'k, guess what?

Which of your favorite movie bloggers do you think is going to see Glen Hansard and Markéta Irglová in concert at the Orpheum on May 7???

THAT'S RIGHT!

WHOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!

I'm a teensy bit stoked.
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76 days, 13 hours, 41 minutes

I am totally geeked out for this. I'll be at the midnight show.


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penelope

***BEWARE SPOILERPHOBES***

She's ugly. She's awful. She's a monster.... right? Well, she must be, because her suitors tend to run screaming whenever she enters a room. Sure, these guys are bluebloods, ("old money", as one potential beau puts it), but they can't have such a warped perspective that they would be so violently repulsed if the girl weren't truly... awful. Right?

Uh... no. She's Christina Ricci with a pig nose. Honestly, any objective observer can see that she's a perfectly lovely young woman, with an oddly shaped schnoz. You might wonder if there had been an unfortunate accident, or you might think that perhaps a plastic surgeon's scalpel slipped, but you would not, by any means, run screaming from the premises and then go to the police department to report a monster on the loose. I'm not kidding. That really happens in this movie.

In all honesty, I was more than a little disappointed. The concept of Penelope is actually quite engaging: a wealthy girl in the upper classes of society is cursed before her birth, so that she would have "the face of a pig" until she finds someone "of her own kind" to love her for who she is. At that point, the spell will, presumably, be broken. Of course, Penelope's snobby parents take the "of her own kind" clause to mean someone also descended from an old, prominent, wealthy family. That particular element is as transparent as a Lil' Kim red carpet outfit; anyone can see that it's going to mean something different.

What really bummed me out, though, is that Penelope does not have the face of a pig. She has the face of Christina Ricci... with a wrinkly, turned-up nose. Imagine how much more believable and engaging this story would be if Ricci had been given the true pig-face! Unfortunately, in Hollywood even the "monsters" have to be smokin' hot.


Another element of the movie that really got on my nerves was the character of Penelope's mom, played by Catherine O'Hara. There really wasn't much to her; she was one of those broad characters that the audience is supposed to "love to hate." She turned out to be the real monster in this movie, giving Penelope the impression from the time she was little that no one would love her as she was.

What bothered me the most, though, is that at the film's climax, Penelope comes close to forgiving her mother everything; I believe the line was, "It's OK, Mom, you didn't know." Excuse me??? We're going to excuse a mother for not loving her child unconditionally? Of course, Mom continues to show her true colors and gets what's coming to her in the end... but I did not like the alls-well-that-ends-well idea they were flirting with for a moment.

Overall, Penelope was only passable... but had the potential to be a truly fantastic movie. I know this was the first effort by director Mark Palansky and producer Reese Witherspoon... but as we just saw in last weekend's Oscars (dang it, I wasn't going to mention them again!), inexperience doesn't necessarily mean lack of quality.

One positive: having first discovered James McAvoy as Tumnus in The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe--and since then only seeing him in The Last King of Scotland and Atonement--I'd never seen him with an American accent! I gotta say, that was pretty hot. ;-)
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some things

  1. I'm officially done with the Oscars for the season. If someone else wants to discuss it, cool, but I will not be making any more Oscar posts.
  2. I haven't quit making my daily McDonald's breakfast run. I figure, what the heck? Plus, they're giving the burritos away for free this Thursday and Friday.
  3. Greg and I killed a bottle of Jacob's Creek Sparkling Rosé last night. It sucked. So we switched to Yellow Tail Pinot G. It didn't suck.
  4. Today was "hat day" at work. I love hat day. I wore a Park City, UT trucker cap with pigtails. I want to go to Sundance someday. Anyone want to cart me along?
  5. Captain Crash and I are going to finish watching In the Valley of Elah tonight. Also received from Netflix: Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room.
  6. I'm getting mixed thoughts from coworkers and friends... but I'll put this to you. I am contemplating dreadlocks. I feel like there's a lot of "edge" inside me that doesn't express itself in my personal style. Does that make any sense? I think I'm definitely going to do it.
  7. I saw Spiderwick Chronicles last Wednesday and was underwhelmed. I intend to do a full post on it in the near future.

Well, there you go. I couldn't muster up a full-on, well-thought-out post, so I just thought I'd catch you up on some of the myriad thoughts bouncing around in my noodle.

