Black Swan

"Pi," Darren Aronofsky's debut feature, was about a mathematician driven to the brink of madness in his determination to be great. Until the penultimate scene of the film, the viewer is left guessing: would he pursue his talents as far as possible, or choose sanity over greatness?

"Black Swan," Aronofsky's fifth feature, has a similar storyline. This time it's a ballerina, Nina (Natalie Portman), driven to extremes as she attempts to master the lead role in "Swan Lake". But "Black Swan" gives away the game very early: even in the first reel, Nina is experiencing hallucinations. The fact that she's already losing it deprives the film of much of its suspense.

Nina's hallucinations also mean that "Black Swan," which has frequently been referred to as a horror film, isn't frightening in the least. This (easily scared) viewer barely batted an eye at Nina's terrifying visions, because we know they're all in her head. Each morning, she wakes up safe and sound in her bed. Chilling!

The way in which Nina is driven to madness is also problematic. Her director, Thomas (Vincent Cassel), is constantly exhorting Nina to surrender to her passions to play the role of the black swan. Unfortunately, this is all he has to say to her--and all the movie has to say to us.

Thomas is also not above using his status to demonstrate his sexual attraction to Nina. A new member of the company, Lily (Mila Kunis), also seems preoccupied with seducing Nina. Lily is another one-note role, flirting with a carefree giggle in virtually all her scenes. Between Thomas' perversions, Lily's attempts at seduction and other weird sexual moments (like an old man groping himself as he watches Nina), "Black Swan" frequently threatens to become the greatest Cinemax erotic thriller ever.

All of this is unfortunate, because "Black Swan" has some elements of greatness. The film's denouement is a perfect ending to what could have been a classic dark Hollywood tale. Moreover, Aronofsky is an extremely talented director who uses all of the tricks at his disposal. He offers up so many memorable moments, such as: The darkness and speed of the subway appear to transport Nina into another world as she commutes to the theatre. The camera spins from Nina's perspective as she twirls in her "Swan Lake" audition (a conscious imitation of "The Red Shoes," to which this film is much indebted)--until it wobbles and falls with the unexpected entrance of Lily. Nina's face shows a relaxed, post-coital ecstasy after one of her performances.

All too often, though, Aronofsky takes the easy road, jarring the viewer with sudden bizarre images or titillating with masturbation and lesbian sex scenes. He uses too many cheap tricks to make a memorable film.

Toy Story 3

Pixar, the most artistically and commercially successful studio of the past decade, has a 2-part formula for its films. Part one: an emotionally resonant storyline, frequently involving themes of family. Part two: a jaunty adventure tale, often featuring the protagonist struggling to return home. "Up," for example, gave us an old man tragically mourning the loss of his wife--and fleeing a pack of talking dogs.

This juxtaposition continues in "Toy Story 3". The filmmakers have said that the raison d'etre of the movie is to conclude the toys' relationship with Andy, their owner. College-bound, Andy no longer has a need for his toys. But this cold fact is emotionally wrenching for Woody, Buzz and their companions, who have spent their entire "lives" seeking to entertain him.

This is a powerful storyline, but a Pixar movie needs more. To sell tickets and merchandise, they need an adventure that will rope kids in and recoup the studio's investment. So Woody and the toys are donated to Sunnyside, a seemingly idyllic day care center. The toys are excited at the prospect of being played with once more--until they learn that they will be forced by the sinister toy bear Lotso to play with two-year-olds who seem hellbent on breaking them apart.

The Sunnyside storyline has its charms. It's a witty send-up of prison films like "Cool Hand Luke" that features some very funny bits, such as when Buzz is switched to his Spanish-language version and Barbie falls for Ken. But the escape from the prison and return to Andy inevitably involves extended action sequences that grow old. Particularly unnecessary is a scene in which the toys are sent to a landfill. Does anyone really think the "Toy Story" series would end with the characters dying in an incinerator?

This is the trade-off that Pixar has to make: it must placate children to make its films profitable. Hopefully, as its technology becomes cheaper and easier to use, the Pixar staff can use its tremendous talents for characters and storytelling in the service of a truly great film.

Love and Other Drugs

It'll make you laugh! It'll make you cry! It'll educate you on the evils of the pharmaceutical industry and the tragedy of Parkinson's Disease!

These are grandiose aims for a film. They can only be made by a director as fervently earnest as Edward Zwick. Responsible for such socially conscious but frequently cliched films as "Glory" and "Blood Diamond," Zwick here aims to add heavy doses of sex and romance to his usual formula. It would be nice if he were aiming to expand his range, but he really just seems desperate to get butts in the seats.

"Love and Other Drugs" is not as bad as all this sounds. Jake Gyllenhaal stars as Jamie Randall, a pharmaceutical salesman who pushes Zoloft using his womanizing abilities--along with many ethically dubious gifts to medical staff which are common in his industry. The film functions as a vervy satire along the lines of "Thank You for Smoking". But then Jamie meets Maggie Murdock (Anne Hathaway), an early onset Parkinson's patient. Her condition isn't curable through medication. Can you guess what happens next?

Jamie and Maggie's relationship is more credible than it should be, thanks to Gyllenhaal and Hathaway. They've got charisma to burn, and they both know how to show one emotion while hiding another. But just when the film seems to be finding a new balance as a romantic comedy, we get more jarring tonal shifts. There are a couple of scenes with bawdy sex gags, including one in which Jamie gets an erection lasting...well, you know how long. Meanwhile, Maggie helps seniors go to Canada for medications and sees inspiring testimonials from Parkinson's patients. The film gets so emotionally confused that at one point, Jamie's brother has an epiphany about the emptiness of no-strings-attached sex in between boner jokes.

"Love and Other Drugs" veers so wildly between sex and sentiment that it feels like a very rough first draft of a Judd Apatow film. There are too many themes, too many character arcs and most of all, too many desperate attempts to both educate and entertain the audience. I never thought I'd say this, but the workmanlike Zwick is better off sticking to his old, stoic style. Sometimes a prosaic film is preferable to a manic one.

