Man on Wire (You will believe a man can...)

I caught up with the Oscar winner for Best Documentary Feature, Man on Wire, and I'm here to blast its goodness all over your pink parts. The movie details Philippe Petit's 1974 daring stunt betwixt the twin towers, and will tickle you pink. Or tickle your pink. Proposed tagline: "If you think you know Frenchmen - think again." Or maybe: "Where does Philippe Petit find pants with a loose enough crotch area to house his big French balls?" One more: "Philippe Petit's balls are large and he occasionally rides a unicycle." Whoa, I'm really off topic here. Let's start at the beginning.

The movie serves as an account of an amazing feat that Petit achieved: breaking into the World Trade Centre and setting up and walking a tightrope strung between the two towers. Petit refers to the event as 'The Coup', and it most definitely is. The great thing about the film is the fact that it's set up as essentially a heist film, and manages to effectively ratchet up the tension despite the audience awareness of the outcome. For those that don't know - Petit lives to tell the tale.

Man on Wire uses archival footage, old photographs and dramatic re-enactments tied together with heavy usage of talking head footage from all the involved players. Petit himself is wildly entertaining and totally exuberant. He's got a zest and joy for life that very few people ever attain, and he's a marvel to watch if only for his zany French mannerisms.

The other people that orbited around Petit and his crazy schemes are often entertaining as well. Clearly the type of people that would partake in a stunt such as this must be a little off, and at least good documentary fodder. There's not much meat to the story of Petit, and the whole film is a little esoteric in that sense. Much is left to the audience, and there's room for viewers to interpret the events however they see fit. (One such scene if a montage depicting the construction of the World Trade Centre towers; take from that what you will.)

As a parable to the strength of the human will and a testament towards leading an exciting life, Man on Wire works well. Petit serves as an engaging guide and central figure, and the film is fairly singular in its depiction of the actual 'Coup'. Also, the music deserves special mention. Moody, atmospheric, and at times soaring classical pieces evoke a wide range of emotions that the film itself often only hints at.

So, check this shit out if you like good shit. I give it four baguettes out of five. Hot shitballs! My eloquence is unparalleled! Until next time, keep your stick on the ice.

Xoxo,
Filmspurt.

Oscar Night! (Obligatory Oscar Post)

The Oscars begin in about two hours, so I'm gonna quickly talk about some of the nominated films I've seen. And yes, the Academy Awards are ridiculous and overblown, and are chosen by a group of out-of-touch elderly white men. But it's also 'Hollywood's Biggest Night!', so let's do this fuckin' shit and let God sort 'em out!

Milk - Really solid film, I'm glad to see Gus Van Sant return to mainstream film making. He really hit this one out of the park, and Sean Penn turns in a great performance as Harvey Milk, the slain gay politician who helped lead a movement. James Franco continues his hot streak and proves he's got range to spare, even amidst a great ensemble such as this one. I'd almost say Penn's a lock for the Best Actor trophy if not for...

The Wrestler - The return of this generation's Brando. Mickey Rourke comes roaring back into the limelight with the role of a lifetime in Aronofsky's visceral masterpiece. 'Gritty, real, affecting,' - these adjectives all apply, and are also cliches, but I'm two drinks in so whatever. Forget the hype and just see this movie. Aronofsky probably should've gotten a Best Director nod, as he rebounds from the critical and commercial failure that was The Fountain (I liked it by the way, and respected its ambition).

Slumdog Millionaire - I love Danny Boyle, and love the fact that this movie's doing so well. I'm not sure it deserves all the accolades it's been receiving throughout the award season, but it is pretty great in its own right. The run-and-gun style of shooting lends the film an immediacy that draws you right in, and allows you to almost smell the streets of Mumbai. The heartwarming story is just the type of film the Academy likes to reward, and it's nice to see a subtitled, India-set film with no real stars become such an Oscar front runner. I'm rooting for Boyle and his film tonight; it'll be nice to see one of the most diverse directors working today get his due.

