The First Ten Films From 2009 I Saw In 2009

All these films (described in descending order of enthusiasm) deserve individual reviews as much as The Taking Of Pelham One Two Three, by far the least worthwhile of the bunch, but I'm playing catch-up.

If Drag Me To Hell winds up my favorite film of 2009, I'll only be disappointed because I'm going to make a point to see celebrated art films this year - might as well take advantage of living in NYC and see some Spout bait - and it would be nice if at least one could engage me more than a masterpiece of craft. Sam Raimi has just as much gruesome fun here as he did with the Evil Deads, his decade of Spider-manning adding polish with no expense to his wit or imagination. That this movie can be so nasty while PG-13 (anything can fly in and out of people's mouths as long as it's not related to sex, apparently) is arguably more impressive than a making a great gore flick on a shoestring budget. A third viewing in central PA following two in NYC was a little heartbreaking, as the smaller theater played the film at a very low volume, drastically reducing its impact. If you're waiting for DVD, make sure you play it loud.

Observe And Report stands out from other goofball-hero comedies just by acknowledging how disturbed the lead is. Imagine an Adam Sandler film where pills are popped, therapists are consulted and we're never asked to find him cute. Remove the Apatowian atmosphere (not that I'd want to lose an improvised stand-off between Seth Rogen and Aziz Ansari) and you're basically left with Taxi Driver. Refreshingly, writer/director Jody Hill seems totally aware. I Love You, Man's gender twist on rom-com cliche is a smaller breakthrough, but equally welcome. Now that we've nakedly addressed the value of (and humor in) platonic male friendship - something I have more than enough experience with to appreciate - maybe the Apatow mafia can make a comedy about something else.

Proof I'm as great a catch as Paul Rudd in I Love You, Man - maybe even the wry-yet-sensitive Justin Long in Drag Me To Hell - is that I've taken my fiancee to see not only Up (my first Pixar since Toy Story) but Every Little Step, a frikkin documentary about A Frikkin Chorus Frikkin Line. Both were a little confused and a lot sweet.

When a film is as redundant as X-Men Origins: Wolverine, the value is in the details. Yes, the token black character dies early and says "damn," but the token black character is a teleporting Will.I.Am in a cowboy hat and the "damn" comes with Hugh Jackman battling a man in a fat suit that would make Mike Myers weep with envy. Jackman and Liev Schrieber do wonders as fierce, emotionally conflicted forest creatures and two characters - including Ryan Reynolds in fine jerk form - practice gunkata. To complain would be churlish.

Obsessed is similarly heroic trash, with the supporting cast and crew never seeming bored, embarrassed or even cheeky as they go through the stalker-drama motions. With this bed of professionalism to bounce upon, Beyonce is free to sass and kick ass without ever removing her heels. My Bloody Valentine is slightly less expert in its audience pleasing obviousness - I blame the lack of Jerry O'Connell - but a solid good time even without the novelty of 3D (I need to pay more attention to signs posted in the lobby).

Know1ng is anything but obvious, and if you're as crazy as Roger Ebert, I can't blame you for preferring it to everything else here. The first two thirds are a fairly successful homage to M. Night Shyamalan, with Nic Cage comforting a sensitive child while dealing with enigmatic, supernatural forces seemingly linked to the defining traumas of his life. Then sci-fi and religiosity are forced to fuck by gunpoint, providing us with an apocalyptic climax not dreamt of even in Shyamalan's philosophy. Say what you will about the quality of his films, but Cage has shown a commendable devotion to getting the weirdest shit imaginable up there on the screen, to the point that I'm shocked he had nothing to do with making The Butterfly Effect. Even something as seemingly banal as National Treasure actually concerns the glory of Freemasonry. Respect - and a permanent place on freakier Netflix queues - is due.

Watchmen is also mandatory viewing for movie pervs, and not only if you're familiar with the book. By making few alterations other than to streamline/underline the plot and up the sex and violence - courageously refusing to tamper with the cartoonish dialogue and multiple blue penises that probably aren't why this made Time's Top 100 Books Of All Time - Zack Snyder has created a tone-deaf epic about the midlife crises and global ramifications of magical men in tights. That this happened in 2009 feels incredibly appropriate, and if it keeps just one previously curious adult from ever investigating the world of superhero comics, it was worth the millions, the legal wranglings and the decades of pre-production that went into its creation.