Frozen River

Independent filmmaking offers many advantages. Free from the demands of Hollywood producers, indie flicks frequently feature realistic storytelling, unconventional techniques and oft-neglected subject matter. But a shoestring budget comes with tradeoffs; all that Tinseltown cash can provide a lot more than pointless CGI.

"Frozen River" is a classic example of the pluses and perils of indie filmmaking. It should be a taut suspense film, but the production values leave it limp.

"Frozen River" stars Melissa Leo as Ray, a mother of two with a part-time job, a husband who just left with all her money, and a bill coming due for a double-wide mobile home. Nearing the end of her rope, she unwittingly befriends a Native American woman who shows her how to smuggle illegal immigrants from Canada to New York via a frozen river. The trade is quite lucrative--and dangerous.

"Frozen River" has plenty of elements that ought to be riveting. A mother struggling desperately to feed and shelter her children. Scenes in which the characters could at any moment drown or die of hypothermia. A climax that forces a gut-wrenching decision on the protagonist.

Yet it frequently feels underwhelming, thanks to a couple of flaws that could have easily been fixed for a few million clams: amateurish acting and a paltry score. The acting issue is a common one in indie films; amateurs frequently can't carry the emotional weight needed for a drama. Leo gives a good performance, but the other players just have no presence. The climax in particular is lacking: we have a hard time seeing the gravity of the situation with such flat line readings.

A strong score is also needed for a film like this. When a car is trapped on the ice, the situation cries out for a rumbling orchestra. Sure it's manipulative, but it also works.

As strong as the plot of "Frozen River" is, there's no way to love a movie this flawed. On the other hand, would a Hollywood studio bankroll a film with no love interest and a middle-aged woman and a Native American as its stars? Not on your life. This movie could only exist as an independent.

So, do we blame this film for its flaws or praise it because it can't help them? Neither. Instead, we celebrate it. Cinema is much richer for smart, original indie films like "Frozen River," money be damned.

It's Kind of a Funny Story

Comedy-dramas are a tricky business. You have to be sentimental but not sappy; funny but not frivolous. It's tough to veer between the light-hearted and the serious.

Indie filmmakers Anna Boden and Ryan Fleck don't just take on this challenge with "It's Kind of a Funny Story"--they up the ante by setting the action in an inpatient facility for the mentally ill. Keir Gilchrist stars as Craig, a privileged teenager suffering from depression over girls and academic pressures. He admits himself to the facility and quickly learns that his problems don't compare to those of the other patients.

Boden and Fleck don't gloss over the patients' ailments, but they are at times able to show them in a mildly humorous light--no small feat. Their difficult balance is best embodied and executed by Zach Galifanakis as Bobby, a depressed patient with understated wit. After seeing Galifanakis ham it up in "The Hangover", it's nice to see him work the lower registers. He provides subtlety to a role that easily could have been played for bombast.

If Boden and Fleck pull all this off, why doesn't "It's Kind of a Funny Story" feel like a better movie? The biggest problem is the trap they've set for themselves. They certainly don't want to trivialize the patients' problems, but they also don't want to make a serious message movie on the order of "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest". They have to keep the humor relatively muted, but they also can't probe the emotional depths of the mentally ill. There aren't any uproarious moments of laughter here, and there aren't any unblinking looks at the abyss into which depression and other illnesses can sink you. They have to go halfway on both accounts.

There are other issues as well, principally related to the filmmakers' reliance on some Hollywood conventions. Problems are introduced and resolved in an overly pat way. Craig must of course have a love interest, though fortunately the tryst doesn't overwhelm the story.

Boden and Fleck also achieve mixed results with the fantasy and flashback sequences they employ. A tour through a city Craig draws set to bland hip-hop? No. An over-the-top karaoke rendition of "Under Pressure" by the patients? Yes.

Really, the title says it all. "It's Kind of a Funny Story". It could be worth watching. Maybe.

Songs of the Decades

"Best Of" lists are a dime a dozen. I enjoy them, but they often feel like a fool's errand. How can you possibly rank songs by Pavement, Pulp and Dr. Dre, as Pitchfork recently tried to do with its "Songs of the '90s" feature?

I find it more interesting to think about songs that best encapsulate their time. Songs that are great, yes, but also songs that couldn't be created at any other time. So here is a list of songs that best encapsulate their decades.

1960s: The Kinks, "Village Green Preservation Society"

A weird choice, I know. But this song is at the crossroads of a lot of musical trends from this diverse decade. It's a slightly trippy, utopian tune that worships nature, the sort of pretty pop that earned a lot of bands big paychecks in the '60s. It doesn't bring the noise like Hendrix or Zep, but it's not exactly CSNY territory either. There's a lead guitar part that would sound right at home on a CCR record, and a driving beat that recalls the early days of rock 'n' roll.

1970s: The Who, "Won't Get Fooled Again"

Bloated arena rock with synthesizers was all the rage in the '70s. The Who managed to adopt this sound while keeping their edge. Then there are the lyrics. Nothing says '70s better than a disillusioned lament over a failed revolution.

Also, it fucking rocks.

1980s: Guns N' Roses, "Paradise City"

I'm not much of a GNR fan, but the euphoric chorus and awesomely excessive soloing are hard to deny here. Through sheer chops, GNR was able to transcend the decadent, frequently awful rock of the '80s. They were among the best that an economically prosperous, artistically mediocre decade had to offer.

1990s: Beck, "Loser"

You can't imagine this song in any other decade. The surreal, slacker lyrics perfectly capture the essence of Gen X. The jangly hip hop beat and pseudo-rap cadence reflect the rise of hip hop. The Delta slide guitar foreshadows artists' increasing nostalgia for older styles. It's a tremendous melding of genres in a decade that gave us way, way too many rap-rock acts.

2000s: Gnarls Barkley, "Crazy"

It's tempting to go with "Hey Ya". Although that's a great song, it's relevant here largely for the same reason as "Loser"--it combines old and new in a fresh way.

