dance me to the end of love

possibly the best thing ever:

he's dangerous but sincere

Sometime Hal Hartley muse and general indie dreamboat Martin Donovan's debut as a writer and director, Collaborator, screened as part of the terrific Canadian Film Festival - a once-successful playwright's melancholic midlife/career crisis that gracefully evolves into a tense and compelling two-man act. It's a good one.

if I don't get your call then everything goes wrong

 

hello, beautiful

owen wilson x wes anderson is my favourite kind

bang bang

“well, maybe wong kar-wai doesn't have the exclusivity of asses in slow motion, you know?”

FINALLY saw Xavier Dolan's 'Heartbeats'. Slow-mo yearning, impeccable eye-candy, perfect ending. Worth the wait.

d'amour

My favourite Louis Garrel collaborator Christophe Honore's latest, Beloved, is screening at the French Film festival. This time round Garrel's outrageous beauty costars with Catherine Deneuve and her real-life daughter Chiara Mastroianni, Ludivine Saginer and legendary director Milos Forman. Plus Paul Schneider! (holy shit Mark Brendanawicz, that's a long way from Pawnee)It's set in the '60s and '90s. It has songs. What else do you want?

the great stone face

heart-on for Buster Keaton

I wear my sunglasses at night

So The Informers is another movie about rich people behaving badly in 1980s L.A., in the fine tradition of empty '80s adaptations of the equally empty novels of Brett Easton Ellis. I actually like him, for what's it's worth, when I'm in the mood for amoral, coke-fuelled name-dropping and overprivileged kids failing to navigate the basics of human decency. (don't forget the obligatory threesomes!) The shiny surfaces of the Easton Ellis universe can be compelling, so I'm not sure why they've so often failed to translate into good films.

When you have a cast that includes Winona Ryder, Chris Isaak, a mostly naked Amber Heard and Brad Renfro (sigh) it's downright criminal that they don't do anything with them. Although, Lou Taylor Pucci shows up as some kind of physical successor to the best part of Pretty In Pink (outside of Duckie's sweet moves) - and for that we ought to be grateful.

Maybe they should have left in the vampire sublot?

fear & loathing in puerto rico

This trailer has many things going for it - the stylings of 1950s Puerto Rico, a semi-fictional account of the birth of gonzo journalism and maybe most importantly, Bruce Robinson behind the camera. In his past life you may have seen him in the background of Zeffirelli's Romeo & Juliet as Benvolio, or being unbelievably beautiful in Truffaut's L'Histoire d'Adèle H. He's a self described failed actor and thank god for that because he went on to gift us with the black gem of Withnail & I, and is back to capture Johnny Depp channeling Hunter S Thompson for the second time around in The Rum Diary. No one makes inspired lunacy quite so appealing as this unholy trinity.

I'm not against collecting stuff

In the mail, the most perfect tee shirt in the world. All you need to know is that it has both Noah Taylor circa Flirting AND Harold & Maude era Bud Cort on it.(Sam has had one for years, natch)

you play that thing one more time, I'm gonna melt it down into hairspray

"1970s Jack Nicholson is THE man. He wins everyone over and gives the appearance of not trying. He walks into the room and pushes the needle off the record player. He looks incredible in clothes. He says something completely terrible and insulting and then is forgiven because he smiles to acknowledge that he knows he is being terrible. What he wants he just takes and if he can't get it he destroys property. He is charming but he is also evil. Are all charming people evil? Isn't that sort of what charm is about?"

