The Fighter

With two heavy hitters and years of preparation, The Fighter managed to be solid but underwhelming. The Fighter tells the inspiring story of Mickey Ward (Wahlberg), a working-class man, and his crack-addict has-been brother Dick Eklund (Bale). Despite its basis in a true story, the movie plays on a variation of the favorite theme: wrestling hero gets a beat down, then rises to glory. What else is new?

It's always tricky when a movie has two megawatt actors in leading roles. It works when a) the actors aren't in the same scenes or b) it's not painfully obvious that one is a much better actor. Bale steals the show with his frenetic crack-induced energy, and simply overpowers Mark Wahlberg's character. In a bit of miscasting/bad direction, Mickey is a quiet character, the younger brother who diligently and continuously sacrifices for his family. Wahlberg fades off the screen (except for the fight scenes), and doesn't portray the boxer convincingly. As an actor, Wahlberg is best in short and explosive roles. Sustained and introspective just seems alien to his being. The entire cast overwhelms him; His shrill mother Alice (an excellent Melissa Leo), his many white trash, bad-haired sisters, and Charlene, his girlfriend (a surprisingly good Amy Adams). Mickey's reticence unbalances the movie when the rest is so loud.

The movie's ambitiousness became a crutch when the two plotlines failed to connect at the end. For a good hour of the movie, it seemed like I was watching a plea against illegal drug use in the US rather than a lesson on family. This lack of focus supported by Bale's overacting and Wahlberg's underacting detracted from the overall feel of the picture. At times, the struggle for the right tone and the right message bubbling up on the screen was almost painful. The Fighter had some potential, but didn't quite pull through.

Up in the Air

As the Golden Globes punctuate the official beginning of this Oscar season, I felt it appropriate to review this year's Golden Globe winner for Best Screenplay: Up in the Air.

Up in the Air is at its heart, a coming of age story about Ryan Bingham (George Clooney), professional firing agent. Think of him as the opposite of a headhunter. He flies around the country sacking workers when their firms lack the gall to do so. Always on the road and a perpetual loner, he lacks the ability to form real human connections. Disconnected from his family and disavowing the notion of marriage, he alienates all who attempt to grow close to him. In fact, he's so allergic to commitment that he doesn't even keep any clothes in his closet at "home."

Speaking of home, that's the other lead of the film. Not Bingham's real home in Omaha, Nebraska, but where he feels most at home: on American Airlines' jets and in Hilton hotels. Actually, those characters are the only ones who Bingham is able to form long-term relationships with. Women come and go, but lifetime platinum status is there for you for the rest of your days.

In the process of accruing miles to achieve aforementioned status, Clooney's character meets two women who change his life in what writer-director Jason Reitman would hope would be meaningful ways. He picks up Alex (Vera Farmiga) at the bar after getting her all hot and bothered over the number of frequent flyer miles he's collected. Then, the fresh college grad Natalie (Anna Kendrick) shows up at work, threatening to revolutionize the "employment elimination" industry.

Now, apparently a movie review isn't supposed to ruin the ending of the film, so I'll leave you to either to watch or guess the predictable events that follow. But suffice it to say that I was neither challenged nor impressed. The two female characters were nothing but single-faceted caricatures that served to further a not-exactly-believable storyline. Both actresses are getting plenty of attention on the awards circuit, but it's difficult to discern their acting ability with such weak character development inherent in the script. I even told MX that the only reason Ms Kendrick should be receiving any award attention at all is because voters felt guilty for spurning Ellen Page a couple years back. Are we recycling Juno MacGuff already?

Mr Clooney, although good in this movie, seemed to be playing a character remarkably similar to himself. I was left wondering just how difficult it could have been for him to play an attractive middle-aged man who happily jetted around the world as a perpetual bachelor.

Now I've already received plenty of criticism over my lack of appreciation for Up in the Air, but I understand why people would like this film. If we ignore the director's intention of making a thought-provoking movie about much-delayed male adolescence, and instead view it as a lighthearted comedy in the vein of Thank You for Smoking (another movie written and directed by Mr Reitman that I actually adored), then it can be enjoyable. If, however, we try to view the film as an effort to induce self-reflection in people disconnected from those they love, and indeed the emotion itself, we would be sorely disappointed.

Sherlock Holmes

Sherlock Holmes is one of those works that would be better named "Robert Downey Jr. and his madcap exploits." The movie actually delivers on everything that it advertises: Robert Downey Jr., Jude Law, Rachel McAdams, pretty girl #2, villain #1, surreptitious villain #2 for probable sequel (unless RDJ continues insisting that Holmes is gay), swashbuckling action, pyrotechnics, passable storyline, etc. Why then, did I leave the movie theater feeling so unsatisfied, with a dull throbbing in my chest and a duller ringing in my ears?

