Thirty-Day Movie Challenge: Day Thirty

Well, I guess it’s nice to know I can finish a project once in a while.

When I decided to expand the Facebook 30 Day Movie Challenge to what would essentially become thirty essays on film, I didn’t think it was going to be a very big deal. I saw it as a nice way to get this blog rolling along with original material. Not just an orphanage for short stories and poems that couldn’t find a home. I guessed it would take a month, maybe two, to finish, give me the chance to write movie reviews again, keep the blog awash in material and perhaps set off a spark or two for other ideas.

The other ideas are indeed playing ping-pong in the arena of potential, and no one’s going to argue I didn’t get to write movie reviews again. What I completely underestimated was how much of a self-inflicted (the worst kind) chore this would be at times, or how long it was going to take to expand on thirty movie reviews, most of which are only three or four hundred words on my Facebook page, and turn them into something I could be relatively pleased with.

That’s okay. I love a good learning experience sometimes. I’m pleased I saw this through to the end.

It seems as though people dug these. I hope so. Writing for pleasure comes first, but that only carries a person but so far. Eventually, you want to hopefully find an audience of some kind. I’m doing okay with that, I think, but I can always do better.

That will probably never change, the fact that I should be doing better, working harder, and that’s as disheartening as it is enthralling. To have both of those things at once is at least guaranteed to keep me awake.

No idea if it’s actually going to lead me down some kind of positive road.

Well, nothing else to do at this point but say thanks to those who hung in there through all thirty reviews, and to ask anyone reading this to hang around for whatever’s coming next. Look for more poetry, more short fiction, some experiments, some, yes, reviews and more.

I can’t promise anything. Except that I’ll do my best to make it worth your time.

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30 Day Movie Challenge

Day Thirty: The Last Movie You Saw

Sorcerer (1977)
Directed by: William Friedkin
Starring: Roy Scheider, Bruno Cremer, Francisco Rabal

A recent, rare interview with Gene Hackman left me wanting to watch The French Connection again. Hackman is one of my favorite actors in general, and William Friedkin, who directed the film, is one of my favorite directors. The French Connection might well be the best film either one of them has ever done. It’s a wonderful tour of vintage New York, and it’s a ferociously-paced, brilliantly shot and well-acted film (with my favorite car chase of all time). Watching it again was a pleasure, and it sent me over to Netflix to see which William Friedkin movies I still hadn’t gotten around to seeing. There’s a few. I’ve seen and loved The Exorcist, Blue Chips, To Live and Die in L.A. I thought Rules of Engagement was shockingly stupid for the talent involved. I still need to see Bug one of these days, and I’m eager to see Friedkin’s latest, Killer Joe whenever it makes its way over to a wider release.

I noticed Sorcerer as one of his films that I had never seen, and I was surprised. It looks like something I would have snatched up and seen ages ago. The cast looked great, it was Friedkin’s follow-up to monstrous back-to-back successes The French Connection and The Exorcist, and the story, a remake of the classic The Wages of Fear, all came together as something I just didn’t imagine was going to steer me wrong. The film was a notorious critical and commercial flop in its time (and that wouldn’t be the first time for Friedkin), grossing something like twelve-million against a then-substantial budget of twenty-million, but it’s in recent years come to be appreciated as a beautifully-suspenseful film, and something of a minor cult classic.


All the *really* good cult classics make sure to include fire.

It’s a mixed blessing that by now, Netflix is pretty good at predicting how I’m going to rate a movie. Their guess was that I would give Sorcerer a 4.1 out of five.

Between that, and people like Roger Ebert and Stephen King counting the film amongst their favorites (Ebert was one of the few major critics to give the film a good review during its original release), I imagined I was in pretty good shape for a pretty good movie.

I was right, too. Sort-of.

The problem isn’t in the story. It’s a good one, in which four men, (Scheider, Bruno Cremer, Francisco Rabal and Amidou) from four different parts of the world find themselves, for different reasons, living as exiles in a remote Nicaraguan village. The village almost functions as a character unto itself. It’s a filthy, desperate place. One doesn’t go there by choice. One goes there because they have no choice. The horrors of the circumstances that brought the four men there quickly becomes small, in comparison to what caused them to flee their original lives in the first place. Friedkin’s best films capture the chaos, danger and earthly Hell of where they occur. Sorcerer is no different. These four men might be running away from something, but they don’t want to die in that village.  That proves to be their collective motivation for taking on the assignment of driving two trucks full of volatile nitroglycerin to an oil well that has caught fire, and can only be repaired with explosives. The money might be good, it might make their doomed dreams come true, but only the truly hopeless would take on such a job. Hopeless is a good word for not only the tone of the movie, but for the four protagonists themselves. We may or may not want them to succeed, but we’re in constant doubt from beginning to end, if they can make it through the job and find the redemption that drives them, like a very specific, intoxicating kind of madness.

That madness and drive is realized through great performances by all four leads. Scheider stands out in particular. It’s a shame his career slowed somewhat. He always brought a tired-and-yet-somewhat-manic humor to his characters. They were either good-naturedly enduring their circumstances, or they were doggedly pursuing an obsession that almost never resulted in a happy ending. Cremer, Rabal and Amidou all turn in wonderful performances that dually stand on their own and contribute countless miles of humanity to the story, but the star here is definitely Scheider. His transformation over the course of the film is nothing short of haunting. This isn’t a horror film, but the depths Scheider sinks to, in order to get what he wants, are truly frightening at times. All of them achieve this startling, tragic change, but Scheider is the one we barely recognize by the conclusion of their unforgiving journey.


All in all it’s a pretty rough weekend for the guy.

The last hour of the film reflects that frightening aspect in subtle and not-so-subtle ways. There’s no question that Friedkin knows how to pile on the severity of each moment in his best films. Sorcerer suffers greatly from a painfully slow first half. It’s not that a slow build to something as violent as the second half was a bad idea. It just doesn’t work as well as it should have, given the people involved, and it can make getting to that pitch-perfect second half a bit of a chore. The sin is not in taking time and care in establishing four back-stories, bringing their dire situations to a boiling point until the task of driving those trucks becomes a silver-lining. The problem is that it just didn’t need to take that long. Sometimes, moving this slow works, and sometimes, it doesn’t. Some may disagree, but Sorcerer probably could have benefited from a slightly shorter running time. It wouldn’t have hurt the white-hot intensity of the second-half or damaged the range and force of the acting. These things would have come through regardless. Of those four back-stories none of them made much of an impact on my ability to be invested in that second half.

