You can’t make up this stuff! That’s why documentaries were invented – because if you saw a narrative movie with a similar plot line, you’d say, “This is ridiculous – too far fetched to be believed. Stop it, already.” Prodigal Sons, though starting out as a documentary about a son who decides to return to hometown Montana for the 20 year high school reunion, has so many extreme and unexpected twists and turns to it – from the introduction of high school football hero, Paul McKerrow, the prodigal “son” returning home as a women, filmmaker Kimberly Reed, and all the background that goes along with having made that decision, to adoptive older brother Marc who not only has childhood jealousy issues and a history of mental problems due to a severe accident that necessitated the removal of a chunk of his brain, to the discovery of Marc’s world famous birth parents, to youngest son, Todd, being a gay architect who pretty much opted out of the family dynamics, to all the subtleties and nuances of all three siblings and their mother interacting – you just wouldn’t buy it as a movie. It really had to be true to be believed. And it is artfully documented by filmmaker Kim Reed and cinematographer John Keitel over the course of several years.

And what I found most fascinating was that this was an ideal family situation to start. Mom was a school teacher, dad was a doctor -- affluent, comfortable, loving, supportive and intelligent people in a community that boasted the Montana “big sky” and a population that is, if not sophisticated, open and accepting. Golden boy Paul, football co-captain who was vied for as date to the school proms, felt uncomfortable in his body, though attracted to the opposite sex. Yet, there was no mother who dressed him in girl’s clothing, nor an absentee or overly strict dad, nor any other obvious environmental factor which might cause stress, discomfort or a sense of ambiguity. Whatever social reasons one might attribute to digression from the “norm” of gender identity, none where there. Nor did these parents exert pressure on

Three strangers end up in the same car for several days, going south on a path parallel to the Mississippi river. None would admit to making a conscious decision to share each other’s company, or even having ever made an important decision in their lives. All are sad, lonely, outsiders who have no destination or are afraid to admit to themselves they do. One is 15 year old Martine (Kristen

Happy Tears is really Parkey Posey’s vehicle. Through the course of her travails as a woman whose husband doesn’t want a baby while she does, whose sister upbraids her for her damned luck of marrying rich and being irresponsible, whose father deteriorates into dementia before her very eyes, and whose mother’s most precious belongings disappear into the hands of her father’s crack head girlfriend, she seems to be falling deeper and deeper into


Rip Torn, Parker Posey and Demi Moore --- watch the dribble!

a breakdown. I have to admit, I don’t have a whole lot of sympathy for Jayne (Posey); she’s spoiled, selfish, and regularly drifts into dreams to escape the harsh realities that demand her attention. Kindly, he dreams also take us to

a prettier, mostly happier world and comparably happier memories, and out of Dad’s (Rip Torn) cluttered, dirty home and his physical needs of washing feces off his butt and changing his vomit stained shirt.

Laura (Demi Moore) is the stalwart sister to deals with problems and has a history of protecting her baby sister from life’s harsh realities. Now she wonders if all that early protection was a mistake – seeing how incapable Jayne is of coping with or facing reality as an adult. There are no climactic all out, drag down, clear the air fights that are de rigeur for dysfunctional family dramas and that I much appreciated. Perhaps this family is not so much dysfunctional as just trying to get by, trying to find happiness, trying to do what’s right. These are just two sisters with very different personalities trying to deal as best they can with their present problem – Dad and is future. And Dad himself, as damming as his past may be to his character, is a cheerful fellow who just appreciates having his “girls” with him and his treasure buried nearby in the backyard. Well, treasure, you say? Along with the rest of her dreams, Jayne has high hopes of finding the treasure, though how Dad could have possibly accumulated any amount of wealth is unknown, and Jayne is certainly not hurting for money.

Please note that Ellen Barkin, as Dad’s buzzed girlfriend who poses as a nurse because she’s got a stethoscope draped around her neck, is absolutely brilliant and worth the price of admission. If this stellar performance is due to her being too old to be considered a leading lady anymore and she now feels free to really bust her acting chops, what a pity. We could have otherwise been enjoying her fantastic performances for the last 20 years. Taking into account the strength of my stomach, I could watch her do her “Shelly” schtick all day.

As for the overall theme of the film, oh, baby boomers, this is what you have come to or will come to in the near future. Expect more films like Happy Tears, Play the Game (2008), The Savages (2007), Away From Her (2006), The Boynton Beach Bereavement Club (2005), and The Notebook (2004) -– the institutionalization of your generation.

A disgruntled and unhappy cop from a capitol city is transferred to a small, peaceful, crime free town near the edge of nowhere. There is no explanation for the absence of the previous police presence. At least one person in town has disappeared and nobody seems to care. It is a difficult adjustment from cosmopolitan to village

Bully Kim Bodnia rounds off with Marshall Jakob Cedergren

sensibilities for the cop. Sound like a description of “Hot Fuzz”, the fast paced, hysterical crime comedy of 2007? Terribly Happy couldn’t be a more diametrically opposed cop-out-of-water film. Where all the inhabitants of Hot Fuzz’s village were sociable, polite and charming, the denizens of Terribly Happy’s outpost are moody, taciturn and almost hostile. Whereas British citizens are dropping like flies in a summer evening’s electric fly zapper, one must be very patient to find any crime at all in this Danish psychological thriller.

The Nordic femme fatale, Ingerlise (Lene Maria Christensen) is the brunt of regular beatings by her husband and town bully, Jorgen (Kim Bodnia), but she won’t file a report so Marshall Robert Hanson (Jakob Cedergren) can’t take legal action. Ingerlise, as a very desperate housewife, and Marshall Bob get as hot and heavy as any comparable scene from The Postman Always Rings Twice (the steamier 1981 version). The tension builds until a shot out, not shoot out, in the local bodega between the Sheriff (I mean Marshall) and cowboy Jorgen (decked out in cowboy hat and bolo tie) where the audience loses count of beers and shots downed between the two battling testosterone sacks.

As dark and tense as the film gets, surprising incidents give us the relief we all need – a cat talking, a bicycle found in a bog, the town whore housecleaning when nobody’s around. The pace of the film is European just right – there’s time for the tension to build, but the story never slows down. I’m sure there will be an American remake on the horizon. When a foreign country gets it right, Hollywood surely follows with it’s version which is never as good as the original. Suffer the subtitles and see it. These people don’t waste words and there’s no problem keeping up with the text.

The film starts with a functional family. Everybody loves and supports each other, and they all have a great time together. They play together, eat together, talk, watch tv and listen to 11 year old Alfie play his guitar and sing. I had hopes this would be a very boring, but unique, film about a singular situation: no enemies, no neurosis, no pain, just lots of love and mutual respect. I was half right.
For some undisclosed reason, dad comes home beaten up by his cousin, and little Alfie decides to seek revenge. Actually, it took a very long time to get to this point in the film. We are subjected to endless repetitive scenes of Alfie riding his bike, climbing a tree, looking off into the distance, and again riding his bike, climbing a tree, looking off into the distance. I could go on, endlessly, repeating these scenes. This may be why it took less than 2 weeks to shoot the whole 84 minute film. Oh, he is hidden in his brother’s attic where he thinks about, dreams about and forecasts riding his bike, climbing a tree and looking off into the distance. Each repetition gives the viewer a bit more info: a longer cut of the same shot which includes a word or sentence of dialogue, making each repetition a few seconds longer. Possibly, writer/director Ricky Shane Reid thinks this technique builds up interest or tension, but it is unnecessary because any viewer who is still awake has already figured out where the whole film is going. It takes 84 minutes of viewing to impart about 20 minutes worth of content, while questions, if anyone is still interested, could have been answered that may have been more difficult to write/shoot/edit, such as why dad was beaten up; who these violent, hateful cousins are; what happens to dad after the attack; what

What a dismal, deadening life -- at least in Essex, east of London, as depicted in “Fish Tank,” and probably in all the small cities throughout England. Well, maybe it’s bad all over. I am just adjusting to the fact that things are worse all over and that we’re all getting used to it. I was brought up in an age when we expected things to get better and better, and they did to a point. I can’t remember at which recession all that stopped. But let’s not get into economics and politics now. Back in the early 1960's, England developed a unique genre – the “Angry Young Man,” films – such as

Katie Jarvis reflecting on suburban hopelessness.

“Loneliness of a Long Distance Runner” (1962), “Look Back in Anger” (1959), “Saturday Night and Sunday Morning” (1960), “This Sporting Life” (1963), and even the comedy “Billy Liar” (1963). Tom Courtney, Albert Finney, Richard Harris, and Richard Burton were the poster boys of the disappointed,

If people in England’s pre-Beatles 60's were angry, the people who inhabit cities like Essex today are downright furious, even more alienated and hopeless. Mia (Katie Jarvis) is so angry, so representative of her time and place, that it’s hard to empathize with her. She is a nasty piece of work, already so hardened by her environment that it’s hard to find the humanity in her. But through the course of the film, we find she’s not completely deadened yet. She wants to help a horse in a garbage strewn field who she thinks in being abused, she wants to compete in a dancing contest with the hope of bettering her situation, and she finds compassion and a glimmer of a better future with her mom’s new boyfriend (Michael Fassbender).

Is she fooling herself, at 15 still to innocent to see the inescapability of her situation? Perhaps Mia will or won’t find a better life, but Katie Jarvis, the girl who plays her, has. Jarvis, an unemployed drop out who had no intention of becoming an actress, was found in a train station arguing across platforms with her boyfriend by director Andrea Arnold’s (“Red Road,” 2006) casting people. Since her very admirable performance in “Fish Tank,” which earned her several acting nominations and awards, she has an agent and has already been in another British television production. So, no matter what happens on the screen, the film has a happy ending.

The moustached and the innocent Michael Cera

I love seeing a perfectly good kid -- bright, moral, well educated, respectful -- throw it all away for the possibility of getting laid for the first time. Maybe all girls are evil and want ridiculous proofs of love or desire before they give out or maybe they just can’t help but take advantage of nerds who cross their paths. Thanks to Nick Twisp’s (Michael Cera) unscratchable itch for two person sex, we get to see some pretty extreme acts to satisfy the whims of Sheeni Saunders (Portia Doubleday). One might suggest he pay a prostitute, but Sheeni promises a steady relationship, meaning regular sex; and a situation like that can’t be lightly set aside. So, off goes Nick to the deep end from a high cliff, even recruiting his doppelganger, Francois Dillinger, to help bolster his courage and give him advice on how to go about ruining the rest of his life.

A good story can be told again and again. And to make it more interesting, the characters can be changed a bit, maybe the locales, maybe little incidental plot devices. So, here again is the story of a woman on a quest to marry the man she loves, who has to travel a great distance, experience new things in a different culture and re-evaluate her life choices. And along the way, she has adventures that disrupt her equilibrium, test her flexibility and force her to see the mistakes she’s been making, as well as see the right alternative.

