Reason #23876 Why I Love "Frances Ha".

Even the casting means something! That's Greta Gerwig as Frances (Woody Allen surrogate figure) with Grace Gummer looking exactly like her famous mother did at her age:

#swoon

Can Someone Give This Dress an Oscar?

Just wow.

Motifs in Cinema: The Inevitability of Death

Motifs in Cinema is a discourse across 22 film blogs, assessing the way in which various thematic elements have been used in the 2012 cinematic landscape. How does a common theme vary in use from a comedy to a drama? Are filmmakers working from a similar canvas when they assess the issue of death or the dynamics of revenge? Like most things, a film begins with an idea - Motifs in Cinema assesses how the use of a common theme across various films changes when utilized by different artists.

"I am not afraid of death, I just don't want to be there when it happens." - Woody Allen

Death has fascinated the human kind since the moment of its creation. It has always been said that art was in fact invented as a way for us to defy mortality. What we create, ideally, remains forever. While movies have had a special fixation on what happens after we're gone (perhaps because filmmakers believe they can interpret the idea of an afterlife or earthly purgatory visually) 2012 gave us a roster of films in which death went beyond the limitations of our bodily existence and filmmakers realized that death might also threaten things that were once thought of as immortal.

In the remarkable Holy Motors, Leos Carax brings up the eternal question: is cinema about to die? This question has plagued the art form even before it was thought of as an actual art form. Film, more than any other art, has always been plagued by accusations of fugacity. Why has literature or sculpture never faced such fate? What does paper - which is arguably as spoilable as celluloid - have that film doesn't? Carax observes this through the eyes of someone who's perhaps worried that the digitalization of our world might put an end to the photographic tradition, and as such the movie does a marvelous job in reminding us there is true pleasure in the idea of film, but it fails in achieving a sense of doom. Perhaps Carax wasn't attempting to discourage hope, he was just welcoming the beginning of a new era.

The death of tradition and old world culture is seen palpably in Michael Haneke's Amour, a film that deals with actual physical death, but isn't really about people, but about the passing of generations and the ideas carried by generations. The film's central premise wonders what happens to us when we stop thinking rationally, when nature deems us incapable of fulfilling the promise of immortality we've made ourselves and we are back to being basic creatures with animal needs who care only about survival. The film's "cruelty" is that it reminds us that not only are our bodies deemed to vanish, but also our creations. There is no enough culture, refinement or education that can save the movie's characters from vanishing, not knowing where they're headed and what was everything really about.

The death of love and traditional romance are studied by the wonderful Joe Wright, an uncompromising aesthete who has no trouble removing "emotion" when it serves a higher purpose. While I wasn't a fan of his Anna Karenina perhaps because I'm used to the more traditional readings of it which highlight the fiery passion and romance of Tolstoy's novel, I admired the way with which Wright reminds us that romance might only be a series of plays we put on to convince ourselves we are not cruel and wicked. His interpretation of Anna Karenina - as played by the incredible Keira Knightley - takes love to a level of intellectualism that punches us in the gut. By the time Anna jumps in front of the train we are convinced it wasn't an easy escape, it was her only one.

Like in Amour and Holy Motors, Miguel Gomes' Tabu explores the death of an era. The film could easily form a trilogy with the other two, each one envisioning the end of traditional aesthetic systems through a distinctive eye. In his gorgeous black and white movie, Gomes sees movie history played out in reverse: his film opens with a talkie and ends with a silent movie. We travel back in time as Gomes takes us to a state of "primal existence" where we go beyond the narrowness of "life" and are forced to become one with art. Can movies faithfully interpret lives? Are movies for that matter alive? Tabu easily convinces us that a movie too is a breathing organism subject to whims and emotional changes. Perhaps more significant is to realize that European filmmakers were observing art through similar lenses. Haneke, Carax and Gomes, all creators from different countries, contemplate the end through their own idiosyncrasies, all of them see life and art through the undeniable eye of post-colonialism. When across the ocean we were watching new filmmakers, like Chile's Pablo Larraín, explore life through the refreshing eye of new media (for what is No, if not a hopeful love song to modern life?) back in Europe, artists were obsessed with the end, trying to salvage the pieces they could before everything was just lost...have all these people been watching Melancholia too much?

