Kevin Smith is a very funny writer. Clerks. Mallrats. Chasing Amy. Dogma. Zack and Miri Make a Porno. He’s the kind of guy that you might not want to sit next to on a Southwest Airlines 737, but you definitely want to sit next to in a bar. As a writer, he’s not afraid to offend and insult, and as a director, he’s smart enough to always find the real heart in his characters.
It’s too bad he didn’t write Cop Out, his new movie. If he had, it might not suck so completely.
Life as a teenager sucks when everybody around you is getting some, and all you have are Frank Sinatra records and Penthouse.
C’est la vie for Nick Twisp, Michael Cera’s character in Miguel Arteta’s riotous film that puts the “coming” in coming-of-age.
Sometimes I’ll go see a movie, catch a preview or two, and think, “I should see that movie when it comes out.” Then it comes out and, for one reason or another, I miss it.
That’s what happened with Amreeka. And when I finally got a chance to see it, I was glad I did.
I’m sorry. I just couldn’t in good conscience force myself to watch It’s Complicated. Movies about late-middle-agers behaving badly makes me want to drive a spike through my kneecap.
Instead, I give you our first “guest” review, penned by Jake, the 10-year-old Italian Greyhound. In dog years, he’s only slightly older than Meryl Streep, so he’s closer to her demographic than I am. And so, without additional fanfare, I give you Jake’s review of It’s Complicated.
From the “movies-you-may-have-missed-but-shouldn’t-have” category…
I remember seeing the trailer for Adventureland in theaters about a year ago. All I really need to see (hear) was the use of Rush’s “Limelight” in the preview and I was sold. Unfortunately the movie came and went before I had a chance to catch it. At least until yesterday, when the red DVD envelope appeared in my mailbox.
As someone who spends a good amount of time traveling, I found it easy to relate to the idea of this movie. The anonymous-sex-in-nameless-hotels-with-Vera-Farmiga part is, sigh, something to which I can certainly not relate.
Nevertheless, and as much as I like me some Vera, I find myself more and more attracted to George Clooney, for reasons I will only partially explore in this blog. And so, having gotten my Clooney-fix, I give you my review of Up In The Air.
It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to enjoy a private screening of any Hollywood film. By “private,” in this case, I mean completely open to a public unwilling to punish themselves by watching a movie like “Transylmania.” And it’s certainly not a good sign when the box office attendant looks confused when you ask for your tickets. But that is how this movie-going experience began: confusion and emptiness.
As the previews began, a sense of dread washed over us all, similar to the feeling of having the assistant call your name at the dentist’s office. Bad things were about to happen, the only question was “how bad?”
