Atoning for the Blood of Old Men (or Desperate Times Call For Desperate Movies)

This year's best picture nominees should not be accompanied by lattes or skim chais. These are whiskey-knocking, goat-milk-guzzling, tequila-shooting films about vengeance (minus the one with blue slushies). Having finally completed my Best Picture marathon, I am sad to report Hollywood's confirmation of our country's anxiety and despair.
We are presented with three films (Michael Clayton, Blood, and No Country) without character archs. The lead males begin as loners, outlaws, or psychotic villains and continue on that trajectory in spite of attempts to knock them out of inertia (the usually effective gravitational pull of women, children, and social obligation). Sure, there are twists on this theme. This year's best pic directors infuse their films with their own auteur style (the Coen brothers' penchant for throw-away scenes showcasing awkward and pathetic interaction with service professionals, Paul Thomas Anderson's passion for powerful scoring). But fundamentally, the symbolism is apparent, these films reveal that our world is in peril. Example: Daniel Plainview in Blood (Daniel Day Lewis) watching his oil rig blaze with flames, after his son has been knocked unconscious/with burst ear drums, cackling "There's a whole ocean of oil under our feet! No one can get at it except for me!" Oil, son, greed, machismo, bad health care...the parallels are oh so apparent.
So what film should win the golden guy?
-Not Michael Clayton--this is an extended plea for a Best Actor Oscar for Clooney (with a miraculous performance by corporate white witch Twilda Swinton)...not a lasting piece of American cinema.
-Not Atonement--a film which would usually be lost post-Golden Globe season, after the buzz wore off or better films surfaced...a good book, oddly adapted, and visually reminiscent of Pearl Harbor (maybe that's just me)
-Not Juno--though I loved it. It's a sitcom/stage play with a great soundtrack. If you are going to have a best picture that is a quirky character drama, it must have some epic quality (See American Beauty--magical realism in American suburbia). In addition to dynamic interpersonal relationships, it needs a dynamic relationship with the camera. You should not be able to watch this on your tiny iphone screen and feel satisfied.
-This leaves No Country and Blood. I think I might move to Canada.

Diving Bell and the Butterfly plus LPQ

Diving Bell and the Butterfly

Written by Ronald Harwood and Jean-Dominique Bauby
Directed by Julia Schnabel

Friends often complain that I drag them to "artsy films," the sort-of nonlinnear, nonwestern, nonHD imports not featured in multiplexes but rather in off-the-beaten track theatres (read: obstructed views, uncomfortable seats, limited snack options, and snooty ticket takers). It's true. I rarely throw money down the drain for movies starring Adam Sandler or CGI-enhanced mutants (Beowulf in 3D was a mistake!). I would not consider myself a movie snob (confession: I saw Armageddon 4 times in the theatre), just a cinematic connoisseur with a more complex palate.

Though JerzeyStyle may suggest otherwise, there are reasons to track down this year's Oscar nominations. One of these reasons is the Diving Bell and the Butterfly, the latest opus from Before Night Falls director Julian Schnabel. This is an art film because it is a piece of art. The premise: a true story of French Elle editor Jean-Dominique Bauby, who, in 1995 at the age of 43, suffered a stroke that paralyzed his entire body, except his left eye. Using that eye to blink out his memoir (he develops a language of blink-yes, no, letters become sentences), Bauby articulates the nature of his existence, his past, his desires. Incredibly French in its lyrical quality, emotionally-rich and raw, Diving Bell addresses the basics of human nature (when placed in perilous situations) through a unique perspective (literally). Bauby's relationship to the world around him (his health care providers, his estranged girlfriend, his television) is powerful because it is about personal survival, meanwhile applying every visual trick seamlessly. No Adam Sandler or CGI, but humor and clever camera work abound.

Sometimes the search is worth it.

Pairs with LPQ at 64th and Bway. For the faux-French quality.

Welcoming JerzeyStyle!

Over the river and through the Lincoln Tunnel to the Garden State we go. New Jersey: a bastion of cinematic excellence from Harold and Kumar to Kevin Smith to our newest foreign correspondent, JerzeyStyle. Here to report on the Oscar noms from a Wawa near you:

