>>            

Read These First
One Hand Clapping
By Chris Ryall
RSS Channel
For anyone with an RSS Newsreader
The Old Site
From the Movie
Film Columns
Film Flam Flummox
By Michael Dequina
From Print to Screen
By Matthew Savelloni
The Good, The Bad & The Ugly
By Matt Singer
International Intrigue
By Alison Veneto
Lights! Cameras! Zombies
By John McLean
Nocturnal Admissions
By D.K. Holm
Strange Impersonation
By Kim Morgan
Trailer Park
By Christopher Stipp
Theater
From Screen to Stage
By Kevin Hylton
DVD
DVD Diatribe
By D.K. Holm
DVD Late Show
By Christopher Mills
Poop Shoot Entertainment
Game On!
By Ian Bonds
The Inner View
Celebrity Interviews
Kentucky Fried Rasslin'
By Scott Bowden
Mail Shoot
By Us and You!
Squib Central
By Joshua Jabcuga
Toy Box
By Michael Crawford
TV Pilot Review
By Chris Ryall
TV Recommendations
By Chris Ryall
Movie Poop Shoot Web Comics
Spook'd
By Stevenson and Damoose
Brat-Halla
By Stevenson and Damoose
Power Hour
By Odjick and Austin
Enchanted Mayhem
By DeBerry and Cunard
Femme Noir
By Mills and Staton
Captain Capitalism
By Brad Graeber
Comics
All Ages
By Tracy (& Shelby & Sarah) Edmunds
Comics 101
By Scott Tipton
Preachin' from the Longbox
By Britt Schramm
Should It Be a Movie
By Marc Mason
Music
Music for the Masses
By M.C. Bell
Books
Back to Movie Poop Shoot
Home - back to the Poop Shoot


Week of March 13, 2006

You can take "The Peacemaker," "Deep Impact," and "The Tuxedo." We'll take "Gladiator," "American Beauty" and anything else that didn't suck.

Emilio's 17

Yeah, like he needed all that overpriced crap anyway...

This lawsuit's going to make 'House Party' look like 'House Party Two!'

I told you... don't call me SENIOR!!

Maybe this is all a bad dream too?

Thanks Sharon, but I think I'll wait until this one comes out on DVD (so I can freeze frame of course)

There is absolutely, positively no nepotism in Hollywood. None.

You're good, baby, I'll give you that... but me? I'm magic.

This band will go down like a lead balloon

Well, Goodbye there Children...

They can't sell the Capitol Records building! What will be left to destroy in the next crappy 'end of the world' movie?

Same old Courtney - still sponging off Kurt

Panic on the streets of Austin

You're a fat, Botox faced, wig-wearing ninny! Oh yeah? Well your band has a dirty H addict as a lead singer!

Black Sabbath, Blondie, Miles Davis, The Sex Pistols, Lynyrd Skynyrd Enter Rock Hall



01 THE BREAK-UP $39.17
$12759/av

02 X-MEN: THE LAST STAND $34.02
$9159/av

03 OVER THE HEDGE $20.65
$5170/avg

04 THE DAVINCI CODE $18.61
$4953/avg

05 MISSION: IMPOSSIBLE III $4.68
$1756/avg

06 POSEIDON $3.49
$1283/avg

07 RV $3.20
$1469/avg

08 SEE NO EVIL $2.04
$1607/avg

09 AN INCONVENIENT TRUTH $1.36
$17615/avg

10 JUST MY LUCK $855K
$892/avg









 


 
Detroit Story

 

For a movie starring a pop-music headliner, Curtis Hanson's 8 MILE is an admirably rude and unsentimental piece of work. Mark it down as a bona fide prestige flick that'll need all the support it can get from Emonem fans and fawning critics.

It played last night (Sunday, 9.8) at Toronto's Elgin Theatre, and yours truly was there along with a modest-sized contingent of frontline New York- and Los Angeles-based journalists. The post-screening reactions, as far as I could gather, were all positive, veering between respectful and admiring. No one I spoke to, however, was hopping up and down from excitement or experiencing heart palpitations.

