Valhalla Rising (2009)

Danish director Nicolas Winding Refn has gotten quite a lot of buzz in recent years. His Pusher trilogy has become something of a cult classic and his 2008 film, Bronson, gave us a star-making turn by Vinny High Life favorite, Tom Hardy. (And, of course, he's behind this fall's breakout hit, Drive, which, despite what you're about to read, I really want to see.) But, Bronson wasn't a great film. In fact, if strapped to the rack and stretched to within an inch of my life, or just asked, I'd have to give it a MINUS. The reason is the same that this film failed me: Refn is a talented filmmaker with a strong artistic eye, but he's just not a very good storyteller. As with Bronson, he gives himself a powerful central character to work with--here, a supernaturally strong one-eyed psychopath who viciously kills his captors only to hook up with a band of Christian warriors heading for the Crusades. That's the whole movie, though. Nothing else happens, or at least nothing else that matters. It's an action movie without any action. That's a line that I feel like I'm writing a lot lately. MINUS

Playlist

Animal Kingdom (2010): While I didn't love this as much as our own Vinny High Life, I still liked it a lot. It reminded me of the indie small time crime stories that came out in the post-Tarantino 90s. Something like the unjustly forgotten Palookaville. And another example of how good acting can carry a film as much as any of the action. Side note: Not sure why my DVD case said, "An Australian answer to Goodfellas." Either The New York Times critic Stephen Holden has never seen Goodfellas or Australia didn't understand the question. PLUS

The Beaver (2010): I admit, I thought this was a joke when I first heard about it. I mean, Mel Gibson and a talking beaver puppet, how can this be an actual film? Or better, why? And Jodie Foster's directing? Really, it sounded more like a Funny or Die short. Well, they made it and...wait for the twist...it's good. The most surprising thing is how not absurd and over-the-top it is. Gibson's character suffers from severe depression and the only way he is able to relate to the world is through the use of the puppet. It's a sad, touching story, and a pretty realistic take on the disease. It's also one of the few types of roles I would have been able to watch Gibson play these days without being distracted by his real life plummet into bigoted insanity. And, hey, a pre-Winter's Bone Jennifer Lawrence is in it, too (this was made in 2009, but couldn't find a distributor). Something I didn't like, though, and a long time cinematic pet peeve: there's a scene where Gibson goes on a morning TV show and, as luck would have it, all the other major characters happen to be watching the same show at the same time in different locations. That then leads to an unnecessary and unrealistic rise to international fame for Gibson. Jodie should know better. PLUS

Police, Adjective (2009): I'm all over the map like the SMC version of Carmen Sandiego. Next stop, Romania. Have you heard about the Romanian New Wave? No? It's a pretty big deal in the head up their ass world of film critics. Here we have a film that, believe it or not, is accurately described by its vague title. It's about a cop following a teenager who he believes is selling hash or knows who is. So, he follows him. Literally. There's one 20 minute sequence where the cop walks behind him and then waits outside his house. Let me tell you, 20 minutes of nothing is a long time. That's it, by the way. He follows the kid and is told to bust him for smoking. He doesn't want to and his boss has him read the dictionary definition of "police" and some other words. That's the climax. Reading from the dictionary. There are other scenes of him eating and listening to a song and smoking, there's a lot of smoking. Also, Romania looks like one depressing hole. I'm surprised the cop didn't walk around with a beaver on his hand. MINUS

Playlist

Paul (2011): If you like stars Simon Pegg and Nick Frost, then you'll like this. While they'll probably never again reach the brilliance of Shaun of the Dead, there's nothing wrong with hitting a level of consistent likability. Speaking of which, the main praise here should, believe it or not, be reserved for the way the wise-cracking titular alien voiced by Seth Rogan is NOT annoying. That's no small feat (for a CGI character or for recent Rogan). Kristin Wiig is in this, too. Is she funny? I think so. As for Pegg and Frost's usual cohort, director Edgar Wright was off filming Scott Pilgrim, but was replaced by Superbad's Greg Mottola. Not a bad sub. PLUS

