Match Point. Wow.

Eric and I went to Woody Allen's Match Point last week. Looking forward to his analysis, and I'd like to do one of my own in a day or so. But in the meantime, a mini-review...old story, beautfully done. The work of a master director. Every frame is so well-crafted, and much more visual than I've seen in his movies before. Not a film one wants to cuddle up to, but it is definitely a five star out of five experience. See it, and let go of the Soon Yi thing, people. He's brilliant, Woody is.

Like Watching Flowers Grow

As John Wooden said, "Don't mistake activity for accomplishment." Broken Flowers might be a good example of this.

I've often thought my life would be rather boring were it put on film. Lots of scenes of me watching TV and commuting in my car, maybe making a sandwich or sitting around hating myself for not doing something. My point is that these are not the best things to put to film, at least not without a lot of context.

Broken Flowers slightly resembles High Fidelity, but it deals with a much older man who revisits past flames in search of a typewriter, rather than a younger neurotic who revisits old flames in search of what it means to love.

But where High Fidelity has an engaging soundtrack, with lively characters and dialogue and plenty of self-reflection, Broken Flowers does not. The third act in BF does bring some vitality (a punch in the face and a foot chase with his possible son) but too little too late. The humor was too thin, and the emotional connections between the characters felt synthetic.

Bill Murray was born for this sort of performance. There are similarities to his Lost In Translation character -- a wise and formerly successful businessman ruminating about what was and what could have been -- but we've seen this before, with a more engaging plot. Yes, Mr. Murray plays subtle superbly, but Broken Flowers is too subtle for its own good, as it meanders with little clarity as to where it's going or even where it's been. Maybe that was the point?

This could all be forgiven if the journey had a beat we could dance to, but it's severely lacking, humming its own one-note song. Murray says in the movie: "The past is gone, the future isn't here yet - whatever it's going to be. So all there is, is this. The present." True, but give us something to chew on while we're waiting for the future to arrive, other than scenes of driving around in a car.

I give it 2 *'s out of 4. Perhaps I wasn't in the right mood to see this? Perhaps Lori was right to have fallen asleep while watching it? I certainly wish I had.

Busted Flowers

Had a chance to watch Jim Jarmusch's Broken Flowers on the small screen this weekend. Yeah, it's good. But don't watch it if you want everything spelled out for you. It's about life and stuff like that, you know, things that don't get answered or make sense. For example, many people have said to me, "Bill Murray as a Don Juan type, what gives?" Well, okay, but that's not really the issue. The film doesn't have a plot that neatly resolves. It's more about realizing what we've let go, where we're going, blah, blah. I know--I wouldn't watch it either based on what I just wrote.

But it's an endearing picture, and how can you beat the likes of Tilda Swinton (almost unrecognizable), Frances Conroy (could be unrecognizable but best-known to us riff-raff as the mom on Six Feet Under, and the only actor to whom I've ever written a fan letter), Sharon Stone (almost unrecognizable because she gives an unselfconscious performance), Chloe Sevigny (almost unrecognizable behind some glasses from which she gives Murray these sidelong glances that made me laugh out loud, although of the two of us in the room, I was the only one who thought she was hysterically funny), and Jessica Lange (almost unrecognizable because she has a HIDEOUS and SO DISAPPOINTING facelift)? A really dog-rocking soundtrack, and some other good supporting performances, and you've got a pretty decent way to spend your time. I admit that I fell asleep during the last five minutes and had to zip back a few scenes. But it was warm, the room was dark...these things happen.

An episode of bad behavior: At today's staff meeting, a perfectly lovely and delightful co-worker announced that she had seen The Constant Gardner, and that it was the best film she had seen in years. From the far end of the table, I said, "Really? I didn't like it at all." Was that necessary? No! I am a bad person. Compound that with the fact that immediately after that an announcement was made that there would be a brown-bag (why do I detest that term? I guess because it sounds chintzy and dull) lunch with the staff on my birthday to honor me, and I told them that I did not want to eat lunch with them on my birthday.

What kind of person says these boorish things?

Help me.

Head hanging down,
Lori

Two movies to avoid.

This weekend, in a fit of lightheartedness, I rented Must Love Dogs, starring the always-stunning Diane Lane and the frequently charming John Cusack. Argh. It was truly awful, and bland enough so that it wasn't bad enough to be like watching a train wreck, but rather like reading a train schedule. No chemistry between Cusack and Lane, the dogs were props at best, and even the ever-wonderful Stockard Channing couldn't pull this one out of the pound.

At the big show (that means the movie theater, yeah), C and I watched The Family Stone (how horrid is that title, for starters?), starring a mostly grand cast shoehorned into a trivial, formulaic script. A mostly grand cast that includes Sarah Jessica Parker, Rachel McAdams, Craig T. Nelson, Claire Danes, the adorable, sorry I can't help it, Luke Wilson, and Diane Keaton was okay, but she was no Annie Hall. So, I left Dermot Mulroney out of the mostly grand cast recitation. Why is that, you ask? Well, he can't act. I've never seen his range of expression go from even a capital A to a lower-case a, much less A to B (apologies, Kate Hepburn). Why, why is he the lead in any film? Sure, he has a kind of sexy scar on his lip, but people, that is NOT ENOUGH.

So, the story uses one of the cheapest angles of all--the dying-grumpy-but-lovable-matriarch--to get the audience sniffling. Wait--that wasn't the cheapest angle of all--it was the montage of meaningful shots of each family member interspersed with a cut from Meet Me in St. Louis where the ever-gut-wrenching Judy Garland sings Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas. C'mon. THAT is cheap. And of course Dermot immediately falls in love with someone he barely knows, and other characters come together at the end because god forbid all romantic loose ends not be tied up in the most boring and predictable formula as usual, and we wonder why, spoon-fed on this tripe (Must Love Dogs, you are not off the hook on this one, so listen up), none of us can sustain romances for more than six months to a year, look at the divorce rate, and that's not even counting those of us who aren't allowed to marry because I guess we would make marriage too unstable--rant!

And why is it in movies lately that it is the women who have to suffer clumsy humiliating falls, anyway? Beautiful Claire Danes must literally fall on her face, Sarah Jessica falls and drops the meal she has spent hours preparing, crashes a car, because of course she would, she is a control-freak woman who must experience her comeuppance (is that how you spell that?) and be humiliated in other ways, and all of the men are of course patient and long-suffering. Same with Dogs, which includes Diane Lane making a complete fool of herself, jumping in a canal and swimming like a desperate pathetic single divorced woman after John Cusack, who patiently hauls her up into his boat, which he built himself, because he is grounded and wise.

Blecch. I'd better stop before I start to sound like a curmudgeon.

-Lori

ps: I almost forgot--Dermot shows up in Must Love Dogs as well...except he wears glasses! Could this be a fascinating turn in his career?