Gritty, hard-edged and only occasionally leavened by humor (which never feels thrown in for easy comic relief – the laughs are always in keeping with the general downbeat reality), 8 MILE rigorously avoids those emotional, spirit-lifting plot turns that movies about kids with musical talent have been known to resort to – i.e., ending up with a record contract, winning the heart of a girl who worships him, etc.

Cleaving to the spirit of bluntly phrased hip-hop lyrics, it's a suitably angry in spirit, unpretentious and yet soulful look at a week in the life of the hugely pissed-off Jimmy Smith, a.k.a. "Rabbit" (Eminem).

A survivor of bad parenting and the rough-and-tumble upbringing that comes with having grown up in a lower-middle-class section of Detroit called 8 Mile, Rabbit is introduced as a guy with limited prospects. He's recently bailed on his purportedly pregnant girlfriend (Taryn Manning) and just moved back into the scuzzy trailer owned by his white trash mom (Kim Basinger) while hanging onto a factory job as his only means of support. He hangs with a crew of mostly black friends (including his best bro 'Future,' played by Mekhi Phifer), has his eye on a hot new chick (Brittany Murphy), and flirts with the idea of becoming a respected hip-hop artist.

And yet Scott Silver's script has a spiritual theme. It asks if Rabbit will muster the necessary courage and self-confidence he needs to become the killer street poet his friends believe he has the talent to be, or will he get pulled down by his surroundings and his own bile and wind up eating himself to death? The story is about the finding of inner strength.

8 MILE may not the greatest movie starring a pop music star ever made, but it's probably one of the most unsparing and uncompromising. It's certainly one of the starkest pieces of contemporary social realism ever delivered by a major producer (Brian Grazer's Imagine Films) and a mega-distributor (Universal Pictures), and cheers to that.

Of course, the things that make 8 MILE such an admirable film will also translate into an uphill struggle for Universal, which will be trying, as usual, to lure mainstream audiences looking for the usual feel-good hoohah.

Is Eminem's performance as good as tipsters have been claiming? He's better than good -- he's got the kind of natural, unforced charisma that makes you want to study him every moment he's on-screen. But the movie doesn't give him a wide range of emotions -- he mostly plays either angry and guarded, or guarded and angry -- or ask him to dig deeply within and reveal the inner needy child, so the likelihood of acting awards isn’t all that high. He does, however, handle the limited business he's been asked to deliver by Hanson and Silver with sincerity and authority.

I think I've heard the term "work in progress" used more in conjunction with last night's showing of 8 MILE than at any time in film-festival history, or at least since Francis Coppola's early-bird showing of APOCALYPSE NOW at Cannes in 1979. All I can say is, it was the cleanest and most polished-looking work in progress I've ever seen. The music (some of which was temporary in last night's print) sounded killer to me, although the theatrical release version (it'll be released on November 8th) will have some extra tunes and lyrics, apparently.

Basinger, Murphy and Phifer gave the best performances after Eminem's, I thought, although there are no weak performances. Rodrigo Prieto's handsome cinematography is bathed in a kind of grayish blue, which reminded me of the color scheme Steven Soderbergh chose for the Detroit sections of OUT OF SIGHT. It surprised me slightly that Eminem's hair is dark brown in the film; I've always assumed it was blondish, or at least dyed that way.

Close to Heaven

Before flying to Toronto, I was told by a colleague that Todd Haynes' FAR FROM HEAVEN, which she'd recently seen, was the kind of thing that only serious film buffs could love. She called it a precious aesthetic exercise, or words to that effect, which deflated my interest. Form riding roughshod over content can be tedious, or so I was muttering to myself as I made my way to last Saturday night's press screening.

Then I saw it and was totally turned around. I was intrigued, amused, spellbound…even blown away at times.

