Victim's Gold Stars: #8: Fountain of Love

THE TOP TEN: #8: The Fountain

The Fountain is a bit like The Departed in a way, in that it's not perfect, not entirely polished. It's a bit verbose, a bit pretentious, a bit laughable, a bit mystifying. But, like The Departed, it's a better film for these faults, because what The Fountain lares bare is the mind of auteur Darren Aronofsky. Outside of David Lynch this is the strangest American film I've seen in years, an ambitious, overwhelming sensory experience that might make no narrative sense but, as does Lynch, coheres into an emotional rush that has you weeping as the credits roll. The Fountain's arching concern is the acceptance of death- Hugh Jackman's triple character has him searching for the antidote to death, accepting his wife's death, and transcending death. Aronofsky's philosophical concerns bleed into The Fountain's every pore, from the ethereal photographing of his partner Rachel Weisz to the gorgeous, erratic scoring from Clint Mansell. The Fountain blends mythic culture, scientific confusions and meditative ethereality to create a unique experience, one that openly exposes its complicated and messy origins to let the audience open itself to the feeling entirely.

Victim's Gold Stars: A Way With Words

I'm going to try to pick up steam on these or I'll never get them done, so expect quite a few entries today (I won't be able to do any at the weekend, so I suppose in effect I'm not really speeding up). Anyway... here are my picks for Best Original Screenplay.

Milo Addica & James Marsh

Fred Breinersdorfer

Anthony Cipriano

Christian Puiu & Razvan Radalescu

Eric Roth

Next up: No. 8 on the Top Ten countdown; and Best Visual Effects.

Victim's Gold Stars: #9: We Are Gathered Here Today...

THE TOP TEN: #09: The Departed

More than any other film on my top ten list this year, The Departed is a movie- that is to say, it is a film that you can chew popcorn through, that you can laugh and tense and gasp at, that isn't really trying to subliminate messages or portray a meaningful story (there is nothing wrong with doing these things, of course, as the rest of the list demonstrates); it is instead there to entertain, to be enjoyed, and to be experienced. I've seen it three times now, twice in equally crowded cinemas and once on DVD, and, although its vitality still shows on the smaller screen, The Departed strikes me truly as a movie to be enjoyed with others, whether you know them or not; I loved observing the gasps at a certain cast member's ghostly fall from a high building, and the jumps at the excitable climax. Many have commented that Martin Scorsese finally got his Oscar when he stopped looking for it; and in a way that's true, because nothing in The Departed- apart from perhaps the starry cast- smacks of bait or conformity. The Departed shows Scorsese truly enjoying movie-making again- sure, it's a bit messy, a bit over-stuffed, a bit rough, but the lack of polish here is exactly what makes The Departed so fantastic. It's exposed, and it's wonderful.

Victim's Gold Stars: Facial Talent

It's all about looks in today's Gold Stars category: here are my picks for Best Make-Up.

Victim's Gold Stars: A Way With Other's Words

No posts over the past few days as I suffered in illness and then made the transition back to university; but here, finally, the Gold Stars continue, with the Best Adapted Screenplay picks.

Frank Cottrell Boyce (from the novel by Laurence Sterne)

Alfonso Cuaron, Timothy J. Sexton, David Arata, Mark Fergus & Hawk Ostby (from the novel by P.D. James)

Bent Hamer & Jim Stark (from the novel by Charles Bukowski)

William Monahan (from the 2002 screenplay "Wu jian dao" by Siu Fai Mak & Felix Chong)

Neal Purvis, Robert Wade & Paul Haggis (from the novel by Ian Fleming)

Next up: the award for Make-Up; and No. 9 in the Top Ten Countdown.

Grinding Down

Well, not to be passé, but it looks like Grindhouse is getting split down the middle. From Obsessed With Film:

After the unsuccessful release state side, it seems UK audiences are going to miss out on getting Grindhouse as a double-feature.

Filmstalker have got the heads up on a teletext article which features the following comment from Roadshow Film Distributors:

In keeping with the theatrical release plans for all territories outside of the US, Grindhouse will now be released as two separate theatrical features.

