January 2007 Archives

Well, there are still a number of flicks I haven't yet seen -- David Lynch's Inland Empire, for example, which I hope to hit up this weekend. But as the Oscar nods were announced today, and as the few remaining forlorn Christmas trees are finally being picked up off the sidewalk, now seems the last appropriate time to crank out my much belated end-of-2006 film list (originally put off to give me time to make up for my New Zealand sojourn.) To be honest, I might've written this list a few weeks earlier, had it not happened that I ended up seeing the best film of 2005 in mid-January of last year, thus rendering the 2005 list almost immediately obsolescent. But, we'll get to that -- As it stands, 2006 was a decent year in movies (in fact a better year in film than it was in life, the midterms notwithstanding), with a crop of memorable genre flicks and a few surprisingly worthy comebacks. And, for what it's worth, I thought the best film released in 2006 was...

1. United 93: A movie I originally had no interest in seeing, Paul Greengrass's harrowing docudrama of the fourth flight on September 11 captured the visceral shock of that dark day without once veering into exploitation or sentimentality (the latter the curse of Oliver Stone's much inferior World Trade Center.) While 9/11 films of the future might offer more perspective on the origins and politics of those horrible hours, it's hard to imagine a more gripping or humane film emerging anytime soon about the day's immediate events. A tragic triumph, United 93 is an unforgettable piece of filmmaking.

[1.] The New World (2005): A movie which seemed to divide audiences strongly, Terence Malick's The New World was, to my mind, a masterpiece. I found it transporting in ways films seldom are these days, and Jamestown a much richer canvas for Malick's unique gifts than, say, Guadalcanal. As the director's best reimagining yet of the fall of Eden, The New World marvelously captured the stark beauty and sublime strangeness of two worlds -- be they empires, enemies, or lovers -- colliding, before any middle ground can be established. For its languid images of Virginia woodlands as much as moments like Wes Studi awestruck by the rigid dominion over nature inherent in English gardens, The New World goes down as a much-overlooked cinematic marvel, and (sorry, Syriana) the best film of 2005.

2. Letters from Iwo Jima: Having thought less of Flags of our Fathers and the woeful Million Dollar Baby than most people, I was almost completely thrown by the dismal grandeur and relentless gloom of Eastwood's work here. To some extent the Unforgiven of war movies, Iwo Jima is a bleakly rendered siege film that trafficks in few of the usual tropes of the genre. (Don't worry -- I suspect we'll get those in spades in two months in 300.) Instead of glorious Alamo-style platitudes, we're left only with the sight of young men -- all avowed enemies of America, no less -- swallowed up and crushed in the maelstrom of modern combat. From Ken Watanabe's commanding performance as a captain going down with the ship to Eastwood's melancholy score, Letters works to reveal one fundamental, haunting truth: Tyrants may be toppled, nations may be liberated, and Pvt. Ryans may be saved, but even "good wars" are ultimately Hell on earth for those expected to do the fighting.

3. Children of Men: In the weeks since I first saw this film, my irritation with the last fifteen minutes or so has diminished, and Alfonso Cuaron's Children of Men has emerged for what it is -- one of the most resonant "near-future" dystopias to come down the pike in a very long while, perhaps since (the still significantly better) Brazil. Crammed with excellent performances by Clive Owen, Michael Caine, Chiwetel Ejiofor and others, Children is perhaps a loosely-connected grab bag of contemporary anxieties and afflictions (terrorism, detainment camps, pharmaceutical ads, celebrity culture). But it's assuredly an effective one, with some of the most memorable and naturalistic combat footage seen in several years to boot. I just wished they'd called that ship something else...

4. Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan: True, the frighteningly talented Sasha Baron Cohen spends a lot of time in this movie shooting fish in a barrel, and I wish he'd spent a little more time eviscerating subtler flaws in the American character than just knuckle-dragging racists and fratboy sexists. Still, the journeys of Borat Sagdiyev through the Bible Buckle and beyond made for far and away the funniest movie of the year. Verry nice.

5. The Prestige: I originally had this in Children of Men's spot, as there are few films I enjoyed as much this year as Christopher Nolan's sinister sleight-of hand. But, even after bouncing Children up for degree of difficulty, that should take nothing away from The Prestige, a seamlessly made genre film about the rivalries and perils of turn-of-the-century prestidigitation. (There seems to be a back-and-forth between fans of this film and The Illusionist, which I sorta saw on a plane in December. Without sound (which, obviously, is no way to see a movie), Illusionist seemed like an implausible love story set to a tempo of anguished Paul Giamatti reaction shots. In any case, I prefer my magic shows dark and with a twist.) Throw in extended cameos by David Bowie and Andy Serkis -- both of which help to mitigate the Johansson factor -- and The Prestige was the purest cinematic treat this year for the fanboy nation. Christian Bale in particular does top-notch work here, and I'm very much looking forward to he and Nolan's run-in with Heath Ledger's Joker in The Dark Knight.

6. The Fountain: Darren Aronofsky's elegiac ode to mortality and devotion was perhaps the most unfairly maligned movie of the year. (In a perfect world, roughly half of the extravagant praise going to Guillermo del Toro's Pan's Labyrinth would have been lavished on this film.) Clearly a heartfelt and deeply personal labor of love, The Fountain -- admittedly clunky in his first half hour -- was a visually memorable tone poem that reminds us that all things -- perhaps especially the most beautiful -- are finite, so treasure them while you can.

7. The Queen: A movie I shied away from when it first came out, The Queen is a canny look at contemporary politics anchored by Helen Mirren's sterling performance as the fastidious, reserved, and ever-so-slightly downcast monarch in question. (Michael Sheen's Tony Blair is no slouch either.) In fact, The Queen is the type of movie I wish we saw more often: a small, tightly focused film about a very specific moment in recent history. Indeed, between this and United 93, 2006 proved to be a good year for smart and affecting depictions of the very recent past -- let's hope the trend continues through the rest of the oughts.

8. Inside Man: The needless Jodie Foster subplot notwithstanding, Spike Lee's Inside Man was a fun, expertly-made crime procedural, as good in its own way as the much more heavily-touted Departed. It was also, without wearing it on its sleeve, the film Crash should have been -- a savvy look at contemporary race relations that showed there are many more varied and interesting interactions between people of different ethnicities than simply "crashing" into each other. (But perhaps that's how y'all roll over in car-culture LA.) At any rate, Inside Man is a rousing New York-centric cops-and-robbers pic in the manner of Dog Day Afternoon or The Taking of the Pelham One Two Three, and it's definitely one of the more enjoyable movie experiences of the year.

9. Dave Chappelle's Block Party: Speaking of enjoyable New York-centric movie experiences, Dave Chappelle and Michel Gondry's block party last year felt like a breath of pure spring air after a long, cold, lonely winter -- time to kick off the sweaters and parkas and get to groovin' with your neighbors. With performances by some of the most innovative and inspired players in current hip-hop (Kanye, Mos Def, The Roots, The Fugees, Erykah Badu), and presided over by the impish, unsinkable Chappelle, Block Party was one of the best concert films in recent memory, and simply more fun than you can shake a stick at.

10. Casino Royale: Bond is back! Thanks to Daniel Craig's portrayal of 007 as a blunt, glitched-up human being rather than a Casanova Superspy, and a script that eschewed the UV laser pens and time-release exploding cufflinks of Bonds past for more hard-boiled and gritty fodder, Casino Royale felt straight from the pen of Ian Fleming, and newer and more exciting than any 007 movie in decades.

11. The Departed: A very good movie brimming over with quality acting (notably Damon and Di Caprio) and support work -- from Mark Wahlberg, Alec Baldwin, Vera Farmiga, Ray Winstone, and others -- Scorsese's The Departed also felt a bit too derivative of its splendid source material, Infernal Affairs, to merit the top ten. And then there's the Jack problem: An egregiously over-the-top Nicholson chews so much scenery here that it's a wonder there's any of downtown Boston left standing. But, despite these flaws, The Departed is well worth seeing, and if it finally gets Scorsese his Best Director Oscar (despite Greengrass deserving it), it won't be too much of an outrage.

[11.] Toto The Hero (1991): Also sidelined out of this top twenty on account of its release date, Jaco Von Dormael's Toto the Hero -- Terry Gilliam's choice of screening for an IFC Movie Night early in October -- is definitely one for the Netflix queue, particularly if you're a fan of Gilliam's oeuvre. It's a bizarre coming-of-age/going-of-age tale that includes thoughts of envy, murder, incest, and despair, all the while remaining somehow whimsical and fantastical at its core. (And, trust me: As with Ary Borroso's "Brazil", you'll be left humming Charles Trenet's "Boum" to yourself long after the movie is over.)

12. Tristam Shandy: A Cock and Bull Story: I guess this is where I should be writing something brief and scintillating about Michael Winterbottom's metanarrative version of Laurence Sterne's famous novel, one which gives Steve Coogan -- and the less well-known Rob Brydon -- a superlative chance to work their unique brand of comedic mojo. But I'm growing distracted and Berk has that pleading "I-want-to-go-out, are-you-done-yet" look and Kevin's still only on Number 12 of a list that, for all intent and purposes, is three weeks late and will be read by all of eight people anyway. (But don't tell him that -- In fact, I shouldn't even talk about him behind his back.) So, perhaps we'll come back to this later...it's definitely a review worth writing (again), if I could just figure out how to start.

