Category: movies

MB and I are sitting in the living room. I’m reading, writing, looking stuff up online, also baking biscuits for peaches and cream with biscuits. (Uhm, yummy.) MB is watching a movie in German. And giving a running commentary, albeit intermittent. Here’s some of what I’ve learned so far:

Oh. He’s cutting him a break.
Here’s some socialist lovin’.
Ew. Old man ass.
This is very interesting.
So he’s watching her go in ….
Man!
Eastern bloc countries don’t report suicides. (This seemed like a non sequitur to me, but what do I know?)
Our girl is in trouble.
Oh, wow. Okay. She doesn’t remember meeting him.
Oh, she’s ratting him out.
Uh-oh. Here it comes; she’s gonna kill herself.
See? I knew it. She’s dead.
“Four years and seven months later ….”
“Two years later …..”
Confession time.
He’s finding all the bugs.
They’re finding his dossier, all the files on him.
Oh, he put all this crap in there!
Oooh. Red ink.
Hahahahaha.
“Two years later ….”
Now he’s like the mailman.
Hahahahaha. There’s the East German Barnes and Noble.
He’s got a Members Only jacket, poor bastard.
Wow. He dedicated the book to him.
Cool. That was cool.

I’d tell you the movie but I don’t want to give it away, you know. Still, if you’re ever watching something in German and some poor bastard has a Members Only jacket …

Oh, man. Atonement, one of the most haunting books I’ve read in years and yeeears, is being made into a movie. And when you love a book, that’s always a double-edged sword; you’re excited to see it, almost long to see it, and, yet, at the same time, you’re so terrified they’ll destroy the whole thing somehow and that once you’ve seen it, your vision of the book will always be that — that ruined thing forever playing in your head. Which is terrible because you can feel just so utterly proprietary over a beloved book. Two people can pick up the same book and have completely different experiences with it. So your experience of a book really is just that — your experience, your vision. It’s hard to let that go and surrender to someone else’s. You can’t wait but also, you feel you need to throw up a little.

Still, despite my trepidation, I’m allowing myself to digest the fact of this movie, that it’s a done deal, in little bits. So I read a little bit about it. Check out the cast. Try to emotionally prepare for a movie version of a book that I swear I read without ever once breathing. So for anyone else preparing for the movie version of “Atonement,” (sheila, because this was talked about over there), I found some images online from a feature in Empire magazine about the movie.

Keira Knightley as Cecilia Tallis:

James McAvoy (whoohoo!) as Robbie Turner (with director Joe Wright):

Romola Garai as Briony Tallis (really not sure how I feel about this casting, don’t think she looks right, for one thing):

Vanessa Redgrave as Older Briony:

Sheila inspired me to join the 21st century and sign up for Netflix, too! Got me a free two-week trial and got started on my queue. All this and a cellphone, too?! Thoroughly Modern Millie, I am, I am.

So this is it, so far — the queue — The Q!

(Sheila was kind and put imdb links on all of her queue movies. I have not. Draw your own conclusions.)

My first 30. Why only 30? Because, well, if you must know, I felt a massive movie gorge coming on where I would neverever leave that site and I had to stop. I’m supposed to be, oh, getting ready to open my damn coffeehouse. I am now some kind of Coffee Messiah in the neighborhood. Random people — strangers, even — who desperately miss their Beanhouse coffee and peeps have literally accosted me on the sidewalk or in the grocery store, pleading, “When? When?! When will you be open??” I ran into another one today. She asked and I told her next week and she started to CRY. Which is nice, but I probably coulda barfed all over her from the pressure of it all. It’s really okay to say, “Oh, great. I’m excited.” Please don’t cry about it. Please. Because then I’ll start crying — or barfing — and you’ll totally misunderstand, oh, believe me, WHY I’m standing there crying and barfing.

Which is just a little off point from what this is all about.

All righty.

Asterisk by films I’ve seen before but must see again:

* Das Boot — Yes, I moved Das Boot to the top spot, because I’m just in a Das Booty kind of place. Which really doesn’t look right typed out. Whatevs. It’s my Das Booty call. Deal with it.

Babel

For Your Consideration

Syriana

* Double Indemnity

The Searchers

The Grapes of Wrath — I can’t believe I’ve never seen this.

* Bringing Up Baby

* His Girl Friday

Only Angels Have Wings

Goodbye, Mr. Chips

* Jezebel

* Sunset Boulevard

Brief Encounter

Brokeback Mountain — I have a sneaking suspicion I’ll be watching this one alone.