The story starts with our intrepid hero, Holmes (Downey Jr.), and his faithful and almost as brilliant sidekick, Watson (Law), chasing down Lord Blackwood (Mark Strong), a practitioner of black magic and murderer of young girls and children. Having been caught, found guilty, and hanged, Lord Blackwood manages to come back from the dead and set his nefarious plan of world domination in motion while torturing Holmes on the side through his lovely on-and-off crook of a girl, Irene Adler (McAdams). The storyline is rather unoriginal, although the slow-motion and repetitive explanations given by Downey is different and rather off-putting. Instead of letting the viewer figure things out, we get exposition every ten minutes from a wise and entirely too earnest Holmes. It rather spoils the show. If we can handle Memento without step by step guidance, Sherlock Holmes should be no problem.

I never thought that this day would come, but I wasn't impressed with Robert Downey Jr's portrayal of Sherlock Holmes. His Holmes seemed a bit off-balance and trying too hard to be eccentric (he's plenty eccentric without having to try), yet down-to-earth. Holmes is nervous, yet assured. Capable, yet bumbling. Downey packs too much into Holmes, and the effort wears thin. The character that he portrays is a less convincing version of Depp's Jack Sparrow. However, even when not at his best, Downey still performs better than any of us mortals. Jude Law was surprisingly appealing as the jaded, yet loyal Dr. Watson. His character is cut more consistently, and the world weary air suits him splendidly. I'll be brief about the Holmes/Watson homoerotic rumors. Yes. It's true. They're in each other's personal space, a bit more than the typical man to man would. What have I missed? The women in the movie are negligible, the villain is passable, and one would think that London was gray 365 days of a year and rainy for 364.

In all, Sherlock Holmes is perhaps a bit more clever than the average blockbuster, and not an unpleasant way to spend a Monday afternoon. It's a fairly good movie, and perhaps yet another example of where my sky-high expectations have led to my downfall. Maybe I was hoping for something on par with Iron Man, where Robert Downey Jr. does keep it simple and appealing. Anyway, I would recommend Sherlock Holmes to all except intense moviegoers like myself.

Inglourious Basterds

Every Christmastime, I make a habit of forcing myself to watch a depressing Holocaust movie. Last year, there were so many to choose from, with the release of The Reader, Defiance, and The Boy in the Striped Pajamas and the soon to be reviewed Valkyrie. Strangely, this year, it seems that I had a rather difficult time finding a new release. So, I found a close substitute: a new DVD release.

Now, I'm not exactly a connoisseur of Quentin Tarantino films, but I have to say, this film was my favorite. The story is told in Chapters, but instead of the disjoint style he's used many times before, this story flows, and easily so. Sure, we have the multiple pieces of the puzzle that somehow fit together, but these pieces fit together easily. Although the film moves a bit slowly at times, and the story is one of revisionist history, the acting in this absurdist movie was superb.

It was a role like Lieutenant Aldo Raine, an American armyman in charge of a troupe of Jewish soldiers dedicated to killing and scalping Nazis, that Brad Pitt seems to have been made for. Christoph Waltz is almost believable as the deranged "Jew-hunter" who seeks to pad his own nest in preparation for retirement.

Either way, a bloody mess of a movie, but what do you expect from Tarantino?

An Education

Raise your hand if you're tired of a) artsy movies where the heroine discovers herself in Paris or b) movies where a young girl is being seduced by a much older man. Despite the worn-out topic, I managed to convince two other people to see An Education with me on Thanksgiving (It was also the only movie playing between lunchtime and dinnertime).

Set in London in the early 1960s, Jenny (Carey Mulligan) is walking home from cello practice one afternoon during a downpour when a kind and mysterious stranger (Peter Sarsgaard) in a dashing maroon car rescues first her cello, then her for completely altruistic reasons. A schoolgirl who has very strong opinions on music, art, and Paris, and speaks smatterings of French for no real reason, Mulligan still manages to present 16 year old Jenny as sweet and mildly clever, although her muddled awareness of the dangers lurking in the next level of her relationship with a 36 year old man is slightly suspect.

As Jenny's dashing hero David, Sarsgaard gives a rather muted and affable performance as a dodgy businessman who can talk circles around everyone, but treats Jenny with respect and a sort of quiet amusement. We never doubt that he does care about the girl, and Sarsgaard manages to express raw emotion on one or two occasions, but the feeling isn't there. Since An Education is rated PG-13 (who makes this kind of movie PG-13? Do they really think teenagers are going to go see an Indie British romantic movie-how many oxymorons were in that phrase?), we see about an hour of hugs and kisses on the top of foreheads heretofore reserved for babies and small children. There's little intimacy between the two actors, and as I stated in (500) Days of Summer, just throwing two attractive characters together with hand-holding and looks does not equate an actual relationship. Perhaps the filmmakers got caught up with trying to make the movie light and appealing and simply forgot about the subject matter.

There's more bite in the supporting cast, with juicy roles for David's irrepressible friend Danny (Dominic Cooper) and his barbie-doll girlfriend, Helen (Rosamund Pike). Although not versed in French or anything for that matter, Helen artfully calls Jenny out on her little airs and pretensions. Serving as perfect foils for David and Jenny, Danny and Helen are street-smart and extremely aware of themselves and their goals. There's also the requisite Emma Thompson as the Headmistress (as if anyone else would have been hired), Olivia Williams of Dollhouse as the dowdy teacher and Jenny's guide to a repressive life of learning, and Alfred Molina and Cara Seymour as the well-meaning but bumbling parents.