It’s worth noting that the European cut of the film was along these lines. Twenty-eight minutes in all were removed. This includes everything that shows us what brought the four men to Nicaragua to begin with. It would be interesting to compare that version (which would knock the movie down to something like ninety minutes), cut and released without Friedkin’s consent, to the one I saw. I’m not sure eliminating all four background stories entirely would have been the way to go. I still wonder if even a few minutes left on the cutting room floor would have made the difference for me.

Some say you have to watch a movie twice to really get what the movie is trying to show you, and that might be the case here. For now I can only say that Sorcerer didn’t truly get my attention, until Scheider and company begin their trek. That’s when God, the universe, bad luck or whatever you want to call it holds up both fists and begins swinging with a vicious attention to the details of pain. It’s expected that everything that can go wrong will go wrong, but that doesn’t make it any less riveting. The weather turns ugly at one point and assaults the two trucks with a hurricane season’s worth of rain and wind. It gets worse from there very quickly, becoming an element of a possible suicide when one of the trucks attempts to cross what might be the most rickety, perilous bridge in film history. That the truck fell of the bridge several times during filming shouldn’t come as much of a surprise. Being relatively certain of the truck barely making it across doesn’t mean a thing when the scene unfolds before us. The tension becomes something thick, almost tangible. Our attention on the disasters that appear legion, descending upon the truck as struggles along, is absolute.


It’s not as bad when you later learn that the local post office goes through this every single day.

I hate to keep dividing the film in terms of the first and second halves, but it’s difficult not to when one is so distinctly more enjoyable than the other. As a whole Sorcerer is pretty good, somewhere in the neighborhood of a 3 ½ out of 5, if we’re going to use Netflix’s rating system (may as well). Most of that rating comes from the second hour, but Scheider, Cremer, Rabal and Amidou are collectively what make the difference between the first hour being sluggish, and the kind of thing that’s so dismal, you have no interest in sticking around for the rest. If you feel like Sorcerer is taking a little while to really get out of the gate, stick around. The best of Sorcerer is able to stand alongside the best of William Friedkin’s career. That’s not too shabby, considering his filmography.

Thirty-Day Movie Challenge: Day Twenty-Nine

Being miserable but still wanting to work is frustrating sometimes. I’m not at a loss for things I’d like to write and rant about. Fifteen minutes on any reputable news site or blog yields just as many ideas. SOPA is a good example, but in general there’s more than enough horror in the world to fill this blog with social and political commentary.

It’s about time I took a serious swing at that stuff, and not just allude to it in everything else I write, so you may see a process of experimentation with that type of writing in the near future.

Hopefully, there will be a long vacation from movie reviews for a while. I’m pretty burnt out on them, but I’m halfway tempted to try a short-ish column of some kind.

Then there’s just banging out some free-wheeling observation pieces that I hope will have a decent humorous slant going for them. I still dream of writing for Cracked.com, and this blog is as good a place as any to work out the best voice for trying to do that.

My mind is more erratic with conflicting, warring thoughts than I can ever remember it being. Writing is still a beautiful way of sorting them out. With a little luck this blog should become an awfully interesting scene over the next few months.

So, stick around, put up with the tail-end of this challenge and wish me luck.

Being unhappy for no reason is no excuse for a lack of productivity, or for not trying at all times to find the next thing that keeps you at the table you worked so hard to get to in the first place.

I’ll be twenty-seven the next time I blink for more than a few seconds. I complain constantly to myself of not being where I thought I would be when I was seventeen, eighteen. Moments of the universe’s giddy idea of bad fortune aside I have no one to blame for that but myself.

And, really, weird ladies, disgruntled gentlemen, wouldn’t you like to see me talk about something else besides movies and self-loathing?

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30 Day Movie Challenge

Day Twenty-Nine: First Movie You Remember Seeing

Ghostbusters II (1989)
Directed by: Ivan Reitman
Starring: Bill Murray, Dan Akroyd, Sigourney Weaver

One of the recurring themes of these reviews is that many of the movies mentioned here are ones that have been favorites for a long time. A lot of things act as markers over the course of my life so far. People, places, certain books, certain albums, TV shows to a very minor extent, and, of course, movies. Some of the long-time personal classics mentioned in past reviews, I can remember the exact time, place, surroundings and even feelings that happened to be around at the same moment. Others are vaguer, and seem as though they have been part of my landscape for as long as I’ve been alive. I’m not going to remember the first time I saw them. That’s fine. It’s usually not important. I would call it a mildly engrossing, self-absorbed trivia of a kind.

Sometimes, I just like to look at the first time I saw a movie, and see how it’s held up over the years in the face of everything else in my life evolving, changing, disappearing or moving past me. I’m interested in seeing how the consistent (my love of movies) moves, alters or endures within the inconsistent (damn near everything else).

I’m going to cheat slightly. I’ve already listed the first movie I ever remember seeing (Ghostbusters). So, instead I’m going with the first movie I ever saw in a theater. Going to the theater can still be a wonderful experience. I don’t go as often as I would like, but some of my favorite memories are that of going to a theater, sitting in the dark, blinking and then being at a complete loss to explain how a couple of hours could have gone by so quickly.

Bad movies can have the opposite effect. You’ll check the time a dozen times, stagger out of the theater as quickly as possible when it’s over and wonder if it’s possible to get the time and money back.

That’s happened to me, but not so often as to sour me on going forever. I’m twenty-six, have been going to movie theaters for twenty-two years, and I still get a nerd rush from going to see a movie at night, completely loving it and then coming out of the theater to the strange blur of the real world. The blur goes away, the evening goes on, but the movie, if it was any kind of impact on you at all, stays with you for a while.

It was a much larger experience for me as a child, but then again, most things were. I’m just happy that I still like going at all.

It makes sense that the first film I would see in a theater would be Ghostbusters II. At that point in my life I was pretty damn obsessed with the whole thing. My parents saw no alternative but to take me. I still remember not being able to sleep the night before. My optimism in those days was pretty solid. There was no way this could end badly. The thought that the movie might be intensely terrifying on the largest screen I had ever watched a movie on, or the possibility of the movie not being very good didn’t even occur to me. I had countless toys, an already-worn-out copy of the first movie on VHS, a proton pack, a trap, the firehouse and watched the cartoon every time it came on.

There was no way this could end badly.

No way at all.