Ok. I'll admit it. I have gotten lazy. There was a time, way back when I had disposable income and disposable time, that I, like all my fellow film buffs, traipsed to the independent theaters and saw every move on the Oscar watch list. I made my little scorecard and patiently awaited the release that came with the envelope rip and announcement. I would get all hot and bothered when my favorite actor got snubbed (Jake Gyllenhaal's performance in Jarhead deserved a nomination at least) and gushed when the best film of the year actually took home the prize (the academy agreed that Chicago was "All That Jazz" despite its snub of Rob Marshall… we're here for you Rob).
But recently, I have felt… in a word… flaccid about the season's supposed masteripices. In fact, 2008 has left me feeling so limp that I fully stand behind the following statement: Transformers, Harry Potter and Enchanted are least more enjoyable and at best more relevant than the proto-violent, carnage-ridden no country, and socipathic, over-hyped Blood, which seem like little more than fodder to fill more xanax prescriptions. They are fun, exciting movies that look like they cost enough to warrant dropping a small fortune to see them . I don't want to talk about the walking train wreck of a performance that was supposedly Sweeney Todd. Where are the Chicagos, and Return of the Kings that used to make my little heart go pitter-pat? The listless offerings of this year's season stand as a reminder that rather than strike, the WGA should be poring over the next good screenplay.
I will say that there are some decent films. Juno is, if nothing else, a charming examination of life as a spunky pregnant teenaged post-millenial, though we're left wondering, why do casting directors think Jason Bateman is such a tool. The songs from Enchanted are gay enough to make the Pope don a tutu and dance the Macarena and worthy of their inclusion, albeit without the inclusions of its leading lady in the best actress category (her perforance was comparable if not better than both Zeta-Jones and Kidman in their respective musicals). Transformers is a shoe-in for best special effects considering half of the cast is entirely computer animated. I would love to see Bourne walk home with the editing award and am certain that the best reviewed film of the year – a story about rats cooking gourmet food (if you just dry-heaved, you aren't alone) will take home gold in February. I would love to see Michael Clayton before the ceremony and may actually try, but as for the rest, I say… go vote Academy. If you stand up to tradition it should be a fairly boring night: Daniel Day will beat Johnny Depp for "Wierdest MoFo in Hollywood", Juno will trounce The Coens and Anderson, because girls rule. And at the end of the night, we'll all roll over, have a cigarette and think, "God, this used to be a lot better…" And who knows, if the WGA is still on strike, it will all be over before we know it.
--JerzeyStyle

Rolling out the red carpet for our foreign correspondent

The Academy Awards: an event so big it calls for tongue-in-cheek reinforcement. I introduce "Lost Angel," one of my favorite Hollywood insiders, to comment on this year's noms from the city that always tans. Yes, now we even outsource blogs.

Greetings from this blog's foreign correspondent. Because to a New Yorker, Los Angeles is about as foreign as it gets. Our coffee is served ice blended and the pairing of uggs and a skirt is a completely respectable ensemble, but we do know our movies. This is Hollywood, baby, this is where movies are made! Or at least tabloid headlines, I guess most movies are made in Canada now? Either way, we do have the ability to see movies and lots of them. Any true Los Angeles resident
loves their movies, loves their fourteen dollar ticket to the Arclight that comes complete with an introduction from a pimply usher, a ginormous screen and the opportunity to buy overpriced yet delicious caramel popcorn. And we do love our award shows...or award press conferences as they are coming to be known. So in honor of our lovely Nouveau Yorker's birthday and the fact that I am writing this mere miles from where the nominations were just announced, my first column will discuss the Oscar nominations! The two lone surprises in the Big
Categories (read: the categories people actually care about, actors, directors, best picture) were Tommy Lee Jones and Laura Linney and I could not be happier. The lamest thing about the Oscars and, okay, granted, this industry, is that so much is often based on "buzz." IN
THE VALLEY OF ELAH and THE SAVAGES both lacked this elusive "buzz,"that "it quality," that "stardust," that myriad of lame catchphrases that must be put in quotes. Personally, I enjoyed both movies, particularly THE SAVAGES, which I found to be an under-rated and
upsettingly realistic black comedy and I had mourned the fact that neither of these stellar performances would get recognized because they weren't currently "in fashion." It's great to see the Academy proved me wrong. However, they didn't prove me wrong with another
complaint I have (I might maybe complain a lot) about how award shows are run: they're rarely reflective of a year's achievement in film. They're mostly reflective of the months of November and December and, in the case of lucky MICHAEL CLAYTON, October (George Clooney has the
ability to transcend calendars). It's a shame Judd Apatow wasn't recognized for the genius of KNOCKED UP and I loved WAITRESS too. I'm not sure who'd I'd boot from the Original Screenplay category to make room, but in a year with so much stellar writing, I wish they had just expanded the category. The writers should add that to their list of grievances, at least twenty screenplay nominees per Oscars. While there are a few locked-in categories, much of this year is up in air, so I'll refrain from making any predictions. What would make me happiest would be for the show to go on and the red carpet ridiculousness to resume. I can't very well judge the fashion choices of the news correspondents. Unless Nancy O'Dell decides to wear a swan dress.
Also, if you must accompany your award shows with a caffeinated
beverage, may I recommend Starbucks' new Skinny drinks. Because what
could be more Hollywood than a beverage named after the town's most
coveted trait? Or you could always caffe9nate a colonic.