Wasn’t this the plot to “It Happened One Night” (1934)? A rich girl (Claudette Colbert) who wants to get to her betrothed while avoiding the paparazzi\ is helped on the road by reporter Clark Gable who is critical of her lifestyle and ethics, and while on the road, they fall in love. Oh, how romantic.

“Nine,” the film, was adapted from “Nine”, the stage play. But it should not be forgotten that both “Nine”’s source material was “8 ½,” or “Fellini’s 8 ½,” as it was called in America in 1963 when it debuted, not only because Fellini was the director, but the film exposes the history, dreams, fears and very soul of Fellini. In "Nine," the Fellini character, Guido, is suffering writer’s block on his latest film as it is about to start production. Quietly panicked, he tries to hide from his producer and the paparazzi (a name originally dubbed by Fellini himself) by going to a small spa in the countryside, only to be followed by his whole production crew, his mistress, his wife, his memories, and his fantasies. Unfortunately, copying a master is very much like the analog comparison of taking a photo of a work of art – one loses clarity, detail, awe inspiring craftsmanship, artistry and originality. I suggest one not see “8 ½” before viewing “Nine.” See it fresh and enjoy it. “Nine” does stand very strongly on its own. And it really isn’t fair to make comparisons; nothing could compare to Fellini’s most powerful, truly amazing work which even today blows minds. “Nine” reminded me more a Fosse production, except the dancing wasn’t as sexy. The very American flavor of the musical numbers, especially Kate Hudson’s Italiano, are exciting and very entertaining. All the actresses happen to have great voices. You already knew that about Kidman from “Moulin Rouge” (2001), Cotillard from “Edith Piaf” (2007), and Fergie, obviously. But what a surprise to see Cruz, Dench and DD Lewis belting out their numbers.

I did miss the trademark Fellini music that is still his trademark, written by Nino Roto for most of his films. How can any Italian themed film not include at least a few riffs in the style of Rota? Actually, I was distracted by not hearing it.

I thought Penelope Cruz was gorgeous, Nicole Kidman elegant, Kate Hudson adorable, Judi Dench timeless, Fergie raw, and Marion Cotillard the true embodiment of love – until Sophia Loren appeared on the screen. At 75, she is still the ultimate woman and overshadows all others. I don’t mean I remember how she was, or I pay homage to her past glory. She still is! I want to thank the Weinstein Company for bringing her to the big screen again.

In the first 5 minutes, I felt “The Missing Person” proved the film noir genre was a unique thing of the past that should not be disturbed. The genre was famous for its lighting (making the Venetian blind a mainstay of cinematographers and gaffers forclose to 15 years). The opening of

Good old fashioned eavesdropping by Michael Shannon.

The Missing Person” is just dark, without subtlety, gradation, mood or artistry. There isn’t even a neon light outside a flophouse room interrupting the dull blackness. Sure, it’s got a loud, high speed subway mere feet away from the window, but is that enough?

A guy wakes up to a phone call. His typical gumshoe voice, drenched in old martinis and bad dreams, jaded and fatigued, accepts a job entailing following a man on a train from Chicago to L.A. $500 a day plus expenses can’t be turned down in his economic state. But even his voice is too flat, too monotone to involve an audience. This actor is trying to hard to play a stereptypical private eye, and in the process, falls far short of the greats: Humphry Bogart with his wry intonations, Robert Mitchem with his undertone of anger and sexuality, Robert Ryan with his seething madness just under the surface.

“Alvin and the Chipmunks: the Squeakwell,” is all you’d expect it to be. The plot is safe and time worn, but the kids probably haven’t seen it yet – if they’re very young. The characters are sweet and amicable, with one blatant villain easy for kids to undestand and boo at. The animation is very lifelike and the whole audience will soon forget that the creatures are not real, and will happily suspend disbelief. But most of all, the music is hot. It was obviously intended for an older audience, so parents bringing their children will have a good time despite the over-acting and lack of surprises. It’s their music –- some of the most rockin’ hits from the 70's and 80's are brought back with the distinctive Chipmunks treatment. As soon as I got home, I whipped out my Chipmunk Punk album and reminisced to the beat of “My Sherona.” Yes, I have a Chipmunk album and am proud of it. This is not children’s music, though they can enjoy it as much as we adults do.

Wonder what it was like being in the presence of or working with Orson Welles? Do you even know who Orson Welles is? “Me and Orson Welles” is a unique opportunity to get up close to one of the most iconic, unabashedly outspoken, creative and original film and theater artists America has possibly yet produced. Back in 1937, in the depths of the Depression, before his Halloween radio production of “War of the Worlds” that threw the East Coast of the United States into a panic, before “Citizen Kane,” which at the same time brought Welles to international fame and almost doomed his budding career, Wells directed and starred in Shakespeare’s “Julius Caesar”. In this story, which is mostly true, a young boy recounts playing a small part in the play and being introduced to the “theater”, theater people, and Orson Welles.

It is easy to suspend one’s disbelief because the actor playing Welles is making his first appearance in a feature film, and though he doesn’t think so, he is a dead ringer for the young Welles. Not only does Christian McKaylook eerily similar to Welles, but he brought his basso voice down a few notches and even got the reverb right. And the overpowering character of Welles is recreated perfectly. I really felt in the presence of Welles. Director Richard Linklater even admits he would have chucked the whole project, after buying the rights to Robert Kaplow’s novel, investing most of his own money and finding investors for the balance of the project, securing all other cast and crew, if he had not found McKay in a production of “Rosebud,” of all plays, in a 50 seat theater on off

Leslie (Meg Ryan), when told by her husband, Ian (Tim Hutton), that he doesn’t love her anymore, won’t let him go, figuratively and literally. She insists she will convince him he still loves her as he did in the past. She will change whatever made him believe he doesn’t love her anymore, whatever is wrong with their marriage. He even tells her he is now in love with another woman, but she is undeterred in her dogged and relentless pursuit of his once vital love.

Okay, I’m not with this woman. Not only do I think the guy’s a jerk and doesn’t deserve a real grown up woman as opposed to the typical much younger, idealistic, naïve woman/child he will run away with (Kristen Bell), but I can’t stand Meg’s desperation. In her various attempts to reconcile, her behavior is so extreme, I start seeing visions of Kathy Bates in “Misery” (1990), forcing her captive, James Caan, to love her. I am reminded of Michael Madsen singing and dancing in front of thecaptive cop in “Reservoir Dogs” (1992), wielding a straight razor and suddenly cutting off the cop’s ear without missing a beat of his musical routine. I figured this film was going to turn very, very dark and there would be blood. But Meg plays it for the laughs, though it really is not funny. She plays a border line sociopath, but the audience is supposed to think she’s cute when she hugs her tape-bound husband and shows him slides from their wedding. I am spooked and know that it could not have been the intention of screenwriter Adrienne Shelly (“Waitress” 2007) to spook. “Waitress” was quirky, but followed a particular philosophy throughout that made sense. And please give a moment of silence for the horrendous murder of Ms. Shelly in 2006, shortly before the opening of her break out film. Was it Cheryl Hines’ miscalculation as first time feature director, having been in many comedies previously (TV’s “Curb Your Enthusiasm”)? I hate to cast blame, but there you go.

So I end up in limbo with a bunch of characters I don’t like in a situation I can’t relate to. Make it a suspenseful drama or play it like a typical Hollywood romance, much like the new Hugh Grant, Sarah Jessica Parker reconciliation film, “Did You Hear About The Morgans?” (2009), or really go for blood and get Meg earning her big bucks as an actress, not just a cute Hollywood darling.

I can’t give away too much more of this mish mash, except I did find the last third of the film really interesting and surprising. I still won’t give it a reprieve since I find the basic premise and execution very faulty. And I did enjoy Meg’s explanation of why she doesn’t want to be a divorced woman. So true.

A tiger can't change his stripes, an elephant never forgets, birds got to fly and fish got to swim. So, foxes must thieve -- stealing chickens, partridges, as well as smoked hams and apple cider, and many items still nailed to the floor. Try as he may to fulfill his promise to his wife never to steal again, Mr. Fox just can't resist. The plan, the execution, the danger, the fine repasts are all too much temptation, at least for a fox with a fox's nature. The repercussions to his family, his animal community and the whole environment wreak havoc on this pristine environment.

I didn't think I'd enjoy "Fantastic Mr. Fox," but I thoroughly did. I expected the plot to be thin and tired. I expected the 1960's type stop motion animation to bore me within minutes. After all, I've seen "Up," the best of 3D animation -- and I'm still mesmerized by the flow of the balloons wafting over the house. I tried to figure it out afterwards -- why did I like this film so much? Maybe George Clooney's rather matter-of-fact delivery, a perfect blending of over-self-confidence and Ocean's coolness. The animation was a 21st Century improvement of a 60's format and added subtle color and action. The dialogue and jokes, though directed at grown ups, were still get-able to the children in the audience. Maybe it was just the indescribable heart without schmaltz or sentimentality.

This film was sooooo bad, it was.... fun. Not good, but good fun. It is a devastating criticism of science fiction books, their writers, the hopefuls and all sci fi enthusiasts. You may say they are all easy targets and have been the brunt of insults in film and television many times before, but this film is by far the most insulting in its tackiness, raw stupidity, and underlying genius in exposing those at the top of this particular heap.

Ben (Michael Angarano), dressed in one of his mother's creations,
being publicly humiliated by renown author
Chevalier (Jermaine Clement)

Woeful, young Ben (Michael Angarano, “Man in the Chair” 2007) writes sci-fi fantasy novels not only to escape his odd, lonely life in a very cozy geodesic dome with his loving, home-schooling mom Judith (Jennifer Coolidge again playing an off kilter lady, this time mom and nightgown fashion designer [once the standard poodle owner in “Best in Show” 2000]), but also in remembrance of his father. The main character of his novel is Bronco, an incarnation of his dad, who fights evil, cylops, yeast miners who want to create a superior army based on his excised scrotum’s valuable genes. The constant references to laser blasting teats, testicles, projectile vomit, character names that sound like anus and references to other sundry human parts is not so much reflective of the authors’ adolescent intelligence, but well chosen examples of the sci-fi fan mentality. Marrieds Jared and Jerusha Hess co-wrote “Nacho Libre” (2006) and “Napoleon Dynamite” (2004) as well as “Gentlemen Broncos,”, so they seem to have a direct

Bronco (Sam Rockwell) mounted on military buck

line into the mind set of the off kilter youth of America. Well, somebody’s got to do it, or at least profit from it. No, really, I loved “Napoleon D.” for the psychological complexity hidden under the seemingly dead faces and monotone voices of its American heartland characters. It really spoke volumes about the stoic, yet troubled characters that populate that film and possibly our country.