13. Miami Vice: Michael Mann's moody reimagining of the TV show that made him famous isn't necessarily his best work, but it was one of the more unique and absorbing movies of the summer, and one that lingers in the memory long after much of the year's fluffier and more traditional films have evaporated. Dr. Johnson (and Hunter Thompson) once wrote that "He who makes a beast out of himself gets rid of the pain of being a man." I guess that's what Crockett and Tubbs are going for with the nightclubs and needle boats.

14. CSA: The Confederate States of America: I wish I were in the land of cotton...or have we been there all along? Kevin Wilmott's alternate history of a victorious Confederate America is a savvy and hilarious send-up of history documentaries and a sharp-witted, sharp-elbowed piece of satire with truths to tell about the shadow of slavery in our past. With any luck, CSA will rise again on the DVD circuit.

15. The Science of Sleep: Not as good or as universally applicable as his Eternal Sunshine (the best film of 2004), Michel Gondry's dreamlike, unabashedly romantic The Science of Sleep is still a worthy inquiry into matters of the (broken) heart. What is it about new love that is so intoxicating? And why do the significant others in our mind continue to haunt us so, even when they bear such little relation to the people they initially represented? Science doesn't answer these crucial questions (how can it?), but it does acutely diagnose the condition. When it comes to relationships, Sleep suggests, all we have to do -- sometimes all we can do, despite ourselves -- is dream.

16. Rocky Balboa: Rocky! Rocky! Rocky! I'm as surprised as anyone that Sly's sixth outing as Philadelphia's prized pugilist made the top twenty. But, as formulaic as it is, Rocky Balboa delivered the goods like a Ivan Drago right cross. Ultimately not quite as enjoyable as Bond's return to the service, Rocky Balboa still made for a commendable final round for the Italian Stallion. And, if nothing else, he went down fighting.

17. Pan's Labyrinth: A fantasy-horror flick occurring simultaneously within a Spanish Civil War film, Guillermo del Toro's Pan's Labyrinth ultimately felt to me like less than the sum of its parts. But if the plaudits it's receiving help to mainstream other genre movies in critics' eyes in the future, I'm all for it. It's an ok movie, no doubt, but if you're looking for to see one quality supernatural-historical tale of twentieth-century Spain, rent del Toro's The Devil's Backbone instead.

18. Little Miss Sunshine: Another film which I think is being way overpraised, Little Miss Sunshine is still a moderately enjoyable evening at the movies. It felt overscripted and television-ish to me, and I wish it was as way over yonder in the minor key as it pretends to be, but Sunshine is nevertheless a cute little IFC-style family film, and one that does have a pretty funny payoff at the end.


19. The Last King of Scotland: I just wrote on this one yesterday, so my impressions haven't changed much. Still, Forrest Whitaker's jovial and fearsome Idi Amin, and an almost-equally-good performance by James McAvoy as the dissolute young Scot who unwittingly becomes his minion, makes The Last King of Scotland worth seeing, if you can bear its grisly third act.

20. Thank You for Smoking: It showed flashes of promise, and it was all there on paper, in the form of Chris Buckley's book. But Smoking, alas, never really lives up to its potential. What Smoking needed was the misanthropic jolt and sense of purpose of 2005's Lord of War, a much more successful muckraking satire, to my mind. But Smoking, like its protagonist, just wants to be liked, and never truly commits to its agenda. Still, pleasant enough, if you don't consider the opportunity cost.

Most Disappointing: All the King's Men, X3: The Last Stand -- Both, unfortunately, terrible.

Worth a Rental: A Scanner Darkly, Brick, Cache, Cars, Curse of the Golden Flower, Glory Road, The History Boys, Marie Antoinette, Match Point (2005), V for Vendetta, Why We Fight

Don't Bother: Bobby, Crash (2005), The Da Vinci Code, Flags of our Fathers, The Good German, The Good Shepherd, Mission: Impossible: III, Night Watch (2004), Pirates of the Caribbean 2: Dead Men's Chest, Poseidon, Scoop, Superman Returns, The Wicker Man, World Trade Center

Best Actor: Clive Owen, Children of Men; Forrest Whitaker, The Last King of Scotland; Ken Watanabe, Letters from Iwo Jima

Best Actress: Helen Mirren, The Queen; Q'Orianka Kilcher, The New World

Best Supporting Actor: Mark Wahlberg, The Departed; Michael Caine, Children of Men/The Prestige

Best Supporting Actress: Pam Farris, Children of Men; Vera Farmiga, The Departed; Maribel Verdu, Pan's Labyrinth

Unseen: Apocalypto, Babel, Blood Diamond, Catch a Fire, Clerks II, The Descent, The Devil Wears Prada, Dreamgirls, Fast Food Nation, Hollywoodland, An Inconvenient Truth, Infamous, Inland Empire, Jackass Number Two, Jet Li's Fearless, Lassie, Little Children, Notes from a Scandal, The Notorious Betty Page, A Prairie Home Companion, The Pursuit of Happyness, Running With Scissors, Sherrybaby, Shortbus, Stranger than Fiction, Tideland, Venus, Volver, Wordplay

2007: The list isn't looking all that great, to be honest. But, perhaps we'll find some gems in here...: 300, 3:10 To Yuma, Beowulf, Black Snake Moan, The Bourne Ultimatum, FF2, The Golden Age: Elizabeth II, The Golden Compass, Grindhouse, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Hot Fuzz, I Am Legend, Live Free or Die Hard, Ocean's Thirteen, PotC3, The Simpsons Movie, Smokin' Aces, Spiderman 3, Stardust, The Transformers, Zodiac.

All the King's Men by way of Heart of Darkness (and more than a dash of Hotel Rwanda), Kevin MacDonald's The Last King of Scotland is a harrowing portrait of the scampish, fun-loving, paranoid, and genocidal Idi Amin, former president/warlord of Uganda, and a moderately engaging cautionary tale about the dangers of seeking to find oneself in a place one doesn't belong. Somewhat clunkily assembled (despite being co-written by Peter Morgan, screenwriter of The Queen) and suffering from a third act that, like its protagonist, gets lost somewhere amidst its downward trajectory, The Last King of Scotland is a film mostly redeemed by excellent performances -- notably Forest Whitaker as Amin and James McAvoy as our (anti-)hero, but also Gillian Anderson, Simon McBurney, and others in supporting roles. It wasn't quite as good as I was hoping or expecting, but it's definitely worth a rental -- for Whitaker if for nothing else -- if you can handle the increasingly graphic carnage of the film's final hour.

As the film begins, it's 1970, and (the fictional) Nicholas Gerrigan (James McAvoy of The Chronicles of Narnia) is a recently-minted doctor and young, debaucherous Scotsman looking for a life less suffocating than the one on the plate before him, taking over the family practice. Choosing Uganda more or less at random (he spins a globe to choose his fate, but not without first exercising some veto power), Gerrigan soon finds himself one of two doctors on hand in an overworked clinic deep in the African hinterlands, where the only fun to be had is making flagrant passes at his colleague's do-gooder wife (Gillian Anderson). Fate rescues Gerrigan from his ennui, however, in the form of a traffic accident -- one which brings him to the attention of Uganda's new leader, the Scotland-adoring Idi Amin (Whitaker). Soon thereafter, Gerrigan has been made Amin's personal doctor and "closest advisor," meaning he spends a lot of time dissolute by the pool, unwittingly (and soon deliberately) oblivious to the bloody machinations holding Amin's regime in power. That is, until his own somewhat-inadvertent complicity in a murder -- as well as some really poor life decisions -- force Gerrigan to confront the monstrosities laid before him. This place is a prison, he soon discovers, and these people very clearly aren't his friends.

As it almost had to be, The Last King of Scotland is most enjoyable in its first hour, as Gerrigan is slowly seduced by the life Amin offers him, and all the sultry pleasures therein included. When it all turns on him, and Gerrigan discovers the heavy price of his fool's paradise, the film quickly descends into a hell that's not only hard to watch (one grisly scene brought back unsettling childhood memories of watching...I think it was A Man Called Horse -- you'll know it when you see it) but also somewhat repetitive. How many slo-mo shots of a druggy and/or horrified Gerrigan set to acid-rock do we really need here? Moreover, the film telegraphs one of the good doctor's key indiscretions for far too long -- at least forty minutes is spent simply waiting for the other shoe to drop, so to speak.

That being said, Forrest Whitaker's performance here makes up for a lot of mistakes. (Seeing the clearly quiet-natured Whitaker's shellshocked acceptance speech at the Globes last weekend made his work here seem all the more surprising and impressive.) The Willie Stark last year's All the King's Men desperately needed, Whitaker commands the camera in every scene he's in -- His Amin is all the more horrifying because he's basically an overgrown boy, all appetite and no restraint. In every scene, you can sense him lumbering somewhere on the border between childish glee and murderous rage, and we never know where the axe will fall...only that, when it does, it's not going to be pretty.

Need a boost to help shake off the winter doldrums? Lots of Co. points the way to this end-of-2006 collection of fun, downloadable mash-ups.

By way of Ed Rants, Sci-Fi and executive producer George Clooney are collaborating on a 6-hour TV version of Neal Stephenson's Diamond Age. Not the most approachable of Stephenson's books offhand, so I'll be curious to see what they do with it.

Beer for dogs. Glad we finally got that one sorted out.

