THE SOCIAL NETWORK: Sorkin Takes One Giant Step Sideways

Originally published 1/25/11 on "TheMovieWatch.com"

In 1941, the film “Citizen Kane” was a critical success, earning several Oscar nominations—including Best Picture. The dramatic film was particularly praised for its script, cinematography, music and non-chronological narrative structure. The film itself followed characters trying to label the ‘eccentric’ (read: “crazy but rich”) billionaire of an organization that proved as popular as it was controversial—much like the protagonist himself. The protagonist was a loner and, to a scene, the smartest guy in the room. This overt, and only arguably deserved, self-assuredness was met with scorn and ridicule from friends and family, eventually leaving the protagonist isolated in his fortress of material success.

‘Copy and paste’ for “The Social Network.”

Beyond the screen, “Citizen Kane” was met with vehement protest by William Randolph Hearst—the real life wealthy entrepreneur/emperor of nearly 30 newspapers, magazines and other gossip-filled periodicals. Hearst was adamant that Orson Welles’ film was slanderous (and, to a lesser extent, vulgar). Welles, to his credit, claimed the title character was actually based on himself. In this retort from 70 years ago, Welles proves himself at least one step smarter than Aaron Sorkin, the writer of “The Social Network.”

“The Social Network” is unequivocally billed as the true story behind Facebook. That the movie has inaccuracies with factual history is not the problem; it’s that the film’s entire thesis behind Facebook is wrong. In “Citizen Kane,” Kane spends his life trying in vain to reclaim his lost “Rosebud”—a childhood sled. Fortunately, the movie wasn’t about the mogul Hearst and so made no assertion that Hearst spent his life seeking a childhood relic. In “The Social Network”—at a near one-to-one comparison—“Rosebud” is the affections of a lost love. Unfortunately, Sorkin doesn’t have a Welles-esque clarity for theatrics and thus left the window wide open to criticism. Hell, it isn’t even a window; it’s like an entire wall was missing from the set. Mark Zuckerberg, in real life, is not chasing a lost love; the girlfriend he had before Facebook took off is the same girlfriend he has now.

Sorkin feels no shame in completely missing the point of cultural history, though. He admittedly wrote the first draft of the script before even reading the biography of Zuckerberg, “The Accidental Billionaries”, which the marketing team pointed to as the literary origin for the story. It doesn’t seem to have even occurred to Sorkin that perhaps Zuckerberg is not a desperate loner, but rather just one more person, like Sorkin himself, who wants to create something. Facebook is perpetually updating and retooling itself—something Sorkin’s script notes but doesn’t analyze. Facebook is not complete. If anything, Charlie Kaufman’s artistically horrifying “Synecdoche, New York,” more than "The Social Network,"actually taps into the unrelenting ambition of pure creators needing no finished product--be it play, movie or website.

Most damning to me is that Sorkin was so close to reaching Welles’ level of self-reflection. Zuckerberg, in the film, repeatedly talks circles around his friends, enemies and lawyers. Zuckerberg talks like Sam Seabourne in “The West Wing.” White House staffers don’t speak with such speed and determination in real life any more than Zuckerberg, a computer programmer ever does. Ever seen an interview with the real Zuckerberg? He talks likes a rambling, didactically unsure computer programmer. In the film, the character could have spoken in haikus with as much realism. As is, the fictional Zuckerberg speaks how Sorkin (though not Sorkin alone) views himself: impossibly articulate and proudly not popular. Boastfully, even. Being popular means being one of the masses, being ignorant and forgotten. Sorkin, though, fails to consider any true meaning beyond Facebook’s unparalleled popularity nor any self-examination—which could lead to more earnest, emotional territory.

Moreover, had the script been the fictional story of a website founder/billionaire, then Sorkin could have expanded the timeline and scope. He could have hypothesized the political ambitions of “Zark Muckerberg.” He could have done any number of things that would have meant more than the half dozen scenes that ultimately did nothing new for the story or characters.

Pictured above: symbolism? Definitely not real people.

Admittedly, the film is wonderfully directed and acted and even entertaining more times than not. But I sigh more than a little bit when I think about the movie that could have been and how close/far “The Social Network” ended up. Sorkin may very well write a masterpiece screenplay, and I know director David Fincher can turn any film into the best eye candy, but right now “The Social Network” is too close of an instant-meal, cash-grab on brand recognition to best the classics--or even deserve much more than a passing comparison.