In retrospect I blame my parents. My four-year-old perspective was not ready for Vigo or the part where Ray, Winston and Egon go into the sewer to find the river of slime. I had seen horror films up to that point, but this was different. This was at a movie theater with a screen the size of a small island. Speakers roared and shook the darkness with music and sound effects from every corner of the room.

I wasn’t especially crazy about the dark back then.

My parents realized they had made a mistake pretty early on, but I’ll always remember that sewer scene. I wasn’t handling it very well, and my parents used the moment when the gang decides to go back and get their proton packs as a last-ditch effort to calm me the hell down. I would imagine the other patrons in the theater were pretty sick of me at this point. I’ve dealt with freaked out kids at movie theaters, and I’ve wanted to hit whoever brought them with a sock full of quarters.

My parents managed to calm me down, and then Ray had to go and finally track down the river of slime.

That didn’t please me a whole lot. I turned to my mother and echoed one of Ray’s lines from the film. “Why aren’t they going back?! Why aren’t they getting their proton packs?! They NEED their proton packs!”

And so forth.

It was a long time before my parents took me to see a movie.

Not even Bill Murray’s pscyhic powers could save me.

I loved the movie though. I thought it was just as good as the original. Over the course of my childhood I watched it just as many times. Things like Vigo became a good deal less frightening as I got older.

Almost twenty-two years later, and I still watch it every once in a while. It hasn’t aged perfectly, but it’s holding steady. I’ve come to realize through the years that it’s not nearly as good as the original. There’s a lot of great things in it (like Peter MacNicol stealing every scene he’s in as Vigo’s lackey, and the whole completely left-field romantic subplot between Rick Moranis and Annie Potts), but it just doesn’t have that lightning-in-a-bottle sense of fun that the first one had. The writing and cast can barely hide the fact that they’re pretty much just trying to repeat the magic. There isn’t a lot of originality to be found.

Does that really matter though? I don’t think so. It’s a good formula, and it would have been foolish to mess around with it too much. Ghostbusters II is still an incredibly entertaining movie. Murray asking Akroyd if he’s been sleeping with the slime, followed by Akroyd looking entirely too uncomfortable, is still one of my favorite bits from either movie. The same goes for Murray, and his horrible TV show, Ernie Hudson’s encounter with the ghost train and Ramis’ great deadpan line, “We had part of a slinky, but I straightened it.”

Another endearing quality of Ghostbusters II are the small, distinctive roles filled out by actors like Kurt Fuller (whose interactions with Murray are fun), Kevin Dunn as a psychic, Ben Stein, Philip Baker Hall, Cheech Marin and Brian Doyle-Murray as the psychiatrist who wearily listens to the Ghostbusters’ pleas to be let out of the madhouse before Vigo ushers in his “season of evil.” (I would argue that’s every Christmas, but I’m not the ghost of a 17th century warlord).

I also didn’t know until recently that Max Von Sydow did the dubbing for Vigo. That’s worth a couple of brownie points for the movie right there. I’ve often wished my own life was narrated by a man whose voice probably makes God nervous.

This movie has plenty to enjoy. It just doesn’t stand on quite the same level as the first one. I can live with that, and I can therefore enjoy the movie on its own terms.

There’s a good story, too. I dig the idea of a long-dead European tyrant haunting a painting, drawing energy from a river of slime beneath the streets of New York City, and how this pulls the Ghostbusters out of litigation and obscurity, and back to work (the courtroom scene, with Moranis as their sublimely incompetent lawyer, is great). I’ve seen worse examples of a follow-up to a classic going through the paces. Could it have been better? Maybe. Should it have been made at all? That’s up to individual opinion. Probably not, but I’m glad they made it anyway. Ghostbusters is one of those things I unapologetically can’t get enough of. As long as the entire gang is on board they’ll have my complete attention.

Ghostbusters II at least deserves credit for one thing, even if you hated the entire thing. It got Bill Murray back after a four-year exile from acting, with the exception of 1986’s Little Shop of Horrors, after the failure of the underrated Razor’s Edge. I’m certainly not going to complain about that. I don’t even blame him for wanting nothing to do with Ghostbusters III (the last time I checked). Two movies just might be pushing it. This sequel will always have a place in my library and geekdom memories. I’m not going to weep if all we have to enjoy is a great movie, a good movie, a fantastic video game, a memorable animated series and an assortment of books and comics. Why do we need anything else?

Thirty-Day Movie Challenge: Day Twenty-Eight

I often wish I had the means to do videos or even podcasts, if only so I could steal that haunting, soft opening Ellen Barkin rocked in every episode of Bob Dylan’s Theme Time Radio Hour.

Go find it. I’m not going to run an example of that intro. It just wouldn’t be the same as actually saying it.

Two more reviews for the series?

Oh boy. I think it’s pretty safe to say that I’m going to be finally finished with this by the end of this month. It’s best to just shoot straight through the last two days, so I’m not going to be running anything else until thirty reviews are committed to this blog. We’re on day twenty-eight, and the last two may as well be already written.

God knows what’s next for this blog. I have ideas, but none of them are setting the world on fire for me at this exact moment. That could be my mood, or it could be a hint from upstairs that I should wait for some inspiration. Being finished with this will probably clear away a lot of excess cobwebs, and make room for new ones. I hope so. I’m writing more than usual right now, but I’m still waiting for an idea that sets off that mild but wonderful obsessive steak. I want to fall in love with an idea the way I fall in love with an unbelievable woman. That wish has been lingering in every other project for a while now. It’s time I became deathly serious about finding a project that sets off that kind of love. I’m already thinking (an occasional hobby of mine), but I’m looking to finishing and then cutting these loose ends around my neck.

It’s time to move on, and trust for the best to meet somewhere along the way.

On an unrelated note, it was around this time that I was running lines for my role in Frost/Nixon, so subsequently acting has been on my mind even more than usual. I have no idea when the next gig will come along, and that’s pathetically distressing.

Nothing to do but hope and pay attention for anything that looks promising.

That’s often the case, it would seem. I’m not complaining. Simply observing.

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30 Day Movie Challenge

Day Twenty-Eight: Movie With Your Favorite Villain

Richard III (1995)
Directed by: Richard Loncraine
Starring: Ian McKellen, Annette Benning, Jim Broadbent

Choosing the movie with my favorite all-time hero was relatively easy. Yes, there were contenders for the spot, but it didn’t take long to sort through them and decide on a favorite. I didn’t doubt my pick for a moment. Close seconds aside, Indiana Jones did not get much of a real challenge from other possibilities, or any of those close seconds.

