Sunday, October 19, 2014

THE 2014 HALLOWEEN HORROR SCREEN GRAB QUIZ




"Thy soul shall find itself alone
'Mid dark thoughts of the grey tomb-stone;
Not one, of all the crowd, to pry
Into thine hour of secrecy.


Be silent in that solitude,
Which is not loneliness-for then
The spirits of the dead, who stood
In life before thee, are again
In death around thee, and their will
Shall overshadow thee; be still.


The night, though clear, shall frown,
And the stars shall not look down
From their high thrones in the Heaven
With light like hope to mortals given,
But their red orbs, without beam,
To thy weariness shall seem
As a burning and a fever
Which would cling to thee for ever.


Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish,
Now are visions ne'er to vanish;
From thy spirit shall they pass
No more, like dew-drop from the grass.


The breeze, the breath of God, is still,
And the mist upon the hill
Shadowy, shadowy, yet unbroken,
Is a symbol and a token.
How it hangs upon the trees,
A mystery of mysteries!"

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A bit of Poe to prime the pump and set the blood-chilling atmosphere, and off we go with for this year’s Halloween Horror Screen Grab Quiz. I hope the fun to follow won’t be received as too much of a comedown, the great American horror storyteller being somewhat of a hard act to follow.

As in past years, from here proceeds 31 pictures of mystery and horror and general fearfulness for you. You need only identify the films from they are derived. I’ve tried not to be obvious, nor too obscure, though it seems inevitable that some frames are more easily recognizable than others, depending on your fluency in the genre. But can you get them all? If you dare, gaze upon the grabs and then send your answers, with the subject heading “HALLOWEEN SCREEN GRAB 2014” (in all caps) to:
powser2@earthlink.net. (Don’t post your answers in the comments section, lest the less erudite among you get too many free answers.) Then on November 1 I’ll post the name(s) of the winner(s).
No prizes, just glory and the envy of those who couldn’t take the pressure.
Now lights out. You may begin.

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Monday, October 06, 2014

ALLAN ARKUSH AND TRAILERS FROM HELL TOUR FABER COLLEGE AND ANIMAL HOUSE



 
It's Real Estate Week at Trailers from Hell! Well, sort of. A triple feature of trailers for movies with the word "House" in the title doesn't exactly qualify as a seminar on flipping properties, but when you're talking about Trailers from Hell at least you know it'll be a lot more fun. (No free coffee and donuts, however.)

The week ends Friday, October 10, with Eli Roth waxing wise on the 1976 giallo from director Pupi Avati, The House with The Laughing Windows. Backing up two days to Wednesday, October 8, it's Mick Garris leading us through the halls of Narciso Ibanez Searrador's terrific The House That Screamed.

But today is Monday, and that means it's time to hit the books. Or at least knock them off the keg and make room so that thing can get properly tapped. If knowledge is indeed good, as Emil Faber once offered, then Allan Arkush makes good on the claim by revisiting the scholarly 1978 comedy classic National Lampoon's Animal House, offering some perspective on its historical significance (it burst boundaries of taste and virtually defined the parameters of popular R-rated comedy for the next 35 years, and counting) as well as on director John Landis' counterintuitive approach to comedy-- long takes, deadpan staging and even improvisation within the relatively still frame, as opposed to the frantic camera movement such material might seem to cry out for. Landis fought the (studio) power and topped it all off with a real score by Elmer Bernstein, which served as a brilliantly pokerfaced foundation for all the period hits.

The movie was shot on the campus of the University of Oregon in the autumn of 1977, which just happened to be my first term as a freshman there, and I managed to get myself a job as a Delta pledge extra on the movie. And as a keen sort of sidebar to Arkush's commentary, Trailers from Hell is also offering my own remembrance of the time I spent on the set of Animal House and, most importantly, the day I met John Belushi. I must say, it's quite a honor to be the bottom half of any double bill that features Allan Arkush in the director's chair! And watching his trailer commentary, I also discovered that in addition to being in the movie, I also somehow managed to make it into the trailer too! (Look for the quick shot of Belushi going down the line handing out pledge pins to the robe-wearing Delta pledges.)

