Enjoying The Fight

The Fighter is the latest effort from controversy magnet David O'Russell. Although he may be best known to the general public as being a brief viral sensation thanks to an expletive filled diatribe aimed at Lily Tomlin on the set of I Heart Huckabees . However, I have loved him since his work on the subversive, chatty, and also-Mark Whalberg filled Three Kings.

In a lot of ways, The Fighter is best interpreted through the lens of someone who has seen and loved most of O'Russell's movie, and it is also, coincidentally, one of the best movies in his wheelhouse. It uses the boxing/true life underdog story troupes masterfully to tell a story that is purely O'Russell. See the trademark witty dialogue, deeply flawed and interesting characters, and add in a dash of Lowell, Massachusetts flavor, and you get a movie that feels at once worn (unless this is an oscar-winning Clint Eastwood movie, most sports films end one way and one way only) and invigorated, as though the freedom from subverting plot cliches allowed O'Russel to delve so deeply into his characters that the actors seem alive to an extent that even the most talented among them has been missing lately.

So let's talk about those actors, shall we? We'll start with the most obvious: Christian Bale. To say I am a fan of Christian Bale's work is a pretty huge understatement. I've seen nearly every film he's ever made, and as such I know exactly how much range and depth he has in him. He's a chameleon of a character actor trapped within the body of Batman. Early in his career (or earlier, at least) he played this for all its worth in the fantastically bloody American Psycho, but his ability has transcended work in far less showy films as well (Rescue Dawn, Swing Kids, Empire of the Sun, Laurel Canyon, to name a few). However, over the past three or so years, he's mostly been relegated to bringing over-serious gravitas to action films of varying degrees of interest.

What The Fighter does for Christian Bale, and this is kind of surprising given that he plays a semi-emaciated crack addict whose emotional journey is the hinge on which the plot rests, is allow him to be the comedic relief. Sure, this is dark-as-dark comedy, but the ability to loosen up and swagger about the screen with the convoluted rhythms of a hyperactive ex-boxer really allows Bale to shine in a way he hasn't for the past couple of films.

As for the rest of the cast, Mark Whalberg puts his marky mark abs to good use, but mostly he brings a quiet, muted heart to the film. If we don't believe in Whalberg's Mickey, in his love for his family, love for his self, and love for boxing, then we don't buy the movie, period. And Whalberg gives a career best leading performance by allowing his rage, and hurt and promise to simmer beneath the surface. Playing a kid from Massachusetts who almost, but not quite, let's rage and drugs and a crappy childhood override his promise isn't exactly a stretch for the kid (seriously, read his biography on wikipedia sometime. It's fascinating stuff), but Whalberg never seems like the caricature that Andy Samberg once captured so nicely as, "Hey goat, did you see that movie the perfect storm, goat? I was in that movie. Did you like that movie goat? Say hello to your mother for me, okay?"

But the true super star of the bunch is Amy Adams, who manages to play "that woman Charlene" with a street smart intensity that seems surprising from a woman who once completely embodied a live action Disney Princess. Although her part is not quite as showy as some of the others in the film, its her mouthy, tough-as-nails Charlene whose the fuel on the fire of this film.

Of course, The Fighter is NOT by any means a perfect film. As said before, it follows the boxing movie cliches a little too closely, and it might have been easier to take had the film always seemed in control of its own hackneyed antics. On top of that, the last fifteen minutes, Mickey's crowning glory, are cheesy, even if you (like me) are so invested at this point of the film that you're clapping as though Mickey can hear your support. It's as though O'Russell spent so much energy crafting these characters and actors perfectly that he simply lost energy in putting the same verisimilitude into the final 15 minutes.

But that's okay. To an extent, The Fighter works because of and in spite of these flaws. It is absolutely a showcase for Whalberg, Adams and Bale, and on top of that a rousing success story told very, very well.

Tis (a little after) The Season: Slightly Delayed Installment

When I think of Christmas, there is no image more indelibly burned into my brain than that of my whole family gathered together on the couch watching The Muppet Christmas Carol. It is a pop culture ritual unparalleled in my existence. Sure, we often turn on It's a Wonderful Life, or flip through the never ending marathon of A Christmas Story. I've even recently started insisting on starting the season with a viewing of Love Actually. But The Muppet's Christmas Carol is an absolute necessity to the yuletide. I'm not sure where the tradition started, or when we all realized that it was so important, but I do know that every year since I could remember has found all four of us watching Michael Caine, Kermit the Frog, Gonzo (pardon me, Charles Dickens), and Rizzo make their way through the classic tale.

As such, I don't necessarily feel that I can review the movie with anything resembling journalistic objectivity. But such is the curse of the Christmas movie- a really well done one tends to melt the cynical cocoon of even the most hardened reviewers hearts.

The Muppets Christmas Carol is not only a great rendering of the classic tale (over on Cinematical, they recently confirmed my secret suspicion that it's actually one of the more faithful adaptations of the story) but it's also a very funny muppets movie, catering (as those muppets are wont to do) to children of all ages. As such, mixing the familiarity and comfort of the muppets with the well-worn tropes of A Christmas Carol leads to something that feels at once timeless and familiar.

In the end, The Muppets Christmas Carol is MY favorite Christmas movie, but since I think that's as arbitrary and personal as asking what one's favorite color is *, I'm curious: what's yours? What movie has stuck in your brain with all the staying power of Rizzo and Gonzo clinging onto Scrooge's leg?

*Mine is blue, and if you think anything else, you're wrong.

The 2010 My Cinema Award Nominees

Today marks the expansion of a tradition at My Entertainment World. Following in the footsteps of My TV, this year My Cinema is giving out our own awards. The following is a list of the 2010 My Cinema Award nominees. The winners will be announced in the New Year. Feel free to comment with your votes and predictions (or complaints about nominees you think we missed!)

Black Swan: hate

a review by Kelly

Black Swan has one of the freshest ratings on Rotten Tomatoes' current chart. It's got award nominations, critical praise and excellent buzz. And once again I'm left as that weird reviewer over there who just doesn't get it. (This feels like another Slumdog Millionaire, a film which I fundamentally didn't like, about which absolutely no one agreed with me). I hated Black Swan. And I don't mean mildly. I found it stupid, obvious, pandering and pretentious. I will grant that Natalie Portman, Barabara Hershey and Mila Kunis all deliver fabulous performances and that there are some interesting visuals. That is as far as I will go for this strange genre piece that feels like little more than avant-garde Oscar fodder. 

The whole thing was absurd. A good thriller pulls you in; if you find yourself sitting cross-armed telling the characters how to get their act together, it's probably not a good thing. Don't get me wrong, I really do enjoy a good psychological thriller, and no, I am not one of those people who went in expecting a different genre then was annoyed with the film's style. I just think this was a bad psychological thriller.