Those who know me know that while I can appreciate a great hero, I’m much more likely to enjoy the company of a truly memorable villain. A classic villain needs a hero of equal stature to achieve immortality, realized through their conflict, but I’ve always felt that the hero needs the villain more than the other way around. A villain without a good guy who measures up can still be supremely entertaining. A hero without a worthy opponent usually just bores me to the point of a mild, half-awake coma.

The only time I ever give a damn about Superman tends to be when he’s facing Lex Luthor. I’m a fantastic for anything-Batman, but my interest in the character is never any higher than when he’s up against The Joker. Peter Cushing needed Christopher Lee. Optimus Prime is even better with Megatron. Sherlock Holmes to Moriarty, and Liam Gallagher to Noel Gallagher (although I’m not quite sure who the good guy/bad guy is in that one).

This list can go on, but it shouldn’t. The point is that choosing my favorite film villain was a much more difficult task than picking the hero. I didn’t lose sleep over it (it’s not like I sleep very well to begin with), but I there was considerably more thought involved in this category than with most of the other days. Lots of second-guessing, lots of moments when I thought I had made a choice, only to then think of someone else.

Ian McKellen in Richard III has a couple of things going for it against other contenders. McKellen himself is one of the finest actors of our time. He is as captivating and convincing in heroic roles (a couple of people might have seen him in Lord of the Rings), as he is when it a film demands he play the exact opposite (the X-Men films, or even the underrated Apt Pupil). I like him either way, but he entertains me just a bit more as a bad guy, and he’s never entertained more than he did as Richard III.


Go ahead, call him a queer.

That’s one reason. The other is that it seems as though the character itself is something of a prototype for a lot of other villains I like. I look through a list of favorites, notice similarities between them and Shakespeare’s version of the real-life king and keep in mind that Richard has a couple of centuries on the rest of my list. He’s one of the earliest maniacal villain s I’m aware of, and after a lot of thought I decided he was my favorite.

I don’t think you get to truly consider yourself a badass, until you’ve screamed “My Horse! My horse! My kingdom for a horse!” from behind of the wheel of a scout car that’s being attacked from all sides by the sights and sounds of your army getting the living crap kicked out of it.

That scene pops into my head quite often. McKellen’s Richard is a monster, but he’s a charming monster, and no one can say he’s not ready to go to bat. We know he’s headed for a fall, but we also know he’s not going to make that easy for anyone who’s coming after him.

My choice in such a strong field of contenders gets considerable help from Richard III being one of the best movies I’ve ever seen. I’ve watched a number of films based on Shakespeare’s works in the last ten years or so. Richard III is my favorite.

Tromeo and Juliet is pretty damn good, too though.

Like a lot of people, I had to get the hell away from high school in order to finally start appreciating Shakespeare. I’ve been slow to make my way through his work, but I’ve come to truly enjoy plays like The Merchant of Venice and King Lear. For the most part the tragedies are infinitely more interesting to me (someone told me once that The Merchant of Venice was originally intended as a comedy, but I really don’t know if that’s true).

Richard III is also my favorite of his plays, period, and Richard Loncraine’s 1995 film adaptation is a brilliant reinterpretation. There are distinct differences between the film and the original material, but the center of the story, Richard himself, is unchanged. The character leaves a lot of room for an actor skilled at playing bad guys. Vincent Price, Basil Rathbone and Al Pacino have all good turns as Richard in other film versions (I’ve never seen the Olivier version, and that’s something I need to change one of these days). All those guys were good, but they can’t even come close to the lofty heights reached by the vicious, deranged menace McKellen punches into every single line and gesture. McKellen uses both his talents as an actor and fan of the play to deliver a performance that is as sinister as it is enthralling. It makes sense that he had a hand in adapting Richard III for the screen alongside Loncraine. His belief in the story and character is prevalent. Every line is delivered with intensity and passion to spare.


“Let me just finish this smoke, and then I’ll go back to murdering everyone.”

Other great actors are in the movie, but sometimes, it’s hard to pay attention to them. Robert Downey Jr (who looks pretty sedate throughout), Annette Benning, Jim Broadbent and Maggie Smith make the most of their time. Nigel Hawthorne is wonderful, fatally tragic from the onset as Richard’s brother. Everyone is great, but the name on the marquee is still the one that we’re hopefully going to pay the most attention to. This is the kind of role that could lend itself to drowning in camp under an actor with no concept of balance. McKellen has balance to the point of making it look easy. He’s proven that in just about everything he appears in. He plays Richard full-tilt and straight down the highway to hell, but he never reaches comical heights. It’s entertaining, but it’s also dark, intense stuff. What’s chilling is in how he plays Richard so smoothly that we sometimes forget the horrors of his political ambitions. If someone wanted to, regardless of their particular politics, they could probably draw parallels between Sir Ian’s performance, and the notion of people in real life being so taken by a public figure that they are able to practice intentional amnesia in response to what they’re really up to. That is one of the most gripping facets of Richard III.  We are able to at times lose ourself in the performance itself. More than once, McKellen makes anyone decent look pretty dull by comparison.

The 1930’s London backdrop does a lot for this movie, too. It’s a perfectly-realized atmosphere of chaos, fear, greed and insanity. It’s a natural fit for the drama that unfolds. This is the perfect stage for a madman to swoop in, tear the house down and go out via the same sword he used for his bloody rise to power. All the way to the end Richard III is a perfect example of what film can do to enhance something like a Shakespearean play. It adds something worthwhile to an often-told tale. While never forgetting that beneath all of that is a story and central character as rich and compelling as when they were first created. Shakespeare’s plays live on because of people like Ian McKellen.

Looking again at the more recent films, books, TV shows, comics and the like it’s hard to imagine some of those other villains matching Richard for ambition and ferocity. Most of them wouldn’t stand a chance in a confrontation. Barring my opinion of Laurence Olivier’s film, whenever I finally see it, I see Ian McKellen as the greatest actor to ever take on the best villain I’ve ever seen in a film. Richard III is unblemished filmmaking from top to bottom, but McKellen is what puts the movie on my list of classics.

Thirty-Day Movie Challenge: Day Twenty-Seven

So much for that great dream of being finished with this series by the end of 2011.

I blame Republicans, a hard-drinking stripper from Memphis, the lure of making an easy thousand dollars in Tijuana, a gunfight at a rundown Laundromat and old reruns of The Larry Sanders Show.

None of those things actually qualify, but they at least sound better than “My glasses were obliterated and haven’t been replaced yet, I missed a get-together with some of my favorite people, my wallet went missing, my girlfriend left me, my back decided to take a vacation from being useful and my depression is more potent now than it’s been in quite some time.”