So make sure to visit Trailers from Hell all week for their special "The Animal House That Dripped Blood" celebration, which kicks off today with Allan Arkush (not John Landis) on National Lampoons Animal House. Give it a click! Don't cost nothin'!

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Wednesday, October 01, 2014

THE HIGH SPIRIT, SHARP WIT AND SEXY SELF-DEPRECATION OF JENNIFER TILLY

 
It’s hard to believe that it’s been almost four years since I wrote this piece on one of my favorite actresses. It came about as part of a screening filmmaker and friend Don Mancini and I put together at the New Beverly Cinema in October 2010, a double feature of Seed of Chucky and the equally criminally underrated Orphan, which featured a Q&A with Don, producer Corey Sienega, actors Debbie Lee Carrington and Steve West and, of course, Jennifer Tilly.

The evening remains one of my fondest memories of Life During Blogtime not only for the event itself, but for a little dinner that took place the night of the Orphan screening which was orchestrated by Don and Orphan screenwriter David Leslie Johnson. The star of Orphan, the young, preternaturally self-possessed actress Isabelle Fuhrmann, sat just down from me and directly across from Don (and well within the protective personal space of her father)-- it was a slightly creepy hoot being seated so near to the little girl who had so effectively scared the shit out of everyone at the table that evening. But the highlight for me was getting to sit across from Jennifer Tilly, something I surely never thought would have ever taken place under any circumstances, real or imagined.
Don had passed along my article to her a few days previous to the dinner, and he reported back to me that Jennifer was really excited about it and grateful too—according to her, she hadn’t been the focus of too many lengthy profiles or considerations over the course of her career, and she was apparently tickled that she had meant so much to me over the years. When she arrived at the restaurant, Don introduced me to her and she asked politely, “Oh, were you on the film?” When Don clarified who I was, she offered a gleeful laugh, gave me a hug for the ages and then took a spot at the table directly across from me. For the next two hours, we talked about movies and other matters (she knows her stuff, cinephiles), and much to my surprise I was never once reduced to the mumbling pile of jelly I’d always suspected I would become in such a situation. As much as she charms on screen, she is a real-life charmer too, and 10 minutes with her will dispel just about every lingering notion one might have about whether or not her patented ditzy characterizations are an act. It was a genuine thrill to discover for myself just how much of a witty, warm and wacky force of nature Jennifer Tilly is in person, and I will never forget just how welcome and lucky she made me feel to get to spend an evening in dinner conversation with her.
Jennifer Tilly will be back in front of an appreciative audience, along with Don Mancini, producers David Kirschner and Corey Sienega, actress Alexis Arquette and actor Nick Stabile for a Q&A this coming Friday, October 2, before a special midnight screening of Bride of Chucky at the Nuart in Los Angeles. Believe me, a Q&A anchored by Don and Jennifer is something any fan of the Chucky films will not want to miss, so don’t you go missing it. You can get tickets at the box office or in advance by clicking here. 

And in anticipation of the Friday night fun, I’m proud to present once again my hopefully not-too-star-struck appreciation of Tilly’s wonderful talent and presence, first published her on October 19, 2010. Read it, and imagine me eating sushi with Jennifer Tilly, and then imagine how many days I walked through my normal life, pinching myself in disbelief.
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Jon Cryer. Demi Moore. Even in 1984, when I was still seeing just about everything that came to town (I was living in Medford, Oregon, at the time, so seeing everything that came to town was a relatively easy task), the prospect of seeing those two in a movie together was not the most tempting of dangling carrots. The movie was called No Small Affair, and I have to say that even then the movie’s medium-high concept-- nerdy photographer falls for slightly older rocker girl who becomes his best friend and has one night of sympathy sex with him before hitting the road, leaving said nerd with enough bittersweet memories to last at least through the closing credits—wasn’t the biggest reason I finally did see it. No, even at age 24 I was pretentious enough to tell myself that the real attraction was the fact that the movie was directed by Jerry Schatzberg. Schatzberg, a well-known photographer who began making films in the early ‘70s, was known to me primarily from his first three movies, Puzzle of a Downfall Child (1970), The Panic in Needle Park (1971) and Scarecrow (1973), none of which I had actually yet seen, and one movie which I had-- The Seduction of Joe Tynan (1978). Just knowledge of the subject matter of those four films made Schatzberg seem, to these eyes, an unlikely choice to direct a fairly typical ‘80s coming-of-age story like No Small Affair. I ended up relating to the movie perhaps more than I cared to—I was still smarting from some unrequited love pangs myself, and the movie’s sad-sack wish fulfillment, topped with that bittersweet parting, felt familiar enough to me to make up for the fact that I hadn’t much interest in either of the actors in this would-be romance.

