If there's anyone who has pulled off a wickedly impressive image transformation, it's Angelina Jolie. She used to be the wild child who'd wear bloody tees to her wedding (with Jonny Lee), or bloody vials around her neck (as she did with Billy Bob). Then she did a 180, becoming a goodwill ambassador and starting her own multicultural Brady Bunch with Brad Pitt.
I'm happy for her, but I can't help but miss the good ol' days. She might have been wild, and she might have shocked many -- but she had a great spark, one that seems to have disappeared inside the current carefully manufactured icon she is today.
The gleam might be hidden these days, but luckily we're living in a world of DVD entertainment. We can head back to the past whenever we want to. What follows are my two favorite Jolie gigs. They're far from the best movies, but they definitely embody both the old Angelina, and a certain period of '90s rebellion. I give you: Hackers and Foxfire.
Oh, David O. Russell. The man is completely imbalanced: physical confrontations with George Clooney on set, putting Christopher Nolan in a headlock, going on a tirade towards Lily Tomlin, and arguing with James Caan about whether it's possible to choke and cough at the same time. But say what you will about his stability, he puts out some pretty damn good films.
This week's double feature is all about his deliciously talented imbalance. If you're not up for wildly colorful car racing or crappy-looking weddings in Vegas, maybe some Iraq-set comedy and over-the-top existential intervention is more up your alley. Oh yes, I'm talking about the wildly fun Three Kings and one of my favorite giggle-inducing comedies of all time -- I Heart Huckabees.
This weekend I get to cat sit the two cutest bengals on earth, but the perks of this gig are much more than sitting around, indulging in cable television, and playing with the furry little beasts. It also means I have a huge selection of liquor, wine and beer at my disposal to cook with and imbibe. So, while my mind is scheming up what sort of exotic drink I will make tonight, it's also thinking of alcohol-laden movies.
For this double feature, I'm giving you two of my favorite movies that are completely intertwined with the love of alcohol. One is quirky, but fairly straight-laced, while the other is just insanity, but in the immensely fun sort of way. I give you: Alexander Payne's Sideways and Guy Maddin's The Saddest Music in the World. (If you're looking for even more choices, check out Christopher Campbell's Cinematical Seven from last December.)
Between Forgetting Sarah Marshall last week, and Harold & Kumar Escape from Guantanamo Bay this week, the comedy world is all aflutter with dangerous vacations, whether that danger is watching your newly ex-girlfriend snuggle up to her raunchy new pop-star boyfriend, or heading to Amsterdam to get some Maria lovin'.
So this time around, I figured I would dip into vacations that go bad. We could break into the smaller-scale travel films, where protagonists only go a town or state over, but Harold and Kumar already did the close traveling. Now they're going a heck of a lot farther. Interesting adventures, strange people, and romantic dysfunction are the players in this game, and for this week's double feature, I give you: Blame it on Rio and Joe Versus the Volcano.
And, just to be clear, me choosing two infamously bad movies says nothing about my thoughts on H&K. I swear!
The pounding beat of a headache, or the sear of a migraine, is something I rarely have to face. That makes me lucky, for the most part, but it also means that when one hits, like today, all I can think of is heads and brains like a zombie in training. Naturally, this has me thinking of movies that focus on the stories of the noggin. Should I go for The Man with Two Brains or other similar brainy fare? Nah.
Instead, I'm going to focus on a man behind the camera, one who brought us two of the best stories of the mind to date: Mr. Charlie Kaufman. It all started with a little Malkovich Malkovich, and then continued with the overwhelming urge to erase love from the mind -- two stories that make a little headache seem like nothing. On this warm Friday, I give you: Being John Malkovich and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind ...
Usually, heavy drama and inspirational fare are mixed into hard-hitting or heart-sagging packages. But sometimes, the tough-to-swallow is mixed with comedy -- not in a way where the funny is the only thing that matters, but in a way that helps move the story and keep you out of that moviegoer depression. When done right, it can be a really enjoyable experience -- one that makes you think, feel, and laugh.
