Another year down the toilet.

2004: New year, new beginnings? Oh my how the time flies/we're that much closer to our deaths.

001. (01 Jan) The Asphalt Jungle (1950, John Huston)* 65

002. (04 Jan) The Last Samurai (2003, Edward Zwick) 10

003. (06 Jan) Henry Fool (1998, Hal Hartley)* 41

004. (09 Jan) /Rounders/ (1998, John Dahl)* 66

005. (10 Jan) Fresh (1994, Boaz Yakin)* 53

006. (12 Jan) The Slaughter Rule (2003, Alex Smith, Andrew Smith)* 74
[A strange, special movie that takes its cue from David Morse's masterfully shambling performance, flitting along in loops, refusing to end scenes before disturbance morphs into awkwardness, thankfully uninterested in football even as a metaphor. Not really a mentor/surrogate father scenario nor a coming-of-age tale, since Gosling's as wise as Morse and there are no character arcs, just aimless lives battling the oppressively beautiful Montana void, fucking to keep warm, drinking to stay sane, nodding to sleep in heated cars playing old records. Elegiac filmmaking, but also kind of sensual -- a rare, distinct directorial voice finding itself and its film as things move along: attention can drift like the clouds, the romance angle is carefully underplayed (DuVall is marvelous) and the Big Revelation is not a revelation at all since we've known about it since Morse's second scene. Falters a little bit at the end and maybe lays it on a touch thick at times, but when you're restlessly plucking away at scenes the way the Smith Bros. do, that's almost a welcome inevitability.]

007. (13 Jan) Married to the Mob (1988, Jonathan Demme)* 59
[Gotta love the way Demme used to generously embrace eccentricity, his bright and zany comic book aesthetic, his flagrant affection for fun and momentum. Immigrants wink at the camera, gangsters sing songs, and FBI agents double as inventors, but this approach has clear (emotional) limits: despite an excellent Pfeiffer almost managing to invest the picture with some real disappointment, kookiness wins out a little too consistently.]

008. (14 Jan) Beetlejuice (1988, Tim Burton)* 56
[Downhill after the perfectly bittersweet first act, quickly becoming redundant by never evolving its compelling premise. Burton's imagination is at its peak here, though he's proven time and time again that he's only as good as his material: we don't get much more than the occasional wry dig at consumerism and a conception of the afterlife that stops short of revelation. Like Demme, Burton used to run the risk of becoming too enamored with his peculiarity at the expense of what's being masked. I prefer the magical forlornness of the Eddie pictures, or the despair of Batmen, rather than this or Pee-wee.]

009. (16 Jan) Along Came Polly (2004, John Hamburg) 45
[Mostly contrived, paint-by-numbers RomCom stuff, but occasionally it has an appreciable knowledge of social discomfort. The curiously jerky rhythm works both for and against the film: every other scene seems to end abruptly, so building jokes is traded for concision. A loose Aniston shines, while almost all the laughs come from Philip Seymour Hoffman's hilariously mellow flamboyance.]

010. (19 Jan) Torque (2004, Joseph Kahn) 26
[This is a picture of the director.]

011. (19 Jan) Teacher's Pet (2004, Timothy Björklund) 45
[Not quite for my age bracket, but often a pleasant throwback to the Disney animation of yore (minus the beauty), pleasing innocence mixing with quick-witted gags, and unafraid of a little weirdness. Unfortunately what begins as intriguing subtext viz. the painfully ill-fitting roles society imposes on us, turns into a distasteful ode to conformity (albeit diabolically and paradoxically couched in a PC, just-accept-who-you-are mantra).]

012. (21 Jan) Chasing Liberty (2004, Andy Cadiff) 57
[Meet Mandy Moore, dream starlet, bright and bubbly with a healthy chunk of anger, always forthcoming and lusty for life. Chasing Liberty wouldn't be much without her, but Cadiff matches Moore's appetite with a vibrant travelogue where all corners of Europe speak perfect English and money's no object. Plasticity aside, there's an irresistible yearning for experience here, a fondness for the thirst of youth, the naïveté of overblown romance and wanting not just freedom but to devour every last fucking thing in your path. Plus watching voluptuous Mandy dance alone to "American Girl" is one of the finer pleasures cinema has to offer.]

013. (22 Jan) No Good Deed (2003, Bob Rafelson)* 44
[Pondering why this didn't get real distribution when so many inferior films routinely do -- surely the pedigree's strong enough (Rafelson + Sam Jackson + Milla Jovovich + Stellan Skarsgård) and neo-noir thrillers are generally under-serviced at the box office -- it's tempting to fantasize, imagining a cinematic nirvana where anything so perfunctory and uninspired, no matter how competently mounted and potentially commercial, is rejected. Rafelson strives to tune the bland-ass plot machinations (Dashiell Hammett story updated into state-of-the-art, electronic bank robbery) as carefully as the musical instruments which multiple characters play, but the film's steady tick-tock leads only to contrivance and predictability. Nothing notable here besides Skarsgård's fierce, feral performance.]

014. (23 Jan) The Butterfly Effect (2004, Eric Bress, J. Mackye Gruber) 28
[It's depressing there are filmmakers out there who thought playing this stupid material with a relentlessly grim and straight face was a good decision. Two hours that feel like six.]

015. (25 Jan) When a Man Loves a Woman (1994, Luis Mandoki)* 77
[Hey, I'm as surprised as you are. Expecting a glossy studio treatment of alcoholism, I was greeted with a crushing take on the perils of domesticity, avoiding the bombastic ravage of a Leaving Las Vegas or Lost Weekend and replacing it with an incredibly sad resignation which hangs over the film like a palpable virus; Ryan's solid, but it's Andy Garcia who's devastating, his winsome gravity hiding a terrified python. Very well written (partly by Al Franken, of all people) and entirely unsure of our ability to ever reconcile the messy realities of modern life, this is a vision of sweetness and depression commingling, feeding off each other like only intimate friends can.]

016. (26 Jan) Win a Date with Tad Hamilton! (2004, Robert Luketic) 38
[Flaccid wannabe satire, afraid to commit to its skewering of Hollywood lest that interfere with the tepid love triangle. I still think Bosworth could become a major talent, especially since she refuses to ever condescend to her creations, playing even sheltered, small town girls with just the right sprinkling of radiant intelligence. Does it come as any surprise that the always memorable Gary Cole, with only a few minutes of screen time, is the highlight?]

017. (27 Jan) White Men Can't Jump (1992, Ron Shelton)* 47
[Nice to see Harrelson playing a prototypical Shelton "loser," always placing ego and a warped form of integrity above all else, but White Men lacks the breathing room of Shelton's Great films, chaining all its characters to forced, singsongy plotting (win money/lose money/offend lover/repeat) and save the opening match, Shelton doesn't have the slightest clue how to actually shoot a basketball game. Luckily there's an unflappable energy to the ample banter, even if none of it -- including the racial subtext -- sticks.]

018. (27 Jan) At Close Range (1986, James Foley)* 65
[Impressively dreamy, and even frightening, dilapidated lives versus rural splendor, like Cassavetes meets Malick, digging into muddied families while often keeping an almost surreal distance (sometimes literally, to awesome effect), a son in search of the father he'll never have, paternal entitlements against monetary ones. Falters somewhat at the end, though, with a glib final act that swerves between disbelief (though apparently it's all based on a true story) and haunting ferocity. Two actors already at the peak of their craft: Sean Penn, reminding of the years when his rage and capriciousness didn't seem calculated, and Walken, both cordial and chilly, stealthily poisoning the air like toxic gas. I had no idea Foley had these sorts of films in him.]

019. (29 Jan) /Grosse Pointe Blank/ (1997, George Armitage)* 47
[Didn't like this thing in the theater (the last time I saw it in full), but recently tried to convince myself all those crazed Armitage groupies are onto something. Still a schizophrenic mess, with people floundering about in different movies (and particularly terrible supporting performances from Joan Cusack and Dan Aykroyd), Armitage at the front, like an ADD lion tamer who has no interest in (or not facility for) corralling his beasts, instantly growing bored with whatever vein has been momentarily established just as quickly he does the trillion great songs which blanket the soundtrack in three second bytes. Wants it both ways, first claiming to be unconcerned with morality (refreshing) and taking John's profession for granted (also refreshing), then backtracking while Cusack makes facile excuses for his job that seem to exist only so the audience will root for his relationship's triumph (since he never really has a crisis of conscience; indeed, the whole -- potentially glorious, but never adequately pursued -- point is that his existential malaise is not supposed to be that traceable). Establishes a pattern of always taking the easy way out, catalyzing the romantic searching with reductive flurries of violence ('you disappoint me because you're human' is more interesting than 'you disappoint me because you're a murderous hit man'). The best scene in the film is Cusack and Driver on the balcony ("Sorry if I fucked up your life"), huddled into a wistful quiet that's never to surface again (and rarely surfaces prior), a moving focus on emotional surrender; runner-up goes to Cusack staring at the newborn baby while "Under Pressure" climaxes -- a longing for the clarity he could never find -- even if the moment fails as a sufficient impetus and it's later impossible to take Cusack's abrupt, "newfound respect for life" seriously. Awkwardly wobbling between reality and fantasy, but mostly incapable of finding the correct mode for either, I don't see enough dissatisfaction here, just globs of phoniness. And yet... it's too risky and too warped and John Cusack -- both as star and co-writer -- cares too much, to dismiss entirely.]

