It’s been a long hard week, but I’ve finally been able to sit down to another Oscar contender. Wifey and I wanted to watch Atonement or Elizabeth: The Golden Age or I’m Not There, but we finally came down to Across the Universe. A student of mine had been bugging me to see this since before Christmas, and I finally had a chance tonight. I expected the film to refreshingly surprise me like a good Baz Luhrmann film, but it didn’t quite do that. Evan Rachel Wood’s Lucy looks a lot different than I remember her in Thirteen several years ago now, but she was endearing, while Joe Sturgess’ Jude played the Liverpudlian with aplomb. No one character stood out for me, albeit I loved Bono as Dr. Robert singing "I am the Walrus", the Jimi Hendrix-character, and the Janis Joplinesque singer.

The film has been nominated for Costume Design, and while I feel it was done well, I was surprised the film was not nominated for Art Direction. Perhaps some critics felt the psychedelic nature of the second half of the film detracted from a story line that I felt was universal and well done. Although my wife would argue that they should’ve used sang "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds" earlier in the film, while I would assert that Taymor’s use of "Revolution" and "Dear, Prudence" were film highlights for me.

This is the kind of film I would’ve watched once with a case of beer, good friends, and cold pizza in the middle of a summer night when I wanted something fun & odd.

I knew absolutely nothing about Charlie Wilson before sitting down to watch and review this film today. I assumed he was a real person and I was about to immerse myself in some biopic. I had no frame of reference whatsoever and couldn’t even tell you what decade I was getting myself into. I just wanted to catch a good flick and here I found myself. I wonder if my uneducated background on Wilson’s fight for the Afghan’s in the 1980s allowed me to focus on the film itself without any expectations, and without those expectations and with very little information beyond the actual film, I didn’t feel convinced. Hank’s as Wilson wasn’t bad as a character, and the film begins with a flashback from him receiving the top award a citizen can ever received as if this one event was his most successful in life. The film then flashes back to a buffoon of a congressman from Texas sitting in a hot tub in Vegas with a couple of strippers and some Cocaine, but by the end of the film the viewer’s are supposed to believe Wilson’s quasi-altruistic motives were genuine. I don’t think I was convinced.

I’ve rarely agreed with critics praise for Hanks and usually cannot forget it’s Tom Hanks playing an actor (Forrest Gump withstanding), and this film is exception. Hanks introduced as a womanizer, whiskey-guzzler from Texas was never forgotten by the viewer as he tramped around Afghanistan supposedly becoming affected by the warn torn (literally) children. But the only time I truly believed this was the purpose of Wilson’s quest was when he continually mentioned it to any congressman who had money as his disposal. 

A relatively elderly Ned Beatty looked withered and tired as if he were acting only for the check as a congressman dragged to Afghanistan with his wife. His performance was almost an afterthought that not even a Hilly Billy in West Virginia would remember, while Julia Robert’s Texan was played with similar banality. Her billing over Phillip Seymour Hoffman felt like a credit writer’s error.

And even though this film is up for a handful of Oscars and given Hoffman’s natural talents, I would argue that the two shining stars in this film were Hoffman as a CIA agent who claimed he only helped Wilson because he had nothing better to do, and Amy Adams who’s received more praise this year as a Disney princess thrust into the real world in Enchanted. Adams’ as the congressman’s administrative assistant finds herself in several questionable and not-so-questionable situations in the film from being surrounded by large breasted, small brained women working in Wilson’s office to traipsing about the Middle East with him. She added a sense of genuine dramatic artistry to the film, while Hoffman’s agent plays Hoffman as a relatively clandestine character as he so naturally and enjoyably does. So enjoyable he’s up for Best Supporting Actor in a tight race that’s focusing on Hal Holbrook’s 82 year-old under dog fighting against the larger than life Javier Bardem. But of the two, Adams’ steals the scene of supporting talent while finishing Julia Robert’s Joann’s martini while sitting with her two greyhounds while Hanks and Roberts strategically and sexually prepare to fund Charlie Wilson’s War.

