After 13 years, I finally finished For Whom the Bell Tolls. I finally picked it up again because there's a reference to Hemingway in City of Angels about angels reading Hemingway because of his sensory writing which I had always had to take on faith. Perhaps it was just because I was looking for evidence of that, however, the sensory descriptions definitely caught my eye. I felt like I could smell Pilar's cooking or touch Maria's downy hair, and Hemingway's seamless transition from short, declarative sentances into long, rambling emotional ones drew me into Robert Jordan's world.

At the end though, the juxtaposition of the casual Spanish attitude toward death and the "loss of one is a loss to all" sentiment that's the source of the book's title is so jarring that it almost seems as though Hemingway is criticizing the cultural attitude while celebrating it.

This was a bit of an experiment, being my daughter's first trip to a movie theater. Fortunately, we took her to the second run theater on a day when most people were out enjoying a beautiful day. Although we were prepared to carry her out if she started losing interest, she stayed engaged thoughout most of the movie. In the end, we agreed that it was a successful experiment, although we'll stick to second run movies until she has enough interest that makes it worth spending first run rates.

As for Ice Age: The Meltdown, it was less successful. Aside from the Scrat scenes, like Ice Age, it came across as a fairly light buddy movie with a few good scenes sprinkled throughout. The good scenes are front-loaded enough, that for the first part of the movie I was really surprised at its quality. However, as the movie begins to focus on the trek, the main characters' casual attitude towards their impeding deaths reminded me that it was just a movie. Again, as in the original, the Scrat scenes are the highlight of the movie. The character-obstacle-objective relationship is so pared to the bone, so pure, that you can't help but be drawn into Scrat's plight. It harkens back to the Road Runner cartoons in every good way.

That Jef Costello holds himself to a bushido like code despite having none of the supports that made such a code possible is a minor inplausibilty. The film asks you to suspend your disbelief, and you willing toss it out the window. And even though the final outcome is pre-ordained by Costello's code, and you even see the preparations to achive that end, it still comes as a shock because the price is so high, no viewer would expect him to pay it. Le Samouraï is a completely engaging film.

This film and the hype surrounding The Da Vinci Code's release combine to bring one minor question to mind... Is the French judicial process really that draconian? Costello is basically hounded by the police superintendent in Le Samouraï, and Fache goes out of his way to frame and entrap Langdon in The Da Vinci Code. If those portrayals have any basis in reality, I don't want to hear a peep from the French about the American justice system.

I am an unapologetic Firefly fanboi. This is already my third viewing of Serenity and there is not a chance in the world that it will be my last. On the whole, the movie fulfilled all of my expectations. Which is not to say that I'm blind to its flaws.

There are some groaner lines, like Kaylee's "Captain will drive us all off, one by one. Just like Simon and River. Just like an awkward segue into a flashback." or Wash's "We need to get our bearings. I think we need to talk to the next plot device." or Kaylee's "We're going on a year now, I ain't spoken in Queens English 'twix my..." Yet Malcom's ambiguous response to the Operative's "I know how you must feel about the Alliance." is such deft character development that I'm willing to overlook a few eye-rolling lines. And even though some parts are formulaic, Whedon puts his own brand on enough of them that I remind myself that the old stand-bys became so for a reason. However, not even I will attempt to excuse the awkward sex talk between Kalyee and Simon, it's so ham fisted that I'm just dumbfounded that it made it to the final cut.

And yet, despite those flaws, Serenity retains so many eminently watchable aspects (fight the man, a "bandit with a hear of gold" played more as bandit than Goldilocks, the slightly unnerving space without sound, the disparate ensemble of characters, etc...) that

Eventually, I'll learn. I promise. Like Old School, I had a bad feeling about Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy. It looked too sketch-esque to hold up for ninety minutes, with too much offensiveness-as-humor to be truly funny, and too manufactured to make me care about the characters. Then again, so did Dodgeball, and that one mostly worked. I'm sure the broad humor appeals to many, but for me, Anchorman was much as I feared. It felt more like an SNL skit continued long after it was funny, I found little humor in Burgundy's misogyny, and from script to casting to production, it was as if the producers followed a fill-in-the-blank plan for moviemaking.

