Close the Book on 2012

All in all, this was a pretty darn good year for film. Or maybe I should say, a pretty darn good last three months since so much of the good stuff got jammed in at the end of the year, just in time for awards season.

It seemed like the studio screeners came later than usual this year and, since a birthday significant enough to celebrate fell right smack dab in the middle of the mad scramble of advance screenings, it seemed impossible that I would be able to see everything worth considering. I know I didn't in time for the San Diego Film Critics Society vote, but I participated as best I could and am generally happy with the winners.

I had more time to cram before the deadline for my own end of the year list, and since I cheated by working in an "also try" section of a dozen smaller, lesser-known films worth seeking out, I feel like I've 2012 some justice.

Between the deadline for my year-end summary and today, I've had time to pop in a few more DVDs that never quite made it to the top of the pile, but deserve a shout-out, so here goes:

"ParaNorman" and "Wreck-it Ralph" - I admit it. I tend to avoid the kid stuff since I don't have kids and feel completely out of my element trying to assess what is kid-friendly. And then I watch a great animated film like "ParaNorman" and, to a lesser extent, "Wreck-it Ralph," and remember that only the bad ones are strictly for kids. After our critics group picked "ParaNorman" as best animated film of the year (I abstained from that vote), I gave it a shot and was simply delighted at what I experienced. It's the first animated film in a long while that I've wanted to immediately watch again. I'd watch "Ralph" again too, if just to catch the hundreds of visual gags and references I'm sure I missed the first time, but I'd turn down the volume -- it gets about as irritatingly clamorous as an 80's arcade.

"Ai Wei Wei: Never Sorry" - This was the one documentary I just wasn't able to get to and I really wish I had. Watching this artist/activist take on the Chinese government and model the role of the rebellious artist for his countrymen and women was truly inspiring, and even frightening. (The film is also an unintended Twitter infomercial). I definitely found another hero to admire.

"Room 237" - I always believed I was traumatized when a babysitter allowed me to watch "The Shining," but insisted I run right to bed when my mom came home. After watching "Room 237," I know I was. I was just a little older than Danny, the little kid with the extrasensory gift, and I still recall the cold shiver of terror that ran through my body as I sprinted through the house and pretended to be asleep in my pitch black bedroom.

I hoped I could find someone to watch the documentary with me, but last night I finally gave in and watched it all alone in my apartment. I thought since it was about the crackpot theories that fans of the film have devised over the years  (actually, one of them I totally buy), and not the creepy film itself, I thought I could handle it. For much of the film, narrated by the perpetually off-camera theorists over corresponding footage from "The Shining" and other films, I could. It feels like a strange puzzle poem of imagery, with recognizable actors and scenes acting out the text. But once I clicked in to director Rodney Ascher's rhythm, the cold shiver returned.

Maybe it's the distinctive music, the possessed face of Jack Nicholson, those damn Arbus twins, or just the fact that Kubrick himself was such an enigma, but I just don't think I'll ever be able to treat "The Shining" as a text for critical study. I'll leave that to the crackpots.

"Undefeated" is Unquestionably Moving

Look, "Undefeated" shouldn't have won the Oscar for Best Documentary of 2011. I'd have to really think it through to decide what film should've won, but I know it would be between "Bill Cunningham New York," "Project Nim," "Senna" and "Buck."

Even though I begrudge the film its Academy Award, I still cheer it on to victory in theaters. It's inspiring, poignant and heartbreaking. It's about how good coaching -- mentorship, really -- can change a kid's life. It certainly did for mine. And how can you not root for a movie that keeps you in a constant state of tears (happy and sad) the entire time -- BOTH times you watched it?

Of all the interviews I've done to date, talking to Coach Bill Courtney was the most thrilling. Not just because he is a hoot to listen to (he is exactly the same as he comes across on film), but that he so eloquently explains just how fundamentally his experience coaching the kids at Manassas High School changed his views on America's supposed "level playing field." Whether he meant to go there or not, he makes a truly authentic and refreshing political statement.

Here's my review of "Undefeated" and my interview with Coach Courtney. Hope you all go see the film and hope every man who has the time joins up with a mentorship program for at-risk boys. You are needed.