Back to “Gentlemen Broncos” (even though there is only one multi-faceted character called Bronco in the film). Ben goes to a sci-fi symposium, meets fellow home-school students Tabatha (Halley Feiffer in her first major role) and her filmmaking buddy (Hector Jimenez, “Sin Nombre” 2009), and listens in awe to recognized giant among sci-fi authors, Chevalier (Jermaine Clement, “Diagnosis Death” 2009). From hopeful writing contestant, to plagiarized failure, to a writer whose work has been bastardized in film, Ben’s life seems to always find a way to get worse. Leaps in logic; hysterically pathetically drawn characters; adolescent plots and absurd special effects (the sound is always good) in both Ben’s real life and the various versions of his book, all keep the audience jaw-dropped while laughing -- no easy feat. Of course, Sam Rockwell (“Moon” 2009) as both incarnations of Bronco was a blast (literally) to watch even though he was unrecognizable.

Directors: Wen Jian, Mira Nair, Shunji Iwai, Brett Ratner, Allen Hughes, Shekhar Khapur, Natalie Portman, Fatih Akin, Joshua Marston and Randy Balsmyer.

Writers: Emmanuel Benbihy, Tristan Carne, Hall Powell, Israel Horovitz, James C. Strouse, Shunji Iwai, Hu Hong, Yao Meng, Joshua Marston, Alexandra Cassavetes, Stephen Winter, Jeff Nathanson, Anthony Minghella, Natalie Portman, Fatih Akin, Yvan Attal, Olivier Lecot, Suketu Mehta,

Cast: Bradley Cooper, Andy Garcia, Hayden Christensen, Rachel Bilson, Natalie Portman, Irrfan Khan, Abe Karpen, Emilie Ohana, Orlando Bloom, Christina Ricci, Maggie Q, Ethan Hawke, James Caan, Blake Lively, Drea de Matteo, John Hurt, Shia LaBeouf, Julie Christie, John Hurt, Drea de Matteo, Burt Young, Chris Cooper, Robin Wright Penn, Ethan Hawke, Eli Wallach and Cloris Leachman, Anton Yelchin

Time: 1:52
Rated: R

I can imagine a round table production meeting of all the writers and directors of “New York, I Love You,” a table that dwarfs King Arthur’s, where somehow everyone agrees on how all the stories intersect, how the tone, color, and overall feel of the film develops into a beautiful mosaic from a pile of multicolored shards. Actually, I can’t imagine it. Really, how did they do that—meld 12 five minute short films into one flowing fugue in homage to New York?

For those of you unfamiliar with New York City or not in the art or rock music fields, you may not know about the Chelsea Hotel. For years it has been considered a dive with a great artistic tradition in the Chelsea area of Manhattan (perhaps named after the hotel itself, or vice versa). It boasts, besides some of the great emerging artists of New York; multi-day parties of drunken and drugged revelry; many deaths, some accidental, some not; and a quixotic manager who wouldn't charge some and gouged others.

In all her glory.

Even as a resident of New York, I wanted to spend one night at the Chelsea, but didn't have the nerve or the need. I only lived a few blocks away anyway. I was on 24th and 2nd; the Chelsea was 23rd and 7th. Typical for New York, the crossroads of the world, and the Chelsea being a hub within that hub, I was walking past the Chelsea one day and some men called out to me by name. They were a Belgium dance performance group I had interviewed for my San Francisco TV show earlier that year. Years later, another friend of mine, a research scientist from Santa Rosa, CA, working in England, invited me for lunch while she was staying over.

Producer Jen Gatien was living in the Chelsea Hotel when rumors of the change of management started to swirl around its hallways. She then decided to document the hotel's illustrious reputation and coming changes, enrolling her father's long time friend, filmmaker Abel Ferrar to direct.

More than historic documentary, the film is actually a recordation of what the Chelsea has been recently, and includes interviews with many of it's tenants and a look at its changes from a residency/day hotel for artists of all ilks, whether they could pay or not, to a boutique hotel with rates starting at $225 all way up to the best and most expensive any hotel can rival. You can learn a lot more about the hotel from Wikipedia or the film's website (www.aliquotsum.com). But the filmmaker, Abel Ferrare, the long time residents, and those who hold dear the traditions of the Chelsea, warts and all, want to yell and scream about what a great place the Chelsea once was and what it's turned into under the new regime.

I certainly don't mind what was covered in this doc, even though the transitions to dramatizations were sometimes confusing, even though there were no names of people speaking printed on the bottom of the screen, even though Abel Ferrara constantly speaks off camera, injecting annoying monosyllabics and useless comments. I would have liked more information about the history of the hotel, integrating more of its illustrious guests and the impact each made upon the other. We never heard from the new management of the hotel either. Was this because they had no comment or Ferrara decided what this documentary should impart? Though all documentaries do have a perspective and agenda, "Chelsea on the Rocks" is decidedly partial, giving only a partial story and a partial perspective. I have no doubt the new management is only out to make a profit at the cost of the artist community and the legacy promulgated by the hotel's manager for the past 50 years, Stanley Bard, but one can juxtapose another documentary, "Crude," which extensively interviews Exxon's spokespersons regarding poisonous crude oil pollution in Ecuador to bring into clarity what liars and ruthless environmental killers they are. Ferrara should have trusted that, given the opportunity, the new management of the Chelsea Hotel would have condemned themselves as well.

Since "Chelsea on the Rocks" is the only film out there about the Chelsea Hotel, once a frightening hell and artistic haven at the same time, now completely sanitized, sterilized and depersonalized, you really ought to see what's left of it.

Reconciliation is definitely the high road, one not often enough taken. Both sides in the "troubles" in Ireland believed God was on their side and they felt they had to do something. Lives were lost, yet your neighbor may have been your son's killer 30 years earlier. Understandably, it may take more than time and even prison sentences to heal these wounds.

In "Five Minutes of Heaven," for those who have not found closure, a popular reality TV show brings the opposing parties together for a meeting, forgiveness and an resolution to that episode of their lives. People who were hurt during those times can finally confront the perpetrators. The producers and staff of this show are sensitive to the emotions surging under the skins of their guests and do their best to calm them and get both sides into the same room for civilized discussion. One guest, Alistair Little (played by Liam Neeson, "Batman Begins"), at the age of 17, put on a ski mask and went to the home of his target, saw a young boy playing ball outside the house, walked past him and up to the window of the house, and killed the target -- who happened to be the young boy's brother. The other guest, Joe Griffin (played by James Nesbitt, "Match Point"), is the same brother who witnessed the murder.

Now, it's bad enough to witness one's brother's death, but even though the culprit was brought to justice and served a prison term, there seems to be no end to the nightmare. Obviously unfairly, Nesbitt's mother blamed him, at the time a child of no more than 12, for not stopping the man with the gun from killing her son. So, besides grief, there is shame, loss of one's mother's love, feelings of cowardice and a strong need for revenge.

Girls always have a hard time getting permission to partake in sports. Remember "Bend it Like Beckham" (2002) and "Ice Princess" (2005), among others? Well, maybe it's not so easy to remember "Ice Princess." Nonetheless, parents would still rather see their daughters pursuing academic careers or family life rather than competitive sports, be the sport as culturally accepted as soccer or as pristine and elegant as figure skating.

Little Ellen Page in the center.

Certainly roller derby, the grittiest, most violent, lowest common denominator sport, played in abandoned warehouses by women of dubious pasts and social habits, ensconced in ripped fishnet hose, tattoos and far too much makeup, is simply not acceptable. This milieu is certainly not accepted for Jenny (Ellen Page - "Juno") who at the age of 17 is still being dragged by her mother (Marcia Gay Harden - "Miller's Crossing") to beauty competitions and is being groomed for college.

So, Burke (Aaron Eckhart) lost his wife three years ago. This devastating experience led him to write a book on dealing with grief, which led to his giving seminars, and attracting the attention of media moguls who want to turn him into a virtual grief guru with TV show and a line of lucrative products including diet powder since surveys have shown that grieving people gain weight.

Aaron meets a lot of people in his travels, including lots and lots of women, from seminar participants to talk show and magazine interviewers to photographers. But one day he turns a hotel hallway corner and bumps into Jennifer Anniston. Ah, she's the one! This is where the film looses me. Couldn't come up with a better plot device to pierce his long standing grief/guilt/isolation than a bump into Jennifer? Romantic to some, damned Hollywood lack of attention, lack of imagination, lack of experience among the film's writers to me. In any case, I go ho hum in my seat and from that point on watch with my head instead of my heart and wish I had more popcorn to munch on. But it doesn't stop there. The pat Hollywood romantic pap continues through the predictable plot. Jennifer plays hard to get then relents, Jennifer comes up with really cute ideas to make a date more fun than imaginable, Aaron screws it up so they break up and then can get back together again. Lordy, lordy, have I been there before? Well, yes, but never in so much rain as in this Seattle-based film. Humor me -- watch one commercial for "Love Happens," then explain the whole plot to whomever you are around at the time. Don't forget to include the public confession that is de rigeur in such films. You will not be far off. Ever think of becoming a Hollywood writer? This seems to be a year for dishonest self-help gurus. In "Arlen Farber," Jeff Daniels writes a book about his conversations with god and how now the enlightened Arlen can answer all life's questions. Of course, everyone believes him on face value and craves answers. Actually, his answers are very good; he just doesn't take his own advice. You'll cringe at this public apology as well. But I found his meeting with his love interest more imaginative.

"Love Happens" hasn't proven to me that grief is a good source of romantic comedy. The TV detective comedy "Monk" has -- underlying every moment of his daily life, Monk is aware of how much of him died with his wife. I find Eckhart's fluctuations between dating game maneuverings and dealing with his festering wounds of grief and sorrow unconvincing. And I had to laugh at his first meeting with Jennifer where she pretended to be deaf to cut short a conversation with him. In his almost first film, "In the Company of Men" (1997), Eckhart plays a misogynist who plots to manipulate and ruin the life of a hearing impaired woman who works in his office. I had to chuckle.

And I have to admit, I have always thought there was more to Jennifer A-nniston than being just perky and cute and needing to get a man in her life. She showed such great promise as an actress in "The Good Girl" (2002), tackling much more interesting material. This was a film that explored real human feelings of quiet desperation, not one that dazzles its audience with 20 different beauty shots of the Seattle needle. That's an example of content versus style. "Love Happens" is one step less unsettling for me than her last foray in acting, "Management" (2008), a romantic comedy about a stalker who wins over a cute, yet serious girl. Okay, she was much more somber in this one.

Eckhard and Anniston find true happiness again.

The point is, if I'm comparing "Love Happens" to so many other films, it's because my mind was drifting to better places while I watched this one. Show me something new, not necessarily a whole original film, but one thought, one scene, one something that hasn't been beaten to death, often better, in a plethora of other films. If you've never seen a Hollywood romance before, this might be very fresh and charming. There are new audiences going to films for the first time all the time. "Love Happens" has all the elements you like and will learn to expect in romances. Eckhart and Anniston make a lovely couple who are very sweet. There are no bad guys in this film and I like that. Nice date movie for young people who haven't seen it before.

