Having taken some time to re-watch and ruminate over Windy City Heat (I’ve seen it four times and counting), explaining the enduring appeal of it is still tricky. First of all, it’s funny. It’s blindingly funny. It’s tip a cow then kick a duck up the arse funny. It’s also fantastically original in it’s conception and treads heavily where few might dare to tread at all.
The mark in this; possibly the most elaborate prank ever, is the fabulous Perry Caravello. Arrogant, sexist, homophobic and gullible. He is hilariously short tempered yet naive and lovable. Our catalysts and instigators are Don and Mole who according to the film have been messing with Perry for over a decade now.
The setup is to have Perry, an aspiring actor and comedian in Hollywood, audition for a part in a film and win it. They go on to shoot the actual film over the course of a week, only it’s all part of the setup and every scene is just another opportunity to provoke Perry’s wrath while the cameras are rolling. There is physical comedy, humiliation, and provocation. It’s great.
When watching the film you will recognise names and faces. The in-jokes are endless. Perry gets none of the references. I do get twinges of pity for Perry as he falls for joke upon joke. Half the jokes are just to sell or justify a previous joke or fabrication. Some of the setups seem so contrived that it’s hard to believe anyone would fall for it, but Perry sees no problems.
It’s humour is maybe a little cruel and sadistic in spirit, which in turn provokes thought on edgy comedy as an elaborate web of ethical dilemmas. Fortunately, any uncomfortable doubts about what you’re watching are put to bed when you understand the relationship of Perry with Don and Mole. Perry is working, making some money and gaining the fame his so craves. Though it’s clear someone like Perry can be (and has been!) taken advantage of in a town like Hollywood, I’d go as far to say Perry is protected by Don and Mole and there’s obviously some affection there.
The underlying fascination of WCH has percolated to the depths of my subconscious and left me quite frankly, obsessed. If there were ever a film cult I was part of than this is it. It is continued now with the excellent ongoing podcast (The Big Three podcast) and the unfolding drama and windups over facebook and other online forums.
WCH triumphs where a film like I’m still here totally failed. There is no holier than thou Hollywood smugness. It is well planned and improvised and thick with gags from the most base to the marvellously subtle. It runs hand in hand with An idiot abroad as the most hilarious and startlingly real tragi-comedy out there. Comedy on film is often about levity and escapism but on the other end of that spectrum lies WCH, something that’s real and engaging, provocative and most importantly, deeply and lastingly funny.

Working with Jules this year at The Film Buff East has been an experience and a privilege. At some point i decided that the things he said could not be kept a secret and I started writing it all down. Here is a quick recap of some of my favourite moments from this year for those of you less fortunate than myself. - Tom

"Dude, if you were as intense as me when you worked you'd make a mess too...
in fact, that would be a cool thing to say at a job interview. What do I do? Me? I'm intense" - Jules

Jules - "Dude, will you bring me an allen key in to work tomorrow for my bike?"
Me - "Don't you own an allen key?"
Jules - "Yeah okay, I'll bring mine in"

Jules - "I saw that midget actor the other day in a bar on Danforth"
Me - "Oh yeah? Which one?"
Jules - "He was in The Station Agent"
Me - "Oh, and Living in Oblivion too right?"
Jules - "Yeah, and In Bruges"
...Me - "Yeah? I don't remember him in In Bruges"
Jules - "He played the midget guy"

"Oh yeah, they're like shits on flies" - Jules

‎"I'm not from England so I have no idea what 'Midsomer night's murders' is." - Jules

‎"The thing about the Iron Man movies is that guy was so well cast, yeah, Cuban Downing Jr or whatever, he was perfect" - Jules

"That movie Red Riding:1974, yeah, they shot that on sixteen millilitre" - Jules

Joe - "Ya know, Tom might be getting deported in a few weeks"
Jules - "Dude, I get all his shifts okay?"

Saw Jules tonight looking up "Specific Kites" on the computer at the video store, turns out there was a customer looking for "Pacific Heights", Jules was "helping" her find it.

"Dude you've got to watch this video all about Halloween costumes for infeminated children" - Jules

Jules: "I HATE Portland. I'm never going there."
Me: "Have you ever been?"
Jules: "No."

