'Man on the Moon', it occurred to me, is a film that's almost identical to Forman's last film, 'The People Vs. Larry Flynt'. It starts out with our hero, young and forming their claim to fame in an abstract way. It then shifts, very rapidly, to our hero failing in the line of work they'll later become famous and successful in. Finally, it becomes an "ESPN highlights" special of their lives, the key word being : episodic. 'Man on the Moon', like 'The People Vs. Larry Flynt', chooses to champion someone more current than historical, more troublesome to the populous than beloved (and in each case, it's a clear, one-sided argument that the hero is a genius) and truly more misunderstood than any of us can possibly imagine. They seem to be films that, and now I'm pointing at the screenwriters (Alexander and Karaszewski, also of 'Ed Wood' and 'Screwed' fame), want desperately to be the definitive final word on their subjects with no room left for argument. They want to create Gods in the face of men and beg us to worship them with our moviegoing bucks. And that all sounds pretty manipulative, except that both films are decidedly comedies - and this one in particular, is a laugh riot. It's no 'Best Film of the Year', as Owen Gleiberman of EW would have you believe : it's Carrey. That's what I'll have you believe. He's a wonderful actor. Born out of Canadian poverty into Hollywood slapstick, and now, smacking around in the almighty American film consciousness with two amazing performances ('The Truman Show' and this). In 'Man on the Moon', he plays the notorious Andy Kaufman as an exciting clown; a man who was so easy to love - but thrived on the challenge of making you hate him. A man who was an astounding pretender, did miraculous impressions and loved the serenity of meditation and the laughter of children. (sarcasm) Really - how did this guy get misunderstood? Sure, the film is trying hard to harpoon us into believing that his life was cut-and-dry enough to make a "regular" movie out of. We know better. Watching for two hours, 'Man on the Moon' seems like a collection of great gags that could play on any evening television magazine show - with the same bittersweet ending. While I thought it was "just another comedy" in the theater, on video (and more importantly - DVD - hilarious deleted scenes, by the way) 'Man on the Moon' plays like on of Andy's stunts : it's bewilderingly hilarious, whole-heartedly in good fun and then it ends.

As much as I admire the nutsiness of Tim Burton and his desperate plea that the half-assed special effects, which for the most part look pretty cool, were of the "evoking the past" type, not the "we're cheap and somewhat lazy" type - - - I don't exactly buy into it. Watching films of his such as 'The Nightmare Before Christmas' (his best work) or even 'Sleepy Hollow', we can see that even with the minimalist of budgets, he can come up with better excuses than "evoking the past". Anywho - I had seen this one just once, as a youngin. I liked it a whole lot better now than I remember liking it as a youth. It's a wonderfully maniacal, somewhat hallucinogenic funhouse ride of sorts. All the great Burtonesque character actors are in place, especially Jeffrey Jones and Winona Ryder - and they're all budding even at the beginning with the taste and smell of his backward and weirdo world. For my money, though, it's Beetlejuice himself that sets the balance. The almost unrecognizable and always uncooth but hilarious Michael Keaton, who went on to sport the sparing and sly humor of Bruce Wayne/Batman - and do it better than either Kilmer or Clooney. Yeah, that's right. 'Beetlejuice' (the film, now) comes off just a little too ordinary for my taste - but it's also got some inspired pieces of oddball writing - the kind of ideas that make up rules for their own world, which would stand to imply the withstanding and security of sed world. As much fun as I had watching and taking in 'Beetlejuice' and as original and clever as it is most of the time, it still can't drop the bash-the-yuppies attitude and the flurrying sense of underimportance placed on it's overall Pizzazz - which leaves it boldly in the eighties while Burton pushed on to do almost all of his best work in the next decade.

Though wrought with the kind of visual imagery we give Nobel Prizes for in criticism, 'Batman Returns' is also carrying the kind script that we read aloud at cocktail parties, giggling as we slurp liquor down our cumberbunds and laugh riotously. What starts out as an obvious vehicle for marketing tools that could upstage Craftsmen erupts into a full-fledge bout of nonsense as Burton sacrifices - and I'm sure he's the furthest from blame in this corporate monster - two villains that could easily have been interesting for dumb, almost throwback lines to the campy tv series and characterizations that were so flat, I felt busty. Weird watching it as an adult - remembering what it was like to see it as a summer movie in the theater and it didn't feel long (I had to finish it in three sittings this time around) and the explosions didn't feel tacked on and goshdarnit - I was attracted to Catwoman. This time, I have to contest that the only really intestesting villain is the aptly named Max Shreck, played with the most strangely meaty and complex seething by Christopher Walken. Sure, plot-points like the Penguin hanging around with circus freaks and planning to steal Gotham's children to sacrifice them at the altar of sewerland are great; and when the film gets really dark and we see the freaks rounding up those kids and putting them in a circus train with cages - it hits the mark; and those brief moments when all that matters is the chrome-plated snowy showiness of the centropolis called Gotham City, these moments are smashing - - - but all hardly make up for those quizzical moments when the freaks manage to break into Batman's car or when the film plays up the  unsheathed secret identity - yet again! - and that terrible moment when Catwoman is nestled at the bottom of the frame, just before it goes black to roll the end credits : sequel time! 'Batman Returns' is a bad film, unfortunately saved by something I hate to see a film saved by - it's staggering beauty. And it wins this round. Begat by a great, dark action film and followed by two banal, summerish sequels that didn't share a brain cell between them, this franchise should take a lesson from the real comic book films : 'Dick Tracy' and 'Dark City'.