My friend may have been right, but FAR FROM HEAVEN is fascinating -- the most lavish and carefully calibrated aesthetic exercise I've ever seen, as well as a heartfelt valentine to all those emotionally grandiose, tearfully melodramatic soap operas brought to the screen in the 1950s and early '60s -- ALL THAT HEAVEN ALLOWS, IMITATION OF LIFE, MAGNIFICENT OBSESSION, TARNISHED ANGELS and WRITTEN ON THE WIND, among them – by the highly regarded, German-born director Douglas Sirk.

The word "homage" doesn’t really do justice to Haynes' film, although in many ways it obviously fits. It's really a time-travel movie shot on a stylistic tightrope. It's not just a faithful recreation of the style and mood of Sirk's films, and not just a technical reanimation of their heavily saturated Technicolor palette. The eerie power of the thing comes from its being an almost TWILIGHT ZONE-ish visit to the emotionally plugged-up, racially segregated, socially regimented suburban sedation of the late 1950s.

Haynes' story, set in 1958 and loosely inspired by the plot of ALL THAT HEAVEN ALLOWS, is about a seemingly straight-arrow suburban couple (Julianne Moore, Dennis Quaid) living in a patty-cake, Sloan Wilson-ish suburb of Hartford, Connecticut, and dealing with a couple of slight problems. One is that Quaid is a repressed homosexual and is having trouble keeping his urges bottled up. Another is that Moore's ignored emotional needs have led to a budding (one could say blooming) friendship with an African-American…actually, I should say negro gardener (Dennis Haysbert).

Every now and then it tips into slight satire (the audience I saw it with couldn't help but chuckle at some of the lines, particularly those spoken by Moore, playing a strawberry blonde Susie Homemaker-type given to Saturday Evening Post platitudes about cleaving to status-quotidiness), but it's not a John Waters film. It would be if Haynes had pushed it just a notch or two further, but he holds back, and, for the most part, plays it straight.

On the other hand, I wouldn't strenuously debate this with someone who might claim that HEAVEN is actually a bone-dry, tongue-in-cheek comedy. You can take it that way, if you want to be cynical.

The trick, I feel, is to split your perspectives – there's no getting around watching it from a jaded '02 vantage point, of course, but you also have to imagine watching it in a single-screen movie theatre in 1958. The stuff that people say and do in HEAVEN that seems to us like emotional hokum or constipation was a different kettle of fish during the Eisenhower era, and in any case was par for the dramatic course for Sirk, who of course knew he was bringing a certain emotional flamboyance to his films but was using material he regarded as reality-based, more or less.

Does the story deliver, period Sirkian touches aside, with any kind of true-to-life poignance or gravity? Would the cake amount to anything if it weren't for that delirious icing? I don't know. I'm not sure if this even matters. I do know that taken as a whole, FAR FROM HEAVEN is a unique ride and, on a certain level, if you're knowledgable enough about the days of early Elvis, hula hoops and Ford Edsels, a subdued hoot.

Will it play with younger audiences who couldn’t care less about the '50s and haven’t a clue who Mr. Sirk is or was? Can I be honest? Probably not….but don't let this stop you from seeing it. Congratulations to Julianne Moore, by the way, for having won a Best Actress prize from the jury at the Vence Film Festival for her performance in this film, as well as the audience award for best actress.

La Mancha Guys

My friends at Falco Ink and IFC Entertainment were good enough to invite me to a small dinner on Saturday evening (which I was late arriving to, due to the necessity of seeing FAR FROM HEAVEN) for Keith Fulton and Luis Pepe, the directors of LOST IN LA MANCHA, and director Terry Gilliam, the semi-tragic star of the film.

I had seen and raved in last Friday's column about this feature-length documentary, which is a saga of the calamitous non-making of Gilliam's THE MAN WHO KILLED DON QUIXOTE, which halted production two years ago, but I wanted to meet the players and learn more about it. To be perfectly honest, I also wanted to see if I could gather information that would support my opinion that QUIXOTE star Jean Rochefort, whose inability to report to the set due to a lower-back problem sealed the film's fate, may have basically had a psychological malady.