White Material (2009): Here's the difference between this and director Claire Denis' 2008 film, 35 Shots of Rum: tension. As you may remember, 35 Shots was a minus for me for the simple reason that nothing happened in the way that only nothing can happen in a French film. While WM isn't exactly Crank, at least there's a pulse. Isabelle Huppert gives a strong performance as a woman trying to hold together her coffee plantation as the violence of the unnamed African nation's civil war closes in. And get this: her husband is played by none other than Highlander himself, Christopher Lambert, or as he's billed her, Christophe. I always felt that "r" was the only thing standing between him and an Oscar for Fortress. So, yes, I see now why Denis is so revered as a director. PLUS

Card Subject to Change (2010): This is a doc about the world of indie wrestling. If you know anything about the subject, you know it's inherently sad. It's a world where guys destroy their bodies for $50 a night if they're lucky. Even sadder are the former industry stars, guys (and gals) like Kevin Sullivan, Billy Kidman and Sherri Martel, who went from performing in front of thousands in arenas to a dozen goobers in VFW halls. And then there's the Ugandan Giant Kamala. Still around. Did you know he has released several R&B albums? Comes across as a real nice guy. While CStC isn't as good as 1999's Beyond the Mat, it's still a fascinating watch if you're into the scene. PLUS

Playlist: Public Enemies

I've always been fascinated by the now near mythic outlaws of the 1920s and 30s. Not that I'm alone in this considering the countless books and movies documenting--and too often glamorizing--their exploits. I still remember watching the 1988 TV movie about Al Capone's enforcer, Frank Nitti. I have no idea if it was any good, but it was the first thing that popped into my mind when Nitti made a cameo in Michael Mann's pretty close to historically accurate tale of the era's most famous most wanted, John Dillinger.

Dillinger was nothing short of a celebrity, with his media flair and Robin Hood-esque gimmick ("-esque" not because he actually gave the money he stole to the Depressed poor, but because he opted not to waste time taking the change from farmers' pockets while robbing the tens of thousands from bank vaults). As played by Johnny Depp, you can understand the public falling under the spell of this larger than life character. Unfortunately, as a viewer, I can't say the same. I never felt charmed by this well-made and stylish, but clinical and cold film.

That sentiment wasn't helped by Christian Bale's FBI Agent Melvin Purvis, hot on Dillinger's tail, but without any connection to the audience other than his job. Bale, strong in so much recently, feels wasted here. Depp is given more room to work, but it feels as if he is being restrained as well. The only person to rise above the conservative script is the always enchanting Marion Cotillard as Dillinger's girlfriend. (She's going to be in Woody Allen's next movie, Midnight in Paris, with Rachel McAdams and, in all seriousness, I'm not sure I'll be able to handle it.)

As for Mann, I certainly didn't dislike this film, but I'm less certain if I can give it a positive distillery score. And, as he most definitely will be distilled in the future, I have to look back to see if this sort of emotional detachment is common to all his films. Is it usually effective and appropriate to the material? We'll find out, though Vin may let us know the answer before then.

(One more: there is a seemingly un-Mannish scene at the end when an FBI agent tells Cotillard's character that Dillinger's last words were "Bye, bye, blackbird," which just so happened to be the title of "their" song. It just reeked of cheese.)

Playlist: The House of the Devil

There was a time not too long ago when, after nuclear annihilation, the biggest fear for many Americans was Satanic cults. This was the late 70s/early 80s--okay, that actually is long ago--and every so often Geraldo Rivera or some other goof would make a stink about this unholy danger to our children and, based on the go-to news imagery, our livestock as well. Of course, this only made pentagrams cool and gave horror writers a new vein to tap.

Ti West's 2009 film is a throwback to that era, right down to the 16mm look and the main character's gigantic Walkman. His filmmaking, however, takes us back even further, eschewing the slash and splatter for an earlier less-is-more sensibility. He builds suspense, slowly and deliberately, until you can't help but freaking out right along with the heroine. This isn't about killing time until the next gore scene by piecing together empty scare tactics, but skewering us with anticipation. It's negative fear, that dread lurking outside the empty spaces of the mundane (climbing a flight or stairs, entering a room, etc.).

That heroine mentioned before is college sophomore Samantha who, desperate for rent money so she can move out of her dorm room and away from her roommate, agrees to take a "babysitting" job against her better judgement and her best friend's protestations. Sure, it's an old Gothic mansion and the couple is creepiness personified, but she was getting paid $400 for a few hours work. Even a quarter century later, that's a lot of money. So, she stays and, well, the rest of the movie happens. All of which is not to say that Samantha is your typical horror movie ditz. Jocelin Donahue gives one of the better performances you'll see in a film like this, playing the character as a normal, naive kid. Her dialogue, particularly with her friend, is unforced and believable, which only adds to the atmosphere of the film.