Last week my wife turned 30 and she sent me an email that she wanted to see a couple movies sooner than later. Her number one pick was Juno. I had heard wonderful things about this film, and every year around this time I begin seeing as many Oscar nominated movies as I can. So her email was a good excuse to get out and see Juno, which is up for best Director, Original Screenplay, Actress, etc… So there we went. Off to see Juno today. Last year I began writing movie reviews for everything I see during Oscar season, and that begins with a wonderfully scripted film that the critics believe is an anti-abortion film. And so what if it may be? That’s not the point here.

What is the point is a fantastic small budget film that has exploded onto the silver screen. Diablo Cody, as writer, has created a refreshingly invigorating script that I could almost chomp down into my corporeal self. The dialogue’s originality was unlike most of what I’ve read or heard in recent months. Cody has emerged everywhere in the last several months from the screen to the columnist at the back of "Entertainment Weekly" sitting next to my commode.

Initially the opening song irked me, and I felt like the soundtrack may be almost overpowering for such a subtle film. I will admit I never forgot what I was hearing when a song came on screen, but by the finale of the film my wife and I both completely adored the music. We’d never heard of the Moldy Peaches or Antsy Pants before, but they sure are joining my iTunes play list tonight.

Even though the film editing and quirky cinematography (from the muddy runny shoes of Micheal Cera’s Bleeker and striped socks of Ellen Page’s title character in the hospital bed to the shot of Page driving into suburbia as the camera climbs into the sky above her minivan) reminded me of my love for the mere perfect camera shots of films like American Beauty, Diablo Cody’s script dialogue was phenomenal. For example, Allison Janney, as Juno’s step mother, told the x-ray technician "My five year-old daughter could do that, and let me tell you, she is not the brightest bulb in the tanning bed. So why don’t you go back to night school in Manteno and learn a real trade!" Witty banter, obscure allusions, and thinking man’s dialgoue is what really turned me on to this film, although the metaphors and symbols kissed my eyes like a soft summer rain or a cool afternoon. SPOILER COMING. STOP NOW IF YOU DON’T WANT TO KNOW. Ok, I’ve warned you. For example, after Juno discovers Mark is leaving Vanessa, she speeds off to stop alongside the highway, and the shot (once again above the minivan) shows she pulled off the side of the highway next to a half destroyed boat next to a canal running along side the highway, deep like the womb of hope and eventuality, while on the other side of the highways trains run along tracks in one direction without any hope of every getting off that path. The runners push against Juno as she walks down the street in the beginning of the movie, and her boyfriend, Bleeker, is a runner, but by the film’s end, the track team runs by, and he is now sitting by her side on the steps playing the brilliantly written "Anyone Else But You" by the Moldy Peaches. Page & Cera’s singing of the theme song at the end just is another example of this young woman’s talents.

Which does bring me back to the Lorings. The first quarter of the movie seems relatively light and fun (yes, even when Juno tells her father and step mother she’s pregnant), and then she meets the Loring’s. I sat back just waiting for some soft of conflict and eventually got it. Mark, played by Jason Bateman (whose squashed nose bugs me), is a likable guy who reminds me of Neal Pollack, and his high tension wife played poorly by the very non-sterile Mrs Affleck, Jennifer Garner) is the kind of character you want to hate. In the end I realized that Mark Loring is a total noob, while the audience is suppose to commiserate with Vanessa’s sterility and subsequent motherhood. No, I didn’t.

This movie felt very real to me. Researching a bit online to write this review (yeah, do you really think I remembered Janney’s quote verbatim? Nah…) I was pleasantly surprised by how many awards Cody’s won so far for this film. With that in mind, and while I am still high on a fun-loving film, I would say the former stripper devil girl as a good chance of winning gold come February, albeit Page’s got some stiff competition; her nomination may be her award, but hopefully she doesn’t get pregnant (for real) and fall into obscurity like Keisha Castle-Hughes.

Ah life, or what becomes of us once paranoia, assumptions, anxiety, children, work, and others enter the equation…

Earlier this month we received a vehicle registration renewal notice.  I tried to renew and pay online, but was told that an emissions test was needed.  I was extremely annoyed because this is an incredibly busy month (for Devon and me) and I knew that the car had a good chance of not passing emissions.  Somehow Devon managed to squeeze it in and we did, indeed, fail.