Now, here's a guy who hopes there's something to this Blue Monday business: On the eve of the State of the Union, Dubya faces the lowest poll numbers of his presidency. "Bush's overall approval rating in the new poll is 33 percent, matching the lowest it has been in Post-ABC polls since he took office in 2001...Equally telling is the finding that 51 percent of Americans now strongly disapprove of his performance in office, the worst rating of his presidency."

"I am taking this step because we have to repair the damage that's been done to our country over the last six years. Our reputation in the world is diminished, our economy has languished, and civility and common decency in government has perished." Joining the increasingly swollen ranks of Dem contenders -- I don't think anyone in my apartment building is running...yet -- New Mexico governor Bill Richardson announces his own presidential run. Can't say I'm feeling it yet, but perhaps he'll surprise me.

How does it feel when your heart grows cold? Statisticians have deemed today "Blue Monday," the most depressing day of the year. Um, if you say so. Clearly, these geniuses have never heard of Valentine's Day.

"'Whether or not you've served your constituents well, on some level you have seriously betrayed the public's trust and abused your power as a congressman,' Huvelle told Ney. 'You have a long way to go to make amends for what's happened.'" Casino Jack flunky and former House GOP poobah Bob Ney gets thirty months in prison for his role in Abramoff's operation. Ney, meanwhile, is still blaming it on the booze: ""I will continue to take full responsibility for my actions and battle the demons of addiction." Um, at what point between opening the beer and it touching your lips did taking bribes enter the equation? Save that stuff for Oprah...Most people hopefully realize that Ney's corruption had less to do with the demon rum than with standard operating procedure under Boss DeLay and the Republicans.

"'The stakes are enormous,' said Michael E. Toner, a Federal Election Commission member who served on President Bush's campaign in 2000. 'We're watching this case very closely.'" It was upheld 5-4 in 2003...can it withstand Justice Alito? The Roberts Court declares it will take another look at McCain-Feingold in the coming session, and opponents of reform are hoping Alito will help them reopen the floodgates. "Richard L. Hasen, an election law expert at Loyola Law School in Los Angeles, said the Supreme Court challenge is 'going to be a prime opportunity for opponents of campaign regulations to make some headway in watering down the standards.'"

"Search the record of history. To walk away from the Almighty is to embrace decline for a nation. To embrace Him leads to renewal, for individuals and for nations." Not to be outdone over on the Republican side, right-wing GOP Senator Sam Brownback throws his hat in the ring as well. From what I've seen of Brownback, which isn't much other than a few Sunday show appearances, he seems like the scariest kind of cultural and religious conservative -- a smart and articulate one. (And, to his credit, Brownback has tried to add such important issues as prison reform and AIDS awareness to the usual catalog of medieval social positions held by the religious right.) The McCain team would do well not to underestimate him.

Only a new president can renew the promise of America -- the idea that if you work hard you can count on the health care, education, and retirement security that you need to raise your family. These are the basic values of America that are under attack from this administration every day. And only a new president can regain America's position as a respected leader in the world." Yes, folks, the Clintons are back. As of this morning, Senator and former First Lady Hillary Clinton has officially entered the 2008 presidential race. Senator Clinton is smart, committed, and formidable, and I think she'd make both a worthy standardbearer and a worthy president. (And her husband would likely make the best First Mate since Eleanor.) But, in all honesty, I also think she's the type of candidate that everyone in the country already has an opinion about, and I fear we're rolling the dice with her if the GOP gets behind McCain, as they're likely to. (Also, while having our first Madam President will be both a history-making and long overdue moment in our politics, I'm not sure I like the historical precedent of Bush-Clinton-Bush-Clinton -- It sounds so Gilded Age to me.) Finallly, while she's been a strong and dedicated advocate of many liberal issues in the past (health care reform, social security) in the past, her record on much-needed progressive reforms (campaign finance, voting reform) is less enthusing, and -- like her husband -- she's clearly shown a tendency to don the conservative wardrobe (Iraq's early days, attacking Hollywood) when it suits her purpose. I'm not averse to a Clinton candidacy by any means (as I was and continue to be with Al Gore), but -- unless things change considerably in the year to come -- there are other candidates I find more intriguing. Namely...

"I certainly didn't expect to find myself in this position a year ago. But as I've spoken to many of you in my travels across the states these past months; as I've read your emails and read your letters; I've been struck by how hungry we all are for a different kind of politics...Today, our leaders in Washington seem incapable of working together in a practical, common sense way. Politics has become so bitter and partisan, so gummed up by money and influence, that we can't tackle the big problems that demand solutions." Also officially entering the 2008 Democratic fray, Senator Barack Obama. Admittedly, his resume is on the thin side, and one can argue that he's never been truly tested by the GOP's ruthless legions of Swift Boaters. But, I gotta say, it's hard not to get excited about this piece of news: Senator Obama has the potential to get people excited about politics again, and to spearhead a progressive movement the likes of which only comes around once a generation. It's still a toss-up right now as to whether I'll support him or John Edwards in the 2008 primaries. But, if Obama plays his hand right, he could be really something...

Two former Watchmen directors receive their next assignments: United 93 and The Bourne Supremacy helmer Paul Greengrass will venture into Iraq's Green Zone in Imperial Life in the Emerald City, based on the book by WP bureau chief Rajiv Chandrasekaran. And Requiem for a Dream's Darren Aronofsky announces his next project will be Black Swan. "John McLaughlin has begun writing the film that looks at the manipulative relationship between a veteran dancer and a rival." (You can now probably guess who got me into that premiere of The Fountain a few months back.)

The freewheelin' Bob Dylan has a lot to answer for in this intermittently amusing Post Show send-up of Dylan's No Direction Home. Admittedly, this guy's singing-Bob impression is pretty funny. (By way of Tes.)

I never caught the source material while it was on Broadway, so I can't compare it to the play. But, while I found Nicholas Hytner's film of Alan Bennett's The History Boys to be a thoughtful and decently engaging piece of work, it makes for a somewhat unnatural and theatrical evening of cinema. The ideas in (the) play are obviously intriguing and worthy of contemplation, but -- with several performances better suited for the back rows than the big screen (most notably Clive Merrison as a schoolmaster out of Monty Python) and a gaggle of bon mot-spouting teenagers that, at least in my own personal and teaching experience, act in no way at all like teenagers -- The History Boys often felt forced to me. It's a worthy piece of pedagogy, I suppose, and I'm almost positive it must work better on Broadway. But, overall, I thought it trafficked in archetypes more than it does in real-world, flesh-and-blood characters -- more fiction than history, I'd say -- and this close to the action, its faults are harder to hide.

As iconic cuts by New Order and The Smiths tip off in the opening moments, The History Boys takes place in the early 1980's -- 1983 Sheffield, to be exact. But don't let "Blue Monday" and "This Charming Man" fool you: our story in fact takes place in a boys' preparatory school, one -- references to W.H. Auden and Brief Encounter notwithstanding -- seemingly hermetically sealed from the outside world at large. Here in this academic biodome, several young lads, having done exceedingly well on their A-levels, now prep for the grueling college application process, in the particular hopes of getting into Oxford and Cambridge. To aid them in this arduous process are two history professors dueling for their impressionable minds...and bodies: In the relativist corner, Professor Irwin (Stephen Campbell Moore), a sharp, young, and assured (if closeted) new hiree dedicated to promoting the ironies and contingencies of history. Meanwhile, over in the knowledge-for-its-own-sake department rests Professor Hector (Richard Griffiths, the soul of the film.) Orwell looming over his shoulder (the two agree on the debasement of "worrrrds"), Hector is a grotesque but endearing fellow who one might call avuncular, were it not for his rather unfortunate penchant for fondling his students' genitals. Shrugging off these occasional gropes (far more sanguinely than seems realistic, IMHO), the history boys perform poetry, film scenes, and cabaret tunes for the latter and develop streaks of contrarian skepticism for the former, all the while learning a thing or two not only about life and history, but of the Achilles' Heels of their esteemed teachers.

In a nutshell, the basic problem I had with The History Boys is this: A decade ago, a friend of mine once described a mutual acquaintance as "the ideal twenty-two-year-old...in the eyes of a fifty-five-year old." Well, this movie's got a whole pack of 'em. All of the young actors here are decent enough -- if a bit broad, cinematically speaking -- with Samuel Barnett (as Posner, a boy trapped in the very special hell that is an unrequited teenage crush) and Dominic Cooper (as Dakin, a young man increasingly hopped up on Nietzsche and the power of his own burgeoning sexuality) given the most to do. But, as they effortlessly spin forth witticisms at the most opportune moments and gather around the piano without even a trace of cynicism or irony ("the shackles of youth," as the line goes) about them, they all seemed very, very improbable to me...and that's even notwithstanding their handling of the aforementioned sexual misdeeds. (Full disclosure: I have much the same problem with Whit Stillman films.)

Yet, once you take it as inherently fanciful and somewhat missuited for the big screen, there are still elements to enjoy in Boys, including a number of thoughtful disquisitions on the uses and practices of history as a discipline: for example, on contingency, commemoration, and the rise of a more gender-balanced understanding of the past (the latter memorably delivered by Frances De La Tour, who, while excellent here as a jaded prof, still unfortunately kept reminding me of Madame Maxime.) Admittedly, these digressions do seem shoehorned in at times -- and brought back memories of fading historiography seminars -- but they still offer some keen grist for the philosophical mill. (That being said, I somehow suspect that the teaching of history is a less sexually charged discipline than as seen here, where it's rife with more suppressed longing than the Catholic priesthood. But perhaps I haven't been at it long enough.)

