth? Is a film review richer and more esteemed becuse it considers as many internal and external facets of a film as possible? Reviews that take into account all aspects of a film turn into tomes that are unpublishable in conventional mediums for film criticism. Whether you are writing a 7″ column in a daily or churning out a 8,000 word yawner for Film Comment you have to eliminate, unfairly, a lot of information and consideration.

So, with this film, where does one begin to start?

I guess I’ll start with the fact that despite everyone’s insistence that I do so, I’d never before seen a Michael Moore film. I’d heard he was a big, fat liar and, conversely, that he was a brave revolutionary. I think I decided he was a provocateur that I knew little about. Then I read about the standing ovation at Cannes and how it snagged the Palme d’Or. So, now that I live 7 minutes from the only theatre showing it, rather than 37, I went.

But dammit, if I can’t write a coherent review of what I saw. It’s the strangest thing. Moore’s film made me cry three times. So much of it is moving and powerful and so incredibly tragic. Extended footage of wailing mothers who’ve lost children, both American and Iraqi, segued into silly, voiced-over images of Bush & Co. as the cast of “Bonanza.” It is an information packed, emotional rollercoaster, that jerks the viewer from disgust to outrage to disheartened to laughter and back. The film is not especially consistent in tone, which made the manipulation of such a movie all the more evident. I found Moore’s outright mocking of Bush’s accent a severe error in judgement. This President and his administration have propogated enough atrocities and barbarous acts to warrant 100 of these movies, so why Moore spent time making fun of the President’s drawl is beyond me. But it’s disappointing.

I was impressed by how much I didn’t know before watching Fahrenheit 9/11, though. I read the news just about every day, and while not a total news junkie, I consider myself relatively informed. And there were so many things I hadn’t realized until this documentary poitned glaring at them. I wasn’t aware of the extent of the Saudi ties to W. and his dad, and I certainly missed the story about dozens of planes being summoned when ALL THE AIRPORTS IN THE COUNTRY WERE CLOSED to carry the bin Ladens out of the country.

Granted, I take every fact from the this film with an enormous grain of salt. I don’t consider this film as a source of news. It wasn’t intended as such. Moore admits it is an unfair and unbalanced piece of work meant to unseat one of the worst Presidents ever to take office. He doesn’t have to play fair, since one of the overriding themes of his picture is that this administration has an above the law mentality, a money-hording at the sake of innocent lives agenda and doesn’t bother to hide that fact. It didn’t take Moore years of researching and digging to find the footage and “facts” that he did. They were all right there for that taking, it’s just our so-called independent press in this country does not report it. The evil of this administration lurks behind the thinnest excuses and fakest smiles.

I think judging a film based on it’s intent is fair. And since Moore’s intent is to make Bush a one-term president, I hope he succeeds in his intent. Time will tell that.

It will be at that time I give Moore my standing ovation.

New York Times list of the Top 1,000 movies ever made.

Those I’ve Seen plus Sporadic, Pithy Commentary:

About Schmidt (Really?)
Affliction
A.I. (Who’s been huffing what at the Times?)
Airplane! (If they insist.)
Aladdin (I saw this on a first real date with the first boy I ever fell in love with.)
Aliens (Sure, sure.)
Amelie
American Graffiti
Amores Perros (One of the most visceral films I’ve ever seen.)
Annie Hall (The masterwork from a master.)
The Apartment (On my top all-time top ten list every time.)
Apocalypse Now
Apollo 13
The Apostle (Highly recommended.)

Back to the Future
Bambi
Barfly (Thanks, Matthew. Word.)
Barton Fink
Beauty and the Beast (1991)
Beetlejuice
Ben-Hur (I would never watch this again.)
The Birds (Watched this at Jeremy’s place. That was the Night of the Fuckchair.)
Blue Velvet (YAYYY!)
Boogie Nights (I can’t watch that scene with Heather Graham and Julianne Moore where they are all GEEKED OUT OF THEIR MINDS and Roller Girl goes “Will you be my Mom?” and shit. Ugh. Gives me the heebie-jeebies.)
Boyz N the Hood
The Breakfast Club (My boyfriend showed me this movie.)
The Butcher Boy

Casablanca (Seriously. Between me and you. What a snore this movie is.)
Chicago (One of the few movies I’ve ever walked out of.)
Chicken Run
Chinatown
Chocolat
The Cider House Rules (Boo.)
Clueless
Cool Hand Luke (My boss at the video store played this all the time.)
Crumb (So fucking good.)