And what about the ‘fake’ trailers between the movies? I assume they will still be attached somewhere, presumably the beginning, but as many people have already commented Grindhouse only works as a double-feature and the movies do not stand up all that well on their own. In addition, if you are to believe what you read at Filmick, Planet Terror won’t be getting an international release AT ALL. The new ploy? To release Death Proof as a stand alone ‘New’ Tarantino movie.

Correct me if I'm wrong, but the entire point of Grindhouse was to re-create an experience, no? Money rules feeling, as always. Also, if they do release both films (separately), then they'll be pitting Roderiguez against Tarantino: who'll make more? Which rather negates the collaborative push behind the thing, doesn't it? And if they don't release Planet Terror, well... they just suck.

You know what they should do? Release them as separate movies, since they seem so set on that, but at the same time. And then showing times should be organised so that you can go from one into the other, if you so choose. Sure, it means paying more money (no problem for me, thanks to my unlimited card), but surely people who really want to see it will pay up, and those who can only be bothered to see one can do so. But please, DON'T take away this experience from me. I so rarely get the chance to participate in something like this.

Victim's Gold Stars: #10: Deeper Underground

THE TOP TEN: #10: The Descent

I saw The Descent way back in 2005, when the DVD was released in the autumn, after a summer run that I was unable to participate in (I wasn't old enough for the 18 certificate), and I have no shame is saying that the film terrified me, even on the miniscule screen in my bedroom on that spinning disc. The Descent is as dark as horror films come, not least because most of it takes place deep underground, where it was ensured there was no light bar what the potholing girls had brought with them. The Descent's underground labyrinths are entirely false, but you'd never guess; so tight is Neil Marshall's directorial control over these tiny spaces that the feeling of claustrophobia and panic is utterly palpable. The film doesn't even let you in easily: a quick introduction to the clan of girls whom we'll be following into the darkness is a tense, unspoken suspicion of betrayal, topped off by a sudden and horrifying car accident, the backlash of which feeds cleverly into the later machinations. In essence I suppose The Descent is nothing new, really, but how often do you come across a horror film- and a British one no less- that's this tightly controlled, this committed to its convictions, and this atmospheric? The Descent still lives with me almost a year and a half after seeing it, and surely that's some kind of power.

Victim's Gold Stars: I'm Sorry, I Can't Hear You

Let's knock these sonoral pleasurers out in one go. Here are my picks for Best Sound and Best Sound Effects.

Best Sound






Best Sound Effects

Next up: Best Adapted Screenplay; and No. 10 on my top ten countdown.

Victim's Gold Stars: They Go Together

Well, I still haven't seen Curse of the Golden Flower (I will!), but I thought I might as well get these awards rolling before I go back to university next week and my drive is hijacked by... books, or something. I am at least presenting a category that I suspect Curse will have no effect on: Best Ensemble. So, here are the lauded five who all get gold stars:

Daniel Miranda, Diego Cataño, Danny Perea & Enrique Arreola

Alan Arkin, Paul Dano, Steve Carell, Greg Kinnear, Abigail Breslin & Toni Collette

Jonathan Rhys-Meyers, Ving Rhames, Tom Cruise & Maggie Q (with Philip Seymour Hoffman, Michelle Monaghan, Billy Crudup & Keri Russell)

Garrison Keillor, Lily Tomlin, Meryl Streep & Lindsay Lohan (with Woody Harrelson, Kevin Kline, Tommy Lee Jones, Virginia Madsen, John C. Reilly & Maya Rudolph)

Lewis Alsamari, Peter Hermann, Ben Sliney, Christian Clemenson, Trish Gates, Omar Berdouni & Cheyenne Jackson

They're zombies! Oh, and those others like to take a bite out of your necks...