"Crazy" better reflects a decade that came to be dominated by hip hop and related genres, not to mention sampling. And what better adjective to reflect a decade of relative affluence in which we still felt restless and discontented? A decade where pop culture came to be dominated by "reality" television and celebrity scandals? A decade in which we twice elected a man who failed at every job he ever had, including the presidency? (OK, he cheated once.)

The Invention of Lying

"The Invention of Lying" should be a terrific film. It has a dynamite conceit, an excellent comic star and a cast of ringers. What could go wrong?

The first third of the film flies along with terrific comic energy. Mark Bellison (Gervais) is a fat loser in a world where everyone always tells the absolute truth. As a result, Bellison is frequently told he is a fat loser, in quite funny ways, by a supporting cast that includes Tina Fey, Rob Lowe, and Jonah Hill.

Bellison then discovers how to lie, which naturally leads to certain advantages for him. Things slow in the second third of the film, but then something interesting happens: as Bellison's mother is on her death bed, he tells her there is a heaven. In the universe of the film, this is a lie, but one that naturally draws quite a bit of attention from a populace that accepts everything as truth. Gervais ends up effectively inventing religion along with lying. There are bits of humor here--he writes his version of the Ten Commandments on a pair of pizza boxes. But the film also explores an important challenge for most religions: how do you determine who goes to heaven and who gets sent to hell?

Unfortunately, the momentum comes to a screeching halt in the final third of "Lying". Mark becomes fixated on winning the heart of Anna (Jennifer Garner). Anna likes Mark, but can't get past the fact that he's still, well, fat and ugly. Things devolve into a tedious sermon on inner beauty that would feel cliched to a 15-year-old. Why Mark wants to marry someone who needs this message beaten into her head is a mystery.

Gervais is very, very good at what he does: skewering people's vanity, first and foremost his own. But he isn't good at much else. He can't act in a dramatic scene, he can't write believable characters and he certainly can't direct. His only hope of making a good film is to essentially make a gag reel in the mold of early Woody Allen films. Unfortunately, he keeps flailing to make something more important. It's not a good sign that Stephen Merchant, Gervais' frequent writing partner, recently said they both admire "The Bridges of Madison County".

When I first heard about the sappy final third of "The Invention of Lying," I thought Gervais was making a bid for crossover success with the love story. This seems like a fool's errand: people simply do not flock to see a movie starring Ricky Gervais. He has about a tenth of the charisma and box office potential of Owen Wilson. Much wiser to make a quality film that can find a cult following on DVD, in the mold of "Office Space".

Having seen the film, however, it seems as though Gervais is actually engaging in wish fulfillment. He seems to be speaking to every girl who's rejected him in favor of a better-looking asshole: "WHY WON'T YOU DATE ME?" The reality is that in pursuing an empty-headed pretty girl like Anna, Gervais' character is being just as superficial as the women against whom he's railing. One might expect such hypocrisy and self-pity in a lonely young man; I've been guilty of quite a bit of it myself. But Gervais is nearly friggin' 50. He shouldn't be writing scenes where he laments over his mother's grave, "I'll always be a loser." Get over it.

A Face in the Crowd

"A Face in the Crowd" is justly praised as a classic film. Larry "Lonesome" Rhodes is a two-bit drunk who becomes a massive television star with the help of broadcaster Marica Jeffries. Made in 1957, the film is incredibly prescient on the power of television to create a cult of personality. (Sound familiar?) It also shows how a "down home" personality can help a politician far more than intelligence. (Sound even more familiar?)

"A Face in the Crowd" has other pleasures as well. Andy Griffith offers a remarkably energetic and assured performance as Lonesome in his big screen debut. Director Elia Kazan captures many memorable images: Jeffries buttoning up her blouse upon encountering Lonesome, electric lights demanding "APPLAUSE" as young women embrace Lonesome on air, Jeffries walking down an empty tarmac after being betrayed by Lonesome.

And yet. This is an awfully heavy-handed film. The filmmakers underscore their message in virtually every scene. There is little subtlety, nuance or variation in tone. The film's worst impulses are embodied by a grim-faced Walter Matheau, a disillusioned writer for Lonesome who effectively serves as the mouthpiece for the filmmakers.

In other words, the ideas here are much more interesting than the characters or story. But there is one relationship that saves "A Face in the Crowd" from being a mere polemic. Jeffries is charmed by Lonesome and helps him rise to power, yet she sees the corrupting influence it has on him. Even as he becomes ever more manipulative of his public, she continues to work with him. She seems to still harbor some affection for him, despite his callous behavior towards her. A bit more of this sort of complexity would have turned a very good film into a great one.

Happy-Go-Lucky

"The End of Men," proclaims the July cover story of The Atlantic. The headline may be a bit hyperbolic, but it does appear that men are increasingly irrelevant in the Western world. Their primary advantage, physical strength, just isn't necessary for most tasks in a white-collar lifestyle. Men are generally less well-suited to office work, inflexible in adapting to the changing economy and less adept at child care. Which raises an interesting question: How does the previously dominant sex adapt to sudden marginalization?

"Happy-Go-Lucky" is a character study of a woman, but its greatest insights may be regarding men. "Lucky" stars Sallie Hawkins as Poppy, an English primary school teacher with an eternally optimistic outlook on life. She tries to turn everything into a joke or a smile, even laughing in the face of a sudden pain that shoots up her back.

Hawkins is terrific, and Poppy's persona is well worth exploring. But the character is most interesting when confronted with things that aren't so easy to smile about. When Poppy's bike is stolen (her reaction: "I didn't even get to say goodbye!"), she decides to finally take driving lessons. Her gruff instructor, Scott, at first appears to merely be a hard-ass, insisting on following the rules of the road to a fault. But it becomes increasingly clear that Scott is actually unhinged. He makes racist remarks, spouts off conspiracy theory hokum and develops a creepy attraction to Poppy. He becomes prone to flying off into a rage at his pupil.

