I can't even apologize anymore. Let's just pretend this hiatus never happened and start to ease back into things with one of my favorite recurring features of this blog, the iPod Shuffle. You know the drill: I put the iPod on shuffle, and record my thoughts on the first ten songs that pop up. Let's gooooooo!

 "Wild Night" by Van Morrison

This song, off Tupelo Honey, is notable for two things. 1) One of the greatest bass lines in rock music. 2) The fairly lame cover version, by John "Cougar" Mellencamp and Me'Shell N'degeochello. (I'm too lazy to look up the proper spelling of her name. If my attempt was correct, I will treat myself to a long, slow blowjob.) I know everyone freaks over Astral Weeks (rhyme) and jizzes their pants over Moondance (rhyme), but Tupelo Honey may be my favorite Van Morrison album. That may be because my parents played it on an endless loop when I was a kid. Then again, they also played Bonnie Raitt's Nick of Time and Don Henley's The End of the Innocence on endless loops, and I don't find myself returning to those adult contemporary classics very often. You've likely heard some version of "Wild Night," but if you've never heard "Tupelo Honey," check that bitch out. It's possibly Morrison's finest song.

"Timebomb" by Beck

Outside of Radiohead, I don't know that there's a modern rock artist that's been as consistently good for as long as Beck. This was a throwoff single I downloaded on a whim, and it's just outstanding. From its attention-grabbing opening - I believe someone is saying "Go fuck a headphone" - to its kiddie choir finale - this apocalyptic ass-shaker always gets me dancing.

"Shelter" by Ray LaMontagne

This is a genre of music I generally detest, the "Sad Bastard Moaning Over Acoustic Guitar About How Sad He Is While He Secretly Plots to Get Into Your Girlfriend's Panties." Elliott Smith and Bob Dylan and the aforementioned Beck have all taken a turn making Sad Bastard Acoustic Guitar music, but when those gentlemen do it (or did it, in Smith's case) it's pretty clear they're not doing it for the poon, but rather because they have to unload the crushing pain in their souls. I get a poon-y vibe from LaMontagne, though he certainly belongs among the better modern SBMOAGAHSHEWHSPTGIYGP artists. He still really annoys me for some reason, and I regret buying this album, which I did because of the admittedly great "Trouble." But then that song was covered by Taylor Hicks, and therefore destroyed in a fiery explosion.

"Why Go" by Pearl Jam

Pearl Jam has never been as important to me as they are to a lot of my friends. I enjoy their music, and I admire their career, but I've never had that intense connection with them. "Why Go" and the other songs off of Ten just don't stop me in my tracks like a Nirvana or a Soundgarden track does. Also, didn't I just hear they're doing a Target commercial? I love me some Target, but...c'mon. Twenty years of sticking it to the man, and then...a Target commercial? Didn't this guy use to bring wire hangers on stage in some sort of amazingly unpleasant abortion quasi-statement? I guess Target does sell wire hangers, but...

"Center of Attention" by Guster

I saw this extremely white-bread band open for Barenaked Ladies back when I was listening to Barenaked Ladies, and their claim to fame was that their drummer didn't use sticks. Just hands. Seemed incredibly painful. They had some catchy tunes, and this is one of the catchiest, but I never pull this CD out and if I thought anyone would buy it, I'd sell it along with the LaMontagne.

"Baby Girl" by Nelly Furtado

Here we go! Love Nelly Furtado. I thought this album was really impressive, diverse, catchy as hell. There's just really not an appropriate time for a straight man to listen to this stuff. For example, this song contains the line "Ba-da-bop-dop-bum-ching-ching," for God's sake. Wish all pop music could be this interesting. Oh, and her "sellout" album, Loose, was even better. I still work out whilst questioning my sexuality to "Maneater."

"Tuesday Heartbreak" by Stevie Wonder

I recently had my mind re-blown by a Stevie Wonder song called "As," and at this moment in time everything that is not "As" sounds like second-tier Wonder (lackWonder if you will), but this gets my pasty white shoulders jiving up and down. People still say 'jiving'? That still considered hip? How about 'hip'? Is that word considered 'square'? People still say 'square'?

"Pueblo Nuevo" by Buena Vista Social Club

I took four years of Spanish, so I feel fairly confident that, translated, this song's title means "New Pueblo." I really enjoyed the documentary on this band that came out about ten years ago, and thus I purchased the soundtrack. It's very sexy, very south of the border-ish. As I listen to this song, I imagine myself slamming a very dark-skinned Cuban chick from behind, in a beachside cabana littered with Corona bottles, while she screams "Ay, Patricio!" and curtains blow all around our sun-dappled flesh. Afterward, as the sun sets, we sip margaritas and she feeds me fresh mango, unaware that I am highly allergic to mango and that it will later kill me. 