This was heavily implied when Gilliam leaned over during the dinner and told me that a French producer he'd spoken to said he believed that Rochefort's lower back problem "was entirely psychosomatic." Gilliam was chuckling giddily as he confided this. Anyone who can look back at one of the biggest setbacks of his career and laugh about it deserves admiration and respect, in my view. It's the only sane response.

Fulton and Pepe, also, were clearly amused by and seemingly subscribing to the view that Rochefort may have subconsciously withdrawn from THE MAN WHO KILLED DON QUIXOTE. They also didn't dispute my observation that his heavy French accent might have presented a problem for audiences, given that his Don Quixote character is Spanish and the dialogue was in English. Pepe told me that Gilliam had asked about Rochefort's appearance in Patrice Leconte's L'HOMME DU TRAIN (which is showing at the Toronto Film Festival, by the way) and wanted to know if he was filmed sitting down, since his sitting on a horse proved too painful for him during the shooting of Gilliam's film.

Gilliam said he's looking to buy back the rights to make THE MAN WHO KILLED DON QUIXOTE from the previous shoot's insurer, and would like to be rolling film on the new version sometime within four to six months. He wouldn’t say who he's thinking about casting as Don Quixote, but Pepe told me later that Ian McKellen is near the top of the list.

The dinner was held at Babalu on Yorkville road, and the food and service were fanf***ing-tastic. IFC Entertainment chief Jonathan Sehring was sitting nearby; so was WASHINGTON POST critic Desson Howe.



 

E-MAIL THE AUTHOR | ARCHIVES

Email Jeffrey
Got a comment or tip? Send it in!

