My Highly Subjective List of the Best Movies of 2009

I like going to the movies. I'm like Binx Bolling, but without the charming New Orleans accent. So as 2009 reaches the end of its reel, or, uh, one last delicious digitally-projected byte—oh shut up for god's sake—I thought I'd run down the films I liked best.

Now, as I've aged, I've become more suspicious of criticism in general. There are several reasons for this, among them:

• I used to hold professional adults in greater esteem. Then I became a professional adult, and realized that we're just older versions of the same dopes from the schoolyard. So, with rare exceptions, who really cares what a critic thinks? (As pseudo-science goes, I am interested in cumulative analysis such as Rotten Tomatoes and the more nuanced Metacritic.)

• Our reactions to everything are highly subjective. Your personal history greatly affects how you respond, or don't respond, to a film. It's the rare critic who is on that very similar life path as you. I can love a movie and you can hate it, and we're both right. (Well, unless you were a real dope on the schoolyard.)

• And beyond that, your mood on any particular day will affect how you see a movie. Feeling good? Distraught? Had a fight that morning? The best art can pull us out of our daily woes (and joys), but of course it's still there, and it's still a factor. I'd like to see more reviews start with "Now let it be said that I was in a shitty mood when I sat down in the multiplex...."

I guess what I'm saying is, please disregard this list. Oh yeah, I also didn't rate two movies in which I knew the filmmakers. Objectivity, you elusive temptress!

OK, OK, enough yapping:

10) Up in the Air George Clooney is the patron saint of us aging bachelors, and basically plays himself here. The movie flirts with clichés—my god, a character in love is running through an airport—but director Jason Reitman subverts them at every turn. The result is a smart, funny movie in touch with the times.

9) Brüno In a year where America too often showed its true colors in terms of prejudice and discrimination against gays, Sacha Baron Cohen bravely held a mirror up to it. And it's funny as hell.

8) The Informant! Steven Soderbergh takes on a wonky but ultimately fascinating true story and turns it into a highly entertaining film. Matt Damon's performance gets stronger and stronger as the many layers of his character are revealed. Bonus points for the exclamation point in the title.

7) District 9 For most of it, it felt like no movie I'd seen before. Very cool, raw sci-fi tempered by humor. But the parallels to apartheid-era South Africa really made this harrowing.

6) Moon Like a really, really good episode of The Twilight Zone. Director Duncan "Yes, I'm Bowie's son" Jones's effort fills his debut with explorations of solitude, corporate malfeasance, and larger issues of identity. He's helped greatly by Sam Rockwell's performance. And I had to keep reminding myself it wasn't filmed on the moon.

5) Fantastic Mr. Fox In the battle of indie directors making movies for kids, Wes Anderson trumped Spike Jonze. This is technically brilliant, but more importantly, positively joyful. With this, Men Who Stare at Goats, and Up in the Air, you get to see Clooney dance in three consecutive films.

4) Wendy and Lucy Oh my god this is bleak. If you didn't like director Kelly Reichardt's Old Joy, you will hate this second effort. Michelle Williams is fantastic as down-on-her-luck, not-thoroughly-likable indie girl Wendy. It's another snapshot of our troubled times, and it feels mighty real.

3) A Serious Man The Coen Brothers dare to ask the big questions, and don't provide answers, because there are no answers. If we're good, do good things happen? If we're bad, do bad things happen? Who knows? Michael "I'm nobody" Stuhlbarg is terrific as the lead sad sack. And there are many, many laughs. You don't have to be Jewish to enjoy this movie, but eh, couldn't hoit!

2) The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus The unfairness of life? That slick, overcooked, ultimately empty Avatar is a blockbuster, and this movie can barely get released. Terry Gilliam gives you everything he's got in this timeless tale of good versus evil. It's a total outpouring of Python-esque creativity, a fitting farewell to Heath Ledger, and in many regards the best movie of the year.

1) Adventureland No movie this year came remotely close to affecting me emotionally like this one did. It rattled me to my core. Yes, I was the ideal demographic: Late 80s, music-obsessed, Pittsburgh-based, amusement-park employee. But Adventureland has so much heart and so much insight into what it is to be fresh out of school, lovestruck, and absolutely no idea what direction to take as you teeter on adulthood. The sweet pain of it all is captured here beautifully, with an air of melancholy hovering over the proceedings.

Honorable mention: Whatever Works, Star Trek, Coraline, The Great Buck Howard, Crazy Heart

Worst movie: Funny People
Honorable mention: Year One

Current releases I saw in the theater this year: 38

Disneyland

Isa and I were invited by friends to Disneyland this week. We'd never been, so we accepted the offer. We parked, and waited in line for a tram. Then we waited in another line for a security check. Then we waited for tickets. The inside of the park:



We walked down the fabled Main Street, and rounded the corner to see Indiana Jones beating the crap out of a turbaned man, in the form of a show. After he threw the man over some barrels, Indy whispered conspiratorially to the crowd through his wireless mic, "When he wakes up, tell him I won."

We then stood in line for almost an hour to ride the Haunted Mansion.

After that, we were educated on the use of the FastPass system; where I put our tickets in a machine for the popular rides, and another ticket is spit out, telling us what times we can return to go in a faster line for the ride. We did this for Space Mountain, and were told to return at 3:00 (it was about noon). I tried another fast pass, but it wouldn't let me, saying we hadn't used the other ones yet.

I then waited twenty minutes to use the bathroom.

