The Best Thing Lindsay Lohan Has Done In Several Years

She's a redhead again! She can make fun of herself! She has comic timing again! Dare we hope to dream to wonder if this is the end of the beginning and the main course is on its way?

Lindsay Lohan's eHarmony Profile from Lindsay Lohan

Lindsay Got An 18 + Went To The Movies Every Day

One of my favourite sites to visit is the BBFC's (British Board of Film Classification, in case you don't recognise the acronym), because it fascinates me to see what ratings upcoming films recieve (and also, it sometimes clues me in to the fact that some films are actually getting released). Now, looking there today, I note two new ratings of interest: 28 Weeks Later, predictably yet excitingly, has got an 18 rating for "strong bloody violence and gore" (yummy); but intriguingly (for "very strong language and strong sex"), so has Hallam Foe, Stale Popcorn favourite Jamie Bell's new film (with the gorgeous Sophia Myles). I didn't know much about Foe, to be honest, but looking it up shows me that perhaps I shouldn't be so surprised: its director, David Mackensie, was the helmer behind the explicit (and rather dull) Young Adam, and, well, Foe IS about voyeurism. And not Rear Window-style. (Oh, and what an awesome poster! Jamie Bell looks really creepy.) Now that I am actually 18 (well, almost 19), these ratings are all irrelevant to yours truly, and yet it's always interesting when one appears, because they're notably rare. I mean, 300, one of the most violent movies of recent years (for all its stylization) was a 15, for cripes sake! So I do often wonder what consitutes an 18. Luckily, the 18 doesn't carry the stigma that the NC-17 does in the US- it just means that if you're not 18, you can't see it (well, theoretically).

Now, Miss Lindsay Lohan is subject of a piece on IMDb's news page today: "I Am a Serious Actress & New Film Will Prove It". This is both good and bad. On the positive side, it shows us that Lindsay is serious about her career and means to commit herself to it. On the negative side, the article features a bit too much of Lindsay's hunger to win an Oscar- because, as we all know, winning an Oscar requires taking "serious" roles. Said "New Film", I Know Who Killed Me, apparently features Lindsay as a torture victim who loses both her legs- which clearly means that she'll be in a great deal of suffering and pain. No smiles. But, as we've learnt, smiles are what Lindsay does best- has she forgotten Freaky Friday and The Parent Trap? No, Lindsay's career hasn't exactly been stellar (the horror of Just My Luck is still present in my head), and while she is perfectly capable of dramatic scenes (she was solid in Bobby), I don't understand why she feels that she must go down this route. Enjoy your career, Lindsay, don't chase something so boringly.

This week will be a mega one for movies: Saturday sees me finally seeing two films I've been chasing for a long time (almost two years in one case) in the form of Joan Allen's long delayed vehicle The Upside of Anger (see here, and here) as well as Amadeus director Milos Forman's Goya's Ghosts starring Natalie Portman (what a horrid poster. It looks like something I could have made on Photoshop in about three minutes). And then on Sunday, it's the big one: the family will be heading out for an afternoon showing of Spider-Man 3, which, despite the rather iffy reviews, I have high hopes for, given how much I enjoyed the last one. And from Monday to Thursday next week, the university arthouse cinema is trying to derail my revision by throwing me the enormous total of four different films to see: Curse of the Golden Flower, the re-release of Luis Bunuel's Belle de jour (Catherine Deneuve!), lenghty monastery documentary Into Great Silence, and Oscar-nominee After the Wedding. But where did all the money go?

I suddenly feel the need to see everything Glenn Close has ever done.

Spoilers ahead for 'Heights'.

I mentioned a while ago how I'd impulsively ordered the as-yet-unreleased Heights from America- well, it turned out to be a disappointment after all my anticipation. It was finely acted, sure- I suddenly feel the need to see everything Glenn Close has ever made; and James Marsden has only gone up in my estimation- but it was little more than just another one of those multi-stranded New York narratives that didn't really go anywhere. There are some wonderful felicities- Close's enrapturing renditions of Shakespeare, George Segal's wizened yet decidedly un-hip rabbi, the enigmatic Andrew Howard- but it takes a long while to go practically nowhere, and, when the surprising revelation came, I felt not surprise but annoyance. Not because of the hidden relationship between Marsden and Jesse Bradford- both provided poignant reasoning behind that- but because I'd been lied to about the character of Elizabeth Banks. Suddenly she doesn't want to be with Marsden at all? Did I miss something? Banks gives a perfectly fine performance, but I struggled to comprehend this sudden change of heart- all the while she had been protesting against her mother's (Close) cautionings, carefully rebuffing interested parties, and then all of a sudden she doesn't want him at all. I suppose I'm supposed to surmise that she was lying to herself? I think Heights is one of those films I could easily sit through again and enjoy a perfectly reasonable amount, but it is not what I wished it had been and was certainly not worthy of my delirious anticipation of it.