"Actually, my Auntie and Uncle live in the coastal mountains in Oregon, yeah, they keep a cows, sheep and a whole bunch of pork" - Jules

"When I was 8 or 9 I had this wart problem.... dude you better not be writing this down" - Jules

Jules - "Ah, rocket candies for Halloween? I suggested that last year and everyone laughed. Dude, all my life I've had people ridicule my ideas only to rip them off later"
Me - "Like what?"
Jules - "Those bonus keys higher up the neck in guitar hero........and now giving out those rocket candies at Halloween"

"...just because she had a slightly darker complexity and slanty eyes" - Jules

"Yesterday... no....tomorrowday" - Jules

"Dude, let's head out stairs" - Jules

"Can you say 'lipsticked, double dipped dick' 5 times quickly?" - Jules

"Chicks man seriously, you don't know how many times they've said to me 'I wish I had those lips', seriously you don't even know" - Jules

Jules - (excited) "I'm going to Montreal tomorrow!!!)
Me - "Hang on, yesterday you said 'Shit I've got to go to Montreal'"
Jules - "Well, I've started to feel differently about it"

‎"Don't you just wanna watch this movie? It says 'five women, one weekend, too many lies' ooh sizzling. Five hours of women being passive aggressive to each other" - Jules

"Guess what I just bought the lactose intolerant guy for secret Santa...... Cheese" - Jules

Jules - *pointing at the computer* "Check out these before and after photos of Corey Haim"
Me - "Oh yeah, I worked with him a couple of years ago"
Jules - "Before or after he died? No wait"

Customer - "Do you have the series Sherlock on dvd?"
Jules - "Sherlocks?"
Customer - "Errrr... yeah"
Jules - "It's actually just called Sherlock"

I've often wondered what it was about Austrian thriller Revanche that made it stay with me over the last few months. I have these images always haunting me. The colour of the woods and the reflections on the water. The eerie atmosphere as he stalks his target on an early morning jog. The long scenes of wood-chopping where we can nearly hear the pop and sizzle of emotional overload.
Was it the overwhelming sense of hope amongst desperation that hooked me? Or that this feeling was so quickly whipped away and in it's place we find a deep pit of remorse.
The key to these shuddering recollections lies in the nature of the revenge that is taken and in the nature of our main character Alex. The horror's all lie in the potentials, the "What if" scenarios and in the lingering sense of being on the brink of something much, much worse. Was it an exercise in power and control that I couldn't quite understand or the taboo of viewing pregnancy as a burden, a punishment? We're left to speculate about the plan and the revenge without clues.
Revanche is a film of contradiction, in one sense the most pure of romances. The idea that a man would go to any lengths, do anything, in order to rescue his lover and himself from their desperate circumstances. When the rug is pulled from under his feet he loses everything, he is reminded of what he left behind. His surviving family, his father and a whole world of time in which to take revenge and readdress the balance. However, from the very start we are unsure as to what is right. It ends with a compulsion, an uncontrollable urge to just ruin the romance of another person's life, even without them having knowledge of it. The smug assurance that he has ruined, has one-upped and has taken something away from his enemy, as low and sneaky as it is, must be some sort of satisfaction for him. And off he walks into the sunset, embittered, venomous yet contented by the seemingly aimless destruction.
In the wake of the film remain so many questions and ambiguities aswell as a penetrating sense of loneliness coming from a film deliberately and completely stripped of glamour. It is this, when characters in film directly reflect the way life really works, that really demonstrates the power of the screen. To feel like you've lived it, and to take something away to ponder for so long. The overall effect is the most provocative of any film I've seen this year.

