Life Extension

"Box Office Or Body Odor — You Decide"

2006-05-09T13:57:00.000-07:00

A quick fizzle to summer's liftoff came quickly on Thursday night, May 4, at the premiere of "Mission: Impossible III," and with a man-crush on Tom Cruise, I was on board way early. Just as a note: The servers that run Blogspot would surely shutdown with the amount of space it would take to do a satisfactory job in explaining the nature of the crush, so I won't go into it just yet. But, back to the film — "M:I III" was devoid of any style. A humorless, flat exercise in movement. The only particle of personality the "Mission: Impossible" products have in common is that fabulously fun theme score. So, style is absolutely necessary, hence why Brian De Palma's original 1996 Hitchcockian labyrinth is so cool and John Woo's romantic spectacle of 2000 was such an exhilaration. J.J. Abrams, a newbie to feature films, couldn't energize "M:I III" with anything other than savvy stunts. Add a maudlin romance and it sat mostly limp on screen. The $48 million the film made over its blowout inaugural weekend has already proven a failure. But not that I care, about the bean counter. Yes, I do keep track of it quite religiously, but only because this lame brain of mine loves to chew on statistics, and, hey, movies are my bag, baby. So, just for fun, I will put to shame Entertainment Weekly's weak summer estimates, and play the box office game.

1. "Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest" $275 million.
A no-brainer. Made over $300 million in 2003, and it's a sequel we wanted. Yes, the first was a not-so-merry-go-round, but I really do want a film with Johnny Depp's fabulous Captain Jack Sparrow I can love.

2. "Superman Returns" $250 million.
The closest film to "Spider-Man" out in 2006, and a culturally iconic superhero a generation of youngsters haven't yet seen on the big screen. Aside from director Bryan Singer's obvious big risks (Brandon Routh, Lois Lane with child and that darker, steelier tone), a "Superman" renaissance is in the air.

3. "Cars" $225 million.
Pixar rules. Pixar rules. Pixar rules. Oh yeah, and Pixar rules. Stories come first, and that's why we keep coming back a third and fourth time around the multiplex circuit to Pixar's films. Wonderous and truly beautiful feats in animation.

4. "The Da Vinci Code" $190 million.
The controversial novel is phenomenally popular. So, Columbia can forget about any anxiety over the opening weekend's numbers. It will be divine.

5. "The Break-Up" $175 million.
Like "Mr. & Mrs. Smith" did last summer for Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie, "The Break-Up" will work as a perfect complement to the current tabloid frenzy over Vaughniston. I told a friend at work that if last summer Pitt and Jolie came out with a period drama instead of their spy vs. spy action-comedy, no one would have gone and the media would've said the rags put the curb on our appetite for a Pitt-Jolie affair. Plus, celebrity overload didn't rupture Tom Cruise's success with "War of the Worlds" last summer either, although many feel "M:I III" is being substantially hurt by it now. But, bottom-line, it's all about the movie. America wants to see a Vaughniston flick about a break-up breakout.

6. "Over The Hedge" $160 million.
All your children have to do is cry and you'll cram all matter of crap down his or her throat to shut 'em up. If I had kids, I'd just tell 'em they'd have to wait for "Cars." It's more nutritious for your children and, not to mention, you, too. Plus, you can enjoy "Cars," and not merely sit there while your kids have all the fun. Since when did you become a martyr anyway? But, despite what I say, parents will still feed their offspring and others' offspring they're babysitting Dreamwork's big drum of mush, now made with the byproducts of the "Madagascar" troupe.

7. "X-Men: The Last Stand" $150 million.
The comic-book contigent still hungry for more mutant carnage will snarl like pigs on Brett Ratner's boardroom-mandated overthrow of the "X-Men" saga, but then after the faithful see the slippery wet turd of a movie (also see "Poseidon") director Ratner ("Rush Hour") and writer Simon Kinberg ("Fantastic Four") threw together, like shit through a fan, the mild excitement will fade into oblivion.

8. "M:I III" $140 million.
Opening weekend numbers tell the truth, and don't expect the impossible — the haul of "M:I-2," some $220 million. Plus, the movie's simply not that good, so don't expect repeat business, either. Although, since when does repeat business matter anymore? With gas prices and other astronomical costs for a family of four, not in Bush America.

9. "Poseidon" $120 million.
Great effects. Lousy story. That's the prediction. Without a dynamic plot and characters to submerge any of your emotions into, Wolfgang Petersen's "The Perfect Storm on Das Boot," minus much calendar room to breathe, will drift into the weekend of "The Da Vinci Code" under a mountain of word-of-mouth wreckage.

10. "Click" $115 million.
Adam Sandler in an Adam Sandler movie. Never usually fails. Plenty of fraternity boobs continue to encourage he produce and star in flicks like "Click" when each brother skims $10 bucks for the ticket off of the emergency beer keg money.

"Summer's Super Movies"

2006-03-09T17:09:00.000-08:00

With box office receipts down and the feverish excitement of theater patrons once hungry for popcorn movies a no-show, the usual smorgasbord of summer flicks — from sequels to remakes to visual effects juggernauts to the numskull comedies — must give a little more to audiences than it, otherwise, robs from it. Sorry, Hollywood. We’re just burned out.
It’s not simply the cost of admission and calorie-heavy concessions; those nonstop screen ads that cause hostile apathy; the jerk who couldn’t keep his mouth shut at “King Kong;” the cell phone that broke into a Fall Out Boy ringtone when it should’ve been silent; rudeness in general; or that the movies fall far short of the hype, which you marshal and package far more effectively than your focus groups do at synthesizing the movie. It’s just that the experience as a whole is rotten. The good news is that you (yes, theater chains, that definitely means you, too) still have a chance to make it up to us, those of us who still yearn for the thrill-a-minute adventure and ambient energy of the cinema. Summer’s all about the noise, for sure, but all that we ask is that you make it fun. Your mission, movie studios and theater chains, if you choose to accept it, is to make going to the movies a blast again. Impossible? Maybe. I know, on average, it takes two or three years for Hollywood to change course, but you must understand that time is of the essence. So, godspeed. Here’s a forecast of summer’s 10 potential bright spots (labeled “Hot Pick”) and black holes. But, as always, release dates are subject to change.

THE INDIES
Alpha Dog
Nick Cassevetes’ drama centers on teenage suburban drug dealer Johnny Truelove (Emile Hirsch), whose thirst for power led him to become, at 19, the youngest ever to be on the FBI’s most wanted list. With Justin Timberlake, Bruce Willis, Sharon Stone and Ben Foster. (May 12)

A Prairie Home Companion (HOT PICK)
Robert Altman and Garrison Keillor follow the hysteria and hijinks backstage as the radio show America holds most dear airs its last broadcast with singing cowboys, a country music siren and a host of other national treasures. Meryl Streep, Tommy Lee Jones, Lily Tomlin, Lindsay Lohan, Kevin Kline, Woody Harrelson and John C. Reilly make up the all-star cast. (June 9)

Wordplay
Patrick Creadon’s documentary interviews celebrity crossword enthusiasts Jon Stewart, Bill Clinton, Bob Dole, Ken Burns, the Indigo Girls — each of whom reveal their own strategy, insight and allure of the game — and, most importantly, passionate New York Times puzzle editor Will Shortz at the American Crossword Puzzle Tournament, a competition he founded. (June 16)

Leonard Cohen: I’m Your Man
A documentary that celebrates the legacy of one of music’s most soulful troubadours. With live performances and interviews from the historic “Came So Far For Beauty” tribute at the Sydney Opera House in January 2005, director Lian Lunson tenders an intimate look-see at the artist’s life and poetry. (June 21)

Strangers With Candy
A prequel to Comedy Central’s cult series. Follows 40-something ex-junkie Jerri Blank (Amy Sedaris) after her release from prison as she decides to resume her life right where she left it decades earlier ... in high school. Stephen Colbert, Paul Dinello, Matthew Broderick, Sarah Jessica Parker and Philip Seymour Hoffman also star. (June 28)

A Scanner Darkly (HOT PICK)
Keanu Reeves, Winona Ryder, Robert Downey Jr. and Woody Harrelson star in Richard Linklater’s trippy philosophic thriller, an adaptation of Philip K. Dick’s science-fiction novel about an undercover cop on a paranoid journey into and beyond the dual environs his brain hatches in a drug-addled mitosis. Using the rotoscope technology he used in his transdimensional out-of-body acid-trip tour of the universe “Waking Life,” Linklater animates every frame into a radical new vision of the future. (July 7)

Little Miss Sunshine (HOT PICK)
Steve Carell, Greg Kinnear, Toni Collette and Alan Arkin star in Jonathan Dayton and Valerie Faris’ dark comedy, a Sundance darling, about a dysfunctional family on a steadfast cross-country trip to worm the youngest, Olive, into the finals of a beauty pageant. (July 28)

The Science of Sleep (HOT PICK)
Michel Gondry, the director of the perfectly bittersweet maze of memories “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind,” brainstorms one more head trip about a man whose dreamscapes hold him captive. Gael Garcia Bernal and Charlotte Gainsbourg star in the Sundance favorite. (Aug. 4)

Clerks II
A calamity motivates New Jersey slackers Dante and Randal, both of whose 20-something malaise lingers into their 30s, to pursue new horizons — at Mooby’s — in Kevin Smith’s sequel to his 1994 underground hit. (Aug. 18)

THE FRAT-PACK COMEDIES
The Break Up
Try as they might, neither half of Vaughniston, or Vinnifer, or whatever you prefer, can kick the other one to the curb in director Peyton Reed’s comedy about a couple on the quits that declares war on each other over a condominium neither wants to split. Thin is too thick a word to describe the sitcom plot. (June 2)

You, Me and Dupree
As interchangeable as the Frat Pack order can be between Luke, Owen, Ben, Will, Vince and other pledges, the comedy fraternity’s flicks (“Dodgeball: A True Underdog Story,” “Old School,” “Wedding Crashers”) can be even more so. But, hey, the crowds eat it up, and so here’s another reel of obnoxious gags to keep the streak alive. A best man (Owen Wilson) stays on as a houseguest with the newlyweds, much to the annoyance of the couple (Matt Dillon and Kate Hudson). (July 14)

My Super Ex-Girlfriend
Ivan Reitman, the veteran director of comedies (“Ghostbusters,” “Dave”) without a solid hit to his name in more than a decade, leaps onto the bandwagon of superheroes so Luke Wilson can be the fall guy for an ex-girlfriend’s rage. But, lest I forget to mention it, she’s got superpowers. And to top it off, she’s in the shape of Uma Thurman. Unfortunately, it’s got big tights to fill. 1984’s “Supergirl” is still, to this day, the funniest superhero flick ever made. ... wait, are you saying it wasn’t meant to be funny? (July 21)

Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby
Rebel NASCAR driver Ricky Bobby (Will Ferrell) faces stiff competition in Jean Girard (Sasha Baron Cohen) but partners with buddy Cal (John C. Reilly) to form Thunder and Lightning, the most fearsome duo on the track, in Adam McKay’s (“Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy”) sports comedy. Any faith I had in Ferrell’s potential to make me laugh was lost way before his lineup of unfunny tomfoolery of late in bombs such as “Bewitched” and “Kicking and Screaming.” (Aug. 4)

Click
To make his life easier, workaholic architect Michael Newman (Adam Sandler) shops for a universal remote and stumbles, instead, into the mad inventor (the amusingly kooky Christopher Walken) of a mystical gadget that affords its user the luxury to either fast-forward, rewind or pause his life, hereby controlling the universe. Go ahead, label me a snob, but I always change the channel on the saccharine Sandler comedy. (June 23)

Nacho Libre (HOT PICK)
Jared Hess, director of the cult phenomenon “Napoleon Dynamite,” and writer Mike White (“School of Rock”) tag-team on a comedy about Nacho (Jack Black), a Mexican priest who, in order to save an orphanage from closure, dons a mask and moonlights as a luchador. I absolutely am not a fan of Hess’ hot-for-tater-tots überdweeb, but I do worship at the shine of Dewey Finn, Black’s golden god of a substitute music teacher in “Rock.” So, with that, I anticipate Nacho to be summer’s funniest dude. (June 16)

THE SEQUELS
Mission: Impossible III (HOT PICK)
Action extravaganzas have flagged lately, but the superstar producer-actor Tom Cruise remains a top gun of the traditional summer staple, nevermind his hysterical fits on Oprah’s couch or his glib exchange with Matt Lauer on the merits of Scientology last summer. I’m over it. Cruise is that rare commodity, a movie star with a savvy taste for material. So, expect no less than another solid, if not stellar, entertainment. J.J. Abrams (the creator of ABC’s “Lost”) directs “M:I III,” his first feature-film gig. Added bonus: Philip Seymour Hoffman twirls his mustache — figuratively, of course — as the heavy. Strike the match and ignite the wick —we’re already in line. (May 5)