Confession: the reason I watched this in the first place was because of the friend. Yep, it's Greta Gerwig. And, yep, even in a small role in a "traditional" film she brings her natural acting vibe (not to mention some very Farrah hair).

The movie climaxes in a chilling scene of desperation that made me want to turn the lights back on. But then, West tacks on 15 minutes, abandoning his pacing and focus and turning on the blood faucet. It's not really tacked on as the whole movie was leading to this point, but it's too brusque a tone shift. As for the very ending, um, I don't know what he was trying to say (if you want to know what happened, leave a comment and I'll explain). Overall, though, this is a great pick if you're looking for something fresh to watch this Shocktober.

Playlist: Armored

What is is about heist movies that I like so much? Judging by this, I have no idea. That's not really fair, though, because this isn't really a heist movie. At least not in the traditional sense. Sure, there's a heist. But it's just to set up a couple of armored truck chase scenes (yes, two).

Okay, that lead question was just a set-up for the cheap shot in the second sentence. I know very well what the appeal of heist films is and I know it's twofold. First, it's the enticement of being part of an against-the-odds scheme, the pull of the underdog. It never matters that we are rooting for criminals because it's not about the crime itself but about pulling it off. We don't care if they get the money, but how they get it. Armored avoids any of this psychological foreplay by revealing the entire plan in a few lines and then by reveling in its simplicity. What we're left with it just some losers trying to steal money. Where's the fun in that? And if we're not cheering for them, what's left for us to do? Wait, they have an answer: manufacture a good guy. That would be Columbus Short as Denzel Washington as a Gulf War vet who only agreed to the plan in the first place because he was going to lose his house to the bank and his brother, who he is raising since both parents died, to foster care. See, he agreed to steal the $42 million dollars, but then had a change of heart. Okay? Yeah, he chickened out. Which actually got me cheering for the other guys (a good cast including Matt Dillon, Laurence Fishburne, Jean Reno, and the long lost Skeet Ulrich) because, really, what's this guy's problem?

The second part of the equation is the getaway. It's one thing to break into a bank or a museum, it's another thing entirely to break back out. It's all part of the plan, of course, the coup de grace for every heist mastermind. Whether they make it or not depends on the tone of the film, but the implications of that question need to be played out. There's no getaway here because Private Integrity just locks himself in one of the armored trucks with the money and plays nah-nah-nah-nah-poo-poo for most of the rest of the movie. This all could have been fun, but director Nimrod Antal decided to go another way. Maybe he was going for a deconstruction of the heist film by removing all the cliched interesting parts. He is Hungarian.

Ok, SPOILER ALERT. No surprise, but the ending is ridiculous. After our "hero" kills everyone (keep in mind that he turned on his friends because they killed a homeless guy who witnessed them unloading the cash--maybe Antal was examining the vagaries of 21st century morality) and destroys all the money, not only isn't he charged with anything, but may even get a reward (to pay off the house, yay!). The fact that he willingly agreed to steal the money seems to never cross anyone's mind. Or that all the death and destruction in his wake was a result of his choices. Yes, we get an anti-hero without any of the coolness or the, you know, heroism. And that's way too many words about this movie.

Playlist: A Prophet

This French crime drama was the front-runner for Best Foreign Film Oscar last year, but ended up losing to another crime movie, Argentina's The Secret in Their Eyes. Not that its shelves are empty: it cleaned up in Europe, including winning the Grand Prix at Cannes, which from what I hear ain't too shabby. Also, do films have shelves?

Tahar Rahim plays Malik, a young Arab sentenced to six years in prison for beating up some cops. French cops, but it is France, so it's all relative (and get this: French prisoners get full baguettes. I know, right? I bet their prison rape is even romantic.) Anyway, Malik's young and weak and gets dragged deep into the crime world by the Corsican mafia boss inside. Two things: one, the Corsican mafia is like the real Mafia of France, and two, there is no such thing as the Mafia.

