The Car: Elliot Silverstein

I don't know why Elliot Silverstein's The Car was so critically panned when it was first released. Yeah, I'll admit that it isn't exactly a good film, per say. But it is definitely an entertaining one. The Car is a hybrid of Steven Spielberg's Duel and John Carpenter's Christine. Essentially, the quiet Utah community of Santa Ynez is being stalked by a murderous black coupe with no license plate or driver. Police captain Wade Parent leads a local task force to find the car and destroy it. I can't help but stare in wide amazement at The Car, because for its purely absurd plot, it takes itself deathly seriously. The Car doesn't feel like a cheap exploitation film...at least most of the time. Scenes with Wade Parent's children and girlfriend Lauren carry genuine emotional weight. But those are hardly the scenes that people are going to remember this film for. What people will remember are the deliriously over-the-top and hysterical death scenes. Apparently the Santa Ynez police department fuel their police cars with nitro glycerin, because they have a nasty habit of exploding into giant balls of flame whenever they are lightly tapped by the black coupe. My favorite scene was when the coupe traps a police cruiser on the side of a cliff. The coupe gently nudges the police car over the edge. The police car flips onto its roof and the cabin is immediately engulfed in a cataclysmic fireball. So, yes, The Car is silly and ridiculous. But it was genuinely entertaining. It's not a high piece of art, but then again, I don't think it was ever intended to be.

7/10

Hugo: Martin Scorsese

Martin Scorsese may have claimed that he made Hugo because his young daughter asked him to make a film based on the children's novel The Invention of Hugo Cabret by Brian Selznick, but I think that Scorsese jumped on this production because it allowed him to tell a story that was personally near and dear to his heart. The film tells the story of Hugo Cabret, a young orphan who lives in a Paris railway station in the early 1930s. He was trained by his alcoholic uncle to fix and maintain the numerous clocks in the station. But it also turns out that Hugo is a genius at mechanics. He spends all of his spare time trying to fix a broken automaton that his father discovered in an old museum. One day, while trying to steal parts for the automaton from a local toy shop, he is caught by the owner, Monsieur Georges. One thing leads to another and it is discovered that he is really Georges Méliès, one of the earliest pioneers of the cinema. Oh, there's a story of how Hugo falls in love with Georges' goddaughter and they go on an adventure to fix the automaton while avoiding the miserly Inspector Gustav who patrols the train station. But the real heart of the story are the scenes involving Georges. Scorsese recreates his famous studio and sets in flashbacks to his early life. It's obvious that Scorsese cared more about the segments that centered on Georges than on Hugo. The scenes with Hugo are well-shot, but they lack a certain energy and seem laborious. Whenever Georges is involved, the film springs to Hugo: he made people genuinely interested in early cinematic history. When I was walking out of the theater, I had to repeatedly reassure my parents and sister that the parts about Georges' life and work were real. My dad was particularly surprised to learn that a montage near the end of the film was actually comprised of real clips from Georges' work. And Hugo did something else that was very important: it told a genuine story for children that was entertaining and didn't talk down to them. I have a distinct distaste for most "children's entertainment" because of this inescapable attitude that stories have to be dumbed down for children. Hugo doesn't pander to children. It appeals to their natural sense of wonder, amazement, and discovery. While I was in the theater, there was a family behind me with a small child. The child had a blast. He was laughing and enjoying the film. Hugo is a reminder that films for children don't have to be made on a lower intellectual plane in order to engage their intended audience.

7/10

The Brood: David Cronenberg

David Cronenberg's The Brood is one of his sickest and most disturbing films. But that doesn't necessarily make it one of his best. Allow me to explain. The Brood follows Frank Carveth, a loving father who is gripped in a terrible legal battle with his insane wife over possession of their daughter, Candice. His wife, Nola, is undergoing an experimental new treatment designed by psychotherapist Hal Raglan of the Somafree Institute. To make a long and difficult explanation as brief and simple as possible, all you have to know is that Raglan's treatment is causing Nola to undergo psychosomatic mutations. As a result, Nola gives "birth" to a small army of *sigh* psychic midgets. Yes, you read that right...an army of psychic midgets. What Nola doesn't know is that her psychic link with her "offspring" causes them to seek out an brutally murder anybody that she doesn't like. Eventually, Nola kidnaps Candice and holds her hostage among the ranks of her homicidal lollipop guild. It's up to Frank to distract Nola while Hal tries and rescues Candice. Now, I'll be fair and give credit where credit is due: the special effects in this film are superb. As with any of Cronenberg's films, the true horror comes from manipulations and mutations of the human body. The scene where Nola rips a new "child" from a pyschoplasmically-induced external womb and starts to lick the blood and placental chunks off his body is chillingly nauseating. The problem is that the rest of the film fails to live up to the horror of this scene. The acting is stale, the story is confusing and clunky, and despite what we may have learned from Don't Look Now, homicidal midgets dressed in red aren't automatically frightening. This is an unpleasant, dirty film. But, hey, I can hardly complain. Those are the exact reasons why so many horror-hounds love Cronenberg's films from the 70s.

5/10

Dogma: Kevin Smith

At some point during the history of American cinema, the predominant view of organized religion, in particular Christianity, seemed to shift. Up until around the 70s, organized religion was treated positively. Early Hollywood cinema is full of heroic priests and clergy. Prominent examples include Father Jerry Connolly (Angels with Dirty Faces), Father Charles O’Malley (Going My Way), and Father Barry (On the Waterfront). Faith was depicted as something to cherish and respect. Who can forget the scene from Captains Courageous when Manuel Fidello (played by Spencer Tracy) wistfully recounts his personal beliefs and convictions? But, as I said, at some point, the predominant view of religion within the cinema became ugly and negative. Organized religion was seen as a tool used to subjugate the masses, priests were seen as ignorant fools (and more recently, child molesters), and it became a badge of honor for many characters to abandon their faith. Think I’m joking? Try this: name five clergymen from mainstream American movies of the last decade who were not depicted as: a) a moron, b) a criminal, or c) comedic relief. Priests in the background who officiate weddings, funerals, and baptisms don’t count. I’m talking about priests who are actual characters with names. It’s quite a challenge, isn’t it?

Religion, for whatever reason, has come to be seen as antiquated, ignorant, and corrupt by the entertainment industry. It’s almost impossible for films to take the matter of faith seriously anymore. And yet, there has been one massive exception to this unusual trend. The film in question is Dogma, the fourth film by writer/direction Kevin Smith. Blending a surprisingly wide berth of knowledge concerning Catholic mythology, his trademark dialogue, and his innate insight into the world around him, Smith created a film that was simultaneously funny, charming, emotional, and moving. It is both a critique and celebration of not just religion, but Faith, with a capital ‘F.’ And yet, the most surprising thing about this film is how Smith was able to disguise all of this beneath a veneer of profanity, violence, and, dare I say, adventure.

Protagonists in Smith’s films are almost always stuck in personal quagmires that keep them from moving forward in life. Dante Hicks from Clerks is doomed to work in a convenience store until his 30s. T.S. Quint from Mallrats can’t mature emotionally beyond spending all day playing video games and reading comics. And Holden McNeil from Chasing Amy lets his immaturity concerning his partner’s sexual past ruin their relationship. In Smith’s films, his characters’ insecurities and internal struggles are their worst enemies. The protagonist from Dogma isn’t any different. The film follows Bethany Sloane (Linda Fiorentino), a 35 year old woman living in McHenry, Illinois. She once was a devout Catholic, but a series of setbacks, such as her having an infection in her uterus leaving her sterile and her husband abandoning her, has stripped her of her faith. So, emotionally disconnected from her faith and the rest of the world, Bethany has resigned herself to working in an abortion clinic.