Saint "Senna"

My head is spinning after watching "Senna" on Netflix Instant. I can't decide which revelation to begin with so, rather than trying to finesse it, I'm going to take full advantage of the blog format and just spill it as it comes.

Before watching the documentary about Brazilian Formula One driver Ayrton Senna, I noted how my two favorite documentaries of the year --"Buck" and "Bill Cunningham New York"-- introduced me to two humble, inspirational men.  First it was Buck Brannaman, the real-life "horse whisperer" who found healing and remarkable inner peace through rehabilitating horses and their owners. Then came New York Times fashion photographer Bill Cunningham, who quietly recorded the changing times from the seat of his bicycle. Both films made me want to pack a bag and show up on either of their doorsteps, asking for them to adopt me.

And now there's Ayrton Senna. I can assure you that I wouldn't be asking him to adopt me if I showed up on his doorstep (he is a simply stunning man), but my level of admiration for his honesty, humility and nearly inhuman determination would be unmatched. When it comes to the best documentaries of 2011, let's call it a trifecta of admirable men.

Then there's director Asif Kapadia's choice to use only archival video from news coverage, team footage, home movies, and POV footage from inside Senna's car as it weaves so tightly through the narrow track that you can't help but hold your breath the entire time. There are no cutaways to in-studio interviews of the players (only the frugal use of voiceover narration from a select group of insiders). There's no sense that time has passed since Senna's prime in the late 80s through the mid-90s. You are on this ride with Senna and you are given no option to get off as the tension builds.

Kapadia is able to pull this off because Senna's career coincided with the rise of video culture. He didn't have just one or two news clips to choose from for each significant event, as might have been the case had Senna been a star of an earlier era. No, the director had a veritable smorgasbord of options as everyone and their brother seemed to be sporting a video camera during this time period.

We get different angles of the same event. Close-ups of Senna in anguish over another driver's crash. Press conference footage showing the awkward tension between the rising star and his threatened World Champion teammate, Alain Prost. Who needs a carefully scripted dramatization of one man's personal quest for victory and redemption, say "Moneyball," when you can piece it together using the real players, in the real moment?

It's almost uncanny how well Kapadia assembled it all together. It's also a little frightening when you think about how the lives of today's legends in the making --or any of us average joes--could, twenty years from now, be reassembled, edited, beautifully scored (as "Senna" was by Antonio Pinto ) and retold to a public that was on the verge of forgetting.

But the film also made me feel manipulated. I fell in love with the handsome, driven young man with a heart of gold. How could you not the way he's portrayed in the film? I'm not exaggerating when I say Senna comes off as Christlike. He's devoted to his family. His faith in God never wavers. He never brags. He never accuses. He drives with intelligence, not bravado. He rarely loses, and when he does or (gasp) makes a mistake, he always acknowledges the lesson learned. He values life outside the track, dedicating resources to help poor children in his homeland and pondering where life will take him once his driving career inevitably winds down. Senna's entire nation, crippled by poverty and political oppression, rested its hopes on his bronzed shoulders.

If the man had a flaw, Kapadia doesn't show it. Even his sex life, which one must presume was robust, is merely winked at. We get no sense of Senna as a boyfriend, friend, lover. Even his familial relationships are mostly unexplored. Believe me, I wanted to go along with the "Senna as Saint" storyline. Everyone wants a hero. All the better if he actually existed. For my own enjoyment, I was willing to buy in. That was, until this prominent credit popped up at the film's conclusion:

Made with the cooperation of Institute Ayrton Senna

This is the charitable organization established by Senna's sister after his death.

All of a sudden it felt like I'd been taken in by a highly produced tribute video made by the Senna family in honor of their beloved Ayrton.  That doesn't make him any less captivating, nor does it mean I'm no longer moved by the film. In fact, I can't get it out of my head. It just has an asterisk beside it now.