Until next time,
Lost Angel

Morning buzz

What is more cinematic than New York in the morning?

Sure, the movie theatres aren't open yet. But the seasoned AM commuter, ipod tucked in jacket pocket, hand cradling to-go cup, can still have movie moments while clustering in cramped subway cars and traipsing trafficked streets. With the right playlist and venti of Joe, the world is your Bollywood production number.

Some soundtrack recommendations, to be accompanied with your neighborhood brew, Starbucks, Dunkin, or progressive alternative:

*Working Girl--Carly Simon welcomes huddled masses on the Staten Island Ferry to the big city
*Once--When Your Mind's Made Up: contemplative, empowering, groovy
*Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Me--Polyphonic Spree will pump you up without giving you a migraine (key track: "Light and Day")
*Almost Famous--Director Cameron Crowe makes movie soundtracks like fine wines. 70s rock.
*Magnolia--If I am sipping tea, I order up Aimee Mann
*Garden State--New Jersey transit or the Path train
*Austin Powers (1,2,3)-Try not to take yourself so seriously
*Shakespeare in Love-a suggestion from a friend.
*Amelie-best for cross-town bus rides through the park
*Devil Wears Prada--U2, Madonna, little Alanis...life is good

Charlie Wilson's War and Bis.Co. Latte

Charlie Wilson's War

Written by Aaron Sorkin
Directed by Mike Nichols

Starring: Tom Hanks, Julia Roberts, Philip Seymour Hoffman, Amy Adams

"These things happened. They were glorious and they changed the world... and then we fucked up the endgame." These are the last words of Charlie Wilson's War, the latest political comedy in the spirit of Wag the Dog and Thank You for Smoking. The difference: this one's true. Well sort of. This is government as I imagine it actually is: inept, sexualized, self-serving. But sometimes moderately well-intentioned and certainly charming.

Sorkin wrote the West Wing and doesn't let you forget it for a second. The dialogue is snappy, scenes are short, even side characters hold stories. Politics becomes a poker game. My grandmother would complain the actors talk too fast, conveying too much information in a single monologue. But as a product of sitcoms, music videos, and gchat, I dig it. In terms of pacing, it is nearly perfect.

This is maybe the first adult role I've ever seen Julia Roberts take on. She nails it. Most notably when she gives Hanks instructions on how he is going to stage a covert war, post-coital, reapplying mascara and plucking tarantula eyes with a sewing needle. She was, in that moment, Angela Lansbury in Manchurian Candidate. It was scary. Pretty woman is growing up.

Certainly Hanks and Seymour Hoffman also deserve a shout out for atypical leading men. I would have watched Seymour as the Greek maverick CIA agent for an entire film. Also Amy Adams as the administrative aide. There is another episode there.

I recommend this film with one of the many varieties of biscotti at Bis. Co. Latte in midtown west (oatmeal chocolate chip!). Light, flavorful, good for a few bites. But maybe not hardy sustenance.

Juno and The Coffee Shop

Juno

Written by Diablo Cody
Directed by Ivan Reitman

Starring: Ellen Page, Michael Cera, Jennifer Garner, Jason Bateman

So no one talks like her, few act like her, or share her ridiculous name, but Juno MacGuff is remarkably honest and three-dimensional.

But this movie isn't really her story. She starts as a sarcastic punk doing her thing in the small town midwest (mainly digesting convenient store junk food, listening to pre-hipster music, watching teenage boy carnage movies) and is pretty much the same at the end, plus child. There doesn't seem to be an arch in the plot and that's okay. It's a lot of fun to watch her. Ellen Page is a wonderful actress with boundless energy. Even when placed in challenging situations, she shines, jokes, charms.

Putting real world logic aside (would she really have gone through with it? would her parents have been that understanding? would her relationship with Michael Cera's character have ended so harmoniously--singing the 90s equivalent of Cher/Sonny's "I've got you babe" on porch steps?), I loved Juno. For the cameo-like performances from Alyson Janney and Dwight Shrute (Rainn Wilson), fresh faces, quick wit, and solid soundtrack. Could this be Garden State with a sense of humor? The movie Knocked Up aspired to but couldn't achieve with such a lackluster heroine?

