Dogs and Shoes

Torogoing

Originally posted 22 January 2001

Movies: The Pledge, Snatch, Traffic

I'm telling you, lately I cannot leave the house without seeing a movie that has Benicio Del Toro in it. This is not a bad thing: the man is so sexy, paint peels from the walls when he walks into a room. And unlike this season's other pervasive star, Helen Hunt, Del Toro has range and doesn't make you want to hang yourself from the balcony with Twizzlers every time he grimaces. Below is a rundown of the films in which I've been enjoying him.

A couple of weeks ago, my neighbor Rich and his ex-girlfriend Miranda and her friend Nicky and I went to see "Traffic" at the Sonyplex on Broadway and 68th. "Traffic" is the latest from multitalented director Steven Soderbergh ("Sex, Lies & Videotape," "Erin Brockovich"). It tells three overlapping stories about the drug trade between the US and Mexico, and it's absorbing.

I found some of the film to be bracingly realistic (the dialog among drug-addled prep school kids) and some of it a little hokey (the personal decisions of the US drug czar). But I loved the cinematography (Soderbergh shot it himself), and the acting is very, very strong. "Traffic" is Soderbergh's most powerful film since "Sex, Lies & Videotape," and the one most similar in texture to that vaunted debut.

Here's how "Traffic" scored on a scale of 1 - 10 in my categories of analysis:

* Benicio Del Toro: 11. He plays a Mexican cop. After the film, Rich had to scrape me off the floor and help me out of the theater.

* Cell phones: 8/2. Mobile phones were used with moderation in the movie, but two rang in the theater during the show.

* Dogs: 4. De rigeur drug-sniffing shepherds.

* Philip Seymour Hoffman: 0. Benicio Del Toro may be hotter than a frying latke, but I must admit that I have a fairly serious crush on that other three-named actor (technically, I'm not sure if "Del Toro" is one word or two, but you get my point).

"Traffic" deals with some gruesome subject matter, but it keeps the on-screen gore to a minimum. That's good news for us weak-stomached movie watchers, although Benicio Del Toro will make you weak in the knees. If you haven't already caught "Traffic," go see it soon.

This past Friday night, my friend Keith and I saw "Snatch" at the United Artists theater on Union Square. Directed by Guy Ritchie ("Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels;" also, he's married to Madonna), "Snatch" is a jokey jewel heist movie filmed like a music video. It's stylish, lite fare. Warning: Brad Pitt speaks.

Here's how "Snatch" scored on a scale of 1 - 10 in my categories of analysis:

* Benicio Del Toro: 9. I couldn't tell what kind of accent he was supposed to have. I didn't care.

* Cell phones: 5/10. Reasonable use in the picture; none rang in the audience.

* Dogs: 10. Several cuties, one of which rivals BDT for appeal.

* Philip Seymour Hoffman: 0. Not really his cup of tea.

"Snatch" is entertaining but wholly forgettable. I neither recommend you see it nor suggest you avoid it.

On Saturday night, my friend Amy O and I saw "The Pledge" at the Sonyplex. We were hoping for something suspenseful but not too scary, serious but not too gory. We scored. "The Pledge" is a subtle film with a deceptively simple plot: a retired detective (played with remarkable understatement by Jack Nicholson) becomes consumed with the investigation of a series of juvenile murders. The movie has the creepiness of "Silence of the Lambs" or "Dead Again," plus thought-provoking characters. Sean Penn directed the stellar cast (you cannot believe how many great actors are in this baby). I also liked the cinematography and the score.

Here's how "The Pledge" scored on a scale of 1 - 10 in my categories of analysis:

* Benicio Del Toro: 8. He has a small role as an unappetizing character. He plays it perfectly.

* Cell phones: 0/10. Cops use walkie-talkies, not cell phones. Thankfully, the audience members used neither.

* Dogs: 0. A minor disappointment.

* Philip Seymour Hoffman: 0. I understand Hoffman lives in the West Village, and he seems like an approachable guy. If you know him, or if anyone you know is acquainted with him, and you can set me up with the man, I will buy you very nice drinks and take you to the movie of your choice anytime. That's a pledge.

Sean Penn has come a long way since "Fast Times at Ridgemont High." Do yourself a favor and go see what he's up to now.

Here's what else I've seen since my last SMO:

"Before Night Falls," which I saw by myself at the Roachplex on Broadway and 63rd. I liked it a lot, but I didn't love it. A little too impressionistic for my taste, plus I was kind of confused about what was happening a lot of the time. Still, Sean Penn had a small cameo in it, and he directed Benicio Del Toro in "The Pledge," so it's all good.

"The Personals," which I saw with Erik and Stephanie last week at the Cinema Village. Taiwanese movie about a woman looking for love. Some funny moments, but without you-know-who (or you-know-who-too), the movie lacked oomph.

Well, that about wraps it up for current movie going. Pitchers and catchers report to spring training in 26 days--hopefully three more movies with Benicio Del Toro will hit (and melt) screens before then.

Season's Gratings

Originally posted 27 December 2000

Movies: Cast Away, Crouching Tiger, and More!

It's the holiday season, which means subway musicians are playing bad Christmas carols, the super and the newspaper delivery person slip "thank you" notes under the door and Hollywood releases a lot of unpleasant movies. Who am I to gum up the works? I stinted on the underground performers, but I tipped Jerzy (the world's best super) and Carla (the delivery person, whom I have never seen), and I forked over more money for movie tickets than I've put in my IRA this year. Here's what I sat through.

Last Sunday, in a moment of truly deficient judgement, my neighbor Rich and I decided to go see "What Women Want," a mess of a movie starring Mel Gibson and Helen Hunt. I can't stand Mel Gibson, and Rich can't stand Helen Hunt, so our motivations for paying to see this flick are a mystery. Your guess is as good as ours.

"What Women Want" was playing at the Sony gigaplex on 68th and Broadway, a theater that is looking, as Rich put it, "a little long in the tooth--no, make that down at the heels." Whatever, it's gross. We settled into our half-broken seats and Rich went off to kill us some popcorn. While he was gone, I witnessed an Olympic-caliber seat-saving event: one woman, using three coats, saved twelve seats in two rows. I gave her a 9.8.

The premise of "What Women Want" is that Mel, supposedly a lady killer, has an accident with a hair dryer that gives him the ability to hear women's thoughts. Helen Hunt plays an exec who beats him out for a promotion at the ad agency where he works; Hunt's role conforms to the worst Hollywood portrayals of female career babes. Nonetheless, the movie starts out relatively smart and funny, with winning performances but Marisa Tomei and Ashley Johnson. Halfway through, however, it tanks, becoming stupid, sentimental and aggressively unfunny. By the end, I was curled in a fetal position on my creaky chair, wincing uncontrollably.

As the credits rolled, I removed my hands from my cheeks and said to Rich that I'd never seen such a spectacularly miscast movie--Mel Gibson was just terrible. Rich, also in a bad way, growled, "Yeah, but I'd sleep with him before I'd sleep with that Helen Hunt. Ugh." While I was thinking, That quote goes in my review, Rich said, "Don't put that in your review." We had a little chuckle over our reenactment of the movie, but we both knew I'd wind up betraying him here.

Afterwards, we went to Saigon Grill and, over sautéed string beans, complained about "What Women Want." I think Steve Martin would have been good in the lead role; neither of us could say who would have been better than Hunt--maybe Sandra Bullock? I did manage to recall that a minor character in the movie that looked familiar is the actor who played George's girlfriend in the Seinfeld episode about faking orgasms.

"What Women Want" put us off Hollywood drek for a while, but by Friday night, we were ready to get back in the saddle and endure some more Helen Hunt. Rich wanted to see "Cast Away," and although--with the minor exception of Toy Story 2--Tom Hanks hasn't made a movie I've liked since "Big" (1988), I was intrigued by the much-hyped island scenes of his latest pic, so I agreed to go.

For various complicated reasons best left unrecounted, we decided to see "Cast Away" at the UA theater on Union Square. Big mistake. Most of the screening rooms there are constructed such that the first ten rows are on a flat floor, and the back section of seats is on a steep angle. The import of this is that if you sit in my preferred spot (fifth row, center), you can't see at all if somebody tall sits in front of you. So we were reduced to sitting about a dozen rows back--which was really far from the screen in this joint--and I was crabby. I tried munching on a Reeses' to brighten my mood, but I was so assaulted by the Coke-sponsored slide show and the piped-in music, that I just wound up nauseated on top of annoyed. So that was my state when the lights dimmed. And then there were about six commercials before the previews, which sent Rich over the edge.

Even if we had been in better moods, I don't think either of us would have liked "Cast Away" much. As you know (unless you've been stranded on an island in the Pacific for four years), it's about a FedEx exec, played by Hanks, who is the sole survivor of a cargo-plane crash and must spend four years on an uninhabited Pacific island. He is ultimately rescued and returns to his hometown of Memphis, where his former fiancée, played by Helen Hunt, has figured him for dead.

The beginning of the movie is slow, supplying facts about the relationship between Hanks and Hunt, but providing little sense of their connection. Then there's the plane crash scene, which is very well done and truly upsetting. And then the bulk of the movie follows Hanks alone on the island. It's "Survivor" meets "Titanic." Or "Gilligan's Island" meets "Perfect Storm." Or something. But it isn't terribly interesting. And it lasts a long, long, long time. By the time Hanks has grown a full beard and lost forty pounds, the audience could have done so too. Then there's a short bit when Hanks returns to civilization--including a cameo by the actual CEO of FedEx, Fred Smith--and ba-da-bing! it's over.

I would have preferred a lot less focus on the island survival skills (aided by FedEx packages that wash up on shore) and a lot more on the aftermath. And I could have done with somebody other than Hunt in the fiancée role--enough already with the concerned looks! Hanks is decent, though, and the movie--although it actually features swelling music for a *volleyball* at one point--manages to show a modicum of restraint in the sentiment department (surprising, since it was directed by Robert Zemeckis of "Forrest Gump" fame). Also, it is well filmed.

Afterwards, Rich and I went to Bar Six, where we were promptly seated at a romantic candle-lit corner table, and complained about the movie. "Cast Away," with its pretentious two-word title, aims to be an epic film that imparts wisdom about the human spirit and prioritizing family and all that crap. But it falls short, teaching nothing so much as how to heal a flesh wound with packing materials and ice-skate laces. Nonetheless (or is it, as a result?), Hanks is a shoo-in for the best-actor Oscar.

The next night, feeling we hadn't gotten our fill of FedEx product placements during "Cast Away," Rich and my friend Jennifer and I went to see "State and Main," which failed to deliver Fred Smith again, but did include some prominent and strategically placed FedEx logos. "State and Main" is latest from director/writer David Mamet ("The Untouchables," "Wag the Dog," and many others). It's the unimaginative story of a film crew that shakes up a sleepy Vermont town. Stereotypes of country folk abound, and there's pretty much no story. But the movie isn't a total loss. It features the signature Mamet dialog, some fine acting by an ensemble cast (William Macy, Sarah Jessica Parker, Julia Stiles, Philip Seymour Hoffman, Charles Durning, Rebecca Pidgeon, etc.) and a very cute Dalmatian.