We ended up in line for about forty minutes for pizza. I witnessed, firsthand, the primordial soup of the degradation of line etiquette in America. People cut , stole others' orders, grabbed, and ran for tellers. People waited in line at the cash register as others brought them plate after plate of food. Mothers took this moment as a time to teach their children how to pay for food and get change. People pushed, shoved, yelled at each other, saved tables with purses, plastic bags and cups. Babies hollered and kids whined. Parents blocked entire sections with their strollers. Other wars ensued with the scooter people.

After lunch, our friends rode the kiddie rocket and we waited in line for the "Honey I Shrunk the Audience!" By this time, it was Space Mountain time. So, in five hours we'd ridden a total of two rides.

As the day grew on, the crowds grew even thicker, the lines even longer. We waited an hour for the Pirates of the Carribbean. The ride itself was minutes long. We then got another fast pass for the log flume ride (which name escapes me) for 11:00 pm. I needn't go on, it's clear how the day went. I wouldn't recommend it.

Who Are You, Third Guy on the Pineapple Express Poster?

You're not Seth Rogen.

You're not James Franco.

You're not Jason Statham, I know that.

So, who are you?

Oh, it's a rhetorical question. I could go to the official website and learn your identity. I could read the credits on the poster and see three additional names and figure it out by process of elimination, knowing that you're not Gary Cole or Rosie Perez.

But that's not the point.

I have walked past the poster many times.

I have driven by similarly designed billboards.

Text: ROGEN, FRANCO
Image: Three guys
Reaction: Annoyance

Will it keep me from seeing the movie? No, it won't. I've seen all of the recent Apatow-related efforts. Even caught Drillbit Taylor on a recent flight. (You really phoned in that script, Rogen.)

But don't push me, fellas.

This is like the converse to the annoyance I felt 20 years ago, when Young Guns came out.

Emilio Estevez: check. Kiefer Sutherland: check. Lou Diamond Phillips: check. Charlie Sheen: check.

Casey Siemaszko?

Who the %^&#& was Casey Siemaszko? And why was he getting equal billing with Hollywood's genuine young guns? (I know, I know, I'm giving Dermot Mulroney a free pass on this one; I didn't know him in 1988 either. But let's face it, things have worked out a little better for Mulroney, and at least he didn't have an absurd above-the-title name. Which was read aloud on the commercials—shih-MOSH-ko—much to my irritation.)

Wait: Maybe he is the third guy in Pineapple Express....

Another Musical

Isa told me that her friend invited her to see him perform in a musical. I said sure, get the time and place, and we'll be there. Sunday rolled around and we trekked out to the valley to see the show.

As luck would have it, I was treated to yet another all-white performance of The Wiz.

The show, comprised of children 8-17, was decent. But like every other student-based performance in L.A. I've seen, it had two serious flaws:
canned music and wireless microphones for each singer.
I understand, having a band adds to the expense of a production, but the synergy between the performers and the band makes the show come to life. Performers having to project their voices into a theater keeps the audience engaged.

I sat there in the darkness of a beautiful, intimately-sized theater and watched each young person sing with a mic strapped somewhere to her. The voices weren't belting out lines or bursting into gospel-type songs; instead they were singing along to canned music that popped on like a karaoke machine hiding somewhere behind the curtain.
Because the energy between the singer and music was lost, the relationship between the audience and the cast was lost as well. We were merely watching children on a stage singing random songs, in the spirit of American Idol.

Even our small Pennsylvania high school managed to scrape together live music for their musicals. In 1986, Barbie Andretti's Dorothy taught me the challenges of singing in a musical. At times a line was dropped, a cue missed, a glance to the band was needed. Sometimes Dorothy sang too fast; the band scrambled to slow her down, and in her final number, her last word of "home" had to ursurp the band and seemingly last forever. The conductor's baton was up high, ready to crash down when she finished the word.

It seems technology has rendered this unnecessary for some directors. Worst moment in 2007: watching the Nutcracker Ballet, with music from a cd crackling in the speakers. I was in a beautiful theater at Pepperdine University. I looked in vain for an orchestra pit, and realized I was in for three hours of sheer hell.

Anne of the Thousand Days versus The Tudors

When I was ten years old, a movie version of my grandfather's play, Anne of the Thousand Days, was released. He'd made his mark in the 1930s with several historical dramas, written in blank verse, including Elizabeth the Queen (later made into a movie with Bette Davis) and Mary of Scotland (the film starred Katharine Hepburn). Anne of the Thousand Days, about the romance of Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn, was originally staged in the 1940s. Rex Harrison starred as the king and won his first Tony Award.

I don't remember much about the movie, an overblown vehicle for a lusty Richard Burton, but I do recall being completely captivated by Genevieve Bujold as Anne Boleyn. The reason I remember is that the crush would stay with me for years, through high school at least, only reinforced when I saw The King of Hearts.

It's impossible to compare Anne of the Thousand Days to The Tudors because it is impossible to compare the incandescence of a young Bujold with the self-satisfied pig-faced presence of the modestly talented actress who plays the queen in the Showtime series. The only way she surpasses Bujold is in fucking more blatantly for the camera, but, for that, I really have to give partial credit to the changing times.

A Man for All Seasons is being revived on Broadway, no doubt due to the success of The Tudors. Can Anne of the Thousand Days be far behind?

Toys for Girls

Spotted in a toy store in Chinatown, San Francisco:

I Need Assistance

Our U Wink screen:


Yes, we went back to UWink at the urging of Isa and her friend. This time we brought Tomi, whose gorgeousness and single status would bring good fortune to our table. I posted earlier about a prior visit and subsequent UWink investor's comments. The investor commented on the fact the ladies having fun would bring me out of my negative funk to have fun as well.

Ok! This time I was going to have fun.