Scott's childish, petulant anger is frightening on one level, but sad on another. Ultimately, there's nothing he can do about the changes that light his fuse: women's liberation, which gives them the freedom to wear provocative outfits while declining his pathetic advances, and immigration, which brings about the multicultural society that enrages a bigot like him.

A boy in Poppy's class presents another aspect of male stubbornness. The boy begins beating up his fellow students with rather disturbing gusto. We later learn that the child is being abused at home by his mother's boyfriend, which brings on the intervention of a social worker. One can only hope that such methods bring an end to the age-old passing-down of violent tendencies in men.

"Lucky" does offer us two women in distress, but their reactions to their struggles are instructive. Poppy's flamenco teacher has an angry meltdown in class over her cheating husband. Yet she composes herself and continues her instruction, showing much more emotional agility than that of which Scott is capable. In another scene, Poppy's sister Suzy is quite judgmental of her sister's carefree mentality. Suzy is clearly dissatisfied with her life, but unlike Scott, she still has someone on which to take out her frustrations: her hen-pecked husband.

The film does offer a couple of more benign models of male behavior. Poppy's chiropractor, a fairly gentle giant, and Tim, the social worker who assists the wayward boy, both show none of the violent tendencies of Scott or the student. Free of the anger which many men carry just beneath the surface, they are well-adjusted to suburban life.

But many men are simply incapable of this calmer outlook. In the middle of the film, Poppy encounters a homeless man. Clearly insane, the hobo spouts off meaningless noises and phrases. He attempts to caress Poppy's face, then abandons the effort and wanders off into a misty field. One hopes this is not a metaphor for the many Western men who can no longer find a purpose for themselves in the world.

Man Push Cart

In recent years, a new group of American realist films have cropped up, many of which depict the continual struggle of poverty. One might question the need for more films on the indigent. Plenty have been made already; the best, "The Bicycle Thief," was released 52 years ago.

But there is still an important place for poverty in cinema--and not just because the recent Great Recession. We must continually be reminded of the plight of the impoverished, as well as how fortunate those of us are who do not endure it.

"Man Push Cart" depicts the life of Ahmad, a Pakistani immigrant who runs a push cart stand in New York City. It's brutal work, in its way; Ahmad leaves home at 2 AM to pull his cart on busy streets.

Ahmad has a rather amazing background as well. He was a pop star in Pakistan before leaving for New York to be with his now-dead wife. These details emerge gradually, but without unnecessary hesitation or suspense. He also has a burgeoning romance with a woman running a newstand, for whom he must compete with a much richer rival.

First-time director Ramin Bahrani eschews fancy camerawork, instead relying on his keen observational eye to make his points. The camera holds on a Mercedes dealership Ahmad passes, or a partially spent cigarette he carefully saves while helping a customer. Bahrani reveals societal inequities without rubbing our noses in them. He weaves a rather depressing tale, but does it with a matter-of-fact air. Poverty in America need not be romanticized. Its plain reality should be enough to move us.

The Bridge on the River Kwai

We lionize the military for its fanatical devotion to order, honor and authority. Yet these traits can easily be twisted for misguided ends.

"The Bridge on the River Kwai" is the story of a World War II POW camp of British soldiers in Thailand. The camp is run by Japanese Colonel Saito, a ruthless taskmaster who will stop at nothing to complete the bridge of the film's title.

"Bridge" begins as a battle of wills between Saito and Colonel Nicholson (Alec Guiness). The two clash over whether the British officers will be forced to engage in manual labor, which is prohibited under the Geneva Convention. Nicholson's stubbornness lands him in solitary confinement until Saito relents, seeing the effect the punishment has on the Brits' morale. Nicholson's release is a stirring victory, a confirmation of his determination to abide by the law.

Once released, Nicholson works to improve the construction of the bridge. He views the bridge as an opportunity to restore discipline, which had grown quite lax as his troops slow-footed the construction. More worryingly, he begins to view it as his legacy, something tangible that will provide use long after he's gone.

This is a problem because, after all, building the bridge well helps the enemy. This fact is highlighted when an American soldier, played by William Holden, escapes the camp and is enlisted by the British on a mission to destroy the bridge. The inevitable conflict is given all the build-up and suspense it deserves.

What begins as a salute to the can-do spirit of a well-trained military becomes an almost subversive critique of authority and rule-making. Though released in 1957, the film almost feels like one of the classics of the 1970's, working on a commercial level, as an entertaining war film, and an artistic one.

It must be said that this is the type of film which is likely inferior to the novel on which it's based. The warping of Nicholson's mind could be portrayed with much more detail in a book. In addition, a couple of budding romances between the team assigned to destroy the bridge and their guides are given short shrift. However, to say that this story would be more effective on the page simply means that it is a thinking person's war movie, rather than one which mainly relies upon explosions and testosterone.

"Bridge" is directed by David Lean, which another way of saying it's an epic production with excellent cinematography. Holden is a bit irritating, but Guiness is excellent, as he must be. His final close-up is the perfect conclusion to this fine film.

Blow-Up

Jack Nicholson once speculated that the counterculture of the 1960s and 1970s may not have been as film-savvy as we were led to believe. Perhaps, he pondered, people really liked "Blow-Up" because it had a beaver shot.

He may not have been far wrong. Writer-director Michelangelo Antonioni used sweeping vistas and brooding actors to create a compelling vision of members of the bourgeois grappling with the emptiness of life in "L'Aventurra". Many of his other films, however, have shown the limitations of stories about bored rich people: they aren't particularly insightful or interesting.

"Blow-Up" features a young photographer, Thomas (David Hemmings), who spends much of his time conducting fashion shoots with beautiful women. Antonioni has no qualms about reminding us of this; in one scene, Thomas straddles a woman and shouts in excitement, even exclaiming "Make it come!" The insinuation is embarrassingly obvious.

