My Favorite Movies

This... is it.

It's right here. This is, hands down, the best film of 2008. Among everything terrible, bad, okay, good and extraordinary I have seen all year, there is no other picture to even come close to how terrific and deeply affecting Entre les Murs is.

I am not in any way exaggerating how powerful this film is. It is, to me, a revolutionary piece of work that DOES push the limits of the seventh art, in the sense that it succeeds by both presenting & analyzing a reality that would make most flinch. It is art as a magnifying glass. There is no sentimentality, no segment that feels fabricated to pass a point, no nothing. It trades any commercial compromise possible for a raw, disturbing but nevertheless uplifting dissection of the french educational system. Beyond that, there is also a message on any educational system. Beyond that, there is a poignant study on adult-teenager dialogue, too. And beyond that, there is a brilliant take on the human condition.

First things first : I have never seen a film sneak up on me like that. Fueled by rave reviews, I knew this film was going to be somewhat excellent before I even entered the theater. But its greatness is not at all how I expected it to land, not by a long shot : there is not a trace of pretense, no elaborate directorial adjustment to highlight every point that is made, nor the manipulation of a film score-- hell, the tense, revealing and sometimes chaotic sound design of the titular classroom provides better music than any skillful composer could have brought. The film is, to put it plainly, alive. It breathes the crushing ambiguity of the face-offs between teachers and students-- that is, when the doors are open for a confrontation. Otherwise, the harshness of having to deal with young individuals that dispiritingly refuse to settle is painted. It's nothing less than suffocating : I admit I was more than uncomfortable watching a great deal of scenes. It brings us back to a fundamental question : is it possible for the right to dialogue with the wrong if there exists no will to do so on the latter's side?

Beneath what first seem as an anecdotal collection of extremely realistic (or one might just say as well authentic) classroom scenes, a crescendo is slowly installed. As the year progresses (and as we get further insight on most of the coldly insubordinate students), a crisis becomes more and more apparent. Teachers meet, discuss and argue about certain cases of rough behaviors, and then find temporary solutions (read : punishment) to deal with those types of kids. Eventually, a moral conflict is more than apparent, thanks to the possible outcome of expelling an extremely troublesome student. By that point, the film has reached an almost thirty-minute long climax that opposes drastically different perceptions on education. The dilemma is deeply discomforting. One of the teachers on the radical side even suggests his method might be comparable to 'buying social peace'-- so what if the headstrong but alarmingly refractory student is sent away? The school will benefit from it. His surrounding shouldn't have to pay for his indiscipline, right? Some of the observations Francois' colleagues bring are just as thought provoking, if not more.

There is no line drawn. There is no answer.

Without the disarming naturalism of its performers, Entre les Murs would be a remarkable exercise. But the realness and spontaneity among the actors, from Francois Begaudeau to his students to his fellow teachers, is just jaw-dropping. It lifts the picture to a whole other level, where it is disquieting to observe so many real people interact without having any of them put on a 'performance' (i.e. knowing a camera is placed on them). I repeat : there is not a single moment in the entire 129-minute running time where a feeling appears simulated.

The recurring use of handheld camera perfectly captures the bleak, unnerving atmosphere of classroom exchanges-- its cinema verite look is on par with the similarly humane drama Rachel Getting Married. Like that film, what drives the story is not a conventional connect-the-dots narrative, but rather a frighteningly well-chosen depiction of the moments scattered across a given period of time.

This, my friends, is heavy stuff. I came out of Entre les Murs severely shaken-- in one of the final scenes, where Francois asks his students what they have learned through the year, an emotional wrecking ball is swung right into our face. While its american counterparts like the thoroughly bland Freedom Writers mistake dramatic impact with easy-as-fuck maudlinism, this one refuses to give us relief by the time it's over. There is no happy ending, but there is no sad ending either-- in fact, the only thing that ends is the school year. The machinery rests for a whole summer, and it will start working again. The absence of a cinematic, audience-friendly 'closure' brings this masterpiece scarily closer to reality... again.

Run see this film. Bring your children, friends, family-- it doesn't matter if they find it boring or slow-moving. I am convinced this phenomenal achievement is going to be looked back on, and probably understood well after the credits have rolled. Maybe much later in their life. Maybe not. But they will still have been exposed to an indescribably brilliant film.

Run see Entre les Murs.

If there is a film that deserves your hard-earned money, it's this one.

Run.

Perfect. It's like life took a trip to the cutting room to only keep its best moments, and the editor is God. A film so complete, so beautiful, so profoundly human that it will leave you breathless by the time it's over. How so much life experience, so much wisdom, humour and imagination made it into only 93 minutes of film remains a complete mystery to me... a mystery to which only Allen knows the secret.

An existentialist movie like you've never seen before-- Lost in Translation is, to put it plainly, a triumph of the unsaid. I am still young, but I have watched an incredible amount of films in my life... and yet, I have never seen a film master that language so perfectly before.

You want a fucking plot synopsis? There : lonely actor meets lonely tag-along girlfriend in Tokyo. Their loneliness brings them together. They feel for each other; we feel for them. They turn their back at one another (my special kudos go to the 'Worst Lunch' scene), then reconciliate, then depart. It's about as simple as that : there is no dramatic tension in Sofia Coppola's film, but all its drama resides in the fact that these two human beings are lost in their journey through life. They may not be depressed, but they are unhappy. All signs point to that. It may be the hollowness Charlotte comes across when she realizes she doesn't 'feel' anything when watching a japanese ritual. It may be the pointlessness of a two-million dollar publicity shoot Bob suffers through. It may be a whole lot of other details, not words, but little moments, reaction shots, music cues, framings, you name it-- all of these tiny little pieces bring us to one point : their solitude will make them fall in love. And I'm not talking Movie Land Love©, I'm talking about some sort of spiritual connection so profound and so true that it might just be what saves your life, if only for a couple of days.

Backed by her terrific screenplay, Coppola's directing choices are exactly what make a motion picture memorable and personal. Her poetic use of Tokyo as wallpaper couldn't be any more effective : the hazy state of mind of these two opposed personalities are rendered with care and incredibly soft nuances. From their first moment together in an elevator crowded with Japanese people to a wild night of partying in Tokyo's underground scene, Bob and Charlotte's oddly asexual relationship progresses with breathtaking delicacy, and is concluded with a final scene that might just be one of the most heartbreaking moments in all my cinematic years.

Bob Murray and Scarlett Johansson play the roles with the exact amount of subtlety necessary; the immense humanity of their performances amounts to much, much more than the sum of their parts. These are not flashy awards-grabbing acts : with almost everything painful internalized and only a very few tears, their chemistry through the portrayal of Bob and Charlotte account for my favourite on-screen couple ever. Seriously. Other parts include Giovanni Ribisi and Anna Faris, two very good actors once again typecast (one unfocused and a bit frenzied, the other a complete blonde tart) but this time in a film that suits them perfectly and even enriches their usual roles.

Oh, how I love this film. My, my, my. Lost in Translation a film about nothing, and everything. It's a superbly unpretentious mood piece with solid bases of humanity. It may not be for you. It may be too dull for some, it may be too obscure for others.

But for me, it is an orgasm of human comprehension.