Mixed between weekend activities, work meetings, evening events, switching schedules to make sure someone is watching Claire, preparing agendas, eating, breathing, and the like, Devon and I arrange to take the car to our local car repair guru.  Now, please note that this involved pleading with many wonderful co-workers to pick me up and take me to work, drive me to meetings, and even watching Claire for a few hours!

The car needed to stay overnight at the repair shop and was fixed for a very reasonable price.  (The environment thanks us).  Devon was able to switch vehicles on Friday to re-test the car for emissions.  It passed!

Later that night, I logged on to the servicearizona.com website to process the registration.  Strangely, I received the same error as before about needing the emissions test.  I assumed the system had not refreshed recently and decided to try again in the morning.

Did I mention that I had found a large slash in our left front tire the day we took the car to the repair shop?  I was scared to drive on it, but did not want to invest in a new tire if the car didn’t pass emissions…  So, the  plan was for Claire and I to go to Discount Tires Saturday morning since Devon was working.  Not wanting to wait forever with a two-year-old, I contacted the store and made an appointment at 10:30 am.  Having more time before we needed to leave the house, I logged back online to process the registration.  It still said "emissions test needed".  Now I’m frustrated.  I call the phone number on the form.

After speaking with the woman who had the misfortune to answer, questioning why their system couldn’t identify our car, I was put on hold.  I needed to move around, so I went outside to get the mail.  For some reason right then part of our conversation had registered.  The woman had asked me the plate number listed on the renewal form.  I gave her the information earlier without really thinking about it, but now, wait, Devon had child abuse prevention plates on the car.  Something was off.  The number I gave the woman was the license plate number of our truck!

This couldn’t be!

Could it?

Still outside, I crouch behind the car and review the plate.  SEP 07.
..  sniff

What?

I look again.

SEP 07

We were trying to renew the wrong car!

I run back inside to review the paperwork.  The woman gets back from hold and starts to apologize for their system, offering suggestions such as faxing the paperwork to her office, going to the emission place and having them fix it.  At this point I’m too embarassed to say we messed up.  I thank her for her kindness, hang up and text Devon:  "We are idiots.  The truck is due for emissions, not the car.  Need you to switch cars and fix problem".

Now I’m late for the tire appointment.

I grab everything related to anything and get Claire in the car.  We get tires, text Devon a few more times, and make arrangements to meet for lunch, errands, and "the switch".

By the end of the day, the truck passes emissions and is renewed online, the car has new tires, the bellies are full, and the heads are aching.

All evening I’ve felt very depressed like something was missing or was not quite right in my world. And as I drove home from bowling, it struck me. I watched United 93 this afternoon and I couldn’t shake the feeling of despair and death from the film. We went to Blockbuster earlier this week to see if any Oscar movies had been released and found three: Marie Antoinette, An Inconvenient Truth and United 93. I remember a shocked awe that came over the crowd when the nominees were announced last month and Paul Greenglass was nominated in for this film in the best director category. Not only were people shocked, but they are mostly certain that he has no chance at all. Nada. Not with Eastwood and Scorsese battling it out on the cinematic battleground.

Unless you live in a cave in Tibet, you know this film is about 9/11, and it’s the second film I’ve seen on this. I saw World Trade Center earlier this year and felt it was so so (Maybe if they left out celebrity casting like this gem does, it would’ve been better). Donna and I had recorded Flight 93 on television, and I actually still don’t know what the difference is between that and United 93. I do know that this one hit closest to home for me, literally. United 93 crashed in Somerset County less than 2 hours from my hometown. And we can postulate that it was a darn good thing it crashed since it was supposedly headed for D.C. Now I am not going to conspiracy theorize of anything with you, but how do we really know? Greenglass does a fine job of making a tasteful movie, but the only thing we know for sure that happened on that plane was what passengers said to people who they called before they all blew up and died. And Greenglass made his film around that.