Dawn of the Dead is, like, terrifying. Seriously. I don't think I've been this scared by a film since I saw Blue Velvet years ago and was constantly shivering from utter terror. There's one particular bit in Dawn of the Dead to do with a pregnancy that was so obviously going to be horrifying but it made me so uncomfortable that I almost fainted. And this was from watching on DVD! The film itself- which is, as I'm sure you're aware, a remake of George A. Romero 1978 sequel (which I haven't seen- I tried once, when it was on tv, but I just wasn't in the mood for gore then) to the terrific Night of the Living Dead- isn't overloaded with gore (though it's still pretty violent), but is more concerned with sustaining an atmosphere, as a group of survivors of the sudden zombie epidemic hide out in a well-protected shopping mall and try to plot a way to escape. The film is remarkably well-cast when you consider what it is- no big names so to speak, but indie-regular Sarah Polley (who directs the soon-to-be-released Away From Her with Julie Christie) headlines, with solid background names including Ving Rhames and Mekhi Phifer astutely playing their purposely surface roles- these aren't people we ever have time or need to get to know, as they don't with each other for the most part. To its credit, Dawn of the Dead never divides itself into set-pieces, never repeats itself, and feels remarkably fresh and modern. Grade: B+

The Holiday, meanwhile, clearly wants to be fresh and modern, what with all its gleaming, expensive and expansive L.A. mod-cons and its cosy, extraordinarily remote English cottages, but all in all it feels rather backward, not just because of its squishy romantic sensibility but because of its antiquated ideas of what British life is like (Cameron Diaz is disturbed by how small Kate Winslet's lovely cottage is- bitch should try living in my house) and how freakin' manipulative it is. Also there's an enormous subplot- I say subplot, but the supposed romance between Kate and Jack Black is hijacked by her friendship with Diaz's elderly screenwriter neighbour Eli Wallach, while Diaz spends all her time snogging the face off Jude Law, because, eww, if the girl isn't a stick and the guy is a tiny bit portly no-one wants to see more than a peck! Anyway, said subplot is all about how Wallach (and thus Winslet) bemoan the kind of movies we have today (the kind Diaz, as a maker of movie trailers, is all about making "look like a hit"), yet all the while director/writer Nancy Meyers is indulging in exactly that! I don't think The Holiday is totally bad, because there are some nice touches in there (Diaz can't stop that familiar trailer voice from overlaying her own predicaments) and the cast are a capable bunch who do their best to paper over the creaky, sentimental gaps, but The Holiday is never truly heart-warming, even in the corny sense, and even though its all so bloody long (2 hours and ten minutes!) I doubt it'll leave much of an impression on anyone at all. Oh, and it hasn't snowed like that in England at Christmas for ages. Grade: C

Sunshine through my cinema...

God knows I was looking forward to Sunshine. I'm not really sure why, because pretty much every film by Danny Boyle that I've seen (and, thanks to a handy tv showing of Shallow Grave on Thursday night, I've now seen all his feature films), with the exception of 2005's charming Millions, I've had major issues with. But I think the intriguing premise (the sun is dying!) and the eclectic, only-slightly-famous cast were just too big a pull for me. And the trailer, with that horrifying shot of Michelle Yeoh slamming into the camera, made the film seem especially daring and unusual.

But I guess I shouldn't get my hopes up too high. Sunshine is good, yes, fine, and in fact for the first half I was gripped, impressed, wowed. The film never stepped out Alien-territory, but that's a fine film to be emulating and the aforementioned attractive elements kept it separate enough. And the film is visually stunning, with the obvious rich palette of colours and sleek, shining photography of the sleek, shining sets and spaceship. Sunshine, however, is one of those rare films where I can pin-point exactly where it became weaker- and I won't spoil it, but there is a specific scene, even a specific line of dialogue, when I just sighed and cursed screenwriter Alex Garland under my breath. Sunshine didn't need this plot development, it could have been so much better without it, and it seems like such a rip-off that it just makes me roll my eyes. From then on, Sunshine struggles to get back to its former quality, and almost succeeds, until the overwrought and silly ending sees it slide back down again.

But let us focus on the positives. Sunshine's cast is small, sure, but meaty, delicious, from Hiroyuki Sanada's stoic captain to Cillian Murphy's slightly eerie (but when is he not?) physicist. Standouts, however, prove to be Rose Byrne as the emotional pilot Cassie, who in a few brief scenes with Murphy's Capa hints at a developed connection (and lit up the screen with her smile), and the Human Torch himself, Chris Evans, who melds movie-star charisma with surprising acting chops, selling some weak scenes with superb delivery and providing the film's most memorable and fiery character. Sunshine's more Armageddon-ish impulses mean that there's not much room for character, especially for those who are pecked off first, but even the less-featured actors provide some felicities, and Garland is impressive in his building of their strained, distant interactions: these are people who have spent over a year and a half together, and yet don't really know each other at all.