Now, I'm cheating a little bit for this double feature. One of the films just came out on DVD this week, but the other doesn't come out until Tuesday (Double Feature of the Future!). But having received both screeners, and having them sitting here on the desk, looking at me, I couldn't help but use them because they go so well together. Both contain some pretty dramatic moments, but the drama is couched in levity. I present: Music Within and Lars and the Real Girl -- two films that embrace the marriage of comedy and drama, as well as people who get past their own fears and offer help to others.
In all of the world's modern accomplishments, and as far as we've come over the last 100 years, there's still a long way to go, especially with race and culture, and cinema is a perfect example of that. It's still noteworthy when an African American actor or actress wins an Oscar. Films are still being whitewashed. No matter how many progressive ideas hit the waves, Hollywood relies on their fear-induced blanket of stereotypes and marginalized roles for a large group of talented, charismatic, and diverse actors.
In the case of a movie like 21, it's just downright laughable. Why change the race of these actors so that Jim Sturgess & company could grab the roles. No offense to Jim, who I really enjoyed in Across the Universe, but is he going to pull in bigger numbers than, say, John Cho?
One, Hollywood needs to stop fearing minority stars. Two, they need to recognize the diverse multi-racial talent that has managed to break through narrow casting waters, and how many more are out there, undiscovered. Three, they need to make use of them! Take a look just at this list. It's not only a list of talented people, but I bet you at least a few of the names would surprise you. They're out there, and there's more where they came from.
In honor of a few films that have hit it big in the states, starring talented actors who are not white, I give you Harold & Kumar Go to White Castle and Bend It Like Beckham.
Everything is coming up parties and games this week. I've been busy making a kickass birthday cake for a friend, planning for the party, and finally picking up a belated gift of Scrabble for another friend. Top that off with news stories about Kevin Kline and chess, and getting sent pictures of really cool Blue Velvet cakes, and, well, I've got games and parties on the brain.
Picking this week's films was a bit of a challenge, but it all depended on the angle. Did I just want movies with games in them? Did they have to be performed at parties? Would I consider the likes of Bobby Fischer or Jumanji? Nah. Instead, we've got two films that boast insanely great ensemble casts, have some pretty fierce competition, and yet are wonderful for completely different reasons: The Anniversary Party and Clue.
Let's start off with a little bit of trivia: Did you know that High School Musical and its sequels have had the working titles Grease 3, Grease 4, and Grease 5? That would make it seem as though Zac Efron and his super-cute co-stars were some new generation possibly bred from the loins of Sandy and Danny. Not quite. It's got the whole differing social group angle, and how friends can get in the way of love, but it's definitely not that dirty, classic family movie we all know.
As a tot, I liked Grease, but I loved Grease 2 -- this is probably because Maxwell Caulfield was much easier on the eyes than John Travolta. But after watching the original a few times and devouring the second much more often, there was a long hiatus until a close cousin of mine got a little older and Grease got re-released in theaters. I took her to see it, and my jaw sagged through the entire film. How dirty! How could I not have realized this? I looked over at her; she was smiling, happy, and oblivious, so obviously the "don't-see-the-raunchiness" spell was working all these years later. It skillfully rides that fine line between raunch and respectability.
So, in the sea of a new musicals, equipped with myriads of fangirls, I give you my generation's High School Musicals: Grease and Grease 2.
These days, Judd Apatow is the man behind the laughs. He has been comedy gold lately, reinvigorating the struggling world of comedic cinema and offering a selection of laughs you can rely on. It's nice to be able to go to a "funny" flick and be sure that you'll at least laugh a few times, instead of head out for hi-jinx and spend an hour and twenty minutes in awkward silence, desperately yearning for even the slightest chuckle.
Thirty-something years ago, the laugh man was Mel Brooks. He brought the comedy, and he even brought the art. How many comedic filmmakers today would dare to make a silent movie (aside from Guy Maddin), or do the world of Frankenstein comedic justice? I've gushed over the wonder that is Young Frankenstein before, so today, I'm leaving it up to some other blast-to-the-past spoof comedy -- Blazing Saddles and The History of the World: Part I.