Dead Man Walking
The Deer Hunter
Deliverance
Desperately Seeking Susan (One of my Women in Film class’ screenings.)
Do the Right Thing
Dr. Strangelove
Double Indemnity (Also thanks Matthew. Word again.)
Duck Soup
Dumbo

The Elephant Man (Hooray!!)
The English Patient (I’m with Elaine on this one.)
E.T.
Europa, Europa
The Exorcist

Fantasia
Fargo
Full Metal Jacket

Gone with the Wind
Gosford Park
The Graduate
Groundhog Day (Sweet.)

Hannah and her Sisters
Happiness (Also in my top ten of all-time.)
Heathers (Well, fuck me gently with a chainsaw.)
Henry Fool
High Art (This movie fucked with my soul.)
Continue reading →

The Nashville Scene asked me to review three films to be featured in the upcoming Nashville Film Festival. They were published today, and though brief, it would be cool if you’d be kind enough to check them out.

Or, if you are lazy, you can read them here.

I just turned the channel to find my friend Matthew’s award-winning documentary, Jimmy Scott: If You Only Knew airing on PBS. Right now! On T.V.!

He told many months ago about the PBS deal, but swore me to secrecy so I nearly forgot about it. It will run all month, so there are still a few days left. To see a wonderful, thorough and touching documentary about Jimmy Scott I recommend you find out what time it’s playing and watch.

It’s so beautiful.

Well, that was quick. It’s been a dang week already. Some time around Wednesday I got the urge to blog about something silly but refrained since I didn’t want to seem all clingy. Now the week is up and, truth be told, I have nothing to show for it.

I went to work every day. I began reading Still Life with Woodpecker. I came to grips with the extent of my utter poverty and found new and interesting ways to not spend money. Like watching the laundry pile grow into this enormous, hairy, stinky beast with bras for arms and orange sweater hair. Dreaming is totally free so I’ve been doing a shitload of that. I’ve been interviewing rappers. Putting off any and all writing. I’ve even taken a small vacation from showering. Soon enough I’m going to have one enormous dreadlock with 8″-long dark roots.

I did splurge last night to see Big Fish since I’d heard some good things about it. The Kids (what the VCB and I call our roommates) invited us to see it at the very last minute and it seemed like a fine idea for a Saturday night. I’d been waiting for something substantial from Burton ever since Mars Attacks!, which I love with my whole heart, and I knew very little about his newest piece. Could this be Burton’s long-needed redemption?

In a word, nuh-uh. Let’s put it this way: Lucky Charms is a good-ass cereal, no? You’ve got wheat puffs in primary shapes and bright, totally non-food colored marshmallows that aren’t quite marshmallows since they aren’t chewy so much as styrofoamy. Mmmmm. In a big bowl of milk this all tastes like everything that is good and light. Clearly the best part of this cereal is the sweet, artificial moons and hearts and shit, but consider for a moment this cereal without the boring wheat puff thingies. You wouldn’t want to eat that. A soggy spoonful of nothing but tiny, super-fake marshmallows would be kind of foul without the “wholesome” grain taste to balance it all out.

Big Fish is devoid of any good-for-you wheat puff stuff. It is nothing but a mouthful of sugary, gooey, synthetic sweetness that leaves you bitter and pissed there was nothing more substantial or real included in order to make you appreciate all that candy.

Frankly, it is hard to believe so much imagination can seem so unimaginative. Something that is meant to be fanciful and magical is instead just pretty and average and typical .

Rent Mars Attacks! instead. Because, “even in a time of intergalactic crisis, people still want to roll them bones.”