But I'd say Kapadia's most impressive accomplishment is his ability to weave in to the story a sort of "Formula One 101." I knew nothing of the sport other than what Sacha Baron Cohen showed me in "Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby." At the close of "Senna," I understood the basics of the Grand Prix competition, both on the track and throughout the season. I got a feel for the politics and money that brought the sport to the relatively corrupt level of almost all professional sports. I even came to appreciate the immense skill the sport requires and why someone might find the thrill of being behind the wheel enough of a reason to put their life on the line.

So add an asterisk to my 2011 Best Of list and consider "Senna" to be on it.

Bill Cunningham: A pure portrait

My own personal fashion icon, Bill Cunningham

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

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

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

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

Well-Directed Rage

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My man "Buck"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How I witnessed TV history for minimum wage

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy weekend!

Reviews: Jane Eyre (3 stars); I Am (2 1/2 stars)

If you're as emotionally beaten up as I am by the happenings in the world over the last week -- the disaster in Japan, the House's anti-NPR bill, the draconian cuts to education and social programs in California (including my full-time employer UC), and more I can't bring myself to think of -- then the two films I reviewed this week might serve you well.

The dreamy Michael Fassbender as
Edward Rochester in "Jane Eyre"

First, find comfort in the familiar with the umpteenth film adaptation of "Jane Eyre." With so much unforeseen devastation in real life, sometimes it's nice to know exactly who is hidden in the attic. But still, director Cary Fukunaga's version stands on its own and is certainly worth a trip to the theater (Michael Fassbender's jawline alone is worth the price of admission). My full review here.

Director Tom Shadyac (left) and
Archbishop Desmond Tutu in "I Am"

If you're feeling lost, ashamed of the direction this country is taking, or just in the mood to reflect on the bigger themes of life, there's Tom Shadyac's philosophical treatise of a documentary, "I Am." It's not the best or deepest bit of filmmaking I've seen, but the "kumbayah" ideas he brings to the table go down as easy as mom's homemade chicken soup during times such as these. My review here.

Whatever it is you do this weekend, make it a safe and peaceful one.

Reviews: The Last Lions (4 stars); Of Gods & Men (4 stars)

Movies can seem rather trivial when compared to the disaster in Japan, but I'm relieved to say I've been in communication with my dear friend in Tokyo who is "shaken, but not stirred." His reports of the experience are frightening however and I wish him, the people of Japan, and everyone else in the wake of the resulting tsunami (maybe us?) well.

It's appropriate then that both the films I'm talking about today tackle serious, or at least contemplative, subjects--endangered lions in Africa ("The Last Lions") and endangered monks in Algeria ("Of Gods and Men").

I was privileged to be able to sit down for an hour-long conversation with filmmakers and National Geographic Explorers-in-Residence Dereck and Beverly Joubert, whose film "The Last Lions" left me a blubbering mess. They apologized in good humor when I told them that the film, at times, felt like "Schindler's List" for animals, but I insisted that it was worth every tear. You can see why in my review of the film.

But the best part was talking to this incredibly serene (and impossibly attractive) couple about their lives in the bush, where they've happily made camp for the past 28 years, their experiences in such close proximity to these breathtaking lions, and their own emotional response to what they witnessed during the filming of this incredible documentary. I could've written another 5,000 words about them (and then snuck into their suitcase for their return to Botswana), but had to whittle it down to a newspaper-sized story. I hope you'll read it.

I also strongly encourage you get to the theater to see "Of Gods and Men," a beautiful portrait of brotherhood, faith, community and duty, directed by Xavier Beauvois. If you told me that I would walk out of the theater with a complete understanding why someone would opt for the quiet life of a Trappist monk in a small Algerian village, I would've said you were insane. But regardless of your feelings about religion, this incredibly acted ensemble film will take you to this place and leave you with complete acceptance of the choices and actions this close community of men take in the face of danger from a terrorist insurgence in their village. It's a peaceful, patient film and it's in French. See it. It should have won the foreign language Oscar, or at least have been nominated!

Have a safe and peaceful weekend all.

Teenage Filmmakers, Latino Film and Monopoly? You Bet!

I'm happy to say that I have three LOCAL film-related stories in today's Union-Tribune. San Diego may be just a short drive away from Los Angeles (well, short in theory), but there are people--very sane ones, in opinion--who are making careers for themselves right here. You'll find all my articles of this nature in the Feature Articles section on the left side of this blog.