"If I were a state legislator, I'd vote for it to move off the grounds -- out of the state." Another MLK day means another chance to lament the embarrassment that is the Confederate flag flying prominently outside my home State House (albeit no longer above the Capitol.) In South Carolina today, Senators and presidential hopefuls Chris Dodd and Joe Biden called for the flag's removal. "Biden expects legislators here will eventually move the flag. Pointing to his heart, he said, 'as people become more and more aware of what it means to African-Americans here, this is only a matter of time.'"

"'Times have changed. I don't want to be someone who they say is too stubborn to change too,' said Rep. Rodney Alexander (R-La.), whose 92 percent conservative rating did not stop him from voting with Democrats on the homeland security and minimum-wage bills." The delightful success of the 100 Hours thus far deserves its own post, one which I hope to get to before that time elapses. But, in the meantime, I must say, it's nice to watch the House GOP finally crack into pieces, and to discover that many rank-and-file Republicans seemed more than eager to break from the right-wing extremism of Boss DeLay's leadership. Come on board, you won't hurt the horse!

Are Sting, Stewart Copeland, and Andy Summer reuniting for a 2007 Police tour? It still sounds pretty speculative in this article, but I'd go, as long as they stick to the classic material and don't play anything later than Sting's first, decent solo album. If I see "Fields of Gold" or any of the other easy listening stuff on the setlists, I'm taking a walk (as, I suspect, would Copeland.)

To his credit, Steven Soderbergh is relentlesssly experimental. When he's at the top of his game (Out of Sight, Traffic, The Limey), few directors are better at telling stories that move with purpose and imagination, and even some of his resolutely mainstream projects (Erin Brockovich, Ocean's 11, Ocean's 12) --which might have been staid and forgettable in someone else's hands -- have verve and originality to spare. But, even for a guy as talented as Soderbergh, you keep taking swings, and eventually you're going to whiff a few. (Full Frontal and Kafka come to mind -- I haven't seen Schizopolis or Bubble, but have heard they might be in this category too.) Alas, Stephen Soderbergh's period noir, The Good German, is in this latter camp. Written with a 21st century sophistication about sex and language but filmed in the manner of a 1940s war flick -- back projections, ancient credits, garish score, and all -- German basically comes across as a two-hour gimmick, one that sadly outlasts its welcome by the second reel. George Clooney and Cate Blanchett do what they can (and both look great in B&W), but, surprisingly, the film just never engages -- it feels flat and uninvolving from start to finish. In sum, as with the Solaris remake, Soderbergh and Clooney's errant stab at big-think sci-fi, The Good German feels fundamentally misconceived.

Berlin, 1945. The war in Europe is over, and, divided into four sectors by the victorious Allies, Germany's capital is now a sordid morass of blackened buildings and anything-goes. Venturing into the urban decay is former resident Jake Geismer (Clooney), now a TNR correspondent sent to cover the Potsdam Conference (which in its own way feels as improbable as Ocean buddy Matt Damon playing a 45-year-old in The Good Shepherd.) But, not ten minutes back in town, Geismer's wallet is stolen by his too-friendly-by-half army driver (Tobey Maguire, laughably miscast), who, as it so happens, is a well-connected black marketeer, a despicable lout, and the current boyfriend and pimp of Geismer's old flame, Lena Brandt (Blanchett). After a body shows up at Potsdam, and after that old flame is rekindled, Geismer finds himself tracking down a story that may or may not involve hidden war crimes, atomic secrets, Russian n'er do wells, German scientists, his old prosecutor buddy (Leland Orser), and of course, Lena, a girl who -- like so many residents in her fallen city -- has faced unspeakable horrors and kept them under wraps.

All well and good...who doesn't enjoy a seamy noir? But, The Good German is curiously inert, and never gets off the tarmac. The plot ends up being byzantine in its mechanics, as a decent detective story should be, but German never arouses enough interest to makes the many twists and turns feel earned. Tobey Maguire doesn't help -- A decent actor with the right material (say, as Peter Parker), he's so woefully bad here that it kills the movie from the start. (Also, a random quibble: Maguire also beats up Clooney at one point, as Clooney's Geisberg is of the Tom Reagan school of noir heroes: he gets his ass kicked a lot. But, unless this is Golden Age Spiderman or something, it makes very little sense here.) But equally jarring is the disparity between the script and the look in The Good German: The period recreation, however clever at times, ends up distracting from rather than enhancing the tale being told. In all honesty, it just doesn't work.

If The Good German does offer any distinct pleasures, they're mostly in the margins. Deadwood's Robin Weigert (a.k.a. Calamity Jane) plays pretty far from type -- the blunt-spokenness notwithstanding -- as Lena's brash, hooker roommate. And, even despite the general failure here, Soderbergh still has a great eye, and the black-and-white cinematography does pay occasional dividends (despite many of the outdoor scenes having a grainy, washed-out look to them.) Speaking of which, I'd be remiss if I didn't note that the highlight of The Good German for me was Soderbergh's framing of Cate Blanchett as a classic screen siren. True, her femme fatale accent occasionally lapses into something more like Natasha from Rocky and Bullwinkle than Garbo or Dietrich. But, a beautiful woman under any circumstances, Blanchett often looks breathtaking here, what with all the period accoutrements and chiaroscuro lighting at her service. Careful, Jake, it's Berlintown...and she's going to play you for a fool, yes it's true.

"In some sense, the president is now as much a prisoner of Guantanamo as the detainees...The endgame in the war on terror isn't holding the line against terrorists. It's holding the line on hard-fought claims to absolutely limitless presidential authority." Slate's Dahlia Lithwick discerns the method in Dubya's madness on the civil liberties front: "expanding executive power, for its own sake."

The world's most epicurean cannibal gets psychoanalyzed by Dominic West (again, McNulty, get out of this film, and take Gong Li with you) in another new trailer for Peter Webber's Hannibal Rising.

"These examples help bring a crucial issue of plagiarism into focus. Behind the talk of originality lurks another preoccupation, less plainly voiced: a concern about the just distribution of labor." After reading Richard Posner's Little Book of Plagiarism, Slate's Meghan O'Rourke ruminates on the ethics of stealing someone's words. (Also seen at -- shamelessly plagiarized from? -- The Late Adopter.)

Via Ed Rants and The House Next Door, some wag has distilled the essence of Neil LaBute's lousy Wicker Man remake into two minutes of sheer ridiculousness. I kinda wish I had seen it like this.

"Our troops in Iraq have fought bravely. They have done everything we have asked them to do. Where mistakes have been made, the responsibility rests with me." I'm still furiously playing catch-up, so I'm obviously a day or two behind on blogging this...Then again, Dubya's just as obviously three or four years behind in announcing it, so I'll call it a wash. Nonetheless, after finally admitting that his administration has seriously screwed up in Iraq, Bush --- sidestepping the suggestions of the Baker-Hamilton commission -- calls for sending 21,500 more troops to the region, in what's being billed as a "surge." (Re: "escalation.") When you get right down to it, Dubya's basic argument in his televised address on Wednesday was this: "Through wishful thinking and outright incompetence, I've dug two nations into a huge hole. Please, please, please let me keep digging..."

Here's the thing -- A massive troop increase would've made a good deal of sense in 2003, during those crucial days just after the fall of the Hussein regime. A show of power then -- and a quicker restoration of order and basic services -- would have paid huge dividends down the road. But, now, all these years later, after so much infrastructure has been destroyed and so many sectarian schisms have been allowed to fester? 21,500 troops -- many of them not fresh recruits but wearied soldiers returning to the region or having their tours extended -- isn't going to make a dent in the Whack-a-Mole game we've been playing against insurgents since 2003. At best, this escalation is a show of good faith to the al-Maliki government, which seems to be not much more than a brittle political arm of Shiite extremists (Exhibit A: the manner of Saddam's hanging; Exhibit B: the refusal to do anything -- until now -- to rein in Al Sadr's Mahdi Army.) Yes, folks, throwing more troops at a losing situation, backing a shaky government that can't handle its own security issues, rattling the saber at Cambodia/Iran...who says Dubya isn't a student of history?

Fortunately, for the first time since the beginning of the war, Congress isn't having it, with even some Republicans joining Dems in rallying against the proposed troop increase and today venting their wrath at Condi Rice before the Senate Foreign Relations Committee. (No doubt the poll numbers against Dubya's plan is helping to stiffen some GOP spines.) Still, Dubya has some allies in this fight -- While the Dems are universally opposed to the escalation gamble [Dem Response by Durbin | Biden | Clinton | Dodd | Edwards | Feingold | Obama | Pelosi] and a not-insubstantial number of Republicans are balking, some key GOP pols are still supporting Dubya's move (most notably John McCain, who's been calling for a troop increase since day one, and Rudy Giuliani, likely trying to right the 2008 ship after his recent devastating document dump.)

"'On every major foreign policy and domestic debate of the last quarter-century, I've been there,' Dodd said. 'I happen to believe this time around that matters, that you demonstrably can get things done.'" Another Dem officially joins the presidential race: Sen. Chris Dodd of Connecticut. Like Joe Biden, Dodd's clearly on the outside looking in right now, but I'll reserve judgment until I hear more of what he has to say.