Sunshine is eminently watchable and often sweatily gripping, and is blessed by a dynamite cast and a dazzling visual sense (remarkable given the relatively small budget of £10mil/$50mil), but it gives in to familiar impulses and ultimately emerges as a disappointment. Nevertheless, it's markedly more intelligent than the majority of movies released to a wide market, and hopefully the uneasy balance on the line between the avant-garde and the popular will pull in both sides and give each a taste of the others' medicine. Grade: B-

Victim's Gold Stars: Under and Over

I haven't yet completed my run of 2006 viewings (I still have Days of Glory, The Good German, The Painted Veil and possibly Curse of the Golden Flower to catch at the cinema, as well as Requiem and possibly a few others, if I get them, on DVD), but I figured I should get the ball rolling as soon as possible, with all the free time I have at the moment (not that I have nothing to do, you understand, but it's hardly fun stuff)- and so, I bring you what I've cheesily called Victim's Gold Stars (mainly because, the more I thought about it, the VAMPs (Victim's Annual Movie Prizes) just sounded wrong), and, in their opening post, I'm going to name ten films, which were neither the best nor the worst of the year- they were, in fact, the most under- and over-appreciated films of 2006.

The Overappreciated

(Clockwise from top left) The Last King of Scotland was widely praised for its superb performances, from the towering figure of Forest Whitaker to the briefly-featured Gillian Anderson, but, despite them, the film descending into a delirious mess that assaults the viewer rather than getting under their skin. The film starts out well but totally loses control in the second half, every worst instinct possible being employed- worst of all, it decides that it must be a thriller, diluting the political dissections that were promisingly dangled before you. The Queen, meanwhile, was another film about a country's leader with praised performances, but a second viewing showed just how surface the enterprise was, how off-key Helen Mirren often was, and how, ultimately, the film never said much at all.

Pan's Labyrinth is a dazzling visual feast (although a few members of an audience found the faun hilarious) but its twin threads of reality and fantasy have serious problems twinning themselves together, existing as separate entities with no relation for most of the film and then never clearing their existance (or not) up. And most of the actors struggle to inject personality into their stereotypical and charged characters. Sacha Baron Cohen had no such trouble in Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan, but the film failed to say much about America or society, or anything, really, and for all Cohen's committed hijinks, the film barely raised a chuckle, at least in me (and the sparse audience I was part of). And finally, and worst of all, Dreamgirls, a superbly costumed but inert piece of musical drama, was most damned by its director, Bill Condon, whose repeated use of montage left the actors floundering, trying and mostly (with the exception of Eddie Murphy, of all people) failing to make anything at all of their characters.

The Underappreciated

(Clockwise from top left) Slither was simply a highly entertaining b-movie, a film that knew its own stupidity and deftly played up to it, mixing truly nasty sights with deliriously corny dialogue and charismatic, well-cast actors. And, unlike Snakes on a Plane, it was both well-produced and funny. Poseidon, that most slammed of remakes, may have had some silly dialogue, but it was simply amazing to watch (especially on an IMAX screen), thanks to the stunning production design, hued photography and crashing sounds.

Factory Girl, perhaps the very last release of the year, only got press because people thought Sienna Miller and Hayden Christensen were really doing it (they weren't, apparently), which is a shame, because this is a solid little movie, one that plays up to the characters' shallowness- it's a intentionally superficial movie about unintentionally superficial people, and, while that understandably limits it at points, the acting, particularly on the side of Guy Pearce (as Andy Warhol) and Miller herself, makes it a surprisingly poignant meditation on a life both barely lived and enjoyed to the full.