But to get right to it, here's what you'll find in today's paper:

Photo: San Diego Union-Tribune

"Life Through a Teenage Lens," a profile of the San Diego Media Arts Center's Teen Producers Project, now in its 10th year.








Highlights from the 18th Annual San Diego Latino Film Festival, which runs March 10-20 at UltraStar Cinemas in Mission Valley (and is produced by the SD Media Arts Center). More at sdlatinofilm.com

Review of  "Under the Boardwalk: The Monopoly Story," a documentary produced by San Diego filmmakers Kevin Tostado and Craig Bentley, which opens today (March 4) at UltraStar Cinemas in Mission Valley.

Now get out there and support our local filmmakers - and have a happy weekend!

Obligatory Top 10 List -- and more from 2010

"What's your favorite movie?" is probably my least favorite movie-related question. What I love about film is its potential for variety. Does it sound reasonable to judge "Clockwork Orange" against "Mary Poppins?"  I think not, which is why I like to name these two fine films as my favorites if I'm pushed to provide an answer. Just imagining Alex and his droogs in the same room as the sublime Ms. Poppins is enough to make my point.

So when it comes time to offer up my Top 10 Films of 2010 list, I'm immediately resistant. Especially after seeing so many other lists that pretty much echo each other. Alas, I give in to peer pressure and give you the ten films that made the strongest impression on me this year. Plus some movies that defied my expectations (both good and bad) and another batch that just plain pissed me off. Here you go -- and Happy New Year! 

* Links go to my original Union-Tribune reviews. No link means I didn’t review it.

Top 10 Films of 2010  (in no particular order, other than alphabetically)

127 Hours


Yes, I have a soft spot for all things Franco, but his performance as trapped hiker Aron Ralston is truly remarkable. Put that together with Danny Boyle’s energetic and imaginative direction and you get a film that elevates a People Magazine cover story to an exciting bit of filmmaking. 

Black Swan

Despite its tendency towards high-gloss camp, director Darren Aronofsky’s visual stylings and Natalie Portman’s notable performance puts this graceful fever dream of a film in my Top 10.

Blue Valentine


Director Derek Cianfrance takes a sideways look at love by weaving a couple’s painful disintegration together with their first falling in love. It’s a sad but beautiful contrast that owes much to Michelle Williams’ terrific performance opposite a fine Ryan Gosling, who’s ill-fitting accent is the only thing keeping me from heaping praise on him as well.

Carlos


The sheer scope of this 5 ½-hour epic about infamous terrorist Carlos “The Jackal” qualifies it for my Top 10 list. But director Olivier Assayas’ ability to juggle so many subplots, languages, characters, and facts, along with Edgar Ramirez’s remarkable performance as the multi-lingual title character, make “Carlos” a must-see movie marathon.

Exit Through the Gift Shop

We saw a lot of films this year that addressed the line between truth and fiction (“I’m Still Here,” “Catfish,” even “The Social Network”), but this “documentary” by renowned street artist Banksy did it best with an entertaining and thought-provoking film that still has us guessing.

I Am Love


A luscious painting of a film starring Tilda Swinton as the Russian-born, porcelain-skinned subject trapped and isolated in a lavish Italian life. A breathtaking experience, and the British Swinton once again amazes – this time by delivering her lines effortlessly in Russian-accented Italian.

Never Let Me Go


Mark Romanek’s haunting yet restrained film, based on the novel by Kazuo Ishiguro, is a quietly creepy tale of a dystopian future. With Rachel Portman’s unique score setting the tone, actors Carey Mulligan, Andrew Garfield and Keira Knightley expertly guide us through this somber story.

The Social Network


Though it may take some liberties with the truth, director David Fincher’s film about the controversial founding of Facebook captures the geek-driven, wild west landscape that led to the world dumping their personal lives online –at the command of the socially inept Mark Zuckerberg. Definitely worth two viewings: one to soak up Aaron Sorkin’s snappy script, and the next to appreciate Fincher’s tight storytelling.

