Broken Flowers: Typically languid, idiosyncratic Jim Jarmusch film, with Bill Murray, in his detached Lost in Translation persona, as a man who gets a letter from someone claiming to be his son and sets off in search of him, visiting past lovers to try to figure out which one is the mother. There are some good moments, the quiet and quirky details Jarmusch always finds, and some understated yet moving emotion from Murray, but it’s hurt by a cop-out ending that undercuts the whole movie.
Mrs. Harris: One of the benefits of free (for the next few months) HBO – aside from the primary one of being able to watch the new season of “Extras” – is that I get to see all those HBO movies that get rave reviews in Entertainment Weekly. One such is Mrs. Harris, about the murder of the Scarsdale Diet doctor. Annette Bening and Ben Kingsley, as the murdering girlfriend and Dr. Tarnower, are both very good, but the movie didn’t sustain my interest – as entertaining as Bening and Kingsley are, they didn’t create characters I cared much about.
The Best of Youth (La Meglio Gioventù): Not many of you, I suspect, will sit through a six-hour Italian movie. For those still reading this, a more-than-passing knowledge of Italian history, as well as an ample helping of patience, will serve you well. It’s not the masterpiece most reviews made it out to be, but it’s reasonably interesting as it follows two brothers over twenty years and through many of the major events in Italian history in the 1960s and 70s. Do not attempt to watch it in one sitting, as I did.
Riding Giants: Another surfing movie, very similar to Step Into Liquid (pick one – you don’t need to see both). Hardly any footage of guys actually riding giants (giant waves, that is), which is what I wanted to see, but what little there is is pretty cool.
Kitchen Stories: Perhaps the epitome of Scandinavian cinema, this quirky little movie looks gloomy and bleak but has a dry, slightly absurdist humor. A Swedish kitchen-furnishings company sends out observers to sit in the homes of single Norwegian men to see how they use their kitchens. They are not to talk to or interact with their hosts, a proscription that initially seems unnecessary when Folke’s host won’t even let him into his house. But the two gradually become friends, in a sweet but still rather fatalistic story. Recommended for Jim Jarmusch fans.
Proof (2005): Not to be confused with Russell Crowe’s vastly superior 1991 Australian movie, this is about the potentially mentally unstable daughter of a famous, unstable mathematician. Gwyneth Paltrow is brittle and remote, with occasional bursts of hysteria – as off-putting as she always is. Anthony Hopkins, as her father, overacts mercilessly. The saving graces of the movie are Hope Davis, as Paltrow’s well-meaning but not very close sister, and Jake Gyllenhaal as the adorably sweet and dorky love interest who is way, way too good for Paltrow.
The Last Shot: Very mildly entertaining movie, based on a true story, about an FBI sting that somehow involves duping a filmmaker into thinking that a studio is producing his movie, when in fact it’s all a set-up to snare a mobster. If you have insomnia and it’s on at 3:00 a.m., it’s better than watching “SportsCenter” for the third consecutive time. Plus, it may help you sleep.
Casanova: Somewhat more entertaining movie with Heath Ledger doing a good job as the legendary lover. It tries too hard for a contemporary feel, which seems to work at odds with the meticulously historic costumes and sets. But it’s light, pretty to watch, and fun.
Mixed Nuts: Pretty bad – Steve Martin heads up a suicide-prevention hotline on a Christmas Eve when everything’s going wrong. Predictably wacky “characters” infest the movie – the most unbearable are Juliette Lewis (it’s redundant to say she’s unbearable, I know) and Anthony LaPaglia as a shrill, poor couple about to have a baby, and Adam Sandler (likewise redundant) doing his creepy, high-pitched, nonsensical singing. I actually had this movie on my list because Jon Stewart is in it, but he turns out to be on screen for about 20 seconds, total, and for about 15 of those seconds, he’s hiding under a helmet and shades (he plays an obnoxious rollerblader). He has, like, one line. So not worth it.
Serenity: I had high hopes for this, mostly because I liked “Buffy the Vampire Slayer” and Serenity (and “Firefly,” the series on which the movie is based) is written by the same guy, Joss Whedon. But I wasn’t too impressed. Whedon’s quips, which play well on TV, seem labored in a movie. The movie has way too much exposition, presumably to catch us newbies up with the fans of the series, but then it assumes an attachment to the main characters that newcomers don’t have. The best thing in the movie is the icy, murderous, yet principled operative (played by the fantastic Chiwetel Ejiofor) sent after the hero’s ship; the hero himself comes across too much like a poor man’s Han Solo.
Brick: A quirky little film of the rare high-school noir genre, Brick is a clever, beautifully made movie that could have benefited from a little clarity, both in the plot and in the enunciation. Loner Joseph Gordon-Levitt investigates the death of his former girlfriend, mumbling in classic noir-speak the whole time. It’s a clever idea, setting a Philip Marlowe-type, hard-boiled mystery in a sunny California high school, and there are some beautiful shots and nice flashes of humor. I might have had an easier time following the plot if I had understood what people were saying a little better.
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