I tried to tell the waiter that we'd been there before, but Tomi objected; not knowing the 'training' to use the computer would take a solid twenty minutes. Three minutes in she realized she made a mistake, but there was no stopping the waiter at this point. "See where the picture of the drink is? Okay, so if you want a drink you press on that. You want a cocktail? Okay, then we need to press where it says "Cocktails." And on. And on. "I was a computer programmer for years, " I protested. "Plus, anyone who has ever waitressed since the 90's is going to know how to use a touch-screen ordering system."

The waiter looked hurt.

The kids had already ordered while we were receiving our training.

Finally I could order my drink. We noticed a man under the table next to us, arms filled with wires: a repairman. There was also a raucous crowd in the back, drinking beers and yelling out answers.

We found out very quickly that they had changed the system. They now give "credits" for food purchased that go toward the games, which aren't free anymore. I thought to myself, well, that's understandable, you can't have people nursing a coke and playing How To Be a Millionaire all day can you?

Isa and her friend ran out of credits within five minutes.

Tomi helpfully swiped her card to buy them ten dollars worth of credits, and six minutes later they were begging again for more. They were also asking to shop at the 'virtual store' for stuffed animals and other items like pink digital cameras. Tomi and I went over to their (greasy) screens to investigate their desperation. Turns out they weren't playing just games, but they were playing games to win prizes (such as the aforementioned cheap made-you-know-where crap) and these games took a lot more credits to play.

At that point, we heard a loud pop and our screens went dark. A collective groan emanated from the party in the back. Other tables were still happily poking away at the screens. "Maybe the computer has lost our order and we'll get a free meal," I thought, and the server moved us to a new table. Within a few swipes, Tomi's name and yes, our tab were waiting for us.

We let the kids each get a stuffed animal and one outfit, because in ten minutes there was going to be a restaurant-wide trivia game, and Tomi and I were feeling like a good team. Also, I knew that buying the bears was going to be a lot cheaper than the kids trying to win them. (I can say this because I consider myself to be excellent at both Chuzzle and Bejeweled I and II and there were games similar to that and I couldn't even get close to winning a keychain.)

In the meanwhile, our food came, and we weren't the best at not duplicating orders, so I requested assistance.

"Sarah" won the trivia game. We knew this because it was blasted on the giant screen. "Who is Sarah?" Tomi and I yelled, and right behind us a mousy woman with long brown hair and glasses cheerfully raised her coke to us.

We got more credits and were determined to beat Sarah.

She won the next game and the next. How did she know so much about sports? All the other players were pretty drunk so they were easy to beat. But Sarah, sitting there drinking coke and nibbling on a fry, was not going to waver. Tomi and I decided to come back again, without the kids, and win the trivia contest.

We got the bill.

$270.

Overheard at Nail Salon Yesterday

I don't see the point in slathering one's nails in an acetone-based enamel paint; but Isa enjoys it, so I indulge her on occasion.
Overheard:

Lady: "So how was your trip to Japan?"

Tech: "It was great. It's really clean there and the people are so polite."

Lady: "What season is it in Japan now? Aren't they like, opposite of us or something?"

Tech: "Well, it was a bit cool, there were flowers everywhere...I think it was fall."

Lady: "That sounds right. Wow, Japan in fall...in April! How fun!"

I'm Just Like J.D. Salinger!

The Los Angeles Times tackles the mystery of what happened to 80s icon John Hughes. He made some pretty good commercial films that evidently inspired some pretty good present-day commercial filmmakers before disappearing somewhere north of Chicago sometime around 1990. He is missed.

Recently he briefly resurfaced as the source of the original story for Drillbit Taylor. But other than that he is a total recluse. Could a maverick such as Hughes even survive in the business today? Would it be at all recognizable to him? It's impossible to know because he's impossible to talk to. If you really need him, you can call Tom Jacobson.

THIS JUST IN:

While I haven't spotted John Hughes personally, I have managed to confirm several sightings since the creative heights of Planes, Trains & Automobiles. It seems that John Hughes, a formerly somewhat gifted filmmaker who at least made a good faith effort with each outing, gleefully sold out and became a family friendly factory, shitting out a string of movies including Home Alone, Beethoven, Home Alone 2: Lost in New York, Dennis the Menace, Beethoven's 2nd, Baby's Day Out, Miracle on 34th Street, 101 Dalmations, Flubber, Home Alone 3, Beethoven's 3rd, Beethoven's 4th, Home Alone 4, and Beethoven's 5th.

It's a wonder he even has time to be a hermit.

UWink

A while ago, John took Isa and I to a new restaurant, UWink, in a Woodland Hills mall. It had touch screens at each table, for ordering food and playing games. Some were pong-like, others were those trivia games seen in bars.
I wasn't that impressed; pong-games aren't going to do it for me anymore, and ordering food on a touch-screen is like being my own waitress. Plus, the trivia questions were just god-awful-- as well as repeating over and over again. I wondered to myself what kind of random number generator were they really using to dish out these horrible questions?
Isa, on the other hand, was wild-eyed. She begged us to order more drinks so she could hit the now-greasy touch screen. I was surprised at her obsession with the restaurant.
When Isa brought it up again for the umpteenth time the other day, I decided to google UWink. The wikipedia entry included "The company was founded in 2000 by Nolan Bushnell, the co-founder and former CEO of both Atari and Chuck E. Cheese."

Well, that explained the pong and the crappy food.

I'm somewhat disappointed in Mr. Bushnell. I'd have much rather had a joystick and played Adventure than field that touchscreen menu. Perhaps he's onto something-- creating a nostalgia for Isa's generation to buy into. I suppose there's nothing wrong with playing Tank and eating a burger, is there?