We ate Junior Mints and saw the movie at the Chelsea Clearview theater on 23rd between 7th and 8th. Afterwards, on our way down the stairs (the escalator was broken), we found ourselves behind an older gentleman who was shouting to the woman he was with: "This theater is a shithouse! Total crap!" He banged on a painted column. "This isn't even real marble!" Rich and Jennifer and I had our best laugh of the night witnessing his tirade.

The next night was Christmas Eve, and I had arranged to see "O Brother, Where Art Thou," the latest Coen brothers flick, with Judy Wolfe. Judy is a good friend of Marsha Dowshen, a good friend of my mother, and she (Judy) writes movie reviews--with handy categories--that she emails around to her posse. Judy's reviews are hilarious, and if you want to have them delivered to your inbox, write to Judy directly: judylobo@aol.com (they are not archived online, but Judy is an artist, and you can check out her groovy artwork at www.judithwolfe.com). Anyway, periodically, Judy holds contests for her readers, and I won the last one! (I suggested she add "food" as a category in her reviews.) The prize for winning was getting taken to the movies by Judy (snack and drink included) and then guest writing her review. So you can read my guest review of "O Brother, Where Art Thou"--which featured no FedEx boxes but did have both Charles Durning and a minor Seinfeld actor (the guy who played the high talker)--here. Meantime, Rich came with Judy and me to see "O Brother, Where Art Thou" at the icky-sticky UA theater on Union Square, and he's guest written a review for me. Here it is:

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My eighth-grade English teacher had us believe that Homer, author of "The Odyssey," among other epic works of his day, was not only sight-impaired, but that he may have actually been a woman. He, or she, was even considered by some to have been more than one person. Hence, at thirteen, we were reading the masterpiece of a bisexual blind committee, heady stuff for a group of adolescent boys whose idea of an odyssey was to brave our way over to the girls' school across the street.

With their new film, "O Brother, Where Art Thou," the Coen brothers, a pair of overgrown adolescent boys, have done their own interpretation, albeit a loose one, of Homer's epic poem, while paying homage to Preston Sturges and his "Sullivan's Travels" in the process. The story of three men on the lam from a chain gang in the Depression-era deep South, "O Brother" is definitely an odyssey, but only in the sense that the movie is all over the place.

George Clooney, John Turturro, and Tim Blake Nelson (a college classmate of mine who never used his middle name until now--he must be going for a part in one of those teenage girl movies) make quite the trio, and Clooney makes it clear that he wouldn't be hanging around with the other two had they not been chained together. Though his contract probably stipulated that he not have the bad teeth and mental-patient haircuts of the other two, Clooney--even to an ER virgin like me--would be hard to mistake as anything less than a movie star, if only an ersatz one. He may be a low-rent Clark Gable, but that ain't bad in today's dollars.

The movie bears the trademark Coen brothers' goofiness and offbeat humor, and it wouldn't be complete without John Goodman playing one of its creepiest characters, in this case, a cyclops. In many ways, the picture feels a lot like a cartoon, most notably by the presence of what I like to call a water-pump on wheels, one of those man-powered carts that rides on train tracks. I don't know anyone who's ever seen one of those things ridden by anyone other than Wile E. Coyote or Yosemite Sam.
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After "O Brother, Where Art Thou," Rich and I stopped by Joe Junior's for a Greek salad and complained about the movie.

The next day was Christmas. Although neither Rich nor I is an observant Jew, we honored our religious tradition and went to see a movie--"An Everlasting Piece," at the Sony gigaplex. This was our fourth Hollywood pic in four days, and I was flagging. I had no tolerance for the idiots who surrounded us in the sold out theater, and I fantasized about buying Twizzlers and "inadvertently" smacking the woman next to me while gesticulating with a piece of artificially flavored strawberry rope. The commercials before the movie made me angry, and I thought all the previews looked lousy (terrif, Ben Affleck in a WWII movie!). So I wasn't in a really expansive mood when the movie started. Still, I don't think I would have liked it much.

The genius of director Barry Levinson's movies ("Diner," "Rain Man," "Wag the Dog") tends to be the intimacy with which his subject matter is treated. But I didn't get the sense Levinson has a clue about "Everlasting Piece's" main characters: a couple of toupee salesmen in Belfast during the 1980's. The guys have cute accents, but their relationship is underdeveloped, and the movie fails to make dramatic use of its own story, a sales contest between two wig companies. Fortunately, the movie has some decent acting, plus a few adorable dogs, so I wasn't completely put off by it.

Afterwards, adhering to tribal ritual, Rich and I had Chinese food, at Ollie's, across the street from the theater, and complained about the movie (actually, Rich kind of liked the flick). Ollie's isn't great, but it was a huge relief to eat food that wasn't purchased at a concession stand.

Speaking of concession-stand food, last week Rich and I saw "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon" at the Roachplex, and about twenty minutes into it, Rich got up and went out to buy a cookie. From the many movies I have seen with Rich, I never deduced that he is the kind of person who could leave in the middle of film to go get a snack. I was appalled. And he should be ashamed: he missed six minutes of a really fine film.

"Crouching Tiger" is a Mandarin-language martial arts movie from director Ang Lee ("Eat Drink, Man Woman," "The Ice Storm"). It stars kung fu legend Michelle Yeoh and Hong Kong's mega-celeb Chow Yun Fat--two of my fave actors. The fight scenes were choreographed by Woo-ping Yuen, a behind-the-scenes HK superstar (and the man who created the fancy footwork in "The Matrix").

As you know, I rilly rilly like martial arts movies, and I was prepared to love "Crouching Tiger," which has washed onscreen amid a wave of positive advance press. I was not disappointed. It has characters I respect, a poignant love story, central conflict between the lead women, and awesome fighting. Chow Yun Fat was unfortunately underused. But Michelle Yeoh was outstanding, and I just had a great time watching the movie.

I also had a great time watching "A Hard Day's Night," which I saw earlier tonight at the Film Forum with Adam and Tania. The exuberant 1964 movie has been remastered (gorgeous print) and rereleased, and it's a joy to see. The only pain during a screening is that you have to refrain from singing along. Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Also at the Film Forum is "One Day in September," which I saw last week with Matthew. It's a documentary about the 1972 Munich Olympics, during which Palestinian terrorists kidnapped and killed Israeli athletes. The movie does a reasonable, if overtly partisan job, of portraying the events. I was glad to have seen it, and I learned from it, but it raised more questions than it answered.

So that's the all the reviews that are fit to print today. Stay tuned for another blitz of holiday film going, coming soon to a monitor near you. And if I can manage to pull it off, I'll include a year-end top-ten list along with the next batch of reviews. Now that'll be a nice tip!

We've Got a Winner! Sort Of

Originally posted 12 December 2000

Movies: An Even Dozen Are Reviewed

Oops!...I did it again.

I let more than two months lapse since my last review, and now I've got a dozen films to write up. To ease the strain on everyone, I'm going to give you a countdown--worst to best. Don't get confused! Last time, I did it the other way around.

12. Easily, the most wretched movie I've seen all year--possibly in all of my life--is "Dungeons & Dragons." I saw it at midnight in Boston last Friday, with my brother, Dan, and a bunch of cast members from Dan's new play. One of Dan's actors, Tori, has become a D&D convert late in life and was hot to see this flick. So that's my excuse.

The good news is, Tori is really very cool, and unlike many of the other patrons at this near-sold out, opening-night show, she did not find it imperative to dress up in Gothic garb for the event. It would have been okay if she had, though: the wacky, voluble audience made this crapfest bearable. From the first scene, in which it becomes clear that Jeremy Irons's right-hand guy, Damodar, wears light blue lipstick all the time, there's no getting away from the B-movie, "Rocky Horror" nature of "D&D." When guys in the audience sporting Viking helmets yelled at the screen, it seemed totally appropriate.

After all, "D&D" rips off major scenes from every "Star Wars" and "Indiana Jones" movie, but does nothing interesting of its own. The concept sucks. The acting sucks. The screenplay sucks. The costumes suck. The music sucks. The lighting sucks. It's a long way from "Brideshead Revisited," Mr. Irons.

My guess is that the producers spent $15 to make this movie. But Dan's housemate Chyld thinks the production price tag might have run as high as $1,500. I don't know. How much can a couple of flashlights and some cellophane paper cost?

Although we enjoyed trashing the movie immediately afterwards, by the next day, we couldn't remember enough of "Dungeons & Dragons" to merely mock it.

11. For a little while, before I inadvertently violated my contract, I wrote movie reviews for GirlsOn.com. The first film I endured was "Just One Time," a soggy little pre-wedding comedy made by first-time director Lane Janger. The movie had some cool gay people in it, but what comedy doesn't? Jennifer Esposito and Guillermo Diaz play the queers, and they're pretty much the only memorable elements of this trifle, along with the female lead's glasses.

10. The second film I sat through for GirlsOn was "The Weekend," which has more accomplished actors than "Just One Time," and better scenery, but is nauseatingly pretentious. I took my neighbor Amy to the screening, and she hated it. What's to like when Brooke Shields attempts a serious dramatic role?

9. The last film I saw for GirlsOn was "Non-Stop," a 1996 Japanese flick that got its first US release this fall. I took my neighbor Rich to the screening, and he hated it. True, the screenplay dragged, the acting was weak and the cinematography dull, but at least the movie was short. (Btw, in my last review, I asked whether Rich should be promoted from "neighbor" to "friend" status. The results of that poll were inconclusive, but Rich and I have since solved the problem by starting to introduce ourselves as cousins in order to disabuse people of the notion that we are a couple. The misinterpretation of our relationship happens with alarming frequency: at parties, people ask us questions like, "So where do you two live?"; at restaurants, we are invariably seated at the most romantic corner tables. Presumably, people think we're together because we're very comfortable ignoring each other in public. This cousins experiment is still fledgling (and I botched it rather spectacularly at a party on Sunday night, first introducing Rich as my cousin and later explaining to the same woman how Rich and I met in the dog run), but it has temporarily solved Rich's identity problem on these pages.)

8. I wanted to like "Bamboozled," Spike Lee's latest offering, but I didn't. I saw it in late October with Alex, a friend of Erik & Stephanie's. Jada Pinkett looks terrific in some Versace suits, and Savion Glover dances his ass off, but the movie fails to make the political point it seems to striving for. Here's what I did derive from that movie-going experience: it's probably a bad idea for me to go to the movies on a first date. After a phone call during which we picked a film together, decided on a good theater at which to see it, chose the method of ticket procurement and agreed on the time to meet, Alex and I had already expended nearly all of our first-date good-will capital. When we met up, Alex commented that I had very specific requirements in movie going--and, at that point, we hadn't even discussed my seating desires.

7. & 6. I can't decide which I found most adequate, "Best in Show" or "Quills." I saw "Best in Show," the latest from Christopher Guest ("Waiting for Guffman," "This is Spinal Tap"), by myself at the Sony Gigaplex on 68th & Broadway a few weeks ago. The film has a good attitude, and I smiled throughout it. But I didn't really laugh much, and although it's chock-a-block with dogs, most of them aren't terribly cute. "Quills," a movie about the Marquis de Sade, really isn't very good (nor is it historically accurate, if you care about that sort of thing, and one character uses the word "sadism" during the film, which strikes me as grossly anachronistic). Also, the film is unnecessarily yucky (although non-sexual). But Geoffrey Rush is a lot of fun to watch as the Marquis, and I like Kate Winslet, despite her droopy role in this.

