Girl Detective

More on my self-imposed 50-Movie Challenge. I’m not writing about books lately because I’m doing research for my novel.

9. Tully. 2002. Directed by Hilary Birmingham. A quiet little gem of a movie about a small-town loverboy who learns not to be such an ass. The beautiful scenery and the unconventional, red-haired beauty of Julianne Nicholson both reminded me of Malick’s Badlands, though that’s a heavy comparison for this little film. A little slow to start, it eventually got me completely engaged with its story and characters. I loved it.

A few days later, I started to watch All the Real Girls. 2003. Directed by David Gordon Green. I watched for thirty minutes, then gave up. It is also the story of a small-town loverboy. I did not, though, buy Paul Schneider as the lead. Yes, I know womanizers don’t have to be good looking or socially ept, but I find them more believable in fiction when they are. (Seriously, who are you going to buy as a womanizer? Him, or him?) I didn’t buy Natasha Leone as an ingenue. While Tully unfolded slowly and carefully, All the Real Girls jumped around in fits and starts, often dropping in on characters in mid-conversation. It felt too self-consciously clever on the part of the director. Both movies got great reviews, but I couldn’t work up the gumption to finish the latter.

8. Auto Focus. 2002. Directed by Paul Schrader. A biopic of Bob Crane, star of Hogan’s Heroes. Greg Kinnear plays Crane, who leveraged his likeable, charismatic screen persona to fuel an ever-more-seedy sex addiction, central to which was a need to capture his encounters, first on film and later on the emerging technology of videotape. He was aided in his recording fetish by a friend, played with credible creepiness by Willem Dafoe. The movie deftly shows how Crane became what he did, making stupid choices and alienating everyone in his life. The drawn out descent to his strangulation in a hotel room, though, plays like every addiction story, ever, so the end is not only depressing, but it also feels flat.

7. Punch-Drunk Love. 2002. Directed by Paul Thomas Anderson. Not romantic. Not comedic. Not as clever as it thinks it is. Not recommended.

6. Sideways. 2004. Directed by Alexander Payne. A funny, touching, skillfully executed mismatched-buddy movie. The acting and characterizations are great, and it’s pretty to look at. Sitting under dimmed chandeliers at the Heights theater, munching alternately on their surprisingly tasty popcorn and Junior Mints, I remembered why I love going to the movies. I still, however, have no idea why it’s called Sideways.

5. Real Women Have Curves. 2002. Directed by Patricia Cardoso. It seems as if my husband G. Grod and I are in the extreme minority of those who didn’t love this film. I appreciated that the main character Ana stood up to her bullying mother and did not apologize for or try to hide her curves. I thought the “strip” scene in the sweat shop was fantastic. Overall, though, there were no surprises in this movie. The writing was sometimes painfully earnest, the boyfriend was utterly non-complex, and there were several moments in which I became aware of Ferrara the actor rather than Ana the character. Its heart is in the right place, but the execution is–no pun intended–too thin.

On a side note, I saw this film about embracing non-conventional beauty standards in the same week that I read Us Weekly’s “20 Best Body Makeovers” issue, which I purchased for the Oscar coverage. In my opinion, nearly all of the twenty women looked better before, i.e., heavier. There was a lot of plastic surgery (I find Jennifer Lopez nearly unrecognizable these days), and a lot of suspiciously unhealthy-looking weight loss.

I have taken on a 50-book challenge for the year, and have just decided that, although it’s the middle of March, I’m going to give myself a 50 movie challenge as well. I got off to a slow start, but am catching up fast. I need to pace myself, though, so I don’t burn out by going famine to feast! One to two movies a week doesn’t sound unreasonable. Feel free to join me by watching movies, then writing about them on your weblog.

1. In Good Company. 2004. Directed by Paul Weitz. A quiet, steady little film, surprising in its avoidance of several cliches that seemed inevitable. Strong performances by Topher Grace, Dennis Quaid and the ubiquitous Scarlett Johansson.
2. Million Dollar Baby. 2004. Directed by Clint Eastwood. Solid movie that ended up not being a sports flick after all. It nicely avoided some cliches, but had a few dodgy bits, like Maggie’s too awful family and a bit at the end that I won’t mention for those of you who haven’t seen it yet. The music really bothered me. I found it sentimental and intrusive. Excuse me, Clint, but can’t you be satisfied with directing and acting?
3. The Long Goodbye. 1973. Directed by Robert Altman. Elliott Gould as Phillip Marlowe. A performance Adam Brody should be aspiring to–a cool, grownup smartass. Features a hilarious bit in which Marlowe, being carried off by somebody, yells that he’s going to contact Ronald Reagan, then the governor of California. A few scenes later, who should appear, in an uncredited part sporting a sleazy mustache, but the current governor of California? Weird. Funny.
4. On the Waterfront. 1954. Directed by Elia Kazan. Brando is stunning, and it was a kick to finally hear “I coulda been a contender!” in context. The movie can be read as an extended apologia for Kazan and others like him who named names during the McCarthy hearings. But there’s a difference between a whistle blower and somebody who points the finger during a witch hunt; unsurprisingly, the film doesn’t draw this distinction.

For those of you in the Twin Cities, the Oak Street Cinema is celebrating its tenth anniversary this year, and has some fabulous films on the schedule, including some that I haven’t seen from the Centenary Cinema List I mentioned earlier, like The Rules of the Game, Breathless, and Ugetsu.