More new trailers: Shia LaBoeuf (of Bobby, Constantine and Michael Bay's forthcoming Transformers) takes a page from Jimmy Stewart while on house arrest in the new trailer for Disturbia, also with David Morse and Carrie-Anne Moss. Billy Bob Thornton attempts to get into space on his own volition in this look at The Astronaut Farmer, also featuring Virginia Madsen (seemingly stuck in wife roles these days), Tim Blake Nelson, and J.K. Simmons. And Will Ferrell joins Jon "Napoleon Dynamite" Heder in the rough-and-tumble world of men's figure skating in the trailer for Blades of Glory, his next Anchorman/Talladega-type project. (Also hanging around this one, Craig T. Nelson and Will Arnett.)

Phillip Seymour Hoffman, Catherine Keener, Michelle Williams, Samantha Morton, and Tilda Swinton line up behind Charlie Kaufman's next project, Synecdoche, New York. "Hoffman will play a theater director who ambitiously attempts to put on a play by creating a life-size replica of New York inside a warehouse...Keener is set to play his first wife, Williams will play his second wife, Morton will appear as his sometime lover, and Swinton will portray Keener's best friend and the dubious mentor to the daughter of Hoffman and Keener's characters."

The Dems go Rocky Mountain high for 2008, choosing Denver as the site of the next Democratic convention. "'It's important in politics to put your money where your mouth is,' Dean said. 'If we are going to have a national party, we are going to get Westerners to vote Democratic again on a regular basis.'"

"'The main thing for me is to improve the soccer, to improve the standard, and to be part of history really because I think soccer can be a lot bigger in the U.S.,' the 31-year-old former England captain said Friday morning on ABC's 'Good Morning America.'" I think so too, but is overpaying Becks really the answer? Soccer superstar David Beckham signs with the Los Angeles Galaxy for a cool $250 million.

[%@*#, that's aggravating. Movable Type just ate my entire review. Ok, let's try this again.] A lush, operatic saga of a cancerous ninth-century family fracas that threatens to topple the Tang Dynasty from within, Zhang Yimou's Curse of the Golden Flower is the type of film for which the cliche "sumptuous visual feast" was coined. True, this sordid tale of betrayal, corruption, incest, and time-release murder is overwrought to the point of self-parody, and the action sequences -- like those in Zhang's House of Flying Daggers -- eventually veer well past rousing to the far corner of preposterous. But, my, is this film gorgeous to look at: From start to finish, Curse of the Golden Flower is an explosion of riotous color. (Particularly after sitting through two hours of Letters from Iwo Jima's bleak, monochrome grays, viewing the veritable kaleidoscope on display here felt even more sensuous and indulgent.) Throw in some very watchable performances by Chow Yun-Fat, Gong Li, and others, and Curse comes across to me as the best entrant in Zhang's recent trilogy of fanciful-historical Chinese epics (That would be Curse, Daggers, and the scarily nationalistic Hero -- Fortunately the political subtext is more restrained and ambiguous here. In fact, Curse may even be revolutionary, depending on how you read the film's final image.)

It is the hour of the rat for the Tang Dynasty, chrysanthemums bloom throughout the Middle Kingdom, and opulence comingles with palace intrigue in the halls of the Forbidden City. For the Emperor (Chow Yun-Fat, both fierce and serene), in his Divine wisdom, has seen fit to slowly and secretly poison his Empress (Gong Yi, equally good), by means of a deathly black fungus added to her daily medicine. The Empress, meanwhile, strains to rekindle her romance with the Emperor's first son (by a previous marriage), the Crown Prince Wan (Liu Ye), but he only has eyes for a fetching maid (Li Man) in the imperial employ. (In fact, she is the daughter of the doctor administering the poison.) And also residing in this increasingly broke down palace are the Princes Jai (Jay Chou) and Yu (Qin Junjie), both of whom discover they have their own roles to play in the schemes of their feuding parents, particularly after the ailing Empress weaves a plot of vengeance to coincide with the coming festival...

Also milling about the Forbidden City is a cast of hundreds: the cooks, maids, laborers, soldiers, ninjas (Yes, this film has ninjas, or at least their Chinese equivalent), and ladies-in-waiting that make up the infrastructure undergirding the Tangs' divine rule. Zhang goes out of his way here to emphasize the sheer amount of sweat and toil expected of this teeming support staff for even the most mundane task -- It takes at least four servants to administer the Queen's medicine and considerably more to cart the Emperor to and fro. Yet, Zhang seems to suggest, these people are as much part of the story as the resentful royals. They are the props of the extravagant ritual, rigid hierarchy, and striking beauty that characterize the Tang's rule, and they are ennobled by knowing and playing their appropriate role in this imperial order. Whether or not you agree with this sentiment (and Zhang himself seems to cast doubt on it by the final shot), it does make for several breathtaking scenes of elaborate ceremony throughout the film.

And, yes, some of these are battles. To be honest, both Hero and House probably exhibited better fight choreography. If you come to Curse expecting a martial arts extravaganza akin to those films, you may well leave disappointed. I found the final Helms' Deepish "silver versus gold" sequence to be too bloodthirsty (beheading prisoners and such), too unrealistic (here, more than anyone else in the film, physics don't apply) and too obviously CGI for my taste. That being said, there are a few notable melees interspersed throughout the picture, most of them involving the black-clad, scythe-wielding "Flying Monkey"ish ninjas of the Imperial Army, who tend to swoop down from above and bury their scythes in the nearest possible revolutionary with extraordinary aplomb. (Sigh. Only one movie after Iwo Jima, and war and violence are already being made to look artful again.)

"The Banshees and the other creatures are going to be about 90% or 95% animated. And with the humanoids hopefully we're going to be coming down to 95% capture with the exception of ears and like I said clothing and hair and stuff like that." I'm behind on this one -- Sorry, I've been saving up links to space out the flurry of movie reviews, and then overestimating how much I can actually get written on a given day -- but James Cameron has announced more details about Avatar (not to be confused with M. Night Shyamalan's Avatar, which I couldn't case less about) and granted AICN's Harry Knowles an extended interview on the performance-capture project. Set for a 2009 release, the film will "star" Sam Worthington (recently in the Aussie Macbeth update) and Zoe Saldana (late of Pirates of the Caribbean II.)

Since I just mentioned Pirates 2, which is a film I sadly kinda hated, I should perhaps note that the promotional materials for Pirates of the Caribbean III: At World's End are now online, and they include a decent look at Chow Yun-Fat in samurai-pirate regalia. Why do I get the sense I'll be seeing this despite myself?

"I don't want to work with that guy anymore. Why would I? So the answer is he will never make any movie with New Line Cinema again while I'm still working for the company." More troubling news for The Hobbit: In an interview with Sci-Fi Wire, New Line president Robert Shaye lays into Peter Jackson over the outstanding lawsuit filed by Wingnut films over ascertaining LotR revenues. (PJ's response is here, and I'm inclined to agree with him. What reason would New Line have to hide the books, unless they've been practicing shady math?)

"It's a fundamental and permanent change in the makeup of the show's cast and of the show itself and how the show operates and what the show is about. It's a very dramatic change of direction." Speaking of Sci-Fi, the Chicago Tribune publishes a revealing interview with Battlestar Galactica creators Ron Moore and David Eick on what's to come for the rest of Season 3. The article also includes this pic of what potentially may be the Final Five, in which some eagle-eyed fanboys have adduced a significant spoiler... (More spoiler-ish pics here.)

Brick's Joseph Gordon-Leavitt inadvertently gets caught up in a bank heist in the new trailer for Scott Frank's The Lookout (a.ka. Memento meets Inside Man?), also starring Jeff Daniels (back with Squid and the Whale beard) and the future Mrs. Borat, Isla Fisher.

Also (sorta) in the trailer bin, Tom Hanks. Is. Bond. (By way of my sister Tessa.)

While I thought most critics lavished too much praise on Pan's Labyrinth, the very similar swells of appreciation for Clint Eastwood's Letters from Iwo Jima are, surprisingly, much closer to the mark. Eastwood's first crack at Iwo Jima in 2006, Flags of our Fathers, was to my mind a well-meaning dog, one made particularly lousy by the heavy-handed fingerprints of Paul Haggis all over the film. But (perhaps due to the different screenwriter, Iris Yamashita), Letters is really something quite remarkable. A mournful, occasionally shocking testament to the inhumanity and absurdities attending war, and a elegiac dirge for those caught in its grip, even on the other side of the conflict, Letters from Iwo Jima is an impressive -- even at times breathtaking -- siege movie. And strangely enough, elements that seemed trite or intrusive in Flags -- the desaturated landscape, the minimalist piano score -- are truly haunting and evocative here. In fact, Letters from Iwo Jima is so good it even makes Flags of our Fathers seem like a better movie just by association, which, trust me, is no small feat.

As you probably know by now, Letters from Iwo Jima follows the famous World War II battle, ostensibly depicted in Flags, from the Japanese side. Here, nobody cares about artfully raised flags or the Ballad of Ira Hayes -- the emphasis instead is on honor and survival. General Tadamichi Kuribayashi (Ken Watanabe, as captivating here as he was in The Last Samurai) has been ordered to lead the defense of the island against the Americans. To this task, he fully devotes himself, despite fond memories of his earlier days on US soil. But it only takes a few walks around Mt. Suribachi for Kuribayashi to figure out it's pretty much a no-win scenario -- the Americans are too many, too productive, and too strong. And once word leaks out that the Japanese fleet has been broken at Leyte Gulf, Kuribayashi and his men -- most notably friendly grunt Saigo (Kazunari Ninomiya), and former Kempetai Shimizu (Ryo Kase) -- must slowly come to grips with the fact that they're not digging cavern defenses so much as their own tomb...a tomb in which many Japanese officers, and not least the headquarters on the homeland, will expect them to die with honor.