Perhaps more revolting than the film was my experience in the theater--and I'm not talking about the other audience members. I saw "Quills" at the Lincoln Plaza theater on Broadway and 63rd, which Rich refers to as the Schlepperplex because it is patronized largely by old, unfashionable Jews who live in the area and by younger, slightly hipper people who are on their way to becoming old, unfashionable Jews. Anyway, I (being in the latter category) went by myself to the movie on a rainy Tuesday night, and it was not crowded. I settled into a seat in the fifth row center--heaven. I put my umbrella on one side and turned to put my damp coat on the other, where I was aghast to discover a large cockroach--about the size of a pecan--trooping across the seatback. Not wanting to lose my seat, I reached into my pocket, pulled out a tissue, flicked the insect to the floor and stepped on it. All without screaming or otherwise making a scene. But I spent the duration of the film freaked out. Rich has redubbed that theater the Roachplex.

5. I love Hong Kong action movies. The more kung fu, as far as I'm concerned, the better. So I was delighted a few weeks ago to go see "Martial Arts of Shaolin," one of Jet Li's early movies (1986), at Anthology Film Archives. My movie-going partner was Marc, with whom a friend of a friend had set me up. Marc has absolutely no interest in martial arts movies (so we will not be going out again), but he was a good sport about seeing this flick at a weird downtown movie house (so weird that when the film sold out, the box office kept selling tickets and the ushers just dragged chairs from the lobby into the theater for the spillover patrons). Anyway, I liked the movie, but I didn't looooove it: not enough soul.

4. Recently, I went by myself to the Film Forum to see the 1963 British comedy "Billy Liar." I had read that it was a great classic, and my expectations were high. The movie didn't deliver--I hardly laughed at all--but I really appreciated the acting and the concept (it's about a guy who can't tell the truth). Also, excellent clothes.

3. I saw a matinee of "Charlie's Angels" on opening weekend with my friend Lisa; we were the oldest people there by 15 years. But I didn't care: I was either going to love the movie or I was going to have fun hating it. I'm pleased to report that I had a great time watching Hollywood's latest regurgitation of '70's pop culture. Sure it's silly, but the babes kick some serious ass, and they really know how to wear lipstick effectively. Also, Bill Murray is a hoot (who else can play Bosley and not appear to be leering at the Angels the whole time?). It is good, campy fun with some fine action scenes. I was thoroughly entertained.

2. I saw "You Can Count on Me" on opening night about a month ago, and now I can't remember whether I saw it with Rich or with somebody else. No, wait! I saw it with Rich at the Sony Gigaplex; I remember because beforehand, in the lobby, we ran into Rich's ex-girlfriend and her sister, both of whom know I'm not Rich's cousin. Anyhoo. "You Can Count on Me" is the first directorial effort from playwright and screenwriter Ken Lonergan ("Analyze This"). It's a finely observed film about a sister and brother, now adults, whose parents were killed thirty years ago; the sister has stayed in the town where they were born, and the brother, a drifter, has come back for a visit. The story is told with restraint and humor, and the acting is spot on. If you haven't seen this film yet, do so. It's enjoyable and satisfying.

1. Admittedly, our winner today is something of a dimpled-chad candidate: because I saw "The Apartment" on video, not on a big screen, and because I'd seen it several times before, it's not a clear winner in this contest. So, depending on Supreme Court rulings, "You Can Count on Me" might be declared victorious. Still, "The Apartment" is wonderful. Dan and Mom and I rented it on Thanksgiving night, and we all stayed awake for this 1960 Billy Wilder romantic comedy. Unfortunately, my large-ish dog kept wandering in front of the set, obscuring all views of Jack Lemmon and Shirley MacLaine. But we persevered--at least there were no people shouting at the screen or roaches walking across our laps--and we were richly rewarded. Rent this baby at your earliest convenience.

Backlog to Basics

Originally posted 27 September 2000

Movies: Lots and lots

Okie doke. It's been close to three months since I last opined on these pixilated pages, and the good news is: despite abysmal performances of late, the Yankees are hanging onto their division lead and are likely headed for post-season play. The bad news is: I've seen eighteen movies since my last missive, and there is no way I can give a thorough opinion of each film without burning out your eyeballs.

To get through the daunting backlog, I'm going to dispense with my normal categories of analysis and just give you the juiciest bits of judgment on each film. I am also doing away with the regular system of reviewing the movies in chronological order (of when I saw them), and am instead listing them from *best* to *worst*, starting with the most enjoyable and ending with the nearly unbearable.

Before we begin, I've just got to tell you that my dog is sacked out on the sofa right now, and he has never looked cuter.

* Our overall winner is "Gimme Shelter," the Maysles brothers' 1970 documentary about the Rolling Stones in 1969. The band's tour that year ended at Altamont, where the Hell's Angels, hired to provide security, stabbed a man to death during the concert. I had seen the movie several times before on video. But it has been revived for its 20th anniversary, and my neighbor Rich and I saw it at the Film Forum about a month ago. Big screen, big sound. Changed my life--for the better.

Not only is "Gimme Shelter" a great movie that defined the rockumentary genre, but the Stones themselves are stunning and sexy and put on a phenomenal live show (a fact that simply is not conveyed by "Get Yer Ya-Ya's Out!," a concert album recorded the night before Altamont; footage from the "Ya-Ya's" night is shown in the movie, and it's splendid). The movie intercuts concert footage with scenes of the planning of Altamont and its aftermath. It is mesmerizing. Bonus: attractive mutts, ridiculous shoes. "Gimme Shelter" is still playing, so run--don't mosey--to see it before it closes (this goes double if you are a musician or filmmaker).

* Our silver medalist is "Rififi," a 1955 French heist movie directed by Jules Dassin ("Topkapi," "Night and the City"). Spare, engrossing noir fare. Rich and I saw it at the Film Forum in July. We both loved it. (Rich, btw, thinks he should be upgraded from most-favored neighbor status to "friend." What do you think?)

* The pen-penultimate prize goes to "Blood Simple," which Rich and I saw the same weekend we saw "Rififi." All weekends should be so lucky. "Blood Simple" is the thrillingly taut debut from the Coen brothers ("Fargo," "Raising Arizona"), and it is widely credited with having given birth to the indie film when it was first released in 1984. It was trotted out this summer for an anniversary tour, and although American screens are these days awash in indie crap, I can't say enough good things about the plot, characters, acting, screenplay and cinematography of "Blood Simple." Warning: not a renter! This movie would translate terribly on video.

* The first movie on this list that I saw without Rich is "Chuck & Buck," which comes in fifth in the running. I saw it alone at that crummy one-screener on Broadway in the 60s. It's about a man who has carried a crush on his boyhood best friend into adulthood. It is tense and devastating and hard to watch, and I loved it. Consider it the proud child of "Blood Simple's" indie legacy.

* I also saw our runner-up to the fifth movie by myself (at the Quad). "I'm the One That I Want" is a straight-ahead film of Margaret Cho's solo stand-up show, taped earlier this year. Hilarious and over the top. Made me want to hang around with Cho and watch "Sex and the City" together.

* The number seven spot on our list is a tie! I equally enjoyed "Time Regained," a slow, meditative French movie about Proust, and "Requiem for a Dream," an intense, raucous movie about various addictions in Coney Island. Rich and I saw "Time Regained" in early July at Lincoln Plaza. It was incredibly long, and I had no idea what was going on half the time, but I really liked it anyway. I saw "Requiem for a Dream," the latest from director Darren Aronofsky ("Pi"), with my friend Chris, who writes reviews for GirlsOn. We went to a press screening, and beforehand, everyone was chatty and smiling. Afterwards, everyone was stunned and pale. "Requiem" is a toughie--don't eat before the show!--but well worth the pain.

* Coming in at eight is "Almost Famous," Cameron Crowe's most recent afterschool special. Crowe directed "Jerry Maguire" and "Singles," so you pretty much know that you're in for lots of gloss and underwhelming anguish when you buy a ticket to one of his movies. But he also directed "Say Anything," which my friend (and neighbor) Amy pointed out to me today was great when we were 17 (but hasn't stood up so well over time), and he wrote "Fast Times at Ridgemont High" (which is still outstanding 18 years later). "Almost Famous," which I saw at the 19th Street Sony last Friday with Erik and Stephanie and their friend Marty, is an absolute schmaltzfest, but if you're willing to take it on its own unambitious terms, it's quite amusing. Nice acting and a surprisingly funny screenplay keep it lively. NB: The movie deals with journalistic ethics issues and is therefore highly recommended for my writer friends (Chris and Marci in particular, take note). All of you musicians out there can take it or leave it.

* A close ninth is "Nurse Betty," which Rich and I saw, along with a woman we know from the dogrun, a couple of weeks ago at the Sony gigaplex on 68th and Broadway. "Nurse Betty" is directed by Neil LaBute, whose previous movies are the dark and nasty "In the Company of Men" and "Your Friends & Neighbors." Unlike LaBute's other flicks, "Nurse Betty" has a likable, sympathetic central character. Played convincingly by Renee Zellweger, Betty--in an almost Hitchcockian turn--loses her grasp on reality when she witnesses her husband's murder (which is groooosssss--I had to cover my eyes and not even peak through my fingers) and believes the doctor on her favorite soap is her forsaken finance. She goes in search of him; hijinks ensue. The slippage between TV and reality is a path well worn by Hollywood in recent years ("EdTV," "The Truman Show," "Pleasantville"), and "Nurse Betty" looks a little too familiar as a result. It also has the tritest imaginable subplot with Morgan Freeman and Chris Rock, both underused. But the movie has some refreshingly off-kilter moments, plus a lot of good acting, and I recommend it.

* Although David Denby, one of the "New Yorker's" film critics, loved "The Original Kings of Comedy" half to death, I found our tenth-place contestant to be just okay. Denby and I agree on movies less often than Olympic athletes are stripped of their medals for drug use, so it's no surprise that I wasn't overjoyed with the Spike Lee-filmed concert of four stand-up comedians (all black men), filmed last year (I think). I liked the filming itself quite a lot, but the stand-up routines didn't have me rolling in the sticky aisles. I saw the movie by myself at the Sony on 84th and Broadway on a weeknight. There were about a dozen other people in the large theater, and I suspect that if I had seen it in a packed room, I would have found it more entertaining.

* "Clouds," our number eleven placeholder, almost came in tenth. But flat cinematography bumped it down a notch. The movie follows a physicist who takes a leave of absence from his university job to work by the sea on a new cosmology. "Clouds" is an unhurried, thoughtful film, with a deliberate screenplay and self-conscious acting. It was made by Don Thompson, the CEO of nextPix.com, and I interviewed him a while back for an "AlleyCat News" story I wrote on broadband content providers. The article came out nicely, and I was invited to the premiere of "Clouds" at the Walter Reade theater. (Freelance writing--which I do for "a living"--pays approximately nothing, so I take the perks I get offered, though it should be noted that I skipped the "Clouds" after-party at Au Bar; who wants to schlep that far east on a Tuesday night?)

Before the movie, the distributor popped up on stage and explained how recently, he'd seen 50 movies in one week, and "Clouds" was the only flick he'd picked for a deal. He went on to say that "Clouds" was getting called an art-house type movie, but he didn't think that was accurate. With its themes of love, peace and truth, he felt "Clouds" to be a much more universal film. Apparently, this guy has not been to a mainstream theater lately, because a slow five-year-old could tell you that the major tropes of today's movies are hostile aliens, regrettable sexual encounters and overzealous weather.

