Get Ready for the Oscar Drinking Game

Burst out the bubbly (in these recessionary times, pink Andre) and get ready for Bean Screen's first annual Oscar drinking game. The rules are simple:
Take a sip each time the following things inevitably occur at this year's award ceremony (commences when Hugh Jackman steps on stage). Winner is determined by greatest number of sips.

-Someone mentions the bailout, the recession, or an opening for a commerce secretary
-Presenters are paired oldest to youngest, a la Benjamin Button
-Presenters are paired potentially gay to obviously gay, a la Milk
-Winner thanks India or Harvey Weinstein
-Winner's speech is interrupted by music swell prompting winner to blurt out unintelligible list of names
-Someone remarks at length of ceremony
-Or length of "Australia"
-A gown inspired by Michelle Obama
-A hairdo inspired by Sarah Palin (or worse, Blagojevich)
-Amy Adams wears a strapless dress
-Mickey Rourke forgot to do laundry
-Close-up on smug couple Pitt/Jolie
-Phillip Seymour Hoffman brings his mom
-Riff on classic line, "I see a lot of new faces tonight. New faces on old faces."
-Paul Newman is the last frame in "in memory"
-Someone answers a cell phone or seems to be fiddling with a blackberry
-Boring clip montage
-Bollywood dance number
-Wall-E wheels on stage
-Dick Cheney wheels on stage
-Meryl Streep is wearing pants
-Kate Winslet is holding index cards
-Richard Jenkins is mistaken for a seatfiller
-Wins for Slumdog
-Losses for Button
-Cheers for our new president
-Boos for Prop 8
-Dress weighs more than actress
-Statue weighs more than actress
-Appearance by nerdy Pricewaterhouse accountants
-bellkicks by Hugh Jackman

He's Just Not That Into You and Riposo 72

I quote the contemporary sage Beyonce, "If you liked it then you shoulda putta ring on it." This truism and others are explored through the Baltimore dating scene, an ode to the confused state of modern male-female relationships.

Parts of this chick flick made me want to jump out a window (or more realistically, grab my face to cover my eyes, as if this gesture could save the character on screen from their own awkwardness). Sure the situations were somewhat exaggerated (the dentist's pen, really?), but there was just enough realism to make me feel as if I was watching a horror movie based on my friends' lives (My Bloody Valentine?). I saw the embarassing missteps and wanted to scream "Don't go in there!!" to the troubled heroines. But instead, I held my cynical tongue. After all, these characters, like your girlfriends, don't want your real advice, they want you to soothe their wounded hearts and egoes. They want you to google destination weddings for them and the dude they just met on the elevator.

The film assesses these situations pretty fairly, albeit glossily (appropriate that the ladies work in marketing as isn't that what these relationships have become? Clever branding. I have also never seen the city of BMore look so white. Apparently yoga mats come compliments of your city taxes). Even Scarlett Johansson doesn't get want she is after. And she's freakin ScarJo!

When it comes to love, we behave irrationally no matter what people advise us. But as Ginnifer Godwin tells Justin Long, the drama of the pursuit is way better (questionably?) than the isolated alternative. You have to give to get. And if you build it (become a whole, interesting, fun person), they will come. And as clever film execs say, if you cast it with hip Gen-Xers, adapt a popular chick lit title, target the V-Day girl power demographic, and hand out free Crest Whitnening strips, they will come...and buy overpriced popcorn while frenetically checking their blackberries to see if he facebook messaged them.

As for the other pearls of wisdom, I think I will start taking dating advice from Hollywood when Ben Affleck proposes to me.

Until then, big girls don't cry. They drink. Forget the Joe (and the Steve, the Justin, the Giles...) and share a bottle of Pinot with your gal pals at Riposo 72, my favorite wine bar on the upper west side.

Black Market Blogging: The Reader, Waltz with Bashir (last season: Eagle Eye, Inside Man)

I am stuck in an empty German library on Fifth Ave for the next 90 minutes...reasons too bizarre to go into. What better opportunity to play blog catch up.

First and foremost, it is Oscar season, a film buff's NFL playoffs. Except replace Budweiser ads with holocaust commentary...scantily clad beer wenches with birthday suited Kate Winslets. Hollywood is known for honoring those who have been slighted in past ceremonies, as well as those who disfigured themselves for the betterment of cinema (please see: Nicole Kidman's prosthetic nose, Hillary Swank's boyish haircut). In the case of The Reader, the moment I saw Kate's transition to cataractic prisoner, I envisioned her on the Kodak podium with earrings accompanied by bodyguards. Sam Mendes is waving from the audience.

The Reader was a good film. It was not a great film. In a better season, it would have been released in October, not December, and would not have made the Academy's top 5. But the Weinsteins are clever, as are Daldry/Hare, Pollack/Mighella (RIP) and now it will earn a place in the 00s cannon where The Lives of Others should be.