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ten best moments at the 80th oscars

10. Marion Cotillard's heartfelt, emotional acceptance speech for Best Actress in La Vie En Rose.

9. Jon Stewart's sly wit. Good to have him back.

8. Javier Bardem's shout-out to his mommy en español. Anyone know what he said? I'm just curious.

7. Ethan Coen's two short-but-sweet acceptance speeches. "Uh, thank you very much." and "I don't have a lot to add to what I said earlier. Thank you." Awesome. He should teach a course.

6. Tilda Swinton giving props to Clooney's Bat-nipples when she won Best Supporting Actress for Michael Clayton.

5. Glen Hansard and Markéta Irglová's stirring performance of "Falling Slowly" from Once contrasts sharply with all four of the competing songs which, frankly, look like they're trying too hard in comparison.

4. Diablo Cody's humble, shaken acceptance speech (and dedication of her Oscar to the writers) when she wins Best Original Screenplay for Juno. (Note: she wasn't being grumpy when she walked off, people. She was trying to hold it together so she wouldn't start bawling like a five-year-old in front of all those famous folks.)

3. Frances McDormand is visibly stoked as her husband Joel and brother-in-law Ethan nonchalantly accept their Oscar for Best Director for No Country For Old Men.

2. Glen Hansard and Markéta Irglová win Best Original Song for "Falling Slowly" from Once, over three songs from Enchanted.

1. Jon Stewart brings Markéta Irglová back onstage to finish her acceptance speech, after the orchestra cut her off in what would have been one of the harshest moments in Oscar history.
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LAMB Devours the Oscars: Best Documentary Short Subject

Best Documentary Short is a frustrating category for me. Like this year's foreign film nominees, these films have not been available to the average viewer who can't make it to the myriad film festivals (Nayana's world tour is still several years away). Therefore, you should maybe keep in mind while reading this that I haven't seen any of these films.

The 2007 nominees for Best Documentary Short Subject are as follows:


1. Freeheld
This is the story of Laurel Hester, a lesbian New Jersey police officer. The 23-year veteran of the Ocean County prosecutor's office contracted an aggressive form of lung cancer, which metastasized and spread to her brain. She spent her last months petitioning her county's board of freeholders to allow her pension to be transferred to her registered domestic partner upon her death (who otherwise would not have been able to stay in their home). If the trailer is any indication, it's a moving, heartbreaking piece. However, while I'm all for GLBT rights, this one frankly looks like a big fat bummer.

2. La Corona
In Colombia, apparently they go crazy for beauty pageants; the national obsession even spills over to the.... prison system? Yep, each cellblock at El Buen Pastor prison gets to nominate their own contestant for the prison's yearly beauty pageant. The women are murderers, armed robbers, you name it... but they're also nationally televised, and critiqued by celebrity judges. According to the Sundance website (it was featured at the Park City, Utah film festival this year), it has moments of humor, as well as sadness. Oh, what the heck. It looks like fun to me.

3. Salim Baba
This is the story of Salim, a 55-year-old man in Kolkata (most of us remember "Calcutta"), India, who supports his wife and five children in a unique way. He splices together discarded scraps of film from movie theaters, as well as trailers and other bits of movies, and shows them on an ancient hand-cranked projector which he inherited from his father. Salim entertains the children of his neighborhood, and apparently makes a living at it; he hopes to leave the projector to his children so that they, too, will have a viable livelihood. There has been a bit of controversy with regard to this particular film: as reported by Vanity Fair, a reporter from a major Indian newspaper claims that Salim, the subject of the film, was misled and underpaid. The charges seem to be without merit, and Salim himself has retracted some of his claims, but the controversy may make Oscar a bit gun-shy with this one.

4. Sari's Mother
One more documentary about Iraq. Yes, Iraq is a disaster; yes, we screwed up; yes, people are suffering; yes, people are dying. But I (and I suspect the Academy) am just so dang tired of thinking about it. All right, with that out of the way: this short focuses on a ten-year-old boy named Sari who contracted AIDS through a blood transfusion. His mother stubbornly, hopefully, and smilingly cares for him and tries to get him treatment, though the healthcare system over there is even more screwed up than our own. *sigh* I suppose I'll watch it. It looks important. But it looks exhausting, too.
Documentaries (especially in our times) so often seem to be downers, don't they? I understand why that is, and I also understand how important documentaries are, especially in rough times like these.... but just because I've got so much outrage fatigue, I'm going for the nominee that looks halfway lighthearted: La Corona. We'll see if the Academy agrees with me.
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a night at the guthrie (lucky me!!!)

