Let’s start off by being honest: I haven’t seen every movie that’s come out this year, so I can’t possibly tell you exactly which were the ten best. Moreover, many of the films being hailed by critics in LA, NY and overseas as “the year’s best” haven’t even gotten around to Orlando yet. But even if I had somehow seen them all, it would still only be my opinion, which is by no means assured to be the general view of a particular film.

Thus, all you’re getting here is the best of what I saw, which is most of the major films. It has to be said that some local critics disagreed with me on some choices (notably Dogville), but I stand my ground. Even though critics sometimes disagree, as they sit down to write up their 10-best lists each year, a consensus forms among the “name” movie critics because once a film has picked up some honest buzz (as opposed to film-industry hype), they make a point of seeing it.

It should also explain why some films the critics hate do pretty well, or films the critics love do poorly: film reviewers are desperate for films that show them something they haven’t seen a thousand times. Unlike the public, who don’t see 100 or more movies a year, film critics see the predictable and mundane, the poorly-cast or deeply flawed with much greater frequency, and thus are a lot less forgiving of hackery than the general public.

By contrast, when a unique film comes along, critics can often champion them, overlooking minor defects that nonetheless fail to win over the public at large. Last year’s Girl With A Pearl Earring is a perfect example: critics saw a gorgeous, beautifully-cast whimsical invention that fleshed out a historical mystery; audiences saw a beautiful — but empty and slow-moving — snoozefest.

Unlike some other critics, I never rank films in terms of preference. Here’s ten movies I saw that I thought were really wonderful — a few you probably saw, most you didn’t, in no particular order.

• The Incredibles — the clear winner in the animation category, people tend to overlook that this (along with the rest of Pixar’s body of work) is also a terrific movie on every level. Edna Mode, the superhero costume designer, is by far the most original (and hilarious) character of the year. Yes, the computer animation continues to dazzle, but the real secret of Pixar’s success is pushing some heart and soul into those pixels. Again and again and again.

• Ray — it’s always heartening to see a biopic get some mainstream attention, and few deserve it more than this picture, which benefits both from the rich life of its subject and the superb performance of Jamie Foxx in the lead role. Director Taylor Hackford makes the wise decision to depict Ray Charles’ good and bad sides, a risk given his beloved public persona, but a move that gives the film a depth and feeling that reflects Charles’ music.

• A Very Long Engagement — rather unusually this year, there’s not a lot of foreign films in the top 10. This, however, is a lovely exception: a lovely French film (with subtitles) that tales a tale of two lovers since childhood, separated by war, and the one who seeks the other. The phrase “swept away” comes to mind, combining breathtaking photography with heartbreaking (and heart-stopping) moments from a fine cast. It’s tough to be bloody and lyrical, but this one manages somehow.

• Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow — Imagine trying to make Raiders of the Lost Ark in your garage, with only bluescreens. For that alone, this film is a remarkable achievement. I’ve got a weak spot for movies that take me somewhere I’ve almost, but never quite, been. This one did the trick, transporting the audience back to a 1940s that only existed in art noir comic books and futuristic pulp novels. Visually stunning, it’s plot was kind of predictable, but that was hardly the point. I absolutely love this movie, despite the fact that I loathe every single one of its marquee stars.

• Fahrenheit 9/11 — Some people are almost violently alienated by Michael Moore’s films, mostly because he reminds people of uncomfortable truths they’d rather sweep under the rug, but also in part because they are wildly (and often willfully) misunderstood, particularly by those who haven’t seen them (don’t believe me? Wait till you hear some Rethuglican call Moore “a fat slob” or something similar, and then check out the size of their gut). Just as Bowling for Columbine was emphatically not an attack on gun owners, neither is Fahrenheit 9/11 a mean-spirited attack on President Bush. What both films actually are is an exploration of how our media outlets increasingly ignore the real issues, conspire with those in power to hide the truth, and shamelessly manipulate the public with disinformation. But of course, the media either don’t recognise that, or do recognise it and exact their revenge by mischaracterising the attacker. It will be interesting to see if Moore’s next film — said to be an exposé of the health care industry — receives the same vitriolic venom from his current critics.

• Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban — there are inherent and insurmountable problems in attempting to film a Harry Potter book: after the first one, the books became too long and intricate to boil down into a single film without cutting out huge chunks of plot, the effects department sometimes lets the audience down, and the leads — wonderful as they are — are rapidly aging themselves out of a job. All that said, new director Alfonso Cuaron has a deft touch with visuals and with the teen actors, really bringing out the best in them. The ending — heck, the whole movie — feels rushed, but most of it is the best stuff we’ve seen from this franchise since the first film.