X-Men: The Last Stand
Brett Ratner, director of such tepid fair as “Rush Hour” and “After The Sunset,” and screenwriter Simon Kinberg (the vapid “Mr and Mrs. Smith” and “Fantastic Four”) unfortunately inherit the apocalyptic final chapter of the “X-Men” trilogy from Bryan Singer (he got to direct “Superman Returns” instead). Singer’s impressive “X2: X-Men United” (2003) is one of the few sequels that’s better than the original, but the rote Ratner, who’s in post-production hell, and Kinberg’s penchant for narrative slop spell doom. (May 26)

Superman Returns (HOT PICK)
According to director Bryan Singer, “Superman Returns” is a quasi-sequel to 1980’s “Superman II,” with the late Marlon Brando back, in unused archival footage, as Jor-El. With a richer color palette and a new Man of Steel in unknown soap opera actor Brandon Routh, a Lois Lane in blonde-gone-brunette Kate Bosworth and a Lex Luthor in the menace of scenery-chomper Kevin Spacey, Singer (already a proven siphon of complex comic-book mythos with “X-Men,” but not invincible) has a good shot to recapture the magic of Richard Donner’s 1978 original, and be revealed as the genre’s new crusader. The prospect that Routh, Singer’s ultimate risk, might not command the role is not lost on us. But even kryptonite won’t keep us away. (June 30)

Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man’s Chest (HOT PICK)
I’m probably the only briny soul who thinks that “Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl” is a relentless, monotonous assault in movement (a migraine headache is less relentless, I might add) made at turns inert by a shipwrecked plot. An awry bit of inspiration in Johnny Depp as the misadventurous Captain Jack Sparrow was the buoy in the chum. But, hey, you asked for a sequel to the swashbuckler, so I digress. I’ll take the bait, but I hope the sequel’s booty is far more bountiful. (July 7)

The Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift
Director Justin Lin takes the wobbly wheel of the second sequel, but minus the testosterone baritone of Vin Diesel or the white-bread swagger of Paul Walker, that’s set in the streets of Tokyo, Japan. That’s not an engine rev you heard, but a collective yawn. (June 16)

THE TOONS
Over The Hedge
Directors Tim Johnson (“Antz”) and Karey Kirkpatrick, a writer on “Chicken Run,” ride the coattails of “Madagascar,” “Shark Tale” and “Shrek” with the fable of a mischievous con-artist raccoon, R.J. (Bruce Willis), his posse of neurotic woodland creatures (with the voices of Steve Carell, William Shatner, Garry Shandling, Eugene Levy, Catherine O’Hara and Wanda Sykes, for starters) and the havoc they wreak when suburbia encroaches on the wild. A half-baked story and animation puts the film in the generic pile with most of the Dreamworks Animation slate. (May 19)

Monster House
In a concept so lousy it’s scary, three teens discover that the neighbor’s ramshackle house is, in fact, alive in director Gil Kenan’s creaky animation creation. Stay away. (July 21)

The Ant Bully
After a boay floods an ant hill, he’s shrunken down to the size of an insect and put to work in the ruins of the colony in a fantasy tale with the voices of Nicolas Cage, Paul Giamatti, Julia Roberts, Meryl Streep and Lily Tomlin. (Aug. 4)

Cars (HOT PICK)
Pixar models the newest classic in animation on speed demon Lightning McQueen (Owen Wilson), a flashy hot-shot race car waylaid in Radiator Springs with the likes of a rusty, but nonetheless trusty, tow truck (Larry The Cable Guy), a 1951 Hudson Hornet (Paul Newman) and a snazzy Porsche (Bonnie Hunt) to better learn the rules on the open road of life. Creator John Lasseter, writer-director of “Toy Story,” knows that a great story is the engine that drives wit, humor, action and heart to the finish line. Built for speed, built for style and, above all, built to last, “Cars,” will ride its high-octane charm to become one of summer’s great entertainments. (June 9)

THE APOCALYPTIC CLIFFHANGERS
World Trade Center (HOT PICK)
Oliver Stone (“JFK,” “Natural Born Killers”) directs the true story of John McLoughlin (Nicolas Cage) and William J. Jimeno (Michael Peña), two Port Authority police officers, saviors and survivors of the terrorist attack on the World Trade Center on Sept. 11, 2001. The film is the second to reenact an element of the tragedy, still fresh in our minds, since Paul Greengrass’ thriller “United 93.” With such sacred subject matter and probably an intense pressure not to take liberties with the truth, I’m sure Stone feels like he’s juggling grenades on a tightrope. But as great a risk the film is to undertake, “World Trade Center,” should defy controversy and earn an ovation as a human drama, a testament to courage and as a eulogy to the lives lost in horror. (Aug. 11)

Apocalypto
The reclusive, and arguably berserk, producer-auteur Mel Gibson, who flogs us with his fascination with savage martyrdom yet again, sets his new epic against the fall of the once great, but turbulent Mayan civilization. (Moved to December)

Lady in the Water
As postmodern cinema’s populist magician and, currently, the most obvious heir to Hitchcockian suspense who’s able to conjure surprise plot twists like rabbits out of a hat, M. Night Shyamalan doesn’t appear to have any more tricks up his sleeve given his style’s inevitable predictability (now, formula) and that his new film is being curiously sold as “a bedtime story” with Paul Giamatti as a superintendent who discovers a sea nymph in the apartment pool. His films (“The Sixth Sense,” “Unbreakable,” “Signs” and “The Village”) bask in ominousness, but if, as I predict, the rug’s still under our feet come the credits, all our expectations will fold. (July 21)

The Reaping
A former missionary must regain her faith to combat a Biblical plague in Louisiana in Stephen Hopkins’ religious thriller. Hilary Swank stars. I didn’t like it last summer, when it was called
“The Skeleton Key.” (Aug. 11)

The Da Vinci Code
Director Ron Howard, screenwriter Akiva Goldsman (“A Beautiful Mind”), Tom Hanks and co-star Audrey Tautou decipher novelist Dan Brown’s phenomenally popular, and controversial, conspiracy thriller into a popcorn entertainment about Harvard symbologist Robert Langdon and his breathless quest for historical truth. Brown’s labyrinthine murder mystery, as far as pulp goes, is made for the language of the movies. But I’ve got a hunch the adaptation will be just as silly. (May 19)

Snakes On A Plane
With Samuel L. Jackson. The awful title says it all. (Aug. 18)

THE REMAKES
Poseidon
Veteran director Wolfgang Petersen (“The Perfect Storm”) embarks on a remake of 1972’s disaster flick “The Poseidon Adventure,” about a luxury ocean liner that capsizes from a colossal tidal wave, with Josh Lucas, Kurt Russell, Richard Dreyfuss and a three-plus decades advance in visual effects. But in a genre known for its cheese (“The Towering Inferno,” “Earthquake,” “The Day After Tomorrow”), the film won’t be more than disposable eye-candy. (May 12)

The Omen
A remake of Richard Donner’s 1976 horror classic “The Omen” with director John Moore (the stale “Flight of the Phoenix” redux) and Liev Schreiber as an American official whose young son might be the devil incarnate. It’s probably the first film ever greenlit simply for the sake of a calendar date (6-6-06). (June 6)

The Lake House
An American remake of the Korean film “Il Mare,” the mystery romance features Sandra Bullock as a lonely doctor and former occupant of a lakeside home who exchanges letters with its newest tenant (Keanu Reeves) and thus begins a love story neither star could possibly heat up. (June 16)

Miami Vice
Director Michael Mann (“Heat,” “Collateral”), an executive producer of the original TV show, slums with Colin Farrell and Jamie Foxx, as vice detectives James Crockett and Ricardo Tubbs, in the latest Hollywood attempt to repackage and resell nostalgia, but that comes across as nothing more than kitsch. (July 28)

Now, turn off your cellphone. The movie's starting. E-mail Shawn Weston at shawnw@jettymag.com or tgafkas@yahoo.com.

"Oscar Night"

2006-03-06T16:31:00.000-08:00

A take on Oscar Night, March 5, 2006, with host Jon Stewart, Comedy Central's darling anti-establishment "Daily Show" anchor. As emcee, Stewart did a commendable job, with a number of howling zingers, especially when he said: "I do have some sad news to report. Bjork couldn't be here tonight. She was trying on her Oscar dress and Dick Cheney shot her." Another good one: "I can't wait for the tribute to Oscar's greatest montages!" Stewart was far funnier and more at ease than last year's Chris Rock. All in all, I was satisfied with the winners, but now I'll present the rundown.

Best Presenters:
Lily Tomlin and Meryl Streep of Robert Altman's upcoming "A Prairie Home Companion," in Altman's conversation-style banter, set up the 81-year-old veteran director and five-time Oscar nominee's honorary Oscar tribute.

Worst Presenter:
Lauren Bacall to introduce a montage on film noir. I ask, "why?" None of the Best Picture candidates fit the category, and so, in hindsight, I saw it as a stunt to get Bacall, one of the last classic era actresses alive, back into the public's eye. The head-scratch heard around the world.

Best Acceptance Speech:
Philip Seymour Hoffman, in his acceptance speech for his role as Truman Capote in Bennett Miller's "Capote," gave thanks to Mom, a woman who deserves congratulations for bringing up four children on her own. "Your passions became my passions," Hoffman said on stage, fighting back tears, about his mother.

Worst Acceptance Speech:
Reese Witherspoon for her portrayal of June Carter Cash in James Mangold's "Walk The Line," had the camera tight on her face (the only winner with such a close crop), as if the producers got word she might shed a tear. Her speech felt phony, as if she put herself out there with hours and hours of practice in front of the mirror behind her.

Best Surprise:
Three 6 Mafia's "It's Hard Out Here For A Pimp" from Craig Brewer's "Hustle & Flow" won Best Song. The exuberance of the acceptance speech, alone, was reason enough for the upset. The song was, afterall, the catchiest tune Oscar's put its arms around in quite a while.

Worst Surprise:
The win Paul Haggis' "Crash" stole from Ang Lee's "Brokeback Mountain," of the five nominees the year's best movie, for Best Picture.

Best Dress:
Colored in eggplant, Keira Knightley's, as according to The Metaphorical Magpie: "Vera Wang's artfully constructed number was triumphant on Keira Knightley. Bonus points for the rad 1960s Bulgari necklace."

Worst Dress:
Charlize Theron's, as according to the fashionista, The Metaphorical Magpie: "I'm not sure what Charlize Theron was going for last night but it wasn't quite right. The hair was icky and that poofy bow on her shoulder did not tie her look together."

Best Picture: Ang Lee's "Brokeback Mountain" (should've won), Paul Haggis' "Crash" (did win). Best Director: Ang Lee, "Brokeback Mountain" (should've won, did win). Best Actor: Philip Seymour Hoffman, "Capote" (should've won, did win). Best Actress: Reese Witherspoon, "Walk The Line" (should've won, did win). Best Supporting Actor: William Hurt, "A History Of Violence" (should've won), George Clooney, "Syriana" (did win). Best Supporting Actress: Rachel Weisz, "The Constant Gardener" (should've won, did win). Best Adapted Screenplay: Larry McMurtry and Diana Ossana, "Brokeback Mountain" (should've won, did win). Best Original Screenplay: Noah Baumbach, "The Squid and the Whale" (should've won), Paul Haggis and Bobby Moresco, "Crash" (did win). Best Cinematography: Rodrigo Prieto, "Brokeback Mountain" (should've won), Dion Beebe, "Memoirs of a Geisha" (did win). Best Costume Design: "Memoirs of a Geisha" (should've won, did win). Best Makeup: "Star Wars: Episode III — Revenge of the Sith" (should've won), "The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe" (did win). Best Documentary: "Enron: The Smartest Guys In The Room" (should've won), "March of the Penguins" (did win). Best Art Direction: "Memoirs of a Geisha" (should've won, did win). Best Original Score: Gustavo Santaolalla, "Brokeback Mountain" (should've won, did win). Best Original Song: "It's Hard Out Here For A Pimp," "Hustle & Flow" (should've won, did win). Best Visual Effects: "King Kong" (should've won, did win). Best Film Editing: "Cinderella Man" (should've won), "Crash" (did win). Best Sound: "King Kong" (should've won, did win). Best Sound Editing: "King Kong" (should've won, did win). Best Animated Feature: "Wallace and Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit" (should've won, did win).

Oh, well. Can't win 'em all.

"Nostradamus Complex"

2006-02-18T12:30:00.000-08:00

Wayne Coyne of The Flaming Lips: "We will now predict the future. Behold."

A forecast for 2006 can look mighty important from a distance, but when all is said and done, even bigger disappointments, thanks to all the gassy bloat, come to fruition, but so do a lot of surprises I cannot possibly expect to predict. But in the realm of pop culture, in the vein of all the fascinations that come and go, I, with all the tricky business that comes with a Nostradamus complex (or Kreskin complex, if you find humor in the art of prognostication), the year's upcoming highlights.