But this all changes when she is visited one night by the Seraphim Metatron (Alan Rickman), the angel who serves as the voice of God.

He informs her that she has been entrusted by God with a holy task: to stop two fallen angels, Bartleby (Ben Affleck) and Loki (Matt Damon) from exploiting a loophole in Catholic dogma which would allow them to return Heaven. The two angels were thrown out of Heaven when Loki, the Angel of Death, got drunk and resigned his post upon Bartleby’s encouragement. They discover that a church in Red Bank, New Jersey is celebrating their centennial with a plenary indulgence, an outdated Catholic practice that automatically forgives anyone who walks through the church doors of their sins. All Bartleby and Loki have to do is travel to Red Bank, cut off their wings (thereby transforming them into humans), walk through the doors, and die. As a result, they will be allowed to reenter Heaven. There is only one problem: to do so would be to overrule the word of God. Metatron explains that the entire fabric of the universe depends on one cardinal law: that God is always right. To prove God wrong would literally end all of existence.

But Metatron tells her not to worry, as she will have company on her journey. He speaks of a pair of prophets who will guide her. Yet Bethany still refuses, believing that Metatron’s appearance was only a dream...at least until she is brutally attacked by the Stygian Triplets, three demonic hockey stick-wielding teens. She is saved from being brutally murdered by none other than Jay and Silent Bob, a pair of drug dealers who serve as the de facto mascots of Kevin Smith’s career.

Jay (Jason Mewes) is a foul-mouthed stoner and Silent Bob (played by director Kevin Smith) is his speechless partner. As luck would have it, the two are none other than the prophets foretold by the Metatron. Along the way to New Jersey, the three are joined by Rufus, the thirteenth apostle (Chris Rock) who was left out of the Bible because he was black and Serendipity (Salma Hayek) a Muse with writer’s block working in a strip club who became human because she wanted to finally get credit for all of her work.

As with any film involving Kevin Smith, inevitable hijinks ensue. Bartleby and Loki take a break from their journey to murder a boardroom full of sinful company executives in an attempt to gain favor from God.

Bethany must fight off Jay’s constant attempts to clumsily seduce her. They are kidnapped by Azrael, a former Muse banished to Hell who may have set the entire plot in motion for the most sinister reason imaginable. And the two parties engage in a one-sided battle on the steps of the Red Bank church. It is all very formulaic and predictable. But what separates Dogma from other such films is what goes on in between such deadly encounters: the characters actually talk to each other.

And what conversations they have! Kevin Smith has always been praised, even by his detractors, for his incredible gift at writing dialogue. In this case, the dialogue is used to wax philosophical on subjects of faith. Take one particular exchange between Bethany and Rufus on the subject of whether or not Jesus still loves humanity:

Rufus: He still digs humanity, but it bothers Him to see the shit that gets carried out in His name - wars, bigotry, televangelism. But especially the factioning of all the religions. He said humanity took a good idea and, like always, built a belief structure on it.
Bethany: Having beliefs isn't good?
Rufus: I think it's better to have ideas. You can change an idea. Changing a belief is trickier...

Or take another more humorous discussion between the Metatron and Bethany:

Bethany: What's he like?
Metatron: God? Lonely. But funny. He's got a great sense of humor. Take sex for example. There's nothing funnier than the ridiculous faces you people make mid-coitus.
Bethany: Sex is a joke in heaven?
Metatron: The way I understand it, it's mostly a joke down here, too.

These are not things that a person could casually bang out on a typewriter over the span of a weekend. These discussions reflect serious, intense examinations and reflections on the subject of faith and God. And therein lies the true power of Dogma: despite its irreverent and graphic humor and content, it takes the idea of faith and religion more seriously than any other mainstream film made in the last few decades. It’s an extremely graphic movie and certainly not for the faint of heart. But those who dare to take it seriously, to look beyond the profane surface will find one of the most introspective and passionate films on faith ever made.

For those who still don’t believe me, I would like to draw your attention to one last scene in particular. Bethany has learned that the reason why she has been selected to stop Bartleby and Loki is because she is the last Scion, aka the last blood descendant of Jesus Christ. Horrified by this realization, she runs away from her friends and into a nearby lake where she shrieks how much she doesn’t want this and how much she hates God. And without missing a beat, the Metatron appears before her, standing on the water.

Bethany: I don't want this, it's too big.
Metatron: That's what Jesus said. Yes, I had to tell him. And you can imagine how that hurt the Father - not to be able to tell the Son Himself because one word from His lips would destroy the boy's frail human form? So I was forced to deliver the news to a scared child who wanted nothing more than to play with other children. I had to tell this little boy that He was God's only Son, and that it meant a life of persecution and eventual crucifixion at the hands of the very people He came to enlighten and redeem. He begged me to take it back, as if I could. He begged me to make it all not true. And I'll let you in on something, Bethany, this is something I've never told anyone before... If I had the power, I would have.

I think I've made my point.

Peace be with you, my friends. Amen.

9/10

Shivers: David Cronenberg

Let me just say this about David Cronenberg's Shivers: I cannot BELIEVE that this film was shot on actual 35mm film stock. Allow me to explain. Shivers looks and feels like a cheap, shot-on-video horror film from the 70s and 80s. Everything...the lighting, the cinematography, the sets, and the acting...all feel like they are from an independently produced direct-to-video sleezefest. And yet, according to IMBD, the film was shot on 35mm. But such is part of the appeal of Shivers: it looks and feels like a low-budget horror film because it WAS a low-budget horror film. Shot on a budget of around C$179,000, David Cronenberg had to cut every corner imaginable in order to complete this film. And yet, the film succeeds to be oppressively atmospheric and genuinely shocking. The film takes place in an ultra-modern, totally self-sufficient apartment building outside Montreal. An insane scientist has accidentally released a deadly parasite that attaches itself to a victim and turns them into mindless sex zombies. The parasite doubles as an aphrodisiac, causing its hosts to go on raping sprees which allow the parasite to spread to other people. It's up to the apartment's resident physician, Roger St. Luc and his assistant nurse to stop the parasitic invasion before it can escape the complex and spread to the rest of the world. I'll be honest, this film is surprisingly well made. It relies much more on suspense and atmosphere than outright gore. The few creature effects are well made and convincing. But Cronenberg's true triumph is how he manages to turn the apartment complex, a building designed to completely protect its inhabitants, into a trap instead of a haven. Shivers is not for the faint of heart. There are several graphic and group rape scenes which, despite being well shot, are nauseating to watch. There are a lot of obvious plot holes, most noticably in how the afflicted seem to transition willy-nilly between being uncontrollable sex-monsters and seeming capable of normal, rational behavior. This was Cronenberg's first feature film, and it shows. The screenplay, also written by Cronenberg, is clunky and cluttered, introducing too many characters simultaneously while doing too little to distinguish them. It's a good first effort. Thankfully, Crononberg would learn from his mistakes and go on to release some of the most revered (and disturbing) horror movies of all time.