"Nobody Told Me" by John Lennon

I feel like we've had this conversation on here before, but solo John Lennon? Often preachy and annoying. I'll take Harrison any day. And I know far too little about solo McCartney and Wings. I've got a two-disc compilation that I'm afraid to listen to because of "Simply Having a Wonderful Christmastime," a song so actively bad it turned me off both Christmas and wonderful times. Side note, am I gonna have to rebuy all the Beatles albums when they re-release them next month? I know they're "digitally remastered" but I feel like the sound on the discs I already have is pretty quality. I know Rolling Stone is going to have an article about what a "revelation" the new sound is, they say that about everything. "The dogs barking at the end of Sergeant Pepper sound close enough to be humping your leg!" Rolling Stone has, in my lifetime, gone from the best music magazine available to the absolute worst. It's a travesty. Terrible writing, the worst movie reviews outside of Ben Lyons, borderline offensive political essays, etc. But back to reissues, is every band going to do this now? I just found myself re-buying the entire Replacements catalog, but at least those discs had ample bonus material. The Beatles reissues will just be the songs. Thoughts? You laying down the dough?

"Norwegian Wood (This Bird Has Flown)" by The Beatles

Well shit, now I just blew all my Beatles conversation on the Lennon song. Nothing really to say here, except that this song is amazing and looking at that Anime picture up top is giving me a little Norwegian wood myself. Ummmm... Beatles Rock Band. You guys into that?

I'm not making any promises this time, but I would like to start updating the blog again, at least weekly. If anyone still checks this site, let me hear you. You know I love it when you shuffle your damn self, and share your ten songs in the comments. And I WILL respond by mocking/praising your music, just as you should do with mine. 

Let me explain. The past six months have been a whirlpool full of whirlwind. After a long trip home to New York for Thanksgiving, I took a long trip home to Missouri for Christmas. After that, my writing partner and I completed a pilot script for ABC Studios and the Fox network. After that, we started back at It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia, earlier than expected. Most of the fifth season has been written, including our episode, which involves Kitten Mittens. We wrote and turned in a feature film comedy script. Somewhere in the mix I paid off my credit card debt and acquired a girlfriend (unrelated events). I been busy.

The next several months look busy as well. Sonny and I signed on to handle the DVD content for the fourth season (the last one that aired) of Sunny, the DVD content for the fifth season (which will be airing this Septemberish), the DVD content for the upcoming DVD Christmas special (which should drop around...you guessed it!), and, as we did last year, all of the original website and blog content. 

Am I complaining? Lord no. A year and a half ago I was so out of my gourd and poor that I was forced to murder and eat a family of four. (Tip: If you're going to murder and eat a family of four, regardless of your sexual orientation, start with the females. It's just a more tender cut of meat.) I still stand by my prediction, made years ago, that the world will end in 2020. And things have only gotten worse since I wrote THIS POST.  America is a complete shambles right now and I realize how incredibly lucky I am to have gainful employment (not sure what "gainful" means) in this economy. 

But obviously this blog has fallen by the wayside (not sure what "wayside" means). For those of you who had to come here every day only to stare at Mickey Rourke's ugly mug one more time, I'm sorry. As I've explained before, when you spend most of your time writing for money, it's hard to convince yourself to write for pleasure. It's like the fisherman who would rather gouge out an eye than eat some halibut. Or the magician who doesn't feel like doing his tricks during his down time, thank you very much. Or the serial rapist who just wants to cuddle with his wife when he gets home.

But I'm going to work on it. I can't believe it's the end of March and I haven't discussed my favorite movies and music of 2008. Those lists are coming. But the in-depth movie reviews will probably go. I can talk all the shit I want about the new U2 album (and I intend to), but I can do that because I'm not professionally making music and I will likely never grab a pint with Bono. I can't keep dumping on movies, because I've been meeting and becoming friends with a lot of people who write and direct them. Doing the reviews has always been fun for me, but I can't risk pissing off people I may potentially work with someday. Not that they're all poring over this site, of course, but it seems needlessly risky and dumb. This is why I don't write about television much anymore, it's not a good career strategy. This is why I don't write about my family and ex-girlfriends much anymore, you have to see these people again. It might not make for as edgy a blog, but I'm an adult and I've got a life to maintain.

But I am back, and will try to post with more frequency. Going by my current rate of one post every three months, this should not be difficult. As for you, thanks for not going anywhere!

THE WRESTLER (A)

Much has been written about Mickey Rourke's performance in The Wrestler, and much more will be written. It's the best performance of the year, and one of the best of my lifetime. Rage, disappointment, failure, weariness, surprising humor and charm, it's all there in his face. He almost doesn't need to speak. You don't catch him acting, you can't. He's equally amazing in powerhouse emotional scenes with his daughter and in scenes where he's just filling deli orders at a grocery store (the film's funniest and most delightful scenes). And when I think that he'll likely be competing with (and perhaps losing to) the likes of Brad Pitt and Leonardo DiCaprio this year, it makes me really frustrated. He deserves the award, and not because he's earned it by having a tough life or because he's due for a comeback, but because he acted wrestling rings around everyone else. If there is any justice, he'll take the prize. Alright, enough gushing about Rourke. What about the movie?

