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 -- the only thing seen on TV in this movie 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," we all 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 all looking like they''re overacting here.
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

There is always the risk when delving into the lives of women that the stories turn into soap operas or Lifetime movies. Once-prime-time stars and starlets past their primes find the only work now available involves plots in which, without warning, a husband leaves, almost always for a younger woman (though not in this case), our heroine can’t have a child or looses one, she finds her birth parent and has to adjust to this new personality she feels ambivalant towards, a new and perfect man intrudes upon her misery with passionate and politically correct, if not unconditional, love. So, I sat in the theater, arms folded across my chest, chin thrust forward with an attitude of “do better than that or go directly to cable!”

Salman Rushdie, Helen Hunt, Colin Firth and Matthew Broderick

What saves this film is really good portrayals by all the stars of charming personalities who are intelligent and witty. This is not a roller coaster ride, but a jaunt, a stroll, if you please, through a portion of a very nice lady’s life. Stability crumbles with painful disappointments and exhilarating new opportunities. This is how life goes, usually not all within a few short weeks, but movies tend to condense experiences. I care about April, played by Helen Hunt. I’m

Helen Hunt, always the love interest, the lead’s understanding help mate, the mother of the exception child, the constant and common sense of so many films in the last decade, has finally taken the reigns of her career now that she is of a certain age. She directs, co-produces, writes the screenplay for “Then She Found Me,” based on the novel by Elinor Lipman, and stars as a 21st Century Pauline, facing the perils so many women of our generation have to deal with: abandonment, the desire to have a child, mid-life dating, adoption and reconciliation with parents. There are no great insights here, no edge-of-your-seat moments, no guffaws, one tear (on my part).

This is the fodder of “women’s networks,” minus the disease, abusive husband, kidnappings, and revenge. This film is not out to do anything but show the daily occurrences in the life of an ordinary woman, a kindergarten teacher trying to have a family. The question is: is this an entertaining gimps or a boring rehash of what we all already know? Don’t believe Leonard Maltin who says men will like this movie. Don’t drag them kicking and screaming into the theater. Go with your girlfriends.

Like El Lawrence atop his camel, dressed in flowing white robes,
Spurlock seeks the ultimate enemy in the war on terror.

Along the way, Spurlock interviews many Muslims, all intelligent, charming, calm, lucid. Some are poverty stricken, some middle class, some educators and some government representatives. He approaches people on the street and makes appointments with officials None are suicide bombers, none call him heathen infidel and attack him with a saber. Almost all say they hate the government of the United States, but they don’t hate the people. Occasionally, we get the anti-American viewpoint, in response to which Spurlock looks pensive and contrite. Almost all reassure us viewers that they’re good people, just like us, who want to live in peace, who pray to the same God as Christians and Jews, who interpret the Koran as a peace loving doctrine that preaches love of ALL people as the children of God. I believe we got the majority opinion, if not representatives of the terrorist side. I couldn’t help wonder what was left on the cutting room floor.

If this film takes the pressure off Muslims in this country while seeking true solutions to the conflict, it’s more than done its job. Spurlock keeps the tempo fast and the jaunt fun and positive. You can’t ask more of one lone hero.

All you corporate heads, let this be a warning to you. Don't mess with the lady. The glass ceiling that limits the potential of women in the work place can cut you in the ass. As they say, "We're not going to take it any more!"

And here lies the backbone of the plot of Flawless. It's the early 60's, and Llaura Quinn (Demi Moore) is a loyal, talented and hard working employee of Royal Diamond, thinly veiled cover for De Beers. She has been skipped for promotion several times only because she's a woman, with lesser men taking the prize. Her ideas for company policy are so good, they have to fire her since only upper management should know them. She's even being blackballed from any company that has ever done business with Royal Diamond. Well, backed against the wall as she is, she has no alternative but to rob them of a few well-chosen diamonds and make a life for herself elsewhere. She reluctantly agrees to helpMr. Hobbs (Michael Caine), a janitor in the building who as devised a working plan for the heist.

There are requisite plot twists, tense moments of near exposure, a suave, a cunning insurance detective, and a lots of the unexpected turns, emotional and well as plot. Interestingly, the background tension is caused by protests by the public condemning the company for the exploitation of African miners, blood diamonds, inhumane conditions, monopolism, backroom deals with the Russians and even control of the British monarchy.

Michael Caine as the janitor and Demi Moore as
the corporate manager with no future conspire.

Obviously, times haven't changed. De Beers still controls the artificial price and sales of all diamond in the world. Queen Elilzabeth still only wears diamonds in public, having stored her rubies, emeralds, sapphires and other colored stones in a closet per agreement. Third world peoples who mine and cut diamonds are still being exploited. And women still don't earn as much as men for the same jobs nor proportionately hold high level jobs. Perhaps another heist is in the coming.

Just yesterday I was having a discussion with Kevin Robinson, the executive director of Medium Rare, about actors, and all people for that matter, who come from mixed racial families including Black, but identify with only the Black community. Kevin suggested that as a persecuted minority, Blacks are always looking for "brothers and sisters." True, but I also suggested that the white majority would segregate and/or identify people as Black if they had any Black blood in them, and to continue to identify oneself as Black with only partial Black heritage was to continue this racist practice.

The object of their affection, Thandie Newton.

Case in point: When Halle Berry won the Academy Award for "Monsters Ball," she held the Oscar high above her head and claimed this was for all black women. Quick cut to her white mother in the audience. I couldn't help but feel bad for her mother, nullified as a contributor to the talent, beauty and whole person Halle Berry is on International television to an audience of one billion. To ignore that she is half white is to not only be proud of being an African American, but also to submit to the guidelines drawn by plantation owners 300 years ago who would deny the kinship of their slave-mothered children.

Hank Azaria and Simon Pegg train for the big race.

Here's where I'm going -- "Run, Fatboy, Run" costars Thandie Newton (whose previous works include "Jefferson in Paris" in which she played Thomas Jefferson's slave mistress who bore him several children whom Jefferson freed after his death though did not publicly claim them as his children) as Libby, a pregnant woman left at the alter by Dennis, a slightly overweight and out of shape Fatboy played by Simon Pegg. In the wedding party are her Black mother, White father and white cousin. We skip to 5 years later and see Libby with her 5 year old son, apparently White. There is no mention of race, mixed marriages, social implications... nothing. This movie has absolutely nothing to do with inter-racial couples, their offspring and social ramifications of such. The characters just have that background. What a wonderful breath of fresh, unfettered air!