Also before the movie, Tibetan flutist Nawang Khechog played. He created the music for "Clouds," and his live performance was phenomenal. If you like Philip Glass (read: if you are my parents), you'll love Nawang Khechog. Keep your eyes peeled for him.

* Numero twelve on this list is "Saving Grace," a cutesy British film. I saw it a few weeks ago at the Angelika with a guy I met at a party earlier this summer. I giggled a few times, and I was not unhappy afterwards. But it is utterly missable.

* Thirteen is my favorite number, but that doesn't make "The Tao of Steve" my favorite movie here. Rich and I saw it ages ago at Lincoln Plaza. It is one smidgen better than a student film and is the sort of thing that makes you wonder whence the exciting indie?

* I can't remember the name of our fourteenth-place champ. It is a Canadian movie that Rich and Matthew and I saw at the Film Forum a month or two ago. I liked a bunch of things about it, but since I have no memory of the title, there's no point in spouting on about it because you'll never be to apply my opinion.

* As we descend towards the basement, "Aimee and Jaguar" appears in fifteenth place. It's a German movie about lesbians in Berlin during WWII, and a large number of my friends adored it and said I should see it. I was bored and confused most of the movie, and I hit the Indiglo button on my watch countless times. The two main characters in this flick have no chemistry, which really undermines the premise of the whole thing. Their cool clothes and well-applied makeup do not save this dud.

* "Kiss Me Kate," our penultimate loser, and a 3-D musical extravaganza made in 1953, might be no worse than "Aimee and Jaguar." But Rich and I saw it at the Film Forum nearly three months ago, and Rich mentioned to me yesterday that he still has a headache from watching it. He fiddled with his cardboard 3-D glasses the entire movie (which included an eye-easing intermission), so I'm not sure how much was the movie and how much was Rich. Still, it sucked. The movie includes two outstanding musical numbers ("Too Darn Hot" and "Brush Up Your Shakespeare"), but it is otherwise cheesy in an unpleasant way and very, very long.

* Our final, last-place, all-around loser is "Love & Sex," which Rich and I saw at the same dump on Broadway where I'd seen "Chuck & Buck." It stars Famke Jensen, who might be a fine model but happens to be a lousy actress, and Jon Favreau, whom I liked very much in "Swingers" and as Monica's boyfriend on "Friends." Unfortunately, even Favreau's charm couldn't save this washout of a film. It's cliched, plotless, dull--the worst indie America has to offer. Consider it the evil stepchild of "Blood Simple."

Weather Whatever, Feathers Forever

Originally posted 3 July 2000

Movies: The Perfect Storm, Chicken Run

Faster than a speeding "Twister"! More powerful than a sinking "Titantic"! More predictable than heat in July! Hollywood's water-and-weather blockbuster of the summer, "The Perfect Storm," hit screens on Friday. I went by myself to a late show at the Sonyplex on 68th Street. Things were off to a bad start when a woman sliding down the aisle behind me sklonked my head with her bag, which then got caught in my hair. Fortunately, the crisis was resolved without scissors or computer-generated effects.

"The Perfect Storm" is based on a nonfiction bestseller of the same name by Sebastian Junger, (which I have not read). It's the story of a sword-fishing ship that sails out of Gloucester, Massachusetts and into disastrous squall conditions. Would there have been a movie if the weather were partly sunny with highs in the mid-70s and gentle breezes? Hell, no. George Lucas's Industrial Light and Magic team wouldn't have much fun cooking up a few puffy clouds and some pleasant rays. But they rock the house with gale-force winds and 100-foot waves.

Which is why you might want to see "The Perfect Storm." Although the storytelling is laborious and surprisingly unsuspenseful, and the dialogue is corny, the shots of the ocean in turmoil are pretty neat. With practically no plot, the movie has so many soggy scenes it's a miracle that you leave the theater dry.

"The Perfect Storm," directed by Wolfgang Petersen ("Air Force One," "Das Boot"), is not a disaster within the disaster genre, but it's no burst of sunshine, either. I went to see it, despite its atrocious trailers and George Clooney, because I like Marky Mark ("Boogie Nights," the Funky Bunch) and will see pretty much any crap he's in ("The Corruptor," "Three Kings"). His role in this flick is boring (nearly all of the "Storm" roles are unimaginative), but he looks kind of cute in a flannel shirt.

Here's how "The Perfect Storm" scored on a scale of 1 - 10 in my categories of analysis:

*Gender: 5. The story is more a condemnation of male bravado than a cautionary tale of the all-powerful sea. So it gets points for that attitude. It also scores for having Mary Elizabeth Mastrantoniao play a very successful fishing boat captain, albeit one who wants to quit to she can move up to Maine and raise a family. On the down side, the movie portrays a fat chick as the only woman who will even speak to a drunk, horny loser from the boat crew.

*Race: 1. There's a token black guy on the ship.

*Shoes: 2. Rubber boots, mostly.

*Dogs: 2. A Dalmation and a mutt are seen briefly at the beginning of the movie.

*Do things blow up? 5. Technically, things don't blow up in this movie--they drown. At least they do so rather spectacularly.

"The Perfect Storm" has a mildly engaging Coast Guard subplot, which, although intercut without logic or explanation, keeps the film afloat. Between that and the awesome ocean shots, the movie isn't a wash.

For much better entertainment, go see "Chicken Run," which I caught last weekend at the Sonyplex with my neighbor Rich and a few friends of his. It's a claymation feature film by Peter Lord and Nick Park, the people who created the wonderful Wallace and Gromit comedies. Although a shade less clever than the W&G movies, "Chicken Run" is a delightful movie. The story is straightforward: a group of chickens, led by the practical yet passionate hen Ginger, endeavor to escape from the Tweedy farm. Mrs. Tweedy is a perfectly nefarious human, and the chickens, who have a range of quirky personalities, face a true challenge in liberating themselves from her clutches. There are a lot of good visual jokes, and tons of fowl humor.

"Chicken Run" is a British movie, but the male lead, Rocky the Rooster, is played by (the voice of) Mel Gibson, who can actually be seen onscreen right now in "The Patriot" (which appears to be a much less amusing film). Fortunately, Rocky is an American, and Gibson doesn't have to mangle a British accent for this performance.

Here's how "Chicken Run" scored on a scale of 1 - 10 in my categories of analysis:

*Gender: 9. Ginger, the lead female character, is tough and resourceful, like Sarah Conner (from the "Terminator" series)--only a chicken. Rocky is the sort of guy John Cusack usually plays in movies--a flawed but lovable crowd pleaser. If for nothing else, see this movie because it's one of the few, especially among the G-rated crop, that has an unconventional yet wholly respectable and cool heroine.

*Race: ? I don't know if all the chickens are supposed to be the same breed or not.

*Shoes: N/A. Don't be ridiculous; chickens don't wear shoes.

*Dogs: 4. Scary guard dogs figure prominently in the chickens' escape plans.

*Do things blow up? 4. Some major machinery malfunctions, and a few feathers fly here and there.

Visually, "Chicken Run" is a little slicker than the earlier movies from Park & Lord, which often had thrillingly visible thumbprints in the characters' ears or legs. But computer assistance has not notably hurt this film. While "The Perfect Storm" had good special effects, here's the bottom line: how can you miss a film that lists among its credits a "Mouth & Beak Replacement Coordinator"? If you see only one English-language movie this summer, make it "Chicken Run."

22 - 1

Originally posted 20 June 2000

Movies: Road Trip, The Virgin Suicides, L\'Atalante, Grass, The Petite Charm of the Borgeoisie

I wasn't going to write up this SMO for a few more days, but then the Yankees whipped the Red Sox 22 - 1 earlier tonight, and I had to share my delight. It was the second-worst loss in Red Sox history. That score pretty much speaks for itself, so let's get on with the reviews.

I have no shame. My neighbor Amy is trying to finish her dissertation, which means she doesn't have a rigid schedule. I, needing a cohort to go to an afternoon flick, invited her join me two Fridays ago to see "Road Trip." She made a half-hearted attempt to get me to see "Dinosaur" instead, but I would not be swayed. I wanted to see "Road Trip," and Amy is the only person I know who would consent to go. We caught a 2:45 p.m. show at the 68th Street Sony.

In my defense, I wanted to see "Road Trip," a college-sex / gross-out movie (a classic genre, no?), because Tom Green was slightly humorous in the previews. Green has a show on MTV that I've seen bits of, and I think he's pretty funny. Will I never learn? He barely appears in the movie. He's entertaining when he does show up, but his total screen time is in the range of five minutes. The rest of the movie--how do they say on campuses?--sucked.

Anyway, there were a dozen people in the audience, and all the other patrons were teenage boys. This is disturbing, because "Road Trip" is exactly the sort of crummy, offensive movie that is probably most influential on and worst for adolescents. But none of them seemed to like it a whole lot, so I'm over it already.

Here's how "Road Trip" scored on a scale of 1 - 10 in my categories of analysis:

*Gender: -2. Women = sex. And it's all from the supposed male point of view, which makes the men look like idiots. Neither sex really wins in this movie.

*Race: -1, I think. Here's the problem: the movie has the geeky guy lose his virginity to a fat black female student, who is shown nearly naked. I'm pretty sure the movie means to gross us out by showing this woman in the flesh, but Amy and I both thought she looked good, so it's a little hard to say what was going on. This is one of those times when my values are so far out of line with the mainstream that I can't understand the intent of something. It's very disconcerting.

*Shoes: 2. Unremarkable.

*Dogs: 6. There were a number of dogs in the movie, including one that talked like they do in pet-food commercials. Amy, who basically liked the movie, looooooved the talking dog. It was perhaps better than the food-fight scene in "Animal House" as far as she was concerned.

*Do things blow up? 4. One decent explosion.

When I saw "American Pie" last year, I thought it was good. Now, with "Road Trip" to compare it with, I'm thinking "American Pie" was downright genius.

To be fair, there was one bright spot in "Road Trip." Breckin Meyer, who plays the main character, is sweet. And he gets bonus points for having appeared and acted hilariously in "Clueless," one of my favorite movies of the '90s.

The next night, my friend Jennifer was in town, and we went to see "The Virgin Suicides" at the very same theater where "Road Trip" had been perpetrated. "The Virgin Suicides" is Sofia Coppola's directorial debut, based on the novel by Jeffrey Eugenides (which I have not yet read, but which several people have recommended to me). I don't have a whole lot to say about the film, because it lacked depth and didn't make a big impression on either Jennifer or me. Neither of us disliked it, and we both found some of the acting quite good. But neither of us was excited by the movie. Keep this in mind, however: Sofia Coppola is Francis Ford Coppola's daughter, and "The Godfather"--one of my absolutely all-time favorite movies--was his eighth effort as a director.

Here's how "The Virgin Suicides" scored on a scale of 1 - 10 in my categories of analysis:

*Gender: 7. The main characters are female, so the movie gets points for that. But the story is told by a male narrator, and the girls all seem very distant, leaving it unclear whether the movie is supposed to be more about the narrator and his friends or the girls they're observing. It would be fine with me if the emphasis was on the guys, but the lack of focus is irksome. Either way, the one character painted exceptionally well is Trip Fontaine, played by Josh Hartnett, who really, really seemed to Jennifer and me like guys we'd each known in high school. Watching him, we even felt like we were in high school again (not a pleasant sensation, but a powerful evocation).