I foresee in the crystal ball for 2006:
In the musical realm: High anticipations for new albums from The Flaming Lips ("At War with the Mystics," coming April 4), Morrissey ("Ringleader of the Tormentors," coming April 4), Austin's The Secret Machines ("Ten Silver Drops," coming April 18), The Polyphonic Spree ("The Fragile Army," coming July 4), The Futureheads ("News and Tributes," coming in July), the Yeah Yeah Yeahs ("Show Your Bones, coming March 28), The Shins, Ambulance LTD, Radiohead, Wilco, Pearl Jam and The Arcade Fire will advance the counterargument that rock is not dead. OutKast's new record, "Idlewild," will tank, and so will the supplemental film of the same name, set for August 25 (A late August release is never a good sign).

In the aura of Hollywood, I see: The Wachowski's timely adaptation of Alan Moore's graphic novel "V For Vendetta" (March 17) with Natalie Portman and Hugo Weaving will be a hit, and a solid entertainment. Other foreseeable success stories: Richard Linklater's trippy, philosophic sci-fi adventure "A Scanner Darkly" (July 7) will rock, and so will Darren Aronofsky's trippy, philosophic sci-fi adventure "The Fountain" (Fall), and so will Michel Gondry's trippy, philosophic sci-fi adventure "The Science of Sleep" (Fall). Do you see a pattern aside from the fact Warner Bros. is behind all three? In the laughs department: Jason Reitman's "Thank You For Smoking" (March 17) Jared Hess and Mike White's "Nacho Libre" (June 2), Christopher Guest's mockumentary "For Your Consideration" (September 22) with Ricky Gervais, Sundance fave "Little Miss Sunshine" (July 28) with "It" comic actor Steve Carell and Amy Sedaris, Stephen Colbert and Company's "Strangers with Candy" (June 30) will leave us with stomach cramps and tears in our eyes. Robert Altman's adaptation of Garrison Keillor's "A Prairie Home Companion" (Summer), Pixar's "Cars" (June 9), David Fincher's "Zodiac" (October), Tom Cruise's action extravaganza "Mission: Impossible 3" (May 5), Michael Moore's new polemic "Sicko" (September), about America's health-care crisis, Oliver Stone's "World Trade Center" (August 11) and Paul Greengrass' "Flight 93" (Summer), both Hollywood's first treatments of the national tragedy of September 11, Sofia Coppola's "Marie Antoinette" (October), Martin Scorsese's remake of Hong Kong's crime drama "Infernal Affairs," "The Departed" (December), with Matt Damon, Leonardo DiCaprio and Jack Nicholson, will arrive with much fanfare, and actually live up to the hype. Certainly to suck: Matthew McConaughey and Sarah Jessica Parker in the misery of "Failure to Launch" (March 10), Adam Sandler's "Click" (June 23), "The Grudge 2" (October 20), Bryan Singer's "Superman Returns" (June 30) and Brett Ratner's "X-Men: The Last Stand" (May 26) "Snakes on a Plane" with Samuel L. Jackson, M. Night Shyamalan's "Lady in the Water" (July 21), Vinnifer's (or Vaughiston's — whichever the hell you prefer) thin "The Break-Up" (June 2; I'll be with "Nacho Libre" that Friday, sorry), Barry Sonnenfeld's Robin Williams vehicle "RV" (ties with "Snakes on the Plane" for the "No Shit, Sherlock" title of 2006), "The Benchwarmers" (April 7) and "Ice Age 2: The Meltdown" (March 31). All appear to lack any or all invention. The crystal ball can't decide on Paul Weitz's satire of American politics and pop culture, "American Dreamz" (April 21). It could surprise. "Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest" and "The Da Vinci Code" will fall prey to the hype. I didn't like "Curse of the Black Pearl," aside from Johnny Depp's go-for-broke performance, so expectations for me are not at all very high. As for "The Da Vinci Code," well, I think the perfectly stinky literary cheese of its source, via Dan Brown, could probably work better strung together on film than on the page. Just a hunch, but Akiva Goldsman can't write an action script to save his life, so Ron Howard's "The Da Vinci Code" doesn't appear in the crystal ball to be as great an entertainment as it might pretend to be now.

On the tube: A new season of "Real Time with Bill Maher" and HBO's new polygamy drama "Big Love" will keep me glued, I'm sure. I'm currently caught up in Season 1 of the defunct drama "Carnivale," now on DVD. Others I know, particularly my younger brother, tell me to check out "Queer as Folk" and "Six Feet Under," so more digging is probably in order. But "The Simpsons," "My Name Is Earl," "The Office" and "Desperate Housewives" keep on giving — oops, condolences should be sent to "Arrested Development." I will miss the new episodes that I'm sure were in creative gestation and will never see the light of day. I'll have to put the first two seasons in the Netflix queue.

In the political arena: Embarrassments and troubles will continue to befall the Bush Administration, and the American public will continue not to care. Hell, the whole Cabinet could resort to Aristocratic behavior (if you know what I mean) and not a soul would scoff. Joe Klein said it right: The worst administration in the history of America. The most incompetent and arrogant ever, and the only thing the Bush Administration is deft at is election wins. But other than media surrogates, I predict no outcry of anger (save another sighting of Janet Jackson's tit) from the American people. Afterall, I heard nothing but silence surrounding the legal trappings of the crooks (Skilling and Lay) behind the Enron scandal, criminal lobbyists and their congressional lapdogs, illegal wiretaps, nor the investigation into the government's botch-job in response to Hurricane Katrina, all filling news holes these past few weeks. Is everybody asleep, complacent, or worse, illiterate. I'm sure everybody'll throw a couple of cents into the debate about whether TomKat will split. But, I forecast, who really gives a shit.

"TiVo Saves The Day"

2006-01-08T11:11:00.000-08:00

TiVo, a convenient new technology for the busy, bustling modern civilization, has come home to roost in our house, and we, honestly, don't know how we were able to live without it. I don't watch TV, never did watch all that much — "The Simpsons" and "60 Minutes" if I was able to catch 'em on Sunday's schedule. Now, I don't have to wait or set a schedule around the TV, I set the TV schedule. Because of TiVo, I've finally been able to get in on some watercooler conversation at work. Here's what we've been watching, captivated.

NBC's "My Name Is Earl," Thursdays
Not laugh-out-loud, but a clever comedy that's leaves you with a smile on your face. Yes, sometimes you squirm at its cuteness, but, hey, the down-and-out do-gooder Earl Hickey (Jason Lee) and his trailer-trash ex-wife Joy (Jaime Pressly) define must-see. Karma is a good thing

NBC's "The Office," Thursdays
The funniest half-hour of television, or at least a tie with Fox's "Arrested Development" and "The Simpsons." It's absolutely hysterical. "The Office," in ironing out the usual kinks of a mid-season replacement, gives the Dunder-Mifflin drones some much-needed character arcs — as in the Jim-secretly-yearns-for-Pam-and-Pam-secretly-yearns-for-Jim romantic entanglement — and humanity, especially with Steve Carell's idiot manager Michael Scott and Rainn Wilson's idiot underling Dwight.

ABC's "Grey's Anatomy," Sundays
I agree that Meredith Grey (Ellen Pompeo) is the biggest annoyance of the show, but Kate Walsh as Dr. Derek "McDreamy" Shephard's "adulterous bitch" wife Addison is not far behind. She's only at Seattle Grace as a plot device. Otherwise, it's a fun hour of television.

ABC's "Desperate Housewives," Sundays
I came into the second season with only a little knowledge of the plot knots and the salacious crimes and misdeameanors of the four women — Bree (Marcia Cross, a total Stepford wife), Lynette (Felicity Huffman, the show's greatest feat), Susan (Teri Hatcher, Rachel's biggest annoyance) and Gabrielle (Eva Longoria, as a matter of fact, moi's biggest annoyance) — on creator Marc Cherry's close-knit Wisteria Lane. The second season starts off as a bore, but, now with a homewrecker nun, a long-lost father and a dead psycho-stalker pharmacist to put to bed a tedious runaway orphan boredom, the "Sex in the City" in the suburbs is up to no-good — and that's a good thing if you want frothy soap (which I do).

HBO's "Real Time With Bill Maher," Fridays, now on hiatus
Fact: I laughed so hard at one of Tom Wolfe's observations about the sex-to-baseball analogy, I put a tricky shoulder bone out of alignment. John Waters and Joe Scarborough on the same set, at odds over Bush America. It's got to be a joke right? Well, in fact, it is a joke — and it's funny. So funny, I swear, tears were shed this season. How could our country's leaders be so stupid? Maher sparks great humor, satire and outrage out of the world's biggest idiocracies.

HBO's "Curb Your Enthusiasm," Sundays, now on hiatus
Not as funny as the first four seasons, but just as smart, Larry David goes to heaven; learns he is, certainly, Jewish and not a gentile; and instructs that it may not be that the penis is too small, but the vagina too big ("I think doth protest too much"). Remains to be a great half-hour of television.

NBC's "The Apprentice: Martha Stewart," Wednesdays, no renewal
Got caught up in how all the creative contestants got the shaft, and how, early on, all of the corporate types got the kudos. Martha's was the first "Apprentice" I watched, and I, unabashedly, was all wrapped up in the design-management gauntlets. The outcome was a tad of a disappointment, but at least that dreadful Amanda didn't win. Still don't know why the reality series didn't catch fire with viewers.

HBO's "Extras," Sundays, now on hiatus
Ricky Gervais' follow-up to the cult series "The Office" on the BBC, "Extras" is a droll romp. Somewhat too tedious in structure, the show is sadly not as funny as it could be (yes, you're quite right, the phone-sex advice of Kate Winslet, is more than chuckle-worthy, but that was the first episode of ten), and not even near as funny as the American retread of "The Office," a comedy he executive-produces, on NBC.

Fox's "The Simpsons," Sundays
God, "The Simpsons" is still on TV after all these years, and I'm still in love with it. Arguably the funniest show on television ever, the Fox series stays fresh and wildly hilarious while it delves deeper into the corners of the drawn canvas. Not only the funniest series on television, it's no doubt the most human. Bravo, Matt Groening, James L. Brooks and your writers, and God bless you all.

Fox's "Arrested Development," Mondays
Just got started in Mitch Hurwitz's cult TV comedy, and I'm floored. A comic gem, this show most certainly is as it waits with sweaty palms on the brink of cancellation. Charlize Theron is a detour, I agree, but not a total faux pas, as the Bluth clan, made up of a terrific ensemble cast — the best ensemble on television, in fact — and put into context with Ron Howard's talking points, with or without the benefit of Theron's "mentally challenged" Brit-tart, tumbles into one fiasco, then another, then another, then another, then another, and, I guess, you get the idea.

"The Whole Shebang"

2006-01-08T10:22:00.000-08:00

I'm a movie glutton, as you probably know already. Believe it or not, I'm down for the year in the number of films I saw in comparison to past years — but only slightly. It's all a game of catch-up, as some classics and cult darlings I saw don't deserve the props they've attained ("Wings of Desire," "Guess Who's Coming To Dinner" and "Breakfast at Tiffany's"), while others rightly do (1933's "King Kong," Jean Cocteau's "Orpheus" and Mike Nichols' "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?"). I present all of the films I saw in 2005 — the whole shebang — with some affection, warning and utter disdain.