There are a few perks to working at a beloved but slightly impoverished non-profit agency. The pay sucks, but once in a while there comes along a wealthy benefactor to make our lives a little brighter. This time, someone generously donated tickets to Minneapolis' world-class play-house, the Guthrie Theater, to see Robert Bly's adaptation of Peer Gynt. We held a drawing at work, and guess who ended up with a pair of tickets? Whoo hooo!!! I took my friend Dorcas Hathaway as my date--she's a great co-worker; a loyal, encouraging friend; my neighbor; and my favelezz*. So of course she got to go.

I got all dressed up (not something I do often) and put on these sexy strappy shoes (not at all appropriate in a Minnesota winter). When we arrived, it was just lovely... the theater was so cool and arty. I felt extremely fly.

"Why is it that I almost never go to the theater?" I wondered aloud. Minneapolis (and St Paul) really does have the most fabulous theater scene. I suppose it has something to do with the ticket prices (if ours hadn't been free, they'd have been about $54 apiece), and also the fact that I spend so much all of my discretionary income at movie theaters, leaving barely enough for mac & cheese. After about thirty minutes of Peer Gynt, however, I started to think of a few more reasons.

Peer Gynt is a classic, confusing Norwegian fairy tale/morality play, which had been translated and adapted by Robert Bly, Minnesota's most distinguished poet (if you don't count Bob Dylan). OK, so the poetry was great. There were some funny bits. But........

People, it was weird. Weird, and difficult to follow.

And you remember those sexy, strappy shoes? Well, they turned out to be evil, soul-sucking shoes. It's really hard to sit and enjoy understand an avant-garde Norwegian play when there are tiny straps of leather cutting through your skin.

And then it was intermission. So we got to go out to the lobby and walk down the Guthrie's famous Eternity Bridge that hangs in midair over the banks of the Mississippi River (this is where savvy Minneapolitans went to survey the wreckage after the 35W bridge collapse). The view was breathtaking... It was so lovely... Dorcas lasted 28 seconds outside. I think she's got a heights thing.


I sat down for the second act, armed with my favorite Vitamin Water (XXX, the free radical fighter!), and made it through without sleeping. But by the time I got home, my right pinky toe was the size and heft of a wrecking ball.
What I learned:
  1. The Guthrie is lovely. I will be happy to take free tickets off anyone's hands, anytime in the future.
  2. I'm never wearing those shoes again. Yes, I looked hot initially, but that only lasted until I started hobbling around like one of Peer Gynt's trolls.
  3. My city kicks ass. I don't take nearly enough advantage of this.
  4. I do enjoy the occasional trip to the theater, but I am still solidly a movie girl.

Tonight I'm heading for the Riverview.... in fuzzy socks and comfy shoes.

*Favorite lesbian. She really is... but the story of how we coined the term is just too long.


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uh-oh

The people on the morning shift in McDonald's drive thru know me by sight now. That's a bad thing, right?

Must switch to cereal.
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LAMB Devours the Oscars - Best Animated Short Film

Best Animated Short Film is the coolest Oscar category ever! Anyone know why? Well, aside from a lack of the usual bitchiness and intrigue that plagues many of the other awards, this is one of the few categories in which a movie-phile like me (or you) has the opportunity to sit down and watch all the nominees... in under two hours!

That's right: if you're lucky enough to have an arthouse cinema in your town (or a theater chain that passes for one, like Landmark), you can see a feature film which is just a compilation of all the nominated shorts, in either the Animated or Live Action category. I watched both, but the all-knowing, all-seeing Fletch has assigned me the Animated Shorts. So, here's the rundown, in the order in which I saw them:

Même les pigeons vont au paradis (Even Pigeons Go To Heaven) - France
This film (available on YouTube) is part silly slapstick, part dark social commentary. An enterprising priest tries to scam a feeble old man into buying a machine that will take him to heaven. The animation is exquisite and engaging. There are a few twists and a satisfying (if ironic) ending, and the film is definitely good for some hearty laughs. Underneath it all, however, there are dark themes of death, bad karma, and the masses getting screwed by religion. Of all the short films on the list, Even Pigeons is the most user-friendly, and earned the most out-loud laughter from our audience.