• House of Flying Daggers and Hero — I’m cheating a little here, combining two films into one entry, but it’s the ultimate double feature: flying kung-fu dreamscapes deluxe. If you thought Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon was good, these two films go way beyond that one. The stories strangely underserve the visuals, but if you’re looking for an eye-popping good time, skip the awful Alexander or the terrible Troy and go for these epics instead.

• Monster and Aileen: Life and Death of a Serial Killer — again with the double feature, but these two are linked to the point of being joined at the sprockets. Aileen Wournos’ life, murders and death are all examined, in Monster by the incredible in-her-skin performance of Charlize Theron and in Life and Death by a director who can claim a sort of friendship with the serial killer. Both are riveting, like a road accident you can’t look away from.

• End of the Century: the Story of the Ramones — even if you’ve never heard of the Ramones, this is an invaluable slice of music history that until recently was under-chronicled. The film could easily have been subtitled How We Invented Punk Rock and Changed Music Forever, their influence was really that large on the last hurrahs of modern rock. A rare peek inside the minds of the band that was “Too Tough to Die.”

• Festival Express — I’ll end this list with a film I personally didn’t care for, but which I appreciate for the impact it has on people from “back in the day” and which has incredible value both for its backstory and its historical significance. Festival Express is a documentary made in 1970 and trapped in litigation ever since, featuring interviews, candid moments and performances never seen before from some of the biggest names of the just-post-Beatles era. The big draw for American hippies is the heretofore unscreened moments with Jerry Garcia, The Band, and Janis Joplin, but there’s plenty more for fans of that era. In some ways this is the ultimate “stoner movie,” since both the audience and the stars of the film have a definite familiarity with the excesses of the era.

There are of course many, many great films that didn’t make the cut here, including The Dreamers, Napoleon Dynamite, Sideways, Supersize Me and Finding Neverland, among others. Overall, I’d have to say it was a fair year for movies — as opposed to 2003, which was a really fantastic year.

And now, as they say, for something completely different:

Five Truly Terrible 2004 Movies

Gothika – More funny than scary. If you’re a horror movie, that’s a bad thing. Worse, it was Halle Berry’s return to the screen after winning an Oscar for Monster’s Ball. This and Catwoman might just put an end to her movie career.

Johnson Family Vacation — Whoever thought an all-black ripoff of National Lampoon’s Family Vacation was a good idea should be slapped. Repeatedly. With a frying pan. Manages to demean and insult both whites and blacks, to say nothing of Missouri (which may never recover).

Dogville — My lord, this was awful. Nicole Kidman plays Jesus, I mean Everyman, in this Biblical morality play a la “Our Town.” The sparse, theatrical staging may seem novel (unless you’ve seen any plays in your life), but the film is unrelentingly unpleasant, excessively cruel, and patently obvious in its “twists.”

White Chicks — Amazing makeup. That’s all, though.

Catch That Kid — Even though one has to accept a certain amount of ridiculousness in a film aimed at children, this one crossed way over the line of stupidity, mediocrity and inanity. The plot machinations are absurd, the kids themselves are studiously over-directed, the implications of the film are horrific … everything about this is just awful. Frankie Muinz’s Agent Cody Banks 2 looks like Citizen Kane by comparison.

Running Time: 96 minutes
Writers: Boris Khaimsky, Anatoli Nikiforov, Svetlana Proskurina, Aleksandr Sokurov
Director: Aleksandr Sokurov

It’s rare to see a film that almost perfectly embodies the dream-like experience of floating without restraint through time and memory, but Aleksandr Sokurov appears to have hit his creative peak with his latest and most groundbreaking film, Russkij kovcheg (Russian Ark).

I confess that this is my first Sokurov film and that I’m largely ignorant of Russian cinema, apart from a few of the standards such as Eisenstein’s Battleship Potemkin and the rather goofy Sadko (aka the Magic Voyage of Sinbad — pretty terrible, I should warn you, and nothing much to do with the Sinbad movies you may be familiar with).

First, let’s talk about this film. It’s a significant movie on many levels: it is the first feature-length film to be shot in a single, uninterrupted take (which alone is a remarkable achievement). It is also one of the first films of this length shot directly onto hard drive, bypassing film or videotape entirely. It is really difficult to get people to understand what an incredible feat this is, but I’ll give it another try. Close your eyes and imagine that it’s your job to carry a 60-pound rig on your shoulders for two hours as you climb stairs and follow actors from room to room through a huge Russian mansion and art gallery, with over 2000 actors in period costumes wandering in and out of the action you attempt to capture in a continuous, no-retakes-allowed story. The coordination, the timing, the mechanical effects, the lighting and sound — everything has to be perfect, and you’ll not be sure that you got everything or that everything worked until you’re done.