In the United States, a country which unarguably has mastered the commercial aspects of cinema more than the artistic ones, we got a devastating look at the end of an era as well, only this one wasn't marked by culture or art, but by economic and political power (2012 might've been the one year in recent memory where countries evoked their entire history through key films) In her glorious Zero Dark Thirty, Kathryn Bigelow wonders what happens to a country when a collective ideal has been fulfilled. What happens when you destroy the enemy? Where do you go from there? Wisely Bigelow acknowledges that she has no answers, but what she does with this isn't going against the American idea of patriotism as defending your country without being critical of its shortcomings, instead Bigelow might be one of the most important thinkers of her time. Her movie has been accused of many things, all of which have to do with peripheral details that really amount to nothing. No one in Europe accused Haneke of using torture, even if he has a manipulative record much more prominent than Bigelow's for example. With her ambiguous take on America as a nation on what might be its most significant threshold, it's a shame that Bigelow's ideas are received with torches and pitchforks instead of with open minds. In a society where ignorance and bliss have become one the death she announces in her movie might be more of an eulogy delivered a little bit too late.

To Rome with Love ***

Director: Woody Allen

Cast: Alec Baldwin, Alessandro Tiberi, Alison Pill, Ellen Page

Fabio Armiliato, Flavio Parenti, Greta Gerwig, Jesse Eisenberg

Judy Davis, Penélope Cruz, Roberto Benigni, Woody Allen

When watching the newest Woody Allen movie, it's almost impossible not to bring up familiar issues; the most prominent of all being, of course, how Woody always brings up the same issues. However with each passing film, it becomes more obvious that even if his themes become repetitive, they are never dull and a so-so Woody Allen film is still leagues ahead of anything else being done.

Take To Rome with Love for example; after the delight that was Midnight in Paris, it seems almost "mediocre" in comparison to the pure joy exuded by the previous one and the deftness with which it wove different eras and stories. Yet the truth is that in each European city, Woody has made a movie that reflects the city's personality through his own neuroses. 

Time and time again, he has exclaimed that his movies aren't autobiographical, and it would be easier to believe him, if he hadn't created a persona we have come to assume is the real Woody Allen.

In Rome, he plays Jerry, a retired musical director, married to a psychoanalyst (played with extreme gusto by the oh-so-ever-fabulous Judy Davis). Jerry is recently retired and according to his wife, equates this with being dead, therefore he sets his hopes in his daughter's (Pill) future father-in-law (Armiliato) a mortician who also happens to have an extraordinary voice.

Obsessed with turning this man into a star, in the process regaining back "life", Jerry dares to stage a version of Pagliacci that defies all good taste and after the critics speak unfavorably, his daughter goes "he's been called worse".

This fighting spirit, which acknowledges how Jerry didn't manage to please critics, might as well be meant to represent Allen's career. For all we know, what if the time-travel concept of Midnight in Paris had been deemed ridiculous? Or what if the ghostly themes in Scoop had been universally praised?

What we come to understand is that he isn't as obsessed with the result as he is with the creative process and that might very well be the unifying theme of the movie; how people are in a constant search of creation.

Besides Jerry's story, we have three other plots that make up the film: there's newlyweds Antonio (Tiberi) and Milly (Mastronardi) who get caught up in a misadventure borrowed from Fellini's The White Sheik and involves movie stars and prostitutes (played by Luca Albanese and Cruz respectively). We also meet John (Baldwin) a famous architect who becomes the voice of the conscience to the young Jack (Eisenberg) as he struggles between staying with his girlfried (Gerwig) or going after her free-spirited friend Monica (Page). Finally there's Leopoldo (Benigni in an unusually restrained performance) an everyman who one day wakes up to realize he's become famous.

All of these stories are told effectively and all seem to represent something that Woody might've wanted to explore further (perhaps on a feature length?) and the film's biggest flaw might be precisely that it wants to cover too much.

The forced finale of the John/Jack story for example (which echoes of the brilliant Vicky Cristina Barcelona) make it seem as if it's the resolution what matters the most and not the fact that we are never told if John is the older version of Jack, or if he's just a "friendly" manifestation of his subconscious or perhaps some playful spirit. Nuances like the Bergman-ian fact that Jack and John are practically the same name, get lost in the tangle of overwritten dialogues and awkwardness from Eisenberg and Page who never fully bloom as truly sexual creatures. 