All in 2012, kids.

I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for 2013.

Let’s see if we can kill this whole challenge by the end of January. We’re nearly done. I’m also pretty damn close to being finished with that third, hopefully final draft of that second go-round at writing a novel worth selling.

My hope is that my mood will improve with these things behind me.

Some travel would also likely cheer me up. I’m just astonished that such a thing happens to cost money. I had no idea until recently.

Where do I want to go?

What have you got?

I’m eager for something big in 2012. My ability to look and fight for that is not where it should be, but I try to keep optimism close to the ability to get out of bed every morning.

Some snow would be nice. It doesn’t have to be a winter apocalypse. I would be perfectly content with an inch or two sticking to the ground, and disappearing from the otherwise-dull scene by the next morning.

I’m not fussy. I’m often willing to settle for less. That’s one of my many problems.

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30 Day Movie Challenge

Day Twenty-Seven: Movie With Your Favorite Hero

Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981)
Directed by: Steven Spielberg
Starring: Harrison Ford, Karen Allen, Paul Freeman

In theory, this should be one of the shortest entries in the bunch. Because there is literally nothing I can say about this movie or Harrison Ford that hasn’t been said by several million other fans/nerds/etc over the past thirty years. This is one of those movies where my only real option for achieving originality would be to start making up outlandish theories. I could argue that Denholm Elliot was the true hero of the film, or that Marion was just a figment of Indy’s imagination.


Which would have been a shame, really.

This is the internet though. I’m sure someone somewhere has already put forth those theories.

However, there are actually people who have never seen this movie. I try not to be the kind of person who responds to that kind of thing with huge eyes, a backwards stagger of disbelief and a cry of “What do you mean you’ve never seen that?!” Sometimes, it’s hard. Raiders of the Lost Ark is one of those films I just inherently assume everyone has seen before. That’s silly, but it’s built into my mind all the same. I have a friend who counts the three Mummy films amongst her favorites, but she’s never seen any of the Indy films. I don’t think less of her for it (I’m a nerd, but I’m not a complete asshole). I can’t help but be surprised by that. Because the thing with Raiders is that even if you’ve never seen it, chances are good that you’ve probably seen a reference to it. You don’t have to see the legendary boulder scene at the beginning to know that someone else is alluding to or parodying it when they do their own bit of someone trying to outrun a giant, rolling rock.

I can personally only see so many references to something, before I feel compelled to go and figure out what in the hell people are going on about.

So, if you’ve never seen the movie, I guess I can only hope this review encourages you to do so, or reminds you of a resolve you made a while ago.

What I love is that Raiders of the Lost Ark is yet another movie that doesn’t seem like it came out when it did. For a movie that was designed as a throwback to the old serials of the 1930’s/40’s, that’s an interesting feat. It might be a throwback to those movies, I certainly think so, but it’s not stubbornly rooted in a style of film that’s no longer common knowledge. It’s a 1980 feature-length film with 1930, 40 movie serial leanings, and yet it plays the same for me now as it did when I first saw it.

I’m really at a loss to try and provide any insight that might be in any way considered original. The best I can do is to provide yet another testimonial for why this movie hasn’t gone on to pale in comparison to bigger movies with bigger budgets and better special effects. Charm and personality go a long way in a movie. Harrison Ford has been one of my favorite actors since I saw Raiders about twenty-three years ago. I watched every movie of his I could find and enjoyed just about all of them. He’s a great actor, or he’s at least great at playing the characters that he plays, but it’s that presence he casts in every scene of every movie. You can find that same presence in the Star Wars: Episode IVV. Ford defined his own particular style of hero here, but the general concept of a hero like Indiana Jones can be found across nearly the entire history of film. George Lucas and Phillip Kaufman set out to create their own imprint on that concept. What they came up with came together with Ford’s weary, stubborn portrayal, and it created what is easily my favorite cinematic hero of all time. It’s a hero character that stands to last long after he’s gone. Because like all the great movie heroes, it’s a unique presence that only he can bring to that character. It’s not just as Indiana Jones either. Ford is one of my favorite actors for the simple reason that I can see rarely someone else as the character he’s playing exactly as he’s playing it. Very few actors/actresses have that quality, and maintain it in even the least of their films. There are Harrison Ford movies I don’t care for in a general sense, but I don’t think I’ve ever thought Ford himself has given a particularly bad performance.


Weird Al had the right idea of how to go about this, even if the result was the same.

I love all the Indiana Jones movies (the fourth one was wonderful, so, keep quiet, because we’re not getting into it), but the first one is the one I’ve seen the most. The story is simply an archeologist trying to get to the legendary Ark of the Covenant, before those wacky Nazis do. It’s a simple plot, but it’s extremely well-told. Most of us should know by now that it’s possible to screw up telling even the most basic stories. Basic also doesn’t mean stupid, and enjoying something as to the point as Raiders doesn’t necessarily mean you’re simple. Movies can win points for style, but they still have to be captivating in some way. There is not a mood in my emotional playbook that can refuse Raiders of the Lost Ark. It works under any circumstances, and it’s that now-legendary hero of Ford’s that’s most responsible for making this possible.

Karen Allen remains my favorite of the girls Indy finds himself tied to, the villains, Ronald Lacey and Paul Freeman, were never better, that John Williams score is absolutely crucial and the action sequences are the best of all four movies (I love the story of how the fight between Jones and the swordsman came down to the fact that Ford had dysentery that day). It’s impossible to choose one favorite scene over another (the bar scene comes close). All of them make me smile like a complete idiot. One who has never seen a flawlessly entertaining movie before. That’s not the case, and Raiders isn’t even my favorite movie of all time, but I’ll never get tired of it.

Other cast notables include John Rhys-Davies in a role I like almost as much as Gimli in The Lord of the Rings, and Alfred Molina (you know, Dr. Octopus) in his film debut. It was a shame Sean Connery and the late, endlessly wonderful Denholm Elliot couldn’t come back for Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, but I kind of wish they had figured out a way to fit Rhys-Davies in the story.

I know, I know. It doesn’t even take place in the same part of the world as Raiders (or The Last Crusade for that matter). I’m just saying.

Raiders might be my favorite of the franchise, but I can still get similar pleasure from the three subsequent films. All of them make me glad that it’s possible to create a movie that’s pure entertainment, without making me feel like I just suffered a concussion from being dumbed down to death when the end credits roll.

