Look, this has nothing to do with films that air on cable television without commercial interruption. And it's even hard for me to rant against films that air on television with commercial interruption because this is the way it's been done for many years now. I can deal with that. I have a DVR, I can record films that air on, say, NBC, and fast forward through the commercials. Sure, from time to time I'll stumble across a flick like Lord of the Rings: Return of the King on TNT HD, become sucked in because Peter Jackson created three awesome movies, and have to deal with commercials since I never recorded it. This happened to me yesterday.
But what I didn't sign up for was to watch some stupid character from whatever random television show drop down the middle of my television screen and start waving at me during a key scene in the film. Oh yes, from out of nowhere this guy swings right down the middle of the screen where he meets some girl and -- whaddya know -- it's an advertisement for another TNT show airing later in the week. Thanks. Because it's bad enough they have to interrupt these films with five-or-so minutes of advertisements, but now they're advertising things DURING THE FREAKING MOVIE.
I got over the watermark in the lower corner because they've since made them a bit more translucent (though MTV is notorious for covering up dialogue on the bottom of the screen with their stupid watermark). But this ... I simply cannot get over. I've noticed these little miniature characters walk on the screen during films and TV shows on both TNT and TBS, and I'm not sure who else is at fault but it needs to stop now. It's literally so irritating that I've banned TNT and TBS in my apartment. Not watching either station until they lose the stupid ads. Please join me.
With Thanksgiving coming up, I thought I'd revisit Planes, Trains & Automobiles, one of the few movies directly connected to that holiday and a delightful comedy classic in its own right. It had been several years since I'd watched it, and I assumed that in the meantime it had been released on some kind of special edition DVD. Last year was its 20th anniversary, in fact -- a fine time to put out a handsome disc with lots of extras.
Or so you'd think! As it turns out, Planes, Trains & Automobiles has only legitimately been released on DVD once, way back in 2000, with a poor video transfer and no extras whatsoever. Not even a trailer. Not even the extra scenes that are commonly included when the film airs on television. Deepening this wound is the fact that, as severalreviewersnoted at the time, Paramount's announcement of the DVD had promised it would have deleted scenes. Why the studio changed its mind at the last minute no one knows, but it sure disappointed people in 2000 who had been looking forward to the DVD.
The film was released again this summer as part of VH1's "I Love the '80s" series, but it still didn't have any extras and was essentially a rip-off in new packaging. The only bonus was the incorporation of one additional scene, of Neal and Del eating food on the airplane, that's often shown in the TV version. That's hardly a good enough reason to re-buy the disc, though.
Why is there no special edition of this movie? It's a perennial favorite. It is beloved. It is oft-quoted ("Those aren't pillows!"). It frequently appears on polls of movie fans' favorite comedies. Its very title has become shorthand for any trip punctuated by mishaps and setbacks, as in, "Our vacation to Mexico was a disaster -- it was a total Planes, Trains & Automobiles situation." You would buy it, right?
...and yet still managed to be a damn good movie? Well I sure thought it was, anyway, even if the Tomato-meter doesn't seem to agree with me. I said lots of nice things about the flick back in my original review, but I also longed to see Peter Berg's original cut. The one that wasn't sacrificed at the altar of the demigod known as PeeGee-Thirteen.
So hey! Hancock comes out on DVD next week, and guess what? Two different versions! (Three if you count the Blu-Ray, which offers both versions in the same package.) OK, so according to this DVD cover, the theatrical cut runs 92 minutes, while this DVD coverclearly illustrates that the Unrated Cut goes about 102 minutes. And you don't need t snip a full ten minutes just to excise a few F-bombs. Needless to say, I'm very enthused about checking out the "unrated" cut -- but they don't actually call it a Director's Cut ... so could we be looking at another DVD somewhere down the line? (What a shocking assumption, I know.) For more on the Hancock DVD, check out this review that I'll read in about a week. But I trust the source.
There's a reason that us critics tend to hold certain films in excessive regard -- because after seeing hundreds and hundreds of them every year, to champion one or two or a dozen across those fifty-two weeks is a chance to bring attention to something that deserves it, something distinctly non-mediocre and perhaps unconventional.
Dear Zachary: a letter to a son about his father falls into that category. Erik praised it effusively from its Slamdance premiere and beyond; soon joining his ranks would be Monika; and it currently lingers second to only one on my own tentative top ten list for 2008. We get it. According to Rotten Tomatoes, 33 out of 34 critics get it. In fact, it seems like the only ones who don't get it just happen to make up the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences.
On page 11 of the current issue of Entertainment Weekly, next to an article about the Oscar race, there is this brief item:
"Earning some of the harshest reviews of the year, The Boy in the Striped Pajamas is officially the first Holocaust movie that won't have a shot at winning an Oscar."
