Happy You're Welcome Day!

That's what Princess Di and I call the day after Thanksgiving around our crib because our mamas always taught us to be polite.

Hope everybody had a pleasantly fulfilling Turkey Day. It was the first day in about a week that I didn't have screenings to attend, screener DVDs to watch at home, and lots of things to write as we prepare to leave Monday morning for that cruise to Costa Rica that Princess Di won at the Telluride Film Festival. I think we're sailing on the S.S. Poseidon, which has a vaguely familiar ring, for some reason.

I usually take vacation days the last two weeks of December, when even Hollywood slows down for the holidays. Studios annually unleash a torrent of screenings/screeners to be sure critics see everything they're plugging for year-end awards consideration and top-10 lists. Being locked into a Dec.1 departure for an 11-day cruise (plus two days flying back to Miami and driving home) threw a monkey wrench into the norm.

Big thanks to the p.r. folks who did their best to screen movies earlier than usual to accommodate me.

I've caught most of the key releases, with a Sunday screening of The Curious Case of Benjamin Button being the only theater time left before we leave. Should be a nice way to say bon voyage for a couple weeks.

Part of the deal (for some releases) was that I'd agree to not blog anything detailed about the movies so early. Fair enough. At least they didn't pop that on me after the fact, like Disney with Ratatouille (the Mouse House still won't speak to me after that).

So, I can't go into detail about Sean Penn's astounding portrayal of slain, gay politician Harvey Milk in Milk, which is certain to make him a frontrunner for a second best actor Oscar.

But he'll have competition from Frank Langella's mesmerizing impression of Richard Nixon in Frost/Nixon, that I watched again on DVD to compare the two performances. It'll be a toss-up.

I also had the chance to see Slumdog Millionaire again, and became even more convinced that it'll be in the top-3 of my year-end picks, if not No. 1. It's an amazing piece of work that I hope Warner Bros. gives the push and wide distribution it deserves.

Also watched a DVD of a movie that I'm not sure when (or even if) it will make it to Tampa Bay theaters. It's a Swedish movie called Let the Right One In, a youthful vampire flick leaving Twilight in the dust. Definitely one of the best horror films I've ever seen, hypnotically moody and perfectly framed for Kubrickian tension. I may break my rule of not including films on my top-10 list that don't appear to be coming soon to theaters. It's that impressive.

Saw Meryl Streep and Phillip Seymour Hoffman in Doubt, based on John Patrick Stanley's Pulitzer Prize-wining stageplay. Great performances (as you'd expect) but the movie can't shake its stage-bound roots, and is too vague about a hot-button topic (Catholic priests molesting boys) for a movie. Such subtlety and open-ended non-resolution works better in intimate, live theater.

This morning I'll catch a DVD of Last Chance Harvey, a romantic dramedy that doesn't appear to be a contender but it stars Oscar winners Dustin Hoffman and Emma Thompson, so anything's possible.

I'll have to wait until after returning to see Will Smith in Seven Pounds, Tom Cruise in Valkyrie, Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet in Revolutionary Road, Winslet again in The Reader, and Mickey Rourke's comeback as The Wrestler. There's still hope that Warner Bros. will squeeze in Clint Eastwood's Gran Torino before we leave.

Anyway, this is my way of saying au revoir for a couple of weeks. Hope everyone stays safe and enjoys the holidays. And if anyone says "thanks" to you, say "you're welcome" and not "no problem," which is a casually rude habit I need to break.

 

The Other Side of "Twilight"

Awoke to this e-mail from a reader that I'd like to share:

"I work at the local movie theater here in New Port Richey.  Our theater, unfortunately, did a midnight showing of Twilight last night.  Picture hundreds of squealing ‘tween and teen girls with their boyfriends, mothers, and sometimes fathers waiting restlessly in line for almost 2 hours for this stupid movie.  It was horrendous.