There was one good thing that came of seeing No Small Affair, however. The supporting cast, though not always well used, was exceptionally good for a comedy of this kind—Ann Wedgeworth, Jeffrey Tambor, Elizabeth Daily, Hamilton Camp, George Wendt were all featured, as well as a young Tim Robbins, two years before Howard the Duck nearly sabotaged his future in movies and four years before Bull Durham assured that he would have one. But the real jewel in that ill-served supporting cast, the one hidden behind a giant perm and even bigger glasses, was Jennifer Tilly, making her film debut as Mona, the plain Jane (!!) friend who is obviously a better fit for Cryer yet who remains in orbit around his soft, chewy center while he misguidedly moons over Moore. Even having never seen Tilly before, it was obvious to me that the filmmakers were pulling a classic dowdy-down job on this actress. Made up to look like a more bookish, more fashion-conscious Ally Sheedy, Tilly never gets her take-off-the-glasses-and-let-down-my-hair-and-suddenly-the-lovestruck-hero-can-see-what-he’s-been-missing-all-along moment. But the joke is, she doesn’t need one. Even someone as primed to buy into the movie’s mopey puppy love as I was couldn’t believe that Cryer didn’t toss Moore over at the first opportunity in favor of this obviously stunning girl with the baby doll voice whose adolescent hostility masks a heavy thing for him, even if she wasn’t the star of the picture. For me, Tilly was the most memorable attraction in No Small Affair, so naturally I assumed Hollywood wouldn’t have a clue what to do with her and that I’d probably never see her again.


Tilly, Tim Robbins and Jon Cryer in No Small Affair

But she showed up the same year as Gina Srignoli, a mobster’s widow who strikes up an unlikely romance with bow-tied, stuffed-shirt cop Henry Goldblume (Joe Spano) on Hill Street Blues, and this time she got to turn up the spigot full blast on the sweet-tempered sexuality and slightly tarnished innocence that would become one of her hallmarks. The relationship between Gina and Henry remained fairly guileless and bittersweet, largely because of Henry’s self-awareness that he could never reconcile his work with the criminal element that came attached to his interest in her. But what is interesting even this early on is how aware Tilly is of the possibilities within the ostensibly limited range of the bimbo mob moll. One of the persistent myths of Tilly’s career is that she specializes in busty, sexy, brainless twits (just as persistent as the myth that presumes these twits are an extension of her own personality.) But the great personal signature on her hallmark character type is that Tilly never plays Gina, or any of the other similar types of women she has played in her career, as a hopeless idiot. She’s simply too smart an actress to take that relatively easy, low road, something that was evident even this early on. One gets the sense that Gina, as does Olive Neal in her Oscar-nominated performance in Bullets Over Broadway, is keenly aware of her physical attributes and the places they might take her, and she is as in control of using that image to her advantage as one could be. The fates of both Gina and Olive are both unfortunate, and it’s a tribute to Tilly’s talent (and the writing of both roles) and our empathy with her as a performer that they should carry with them such a sting.