Wall*E - Fuck the 'Best Animated Feature' category. This should've been a Best Picture nominee. Another masterpiece from the unstoppable Pixar. The best love story of the year. And it stars robots. Weird, huh?

The Dark Knight - Heath will win, and kudos to him. The Joker was an inspired, lunatic fever dream of a creation that will live on for years to come. It would've been nice to see the film itself get more recognition; Oscar's reticence to reward it is a testament to their insular choices and lack of vision. Or maybe I'm just a fanboy who wants to see Batman get his due. I heard Christian Bale will personally berate any Academy member that doesn't vote for Heath for four straight minutes.

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button - I love David Fincher, and Brad Pitt can (and will) make any straight man go gay through sheer dreaminess, but I fell asleep halfway through this. By fell asleep, I mean passed out drunk. Look for an incoherent, rambling, overtly homoerotic review of this film in the near future.

Frost/Nixon - A solid film from the perennially Oscar-grabbing director Ron Howard. The two lead performances were great, and in a different year Frank Langella would probably have won Best Actor for his chillingly accurate Richard Nixon. A little too pedestrian to take away Best Director or Best Picture, although the Academy loves to award mediocrity, and have in the past for other Ron Howard efforts (*cough* A Beautiful Mind *cough*).

The Rest - See my earlier post for my thoughts on Rachel Getting Married and Anne Hathaway's Oscar chances (she's a lock, unless they give it to Kate Winslet for snubbing her for so many years). Man on Wire looks like the best documentary of the year that I haven't seen. Waltz With Bashir also looks amazing; I'll definitely have to catch up with that on DVD as well.

Anyway, hopefully some stars get drunk and make asses of themselves (Jack Nicholson, I'm looking at you), and hopefully there's a least a few unexpected winners. The pomp and circumstance is about to get underway, and I'm gonna need a lot more vodka to make it through four hours of insanely rich Hollywood insiders jerking off each other's penises. Happy Oscar night! And remember, you can be anything you set your mind to - except successful. You definitely won't ever be successful. At least not like the motherfuckers you're about to see walk the red carpet in Gucci and Dolce and Gabbana. Now, I need to go work on my screenplay. I'm looking at Eric Roberts for the lead.

Cheers,
Filmspurt.

Dogma (Kevin Smith speaks! And speaks!)

So, last Tuesday I saw Dogma at Bloor Cinema in downtown Toronto. I rolled up 30 minutes early and the lineup was already snaked around the block. Kevin Smith's true believers were out in droves for the chance to see his films on the big screen and participate in the post-film Q & A with the director himself. Oh, and the event was licensed - score!

I immediately started annihilating beers once I'd snagged some seats near the back of the theatre, but very close to the makeshift bar. These beers helped immensely when watching the movie. The crowd was loving it, cheering loudly when fan favourites like George Carlin and Jason Mewes first appeared onscreen. I must admit that the experience of drinking beers in the theatre with a wildly enthusiastic crowd was pretty great; I'll definitely be attending more of these events. Sidenote: Edgar Wright is presenting a double-bill of Shaun of The Dead and Hot Fuzz on February 28 at Bloor Cinema, and it sounds amazing.

Dogma itself was pretty much how I remembered it since I last saw it ten years ago. A little draggy, a lot preachy, with some great moments from Mewes as Jay and some not so great moments from the rest of cast. Really amateurish as well.

Apparently Linda Fiorentino, who played the lead, hated making this movie and really fucking hated Smith. Of course, this was exactly the type of question I wanted to ask. What I failed to realize was that 20-minutes before the end of the movie, people started to queue up at the microphone in anticipation for Smith's appearance. Of course, I was five beers deep at this point and was very slow to the draw. What I got for my flippant attitude was a barrage of some of the most idiotic questions ever. In grade school, teachers often say, "There are no stupid questions." They are wrong.

