I said Goddamn, kilogram! 2009 is shaping up nicely already. Case in point?
1:00, 2:50, 4:40, 6:30, 8:20, 10:10
Bless you, Rialto and Film Forum, and a happy nouvelle year to everyone.
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I said Goddamn, kilogram! 2009 is shaping up nicely already. Case in point?
Bless you, Rialto and Film Forum, and a happy nouvelle year to everyone.
Posted at 09:06 PM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBack (0)
'Tis the season for bad seeds, the misunderstood, the glowering, the downright Smother-ing resentment of "Mom always liked you best." Which is another way of saying that the cinetrix recently caught up with three prestige releases that had eluded her: A Christmas Tale and Rachel Getting Married back to back one Saturday, and The Wrestler Sunday before noon with my pal Andy. Dysfunctional fun abounded.
Taken together, these films remind us that the return of the prodigal is an irresistible trope. [Milton gave God's fallen favorite Satan the best lines, don't forget.] Mathieu Almaric's Henri returns to Roubaix, Anne Hathaway's Kym leaves rehab for Stamford [a harsh trade, that], and Randy gives up wrestling to dish out deli. These are the showy, scenery-gnawing roles, but what I remember more than a week on are the peripheral parts these big personalities edge out to the margins.
Are there better female faces in film right now than those of Emmanuelle Devos and Chiara Mastrioanni? Devos' Faunia rolls her eyes at the acidic snipes and genteel anti-Semitism of her boyfriend's fucked-up Christian family and continues tucking into her food. Sylvia, on the other hand, saddled with the dutiful daughter[-in-law] role, drags on her omnipresent cigarette on the sidelines until something in the depths of her sad eyes [so like her father Marcello's] at last ignites.
Rosemarie DeWitt's titular Rachel doesn't have a memorable face. That distinction, like so much else, seems to have gone to her undeserving attention-suck of a sister. But its ordinariness barely masks the seething and, let's face it, self-righteous rage roiling underneath. Rachel is furious, and it is fascinating to see how casting herself as a martyred Abel to Kym's Cain has shaped her entire life. She's so used to being overlooked that she's even assembled a wedding party far more interesting than herself, filled with showboats of all stripes, and must adopt the costume and customs of more "colorful" cultures to become the center of attention. Her resentment is unattractive, raw, and magnificent.
Rachel should take a page from Marisa Tomei's book. As stripper Cassidy, she more than holds her own opposite the heartbreaking wreck that is Mickey Rourke's Ram through savvy, matter-of-fact underplaying. [The cinetrix is on record as wanting to come back as a 44-year-old naked Tomei in her next life.] Nearly naked or swaddled in a puffy down parka, she glows in an underwritten part, whereas Evan Rachel Wood as Ram's neglected daughter can only sulk.
Posted at 10:24 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0)
Goddamn it. Eartha Kitt has died. In honor of this improbable woman, one of her more improbable film appearances. Above, Unzipped. (She shows up at 8:50 of the first clip and carries over into the second.)
Posted at 09:22 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0)
The cinetrix must lack the gene for best-of list-making--it's never come easy. Still, when the indieWIRE Critics Poll came a-calling I resolved to sack up and take a whack at evaluating the small fraction of the year's movies I managed to catch. My top 10 and comments follow; the rest of the lists can be found here.
N.B. Any flick with award aspirations and a post-Thanksgiving limited release that doesn't appear here I probably haven't seen yet, and if you ask me later it might well unseat one of the 10. Or not.
UPDATE: The complete results have been tabulated and may be found here. Perhaps appropriately, an excerpt from my comments was made into a pullquote in the Critics Defend Their Picks section.
Posted at 08:07 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0)
Oh, Exploding Kinetoscope, the cinetrix genuflects to your genius. [via]
Posted at 11:01 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0)
For the birthday I observed when I was in graduate school, my only request was that we do something that didn't end with me having to shlep home from Manhattan on the N at the end of the night. So we ended up getting burritos from the place on 9th and drinking old-man drinks at Jackie's 5th Amendment down the street from my place. Jackie's has a great jukebox, and I remember distinctly listening to "Under My Thumb" that evening.