Archive
Want more Hollywood Confidential? Check out our archive.
Speculation that the New York Film Festival "snubbed" Wes Anderson's The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou is untrue, according to a spokesperson. The festival committee saw Aquatic last June, in tandem with plans to open the sea-faring comedy-drama in October or thereabouts. And while "they liked it and wanted it," a decision was later made for Touchstone to open Aquatic in December, and the notion of a NYFF debut didn't seem quite as desirable.
Aquatic's opening is set for 12.10 in New York and Los Angeles, and 12.24 wide. I would normally be scratching my head over the title expansion (i.e., adding with Steve Zissou), as this sort of thing usually indicates indecision and therefore trouble on some level. But here the addition sounds droll and all of a piece, as with all things Anderson. I also imagine that Anderson, like any director from Spielberg on down, welcomed the extra time to tweak and fine-tune.
A suggestion that may not save the James Bond franchise, but will at least halt its downhill slide: arrange for producers Michael Wilson and Barbara Broccoli to be gently but firmly kidnapped and then taken to an undislcosed location (somewhere in Southeast Asia would be best), where they will be kept in two lavish homes under house arrest, with allowances for family visitations. Once this is done, all serious interest in Eric Bana playing the new 007 will cease and Wilson and Broccoli's successors can look at other options.
One of these options should, of course, be to shut the series down. Just because the Bond movies continue to make money doesn't mean they're dead inside, and that one of most compassionate acts anyone could do would be to fire a bullet into the skull of this outdated, cliche-ridden franchise and walk away proud....like Pierce Brosnan has done. Bana is said to be unsure about stepping into the 007 series, according to London's Evening Standard. The tabloid says an offer has gone out to him but that Bana is "currently deciding whether it's something he really wants to sign up [for]." Translation: he's heard the Wilson-Broccoli stories. Eric Bana would be to the 007 tradition as Lex Barker was to the Tarzan series in the 1950s.
A suggestion that may not save the James Bond franchise, but will at least halt its downhill slide: arrange for producers Michael Wilson and Barbara Broccoli to be gently but firmly kidnapped and then taken to an undislcosed location (somewhere in Southeast Asia would be best), where they will be kept in two lavish homes under house arrest, with allowances for family visitations. Once this is done, all serious interest in Eric Bana playing the new 007 will cease and Wilson and Broccoli's successors can look at other options.
One of these options should, of course, be to shut the series down. Just because the Bond movies continue to make money doesn't mean they're dead inside, and that one of most compassionate acts anyone could do would be to fire a bullet into the skull of this outdated, cliche-ridden franchise and walk away proud....like Pierce Brosnan has done. Bana is said to be unsure about stepping into the 007 series, according to London's Evening Standard. The tabloid says an offer has gone out to him but that Bana is "currently deciding whether it's something he really wants to sign up [for]." Translation: he's heard the Wilson-Broccoli stories. Eric Bana would be to the 007 tradition as Lex Barker was to the Tarzan series in the 1950s.
Hold up on that rumble about the conniving heavyweight behind Ted Griffin's firing off the Graduate-sequel flick not being Jennifer Aniston, but costar Kevin Costner. The Fly on theWall guy claimed in an 8.16 posting, using quotes from an anonymous crew member, that Griffin's dismissal "was totally Kevin's fault, not Jennifer's."
But now another guy who was right in the thick of the situation says this account is "completely false," due to the fact that "Costner hadn't started working" on the film at the time Griffin's dismissal went down. Hey, I'm just passing this along.
The Entertainment Weekly cover (#779-780) asks if Johnny Depp's performance as J.M. Barrie in Finding Neverland (Miramax, 10.22) will deliver a Best Actor Oscar...and in so doing indicates an obvious rooting interest on the part of EW staffers (film critics Owen Gleiberman and/or Liza Schwarzbaum, it's safe to presume) in at least helping Depp land a nomination. In the face of such a boldly-put suggestion, I think it's fair to offer a counter-opinion, which is that Depp's acting in this tenderly composed biopic may be too exacting for its own good.
In other words, Depp seems to really "get" the eccentric Scottish playwright who wrote Peter Pan , who, according to the press notes, was said to have a quiet, puckish personality and always spoke in a low burr. And that's Depp in the film. The problem is that his Barrie seems so internal, so into his own quiet determinations and oddball kindnesses, that you feel a strange urge to strangle him after a while. Plus there's something too actorly about his Scottish accent; it sounds at once uncertain and overly studied. In short, Depp did everything right...and in so doing created a character and a vibe that feels curiously wrong.
You like a filmmaker, you find him/her intriguing, you try to show interest and support and....test pattern. I became curious about Abel Ferrara's supposed next film, Mary, in which Vincent Gallo will play an actor playing Jesus Christ in a film-within-the-film. (This, at least, is what the Brown Bunny star-director-producer told me last week.) The focus of Mary, says Gallo, is the actress who plays the mother of Christ, and who experiences a kind of spiritual satori as a result of immersing herself in the part. The film, Gallo adds, is supposed to shoot in Rome in late September or early October.