The movie is about Dennis, spurred on by Libby's relationship with a new man, successful, confident and loving Whit, played by Hank Azaria, to try to finally become responsible and hopefully get Libby back. The ultimate test is a running marathon between Dennis and Whit, and 10,000 others, along the Thames in London. Ergo, Dennis has to get in shape to run. David Schwimmer of TV's "Friends" fame does a very convincing job of capturing the flavor and humor of British comedies. I wouldn't have guessed a Yank, and a New York actor, yet, had directed. The movie is humorous, though not as hysterical as "Shaun of the Dead" (2004) or "Hot Fuzz" (2007), but it's hard to imagine what could be. All three films star and are co-written by Simon Pegg -- obviously a filmic power to be reckoned with. Perhaps zombies flicks ("Shaun") and murder mysteries ("Hot Fuzz") can follow more plot twists and turns than romantic comedies, but I found "Run, Fatboy, Run" pretty predictable, though the characters, especially Dennis, endearing. Special kudos to Dylan Moran as Gordon, Dennis' best friend and Libby's cousin. His performance as the gambling, womanizing rogue was in perfect counterpoint to Dennis' cloddish sincerity.

How little we know about the ones we love. In this post WWII suburban American, environment, long time married couple Harry and Pat seem to know nothing about each others true feelings and hidden lives. Harry (Chris Cooper) is deeply in love with a younger woman, Kay (Rachel Adams), but fears if he tried to divorce Pat (Patricia Clarkson), it would destroy her. Pat also has a younger lover (David Wenham) who truly makes her happy in a way Harry never could, but she knows Harry needs her. Let us not forget that Harry and Pat are a loving couple who are respectful of, and have deep feelings for, each other.

The perfect couple -- or are they? Cooper and Clarkson

How do they resolve their problems? Pat will keep her relationship a secret and just continue as she is -- secretly meeting her lover and being a good wife to Harry. Harry will save the pain and suffering Pat would face without him and poison her. Hmmmm. Dare I say typical gender solutions? By the way, I’m not giving anything away; the movie trailer says it all.

Add to the mix their best friend, Richard (Pierce Brosnan) who, though he’s been close to the couple for years, he is immediately taken by young Kay and forgoes any sense of loyalty to his friends to get her. Through “good advice”, “helpful, selfless acts” and maneuvering, he makes sure he gets what he wants. And even Kay, Harry’s naive, smitten lover, deceives and disappoints. Keep in mind, these are civilized, upper middle class, well adjusted, people who never raise their voices, and always try to see the other person’s side on every issue.

Brosnan, on the make for best friend's mistress, McAdams

This would be a very funny film, if it weren’t directed in a suspenseful, straight-faced manner. That is consummate dry wit. It’s brilliant! I will never trust anyone again because “Married Life” makes it clear to me that everybody lies so convincingly, everybody’s out for him or her self, and will say and do what’s necessary to spare the feelings of others while getting what he or she wants. Still, all the characters were so charming, genuine and good-intentioned, you have to love them all and hope that in the end, they’re all happy - the whole deceiving, murderous, manipulative, adulterous lot of them.

It couldn’t have been easy for this wonderful cast to play such low characters while maintaining the audience’s favor. Kudos to all of them.

Sayles has done it again -- writing about times and places of which he has no direct knowledge and doing it convincingly and compassionately. Back in 1983, Sayles looked into the heart of a Lesbian who finally understands and accepts herself and changes her life accordingly, decades before Lesbianism in films was accepted and certainly before the girl-on-girl kiss was mandatory, as it seems to be now. He also delved into Harlem and it’s day-to-day life, ironically through the eyes of an alien, in “Brother from Another Planet,” in 1984. Topics that have interested him have included government corruption in an industrial city, women seeking babies to adopt in Mexico, a doctor traveling through a revolutionary-torn country of no specific name (Spanish language film), exploring the Irish myth of seal people, giant albino alligators in the sewer system of New York City, the 1919 World Series Black Sox scandal, coal mining unionization, and many more diverse themes. He was even one of the screen writers on “The Spiderwick Chronicles.” His genre is all genres, and all with impeccable scripts (Sayles won the MacArthur Fellowship Foundation [genius award] in 1983) and sensitive, actorly directing.

“Honeydripper” is no exception. I get the feeling that this is a very respectful look into a community from the outside. Even if I didn’t know a white man wrote and directed this film, I would think an outsider had made it: maybe because the true anger by blacks towards whites isn’t there or the gritty approach taken by most black directors is softened and takes on a my lyrical quality.

This is the true story of a man’s memories of his father, Romulus (Eric Bana), a quiet, strong, gentle man. We are shown glimpses of their lives together during young Raimond’s (Kodi Smith-McPhee) childhood in the backland, if not the outback, of Australia, outside Melbourne, in the 1960's. They eat their breakfast, Romulus refilling Raimond’s glass of milk and silently smiling as the boy forces it down, a trip to town, work on the homestead. These are short memories, as much about the sky and season as about the exchange between father and son, as memories often are. There is almost no dialogue because their lives are sincere, straightforward and uncomplicated... until absent mom, Christina (Franka Potenta), comes back for a visit. Her restless spirit forces her to leave, her love for her family brings her back, and this yo yo effect is even harder on Romulus than it is on Raimond. His calm swings to depression, his silence deepens, his mood darkens.

This quiet, beautifully shot and poignant film gets to the heart of a father-son relationship, their unspoken love, their steadfast routine, and their need to cope with the disruptive influence of a woman who is, herself, a tortured soul.

Eric Bana, Kodi Smit-McPhee and , Franka Potente, as well as the supporting cast, all communicate their deepest feelings to us and each other with no wasted energy, saving it all for their labors in this dry and unforgiving land. We feel no less for them for their taciturn nature and empathize with all of them -- there are no evildoers or selfish villains. They’re all just doing the best they can -- trying to find some kind of happiness and equanimity.

Another example of the New Age Fairy Tale, complete with witch, family curse, gothic mansion, blue bloods and an otherwise beautiful, young girl cast under a disfiguring spell.

Christina Ricci trying not to be conspicuous

And it’s not modern just because it takes place today, but because the damsel is neither in a coma nor being helped by dwarfs (or dwarves, as the case may be). As a matter of fact, little person, Peter Dinklage is a vengeful paparazzi out to expose her rather than break the spell for her.

Since birth, Penelope (Christina Ricci) has been under a spell. Her ancestor impregnated a servant, but his family convinced him not to marry her. She committed suicide and her mother cursed the family -- all girl children will be horribly ugly. For all the generations since, the family has produced boys until Penelope, luckily avoiding the spell. But now Penelope needs to break the spell, which demands that someone of her ilk must love her despite her deformity (which can’t be corrected by rhinoplasty, by the way). So, Penelope is hidden away from the public, interviewing young blue blood males through a one way mirror, hoping to find a man who will marry her and render her beautiful. After years of fruitless interviews through a one way mirror, culminating in her in-person appearance and the suitors fleeing, Penelope, tired of hiding from the paparazzi and being cooped up in the mansion, flees her protective cocoon and faces the world.

