Trance

I watched "Trance." It was deeply horrible. Do not recommend. Redeeming qualities: Vincent Cassel, lush colors, the soundtrack.

Plimpton!

"After that, he's, well, a collector of experiences."

All movies, all the time

"Les Miserables": Miserable, indeed. I think I lasted about 60 seconds. As soon as Wolverine rowing started belting out a song, I shut it off. I don't get movies where people burst into song. Who does that?

"Life of Pi": I read this years ago and have next to no recollection of it. Same thing happened with The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time. Also with The Time Traveler's Wife.

I watched maybe the last third of "Life of Pi" on a first-class flight out of Boca Raton. Have I recommended first class? Because I cannot recommend it enough. Another time I flew first class, and they actually served warm nuts. I thought that was a punch line. In first class, it's real.

My point is I watched "Life of Pi" on a tiny screen and didn't even see all of it. I could tell, though, that it was a thing of spectacular genius, and that all those critics crowing about how it was some kind of miraculous reinvention of cinema were right. That said, I could also tell it needed to be watched the same way I saw "Avatar": in a giant theater with a giant screen and with 3D glasses.

The whole big reveal part at the end? Lame. Everything else? Enchanting.

"This Is 40": Not to be confused with "This is my rifle." It's the couple from "Knocked Up" but years later and with a cameo from the chubster from "Girls." I'd give this movie a "meh."

Some parts of it are funny, and there are a lot of toilet jokes, but it's like going out with a funny guy who is trying to be serious, and it just doesn't work.

The Apatow girls were funnier when they were younger.

"Rust and Bone": I FUCKING LOVED THIS MOVIE. Oh, my god, it's so great. And it's not even in English. I mean, I had to read subtitles the whole time, and I still loved it.

I hate to say that it has a really strongly awesome female lead because then I sound like something that fell off the feminist truck and hit its head, but the main female character, played by the always sexy Marion Cotillard (men: you get to see her boobs in it, if that inspires you to watch it), is a freakin' killer whale trainer. The main guy bare-knuckle punches people in the head for a living.

This movie is great because while beautiful things happen, terrible things happen, too. Which is like life, really. There are always these spectacular things happening -- like the monster moon rising through the streams of clouds in the darkness -- and there are always these godawful things happening -- like death, and disease, and terrors that lurk in sinkholes. That is existence in a nutshell: the beautiful ugly.

More movie blitz

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"Skyfall": Suffice to say, I wouldn't kick Daniel Craig out of bed for eating crackers. Is he my favorite Bond? No. Did Sam Mendes over-style this film to death, killing the playfulness and inventiveness that made yesterday's Bond movies so delightful? Yes. See this movie if for no reason other than to witness Javier Bardem as the world's greatest gay villain.

Pudong never looked so glamorous.

"Life of Pi": Ugh. Treacly is a good word here. I made it 15 minutes in before I had to stop. It's all so magical and delightful, and God dwells in every living creature. I read this book a long time ago. I can't stand anything too twee and colorful, regardless of the medium.

I should try to watch it again, but maybe I won't.

"Killing Them Softly": Why you make it so hard for me to love you? Brad Pitt is a sexy beast. For fuck's sake, I really wanted to like this movie. I guess you could say it's a bit like Tarantino -- when it's not ripping off Scorsese -- in that you enjoy the moments of breathtaking freakiness, yet the rest is a fucking mess.

This is cinema that relies mostly on words, true to its original novel form. Its noirscape rains always. "Chopper" it ain't. Richard Jenkins is a lovely driver, Louisiana is fittingly sad, and there's a scene between Gandolfini and a hooker that's the worth the cost of the ticket.

Lynchian

I really love this quirky INTERVIEW PROJECT on DavidLynch.com.

Finding Vivian Maier

This documentary "Finding Vivian Maier" looks fascinating. Found via The Click.

More movies

"Side Effects": Let's hope Soderbergh doesn't really retire on this note. Generally, not bad, but that kind of movie you enjoy in the theater, and it becomes a vague memory the next day.

The ladies will enjoy the too-brief appearance of Magic Mike, and the men will enjoy Catherine Zeta Jones and Rooney Mara making out.

"Argo": My god, is this movie boring. What's with the hype? The nominations? The awards? If this movie wins Best Picture, I'm moving to Zimbabwe. Also, most of the movie is made up, so there you go.

The most authentic thing about this film is the seventies hair.

"Zero Dark Thirty": Fantastic. Totally awesome. Completely terrific. Super great. Love the ballsy chick who just wants UBL dead. There is nothing not to love about a movie in which the leading lady refers to herself as a "motherfucker."

Shame on the Academy for not nominating Bigelow for the win.

Movies

"Silver Linings Playbook": Don't get me wrong, I'm a David O. Russell fan, but this movie is overrated. Cooper is eh and so is Miss Hunger Games. Everyone else is great -- Tucker, De Niro, Weaver, Stiles, and especially Ortiz -- and the movie's uncredited also-character is its frenetic, spastic pace.