6/10

Alice’s Restaurant: Arthur Penn

Arlo Guthrie's Alice's Restaurant Massacree was one of the most important folk songs to emerge from the 1960s. Clocking in at 18:34, Alice's Restaurant Massacree told of a series of unusual events that occurred in real life to Mr. Guthrie. To summarize the song as succinctly as possible, Guthrie gets arrested on a trumped up charge for littering, released, drafted, and expelled from the draft board due to his new criminal record. The climax of the song involves Guthrie confronting one of the draft board members and saying, "I'm sittin' here on the Group W bench 'cause you want to know if I'm moral enough to join the army, burn women, kids, houses and villages after bein' a litterbug." 44 years later, Alice's Restaurant Massacree is still widely playing on radio stations, especially on Thanksgiving, the day when the events portrayed in the song started. The same can't quite be said about the film adaption of the song, Arthur Penn's Alice's Restaurant. The film is essentially a dramatization of the events portrayed within the song...and then some. And therein lies this film's major problem: it has too much and then some. The scenes that reconstruct the actual events of the song are witty, charming, and entertaining. This is of course aided by the fact that Arlo Guthrie plays himself, and he has an amiable, likeable screen presence. Unfortunately, Guthrie's exploits represent maybe only a third of the film. The rest of it deals with Guthrie's friends and family. The film drones on about their lives and problems, oblivious to the fact that the only people who'd want to see this film in the first place are those who were interested in Guthrie and the actual story of the song. Guthrie comes off as a single member of a larger ensemble cast. The entire affair feels like a Robert Altman film from the mid-70s to the early 80s...on Quaaludes. Oh, the film is mildly interesting for people curious about the 60s counter-culture. But for everybody else, Alice's Restaurant will seem tedious and unnecessary.

6/10

Clerks 2: Kevin Smith

The idea that Kevin Smith would actually write and direct a sequel to one of the most important, influential, and beloved independent films of all time seems like sacrilege. After all, isn't the entire idea of a sequel to blatantly make more money? And isn't the entire idea of an independent film to allow a director to capture their specific cinematic vision without the interference of producers and a studio? So why would Kevin Smith do it?! To make more money? Well, actually, no. It turns out that Kevin Smith decided to make a sequel because he had actual ideas for a second story involving the same characters. Clerks 2 takes place twelve years after the first film. Dante Hicks and Randal still work at the same convenience store. At least, they do until Dante comes to work one morning to find the store engulfed in flames. After the destruction of the convenience store, the two get employed at a local Mooby's fast food restaurant. They are joined by Elias, a nineteen year old hardcore conservative Christian, and their boss, the beautiful Becky Scott. And, of course, Jay and Silent Bob, who migrate from the convenience store to the Mooby's. Much like Clerks, this film is largely composed of raunchy and surprisingly insightful dialogue. This may be sacrilege, but I think that the dialogue in Clerks 2 is better and more memorable than in the original. You don't just remember lines from Clerks 2, you remember entire exchanges. Porch Monkey. Pillowpants. The Trilogy. Just saying these lines is enough to stir up vivid memories of the dialogue in Clerk 2. But again, it isn't just the dialogue that makes this film remarkable, its the underlying story. The two twenty-something slackers from the 90s are now thirty-somethings from the 00s. Their lives haven't moved on. They have sunk even deeper into a quagmire in their personal lives. But Dante thinks he has a way out: marry Emma Bunting, a controlling, domineering woman who promises a life, business, and home in Florida. But Dante is obviously with her for the wrong reasons. Who he REALLY loves is Becky. Too bad he thinks self-sacrifice and marriage to the wrong woman is more responsible. What's remarkable about Clerks 2 is the way that Smith endears his characters to us. We emphasize with them. During the film's denouement, the revelations that the characters experience carry genuine weight that had been authentically earned. Smith has stated that he might make a third Clerks in another ten years when Dante and Randal are in their 40s or 50s. I hope he does, because I have a feeling that Kevin Smith has plenty of stories and wisdom left in him.

8/10

Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back: Kevin Smith

Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back is the kind of film where if you don't love Kevin Smith's work, you will automatically hate it. It's immediately obvious that Smith made this film explicitly for himself and his diehard fans. Why? Because it focuses on Jay and Silent Bob, the duo of drug dealers who make cameos in all of the View Askewniverse. Played by Jason Mewes and Kevin Smith himself, the duo are by far Smith's most famous creations. In this film, they learn that a movie is being made off the Bluntman and Chronic comic book. This would normally not bother them until they remember that they were the inspiration for the comic and therefore deserve royalties. So they embark on a most unusual road trip to Hollywood to stop the film from being made. Along the way, they get involved in what I can only describe as Smith's favorite narrative cliches. They become patsies in a jewel robbery led by a quartet of sexy, leather-clad femme fatales which involve them breaking into a nearby animal testing lab and kidnapping an orangutan. Then, they get involved in a chase with a local sheriff (played by Will Ferrell) that ends at the edge of a dam. Following that, they break into Miramax Studios, accidentally get mistaken for actors, and engage in a brutal battle with Mark Hamill. See what I mean? The film is basically an excuse for Smith to engage in scenes and plot points that he would never regularly indulge in. Not to mention that it allows him to cast several of his heroes in supporting roles, such as George Carlin, Wes Craven, Gus Van Sant, Mark Hamill, Carrie Fisher, and Jon Stewart. Some people might ask why Smith would make such an indulgent film. My answer is...wouldn't you do the exact same thing? If you were given a budget of $22 million to make a film and were told that you could make whatever you wanted and cast whoever you wanted, wouldn't you make an indulgent film starring all of your favorite actors? Some people might not like this film. But that's okay...Kevin Smith wasn't making it for them in the first place.

7/10

Chasing Amy: Kevin Smith

One of the most distinct characteristics of Kevin Smith's films is their frank and realistic dialogue. Yes, yes, I know that the first thing that comes to mind when people think of Kevin Smith's dialogue is its incredible profanity. For Smith, the use of profanity is an art form. But if you look beyond the profanity, you will find that Smith's dialogue is some of the most disarmingly honest in all of the cinema. His characters talk like REAL people. A perfect example of this can be found in his third film Chasing Amy. The scene in particular is when Holden McNeil (Ben Affleck), a comic book artist, and Alyssa Jones (Joey Lauren Adams) a fellow lesbian comic book creator, have a frank conversation about the mechanics of sex on a playground. People who have seen this film know exactly what scene I am talking about. Holden doesn't understand how lesbians can have physical relations, so he asks Alyssa. They go on to discuss the technicalities of when and how somebody loses their virginity and what counts as "making love." Their conversation is so honest and real that it seems shocking that any studio would allow it into a movie. And therein lies the heart behind Kevin Smith's films. Yes, he is a champion of low-brow comedy and profanity. But they are just flavoring. Smith's films are about people. His characters are frequently unhappy with their place and station in life. They desperately desire to move forward, but they either can't or don't know how. They seek solace in relationships, often with the wrong people and even worse, for the wrong reasons. Chasing Amy is about both. Holden falls desperately in love with Alyssa. Of course, this is difficult due to her being a lesbian. But somehow, she falls in love with him as well. But it is soon revealed that Alyssa has had a very, very promiscuous past, even earning the high school nickname "fingercuffs" for a tryst she once had with two boys...at the same time. Holden grapples with devastating feelings of inadequacy over this news and confronts Alyssa. Alyssa tries to explain that who she was and what she did doesn't matter because she has finally found happiness in Holden. But that isn't enough for Holden. He ends their relationship, unable to deal with her past. He eventually comes to realize his mistake and tries to get Alyssa back. But it may be too late. Smith's unflinching look at relationships was widely praised by both audiences and critics. Chasing Amy was supposedly only two votes away from being nominated for an Academy Award. It remains one of Smith's most emotional and personal films. Stunning in its realism and honesty, Chasing Amy represents for many the high point in all of Kevin Smith's career.