Thematically, Black Swan works as a fascinating follow-up to 2008's sublime Aronofsky film The Wrestler. But while that film was one of the most subtle and intelligent I've seen in years, Black Swan hits you over the head with THEME and GENRE and ART the second you sit down. From the mandatory early shots of dancers savagely prepping their toe shoes to the overly-crescendoed Tchaikovsky score to the gratuitous intermingling of all things heavy breath worthy (dance, sex and violence- oh my!), Black Swan is a study in lack of subtlety. Is there anything less inventive than dressing your ingenue all in white and gradually introducing dark elements to her visually as she spirals into grey moral territory?! Seriously people, character by numbers isn't a game for adults!

The central premise of the film (or rather, the film's only plot) is the psychological meltdown of  Portman's Nina, a girl plagued with mom issues, sex issues, food issues, self esteem issues (not-discussed but definitely relevant absent father issues) and a whole other host of crazy. In reality, Nina has to deal with a douchey but otherwise inoffensive director (Vincent Cassel), an absurd diva (Winona Ryder, in a terrifyingly over-the-top performance), a perfectly nice but I suppose mildly threatening "rival" (Kunis) and a crazy mother (Hershey)... oh, and I suppose the immense pressures of getting exactly what not only you wanted but literally asked for. Essentially, every problem in the film would go away if the girl could take the simple advice of "Get A Fucking Grip!", something I felt like shouting perpetually during the painful 108 minutes.

***SPOILER ALERT***

It's worth noting that if Nina's "murder" of Lily (Kunis) had real consequences a lot of my issues would have been made much smaller. With such an unlikable heroine and no true villain, it would have been a lot more compelling if she'd had a victim other than herself (the ambiguous Lily is the perfect candidate). As it is, the only person who gets hurt is Nina, who (no empathy here) brings it largely on herself and thus, cold, heartless me simply doesn't care. Apathy- not good.
***END OF SPOILER***

So I know no one agrees with me, but my hatred of this film knows very few bounds. If a film's going to be that unpleasant to watch, it has to teach me something, or inspire something. All Black Swan inspired was anger.

Black Swan: love

a review by Rachael 

Some movies are all about the interaction between the audience and the film. Most comedies are like this. You are meant to react to the movie as yourself, and it is almost as though a conversation is going on between you (as audience member) and the story being told, but you remain remote and yourself throughout the viewing experience, even as you are pulled into the story.

Other stories immerse you, surround you, bury your own consciousness within the frame of the film's consciousness and leave you completely vulnerable to the attack of what's on the screen. Good horror films do this. It's why in many bad horror films there is a moment when you pull back, realize that the things on screen could never actually occur. Suddenly, you are no longer immersed in the film's narrative, you are a separate entity easily capable of dissecting the bad guy's idiotic schemes in carefully chosen phrases like, "But why would a primordial evil make a video tape?"

But when the second type of film is done well, it can feel transformative, not to mention scary as hell. The success of Darren Aronofsky's ambitious new effort, I believe, lies in whether or not you think he pulled off the second type of film.

Saying up front, I think he did. For the two hours I spent watching Black Swan, I could feel the ordinary Rachael mind frame slipping away to be temporarily replaced with the horrid drama of ballerina Nina's descent. This complete immersion (which, yes, also mirrors the horror going on within the movie) is what keeps you glued to the screen.

Black Swan follows the travails of Nina (Natalie Portman), a struggling but talented ballerina obsessed with perfection at her art to the extent that it stunts her emotional, physical and sexual growth. All three are important within the film. She lives in her mother's house surrounded by the fluffy pink relics of childhood that should have long past. Her mother remains a constant presence in her life, controlling her decisions and attempting to keep her in a state of perpetual 10-year-old-ballerina. Her lanky, too-thin body seems simultaneously capable of impossible feats and stunted and bruised. And as for her sexual growth, despite her claim of having had a few boyfriends, its obvious that this perpetual victim has no claim over her own sexuality, having completely subverted it in order to achieve some sort of chaste perfection.

Nina has been perpetually ignored for starring roles until the chance comes to play the Swan Queen in Swan Lake. The director (played with charming-but-creepy-french-perfection by Vincent Cassel) knows she's perfect for the White Swan, but doubts her ability to plumb her sexuality and depths for the role of the duplicitous black swan. As Nina dives in as deep as she dares, her already tenuous grasp on reality begins to falter, and we're taken into a head dive of jealousy and self-torture in the form of terrifying visions of swan-transformations and Mila Kunis (who, in this film, possesses a fiery, world-weary passion I would not have expected from the erst-while Jackie).

The film is a visual splendor, mixing reality and fantasy but always remaining grounded in the dark shadows of the best horror films. And Arronofsky uses his always interesting, but occasionally off putting, visual flair to good use in this overtly theatrical yet "stripped down" rendition of psychosis.
Thematically, the film fits in perfectly with Arronofosky's previous effort, The Wrestler, which saw a washed up wrestling star desperate to regain his life after years of literally sacrificing his body, health, and sanity to his sport. Nina may not envy Mickey Rourke's steroid-induced musculature, but she would recognize a kindred spirit in his self-sacrificing quest for perfection of a very specific variety.
But the depths to which Nina sinks, and the extent to which she loses herself within her performance, are also much deeper reflections on the relationship between art, artist, and viewer. As portrayed by Natalie Portman, Nina is not a likable character, but by the end of the film we believe in her quest. In the tragic final scenes, even as hope seemed to dash out of frame with Nina's every grasp towards it, I still felt her drive and passion for performance so acutely that I, like Nina, was willing for her to forego all other measures of sanity and success in pursuit of it. This story, whatever the stagecraft around it, belongs to Nina and our investment in her as a character and Portman as a performer is deeply necessary to the film's success.

Much has been made in the press about Natalie Portman's physical transformation. The already pretty tiny actress dropped about 20 lbs for the role and endured a fairly Nina-esque training regimen for the part. A few websites are decrying this as poor role modeling (never mind that Christian Bale does it for nearly every role, and everyone in the press calls it actorly heroism), but this method dedication to the role pays off in how deeply invested we are in Nina's struggle, even as we know that it isn't healthy, sane, or going to end particularly well.

In the end, Black Swan is a dark, occasionally pretentious film firing on all cylinders, with the art and stagecraft backed up by a compelling psychological premise. On top of that, it's a surprisingly adept genre film, proving that scares don't come from excessive blood and torture but through the expert application of film techniques that draw the viewer so completely into the picture that it feels almost as if their safety is threatened along with Nina's.

Blood and Guts and Sheer Will

 127 Hours is a lot. And very little. And all sorts of things. It's a bit of a slog, it's beautifully shot, it's the James Franco show, it's bloody, it's tough, but mostly, it's pretty amazing.

There are two superstars who really make 127 Hours what it is (aside, obviously, from Aron Ralston, the real life protagonist whose memoir the film recounts): director Danny Boyle and star James Franco.