Toy Story 3

It took 15 years for Pixar to reach the final chapter for Woody, Buzz and the gang, and this funny, nostalgic and even scary sendoff is just about perfect. I still come to tears just thinking about it. 

Winter’s Bone


Writer/director Debra Granik takes us into the remote Ozark Mountains where chronic poverty and rampant drug use have led to both lawlessness and hopelessness. As the brave teenager who ventures inside this dangerous world to save her family’s home, young Jennifer Lawrence delivers a career-making performance. 

Honorable Mentions

A Film Unfinished 


An important lesson about historical interpretation, this documentary shows how the Nazis staged filmed scenes of Jews in the Warsaw Ghetto in a bold (and mostly successful) attempt to hide their atrocities. A history lesson for everyone.

The Kids Are All Right


Terrific performances by all involved, and a wonderfully fresh take on ‘family’ in the modern era.

Nowhere Boy 


No surprise that 40-something director Sam Taylor-Wood ended up married to her 19 year-old star Aaron Johnson, who’s charming portrayal of a young John Lennon will steal your heart as well. Terrific performances also by Anne-Marie Duff and Kristin Scott Thomas.

The Tillman Story 


An eye-opening and heartbreaking documentary that follows the family of former NFL star Pat Tillman on their unflinching quest to find out the truth behind his wartime death.

Unfortunate Omissions

There are only so many hours in a year and, sadly, I missed seeing these two films before time ran out. From what I've read and heard, I suspect they would've made my list.

Another Year – Director Mike Leigh’s latest ensemble film

Inside Job – Charles Ferguson’s documentary about the shenanigans behind the Wall Street collapse.

Biggest Surprises (Good and Bad)


The Crazies 


Horror kitsch and gratuitous gore interest me very little, so I assumed this zombie-style film would be total schlock. So imagine my surprise when I found myself covering my eyes, leaning forward in suspense, and having a hell of a good time – and I went to the screening by myself. That’s saying something.

Jonah Hill in Cyrus 


I expected to like this predominantly improvised film, despite the fact that it starred one of my least favorite actors, Jonah Hill. Well, the presence of his talented costars John C. Reilly and Marisa Tomei must’ve had him on his best behavior – and he comes out the better for it. He is off my shit list….for now.

Inception 


I admit it. I was carried away by the idea of Inception and the excitement around it. Upon first viewing, the film was a mind-tripping visual spectacle and worth the watch. But what surprised me was how quickly it faded from memory – kind of  like a dream that feels vividly real upon waking, but is gone by breakfast.

Kick-Ass 


Comic book movies are not my thing (hence my disinterest in Comicon). But Chloe Moretz as Hit Girl won me over. A blast of a movie -- controversy over its ultra violence and little-girl bad language be damned.

The Millenium Triology on Film (and in Swedish)

Not having read the Stieg Larsson books, the first film from the series, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, blew me away (particularly Noomi Rapace’s performance as Lisbeth, which damn well better earn her an Oscar nomination). But the two films that followed, The Girl Who Played with Fire and The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest, were an exercise in disappointment.

Salt

I’m not someone who favors Angelina Jolie (I’m putting it very politely here) and action movies fall very far down on my list of preferred genres. Despite these substantial strikes against it, I was thrilled by Jolie’s stunts and happy to a happen upon an example of a Hollywood action-thriller done right.

Unstoppable 


When I first saw the preview, I laughed in the most derisive way possible. Instead of proving me right, this runaway train tale got my adrenaline pumping and had me thoroughly entertained.

Money Better Spent on Rebuilding Haiti

Last and least, here’s a quick list of movies that felt like a waste of my time and, more importantly, a lot of money that could have been put to much better use elsewhere in the world. If you must know more, read my linked reviews and spare yourself actually having to see the films for yourself.

A-Team

Eat, Pray, Love

From Paris with Love

Get Him to the Greek

Greenberg

Grown Ups

I’m Still Here

Sex and the City 2

Somewhere

Valentine's Day

When In Rome

Unfair and Off-Kilter

I've received a fair amount of negative feedback on my review of "Waiting for Superman," the Davis Guggenheim-directed documentary about the struggling U.S. education system. For the most part, I stand accused of being "biased," "politically slanted" and even "an unadulterated liberal bigot." So I thought I'd take a moment to respond.