A few months ago, it snowed. In the spirit of manifesting your own reality and the perks of positivity, I stomached any ill feelings. In fact, I welcomed the white landscape with open arms, determined to look on the bright side of life. It was a nice change. I made and threw some snowballs, and I smiled through the first few dumpings of snow. Then the snow kept coming -- in record-breaking amounts. Months went by. Now, tonight and tomorrow, my neighborhood is set to get another foot. Good God, this is enough!
I've learned my lesson: never welcome the snow, because the first year you do, the snow will slam into you over and over again for months -- laughing at your positive idiocy while it torments you with sadistic, stinging snowflakes. Now tonight, as I curl up in the safety of my apartment, I could watch some sort of tropical films, but that would just make me angry. Once you get to a certain point, the weather you dream of is more of a low-blow taunt than a nice escape. So, I'm going to give you two films laden with snow, but with enough bad vibes to make a simple, snow-covered night not so bad. I am, of course, talking about Fargo and The Sweet Hereafter.
Landmarks usually don't get their own films -- not to mention a number of films -- but the Chelsea Hotel is different. It is North America's house of art -- a simple, red-brick building that was built in 1883 and holds the history of many creative achievements of the last 100+ years. It's thick with remembrances of writers from Mark Twain to Gore Vidal, Simone de Beauvoir to Jean-Paul Sartre, the vision of actors and filmmakers Edie Sedgwick to Stanley Kubrick, artists from Frida Kahlo to Robert Crumb, and of course, the music. Leonard Cohen, Janis Joplin, Tom Waits, Patti Smith, The Ramones, Jimi Hendrix, and many more have graced its halls with their notes.
So of course, there have been a number of films that have filmed at, or been based on, the famous artistic hot-spot. In honor of Abel Ferrara's upcoming film Chelsea on the Rocks, I give you two that came before it -- first, the mellow story of Ethan Hawke's Chelsea Walls, and then the energized fury that was Sid & Nancy. Since this double feature is as much about the place as it is the work that came out of it, I'm adding a special intermission of Chelsea fare. Sit back, and enjoy your leap night with a little magical art.
Last week, I picked two actors who should have won Oscars for their performances, but were terribly and horribly robbed. This week, I'm picking two old films that a few of this year's nominees should have been nominated for before. The Academy -- man, they never get it right. It shouldn't be the likes of Michael Clayton or No Country for Old Men. Forget that. George Clooney and Tommy Lee Jones had much, much more deserving roles. They should have received best actor nominations for Return of the Killer Tomatoes and Volcano. Sinister, slow-moving villains and earnest, fight-to-the-end good guys -- that's what the Oscars should be lauding.
With an impressive and untouchable viewer rating of 4.7, Return of the Killer Tomatoes is the next step in the saga of the vegetables of doom. (Well, they're really fruit, but who wants to split hairs?) George Clooney and Anthony Starke star as Matt Stevens and Chad Finletter, two dudes who have to stop a mad scientist (John Astin) and yuppie pervert (Steve Lundquist) from launching the second coming of the Great Tomato Uprising. Things are complicated, however, when Chad falls for a girl-shaped tomato named Tara.
It's got everything the Academy could ever want in an Oscar winner (and a Clooney role) -- heart-breaking romance, intrigue, amazing dramatic performances, flawless direction and cinematography, memorable writing, state-of-the-art special effects, stunning costume achievements, and of course, the best intro song to ever be.
The strike is over, the Oscars are going on as planned, and there will be inevitable cries of fury and outrage towards at least some of the winners. The Academy always shocks and disappoints us with at least a few of the picks, and no matter how much I prepare myself to be bummed, I still wind up surprised. Honestly, I usually just watch it masochistically to get my fill of obituary sadness.