Update or Something Like It

Hello there,

I've recently become a writer for the movie website "TheMovieWatch.com." My plan right now is to write film reviews for them or at least get someone to act like me and write reviews for them. This blog, though, will keep going strong into that cold abyss of nothingness lovingly called "the innernet."

I will write original rants and reviews for here and re-publish anything that gets published elsewhere because, hell, seconds can taste just as good sometimes.

After February, more relevantly the Oscars, I will focus more on reviewing and awarding events and characters from history. Also, I will post my first novel online soon.

(NOTE: the site is up and here, http://weservicewhatwesell.blogspot.com/)

This is has become a bit of a long way of saying, nothing is changing. Except maybe we've all grown a little. Yeah, that's a good conclusion.

The guy on the far right is Charles Darwin; and "The Fall" is based on a true story.

BLACK SWAN: A Manic Reflection on Perfection

I never felt Darren Aronofsky received appropriate acclaim for his direction in the 2008 film “The Wrestler.” To a lesser extent, I also felt Bruce Springsteen got cheated. Unfortunately, Aronofsky is getting more directorial praise for this year’s “Black Swan”—a film whose style, while not inherently poor, doesn’t mesh with the subjects or themes.

In the film, dancer Nina (played by Natalie Portman) ascends to starring heights after middle age claimed the professional life of the former queen ballerina. Immediately after, and arguably even before this point, Nina begins to feel her new opportunity is in danger of being usurped by the even younger, and more extrovert, Lily (played by Mila Kunis). Nina and Lily form an uneven and unstable rivalry and friendship, intertwining professional hierarchy and sexuality in a barrage of flash cutting, handheld camera work and hallucinations. In this angle, “Black Swan” is one-part “All About Eve” and two-parts “Mulholland Dr.”—both more focused movies.

Stylistically, “Black Swan” notably drifts into Nina’s hallucinations via her surreal life so slowly that the audience doesn’t grasp the impossibility of it all until Nina snaps back into the real world. Repeatedly, the audience is intended to be made the fool—so willing are we to let Aronofsky craft an absurd story. But no, this is never an exceptionally strange story, it is the mental collapse of a strange protagonist. Fortunately, having the proverbial rug pulled out from under the audience time and time again does not inspire frustration at the film, as Portman always leads the frustration. In “The Wrestler,” Mickey Rouke, stole the scenes away from Aronofsky, but in “Black Swan” Portman stops the audience from crying for the director’s head on a pike.

This is why few films were made in the Middle Ages.

The strong individuality of “Black Swan,” reveals its own weakness. Unlike films with similar plots or styles, “Black Swan” is very much about the sacrifice necessary for artistic perfection. Nina is not competing against peers ala “All about Eve,” but rather fighting against the plateau of human physicality and mentality. She is emotionally balancing the “whore” image and “Virgin Mary” image—the two categories female characters, and perhaps all women, are relegated to. This separation and labeling is abhorrent in society but articulated and demonstrated in the film. While Nina is trying to be the physically best dancer possible, she is more comfortable with that challenge—and, indeed closer to success—than the emotional challenge of being a seductress and a nun.

The desire for artistic perfection and conflicting ambitions fail to be manifested in the style of the film—which borders between quasi-documentary, over-the-shoulder shooting and low-end horror film. Ideally, a film’s style is a reflection of the film’s content. For example, Stanley Kubrick often employed symmetrical shots of long corridors in scenes about dangerous enclosure. Scenes aside, the images where viscerally threatening—not unlike how Neanderthals might have viewed a cave or pit. Aronofsky is certainly a talented director, as his styles worked wonders for the mathematical and isolated “Pi,” the hyperactive/nightmarish “Requiem for Dream” and low-budget, simple handheld style of “The Wrestler.” Regarding perfection or cognitive dissonance in “Black Swan,” Aronofsky seems completely absent. There is no desire to even attempt a perfect film, scene or shot. Nor is there any conflict between relationship styles--distant and familiar; romance and rivalry.

The film’s flaws are those of complexities and subtitles, so this movie can be commendable in getting past the first barrier: invention. The scenes with Nina’s mirror reflections acting differently than her actual self were delightfully horrifying and repeatedly my favorite moments. Mila Kunis sizzles with sensuality with every coy smile and Portman has earned any praise she receives for essentially playing a 12-year old Girl Scout unaware that she has become a 29-year-old woman still living at home. In the end, though, the film’s style is difficult to innately enjoy and makes discussing the themes an exercise in over-reaching.

