Obligatory Best of 2011 List

Well, here we are again. That time of year when I tell you how wrong it feels to whittle down an entire year's worth of films into a handy Best Of list. How does Terrence Malick's "The Tree of Life" stack up against Paul Feig's "Bridesmaids?" Do I opt for the silent glory of "The Artist" or the uncanny primates in "Rise of the Planet of the Apes?"

Film isn't just one thing -- a "movie." It's everything: art, entertainment, music, story, experimentation, hope, death, revolution, joy, sleaze, divinity, despair. To rank them on the same scale seems entirely unfair.

What I can do is offer an unranked list of titles that left an impression on me in 2011, whether for pure entertainment value, a breathtaking performance or a show of artistry that took a few viewings to fully appreciate. So here you have it, my list of notable films of 2011.

My top 5 (really 6) list appears in today's Union-Tribune. I've listed them here but click the link for a brief justification for each.

"The Artist"

"Buck" and "Bill Cunningham New York"

"Drive"

"Of Gods and Men"

"Hugo"

If I'd chosen my top five on another day, I could just have easily substituted one of these three films for "Hugo" (the other films are solidly in place).

"The Descendants"

While I was immediately blown away by Shailene Woodley's performance, it took two viewings of Alexander Payne's family dramedy to really draw me in -- but it was well worth it.

"Midnight in Paris"

With the exception of Rachel McAdams' shrill character, Woody Allen's Parisian fantasy was pure joy.

"The Tree of Life"

A visual poem that envelops you in memory, light, existence...until Sean Penn's mug drags you back to an unwelcome reality.

A few more films worthy of honorable mention:

"Certified Copy"

Having seen it only once, director Abbas Kiarostami's film is a puzzle that I've only half solved. I can't wait to give it another viewing and see what other pieces of this indeterminate relationship I can piece together. Either way,  it's impossible not be be taken in by Juliette Binoche.

"Last Lions" and "Project Nim"

I admit it, I'm a sucker for documentaries about animals, especially when they take out your heart and stomp it to bits. In "The Last Lions," the circle of life is to blame for one lioness' struggles. But chimpanzee Nim can point the finger at a few too many despicable humans.

"Like Crazy"

The level of intimacy director Drake Doremus can create through this mostly improvised film is sometimes more effective than you're prepared for. And actress Felicity Jones declares herself to be the Jessica Chastain of 2012 (I hope).

"Moneyball"
I was happy to see a movie about baseball with very little baseball in it (others saw this is a negative), but Brad Pitt's performance as Oakland A's general manager Billy Beane was the film's greatest accomplishment.

"Rise of the Planet of the Apes"

I went in thinking Franco could do no wrong. I walked out thinking, "Franco, who?" This prequel was the most enjoyable surprise of the year.

"Take Shelter"
If you don't know Michael Shannon's name by now, his performance as a husband and father battling apocalyptic visions is the perfect introduction. You most certainly know Jessica Chastain's name after this year, and you'll see why yet again here.

"Weekend"

A gem of a little film about a weekend-long romantic encounter between two young men that transforms them both in subtle, unexpected ways. 

Thanks to everyone who's joined me on this journey through the films of 2011. Here's to a 2012 full of good film, great friends and lots of love.

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"The Artist," and I'm sticking to it.

Jean Dujardin as George Valentin and
 Berenice Bejo as Peppy Miller in "The Artist."
AP Photo/The Weinstein Company

With my 4-star review of "The Artist," I give away one of my top picks of 2011 (the official list runs December 30). After winning a slew of awards from critics groups and festivals (including the San Diego Film Critics Society, which voted it Best Film, my vote included), this black and white silent film is now suffering through something of a backlash with accusations that its story is too slight, the content is low-brow, and its style is merely a "technical exercise" in filmmaking. Obviously I don't agree, though I can see some of what they're saying -- but I loved the film anyway. You can read why in my review.

I was thrilled to get the chance to interview the film's director, Michel Hazanavicius (a name I will forever know how to spell after fixing it in spell check dozens of times), a Frenchman who dazzled me with his ability to articulate the essence of American storytelling during our conversation and in the film itself. You can read the story here.

You also might want to check out Mike Ryan's (Moviefone.com) astute and entertaining explanation of why "It's OK to Like 'The Artist,'" in which he somehow manages to compare the film to the 90s band The Gin Blossoms -- and have it not be an insult.

A friend recently asked me what holiday movies are a must-see for her family, which includes a husband and two college-age sons. When I recommended "The Artist" she scrunched her face up and said with disbelief, "Really? Isn't that the silent movie?" as if that meant it was far too artsy-fartsy for her family's taste. My response was that this is a very mainstream film (hence the backlash, critics are supposed to hate anything mainstream, don't you know) that is perfect for the holidays because it just makes you feel good. 

The way things are going these days, I'll take it where I can get it.

Happy holidays to all! I'll post my top picks of 2011 next week.

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This post will not be about movies.

This post will not be about movies. I feel I deserve a short break from thinking about them after the tornado of screenings, screeners, think lists, nominations and voting I just experienced. (You can read how our critics group voted here and stay tuned later this week for my personal Best of 2011 list.)

Today I want to talk about another important part of my life -- my dog Luna, a border collie mix rescued in Baja after someone found her next to a litter of puppies that had been put into a garbage bag and thrown in the trash.  My (now ex) boyfriend and I adopted her 3 1/2 years ago from The Barking Lot, a phenomenal rescue group that's worth your support.

From the moment we met, I knew she was a sweet old soul. When she first approached me, she stood up on her hind legs up and gently placed her paws on my waist. I loathe dogs that jump on me (sorry labs) but this was different. After she jumped up, she every so gently pulled me in for a hug. I swear, I am not exaggerating.

She was a shedder with white fur - two of my supposed deal breakers right there. We didn't know how old she was and could see that her teeth were a total disaster. It was love at first sight.

Once we got her home it quickly became apparent that I was her go-to human. She was fine with my boyfriend, but only if I was nearby. If I left the room, the house, the dog park, she would go in to what we came to refer to as her "dogatonic" state -- on her back, stiff as a board, totally refusing to move or react, even if she ended up being carried home (she weighs over 40 pounds).

