8-word poem: THE HEATH LEDGER DESERVED HIS OSCAR FOR THE DARK KNIGHT STORY

He should have
Won for
Brokeback Mountain,
Also.

Films I saw in 2008

I loved:

Doubt
Punisher: War Zone
Let The Right One In
Quarantine
Saw V
Appaloosa
Frozen River
Burn After Reading
Tropic Thunder
The Dark Knight
Lou Reed's Berlin
The Last Mistress
My Winnipeg
Iron Man
The Edge Of Heaven
The Diving Bell And The Butterfly
Diary Of The Dead
Michael Clayton
4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days
Cloverfield
The Orphanage
There Will Be Blood

I liked:

House
Body Of Lies
Blindness
The Strangers
Doomsday
Patti Smith: Dream Of Life

I hated:

The Spirit
Quantum Of Solace
Miracle At St. Anna
Wanted
Mongol
Indiana Jones And The Kingdom Of The Crystal Skull
The Happening
Shine A Light
Vantage Point
Atonement

LOU REED'S BERLIN II

   Steve Hunter (left) performing Berlin with Lou Reed.

Lou Reed was in hilarious deadpan form last night during the Q&A following the 8:15 screening of Berlin at the Film Forum.

The man, getting on in years, clearly has mellowed—there is now actual doubt (in my mind, at least) as to whether or not he is being purposefully aloof or just fucking with us. He never once cracked a smile, but conversely never got too agitated, despite having good cause.

My third viewing of Berlin was as good as the first two; this is a movie I could watch endlessly. That being said, Julian Schnabel's "artistic" contributions (home movie-style footage of actors behaving in a fashion vaguely suggested by the songs) are clearly unnecessary—they simply do not advance the story or have any good reason to be included.

Which is THE POINT! Schnabel's touches are in there the way oblique words, images, oddball segues and miscellaneous obtrusive elements find their way into poems! One second you're bombing along, enjoying something resembling a narrative, and—kapow!—all of a sudden you're inside Weirdoville's city limits, where the only language spoken is Obtuse. Then, after a brief look at the main drag, you're back in the real world smiling at an amusing interlude.

I think I "get" it: Berlin, the film, is more of a poem than a concert movie or documentary.

So, ultimately no harm done, though I would LOVE it if an un-Schnabelized version were someday released. And a soundtrack! This film not only captures Berlin, the album, it totally resurrects it, pumping big, bad, overdriven guitar muscle into the affair, along with nicely nuanced accents and a sterling mix. This is the way Berlin always should have sounded.

The camera is rarely forgiving, particularly in close up, where Reed looks every one of his 60+ years (though, by contrast, like Keith Richards' son; to experience the quality opposite of Berlin, go see Shine A Light). The grainy film stock suits Reed and the subject matter perfectly, though the consistently frantic camera movement less so. Maybe the idea was to shoot the thing in Meth-o-Vision, as speed is mentioned in at least two different songs.

After the film and the obligatory "This man needs no introduction, but I'm going to give you one anyway" introduction, Lou Reed seemed to float to his place behind a lectern at the front of the theater (must be all those years of Tai Chi). As the moderator continued to wax rock 'n' roll historic, Reed slowly reached up and snapped off the reading lamp with a sinister air that would have made Bela Lugosi shit himself.

The questions were all selected in advance (audience members were instructed to pose their queries on index cards which were collected before the film), and weren't terribly inspired: How did you pick the musicians for this version of Berlin? How did cavorting with Andy Warhol's Factory crowd and drug use influence your work? Etc., etc.

Things got off to a rocky start when Reed's microphone didn't work, and all Hell threatened to break loose! The moderator, in my opinion, could have easily defused the situation by simply declaring: "For the love of GOD, somebody do something! This is LOU REED!" Instead, the man floundered terribly and finally surrendered his own mic to Reed who indicated his appreciation with a monotone: "I can't believe this place doesn't have two working microphones."

