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."