*Race: ?. I don't remember for certain, but I think it was an all-white cast.

*Shoes: 3. Understated. The movie is set in the '70s, and I give it a lot of credit for restrained wardrobe and sets. Let it be known that I am sick to death of overdone period pieces from that era.

*Dogs: 1. There's off-screen woofing, but no dogs are seen.

*Do things blow up? 0. Go see Francis Ford Coppola's movies for that sort of spectacle.

If you need to see a movie, and you have to choose between "Road Trip" and "The Virgin Suicides," go see the latter.

Here're a few other things I've seen lately:

This past weekend, Rich and Erik and Stephanie and I saw "L'Atalante" at the Film Forum. The movie is a 1926 French film that has been revived and is well worth seeing if you have any predilection for foreign film or early cinema. A subtle story is told with little dialogue and surprisingly sophisticated camerawork, the acting is top-notch, and a few good dogs are seen. During the movie, the guy to my left put his hand on my leg, which was creepy, to put it mildly. I smacked his hand away and glared at him, but he didn't look at me. Then I noticed the woman on the other side of him shifting a lot. He left before the movie was over. Afterwards, I asked the other woman if the guy in between us had seemed a little weird to her, and she said "definitely," but she didn't want to talk about it. Despite that unpleasant interlude (which Rich did not find alarming: "Hey, you expect weirdos at the Film Forum"), I really liked the film. Rich and Erik and Stephanie and I had a nice dinner beforehand at Tibet on Houston, which isn't stellar, but it's good enough, and it's near the theater.

Also at the Film Forum is "Grass," which Matthew and I saw last week. It's a documentary about the legal and social history of marijuana in the US over the past century, narrated by bad boy Woody Harrelson. The movie has cool opening credits, but it deteriorates shortly thereafter. Some of the early history is stuff I didn't know, and it's interesting. But fifteen minutes in, the movie is trying to cover way too much territory, way too quickly, making for ineffective and disappointing coverage. No notable scores in any of the important categories of analysis. The movie's Website appears to have been programmed by people smoking a little too much.

About two weeks ago, I saw "The Petite Charm of the Bourgeoisie" at the Quad with Rich, his friend Alex and another friend of his named Sarah. The movie, directed by Luis Bunuel ("Un Chien Andalou," "Belle de Jour"), won the best foreign film Oscar in 1972. It's an exercise in surrealism, and the shoes are outstanding. There are also a couple of cute handbags.

Well, that's the report from the sticky-floored front. Stay tuned for more updates, and in the meantime, keep your eye on the box scores; the Yanks are half a game up in the standings.

The Mission Position

Originally posted 2 June 2000

Movies: Mission: Impossible 2, Small Time Crooks

Earlier this week, I had a bad cough. I spent several days inside, but there was only so long I could stare at three feet of unread newspapers and two dozen back issues of the New Yorker before I became nauseated as well as wheezy. I needed to get out. I was too weak to do anything more strenuous than walk three blocks to the Sony at 84th & Broadway; fortunately, "Mission: Impossible 2" was playing on all six screens there. I loaded up on cough drops and trooped over, figuring a bad-ass action movie would be loud enough to hide my hacking and lively enough to keep me awake.

"Mission: Impossible 2" was loud.

Okay, it was lively, too. But it wasn't dramatic. When you know the hero is going to live to see another sequel, an action movie needs to work a little to drum up some real tension and suspense. "Mission: Impossible 2" nods in that direction, but it's more interested in the pyrotechnics of prolonged action sequences than in making you care who gets killed during them. "M:I2" is less relaxed than "Shanghai Noon," but it's not nearly as funny. The end result? Tom Cruise's hair is "M:I2's" most noteworthy special effect.

Cruise makes fine, fine scenery in "Mission: Impossible 2." His body is sculpted, and his smile has serious wattage. Too bad he has to speak as well. The screenplay, written by Robert Towne ("Bonnie and Clyde," "Chinatown," "Heaven Can Wait" and zillions of others, including the first "Mission: Impossible" movie) doesn't help him out. It's corny and trite, especially with the female love interest, played by Thandie Newton ("Beloved"). During many of the scenes between her and Cruise--action or romance--the audience just laughed at the dialog. Cruise should watch it: he could wind up like Kevin Costner, former mega-draw whose trailers now get jeered wildly.

OTOH, director John Woo might take a little more care with his casting. Many of his previous films, like "Hardboiled" and "Face/Off," worked because the lead actors (Chow Yun Fat, John Travolta) have suave screen presence. Cruise still seems like the confused yet lucky teenager in "Risky Business." But who am I kidding? "Mission: Impossible 2," with its global-adventure plot, nifty gadgetry and signature theme song, is clearly gunning for the Bond territory. Before we know it, there'll be more "Mission: Impossible" movie installments than TV episodes.

Anyway, "Mission: Impossible 2" trades in the tropes of our time. Bio-warfare is threatened, and in exchange for global safety, the bad guys want stock options in a pharmaceutical company. Thank god the pursuit of peace necessitates blowing up a lot of cars and things, or the plot would read like yesterday's Wall Street Journal.

Here's how "Mission: Impossible 2" scored on a scale of 1 - 10 in my categories of analysis:

*Gender: 2. There's one woman in the movie, and her role is little more than a prop. Also, Newton and Cruise have zero chemistry, and it's impossible to believe his love for her is a motivating factor in the action.

*Race: 2. Ving Rames plays the usual black sidekick.

*Shoes: 4. Newton wears so-so sandals and some boring sneakers, but towards the beginning, Cruise wears cool rock-climbing shoes. I have read that Cruise did a lot of his own stunt work for "M:I2," including the widely publicized scene in which he hangs off a rock outcropping. That's lovely, but I wonder: isn't it prohibitively expensive to insure Cruise for these scenes?

*Dogs: 0. No dogs? No problem. They'd probably just get killed anyway.

*Do things blow up? 10. The reason to see this movie. Weirdly, some of the action is filmed and shown from many angles, in slow mo, as if depicting a spectacular double play. What's next? Play-by-play announcers for high-speed chases?

"Mission: Impossible 2" is one of those movies, like "Phantom Menace," that has so much glitzy technical stuff going on, the closing credits have to be listed three across or they'll take longer to roll than the film itself. Happily, the "M:I2" credits include an "inferno artist" and a "roto supervisor" (which I am assuming does not mean Cruise plays in a rotisserie baseball league). The credits also list "Prada"--not "Miuccia Prada," mind you, who is a person, but "Prada" the high-fashion clothing and accessories label--and the word just floats up the screen, unattached to any explanation. Oh, the symbolism! "Mission: Impossible 2" is okay entertainment, but its style is without substantive context.

A few days after "M:I2," I saw the new Woody Allen movie, "Small Time Crooks," at the Village East with my friends Erik, Stephanie and Joseph. I don't have too much to say about this unambitious film, because although I recall being amused while watching it, I can hardly remember the movie at all two days later.

Allen wrote "Small Time Crooks," yet he doesn't have a deep enough sense of the characters to make them truly interesting. Some skillful performances help mask this deficiency. Elaine May, with her brilliant comic timing, is great to see, and Tracey Ullman is hammy and fun. Plus there are enough funny lines and scenes to make "Small Time Crooks" a decent watch. But this ain't no "Take the Money and Run."

Here's how "Small Time Crooks" scored on a scale of 1 - 10 in my categories of analysis:

*Gender: 5. Yet again in an Allen film, the lead female character wants the lead male character to be something he's not. That aside, Ullman and May play the movie's best characters.

*Race: 0. Allen's New York is coconut-sorbet white.

*Shoes: 2. Uninteresting.

*Dogs: 0. A pug might have worked nicely in this movie.

*Do things blow up? 0. You need to ask?

"Small Time Crooks" isn't a bad movie, it's a small-time diversion. Go in with low expectations, and you'll do just fine.

Memorialized

Originally posted 29 May 2000

Movies: Shanghai Noon, Timecode, Wings of Hope, American Psycho, Keeping the Faith

It's Memorial Day Weekend, which can only mean one thing: a lot of really bad movies are about to be released. Likely, I'll see a few of them. In the meantime, here're some reviews of the spring crop of crap.

The previews for "Shanghai Noon" looked dumb and dumber. So although I'm a fan of Hong Kong action movies and I like Jackie Chan, I was planning to skip this flick. Then my friend Chris, who reviews movies for GirlsOn, invited me to a press screening of Chan's latest Hollywood production. I'll go see nearly any movie that is 1) not a horror film, and 2) free. Thus, we saw "Shanghai Noon" last week in a screening at the UA theater on 64th & 2nd (read: I'll even schlep over to the east 60's for a gratis ticket).

Although she's amenable to sitting down front, Chris likes to sit on the aisle. I agreed to this arrangement, gracious guest that I am (read: I didn't think I was going to like the movie, so who cares if I couldn't really see it?).

"Shanghai Noon," directed by first-timer Tom Dey, is a cowyboys-and-indians-and-martial-arts-guys movie. With action genre on top of action genre, you'd think the flick would be thrilling. Unfortunately, "Shanghai Noon" is utterly lacking in tension. The bad guys are not a credible menace and Chan never seems mortally threatened. The fight scenes pop up at predictable ten-minute intervals, there's not much of plot, and the movie is lousy with cultural inaccuracies and blatant anachronisms. But if you're trying to do research on Chinese codes of honor or American Indian war-paint techniques, you should be online or at the library--not watching Jackie Chan movies and eating stale popcorn.

So why should you see "Shanghai Noon"? Because it's surprisingly funny. Owen Wilson (who co-wrote the outstanding "Rushmore") plays Chan's sidekick, and he's winning as a New Age, Old West cowboy. Also, the film makes a smart move with its action: like Chan's runaway hit "Rush Hour," "Shanghai Noon" focuses more on his martial arts prowess than on the breathtaking movie stunts for which he is known. (Chan notoriously does all of his own stunt work, and his nose has the broken-more-than-once look of a hockey player's.)

Here's how "Shanghai Noon" scored on a scale of 1 - 10 in my categories of analysis:

*Gender: 1. Lucy Liu plays a kidnapped princess. Her role is small and her character is supposedly tough, but she does very little on-screen ass kicking. Chan acquires an Indian wife during the course of events. She helps the heroes at crucial moments, but her slutty disposition makes her a Hollywood archetype of the most annoying sort. All the other women in the movie are hookers.

*Race: 3. A disaster for the Indians, who are treated with Hollywood's typical indifference towards veracity.

*Shoes: 1. Eh.

*Dogs: 0.

*Do things blow up?: 3. Not as much as one might have hoped. But the fight scenes are better than decent, which compensates.

All things considered, I enjoyed "Shanghai Noon," and I was a little sorry that I'd agreed to sit on the aisle (read: I'd recommend it, even to a paying audience).