Deliriously inventive. Jonze directs with an incredible flair this wickedly smart screenplay, and the cast is brilliant from A to Z. Adaptation is one of those movies whose sudden shift in tone by the end makes the whole thing even more unforgettable. A must-see.

An excellent film, nothing less. Rachel Getting Married oozes passion and sincerity; its shape matches its content so perfectly it becomes way, way more than the sum of its parts.

First and foremost, it's backed by a superb screenplay that gives us a tremendous insight on each major character. Written with absolutely no 'MovieLand' edge, the human beings on display have an incredibly truthful ring. The result of their study is exponentially stronger because all of them act and interact freely instead of being placed into merely functional shots. Demme's camera, which becomes our eye for a nearly two-hour duration, embraces the point of view of both a wedding guest and the character framed him/herself-- there is something extremely rewarding in letting his intuition guide us wherever he needs to take us.

And boy, does he take us deep. Whether Demme plunges into tense moral abysses or homely celebration, there is always, always enormous generosity of spirit in the film, just like in the family that's presented to us. It is wonderfully diverse, with African-Americans and a wide assortment of friends and family. The music that surrounds them is especially inspiring. The joy it lifts is at once beautiful, surreal and never, ever phony.

And yet, even if Rachel Getting Married does not freefall into Greek tragedy, there is also enormous pain as we come to understand what is choking the dynamics of that family so incessantly. Massive gratitude needs to be aimed towards every member of the cast for committing to roles that are difficult because they are not 'performance' meat-- except, of course, for Hathaway's brilliant portrayal of Kym, no one is required to externalize everything they feel, resulting in a maelstrom of actors playing the subtlety card with mesmerizing results. And so, Hathaway, Irwin, DeWitt and especially Winger hold our attention anytime their are onscreen, which brings me to highlighting four of the best performances this year has given us moviegoers.

This masterful film is a quiet treasure. It proves us a film does not need to be highly ambitious and massive to bury itself deep into our mind and make an impact.

An astonishingly well-crafted descent into the darkest corners of paranoid minds, Bug may very well be a movie whose terrific impact will only be looked upon, say, at least ten years from now. Without giving us many answers, Bug raises distubing questions, such as what is bound to happen when a paranoid mind meets a lonely companion. Down the line, Bug is not a horror movie as much as what passes for real 'horror' these days, but a truly, deeply horrific tale. There also needs to be said that Judd and Shannon deliver perfectly unsettling performances that deserve to go in the books.

Strangely enough, if someone asked me what's so wondrous and terrific about Happy-Go-Lucky, I couldn't answer quite clearly. I don't know what made me like this film so much-- there dozens of answers, but none of them are particular standouts.

Scratch that : Sally Hawkins is a standout. I usually don't start reviewing a film by judging the performances, but this, my friend, is a mighty fine exception. Her Poppy is exceptionnally well-written, and combined with the very organic approach she brings to her, it results into one of the most exhilaratingly alive film characters I have ever seen in all my moviegoing years. Here, we see that her constant bounciness and cheer are just a matter of disguising something much, much deeper. She's a genuinely complex character, not a trope or a symbol, and her relationships with her roommate Zoe and her two younger sisters hint at a rich shared history. It's not like we, as viewers, are ever going to know something else about her than what's happening in the very present, but as character studies go, this one hits the right mark in every scene. We understand why they love her, then why she bugs them.

There is a chance Happy-Go-Lucky will be received as an amusing trifle by moviegoers and critics who equate nihilism with significance, but there's something in the movie that feels profound. In a Hollywood film, Poppy would be treated as a simp or a hypocrite or (worst of all) a kind of radiant idiot. She is not that here; she's a woman about whom we can worry, a brave yet vulnerable creature with a neurotic laugh who has decided to be open to experience, to life's various and risky little thrills, like trampolines and flamenco dancing and lonely homeless men who constantly mutter.

And then there is Eddie Marsan, who turns a character that could have been a one-joke affair into a fully-fleshed frustrated soul. He is grating at first, but the more screentime he gets, the more we get to know him-- but not understanding him. His ticks and line-readings are perfect-- he nearly steals the show in the scenes he is in. But with a force as mighty as Hawkins, he does not.

Either way, Leigh directs the film with much, much vitality, from the opening biking to the closing paddleboat. There's not a single shot that feels phony nor superficial, and when we understand that there is no real plot, the snappy but oh-so-authentic dialogue carries the film just by itself. And yet, I didn't laugh all that much, nor did I cry (but I did feel a vague melancholy hitting me once the film finished). I also don't think I could bear Poppy for more than twenty-four hours. The narrative is not built to climax or go anywhere truly important, and that wasn't a problem for me... but still. What made me like this film so much?

It has be because, down the line, it speaks to the human condition more than anything else. There is little to no movie bullshit here-- this is the real deal. Happy-go-Lucky reached out to me, and made me think about about how being persistently happy isn't a way to deny all the crap out there in the world-- it's a way to deal with said crap.

See it.

Here you go. Five fucking stars.

I am a film lover. There's no way around it. Not only in the way that I, as a middle-class white young adult, particularly enjoy films-- it is very rare to find someone who doesn't, today-- but rather, in the sense that I do consider that the long-drawn relationship I have cultivated with cinema is similar to one a person could have with his or her... well, lover.

It's been an alternately passionate and exhausting experience-- it still is. But every now and then, I find myself somewhat, for a lack of a better word, bored. Now, I am thousands and thousands of miles away from being an undeniably well-experienced cinephile-- lots and lots of deliriously challenging works of art (both from the past and the future) still remain undiscovered by my eyes, and therefore, the following statements could be taken as pure pretense. Still, by now, I find it hard to be completely overwhelmed by my darling. Not that I could cut the chords with this everlasting flame of mine anytime soon, but nevertheless... I find myself a bit too comfortable with the medium itself, mostly because I feel like I've sufficiently tested its boundaries to prevent any groundbreaking surprises from sneaking up on me.

Boy, was I wrong.

Coraline is a landmark in the history of cinema. Not because it is most definitely a dazzling, perfectly crafted gem of fantasy storytelling-- well, okay, it does help-- but mostly, because all of its glory is able to shine exponentially with the sensational help of the 3D format.

Yep. Three-dimentional cinema, every bit as wonderful as the red-and-blue glasses era hopelessly wished. Here, I find it relevant to quote myself in my review of this year's largely gimmicky My Bloody Valentine 3D : ''(...)twenty or thirty minutes in, a certain dissapointment started creeping up on me : what if this groundbreaking technology had been put to better use, in the hands of a gifted director (...)? Or better yet, what if this technology had been used to fully embrace a suspenseful atmosphere and achieved a new level of fear those modern scary movies have distinctly been lacking?''

Well, fellas, here it is. Coraline is beautifully unnerving, sweeping us with great virtuosity in a twisted little world like no other film I've seen before. Its bizarre, eerie gorgeousness is altogether touching and disturbing, for the simple reason that once it is over, it reminded me why I loved movies so much. It is a wholly delectable treat, the very definition of excellent escapism... but as an art form, of course. It has absolutely nothing to do with the generic talking-and-farting animals CGI flicks that pass for children's entertainment these days. Hell, I'm tempted to say it has nothing to do with any CGI flick ever made, since Coraline easily surpasses the genre triumphs Pixas Studios deliver every year. The choice of using stop-motion animation to tell Neil Gaiman's fable is brilliant, but the choice to texture it in three-dimentional format is ever more brilliant. It looks real and it feels real for the fact that, indeed, it is real. And for that reason alone, I was plainly unable to resist it, and I got carried away, most of the time wishing it would never end.