But ignoring the technical accomplishments of the film (which often overshadow the content in reviews), Sokurov has also crafted a mystical and enchanting dream-like film that meanders through time and history with serious and absurd shadings whose introspection and spectacle threaten to overwhelm the viewer. And even beyond that, the film is an elegy (one of Sokurov’s favourite forms, apparently) to the glory of Russion at it’s height, and a meditation on the past and future of the country and it’s culture.

It’s a difficult film to describe when one tries to summarise the “plot,” since there isn’t really a “story” to speak of: an unnamed, disembodied narrator (later possibly revealed to be a Marquis of some kind) finds himself in The Hermitage in St. Petersburg and drifts along through 33 rooms, countless priceless art treasures and witnessing several moments in Russian history. Indeed, a good grasp of Russian history and European art is almost essential to plumbing the depths of the film’s meaning, but anyone with a good overall grasp on world history will probably know enough to spot Catherine the Great, Peter the Great, Czar Nicholas II and other significant figures from across 300 years of history flit in and out of the film as the narrator and his nameless French diplomat guide (played rather Doctor Who-ishly by Sergei Dreiden) and fellow time-traveller explore all that this cornerstone of Russian history and sensibilities has to offer.

The dialogue has layers of meaning, many of which were probably lost on me, but the ongoing debate between the narrator and the guide on how Russia has usurped a lot of its identity from the European countries it plundered was most amusing. As the film unfolds, we sense three main “levels” to the film — the first is something of a wandering tour of the place, the second is an appreciation of the simply unbelievable number of great artworks scattered throughout the property, and the third attempts to inject the elements of life and passion back into the history of the museum — people actually lived here, great events really happened here, and through the fog of time we catch glimpses of this in a way that a straightforward telling (“now in this room, a formal state apology was given to the King of Prussia blah blah blah”).

People who go to movies for simple, linear stories and fables are likely to be confused and totally out of their element with this film — it doesn’t make “sense,” things happen randomly and out of chronological sequence, and none of the characters are the slightest bit helpful in working out what is going on. But to try and impose a structure on the film is like trying to impose structure on a dream, for this film is a dream.

The climax of the film is one of the few I would truly call “breath-taking,” as in I found myself drawing in breath as the camera made its way through a stunningly faithful, large-scale formal ball in the Great Nicholas hall. Three orchestras are playing, thousands of people are dancing, soldiers soon to be killed and rulers soon to be overthrown — but that hasn’t happened yet (it’s 1913 as the film draws to a close), and this is the last gasp of the aristocracy at its full bloom and power.

It is no accident that as the party ends and we leave the Hermitage along with a class and generation of people who thought they and their ideas would live forever, the music dies away and we slowly find ourselves in a silent, empty fog — it’s a commentary on what became of the Revolution, and a powerful one at that. After over an hour of rich, beautiful European art treasures by El Greco and Rubens among hundreds of others, royalty and pageantry and theatre and excess of all sorts, the final images of wind and sea and desolation are jarring indeed.

This trailer may help prepare you for this astonishing cinematic voyage that is certainly unique in the annals of film, but if you can bring your sense of history and imagination to the cinema with you instead of the usual “just want to be entertained” mentality, a rich reward of life and art await you in the film “Russian Ark.” If at all possible, see this one in a theatre: its breadth vision will likely be constrained on a smaller screen.

My rating: Mandatory.

Running time: 179 minutes
Director: Peter Jackson

Gracious, has this film actually been out for more than six months?

I recently completed what I think is my 10th viewing of the film, and was pleased to say that it’s still as exciting and lovely as the first nine (most of which were done in rapid succession). I can’t tell you how nice it is to go to a cinema and watch a mainstream, “hit” movie and not feel like lowlife scum afterwards.

I think it’s reasonably safe to say that The Two Towers ranks as one of the finest epic battle movies of all time. Even with the extensive number of films I’ve seen behind me, I’m hard-pressed to think of battle-oriented films that surpass this. There are a few, mind you, but they are exceedingly rare.

In case the reader is somehow not aware, The Two Towers is the “middle bit” of J.R.R. Tolkien’s “Lord of the Rings” trilogy of books (actually intended as a single work, broken up into three books by merciful publishers). Both as a book and as a movie, it benefits from all the scene-setting and character-introducing work done in the first book/movie (The Fellowship of the Ring). This means that there is little in the way of backstory and we get straight on into the action. Like the previous film, director Jackson wisely starts off with a bang, in this case a brief (incredibly brief) recap of the “climax” of Fellowship, the fall of Gandalf the Grey. Then there is a good-sized break in the action to update us on the progress of the other characters (Sam and Frodo trying to enter Mordor; Merry and Pippin held hostage by Orcs and Uruk Hai; Aragorn, Gimli and Legolas in hot pursuit). This break also allows us time to properly introduce the real “star” of this second film, the stunningly-crafted Gollum.