All successive zingers, and there were far too many to count, were delivered in the same flat way, completely lacking affect, yet suggesting entire worlds. Curiously, snark didn't seem to be present—there was an odd playfulness to it all. It was as if Reed were channeling the spirit of a deft stand-up comedian, one who never, EVER, laughs at his own routines. Somewhere beneath the reptilian cool seemed to lurk a light-hearted "Eh, who cares?"

Either that, or he was really pissed.

My question wasn't chosen, and I'm sure many in the audience would have found it inane: "What was it like playing guitar with Steve Hunter after all these years?" Hunter participated in the Berlin album studio sessions, and was part of the subsequent touring band which recorded the legendary Rock n Roll Animal, a live document of said tour. (As faithful readers of this blog will note, it was Hunter's exquisite guitar solo between the first and second verses of Rock n Roll Animal's "Sweet Jane" that made me want to pick up the guitar.)

Hunter, however, was addressed by Reed without any prompting, indicating that perhaps I was on the Lou wavelength from word one: "I love Steve Hunter," he exclaimed and pointed out that Berlin was only Hunter's second album. I felt a quiet moment of musical vindication.

He twice responded to questions posed with: "I don't understand the question." Which brought up the whole "Oh, he's still a bastard!" point, which gave way to the "Is he senile?" concern, followed by the "Wait! He's still just fucking with us!"

There was never a moment when any of this became crystal clear, however. He never broke the fourth wall, so to speak, of being Lou Reed: cool, impenetrable, enigmatic.

So, it was perfect.

LOU REED'S BERLIN

I've already seen Julian Schnabel's filmic treatment of Lou Reed's Berlin twice now, and will see it again tonight at the Film Forum.

Following this evening's 8:15 showing, Lou Reed himself will be on hand for a Q&A!

I've been thinking long and hard about what question I would like to ask him (that he won't respond to with his legendary dismissiveness).

My thoughts on the film are hard (or maybe uncomfortable) to articulate—the fact of the matter is: upon each viewing I've found myself quite unprepared for the emotions that have been conjured.

Even the upbeat (musically, anyway) songs are sad: watching the Brooklyn Youth Chorus bouncing to the beat during "Caroline Says I" is a startling reminder of how innocence exists only for ruination. The collision of their joyous harmonies against the lyrics ("Just like poison in a vial / She was often very vile / But I thought I could take it all") is vintage Reed.

The downers are similarly devastating. Reed's face during "Caroline Says II" and "The Kids" is incredibly bereft, as though he's carrying the weight of his marginalized characters' shitty lives, their pain having finally caught up with him.

I'm not sure a safe question exists.

Films I saw in 2007

I loved:

Hairspray
No Country For Old Men
The Rocket
Saw IV
3:10 to Yuma
2 Days in Paris
Sunshine
My Best Friend
SiCKO
Live Free or Die Hard
1408
300
Black Book
Hot Fuzz
Letters From Iwo Jima
The Lives of Others
Zodiac
28 Weeks Later
Planet Terror
The Science of Sleep

I liked:

The Mist
American Gangster
Blade Runner: The Final Cut
30 Days of Night
The Kingdom
Eastern Promises
Shoot 'Em Up
The Invasion
The Bourne Ultimatum

I hated:

I Am Legend
Before the Devil Knows You're Dead
Lust, Caution
Elizabeth: The Golden Age
Death Sentence
Rescue Dawn
Death Proof

SOME PEOPLE CALLED HIM MAURICE

Anyone who cares about hockey (okay, that's you and you) should skate, not walk, to see The Rocket: The Maurice Richard Story.

The Rocket is a wonderfully entertaining and informative biopic shot in gorgeous sepia-toned splendor, fully evoking hockey of the 40s and 50s. The old-style jerseys (literally "sweaters," in those days), the uncurved stick blades, the pomaded hair styles - it's all faithfully rendered. As is the notion that hockey has always been (and probably always will be) a fringe sport adored by a fervent minority.