UPDATE:
This appeared on a Uwink investment board:



Another Brief uWink Blog Review


http://www.saltinwound.com/2008/03/uwink.html


A very good example of the "polarizing" nature of uWink (a good thing!). You've got some people that come in and find a negative in everything (like the blogger). BUT he's got a friend (READ: female) that is obsessed with the place.

In the end, who wins (this is hypothetical)?

1.The introverted guy who just doesn't want to have fun and complains about it to the "world" on his blog:

"I wasn't that impressed; pong-games aren't going to do it for me anymore, and ordering food on a touch-screen is like being my own waitress. Plus, the trivia questions were just god-awful-- as well as repeating over and over again. I wondered to myself what kind of random number generator were they really using to dish out these horrible questions?"



2. The extroverted gal who is having so much fun that she just keeps bringing new people to the place so that she can have even more fun:

"Isa, on the other hand, was wild-eyed. She begged us to order more drinks so she could hit the now-greasy touch screen. I was surprised at her obsession with the restaurant.
When Isa brought it up again for the umpteenth time the other day, I decided to google UWink."


My Opinion:
Eventually, the guy comes around because he realizes that regardless of how little "fun" he is having, uWink is attracting all the ladies, which will eventually attract him. This thing is going to work :)


BERNIE'S RESPONSE:

Dear Uwink investor, you've got one this nailed on the head. I am certainly a negative blogger, and Isa is definitely a pretty young gal that loves video games like nothing's doing. I will have to take her back there, so you do have us as customers in Woodland Hills.
As far as Atari goes, dear investor, I may have played more Atari than you ever will, and I will never forget that snowy Massachusetts day that I first laid my eyes on Pong. Yes, I was hooked. So yes, Mr. Bushnell is an integral part of my life.

But please, for my sake, get a programmer to update the trivia questions? I can make it last if the questions are decent.

Bernie

Review: Raiders of the Lost Ark

Since the next film is coming out, I netflixed this one for Isa, because she hadn't seen it.
"Can we watch Indiana Jones?" she asked me.
Score one point for the entity that changed this movie's name. In case you didn't know, it is now Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark, which I think is blasphemy.
Well, that may be how you feel about learning, as I did, that the film has been digitally re-mastered as well.
The music has been redone. The sound, the erasing of the shadow of glass between Indy and the cobra, everything.
Sure, the technical aspects of the finished product are amazing. But this was a cheesy action-adventure made in 1981 about the Nazi era, itself stylistically referencing forties movies. The movie I watched last night looked like it could have been made yesterday, but with the actual celluloid struggle erased, we have no context left to place this film in. So many layers of pastiche have been erased, one thinks, what is this film now?
For example, the animation scene of the plane flying from San Francisco to Nepal has been replaced by something that looks straight out of a power point presentation. At least the original one was using forties technology, and certainly was supposed to mimic WW II movies of planes crossing the Pacific.
And so on.
I don't think I've seen the film in at least twenty years, so I was reminded of the lack of any other women in the film, besides our dear Marion. The Spielbergian plot device to get her into the beautiful white dress was simple: "Put it on," the French bad guy commands. Then later, she is given another white, silky number that she has been commanded to wear.
Maybe this can still fly as a film with the "eighties-ness" gutted from it.
Regardless, I'll never forget the countless hours slaving away at the Atari video game. That's about as eighties as it gets.

The Millionaire Matchmaker

There's a new show on Bravo about a dating service for rich men. I've checked it out a couple times, and it's pretty watchable. Patti, the matchmaker, isn't content to just set people up, she needs to fundamentally change the flawed millionaires, bringing in teams of experts, as necessary. She's personally offended when these men can't set aside their childish dreams and make a commitment to the first woman Patti haphazardly throws into a meet and greet party. Sometimes Patti adds one of her assistants to the mix at the last minute, in a clear panic move, blurring all boundaries personal and professional to get the requisite six women per millionaire. You never know where love will take root, Patti justifies wildly.

This week's hapless victims were an old rocker with the last name Bodean who wasn't in the BoDeans and an oddly formal man named Julien. Jeff needed to throw away some of his magician style clothes and shave. That's what the emergency stylist Patti brought in had to say, tough love style. Julien had to learn about human interaction in its most basic form, as if for the first time. And it had to happen by his date with Jacqueline.

Patti set Julien up with a relationship coach, his first time in therapy, and the results were impressive. He didn't get the girl but he did approximate a normal conversation, which was progress, and by the end of the episode he'd decided to spend some of his money and move out of his shitty place in Pasadena, the one that had led Patti to exclaim with disgust, upon driving up for their initial meeting, "this isn't a millionaire."

Jeff Bodean had a dream date, showing off his weird life, split uncomfortably between Los Angeles and Santa Rosa. But he didn't call her right away after. And Patti went off on him! It wasn't the clothes or the beard or the schedule--now she knew why he was divorced. It was because he kept pulling this shit. Jeff eyed her angrily, knowing she was right. There was real heat between them. For a brief moment, I thought love might take root.

Knocked Up versus Superbad

I met Judd Apatow in 1997. I'd just written a script that he liked and ultimately helped me set up. The studio didn't meet his terms as a producer, so he ended up backing out of the deal, but he didn't do anything to screw it up for me. He was a class act.

At one point, he gently broached the subject of working on the script together, which I wasn't really into at the time. I was making my living writing for television, which was already way too collaborative for my taste. Judd was the opposite, he was wildly collaborative--he seemed to feed off of other people's creative energy. There was a ping pong table in his office. We never played.