020. (29 Jan) After Dark, My Sweet (1990, James Foley)* 72
[Dominated by a creepy, paralyzing stillness, trapping desultory lives inside the pre-paved road to hell. Foley studies behavior, with spare, sharp compositions; he's uninterested in 'thrills' or 'shocks' or 'twists' or even plotting, and though almost everything unfolds under the harsh Californian sun, the film still manages to be far more unsettling than most noirs. So ambivalent and internalized that it's difficult to get a reading on the characters with only one viewing, a fitting strategy for a movie about deception and emotional withdrawal, with motivations unclear, hearts tucked into sleeves, and love and hatred tangling together until they can hardly be distinguished. That the movie works as well as it does is a testament to Jason Patric's terrific performance; he's in every scene, carrying them on his defeated shoulders, not so much a sucker as an elusive, battered dog.]

021. (30 Jan) Tremors (1990, Ron Underwood)* 44
[Has a cheesy, ramshackle charm (a throwback to all those 1950s monster movies, I'm told), simple, innocent and rated PG-13, with characters literally pardoning their language when they say words like "bastard" and "hell." The price of this innocence is there's little sense of danger, especially since the creatures are pretty easily killed (even if there are a lot of them) and their deaths far outnumber those of humans (only one human-death set piece is even distinct). As happens all too often with these kinds of us-against-them films, there's a failure to escalate, extended action sequences getting caught in ruts and each act feeling just like the one that came before. Best part is the evocative sense of locale, an unspoiled Arizona enclave smuggled so far away from civilization that killer worms and barbarism seem entirely in place.]

022. (31 Jan) The Safety of Objects (2003, Rose Troche)* 51
[Obviously deeply felt, but I wish I better understood where all the feeling's coming from. Everything has a dreary, strained quality, and the stabs at interconnection -- sometimes Guillermo Arriaga style -- don't work at all. Really the film operates best as separate vignettes, and I guess the true uniter here is simply a disquietude invading suburbia, or a longing for peace in the face of daily disturbances (the objects not being consumerism, but any form of happiness). Certainly admirable, since not many people are willing to make ambitious films about the mundane -- and even less are willing to be both bizarre and rhapsodic -- but also certainly pretentious, since many of its dealings are too pedestrian to be able to withstand such opacity. (Even though the opacity can be sublime, as in the beautiful final sequence.) Needless to say, Patricia Clarkson's a force of nature.]

023. (01 Feb) The Dreamers (2004, Bernardo Bertolucci) 30
[It's wholly unproductive to romanticize nostalgia like this, converting a vivacious time and place ('68 Paris) into bland, disingenuous muck, reducing a trio of spoiled, hedonistic young 'cinephiles' (you know they're cinephiles because they play retarded Guess Which Movie I'm Reenacting? games, and if you lose you have to jerk off in front the winner; that's just what me and my cinephile pals do also!) to annoying-as-fuck, ideological signposts. Surely some will point to their 'idealism' (read: total idiocy) as the reason the movie's political ideas are so facile ('Poetry is my petition!' 'I don't believe in violence!' 'Vietnam is wrong!'), but really it's because Bertolucci doesn't have a profound, or even interesting, thing to say (from the Q&A I regrettably attended... Old lady: "Was Matthew being sarcastic or is he really that dumb?" Producer: "He wasn't, um, being sarcastic."). Much has been made of the NC-17 rating; indeed we get a few cock shots and some 'excitingly raw' sex in which the woman bleeds and the man smears her vaginal blood all over their faces. That should give an indication of The Dreamers's overall sophistication (confidence can mask inexperience and incest is unhealthy!), an alert that the whole thing is amateur hour, from Eva Green's extremely bad performance to the way Bertolucci keeps cutting to whatever film's being discussed. The ending is a fitting copout, proving that Bernardo never had any interest in seeing where these moronic caricatures' beliefs might actually take them. (Hopefully to the grave.)]

024. (03 Feb) Fear (1996, James Foley)* 45
[Superlative direction in service of a script that's too malnourished to be anything but ludicrous. Luckily Foley revels in the absurdity, shaping abrupt plot turns into terse declarations of operatic sleaze, attacking characters with his lean, fevered 'Scope frames. The last twenty minutes are a mini-masterpiece of movie-making, Straw Dogs meets Panic Room, white-hot passion mounted with nerve-wracking precision and compounded by Carter Burwell's jackhammer score. There's something moving about retrospectively watching gifted young actors perched on the edge of fame, starving to prove themselves before Hollywood corrupts their fragile little souls: Marky Mark gives his cartoon heartfelt conviction and Reese provides a typically inarguable sweetness, while William Petersen and Amy Brenneman -- now both underrated TV stars -- are every bit their equals.]

025. (05 Feb) Ginger Snaps (2001, John Fawcett)* 64
[B-movie as modest epic, impressive for the way it utilizes the fringes, anger and madness of horror to capture coming-of-age angst way more effectively than any number of earnest Sundance-esque films ever could. In the stunted adolescence of the Fitzgerald sisters we get a spectrum of teenage kicks: alienation to acceptance, introversion to irrepressible expression, asexuality to carnal lust, cliques to independence, with Ginger's rapacious aging going too far, too fast and ultra awkward Brigitte gradually coming out of her shell as she navigates towards healthy balance. The xx/xy filmmaking team compliments each other perfectly: a female screenwriter full of insight and keen humor, painfully presenting menstruation as maturation (out-of-touch moms and ineffectual dads prolonging the process) while deliberately trying to break out of feminine boxes ("They never suspect chicks of doing shit like this," says Ginger while burying the person she just killed); a male director full of verve and lowbrow love, enthralled by the prospect of nubile girls tearing loose, providing the sinews of visceral fright: sickly colors that pop, roving cameras, buckets of blood, low-angle Shining rip-offs, low-budget creatures. Ultimately Ginger Snaps falls prey to one of the chief trappings of genre films -- aka a third act that can't live up to the interest or import of the first two, relying on endless, albeit effective, action instead -- but it's still miles beyond most of its peers.]

026. (10 Feb) The Big Bounce (2004, George Armitage) 59
[Can't wait to hear the dispiriting story behind this mangled production, which obviously left Armitage's hands somewhere along the line (I recall mid-way through principal photography Warner Bros. announced that Armitage was 'sick'). A heartbreaker, since Big Bounce is so fucking close to the GA film I've been waiting for, the effortlessly cool and insouciant genre deconstruction that the Armitage groupies would have you believe is Georgie's specialty. The key here is Owen Wilson's splendidly modulated performance, the best I've ever seen him give; there are those who'd argue he's always just playing himself, but if that's true, then this is his most personal work yet, the one where he finally taps into some of the sadness which plagued brother Luke in Tenenbaums. It's a vivid portrait of misspent, lonely life, the kind of smart and personable no-bullshit drum-marchers whom America seems to have increasingly little use for ("This is so depressing," says Sara Foster of Wilson's bungalow. "That's what I like about it," replies Owen. "It's the place dreams go to die."). Key line of the film is when Foster complains to Wilson (who's teaching her how to rob houses) that there's "no rush"; Armitage's work here is an effort to prove that statement (no wonder critics and audiences didn't respond), to make a completely naturalistic crime film, to show that transgression isn't glamorous, but often anti-climatic and petty and even bureaucratic ("I'm tired of going to court," complains Wilson). Why Armitage chose an Elmore Leonard novel with a typically elaborate plot as the vessel in which to make that point is beyond me, but what's clear is that Armitage had no use for such a tangled narrative framework (wisely dispensed with for most of the runtime, then clumsily wrapped together during the film's poor close); the lovingly loose and jocular vibe, however, is in keeping with Leonard's work (although I'm told The Big Bounce is one of Leonard's least laid-back books, which only makes Armitage's choice of material more baffling; I'm guessing the stars were already attached and the assignment was open, so Armitage figured he could hijack the project while shooting). Looking forward to another viewing in which all the disappointment will (hopefully) start to fall away; also looking forward to moving to Hawaii.]