I Don't Recommend:
"The Odd Couple," "Wings of Desire," "Slaughterhouse Five," "La Vie Promise," "Altered States," "Heavenly Creatures," "Stardust Memories," "The Secret of NIMH," "The Brown Bunny," "Born Into Brothels," "Scarecrow," "The Day The Earth Stood Still," "A Very Long Engagement," "She's Having A Baby," "Breakfast at Tiffany's," "Rebel Without A Cause," "The Machinist," "A Dirty Shame," "Merci Pour Le Chocolat," "Beyond The Sea," "Enduring Love," "The Last Shot," "Undertow," "Andrew Lloyd Webber's The Phantom of the Opera," "Blade: Trinity," "The Assassination of Richard Nixon," "House of Flying Daggers," "Guess Who's Coming To Dinner," "Take The Money and Run," "Living in Oblivion," "The Last Emperor," "A Perfect World," "The Birds," "Purple Rain," "P.S.," "Spellbound," "The Notebook," "Shark Tale," "Mean Creek," "Control Room," "Silver City," "The Grudge," "Cellular," "The Forgotten,""Without A Paddle," "The War of the Worlds," "Bob Roberts," "Resident Evil: Apocalypse," "Ghost in the Shell 2: Innocence," "De-Lovely," "Harold and Kumar Go To White Castle," "The Interpreter," "Kingdom of Heaven," "Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang," "The Weather Man," "XXX: State of the Union," "Lord of War," "Nine Lives," "Madagascar," "Monster-in-Law," "North Country," "The Jacket," "Syriana," "Hitch," "Constantine," "Fever Pitch," "War of the Worlds," "Rize," "Fantastic Four," "Be Cool," "The Aristocrats," "Millions," "Prime," "Stealth," "Oldboy," "Palindromes," "Kicking & Screaming," "The Longest Yard," "Sarah Silverman: Jesus is Magic," "Wedding Crashers," "Sahara," "Happy Endings," "Bad News Bears," "Land of the Dead," "The Ring Two," "Ma Mére," "Flightplan," "Lords of Dogtown," "Bewitched," "Hide and Seek," "Kung Fu Hustle," "Rent," "My Summer of Love," "The Ballad of Jack & Rose," "Good Night, and Good Luck," "Stay," "Guess Who," "Mr. & Mrs. Smith," "Zathura," "The Island" and "Me and You and Everyone We Know." (Movies In Red I Downright Loathe)

I Recommend:
"In Cold Blood," "Orpheus," "King Kong (1933)," "His Girl Friday," "Down By Law," "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?," "American Graffiti," "The Nightmare Before Christmas," "Mystery Train," "Gates of Heaven," "In The Heat of the Night," "Casino," "The Sea Inside," "Stand By Me," "A Face in the Crowd," "The Wild Bunch," "The Killing," "Primer," "Hotel Rwanda," "The Woodsman," "The Purple Rose of Cairo," "Word Wars," "Crimes and Misdemeanors," "Vera Drake," "Talking Heads: Stop Making Sense," "My Architect: A Son's Journey," "Miller's Crossing," "Slacker" and "Metallica: Some Kind of Monster, " "Elizabethtown," "Capote," "In Her Shoes," "Walk The Line," "Sin City," "Wallace & Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit," "Rock School," "Robots," "Enron: The Smartest Guys In The Room," "Crash," "Star Wars: Episode III — Revenge of the Sith," "The Squid and the Whale," "Batman Begins," "Hustle & Flow," "Cinderella Man," "The 40-Year-Old Virgin," "Murderball," "Thumbsucker," "The Constant Gardener," "Brokeback Mountain," "King Kong (2005)," "Inside Deep Throat," "A History of Violence," "Tim Burton's The Corpse Bride," "Head-On," "The Upside of Anger," "Jarhead," "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory," "Mad Hot Ballroom," "Broken Flowers," "Transamerica," "The Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy," "Layer Cake" and "Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire." (Movies In Orange I, With Great Love, Recommend)

"The Best of the Worst Movie Year"

2006-01-06T18:47:00.000-08:00

If you didn't go to the movies much in 2005 ... well, frankly, you didn't miss a whole lot. It's not news that, commercially, the year was a flop; but creatively, it came up bankrupt — and believe me, I saw "XXX: State of the Union," so you know how desperate I was to happen upon some cinema that transcends the incessant noise, never mind the hype. But, nevertheless, in the midst of awards season, I gladly rejoice the 10 films I couldn't shake or surrender from the conscious.

1. "The Squid and the Whale"
Noah Baumbach's sublime and succinct portrait of a literary family torn apart and left to navigate the wreckage of a bitter divorce in Brooklyn's Park Slope in 1986 cuts deep under deft direction, and dishes out corrosive wit, painful laughs and an acute, heartfelt truth.

2. "Brokeback Mountain"
The hills and valleys of Gustavo Santaolalla's atmospheric score foreshadows heartbreak on the open range, and director Ang Lee, in a rendezvous with Larry McMurtry ("The Last Picture Show") and Diana Ossana's screenplay, exquisitely corrals the classic saddleworn love story arc and evokes a rare tenderness and magnetic romanticism for which we have no power except the undeniable power to succumb to it.

3. "Capote"
As Truman Capote in Bennett Miller's expert debut, Philip Seymour Hoffman accomplishes with great vitality, not "splendid mimicry" as one critic said, but the most ambitious performance of the year as the sprightly Manhattan socialite and author on a crusade to finesse, or rather manipulate, the investigation of a farm family's brutally savage murder in Holcomb, Kan., into the 20th Century's triumphant true-crime novel "In Cold Blood."

4. "Grizzly Man"
The late Timothy Treadwell, the subject of Werner Herzog's chillingly poetic documentary, found solace — and a reason to live, really — with the grizzly bears of the fierce Alaskan wilderness; and Herzog, with the aid of more than 100 hours of video footage Treadwell left behind, recounts a social outcast unable to cope in civilization, a self-made amateur wildlife activist with a reckless infatuation and a maniac with a death wish.

5. "A History of Violence"
David Cronenberg's lean, resonant thriller seethes an inexhaustible tension as one peaceful man's (Viggo Mortensen's Tom Stall) small world hurls into frantic upheaval following some sudden heroics to curb a barbarous robbery attempt. "You should ask Tom ... how come he's so good at killing people," a slithery mob boss (Ed Harris) poses to Stall's oblivious wife (Maria Bello) while we ... hang ... on ... his ... every ... word.

6. "Elizabethtown"
Neither failure or fiasco, as critics decried, but indeed flawed, Cameron Crowe's funny, sweet and emotionally fruitful celebration of life amid the ruins imparts a genuine heart to the tune of some personal song selections from the writer-director's record collection.

7. "Munich"
An unyielding urgency pervades Steven Spielberg's thoughtful political thriller, about the aftermath of the Palestinians' massacre of 11 Israeli athletes at the 1972 Munich Olympics, and we, in an age of terrorism, are in its grip, even after the final shot of the World Trade Center — ominous on the horizon — shadows the constructive notion that vengeance won't end in peace.

8. "In Her Shoes"
Director Curtis Hanson weaves wonderously intimate texture out of Jennifer Weiner's merely breezy chick-lit yarn, and Cameron Diaz and Toni Collette criss-cross the epic tit-for-tat sibling rivalry between sisters with, truth be told, a special poignancy.

9. "Broken Flowers"
In Jim Jarmusch's blissfully subtle and low-key road comedy, Bill Murray's wilted Don Juan beams with the deadpan actor's usual sad existential gaze and then blossoms — although, with all the suspense tying him up in knots, very apprehensively — on an odyssey, the impetus for which is a mysterious pink letter from an anonymous bygone lover, to locate the son he didn't know he had.

10. "Cinderella Man"
Ron Howard's hopeful, wholeheartedly American period piece, with Salvatore Totino's invincible cinematography, champions not only the reversal of fortune of one down-but-not-out James. J. Braddock (Russell Crowe) from prizefighter on the ropes to unstoppable underdog in the ring, but a nation, buried in the oppressive despair of the Great Depression, hungry for redemption.

"That Great Love Sound"

2005-12-30T23:52:00.000-08:00

That great love sound. That was 2005. First in love, then in sound — then simultaneously. It was a magical year to be had, for sure. Behold — the musical bests of 2005 follow below.

Concerts of 2005: VHS or Beta, Ambulance Ltd. and the Robbers on High Street at the North Star Bar in Philadelphia on March 6; The Psychedelic Furs and The Shore at the Trocadero in Philadelphia on April 9; Mondo Diao and The Sights at the Bowery Ballroom in New York City on May 18; The Doves and Mercury Rev at the Theater of the Living Arts in Philadelphia on May 21; The Raveonettes and Autolux at Maxwell's in Hoboken on May 31; Ryan Adams and the Cardinals at the Starland Ballroom in Sayreville on June 4; Duran Duran at the PNC Arts Center in Holmdel on July 31; The Brian Jonestown Massacre at Maxwell's in Hoboken on August 2; The New Pornographers at the Bowery Ballroom in New York City on September 14; and The Greenhornes, The Willowz and the Ribeye Brothers at Asbury Lanes in Asbury Park on September 23.

The Five Best Concerts of 2005:
(1) The Psychedelic Furs and The Shore at the Trocadero in Philadelphia on April 9. An awesome show full of energy — at least along the stage. Great sound, so loud — tragically no earplugs. My heart, however, was what bled — not my ears. Fond nostalgia, the torrent of bittersweet memories of past angst. A completely satisfying double set. "She is Mine" and "It Goes On" were lost, but "Love My Way," a song I remember at such painful times, was intact. A total fucking timewarp. I loved it.

(2) The New Pornographers at the Bowery Ballroom in New York City on September 14. Stardom found The New Pornographers in 2005. The hourlong arrangement for CMJ in New York City was pure pop excitement — "Use It," "Jackie Dressed in Cobras," "Jackie" — plus, a cover of The Cars' "My Best Friend's Girlfriend," when frontman A.C. Newman (also see "The Slow Wonder," a terrific album) found a hole, some 20 minutes, in the set. A hit with the audience, and especially me. Positively electric.

(3) The Raveonettes and Autolux at Maxwell's in Hoboken on May 31. Rachel found Sharin Foo's tipsy bad-girl hijinks to be a distraction, but I found Sune Rose Wagner and Sharin Foo to be not far off cue. It was here I found "That Great Love Sound" and "Noisy Summer" and, truth be told, the entire "Chain Gang of Love" rebelliously dangling out in front of me, banging against the pleasure centers, as if at odds with tamborines. That night shook inside my soul all summer long.

(4) The Doves and Mercury Rev at the Theater of the Living Arts in Philadelphia on May 21. Mercury Rev, a great psychedelic rock set in the vein of The Flaming Lips, made use of a brilliantly gigantic screen to display moving snapshots of whales and spacetime with profound, but mostly touchy-feely quotations. Rachel and I missed out on what was undoubtedly the first song, "In A Funny Way," a favorite of ours. But despite that, I was welcomingly hypnotized. The sound was perfect, and The Doves, with a stunning visual background, was on par with the evening. The sock-it-to-me presentation of "Black and White Town" stole the night, however.

(5) VHS or Beta, Ambulance Ltd. and the Robbers on High Street at the North Star Bar in Philadelphia on March 6. The first concert with Rachel. The North Star Bar was quiet. We were all alone, along the balcony rail, above all the action. Ambulance Ltd., the Robbers on High Street and VHS or Beta were close to us, it seemed, playing very well ... intimately. I'll forgive the "testing one, two, three" for the one-, two-, three-hundredth time, VHS or Beta. "Night on Fire" was a swinging jam, but not sure if one great tune was worth the wait. Better luck next time with your set-up ... if it took you any longer, you'd need a killer lightning-round set to get us home by 3 a.m. Just a caution.

The Three Worst Concerts of 2005:
(1) The Brian Jonestown Massacre at Maxwell's in Hoboken on August 2. I'll refer you to the blog entry "The Brian Jonestown Rebuke or The Frisky Hickey." Awful, awful, awful presentation, dude. You can take your genius and stick it, as far as I'm concerned.

(2) Ryan Adams and the Cardinals at the Starland Ballroom in Sayreville on June 4. Not bad for one set ... maybe. But two-and-a-half hours? You've got to be joking? My hair was asleep and my eardrums bored into numbness.

(3) Mondo Diao and The Sights at the Bowery Ballroom in New York City on May 18. The Sights didn't mean to underwhelm, I don't think. I met Eddie Baranek, the lead vocalist/guitarist, and he was all down-to-earth adorable for the ladies. Then came the Swedes. Those damn Swedes. Not that it would have really made that much of a difference — Mondo Diao was all spit. But those damn Swedes. I thought Swedes were shy little devils, not obnoxious moshers. Who knew? A mediocre show made worse. Thank you, Sweden (sarcastic cracks are a dime a dozen around here, so get used to it).

The Albums of 2005:
Aberfeldy, "Young Forever"; Ben Folds, "Songs For Silverman"; The Caesars, "Paper Tigers"; New Order, "Waiting for the Sirens' Call"; Foo Fighters, "In Your Honor"; The White Stripes, "Get Behind Me Satan"; Beck, "Guero"; Aimee Mann, "The Forgotten Arm"; Andrew Bird, "The Mysterious Production of Eggs"; Brendan Benson, "The Alternative To Love"; The Raveonettes, "Pretty In Black"; Cloud Cult, "Advice From The Happy Hippopotamus"; Coldplay, "X&Y"; The Doves, "Some Cities"; Garbage, "Bleed Like Me"; The Eels, "Blinking Lights and Other Revelations"; Spoon, "Gimme Fiction"; The Greenhornes, "East Grand Blues" (EP); The Kills, "No Wow"; Low, "The Great Destroyer"; Mercury Rev, "The Secret Migration"; Moby, "Hotel"; Oasis, "Don't Believe The Truth"; My Morning Jacket, "Z"; and The New Pornographers, "Twin Cinema."