What bothers me about most peoples' take on the film is that while they acknowledge the greatness of Rourke, they write the film off as a one-note Rocky retread. Really? That's all you got out of it? And what the hell is wrong with Rocky anyway? The Wrestler splits the difference between the shaggy dog aspects of Rocky (it's closer to Rocky Balboa, actually) and the emotional violence and pain of Raging Bull, and that's a mix I'd think anyone would be thrilled to achieve. Granted, certain aspects of the story, like Rourke's strained relationship with his daughter (played by Evan Rachel Wood, who is a bit out of her league but pretty true to how girls of that age behave) are familiar, but Rourke and director Darren Aronofsky see to it that nothing gets too sentimental, ever. I mean, how could one watch the stunning final scene of this movie and not see this as a tragedy of the highest order? Different strokes, I guess. Whatever your take, if that music cue before he goes onstage for that final showdown doesn't make your balls (or breasts) fill with juice (or milk), I don't want to know you.

Let's also pause to talk about Marisa Tomei, who is terrific. Aside from her very strong performance, Tomei is so naked so often in this movie. So naked. So often. And she's perfection. She's never looked better. I know that doesn't have much bearing on the movie, but I want you to see the thing. She plays Rourke's stripper love interest (kinda, it's more complicated than that), and she's a perfect compliment. These are two people who are broken down by life, people relying on their bodies to bring them in money, people whose bodies are very close to giving out. It's a lovely parallel, and they're great together. Their scene in a bar, singing along to Ratt's "Round and Round" is hilarious, awkward, and, like everything else in the film, totally 100% real. 

You are there, for every scene of the movie. You're in the shitty parts of New Jersey, you're at a run-down carnival, you're in a hellishly fluorescent grocery store, you're banging some big-boned gal in her firefighter-themed bedroom. This kind of realism ain't easy to achieve, which is why so many movies feel so phony. Perhaps Aronofsky doesn't reinvent the wheel technically or visually (hasn't he done that enough?), but this movie would have been derailed by flashy camera tricks. Perhaps the script, by former Onion editor-in-chief Robert Siegel, isn't twisty and experimental, it doesn't need to be. It's a character study, and one on a par with those amazing 70's films that clearly inspired it. I've seen it three times, I'll see it three more. This is one of my favorites of the decade, and easily my favorite movie of the year. Whatever winds up in second place will be miles behind. 

THE CURIOUS CASE OF BENJAMIN BUTTON (B-)

Benjamin Button is a beautiful film, and there are moments in it that are unlike anything I've seen. It's a technical marvel, and the special effects are special indeed and actually serve the story. I certainly admired this Forrest Gump Dark trip through a man's reverse life, I just didn't like it. It's pretty fucking hard to like. The main issue here is the unbearable length, a real problem with movies this year. She's about three hours, folks. Coulda been two real easy. This is an adaptation of an F. Scott Fitzgerald short story! SHORT! The entire middle hour, with high seas adventure and a deadly dull Tilda Swinton romance could have been cut with no effect on anything. Do these people hire editors?

But you know, there's enough good here that I could have gone along with the whole thing if a stronger actor was carrying things. If Meet Joe Black taught me anything (other than how quickly I can become suicidal), it's that Brad Pitt should not be the centerpiece of a three hour movie. He brings nothing to the table here. Nada. Luckily, he's got the great Cate Blanchett to make him look better, but can we all agree to stop pretending Pitt is some kind of major talent? He's a great set of abs who's banging a great set of tits. That's it. Even in his "good" performances, he is very obviously "acting!". I am a major David Fincher fan, but just as Scorsese needs to quit working with DiCaprio, Fincher needs to find another muse. Oh, and speaking of DiCaprio... 

REVOLUTIONARY ROAD (B+)

Did you just get engaged? Go see something else. This is an endlessly depressing and utterly hopeless look at marriage. No one in the film is happy, and the suggestion is that no one in the film will ever be happy. Merry Christmas! The movie is great looking, Winslet and DiCaprio are very strong, there is an outstanding supporting turn from Michael Shannon, and the whole affair is gripping from start to finish. Really, the only problem Revolutionary Road has is that so many films have done the suburban misery thing before, and done it far better. Off the top of my head, there's Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, War of the Roses, The Ice Storm, even American Beauty, which, like Road, was directed by Winslet's husband (awkward much?) Sam Mendes. Those films just cut deeper, hit harder, resonated more strongly. The 50's workplace stuff here might have been really interesting, but we're already getting the best possible version of that with Mad Men. So what we have here is a very good movie that needed to be very great to stand out among the greats that preceded it. It's not, so it doesn't. 

YES MAN (C+) 

Let's talk about Jim Carrey. I hate when people use the word "brave" to describe acting. There's nothing brave about it. If you're taking your clothes off, okay, that's kind of brave. But firemen, policemen, armed forces...they're brave. You're spending your days in a trailer having whatever you want to eat and drink brought to you. You're not brave. And yet, I wouldn't balk if you referred to Jim Carrey's early work that way. Carrey's Ace Ventura is one of the bravest comedy performances of all time. Carrey played that role so many miles over the top that it could have been career suicide. His work in Dumb and Dumber was just as raw, just as fascinating and insane. That tense, manic, angry, wounded energy is nowhere on display in The Yes Man. Jim Carrey is trying to "do" Jim Carrey, and it's disappointing and occasionally sad to watch. He seems like nothing in the world bothers him, and that's not funny at all. Getting happy ruins musical careers and it ruins comedy careers. Carrey squandered his prime funny years trying to prove how serious an actor he was. And now we're left with the hollow shell onscreen here.