127 HOURS: They Should Have Cast Daniel Day Lewis

“127 Hours” may be the most critically acclaimed film to have a history of people requiring medical attention during a handful of screenings. Based on the true story of mountain climber Aron Ralston, nearly 90% of the film’s runtime is set in the one location—under a large rock—with only James Franco keeping the audience company. Amazingly, the film never seems to drag though writer/director Danny Boyle is pushed to absurd, hyper-active techniques to accomplish this. James Franco sours while many of Boyle’s tricks land with a thud. Note: I may become a bit bolder with my rock puns, but, hey, geology rocks.

"What did I do to deserve this," asks the blog reader.

Boyle, coming off of his high-energy, Oscar-winner, “Slumdog Millionaire,” similarly lifts “127 Hours” with lens flares, loud music, diagonal camera work, stock-footage and jump cuts. He also reaches further into his personal bag of tricks with sporadic voice-overs, product-placement hallucinations and scathing commentary on consumer culture. “127 Hours” works as a contrasting dichotomy between this style and the claustrophobic subject. Indeed, this rock ‘n roll style keeps away boredom more gracefully than many action film directors have yet discovered. Of Boyle’s previous films, “127 Hours” is probably most similar to “The Beach”—though both suffered from a lack of confidence. Whereas “The Beach” had the awkward and pointless inclusion of marijuana-growing gunmen, “127 Hours” fails to trust James Franco as a compelling enough actor to keep an audience interested without inserting flashbacks.

Throughout the film, Ralson (Franco) recalls moments in his life that weren’t really inspired by anything in the canyon, don’t really justify his solitary character nor even lead to any revelations more specific than, “I should have been a better person.” However, one flashback was actually a premonition of a party Ralston was invited to, occurring at roughly the same time as he thought about it, trapped. As he had planned on hiking and climbing for several more days, it is unlikely he would have actually gone to this party—however, by considering the course of his life had he been able to, and chosen to go to, the party, the movie nearly reaches an early epiphany. That is, we are given one life and we can never live it all. We can never be in two places at once, even if we want to. It is unlikely, Ralston wanted to be trapped under a boulder, but it is also unlikely he entirely wanted to be at some random party. Yes, he wanted a beer and friends, but at what cost? Why the cost of dependence and responsibilities, of course. I believe such an understanding of Franco’s character could have been reached and expanded had there been no flashbacks but (if there had to be cut-to scenes) have only flash-forwards—an alternate timeline to Ralston character, bounding over unmoved boulders and eventually strolling back home.

The script has several instances of heart-breaking revelations, not so much in Franco’s pain, but in the deadpan delivery of bad news. Every ten minutes or so after the rock fall, Ralston, via his digital video camera, reveals a piece of (more) bad news to the audience. Yes, many of us know going into the movie where the action must go, but we need to be coaxed there; it must be so definitive that we are at the last possible resort so as to see Ralston not as a madman but as a testament to human survival. A character so decidedly anti-social is a hard character to make likable, as we as an audience must be willing members of society to see said movie. However Franco pulls it off; a loner who isn’t condescending to the masses he regularly runs from.

With only some hesitation, I’d like to move on to the climatic ‘cutaway’ scene—wherein Ralston looses a few pounds by cutting off his right [spoiler] forearm. The scene brutally fires on all cylinders (editing, sound, acting, etc) so extravagantly that one loses the reality of the scene in favor for the emotion of the scene. To just see a man cut off his arm would not engage the audience as obnoxiously as to convey real unimaginable pain—displayed with electronic screeching and seizure-inducing flashes. The scene itself was rather unpleasant, though inspiring any kind of sickening reaction from me is a first and an admirable, though not commendable, feat. Thankfully, minutes later Ralston finds dirty water to plunge his face into, experiencing a refreshing feeling that I shared. Plot-wise, I’ll stop there as to not ruin the ending of the film.