Old Albums New To Me In 2005:
A.C. Newman, "The Slow Wonder" (2004); The New Pornographers, "Mass Romantic" (2000); The New Pornographers, "Electric Version" (2003); Keane, "Hopes and Fears" (2004); Iggy Pop, "Lust For Life" (1977); The Psychedelic Furs, "Talk, Talk, Talk" (1981); Sun Kil Moon, "Ghosts Of The Great Highway" (2003); Lisa Loeb & Nine Stories, "Tails" (1993); The Cure, "Disintegration" (1989); The Von Bondies, "Pawn Shoppe Heart" (2004); The Hollies, "The Hollies' Greatest Hits" (1973); Genesis, "The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway" (1974); Ambulance Ltd., "Ambulance Ltd." (2004); The Futureheads, "The Futureheads" (2004); The Arcade Fire, "Funeral" (2004); Depeche Mode, "Speak & Spell" (1981); Devo, "Q: Are We Not Men? A: We Are Devo" (1978); and The Brian Jonestown Massacre, "Tepid Peppermint Wonderland" (2004)

The 10 Best Albums of 2005:
(1) The New Pornographers, "Twin Cinema," (2) My Morning Jacket, "Z," (3) The Caesars, "Paper Tigers," (4) Spoon, "Gimme Fiction," (5) Aimee Mann, "The Forgotten Arm," (6) Beck, "Guero," (7) Moby, "Hotel," (8) The Doves, "Some Cities," (9) Ben Folds, "Songs For Silverman," (10) New Order, "Waiting For The Sirens' Call"

The Five Most Disappointing Albums of 2005:
(1) Coldplay, "X&Y," (2) The Kills, "No Wow," (3) The Raveonettes, "Pretty In Black," (4) Brendan Benson, "The Alternative To Love," (5) The White Stripes, "Get Behind Me Satan"

The 15 Best Songs of 2005:
(1) "Use It," The New Pornographers, (2) "Spirit," The Caesars, (3) "Girl," Beck, (4) "Landed," Ben Folds, (5) "I Summon You," Spoon, (6) "High Art, Local News," The New Pornographers, (7) "Turn," New Order, (8) "The Deepest Blues Are Black," Foo Fighters, (9) "Video," Aimee Mann, (10) "Speed of Sound, " Coldplay (11) "Jackie Dressed In Cobras," The New Pornographers, (12) "Anytime," My Morning Jacket, (13) "California," Low, (14) "Black and White Town," The Doves, (15) "Trouble With Dreams," The Eels

The 10 Best Songs I Hadn't Heard Until 2005:
(1) "Carpet Crawlers," Genesis, (2) "She Is Mine," The Psychedelic Furs, (3) "On The Table," A.C. Newman, (4) "Sunshine," Keane, (5) "Some Weird Sin," Iggy Pop, (6) "Plainsong," The Cure, (7) "Last Tide," Sun Kil Moon, (8) "Centre For Holy Wars," The New Pornographers, (9) "That Great Love Sound," The Raveonettes, (10) "It Goes On," The Psychedelic Furs

"Portfolio"

2005-11-25T19:38:00.001-08:00

News Page Designer fills a need. There's a plethora of my work in the field of newspaper and magazine design on the site. Just click on the link. Stuff's been there forever, but have been adding more over the last few days. There's news pages, front pages; special sections such as "Defining Moments" and the Asbury Park Press "Summer Guide," a project I took on all by my lonesome and fought hard for the quality of its design; "Whatever," a 12-page teen section I art direct and build every single week and redesigned inside and out over nine-or-so months; a new magazine, "Jetty," a publication I designed, art direct and build, now, eight times a year. I also write film criticism for it. The article's on jettymag.com. I also design occasionally a centerfold and cover for the women's section of the Asbury Park Press, "On The Run." I also illustrate for "On The Run," "Whatever" and "Jetty." That's on News Page Designer, too. I don't like the quality of the pictures on News Page Designer, however. Good thing I keep tear sheets and pdfs of the work. Above, enjoy just a few of the highlights from my portfolio.

"Vonnegut Upchuck — Vol. 2"

2005-11-23T17:46:00.000-08:00

Excerpts and quotes from Kurt Vonnegut's hilarious "Hocus Pocus," a fabulous book I read about a month ago, before Chuckie Boy's sick and slick, and funny, diatribe against the power-hungry, noise-junkie human condition in "Lullaby." Vonnegut's wisdom speaks volumes, sometimes in a single breath, the American condition in Bush times. Appropriate now? Indeed.

"We could have saved (the Earth), but we we're too doggone cheap."

"Another flaw in the human character is that everybody wants to build and nobody wants to do maintenance."

"I had to laugh like hell."

"Usually when people talk to you about the trickle-down theory, it has to do with economics. The richer people at the top of a society become, supposedly, the more wealth there is to trickle down to the people below. It never really works out that way, of course, because if there are 2 things people at the top can't stand, they have to be leakage and overflow."

"What the blankety-blank was that supposed to be all about?"

"The excrement hit the air-conditioning."

"She asked me, 'What makes so many Americans proud of their ignorance? They act as though their ignorance somehow made them charming.'"

"The Complicated Futility of Ignorance."

"If I were a fighter plane instead of a human being, there would be little pictures of people all over me."

"Out into the night I went again, I was automatically looking for an older woman who would make everything all right by becoming the beast with two backs with me."

"Just Because I Love You"

2005-11-09T14:07:00.000-08:00

I love surprises. But I love surprising others more. I sent Rachel, my beautiful girlfriend of nine months, two dozen roses at her office the other day just because. It made me feel good, but I hope it made her feel fantastic. Just because I love her so much.

I love her company. Her smell. Her language. She's like nobody else. Rich in all of characteristics that are the most important. She's a really great person. Beautiful, hard-working, smart, in the know. I'm crazy about her.

Over the past few months we've done so much. We went to Woodstock, N.Y., in late September-early October for the Woodstock Film Festival. We saw (in order of quality) "Transamerica," a delightful little road picture with all of the common themes of acceptance, but with a standout performance from Felicity Huffman as a transsexual on the last lap of his sex-change transformation. "Nine Lives," an immediate drama with a steady-cam urgency and intimacy few dramas nowadays harness with terrific performances from Sissy Spacek, Holly Hunter, Kathy Baker and Robin Wright Penn all outstanding. The two best vignettes: Robin Wright Penn and Jason Issacs play once-upon-a-time lovers who accidentally meet up again years later at a supermarket late into the night. She's pregnant, married, appears to be happy, but has a breakdown when her former lover — now married, too — comes back into her life in a painful instance of "we may be through with the past, but the past ain't through with us." The other vignette, about a long-married couple on edge about the wife's mastectomy is a miraculous little scene of tenderness and resentment. The film, however, in the last few vignettes, loses all connection with me. A shame. "Sarah Silverman: Jesus Is Magic," although quite funny, wasn't fearless enough and a gaggle of unfunny bits, both skits and musical numbers, don't quite add to the comic proceedings as well as they should. Lastly, "Mutual Appreciation," a hipster's idea of uninterrupted detachment, bored me to self-bludgeoning. Pointless, amateurish. I did, nonetheless, ask the auteur behind the film if he does in fact "have a mole on his ass" similar to the character he plays on film. No comment.

Paparazzi, where were you? Forget about Jennifer Aniston sans makeup or Lindsay Lohan with that Twinkie. Here's the scoop. The writer-director of "Transamerica," Duncan Tucker, gave the waitresses at Heaven, a cafe in Woodstock, a piece of his mind when all he wanted was a piece of cake. The service was horrendous, no doubt, but the man was waiting ... and waiting ... for some 45 tedious minutes. Waiting ... Poor guy, he had a date to catch — the screening of his baby down a few blocks at the Tinker Street Cinema. Rachel and I were in the corner, waiting ... waiting ... for our check. Coffee thermoses empty. Thankfully, sweet potato home fries tasty. I prayed for that one. C'mon, it's Heaven. A few tables from us, Mr. Tucker, got the waitress' attention, told her how ridiculous his wait had been. You go, dude. Now, hurry it up and get to that theater while we continue to twittle our thumbs waiting ... waiting ... waiting for some other metrosexual with a film about a transsexual to cause another ruckus. He never showed. I soon recollected I wasn't at Sundance. That stuff only happens at Sundance. Woodstock is only big enough for one metrosexual with a wait-staff hangup. Now, on with the show.

Rachel found a beautiful place for the two of us to stay in Phoenica, N.Y. It was great, and we met some wonderful blokes, as well. It was a cozy nook of small shops, a french-toast gold mine (Pecan-crusted, by chance, anyone?) at Sweet Sues and a so-called "Mystery Spot" full of treasures more fun to peek through than entertain into a purchase. Fun fact: Rummage sales can't help but stockpile the "voluptuous and silky mountain of man pudding" adjectives found in overprinted, eventually donated Danielle Steel tomes. Her books lie dusty in the "bargain, bargain, bargain bin." Her ick saturates every stand, next to, of course, a couple of hardcover editions of Michael Crichton's "Timeline" and Dean Koontz's latest forgettable schlock read. After a little rummaging through a used book sale and a flea market in Woodstock, Rachel and I landed at the library. "A very limited selection" may be an understatement, lady. Nonetheless, there's plenty to read in there.

Of course, I've got Vonnegut on the brain. Read "Slaughterhouse Five" (see last entry) and "Hocus Pocus" (see next entry). Chuck Palahniuk's "Lullaby" gave me another cynic's lesson. A good book, better than "Choke," which had a little uplift, devoid in "Lullaby." But the central conceit was far more of an engrosser. I absorbed every detail of how a culling song, like an idea, can suddenly enter the brain and take siege over it like a city. Raping. Pillaging. Burning. Then your braindead. A reversal on George Orwell's theme of Big Brother is resonant, how noise and distraction can cause unfathomable swaths of complacency. We like to hide the truth with our diversions sometimes. Does truth exist, or is truth at the bottom of a bottomless pit? If we had the power to kill without recourse, would we? If in the randomness of information, can the right combination of words and data form to make something supernatural take hold? Is "Lullaby" a satiric metaphor of the current climate of propaganda? Yes. All great questions Palahniuk provokes with his obvious Vonnegut-bemused narrative rhythms. It left me chilly and amused.

"Vonnegut Upchuck — Vol. 1"

2005-10-10T17:47:00.000-07:00

Read Indianapolis-native Kurt Vonnegut's anti-war time-travel odyssey "Slaughterhouse Five" recently, and didn't hestiate to jot down a few laugh-worthy notables. So it goes. I've currently got the old nose glued to his 1990 social satire "Hocus Pocus," a terrifically funny read, so far. "Cat's Cradle," nonetheless, is the cat's meow — his best by far. No sense in delaying the inevitable, I'm afraid. It's all verbatim. So it goes.

"I think you guys are going to have to come up with a lot of wonderful new lies, or people just aren't going to want to go on living," World War II soldier Eliot Rosewater to a psychiatrist.

"If you're ever in Cody, Wyoming, just ask for Wild Bob."

"God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can and the wisdom always to tell the difference."

"So it goes."

"It's A Fantastic Feeling"

2005-08-30T15:24:00.000-07:00

How about a little scene setting? On Tuesday, August 23, 2005, after a hard day's work sanding and spackling upstairs, I took a long, hot shower. A shower always is best after a day of intensity — muscles sore, folicles a mess, feet and hands worn down, dry. As for the after-shower cologne — a little dab will do you. I put on the pinstripe jacket and the tie she likes. I received a phone call at, around or near 8:13 P.M.: She'll be late. I lit candles in almost every room of the house and placed two out on the front porch. I made a compilation disc: "Feel Flows," "Someone Saved My Life Tonight," "In Your Eyes," a drip of the Flaming Lips and 10,000 Maniacs. I poured Diet Pepsi in a couple of wine glasses and rested each neatly on the coffee table. I slid the furniture away from the heart of the living room. And then, I waited for her. I was nervous with anticipation. I so wanted to surprise her. She then arrived, unaware of the production being lovingly orchestrated for her, and I hid behind the front door. "What are you doing back there?," she asked as she pulled the door away. She said she smiled when she came up to the house, the candles all lit. I smiled back at her, glad to have surprised her. We danced in the living room to the mood music, and talked, and looked into each other's eyes, and held each other. It was wonderful. Our relationship is wonderful. There's nothing more exciting than being with her. I feel it so deeply. It's a fantastic feeling.

"The Brian Jonestown Rebuke, or The Frisky Hickey"

2005-08-29T23:07:00.000-07:00

I went to work a little late and with a nice little hickey. A slight, but nonetheless significant one on the lower curvature of my neck. Noticeable, you ask? Definitely. I had to blush when I stood in front of the second-floor restroom mirror to wash my hands. Lovely, lovely, lovely.

Andy: Hey, you. What's that on your neck.
Me: Oh, um. ... I got hit in the neck with a racquet ball ... Yeah, that's it. Racquet ball.
Andy: Well, you better take care of it pretty soon. Does it hurt?
Me (with a serene sigh, thinking of my lovely): It feels heavenly, actually.
Andy (puzzled): Huh. (with a split-second pause and a big smile) Well, okay.

Of course, this conversation never took place. I wasn't ever busted. Nevertheless, a picture was definitely in order — if I could find a point-and-shoot.

Dictionary.com says: A temporary red mark on a person's skin resulting from kissing or sucking by their lover [syn: love bite] Ohhhhhh, love bite.