Inga (Ursula Werner) delivers a pair of pants she has altered for a customer (Horst Rehberg) to his home. He's surprised she came all this way to deliver the pants. Though a happily married woman, she smiles coquettishly. I swear I can see her eyelashes flutter. He can't help but pick up on her obvious, adolescent flirting and responds accordingly. Within minutes, they are undressing and are in the throes of passion, nakedly writhing, intimately touching, reaching climax together, relaxing in each other's arms. Now, here's the kicker. Inga is 67 years old and Werner is 76.

Ursula Werner and Horst Rehberg -- afterglow

The plot to me is married old woman meets old man, they fall in love, ecstasy and guilt follow. Really not much of a plot. Nonetheless, I am fascinated because: first of all, this is not an attractive woman. Even in her prime, she could only have been considered plain, and I love honing in on the lives of real people, especially older women, the most undeserved in the film world. The recently released "Seraphina," explored the true life of an unattractive, overweight, silent, hardworking woman who happened to be a very talented artist. In that review I admitted I was disappointed to find she was exceptional in some way and that made her biopic valid. I wanted the typical life of a woman, not particularly beautiful, talented, gifted or extraordinary, but a woman like most of us in this aging world population. Voila, or should I say, Ach de lieber, here is Inga.

Secondly, the subtlety of the script explores in small nuances and suggestions the life and character of Inga and her men. Her husband was her second. If you do the math, Inga was 37 when they married. What happened to the first husband? I assume he died because we see her daughter (Steffi Kühnert) from her first marriage and there is no mention of the adult child's father. We explore Inga's feelings about being in love, passionately, again after all this time and the resulting confusion about her relationships with her lover and her husband. Though we explore the many ramifications of her adultery, very little is suggested about the issue of age. How long will she have with her new man if she stays with him? Should she give up all she has for this probably brief relationship? How does she justify her actions to her husband? How does he react?

And the reason all of these psychological facets of Inga's relationships are so fascinating is because Ursula Werner is a consummate actress. Very often people are awed by great acting. Meryl Streep gets all her accents right from "Sophie's Choice"'s Polish to "Doubt"'s Rosie O'Donnell Long Islandese. We watch the twitch of her brow inflected at just the right moment in the dialogue, her gestures, her intonations. Not to take away from Ms. Streep, as I never would, Werner's talent can slip right past you. You don't watch the actress work in scenes from erotic euphoria to annoyance to guilt to joy; you live it with the character. She is flawless in embodying her character and we are carried with her on her emotional roller coaster.

It's good to see old people living their lives; to note that emotionally they're the same as ours. They are not necessarily wiser than the next guy, or crotchety, or Altzheimic, or simplistic. They are what we are; the whole wide range of people they were in their youths. It's good to know that. It's good to see people live out their lives, meet challenges, make choices -- and they don't have to look like Katherine Heigl as the girl who can't get a date. They look like real people and live real lives. Hey, Americans, we can take it. Aren't we all a little bored with the pretty people imitating us unconvincingly, pathetically, insultingly. Inga looking at herself naked in a mirror may not be a pretty sight, her close-ups may be unsympathetic, but we are all mature enough to appreciate her life and join her in it for an hour and a half.

If "My One and Only" is a comedy, it is a human comedy, based on human situations, not jokes, pratfalls, unrealistic situations. The opening credits of the film make it clear that this is a story that takes place at a certain time, the 1950's, with an image and music filled montage, the age of the blossoming American family, a time from which much of America has never recovered or at least changed, a time of the housewife, either middle class and a good mother, or upper class and a Manhattan socialite. Women were wives or not talked about at all.

In this environment, we find Ann Devereaux (Réne Zellweger), wife of successful bandleader, Dan (Kevin Bacon), catching said husband in flagranto delicto with another woman. With class that I immediately admire in her, she helps zips the other woman's dress, packs her own bags, and leaves. No fighting, no displays of emotion. What's the point? He's ruined their marraige and she's gone. Oh, yes. She takes her two teenage sons with her. She can't leave them with him. Now, where to they go to school? Okay, she finds them, packs them into a new Cadillac, and starts a journey she believes will be short and successful -- to find a new husband.

Back in 1974, in "Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore," Ellen Burstyn (the housewife) and her son start fresh. She faces her own disappointments and inner growth while dealing with the real world. "Alice" is a more gritty film than "My One and Only" that rings very true in a time when women were struggling for independence and the ability to fulfill their dreams. "Auntie Mame" (1958) depicts Mame (Rosalind Russell), not only a socialite, by a very eccentric one, raising her nephew while hunting for a rich husband. Now, that fantasy really was fun, sumptuous, lighthearted. There's no reality in "Mame," though it reflects the type of women who never wants the party to end and would marry when funds got low (think Gabors). Surprisingly, and I really was surprised at the end of the film, "My One and Only" is a biopic. There was such a woman who in the early 1950's believed

Extract is a pleasant enough comedy. I laughed several times, I empathized with our frustrated protagonist, I stayed awake. But the pathos of "Funny People," or the biting, satirical, political commentary of "In the Loop," or the extreme shock and daring of "Bruno" just weren't there. So, it seemed to me I was watching a TV movie, pleasant, safe, predictable, comfortable. Oddly, writer/director Mike Judge is the TV co-creator of such programs as "King of the Hill" and "Beavis and Butt-Head," as well as contributing to "Saturday Night Live," all of which take more chances in their themes and stories. Is Judge mellowing out with age?


Ben Affleck with beard dispenses advice as well as booze.
Jason Bateman as frustrated husband unfortunately follows it.

It's not easy making a comedy about teen suicide. I'm not even sure it's commendable that Bobcat Goldthwaite attempted it. I am sure just the publicity, advertisements, trailers, and talk about this film will cause tremendous pain and outrage among the growing population of parents who have lost children to suicide. But all the most serious comics will tell you that no subject should be taboo or the socially redeeming, cathartic and valuable criticism attached to comedic social commentary will be drowned in conservatism and overly energetic political correctness. We need to exercise our artistic and creative juices, commenting on any subject, or what's the First Amendment and the funny bone for?

Having said that, Goldthwaite sets us up to want to kill off this kid, Kyle, too convincing played by Daryl Sabara (all the "Spy Kids"). He's not just obnoxious, stupid, ugly, overweight, and slovenly, but he hates his father, loving, patient Lance Clayton (played by Robin Williams). How can you hate Robin Williams? Kyle is also literally perverted, fantasizing about feces covered bodies while asphixiating himself during orgasm. Really, his kid should not live. One wonders how he keeps his one friend, a quite, respectful, pensive boy, Andrew (played by Evan Martin in his first film). He might rather be friendless, except he appreciates spending time in Kyle's house, away from his alcoholic mother.

As if this situation weren't dismall enough, Lance himself feels he is a dismal failure as a writer, having written 5 novels among other works, none published, and he's about to lose his poetry teaching job due to a tightening budget.

Things happen I'd rather not give away. Suffice it to say, Williams manipulates a few facts following an accident; the outcome is he tastes success, but eventually it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. I like that,

under the circumstances, we all might have done what he did. That's not to say this film mirrors reality in any way, but the choices made under these odd circumstances are believable.

Interesting note: I pondered after the film about Williams' character's wonderful writing ability, yet his failure to be published. During the film, anyone who had read anything he had written honestly and sincerely felt the work was very good. This is a sad commentary about the possibly many unpublished, wonderful writers out there who, for one reason or another, never made it. How come?

Unfulfilled: I never got enough information to figure out why fellow schooltecher Claire (Alexie Gilmore of TV's "New Amsterdam") was involved with Williams. She is sweet, warm, friendly, honest. On the one hand, she really seemed to like him. On the other, she bounced over to his rival as the winds blew fair or foul. Never really understood the motivations behind her affair with Williams. I felt unfulfilled as an observer of their relationship.

Confused: The ending of the film seemed very out of context, un-led-up-to and perplexing. Sadly, it was not very attractive either. Sorry, Robin. I can say no more.

Moral of the story: if you kill yourself, you don't get to control how you're remembered.

Young grandson, David (Paul Campbell, the new “Knight Rider” and “Battlestar Galactica”), wants to help his 84 year old grandfather, Joe (Andy Griffith, “Matlock” and “Mayberry, R.F.D.”), out of his suicidal funk. Joe just can’t find the strength to live without his wife/companion/one true love. Even though she made him promise on her death bed that he would look for companionship, he just hasn’t been able to do it. David decides to inspire Grandpa with his sure fire techniques for playing the game, and if not find love and companionship, at least have some fun and a zest for living again. At the same time, after years of womanizing, David has met the woman he believes is his true companion (Maria Sokoloff) and pursues her -- disastrously using his otherwise successful tricks.

So goes the plot of “Play the Game.” For it to be effective, this genera-tional comedy must contrast the lifestyles of these two men. David is a player who knows how to make women believe they are picking him up, then bed them and politely move on. Grandpa Joe has only had one women in his life -- his wife. I find it interesting that every generation believes it has invented the pleasures and diversity of sex. The flappers of the Roaring 20's did. The more independent self-sufficient women of World War II America did while their husbands and beaus were

On the other hand, Grandpa has a few really wise words to impart to his more experienced grandson. Regarding the woman who is one’s true companion -- you’ll know it the moment you meet her or when she leaves. The seesawing between the two approaches to love also is a source of higher comedy which I found much more interesting. Grandpa can teach as much to David about the heart as David can to Grandpa about manipulation.

Of interesting note: Clint Howard plays David’s father, a cold, wife-deserting, used car sales manager. Here’s the amusing connection -- besides being a well known Hollywood staple for the last 45 years, from child actor to father of the lead, he is also Ron Howard’s brother who played Andy Griffith’s son in “The Andy Griffith Show.” Clint himself was a guest on the show five times. Clint and Andy didn’t share any scenes in “Play the Game,” but I’m sure they spent some time reminiscing about the old days.

I love the nursing home/condo in which Grandpa Joe resides. He has total independence, respect, privacy, gorgeous accommodations and the administration does not frown on intimate relationships or interfere in them. I want to go there when my time copmes, if such a place exists.

This film may not appeal to the younger crowd because it can’t compete with the over-the-top antics of films like “The Hangover,” and others of that genre. But Grandpa Joe’s generation may really appreciate the representation of their situation in life, if they’re not insulted by some of the moments.

Director/co-writer/producer and medical doctor, Sarab S. Neelam is a Sikh born in Toronto and now working in Detroit. He wanted to bring his story to the screen, the story of being raised a Sikh in Canada, thousands of miles away from his native Sikh culture in India, and then the leap to the United States and it's pressures to assimilate.