A remake is just impossible to me. No one could play this character as well as Ford did, and still does. No one but Spielberg at that point in his career could have crafted this exact kind of adventure. This movie brought out the best in everyone involved. With other projects many of them would find other moments of brilliance, but it’s a particular kind of extraordinary fun when everyone comes together for an Indiana Jones movie. This one set a tone that’s been almost impossible (but just as much fun) to follow in the other three movies. I like each movie for different reasons, but the one steady fact in all four is Harrison Ford as Indiana Jones, and Indiana Jones was never as good as he was the first time we met him.

Thirty Day Movie Challenge: Day Twenty-Six

I’m still determined to be finished with this by the end of 2011. Useless, completely unwarranted and unreasonable depression aside, I’m ready to move on, and I’m hoping to actually do that.

The fact that the year is almost over is just a coincidence. I’ve been ready for substantial change for a long time, and I’ll make a decent move of some kind as soon as I can. It’s just a question of when, and if it just happens to be in the opening moments of 2012, then that’s just the way it’s going to be.

Coincidences, I promise you. I still actively loathe and try to avoid New Year’s resolutions.

And Jesus, are these some weird, intense thoughts to play around with on a relatively quiet Christmas Eve. It’s probably best for everyone, if we just head into the first of the final five reviews for the Thirty-Day (well, a day or two more than thirty at this juncture) Challenge.

Let’s save the intense stuff for Valentine’s Day.

Or something.

I don’t know. Let’s just save it for some other time.

I’m actually in a passable mood at the moment.

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30 Day Movie Challenge

Day Twenty-Six: Movie You’re Embarrassed to Say You Like

End of Days (1999)
Directed by: Peter Hyams
Starring: Arnold Schwarzenegger, Gabriel Byrne, Robin Tunney

There’s something vaguely perverse about having a movie list that includes both Seven Samurai and one of the worst movies to ever star a Governor of California (“one of” being the key phrase there). It’s kind of funny to me. I can’t lie. It’s not something I set out to do on purpose. This movie didn’t make the cut, out of a need to create a list that looks an awful lot like an extremely pretentious mental patient ran through it. I just strive to be completely honest in my selections, and this movie, like it or not, must be included on a list that features films by people like Jonathan Demme, Lars Von Trier and Akira Kurosawa.

In case anyone’s curious, End of Days currently holds an eleven-percent approval rating out of ninety-eight reviews. I don’t anticipate it being one of those films that magically find an audience later on down the line. You could probably fit the number of people who remember it onto a single Greyhound bus. You could then cut that number considerably by just keeping those who are willing to admit they liked it.

I do like it. I like it the way I like certain aspects of the bondage community. I’ve got too much in my life that deserves my sense of shame. Life is too short to include movies in that. The idea of being embarrassed by a movie you like is as inane to me as the guilty pleasure category.

But man oh man, does End of Days come awfully close to proving me wrong.

It’s not like I can blame liking this movie on youthful stupidity (I was a fan of Insane Clown Posse when I was fourteen, so anything was possible). I vividly remember watching this the night it premiered on HBO, and then immediately confronting the reality of having just seen one of the worst movies of all time, and yet somehow still feeling as though it was not time wasted.

It also gave my youngest brother nightmares, so that was a nice, sadistic windfall.

Nothing about this movie represents a better time in my life. I’m pretty sure I was even more miserable at fourteen than I am now. There isn’t some memory of watching it with a long-gone friend or family member. I can’t remember a single detail from the day. Yet if it comes on TV (and it does, because it apparently qualifies as one of AMC’s “classics”) I will indeed sit down and watch it. Why? What the hell for? At best, it’s a B-movie idea that sounded like it could at least be ridiculous, dumb ass fun on paper. Instead, it couldn’t even accomplish that, and wound up being a career low-point for almost everyone involved. Almost everyone, because as much as I like Rod Steiger and Udo Kier, calling this a career low-point for them is saying an awful lot.

It’s not even very good by the standards of its leading man.

So, why watch it now?

I think this movie is hilarious. It’s the only explanation I can think of. A concept this absurd played so humorlessly is just funny to me. Rod Steiger and Udo Kier were both old hats at this kind of garbage by 1999, and Steiger is sadly no longer with us, but the rest of what’s mostly a pretty good cast (Robin Tunney and Gabriel Byrne) were clearly struggling to find something that could salvage this wreck of an idea. They fail, but watching them try is still entertaining. It’s like watching an eighty-million-dollar Ed Wood production.

He closes the hand, opens it again and delights a child with a shiny, red ball.

It’s a funny movie. That’s the only argument I can come up with, as to why I sat through this movie once and have actually sat through it a couple of times since. Gabriel Byrne as Satan is not a terrible casting decision, and I love how seriously he expresses some of the worst lines ever written for Satan. I love the deliriously stupid, over-the-top (even for one of Schwarzenegger’s movies) finale. I love the idea of Kevin Pollack being a minion of Hell, and also just the general concept that he could ever be a threat to anybody or anything. I even love the idea that we’re expected to be sympathetic towards Robin Tunney’s character in spite of the fact that she gives one of the most annoying performances of her career (and I like Robin Tunney). I can’t speak for anyone else, but I know I was ready to turn her over to the forces of evil after about three minutes.

CCH Pounder pops up at some point. Pounder is a great actress who is capable of a lot more than the roles she usually gets. Then there’s Kier and Steiger. Both were often a sole saving grace of many an awful horror film. Unfortunately, with End of Days he doesn’t get a whole lot of screen time.

Best (or worst) of all is Schwarzenegger. I actually like some of his films a great deal, and will defend them as good movies for what they are, but it’s hard to believe even he could be this hammy, this comical. It’s not that he’s even trying to do something as an actor he’s never done before. The best of his movies are the ones that have a lot of other good things going for them. He’s not a guy who can salvage a truly awful movie all on his own. It’s almost sad watching him try to do that here.

There is scarcely an original thought or filmmaking quality in End of Days that gives it a chance of finding redemption along the lines of what Schwarzenegger’s character finds at the end (Sorry to ruin it for you). It’s a wretched mishmash of religious insanity, bad filmmaking, unintentionally hilarious performances and action sequences that fail to provide any real excitement.

Arnold looks intense as always. Kevin just looks kind of sleepy.

But then it comes back to the whole thing about finding this movie funny. It’s one of those contradictory movies that are so bad that I can’t help but love the ugly bastard anyway. Everyone has those movies on their lists. This is one of mine. And like most people I can’t offer up much in the way of a logical reason for why that is. I can only shrug and laugh my ass off every time Arnold battles Byrne in a battle of spiritual wits. As far as I can tell I’m the only winner.

