I spent all that time during “Lost in Translation” salivating over S. Johansson’s pink-pantied behind that I forgot to check out her rack! What on Earth was wrong with me?
Not Cronenberg’s best film, but his most epic. And, possibly, one of the best movies about writing ever made. My chief complaint is that one really needs to have some prior knowledge about William S. Burroughs to “get” the film. Well, maybe that’s not entirely true. It’s tough to say. Peter Weller’s performance, though, especially opposite his typewriter, is flat-out hysterical. Gets better each time I see it. (Wish Fox Movie Channel didn’t show the pan-and-scan.)
On the way from Vienna to Hollywood Billy Wilder stopped in Paris to co-write and co-direct this film. A droll comedy about a fancy lad who joins a team of car theives. Some clever scenes, but lacking the eventual Wilder bite. Nifty.
Looks like they used a lot of Karo Syrup for this one.
Trailer Two actually has titles like, “One Man Who Changed Everything.”
Both have Latin!!
According to this article it seems that Tim Burton’s emotional film “Big Fish” was the straw that broke the camel’s back for Spalding Gray. I’ve heard from 4 adult males who have wept during this film. Now I feel like if I’m not emotionally changed by the picture there’s something wrong with me.
“Je suis un revolutionaire.” So said Terry Jones on a rubbish heap. The Python bit is more directed at Antonioni — Resnais’ films, all tracking shots, montage, voice-over and sound collage, work hard for their place on the World Film 101 syllabus. Yves Montand plays the burned-out freedom fighter, the ripe 19-year old Genvieve Bujold plays the doe-eyed Leninist terrorist. When they have sex, they float in a bright white void. I can’t say I followed every bit of the plot, but I’m fairly convinced that was intentional. I now have a firmer grasp on the mundane ins-and-outs of being a middle class Spanish left wing militant exile living in mid-60s Paris. And that’s some knowledge I didn’t have yesterday.
You know, there’s a lot about this movie that’s, to put it bluntly, retarded. The openining sequence in Iraq, plus Father Karras walking the streets looking troubled kinda goes on long after the point is made. This movie is successful, we all know, because a cute little girl says shockingly vulgar things. The shock hasn’t worn off. And try going to bed at night without seeing that horribly made-up face smirking at your. Shudder! Somehow, though, reasonable people engage this movie on a story level. I can’t go that far. But for shock value and gross-out creepiness, it is top-notch fun.
I’m a Film Fantatic!
And I will be one of six representatives for the city of New York on February 11th.
More info soon. For now, click here.
What we talk about on subway rides.
My top 5:
5 — Charlie Bucket
4 — Violet Beauregard
3 — Augustus Gloop
2 — Mike Teevee
1 — Veruca Salt
Ann’s top 5:
5 — Augustus Gloop
4 — Charlie Bucket
3 — Veruca Salt
2 — Mike Teevee
1 — Violet Beauregard
(We both agree that Mike Teevee’s mom should get un certain regard)
Who are YOUR picks?
I’ll quote Homer Simpson when he watched “Twin Peaks.” “Brilliant, absolutely brilliant. I have no idea what’s going on.” 4 Japanese ghost/folk tales. Whatever. I’ve given up on trying to relate to Japanese folktales. Still, sets, costumes, lighting and camerawork are mesmerizing. I may as well’ve watched this without the subtitles. Very, very pretty pictures. That’s gotta be worth something. (Drugs might’ve helped.)
My sister does a mean Veruca Salt. As a lad, this picture admitted me to the most obnoxious club there is: “the book is better.” Well, it is. Songs are catchy, though. I look forward to the Burton-Depp collaboration next year.
or: Epcot Center, The Movie. There’s plenty synthesized whirrs, schticky robot one-liners, dead pan Leslie Nielson and Evil Monsters from the Id on display here. It’s not a comedy. Anne Francis changes her outfit every scene she’s in, and that’s okay from where I’m sittin’. It took Turner Classic Movies’ announcer to remind me, after the film ended, that it was based on Shakespeare. Sometimes I’m slow.
I just learned that this was, at the time he made it, Woody’s favorite of his own films. I’ve got a relationship to this movie kinda what Mia Farrow has with the movie within this movie. The 79 minutes on display here are perfect, like a high-concept comedy version of haiku. The side characters, especially the “fake ones” are so rewarding, even in their elliptical presentation. Tears run down my face at the end without fail; I’ve probably seen this 25 times.
Ann and I braved the cold weather to hear the Jayhawks and their special brand of joyous harmonies. They were great, but the mezzanine seats at Town Hall were built in 1921 — when asses were half the size they are today!
I dig Mr. Jayhawk’s look. Timothy “Speed” Levitch meets Brian Sendrowitz. During the last song of the encore, they went off into wild jam band territory. Now, Gary Louris n’est pas Trey, but he did certainly try. I predict that the Jayhawks’ next CD will be filled with funky beats and long guitar solos — leaving many of their fans as baffled as they were last night.
Claudia Marshall was there, too. She TOTALLY does not look like this anymore. She’s got to update her website. As she walked past I stage-whispered to Ann, “I hear that woman’s voice in my head every morning!” She got a big kick out of it and introduced herself — and then said good-bye as she walked past, hours later.
Josh Rouse opened. Opening is tough. The place was about 35% full when he started playing. He was pretty good, I guess. A lot of his albums, which are F%^#ing brilliant, depend on studio gagetry and the intimacy of recording. I don’t think the P.A. system at Town Hall, or whatever opening act gear he had, was up to the task.