Wah-Wah never even seemed to surface of America, and enjoyed the briefest of appearances in Britain, but it's a sweet little movie, set in '60s Swaziland as the country is about to gain independance from Britain, and seen through the eyes of a teenager (Nicholas Hoult) as his parents (Gabriel Byrne and Miranda Richardson) go through a divorce and his father remarries an American (Emily Watson)- and it's the latter figure who, mocking the British formality, provides the title. The film is hardly revelatory, but it's smartly acted and entertaining- which is a perfect description for the last mention in this category, and the best: Mission: Impossible III. Tom Cruise may have gone off-the-wall, but he's perfectly watchable here- however, what I loved about this was its emphasis on the team he gathers, from the genial Ving Rhames to the Irish Jonathan Rhys-Meyers to the sexy Maggie Q. J.J.Abrams directs with his usual sleek, shiny touch, providing expected but exciting pleasures with aplomb.

David Lynch terrorizes Emma Peel?

I saw an episode of The Avengers a while ago (an awesome show, by the way, though only when Diana Rigg was in it), wherein Emma Peel (Rigg) was lured to a country mansion and then trapped within, constantly circling between normal rooms and physcadelically decked-out spaces, some bizarre mechanics meaning that she could not escape except when she finally punches her way through the wall. There were disorientating swirls painted on the walls, spiral staircases, and doors that she could not go back through. Anyway, to get to the point, I was reminded of this episode of The Avengers when thinking about INLAND EMPIRE (something I have been prone to do ever since I saw it), because, like Mrs. Peel, the audience is trapped within a circular world, where we constantly revisit the same places, see the same befuddling things, see no way out of this mad world. Like David Lynch's previous Mulholland Drive, INLAND EMPIRE sets up a conventional narrative only to shatter in into pieces, asking the question whether what you were watching was reality, or whether one of these new places is reality, or whether reality actually exists at all. Is the "real" (for of course ultimately it is all fiction) character of Laura Dern (giving a stunning, fragmentory, hysterically impactful performance which is surely one of the best I've ever seen) the one we are first presented with: that is faded actress Nikki Grace, offered a part in director Jeremy Irons' new film, controlled by a jealous, rich Polish husband? Or is it the character she seems to be playing in said film, one Susan Blue, who falls into an affair with Billy Side (Justin Theroux, also a character within a character)? Or is she a Polish prostitute? Or an American one? Or a twangy-voiced American housewife? INLAND EMPIRE is somewhat of an epic at three hours long, but, for a Lynch fan such as myself, it is never a chore, just an enigma: what the fuck is going on? Does the fact that two of the talking rabbits (taken from Lynch's website) are voiced by Naomi Watts and Laura Harring provide some unknowable link to Mulholland Drive? Like most of Lynch's films, what is important here is not narrative, but feeling; and, above all, INLAND EMPIRE is horrifically frightening: in the last half hour or so (I cannot be sure, because I lost all track of time completely), Lynch takes you to the delirious extreme of one nightmare only to pull you out of it and plunge you into another, even more horrifying nightmare. INLAND EMPIRE affects not just the mind but the body: at various points I was sweating profusely, my left arm went numb, and at one point I experienced the strange desire to curl up into the smallest ball possible and disappear into my seat, so terrified was I. I cannot pretend to explain everything in INLAND EMPIRE, and to know whether it all makes sense, but I do know that no other film from 2006 made me feel so intensely and memorably as this one, and, for that, it is clearly the best film of the year.

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.

Back in the day...

Films lately have been getting me down, either because they're badly made (Sleeping Dogs Lie, The Rules of Attraction), or just because they're so damned depressing (Cache, Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?). So it's exciting and refreshing to see something like Dave Chappelle's Block Party, which is, basically, a celebration of life- of music, of community, of comedy, of kindness. I'm not a particular fan of some of the music here (and, I must confess, my attention occasionally waned), but the artists here are all so full of life that it's hard to argue against them. I'd only heard of Kanye West (who does a storming performance of 'Jesus Walks') and The Fugees (woo!)- and Mos Def, but I didn't know he sang- but perhaps even better was my discovery of the fantastic Jill Scott and the gorgeous Erykah Badu. And Michel Gondry, who made such a mess of The Science of Sleep, directs with a light, assured hand, and we bounce between artists, public, and Dave Chappelle (hilarious, by the way) without ever feeling like the pace and feeling has been disrupted. Moments like the marching band exploding when they hear they're off to New York are just so wonderfully joyful- it's just great to see a film celebrating what the world can produce, and show that there is still joy in this depressing world.