All that being said, The Yes Man is a very sweet movie. Zooey Deschanel is as adorable here as she was in Elf, and that's saying something. Her romance with Carrey really works, and that's enough to make the whole flick go down real smooth. Unfortunately, it's just not funny. At all. The great John Michael Higgins - usually a laugh machine - is completely wasted. Joke after joke fizzles and dies. But it sure is pleasant to watch. If pleasant is enough for you, and it certainly is for most of the moviegoing public, check it out. But this baby screams "Hungover Sunday HBO On Demand Viewing."

VALKYRIE (C) 

"Okay, everybody. Say cheese!" 

The pulse-pounding story of the attempt to kill Hitler?! Sounds awesome. Wait a minute...Hitler killed himself. So, ah...these guys didn't do shit then, right? Oh, and they all died? Hmm. That doesn't sound like much fun. The attempt itself must be really exciting, though, yeah? No? Just a tiny failed bombing? Ahhhhh. Well, how is Tom Cruise's German accent? What do you mean, he doesn't use one? He's playing a German officer, right? Well, what kind of accent does he...no accent? None? Just speaks like Tom Cruise in Risky Fucking Business? How about the other actors playing Germans? They mostly use British accents? Well, isn't that stupid? Does anyone speak with German accents? The German actors, right. So you've got people with British, German, and American accents having conversations, and they're all supposed to be from the same location? Doesn't seem like that would work at all. It doesn't? Uh-huh. And doesn't Tom Cruise talking like Jerry Fucking Maguire in WWII Germany come off as a little out of place? It does. Okay. I figured. So...why am I seeing this again? I'm not? I should just see something else? Okay. Sounds good. Nice talking to you.

Have high hopes for all the big holiday Oscar movies? Sorry. Almost all of 2008's "prestige pictures" are tremendous letdowns. 

SEVEN POUNDS (D)

Will Smith follows up the trainwreck that was Hancock with a movie that is worse. The director, Gabriele Muccino, collaborated with Smith on The Pursuit of Happyness, which I thought was terrific. Something went deeply wrong here. The marketing campaign pretends this movie has some amazing secret twist that they can not reveal, and indeed the film doesn't let you know what's going on for 9/10 of the frustrating, miserable running time. But if you can be bothered to keep your eyes open, you will see the "twist" coming twenty miles away. What you might not predict is exactly how Will Smith will act out his mystery plan, and that is where the script by Grant Nieporte really starts to fall apart. I dare you to keep from giggling during the soon-to-be-infamous "bathtub scene." The movie is completely devoid of humor and energy, and just relentlessly drags, lurching from one Grey's Anatomy musical montage to the next. It's a shameful movie, really, redeemed only slightly by a pretty neat final scene, by Rosario Dawson's endlessly delightful rack, and by a Woody Harrelson toupee that must be seen to believed. Bad. 

Oh, and are you curious as to what the title means? You will be after the movie too. 

 DOUBT (A-) 

John Patrick Shanley (directing for the first time since Joe Vs. the Volcano, a movie that is just now starting to get its long-deserved due)'s Doubt is an extremely juicy actors' showcase, and since we're talking about a couple of the best actors alive, I say let 'em do their stuff. Meryl Streep is excellent (and maybe channeling Nancy Marchand's Livia Soprano?) as a hardcore nun at a Catholic school shortly after the Kennedy assassination. Philip Seymour Hoffman is typically strong as a priest who may or may not be molesting students. And they go at it big time, in one expertly written scene after another. I've seen the movie twice, had long conversations debating every key moment after both screenings, and still have my...doubts...about what exactly happened. Just about every scene can be read pretty much however you want, which is pretty exciting. It's nice just to have something to talk about after a movie. I never saw the Broadway play, so can't make that comparison. But comparing it to the other films of 2008, Doubt easily ranks near the tippy top of a crappy crop. Powerful stuff. (Both the movie and that rhyme I just laid down.)

QUANTUM OF SOLACE (C)

Several friends told me "After the opening car chase, it's pretty bad." You can imagine my disappointment when I walked into the screening as the opening car chase was ending. What I did see left me feeling exactly like every other James Bond movie I've seen: "This was exactly like every other James Bond movie I've seen." I didn't think Casino Royale was some bold new step forward for the franchise, I don't think Daniel Craig is some electric screen presence, and the action and certainly story of Quantum of Solace are nowhere near enough to make this thing stand out in a post-Bourne world. Hot chicks, though. So there's that. 

AUSTRALIA (C+)

Ever wish there was a historical Australian romance between the coldest actress alive and a clearly gay man? Did you further wish it could be directed by the "MAKE IT BIGGER AND LOUDER AND MORE OBNOXIOUS!" filmmaker who vomited the inexplicably adored Moulin Rouge all over us a few years ago? And that it contained uneasy messages about racism? And that it could run nearly three hours? Well, wish no more! That movie is here! Sigh. Director Baz Luhrman turns down the Moulin Rougeiness to some degree - at least I never wanted to claw my eyes and ears out with Australia. It's a pleasant enough throwback to the epic filmmaking of decades ago, and it's absolutely gorgeous to look at, with some really impressive cinematography and effective action sequences. But at the end of the day, who in God's name wanted three hours of this? 

