Opening day of Where the Wild Things Are was once so far away that it seemed theoretical, but here we are, and Walter's review is up, and since we generally hold talkbacks for the dork event movies, have at it.Some other, random talking points:- Last night, "The Office" followed up their transcendant wedding hour with what is easily the worst episode in the show's history, an epic fail I didn't think they'd even be capable of until that inevitable day when Steve Carell's contract runs out and he's replaced by Ted McGinley.
- I was a bit of a shit disturber at Glenn Kenny's Blog yesterday in a post linking to a Salon survey of film types on their favourite Coen Brothers movie, but I was disappointed to see so much Lebowski love from people with a presumably broader palette to choose from than your average cubicle drone. On the other hand: great movie. If I recall correctly we all put our favourite Pixars in order before Up came out; now that A Serious Man has gone wide, how would you rank the Coens' oeuvre?
- If my Twitter experience has taught me anything, it's that I'm not as compulsive as I thought. Sadly, I'm hemorrhaging followers as a result.
- Did I mention we have a new book out? Also, to answer a common query of our international readers, I suspect the Superannual will go on sale at Amazon in November.
Too long for Twitter, too brief for the capsule page, some quick takes on films screened at this year's TIFF:
Jennifer's Body (d. Karen Kusama)
I missed a good chunk of Jennifer's Body's first reel, so I think it would be dubious of me to assign it a star rating; nevertheless, it would have to be a hell of a redeeming opening for me to consider going higher than *. Why is Karen Kusama directing a movie this high-profile after the hard flop of Aeon Flux when Joe Dante's reduced to "Goosebumps"-style kiddie fare after the comparatively-revered Looney Tunes: Back in Action? Kusama again shows a special talent for blurring that fine line between camp and ineptitude (see: step-printed flashbacks to little girls playing with Barbies), and Megan Fox, the sex object from the Uncanny Valley, delivers some lines so sluggishly I felt bad for keeping her up. (Attention tit fiends: the paparazzi captured more skin with their zoom lenses on the set of this film than actually made it onto the screen.) I hope Walter or Ian tackles it in general release--it could really use the new asshole--but in the meantime I recommend Glenn Kenny's take for his articulation of the Diablo Cody Problem. ????/4
My Toxic Baby (d. Min Sook Lee)
This one's a documentary, only 45 minutes long, and scheduled to air on Canadian TV in the coming weeks. It's nightmarish, but not for the same reason it intends. Director and narrator Min Sook Lee is a new mother growing increasingly paranoid about the invisible threats to her daughter; in the film's best sequence, she invites a toy tester into her home to check for lead and soon has him scanning her whole kitchen for traces of the stuff. (Cut to: hubby tearing out the cupboards.) The punchline is that a tox screen reveals her daughter is practically antiseptic, though Lee's closing voiceover suggests she won't be satisfied until the kid's fitted for a Hazmat suit. Setting out to enlighten and inform her fellow parents, Lee instead captured the onset of OCD from the eye of the storm. Also: Pox Parties? Ick. ***/4
Opening day of Where the Wild Things Are was once so far away that it seemed theoretical, but here we are, and Walter's review is up, and since we generally hold talkbacks for the dork event movies, have at it.