She soon got comfortable with my boyfriend and, eventually, most men. (I try not to imagine what happened to make her so fearful of men.) But she still hung on to a general anxiousness that took a lot longer to dissipate. In fact, I can recall the moment it happened.

It was just a typical early evening walk. All bathroom business before figuring out what's for dinner. On the way home I glanced down and saw my newly transformed dog. Her normally flattened out, suspicious ears were perked up high on her head with eager curiosity. Her normally tucked tail was raised parallel to the sidewalk and swishing side to side in all its bushy glory. Her fear was lifted. She was a confident, happy dog.

I know plenty of people, usually parents, who dismiss a devoted dog owner's love for their pet. Yes, I can admit that my dog (or my cat, who I've been gaga over since 1999) is not the same thing as a human being. I can't speak for the people who spend thousands of dollars on a pure-bred puppy shipped in from Oklahoma, but when I saw my abused, beaten-down rescue dog finally become so comfortable in the life I'd given her that her entire body language changed, well, that feels really damn good.

Since then, I've made it my mission to do whatever possible to keep her ears and tail at an upward angle. Lucky for me, what she required turned out to be exactly what I needed to keep me well-adjusted and (mostly) happy: regular walks through fresh air and pretty scenery, socializing with dog-walking neighbors and, particularly now that I'm single again, a living being who is so happy to see me at the end of the day that I rush home from work excited for the moment I open the door. So, basically, we're a good match.

Though Luna seemed as happy as one animal with emotional baggage could possibly be, a friend, who is also a veterinarian, recently noticed that her teeth looked pretty bad and were likely causing her pain. This was upsetting not just because of her suffering but because my bank account had already suffered $800 worth of dental bills the year prior to have her teeth cleaned and four pulled (like I said, her bad teeth were no secret to us when we adopted her).

To hear that the original vet had barely even dinged the problem was upsetting to say the least. Forget the money. It's the almost two years since then that piss me off. During that time, her infections worsened (as did her breath) and her life was just a little less perky perfect -- all for something we could've got right the first time if only we'd been told that her dental problems were too severe for this general practitioner's skill set.

Luckily, this vet friend told us about the best animal dentist in Southern California, Dr. Brook Neimiec at Dog Beach Dentistry. It wasn't cheap (cough, cough) but after an unspeakable number of extractions, two root canals and gum surgery to root out several infections that the experienced doctor described as "pretty nasty," she's on the road to being an even happier dog.

But first she needed to do a little more suffering post-surgery. This pathetically cute picture pretty much says it all.

Unlike humans, dogs pretty much put the bad experiences behind them almost as fast as they happened. By the end of day two, she was trying to get me to rough-play with her and leaping for joy when I gave her a treat (with a pill surreptitiously packed inside).

It also seems that, since her infections started clearing up, her sense of smell has improved dramatically. On our walks she is uncharacteristically stubborn, insisting that she sniff every blade of grass, branch and fire hydrant on our normal route. The same grass, branches and fire hydrants she has showed no interest in for the six months I've lived here. This passive (non-dogatonic) resistance is way out of character and actually really annoying. But once I figured out the likely cause, I got that same surge of grateful pride. Giving a dog back her sense of smell is like getting a paraplegic to walk again.

Her ears are perked. Her tail is lifted. She is happy again and better than ever (minus 11 teeth, that is). Mission accomplished.

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Scorsese for Kids

Asa Butterfield (left) plays Hugo Cabret and Chloe Grace Moretz
plays Isabelle in HUGO, from Paramount Pictures and GK Films.

Watching Martin Scorsese chatting it up on The Daily Show last week was a revelation. Or maybe it was just a good sales pitch. Either way, his easygoing, lighthearted interview was a far cry from the tightly wound, uber-serious director we've come to know over the decades. Considering his latest film, "Hugo," is aimed at children, I'd say that's a good thing.

I've had my own first-hand experiences with Scorsese over the course of my career -- first as an intern in his small New York production office, and later while working on an American Movie Classics event with his Film Foundation. While I walked away from these jobs with some darn good anecdotes (most notably the time his mother Catherine - you know her as the mother of Joe Pesci's character in "Goodfellas"- nervously pumped me for information about her overworked son when I went to her apartment to pick up a homemade calzone),  I also cite both experiences as the reasons why I opted out of the entertainment business as a career. Or at least the star-pleasing side of the business that requires one to jump at every command, scurry around in a hushed panic, and suppress the ballooning urge to scream, "DID YOU FORGET WHERE YOU CAME FROM?!"  Clearly this was not my cup of tea.

Now that I'm happily ensconced on the outside of that nonsensical hysteria, I don't have to think about what kind of plates the great director requires for his take-out pizza or what pants his tailor needs to alter. I can shove that stuff in the gossip bin where it belongs and enjoy the results of his lifelong dedication to filmmaking, which he puts on display in "Hugo" (read my review here).

That being said, I still like to spill an anecdote or two when the mood strikes.

Happy Thanksgiving!

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Lean on This

I closed out my day off from work/Veteran's Day/11/11/11 with Thursday night's Colbert Report, which ended on an unexpected note with Colbert, Brian Eno and Michael Stipe's a cappella performance of "Lean on Me." I'd seen a few posts about it scroll by but didn't pay much mind until I saw and heard it for myself. I was truly taken aback by how much joy and comfort that song offers, especially when these guys sing it so earnestly.

Lately it seems like even Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert can't cut through the ugliness we're living through these days, though I still appreciate their efforts at trying. Sometimes the funniest joke can't do what a simply perfect song can, especially when it's sung by such well-intentioned people for no reason other than the joy of doing it. The crowd joined in. There was no showboating, no horsing around. It was just pure sentiment and joy. And it made me feel better.

The Colbert Report	Mon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c
Brian Eno, Michael Stipe & Stephen Colbert - "Lean on Me"
www.colbertnation.com
Colbert Report Full Episodes Political Humor & Satire Blog Video Archive

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A Singular Olsen Sister

Elizabeth Olsen and Sean Durkin,
star and director of "Martha Marcy May Marlene"
Photo credit: Earnie Grafton, U-T

At last, an Olsen sister who can have her photograph taken without posing in a ridiculous manner. But that's not the only quality Elizabeth Olsen has that's worth celebrating.