As I said, many have made the mistake of condescending to Tilly as an actress, taking their cue from that voice and her unmistakable comfort with her body and her image to presume that the effusiveness of her characters, their occasional shallowness, is representative of her limitations as an actress or worse yet, her own intelligence. Such a presumption is, of course, as dumb as presuming that Gregory Peck could have held his own in a courtroom, or that if she wanted to Barbara Stanwyck could have seduced any man into killing for her. Tilly’s version of the sex bomb is one in which she delights in her own effect on men—one gets the sense that she’s affected in the same way she affects them—and that it never occurs to her that she may not be perceived as smart along the way. She’s buoyant in this way in a movie like Joe Pytka’s Let It Ride, a would-be Altmanesque romp-- California Split lite-- that benefits from the presence of Tilly and Allen Garfield in much the same way that she helped keep No Small Affair afloat. And it’s fun to see her cut loose even working in small parts like her tear through Neil Jordan’s ill-fated High Spirits (1988) and , of course, the way she grabbed the screen away from Jeff and Beau Bridges in The Fabulous Baker Boys (1989).

Tilly sat in on the remake of The Getaway (1993) as that piece’s Stockholm Syndrome poster child before her flirt with Oscar in Bullets Over Broadway (1994). But roles like those, or her low-key turn with Stockard Channing in Edie and Pen (1996), did little to prove to many that she was anything more than the sum of her parts, that she was in on the bimbo joke instead of being the passive butt of it. Instead, it was three movies released from 1996 to 1998 that really ended up expressing the comic-dramatic range at Tilly’s disposal, each of them riffing heavily on her perceived image as a dynamic, sexually-charged presence lacking crucial self-awareness. In the first of her two iconic appearances that would emerge from the tail-end of the ‘90s, Tilly took gay and straight audiences on quite a wild ride when she teamed with Gina Gershon in Bound (1996), the debut film from the Wachowski Brothers, who would turn the box-office upside down in 1999 with The Matrix and the visual language of the movies inside-out with Speed Racer in 2008. Bound finds Tilly as Violet, the none-too-happy girlfriend of middle management mobster Joe Pantoliano who engages sort-of butch handywoman Corky (Gershon, butch in comparison to Tilly, anyway) in some hot sex as a way of manipulating her into helping steal millions in mob money and pinning the blame on Pantoliano. One suspects that Violet is far more conventional as written on the page than as Tilly embodies her. Nevertheless, Bound not only gave Tilly one of her best parts to date—arguably a better one than the one for which she was Oscar-nominated—but her directors encouraged her to turn on the charm to a level that avoids camp by a hair’s breadth, probably because she and Gershon are so believably attracted to each other and so sympathetic in their relationship. The movie probably did more for mainstreaming the heterosexual attraction to two women making love than any movie since The Hunger, and in the process both Tilly and Gershon became gay icons as well, riffing off of Penthouse-infused film noir imagery to achieve one of the ‘90s great orgasms of movie enjoyment.

Opposite Jim Carrey’s compulsively truthful lawyer in Liar, Liar (1996), she had a great showcase for the darker side of the kinds of characters she’d been playing up to that point—here she’s Samantha Cole, a scheming plaintiff in a divorce proceeding who seems to have a direct line to the Machiavellian impulses of Phyllis Dietrichson herself. Tilly even toys with her look as a way of cueing a response to her character’s nasty underpinnings—she plays Samantha as a close-cropped bleached blonde, a personality tainted by greed and a familiarity with the sensation of a man wrapped around her diamond-studded little finger. The movie is obviously Carrey’s playground, but Tilly’s plays it relatively straight and her presence is strong enough to make an impression even smack-dab up against her co-star’s antics, strong enough to suggest that there was even more surprises up her satin sleeves just waiting for the right moment to appear.