And who knew French Canadians were so reviled in Canada? I must've dozed off during the pertinent didactic passages of Ken Dryden's The Game.

I could quibble with the few details omitted - Richard's landmark 50 goals in 50 games; the man's maniacal visage as he bore down on the opposing goaltender (see above) - by why? This is easily the second best hockey film of all time (nothing will ever unseat Slapshot for top honors).

Former NHL star Mike Ricci gets significant screen time as Richard's Montreal Canadiens teammate Elmer Lach, and current New York Ranger Sean Avery does a convincing turn as a Boston Bruins goon. Though I didn't spy him, Vincent Lecavalier - 2006-2007 winner of the NHL's Rocket Richard Trophy for most goals scored during the regular season (52) - is credited as portraying Montreal legend Jean Beliveau.

Top 10 Movies

Richard Lopez, over at Really Bad Movies, is asking for a Top 10 Film list.

It's impossible to share this sort of thing without feeling a bit too exposed. Where are the romantic comedies? The life-affirming thrill rides?

My answer? Right where they belong - on someone else's list.

My list is pretty constant, with maybe one or two variables. That part was easy. It took, however, several days to write cogent explanations for my choices. And then to realize my explanations aren't really that cogent.

In no particular order:

Apocalypse Now - If you think Platoon is a good movie, stop reading this list now. This is not only the quintessential Vietnam movie, not only the quintessential war movie, but the quintessential movie movie.

The American Friend - Directed by Wim Wenders, based on Patricia Highsmith's "Ripley's Game." Sorry, folks, but this blows the Matt Damon version out of the water. Features cameos by directors Nicholas Ray and Sam Fuller, and one of the finest performances of Dennis Hopper's career.

Mulholland Drive - Lynch's masterpiece, in my opinion. I never tire of the way potential cinematic gibberish transforms into art, or the way the narrative defies logic and/or explanation, yet continually invites both. Quoth the Cowboy: "A man's attitude goes some ways toward how a man's life will be. Is that somethin' you agree with?" Totally!

The Fourth Man - Paul Verhoeven's "art" film has been called a black comedy, but to me it is the perfect psychological/spiritual thriller. I love movies where it's unclear if what you're seeing is actually happening or not. Tons of overt, but beautifully rendered, symbolism. In Dutch!

Sorcerer - An amazing example of 1970s filmmaking, when violence was ample and without apology, and the blood was that ever so slightly off-red color. Gritty, disturbing and utterly existential. Roy Scheider's finest hour as a small-time mobster on the run. "Ask for Nat Glick."

Goldfinger - Sean Connery + Gert Frobe + Oddjob + Aston Martin DB5 + naked girl painted gold = Iconic Bond.

Oldboy - Quite possibly the most emotionally draining film I have ever seen. Incredibly violent, relentlessly depressing, hopelessly shocking, and entirely engaging. Revenge is a dish best served cold? Not if it's dumplings!

Rushmore - Hey this is sort of a comedy! Men seem to like this movie much more than women, which I find interesting. I identify with Bill Murray's world weary character, not Max Fischer (whose absurd optimism frustrates me - surprise!). A very touching film, to my mind. More touching than funny, actually.

After Dark, My Sweet - The old "down on his luck ex-boxer/nuthouse escapee (Jason Patric) is seduced by a lonely beauty of iffy morals (Rachel Ward) and lured into a kidnapping scheme bound to go wrong by a shady ex-cop (Bruce Dern)" routine. How do you spell double-cross? N-o-i-r.

Things To Do In Denver When You're Dead - The best hard boiled dialogue I've ever heard. Characters named Jimmy the Saint, Critical Bill, Easy Wind, Franchise, Pieces, Mr. Shhh, Baby Sinister, and The Man With the Plan populate this flick. Jack Warden's performance as a retired wiseguy/Greek chorus steals the show.