To me, it felt a little like Goodfellas in a French prison. The young ethnic outsider gets caught up with Le Famille and slowly makes his way up the ranks. The endings differ and I won't say any more because this should definitely be seen. It's long--155 min--but plot-driven so it moves fast. Director Jacques Audiard is now on the Watch List.

Bonus: a very cool cover of "Mack the Knife" at the end.

Playlist: The Damned United

I thought I'd check out this film about English football while I am still recovering from World Cup fever. In all seriousness, I should be bed-ridden. But I soldier on for you, dear reader. Up and at 'em to the ol' desktop computron (No laptop for me. I have a water bed and don't want to get electrocuted).

The Damned United is an account of famed (and controversial) manager Brian Clough (Michael Sheen, as good as he has been in everything lately) and his obsessive battle to prove he was England's best manager. At the time (early 70s), English football was dominated by Leeds United and their manager Don Revie was a national hero. Clough was the up-and-coming small club wondercoach who would finally get the chance to eclipse Revie only to be damned by his own ambition. From what I've read, they played a little loose with the facts, but they got their point home. Which was to shed a little light on a lesser known personality--or a completely unknown one in God Bless America. These are the bios we need because while it may be worthwhile to read a 400 page book on Lincoln or DiMaggio, chances are I'm not going to be reading one about Brian Clough.

Ok, I'll cut to the chase: where does this place on the All Time Soccer Movie list? I'll tell you: I don't know, third? Fourth? Shaolin Soccer is One. Victory is top three, though I don't remember if I've ever seen the whole thing. Bend it Like Beckham is probably Two. Oh, wait, what about Ladybugs? Ok, I'll stick with Four. Maybe Three.

Playlist: Pandorum

You've been here before: Earth of the future has a foot and 4 toes in the grave and our desperate descendants have to seek a new planetary home to slowly ravage. You know the spaceship, too: all exposed wires and flickering lights (at least our crappy work ethic will survive. Speaking of which, sorta, what are the chances that people will be speaking exactly the same as we speak today centuries into the future? Right, none. I know why movies overlook this. Because it's a movie. I'm just saying). Oh, and since non-hyperdrive interstellar travel is such a drag, someone inevitably gets a case of cabin fever and goes all space Shining. "Three years into their shift, one of their officers had a psychological breakdown. The doctors referred to it as ODS symptom. The privates, we call it Pandorum. It drove him insane. He became convinced that the flight was cursed. Evil."

Ooh, right? Like I said, nothing new. But, and here's where this whole post reverses trajectory, or something. This is a good movie. A goof sci-fi movie, which sadly, is saying something considering the quickie Syfy dreck we have to endure. And by "have to" I mean because we're idiots. No, this is a film that takes a standard premise and just does it well. Nothing spectacular (though I want to shave with one of those laser razors), but a lot that was solid. I didn't even mind that the double twist ending was visible from a light year away (Science in your face!). It wasn't played for shock value so much as just the resolution to the plot.  

That quote, btw, was from Dennis Quaid, who is the big name here, though not really the star. That goes to Ben Foster who has to race to save the ship's reactor (along with Milla Jovovich knockoff, Antje Traue. Seeing as this was made by the producers of the Resident Evil series I can't imagine that was an accident.) Foster's been putting together a nice run of strong performances in smaller movies. (One more casting bit: I hate Cam Gigandet. Not in an Affleck way, but in a this guy is way too good at playing a prick way. he probably gives kittens CPR in real life. Unlike Affleck, who eats them.)

Playlist: Bronson

Why? I was impressed by Tom Hardy in Inception. Plus, it looked badass cool.

If I hadn't known this was the same actor going in, I would not have pieced it together. Seriously, take a look:

Pretty, ain't he? Hardy is the whole show here. He is completely taken over Raging Bull-style by the character, the real-life Charlie Bronson, aka "the most violent prisoner in Britain". Bronson is an absolute nutbag who has only been out of jail for four months since 1974. The movie is a very loose depiction of his life, choosing to brush over facts for visuals. Mainly, scenes of Hardy beating the snot out of people. A lot of which he is completely naked. We're talking full-frontal, ladies.

