tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-121622162012-02-12T14:20:10.287-06:00One man's troubled love affair with the moviesDr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.comBlogger6191100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-69182024388052680402012-02-12T14:17:00.003-06:002012-02-12T14:20:10.296-06:00Errol Morris' <span style="font-style: italic;">The Fog of War: Eleven Lessons from the Life of Robert S. McNamara </span>(2003)<br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-A2IkC-_FO1M/TzgecGsIZeI/AAAAAAAAD4U/XXo0jWFoX10/s1600/fog%2Bof%2Bwar.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 800px; height: 452px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-A2IkC-_FO1M/TzgecGsIZeI/AAAAAAAAD4U/XXo0jWFoX10/s800/fog%2Bof%2Bwar.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5708345995872986594" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-6918202438805268040?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-62785089994636298922012-02-03T20:46:00.008-06:002012-02-03T21:30:16.893-06:00<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wHc8bryIrGg/TyyjY74PzUI/AAAAAAAAD2c/0J-AMwEj_u0/s1600/gazzara%2Bcassavetes%2Bfalk.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 312px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wHc8bryIrGg/TyyjY74PzUI/AAAAAAAAD2c/0J-AMwEj_u0/s400/gazzara%2Bcassavetes%2Bfalk.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5705114476757372226" border="0" /></a><br />I've only mentioned it in passing five million times, but John Cassavetes is my favorite filmmaker. I am a fundamentalist proselytizer of the man and his movies. As corny as it sounds, his work can change your life. It changed mine. It didn't get me a job or a wife or a car or a spaghetti dinner or save me from drowning or move me to Bucharest or remove one of my legs (I did or didn't do those things on my own), but it did open all kinds of previously closed doors in my brain and heart and make me a more open, patient, receptive, alive person. I'm not shitting you. It killed a lot of cynicism in me while also toughening me up. His movies stuck to me like wet pieces of those really thick brown paper towels you used to find in elementary school restrooms. He didn't do this by himself. He created one of the two most exciting troupes of actors in 1960s/70s/80s film (the other being Rainer Werner Fassbinder's). Peter Falk, Seymour Cassel, Gena Rowlands, Tim Carey, Val Avery, others I'm momentarily forgetting. One of those close collaborators and friends and one of my favorite actors, Ben Gazzara, died today, Feb. 3, the same day Cassavetes died 23 years ago. With Falk's death last year and Avery's in 2009, Cassavetes' amazing troupe is down to just Rowlands and Cassel.<br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qCigiSCIHJE/TyyjVnAqWcI/AAAAAAAAD2Q/pFnKUF082qM/s1600/Ben%2BGazzara%2Bcassavetes.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 590px; height: 427px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qCigiSCIHJE/TyyjVnAqWcI/AAAAAAAAD2Q/pFnKUF082qM/s800/Ben%2BGazzara%2Bcassavetes.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5705114419615914434" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I don't mean to make this post solely about Cassavetes. Gazzara was a welcome presence in dozens of other films. He was reportedly a great stage actor, too, but I'd be telling tales out of school if I pretended to know anything about theater. I'm going to miss seeing him on the screen.<br /><br />Recommended:<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Husbands </span>(John Cassavetes, 1970)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The Killing of a Chinese Bookie </span>(John Cassavetes, 1976)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Opening Night </span>(John Cassavetes, 1977)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Saint Jack </span>(Peter Bogdanovich, 1979)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The Spanish Prisoner </span>(David Mamet, 1997)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Buffalo '66 </span>(Vincent Gallo, 1998)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The Big Lebowski </span>(Joel &amp; Ethan Coen, 1998)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Happiness </span>(Todd Solondz, 1998)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Dogville </span>(Lars Von Trier, 2003)<br />"Quartier Latin" segment from <span style="font-style: italic;">Paris, je t'aime </span>(Gerard Depardieu, 2006)<br /><br />He's also good in Spike Lee's not very good <span style="font-style: italic;">Summer of Sam</span> and totally bonkers in <span style="font-style: italic;">Road House</span>.<br /><span style="font-style:italic;"></span><br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-J3CAYXd0r1A/TyyjeRecW7I/AAAAAAAAD2o/HSZxtK03Fm4/s1600/chinese%2Bbookie.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 800px; height: 448px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-J3CAYXd0r1A/TyyjeRecW7I/AAAAAAAAD2o/HSZxtK03Fm4/s800/chinese%2Bbookie.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5705114568454069170" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-6278508999463629892?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-47350756733764025592012-01-27T17:26:00.007-06:002012-01-27T17:36:15.538-06:00Ulu Grosbard's <span style="font-style: italic;">Straight Time </span>(1978)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DExNqRNJz74/TyMzEnCUUeI/AAAAAAAAD0M/AIGNqP0SBfo/s1600/straight%2Btime%2Brussell.png"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 454px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DExNqRNJz74/TyMzEnCUUeI/AAAAAAAAD0M/AIGNqP0SBfo/s800/straight%2Btime%2Brussell.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5702457707472376290" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2T63-lW56cI/TyMz0o4EAiI/AAAAAAAAD0k/8tTlc8oaf_Q/s1600/straight%2Btime.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 452px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2T63-lW56cI/TyMz0o4EAiI/AAAAAAAAD0k/8tTlc8oaf_Q/s800/straight%2Btime.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5702458532599956002" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fV5Ie9V7Io8/TyMz7WTtcRI/AAAAAAAAD0w/Jw2TgLicy5M/s1600/straight%2Btime%2Brobbery.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 454px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fV5Ie9V7Io8/TyMz7WTtcRI/AAAAAAAAD0w/Jw2TgLicy5M/s800/straight%2Btime%2Brobbery.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5702458647874728210" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-4735075673376402559?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-69560964826061158542012-01-26T22:30:00.004-06:002012-01-26T22:35:42.148-06:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-iojDXz_5C0c/TyIpCf80xTI/AAAAAAAAD0A/SoNGaX4XDGY/s1600/landscape.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 508px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-iojDXz_5C0c/TyIpCf80xTI/AAAAAAAAD0A/SoNGaX4XDGY/s800/landscape.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5702165201117562162" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_Y2TF008pnM/TyIo_1-OQcI/AAAAAAAADz0/pkqEDiYaXIA/s1600/ulysses%2Bgaze.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 508px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_Y2TF008pnM/TyIo_1-OQcI/AAAAAAAADz0/pkqEDiYaXIA/s800/ulysses%2Bgaze.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5702165155489399234" border="0" /></a><br /><br />from the top:<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Landscape in the Mist </span>(1988)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Ulysses' Gaze </span>(1995)<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-6956096482606115854?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-87958393263528141592012-01-08T17:56:00.012-06:002012-01-09T21:49:26.898-06:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-QE59onle7FI/Twp3Z-sScXI/AAAAAAAADwo/lo9VYcM4QBs/s1600/MOV_LeHavre_2_2296.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 430px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-QE59onle7FI/Twp3Z-sScXI/AAAAAAAADwo/lo9VYcM4QBs/s800/MOV_LeHavre_2_2296.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5695495966972604786" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Last year, I struggled to find ten movies for my year-end list. 2010 was a particularly slow year, at least in my adopted hometown of Austin, Texas, and I only saw five or six new theatrical releases I could call great or near-great. (I always have to insert the caveat that one man can't possibly see everything and that so much depends on the whims, insanities, and voodoo of capitalist distribution.) This year was the polar opposite. At least in this guy's estimation, 2011 was bursting with great movies. Instead of padding a top 10 with interesting but lesser titles like I did last year, I would have to brutally discard several great films to make a top 10 this year. I'm going to ignore that arbitrary but culturally mandated round number and present my favorite films of the year numeral-free.<br /><br />My favorites of the year:<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Le Havre </span>(Aki Kaurismaki)<br />Probably my favorite movie of the year, Kaurismaki's dry comedy about community, illegal immigration, aging, love, cigarettes, wine, groceries, and the rockabilly stylings of Little Bob is a utopian fantasy that draws on 1930s socialist film and literature, Bresson, classic comedy, and early rock and roll. It's a formally beautiful film with great human faces and a happy ending that's earned because of the quiet acknowledgment of its own sad implausibility in the world outside of the movie theater.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />Meek's Cutoff </span>(Kelly Reichardt)<br />Though I saw <span style="font-style: italic;">Meek's Cutoff</span> with a horrible audience who booed, jeered, and mocked the movie when it didn't provide them with a quick, manufactured resolution, I was enthralled by its formal rigor and sparse, elliptical narrative. Already a good filmmaker, Reichardt takes a leap forward here.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kd8K7pUU3Ho/Twp1j1OQJFI/AAAAAAAADwQ/V10Xwgb1TKw/s1600/meek%2527s%2Bcutoff.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 582px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kd8K7pUU3Ho/Twp1j1OQJFI/AAAAAAAADwQ/V10Xwgb1TKw/s800/meek%2527s%2Bcutoff.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5695493937206142034" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">A Dangerous Method </span>(David Cronenberg)<br />Cronenberg continues to prove he's incapable of making a bad film. <span style="font-style: italic;">A Dangerous Method </span>is a film of conversation instead of action, but Cronenberg transforms this adaptation of Christopher Hampton's stage play into something powerfully visual and cinematic. With the help of a talented trio of actors hitting all the right notes (Viggo Mortensen as Freud, Michael Fassbender as Jung, and Keira Knightley as the historically neglected Sabina Spielrein), Cronenberg takes a fascinating look at the triangle of volatile friendships that led to the birth of psychoanalysis. The movie's loaded silences, hints, unspoken glances, and premonitions also tell part of the story of what it meant to be a Jewish European in the days leading up to the Third Reich.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The Dynamiter </span>(Matthew Gordon)<br />On an afternoon break between shifts as a volunteer for the Austin Film Festival, I took a gamble on an unknown director and movie because it was the only festival film I could fit into my schedule that day. I'm so glad the randomness of chance led me to that screening. Gordon's first feature is a collaborative effort between himself, a screenwriter friend, and the nonprofessional cast made up of locals from the Mississippi Delta that provides the film's setting. This loose, character-driven narrative is wonderfully and naturally performed, lit, and shot. Largely bullshit-free, its sole narrative contrivance (a diary assignment that provides some structure when read as voice-over) is subtly and sparingly used. It's funny, sad, and so attentive to and respectful of its locations and characters. I hope it picks up theatrical distribution and plays in your town in 2012.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Oyv8t1nvz4A/Twp3o4NhlGI/AAAAAAAADw0/U-IniN1C9yw/s1600/the%2Bdynamiter.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 532px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Oyv8t1nvz4A/Twp3o4NhlGI/AAAAAAAADw0/U-IniN1C9yw/s800/the%2Bdynamiter.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5695496222930998370" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Another Year </span>(Mike Leigh)<br />Like Cronenberg, Leigh cannot make a bad movie. This one didn't get as much attention as his last two films, but it's just as deserving. Another bullshit-free movie about people that loves and respects its characters enough to give them flaws they'll never overcome and moments of real desperation. It's very funny and tough and sweet and sad all at once.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Take Shelter </span>(Jeff Nichols)<br />Nichols follows up his impressive <span style="font-style: italic;">Shotgun Stories </span>with an even better film. Moving his Flannery O'Connor and Larry Brown worldview from the South to the Midwest and taking Michael Shannon with him (yes!), Nichols brings us the end of the world or just one man's paranoid time. Either way, it feels like right now. I miss the fatal Southern humor of <span style="font-style: italic;">Shotgun Stories</span>, but <span style="font-style: italic;">Take Shelter </span>makes up for it with a greatly expanded visual palette, Shannon's best performance yet, and an even more finely honed sense of character and place.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Melancholia </span>(Lars Von Trier)<br />Something's rotten in Denmark, too. <span style="font-style: italic;">Take Shelter </span>finds an end-of-times companion in <span style="font-style: italic;">Melancholia</span>, a film that has somehow won the hearts of nearly all the critics who normally advocate for a public stoning of Von Trier. I don't know why they all love this one. It's of a piece with the rest of his work. Maybe it's that final minute, the most thrilling damn minute of cinema all year. It's just more proof that he's a major talent. His films will outlast the knee-jerk PC thugs who have a strange obsession with bringing him down.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The Last Circus </span>(Alex de la Iglesia)<br />It's easy to make me love a movie about an unrequited love triangle between some seriously fucked-up circus clowns that involves disfigurement, beautiful acrobats, gunplay, swordplay, comedy, romance, horror, action, and a scene in which one particular circus clown in full makeup slaughters an entire militia with a machete, but it's also very well done. Did I mention Francisco Franco is a character in the film, and he gets his hand bitten by a guy forced to act like a hunting dog? I didn't? Well, he is and he does. Holy shit.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hC7wsxb_Q0w/Twp68f3EXMI/AAAAAAAADxk/mvzuMfhC_WM/s1600/last%2Bcircus.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 338px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hC7wsxb_Q0w/Twp68f3EXMI/AAAAAAAADxk/mvzuMfhC_WM/s800/last%2Bcircus.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5695499858526624962" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Certified Copy </span>(Abbas Kiarostami)<br />Now for something completely different from crazed circus clowns. Kiarostami's first non-documentary film made outside of Iran, <span style="font-style: italic;">Certified Copy </span>is a fascinating, romantic puzzle film that presents all kinds of intriguing questions about the relationships between the original and the reproduction. Juliette Binoche and opera singer William Shimell have great chemistry in the demanding roles. This would make a fantastic double feature with Orson Welles' essay film <span style="font-style: italic;">F for Fake</span>.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Hugo </span>(Martin Scorsese)<br />Though there are worthwhile moments in every Scorsese movie, <span style="font-style: italic;">Hugo </span>is his least ponderous film since <span style="font-style: italic;">Bringing out the Dead</span> and his most consistently enjoyable since <span style="font-style: italic;">Casino</span>. I had a soft spot as a child for movies and books about characters who live in secret, hidden places, and I have a soft spot now for old movies and their preservation and exhibition, and this movie hits both of those spots. Scorsese seems so energized here, and he does amazing things with the usually gimmicky, ticket-price inflating, headache-inducing 3D. I loved it without reservation. I haven't said that about a Scorsese movie in a while.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The Tree of Life </span>(Terrence Malick)<br />I could do without any scene featuring Sean Penn giving his bleakest thespian stare out of a skyscraper window or walking on the beach in the New Age postcard afterlife, but the rest of this movie is Malick's strongest work since 1978's <span style="font-style: italic;">Days of Heaven</span>.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">We Can't Go Home Again </span>(Nicholas Ray)/<span style="font-style: italic;">Don't Expect Too Much </span>(Susan Ray)<br />I saw this double feature at the Austin Film Festival. I hope both pieces receive a wider release this year. The first is Ray's final film, made in collaboration with his film students at SUNY Binghamton in the early 1970s and never officially released. It's messy, dated, frustrating, and hard to follow, but it's also an enormously interesting historical artifact for Ray fans and scholars with moments of greatness, a fascinating and contradictory mix of avant-garde non-linearity and narrative storytelling packed with visual references to Ray's 1950s Hollywood classics, particularly <span style="font-style: italic;">Rebel without a Cause</span>. The second film is a documentary by Ray's widow about this period of Ray's life and the making of <span style="font-style: italic;">We Can't Go Home Again</span>. It works on its own as an informative, entertaining film about a driven, troubled man who took a job he didn't want for money he badly needed and the personal and creative rebirth it provided him, but it becomes something even greater when presented with <span style="font-style: italic;">We Can't Go Home Again</span>. Susan Ray illuminates the obscurities of her husband's final work, making me appreciate and understand it more and placing it in the historical and artistic context of his life and overall body of work.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Into the Abyss </span>(Werner Herzog)<br />Herzog drops much of his admittedly enjoyable Herzog persona in this surprisingly straightforward look at Death Row in Texas through the lens of one particular case. Herzog talks to the killers, the victims' family members, the prison workers, the detectives, and the killers' family members. He stays out of their way, letting them tell the heartbreaking, senseless story in their own words. He's still able to capture some oddly beautiful shots of birds and rainy highways that fit in nicely with his visually ecstatic body of work.<br /><br />A movie that would have made my list if it had played in an Austin theater:<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Road to Nowhere </span>(Monte Hellman)<br />I had to wait until the DVD came out to catch this movie, but the 79-year-old Hellman's first feature film since 1989 is one of his very best, maybe second only to <span style="font-style: italic;">Two-Lane Blacktop</span>. I loved every second of it. Taking a tough, ambivalent look at filmmaking and cinephilia, it's a puzzle film within a film within a film that is so beautifully and carefully composed. It's a slow film that requires a great deal from the viewer, but it's never dull and is one of the most visually stunning digital films I've ever seen. The Netflix page for it contains hundreds of negative reviews from illiterate, attention-deficient, cheesecloth brains, but ignore those fools and seek this one out if you love Monte Hellman and movies for adults (no, those other movies for adults).<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4s567_qgO6M/Twp3-esQGOI/AAAAAAAADxA/i5tQP-_320Y/s1600/road%2Bto%2Bnowhere.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 450px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4s567_qgO6M/Twp3-esQGOI/AAAAAAAADxA/i5tQP-_320Y/s800/road%2Bto%2Bnowhere.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5695496594037676258" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Two other movies that would have made my list for 2010, but they didn't play in Austin until the Austin Film Society screened them in 2011:<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">White Material </span>(Claire Denis)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Henri-Georges Clouzot's Inferno </span>(Serge Bromberg &amp; Ruxandra Medrea)<br />Damn, these two are a couple of strange, visually incredible near-masterpieces about doomed obsession, one a narrative feature, the other a documentary.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--jJ7kCaaJtM/Twp4P1yyNpI/AAAAAAAADxM/XngztzkcEv0/s1600/inferno.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 358px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--jJ7kCaaJtM/Twp4P1yyNpI/AAAAAAAADxM/XngztzkcEv0/s800/inferno.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5695496892296869522" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I saw this one in 2011, but it came out in late 2010:<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The Fighter </span>(David O. Russell)<br />A nice return to form for Russell after that <span style="font-style: italic;">I Heart Huckabees </span>nonsense.<br /><br />The David Gordon Green conundrum:<br />Former critical darling Green released two mainstream lowbrow comedies this year, <span style="font-style: italic;">Your Highness </span>and <span style="font-style: italic;">The Sitter</span>, and the critics HATED them. Audiences mostly stayed away, too. Internet movie geeks of the non-fanboy ilk have taken to calling Green a sellout and a betrayer of his own talent. I went to both movies, and I have to admit, I liked them. They were lowest common denominator comedies, but they were actually funny and skillfully made. I don't get the hatred coming Green's way. I think people are confused by Green's career, but it's not that confusing. There's a lot of connective tissue between his art films and his mainstream comedies. The conventional wisdom has it that Green was the heir to Terrence Malick with his visually beautiful, offbeat Southern dramas <span style="font-style: italic;">George Washington</span>, <span style="font-style: italic;">All the Real Girls</span>, <span style="font-style: italic;">Undertow</span>, and <span style="font-style: italic;">Snow Angels</span> (this one's set in New England instead of the South). He got the chance to make a Hollywood comedy, <span style="font-style: italic;">Pineapple Express</span>, which received good reviews, too. That movie also got him a large audience for the first time, leading to the two poorly regarded Hollywood comedies this year, several episodes of <span style="font-style: italic;">Eastbound &amp; Down</span>, and the barrage of sellout accusations. It's like Terrence Malick followed up <span style="font-style: italic;">Days of Heaven </span>with <span style="font-style: italic;">Bachelor Party</span>, right? I don't see it that way. For one thing, Green has collaborated with Danny McBride since his college days. McBride appears in Green's early work and the later comedies. The arty dramas are full of goofy humor, even the darkly tragic <span style="font-style: italic;">Snow Angels</span>. The later comedies are full of strangely offbeat moments, particularly <span style="font-style: italic;">Eastbound &amp; Down</span>, which is hilarious and popular but also super fucking weird. The drug dealer's compound in <span style="font-style: italic;">The Sitter </span>is one of the craziest, most idiosyncratic scenes I've seen all year. Green has used cinematographer Tim Orr on every single film and television project he's ever directed, and Orr has a way of photographing sunlight in ways not seen on screen since Malick's <span style="font-style: italic;">Days of Heaven</span>. All of Green's films look impressive, even his goofy comedies, and there is a continuous thread of composition and light running through all of his work that reveals a strong independent streak and a real personal style. The two comedies this year are far from great movies, but they deserve much better than the scorn they've received. Green is still a great director, and I continue to look forward to following his career.