As memorable as her turns in Bound and Liar, Liar were, it came as quite a surprise that Jennifer Tilly had a scream queen lurking inside the soft frame of those voluptuous curves. But in 1998 her fate in that arena was happily sealed with her dual role in the fourth chapter of the notorious Chucky the killer doll series, the first to ditch the Child’s Play moniker and cut straight to the beating (toy) heart of the matter. Bride of Chucky wastes no time in tracing the parody-fueled connection between the Frankenstein’s monster’s shock-haired mate and Chucky’s titular amore—Tilly shows up immediately, again done up in a blonde wig, bosom-promoting bustier and a leather jacket that could have come from the Bound costume line, as Tiffany, girlfriend of three-times-deceased serial killer Charles Lee Ray. She’s got an idea on how to resurrect her lover for a fourth go-round, but when Chucky comes back he proves to be a bit of a handful and ends up killing Tiffany (in a memorable bathtub electrocution in which The Bride of Frankenstein is directly referenced) and transferring her soul into another doll. At which point the movie becomes part Child’s Play-style horror movie, part domestic drama parody, with Chucky and Tiffany rekindling their romance while on the lam with a couple of hostages, having a lot of anatomically incorrect fun in between gory killings. The revelation here in regards to Tilly is how she brings to life, in the same way Brad Dourif does as Chucky, an essentially absurd concept and invests it with actual emotion. It’s almost as if, divorced from her own body Tilly figures out new contours in that smoky, sexy voice of hers, and as a result she’s able to cut loose like never before. It’s no coincidence, I think, that Jennifer Tilly’s work in Bride of Chucky presaged a decade of terrific, no doubt lucrative work in voice-over acting, because she really proves her stuff here behind the microphone. Soon after the release of Bride, Tilly’s signature vocalizations began popping up in everything from Stuart Little, Hey, Arnold!, Bartok the Magnificent, Home on the Range, Family Guy to even video games and, most memorably, as Celia in Monsters, Inc.

Since Bride, Jennifer Tilly subsequently appeared memorably for director Peter Bogdanovich as Louella Parsons in The Cat’s Meow, for Terry Gilliam in a brief role in his controversial drama Tideland, and of course in many other roles too numerous to mention in any context other than a complete career overview, which this surely is not. (Somehow I missed her appearance in the remake of an old TV-movie favorite, the 2006 version of The Initiation of Sarah.) But perhaps my favorite post-Tiffany Jennifer Tilly performance is her Nurse Alice, who encourages a ninth-grader in his dreams to run the 1954 Boston Marathon in writer-director Michael McGowan’s Saint Ralph (2004). The relationship between the boy and the nurse is a sweet one, and Tilly has fun playing with the unlikely elements of the character that contrast with her familiar persona— Come see Jennifer Tilly pump iron! Empathy with children isn’t something that is frequently asked of Tilly either, and Saint Ralph, for whatever its flaws, recognizes the value in exploring the give and take between this pubescent boy, who sublimates his emerging sexuality into his obsession with running, and the nurse who in another movie might be the object of his burgeoning affections but who here is allowed, believably, tenderly, to relate to him on a strictly humane, nonsexual level. For one who is so comfortable projecting her own sexuality on film, this must still have come as a refreshing pause for Tilly, even as some of us in the audience were more than willing to strain ourselves looking past the relatively butch filigree ornamenting her characterization.


If it is the dream for an actor, however, to write the final word on their own lasting persona in the fantasy realm of Hollywood, then how better to do it than blistering self-parody, cruel and hilarious exaggeration directed inward, or rather outward toward every publicly-held idea of your own persona, and from what precisely that persona is crafted? I don’t think I’ve ever seen a funnier, grander act of first-strike self-abasement, of self-directed satire and image deconstruction, than the character of “Jennifer Tilly,” as written by director Don Mancini and acted, to the Norma Desmond hilt, by Tilly herself in the crackling Hollywood horror satire Seed of Chucky (2004). Many of the fans of the Child’s Play series were put off by the outré comedy of this fifth film in the series. But those of us who were tantalized by the comic leanings of Bride (which does rely too heavily on some of the familiar tropes of the genre in the end, to my eye) were happily surprised by the degree to which Seed is given over to Tilly’s act of Thespic bravery. (The movie itself is one to which my own initial response was rather more tepid than was warranted; I have since come way around to see that Seed is one of the most underrated horror movies made in the last 10-15 years, but more on that later…) Tilly jumps in with both feet, in her vocal characterization of Tiffany (which, if you’re listening closely, has the same erotic flutter to it as Tilly’s own voice, but a different rhythm and timbre) and her physical presence. But she shows a remarkable aptitude and eagerness toward skewering her own outsized persona—much of the comic juice in the early part of the movie is directed toward deflating “Jennifer Tilly”’s obsession with her own body image (she’s introduced sneaking a Snickers bar beneath her bridal costume) and the ruthless abandon with which she attempts to steer her career (“The Virgin Mary? I could play that.”)
Tiffany subdues her by clonking her on the head with an “E! Channel” entertainment award emblazoned with the legend “Jennifer Tilly- Most Improved 2002” and then assesses her believability under duress, scoffing “No wonder her career is in trouble!” And there’s a great nasty line which I will not spoil for those who haven’t seen the movie yet, in which Tilly, as Tiffany, memorably references Bound while impersonating the actress on the phone to her personal assistant.