It's clear that the offense was caused by my opening sentence:

"Whether it’s a Fox News host shouting down a liberal guest or filmmaker Michael Moore shaming a well-dressed capitalist, much of our public discourse today feels like the run-up to a professional wrestling match instead of democracy. But there are some issues — particularly our country’s failing schools — that can’t afford to wait on the sidelines any longer."

My intent here, in case you missed it,  was to demonstrate how ineffective our style of public discourse has become, relying mostly on shouting and/or name-calling instead of honest, respectful conversation about some really big problems.

Re-reading it now, I can see that the examples I chose (Fox News, Michael Moore) were too inflammatory - and I wish I could revise it to say that Michael Moore was attempting to shame a well-dressed capitalist (whether he succeeds or not is up to the viewer). But I doubt that would make much difference, because what I took away from this experience is that there will always be some people who stop reading and ramp up to anger the moment they think they've encountered an idea they might disagree with. Unfortunately, this kind of proves my point, doesn't it?

But more important here is the misconception that a movie critic is supposed to be "fair and balanced," something I heard from almost everyone who wrote to complain. Allow me to clarify:

As a critic, it is my job to give you my opinion. Whether it's my personal aversion to shallow female roles or how many fart jokes I think are too many, everything I write is my opinion. And I prefer that you know where I'm coming from upfront; what you choose to do with it from there is entirely up to you. 

On the flip side, when I write an article profiling a filmmaker (as I did with Davis Guggenheim), my opinion is no longer relevant. Instead, I focus on delivering an honest portrayal of the person, their work, and what they hope to accomplish with it. To date, no one has complained that my Guggenheim article was "politically slanted" -- nor should they.

Until Netflix finally discovers the algorithm that can generate an entirely objective movie recommendation, we're forced to rely on the subjective opinions of critics, bloggers, or whoever else you think has a worthwhile point of view.  If you still believe we're supposed to be "fair and balanced," then I may not be the critic for you. But good luck finding another one without an opinion.

Oh No, Another Holocaust Movie

www.afilmunfinished.com

I was talking with a friend today about "A Film Unfinished," the new documentary about a Nazi propaganda film shot in the Warsaw ghetto. I reviewed it last week and still can't get it out of my head (perhaps that's why I described it as "haunting"). But not because the footage was so shocking, upsetting or rare (which it is), but because it was able to alter my emotional understanding of the Holocaust after so many years of thinking I had wrapped my head around its awfulness.

There are plenty of films about or related to the Holocaust. So when another one comes out, you can just feel the unspoken (usually) groan of "Oh no, another Holocaust movie." I don't begrudge people that --unless it's coming from the "can't these Jews just get over it?" perspective, which I've heard before and pisses me off to no end.

But whether a film is based in truth or just pure imagination, it all comes down to compelling storytelling. And if you can rationally argue that we've used up every story, every struggle, every shred of the human condition from the Holocaust, then perhaps it's time for us to stop making films entirely.

However, if you're going to take your audience down this well-traveled path of horrors, then you better bring something new -- whether it's facts, style or perspective. Thankfully, "A Film Unfished" does in at least four ways:

• it provides the general public access to rare film footage of the Warsaw ghetto, normally available only to researchers;
• deepens our understanding of the Nazi propaganda machine through newly discovered outtakes and an in-depth investigation of Nazi records and post-war trial transcripts;
• shocks us out of our emotional detachment to black-and-white "history" with striking color footage of life in the ghetto;
• and it warns us by showing how a supposedly "civilized" Western society can segregate, degrade and dehumanize a group of people in plain sight.

Sadly, I have no doubt that my new depth of understanding will be applicable to the "history" that lies ahead.

"Catfish" Bait

I was absolutely enthralled by "Catfish." And I hate myself a little for it.

(I wasn't able to review the film. If you want a summary and "real" review, check out Christy Lemire's  here; )

I've heard complaints about it being exploitative or perhaps disingenuous. I definitely felt those moments and came really close to agreeing a few times. But just when I was about to proclaim the film entirely frivolous and in bad taste, that damn Nev Schulman would do something sweet, or say something adorably charming, or just smile that smile and, well, I was back in it like a pre-teen with an embarrassing crush.