<br /><br />Films I liked that fell short of making the best list:<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">American: The Bill Hicks Story </span>(Matt Harlock &amp; Paul Thomas)/<span style="font-style: italic;">Corman's World: Exploits of a Hollywood Rebel </span>(Alex Stapleton)<br />A couple of solid documentaries about Bill Hicks and Roger Corman that are worth your time if you care even a little about either man.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Cedar Rapids </span>(Miguel Arteta)<br />A minor comedy with a lot of great performances, especially Anne Heche's, which took me by surprise because I never really cared about her as an actor before.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Cave of Forgotten Dreams </span>(Werner Herzog)<br />The 3D cave footage is incredible, the rest of the film is Herzog-by-numbers.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The Ward </span>(John Carpenter)<br />Carpenter's direction is impeccable and a throwback to classic Hollywood with graceful camera movement, editing, and shot composition. The screenplay is cliched and forgettable.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Tabloid </span>(Errol Morris)<br />I liked this one a lot. It's a lighter work for Morris than usual and a strange, fascinating story. It just missed making my best list.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Restless </span>(Gus Van Sant)<br />Van Sant's eye for gorgeous images and a talented, understated cast actually make this absolutely cloying premise (cancer-stricken teen pixie Annabel falls in love with orphaned funeral crasher Enoch, whose best friend is the ghost of a Japanese kamikaze pilot) watchable. Still, it's a very minor film in the Van Sant oeuvre.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The Descendants </span>(Alexander Payne)<br />This one almost made the cut. I love its languid pace, Hawaiian setting, and use of Beau Bridges and Robert Forster, and Clooney expands his range, but it's a little too soft and there are a few too many speeches made over hospital beds to a comatose patient who can't hear them. It's pretty good anyway.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">13 Assassins </span>(Takashi Miike)<br />A surprisingly straightforward piece of classical composition from prolific maniac Miike, this samurai film is exciting and bloody, but it's just a shade too conventional to include in my best list.<br /><br />Worst films of the year:<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Roadie </span>(Michael Cuesta)/<span style="font-style: italic;">DeadHeads </span>(Pierce Brothers)<br />I caught these two at the Austin Film Festival. They'll receive theatrical runs this year. The first is a cliched, stagy, faux-indie tale of a sad-sack man-boy loser approaching middle age, winding up back in his hometown, and having revelations about his life when he unexpectedly reconnects with his high school ex who's now married to a guy who bullied him. You've seen it before, and before, and before. The second is an unfunny zombie comedy that is badly shot and full of Hollywood cliches and sentimentality. The characters are poorly developed and annoying. Avoid both at a theater near you.<br /><br />Favorite film society and revival screenings:<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Kung Fu Master </span>(Agnes Varda)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Black Girl</span>, <span style="font-style: italic;">The Wagoner</span>, <span style="font-style: italic;">Mandabi</span>, <span style="font-style: italic;">Emitai</span>, <span style="font-style: italic;">Xala</span>, <span style="font-style: italic;">Camp de Thiaroye</span>, and <span style="font-style: italic;">Guelwaar </span>(Ousmane Sembene)<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fwMEqOsfyiU/Twp5lMj1MTI/AAAAAAAADxY/WHu7olwwJ6c/s1600/blackgirl_sembene_02_PP1.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 596px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fwMEqOsfyiU/Twp5lMj1MTI/AAAAAAAADxY/WHu7olwwJ6c/s800/blackgirl_sembene_02_PP1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5695498358697046322" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The Killing of a Chinese Bookie </span>(John Cassavetes)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">F for Fake </span>(Orson Welles)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Burn! </span>(Gillo Pontecorvo)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Johnny Guitar </span>(Nicholas Ray)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Charade </span>(Stanley Donen)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The Shining </span>(Stanley Kubrick)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Mamma Roma </span>(Pier Paolo Pasolini)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Days of Being Wild</span> (Wong Kar-Wai)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Tommy </span>(Ken Russell)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Wittgenstein </span>(Derek Jarman)<br /><br />Films whose intense strangeness I admired but didn't really like:<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Fred &amp; Vinnie </span>(Steve Skrovan)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Quintet </span>(Robert Altman)<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-8795839326352814159?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-65836091264900056072011-12-28T21:52:00.003-06:002011-12-28T22:02:38.896-06:00Federico Fellini's <span style="font-style: italic;">Juliet of the Spirits </span>(1965)<br />Austin Film Society's Italian Cinema 1948-1970 series<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8AgfYv5ps6Q/Tvvl0ubAYEI/AAAAAAAADu8/-Y2K7nuFcBU/s1600/juliet.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 440px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8AgfYv5ps6Q/Tvvl0ubAYEI/AAAAAAAADu8/-Y2K7nuFcBU/s800/juliet.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5691395248090013762" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-6583609126490005607?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-64702644103531399222011-12-06T15:33:00.004-06:002011-12-06T15:54:46.677-06:00Brian De Palma's<span style="font-style: italic;"> The Fury </span>(1978)<br />De Palma hilariously, thrillingly, and apocalyptically signals the end of 1970s film culture and the beginning of the current multiplex headbash ADD ephemeral disconnect with this ridiculous (and I mean that as a compliment) supernatural action-thriller, in which Amy Irving, soon to begin dating (and eventually marrying and divorcing) blockbuster boy-king Steven Spielberg, telekinetically explodes the godfather of American independent film (and my favorite filmmaker), John Cassavetes. Symbolic documentary or accidental prophecy? Either way, the explosion stands alongside the opening of <span style="font-style: italic;">Scanners </span>as a fine example of cathartic telekinetic bloodbath junk-art of the highest order. Kablammo!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-18Hruz9U2Qk/Tt6LV29g3eI/AAAAAAAADtc/TbUAMhE_FKQ/s1600/fury%2B1.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 436px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-18Hruz9U2Qk/Tt6LV29g3eI/AAAAAAAADtc/TbUAMhE_FKQ/s800/fury%2B1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5683132987435179490" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cLyee9ZJ2qQ/Tt6LR54DaoI/AAAAAAAADtQ/wmKn4dOVOm0/s1600/fury%2B3.png"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 448px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cLyee9ZJ2qQ/Tt6LR54DaoI/AAAAAAAADtQ/wmKn4dOVOm0/s800/fury%2B3.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5683132919498107522" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-6470264410353139922?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-22297805306331957932011-11-30T22:19:00.003-06:002011-11-30T22:29:19.784-06:00Bernard "Neil Young" Shakey's <span style="font-style: italic;">Greendale </span>(2003)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hqC4clKgMao/TtcCdtbQhzI/AAAAAAAADtE/pLdTreLhvtc/s1600/greendale.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 800px; height: 600px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hqC4clKgMao/TtcCdtbQhzI/AAAAAAAADtE/pLdTreLhvtc/s800/greendale.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5681012164384556850" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-2229780530633195793?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-41877368574189296882011-11-28T11:08:00.009-06:002011-11-28T11:35:19.231-06:00Ken Russell has died peacefully in his sleep at the age of 84, which is the most un-Ken Russell thing he ever did. I wasn't always an admirer of Russell's, and sometimes even hated his films when I wasn't in the mood to be pummeled by excess. However, in the last few years I've slowly come to appreciate and even enjoy his work, particularly<span style="font-style: italic;"> The Lair of the White Worm</span>. The Austin Film Society recently screened <span style="font-style: italic;">Tommy </span>as part of a Russell/Greenaway/Jarman baroque Brits series, and I appreciate him even more after seeing it on the big screen. He seemed like a man who almost always did exactly what he wanted to do, and that kind of selfishness is a virtue in this undignified, totalitarian, idiot world where your every move is controlled by some kind of teacher, boss, friend, parent, fear, jealousy, cowardice, degree, lack of degree, pundit, automobile, phone, ill-fitting pair of trousers, rain, lack of rain, money, lack of money, computer, or robotic overlord I like to call Stu.<br /><br />(from the top)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Women in Love </span>(1969)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Tommy </span>(1975)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Altered States </span>(1980)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The Lair of the White Worm </span>(1988)<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-I5KY4BcYjOY/TtPFQ0wHr_I/AAAAAAAADsg/-qQHoig4cYI/s1600/women.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 488px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-I5KY4BcYjOY/TtPFQ0wHr_I/AAAAAAAADsg/-qQHoig4cYI/s800/women.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680100447873380338" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8cPIij6pgx8/TtPE9oTXs7I/AAAAAAAADsI/oilSjrMHH4U/s1600/tommy.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 532px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8cPIij6pgx8/TtPE9oTXs7I/AAAAAAAADsI/oilSjrMHH4U/s800/tommy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680100118114055090" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bXrOzp-E0T0/TtPEtClwlhI/AAAAAAAADrk/VJCJ4kqwYwc/s1600/altered.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 600px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bXrOzp-E0T0/TtPEtClwlhI/AAAAAAAADrk/VJCJ4kqwYwc/s800/altered.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680099833112729106" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Fod4nt6_ItA/TtPE6Ic0-qI/AAAAAAAADr8/B870nbD8jk4/s1600/lair%2Bof%2Bthe%2Bwhitey.htm"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Fod4nt6_ItA/TtPE6Ic0-qI/AAAAAAAADr8/B870nbD8jk4/s800/lair%2Bof%2Bthe%2Bwhitey.htm" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680100058024180386" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-4187736857418929688?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-79605345279458059602011-11-27T14:44:00.005-06:002011-11-27T14:51:25.241-06:00Michael Cimino's <span style="font-style: italic;">The Deer Hunter </span>(1978)<br />Though this movie seems politically confused, a tangled and tortured mess of right-wing and left-wing sentiments smothering each other, it's a major formal achievement and one of the best assemblages of great American actors before they calcified into legends (Robert De Niro, Christopher Walken, Meryl Streep), drifted into obscurity (John Savage, Rutanya Alda, George Dzundza), or died (John Cazale).<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-71MpUAuHOyA/TtKhTKYC8mI/AAAAAAAADrY/ALRAbJq2Vnw/s1600/deer%2Bhunter.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 340px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-71MpUAuHOyA/TtKhTKYC8mI/AAAAAAAADrY/ALRAbJq2Vnw/s800/deer%2Bhunter.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5679779430642414178" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ny4S5xzVOQg/TtKhQJOu1wI/AAAAAAAADrM/UNlnYqSLThc/s1600/deer%2Bhunter%2B2.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 340px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ny4S5xzVOQg/TtKhQJOu1wI/AAAAAAAADrM/UNlnYqSLThc/s800/deer%2Bhunter%2B2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5679779378795304706" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jnbyFM3IX4Y/TtKhMq7lhDI/AAAAAAAADrA/v_dzbWdK2DA/s1600/deer%2Bhunter%2B3.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 340px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jnbyFM3IX4Y/TtKhMq7lhDI/AAAAAAAADrA/v_dzbWdK2DA/s800/deer%2Bhunter%2B3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5679779319122330674" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-7960534527945805960?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-13948028278773697442011-11-24T10:54:00.002-06:002011-11-24T11:10:58.208-06:00Bernardo Bertolucci's <span style="font-style: italic;">The Dreamers </span>(2003)<br />A few years ago, I promised a series of posts about terrible movies by great directors, but life got in the way, and I forgot to follow up the first installment (Gus Van Sant's <span style="font-style: italic;">Finding Forrester</span>) with any others. If my promises hadn't been empty, Bertolucci's <span style="font-style: italic;">The Dreamers </span>would have made the cut. Bertolucci, the man behind <span style="font-style: italic;">Before the Revolution</span>, <span style="font-style: italic;">The Conformist</span>, <span style="font-style: italic;">Last Tango in Paris</span>, <span style="font-style: italic;">Luna</span>, <span style="font-style: italic;">Tragedy of a Ridiculous Man</span>, and <span style="font-style: italic;">The Last Emperor</span>, among others, also made this lazy, stupid film that never finds one authentic moment. Among its many sins, it's also boring, a shocking fault in a film full of movie references and copious nudity. I may come back to this idea of writing about great directors' worst moments (Robert Zemeckis' <span style="font-style: italic;">Forrest Gump </span>was another planned post in this abandoned series), but I probably won't. I tend to admire my favorite artists' failures and misfires as much as their best work, with a few exceptions like the above, so it would be hard to come up with new material. I really do hate <span style="font-style: italic;">Finding Forrester</span>, <span style="font-style: italic;">The Dreamers</span>, and <span style="font-style: italic;">Forrest Gump</span>, while finding some value in almost every other film by those guys, though.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Pddsvbg15LE/Ts53Fg2CvAI/AAAAAAAADo8/8XE9wynUt0M/s1600/dreamers.jpeg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 544px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Pddsvbg15LE/Ts53Fg2CvAI/AAAAAAAADo8/8XE9wynUt0M/s800/dreamers.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5678607116760431618" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-1394802827877369744?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-15125703760172502002011-11-10T13:57:00.005-06:002011-11-10T14:09:22.314-06:00John Carpenter's <span style="font-style: italic;">Halloween </span>(1978)<br />Look at how gorgeously framed these shots are. Why do so many movies look like desaturated puke now?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2az4hhyVYKo/TrwtqzMUnTI/AAAAAAAADm4/hvXMGezXSmk/s1600/halloween%2Bstreet%2B2.png"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 340px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2az4hhyVYKo/TrwtqzMUnTI/AAAAAAAADm4/hvXMGezXSmk/s800/halloween%2Bstreet%2B2.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5673459843899628850" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6buDFcJHTYI/TrwtW4ZVLPI/AAAAAAAADms/BpILwiyUs88/s1600/halloween%2Bstreet%2B3.png"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 342px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6buDFcJHTYI/TrwtW4ZVLPI/AAAAAAAADms/BpILwiyUs88/s800/halloween%2Bstreet%2B3.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5673459501698985202" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-1512570376017250200?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-87554688474201951662011-11-07T19:29:00.006-06:002011-11-07T19:48:09.769-06:00Roberto Rossellini's <span style="font-style: italic;">Stromboli </span>(1950)<br />Austin Film Society's Italian Cinema 1948-1970 series<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-iolr8GdXMRY/TriIh-gwXjI/AAAAAAAADmU/ekzKf9Gpyj8/s1600/stromboli.png"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 612px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-iolr8GdXMRY/TriIh-gwXjI/AAAAAAAADmU/ekzKf9Gpyj8/s800/stromboli.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5672433847970586162" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lt_qMTUxd1M/TriIAqFiR3I/AAAAAAAADl8/Okipaw2DA6s/s1600/stromboli%2B2.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 592px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lt_qMTUxd1M/TriIAqFiR3I/AAAAAAAADl8/Okipaw2DA6s/s800/stromboli%2B2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5672433275552024434" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qcli0IFESA0/TriJQSQQGAI/AAAAAAAADmg/4UBgC-heMb4/s1600/strom.png"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 578px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qcli0IFESA0/TriJQSQQGAI/AAAAAAAADmg/4UBgC-heMb4/s800/strom.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5672434643544053762" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><iframe width="640" height="480" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/DWL3Saky_U4?rel=0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-8755468847420195166?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-38795742387998222452011-11-01T20:51:00.003-05:002011-11-01T21:00:03.459-05:00Hal Ashby's <span style="font-style: italic;">Coming Home </span>(1978)<br />The weakest of Hal Ashby's string of good 1970s films, <span style="font-style: italic;">Coming Home </span>is too often overwrought and preachy, but it always looks great and Ashby finds a handful of odd places for his offbeat personal style to stamp itself. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rVYCUJkHX-A/TrCiYQjMWyI/AAAAAAAADlw/42wf-4rbx0E/s1600/coming%2Bhome.png"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 442px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rVYCUJkHX-A/TrCiYQjMWyI/AAAAAAAADlw/42wf-4rbx0E/s800/coming%2Bhome.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5670210468502592290" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TEEwTK7hOKk/TrCiS875b0I/AAAAAAAADlk/DNyeXR8PulY/s1600/coming%2Bhome%2Bvoight.png"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 438px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TEEwTK7hOKk/TrCiS875b0I/AAAAAAAADlk/DNyeXR8PulY/s800/coming%2Bhome%2Bvoight.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5670210377338154818" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-3879574238799822245?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-51461926430745830602011-10-27T12:03:00.003-05:002011-10-27T12:09:06.606-05:00Nick Broomfield &amp; Joan Churchill's <span style="font-style: italic;">Aileen: Life and Death of a Serial Killer </span>(2003)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TZIRx88dePM/TqmPy5i63yI/AAAAAAAADj4/BjFd5JowuLQ/s1600/aileenthelifeanddeathofaserialkiller.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 540px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TZIRx88dePM/TqmPy5i63yI/AAAAAAAADj4/BjFd5JowuLQ/s800/aileenthelifeanddeathofaserialkiller.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5668219710625996578" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-5146192643074583060?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-13710325443438834502011-10-25T17:54:00.000-05:002011-10-25T17:56:35.874-05:00Robert Altman's <span style="font-style: italic;">A Wedding </span>(1978)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GMjyel5RrSo/Tqc-YirYG8I/AAAAAAAADic/-kcoUtyUQgk/s1600/a%2Bwedding.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 342px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GMjyel5RrSo/Tqc-YirYG8I/AAAAAAAADic/-kcoUtyUQgk/s800/a%2Bwedding.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5667567247415581634" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-1371032544343883450?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-61215873978723365532011-10-23T21:42:00.004-05:002011-10-23T21:53:35.463-05:00Gillo Pontecorvo's <span style="font-style: italic;">The Wide Blue Road </span>(1957)<br />Austin Film Society's Italian Cinema 1948-1970 series<br />I prefer Pontecorvo's <span style="font-style: italic;">The Battle of Algiers </span>and <span style="font-style: italic;">Burn! </span>to the soggy melodrama of this film's narrative, but pleasures can be found in its striking use of color and light, the detailed visual storytelling of its dynamite fishing scenes, and Yves Montand's performance in the lead role.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mvEdkyYVgtk/TqTQnwmrwwI/AAAAAAAADiQ/mXJO31TdnfM/s1600/wideblue5.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 440px; height: 256px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mvEdkyYVgtk/TqTQnwmrwwI/AAAAAAAADiQ/mXJO31TdnfM/s800/wideblue5.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666883612619555586" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-6121587397872336553?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-53916624204646500582011-10-18T12:18:00.003-05:002011-10-18T12:28:22.537-05:00from Woody Allen's<span style="font-style: italic;"> Interiors </span>(1978)<br />In my estimation, this is Allen's first bad movie. I agree with conventional opinion that the film is a dreary Ingmar Bergman knockoff, though I think the cast and cinematography are first-rate.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-x1M6JXZ28Og/Tp22r5EdJkI/AAAAAAAADiE/PDtvsSe6Gmk/s1600/16-Interiors.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 530px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-x1M6JXZ28Og/Tp22r5EdJkI/AAAAAAAADiE/PDtvsSe6Gmk/s800/16-Interiors.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5664884771472090690" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-5391662420464650058?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-79100113400077496032011-10-13T21:06:00.003-05:002011-10-13T21:10:48.309-05:00from Robert Altman's <span style="font-style: italic;">The Company </span>(2003)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HqaPJrlKphA/TpeZwajtEdI/AAAAAAAADgM/tUsRbM5JQn0/s1600/2003_the_company_002.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 532px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HqaPJrlKphA/TpeZwajtEdI/AAAAAAAADgM/tUsRbM5JQn0/s800/2003_the_company_002.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5663164113483534802" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7V5VEQCKZcI/TpeZtinmL-I/AAAAAAAADgA/ISuRB-pIZv4/s1600/best00company.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 528px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7V5VEQCKZcI/TpeZtinmL-I/AAAAAAAADgA/ISuRB-pIZv4/s800/best00company.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5663164064107737058" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-7910011340007749603?