"As a theater employee, I was charged with shilling extra candy and water to these people AFTER they’d already been divested of most of their money at the box office and the concession stand.  Most of them RAN from the podium, after their tickets were torn to get the “best seat in the house”.  Running is not allowed in our theater, therefore, I had to play “hall monitor” for most of the evening.

"I still have yet to see the movie, and I likely won’t, as most every review I’ve read about the movie said it stinks.  This certainly seems to be a case of the hype outperforms the act. Just thought I’d let you know about the working side of the release of this movie.

"P.S. – I have no issues of you quoting me in your article, should the feeling arise, but please call me “Anonymous”.  Keep up the great writing and I have to admit, I agree with you on 98% of your reviews."

Thanks, Anonymous. Words to the wise, or else those paying to see the movie.

"Twilight" fades

I wanted to like Twilight, I really did. I'm certain that the gaggle of 'tween and teen girls commanding the theater did, judging by their reaction. This was a rare time when AMC Theater's introductory logo got a round of applause just for suggesting the movie would begin in mere seconds.

I got a kick out of that, along with the earlier forest of raised hands seeking the attention of a radio station flack (wearing a "Team Edward" t-shirt) to answer impressively trivial questions about Stephenie Meyer's book series. Keep reading, kids. It'll pay off with a better movie version of a fave someday.

In a theater seating around 250 people, I counted only 33 males, excluding those of us working as critics and security staff, so we had to be there. A few men I recognized as "chronics," what we call folks seen at nearly every free screening because they haunt ticket giveaways like Marley's ghost.

One guy there by choice was Alex Huie, 22, of Tampa, who spent the pre-show time sitting alone in a handicapped section seat safely away from everyone but me. Alex clutched a copy of Meyer's The Host, which isn't part of the Twilight series. He calls himself a "hit and miss" reader, so an author must really work to keep his attention. He's also a romantic, judging by his response to my question about the seduction potential of knowing books that mostly females enjoy:

"I would like to think so," he said. "But to find something that intense?

"I'd like to think so"

Alex started to say something else but was drowned out by the AMC logo cheer. I said we might talk after the show. But as soon as the end credits began, a lovely young woman he was separated from (get to free screenings early!) leaped into his lap, hugging and cooing about the movie. Never underestimate the power of literacy and cinema, kids.

And the movie? It's fairly dull, if you're not into Robert Pattinson's eyebrows that are thicker than his lips, and his perpetually sullen expression intended to evoke James Dean (you can Google that reference, kids). Dean has been dead for 53 years and can still emote better than Pin-Up Pattinson. His pallor matched the Pacific Northwest landscape perfectly, which is a polite way of saying he blended into the background.

I liked Kristen Stewart as Bella, although she constantly resembled Sigourney Weaver in Alien, tentatively touring high school halls instead of a spaceship. Their expressions of curious dread are the same. Stewart was in my favorite movie last year, Into the Wild, giving me a taste of the automatic affection that "Twilighters" felt for everything else.

Director Catherine Hardwicke previously displayed a nice way with teen angst, in Thirteen and Lords of Dogtown. That kind of creative empathy made Twilight's high school and parental interactions better than the script alone.

But Hardwicke treats this material so darn seriously. The best parts of the movie occur when tongues slip past vampiric incisors and lodge firmly in cheeks: Bella meeting the Cullen family, trying to be on their best, non-biting behavior; any scene with Bella's blithely protective police chief father (Billy Burke); and the scholastic twits Bella endures at school, driving her toward the dangerous Cullen clan. Humor is what Meyer's material deserves, not austerity.

And this is a very passive movie, considering it's about vampires. Only one neck and a forearm get bitten, and both are tame attacks. Twilight literally needs more teeth. Watching Edward and his kind  scrambling up pine trees and swooping like love bugs toward windshields is only exciting the first time.

But Twilight will make a bundle at the box office this weekend, likely enough to jumpstart the sequel New Moon that Hardwicke not-so-subtly promises at Twilight's last gleaming. Do the math: 17-million books sold times an average $7 per movie ticket, plus several thousand dragged-along boyfriends and uninformed horror geeks responding to the word "vampire" like Pavlov's dog.