 WENDY AND LUCY (C) 

Young woman's car breaks down in a small town. Little by little, her money situation goes from bad to worse. She loses her dog, too. That's all, folks! I tell you, she just can't find that dog! God damn, it's exciting! This is one of those movies critics like to champion for its "realism," but the fact of the matter is, real life is pretty fucking boring sometimes. Today I woke up, had some Cinnamon Toast Crunch, and worked on a script. I'll be heading to the gymnasium momentarily. That's the realism of my life this week. I'm not going to be making a movie out of it. It's a shame this thing just sits there like it does, because I should have related very strongly to the tale of a young person with a constant, terrified eye on her bank account. I was there less than a year ago. 

Michelle Williams is fine, I suppose. She doesn't wear makeup, so you know she's really fucking serious. There is one tremendously likable character - the security guard beautifully played by Wally Dalton. But Williams' character can barely muster the energy to thank him for all he does for her, and so you wind up not giving a shit about her. And when you don't give a shit about a character who's in every single scene, an 80 minute movie (which this is) feels more like 120. Director Kelly Reichardt also did Old Joy, which has been repeatedly recommended to me and which has sat on my DVR for six months. If it's anything like this, I'm confident I'm not missing much. 

Before I get to the big holiday December Oscar flicks (I've seen pretty much every one of them, and let me just tell you - prepare to be disappointed time and time again!), I thought I'd play a bit of early Fall catch-up with films I should have written up months ago - brief thoughts on movies that I really only have brief thoughts about:

BLINDNESS (C+)

What happens when the world goes blind? According to Blindness - rape, rape, and more rape! Beautiful to look at but deeply flawed, Blindness starts with a fascinating premise, works like gangbusters for 20 minutes, then deteriorates quickly into mass hysteria and in-your-face unpleasantness. A queasy mix of Lord of the Flies and 28 Days Later. And rape.

LAKEVIEW TERRACE (B) 

A surprisingly effective thriller from director Neil LaBute. He didn't write this one (David Loughery and Howard Korder did), but it dives into his big obsessions - race, class, cruelty, sex, and sexuality. Interracial couple (nice work by Patrick Wilson and Kerry Washington, who is one of the top five or six most beautiful women in film today) moves in next to unbalanced and anti-interracial-relationship cop (Samuel L. Jackson, wisely underplaying for the first time in a while). Thrillery hijinks ensue. Not as juicy as a LaBute-scripted take on the material would have been, but mighty tense, really entertaining, and doesn't explode in the third act, like most thrillers these days.

EAGLE EYE (C-) 

Big, loud, dumb, this is Tony Scott Lite, which is to say so Lite it barely exists. I continue to enjoy Shia Lebeouf, who is shaping up to be one of the best young actors we've got. (Although who's his competition, Zac Efron?) He grounds this nonsense as best he can. Billy Bob Thornton is a welcome addition to the cast, and lights things up when he's around. But this is a pretty lame flick, and the tacked on message at the end is a) glaringly obvious and b) about five years too late. 

ELEGY (B-)

An occasionally gripping May-December love story. Strong performances from Ben Kingsley and Penelope Cruz (who showcases her glorious breasts, FYI), but a lagging pace and a rather forced and maudlin third act "twist" keep it from being a real success.

I.O.U.S.A. (B+)

Really solid documentary that couldn't be more timely. It was released a few months ago, and - get this - predicts that America is headed for financial ruin! Uh...good call, fellas! I saw it before things completely fell to shit, and it scared me plenty, I imagine watching it now would cause a lot of sad, uncomfortable laughter and sighs. Had this found a larger audience...it probably still wouldn't have changed anything. But it's still essential viewing for anyone who wants to know exactly how our country got into this catastrophe. And no, it's not entirely George W. Bush, he was just the match on a huge pile of oily rags. 

Outside of olde tymey British period pieces, biopics are easily my least favorite genre of film. Hey, you know that person you already know pretty much everything about? Well, we're going to tell you all of it...again! And it's gonna be long. And it's gonna be slow. And everyone involved is really gunning for an Academy Award, so you can count on speeches speeches speeches! You excited yet?

Knowing my prejudice, here are reviews of three new biopics - one pointless, one full of point but not perfect, one perfectly on point.

FROST/NIXON (A) 

Instead of taking you through the life of Richard Nixon (snooze), or rehashing the Watergate saga all over again, Frost/Nixon goes the All the President's Men (see: awesome) route and looks at familiar events from an unfamiliar perspective. Focusing on a series of interviews between British journalist David Frost and Nixon, almost all of this material was new to me, and for a history lesson, it's downright thrilling. Most surprising to me was how green Frost was, almost the Ryan Seacrest of his day. All style, little substance, more interested in gladhanding celebrities and fame and womanizing than hard news -- that's the Frost the movie presents. He takes on the Nixon interviews for ratings alone, and both sides are confident the discussion will be a real softball game. So when something snaps in Frost and he decides to really gut the man, it's a showdown unlike any other I've seen. How fascinating that the man to publicly (and rightly) shame Nixon really didn't give a shit about politics, and - as one character states early on - had never even voted!