I've just realized I've written so many damn words about how utterly magnificent it is, on a visual point of view. It's not all. Here's where Henry Selick excels at shedding some light on Gaiman's wondrous story, which I want to read, and will read. Coraline is a story about a little girl who is unhappy-- the film even acknowledges her unhappiness, a simple, aching fact most children's tales will replace with too-easy-to-solve miserabilism. Her loneliness and distant parents come across as real and aching, and therefore her pluckiness, resistance and mostly, her will to explore what might seem to dangerous for others appear completely understandable. She is not a movie character, much less an excuse to string together a series of creepy happenings-- she is the heart of the film, and her eyes prove to be an admirable P.O.V for the audience.

The screenplay provides, besides a great number of ironies, meaningful character exchanges and fairly exciting plot developments, a commendable flair for nuance. The differences between Coraline's normal world and its mysterious opposite are subliminal, whether they be litteral or conceptual. The clash of those two universes prove to be fascinating, and as the dark secrets of 'the other world' are slowly revealed, the film just becomes more and more compelling. The colorful and intriguing supporting characters also offer plenty of moments of macabre hilarity, and backed with great voice acting from the talented cast and Bruno Coulais' morbidly enchanting score, we have in our hands a film that is nothing short of magical.

From the dangerous, disquieting opening scene to the multiple climaxes, Coraline is more than a complete success, hitting no false notes and generating serious dread all the way. On those regards, I wish for as many tykes as possible to see this and to be scared shitless-- that'll toughen them up. And I can guarantee you a lot of them will just love it. Kids love scary stuff, especially if it ends on a brighter note.

Either way, here's one for the ages. I could write much, much more, but that'd be useless. I can't wait to see it again, in 3D or not (since home videos only offer lackluster red-and-blue glasses threedee stuff). I already can't wait 'til Hi-Def 3D televisions are in stores, recession or not.

Five fucking stars.

A traumatic but unforgettable experience. Greg Araki's Mysterious Skin is a discomforting, graphic but never exploitative look at how young lives are affected by sexual molestation-- its treatment is compassionate but unsentimental, and its exploration of two radically opposed (but ultimately connected) minds has a rare unflinching quality. This one is most definitely not an easy watch, but it is very rewarding down the line both on an emotional and intellectual point of view. Its themes remain undiluted and will doubtlessly resonate among the public, and the film as a whole is alternately heartbreaking and horrifying.

It's clear that everyone involved in this outright masterpiece was working on the same page and that nobody was aiming for flashy pretensions, seing how the writing, performances, musical score and stage direction blend together astonishingly well. One element ends up burning through the screen, though-- that would be Joseph Gordon-Levitt as Neil McCormick; a hypnotic, deranged, fearless and terminally fucked teenager living with the haunting remains of an incomprehensibly blissful (and knowingly immoral) childhood. He is nothing short of amazing, delivering a brave star turn that could equal the best work of some truly accomplished actors. Sided by restrained but touching players (Brady Corbet, Jeff Licon and Chase Ellison being obvious standouts), he contributes to what might be remembered as one of the most affecting watches in years for a whole lot of moviegoers.

Alright, it's a biggie : Juno is, to me, one of the most revelatory pictures about the teenage years, certainly on the same level as everything that's imagined by Gus Van Sant, and well-above what passes for teenage fodder these days. It's that good-- and that true.

Juno is blessed by a screenplay that hits no false notes-- that, and its wonderful gallery of believable characters, all properly fleshed out, skillfully avoiding the one-joke cardboard cutouts we're used to see by now. The common remark that every character is affected by annoying hipster dialogue is not surprising-- boy, is the wit dangerously high here-- but rather misplaced. This is not meant to be a reflexion of every pregnant teenager, her family, her friends, her corner store clerk and gynecologist. It's rather a personal portrayal of what it feels like to move on from teenage complications to adulthood responsabilities. The pregnancy, essentially, is a spot-on parallel, not a damn Point On Wheels. It is not a thesis, nor a trend film. For all its wisecrackings and hip sarcasm, it's entirely truthful about the most basic of human situations.

It manages to work simply because it passes its message with subtlety, humour and sincerity-- much, much of with is endlessly channeled through the cast. Of course, this is Page's show, and for the ones among us that eagerly anticipated her transition into A-list territory, well... it's showtiiiiiime! From fiery one-liners to tears of overwhelming vulnerability, her Juno is one of the most, if not THE most memorable teenager to grace the screen in at least a decade. Supported by equally exceptional co-stars, from Simmons to Garner.

To put it bluntly, Juno is a movie whose unstoppable charm can only convert more and more fans by the day. Its popularity is immensely understandable, which leads me to questionning myself about the 'too-cool-for-this' resistance some show towards it. I'm sorry if I like my films with a different, more offbeat take on human nature. I just like to cherish them instead of anything out of the bottomless pit of cash-grabbers.

Reichardt has crafted a masterful meditation on solitude and the emotional cost of living close to the bottom of the social pyramid. Excised of all miserabilism and self-pity, Wendy's quest in accessing her own liberty is nothing less than deeply affecting, especially during these harsh economical times. It's a dramatic, minimalist film that demands both patience and appreciation for what's not immediate, but for those that enjoy quiet and slowly revealing cinema, there is much to be adored in this one. It's refreshing to have a reminder that we often let the plot and narrative drive stand between us viewers and the character. Reichardt also spares us the gritty, worn-out look that usually passes for 'realism' these days and coats her film with beautiful (though not showy) photography and long, expressive silent takes. Capped with a magnetic and beautifully internalized performance by Williams, Wendy and Lucy might perhaps be one of the most powerful offerings of the year.

My full review in French at :
http://www.panorama-cinema.com/html/critiques/wendyandlucy.htm

Wonderfully delirious. Kaufman and Jonze are an impossibly strong pairing-- so many brilliant flashes are stocked here, paved with a terrific screenplay that renders its indredible characters the justice they deserve. There's not much more to say... Being John Malkovich is comedic genius.

Alan Ball and Sam Mendes hit the perfect note numerous times in this incredibly well-written and memorably acted satiric dramedy. Unforgettable.

Screamingly Beautiful.

I'm Not There may very well be one of the best films of our generation : flying way past the biopic film and its tired conventions, its fragmentations of Bob Dylan's "character'' eventually end up building a touching hommage to personal freedom. It might just be about anyone who has ever experienced fame, then found themselves cornered by the expectations and paradigms of their own discipline. The result, in all of its schizoid poetry, is both joyful and sad all at once; Haynes takes full advantage of the two opposites and takes time hitting every note in-between. His multiple characters and their broken-down episodes are vibrant and alive-- for an exercise that might appear so intellectual, it is rather refreshingly emotional, and this is something quite hard to achieve.

