True Grit

I estimated the average age of those in the packed theater to be around 55. "Lots of John Wayne fans here tonight," I whispered to Mrs. Film Geek as the movie began. "I wonder if they'll be disappointed. This Cohen Brothers movie is supposed to be closer to the novel than the Duke's movie."

"Duke who?" she asked.

"Nevermind."

The 1969 flick was an important one to me. It's one of those movies I shared with my Dad, although we shared it in silence, watching it on TV while sitting across the room from each other. Dad loved him some John Wayne; the increased rocking in his chair and extra shake in his crossed leg during that reins-in-his-mouth scene gave it away.

Otherwise, I might never have known. We didn't talk a whole lot about flicks.

My crossed legs shook a lot during this re-telling of the Charles Portis novel. The Cohen Brothers have made many of the best movies of the past 25 years (with the exceptions, of course, of The Ladykillers and Burn After Reading) by telling compelling stories about the frailties of being human. The brothers take on this western is no different: their genius ability to write dialogue that's as interesting for it's rhythm and cadence as it is for it's content is here, as is the common theme of characters being transformed by the events they experience. The 2010 True Grit, however, is a more visually stunning movie than others in their filmography. Several scenes in this movie were emotionally moving not for the spoken word or the acting, but for the imagery and cinematography. It was incredibly powerful.

Jeff Bridges is terrific in the role of Cogburn, and Matt Damon delivers the Cohen-lingo perfectly in the role formerly acted by Glen Campbell. But it's little known Hailee Steinfeld as Matti who draws the audience in. She makes us invest in her; we feel for her, care about her, and worry about her. That empathy lets us appreciate and care for Cogburn, because despite the fact he's a drunk and a reprobate, he cares about Mattie too.

Near the end of the movie, during a highly emotional scene in which Cogburn shows he's still able to care about someone other than himself, I noticed Mrs. Film Geek wiping the tears from her eyes.

"Enjoying the movie?" I whispered.

She leaned over, and said: "The girl is incredible. I love her."

I stopped shaking my legs and reached for her hand. I knew we'd talk about it in detail on the way home. We have in common a love for movies, but even more a love for talking together about why we love movies.

And I smiled.

The Other Guys

I've always been one of those other guys.

Not one of the ones who causes people to stop talking and look when I walk into a room. Not one of those guys who knows immediately what to do in any situation or circumstance. I was never one of those who had the confidence to know that whatever line I used to pick up women was going to work every time.

Hell, I just deleted and re-typed "pick up women" three times before I decided to leave it in the preceding sentence. The phrase felt too bold, too sure. Feelings with which I'm inexperienced.

I'm methodical. Built for distance. I'm quick to size up a situation so that I can ponder it for as long as possible, making sure all the peripheral options are covered, before I act. It isn't sexy. It isn't dynamic or cool. But it's me.

Mark Wahlberg has a reoccurring line in The Other Guys that stood out to me. He sees how he wants his life to be, but feels held back by himself and his co-workers from realizing his ideal. In his moments of frustration he yells: "I'm a peacock, you've gotta let me fly."

It's funny for a number of reasons, but especially because peacocks don't have the ability to fly more than a few feet, and when they do their flight is awkward and clumsy. Wahlberg feels what he wants and needs to do, but can't quite get it right. He's one of the other guys, after all.

I understand.

Gulliver's Travels

I imagine the pitch for Gulliver's Travels went something like this:

Jack Black (Executive Producer and Star): ". . . and then I wake up on a strange beach, tied up just like the guy in the Swift novel, surrounded by these little fuckers. I freak out, rip off the ropes and jump to my feet. Then, the little bastards attack me. One of them manages to pull my pants down just a bit, enough to show my butt crack for 15 or 20 seconds, then pulls me down onto my back. As I fall to the ground, one of the little fuckers gets lodged in my butt crack. Later -- and the full details have to be worked out on this scene -- there will be a fire in one of the little houses these people live in, and I'll put the fire out by pissing on it. We'll film it in 3-D, put it out at Christmas when people have more time to see matinees, and the kids will beg to see it!"