Director Nicolas Winding Refn does a lot of good things here, including framing the story around a stage monologue by Bronson. But the thing is that for all Bronson's nutbagery, he's basically just a thug. There's no character arc, no climax. And he's never actually killed anyone, which, yes, is a good thing, but lowers the stakes a bit. The DVD cover boasts that it's "A Clockwork Orange for the 21st Century" (a quote from some magazine called Zoo). It's not. It looks good and Hardy is excellent, but it ultimately comes up a little on the dull side. Disappointingly so.

Playlist: Pontypool

Why? One of the most buzzed about "zombie" movies in years

Damn it, this was so close. Helluva set-up: Grant Mazzy is a veteran radio personality stuck doing the morning show in a small, snowy Canadian town. What plays out next is pure Orson Welles as reports start to trickle in about strange occurrences in the area, including a gathering mob that soon turns violent. All the time, we see nothing but the inside of the studio as the tension builds through the reactions of Mazzy (character actor Stephen McHattie--think Lance Hendrikson mixed with Hugh Laurie) and his staff.

Which brings us to the crossroads. Go one way, director Bruce McDonald maintains the movie as a study of paranoia and the unknown, relying on his storytelling to escalate the terror. It's risky, but where else to take a narrative leap but in a low-budget genre film. The other way, which you probably guessed is the way we went, is to bring on the zombies. One choice isn't better than the other. It's what happens after the choice that counts.

To McDonald's credit, he has gone on record as stating that the infected people in this film are not zombies. He refers to them as "conversationalists" because the disease is language-based. Certain words--different for everybody--trigger a neurological lockdown where "you become so distraught at your condition that the only way out of the situation you feel, as an infected person, is to try and chew your way through the mouth of another person." It's always interesting to see a new twist, but there's no science here to back it up in the slightest. That's not even the real problem. There's not even any pseudo-science to back it up. The "why" is never fully revealed. Again, this is okay if you are confident to leave your story shrouded in mystery. Which leads us back to the choice to reveal the "zombies."

The radio station is soon overrun by infected townspeople as well as a doctor whose connection to the epidemic is never explained but who is presented as the key to solving the puzzle. The character (or the actor, or both) is a mess. He's goofy and babbling and kills the carefully-developed tone of the film. And adds nothing. At this point the whole concept breaks down and the resolution feels made up on the spot. It feels like no one had any idea what to do in the second half of the film. Still better than Dead Snow, though.

Playlist: American Radical: The Trials of Norman Finkelstein

Why? Interesting sounding documentary

And it was. Finkelstein is a professor and author who has made his career criticizing Israel's treatment of the Palestinians. Ok, more than criticizing. He compares them to the Nazis, his argument given a certain legitimacy by his being the son of Holocaust survivors. Surprisingly, some people disagree. This film does a good job of presenting both sides of the debate and not simply shooting the subject in a glowing light.

Unfortunately, it could have been about 25 minutes shorter. Like I said, Finkelstein is a complex personality and someone I didn't know anything about--the perfect docu mix. A tight hour would have done the job without all the filler that dragged this film down at times. It's a problem with a lot of documentarians. This may be a strange criticism, but I think they focus too much on "making a film" instead of simply tackling a subject as efficiently as possible. It's what gives good documentaries a bad name. So, no, I wouldn't necessarily recommend this film so much as I would suggest reading up on Finkelstein. Don't worry, online reading counts, too.

Playlist: 35 Shots of Rum

Why? Trying to class this place up

Seriously, though, this film was on several "Best of 2009" lists and I did think it was good to expand my cinematic diet. A little French cuisine now and then to offset the usual American mac & cheese. Good intentions, right? What's French for "Oy"?

I should have known. The DVD came with an essay by Film Quarterly editor Rob White. I've read Film Quarterly. Rather, I've tried to read Film Quarterly. It's not written to be understood, but to be the print equivalent of self-fellating to the sound of your own pomposity. Film is art and art criticism has a vital role in society. But so does perspective. Not every foreign experimental arthouse film is a transcendental life experience. Just like not every summer blockbuster is deep-fried crap. You don't have to like or dislike anything until you actually like or dislike it. Novel concept. Maybe I'll start a School of Thought around it.

Right, the essay. White writes 35 Shots "lacks the menace of her (director Clair Denis's) recent work..." If only I had Babel Fished "Critic to English" I would have gotten the word "boring." I'm particularly dissatisfied that the late Vin just watched one of Denis's "menacing" movies, Trouble Every Day. It sounded tres wild.