The Taking Of Pelham One Two Three

The Taking Of Pelham One Two Three had every flaw I read it did and then some. Tony Scott fills the film with blurry second-unit footage, time-displaying text (familiar from the five grating minutes I caught of his Spy Game) and wanton, sudden zoom-ins. Badass isn't derived from the New York setting, it's smeared on the screen in post. John Travolta's performance is more petulant than menacing ("lick my bunghole?" really?) and the plot is nonsensical. (If you were going to manufacture and exploit a stock market plummet by hijacking a subway car - questionable enough - would you hold the gun yourself? Wouldn't you watch from some faraway island and let professionals take care of the dirty work?) Worthlessly busier than the workmanlike original or the '98 TV remake with Edward James Olmos I can't believe I've actually seen, Pelham is very much the audience-insulting piece of shit critics have advertised.

But I didn't hate it. Scott's usual grotesquerie is reined in by the PG-13 rating (edit: turns out it's rated R, and after Drag Me To Hell I'm genuinely surprised - unless shooting deaths are flat-out verboten it must be over Travolta's language), and simple caper movies can take a lot of abuse. The cast helps, too; though Denzel Washington, James Gandolfini and John Turturro fail to make fully-formed characters out of their roles, the script gives them just enough room to show some of their natural charm and avoid the shrill cartoons or CSI-style sleepwalking this kind of story invites. Travolta even gets dangerously close to his old charisma with a colorful anecdote about watching a dog crap in Iceland (seriously, that's his highlight). I can't recommend the movie to anyone, but I can't rail against it. Shit usually smells worse and I walked away clean.

--

Side note: has Travolta had it together for a movie since Battlefield Earth? I remember him being somewhat likable (for what it was worth) in Domestic Disturbance, but I haven't seen anything else he's done this decade. His career has gone in waves, but he may be beyond the pale.

Blurbing My Life Away

Hypothetically, someone reading my tumblr could be disappointed that it's short on opinions of new media and long on videos of reprehensible men like Spencer Pratt and Jay Leno. If this person exists (aw), they should check out The Singles Jukebox - if they don't already - as I'll now be contributing blurbs. Remember when this blog was full of blurbs? I still bathe in two-star DVDs, I just haven't been telling you about them.

There are a shit-ton of 2009 movies I definitely plan to write about on this blog, as well as pretentiously titled essays like "On Spoilers" I should eventually bring to life. I'll be linking to them on the tumblr, so feel free to check that alone if the silence here frustrates you. Otherwise, look to the skies.

I give up. Kinda.

I still plan to write longish blog posts about various pertinent and impertinent subjects here (I do! Really!), but I've decided random youtube inanity and such looks a little too random and inane here. Instead, I'll post such things on a Tumblr, where it looks prettier. But - SERIOUSLY - I could write some mamajama of a post here tomorrow. I AM NOT KIDDING. Now that I have a separate outlet for internet media jive, maybe this blog will reblossom (or just blossom, your call) into an outlet for the kind of heady, ruminative prose that seems so refreshing in this era of twitters, SEOs and Lady GaGas. Stranger things have happened! Something to do now that Idol's almost over.

If you are looking for unheralded quality longform bloggery, check out Mind Your Own Goddamn Business, by my childhood friend Trey. It's funnier than all that big city shit (including mine), and it's straight outta Greeley, CO. I haven't seen this guy since the summer of 1991, and he's apparently aged like fine wine.

My Brain Is Melting

Found out about Yooouuutuuube from Alex. Here's a few I came up with.

The first thing that came to mind.

Even more beautiful than the original video.

It's like a magic eye painting!

Not for the easily seasick.

Hell.

Evil Cowards Hype Continues Here

Caught Electric Six at Maxwell's last night - don't know if they had the percussion stand last time they were in the area but Dick Valentine plays extra percussion on instrumental breaks now. It's a shame I won't be able to see them tonight at the Bowery Ballroom, as Evil Cowards, the Dick Valentine spin-off I wasn't aware of until the merch person sold me their CD, is opening. It's a synth-pop duo with back-up dancers. Ohhhh yeah.

According to their bio, Evil Cowards will be playing a bunch of shows this summer. They better, or I will cry.

Eminem, "3 AM"

You know what would have been really scary, Eminem? If you were wearing clown make-up.

ich bin mclovin

Type "German Trailer" into YouTube along with the name of a movie. Fun!

(Possibly less fun if you speak the language, but still.)

Other 2008 Films I Was Excited To See In February (And Have Since)

Favorite to least.

Quarantine
The 28 Days Later Project, starring Emily Rose and the dude from Hostel. So entertaining that I'm not actually sure the original foreign film would be better! Can't remember when everyone took stupid pills (which always happens in thrillers so the movie doesn't end with someone hiding until its safe), so it couldn't have been that annoying when they did.