Princess Di didn't lose her job...

... her job lost her.

Yes, even the nicest, hardest-working people possible are getting caught in the economic squeeze. But my baby has been here before, and amazed me with her humor and resilience. Princess Di may look like a pushover (and some may think that putting up with a grouch like me is proof) but believing that would be a big mistake.

She got the news Friday before lunchtime, a few hours after I'd dropped her off at work because of plans to leave directly from there for Crescent Beach, a few miles south of St. Augustine, where her parents own a condo. They rent it out most of the year but save a few weekends for family squatters. Di called me after the ax fell, saying something like: "I got laid off, so we can head to the beach earlier."

That's my baby.

So, after a quick stop for a pizza burger (or in Di's case, a pizza dog she suggested to the cook who's now adding it to the menu) and a celebratory shot of tequila, we headed northeast. Since my XM satellite radio now includes Sirius channels, we discovered Margaritaville (Ch. 55), a station devoted to all things Jimmy Buffett, and other music Parrotheads are likely to like. Di knew it was for her when the opening riffs of The Who's I'm Free rang out.

Made it to the condo then headed out for a little pre-concert entertainment. Knowing the weekend of our stay, Di ordered tickets to the Black Crowes concert at St. Augustine Amphitheater, which is like a mini-Ford Amphitheater with fewer teeth in the audience's heads. Di astutely noted that lead singer Chris Robinson looks like Earl ("My Name is...") Hickey. I could've sworn it was Skeeter Meter from Almost Famous onstage. Would it kill these guys to play something early like Hard to Handle or Jealous Again to clue us in a little better?

Anyway, the show was fine, the Rum Runners better and we awoke Saturday to crashing Atlantic waves. I pulled a Bob Newhart on Di when my eyelids opened, telling her: "I just had a bizarre nightmare." Aww, she said, Di-sympathetic until catching on. Then she slugged me.

After an hour or two on the beach, unemployment was the farthest thing from our thoughts. We added to our bar list (the British Pub, Oasis, Nobby's and Hatties, which has a burger wrapped in puff pastry and drenched in brown gravy and grilled onions that's to Di for). All of that got us in the mood for "Cosmic Bowling" at the local lanes, which is like a middle school slumber party with 16-pound cannonballs for pillows.

I distracted the squealing girls in the parking lot by shouting: "IT'S MILEY!" and sliding into the space they had been blocking as they ran in the direction I pointed.

We returned home Sunday morning, listening to more Margaritaville and making the sign of the wave to passing motorists. We do know where to go when the volcano blow.

After watching the Bucs beat Minnesota, we prepped for a rare Sunday sneak preview of Defiance, an extraordinary true story of Jewish brothers (Daniel Craig, Liev Schreiber, Jamie Bell) hiding refugees during the Holocaust. Sobering stuff, made even more so by the fact that several of the brothers' descendants were in the audience. It's also the first time I've seen Jewish characters terrorized by Nazis and not depicted as mere victims. These underdogs kick major butt, drawing cheers from the crowd (who had just visited the Florida Holocaust Museum's new exhibit on the brothers' heroism).

Kind of puts today's problems into perspective, you know?

But Princess Di had a head start on that.

She's getting her resume in order, and by coincidence a headhunter had called her last Monday, wondering if she was happy in her now-former job. But we also have that 11-day cruise to Costa Rica that Di won at the Telluride Film Festival coming on Dec. 1, so she'll do some temp work and maybe a holiday gig at a department store to fill time until the first of the year.

I'll plug along and back her up, marveling at someone who always bounces back like a Super Ball. I may play some golf, which could be a bit awkward since one of the foursome is an executive where Di worked until Friday. He has nothing to do with her job but he'll ask how she's doing and I'll tell him.

Right in the middle of his backswing.