027. (12 Feb) Touching the Void (2004, Kevin Macdonald) 37
[Touching and entering the void of suspense, a tedious debacle that consists of nothing more than two monotone robots narrating their mountain climbing ordeal in painstaking detail ("Then. I. took. a. step. I. felt. like. it. would. be. the. last. step. of. my. life. I. could. feel. the. ice. beneath. my. feet. My. toes. were. so. cold. The. sky. was. very. crisp. Then. I. took. another. step. I. felt. I. would. never. make. it. out. of. there. alive."), while spectacular (and spectacularly phony) mountain-climbing reenactment porn -- starring actors, playing the talking heads twenty years previous -- studiously illustrates exactly what they're saying. Macdonald's film skirts uncomfortably close to hagiography; the most controversial moment -- one climber cutting his injured partner's rope (a decision which met much criticism in the mountaineering world) -- is staunchly condoned, there's zero conflict or relationship strain evident between the two men, no other perspectives are offered, etc. Meanwhile it's hard to bite your nails or feel any sympathy for their long forgotten peril since: (A) They made it out just fine; (B) We are constantly, constantly being reminded they made it out just fine by their very presence; (C) Their (obvious) reasoning for being involved with such an incredibly dangerous climb is delivered with all the zealotry of a toll booth operator ("Climbing. is. about. escape. from. the. mundane. There. is. so. much. space. out. there. It. is. a. nice. alternative. to. the. cluttered. modern. world. It. is. so. much. funnnn. Malfunction. Malfunction.). The only angle I found compelling was a (hardly seen) third party talking head, the base camp watcher, who, with an unnerving smile plastered across his face at all times, talks about which of the two climbers he wishes had died; nothing else in the film approaches this kind of benevolent terror. I have no idea why so many people are falling for a feature length Dateline dramatization. Survival stories and their inevitable 'inspirational wallop' must be fetching a premium these days.]

028. (13 Feb) Private Duty Nurses (1971, George Armitage)* 14
[It's times like this that I hate being a completist. Bona fide Corman films are never gonna be any good, but at least, say, Caged Heat has moxie, embracing Roger's daffy tits-and-ass aesthetic while simultaneously winking at it; Armitage, on the other hand, inexplicably decided to battle the jest of Corman, turning what shoulda been a movie about hot nurse fuck action into an asinine, plodding social commentary (Vietnam and racism and pollution, oh my!). Note to Armitage: terrible actors and your bad writing are insoluble with hortative leanings. Overall: nearly impossible to sit through, though at least the musical passages prevented me from total meltdown.]

029. (14 Feb) Miracle Mile (1989, Steve De Jarnatt)* 40
[Really should be rated much lower, but the opening and closing sequences are a masterfully chilling attempt to make sense of (maybe even make peace with) the unknowable -- the limits of the human mind -- evolution seen as an accident, Armageddon marked inevitable. Otherwise Miracle Mile's just a glaringly incompetent treatment of a promising premise, with De Jarnatt's screenplay so horribly written -- cyclically layering large contrivance upon small contrivance upon large contrivance upon small contrivance -- that it's impossible to indulge nearly anything that happens (chief offense: hey, if someone intercepted a phone call from some wacky young dude informing him the US was about to go to nuclear war and then he went around for an hour telling everyone, "Run! We're about to go to nuclear war!" do you think a single person would take him remotely seriously?); meanwhile all the unbelievable crap is eventually (and nonsensically) made moot once the media somehow finds out about the threat. Normally I'm a big believer in cinematic brevity, but on the grand list of topics that deserve an eighty-six minute runtime, impending nuclear apocalypse and its sociological impact ranks dead last; all De Jarnatt has time for is some perfunctory riots and looting rather than a full-bodied exploration of ultimate catastrophe.]

030. (15 Feb) Gremlins 2: The New Batch (1990, Joe Dante)* 43
[Die Hard meets Gremlins, and just like with the original, I lose all interest once the titular creatures break loose (aka everything besides tiresome pandemonium falls to the gutter); unfortunately Dante probably feels the opposite, and only when his live-action cartoon sensibility hits its stride does he find satisfaction (think meta Gremlins-are-inside-your-movie-theater! gags, outlandish musical numbers and lots of pop-cultural references). Imaginative first half attacks avaricious corporate synergy, an over-reliance on technology and the narcotizing effects of homogeny -- hard-to-stomach messages seeing as they're ultimately being delivered by Warner Bros. (and who is, hypocritically, making us pay for their very delivery) -- but at least Dante seems to believe in what he's saying, a rebel fighting for space behind studio walls, trying to wreak havoc from the inside and fucking with the status quo just like his precious monsters. Also sorry, but someone has to mention it: Gremlins are among the most artificial looking FX creations of the last quarter century; even the elaborate, evil versions look like plastic tchotchkes.]

s01. (16 Feb) Night and Fog (1955, Alain Resnais)
[Wildly, scarily insufficient, and made with the same sort of clinical disregard that produced the Nazi Party. With narcoleptic narration and New Agey wind chimes flanking some of the most grotesque images the human race has ever created, Night and Fog unfolds like a polite, self-satisfied civics lesson -- please never forget what happened, please recognize this kind of tragedy is ubiquitous, blah blah blah -- as if Resnais was sentenced to community service and, unmoved, can scarcely muster up enough interest to finish his assignment. We all know the Holocaust was humanity at its lowest -- no one needs another document just remaking that notion manifest; art's responsibility, however unattainable the ends, is to try and actually process what happened.]

s02. (16 Feb) Remembrance of Things to Come (2003, Yannick Bellon, Chris Marker)
[Cinema as montage, montage as photo essay, parading around the almost accidental domination of these recording mediums (the Lumière brothers unaware of what they'd tapped into), wondering if (or positing that?) history will be (re?)written based on the tangibles (i.e. architects are placed above politicians, WWII becomes obvious in hindsight), time imagined (and then forever re-imagined?) as a wading pool instead of a slipstream. All of which is to say: Remembrance = impenetrable hokum to my philistine brain. Marker's ephemeral solemnity can suck my dick.]

031. (17 Feb) The Chamber (1996, James Foley)* 49
[The good: Foley's unerringly precise compositions, which are so controlled, so beautiful and so freakin' cinematic, Fincher is again called to mind; Hackman, more scabrous than usual; the integrity in its (admiringly questionable) presentation of "sometimes hate is a disease passed between generations, and sad as that may be, there ain't a damn thing you can do about it short of extermination"; focus on responsibility rather than identity. The not-so-good: Ladies and gentleman, let's hear it for the vanilla-as-fuck stylings of Chris O'Donnell!; Hackman's newfound lack of racism left vague in a nonsensical rather than intriguing way (that's not a spoiler); more torpid than engaging.]

032. (17 Feb) 50 First Dates (2004, Peter Segal) 50
[The good: Effervescent Barrymore, like the Venus de Milo as recreated by Warhol; Hawaii; the rockin' soundtrack, including songs by The Cure, Roxy Music, The Beach Boys and two glorious seconds of "Do You Realize?"; Hawaii; the premise; Hawaii; Sandler's unpretentious, everyman quality; Hawaii; the ending; Hawaii. The not-so-good: Rob Schneider (sorry Bilge); the comedy; sense that Sandler the Actor is regressing towards his lazy, pre-PTA days; failure to capitalize on premise in an all-that-compelling manner.]

033. (19 Feb) Charlie: The Life and Art of Charles Chaplin (2004, Richard Schickel) 49
[The good: Thorough, with knowledgeable and passionate interviewees, including Johnny Depp, Robert Downey Jr., Woody Allen, Scorsese, David Thomson, Richard Attenborough and Geraldine Chaplin; seemingly unlimited access to Chaplin clips; section focusing on Chaplin's twilight years -- one of the 20th century's biggest celebrities reduced to starring in home movies because his audience abandoned him -- is undeniably moving; occasional willingness to move past endless fawning and actually let someone critique Chaplin (the documentary's most priceless moment is hearing Depp wax rhapsodic about the "ravishing brilliance" of Chaplin's Great Dictator globe dance and how he could "watch it for weeks", right before Schickel cuts to Allen saying the scene sucks). The not-so-good: I'm not a Chaplin fan (so please upgrade the rating accordingly); despite being a womanizer, the truth is that Chaplin's personal life just isn't that captivating and Schickel trying to play up his "artistic torment" reeks of insincerity; quite long (granted a necessary evil, but still); way more scholarly than inspired.]

034. (19 Feb) The Five Obstructions (2004, Jørgen Leth, Lars von Trier) 46
[Slight and amusing, but clearly Von Trier isn't taking any of this very seriously -- and final voiceover withstanding, it is a joke, not some profound therapy attempt -- that unremittingly impish grin (which you know cracks into malevolence on set) and all the little droll, faux-coy line deliveries (which are fun, but sound like they've been rehearsed) give him away right off the bat. Gets to the point where by the time he's saying how the cartoon obstruction will "obviously be crap" you know he knows there's no way in fuckin' hell it will be, and indeed, after every obstruction Von Trier tries in vain to feign disappointment and surprise that, 'Oh Gosh, who woulda thunk it but... the outcome is in fact gorgeous!' (which they are, especially #1 and #4). A pretty fascinating exercise, just not the rigorous one it purports to be ("For the next obstruction I will give you the greatest challenge of all: complete freedom!" = zzzzz), and you're gullible as hell if you think this pleasant, fluffy game show provides any kind of substantive insight into The Many Faces of Lars von Trier.]