What?
First of all, it's not even true. There have been several Holocaust movies that never had a serious chance at an Oscar. Robin Williams' loathsome Jakob the Liar comes to mind. (Whoops, EWliked that one.) But I get that EW is exaggerating for the sake of a joke about how Holocaust movies "always" get Oscar attention. Fair enough.
The more baffling assertion is that The Boy in the Striped Pajamas is "earning some of the harshest reviews of the year." It has gotten a few very scathing reviews, that's true -- but they comprise a very small minority. The film has a 64% Fresh rating at Rotten Tomatoes, with an average score of 6.2 out of 10. Saying it's earning some of the harshest reviews of the year while failing to mention the overwhelming majority that aren't harsh is like saying "some people" hate ice cream. It might be true, but it's misleading when you're looking at the big picture.
And are the harsh ones really that harsh? I tend to think the fiery excoriations of Disaster Movie and Witless Protection were much harsher, though I guess that's a matter of opinion.
(from left to right) Sean Gullette in Pi, Ellen Burstyn in Requiem for a Dream, Hugh Jackman in The Fountain, and Mickey Rourke in The Wrestler
I had been writing a rambling introduction to this piece, but to make a long anecdote short, I decided to re-watch the works of writer-director Darren Aronofsky prior to seeing his new film, The Wrestler. Out of more happenstance than planning, I began his first film exactly a day to the minute before this one would end, and now I offer up my thoughts on his career to date. (Who knows what more could come following this: 24 Hours of Fincher? 36 Hours of Boyle? My Dinner with Andre Benjamin's Idlewild?)
Of all the showings, of all the movies, of all the days, of all the theaters, of all the towns in all the world -- she walks into mine. Maybe six years old, dragging a jacket and followed close by her probable brother (I'd say around twelve). They come in and sit beside who appears to be their oldest brother (eighteen perhaps?) and their mother, who continues to text and talk away through the movie they already missed nearly an hour of.
When I first saw Rachel Getting Married in the middle of the Toronto maelstrom, I knew I'd have to see it again before I could write or speak about it coherently. I was sure that I liked it, but not how much -- I couldn't quite make heads or tails of the last third of the film, and having to rush off to another film prevented me from thinking about it. This week, I finally got my second viewing; I like it a lot. But what struck me the most this time around was Bill Irwin's astonishing turn as Paul Buckman, the tortured, loving father of the bride. Irwin has not gotten much love in the reviews, and that is a travesty. He gives the richest, most generous performance I've seen from anyone this year.
The IMDb informs me that Irwin, a veteran character actor, is a mainstay on Sesame Street; Wikipedia reveals that he's a clown by trade. This makes perfect sense, and indeed helps explain his complete humility in Rachel Getting Married. Remember the scene where Rosemarie DeWitt's Rachel, in the middle of an argument with Kym (Anne Hathaway), drops the bombshell that she's pregnant? Paul's reaction might be the film's most memorable moment -- he flips out, screaming and bunny-hopping over to his daughter (it's a testament to Jonathan Demme's brilliance that he puts this in the background of the shot); after things calm down a bit, he still looks like he is about to lovingly devour his family. The way he paws at his wife while randomly growling "Does anybody want a sandwich?!" is worth ten dollars all on its own.
I will never understand why we're so afraid of sex in this country. It boggles my mind. Not only are we deathly afraid of sex, but we're also afraid of words. Combine a scary word and a film that carries a sex scene or two and you have what some would argue was an act of terrorism. Seriously. Ask Utah Jazz and Megaplex Theatres owner Larry Miller, who is refusing to screen Kevin Smith's Zack and Miri Make a Pornobecause he feels "it's very close to an NC-17 with its graphic nudity and graphic sex."
To take a page from Eric D. Snider, who took a page from SNL's Weekend Update ... really? Really, Larry Miller? So you have no problem screening Saw V in your movie theaters and exposing your customers to over-the-top violence and gore, but Zack and Miri is off limits? Really? Seriously? And you'll also screen films like The 40 Year Old Virgin and Knocked Up, which use raunchy, foul-mouthed language and feature rampant drug use, but you won't screen a film that has -- what? -- one to three scenes of nudity and "pretend" on-camera sex? Really? And this man is allowed to own an entire chain of theaters? Seriously? Really?
Now, it's been over a month since I last saw Zack and Miri Make a Porno, but trust me on this one folks -- the on-screen nudity is tame and rather harmless. And if you're ponying up the cash to see a flick directed by Kevin Smith that includes the word 'Porno' in its title, then something tells me you're expecting a little bit of dirty. We here at Cinematical call on Mr. Larry Miller to admit his moronic faults, screen Zack and Miri Make a Porno in all of his theaters and write an apology note to Kevin Smith, his fans and myself for having to waste over 300 words on this idiot.