About two weeks ago, I saw "Timecode" with my friends Erik and Stephanie at the Sony on 84th & Broadway. Throughout the 97 minutes of this film, the screen is split into quadrants, each showing a different character's story. Holly Hunter, Salma Hayek, Stellan Skarsgard, Jeanne Tripplehorn, Xander Berkeley (also in "Shanghai Noon") and a slew of other actors appear in the various, overlapping plots. From time to time, the characters become visible in each other's frames. Were the movie 98 minutes long, it would be too much. But as it stands, "Timecode," directed by Mike Figgis ("Leaving Las Vegas"), is an interesting experiment, worth seeing. (Read: it's especially worthwhile if you have a friend like Stephanie who is willing to convince the theater manager that the Sony coupons you have should be honored even if the movie does not meet the terms of the vouchers and you therefore get in for half price or free. It also helps if you go out for cheap Vietnamese food afterwards.)

Earlier in May, I hauled my ass across the East River to see "Wings of Hope" at BAM with my crony Matthew and our friends Dana and Shari. "Wings of Hope," Werner Herzog's most recent documentary, opens with this brief prologue: "In 1971, a plane with 92 passengers aboard disappeared into the Peruvian jungle without a trace. After ten days, the intensive search was abandoned. On the twelfth day, Juliane Koepcke, a seventeen year old girl, emerged. She was the sole survivor."

Herzog, filming in Peru in at the time, was bumped from the flight that crashed. "Wings of Hope" takes place 27 years later as he tracks down Koepcke, and with a small camera crew and a few Peruvian macheteros to clear the jungle, takes her back to the site of the crash. Large and startlingly recognizable sections of the fuselage, instrument panel, seats and luggage are found and unearthed while Koepcke tells her story of the flight, the crash--in which her mother died--and her tortuous path out of the tropical forest. Herzog narrates their pilgrimage.

Like "Airport '77," "Wings of Hope" will not be the in-flight movie on your next trip. But "Wings of Hope" shares more with the disaster genre than just, well, disaster. Although its story is revealed at the beginning, the movie is gripping and suspenseful. Will Koepcke, who tells her story with stoicism and emotional distance, break down while revisiting the jungle? Will she lash out at Herzog for having brought her back? How, exactly, did she survive physically and emotionally?

Here's how "Wings of Hope" scored on a scale of 1 - 10 in my categories of analysis:

*Gender: 8. The main character is female; she is tough as nails; she is incredibly smart; and, unlike me, she is not afraid of snakes (read: I spent the whole movie worried somebody would step on a serpent).

*Race: 3. The Peruvian people encountered by the filmmakers are treated a little peculiarly.

*Shoes: 7. Jungle-worthy rubber boots.

*Dogs: 9. Excellent Peruvian mutts.

*Do things blow up? 8. Not exactly, but things that blew up 30 years ago are documented in stunning detail.

"Wings of Hope" was shot on video, so it won't lose much in the translation if you rent it. Which I suggest you do very soon.

By the way, a couple of weeks after we saw "Wings of Hope" with them, Dana and Shari were married in a very nifty ceremony on a ship off the Chelsea pier. Shari wore silver shoes with five-inch heels and a dress (made partly out of feathers) that she put together herself with automotive glue. Dana lost his shoes before the event but discovered them at the last minute. The band Luna played a great set. I could not find the dessert room (read: I came home, drank a scotch and ate half a bag of chocolate chips while watching "Baseball Tonight").

A few nights before seeing "Wings of Hope," I cobbled together an Upper West Side double header: an early evening show of "American Psycho" at the Sony on 84th Street by myself and a later show of "Keeping the Faith" at the Sony on 68th Street with my neighbor Rich. This was not a night for amateurs.

When it came out in 1985, I read "Less Than Zero," Brett Easton Ellis's first novel. I thought it sucked. When Ellis's "American Psycho" was published in 1991, it was decried by some critics as misogynist and generally disgusting because the main character was a yuppie who got off on killing women, and the murders were described in glowing passages. I'm not a fan of gore, and I hadn't like "Less Than Zero," so I skipped "American Psycho," a movie version of which was released this spring. Unintrigued by the book, I thought I'd blow off the movie, too. But then the film a got a handful of good reviews, and a few friends of mine liked it, so I decided to check it out.

I should have stuck with original no-go plan. "American Psycho" is a perfect example of the fact that narrow, annoying characters make for irritating movies. The film bored me, and I found Christian Bale, the lead actor, to be too lovingly lighted. His acting isn't bad, though, and I really like Chloe Sevigny, who has a supporting role.

Here's how "American Psycho" scored on a scale of 1 - 10 in my categories of analysis:

*Gender: 5. I thought this was going to be the most misogynist flick imaginable. But it wasn't really problematic in this department at all. Sure, some women get killed, but so do some men. In fact, the women in the movie are portrayed much more sympathetically then the men. Most of the female characters seem smart and fairly realistic, while the male characters are drawn as unpleasant cartoons. The movie was directed by Mary Harron ("I Shot Andy Warhol"), and she might have treated the gender relations differently than Ellis. But any director might have. Draw what conclusions you will.

*Race: 1. There's a homeless black guy, and that's about it diversity-wise. I suspect the movie wants viewers to think the main characters' contemptible behavior has something to do with their being white, but it's a muddled notion if it even exists.

*Shoes: 1. Very disappointing. The movie is obsessed with clothing, but it's more interested in duct tape than in shoes.

*Dogs: 2. I don't think I'm giving too much away when I tell you that a lot of people are slain in this movie. A homeless dog is one of the first people to get iced.

*Do things blow up? 3. An exploding cop car pleasantly surprised me. Unfortunately the camera didn't linger at all over the flames.

"American Psycho" is set in the 1980s, and one serious anachronism bugged me all night: in a scene at a club, a bunch of models on stage act out the "Charlie's Angels" logo. Fugghedaboudit. That particular revival is happening today (a movie version of "Charlie's Angels" is being released later this year); yuppies in the 80s were not publicly nostalgic for Kate Jackson and Jaclyn Smith (read: I think I'm terribly clever for having noticed this). Here's what else troubled me during "American Psycho": somebody in the audience brought a toddler (!). The movie features chainsaw murders and more corpses than live actors: it's not a film for children, ill-behaved or otherwise. Actually, "American Psycho" isn't much of a flick for adults, either. If you haven't seen it yet, don't bother.

After "American Psycho," I met up with Rich, and we went to see "Keeping the Faith," Ed Norton's directorial debut. It's the Philadelphia story of two guys, played by Norton and Ben Stiller, who grow up together in Manhattan. Norton becomes a priest, Stiller a rabbi. One day, their childhood friend, played as an adult by Jenna Elfman, shows up out of the blue. She's a gritty, babe-a-licious businesswoman. They both fall in love with her. Hijinks ensue.

The first question raised by "Keeping the Faith" is, do rabbis really use so much hair gel? That one goes unanswered. But the second question--were Elfman and my brother's ex-girlfriend separated at birth?--is finally laid to rest. Elfman, when starring on the TV show "Dharma and Greg," not only acts uncannily like Dan's ex, she looks similar, too. In "Keeping the Faith," Elfman thankfully manages to seem like somebody else. In contrast, Norton is becoming one of those actors who has the same personality in every movie he's in ("The People vs. Larry Flint," "American History X"). The guy has some appealing qualities, but one has to wonder whether he can, y'know, act. Also, he doesn't possess a sharp comedic sensibility. Ben Stiller ("There's Something About Mary," "Mystery Men") is a lot funnier.

Anyway, "Keeping the Faith" is better than most romantic comedies on the silver screen these days. Which is like saying Al Gore is better than most presidential candidates this year. But unlike Al Gore, "Keeping the Faith" did keep me laughing. The movie doesn't know what to do with itself at the end, and the final twenty minutes are messy, but I enjoyed watching it.

"Keeping the Faith" is the sort of flick that gets called "a great date movie"--a term that is universally applied to romantic comedies, which I do not understand. Romantic comedies make crummy date movies because obviously, your date is not going to turn out to be nearly so charming or felicitous. What a buzz kill! Better to see something that'll get the juices flowing, like "Mission: Impossible 2." At least you'll want to have sex afterwards.

Here's how "Keeping the Faith" scored on a scale of 1 - 10 in my categories of analysis:

*Gender: 3. When it comes down to deciding which character will give up their career for love, guess who feels she's been working too hard anyway?

*Race: 5. On the one hand, the movie depicts New York as populated with a range of races and ethnicities. Nice touch. On the other hand, the movie treats the non-white characters with the subtlety and freshness of a "Seinfeld" episode--in other words, with none. Also, Rich, who is Jewish and considers living near Barney Greengrass to be high observance, found the portrayal of the Jewish congregation to be offensive. I didn't, and I've even gone to services twice in the past two years.

*Shoes: 3. Stiller has some decent footwear. Elfman wears a bunch of cute ensembles, but her shoes are not stressed so much as her cell phone.

*Dogs: 0. The Upper West Side is lousy with dogs. There was no canine action in the film, which is a very unrealistic portrayal of the neighborhood (read: I thought Robie should have had a cameo).

*Do things blow up? 0. No hellfire.

"Keeping the Faith" was filmed on my block and in a church and a synagogue around the corner. Norton was practically living with me during the filming of the movie; by the time they were done shooting, I felt that the least he could do for me was walk Robie occasionally (read: for weeks, annoying film crews prevented me from walking down the street and parking my car on the block). I only saw Stiller a couple of times. One night, he said "hi" when he passed me on the street. But I think he thought I was somebody he knew.

Anyway, I find it unbearably distracting to watch a movie that's been filmed in places in know. I spend the whole time thinking, "but when you step out of that building, you're not on 90th Street!" Or, "but that room in the church does not lead to the main sanctuary of the synagogue!" Or, "but where are all the dogs?" I was preoccupied by these things in "Keeping the Faith," but to be honest, I was a lot more vexed by the weird-smelling guy behind us and the rowdy teenagers in front of us. The kids got so noisy that at one point, I leaned forward, jerked two of their chairs back and hissed, "Shut the fuck up" like I was Charles Bronson. I'm not sure who was more surprised, me or them (read: I may be hip enough to know a misplaced "Charlie's Angels" reference when I see one, but I'm getting intolerant as I age: don't make any noise, bring any babies or smell strange if you go with me to the movies this summer).

Spring Training

Originally posted 24 April 2000

Movies: East is East, High Fidelity, a few other movies and assorted plays

O.K. It must be admitted: I have slacked on the SMO front. There are excuses (baseball season started, I have been working a lot, I had to spend a full evening last week at my neighbors' watching "Sex and the City" to see what all the fuss is about (impossible to say), there have been seders, and did I mention baseball season kicked in?). But the truth of the matter is that these Opinions have gone neglected and so too have you, my readers.

Many of you have been kind enough to send me notes about how much you miss my missives. I appreciate the gentle reminders. Thank you. Please know that although my film-going schedule has been light this spring, I am warming up for a summer of full-on movie viewing and reviewing.

Last weekend, my friend Matthew and I went to see "East is East," a British import about the conflict between a traditional Pakistani Muslim father and a strong-willed Anglo mother who bring up their seven kids in a working-class English town. It was a rainy night, and Matthew and I met at the Angelika, the lobby of which is operated like a less efficient outpost of the DMV (only with better-looking patrons). A nice movie could be made about the ebbing and tiding tension in that lobby, as ticket-holders jockey for position in the theater-entrance line; a compelling subplot would focus on the queues for the bathrooms.