And the shameless titillation doesn't end there. At one point, Jane (Vanessa Redgrave) takes her shirt off for Thomas. She reveals her bare top to him, but covers her chest when the camera shows her front. This covering up, presumably for censorship reasons, goes on for several minutes. Over time it becomes faintly ridiculous.

What about the plot? Thomas photographs Jane kissing a man without her permission. After he develops the photos, he realizes that someone was shot in the background as the pictures were being taken. He goes and finds the body, but it is gone by morning. That is the beginning, middle and end of the story.

In fairness, the plot is never the point with Antonioni. He merely uses it as a jumping-off point to engage in some interesting exercises. For instance: James attends a rock show and comes away with the neck of one of the guitars. The crowd inside mobs him for it, but outside the neck becomes worthless. Also, the beginning and end of the film feature a band of marauding mimes (you read that right) who raise interesting questions of perception and reality. These are interesting little interludes, but they never come close to cohering into any broader theme or statement. The very idea of coherence seems banal to Antonioni.

Like Godard, Antonioni seemed to be playing games for his own amusement in his films. There is a certain degree of contempt for the audience in such films, and it deserves to be reciprocated.

El Mariachi

Low-budget filmmaking creates many challenges, which can lead to distractions for the viewer. Out-of-focus shots, bad acting and cobbled-together scenes are just some of the flaws common in films made on the cheap. True filmmaking talent, however, can shine through in spite of these problems. "Clerks" showed Kevin Smith's trademark wit and working class pride despite being filmed on security cameras. "The Puffy Chair" captured the Duplass brothers' penchant for genuine emotional moments despite using an amateur cast. "Primer" featured a dazzlingly complex plot despite its $7,000 budget.

Alas, "El Mariachi" cannot match the creative sparks which ignite these three films. The debut feature of Robert Rodriguez, "El Mariachi" was famously shot in Mexico for $7,000, much of which was money Rodriguez raised by subjecting himself to medical experiments. But despite the charming backstory, "El Mariachi" is no more than a mediocre B-movie.

The singer of the film's title arrives in a small town in Mexico looking for work in a bar. Unfortunately for him, there happens to be a drug dealer in town, Azul, who dresses in a similar fashion and carries his gun in a guitar case. Azul is going on a rampage against the henchmen of Moco, the town's kingpin, who cheated him out of some money. Moco's men mistake the mariachi for Azul and try to kill him. Even more unfortunately for the mariachi, he falls in love with Domino, Moco's kept woman.

"El Mariachi" suffers from all the aforementioned low-budget flaws, but these are not what sink the film. The biggest problem here is the poorly constructed story. Every plot twist here is either totally predictable--the mariachi falling for Domino, for example--or inexplicable--the mariachi has a penchant for showing his face around town even when he knows there are armed men hunting for him.

The film has mixed success on a smaller level. There isn't a single memorable line of dialogue in the film. But Rodriguez does occasionally show some humor and charm, as when Domino playfully threatens to castrate the mariachi before he explains himself. Rodriguez also proves competent with the camera, providing some interesting framing and effective quick cuts (though he also has a penchant for rather lame, in-your-face close ups).

However, Rodriguez's subsequent career shows "El Mariachi" was a harbinger of things to come. Despite some limited successes--his segment of "Four Rooms," "Spy Kids," and "Sin City"--he has largely peddled schlock. "From Dusk Till Dawn," "Once Upon a Time in Mexico," "The Adventures of Sharkboy and Lavagirl," and "Planet Terror" all confirm that on balance, we would have been better off if Rodriguez had foregone those medical experiments and stuck to watching bad movies instead of making them.

Scenes from a Marriage

Few filmmakers can give us compelling, personal stories that also shed light on universal truths. Ingmar Bergman is such an auteur. His 250-minute, six-episode miniseries, "Scenes from a Marriage," is a showcase for his wonderful gifts.

"Scenes" tells the story of Johan and Marianne, a couple married for ten years with two children. On the surface, they seem very happy and content, but they are clearly suppressing their deepest feelings. Johan is all masculine bluster, always willing to discuss his many talents, while Marianne seems stifled by the obligations of marriage and parenthood. (Bergman highlights the unfair burden of the working mother, which was much less discussed in 1972 than it is now.)

Then suddenly, the dam breaks. Johan announces he is leaving for Paris with a graduate student. The marriage quickly disintegrates. At first, Marianne begs Johan to stay, but she slowly evolves into a new woman. No longer concerned with pleasing Johan, she is free to fashion her life as she sees fit. It's small wonder that the film inspired many Swedish women to file for divorce.

Johan, in contrast, still suffers from a sense of isolation and longing. These differing outlooks are common in the wake of divorce, although usually it's the spouse who initiated the process who feels liberated.

But Bergman is not content with such a pat ending. In the final episode, occurring about ten years after their split, both Johan and Marianne have new spouses--whom they are cheating on with one another. Without the burdens and expectations of marriage, the lovers have rediscovered the spark that brought them together. Most interestingly, Marianne expresses guilt over the break up of the family, and hints that she sometimes feels just as lonely as Johan. Ever the visionary, Bergman suggests that women may not be able to break free of their familial instincts--and that none of us can escape the void inside us.

Flirting with Disaster

Sometimes, you want a movie to be much better than it actually is. "Flirting with Disaster" is a case in point.

Writer-director David O. Russell's subsequent features, "Three Kings" and "I Heart Huckabees," are gems. "Kings" was an entertaining, engaging action flick that managed to sneak an anti-imperialist message into a Hollywood studio production. "Huckabees" was a zany romp that combined humor and philosophy in ways no one would have thought possible.

On top of that impressive pedigree, "Flirting with Disaster" has a promising premise. Mel (Ben Stiller) has recently become a father, but can't decide what to name his son. Having been adopted, Mel has no knowledge of his real heritage. He sets off with his wife, Nancy (Patricia Arquette) and a researcher into adoption issues, Tina (Tea Leoni) in search of his birth parents.