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-19937141404805221352011-10-08T13:24:00.003-05:002011-10-08T14:01:58.054-05:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--chothu4E7w/TpCd7BHC7VI/AAAAAAAADf4/oXC-rtNjsUo/s1600/2776088_s1_i2.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 287px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--chothu4E7w/TpCd7BHC7VI/AAAAAAAADf4/oXC-rtNjsUo/s400/2776088_s1_i2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5661198368840543570" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kAqOygaDcEg/TpCd4tmwUzI/AAAAAAAADfw/3QxpEMfVaK8/s1600/charles-napier.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 331px; height: 350px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kAqOygaDcEg/TpCd4tmwUzI/AAAAAAAADfw/3QxpEMfVaK8/s400/charles-napier.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5661198329245094706" /></a><br /><br /><br />I'm still a regular filmgoer and there are still plenty of filmmakers and actors I'm excited about, but I tend to get the biggest charge out of movies made between 1895 and 1984. It's a bummer to see so many of my favorite character actors and filmmakers die each year even though that's the natural course of life. Charles Napier was one of those character actors of note. Most obituaries are so reductive and incomplete, and Napier's are no exception. Reading them, one gets the sense that the only notable facts in Napier's life are his square jaw and performances in <span style="font-style: italic;">Rambo </span>and <span style="font-style: italic;">The Blues Brothers </span>(though the latter is definitely worth pointing out). He did so much more than that, and he was so much more than a square jaw. A regular for both Russ Meyer and Jonathan Demme, he brought an unselfconscious ease and lived-in delivery to a series of interesting characters.<br /><br />Highly recommended:<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Supervixens </span>(Russ Meyer, 1975)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Citizen's Band </span>(Jonathan Demme, 1977)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The Blues Brothers </span>(John Landis, 1980)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Melvin and Howard </span>(Jonathan Demme, 1980)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Something Wild </span>(Jonathan Demme, 1986)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Married to the Mob </span>(Jonathan Demme, 1988)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Maniac Cop 2 </span>(William Lustig, 1990)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The Grifters </span>(Stephen Frears, 1990)<br /><br />Recommended:<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The Silence of the Lambs </span>(Jonathan Demme, 1991)<br />voice work on "The Critic" (1994-5)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The Cable Guy </span>(Ben Stiller, 1996)<br />several voices on "The Simpsons" (2001-5)<br />an episode of "Curb Your Enthusiasm" (2007)<br /><br />A few I still need to see:<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Cherry, Harry &amp; Raquel! </span>(Russ Meyer, 1970)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Beyond the Valley of the Dolls </span>(Russ Meyer, 1970)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Last Embrace </span>(Jonathan Demme, 1979)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Swing Shift </span>(Jonathan Demme, 1984)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Miami Blues </span>(George Armitage, 1990)<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-1993714140480522135?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-2864491700960752812011-10-02T14:07:00.004-05:002011-10-02T14:13:16.405-05:00from Martin Scorsese's <span style="font-style: italic;">New York, New York </span>(1977)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-IIoWOsRSyd8/Toi2m4s6lqI/AAAAAAAADfY/3J5kn3h0Tdo/s1600/new%2Byork%2Bnew%2Byork%2B1.png"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 486px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-IIoWOsRSyd8/Toi2m4s6lqI/AAAAAAAADfY/3J5kn3h0Tdo/s800/new%2Byork%2Bnew%2Byork%2B1.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658973710963087010" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-286449170096075281?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-41461582761056362042011-09-28T15:31:00.004-05:002011-09-28T15:39:21.893-05:00from Tim Burton's <span style="font-style: italic;">Big Fish </span>(2003)<br />A bit soft and gooey around the edges and a few stumbling paces behind Burton's best work, this film still managed to capture some memorable images and formal beauty.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4JPd8DlFZw0/ToOEW386gSI/AAAAAAAADeI/fEGuITcMBEo/s1600/big%2Bfish.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 428px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4JPd8DlFZw0/ToOEW386gSI/AAAAAAAADeI/fEGuITcMBEo/s800/big%2Bfish.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5657511085418905890" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-4146158276105636204?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-55879874089245197862011-09-24T13:29:00.004-05:002011-09-24T13:31:14.678-05:00from George A. Romero's <span style="font-style: italic;">Martin </span>(1977)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xU7YF0FxWss/Tn4hnzaHlqI/AAAAAAAADd4/I7fiO8AO4co/s1600/martin%2B1.png"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 580px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xU7YF0FxWss/Tn4hnzaHlqI/AAAAAAAADd4/I7fiO8AO4co/s800/martin%2B1.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655995149722293922" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-k5xcxrIYLtw/Tn4hjkd6keI/AAAAAAAADdw/Rib7h7fgUYk/s1600/martin%2B2.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 450px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-k5xcxrIYLtw/Tn4hjkd6keI/AAAAAAAADdw/Rib7h7fgUYk/s800/martin%2B2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655995076992209378" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-5587987408924519786?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-29197653630750838172011-09-21T20:26:00.005-05:002011-09-21T21:01:47.978-05:00from Ermanno Olmi's <span style="font-style: italic;">Il posto </span>(1961)<br />Austin Film Society's Italian Cinema 1948-1970 series<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zWDstMAL05M/TnqQHk_mnEI/AAAAAAAADdo/R87vnQCLTSI/s1600/il%2Bposto%2B1.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 600px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zWDstMAL05M/TnqQHk_mnEI/AAAAAAAADdo/R87vnQCLTSI/s800/il%2Bposto%2B1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5654990741981011010" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-V1N6Vo-lQvI/TnqQCGW5fJI/AAAAAAAADdg/vuop3ppI08w/s1600/il%2Bposto%2B2.png"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 450px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-V1N6Vo-lQvI/TnqQCGW5fJI/AAAAAAAADdg/vuop3ppI08w/s800/il%2Bposto%2B2.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5654990647857872018" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-2919765363075083817?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-59710962053451708332011-09-15T16:43:00.007-05:002011-09-15T16:56:49.260-05:00from David Lynch's <span style="font-style: italic;">Eraserhead </span>(1977)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kA2GyxSyb1k/TnJxpet_xmI/AAAAAAAADcI/gOAp1oWeLEg/s1600/eraserhead%2B2.png"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 450px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kA2GyxSyb1k/TnJxpet_xmI/AAAAAAAADcI/gOAp1oWeLEg/s800/eraserhead%2B2.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5652705439737955938" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GBDw06rMq10/TnJz56T6zkI/AAAAAAAADcg/kiawZlxIqaI/s1600/eraserhead%2B3.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 800px; height: 450px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GBDw06rMq10/TnJz56T6zkI/AAAAAAAADcg/kiawZlxIqaI/s800/eraserhead%2B3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5652707921045933634" /></a><br /><br /> <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gGSe9Ew2BCs/TnJ0FqpBrfI/AAAAAAAADco/DigATukCo1U/s1600/eraserhead%2B4.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 800px; height: 532px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gGSe9Ew2BCs/TnJ0FqpBrfI/AAAAAAAADco/DigATukCo1U/s800/eraserhead%2B4.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5652708122997927410" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-5971096205345170833?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-52183470567218116112011-09-13T21:37:00.003-05:002011-09-13T21:45:34.019-05:00from Patty Jenkins' <span style="font-style: italic;">Monster </span>(2003)<br />There are several things to admire in this movie. I just wish I liked it more. Charlize Theron's performance didn't connect with me. To my taste, she's too earnest, and the work of her performance shows up on the screen instead of disappearing into the character. It's Acting instead of acting. Oh well. If actors followed my advice, they'd never get any Oscar nominations.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wmLL8un0x4U/TnATfm_ou0I/AAAAAAAADcA/2P5cWKa8Xiw/s1600/f100monster.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 432px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wmLL8un0x4U/TnATfm_ou0I/AAAAAAAADcA/2P5cWKa8Xiw/s800/f100monster.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5652038966114302786" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-5218347056721811611?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-84839807220170850872011-09-11T20:34:00.001-05:002011-09-11T20:36:36.792-05:00from William Friedkin's <span style="font-style: italic;">Sorcerer </span>(1977)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O8ZXQ1hxObw/Tm1h6jYwGeI/AAAAAAAADb4/Tst2Ts1TaGc/s1600/sorcerer.htm"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 626px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O8ZXQ1hxObw/Tm1h6jYwGeI/AAAAAAAADb4/Tst2Ts1TaGc/s800/sorcerer.htm" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5651280765979204066" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-8483980722017085087?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-16842913880194361742011-09-06T22:54:00.003-05:002011-09-06T22:57:03.653-05:00from Lars Von Trier's <span style="font-style: italic;">Epidemic </span>(1987)<br />Alamo Drafthouse special screening<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gVY0I-q96e4/TmbrWp44imI/AAAAAAAADbw/NYTEK93F-bI/s1600/a%2Bepidemic%2Blars%2Bvon%2Btrier%2Bdvd%2Breview%2BPDVD_013.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 800px; height: 490px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gVY0I-q96e4/TmbrWp44imI/AAAAAAAADbw/NYTEK93F-bI/s800/a%2Bepidemic%2Blars%2Bvon%2Btrier%2Bdvd%2Breview%2BPDVD_013.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5649461557016955490" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Cn3aRv0cPvQ/TmbrDbuIoUI/AAAAAAAADbo/l7No7YrrNGE/s1600/20060206-07.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 484px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Cn3aRv0cPvQ/TmbrDbuIoUI/AAAAAAAADbo/l7No7YrrNGE/s800/20060206-07.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5649461226796261698" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-1684291388019436174?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-85485837282997555652011-08-31T17:07:00.002-05:002011-08-31T17:12:04.238-05:00from David Cronenberg's <span style="font-style: italic;">Rabid </span>(1977) <br /> <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aoq1lw7BrtA/Tl6wqyzXvxI/AAAAAAAADao/BIA126Kqu50/s1600/rabid.PNG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 402px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aoq1lw7BrtA/Tl6wqyzXvxI/AAAAAAAADao/BIA126Kqu50/s800/rabid.PNG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647145232007413522" border="0" /></a> <br /> <br /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-8548583728299755565?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-62800920223000530252011-08-24T18:04:00.003-05:002011-08-24T18:07:31.917-05:00from Peter Jackson's <span style="font-style: italic;">The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King </span>(2003) <br /> <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vNhaAyh5BxI/TlWDhTjaOLI/AAAAAAAADag/sGIuolIkm5o/s1600/rings%2Bking.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 454px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vNhaAyh5BxI/TlWDhTjaOLI/AAAAAAAADag/sGIuolIkm5o/s800/rings%2Bking.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644562316186499250" border="0" /></a> <br /> <br /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-6280092022300053025?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-652430239233909092011-08-14T20:50:00.007-05:002011-08-15T01:53:10.159-05:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mF4MJIzdA_E/TkjA9SFgrtI/AAAAAAAADZU/MFK5o8QEMwU/s1600/my-son-john-movie-poster-1952-1020535896.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 800px; height: 616px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mF4MJIzdA_E/TkjA9SFgrtI/AAAAAAAADZU/MFK5o8QEMwU/s800/my-son-john-movie-poster-1952-1020535896.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5640970692341051090" /></a> <br /> <br />Leo McCarey's <span style="font-style: italic;">My Son John </span>(1952) is a film I've read about for years but never expected to see until recently. Infamous for its far-right anti-Communist paranoia and anti-intellectualism, the death of star Robert Walker during the final weeks of filming, and its almost total lack of availability since its original theatrical run, <span style="font-style: italic;">My Son John </span>has nevertheless enjoyed a reputation among cinephiles, filmmakers, and critics lucky enough to see it as a politically confused but emotionally and formally complex semi-masterpiece. After finally seeing it this past weekend, I can say it's all that and more. <span style="font-style: italic;">My Son John </span>is one of the strangest Hollywood films I've seen, and one of the most personal, conflicted, contradictory, tortured, incoherent, empathetic, paranoid, frightened, anti-family, pro-God and country, specific, general, unhinged, self-negating, and controlled. Most of those adjectives shouldn't belong to a description of a single film. They belong to <span style="font-style: italic;">My Son John</span>. <br />Before I attempt some kind of description, here's a little back story. Leo McCarey was one of the most gifted directors of Hollywood's first Golden Age and one of the rare filmmakers equally adept at comedy and drama. He loved actors, and he loved to let them interact with each other. Fond of the two-shot (framing the scene so two actors can be seen at the same time without having to cut back and forth between them), McCarey liked to let scenes run long, and he encouraged his actors to improvise. Some of my favorite McCarey movies include <span style="font-style: italic;">Duck Soup</span>, one of the best Marx Brothers movies; <span style="font-style: italic;">Ruggles of Red Gap</span>, with Charles Laughton; <span style="font-style: italic;">The Awful Truth</span>, with Cary Grant and Irene Dunne; and <span style="font-style: italic;">Make Way for Tomorrow</span>, an emotional but unsentimental film about aging, marriage, and the Great Depression. <em></em>Something happened to McCarey as he aged, however. Like a lot of people, he became more conservative and religious. Unfortunately, that initially moderate conservatism grew into a far-right paranoia of a Red hidden in every closet, corner, classroom, and government office. <br />McCarey told an interviewer five years before <span style="font-style: italic;">My Son John </span>that he wanted to keep his politics out of his films and focus on art, entertainment, and people instead. By the time of <span style="font-style: italic;">My Son John</span>, he'd clearly changed his mind. The film's final third is so "deranged" (to quote Jonathan Rosenbaum's apt descriptor of this part of the movie) in its paranoid, anti-Communist fundamentalist zeal that it embarrassed even conservatives and anti-Communists of the time. The film flopped at the box office and received poor reviews from liberal and conservative critics alike, most notably Robert Warshow in <span style="font-style: italic;">American Mercury</span>. (That review is available in a fantastic collection of his essays, <span style="font-style: italic;">The Immediate Experience</span>, I recommend to anyone who likes reading cultural criticism about film, literature, theater, comic books, and early 20th-century American culture.) The film quickly came and went. There would be no VHS, DVD, or Blu-Ray release, and there are no current plans for any. Aside from rare screenings at revival houses in major cities and the odd late-night TV broadcast in the 1960s and 1970s, <span style="font-style: italic;">My Son John </span>became almost impossible to see until last year when Turner Classic Movies showed it as part of a series of anti-Communist films from the 1950s. During this time in the wilderness, the film's reputation increased, thanks to some leftist, auteurist champions like Rosenbaum, Dave Kehr, Robin Wood, and others. Acknowledging the risible politics, these critics also pointed out the film's considerable strengths, which were ignored in most of the negative reviews. (They sometimes still are. This predictable, generic liberal <a href="http://www.sensesofcinema.com/2009/feature-articles/my-son-john/">takedown of the film </a>by a former professor of mine is a prime example of grasping the outline but missing the details.) For the last several months, it's been streaming on Netflix in a not-bad print, which is where I finally got the chance to see it. <br /><span style="font-style: italic;">My Son John </span>begins on an all-American suburban street on a Sunday morning. An older man in a suit tosses a football around in the yard with two of his sons, dressed in military uniforms. The sons are leaving that night for San Francisco, where they'll catch a ship to Korea for the war. They're tossing the ball around with Dad to kill time while they wait for their mother. She always takes too long getting ready for church, and Dad is always worried they'll be late. It's a Sunday ritual. There's another son, John, who works for the government in Washington, D.C. The mother (Helen Hayes) tenses up whenever someone mentions him. She's worried about something. She thought he might come to see his brothers off to war and go to church with the rest of the family, but he doesn't show. You get the feeling he hasn't been to church with the family in a long while. At dinner that evening, a telegram arrives. John's sorry he can't make it to say goodbye to his brothers in person, but he'll come by next weekend for a visit. Mother is sad. She sees her military boys off. One calls her "sweater girl" and swats her on the butt. <br />John shows up the following week for his visit. He's played by Robert Walker in a mini-masterpiece of honeyed condescension, polite contempt, and detached amusement in a role that's a cousin to his performance in Hitchcock's <span style="font-style: italic;">Strangers on a Train </span>from the year before, minus the murderous psychosis. That's going to come up again later, for odd reasons. John has quite a different relationship to his parents than his golden brothers, a picture of the two in their high school football uniforms given pride of place in the home. He was the bookish intellectual of the family. He didn't play football or join the military. He went to college, then moved to D.C. to work as a government official. John keeps a dryly sarcastic distance from his loving yet smothering, infantilizing, and hysterically menopausal mother (menopause is treated as a gateway to insanity) and his bigoted, jingoistic, suspicious, super-patriot father. Suspicions increase along with the distance between son and parents until Hayes discovers her son John is indeed a Communist spy. She must choose God and country over family ties and accept that her husband's suspicions of his son were correct. You must always think with your heart instead of your head. You must embrace Christianity and patriotism. (SPOILERS) John develops a conscience, turns away from Communism, records a practice run through a confessional speech he's giving his alma mater, and is gunned down by dirty Commies who have wiretapped his room. Fortunately, his speech is saved and played for the students at the commencement ceremony. (END SPOILERS) <br />My general description of the plot makes the film read like typical anti-Communist propaganda and the characters one-dimensional stereotypes. Until the hysterical final act, however, this is not true. The three main characters are complex, developed people with complicated internal struggles. The father is a proto-Tea Party loudmouth, but he's also an insecure man who feels intellectually inadequate around his son and despairs over the growing distance between them. His relationship with his wife is complex, too. They are simultaneously partners, rivals, and parents to each other, and the balance of power between the two is constantly in flux. The mother loves, babies, and smothers her children too much, but she also provides humor, warmth, and the occasional voice of reason, and she reads her son better than her husband. John is the charismatic center of the film, both its hero and anti-hero. He's smart, funny, arrogant, condescending, a bullshit detector, devious, open, aloof, hiding the pain of sharing different ideas than the rest of his family and being forced to conceal it in humor and veiled sarcasm. <br />McCarey does great things with this family dynamic both formally and narratively for most of the film's first hour and change. The family home is claustrophobic and dark, and McCarey creates an atmosphere of emotional distance and physical closeness. He uses every room in the house, the furniture, and the staircase, and he matches it formally with his famous two-shots and three-shots in long scenes of dialogue between John and one or both of his parents, with some sparingly but strikingly used closeups on a single character. These scenes, in terms of formal use of visual space and shot composition, could comfortably sit alongside Nicholas Ray's <span style="font-style: italic;">Bigger than Life </span>and <span style="font-style: italic;">In a Lonely Place</span> and the films of Ingmar Bergman in their connection of confined domestic spaces and emotional turmoil. Despite the right-wing propaganda that will eventually contradict what has come before, the film in these scenes presents a major achievement by using the medium of mainstream Hollywood film to convincingly depict the growing rift between adult children and their parents in both universal and specific ways. Part of the American Dream (TM) is that you give your children more opportunities than you had, but this can create a distance between adult children and parents on top of the already increasing distance that begins when you "sever the silver cord," to quote that lousy Commie John. Some of that closeness dies just because you're grown up now. Even more of that closeness dies when you overtake one or both of your parents intellectually, financially, and/or experientially. The parents sacrificed and worked hard to help their son John succeed, but the opportunities and intellectual growth that John was able to enjoy as a result has driven a wedge between him and his parents. He's smarter than his parents, more well-read, more curious, less inclined to swallow the uncritical God and country blather that McCarey seems to be just as critical of as John until the film goes off the rails into proto-Glenn Beck irrational paranoia. The father feels this distance, too, but has a harder time articulating it. His struggles with the father/son rift give him a tragic tinge of empathy his character is otherwise lacking. <br /> <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kxXnqnQhBG0/TkjBjgfoQ-I/AAAAAAAADZc/JnFQHlnzmSU/s1600/walker.png"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 800px; height: 590px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kxXnqnQhBG0/TkjBjgfoQ-I/AAAAAAAADZc/JnFQHlnzmSU/s800/walker.