If the movie sounds dry, let me assure you it is not. The pre-interview stuff is terrific, and the supporting cast (chock full of the finest character actors - Sam Rockwell and Oliver Platt on the Frost side, Kevin Bacon and Toby Jones on the Nixon side) is just top-notch. And when the main event - the interviews themselves - roll around, no one in the theater will be taking a bathroom break. I can't say enough about Frank Langella here. You doubt him as Nixon for about 30 seconds - he doesn't look a great deal like him, the voice seems a bit off - but then he just...becomes the man, right before your eyes. If I hadn't seen Mickey Rourke in The Wrestler, I'd call this the performance of the year without hesitation. He has a drunken phone conversation with Frost (the sole reason for the film's wildly inappropriate "R" rating) that is a total jaw-on-the-floor stunner. And while Langella certainly overshadows Michael Sheen's Frost, it's only because the movie requires it. Sheen is fantastic, in what is probably the more challenging role. He expertly exudes that "supreme confidence on the outside, complete uncertainty of his abilities on the inside" personality that is steadily overtaking television, particularly television "news."

Peter Morgan adapts his play, and the script is about as flawless a piece of writing as the year in film has produced. And major props to Ron Howard, long one of the most "faceless" of great directors. He never brings much visual flash to the table, but there's something to be said about the outstanding performances he gets, and has always gotten, from what are typically huge casts brimming with big personalities. This is his best work since Apollo 13, and it has a similar slam-bang combo of history and human emotion. By the time the beautifully scripted final scene (shades of There Will Be Blood) rolls around, you may be shocked by how much you care about both the "villain" and the "hero" of the piece, and delighted by how much gray colors this story that seemed at the outset to be straight up black and white. A really fine film, highly timely, and one of the year's best. Oh, and it's funny as shit.

W. (B-)

An even-handed documentation of the life of George W. Bush? Who asked for this? Oliver Stone, one of the greatest nutjobs in movie history, puts his claws away for the one movie we really wanted them to be used. Hey Stoney, don't try to make me feel sympathy for the man who steamrolled this country into despair and hopelessness. Don't try to make me care about the guy who epically mishandled every major event that came his way. Get mad, dude! Josh Brolin does a great Bush impresssion, the rest of the impressively stacked supporting cast hits all the right notes, but I left feeling just as empty and confused as the past eight years of politics have made me feel.

MILK (B)

At every turn, Milk threatens to become the sort of big, goopy, Hollywood biopic I mentioned in the introduction - packed with grandstanding speeches and unearned sentimentality. The story - of assassinated gay rights activist Harvey Milk, the first openly gay individual elected to public office (city supervisor, to be exact) in California - lends itself to melodrama, but that is wisely avoided. Key dramatic moments are handled subtly, with little fanfare. The performances are mostly reserved. Sean Penn has been shamelessly hammy of late, with I Am Sam and the dreadful All the King's Men showcasing him at his most grotesque. At this point, I fully expected him to play the homosexual Milk in a tutu, diamond earrings, and bright red lipstick. Commendably, he keeps the prancing and mincing to a minimum (mincimum?), and he's pretty affecting here. The other players are strong as well -- James Franco, Emile Hirsch, and particularly Josh Brolin do fine work. 

But basically, I'm just writing about all the problems Milk doesn't have, which I suppose shows how passionless I am about the film. Like W., the matter-of-fact nature of the storytelling left me cold and somewhat uninspired. You look at what may be the pinnacle of modern biography storytelling - Spike Lee's Malcolm X - which leaves the viewer rocked, angry, and drained - and something like this just doesn't come close. It's curiously safe, strangely tame for a daring (and openly gay) filmmaker like Gus Van Sant. I understand trying to reach the largest possible audience with this material, but the fact that Milk is being released after the vote on Proposition 8 (which banned gay marriage in California) is surprising to put it mildly, stupid to put it strongly.

A bulk of the film concerns the vote on Proposition 6, a 1978 bill that would have banned homosexuals from holding teaching positions. And maybe it's naive, but I think seeing this film (if people had seen it - a big "if," I realize) prior to the election could have helped sway at least some of the closed-minded morons who voted against gay marriage last month. Ah, but if they had released this earlier in the year, it would have been forgotten by Academy Award nomination time. Call me cynical, but I have a strong feeling that's why the movie didn't hit theaters at a time when it would have -y'know - actually mattered. Watching the film post-vote, the message comes across as a lot less "we shall overcome" and a lot more "America was full of dicks then, it's full of dicks now." Only difference is that the vast majority of Californians in 1978 voted against Prop 6, showing that, at one magical time, the state of California exhibited compassion and believed in equal rights for all. We've fallen a long way, baby.

SYNECDOCHE, NEW YORK (B-)

"Willfully abstruse" is the best way I can describe Synecdoche, NY, a title that - like the film - seems designed to baffle. The great Charlie Kaufman wrote and directed, and this is his least accessible film, which is really saying something. It's a shame, too, because I was totally on board for the fascinating and funny first hour. But then things go cuckoo bananas. What's it about? Ahhhh....I don't really know how to summarize the "plot," because I'm not entirely sure what happens. And I didn't really enjoy that sensation the way I do with a David Lynch movie, probably because I don't think Kaufman is as talented a director. I hate to shit on a challenging film at a time when movies are content to be lazy and stupid, but you're not gonna get a great deal of enjoyment out of this. Anyone who tells you he or she has it figured out is likely wearing a beret and wrong. It's the kind of film that demands to be seen more than once...and yet, I probably won't see it again. 