I spent some quality time with Olsen, star of the new indie "cult" film (literally) "Martha Marcy May Marlene," when she was in town this summer with the film's writer/director Sean Durkin. We were the only two women at a sparsely attended critics' mixer and, while the men did that thing they do where they show each other how much they know, she and I sat together at a table chatting about going to college in New York City (she's at NYU, I went to Columbia), her suddenly exploding career and how she's the first Olsen sister who actually likes performing (her sisters prefer board meetings for their company, which they've been attending since their tweens).

All in all, it was a pleasure to cross paths with Olsen at this precious moment in her life, between carefree young adult and celebrated actress.

Here's my interview with Olsen and Durkin and my review of "Martha Marcy May Marlene."

You don't have to join any "families" to see the film.

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Bill Cunningham: A pure portrait

My own personal fashion icon, Bill Cunningham

I'm so thankful for having had just enough free time this week to finally catch "Bill Cunningham New York" on Netflix Instant. What an absolutely perfect portrait of a true New York personality. Not the chic, filthy rich, high society New York, but a relic of the days when the city housed personalities known not for their ability to generate money, but for their truly original character.

More than the street fashion he admires enough to photograph, Cunningham himself is the work of art; perhaps the last "honest and straight" person to still be living and admired in New York.  Director Richard Press captures the frugal fashion spotter exactly how he would prefer (if he didn't hate the attention so much) -- simply and naturalistically. 

This delicate, touching portrait officially puts Cunningham right alongside Buck Brannaman on my extremely short list of men I wish would adopt me. If you haven't seen either "Bill Cunningham New  York" or "Buck," do so immediately.

In the meantime, check out my preview of the San Diego Asian Film Festival, running October 20-28 at Hazard Center. As for the Steve Martin, Jack Black, Owen Wilson release "The Big Year," I ask that you only commit the amount of time it takes to read my review, full of many terrible bird puns that couldn't possibly be worse than the film itself.

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Finally, a 4-star movie; Potter death march

Ryan Gosling in "Drive"

As much as I enjoyed certain summer fare like "Rise of the Planet of the Apes" and "Captain America," this summer's been something of a slog. But Nicolas Winding Refn's "Drive," which I reviewed this week, took me on one hell of a ride. 


"Drive" isn't just entertainment, it's art. Rarely do the two worlds collide, but Refn's managed it here. It's been years since a film left me buzzing with such excitement and, with a 94% Rotten Tomato rating, I'm clearly not alone. I admit that at least 1/4 of my 4 stars (out of 5) are attributable to lust for Ryan Gosling (on top of his tremendous performance). But even the male critics I talked to have admitted having a "man crush" after seeing this film. James Franco, you have been demoted -- big time.

I also must acknowledge a major milestone in my film watching life. As of Labor Day, I have seen all the Harry Potter movies, thanks to the persistence of the Sobering Conclusion's Ian Forbes, who had me on a Harry Potter DVD Death March of sorts during the month of August. The goal? To catch the final installment on the big screen. With a "Deathly Hallows" double feature on Labor Day, I can now say I accomplished something this summer.


I have to admit, I was a little disappointed. Not by the series (though the first two were enough to turn me off entirely, until Ian made his case), but by the indifference of the AMC lobby as we exited the theater having concluded the mission. I'm not sure what I was expecting --balloons, a round of applause, a tasteful awards ceremony--but a desolate lobby on a dark, rainy night just wasn't cutting it. 


What I most enjoyed about the films was how they matured along with the characters and, presumably, the young audience as well. Until Ian inflicted his obsession on me, I'd only read the first book and seen the corresponding movie. While I appreciated the world J.K. Rowling created, I concluded it was one mostly for children. But children grow up and the films (and I've been told the books) take that often difficult journey right along with them in subject matter and tone. While the third film, directed by Alfonso Cuarón, is easily the best of the bunch, I appreciated how each successive film reflected the emotional phases these kids - and I imagine most kids- are going through: facing adult responsibility, isolation, puberty, sexuality, pure silliness. 


While I didn't walk away with any new obsessions (Ryan Gosling wasn't in any of the films, after all), I'm glad I checked this off my list -- even if I am a few years behind the curve.

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Well-Directed Rage

Debbie Peagler, subject of the
 documentary "Crime After Crime"

"One Day" feels like a life sentence (here's my 1/2 star review), but it's nothing compared to the disgraceful injustice suffered by Debbie Peagler in  "Crime After Crime," a documentary opening today at Reading Gaslamp Cinemas. (Read my interview with the film's director, La Jolla native Yoav Potash.) If you're going to get angry while watching a film (as I did during the laughable romantic drama "One Day"), you'd at least like that anger to be intentionally provoked.

While I can't say that "Crime After Crime" is a particularly well-crafted film, you'd have to be a sociopath or robot for Debbie's story not to enrage you. While watching the DVD screener with friends, we had to pause at least 10 times just to yell at the TV and blow off the accumulating steam.

A young American soldier (Dan Dehaan)
in John Sayles' take on the
Philippine-American war, "Amigo."

I also suggest you check out the new John Sayles' film "Amigo," opening today at Horton Plaza cinemas. Sayles is one of my favorite filmmakers; I find myself wanting to sit with his characters all day, absorbing their stories, surroundings and relationships with the same patience Sayles demonstrates with his camera.

In typical Sayles fashion, he bucks all conventionality by telling a story about a war most Americans barely recall from history class - the Philippine-American war (1899-1902). Even if you're not familiar with the history, Sayles keeps the story timely by letting us into the lives of its participants at the most human level, revealing there is no clear-cut "good guy" and "bad guy" when it comes to war.

I normally describe Sayles' films as a slow burn; you may not feel a lot at first, but if you stick with it and invest, you'll be seared to the core by film's end ("Lone Star" being a perfect example). While "Amigo" took a little longer to singe, it still got me there. Thanks to the San Diego Asian Film Foundation for holding the special screening.

Finally, for the first time I attended a screening of films from this year's 48 Hour Film Project, which took place August 5-7 in San Diego. I had no idea what to expect going in, though I feared it would consist of some pretty awful movies slapped together by amateur crews over the course of two harried days.