Moya lyubov (My Love) - Russia
The most startling thing about My Love is the animation. It was rendered with oil painting on glass, and it comes out looking like a fluid Monet painting come to life. Visually, it was stunning; honestly, though, after a few minutes, my eyes started to water. And as masterful as the animation was, the story seemed to be slapped together with Play-Doh. The film follows a teenage boy in pre-revolutionary Russia. He's yanked around by his libido: one moment, he's passionately in love with a family servant, and the next moment, he is utterly devoted to a mysterious neighbor woman. The boy lurches back and forth between the two women, and is ultimately disappointed, as neither fantasy is what he had hoped for. It is worth noting that My Love's director, Aleksandr Petrov, has been nominated three times before in this category, winning once for The Old Man and the Sea in 1999.

Madame Tutli-Putli - Canada
This short is a seamless integration of computer and stop-motion animation. We follow the title character as she takes an eerie late-night train ride with all her worldly possessions. The film starts out light and mildly funny, but it soon morphs into suspense, horror, and eventually metaphysical whacked-out-itude. Technically, it's marvelous. Madame Tutli-Putli's huge eyes alone are an animation masterpiece (according to Wikipedia, Jason Walker came up with the idea of using composited human eyes and adding them to the stop-motion puppets). The detail is amazing, from the veins in Madame's legs to the endless collection of odds and ends she hauls with her. Personally, though, I just found it gross. And weird.

I Met the Walrus - Canada
In 1969, a ballsy kid named Jerry Levitan snuck into John Lennon's hotel room with a reel-to-reel tape recorder and somehow convinced the Beatle/activist/music god to give him an interview. Holy crap, right? That kid's got something to talk about for the rest of his life. But rather than rest on those fantastic laurels, Jerry grows up and produces a poetic animated short with the interview as the audio track. It's like SNL's "Fun With Real Audio", but way, way cooler. The animation mostly consists of pencil-type drawings that illustrate Lennon's words; sometimes humorously, sometimes poignantly, but always reverently. And the greatest thing about this film: forty years later it's still completely relevant. Turn on CNN right this minute, and you can apply John Lennon's observations on war, peace, and the ultimate futility of revolution. Please, please, please let this one win.

Peter and the Wolf - UK/Poland
I grew up loving this classic work by Prokofiev. My mom was a classical music buff, and she jumped at the chance to present this piece to my sister and I as a way to teach us about the different instruments in the orchestra. Most of the time, in fact, when Peter and the Wolf has been produced, it has been narrated for children, as an introduction to classical music. Personally, I was always enraptured by the story of a boy, his pet goose, a bird, a cat, a grandfather, and the Big Bad Wolf. This new production, however, goes much darker. We still have the basics of the story: Peter sneaks out of the gate into the forest and plays with his animal friends; the wolf attacks; and Peter and his grandfather are ultimately victorious over the predator. Before all that, though, the film introduces us to Peter's hometown: a dirty, decaying industrial hole, crawling with bullies and miscreants. While Peter and the birds are playing, the cat and wolf mirror the human antagonists. Most strikingly, the film does not shy away from the darkest elements of the story, which have traditionally been whitewashed by Disney and other producers. This was probably the most well-rounded of the shorts, with moments of humor, suspense, and horror all blended in a modern update of the classic tale.

OK, if you made it through that whole write-up, you know who I want to win. For creativity, uniqueness, and sheer pluck, I Met the Walrus needs to take home the little gold man. Of course, Even Pigeons easily has the most mass appeal in this category (but when does Oscar ever reward mass appeal?) On the other hand, if Academy voters are going for technical impressiveness, Madame Tutli-Putli or My Love could take the cake. I suspect, however, that we'll see Suzie Templeton and Hugh Welchman climb those steps for Peter and the Wolf: it's got a great pedigree, and it's a gritty take on a classic tale. The Academy will eat that right up.
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the assassination of jesse james by the coward robert ford

Of course the first thing we all notice is the ponderous title. It's a spoiler, it's a mood-setter, it introduces the two principal characters. Name me one other title that accomplishes all that. Seriously, comment below if you can think of one.

It took me quite a while to get around to finally seeing this; I got the Netflix envelope in the mail a few weeks ago. I had a feeling I wasn't going to enjoy it. Even though the film got great reviews, and Casey Affleck got that Oscar nod, I had a feeling it would be long... slow... and as verbose as its title. And you know what? It was. But I loved it.

From the get-go, we're introduced to the two title characters, and we see them for what they are: James is a cool, swaggering, ruthless, larger-than-life folk hero, while Affleck's Ford is a puny, grinning nincompoop of a fanboy. As the film progresses, however, and numerous other characters insert themselves between James and Ford, the dynamic between hero and anti-hero begins to change. James is (rightfully) paranoid, mistrusting everyone he comes across; Ford (also rightfully) begins to fear the man he once idolized. When the titular event finally happens, it's not wild and dramatic; rather, a feeling of melancholy and resignation permeates the scene.