We find out that no matter how grotesque the deformity, the public gets used to it and even embraces the oddity. Remember, even the Elephant Man held salon in his hospital room without narry a whimper from his newfound elite friends. Penelope has freed herself, and even with the deformity, she has a good life. She doesn’t need a man to transform her into a beauty. Halleluiah! This had to have been written by a woman -- Leslie Caveny in her first feature film gig after over a decade of producing and writing for TV, most notably for “Everybody Loves Raymond”? Not that I’m a ferocious feminist, but it’s nice to see women solving their problems and being independent. Of course, this is not the first of its kind. There have been several retellings of Cinderella, including “Elle Enchanted” and most recently, “Enchanted,” all with stronger women who didn’t wait around the knight to save her. And it’s not in the least less romantic. Also, Reese Witherspoon flexed her feminine muscle and co-producer (with 12 other producers) this film. Go girl.

Now, tell me if I’m wrong, but I believe that over the course of the film, Penelope’s deformity was ever so slightly altered to make it less ugly. Or was I getting use d to it?

The President of the United States (William Hurt), or POTUS (first heard in the first episode of “The West Wing”), attends a meeting of Western and Arab nation heads of state whose goal is to put an end to terrorism. A public meeting takes place in a large square in Salamanca, Spain. How could terrorists not make a point of targeting this event? The President is shot, a thud is heard in the distance, and then a bomb goes off in the square. Chaos ensues. This is the opening scene of “Vantage Point.” Then the scene is rewound and played again, this time instead of from the perspective of the network television director (Sigourney Weaver) situated in van just outside the square, to that of Secret Service Agent (Dennis Quaid). This film plays much like an episode of “24" constantly being rewound, each time from a different player’s perspective, each time delving deeper into the workings of the conspiracy, each time going a bit further into the future to see what happens after the initial event.

It all matches up; it all makes sense. I’m sure this was a very difficult feat for an American production in which details that make a plot coherent are usually sacrificed during the constant rewrites and acquiescences to demands of various producers and stars during shooting. The only thing that didn’t make sense, an obvious requirement of all big budget action thrillers, was the long, long, long car chase scene. Must have taken at least 10 minutes because it felt like 20. And wuss that I am, I was concerned about bystanders getting hurt through all of it. At the end of the chase, we find via an aerial shot, that the whole chase took about 3 blocks.

I checked with Wikipedia to see how much author Philippa Gregory had played with history for her book “The Other Boleyn Girl”. I had never heard of Ann Boleyn’s sister Mary before. I had heard of Henry VIII’s second wife who, like his first wife, could not bear him a son even though her offspring would eventually become Elizabeth I, whose films credits far exceed even Abraham Lincoln’s (and I’m not referring to cameo appearances, but real lead roles). I knew that to be able to divorce his first wife, Catherine of Aragon, he had to break with the Church of Rome and create a new religion, the Church of England, which came in handy later on. I knew Ann was beheaded on trumped up charges of treason so he could get rid of her and move on to his next bride, Jane Seymour, still hoping for a male heir.

Mary (Scarlett Johansson) and Jane
(Natalie Portman) vie for the prize.

This much historic background made watching these characters interplay on a vivid canvas more interesting and involving. But Wikipedia said Mary Boleyn’s affair was over long before her son from her marriage was born. So, it seems that competition between sisters is more metaphorical than actual. Still, it was intriguing watching the two loving sisters being jockeyed by their father and uncle to fill the void in Henry’s life when he found out

his wife “no longer bled,” meaning she was past child bearing age. These girls were thrust into the political turmoil of life at the castle, being taken, one eagerly, the other with some resistance, from their idyllic country home, to strut before the king like cats in heat. The tides of the king’s affections were as changing and almost as often as the tides at the seashore. With his favor could come honor, title, lands and great accommodations at the castle; when angered, all could be lost, even one’s head. So, the stakes were high.

This is a tale about the lack of power among women (at least till the next generation of Elizabeth’s rule - well, she ruled, but I don’t think she gave any rights to women in her reign) and how those who overstep invisible lines are punished. This is a tale about parents using their children to jockey for more favorable positions in the mercurial atmosphere of the halls of power. This is a story about two late Medieval sisters obeying their parents and the king, trying to maintain their status and perhaps even advance to the detriment of their relationships with each other and the people they loved.

We don’t get to see the world of politics and the affairs of royalty in the international arena as we had in Cate Blanchett’s and other’s renditions of Elizabeth. This is the girls’ perspective of life in the royal court. Also, I believe the British Empire surged in size and complexity with the discovery of the Americas and world exploration that started in 1942 and increased in the late 16th Century, after Henry and during Elizabeth’s reign.

Portman and Johansson played the English sisters (both with just passing English accents), but powerfully and convincingly. Eric Bana played the easily the most attractive Henry, who actually was a glutton and died of a burst stomach, looking much more like Charles Laughton (see “The Private Life of Henry VIII” 1933). Bana sure made it more believable that the sisters would betray each other for his love. I also now more clearly understand the accusation of treason and Anne’s motivations behind her actions.

This is a sexy, lavish, interesting and insightful look into the lives of royalty and their hangers on. It’s subtle; only a woman could have described the changes in heart and actions that take place in these sisters -- between them and towards the king, and by the way, the frustration of their mother (played by Kirsten Scott Thomas) with no power to stop the oncoming tragedy.

This is a picaresque tale of a 9 year old boy boldly going out into a dangerous world on a quest. His mother snuck into the United States 4 years earlier to build a better life and eventually have her son join her. It’s taken longer than she thought. In the meantime, her son, Carloads, living with her mother, longs to be with her again. When grandma dies, Carloads packs up and crosses the border in search of his mother, Rosario. This is not a Tijuana to L.A. jaunt, but across the Rio Grande into Texas, then the long desert highway crossing to Los Angeles. Along the way, he meets many people, some dangerous, some kind, some who would like to be left alone. All tell him he should go to the police so he can be deported safely home. He is adamant in his determination to find his mother.

Meanwhile Rosario wonders if she’s made a mistake in leaving Carlitos, and often resolves to return home to him and give up her dream of their being reunited in California.

Will Carlitos make it to California unharmed? We are reminded of the trafficking of children as sex slaves and see him narrowly escape that fate. Coincidentally, Kate Del Castillo who plays Rosario, played the evil trafficker of young flesh in the recent film, “Trade.” This time she is on the other side of the issue.

Will he go hungry? Will he loose track of his goal in the company of good people, with a regular job and food in his stomach? Will he and his mother ever meet again? It was a joy watching the very talented Adrian Alonso as Carlitos traverse the obstacles with intelligence, determination and plain old adorableness. Hope to see him in many films to come.

Another holocaust film, you say? You don't need to preach to the choir (to mix religious metaphors), I'm convinced it happened and it was truly horrible, you say? Why see another one, you ask?

Slow detailed work for a large group of professionals.

