Van Sant follows the mundane and finds the sublime.

It's thin and sometimes a little forced, but all in all effective as a gothic mood piece.

Not quite as atrocious as I was expecting. When the bad guys die they turn into farts.

Django is a handsome companion to Basterds and I will continue to enjoy both to satisfy my revenge fantasty sweet tooth. However, the Tarantino playground is at its most self-aware here. The familiar signatures become distractions, but not so badly that they harsh the buzz of bloody flamboyance.

The confidence of this film defies its many shortcomings. That is a pleasure in and of itself.

It's a tolerable Batman film that successfully combined the stone, steel, and sconces of Tim Burton's Batman with a kitchy neon makeover. In order to appreciate Batman Forever, one must be either 5-12 years old, or a modest admirer of the Adam West era of Batman when plot was inconsiquential, the dialogue was vapid, and the suspense was cheaper than the price of your popcorn.

The ambition of Hulk is impressive enough to outweigh the lackluster product. It combines, for better or for worse, art house imagery, emotional gravitas, and downright philosophical themes concealed by comic book vapidity. If Ang Lee could've have made Hulk in the wake of something as grounded and visceral as The Dark Knight, this film would have been wholly expressive and a riveting spectacle of a tragic hero.

Despite being predictable and a bit corny, I was eventually won over by its heart-warming laudation of cinema and its pioneers.

Super 8? Moses cocksmacks JJ Abrams. Believe.

De Palma's visual mastery is undermined by his awful writing.

There is a peculiar "family film" quality to this zombie gem that I find compelling and entertaining. It has the cheesy warmth of a bad Home Alone sequel.

It ambitiously attempts to be a sophisticated epic, but over-reaches. Instead it resembles a peculiar kind of plot-heavy exploitation. The eccentricities of the film, however, are it's greatest delights. From Brando's painfully mismatched hair/beard combo to the extensive dialogue replacement, Burn! has plenty B-quality charm. But underneath is a story with heart that shines up through the cracks.

It's very uneven, with a rather dodgy script, but within every few scenes there lies brilliant gems that gleam of something Kubrick.

Keaton should really have a photo up by now. I mean, really.

The clarity of information and the moment-to-moment emotional truth is a most aweing feat at such a vicious pace. Fincher's Dragon Tattoo is precise, technically flawless, and organic on a symphonic level.

It was fun, but lacked any real sense of danger. At no point did I feel there was anything impossible about their mission. Extravegant, maybe.

A Dangerous Method begs to be rewatched as soon as it cuts to black. The design of the film is impeccable, and so are the performances, but Keira Knightly's exhausting convulsiveness, stammering, and other familiar identifiers of insanity were grotesque to the point of confusing. Such an extreme element comes as little surprise when considering the director, but it seemed out of context.

The quintesential teenage meathead masterpiece.

If the story were as grounded and nuanced as the performances, The Fan would have been a triumph. But it's Tony Scott, what're ya gonna do?

It's so laughably homerotic and schlocky that it's few surprises, particularly the notorious climax, are more impactful.

Each time Reznik uncovers a clue in this mystery, he is sprung into action with another heady conspiracy theory. But this happens so frequently-- and is so swiftly disproven each time-- that our protagonist loses all credibility to insanity, conditioning us into believing that every Hitchcockian music cue is a signal for another wild goose chase. But alas, Bale's otherwordly performance kept me locked in.

Two and half hours may seem like a long time to dismount your high horse and stomach the cliches, but some envigorating action and sharp performances make it well worth the duration.

Michael Moore wants us to believe that it is unethical to bear arms, and his nagging finger is aimed at individuals and groups that are not all deserving of his blame. However, the film is informative and asks important questions about America's violent nature. For that I commend Bowling for Columbine.

The story certainly weaved into some surprising commentary, but it's unsophisticated pulpiness undermines the intent.

I'm not sure if I've ever seen a film so confidentely anarchic. Graveyard of Honor takes all the demonstrative exploits of the crime genre and amplifies them, celebrating in a fireworks show of unsophistication. It's more than pulp, more than exploitation. It's Miike. And I'm pleased to meet him.

High fructose film syrup. But well acted high fructose film syrup.

I'm delighted that this mindfucker has so long passed me by, unspoiled, until this simple Tuesday evening. What a fun, wild ride.

Jack Black was in DEAD MAN WALKING, he should be added to the cast list.

Please add CELTIC PRIDE!

MERCURY RISING