Devil’s Playground

The Eyes of Tammy Faye

Mad Hot Ballroom

Tsotsi

The Bicycle Thief

Merry Christmas (Joyeux Noel)

* Diva

Amelie

* My Brilliant Career

* Heavenly Creatures

Vincent: Life and Death of Van Gogh

Norman Rockwell: An American Portrait

Bear in mind, I am far behind on my Oscar movie viewing, but that doesn’t seem to be stopping me from making predictions based on nearly nothing. Well, not entirely nothing, peeps. Feelings and gut reaction are worth tons, I’m sure.

** for predicted winner. !! for desired winner — for reasons having mostly nothing to do with the movie involved. Because I’m, again, a little behind on my viewing and I don’t see myself being caught up in the next 20 minutes. (Have I mentioned lately that I’m opening a !#$$$&?!@??!! coffeehouse??)

All righty …. PRRRO-ceed:

Best Actor:

Leonardo DiCaprio in “Blood Diamond”
Ryan Gosling in “Half Nelson”
!! Peter O’Toole in “Venus” (The man deserves an Oscar already. He’s been nominated 8 times! How ’bout “Lawrence of Arabia” from 45 damn years ago? Or “Lion in Winter” from 39 years ago? Or “My Favorite Year” from 25 years ago? Just to name a few. Sheesh. I’m sorry. I just love Peter O’Toole.)
Will Smith in “The Pursuit of Happyness”
** Forest Whitaker in “The Last King of Scotland”

Best Actress:

Penélope Cruz in “Volver”
Judi Dench in “Notes on a Scandal”
**!! Helen Mirren in “The Queen” I heart Helen Mirren
Meryl Streep in “The Devil Wears Prada”
Kate Winslet in “Little Children” (but I also heart Kate Winslet. I have no doubt she’ll win someday)

Supporting Actor:

!! Alan Arkin in “Little Miss Sunshine”
Jackie Earle Haley in “Little Children”
Djimon Hounsou in “Blood Diamond”
** Eddie Murphy in “Dreamgirls” Boo. Hoo.
Mark Wahlberg in “The Departed”

Best Supporting Actress:

Adriana Barraza in “Babel”
!! Cate Blanchett in “Notes on a Scandal” (She is so so good, but she just won a few years ago, so …)
Abigail Breslin in “Little Miss Sunshine”
** Jennifer Hudson in “Dreamgirls” (She was great — amazing, really — but I almost think winning now will do her in. Too much, too soon. And how would she do in a role with no singing? I’m just sayin’ is all.)
Rinko Kikuchi in “Babel”

Best Director:

“Babel” Alejandro González Iñárritu
** !! “The Departed” Martin Scorsese (Finally … I think it’s Scorsese’s year)
“Letters from Iwo Jima” Clint Eastwood
“The Queen” Stephen Frears
“United 93” Paul Greengrass

Best Picture:

** “Babel” (Politics, I think here. I haven’t actually seen it, so it’s totally a gut reaction. I think the politics of the movie will be rewarded. I mean, I think people will want to vote for what they think is an “important” movie, as opposed to say, “Little Miss Sunshine.” ‘Tho I think it would be a kick if that won.)
!! “The Departed”
“Letters from Iwo Jima”
“Little Miss Sunshine”
“The Queen”

TA DAAA! Or really, TA DUHHH!

Oh, I do love him so much, I can’t tell you, but …. Johnny Depp as Sweeney Todd?
The musical Sweeney Todd? I could see him, actually, as the character; he’s got the brooding and the pathos and the sardonic air, but can he sing?? Sweeney’s gotta be able to SAHHNG, man. Rabid fans of the musical, like me, won’t accept anything less. I really like the idea of him as Sweeney — if it weren’t for the singing. Maybe he’ll blow me away, though. I hope so.

Also in the cast:

Mrs. Lovett: Helena Bonham Carter

Sigh. This one actually bothers me more than Depp, mainly because, well, I flat-out don’t like her. Her powdery boneface. Her spade-like chin. Her eerie, bottomless eyes. Oh, and also the wee fact of her stealing Kenneth Brannagh from my beloved Emma Thompson. Do not hurt Emma, chippy, and expect me to still like you. And can your husband — (er, boyfriend??) — Tim Burton do a freakin’ movie without you, please? I know this Sweeney is still “in development” — I mean, last I heard Russell Crowe was going to play Sweeney — but if you really do play Mrs. Lovett, I will relish what happens to you in the end.

Signor Pirelli: Sacha Baron Cohen

Don’t know anything about his singing ability, but just on pure physicality, I think he’s great for it.

Judge Turpin: Alan Rickman

Ooooh! I love him; he’s one of my all-time favorites. Love this casting. Don’t care if he can’t sing. LOVE it. I will even sit through “Johanna (Mea Culpa)” — a song that literally makes me squirm, what with the self-flagellation and all — if he’s the one doing it. I don’t care if he just speaks it. That face. That voice. He’s perfect.