Then there's the delicious ode to home as seen in the newlywed story, which might not be linked to any other plot (none of the stories ever cross paths) but shares a theme with Leopoldo and his sudden overdose of fame. Allen is a wry observant and lets us know he's aware of how all the Kardashians of the world are occupying spots that once were allotted to people who earned their notoriety on positive terms. 

The movie as a whole, despite its golden cinematography and constant reminders of the city's beauty, can't help but be tinged with bittersweetness, something Allen must've gotten from Fellini's La Dolce Vita, which also made us wonder about the price we pay for fame and reinventing our humdrum lives. 

While Fellini's masterpiece had almost nothing pleasant to say about our society and even declared at one point, everyone would give their backs to purity in the name of hedonism, Allen's take is meeker and shall we say humbler? He is aware of the destruction and chaos, but he makes us look at Rome, with its gorgeous ruins and timeless architecture, and asks us if this isn't worth trying a little harder for.

(My) Best of 2011: Picture

10. Meek's Cutoff

Kelly Reichardt's revisionist Western was the greatest political movie of 2011. Combining post-feminist theories with a clear questioning of the Obama administration, the film used a historical event to sketch a very accurate portrait of the current state of America. Bruce Greenwood gives a brilliant performance as the charming Stephen Meek, a pioneering explorer leading three families to new territories, who refuses to acknowledge the fact that he has lost his way and is dragging them along to perdition. The film's ambiguous finale, made all the more fascinating because it happened due to budget problems, actually works as an unintentional but poignant reflection of a world economy that is making freedom of expression a luxury.

9. The Tree of Life

For decades, Terrence Malick has been one of the very few working artists who has proved to be in utter and complete awe of our planet and its creation. Instead of following the path of other filmmakers who more and more try to conceal their characters from nature or others who altogether decide to move their stories to different planets, Malick preserves an utmost spirit of wonderment. He is fascinated with the process of "creation" which usually gives his movies a Christian feel. However, in The Tree of Life he reminds us that atonement has little to do with organized religion and more with unity, at-one-ment. His movie might seem like a dream comprised of dinosaurs, abusive parents and traumas, but judging from the way in which one reacts to it, it's more similar to mystical ecstasy than facile psychology.

8. Drive

Nicolas Winding Refn's neon-noir work of art was a refreshing take on the mythical figure of the American cowboy, who has now moved to the city and remains as mysterious and unbreakable as ever. The visionary director makes his hero, a questionable figure who has to deal with common things like working for a living but it still happens to be ruled by a strict moral code that separates him from other mortals. As portrayed by Ryan Gosling, the nameless Driver is a figure we can admire, fear and lust after. If Refn was trying to make a point about the way we project our desires onto others, he does it while stimulating both our intellect and injecting us with adrenaline. The action sequences in the film have a strange beauty that might not send us flying off our seats with thrills, but stir thoughts within us, similar to what modern art does. Like Mulholland Dr. the film was also a critique to the Hollywood way of life, with Refn both reveling in the artifice of Los Angeles and reveling its polished decay. With its spare dialogues and bright colors, it's as if someone loaded Tarantino on Xanax and asked him to make a 70s Clint Eastwood vehicle using Michael Mann's aesthetic sensibilities.  

7. Certified Copy

Nowadays, it's rarely a joy to encounter a movie that foregoes all notions of traditional plot in order to explore the world of ideas. Most movies that try to do this end up confusing intellectualism with bullshitting and rely on facile tricks to convince us about their intelligence. Abbas Kiarostami's Certified Copy ought to change that because it finds unbearably touching humanity in a fascinating intellectual essay. Wondering what makes something a "copy" he explores the notions of creation and recreation by using people. Kiarostami could've easily turned his characters into puppets used to channel a message, but like a generous god he provides them with a soul. If only all philosophy was this richly realized...

6. Shame

It's strange to think of it, but the one thing the characters in this movie never seem to feel is actual shame. Michael Fassbender plays a man with a destructive sexual addiction and Carey Mulligan plays his alcoholic and equally chaotic sister. The siblings live in NYC and seem to have carved a personal playground of pain under the city's stars. Other directors could've shamed their characters and reduce them to morally acceptable examples, but Steve McQueen merely observes them and lets them be. The film is filled with scenes of utmost loss and despair but they are treated with such delicate bluntness that we have no choice but to try and empathize with these people. The film's most poignant scene has the siblings watch a cartoon on TV and for a moment it seems like they've found peace. Even if it alludes to the origin of all our problems in our childhood, it also achieves a mystical connection that resembles time travel.