Funny, I've heard this movie trashed left and right. What an underrated scare-flick! My thing with a film like this is that it's exists so well in it's own psychosis and blends the obvious forgery of a semi-stale reality, one that can't exist at the same time as the madness, into it's mix in such a wonderfully literary and utterly disturbing fashion - it's easy to overlook some of the ridiculous dialogue and overacting. It's dream sequences are not only inspired, but most of them are nightmarish instead of being just plain visually interesting. These are meant to evoke the mental playground in it's REM state, not be a palette for the filmmakers to paint their cloudy-framed sleep masterpieces. Sure, Annette Bening and Aidan Quinn are hamming it hardcore. And granted, Robert Downey, Jr. doesn't have nearly as much fun as he could have had playing the "Norman- Bates-crossed-with-Brad-Pitt-in-'12 Monkeys'-ish" character. It's really, in the end, when the movie shifts from a dreamlike personal hell descent into an unsolved mysteries true crime drama, that it really takes flight. The wonderful climax, which takes place at an abandoned apple cider mill, rings with a suspense and darkness that's not worth mentioning or trying to describe on the page. I guess I was right when I used to reccomend it to all sorts of people at the video store : 'In Dreams', though far from perfect, is a solid and ungodly creepy thriller.

Let's forget, for a moment, my "wacky" opinion that this is Scorcese's finest work sans 'Goodfellas'. Let's forget all the controversy and all the spiritual wa-boom! that's truly inside. Let's forget that it's a biblical epic and let's forget it's small-time budget. This is a film, right down to Lajos Egri's famous definition, about struggle and conflict. And it's a film that can either be easily dismissed or, like the rabbis are famous for, argued about to no end. The beauty of commentary (thank the Lord again for Criterion) is that it can bring great minds into the same experience as the viewer and, in a sense, create discussion and argument between the viewer and a person that's not in the room or connected with that viewer that very moment. It's almost as personal an experience as screening a film with it's director in silence. Here we have Scorcese, the master talker and film genius; Schrader, a man who writes films about bruised male egos - and does it well; Cocks, your faithful producer and hanger-on; and finally, Willem DeFoe, the down-to-earth actor that played the down-to-earth Lord. They all wax poetic about faith, Scorcese and DeFoe more than any. Cocks uses this opportunity to ride on Scorcese's bandwagon - mostly to champion him (and the film; a nice moment where he discusses the first showing that garnered a standing ovation - and his calling Scorcese to tell him.). As weird as Schrader's Sylvester the cat voice sounds, his discussion of the evolution of his screenplay and the novel, together, is inspired and literary. The most potent moment is when his voice booms over the last supper, accusing Christianity of being both "touchy-feely" and a "blood cult" and then challenging the validity of the "X-Files religions". He's a smart guy and he's well-spoken. And that makes it all the funnier to here his lisp. And finally, as supplement to the commentary, there's a home video shot by Scorcese on location in Morocco, as he was making the film. It's candid and weird and, most of all, it defines the director watching himself - which is fun with Scorcese. It reveals level after level of himself. If you like Scorcese - it's insight. If you don't, I guess it's just plain irritating. I like him.

Interesting film to precede my wedding with, eh? A film which celebrates the preservation of nostalgia, the joy and passion of young love and the taste of a time period. And me, moving on the next day, to a completely new world. Nevertheless, it would have been quite difficult for me to skip seeing this little film a second time. And after the viewing, my best man and I went out for food at a late-nite diner followed by a cruising session on a street in the town we had once worked. And doing those things proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that even while the film inspires a great deal of my past and it's many colors and flavors; movies are far and wide the victor over real life. The memories we dodged while sweating the stress of the next day's event were all so plain and ordinary compared to the majesty of the film magic of "the remembered" in 'The Virgin Suicides'. And it's still, in July, the best film of the year.