One of the best opening titles ever. That SONG.

see also

(FYI correct answer is Jack/Dustin/Warren, obvs)

you're a real cowboy

and while we're on this western kick - hello, Community!

forget it, Jake

Roman Polanski's sexual proclivities might make me severely uncomfortable but personal politics aside, Chinatown shouldn't be missed. It's right up there in the sunshine-noir category, west coast crime where the bright light only serves to make the shadows darker. It knocks you out, this dirty tale of conspiracy and corruption set in the dustbowl L.A. of the 1930s, with Faye Dunaway all cheekbones and lipstick as the tightly wound femme fatale (there's always a woman)and a twist as black as they come. Most importantly, this is the film that made me suddenly realise why Jack Nicholson was a bona fide ladykiller back in the day: as J. J. Gittes he is morally dubious, impeccably dressed and ever so attractive. Chalk it up to my ongoing affection for fictional gumshoes perhaps, but there it is.

Maggie the cat

hearted

and for your ears

you're all shook up, aren't you baby?

She taught Elvis how to swivel his hips when he was still royalty in waiting (and turned down his marriage proposal). Was the biggest and baddest of Russ Meyer's dangerously curvy heroines with real-life martial art skills. Street-walked and stripped her way into Irma La Duce and Our Man Flint. Took names, broke hearts: R.I.P. Ms Tura Satana.

You'll never be young again

Just another Friday night at the Chauvel, watching Benjamin Braddock deal with his post-college ennui by drifting in his parent's pool and into the arms of two generations of serious foxes. If you had a young Dustin Hoffman wouldn't you do the same?

cartoon action

So here's the secret of the Green Hornet: it's all about Kato.

(He's the one with the gun)

It's not a brilliant film, and there's not much to say that it's a Gondry affair but Kato basically gets to pull fine ninja moves all over L.A. and that's okay with me. Seth Rogan - who I adore, damn it - is himself, only slightly punchier and totally upstaged by his chauffeur x genius mechanic x barista x partner in crime. It does have its moments though, like a fight scene in the heart of Reid's inherited empire amongst huge bolts of paper and production lines of newsprint, and the faintly 1940s gangster style suits they sport aren't too shabby either. Not to mention the tricked out Black Beauty which is a truly envy-making car for a girl who grew up on James Bond.

Added bonus: Cameron Diaz playing the lone female character with a name. Not only that, she's kind of great - smart and feisty with a low tolerance for childish men. Even better, she's not reduced to a romantic foil (as in SPOILER doesn't have to make out with anyone). Plus there's the first sighting I've had of Edward Furlong in a very long time and a James Franco cameo which goes to prove the dude is in every piece of celluloid this year. 

I forgot my mantra

Speaking of mantras, the Chauvel Cinema (which I love, loave, luff, two F's) has been doing a Woody Allen festival, with double features every Friday night into early January. I got ill-advisedly drunk post work and missed Annie Hall - heavy tragedy! - but was reminded today of one of my favourite bits of the whole thing, which for a film comprised almost entirely of favourite bits is no small feat. Namely, Jeff Goldblum in a little L.A. cameo.

and you thought it couldn't get any better than Diane Keaton in a linen suit.

getting seriously involved with someone just means ruining your nightlife

Have I mentioned how much I love Chris Eigeman? Specifically, Chris Eigeman as he appears as variations on the same guy in the films of Whit Stillman and Noah Baumbach's post-college masterpiece Kicking & Screaming. Because at the risk of turning this blog into nothing but a giant 90s nostalgia fest, I really really do.

He functions as something of the archetypal antihero of these pieces: over-privileged and manipulative and cynical and arrogant and self absorbed but also endlessly quotable, and a master of the hangdog expression which means he somehow succeeds in making his characters charming and redeemable. He gets all the best lines. ("I'm nostalgic for conversations I had yesterday. I've begun reminiscing events before they even occur. I'm reminiscing this right now" is basically my mantra) He wears dishevelled suits and always seems to have his hands in his pockets, and has theories on everything and probably too much money and somewhat suspect morals. He talks and talks and talks and doesn't seem to ever actually do anything, and, well, he's perfect at it.

So yeah, I miss those overly talkie nineties movies. And I'm incredibly happy to see that not only is Stillman coming out of hiding with a new movie (Last Days Of Disco was released in 1998!) but he might be taking Eigeman with him.