035. (20 Feb) The Return (2004, Andrei Zvyagintsev) 64
[Could stand some trimming and the juicy scenes don't hit very often, though I guess that's the tax on a complex film that bathes in murky emotional pools rather than actively trying to draw its characters' feelings out. Might be a little too ambiguous for its own good (not that this is a problem -- certainly everything we need is there -- just that I'm not convinced the experience wouldn't be richer with more info), but the difficulty of familial reconciliation, irrespective of specific circumstances, comes across uncomfortably, even heartbreakingly, clear. What prevents the opacity from being coquettish is that Zvyagintsev allows both father and two sons to be smart and cagey (in a theoretical American remake I guarantee you the boys are naive fools), while refusing to ever judge any of 'em. The three central actors, all marvelous, also deserve much credit for making obfuscation stirring: the sons (including late Vladimir Garin, this film his sole credit) are ying and yang searching for overlap, one quietly longing to believe in the dad he never had, the other outspoken in his contempt; as the problematic patriarch, Konstantin Lavronenko seems tacitly at war with himself, his performance an elusory marvel mirroring the ghostly aura Zvyagintsev and his cinematographer bring to the whole film. These empty, breathtaking landscapes feel transient, and their inhabitants phantoms who could disappear at any moment (especially those stunning shots of the pale mother, trapped in lonely frames); likewise there's the sense that your windows of opportunity in life are just as fleeting, the choice to make connections taken or left in an eye blink, even if the outcomes -- including possible tragedy -- might not be able to make much impact on such an elastic climate. As the chaotic soundtrack pulses and the tracking shots slowly sweep, there's also a pull of the inevitable here, blue in mood and lighting, irrevocably moving towards collision. The vast, forgiving environment might let characters forget this, but Zvyagintsev won't allow his audience to. He forces us to lie in the sewage (or is it relief?) of a gut-wrenching climax as perhaps only an austere Russian (and a brave, talented new filmmaker) would.]

036. (20 Feb) The 'burbs (1989, Joe Dante)* 55
[An expansive, comedic Rear Window remake of sorts, Dante placing emphasis on sense of community, an all-American neighborhood's value (magnificently constructed on Universal's backlots) treated with equal parts affection and skepticism. Just like in Gremlins, pastoral suburbia masks a demented underbelly, the perfect setting for Dante to engage in his preferred brand of blind-siding anarchy (though a little creepier in The 'burbs than usual). What's nice about Dante -- and surely the reason he loves cartoons so dearly -- is that he views normalcy as a construct (or if it ever does exist, something unhealthy that needs to be disrupted), always switching your allegiances here until you realize that everyone is equally fucking nuts, deceiving both themselves and each other (miscommunication is the chief facilitator, of course). PS: Bruce Dern, with his wild hair and unhinged face, is a national treasure.]

037. (21 Feb) Monument Ave. (1998, Ted Demme)* 64
[Works as an interesting companion piece to The 'burbs (as well as Demme's Beautiful Girls; sort of the bleak alternative version), and while I'm name-dropping lemme note that it's a sad world where the modest authenticity of Monument Ave. gets ignored, but Mystic River -- with its capital-A Acting, jejune plotting and heavy-handed despair -- gets jerked off. All these movies are essentially about xenophobia, with stagnant, self-enclosed communities' inefficiently policing themselves until the cracks molder into deadly chasms. They're also about the trappings of these antiquated neighborhoods (no longer seen as quaint, just dangerous), the way they prevent anyone from escaping their past, and the vicious cycles they perpetrate while beating down generations into an indistinguishable tangle of wasted lives (i.e. either be a petty criminal or work at the local wire factory): visions of microcosmic Americana not just scared of outsiders, scared of any change at all. There's nothing blazingly original here, but it's all angry, simmering and from-the-hip (the first fifteen minutes are a brilliant tour de force of discursive, stoned-outta-your-mind chatter), and Denis Leary's quietly arresting performance (easily his best ever) feels like it wasn't created so much as discovered on the side of the road.]

038. (21 Feb) Ms. 45 (1981, Abel Ferrara)* 53
[Not about the way men commodify women so much as the way society commodifies sex, a vision in which the price of abstinence can be homicidal rage. There ain't much detail to Zoë's psychology (by making her a mute Ferrara all but assures she's an allegorical figure) and there's nothing to the story, but Ferrara compensates behind his camera, shooting an aggressively hyperreal, maniacal tone poem, all ravishing grotesqueries and smearing, popping colors.]

s03. (23 Feb) La Lettre (1998, Michel Gondry)*

s04. (23 Feb) One Day... (2001, Michel Gondry)*

039. (23 Feb) The Howling (1981, Joe Dante)* 45

040. (24 Feb) The Black Angel (1994, Jean-Claude Brisseau) 43
[Mostly standard issue noir, with Brisseau's viscid sensuality and sardonic wit promising better than his script can deliver. Only the last few minutes hint at something more: hidden inside The Black Angel is a great movie about aristocratic repression.]

041. (24 Feb) On the Run (2004, Lucas Belvaux) 41

042. (24 Feb) An Amazing Couple (2004, Lucas Belvaux) 40

043. (25 Feb) Before Sunset (2004, Richard Linklater) 93

044. (25 Feb) /Before Sunrise/ (1995, Richard Linklater)* 90

045. (26 Feb) The Magnificent Ambersons (1942, Orson Welles, Studio Suits) 42

046. (27 Feb) Le Corbeau (1943, Henri-Georges Clouzot)* 79
[It's dark in here and I'm still frightened... Rating would be even higher if I could have some kind of assurance this whodunit will hold up strongly to repeat viewings, but I'm very optimistic considering Clouzot essentially made anti-mysteries, riddles which don't rely on pointed question marks of identity so much as their atmosphere of impending doom (most literally in The Wages of Fear, but the final shot of Diabolique has my vote for creepiest in all of cinema); particularly, the last few sequences here are a remarkable achievement in sustained, spine-tingling dread, even though I did call the perpetrator from early on; perhaps Clouzot even prefers it that way, rubbing our noses in the unnerving reality that there's no escaping the inevitable -- he all but makes certain you know what the final, horrific action will be. Without a score, Le Corbeau unfolds matter-of-factly, much like the ominous letters its moniker references, yet another movie I've watched recently about an insular community poisoning itself (in this case via secrets, gossips and lies). Still, while Clouzot has been hailed as one of cinema's Great Pessimists, such a title doesn't do the complexity of his vision justice: ultimately Le Corbeau reveals itself as a disquisition on the muddled coexistence of good and evil (ditto Quai des Orfèvres, which allows that supposed evil can just be a typo sometimes), with Clouzot showing that it's the despair imbedded in everyone that makes us all so vulnerable to the people whose pernicious streaks are more pronounced.]

047. (28 Feb) Slums of Beverly Hills (1998, Tamara Jenkins)* 63
[Rare that a film just lives in 1970s California and its wide open spaces the way Slums does, without making a big deal out of the period setting (superfluous Manson references notwithstanding); call it, at least from a visual (and acting) standpoint, one of the most organic, even impressive coming-of-age films I can think of. On the scripting side Jenkins is somewhat less successful: she wisely manages to shy away from easy answers (well hopefully that bad last voiceover was a studio mandate) -- aka no "drama", no romances, no plot, no closure (even if the lack of all these elements also makes Slums ultimately kinda tepid) -- but Jenkins seems to get off a little too much on her own (it is an autobiographical tale, after all) alleged awkwardness -- lots of gags about tampons, vibrators, bras, etc., which wouldn't be a problem if they weren't also pretty damn lame (e.g. vibrator dance that anyone who has ever seen a film knows is gonna end with dad walking into the room, menstrual blood on the chair freak-out that's set up from a mile away, every single person in the film telling Lyonne she's "stacked" fifty times). Slums' greatest achievement is probably Arkin's character, one of those kind, heartbreaking sad-sacks who've felt their dignity slipping away from them for forty years (the way Arkin handles Carl Reiner in the breakfast scene is hugely affecting) and Jenkins, bless her, has nothing but affection for this father (without letting his shortcomings off the hook). Now here we are six years later without a single other film from this promising talent. It's scary how the wealth and comfort of the movie industry promotes creative stasis.]

048. (29 Feb) 'R Xmas (2002, Abel Ferrara)* 58
[Not what I was expecting from Ferrara; it's a dreamy, low-key look at the domestic side of drug-dealing where the corrupt Dinkins-era cops are more villainous than the dealers (though the latter aren't excused entirely, since the bad cops seem as concerned with making dealers stop as stealing from them). Dialogue's awkward, bordering on flat-out poor, but the whole thing unfolds so mysteriously -- and Drea De Matteo is so awesome -- that it works (even if there ain't much here). Beautifully photographed, with Ferrara only rivaled by the Allen-Lee-Scorsese trifecta in his usage of NYC (love those hushed shots of Drea cruising through glistening nightscapes). Is the weird "To be continued..." tag implying a sequel or does it just mean the jury's still out (eight years later?!) on whether Giuliani's clean-up actually made a difference? Seems odd that Ferrara could still be ambivalent about that...]

049. (01 Mar) Alien³: Special Edition (1992 [sic], David Fincher)* 74
[For years I'd been hesitant to watch Alien³ because I didn't want to risk having to slightly lower my regard for Fincher. Luckily I waited long enough for the Special Edition cut to emerge, and it cements Fincher's status as one of modern cinema's great visionaries. This is probably the saddest action film ever made: meditative, apocalyptic and resigned to death, Alien³: Special Edition is not about attempts at peace or good triumphing over evil so much as damage control. (Alien³ is also not about "scares," which every fucking negative review is intent on bemoaning the lack of.) There are images and sequences here unlike anything we've ever seen.]