In the film’s entirety, I was pleasantly surprised but not particularly amazed. The ‘true story’ element kept “127 Hours” from having the canyon-sized plot holes of Boyle’s “Slumdog Millionaire,” “The Beach” or “Sunshine” but each of those films seemed to offer less moralizing than this latest feature. As a last criticism, the film pads out the 94-minute running time, replaying about 10 minutes of footage—perhaps in a last-ditch attempt to keep this movie out of the short film category at the Oscars. Boyle, receiving largely high marks, will likely only continue his diagonal framing and other assorted gimmicks, but at least the audience learned a lesson--unfortunately not voiced of Steve “J. Walter Weatherman” Ryan:

“And that’s why you always leave a note.”

THE GREEN HORNET: Good Posing as Bad

In many ways, “The Green Hornet” film acts like its titular character: posing as a bad guy but actually doing good things. The film is a superhero film—a genre that has twice as many bad examples as good ones; hell, in several “good” series the bad outnumber the good (ex. Superman, X-Men, Batman, etc.). “The Green Hornet” is also a deconstruction of superhero films, as the heroes have no actual superpowers and are largely inspired by fictional heroes--and that sub-genre of films has an even worse track record. Continuing, the film’s production has been delayed and restarted so many times one can see Seth Rogan lose 30 pounds during the course of the 2009 film “Funny People.” The villain is played by Christopher Waltz, whose last film, “Inglorious Basterds,” won him an Oscar, so hitting that post-Oscar curse (the "Stealth" phenomenon) was nearly guaranteed. And lastly, the film’s director Michel Gondry only had experience with small-budget quirky comedies like “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind” and “Science of Sleep”. Somehow though, all of these elements refuse to make a poor movie; on the contrary, they make up a pretty extraordinary experience.

In 1995, George Clooney was approached to star in the film. Clooney felt it was a better career movie to stick with a more well-known superhero franchise and opted for “Batman and Robin.” 16 years later, "The Green Hornet" is a movie self-conscious of other superhero films but never directly parodying or lambasting them. Nearly every line referring to the absurdity of the movie are articulated, and were likely written, by Seth Rogan—the default ‘every man’ character nowadays. However, Rogan is more than a comedian running around amazed by the nearly supernatural violence—he is an active, and even admirable, participant in beating up the bad guys.

Reciprocal to Rogan, is Jay Chou, a real life Chinese singer and songwriter so talented and famous, he’s never been on American Idol. While Kato (Chou) is physically more skilled at fighting the bad guys than the barrel-chested Britt (Rogan), he is neither impervious nor just a straight man, bounce-board for Rogan’s jokes. Kato is given the cinematic respect appropriate for a star who, in all likelihood, is more world famous than Rogan.

28 million albums sold is even more impressive given China's bootlegging industry.

More than any visual sense, the supporting character strength also coincides with director Gondry’s strongest suit as a director. In all of Gondry’s films, side characters are given personalities, ambitions, thoughts and feelings. Yes, some characters have more screen time, but no character is a cardboard cutout—including in “The Green Hornet.” Chou and Rogan both beat up bad guys, they both need each other, they have pride and want company.

By comparison, one could look at last summer’s kick-off superhero film, “Iron Man 2.” In that film, everybody was an extra to Robert Downy Jr.’s Tony Stark. There were no less than three villains and none EVER got the upper hand on Stark. In “The Green Hornet,” Christopher Waltz plays a bad guy whose insecurity is more fun to watch than his near-disinterested dangerousness. Indeed, his insanity is not one of entertainment, wealth or vengeance, but of practicality. He is bad because it’s easier than being good—a sentiment the heroes act out, though don’t condone. On the opposite side, and representing about one-fourth of the audience, is the female lead, played by Cameron Diaz. For me, Diaz walking onto the screen was like somebody walking into a room with a grenade. Whoa. What’s going on? Are you crazy? This could be a show-stopper, I feared. But no, true to form, Diaz’s character Lenore Case is given a real personality with real strengths, desires and opinions. She is no Pepper Potts-esque trophy for the heroes nor a wet towel, ball buster or other annoying archetype.

The film has a death count, which is something, and characters feel a small amount of remorse for the collateral damage, which is something too. But the film is simply not intellectually or dramatically patient enough to give any scene nuance or weight. The movie is a mid-winter popcorn flick and a solid one at that. Unfortunately, even within this realm, of fun--though not mindless--entertainment, director Gondry fails to trust the audience much at all. A prologue scene involving Britt is reiterated to the audience twenty minutes later. Why? No reason, just filler. Fodder, even. Similarly, Britt pieces together the criminal mastermind plot with the grace of a drunken lumberjack. Neither of these sequences are inspiring and even drive the actual characters to implicitly ask, “why are these scenes here?”