In the first act, things roll along at an amusing pace, but the execution starts to falter when the trio meet up with a pair of Michigan cops, Paul (Richard Jenkins) and Tony (Josh Brolin). Rather improbably, the cops join Mel in his search. Meanwhile, Mel is strongly tempted to have an affair with Tina, while Tony looks to take advantage of Mel's inattention to his wife. Things only get more complicated from there, as the group meets up with Mel's birth parents, a pair of hippies who see nothing wrong with making and selling LSD.

Anyone who has seen "Huckabees" knows that Russell has no qualms about putting some rather improbable elements in his films. But while "Huckabees" is whimsical and ludicrous almost from the very beginning, "Disaster" is grounded in a very realistic plot and setting. This makes the rather absurd developments--like the extremely brazen flirtations between Mel and Tina and Nancy and Tony--feel off-kilter, rather than amusing reflections of Russell's ideas.

Moreover, Russell does a poor job of exploring his themes. He has two big ones here, infidelity and identity, which he could have given a thorough and interesting investigation. Instead, Mel's dilemmas are resolved in a few lines of dialogue amidst the ridiculous third act. These thorny issues deserve more than a pat treatment from an imaginative and insightful writer like Russell.

Breakfast at Tiffany's

A good romantic comedy should be like champagne: light, bubbly and refreshing. "Breakfast at Tiffany's" is more like molasses: slow, sappy and not worth the effort.

Audrey Hepburn stars as Holly Golightly, a young gold digging New Yorker. From the moment that a young writer named Paul moves into the apartment above her, we know that he will teach her that love is more important than money.

The cockamamie plot isn't worth delving into, but the problems of the movie are. Chief among them is the pacing; at times this film is ponderously slow, expending lots of time and effort on rather minor gags. Paul, played by George Stoppard, is badly lacking in charisma, and seems particularly dull next to the burning candle that is Audrey Hepburn. Finally, the movie hasn't quite made the transition from book--it's based on a Truman Capote novel--to screen. Monologues which might seem moving on the page feel forced when we seem them spoken. Some moments which could have been handled delicately in the book, such as a scene in which Golightly calls out for her brother in her sleep, seem ridiculous in the film.

"Breakfast at Tiffany's," which was made in 1961, interestingly straddles the divide between Old and New Hollywood. On the one hand, it takes a surprisingly frank attitude towards sex, barely bothering to conceal the out-of-wedlock liaisons of its characters. On the other, it features Mr. Yunioshi, a walking stereotype played by Mickey Rooney. Suffice to say that this squinty-eyed, buck-toothed Japanese character was not the Irish actor's finest hour.

The "Breakfast" filmmakers appear to have taken the attitude the Cleveland Cavaliers took with LeBron James: we have the perfect star, so we don't need anything else. Hepburn is charming, but the rest of the film is unfortunately a clunker.

Shampoo

"Shampoo" is that rare film, a well-intentioned sex comedy. Unfortunately, it doesn't quite manage to become that even rarer feat, an effective sex comedy.

Warren Beatty is George Roundy, a hairdresser dating Jill (Goldie Hawn). He's trying to get money out of financier Lester Knapf (Jack Warden) to open his own salon. Meanwhile, he is having sex with Lester's mistress Jackie (Julie Christie), wife (Lee Grant) and daughter (Carrie Fisher, in a rather un-Leia like role). After a series of minor misadventures over the course of a day and a half, George realizes he loves Jackie. But just as he does so, Lester runs off with Jackie, presumably to marry her.

"Shampoo" is all about hypocrisy, not only sexual but also political. (The film takes place during the 1968 election and finds many opportunities to stick in some ironic Nixon quotes.) But it never manages to offer any real response to that hypocrisy. Jackie is supposed to be the most honest of these philanderers. Yet the characters are too underwritten for her decision to stay with Lester to have any meaning. Is she going for the money? Is she turning her back on a dishonest man (even if it means loving another one)? Does she really love Lester? Any of these interpretations are plausible given her words and actions. Such ambiguity might make another film feel more realistic and true, but for a rather broad comedy it just seems that the filmmakers haven't sorted it out.

Moreover, while there are a few funny moments here, the film never crackles with the wit that's needed for this subject matter. It's easy to skewer vapid, pretty Californians, but doing it well takes the kind of verve that the Coen brothers so deftly display. Beatty and Robert Towne, who co-wrote the script, just don't have that kind of cleverness in them.

Director Hal Ashby has no visual imagination whatsoever. He helmed some of the most famous films of the 1970s, including "Harold and Maude" and "The Last Detail," but he is wholly at the mercy of his script and actors, which don't come through here. The only original music, provided by Paul Simon, is a cheap knockoff of the soundtrack to "The Graduate." It's nothing more than Simon harmonizing and strumming his guitar; it could easily have been written and performed in a matter of minutes.

Beatty famously sought to make "Shampoo" for over a decade. He wanted to skewer his image as a womanizer with this film. While it may be entertaining for him, the rest of us need a bit more than a film about a playboy taken down to size.

Cashback

"Cashback" is a weird hybrid: it wants to be an introspective relationship drama and a raucous sex comedy at the same time. It fails on both levels.

Ben (Sean Biggerstaff) is an art student who just broke up with his girlfriend of over two years. He laments his fate as only a self-absorbed young man can. His anguish is such that he is unable to sleep for four weeks. (Physically impossible? Sure. But how many chances do you get to rip off "Fight Club"?)

Stuck with a lot of extra time on his hands, Ben takes a job in a supermarket. He meets a pretty young cashier, they fall in love, they fall out of love, they reunite. Rinse, wash, repeat.

A film like this could fail out of blandness, but "Cashback" has more pretentious aims. Ben develops a supernatural power: the ability to stop time. This power is used to trot out every lame truism about time you've ever heard: you can't turn back the clock, you've got to live in the moment, and so on. Enlightened yet?