Sigh . . .

I have a theory about the roles Jack Black chooses. After terrific performances in Hi-Fidelity, Shallow Hal, and School of Rock, Black tried his hand at leading-man drama, with King Kong. If flopped with critics. Black was reminded by Hollywood that people come see his movies for the arched eyebrow, the goofy smirk, the references to rock-n-roll and sci-fi trivia, and his paunchy-everyman persona.

Hollywood is wrong. We don't want the same character over and over again. If he keeps this practice up, Black's gonna lose his audience. Just ask Tom Hanks.

Little Fockers

One of the things I most enjoy about blogging is the sense of community it provides. I've known the author of Read Me for several years, and have great respect for her artistry. Take a look at her blog, and and you'll see I ain't lying.

Recently Read Me caught a showing of Little Fockers. I was curious what she thought, so I asked her to write a guest commentary. Here is her post:


Some movies you watch and are amused by because your mood is right, you have an affinity for the actors in front of you in larger-than-life size, and you just want to like it. If those elements had not been present, I would have enjoyed nothing about Little Fockers.

I watched the other movies and thought that the level of discomfort that Greg Focker (Ben Stiller's character) felt was just enough to make it funny but not too outrageous to make me lose interest. In this third extension of the first of the Ben Stiller/Robert De Niro/Dustin Hoffman in-law comedies, that same level of discomfort still manages to bring some level of humor. Jessica Alba's character is bubbly and hard not to like, as a fashionably dressed and flirtatious young professional. The Little Fockers add a little charm, and Owen Wilsons's character brings a new level of interest and much-needed diversion to the tired theme of in-law boundary-pushing.

Parts of the movie seem a little slow and overly contrived, but if you go into the movie with low expectations, you will probably find a few reasons to laugh and little regret about the purchase of your family holiday matinee adventure, especially if your favorite family and friends are along for the ride.

Salt

Angelina Jolie scares me.

Swear to god, when I see her in interviews or movies I feel like I'm in 8th grade again, scared to death of talking to the prettiest girl in school. She's beautiful, ambitious, seems smart, and reeks of confidence.

Oh, yeah. . . and she can act.

Jolie would be a celebrity regardless of talent, simply on looks alone. The fact is, however, she has the chops to support her status as the go-to female lead if you want your movie to be a blockbuster. Over-the-top action or subtle and naunced, she delivers.

Every time.

Salt is no exception. Like Taken from a couple years back, Salt starts fast and keeps the pace throughout. Is she or isn't she? The answer is a bit obvious, but the flick is so well done you don't really care. It's fun, fast and thrilling.

Jolie wins again.

How To Win $5 In An Office Bet: Peter Billingsley Did Not Make A Porno

It's my favorite time of year.

Snow-covered tree branches that look like happy landscapes painted by Bob Ross, kids giggling nervously as they wait in line at the mall to sit on Santa's lap, and hundreds of people googling "Did Peter Billingsley make a porno?" on their desktops at work.

It's Christmas, baby. That time of year when we have an excuse to slack off on the things we are supposed to do in order to unwind a bit before the new year. That's the reason for the season.

Some of you guys slacking off at work are trying to win office bets that Peter Billingsley did, or did not, make a skin flick. Here's the scoop: he didn't. His co-star Scott Schwartz, who played Flick, did.

But not Ralphie.

I sorta wish he had, though. It makes for a great urban legend, and I can just imagine the jokes that would be told as a result. A Christmas Story is known for its wonderful dialogue; catch-phrases and one-liners that stick with the viewer long after the movie is over. Many of those lines, along with some fun facts about the movie, could be used effectively in a modern porno parody.

Here is My Top 5: Potential Titles For Remaking A Christmas Story Into A Porno

"Go Slow, I'm Fraa-geel-eee!" The perfect soft-core skin flick for the sensitive couple, interested in her point-of-view.

"Mrs. Parker Gets Triple-Dogged On A Dare." A MILF who isn't afraid to put soap in your mouth knows how to get it on.