SLUMDOG MILLIONAIRE (B)

Hey! America! Calm down! Just calm it down! For some reason, there is one of these movies every year - a sweet, slightly above average, entertaining little movie that critics and the public can't stop jizzing all over. Last year it was Juno. This year, it is Slumdog Millionaire, a film I can pretty much guarantee will get the most undeserved Best Picture nomination since...Juno. Danny Boyle directs, and as with all of his recent films, it looks awesome but left me shrugging.

The plot is fairly ridiculous - Indian kid goes on Who Wants to Be a Millionaire, and goes all the way to the top prize. But how does he get there? How did this...slumdog...know all the answers? We'll see him interrogated and tortured (really?) by the powers that be to find that out, and for each answer we flash back to an event from his life and learn how he acquired the pertinent information. It's a cute enough idea for a movie, but man, it sure does get old. Every single question corresponds to a life event. "How do I know about such-and-such? Well, sit back and I'll tell you a story..." Over and over and over again. 

I might have been more involved in the dude's story if the role wasn't filled by the blank-faced and dull Dev Patel, who is blown out of the water by the adorable kid who plays his role as a boy. As soon as that little boy started growing up, my interest withered. I honestly believe that a lot of the reason people are going so nuts over this thing is because it has a really fantastic Bollywood musical number over the end credits. It really sends you out with a smile on your face. But is what comes before it really all that special? Let's calm it down, America.

Let's calm it down. 

FLASH OF GENIUS (B+) 

By contrast, nobody got all excited over this little movie, and that's a damn shame. It's a tough sell, I'll grant you. On the surface, it's the true tale of the man who invented the intermittent windshield wiper. "Finally this story will be told on the big screen!" screamed no one. But it's actually a pretty powerful testament to believing in yourself. When the car manufacturers steal his idea and pass it off as their own, Bob Kearnes (the typically excellent Greg Kinnear) devotes his entire life to setting things right, no matter what happens to his marriage (to the lovely Lauren Graham), his family, his health, even his sanity. You may find yourself getting just as frustrated with Kearnes as those around him. He's not a particularly likable character. But by the end, I found myself extremely moved and on the edge of my seat. It comes together like a great sports movie, but it's not so simple. You'll be just as conflicted as you are excited, and that's a feeling I haven't had too often at the movies. Oh, and my old fuckbuddy Alan Alda has a great little role. This is a good one.

 NICK AND NORAH'S INFINITE PLAYLIST (B+) 

Very sweet little movie, truly romantic, and the first teen flick in years that really earns a John Hughes comparison. The writing isn't as sharp as Hughes, but the characters feel fresh and authentic. It doesn't just cough up the same old teen cliches, the world and the people are totally real and act reasonably throughout. Strange how surprising that can be. Michael Cera gets what may be his Cera-est role to date (Ceraously!) as Nick, an indie kid who's just on the right side of annoying. Kat Dennings is really sharp as Norah, and it is massively refreshing to see a female role developed so thoroughly in this genre. The romance is fairly standard stuff, until an amazingly intimate scene of the pair getting physical ups everything considerably. I believed these two crazy kids were falling in love. Oh, and special props to Ari Graynor, who keeps things from getting too sweet and does a flawless drunk for the entire running time.

The director, Peter Sollett, does a commendable job capturing Manhattan. It felt exactly like a lot of nights I spent there, and the city hasn't looked this authentic and inviting onscreen in a long while. Made me second-home-sick. (Sollett did a similarly great job with the city in his debut film - the excellent and little-seen Raising Victor Vargas. Check it out.) The script by Lorene Scafaria (an adaptation of a teen novel I never read because I am old), is smart and funny. Proof positive that a "cute movie" doesn't have to be a terrible thing, this is a great first date flick.

BODY OF LIES (D+) 

Two fine actors (Russell Crowe and Leonardo DiCaprio), a fine director (Ridley Scott), and a fine screenwriter (William Monahan, Oscar winner for The Departed) team up to bring us...a real turdburger. Crowe and DiCaprio engage in an unconvincing accent-off, with DiCaprio winning by a nose. Crowe is kind of fun here actually, Foghorn Leghorn accent and all. With loads of extra pounds and a stupid haircut, he looks exactly like excellent character actor and awesome-last-name-haver J.T. Walsh. DiCaprio is really terrible, and he squanders all the goodwill I built up for him following the one-two punch of The Departed and Blood Diamond. I mean, look at his face in that photograph! Is he serious?!?! Is he pooping?!?! It's as though the director told him to make a "mad face." His acting here is on a par with his performance as troubled teen Luke Brower in TV's Growing Pains.

This is yet another movie about terrorism, and for all the firepower on display, it is powerfully dull. I remember very little about it, except my valiant (and occasionally losing) struggle to stay awake. At a 2PM show. Never a good sign. Also notable for containing the most pointless and forced film romance since...well since Leonardo DiCaprio and Jennifer Connelly in Blood Diamond. The guy doesn't have to bang someone every time out, Hollywood. Let him focus on FOILING TERRORIST ATTACKS!