It's true, all but the most rigid of Nazi-sympathizing, sociopaths are convinced that the holocaust did happen. This film is not about confirming that the holocaust is actually history. It intentionally does not describe conditions for all concentration camp victims. Instead, it is the retelling of a little known, fascinating story of a group of pre-war printers, artists and counterfeiters who were recruited from the camps to a special unit. The Germans wanted to destroy the economies of their enemies by flooding the markets with counterfeit English pounds and American dollars, so even in defeat, they would find some victory. The counterfeiters were kept in clean barracks

with individual beds and linens, washing facilities, piped in classical music, water and regular meals, and a ping pong table. They were even given monthly festive nights to party and entertain themselves.

Issues of the counterfeiters' guilt for not only surviving the camps, but flourishing in them, and the moral conflict of helping the Nazis and hurting the Allies to keep themselves alive are explored. How does one enjoy a game of ping pong when on the other side of a wooden wall, a man is shot for running to slowly in shoes he's forced to wear that are too small for him? The soldier is reprimanded loud enough for the counterfeiters to hear for shooting the man in front of the wall possibly harming his precious workers on the other side.

The extreme situations endured in the concentration camps have become the means of exploring the humanity and moral dilemmas of it's victims and supporters. Schindler tries to save victims by getting them out of the camp and putting them to work in his munitions factory in "Schindler's List"; a Greek Jewish Olympic boxer, Salamo Arouch, spars with the Nazis in the camps in "Triumph of the Spirit"; violinist, Fania Fenelon, entertains the troops in Auschwitz in "Playing for Time"; Salomon Perel passes for an Aryan boy for most of the war and finally ends up in the camp in "Europa, Europa," Max Rosenberg has to relive the death of his wife Helen as a witness in a trial to convict a murderous labor camp commendant in "Max and Helen." And these are just a few of the true stories. These films are not just about the horrors of the concentration camps, but stories of the people who filled them, each different and meaningful. Over time, I hope there are 8 million more films about this subject in its various aspects.

An interesting note: Director/writer Stefan Ruzowitzky's grandparents were Nazis during the war.

I was uncomfortable watching “Definitely, Maybe,” but couldn’t exactly put my finger on what was troubling me. Then it hit me -- every child wants to believe that (in this case) her parents were made for each other, were deeply in love, and she was the product of this perfect union. They may not be able to verbalize it this clearly, but everybody wants his/her parents to have been made for each other. It is difficult enough dealing with the conflict between this idea and one’s parents divorcing, but “Definitely, Maybe”’s premise really throws a neurotic-producing wrench into the work.

When Abigail Breslin as the daughter asks her dad, played by Ryan Reynolds, to tell her how he and her mom got to be married, hoping telling the story will rekindle his love for her mom, she gets (what would be for me) the most devastating news imaginable. Dad was in love with three women and he retells these relationships to his daughter, leaving out only the sex. And she can’t even guess which one turns out to be her mom. Seems none of his descriptions of the women he would select a wife from (and eventually divorce) are recognizable to Abigail. What would a therapist think of all this? What will the repercussions to the child be? I can see her as an adult refusing to marry some guy who really loves her, telling him that if not him, someone else. It doesn’t matter. Relationships are so transient, interchangeable, ultimately doomed. Hell, my parents loved each other from the moment their eyes met on Rockaway Beach Boardwalk till the day they died and I feel the same way as this imaginary, neurotically tortured soul. This kid hasn’t got a chance.

It’s a sad story, and one we have all become familiar with since the AIDS epidemic. Young, gay man contracts HIV, and how it effects his friends and lovers. This film takes place in France in the early 80's, when AIDS was just becoming known and feared. Director/co-writer André Téchiné says that there weren’t many films about this subject made in France and he wanted to revisit that time. He also felt he “escaped” his destiny. Perhaps that’s why the film is named Witnesses. Each of the characters could have been infected and not just bystanders.

Various gender preferences, all friends, one marked.

In “Les Témoins” (The Witnesses), we see a circle of people who are effected by the AIDS epidemic, either by having contracted the disease or by caring about a victim. I use the word victim because if someone is hurt or killed through no fault of his/her own, that person is a victim. And if others who act in the same or similar ways are not infected, that’s luck and makes the other more a victim. We will never understand why some succumbed and others didn’t. We can only feel compassion and try to help those who were stricken.

But we know all this. Téchiné believes not enough has been said about this time. He says there is no “AIDS” genre. But I say there is. The plot and even many of the characters are all too familiar. If one wants to make a film about AIDS, time, energy, money and creative juices may be better spent in reminding the public that the epidemic is still a threat, that people still contract it and that the now-available treatments are not cures. I don’t need to see again how it was 20 years ago. I need an update, I want to be warned, and I want to be reminded it is not over yet.

Still, interesting points in “The Witnesses” are that Paris seemed to be very un-homophobic. There was no big to-do when a gay man was introduced to a typical middle class hetero couple. Everyone seemed to be comfortable hanging out together in their country home: gay, straight, female, male. The only bastion of macho homophobia was the police force. Also, North African people seemed to be accepted with nonchalance and only a subtle undercurrent of bias (or was it a trace of paranoia?). Couples changed partners, experimented, discussed their relationships, stood by each other. It was interesting to see the combinations of couples, the acceptance of individuality, the mutual respect.

The central character, Manu, played by John Libéreau, seemed rather stereotypical though very empathetic, The other characters were more complex and watching their responses to each other and subsequent evolution was interesting.

Still, we haven’t seen a film about people affected with HIV/AIDS that takes place in the present and since everything I know is from movies and TV (as it probably is for many of us), I would like an update, emotional, social and scientific.

Charlie Bartlett has problems, the most significant of which is he craves being popular -- neigh, the most popular boy in school, adored by all. Because Charlie is smart and resourceful, his dream (literally) comes true.

I realized while watching this film that boy popularity and girl popularity are very different. When a girl is popular, she becomes unattainable, except to a very small clique of the most popular girls the jocks. When Charlie becomes popular, everybody says hello to him, shakes his hand, asks his advice, confides in him. I would never want to be a popular girl because then my social circle would be confined to 2 or 3 other girls and I’d have to have sex with ,ost of the meaty goons or they’d say rude things about me on the Internet and I’d be ruined. I, myself, was the best known person in high school, not to be confused with popular, but that’s another movie.

Oh, why is Charlie Bartlett’s desire to be popular a problem, you may ask. Because he gets in trouble trying to make the masses of high school students happy. Charlie is amoral. He doesn’t realize that dispensing advice in the boys room, using stalls as psychiatrist’s chair and patients’ couch, dispensing psychogenic drugs to alter mood, relieve tension and anxiety, help sleep, etc., could have dangerous repercussions, besides being illegal. He really believes he is as capable as a trained psychiatrist (having several stereotypical idiot, drug dispensing psychiatrists on retainer for home visits only fuels this misconception). He really doesn’t realize he is dangerous. He just wants to make friends.