Backtrack: August 2, 2005. My lover, her friend and yours truly went to experience the Brian Jonestown Massacre at Maxwell's. Ear plugs came in handy as smoke came soon seeping out of my ears. I almost blew my lid. This man, this man from San Francisco, this oft-touted genius musician came on stage as if he never had come on stage. The crowd heckled, screaming some such nonsense as "You Suck!" as a sharp counterpoint to the "I Love You" thrown about here or there. The band was up all night, and that was a given — the low battery light was flickering on in the dark. The place smelled like an ashtray. Eyes watered, noses itched. Performances of "Who?," "Let Me Stand Next To Your Flower" and "If Love is the Drug" were few and far between. Many long breathers were had. And between the long breathers, Anton Newcombe, the volatile, take-him-or-leave-him, fuck-all rocker, sat on an amplifier to suck down his Stoli Greyhound or rest the guitar up against the speaker to wire-up his own kind of anything-goes. The band looked like, and I say "looked like," a tour bus of rejects. One guy was two jerks away from lying low as a baby-faced Strokes mannequin (I like The Strokes' vibe, but could the band be any more stiff), another was a dead ringer for Chris Martin of "Coldplay," though Lover immediately identified the bloke as The Who lead singer Roger Daltry. Who's next, you ask?

Newcombe, the mastermind behind The Brian Jonestown Massacre, dominates the room — a huge personality. A man of impeccable taste in crass diversions and, well, stringing together a tune in the time it takes to walk to the bus stop. His mop was saturated with three days worth of debris. That night was the first brush I had with the man, and he left me completely, and utterly, at war with him. I definately liked the sound, but the band's brash and self-indulgent drift into the early morning hours in Hoboken was like a big test. Nothing other than the music being lifted (some big strain obvious) was anywhere near electric. Instead, it bordered on exhaustion, trying the limits of an encore and offering nary enough sound or enough of Newcombe. Patience gone, I gave up almost half way through. The band banter bandied about in between each little ditty and, without question, shot through any mystery the band had from the get-go. Newcombe's band is a small clique of agreeables, and a long tail snakes out the manager's door of other agreeables. Why? Newcombe is reportedly difficult. A natural talent, but difficult. It showed on stage. He has a grand design. That didn't show. "Tepid Peppermint Wonderland: A Retrospective," however, is a terrific assortment of psychedelic '60s-rock arrangements, Velvet Underground and Jefferson Airplane come to the forefront in the Massacre's most apt comparisons to greatness. It's organic and alive. The album is what brought me here, some days after the genesis of a journey to discover the antics of Anton Newcombe. Lover, in a casual kitchen conversation, once brought up "DiG!," a documentary on the rivalry between Anton Newcombe and The Dandy Warhols. She, in her lovely tongue, intrigued me with the backstory. Of the two bands' relationship with one another, I responded: "It's like Mozart and Salieri." Exactly, honey.

"In my life, I have seen it all."

To be continued ...

"I Put The Cure To Bed"

2005-08-26T15:38:00.000-07:00

I can no longer listen to The Cure. Right now. This instant. "Untitled" from "Disintegration" was the last song ... for a long while. I love The Cure, and have always loved The Cure, but it's too painful at this point. "Disintegration" came out May 2, 1989 — a good period in life. Now, the sound is haunting me. I feel like it's destroying me inside out. A chemist might tell you that to get doom, add two parts vodka and one part "plainsong." When I am alone, I am alive to nothing but bad thoughts and happy rebuttals, which can hold for two hours or, not so effectively, two minutes. It will pass. Bad thoughts will fade into oblivion. I'm in a tiny crisis, I think, right now. It will pass. Hurtful images pound in and out, and then abort. Robert Smith's longing voice amplifies these thoughts, and so I must resign the horror show for now. Goodbye, "High," "Just Like Heaven," "Fascination Street," "Pictures of You," "Disintegration," "Lullaby" and "Friday, I'm In Love."
Oh, and goodbye, "The End of the World." Sorry to leave you, but my mascara is running. I will leave work this night, walking out the glass doors to "Untitled," and not return to it until I'm ready for it to take hold of me again.

Amazon.com says: "Disintegration" is a pop album realized on an epic scale. Most of its 12 songs are long mood pieces that develop slowly around the listener. Anchored by complex drum patterns, the layered guitars, soaring bass lines, and rich keyboards blend to create a lush, evocative soundscape that captures the ear immediately; and for all its length, the album is never boring. The lyrical focus is intensely personal throughout, and, with the exception of "Love Song," the mood is overwhelmingly dark and brooding. Here are songs of remembrance that, through their deep candor, transcend the individual level to explore universal longings and fears. Robert Smith, his vocals plaintive or angry or despairing, unfolds a tapestry of loss. Broken bonds, old lies, missed opportunities, belated realizations. Anyone who has experienced the joy and sorrow — especially the sorrow — of love will find his or her deepest sentiments, noble and petty alike, echoed poetically here.

"... I'll Summon You Here, My Love"

2005-08-25T15:49:00.000-07:00

Art direction. I think I could get the hang of it. With the help of two co-workers and a beautiful, picturesque day on the beach in Asbury Park, we set out to shoot a cover photo for our new magazine. During the shoot, I also stood in the background with a flash lamp to add better separation light. Greg and Jill, the two models, were terrific to work with. We shot the two in the studio, as well, piling neat $20 bills on their bodies for a concept shot. At six o'clock on Wednesday, we smoothly cinched the project with a wide array of pictures. We got plenty to work with. None of the pictures, however, include the used yellow condom that was littering the dunes between Asbury and Ocean Grove that almost made an appearance in one shot. A couple cups of hands, and the sand made quick work of it. Spoon's "I Summon You" was in my head all day. I wanted to snap my fingers — or, rather, twitch my nose like Samantha — and have everyone disappear. All that would be left: The beach, the ocean, the sun, the sky and my lovely.

Chorus: "With the weight of the world, I'll summon you here, my love."

"Choreography"

2005-08-24T21:10:00.000-07:00

The iPod was on all day, ladies and gentlemen. Goddamn — I feel tremendous. Spoon's "Gimme Fiction" and The New Pornographers' "Twin Cinema" on blare. Madness. I got home with one foot kicking up in front of the other, hips gyrating. Neighbors, be on the lookout for any suspicious activity. I took out the Sony Handicam, set it up in the front room, iPod latched, and danced and danced and danced and danced. Sleeves droopy, unable to handle the wild motions. Penis, whipping to one leg, then the other. (Laughing) Nurse! Jock strap, please! Sweat. God, I've never seen so much sweat. I wasn't satisfied with one room, I went and put the camera in the kitchen, too. Two takes to one song in there. Shirt off, socks — one in one corner, the other aimlessly in a sink of dirty dishes. (I couldn't help it. I was in a rush, and my aim was proof of that.) Slightly aroused. Swinging around. Bursting. Something keeps turning me on.

Intermission:
"Erik, are you there?"
"How about dinner next week?"
"You said you'd give me a heads-up?"
"Cool." "Gotta go, dude — I'm burning up the floor."

I was unstoppable ... and screaming:
"They're showing us on both screens!"
"They're showing us on both screens!"
"They're showing us on both screens!"

Four minutes later ... and singing:
"If you still have the bones of an idol, you'd be long, long gone,
But something keeps turning you on."

Wow, what a terrific feeling. Incredible. I can't even stop clapping to the rhythm between sentences. The dogs ran off to pursue other ventures. Is a crash coming soon? I don't think so. The head is clear and I'm lovin' my girl while she's not here. I wish she were here now.

Now, where to hide the tape?

"Carpet Crawlers"

2005-08-23T20:18:00.000-07:00

As I breathe in the high-energy pulse of a great song — Peter Gabriel urging, "You got to get in to get out" — I reflect on recent musical happenings.

A friend of mine from back home sent a few new albums to me back in early May, one of which was a dynamite solo album from A.C. Newman, the mastermind behind The New Pornographers. The record gave me a rush of pure joy. "On the Table" is golden. I couldn't shake it. Then came a new album from Caesars, another dose of potent pleasure. "Spirit," track one of the album, was like an aspirin in the hellacious headache that was the Summer Guide. Both're big winners.

Other great offbeat songs — new and old — so far this year I simply couldn't let slip into the next track in the VW or the iPod — Foo Fighters' "The Deepest Blues are Black" (June's Batman Anthem), The New Pornographers' "Twin Cinema," "Use It" and "Jackie, Dressed in Cobras," Genesis' "Carpet Crawlers" (The Alien Invasion Song), The Raveonettes' "That Great Love Sound," Air's "Lucky and Unhappy," Ambulance Ltd.'s "Heavy Lifting," Beck's "Girl," Andrew Bird's "A Nervous Tic Motion Of The Head To The Left," David Bowie's "Suffragette City," Belle & Sebastian's "Seeing Other People," Brendan Benson's "Folk Singer," The Cure's "Plainsong" (The Breakdown Song), Devo's "Gut Feeling," Low's "California," Interpol's "Evil," Keane's "Sunshine," New Order's "Turn," The New Pornographers' "Centre For Holy Wars," Wilco's "Poor Places" (The Remember-Back-With-Melancholy Song), Moby's "Dream About Me," Elliott Smith's "King's Crossing," Badly Drawn Boy's "Fall in the River," The Psychedelic Furs' "She is Mine" (Roxy's Song), The Arcade Fire's "Neighborhood #1 (Tunnels)," Iggy Pop's "Some Weird Sin," Pet Shop Boys' "What Have I Done To Deserve This," Spoon's "Merchants of Soul," South's "Natural Disasters," Mercury Rev's "Good Times Ahead" and no year is complete without a great Aimee Mann track, so voilá — "She Really Wants You."

"A Fall Movie Rough Draft"

2005-08-23T14:04:00.000-07:00

10 reasons to put down those DVDs and return to the multiplex:
“Elizabethtown” (Oct. 14)
For the writer/director whose characters say all the right things and all of the wrong things right, “Elizabethtown” is another one of those long sought-after top-flight romances. Cameron Crowe, the writer/director wonder boy without a scratch to his impressive resumé (“Say Anything,” “Singles,” “Jerry Maguire,” “Almost Famous” and “Vanilla Sky”), prompts Drew Baylor (Orlando Bloom, out of his historical-epic element), a workaholic designer, through the debris of sudden personal devastation — his girlfriend (Jessica Biel) coldly drops him and his boss fires him for a costly error. On the verge of suicide, a new purpose arises when word travels of his father’s death, which in turn, puts him on a journey to Elizabethtown, Ken., to fulfill his dead father’s dying wishes. Another great reason for hope: Claire Colburn (Kirsten Dunst), a flight attendant with whom he falls in love on the return trip home. Susan Sarandon and Alec Baldwin also star. What gets us excited: Cameron Crowe’s homecoming, of course. No one gives us more heart. Added bonus: A sixth Crowe soundtrack, a compilation care of the writer/director’s go-to mix tape maestro, Danny Bramson. to add to the music collection.

“Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang” (Oct. 21)
Shane Black, the smarty-pants pioneer of the buddy comedy thriller with the original “Lethal Weapon,” went to the Cannes Film Festival with his latest baby — his feature debut as director — and, hey, didn’t blow it. A breezy satire on Black’s roller-coaster buddy comedy oeuvre about a petty thief (Robert Downey Jr.) who stumbles into an audition while on the run, finds himself mistaken for an actor and, then later, a cop, when he studies under a gay gumshoe (Val Kilmer) for an upcoming role. Oh, wait. Did we mention murder? It all sounds hilarious and spontaneous; and Black’s glib, offbeat characters, his best being Mel Gibson’s cuckoo-for-Cocoa Puffs detective Martin Riggs, steal the show. What gets us excited: Pure, palpable chemistry. Black will be sure to strike the mystery procedural wick with a manic dose of nuthouse humor and sass.

“The Weather Man” (Oct. 28)
Nicolas Cage stars as a popular Chicago television meteorologist, an aimless family man at a disconnect with his ex-wife (Hope Davis) and kids and frequent fall guy caught at a crossroads in Gore Verbinski’s offbeat comedy. Sounds kind of vague, right? Well, it’s definitely the wild card of the bunch, but we prefer to see it as a primer for richer surprises to come. Michael Caine also stars as Cage’s successful writer father who hangs over Cage’s Dave Spritz like a stormy cloud. What gets us excited: Cage in crisis mode ala “Adaptation” and “Matchstick Men.”

“King Kong” (Dec. 14)
The 800-pound gorilla of the fall movie gauntlet — literally. Peter Jackson, the cinematic sorcerer who whipped up a rich layer-cake fantasy epic with his technical wizardry and storytelling sweep in “The Lord of the Rings” trilogy, sinks his talent full-bore into a popcorn amusement with a period remake of 1933’s “King Kong.” Faithful to the Depression-era set original, the film stars Naomi Watts in Fay Wray’s role as damsel-in-distress Ann Darrow, Jack Black as eccentric filmmaker Carl Denham and Adrien Brody as love interest Jack Driscoll. Andy Serkis, the soul behind the CG of Gollum in “Rings,” steps in as the great ape’s motion-capture model. What gets us excited: The scale of Jackson’s vision. Expect a pure pop-art entertainment.