Gollum succeeds where all computer-animated characters before him have failed; he convinces us totally of his physical presence. This is entirely due to Gollum having a physical presence during the filming. Played (and voiced by) the incredible Andy Serkis, Gollum is (pardon the pun) fleshed out and made whole. The other actors have something real to interact with, and they hear the voice we hear (one of the more remarkable vocal performances in many a year), and this makes all the difference. Praise should not be spared to the animators as well; though they had a remarkable (and undersung) actor’s performance as a strong starting point, they beautifully embellished it, expanding on Serkis’ unseen physicality and facial expressions in an eerie yet beautiful way. Serkis and the animation team should have been awarded a shared Oscar, for Gollum is the most fluid of collaborations between computers and man yet seen on screen.

Another area where Jackson succeeds on a staggering scale is in pacing. After spending the first half-hour playing catch-up (often literally), he deftly skips from set up characters to another, introducing new ones with ease and flawlessly running us up to the climax of the film (not the climax of the book, it should be noted): the battle for Helm’s Deep.

Lest the reader think me too mindlessly effusive, there are of course little nits to pick with this or that in the course of the film: casual viewers (ie people who haven’t actually read the book) will likely be confused by Theoden’s family ties and importance to the film (remember, everything in LOTR has at least two names — often more — and casual references to them are important to purists but confusing to normal people), some important foreshadowing is glossed over/underplayed, invented and contrived scenes are given longer than perhaps is strictly necessary, and the film doesn’t end where the book does (far short of it, in fact). But the point a lot of critics miss is that this is nit-picking: minor details, not major flaws. Obviously Tolkien fanatics will be displeased at some of the cuts/rearranging of the storyline (not to mention the blasphemy of inventing new scenes to expedite convoluted plot points), but then those people would be perfectly happy with three twelve-hour films, and part of the point of this exercise is to bring Tolkien to the masses. Once you accept that, you start to see the justification behind Jackson’s alterations and for the most part agree with them. Jackson and his co-authors have a real gift for “boiling down” long and complicated sections of the book into easy-to-follow (but not “dumbed down”), excitingly visual sequences.

As I was reading “The Two Towers” the most recent time, I often found myself wondering how the various “scenes” in the book would be realised. Almost to a fault, Jackson predictably compressed long sequences (such as the four-day hunt for the Uruk Hai by Aragon and company), lingered on beautiful but important plot points (like Edoras and of course Helm’s Deep), and barely touched on drawn-out or not-strictly-vital scenes and characters (there was a lot more about the Ents, their “conference” and of course Theodred, Eomer and Grima Wormtongue in the book).

The film is epic, sweeping, and utterly majestic throughout. There are very few spots where the spell is broken (Gandalf’s fall with the Balrog is, however, one such spot), and the cynic in us might wonder how so many dirty, filthy, unwashed people can be so damn good-looking. For my part, I thought the occasional bit of obvious comic relief (even in the height of the battle sequence, which takes up the entire third hour of the film) worked well and was not overplayed. In truth, the only thing that disappointed me was that the film did not end where the book does, though I accept that the battle of Helm’s Deep was an obvious finishing point from a filmic point of view.

Still, there is so much of the book (some fifty pages!) left over for the final film that I fear that Return of the King will either have to be at least half an hour longer that the previous two (and they clocked in at three hours apiece in their theatrical versions), or some important material in ROTK will have to be mercilessly expunged. Neither is a happy thought.

(It should be noted that as of this writing, the Fellowship DVD benefits hugely from it’s extra half-hour of re-inserted footage, but it’s clear that there will be no “addendum” to the ending of the second movie as their was the first.)

Still, if you are one of the people who haven’t seen the film either for fear of getting lost in the incredibly large cast and staggeringly minute plot, or because you missed the first film, fear not: even if you “get” little else out of the film, it’s overall qualities — friendship, good v. evil and above all kick-ass battle sequences — will be more than enough to tide you over. Grab it in the cheap cinemas while you can — this is one film that (even with extended footage and tons of extras) really loses a lot shown on the “small screen.” This is the kind of movie they just don’t make anymore — spectacle with a purpose, long for a reason, visuals and characters and stories with depth.

My rating: Mandatory.