What if I had? Would I be part of the incestuous band of comedy players churning out raunchy movies with heart that are called Judd Apatow movies no matter who made them? Would I be in the privileged position of a Seth Rogen or a Paul Rudd--close enough to Judd to be involved in all his projects, but not so close as to tell him he could cut forty minutes from Knocked Up, that it would come right out, he wouldn't even miss it?

Superbad is part of an evolution of Judd mentoring other people's work, starting with Paul Feig and Freaks and Geeks and continuing with me if I hadn't been in such a fucking hurry to get home. Knocked Up represents an effort to get in touch with his own point of view. Let's go to the scorecard.

Superbad made me laugh more, and I think a lot of that is because the supporting players are funnier. Seth Rogen is great as a lead in Knocked Up. He's even better in a smaller role in Superbad as part of an unbelievably surprising team of cops. David Krumholtz has a creepy cameo. And Christoper Mintz-Plasse is pure pleasure. Knocked Up has Paul Rudd and Leslie Mann in supporting roles, both fine actors who seem like they should be playing leads, it's a little sad that they're not. But that doesn't make them hilarious comic sidekicks.

In Knocked Up, the arguments between the main characters were irrational, never resolved, and then people apologized for no reason. In Superbad, the conflict is clear and poignant. It owes a debt to American Graffiti, a movie I like a lot. The fights are a bit repetitive but at least they're about something.

In Superbad, people are suddenly hit by fists, cars, or things about six too many times. You can't go back to the well that many times, you just can't, anyone on the picket line will tell you. And there's a horrible sequence about "period pants." But Knocked Up has Katherine Heigl, who I saw recently on Grey's Anatomy as I was changing channels and is currently in ads for 27 dresses all over the place. I can now confirm I hate her. Advantage: Superbad.

In Knocked Up, we're supposed to think it's funny when she thinks he's having an affair and it turns out to be a fantasy baseball draft. What could be less like an affair than a fantasy draft, I suppose the thinking went. Here's my thinking: you need twelve hours to get through two leagues, and even then you have to get lucky. There's nothing funny about an interruption. That's more about fantasy baseball, but it's been bugging me.

But maybe Superbad benefits most from the ages of the characters. They're supposed to be acting like idiots. The people in Knocked Up, it's just a little more gross. And there's a sameness to the ensemble. Maybe it's because of Judd's famous loyalty to his troop, but there's no room for someone who doesn't smoke pot from a beer can in a humorous way, there's no place for real difference, no voice of dissent. Maybe Judd needs someone a little more sour in his own life, the sort of person who doesn't want to hang out, someone willing to speak the truths that Martin Starr can not and will not speak.

What I'm trying to say is I'm bored and I'm available for ping pong. It's your serve, Judd.

A Night at the Movies

Last night Bernie and I went out to the movies. I'm happier watching screeners here, but Bernie sometimes likes to go out, so we left Isa with the babysitter and off we went.

The theatre was fine. The floors had just been mopped, the screen was large and clean, and there was no chewed gum stuck visibly under any seats. The movie started, and then another couple sits right behind us. And they were both drinking sodas.

Yes. I understand that when people go to the movies, they sometimes drink soda. Of course. But this couple had ice in their soda. Not just one of of the couple - both of them. So the whole movie was accompanied by a cacophonous screeching of icebergs grinding together. It was like we were on the Titanic, but on the Titanic it only happened once. This was over and over again.

Some advice: if you want to drink soda in a movie, that's fine. Only ask for it without ice! Or, if you have to have ice, then leave two or three empty rows between yourself and the people in front of you. And if the theatre's full and you have to sit right behind someone, then sit behind people who have ice in their own drinks. Then the whole bunch of you can sit there drinking your sodas and jerking each other off for all I care.

"Friday Night Lights"

Everyone is always telling me to see this show. "You have to see Friday Night Lights. You've never seen Friday Night Lights?" They said it was a little jewel, and I believed them. Friday night, I watched for twenty minutes. Here is what I saw:

Boys squaring off in fights.

Men menacing boys.

Men protecting boys.

Men fighting men.

Sometimes boys don't know how to express their thanks to the men who protect them. That is okay.

There are complex codes of honor involving boys and girls, as you can imagine, even though these girls are clearly played by starlets in their late twenties, while some of the boys really do appear to be teenagers. It doesn't lessen the power of the message of not date raping.

Ironically, the boy who stops a date rape in progress is unjustly accused by the coach of attempting to take advantage of the same girl. This girl is the coach's daughter, and the coach has just stood up for this boy in a conflict with another coach. It is the boy who thanked him awkwardly, almost wordlessly. One wishes he could find the words now to tell the coach that what he thinks he did to his daughter is in fact what he just stopped someone else from doing, but one understands why he can not. In some future episode, perhaps the coach will learn his accusation is false, and his apology to the boy will also contain so few words but so much power.

Driving in the car today, Isa said, "You know what's a manly sport? Noodling for catfish."

"Really?"

"Oh yeah."

"Noodling is fishing?"

"It's fishing by hand. These guys are in the water, and they reach into holes and the catfish bite them, and they pull them out by the gills, and there's bites all over them. Sometimes the fish is a hundred pounds."

"The fisherman uses his own hand as bait?"

"Yep."

"And you think that's manly?"

"Oh yeah, it's manly, it's about as manly as it gets."

That's how I feel about Friday Night Lights.

Sitcom Scenes I Hate to Write, Part One

There are certain set-ups that don't lead to anything good. "Box canyons," writer Don Reo used to call them. "We're in a box canyon!" Best you can do is get out.