Allow me to paraphrase some of the gems fired off at Smith:

"Uhhhhh, I'm a weed virgin. I've never smoked it. Will you smoke weed with me, Kevin?"

"So when you're chillin' at home, watched the Tampa Bay Lightning, how do you smoke? Do you use a.... uhhhhh... vaporizer? Or a huge bong?"

Smith handled the questions with aplomb and grace, and basically told awesome, hilarious anecdotes that often had nothing to do with the questions asked. He was really engaging, self-effacing and totally candid. He immediately copped to the problems of Dogma, like the way that most of the action happened off-screen while he showed various character's reaction shots. He also talked about how Dogma was written when he was 21, before he'd even started on Clerks.

One woman asked him about a scene from one of his films where a character paints his girlfriend's toenails, and whether or not Smith had actually done this. He replied that he hadn't, and it was simply what his 21-year-old mind thought girls might find romantic. Smith then proceeded to tell a story about how he had recently groomed his wife's nether regions, and had been very ginger and professional during the whole process. Afterwards, he illustrated how he dived into his handiwork face-first by violently nuzzling the microphone. This got huge laughs from the crowd, as his wife, who was side-stage, sank backwards into a doorway. She was a good sport though, and must be used to Smith's revelations about their private life by now.

Another gentleman then told Smith that, "You give hope to us big guys Kevin. Your wife is hot."

My portly fellow film fan failed to pick up on that fact that Smith snagged his wife through his white-hot wit and gift of gab, not his giant man-tits and abundance of flab. No matter though, have hope my friend! Hookers don't care what you look like!

I must admit, the Q & A was really fun. Kevin Smith can speak, that's for sure. He got cut off by the moderator, as Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back was screening next, but I get the feeling that Smith would have spent all night answering fan's questions if he could. For this, I applaud the man. If you're sick of his movies, by all means check out An Evening With Kevin Smith part one or two. The DVD's are around 4 hours each, and consist solely of Kevin Smith speaking to a crowd. However, at no point will you be bored.

So, I didn't get to ask Kevin about his upcoming feature Red State, or whether we'd ever see a Clerks III (let's hope not). I did, however, get to see the loquacious motherfucker in his element. One thing's for sure, if his film career ever dries up he'll have a great second career as a public speaker. Let's hope that the man is willing to take a few more chances in the future, and make some good movies that he can talk about for years.

With love-stained hands, I wave to you adieu.
Filmspurt.

Zack and Miri Make a Porno (Craig Robinson is funny)

Holy shit - am I too old for Kevin Smith? Clerks was one of those key movies I watched in my formative years. The filthy sex talk, the Star Wars references, the odd little touches (Berserker! A three-year-old smoking! Batshit-crazy guidance counsellors! 37 dicks!); all of it seemed like it was made to appeal directly to my perverse little mind. I followed Smith's efforts through the sophomore slump of Mallrats, to the sincere Chasing Amy, onto the controversy-courting Dogma, and I even went to the theatre for the ultimate 'View Askewniverse' (his series of recurring New Jersey-based characters) pic - Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back.

By this point, Smith's formula of man-children discussing sex and life in his uniquely clunky voice had run a little dry. Then Jersey Girl dropped. It took me a while to actually get around to watching it, as I figured the pg-13 rating would totally neuter Smith's profanity-laced screenwriting. I guess I was kind of right - the movie was sweet, almost saccharine, but the edge was gone. I did admire his valiant attempt at growth, even more so now in light of the 'back-to-well' (Kevin Smith's own words!) sequel Clerks II.

Which brings me to Zack and Miri Make a Porno. I loved the idea of this movie - Seth Rogen and Elizabeth Banks in the title roles, Kevin Smith casting outside of his usual repertoire of actors (at least for the leads), and the movie wouldn't be connected to his previous 'View Askewniverse' works. Unfortunately, the movie remains mired in the general sensibilities of Smith's past work. The uninspired shooting style, the gloriously filthy dialogue (which waffles between hilarious and groan-inducing), and the oddly inert and weirdly paced acts are on display here.