Lastly, I hope 3D technology doesn't have to warrant a complaint after every movie, but for now it does. This film was an example of post-production conversion and it showed. During the film, I was distracted by every camera movement motion blur. Other times I felt depth perception actually getting skewed. Rather than being more immersed in the film, as 3D theoretically does to an audience, I was kicked out of the movie experience. Instead of wondering about thematic issues (as artists intend) or being flatly amused (as roller coaster designers intend), I was left wondering about the production itself. It’s like wondering what paints Van Gogh used rather than wondering what his paintings meant. It’s like wondering what paints they used on the Kingda Ka at Six Flags rather than just screaming with my hands in the air. No, to me, no feature film has benefited from 3D and all of them have cost $3 more than the normally outrageous ticket price.

While “The Green Hornet” is lackluster in its worst moments, there is nothing wholly objectionable about the film. The film takes its characters seriously but never itself. And this goes a long ways in making it one of the most consistently funny films I’ve seen in months.

TRUE GRIT: Getting Gritty without the Grime

The Coen Brothers are a fun writing/directing team to watch throughout these recent years. It seems every movie made is a counter-example to the previous film. Rather than over-reacting to their most recent critics though, this process strikes me as more internal; that they simply get tired of having the same production discussions for two productions in a row. In 2004, they had the light, ensemble remake “The Ladykillers.” Next was “No Country for Old Men,” a deep reflection on people disconnecting from the world around them. Then there was the hyper-energy farce, “Burn After Reading,” and then last year’s meandering, quiet-paced, “A Serious Man.” Appropriately, as an antithesis to “A Serious Man,” this year’s “True Grit” is direct in character ambitions, stakes, fears, and relationships while rising to a sense of grandeur.

The movie, adapted from a Charles Portis novel by the same name, is a striking departure from Coen Brothers’ cinema staples. In nearly all of their films, large amounts of money are at stake and act as the main motivation for several characters. Similarly, “No Country,” “Fargo,” “Blood Simple,” “Miller’s Crossing” and “Raising Arizona” have laconic, evil-incarnate villains. The absence of money and evil caricatures was a mature route to take for the filmmakers; the good guys became better minded and, more thankfully, the bad guys became more sympathetic.

The bickering bad guys in this film (played by Barry Pepper and Josh Brolin) act as a late counter-balance to the bickering good guys (Jeff Bridges and Matt Damon)—giving everybody plenty to play with. Most fun, Damon goes from smooth, Southern charmer to barely audible after a tongue-in-cheek beating and Brolin squints into the distance as a murderer so frustrated with his own ignorance that the world itself nearly brings him to tears. Brolin damn near stole my sympathy away from the tough-talking, 14-year old, Mattie Ross (played by Hailee Steinfeld).

Poor guy. He just needs a hug. And maybe money.

The tough-talking dialogue is immediately accessible and entertaining—perhaps enough to undercut Sorkin’s knife-edged poetry for the Oscar award. But the Coen’s also use a specific definition of grit in the script to find their thesis on the West and thus find a place among the Western film cannon. Early in their quest, Lebouf (Damon) tells the others that he once drank muddy water from a hoof print in the desert, he was so close to death. Cogburn (Bridges) responds with a disbelieving snort. By the end of the film though, this snort isn’t so much about Lebouf’s story being false as it is about the audacity of thinking the story is extraordinary. In the Coen’s Old West, being ‘gritty’ is being practical, not just in saving lives but in saving time. Of course, Lebouf drank humiliation out of the ground, that kind of practicality is what’s necessary to survive away from society. Cogburn, though, is past that point and will never be in any one place long enough to bother crawling. He keeps moving by repeatedly disregarding life on a near sociopath/Han Solo level. To him, once a person/horse/Taun-Taun is dead, their body is just a body and equal to its weight in firewood or information. This is a ‘grit’ that Mattie cannot replicate, and so cannot survive in the wild west; but for lacking Cogburn’s level of ‘grit,’ she can survive the urbanizing world as it enters the 20th century.