Nonetheless, I much prefer him to Ferrisof “Ferris Beuller’s Day Off,” who thumbs his nose at authority, enjoys making the principal upset, needs to prove he is outside the petty rules others must live by. Sure, he’s got spirit and cunning, but no compassion. Ferris is smug. More recently, Reece Daniel

Honestly, I was more interested in and intrigued by Grace than the rest of the family who are intentionally draw as just everyday, common, run of the mill, people. Think about Grace for a moment. She's been in the Army a long time. Her oldest daughter is 12 and Grace was already in the army when she met her husband-to-be. Is she a lifer, a career soldier? She's still only a sargeant; higher ranked soldiers don't get killed. We all know that. So, the Army has not been particularly good to her. She has decided to stay in the army for at least 13 years, taking pregnancy leaves, going back on duty, spend many tours in Iraq. She has not been disillusioned by this war even though we have numerous films detailing how American soldiers in Iraq find their tours there ineffectual, imperialistic, unnecessary. Or they are methodically turned into immoral monsters, whether accidentally or purposefully (for example "The Valley of Elah"). Keep in mind, everything I know is from the movies and science programs on cable.

We can tell by her wholesome, lovely face in the one photograph we see of her and by the intelligent, caring voice in the phone message which opens the film and her recorder message we hear repeatedly in the film that Grace is not desperate to earn a living off the military. She is capable, sane, loving and warm. She doesn't even have to work since her husband makes enough money already. What makes Grace decide to do what she does? Is it patriotism? There is an obvious lack on jingoistic artifacts in the house: no flag, no framed medal-- just a yellow ribbon decal on the bumper of the family car. Grace is silent on the subject of her motivation for going army.

And why did Grace marry Stanley Phillips (John Cusack) who, to Cusack's consummate acting skill, looks like a dork, walks like a dork, and sounds like a dork? What did Grace see in him that we don't?

Alice is a working mother and wife. She lives with her mother (who cleans, cooks, and keeps the home in perfect running order while listening to talk radio), her husband (who spends his days gambling and his night womanizing), and her three sons (who argue among themselves and watch a lot of television). Alice is a manicurist whose life has fallen into a dull routine.

Alice (Carla Ribas) on her way to work.

When the possibility of romance and escape from this rut appears, she doesn’t hesitate. Even a work friend comments that her life resembles a soap opera - low drama. There’s no political intrigue, social upheavals, war, crime, or any other “important” issue in this film -- just the life of a typical woman in a typical city with a typical family. It could have been played more dramatically; the elements are there, but the point is this is how life is for the vast majority of people. We all get bored with our lives and we all just keep on keeping on. It could take place anywhere; this film takes place in Brazil. Differences include the more widespread acceptance of superstitions: don’t walk under a ladder, use love potions, defer always to your horoscope. Also, if Alice (played by Carla Ribas) is indicative of the culture of Rio, women are still emotionally subjugated to the old world values of marriage. I wouldn’t put up with that lazy, demanding, cheating loser of a husband (Zécarlos Machado) for a moment. Alice doesn’t toss him out on his ear. Cultural or individual choice -- it would be a real plot flaw in an American movie.

By honing in on this unspectacular family, we get to live the lives of these people, feel their fears, frustrations, temporary exhilaration and anguish. These people reflect our concerns: grandmother going blind and worrying about being put in a retirement home; Alice devastated by her husband’s infidelity and elated by her lover’s attentions, and her sons trying to find their places in life.

Maybe you don’t need to go there. You have your own lives and they probably aren’t that different from Alice’s family’s. Maybe you want to compare and contrast. Maybe you want to empathize. It’s frighteningly accurate -- right down to the television being left on when no one’s in the room.

When I was invited to see “Juno” and I read the description of it, I thought, “Why go to the movies to see typical Lifetime Network fare about a pregnant teenager who gives her baby up for adoption? What’s all the noise about on this film?” I suspected it was more than just that when I checked out the cast for this film. Allison Janney (sure, she does the Kaiser commercials voice and “Sicko” made that HMOs transgressions clear), J.K. Simmons (loved him in “First Snow” and he’s the psychiatrist on “Law & Order,” therefore, not your typical After School Special actor), Jennifer Garner (Super hero, super spy, and Ben’s wife doesn’t need a project sermonizing about the dangers of sex before marriage), and Jason Bateman, too big time for that kind of teen melodrama since “Mr. Magorium’s....”. They knew something I didn’t.

Juno (Page) checking out eager (?) perspective parents
(Garner and Bateman)

So, I went to see it against my uninformed judgment. If you get over fact that this really smart, savvy, even jaded teen would have unprotected sex in the first place, and the abortion clinic is not even remotely portrayed honestly, you get a very interesting, humorous and touching view of a teenager’s experience of pregnancy with all its social complications. It is not more authentic or honest than the women’s channels TV movie fare, but it’s is smarter, hipper. It’s all in the script, and you can assume that a writer named Diablo Cody wouldn’t pump out pap.

Here’s a paradox --- how can you be a legend if you’re the last “uninfected person” on earth and there’s no one left to talk about you? I believe fear of being the last person on earth is genetically primal; we’ve all had nightmares about it. I thought my childhood dream of being alone in the city was caused by the Cold War. By the way, I didn’t mind that much. I got to drive a city bus. There is always something to make us fear the end of the world or more specifically, of being left alone on it -- from the Cold War to a meteor to the Taliban poisoning the water or using a virus to a bomb from North Korea or Iran or Libya. In “I Am Legend,” doctors of the near future create a cure for cancer which backfires and turns people into rabid, violent, non-thinking animals. Solution: more FDA trials before it’s released to the public. Oh, this is too easy.

In any case, this is not a new plot idea in film. “I Am Legend” is a remake of “The Omega Man” (1971), starring Charlton Heston, which was based on Richard Matheson’s 1954 science fiction novel, “I Am Legend.” Heston’s deserted L.A. is a far cry from today’s version with spectacular visuals of Manhattan overrun with wild grasses, herds of deer, and abandoned cars chocking the streets. Heston’s home was much better fortified, though, and his protection against the mutated population more ingenious. Smith’s survivor, like his house, is more vulnerable. He has a harder time maintaining his sanity and dealing with loneliness. Note: Smith has this penchant for getting into huge Hollywood blockbusters that still afford him a character with enough emotional range to be considered for awards. Where Heston was the stoic survivalist, Smith is getting worn down and almost suicidal. Heston would never have memorized large sections of cartoon dialogue. Smith deadpans his lip-synching of “Shrek,” a highlight of the film. Credit for maintain Smith’s sanity must be given to his constant companion Sam (Abbey), the German Shepherd, I expect since Sam was such a great dog in this film, many will consider buying a German Shepherd as a family pet. I beg you, please, no pet stores or breeders. There are many, many German Shepherds available for adoption at shelters and rescues. Just check www.petfinder.com.

