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Modern documentary retracing George Mallory's 1924 Mt Everest attempt, which ended in his and his companion's disappearance. His frozen body, with compound fracture, was found in 1999.

1924 was near the end of the glory years of the old explorers. Both poles, darkest Africa, perfumed Asia, tropical South America, all have been trekked. Only that peak remained to be claimed.

Two modern climbers retraced Mallory's path, wearing layered clothing, fur hats, hobnail boots, goggles.

The ladder, placed near the top in the 70s (and used since by countless handicapped, overweight, blind wannabee mountaineers) was removed.

Film swings back and forth between Mallory, his letters, the 20s and the difficulties the modern duo encounter.

Cold is ever present, and caused one viewer in the room to move closer to the fire.

Focused documentary on cyclist Lance Armstrong and the substance use denial. Scant in the way of in-depth biography - marriages, kids, friends, nada. Couple of stills of him with his single mom. When he arrived on the cycling scene, doping was prevalent. Indeed, cycling in general suffers a long, sorry history of cheats and frauds. Nowadays, the money incentives are staggering. Few athletes - of any sport - remotely resemble normal humans. All professional sports seem to be as real as wrestling. I never liked Armstrong, though I empathized with his situation. Had he not joined all other contestants in steroids and blood tweaking, Lance would have been no one, another Damien Nazon.

My bride phoned from the library, vampire movie in hand. John Hurt, Tilda Swinton. Sure, get it, I said. I flipped the box when she brought it home and, Jim Jarmusch! Oh, no!

Film not as self-indulgent or pretentious as feared.

Story of two intellectual vampires, enduring the centuries. Dreamy, drowsy, slow paced, filmed in nighttime Tangier and Detroit. Film raises several points, one being the dire consequences of tainted blood. Dark irony of the food supply being so self destructive. Terrific use of brooding music, conversations delivered in monotone, and the feeblest of lighting to cast an aura of weariness. Definitely worth chasing down, but it is lethargic and demands patience and concentration.

Note: for other non-Jarmusch fans (such as myself) this was a nice one.