This was a movie of two halves, but not necessarily one whole. We have the "Kid" Michael(played expertly by a newcomer) and the Guard Hannah who develop a sexual relationship after Hannah helps Michael home when he is coming down with scarlet fever. Hannah is illiterate and in exchange for sex, young Michael reads to her. A great scene: the two in the bath, Michael paging through a racy DH Lawrence, Hannah looks insulted, tells him that the story is inappropriate, but please "Go on." Their love affair ends when Hannah is promoted and Michael decides to play with kids his own age. But their connection has a lasting effect on both.

We enter the second half of the film. Michael, now in law school, is observing a trial of SS guards charged with killing Jews at the concentration camps. Hannah is among them. He is conflicted--knowing what she did was wrong, but also feeling for her in his heart that she is a good and loving person. The trial is very emotional, but the camera leans more on him and his waring conscience than the historical proceedings. Michael has an opportunity to come forth at one point on her behalf and choose not to. This decision haunts him the rest of the film, as Hannah is locked up for the rest of her life.

I was engaged for more than two hours, making ethical sense of this film, battling like Michael, to understand how Hannah could have participated in genocide. However, the script doesn't fill in the intermediary years. I was left to my own devices. Plus Ralph Fiennes, the older Michael, has always creeped me out. I exited the theatre (the Paris on 58th---so beautiful and regal) feeling uneasy and disturbed. One of the final scenes, the Manhattan penthouse of a holocaust survivor came off as almost entirely unsympathetic. I couldn't quite tell you why. Mostly because I felt like Ralph Fiennes was trying to seduce her. And secondly, because the conspicuous consumption decor seemed to make light of the horrible past she had experienced. Though the line about the Jewish literacy charity got a good laugh from the audience, probably her neighbors.

Nonetheless I will recommend this film for at least prompting some interesting discussion.

Waltz with Bashir, Israel's contribution to the foreign film category, was unsettling for other reasons. We have a documentary filmmaker piecing together his memories from the Lebannon war in trippy animated interviews with friends. While I liked this concept in theory, the delivery was a little choppy. I had a tough time distinguishing the perspectives of the interviewees through all the jumbled "Waking Life-esque" segments. The last 10 minutes were brutal. I immediately had to treat myself to a serious shopping binge, even though we are in a recession and I know that the issues of this film are still being waged today. See the front page of any international newspaper. The last time I left a movie this emotionally charged: maybe Monster with Charlize Theron or Monster's Ball with Halle Berry. I had no choice but watch Simpsons marathons while eating smores.

Because I try to pair the serious with the seriously ludicrous thrillers, I also Netflixed Inside Man directed by Spike Lee and Eagle Eye starring Shia LeBeouf. Both entertained and gave me a great idea: Shia and Clive Owen! Son and father! I am not sure how you would account for the sullen and the satin voice, but wow. Inside Man garnered rave reviews, but I am not sure as to why. It seemed unfinished and I am a little peeved by Denzel's phoned in performances as of late. I did, however, love the A.R. Rahman Bollywood-infused soundtrack. Perhaps it will be the year of bhangra? They are making a sequel. Though I am not sure what bank is still worth robbing?

Meanwhile, our current drug of choice are Starbucks tea infusions. Get them before your local Starbucks goes under. And that it is not a twig floating in your Earl Grey, it is part of the concoction. Don't panic. We are only fearing peanut butter right now.

the Holiday Round-Up : Doubt/Curious Case of Benjamin Button/Seven Pounds/Cadillac Records

Bu-bum, bu-bum, bu-bum...

Santa Baby, just slip some tickets under the tree, for me...

It's holiday film season and sadly I must have been pretty bad this year to deserve this star-studded, but talent-lacking cinematic coal. How could these films have gone wrong? Perhaps because they were so focused on the who? (Oscar thoroughbreds) that they lost track of the why? Why make these films? Why tell these stories? What message do they have to have offer modern audiences or add to the American social fabric? These filmmakers don't want us to pry, they want us to buy (tickets, tasteless popcorn). And apparently sit. For long periods of time. And absorb this crap. As Sister Aloysius would say, "I have my doubts. I have such doubts."

Rather than dwell on these problematic concoctions, I will focus on the best scenes from these flicks.

Doubt - Viola Davis stole the film from heavyweights Streep and Hoffman as Mrs. Miller, the working class mother of a troubled Catholic school boy. Her three minute emotional breakdown was the most captivating aspect. For Your Consideration Academy: Best Supporting Actress.

Curious Case of Benjamin Button - While I don't think I could be paid to see this film again, I could probably watch the 43 year old Button visiting Blanchett in Parisian hospital(Brad Pitt at his most attractive) read the phone book. The Manhattan phone book.

Seven Pounds - Difficult. I was charmed by that jellyfish and then it behaved badly. I may have enjoyed the printing press repair only because I find guys who solve tech problems to be very sexy.