Human Connection

Dark Horse has a touch of the surreal, and yet, ultimately, it's disarmingly easy to connect with, to understand, to empathize. It slides comfortably between clever comedy and deliberate poignancy, taking the unusual route of using comedy to set up and root the characters before smoothly underlaying their situation with drama. This is the kind of film where a parade of elephants suddenly walks past the window of a cafe, or the girl in the bakery is on mushrooms, but it's never so removed from humanity that it feels like a hollow 'indie' film. It balances the silly but astute comedy with observant pieces of real life, and creates characters that it's easy to like and to spend this time with. By the time the film had ended, it was in a totally different place to where it began, and I was ready for it to take me somewhere else, provided I could stay with these people. Grade: A-

I could say much the same thing about A Guide to Recognizing Your Saints, though there is a lot less fun in it, and the characters are remarkably more volatile. But the principle remains: these are human, grounded characters, easy to empathize with, and the film leaves you wanting to spend more time with them. Writer-director Dito Montiel's autobiographical film juggles a dual narrative- him as a teenager (Shia LeBeouf) in Queens, and him grown up (Robert Downey Jr.) returning back home from L.A.- adeptly, focusing on the former narrative for the most part, where Dito struggles to keep a hold on his friends (Channing Tatum, Martin Compston...) and his girlfriend (Melonie Diaz; Rosario Dawson as an adult) as danger begins to escalate around them. Montiel's script is a direct, open one, both warm and precarious, and his direction adds an unexpected buoyancy to the film, slicing up dialogue and sound within scenes to add to the reflective element of the film. Dianne Wiest (where have you been?) and Chazz Palminteri are superb as Dito's parents, Palminteri especially as he tries to keep a handle on his exact relationship with his son. Grade: B

I only like Adrien Brody when he's a Polish piano player during the Second World War.

That is, I only like him in The Pianist.

I have no idea why Brody is so outstandingly brilliant in that Roman Polanski stunner (my best of 2002) and so ingratiatingly irritating in every other thing I've ever seen him in. I say this because I saw Allan Coulter's drab and sluggish Hollywoodland yesterday, and every moment that Brody's character, sardonic, small-time private investigator (is there another kind?) was on screen, I just wanted to punch him. Repeatedly. Not only only does poor George Reeves (here played rather boringly by the praised Ben Affleck) get sidelined even in his own life story, but he gets pushed aside by Brody's smug, holier-than-thou mug. It doesn't help that Brody's character is so smug and holier-than-thou in attitude either, although the script clearly wants you to sympathise with him as he spins into a Black Dahlia-lite obsession with the suicide/murder (???!!!) of the depressed Superman actor. It doesn't help either that the flashbacks to Reeves' life are infinitely more interesting (though still rather dull) and every time it switches back to Brody you can virtually hear the audience sighing as one. And it doesn't help that Brody is costumed so that it continually looks like he's suddenly appeared from the year 2000. If Quantum Leap was still on, I'd swear Brody was being inhabited by Sam Beckett.

Diane Lane is good though. So yeah. There's that.

I also watched the little-known stageplay adaptation The 24th Day, about a man (Scott Speedman) who takes hostage the man (James Marsden) who may have given him HIV five years ago when he strayed once from his marriage. The film is by no means perfect, and some of the dialogue is terribly risible, but the dissection of truth and trust is kind fascinating to watch play out, and the two actors are more than capable of holding the interest.

Especially James Marsden. Now I don't know where my recent obsession with Mr. Marsden has come from, but he's such a painfully underrated actor than maybe I'm compensating for the rest of the world's ignorance. I impulsively ordered Heights from the US (since it has not been, and shows no sign of being, released here) mostly because he's in it. He brought so much more pathos to the jilted-lover roles in X-Men and Superman Returns than most actors would have even bothered doing... but please, someone get him away from Bryan Singer! Singer obviously hates the man, because he's always being dumped for a superhero in his films. (Although Cyclops is so much cooler than Wolverine... am I alone there? Okay...) He looks like he might also be getting dumped by Amy Adams in Enchanted this year... although that's just conjecture on my part- but then his rival is McDreamy himself, Patrick Dempsey, so he's clearly doomed. Give this man some meaty roles, stat- he's more than capable.