Also: Lindsay Lohan and Jude Law? Creepy. I wasn't sure if Lindsay could corrupt herself any further, then she goes and does so. Please, Lindsay. I still have some respect for you. Clean yourself up and get yourself another gig with a top director like Robert Altman. Then there'd be hope. Just... stay away from Jude.

This afternoon I go INLAND EMPIRE.. aring. *chews knuckles* I'm sitting through Factory Girl first, though... hopefully that'll take my mind away from the anticipation of the impending mind-fuck.

Miami Vice, The Break-Up, Just My Luck and Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest

[Miami Vice (Michael Mann, 2006): Okay, Michael- can I call you Mikey? No? Okay- I'll level with you. You wanna shove your grainy camera up against Jamie Foxx's forehead? Fine. You wanna try and make me believe that Colin Farrell and Gong Li are so stupid they'd do everything but do it on the dance floor when they're supposed to be keeping themselves secret? Fine. You wanna reserve your blood for the delightful offings of the particularly bad people, because everyone knows the worst people die most violently? Fine. Michael, if you wanna do all that, that's fine with me- just don't expect me to give a damn! You see, Michael, I watched your latest film Miami Vice the other night, and I... well, I don't like being mean, so let's just say it didn't sit well with me. It was kind of, well, boring. I know you were going for the cool, calm and collected thing, Mikey- sorry, Michael- but goddamn, there was no need to set your camera to 'freeze'. I didn't even know it had that setting. Oh, and you know, I thought you'd chosen your actors quite well- Colin Farrell is a charmer, usually, and Jamie Foxx, well, he's a flippin' Oscar winner; and wow, you've got Chinese superstar Gong Li, man, and that Naomie Harris, well, she's one for the future, you don't miss anything, Michael! But damn, Michael, you could have written the damn thing better. I mean, I spent half the movie trying to figure out what the hell was going on and the other half not giving a f**k. Yeah, those black humvees are wonderfully shiny, I kn- yes, I do quite like the sight of Gong Li's behind, Mich- yes, Michael, Paraguay is pretty! But Michael, I'm not just after eye-candy, man. I want something to chew on. I want something I can understand, something I can get excited about, something that gives me an intellectual buzz. You don't have that here, Michael. You can write an occasional cracking line of dialogue, sure. And you can set-up a gorgeous, fluid shot. But no, Michael, I didn't care if she woke up, and I didn't care if he was heartbroken. And, quite frankly, I don't care if you never work again, because I'm really rather bored of this cops-and-robbers shit. Especially when it's as boring as this. Grade: C-]

[The Break-Up (Peyton Reed, 2006): I wasn't really expecting too much from The Break-Up, as promisingly bubbly as its director, Reed, had proved from Down to Love (and cheerleader comedy Bring It On, which I've not seen), and as large a soft spot for Jennifer Aniston as I ashamedly admit to carrying over from Friends. The Break-Up has the rather novel premise of skipping the part that most romantic comedies chew on- the love bit- and instead chronicling a rather messy and bitter separation. Of course, separation would be easy enough if they lived separately- they'd never have to see each other- but that'd make a rather dull movie, so our broken coupling here, Gary (Vince Vaughn) and Brooke (Aniston), are wedged into a plot that has both valiantly hanging onto their jointly-bought and refurbished condo, laying claim to different areas and generally trying to piss the other one off. It's rather hard to forgive the unfunny stereotyping of Brooke's "gay" brother (John Michael Higgins) and her colleague (Justin Long), but thankfully the focus on them proves brief and The Break-Up provides a sizeable amount to chew on- as long as you don't take the film's promoters at their word. I doubt that, if The Break-Up had been marketed as anything other than a romantic comedy then it would have made next-to-no money, but ultimately, The Break-Up is anything but a comedy- this is a bitter, tart and astute drama, always tinged a little too liberally with Hollywood convention but also pleasingly realistic, especially in its open-ended final scene. I give Vaughn and Aniston major points for starring in something so respectively daring- sure, in the world of film as a whole, The Break-Up is hardly a revelation, but in the dollar-centric world of romantic Hollywood, choosing something that will undoubtably piss a large amount of their viewership off is quite commendable. Our two leads are, happily, quite good in their parts, Aniston particularly tearing herself apart in one raw dramatic confrontation- and if you want some comedy to sate your appetite, Jason Bateman (a favourite of mine from Arrested Development) is wonderfully sardonic in a small part as the couple's friend and realtor, while Judy Davis steals her scenes as Brooke's pale-faced, bitchy boss. The Break-Up is a film that gives you more than you expect, although, really, if you read the synopsis, it's hardly going to full of laughs. It's like a small-scale, less black and more raw version of that infamous break-up story The War of the Roses (surely the inspiration), and compared to that it's both easier to watch and harder to deal with. Grade: B-]