Ben first uses his power as only a horny artist can: to strip women naked and draw them. Everything you need to know about "Cashback" is that it takes this scene--which would be great for a porn film--and tries to pass it off as somehow insightful. Ben gives us some nonsense about how artists love the female form and women really want to be admired in this way. I must admit that I was unaware that women want to be treated as objects rather than people. Writer-director Sean Ellis actually wants us to believe this is his brain and not his libido talking.

Ellis does use some interesting techniques to seamlessly shift from flashbacks to present day sequences. It would be nice if he could use this technique to show us something worthwhile, as opposed to a recounting of the time Ben saw an exchange student naked.

There's nothing wrong with a movie about sex. There is something wrong, however, with movie that thinks that men wanting to strip women naked is somehow novel, revealing or funny.

Baghead

Over the past five years, the "mumblecore" movement has gained steam in indie film circles. Shot on digital cameras with very low budgets, mumblecore films are typically dramas featuring improvised dialogue and non-professional actors. The strength of mumblecore is the level of realism it achieves: it captures the gestures, glances and awkward pauses of real people that Hollywood invariably misses.

Mark and Jay Duplass became heroes of the movement with their 2005 film, "The Puffy Chair". Their follow-up, "Baghead," takes their craft to new heights. The film follows four friends, Matt, Chad, Michelle and Catherine, who go to a cabin in the woods to write a movie.

On one level, this is a relationship drama. Chad is hopelessly in love with Michelle. Michelle, however, is more interested in Matt, who wouldn't mind sleeping with her. This quickly creates problems, due to the (rather hilarious) bromance between Chad and Matt--not to mention the fact that Catherine and Matt have been dating on and off for eleven years.

Clearly, there's melodrama to spare. But then you realize that the film is working on another level: it's a horror pastiche. Someone with a bag on their head is sneaking around in the night. All of the elements of a horror film are there: four potential victims who aren't too bright, isolated in the woods, with the requisite pretty blondes.

The film achieves a solid level of suspense and mystery with this plotline. But "Baghead" is also working on still another level, as a commentary on the mumblecore movement. This becomes clear in the opening scene, when the friends watch a ridiculous film by real-life actor and screenwriter Jett Garner. The film's "meta" aspect becomes fully apparent at the climax.

The Duplass brothers are working on high and low levels here. This is a film that works as both melodrama and realism. It's both a B-movie entertainment and a commentary on their films. And it's a sign that the brothers may be ready to take the movement they spearheaded in new directions.

A Serious Man

In "Hannah and Her Sisters," Woody Allen's character asks his parents how there could be God in a world with Nazis.

In response, his father barks, "How the hell do I know why there were Nazis? I don't know how the can opener works!"

If you want 100 minutes of variations on that theme, then the Coen brothers' "A Serious Man" is for you. Otherwise, stay away.

Set in a Jewish suburb in 1960s Minnesota--which also happens to be where the Coen brothers grew up--"A Serious Man" focuses on the travails on Larry Gopnik (Michael Stuhlbarg). A math professor who's up for tenure, Gopnik is faced with anonymous letters which declare him incompetent and a student who insists he accept a bribe for a higher grade. Meanwhile, his wife is sleeping with another man and demanding a divorce. He also lives with a somewhat deranged brother whose violations of the law are escalating. His young son views him as nothing more than a source of money and a TV repairman. And so on.

In short, Gopnik is a cinematic Job, and like that famous figure, he seeks out God to explain his troubles. He visits two rabbis who prove to be comically inept at defending faith. The first asks that Gopnik see the wonder of God in a parking lot, while the second tells the story of a small miracle but fails utterly to glean any insight from it.

These scenes are easily the highlights of the movie. Amidst all the bleakness, they're uproariously funny, while simultaneously posing the question of how a God could punish us in such cruel and random ways.

Unfortunately, the Coens are too busy heaping more abuse on Gopnik to mine that humor or, more importantly, to explore the questions of faith which they're raising. The brothers deserve credit for being honest; they show no illusions of knowing whether God, fate or mere chance are torturing Gopnik. But what is the value of their honesty if they won't use it to make a real inquiry into the nature of faith? The rabbis can't provide a credible defense of religion, while Gopnik is too upright to question it.

With "A Serious Man," the Coens ask, "What's the point?" It's funny--I asked the same thing about this movie.

MY Top 20 Albums of the Decade

My criteria for this list:

1. Influence on my musical taste
2. Replayability (a word I just made up)
3. General ass-kicking

20. Coldplay, “Parachutes”

Coldplay is not as good as my teenage self believed. Still, as Newsweek said, they were “Oasis without the ego.” At their best, they still are.

19. The Libertines, “Up the Bracket”

Ramshackle garage rock at its finest. I will never understand criticisms of this album.

18. MIA, “Kala”

“Kala” is basically a great hip-hop album; T.I., Jay-Z, Kanye and Lil Wayne proved this by ripping off “Paper Planes” for “Swagga Like Us.” But “Kala” was so inventive that the press couldn’t label it as such. Look past the globe trotting, though, and the album’s formula is pretty simple: great samples, hooks, beats and, yes, plenty of swagger.

17. Feist, “The Reminder”

Feist revealed my taste for pretty female pop with “Let it Die,” but this album was so much better that I had to put it on. It’s playful, delicate and fun without ever being trite.

16. Elliott Smith, “New Moon”

This album introduced me to Smith and Nick Drake. It’s absolutely amazing that he had this many great unreleased songs.

15. Bloc Party, “Silent Alarm”

An early indicator that maybe this dance-rock thing was for me; they got me into the Gang of Four. Just a great album, top to bottom: the songs range from aggressive to moody to beautiful.

14. Beck, “Sea Change”

Props to Sam for helping me re-evaluate this one. At first, I gave it a few listens and discarded it. But I found it surprisingly replayable after Sam’s recommendation. This is our generation’s “Blood on the Tracks.”

13. TV on the Radio, “Dear Science”

These guys reinvent themselves with every album. This time, they aped Prince and Talking Heads. They stay consistent despite changing styles because they’re excellent songwriters. It doesn’t hurt to have rock’s best vocalist, Tunde Adebimpe, and superb production from Dave Sitek.