Until The Light Takes Us recollects the Norwegian Black Metal scene of the early 1990s. Made notorious by a series of church burnings and homicides the subculture was subsequently tarred as satanism by the media. The film revisits that time, interviewing many key people and readdressing some claims about their motivations and beliefs.
Our two key interviewees are Varg Vikernes aka Count Grishnakh of Burzum seen here as he was until 2009, in Trondheim maximum security prison. Also Gylve of Darkthrone, a more passive character very involved in the scene but whom never crossed the line into criminal or violent activity. The interviews are totally engaging, especially that of Vikernes who is eloquent and compelling in his beliefs against the christian church and in a music which is surprisingly provocative when explained from it's conception. The film paces well by constantly turning our head between our two main subjects Varg & Gylve, representing the past and the present, the origins and a critique of the commercialization of Black metal culture in Norway, you could even say two perspectives from either side of the law.
It might be a stretch but I couldn't help noticing many parallels between black metal and the Rap scene of the early nineties. So many artists wanting to be the baddest, no-one backing down, everyone wanting to be the most extreme and both scenes crescendo with a series of deaths before being exploited commercially. Obviously the modern rap/R'n'B business is turning round much more cash these days, but the parallels were there at the start.
The production here is decent but what makes the film is really the subject and the clever way in which things are brought together to avoid a one note movie. Instead of just being about the music and excluding most of it's potential audience, Until the light takes us is instead about the people behind the music and the environments and circumstances that made them who they are. It takes an anthropologists perspective on Black Metal as a subculture rather than simply a musical genre. The soundtrack to the film is mercifully not Black Metal, instead the filmmakers opted for some electronic music which is moodier, cinematic and just works better.
It left me feeling enlightened and more appreciative in general of a scene I never understood and had had little exposure to. I was shocked at times and in awe that all this had happened and I knew nothing about it, swept under the carpet mostly. Now the right people have a chance to talk about it to a quite objective, some might even say sympathetic filmmaker. Provocative and controversial, just the way art should be.

Shot in '91/'92 Fishing with John is a fishing program not at all about fishing. Resembling any cheap 90's cable TV fishing program it mostly consists of horrible looking video, music that ranges from dodgy Casio beats to some lo-fi jazz noodlings and a Hollywood style voice-over dramatic enough to make fishing exciting. All these elements together are totally disarming at a passing glance, but give yourself 5 minutes and you begin to feel a surrealistic undercurrent. This is John and his friends getting stoned, talking a bit and failing to catch fish.
It's hard to imagine under what circumstances this show came to be. Was it produced in the spirit of a parody from the start and if so who was in on the joke? Were they really all high? What was the audience and where was this to be shown? I get the sense that without this Criterion release of Fishing with John we'd be very lucky to maybe catch the show at an obscure cult video festival or tucked away in a very late night cable TV slot.
I listened to the full commentary with director and host John Lurie to try get a handle on it all. Apparently, in the early nineties John had developed a habit of shooting his fishing trips with his film industry friends on hi8. He'd been threatening to do a show for a while, his take on what he saw as the bizarrely relaxing cable TV fishing show. Somehow he came to meet a Japanese investor eager to invest in almost anything and thus came forward the money for Fishing with John. I can only imagine the face of the producers upon receiving the show they had paid for. It's a surreal stoner's odyssey. We travel around the world with John and his guests Jim Jarmusch, Tom Waits, Matt Dillon, Willem Dafoe and Dennis Hopper. The commentary reveals an episode that never got made with Flea of The Red Hot Chili Peppers. That would have been golden. But the thing is Fishing with John is golden. It's so unusual, in some ways very arty and sometimes utterly dumb. One minute it's philosophical musings, the next it's staged scenes of drama. It has that elusive x factor, the allure of the too bizarre to be true found only in rare one off gems like King of Kong or I like killing flies.
According to John, Tom Waits got so seasick and irate that they didn't talk for two years after the making of the show, Matt Dillon clammed up every time the camera rolled, Willem Dafoe was hilarious, Jim Jarmusch was easy going and Dennis Hopper was high on sugar and couldn't fish at all. I could watch this show all day if there were only more episodes that existed. Never mind Speed Racer, Fishing with John is the real ultimate stoner DVD.