Nothing happens. Not true. We get extended scenes of the characters driving a train, sitting on a couch, doing laundry, and in what may have been the climax, making an omelet. No one speaks in the way people only do in art films. Small talk, evidently, is so bourgeois.

Thought: could Denis have intended the title to serve as a supplemental instruction, an attempt to transform the medium to an alive, interactive experience, to blur the century-old chasm between creator and audience? Basically, should I have been drunk?

Playlist: Crazy Heart

Ok, format tweak. Nothing major. That's not a euphemism like the time Uncle Nunzio became Aunt Lola. Just a little insight into why I decided to invest my precious time in a particular film. (And it has nothing to do with Vin wondering why we don't have anything in common despite everything we've been through...hold on...give me a sec...I'm good)

Why? Jeff Bridges' Oscar-winning performance

A small, simple film about hard-living, down on his luck country singer, Bad Blake. It's one of those films you enjoy not so much for the story as for the performances. This is an acting showcase for Bridges, one that brought him much-deserved acclaim, but the supporting cast--Maggie Gyllenhaal (Oscar nominated and really putting together a nice career), Robert Duvall, Colin Farrell--is right there with him. 

First time director Scott Cooper has said the Blake character was an amalgam of Waylon Jennings, Kris Kristofferson and Merle Haggard, and Bridges definitely brings that outlaw charm. And while I'm not a big country music fan, the soundtrack really works here ("The Weary Kind" won the Academy Award for Best Original Song).

Playlist: Youth in Revolt

This was the film where Michael Cera finally played a character other than Michael Cera. Or at least that's what everyone kept saying to me whenever I mentioned that he's never played anything other than himself. I had my doubts. As usual, I was right (by "usual" I mean, "for the first time".)

YiR is another amusing, quirky comedy--nothing hysterical, but enjoyable. Cera is his usual self, meaning he's himself as a high school kid in love. The big twist here (as opposed to his character's last name, Twisp) is that he develops a smooth criminal alter ego named Francois Dillinger. Francois has a moustache. Not exactly Russell Crowe in The Insider, but it's a start. So, he's going to me Michael Cera playing Scott Pilgrim. So what? I like Michael Cera. Everyone likes Michael Cera. That's his superpower. Probably got bit by a radioactive bunny.

Some good supporting casting to note: Steve Buscemi, Ray Liotta, Fred Willard, and Zach Galifianakis (though Zach is sadly underused, as he was in Up in the Air. Here, he basically plays a slob with a beard. Talk about typecasting.) But it's a testament to Zach's rising star power that both YiR and UitA misleadingly featured him in ads. He's the buzz boy right now after his cannonball splash onto the public radar in last year's The Hangover. That was Todd Phillips' latest stake (after Road Trip and Old School) to the claim of best mainstream comedy director.

While that's not an actual thing, if anyone could be said to have held that title, it would be Harold Ramis. Proof? Caddyshack, Vacation, Groundhog Day. It's almost poetic that his latest film, Year One, came out the same month as The Hangover. Year One felt like a holdover from Ramis' prime in the 80s. The jokes were DOA, the tone was flat, and it felt more like a string of gags than a fully developed story. That can work and has worked, but you really need to be at the top of your comedic game to pull it off. Mainstream comedy is a tough genre to survive--you have to be equally funny to people with actual senses of humor and also the rest of the idiots out there. It's a small window. Phillips has missed twice already (Starsky & Hutch and School for Scoundrels, though blame Ben Stiller's ego for the former).

The two movies also may have marked the passing of a second torch. Year One's Jack Black seems to have hit the funny wall. Though him hitting a wall might be more entertaining than some of his recent movies. H-Wood is a fickle town and he better watch his back because Zach is the same age, has the same look, but is still the cheaper option. Just saying. Next up for both: Black has Gulliver's Travels this Christmas in what looks to be his attempt to tap into the Night at the Museum market; Zach has Phillips' Due Date with Robert Downey Jr. this fall.

Oh, Jack Black's Year One co-star? Michael Cera. Playing Michael Cera dressed like a caveman.