Hitting for the cycle in movies

Seeing four movies in a single day is a rarity, unless I'm at a film festival. Even then, the chances of all four flicks being enjoyable are slim.

Tuesday beat the odds, with a quartet of movies that satisfied on a variety of levels. It occurs to me that it's like Evan Longoria hitting for the cycle, that convergence of skill, timing and luck resulting in a single, double, triple and home run in a game. Like viewing four fine flicks in a day, it doesn't often happen.

The home run was Danny Boyle's Slumdog Millionaire, that I'm definitely reserving a spot for on my Top 10 list of 2008 releases. This should be the indie sleeper of the year when awards are being bandied about.

Slumdog Millionaire is the story of Jamil (played by three actors at various stages of his life), who's introduced as an adult on a roll playing the Indian version of Who Wants to Be a Millionaire. Jamil is on the verge of winning 20-million rupees answering trivia questions. His knowledge of the answers is anything but trivial.

Jamil is so good that he's accused of cheating, and is tortured by the police in order to learn how he does it. When he doesn't break, a detective begins listening to Jamil's explanations of how he knows what he knows. Boyle uses extensive flashbacks to Jamil's youth as a "slumdog," part of India's orphaned masses surviving by hook or crook. By sheer fate, every answer has a tragic, comedic or romantic connection to his past.

It's a fascinating yarn -- equal parts Quiz Show and Oliver Twist -- filmed by Boyle with the same vitality he brought to Trainspotting, 28 Days Later and Millions. Real edge-of-your-seat stuff. Slumdog Millionaire is slated to open locally on Dec. 26, and shouldn't be missed.

The triple was a third viewing of Kung Fu Panda, a movie as visually accomplished as Wall-E or Ratatouille, without Disney's sanctimonious vibe seeming to argue that animated art shouldn't be entertaining for kids or kids at heart. We shared it with friends, Ronnie Lee and Kristin Coffey of Cheers Events, a party planning business helping out with my upcoming story about backyard movie experiences.

Kristin and Ronnie (and their adorably plump baby Kevin, whom I now call "Po," after Jack Black's panda character) set up an inflatable screen in their St. Pete backyard so Times photographer Martha Rial could snap pictures for the story (slated for the Nov. 29 Home section). Chicken wings and a few beers got me thinking that Kung Fu Panda also deserves consideration for my Top 10 list.

The double for the day was Ron Howard's Frost/Nixon, dramatizing the 1977 television showdown between previous lightweight interviewer David Frost (Michael Sheen, The Queen) and disgraced president Richard Nixon (Frank Langella), who won a Tony for the role on Broadway and currently is my pick for a best actor Oscar.

Like most Howard films (Apollo 13 is the best exception), Frost/Nixon is a bit emotionally distant for my taste, until the final 45 minutes when these roles evolve from caricatures to characters with something to win and lose. Langella doesn't offer a make-up-caked impersonation but a telling impression of a proud man for whom defiance was his downfall. Frost/Nixon opens locally Dec. 25.

The single -- and only a surprise bunt legged out -- was Creature from the Haunted Sea, a 1961 schlocker directed by Roger Corman that Ronnie plugged into the DVD player after Kung Fu Panda. I know my father must've shown this thing at one of his drive-ins, but I hadn't seen it.

Strictly Mystery Science Theater 3000 material, with a boatload of Cuban Communists, sneaky treasure hunters and a dumbbell U.S. spy crammed on a boat, terrorized by a monster that looked like a cardboard Sleestack wrapped in crepe paper. Funny, funny stuff, especially with our crew providing commentary.

Nothing I'll want to revisit, but Creature from the Haunted Sea preserved my Tuesday batting average at 1.000 -- a noteworthy accomplishment any day with two or more movies on my to-do list.

Twilight is dawning

My arms are still bruised from pinches to convince me that I wasn't dreaming.