Basically, Zack and Miri is tried-and-true Kevin Smith filmmaking. The thing is - I don't know if that's enough anymore.

I'm not going to bother providing a synopsis of the movie - the amazing title does that all on its own. Seth Rogen does his best with the dialogue, and performs to mixed results. I love the guy, and he's had a meteoric rise up the comedy ranks with very few missteps; but I'm at the point where I need to see him stretch his acting muscles a bit. For a promising look at Rogen's next leading role, Observe and Report, click here. Elizabeth Banks actually puts in an awesome performance - she's the heart of the film and maybe the best leading lady to ever grace a Smith film (next to Joey Lauren Adams in Chasing Amy, natch!). She doesn't show bush, boob, or even sideboob, but she is adorable and convincing in the role. Also, she shakes her ass in grannie panties sans any trace of self-conciousness.

The supporting players are also a mixed bag. Jason Mewes plays Jason Mewes (actually he plays Lester, in a role seemingly designed to bag the actor himself more chicks post-release), and Traci Lords shows up as a slut, which I'm sure was a stretch. A certain Canadian [and mean-spirited and jewish] actor shows up early on for a funny cameo. Brandon Routh and Justin Long appear in the same sequence and prove that they're game for self-mockery and stepping to the edge of the cliff and jumping.

And then there's Craig Robinson. He plays Delaney, Zack's co-worker at his mundane coffe-shop job. He fucking nails his line delivery and single-handedly elevates the film from 'slight guffaws' to 'approaching decent'. Robinson laid the base as Darryl in TV's The Office, and followed it up with a great appearance in Knocked Up. With this performance I think he's poised to break out large and do some great things. He takes innocuous dialogue and totally owns it with his unique and disarming readings. Me likey Craiggers.

As for the movie itself - it plods along at that uniquely awkward Kevin Smith pace, clanging from one boring static interior shot to another, with some moderately funny quips along the way. The actual consummation of Zack and Miri's relationship is an oddly moving sequence that shows that Smith has not stagated entirely. Kevin - please pursue this avenue further. The second-act conflict that is required in all romantic comedies (and make no mistake - this is a romantic comedy) is contrived and predictable, with the third-act resolution arriving abruptly. But by that point, you've probably had enough.

There's a 'frosting' scene that merits laughs (and was apparently hard to sneak by the MPAA), but the reaction shot is cut short and makes you long for more full-on filthiness. Jason Mewes scores some laughs close to the credits when he describes a sex act that... well... I don't want to ruin that gag, but I would like to know if anyone has done or attempted this (feel free to comment below! We don't judge here at Filmspurt!).

Listen up true believers: it's another middle-of-the-road effort from Smith. I really hoped he'd be inspired by Judd Apatow's recent successes and produce something to rival flicks like The 40 Year Old Virgin or Knocked Up. Instead, we have another Kevin Smith film which just so happens to rip on the newly-minted Apatow formula.

I give it two-and-a-half 'Dutch Rudders' out of five. If you're intrigued by that reference, then I guess this film may be for you. If not, then welcome to adulthood. You should probably eat more bran and drink only clear liquors.

On a side note, I'll be seeing Smith this Tuesday at a special screening of Dogma at The Bloor Cinema in Toronto. He's conducting a post-film Q and A and if you've got a decent question to ask him, post it below. More to come on that later.

Stay golden Ponyboy,
Filmspurt.

Rachel Getting Married (Anne Hathaway is not Rachel)

Welcome to my first review for Filmspurt! My motto: "Just like Bloodsport, only not at all." Feel free to lambast my grade five-level prose in the comments below. Your hatred keeps me alive.

I watched Rachel Getting Married last night at the local AMC 24 (at baby Times Square Toronto - Yonge & Dundas! Toronto is cold as fuck!). There I was, bulk barn snacks squirrelled away in my lady friend's purse and feeling extremely George Costanza-ish about the smuggling. As I waited for the lights to dim, I was looking forward to watching Anne Hathaway get married while trying to sabotage her best friend Kate Hudson's wedding. I guess I was mistaken.