12. Spoon, “Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga”

My first Spoon album and still the one I like best. Jim Eno’s beats are impeccable. Britt Daniel can do more with a hook and a beat spaced by silence than most bands can do with 14 synthesizers and 29 vocal overdubs.

11. Kings of Leon, “Aha Shake Heartbreak”

Before they were the (often insufferable) southern U2, they were a cross between the Rolling Stones and the Strokes.

10. Clipse, “Hell Hath No Fury”

Clipse got me to appreciate the wordplay in rap. I also love that the Neptunes produced the whole thing; this album has a cohesion that most hip-hop records lack. I’ve also found it to be the most replayable of the admittedly few hip-hop albums I own.

9. Green Day, “American Idiot”

Hipsters can blow me. “Jesus of Suburbia” and “Homecoming,” the two nine-minute numbers, take rock to heights few bands even attempt today.

8. Mclusky, “Mclusky Do Dallas”

Hands down the most kick-ass album of the decade. A punishing rhythm section, piercing guitars, and lyrics that never seem to lose their piss and vinegar.

7. The Yeah Yeah Yeahs, “It’s Blitz”

The perfect marriage of dance with rock, this album felt like the culmination of a lot of stuff I’d been listening to this decade.

6. LCD Soundsystem, “Sound of Silver”

If you had told me a few years ago that I would love an artist who makes eight-minute dance songs, I wouldn’t have believed you. But James Murphy has a knack for reeling you in and keeping you interested. His best songs start with great foundations, then slowly evolve till they reach a completely different place. Plus, as “Someone Great” and “New York, I Love You But You’re Bringing Me Down” show, he’s become a great songwriter even without four-on-the-floor beats.

5. Kanye West, “College Dropout”

Michael Jackson abused little children and is (rightfully) hailed for his music, but I’m supposed to hate Kanye West’s music because he interrupted a starlet at a meaningless awards show? (This is an awards show where Howard Stern once showed his butt as “Fartman.”)

Oh wait, I forgot, Michael Jackson died, and Kanye insulted a white girl. (Seriously, would there be this much fuss if Alicia Keys had been interrupted?)

Anyway, Kanye’s amazing production skills got me to appreciate rap. Kanye is one of the very few pop stars we have who is pushing the boundaries of music. Thirty years from now, when no one under 40 will know who Taylor Swift is, Kanye’s music will still be influencing artists. That matters more to me as a listener.

4. The White Stripes, “White Blood Cells”

In this decade, Jack White made amazing music with a semi-incompetent drummer. Then he started two other cool bands. He also produced a great album by Loretta Lynn and co-wrote a cool song with Beck. He was also featured in an underrated film (“Coffee and Cigarettes”) and an interesting documentary (“It Might Get Loud”). Plus, he beat the shit out of Von Bondies frontman Jason Stollsteimer. There is nothing this man can’t do.

3. The Arcade Fire, “Funeral”

If this list were just about favorites, not influence, then “Funeral” would top it. A couple other bands reached me first, but no one this decade could top the Arcade Fire for soaring melody and heartfelt emotion. They write their songs from the heart; they are our generation’s U2. (Let’s just hope they don’t become washed-up superstars recycling the same tired formulas.)

Bonus: This album featured the first lyrics to which I could really relate that weren’t about girls sucking.

2. The Strokes, “Is This It”
1. Interpol, “Turn on the Bright Lights”

These are the albums that turned me into a (partial) music snob. They showed me that music could be fun while also being well-made, multi-faceted and thought-provoking (in other words, while not being Creed).

The Strokes broke me into garage rock, but they also showed that things like melody and musicianship didn’t have to go out the window when a band is rocking out. Interpol showed me the wonders of a killer rhythm section.

The notion that good music must be difficult to listen to is simply a myth. Complexity can be a virtue, certainly, but there’s no reason that good tunes can’t also be enjoyable. The Strokes and Interpol sent me in search of music that doesn’t sacrifice quality for fun. It’s a path I look forward to following over the next decade.

Up in the Air

"Up in the Air" is the story of a cynic who is taught the power of love. This conceit is at least as old as "A Christmas Carol." Hollywood never seems to tire of recycling it.

But unlike the standard cynic-sees-the-light story, "Up in the Air" has a contemporary resonance. It tackles America's currently pervasive economic anxieties head-on.

About the love story: Ryan Bingham (George Clooney), is a man who abhors being tied down. He spends most of his time traveling the country on business, loathing the rare occasions when he's stuck at his spartan bachelor pad in Omaha. He falls for the lovely Alex (Vera Farminga), in part because she seems just as resistant to commitment as he is.

So far, so formulaic. But Bingham is not just any businessman. He fires people for a living, so that their bosses don't have to do it. His profession makes him seem like a cad, until a young co-worker, Natalie Keener (Anna Kendrick), proposes that the firings be done via videoconferencing. Even Bingham recognizes that these employees need a real human being to deliver their terrible news. Bingham takes Keener across the country, demonstrating the shock and devastation expressed by terminated employees.

The two storylines dovetail nicely: as Bingham shows Keener that business should be about more than impersonal efficiency, he also begins to realize that life may have better things to offer than bachelorhood and casual flings. The ending appears to be projected from a mile away, yet "Up in the Air" keeps the audience on its toes.

As with his previous two films, "Thank You for Smoking" and "Juno," director Jason Reitman delivers a bittersweet look at the difficult choices life forces on us. His direction has become less gimmicky and more assured. His shots are based on what's needed for the scene: rapid-fire cuts which show Bingham's clinical approach to travel, a smooth pan as he delivers a motivational speech. He captures the absurdity and harshness of corporate America well, integrating interviews with real-life laid-off workers into the story.

If Reitman deserves a criticism, it's that his films seem a bit stuffed with twists and turns, leaving the viewer slightly rushed. But his commitment to quality filmmaking within the Hollywood juggernaut is encouraging; hopefully, his storytelling will grow more economical with time.