8/10

Mallrats: Kevin Smith

If Kevin Smith got off to a legendary start with his first film, Clerks, then his follow-up, Mallrats, represented an unfortunate misstep that almost ended his career. It's not that Mallrats is BAD, per say...just that it isn't very good. Mallrats contains many of the things that makes Kevin Smith's films so endearing and popular: impeccable and quotable writing, an ensemble cast including cameos from Smith's personal heroes, and a wealth of profanity that masks a warm and disarming humanism. And yet, Mallrats doesn't work. I personally blame the two main characters. T.S. Quint and Brodie Bruce are two young slackers who journey to a local mall in order to get over the fact that both of their girlfriends dumped them. They decide to sabotage a dating show that is scheduled to be filmed there run by none other than the despotic father of Quint's ex-girlfriend. The problem is that on their own they aren't very memorable characters. Dante and Randal from Clerks were the embodiment of the lifestyle, hopes, and angst of the Slacker Generation. Quint and Bruce are...not. In fact, they seem like counterfeits of Dante and Randal. Mallrats takes place in the View Askewniverse, the cinematic universe that contains Clerks and the rest of Kevin Smith's New Jersey Saga. As such, there are cameos and crossovers from characters from the different movies, most notably the infamous Jay and Silent Bob, a pair of drug dealers who loiter outside of the convenience store in Clerks and became de facto mascots for Smith's films. So, the audience is aware that we are in the same world as Clerks, yet we are forced to mainly follow a group of characters that are largely uninteresting. People who see Clerks remember Dante and Randal for the rest of their lives. But who really remembers Quint and Bruce? Mallrats would represent a low point in the View Askewniverse. But thankfully, Smith would rebound with his next film, considered by many to be his single greatest accomplishment.

5/10

Clerks: Kevin Smith

Love him or hate him, it is impossible to deny the impact of Kevin Smith. He is the realization of every wannabe director's dreams: he made his first film on a budget of only $27,575 using a cast of friends and family over a period of 21 days. The film would go on to gross over $3 million in the box office, guaranteeing Smith a career in the industry. He has since gone on to direct ten feature films, establishing himself as one of America's foremost auteurs (in the strictest definition of the term as intended by the French New Wave). And it all comes back to his first film, the undeniable Clerks. In hindsight, it seems inconceivable that a first-time writer and filmmaker could direct such an incredible film. On the surface, it has a stunningly simplistic subject: a day in the life of two twenty-something clerks working in a New Jersey convenience store. The film is almost entirely comprised of dialogue between the two clerks, the exasperated Dante Hicks (who spends his day dealing with inept and eclectic customers) and the uncouth Randal Graves (who spends his day sleeping, watching movies, and pissing off potential customers). And that's about it. Just two guys shooting the breeze during a very odd work day. During this day, many unusual things will happen: they'll get fined for accidentally selling a four year old cigarettes, Dante will discover that his current girlfriend has had a very "lively" past, and Caitlin, Dante's ex-girlfriend, will get hospitalized for accidentally having sex with a corpse in the convenience store bathroom (don't ask, long story). But what shines in this movie is the dialogue. Smith has often (and quite possibly justifiably) been accused of being a sub-par director with an uncanny knack for writing. In fact, the script for Clerks could easily be adapted for the stage because it is so dialogue heavy. But much like Quentin Tarantino's talkative characters, we don't care because what they say is so incredibly interesting. But I'm getting beside myself. The real reason why Clerks is a classic is because of what it represents. The film is a stunningly realistic and honest portrayal of the "slacker" generation of the mid 90s. These were young adults who were isolated and adrift after the wasteland of the 80s. It is more than a comedy...it is an foul-mouthed form of cultural anthropology. It became a kind of Bible for a decade's worth of directionless youth. Clerks is more than just a film: it is a bona fide cultural phenomenon.

10/10

The Far Country: Anthony Mann

A decade before the start of Sergio Leone's Dollars Trilogy, Anthony Mann and James Stewart were reinventing the Western. They created a series of five classic Westerns that challenged the norms of the genre, infusing them with darker plots, brooding characters, and the symbolic use of landscapes to represent the character's inner turmoil. The Far Country is the fourth film in the Mann/Stewart cycle. It holds the distinction of being one of the only Westerns in history to be set in the harsh wastelands of Alaska. In 1896, Jeff Webster (James Stewart) and Ben Tatum (Walter Brennan) head up to Alaska as part of the Klondike Gold Rush. They quickly run afoul of judge Gannon, a local confidence artist who runs the town of Dawson City with an iron fist and a disarming smile. Gannon beings to cheat local miners out of their claims through extortion and outright murder. This doesn't bother Jeff Webster at all. He only cares about himself and as long as Gannon leaves him alone, he doesn't care how many people his goons kill. At least...he doesn't care until Gannon starts to attack him...and Ben. The Far Country is a remarkable film that proves that Italians didn't have the monopoly on dark, brooding (and violent) Westerns. In fact, there's a little Clint Eastwood in James Stewart's performance and image, what with his grizzled, unshaven visage and cynical sneer. The Northwest has rarely seemed as threatening and foreboding with giant frozen wastes and chilled forests. It's a harsh film. But then again, it was a harsh world.

7/10

Secret Sunshine: Lee Chang-dong

Warning: Review Contains Spoilers

I love it when a movie reads my mind. Sometimes I'll be watching a film and I'll start to wonder how I would have directed it differently. My mind will be consumed by different camera angles, different actors, and potential plot twists. And once in a blue moon, a film will surprise me by doing exactly what I dream up. The most recent occurrence of this phenomenon took place during Lee Chang-dong's Secret Sunshine. Let me explain. The film begins with a single mother moving to her dead husband's home town with her young son in order to start a new life. They struggle to fit in and become accepted within the community. And then, suddenly, the young boy disappears. The mother receives a phone call from a man saying that he has kidnapped him and demands ransom. At this point, I thought to myself, "If I had control over this movie, I would make it so that she would pay the ransom and discover that the criminal killed her son anyway." And, to my amazement, it does just that. Oh, don't give me that look. This is a two and a half hour film and this all takes place within the first third. The majority of the film studies this young woman as she struggles to cope with this incomprehensible loss. She soon finds solace in Christianity after a local shopkeeper reaches out to her in her agony. In what I can only describe as a Perfect Scene, the woman enters a church during a service, sits in a pew, and begins to cry for the first time over the death of her son. Most film-makers DREAM about making a scene with this much power and emotion. But then the film starts to deteriorate when she goes to visit and forgive her son's murderer. I won't spoil what happens, but she has a revelation that seems extremely childish in my opinion. She then goes about sabotaging the Church out of spite. Maybe I'm biased as a Christian and as the son of a preacher, but to me, striking out at the only group of people who tried to help her in her time of grief seems immature and selfish. The last hour of the film seems out of place, almost as if another director came in. But regardless, Secret Sunshine is a heart-breakingly fantastic film...at least for the first hour and a half.