With a worthy cast and a decent screenplay from Nick Hornby, it's a pity that the rest of the movie was so lifeless. Every scene was carefully constructed, but the emotional barometer barely budged. As my fellow theater-goer said, "British movies are more about character development than plot." This may be true, but we don't take relationships lightly between 36 and 16 year olds (maybe it was more acceptable in the 1960s), and when the inevitable break-up happens, it should end with a bang and not with a whimper.

It Happened One Night

The latest victim of my current black and white movie spree, It Happened One Night is an absolute gem. Smartly turned out and snappily executed, it almost made it to the top of my ancient and creaky films list (My heart still belongs to On the Waterfront, or rather, a young Marlon Brando).

It Happened One Night follows Ellie Andrews, the Paris Hilton of yesteryear, as she fumbles her way through crowded bus stations, woodsy cabins, and toppling haystacks. What's so refreshing about this flick is that the spoiled brat is given a dressing down in the most elegant way possible by Rhett Butler...ahem...Clark Gable. As the uberconfident newspaperman, Clark Gable tells it straight to Claudette Colbert. He doesn't give a damn about her feelings or sensibilities, but he is there for her every step of the way, nudging her none too gently towards independence. There's something appealing about a man who mistreats a woman for her own good, and this sentiment seems to be echoed in other movies of that era, when being a man required a fair degree of wit and callousness overlaid with impeccable manners. Other staples of the pre-1950s also include black servants and women in men's pajamas, but all of the above are simply minor inconveniences along the way.

While not nearly as caustic or sharp as Preston Sturges' masterpieces, the writers here still produce material that is light-years better than anything that's currently in vogue. As Julia pointed out to me, the technology and cost of making a motion picture eighty years ago ensured that the dialogue would be sparse and well thought out. There weren't three hour monsters back then, stuffed to the gills with inane dialogue and gratuitous pyrotechnics.

Like its predecessors, It Happened One Night is undoubtedly stylized, but the depth is still there. The acting is immensely nuanced, and there's nothing wrong with watching a feel-good movie. After watching modern masterpieces such as Amores Perros and 21 Grams, I feel like I've gone twenty rounds against Mike Tyson. Instead, I can watch an incredibly well-edited and fun piece like It Happened One Night and smile afterwards. There's romance, action, acting...what else could a girl want for ninety minutes?

Julie & Julia

I picked up the book based on the blog, Julie & Julia, earlier this year as a possible birthday present for a friend who loves to eat. Actually, all my friends love to eat. Our own little L'Ecole des Trois Gourmandes (Dining Division). Five pages in, I returned the book. Whiny, self-absorbed, and lost with only money and status as guideposts, Julie Powell was not someone I wanted to get to know. More importantly, she was not someone I wanted to represent women, quarter-life crisis or not.

So I went to the movie last night with some hesitation. Meryl Streep has acting power to lift any movie -- she was so captivating in Mamma Mia amid all the nonsensicalness, I felt inexplicably happy with her -- but this is called Julie & Julia, not the other way around. Bring on the self-pity. Its doppelganger Julia & Julie would be about the vivacious giantess at 6'2" who swooped onto public television, teaching cooking like an art and a sport. For this elementary school kid, Julia Child had equal air-time in my life as Darkwing Duck and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. I had no idea what she was cooking half the time but watching her fascination and energy infused me with some sort of pluck, for climbing the highest jungle gym or tackling my math homework or standing up to a bully. She taught me a lot, without teaching me a single thing about cooking.

I was only partly right about this movie, Julie & Julia. It was predictably disjointed: Meryl Streep overshadowed Amy Adams but not as much as the Julia Child outshined Julie Powell. Beef bourguignon vs. marshmallow fluff. Butter vs. Pam. There may be parallels, yes, but they are only superficial. Even Julia's relationship with her husband Paul (I'm more enamored by Stanley Tucci with every movie he makes), there is a depth of love and passion that people would give up anything to be so lucky. My favorite scenes in the movie? Every single one with Julia. I wish the whole movie could have just been about her. I know I'm being a bit harsh but when it comes to her, you better be a heavy-hitter bringing your A-game or you will come off, as one critic said, as having "the emotional depth of a saute pan."

(500) Days of Summer

(500) Days of Summer may have been my least favorite movie of the last few months. Completely overrated and a bit unhinged, this little romantic comedy trips awkwardly along. I desperately wanted to like this movie since the two leads were so adorable in every other movie and TV show that they've been in. Actually, I've only seen Joseph Gordon-Levitt in 10 Things I hate about You, but he's garnered some top reviews in the past few years.

The main issue for me is that this is a movie about young love, and I don't enjoy movies about young people, and rarely about love. As talented as they are, I couldn't get rid of the feeling that Zooey Deschanel and Joseph Gordon-Levitt, as Tom and Summer, were kids playing at being grown-ups. Tom and Summer make an adorable, charming couple, but one never gets the feeling that there's real depth in their relationship. Note to the producer: young man whining desperately like a love-sick puppy combined with an emotionally distant but bohemian hot-house flower does not produce a satisfying relationship. Neither Tom nor Summer were actually annoying, but they seriously lack chemistry. Another note: Zooey Deschanel's big blue orbs do not automatically produce chemistry. The movie is supposed to be light, but what's a girl to think when there are random bits of extreme melancholy strewn about?