Playlist: An Education

All the buzz around this was about Carey Mulligan's breakout performance and it was certainly justified. The story is about the awakening of an English school girl in 1961 (sounds a little Rochelle, Rochelle, doesn't it?). Nothing innovative here, but good movies don't always have to be. They just have to be, well, good. Surprisingly, that is far easier said than done. It helps to have a great cast, of course. And, looky here, this one does--Peter Sarsgaard, Olivia Williams, Emma Thompson, and a very funny Alfred Molina. But this is Mulligan's film and she is as charming and captivating as advertised and makes you want to see everything she has ever done.

The other drawing card for me was that the screenplay was written by one of my favorite authors, Nick Hornby. In case you skipped that first paragraph (and I understand, what with how you're so busy these days), I really enjoyed this film and the writing was a major factor. Mulligan, especially, brought his dialogue to life and I'd love to see the two get to work together again.

Playlist: Tales from the Script

I always enjoy listening to creative people discussing their art and here we have some of Hollywood's top screenwriters sharing what they've learned about the industry. Nothing that hasn't already been said--yes, it is harder than you think and even after you "make it," you still haven't made it--but enlightening all the same. Even though movies can't be made without a script, and even though the number one complaint when a movie bombs is that it was poorly written, the powers that be continue to arrogantly treat their writers as disposable typists. So it goes.

One writer that stood out in this film was Paul Schrader. Whenever he popped up, under his name they listed a different film he wrote. I knew he had an impressive resume, but I guess I never really put it all together. The guy wrote Taxi Driver, Raging Bull, and The Last Temptation of Christ. Granted, not exactly Transformers 2, but not bad.

Playlist: Black Dynamite

Damn, this is one righteous blaxploitation homage, suckas. I say homage because, one, I'm pretentious, and two, parody calls to mind too many goofy hack jobs like all those Scary Movies. The difference is that Black Dynamite, like Shaun of the Dead or even Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story, has fun with, instead of making fun of, the source material. There's a degree of reverence present and not just a collection of cheap sight gags or topical jokes that are DOA by the time they come out on DVD.

Director Scott Sanders comes to this with really no track record, but he and co-writer/star Michael Jai White show deft hands at capturing that parodic comedic balance. We get the best of the genre--pimps, hos, kung fu--in all their ridiculous splendor. The climax? Why a nunchucks duel with Richard Nixon, of course.

Now, in the words of The Man himself (Black Dynamite, not Tricky Dick): Shh, mama, you gonna wake up the rest of the bitches.

Playlist: Food, Inc.

Trouble losing weight? Who isn't, what with Speedo season fast approaching? Sure, you could go the traditional route, but with so many germs floating around these days it's just not as safe sticking your fingers down your throat as it used to be. May I offer a suggestion? Sit on the couch (what, you were thinking exercise?) and put on Robert Kenner's Oscar-nominated doc about the food industry.

I hope this doesn't come as a shock, but the American food-industrial complex is a dark, sordid place. If you eat meat, you already know how to disassociate the mouth-watering aroma of a grilled burger with the horrifically violent and unsanitary conditions of the slaughterhouse it came from. You have to. Like that one uncle. You know the one. You don't remember? Good job.

But the real revelations in this eye-opening film come from the rainbow and pony filled fields of happy-go-vegan land. It seems the entire grains and veggie market is a corporate repression training film in progress. Thank you, Monsanto. How have they not put Soylent Green on shelves yet?

We're all victims of the system and woefully unarmed to fight the power. Things need to change. It's scary and sad, not just that this is how the world is, but that we let it happen. Where the hell's Upton Sinclair when you need him? Dead? Must have been something he ate.

Playlist: Sherlock Holmes

It's elementary* that the combo of director Guy Ritchie and star Robert Downey, Jr. would adapt Sherlock Holmes into a highly watchable, bare-knuckled romp through Victorian London. There's nothing new or innovative here, but sometimes fun is enough. Add Jude Law as loyal partner Watson and the always enchanting Rachel McAdams and you have two hours you won't demand back.

There's been some criticism that they took too many liberties with the classic Holmes character, but my understanding is that most past adaptations have been worse offenders. The great detective has become something of a cliche over the years and we have unfortunately been living with a watered down image of this very complex, very flawed (in the most interesting way) literary creation.

One of the better versions of the Holmes-Watson dynamic in recent years has been playing out on "House, M.D." So much so that I kept thinking Downey and Law were reminding me of Hugh Laurie and Robert Sean Leonard's House and Wilson.

*legally required pun