Running time: 86 minutes
Directors: John-Paul Davidson and Trudie Styler

This is the first time a documentary crew have been allowed inside the workings of an animated Disney film, and it will probably be the last — and therein lies a lot of the problem. As this film clearly illustrates, Disney desperately needs to open up it’s film process to people with some actual artistic/creative vision. The people who start these films, and the people who work on these films, are all people of that calibre. It’s the Disney executives (in this case, just two very bizarre people) who sit in judgment of the artists that drive the filmmakers (and the audience) up a wall. These guys are two of the most arrogant, snobbish, uncreative pencil-pushers ever seen on film. They quite clearly brown-nosed their way into these jobs and would be objects of utter ridicule (even without their funny speaking voices) at any other studio. That none of the animators has the balls to say “who the hell are you people? What awards have you won? What creative vision have you ever displayed? How dare you sit in god-like judgment of my work?” is a major disappointment, and our hearts break right along with the animators when High & Mighty (as my little group dubbed them) savage their years-long efforts and completely destroy their work in a matter of seconds.

The Sweatbox purports to document the making of what eventually became The Emperor’s New Groove, but is in reality the story of two films: Kingdom of the Sun was the first attempt, and by all accounts it looks like a fascinating film — but it bears little resemblance to what eventually appeared. Disney probably gave permission for this thinking it would make a great addition to the DVD, but I assure you there is nobody at Disney who thinks that now.

While nobody (obviously) says the slightest thing bad about Disney in the course of the film (except for one outsider who’s remarks are actually applauded by the audience!), it’s crystal clear to the viewer where the real problems in that division lie. I noticed that as soon as Roy Disney got involved (rather late in the day), things immediately began to improve. Roy is also the source of some pretty candid comments about the whole mess, which is surprising given his high position in the company.

The Sweatbox will probably come as a huge eye-opener for anybody who actually liked The Emperor’s New Groove and/or Disney animated films in general, and will probably come as a disappointment to animators and other creative types who had entertained thoughts of ever working there. A stronger anti-recruitment film is hard to imagine, given the ruthless and uncaring executives, the cuckolded animators and the enormous amount of long hours and wasted work involved. If it wasn’t for the electrifying presence of Eartha Kitt (who contributed vocals to both versions) and the funny comments from David Spade, this film would be downright morbid.

The one criticism I have of The Sweatbox itself is that it divides it’s time between being an exposé of the inner turmoil behind a Disney animated movie, and a profile of/documentary about/love letter to Sting. Apparently the project started off focusing on Sting’s contribution to the soundtrack of the original film, or perhaps when things got ice-cold over at Disney the filmmakers sought to salvage their project by focusing on someone completely free to speak his mind.

Sting takes up about half the picture, and amusingly enough every single freakin’ time we see him he’s in a completely different locale. From his sprawling estate in England to the squalid streets of India to the hi-rise hotels of New York City to the stages of Paris, the filmmakers manage to grab a few precious moments with Sting. Sharp-eyed audiance members may notice that the film is “co-directed” by Sting’s wife, Trudie Styler, and this may account for more than a little of the Sting-heaviness (and split focus) of the film. If you’re a fan of Sting’s music or interested in the process, you’ll enjoy this. If you’re not …

To his great credit, Sting provides the “voice of the audience” on a number of occasions. He is quite shocked to hear that most of his material will not be used (twice over), unlike the cuckolded animators, and makes his opinions on the state of things known. At one point he writes a scalding letter to High & Mighty (which they pretend isn’t about them) lambasting the waste of time, money and effort both on his part and on the part of the company. It is this letter, ironically, which gets Roy Disney involved and the project appears to get on track (at last!) very shortly thereafter.

The greatest sadness comes from the fact that this is exactly the sort of thing Disney should put on the Emperor’s New Groove DVD, as an honest document of the pain and work involved in bringing such a film out at all. It is the kind of documentary that every Disney executive should watch over and over until they get it: Pixar, for example, does not have these kinds of problems, and I can immediately think of two reasons why that is. Hopefully somebody at Disney will have the personal temerity to actually sit down and watch this film and then make the changes needed to the Animation Dept. to get them back doing films that not only meet the Disney standard of quality but actually move the company forward. Empire of the Sun would have been such a film — rich in the Disney tradition yet larger and wider in scope, more international (and with more international appeal), more sophisticated to match today’s more sophisticated audiences (yes, even the children), a film that might actually make critics stand up and take notice rather than just dismiss it as a good or bad “Disney film,” a classification that has become synonymous with “safe but tired family fare.”

My recommendation: Recommended — particularly for Disney executives and underpaid, under-appreciated employees.

Running time: 85 minutes
Writer/Director: Greg Pak

The true beauty of independent film is that you can create something that is almost completely your vision as you originally imagined it, or at least create something that complements your original vision but is contributed to by the crew and players. Independent films convey a spirit of the creator’s vision far better than most mainstream features.