The film itself has moments of visual beauty unrivaled by any other Coen’s film. Obviously, “No Country” had similar vast wilderness, but it’s usually the content of the images (ex. dead dogs) that stick in people’s mind rather than in “True Grit,” where a man riding a horse becomes more than just seeing such a thing. The shots and cuts play with light and size so fluidly that they also seem like jokes for the person who sat on the mute button. In one instance, Cogburn finds the mineshaft he believes the baddies are hiding out in. He strolls into the frame within the frame (camera in the dark cave, Bridges standing in the entrance) with weight and power—perhaps even homaging John Wayne’s iconic doorframe shot in “The Searchers.” Cogburn holds out his hand cannon and fires into the cave. The recoil sends Bridges off-balance as we cut to a distant shot outside of the mineshaft entrance, revealing Bridges as a small, drunken, figure on the side of a cliff. Cogburn goes from threatening a cave to helpless in a valley in two film shots, firing only one himself.

[Spoiler for the next paragraph]

As a note of criticism, I felt Mattie climatic dilemma was watered down from the novel, wherein she falls into the snake pit, gets trapped, snakes come out and then Tom Chaney appears overhead, laughing—eventually shot by Cogburn. In the film, Mattie gets her revenge by personally shooting Chaney, negating the #1 risk of using Cogburn (that he shoots all of his criminals). Furthermore, we lose the sense of “ultimate worst-case scenario.”

[Spoiler over.]

Ultimately, the craft behind the film, the actors in front of the screen and the knowledge audiences can bring into the film all work together to make one of the most completely contained and balanced films of the year. The film’s energy sputters and even struggles a bit when Mattie and the others hang around town but it doesn’t last long. And the climax was slightly less everything than in the novel (as described in my ‘spoiler paragraph’), but these feel like small points against a mostly great film. It’s not the runaway success of perhaps the Coen’s bests, nor can we be assured of its future classic (or cult-classic) status, but when that becomes the concern, I think we can all sleep okay at night. Unless there are rattlesnakes under your bed. Damn, why did I say that?

Ladies and Gentlemen!

Welcome to PAST TIMES--everything history and movies.

While this blog won't always make the overt connection every given film has with history (or visa versa), I would like to articulate the common connection at least once. And here it is.

Films document a society in more ways than what is just on the screen. They document what was popular at a time. They document who was popular and what sentiments, themes, locations and conflicts were popular. Intellectual dramas as well as wild action movies are indicators of a people and evidence of the society's interests, fears and ambitions. Movies, as historical records, are unique in that they capture a large segment of the American (and, too a lesser extent, world) population yet allow specifics and nuances to be extracted. Movies act both as a window in their time of release and continue as windows throughout their cultural existence as more windows.

"Singin' in the Rain" is a 1952 musical set in 1927. This means we can understand 1950s America itself (through the film's production and popularity) and also understand 1920s America via 1950s America. That is, compare how history changes as it grows more distant.

As another, more complex, example, "The Good, The Bad and The Ugly" is a 1966 Italian film explicitly about 1864 America, and implicitly about 1966 Italy. Furthermore, the movie was popular in Italy in 1966 yet not seen in American until nearly 1968--and even then, not popular among American critics (such as Roger Ebert). However, the film was accepted by cult audiences and has since become a near-unanimous classic--again, according to Roger Ebert.

Seeing the connection between movies and history cuts both ways, though. History, especially for non-scholars, is generally best understood as a series of stories and characters. People aren't intuitively able to recall many numbers and dates. Think about cavemen: the number of deer killed on the last hunt isn't any more important than how the deer were killed. The stories of success and failure keep us alive and entertained. Learning follows attention, attention follows entertainment--for us and cavemen.

An advertisement so "entertaining" it got its own show--for 6 wonderful weeks.

History is only half what happened. One-forth is what happened before said event and the last fourth is what is going to happen. The Presidential Election of 1876 doesn't mean much to anybody if they don't understand that it set a precedent for the U.S. President being chosen by a 15-person committee and prematurely ended Post-Civil War Reconstruction--dooming the oppressed to more oppression. If nothing else, understand this: everything is just a prologue for what's coming next.

As for what to expect, I plan on publishing a handful of reviews through the end of February for movies likely to be nominated in the Oscars. After that, I plan on reviewing/retelling true stories in history and, of course, writing movie reviews--updating about once a week. If I feel particularly guilty about an update, I'll do more than one in any given week. I may also have guest columns, republished reviews from my personal archive and other experiments.

So be like me and grab a beer, pop, water, jagerbomb or juice pack to drink; and I'll try to write a little faster than you can read before we're all just history.

Now let the show begin.