So along with the powerful spiritual message, I'm Not There builds a magnificient style of its own, halfway between spontaneous experimentation and rigid calculation; it's also chock-full of gorgeous and symbolic images. Framed with precision, scored with unusually sexy and hurtful takes on some of Dylan's best songs and masterfully edited altogether, the inspiring imagery captured on celluloid confirms Haynes' taste for peculiarity and his disinterest for the immediate.

There is also quite a spellbinding acting show going on here. Franklin is a revelation; Blanchett deserved the Oscar; Gere tastefully wraps up the film; Ledger embraces the soul of his part with all the required pathos and charm; Whishaw has little to do but manages to impress with a constant stoicity; Bale is magnificent in an ambiguous one-two punch and Gainsbourg does get to shine brightly in a project where you would expect solely variations of Dylan to do so.

It's an exhausting experience-- but what an experience. I'm Not There is guaranteed to break viewers out of their comfort zone, and if some might insist on the fact that it could have used a little trimming, I feel like I could have taken three hours of Haynes' delirious and intoxicating approach to a genre that's not exactly prone to new ideas right now.

Put this on your shortlist, folks. It's a triumph from top to bottom.

Brutally magnificient. Apocalypse Now is a bit-by-bit dissection of the destructive behavior of men, in all of its disturbing humanity. While it's hard not to focus on the triumphant technical achievement that it is, there lies a sweeping moral lesson in the screenplay that elevates it among the best motion pictures of all time.

Brilliantly contrasts with the colorful wit of Annie Hall; Manhattan is, as one could expect from Allen, a profound, heartwarming yet frequently biting study of the sentimental rollercoasters people from the city go through. It suggests one should not trade their beautiful innocence in favor of so-called knowledge, and that constantly shifting in terms of taste and desire is fundamental. His impressive cast (and himself) do wonders once again, but it's no surprise. Manhattan only lacks a bit of sparkle down the line, but it's still Allen's most mature and thoughtful masterpiece.

Tarantino and Rodriguez deserve absolute kudos for giving me my best theater experience ever. Grindhouse is the kind of film that cannot be described; it only has to be seen to be believed. It's an unstoppable and grotesque monster movie that immediately ranks as the best achievement of both the directors.

Be warned, it's a downer... and a total knockout. The bleak imagery and character epilogues are really hard to forget... Among the best movies I've seen in my entire life.

Magnificent. Scorsese has a blast orchestrating Bickle's descent into complete madness, and the attention that is paid to fleshing out his environment is absolutely remarkable. As far as psychological progression goes cinematically, this may very well just be its dearest example. Supported by DeNiro's unforgettable performance and a razor-sharp screenplay, Taxi Driver is undoubtedly here to stay.

Yet another indie pic about a dysfunctional family, Little Miss Sunshine still screams 'feed me a couple of Oscars'. It's terrific from all aspects (cast, writing, directing, HUMOUR) and is definitely one of the best movies of 2006 in my opinion. A real triumph.

A stylish and incredibly entertaining film noir that's not for the squeamish.

Poignant, fearlessly acted by both its terrific leads and brutally honest, Notes on a Scandal is powerful on every level. I particularly enjoyed the use of Philip Glass' dark and turbulent score. Will stay with you long after you've left the theater...

One of the best movies I've seen in my entire life... but THE best CGI movie ever in my opinion.

Hot Fuzz is disarmingly witty and just plain hilarious. I'll leave it at that considering Pegg, Frost and Wright have already received their humoungous share of praise for their outstanding work both here and on Shaun Of the Dead, but let me tell you that every single positive comment in the press reviews you've read is absolutely right. A downright triumph for everyone involved.

Hard Candy is not a grand film, but its modest ambitions mixed with incredibly effective moments turn it into some sort of peculiarity that will stand the test of time. Slade's directing choices are pitch-perfect, from the near-total exclusion of explicit imagery to the constant vagueness of his characters' next moves, and Page and Wilson carry the film wonderfully, constantly shifting from one colorful mood to another. The issues this film decides not to 'solve' but to (brilliantly) expose are explored with subtlety and nuance-- and even if the closure is not up to the standards that were set by the opening hour, the experience remains disturbing, tense and deliciously ambiguous. This one's a keeper.

One of the greatest love stories of all time. Heartbreaking and unforgettable... despite its well-known nickname as 'that gay cowboy movie'.

Very subtle and roaringly funny humour rarely ages badly, and Dr. Strangelove is not an exception. Kubrick's flawless stage direction enables his delightful characters to come to life, and the performances (particularly Sellers as the president of the U.S.A) simply kill it. Exactly how a biting black comedy should be made.

A refreshing, dark, witty and cruel skit comedy. Carries a smart message and shockingly clever jokes thoroughly. A must-see.

It will STAND.

With the absolute phenomenon the image of this film has become, I'll have to say that James Wan and Leigh Whannell's Saw is essentially a film that will very much stand the test of time, despite its numerous flaws. It's not an excellent film, but it is a great thriller-- one for future generations (i.e. our damn kids) to look at, and then ask us : ''did you see it when it was new?''

I'll be happy to say 'hell yes, kiddo', and tell them about how traumatic the experience was when I first saw it at fourteen. It *was* the shit. I even remember doing an oral presentation in front of my class about it, and convincing many people to actually see it before any thought of a possible sequel was raised. Saw is a film that marks the real start of a cinematic era, for better or for worse. But I am will not analyze it as the pioneer of the torture porn subgenre, because it is not quite that, and because it is much, much more interesting as a standalone film.

Almost everyone has seen this film by now, so a plot recap is not necessary. Everyone knows how the plot unfolds, and everyone is aware of the much-discussed final plot twist. But yet, the screenplay has an interesting structure. Once it opens, it's effective as hell. People waking up in a threatening situation where they have something awful, awful to achieve to gain their freedom has become a trademark. But this time, the first time, things are laid out quite slowly, and OH, the horror, the horror! It might not work for you, but from my point of view, it does exactly what a good thriller is supposed to do : transform you into an uncomfortable, nervous wreck.

Of course, things start going downhill in certain spots. The flashbacks, though necessary plot-wise, drain out some of the huis clos tension, and turn a grim, claustrophobic story into a hybrid of a cop film and a serial killer chiller. Thankfully, some set-pieces remain truly frightening. One of them in particular (the now-famous Jaw Helmet Trap) is a stroke of horror fan insanity genius-- the suspense for this scene works terrifically, EVEN if we know the outcome. And, come to think of it, it is among the only scenes that use the dreaded quick-cut editing to create any tension.

The performers, including screenwriter Leigh Whannel, are mostly mediocre, though. Cary Elwes has irritated many with his weird climactic freakout moments (and also the forever unresolved fate of his character), but he does give an adequate performance in the two first thirds. Whannel fares quite better, and I believe he found much of the audience identifying with him. Danny Glover is quite interesting, and if it weren't for a few false notes, I'd call it a 'good' performance. Some goes for Monica Potter. Unfortunately, the level of the dialogue dillydallies between okay and really, really bad.

...and then comes THE ENDING!

It has now become a requirement for films of the genre to end with a T-T-TWIST-- a final act revelation that wraps everything up in a nifty, though sometimes implausible way. In Saw, it is accompanied by an ominous (and also now-famous) theme and numerous flashes recapping every single element that is relevant to the functionning of that twist ending. It's a great way of pulling the rug under our feet-- though some will argue it is absolute wanking, it DID work for me. And when I was fourteen, boy, did it appear like the coolest thing ever.