5. Martha Marcy May Marlene

The year's most astonishing debut had Sean Durkin revisit the dreamlike aesthetics of 70s movies while giving Elizabeth Olsen the richest female role of 2011. The film deals with the trappings of a cult and the consequences their practices have on believers. But besides pointing out the perils of submitting yourself to the will of others, the film draws a fascinating parallel line that studies fact and fiction, the way in which we are our own creators and how we can build entire worlds to fit our needs. The title protagonist isn't merely complex because she can become so many different people, she's fascinating because she evokes the never ending process of creation; we are never sure how many people she has been and how many people she will be. The film's technical achievements were unusually inventive and helped the director transmit paranoia in open spaces, making nature both a witness of our distress and an eternal perpetrator of evil.

4. The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

Who would've guessed that director David Fincher would craft his most personal movie to date from a pulpy bestseller? The way in which he grabbed the story of hacker Lisbeth Salander and ruined journalist Mikael Blomkvist and turned it into an exhilarating conversation with god, was a perfect reminder that art was invented to connect us to what we couldn't explain. Sure, the film succeeds as a fantastic, exciting thriller (something its Swedish predecessor did with just as much efficiency but without the aesthetic grace) but it works at its best when Fincher leads us past the plot twists and points out the fact that we all hide skeletons in our closets, our collection of personal experiences becoming a cabinet of horrors and wonders alike.
That he allowed Lisbeth to dream of love speaks highly of the director's humanistic side, that just as easily he  takes illusion away from her, speaks of his ruthlessness as a creator.

3. Midnight in Paris

Woody Allen's Midnight in Paris was a surprise because it proved for once and for all, that its maker is one of the few artists blessed with the ability to rejuvenate himself when least expected. How can he keep on finding beauty in subjects he's dealt with constantly for more than four decades? How is it that his movies always seem to be about the same things and each time we find ourselves enthralled by their deep wisdom? His love song to Paris and some of his heroes is a remarkably enjoyable piece that pretty much fulfilled whoever saw it. Like enjoying a rich, perfect dessert, the film pleased and delighted without overwhelming the palate, every time it left you wanting more.

2. Melancholia

The end of the world has never been treated with the delicacy Lars von Trier presents it with in Melancholia. Coming from the ode to chaos that was Antichrist it would've been easy to assume that the director had definitely entered a period of complete darkness, for how does once descend into such hell and come back unscathed? Like mythical heroes, von Trier not only emerged from the underworld alive, he came out with a new sense of appreciation for the beauty in life. His movie about the end of the world is tragic yes, but within the deep pain portrayed by his actors and the precision of his almost operatic conduction (he finds a beauty in chaos that people like Michael Bay and Roland Emmerich only dream of  achieving) there is something breathtakingly beautiful. He does not relish in making others suffer this time, instead he seems to be for the first time looking at death right in the eyes and embracing the sense of peace found in its irreversible finality.

1. Weekend

There are romances with repercussions that resonate for as long as we live. Said romances usually end before we are ready to give them up. Without us being aware of the fact that we are living something that will establish a "before and after" in our existence, we then discover we revisit these moments forever and they most likely will accompany us to our deathbed. Then, there are movies that deal with these romances. Movies like Casablanca, Lost in Translation, The Way We Were, Brief Encounter...all of which talk of love that was, love that is and love that will forever be. Like said romances, we also find ourselves revisiting these movies in our dreams more often than we'd like to. Can it be that we all harbor a secretly masochist hopeless romantic within? Or is it that real life never fulfills what art promised? Both could be answers that come to mind while watching Andrew Haigh's Weekend, this miniature masterpiece is a lovely exercise in style, execution and transcendence. The way in which the director enters the lives of two men who fall in love over a weekend, is nothing if not exceptional. Haigh has such eye for detail that we have to ask ourselves if this wasn't taken straight from one of his memories, watch how lived in the spaces feel, how effortlessly the actors live within these characters...the magic in Weekend is that it doesn't really feel like a movie, it feels like we're witnessing real life, things happening right in front of us. Where it could've been political, the film forgoes the dynamics of homosexuality and instead focuses on the complexities of humanity. Instead of concentrating on representing specific concepts and conceptions, the film aims to address our hearts without forgetting our minds. If you find yourself thinking about Weekend long after you've seen it, you will understand what the characters felt. The movie sometimes becomes too painful to watch, its simplicity bordering dangerously on docudrama without reducing itself to the tackiness of reality shows. However like a failed romance, there is much more to gain from the movie, than the idea of not having it in your life. To watch this movie is to witness love itself being invented. The precision of its storytelling, a reminder that like everything else, love too must fade. The dreamlike quality of its urban spaces an invitation for us to pursue it no matter what.