What I saw was almost the exact opposite, but more important than the finished product was the feeling of camaraderie in the crowd, made up mostly of crew members, their friends and family. The whole event had a sort of Mickey Rooney/Judy Garland "Let's put on a show!" vibe to it and I left wanting to sign up for next year. What better to way to punish a film critic than to have her PA on a no-budget film!

Whatever you decide to see or do this weekend, make it a good one. Summer's almost over after all.

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Book vs. Movie: "The Help"

In Jackson, Mississippi in 1963, Skeeter Phelan
(Emma Stone, left), Minny Jackson (Octavia Spencer, center)
and Aibileen Clark (Viola Davis) build an unlikely friendship
 around a secret writing project in “The Help.”
©DreamWorks II Distribution Co., LLC.

A reader recently emailed me with a good question. When applicable (and it seems to always be these days), do you judge a film based on how compares to its source material -- be it a book, play, graphic novel, whatever -- or do you judge it on its own merits, without consideration to its roots?

Honestly, I didn't have a strong opinion either way. If I knew the source material--and liked it--then it mattered. Or not.  But when "The Help" came along, I made up my mind.

Knowing I would be reviewing the film in August, I picked up a copy of "The Help" in July, fully expecting an insult to my intelligence. Instead I was captivated. In fact, I had what I would call a bit of a claustrophobic attack as I finally understood on an emotional level just how trapped the African American characters were. I knew all about Jim Crow, segregation and lynchings---but I never really understood how living under that oppression might feel it until I read "The Help."

Because I was scheduled to interview the book's author, Kathryn Stockett, and Bryce Dallas Howard, who plays Hilly Hollbrook in the film, I needed to see the movie before I was able to finish the book. In fact, I was about 30 pages from the end, so when I sat down in the theater that weekday morning, all I could think about was where I'd left Aibileen and Milly on paper, and how their world was different or the same in the movie that was unfolding before me. It was the most distracted I'd ever been watching a film and I knew before I got to my car that I'd need to see it again before I wrote my review.

By the time that second viewing came around I'd long finished the book and was able to see the movie with a fresh perspective. Instead of noting all the similarities and differences, I focused on the story being told on screen -- and I liked it a lot more than I did the first time around.

So, in answer to the reader's question, I now say this: If you have the option, see the movie first. Then read the source material. Chances are, you'll be distracted from neither and remain fair. At least that 's how I'm going to do it from here on out, which works out well since I barely have time to read these days anyway!

Here's my review of "The Help" and my interview with Kathryn Stockett and Bryce Dallas Howard.

I also reviewed "30 Minutes or Less" this week (in Friday's paper), but if you are contemplating seeing that, I recommend reading a book -- any book--instead.

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Brit Marling is indeed from "Another Earth"; "Apes" vs. Franco

Reading Brit Marling's bio is a slightly sickening experience.

The star and co-writer of "Another Earth" graduated valedictorian from Georgetown University with a major in economics, then turned down a lucrative career in finance to become an actress and artist. Instead of struggling through her 20s waiting tables in LA and slugging through auditions, the natural beauty formed a winning creative partnership with director Mike Cahill, first with the documentary "Boxers and Ballerinas," and now the indie Sundance hit, "Another Earth."

But when you meet the poised, bright-eyed young woman, you understand her success -- and eagerly await what comes next for her as an actress and co-writer/producer with the equally enthusiastic and impressive Cahill.

Read my interview with both of them here, then check out my review of "Another Earth." 

Speaking of alternate realities, how about apes taking over the planet? I went in to "Rise of the Planet of the Apes" thinking, "Hey, Franco's in it -- that's all I really need." I walked out thinking, "Franco who? Go apes!" Read my review of "Rise of the Planet of the Apes" here.

Whatever planet you visit, enjoy the weekend.

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Whatever Will I Wear?

In today's Night & Day section, you'll find my preview of the La Jolla Fashion Film Festival, taking place this Friday and Saturday. While the event is centered around two nights of short films screened at the Museum of Contemporary Art La Jolla, the gathering itself is all about the fashionistas it hopes to draw.

My interest in fashion falls under two essential categories -- comfort and cost. And my wardrobe reflects that. So the thought of actually attending the festival didn't even cross my mind. That is, until the festival's director, Fred Sweet, simply insisted that I find something funky to throw on and be a part of the festivities. What can I say? He's very convincing.

But I wasn't going to go without some support, so I reached out to my two fashionable friends (at least they are compared to me) and invited each to be my plus one for the festival's two night run. If they can't help to elevate my look, then at the very least I'll be with people who looks like they belong there.

Meanwhile, I'll be enjoying the scenery as I'm sure there will be plenty of quality people watching. Isn't that what fashion is all about -- getting people to look at you?

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Celebrity Crush: Chris Evans as Captain America

Here's what I didn't say in my 3-star review of "Captain America: The First Avenger."

Hubba-hubba.

I know. It's a dorky, old-fashioned way to ogle a member of the opposite sex (or same sex, if that works better for you). But it seems entirely appropriate for a movie that takes place in an era when words like "dame" and "gams" are being thrown about.

It's also a reflection of how articulate I felt when I first saw Chris Evans emerge from the experimental sarcophagus as Captain America. OK, OK, he's shirtless in the scene, which is entirely designed to make the women in the audience (and in the scene) swoon, and the men re-up their gym memberships.

But as the film marches on and Evans remains clothed and presumably virginal, he only gets more breathtaking. Or maybe I just like a man in uniform (not the one that involves tights, though he carries that off pretty well too).

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"Ghost World" 10th Anniversary Screening (God, we're all old)

It wasn't that long ago that the San Diego Film Critics Society (proud member here) began talking about putting together a 10th anniversary screening of the movie "Ghost World" during Comic-Con.

At first I thought the idea was preposterous. Not because it seemed impossible that we could pull it off so quickly--and during the craziest week that San Diego sees all year (although that did cross my mind). But because it seemed simply out of the question that this fantastic little movie could possibly be a decade old.

But it's true. We pulled off the screening (it's this Saturday night) AND we got Thora Birch to show up in person!