Has it been really in 2004? It seems so. My standards have very much changed, but I can still see the tremendous sick interest one would have while viewing a film as tense as Saw. I know it'll remain one of my favourite films until I die, despite the fact that it is not a very good work of art.

But you know what? Fuck this. I still give it three stars and a half, because it had such an impact that it doesn't matter how clunky it was as a whole. There. Done it.

The Tracey Fragments is fourty hits of acid storming into a troubled, broken-from-the-inside adolescence. It's a terrifying experience, an incredible assault of the senses and (yet another) tour-de-force performance by Ellen Page all at once. You've never seen anything like this before, and what seriously elevates this simple story above any frustrated teenager tale is Bruce McDonald's visionary directing/editing approach. What a fucking triumph of an achievement, I am telling you. Words do not do justice to this one...you *need* to see The Tracey Fragments.

While Garden State surely has redefined a handful of rules about the bittersweet & self-conscious indie dramedy (especially when it comes to that dreaded Magic Pixie Dream Girl cliche) for better of for worse, you can absolutely see what made Braff's hit directorial debut so irresistible for most audiences back in 2004. It finds the perfect balance between biting and touching, and is able to sprinkle laughs all the way up to a surprisingly poignant third act. Seriously, how often is it that the final mad dash to the airport actually WORKS in a romantic comedy?

Garden State tells us that it might never be too late for one to change, even after losing something vital that you took for granted all your life. Braff's directorial hand offers plenty of genuine flashes and easily slides from comedic to dramatic, and he is able to draw superb performances from his ensemble cast, starting with Portman. She doesn't have a very thick character and the humour that surrounds it is sometimes a bit too forced, but all these little missteps go down extremely well thanks to the charisma, energy and suggested torment she brings to the role. Braff and Sarsgaard also offer intelligent, restrained performances with the type of characters they know how to play so damn well.

All that doesn't make Garden State a masterpiece, but in its own way, I think it is indeed timeless and very lovely. It's a feel-good film in the best sense of the term (the happiness by the end is the opposite of gratuitous) that I can heartily recommend to most people that know what kind of picture they are getting into. And yes, the soundtrack is sweet, too.

Persona is a thing of beauty. Come to think of it, it represents everything that is so poignant about art : us viewers, without truly understanding what we are witnessing, are truly touched by it without having a definite idea why it is so. Bergman, at his very best here, captures the essence of life through the insecurities his characters are facing, and also pictures their refusal to live a life of unhappiness by having them confess to each other over and over again, with or without words. That is not to say, however, that everything here is about sadness, regret or guilt-- there is a fine study of desire and the very abstract notion of 'soulmate'. Persona is carried on the shoulders of Andersson and Ullmann, two legendary actresses whose performances are nothing short of magnetic here.

Trainspotting is one hell of a ride, that's all I can say... A triumph on all levels. Boyle has crafted an unique film that's among the best features in drug cinema nowadays.

Downright scary-- a modern horror film that overcomes the familiarity of its plot to tell a brutal, emotionally draining and fairly exhausting story. Drawing impressively physical performances from its all-female cast, Neil Marshall's film touches themes of motherhood and trust without ever losing its focus on its lead goal : scaring the holy bejesus out of the viewer. Make sure to watch the original cut for a few more crucial seconds of disturbance.

Boyle's glacial, nerve-wrecking apocalyptic freak-out owes much of its success to a sharp, intelligent script, which keeps the scare tactics and character development in equal parts. Surprisingly not grounded in typical Hollywood morals where good guys and bad guys are catalogued as soon as they're onscreen, 28 Days Later puts our very own humanity in a position where anyone can turn into death itself in a matter of seconds-- can you imagine how fast our survival instincts kick in, and how feeble our civilized sympathy turns once confronted by it? Less preoccupied by jump scares than it is with generating feelings of desolation and despair (but still creepy as hell) and anchored by four flat-out excellent performances-- that would be Eccleston, Murphy, Harris and Gleeson-- 28 Days Later is nothing short of a hypnotic, memorable piece of work, and definitely an instant classic in the zombie genre.

Weird, disturbing, macabre, emotional, feminist, sexy, embarassing, depressing, suspenseful... it's many things at once. But above all, May is a profoundly personal motion picture thanks to McKee's sure-handed direction and Angela Bettis' exceptional performance.

Obviously, it's not for everyone. The pace is slow, and the title character's downwards spiral may not impress everyone. Yet, I found myself seriously stricken by the way things are handled throughout-- driven with sensibility, a kick for sick laughs and an excellent stage direction, May is a film I hope will not be forgotten.

It's fantastic; it's extraordinary; it's fantastraordinary.

If it is true that the new wave of filmmaking will be entirely computer-driven (a horrifying thought, but just give it a decade or ten), at least we now have proof that as long as real passion lies behind the 1s and 0s, there is some hope for the future of art. It's so breathtakingly gorgeous-- I have very little doubt that WALL-E is the most visually sophisticated animated narrative film ever produced.

But beyond the fuck-awesome cinematography, there are the characters (robots!). Customarily, the creation of a memorable animated character is the collision of a great vocal performance with sensitive, expressive drawings/renderings/models, but WALL-E the robot is gifted with a full range of instantly recognisable emotions, despite the fact that every element of the character is digital. It's sublime. His eventual love interest, the superfuturistic robot EVE - "Extraterrestrial Vegetation Evaluator" - is voiced by an actual human, Elissa Knight, but she's a triumph of design and animated performance anyway. The couple is pure joy to watch interact. Pure. Joy.

For something very close to half of its running time, WALL-E purrs along as the most sublime visual experience that will play in a movie theater this year.

And then lies the closest the film comes to having a "problem". After a time, as you all know from the trailers, WALL-E hops on a rocket to chase EVE, ending up on the very same ship where all the humans are living, and then the actual plot kicks in. It's a good adventure plot, too, and it would be everything the film needed to stand head and shoulders with the middle of the Pixar pack. But though the adventure is robust, and the social satire is unexpectedly pointed (a more anti-consumerism Disney blockbuster you will never see), it all feels quite... typical after the eye-popping wonders of the first 40 minutes and the blissful cinematic intensity of the opening sequence in particular. The "human half" of WALL-E is not the stuff of legends, it is the stuff of very high-end entertainment.

Nitpicking aside, to me, this is the best Pixar film to ever be released. It's a shining example of the best and bravest work that mainstream filmmaking anywhere in the world could even dream of in this day and age.

A lot more visceral but thoroughly less meditative than Boyle's 2003 film, Juan Carlos Fresnadillos' 28 Weeks Later is a rare animal indeed-- a sequel that achieves the same level of greatness than its predecessor but in radically different ways. With a bigger set-pieces, bloodier attacks scenes, a helluva lot more ''gotcha!'' jolts but a weaker grip on its characters, the picture really succeeds in drawing the viewer straight into its nightmarish continuation of the original scenario. Surely to rank among the strongest horror offerings of the decade, right along with its first chapter.

Carried by exquisitely polished dialogued and extremely well-calculated suspense, Rear Window is doubtlessly Hitchcock's most tasteful and engaging thriller.