Anyway, "East is East" is billed as a comedy, and it contains some deeply funny sequences. Small moments make up this movie, and the interactions between the siblings are particularly well observed, as are the scenes with the mother's best friend. The movie, however, deals with the painful subject matter of generation and culture gaps within a family. This is not especially fresh filmic fodder, and "East is East" fails to expand the genre by painting the father as a one-dimensional bad guy. Also, the film is inexplicably set in the 1970's, an era that is staler than the rice cakes I found in my kitchen yesterday.

Here's how "East is East" scored on a scale of 1 - 10 in my categories of analysis:

*Gender: 6. Questions about gender roles undergird the entire story, but never surface for full exploration. OTOH, the mother is a terrific character.

*Race: 6. Racial identity and "passing" are themes of this movie and are examined slightly more than the issues of gender. But the characters are pretty familiar and stereotypical within this.

*Shoes: 2. You'd think that with a '70's setting, you'd get some good shoes in the bargain. You'd be wrong.

*Dogs: 4. A Great Dane (or maybe it was a Dalmation?) has a couple of funny, ha-ha scenes, and I seem to recall another canine moment when a few of the siblings go to visit their older brother in the big city.

*Do things blow up? 0. A disappointment in this category.

Although "East is East" can't seem to decide if it wants to be a comedy or a comment, it's well acted and enjoyable enough to merit a couple of hours of your time. After the movie, Matthew and I had dinner at a Tibetan restaurant on Houston Street near Thompson. The service was iffy and the momos were lousy, but the rest of the food was pretty decent. If you're in that neighborhood and you cannot bear to eat at Aggies, try this place (it's about a block east of Aggies).

A couple of weeks back I went to see "High Fidelity" with Marci, a fellow student in my writing class, on a whim after class one night. The 19th Street Sony theater was pretty full when we got there, and as we were walking down the aisle, I started to slow down. We were in the middle of a conversation, and we hadn't talked beforehand about seating. I suddenly got a little panicky that Marci would want to sit in the back, on the side, and I wouldn't be able to break the stream of our conversation to explain my fifth-row-center seat needs. Here's what I like about Marci: as soon as I slowed down and said, "Uh...," she said, "What? You have issues? We can sit anywhere." Then she resumed the discussion about New York Times editors.

Marci and I settled down front for "High Fidelity," which is based on Nick Hornby's book of the same name. The novel is set in London, and I read it while there with my great aunt two years ago. Notably, our vacation coincided with the 1998 World Series, which was broadcast live on Brit t.v., and although we could watch from the comfort of our hotel room, the games didn't begin until 1am Greenwich Mean Time. I stayed awake for the games reading "High Fidelity." The Yankees swept the series, we had a great time in London, and I very much liked Hornby's book--the story of a regular guy in his 30's who owns an unsuccessful record shop and has girlfriend problems--with its Britishisms and city backdrop.

The movie re-sets "High Fidelity" in Chicago, and I was apprehensive about this change. Despite Hornby's avowed approval of the movie, the setting seemed fundamental to me, and I took the shift as a bad sign. As it turns out, I needn't have worried: the move to Chicago isn't a problem at all. Instead, the movie gets hung up having John Cusack, who plays Rob Gordon, the main character, narrate the story directly to the camera. I'm not sure how else the film could have worked out the first-person narration of the book, but there must have been a better, less self-conscious way.

"High Fidelity," directed by Stephen Frears ("Dangerous Liaisons," "The Grifters," "The Snapper"), is charming and funny enough to overcome its narration. The ensemble cast turns in very good performances. Jack Black, who has appeared in such films as "Bongwater," "Johnny Skidmarks," and, incredibly, "Waterworld," is a particularly delightful scene-stealer. He and Todd Louiso--also outstanding--play Gordon's music-geek record-store employees. A lot of their dialog is lifted directly from the book, and it works beautifully on screen. Joan Cusack, John's sister, plays a friend in this movie; although her part is small, she is delicious.

Here's how "High Fidelity" scored on a scale of 1 - 10 in my categories of analysis:

*Gender: 5. The book was a serious Guy Story, but the movie has, uh, more broad appeal.

*Race: 3. There are a couple of black characters, including a minor love interest played by Lisa Bonet (infrequently seen since "The Cosby Show" ended in 1992). Bonet's character is more complex and central in the book. To its discredit, the movie dishes out and wraps up her subplot too neatly.

*Shoes: 4. In one scene, Iben Hjejle wears a pair of stack-heeled Mary Janes that I liked, and Bonet gets away with cowboy boots. Other than that, the movie is dull in the shoe department.

*Dogs: 0. None that I remember.

*Do things blow up? 0. Nyet.

Marci and I both enjoyed the movie while we were watching it, but I found myself liking it less in the following few days. The narration really got on my nerves, and I became irked that the movie didn't reinterpret the book in any way--it just displayed it in another medium. Not that this is easy to do. But having read the book, I found the movie ultimately unsatisfying and a little gimmicky. Nonetheless, it's better than the average Hollywood rubbish, and I did have fun watching it. Plus it's got top-notch closing credits. So go see it for the music-geek scenes, and wait patiently for the film version of "About a Boy," Hornby's next novel, which has a much movie-friendlier plot.

Earlier this month, I joined my parents at BAM to see some Godfrey Reggio ("Koyaanisqatsi") films with live accompaniment by Philip Glass and assembled musicians. Over the course of two nights, we saw "Evidence" (a short), "Anima Mundi" and "Powaqqatsi." I have seen "Koyaanisqatsi" a number of times--including once with live Glass accompaniment in Philadelphia, with my father and my friend Frank--and it's Reggio's best film, by far. "Anima Mundi" (which included pretty much every species other than the canine) and "Powaqqatsi" (the opening scenes of which were filmed in the Serra Pelada mines in Brazil and are stunning) follow the same stream-of-images format, and while they both have beautiful moments, neither is very strong. Nonetheless, it's exciting to see movies set to live music, and if you have the chance to check out any of these films with Glass and players, do so.

Here are quickie reviews of three plays I've seen in the past month:

Earlier this week, I joined my friends Jonathan and Dick at Circle in the Square to see "True West," a 1980 Sam Shepard play revived with Philip Seymour Hoffman ("Magnolia," "The Talented Mr. Ripley," "Happiness") and John Reilly ("Magnolia," "The Thin Red Line") playing (adult) brothers who hash out their relationship. The current production has gotten incredibly positive reviews from New York critics, especially the Times's Ben Brantley, and it seemed worth spending Broadway money to see it. For this production, the two lead actors alternate roles for each performance. We saw Hoffman as the destructive brother and Reilly as the responsible brother, but I spent the entire play obsessed with what it would be like to see them in the opposing roles. The set is positively wrecked during the course of the show, and I also spent a lot of the play wondering who cleans up after each performance; I was similarly interested to know whether audience members in the first few rows ever get clonked with a flying plate, and how, exactly, the burning wastebasket works. I was not that intrigued by the play--it is dated--nor by central the performances--they're very good, but I never forgot I was watching actors. Jonathan and Dick and I all agreed that we'd enjoyed the play enough while watching it, and we all liked Celia Weston in her very small role as the mother. But none of us thought the play was magnificent or life-changing or anything. Save $62 and go see something off-Broadway, plus eat a nice dinner, for the same money.

About a month ago, I went to see "Pilgrims," a way-off-Broadway play with an ensemble cast that included M, a guy in my group-therapy group. I went with K and L from group, and L's fiancé, J. For $12, "Pilgrims" was good entertainment, plus I enjoyed hanging out with my fellow groupies. "Pilgrims" was a series of three vignettes, all based on short stories written by Elizabeth Gilbert. Shira Priven adapted the stories for the stage and directed the production. I often find it distracting to know somebody in a play or movie--it prevents me from going with the fantasy--and I found myself watching M a little too much. Also, his brother was in the cast (in one story playing M's son), and since M has talked about his brother in group, I kept thinking about their relationship. Still, M was good (as was his brother), and I liked the production enough to think about seeking out Gilbert's stories. They didn't adapt seamlessly to the stage, so I'd be curious to see another theater production by this group. (On a side note, I saw M's brother at a bar recently. I introduced myself to him as a friend of M's and told him I'd seen "Pilgrims." He was hanging out with a bunch of the cast and crew, and he introduced me to a few of them. Since I wasn't sure if M's brother knew that M goes to group, I had to glide over my connection to M. It was kind of nerve-wracking, so I retreated quickly. New York is such a small town.)

The weekend before baseball season opened, I spent a few days in Boston, home of the perennially losing Red Sox and of my brother, Dan, a very smart guy with a great personality--Bosox fandom notwithstanding. While up there, I saw "The After-Rhyme," written by Sean Graney and directed by my brother. Dan runs the Rough & Tumble theater company when he is not programming cool Web sites, and the R&T motto--"theater that doesn't suck"--was fulfilled with the absurd yet accessible and funny "After-Rhyme." Dan tends to get very good actors for his plays, and this production was no exception; without such strong acting, this play might have been Tough & Rumble. I'm pre-disposed to liking Dan's stuff, but I thought "The After-Rhyme" represented a new level of professionalism for R&T events. If you find yourself in Boston when a Rough & Tumble play is up, go see it.

As a sort of balance to giving the Boston-based R&T team such a good review, I'm going to share with you a little something that a friend faxed to me recently: 20 Major Events Since the Boston Red Sox's Last World Championship. (A special shout-out here to my brother's friend Scott, who grew up in New Jersey, lives in New York....and is a Red Sox fan. Scott is otherwise intelligent and fun to hang out with, so I can overlook this flaw.) Enjoy.

1. Radio was invented. As a result, Red Sox fans got to hear their team lose.

2. TV was invented. As a result, Red Sox fans got to see their team lose.

3. Baseball added 14 teams. As a result, Red Sox fans got to see and hear their team lose to more clubs.

4. George Burns celebrated his 20th, 30th, 40th, 50th, 60th, 70th, 80th, 90th and 100th birthdays.

5. Halley's comet passed Earth...twice.

6. Babe Ruth was sold. He went on to win four World Series titles with the Yankees.

7. The NBA and NHL were formed, and Boston teams won championships in both leagues.

8. Men landed on the moon (as have several home runs given up by Red Sox pitchers).

9. Fifteen U.S. presidents were elected.

10. There were eleven amendments added to the Constitution.

11. Prohibition was created and repealed.

12. The Titanic was built, sailed, sank and was discovered. It ultimately became the subject of a major motion picture, giving hope to Red Sox fans that something that finishes on the bottom can come out on top.

13. Fenway Park was built and became the oldest park in the American League.

14. Flagpoles were erected on the Fenway Park roof to hold all of the team's future World Series pennants. Those flagpoles rusted and were taken down. [Ed note: I actually find this one a little sad.]

15. A combination of forty Summer and Winter Olympics were held.

16. Thirteen baseball players won the Triple Crown; several thanked Red Sox pitchers.

17. Bell-bottoms came in style, went out of style and came back in style. Disco did the same.

18. The Chicago White Sox, Cleveland Indians and Florida Marlins won the World Series.

19. Alaska, Arizona, Hawaii, Oklahoma and New Mexico were added to the Union.

20. Two words.......Bill Buckner.

Phew, that was fun!

I'll try not to let my time following the Yankees this year prevent me from catching movies and writing up more SMOs. Stay tuned for what promises to be a great season.