I’m also pretty sure this is the only Schwarzenegger movie in history to feature a threesome between a mother, a daughter and The Devil. I don’t know. I’ve never seen that secret director’s cut of Twins.

Thirty-Day Movie Challenge: Day Twenty-Five

I don’t feel like I’m rushing through these, but it may seem that way to anyone paying attention to these. I’m still giving these the reviews the same attention. It’s just apparent that getting close to the end has buoyed my enthusiasm, and that I’m ready to finish up this self-imposed project, tell myself that I can still see things through to the end and move on to next thing.

Can the next thing have a few bucks somewhere at the end?

Maybe so. It would seem that it depends mostly on me, and at least a little bit on good luck.

My luck has been better lately. We’ve been over this a few times now. I’m looking to take that luck into larger areas. It’s just a question of finding a way to get out the door.

Out the front?

That might work. I’m more of a kitchen window kind of guy, but I can be a gentleman once in a while.

Five more reviews. I hope everyone’s having as good a time with film reviews as is possible.

Hopefully, there will be a non-review between this and day twenty-six. We’ll see how things go. I’ve got a little bit of travel coming up, and that sometimes distracts me from active, responsible endeavors.

I’m getting better about that though.

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30 Day Movie Challenge

Day Twenty-Five: Movie with the Most Beautiful Scenery

Manhattan (1979)
Directed by: Woody Allen
Starring: Woody Allen, Diane Keaton, Michael Murphy

It’s a good thing the entire run of Woody Allen’s classic Manhattan is so perfect in every way. It would be a shame to have nothing to look forward to after those glorious, moving first few minutes. There are numerous stellar qualities to Manhattan, but it just wouldn’t be possible to enjoy them quite as much without those opening moments. This is my favorite Woody Allen movie, and there are at least partially ridiculous reasons for that. In just five minutes, Allen created the clearest, most stunning visual definition of New York that I have ever seen. It works beautifully as an opening to the movie itself and nothing more, but its personal meaning to me is greater than that.

And in terms of building on that initial image of the city Manhattan gets better and better as it goes on.

When I was little, I had serious doubts that I would ever get to see New York City for myself. Lake Cowichan, British Columbia was a long way indeed from many of the cities I saw in films and dreamed of one day visiting myself. Not one place fueled those dreams more than New York.

Yeah, I totally do idolize it all out of proportion.

I guess that makes sense considering Ghostbusters was the first movie I ever remember seeing. Big was another film that I saw around that same time, too. Both movies presented a view of a city that not only seemed limitless in its fantastic possibilities and history (I was a weird kid) but were also supposedly very real. I wanted to know for myself. I wanted to stand amidst an ocean of noise, and look up at buildings that were taller than what I was actually capable of seeing.

I probably saw Manhattan when I was seven or eight, so it came a bit later in my early and continuing love affair with New York. It’s one of my mom’s favorite movies, so I’m pretty sure she rented it at some point in that time period. It wouldn’t have been the kind of movie I would have gone after on my own at that time. My mom has a deep love of movies, too. She’s not as hopelessly and pitifully obsessive about it as I am about it, but it was through her that I discovered a great many films as a kid that I still love to this day.

It doesn’t really matter when I found Manhattan. Strictly in terms of presenting the city at its most electrifying, most extraordinary and most romantic, Manhattan blows Ghostbusters, Big and just about anything else out of the water. It sends them somewhere in the neighborhood of a million miles into the sky.

It’s all that gorgeous black and white set against beautiful shot after shot of the city. I don’t think it has ever lost its potential for being whatever a person wants it to be. Tourist talk? Possibly. It might be easy for me to say all this, because I don’t live there, but I’ve been there a few times. Enough to at least be aware it’s nothing even close to perfect. It doesn’t have to be. Everything I’ve ever experienced in my few trips to New York still equals out to the most amazing city I’ve visited so far. The “So far” part is my favorite. Because New York reminds me that it’s impossible to ever see and do everything in this world that you would ever want to do. That can be alarming to some. It can even be depressing. It doesn’t worry me as much as it used to. This knowledge is not a big deal. The fun is in trying. New York is a perfect representation of that.

Of course you can’t forget that George Gershwin score. “Rhapsody in Blue” is unrelentingly gorgeous. Along with Allen’s voiceover that opening sequence is one of my favorites of all time. It sets a standard that only a truly perfect film could meet.

Thankfully, Manhattan is indeed quite perfect in every sense I can think of. The story leisurely moves us around the city, but it’s a good, funny, well-written and constantly entertaining story. It’s a story that is populated by the very best of Allen’s creativity. As both an actor and a creator of strong characters that are all at once capable of being amusing, neurotic (there’s a word that never, ever appears in an Allen film), annoying, petty, strange, moral, pathetic, hysterical and a thousand other traits and quirks that vie to be at the surface of everything going in their world. These are characters that could only exist in a story about New York, and it’s even possible that they could also only exist in a Woody Allen film. They are as much a part of the city’s constant, frantic heartbeat as the buildings, bridges, pollution and all the rest of it.

This is my favorite Allen performance, but more often than not, he’s overshadowed by what may well be the best assortment of actresses that can be found in any of his films. Diane Keaton, Meryl Streep and Mariel Hemmingway are all fantastic as three completely different women from three completely different ideas of what Allen’s character (not to mention his mostly useless friend, played quite well by Michael Murphy) thinks he wants. Each of them is worth their talent in gold for what they bring to the story. In a lot of ways they define the story. Between Allen’s writing and their performances I can’t imagine anyone else playing them. Allen’s best films, and I’d say there are quite a few that qualify as great, are examples of casting a movie to perfection. He has rarely taken a misstep in this area, and Manhattan is one of the best examples in his work. Even brief, supporting roles from Wallace Shawn and Michael O’Donoghue have a necessary place in my feelings on this film.