Dr. Amrit Singh (Omid Abtahi), a surgeon specializing in organ transplants, is offered a dream job in Detroit, heading the whole transplant wing of a major hospital, getting millions of dollars in research money, choosing his own staff -- so "Ocean of Pearls" goes. To accept this job, he must leave the Sikh religious and cultural womb of Toronto, his family and his fiancé. He doesn't hesitate, asking his fiancé to consider moving there as well. As always, he dutifully wears his turban, never cutting his hair and beard, as God intended, though the beard does look suspiciously short for a man his age. Never mind. Being a Sikh anywhere has its drawbacks. In India during the partition in 1947, Muslims set about trying to exterminated the whole sect. In the 1960's, the Hindus were in conflict with them. In Canada, the taunts of school children and bullies as well as the profiling by airport personnel is a constant cross to bear (pardon my mixing of religious metaphors). But the pressures of conformity to attain success in the United States, even if one's goals are altruistic and humanitarian, seem insurmountable.

Paul Giamatti plays himself, the respected actor, rehearsing "Uncle Vanya," and having a very hard time with the actor's process and developing the character. His anguish, frustration, psychological pain, confusion and sense of defeat are overwhelming. He hears about a new medical process by which one's soul can be removed and stored, leaving the patient light, angst-less and more able to function. He does it. This certainly sounds like a deal with the devil and you know there will be a price to pay.

This is a comedy. I tell you right off since you may not notice. It is deadpan, straight faced comedy. The actors play for drama, but the dialogue and the absurd situations are high satire and commentary on our society which constantly aims to rid people of the discomforts that make them unique and human. Not to say the soul is exclusively human, but without it, life becomes emotionally numb, empty and purposeless.

The film questions what the soul actually adds to an individual, what it's like to be soulless, what it's like to use someone else's soul instead of one's own. Of course, I saw it all already in an episode of "The Simpson's" in which Bart sells his soul and then tries desperately to get it back, feeling a ghost of his former self.

Well, Paul also feels the need to get his soul back and finds out a group of Russian soul traffickers have taken it. Oh, those Russians -- the new bad guys. They're white, so we can't be accused of bigotry. They're alien, so, they're accent gives them away. And unfortunately, they've developed a reputation, probably well earned, for mafiosa-like criminal dealings since the fall of Communism. And there's no Russian antidefamation league yet.

Asperger's Syndrome is a condition in which one has difficultly reading people's facial expressions or subtext or irony or sarcasm. But it is an asset in "Adam," a film written and directed by Max Meyer, about an Asperger's victim or in this case, recipient. Due to his innocence in social situations, he can be trusted to always tell the truth, be gentle and slightly timid, never cheat on a girlfriend, always try extra hard to please. And being played by adorable Hugh Dancy is the cincher-- he's the perfect boyfriend. Rose Byrne's character, Beth Buchwald, who just ended an unhappy relationship with a high powered stockbroker/cheater, finds a quiet haven in Adam, an uncomplicated, yet accomplished electrical engineer who can earn a good living once he finds a new job, and he is seriously looking.

Asperger's has obviously knocked out Obsessive Compulsive Disorder as the entertainment industry's new neurotic behavior de jour. We've gone from "As Good As It Gets" (1997) to "Monk" (now in its last season) among other films and TV shows, and probably for the next few years variations on Asperger will be grist for the mill. Actually, a new, feature length, animation called "Mary and Max," highlights a very different Asperger's sufferer. Max is old, obese, gruff and voiced by Philip Seymour Hoffman. Since he's not cute and endearing like Adam, instead of a lover, a child pen pal keeps in touch with him throughout many years of correspondence.

This is the fictionalized story of a fat, middle aged, unattractive woman who works hard for a living doing manual labor. Really! I'm hooked. I want to watch this and discover what makes her film-worthy. What is her inner life? What secrets does she hold?

Séraphine Louis lived from 1864 to 1942, most of her life as a servant, launderess, and maid. She came from the lowest class in her town of Senlis, France, and was treated accordingly -- with disdain if at all. When not working, she spent her little free time painting flowers in her small rented room. She said she was told by the angels to paint. So, there is already an inkling of insanity in her behavior when the film starts, shortly before World War I. A well known German art collector and critic rents a house in the countryside near her and she is hired to keep the place clean. Purely by accident, he sees her work and recognizes its merit.

Séraphine (Yolande Moreau) is finally appreciated
for her work by art critic (Ulrich Tukur)

One could possibly say Séraphine was a victim of poor timing. Already close to 50 years old, her talent is discovered shortly before WWI by a German who must flee the country for his life. He all but forgets her after the war when his sister runs into her work in a small Senlis art show and reminds him of his previous high hopes for Séraphine. He encourages Séraphine to continue her art and give up the drudgery of manual labor, and becomes her patron. But before she can achieve the fame she deserves, the 1939 economic crash throws not only the U.S., but Europe and most of the world into crisis. There's not much art buying during the Great Depression.

During the course of her life, especially after she becomes recognized as an artist, she slowly and gently drifts into insanity. I question: was it artistic recognition that effected her mind, or to put it another way, did her ego literally get the better of her mind; did intense exposure to oil paints in her unventilated room cause brain damages (many say Van Gogh was effected by too much chromium yellow fumes); did the pressures of her upbringing as a have-not cause irreparable damage to her psyche at an early age; did accumulated disappointment in her personal life and artistic career push her over the edge? All are possibilities. None are explored other than to present the circumstances of her life.

I have to say I was almost disappointed to see she had a genius for something -- a talent that made her special. I really wanted to explore the life of an ordinary, not-attractive, older woman who, due her culture and circumstances, had no hope of reprieve from drudgery and ultimately a lonely death. I empathized with her. I wanted to love her for who she was -- an overlooked and forgotten human being who by accident of birth suffered poverty and isolation. But no, just another brilliant artist who should have received recognition for her paintings.

Still, it's wonderful to finally discover Séraphine Louis and to enjoy her beautiful, vibrant, "insect like", moving flowers. How does a culture or a world democratize art so it can be seen by the world, artists can receive the acclaim they deserve whether they are male or female, critically acclaimed or not, with the appropriate background and education or not? Silly me -- the Internet, of course. I would be remiss if I didn't direct you all to my sister's website: www.bonniesteiger.com/ssyindex.htm . It just so happens, I personally know and am blood related to an artist with the genius and vision on par with Séraphine Louis, if I say so myself. How could you not take a peek at her etchings?

The film, Bruno, concentrates on this Austrian model’s sexuality and need for fame. Cast out of Europe’s hip social circles, he goes to America to seek fame. He tries many different strategies, including hosting a celebrity talk show (I know that doesn’t work); brokering peace in the Middle East; representing a “cause” like global warming or the Rain Forest or AIDS, whatever is hottest right now; adopting an African baby; even going straight since so many famous people are. His naivety represents the gullibility of the American and world public, the people he recruits to help him represent the manipulators and power brokers. Both sides are greedy, self serving, and extremely stupid -- but one side has all the money and the other side wants it. Am I taking too grand a view of this film? I’m sure Sacha Baron Cohen considered this view while he and his colleagues wrote it.

I hear the European version of Bruno is more explicit than the American version. That’s okay. I don’t need more details -- I get it, more than get it, got it up to here. And then some. There are only a couple of black overlay boxes to protect the audience’s sensibilities during amusing sex scenes. I was glad the boxes were there. Anything that is in the European version that isn’t in the American version is just more porn and certainly not necessary to the story.

By the way, I know a lot of the situations and scenes were done with actors. How do I know? ‘Cause nobody was laughing at Bruno’s antics in the film. You may be a straight laced bigot or an outraged audience member of a talk show, but if you don’t crack a smile, you have to be from Central Casting.

Sometimes people are so damaged by their childhood experiences of sexual and emotional brutality that there's just no healing, there's no way to be among the living, there's only constant suffering and dreams of release to whatever the afterlife may bring. Christian heaven -- that may be too wonderful to hope for. Buddhist nothingness -- a welcome blessing. Having another chance through reincarnation is too scary -- "can't do this again."

I have never enjoyed comedy based on stereotypes. It’s too easy to poke fun at people who are clichés, and they don’t really exist anyway. The obnoxious American, the hot Spanish divorcees, the loud and raucous Australians, the stuck up English woman, the pathetic old people. It lacks subtlety and true humor based on the ironies of the human condition. I’m not into slapstick either, but that’s a complaint for another movie. But the plot “My Life In Ruins” is based on tired, old, themes of humanizing characters initially portrayed as clichés and a woman becoming happy (and giving up all higher goals) when she falls in love.

Talk about clichés -- when a TV is on in the background, which happens several times, the only thing seen is “Zorba the Greek.” Please.....

Richard Dreyfuss’ stereotype is the older man of wisdom who spouts little philosophical jewels and may even have supernatural powers with which to help people.

What got me through this film were the beautiful backdrops that are Greece: the ruins, the sea and sky as a backdrop to the little white and blue villages perched along the dry, jutting hills. And one joke that still makes me chuckle, I’m ashamed to say -- the bus driver’s name is Poupi Caca. Say it and savor it. Poupi Caca.

If you want to see a foreign woman’s experience in and of Greece, in a film that is funny and wonderful, please rent “Shirley Valentine” (1989). It will inspire all dissatisfied, incomplete, unhappy women of all ages to move to Greece. At best, “My Life In Ruins,” will inspire you to get coffee and cake after the film to feel better.

Of course, "Big Man Japan" will be compared to "Hancock," the Will Smith vehicle about a socially inept, reluctant and ostracized super hero. Daisato, who comes from a line of super heros, he being the sixth, does not enjoy the renown, adoration or wealth that his forebears did. It is suggested the line began due to the radiation from the bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. We don't really learn why Daisato is so scorned. I'm sure all super heros fighting monsters in Japan racked up as much collateral damage as Daisato does. But these days, the populace is fed up with the mess, the loss of wild birds, and the havoc caused when Daisato does his government sanction and paid job.

Technology takes a giant leap back for fun,
sentamentality, tradition?

What's interesting about "Big Man Japan"'s approach is it uses the mockumentary format, which even includes archival footage. An off-camera voice tentatively asks questions of the hero who looks more like a dejected, homeless man. He answers slowly, carefully, and often only revealing part truths if any at all. While he is interviewed, rocks from angry neighbors crash through the windows of his less than modest abode. He doesn't even notice since he is so used to the abuse by the public. If he is not considered an unwanted pariah, he is anonymous. The local chef where Daisato eats 3 times a week doesn't even know who he is. The people on the street who are asked their opinion of him are very convincingly realistic and all their responses about him are negative. It's the authenticity and realism of this "documentary" that adds so much humor to it. It's dry, straightforward and hysterical. His family life; his relationship with his employer, the Department of Defense; his tribulations with his agent and her insistence he wear brand names for advertising revenue; his childhood -- all are explored. We sympathize, but we can't help laughing.

