NO SOUP FOR YOU

Reason #107 why I wouldn't make a good movie theatre manager: two "guests" (in Alliance-Atlantis/Famous Players parlance) demanded a refund after sitting through 15mins of The Corporation. Not because they accidentally mistook it for the Neve Campbell ballet drama, The Company. Not because they realised it was over 2 1/2hrs long. Not because the theatre was too cold, or the sound turned up too loud, or the picture misframed and out of focus. But simply because it was a documentary. Not because they said it was a bad documentary, mind you, or that they objected to its pinko tone. Just the fact that they didn't know it was a documentary was enough to justify their outrage.

Our manager happily obliged.

I'd like to think I would have at least laughed in their face first.

What the hell did they think they going to see?

It reminds me of the little ladies coming out of van Sant's Elephant, outraged and convinced that they had just seen the worst movie of their lives. Now, I agree that the film isn't without its problems, but I cannot begin to fathom their mindsets. If you hate cinema that much, why go to the movies? And specifically, why come to the Cumberland? Not everything there is great. (I didn't really like Morvern Callar and L'auberge espagnole was pretty dismal.) But at least they huge a large percentage of films, whether good or bad, that are at least more interesting than the usual dreck.

MOON PIE

Sorry about the lack of reviews, folk. I'm not sure what my excuse is. I work at a movie theatre, I get to see everything they play there for free, there's a bunch of stuff playing there (and elsewhere) that I really want to see (Cold Mountain, Monster, House of Sand and Fog, The Corporation, Triplets of Belleville just off the top of my head), and I haven't sat down and seen a movie in weeks. It's shameful.

Anyways, there is a bunch of stuff I am looking forward to later this year. You already know about Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and The Dreamers. Here's some others:

* OK, I know Alien vs. Predator is going to suck. There's too much at stake for the studio to allow directer Paul Anderson (not to be confused with director Paul Thomas Anderson) to cut loose and have any fun with the material. But I can indulge and convince myself it'll be a great popcorn movie until then, can't I?

* I recently saw the trailer for Hellboy, and the above comments notwithstanding, I'm not the sort of person who normally gets excited about big action movies, but this thing looks really really good. Visually, it doesn't look quite like anything else I've seen. (Unlike, say, Underworld, which looked like about a dozen movies, and as bland as you'd expect.) I haven't seen any of Guillermo de Toro's previous films, but he's always been considered a cut-above for B-movie slock. Very promising. (The clips of John Hurt make me think he's trying to get a slice of Ian McKellan's action.)

* I'm not Errol Morris' biggest fan (tempermentally, I prefer verite/direct cinema docs), but I won't be able to resist the intellectual juggling of the Fog of War and its Machiavellian subject, Robert McNamara.

* another interesting-looking documentary, The Mayor of Sunset Strip, also got great word of mouth at the Toronto Film Festival.

* I saw the last 15 mins of Guy Maddins' The Saddest Music in the World while volunteering at the Festival, and now I want to know how it begins!

* the Dardenne brothers' The Son, a critical hit from last year's Cannes Film Fest, has yet to see distribution in Toronto. I really liked Rosetta, and the fact that the Dardenne are engaged in filmmaking as a moral act. I may have to wait for a Cinematheque screening, although I'm pretty sure it did play in New York.

* and speaking of Rosetta, did The Housekeeper already open and I missed it? We were playing trailers for a couple of weeks, and the story about a middle-age divorse and his affair with his nubile housekeeper (Rosetta's Emilie Duquenne) seemed perfect Cumberland fodder. What happened?

* finally, Lars von Trier's zany dogville, starring Nicole Kidman with sets by Les Nessman, is due in March.

All this, and a new Spielberg film due in the summer.

What a time to be alive.

MONSTER UPDATE

I didn't get a chance to see much of Monster, but I did see Ms. Theron. I understand how she gained 30lbs and still managed to look pretty slim in the movie. She's rail thin. Who thinks this is attractive?

"AN ORGASM IS BETTER THAN A BOMB"

Fox Searchlight has apparently changed its mind and is releasing Bernardo Bertolucci's May '68 drama, The Dreamers, uncut. Even better, Fox is releasing the film NC-17, rather than going the "unrated" route.

It'll be the first NC-17 theatrical film in nearly 7 years. (Of course in Ontario, we don't use the draconian MPAA rating system--not that the Ontario Film Censor--whoops, I mean "Review"--Board is without its own problems.)

No word yet on whether Blockbuster will be carrying the DVD. (That's a joke. They won't.)

CHARLIZE

I've received a tip that Charlize Theron will be at the Cumberland tomorrow for the preview screening of Monster.

The previews make it look like another Boys Don't Cry (I'm not sure how I feel about that), and I'm hoping that her characterization of Aileen Wuornos is a real performance, and not just a make-up aided stunt.

NOBODY NAILS 'EM LIKE BRUCE

The more people rave about the decent but slight Lost in Translation as if it were a revelatory work of greatness, the more I love Bruce LaBruce. Nobody can take the apart what's wrong with the latest zeitgeist movie like Bruce. (He was the only writer to really explain what was wrong with Boogie Nights, and I assumed at the time his insight was largely a result of his own background in the porn industry. Turns out that was only half the story. This guy just knows how to take the piss out of an overrated movie.)