“The Omega Man” was not the original source of this story of survival and isolation. In 1964, Vincent Price played the same part in the first adaptation of Matheson’s book, this time titled, “The Last Man on Earth” (1964). Price plays the doctor who is immune to the plague that turns people into bloodthirsty zombies (four years before George Romero’s “Night of the Living Dead”). He is insane with grief and loneliness, killing zombies during the day, hiding in a house with only boards on the windows at night.

Seventy year old Professor Dominic Matei is just about to commit suicide when he is struck by lightening. Instead of the death he hoped for, he gets a new lease on life, and youth. His body's clock is turned back a good 40 years; he even develops a new set of teeth and some special powers, but this is no science fiction work. It plays out more dark and foreboding, an historical plot with sinister Nazi spies, doctors who experiment with large doses of electricity, sub-plots and subterfuges.

Alexandra Maria Lara and Tim Roth --
both young at the same time, but still troubled.

Matei, played by Tim Roth, now renewed and young, longs to continue his research into the origins of language and to finish his definitive work on the topic, a daunting task. His sudden rejuvenation not only includes a full head of hair and fresh teeth, but an increased capacity for learning, psycho kinetic power (strangely, used only once), and the appearance of a double only he can see who offers life saving advice and an alternative perspective to his problems. The woman Matei loved and lost in his youth, Laura (played by Alexandra Maria Lara), is somehow reincarnated and returned to him as Veronica. He first meets her and gives her directions on the road. Later, he finds her speaking Sanskrit in a cave higher up on the road. They and a linguist go to India to confirm many of her Sanskrit statements, proving her transmigration of soul from ancient Rupini to Veronica.

Matei and Veronica return to Europe and live together. Each night in her sleep, Veronica continues to speak in earlier and earlier languages. Bringing Matei closer to the resolution of his work, she is also dangerously affected by this talent. Should he finish his work, finally arriving at the first language, at the cost of her life?

Coppola may have bitten off more than he can chew bringing to the screen this novella by Mircea Eliade which spans over 30 years in a most idiosyncratic and confusing way. It becomes a mish mash of genres, filmic looks, plot devices and detours which include supernatural power, all without an overriding theme we can hold onto while traversing the darker side of the Eastern European mind. It seems Matei is the victim of higher fates, tugging him this way and that, confusing him and us while leading him to an unknown purpose. And I don't think I am able to forgive Coppola for a scene in which Laura, upon arriving at a lovely villa in Malta, asks Matei, "What is that bird over there?" and he responds, "Oh, that's a Maltese falcon." Is that cheap shot an indication of the flippant nature of this film? Are we supposed to be counting the references to literature and having a laugh? Gogol's doppelganger, Kafka's justifiable paranoia about an oppressive government, Chandler's Mediterranean bird of pray, Dennis Potter's "The Singing Detective"'s lover turned spy or enemy provocateur met on the street being killed? The significance of the three roses are completely lost on me. And what else?

I'm sure much could be written about Coppola's investigation of effects of the passage of time on one's body and soul, the necessity of fulfillment in one's life, the independent life of the alter ego each of us talks to in our thoughts. Much could be said about his choices of filmic styles for the different episodes of the protagonist's life in different countries at different times. Some might complain about the overpowering 1940's style music score. What I loved most about this film was the credits -- as in pre-"Star War" times, credits were brief and at the beginning of films, with a simple "The End" or "Fin" at the end.

Coppola states he wanted to make a small budget, personal film. I find it amazing that on a small budget, whatever that might be, it still looked like a glossy, big budget film. As a simple audience member, though, I felt I had to keep changing gears, not because world events are passing by at a quickening pace and the face of Europe is changing during these tumultuous times, but because the film didn't make up it's mind as to what and why it was.

We have all been raised with fairy tales, witches, wizards, goblins, monsters (in the closet and under the bed), imaginary friends, Santa Claus (yes, he is imaginary and that’s just as good as real), Easter Rabbit, cartoons in which animals speak, and on and on. Are these particular Christians upset because a girl child instead of a boy child has the key to saving the future from total mind control and a soulless existence for the particular parallel universe depicted in “The Golden Compass”? Are the only myths and unsubstantiated legends supposed to come from the bible? Should Aesop’s Fables, Bullfinch’s Mythology, Homer’s Odyssey and Iliad, fairy tales from Asia and Africa, sagas and myths from Scandinavia be banned? Isn’t it humiliating enough that this country which is supposed to be the most universally educated and scientifically advanced is still arguing in court if the first chapter of the bible should to be taught alongside the science of evolution -- in state funded schools?

I refuse to allow religious censors to dictate what is taught in schools and seen in films and heard in music and played in video games and painted and written and spoken. All of us, especially Christians, must put a stop to this fanatical wave, this very small minority who would do to the United States what the Taliban and Al Quida has done to the Near and Middle East. Don’t let them take away our freedom of thought, our imagination our choices.

The antichrist on the roof with a minion? I think not!
Notice the little animals - souls of each person externalized as animals

Actually, they sound very much like the villains in “The Golden Compass.” Young Lara (played by Dakota Blue Richards) is a rather unruly girl in private school. Her uncle, Lord Asriel (Dennis Craig) (does the name sound uncomfortably too much like Israel for the right wing faction?) is a scientist who explores the far north to find a why to communicate with life on other planets. I think. I have to admit, there’s a whole lot in this story I don’t understand, like the significance of the “dust” or how the golden compass in the hands of the one who has been foretold (does the right wing rankle at it being a girl) can save the universe. Seems we have to wait for the sequel to get a real payoff. Okay, I’ll go see the sequel because the movie is very beautiful, the child, though fiercely independent, is very endearing. I have found that historically boys in fairy tales are kind, moral, brave and resourceful, like Harry Potter. The girls tend to be very annoying, like Sally Salt in Terry Gilliam’s “The Adventures of Baron Munchausen” (1988). To continue with the story -- the administrators of this planet want to scientifically remove the soul from all the children so they will be unthinking and obedient. (Now, does this hit too close to home for the squawking right wing who doesn’t want you to see this film?)

Lara is taken from the school by Mrs. Coulter (Nicole Kidman) for her own nefarious purpose. Lara escapes and goes on a perilous journey to save her uncle from an impending assassination, her friends from loosing their souls, and the whole universe from mind control. She finds friends and supporters along the way, a giant polar bear, cowboy-aeronaut Sam Elliot, and a flock of witches. Is she successful, does freedom of mind vanquish those who wish to control us, I mean them? See the film, if only to squash those who wouldn’t let you if they could.