"Give Me A Darren McGavin." For the hard-core fetish audience tired of Cleveland Steamers and Dirty Sanchezes.

"Stick Your Tongue On My Stupid Pole." A compilation of scenes from the first 5 minutes of ten other porn flicks.

"I'll Shoot Your Eye Out!" No plot, just 75 minutes of gonzo action.

Leslie Nielsen: 1926 - 2010

Leslie Nielsen dies, floats up to Heaven and walks up to the Pearly Gates where he is met by St. Peter.

St. Peter: "Good evening, Mr. Nielsen. I'm surprised to see you. Surely you can't be dead."

Leslie Nielsen: "I am dead, and don't call me Shirley."

Rest in peace, Mr. Nielsen. Thanks for a lifetime of laughs.

Grown Ups

“The glory of young men is their strength, gray hair the splendor of the old.”
~ Proverbs 20:29

"Fuck that."
~ The Film Geek

I'm unsure why I have such a strong resentment about the concept of growing up. It's not about responsibility; I've always been a pretty responsible guy, never ducking the things I'm supposed to do and often doing extra without too much complaint. I've been responsible my entire life, and have no real beef with that.

Nope. I think the issue for me is less about growing up and more about growing old. I've never felt good about it, and usually I've been anxious about it. I'm a live-in-the-moment sorta guy, and for some odd reason I can't freeze-frame or pause this moment to make it last.

That's one of the concepts I liked about the movie, Grown Ups. The characters played by Adam Sandler, Chris Rock and the others recognize that the smallest moments in our present life are far more important than anything we ever did in the past.

Unfortunately, that's about all I did like about this movie. Sandler is low-key and charming, but the others in the cast are stereotypes and too over-the-top to take seriously. The flick is predictable, tries too hard to be sentimental and has a message that's a bit too obvious.

But it made a lot of money. Can't wait for the sequel.

Megamind

"You are the architect of your life."

It's been said by lots of folks to remind us that the path we choose is just that: a choice.

Megamind gives us 96 minutes of that same message . . .

( . . . too bad it didn't also give us a more entertaining film).

The Wild And Wonderful Whites Of West Virginia

It would be easy to dismiss the White family of Boone County, WV, as side show freaks, and label the film made about them exploitive. The Whites do resemble in many ways the geeks that people paid a quarter to see at the state fair, and the movie provides no overt narrative that passes judgement on their behavior. But in my opinion, that perspective on this movie is short sighted.

The Wild And Wonderful Whites Of West Virginia is a case study in Appalachian fatalism.

Jessco White became famous in part for his mountain dancing, in part for his "I ain't eatin' no more sloppy, slimy eggs," attitude and in part because he's a caricature of the West Virginia hillbilly. Jessco's family members are, perhaps, more pathetic and more desperate than he. Jessco, at least, has some artistic ability to go along with his outlaw mindset. The rest of the Whites are simply criminals; hell-raising, ridiculous, no-talent thugs.

They're hopeless.

Fatalism creates a world-view that's hopeless, where goals and ambition are useless. Fatalism causes people to think this moment is the most important part of life, because there may not be a tomorrow. The White family is pervasively affected by fatalism. They numb themselves with drugs and avoid all but the most superficial of relationships. Their only real sense of power comes from the criminal activity they carry out. They count their relevance by the number of times they've been in prison, or by how many Oxycontins they've sold or consumed.

Those tangibles are easier to tally than hopes and dreams.

The documentary is very well done. There is no sense that the producers exaggerated the behavior of the family, or that they condoned the behavior we see on the screen. The producers use the story line of Kirk, the niece of Jessco, to illustrate the consequences of the White family lifestyle. After having her baby taken by Child Protective Services, Kirk is forced to examine and alter her lifestyle in an attempt to regain custody. The film lets the story unfold in a non-preachy manner, allowing the audience to hold on to a faint hope that Kirk's transformation sticks.

It'll be a long, tough journey. It'll be made a bit easier if she's able to think about and imagine a hopeful future -- if not for herself, at least for her daughter.