The most fun in the film is watching Daisato battle the myriad of monstrous creatures. With advances in special effects technology, those fights in the obvious cardboard skyscraper sets of urban Japan are no longer confined to men in rubber outfits of T-Rexs or gorillas. The threatening creatures and Daisato himself are computer creations of humorous imagination though the sets are still as flimsy and fake as ever -- this time intentional since they are software created. In one scene Daisato picks up a truck and throws it at a monster. It sounds like a plastic toy. I assume this is a sentimental tribute to the traditional monster movies of Japan which started with the best, "Godzilla."

After having seen every episode of Six Feet Under and CSI, as well as the first season of Dexter, I didn’t think there was much more I could glean from a film about dealing with the dead. Sure, we’re taken to several body preparations, where, as customary in Japan, the family and friends witness the ritualistic ablutions, as opposed to the private, tile roomed basement of the American mortuary which includes embalming. And in a social context, people are even more uncomfortable being around a mortician in Japan than they are in the U.S. Our hero’s wife leaves him because of the stigma associated with preparing the dead. But this is more a story of a cellist who gives up his music career, moves back to his deceased mother’s town and house and takes the very well paying though highly distressing job.

When our hero, Daigo (played by Masahiro Motoki), was 6 years old, his father abandoned him and his mother. It’s not so much that he never got over it as he wrote the man off and has continued on with his life. He’s married to a very sweet, patient and loving wife. Though the symphony he worked with was dissolved, he and his wife are making a go of it in his hometown with his new career which he tries to hide from her. His boss is the inscrutable Asian, wise and philosophical, saying little, imparting much (he’d make Pat Morita in his “Karate Kid” role proud). But over the course of his adjusting to his new career path, we question just how much his childhood may actually be effecting his present life.

This is a lovely film, verging on the overly sentimental -- a flock of swans punctuates the schmaltz. I’m a total sap for cello solos and there are a few very moving ones. Reverence for the dead, displayed in its various forms, plucks at our compassion and own sense of mortality. Bring a hankie -- one should suffice.

I pride myself on having a lot of general knowledge. Like a textbook Gemini (if you can call a book on astrology a text book), I dabble and flit around lots of subjects, not specializing in anything. I am very familiar with Salvador Dali, his melted watch surrealism, his maternal relationship with his wife, his party-going in the 60’s in New York where I’d often ran into him. I know Garcia Lorca’s plays and fastidiously read through them looking for audition monologues

Even in 1922 Spain, life was
a Ralph Lauren ad.

I might use (never did; they were too depressing). I watched Luis Bunuel’s films, cut goat;’s eye, cockroach sandwich and all. Yet I didn’t realize they all knew each other, went to art school together, and had evolving, tumultuous relationships. It was very elucidating and interesting learning about their relationships to each other and to their times in Spain.

All three are formulating their art through painting, filmmaking and literature, tempered by each other’s influence, which runs the gamut from intellectual discourse through sexual passion, as well as their social environment, which includes social repression and the impending Spanish Civil War. Each takes a different path. This is not only historically informative, but beautifully shot and sensitively acted.

I have to admit, I was not too happy seeing the civil war that decimated the population and ended in totalitarianism for the next 50 years depicted as a struggle for homosexual liberation. Yes, it was that, but so much more. The view was myopic and unbalanced. It is also very difficult to have a flowing, coherent film when covering a large time span. It often tends to turn significant moments into tableaus, sacrificing a flowing story line for salient moments which may even seem out of context. Unfortunately, I found much of this film jarring in its selection of what the writer and director decided where the brief moments to focus in on. And some scenes were just simply jarring. We see a tragedy taking place in the countryside, then jump to a bar in the city where friends are laughing and drinking, back to the countryside to see more of the tragedy, back to the bar where the friends are listening to a news report of the tragedy. They stand up, make a toast and cry. Huh?

“Little Ashes” hones in on three gifted men’s relationships, two of whom are lovers. They are historic figures tangled in dangerous political times. The choices they make in the face of political and social pressures inform us of who they are as men and well as artists. This is a flawed film with high artistic and biographic aspiration.

Well, it happened again. How many times have we all gone unsuspecting into a theater to enjoy a film, be it a mystery, comedy, drama or, in this case, a feature 3-D animation, and suddenly find ourselves transported to, of all places, San Francisco? It’s got to happen more often to us than any other city’s citizens. Well, partly, it’s due to movie trailers making it clear when a film takes place in New York or Los Angeles and the audience is prepared for it. Or if a film does take place in New York or Los Angeles, we expect it because so many films are actually shot and set in those cities. But it is a delicious surprise every time we watch a film unfold on the screen, and up pops the Golden Gate Bridge or some other familiar landmark.

This time it was even better because San Francisco looks absolutely fantastic in 3-D animation. We fly over a slightly altered bridge, watch Mt. Tam pass to our left, glide down to a Crissy Fields road, only to see the Pyramid Building loom large before us. We are even given the sage advice, “Go hide in the city, but stay out of the Tenderloin. It could be dicey.” This is a Dreamworks production, not Pixar. Neither Speilberg, his associates, the writers nor directors hail from San Francisco. But boy, they got it right.

Yes, there is also a kind of plot that rings familiar: an alien wants to inhabit Earth causing the extinction of all present life. Marginalized outcasts of society, in the form of monsters, are called upon to save us all. These monsters are also very recognizable, especially to Sci Fi buffs. We have the blob; a scientist intentionally self-semi-transformed like the Fly, but this time to a cockroach who has a better chance surviving any earthly catastrophe; the missing link who now sports a back fin; a moth reminiscent of the insects enlarged by exposure to radiation; and our star, the 50 foot woman.

And we have lots of famous actors voicing these characters. I quickly get bored trying to attach the voice to the character, so the names listed above are of little importance to me. Unknowns who often depict cartoon, oops, I mean animated characters, are just as good and perhaps interfere less with the suspension of disbelief.

Goodwin desperate to find the man
Anniston desperate to marry hers
Connelly oblivious in her marriage

Let the children come and fall in love with dogs. Let them understand there are too many dogs without homes who are in danger of being killed in shelters. (All right, they're being killed in the thousands every day in this country, but that's not clear in this G-rated film.) Let them learn to love and appreciate homeless dogs. Take your children to "Hotel for Dogs."

The story goes -- sister and brother orphans, Andi and Bruce (Emma Roberts and Jake T. Austin) are hiding their family dog from their foster parents (Lisa Kudrow and Kevin Dillon), a couple of wanna be rock musicians who lock the food up and share no love with the forlorn waifs. The kids' adorable terrier, who they hide from their foster parents, is captured by the dogcatcher and when they go to the shelter to pick him up, they realize the problem so many dogs face once picked up by the system. The parallels are inescapable and the children's hearts go out to canines in even more dire situations than themselves. With Cosmo's (their dog) help, they find an abandoned hotel and, with the help of their pet store employee friends and another dude (Kyla Pratt, Johnny Simmons, Troy Gentile) start collecting, saving, feeding, exercising and training homeless dogs. Bruce's inventive Rube Goldberg-type machines help in the process. Don Cheadle is the good man from social services trying to do the best he can for these orphaned good-kids.

Dinner at the Hotel for Dogs.

The dogs in this film learn how to poop in toilets, all get along, enjoy doing wonderful tricks and exhibit perfect behavior throughout. Okay, this is not a documentary, but obviously made by dog lovers, as demonstrated in the closing credits. There seems to be a need for bad guys, so the shelter workers get the thankless roles (in actuality shelter workers are often given free psychiatric counseling because the constant killing of so many healthy, affectionate, loving dogs is so hard on them).

Two-thirds of the dogs, around 70 including mutts and pure breeds of various ages, were found in rescues, including Cosmo who, with two other very similar looking Jack Russell Terriers, played Friday, the canine star of the film -- that's the fluffy white guy who belongs to the kids. All were trained by Mark Forbes of Birds and Animals Unlimited in very few months, and no special effects were used in the film. That really tells something about the capabilities of all dogs, including dogs scooped up from the streets and surrendered due to economic and/or "behavioral" problems.

Of all I've done in my life, the proudest is having fostered 25 dogs. Unlike in this film, I only had 1 or 2 at a time and it took a few years, but I saved 25 lives and would still be doing it if the owner of my building hadn't put her very loud, adament and incontrovertable foot down. My own dog was found roaming the streets of San Jose and was kept in a shelter for 2 weeks before she could be released to a rescue where I found her. It's been 8 ½ years and we're still loving every moment together.

It's one thing to be an outsider. You're looking from the outside to where people are enjoying themselves, having good conversations, good relationships, a good time. Okay, it's kind of sad being alone and watching from a distance. But being inside and not being a part of a social occasion is hell. Good people around you, even trying to engage you, but you just don't belong, you are not a part of this group in find yourself in -- that's hell!

Kate Walker (Emma Thompson) is on a blind date with an obviously younger man. They awkwardly try to carry on a conversation. He's a nice guy; nothings wrong, it's just not right. Then friends of his run into him at the bar and join them. Kate can find no way to fit in, even though the young group tries to include her. She is just not part of their social set, their time and place. Oh, the pain.

But that is nothing to Harvey Shine's (Dustin Hoffman) experience. First, he comes to London to go to his daughter's wedding. His ex-wife (Kathy Baker) has rented a house for the whole wedding party -- except him. So, he's alone in the hotel. At the dinner the night before the wedding, he has to listen to the stories of the whole family's fun in Italy the year before. He's seated at the end of the table furthest away from bride and groom. He is obviously not a part of this family. His daughter even tells him she'd like to be given away by her step father (James Brolin) than him since stepdad has become such an integral part of her family. Harvey is redundant and superfluous. Feels like all eyes are on him while at the same time no one looks at him or acknowledges his existence. I feel for this guy; I've been there.

These two lost souls meet and Harvey quickly recognizes there is hope and potential joy with this new woman. He doggedly, more puppyishly, pursues her. There is quiet peace and acceptance between them, there is redemption for them, after a few rough spots there is the promise of happiness.

The Spanish tend to make thought provoking, interesting, mature films. On the face of it, “Timecrimes” is such a film. A man returns to his charming, bucolic home and his loving wife after doing some nursery shopping for the garden. Life is relaxing, uncomplicated; he’s probably retired or on vacation and using the time to unwind and

catch up with home projects like his wife’s gardening. While she’s away shopping for tonight’s dinner, he spies a pair fo tits through his binoculars off in the wooded distance. Oh, boy. A man, binoculars and tits. We’re in trouble. His brain has now fallen below his waist and no good can come of it. His adventure down the rabbit hole includes a time machine and one thoughtless mistake after another -- until I’m about to scream “Somebody shoot this guy and end this film now!”