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5640971349043725282" /></a> <br /> <br />The strange thing about these early scenes is that McCarey seems to be on John's side. His sly mockery of his father's love-it-or-leave-it demagoguery, his parents' blindly uncritical devotion to Christianity, and their lack of curiosity is funny, likable, and sympathetic. Meanwhile, John's father is loud, overbearing, openly dismissive of higher education, a binge drinker, immediately suspicious of his son, quick to anger. In one scene, he rear-ends the car in front of him while driving recklessly and insists it was the other driver's fault. In one of the film's most intense scenes, he whacks his son over the head with a thick, hard-bound Bible (literal bible-thumping) in the kitchen and then shoves him over the table after refusing to believe his denials of being a Red. He returns hours later, drunk and sorry, and gives a sorrowful speech to his wife about how much it hurts him that he is not taken seriously by his son and how bad he feels about hitting him. McCarey's developing some seriously interesting material here about family dynamics. <br />He shreds that complexity in the bizarre, ignorant, idiotic, yet compulsively watchable final third. (SPOILERS) John is a godless Commie after all (and probably a homosexual, the movie implies often), betraying his country to get back at Dad and Mom. The stress sends dear Mother into menopausal hysteria, but she summons the courage to stand up to his manipulations and pleadings before collapsing in bed. Dad rushes to her side, where she tells him he was the only honorable and correct player in the game this whole time because he reacted emotionally, with his heart and gut, instead of using his brain. He knew John was a Commie from the get-go. I mean, just look at him. He read books. He didn't play football. He didn't have a girlfriend. He was slightly effeminate. He didn't believe in organized religion. He thought jingoism was ridiculous. He went to college. John is hiding from the FBI near the stairs and overhears his mother and father. He sees the light. Instead of escaping to Lisbon, the initial plan once he found out the FBI was on his tail, he checks into a hotel and records that draft of the speech I mentioned earlier. The Commies kill him, etc., and the speech is played at the commencement. What I failed to mention earlier is that the tape recorder is placed on the podium and a beam of light from the heavens comes down and shines on it while it plays his speech. Though he denounces Communism in the speech, he doesn't get into any specifics about why he joined the party or what it meant to him. Instead, he warns against the dangers of intellectual curiosity, a "stimulant" that leads to "narcotics," (i.e., anything not apple pie and Jesus). His parents are in the audience. After the speech, Mother hopes God can forgive him for his treason but is glad the graduates got to hear the speech. Mother and Father walk into a church across the street. Roll end credits. <br />This is a fucking insane ending, probably made even more insane by the death of Robert Walker (John) shortly before filming ended. Walker was home that fateful night and became severely agitated, for reasons unknown. His housekeeper called his psychiatrist, who gave him a barbiturate to calm him down. Unfortunately, he was also drunk. The two didn't mix and Walker died, aged 32. Most of the film was in the can, except for the ending. The bizarre wiretapping/shooting scene and tape recorder graduation speech scene were written to salvage the ending sans Walker. Scenes from <span style="font-style: italic;">Strangers on a Train </span>are superimposed into the action when an image of Walker is needed. This creates a strange, hallucinatory feel (especially if you've seen the Hitchcock film) that matches the political insanity of the final scenes. (END SPOILERS) <br />Yes, this film's final 30-40 minutes are politically indefensible and narratively incoherent, but this film is worth seeing for all kinds of other reasons. McCarey never presents a coherent attack on Communism and doesn't seem to be interested in saying anything about it except that it is subversive and bad. His use of religion in the film is just as empty. The family is devoutly Catholic, as was McCarey himself, but there is nothing specifically Catholic in the home or in the characters' behavior, aside from an occasional sign of the cross. When the mother and father talk about the Bible or their beliefs, their ideals are much closer to a generic fundamentalist understanding of Christianity than anything Catholic. One of the major supporting characters is a priest, but the family never asks him for help in their crisis. He is eventually used as comic relief, despite some interesting early scenes. Nevertheless, McCarey hadn't lost his skill as a filmmaker, even if he'd lost his mind politically. The performances are uniformly strong. The first two-thirds of the film still present a strong visual depiction of strained family dynamics and the political conflicts that continue to divide us. The film looks like it belongs to no one else and values strangeness over cliche. <br />The late critic Robin Wood made an interesting observation about McCarey. Wood noticed that McCarey tended to present romantic relationships between men and women in a positive light, but portrayed the nuclear family as a destructive force. (I admit to finding this worldview much more sympathetic than McCarey's politics because I feel this has been the case in my own life for the past decade.) This is true in <span style="font-style: italic;">Make Way for Tomorrow</span>, in which an elderly couple lose most of their savings during the Great Depression. A strong, loving couple, they want to stay together, but can't afford to find a place for both of them to live. Their children see them as either a burden or an annoyance and claim not to have space for both parents in any of their homes. McCarey loves this old couple, and he sympathizes with the adult children to an extent though they are also petty and selfish, but the extended nuclear family is seen as a fragile, strained, weak institution. <span style="font-style: italic;">My Son John </span>illustrates this worldview as well. The mother and father have a strong marriage, but McCarey finds serious flaws in their parenting styles and in their interaction with their adult son John. Their only moments of disharmony occur when they disagree on matters involving their son. The fear here is not just about Communism. McCarey's <span style="font-style: italic;">My Son John </span>is richer, stranger, and more perverse than that. Though the film's final act espouses the virtues of God and country, <span style="font-style: italic;">My Son John </span>sees McCarey leaving out the final part of that right wing holy trinity: family. He loves the first two, but the third one isn't his bag. Maybe <span style="font-style: italic;">My Son John </span>is the most perverse way of saying "three's a crowd" in cinema history. <br /> <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LIDNgOjio8E/Tki_xZIJXvI/AAAAAAAADZM/NIfP_-ZiR9w/s1600/my%2Bson%2Bjohn%2Bhayes.png"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 700px; height: 500px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LIDNgOjio8E/Tki_xZIJXvI/AAAAAAAADZM/NIfP_-ZiR9w/s800/my%2Bson%2Bjohn%2Bhayes.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5640969388561096434" /></a> <br /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-65243023923390909?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-89070515137457266662011-08-08T13:42:00.004-05:002011-08-08T13:48:22.687-05:00from Bruce Conner's <span style="font-style: italic;">Valse Triste </span>(1977) <br /> <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-s6G-rD-quMc/TkAu7yVWIAI/AAAAAAAADY0/0yNpvdT-EPo/s1600/valse%2Btriste.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 696px; height: 526px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-s6G-rD-quMc/TkAu7yVWIAI/AAAAAAAADY0/0yNpvdT-EPo/s800/valse%2Btriste.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5638558338126323714" border="0" /></a> <br /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-8907051513745726666?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-89800924550118546632011-08-02T00:05:00.004-05:002011-08-02T00:26:49.384-05:00from Olivier Assayas' <span style="font-style: italic;">Demonlover </span>(2002)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cEZGbu9pWDY/TjeKCc_C37I/AAAAAAAADXk/PNEKNV_OaLs/s1600/url.htm"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 438px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cEZGbu9pWDY/TjeKCc_C37I/AAAAAAAADXk/PNEKNV_OaLs/s800/url.htm" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636125233422458802" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GzewZLDuKq4/TjeJ93LFQOI/AAAAAAAADXc/tasuMVz3-2Y/s1600/demonsplash.png"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 342px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GzewZLDuKq4/TjeJ93LFQOI/AAAAAAAADXc/tasuMVz3-2Y/s800/demonsplash.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636125154552922338" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-W-CKQ77EAb8/TjeJ6kCtGKI/AAAAAAAADXU/qkblNF4Twoc/s1600/6a01156f86ecd3970c0120a7a0c3fa970b-800wi.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 534px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-W-CKQ77EAb8/TjeJ6kCtGKI/AAAAAAAADXU/qkblNF4Twoc/s800/6a01156f86ecd3970c0120a7a0c3fa970b-800wi.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636125097877903522" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-8980092455011854663?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-162281915602329952011-07-22T13:34:00.003-05:002011-07-22T13:37:16.771-05:00from John Cassavetes' <span style="font-style: italic;">Opening Night </span>(1977)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nMwFqgImSC4/TinDJ2QGxiI/AAAAAAAADWE/qeD2r3VfThk/s1600/opening%2Bnight%2B1.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 428px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nMwFqgImSC4/TinDJ2QGxiI/AAAAAAAADWE/qeD2r3VfThk/s800/opening%2Bnight%2B1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632247382952822306" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dQiTLsU6dRE/TinDGx6PfzI/AAAAAAAADV8/LwELeApK0tU/s1600/opening%2Bnight%2B2.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 444px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dQiTLsU6dRE/TinDGx6PfzI/AAAAAAAADV8/LwELeApK0tU/s800/opening%2Bnight%2B2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632247330247769906" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-16228191560232995?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-4011704885506567022011-07-18T00:12:00.001-05:002011-07-18T00:14:10.359-05:00from Terry Zwigoff's<span style="font-style: italic;"> Bad Santa </span>(2003)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3PiOqVC__Ig/TiPA9NZqUMI/AAAAAAAADV0/ZGPJ_PkaFqA/s1600/bad-santa-2003-03-g.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 528px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3PiOqVC__Ig/TiPA9NZqUMI/AAAAAAAADV0/ZGPJ_PkaFqA/s800/bad-santa-2003-03-g.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5630556116945096898" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-401170488550656702?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-34335173401330534862011-07-05T22:42:00.005-05:002011-07-05T22:47:28.405-05:00from Charles Burnett's <span style="font-style: italic;">Killer of Sheep </span>(1977)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gbqSN_9JGII/ThPadLK8POI/AAAAAAAADU0/qjq0AbIp1gc/s1600/pic1.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 600px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gbqSN_9JGII/ThPadLK8POI/AAAAAAAADU0/qjq0AbIp1gc/s800/pic1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5626080554265623778" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4mpqpCQJ1cE/ThPaaSQnM8I/AAAAAAAADUs/fV4JTu_zT6w/s1600/killer%2Bof%2Bsheep%2BPDVD_016.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 600px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4mpqpCQJ1cE/ThPaaSQnM8I/AAAAAAAADUs/fV4JTu_zT6w/s800/killer%2Bof%2Bsheep%2BPDVD_016.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5626080504628851650" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Aq-V0tWmeCs/ThPaW_KZxXI/AAAAAAAADUk/M4vTM-Fm8DE/s1600/killer-of-sheep_still-036lg.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 586px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Aq-V0tWmeCs/ThPaW_KZxXI/AAAAAAAADUk/M4vTM-Fm8DE/s800/killer-of-sheep_still-036lg.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5626080447962924402" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CqJc4Lylr8A/ThPaRXNAMVI/AAAAAAAADUc/PFx3RI27Ww8/s1600/sheep%2Bschlitz.png"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 600px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CqJc4Lylr8A/ThPaRXNAMVI/AAAAAAAADUc/PFx3RI27Ww8/s800/sheep%2Bschlitz.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5626080351337066834" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-3433517340133053486?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-57571774475931086682011-06-30T22:55:00.006-05:002011-06-30T23:06:18.752-05:00from Gus Van Sant's <span style="font-style: italic;">Elephant </span>(2003) <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZTechMhX45Q/Tg1GAzfczWI/AAAAAAAADUE/QcPVgyP9d7c/s1600/elephant8.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 604px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZTechMhX45Q/Tg1GAzfczWI/AAAAAAAADUE/QcPVgyP9d7c/s800/elephant8.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5624228489291681122" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pXI_mLAenX8/Tg1F9CQBpXI/AAAAAAAADT8/rfsagGI8HS8/s1600/199.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 588px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pXI_mLAenX8/Tg1F9CQBpXI/AAAAAAAADT8/rfsagGI8HS8/s800/199.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5624228424534041970" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sbe2rmWoCbo/Tg1Hdtl2vcI/AAAAAAAADUU/lxT6QVjmh3w/s1600/aph_9.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 800px; height: 596px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sbe2rmWoCbo/Tg1Hdtl2vcI/AAAAAAAADUU/lxT6QVjmh3w/s800/aph_9.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5624230085435768258" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-5757177447593108668?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-72173565607158008192011-06-28T12:57:00.004-05:002011-06-28T13:00:28.012-05:00from Robert Benton's <span style="font-style: italic;">The Late Show </span>(1977)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wpHjs11wcik/TgoWRxwZnDI/AAAAAAAADTs/T0Icnbb8AuQ/s1600/late%2Bshow.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 448px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wpHjs11wcik/TgoWRxwZnDI/AAAAAAAADTs/T0Icnbb8AuQ/s800/late%2Bshow.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5623331579395415090" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-azPnDiXBEYU/TgoWO9CshYI/AAAAAAAADTk/nOgz99_0DEo/s1600/lilytomlin.png"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 450px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-azPnDiXBEYU/TgoWO9CshYI/AAAAAAAADTk/nOgz99_0DEo/s800/lilytomlin.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5623331530885334402" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-7217356560715800819?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-91893665809117614162011-06-24T14:03:00.004-05:002011-06-24T14:23:48.011-05:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lX45IJTsecs/TgTj-XzsjUI/AAAAAAAADSc/WhX58YBDsXk/s1600/falk.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 800px; height: 434px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lX45IJTsecs/TgTj-XzsjUI/AAAAAAAADSc/WhX58YBDsXk/s800/falk.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621868895547460930" /></a><br /><br />Remember when an average guy with a lazy eye could be a movie star? What the hell is wrong with Hollywood now? Nobody has any character in their face. All we have are anonymous pretty people chasing CGI monsters and supervillains in front of a green screen for an average shot length of .05 seconds or smug bores falling in and out of love and back in love based on idiotic misunderstandings.<br />This kind of grumbling doesn't belong in a Peter Falk tribute, so I'll stop now. He was in two of the greatest American films, <span style="font-style: italic;">A Woman Under the Influence </span>and <span style="font-style: italic;">Mikey &amp; Nicky</span>, and one of the greatest German films, <span style="font-style: italic;">Wings of Desire</span>. He was in a near-great American film, <span style="font-style: italic;">Husbands</span>, and a formative childhood film for most people my age, <span style="font-style: italic;">The Princess Bride</span>. <span style="font-style: italic;">Columbo </span>was a very entertaining show, and I'm glad he was in it, but he did plenty of other stuff, obituary writers. <span style="font-style: italic;">Big Trouble </span>had an unhappy production and was very uneven (a dying Cassavetes took over when original director Andrew Bergman quit or was fired, depending on the source), but the scene where Falk gives Alan Arkin a sardine-flavored liqueur leads to the greatest spit-take in cinema history. I loved watching this guy.<br /><br /><iframe src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/3djsQb1iMg4" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="349" width="425"></iframe><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wDSEZuCbT_M/TgTkIYq_zmI/AAAAAAAADSk/heZgpC1rZM4/s1600/falk%2B2.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 800px; height: 480px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wDSEZuCbT_M/TgTkIYq_zmI/AAAAAAAADSk/heZgpC1rZM4/s800/falk%2B2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621869067578101346" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-9189366580911761416?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-15954026992131141962011-06-24T13:46:00.002-05:002011-06-24T13:50:52.591-05:00from Jean-Luc Godard and Anne-Marie Mieville's <span style="font-style: italic;">Six fois deux/Sur et sous la communication </span>(1976)<br />Austin Film Society's Godard/Mieville series<br />They showed the second episode of this French TV miniseries.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hGKnsXrztxg/TgTbsrE8bgI/AAAAAAAADSM/pBvNaM8m8d0/s1600/six%2Bfois%2Bdeux.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 576px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hGKnsXrztxg/TgTbsrE8bgI/AAAAAAAADSM/pBvNaM8m8d0/s800/six%2Bfois%2Bdeux.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621859795389410818" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-1595402699213114196?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-92143600963774578582011-06-21T01:30:00.003-05:002011-06-21T01:32:55.506-05:00from Robert Altman's <span style="font-style: italic;">3 Women </span>(1977) <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-O0bZCQ-YKw4/TgA6zVavtuI/AAAAAAAADR8/9pSRnypbgHo/s1600/3%2Bwomen.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 348px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-O0bZCQ-YKw4/TgA6zVavtuI/AAAAAAAADR8/9pSRnypbgHo/s800/3%2Bwomen.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620556988555441890" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-c5j4lF32rMY/TgA6w31zLuI/AAAAAAAADR0/RWzpkBgUs7g/s1600/Shelley.png"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 332px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-c5j4lF32rMY/TgA6w31zLuI/AAAAAAAADR0/RWzpkBgUs7g/s800/Shelley.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620556946256113378" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-9214360096377457858?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-84564930316759141622011-06-19T14:56:00.003-05:002011-06-19T15:09:25.280-05:00from Jean-Luc Godard's<span style="font-style: italic;"> For Ever Mozart </span>(1996)<br />Austin Film Society's Godard/Mieville series<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SUBidf_ZKS0/Tf5XP_fN0hI/AAAAAAAADRs/5UgzK1_jmFM/s1600/b9c1c06dcc1759433580bc7wk7.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 800px; height: 480px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SUBidf_ZKS0/Tf5XP_fN0hI/AAAAAAAADRs/5UgzK1_jmFM/s800/b9c1c06dcc1759433580bc7wk7.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620025317256974866" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-8456493031675914162?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-81920270134833190842011-06-13T16:16:00.002-05:002011-06-13T16:18:16.439-05:00from Woody Allen's <span style="font-style: italic;">Annie Hall </span>(1977)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MDL-q1nQnho/TfZ-POycYII/AAAAAAAADRU/lHTxHII7Ga0/s1600/1280_annie-hall.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 534px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MDL-q1nQnho/TfZ-POycYII/AAAAAAAADRU/lHTxHII7Ga0/s800/1280_annie-hall.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617816385324081282" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-8192027013483319084?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-58603822739349359722011-06-10T12:45:00.002-05:002011-06-10T12:50:40.719-05:00from Jane Campion's <span style="font-style: italic;">In the Cut </span>(2003)<br />This film fails as a thriller and has plenty of flaws, but succeeds in all kinds of interesting ways. A director's imperfections, failures, and partial successes can be just as illuminating and instructive as the masterpieces and major achievements. Sometimes, these failures are even more personal and formally interesting than the films that do everything right.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dCll8jxZkiQ/TfJYarTnaCI/AAAAAAAADQM/9O2cJtpIwAY/s1600/cut.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 526px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dCll8jxZkiQ/TfJYarTnaCI/AAAAAAAADQM/9O2cJtpIwAY/s800/cut.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5616648900609271842" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-5860382273934935972?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-46365818862861653442011-06-08T00:48:00.003-05:002011-06-08T00:58:37.971-05:00from Don Siegel's <span style="font-style: italic;">The Shootist </span>(1976)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-A4ZSOza5yjU/Te8NMqL0hwI/AAAAAAAADQE/TR-ueFgbYWY/s1600/shootist.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 450px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-A4ZSOza5yjU/Te8NMqL0hwI/AAAAAAAADQE/TR-ueFgbYWY/s800/shootist.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615721771487758082" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-4636581886286165344?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-84497638422898803382011-06-05T13:37:00.006-05:002011-06-05T13:50:24.534-05:00from Jean-Luc Godard's <span style="font-style: italic;">Band of Outsiders </span>(1964)<br />Austin Film Society's Godard/Mieville series<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QTdF__y6lRk/TevPlEiDgEI/AAAAAAAADP8/x2H7Jm8I3ZY/s1600/band%2Bone.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 800px; height: 614px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QTdF__y6lRk/TevPlEiDgEI/AAAAAAAADP8/x2H7Jm8I3ZY/s800/band%2Bone.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5614809596226142274" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sglyL6zSxpY/TevPi7utsjI/AAAAAAAADP0/FofUU8s9hGg/s1600/band%2Bthree.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 800px; height: 600px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sglyL6zSxpY/TevPi7utsjI/AAAAAAAADP0/FofUU8s9hGg/s800/band%2Bthree.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5614809559503581746" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mvjCRfv-v7Q/TevPgKlNYdI/AAAAAAAADPs/KjYDw96-zU0/s1600/band%2Btwo.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 800px; height: 610px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mvjCRfv-v7Q/TevPgKlNYdI/AAAAAAAADPs/KjYDw96-zU0/s800/band%2Btwo.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5614809511950639570" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-8449763842289880338?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-38399753604363559102011-05-27T00:11:00.003-05:002011-05-27T00:16:57.873-05:00from Martin Scorsese's <span style="font-style: italic;">Taxi Driver </span>(1976)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DBbCFKMvTSk/Td8zH-ynoDI/AAAAAAAADOQ/92ROUb8Ciho/s1600/taxi%2Bdriver.png"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 434px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DBbCFKMvTSk/Td8zH-ynoDI/AAAAAAAADOQ/92ROUb8Ciho/s800/taxi%2Bdriver.