But of course, there can be no contact whatsoever with Ferrara. The guy almost never calls back anyone, I've heard. It's always, "I'll call you." An e-mail to Ferrara's Rome-based producer resulted in zip. Ferrara's New York attorney, Jay Julien, professed a general ignorance about Mary, and couldn't direct me to anyone with a history of replying to phone calls who might. I've learned that whenever it's this much trouble to get hold of someone, it's usually not worth the effort in the first place.
Sofia Coppola is set to direct a period costume drama about Marie Antoinette and husband King Louis XVI for Columbia. Wigs and hoop gowns, the French revolution, let 'em eat cake, the guillotine...all that good stuff. This is a joke, right? The reasonably talented Sofia hasn't shown a glimmer of the kind of commanding, exacting vision that the lensing of any historical drama of this sort would require. I mean, presuming Columbia wants something at least half as good, say, as Barry Lyndon, which they probably couldn't care less about.
But I am looking forward to watching Kirsten Dunst, who will play Antoinette, get her head cut off. And you have to admire the sense of humor that Coppola and her casting director have shown in choosing Jason Schwartzman ("Max" in Rushmore) to play her husband Louis. If they stick to history, he'll also lose his head. Valor, Max...valor! You won't feel a thing. A tickling sensation, your head falls in the basket, everything turns numb, and then blackness. You can do that standing on your head. Oops..sorry.
Regarding the recent death of King Kong star Fay Wray, Move City News' David Poland wrote that Peter Jackson, director of an all-new King Kong flick, "wanted Ms. Wray to close his film with the 'Twas Beauty That Killed The Beast' line, but, ever the lady, Ms. Wray was unwilling (though attempts at persuasion continued) because she felt it would be arrogant to call the character she played -- and thus, herself -- a beauty."
Apart from the utterly nonsensical thinking conveyed in Wray's alleged view, the item is another worrisome indicator that Jackson's King Kong is going to be way too Jackson-y. (Which is to say movie-mucky to the point of suffocation.) Can you imagine a line as important as that one -- the big closer! -- given to a 96 year-old woman as an affectionate gesture, however heartfelt on Jackson's part? Art is art and emotions are emotions, and never the twain shall meet. If Jackson is handing out cameo kicker lines as tokens of respect to grand old ladies, forget it....it's over. John Ford once told Nunnally Johnson that to be a good director you have to be a bit of a bastard. This, conversely speaking, may be Jackson's problem. He's too mushy, too much of a sweetheart.
This is old news now, but those people who described Collateral's box-office performance last weekend as "so-so" or " middling" or whatever were being a tad dismissive. Unfair, really. A movie as dark as this one, with a gray-haired Tom Cruise playing a cold-hearted assassin, is doing great by taking in $24 million during its first weekend. Only three other Cruise films -- Minority Report and the two Mission Impossible's -- have had better openers.
And Exhibitor Relations' Paul Dergarabedian must have been smokin' some strong stuff before telling the New York Times' Sharon Waxman that Collateral "is not a movie that can be supported by teenagers." He's saying...what? That teenagers can't deal with urban thrillers about cops and hit men and what-all? That beautifully rendered mood and ace dialogue don't impress them? I should add there was a different reaction to the film when I saw it with a paying crowd last weekend. They didn't applaud, but the two industry crowds I saw it with earlier did. Hmmmm.
Ben Affleck was his usual glib self during his hanging-out-in-Boston segment with Katie Couric a couple of days ago...same-old, same-old...but something different happened when he did a chat thing with Hardball's Chris Matthews on Tuesday afternoon. He was focused, sharp, and quick, and had some very cogent things to say about Kerry-vs.-Bush, voter sentiments and the general lay of the land.
In other words, he did himself a huge favor. For the first time in a very long time Affleck was suddenly about something besides Bennifer, chasing girls, iffy movies and gambling sprees. He said he might want to jump into politics down the road, since the movie career thing has its limits in terms of feeling fulfilled or spiritually nourished. He also told Matthews he'd like to have his job, and Matthews said in response, "I do fear you."












Addicted to Bad
by Patrick Keller

International Intrigue
by Alison Veneto

Nocturnal Admissions
by D.K. Holm

Strange Impersonation
by Kim Morgan

Trailer Park
by Christopher Stipp




New DVD Releases
for April 11, 2006

DVD Diatribe
by D.K. Holm

DVD Late Show
by Christopher Mills




Preachin' from the Longbox
by Britt Schramm

Should It Be a Movie?
by Marc Mason

New Comic Book Releases
for April 12, 2006, 2006




New CD Releases
for April 11, 2006

Music for the Masses
by M.C. Bell




TV Recommendations
Boob toob picks of the week by Chris Ryall

Kentucky Fried Rasslin'
by Scott Bowden

TV Pilot Review Archives
by Chris Ryall



                        © Copyright 2002-2006 Movie Poop Shoot