What's particularly surprising here is how unafraid Eastwood is to invert the usual sympathies of a World War II film. It's not just that the Japanese are the "good guys" here -- True, Letters dramatizes the soldiers' plight by portraying them, particularly Saigo, as just like our fun-loving GI's at heart. But it also doesn't shy away from examining a cultural emphasis on dying well that seems completely foreign to the American mind. And, although a wounded American serviceman shows up later in the film, for the most part the US forces are -- surprisingly -- portrayed here like something out of The Empire Strikes Back, all gleaming, remorseless battleships and Fiery Death from Above. (Some have argued that Eastwood elides over Japanese atrocities in this film, but I'm not sure that's really fair, unless I somehow just missed the Dresden firebombing subplot in Saving Private Ryan. This is not to say that all war crimes are equivalent or that both sides are equally guilty (although Lord knows it got ugly) -- that gets into a moral calculus well outside the bounds of this review -- only that Letters seems more interested in portraying war itself as an atrocity, and that enough reference is made to ugly tactics (aiming at medics, for example) that the film doesn't feel to me like a whitewash.)

The sobering truth at the heart of the grim, moving Letters from Iwo Jima is captured in its penultimate image. (Alas, like too many WWII films, Eastwood opts for an unnecessary contemporary bookend, but it's not as distracting as the Greatest Generation stuff in Flags. In fact, you might argue that it plays very well off those scenes, in depicting what little survives the war on the Japanese side.) I won't give it away here...suffice to say that Letters makes clear that War is a demon that rips lives apart and rends men asunder, no matter what side you're on or for what reasons. Regardless of race, creed, nationality, or ideology, all who invoke its wrath will eventually come to taste tragedy.

In a bit of happy news, Sen. Tim Johnson (D-SD), late with an AVM, has his condition upgraded from critical to fair. "The senator's doctors said last week that Johnson was improving but still needed a ventilator at night to help him breathe...His long-term prognosis is unclear. He has been responsive to his family and physicians, following commands, squeezing his wife's hand and understanding speech."

Alan Rickman joins Tim Burton's forthcoming version of Sweeney Todd, already with Burton stalwarts Johnny Depp and Helena Bonham Carter...as well as Sasha Baron Cohen. Verrry nice.

The DeLay-Abramoff era in DC may be a thing of the past, but the investigations into flagrant GOP corruption continue. Now, word leaks out that the Casino Jack probe has targeted another official in Dubya's Interior: J. Stephen Griles. "Griles was a controversial figure at Interior, strongly criticized by the department's inspector general for maintaining ties to energy and mining companies that were once his lobbying clients."

As predicted Dubya picks a savvy, seasoned fighter -- veteran GOP lawyer Fred Fielding -- to replace Harriet Miers as White House counsel. "'Fred will be a formidable person to deal with,' said Democrat Richard Ben-Veniste, a Watergate prosecutor who served with Fielding on the Sept. 11 commission. 'This change reflects the understanding by the president and his advisers in the administration that they will be in for a much more robust period of congressional oversight.'"

In the trailer bin, Samuel Jackson takes drastic measures to save Christina Ricci from herself in the bizarre new trailer for Craig Brewer's exploitation homage Black Snake Moan, also with Justin Timberlake and S. Epatha Merkerson. And the Shaun of the Dead team of Simon Pegg, Nick Frost, and Edgar Wright unfurl another trailer for their cop comedy Hot Fuzz, now with a brand-new moustache joke exclusively for American audiences.

Well, I'm not very happy about being on the other end of the review spectrum for this film, which was one I'd been really looking forward to. But, I must confess, I'm somewhat mystified by the almost-universally stellar reviews that have accompanied Guillermo del Toro's Pan's Labyrinth. It's not a bad movie by any means, but I found it the least accomplished of this year's crop of A-list genre films (The Prestige, Children of Men, The Fountain -- the latter in particular seems to have been unfairly maligned in comparison to this one.) Billed as a "fairy tale for grown-ups," Pan's Labyrinth is a diverting but disconnected hodgepodge of fantasy, horror, and historical fiction, held together, if at all, only by occasional reference to Del Toro's usual visual affinities, such as creepy insects, yonic symbols, punctured/torn flesh, and Doug Jones in funny suits. And as far as fantastical tales of children during the Spanish Civil War go, Del Toro has tread this ground before with the haunting Devil's Backbone, and, to be honest, I preferred that film in almost every regard.

So, here's the setup: Once upon a time -- 1944, to be exact -- there was a young girl on the verge of adolescence named Ofelia (Ivana Baquero) who was forced to accompany her sickly, pregnant mother (Ariadna Gil) into the Spanish countryside, and to live with her wicked (Fascist) stepfather (Sergi Lopez of Dirty Pretty Things, and I do mean wicked -- he beats an old man's face into bloody fragments within the first twenty minutes.) Although befriended by a kindly maid (Y Tu Mama Tambien's Maribel Verdu) -- one who may have ties to Republican remnants in the nearby mountains -- Ofelia is deeply disconsolate in her new home. That is, until a congenial fairy-mantis she encountered on her way in takes her deep into the nearby garden labyrinth, where an unnerving faun (Doug Jones) discloses that she may in fact be a long-lost princess of an underground world. To claim her birthright, Ofelia must first accomplish three fairy-tale-type tasks, all the while evading her wicked stepfather and doing what she can to protect her ailing mother. But, much to her dismay, Ofelia soon finds that her fantasy world can be just as dangerous and even deadly as her stepfather's company, particularly once the two worlds begin to collide.

But do they collide? Perhaps I missed some vital subtext, but I found Ofelia's dreamworld adventures -- other than the "Girl, you'll be a Woman soon" flourishes, like the bloody book -- to be generally remote both from her problems at home and from the Republican-Fascist feud, other than that all three narrative strands grow increasingly grisly and grotesque. And, while certain scenes definitely linger in the senses like eerie reminiscences of a fever dream, most notably the Wraith's Table, they don't really serve the larger story in any way I could fathom. (Also, why does Ofelia suddenly decide to go all Augustus Gloop in that scene anyway? Dream logic, I guess, but it seemed out of character.) Throw in a few second-act torture scenes that are more off-putting than they are resonant or even necessary, and Labyrinth starts to wear thin well before the end. In sum, Pan's a decent film that's worth seeing if you're in the mood for it, but it's by no means the genre classic it's being made out to be. Perhaps the subtitles gave it gravitas in some corners, but, to my mind, Pan's Labyrinth gets a little lost in its own maze.

The Democratic presidential field grows more crowded still with Senator Joe Biden announcing that he's in the hunt. Suffice to say, he faces an uphill climb.

A pause for breath: One short week before The Burning Crusade starts consuming my non-dissertating/blogging moments and late-night hours anew, I've made it to level 60 on the ridiculously addictive World of Warcraft (with an undead rogue by the name of JackLowry, in case you were interested.) I tried Second Life around the same time back in November and didn't really get into it, but, oh my, WoW is gaming crack, the most virulent stuff I've experienced since Civ4. If you haven't tried it, be warned.

Hopefully (and cleverly) taking the sting out of the looming format wars, Warner Brothers announces the Total High Def disc at the Consumer Electronics Show in Las Vegas. "If broadly adopted by the industry, the Total Hi Def disc would eliminate consumer confusion by including both formats [HD-DVD and Blu-Ray] on a single disc. Tested with leading manufacturers and replicators, the Total Hi Def disc would also simplify point of sale issues for retailers by reducing the shelf space required to carry two versions of the same content."

HBO's The Wire, lauded around these parts many times over, will be shown from the beginning on BET starting tomorrow night at 9pm. Personally, I'd recommend renting (or buying) the DVDs, so as to avoid commercials and see the episodes uncut (and to allow for the indulgence of binge-watching, which may well become the norm in your household by the end of Season 1.) But, if for some reason you can't be bothered, BET's the place to be tomorrow night.

"Gentlemen don't get caught, cages under cage." Congrats to Athens' finest, R.E.M., who will be inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame this March, in the first year of their eligibility. The rest of the class of 2007 includes Van Halen, Patti Smith, Patti Smith, The Ronettes, and the Hall's first rappers, Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five. (By way of WebGoddess.)

Just as I didn't have much hankering to see a film about United 93 at first, I've been presuming that not much would interest me less than a movie about the aftermath of Princess Diana's death in 1997. (Obviously, the loss of any relatively young person in a car crash, particularly one as committed to international concerns as Diana was, is tragic. But in all honesty, when I think of the hubbub and hysterics surrounding her untimely death, it reminds me of the "Baby Diego" sequence in Children of Men.) That being said, I'm happy to say that Stephen Frears' The Queen is, like United 93, a surprisingly good depiction of recent history. Less a paean to "the people's princess" than a sharp-witted rumination on changing social values and the effect of global "Oprahization" on contemporary politics, The Queen is an intelligent, discerning and enjoyable slice-of-life that's well worth catching.