Greg Pak, the mind behind Robot Stories, has not one but four visions of what he wants to get across. The vignettes, tied together by their use of technology and how it interacts with people, ends up being very thought-provoking and intimate, imparting to the audience Pak’s love for technology while giving them plenty of food for thought about how technology touches their own lives.

The illustration of humanity reflected in technology is most obvious in the first half of the film, starting with “My Robot Baby.” As the name implies, a career-obsessed couple opt for a robot baby (which looks a lot like a pressure cooker/vacuum cleaner) rather than a real one, thinking to get the best of both worlds — the “experience” of parenting while not giving up their self-centered, shallow lifestyles. When the robot doesn’t react as expected, they have to grow up themselves — and fast. This portion could have been a lot better with more money, but it certainly gets its point across and a few others as well. I wonder how many young people watching this vignette wondered to themselves just how ready they were for parenthood, or if they should rethink those plans.

The most touching tale for me personally was “The Robot Fixer.” A mom vents her anguish and grief over her son’s coma by taking over his compulsion/fixation with small “Transformer”-like toys. This section really worked well both as a film and as a story, and Wai Ching-ho really ought to get some consideration for a heart-breaking performance.

Geeks in the audience will whoop with delight at the third tale, “Machine Love,” which stars the filmmaker as an “iPerson,” the ultimate Macintosh working as a humanoid automaton in an office environment. The term “second-class citizen” springs to life here (and may well have been meant as a subtle comment on racism or classism by Pak) but we see the machine as a person even if nobody else does … until the segment’s hilarious “climax.”

The final tale in the quadrology (is that even a word?) is simply titled “Clay.” There are no robots per se in this segment, just the surprisingly effective use of Artificial Intelligence (AI) doppelgangers. John Lee is a sculptor and stubborn old coot who can’t accept that he’s dying and that he must soon be “scanned” into the matrix-like repository in order to be with his loved ones and achieve a kind of immortality. As he struggles to complete his last big commission, he also struggles to come to terms with death when “death” as we know it is merely optional. This one again is a very subtle commentary both on where technology is taking us as well as the struggle many ethnic groups feels as they are torn between traditions of the past and realities/opportunities inherent in “assimilation.”

Pak’s masterful style makes even the most complex of these ideas go down like a spoonful of sugar and his clever and multi-ethic (though heavily favouring Asian) casting is an added treat. Robot Stories is one of the more thought-provoking films you’ll see on the festival circuit these days, and some of the subtleties may not surface until you’ve had some time to let his stories stew in your mind a little. Though the limitations of budget creep through from time to time in Robot Stories, and the structure of four short films rolled into one may be foreign to audiences used to more traditional narratives, if you have an interest in technology on any level from love to fear, you will find something delightful in this film.

My rating: Highly recommended.

Running time: approx. five minutes each
Written and Directed by T. Arthur Cottam

Kind of an unusual move, but in celebration of the opening of the Florida Film Festival (from which these pages will immensely benefit over the next week or so) I thought I’d take a look at the entire professional output and comedic genius of hit-and-run filmmaker T. Arthur Cottam, whose latest multi-minute epic Pornographic Apathetic is in competition in the Midnight Movies category.

Unlike many filmmakers, Cottam starts with a good idea, and executes the idea perfectly. He does not pad out a five-minutes sketch to 90 minutes just to give some ex-SNL cast member some work. He does not suffer from delusions of grandeur about the importance of his work the way, say, Ed Wood did. He simply wants to tell his tales, the stories that are burning to be told, as quickly and cheaply as possible. Would that more filmmakers would study at the feet of this wunderkind.

Beer Goggles was my introduction to the world of T. Arthur Cottam. Following a magnificent and side-splitting PT Barnum-esque PR buildup, this just-over-five-minutes epic finally arrived at my door and was relished like a kosher hot dog from start to finish. Like the mouth-breather heroes of the film, my jaw was agape and the simple elegance and earthy reality of his plot and characters. I went to high school with some of those guys, ah sway-ah!

It would take me longer to describe the plot than it would for you to watch the film, which you soon will be able to do at dirtylittleshorts.com (later this spring). Suffice to say that on a typical redneck evening out, things don’t go quite as planned. Keystone, but no cops.

So it was with great anticipation that I opened the promo copy of Pornographic Apathetic, a film which by contrast had arrived with minimal fanfare — only the teasing tag of “Sex Like You’ve Never Seen It.” What a lot to live up to!