The performances are outstanding from everyone involved. Pitt convincingly applies his own experience to express the world-weariness that comes from limitless fame. Affleck disappears into his role as nervous, stammering Ford. Finally, the two are supported by a fantastic cast, including subtle performances from Sam Rockwell, Mary Louise Parker, and Zooey Deschanel. I was also pleasantly surprised to see James Carville in this film. He played a politician (not much of a stretch), but his acting was certainly passable.

I think my recent experiences in film have reminded me of the dangers of anticipation. I was stoked to see Definitely, Maybe, went through all kinds of trouble to see it, and was promptly let down. On the other hand, I avoided Jesse James for weeks, and ended up loving it. Go fig.
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um...what???

The Chinese are moving to ban horror movies??? Really???

I found this today on one of my favorite movie blogs, karlhungus.com.

OK, we all know I can't bring myself to sit through a horror movie, but that's a personal preference. To ban them entirely-- ugh, I can't imagine living under such a repressive regime.
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definitely, maybe

4:45 p.m. Pick up Captain Crash, discuss where to eat dinner.

5:00 p.m. Arrive at Fuddruckers, order Southwest Burger and Samuel Adams longneck.

5:05 p.m. Try to grab "Beatles" booth, am thwarted by smug-looking twenty-something jock type.

5:06 p.m. Grab table somewhere in center of restaurant, play about 8 rounds of "20 Questions" with Captain Crash.

5:20 p.m. (Finally!) Pick up burger, add tomato, smother fries with jalapeño cheese sauce.

5:57 p.m. Groan exhaustedly, lean back in chair, realize once again that a ½-lb. burger is more than enough, no matter how hungry I am.

6:12 p.m. Break out playing cards, proceed to whip Captain Crash in 100-pt. game of gin rummy.

7:08 p.m. Captain Crash is, once again, Nayana's gin bitch. Get up from table and mosey out door. Move much more quickly to car, once it is realized that the temperature has dropped below 0°F.

7:20 p.m Arrive at AMC Theater multiplex. Immediately get locked in Valentine's Day parking lot gridlock.

7:32 p.m. Drop Captain Crash at front to get tickets for 7:50 show. Drive around, praying for miraculous parking space vacancy.

7:34 p.m. Receive frantic cell phone call. Of course Definitely, Maybe is sold out on Valentine's day. What the hell was I thinking?

7:40 p.m. Pick up Captain Crash. Argue about whether to go to another theater. Tempers ignite.

8:15 p.m. Arrive at AMC Maple Grove, 25 minutes away from home. Purchase tickets for 10:10 show. Groan inwardly at the thought of 8:00 a.m. meeting tomorrow.

8:23 p.m. Sit in parking lot while Captain Crash wanders around in big-box electronics store. Knit amazing technicolor dream-scarf.

8:49 p.m. Drive around aimlessly looking for a Maple Grove Dunn Bros. Coffee Shop. Fail to find one.

8:57 p.m. Loiter at Krispy Kreme. Eat hot glazed doughnut. Feel nauseous. Play gin again.

9:30 p.m. Arrive at theater. Get prime seats.

9:56 p.m. Get increasingly disgusted by inane pre-feature commercials.

10:10 p.m. Thank God, the movie is starting. The opening credits sequence with Sly and the Family Stone's "Everyday People" is fully awesome.

10:57 p.m. I feel like I saw most of this movie when I watched the preview.

11:48 p.m. It's sweet, it's mildly funny, it's not the least bit predictable. But is it over yet?

11:55 p.m. That Breslin kid is really starting to get on my nerves.

12:02 a.m. OK, it was a decent ending. Not a bad movie overall. I like Isla Fisher. Can we go home now?

12:06 a.m. HOLY HOT DAMN, IT'S COLD AS BALLS OUTSIDE!

12:12 a.m. *shiver*

12:39 a.m. Pull into garage.

12:44 a.m. Flop onto bed.

12:45 a.m. *snore*

6:30 a.m. (alarm blares) *groan*
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bah humbug

I hate Valentine's Day.

OK, granted, it is my first Valentine's as a single person in several years... but that's not the only reason I'm humbugging today.

When we're single, Valentine's just feels like "I'm a Loser Day".

When we're not single, it isn't much better....