This is acting for the sheer fun of it, and I don’t recall another instance of a star having so much of this kind of fun at her own expense. It’s a performance that made me wish the Academy had the nerve to give her what she deserved back in 1994—a little gold man to go along with that knockout of a hanger-shaped E! award. There’s true bravery, true fuck-off disregard for what others might think, including the assumed throng who probably advised her against throwing in with Chucky for a second go-round, coursing through Jennifer Tilly’s performance as “Jennifer Tilly” that is as admirable to think about as it is exhilarating to watch. (The Seed of Chucky DVD also features more evidence of the actress’s self-deprecating wit, in the form of a short video called “Missive From Romania,” a heartfelt communiqué from the movie’s set in Eastern Europe to Jay Leno—the piece aired on The Tonight Show-- and Tilly’s brilliantly funny diary, written during the production of the film, in which she skewers the grueling life of a working actress in much the same way her on-screen persona gets roasted.) She has remained a very busy actress even after this role, which less gutsy women probably would have feared would kill their careers, and has even made a name for herself in the world of high-stakes professional poker. Tilly currently has three films being readied for release, including what looks to be a promisingly strange glimpse into the world of silent filmmaking, Return to Babylon. She also recently spent a year on the London stage starring in Wallace Shawn’s acclaimed new play Grasses of a Thousand Colors, for which she received rave reviews and, hopefully, the satisfaction of recognition for doing something which to many people (but not all) might seem unexpected.


But if she never did another play or movie (and I hope she keeps doing them until she can demonstrate just how smart and funny and randy octogenarianism can be), I would be forever grateful for the risks she has taken in her career up till now, to disprove the myth of the brainless bimbo starlet (at least as it applies to her); for her incisive character work in Bound; for the infectious effusiveness of her personality, which tends to bubble through no matter what the part; and for the sheer manic bravado of her appearance in Seed of Chucky, which would be a highlight on any great actress’s resumé. Like Marion Davies, Carole Lombard, Judy Holliday and Barbara Stanwyck before her, all the way up through someone like Eva Mendes, with whom she shares a similar sense of humor and abandon (not to mention joyful carnality), Jennifer Tilly proves that sexy can be funny, funny can be sexy, and the geography in between the two can be as rich as an actor’s wildest imagination.



If you remain unconvinced of Tilly's willingness to do just about anything for her craft, check out this great still, initiated at her request, on the set of Seed of Chucky, in which she has a great time lampooning the glowing experience of young motherhood, the progeny of Chucky and Tiffany suckling at her breast. You'll find the entire sequence of this photo shoot right here.

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Saturday, September 27, 2014