The film has very little story to tell before and after Ralston is trapped by a bolder in a canyon, that means for maybe 80% of the film's 94 minutes, all Boyle had to work with is a rock, a hard place, one guy and a rucksack. So that's what he uses. Boyle creates the horrifying reality of Ralston's shrinking world brilliantly using a video camera as his Wilson-of-sorts (to invoke the same comparison as every other reviewer out there) and his dwindling supplies as a representational countdown. As Ralston goes without sleep, runs out of water and generally begins to slip away from reality, Boyle creates a colourful dreamworld of memories and delusions for both Ralston and the audience to escape to in avoidance of the treacherous reality. Visually stunning and directed with great pathos, 127 Hours is a directorial tour de force from Danny Boyle.

And speaking of tour de force, if there was ever a part for a guy like James Franco to really bite into its this one. A talented if eccentric actor, Franco's perhaps the least predictable project picker in Hollywood. But thank god he picked this one, because I can't imagine anyone else playing it quite so well. Armed with an elusive sort of charm, Franco perfectly captures the essence of a man who could easily slip into a fun afternoon of adventure with a couple of girls he meets in the middle of nowhere then turn around and seek out absolute solitude. 

From the moment that rock slides into place trapping him, to the moment he torturously frees himself by cutting off his arm, Franco commands the camera effortlessly, alone. His panic, sadness, hysteria and desperate humour lead the audience through a tumultuous psychological journey right alongside him. The moment when he demands of himself that he not lose it is truly unbelievable. The small details of survival- the careful rationing of a single canteen of water, the painful moistening of hardened contact lenses- are the worst, they make the dull ache of time passing leading up to the final (and now infamous) amputation so unbearable that you're rooting for freedom at any cost.

Ultimately, in spite of the blood and gore and horribly unpleasant slow walk towards death-ness, 127 Hours is the most triumphant movie I've seen in quite some time. It's about survival and the amazing things that we're capable of, even when (or especially when) literally trapped between a rock and a hard place. It's the story of a remarkable man told by two remarkable artists. I walked out of that theatre and saw a slightly different world. In his 127 hours of captivity, Ralston lived for the 15 minutes of sunlight he got each morning. The privilege of walking out of that theatre, pinned down by nothing, with all of my limbs and the ability to feel the sunlight on my face felt like such a remarkable gift. It's a powerful film that changes the way you see the world, even just temporarily. 127 Hours is nothing if not inspiring. It's a story about the power of will, a tribute to a man who decided he was going to be okay; he decided to live, and so he did. What a concept.

Fair Game

The true story of Valerie Plame, the CIA agent who was exposed by the Bush White House as payback for her diplomat husband speaking out of turn, is enthralling. It's got built-in suspense, fascinating characters, some of the highest stakes ever to make it onto the page of a screenplay. The film stars the excellent Naomi Watts and a top-of-his-game Sean Penn and was directed by Doug Liman, the captain of such powerful vehicles as Mr. and Mrs. Smith and The Bourne Identity. It should have been captivating.

But it was just okay.

It was fine. It was interesting at times but not quite as interesting as it should have been. It was engaging at times but never quite as engaging as it should have been. My feelings about Fair Game can basically be summed up in the fact that my favourite parts were 2 sequences where Valerie and Joe had dinner with their friends (played by such wonderful people as Norbert Leo Butz, Ty Burrell, Brooke Smith and Jessica Hecht- seriously, at about 2 lines each this was a strangely all-star cast). It was in these brief scenes that my interest was really peaked- dinner party chatter. Casual political debate that never remains casual, the dichotomy of the decently informed citizen and the actual insider- that's where the issues lived, in the difference between what's true and what smart people are allowed to know. That was the best part of the movie- the periphery friends who don't know what they're talking about.

Joaquin Phoenix Is, in fact, Still Here

 It's been month since I saw I'm Still Here, Casey Affleck's disturbing and unpleasant documentary about Joaquin Phoenix's meltdown and coinciding quest to become a rapper. Despite the gross lateness of this review, I actually saw the film the week it came out, before I'd had a chance to read any articles informing me that the whole thing had been a piece of performance art. Thing is, I went into the tiny screening room at Boston's Coolidge Corner theatre 100% sure it was performance art. Phoenix had never seemed comfortable in Hollywood but he also didn't seem unhinged to the point where I bought his behaviour. But then I saw the film. It was horrifying. It was the most unpleasant thing I've seen at the movies in years. And I'm quite certain that it was actually brilliant.

Needless to say, in less than 2 hours, Phoenix managed to make me completely reverse my opinion on his behaviour. Without the lens of the tabloids in front of it, I started to believe in his breakdown. 

I came out of that theatre infuriated. I was mad at Phoenix for allowing himself to fall off a cliff, essentially robbing the world of one of his generation's greatest acting talents (his performance in Gladiator is, to this day, one of my all-time favourites). I was mad at Casey Affleck for exploiting his descent. But mostly, I was mad at Phoenix's friends for not bothering to catch him. Or "friends" rather. It was their job to at least try and help him; if your friend is headed for disaster, blindly agreeing with them does no one any good- you have to call them on their crap, straighten them out, essentially, don't let Lear banish Cordelia without taking a moment to play Kent. Interestingly, Sean "Puffy" Combs is somewhat of a rare good influence in the film, supporting Phoenix while trying a little bit to break his delusion. There's also one friend, Anton, who stands up to the raging Phoenix, but by the time he does, the man is so far down the rabbit hole that he's doing little more than saving himself by rebelling. In the film, Phoenix is surrounded by people, all the time, and doesn't have a soul to lean on.

As viewers, we aren't guilt-free either. As I sat there in the theatre, I remembered giggling gleefully at the awkwardness of Phoenix's infamous Letterman interview. I remembered thinking the talk show host was so clever as he poked fun at his despondent guest, making the "best" of the botched interview. But I'm Still Here offers the audience the 2 minutes after Letterman wraps. Phoenix stumbles backstage, terrified. He doesn't cry, he doesn't scream (the desperate tantrum comes later), he just stares and quietly swears, defeated. That moment made me cry, for the trampled Phoenix, for his promising career, for my ridiculous self, plagued with guilt over having once laughed alongside the bully beating a beaten Phoenix further down. That incredibly human scene of a trapped man desperate to pull himself out of a hole and not sure how, that's what had me convinced it was all true. I didn't think he could fake that.

But he could. Of course he could. If I'd really thought about it, and maybe stopped to remember Gladiator during one of those many hard-to-watch sequences involving cocaine and hookers, I'd have known Phoenix could fake that. He's really good. REALLY good. I think that's what we all managed to forget in the past 2 years, when this supposed "meltdown" was playing out in the tabloids (and I abandoned as soon as the film's disturbing images began to take priority). It's amazing how quickly the world can abandon a truly phenomenal talent when we deem them "weird". It wasn't just his terrible friends who refused to help Phoenix, it was everyone- the media, the audience, the industry (except, it seems, Puff Daddy), who'd rather laugh at him than try and get him back.