Let me put it this way. When we were married, if Greg had gone all out with the romantic dinner and/or jewelry and/or chocolate and/or flowers--on January 27--I would have been absolutely thrilled. He would have been God's gift to women, and I would have been the lucky wife of the most romantic man on the planet!

But if Greg had done the exact same thing eighteen days later, on Val's Day.... meh. Even worse, if he dared to not do that stuff on February 14, he would have been a failure, an absolute scuzz.

Now this makes me sound like I was a shallow, demanding wife... but I'm just commenting on modern cultural expectations in general. And for the record, I think they're crap. What kind of a weird monkey dance are we putting our loved ones through?

I hereby have no expectations for any future Valentine's Day for the rest of my life. If the day is really about love, I'm going to spend it reflecting on the people that are important to me (ALL the people, not just a romantic partner), and to be thankful for them. Memo to all future lovers: no candy hearts, no diamond earrings, no teddy bears necessary on February 14! Just a kiss and an "I love you." Here's the catch, though... I need that lovin' every single day. And for real cheesecake points (I'm not huge on brownies), do the romantic dinners, sweet gifts, and general cherishin'.... ALL YEAR LONG.

Meanwhile, (at the risk of being the crazy cat lady) my Valentine this year is Zoe the putty tat.

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oh happy day!

After 100 days, the writers are writing again. Unfortunately, TV may have lost me forever... but I'm stoked for the Oscars! (Please let them not be a snooze-a-thon.)

I've been wildly busy this week and haven't finished any movies since Sunday! (I got about halfway through Roman Holiday.) I'm a bad, bad movie blogger. Tonight I hope to rectify.

Tomorrow night I'm catching Definitely, Maybe, and then Friday night I'm seeing the Oscar-nominated shorts! If I were any more excited, I'd be vibrating.
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a weekend of reruns

What do you do when there is absolutely no new quality movie fare in the theaters? I guess stay home and pout... or go see some old quality movie fare.

I was intrigued by my friend Pistola's raves on South Minneapolis's Riverview Theater (as well as a great review in City Pages), so Captain Crash and I took a leisurely drive along the Mississippi and checked it out.

Guess what... I have a new favorite theater.

The Riverview has:
  • one screen with over 700 seats
  • a huge, comfy lobby with 60's mod decor and cozy living-room furniture
  • popcorn with real butter
  • and best of all, admission tops out at $3.
Unlike many other single-screen theaters, they don't limit themselves to one show; the Riverview plays at least three different movies per day (five on the weekends). Friday night at 9:00, they were showing Into the Wild; we had initially loved that one, so we decided to see it again.

It was even better the second time, people. The run time is almost 2 1/2 hours long, but it flies right by. Into the Wild is a heartbreaking story, and just like ten years ago with Titanic, we all know how it's going to end... but that doesn't diminish a thing. Big kudos to Sean Penn for crafting this story in such an intense and affecting way. There were countless mind-blowing performances; Hal Holbrook absolutely deserves his nomination, but the Academy could have shown some love for Catherine Keener, Vince Vaughn, William Hurt, Marcia Gay Harden... The list goes on. At the top of the list, though, should have been Emile Hirsch for his subtle and complex work in the lead role. His heartbreak is devastating at the end of the story, when he makes a vital realization (which ultimately comes too late.) And, hey, if anyone feels like sending an I-deeply-love-Nayana present, that Eddie Vedder soundtrack is boss.

Saturday it would have been my sixth wedding anniversary with the former Mr. Anthony... but just to show you what mature and well-adjusted people we are, Greg and I went to lunch and then caught Juno at the Heights. (In case anyone wonders, this is my third Juno viewing. And, yes, it still kicks ass.) Greg does not have anywhere near my enthusiasm for good film, and he was about to waste his cash on Fool's Gold. I just couldn't let him do it, folks. Even if he did stomp mercilessly on my heart and break it into a million pieces (just kidding, Greg, you know momma loves ya), no one deserves to sit through that drek. He also mentioned a desire to see Untraceable. Ugh. Looks like I'll have to nip that one in the bud, and drag him to see a real thriller, like No Country For Old Men.

Juno is comedy of the highest quality. And I've officially decided that I'm ok with all the weird lingo in the beginning of the movie that seemed to irk so many people. In fact, the offbeat dialogue may actually be one of the biggest reasons I liked the movie. There's nothing wrong with expressing old, common experiences in a new, uncommon way. I am still firmly a massive Diablo Cody fan.