I’ll admit. I cried. I sit here writing this, looking at the small TV where I watched the second plane crash into the WTC on CNN, and I watched my daughter play around me as I watched the movie earlier. She will never know a world without 9/11. She will never know the taken for granted freedoms we once had. It bugged me that Greenglass almost seemed to attempt to get into the psyche of the terrorists in the film, as if he knew what they were thinking. And how white everyone but the terrorists were in the film. The film bugged me. It bugged me that as with my grandparents before me who know where they were when Pearl Harbor was bombed or my parents who know where they were when Kennedy was shot, and now I won’t forget where I was in Sept 11, 2001. I was in my bedroom in our first apartment getting ready for work watching on a small Emerson CRT television. And I sit here writing this, I wonder where my daughter will be when the next big catastrophe happens.

Greenglass has a snowballs chance in hell for the directing nod, but maybe if the Academy wants to throw the auteur a bone it’ll come in the shape of a film editing Oscar, even though there are some heavy hitters there, as well. We will see if the five year old largest catastrophe on American soil, and the third film about it, can come away with a solitaire award on Oscar night.

Earlier I had reviewed Notes on a Scandal and lauded Judi Dench’s voice over narration, but here, in Little Children, those same techniques become too much, too often, and remind me of Emma Watson’s narration of Stranger than Fiction on Crack. That was just the beginning of my problems with Little Children. This film critique is almost oxymoronic in that there was so many things I really enjoyed about the movie, but at the same time there’s a ton I didn’t enjoy. There are those movies that just make you want to analyze them over and over again, but the problem here is that everytime I attempted to answer a question posed for the audience, I realized that we never did get those answers. Why was Jean mad at Sarah? Did Ronnie live? And what was up with Richard?

Little Children should’ve been the smart intersection of four separate life stories all entangled in subterfuge, lost and loneliness in suburbia, but I really didn’t get that. I got the mopey housewife who once had potential and, dressed, looked only a step better than Cameron Diaz in Being John Malkovich. Sarah Pierce, played by Kate Winslet, is stuck in a drole life where her husband would rather masturbate to internet porn than pay attention to her. He’s on-screen long enough to be caught and then we don’t see much of him, at all. Sarah’s lover Brad’s (Patrick Wilson) wife, played nicely be Jennifer Connely almost feels like the most talented actor in the film and isn’t given much credit. Throughout she wants Brad to take the bar for the third time, but we don’t know why he never passes. I suppose he doesn’t want to really be a lawyer and would rather play with his son in the park or watch the local skaters. Sarah seems happy in her boring life where she absolutely nothing to worry about. (Her house is paid for and her daughter’s a dear.)

In a seemingly enigmatic parallel plot line, a convicted pedophile has been released from prison and moved into the neighborhood with his elderly mother. Jackie Earle Haley, former child star from The Bad News Bears, plays this predator with acidic aplomb who, at times, the audience can almost feel sorry for. He is sickening to look at, but the entire plot around the town’s obsession with his arrival did nothing for the film and didn’t seem to mesh with the affair Brad & Sarah begin in the local park — other than the obvious link between lust & playground antics.

It seemed that whenever Tood Fields wasn’t sure how to show a scene, he just decided not to. Instead he had some faceless narrator tell the audience what was about to happen, and by doing so, treated us as if we weren’t intelligent enought to figure it out for ourselves. Unfortunately for Sarah, Ronnie, and for us, Fields dropped his voice over narration toward the crucial end, where he left us high and dry. These Little Children went home to bed without as much of a good night, let alone any explanation whatsoever. I guess after Marie Antoinette and, now Little Children, it was the week of ignoring the audience for the sake of art.

I’ll admit that I was really waiting for this one. It came out some months ago, and I so enjoyed Sofia Coppola’s The Virgin Suicides and her relationship with Spike Jonze (who, to my dismay, eventually divorced) that I thought that Marie Antoinette was sure to be a winner. Damn, was I wrong. Sure, the initial reviews weren’t great, but I was willing to overlook them. Especially after I acquired the brilliant soundtrack and watched the trailer multiple times, but I was disappointed that all the "good stuff" was right there in the trailer. When I saw the film it fell completely short. The soundtrack linked the classical sounds of the late 18th century France with contemporary music like Aphex Twins & Bow Wow Wow, and with Sofia Coppola at the helm I hoped to drink this film like a tall, cool glass of fresh originality built around an intriguing story and brilliant soundtrack, but all I got was rain water and soggy lifelessness.