In essence, Phoenix presented as a man uncomfortable in his own skin, horrified by the box Hollywood had put him in and unsure how to deal with the world pressing in on him. Hoisted on the shoulders of the tragically long list of brilliant artists who've had an honest-to-god fatal fall because of these same issues, I'm Still Here brings up all sorts of depressing thoughts of Heath Ledger, Michael Jackson, Kurt Cobain, and even Phoenix's own brother River. It truly was the performance of a lifetime, but apart from that, I'm Still Here is a searing mirror help up to our glib, unforgiving faces. It takes our absurd relationship to celebrity, flips it on its head and threatens us with the consequences of the way we are. Phoenix and Affleck's "documentary" is convincing, horrifying, and the fact that it isn't true makes it no less right.

'Tis the Season... Installment 7 Halloweentowne Edition

I'm sure I've seen The Nightmare Before Christmas at least three or four times in my lifetime, yet it's never been one of my Christmas movies. I think maybe I seceded it to the goth kids shopping at Hot Topics in high school, and just never bothered to take it back.

So it is that watching The Nightmare Before Christmas as a (semi) adult, it felt almost like the first viewing. In fact, the closest thing I can compare it to is watching Casablanca for the first time and feeling that vague sensation of deja vu even though you know you've never actually seen Humphrey Bogart's face before.

It's worth it to remember just how revolutionary this movie was when it first came out. In a way, Tim Burton was perverting the claymation magic of Rudolph and Frosty and the other classics of the stilted absurdist medium to make his Halloween-ified Christmas movie. Now it seems almost cliched to see the love interest with her stitched up mouth, and Jack's elongated skeleton frame dancing through the screen, but back when this movie came out it was pretty new and different.

And yet The Nightmare Before Christmas is really the most classic of holiday movies: one that grapples with the meaning of Christmas, especially since most of us don't forever live in Christmastowne. It's protagonist, Jack, is the king of Halloweentown (in a metaphorical sense), a man who has made his fortune and reputation on scares and danger. He becomes obsessed with the glee and happiness he briefly glimpses in Christmastowne and looks to bring it back to the cold dreariness of his Halloween world. Unfortunately, as he attempts to apply the scientific method to the study of Christmas, he horribly misjudges the meaning and attempts to take Christmas and pervert it to the world of perpetual All Hallows Eve.

When Jack realizes his mistake and starts to grasp the true meaning of Christmas, he still has to contend with the evil Oogie Boogie in order to save Christmas. It's a classic Christmas adventure made all the more moving and intriguing for its imagery of vampires and werewolves (working together? Now that IS Christmas magic!). For Jack, Christmas is ultimately a time for him to exceed the supposed limits of his life and to realize his dreams, as long as he doesn't hurt anyone else in the process (such as the poor, mistakenly kidnapped Easter Bunny).

A Nightmare Before Christmas is a movie that is simultaneously dated and timeless. The visuals are still pretty impressive (if not quite as unique), but it's really the stories and the endlessly catchy songs that make it worthwhile.

Thor?

Posted by Rachael

I am a comic book nerd, and a huge fan of movie adaptations of same, and yet the Thor movie (even with Kenneth Brannagh in the director's chair and Kirk's daddy playing the man himself) never really sparked my interest. But even my apathy couldn't survive this surprisingly intriguing trailer, which manages to even make that freaking helmet look less-than-goofy.

(I wanted to embed the trailer, but it wouldn't let me do any of the decent quality ones, so just grab this link to check it out in glorious HD)

'Tis The Season ... Installment 6 Holiday Violence Edition

Kiss Kiss Bang Bang is definitely one of my all time favorite holiday movies. The story is of a criminal (Robert Downey Jr.) who, through a series of misadventures ends up being groomed to play a Private Eye for a Hollywood movie, and gets caught up in a real life film noir involving a murdered heiress, a long-lost love, Hollywood shennanigans, and a giant robot.

It's written and directed by Shane Black, who made a big name for himself in the 80s when he wrote movies like The Long Kiss Goodnight and Leathal Weapon, and practically held the patent on witty action movies. And it's even funnier and actionier than those credits would imply.

Robert Downey Jr. is in his element as a the dull-witted, fast talking unlikely action hero and Val Kilmer is legitimately better than he's ever been as Gay Perry (the private detective consultant working with Downey). Michelle Monaghan as the struggling actress love interest is fantastic, the perfect mixture of old school noir sexy and new school neurotic.

But this isn't a movie review - it's a Christmas movie review. And what makes Kiss Kiss Bang Bang such a great Christmas movie?

At their hearts, Christmas movies are about the sadness of life mixed with the hope that the annual family get together can somehow change the course of your life. In Kiss Kiss Bang Bang Robert Downey Jr. meets up with his childhood sweetheart (his version of family) and suddenly the same downward spiral that has characterized Harry's life thus far is broken.

The combination of film noir, Christmas absurdity, and post-modern verbal diarrhea turns into something uplifting, amusing and surprisingly wholesome for a movie with lots of boob-shots and casual f-bombs.

Plus it's gosh darn hilarious.

Exhibit A:

Perry: Look up the word idiot in the dictionary. You know what you'll see?

Harry: a picture of me?

Perry: No. The definition of the word idiot, which is what you are!

Exhibit B:

Harry: Man I feel sore. I mean physically, not like a guy who's angry in a 50s movie."

'Tis The Season... Installment 5

The Holiday, in many ways, is exactly what people are complaining about when they bemoan the death of the modern romantic comedy. It is about to unlucky in love women who swap houses for the Christmas holiday and subsequently meet new men and have their lives change. Along the way, the women flop about, drink too much, monologue their feelings out loud, and generally make a fool of themselves.

On another hand, The Holiday is also what people think of when they think of a bad Christmas movie. IT takes the Christmas holiday and uses it to elevate an otherwise unremarkable romantic comedy. The movie has nothing profound to say about Christmas, or innocence, or religion, it merely uses the green and red background to inspire in its viewers a sense of homey nostalgia.

And yet... I sort of love it. You've got Cameron Diaz doing what she does best (sassy girls doing goofy physical comedy), Jude Law at his smarmy English best, and Jack Black giving the most understated and endearing performance of his career. Kate Winslet, as Iris, is certainly good-enough, but in a career like Kate's it's hard to really take note.

On top of that, the characters are surprisingly sharp and interesting, and the dialogue good enough and snappy enough to allow the actors to show off their talents. It's in many ways a lowest-common-denominator movie, but made well enough that you can enjoy the Christmas-coated fuzziness of a movie that also includes not just a wise-beyond-her-years-motherless-daughter but ALSO a wise-as-is-appropriate-to-his-years-grumpy-old-man.

'Tis The Season... Installment 4 Slightly Dubious Double Feature

Posted by Rachael Today I indulged in a double feature of movies that I have always associated with Christmas, even if they're not the typical type that grace best of Christmas lists. But both of the following films have famous climactic scenes that take place during the Christmas holiday and that wouldn't have the same poignancy without their festive surroundings.

The first of these two was one of my all time favorite "guilty pleasure" movies, Bridget Jones's Diary. The tale of perenial singleton Jones, manipulative but sexy Daniel Cleaver, and dream boat Mark Darcy has brought many a-chuckles to single ladies the world over. But it's the iconic drinking-alone-set-to-"All-by-Myself"-at-Christmas scene that has always stuck with me. That plus the Christmas sweater that is Mark Darcy's introduction has always steeped Jones in christmas depression and hope simultaneously.