Dear Elders,
I feel a contagious ripple of shrugs spreading through my generation. You've got us nailed, you're right. We are all dreamers with art degrees and iPods, Facebook and text messaging. Overgrown teenagers. We consider neuroses a positive character trait, we are douche bags. The funniest thing I've seen this month is a video of an angry Korean man careening down a lift shaft to his death. We call each other hipsters without ever confronting the irony in the fact that the key characteristic of being a hipster is to constantly label others as hipsters in a desperate attempt to set yourself apart. Right now, I'm listening to music that juxtaposes an angular post-rock jazz sensibility with twee and whimsical female vocals... in Japanese. I am by all categorical definitions and imaginable criteria, a dickhead.
However, It's time to embrace the dickhead and let our differences lie. We can't deny that the chasm between us is claiming victims all the time, as 25 year-olds take up knitting and your friends Mum hunts down student boys online we just need to look after each other. There is no real difference between us, the only thing that really changed is our environment, our climate. We construct all these ideas to help make sense of what has happened but in terms of actual, quantifiable change in personality, I don't believe it's so much. And this brings us to what we have to offer and what new things we can bring to film.
Watching Scott Pilgrim Vs The World a couple of weeks ago, I almost felt proud of my generation. We are annoying, but we're not living in a complete cultural void. Things are just happening too fast for us to straddle. We're really not all bad and as things have unfolded we're in a unique position with a whole bunch of phenomena to draw upon creatively. Cue this slew of internet related films and I feel like we're getting in a groove.
When this clip of a Winnebago salesman stressing out gets two million hits on you tube, eventually someone is going to pick up on it. When a bad movie reaches cult status 20 years after it's release and draws its star out from his everyday job as a dentist into an arena where again, he is the star. We need to capture that, I want to see that. And likewise with The Social Network. It's a story of our time, it's a story worth telling. These subjects that some would see as fleeting, are now starting to feel to me as what this era will be remembered for.
“Remember all those movies about McCarthyism/Vietnam/The Internet?”
Who knows, all this attempted wisdom should have probably just stayed in my head, but there I go again. Dickhead.

I've had really high hopes for 3D since Avatar impressed me last year but have only ever been disappointed since. All this retro fitting, remakes and flickering action sequences has really started to bug me. So, when a few months back I heard Herzog was working on a 3D documentary film, I couldn't help but grin. Finally, I thought, a 3D film that isn't going to be a bloated blockbuster.
This films subject The Chauvet Cave in southern France was only discovered in 1994. It contains the most extraordinary array of cave paintings dated from between 23,000 to 30,000 years ago as well as fantastic calcite formations, stalagmites/stalactites and ancient bones of creatures long migrated from the continent. The cave was apparently sealed by a landslide many millennia ago which has preserved everything perfectly. It's really something special to see and the sense of great privilege is conveyed by Werner early on in his very proud introduction. He is the only filmmaker to ever have been allowed access to the cave and throughout I couldn't help picturing everyone at the BBC and Discovery Channel shrugging jealously.
The picture starts with some really beautiful shots of the French vinyards and mountains near the cave. It's presentation is what we've come to expect and it's instantly engaging. Long roving shots from a remote flying camera, hand-held POV's up mountain paths. The problems only start when we get inside the cave. Werner explains that the equipment that they could take in has to be very limited and they use non-professional camera gear. This isn't necessarily the problem though, we can take it with a pinch of salt. The real problem is in the 3D.
First of all there is little light in the cave and so the gain is pushed into the camera signal and there's a lot of digital noise, especially in the dark areas, of which there are a lot. Now, noise/grain is always forgivable, until it starts dancing around in 3D, then it gives you a terrible headache. A lot of the shots are lit solely by a moving torch light and the constant re-focussing of your eyes only strains them further. However. the cave is quite amazing and we get to see it in detail. Later in the film some much better lit 3d shots are shown that really should have been used throughout. Footage of the cave is interspersed with interviews with various characters. The decision to use a rather generic voice over in place of subtitles for these interviews was certainly a small misstep and dries it up a touch, but the film is not without it's moments. There are a couple of hilarious exchanges where Werner has typically cut someone off too early or left them hanging when they have finished. I do get the sense that he has become self aware and when chuckles are raised as Werner describes a cave painting as “Proto-cinema” I detected at least a hint of self parody, which I don't mind at all.
The film winds up with the most spectacularly detailed shots of all, they do linger on a bit too long and I think the back half of the film would benefit from a cut of about 10 minutes. Having said all this, despite the technical distractions, the film is a semi-triumph in the way Encounters at the end of the world was. Some really great personal touches and a fascinating subject, but for god's sake see it in glorious 2D.