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5611259872934338610" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-3839975360436355910?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-45703394883540665032011-05-25T22:15:00.003-05:002011-05-25T22:20:05.465-05:00from Andy Warhol's <span style="font-style: italic;">My Hustler </span>(1965) and <span style="font-style: italic;">Hedy </span>(1966)<br />Austin Film Society's Warhol retrospective<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LJHI9YdIwvk/Td3GivNnK3I/AAAAAAAADOI/ofdqFRFsmRs/s1600/my%2Bhustler.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 606px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LJHI9YdIwvk/Td3GivNnK3I/AAAAAAAADOI/ofdqFRFsmRs/s800/my%2Bhustler.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5610859010864917362" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-w8IYsA4NZQc/Td3GduGh28I/AAAAAAAADOA/mU2SGlu5n1w/s1600/hedy.png"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 586px; height: 416px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-w8IYsA4NZQc/Td3GduGh28I/AAAAAAAADOA/mU2SGlu5n1w/s800/hedy.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5610858924667427778" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-4570339488354066503?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-84610526838209376182011-05-17T13:41:00.004-05:002011-05-17T13:43:19.681-05:00from Brian De Palma's<span style="font-style: italic;"> Carrie </span>(1976)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LnaUAX96RD8/TdLBfccIxYI/AAAAAAAADNw/utOuk0YvYW4/s1600/carrie%2Bagain.png"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 426px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LnaUAX96RD8/TdLBfccIxYI/AAAAAAAADNw/utOuk0YvYW4/s800/carrie%2Bagain.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607757231984002434" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-miimbUuLl68/TdLBbBCbjpI/AAAAAAAADNo/EbHHKYJ-yq8/s1600/carrie.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 434px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-miimbUuLl68/TdLBbBCbjpI/AAAAAAAADNo/EbHHKYJ-yq8/s800/carrie.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607757155908947602" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-8461052683820937618?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-71069574536111715052011-05-15T22:53:00.002-05:002011-05-15T22:56:01.694-05:00from Lau Kar-Leung's<span style="font-style: italic;"> Return to the 36th Chamber </span>(1980)<br />Austin Film Society's Chinese Martial Arts series<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-X-Taap3piWc/TdCgMIhyI0I/AAAAAAAADNg/TN--AoRSfmE/s1600/chamber.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 600px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-X-Taap3piWc/TdCgMIhyI0I/AAAAAAAADNg/TN--AoRSfmE/s800/chamber.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607157666384323394" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-7106957453611171505?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-63119688451209704202011-05-11T00:04:00.001-05:002011-05-11T00:06:59.164-05:00from Alan J. Pakula's<span style="font-style: italic;"> All the President's Men </span>(1976)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Vczw-8KHoFM/TcoZNNRtE0I/AAAAAAAADMo/PS4sCkDDbZc/s1600/presidente%2527s%2Bmen.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 566px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Vczw-8KHoFM/TcoZNNRtE0I/AAAAAAAADMo/PS4sCkDDbZc/s800/presidente%2527s%2Bmen.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5605320400908915522" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-6311968845120970420?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-43152274240531209962011-05-09T14:32:00.003-05:002011-05-09T14:34:20.054-05:00from Paul Morrissey &amp; Andy Warhol's <span style="font-style: italic;">The Chelsea Girls </span>(1966)<br />Austin Film Society's Warhol retrospective<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AmpzNdNuFpI/TchBjPniR1I/AAAAAAAADMg/ygpGnjIbSyA/s1600/chelsea%2Bgirls.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 304px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AmpzNdNuFpI/TchBjPniR1I/AAAAAAAADMg/ygpGnjIbSyA/s800/chelsea%2Bgirls.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5604801810006165330" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-4315227424053120996?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-45715025835756858562011-04-29T12:26:00.004-05:002011-04-29T12:31:21.157-05:00from Elaine May's <span style="font-style: italic;">Mikey &amp; Nicky </span>(1976) <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8GY0sm1qrbc/Tbr1Zxs7KQI/AAAAAAAADLY/60JTKkWPF9o/s1600/mikey%2Bnicky.png"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 800px; height: 450px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8GY0sm1qrbc/Tbr1Zxs7KQI/AAAAAAAADLY/60JTKkWPF9o/s800/mikey%2Bnicky.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5601058909775931650" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JPtpxfsF_nY/Tbr1O1vfsZI/AAAAAAAADLQ/9wCkrxRoCGI/s1600/mikey.png"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 800px; height: 440px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JPtpxfsF_nY/Tbr1O1vfsZI/AAAAAAAADLQ/9wCkrxRoCGI/s800/mikey.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5601058721881895314" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-o0t4I6cgKDw/Tbr1F2o2byI/AAAAAAAADLI/tNTdV5yLxxc/s1600/mikeyandnicky.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 440px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-o0t4I6cgKDw/Tbr1F2o2byI/AAAAAAAADLI/tNTdV5yLxxc/s800/mikeyandnicky.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5601058567503638306" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-4571502583575685856?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-4073125589032090842011-04-26T22:36:00.003-05:002011-04-26T22:56:14.272-05:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Asj_S_CEMYw/TbeTf9cqC0I/AAAAAAAADLA/Rom6sxpoyxY/s1600/sept%2B11.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 424px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Asj_S_CEMYw/TbeTf9cqC0I/AAAAAAAADLA/Rom6sxpoyxY/s800/sept%2B11.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5600106838938487618" border="0" /></a><br />An image from Shohei Imamura's segment of the anthology film <span style="font-style: italic;">September 11</span> (2002), a hit-and-miss collection of 11 short films made by 11 prominent directors from 11 countries, given an 11-minute, nine-second, and one-frame time limit to respond to the events of September 11. Both an intriguing premise and a silly gimmick, <span style="font-style: italic;">September 11 </span>is worth seeing just to get a sense of 9/11 as interpreted by mostly non-American sensibilities. Unfortunately, the American segment of the film, directed by Sean Penn, is the film's and Penn's worst effort. Here's the full lineup of directors and countries:<br />Youssef Chahine (Egypt)<br />Amos Gitai (Israel)<br />Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu (Mexico)<br />Shohei Imamura (Japan)<br />Claude Lelouch (France)<br />Ken Loach (United Kingdom)<br />Samira Makhmalbaf (Iran)<br />Mira Nair (India)<br />Idrissa Ouedraogo (Burkina Faso)<br />Sean Penn (U.S.)<br />Danis Tanovic (Bosnia-Herzegovina)<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-407312558903209084?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-24088165796152786172011-04-21T00:53:00.003-05:002011-04-21T00:55:50.230-05:00from Sidney Lumet's <span style="font-style: italic;">Network </span>(1976) <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Rfar9nAeem4/Ta_GklBoKZI/AAAAAAAADK4/U5T8TZWiSEs/s1600/network%2Bholden.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 450px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Rfar9nAeem4/Ta_GklBoKZI/AAAAAAAADK4/U5T8TZWiSEs/s800/network%2Bholden.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5597911193561344402" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mTD8Ogw5814/Ta_Gh6sd9FI/AAAAAAAADKw/xwdICkswy9I/s1600/network%2Bfinch.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 450px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mTD8Ogw5814/Ta_Gh6sd9FI/AAAAAAAADKw/xwdICkswy9I/s800/network%2Bfinch.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5597911147838567506" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4PsmI9hPee4/Ta_GfNk9fpI/AAAAAAAADKo/AxUETQ9HoY0/s1600/network%2Bdunaway.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 450px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4PsmI9hPee4/Ta_GfNk9fpI/AAAAAAAADKo/AxUETQ9HoY0/s800/network%2Bdunaway.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5597911101367746194" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-2408816579615278617?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-11183240696721989722011-04-18T17:11:00.003-05:002011-04-18T17:15:27.949-05:00from Quentin Tarantino's<span style="font-style: italic;"> Kill Bill: Vol. 1 </span>(2003)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ylK1ggjpJxs/Tay3odHix8I/AAAAAAAADKg/0QLxFHXYpNc/s1600/12_kill_bill_vol_1_blu-ray.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 800px; height: 332px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ylK1ggjpJxs/Tay3odHix8I/AAAAAAAADKg/0QLxFHXYpNc/s800/12_kill_bill_vol_1_blu-ray.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5597050342553601986" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-1118324069672198972?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-76479534464657887762011-04-12T01:58:00.003-05:002011-04-12T02:44:36.430-05:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1zlWnMhtBx8/TaP4ixpSJsI/AAAAAAAADJQ/EXhTPfmSAzc/s1600/lumet071001_560.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 536px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1zlWnMhtBx8/TaP4ixpSJsI/AAAAAAAADJQ/EXhTPfmSAzc/s800/lumet071001_560.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5594588438450022082" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I forgot to write Elizabeth Taylor and Farley Granger posts, so here's my Sidney Lumet tribute before he's too dead to bother.<br />One of the last active American filmmakers who began his career in the 1950s is gone. Lumet was never in my top tier of favorite directors, possibly because he was more of a studio craftsman than the obsessively personal filmmakers I'm drawn toward. He made some bad movies, and he wasn't the most visually distinctive director, with some notable exceptions. He <span style="font-style: italic;">was</span> a great storyteller and director of actors, enthusiastic, youthful, not pretentious, sharp, interested in people. His best films, though, were personal and visually distinctive, in addition to their other virtues. <span style="font-style: italic;">Dog Day Afternoon</span> is one of the finest films of the 1970s and one of the best movies about America and American desperation. Even in Lumet movies I find lacking, great moments poke through. <span style="font-style: italic;">Running on Empty </span>has a certain ordinariness to it that can sometimes push it toward TV movie territory, but the teenage romance between River Phoenix and Martha Plimpton is sweetly honest and affecting. Lumet just watches them and lets it happen without condescending to the characters or the audience. Treat Williams gives a hysterically overblown performance in <span style="font-style: italic;">Prince of the City</span>, but Lumet manages to create a chilly atmosphere of pervasive corruption and paranoid fear and matches that emotional geography with a compatibly physical one. Jerry Orbach's very good in that movie when he's not ducking Williams' scenery-chewing. I also like that Lumet went out on a high note with two of his most critically acclaimed movies after a long string of mediocre ones: <span style="font-style: italic;">Find Me Guilty </span>and <span style="font-style: italic;">Before the Devil Knows You're Dead</span>. The penultimate film was a commercial flop, but his last movie put him back in the spotlight.<br />Recommended:<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">12 Angry Men </span>(1957)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Serpico </span>(1973)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Dog Day Afternoon </span>(1975)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Network </span>(1976)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The Verdict </span>(1982)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Before the Devil Knows You're Dead </span>(2007)<br /><br />Recommended, with reservations or for nostalgic purposes only:<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The Wiz </span>(1978)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Prince of the City </span>(1981)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Running on Empty </span>(1988)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Guilty as Sin </span>(1993)<br /><br />I need to catch up with some of his other films. He made a lot.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-7647953446465788776?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-14859055854233647882011-04-05T22:54:00.002-05:002011-04-05T22:57:07.420-05:00from Alfred Hitchcock's<span style="font-style: italic;"> Family Plot </span>(1976)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wXMp9Q70zug/TZvkXonIsbI/AAAAAAAADJI/uyrVJlZF93o/s1600/Family%2BPlot.png"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 450px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wXMp9Q70zug/TZvkXonIsbI/AAAAAAAADJI/uyrVJlZF93o/s800/Family%2BPlot.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5592314457000292786" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-1485905585423364788?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-76382947760432544712011-04-03T14:22:00.007-05:002011-04-03T14:34:21.672-05:00from Andy Warhol's <span style="font-style: italic;">Mario Banana #1 </span>(1964), <span style="font-style: italic;">Mario Banana #2 </span>(1964), <span style="font-style: italic;">Blow Job </span>(1964), <span style="font-style: italic;">Poor Little Rich Girl </span>(1965), and <span style="font-style: italic;">Outer and Inner Space </span>(1966)<br />Austin Film Society's Warhol retrospective<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UXd5NoaesSg/TZjLN0PfipI/AAAAAAAADJA/-Rck0zdUx9o/s1600/mario%2Bbanana%2B1.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 598px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UXd5NoaesSg/TZjLN0PfipI/AAAAAAAADJA/-Rck0zdUx9o/s800/mario%2Bbanana%2B1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591442375602834066" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HIHltRisByY/TZjLLOmZS9I/AAAAAAAADI4/lBBRYX46fa4/s1600/mario%2Bbanana%2B2.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 606px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HIHltRisByY/TZjLLOmZS9I/AAAAAAAADI4/lBBRYX46fa4/s800/mario%2Bbanana%2B2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591442331138608082" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6fDGS4dTLVE/TZjLGrFT24I/AAAAAAAADIw/tDRfI8dyvdI/s1600/Warhol_Blow_Job.gif"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 604px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6fDGS4dTLVE/TZjLGrFT24I/AAAAAAAADIw/tDRfI8dyvdI/s800/Warhol_Blow_Job.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591442252885121922" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qJUjaTVWbvY/TZjK2hL3WyI/AAAAAAAADIo/kIw5gUZuQPI/s1600/poor%2Blittle%2Brich%2Bgirl.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 504px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qJUjaTVWbvY/TZjK2hL3WyI/AAAAAAAADIo/kIw5gUZuQPI/s800/poor%2Blittle%2Brich%2Bgirl.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591441975350352674" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-07sGMVfghgI/TZjKzDxUESI/AAAAAAAADIg/HTXhcDXTyUw/s1600/pail186-3101.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 274px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-07sGMVfghgI/TZjKzDxUESI/AAAAAAAADIg/HTXhcDXTyUw/s800/pail186-3101.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591441915914752290" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-7638294776043254471?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-62027837155010004942011-03-30T21:57:00.003-05:002011-04-01T00:38:53.768-05:00from Bruce Conner's <span style="font-style: italic;">Take the 5:10 to Dreamland </span>(1976)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XrlV_DYyzLg/TZPtye6XKkI/AAAAAAAADHo/sbTxElbXDZY/s1600/dreamland.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 604px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XrlV_DYyzLg/TZPtye6XKkI/AAAAAAAADHo/sbTxElbXDZY/s800/dreamland.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5590073014044011074" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-6202783715501000494?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-84018548640685009932011-03-29T12:09:00.002-05:002011-03-29T12:20:09.218-05:00from Joel &amp; Ethan Coen's <span style="font-style: italic;">Intolerable Cruelty </span>(2003)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dyX0h1fhDZA/TZIUiATbWSI/AAAAAAAADHg/veZdkE1yCcc/s1600/2003_intolerable_cruelty_018.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 532px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dyX0h1fhDZA/TZIUiATbWSI/AAAAAAAADHg/veZdkE1yCcc/s800/2003_intolerable_cruelty_018.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589552661949798690" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-8401854864068500993?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-29044866639251677932011-03-24T19:12:00.007-05:002011-03-24T19:26:11.020-05:00from John Cassavetes' <span style="font-style:italic;">The Killing of a Chinese Bookie</span> (1976)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1VgKIdXlsME/TYvgtfYTmRI/AAAAAAAADHY/KMxEHbsogtc/s1600/bookie%2B2.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 800px; height: 428px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1VgKIdXlsME/TYvgtfYTmRI/AAAAAAAADHY/KMxEHbsogtc/s800/bookie%2B2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587806834805414162" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-l5XipUHjDH4/TYvgrK9miPI/AAAAAAAADHQ/wdXpCa60cZM/s1600/bookie%2B3.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 800px; height: 436px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-l5XipUHjDH4/TYvgrK9miPI/AAAAAAAADHQ/wdXpCa60cZM/s800/bookie%2B3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587806794964961522" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-l3Ix4RnWQn4/TYvetr8N3bI/AAAAAAAADG4/3-2sF1efSs4/s1600/bookie.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 450px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-l3Ix4RnWQn4/TYvetr8N3bI/AAAAAAAADG4/3-2sF1efSs4/s800/bookie.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587804639154003378" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-2904486663925167793?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-87317501027718124332011-03-23T01:59:00.003-05:002011-03-23T02:07:04.636-05:00from Takashi Miike's<span style="font-style: italic;"> Ichi the Killer </span>(2001)<br />Midnight screening at the Alamo Drafthouse<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-I5FOzivkksQ/TYmbzvmC9EI/AAAAAAAADGw/xuNkHWxETxw/s1600/ichi%2Bthe%2Bkiller.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 800px; height: 450px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-I5FOzivkksQ/TYmbzvmC9EI/AAAAAAAADGw/xuNkHWxETxw/s800/ichi%2Bthe%2Bkiller.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587168125981488194" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-8731750102771812433?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-28494536610952103392011-03-14T12:19:00.001-05:002011-03-14T12:21:37.593-05:00from John Carpenter's <span style="font-style: italic;">Assault on Precinct 13 </span>(1976)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ceXtELc8QTI/TX5OZUfg5iI/AAAAAAAADF4/rrrc4oEHhNs/s1600/precinct.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 350px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ceXtELc8QTI/TX5OZUfg5iI/AAAAAAAADF4/rrrc4oEHhNs/s800/precinct.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583986784890578466" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-2849453661095210339?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-79259066652737802692011-03-11T11:31:00.003-06:002011-03-11T11:48:34.638-06:00from Richard Linklater's <span style="font-style: italic;">The School of Rock </span>(2003)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EcqgqaNpD0g/TXpgSmKjCQI/AAAAAAAADFw/mNAlZx32qPs/s1600/silverman_03.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 800px; height: 528px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EcqgqaNpD0g/TXpgSmKjCQI/AAAAAAAADFw/mNAlZx32qPs/s800/silverman_03.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5582880560677849346" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-7925906665273780269?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-86630783294648569612011-03-06T01:52:00.003-06:002011-03-06T01:58:19.688-06:00from Robert Altman's <span style="font-style: italic;">Buffalo Bill and the Indians, or Sitting Bull's History Lesson </span>(1976)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5Tfbvqbamug/TXM9-vOzxUI/AAAAAAAADFQ/iTIex1QbES8/s1600/buffalo%2Bbill.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 524px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5Tfbvqbamug/TXM9-vOzxUI/AAAAAAAADFQ/iTIex1QbES8/s800/buffalo%2Bbill.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5580872511281939778" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-8663078329464856961?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-53951399971231172512011-02-28T19:26:00.002-06:002011-02-28T19:31:37.403-06:00from Sofia Coppola's <span style="font-style: italic;">Lost in Translation </span>(2003)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-S573KLg7D2E/TWxMPje3V6I/AAAAAAAADEQ/NfLcgkJv4dg/s1600/lost%2Bin%2Btranslation.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 526px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-S573KLg7D2E/TWxMPje3V6I/AAAAAAAADEQ/NfLcgkJv4dg/s800/lost%2Bin%2Btranslation.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5578917868511647650" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-5395139997123117251?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-63443021802224072722011-02-20T21:34:00.004-06:002011-02-20T22:26:15.517-06:00from Steven Spielberg's<span style="font-style: italic;"> Jaws </span>(1975)<br />A distinctly American, character-driven, personal film whose massive success helped end the era of widely distributed distinctly American, character-driven, personal films, eventually leading to the current era of generically American, computer-driven, impersonal films. Is it unfair to blame Spielberg and George Lucas? Maybe. We can blame Nirvana for Silverchair and Candlebox, but it's worth pointing out that Kurt Cobain used his success to turn small-town kids like me on to The Raincoats, Melvins, early Meat Puppets, Daniel Johnston, Mudhoney, Flipper, Wipers, and Beat Happening, while Spielberg produced both <span style="font-style: italic;">Transformers </span>movies for Michael Bay and convinced the media into anointing him a super-saint just for making <span style="font-style: italic;">Schindler's List</span>, a good but flawed movie that mainstream culture gatekeepers perversely mutated into something far more important than the Holocaust itself. The popular media turned Spielberg into Schindler, and the Holocaust into entertainment that made us feel good about ourselves. Spielberg also made facile, childish overpraised pieces of shit like <span style="font-style: italic;">The Color Purple</span>, <span style="font-style: italic;">Saving Private Ryan</span>, and <span style="font-style: italic;">Munich</span> that show a major director thinking serious subject matter is the same thing as serious thought and proving that it sure as fuck isn't. George Lucas? Two words: Jar-Jar Binks. On the other hand, Kurt Cobain was a rich, paranoid, unpleasant junkie who blew his head off even though he had a young daughter, while Spielberg's supposed kiddie entertainments (<span style="font-style: italic;">Jaws</span>, <span style="font-style: italic;">Close Encounters</span>, <span style="font-style: italic;">Raiders of the Lost Ark</span>, <span style="font-style: italic;">E.T.