The second of my abnormal Christmas movies is When Harry Met Sally, a movie bookended by bittersweet New Years Celebrations, also makes my Christmas list. Despite the fact that the movie spans years (and therefore certainly has a scope bigger than just the Holiday season), it's the sense of occasion and romance that elevates some of the biggest moments.

I know that neither movie is really a Christmas movie - neither features a major subplot involving Santa Claus nor an adorable little girl who has her faith in humanity reaffirmed, but they both use the context of the holidays to heighten their characters emotional distress and draw them towards act of over-the-top romance. And they ultimately put me in the right seasonal mood, full of hope and occasion.

'Tis The Season ... Installment 3: Slightly off-putting family drama edition

Posted by Rachael

So far I've dealt only with Christmas movies that I've loved. This installment is one that kind of takes me aback a little bit when I watch it: The Family Stone.

If you don't remember The Family Stone, or if it doesnt grace your beloved Christmas-movies list, I don't blame ya. It came out in 2005, and with its cast of highly-marketable and diverse actors, was marketed as a wacky family comedy about bringing the girlfriend home to the parents. Maybe you remember it? Check out the trailer below:

See? It's kooky holiday fun! And with its cast of Diane Keaton, Sarah Jessica Parker, Claire Danes, Rachel McAdams, Dermot Mulroney, Craig T. Nelson and Luke Wilson, and a plot description on IMDB that reads like a wacky Meet-the-Parents-meets-Christmas rip off*, I remember settling into a movie filled with wacky, messy hijinks and christmas-time nostalgia.

What you get when you watch The Family Stone is something massively different. It is in fact a much more heart felt dramedy, dealing with the ramifications of growing up, becoming your own person, and losing your parents, of all things, and very deftly uses the Christmas holiday as an excuse to bring together a family of loving individuals who don't really know how to fully deal with each other as adults. They're kooky, I guess, but mostly they're just normal people dealing with the same stuff all of us do when we go home. They meet up with relatives who they see maybe once or twice a year, and are dealing with the fascinating contrast between loving these people unconditionally and not quite knowing how to interact with them.

Add to that the (SPOILER ALERT) rather shocking plot involving Diane Keaton's inoperable breast cancer and each of her children finding out (on Christmas!) that their mother probably won't be around next Christmas, and you certainly don't have a Robert Deniro/Ben Stiller farce on your hands. And so the first time I watched The Family Stone, I had absolutely no idea how to take it.

But in rewatching it this Christmas as part of me ongoing attempt to chronicle every step of the Christmas experience, I was amazed with how fascinating a film it is. At times unwatchable for how unlikeable it allows Sarah Jessica Parker's character to be, and at others profound for how much it recognizes the absurdities of every day life, The Family Stone is almost the perfect antidote to normal Christmas fare. It knows that Christmas doesn't magically fix everything (there's no comforting ending montage, as their is in Love, Actually, meant to make us believe that everyone's lives were happier after than before), while still trying desperately to believe in the magic of Christmas and of the familial connections that make Christmas worthwhile.

Of course, there's also an absurd sibling-switching storyline, and a good amount of food getting accidentally onto people's clothes, so it's far from a perfect movie. But viewed in the right context (and with the right amount of hot chocolate mixed with peppermint schnapps), it's a fascinating offset for the sugary likes of Elf.

* The actual, and completely inaccurate, description:

"An uptight, conservative business woman accompanies her boyfriend to his eccentric and outgoing family's annual holiday celebration and finds that she's a fish out of water in their free spirited way of life."

'Tis The Season... Installment 2

Posted by Rachael

The second movie in our holiday-viewing docket is Elf, another new classic. At once heartfelt and hilarious, Elf consciously conjures up a childish sense of wonder while playing to an audience that ranges from the littlest tykes to middle aged Will Ferrell fans.

The story of Buddy the 6+ ft elf is a unique one within the Christmas movie pantheon: Buddy was abandoned as an orphan, accidentally stowed away on a bag to the North Pole, and was raised among Santa and his toy making ilk. When he grows up to be Will Ferrell, his ungainly size and general non-elfness make him realize what he should have known all along: he's not an elf, he's a human, and he has a non-elfen father on the Naughty List in New York City.

After a fantastic sequence in which Will Ferrell wanders through a claymation version of the North Pole in a nod to classic Christmas fare, Buddy makes it to NYC, where he's just as much of a misfit among the work-a-day cynics who populate there. He works at Gimbels, befriends his fellow "elf" (a disarmingly blond Zooey Deschanel) and worms his way into his father's family's hearts, despite the fact that he seems like a tights-wearing psychopath. But when the general lack-of-belief causes Santa to crash land in the middle of Central Park, everyone's belief is really put to the test.

In the end, Elf is more about how much fun it is to be a kid than it is even about Christmas. It uses the santa metaphor to make the popular argument that strangling our inner child probably isn't the best way to go through life. It's Will Ferrell's complete conviction with this idea that makes Elf so much fun. It's a gleeful film, filled with moments, both tiny and oversized, of hilarity.

Tangled Up

Posted by Rachael

I have a confession to make. Despite years of soccer-playing, action-figure-collecting, comic-book-reading, action-movie-loving tomboy-ery, I've always, truly, wanted to be a Disney princess. But I didn't want to be just any princess: I wanted to be Belle, the confident heroine who ultimately saves herself and her love with her brains and good heart.

This is hardly a unique statement. Generations upon generations of girls the world over have day dreamed about being a disney princess. But it's the neccessary context around which to understand my reaction to Disney's Tangled.

The newest Disney film follows Rapunzel (Mandy Moore) and Flynn (Zachary Levi) as they evade a wicked wit, uh Old Lady, chase their dreams, banter, interact with adorable anthropomorphized animals, and, inevitably, fall in love. It was cliched before Enchanted came out and set it in the real world, but it definitely feels worn in this hour of post-modern Shrek-ery and Pixar films.

But god damn. That so doesn't matter. The beauty of a true Disney film is not in the shocks of the plot (although Tangled is an excellently constructed story), but in the magic that floats off the screen. The animation is top-notch, the voice work across the board excellent, and the songs (as drafted by Disney vet Alan Menken) are fantastic.

top of that, Rapunzel is a heroine for the ages. The movie feels at once classic (there's no meta-winks at the camera, no irony to be found here) and modern (yet the film doesn't feel the need to relegate Rapunzel to a pre-Mulan damsel in distress mode). As voiced by Moore, she's spunky, intelligent, innocent, engaging, and active, constantly working towards her own freedom and her own happy ending. If the feminist in me has always had a sort of love-hate relationship with the princess side of me, both sides happily coexisted while I was in that theater.

A lot of reviews I've read feel the need to explain now what Tangled isn't (oscar-worthy, a Pixar film, going to cure cancer), as if the reviewer feels a little ashamed of how much they fell in love while in that movie theater. But screw it. If my life was the Disney movie I wish it was, then walking out of that theater I was in full blown ballad-mode, and not the beginning, heart-felt longing ballad, but the near end of movie I'm so happy my head could burst ballad. And if that's all a movie has to give me, I feel no need to appologize for my adoration of it.

