Postmodern Conservative.

Art Imitating Life

It's somewhat less clear precisely why Kepesh keeps excusing himself from dates with Consuela's parents, never introduces her to his best friend -- a Pulitzer-winning poet played delightfully by Dennis Hopper -- and refuses to end his no-strings sexual relationship with a divorced friend (Patricia Clarkson). I suppose the murkiness is intentional, but it leaves the psychological center of the story uncertain. -- Andrew O'Hehir's review of "The Dying Animal," Slate

Why so hard to make good art that truly reflects the times? Because all too often even people working consciously to lead the most artistic lives end up living lives that make bad art when considered from a perspective external to their own selves, and making such people into movie characters creates an extra layer of unmoored ponderousness that the frisson value of aesthetic contradiction can hardly abate. 

The Enemy Cannot Press a Button if You Have Disabled his Hand

One of many lines of great wisdom from the infamous and brilliant film Starship Troopers. Here's another one: "You're some sort of big, fat, smart-bug, aren't you?"

Inexplicably, Daniel hates Starship Troopers, calling it "horrendous," "horrible," "risible," and a "waste of time." I'm sure it's a better film, at least, than Hancock, if for no other reason than Starship Troopers is a contemporary classic in the underappreciated siege film genre -- a genre dominated by some of the greatest films of all time, for certain (Zulu, Night of the Living Dead), but one with plenty of room for a cutting satirical attack on our monocultural human civilization of the future. An attack the film itself appears not entirely to know it's making...

Che! The Movie

I like Benicio del Toro, I'm iffy on Steven Soderbergh, I think A.O. Scott's one of our best movie critics, and it was Cuban Independence Day a few days ago. All of which suggests I point you to Rod's post on Scott's review of Soderbergh's Che movie, starring Benicio. Fin.

Invitation to Criticism

Am I the only person with Zero (0) interest in watching any film in the 'Judd Apatow universe'? No. But am I the only blogger?

The Consolation of the Bad Is the Worse

A.O. Scott lets out his first false note of the year. It's all the sadder for coming on the heels of a typically accurate and confident bit of swashbuckling:

[...] the schlub-hottie pairings that have become ubiquitous on screen lately also reinforce a dreary double standard. Guys are permitted to be flabby, lazy emotional wrecks, but as long as they crack jokes, some action will come their way. Girls, ideally, should have a sense of humor — mainly so they can laugh at those jokes — but for the most part they should look good in a bikini and like sex (though not too much and not anything too weird). Maybe someday, though probably not under Mr. Apatow’s aegis, a relatively ordinary-looking woman will have a sex comedy of her own.

I know this is probably to be taken as the film criticism version of Tocqueville's 'sad liberalism', but please let's not give anyone any ideas. I, for example, will refrain from personifying this bad idea out of sheer magnanimity.

John Hughes Lives

But quietly. This is an oddly fascinating and somewhat breathless article, well worth the read. But note: Owen Wilson is in no way reminiscent of John Candy.

Ripley, Believe it or Not

Was Minghella's best. Sad to see him go, but Ross' speed-essay on The Talented Mr. Ripley is the most undeniably correct thing he has ever written, down to every last detail and sometimes even word choice. The only thing I could possibly add is specific praise for the way Philip Seymour Hoffman delivers the line "I think I'm saying it." And that Matt Damon is the best actor of his generation, and so shall he remain.

UPDATE: Peter Suderman concurs, claro.

While I Was Out

in New York, a little bit of fun and games I've had with Funny Games went up at the American Spectator.

Voting With My Feet

Jim Antle calls our attention to a most heinous paleo plot: disenfranchisement for citizens whose film faves include 12 Monkeys, Fight Club, and Legends of the Fall. My flight to Canada begins tonight.

Cloverfield

Suderman likes it okay; Chris Orr doesn't. I won't see it. There's something deviant and irresponsible about fantasizing so luridly over the mass destruction of America and specifically New York. I don't like being presented with the image of a decapitated Statue of Liberty, which will now never leave my memory banks. Period.

The transgressive force of Independence Day was mitigated by the knowledge that, like, that would never happen, but now we should treat ourselves with an ounce more respect. And don't give me any yap about how this is a 'safe' way of working out our fears. It's just another wrong, tiresome, and ultimately fraudulent way of ratcheting up our anxiety in order to blunt the way it registers.