Feelin' Groovy at the Movies

Originally posted 20 March 2000

Movies: Erin Brockovich, Reservoir Dogs, The Straight Story, Judy Berlin, The Long Goodbye, The Terminator

Whaddaya know? The feel-good hit of the year is about chromium poisoning!

Last night, after Korean food in midtown with my friends Mike and Kathy, I found myself at the Sonyplex on 68th Street, buying a ticket on a whim for the 11:15pm show of "Erin Brockovich." While waiting for the movie to begin, I began to regret my impulse purchase. I had seen the "Erin Brockovich" trailer six dozen times and figured I was familiar with every funny and affecting moment of the movie--and I'd just paid $9.50 to witness it all again. I had a headache, and the theater was stickier than a self-adhesive stamp. I anticipated a dreary movie experience.

"Erin Brockovich" won me over.

"Erin Brockovich" is not a Great Movie, but it is major entertainment. Julia Roberts stars the hell out of this flick; she is well-supported by Albert Finney, who plays her boss, and a lot of underwire bras. Steven Soderbergh ("Sex, Lies & Videotape," "Out of Sight") directed the movie. "Erin Brockovich" is proud to be based on the true story of the title character, a single mom with no money and no formal education who coerces her way into a job at a law firm and doggedly pursues a case against the regional water utility.

Although the movie tells its tale in obvious Big Hollywood style, replete with one-dimensional bad guys and dumbed-down hicks, it does something the silver screen hasn't seen since the "African Queen" sailed in 1951: it portrays a tough female character who creates a world around herself--and isn't penalized by the movie for her personality. Think Mae West as Tira in "I'm No Angel," Rosalind Russell as Hildy Johnson in "His Girl Friday" (1940) or Katherine Hepburn as Susan Vance in "Bringing Up Baby" (1938).

At the same time, "Erin Brockovich" is not a flabby "women's movie" like "Hanging Up." It is flawed and cliched in several regards, but smart dialog and unusual relationships between the main characters keep the movie from mushing out. Plus, the romantic subplot is just that--a subplot, which is rarer than steak tartare in a Hollywood flick with a central female character.

Here's how "Erin Brockovich" scored on a scale of 1 - 10 in my categories of analysis:

*Gender: 9. In 1934, six of the 10 best-paid actors in Hollywood were women. In 1994, none were women. When Julia Roberts made "Pretty Woman" in 1990, Janet Maslin said that Roberts had the star quality of post-war actresses. Last year, Molly Haskell wrote in a New York Times article that Roberts' character in "Notting Hill" recalled the leading ladies of the 1930s and 40s. I didn't agree with either of those assessments. But "Erin Brockovich" certainly hits that "peel me a grape" note, and if it spurs the creation of more such flicks, I'll be a happy moviegoer.

*Race: 2. There are a few minor Mexican and black characters.

*Shoes: 4. The movie is obsessed with Erin's clothes, but gives her shoes relatively short shrift.

*Dogs: 0. Incredibly, none of the characters in this movie has a pooch.

*Do things blow up? 0. Erin loses her temper a lot, but she doesn't torch any objects.

Erin throws a few too many tantrums and feels the pain of a few too many victims of the water board's nefarious scheme. The story values money above pretty much everything else, and the credits include a "tattoo designer"--never a good sign. But "Erin Brockovich" is still an enjoyable watch, and if you just need a couple of hours of escapist viewing, I recommend it.

On Monday night, I met my neighbor Rich at the Film Forum to see "Reservoir Dogs." I had never seen it before because I'd been afraid of getting irreparably grossed out by the notorious ear-cutting scene; I am, after all, a gore wimp. But "Reservoir Dogs" was Quentin Tarantino's 1992 directorial debut (he wrote it, too), and his work has been influential enough to make me curious about this ballyhooed film.

Rich and I bought our tickets, then went to Aggie's for dinner (he had meatloaf w/mashed potatoes and veg; I had potato pancakes and a small salad). When we settled into the Film Forum for the movie, I asked Rich to warn me when the gross parts were coming up. This turned out to be unnecessary since "Reservoir Dogs"--the story of a heist gone bad--is violent throughout, and I wound up watching most of it through my fingers without any cautioning from Rich.

Seeing "Reservoir Dogs" reminded me of my disappointment with Tarantino: he incorporates terrific dialogue and deliciously tense scenarios into dumb-ass, gun-obsessed, machismo-spouting stories. I imagine that as a kid Tarantino soaked up hours of bad t.v. and B-movies. He is now regurgitating the themes of those shows with the addition of witty repartee. The resulting movies are sadly soulless.

Fortunately, in addition to a few slick snippets of banter, "Reservoir Dogs" features some good acting. Steve Buscemi and Tim Roth are particularly notable. Also, I like Harvey Keitel, but he pretty much faxes in this bad-boy routine. Taratino is in the movie, and he's a truly lousy actor (later proven with his excruciating performance in "Pulp Fiction"). Stay behind the camera, buddy.

Here's how "Reservoir Dogs" scored on a scale of 1 - 10 in my categories of analysis:

*Gender & Race: 0. The movie features one black character with a small part and a handful of very minor female characters. Screen time aside, Tarantino loves to portray vitriolic sexism and racism in his characters; he also likes to throw in a fucking ridiculous amount of swearing. I wouldn't have a problem with all this if he were doing it for some purpose other than supposed cool factor, but that ain't the case. It's tired, not clever.

*Shoes: 1. There is not enough footwear in this flick.

*Dogs: 0. None--despite the name!

*Do things blow up? 0. Things get way, way shot up, but amazingly, nothing is blown up.

You've probably already seen "Reservoir Dogs." If you haven't, don't go out of your way to do so. At this point in contemporary cinema, it is profoundly not worth it.

I missed "The Matrix"--a big action, sci-fi story--when it was out, and I have regretted the loss ever since. So I was thrilled when the flick appeared on a big screen in midtown two weeks ago, apparently because it's been nominated for a bunch of Oscars. My friend Laurie F. and I decided to go see it, and to have Sri Lankan food at a restaurant near the theater. Last Friday morning, I pulled up Moviefone.com to order tickets, and before I'd even finished my coffee, I made the harsh discovery that "The Matrix" had only been playing for a week, and it was already gone. I was crushed.

Laurie and I reworked our complex dinner-and-a-movie plans and decided instead to see "The Straight Story" at the Village East and to eat at a Vietnamese place downtown. Perhaps if we had not been in the mood for "The Matrix," we would have liked "The Straight Story" somewhat more. But, as the G-rated story of an older gentleman who drives across Iowa on a John Deere lawnmower to see his ailing brother, "The Straight Story" was pretty much the opposite of "The Matrix." We were a little bored.

"The Straight Story"--based on a true tale--is mildly corny and touching, and it moves along at riding-mower pace. It is not the typical fare from director David Lynch ("Eraserhead," "Blue Velvet"), but I hesitate to think how this film would have turned out in the hands of a sentiment jockey like Steven Spielberg. Richard Farnsworth is very good in the leading role. Sissy Spacek is fine as his daughter, but she has a distracting speech impediment.

*Gender: 5. Neither bad nor good.

*Race: 0. Movies set in the Midwest rarely have any non-white characters.

*Shoes: 3. Beat up work boots, a pair of black Nikes. Like that.

*Dogs: 3. There're a few dogs scattered throughout the movie.

*Do things blow up? 0. There are some fire scenes in the movie, but no explosions.

My grandfather recently e-mailed me his and my grandmother's criteria for movies: no excessive sex, no violence of any kind ("verbal, physical or psychological") as the raison d'etre for the film, no crummy actors and no overly complicated plots. "The Straight Story" might be the only live-action movie of the 1990s that meets their conditions. If your standards match theirs, and you're looking for a decent film with pleasing scenery, check out "The Straight Story."

After the movie, Laurie and I went to Cyclo for dinner. Laurie knows how to pronounce "gewurztraminer," so were able to order a bottle, and it was just right with Vietnamese food. For a full review of Cyclo, click over to Laurie's first-rate write-up (bathrooms included!). Laurie is an equity analyst covering the stocks of U.S. food companies, and she knows her way around a kitchen, so this review is not for nothing.

Two weeks ago, I went to see "Judy Berlin" with my neighbors Amy and Ilene. Edie Falco, one of the stars on the HBO hit "The Sopranos," is in it. Amy is a big fan of "The Sopranos," so she was psyched to see the film. Ilene wanted to see "My Dog Skip." We ridiculed her into seeing "Judy Berlin" with us. We might have been better off with Ilene's pick.

"Judy Berlin" is the first movie from director/writer Eric Mendelsohn. It is set in Babylon, Long Island, and it covers a day in the life of a half-dozen people who live in the town. Some of the acting is strong, but if I never see another film-school, suburban-alienation-fest again, it'll be too soon. Also, I sat alone because Amy and Ilene like to sit in the back of the theater (I have no problem splitting up for the actual viewing), and a weird woman sat four seats away from me and stared at me a lot during the movie. I was slightly freaked out.

I'm not going to bother scoring "Judy Berlin" in my categories of analysis.

"Judy Berlin" was playing in the theater underneath the Virgin Megastore (sic) at Broadway & 45th Street. Since Times Square is now a 24-hour tourist riot scene--Disney does Tiannamen Square!--we had to battle our way in and out of the premises. None of us liked the movie too much, but a pleasant dinner at a Japanese place in the West 40s improved our evening. Summary: even if you're a serious "Sopranos" fan, you can skip "Judy Berlin" with confidence.

Two-and-a-half weeks ago, Rich and I saw "The Long Goodbye" at the Film Forum. Before the movie, we went to Aggie's for dinner (Rich had meatloaf w/mashed potatoes and veg; I had potato pancakes and a small salad). Just to be clear, Aggie's is not good.

Robert Altman ("M*A*S*H," "The Player") made "The Long Goodbye" in 1973. It's based on a Raymond Chandler novel, and it stars Elliott Gould at a high point in his career. Gould plays Philip Marlowe, a Los Angeles private eye who investigates a friend's murder. He's quirky and wisecracking and fun to watch. The movie is quite 1973, which is not necessarily a bad thing.

Here's how "The Long Goodbye" scored on a scale of 1 - 10 in my categories of analysis:

*Gender: 0. A sense of misogyny pervades Robert Altman's movies. "The Long Goodbye" is no exception.

*Race: 1. There's a minor goofy black character, and a couple of corrupt Mexican officials.

*Shoes: 2. For 1973, disappointing.

*Dogs: 3. A bunch of scrawny dogs are seen wandering around Tijuana.

*Do things blow up? 0. Nope.

"The Long Goodbye" was playing as part of the "Neo-noir" series at the Film Forum, and its cinematography is dark. I doubt it would translate well to video, so don't run out and rent it. If it's shown on a big screen near you, though, it's worth a few hours of your time for the sense of atmosphere. Also, Arnold Schwarzenegger has an uncredited role as a thug (and he flexes his pecs prominently).

Btw, as long as we're talking about Arnold Schwarzenegger, I caught "The Terminator" (1984) while playing Scrabble at my friend Billy's a couple of weeks ago. Even with its now-cheesy special effects, "The Terminator" rocks. Linda Hamilton has the worst haircut of all time, but she kicks ass. The story (co-written by director James Cameron and Gale Anne Hurd) is great. There are dogs. And things blow up in a huge way. It's still marvelous.

Rent "The Terminator" to have your own private feel-good experience of 2000.