Disney recently announced that Tangled is the last of their princess movies, and seeing the film made me realize what a shame that truly is. It isn't just the songs or the pretty dresses or the cute animals; it's the princesses themselves who, when done right, are much better than just future dolls, they're the fully-realized version of who we wish we were. and as long as the princesses are as fantastic and interesting as Rapunzel, that's a good thing.

'Tis the Season...

Posted by Rachael

For Christmas movies.

The "Holiday" season has never really begun for me until I allow myself to slip into the pop culture cocoon of movies, tv shows, and music specifically designed to activate the heart tingling part of us all that wants to give ourselves over to childish optimism. And nothing is quite as essential as the Holiday movie parade, those classics and not-so-classics of the silver screen that annually grace my home theater in the hopes of capturing some christmas joy.

I have a lot of Christmas movies, so this year I'm going to chronicle my way through them as I watch them. Christmas is a process for this half-jewish girl, that starts the day after Thanksgiving on my mother's couch and ends on Christmas night at the movie theater. In between is a cornucopia of different films, in varying degrees of quality and belovedness.

The first movie on this year's docket is Love, Actually. It's purposefully a "new" classic. It's one of those movies that I have legitimately watched over 15 times and it never really gets old.

It's not that I think Love, Actually is one of the best movies of all time, or even the best Christmas movie of all time, although I do think that sometimes people refuse to see the excellent movie beneath the cliches. But the real reason why Love Actually makes this list is because of that the delightful mixture of old fashioned optimism with sometimes uncomfortable levels of reality that somehow makes Love Actually one of the most uplifting and hopeful movies of all time.

On top of that, it is a movie drenched in the popular culture infused wrappings of modern day Christmas, where pop songs and movies coexist with nativity plays at schools and private celebrations at home. It's love is hard won, whether its the midlife itch of Alan Rickman or the brotherly love that is all that's left for Laura Linney. And if at the end you're not singing along with Uncle Billy as he croons, "So if you really love Christmas, come on and let it snow," then you're probably a grinch. Or possibly Jewish.

...And The Deathly Hallows

If I were to remake the list below, Deathly Hallows would easily and handily fall at number 1. It wouldn't even be a debate. Let's just get this out of the way, right here: to me, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows was easily the best film of the series, the best adaptation of a Potter book, and one of the best films of this year.

In a lot of ways, DH represented the perfect melding of book and movie. Freed from the crunching time constraints that the last four books have had to deal with, and with a fanbase that have almost all aged out of tweendom and strongly into "legitimate adult audience" world, Deathly Hallows is, appropriately, the most adult and compelling of the films.

I'm going to attempt not to conflate the book's excellence with the movie's own excellence. Of course Deathly Hallows tells a deeply fulfilling and appropriate story: we already read the damn book. JK Rowling's concluding chapter was a masterpiece of devotion to theme and character and the culmination of years of effort. But the movie lives up to this standard by taking the excellent material laid down and making it come to life cinematically.

As directed by David Yates, far less of the Harry Potter emotional journey is spelled out than ever before. The characters are going through some of the most intense emotions they've ever felt, but gone are the days when they will, child-like, spit it all out at the camera. Yates has such faith in his actors and audience that finally the series lets subtext remain subtext. You don't need to be told every detail of what's going on. We don't need Harry, Ron or Hermione to ever monologue about how weird it feels knowing the whole fate of the wizarding world lies on their shoulder, or how much more serious the danger is in this installment. In true cinematic form, we can tell from the imagery (Hermione's hands caked in Ron's blood, the casual death of a Hogwarts professor, Harry and Hermione's make out scene) and from the quiet moments (like Hermione's thoughtful line as the trio stands alone in Grimmauld Place, "We're alone.").

The way you can really tell that this is an excellent adaptation of the books is in the stuff that it just plain makes up. From the first shot of Hermione wiping her parents memory to protect them (which is mentioned in the book but not shown), you can tell that Yates and Kloves understands exactly what this means and they're counting on you to get it too. And damn if Emma Watson isn't knocking it out of the park, showing both Hermione's steely, bad-ass determination and how much it deeply hurts her to have to do this to her parents at the ripe old age of 17.

Or take the oft-discussed tent scene. It takes place right after Ron has (spoiler alert) left Hermione and Harry in a fit of horcrux-and-jealousy-induced rage. Hermione has been a vacant mess. Harry, being a good friend, starts goofy dancing with her to cheer her up. But they're also to mature individuals who are stuck in a bleak, cold world with little help, and there's a tiny moment between the two where it almost seems like this is going to a very non-canonical place. The ultimate decision by both characters to realize what their relationship really is therefore seems both more honest and more profound for the movie having gone to a place that the book never had to. It's both true to these characters and completely fabricated, and it provides a very vivid portrait of both the grace and realisticness of Harry and Hermione.

The fact that the added details feel perfectly in place is the greatest indicator that this movie, even more than any of the other films, gets what made the books worth it.

I could write a book full of praise for the main three's acting in this film. Gone are the days of awkward line readings, forced emoting, and eyebrow acting. All three main stars have blossomed into something fantastic. But if I had to give an award for best performance, it'd go to Emma Watson, hands down. I've mocked the girl who took my role for years. She was the weakest link for a while. But Watson provides such a painful, quiet, deeply flawed and wounded and yet strong and badass performance as Hermione that it made me love one of my favorite characters of all time even more for having seen it. There's another tent-scene, where Hermione slips back into her old school-girl esque habits ("Actually, I'm highly logical...") in which you can really tell just how far Watson has come from the old "Wingardium LeviOsa" days.

Some people are claiming the movie feels like only half a film, or is somehow unsatisfying, and I guess I can understand that, but for me, Deathly Hallows was everything it needed to be and more, and a beautiful testament to why it's worth it to adapt beloved books to film.

Harry Potter, the book and movie series, hasbeen such a profound part of my life for so long that the discovery of new levels of enthusiasm was a pleasant and fantastic surprise. The reason why it's ever worth the effort to adapt a book to a movie is not just to make money but, in a movie like Deathly Hallows, its the pure unadulterated joy that can come from watching a new work of art being spun from something amazing to begin with.

Harry Potter: A History*

Everytime I've tried to sit down and review the most recent installment of Harry Potter, I felt overly burdened by the attempt to unpack all my (and any tried and true Potter-fans) baggage walking into the theater. The baggage weighed down the review, until all cinematic point was lost, but I felt that the review was dishonest with out it. And then, like Barty Crouch Jr. provided Triwizard tournament hint, an idea struck me: why not just get all the baggage out of the way in its own post?

In other words, this is a post about the history of the Harry Potter film series, as I see it. Up front, keep in mind that I am a rabid, if not super-rabid, Harry Potter fan, who has shown up for the midnight release party of the last three book, and who received her first copy of Harry Potter at the tender age of 11. It is an understatement to say that this series has been a huge part of my life.