A sparse crowd congregated at my apartment this time for another of our east-end film nights, actually it was just Jules and I, but that's okay. Tiff's impending midnight madness screenings and a slew of colds and fevers has thinned the potential guest list but to make up for it Jules has supplied another amazing bounty from his last beer run to Buffalo. The highlight of which was the Sierra Nevada southern hemisphere harvest ale.
Last time out we watched the semi-atrocious Solarbabies, a kind of low budget Mad Max/Lacrosse/Rollerball mashup which supplied laughs and cries in equal measure, all unintentional. Finally though, back to the classics. The quality of the film this week is way up with a long overdue revisiting of Mad Max 2 aka The Road Warrior, on blu-ray of course.
Now, the guys give me a hard time over my hi-def advocacy ever since I spoiled our screening of Hard Boiled by whingeing all the way through the film about the fact it was only on DVD. Can I just say though, it would certainly have been better on blu-ray and Mad Max 2 is a case in point.
This new print looks so fresh and sharp that it feels like it was shot this year. What struck me most about this film is really how well it has stood the test of time. It was in fact even better than I ever remember it being. It is better than I had any right to expect. Somehow, I think they managed to get every element just right.
The cinematography is epic with huge panaromas of the outback "wastelands" of Oz. Some of the shots are so wide you can actually see the curvature of the earth.
The characters and costumes are timeless, gritty and disturbing and though it's pretty over the top it manages to avoid feeling camp and stays menacing. I think the gay biker vigilantes in bondage gear have only become more terrifying as I've gotten older and will continue to do so.
The road chase action sequences are just the best. All done for real and it pays off, you really appreciate the speed and danger of it all. The orchestral score is also a triumph. There's not much dialogue to worry about and what there is doesn't detract. Some of it is even really funny. And the cars, oh the cars are glorious.
The root of this films success though is Max, the quintessential nihilist wandering the wastelands and the fact that Max is so long gone he wants nothing from anyone, he won't let anyone near him. Atleast Travis Bickle had a plan, an aim. There's a beautiful girl, Max ignores her until she is pierced with a crossbow and lies bleeding on some barbed wire. Max doesn't flinch. The "Paradise" that they are heading for, Max knows it doesn't exist. He meets people who try and befriend him, he deletes them from his facebook. Max has really had enough. The only flicker of humanity shows in Max's relationship with the so credited "feral kid", whom is revealed as narrator right at the last moment. The credits rolled and I had to sit and take a moment. I had to watch it again the next day and enjoyed it even more without the distraction of Jules systematically spilling beer on each item of furniture in my apartment. I just love everything about Mad Max 2.
This film is more than just a kitsch cult item, it's a bonafide classic of the genre.

One unbearably humid midsummer evening we foolishly decided to get together at my small un-air conditioned abode and take in some films broken up by our other hobby, drinking beer. Of course we don't simply quaff pints and watch movies, we've simply far too many opinions for that. We taste and critique, watch and analyse, like good snobs should.
Upon arrival Jules immediately de-shoes which after a 5-hour shift at Film Buff East smells somewhere between a ripe Stilton and hot garbage. The good news is he has a heavy looking bag and this week the beers are courtesy of him and his last trip over the border to Buffalo.
It’s my movie pick this week and I’ve gone for To live and die in L.A., a William Friedkin flick starring Willem Defoe as a counterfeiter. What can go wrong? Jules cracks the Unibroue ‘Quelque Chose’ dark/brown ale with cherries and we drink it over ice. It is sour, fruity, cold and cancels out Jules' feet immediately.
The movie starts really well. Great cinematography and music and there are a few killer montages of Willem Defoe screen printing cash in a warehouse. Counterfeiting is such a fascinating subject and showcasing some insider techniques is always gonna win the audience over. He ages the bills he makes by putting them in a laundry dryer with poker chips, dope!
We’re all enjoying it. I’m secretly thinking “This is going straight into my top 10 movies” and Joe reckons the woman on screen is one of the most beautiful he's ever seen, we discuss.