050. (02 Mar) Small Soldiers (1998, Joe Dante)* 43
[...in which Dante makes his ideology more explicit than ever, having a character say "I hate the real world," naming a store "The Inner Child," and featuring a prominent sign that urges viewers to "Question Reality." Unfortunately Dante's obsession with juvenility also seems to keep manifesting itself in the quality and maturity of the material he works with. Save a little bit more of Gremlins 2's contempt for corporate America, this is really just a paint-by-numbers kids movie and I still find myself unable to work up any enthusiasm for Dante's standard third act action extravaganzas.]

051. (03 Mar) My Architect (2003, Nathaniel Kahn) 67
[Yes, it's self-indulgent, but all worthwhile art is. It's also overlong, a small price to pay in order to watch so many old, haggard faces communing with (and sometimes trapped in) their pasts, reminding us how essentially unknowable many things are no matter how many years we live. Which is to say My Architect is as much about the people Nathaniel encounters along his journey as it is his famous father. Odd how these obsessive documentaries are being made by what seem like easily placated and passive dudes (e.g. Mark Moskowitz of Stone Reader).]

052. (04 Mar) Wadd: The Life & Times of John C. Holmes (2001, Cass Paley)* 50
[Now it's obvious to me why the two filmmakers who put Holmes's story on celluloid used a hyperactive aesthetic: they're doing whatever they can to counteract all the misery. This man's downward spiral, at least as distilled into a comprehensive (if perfunctory) talking heads documentary, is one of the most nauseatingly depressing imaginable (as well as the ultimate American rags to riches cliché). Worthwhile for the contradictory portrait that emerges (somewhat like My Architect): Holmes was half deluded, half deceptive, part sweet simpleton, part abusive, calculating fiend.]

053. (06 Mar) Purple Noon (1960, René Clément) 40

054. (09 Mar) Porn Star: The Legend of Ron Jeremy (2001, Scott J. Gill)* 53

055. (10 Mar) Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004, Michel Gondry) 65

056. (14 Mar) Alphaville (1965, Jean-Luc Godard)* 41
[Blah blah blah blah blah. Now shut up and just keep the camera trained on Anna.]

s05. (15 Mar) The Dirk Diggler Story (1988, Paul Thomas Anderson)*

s06. (15 Mar) Cigarettes & Coffee (1993, Paul Thomas Anderson)*

057. (17 Mar) /Dazed and Confused/ (1993, Richard Linklater)* 84 [first viewing: high 50s]
[I have no fucking clue why I didn't love this on first viewing -- it's clearly masterful, and I'm inclined to agree with Entertainment Weekly calling Dazed and Confused "the most dead-on portrait of teenage life ever made." Do we have any working filmmakers more generous, more humanistic, than Linklater? I would declare this the best movie Altman never made (or the best movie he would have made, had he started making movies earlier), but Dazed shares so little of Altman's pessimism. Parsing high school echelons with an uncanny acuity, what's most remarkable is how Linklater manages to steer clear of romanticizing his nostalgia -- the teenagers actually complain about their young 70s lives (difficult for someone like me, a teenager of the 90s who sometimes wishes he was a teenager of the 70s, to accept) -- and thereby, of course, only makes our collective nostalgia -- our collective longing for youth -- all the more pronounced. What emerges is one of the scariest essential truths: often we don't realize (or are unable to appreciate) how beautiful a time is until it's past. Trite as it may sound, this really is the kind of movie that makes you happy to be alive, alert to the world's possibilities. (PS: Why did Michelle Burke slip off the map? She's one of the most luminous actresses of the last decade.)]

058. (18 Mar) Spartan (2004, David Mamet) 44
[I'm a big Mamet fan, but almost nothing about Spartan works: not the very poor performances (though in the actors' defense, they're only given cardboard) with their disastrous attempts at grasping Mamet-speak (which is much weaker than usual here, anyhow); not the fact that this is Mamet at his most dark, stoic and humorless, a very misguided conceit considering MametLand, even at its most inviting, is already so emotionally barren; not the fact that no one seems to believe in what they're doing or saying (can't really blame 'em since it's all ludicrous), hence the few stabs at connection are risible (e.g. the "I raised her!" Secret Service "mother" breakdown); not the quarter-assed stabs at dime store cynicism (gasp: American politicians are so cruel and ruthless they'll discard their own children -- this nation sure is corrupt!). Admittedly none of these complaints would be deal-breakers if Spartan was actually well plotted or exciting or believable or original.]

059. (18 Mar) Dawn of the Dead (1978, George A. Romero)* 54

060. (19 Mar) Dawn of the Dead (2004, Zack Snyder) 74

061. (23 Mar) The Emperor's New Groove (2000, Mark Dindal)* 64

062. (29 Mar) Starsky & Hutch (2004, Todd Phillips) 57

063. (30 Mar) The Cincinnati Kid (1965, Norman Jewison)* 70
[Not as much fun as Rounders, though superior. This isn't a movie about the juice in card-playing but rather the slow-burn tedium (last third is one epic match), the purity, the artistry. Jewison casts an appropriately funereal spell over a solitary world where relationships and intimacy take a backseat to victory. McQueen and Edward G. Robinson (brilliant "kid" versus aging champion) are both marvelous, each a cinematic paradigm of poker-faced cool. The subplot's effort to drum up extra conflict falls somewhat flat, but there's a lost world elegance here, right down to the fact that they're playing five card stud. Delicate, sad, and ultimately quite moving.]

064. (01 Apr) The Battle of Algiers (1965, Gillo Pontecorvo) 40

065. (02 Apr) The Ladykillers (2004, Joel Coen, Ethan Coen) 80

066. (02 Apr) Taking Lives (2004, D.J. Caruso) 0

067. (03 Apr) Aguirre: The Wrath of God (1972, Werner Herzog) 27

068. (03 Apr) Secret Window (2004, David Koepp) 44
[Solid until the idiotic twist (even though it does allow Secret Window to become a fierce, if overly literal, statement on the horrors of divorce); fits nicely into Koepp's personal invasion/escalating crisis oeuvre.]

069. (03 Apr) Jersey Girl (2004, Kevin Smith) 49
[Overrating this mostly because of Carlin, Tyler and the awesome new Aimee Mann song "That's How I Knew This Story Would Break My Heart." Shamelessly manipulative pap, but it's so heartfelt that affecting moments do hit occasionally.]

070. (04 Apr) Bad Day at Black Rock (1955, John Sturges)* 79
[An explosive little firebomb of a B-movie and undoubtedly one of the most modest (as well as one of the most beautiful) CinemaScope Westerns ever made, both conceptually (tight cast, with a very simple plot that unfolds over ~24 hours) and visually (most of the film is shot in a couple of spare interiors, looking like lonely Edward Hopper paintings -- no close-ups, and almost no medium shots, just impeccable, long, deep focus frames -- as if characters' space within a composition is the extent of their exposure to outside places). Strikingly similar to Dogville in many respects -- a kind "immigrant" (or in this case two, staggered over a period of years) enters a small, isolated town and is subjected to their group-think ignorance, abuse and jingoism -- but terser (less than half of Dogville's length!) and somewhat more compassionate than Von Trier might be capable of (or maybe I should simply say: able to channel its indignation in a more circumspect fashion than Von Trier ever could). Then again, Bad Day at Black Rock is also blunter than Dogville in at least one way: Sturges doesn't try and hide his anti-American critiquing behind a help-yourself buffet platter of cryptic allegories. This is a microcosmic, undeniably damning vision of the West, with no distinction made between the Old West and the New West (characters can't agree on which of the two versions was/is hospitable; answer is neither, both can only be called brutal). But there is the possibility of redemption (even if there are no guarantees) in a superb script filled with rueful humor and piercing lines that constantly shoot outta Spencer Tracy's impenetrable face like bullets. Can't believe there was ever a time when these kinds of movies got nominated for Oscars.]

s07. (06 Apr) Werner Herzog Eats His Shoe (1980, Les Blank)

071. (06 Apr) Burden of Dreams (1982, Les Blank) 43

072. (08 Apr) Never Die Alone (2004, Ernest Dickerson) 30
[Sample dialogue from a dumb, posing film that wants to explicitly stake its own realism claim: "This is not a Quentin Tarantino movie!" Also someone, anyone, please stop even one more filmmaker from using the annoying Movie Turns Out To Be A Book The Author's Writing conceit. I'm begging.]

073. (11 Apr) Kicking and Screaming (1995, Noah Baumbach)* 53
[If ever there was a theoretically ideal audience/film symmetry it'd be five hundred Jareds watching Kicking and Screaming on April 11th, 2004, seeing as my life is currently in the exact spot almost all of the main characters here are, i.e. early 20s directly-post-graduation... frustration (I was going to write despair, but that's too harsh). Unfortunately a movie this talky lives or dies based almost solely on the performances and dialogue, and I can only rate the former as mediocre, the latter as slightly above mediocre. Intermittently amusing and I was occasionally affected by Baumbach's constant aversion to closure, but a bit pretentious, and the grace notes don't hit nearly as often as I'd like.]