(My) Best of 2011: Director

5. Andrew Haigh for Weekend

What Andrew Haigh does with his camera in Weekend defies the cinematic idea of intimacy, because we forever wonder: how did he get his actors to become so unaware that they were playing characters and were being filmed? Not even pornographic films, which are supposed to be chronicling moments of complete intimacy, are able to make us feel like we're invited to the party. The way in which he managed to get the equipment and crew inside Russell's (Tom Cullen) little apartment from example at some point or another would've demanded that we became aware of the limitations imposed to movement. However this never happens, all along we're meant to feel not like voyeurs but like guests. Whether Haigh invited us to make us more aware of social causes or merely because he wanted to give us a taste of what falling in love feels like, he is always leading us without us feeling directed. He finds sublimity in the subtle.

4. David Fincher for The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

Who would've guessed that David Fincher would craft his most personal movie to date, from an international best-seller which had already been turned into a movie? His take on The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo isn't only a procedural thriller, but an open dialogue with a universe he still doesn't get. If god talked through Terrence Malick in The Tree of Life, Fincher talks through god as he wonders about the way in which the human race has turned the notion of civilization into chaos. Why are the Adams of the world so keen on destroying the essence of the Eves? Why is history so important and yet disregarded with such ease at one's convenience? Why can't nature and progress go hand in hand? Fincher shows us a dark, icy world in which humans have become nothing more but pieces of ice, awaiting a thaw that might just never arrive.

3. Woody Allen for Midnight in Paris

Not since Manhattan had Woody Allen delivered such an endlessly pleasurable work of art. You're thinking The Purple Rose of Cairo or Hannah and her Sisters, right? Yet even those dealt more strongly with deeply melancholic currents of thought. In those movies he questioned the universe, in this one he questions and then seems to find enlightenment in the lack of an answer. His previous effort was a movie that came out with harsh, bitter tones, something acceptable but that reflected awfully because for a moment it teased of a career that would go downhill from there. Perhaps Midnight in Paris resulted so successful because it was a surprise. Not everyone can grab life and find hidden gems among its every day misery in the way Woody can.

2. Sean Durkin for Martha Marcy May Marlene

Not since Joshua Marston's Maria Full of Grace had a feature length debut felt so electrifying and had such subtle "look at me" power. Is it a coincidence that both movies are commanded by strong female characters undergoing extraordinary situations? Perhaps not. The one true thing is that both debuts felt like the work of masters of the art form, only leading us to wonder, how will they ever be able to top this?

1. Lars von Trier for Melancholia

The mad Dane has done it again! After his previous movie which was an undeniable masterpiece, he might've actually gone ahead and delivered the most flawless movie of his already breathtaking oeuvre. His gorgeous Melancholia followed a pattern that was quite common in 2011 films: realizing that the world sucks, that humanity is rotten and that this might all just implode one day, but still they found something beautiful among the decay (see Drive, Midnight in Paris, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, Bridesmaids, Shame). What makes Melancholia different from all of these movies is that each and every frame in it shined with the sort of artistry that eludes most filmmakers for as long as they make movies. To see how Lars orchestrates chaos and turns it into a gargantuan opera conformed by sensitive, chilling arias is nothing if not mesmerizing and despite his film's tragic finale, it reassures us that if there is a god, he wouldn't want to destroy a civilization capable of creating such beauty.

I Know You Are, Pe...

I make it my mission never to watch trailers - or to seek them actively at least - however I could not resist the temptation of watching the Woodsman's newest. All I can say is: I want it now!