When the movie begins, Tom is working as a greeting card writer, and is so bored that he automatically spends 100% of his abundant free time dreaming about Summer (the new personal assistant) when she suddenly arrives in a cloud of bohemian charm and wide-eyed wonder. They date for a while (it's clear who's more invested in the relationship), then Tom spends the rest of the movie mopey and catatonic as his little sister (who has more balls than him by far) and his friends try to make him forget Summer. Meanwhile, Summer inhabits a completely different universe and goes through the movie blithely and believing even less in love than I do, but somehow gets happiness. This is also patently unfair. What happened to rewarding effort? Stupid stupid love.

There are some good moments in the story, but not enough to smooth over the inconsistencies and bumps that appear more frequently in the latter half. The conceit of jumping back and forth through the 500 days was far more clever than the actual plot. While it's lovely that the people in charge wanted a piece that screamed independent and hip, they might have put more effort into the final product (besides the soundtrack, which was hip and comfortable).

Public Enemies

During the first twenty minutes of Public Enemies, all I could think about was the shaky camera work and how it was making me quite nauseous. Then I was re-introduced to the glory of fine cheekbones (Johnny Depp) and finer cheekbones that could cut steel (Christian Bale). And well...guys look really good in tailored suits, dark overcoats, and fedoras. The rest of the movie was just that exciting.

Johny Depp makes a cute and rather repressed John Dillinger, that infamous bank robber in 1933. He traipses around the country having a grand time (at least in the first half of the movie) and dazzling a fiery French girl (Marion Cotilliard) while being chased by a young and rather incompetent FBI, led by an intense Melvin Purvis (Christian Bale). Unfortunately, there's absolutely no suspense in this lethargic cat and mouse game. Dillinger seems to be doing his own thing most of the time, and Purvis is too busy trying to teach his incompetent men that a stake out requires staying in a place for a looooooong time (almost as long as this movie).

Michael Mann pays loving attention to detail, historical facts (though not necessarily accuracy), and ends up with a bit of a mess, and an uninteresting mess at that. There are too many names nonchalantly thrown into the fray, and everyone looks like a cookie cutter white male in the 1930s except for Depp, Bale, and Cotilliard (who's a woman). Criminals enter haphazardly left and right on both ends of the gun barrel, taking the focus away from the main characters. One wonders if Public Enemies would be better if it had just embraced its ensemble cast instead of wobbling in limbo.

A master of making some good action movies without much action, Mann falls flat here by not keeping the story focused. With only artsy gun fights, the whole needs a tight structure to hold it together. Instead, we get a smattering of fragments and not a lot of emotion. Although there's character development, there's nothing that makes us care about John Dillinger (even Bale's wooden Purvis probably racks up more sympathy points with the viewer). The scenes are filmed well if chaotically, but the entire package just feels like it had the life sucked out of it. After two hours, I didn't care if Dillinger was going to hell; I just wanted him to go somewhere else.

Lest I bash Public Enemies too much, let me state that the movie wasn't bad at all. It wasn't great, but I'll be the first to admit that I had pretty high expectations going in. A few of the scenes are shot beautifully and crisply, especially the action scenes. One wishes that Michael Mann would be a little less detail-oriented and cared less about his source material. A bit of energy would be nice, especially from Depp and Bale. Marion Cotilliard certainly did her part in trying to revive the beast, but she was the only one. It's not likely that Public Enemies will be up for any Oscars (even with the bloated expansion in the Best Picture category), except maybe in costume design.

Bruno

As the most highly anticipated film of the year, Bruno is certainly one of a kind. Where shall I possibly begin? In the first place, so much of it has been splashed across previews and the endless Bruno interviews, the finished product is appallingly less than the sum of its parts. The scenes that haven't been previously shown are obviously part of a conspiracy to shove as much porn as possible into the viewer's screaming eyeballs in the form of Sacha Baron Cohen doing acrobatics with his genitals, simulating hard gay sex, enjoying hard gay sex, not enjoying harder straight sex...this could possibly be the first porn movie with an R rating. I thought porn was supposed to be more enjoyable than this, and with hotter people (I suppose Sacha Baron Cohen's mildly cute in his wackjob sort of way).

Since the porn takes over most of the movie, it's hard to say how effective the rest is. The general feeling is that Bruno is working harder for the laughs than Borat ever did, with too many shticks. One can't help feeling sorry for all of the poor masses captured in their moment of infamy (mothers who'll do anything to pimp out their kids, Lohan-style). I can certainly see myself spewing out something mortifying on camera (or just sitting there red as a beet and wishing that Bruno would impale himself on a very sharp object), but the jokes are much less humorous here. While Borat was humorous and lovable, Bruno is a bit of a self-involved prick and a dandy. Instead of feeling disgusted at the people he was around, I found myself wishing he'd occasionally drop into a hole.

