10. “I hear Frank Langella used the same makeup for Nixon that he used for Dracula.”
9. “I love Price, but I never much cared for Waterhouse.”
8. “I’m sorry, but those seats are reserved for the two people who actually saw Frost/Nixon.”
7. “Michael Moore? I’m sorry, Mr. Moore, but you’re not allowed to bring any food into the auditorium.”
6. “They gotta be fixed; I mean, Beverly Hills Chihuahua deserved something!”
5. “Did anybody find out why Heath Ledger’s a no-show?”
4. “I’d like to thank the Academy. And for those of you who think it’s an honor just to be nominated: What a bunch of losers!!!!”
3. “Now that Wolverine has hosted the show, can Cyclops and Storm be far behind?”
2. “I love that new ‘anatomically correct’ Oscar; it’s so much easier to carry!”
1. “I hear they’ve already started torturing that kid from Slumdog Millionaire to find out how it won.”
Mr. Smith went to Washington yesterday, with Barack Obama playing the role of Jefferson Smith from the feel-good movie starring Jimmy Stewart about an unlikely United States Senator who leads his countrymen, women and children to their common senses and their common purpose. To say that I shed a tear or two would diminish the national deluge that greeted President Obama’s oath of office. With a single, “So help me God,” this unlikely candidate, and even unlikelier winner, became our 44th president.
If it seemed like a movie, it was. It was a national spectacle filled with famous and anonymous faces of Americans who realized that a page in human history has been turned, millions of whom have been dreaming and praying for just such a day. America, at long last, has proved to itself and the world that it means what it says because it believes its own founding myth. That all men are created equal and that we the people control our own destiny.
Jimmy Stewart is the perfect role model for Barack Obama in the role of the people’s president. He even started his presidency with a Jimmy Stewart stammer because of the crossed signals during Supreme Court Chief Justice John Robert’s recitation of the Constitutionally mandated Presidential oath of office. At the same time the cast of characters surrounding the event looked like every hero and villain from Bedford Falls in Frank Capra’s other Jimmy Stewart classic, It’s a Wonderful Life. Tell me that outgoing Vice President Dick Cheney didn’t look like he was doing a Lionel Barrymore impersonation as the evil miser Mr. Potter when he rolled onto stage in his wheelchair and cane.
It was great theater and it was a great day for America and for the world. The only thing missing was Zuzu’s petals and the sound of a bell ringing. For somewhere in heaven an angel certainly earned his wings for showing us all that a single life can indeed change the world. Oh happy day.
I’ve never been big on foreign films. In fact, prior to Sunday, I had only seen two in my entire life — Haute tension, a french horror flick, and Crimen ferpecto, a Spanish comedy with some telenovella elements. So when Slumdog Millionaire ran roughshod over its competition at the Golden Globes, I was a little unsure whether or not I should take some time to see it. After all, it’s not what I’d consider my usual type of movie. But I decided to give it a whirl.
I’m glad I did. I’m not going to bore you with the plot details, as I’m sure you’ve heard about its basic idea focusing on an Indian boy, named Jamal, who racks up the rupees on his country’s version of “Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?” What’s great about the film is how it shows you the way that Jamal came to know the answers to the questions he’s asked. It’s a fascinating journey through a hard life that makes it impossible not to root for him as he sits in the hot seat. The film doesn’t drag one bit. Its two hours of length fly by. Cringe worthy moments? A few. Humorous moments? Also more than a couple.
Slumdog received a rousing ovation from the packed independent movie house I went to. I felt a little out of my element, as I was probably the youngest person there and also the only one who attended the 2:20 PM screening solo, but I was in agreement with everyone about how good the film is. It deserves every single accolade it gets.
Charlie Wilson’s War could have been a very powerful movie but ended up being merely amusing. All this talent, all this crackling dialogue and brilliant scene direction stopped short, as if the money abruptly ran out, just like it did for the covert ops in Afghanistan 20 years ago. Yet again, Aaron Sorkin takes a whack at a complex issue and runs away like a manipulative little girl as soon as it’s time for counterarguments. [Read more →]
So, this weekend, we finally saw the curiously anhedonic Quantum of Solace. It started off well enough, with a solid car chase and a lot of expensive damage, but when it skipped the traditional James Bond theme opening and went straight to a really, really bad song, I knew it was going to be a bumpy ride.
Being a Brief Review of the New George Bush Biopic
Josh Brolin portrays George W. Bush in Oliver Stone’s new biopic, W., as a bandy-legged welterweight who is, in his earlier years, frequently drunk and, as President, seemingly punch-drunk as he staggers his way to the end of public utterances he never should have started.
It’s a brilliant portrayal that rarely gives in to the temptation to caricature the President by taking his public persona and blowing up its least attractive characteristics. As foolish as Bush often looks in this film, he resembles the actual Bush that all of us know, rather than the cartoon version that most of his critics have endeavored to draw.
Throughout the movie, Brolin doesn’t impersonate Bush as much as he embodies him. And the embodiment is psychological as well as physical. As few of his legion of critics have ever managed to do, Stone and his screenwriter Stanley Weiser attempt to actually get inside of Bush and understand what and who (principally his father) has motivated him throughout his very curious life. [Read more →]
One of my earliest movie-going memories is of being dropped off at Chicago’s Nortown Theatre with my friend Saul when we were nine or ten years old to see an ultra-low-budget horror movie about microscopic monsters called The Flesh Eaters. Some promotional genius at the studio had come up with the idea of offering all attendees one free packet of blood per ticket.
The packets, which were handed to moviegoers along with your ticket stub, were similar to the ones used for soy sauce in carry-out Chinese, and contained some sort of viscous red liquid that must have been edible. As idiotic, tasteless, and utterly inappropriate promotional gimmicks go, this one was bloody brilliant — at least in the sense that, to this day, I can still remember it vividly.
(Warning: Plot spoilers ahead)
Paula: The movie Hancock, starring Will Smith, recently opened in theaters to excellent reviews. Smith plays a surly superhero who gets “reformed” through the intervention of a good-hearted PR guy played by Jason Bateman. Bateman is married to preternaturally blonde Charlize Theron, who it turns out has been keeping under wraps the fact that she is a superhero, too. Most of the hype and resulting reviews claim the movie is no ordinary superhero movie but a kind of allegory about the problem of being human. I’m frankly puzzled. The movie struck me as an unsettling and unsatisfying amalgam of possibly racist motifs. [Read more →]