So that was it for this weekend. This week, I'm going to try to finally tackle The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford, Roman Holiday, Sabrina (the original with Audrey Hepburn), and whatever looks good on TCM.

P.S. I'm crossing my fingers on that writers' strike thing, people. It looks like we may actually have a deal... so Oscars as usual? (oh please oh please)
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taxi to the dark side of kong: a fistful of quarters

Somewhere in the world right now, there are prisoners being brutally tormented by U.S. forces without ever having stood trial. Somewhere else, there is a middle-aged man sitting at a vintage video game, trying feverishly, obsessively, to nudge that electronic score higher than it's ever been. And in Minneapolis, Minnesota, Nayana's head is about to explode as she tries to digest both these slices of America in one night.


So Wednesday night, Captain Crash and I attended an advance screening of the Oscar-nominated documentary, Taxi to the Dark Side. As is my preference, I knew almost nothing about the movie before we went to see it, only that it was a documentary about Afghanistan. Yeah. It was a documentary about an innocent taxi driver (in Afghanistan) who had been arrested by U.S. forces, held without trial, and tortured for days until he died. I had already gotten a small dose of the-United-States-tortures-people-now-and-apparently-that's-ok outrage when I saw The Ghosts of Abu Ghraib, but Taxi went much more in depth. According to the film, those horrifying pictures from Abu Ghraib that were supposedly the work of just "a few bad apples" reflect a systematic pattern of psychological torture, developed by the CIA, and used on thousands of military prisoners. Yep...thousands of prisoners were (and are) held by the United States, without ever being brought to trial.


It's awful. And it pissed me off. But, to be honest, I (and much of the rest of this country) have been pissed off for quite a while. Remember when I mentioned "outrage fatigue"? That is exactly how I felt when walking out of the theater. To be sure, the film was impeccably produced, and the message is urgently relevant (especially in an election year), but I'm so freaking tired of being pissed off!

So when I got home, I thought it would be a great idea to lighten the mood with The King of Kong: A Fistful of Quarters. It had just come in the mail from Netflix, and I thought, hey, my evening has just been one big bummer. Maybe this will give me a laugh. Boy, did that backfire.


The King of Kong was another very well-done documentary... but it just fell flat with me because of the circumstances. Basically, this really nice guy named Steve Wiebe, who hasn't had a whole lot of luck in his life, sets out to beat the all-time world record for Donkey Kong that was set by Billy Mitchell in 1982. Billy Mitchell, apparently, is not a really nice guy. He's got this whole posse of hangers-on (who seem to have their own sad little lives), sneaky tactics, and a Styx haircut/Jesus beard combo that he was probably sporting when he set the world record 26 years ago. Sure, it was entertaining. It definitely got me rooting for the "good guy"... but the whole time I kept thinking "there are people in Guantanamo Bay being waterboarded right now. Is it really crucial that Mario jumps all the barrels?"

I think I'll have to catch it again sometime when I'm not so utterly bummed out. That's the problem with outrage, I think. It takes away all the joy of the stupid stuff in life. I miss the stupid stuff.
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no end in sight

I'm a very naughty girl. I have The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford sitting in its Netflix envelope on my coffee table, untouched. I caucussed yesterday, so maybe I have an excuse? I'll try to get to it tomorrow; tonight, Captain Crash and I are catching an advance screening of Taxi to the Dark Side.

I did see No End In Sight this weekend, though. The critics all seemed to love it (a rare "A" rating from Entertainment Weekly and a 94% on the Tomatometer), and Mark Harris of EW's back page feature wrote a full column just on why this movie was a must-see. That's generally more than enough to get me to throw it on my Netflix queue, but then it got its very own Oscar nod for Best Documentary Feature. OK, done deal.



I don't know what I was expecting. This was the year I saw Sicko and Ghosts of Abu Ghraib... so I was braced for another angry documentary, bellowing for political change. Instead, it was more like a cool-headed History Channel presentation. No End In Sight walks the viewer carefully, methodically, almost dispassionately, through the myriad mistakes that transformed the liberation of Iraq into a violent insurgency, and then civil war. There was no political posturing, just a cold recounting of events. Of course it made me angry (how could it not?), but the facts were presented in such a calm, matter-of-fact way that the anger came from inside me, not from the words of the filmmakers.

Even if you have what Mark Harris calls "outrage fatigue", you've got to see this movie. It's not outrage ... It's just chilling, distilled truth.