This one's from a couple of months ago, but the revelant passage is worth quoting:

Sitting in a Manhattan movie theatre with an audience enthralled by Lost in Translation, the US posture toward Canada suddenly became clear to me. This smug little movie about rich white folks in the entertainment industry having to endure the quirky, irritating, and unfathomable differences of another culture (Japan) while being paid millions of dollars for their troubles nails the current American zeitgeist in spades. Quagmired in their own arrogance, these quintessential ugly American characters have suddenly become lovable. They condescend to put up with the inscrutable foreign element -- a dumbed-down Yellow Peril -- while cocooning themselves in their own glorious ignorance.

SLATE'S THE YEAR IN MOVIES

It's my favourite time of the year, when it's actually possible to find a decent amount of interesting film-related writing on the 'net. (While I've largely ceased caring who actually wins these awards anymore, the undying appeal of the Oscars always triggers the kind of year-end debates that have people thinking seriously about movies.)

Anyways, nobody does it better than David Edelstein and company, where the intellectual process, not the results, are what counts. Go check it out, and be sure to click on as many of the hyperlinks as possible.

Bad Santa

written by John Requa and Glenn Ficarra

directed by Terry Zwigoff

*** (out of ****)

I feel lucky. I happen to like Terry Zwigoff's movies almost as much as I like the "idea" of Terry Zwigoff. On the basis of only two films, this middle-aged slub is my favourite director working in Hollywood, and this third does nothing to diminish my esteem of him. Sure, it doesn't reach the heights of Ghost World or Crumb, but it's better than it has any right in being. Just try describing the premise of the movie to someone in a way that makes it sound at all appealing. Bet you can't do it.

When I heard that Zwigoff had initially wanted Bill Murray to play the lead as the surly, alcoholic safe cracker (and part-time shopping mall Santa Claus), I cursed Sophia Coppola. I cursed her to hell. (Needless to say, I was underwhelmed by critical fave Lost in Translation.)

But after having seen the movie, I can't imagine Murray in the role anymore, and for one simple reason: I can't imagine Murray obsessing over Lauren Graham's ass. Or anyone's ass. Coppola might have opened her film with a shot of Scarlett Johansson's backside, but its artful, tasteful framing is more in keeping with Murray's chasteness. (Only Johansson's gaze during a karaoke serenade approaches anything like lust.) In Lost in Translation, like in Wes Anderson's Rushmore, Murray is sexless. I think that's what audiences are responding to, especially the brief encounter in Translation. (Certainly it says something about our culture where the lack of a character's sexuality is proof of his romanticism.)

There's nothing "tasteful" about Billy Bob Thorton. There are no illusions. Billy Bob wants to fuck.

Thorton may be the best actor you've never thought of. He's such a great talent, but he's so bereft of the kind of nods or flourishes that others often use to key you into his "performance". Other than Will Ferrell's similarly unmannered (albeit more extreme) work this year as the Elf, it's the best comedic performance I've seen since Gene Hackman in Anderson's otherwise too precious Royal Tannenbaums What makes Thorton so good? A total yet controlled immersion into the character.

Zwigoff and Thorton aren't miracle workers. They can't overcome a script whose various plots threads never really coalesce. (It feels like you're watching three different, shorter movies... fortunately, all those movies star Thorton and are directed by Zwigoff.) Unfortunately, the main narrative is far and away the weakest strand, playing out the one-joke premise of the title with little development. It's a funny joke--don't get me wrong--and Bernie Mac and John Ritter also do good work in the process. (Zwigoff and editor Robert Hoffman give their exchanges such a musical rhythm, and throughout the film they use the often staid shot/reverse-shot convention to great comedic effect.)

But it's Thorton's relationships with a randy, Santa-obsessed barmaid (Graham) and especially an unflappable little boy (a wonderfully peculiar Brett Kelly) showcase the film's latent greatness. I wish there was more for Graham to do in her first major post-Gilmore role, but she's relaxed and soulful in a way that the token love interest never usually is. Fortunately, Kelly's robotic holiday cheer proves a hilarious counter to Thorton's cynicism, and their relationship deepens in a way that most Christmas films usually botch. (Even the Elf, for all its wonderfulness, falters when it comes to the "sappy" parts.) There's nothing "sappy" about Bad Santa, even at its most heartfelt. Zwigoff's not a hipster. He's an outsider. The difference is crucial. No matter how pointed the humour becomes, he's no ironist, and instead keeps the emotions real. Zwigoff is never aloof. More than anything else, it's that difference in attitude that seperates Zwigoff, grizzled by life not from a career in the "industry", from his younger contemporaries.

And yes, that's the same theme from Kubrick's Eyes Wide Shut--Shostakovich's Jazz Waltz #2--in the background. Thora Birch, Lauren Graham, Stanley Kubrick, and Shostakovich--the man's got great taste in women, movies, and music.