Again, to discuss the plot at length would really ruin the experience, and since it too will soon be available via the aforementioned website I don’t want to delve into it too deeply. It will hopefully be enough to mention the following facts:

1. It is indeed a take on sex in film that has never been done before.
2. It will leave you flushed and breathless, but not for the reasons you think.
3. In the PR kit, Cottam included some Lubriderm and tissues. Neither were needed, and yet I feel as though I may never need to watch a porno ever again.

For point number one alone, Cottam should get more attention in Hollywood as a bright, inventive filmmaker who puts the emphasis where it belongs — on interesting ideas well told, even with the handicaps of limited resources. This is truly one of those rare auteurs who would take a million dollars (if it were ever offered to him) and make 100 good belly-laugh movies rather than one artsy-fartsy crap one.

Keep an eye out for this fellow — an upstanding example not just of a good filmmaker, but of a good man. You can’t help but admire that rarest of creatures, an American male who actually knows when to stop. I predict great things from our Mr. Cottam.

My rating: Highly Recommended.

Running time: 01:04:00
Writers: Edgar Allen Poe (not really), Edgar G. Ulmer and Peter Ruric
Director: Edgar G. Ulmer

A shout out to Turner Classic Movies for giving me an opportunity to see this flick after harumph years, uncut and commercial-free. I remembered it as disturbing and stilted, but maturity has given me new insights (I think I last saw this film when I was about 12). Man, what a movie!

What’s interesting about The Black Cat are the following three things, in this order:

1. Bela Lugosi and Boris Karloff together without monster makeup!

2. That house!

3. How can such an awful movie be so amazingly mesmerising?

Let’s take these points in reverse order, after a brief plot summary.

While on honeymoon in Hungary (huh?), milksop idiot couple Peter and Joan Allison (David Manners and Julie Bishop under the stage name of “Jacqueline Wells”) find themselves sharing a seat with kindly but creepy Dr. Vitus Werdegast (Lugosi) and his hulking manservant Thamal (Harry Cording). There are accidents, and the foursome end up at the home of Werdegast’s best friend/arch enemy, Hjalmar Poelzip (Karloff). While Joan recovers and Peter stumbles about moronically, Werdegast plots to kill Poelzig for his having married and killed Werdegast’s wife and daughter (or so he thinks).

When the truth is revealed and the idiot milksop couple hopelessly entangled, the reality is far more sinister than even Werdegast had imagined. In a fantastic climax, the evil Poelzig is flayed alive by Werdegast (who, despite being nutty as a fruitcake, is the good guy here) who then is shot by a misunderstanding Peter, and the milksop idiot couple move on to the milksop idiot denoument. The (very rushed) end.

Yes, it’s pretty much Standard Horror Plot #37 with a couple of nice twists. One of them is that Lugosi’s character is frightened to death of cats, so much so that he kills one in front of everyone (and nobody bats an eyelash). This is the movie’s only connection to the Edgar Allan Poe story on which it’s ostensibly based.

What makes this movie stand out from the thick river of horror movies produced around the same time is that so much of the actual horror is understated or imagined rather than actually seen by the viewer. This is as close to radio as a horror movie is likely to get!

Instead of blood, guts, gore or monsters to keep up on the edge or our seats, director Ulmer uses eye-poppingly gorgeous Bauhaus sets, costumes and hairstyles, and extremely Ayn Rand-ian performances from Karloff and Lugosi. Their “creepy” phasers were set on “kill” in this one. Stripped of their usual arsenal of makeup, they rely on their great chemistry to light up the set, and they do so easily every time. The architecture of the house and interior sets are so stunning that it should get third billing, behind Karloff and Lugosi but ahead of Manners and Bishop. As another reviewer noted, “architectural nuts probably rent this movie as architecture porn. The house is that cool.” She’s absolutely right.

Once it’s revealed that Karloff (who beautifully underplays his evil) is a Satan worshipper who sacrificed his wife (Werdegast’s former wife) and married Werdegast’s daughter (I told you this was hella creepy!) and has his eyes on sacrificing Joan Allison to the nether gods, we speed all too rapidly to the finale. The first two-thirds of the film are all just getting to the house and then Lugosi and Karloff threatening each other as only old pals can, the last 20 minutes literally fly by with action.

The climax, as I mentioned above, is really quite stylish and stunning, ruined only by the ridiculous denoument, which any viewer of The Rocky Horror Picture Show will have seen coming a mile off (incidentally, this is not the only influence The Black Cat had on Richard O’Brien’s little moneyspinner).

Most “bad” movies are laughably bad, easy to dismiss. This one is laughably bad in a load of places (have I mentioned Karloff’s hair? Chant it with me now: KAR-LOFF’S HAAAAAAIIIIRRRR!), but is hardly easy to dismiss. That’s probably why it still stands out 70 years after it debuted. If you’re ready for something off-beat, classic yet wonderfully dated, silly and scary all at the same time, you are ready to cross paths with The Black Cat.