However, I was also a film major. That's not to say how fancy-pants I am, nor say that I am inherently more qualified to judge films, merely to point out that I have often been able to let my fan ardency for exactitude fade to a quiet whisper while watching a Harry Potter film (as will become abundantly obvious in the following list). So without further ado, here's my top six pre-Hallows Harry Potter films, in order from least-beloved to most.

6. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone- In an overly pithy sentence, it's as though the book version of Harry Potter has cast a "petrifiucs totallus" spell on the movie's first installment. With unoriginal direction by Chris Columbus, and combined with an over adherence with the book's minutiae, the Sorcerer's Stone completely fails to capture the magic of Harry Potter that has kept fans enchanted for so many years. Movies and books are inherently different mediums, and adapting one to the other requires more than just cutting stuff out for time- it requires a complete transfiguration.

5. Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets- The same issues plagued the second film, although the danger of the Chamber of Secrets somewhat ups the stakes for this one and makes it a little more engaging.

4. Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix - There's not much to say about Order of the Phoenix. It takes the longest book and makes the shortest movie. Along the way, a lot is lost. This is good (even JK Rowling claims the books to damn sprawling and could probably use a good weed whacker editing job) but it makes it a less satisfying adaptation. I remember seeing it for the first time and kind of feeling as though I'd just watched a montage of important Harry Potter moments rather than one cohesive film.

3. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire - Goblet of Fire was probably the most cinematic of the books. It tells a straight forward adventure tale of a too-young boy entered into a dangerous contest, and it has a natural ebb and flow along the lines of the three challenges that makes it really easy to transcribe to film. Mike Newell, the first British director to helm a HP film, turns the tale into a fast-paced school boy yarn, weaving the magical elements with the under dog elements. It makes it all the more startling when, at the end of the film, the tone shifts abruptly. The death of Cedric Diggory, and consequent return of Voldemorrt are where both the books and the film abandoned the pretense of safety, and it's an appropriately moving moment in the film. However, the film loses major points for its ending. So Voldemort's back and Cedric, Harry's rival in love, Quidditch and Tri-wizardry, has just been brutally murdered before their eyes. Basically, everything's gone to shit. So why does the film end with the trio playfully ruffling each other's hair? It's a dishonest moment within the film's universe that threatens to undermine the story's legitimacy. Also everyone has REALLY bad hair.

2. Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban - Alfonso Cuaron changed it all. When he took over the Harry Potter reigns for the series' third part, he famously decided on a theme for the stories to follow and then slashed out everything that didn't pertain to that theme. This means that Azkaban is, by far, the WORST adaptation of the books. But it just might be the best movie. By deciding to focus on theme and cinematic excellence, Cuaron allowed the series to move away from a cheesy kids movie and into the deep, wonderful series that we knew and love. On top of that, his "serious director" prowess was the first step towards building actual actors out of the trio at the heart of this film, rather than just treating them like adorable props. But his overall lack of reverence for the source material IS problematic, and that's why despite the movie's excellence, Azkaban falls back to number 2.

1. Harry Potter and the Halfblood Prince - Aside from burning down the Burrow in the middle of the film (seriously, what was that?), Half-Blood Prince strikes the most succesful balance between Harry Potter adaptation and really freaking good movie. It's a pivotal film, full of dark and impending danger, but it was also probably the funniest of the books, with many, many chapters devoted to the characters love lives and growing up mishaps. In many ways, Half Blood Prince the book was like a breather in between the ominous anger of Order of the Phoenix and the near unrelenting gloom and danger of Deathly Hallows, and the movie carries that sense while still taking the journey of Ron, Hermione and Harry into adulthood seriously. And the climactic journey into the cave and invasion of Hogwarts? Picture freaking perfect.

*Bonus points if you get the punniness of this title

Harry Potter's Secret Weapon (and sorry, Dumbledore, it's not love)

In the lead up to this week's world premier of the first half of the last book of the Harry Potter series, a series that has defined my pop culture existence since I first picked up the hard cover in 1998, I've been re watching all the movies*. It's pretty accepted logic that the movies have greatly improved as they've gone along. But in re watching the first two, both of which I've always more or less written off due to the awkward acting and poor direction by Christopher Columbus, I was struck by just how fantastically written they are.

Steven Kloves has written each Harry Potter movie since the first one, with the exception of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. It's his sure voice and unending devotion to the books that have kept the series consistent and critically lauded (for a popcorn series) since their inception, despite myriad of different directors, producers, even lead actors.

Thinking about the things that have always irked me about the films, the one thing that has stayed consistent was the writing. Most of the flaws come down to direction, acting, or editing. What Kloves nails throughout is the sense of this world, and the legitimacy of that world, and the voice of the characters. Where sometimes plots are shortened or changed (occasionally maddeningly), they still feel like Harry Potter.

This struck me particularly strongly in a scene in my least favorite movie, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. Harry has just arrived at the Weasley's house after being broken out of The Dursley's. Mrs. Weasley is all atither because the boys stole the magical car, risked the exposure of the wizarding world (and their father's job), and all that other silly motherly stuff. In walks Mr. Weasley, who is more impressed with the fact that his car worked than with his sons' minor larceny. When he meets Harry Potter, the most famous "boy who lived" ever, far from asking about his parents' demise or the face of evil in the form of Lord Voldemort, Mr. Weasley's face lights up as he acts, "What use exactly is a rubber duck?" (/p>

It's a throw away line, taken directly from the books, that simultaneous ekes out laughs and gets to the heart of the Arthur Weasley character. And in a lesser screenwriter's hands, it would have been left out or mangled. It's a small incidence of the commitment to detail and character that has helped to turn the Harry Potter movie series into the landmark that it is, despite the many fan-related issues I may have with it at times.

On top of that, his favorite character to write for is Hermione Granger, and he also adapted one of my favorite Michael Chabon books of all time in the form of Wonder Boys. Steven Kloves, I bestow upon you an order of MyCinema, First Class, for your Devotion to Hogwarts.

* I take a somewhat controversial stance in the re-read-the-book-before-the-movie theory. It is my personal belief that re-reading the books before watching the new movies is dooming the movies to mediocrity, and since I actually think they're pretty good movies, I don't want to do that. Plus, whenever I finish a new film, I want nothing in the world quite so much as to dive back into the book, so I figure I might as well wait.

First Look: The New Muppet Movie

Take an exclusive first look at this photo from the new Muppet movie. Now I dare you not to love Jason Segel (not to mention all the other wonderful cuddly creatures in this photo!)

The Social Network and Sexism

Sometimes I think I see sexism in movies where there isn't any. I think that I am oversensitive when I whine about the portrayal of women in Hancock, or the dearth of legitimate female friendships, or the double standard represented by the MPAA's recent decision to categorize "male nudity" as separate from "nudity," while maintaining that female nudity is just "nudity."

But then other people start whining about something fairly innocuous in a brilliant film, and I realize I'm actually quite sane. The recent internet controversy over perceived gender discrimination in a film revolves around The Social Network, I guess because whenever a movie has that high of an approval rating on Rotten Tomatoes people need to find something to whine about.

