September 2003
Green denotes "seen it before" status
Blue signifies a "first timer"


Confessions of a Dangerous Mind (C+)(9/1)
George Clooney, 2002.

They don't really feel like confessions, so much as they feel like dry twists in a narrative that's begging you to come up with your own sincerity. Almost works, though, as Sam Rockwell - who carries the movie just fine - is the ironic double to Chuck Barris: A truly worthy performer who can't seem to connect with a deserving label. Clooney is saddlebagged with a faulty biopic that fits nicely right above the shameless mediocrity of other sub culture icons whose life stories made boring, unnecessarily look-at-me films (I'm thinking now of Auto Focus and Blow, specifically). You know something is rotten in the state of cinema when you're breathlessly anticipating Drew Barrymore's presence. Sheesh.



The Outlaw Josey Wales (B-)(9/14)
Clint Eastwood, 1976.

Craggy killer is like a shot of pure Eastwood; He's entirely the sort of soul we think of in his Western groove: dark past, a brief speaker, faster gun than any bad guy, unshaven, tobacco-chewin' master of the saddle and lasso. The momentum is occasionally sabotaged with a bad case of the deja vu's as a distinct pattern develops: He's under the gun, bounty hunters a-grinnin' and - suddenly - the single most convenient thing manages to happen and ka-blammo, he wins the day. Becomes a rather strange mix of Death Wish-esque thrills and broad Western expansion commentary with low-key, stereotypical guideposts-as-characters.



Home Movie (B)(9/14)
Chris Smith, 2002.

Gotta stay brief here - there's lightning out my window - but the best part of the film is the moments when Smith is simply allowing people to disclose the particulars of their strange homesteads - be they cat friendly (to put it mildly) houses, converted missile silos, houseboats, tree houses or electric gadget driven homes. Errol Morris-lite if I've ever seen it - and it couldn't be more different than American Movie. Still, Smith doesn't exactly distinguish himself as a filmmaker (again); The correlation between these people and their homes as extensions of themselves seems lost in the shuffle to keep everything moving at a lightning pace. Can't believe I'm saying this, but I think the movie might have been better with an extra thirty or so minutes tacked on. Still, it's as entertaining as you're likely to desire (perhaps even more so).



Highball (B) (9/26)
Noah Baumbach (as Ernie Fusco), 1998.

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