Next up is a sour cherry lambic from Brouwerij Drie Fonteinen in Belgium. It’s oak aged but Jules ensures us it’s “ache oajed”. The film is widening it’s net of intrigue as we’re introduced to the police tracking the counterfeiting ring. They are always one step behind. And sometimes they get shot, not good.
Just as we are dipping our eager proboscises into a super weird "Red & White" malt beverage from Dogfish head brewery I notice this man:

Apparently, you may recognize him from current CSI but I've been fortunate enough to never see him before. His name is William Petersen, he plays one of the main cops hunting down the counterfeiters and he is about to drop nuggets all over this film. He hails from the school of daytime TV soap actors and has all the on screen charisma of a genital wart. His presence is bothering me, must keep drinking. Our final beer is a Yeti Imperial stout from great divide brewery. It tastes like gravy filtered through the charred remains of a narcoleptic arsonist.
I can only think that Friedkin had only pitched the first half hour of the film and thought he would blag the rest. We’ve all lost interest. What am I doing here? By now Jules is drunkenly yabbering between extended stints of choking or coughing. I’m already home so I can’t leave. I wonder what Kris is doing tonight. I fall back on my old faithful, Cameron’s auburn ale and drink into oblivion, it was a beautiful evening, in a way. To be continued...

Whilst anticipation of the 2010 World Cup heightens around here every day, it seems there is no better time to shout about the best footie film in recent memory, The Damned United.
Michael Sheen shines as prickly northern football manager Brian Clough in this "based on a true story" type affair adapted for the screen by writer Peter Morgan (Last king of Scotland, The Queen, Frost/Nixon) and helmed by promising new British director Tom Hooper.
The performances here are strong. Honestly, I'd written off Michael Sheen as merely a Tony Blair impersonator, but with Frost/Nixon and now this he's really demonstrated a range and a unique ability for impersonation that makes him practically peerless.
The Damned United isn't really a sports film at all. It is a much more personal story of greed, ambition, success, failure and friendship to which football just happens to be the backdrop. The film has only a few frames of game footage and skips over important matches instead showing us only the final score. I think this lies at the centre of the films strengths whilst also contributing to it's underwhelming distribution and reception. You see, despite the fact a large mainstream audience would have enjoyed this film if they were to ever watch it, it's hard for people to see it as anything other than a sports flick about someone they've never heard of (at least outside of the UK). No matter how many times I offer this one up as a recommendation, I get very few bites. It's this kind of lazy pigeon-holing by the viewing public that leads to so much focus grouped, target marketed remakes of remakes. Quality films like this should really be the bread and butter of cinema. Nothing too art house or experimental yet nothing insulting to your average intellect, just well written and well told stories.
A look at some future projects reveals that writer Peter Morgan was rumoured to have penned the next James Bond film (to be directed by Sam effin Mendes!) though his name now has disappeared from the IMDB credits. He's also writing a new screen adaptation of John Le Carres' Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy. Director Tom Hooper has recently been announced to direct a new adaptation of John Steinbeck's East of Eden and Michael Sheen has had a part in the next really big 3D film, Tron:Legacy. Shine on you crazy diamond.

The Killer: Hey manz, have you heard about that banskie film?
Me: Uh?
The Killer: Yeah, check this out. There making a banskie films manz!
Me: What?
The Killer: Yeah! They've announceded it and things.
Me: What...
The Killer: Uh-huh! *pelvic thrusts*
Me:... Butter my arse, what on earth are you talking about?
The Killer: ..................
Me: What the shit is a banskie film!?
The Killer: You know, that street artist, Banskie?
Me:.........

So, apparently there's a Banksy documentary on the way. And the trailer looks truly great, see:



Believe me, this whole conversation does pale somewhat when heard next to Kris's rant about some guy named "Bob Hopskins". Yes, Hopskins. But wait! Then The Killer outdoes everyone by lecturing me on how after the Joy Division singer died they morphed into Depeche Mode, who were apparently even better. Amazing. Niki for manager.

In 1948 Hugh Marjoe Ross Gortner of Long Beach, California became an ordained preacher for the pentecostal church. He was four years old.
A gifted preacher, Marjoe reached some fame and notoriety in the American South and earned his parents an estimated $3,000,000 before the novelty had worn off in his teen years. It was around this time that Marjoe became part of the Hippie movement and took stock of what had happened to him, his childhood and the money he never saw.
At twenty and struggling to get by, Marjoe fell back on his greatest talent and again began to preach. He wasn't a true believer, but they believed in him. They flocked to see his Jagger swaggering sermons and paid well for the privilege.