One method acting exercise is to follow the character's motivation to its absolute limit. If the character wants a particular prop from another, the actor does everything possible within the limitations of the script to get that prop. It's this exercise on display, unscripted, that I find tedious in "Curb Your Enthusiasm", "Who's Line Is It Anyway?", and the short-lived "Sons & Daughters", yet it's this same exercise on display, with the guiding force of a script, that drives so much of the energy in Glengarry Glen Ross. From the so slick as to make you slick pitch of Al Pacino's Ricky Roma to the bare desperation of Jack Lemmon's Shelley "The Machine" Levene to even Jonathan Pryce's James Lingk's buyer's remorse, every character's actor sells out to their motivation so believably that the tension is palpable.

About the only quibble I have is with the movie-only addition of Alec Baldwin's Blake. While Balwdin delivers as strong a performance as any, I am still left with a lingering doubt as to whether his character's addition adds to the story. Why is it felt that theater audiences can cope without a tangible "villian" but movie-goers cannot? Kevin Spacey's John Williamson is certainly antagonistic enough to serve as a foil alone. The nighttime appearance of Blake to berate three under-performing salesmen seems unlikely, and his over-the-top pep-talk feels wasted given the ultimate quality of the leads. Williamson, although less ostentatious, would more believably fill that role.

After watching the Kill Bill saga over three nights, the immediate impression I've come away with (besides that "Battle Without Honor Or Humanity" may be the best song ever) is how incredibly superfluous Volume 1 is to the entire saga. Think about it. What do you need from Volume 1 to make Kill Bill, as a whole, um... whole? You've got Beatrix Kiddo's revenge on Vernita Green, which is important in that she's another entry on the "To Kill" list, but is relatively short. There's Kiddo's recovery, but while that's compelling, it certainly isn't something that must be on-screen. The origin of O-Ren and the acquisition of the Hanzo sword are completely unnecessary. The exposition on the massacre has nothing that isn't in the Massacre at Two Pines section in Volume 2. Of course, the showdown with O-Ren is another required scene. So you're left with two scenes surrounded with an awful lot of filler. Eye catching filler, to be sure, but filler none the less.

Now, don't get me wrong, I do love Kill Bill and gutting every bit of filler would be painful, I'd hate losing Elle Driver in her nurse's outfit, the Pussy Wagon, Hattori Hanzo, and O-Ren's background, but viewed as a whole, the theatrical saga feels more like a director's over-indulgence and wish fulfillment than tight filmmaking.

Every once in a while I'll obsess over a franchise despite having frightfully little experience with it. Such is the case with Battle Royale. Described as Lord of the Flies meets The Long Walk, my interest was as piqued as a golf shirt. As it happened, I got the movie and the book at roughly the same time, but since I couldn't wait to finish another book I was reading, I opted to watch the movie first. While the film delivers the experience for which I was hoping in spades, there are enough quirks in the plot, most of which I understand to be unique to the film version, that detract from the satisfaction I was expecting.

Shogo is only there to figure out what's wrong with the program? That's the first time any mention is made of a problem with the program (and the last) and the "solution" is to send in someone who, on numbers alone, only has about a 3% chance of surviving to tell you what's the problem. The role of Kitano, the teacher who taught the class in the 7th grade and now oversees the class in the battle, raises more questions than the emotional angle his previous experience adds to the narrative, and his relationship to Mitsuko is so unexpected and unexplained that it's like a beach ball that comes out of the stands onto the baseball diamond during play. Gore, gore, gore, Kitano and Mitsuko walking by the river. Huh? And is Shogo's plan to get Mitsuko, Shuya, and himself off alive really to wait until someone else deactivates the necklaces and then fake the other two's deaths?

Overall the film is still quite enjoyable, although the quirks do keep me from calling it great or recommending it to all but a very few people. It's unfortunate that Toei has apparently demanded stringent distribution requirements for a US release, the film simply does not have the widespread appeal that would justify such a release. It also further limits my recommendation since it is not worth the effort to go to any great lengths to get a copy to watch.

Let me state at the outset that I am not a zombie film fan. Nor particularly a romantic comedy fan. In a lot of ways, I'm not really sure why I even gave this zom-rom-com a chance in the first place. I guess a $7 price tag encourages experimentation. Despite my normal indifference to these genres, I really enjoyed Shaun of the Dead. Then again, perhaps it that indifference that led to my enjoyment, many of the zombie fans I know despise it. The humor helps avoid the crushing despair zombie film exude, and the romance is light enough that my eyes don't roll back in my head. There are some weak spots, the final gag is kind of lame and the "pretend to be zombies" scene is a bit poorly executed (although a great idea), but the film avoids the extreme emotions of the source genres which lets the humor do it job and makes you laugh.