In his relentless effort to undo the harm he’s done, he just keeps stepping on his own dick -- so to speak. I don’t understand why he does much of the things he does. Could it be a case of sheer stupidity on the part of the screenwriter to propel the plot -- the lowest form of writing usually accepted and expected in horror screamers about campers and angry spirits who seek revenge? Has the exhaulted Spanish filmmaking community sunken this low?

And yet, the film looks so good, the acting so professional, the cinematography so moody and accurate for the subject matter. What an unsettling combination of bad script choices with all the other factors that make for a good film. I am so confused, but I refuse to be fooled! “Timecrimes” is an exercise in frustration for the viewer -- the main character doing incredibly thoughtless, stupid things for no appearent reason and compounding the stupidity with every opportunity to right them by going back in time. The moral of the story is -- if you nave the opportunity to go back in time, don’t! You’ll just fuck it up no matter how smart you are. Or maybe going back in time effects your brain and makes you a moron. Or maybe writing a movie about going back in time makes you a moron. Somebody stop me!

All the elements are there: conflicts between races in Apartheid South Africa, Lesbian intolerance, domestic violence, and finding the courage to stand up to all those negative forces. And yet, I found the film unusually un-compelling. The lead actresses are very attractive and do a pretty good job, as do the supporting players. The black silent partner in the restaurant business is sympathetic, the policeman is even humanized though still committed to doing his sworn job, the husband acts out of desperation to keep his family together. So, the characters are not just cookie-cut-outs of recognizable stereotypes. Why didn’t I feel for these people, these situations?

Miriam (Lisa Ray) owns a popular bar/restaurant in a small township in South Africa. She is strong and independent, even though the Indian population in South Africa is not embraced by the white, Apartheid government. She meets Amina (Sheetal Sheth) who, with her husband (Parvin Dabas) and children, has just moved to the township for her husband’s new job. Amina, also Indian, is a dutiful, though unimpassioned and unhappy, wife, but she quietly accepts her place in life, as all good Indian women must. Between the police being very suspicious of Miriam’s black handyman, secretly and unlawfully a partner in the restaurant; the growing intimacy between Miriam and Amina, the reaction of Amina’s husband and the community to their relationship – I should care. Again, I don’t.

Perhaps it’s because: (1) since Apartheid has ended in South Africa, I no longer invest the same level of emotion I once did to that intolerable situation; (2) the community’s transition to acceptance of this new kind of relationship is far too easy, so

What we suspected about Asians, you know, the stereotype of being inscrutable -- meaning silent, reserved, mysterious, internal, uncommunicative -- is true, even among themselves. They are brought up in homes where their parents don’t discuss, argue, show emotion. So, they follow suit. This is the story of Yilan (Faye Hu), a transplanted Chinese women, who feels she can’t communicate in her own language.

We have to be very patient with this film; we have to slow way down; we have to listen intently. The pay off is small, if you consider it a payoff at all. Yilan may never be able to express herself or get out of her little Chinese box. “If you grew up in a language in which you never learned to express your feelings, it would be easier to talk in an new language. It makes you a new person.” But still, even in English, she may never be happy -- her dad’s major concern. He may never be able to truly communicate with his daughter in any language.

The damage done by the Chinese social order going back to the Cultural Revolution of 1948 may have not only damaged that generation but the ones that followed. A minor infraction at work, followed by unsubstantiated gossip, cost him his career and dignity. The cover-up and lies and silence at home followed, and the next generation thought this simply is how life is. It’s a glum, sad, quite tale without a Hollywood ending, but perhaps a wimper of acceptance between them.

The parallels are so numerous that one might wonder -- is this a thinly veiled historic perspective to the life of Princess Diana and Prince Charles or rather a British cultural phenomenon that begs repetition?

Georgiana Spencer (Keira Knightly) is young, well bred (meaning brought up to be a wife any nobleman would be proud of), beautiful, intelligent. There is no infertility in her family’s women. Same is true of Diana Spencer. Both women were several years younger than their husbands (Keira to Ralph - 23 years), (Di to Charles - 13 years) (Georgiana to William - 9 years). Okay, a little perspective into Hollywood casting. Neither Georgiana nor Diana were loved by their husbands who felt pressured to produce a male heir.

Both men found it difficult to be warm and caring. In more than one scene the Duke states he was not raised to show emotion. Biographies of Charles show that raising children in Buckingham Palace was done more by nannies than the stalwart, stone faced Elizabeth II.

Both husbands loved older, matronly women. Lady Elizabeth, the Duke’s mistress came from a similar situation. Her husband had many mistresses, and worse, beat her, refused to divorce her and kept her children when she left him. What is it with Englishmen? Is it considered unmanly to love one’s wife? Bess had 3 sons, which made her more attractive to the Duke, though her sons would never he his heirs. Still, breeding sons was a quality in women he admired. It has been said, though not kindly, that Charles found in Camilla the mother he never had - which solves that mystery.

Georgiana was famous for her fashion sense and was a trend setter, explaining to her husband in one of their very brief and infrequent discussions that men have many outlets for their creativity, women only have hats and dresses. Remember the recent auction of some of Diana’s gowns -- many of which will end up in museums? Georgiana entered the political arena, supporting candidates of the Wig Party who were proponents of enlarging the freedoms of men, though slowly over time and not to all. Perhaps this was selfish of her, hoping to someday have the personal and political freedoms that men enjoyed. She campaigned much as celebrities do now, introducing candidates, rousing the crowds, associating her popularity with politicians. Diana was the first in her situation to demand a divorce, and her political activism (for one, to get rid of land mines) continues to this day beyond her death.

Both were Spencers -- Diana being a member of the same family. Couldn’t she see this coming? The very tag line to the film is “There were three people in her marriage,” a direct quote from Princess Diana given in her famous TV interview after her divorce.

Yes, the institution of divorce was available to men at the time. King Henry VIII started a new religion in England just for that purpose -- because he wanted current mistresses to replace his perfectly good wives and the populace was getting tired of all the beheadings of former wives. Check out “The Other Boleyn Girl” (2008), with a very similar story: nobleman (this time the king of England) doesn’t love his wife, is very cold and taciturn with her, and has, not only mistress after mistress, but loves them all more than her. Divorce is not an option in this film, unfortunately for his then-wife, Ann Boleyn, but comes later in his life. “A Man For All Seasons” (1967) tackles that issue Academy awardingly®.

Going into see "Forbidden Lies," I expected another "Shattered Glass" story, and I love a good expose of journalists, biographers, reporters and their ilk being revealed as frauds. A film about either fabricating a story from whole cloth or embellishing to the point of loosing sight of the truth in toto and being found out is always good fun. Take last year's "The Hoax", for instance. Actually, that didn't seem very good sport since it was too easy to out Clifford Irving as a liar regarding his "authorized" biography of Howard Hughes; Hughes was still alive and all he had to do, and did do, was call the publisher and say he didn't authorize diddly.

Khouri - did she think she could get away with it?

Not only does the documentary "Forbidden Lies" enumerate countless (oxymoron) lies in the book "Forbidden Love," written by Norma Khouri, but juxtaposes countless interviews of Khouri with other journalists and relevant individuals who counter her every assertion.

Okay, she stands up to the onslaught of criticism, even taking lie detector tests. She does not retreat. "I am telling the truth," she avers and holds her ground. The 73 factual errors and her responses to attacks are fascinating, and forming an opinion of her veracity is not so easy. The question becomes how far from the facts can an author stray before the work becomes fiction? For example, if I wrote a book about my grandfather leaving Russia before the onslaught of the pogroms by the Bolsheviks -- his "Painted Bird" journey at the age of 14 from Odessa to Bremen, including the people who helped him, the people who betrayed him, stole from him, beat him -- my only actually knowing there was a pogrom and doing some research about the extant facts, would that be a biography or a fictional excursion into a time and place using my grandfather's name? Oh, I'd also have to change his name to protect relatives still living in Russia. Food for thought.

But the real kick in the head is where the investigation leads. I wouldn't take the delicious shock away from the future audience by even suggesting where it will go, but go it does until we almost loose sight of the causal book itself. Filmmaker Broinowski obviously takes more pleasure in revealing the onion layers of facts than forming an opinion and trying to foist it on the audience. Just know that the description of the film I give is only half of what is revealed about Khouri and her life. Hold onto your seat; it's going to be a bumpy ride!

“The Traitor” is a propaganda piece directed to all Muslims who would be persuaded by terrorist insurgents through the use of intentional misinterpretation of the Koran and the promise of an afterlife with 27 virgins to follow said insurgents’ orders to the death, literally, while said insurgents live the high life eating pork and drinking champagne. Hope it works.

This is a view of terrorism from the other side. Don Cheadle plays a stone-faced, Muslim, bomb expert, Samir Horn, whose father was a Sudanese and mother a Chicagoan, educated in the US and US military, and helping a terrorist cell that travels the world arranging for and committing acts of terrorism. Is he still a CIA operative, has he gone over to the other side? His reasoning and beliefs leave us guessing. I have to admit, I felt a little uneasy rooting for our hero as he blows up an American Embassy and develops ingenious plans for killing hundreds of people. Yet, I couldn’t wish him dead at the hands of FBI agent FBI Agent Roy Clayton (Guy Pearce) either. Maybe Clayton could convince him to change his ways, maybe something, but I didn’t know what.

Any denizen of LGBT film festivals or those who seek out gay films have seen it several times before -- gay Asian guy in love with another guy is still forced by his parents to marry some poor, unknowing girl for appearances. We've also seen many films on male prostitution. It's possible that the Korean public is not as familiar with these themes as the larger population, so why not one more take on them? And this is certainly a strong contender for best in its sub-genre.

Han Lee and Young-hoon Lee working on their relationship

Song Jae-min (played by Han Lee) is a successful businessman from a prominent family who falls hards for, first, his limo driver, Su-min (played by Young-hoon Lee), whom he meets again the next day at Su-min's day job in the factory Son Jae-min's father owns, and then again at a male brothel where Su-min also works. This has to be kismet. Can't get him out of his face, can't get him out of his mind.

I have often wondered why any two people fall in love with each other in films other than to propel the plot. I don't get why Song Jae-min is obsessed with Su-min, who is a surly dude and not any more attractive than any of the other boys for hire. Maybe it's a Korean thing.

Anyway, Su-min is not allowing himself to fall for Song Jae-min. Between the difference in their socioeconomic status, education,career paths, and prevailing feelings toward gays in Korean society, Su-min knows any relationship with Song Jae-min is doomed.

There are a lot of issues in this film which keep the audience's interest high. It's interesting that the large influx of men from the country to Seoul can expect the only jobs available to them (especially in which they can earn a living wage) is prostitution. Hearing the other working boys' stories, one feels sympathetic toward these victims of a class/education caste system. There seems to be no social mobility, with education being out of the reach of rural or working class people.