I kinda think that 'Fight Club' and all it's host affiliations are one big fucking contradiction. Let's start with the DVD and it's two-disc packaging (only for folks with DVD players and, let's face it, that still signifies a certain elevated status - you know?). Loaded with extras - some infuriating (the 40+ TV spots and devilishly clever four commentary tracks so you are damn sure to be bored with the film by the time you've squeezed the disc for information), some great (the public service announcements and extensive preparation material, particularly the press kit, are outrageous - and hilarious) - this is quite honestly a huge antithesis to the message the film projects. Remember the whole "only when you have lost everything are you free to do anything" theme? It no longer applies in the case of 20th Century Fox's Marketing department, etc. And this the third time I've watched the actual film, my opinion has become something of a larf. I love it up until the last ten minutes (like in the theater) and now I understand why. The film knows it's got the beatific rebellion song of such cult film majesties "Natural Born Killers" and "Trainspotting". It's earned that spot - one where we obsesses over it's call to duty cuz it's just so "radical"....but it wants to keep itself going way too long. By the ending, all that's left is tying up loose ends which, admittedly, seems like both a cop-out and a vicious introduction of a foreign and destructive tone. The whole film is all about lambasting the norm and conforming to your own sense of natural "oneness" - that shade of originality that only you can pinch. It celebrates the vigor and redemption that pain can bring. It takes bites at living the life you strive for. It calls for some measure of immortality and immorality. It's a gas to watch. A visual feast and a beautiful marriage of self-celebration and.....I'm fucking rambling, I know. Just about the time Ed Norton leaves the police interrogation room - skip to the last chapter and avoid 'Fight Club''s little spot of rambling. And bask in the "dead-on" shot of 'Where is my mind' by the Pixies which accompanies those final frames. Glorious subversion basking in the home of your own chaos. Right on.

After the first hour, I wanted to start over and enjoy it again. 'Topsy-Turvy', another of 1999's "surprisingly-long-but-surprisingly-entertaining" films, is just a delight to behold. I stand firm on everything I said the first time I saw it : Jim Broadbent gives the best performance of the year, Mike Leigh (whom we were all skeptical of, handling this material after a career of films regarding down-and-out middle-aged Londoners) and his unique style are tailored for a film like this and finally, the whole thing works, while remaining the most meandering and episodic film of the year...and it works in such a way that saying such things as "meandering" and "episodic", usually negative terms, becomes a shower of great complements - - maybe the best I could pay the film. And now I own it on DVD so those thick accents using those old words are as clear as deer on the pier full of fear.

I guess this is the first film I watched from start to finish in my new apartment. I ended up viewing it in three parts (as did the wife). What really struck me this time, having not seen it since I was young (and well, stupid) was that it's a film about a guy who chooses to substitute one locked door for another. Sonny's life, as he continually describes it (the great line "I'm dyin'!"), is a vicious circle. In order to break the monotony (and buy his lover a new set of female sex organs), he and an old jail crony (the great, late John Cazale, who managed to sneak into all the important films of the 1970's before dying of cancer in the early 1980's) rob a bank on a hot Brooklyn afternoon. Right. That's the description you get everywhere. What they don't tell you is that Lumet does a marvelous job of putting the viewer right there in the trap : police have you surrounded and you know you're caught; how can you beat the odds to weasel your way out of your own stupidity. And the answer glares at us from the end of the film. It's like that Simpsons episode I constantly watch and hope will end a different way. It's like a nightmare. And it always ends the same. And I love the film for it. It gets all cuddly and warm, close proximity to the humane side of the characters - - - and then it shits all over them. A tragic, beautiful film.

STAR WARS. Everybody knows it was the basis for 'Star Wars'. And it is, right down to the wipes, the texture of the music, the weaving "familiar-yet-tinged-with-severe-cleverness" narrative. But Kurosawa's film feels more like another adventure-driven entertainment to me : 'Raiders of the Lost Ark'. And I only make the comparison because you literally can't see or get past 'The Hidden Fortress' without hearing 'Star Wars' thrown into it (as if this film wasn't it's own entity and tons more successful than 'Star Wars' at almost everything it does). But back to my comparison. 'The Hidden Fortress' (which I also watched in three parts) is as much of a throwaway story laced with high adventure and thrilling excitement as 'Raiders of the Lost Ark'. What an amazing film. From Toshiro Mifune chewing the scenery as a famed general and strategic genius to the greedy twin idiots R2-D2 and C-3PO would be modeled after - 'The Hidden Fortress' feels less like a cultural masterpiece and more like a hoot than any of the other films I've seen by Kurosawa. His expert framing, pacing and attention to detail are all at play here, doing the one thing you love to see a great, intellectual director do : have a blast telling you a story.