I did not get this because Julia Ormond is nude, I swear, but what a nice bonus. The Prime Gig is a tight business drama with a touch of steamy sex. For the most part, it's depiction of telemarketing sales hacks and scammers feels right, although a few holes hold it back. To begin, the recruiting processes the "prime gig" employs is strains believability, there is no way that such an operation would go to such lengths to recruit employees, nor would it then woo those prospective employees with such an elaborate initiation. I can forgive that Ormond drives a Ford Focus, writing it off as a low-budget concession, but as with Jackie Brown, I can't let slide the ridiculously low amount of money at stake. Ed Harris' character wants to raise two million dollars. Ok, fine. To do that, he tosses money out the window with a completely unnecessary plane trip, a sweet office, Ikea catalog furnishings, tossing out wads of thousands of dollars, and in the end, he goes for the twist of the knife kill over $75k? That's just bad money management. Despite that, a pointless brother sub-plot, and a horrible casting decision (sorry Vizzini), Prime is an engaging business drama and holds it's own against the likes of higher budgeted competition like Boiler Room.

Perhaps my favorite scene sequence in movies is the "same scene, different perspectives" sequence (which reminds me, I really need to see Rashômon already.) Jackie Brown has one of these sequences, so it automatically get bonus points from me. Offsetting that, however, is the lack of new information with each new perspective which lessens the impact of such sequences. Whereas the sequence in other films provide a more comprehensive understanding of the big picture, Jackie Brown essentially gives you all the information in the first run through. I kept waiting for another double cross to justify the use of repetition.

Even though such a sequence wasn't used to its full potential, it strongly conveys Tarintino's style. Recently, I read a criticism calling Tarantino as a "fauxteur," which is ridiculous. The auteur theory holds that the director makes the film identifiably his own. Disparage Tarantino as you will, but one thing you can't say is that he doesn't leave his mark on the film. Jackie Brown is as clear of an example of this as his other films are, from his measured pacing, to his appropriate soundtrack selections, to his iconic cinematography, to his trademark language and violence, and if you like Tarantino, Jackie Brown won't disappoint.

After quite some time trying to find an online source for Méliès' milestone work A Voyage to the Moon, I finally found one on archive.org. This version includes English narration and I am unsure how faithful this narration is to the original. Certainly, the plot must have been communicated to the audience somehow, as the silent film's plot is not intuitive, but I don't know whether that was done through intertitles, live narration, or some other method. Although the plot may not be instantly recognizable, it does nicely fit within the scope of a short film.

While one could hold Voyage up to contemporary standards, or even late silent-film era standards and find it wanting, it is still remarkable for art direction and visual effects. The camera is so static as to create the impression of watching a play (especially in the council scene and the moon night scene), but the detailed projected backdrops, the stop-motion animation, and other effects continue to make this film enjoyable beyond it's historical importance.

With a striking and potentially explosive money shot as blowing up Parliament and a politically timely message as it has, it comes as a disappointment that V for Vendetta ends up as much of a super-hero flick as it does. Whereas 1984's Winston Smith is just an ordinary person who stands against a totalitarian regime, and Brazil's Sam Lowry is just an ordinary person trampled by system that cannot care, V is but a super-hero that neither the government nor bullets can touch, at least, not before making his final cinematic exit. And his methods are similarly comic book broad. It is unbelievable that a single broadcast and shipping everyone a mask would generate such support for his cause.

So it is good that V for Vendetta is not really about V, but rather Evey. Within her story line, Vendetta is more nuanced. Well, as nuanced as shaving Natalie Portman bald can be. While V's extra-human capabilities ultimately have little influence in the movie, Evey's progression from ordinary person to raconteur who sends the bomb-laden subway car on it way delivers the "stand up for your rights" message that V's actions fail to.

Visually, Vendetta is a complete triumph. From the propaganda-esque promotional materials, to the costuming (especially V's mask), to the trappings of the fascist ruling party, to the atmosphere of England, Vendetta is a mainstream rival to 1984 and Brazil. In the current political environment, with the source material this movie comes from, this movie should speak pointedly, and except for some overly comic book influences, it mostly does that.

This is at least the third time I've seen Brazil, but to be completely honest, before this viewing, I'm not sure I could have given a more detailed summary than "futuristic distopia." And seeing how wrong even that little vague essay answer is, it's a good thing I watched it again. This is the first time I've watched the 142-minute final Gilliam cut. Despite a slight case of too many endings (a tactic Peter Jackson mastered in Return of the King), and even though it's a good hour longer than the "Love Conquers All" version, there's really no part of the film that plods.