Maybe it's one of those things that can only be done once. When Borat set the bar, everything else was bound to be derivative and much more mundane. Not only that, but one would wish that Mr. Cohen would spend a bit more time working on the actual film instead of gallivanting around promoting the film, about as subtle as Bruno himself.

Comedy is one of those strange things. Should we be laughing at the misfortune of others (however ineptly they're portrayed)? Of course, humor goes a long way in making certain unpalatable points heard, but is it always appropriate? Not sure that mixing humus and hamas is the key to recognizing the futility of the Middle Eastern conflict. Nor does gratuitous gay sex give me any insight at all. Does the very action of laughing at Bruno paint us as crass and vulgar, every bit as unwholesome as the dumbos populating his film? Or does the very existence of the character show us how low modern society has stooped? Maybe I'm missing the point, but I'm not laughing.

Sullivan's Travels (1941)

There's something touching about movies which are quite aged, like fine wine. The people are classically beautiful, the scenes are classically kitschy, and there's a classical mood embodied in that era which is now only remembered on scratchy reels of film (and converted into DVDs). Preston Sturges' Sullivan's Travels is a lesser known piece in the midst of monoliths including Citizen Kane and Casablanca, and quite modern, despite its somewhat uneven pace.

I generally have to be in a certain mood to watch black and white movies (It sometimes takes half a year to get in that mood), but the experience is almost always rewarding. It almost feels as if the characters and the scenery pop out of the screen, requiring a high degree of concentration, or just that my eye is straining for colors that aren't there. The two best things about Sullivan's Travels is the snappy dialogue and a snappier Veronica Lake. She's one cool lady and possesses a level of snark that I could only aspire to.

The story revolves around Sullivan (Joel McCrea), a successful movie director who decides to ditch his usual brainless comedies and find something deeper and darker. In a time of war and economic hardship, Sullivan reasons that the masses will want something dark and poignant (like all directors, he seems to have misplaced his common sense). Realizing that his privileged upbringing, complete with valets, marble halls, and pools are not the status quo, Sullivan finds some ratty hobo clothing and goes a-hoboing. Along the way, he meets the ravishing girl (Veronica Lake), and pretends to be homeless (as homeless as one can get while being trailed by a trailer of assistants, photographers, and cooks).

Although the presentation is good for the most part, Preston Sturges precipitates an anxious change in tone in the latter half, going quite suddenly from flippant to deadly serious. The timing is also a bit off at times, but manageable. What is classic about the movie is its willingness to explore a range of topics and poke fun of the motion picture industry. Overall, Sullivan's Travels is a worthy flick, but not a classic.

North & South

North & South (2004) is a beautiful BBC production that details the differences between the genteel and indolent gentry of Southern England and the brisk and often harsh working class of the North. This series is adapted from Elizabeth's Gaskell's novel, the version of Pride and Prejudice where people actually have jobs.

The machinery that makes this production work is the economic backbone of the story. The hero is John Thornton (played with brooding perfection by Richard Armitage), the owner of a cotton mill in the industrial town of Milton. A practical and rather severe man, he clashes terribly in the first two hours with Margaret Hale (Daniela Denby-Ashe), a vivacious young woman from the South who is often offended by Thornton's 'crude' Milton ways. Their romance is unfortunately soured by Thornton's mother (a superb Sinead Cusack), a matriarch who is even more rigid and forbidding than her son, and his absolute tart of a sister, Fanny (Jo Joyner).

Thornton and Margaret's love story unfolds not only in their interactions with each other, but also by the other's actions and perceived prejudices towards the working class. Rarely do we get to see so such richness in a relationship where actual substance beyond courtship is involved. Not only does Margaret see Thornton's job as the mill owner as an integral part of him, but Thornton also admires Margaret in her capacity as an advocate for the workers. To see a relationship based so deeply on mutual respect for each other and their vocations is amazing, especially in the nineteenth century.

Economics is something that the movie does extremely well. We can sympathize with the owners as well as the common workers and feel mutual respect for both parties (something that is sorely lacking for GM and UAW). Moreover, we see the evolution of Thornton as Margaret's influence forces him to see the workers' viewpoint as well as Margaret growing to find a deeper understanding of Thornton's character as well as her own. The love story careens back and forth as Thornton and Margaret dish out plenty of uncoordinated love and disgust. Armitage's smoldering and severe Thornton is so supremely hot that he blows MacFadyen and Firth's Darcys completely off the radar, and the rest of the crew is lively and a pleasure to watch in this much better version of Jane Austen.

Synecdoche, New York

Synecdoche is the latest Charlie Kaufman movie, crammed with a wealth of superb acting, weirdness, and too many ideas to absorb. In other words, it's a typical Kaufman production. For someone as simple-minded as myself, it was an ambivalent lesson in patience and confusion. Although it's not exactly Kaufman's magnum opus, Synecdoche tries to pack in death, life, relationships, work, and everything else this side of the Milky Way.