Everything, everything you've heard about it is true. The Dark Knight is a masterpiece; Nolan has painted a richly vivid landscape of death and iniquity, capturing our collective anxiety over the resurgent politics of hope in ways very few have done before.

First and foremost, the screenplay : it is planets away from what we've come to expect from superhero films. Ghost Rider is practically dust compared to this : the dramatic tension rises and rises until it becomes practically unbearable, and the sensitive issues and the questions that are raised bring a morally ambiguous turn on themes that are usually strictly black-and-white. It's penned with a remarkable structural strength, too-- scenes move on sharply from one to the next, which is also helped by sure-handed editing that constantly leaves the viewer begging for more.

As for Nolan's directing, it knocks it out of the park. This, my fellow viewers, IS how you film a city in crisis : nothing is overcooked, or comes across as phony or unbelievable. The stage direction is impeccable. The characters are framed in luminous, hollowed-out rooms to an eye-popping effect and the use of ultra modern technology is in the pitch-perfect quantity. The action is devastating, high-wire and realistic, and it serves a purpose instead of being car-crash porn. And while some have accused the big set-pieces of being choppy and disrespectful of spacial relationships, well... what can I say? It worked tremendously well for me.

As for Ledger, well... fuck. I'll be damned. His Joker is simply jaw-dropping-- the actor burns this incarnation of The Joker into our psyche by being terrifying, and unpredictable, and truthful, and symbolic... without ever, ever falling into caricatural territory. A golden man wouldn't reward his work well enough. As for the rest of the cast, which are a bit unlucky, in circumstances, to be called 'the rest of the cast', well, they're also spellbinding. Bale shows even more range that in the previous installment. Caine is spot on, and Gyllenhaal is the perfect replacement for the flat Holmes, showing much more depth and maturity than expected. Oldman injects substance into a role that could very well have been an accessory, and Eckhart, oh, Aaron Eckhart, with your majestic split-chin and mind-blowing charisma, do you own this fucking part like no one could have.

Frankly, The Dark Knight is a very exhausting film, the very opposite of blockbuster escapism. Not because it is so long - for indeed, it feels hardly long enough, and once it ends, it's a dissapointment to know the next installment is soooooo many years away and it's probably going to suffer from threequel-itis. But still... Christopher Nolan had the temerity to give us a nihilistic summer tragedy, and a precious rare thing it is for a populist film to be so emotionally wrenching without being manipulative.

Let's all scream it together now : TRIUMPH.

Livens up to the monstrous hype. Knocked Up is one of those terrific comedies that takes its time with its characters and their arcs, resulting in a cool, genial line of scenes where most of the laughs feel refreshingly unforced. Its take on the modern couple is handed with skill and maturity (that is, despite the gags' raunchiness) and the pop culture references are vividly incisive; plus, it highly benefits of both Rogen & Heigl's and the supporting cast's tour-de-force performances. If some moments go on for a few beats too long and the end result is (understandably) guy-sided, I think we can safely say there's some thanks to be said to Knocked Up (and Apatow & co.) for rejuvenating the actual american comedy landfield.

The Nines is a mightily captivating three-part deconstruction of reality. Each segment is pampered with enough style, flashy wit and mystery to guarantee excellent entertainement from start to finish-- and with substance to boot. August's vision is a comfortable mindfuck, one that makes you go 'huh?' and 'wow!' at the same time without ever feeling cheated by the screenplay. Reynolds finally gets to show some chops by inhabiting the bodies of three very intriguing characters-- and his co-stars Davis and McCarthy are just as great. The Nines is a very, very promising directorial debut; just one unfortunately crippled by a limited release.

One creepy funhouse of a movie. I feel somewhat guilty for not having discovered Raimi's breakout screamfest earlier, but now that I've seen it, I can absolutely see what made Evil Dead so damn irresistible for genre fans back in 1982.

It is not about writing an elaborate and concise script. It is not about sketching very engaging characters. It is not about telling a revolutionary horror story.

Evil Dead is all about scaring the hell out of you-- it's also about making you have a good time. The reason why Raimi's increasingly grotesque and heart-stopping freak show works so well is because, when it was made, everyone here was working on the same page, from Tom Sullivan's lovingly putrid make-up effects to Joseph DoLuca's eerie yet shrill musical score to Campbell's winky performance to Raimi's methodical and frightening mise en scene. There is a distinct unity to the proceedings that renders what might just have been a navel-gazing, splattery possession thriller into something, strangely, that's full of heart.

It is not exceptional cinema, but it IS an exceptionally fun genre film, and that's all it needed to be remembered. That, and a scene where a girl is raped by a tree. Thank you, guys. Thanks, Sam.

Strikingly identical to life in all of its barebones humanity, Margot at the Wedding is a very good demonstration of Baumbach's terrific writing and directing skills. The man knows how to stage reality, from the abstraction of a musical score to the handheld camera that plunges us directly into the heart of the situations. Although somewhat heavy on the symbolism, his latest effort presents a wide gallery of fascinating (if dreadfully self-centered) characters in the midst of a disastrous family reunion. Which brings us back to the cast, whose performances here are sensational-- from the terrific three leads to the younger ones, no one feels out of place, and their touching spontaneity as they take part of this bittersweet dissection of the human behavior is nothing less than compelling.

I think it's safe to say there isn't a film anywhere near this one. Palindromes is a love-it-or-hate-it experience that invites the viewer to pick up as many clues as possible to unscramble a deeply affecting & disturbing mirror-puzzle of womanhood in America. Solondz' directorial eye gives precious little room for entertainment or convoluted shortcuts, but the result is magnetic on its own terms.

I can easily see how most viewers could be freaked out by the aberrant, purely nihilistic sequences scattered across this fragmented journey, and frankly, I don't blame them. His twisted humor might also come across as quite questionable, although it was undeniably effective for me.

I cannot say I have even tied up all the loose ends that remain after my second viewing. But what I do know is that I *felt* Palindromes-- and the odds of a film breaking through my shell of cinematic detachment after many years of movie-watching are now very small. For that, I congratulate Solondz and his outstanding achievement, and I recommend he never meets the therapist many might have recommended him.

No, you are not hallucinating those three stars.

I raise my hand and defend I Know Who Killed Me; this film is not nearly as awful as everyone has made it to be, mostly for the simple reason that it is a commendably passionate experiment and NOT some lame studio cash-in. Its numerous creative missteps come across as fascinating rather than cheap-- and with material this... eh, weird, and I would never trade those flaws for workmanlike efficiency. I reckon this is director Chris Sivertson's first mainstream motion picture, and as a film student myself, I can acknowledge his imaginative approach to the project is anything but machine-pressed hackwork.

In short, I Know Who Killed Me is an increasingly bizarre thriller-- what starts out as some conventional serial killer whodunit eventually blossoms into a vaguely supernatural psycho-shocker. Very character-driven, Jeffrey Hammond's approach to the 'big mystery' is stunningly uncommon : instead of piling up clues and possible resolutions, we are left to watch how Aubrey/Dakota lives past her torturous abduction for a good deal of time. It's not very rewarding (in terms of pacing and 'conventional' enjoyment, if you will) to watch our heroine learning to live with her electronic limbs and a bunch of strangers that claim they are her family, but it's as darkly humourous as it is disturbing. Hammond's portrayal of two drastically opposed young girls is fascinating-- they are fleshed out enough to be credible, and the collision of their worlds is either strangely compelling or comically awkward. Things don't hold together quite coherently as time passes-- needless to say, the film is very badly stitched together and mostly fails as a pop thriller-- but a quick look at the (originally planned) Alternate Ending on the DVD makes it clear that without this studio-driven amputation (pun intended), the result isn't as incoherent.