In the end, it's a thinky chick flick, and the third act falls to the popcorn-sticky theater floor with a resounding thud.

"Flight": Man, was I excited to see this movie. How many times have I seen "Cast Away"? Many. The airline crash sequence is a visually awesome nail-biter. Everything else is a corny alcoholism story we've seen already.

The movie's fun find is Kelly Reilly. Bonus points for an opening scene featuring booze, blow, and boobs.

"Django Unchained": The D is silent. This film made me feel uncomfortable, and not just due to Tarantino's Hitchcock wannabe-esque cameo as a bloated old-timey hustler. There's just something about a movie made by a white man that says "nigger" over 100 times, that uses slavery as a slapstick backdrop for a plot that can't decide if it's a spaghetti western or social commentary that gives me the hives.

That Mr. Foxx was overlooked for an Academy Award nom was the real disgrace.

Werner

Werner Herzog talks obscenity. Via Daniel Shea.

The Ari of the Valley

Someone sent me a link to this a while ago. I've interviewed most of these guys. They are true characters.

Just like the Tom Ford-clad armies that handle the affairs of the Brad Pitts and Charlize Therons on the other side of the hill, the Valley-epicentered adult industry is led by a cadre of talent agencies that cut deals and jockey to represent the stars of tomorrow. The skill sets are, in many ways, the same -- tenacious negotiating and maintaining strong industry relationships -- but there are, of course, different responsibilities, such as advising on whether a client should get a boob job (well, maybe there is some crossover there) or agree to perform a double-penetration scene (if you have to ask, don't).

["Inside the Risky Business of Porn Star Agents"]

Arbitrage

I give it a meh.

Beasts are better

Unfortunately, the tiny, powerful star of "Beasts of the Southern Wild," Quvenzhané Wallis, was not nominated for a Golden Globe this morning.

My first encounter with the movie was by way of a trailer in a theater. Later, I reported on its existence to Clayton Cubitt, who was already aware of it. My comment was sneering. His was positive.

Recently trapped on a long flight, I watched the movie. It is terrific. Wallis is phenomenal.

I haven't seen a ton of Hurricane Katrina movies, but I'm going to go bold and declare this one the best.

The Sin Eaters

I saw "The Bourne Legacy." It was OK. I missed Mr. Damon.

There's an interesting part in it, where he talks about sin eaters. Which relates to something I'm working on that has to do with sin.

On Tuesday, I'll be talking to a priest and see what he has to say about sin and those who eat it.

Magic

I went to see "Magic Mike" tonight. It was pretty good. It has a lot of dancing naked men if you're into that sort of thing, but if you are a straight guy, you can also see Olivia Munn's boobs if you're into that sort of thing.

Basically, it's an American Dream story that reminded me of "Pretty Woman" and reminded my husband of "Flashdance."

The dancing is phenomenal. As stripper Kat wrote of Channing Tatum in her co-review of the movie with stripper Bubbles: "His pelvic thrusts are the cathartic thrusts of a man who can only express himself truly on the stage with his crotch."

I would like to see Matthew McConaughey be the first actor to get an Academy Award for playing a male stripper.

Not all the acting is great, due to Soderbergh's in recent years interesting in working with non-actors or not-great actors. So things drag a little when people are trying to portray emotions they're not so sure they're having.

But it's fun. Like popcorn.

People are always interested in what a movie like this says about the current state of masculinity. It explores a lot of the same things Susan Faludi explored in Stiffed: The Betrayal of the American Man. If you haven't read the book, I recommend the chapter on male porn stars: "Waiting for Wood: A Death on the New Frontier." The book is mostly about how men can be men in a post-industrialized America, and the answer seems to be: It ain't easy.

The same factors are at play in "Magic Mike." Men are objects at which women throw their money, and the guys' sexual gyrations are a punchline to a joke nobody's sure they get. Women make the first move and don't call you after they fuck you. In the wake of masculinity's absence, young men try to fill traditional roles, fail, and feminize themselves for dollar bills if that's what makes a bunch of oversexed postfeminists happy.

In the end, Mike seems to make something out of the wreckage. The bespoke furniture he creates includes the detritus of a bygone time that washes up on the shores after the latest storm. There isn't much left, but for a guy in the 21st century, this is the closest he's going to get to a happy ending.

Gods

A lot of people hated "Prometheus," but I didn't.

Oh, by the way, I am going to discuss a spoiler here, so if you don't want a spoiler, stop reading.

TRIGGER WARNING FOR SPOILERS.

Anyway, a decade and change ago, I used to be a film critic or something like it. I went to a lot of movies. I love movies. Particularly going to the movies. I like the whole overwhelming largeness and the submerging of you in it-ness. That's great.

When you write about movies, you have to remember all the facts, and get the stories straight, and one thing that's nice about watching movies now is that I don't have to do that anymore.

I think that's part of the trick of liking "Prometheus." It's like loving Quasimodo. It's flawed, but you love it anyway.