Philip Seymour Hoffman plays the director Caden Cotard, who spends the last n years of his life believing that he's on the verge of death, and consequently creating a play about his life, even going so far as to make a miniature of New York City in an abandoned gymnasium. He goes through a list of women, starting with his ex-wife Adele (Catherine Keener) and daughter Olive, then his current and to be ex-wife Claire (Michelle Williams), and finally ending up with his always elusive flame, Hazel (Samantha Morton). The acting is tremendous from every angle, and although the message is a bit hazy (life tosses and turns you constantly into new roads?), the whole thing is a riot.

More must be said of Philip Seymour Hoffman, who is amazing and pathetic in this role (He's good at acting pathetic). He rejects death by fighting for meaning in his life, which becomes his work and vice versa. The movie takes a bit of a fatalist spin on life and death, marginalizing as well as elevating people's lives and importance. All of us are actors in our little plays, and sometimes we're interchangeable, and we almost always can't see the bigger picture. The more I think about this movie, the more I'm convinced that I need to watch it again (although part of me is cringing at the toll it will take on my somewhat insignificant brain and body).

Kaufman's style is unique as a weird realism/fantastic jag, but I'm just not a fan. Nor can I pinpoint the significance or fascination with excrement, although the burning house was pure genius. I take issue with movies that don't have a certain tone (or more subtle tone that requires careful study), and frankly, movies that make me feel like I've only grasped the tip of the iceberg.

The Hangover

The Hangover is one of those movies that's popping up more often these days: the well-done comedy. Gone are the cheesy and lighthearted comedies of years past. Instead, the replacements tend to add a dash of drama into the works, overdo the sexual and racial jokes, and give new meaning to bromances (Is bromance in the Merriam-Webster dictionary yet? It should be). I watched this flick on Wednesday afternoon, which is the absolutely best time for watching mindless entertainment.

Doug, a straight shooter and good guy all around, invites his two best buddies, Phil and Stu, to Vegas for the best bachelor's party ever. Of course, things never go according to plan, especially when Doug's utterly wacko brother-in-law-to-be Alan tags along. The day before the wedding, they wake from a hog-wild party in a trashed hotel room minus their memory and...uh oh...minus Doug. Plus a baby and some other animals.

Phil (a smarmy Bradley Cooper) takes charge and tries to recreate last night CSI style while Stu (Ed Helms) the pansy works himself up to a mental breakdown. And I cannot even begin to describe all of the shades of insanity that is Alan (Zach Galifianakis). Bradley Cooper is just amazing as the uber-pessimistic and generally douchy schoolteacher Phil who nonetheless does his best to find Doug, calm Stu, and deal with Alan all at once. Helms and Galifianakis also pull off worthy performances, especially the latter, who is light years weirder than E.T.

Overall, I really liked the look and pace of The Hangover, which resolves itself evenly without dragging. Although the movie didn't give me a rush of satisfaction at the end (I only get my thrills from dark and angsty dramas), it was still a fun experience.

Terminator Salvation

The issue with Terminator Salvation is that the whole world thinks that it's a piece of crap. I don't know if it's because Christian Bale movies are now expected to be on par with Dark Knight, or our man Christian's infamous rant on camera, or that the director's name is McG, etc. For an action movie, Terminator Salvation could even be considered slightly above average.

There are two major issues as far as the movie goes. First: everyone knows the terminator story backwards and forwards, and Terminator Salvation doesn't do anything remotely creative to deviate from this state. Second: Christian Bale's acting sucks ---- as John Connor, unusual from his typically intense, yet nuanced performances. In Terminator Salvation, John Connor literally only does two things, scream at other people and give the world's most retarded slow-mo head nod to convey a wealth of respect, gratitude, and trust.

The rest of the movie is pretty good once we lower our expectations. It's shot completely in dark grays and beiges, giving us something more dark and palatable than the inappropriate bright oranges and yellows in kitschy action fare that would be better suited for The OC. The action is grim and satisfying, with a surprisingly good performance from Sam Worthington. Worthington manages to humanize his role beyond a hunk of muscle, something which Bale could learn from. In all, not a bad way to spend a Monday afternoon.

The Soloist

There are always problems with movie adaptations of books, and none more glaring than Joe Wright's interpretation of The Soloist. Previously known for Pride and Prejudice and Atonement, it is somewhat of a relief that Wright doesn't crowd The Soloist with over saturated colors and clever camera shots straight out of film school (for the most part).

Steve Lopez's The Soloist tells the story of Nathaniel Ayers, a homeless and schizophrenic musician in LA who attended Julliard two decades ago before having a mental breakdown. This is really two stories, one about music and the other about the homeless and dispirited in LA and the mind-wrenching misery of Skid Row. Lopez, a columnist for the LA Times, becomes Nathaniel's friend and helps him regain some measure of himself through music. Here are some of the issues that the movie gets wrong:

1. Nathaniel's original instrument was the bass.
   
2. Wright barely comments on race relations in the movies, especially the fact that Ayers was a flaming racist.
   
3. No one sees the ambiance swirls on Windows Media Player in their head when listening to Beethoven.
4. Steve Lopez is not divorced, nor was his wife ever his boss.
5. Nathaniel Ayers has never physically assaulted Steve Lopez.
6. It's omits the fact that Ayers refuses to go on medication now because he's was forcibly medicated when leaving Julliard.