</span>) reveal a rich, unique talent and are far more serious than his empty-headed big-issue Oscar-bait movies. He also made the wild, underrated mess <span style="font-style: italic;">1941</span> and the underrated, misunderstood Kubrick collaboration, <span style="font-style: italic;">A.I.</span>, which I consider a truly great movie and Spielberg's one true masterpiece. I think the ending has been misinterpreted as Spielberg cheese when it's really one of the bleakest, darkest, most fucked-up endings I've ever seen. He didn't inherit the film from Kubrick, as has been misreported too often. Both men methodically planned the film together for more than a decade, with Kubrick deciding Spielberg should direct early in the process. I'm getting away from my point, though. I keep meaning to write about <span style="font-style: italic;">A.I. </span>since it's one of the only Spielberg films I love without much reservation, but that's not my point here. What's my point? That life is complicated, and that <span style="font-style: italic;">Jaws </span>is a prime example of 1970s American film while also setting a template for the 1980s blockbuster, which set the template for our current mainstream cinema, which looks like what happens when an Old Navy catalog has an epileptic seizure during a commercial for the U.S. Army, and it lasts two and a half hours.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-k908GemmUCI/TWHdV9VhosI/AAAAAAAADEA/k4K-PdOs9Hg/s1600/jaws.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 344px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-k908GemmUCI/TWHdV9VhosI/AAAAAAAADEA/k4K-PdOs9Hg/s800/jaws.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5575981182973223618" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-6344302180222407272?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-39370004995697082372011-02-15T23:17:00.003-06:002011-03-07T00:12:14.807-06:00from Shari Springer Berman &amp; Robert Pulcini's <span style="font-style: italic;">American Splendor </span>(2003)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gqBUD9QXUkg/TVteCLm5ZmI/AAAAAAAADDw/OHSTP6ugdhI/s1600/am%2Bsplend.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 502px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gqBUD9QXUkg/TVteCLm5ZmI/AAAAAAAADDw/OHSTP6ugdhI/s800/am%2Bsplend.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574152355369805410" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-3937000499569708237?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-59346882157876931102011-02-07T22:59:00.003-06:002011-02-07T23:01:38.424-06:00from Frank Perry's <span style="font-style: italic;">Rancho Deluxe </span>(1975)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TVDNxuP4QvI/AAAAAAAADC4/7bOD4hU5o34/s1600/rancho%2Bdeluxe.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 440px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TVDNxuP4QvI/AAAAAAAADC4/7bOD4hU5o34/s800/rancho%2Bdeluxe.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571178993169220338" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-5934688215787693110?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-75792767545427787262011-02-06T13:14:00.004-06:002011-02-06T13:23:21.059-06:00R.I.P. to Tura Satana, star of Russ Meyer's<span style="font-style: italic;"> Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill! </span>and ex-girlfriend of Elvis Presley. I was fortunate enough to see her in person at an outdoor screening of the Russ Meyer film in Austin six or seven years ago and hear her speak about making that film and dating Elvis.<br />A belated R.I.P. to Maria Schneider, most famous for playing opposite Marlon Brando in Bertolucci's <span style="font-style: italic;">Last Tango in Paris</span>, but also an underrated presence in many other films, including Antonioni's <span style="font-style: italic;">The Passenger </span>and Collard's <span style="font-style: italic;">Savage Nights</span>.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TU701vtwRaI/AAAAAAAADCw/eNnMpj_JB9U/s1600/tura%2Bsatana.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 426px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TU701vtwRaI/AAAAAAAADCw/eNnMpj_JB9U/s800/tura%2Bsatana.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5570658993282500002" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TU70yDMWZzI/AAAAAAAADCo/35WZGe1Hr_Y/s1600/thepassenger_screenshot1.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 466px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TU70yDMWZzI/AAAAAAAADCo/35WZGe1Hr_Y/s800/thepassenger_screenshot1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5570658929791625010" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-7579276754542778726?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-9915737151989434462011-02-03T12:28:00.002-06:002011-02-03T12:29:56.406-06:00from Seijun Suzuki's <span style="font-style: italic;">Pistol Opera </span>(2001)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TUrz4bA0FNI/AAAAAAAADCg/fx_hbncfi9w/s1600/pistol%2Bopera.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 600px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TUrz4bA0FNI/AAAAAAAADCg/fx_hbncfi9w/s800/pistol%2Bopera.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5569532039846434002" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-991573715198943446?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-32224145520427176992011-01-26T16:25:00.001-06:002011-01-26T16:25:55.783-06:00from Arthur Penn's<span style="font-style: italic;"> Night Moves </span>(1975)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TUCe0sTGKzI/AAAAAAAADBk/uBw54I0l2rU/s1600/night%2Bmoves.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 446px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TUCe0sTGKzI/AAAAAAAADBk/uBw54I0l2rU/s800/night%2Bmoves.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5566623767511575346" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-3222414552042717699?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-14550850910144466712011-01-10T16:27:00.006-06:002011-01-10T16:55:07.104-06:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TSuM928KF7I/AAAAAAAADAM/6imuLneKEEw/s1600/eddie%2Bcoyle%2B3.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 800px; height: 434px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TSuM928KF7I/AAAAAAAADAM/6imuLneKEEw/s800/eddie%2Bcoyle%2B3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5560693159266752434" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TSuMaVJUmeI/AAAAAAAAC_8/2Mhfg9_5BIU/s1600/eddie%2Bcoyle%2Bposter.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 263px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TSuMaVJUmeI/AAAAAAAAC_8/2Mhfg9_5BIU/s400/eddie%2Bcoyle%2Bposter.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5560692548899740130" border="0" /></a><br />British director Peter Yates died yesterday at the age of 81. He took on a lot of projects as a director-for-hire, but he had a great eye for the landscape of American towns and cities and his best films combined that eye with rich characters and storytelling. He's probably most famous for creating one of the best car chases in film history in 1968's<span style="font-style: italic;"> Bullitt</span>, starring Steve McQueen. It's a good movie, and a great car chase, but my two favorite Yates films are 1979's <span style="font-style: italic;">Breaking Away</span>, a comedy/drama about four working-class friends (Dennis Christopher, Dennis Quaid, Daniel Stern, and Jackie Earle Haley) drifting through the post-high school years in their hometown of Bloomington, Indiana, a college town where the divide between the students and the townies is sharp, and 1973's <span style="font-style: italic;">The Friends of Eddie Coyle</span>. The latter is my favorite Yates film, a dark modern noir starring Robert Mitchum, Peter Boyle, and Richard Jordan. It's a bleak, tough, sad, lyrical crime film that makes excellent use of its Boston location. If you're a Robert Mitchum fan and you haven't seen it yet, rent it now. Hilariously, Yates also directed <span style="font-style: italic;">Krull</span>.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TSuMhfu1HPI/AAAAAAAADAE/b9BKtOoSkMk/s1600/breaking%2Baway.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 386px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TSuMhfu1HPI/AAAAAAAADAE/b9BKtOoSkMk/s800/breaking%2Baway.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5560692672000498930" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-1455085091014446671?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-22002897179840240572011-01-04T15:26:00.008-06:002011-01-04T18:20:08.750-06:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TSOxTF0xonI/AAAAAAAAC_M/e4CbAVOqPY0/s1600/wild%2Bgrass.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 340px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TSOxTF0xonI/AAAAAAAAC_M/e4CbAVOqPY0/s800/wild%2Bgrass.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558481306644488818" border="0" /></a><br />It's fitting that the first movie I saw on a big screen this year was Chris Smith's (<span style="font-style: italic;">American Movie</span>) Errol Morris-style documentary <span style="font-style: italic;">Collapse</span>. The film is a stylized interview with investigative journalist and former police officer Michael Ruppert. Ruppert is an arrogant, unpleasant man who nevertheless has some frighteningly believable scenarios for what the future will be like when we run out of oil. It was a portent of my year.<br />I didn't watch as many movies this year as I usually do, and I didn't go to the movie theater as much. I don't know if this says anything about the current art of film or the state of culture consumption and technology, but it does say something about me. I do know that I was (still am) depressed for most of the year. The last three years have brought an onslaught of deaths in the family, difficulties finding a job, anxiety, stress, anger, a fresh round of baggage about my parents' divorce, and a problem being around crowds of people. When you're sad and full of rage, a trip to the theater is not high on the list of priorities. I threw most of my free time this year into playing and listening to music, watching television series (<span style="font-style: italic;">The Wire</span>, <span style="font-style: italic;">The Sopranos</span>, <span style="font-style: italic;">Flight of the Conchords</span>, <span style="font-style: italic;">Eastbound &amp; Down</span>), reading, writing, applying to grad schools, and the time-consuming inertial void of depression (sleeping, catatonic near-sleeping, aches, pains, more sleeping, blank staring, counseling sessions, eating, more eating, drinking, sleeping).<br />When I dragged myself to the theater, I didn't see as much stuff that excited me. Some of this can be attributed to my own lack of enthusiasm, but it was kind of a slow movie year. Not a terrible movie year, just a slow one. I say this with the caveat that it was a slow year for my particular city among the choices available that appealed to my particular taste and also taking into account the many titles I was interested in seeing but missed and the many, many, many titles every year that don't get decent distribution at all. This latter group is increasing exponentially every year, which is a frightening development. Want to see the last four or five Takeshi Kitano or Claire Denis or Abel Ferrara or Abbas Kiarostami films on a big screen or on video in a U.S. city? Tough shit. (Although the last two Denis films and latest Kiarostami movie may actually open wider here this year, so that's a small piece of good news.)<br />Other unfortunate events this movie year include the conviction and sentence of Iranian filmmaker Jafar Panahi. Accused of planning to make a film critical of the current regime, Panahi was imprisoned without charge earlier this year. At year's end, Panahi was sentenced to six years in prison and banned from filmmaking for twenty years. The twenty-year ban also includes the stipulations that Panahi can't leave the country or talk to the press. Panahi is one of the greatest contemporary filmmakers, and I strongly recommend his films <span style="font-style: italic;">The White Balloon</span>, <span style="font-style: italic;">The Mirror</span>, <span style="font-style: italic;">The Circle</span>, <span style="font-style: italic;">Crimson Gold</span>, and <span style="font-style: italic;">Offside</span>. It will be a long time before we get to see another one.<br />The Grim Reaper was a real jerk-off in 2010 in all the arts, not just film. It was a regular dirtnap orgy this year. Beginning with Vic Chesnutt's suicide at the end of 2009, the year has seen an insane amount of my favorite artists dying. Rowland S. Howard, Barry Hannah, Mark Linkous, Alex Chilton, Pete Quaife, Rammellzee, Garry Shider, Catfish Collins, Harvey Pekar, Andy Hummel, Ben Keith, John Callahan, Ari Up, Gregory Isaacs, Peter Christopherson, and last but in no way least, Captain Beefheart. The film world was no less brutal, but at least most of its losses were old men, even though many of those old men were still making good films. 2010's notable losses included Eric Rohmer, Dennis Hopper, Bruno S., Claude Chabrol, Kevin McCarthy, Arthur Penn, Sally Menke, Tony Curtis, Gloria Stuart, and Blake Edwards.<br />But enough doom and gloom. Here are the movies I saw this year in some kind of preferential ranking, broken down into contemporary releases and film society and revival screenings, as well as the disappointments of the year. Every film in my top 10, with the exception of the top three, has at least one major, embarrassing flaw, but that's what makes art so damn interesting. You want perfect, go to Pottery Barn.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TSOxgSukQeI/AAAAAAAAC_U/G9WZRsKcpF4/s1600/life%2Bduring%2Bwartime.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 700px; height: 444px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TSOxgSukQeI/AAAAAAAAC_U/G9WZRsKcpF4/s800/life%2Bduring%2Bwartime.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558481533446406626" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">My Top 10</span><br />1. Wild Grass (Alain Resnais)<br />I think I like Resnais the old man better than Resnais the young genius. This film plays like a <span style="font-style: italic;">Mulholland Drive</span>/<span style="font-style: italic;">Curb Your Enthusiasm</span>/<span style="font-style: italic;">Brief Encounter</span> hybrid filtered through 60 years of classic European filmmaking.<br />2. Life During Wartime (Todd Solondz)<br />Criminally ignored, with lukewarm reviews, but this sort-of-sequel to <span style="font-style: italic;">Happiness</span> with different actors playing the old parts was tough, sad, funny, angry, formally inventive, and full of passion. It's a shame that his later films keep getting ignored when they're deeper and richer than his earlier work, though not quite as immediately appealing. Solondz is one of the few current filmmakers with Fassbinder's ability to create works that are simultaneously sadistic and cruel and empathetic and kind. How does he do it without canceling anything out?<br />3. The White Ribbon (Michael Haneke)<br />4. The Ghost Writer (Roman Polanski)<br />5. True Grit (Joel &amp; Ethan Coen)<br />6. Greenberg (Noah Baumbach)<br />7. Mother (Bong Joon-Ho)<br />8. Black Swan (Darren Aronofsky)<br />9. The Imaginarium of Dr. Parnassus (Terry Gilliam)<br />10. My Son, My Son, What Have Ye Done (Werner Herzog)<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Honorable mentions</span><br />Collapse (Chris Smith)<br />Shutter Island (Martin Scorsese)<br />Survival of the Dead (George A. Romero)<br />The Killer Inside Me (Michael Winterbottom)<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Major disappointments</span><br />Alice in Wonderland (Tim Burton)<br />Burton is past his heyday (<span style="font-style: italic;">Pee-Wee's Big Adventure</span>, <span style="font-style: italic;">Edward Scissorhands</span>, <span style="font-style: italic;">Ed Wood</span>), but I generally like his later work a lot more than most of my friends do, probably because he's never been one of my favorite filmmakers, just a guy whose films I like to watch. Still, this is an unfocused disaster, his worst since <span style="font-style: italic;">Planet of the Apes</span>. I'll spare you the conclusion. It's twenty minutes of CGI swordfights with a giant dragon followed by Johnny Depp CGI-dancing to new jack swing. Conceived in 2D, the film was retrofitted for 3D shortly before release. The pointless conversion is dim and dreary. I felt like vomiting, and my wife had a headache for the rest of the day. 3D can blow me in hell forever.<br /><br />It's Kind of a Funny Story (Anna Boden &amp; Ryan Fleck)<br />The team of Boden and Fleck made two of the strongest, cliche-free dramas of recent years (<span style="font-style: italic;">Half Nelson</span>, <span style="font-style: italic;">Sugar</span>), but this adaptation of a young adult novel set in a mental hospital made me sad by embracing every teen-movie and inspirational outsider cliche in sight and by being much less visually interesting than their previous work. I would have loved this movie when I was 14, but I'm not 14. Zach Galifiniakis brings a lot of shading and nuance to his character of a depressed guy in his late thirties who can't find a job (sounds familiar), but he's the supporting role. The main character is a rich kid who freaks out because he's under scholarship and school pressure, checks himself into the psych ward, and ends up bringing joy into all the patients' hearts and finding a smart, sweet girlfriend who's teen-depressed just like him. There are a lot of funny, strong scenes, but also a lot of cloying ones. (For example, rich kid gets another rich friend to find the record of Arabic music that the guy who won't leave his bed loves. They play the record, guy miraculously gets out of bed and dances, totally cured. What a crock of fucking lies.) I hope Boden and Fleck haven't decided to suck fake-indie teat forever and this will turn out to be some kind of anomaly in their filmography. I'm worried, yet hopeful.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TSOyMEq7CbI/AAAAAAAAC_c/608GTpJ-YKA/s1600/wild%2Briver.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 340px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TSOyMEq7CbI/AAAAAAAAC_c/608GTpJ-YKA/s800/wild%2Briver.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558482285587270066" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Top 10 Film Society and Revival Screenings</span><br />1. Wild River (Elia Kazan)<br />2. The Young Girls of Rochefort (Jacques Demy)<br />3. All That Jazz (Bob Fosse)<br />4. The Prowler (Joseph Losey)<br />5. Oporto of My Childhood (Manoel de Oliveira)<br />6. Jezebel (William Wyler)<br />7. Japanese Summer: Double Suicide (Nagisa Oshima)<br />8. Voyage to the Beginning of the World (Manoel de Oliveira)<br />9. Raging Bull (Martin Scorsese)<br />10. Cairo As Seen By Chahine (Youssef Chahine)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TSO4_F8hjVI/AAAAAAAAC_s/isC7uge2lrY/s1600/rochefort.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 540px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TSO4_F8hjVI/AAAAAAAAC_s/isC7uge2lrY/s800/rochefort.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558489759172627794" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Honorable mentions</span><br />Cairo Station (Youssef Chahine)<br />The Land (Youssef Chahine)<br />Empire of Passion (Nagisa Oshima)<br />The Pleasures of the Flesh (Nagisa Oshima)<br />The Desperate Hours (William Wyler)<br />Children of Nature (Fridrik Thor Fridriksson)<span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-weight: bold;">Minor Disappointment</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span></span>Three Monkeys (Nuri Bilge Ceylan)<span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span></span>Ceylan's <span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Climates </span></span>is one of my favorite recent films, so I was disappointed I found <span style="font-style: italic;">Three Monkeys </span>such an occasionally dreary slog. This downbeat, depressing noir thriller is well made, with a great cast and some stunningly beautiful landscape shots, but the story is at once overfamiliar and distancing and hopeless. I didn't want to spend any more time with these people once the credits rolled, and I was glad to leave the theater. Ceylan is such a talented filmmaker, however, that I still look forward to seeing his other work.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Home Video of the Year</span><br />Trash Humpers (Harmony Korine)<br />Korine makes people mad. They foam at the mouth, yelling that he's not an artist and his work is not art. I don't know why this conversation happens, and I'm not interested in it. I don't know why people just can't make their objections to the specific work in question rather than forcing themselves to take a stand on whether he's a fake, a sham, a phony, a charlatan. It's not that important. All artists are sincere and fake at the same time. Just like grocers, insurance agents, nannies, porn stars, pastry chefs, lion tamers, professional wrestlers, senators, and janitors. Who cares if he's conning you or really attempting to make something new or both? Who cares? I like Korine because I think he's funny and I think he finds images no one else has found and I like how he winds people up. His influences are perfect (Cassavetes, Herzog, Fassbinder, Hopper, gangsta rap, death metal, good indie rock, Appalachian folk songs, vaudeville, bad jokes, pranks, Keaton, Chaplin, Al Jolson, Milton Berle, barfights, celebrity impersonators, things we haven't seen yet). <span style="font-style: italic;">Trash Humpers </span>played theatrically in Austin for a brief few days, but I was out of town and missed it. I caught up to it as a rental at home, and that was probably the perfect way to see it. It was shot on VHS and is supposed to look like a crappy, dubbed VHS. I could get into a long-winded discourse on VHS/found object aesthetics, but instead I will just say that I so much enjoyed watching a group of people in weird, threatening latex old-man masks hump inanimate objects and break things while laughing, grunting, shouting idiotic catchphrases and singing faux-Appalachian murder ballads. Some of it dragged, some of it was brilliant. What dragged for me might be hilarious for you, and so on. I'm glad Korine exists. Who isn't a sham? What's left for us to do now but hump trash? Nothing else worked.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TSO2Sfbb3CI/AAAAAAAAC_k/_DaKeTkLl6U/s1600/TrashHumpers.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TSO2Sfbb3CI/AAAAAAAAC_k/_DaKeTkLl6U/s800/TrashHumpers.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558486793895795746" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-2200289717984024057?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-57138742666080231802010-12-17T12:22:00.003-06:002010-12-17T12:38:52.758-06:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TQuuEQn1oeI/AAAAAAAAC-A/iZ_T5dL8OqU/s1600/party.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 344px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TQuuEQn1oeI/AAAAAAAAC-A/iZ_T5dL8OqU/s800/party.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5551722353869038050" border="0" /></a><br />Blake Edwards died yesterday at 88. Edwards is most famous for directing <span style="font-style: italic;">The Pink Panther </span>franchise and <span style="font-style: italic;">Breakfast at Tiffany's</span>, but his career was long, interesting, and full of worthy detours. He made some pieces of junk, too, like any prolific director in the Hollywood system.<br />Three excellent, underrated Blake Edwards movies:<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The Party </span>(1968) Edwards' homage to French comic genius Jacques Tati, <span style="font-style: italic;">The Party </span>stars Peter Sellers as an Indian man working as an extra who is mistakenly invited to a Hollywood party after a clerical error.