See why I hate myself?


I'm 37. That's not really old (if it is, don't tell me). But in the eyes of an early 20s hipster kid, I'm just some irrelevant 40-year-old or, at best, a cougar (a term I loathe). But I am young enough to relate. To remember when life felt like just one clever joke: fresh out of college with some artsy degree, living in New York City with time to waste, and the absolute certainty that what you and your friends do is interesting enough to document on video at all times.


Just thinking of myself at this age makes the hate grow just a little more. Sort of that "If I knew then what I know now...." thing. But if I did actually know then what I know now, would I  have done something like what these guys did: produce and sell a buzzworthy documentary that's complex in tone, asks relevant questions of a modern lifestyle, and is more suspenseful and entertaining than most fictional films I've seen this year?

Of course, I was also living below the poverty level when I was wandering the streets of Manhattan--something I'm pretty sure this group of guys, with their expensive camera equipment, NYC office (in addition to apartments, I presume), can't claim for themselves. Hence the fruitlessness of regret.


But I hate myself the most because I walked out of that theater with a dizzy-headed crush on a 24-year-old "reality movie" pretty boy just because he showed admirable courage (especially while his filmmaker brother tried to wimp out), followed by an unfathomable amount of compassion in how he handled the fallout. 

Was I entirely duped into believing that Nev actually is all of those wonderful things? After all, a film--any film-- is just a carefully selected and edited set of scenes, usually staged in some way or another. Just because it's called a "documentary," doesn't mean any of the characters' I met were being real. (Uh, "I'm Still Here" anyone?) But it sure is a lot more fun to believe a fantasy than pick apart the lies.

I guess I'm a lot like Nev. After all, he was willing to believe that there really are sweet, sexy, artistic, property-owning, flexible young women living on rural Michigan horse farms, out of reach from any man even close to his league.


Guess we all have reasons to hate ourselves a little. But you should see "Catfish" anyway.

He's Not Here

I just finished writing up my review of "I'm Still Here," the Joaquin Phoenix "documentary" directed by Casey Affleck. You can find out what I thought of it when it runs on Friday in the U-T, but I just had to take a moment to say one simple thing: I still miss River Phoenix.


If you're anywhere near my age (and a girl who liked her Tiger Beat), then River's untimely death on Halloween 1993 was at least a little upsetting. For me it was more than that. I felt like I'd grown up with the guy--well, at least adjacent to him. And his talents were only touched upon before one bad choice stopped him cold (it frustrates me to no end seeing the Britneys and Lindsays of the world making even more destructive choices over and over again, and surviving to make the cover of yet another US Weekly).

I was in college when he died. Actually on a rare weekend away at a friend's beach house. When I realized I was the only one of my friends significantly upset by the news, I packed my bags, took the LIRR back to my dorm, and sat in my room to wallow.

I still think about him from time to time. When I'm near the Tijuana border crossing, I remember his performance in the 1988 Spy Thriller "Little Nikita," set in San Diego. When I see Leonardo DiCaprio in yet another Scorsese movie, I grow more convinced that River would've been his actor of choice if he were still here (sorry Leo, but you are a mere shadow in comparison).

But tonight, as I watched his younger brother Joaquin disintegrate into a (real or feigned) manic, paranoid mess, I wondered just how much River's death shaped his brother's life. He was with him the night he collapsed in front of the Viper Room and refuses to speak about his brother publicly. But it's impossible for me to consider Joaquin and his state of mind without thinking of River's place in it.

"I'm Still Here"opens with old Phoenix family home movies, including one scene of the Phoenix kids  bouncing about, performing some silly musical number. While the circular spotlight picked Joaquin out of the group, I desperately searched for signs of River. And there he was, in the back row, with an oversized guitar strapped to his small frame. It was hard for me to shake the image of that blurry boy and the grief that his brother probably still feels.

Having tragically lost a sibling myself this year, I'm willing to admit that I could be just projecting much of my grief onto the wild-eyed actor. But something tells me there's more to it than that.