Unfortunately, it's also true that we're ten years older. But at least we can take some comfort in knowing that Scarlett Johansson has inched that much closer to 30 (only 3+ years to go!) -- and her boyfriends have crossed the half-century mark.  
But Thora Birch hasn't aged a day. And of course I'm not saying that just because she agreed to attend our 35mm screening of the Terry Zwigoff-directed film this Saturday night.

Thora Birch with her award at SDFCS' banquet in 2002.
(Terry Zwigoff and Daniel Clowes also attended.)

If you've seen this highly quotable movie, which was based on Daniel Clowes' comic book, then it's probably time you saw it again and rejoiced in its originality (still far too rare an occurrence, especially in the context of Comic-Con).

If you haven't seen it, then it's about damn time. There's a reason SDFCS showered it with awards in 2001, including Best Director (Zwigoff), Best Adapted Screenplay (Zwigoff and Clowes) and Best Actress (Birch).

Even if you're not a Comi-Con passholder or a comic book geek (of which I am neither), you're guaranteed to love the movie, or no money back (hey, it's only $5).

"Ghost World" 10th Anniversary Screening, with Thora Birch in Person!

Presented by the San Diego Film Critics Society
in conjunction with Reading Cinemas & Fantagraphics Books

Saturday, July 23 @ 9pm

Reading Gaslamp Cinemas

701 Fifth Avenue, Downtown San Diego

Only $5 - Buy tickets here

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Time Traveling with Larry Sanders

I moved a few weeks ago and have been unpacking bit by bit, taking time to think through how my life's going to flow in this new space --  my workspace, media set-up, acquiring of grown-up furniture, pet management and setting up a kitchen that I promised myself I'd actually use this time.

While I putz around the apartment moving things here and there, I play something from Netflix Instant on my computer-- usually a TV show that's light, doesn't require focused attention and offers a big chunk of continuous episodes, since this seems to be taking forever. I settled on The Larry Sanders Show.

I was in college when Larry Sanders was on HBO and, while I heard plenty of praise for the series about a fictional late night talk show, I was too busy and too broke to watch cable TV. If you're familiar with the show, then you can imagine how much fun I'm having watching it for the first time -- in five-hour chunks no less. It's not only helped pass the time, it's helped lift me out of the post-break-up blues on more than one occasion.

But I think I'm getting more out of the Larry Sanders in 2011 than I would've in 1992. Namely, nostalgia. Though the show itself is timeless (until the dinosaur late night talk show format becomes extinct, anyway), the references aren't: jokes about a philandering Bill Clinton, celebrity guests like Richard Simmons, Mimi Rogers, John Forsythe, Dana Delaney, a pipsqueak David Spade, my hero Carol Burnett, a scrappy, dearly departed Peter Falk. Plus the "up-and-coming" show regulars like a goth Janeane Garfalo and a perennially douche-baggy Jeremy Piven (but in a good way). And let's not forget the fashion, which looks more 80s than what I choose to remember.

It's so authentic, I almost feel 20 again while I'm watching it. But maybe that's just because I still can't afford cable.

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Kiddie Flicks

As a freelance critic with a full-time day job, I only have time to review one or two movies per week. So when it's time to choose what I'm going to review for the month, I tend to skim over those titles that are geared specifically to kids, while silently pitying the parents who have to accompany their offspring to what I can only imagine is a semi-torturous two-hour babysitting session.

It's not the kids themselves that bother me. In fact, I usually get a little tearful when I see kids having a genuine reaction to what they're seeing onscreen. My real problem is the cranky old lady who's lived inside me since I was a kid myself. I simply don't have patience for the inanity of the onscreen antics cobbled together to cater to short attention spans: fart jokes, bonks on heads, corny kindergarten-level life lessons, etc.

These kinds of movies are easily avoidable for a "civilian" without kids. But for a film critic, it isn't always so easy. Still, I'm a professional and capable of applying my critical skills to a film of any type, right? Sure, but it seems unfair to apply my perspective--one that is severely lacking in little kid input--to a movie that has no intention of pleasing an audience member like me. I have no clue what little kids like. What might scare them. Or what a parent might find unacceptable. What could I possibly add to what a gazillion mommy bloggers and "pro-family" movie review sites already do so effectively?

When I try to tap into my own preferences as a child, I go straight to Mary Poppins, Sound of Music, Annie and the Muppet movies (yes, I'm pumped for Jason Segal's Muppet reboot in November) -- all classics that most adults would enjoy on their own. But you would never have caught me at a "My Little Pony" kind of flick back then. And certainly not today.

But I have no problem getting excited about and reviewing movies geared for kids and adults. You know, a Pixar movie. So I happily included "Cars 2" on my review list for June, and even signed on for an interview with one of the film's directing animators, a San Diego native with a darn cool success story.

I'm not gonna lie, I was expecting greatness. How could I not after the phenomenal run Pixar's had over the last 15 years, culminating in one of the best films of 2010, "Toy Story 3" (my original review here).

Unfortunately, what "Cars 2" delivered was strictly for kids. True, its animation was top notch, but the goofy antics took center stage over story and character. And the character they chose to focus on, Mater, drove me up the wall. Yes, it's true. The Pixar streak (at least for grown-ups) is over.

You can read my "Cars 2" review here and my interview with Pixar animator Victor Navone here.

If you do end up taking your little ones to see it, do me a favor and tell me what THEY thought (and what you thought as well). Consider it field research as a favor. Or dump the kids at the cineplex and rush over to Landmark Hillcrest to catch "Buck," "Midnight in Paris," or even the quirky "Submarine" (my review here). Don't worry, I won't tell.

Whatever you do, enjoy your weekend.

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My man "Buck"

I've always said that if I didn't have kids, I would get a horse. The reaction I get to this statement is usually a laugh, like I'm joking, or just an expression of polite confusion followed by a change of subject. But as the new documentary "Buck" (opening Friday at Landmark Hillcrest) recently reminded me, the relationship between human and horse is no joke.

OK, maybe it's not the same as hearing your pudgy baby say her first words, but it can be a meaningful --- sometimes life-saving---bond for human and creature alike. At least for people like me and, of course, for horse training guru Buck Brannaman.