This documentary joins Marjoe in 1971 when he is 23 years old. A crisis of conscience has led him to not only give up preaching for good, but also to show us the preaching racket as it really is. We follow Marjoe for one final tour with a documentary crew under the guise of promoting the church. The film introduces the real Marjoe through a series of interviews interspersed with footage of the sermons he holds. The contrast between the two sides of his character is quite startling and to have this captured on film is quite special, some might say it's a small ironically occurring miracle. The content here was so powerful that at the time it wasn't distributed in many of the southern states. That didn't stop it taking the 1972 Best Documentary Oscar and although it did fade into obscurity for a while, in 2002 the original negative print was found and recaptured for digital release.

Marjoe is a charismatic lead, talking us through his life story and giving us a window into this world. He has an implicit understanding of preaching techniques and the lucrative business behind the scenes. What is shown here feels like full disclosure, we see Marjoe briefing the crew on how to act when in church or that they should cut their hair to fit in. We see his home life and relationships, his real life outside the church and his on stage persona. I read that he was looking to become an actor (and did, sort of) and to leave this life behind him and game some publicity this film was made. Utterly unique and as relevant as ever. Even today it embarrasses the born again crowd better than Jesus Camp and that's saying something. Of course when it comes to the religious right nothing has changed, it's only gotten bigger.

Along with most other people I know born in the 78-83 period I must have re-watched Richard Donner's classic The Goonies well into the double figures. Just yesterday on my 23rd viewing (shut up Joe, you were watching Babe anyway) I realised Josh Brolin plays Brandon the big brother. Cool eh? Buddies? Reminds me of the day I re-watched Flight of the Navigator and realized it was Sarah Jessica Parker all along or when I watched Last man on Earth and recognized Vincent Price's voice from the Thriller music video. Ahhhh, the 80's. I hated it at the time.

Of this weeks delivery I ignored the hoofs and claws in The men who stare at goats and Fantastic Mr. Fox and instead plumped for Brothers, the American remake of a lesser known Danish film from 2004. There has been considerable chatter regarding this remake and the likable cast of Jake Gyllenhaal, Natalie Portman and motherfucking Tobey Maguire seemed promising enough. In hindsight Maguire put in one hell of a performance.
I'm realizing now it's quite hard to talk about this film without spoiling it. Avoid watching the trailer, it ruins the first act of the film and undersells the rest.
In stark contrast to what will be remembered as this years war drama The Hurt Locker, Brothers shows very little of the war itself. Only a brief chapter showing the capture and imprisonment of Sam (Maguire) the older brother is shown. Instead, we are firmly on home turf witnessing an uncomfortable aftermath. There have been many great films to comment on the after-effects of war and Brothers is at the more melodramatic end of the spectrum. Somehow though it comes away feeling very truthful. It is a sharply focused, engaging film and after a six pack of Hoptical Illusion I'm finding it hard to fault. That's not to say that I loved it, but it takes a message and stands by it unflinchingly and there is a certain appeal to that. It feels like a personal story and tells a tale of family, death and paranoia. If you're looking to be shaken by an intense and touching drama you could do much much worse.