8/10

The Long Voyage Home: John Ford

People sometimes ask me why John Ford is my all-time favorite director. There are myriad reasons why, but one of the main ones is that Ford had an unparalleled eye for authentic human drama that was decades ahead of his time. While his contemporaries were still mired in the mud of melodrama, Ford was creating films with authentically human characters. So is it any surprise that Ford would eventually direct a film based on the work of Eugene O'Neil, the playwright that introduced realism into the American theater? The Long Voyage Home is a screen adaptation of four of O'Neil's plays: The Moon of the Caribees, In The Zone, Bound East for Cardiff, and The Long Voyage Home. The film follows the crew of the SS Glencairn, a cargo ship traveling from the West Indies to Baltimore and then to England during World War Two. They carry a precious cargo of high-explosives. This sounds like the set-up to a wartime thriller. But instead, Ford morphs this film into a character study of the men who inhabit the tired little ship. Each one has their own story. There's Ole Olsen (John Wayne), a young Swede who has been away from home for ten years and is terribly homesick (as a side note, I just want to point out that watching John Wayne act with a Swedish accent was both hilarious and strangely satisfying). There's Smitty, a dour Englishman who is accused of being a German spy due to his strange habits. But, no, he isn't a spy. His reclusiveness is due to his great shame of being an alcoholic who ran away from his family. And, of course, there's Driscoll, the stout, hard drinking Irishman with a short temper that masks a loyal heart. Over the course of the film, they will experience heartbreak and tragedy, despair and loss. I was genuinely taken aback by this film. John Ford always had a subtle tragic streak running throughout his career, but The Long Voyage Home seems to betray an unusual pessimism. I wouldn't recommend it for somebody who is just starting to explore the filmography of John Ford. But it is nevertheless a film of enough import that every Ford scholar should hop on board for at least one trip.

6/10

Dangerous Liaisons: Stephen Frears

I think that an alternate title for Stephen Frears' Dangerous Liaisons should have been 18th Century Sociopaths. Dangerous Liaisons is a film about two people who literally make a game out of destroying people's lives. It all starts in 18th Century France when the Marquise de Merteuil (Glenn Close) asks her lover the Vicomte de Valmont (John Malkovich) to seduce her first cousin once removed, the young Cécile de Volanges (Uma Thurman). The reason? Revenge. The innocent young girl is engaged to be married to one of the Marquise de Merteuil's former lovers. So she wants to spoil Cécile by having the Vicomte de Valmont deflower, degrade, and debase her. He happily agrees and proceeds to psychologically torture and rape Cécile. But that does not satisfy the Vicomte de Valmont. He wants more. So during his destruction of Cécile he decides that he will also seduce Madame de Tourvel (Michelle Pfeiffer), a woman of high virtue. Why? Because he loves the idea of destroying the life of such a perfect woman. However, his lust for the ruination of others is merely a front for his true intention: the seduction of the Marquise de Merteuil. However, it is a game that neither of them will be able to win. Malkovich turns in one of his all-time greatest performances as the Vicomte de Valmont. He moves and speaks as a man simultaneously engrossed and detached with his conquests. The result is quite chilling. Glenn Close also shines as the wickedly evil Marquise de Merteuil who believes that the best way that a woman can compete in the world is to systematically undermine and destroy the men around her. This can be a difficult film to watch, and not because it's particularly gory or graphic. Instead, this film is a sometimes uncomfortable experience because of the lives that we see forced into ruination and the people who take delight in causing it.

7/10

The Savage Innocents: Nicholas Ray

Nicholas Ray was responsible for some of the greatest and most iconoclastic films of the 1950s. Films like In a Lonely Place, Johnny Guitar, Rebel Without a Cause, and Bigger than Life challenged societal norms and became personal favorites of many a critic (particularly those writing for Cahiers du cinéma in France). However, he was not an immaculate director. He did release the occasional stinker. And The Savage Innocents is one of those unfortunate bombs. The film follows Anthony Quinn who plays Inuk, an Eskimo hunter. The first half of the film shows his various struggles for survival in the Arctic, such as hunting seals and polar bears and winning his wife's hand in marriage. The film was mostly shot on location in the Canadian Arctic, giving it a distinct documentary feel. In fact, at times it felt like Ray was trying to shoot the sequel to Robert J. Flaherty's seminal Nanook of the North. But then the second half of the film kicks in with a disquieting thud. Inuk is introduced by a fellow hunter to a settlement of white men who trade guns for furs. While at the settlement trading, Inuk and his wife are approached by a missionary who tries to convert them to Christianity. In an unfortunate cultural misunderstanding, Inuk offers the priest his wife's sexual services for the night, as is his people's custom. The priest politely refuses. However, to Inuk, the refusal is tantamount to the greatest insult imaginable. So Inuk kills the missionary and flees from the settlement. The rest of the film watches as Inuk is pursued by policemen who want to arrest and hang him. And, of course, Inuk ends up saving them, proving that maybe...just maybe...they're not so different after all. Cue sweet and re-conciliatory music. This film just doesn't work. The documentary first half is decent, but feels artificial whenever we are reminded that Inuk is indeed Anthony Quinn. And the second half is a tired commentary on race relations that was cliched even in the 60s. It may feature genuinely beautiful cinematography...but that isn't enough to save this emotionless, tired film.

5/10

Vanya on 42nd Street: Louis Malle

One of Louis Malle's most famous films was My Dinner with Andre, a bizarrely compelling film consisting entirely of dialogue between two people, played by veteran actors Andre Gregory and Wallace Shawn, eating dinner in a New York City restaurant. However, few people know that the three collaborated on another film together that would challenge the boundaries between the cinema and theater. The film is entitled Vanya on 42nd Street. The film is essentially a performance of Anton Chekhov's masterpiece Uncle Vanya. But it is the circumstances surrounding the production that has made the film legendary. I'll let the good folks at wikipedia sum it up:

"Over the course of three years, director Andre Gregory and a group of actors came together on a voluntary basis in order to better understand Chekhov's work through performance workshops. Staged and filmed entirely within the vacant shell of the then-abandoned Amsterdam Theater on 42nd Street in New York City, they enacted the play rehearsal style on a bare stage with the actors in street clothes. Free from any commercial demands, their performances were for an invited audience only. Gregory and Malle decided to document the play as they had developed it. The film was the result of the collaborative process."

The resulting performance saw Chekhov stripped down to the bare essentials: the emotional turmoil of the characters tinted through his trademark realism. Despite being filmed in an empty, run-down theater with no costumes, sets, or audience, the play takes on a new life. In a way, the theater is a fitting metaphor for the wasted, barren lives of the play's tormented characters. But it isn't the set that will stay with viewers of Vanya on 42nd Street. Instead, it will be the unparalleled performances by a group of devoted actors who are interested in nothing more than uncovering the truth and beauty behind the pages of Chekhov's script.