In Bruges
We really need to stop making our smartest, most inventive and most colorful comedies about hit men. There has to be a way to make one without shooting everybody in the head. There has to.

Funny Games
Exactly like the original, which I wanted to see again. Now prepared for his cold-hearted didacticism, I appreciate Michael Haneke films for their Hitchcock times Kubrick craft. He's a reliable source of cheap thrills, not unlike John Carpenter. How ironic!

Lakeview Terrace
Not quite absurd enough to do for race what The Wicker Man did for sex, but I hope Neil LaBute keeps trying.

Paranoid Park
An hour-long after school special about a disenfranchised closet case and a half-hour of slow-motion shots of teen boys on skateboards, seamlessly combined by someone who's done this all before.

August
Josh Hartnett tries so hard.

First Sunday
Katt Williams doesn't need good lines to be funny, but, apparently, Tracy Morgan does.

Rachel Getting Married

It's funny to hear people talk about Rachel Getting Married as Jonathan Demme's comeback: I might have enjoyed the film a lot more if I wasn't familiar with his work. Neil Young, Robyn Hitchcock, Sister Carol and that cross-eyed dude could have come off as inspired quirk rather than self-parody. I might have even credited the wedding's cultural mishmash (like Janeane Garofalo watching Speed, I kept waiting for an Eskimo with a spear) to the underwritten characters ("a bunch of virtuous, good-hearted people who will manage to work out all of their problems, live happily ever after, and vote for Obama," Village Voice), rather than the director. But with no explanation provided, I had blame the film's multi-culti madness on Demme, whose tastes I know more about than Rachel's.

If I wasn't familiar with Melvin And Howard and Married To The Mob, it might not depress me that the director uses cinema verite to cloak the Lifetime melodrama in Jenny Lumet's script - don't give away the shocking family trauma, viewers, or your friends may not enjoy piecing together the clues! My disappointment with Demme is what keeps me from pondering quality performances like Debra Winger's detached mom (even more impressive when you know how easily she can seduce an audience) and instead grumbling about how she's used for a cheap "fight the real enemy," Ordinary People climax. It's hard to accept how dishonest and lazy he can be when ostensibly set free.

Back soon.

This belongs in a museum.

As you may have guessed, forces both pleasant and otherwise are keeping me from updating this blog as regularly as I'd like. Someday soon I hope to spontaneously restart posting with unbridled enthusiasm, clockwork regularity and improved grammar. Until then, please enjoy this decanter from Michael Jackson's upcoming auction, starting at $1,000-2,000.



What's he going to serve Jesus Juice out of now?

Top 20 Movies Released In 2008 That I've Seen (Out Of 35)

Harold & Kumar: Escape From Guantanamo Bay
Teeth
Tropic Thunder
The Dark Knight
Iron Man
Forgetting Sarah Marshall
Doomsday
The Signal
Postal
Pineapple Express
What We Do Is Secret
Burn After Reading
Milk
The Strangers
The Ruins
The Foot Fist Way
Hamlet 2
The Spirit
Cloverfield
Rambo

20 Movies From 2008 I Haven't Seen But Can Imagine Being Better Than Rambo, Most Anticipated To Least

Lakeview Terrace
Quarantine
Happy-Go-Lucky
Paranoid Park
Funny Games
The Wrestler
Rachel Getting Married
Wendy And Lucy
Seven Pounds
August
Transporter 3
Frozen River
Hancock
Wanted
Speed Racer
In Bruges
First Sunday
Che
Flight Of The Red Balloon
Synedoche, NY

We look at each other in the eye, and it's no use.

Payday
If you thought Walk The Line pussied out on hard living, see this movie. The only real problem I had with it was the ending: just about all of Maury Dann's real-life Outlaw counterparts made it to their sixties and beyond. You couldn't have expected the filmmakers to guess that in '73, though. Or that Rip Torn would outlive them.

Paths Of Glory
It's startling and touching to see Stanley Kubrick wrestling with man's inhumanity to man after watching his later films, which quickly devolved from sardonic giggles over the subject to droll resignation. His treatment of horror is already unflinching and almost sadistic (the climax is practically politicized torture porn), but he hadn't settled on the "man is beast" thesis that underlines the last thirty years of his work. It shouldn't surprise that Kirk Douglas' speeches and the commoner-pitying coda don't quite soothe. They didn't soothe Kubrick either.