As for Chris Sivertson's directorial approach, it is also one of the strong points of the film, if not the strongest. As pointed out by everyone who has seen I Know Who Killed Me, the red & blue symbolism is monstrously overdone. But you know what? To me, that's exactly what's so curious and excessive and loopy and awesome about all of it. It brings me to asking myself if viewers even question themselves on what effect was intended and what it brings to the story-- I believe it was intended to drown the audience in a simplistic but unquestionably effective color scheme. Even cooler : Sivertson knowns how to stage menacing, nasty atmospheres, and the imagery is also quite inspired-- combined with the moments of genuine camerawork, it often results in truly beautiful scenes, like the one where blue petals float into a bedroom mirror, past an owl, and down to a tranquil wooded stream. The strip-club scenes also shine by their lighting compositions and somber progression. The use of split-screen during the last third is also memorable, and even the requisite climactic bloodbath is stylishly delivered. Accompanied by a stormy, soulful score by Joel McNeely that is more noticeable in the final segments, the sound design is also a major plus.

Being the focus of nearly every scene, it's clearly Lohan's show all along, and despite the two or three awkward, mechanical lines she misdelivers, I was more than pleased with the fierce devotion in her portrayal of Aubrey/Dakota. I've never really been a fan of hers, but drunken girl antics aside, I believe she plays her part(s) with both energy and surprising detachment instead of emoting all over the place. It's by no means a triumphant performance, but if she tried showing us range; she succeeded, and without ever boosting the intensity one notch too high or too low. The supporting cast, excluding Julia Ormond, less so. They are one-dimensional and somewhat wooden, and what comes out of their mouths often feels forced, especially with those blaringly incompetent FBI agents. On a negative note, the police hits levels of stupidity I've rarely seen in films lately. Bad.

Still... oh, sweet baby Jesus in a crackpipe, how I wished people would stop approaching this film so fucking subjectively. It's saddening.

Of course, any way you look at it, the result is clearly uneven. It's undeniable. In-between all that batshit-crazy oddness, I Know Who Killed Me struggles to be watchable by mainstream audiences, and of course, it fails... but this failure is all the more delightful in my opinion. For me, this one is still a sometimes successful, sometimes absurd but mostly remarkable attempt at piecing together an artistic thriller that refuses to play it safe. I cannot possibly follow the trend of bashing it just for the sake of hammering yet another nail in Lohan's floundering film career. That being said, I look forward to Sivertson's next project with reasonable expectations, and I hope that eventually people will eventually recognize that high-profile shit like 2007's Norbit and Rush Hour 3 really are the modern plague of American cinema. Not this.

Peace out.

Stay is a bright, ultra-polished implosion of a psyche dressed as a thriller that does not play by the usual genre rules-- Foster's oniric approach may remind you of several other directors' influences (think heavy-handed Lynch peppered with the velvety feel of Wong Kar Wai, in feature-length music video mode), but in the end, its screenplay is enough mindfuck on its own to maintain is own identity. Satisfying performances all around (Gosling takes the top honors), luminous photography and a short running time also validate this hundred-percent captivating diversion.

That and, of course, the conversations you are likely to have with other viewers once it's over make it entirely worth it.

It is incredibly hard to attain only the most rudimentary type of viewer objectivity when one's cult movie is involved. Subject of an everlasting debate among great cinema fans and less great fans alike, the question of whether yes or no a film possesses its own level of intrinsec quality, and should not only be judged as to how it pleases a particular individual, is still a topic that puzzles me and countless others. To gain the necessary detachment, I waited for more than a year before revisiting this critically-panned motion picture that I absolutely adored before, during and after its release, and for increasingly obscure reasons at that. Maybe I was just a sick fuck. Maybe I still am.

As of now, you should be able to guess that this review of Glen Morgan's 2006 Black Christmas remake is a highly subjective take on a film that maybe, probably, surely doesn't deserve such an exhaustive analysis. Or does it?

Alright, to most people, the answer to that question is a big no-no. ''It's just a crappy slasher'', they all say. On those regards, 'they' are absolutely right. Because, make no mistake, Black Christmas IS just a slasher film, and it cannot (and doesn't) pretend to be anything else. And make no mistake, it is unmistakably crappy, too-- and even if the final product almost begs to be considered as a campy, fast-paced cheesefest than an actual horror thriller, the DVD's 'Behind the Scenes' features reveal that the original intent was to make an actual, y'know, 'scary movie', but with 'traces of typical genre humor'.

Ho-ho-hum.

I frankly don't know where to start. I'll get rid of those inevitable comparisons to Bob Clark's 1974 original, which was (and still is) a deliciously creepy and unsettling pulse-pounder, even thirty-plus years after its release. Spawning a long wave of hit dead teenager films (and notably inspiring John Carpenter's Halloween), it is also nearly the complete opposite of this new millenium reboot. Besides the setting and a few similarities (read : references), both are very different entities that might have similar goals, but still proceed on marginally separate ways to reach them. I am referring, of course, to the good ol' heebie-jeebies-- scaring the shit out of an audience. It's not the new version's biggest flaw, that definite un-scariness, but it drags the end result down-- a lot. It has no clue how to maintain tension. It has no clue how to provide sustained thrills. It has no clue to be scary. To some, that's the worst possible crime any retelling of the 1974 version might commit.

But hey, plenty of those kinds of films have gotten away with that particular lack of spookiness. If the Friday the 13th films had been known for their genuine eerieness (and not for their unrelenting sleaziness and death porn), I think we'd live in a radically different world today-- and I do mean that. But nope : those films have had their fair share of success because they provide cheap, splattery thrills. They are enjoyable because they offer nothing more than vile, voyeuristic moments of nastiness without ever pretending all of this is happening for real. *insert commentary on following birth of torture porn subgenre here* Nevertheless, Black Christmas 06 is, to at least a considerable fanbase, an entertaining romp even if it wasn't meant to be in such a tongue-in-cheek way.

And here's where I feel like throwing a few flowers on the stage : it is, at least to me and the degenerates of my kind, not boring. Clocking just under 90 minutes, it is structured well-enough to let several events happen under one roof (the sorority house), mostly at the same time, and not make the whole thing draggy or confusing. Girls talk in the living room, girls exit the house, girls are killed in their rooms, girls argue, drink and vomit, girls sit down and listen to prolonged flash-backs of who the hell mysterious killer Billy Lenz was-- all simultaneously. Even when one knows what's gonna happen and when, there is nothing that really blocks the plot from advancing and the jolts from jolting. In a vast majority of typical slasher films, there are usually a few patches where it's all too obvious what's gonna happen, who's gonna die next and whythefuckamIwatching, etc. In this one, there's not much time to think about how bad everything is, except of course when it's over.