What amazes me is how much Allen supposedly hated Manhattan when he completed it. He even went so far as to try and have the film kept from release, in exchange for making a different movie for free. We’ll probably never know what his problem was with it. It’s well-established legend that he’s his own worst critic (or at least he wants us to think he is–Who knows?). None of that really matters. My ability to love a film is not contingent upon whether or not the people involved liked it, too. I consider Woody Allen to be a genius in his field. He’s entitled to think whatever he wants to. I’m not a genius in even the most kind-hearted sense of the word, but I still think I’m entitled to my opinion. People agreeing with my opinion is not essential, but it’s a nice plus that by and large, the general consensus on Manhattan is that it’s a pretty wonderful movie. Too bad Allen doesn’t seem to agree. It does make you wonder what would have been different from what we have, if he had been able to make the movie to his complete satisfaction. Maybe, it wouldn’t have been nearly as well-received. Maybe, it would have been even better. It’s not like we’re ever going to find out. Do you care? I sure don’t. Any change to this movie would be a small, film-related tragedy.

Thirty-Day Movie Challenge: Day Twenty-Four

The home stretch continues, even with my temptation to write several lengthy rants about Christmas.

This is probably better. You’re just going to have to trust me on that.

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30 Day Movie Challenge

Day Twenty-Four: Movie with the Best Soundtrack

Clerks (1994)
Directed by: Kevin Smith
Starring: Jeff Anderson, Brian O’Holloran, Marilyn Ghigliotti

It’s possible I’m being way too literal, but I kind of wish this category had been a little less specific. I’m probably wrong, but I do tend to differentiate between a soundtrack put together for a film as opposed to a score created for a film. Literal is probably not the right word for this. Insane, asinine are probably better ones.

Nonetheless I’m going with soundtracks that were culled from previously crafted material. I’m at a loss to explain why I’m interpreting the category this way. We’ll just pretend we all understand the reason. It could be that I just like playlists more than scores.

I’m not taking that second group into consideration, but I’m still pretty sure Clerks would come out on top. It was one the first soundtracks I ever went out of my way to buy, and the one that has probably spent more time on my playlist than any other film soundtrack. Every scene with one of these songs is enhanced because of that song. It’s impossible to imagine any of them not being there.


It’s pretty impossible to imagine these guys not being there either.

Music is the first thing that really gets the ball rolling in the film. Silence can be wonderful in a movie, and I can think of countless films with scenes that would have been ruined by music. Of course, there are just as many with scenes that are unforgettable. In part because of the song being used (Martin Scorsese movies have a lot of those scenes). Clerks sets a fantastic tone for what we’re about to watch. It’s an energetic theme song for Dante’s introduction ad half-dead morning routine. Bringing all these elements together instantly infuses the film with a personality that appealed to me even more than the first Kevin Smith movie I saw, Mallrats several months earlier (I was ridiculously pleased to learn that Kevin Smith had made other movies). From there it only gets better. Of course, we’re paying attention to Kevin Smith’s phenomenal, breezy dialog, the seemingly laid-back pace and style, the amazing, natural performances by Jeff Anderson, Brian O’Holloran, Jason Mewes, Marilyn Ghigliotti, Lisa Spoonhauer, Smith himself and numerous smaller roles filled by Smith’s friends, family and local actors. I saw the movie in 1996, and the impact it had on me was immediate and tremendous. It had never truly sunk in before that point that a movie could be so strong on pretty much dialog alone.

Things do happen in Clerks, but it’s generally nothing significant. This is a day in the lives of these characters, and there’s certainly a plot to be found, but in the end the appeal for Clerks as a film (besides the music) comes down to that dialog. Credit Smith’s screenplay, but also credit the actors. Could someone else have played Dante and Randal? Maybe. Possibly. It’s certainly not worth putting a whole lot of thought into that. O’Holloran and Anderson are not only solid actors, but the chemistry they create from Smith’s script is some of the best in all of Smith’s movies. The formula of two buddies rambling largely about nothing in particular as they go about their day is a staple found in many of Smith’s movies. Jay and Silent Bob make their first appearance here, and they certainly qualify as two buddies rambling largely about nothing particular (in spite of the fact that Silent Bob, obviously, rarely opens his mouth to speak), but my favorite pairing in all of Smith’s movies remains Dante and Randal. In Clerks, the tone of their friendship is established as soon as Randal wrangles into the store. O’Holloran and Anderson from the first moment on deliver some of the greatest casual conversations I’ve ever heard in a film while simultaneously building on that relationship. Watching them banter is as funny to me now as it first was nearly sixteen years ago. I never get tired of it, and therefore I never get tired of the movie itself. This is a critical aspect of why I love Clerks.


I’ve come to appreciate the inner workings of a facial expression like this.

But at the same time we’re also aware of the music. At least I know I was. I read somewhere once that Clerks has a soundtrack that can be best summed up as “The Golden Age of Grunge.” I guess that works, but I don’t think that term should be applied as a means of dating tracks like “Kill The Sex Player” (there is not a better song out there to introduce us to Jay and Silent Bob for the first time) or “Leaders and Followers” (which fits perfectly with the moment where Dante and Randal’s visit to a funeral parlor goes horribly wrong). It’s always been my assertion that good music in your opinion is good music in your opinion. Changing tastes of the world have no say in the matter. You don’t have to take into consideration the year the song might have come out or whether or not people still view it as relevant. All you have to do is enjoy the song.

There isn’t a single track in Clerks that I don’t enjoy. As both a part of why Clerks remains one of my favorite films of all-time, and as music I enjoy in general. I don’t even like Fleetwood Mac all that much, but I can’t help but dig Seaweed’s cover of “Go Your Own Way”. Maybe, it’s because for the better part of fifteen years now I’ve come to associate the track with a guidance counselor smashing eggs (and that’s an image that eerily matches the personality of my old high school guidance counselor). The same thought goes for Golden Smog’s cover of Bad Company’s “Shooting Star”. I actually like Bad Company a lot, but this is one of those rare times when I’ll take this cover over the original any day. Good luck listening to it, and not bringing to mind the hilarious tragedy of Randal’s poor, idiot cousin. Thinking about it even now makes me smile. Very few things as simple as that have kept up such an act in my life for so many years and counting.

“Chewbacca” is the best song I’ve ever heard about Star Wars. I refuse to consider any opposing arguments (and I know at least what some of those arguments would already be, and I still stand by this opinion).

I also don’t think any song could have better ended the movie than “Can’t Even Tell”. The music video is a worthy companion to the film, and it’s worth watching a couple of times. The song ends the film on a flawless note, and the video itself jams a good deal of the movie’s humor into a song that’s over in less than five minutes. Watch the video after the movie, and you may even want to go ahead and watch the movie itself all over again (if you’re evening social calendar is looking kind of sparse). You probably won’t, but you’ll be tempted to. It’s a classic movie besides, but the soundtrack is an absolutely essential part of that. Something vital would be missing otherwise.