Growing up, I was never one of those over-the-top "horse girls." No horsey clothing in my closet or pony posters on my wall. But I had a few friends like that and knowing them gave me the chance to interact with horses more than once a year at camp. I spent one summer shoveling manure at some local stables in exchange for free riding lessons (English, blech). And when I moved to New York City for college, I often took little field trips to Central Park South just so I could pet the carriage horses and spend the rest of the afternoon smelling their dusty odor on my hands -- and loving every whiff.

But what topped it all was the brief but blissful six months in middle school when I co-owned a horse with my best friend. Perhaps I've romanticized it a little, but my memories of rushing to the stables after school, throwing a pad on Tess' back, and galloping through the nearby field was the closest thing to total freedom and pure joy I could ever imagine.

Yet, I could never really articulate to people why I would be OK with a horse as my Plan B. I haven't had contact with one in any meaningful way in over a decade and, if you look at my life today,  you'd think I was more capable of becoming a crazy dog lady than a horse fanatic. So what makes me so sure that horse ownership would satisfy me on such a deep level?

Twenty minutes into "Buck" and, for the first time in my life, I truly understood. Horses help you to see--and maybe even heal--yourself. They're majestic, intelligent creatures. They're also instinctively fearful and, if that fear is allowed to fester, can become dangerous.

In Buck's case, he lost his mother as a boy and suffered extreme physical abuse at the hand of his father. As a young man, he was crippled with fear, unable to trust and terrified to interact with others. When he got in a ring with an unbroken horse, he immediately recognized and remembered that instinct to flinch, defend, run.

This understanding is what makes Buck the legendary "horse whisperer" that he is (yes, he was an advisor on the Robert Redford film). He's not training them, he's teaching them to trust. This method doesn't require a whip, but an energy, a stance, maybe a flick of the wrist. In a sense, he is re-parenting himself in each exchange. Whatever it is he's doing it worked, because Buck Brannaman appears to be the most peaceful, accepting, well-adjusted man I've ever come across.

He's also married (darn) and a giving father to his teenage daughter who, of course, adores and respects him. And they live in Montana (CORRECTION: they live in Wyoming, but much of the film takes place in Montana), a state I have never been to but, after seeing this breathtakingly picturesque film, I plan on visiting as soon as possible. (I watched the film on DVD but plan to see it again on the big screen, and you should too.) When I get there, it will take every ounce of restraint not to show up at his front door and beg him to marry me. Or adopt me. Whatever he prefers.

While I certainly didn't have a childhood as traumatic as Buck's, I faced unique challenges in my youth that made life rather unpredictable and sometimes scary. As I grew up, my generalized fear displayed itself as nervous, defensive energy -- a quality shared by just about every horse Buck works with in the film. I've known this about myself for awhile, but it wasn't until I experienced this film that I really understood why I'm so drawn to horses, and why I could accept caring for one as a second-best alternative to having my own family.

First-time director Cindy Meehl's documentary follows Buck on his grueling travels across the country, leading what feel like self-help seminars for human and horse. He also attracts crowds who pay good money just for the chance to see his graceful method in action. His students speak of him as if he's the Dalai Lama and, by the time the film came to a close, I felt the same way.

Don't worry, I'm not going to spend my life savings on a horse anytime soon -- I still haven't entirely given up on the baby/husband thing. While I try to figure that out, my relationship with my dog -- a Mexico rescue with plenty of baggage herself -- will have to suffice. While I'm no dog whisperer,  at this point I can pretty much lead her without more than a subtle request. If only I could saddle her up.

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Legends on the Line: Interview with J.J. Abrams and Review of "Super 8"

You know you're having a strange Sunday morning when your telephone conversation with J.J. Abrams about working with Steven Spielberg is interrupted by a call from Spielberg himself. Lucky for me, Abrams took the call while leaving me on the line, able to hear at least one side of their conversation.



It wasn't anything juicy; mostly about how things were going during the lead-up to the release of the Abrams' new film "Super 8," produced by Spielberg and very much in the style that made him a filmmaking icon.

But the distinctive shift in Abrams' demeanor -- from subdued, serious director to overeager, young filmmaker practically jumping out of his skin when his childhood idol called to say hi -- was all I needed to get just how sincere Abrams is in his tribute to Spielberg throughout "Super 8." It was also pretty damn cool for a nosy girl like me.

Read more of my interview with J.J. Abrams and also my review of "Super 8."

I'm moving this weekend so I'll be taking next week off. But if you need another recommendation to tide you over til then, I enthusiastically point you to Woody Allen's "Midnight in Paris." Simply delightful --especially for nostalgia whores like me.

If you are a Terrence Malick fan, you probably already have plans to see "Tree of Life," out this weekend in San Diego. While I was intrigued by its visual poetry, I couldn't help but think that the film thinks it's deeper than it actually is. But with a filmmaker like Malick, who takes years to assemble his thoughtful work, I absolutely owe it a second viewing. Especially after the treat of seeing his 1978 masterpiece "Days of Heaven" on the big screen for the first time last weekend (thanks Reading Cinemas and KPBS' Beth Accomando for making that happen!). I could've watched that movie for days.

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Tease Me More, Tell Me Less

We usually don't see previews at advance screenings and I'm usually thankful for it. I generally avoid them, preferring instead to see a movie as close to "cold" as possible in an attempt to avoid any preconceived notions before the lights go down.

But this week's screening of "Hangover 2" (review out on Friday) presented us with two appropriate previews for upcoming comedies "Horrible Bosses" and "Crazy, Stupid, Love." The crafting of an effective preview is an art in and of itself -- at least in the realm of marketing--and these two trailers managed to convince me I should see the movies within the first 45 seconds. Job well done, if only they'd stopped there.

Although the premise of "Horrible Bosses" (premeditated triple homicide) is hard to stomach as comedic fodder, the cast alone could make this movie a winner: Jason Bateman, Jason Sudeikis, Charlie Day, Kevin Spacey returning to his unbeatable "Swimming with Sharks" roots,  a sadistically sexy Jennifer Aniston and, what really wowed me, a nearly unrecognizable Colin Farrell as a smarmy, balding boss.