And what was up with the urine jokes? I can't say that the book was a life-changing experience for me, but it was a thousand times better than the movie was. Thin on substance, the movie really gets none of the book's points across. Wright doesn't explore social policy very effectively, nor does he create particularly sympathetic characters.

I've never been a fan of Jamie Foxx, and certainly not his character in this movie. The real Ayers was no saint by Lopez's book, but Foxx gives us a strange and flat interpretation of schizophrenia, almost completely lacking in nuance. Robert Downey Jr does an unsympathetic and whiny Steve Lopez, which is certainly not the case in the book (although it was written by Lopez). As someone who loves RDJ's work, his performance in this movie is not up to par. And Joe Wright, I know you love your P&P cast, but must you bring in Tom Hollander as an ultra-religious cellist? What were you thinking?

Conclusion: Skip the movie. Skip the book if you prefer more elitist literature (like me).

The Brothers Bloom

A smug and insouciant little caper of a movie, The Brothers Bloom should only be indulged in once. There are so many parts of the movie that works, we can almost forgive its utter lack of substance.

The Brothers Bloom revolves around Bloom (a morose and sensitive Adrien Brody) and his older non-brother, Stephen (a rakish Mark Ruffalo). As the best con men in the world, they happily deprive wealthy women and children of their easily earned cash. Stephen revels in the life of a crook, but Bloom is deeply unsatisfied with his melancholy escapades and prefers a more subdued life of sipping wine on a small Mediterranean island. Stephen gets Bloom to agree to one last con, in which Bloom seduces the wealthy heiress Penelope Stamp (a delighful Rachel Weisz), who never goes out of her New Jersey mansion except to wreck canary-colored Lamborghinis. In place of social skills, Penelope enjoys a variety of psycho hobbies, many too strange to be mentioned here (no one would believe me anyway).

The wackiness of the movie works quite well for the most part. We get a carefully crafted joining of sophistication and quirk, with Bloom and Stephen dressing in three piece pin-striped suits, suspenders, and Mediterranean sailing outfits of pure white (the costume design is by far my favorite part of the movie). Penelope is wonderfully naive yet wickedly fun, and sidekick Bang Bang (Rinko Kikuchi) manages to entertain with a three word vocabulary (perhaps because she enjoys placing explosives in Barbie dolls and blowing them up). Although I'm generally not a fan of Mark Ruffalo, he shows some promise here as the mastermind and caring older brother. The show-stealer is Adrien Brody, a sad puppy-dog eyed Adrien Brody (I realize that he looks like this in every movie) who is destined to forever be a character and shadow in Stephen's script.

By now you're probably wondering what is actually wrong with this movie. The plot falls un-deliciously flat in the last forty minutes, after being just passable in the beginning. This movie trips in its own perceived cleverness, and the conceit becomes increasingly more annoying by the minute. Although told to expect the ultimate con, we get a pasty and somewhat flat whimper at the end. One wishes that the director would pay less attention to the cinematography and acting and focus instead on the meat and potatoes (I can't believe I just wrote that). No doubt buoyed by a crumbling storyline, the pace is severely erratic, which would be forgivable if it weren't so interminably slow at times...such a drag. The Brothers Bloom had clearly been made with love and care, but its mild ingenuity only highlights how good it could ultimately have been.

The Girlfriend Experience

The Girlfriend Experience

After being unable to convince any of my friends to see Terminator Salvation with me, we settled upon Steven Soderbergh's latest The Girlfriend Experience. The movie opens with scenes from a young woman's seemingly glamorous life. Decked in fashionable designer garments while enjoying an evening about town with a wealthy older man, "Chelsea" leans against his arm and they head back home. We see them snuggling and kissing on the couch in a moment of apparent intimacy before a scene from the morning after. Only later, when we see her counting her cash on the car ride home do we see the true nature of her $2000 an hour job. In fact, she operates in a niche market, where she specializes in providing more than mere physical services, she offers companionship, and the appearance of a real relationship.

A disjointed collection of moments from the life of a high end New York escort set shortly before the 2008 US Presidential Elections, The Girlfriend Experience succeeds more in capturing a moment in time than in truly exploring the complicated nature of affection and intimacy between individuals. The audience looks on as Christine (Sasha Grey), who uses the alias of Chelsea in her work, moves from client to client, documenting every last detail, from her chosen wardrobe for each evening, to each film watched, to every act performed with her clients. We see her meeting with others to strategize about maintaining competitiveness in the business. For instance, she is shown meeting with a technology consultant to improve her internet branding.

In stark contrast to her business aspirations, we see interspersed scenes showing Christine with her boyfriend Chris, a personal trainer who is also attempting to expand his business despite the growing economic concerns of the times. The real juice of the story supposedly arrives when Christine, after an initial meeting with a new client, actually begins to feel something for the other person, complicating her relationship with her "real boyfriend."

What I would have liked to see would have been a deep exploration of what it means to feel for and love another person, and what the meaning of intimacy really is. The film touches on this subject ever so slightly when the boyfriend tells Christine that their lives together lie in the real world, while her rendevouz with clients were fake. But is that really so? For instance, although Christine steps into another persona for her work and fakes intimacy with her clients, if her clients feel a real sense of intimacy with her, does the fact that she's faking negate her clients' real feelings? Unfortunately, this film does little to really explore or expose human emotion. Rather, it is content to display the outward signs of wealth of the gilded elites and their lifestyles.