My rating: Highly Recommended

Running time: 01:03:00
Writers: Wes Anderson and Owen Wilson
Director: Wes Anderson

Finally got a chance to see this movie, one of the few times I’ve ever looked forward to an “all-star” vehicle. At the time of this writing, I have seen Anderson’s Bottle Rockets but I haven’t yet seen the one film of his my friends keep commending to me, Rushmore. Normally when you get a cast of this calibre together, you end up with some overblown nonsense like Cannonball Run or the recent Rat Race, but this time there is no attempt to have a story as grand as the actors, and the focus is smaller and more personal — an approach that seems to work.

Anderson is known for his quirky characters, and The Royal Tenenbaums is little more than a parade of such personalities. Each member has a oddity that is uniquely theirs, a desperate cry for individuality in a family made up almost entirely of facades and a lie to themselves that they are not part and parcel of that facade.

The movie really belongs to Gene Hackman, who brings out his best “comedic scoundrel” persona and moves the plot along with his various plots and embellishments. Royal Tenenbaum (the man) is a perfect homage to a bygone movie stereotype — the lovable but penniless schemer who will do anything to hold on to that last shred of dignity. He is enabled in this by his faithful manservant and would-be assassin Pagoda (scene-stealing Kumar Pallana) and his bellboy and (fake) doctor, Dusty (Seymour Cassel). Like the lovable con artists of yore, Tenenbaum’s deceptions are usually quickly unmasked, but he effortlessly and unrepentantly puts up another in the blink of an eye.

A key scene to illustrate this occurs early in the film, where Royal first contacts his wife Etheline (Angelica Huston) as part of his plan to win her back and move back into their home. He tells her that she has to help him because he is dying of an unspecified disease (a lie, naturally). When her reaction to this news (she hasn’t seen or spoken to him in 14 years) is much stronger than he anticipated, he changes stories and tells her he’s fine. When she gets angry at the deception, he changes stories again. It reminded me of a kid trying to suss out what to tell the folks and trying to tailor his lie to what he thinks they want to hear — before that skill is really fully developed.

The actual plot of the film is rather thin: Royal discovers that another man is wooing his wife and decides that even if she no longer wants him, she can’t have anybody else — a typically selfish position that most everyone in the film shares. He tries to interfere with with his wife’s developing love life while simultaneously winning over his estranged children and their offspring and/or partners in a series of goofy vignettes that often fail but always amuse. The real appeal of TRT is in it’s Welles-meets-Wodehouse literary style, the memorable characters and the delight the filmmaker has in setting up absurd situations and following them to their conclusions.

Each of the grown-children Tenenbaums share their father’s inability to live up to their name: In particular, Gwyneth Paltrow’s uncanny Margot Kidder impersonation as Margot (who makes much hay of her secret obsessions) and Ben Stiller as a too-wound-up Chas (who has forgotten the meaning of the word “relax” so completely that he thinks wearing a track suit 24 hours a day will make up the difference) stand out. Bill Murray contributes as Margot’s long-suffering husband but doesn’t really get the chance to shine that I’d have hoped for. Luke Wilson’s troubled Richie (in love with his adopted sister — a surprisingly dark turn in an otherwise lighthearted film) is masterfully underplayed compared to Eli Cash (Owen Wilson), who is meant to be the comic relief in a film full of comic despair. Doesn’t quite work in my opinion.

The outrageously good soundtrack (compiled by Devo’s Mark Mothersbaugh and made up heavily of forgotten touchstone songs of the target audience’s youth — songs bounce from Nico/Cale laments to Vince Geraldi’s “Peanuts” theme in the blink of an eye) sets the proper mood for the film — familiar but strange, normal on the surface only. It’s David Lynch territory, but Anderson doesn’t feel the need to delve too deeply into the blacker parts of the psyche, whereas Lynch would have made the entire film about Richie and Margot’s secret.

Like all good tales of loss and redemption, TRB works itself out in the end, but hardly as the characters themselves intended. Moviegoers expecting a traditional straightforward tale will likely be befuddled by the film’s refusal to develop these characters in a normal manner, but fans of the Adaams Family and other lovers of dark humour will see this picture as a mild but worthwhile effort to bring dark comedy to the masses. For the most part, I think it succeeds at straddling the line between a film with artistic merit and one with commercial appeal. With the exception of Owen Wilson, all the actors have a chance to play outside their normal range and they clearly relish it. There are enough out-loud laughs and enjoyable moments to keep the film from falling into the “art-house only” category, yet plenty of quirky elements for those that enjoy them.

My rating: Interesting