The movie makes its intentions clear during the lo-fi opening credits played over the sounds of instruments being tuned and strummed while off-centre text announces the principals: "Hi. This is not Bride Wars and I hope no teenagers are watching because they will not like me." I felt like I was back at the Toronto International Film Festival watching a movie that would never get North American distribution. What I got was a gut-punch of a film packed with nuanced performances from a uniformly great cast.

Hathaway plays Kym, a woman leaving rehab for a few days to attend her titular sister's (Rosemarie Dewitt) wedding. Hathaway disappears into the role, making you forget her former Disney teen/early twenties-queen status. In the immortal words of Ol' Bill Shakespeare, "Holy shit this bitch can act!"

The script and close-up, swirling verite shooting style of the film leave no room for vanity or artifice on Hathaway's part, and she responds in turn with raw emotion and creates a character that you feel lives and breathes outside of the 114 minutes of the film itself. Plus, she shows her tits in one scene (kind of), and she got nominated for an Oscar! The Academy loves tits. Look at Kate Winslet and how many times she's been nominated for getting all nekkid! (That's a whole other post though. One that will require extensive.... research [smacks lips and chuckles ominously].)

The film follows the lead-up to the wedding and the occasion itself, mostly sticking around Kym and Rachel's father's house. Bill Irwin plays Paul, the women's doting father, with an energy and peculiar brand of expressiveness that leads to him scoring some of the best scenes and eliciting lots of empathy from the viewer. This guy is real good. Hey www.imdb.com, what's he done previously that I might recognize him from? Oh, Sesame Street you say? Holy fuck, get this bro some good character actor roles please!

Rosemarie DeWitt scores big as the sister that gets less attention than the fucked-up Kym, even on the day she's getting married. Debra Winger shows up as the semi-estranged mom that has disconnected long ago. She nails the coldness and pent-up feelings of her character remarkably well the few scenes she appears in. Her character's journey is really internal until a shocking third-act scene that leaps from the screen to slap you awake and make your stomach drop. The final scenes with her really speak to not only the film's subtle, layered style, but to the film maker's respect for the audience's intelligence.

Thankfully, the rest of the movie works similarly well. The music is organic in that it's played by onscreen musicians who are in the scene, instead of the score being piped out to only the viewing audience as a tool to evoke an emotional response. Tunde Adebimpe is understated and warm as Rachel's fiance Sydney, and he's in the band TV On The Radio (!). Mather Zickel shows real charisma as Sydney's best man, and injects some much-needed humour into the proceedings. Blah, blah, blah, subplots play out in unexpected fashion, the movie's real humanity is uplifting, blah, blah, just go see it.

Basically, I give it four out of five beaten-and-bruised, chain-smoking Anne Hathaways. I hoped you liked my review and, if not... well... it'll get better. I promise baby. I treat you this way because I love you. If you try to leave me I'll kill you.

Much Love,
Filmspurt

Blast off! On your face!

Hey y'all, I'd like to welcome you all to the premier post of Filmspurt! So to the three or four friends of mine that have been instructed to visit my new blog, I issue you a hearty, "Hi! Thanks for wasting your employer's time!"

To my employer who may have been told of this blog by one of my co-workers, "Hi *****. I'm totally writing this at home and not on work time. It's Sunday right now. I swear. Also, I've been nicking loonies from petty cash."

To my mother who may have stumbled upon this blog accidentally or been told of its existence by my brother, "Please stop reading now. I'm going to use bad words like fuck, shit, and Howie Mandel. You'd be much happier to pretend this doesn't exist and go back to Oprah.com."

Okay, all good? Still here? No? Fuck you then - get an attention span. For those that have read this far, buckle the fuck up because I'm about to ride films hard and hang em up wet. On your face.

Love,
Filmspurt