I actually spoke on the phone with one of the tween-dream stars of Twilight, the I-was-a-teenage-vampire's-girlfriend flick opening Nov. 21 (insert girlish squeals here). And, Taylor Lautner previously played Sharkboy -- SHARKBOY! -- in Robert Rodriguez's 3-D mess, The Adventures of Sharkboy and Lavagirl, the best headache inducer in years.

Made me feel like a 13-year-old girl.

Not really.

Everyone connected with Twilight hopes it'll be a hit. No one more than Lautner, 16, who’ll be busier if Stephenie Meyer's three other novels become Twilight sequels.

Lautner plays Jacob Black, who in Meyer's first book is chiefly a chapter 6 source of exposition. Jacob informs the heroine Bella (Kristen Stewart) that her boyfriend Edward (Robert Pattinson) is a vampire, explaining a Washington state Indian legend. Things pick up for Jacob in New Moon, when his own supernatural quirk sets in, making him leader of a pack of werewolves, with his own crush on Bella.

That's the stuff Lautner hopes he’ll have a chance to perform.

"Jacob’s character definitely becomes really interesting in the following book, so we'll see," Lautner said. "That would be really cool. I've been trying to not think about it too much. There's no confirmation on any sequels. Everyone's waiting for opening weekend to see how (Twilight) does, and make a decision right after that.

"So, tell all the fans to go out and see it five times, minimum."

Sounds like Lautner already has a few fans of his own, judging from this comment:

"One of my friends sent me a (Web) link with a note saying: 'What is this?' " Lautner said. "I clicked and it was women's underwear being sold with my name on it. That was very interesting but I have no idea what it's about. I mean, we have teenage girls (as fans) but I think there are just as many Twilight moms out there. It's crazy."

And possibly statutory.

Jolly good election night show on BBC America

Sometimes the best view is from outside looking in.

As a Direct TV subscriber, Princess Di and I spent last night tracking election results on the satellite service's Election Mix 2008 channel. Eight networks at once in a picture-in-picture-times-eight format, allowing viewers to switch between audio feeds. Seven were American networks tripping over each other, filling time with hologram stunts, touch screen techno and that silly Fox News Network gizmo resembling a Lazy Susan on a Thanksgiving table.

The eighth, where we ended up spending a lot of time, was BBC America. Even pundits sound cooler with British accents.

These are a few of my favorite (or "favourite," under the circumstances) BBC America election night moments:

* A BBC correspondent standing in a vast, nearly empty Denver ballroom around 9 p.m., noting that it was the location of a Republican victory party. His stiff-upper-lip diction made it a Pythonesque moment, rather than broad, finger-wagging satire that Comedy Central would've used.

* News crawls at the bottom of the screen with such amusing, alien themes as: "Cricket: Opening batsman Gautam Gambhir misses the final test with Australia after his appeal against a one-match ban is rejected." Glad I learned that before placing bets in Vegas.

* Former UN ambassador John Bolton and his aging porn star mustache, growing testier with each state being called for Barack Obama. At one point, he angrily snapped at a BBC analyst, charging her with "complete ignorance of the Republican Party" when she dared to suggest that Mitt Romney would've been a better running mate for John McCain during such dire economic times.

Nice work, Mr. Ex-Ambassador, offering a microcosm of the hubris that compelled the world to dance in the streets last night because that attitude is going to change. Anchorman David Dimbleby -- now that's a Dickensian name -- politely shushed the dust-up.

* Dimbleby (shown at right) drolly tossing out phrases like: "What did the Republican Party do that got them into the pickle they're in?" and "That's one reason Elizabeth Dole is toast." But no mention of marmalade.

* Finding out where Ted Koppel went after ABC dumped him from Nightline. He's an oldie but still a goodie in such situations.

* The astute observation (if true) that I haven't heard in American media, that Dole's defeat leads to the first time since the 1950's that neither a Dole nor Bush won't hold federal office.

* BBC's lone black correspondent looking as if he'd rather be reporting anywhere besides Georgia.