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">10 </span>(1979) Dudley Moore was a great pianist, a great filthy comedy partner to Peter Cook (as Derek and Clive), and a great comedic actor in his own right. This visually elegant comedy was a big hit at the time but doesn't get seen enough now. See it and mourn a time when mainstream Hollywood directors knew how to make a movie with timing and visual coherence.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The Tamarind Seed </span>(1974) An unfairly obscure, quietly lyrical espionage thriller starring Edwards' wife, Julie Andrews, and Omar Sharif. Edwards wasn't just good (and occasionally bad) at comedy.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-5713874266608023180?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-34165805982901450272010-10-28T21:39:00.002-05:002010-10-28T21:41:47.893-05:00from Larry Charles' underrated <span style="font-style: italic;">Masked and Anonymous </span>(2003)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TMo0DM34SyI/AAAAAAAAC74/kEcZaO8ggBE/s1600/2003_masked_and_anonymous_006.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 526px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TMo0DM34SyI/AAAAAAAAC74/kEcZaO8ggBE/s800/2003_masked_and_anonymous_006.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533292321777928994" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-3416580598290145027?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-14053977136553218282010-10-10T20:24:00.005-05:002010-10-10T20:44:04.427-05:00While I was dealing with a death in my own family, several notable film people passed away. Here's a belated tribute.<br /><br />Director Arthur Penn, 1922-2010<br />(image from <span style="font-style: italic;">Bonnie and Clyde </span>(1967))<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TLJoKYeellI/AAAAAAAAC6g/OuwDlIuE7fQ/s1600/bonnie+and+clyde.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 744px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TLJoKYeellI/AAAAAAAAC6g/OuwDlIuE7fQ/s800/bonnie+and+clyde.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5526594220315285074" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br />Editor Sally Menke, 1953-2010<br />She edited every Quentin Tarantino film.<br /><br /><object width="640" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Ts9_5331qOk?fs=1&amp;hl=en_US&amp;rel=0&amp;color1=0x3a3a3a&amp;color2=0x999999"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Ts9_5331qOk?fs=1&amp;hl=en_US&amp;rel=0&amp;color1=0x3a3a3a&amp;color2=0x999999" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="640" height="385"></embed></object><br /><br /><br />Actor Tony Curtis, 1925-2010<br />(image from <span style="font-style: italic;">Sweet Smell of Success </span>(1957))<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TLJqaH9hhII/AAAAAAAAC6o/6VbvXq4-aWM/s1600/sweet+smell.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 502px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TLJqaH9hhII/AAAAAAAAC6o/6VbvXq4-aWM/s800/sweet+smell.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5526596689783260290" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Actress Gloria Stuart, 1910-2010<br />(image from <span style="font-style: italic;">The Invisible Man </span>(1933))<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TLJrhL8xwgI/AAAAAAAAC6w/f7ZwD-sC_fE/s1600/invisibleman.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 800px; height: 558px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TLJrhL8xwgI/AAAAAAAAC6w/f7ZwD-sC_fE/s800/invisibleman.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5526597910624584194" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-1405397713655321828?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-86555268087033401062010-09-20T21:32:00.004-05:002010-09-20T21:53:22.024-05:00from Thomas McGuane's <span style="font-style: italic;">92 in the Shade </span>(1975)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TJgZ94dnFJI/AAAAAAAAC5o/moNEJLOWXW0/s1600/92b.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 700px; height: 504px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TJgZ94dnFJI/AAAAAAAAC5o/moNEJLOWXW0/s800/92b.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519189894261838994" border="0" /></a><br /><br />McGuane is a novelist and occasional screenwriter, but he only directed one movie and happily admits to not knowing what the hell he was doing. That's one reason why this film, adapted from his own novel, is so enjoyable. A seasoned veteran would have imposed some structure, order, and plot on this loping, meandering, loose, shaggy, hungover, messy collection of character actors fucking around in the Florida Keys, and we all know and agree that plot is as goddamn useless as a fish with titties, to paraphrase R. Kelly. The other reason this film is so enjoyable is that it stars Peter Fonda, Warren Oates, Harry Dean Stanton, Margot Kidder, Burgess Meredith, Sylvia Miles, William Hickey, and Joe Spinell. It's never been released on DVD, which is a crying shame. It's no masterpiece, but imperfections are underrated.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-8655526808703340106?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-18078319959111672052010-09-19T21:27:00.003-05:002010-09-19T21:32:06.278-05:00from Angela Christlieb &amp; Stephen Kijak's <span style="font-style: italic;">Cinemania </span>(2002)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TJbHUCg4YnI/AAAAAAAAC5Y/6iPGPTaTk-M/s1600/cinemania.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 640px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TJbHUCg4YnI/AAAAAAAAC5Y/6iPGPTaTk-M/s800/cinemania.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5518817540475216498" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-1807831995911167205?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-36819447629914290812010-09-12T22:47:00.007-05:002010-09-12T22:58:21.738-05:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TI2fghOJbJI/AAAAAAAAC4g/_8M5jj3Em40/s1600/kevin.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 348px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TI2fghOJbJI/AAAAAAAAC4g/_8M5jj3Em40/s400/kevin.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516240499621063826" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Another movie legend is dead. Actor Kevin McCarthy died yesterday at age 96.<br /><br />Recommended:<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Invasion of the Body Snatchers </span>(Don Siegel, 1956)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Buffalo Bill and the Indians, or Sitting Bull's History Lesson </span>(Robert Altman, 1976)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Piranha </span>(Joe Dante, 1978)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Invasion of the Body Snatchers </span>(Philip Kaufman, 1978)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The Howling </span>(Joe Dante, 1981)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Twilight Zone: The Movie </span>(Joe Dante's segment, 1983)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Innerspace </span>(Joe Dante, 1987)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">UHF </span>(Jay Levey, 1989)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Matinee </span>(Joe Dante, 1993)<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-3681944762991429081?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-68133035064847763912010-09-12T11:33:00.009-05:002010-09-12T12:14:14.029-05:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TI0GMctgSxI/AAAAAAAAC3s/-dYsiWf9qCg/s1600/Chabrol-02.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 331px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TI0GMctgSxI/AAAAAAAAC3s/-dYsiWf9qCg/s400/Chabrol-02.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516071929533975314" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />One of the greatest filmmakers in the world died today. Claude Chabrol began his career as a critic for the film magazine, <span style="font-style: italic;">Cahiers du Cinema</span>, alongside his contemporaries Jean-Luc Godard, Jacques Rivette, Francois Truffaut, Jean-Pierre Melville, Agnes Varda, Eric Rohmer, Alain Resnais, Luc Moullet, Bertrand Tavernier, and Jacques Demy. These critics all became pioneering filmmakers of the French New Wave in the late 1950s/early 1960s (except Tavernier, who didn't start making movies until the 1970s). Chabrol specialized in offbeat crime and/or psychological thrillers and was often compared to Hitchcock, though his style was clearly his own. He made at least four of my favorite films, and several others I can easily recommend.<br />The masterpieces, from the top:<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Les bonnes femmes </span>(1960)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Le boucher </span>(1970)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">La rupture </span>(1970)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">La ceremonie </span>(1995)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TI0G8zVjuUI/AAAAAAAAC30/M7RXRIym36g/s1600/les+bonnes+femmes.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 800px; height: 558px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TI0G8zVjuUI/AAAAAAAAC30/M7RXRIym36g/s800/les+bonnes+femmes.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516072760241273154" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TI0Htz5c-BI/AAAAAAAAC4A/fW6eR4mG-QM/s1600/boucher05.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 800px; height: 600px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TI0Htz5c-BI/AAAAAAAAC4A/fW6eR4mG-QM/s800/boucher05.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516073602205415442" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TI0JFTTlIyI/AAAAAAAAC4I/UuspjogNaSE/s1600/1.10.04.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 800px; height: 464px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TI0JFTTlIyI/AAAAAAAAC4I/UuspjogNaSE/s800/1.10.04.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516075105285120802" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TI0J5E71alI/AAAAAAAAC4Q/RLjBA8R9e1c/s1600/ceremony_10.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 492px; height: 800px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TI0J5E71alI/AAAAAAAAC4Q/RLjBA8R9e1c/s800/ceremony_10.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516075994780625490" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Also recommended:<br />"La muette," from the anthology film <span style="font-style: italic;">Six in Paris </span>(1965)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Wedding in Blood </span>(1973)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Story of Women </span>(1988)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">L'enfer </span>(1994)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The Bridesmaid </span>(2004)<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-6813303506484776391?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-61852719562984184492010-09-06T20:58:00.002-05:002010-09-06T21:03:52.099-05:00from Sidney Lumet's <span style="font-style: italic;">Dog Day Afternoon </span>(1975)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TIWdTEpPe7I/AAAAAAAAC3U/-U_1ETKt1LQ/s1600/dog+day.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 454px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TIWdTEpPe7I/AAAAAAAAC3U/-U_1ETKt1LQ/s800/dog+day.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5513986269774838706" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-6185271956298418449?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-81976424254512651222010-09-01T22:26:00.002-05:002010-09-01T22:27:56.050-05:00from Claire Denis' <span style="font-style: italic;">Friday Night </span>(2002)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TH8Ze1xkwRI/AAAAAAAAC2c/oxcDsUaGggw/s1600/vendredi1.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 434px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TH8Ze1xkwRI/AAAAAAAAC2c/oxcDsUaGggw/s800/vendredi1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512152486546555154" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-8197642425451265122?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-11642906610232757132010-08-17T15:52:00.013-05:002011-03-26T13:39:46.927-05:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/THNj905Z-SI/AAAAAAAAC10/SFEPc-eGl0c/s1600/donovan%27s+reef.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 450px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/THNj905Z-SI/AAAAAAAAC10/SFEPc-eGl0c/s800/donovan%27s+reef.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508856683026839842" border="0" /></a><br />The French have a knack for inventing succinct film terminology we have no choice but to adopt untranslated because the English for these particular terms would be too wordy or awkward. For example, <span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span>film noir </span>neatly sums up the essence of the post-World War II American crime films that incorporated elements of hardboiled American crime literature and European expressionist film techniques, and <span style="font-style: italic;">mise-en-scene </span>is a quick, elegant way of saying the wordy-in-English organization of visual space within the frame. This brings me to another, lesser-known French movie term that can conveniently describe many of the films I will be briefly discussing in this post.<br />Potter Stewart famously said he couldn't define pornography, but he knew it when he saw it. In the world of non-porn film history, I'm often drawn to a disparate, varied batch of misunderstood, neglected films that share little besides a certain indefinable essence. I could never put a name on it, but I knew it when I saw it. Leave it to the French to come up with an appropriate nomenclature - the <span style="font-style: italic;">film maudit<span style="font-style: italic;">. </span></span>This term, which literally means "cursed film," covers many different kinds of films in many different kinds of situations, but the one thing all <span style="font-style: italic;">films maudit </span>have in common is that, at least at one point in their post-release history, they have been marginalized. <span style="font-style: italic;">Films maudit </span>are the unfairly disrespected, neglected, misunderstood, forgotten, and/or publicly reviled films. This covers a lot of territory. It includes films that were ignored at the time but are now considered classics, lesser films in a major director's body of work, interesting films that failed to find an audience, films hated by critics but loved by the general audience, films that broke social taboos, exploitation films with some artistic merit, films that never came out on DVD or video, films that are lost or out-of-print, films hated by most critics but championed by an intelligent minority, films that aren't that great but have a couple of great scenes or performances, major box-office flops that were expected to perform well, quality films waiting to be discovered, etc.<br />I'm adding another specific subgenre to the <span style="font-style: italic;">film maudit </span>universe, a subgenre I'm calling sunset films. A sunset film is a work made by a major director near the end of his/her career and/or life. I'm narrowing my focus even more to look at late films from Hollywood directors in the 1960s-1980s that failed to find a mass audience and were sometimes disliked by critics and even the filmmakers themselves. These films range from interesting failures to major masterpieces and are all worth a look. In possible future posts, I will write about foreign, independent, and female-directed sunset films, but in this instance, I'm talking about movies made by male veterans of the Hollywood studio system who are American by birth or European-born American citizens.<br />Besides the obvious reasons for grouping these films together, they also share startling formal, tonal, and narrative similarities. Most importantly, they place an emphasis on mood and character instead of narrative momentum and plot. These films take their time and have a deliberately relaxed, sometimes meandering pace. The characters and the actors inhabiting the characters drive the story instead of being pawns in a tight plot. Often, the directors play with the generic iconic images of actors they've used frequently, or they pass the baton to a new generation. For examples of the former, look at John Ford (with John Wayne and Lee Marvin) and Billy Wilder (with Jack Lemmon and William Holden) using their later works to comment on their own past working relationships with these actors on their earlier canonical films. For examples of the latter, see Howard Hawks use a young James Caan and Alfred Hitchcock tip his hat to the new breed by using Bruce Dern. Sometimes, particularly in Wilder's case, the new generation gets a kick in the ribs instead of a nod. All these films, even the comedies, exhibit a serious melancholic streak. Loss and sadness gently cover these films like a sprinkling of light snow, always present but never smothering or overpowering. Many of these directors, particularly Wilder, felt usurped by the new breed of Hollywood directors in the 1970s (Scorsese, Altman, De Palma, Lucas, Spielberg, Ashby, Rafelson, Friedkin, Coppola, etc.) and had trouble finding financing and promotional muscle for their later projects. Many felt they were being cast off by the studios and replaced by the new guys. Even though the new breed was influenced by these old masters, they were unfortunately and unintentionally crowding them out. These new guys were hip (except for Lucas and Spielberg, but they made bags of money), and executives love the hip and the new. (It's interesting to look at the later films of the 1970s giants and see a group of films that are far less adventurous than the later films of the classic Hollywood oldsters.)<br />I don't want to give the generation gap too much credit, though. These films aren't just melancholy because their makers were on the wrong end of changing tastes and times. The sadness bound into all these sunset films also reflects the mundane daily tragedy of getting older, weaker, and more finite. All our stories end the same way. We die. These movies are about old men facing the end of the road, even when they're not about that at all. The word "elegiac" is so overused in movie reviews (see also, "(insert name here) is a revelation in this role"), but these films really are elegiac.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/THNkHrlAsLI/AAAAAAAAC18/PKK5qzFZESo/s1600/the+human+factor+993.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 800px; height: 600px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/THNkHrlAsLI/AAAAAAAAC18/PKK5qzFZESo/s800/the+human+factor+993.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508856852324069554" /></a><br /><br />Here are some of my favorite sunset films:<br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />Donovan's Reef </span>(John Ford)<br />John Wayne and Lee Marvin meander drunkenly through this loose, nearly plotless comedy, which contains the immortal line: "The truth is, neither one of you remembers what started this annual drunken birthday brawl." Ford's <span style="font-style: italic;">Cheyenne Autumn </span>is another intriguing sunset film, with some incredibly beautiful moments and terrible flaws.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />Hatari! </span>(Howard Hawks)<br />John Wayne again, on safari in Africa, trapping animals to sell to zoos. Another very loose comedy, with tinges of sadness. I was on doctor-prescribed codeine when I watched this film, and I think it only added to the experience.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Man's Favorite Sport? </span>(Howard Hawks)<br />Another loose, character-driven comedy. Hawks wanted a near-retirement Cary Grant in the lead, but Grant turned him down, saying he was too old for the role. The part went to Rock Hudson instead. Hudson is no Cary Grant, but his performance as a sport fishing expert and writer who is secretly a lousy fisherman takes on a resonance it didn't have at the time, now that we know more about Hudson's private life than he wanted us to while he was still alive.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Red Line 7000 </span>(Howard Hawks)<br />A racing movie that added James Caan to the impressive list of actors given their first big break by Hawks, this movie failed at the box office, has never been released on DVD, is hard to find on VHS, and is hated by Hawks himself. It's not as bad as all that, and remarkably better. Hawks' structural emphasis on characterization and action over plot is right up my aesthetic alley, and this film is one of Hawks' shaggiest and loosest. <span style="font-style: italic;">Red Line 7000 </span>is a film of beats, pauses, energy, and melancholy. It's a little sloppy, but neatness is overrated.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Avanti! </span>(Billy Wilder)<br />This romantic comedy's cutesy premise is just the skeleton for a gorgeously photographed, deliberately paced, death- and sex-obsessed tour of the Amalfi Coast of Italy and the opposites-attract acting styles of Jack Lemmon's American and Juliet Mills' Englishwoman. A long, funny, elegant, broad, misanthropic, warm, strange film that never stops being beautiful to look at, with the possible exception of a couple nude shots of Lemmon's skinny, flat ass. If you get a chance to see this one on the big screen, go.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Fedora </span>(Billy Wilder)<br />Wilder and William Holden revisit elements of <span style="font-style: italic;">Sunset Boulevard </span>in this angry, tragic noir about a movie producer attempting to bring a reclusive starlet out of hiding. What this film lacks in narrative momentum, it makes up for with a handful of amazing stand-alone scenes, wonderful performances, and a beguiling, melancholic atmosphere. Marthe Keller may technically have the Gloria Swanson part here, but Wilder really fills that role as co-writer and director. His penultimate film is simultaneously a raging fuck you to New Hollywood and an acceptance of time as a destroyer.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The Human Factor </span>(Otto Preminger)<br />Preminger's late films were sometimes surprisingly foolish and graceless (<span style="font-style: italic;">Skidoo</span>'s unintentionally hilarious attempt to capture the late-1960s drug culture zeitgeist with stars like Jackie Gleason, Carol Channing, and Groucho Marx, and an American Deep South populated by the likes of Michael Caine, Jane Fonda, Burgess Meredith, and George Kennedy in <span style="font-style: italic;">Hurry Sundown</span>), but his final film is beautiful. Surprisingly overlooked, <span style="font-style: italic;">The Human Factor </span>is a heartbreaking espionage drama based on Graham Greene's novel with a sharp Tom Stoppard script and an opening credits sequence designed by Saul Bass. The film, like all the other sunset films I'm discussing here, proceeds at a relaxed pace, but is not as loose as the late Hawks and Ford movies. <span style="font-style: italic;">The Human Factor</span> slowly and deliberately builds in intensity, momentum, and emotion, and subtly earns that emotion. The actors inhabit these characters in a quietly lived-in way, and the odd-on-paper pairing of Nicol Williamson and Iman convincingly establishes the film's emotional center.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Family Plot </span>(Alfred Hitchcock)<br />Consistently underrated, Hitchcock's final film is one of his best. With standout performances from Bruce Dern, Barbara Harris, William Devane, and Karen Black, and a looser, more relaxed structure, look, and feel than Hitchcock was normally known for, <span style="font-style: italic;">Family Plot </span>is a darkly comedic thriller with a surprising sweetness and warmth. Often regarded as a minor work in Hitchcock's oeuvre, <span style="font-style: italic;">Family Plot </span>is, subtly and secretly, his last masterpiece. The film contains most of the trademarks of a classic Hitchcock thriller<span style="font-style: italic;"></span>, but there is a lightness of touch here that previously only poked its head out in certain moments in <span style="font-style: italic;">North by Northwest </span>or a lot of <span style="font-style: italic;">The Trouble with Harry</span>. The lived-in, messy kitchen of Dern's and Harris' characters is a surprising detail from a man who normally stylizes every frame, and the way Hitchcock eases into the flow of this story is a pleasure to watch. The melancholy is always close, always hovering in the air, but in many ways, this is the most life-affirming and joyous film in the whole bunch I've written about in this post.