074. (12 Apr) The Girl Next Door (2004, Luke Greenfield) 58

075. (15 Apr) We Don't Live Here Anymore (2004, John Curran) 82

076. (15 Apr) Twentynine Palms (2004, Bruno Dumont) 90

077. (16 Apr) Kill Bill, Vol. 2 (2004, Quentin Tarantino) 69

078. (21 Apr) Hellboy (2004, Guillermo Del Toro) 47

079. (23 Apr) 13 Going on 30 (2004, Gary Winick) 41
[Mostly bad, but on occasion everyone will shut the fuck up and you'll get a beautifully wistful sequence -- one with, say, Billy Joel singing "Vienna" and Jennifer Garner just riding a train -- that'll make you completely forget how lame this thing is. Scenes like these only occur once the movie stops forcing Garner (magnificent on Alias) into being a total idiot. Meanwhile Ruffalo's gently rumpled work is so appealing and so subtle that in a better, more difficult film, he'd probably break your heart. (Blink and you'll miss it, but his eyes are actually watering in the penultimate scene.)]

080. (24 Apr) Man on Fire (2004, Tony Scott) 69

081. (25 Apr) Lessons of Darkness (1992, Werner Herzog) 77
[Probably the most acute apocalyptic vision ever captured on film (though also, perhaps inevitably, the coldest). With so many astonishing tracking shots (sweeping aerial work that might as well be logging another planet) and the perverse classical music (perversely soothing, because of the dialectical tension as it longs for, or signals, renewal that will never come), the sadness hits even harder than the terror. When the final apocalypse destroys, I wonder if that emotional hierarchy will prove prescient.]

082. (26 Apr) Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter...and Spring (2004, Kim Ki-duk) 49
[Admirable for mercilessly exposing Buddhism's (or spirituality's) weaknesses rather than offering its rigors as any sort of salvation, but often so heavy-handed and overly parabolic that it's hard to take too seriously. Nearly excellent Spring and Fall segments manage to transcend their minor flights of fancy, even incorporating them into welcome traces of humor; annoying and overlong Summer segment sunk by sub-par performances and a tiresome, malnourished view of illicit courtship; visually breathtaking -- though curiously unmoving -- Winter segment falls somewhere in between.]

083. (01 May) Vision Quest (1985, Harold Becker)* 56
[In all fairness, no high school movie is gonna look too hot coming on the heels of the unparalleled and masterful Freaks and Geeks (which tops even Dazed and Confused); this is still a cut above the usual ilk, though.]

084. (02 May) Going in Style (1979, Martin Brest)* 79
[I'm sure Brest's name sends shivers down spines, but this film could restore all faith: a tender American tragedy in which the lonely, bored and forgotten are cast off to die, elegiac and unbearably sad at times (e.g. the mind-blowing shot where crowded tombstones suffocate the frame), but with a wistfulness that manages to transcend some of the pain. Most of this relief comes from George Burns's miraculous starring performance (don't laugh), barely masking his suffering with wry, vibrant dignity. Brest's respectful camera watches everything from a distance, allowing autumnal time to pass as slowly as it must and -- during the rare, comforting moments -- as gracefully as it can.]

085. (05 May) Mean Girls (2004, Mark S. Waters) 41
[Blah blah this is how you should live your life blah blah do this do that blah blah blah look how happy the world is now that you're living your life like you're supposed to.]

086. (06 May) James Dean (2001, Mark Rydell)* 63
[Watched this to check out James Franco's work and he doesn't disappoint, turning in a great, soulful performance perched on combustion -- anyone who's seen Freaks and Geeks knows he is James Dean. Generally I don't care for biopics since: (1) As I've said before, impressions are usually best left for SNL sketches; (2) They force decades of a life into tidy little boxes using connect-the-dots diagrams (e.g. Dean must have his big reconciliation-with-father scene so he can finish Giant and die content from dad's approval), even though we all know it's some of the most ostensibly mundane -- probably forgettable -- moments that really shape who we are and there are no clear act divisions outside of cinema. Still, this tormented thing got to me, partly because Dean's story is simply one of the most tragic and haunting pop culture legends we have, and partly because it's made with passion (the same passion that powers Rydell's joyful performance as Jack Warner), even if the journeyman qualities of TV-movie land share some screen space.]

087. (08 May) Godzilla [uncut] (1954, Ishiro Honda) 39

088. (08 May) The Big Night (1953, Joseph Losey) 23

s08. (08 May) A Gun in His Hand (1945, Joseph Losey)

089. (08 May) The Prowler (1951, Joseph Losey) 50

090. (10 May) Van Helsing (2004, Stephen Sommers) 27

091. (16 May) The Border (1982, Tony Richardson)* 62

092. (19 May) The Saddest Music in the World (2004, Guy Maddin) 28

s09. (20 May) /Long-Haired Hare/ (1949, Charles M. Jones)*

093. (22 May) Splash (1984, Ron Howard)* 38
[If only the entire movie was about John Candy trying to smoke cigarettes and drink beer while simultaneously playing racquetball, rather than a facile, chauvinist fantasy starring Darryl Hannah as a reticent cipher. Death to The Polluted Cinema of Ron Howard and death to Ron Howard's wholly insipid, b&w worldview.]

094. (24 May) Stay Hungry (1976, Bob Rafelson)* 67
[Intriguing, if ultimately inferior, companion piece to the extraordinary Five Easy Pieces, with an aimless Jeff Bridges turning his back on the pretensions of his moneyed upbringing just as Nicholson did six years previous. The romance could use some more spark, but Rafelson's keen sense of class divides remains in tact, and you can't beat the loosey-goosey authenticity he brings to every scene (e.g. that gym fight finale is one of the most painful on-screen ruckuses I've ever seen). Plus the Governor of California has never been better.]

095. (30 May) Coffee and Cigarettes (2004, Jim Jarmusch) 58
[Quality vacillates depending on the segment (duh), ranging from the worthless (get lost, White Stripes and Lee twins) to the sublime (Molina + Coogan, Iggy Pop + Tom Waits, Cate Blanchett squared, Renee French's nearly tacit solo). Most of the high quality pieces involve awkward, celebrity power plays, exploring Blanchett's "the grass is always greener" comment and dealing in hesitancy, thinly veiled narcissism (e.g. Waits stealthily checking to make sure that Iggy's not on the jukebox either, obviously all the Coogan stuff), discomfort and shame (e.g. Bill Murray disguising himself as a waiter, Roberto Benigni and Steven Wright deciding to literally and figuratively switch places, Svelte Movie Star Blanchett's inability to connect with Casual Blanchett). Not to mention the film's visuals -- in all their halcyon, b&w splendor -- ooze cool. Coffee and cigarettes have rarely looked more appealing.]

096. (03 Jun) The King of Marvin Gardens (1972, Bob Rafelson)* 78

097. (06 Jun) \Can't Hardly Wait\ (1998, Harry Elfont, Deborah Kaplan)* 44
[Abrasively hyper aesthetic meets Linklater-lite POV, this is glib and unconvincing wish fulfillment crap (those closing title cards -- informing us that all of the mean have been punished, the put-upon have been rewarded, and the world has been restored to perfection -- make me want to vomit), with lame pop music (fuck you, Smash Mouth) and worse jokes, but ultimately it's still refreshing to see a teen movie swipe Linklater's all-over-the-course-of-24-hours conceit (which theoretically -- paradoxically? -- allows for expanse and breathing room) and on rare occasion you'll find a quiet, relatively subtle scene (e.g. Ambrose/Green in the bathroom).]

098. (06 Jun) Saved! (2004, Brian Dannelly) 1

099. (06 Jun) Baadasssss! (2004, Mario Van Peebles) 46
[I'm overrating this utterly simplistic manipulation -- i.e. Van Peebles jerking his dad off for two hours -- because its passion for cinema, and Mario's superbly sorrowful performance, admittedly got to me.]

W/O. (06 Jun) The Twilight Samurai (2004, Yoji Yamada)

100. (06 Jun) Bukowski: Born Into This (2004, John Dullaghan) 63

s10. (07 Jun) [Um...] Snider's Bee Problem [?] (2004 [?], Who the fuck cares)* [projected video]

s11. (07 Jun) [Um...] Jack and Jill [?] (2004 [?], Who the fuck cares)* [projected video]

101. (07 Jun) Monster in a Box (1992, Nick Broomfield) 49

102. (08 Jun) /Five Easy Pieces/ (1970, Bob Rafelson)* 74
[Major second viewing disappointment -- I was expecting this to be 80s or 90s. Still one of the best endings in cinema, though.]

103. (09 Jun) Little Murders (1971, Alan Arkin)* 61

104. (10 Jun) Primer (2004, Shane Carruth) 49

105. (10 Jun) The Day After Tomorrow (2004, Roland Emmerich) 55
[Sela Ward is a goddess.]