Today's plans are farther ranging and more ambitious: a micro-road trip with the 'Fesser, a self-designed double bill of two recent critical faves, a delicious meal, maybe a nightcap at the Manhattan, then home. And instead of "Under My Thumb," I give you "Wild Horses." Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose.
Posted at 11:19 AM | Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBack (0)
Not to be outdone by his fellow twee director, Wes Anderson shoots Brad Pitt shilling a Japanese cell phone.
Posted at 01:12 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0)
Just a quick note to share the exciting news that if the cinetrix would like to see, say, Synecdoche, NY, this weekend, she needs to drive two hours north, into the mountains. Rachel Getting Married or A Christmas Tale? Two hours southwest, through the worst commute on the continent. Happy-Go-Lucky is a mere 90-minute jaunt to Chronic Town.
Bolt, however, takes up two screens at the nearest megaplex.
Sigh.
As you were.
Posted at 02:02 PM | Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBack (0)
Talk about divine intervention! According to sitemeter, someone from the Holy See was Googling for pictures of Manohla Dargis! Let's hope whomever it was says a novena on the recently beleaguered NYT scribe's behalf--or arranges for some Old Testament-stizz smiting of Patrick Goldstein.
Domain Name | vatican.va ? (Holy See (Vatican City State)) | ||||||||||
IP Address | 212.77.0.# (Holy See - Vatican City State) | ||||||||||
ISP | Holy See - Vatican City State | ||||||||||
Location |
| ||||||||||
Language | English (U.S.) en-us | ||||||||||
Operating System | Microsoft WinXP* | ||||||||||
Browser | Firefox Mozilla/5.0 (Windows; U; Windows NT 5.1; en-US; rv:1.9.0.4) Gecko/2008102920 Firefox/3.0.4 | ||||||||||
Javascript | version 1.5 | ||||||||||
Monitor |
| : | 1280 x 1024 | ||||||||
Color Depth | : | 32 bits |
* Funny, I always figured the Vatican for an Apple operation.
Posted at 12:50 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0)
A word of caution to those dwelling in the provinces. Yes, carving out time to go to the opening weekend of the NYFF can be fun and exciting, but if your pals are in the press-screening set, proceed with caution. They'll already have two weeks of early-morning movies and late-night drinking under their belts. So they'll have seen nearly everything already and have developed livers of steel.
Or so was the cinetrix's experience the last weekend of September. A Thursday night spent drinking with Aarons Hillis and Dobbs and Herr "I heart Tulpan" Filmbrain meant Friday morning found the cinetrix rendered useless. So, no 10 a.m. Happy-Go-Lucky with acerbic Mike Leigh press conference for me. Pity.
As it was, I barely made it to that afternoon's film, Gerardo Naranja's Voy a Explotar, a charming Mexi-confection made of equal parts A Little Romance, the oft-cited Pierrot le Fou, and From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler. Young Maru, a saucer-eyed lewd infant, falls for her "perfect accomplice," brooding brat Roman, after he "hangs" himself for the school talent show. She vamps in her mirror and confides her feelings via voiceovers and notebooks: "He exists, but I made him up." It is a relationship sanctified under the sign of Saint Stephen [Morrissey] and sealed with a stunt where Roman wields a gun [first act, for those of you scoring at home] and "kidnaps" Maru from school.
Rather than run away straightaway, they spend the second act camped out on the roof of Roman's house, thus proving one of the cinetrix's pet theories that no one ever looks up [see also City of Cranes]. Below-stairs their parents wig out between shots of tequila; up above, the young lovers bicker and booze, nuzzle and argue over their taste in movies and when they will finally make love in the red pup-tent that bathes their puppy-love fumblings in a womb-like glow.
The entire film is washed in a paleta palette of warm and cool colors, which grow increasingly colder once Roman y Maru take their amour fou on the road. Their objective is Mexico City, by way of a country Quinceañera. There Roman gets drunk and starts waving his piece around, signaling the arrival of the third act, their return home, and the inevitable end of the romance, awash in the strains of Delarue. Oh, who am I kidding? I loved every melodramatic minute.
Still to come, NYFF Film Prom and Forensics Club!
Posted at 06:25 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBack (0)