I carry with me a mental checklist of such scenes. Sometimes the set-ups themselves are inherently flawed. Sometimes it is possible to fashion a scene that is "correct," but lacking in all other virtues (to me, the only thing worse than a correct scene is a correct joke). Other times, I'm just being an asshole. So here's my list:

Scenes where characters get along on first dates, with an emphasis on eating food together to establish a short hand for intimacy. Is it ever interesting to watch two people hit it off? And once they start eating, it's just disgusting.

Scenes where characters open gifts. I have spent too many late nights in writers' rooms, pitching on what's in the box. Better for there to not be a box. Nina Wass may disagree. She has a story about Jim Vallely pitching crotchless panties as a gift for Blanche on the Golden Girls twenty years ago that was the right joke for the right moment. To me, that's the exception that proves the rule.

Jokes that have the word "since" in the middle. I haven't seen her this upset since...

The danger here is in not taking the first decent pitch and moving on. Because all decent since jokes are basically the same, once you set the bar a little higher, it becomes like turning down the first house you looked at--the one that, in retrospect, was perfect. Now you have this impossible standard. I've seen rooms grind to a halt over that elusive bit of funny history, all to service a stupid little word that never should have made it into the sentence in the first place.

Scenes that serve no purpose other than to explain why someone decides to do something. These scenes are almost always reductive, making the decision more understandable but only in a connect-the-dots sort of way, while eliminating anything interesting we might learn about a character doing something slightly off kilter. In editing, these scenes come right out.

Sometimes it is difficult to separate a box canyon from a firmly held superstition. Tony Thomas hated what he referred to as Man Who Cam to Dinner stories. "You don't want to do Man Who Came to Dinner," he'd warn, about any story involving an unwanted house guest. Even a guest star taking a coat off and sitting down made Tony nervous. At the time, I thought it was silly. But experience has taught me Tony was right. Man Who Came to Dinner stories never work. You don't want to do Man Who Came to Dinner.

Other times, our pet peeves can lead to self fulfilling prophecies--scenes that never work because we're determined that they not work. Is it possible? I'd rather be right than watch a successful scene featuring a man and woman eating Chinese from the box and talking about their childhoods?

Tony Thomas had a huge pet peeve about scenes set in restaurants. "You don't want them sitting in a restaurant," he'd say, "with the waiter, and the guy hiding behind the potted plant." There wasn't going to be a guy hiding behind a potted plant, we'd assure him, which was true because we hadn't considered the possibility until that moment. But Tony was adamant, "You've got to have the guy hidding behind the potted plant."

(to be continued)

Zeroville by Steve Erickson

Steve Erickson is a writer who lives in Topanga Canyon and has a huge cult following. His latest book has a main character who's obsessed with film. The book itself has more interesting ideas about movies than I've read in years. Everyone has something to say about movies. Steve Erickson will happily sacrifice a character to get in one more point about movies. But it's never more weight than the narrative can sustain.

The book takes place in the seventies and eighties, weaving a credible show biz rise and fall into a recognizable landscape. There are the rewards of figuring out who's who. Some characters are obvious--Viking Man is clearly John Milius, a great choice as a guide to the scene. Others are either amalgams or more deeply disguised. The main character, Vikar--an Aspergian film editor with a scene from A Place in the Sun tattooed on his head--is the most original creation. His repeated observation, "I believe it is a very good movie," works on many levels, including that of comic catch phrase.

There is also the satisfaction of reading scenes that take place at the Los Angeles revival houses where I used to watch movies when I was growing up. My best friend Robert worked at the Nuart, so junior and senior year of high school I got to see movies there for free. The night before I left for college, we took over the theater and had a screening and a party. I wonder if that's when the contest began.

I went to Yale and Robert went to Berkeley. But we were both racing to see who could be the first to watch every movie that ever won the Oscar for Best Picture.

Long distance calls were expensive, so we'd keep each other updated with elaborate attempts at collect calls, which the other person would then politely refuse. Robert would receive a collect call from "Marty," he would know it meant I'd seen the best picture winner of 1955. Tom Jones was 1963.

Throughout the year, we pushed the limit of what we could get an operator to say.

Yes, I have a collect call from Alla Bouteve...

A collect call from Howgreenwa Smyvalley...

Collect from Fromhere Toetern Ity...

We never paid a penny for a call.

Reading Steve Erickson made me think about that for the first time in years. It made me think about movies and remember that I love them. And it made me realize I've still never seen A Place in the Sun.

Schlolastic News

While out stumping for her mother the other day, Chelsea Clinton refused to answer a nine-year old Scholastic News reporter's question. I don't really have an opinion either way on that, but I'm really glad Scholastic News has been brought up.

Isa brings that drivel home weekly, and I'm shocked that teachers think it's an acceptable homework assignment. For the uninitiated, it's more or less USA today written for children, and often by children. Each week, Isa has to read a few articles about current events and fill out a few multiple choice questions on a type of newsprint that rejects a pencil stroke outright. Check out this example of some kid reporting.

I don't need to tell you they consider High School Musical as a top story. Also: are they a company, a media organization, or just in the business of selling crap to our kids?

Mister Magoo's Christmas Carol

This is my favorite version of the Dickens classic, songs by Jule Styne and Bob Merrill, featuring the voice of Jim Backus. There's supposed to be a framing device with Mr. Magoo getting ready for the show--but it was sometimes cut to make room for more commercials. Too bad, if that's the case. This bit of ironic distance could help arm the kids in the crowd for the horrors to come.

I also like the George C. Scott version--originally made as a movie for television. He's especially good when he's happy at the end. And while I know I'm supposed to love Alastair Sim in the role, I'm not crazy about him before the big transformation, until after he is redeemed (which is never any fun at all), at which point I become nostalgic for him earlier in the film. I don't like him happy and I don't like him sad.