MIRACLE AT ST. ANNA (C+)

Oh, Spike Lee. Oh, Spike Spike Spike Lee. Without hesitation, I put Mr. Lee in the top five filmmakers working today. A lot of people claim his best work is behind him, and while I can concede he's never bettered his 20 year-old masterpiece - Do the Right Thing, he's doing consistently impressive work. The 25th Hour is one of the best movies of this decade and the best movie yet made about 9/11. Anyone who can make When the Levees Broke and Inside Man in the same year deserves high praise. I say all this as an intro because I also have to be a Spike Lee apologist from time to time. A lot of people hate the guy, seemingly because he is opinionated and black. But also because, well, because sometimes he makes shit. She Hate Me, for example, is one of the more misguided movies in recent memory. It's part of the reason I love the guy, though. If you're gonna fail, fail big and fail ambitiously. Don't bore me. 

Well, Miracle at St. Anna is an ambitious failure. And, yeah, it's kinda boring. At 2 hours and 40 minutes, it is easily 40 minutes too long. It's also pretty easy to spot what should have been removed, there are a lot of really random subplots going on here. A romance triangle with two of the soldiers and an Italian girl is particularly egregious...although I'm willing to let it slide because the woman has perhaps the most perfect breasts I have ever seen on film. (Valentina Cervi is the name. Can you imagine going through life with those breasts and that name? Is there anything you couldn't do?)

Every time Lee starts to whip up some real interest and excitement, there's a scene around the corner waiting to sabotage what he's built. There's a Saving Private Ryan-style framing device that was so awful it made me wish I had fled from the theater at the five-minutes-to-go mark. Whoever let him keep that closing scene in should be fired. There's a great, visually spectacular war movie in here, and an important one, but like the double album that shoulda been a single - there's just too much embarrassing crap in the mix. It's the Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness of war movies.

Today, three entertaining movies with a lot going for them that just barely miss the mark... 

BURN AFTER READING (B)

These two are probably not watching Burn After Reading. 

Ah, the Coen Brothers. They're responsible for some of my favorite movies of all time, and I'm talking top 20 here -- Raising Arizona, Fargo, The Big Lebowski. So when they release a movie that is merely enjoyable, like Burn After Reading, it's very likely I come down too hard on it. Had this film been made by anyone else (which is unthinkable, really, their trademarks are all over this), I might have been a bit more fond of it. As such, it's an above average film, a below average Coen film.

About half the performances are terrific, with George Clooney, Richard Jenkins, and John Malkovich the standouts. The other half are goony and too broad -- even Frances McDormand and especially Brad Pitt, who plays his role like he's the wacky neighbor on According to Jim. The story, as is the case with a lot of Coen films, is beside the point, although I'd argue it's a bit too inconsequential here. There comes a point where cool indifference becomes laziness and the audience feels jerked around, not in a good way. There are great moments throughout -- a dildo gag really threw me for a loop -- and the hilarious scenes with David Rasche and J.K. Simmons (whom I still see as Schillinger from Oz, and therefore always think he is moments away from ass-raping someone) rank with the Coens' best. It's fun and wonderfully brief (90 minutes), but it all amounts to a big "eh,", and while it's certainly worth checking out, there's no rush.

CHANGELING (B) 

"Ma'm. We need to talk to you about your hat." 

Pretty awesome true story here - In 1920's Los Angeles, police corruption is running rampant. Woman loses her son, cops don't want to chalk up another loss, so they return a boy who isn't hers. Or is he? Or isn't he? Or do they? Or should they? Or would they? Or could they? Or are you? Or am I?

For the first half of the film, we don't really know what's going on, and director Clint Eastwood really takes his time (too much time, in my humble opinion) taking us into this world and putting us through this ordeal with Angelina Jolie's character (I could look up her character's name, but instead I'll just look at the above photo and refer to her as Penis Head). Then, when it seems like things should be winding down, a whole new movie starts up unexpectedly, and this one packs in all the twists and turns and excitement and suspense and horror the first half lacked. First half - okay, slow, pokey. Second half - super sweet.

John Malkovich is gold (a theme in today's reviews), Jolie is good enough as Penis Head, Amy Ryan nails a small role (how fantastic has she been on The Office, by the way?), relative newcomer Jason Butler Harner steals the show with a frightening performance, and Jeffrey Donovan vomits up the worst Irish accent since Tom Cruise in Far and Away. 

Depressing, frustrating, unsatisfying, and yet...I kinda dug it. 

CHOKE (B-) 

I love movies about deviants (good to see my people represented on the big screen), and I love Sam Rockwell (be sure to check out maybe his all-time best work in this year's little-seen Snow Angels). I also love sex and nudity and stories about dysfunctional families. How could Choke not win me over? I can tell you exactly how: Kelly McDonald. I can't stand this woman, and she is woefully miscast here as the love interest, essentially derailing the film. Good Lord, what a boring actress, a complete void. Everyone else is solid - Clark Gregg, who also directed and adapted Chuck Palahniuk's novel, is strong in a small role, it's good to see Anjelica Huston again, and Bijou Philips (whom I once briefly made out with, although that's a story for another time) is sexy and funny. Had they given her the McDonald role, they would have had themselves a movie.

Choke, but no cigar.