Enough said as far as I'm concerned. So why, oh why, did it KEEP ON GOING, revealing just about every plot turn and punchline? On its own, it was a fantastic preview; it got me laughing, kept my attention and made me want to tell my friends about it. But what I don't feel like doing is rushing to the theater to see it. Why would I? I already got the gist in the damn preview.

"Crazy, Stupid, Love" went even further, basically storyboarding the entire will they/won't they relationship between Ryan Gosling and Emma Stone. I adore Gosling and am chomping at the bit to see him in a comedic role. And Stone is quickly moving to the top of my list for the everygirl charm that makes her so much more appealing than the cookie-cutter starlets vying for our attention (does anyone else think she stepped right in where the young "Mean Girls"-era Lindsay Lohan should have gone had her parents not turned her in to an unstable addict? Well, I do.)  While I'm still eager to see the movie (it's hard for me to say no to anything with Gosling, or Franco for that matter), I'm resentful that I already know too much.

Perhaps we could just save everyone the trouble and just produce previews instead of full-length feature films? They'd certainly play better online and are probably more appropriate for the youthful attention spans of Hollywood's target market.

Hardly a new complaint, I know. But hey, it's my job to spout opinions.

Watch the previews if you dare. And if you do, tell me what YOU think....

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How I witnessed TV history for minimum wage

This week I reviewed the documentary "Exporting Raymond," which follows "Everybody Loves Raymond" creator and writer Phil Rosenthal to Russia for an ill-advised attempt to translate the All-American, Average Joe sitcom for Russian audiences. It's funny, utterly ridiculous and true (even if the whole impetus for the project was to make a documentary about how funny it would inevitably be). You can read my review here.

But what made me want to review the film in the first place was good old fashioned nostalgia and a slightly unnerving love of television history. (I was the only person I know who got an A+ in my college History of Television class --yes, even in the Ivy League people -- and my enthusiasm and performance in that 200+ person class landed me an internship at Martin Scorsese's production company. Fodder for another post I think).  Having grown up on television with a penchant for the oldies (Little Rascals of "Our Gang" fame, "The Twilight Zone" and "The Dick van Dyke Show" being just a few of my favorites), I knew I was going to work in "the entertainment business"--whatever that was.

Outside of internships with hypochondriacal directors who think typewriters are "too loud," my first paying job in the business (if I may use the term loosely here) was as a page at Paramount Studios, the oldest working studio lot in Hollywood.

You're probably thinking, "Oh, a page -- like Kenneth from '30 Rock!'" Not exactly, but we did have to wear terrible polyester suits, with the women getting the added humiliation of having to don a skirt with hose and a saggy bow tie thingy straight out of a late-1980s office wear catalogue (this was 1996).  Here's 23 year-old me proudly posing in front of the famous Bronson gate, sans horrible suit jacket.

Yes, I do look proud because, even though my paycheck was paltry to say the least, I got to spend my days roaming freely around a studio backlot, soaking up film and television history at every turn. I also got to share it with the hordes of tourists assigned to me as their guide for our walking tour through the backlot.

While they spent their time wildly looking around for any signs of a movie star  (never happened, unless you count Eddie, the dog from "Frasier," or that host from "Entertainment Tonight" who was often mistaken for Tom Cruise--something I usually didn't attempt to correct), I happily rattled on with great reverence about the empty tank (now in a parking lot) that was used to part the Red Sea for Cecil B. DeMille, or that building where Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz made monumental television together. Rare was the tourist who cared, so I made sure to point out the grassy corner where Bobby Brady got in a fight defending Cindy in that episode of "The Brady Bunch," which usually pleased them.

Besides giving underappreciated public and VIP tours (we got to drive carts!), pages also worked the audience at TV show tapings. Worst job ever. All those poor tourists, lured from Hollywood Boulevard by some obnoxious pamphleteer, who now find themselves standing in a long unmoving line, waiting to find out what TV show they'll get to see taped. Of course, they'd all been told they'd see "Frasier" or "Wings" or something of the sort, but more often than not they got funneled into the shows with less demand and more need for people willing to laugh for free at the same joke over and over again. By the time you drag the sunburned bunches into the sound stage of "Sister Sister," you better be prepared for a riot.

During my six-month tenure on the lot, I was tapped to be one of those poor souls. If you think it's tough to fill the seats for some obscure UPN show, then imagine how hard it is to find people to sit for hours in a freezing cold sound stage for a pilot show that nobody's ever heard of. That's when they call in the pages, baby. Minimum wage is about as close to free as you can get, so when the producers of a pilot get desperate, they pick up the phone and get some pages on loan.

And that's how I ended up in the studio audience for the pilot episode "Everybody Loves Raymond" -- or as we identified it when we first got there, "some sitcom starring a stand-up comedian we've never heard of." We were thanked profusely for being there and it soon became clear why -- a pilot episode needs to be tight, perfect. It's a sales tool to show the network the magic that you've assembled among the cast members, writers and crew. It also takes a REALLY long time to get it right.

Did I know the show was something special? At the very least, I had a feeling it was going to be different based on the fact that it was produced by David Letterman's company, Worldwide Pants. (Dave's blessing meant a lot to me when I was in my early 20s). And when they introduced Peter Boyle, the best part of one of my favorite comedies "The Dream Team," and his on-screen wife, TV legend Doris Roberts, I knew this was a show aiming to make history.

But I also knew that rush hour was approaching and I didn't want to be stuck in Universal City any longer than I had to. And I resented the fact that our page supervisor treated us like wooden pegs that he could shuffle around as needed, always threatening to "blackball" us if we disappointed him (yes I was naive enough then to believe him).

But isn't that what it's like to work in Hollywood? Excitement and celebrity mixed with resentment and traffic? No wonder I left such a glamorous life behind.

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Put the DVD down, and your hands up!

Dear Movie Studios,

I always thought you wanted me to like your movie -- even when I know that you know that it sucks.

But after enduring another DVD screener with security warnings and water marks sprayed like graffitti over 2/3 of the screen for 2/3 of the movie, I'm pretty convinced that you don't.

In fact, it seems like you're just being mean. You are calling me a thief after all. What else am I supposed to think of your ridiculously elaborate security measures, which now include special PIN numbers to watch the DVD?