My, oh my-- yes, indeed, there is plenty to cover in terms of pure, unabashed incompetence : asylum scenes that just plain suck nuts, dialogue that ranges from the charmingly goofy to the monstrously inane (there, a nugget : ''Here's the key to Billy Lenz : he just wants to feel at home''), a cloying soundtrack full of dun-dun-DUNS, mediocre acting and a stitched-together feel (the epilogue particularly stinks of last-minute reshoots). For the latter, you can immediately put the blame on the Weinsteins and their Dimension-like crap orders (''We want more gore! We want less talking!''). For the rest... well, let's say that this time I had to face how horrible most of it is. Even with redeeming qualities like beautifully lit interiors, those frighteningly amusing flash-backs and the bloody, exciting attic climax, there's just not enough to outweight all the shitty ideas that prevents it from tipping into traditionally 'watchable' territory.

The nitpicking could go on and on, just so you know. Even the cast, a largely feminine ensemble full of familiar faces for horror buffs (like Mary Elizabeth Winstead, Michelle Trachtenberg and Andrea Martin) are a least a couple of notches below what they are usually capable of. It's no help that their characters are also underwritten, one-dimensional rich bitches (a personal fave moment : not one but THREE girls are introduced by sighing & rolling their eyes upwards, consecutively). Even Katie Cassidy's not-that-obvious Final Girl role is given too little to do before the mayhem begins. Only Karin Konoval, as Billy Lenz's chronically fucked-up mother, plays the part according to the finished product's actual tone, and to great effect at that. While we're there, I could also mention how unexplainably fascinating the wordless role of the 'opening sequence girl' (that means dead meat), played by Leela Savasta, came across to me.

So, yes, I rated it three stars-- although there's no way in hell this could ever pass for three-star quality entertainment. It's a very dumb, very hokey film made by smart people who have already shown better work (Morgan's previous effort, the tremendously underrated Willard, is a shining example) and will inevitably show better again. I know how terrible Black Christmas 06 is, and I know how much people were frustrated by its idiotic features, that's for sure. Here we go : with as much detachment as possible, I ended up concluding that... objectively, this is not a film that's done well at all. Glen Morgan's Black Christmas is... a bad film.

But you know what? I love it, and not in some ironic way. I love this film. I love its tiny little bright spots, I love its anonymous mediocrities, and I love its huge chunks of crappiness. I really, really love this film-- and for someone who's seen a dangerous amount of jaw-dropping crap spectacles (especially among that genre), a lousy remake that actually made me downright fall in love with it, even for no good reasons, is enough to make me want to celebrate.

Merry Christmas, motherfuckers.

Equal parts funny and alarming, Jake Kasdan's The TV Set hits all the right bases with its one-two punch of merciless writing and across-the-board terrific acting. It's actually much more than just a sharp satire of the dynamics of a television network-- it's a story about the everlasting tug o' war between art and commerce, and it speaks about the poor ones lost in-between that try to keep their integrity intact but still have to put food on their tables.

At only 87 minutes, Kasdan is still able to develop surprisingly well a good number of his characters while moving things forward at a good pace. His stage direction feels spontaneous but is nevertheless full of well-executed crowd scenes (his finale is a definite winner), and he is able to obtain the most exquisite reaction shots possible. It's notable that the cast he has to work with is extremely gifted (the Duchovny-Weaver-Gruffud central triangle is simply perfect, and the supporting performers do them justice), but it's been quite a while since I saw a director framing his players with the right amount of confidence and communicated apprehension. Plus, the dialogue is just so damn great, and it feels so true coming out of these actor's mouths.

Not that The TV Set is gifted with a particularly articulate cinematic language, nor that it avoids all shortcuts a subject like this one might present. But it's full of jokes that range from ha-ha funny to WOW ARE YOU SERIOUS, and it's short enough that you actually feel you might have taken thirty more minutes once it's done. It's a shame this Judd Apatow-produced picture got overlooked during its theatrical release (maybe it was positioned as some potential Oscar grabber and didn't land properly?), but I'll take this very, very good project over most of the boring awards bait films around any day.

Weirdsville is intoxicating fun. While it starts off awkwardly and hits a considerable number of false notes along the way, the numerous WTF touches in the screenplay only render the film more entertaining. Of course, the point here is not to stage a thoughful, let alone coherent film-- far from that. Director Allan Moyle also shows remarkable flair for vibrant, colorful images, which helps making his junkies-gone-wild 90-minute chase infinitely more tolerable. The cast, particularly the excellent male leads, embraces the exquisite silliness of the story and deliver spiky performances. I can spit out a hundred reasons why someone wouldn't like Weirdsville-- but I can spit a thousand ones why I really did.

Delightfully humane-- if you showed me this film without telling me that the king of tense macho New Yorker stories directed it, I would never be able to guess who did. It's true : Scorsese is surprisingly comfortable at handling a story about an independent woman travelling across the Southwest to forge an identity for herself, beyond the expectations and demands of men. Back in 1974, the man had only directed three films, so perhaps it wasn't quite as surprising to the public as it it to me by now-- but after decades of gritty urban dramas about self-destructive men stuck in suffocating situations, we have come to expect something a least a bit formated about The Martin Scorsese Picture... and I do not mean that in a pejorative sense, not in any way.

Either way, Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore remains a shocking opposite of his usual work, and if it isn't a perfect picture on its own, one can say it is very much the kind of film whose flaws cannot be dismissed because they are part of an intensely compelling whole. For starters, it is dominated by a phenomenal lead performance by Burstyn, whose vitality, conviction and vulnerability earned her a much-deserved Best Actress Oscar. She is onscreen for practically every scene, and she occupies the frame with an intensity that can't quite be described with words-- but inhabiting a woman whose dreams have failed, and then who finds in a tragic situation the opportunity to rekindle those aspirations (even if it means to give inhuman efforts in the proceedings) and reclaim her own freedom is miraculously free of any kind of miserabilism. It is very much one of my favorite performances of all time-- from Burstyn's body language and delivery, you can absolutely feel a connection with the dreamy avant-garde opening scene establishing how much her childhood fantasies have vanished over the last 27 years.

Built out of short scenes that cut abruptly for the most part and devoid of a common dramatic crescendo, the film has an interesting spin on the 'road trip' structure. Without spoiling any major plot point, Alice slowly comes to understand that she is done with having a man tell her what she oughts to be as a person, and she comes to accept that there is no knight in shiny armor (or Robert Redford) that is bound to save her. Her travels bring her to understand that there will always be somewhere (or someone) else to crave, and that a companion will always, always be necessary. The journey will last until you die-- and if she is able to make the world a better place for those that surround her (if they are willing to do the same), then perhaps this harrowing struggle has a purpose, after all. All of this is not a revolutionary statement, especially from a so-called feminist P.O.V, but it's made clear and it is delivered with a great deal of strangely impressionist honesty.

If the dialogues between Alice and her son Tommy sometimes feel a bit forced, and if the screenplay gives a feeling of floating uncertainty in its middle third, there are more than enough outstanding elements to counterbalance those minor flaws. Scorses brings his all, and with flourishes that range from the sublime aforementionned introduction to the stuffy, exciting atmosphere of the Diner at which Alice ends up working, the film still remains by today a lovely and captivating story made even more awe-inspired by its central powerhouse performance.