LEONARD MALTIN'S MOVIE GUIDE SWANSONG



The Cozzalio ladies and I went to dinner last night at a restaurant on the outskirts of the dread Americana here in beautiful downtown Glendale, and while Nonie and I waited for the table, Patty and Emma walked over to Barnes and Noble for some pre-food browsing. They returned with the 2015 edition of Leonard Maltin’s Movie Guide, the last gasp in a long run of such volumes which began back in 1969. I had the first one (seen here), obtained as a bonus gift for joining the Movie Book Club when I was 11 or 12 years old, and I bought the new one each time out ever since, up until about three of four years ago, when bookshelf space, even after donating my old copies to Goodwill, started becoming a premium. And I knew, given that this was the final chapter, I'd have to have this one too.
Maltin's books were always handy and full of interesting technical information on running time, casts, dates and, in later editions, aspect ratios, but also, as the man on the cover acknowledges in his foreword, increasingly cumbersome and perhaps even superfluous in the age of proliferating information, accurate or otherwise, on the Internet. They were also touchstones for me, sort of a rock-solid place of repose right down the middle of the mainstream, and I'll always appreciate them as such, even when the aggregate of opinion gathered in the books (they were not always Maltin's, but instead an amalgam of observations gathered by his editorial staff) were exceedingly predictable posts from that mainstream, or surprisingly skimpy-- even for bite-sized capsules-- on actual reasons for some of the lower star ratings. He'll probably never live down the two-star ratings for Taxi Driver and Blue Velvet, but at least he's stuck to his guns-- those ratings, and the reasons for them ("Ugly and unredeeming!" "Terminally weird!") still stand. Which is quite unlike the time when he acknowledged upgrading his initial *1/2 stamp on Smokey and the Bandit because, well, a lot of people seemed to like it.

At dinner last night, we all amused ourselves playing a game that my best pal Bruce and I used to indulge in upon the release of each new annual edition. The new "Leonard" in hand, we each took turns trying to accurately predict the star rating for whatever notable releases from the previous year that would be included for the first time. We were both always pretty good at this-- a serious indicator of that predictability I mentioned-- and it turned out Patty was too. And since I'd skipped a couple of years, there were lots of titles that came to my mind. The girls even shouted out some predictions, and we were all surprisingly close, if not spot-on, never more than a half-star away from the truth. A sampling:


Antichrist ** (grimly serious, but also difficult to decipher, with touches of fantasy thrown in)
Blue Jasmine ***1/2 (Allen's screenplay offers food for thought about ethics, morals, friendship, family and our consumerist society)

Curse of Chucky *1/2 (Lacking the comic tone of the last few movies of the series, this is really just for fans)

Godzilla (2014) *** (spectacular, surprisingly good)
The Grand Budapest Hotel **** (breathless farce populated with characters out of a Lubitsch movie)

The Great Beauty ***1/2 (a visual feast with thought-provoking dialogue)
Holy Motors **1/2 (pointless)

Hot Fuzz ** (protracted, disappointing, resolutely dull)
Inside Llewyn Davis **1/2 (form trumps content here, though it's obviously catnip to Coen loyalists)

Killer Joe *** (solid direction, not for the squeamish or easily offended)
Only Lovers Left Alive ** (hip but terminally boring)

Passion ** (stylish film reveals De Palma's usual superb use of the camera and has its moments, but it's too twisty, ironic and uninvolving)
Savages ** (long, boring look at mostly scummy characters)

Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives **1/2 (a spiritual quest for some, frustrating for others)
Under the Skin ** (contemplative, metaphysical sci-fi doesn't go anywhere as a story, but almost succeeds as a lesson in style as substance)


Lots of eyebrow-arching fun, in other words. Of course, re Curse, the "comic tone of the last few movies" was only good enough for a half-star upgrade over the rating he gave the latest installment, which ranks a stinker rating even without any indication whatsoever in the review as so what makes it so bad. And that's Leonard Maltin’s Movie Guide in a nutshell, really. Lots of good objective information-- the book has always been a great resource regarding running times as a point of comparison for determining the degree to which any given version of the film has been cut-- coupled with predictable reactions you can guess before even reading them. Makes you wonder, if Maltin just left out the opining and stuck to the facts, like John Willis did in his Screen World series, the books might not be so fat (or so expensive) and maybe he'd feel like cranking 'em out for a few more years. But those opinions, as bland and cranky as they might sometimes be, have been an integral part of the fun for 46 years. It just wouldn't have been Leonard Maltin’s Movie Guide without 'em. So salud, Leonard, and thanks for being a diverting and integral part of my getting to know the movies.
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