Now don’t get me wrong. I like Dunst, but she sometimes reminds me of the female Keanu Reeves, who I never ever ever forget IS Keanu Reeves and not the embodiement of the role. This film chronicles Antoinette’s life from being handed over to France after being stripped away of all belongings (except a nude, not-so-invisble thong over her near anorexic body) to the exile from Versailles at the heighth of the French Revolution. Coppola seemed to attempt to convey the language of the film through imagery, and it is with that goal she fell short. This is NOT Lost in Translation, but it felt like she attempted a period piece along that same vein. Although I would enjoy seeing her attack more period pieces, a talent that can only grow with time and travesty. As for the language of imagery in the film. My god, give me some lines! Some dialogue! Tell your audience what’s going on. Shakespeare in Love not only told the neophyte Shakespeareans what was happening, but it was also smart enough for Elizabethan scholars. Marie Antoinette expects you to know everything there is to know about the life and times of Marie Antoinette and offers nothing to you in terms of plot. It just moves forward as if her audience all just finished reliving all events in 1790s France.This doesn’t work for me.

What does work for me is the Costume Design. Milena Canonero has a long line of nominations behind her starting with Kubrick’s Barry Lyndon, Chariot’s of Fire, and Out of Africa. It has been a while since Canonero has won, and she’s due again. In a category as mish-mashed as the structure of this film, Canonero is sure to shine on Oscar night.

Donna hates scary film trailers and in a world of Tivo, we don’t watch commercials anymore. It’s to the point where sometimes the commercials come on, and she will pause for a while so she can then fast forward through them. So anyway, she doesn’t watch scary previews, and some people would say that Pan’s Labyrinth falls into this category, and I suppose I thought it would be scarier than it was. I also thought it would be underworld and less above world, but I did enjoy del Toro’s allegory of the struggles for indepence against the Spanish facist regime in 1944 Spain. Of course, I also forgot that it was subtitled.

It bothered me a whole two minutes before I became mesmerized by the cineatic filters and the subtle undertones of military conflicts between the Captain’s army stationed at the mill and the rebels in the mountains surrounding the area. Ofelia, lost in a world of make-believe and fairies, has recently lost her tailor father and her mother has remarried to give the captain an heir and to save herself in the midst of revolution at world wars. Ofelia rebels against the world as it is and slips into a fantasy world that the viewer never rectifies. She is supposedly the underworld’s princess and lost daughter of the King of the Underworld. She is told all of this by Pan (played phenomenally by Doug Jones who you will later see as the Silver Surfer in Fantastic Four: Rise of the Silver Surfer) who also plays Pale Man –both of whom are the most cinematic characters in the tale. I trusted Pan almost as much as I trust Severus Snape (at least until this summer). I won’t give away the ending or this on, dear readers. I will tell you I enjoyed it. Moreover, I am pleasantly surprised by it’s five nominations this year, and I would guarantee it will win at least one that will remain nameless and maybe others.

Yes, I am being ambiguous on purpose here. I can’t give away all my secrets. Until Little Children.

Every year there’s that one movie that just makes you feel so good about yourself. This year it’s Little Miss Sunshine, and the sun sure was shining on us today as we watched this one. I hate to say it, but this film has some tough competition in the categories where it’s nominated. The best shot it has is Alan Arkin who plays "Grandpa". His breakaway scene is when he tells Olive Hoover, the heroine of our film played amazingly by the talented Abigail Breslin, how much he loves her, before locking himself in a hotel bathroom to sort Heroine, which subsequently kills him. The humor that enfolds as they steal his body to continue their trip to the Little Miss Sunshine beauty pageant in California reminds me of National Lampoon’s but he’s stuffed in the trunk rather than tied to the roof. This was only one of the several well-placed comedic scenes in this film. Arkin is up against some heavy hitters (see my last post on the jauggernaut that is Dreamgirls), and he has never won. Sorry, Al, but this isn’t your year either.

Against The Queen, Iwo Jima, and The Departed for Best Picture, it’s difficult not to throw the levity of a feel good movie a bone by nominating in here, but we all know the record of comedic wins in this category. Far and few between.