I hope the precarious atmosphere caused by the writers' strike does not keep this movie from the writing/acting Oscars it deserves. Truly a sacred cinematic vessel.

Try it with Coffee Shop in Union Square. Unexpected, casual, quirky. I am sure you could order a blue slushie.

The Great Debaters and Muffin Shop

The Great Debaters

Written by Robert Eisele
Directed by Denzel Washington

Starring Denzel Washington and Forrest Whitaker

Even the charismatic young actors portraying Wiley College's first debate team couldn't save this formulaic movie.

Screenwriter Eisele knew when to conjure suspenseful moments, wrestle with adversity, pluck our heart strings, charm our inner soap box junkie. But I saw Remember the Titans (I remember them, sort of). I avoided We are Marshall. (I was put off by the syntax). This should not have been another sports movie in league with Mighty Ducks D2 or Varsity Blues with James Van der Bek. The angels are not winning the pennant and thus the film should not cinematically resemble this genre of films.

Denzel Washington is one of the finest actors of our generation. Training Day was one of the most powerful screen performances ever. But he was phoning this one in. The character work was only evident in costume choices (looking disheveled or deviant in key moments). I recognize his directorial debut, but wish he had been a little edgier. Less Hallmark, more gritty and realistic. It seemed to be all style and little substance.

On that note, the perfect pairing: The Muffin Shop on Columbus in the Upper West Side. So charming from its store front (perfect scones, frothy mugs). Wrong. Grainy pastries and bitter coffee. Plus they don't take cards.

Persepolis and Alice's Tea Cup

Persepolis
Written/directed by Marjane Satrapi and Vincent Parronaud

Inspired by Marjane Satrapi's eponymous autobiographical graphic novel series, Persepolis shares the story of a precocious Iranian girl during the Islamic revolution. Marjane's happy-go-lucky childhood of dreaming of attaining sainthood and impersonating Bruce Lee is tainted by fundamental fanaticism, terror and oppression. At age 14, she is sent away to school in Vienna to escape worsening conditions at home. As a teenage refugee, she discovers love, searches for acceptance, and copes with her own cultural identification in exile. She is forced to grow up fast in a changing and confusing world.

What results is a powerful, witty, and highly-cinematic film. Satrapi's pen and ink drawings are beautifully expressive, evoking the charged memories of her own coming-of-age journey. While the characters and scenery are depicted in black and white, their conditions aren't that apparent.

This is not only a film exploring complex religious issues through an innocent protagonist, it is also about the concept of home and the evolving perception of self. Marjane's diary-like narration is, at times, that of an animated Anne Frank or Holden Caulfield with more adversity. Marjane is a compelling and flawed heroine. She reminds us of our own potentials vividly imagined as children and sometimes neglected or forgotten over time. Young Marjane never becomes the saint she aspired to be. However, grown Marjane is a storyteller; one who transmits holy words of a voiceless people.

Goes well with the Madhatter high tea at Alice's Tea Cup; both will make you nostalgic for childhood treasures.

The Savages and Cafe Gigi's

The Savages
Written/directed by Tamara Jenkins
Starring: Philip Seymour Hoffman and Laura Linney


I was not in the mood for "gentiles with tsouris" cinema when I walked into "The Savages." (For a definition, please see Ang Lee's "The Ice Storm," Lajos Koltai's "Evening," Jim Jarmusch's "Broken Flowers"). I was pleasantly surprised by an excellent character drama-edy about a dysfunctional sibling duo (Linney and Hoffman) forced to feign maturity when their estranged father starts to go off the deep end. Their father has managed to alienate everyone in his life and they are his last kin. But in attempting to tie up loose ends with their pop (shuttle him to the old folks home, assuage his growing dementia), the Savage siblings lives further unravel. Twenty years of emotional baggage (muddled relationships, miscalculated careers, etc) has left them unable to grow up and let go.

But this is a movie about doing the right thing, or at least trying amid difficult circumstances. The Savages, troubled past and current stupors aside, care about one another because they are family. That connection proves to be a catalyst for change and for hope. Each character down to the sleazy adulterer neighbor tries to do better. They are self-aware, self-actualized, but occasionally need a reality check and a little positive reinforcement. In a sense, everyone needs a little parenting.

Backed by great performances by two of the best actors out there (I venture to say Philip Seymour Hoffman has replaced James Brown as the hardest working man in show business), a script that jests as much as it jerks, and a fresh turn on domestic strife and the situation known as growing up, The Savages is easily in the running for one of the best films of '07.

Paired nicely with a bold but sweet house hazelnut coffee from Cafe Gigi's