There have been 79 Oscar ceremonies, and that's a lot of disappointment and upset. So really, you can just zoom into any year and pick a few really worthy losers that should have scored themselves those coveted trophies. Me, I'm picking a few recent ones. One win was sad, and the other was completely infuriating, but both stick with me because of performances given, the actors who gave them, and the wonder of the films themselves. Instead of adding more glory to the winners, we should give the losers the appreciation they deserve. This week -- Richard Farnsworth in The Straight Story and Ellen Burstyn in Requiem for a Dream.
I almost wrote up a fan rant this week about Paris Hilton. After a paragraph, I realized that I was stating the obvious and backed away from it all. See, she recently had an interview with MTV/VH1 where they actually noted that it was a "word-for-word" transcript in case you didn't believe it. The discussion started with Christine Lakin (her Nottie co-star) trying to explain what a primary was. Irk #1, not having the slightest clue about the political process -- and not even potentially remembering any bit of schooling I assumed she had. Why am I surprised? I don't know.
From there, it went through a bunch of b-s, and then we get to Irk #2. Farts came up, and when asked: "So, Paris, even when you're at home by yourself, you don't occasionally let one rip?" she responded with: "No! Girls don't do that. Ew." Oh yes, that's right. Our skin is always perfect, we never fart, we don't grow excess hair, and when we go to the bathroom, it's just to powder our noses, not to deal with anything unsightly. Good lord. Is it wrong of me to want to send over some flatulence fiends to torture her for days with dutch ovens?
Anyway... I need a little reassurance that the world isn't doomed when women like Paris are popular, so this double feature is about women who discover their brains and put them to good use. They're both blonde, and both have lots of success, so Paris, this is me hoping that there is still hope for you, and giving you a hint about where to start: a double feature of Clueless and Legally Blonde.
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Everything is coming up parties and games this week. I've been busy making a kickass birthday cake for a friend, planning for the party, and finally picking up a belated gift of Scrabble for another friend. Top that off with news stories about Kevin Kline and chess, and getting sent pictures of really cool Blue Velvet cakes, and, well, I've got games and parties on the brain.
Let's start off with a little bit of trivia: Did you know that 
These days, Judd Apatow is the man behind the laughs. He has been comedy gold lately, reinvigorating the struggling world of comedic cinema and offering a selection of laughs you can rely on. It's nice to be able to go to a "funny" flick and be sure that you'll at least laugh a few times, instead of head out for hi-jinx and spend an hour and twenty minutes in awkward silence, desperately yearning for even the slightest chuckle.
A few months ago, it snowed. In the spirit of manifesting your own reality and the perks of positivity, I stomached any ill feelings. In fact, I welcomed the white landscape with open arms, determined to look on the bright side of life. It was a nice change. I made and threw some snowballs, and I smiled through the first few dumpings of snow. Then the snow kept coming -- in record-breaking amounts. Months went by. Now, tonight and tomorrow, my neighborhood is set to get another foot. Good God, this is enough!
Landmarks usually don't get their own films -- not to mention a number of films -- but the Chelsea Hotel is different. It is North America's house of art -- a simple, red-brick building that was built in 1883 and holds the history of many creative achievements of the last 100+ years. It's thick with remembrances of writers from Mark Twain to Gore Vidal, Simone de Beauvoir to Jean-Paul Sartre, the vision of actors and filmmakers Edie Sedgwick to Stanley Kubrick, artists from Frida Kahlo to Robert Crumb, and of course, the music. Leonard Cohen, Janis Joplin, Tom Waits, Patti Smith, The Ramones, Jimi Hendrix, and many more have graced its halls with their notes.
Last week, I picked two actors who should have won Oscars for their performances, but were terribly and horribly robbed. This week, I'm picking two old films that a few of this year's nominees should have been nominated for before. The Academy -- man, they never get it right. It shouldn't be the likes of 
The strike is over, the Oscars are going on as planned, and there will be inevitable cries of fury and outrage towards at least some of the winners. The Academy always shocks and disappoints us with at least a few of the picks, and no matter how much I prepare myself to be bummed, I still wind up surprised. Honestly, I usually just watch it masochistically to get my fill of obituary sadness.
I almost wrote up a fan rant this week about 