So, come ON, Tim Burton! Hurry up and make the movie already so that I can be the only person in America who goes to see it.

(By the way, Tim Burton, I think Emma Thompson would make a fabulous Mrs. Lovett. Don’t know if she can sing, either, but I just prefer a Mrs. Lovett who seems more substantial, more full, more of a woman; not some spindly-sharp little boy. You’re clearly being hypnotized by the biggest things on that Bonham Carter chippy — those bottomless bog black eyes.)

Okay. Look, man. You’re supposed to be one of the most acclaimed directors in America. You’re supposed to know what you’re doing. Supposed to be brilliant, aren’t you? People seem to just throw money at you to make movies and yet — when was the last time you made a friggin’ decent movie? When? WHEN??

Uhm, we all know it wasn’t Alexander. Except that I thought that movie was a comedy. SO hilarious.

And well, I’m sorry, Stoney, it clearly wasn’t your most recent effort World Trade Center, which MB and I watched last night at my brother and sister-in-law’s. Bad enough we had to endure The Banshee, who is quickly and seriously going south in every personal way possible, but then we ended that wretch 2006 with you, Mr. Stone, taking the single worst thing that’s ever happened on American soil and managing to make what I think is one of the single worst movies I’ve ever seen.

I’m still reeling from it all. So deeply sucky. I mean, you took an actor the caliber of Nicolas Cage — never mind that I think he’s a bit of a weirdo in real life — and buried him under filth and grime and rubble for over two hours, making him virtually unrecognizable, and forced him to grunt things to his also-trapped police colleague like, “You die; I die,” and “Whatever you do, don’t fall asleep” and “Tell me about your wife.”

The movie — which does a very poor job of establishing relationships between people — was more a series of disconnected vignettes: Here’s the obligatory pregnant wife, wringing her hands. Back to the rubble. Nicolas Cage tells the other dude not to fall asleep. Back to a wife, being visited by cops. “We don’t know where John is, Donna.” Back we go to the rubble. There’s a flash fire. Back to the family. “Get Allison some medicine for the baby …. just in case.” Back to the rubble. There’s a Lord’s Prayer being muttered. (Wait, no. That was me.) Flashbacks to happier, non-rubbly times. Hallucinations of soft focus wives and such. All so ponderous, so plodding. And for the first half of the movie, the four of us kept saying, “Now, who’s that?” “Is that his wife?” “What’s that guy’s name?” and stuff like that that you shouldn’t have to ask each other if the movie’s doing its damn job.

MB was continually drifting off next to me on the sofa, so I kept just poking him, “Whatever you do, don’t fall asleep.”

And you know it’s bad when you all start making stupid, innappropriate jokes like that in the middle of a movie about something so serious. For awhile, uhm, a long while, really, the phrase “Tell me about your wife” became the entire theme of our evening.

Seriously, dude, NOTHING really happens in this movie. Considering all that happened that day — that our world as we know it basically changed forever, and considering how much we all felt — how we couldn’t think of anything else or watch anything else or talk of anything else for weeks on end — I can’t get over that this movie made me feel absolutely nothing but irritation and impatience for it to be over. The event deserves so much better. YOU are capable — I think, anyway — of so much better. Basically, you’re not living up to your potential, Mr. Stone, and as someone who is also not, ah, “living up to her potential” I consider myself somewhat of an expert on this.

Look. I don’t know what to tell you, man. Quit trying to make such self-consciously meaningful movies and tell us a damn good story for a change.

Oh, the month is getting away from me!

You know, I watched “It’s a Wonderful Life” the other night and I am always ripped apart by this scene between young George and Mr. Gower, only about 10 minutes into the movie. Mr. Gower has just received a telegram notifying him of his son’s death. George has seen the telegram, too, and that Mr. Gower has been drinking heavily. Gower gives George the task to deliver some medicine, but he’s so drunk and despairing, he doesn’t realize he put poison in the capsules instead of medicine. George knows, though, and runs to dad for advice on what to do. Dad, of course, is in the middle of a brouhaha with Mr. Potter and can’t help George, so George is left to decide for himself what to do with the poisoned pills. He doesn’t deliver them, but heads back to the drugstore — and Mr. Gower.

Every year when I watch this scene, I end up sobbing. The scene, to me, is raw and real and powerful and I love how neither actor — Robert Anderson as young George and H. B. Warner as Mr. Gower — holds back anything. I mean, that kid playing George looks about 12 or 13 to me. Such an awkward age. I’ve taught drama to that age group and most boys that age, even boys with interest in performing, just stumble about, self-conscious, unable to control their changing voices, their clumsy bodies, and uncomfortable with any raw emotion — other than rage. Rage they could do okay, in a “Look! I am SO raging!” kind of way.