The films of Todd Solondz are particularly hard to approach. He doesn't have many vocal fans and with running themes of depression, insecurity, murder, paedophilia, exploitation, bullying, rape and suicide you do have to ask yourself, exactly what kind of mood do I have to be in to sit down to one of these pictures? On paper it's all about as appealing as licking poo off a cactus. However, contrary to my expectations I have found his films resonate with an honesty and morality that makes them both unique and vitally provocative.
Welcome to the dollhouse (1995) has the veneer of a classic coming of age story but quickly steers into more awkward territory as 7th grader Dawn Wiener finds out not only does she hate everyone but everyone hates her. Things go heavily off track only to leave us all intact but with our heads spinning. I really enjoyed this film, it's like Dazed and confused, Freaks and Geeks and Ghost World all had a crack baby. And that baby shat out a film. And this was the sequel to it.
Happiness must've been released at 12:01am Jan 1st 1998, how else would the "No.1 film of the year" on the sleeve make any sense? His most critically acclaimed but personally my least favourite of his films Happiness sees Solondz develop his now trademark episodic caption approach. Philip Seymour Hoffman sells hard as a loner pervert in a plot so droning that it's the individual scenes you remember. Some really powerful characterisation here but it paces like a drunk pigeon in traffic.
Storytelling (2001) is a unique and original experience. A very strong film in which Solondz seems to confront his own issues with film making. He simultaneously lampoons his critics in a chapter where a writing class critique each others work. The statement made is en enigma nestled within a conundrum, but what does come through is a snide, searing criticism of an industry, perhaps even a species that benefits through exploitation of others.
With Palindromes we are again taken on a bizarre trip to the farside. We follow Aviva, a young girl who wants to have a baby no matter what. She runs away from home and what opens up is a debate on abortion, religion and parenting. The film bares various references to Dollhouse including the character of Mark Wiener, Dawn's older brother, now accused of child molestation. Some interesting storytelling techniques are used. For example, multiple actors are used for Aviva the main character. Some people have said this is to show that we are "all equal" but i think more precisely it works by erasing any prejudices across gender, race or age we might have and instead forces us to really learn the character. It is also a comment on the mental state of some of these adults and their child like approach to life.

Whilst these films certainly don't focus on the lighter side of life they also don't totally disregard it. Woven amongst these grotesque ruminations are fleeting moments of pure whimsy and humour. Solondz is going to push you into places that you'd rather not think about. He walks on a fine line and I feel although it's not actually gratuitous or exploitative, it certainly is made to feel that way. While a marathon of his work has left me quite mentally exhausted, it has also left me with the sense that we have a brave and thorny oddball among us that somehow found a voice and in making us squirm is somehow wreaking his revenge.

P.S. Before that guy Anon rears his ugly head, yes Solondz does have 2 earlier films called Schatt's Last Shot (1985) and Fear, Anxiety & Depression (1989). If they ever become available on DVD I'll be sure to let you know how long I felt dirty for afterwards. Solondz latest film Life During Wartime (2009) should be out soon. It stars Paul Reubens (Pee-Wee Herman) and tackles paedophilia....*sigh*.

I'm not sure what Spike Jonze ever did to cast any doubt in my mind.
Was it that the Sabotage video was so overplayed? That Adaptation was "Soooooo Po-Mo bro"? Was it that he worked with uber-cool Beastie Boys, Weezer and Daft Punk before most of us even knew who they were? Perhaps his association with the interminable Bjork? Or the fucking Praise You video which played constantly for two years invariably accompanied by someone insisting "You know, they're all actors".
His collection of films on the "Work of Director..." series was just too bloody good for me to believe he could do anything next other than drop the ball. Malkovich, Malkovich, Malkovich. The truth is, the only thing Spike ever did to annoy me was to consistently surprise me. I don't like surprises, but I can hardly hate him for being prevalent and influential can I? I've found value in everything he's done and though I understand his work will not be for everyone, it's certainly for me.
And that brings us to his latest film Where the wild things are. The source material for which somehow passed by whilst I was busy not reading a whole array of other books. What's clear is it was something very close to the filmmakers heart. With Where the wild things are Jonze has captured the naivety and wonder of childhood in a way that the industry thought we'd grown out of. It reminds me of Roald Dahl books and films from my childhood like Labrynth and Flight of the Navigator. Even more so of Miyazaki's fabulous My Neighbour Totoro.
There could be some sort of analysis made on what it all means and what this or that represents, the truth is it is all somehow grotesque and familiar and I'm sure quite subjective. Just let your guard down and give this one your time, it's a joy. Sure, recognising the voice of Tony Soprano is distracting but the cast overall is strong and dynamic. Catherine Keener has somehow ascended into the sub-zero realm of Kim Deal, all humans may have become obselete next to those two, being cool as fuck has never been exemplified quite so well.
Let's be honest, Pixar and Dreamworks has gone stale, it's time more of us got back to black. Put simply, WTWTA doesn't feel CG and we need that now more than ever. When a triumphant ditty like this somehow falls on deaf ears it makes you think when a certain wild thing exclaims "We forgot how to have fun!" Thankfully not all of us did.

Amazing.