9/10

Harvey: Henry Koster

God bless James Stewart. I don't think there was ever another actor who ever lived who could have pulled off the lead role in Harvey. This classic film follows Elwood P. Dowd, a middle aged bachelor who lives with his companion, Harvey. The thing is that Harvey is a 6' 3.5" tall rabbit that only Dowd can see or hear. Oh...he's not really a rabbit. He's technically a pooka, or a shapeshifter from Celtic mythology. But that's beside the point. To the rest of the world, it seems like Dowd has an imaginary friend who accompanies him everywhere. This wreaks havoc on his family, particularly his sister and niece who desperately crave a place in "normal" society. Whenever they try to go out in public or hold a party, Dowd scares everyone off by trying to introduce them to Harvey. They finally decide to have him committed. But in the attempt, the sanitarium doctors mistake his sister as the crazy person and lock her up. What follows is a series of (un)fortunate mishaps where people try and contain Dowd only for their plans to backfire in their faces. Strangely enough, Dowd isn't in the film for as long as you might think. The film focuses more on the supporting cast, particularly Dowd's family and the doctors at the sanitarium. More often than not, things get mixed up by people who interrupt Dowd, preventing him from properly introducing his large friend. I don't think I have ever seen another movie with so many interrupted lines. Still, it is a charming film. If there is a moral to be found in this film (as there are with any proper fable or fantasy story), it would be that just because somebody is kind and eccentric doesn't mean that they're crazy...especially if he's James Stewart.

7/10

Penn & Teller Get Killed: Arthur Penn

Here's an interesting piece of trivia: the director of Penn & Teller Get Killed, a film vehicle for superstar magicians Penn & Teller, was none other than Arthur Penn, most famous for 1967's Bonnie and Clyde. In fact, this would prove to be the legendary director's final film. It may seem strange, and indeed somewhat tragic, that such an important director would end his career with such a film. But I think that Penn & Teller and Arthur Penn are a natural match. Both were extremely anti-establishment artists. Arthur Penn made films that challenged the social and cultural norms of American cinema and Penn & Teller use their magic as a springboard for atheism, scientific skepticism, and libertarianism. I'm not suggesting that a collaboration between the two was inevitable, but it certainly seems oddly fitting in hindsight. Penn & Teller Get Killed is essentially a gag reel of the two magicians playing increasingly elaborate and dangerous pranks on each other. The film begins with the duo appearing on a late night talk show where Penn casually jokes that he wishes that somebody would try and kill him. Of course, this still taking place in the 80s, one lone, deranged fan interprets Penn's joke as a request. His attempts at killing Penn go largely unnoticed at first and are mistaken as pranks from Teller. But soon it becomes apparent that somebody is genuinely trying to kill him. I won't give away the ending, but suffice to say that it could only have sprung from the mad minds of Penn, Penn, and Teller. The film is a complete riot. Penn & Teller are two of the most gifted performers alive and watching their prank shenanigans is akin to comedic nirvana. I know that the murder storyline was necessary as an overall framing technique for the film, but sometimes I wished that the plot would go away so we could see more of Penn & Teller torment each other. One scene in particular where Teller repeatedly sabotages Penn's attempts to cross through an airport metal detector literally ranks as one of the things that has made me laugh the hardest in my entire life. Seriously...I think I might have scared my graduate school roommate with my laughter. Penn & Teller Get Killed may not have been the film that Arthur Penn deserved to end his career with, but it certainly isn't an unsatisfactory one.

8/10

Ossessione: Luchino Visconti

Luchino Visconti's Ossessione suffers from the fundamental problem that it tries to combine two genres that have absolutely nothing to do with each other. One the one hand, the film is based off The Postman Always Rings Twice by James M. Cain, the source of one of the most famous film noir in cinematic history. But on the other, Visconti films this hard-boiled story with a slow, naturalistic gaze. Ossessione is considered to be one of the very first Italian Neorealist films. And right there we encounter an irreparable conflict in interest. Film noir are ultra-stylized, pscyhologically driven potboilers. Italian Neorealism sought to free itself from the chains of Hollywood stylization and focused on depicting reality. The two are not meant to be combined together. And yet this is exactly what Visconti attempted to do. The result is a slow, grinding film that lasts almost two and a half hours. The film is about a tramp who falls in love with the young wife of a restaurant owner. They decide to murder her husband, take over his business, and start a new life. However, the horror and guilt at their decision ultimately leads to their downfall. Of course, it is almost impossible to determine this from the film. Several times, the tramp and the wife split up and go their separate ways only to come back together in the end. There is absolutely NO sense of immediacy, that crucial ingredient that is part of the life blood of film noir. Instead we have a misfire of truly tragic proportions. What is this film? It sure as hell isn't a film noir.

5/10

The Four Feathers: Zoltan Korda

I love watching films like Zoltan Korda's The Four Feathers. And it isn't because of how good it is or who may be starring in it, but instead what it represents. The Four Feathers was one of those special British films released in the first half of the 20th century that celebrated Great Britain's colonial conquests. Films like Gunga Din or That Hamilton Woman which chronicled the valiant exploits of British officers fighting off dirty heathens to protect land that they stole in the first place. They completely ignore the facts that they wouldn't have thousands of British soldiers mercilessly gunned down in the African desert if they hadn't have previously done the exact same thing to the native women and children. And so we get to the insanity that The Four Feathers. I can summarize the entire plot in two sentences: a young British officer is sent white flowers (traditional signs of cowardice) by his fellow officers when he resigns his post the evening before being deployed to Africa to fight in the frivolous Mahdist War. Upon being called a coward, he whimpers a "nuh-uh," smuggles himself to Africa, and spends years impersonating an Arab so he can personally one-up the offending officers. That's the entire story. I wish I was joking. Ah...those were the days when life was simpler and much, MUCH stupider...But I digress. The Four Feathers is a tremendous film that feels like the grandfather of David Lean's epics, particularly Lawrence of Arabia. The cinematography is BIG, the natives are all white men in brown-face, and nobody bats an eye when hundreds of Arabs are mowed down (but God forbid if a British soldier must die!). It is, in a word, extraordinary. It is extraordinary in its scope, execution, and in the fact that people actually took this film seriously at one point in history.

7/10

Dark Passage: Delmer Daves

More people will probably remember Delmer Daves' Dark Passage for its perspective and storytelling techniques than for its actual story. Roughly the first hour of Dark Passage is told from the first-person perspective of Vincent Parry (Humphrey Bogart), a man who escapes from San Quentin after being wrongfully convicted of killing his wife. He is rescued from the police by Irene Jansen (Lauren Bacall), whose only motivation is that she hates when people are wrongfully convicted for crimes they didn't commit. Believing that Parry is innocent, she helps him escape. Afterwards, Parry undergoes plastic surgery to evade the authorities. One of the film's best (and most unintentionally funny) moments is when they finally reveal Parry's post-op face to be none other than Bogart's normal face. After getting "fixed," Parry goes out to find out who actually murdered his wife. But he must also avoid two-bit crooks and cops who are eager to turn him in for the substantial reward that the state has put on his head. It's a fine example of film noir with all of the most important criteria falling into place: the man who can't escape his past, the deadly femme fatale, and lyrical cinematography. But again, it is impossible to consider this film without analyzing the gimmick that propels its first hour. Is it worth it? Well, it certainly puts us into the mind of Parry and ups the suspense. But there are other noir that manage to do the exact same thing without relying on such a tactic. But, as it stands, it does nothing to hurt the film. So at the end of the day, Dark Passage is a great noir. And how could you possibly go wrong with a film that pairs up Bogie and Bacall?