P.S. The press are reporting that Heath Ledger died of an accidental overdose from prescription medication. We all knew he wouldn't have left his little girl on purpose, but it's nice to have it confirmed. Such a devastating tragedy... there will always be a Heath-shaped hole in American cinema. Rest in peace.
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before the devil knows you're dead

An email interchange today between me and a coworker, Pistola Whipped. Pistola and I regularly trade recommendations on movies; we share a similar taste in movies and an affection for Ryan Gosling which I won't get into here. ;-)


From: Whipped, Pistola
Sent: Tuesday, February 05, 2008 8:12 AM
To: Anthony, Nayana
Subject: You were totally right

We went up to the Riverview and viewed Before the Devil Knows You're Dead last night.

Did not like it at all. I mistakenly thought it was supposed to be a comedy. Dead wrong. Yuck. Did every character seem miserable to you? And the music? Yuck. Yuck. Yuck. And the weird, super urban apartment with the waif-y, pusherman drug kid? It was so bizarre and hateful.

Luckily it was $3, Riverview popcorn is the bomb and I got a little snuggle time in with my main man...otherwise totally not into it.



From: Anthony, Nayana
Sent: Tuesday, February 05, 2008 9:33 AM
To: Whipped, Pistola
Subject: RE: You were totally right

Depressing. Everyone else seems to think it was the cat's pajamas. I sat there watching it, thinking "...Really?" It was awful.


From: Whipped, Pistola
Sent: Tuesday, February 05, 2008 9:49 AM
To: Anthony, Nayana
Subject: RE: You were totally right

I know it! I read several reviews (The New Yorker, City Pages, Star Tribune) and they just raved over it. Sometimes I think one reviewer sets the pace for other reviewers and they are afraid to bash something in case it goes to the Oscars and they get called out for their mistaken pan review. I would have given it a piss poor one even if I was writing for the damn Rolling Stone!


From: Anthony, Nayana
Sent: Tuesday, February 05, 2008 10:10 AM
To: Whipped, Pistola
Subject: RE: You were totally right

Yeah, that's the nice thing about the position we're in... we watch movies for FUN. So we're allowed to have any opinion we want. :-) The worst that can happen is our friends could give us a hard time... it's not really a financial risk.

So is THAT why I'm not a professional movie critic? Maybe I'll just tell myself that.

Additional Note: If any of you have a different opinion on Before The Devil Knows You're Dead, please, by all means, share it. I honestly would like to know why you liked this movie.


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bad movie dialogue?

Here is Entertainment Weekly's list of the 15 worst movie lines in history.

Personally, I actually really liked some of these. Know which ones?
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atonement

There was not a whole lot of new stuff in the theater, kids. So I decided to give Atonement another chance.


Compared to all the other major Oscar-nominated films, Atonement initially left me underwhelmed, and a bit disappointed. I guess I was expecting it to sweep me away... I just felt like it was random and depressing. This time, it was a little better... maybe because I knew what was coming, and ***spoiler alert*** was a bit more prepared for the big giant bummer of an ending. I still didn't think it was the greatest movie this year (or even in the top ten), but I did notice a few new things.

First of all, that score! Especially in the beginning, it's really cool and frantic. It's dominated by this intense typewriter sound, especially when little Briony (our yellow journalist) is on the scene. The score also sets the mood effectively in some early scenes with Cecilia; it evokes the restless quiet she feels in the middle of her privilege.

Second... how spoiled/snobbish are Cecelia and Briony??? Especially with the way they talked to the servant, Danny. (And the fact that ***another spoiler alert*** Cecelia automatically suspected Danny of the story's pivotal rape.)

Third... I did like the cool interjection of real WWII footage of the evacuation to Dunkirk. It added gravitas to an otherwise silly story.

Still, give me The Diving Bell and the Butterfly or No Country For Old Men any day. That was gripping drama.
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movie wasteland part deux

Looks like it's week two in a Minnesota movie dry spell. There is nothing premiering in the theaters that interests me in the slightest (except for Nanking, which looks pretty cool). Captain Crash saw Rambo and said it was great, but my dear roomie and I often differ on what makes great cinema. (No chick flicks for him, no dick flicks for me).

I got No End In Sight from Netflix, though, so maybe the weekend won't be a total waste... but I'm kind of tired of staying in. (Now that the temperature has finally risen above zero, it's relatively safe to venture out). Oh, well.

I am counting the days until February 15, when I get to see all the Oscar-nominated short films. They're showing at the Lagoon. Yippee!

Until then, I'm going to try to exercise patience.
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