106. (11 Jun) Lorenzo's Oil (1992, George Miller)* 56

107. (14 Jun) Super Size Me (2004, Morgan Spurlock) 58

108. (14 Jun) /The Umbrellas of Cherbourg/ (1964, Jacques Demy) 62 [first viewing: high 20s]

109. (15 Jun) Control Room (2004, Jehane Noujaim) 82

110. (16 Jun) Reel Paradise (2004, Steve James)* 57 [~] [projected video]

111. (16 Jun) /Flirting with Disaster/ (1996, David O. Russell)* 74

112. (17 Jun) The Stepford Wives (2004, Frank Oz) 11

113. (18 Jun) The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974, Tobe Hooper)* 0
[I'm ashamed to live in a world that heartily embraces such a facile cartoon and considers it an adequate response to the social unrest of its time (or any other time). Of course, only an American could re-imagine evil in such simpleminded terms. We're a country of convenience, a country that loves nothing more than easy concepts of villainy and even easier notions of victimization -- how fitting that we'd applaud posing blatantly amateur actors as the face of ultimate horrors. What a rotten, stingy vision; what a useless contribution.]

114. (18 Jun) Saturday Night Fever (1977, John Badham)* 74
[Can't wait to see this gorgeously garish film -- all smeared neon bursts and opulent pastels -- in a theater.]

115. (19 Jun) The Terminal (2004, Steven Spielberg) 31

116. (21 Jun) Dodgeball: A True Underdog Story (2004, Rawson Marshall Thurber) 42

117. (21 Jun) /The Bicycle Thief/ (1948, Vittorio De Sica) 67

118. (23 Jun) Black Christmas (1974, Bob Clark)* 94

119. (25 Jun) Napoleon Dynamite (2004, Jared Hess) 50

120. (25 Jun) Fahrenheit 9/11 (2004, Michael Moore) 70

121. (01 Jul) Spider-Man 2 (2004, Sam Raimi) 61

122. (02 Jul) Ichi the Killer (2003, Takashi Miike) 19

123. (02 Jul) /Bad(der) Santa/ (2003 [sic], Terry Zwigoff) 85 [first two Bad Santa viewings: 73, then 76]
[Note: Only a couple of the nine additional points are due to the added minutes.]

124. (03 Jul) Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (2004, Alfonso Cuarón) 36

125. (04 Jul) The Notebook (2004, Nick Cassavetes) 58

126. (09 Jul) Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy (2004, Adam McKay) 46

127. (10 Jul) Compulsion (1959, Richard Fleischer) 59

128. (13 Jul) Brother's Keeper (1992, Joe Berlinger, Bruce Sinofsky) 58

129. (17 Jul) Jane Eyre (1944, Robert Stevenson) 55

130. (20 Jul) I, Robot (2004, Alex Proyas) 20

131. (22 Jul) /Casablanca/ (1942, Michael Curtiz) 81

s12. (24 Jul) Andaluz (2003, Karen Aqua, Joanna Priestly)* [projected video]

132. (24 Jul) The Door in the Floor (2004, Tod Williams) 76
[Unsurprisingly, Bridges gives the best performance of the year -- think Fearless meets The Big Lebowski.]

133. (26 Jul) The Changeling (1980, Peter Medak)* 84

134. (28 Jul) The Clearing (2004, Pieter Jan Brugge) 64

135. (30 Jul) The Village (2004, M. Night Shyamalan) 35

136. (02 Aug) Metallica: Some Kind of Monster (2004, Joe Berlinger, Bruce Sinofsky) 58

137. (03 Aug) /Rushmore/ (1998, Wes Anderson) 96

138. (04 Aug) Hero (1992, Stephen Frears)* 47

139. (05 Aug) The Bourne Supremacy (2004, Paul Greengrass) 66

140. (06 Aug) Festival Express (2004, Bob Smeaton) 40

141. (06 Aug) Collateral (2004, Michael Mann) 58

142. (07 Aug) Maria Full of Grace (2004, Joshua Marston) 67

143. (07 Aug) Female Convict Scorpion: Jailhouse 41 (1972, Shunya Ito) 54

144. (10 Aug) The Manchurian Candidate (2004, Jonathan Demme) 50

145. (10 Aug) White Oleander (2002, Peter Kosminsky)* 52

146. (12 Aug) She Hate Me (2004, Spike Lee) 29

147. (12 Aug) Stander (2004, Bronwen Hughes) 27

148. (12 Aug) Open Water (2004, Chris Kentis) 47

149. (13 Aug) Creepshow (1982, George A. Romero)* 46
[Rating's an average; as most of you know, this is an anthology film in which the five segments share almost nothing save their visions of outlandish, often glib, moral comeuppance (do bad things and you will be punished! moohahahaha!). More worthwhile would be to rate each segment individually, especially since they're wildly uneven: (1) "Father's Day": * (2) "The Lonesome Death of Jordy Verrill": no stars (screenwriter Stephen King deserves special recognition for turning in what is easily one of the worst performances in the history of feature films) (3) "Something To Tide You Over": ** (4) "The Crate": **1/2 (5) "They're Creeping Up On You": ****]

150. (13 Aug) The Bad News Bears (1976, Michael Ritchie)* 77

151. (14 Aug) Garden State (2004, Zach Braff) 73

152. (14 Aug) /Raising Arizona/ (1987, Joel [and Ethan] Coen) 66

153. (14 Aug) Hearts and Minds (1974, Peter Davis)* 53

154. (15 Aug) The Family Man (2000, Brett Ratner)* 9
[Could've easily gone into the 30s, but why should I when the film's heinous worldview is so fucking offensive. Guess what, folks: The only way to be truly happy in life is through domesticity. That's right, it doesn't matter if you're perfectly content with your high-stress, moneyed, bachelor life. It doesn't matter if you have everything you want, if you take much pleasure in your job, if you wake up with a smile on your face and a skip in your step, if all your earthly desires are fulfilled -- You. Aren't. Truly. Happy. Excuse me while I vomit.]

155. (16 Aug) /Blood Simple [2000 ed.]/ (1985 [sic], Joel [and Ethan] Coen) 59

156. (18 Aug) /Miller's Crossing/ (1990, Joel [and Ethan] Coen) 81

157. (18 Aug) \Office Space\ (1999, Mike Judge) 70

158. (19 Aug) This So-Called Disaster (2004, Michael Almereyda)* 48 [projected video]

159. (21 Aug) The Trouble With Harry (1955, Alfred Hitchcock)* 65

160. (25 Aug) /The Hudsucker Proxy/ (1994, Joel [and Ethan] Coen) 56

161. (25 Aug) Hero (2004, Zhang Yimou) 2

162. (27 Aug) Mean Creek (2004, Jacob Aaron Estes) 66

163. (27 Aug) The Brown Bunny (2004, Vincent Gallo) 59

164. (06 Sep) The Corporation (2004, Mark Achbar, Jennifer Abbott) 64

s13. (08 Sep) Spinal (2004, Brandon Lasner)*

165. (09 Sep) Seeing Other People (2004, Wallace Wolodarsky)* 45
[All hail Lauren Graham, my favorite actress on the planet, seen here playing Lorelai's mean, more ribald stepsister. Unfortunately I had to work through the rest of this ridiculous thing (aka Ode to the Value of Monogamy) just to reach her (far too few) scenes. Speaking of which: That awesomely smooth shot of Lauren getting stoned -- decked out in shades and a svelte black business suit -- should clearly be blown up and hung on every wall in America.]

166. (09 Sep) Slasher (2004, John Landis)* 68

167. (12 Sep) Red Lights (2004, Cédric Kahn) 36

168. (14 Sep) Time Indefinite (1993, Ross McElwee) 80

169. (15 Sep) Bright Leaves (2004, Ross McElwee) 67

170. (21 Sep) Mr. 3000 (2004, Charles Stone III) 47

171. (21 Sep) Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow (2004, Kerry Conran) 19

172. (22 Sep) Cellular (2004, David R. Ellis) 26

173. (23 Sep) /We Don't Live Here Anymore/ (2004, John Curran) 58 [first viewing: 82]
[Guess you either get enveloped by the solipsistic miserablism of this thing or you don't. Flashes of greatness are still there, but so is a fuckload of tedium, and now the whiny characters seem defined almost entirely by their grating sex lives.]

FYI: AT THIS POINT IN THE NARRATIVE YOUR HUMBLE GATEKEEPER SWITCHES FROM THE 100pt. SYSTEM TO THE 5star SYSTEM.

174. (24 Sep) Shaun of the Dead (2004, Edgar Wright) 1/2

175. (24 Sep) The Forgotten (2004, Joseph Ruben) *1/2

176. (01 Oct) A Dirty Shame (2004, John Waters) *1/2

177. (06 Oct) The Yes Men (2004, Dan Ollman, Sarah Price, Chris Smith) ***

178. (06 Oct) I Heart Huckabees (2004, David O. Russell) ****

179. (09 Oct) Friday Night Lights (2004, Peter Berg) *1/2

W/O. (09 Oct) Taxi (2004, Tim Story)

180. (11 Oct) Ladder 49 (2004, Jay Russell) **

181. (13 Oct) Ghost in the Shell 2: Innocence (2004, Mamoru Oshii) *

182. (14 Oct) Undertow (2004, David Gordon Green) *

183. (15 Oct) p.s. (2004, Dylan Kidd) **1/2

184. (16 Oct) Team America: World Police (2004, Trey Parker) *1/2
[Reprehensible and incoherent ideology meets occasional hilarity.]

