Les films français = depravity, smoking, crotch shots.

Just a quick hello, how are things?, blah blah blah. I started a new job that isn't very conducive to blogging, hence the silence. Working on a post on seeing Inland Empire for the second time. In the mean time, feast upon my favorite piece of film crit in ages, courtesy of one Gina DeFalco, Netflix commentator. Of Francois Ozon's See the Sea:

Key elements to a french movie - slow as thick snot in January - moral
depravity - infidelity - boobs are shown, sometimes crotch - people smoking
This film has all of those elements, but even with the extra leeway, knowing
it is French, this movie blows choda! Only recommended if you enjoy activities like sewing your head to the carpet, or get off looking at
someones green apple splatters.

Thank you, Gina. Thank you.

This is a battle, a war, and the casualties could be your hearts and souls. (Barf.)

When watching The History Boys it's impossible not to (at least passingly) think of Peter Weir's oppressive Dead Poet's Society. While far from perfect, The History Boys is a far better film; it at least is smart and charming and has actually says something about how poetry and art and education intersect with one's life.

Anyway. That's not the point of this post.
No, I just wanted to remind you of the fact that motherfucking DPS won the Oscar for Best Original Screenplay in 1990. I know, I know... the Oscars mean nothing, they don't actually award actual talent, Kane was ignored, etc.
But just look--LOOK!--at its competition that year. (And just ignore the Ephron nom. It's fine and all, but it totally weakens my argument.)

* Tom Schulman for Dead Poets Society - Winner
* Woody Allen for Crimes and Misdemeanors - Nominated
* Spike Lee for Do the Right Thing - Nominated
* Steven Soderbergh for Sex, Lies, and Videotape - Nominated
* Nora Ephron for When Harry Met Sally... - Nominated

And just as a cherry on top: Schulman didn't have a great writing career after the majesty that is DPS. He went on to write Medicine Man, Holy Man, and Welcome to Mooseport. Karma's a bitch, huh?

This year, to save me from tears / I'll give it to someone special.

Well hello there. I've been ITless since Wednesday (thanks Time Warner!), hence the silence. Anyway, just a quick Sunday hello and a link to a website totally devoted to covers of Wham!'s "Last Christmas". You know you want to hear Erlend Øye, Travis, and/or Crazy Frog covering the third greatest modern Christmas standard*. Get over there and take your stand against the war on Christmas.



* The best modern Christmas standard ever is obviously Macca's "Wonderful Christmastime" followed by the Michael Penn/Jon Brion composition "Christmastime" (as sung by Aimee Mann).

A peak at the Empire.

A taste of what I babbled about:



Elsewhere, 'Nohla nails it:

“Inland Empire” isn’t a film to love. It is a work to admire, to puzzle through, to wrestle with. Its pleasures are fugitive, even frustrating. The first time I saw it, I was repulsed by the shivers of Lynchian sadism, a feeling doubtless informed by my adoration of the far more approachable, humanistic “Mulholland Drive.” On second viewing, though, “Inland Empire” seemed funnier, more playful and somehow heartfelt. Certainly, there is nothing but love in Ms. Dern’s performance, which is as much a gift to us as to the director who has given this actress her greatest roles. It’s easy to get lost in a David Lynch film, but Ms. Dern and her amazing rubber-band mouth, which laughs like the sun and cries us a river, proves a magnificent guide.

A friendly reminder.

Today is the day, kids.
Bernardo Bertolucci's The Conformist--one of the greatest pieces of narrative cinema in existence--is finally available on DVD. If you haven't seen it yet, bump it to the top of your queue, buy it, track it down, whatever. See it. It's an absolute essential.

If you're interested, I rambled about it last year.

You need a steak and a vitamin.

Amy Sedaris was on Conan last week and that appearance alone got me to netflix Strangers With Candy: The Movie. The film is... well, it's OK. But I laughed harder at these nine minutes than anything in the movie*. Enjoy:


*= OK, that might not be totally true. I laughed really hard when Colbert, as the science teacher, yells at his class "Eyes to the back of the room!" and then has a total ugly-crying meltdown. Ugly-crying meltdowns are the best.

Indeed.

"The one thing I'll give it: it made a compelling case for death."

--Morgan, after a screening of The Fountain.

You're kinda layin' a mindfuck on me.

47, 9:45 (or is it midnight?), Axxon--->, "Black Tambourine," Bucky Jay, bunny rabbits, circus, cursed films, dancing whores, dark hallways, dead child, DV, "good with animals," High On Blue Tomorrows, Hollywood & Vine, industrial hum, ketchup, lamp shades, laugh track, lightbulb mouth, "Locomotion," mindfuck, Polish folk tales, red curtains, screwdriver, strobe, "tell me if you recognize me from somewhere," tits & ass, trains in the distance, "yes, she's here..."
INLAND EMPIRE.

(I need to see it again.)