What's your favorite Christmas Carol?

The first ten minutes

It's good to know that the first ten minutes of Juno will be trying. I don't go to the movies that often, and the Spectrum usually has as many as four or five films of potential interest. When I go, I take note of the starting times, which tend to be staggered by ten minutes. If the film I've paid for doesn't grab me within ten minutes, I switch theaters. (Micaela does this too, though less often.)

I've switched theaters to avoid treatments of mid-life crises, self-pitying protagonists, scenes of senseless brutality, inadequate projection-bulb brightness, and films that are not films but digital video. I've probably missed some decent films, but I've never regretted switching.

"Juno"

Bernie and I watched it last night, and I almost didn't make it through the first ten minutes. It is wildly overwritten, Ellen Page delivering the smug one liners like every female comic on the Los Angeles alternative scene. It is also a pretty good movie.

The plot has some nice twists, but there's a parallel structure at play as well, unfolding outside of the action. It's in the way the movie releases information: about the past, about basic character traits or about the characters' relationships with each other--whole scenes are devoted to finding out something new. Some of these scenes don't advance the plot at all, they're just there to advance our understanding as an audience. I like this kind of story telling very much, almost as much as I hated the dialogue at the start. Credit (and blame) go to first-time screenwriter/"unlikely stripper" Diablo Cody.

Ellen Page won me over as Juno.* J.K. Simmons and Allison Janney are terrific as her father and step-mother. Michael Cera, as her boyfriend, is wonderful in a gutsy, girlish turn. Jennifer Garner is sweet as the adoptive mother. Jason Bateman plays it safe as the adoptive father (and at the same time he doesn't take risks as a performer, he gives away his character's shadier side too early and too easily).

*Note to screenwriter/"unlikely stripper" Diablo Cody: the Roman goddess Juno is the wife of the Roman god Jupiter (or Jove), not the Greek god Zeus. The Greek goddess Hera is the wife of Zeus. Or if Diablo was too busy inserting three extra words into every one-liner, the movie has ten producers, including John Malkovich. Maybe one of them could have cracked open Edith Hamilton.

"The Bronx is Burning"

ESPN is running a marathon of its miniseries about the 1977 New York Yankees. It is very watchable. John Turturro is fantastic, losing himself in the role of Billy Martin, the wily, self-destructive manager with a chip on his shoulder. Oliver Platt is less irritating than usual as owner George Steinbrenner, depressingly younger in 1977 than I am today.

But the action grinds to a halt whenever they cut to the "Son of Sam" case, which is a lot more often than you would think. What should be background flavor starts to dominate the show. The case was gripping the city! The Yankees and the case! How many movies have fallen back on this cheap device? It feels to me like there have been a couple.

"Mad Men"

Is anyone a fan? I know some people who are going crazy over the show, about the heady world of advertising in the early sixties. I can see it has merits, but I'd like it better if every scene didn't feature a character acting sexist or being antisemitic or blowing smoke in somebody's face.

The Golden Compass

Here is a random news story about The Golden Compass, echoing what's been in the paper here. There is a consistent pattern whereby none of the protesters seem to know exactly what they are protesting:

HOLLY TWP. - A retired grandmother is leading a group that plans to protest the nation's No. 1 movie - "The Golden Compass" - in Fenton this weekend.

Bev Suski, 56, of Holly Township, calls the film anti-Christian and wants the theater complex, Fenton Cinemas, to pull the movie.

She's asking anyone who agrees with her to join the group outside the theater on the sidewalk during the matinee showing Saturday. They're hoping for 100 people.

"Even though we're late, we need to do something," said Suski, who is retired from the antique business and attends St. Rita Catholic Church in Holly. "As Christians, we need to stand up to be heard."

Having just seen the film, I understand the protestors' vagueness. Yes, you could decide that the Magisterium is an allegory for the 16th century Catholic Church (and who wants to defend the 16th century Catholic Church, anyway?). It could also stand for Hitler, Stalin, Lex Luthor or Dr. No. Either way, not recommended.

another gender bender

It's hard to make out in the poor lighting, but this is Gary Busey in a wig, hideous clown make-up, and fake tits. "Under Siege" is very comfortable with its sexuality.

The movie was clearly influenced by "Die Hard" (1988), but one of the big advantages of "Under Siege" is that, in "Die Hard," they give him a wife you're supposed to worry about. As if that's going to make you root for the hero any harder. We're already rooting as hard as we possibly can. "Under Siege" appreciates this, and gives us no external relationships to concern ourselves with, just a super sexy sailor girl/boy we assume he gets to fuck after the closing credits.

a ripping yarn

Last night, sixty-six years and a day to the day from the attack on Pearl Harbor, a band of mercenaries, disguised as caterers and rock musicians, seized control of the USS Missouri, in order to steal its arsenal of nuclear weapons.

This stunning scenario took place on my television screen, as I passive aggressively watched "Under Siege," while my wife tried to study for a math exam.

Steven Seagal is at his absolute best as the lowly cook/highly decorated former Navy SEAL whose brand of martial arts involves his opponent willingly giving up his wrist as an offering. From there, Seagal can usually gain the leverage to twist a few fingers and render his opponent ready for a final blast of fire, soup or knife to the throat, depending on their luck and past behavior.

Erika Eleniak plays an actress/model caught up in the madness. It is before she gained weight, appeared on the Biggest Loser, lost weight but will never look the same again. She pushes the boundaries of boyishness in a female lead in a major motion picture. She is very boyish. My wife thinks it's homoerotic, for men who secretly want to fuck sailors. I think it's a terrific turn.