[Just My Luck (Donald Petrie, 2006): I suppose that, really, I should just dismiss Just My Luck out of hand- 'oh, it's just a throwaway teen romantic slapstick comedy, don't be so harsh'- but the whole thing bothered me so much that I couldn't. I will easily admit to loving Lindsay Lohan- she's a smart, warm screen presence with excellent comic timing and still proves highly promising, as her performance in the late Robert Altman's A Prairie Home Companion this year shows us- but even she couldn't salvage anything out of this, and perhaps the film's biggest crime is that it actually manages to make Lohan an annoying presence. Fie the film that does this. But I didn't just have a problem with Lohan, I had a problem with the film's entire universe. In what world is luck's existance as a force so assured, so easily manipulated, as such that our central coupling- played by Lohan and wet-blanket Chris Pine- learn how to manage its transferance between them? And in what world are McFly, no less, so talented that they deserve a film which is basically built around them? I suppose it's my own fault, really, for caving into my curiousity about how a film starring Lindsay Lohan could possibly be so worthless, but if there's anything Just My Luck did manage, its demonstrating that. Grade: F]

[Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest (Gore Verbinski, 2006): Pity the poor American dollar. So small, so thin, so harmless, and yet he is tossed around so thoughtlessly, abandoned in snowy streets, screwed up in pockets, handed over to cinema attendants in return for such a worthless slog as this. I'm sure you've heard, and many times, that this sequel to 2003's surprise smash-hit Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl is only the third film to pass to $1 billion worldwide mark. I'm sure you've also heard that it's not really very good. Well, both of those things are true, and although I'm sure that many people would debate the second one- hell, it must have made all that money somehow- I really, really, can't. I enjoyed the first film, long and slow as it was, but the only need for a second one seems money, and, unfortunately, Dead Man's Chest is as hollow and dead as, well, the dead man's chest. I'm sure you've also heard that 2007 brings a third film, At World's End, and Dead Man's Chest is nothing but a piece of connective tissue, a long haul between two films that no-one really cares about- for these people, it's all about the destination, and, unfortunately, Dead Man's Chest is the journey. Pity poor Johnny Depp, for while his infamous Captain Jack Sparrow in Black Pearl was a delightful, unpredictable mad-cap confection, nothing in Dead Man's Chest challenges him- there are no surprises here, no lunatic, unweildly lines, and while Depp occasionally raises a chuckle- "an undead monkey!"- with his offbeat delivery, the spark has been quashed. This, of course, leaves the rest of the cast more open to scrunity, and it seems that Keira Knightley needs to get out fast, Orlando Bloom can't sell a joke to save his life, Jonathan Pryce needs to retire, and Jack Davenport should just sue for thankless employment. Maybe Dead Man's Chest wouldn't be such an insufferable slog if it wasn't so long, but, connective tissue or not, Verbinski somehow spins this confused tale out for two and half hours- when did it become okay to make films so needlessly long, I ask? Nothing in Dead Man's Chest ever merits even an hour, let alone two and a half of them, and I wonder why, exactly, such a joyless piece of work would have been successful had it not been preceded by what was, at the time, an original and surprising popcorn blockbuster. I doubt it, somehow. Grade: D+]