“Rumor Has It …” (Dec. 25)
Here’s to you, Mrs. Robinson … yet again. History repeats itself in Rob Reiner and Ted Griffin’s postmodern take on Mike Nichols’ classic 1967 comedy “The Graduate.” “Rumor Has It …” unfolds as a story about a soon-to-be-wed career woman (Jennifer Aniston) who unravels a whopper of a family secret — her gossip of a grandmother (Shirley MacLaine, hot off Curtis Hanson’s “In Her Shoes”) was the inspiration for Mrs. Robinson — and falls head-over-heels for an older ladies’ man (Kevin Costner) with a few whoppers of his own. It’s about time for Reiner, the director of 1989’s “When Harry Met Sally …,” to regain his balance after a long — and we mean long — string of critical and commercial flops. What gets us excited: The clever concept.

Five more reasons …
Expect big laughs at the expense of others’ flimflam and failure with Richard Shephard’s dark comedy “The Matador” (Nov. 4), about a devil-may-care hitman in a midlife crisis (a smartly cast Pierce Brosnan) who reaches out to an affable, down-on-his-luck family man (Greg Kinnear) and his wife (Hope Davis of “American Splendor”), and Harold Ramis’ macabre, Coen Brothers-mused caper comedy “The Ice Harvest” (Nov. 23), with Billy Bob Thornton and John Cusack as embezzlers in limbo. Immediately after his massive popcorn meditation on global terrorism, an up-to-date remake of “War of the Worlds,” Steven Spielberg sets out to dramatize the bloody aftermath of the 1972 Munich Olympics massacre in “Munich” (Dec. 23) with Eric Bana (“Troy”), Daniel Craig (“Layer Cake”) and Geoffrey Rush. The most prestigious affair of the year will probably be Steven Zaillian’s remake of Robert Penn Warren’s 1946 Pultizer-Prize winner, “All The King’s Men” (Dec.16), a ripe, political satire about a Southern populist politico (Sean Penn) with an insatiable appetite for power. Jude Law and Kate Winslet also star.
And finally, sparks fly and hysteria escalates when a psychiatrist (Meryl Streep) realizes her 37-year-old unlucky-in-love divorceé patient (Uma Thurman) is in fact in deep with the shrink’s 23-year-old son in Ben Younger’s comedy “Prime” (Oct. 28).

5 reasons to upgrade your Netflix plan and tough it out at home:
“Doom” (Oct. 21)
The hyper-popular shoot-‘em-up video game — or should I say an addictive interactive vomitorium of blood, guts, bullets and puke — comes to theaters as undoubtedly mindless sensory porn for teenage joystick jockeys. Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson, always game for a generic long-in-gestation genre flick, stars as a trigger-happy Marine sent to a moon base in the year 2145 to light up the joint against Martian invaders. It’s assuredly all movement and no action, the first rule in “Armageddon” director Michael Bay’s how-to, “The Big Noise.” The vapor-thin rescue-mission plot will, no doubt, make you feel like a drone, edging closer and closer to oblivion. Put in your Netflix queue instead: James Cameron’s lean, mean action-apocalypse “Aliens” (1986).

“Chicken Little” (Nov. 4)
Disney said “so long” to the modest animation innovators at Pixar when the traditional ink-to-celluloid medium the corporation built an empire on began to crumble underneath it. The sea change was seen as a result of new technologies. Well, yes and no. Lifeless and derivative storytelling in “Atlantis: The Lost Empire,” “Treasure Planet” and a handful of other features sent audiences to Pixar’s exhilaratingly fresh, fun and mature — yes, mature — modern marvels. The animation was, indeed, a breakthrough, but the tales were even more so. With the completely opposite mindset, don’t expect Disney to enchant us with “Chicken Little,” a “Shrek”-like satire of the classic children’s yarn about a little chick and his cry-wolf catchphrase: “The Sky is Falling.” When the world, however, comes under the threat of an alien invasion, Chicken Little (Zach Braff, of “Garden State” fame, voices) and friends become unlikely heroes. Put in your Netflix queue instead: Pixar auteur John Lasseter’s animation dynamo “Toy Story” (1995).

“Rent” and “The Producers: The Movie Musical” (Nov. 11, Dec. 23)
With the revival of Hollywood musicals as of late, every concept is one big Broadway gun after another. The glittery, goopy, albeit arguably visionary “Moulin Rouge,” the chief catalyst and reanimator of the latest song-and-dance craze, sadly hasn’t yet given way (if it ever will) to inspiration beyond Broadway. Instead, we got laughable dreck, such as last fall’s “Andrew Lloyd Webber’s Phantom of the Opera,” and, now, the upcoming “Rent” from director Chris Columbus (“Home Alone,” “Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone”) and “The Producers” from the Tony Award-winner’s director, Susan Stroman. Pointless and unnecessary, and as close to cannibalism Hollywood has probably ever gotten, “The Producers” promises big stars from the Broadway show — Nathan Lane as down-and-out producer Max Bialystock and Matthew Broderick as neurotic accountant Leo Bloom — and others not — Uma Thurman as the receptionist and would-be showgirl Ulla and Will Ferrell as neo-Nazi playwright Franz Liebkind — but doesn’t entertain a single reason for its existence. The Tony-Award winner “Rent,” about a group of East Villagers who cope with bleak urban realities such as AIDS and homelessness, is on a futile crash-course for schmaltz under the direction of Columbus. Put into your Netflix queue instead: Mel Brooks’ madcap hilarious “The Producers” (1968) with Zero Mostel and Gene Wilder, and Rob Marshall’s shimmery production of “Chicago” (2002).

“Aeon Flux” (Dec. 2)
Charlize Theron dons black as the acrobatic assassin and clandestine revolutionary of the title, out to protect the citizens of a scientist-run future city from corrupt government agents. I would refer you to the same exact dread we have for “Doom,” but director Karyn Kusama (the indie “Girlfight”), unproven in the field of explosive action, gives it mild distinction. Nevertheless, the action hero, and especially the heroine, we can all get behind is a rare breed these days. For proof: Halle Berry as Catwoman, Jennifer Garner as Elektra and Angelina Jolie as Lara Croft didn’t hack it. Put into your Netflix queue instead: However, there is one: Beatrice Kiddo. We recommend Quentin Tarantino’s outrageous, orgiastic splatterhouse party, “Kill Bill — Vol. 1” (2003).

“The New World” (Dec. 25)
Terrence Malick is one of the finest American auteurs. But “The New World,” a historical epic about the arrival of British colonists on the coast of North America and the conflicts with the natives there after — and, no doubt, another of the director’s existential mediations — appears, from a distance, flat and indistinctive. Colin Farrell (Russell Crowe, we guess, was unavailable) stars as John Smith, the colonist who makes first contact with the teenage Pocahontas and develops a love affair with her. Christopher Plummer and Christian Bale also star. Put in your Netflix queue instead: Kevin Costner’s organic, great-wide-open Western “Dances With Wolves” (1990).

"A Bridge"

2005-08-22T14:08:00.000-07:00

At 25-years-of-age, it's more than okay to hyphenate a run-on. Today's entry feels like that — a big hyphen to a long run-on. A bridge.

I'm so in love. Did I forget to mention that? I see the smile on Future Me's face as he reads this years later. Yes, you're still in love, I hear. I'm so happy for you, Future Me. I was told you have a family now, kids and crayons strewn across the floor. You and your beautiful wife, I can't wait to enjoy their company years from now. Me, you ask? A bridge.

Me: Future Me?
Future Me: Yes?
Me: I'm crying.
Future Me: It's okay.
Me: I feel so greatly that I've hurt someone I love.
Future Me: I remember you saying that years ago. You wrote it down right here. Remember?
Me: Yes, I do, but I can't remember what you told me.
Future Me: I told you it's alright. I gave you a hug and told you about me, about my life.
Me: I do remember that I wrote I felt like I was running in the rain. How is she?
Future Me: She's so wonderful, as beautiful and wonderful as she is with you.
Me: I'm so glad. I want her to be happy, and know how special and terrific she is.
Future Me: She knows. She loves me so much, she loves our kids. She's so very happy. You have nothing to worry about.
Me: Thank you so much.
Future Me: For what?
Me: For being here.
Future Me: You love her so much. I know that. You have to learn not to be so hard on yourself sometimes.
Me: I'm nervous, my face is tingling, covered in tears, swollen.
Future Me: Years later, you'll realize that in fact you were a little scared. It's okay to be scared. You read her diaries because you were scared. You were scared of it all ending, spinning out of control. You were scared of pain again, long after you'd given it up. You were scared it was all a beautiful waking dream. God, I remember you in such panic. You felt so deeply that you hurt her with your curiousity. That somehow she thinks you might think of her differently, and the dream is over.
Me: None of that matters.
Future Me: None of what matters?
Me: Her past. I just feel like she thinks I didn't trust her. But I do. Like you said, I just got really scared.
Future Me: Hey, buddy, the journey's not over. You have so much more to learn. The good thing is that I know you'll be learning it all with her. I know that almost everything with her is among firsts. I'm telling you, you're going to be terrific together as you are now years from now. You get through it. Everybody gets scared sometimes. What you have is so precious.
Me: Can you tell me what happens?
Future Me: What happens where?
Me: With her.
Future Me: You're getting curious again. The fact is I don't want to ruin the surprises. Believe me, you and her will love most of what's in store.
Me: I'm so excited.
Future Me: Great. Now write her one of those daily e-mails telling her how much you love her.
Me: Way ahead of you. I'm so glad we had this talk.
Future Me: That's okay. Maybe you can help me sometime in the future.
Me: I'll do anything.
Future Me: Well, maybe for starters, before you go, I want you to remember to be yourself, just as you've been all along. She and I are really enjoying our life, as much, if not more, as you two are now.
Me: Hey, what if I might need to talk to you again?
Future Me: If you don't recollect out talk, well then, just come back to it when you feel like you have to. I'll be here to talk.
Me: Okay.
Future Me: Your times are full of such great joy. I think back to them with such pleasure and happiness.
Me: I am so happy to be with her.
Future Me: I know.
Me: Take care, Future Me.
Future Me: Certainly will.

We part ways, walking toward opposite ends of the translucent space.

Me (at a considerable distance): Hey, Future Me!
Future Me turns around.
Future Me: Yes?
Me: Never mind.

"Devil's Haircut"

2005-04-13T19:05:00.000-07:00

Apparently, I've got a Devil's Haircut on my mind. Both of these photos of Beck gaze at me from a computer screen at work. Co-workers believe it is, in fact, me. Karyn, without asking, acknowledged to someone else that it is me. "Designers have egos," I remember her saying, more or less. So, it has, in effect, become an enlightening reminder of how on some days — to someone ... anyone — I look like the guero above. I beg to differ, of course, but no one is paying attention, and, laughingly, I don't mind the mistake of identities. Tomorrow, it might be a different story. I might want someone to recognize me for me. But, no matter. I guess the devil's in the details. It's just something that's been on my mind. God, I need a haircut.

"Fear of Getting a Paper Cut on a Personal Letter"

2005-02-24T20:01:00.000-08:00

A tickle of hypochondria, at times, puts me into a panic, fearful I might have some kind of entropy, a small sample of something that I might find three years down the road, revealed to be the size of a small elephant. Knee caps will seize up, a tiny nerve in an exposed electrical socket somewhere will get pinched, the eye will twitch uncontrollably. It's a state of fear that's never all that welcome. Then it will cease instantly, two strong spells after you first requested it stop. At 14, I was afraid. The threat of cancer, second-hand smoke, transmitting HIV and AIDS, sexually transmitted diseases, getting tetanus after possibly stepping on a rusty nail or breaking the skin on some old barb-wire fence. I would filter through medical dictionaries at 3 a.m. on a school night, checking the symptoms, unsure of the difference between a burning itch and an overzealous tingle. I remember almost with every blink of my eye dashing to mother or father or even Case to play doctor on my arm and tell me I was crazy. Tell me you don't see a red streak running up and down my forearm. I don't know what got into me, but it cut to a common fear: Death. Afterall, the universe, in some anarchic arrangement — symphony — of order, shows no pity for what happens inside its voluminous space. When I cry, or at least when I did cry, it echoed. I can hear it all in the chambers of my thoughts. I was happy, too, don't get me wrong. Happy like now, but different. At twentysomething, I still don't see the end of the road. It's a little fuzzy as I still believe I will live forever, that the universe will never swallow me. It's pure fantasy, and a complete one-eighty from when I thought I saw the end three, four, maybe even five years down the road. Boy, that would be a sick joke, but the universe wouldn't be the one pulling it. Psychologically for me, it would be an inside joke, one I couldn't share with friends because it wouldn't be funny at all to anyone. Just in mind of the warped.