Cadillac Records - There were several good moments in this movie, but not enough to recommend it. Beyonce was an excellent Etta James, but Mos Def stole the show as Chuck Berry. Favorite scene: his arrest for fraternizing with underage girls across state lines. Classic.

Paired with Red tea misto. Why? I have an answer! Less expensive and more delightful alternative to their Hollywood counterparts.

Milk (and Cookies)

Milk
Written by Dustin Lance Black
Directed by Gus Van Sant

Tis the Oscar season for self-indulgent biopics. Wouldn't an acting trophy fit nicely in your stocking oh Hollywood star/starlet?

This is not that film, but always good to understand what the expectations are when historical biographies are given the red carpet treatment in the month of December (Aviator, Hurricane, Ali, Ray, Pollock, etc). Milk, starring Sean Penn, among a highly-talented ensemble cast (Allison Pill, James Franco, Emile Hirsch, Josh Brolin, etc), is an excellent study in how to make a successful biopic. Hollywood take note:

1) There needs to be a story. It is not simply enough to stage "Oscar-winning moments," a few angst-ridden emotional meltdowns to be circulated on the "For your consideration" reel to Academy members. Milk has an arc. Harvey Milk begins the film as a closeted insurance salesman in New York. At 40, with no passion or truth to his lifestyle, he decides he needs a change and moves to the Castro, a gay-friendly neighborhood in San Francisco. As he and his partner (James Franco) quickly discover "gay-friendly" is not a term that came into common vernacular for thirty more years. Over the course of the film and Milk's life's many obstacles, the main character finds himself and his voice as the first openly gay elected official in a major public office. He was a tireless advocate for gay rights, as well as a charismatic politician, who by the end of the film, is compared to Boss Tweed or Mayor Daley.

2) There needs to be secondary characters and secondary sub-plots. As interesting as it is to watch Tom Hanks deteriorate on an island with a volleyball for 2 plus hours, it is also helpful to have a little external conflict. Milk is very successful at this. Through the secondary characters (Milk's political team and confidantes), we gain greater insight into him as a person--a politician, a friend, a businessman, and a lover. Sure Director Ron Howard uses the taped memoirs as a through device and the framing newsreels, but it isn't as cloying as it could be. I felt as invested in the secondary story lines as I was in Milk himself. Especially Emile Hirsch and Josh Brolin (an unlikely villain who effectively unravels throughout the film).

3)There needs to be contemporary significance. This is especially helpful so that everyone can gasp or sigh in the end credits as the "what are these characters doing now" news bites scroll. Given the fervor surrounding Prop 8, this is a film which raises pertinent social questions.

Paired well with Milk and Cookies on Commerce Street in the West Village. Don't wear your tightest jeans.

Frost/Nixon

Frost/Nixon
Written by Peter Morgan
Directed by Ron Howard

I like to wash down my egg nog latte with a little political history. Who am I kidding? I am lactose intolerant and Starbucks discontinued this beverage this year in favor of some highly-caloric espresso truffle-tini or something. Adding "truffle" to any menu item is a likely ploy to convince the consumer that it is worth the additional $2-10. Starbucks, do not think I am fooled by your faux-luxury confection additive which clearly comes from some powdery concentrate. I do not believe the Belgians would be okay with you taking their fine product in vain!

Okay, enough with my Starbucks tirade (still off the caffeine, very hard). Frost/Nixon, unlike Starbucks' new line of [Red] drinks, is worth your money. It is an interesting time capsule about a presidency not about change, but about lies and televised sweat beads. The script, transported from stage to screen, has a lot of great dramatic moments, which one imagines played expertly in a Broadway house. The actors understand the neurosis of their real-life alter egos and collaborate well together. You have the impression that everyone understands what film they are in, but could easily launch into their own subsequent biopic. Some great side stories spun by Kevin Bacon, Sam Rockwell, Oliver Platt, and the chick from Vicky Cristina Barcelona.

Should we be concerned that Tricky Dick comes off slightly sympathetic? A graying lecherous paranoid bigoted codger who has been given absurd power and grossly abuses it. Nah, his comeuppance is served, if not by Frost and the liberal gotcha media, but by the demons he so clearly wrestled with, ravaging his conscious. And like "W," the real idiots in the picture are the electorate. You voted this guy into power. You bought those truffles. You have to take some responsibility for the unpleasant aftertaste.

A holiday movie rundown: Australia/HSM3/Bolt/Slumdog Millionaire

Rather than expound on all the holiday movies released in the past week, I have decided to discuss them in haiku format.

Australia

Poor man's Titanic
Gone with the Wind in the Outback
Watch Baz count money

HSM3

Zac Efron sings, dances
All the gays come out in droves
Left script in closet

Bolt 3D

Dog, cat cross country
in search of Miley Cirus
Stay home, watch Disney

Slumdog Millionaire

Bollywood badass
slick Ritchie-like jump cuts, flashbacks
Strong Oscar karma