7/10

Goodbye, Lenin!: Wolfgang Becker

Wolfgang Becker's Goodbye, Lenin! is one of those rare films that so perfectly sums up an era that it becomes eternally immortalized within its country's cinematic canon. They are so important that they stop being films and become cultural institutions. Goodbye, Lenin! is to Germany what Rome, Open City is for Italy, The Battleship Potemkin is for the USSR, and Children of Paradise is for France. When lists of the most important German films are comprised, Goodbye, Lenin! is guaranteed inclusion. The film has such a simple and novel idea that it is remarkable that somebody didn't think of it earlier. The film follows Alex Kerner, a youth living in East Berlin right before the collapse of European Communism. His mother, Christiane, is such a devout Communist that when she sees Alex attend an anti-government protest, she suffers a near-fatal heart attack that plunges her into a deep coma. After eight months, she reawakens with a nasty case of amnesia. During her sleep, the Berlin Wall is torn down and capitalism floods into East Berlin. The government and country that she so loved is dismantled. But her doctor tells Alex that she can't suffer any more shocks, as even a mild one could give her another fatal heart attack. Feeling indescribable guilt about his role in Christiane's heart attack, he goes through great pains to fool her into thinking that the GDR still exists. Keeping her locked up in her bedroom, he feeds her food that he repackages into GDR cans and bottles, has her old friends lie to her about current events, and even shows her fake news broadcasts that he custom made with the help of a young film-maker friend. But the illusion can't last forever. By purposefully trying to recreate the GDR, Becker demonstrates first hand how backwards and ill-conceived it was better than any documentary ever could. The film is a devastatingly blend of humor and tragedy the likes of which hasn't been perfected since the hey-day of Charlie Chaplin. Goodbye, Lenin! is a true cinematic treasure that encapsulates the zeitgeist of a nation at a crossroads, unsure of its future, but wary of its past.

8/10

We Have a Pope: Nanni Moretti

Nanni Moretti's We Have a Pope is one of the gentlest, most breathtakingly honest examinations of faith that has ever graced the cinema. It is about Catholicism, but believers of any denomination of Christianity can find admiration in its truth and compassionate gaze. It is billed as a comedy-drama, but if there is humor to be found in this film, it springs from real life and not contrived circumstances. The film is about the ancient Catholic ceremony of the Papal Conclave, wherein the College of Cardinals elect a new Pope when the seat becomes vacant. After a series of inconclusive votes, the College finally elects Cardinal Melville as the new Pontiff. But he is horrified of the honor, convinced of his unworthiness. He flees before his public introduction to the masses in a fit of terror. As the spokesman of the Holy See tries to placate the press and the masses who have assembled for the election ("He felt the need to go into prayer for the time being"), the Vatican calls in a psychoanalyst named Professor Brezzi. A secular man of science, Brezzi is constantly at odds with the antiquated customs of the Vatican. But here is what I mean about this film being honest. Instead of using Brezzi as a soapbox to condemn the supposed backwardness of the Vatican (and he could have easily become just that considering that Moretti is an Atheist) he is depicted as inhabiting a world that he simply doesn't understand. The Vatican is shown as a world of rules and regulations that are honored and respected instead of a world of murky corridors and smoke-filled rooms used to quell insurrection. When Melville manages to escape his guards and infiltrate the surrounding city in a quest of self-discovery, the Cardinals are trapped. Church laws state that they cannot be released until the end of the election which isn't over until the Pope is formally introduced. So they try to discover ways to entertain themselves, including an impromptu volleyball tournament. But the real story is Melville's as he slowly discovers how sad and sick the world is outside of the walls of the Vatican. He makes a shocking decision at the end of the film which may cause many people to dismiss this film as sacrilegious. But this film is not about Catholicism. Instead it is about the very real, very honest people who populate its upper echelons. Not once are they depicted as corrupt or stereotypical. They are shown to be real people. And the choice that Melville makes in the end is characteristic of just that: it is the decision that a regular person might make under such circumstances. We Have a Pope is a heartbreaking film, both for its sincerity and its tragic conclusion that the Church might not be ready for the responsibilities that are in store for it in the 21st century. Is it an anti-religious film? Of course not. It is simply a devastatingly honest one.

9/10

1,778 Stories of Me and My Wife: Mamoru Hoshi

About a month ago I realized that I had only seen a few films that had been released this past year. Now, one of the main reasons for this was that most of the films that had been released this year didn't interest me. So I went searching for unusual and obscure films that I could use to fill out my yearly film report card. Among my discoveries was this odd little Japanese film entitled 1,778 Stories of Me and My Wife. This film was inspired by the real life experiences of Japanese science fiction writer Taku Mayumura. In the film, Mayumura is depicted as "Sakutaro," a wide eyed dreamer with thoughts of aliens and an affinity for old style robots from the 50s. His anchor to reality is Setsuko, his wife, whom he loves dearly. Tragically, it is discovered that she has malignant colon cancer which the doctor estimates will take her within a year. Inspired by the advice that "laughter is the best medicine" Sakutaro sets out to write Setsuko a short story every day to fill her life with happiness. The stories start as a treatment but evolve into a method of coping as Setsuko gets worse and worse. She holds on for several more years, resulting in a grand total of 1,778 stories. This is a sweet, sad little film. Many of Setsuko's stories are depicted onscreen, including encounters with octopus bill collectors, robot wars, and space aces. It just tends to get a little too sweet, a little too melodramatic, particularly near the end. This is a LONG film, well over two hours. Most of the film is lively and upbeat despite its subject matter. But director Mamoru Hoshi pulls the drag chute for the last 30 minutes or so. Things become so over-dramatic that it borders on unintentional comedy. But perhaps that is the point. I have never read any of Taku Mayumura's work. But if the movie is any indication, it is rich with sentimentality and simplicity. And if so, then 1,778 Stories of Me and My Wife reflects that spirit perfectly. It is a tragic and tender story that manages to leave you with a smile on your face despite the tears that stain your shirt.

7/10

Source Code: Duncan Jones

Remember when Hollywood blockbusters were story and character driven instead of vehicles for CGI saturation? Apparently Duncan Jones does. Fresh from his stellar debut, the Kubrickian Moon, Jones returns with Source Code, a delightful sci-fi thriller that is so good that we don't care that it makes absolutely no sense whatsoever. Allow me to explain. The plot involves a series of technological MacGuffins that are so insane that even Gene Roddenberry would shake his head in disbelief. Basically, one morning in Chicago a train is bombed, killing several hundred people. The Navy, or...er...Air Force...I think, use a brand new technology called "Source Code" which for reasons best left unexplained here allow a user to go back in time and relive the last 8 minutes of somebody's life. How? I'm not even sure the movie knows. But who cares? We have a bomber to catch! Colter Stevens, a Marine, or...er...Army...helicopter pilot is strapped into Source Code and made to relive the last eight minutes of the train before it explodes. His mission is to find out where the bomb was located and who detonated it because the same person had threatened to release a dirty bomb inside Chicago which could kill millions. The only problem is that he is slowly falling in love with a woman on the train who died in the explosion. So now he must grapple with his responsibility to catch the bomber and his desire to save her and everyone else on the train. If you can look beyond the brain-bending science, you will discover a novel and original storytelling idea. In a sense, it's kind of like an eight-minute version of Groundhog Day. The only problem is that he can't change the future because it doesn't exist in this reality. OR CAN HE?! Really, my biggest problem with this film is that it indulges in romantic cliches towards the end that seem like a slap in the face to the science that Jones desperately tried to explain. I won't spoil it, but it indulges in the old technique of if we just BELIEVE hard enough, it'll happen, for reals. But I'm not going to complain. Source Code was absolutely terrific and a refreshing change from the technological tedium of modern day Hollywood.