I feel like I've seen three movies in one sitting, each taking its time to tell a multi-layered, realistic story.
First, the childhood friends Amir (Zekeria Ebrahimi), a wealthy businessman's son (Amah Khan Mahmidzada), and Hassan, the businessman's servant's son. I get a good feel for life in Kabul, Afghanistan, in the 1970's, neither communistic, with free trade and a static class structure, nor fundamentalist Muslim, with the odd drink and cigar enjoyed after dinner or at parties (which include women in Western attire dancing with guys who may not even be their husbands). I am more than a little irked that Amir reads stories to Hassan who is illiterate. No universal education and it seems friends don't share the secrets of the written word with the less fortunate servant class. Very telling. Actually the story is about the difference, not so much in economic and social class, as in moral structure. Hassan stands up for himself, his friend, and what is right. Amir not only runs from confrontation, but becomes devious to hide this shameful fact.

Still, I am dazzled by the biggest event in the village, the annual kite contest in which kite strings are somehow treated to be able to cut the strings of neighboring kites. Either the last kite flying or the one with the most cuttings is the winner. The kite runner goes after the cut kites and keeps them as spoils of war. This is the most obvious section of the film that showed Dreamworks' funding. It is not a western film by any means, though much of it is in English for a wider audience, but with lots of American money behind it, the kites fly high and widely and we get bird's eye tracking views of the action. The kite competition may be the least realistic part of the film -- slight nudges of the wrist get the kites attacking, circling and liberating opposing kites in an intricate and unfathomable dance.

The second section of this film concerns the escape by Amir and his father from Kabul to America due to the start of the Russian invasion. Being a very successful capitalist and outspoken opponent of Communism, Amir's father has become an enemy of the state. Crossing the dangerous border between Afghanistan and Pakistan is perilous enough, but Amir's father standing up to a Russian soldier at gunpoint whose requested payment for allowing a truck full of immigrants to pass is the rape of a woman, is another example of courage lacking in his son. Penniless, the two start a new life in the Bay Area. The price for freedom (and life) is all the worldly accouterments that success had once bestowed on this pair. Dad now works in a gas station, Amir (as an adult - Khalid Abdallah) is a struggling student aspiring to become a novelist. He falls in love, marries, becomes a successful writer. Life is good as is a view of San Francisco in the background.

Here we learn of the struggles faced by immigrant populations -- regaining economic equilibrium is left to the next generation, maintaining one's culture far from home is an upward battle, adapting to a new culture is difficult and humiliating, especially in one's own home. Note: always take a bit of soil with you when you leave your homeland -- not to remember, but to literally feel your roots in your hands.

There is one segment of the population that is marginalized even further off the page than women and people of color. This segment is forgotten, deprived, sent to institutions where they are abused, maltreated, and left to die, abandoned even by their own children and certainly by society. They are the aged. Even in the best of circumstances, they may have their senior communities and full medical coverage, but they have no place in society and their vast experience and wisdom is wasted. Unused, it atrophies, which is a tragedy for all of us. In "Man in The Chair," a young boy, as troubled and unhappy as he is, cannot ignore this silenced population once he is made aware of it, and is moved to action.

Christopher Plummer - seduced and abandoned

Cameron Kincaid (played by Michael Angarano) , who regularly skips school and is out on parole from joy riding a stolen car among other assorted infringements of the law, can't help but notice an old man, Flash (played by Christopher Plummer), in movie theater. Flash shouts at the screen, making his vast, insider knowledge of films known through his angry rantings. Cameron, coincidentally, not only loves films, but wants to make a film as a school project which may lead to a full scholarship to college. He dreams of someday being the man in the director's chair. So, Kincaid follows Flash out of the theater, stalks him, and finally approaches him, asking for his help in making the film. Curmudgeon Flash finally agrees under relentless pressure and payoffs of cigars and Wild Turkey. Flash introduces Cameron to his neighbors in the Motion Picture Rretirement Home. An assortment of talent and Academy award winners who quietly pass their days in front of the TV are roused from their dormancy and excitedly prepare for the project. Cameron's subject matter quickly changes from skateboards and motorcycles to an exposé on conditions in the vast majority of senior institutions.

Would all youth be as aware of this situation, compassionate, and honoring of the elder as Michael Angarano's Cameron. Cameron is our eyes and ears as we become aware that the family problems we face may only be in part the fault of others, but more importantly, the situations of, in this case, the elderly are far worse and hopeless. This message seemed to me to be made far too blatant, preachy and even pedantic. I forgive director Schroeder for this lack of subtlety -- perhaps a digression into the documentary realm which mirrors Cameron's filmmaking journey. Cameron even brings the message home in promising his mother he will always take care of her -- perhaps the most important message in the film. We do not lapse into dispair because of the fine acting by Plummer, Angarano, E. Emmet Walsh (as Academy Award winning playwrite alone and numbed by his destitution) and the others in this first rate cast, the integrity of the characters they play, and hope given by the youthful protagonist.

In "Man in This Chair," we all face our futures -- abandonment by family, institutionalization, squalor, and defeat. Baby boomers, beware and plan ahead! From our parents' disposal to our own is only a few brief years. Perhaps the credo of Medium Rare may in future be amanded to state: for women, people of color and seniors in the entertainment industry.

“I’m Not There” is a pastiche of Todd Haynes and co-writer Oren Moverman’s selected highlights of Bob Dylan’s life. They are ramblings and artistic interpretations of his life from his early years to the 1970's.. Though Dylan was never a black boy (Marcus Carl Franklin) of 11 riding the train cars and singing about the Great Depression to the hobos he met, Haynes gives him this persona. The child is devoted to Woody Guthrie and sits by his bedside in the hospital as he lays dying. This is a reference to Dylan’s mentorship by Woody which led to his folk sound. I suppose Haynes sees the youth’s inner soul as this black child. Interesting and daring.

Cate Blanchett does the most convincing Dylan

Then Dylan develops into an intense and committed folk singer (Christian Bale) named Jack. This may be a reference to Rambling Jack Elliot who was Guthrie’s actual protégé and whose career was eclipsed by Dylan’s more successful run for fame. In this film the Jack character, after an existential breakdown, becomes a minister. I could watch and listen to Bale interpret Dylan till the sun goes down. But no mention of the controversy around Dylan’s donation of several million dollars to Israel.

When Dylan later goes electric, Haynes emphasizes the controversy that ensues: has Dylan betrayed his folk/protesting following? I don’t remember that issue. “I Ain’t Gonna Work on Maggie’s Farm No More” was as protesty as “The Times They Are a Changing.” The new sound sold more than he old one, so, obviously, more people liked it than didn’t. We are taken through his nihilistic period, has movie star period (?), his old man in the mountains with his dog and horse period (I suppose yet to come).

Christian Bale sings the best
Marcus Carl Franklin is the most far fetched
Ben Whishaw is the punkiest
Heath Ledger is the naked movie star
Richard Gere is the future and throwback to the past.