As the film begins -- after a wink similar to the one opening Marie Antoinette -- the young, charming, and recently-elected face of New Britain, Tony Blair (Michael Sheen), ventures to Buckingham Palace with resolutely anti-monarchist wife Cherie (Helen McCrory), in order to request of his sovereign Queen Elizabeth II (Helen Mirren) that he be allowed to form a government. A study in contrasts, the emotive, familiar prime minister and the punctilious, reticent Queen get on less well as exemplars of New and Old England than, say, Peel and Steed. Reared and residing in a bastion of venerable tradition, where faxes are still delivered in a wicker basket and feelings are not discussed, Queen Elizabeth has little patience for Blair's studied informality and populist bonhomie. But, when tragedy strikes several months later, in the form of Princess Diana's death at the hands of the loathsome paparazzi, the Crown finds itself soon embroiled in a downward spiral of their own making, as -- the Prince of Wales (Alex Jennings) notwithstanding -- the royal family shows little inclination to convert their grief into a public display (or to honor someone they've come to perceive as an impulsive and manipulative interloper.) And, when England's people begin to surround Buckingham Palace with wreaths and bouquets that come to seem as menacing as torches and pitchforks, it falls on the prime minister to attempt to instruct the Queen on the vagaries of politics in the Tabloid era, before permanent damage is wrought upon the monarchy.

More than United 93, the film that actually comes to mind when watching The Queen is Nixon. Like Oliver Stone's film, The Queen attempts to humanize a oft-maligned world figure for whom much of the audience may have little sympathy. Like Nixon, it portrays a government increasingly besieged by its own people, and a bewildered political leader who finds they've lost touch with their electorate or subjects (Consider the scene of Nixon at the Lincoln Memorial, or all the perhaps over-the-top talk of "the beast" therein.) And, of course, the Queen's relationship to the fallen Diana is depicted here much like Nixon's (and LBJ's) to John -- and later Bobby -- Kennedy. This holds true particularly in the later scenes of the film, as Elizabeth is forced to confront the fact that, for all her sacrifices, she'll never compete with the fallen princess in the public's esteem.

The emotions this sad realization elicits, along with many others in the film, are visible only in the margins of Helen Mirren's mask of public composure, bringing home the conflict between restraint and immodesty (or, if you'd prefer, suppression and sensitivity) at the center of the film. Mirren, as always, is excellent here, and I'd guess her Oscar is already in the bag: She invests her monarch with grace and dignity even while frumpily walking her dogs down the lane, and rises above the very occasional clunks in the script (The buck stops here, indeed.) And Michael Sheen's Tony Blair grows on you. At first, he seems off, but eventually you get the sense that he conveys Blair's more notable qualities rather well: intelligence, boyishness, a way with people, and a potentially problematic penchant for deference. (Indeed, just when it seems the movie's portrayal of Blair has grown cloying beyond words, Mirren's Queen puts him in his place, and ties 1997's hero of Labor to the more troubling Blair of today, one who could and should have more aggressively instructed his American counterpart on the vagaries of leadership in the reality-based world.)

Federal prosecutors build out their case against Bob Ney, and disclose that the disgraced former GOP rep had possibly shady dealings with Abramoff and DeLay's Russian connections at Naftasib. "Abramoff's lobbying team got the congressman to intervene with the U.S. Consulate in Moscow to help resolve a passport issue for the daughter of Abramoff client Alexander Koulakovsky, the e-mails show...A charity sponsored by DeLay received a $1 million check from a London law firm linked to the two. Former charity officials told The Washington Post last year the donation originated with Russian oil and gas executives, and was intended to influence DeLay's vote on an issue affecting the Russian economy."

Newly released -- and somewhat controversial -- FBI files, dating from the former Chief Justice's two confirmation battles in 1971 and 1986, disclose that William Rehnquist battled a painkiller addiction in the early '80s while serving on the Court. "Doctors interviewed by the FBI told agents that when the associate justice stopped taking the drug, he suffered paranoid delusions. One doctor said Rehnquist thought he heard voices outside his hospital room plotting against him and had 'bizarre ideas and outrageous thoughts,' including imagining 'a CIA plot against him' and 'seeming to see the design patterns on the hospital curtains change configuration.' At one point, a doctor told the investigators, Rehnquist went 'to the lobby in his pajamas in order to try to escape.'"

Also among the intriguing recent disclosures of the Nixon years are newly released State Department records which reveal further Nixon's contempt for his Foreign Service. "Just before saying he was going 'to take the responsibility for cleaning up' the department, the president told Kissinger on November 13 that he was determined that 'his one legacy is to ruin the Foreign Service. I mean ruin it -- the old Foreign Service -- and to build a new one. I'm going to do it.'"

Grand news for discriminating readers of the blog nation: GitM's consistently excellent blog-twin, Follow Me Here, has returned from hiatus. (Both FmH and GitM date to 11/15/99.)

"The world ain't all sunshine and rainbows. It is a very mean and nasty place and it will beat you to your knees and keep you there permanently if you let it. You, me, or nobody is gonna hit as hard as life. But it ain't how hard you hit; it's about how hard you can get hit, and keep moving forward." Perhaps it was the beneficiary of low expectations...Still, Sylvester Stallone's Rocky Balboa, however fundamentally formulaic at its core, proved a much more satisfying moviegoing experience than the first half of Monday's double-feature, The Good Shepherd. I've never been much more than a casual Rocky fan: I was way too young to appreciate the first two, more nuanced movies when they came out, and have clearer childhood memories of Balboa trouncing cartoon boxing villains Clubber Lang (III) and Ivan Drago (IV) than I do of him going the distance against Apollo Creed. (Still, even when I was eleven, the Italian Stallion singlehandedly winning the Cold War in Rocky IV seemed cheesy, and Rocky V is, of course, best forgotten.) Nevertheless, more a character study than an 80's-style action flick, Rocky Balboa is -- thankfully -- a throwback to the early days of Philly's finest, when the big lug spent more time just wooing the nerdy-cute gal at the pet store than he did wrestling Hulk Hogan and sorting out geopolitical wrongs. Here, we're more often than not simply following a lion in -- if not winter, than in really late fall -- going about his day in the city he loves and searching for one more shining, meaningful moment before twilight beckons. And, I'm forced to admit: By the time Rocky gets his one last shot -- the big bout that takes up the final third of the film -- it would take a harder heart than mine not to be swept up somewhat by the ride.

As Rocky Balboa begins, we discover that the Italian Stallion has not only lost most of his money from previous films (Sorry, sports fans, Paulie's ridiculous robot is seemingly no more) but also his heart and soul, Adrian, who has succumbed to cancer. Clearly still very aggrieved, Rocky spends his days wandering around he and Adrian's old haunts with the still-vexatious Paulie (Burt Young), trying to establish a connection with his mildly prodigal son (Milo Ventimiglia, a.k.a. Heroes' Peter Petrelli), and recounting old war stories to bored patrons at his restaurant. Then, one day after reconnecting with Little Marie (Geraldine Hughes) from the first film (Spider Rico is kicking around too), Rocky gets a hankering to deal with his ghosts by fighting again. "Sometimes I feel like there's this beast inside me," he tells Paulie in one of the film's more affecting monologues. "I've got stuff in the basement." And, as it turns out, the money-hungry managers of the current champ -- Mason "The Line" Dixon (Antonio Tarver) -- are looking to improve their client's public profile by setting up a friendly "sparring" exhibition with a still-popular has-been...

You can guess the rest (except perhaps the ending, which I won't give away here.) So, yes, the film is both predictable and wildly improbable, but somehow, it kinda works. Perhaps it's because Stallone here seems to emphasize Rocky, aged and bloody but still unbowed, as an exemplar of the Philadelphia spirit, an historic American city that's taken its share of knocks in recent decades -- from deindustrialization to those woeful sports teams -- but still keeps on keepin' on. Or perhaps it's because Sly, looking more beaten-up, bloated, and wounded than we're ever accustomed to seeing him, brings a measure of pathos to his tale of one last hurrah just by showing up. Rocky Balboa isn't one for the ages or anything, but it is very good for what it is -- a schmaltzy but well-written and enjoyable piece of uplift and a worthy last outing for one of cinema's most popular and enduring pugilists. In a surprise upset, the sixth and final round goes to Stallone.

Meanwhile, over in the newly Democratic Senate: With Wednesday's House cleaning spurring similar ethics reform in the upper chamber, a progressive dream team of Russ Feingold and Barack Obama unveil the Senate Dems' ethics reform package, which includes a provision for an independent Office of Public Integrity, a key element of reform which failed 67-30 last year on the GOP's watch.

"For our daughters and granddaughters, today we have broken the marble ceiling. To our daughters and our granddaughters, the sky is the limit." On a day marked by celebration and the temporary cooling of partisan rancor, the Speaker Pelosi era officially begins in Washington. And, true to their word, the Democratic House got an early start on their "100 Hours" platform, passing a comprehensive ethics reform package 435-1 on Thursday (right-wing nut-job and former Clinton nemesis Dan Burton was the sole opposing vote) and a "pay-go" commitment to a balanced budget (as well as an end to anonymous earmarks) on Friday. "'The one thing we can say about George Bush and his economic policy is: "We are forever in your debt,"' Rep. Rahm Emanuel (D-Ill.) told his colleagues on the House floor. 'On day number two, Democrats have said, "Enough is enough with running up the debt of this country. We're going to put our fiscal house in order."'"