Oh, and I hope the Utah Jazz have a miserable season.
First off I want it made clear: I'm not knocking the DirecTV service, which I have used in the past and had no problems with. No, what I'm talking about is the room full of marketing whiz-kids who got together and decided that wedging their sales pitches into well-known movies would be a good idea. I've seen the ads mostly during sporting events: There's the T2 one, which is obnoxious but not all that offensive. There's the Back to the Future one, which really gets under my skin. And then there's the National Lampoon's Vacation one, which is played during (literally) EVERY break in the World Series. (Hey thanks, ad-makers, for ruining an otherwise amusing scene in a movie I really like.)
But both of these ads could be overlooked, ignored, dismissed as obviously tacky, and never thought of again ... but then there's the DirecTV "Poltergeist" commercial, which is in such poor taste that it boggles my mind. Here it is for those who haven't seen it yet -- and yes, I fully acknowledge the irony of sharing a clip that I actively detest, but let's see if you can figure out why it sickens me so much... Yeah, it's because that little girl died tragically at 12 years of age. And everyone over the age of 20 knows it. So instead of thinking about how great Poltergeist is, or how maybe DirecTV is a cool service, all we're thinking is "Jeez, Craig T. Nelson should have known better. This is really uncool." And the same goes for Robert Patrick, Christopher Lloyd, and Christie Brinkley. (Monika B. shared her own thoughts on this ad campaign a few weeks ago.)
On top of all this stupidity is a bigger issue: If DirecTV is trying to appeal directly to hardcore movie fans, they should come up with a better approach than "Hey look, our ads have been inserted into your favorite movies!" Maybe something that actually, I dunno, shows a little respect for the act of film-watching. Like maybe the ad shows a bunch of people sitting down to enjoy Vacation on DirecTV, and someone keeps flipping the station to TV commercials, so in comes Chevy Chase to smack the guy. You can have that pitch for free if you promise never to exploit a dead child again.
I thought it wasn't possible to view the Motion Picture Association of America's ratings board with more disgust and contempt than I already did, but they've managed to surprise me. Slumdog Millionaire, Danny Boyle's joyful, enriching drama about a poor young man going all the way on India's Who Wants to Be a Millionaire, has been slapped with an R rating for "some violence, disturbing images and language."
Speaking of language, the MPAA is full of s***. Big, meaty piles of s***. Slumdog Millionaire (to be released Nov. 12) has a couple of F-bombs (just like most PG-13 films), some moderate other profanity, a couple of intense moments, and some non-graphic violence. In fact, as Slashfilm's Peter Sciretta (citing Alex Billington) has pointed out, there are several instances in the film where Boyle has obviously cut away to avoid showing anything too strong. Clearly he had a PG-13 rating in mind, and as someone who watches a few hundred new movies every year, let me tell you: This is a PG-13 movie. Its content is right in line with the vast majority of PG-13 movies.
Yet for some reason, the MPAA has given it an R. Let me steal a bit from Amy Poehler and Seth Meyers: Really?! Really, MPAA? You think the pencil-impaling, face-melting antics of The Dark Knight fall within the bounds of PG-13 acceptability, but a few gunshots and tense situations put Slumdog Millionaire over the line into R territory? Really? And the decapitations and mass slaughters of The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian -- a film aimed directly at children -- only gets a PG (a PG!!) while Slumdog Millionaire gets an R? Really?! MPAA, if you were a judge, you'd be letting rapists go free while sentencing jaywalkers to the electric chair. I've seen more sober reasoning and sound judgment at a frat party. Michael Vick had more common sense than you.
I defended the Saw franchise long past the point where most self-respecting cinephiles and even genre geeks abandoned it. It was only after the moronic, baffling Saw IV that I got off the bandwagon. But as someone who thinks the franchise has (had?) something to offer beyond the admittedly questionable thrills of what smug know-nothings call "torture porn," I'm anticipating this month's annual installment with an ever-so-slight glimmer of hope. The first three films took a gimmicky serial killer concept and expanded it to something big and increasingly baroque, piling on twist after twist that, to me, consistently seemed bold rather than (merely) ludicrous. They were gruesome, yes, but they were also moody and visually exciting; Darren Lynn Bousman, in particular, seemed to take painstaking care in the second and third films to construct a cruel, self-contained universe around the crazy-ass story.
So here, briefly, are three things Saw V -- which sees the franchise's production designer David Hackl take over directing duties from Bousman -- could do to avoid the pitfalls of its immediate predecessor and restore my faith in the series.