Watch here.

Update: I discuss the trailer over at The Film Experience. Go read now!

Sheet-y Saturday.

Where we take a look at posters for upcoming features.

With horror posters going lazier and lazier every day, it was quite refreshing to see this one-sheet for The Cabin in the Woods, which is comprised of...wait for it, critics' blurbs! It probably makes sense that if you make a horror movie and it, gasp, gets good critical notices, you're going to want to feature them somewhere. Then again if you have the likes of Chris Hemsworth in your movie you'd also want to show him, right? The boldness of this poster alone is enough to guarantee I'll be watching this ASAP.

When you're a Woody Allen movie you have to be prepared to receive criticism for every single thing you do. If you're good, you still will never be as good as Annie Hall, if you're bad, you're an offense to humanity and your maker should suddenly be arrested and jailed for marrying his step-daughter. If your maker cared about all the crap people will say about you, you'd never be released. However your maker loved making you so much that you should be proud of him and face the world with dignity. Who cares if your poster looks like it was put together by Nancy Meyers' sloppy marketing team? At least you can brag about boasting one of the most charmingly peculiar casts ever put together.

Excited about either of these releases? Wondering how on earth can Woody still make a movie a year?

(My) Best of 2011: Supporting Actor

5. Kiefer Sutherland in Melancholia

Lars von Trier's movies never seem to give space for his male actors to thrive. More often than not men are "pawns" of sorts in the larger scheme of the female driven universes created by the mad Dane. Just think of the fates of Willem Dafoe in Antichrist and Stellan Skarsgard in Breaking the Waves. Because it's often the women who give the most arresting performances in his movies, it seems that the men are a bit underrated and what he achieves with Kiefer Sutherland in Melancholia should by no means go by unnoticed. Playing the loyal husband of Claire (Charlotte Gainsbourg) he divides himself drastically in the movie's two chapters, in the first he has to play a strong head-of-the-house who tries to make his sister-in-law (Kirsten Dunst) understand that despite his affection for her, he is still the, literal, king of his castle. His strong charisma shifts in the latter chapter to give way to a man who quite simply loses all faith in the things that had supported him before: science and love. Watching his destruction parallel to the "larger" events going on might be all the more haunting because Sutherland never allows his character's limitations to prevent him from being completely unforgettable.

4. John Hawkes in Martha Marcy May Marlene

There is something so seductive about John Hawkes in this movie that defies all laws of attraction. Why would anyone want to be with someone who forces them into an alternative but violent cult, constantly rapes you, makes you fall in love with him and then not only ignores you but makes you aid him in finding new lovers? Yet somehow that's what he does as Patrick, in Sean Durkin's remarkable directorial debut. There is something so effortless about the way in which Hawkes movies in front of the camera, something so menacing about the way he looks when he smiles and yet we totally "get" why the title character (Elizabeth Olsen) can't stay away from him for long. This performance must be what they mean by "magnetic".

3. Chris New in Weekend

New is the epitome of alluring in Andrew Haigh's Weekend, what's so remarkable and fascinating about his character and his performance is how completely blasé he seems while harboring an explosive combination of emotions inside. His Glen seems like a free spirit, a bit on the politically incorrect side but the actor goes beyond the confines of the "bohemian" character's traits and finds something rather touching in him. The way in which Glen always seems to be both intensely interested in Russell (Tom Cullen) while wanting to run away, punches you right in the gut in the most unexpected moments. His line deliveries are magical and there's no way you would be able to say no to having him tape your sexual history. On a shallow note - which somehow adds to the constant wonderment of his performance - never expected him to be the top.

2. Bruce Greenwood in Meek's Cutoff

There is very little information on who Stephen Meek was exactly, yet what Bruce Greenwood does in Kelly Reichardt's revisionist western feels as if someone found a time machine and brought the legendary explorer back to life. Greenwood is practically unrecognizable behind the shaggy beard and oversized hat that Meek wears and his performance may lack the "excitement" associated with playing historical figures. Yet perhaps because the actor had a pretty much empty canvas to portray the character as he found fit, he comes up with a thing of true beauty, creating a harsh, soulless creature that demands your attention and always ends up winning your favor. No other performance in 2011 captured the "rock star"-ness of current politics like this one, he reminded us that we're living in a world where politicians need only but to charm us before we are willing to get lost in the labyrinth of their lies.