I am a professional person doing a job. If you don't agree, then why are you sending me the DVD in the first place? So let me do my job. Let me SEE THE MOVIE.

It's hard enough to give a film the attention it deserves when you're watching it on your living room television. Your incessantly flashing warnings and reminders that ACME Studios owns this movie don't help.

I get it. People are stealing your content. It's a huge problem and I'm sure your stockholders don't like it one bit. But you can't possibly think that a bunch of renegade movie critics are the culprits? That would require them to actually do something besides watch movies and argue about them with their friends.

So while we're jumping through all of your security hoops, your threats to fine us or send us to jail, the hurtfulness of your unspoken accusations (cue tiny violins, please), the real thieves are downloading, sharing and selling your movies on street corners in China and in some teenager's bedroom.

But you're paranoid, I know. And I kind of don't blame you. But I also don't have to like it. Which means I'll be sitting there, watching your movie on my TV-- and not liking it.

I'm just saying.

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The Greatest Movie Ever Sold: Review (2 1/2 stars), Interview with Morgan Spurlock

I've never been one for approaching celebrities I encounter "in the wild." I mean, really --what could I possibly say to them that would make me any different than some other slobbering fan? "I like your movies." Duh. "You were really good in X." Double duh.

When it comes to interviewing them, it's not even a question. We're both there to do a job. Get in, ask your questions, get your answers, get on with your day.

But when it came time for me to interview filmmaker Morgan Spurlock about his new documentary "POM Wonderful Presents: The Greatest Movie Ever Sold," I threw my point-and-shoot camera in my purse alongside my notepad and had no problem asking for a snapshot of the two of us post-interview.

Why? Well, of course I'm a fan. How can you not be? He's charming, clever, and willing to challenge mainstream thinking. I loved "Super Size Me" but was an even bigger fan of his TV series "30 Days." If this was my only motivation, I'd still keep my mouth shut and go about my business asking questions and trying to get him to say something, anything, he hasn't already said in the countless interviews he's done over the last month.

The reason I happily packed my camera and captured this poolside snapshot? The logo-covered suit of course. He's a walking billboard--and an extremely enthusiastic one at that--and what kind of billboard asks you to respect its privacy?

Here's my interview with Spurlock about his very meta experiment in making a documentary about marketing and advertising by funding his entire film with marketing and advertising. And then find out what I thought the film in my review, out today.

And by all means, go out and enjoy an ice cold glass of anti-oxidant rich POM Wonderful, would ya?

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"Scream 4" - No Charge

Well, it looks like the Weinsteins decided I needed a week off from reviewing. 

Instead of spending my Tuesday morning at a "Scream 4" press screening, I showed up at my day job at a normal hour, then spent the evening leisurely making a dent in my Netflix queue. 

I was actually disappointed when they called off the press screening the night before. Sure, I knew the movie was probably a train wreck--based not only on the last minute cancellation of the press screening, but also on the reports of friction during production that resulted in the franchise's brainchild Kevin Williamson (you can thank him for Katie Holmes and that guy who played Dawson) leaving the film halfway through the shoot. 

But for me, revisiting the franchise after a decade was more an exercise in feel-good nostalgia than "cinema appreciation." I can still recall how thrilled I was by the 1996 original:  the genuine shock when Drew Barrymore got herself gloriously hacked in the opening scene, the refreshing/bordering on annoying jabber of overly articulate teenage brats, the shameless waving of the movie geek freak flag..... the freshness of the experience was enough to let me love the original, endure the sequel, pretend the third didn't happen and, after a decade of sub-sub-sub par knockoffs and the genre's unfortunate plummet to torture porn, "Scream 4."

So here I sit, spouting opinions and ideas about the "Scream" franchise, without getting paid a dime. I doubt the Weinsteins have such problems - or at least they don't fret over such paltry amounts of lost income.

If you actually do fork over your hard-earned cash to see it, by all means make it a matinee--and tell me how it was.

Enjoy your weekend.

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"Hanna": Review (3 stars) and Interview with Director Joe Wright

I wasn't expecting much for my interview with "Hanna" director Joe Wright. Not only was he almost 30 minutes late (a radio interview ran long), but he was clearly exhausted by the time he shook my hand and collapsed onto his chair.

But even through the exhaustion (a one-month old baby and a hefty promotion schedule are the likely culprits), the British director impressed me with his clarity of vision, passion and--most of all--feminist perspective. Not to mention the easy job I had of transcribing the interview due to his British mannerisms full of polite qualifiers and other Hugh Grant-ish verbal fillers. 

Photo: San Diego Union-Tribune/Peggy Peattie

You can read my interview with Wright here. I think you'll be impressed with him too. (I was even more pleased when Wright went public with his criticism of the portrayal of women in the marketing campaign for Zack Snyder's "Sucker Punch," a movie I simply refused to see for that very same reason.)

Then read my review of "Hanna," Wright's fairy tale action movie starring his teenage muse Saoirse Ronan (the Oscar nominated young star from "Atonement").

I also caught "Your Highness" this week, hoping for a much needed laugh. I got a few but not nearly as many as I expected (I could count the seconds in every scene where opportunities for humor were missed). Still, you won't hear too much complaining from me when James Franco and Natalie Portman are on screen - even when they're sharing that screen time with a graphic depiction of minotaur penis. Yes, you read that right. Minotaur penis.

Enjoy your weekend!

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"Win Win" interview, review (3 stars); Source Code (2 1/2 stars)

The last two weeks have been jampacked with press tours and I'm heading out the door for yet another, this time with Morgan Spurlock, director of the new doc "Pom Wonderful Presents: The Greatest Movie Ever Sold." That story will run April 22, along with my review of the film.

But in today's paper is my interview with writer/director Tom McCarthy and the teenage wrestler, Alex Shaffer, who stars alongside Paul Giamatti in the new film "Win Win."  Both were a delight to interview and I was struck by the relationship between the novice actor and the director--also a working actor who's known for being tough on his performers. Read the full story here and my review of the film here.

I also reviewed "Source Code" this week, the new Duncan Jones-directed film starring one of my celebrity crushes, Jake Gyllenhaal. Read my review here.

Next week, my interview with "Hanna" director, Joe Wright.

Happy weekend!

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