While Googling pictures of Keira Knightley for a Cinematical project, I couldn't help but be bombarded with reviews and photos from The Duchess, as well as Knightley's latest role in The Beautiful and the Damned. Every article comes with a remark about her slim figure -- and even more frightful, every review of The Duchess complained more about her prominent cheekbones than about her performance. Salon's Stephanie Zacharek found her "unbearable to watch" -- not, it seems, because her acting was poor, but because "I just couldn't get past the skeletal planes of her face." The New York Times' Manohla Dargis called her "a big boned beauty who leads with her jaw" which, I hope, doesn't mean that Dargis thinks her to actually be a sort of giant, and not a lass with a 23-inch waist. The New Yorkercalled her "a starved supermodel," leaving Entertainment Weekly to be the kindest of the lot, labeling her build as "athletic."
Now, as a girl who boasts a very visible clavicle and zero cleavage, I often find myself jumping to Knightley's defense. I'm not as lithe of leg, as anyone who saw me in Lara Croft shorts can attest, and no one would call me anorexic, even if my ribs and hip bones like being seen. I shudder to think what Zacharek would think of my cheekbones onscreen. I'm inclined to believe Knightley isn't anorexic, as her hair and skin look awfully good for someone allegedly starving herself. I've also seen her Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End Chinese costume in person and it was pretty normal sized -- I think Johnny Depp's Sparrow outfit was tinier!
It's difficult (and a little silly) to try and judge an entire quarter-year's movies in one lump sum -- but that's what we seem to do at the end of every Summer Movie Season. That's when all our excitement, expectations, and final reactions come colliding together and we find ourselves thinking: "Was I actually looking forward to that piece of crap for four months?" But to me, each summer is like a walk through a carnival: Some of the attractions dazzle me, others simply don't interest me, and a few are just a waste of tickets. But once early May rolls around, I'm always ready for another trip to the Hollywood Movie Carnival. (It's where you find all the tentpoles!)
So while I'm elated to greet the upcoming season of "prestige movies," there's little denying that we've had one hell of a good summer, cinematical-ly speaking. I'm not talking about box office grosses, because frankly that stuff is so unimportant. What matters is that we got some good flicks, a few pieces of mindless (yet well-made) popcorn adventures, and even a few great films that will enjoy a very long shelf life. So while I'm not exactly sure that 2008 represents the finest Summer Movie Season of all time, I'd definitely say it was more good than bad. But if you can think of a summer that was better than this one, you know where to throw your comments. (In the comments section.)
Sometimes cinemaniacs get rewarded for stepping outside the theater. Scott Weinberg, his tongue possibly in cheek, thinks a viral 4-minute internet video is the best movie of the year. I am convinced that the year's best fiction-on-film (so far -- though I have trouble imagining anything topping it) is currently airing on HBO. That would be Generation Kill, the seven-part, eight-hour Iraq War miniseries from David Simon and Ed Burns (The Wire). I know, I know: this is Cinematical, not TV Squad. But Generation Kill is something no movie lover should ignore.
Fans of The Wire already know of Simon and Burns's uncanny, unparalleled ability to weave together hyper-realism, trenchant commentary and riveting drama, but even they may be stunned, as I was, by what this smaller-scale project has to offer. It is, quite simply, the deepest and most sympathetic portrayal of the military -- any military -- I have ever seen. It may also be the first "Hollywood" take on the Iraq War that is genuinely thoughtful and de-politicized. Rather than offering a polemic, the series (adapted from a book by Evan Wright, a reporter who rode with the 1st Recon Marine Unit) just observes -- and, by all accounts, gets close to the truth.
Look, this has nothing to do with films that air on cable television without commercial interruption. And it's even hard for me to rant against films that air on television with commercial interruption because this is the way it's been done for many years now. I can deal with that. I have a DVR, I can record films that air on, say, NBC, and fast forward through the commercials. Sure, from time to time I'll stumble across a flick like Lord of the Rings: Return of the King on TNT HD, become sucked in because Peter Jackson created three awesome movies, and have to deal with commercials since I never recorded it. This happened to me yesterday.
...and yet still managed to be a damn good movie? Well I sure thought it was, anyway, even if 
On page 11 of the current issue of Entertainment Weekly, next to an article about the Oscar race, there is this brief item: 
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First off I want it made clear: I'm not knocking the DirecTV service, which I have used in the past and had no problems with. No, what I'm talking about is the room full of marketing whiz-kids who got together and decided that wedging their sales pitches into well-known movies would be a good idea. I've seen the ads mostly during sporting events: There's the 
Sometimes cinemaniacs get rewarded for stepping outside the theater. Scott Weinberg, his tongue possibly in cheek, thinks a viral 4-minute internet video is 