It's also very hard to connect with Ms. Grey's character as she seems perpetually stone cold and without emotion, even when it seems that she ought to feel something. It's hard to say whether this was the intention of the director, or the fault of the actress, but this aspect of the film, coupled with its disjoint organization and near complete lack of a soundtrack created an atmosphere more reminiscent of an extended amateur work than a feature film. Nonetheless, the movie does successfully capture a snapshot of October 2008, complete with references to credit market crises, investments in gold, and unease about the election, which may one day serve as a lesson in history.

Available in limited release now, and via Amazon onDemand.

Etz Limon (Lemon Tree)

From Israel comes Lemon Tree, a sympathetic look at the other side of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. Although leaning a bit heavily on allegory and reverting to didactism at times, the director Eran Riklis crafts a simple story of dignity through the identity of the individuals behind the lemon trees and their slow resolution of the conflict.

The story centers around Salma Zidane, a middle-aged Palestinian widow who owns a grove of lemon trees in the West Bank, passed down through her late father. The only human interaction she has is with Abu Hussam, the ancient caretaker of the trees for the past fifty years. Salma's life changes when Defense Minister Israel Navon and his wife Mira moves next door and erects fences, a guard tower, and then insists on chopping down her lemon trees because it's a potential harbor for terrorists and assassins. Salma recruits Ziad Doud, a young lawyer, to fight her case until it reaches the Supreme Court in Jerusalem.

The Defense Minister is callow and hawkish, while his wife is slowly affected as she sees Salma through the windows of her mansion and ten feet high wire fences. It doesn't take a lot of imagination to see that the lemon trees represent the Palestinian people, corralled and threatened by the Israeli military and establishment. Israel Navon represents Israel now, while his wife is the conscience, or Israel as it should be. Salma embodies the spirit and attitudes of the Palestinian people, and embraces her heritage while being tempted by and ultimately rejecting modernization. Much of the movie focuses on fences, ultimately denouncing the Israeli West Bank barrier as the means of depriving Palestinians of their identity and creating an insurmountable gap between the two cultures. Riklis creates a spare and realistic movie that manages to be touching as well as informative.

Hiam Abbass, with the same quiet strength and passion that she showed in The Visitor, carries the movie convincingly as Salma Zidane. Through her character, we see the life of an Arab woman, and although repressive, the appealing side as well. She is matched by the empathy and genuine kindness of Mira Navon, played by newcomer Rona Lipaz-Michael. The rest of the cast turn in good performances as well, from Ali Suliman as her sweet and boyish lawyer and Doron Tavory as the gruff and cowardly Israel Navon.

I watched this movie with two of my Israeli friends, who confessed to liking it somewhat, but not too much. Many Israelis are realistic, and buoyed by the increasingly liberal media in Israel, recognize the issues and consequences of military actions in the last few years. However, that's all peanuts when considering the primitive issue of survival. Situated in an area where its neighbors would gladly raze it and its inhabitants to the ground, hard decisions must be made, some right and some wrong. As Lemon Tree shows us, conflicts can be resolved peacefully, but there will always be a loser when 3,000 years of history is involved.

Tokyo Sonata

I find something inherently fascinating about Japanese movies. It's hard for me to grasp just how dysfunctional Japanese culture is, with all of the repression and honor and machoism driving everyone batty. This movie was actually much more normal than the other Japanese movies I've seen, although the director felt the need to put in about twenty minutes of that peculiar brand of Japanese fantastical weirdness near the end.

Tokyo Sonata is the Japanese version of American Beauty, or the dysfunctional Japanese family. The core of the problem is the husband (that's something that doesn't change from country to country), who's terribly emasculated at work and feels the need to rule his house with an insensitive lead fist. Things only get worse for Sasaki-san when he loses his job in about five minutes and spends the rest of the movie standing in food lines and unemployment lines, doing menial labor, and screaming at/beating his children. His wife slowly goes to pieces, his eldest son who's never at home elects to leave home for good, and his youngest son has a burning passion to humiliate his teacher in school and to learn how to play the piano.

The movie has a somber, depressing quality about it (I don't think I've ever seen an upbeat Japanese movie) and each scene crawls along at an excruciating pace for the first half of the movie. The family suffers one setback after another, each more momentous as the solitary burden of unemployment crushes Sasaki. When the entire family is near the breaking point, strange things happen to Sasaki, his wife, and his youngest son in illogical and completely unforeseeable ways. This part of the movie was completely unsatisfying and felt cheap. Clearly, the tension needs to culminate in some sort of explosion, but this just seemed like a convenient rest stop for the director to spout some weirdness and profundity, point out the errors of the family's ways, and to happily rush off towards the resolution.

Although Tokyo Sonata has its moments, the entire package just felt a bit dull. The acting was above average but nothing exceptional and the editing was a bit too abrupt. I didn't feel that the pace flowed very well, and the pulse of the story was ruined for me in the last half hour.