* Dimbleby interrupting a commentator when a transmission popped up on screen: "Sorry, this is television. While you're talking, the Phoenix Boys Choir is trying to cheer the Republicans in Arizona."

* Another shot of Associated Press workers in Florida getting the facts straight, prompting Dimbleby's observation: "It's a miserable way of doing things compared to the British way. It's a recipe for chaos."

Jolly good show.

Sarasota is out of this Cine-World

If your idea of a perfect film festival is celebrity sightings and endlessly posh shindigs, Sarasota's Cine-World Film Festival isn't your cup of latte.

But if you're into what is probably the finest lineup of movies that will matter a few months from now when year-end award are handed out, Cine-World is right up your alley. Well, not exactly an alley but Sarasota's snug Burns Lane, in the midst of the city's restaurant section, where Burns Court Cinema is located.

This year's Cine-World begins Nov. 7 and continues through Nov. 13.

The Sarasota Film Society built the Burns Court triplex years ago to showcase foreign and independent films. The management doesn't need to book blockbusters to cover the overhead. Sarasota's citizenry champions offbeat cinema 52 weeks a year. One week is dedicated to Cine-World. In recent years the enthusiasm has spread to include Cine-World showings at Lakewood Ranch Cinemas, 10715 Rodeo Drive, at the end of Main St.

This year's lineup of films is impressive, including Mickey Rourke's acclaimed comeback role as The Wrestler (Nov. 8, 8 p.m.), John Malkovich as The Great Buck Howard (Nov. 9 and 11), my favorite Telluride flick this year, the animated documentary Waltz with Bashir (Nov. 9), the Cannes festival prize winner The Class (Nov. 12) and Danny Boyle's highly touted game-show romance Slumdog Millionaire (Nov. 13).

Cine-World also keeps the city's traditional affection for French cinema alive with several Gallic creations, and it encourages young filmmakers with screenings of student films created at Florida State University and the University of Central Florida.

You can find a complete list of films, locations and show times at the festival's Web site.

But act quickly. Tickets sell out fast to local residents. You can reserve tickets online at the festival Web site linked above.

Celebrate "Christmas on Mars" at Beach Theatre

Where does Beach Theatre owner Michael France keep getting these offbeat offerings?

Besides cool, free shows for kiddies (from Jack the Giant Killer on Nov. 8 to Laurel & Hardy's Babes in Toyland on Nov. 29), to timely tie-ins (Casino Royale for free on Nov. 13, followed by a midnight debut of Quantum of Solace), France finds time to deliver freaky stuff that hasn't had enough juice to even be considered cultish yet.

Stuff like Christmas on Mars, a space oddity co-directed by and starring Wayne Coyne of the fuzz-punk band the Flaming Lips. Christmas on Mars will show twice only, both times on Nov. 7, benefitting WMNF-FM (88.5 on your dial, and No. 1 in your heart if you've ever tuned in). Tickets are $7.

The plot concerns, well, uhh, let Coyne try to explain in these Rolling Stone excerpts:

"It's sometime in the future, Mars has been sort of conquered and there's a space station on it but the space program has gone into decline and these people are kind of stuck up there. ... This beautiful woman is giving birth to this sort of artificial impregnation from this bubble that she wears on her stomach, which is the way infants are gonna be born in the future.

"It's all scientifically timed so she gives birth to this baby the second it hits midnight on Christmas. So it's symbolically the beginning of a new civilization. But instead of being born from religious ideas it's born from a science idea."

Flaming Lips multitasker Steven Drozd plays the military guy in charge of creating the pageant; Coyne plays the Martian assisting him.

According to the few critics who've seen it, Christmas on Mars is a do-it-yourself-with-backyard-junk love labor that Village Voice movie critic Aaron Hillis wrote: "'Looks like Eraserhead via John Carpenter's Dark Star, a broodingly absurdist sci-fi fable set on the newly colonized red planet." Sounds interesting, or at least psychotic.