I should say no more about the many short stories that are “I’m Not There.” Obviously, Haynes took great care and imaginative pleasure in using Dylan as the skeleton which he dressed in many fine coats. He may be missing his pants, meaning the story is aggrandizing, incomplete and to my recollection inaccurate. Trying to make all the characters fit into one actual person is not the aim of this film and would only lead to frustration on the part of the audience. Just relax and enjoy the music, the wonderful performances, and Heath Ledger in a towel. If you’re trying to see his penis, you’ll have to wait for the DVD to put it on freeze frame.

“Love in the Time of Cholera” takes great care to look and feel like the novel by Marquez, and I greatly appreciate that because I love the book. It is tropical, densely foliated, hot, and misty. The mountains are dangerous precipices, the rivers white and unpredictable. Yet civilization near the end of the 19th Century is valiantly trying to tame this rugged and inhospitable place. For modern society to make its mark, the most formal of etiquette must be followed. Victoria rules Britannia and the standards of civilization in Colombia, South America, on the edge of the jungle, should be no less stringent than those in London or Madrid. Men wear white, three-piece suits, ladies are covered in lace from chin to ankle and strict rules of courtship must be followed. Cholera seems to be the only natural occurrence that truly effects this population of transplanted Spaniards, and reminds the populace that it is truly far from home.

Mezzogiorno and Bratt on their honeymoon.
The wrong husband?

In this setting, Florentino Ariza (Javier Bardem) courts Fermina Daza (Giovanna Mezzogiorno) with a series of love letters. She responds and avers her love for him as well. Her dad (John Leguizamo) is adamant that she marry better than a mere telegraph clerk and takes her to her cousin deep in the jungle for a year. Florentino is more than heartbroken; he is devastated, inconsolable, crushed. Though he vows fidelity to his beloved Fermina,

he finds that sex with other willing partners, lessens the pain, if not the ardor he feels for her. And he is in a lot of pain. Upon her return, she runs into him in the marketplace and realizes, quite suddenly and irrevocable, that her love for him was a mistake and he is nothing more than a shadow. Off she goes to live her life without him and with barely a memory of him. She marries, very well, in fact, to Dr. Juvinal Urbino (Benjamin Bratt), has a child, and lives out her life as any married woman of high social standing would.

Bardem patiently waiting.

Florentino waits. He will increase his stature in society so he can be a good match for Fermina when the time finally comes that they can be together again -- when her husband dies. And he waits. And he waits.

At first, upon reading the book and again upon seeing the film, I wondered what changed Fermina’s mind about Florentino. I have since figured it out. The guy is creepy. As I have done many times before, I have selected the guy we’re not supposed to be rooting for. While others may be emotionally supporting Florentino because his love is so pure and he is a good man, and because he gets most of the screen time, I am glad she marries Dr. Urbino. Sure, he’s not perfect, but he’s not creepy, and he does really love her and he does provide very well for her. I’m always finding the guy we supposedly don’t want the female lead to marry the guy I would choose.

This film (as the book) is elevated above mere melodrama because of the parallels between society and nature, the conflicts between love and culture, the tenacity of the heart. The language is also beautiful, and the backdrop provocative and wild. I am able to visit the land of “Fitzcarraldo” (1982) again, but in more amicable company. As for the concept of lifelong love overcoming obstacles of family and time, we can also visit or revisit “Like Water for Chocolate” (1992), a novel (with recipes) and film, which takes place in the rough and revolutionary Mexico. There are several parallels between “Chocolate” and “Cholera”, including a similar ending in the novels, though the film version of “Cholera” has taken a different road. Perhaps there is an iconic myth about this particular situation in Latin culture. I am happy to take this foray into this romantic idea of unrequited, eternal love in the tropical wilds of a yet untamed country.

On the one hand, Mr. Magorium's just fun. I'm a kid again in a toy store, and the toys play back!. Plot is intentionally thin: Mr. Magorium (Dustin Hoffman), magical magistrate of his self-named toy store, feels it's time to move on. So, he hires an accountant (Jason Bateman) to clean up his paperwork thus making transition of the business to his store manager (Natalie Portman) easier. A 9 year old boy (Zach Mills), who has socialization problems, also works at the store. I ponder child labor laws. But lest we forget, children also take over the running of businesses (or the same business) in both "Willie Wonka & the Chocolate Factory" (1971) and "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" (2005). This is obviously some wish fulfillment on the part of children everywhere and completely acceptable in G rated films.
On the other hand, all the characters seemed distant. Mr. Magorium never really exposes his mystery (perhaps as he shouldn't), but I would have enjoyed the tales he could have told rather than watching slinkies, paper airplanes and bouncy balls as much as I did. And there didn't seem much of a payoff regarding Portman's classical music composing aspirations and Mills' inability to make friends. Bateman did loosen up from accountant (mutant) to human.

The store, large as it is for a real boutique toy store (though not as spacious as FAO Schwartz or Toys ‘R Us), seemed claustrophobic as a movie set. Remember Robin Williams' factory in "Toys" (1992)? Now, there was a place a kid could play. True, it wasn't a store, but magic could have made Magorium's store bigger than it was and I could have felt more comfortable in the surroundings.

This is a very glossy, huge budgeted, Liberal Democratic, blatant, propaganda film. That’s all right with me; I’m a liberal Democrat and the more in our party the better. I feel it is absolutely correct and only call it propaganda because it’s intention is to sway public opinion, in this case, against Republicans and the war (in Iraq, Afghanistan, soon Iraq, and any place else the right wing can make a profit).

I keep forgetting when I go see animation targeted for children that the intended audience hasn't see all the movies I have. It's the first time for them -- seeing an insect who doesn't fit in, who wants to adventure and explore the world outside its home. They haven't seen "Antz," in which Z, Woody Allen's character, a little ant who wants out of the daily rut of the hill goes into the world at large. And let's not forget Little Nemo who was tempted to go beyond the limits of the seaweed patch set by his dad. There are others from which Bee Movie gets at least some inspiration, but it's a new combination of characters and plot lines that will seem fresh and fun to its young audience.

Seinfeld's bee, Barry B. Benson, has just graduated from bee college. He and his friend, Adam Flayman (Matthew Broderick), are about to choose their lifelong careers. LIFELONG! He had no idea that he would be stuck in the same job "till he dies" (which seems a lot worse than "for the rest of his life"). So, out he goes with the dashing pollen collectors to interact with the world outside the hive. In the course of his extra-hival exploration, he makes friends with a florist (Rene Zellweger), uncovers bee injustice and fights it. If there is a moral to this story, it's not so much follow your urge to explore and expand your horizons as it is don't mess with the natural order! I was a bit taken aback by this revelation. Maybe if the kids take it to heart, they won't be so difficult to control. Hmmmm.
I found the visuals interesting and beautiful. The humor is really for children with only a couple of jokes that adults would appreciate. Those jokes and the suggestion of smoking in one scene got the film a PG rating. Watch out, kids! This film may be dangerous to your moral fiber!