It's pretty much the same all over when it comes to gays coming out, though. We in San Francisco forget that most of the world still won't accept homosexuality -- from family, to employment, to legal rights. If you want to see the worst cases of bigotry against homosexuals, check out "Jihad for Love," which is a documentary that explores the legal repercussions of being gay in Muslim countries. The Koreans have got it easy.

The plot of "No Regret" is not completely predictable. The denouement is thrilling, unexpected, and more than satisfying. It would be interesting to see how the Koreans respond to this film; where are they in the homosexual-acceptance scale? Since "The Host," a couple of years ago, I'm taking Korean cinema much more seriously. They have learned how to use techniques the masters developed in New Age French Cinema, they have developed a mature sense of plot and character, and they take chances. More, please.

I was blown away! I was expecting laughs and probably lots of low brow antics, but nothing like this. I was just going to girder my loins, sit through it like a trooper and enjoy the few jokes that weren’t based on the bathroom or human bodily functions. I couldn’t have been more wrong. It was really funny and not crass. Don’t worry, 17 year old boys and those who think like them. You’ll still love it.

Okay, so they tend to overact. Top row: Downey, Black,
Jackson. Bottom row: Baruchel, Nolte, Stiller

The plot is much more complicated and interesting than one might expect from the commercials and trailer. Egocentric, pampered actors in a Vietnam War action movie on location in the jungle get kidnapped. That doesn’t begin to tell all the facets and turns in their adventure -- and that’s not even correct.

It’s a spoof on Hollywood actors and their inflated sense of self-importance. Yes, but the subtlety and on-point satire of the humor is so many levels above Stiller’s previous works -- no jessum in the hair this time. And only one tiny fart. Stiller and Thoreux have matured into fine satiric writers.

Okay, the R word. Please, we can say retarded. It’s in the dictionary. The child’s pajamas were treated to retard flames. It means arrested, delayed, hampered, impeded, slowed down. It was an accepted medical term until nasty, little children in the school yard started using it as an insult. May more words go out of favor the same way, for instance -- bff. “You’ve got a bff, you’ve got a bff.” “Who’s your bff now, baby?” “Your mother is a bff!” See how easy it is.

First of all, the remarks made about retards were made to insult the speakers themselves and their insensitivity. Secondly, all of us, no matter what group, minority, disability we may have, should maintain a sense of humor about ourselves or we become pathetic. At least assess the context before getting insulted. I’m a Jew who has withstood the most foul, hateful language aimed against Jews by Nazis in movies since the subject was first broached (in TV reruns for the older films, of course). It was obvious the Nazis were the bad guys, not the Jews. I was offended by history and Nazis, not the actors, writers or film makers. This goes for all films exposing anti-Semitism or films with remarks made by anti-Semitic characters. Thirdly, the person who “portrayed” the retard was only revealing his poor acting skills. He was the brunt of jokes in the film, not the person he was trying to portray. Remember, as stated in the film, to do the job well, you will awards. He just didn’t and didn’t.

And sure, Robert Downey, Jr., was hysterical and point on as an Australian, multi-Oscar™ winning thespian playing a black soldier. Yeah, Downey is great. Okay. BUT Tom Cruise (unseen in the trailer or poster) is brilliant -- not because of his rampage, his diabolic manipulations of a situation, or even his “I’m on top, rich and getting richer” dance (all amazing), but because of a momentary gaze, eyes wide, mouth stuffed with a huge cigar, body frozen while assessing the situation and formulating a plan. Just one momentary gaze. It hushed the whole audience of raucous, over stimulated, sugar enriched, target audience members. I was impressed with all the actors, well, except Ben Stiller. He’s still doing the “comedy” acting schtick and it was funny. All the others, though, were really doing their characters, and doing them well. He had enough to do already, anyway and writer, director, producer. And Jack Black did tone it down a bit, but he was playing an over-the-top movie star famous for being able to fart on cue. How serious can he be?

There are lots of references to other films which are fun to find. Of course, Apocalypse Now. It’s hard to separate any war film from images of Apocalypse Now, but a few do stand out as specifically its own. Platoon. I found one for Close Encounters of the Third Kind. I’m not a war movie fan and probably missed lots. See what else you can pick out.

Stiller has matured and his sense of humor, writing and directing skills were worth waiting for. This is one of the very few films I’d like to have a copy of for my archives.

My eyes were tacked to the screen the full 111 minutes. The breathtaking special effects were believable, or a tribute to the army of special effects crew who helped us suspended our disbelief. The action barely stopped for a breath, and it hardly repeated itself. You know what I mean -- high speed karate fight after fight, or beating up monster after monster. The variety and range of action never let the audience drift off into a hypnotic trance of flashing colors and repetitive violence.

A family reunion - mostly. Brendan Fraser, John Hanna, Maria Bello

Talk about being a minority; just as Kermit complained "it's not easy being green," it's even harder being red. And really, that's a major theme in this film. Unlike the mutants in X-Men, Hellboy and his cohort Abe, can't pass. When you see them on the street, you know they're there and you'd probably think they shouldn't be. And even if they're saving humanity from underworldly beings hell bent on eradicating from this tortured earth the ravages of wasteful, greedy, selfish mankind, not only is there no thanks, but they're subjected to outright antagonism. This time, Red is asked to make a choice -- beings like him who fester under the east end of the Brooklyn Bridge and Northern Ireland or the people who throw rocks at him. Hmmmm.

Hancock is a perfect name for a man suffering from amnesia. The nurse at the hospital where he was treated for a cracked skull and the ensuing amnesia asks him to put his John Hancock on the release papers and that’s just what he does -- a refreshing change from Doe. The odd thing about this Hancock is that the amnesia started 80 years ago and he hasn’t aged a day in all that time, and he can fly, and nothing can penetrate his skin, and he’s very strong.

This is a new and original take on the superhero, in this case, reluctant, anti-social and alcoholic. And he makes an awful mess when he goes about saving people in his usual booze-addled way. L.A. city government is thinking the cost is too high for the lives he saves - torn up streets, severely damaged skyscrapers, dozens of cars, many police vehicles, totaled. Hancock may only be liked by the few individuals he saves and hated by tax payers, police, politicians and the felons he apprehends.

I would have liked to understand why this gifted man stooped to the alcoholic depths to which he succumbed, but that’s asking too much of an action flick. It’s enough that he feels isolated due to his amnesia and super powers. Actually, Wolverine from “The X-Men” also suffers from amnesia and is anti-social. So, perhaps Hancock is not so unique. Except he’s black.

Years ago, Robert Townsend of “Hollywood Shuffle” fame once told me he was very disappointed because there were no black superheros. A black superhero would be a giant step in a more equally represented society and give a solid role model to black children. There was Damon Wayans “Blankman,” and in 1993, Robert Townsend fulfilled his dream by writing, directing and starring in “Meteorman.” There’s also Halle Berry’s Storm in “The X-Men” series -- strong, independent, fighting for right, but with the smallest part and no storyline of her own.

Now the biggest summer blockbuster star, Will Smith, gets the budget necessary to bring a black superhero to the fore. The world will finalize recognize, appreciate and add to the pantheon of superheros a black man! Hallelujah and amen.

Just having Will Smith portray the superhero in a megabuck summer blockbuster gives a bit of immortality to Hancock. Hancock will not soon be forgotten as were his brother predecessors. Probably only “Wild, Wild West,” out of all Will Smith films will be forgotten. Not a bad record. So, now Robert Townsend can rest easy. Sure, Hancock is a social misfit, blunderer and loser at the beginning of the film, but you must surmise he will do himself proud by the end. It is a Hollywood film.

The Hulk, either incredible or prosaic, is all about anger, rage and violence. That’s it. That’s what the audience, rich in testosterone, is lining up to see. Bruce Banner hiding out in Brazil and studying local marshall arts and diaphragm breathing to control his anger is going to get nowhere in his attempt to stop his “incidents” of hulkiness. If it did help him control is anger, rage and violence, you’d be watching an American version of “Dalai Lama Renaissance.” Also, there is absolutely no point in fettering the movie with plot. So, here’s the plot: The U.S. Army is going after Bruce Banner who is hiding from it. The extended plot would add the line: One of the soldiers wants some of the juice Hulk is on and gets it.

Bruce Banner (Edward Norton)
practicing techniques of control...

The contrast between the Hulk and his non-pumped counterpart is brought into sharper relief than ever. Edward Norton is truly the guy the other guys kick sand in the face of (pardon my grammar). Actually, so is his nemesis, Emil Bronsky played buy ever-so-slight-of-stature Tim Roth. No Eric Bana this time, just one slap in the face away from becoming the Hulk; even Bana’s facial features were still distinct in the green giant.

On the face of it, this is a documentary about a group of 40 innovative Western thinkers who come together under the banner of Synthesis to help the Dalai Lama solve the problems of the world. Really! And who are these people? Having seen this film, I still don’t know who they are. Sure, their names come up on the bottom third of the screen and probably a lot of people in their fields know and respect them, but in their positions today in world society, can they even influence those who have power? We have the publisher of Yes! magazine, not Time magazine. We have a theoretical scientist who is not Stephen Hawking or anyone who has won a Nobel prize. I was hoping to see a CEO who has turned green after a trip to the Arctic and has seen the error of his ways. Maybe a political advisor who has the ear of powerful public figures… But no. Even if this group came up with some good ideas, they couldn’t possibly effect change. And that is what bothers me about all Think Tanks. I’m sure all the world’s ills have been put to bed in theory, but people in power don’t want to hear about it and certainly won’t act upon them.

This brings me to my next point - hubris. Not to disparage this group of notable thinkers, and I say this with compassion. The idea is that when 40 really smart people from various disciplines like eastern and western religious studies, biology, philosophy, publishing, writing, etc., get together, their total will be greater than the sum of their parts. To imagine that any 40 people can solve the world’s problems in 5 days is, I repeat, hubris. Instead, we get to watch “big egos as fragile as egg shells.” By the end of the first day, they’re arguing over the hierarchy of the group and the structure and format imposed by the facilitators. It seems the loudest contributors get the most said. By the way, no one has yet to mention what the problems specifically are or what the questions should be answered. I never heard the words: greenhouse effect, totalitarianism, hunger, disease, greed. Days pass in varying degrees of conflict. When they get tired of talking about solutions to problems they haven’t yet defined, they argue over who gets to talk directly with the Dalai Lama. After all, they’ve all come a long way and don’t want to leave without at least voice-to-voice contact with His Holiness.

Fortunately, during these long, tedious conflicts, we get to hear wonderful Tibetan music, see traditional dances, wallow in the gorgeous vistas of this area, and familiarize ourselves with the culture of this exiled population.

Okay, finally there’s a meeting with the Synthesis group and the Dalai Lama. A couple of proposals are made: let’s boycott all Chinese products until Tibet is back in the hands of the Tibetans; let’s all fight evil in the world with the Dalai Lama as our leader. Let me just say, till this point, I was a little