The recent build up for V for Vendetta inspired me to give Brazil another go, and indeed, may yet prompt another viewing of 1984. While it seems that many critics draw clear distinctions between 1984 (and similarly, V for Vendetta) and Brazil, I am tempted to call these distinctions without difference. Jack Matthews, in Brazil's accompanying booklet, says 1984, "...envision(s) a future ruled by fascism and technology..." whereas Brazil, "...satiriz(es) the bureaucratic, largely dysfunctional industrial world..." But what is the difference between a totalitarian regime and an overly legalistic one? Certainly tone is a difference, it's much easiler to laugh at red tape than Big Brother, but in the end, both regimes completely emasculate the protagonists. With such an end, it matters little whether the antagonist is an evil despot or a well-intentioned bureacrat. Dismissing similarities based on such small differences does neither film favor.

So this is what a lonely 40-something guy writes. I never would've thought I'd have been so moved by a novel about a fat, loney 42-year old wallflower, although some recent events in my life may have contributed to that feeling. Ultimately, the story is about someone who feels useless, and so, abandons those that need her most. It's a message that's as heart-rending as Hey Nostradamus!'s is uplifting. Full of Coupland typical style, which I love, but may turn some off. It also has the type of ambiguous-but-not-really ending that seems meant to spark a "What happened? This is so deep." response, which, I think, is officially trite. I also like his atheistic take on religion, querying and mindful, rather than disrespectful.

I've got two strikes of bias against me reading this book. The first is that I pretty solidly come down on one side of the politics that divided Germany, and the second from the fact that I read it from a point in history that knows that the Berlin Wall is ultimately doomed to come down. So when Schneider's narrator debates the relative merits and shortcomings of either side, I see him shortchanging "my" side, and when Schneider's narrator treats the division of Germany as a permanent situation, I have to stifle a knowing giggle. While I doubt Schneider foresaw the fate of the Wall, I do think that he expected either side to approach his work from the same type of bias as I, if not necessarily from the same direction. Knowing that each side would feel victimized in this concise account of two Germanys, Schneider deftly and frequently reminds the reader of their own bias which refocuses attention on the paradoxically completely similar, yet wholly dissimilar societies.

As the narrator collects stories of various wall jumpers, he explores differences between the two halves of Germany. A simple news account will flare into an argument with a friend formerly from East Germany about how the two states drive the reporting. A demonstration becomes fodder to explore the machinations of the elites. Reflecting on a relationship he had with another former East German reveals the deep rifts that have developed between the two German societies as a result of the political division. And a final trip into East Germany to visit that branch of the family that resides there shows how easily he could've been either. "You're going to find that many of the truths we cling to depend greatly on our own point of view" has rarely been more clearly demonstrated than here.

There are a couple of quotes that I want to take from this book

• "...the state was powerless before the tiled stove." (pg. 41)
• "I only know that we will fail in our attempt to cure the madness of one state by referring to the madness of the other." (pg. 126)

The first is a powerful reminder that, as sweeping as the political winds may be, the people continue to live as they mostly have. The second crystallizes what may be Schneider's thesis and is a truth that should remain in mind when talking about American politics. To often, people try to justify A's behavior by using B's behavior and vice versa, but the truth is that neither justifies the other, both behaviors are corrupting.

What delicate tongues must lift such intricate prose to lofty heights that such skilled performers remain so earthbound.

Despite generally solid performances from the cast, especially Kingsley, Twelfth Night: Or What You Will never soars to the majesty of Branagh's Shakespearean works, the penetrating insight of Kurosawa's adaptations, or the accessibility of the 1999 A Midsummer Night's Dream. Far too often, the cinematography is televisionesque, the adaptation oddly paced, and lines are recited, rather than delivered naturally. This adaptation would be quite serviceable as a supplemental resource for the play, but I doubt it attracts new fans to the work.

One can hardly fault the director for adhering closely to the original, but I feel as if Malvolio's sub-plot resolution might be better served by departing from the source. As a comedy, it leaves off on a decidedly down note, not unlike the pre-release ending of Dodgeball, where Vince Vaughn's team loses. In college, I saw a production where Malvolio ends the play singing "Blue Moon" and inviting an audience member to join him giving his sub-plot apt and upbeat closure. Nunn needn't have gone that far, but Malvolio's bitter exit depresses an otherwise enjoyable ending.

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