<br /><br />I've got more sunset films to write about later, but they fit in different categories. These particular films seem to belong together.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/THNkXaQABiI/AAAAAAAAC2E/88MiLmzBYPY/s1600/family-plot.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 800px; height: 436px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/THNkXaQABiI/AAAAAAAAC2E/88MiLmzBYPY/s800/family-plot.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508857122550449698" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-1164290661023275713?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-54050802685967910262010-08-16T00:14:00.004-05:002010-08-16T00:20:03.496-05:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TGjJcW7i6UI/AAAAAAAAC08/5a0kmiN3A3c/s1600/bruno+stroszek.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 600px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TGjJcW7i6UI/AAAAAAAAC08/5a0kmiN3A3c/s800/bruno+stroszek.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5505872033489283394" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TGjJZtjHdUI/AAAAAAAAC00/zgUDJKaeI-w/s1600/bruno+kaspar.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 476px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TGjJZtjHdUI/AAAAAAAAC00/zgUDJKaeI-w/s800/bruno+kaspar.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5505871988021228866" border="0" /></a>from Werner Herzog's <span style="font-style: italic;">Stroszek </span>(1977) and <span style="font-style: italic;">The Enigma of Kaspar Hauser </span>aka <span style="font-style: italic;">Every Man for Himself and God Against All </span>(1974)<span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span><br /></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-5405080268596791026?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-90088130337595592562010-08-12T20:57:00.004-05:002010-08-13T01:06:01.454-05:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TGTgjUVWpFI/AAAAAAAAC0s/WfePDFxWvkw/s1600/fedora-keller-holden.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 534px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TGTgjUVWpFI/AAAAAAAAC0s/WfePDFxWvkw/s800/fedora-keller-holden.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504771541911905362" border="0" /></a><br />Last weekend, a friend of mine briefly recounted a debate she'd had with an acquaintance about Hollywood remakes of foreign films (<span style="font-style: italic;">Let the Right One In</span>, etc.). The acquaintance argued that these remakes have been unfairly maligned and are performing the valuable service of bringing a good story to an audience that would never see a subtitled film. I think this man's argument is interesting because it's so alien to the way I watch movies and the way most film buffs/cinephiles/obsessed weirdos watch movies. Well, maybe I should just speak for myself. It's alien to the way I watch movies. To this guy, a movie is a vehicle to tell a story, and story is the most important thing about a movie. There's nothing inherently wrong/evil/assholish about this argument, and I like a good story as much as anyone, but to reduce the essence of a film to its plot mechanics and events is to take away everything cinematic about a film. Film is a visual medium. I thought this was an obvious point, but it seems to get lost in mainstream discourse. Framing of shots, movement of camera, facial expressions and body movements of actors, inhabiting of characters by actors, color, light, shadow, structure, form, juxtaposition of shots, editing, use of visual space within the frame, interplay of music and sound, cinematography, the actors' voices and how they say the lines, character development, scenes that have no bearing on the plot, directors' obsessions and fetishes, overall effect of all these elements working together. All of these things are so much more important to me than the mechanics of plot and the events in the story. The how, not the what. (I should also point out here that there is a substantial canon of important non-narrative films that have no story at all. Some of my favorites include Bruce Conner, Hollis Frampton, Jack Chambers, James Benning, Oskar Fischinger, Al Jarnow, and, occasionally, Andy Warhol.) The directors and films I return to again and again give me indefinable atmosphere, texture, mood, pure visual experience. I don't care what these movies are about, I just care what they do. People understand this about music. Good lyrics are always appreciated, but when a person tells another person about a band, the question asked is usually, "What do they sound like?" Film and literature, however, get saddled with that dullest of questions, "What's it about?" This is a long way of saying that maybe those remakes are bringing a good story to a new audience, but what they aren't doing is bringing those movies to a new audience. The experiences are different. They are two different movies, made by two different people who organize that visual space in completely different ways, who frame the shots in different ways, who juxtapose scenes in different ways, who hire different actors who move differently, say the lines differently, and look differently. The sound of the languages is different, creating a different sonic texture and cadence.<br />This is also a long way of introducing a second post, which may be extended into other posts, about a neglected group of films I happen to love very much, and which I want to discuss in more detail. These films would mostly fail the conventional narrative good story test, but their virtues are overlooked by people who just want a lot of punchy events and three-act structures. I'm talking about an imaginary subgenre of film I'm going to call sunset movies because they occur late in the careers of established older directors in the late 1960s-early 1980s. These films were often ignored or scorned by the general audience and mainstream dullard critics but well regarded by film buffs and more interesting critics. They share a lot of surprising qualities, and I find them emotionally affecting and formally inventive. They're made by old men close to retirement (sometimes against their will), and often in poor health. I'm going to talk about some late films by John Ford, Howard Hawks, Alfred Hitchcock, Billy Wilder, and Otto Preminger, among others, and I'll probably squeeze John Cassavetes in because I always find some way to include him. I would write more, but then I'd be up all night, so I'll get to these guys soon.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-9008813033759559256?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-35925167571974477702010-07-22T15:40:00.004-05:002010-07-22T15:49:30.926-05:00<span style="font-style: italic;">The Pleasure Garden </span>(1925)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Family Plot </span>(1976)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TEiuXt2c5gI/AAAAAAAACy0/Bl6YB9Qx8Og/s1600/pleasure+garden.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 588px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TEiuXt2c5gI/AAAAAAAACy0/Bl6YB9Qx8Og/s800/pleasure+garden.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496835067673896450" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TEiuUjtUM6I/AAAAAAAACys/RQDAraLFaMU/s1600/Family+Plot+Hitchcock+Bruce+Dern+Barbara+Harris+pic+1.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 436px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TEiuUjtUM6I/AAAAAAAACys/RQDAraLFaMU/s800/Family+Plot+Hitchcock+Bruce+Dern+Barbara+Harris+pic+1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496835013411615650" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-3592516757197447770?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-25364433478722247252010-06-16T20:08:00.003-05:002010-06-16T20:12:30.875-05:00from Stanley Kubrick's <span style="font-style: italic;">Barry Lyndon </span>(1975)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TBl1lC-vROI/AAAAAAAACx0/7AFzE0amBxw/s1600/barry+lyndon.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 496px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TBl1lC-vROI/AAAAAAAACx0/7AFzE0amBxw/s800/barry+lyndon.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483543300615914722" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-2536443347872224725?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-85857736491723294592010-06-13T13:06:00.002-05:002010-06-13T13:11:37.257-05:00from Michael Polish's <span style="font-style: italic;">Northfork </span>(2003)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TBUfC624obI/AAAAAAAACxs/p4X6YPjwJwU/s1600/northfork.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 346px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TBUfC624obI/AAAAAAAACxs/p4X6YPjwJwU/s800/northfork.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482322256413106610" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-8585773649172329459?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-21491999158328714432010-06-12T01:00:00.001-05:002010-06-12T01:02:08.472-05:00Glenn Kenny is on fire this week. Here's <a href="http://mubi.com/notebook/posts/1969">another link</a>.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-2149199915832871443?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-10231762081580483212010-06-10T23:53:00.003-05:002010-06-11T00:15:32.508-05:00It gets depressing contemplating the future of film distribution and exhibition when you're a guy like me who likes all kinds of films and likes seeing them on the big screen. The modern, mainstream, American Hollywood film is at its nadir. It can't possibly get worse, but it just keeps getting worse. Those films are so poorly made, so indistinguishable from each other, so forgettable. Almost all the good mainstream American work is on television now, and that sucks. The square box is getting bigger and more rectangular, and the best shows are exploring the unique aspects of the medium of serialized home programming, but it's still a box, a piece of furniture in your house that has to compete with the telephone, your neighbors, your pets, your in-laws, etc. But mainstream culture is almost always mediocre, which is why it's so pleasurable when something good catches on. The bigger problems are the foreign and independent American filmmakers of high caliber who can no longer get their films distributed anywhere in this country, and the vapid new generation of homegrown independent filmmakers who have less ideas than Michael Bay and McG. I want to link to a horrifying interview with idiots in The Village Voice and Glenn Kenny's sadly funny rebuttal. <a href="http://www.villagevoice.com/2010-06-08/film/what-it-takes-bamcinemafest-edition/">Horrifying</a>. <a href="http://somecamerunning.typepad.com/some_came_running/2010/06/nicholas-ray-probably-doesnt-like-you-either.html">Sadly funny</a>.<br />Even though he's one of my absolute favorite filmmakers, I don't think Nicholas Ray is above criticism and no artist should be. However, these young filmmakers' willfully ignorant failure to understand basic film history and their use of infantilized teenspeak is appalling. What they have to say about <span style="font-style: italic;">Bigger than Life </span>is beyond idiocy. They should be barred from ever holding a filmmaking device again. It's called a fucking melodrama for a reason. The non-verite acting is on purpose. You idiots. You fucking idiots. It's like criticizing Richard Pryor for telling jokes or Lucky Charms for being too marshmallowy. You are morons, and you should die horribly. Reinstate the draft.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-1023176208158048321?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-79228226580940947772010-06-09T21:20:00.004-05:002010-06-09T21:24:36.771-05:00<span style="font-style: italic;">Fig Leaves </span>(1926)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Rio Lobo </span>(1970)<br />Hawks' actual first film, 1926's <span style="font-style: italic;">The Road to Glory </span>(not to be confused with a 1936 Hawks film of the same name), is lost.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TBBMDf6mhAI/AAAAAAAACxc/wMeZ3jWTG6g/s1600/fig+leaves.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 650px; height: 504px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TBBMDf6mhAI/AAAAAAAACxc/wMeZ3jWTG6g/s800/fig+leaves.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480964369500505090" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TBBL5ygokXI/AAAAAAAACxU/4sz0QFhryyk/s1600/rio+lobo.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 448px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TBBL5ygokXI/AAAAAAAACxU/4sz0QFhryyk/s800/rio+lobo.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480964202693169522" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-7922822658094094777?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-34422051621595745032010-06-08T19:44:00.003-05:002010-06-08T19:46:05.257-05:00from Milos Forman's <span style="font-style: italic;">One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest </span>(1975)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TA7kBeKZN9I/AAAAAAAACxM/de7zukBZXvk/s1600/800+on+flew+over+brd+21053.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 450px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TA7kBeKZN9I/AAAAAAAACxM/de7zukBZXvk/s800/800+on+flew+over+brd+21053.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480568510484133842" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-3442205162159574503?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-66573463959270762612010-05-31T19:58:00.021-05:002010-05-31T20:47:21.799-05:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TARiKgKMYvI/AAAAAAAACwc/2nCG-rkonvQ/s1600/rebel+without+a+cause.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 450px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TARiKgKMYvI/AAAAAAAACwc/2nCG-rkonvQ/s800/rebel+without+a+cause.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477610979360269042" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TARiB7NB5aI/AAAAAAAACwU/yiaZ6qZtV2k/s1600/easy+rider.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 438px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TARiB7NB5aI/AAAAAAAACwU/yiaZ6qZtV2k/s800/easy+rider.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477610832001099170" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TARh4-nyDDI/AAAAAAAACwM/Cww6mKtPGgY/s1600/last+movie.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 540px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TARh4-nyDDI/AAAAAAAACwM/Cww6mKtPGgY/s800/last+movie.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477610678299790386" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TARhpis8dqI/AAAAAAAACwE/WnIyyhg4ydo/s1600/out+of+the+blue+2.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 440px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TARhpis8dqI/AAAAAAAACwE/WnIyyhg4ydo/s800/out+of+the+blue+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477610413107213986" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TARfQ2ZghYI/AAAAAAAACv0/XRVtzFNWPh8/s1600/rumble+fish.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 436px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TARfQ2ZghYI/AAAAAAAACv0/XRVtzFNWPh8/s800/rumble+fish.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477607789874414978" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TARfEoOuIfI/AAAAAAAACvs/z6BdYKlGoKI/s1600/texas+chainsaw+massacre+2.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 450px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TARfEoOuIfI/AAAAAAAACvs/z6BdYKlGoKI/s800/texas+chainsaw+massacre+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477607579912643058" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TARciPzQadI/AAAAAAAACvc/nBnPKb3fXkY/s1600/river%27s+edge.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 434px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TARciPzQadI/AAAAAAAACvc/nBnPKb3fXkY/s800/river%27s+edge.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477604790216190418" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TARcVwzyeTI/AAAAAAAACvU/6KnKPNXMD0g/s1600/blue+velvet.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 518px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TARcVwzyeTI/AAAAAAAACvU/6KnKPNXMD0g/s800/blue+velvet.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477604575738493234" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TARcHMk4DuI/AAAAAAAACvM/wLWMcOHGbdI/s1600/red+rock+west.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 452px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TARcHMk4DuI/AAAAAAAACvM/wLWMcOHGbdI/s800/red+rock+west.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477604325494099682" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TARb7ovVn6I/AAAAAAAACvE/lH-dcw05uu4/s1600/true+romance.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 340px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TARb7ovVn6I/AAAAAAAACvE/lH-dcw05uu4/s800/true+romance.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477604126895742882" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TARbkoGA8fI/AAAAAAAACu8/fE1IuUzVtow/s1600/jesus+son.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 350px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TARbkoGA8fI/AAAAAAAACu8/fE1IuUzVtow/s800/jesus+son.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477603731585430002" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TARbbVg5QEI/AAAAAAAACu0/tRzXjUg4WcA/s1600/land+of+the+dead.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 402px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/TARbbVg5QEI/AAAAAAAACu0/tRzXjUg4WcA/s800/land+of+the+dead.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477603571979075650" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Actor, director, photographer, painter, art collector, on-again/off-again Republican, on-again/off-again Democrat, lunatic, drug addict, alcoholic, Midwesterner, Kansan, and human Dennis Hopper died on Saturday. He was in a lot of movies that were formative experiences for me, movies I watched a lot more than once, movies that are tied to powerful memories of my friends, family, childhood, adolescence, and blah blah blah. He was also in a lot of total shit, but that's what happens when you're an actor who stays busy.<br /><br />(from the top)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Rebel without a Cause </span>(Nicholas Ray)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Easy Rider </span>(Dennis Hopper)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The Last Movie </span>(Dennis Hopper)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Out of the Blue </span>(Dennis Hopper)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Rumble Fish </span>(Francis Ford Coppola)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2 </span>(Tobe Hooper)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">River's Edge </span>(Tim Hunter)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Blue Velvet </span>(David Lynch)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Red Rock West </span>(John Dahl)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">True Romance </span>(Tony Scott)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Jesus' Son </span>(Alison Maclean)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Land of the Dead </span>(George A. Romero)<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-6657346395927076261?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-13259671059829830502010-05-26T12:50:00.003-05:002010-05-26T12:54:49.430-05:00from A.J. Schnack's <span style="font-style: italic;">Gigantic (A Tale Of Two Johns) </span>(2002)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/S_1f_7qwsgI/AAAAAAAACus/VySrg4wLxeI/s1600/gigantic.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 438px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/S_1f_7qwsgI/AAAAAAAACus/VySrg4wLxeI/s800/gigantic.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475638273905832450" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-1325967105982983050?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-72084758977148169042010-05-19T19:08:00.003-05:002010-05-19T19:11:32.904-05:00<span style="font-style: italic;">Pink String and Sealing Wax </span>(1946)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">School for Scoundrels </span>(1960)<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/S_R9vPSFq9I/AAAAAAAACt8/mZipokvsNYg/s1600/pink+string+and+sealing+wax.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 618px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/S_R9vPSFq9I/AAAAAAAACt8/mZipokvsNYg/s800/pink+string+and+sealing+wax.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473137697671719890" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/S_R9slxO99I/AAAAAAAACt0/bzpkrYRNyuA/s1600/school+for+scoundrels.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 796px; height: 800px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/S_R9slxO99I/AAAAAAAACt0/bzpkrYRNyuA/s800/school+for+scoundrels.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473137652168325074" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-7208475897714816904?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-3111232742033487832010-05-12T17:48:00.004-05:002010-05-12T17:51:58.965-05:00from David Cronenberg's <span style="font-style: italic;">Shivers </span>aka <span style="font-style: italic;">They Came from Within </span>(1975)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/S-swtLjhCII/AAAAAAAACts/ecZRUYhwhrY/s1600/shivers.png"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 450px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/S-swtLjhCII/AAAAAAAACts/ecZRUYhwhrY/s800/shivers.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5470519725125601410" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/S-swnXnPTiI/AAAAAAAACtk/2ePEAozQ8PI/s1600/shivers+2.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 600px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/S-swnXnPTiI/AAAAAAAACtk/2ePEAozQ8PI/s800/shivers+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5470519625283227170" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-311123274203348783?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-67103071546628201932010-05-06T20:52:00.002-05:002010-05-06T20:55:50.323-05:00from Bob Odenkirk's <span style="font-style: italic;">Melvin Goes to Dinner </span>(2003)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/S-Ny2tOCMAI/AAAAAAAACtc/AY-IHxnPTqQ/s1600/melvin+goes+to+dinner.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 532px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/S-Ny2tOCMAI/AAAAAAAACtc/AY-IHxnPTqQ/s800/melvin+goes+to+dinner.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5468340656734875650" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-6710307154662820193?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12162216.post-58746766749562348772010-05-03T19:33:00.003-05:002010-05-03T19:37:20.599-05:00<span style="font-style: italic;">Judith of Bethulia </span>(1914)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The Struggle </span>(1931)<br />Once again, I need to point out that I'm only talking about feature-length films here. Griffith made a ton of notable short films before <span style="font-style: italic;">Judith of Bethulia</span>.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/S99ryTUrQ3I/AAAAAAAACtU/asINYHUHL1s/s1600/judith+of+bethulia.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 532px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/S99ryTUrQ3I/AAAAAAAACtU/asINYHUHL1s/s800/judith+of+bethulia.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5467206984575697778" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/S99ru8gZ44I/AAAAAAAACtM/cbYZH9log2A/s1600/the+struggle.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 622px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_j4twdnk8ZvI/S99ru8gZ44I/AAAAAAAACtM/cbYZH9log2A/s800/the+struggle.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5467206926911267714" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12162216-5874676674956234877?l=moviebot.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dr. Mysteryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08951130010325374744noreply@blogger.com0