185. (18 Oct) In Good Company (2004, Paul Weitz) *1/2 [~]

186. (19 Oct) Tarnation (2004, Jonathan Caouette) *1/2

187. (31 Oct) Saw (2004, James Wan) 1/2

188. (01 Nov) The Exorcist: The Version You've Never Seen (1973 [2000], William Friedkin) ****

189. (01 Nov) The Haunting (1963, Robert Wise) **

190. (02 Nov) Birth (2004, Jonathan Glazer) ***
[(MAJOR SPOILERS!) Works best as a tale of aristocratic suffocation (lush apartments shot as antiseptic gas chambers) about the destructive consequences of heeding logic (some might even say science), coming to a head (or rather crash) with the heartbreaking fissure of the final sequence. Anna (a typically superb Kidman, face registering every single emotional pinprick) really was in love with this little boy for as strange, inexplicable or nebulous reasons as love can ever be attributed to, but as soon as a rational explanation for her affection is introduced (i.e. the -- admittedly very contrived -- letters, i.e. she was "tricked"), she impulsively boots him out of her life. The boy -- in all his purity and innocence -- doesn't concern himself with the vulgarities of logic, consciously choosing to favor his mysterious gut responses and steadfastly maintain his love in spite of the letters' fallacy ("Then I can't be Sean, because I love Anna."). We are what we believe, and as soon as Anna loses her faith (simply because she has nothing convenient to hang it on anymore) she recklessly plunges into a sure-to-be miserable marriage of comfort and expectation. Of course, this would all be even more powerful if it weren't so overstated -- that is, if Danny Huston's character didn't constantly border on parody and if Glazer (for all his prodigious talent and commendably adventurous spirit) didn't so shamelessly crib from Kubrick / err towards ponderousness on occasion.]

191. (02 Nov) The Grudge (2004, Takashi Shimizu) *

192. (06 Nov) Last Tango in Paris (1973, Bernardo Bertolucci) 1/2

s14. (07 Nov) High Diving Hare (1949, I. Freleng) [v]

s15. (07 Nov) Bully for Bugs (1953, Charles M. Jones) [v]

s16. (07 Nov) What's Up Doc? (1950, Robert McKimson) [v]

s17. (08 Nov) Boundin' (2004, Bud Luckey)

193. (08 Nov) The Incredibles (2004, Brad Bird) **

194. (08 Nov) Deathdream (1974, Bob Clark) [v] **

195. (11 Nov) Vera Drake (2004, Mike Leigh) ***1/2

196. (13 Nov) Child's Play (1988, Tom Holland) [v] *

197. (16 Nov) The Polar Express (2004, Robert Zemeckis) **
[Presents a patently false, carnivalesque vision of elves, Santa Claus and the North Pole, then jerks its Hero off for his being the only one who maintains undying faith in same. Zemeckis gleefully ignores how fucking easy it is to believe in Christmas fantasy when you've just witnessed it with your own eyes. Unfortunately said fantasy is really nothing more than a dirty lie, and kids the world over are forced into feeling guilty if they don't share Hero's specious faith (the end credits song is literally a noxious ode to believing). All that said, the gorgeous, extended train trek is a hell of a visceral ride... enough so that I wasn't hugely bothered by how offensive The Polar Express' message is. (Obviously I'm getting soft in my old age.)]

198. (20 Nov) National Treasure (2004, Jon Turteltaub) 1/2

199. (24 Nov) Kids (1995, Larry Clark) [v] **1/2
[I was prepared to chastise this for its strained naturalism (Clark knows how to make people forget about his camera, but many of the dialogues taste like plastic) and its garishly exaggerated vision of wasted youth, until I realized that Clark likely ain't interested in realism at all: he's sentenced these callous kids to a purgatory of his own devising. Or rather, he's sentenced these kids to Hell by way of a cruel New York City, strikingly captured by Clark's photographer's eye in all its rude, suffocating glory. It's not the moralism that bothers me -- especially since it seems rooted in so much genuinely vehement disgust (probably because Clark sees himself in these kids) -- it's the relative ease (or glee?) with which it's arrived at. For all his infamy as a youth-obsessed pervert, Clark's best when he trades sex for sorrow, e.g. allowing his camera to linger on Chloë's fall from propriety without ever losing a sense of grace.]

200. (25 Nov) Kinsey (2004, Bill Condon) *

201. (26 Nov) Delicatessen (1992, Jean-Pierre Jeunet, Marc Caro) *

202. (28 Nov) Enduring Love (2004, Roger Michell) **1/2
[Pains me not to recommend this since many of the domestic scenes soar and the virtuoso prologue dazzles. Flirts with bona fide hysteria at times, but mostly comes up short 'cause of its silly script and jejune philosophizing. Still worth seeing for Morton's mesmerizing performance; her translucent face is the most exciting in cinema right now.]

203. (01 Dec) Closer (2004, Mike Nichols) 1/2
[I work for Columbia Pictures now so it's not appropriate for me to rate their films... but I'm gonna go right ahead and keep doing so anyway (especially since given their recent acquisition of MGM's massive library and their prolific seventy-five years of studio production, I would have to recuse myself from every other film). Make of that what you will.]

204. (03 Dec) The Dawn Patrol (1930, Howard Hawks) **
[Primarily notable for its harrowing aerial sequences that haven't aged in seventy-four years. Then again, its presentation of war as an untenable mobius strip of inexperienced soldiers being sent off to die by hardened bureaucracy (the surviving former quickly forced into becoming the latter) is also as timely as ever.]

205. (03 Dec) Only Angels Have Wings (1939, Howard Hawks) ****

206. (04 Dec) The Great Waldo Pepper (1975, George Roy Hill) ***1/2

207. (04 Dec) The Tarnished Angels (1958, Douglas Sirk) *1/2

208. (05 Dec) After Hours (1985, Martin Scorsese) [v] **

209. (05 Dec) End of the Century: The Story of the Ramones (2004, Michael Gramaglia, Jim Fields) **1/2

210. (05 Dec) Sid and Nancy (1986, Alex Cox) *1/2

211. (09 Dec) The Machinist (2004, Brad Anderson) **

212. (10 Dec) Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore (1974, Martin Scorsese) [v] **1/2

213. (11 Dec) /His Girl Friday/ (1940, Howard Hawks) **1/2 [first viewing: **]
[Over a year ago, I wrote: "Funny and careful first act promises something rivaling The Awful Truth (though Hawks is not nearly as tender or nuanced as McCarey), but once the 'plot engine' kicks into gear (and love takes a backseat), it's all downhill. Nadir has to be when the film invites us to gasp at the girlfriend jumping out the window, then mere moments later begs us to laugh at Grant picking up the mother onto his shoulders. Such is the way of His Girl Friday's world: if you're too quick to worry about tonal melding and always too eager to crunch in that next joke, why tackle something as grave as a man on death row (especially when it's just a pretext for silly amorous escapades)? As a study of political corruption, the movie's facile; as a romantic comedy, incomplete. I don't have to settle for this when the same year brought the overwhelming beauty of The Shop Around the Corner." Another viewing later, I wouldn't change much of that. It's still a grating, supremely overpraised film -- whose mania is not always a virtue -- with a first act that blasts the rest right off the screen and a second act where Grant's absence is painfully felt/never recovered from. But I appreciated His Girl Friday a little more this time around as a sincere study of a milieu, and its blitheness in the face of grimness now seemed a somewhat fair reflection of the often uncaring newspapermen and newspaperwoman at its core.]

214. (11 Dec) Twentieth Century (1934, Howard Hawks) **
[Somewhat compelling (if repetitive) look at how theatrically infests quotidian life and the amaranthine relationship between Director and Actress, with Hawks prescient as usual in his figuring that said relationship's resemblance to a dysfunctional love affair would be the very foundation of cinema. Unfortunately Barrymore's awesomely vivid satire crushes Lombard's shrill mediocrity; this chick's performance in My Man Godfrey better blow me away -- I'm losing patience with the alleged "Queen of Screwball."]

215. (13 Dec) Ocean's Twelve (2004, Steven Soderbergh) ***1/2

216. (13 Dec) /Rear Window/ (1954, Alfred Hitchcock) ***

217. (14 Dec) Bad Education (2004, Pedro Almodóvar) *1/2

218. (15 Dec) Million Dollar Baby (2004, Clint Eastwood) **1/2

219. (18 Dec) The Aviator (2004, Martin Scorsese) **1/2

220. (19 Dec) High Plains Drifter (1973, Clint Eastwood) **

221. (22 Dec) Sideways (2004, Alexander Payne) ***1/2

222. (23 Dec) Meet the Fockers (2004, Jay Roach) **

223. (24 Dec) Alexander (2004, Oliver Stone) *1/2

224. (25 Dec) The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou (2004, Wes Anderson) ****

225. (25 Dec) A Very Long Engagement (2004, Jean-Pierre Jeunet) *1/2

226. (26 Dec) The 5,000 Fingers of Dr. T (1953, Roy Rowland) *1/2

227. (30 Dec) The Woodsman (2004, Nicole Kassell) **