As an ensemble, it’s a brilliant movie, but the Academy doesn’t recognize ensembles, and that’s too bad. Breslin was fine in this film and has a career, if she doesn’t fall into the child star syndrome. Kinnear has been better, and I’ve never liked Toni Collette. She’s ugly. My opinion. Yes, ugly. Uglier than Steve Buscemi. Sorry, but she was the scariest thing in Sixth Sense and since. Now let’s talk about Paul Dando and Steve Carrell. Unless you’ve lived in a cave in Tibet during the last 18 months, you know Carrell, and he’s wonderful here as the suicidal, out-of-work, gay professor uncle who is being babysat by his sister’s family so he doesn’t try to slit his wrists again. His stark white outfit fits well against the bright banana (or should I say sun?) color of the VW bus they need to push start everytime the stop somewhere. Dando plays well as Brelin’s older brother whose 9-month vow of silence ends 3/5 of the way through the film. I last saw him in The Girl Next Door as the mysterious penis man, and he’s come a long way since.

I checked Oscar.com as soon as I could following the film, in hopes it is nominated for Costume & Cinematography, but to no avail. It was denied in both categories, which was a travesty in itself.

A fun evening movie with some great laughs, and definitely a true contrast to today’s earlier Notes on a Scandal.

Ever eat chocolate fondue, sushi, and baked brie? On Donna’s birthday we had all three –together. Is that odd? For some people it isn’t. For me, it’s not. During summers before Claire was born, Donna and I’d see films Friday mornings at 10AM the day they’d come out. Now we barely get to see any movies at all. Julie has been offering to watch Claire for a few weeks now, and today we took her up on it. We saw the heavy-hitting drama Notes on a Scandal during the sunny Saturday afternoon, and, even though it was more of an evening movie, it worked for us.

I feel badly for Judi Dench. Not because of her performance, because there wasn’t anything bad about it–at all. I feel badly because Notes on a Scandal came out the same year as The Queen. Neither are up for best Picture, but both have best Actress heavyweights. (To see my review on The Queen, scroll down.) This one is all about Dench. She’s such an elegant, talented woman that she can mesh herself into any role from Proulx’s ancient matriarch to the Queen of the free world to a lesbian psycho-spinster who lives vicariously through younger, beautiful, successful women. Barbara Covett (Dench) is the history department chair at a British school whose former art teacher has left for reasons unknown when the movie begins. Cate Blanchett dances into the role of the new art teacher with aplomb and blonde hair that glistens like a beacon in a dreary school yard where she becomes the focus of a 15-year-old paramour. A paramour who Blanchett permits to seduce her, since she’s in a drole life as Bill Nighy’s younger wife whose children are a young boy with Down Syndrome and a teenage girl the same age as her lover.

Notes on a Scandal is just that. A refreshingly original plot narrated in voice over by Dench who interprets the actions of the film in her off-kiltered, soul-searching way. She inhibits every scene seamlessly weaving intrigue, lust, envy, and blackmail into a tail that comes down to lost love, obsession, and pure loneliness. Blanchett shines as Sheba who struggles against herself, but she fails to convince me of how bad her life really is. She has inherited a lovely old row house outside of London, her writer husband adores her, her daughter seems as dysfunctional as the rest of us, and her son is the love of her life. What more can she want? I suppose Dench just wants to replace her former obsession with a new one, and cares more about her cat than the people around her.

In the alternative-universe where Marky Mark & Eddie Murphy are up for Oscars, the media has run away with Jennifer Hudson who does NOT deserve an Oscar. Come on, Dreamgirls is her first role EVER! She hasn’t paid her due. Blanchett has, and continues to do so. I will continue to see Blanchett movies, but Hudson needs to prove herself to me. But once again, I found myself living in this alterative universe, that only you my dear readers can make right by realigning the stars by giving Blanchett the Oscar for Best Supporting Actress & Martin Scorsese his first win ever for the aforereviewed The Departed.

The cyclic ending to Notes on a Scandal is bittersweet, pleasing to the palette while still keeping true to the travesties of life. The movie is exactly what I thought it would be. A wonderfully delicious romp somewhere in the bowels of clandestine subterfuge between two talented, deserving Oscar nominated actresses.