1. Corey Stoll in Midnight in Paris


It must be telling that while Woody Allen has abstained of tackling biopics or historical characters throughout his legendary career, several of his fictitious creations seem to take on a life of their own outside the realms of his movies. Try convincing people that Zelig wasn't a real being, that you can't find Emmet Ray albums in record stores or that Hannah and her sisters don't actually live somewhere in NYC... It was a real surprise then to see him explore some of the most famous artists of the 20th century in his enchanting Midnight in Paris, which not only resulted in the best movie he's done in over twenty years but also reminded us of the Woodsman's more playful side. Allen has always tried to represent and preserve his personal tastes through his movies and it makes sense that the ones in Paris are some of his all-time favorites, what's remarkable is how he manages to give them their own life while imprinting the Woody Allen touch on them. Best in show is Corey Stoll who fills the screen with testosterone and bravado playing none other than Ernest Hemingway. Even when he's reciting passages of Hemingway's life adjusted to the straightforward nature of his writing, Stoll gives the legend a suspicious earthy feeling. No scenes in the movie feel as alive as those that feature him and the way he always looks into the horizon as if both recalling specifics and planning his next masterpiece will certainly leave you wanting more.

Oscar Leap Recap.

As usual the Oscars were an almost instantly forgettable affair. Billy Crystal did a decent, albeit extremely safe, hosting job and everyone and their grandmother knew that The Artist would win the top awards, so that gave the whole affair a slightly dull mood. Here are my fave bits in chronological order:

Queen Meryl, who had a great surprise in store, was on her usual wonderful mood. She is always such a good sport, even when she must suffer through some real humiliations, like having Sandra Bullock defeat her.

Cameron Diaz and J. Lo epitomized silly fun when they presented the make-up award. In all honesty though, I had no idea that Cam's behind was so, well, ample. 

Meryl being a sport for her The Iron Lady make-up team...

This was the second best win of the night. A complete surprise too, considering it actually deserved to win!

The Christopher Guest troupe was all sorts of brilliant and I couldn't help but wonder what are people waiting to have Eugene Levy play Marty in a biopic.

My favorite part about Dragon Tattoo winning Best Editing was to have the orchestra play the shoulda-been-a-winner score by Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross.

This bit was slightly ridiculous but Gwynnie was Carole Lombard brilliant, proving that you can be funny and still look like a goddess.

Speaking of goddesses, I demand to get on whatever Emma Stone was on when she presented her award. She was such a joy to watch! She should've hosted the whole thing!

Isn't Kenneth Branagh the cutest?

No wait, isn't Uggie the cutest?

Ugh NO, wait, isn't Bret McKenzie the cutest?

Y'all know I can't stand Angelina Jolie most of the time, which is why I loved that Jim Rash mocked her ridiculous leg move right after she presented him with his Oscar. I'm sure he was exiled from Hollywood the following morning but his, well, rash move injected the event with an oh-no-he-didn't rush of joy.

Woody won!

I hope the Scorsese drinking game goes on for as long as the world exists.

Le sigh...

Rooney Mara won in my heart and I love that her clip was the most risky Oscar has done since I started watching them. Those who say she doesn't "act" should just take a look at hos this angelical creature turns into this:

"I AM insane!"

Her boyfriend looks so supportive! Did you know he's the son of Malcolm McDowell and Mary Steenburgen?

THE moment of the night:

Her "what?" was such a lovely moment. I'm sure she never expected to win again. Well done Queen!

SaBu was rightfully one of the first to stand up and applaud the great Streep!

God knows I love Glenn Close (I'm a Patty Hewes wannabe) but Meryl has always had more of a movie star quality that she's always lacked. It was pleasant, if a bit heartbreaking, to see her become one of the all-time biggest losers.

Michel Hazanavicius and Bérénice Bejo are the new Brangelina, right? OK not really, but they exude old-world class in a way the other two will never do.

Gotta love Rooney's mischievous look.

And for those of you who feel I'm devoting too much to Meryl's win, just like her, I say:

"Whatever..."

Long live the Streep! Did you enjoy the Oscars or am I just bringing up bad memories? Had you moved on by now?