But this beautiful kid — literally, physically beautiful kid — Robert Anderson — who I know from nothing else other than this movie — is completely unafraid to go there. He has to be terrified. He has to be beaten. He has to cry. He has to cower. He has to beg. And he has to come out on top, really. Win the moment because it’s life or death. All in this one short scene. And he does it. And you never for a moment think he’s a wuss — which is what my male students’ objection to playing a scene like this would have been. He’s a young man in this scene and he’s totally willing to be ripped apart for a cause bigger than himself. I just always find myself amazed by him in this scene — and the scenes previous, where he’s deflecting Violet’s flirtation — “Help me down, Georgie?” “HELP YA DOWN??” Hahahahaha. Like, he’s so not going there with her silliness. Are ya nuts, Violet? He seems to know what he is and what he’s not. At least at this point in the film. Even now, he won’t sell out his core or suffer fools and this young actor GETS that. In a totally unself-conscious way. He’s a hero of the best kind — a hero who doesn’t know he’s being a hero. Oh, and the moment when Gower realizes what he’s done and literally crushes George to him and George is still crying out about his ear, all afraid? Heartstopping. I love that. He’s still a terrified kid, trying to protect himself, and yet completely sacrificing himself, too. And that Mr. Gower has really smacked him around; there’s blood coming from George’s ear. It’s horrifying, the violence, the helplessness of George in that moment. All he has is his words, his pleas. Can he get through to Gower with just his words?

The scene is physically painful to watch, actually. Like you’re watching an actual beating of an actual kid by an actual hideous drunk. But that’s its brilliance; its greatness. No one holds back. Every year I think about what it must have been like to be Robert Anderson, a kid of that weird, awkward age thumbing through his script and finding THAT scene. A scene requiring that of him. A scene that says — without ever really saying it — “You have to basically be naked here. You must be okay with that. You must do it.” Wow. And he does it. I love that kid.

The scene is one of my favorites in the entire movie. Here’s the excerpt from the screenplay.

BACK TO DRUGSTORE

INT. BACK ROOM – GOWER’S DRUGSTORE – DAY

CLOSE SHOT

Gower talking on the telephone. George stands in the doorway.

GOWER (drunkenly)
Why, that medicine should have been there an hour ago. It’ll be over in five minutes, Mrs. Blaine.

He hangs up the phone and turns to George.

GOWER
Where’s Mrs. Blaine’s box of capsules?

He grabs George by the shirt and drags him into the back room.

GEORGE
Capsules …

GOWER (shaking him)
Did you hear what I said?

GEORGE (frightened)
Yes, sir, I…

Gower starts hitting George about the head with his open hands. George tries to protect himself as best he can.

GOWER
What kind of tricks are you playing, anyway? Why didn’t you deliver them right away? Don’t you know that boy’s very sick?

GEORGE (in tears)
You’re hurting my sore ear.

INT. FRONT ROOM DRUGSTORE – DAY

CLOSE SHOT

Mary is still seated at the soda fountain. Each time she hears George being slapped, she winces.

INT. BACK ROOM DRUGSTORE – DAY

CLOSE SHOT – GEORGE AND GOWER

GOWER
You lazy loafer!

GEORGE (sobbing)
Mr. Gower, you don’t know what you’re doing. You put something
wrong in those capsules. I know you’re unhappy. You got that
telegram, and you’re upset. You put something bad in those capsules. It
wasn’t your fault, Mr. Gower . . .

George pulls the little box out of his pocket. Gower savagely
rips it away from him, breathing heavily, staring at the boy
venomously.

GEORGE
Just look and see what you did. Look at the bottle you took the
powder from. It’s poison! I tell you, it’s poison! I know you
feel bad . . . and .. .

George falters off, cupping his aching ear with a hand. Gower looks at the large brown bottle which has not been replaced on the shelf. He tears open the package, shakes the powder out of one of the capsules, cautiously tastes it, then abruptly throws the whole mess to the table and turns to look at George again. The boy is whimpering, hurt, frightened. Gower steps toward him.

GEORGE
Don’t hurt my sore ear again.

But this time Gower sweeps the boy to him in a hug and, sobbing
hoarsely, crushes the boy in his embrace. George is crying too.

GOWER
No . . . No . . . No. . .

GEORGE
Don’t hurt my ear again!

GOWER (sobbing)
Oh, George, George . . .

GEORGE
Mr. Gower, I won’t ever tell anyone. I know what you’re feeling.
I won’t ever tell a soul. Hope to die, I won’t.

GOWER
Oh, George.