The claims basically stem from the fact that the few women in the film are either a) crazy, b) topless or c) Rooney Mara (who one article refers to as "the bitch who got away"). This is pretty indisputable, although I'd throw in Rashida Jones as a relatively positive female force in the film. In fact, Jones' character is the only one able to get through to Jessie Eisenberg's Zuckerberg, and she provides the film with the closest it has to a summation of purpose. But okay. Let's discount her, since it's a pretty gender neutral role and besides does one female lawyer really undo the rest of it?

Well, my point is not that The Social Network has a lot of positive female characters. It's that why the hell should it? As someone who has searched throughout my pop culture career for female characters who are as daring and interesting as their male counterparts and often found the selections wanting, I can still see that not every movie needs to be about female empowerment. That would get kinda dull.

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More importantly, the story of facebook as streamlined by Sorkin and Fincher in The Social Network, is a story in which every single character is defined solely by their relation to Eisenberg's Zuckerberg. Andrew Garfield is a wimpy loyal noob* incapable of saving himself from irrelevancy. Justin Timberlake is an almost lustfully appealing go getter turned pathetic self-defeating drug addict. The women, therefore, that surround them represent Mark Zuckerberg's (or at least Sorkin's fictional version of Zuckerberg's) view of women, and more specifically the type of women who would come into his life by virtue of that being his view of women.

More importantly, the mere categorization of Mara's character as "the bitch that got away," displays the view of the author that a woman who objects to being repeatedly told she is stupid, worthless, and inherently in the debt of her male companion is a bitch. That's absurd. No one leaves that scene thinking that Mara was in the wrong to dump the shit out of Zuckerberg.

Anyway, while I understand the urge to criticize popular films, especially for perceived biases, and I think that everyone is entitled to their opinion whether or not I agree with it, I think that sometimes our gender backlash takes us so far away from the real issue that it helps to disguise legitimate claims to sexual discrepancies in cinema and make it all seem to come under the category of typical womanly whining.

And that really makes me sad. :(

*pathetic attempt at incorporating internet slang acknowledge and the author is adequately ashamed of it.

The Social Network

Earlier this year my father bought Life Magazine's "100 People Who Changed the World". I read the thing cover to cover. There were tons of omissions, none quite so confounding to me as Mark Zuckerberg, the founder of Facebook. My dad didn't understand why I insisted that the 26-year-old billionaire should be on the list, "Facebook'll be gone in 5 years" he argued. Well, I highly doubt that, I actually think it will morph and grow to the point where there's hardly a need for external websites (really all it needs is a live video chat, a document-sharing/sending method and a comprehensive online shopping component and Facebook will include every top web activity their is). But even if Facebook ceases to exist, the next big thing comes along and usurps its throne, it has already changed the world. It's a noun, multiple verbs and an adjective. It's changed how we interact with one another and how we present ourselves to the world, how stars rise, politicians campaign, humanitarian funds are raised and protests start. Sean Parker and Napster changed the music industry forever, Mark Zuckerberg and Facebook changed the world.

With such scope of influence, every event in Facebook's evolution had the power to affect the entire world. That's the story The Social Network tells, a small story of friends and foes, egos and emotions, jealousies, insecurities and hurt as played out with international reverberations. I've often said that screenwriter Aaron Sorkin's work is Shakespearean in tone: grand, poetic, rich in character detail. But nothing is more Shakespearean than a personal story with larger than life consequences. The intricate and engrossing story of The Social Network is beautifully told and Sorkin's is the perfect unique voice to hear it in.

Perhaps the film's greatest strength is the complexity of its characters. Zuckerberg is neither hero nor villain, but rather a guy, a flawed every man who's surplus of intelligence creates a natural deficiency in social arenas. As played to perfection by indie darling Jesse Eisenberg, Zuckerberg inspires frustration and incredible pathos in almost equal supply. He lacks tact and is a terrible judge of character but he means well, I didn't doubt that for a second. He's remarkable for so many things: his genius, his wit, even some of his priorities (money and female attention take a backseat to ambition and acceptance); and reprehensible for others: his thoughtlessness, his arrogance, his obsession with social improvement and his lack of loyalty (though there's a great moment at the end that throws this particular issue into question a bit). Despite being based on a real person, Eisenberg's Zuckerberg is a film conception, a complex human character rather than an accurate portrayal of the human himself.

The other characters are given similarly complex portrayals. The twin golden boys Cameron and Tyler Winkelvoss (Armie Hammer) who sue Mark for stealing their website idea could easily have become villains, but Sorkin writes them as conflicted good guys both pissed off at being beaten at their own game and cautious of being taken advantage of. Eduardo Saverin (played with pitch perfect empathy by Andrew Garfield), the other character in direct opposition to our "hero", is actually the most easily likable person in the film in my opinion. Unrelentingly loyal until pushed beyond his breaking point and armed with good business sense and an accurate judge of character, Eduardo is the put-upon victim of the film's events. However, his hesitation to join the company in California, his traditional approach to a non-traditional venture and his too-trusting nature make him an easy target. Eduardo also serves as Mark's proxy to the outside world in a lot of ways. He's the translator who understands both the socially strange Zuckerberg and the world he struggles to interact with. At the end of the film, though he's been taken advantage of and stabbed in the back in many ways, one gets the sense that Eduardo will be just fine. But as a particularly heart-wrenching scene points out, he was Mark's only friend. Without Eduardo, Mark is alone. Successful, famous, powerful and alone. It's Mark who's ending has the ring of tragedy to it.

The one character complaint I have is the simplicity of Sean Parker. Compared to the other characters, Parker (played with wonderful irony by Justin Timberlake, one of the foremost musicians affected by the rise of Napster) is not very interesting. He is tricky and engaging but ultimately too obviously devious to really win me over. A more complex portrayal of Parker could better explain the allure he held for Zuckerberg. As it is, that pull shows the weakness of Zuckerberg more than the power of Parker. Although maybe that's the point (and who doesn't love Justin?!)

But what's one tiny little complaint in the world of awesome that is The Social Network?

The intricate characters exist in a cinematic world perfectly constructed by director David Fincher, within a story that is endlessly fascinating, superbly timely and undeniably engrossing. The pacing of this wonderful drama/thriller/origin story hybrid is dead on and the dialogue clever as hell (naturally, with my beloved Sorkin holding the pen). A character-perfect quip about BU's lighter workload effectively has insecure students up in arms and the throw-away use of one of my favourite grammar jokes (Winklevi!) had me cheering with geeky delight. Sorkin makes a quick cameo for the fan with a keen eye, a Facebook aficionado will love the nostalgia of the old-school interfaces from the site's early days and the dorky fun of the drunk livejournaling/coding adventure that kicks off the story sets the tone for the delight of watching really smart people play dirty.

The whole thing is as perfect as it could be for a film with such high expectations attached to it. With The Social Network, Fincher and Sorkin have together created the film that defines right now and how we got here.