My absolute favorite scene in the movie is when the girl bones the dude, and the dude has the alien in him, so he ends up impregnating her with an alien. Or alien thing. Or whatever.

Then it starts growing fast, and of course she happens to be half-naked, and she runs around while you watch it trying to blast itself out of her belly.

It's super creepy.

But there's this machine thing there, like that sort of thing Michael Jackson used to sleep in so that he would be albino Peter Pan forever, and it performs surgery on you. So while she's got this thing trying to ram itself out of her gut, she starts pounding on the keys to tell the machine to give her an abortion. And it's all, "Sorry, I only do dudes, not abortions." It doesn't say that, but it says something sort of like that, and I love that because it says something about the difference between women and technology.

Anyway, she basically tells it that there's a foreign object in her midsection that needs removing, and she climbs into the machine, and then she basically watches while it gives her an abortion.

It is fucking fascinating. There's screeching, and blood flying, and a baby alien thing writhing, and one thing I love is the complete absence of maleness in it. Like, I don't know. For reasons I can't explain. Like this is the true the horror, the horror of womanhood.

Anyway, I think it's a lovely movie, and she's a superb final girl, and you should see it in 3D.

[IMAGE]

Yes

Really excited about this.

In a version of the script that circulated as Mr. Anderson sought financing, Lancaster Dodd is described as being in his mid-40s; Hubbard was in his early 40s during the matching years. Both share a love of boats, and a near-paranoid suspicion of the American Medical Association. Hubbard’s followers hope to become “clear”; the Master’s followers work toward “optimum.” Psychological exploration by and with either involves ruthless interrogation. Both wrote their ultimate secrets in a book that is said to kill its readers or drive them mad. They are obsessed with motorcycles. Their tantrums are monumental. Each has a wife named Mary Sue. 

[READ]

My interview with Edward Norton

I interviewed Edward Norton for Movieline.com. We talked about his new movie, "Stone," sex scenes with Milla Jovovich, and whether or not he terrorized Robert De Niro on set.

What were those guys in for?

Actually both very much what we had Stone set up as: guys who had been involved in the drug trade and the gang life from a very young age, and pretty much been in and out — through juvie, and everything. One of them in particular was, to me, very poignantly in the same state Stone is in. In fact, he was up for parole this spring, and he was approaching that, and he was extremely, extremely, intensely agitated about it, dwelling on it, very, very forthright about, you know, the fact that he felt, in a weird way, that he had never been given a platform for a sense of a spiritual life, that he’d been cobbling it together. He really was this fascinating kind of grab bag of references from Power of Now to Buddhism primers that he had read to, like, Scientology. He literally was this crazy, autodidactic spiritual cobbler, and it was affecting. He was very affecting. He was the one who had that voice. He had this really shattered, cracky, husky, weird voice.

[Movieline.com]

Mr. Curb Stomp

I interviewed Ed Norton today. He's a man of few tells. I'll post a link to my Q&A on Movieline.com when it's up.

The hardest subject

It occurred to me while watching "One Year" that this latest installment of Sparrow Songs, Alex Jablonski and Michael Totten's let's-make-one-short-film-a-month-for-a-year project, is really about love, and that love, if you think about it, is the hardest subject to write about of all the subjects in the world.

Several years ago, an MTV producer approached me through my blog about turning whatever it was I was doing back then into a TV show. He came out to Los Angeles, and we spent, I believe, 48 crazed hours making what became a TV pilot. After the pilot was edited, I flew out to New York, and we took the pilot to suits at various networks: Comedy Central, Oxygen, etc. After that, as I recall, we ate, or maybe we just had a drink, and this producer asked me something along the lines of what, in fact, I write about. I had my own answer, but I wanted to know what he thought it was, so I asked him that question. And he said one word, and, of course, that word was: "Love." And he was right.

Later, Warren Ellis wrote about how a character in the comic book Desolation Jones was influenced by me, or, at least, who I was back then. He recalled an exchange we once had in which I described being on the set of an adult movie thusly: "[T]here wasn’t a hint of anything like love in the room." That wasn't entirely, true, though. Because, in a way, love, or the quest for it, is everywhere you look in the Valley: in the exposed bodies, in the desperate looks, in the lengths people will go to just so someone -- for one minute, for one second, for one frame -- will touch them.

Over the years, I have found that all porn stars have one thing in common: an overwhelming, desperate desire to be loved. Many of the men who work in the porn business are neither fools nor thugs. They love women and crave social acceptance to such a profound degree that they are willing to go to any lengths -- even subjugating themselves to the unknowable, undeniable demands of their own penises -- to, for one fleeting moment, feel that, in some way, they mattered to someone.

In a blog post about "One Year," Jablonski writes, indirectly, at least, about failure, or when you think you're failing at something, or how sometimes failure can look a lot like success. In a way, maybe love is always failing, but carrying on in spite of that fact, or because of that fact, or on account of you don't know any other way to be.

Breathe

It's huge to finally embrace the life you never planned on.

-- "Greenberg"