The Craft
It's hard to tell what the moral is of this teen witch melodrama. Is it wrong to take revenge on violent assholes? Does absolute power only corrupt those with class resentments? Despite the vague Gump subtext, the movie's still worth it for Fairuza Balk (her day will come) and Skeet Ulrich, whose dimbulb Depp has never been better utilized.

The Tao Of Steve
A life of tragically little sexual conquest has left me with a soft-spot for burlesque cocksmen, from Greg Dulli to LL Cool J to Henry Miller. Which is why I forgive myself for not being revolted by a sitcom indie about a lardass hook-up guru starring Donal Logue.

Breathless
I'll take it on faith that there may have been a time when Hollywood did not give time to the young, stylish and amoral - and I can believe that the French got there first. I almost even buy that it was fresh to hear characters blathering "all women..."/"all men..." generalizations. But I won't pretend that this movie's influence on American cinema hasn't made everything but its Frenchiness incredibly familiar.

The Big Chill
Now-familiar white boomers dance to then-familiar black music and discuss how weird it is that they all grew up to be rich despite their ideals. I'm guessing the John Sayles version is significantly less devoted to telling boomers that they're still lovable.

The Mother, The Whore And The Robot Maid.

Another evocation of Kanye's fascinating dilemma.

You can never have too much sugar.

Hud
A young man must decide whether to idolize his rakish uncle determined to succeed or his moral grandfather determined to suffer. When Gramps questions the honor of selling his otherwise worthless land to an oil company, you can't blame the country for choosing Hud.

The Perfect Storm
A group of likable actors go on a suicidal fishing mission - Armageddon on the ocean. Mary Elisabeth Mastrantonio, Karen Allen and Diane Lane do a lot of yelling. Not sure why Mark Wahlberg let Lane use that Boston accent in front of him.

The Abyss
James Cameron is the missing link between Steven Spielberg and Michael Bay, and he should be proud that he's not George Lucas. Sure knows how to make a three hour movie feel like two.

Definitely, Maybe
Van Wilder Ryan Reynolds is not the white Will Smith. Sweetiepie Abigail Breslin is not precocious. Isla Fisher is not Nicole Kidman, but sure sounds like her when half-heartedly attempting an American accent. Why was this a wide-release film advertised in theaters before Enchanted when it's identical to the countless blah dramedies that go straight to DVD each year? Maybe someone thinks Ryan Reynolds is the white Will Smith.

Michael
The movie coasted to $100 million off of John Travolta's charm, a quality praised even in negative reviews of the movie. Failing to notice it myself, I was instead entertained by the sound of William...Hurt? and AAAndie McDAOowul falling in love over Randy Newman's twerpy, arbitrary motifs - my favorite being the fretless bass and synth-reggae that accompanies the sight of Travolta in boxers.

MIA On Her Oscar Nomination

Thank you to all the people who are supporting us and the making of a real story of a slumdog millionaire…maybe I can afford to book Dave Chappelle at the baby shower now.

She knows Edgar Bronfman, Jr. is her fiancee's father, right?

This happened.

For Suri.

Did the kid still have his glasses on?

From imdb:

A teenage movie fan has been stabbed following a New York screening of gruesome horror movie My Bloody Valentine 3-D.

An unnamed 16-year-old boy reportedly refused to leave the Long Island, New York theatre after the film had finished on Sunday night and began fighting with security guard Ricardo Singh, 24.

The youngster was stabbed during the tussle and admitted to Winthrop University Hospital, where he received treatment for his injuries and was subsequently released.

Singh was arrested, charged with second-degree assault and is set to be arraigned on Tuesday.

I just love that the security guard pulled a knife out, not the teenager refusing to leave the theater. Can we still blame this on horror movies?

My Bloody Valentine Is Not In 3-D At Every Theater

MAKE SURE YOU CHECK BEFORE YOU RUN TO THE TICKET MACHINE.

Shockingly, the movie was entertaining enough without the special effect - we actually stayed till the end! With all due to respect to the middle aged little person flung into the ceiling by a pick axe, the greatest sight was the green wool-knit sweater Tom Atkins (Halloween III: Season Of The Witch) wears in his climactic scene. Badass is all well and good, but retired sheriffs like to stay warm. If Clint Eastwood wears something similar in Gran Torino, I might actually watch it.

I'm tempted to see this again, assuming it's somewhere that's showing it in 3-D. It was going to be my first experience of the sort since Captain Eo! You have no idea how psyched I was. Damn cheapskates repressing advances in cinematic technology.