Tommy Lee Jones makes an ass of himself as one of the villains. As the other, Gary Busey is as girlish as Erika Eleniak is boyish. Gary Busey dancing around in drag is one of the more memorable horrible turns in movie history. Even all these years later, Gary Busey would be justified in feeling his director did not protect him.

NPR Humor

On a recent road trip, NPR was humming along in the background, barely audible. There was laughter, so John turned up the volume. It was a woman telling a Thanksgiving story, about being filled with stress about her parents coming to New York City to see her. She spoke in what I can only call that "classic NPR tone"-- dry and over-enunciating. You. Can. Hear. Her. Now. She said, "My father sat in a chair all day," and paused for full dramatic effect, "and kept telling jokes. That weren't funny."
The unseen audience roared with laughter. The three of us looked quizzically at one another. John turned the volume up a little more and the woman continued talking about her mother. She said, "I knew my mother would say something about the cornbread. To her, there is only one kind of cornbread, and it wasn't what I had. My mother said, 'That isn't cornbread, that's something you put in your hair.'"
Again, the audience went wild with maniacal laughter.
Finally Isa said, "I just don't see why they are laughing so hard."
"Me neither," I said.
Just then we heard her talking about taking her parents to Ellis Island. It was cold, it was rainy, her piece went on and on for minutes (another NPR trait: lots of needless descriptive turns of phrase, I would think for traffic but she was performing live) and then she said, with more enunciation than the radio speaker could possibly bear: "The problem with going to Ellis Island-"
and she paused, for great dramatic effect here (and I could picture her looking up at her audience with a gleam in her eye as she delivered her punchline) IS THAT YOU ARE GOING TO ELLIS ISLAND.

John turned off the radio.

That's right, the problem with Ellis Island is that you are going to Ellis Island.

Les Moonves

In entertainment news:

Nikki Finke at deadlinehollywooddaily.com finally catches up with my suggestion that it might be a good idea to test management's solidarity ("a reasonable template," 11/16).

And the president of CBS is now, by all indications, a black male. So why isn't the prime time schedule more diversified?

Foul!

Connie Hawkins was one of my two favorite basketball players of all time. He landed with the Lakers after squandering his talents with the Globetrotters and then in the old ABA, followed by a great run with the Phoenix Suns. By the time, he got here, the Hawk was still capable of dominating games in brief stretches though no longer of the consistency to carry a team.

Hawkins played here in the years after Wilt but before Kareem, when the Lakers had no chance of winning, when no one could believe in the team except for a kid. There's something wonderful about rooting for a team without a prayer. It's like rooting for an indy band. The Rolling Stones don't need you and neither do the Yankees.

Tonight, the Lakers face Orlando. This team is going nowhere. Why not trade Kobe and really have some fun?

Don Rickles

I just watched the doumentary about him on HBO. More people talking about how funny he was than footage of him actually being funny. Plenty of clips of cheap sentiment though. I guess I'm not his biggest fan, although it is impressive how many famous people have championed him, from Frank Sinatra to Jackie Gleason to Johnny Carson to Roger Corman and Martin Scorsese. Biggest take-away: the sheer range and volume of vacations Don Rickles and his wife have taken with Bob Newhart and his wife. It is breathtaking.

"I'm Not There"

Best Bob Dylan: Cate Blanchett. Worth seeing just for her.

Worst Dylan: Richard Gere. He gets a big movie star entrance about halfway through, right when the movie needs something, but he is the last thing this movie needs. He's playing Dylan's outlaw Billy the Kiddish type incarnation, which, if I only had six Dylan incarnartions to work with, probably wouldn't even make my list. Especially because it leads us into a completely disposable fantasy world of outlaws, freaks, and carnies, but without the saving grace of songs from Blood on the Tracks (a rights issue?).

Julianne Moore is very funny as the passive aggressive Joan Baez type he leaves behind. David Cross is effectively vacant as Allen Ginsberg. Heath Ledger and Michelle Williams must go to the right parties--they're completely forgettable.

A Meta-post

Three things that bug me about blogger, our blog editor/host:

Forced Astrological signs. Take a look at this guys profile. See how it lists his sign(s)? This isn't because the guy believes in astrology, it's because if you want to list your age on your profile, Blogger forces the star sign on you too. So if you see an age in a profile, you'll see the astrological sign too.

What do all the hardcore skeptics do? I haven't searched for a skeptic tag yet, but I'd bet you don't find a single person listing themself as a skeptic who also displays their age. The forced Zodiac sign is why.

No automatic email notification when comments are added to a post. Blogger, if I ask you to, you will automatically send me email when someone else makes a comment to a post after I've made a comment to the same post. Why can't you extend the same privilege to me when I'm the poster? After all, I'm hosting that party. I'm a big boy, Blogger. What is it you're trying to protect me from?

(This isn't about blogger specifically, but still...) The word blog. It's a little better than tofurkey jerkey but way worse than even chunnel, which is saying something. Every time I use it I think it's more suited to a context like I got so drunk last night that I blogged all over Nancy's floor. I hated this word from the start; for a long time I insisted on using the longer, and way more pleasing weblog instead. But I lost that war. Now I use the word, of course, but it still grates.

Feel my red-hot fury.

why i need to get out of this town

Matthew Perry and Zac Efron are starring in a movie together. Hard hitting reporting from today's Hollywood Reporter:

"In a scenario that turns the concept of "Big" on its head, the Jason Filardi-penned script follows a middle-age father who wakes up to find he's 17 again. In order to be close to his children, he enrolls in the same school as them."

Not only does it turn the concept of "Big" on its head, but it takes the concept of "Vice, Versa," "Like Father, Like Son" and "18 Again!" and cleverly cuts it in half.