8/10

Melancholia: Lars von Trier

I'm beginning to think that all a woman has to do to win the Cannes Film Festival's Best Actress Award is show up naked in a Lars von Trier film. The most recent recipient of this award was Kirsten Dunst. But instead of crushing somebody's testicles, forcing them to ejaculate blood, and then masturbating in the nude at the foot of a giant tree (like von Trier's last leading lady in Anti-Christ), Dunst's performance is a wee bit more restrained. Oh, she still urinates in a baseball field, has sex with a random man on the night of her marriage, and moonbaths in her birthday suit...this is still a Lars von Trier film, after all. But much like Dunst's performance, von Trier's new film Melancholia is sombre and reticent. It was born from a conversation with von Trier's therapist during a bout of depression where he learned that depressed people tend to act more calmly in stressful situations that regular people. In Melancholia, the "stressful situation" that von Trier plunges his depressed lead (played by Dunst) into is none other than the end of the world. In this film, a rogue planet named Melancholia is scheduled to collide with earth, completely annihilating both of them. While the world and her family panics, Dunst accepts her fate with an eery calm. The problem is that Dunst's calm seems to envelope the entire film. The film is divided into two parts. The first depicts Dunst's disastrous marriage reception. This lasts for almost an hour. Then the second part reveals that Dunst has since collapsed into a near catatonic state of depression and is being cared for by her sister. It is during this half that the world actually ends. By the time Melancholia hits and destroys earth, we breathe a sigh of relief. The film is clunky and drawn out to the point of snapping. Oh, this film is heart-breakingly beautiful. But the story and characters leave almost no impact upon us. I can just imagine Dunst reading the script for this film and picking it not because she thought that it would be a good film, but because she figured that her career could use a boost if she did this kind of "Euro art-house" flick. And really, that's the kind of film that Melancholia is: it's a pretty film by an acclaimed director that has no other purpose then to merely look nice and exist. It looks good on a resume, but not on a DVD shelf.

6/10

This is Spinal Tap: Rob Reiner

Being a complete and total nerd, when I realized that the date was November 11, 2011, or "11/11/11," I knew that I would have to re-watch Rob Reiner's This is Spinal Tap. My pride as a lover of movies and obscure and ultimately pointless numerology depended on it. Not to mention that I've been in a funk since I got back from the hospital, so this comedy classic was the perfect way to cure my blues. And boy, did it do the trick. This is Spinal Tap remains one of the greatest satires and mockumentaries ever made. Following the fictionalized British band Spinal Tap as they embark on a US tour to promote their new album Smell the Glove, the film watches their onstage antics and backstage drama. Many of the film's sequences have become so engraved into the popular consciousness that they have reached a Monty Python-esque level of infamy. You don't talk about your favorite lines or gags from Spinal Tap, you talk about your favorite scenes. Stonehenge. Up to eleven. Puppet show and Spinal Tap. The pod. Even people who have not seen the movie can instantly recognize these sequences. So many things make this film so perfect: The fact that to this day there is some ambiguity about whether or not Spinal Tap actually exists (after all, the actors playing them actually play their instruments and you can buy their albums at stores). The use of ad-libbing which produced many of the film's most famous lines. The perfect satire of the music industry and the egos helmed by its inhabitants. Many of the most famous rock and roll icons to ever live have testified as to the film's accuracy (Eddie Van Halen famously didn't find it funny, remarking, "Everything in that movie had happened to me.) Whatever the causes or reasons, This is Spinal Tap is one of the rare films which have transcended the media and become part of our cultural consciousness.

10/10

The Tunnel: Carlo Ledesma

I seriously don't know where to being with this film. It fails on every single level imaginable. The only reason why anybody is going to remember this film is because of its revolutionary marketing techniques. The film was simultaneously released in theaters, television, DVD, and the Internet via Bittorrent. Now, on paper, this is a fantastic idea. Instead of shunning internet piracy, this low budget film embraced it, thereby ensuring that millions of people would see it despite its virtually nonexistent theatrical release. The problem is that this film is absolutely abysmal. At its center, it wants to be a found footage horror film like The Blair Witch Project and Paranormal Activity. It follows an investigative reporter as she travels inside the abandoned train tunnels beneath Sydney, Australia. The tunnels are scheduled to become part of a new reservoir project wherein they would be flooded. The problem is that the tunnels are supposedly inhabited by untold numbers of homeless people. The government adamantly insists that the homeless have been removed, but a random youtube (what else?) video reveals that there may be people still living there. So, an intrepid reporter goes to get the real story in the tunnels. And, wouldn't you know it, they find that they AREN'T abandoned! Here's where this movie falls apart. The horror is supposed to come from the camera crew being picked off one by one by this unseen killer. But the film features two of the crew members NARRATING the footage. This spoils the horror because we know that they survive! Also, when will filmmakers learn that you can't use orchestra stings in found footage movies?! But the big, game-ending problem that this film faces is that NOTHING HAPPENS. In good found footage films, there is an overarching story that is gradually revealed. In The Tunnel, we get all of the plot in the first 30 minutes. The rest of the film is comprised of the camera crew running from the killer through the tunnels. Just running. There's NO character development and NO story progression. It's just a long, nauseating sequence of people running and screaming and dropping the cameras. It gets old really fast. The Tunnel is a horrific mess. It isn't scary, it isn't suspenseful, it fails as a found footage movie, and it fails as a piece of cinema in general.

2/10

An Affair to Remember: Leo McCarey

I first heard about An Affair to Remember when I watched Sleepless in Seattle. One of the film's running jokes is that not only has every single woman in the state of Washington SEEN An Affair to Remember, but it has the power to instantly make them weep upon mere recollection of its famous ending. And now...many, MANY years later, having seen An Affair to Remember, I can understand why. This is a classic piece of Hollywood melodrama where beautiful people have beautiful affairs in front of beautiful sets and locations. This is the kind of film that Douglas Sirk made his name directing. Leo McCarey does an admirable job keeping this overblown piece of kitsch working. The film follows Cary Grant, a rich playboy with a talent for painting, and Deborah Kerr, a music teacher and singer, who meet aboard a Mediterranean cruise. They are initially amused and put off by each other, but it isn't too long before they are deeply in love. The big problem is that both are in relationships with other people. They make a promise upon returning to New York City that if they truly love each other, they will break up with their partners and meet each other on top of the Empire State Building in six months. And just like any melodrama worth its salt, something gets in their way...or in this case, it's Deborah Kerr who gets in the way...of a speeding car. Yes, Kerr is tragically struck down and crippled by a car, preventing her from her romantic Empire State Building rendezvous. So, naturally Grant believes that she hates him. So now both characters can't help but avoid each other. Of course, the ending scene justifies the tears and homage given by the women in Sleepless in Seattle. An Affair to Remember is a charming little melodrama that has a smart, snappy screenplay to boot. This film came from a time when the stars talked as beautifully as they looked. And they don't look much more beautiful than they do in this film.

7/10