In not-unrelated news, the Dubya White House shuffles its deck to make ready for divided government, replacing failed Supreme Court bid Harriet Miers as White House counsel (likely in favor of someone more aggressive, so as to counter Dem subpoenas), kicking national intelligence director Nicholas Negroponte over to State (to be replaced by Vice Admiral Mike McConnell), appointing Thomas D'Agostino as new nuclear chief (the old one, Linton Brooks, seems to have been of the "Brownie" school of management), putting Iraq ambassador Zalmay Khalilzad in John Bolton's former position at the UN (his job goes to Ryan Crocker), and overhauling their top military team in Iraq. As the WP's Dan Froomkin reads the tea leaves, "I see a possible theme: A purge of the unbelievers."

Other important leadership shifts, these in and around New York: Having officially replaced Kofi Annan at the UN earlier this week, new general secretary Ban Ki-Moon cleans house, announces his own team and sets the Darfur crisis as a top priority. And, over in Albany, New York governor (and future presidential contender?) Elliot Spitzer delivers both his first Inaugural [text] and his first State of the State [PDF]: "In an hourlong address that was largely a repudiation of the policies of his predecessor, George E. Pataki, the new governor said he would seek to broadly overhaul the state's ethics and lobbying rules. He said he would make prekindergarten available to all 4-year-olds by the end of his term, overhaul the public authorities that control most of the state's debt and make New York more inviting to business by reducing the cost of workers' compensation."

"'The administration is playing games about warrants,' Martin said. 'If they are not claiming new powers, then why did they need to issue a signing statement?'" New year, more of the same. Channeling Albert Sidney Burleson, Dubya creates consternation among civil liberties advocates with another recent signing statement reinvoking the right to read anyone's mail. Let me know if y'all figure out what the best student loan consolidation plan is.

More images from The Golden Compass emerge online, including new looks at Lyra (Dakota Blue Richards), Lee Scoresby (Sam Elliot), Mrs. Coulter (Nicole Kidman), and Lord Asriel (Craig. Daniel Craig.) Also in the mix, Eva Green (as Serafina Pekkala) and Ian McShane (as the voice of Ragnar Sturlusson). [They're also posted here.]

Robert De Niro's The Good Shepherd, the first entrant in my ongoing end-of-2006 movie marathon this week, makes no secret of its Oscar-bait aspirations. Basically the WASP version of The Godfather, as told against the creation and Cold War consolidation of the CIA, Shepherd boasts a crisp look, a grand historical sweep, high-quality production values, and a stellar cast (including Best Supporting Actor-type turns strewn all over the place, like the wreckage from a better, more interesting movie.) But it's also a film that never lets you forget how serious and sober-minded it aims to be. As such -- however well-meaning and nice to look at, with all its chiaroscuro fedoras on hand -- it's also sadly a bit of a bore. Throw in an occasionally clunky script (note the particularly egregious God/CIA line near the end, for example) and some considerable miscasting issues (Matt Damon is a good actor, but is thoroughly implausible as a middle-aged man, and Angelina Jolie is too much of a star presence to be wholly believable as the ignored wife) and you have a respectable but ultimately somewhat pedestrian night at the movies. Shepherd gets the job done, I suppose, but it takes no pleasure in it.

When we first meet intelligence analyst Edward Wilson (Matt Damon), the bespectacled Everyman and titular shepherd of the film, it's the spring of 1961, the Bay of Pigs invasion has just gone FUBAR, and America's new president is looking for a few heads to roll over at Langley. In this middle of this spate of job anxiety, Wilson is mysteriously sent a photo and audioreel of a couple in the throes of passion, seemingly somewhere in the Third World. As he sets to work on deciphering this arcane message, Wilson's thoughts wander all the way back to 1939, when he -- a young, idealistic student of poetry at Yale -- was recruited first by the infamous Order of Skull and Bones (a.k.a. preppy fratboys gone wild) and then, after war breaks out in Europe, by the OSS. Along the way, he takes on a number of varied mentors, ranging from a Nazi-sympathizing poetry professor with then-shocking proclivities (Michael Gambon) to a congenial if hobbled general and spymaster (De Niro, playing a variation on Wild Bill Donovan) to a gaggle of fellow scions of the WASP Old Boy Network (representing the Eli's, William Hurt and Lee Pace; representing the Oxford-Cambridge crowd, Billy Crudup with a slipping accent.) He also falls in love, with a (note the symbolism!) kindly, open-hearted deaf co-ed (Tammy Blanchard), and falls, in lust, with a needy, easy, and borderline-psycho socialite (Angelina Jolie, verging on typecasting in a terribly written role, but still quite good.) As the years drag on and the world freezes into Cold War, Wilson finds himself not only engaged in high-stakes cloak-and-dagger gamesmanship against his Soviet counterpart, codenamed Ulysses (Oleg Stefan), but inexorably ceding more of his dreams, his morality, his family, and his very soul to that hungering bastion of the Eastern Establishment mafia, the Central Intelligence Agency. And every time he tries to get out, they keep pulling him back in...

Comparisons to The Godfather are probably as unfair as they are inescapable. Still, for all the striving and sweating on display here, Edward Wilson is ultimately no Michael Corleone. In fact, Damon, while trying admirably, can't plausibly sustain the second "middle-aged" half of the film, and portrays Wilson as too much of a blank (clearly De Niro's decision) to garner much in the way of sympathy or empathy. More resonant in The Good Shepherd are many of the supporting turns, particularly Gambon, John Turturro as Wilson's tough-talking (non-WASP) #2, and Alec Baldwin in a minor role as a hard-living G-man. But they're not enough to put Shepherd over the top, and for every vignette in the film that contains real emotional power -- most notably the interrogation of defector "Valentin Mironov" (Mark Ivanir) -- there are two that, through a combination of directorial straining and an overly intrusive score, spill over into overcooked blandness. (See for example, the plane and letter-burning sequences at the end of the film, both of which are carried for several beats too long and which suffer from paint-by-numbers swelling strings on the soundtrack.) The Good Shepherd is by no means a bad film, but, alas, it's not particularly a good one either. Like a veteran CIA hand, it fades effortlessly into the background, and offers little that might be considered truly memorable.

Hey all...I'm now back in New York City, tan, rested, and ready for whatever 2007 may bring. (I hope.)

"History is a doomed enterprise that we happily pursue because of the thrill of the hunt, because exploring the past is such fun, because of the intellectual challenges involved, because a nation needs to know its own history. Or so we historians insist. Because in the end, a nation's history must be both the guide and the domain not so much of its historians as its citizens." By way of the always-scintillating Late Adopter, the venerable Arthur Schlesinger Jr. contemplates the importance of history to our republic.

We've heard it a few times before, but apparently this time it's for real: A Steven Spielberg-directed Indy 4 is a go, with a David Koepp script and a planned May 2008 release.

In honor of the new year, and since I spend so much time berating him and his historically terrible administration around here, two holiday tips of the hat to, of all people, Dubya. On his watch, the president has "established the world's largest sweep of federally protected ocean" and tripled humanitarian and development aid to Africa. Hey, even a stopped clock is right twice a day.

The source of that Hawaii link above deserves its own posting: DISCOVER magazine presents the Top 100 science stories of 2006.

"The attack ads practically write themselves: Hillary Clinton voted against ethanol! Barack Obama wants to increase taxes!" Already looking to next year's big show, the WP parses Clinton and Obama's respective voting records in the Senate.

As they prepare to take back the House for the first time in twelve years, the Dems look to freeze out any GOP involvement in legislation, at least for the first few weeks. "House Democrats intend to pass a raft of popular measures as part of their well-publicized plan for the first 100 hours. They include tightening ethics rules for lawmakers, raising the minimum wage, allowing more research on stem cells and cutting interest rates on student loans."

"Whenever the courts push back against the administration's unsupportable constitutional ideas...the Bush response is to repeat the same chorus louder: Every detainee is the worst of the worst; every action taken is legal, necessary, and secret. No mistakes, no apologies. No nuance, no regrets. This legal and intellectual intractability can create the illusion that we are standing on the same constitutional ground we stood upon in 2001, even as that ground is sliding away under our feet." Slate's Dahlia Lithwick surveys the top ten most outrageous civil liberties violations of 2006.

So, as I'm guessing you probably heard, Saddam was hung [obit]. Well, as a long-delayed deliverance of justice visited upon a bloodthirsty and sadistic tyrant, the execution may have been a success. But as a piece of political theater and a symbolic and unifying act of statebuilding, it definitely left something to be desired. Unfortunately, even notwithstanding the poorly-timed Shiite revelry, the hanging came across on tape less as a dispassionate exercise by the new Iraqi State than a heated episode of sectarian vigilantism, one that may grant Saddam more power in martyrdom than he's had in life since his capture. Something to consider if and when Osama Bin Laden is ever brought to justice...

Happy new year, everyone. My family and I rang in 2007 in the baggage claim at Norfolk airport, after an exhausting 42-hour New Year's Eve that took us from Turangi to Auckland to LA to Dallas to the EST. So, yes, after much travel, I'm now back in the USA, and will be returning to Gotham in a matter of days (after springing Berk from the local Big House on the 2nd.) Until then, I hope to be catching up on at least some of the recent movies I've missed while overseas...which reminds me, due to the recent travels, I've given myself an extra week to post the usual end-of-year film list...so, sorry for the hold-up, y'all, and happy 2007 once again.