In the midst of mortal thinking, two phrases came to mind in an rapturously angelic hum: "Fall in love" and "She is mine." I, one day, want to splice video images to the same single command and declaration. Make each in sync with the other, like poetry to sign language.

I write amid thoughts of love and trademark inadequacy. I write amid late mornings at the office and — surprise — long-distance correspondence.

A recent letter said: It was great to hear from you.
All that I hoped for you when you moved away from us is coming about. I am so pleased because you deserve it all. I talked for a few moments with your mother last week and she is, of course, just beaming and so proud of you.

I trust [Rach] knows how fortunate she is. I understand she is a bit older than you. I am a bit older than Keith, about the same as you two, and know that can work well. We have been married 20 some years and the age thing has never been a problem although I thought about it a bit when we were first dating ... for maybe 20 mintues or so.

I hope when you come home in July I will be here. Is [Rach] coming? Your mom is anxious to meet her, I know.

I'm glad the job situation is working out to be what you hoped it would be.

Things here are about the same. We just today finished the Business and Industry section. What a bummer. But it is done and we did it well and on time.

We are pushing the "on time, every time" thing to the max and are going to be offering our readers a free newspaper if it is late. What a commitment. Our deadline has been moved up to 11:45 and we are hitting it. The IT problems are improving and that will likely be the only thing that will make us late. If you don't have copy here by 11:15, we don't use it ... period.

We are in the midst (still) or redesigning the section pages to remove the rails. At least we have a copy of the proposed new layout. Don't go to the Newseum every day to see it. It may not really happen this year if we move forward as usual.

I have to tell you in cleaning out your desk for a part time Notre Dame law student, Dave Socolowski, who is helping us out a couple nights a week, I found something you left that I have tacked up on my wall here. It is "Aggravation #374" — do you remember what it is? I love it. "People don't tell me what they want, but when I present my work, well it is not what they had in mind. Huh?''

Do keep in touch.

You may already know. Mari Linn had a little girl, Madeline. She is so precious. I may try to send her picture on to you.

Take care.

"It Goes On"

2005-02-20T13:04:00.000-08:00

Sometimes a random thought will stream across my consciousness, and I write it down. "There's no such thing as normal, and if there was, it would be abnormal." I shrunk in my seat at its astute obviousness. A failed attempt at paradox.

I was on the phone with my mother on Sunday, and she asked me if I had been to the movies at all lately. I laughed a little all-knowing chuckle, and replied, "No, I've been busy with other things." I told her I planned to see "Constantine," but knowing, too, that she was expecting I mention "Hitch," a movie of her forte, I told her I had yet to see it. "I heard it was a little too long and all the best laughs were in the ads," I told her. "Oh," she said, "one of our church leaders saw it last week and said it was funny. He said he laughed and laughed after he came out of the theater. He's like you — he likes movies a lot." "Or do you mean he likes a lot of movies," I said, with the unshamefully cool arrogance. "Well, you know, no one looks at movies like you do," mother replied. "I know. It's simply not casual for me," I told her. "I know," she said. We left it there with an "I love you" and a "bye-bye."

It was a great weekend. Plans were dashed for some passionately lazy spontaneity, then a visit with my darling's 84-year-old grandmother — "Grams" — who was a real trip. Lively, bursting with spirit and still loving life to its fullest. It was all around inspiring, that visit.

The next day, I woke up alone in bed, remembering the music from a few nights before when the Psychedelic Furs were amplifying their angsty brio — loud, lovely, wanting — through her kitchen stereo. I also woke up lingering on the mental picture of her beautful face before she left me for Atlantic City. I slept in until eleven or so, two dogs (QB and Mags) nestled next to me. I arose from my slumber, the daylight penetrating the curtains struck my face, saying with a bit of aggravation and snip in its voice, "Wake up, wake up, it's morning, you loser." Then I got productive. After a three minute pause at the bathroom mirror, I zoomed to the fridge (I can't remember if I cracked my knuckles, but writing this now I ponder that it might have seemed like a good a time as any to do it) and cleaned it. The Psychedelic Furs playing. "It Goes On" surging through the eardrum, eventually making its way to the heart. Wiping up the small spills, crumbs from food long since digested and its byproduct returned to Mother Earth and the dabbles and beads of Hershey's Chocolate Syrup stuck here and there. Leftover meatloaf, eggs, beer, all kinds of sauces and legumes, a pitcher of water and a bottle of wine, yogurts and red cabbage, carrots and limes, ketchup and Honey Dijon salad dressing, Polaner fruit spread and salsa, and, oh, my Philly wrap from last night. I better heat that up. Again, it felt great to do something for someone I care about. The whole clandestine operation was pure pleasure.

Then to top it off, I took off my jeans, put on my tube socks, white J. Crew oxford shirt (collar pulled up), black Ray-Ban sunglasses and then (I think you know where this is going) took off running a few steps from the back wall of the guest room and, beginning at the hallway closet, began my slide toward the open entryway that linked the kitchen, hallway and living room. Too bad she didn't have any Bob Seger to stage my laugh-out-loud, if slighty cute, Joel Goodson imitation; but the Furs worked nicely. Princeton could use a guy like Joel.

"Tarnation"

2005-02-16T21:41:00.000-08:00

Valentine's Day. Run-off. I've gotten a card from my mother now and again over the 24 or so years I've been living through each and every one of those Hallmark holidays. I was completely dismissive of the whole candy, flowers and clingy cellophane operation until this last one.
To all you listeners out there: I finally had someone special to spend it with.

On one Thursday or Friday, I ran some errands and stopped at Borders to look around at the books on Art Nouveau, cooking, art history, rock and other odds and ends of ends-of-the-earth fascination. I couldn't find anything that fit. I drove home that night and before that comforting nightly call I receive via phone from her, I looked up cupcakes on the web, and discovered a new book, "Hey There, Cupcake!" It had been recently released (and well-reviewed to boot). I called Barnes & Noble to see if they had the item, but alas, they were shuttered. So I called Borders and politely asked if they might have this wonderful book, in the hopes I might purchase it for my special someone. Eureka! Cut to the audio tape:

Borders clerk: "We have one copy in stock. Yeah, this is a terrific book."
Tgafkas: "Okay, great. I'll swing by to pick it up." Click.

I got a call from my darling, and we talked at some length. She needed to run to the store for supplies, as she was having a party on Saturday night. I told her I had to run an errand, and wouldn't be back at my place until 11 p.m. (Curious). Thus began a glorious weekend. The images are cycling through my mind on a möbius strip. Flash forwards and hyper-gush hits from gray circuits firing on frayed neurons and trigger-happy tripwires. What a rush, to say the least.

However, in the midst of all the excitement, there were a few downturns. I was bored to tears with "Shark Tale" and the Sundance indie "Mean Creek." But, alas, did regain consciousness for a showing of "Tarnation" at Rutgers. I've been waiting forever to see it, hearing about the raw, poetic artistry, sprung from its digital birth on iMovie — ones and zeroes culminated, translated and later boxed and shipped off to celluloid. The film was not at all synthetic, unless you count the self-indulgent, pretentious aspects of the step-outside-of-yourself storytelling. But, hey, there's powerful rat-a-tat-tat nightmare-inducing imagery — like witnessing Humpty Dumpty fall and, with your breath holding on for dear life and at the same time grasping for release, the inevitably sickening and gut-wrenching crack-and-spill aftermath. I could hear myself, and possibly a few other fellows, swallowing as hard as a molasses-slow tap of fist to wood. Sad. Tragic. Hellish. The story it tells unfolds on screen and then whips around your captivated and entranced state of mind as if you're in hyper sleep, witness to a life encapsulated forever in a Lacanian loop of living pictures (One day I would love my life to slip into that stream of eternity, at my last gasping breath, where memories are spliced into rhyming bite-size refrains, all put to the soundtrack of my life). "Tarnation" was close to snagging a spot on my top ten list for 2004, but I loved "Before Sunset" with all my heart, and couldn't afford to cast it away.

Alas, be it now and, I don't dare hesitate to mention again, the point where I've come to return to her smile. The Polyphonic Spree? Wrong dial. It was me. Silly me, on the record that made it all worthwhile, as you stand single file — one, two, three. On the dial, in a flutter of free-style. By now and, I don't dare hesitate to bow, the point where I've come to return to her smile. I'll be gone awhile. You'll be in a confusion of Tao, but somehow you'll figure it all out. So ... smile.

"A Start"

2005-02-08T18:06:00.000-08:00

I've decided to start to get back into the swing of writing after about a six-month hiatus from spilling my guts week-in, week-out on films for a newspaper movie column. Usually it takes a lot out of me, but I've met someone special who's got me thinking about getting back to doing the rough stuff. If only I weren't such a perfectionist ... but there certainly is a glee I get when I've written something that sings like poetry and zings with some unique kind of panache. Oh, verve! I think I've got it.

It's funny, I never thought I'd meet someone in New Jersey, or anywhere else for that matter. I've been tapping into a niche market — Shawn — for a long time. And believe me, he was a very hard demographic to please, at least on the inside. In the long course of some 20 years, I've been a film hog, shy and introverted, speaking my brash, unconventional thoughts in private and speaking barely at all in public, eager to please, nervous of error, tragically a wimp.

So this is the start of something else. I'm not sure what that is yet, but I'm going to let it take me along for the ride, all the hills and valleys and viciously happy wavelengths. I just thought I'd warn myself first.

Today, I watched a new tv spot for Steven Spielberg's "War of the Worlds," and it gave me a slight chill, worked for a while on the next teen section I design at the local paper, and listened to some loud and dreamy rock tracks that I normally love to listen to on the highway. Somehow, jamming to them made my day go a little faster. We're talking about U2's "The Fly," possibly their greatest pure rock song, Interpol's "PDA," David Bowie's "Queen Bitch," Devo's "Gut Feeling," R.E.M.'s "Bad Day" ("It's the End of the World As We Know It" seemed kind of cliche for this compilation, so I went with its cousin), New Order's "Bizarre Love Triangle," The Pixies' "Debaser," and so, so much more. Been listening to a band called Keane lately, too, they're, in the words of a friend, "pretty magical." Also before I even see a new movie in 2005, which I have yet to do, I better publish my best of 2004 list, with a few notes to go along with them.

BEST OF 2004
10. Before Sunset — Richard Linklater's absolutely eloquent adapt-to-the-minute journey back to love not soon forgotten.
9. Shrek 2 — An animated gem glowing with wit and an energy that makes moviegoing such a pure pleasure.
8. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind — Heartbreaking, mind-bending mood music from one of the great screenwriters working today: Charlie Kaufman.
7. Touching The Void — The best documentary of the year. Dazzling. Harrowing. Breathtaking.
6. Spider-Man 2 — A rare piece of thrilling escapist entertainment spawns an even better sequel, not afraid to slow down to develop characters — and damn it! — tell a good story for once and let the special effects stay in their place.
5. Closer — Mike Nichols' acidic, vicious circle, err foursome, of tainted lovers leaves you with scars of shock and laughter.
4. The Aviator — Martin Scorseses' big, brawny yet swooshingly elegant period biopic is the kind of picture that lives in the Hollywood spirit. A soaring giant with great performances, some outstanding craftsmanship and gi-normous ambitions.
3. Sideways — A pitch-perfect comedy about life's little elephants. Alexander Payne is a genius. A Preston Sturges of our day. Bet on it.
2. Million Dollar Baby — A crushingly emotional tour de force. I loved "Mystic River," but "Baby" sings with a soft beauty. A masterpiece.
1. Kill Bill — Vol. 2 — The reason cinema exists and luckily came to rest upon and then reenergize upon the passions and instincts of Quentin Tarantino. "Kill Bill — Vol. 2" is alive on celluloid — an unstoppable creative force, purely inventive, engaging and keenly adept. Tarantino proves he's a true master.

Not seen in 2004, but need to see: "Hotel Rwanda," "Vera Drake," "House of Flying Daggers," "Red Lights" and "Tarnation."

Liked a lot, but didn't make the list: "Maria Full of Grace," "Fahrenheit 9/11," "Spanglish," "Team America: World Police," "Super Size Me," "Bad Education" and "The Dreamers."

Absolutely disgusted: "Catwoman," "Twisted," "The Life Aquatic With Steve Zissou," "The Butterfly Effect," "The Forgotten," "The Grudge," "Cellular," "Van Helsing," "The Day After Tomorrow," "Garfield: The Movie," "Laws of Attraction," "Welcome To Mooseport," "Surviving Christmas," "Little Black Book," "The Chronicles of Riddick," "White Chicks," "Resident Evil: Apocalypse," "The United States of Leland," "The Punisher," "Without A Paddle," "Miracle," "The Big Bounce" and "The SpongeBob SquarePants Movie."

Here's to new things.