[I am still very sorry to Internet Explorer users. I know the links are unreadable and I don’t know why. Fucking maddening. It looks great in every other browser, so I suggest you get a better one. Not because you can’t read my site, but because IE sucks major dick. Mozilla has a tab feature I adore. It also blocks pop-ups. It looks real pretty. Get it. I hear Firebird rocks, too.]

Bad Santa - A snot-nosed fat kid kicks a midget elf in the balls. And it totally works. This brash Christmas film for adults is a long time coming, since National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation is getting really fucking tired.

School of Rock - Joan Cusack can do no wrong. And while Jack Black tends to grate on my nerves, in this he’s totally perfect. This movie reminded me so much of Girl’s Rock Camp that I was stupid happy and laughing the whole way through. This movie is a total joy. (My only complaint is that the girls didn’t get to rock as hard as the boys . They were relegated to non-soloing bass player and back-up singers.)

28 Days Later… - The VCB and I saw this on our first date. When we left the theatre I noticed my date was quite spooked. It was adorable when he told me he was sorta creeped out–I just wanted to pick him up and put him in my pocket. And he was right. The silvery quality and quick, visceral editing of this modern day zombie movie made for a freightening trip.

Winged Migration - A rare and beautiful piece of art on screen. It’s absolutely lovely. Check it: YOU GET TO FLY LIKE A BIRD. They have this camera that soars amongst flocks of migrating birds capturing glaciers and meadows and whale-filled oceans at the same speed and from the same perspective as high-flying fowl. So neat.

The Secret Lives of Dentists - I could have done without so much Denis Leary but the rest was awesome. Campbell Scott and Hope Davis (whom I have loved since Next Stop Wonderland) portray wounded and realistic characters who love and hurt and drag you with them.

Old School - Four words: Will Ferrel. Tranquilizer gun.

The Eye - This Chinese thriller is sort of two movies in one. The last half of the film is a bit trite and simplistic and too happy-ending for my tastes. But the bad second half is completely overshadowed by the first, which is THE SCARIEST FUCKING THING EVER. Men were screaming out loud in the theatre.

Willard - I was, seriously, the only person in the entire theatre for the 5:30 afternoon screening. And I shit you not, I my legs didn’t touch the floor for the duration of that brilliant movie. Crispin Glover owns all.

A Mighty Wind - Christopher Guest’s previous films all had me in stitches. This time he charmed me silly. (And, naturally, there was laughing.)

And the Really Shitty One:
Cremaster 3 - This pretentious, steaming pile of shit masquerading as experimental art/filmmaking almost makes me think Matthew Barney is fucking joking or something. He’s all: “Hey, ya’ll, watch this dude fill up an elevator with cement and then I’ll have some cars demolition each other to smoke and bits, but then! A lady cuts potatoes with her shoes!!” I found myself couting the number of lights in the aisle of the theatre before the “latte-friendly” intermission even, so I talked the VCB out of staying for the second half. Maybe some goat paints his shoes with mustard in the bit we didn’t stay for–I’ll never know. (That, actually, would rule.)

Dear the 50-60 of you a day who come here in search of the real Paris Hilton sex video,

Cease your search. It’s so not worth it. I saw the 6 meg, night-vision video that features a glowy-eyed, stick figure Paris giving some guy whose hair highlights glowed neon green the worst sex ever featured on film and it is awful. For real. This girl couldn’t fuck if dicks were fire and she was the world’s only water source. Which is total nonsense, I know, but wholely symbolizes the pointlessness of your search.

Abandon ship. Look no longer. There is no coke-ridden hotel heiress writhing in ecstasy or even drooling in drunkeness–just some slightly buzzed blonde with a boy’s body stopping mid-way through the most pitiful fuck seen on screen to answer her fucking cell phone.

Pet your cat. Take a walk. Trim your cuticles. Anything.
Anything, I promise, is more sexually titilating than that total yawner.

Spoiled milk, you ask? Sexier than Paris.