I want to be Bruce Campbell when I grow up.

I don't know whether to laugh or cry. On the one hand, I am glad that someone took on the myth of Che. On the other, however, I am appalled that we actually have to have this discussion in the first place.

I may well go see the movie myself, if only out of morbid curiosity. I can, however, at least console myself with the certain knowledge that I won't be hoodwinked into thinking that Che Guevara was some kind of hero. And why, by the way, do we continually need to have discussions over whether Communist tyrants were heroes, anyway?

Brother Skanderbeg celebrates and offers his favorite memory. I don't know if a particular memory springs up for me. All I know is that Mozart is a comfort. His inventiveness, his creativity, his mastery over musical fundamentals and his ability to imagine and compose pieces that astonish with their sublimity has never failed to amaze, delight and sustain me. Anytime I ask a favor of Mozart, he delivers.

Of course, Mozart's status as a cultural icon goes beyond music. There is Mozart, the child prodigy. Mozart, the movie character. Mozart, the man who died before his time. Mozart, the man who makes your babies smarter. All of this is separate and apart from the man's music and it serves to help shape our view of him.

But in the end, it is the music that triumphs in informing our opinion and judgment of Mozart. The saying goes that when God wants to listen to music, he listens to Bach. When the angels want to listen to music, they listen to Mozart. Few compliments testify so powerfully to the talent that an individual artist possesses and leaves to the world as a legacy. And few testify so powerfully to the good taste of the cherubim and seraphim as well.

Movies like Slumdog Millionaire can cross the line separating the very powerful from the very campy. And they can do so very quickly. Still, while this was a feel-good movie, it was one that packed an emotional wallop, with excellent acting, cinematography, directing and searing images that remain with the viewer and that have the ability to shock and stun in all of the right ways.

And yes, this movie does shock and stun. The Bollywood genre gives us happy-go-lucky movies in which everyone is smiling and fortunate but Slumdog Millionaire makes it clear that life can be abjectly horrible, dark, dangerous and filled with disillusionment. The genius of the movie--if the movie can be said to possess genius; it does, at the very least, possess deep reservoirs of talent and meaning within it--is to show how through a credible manifestation of serendipity, determination and love, a person can rise above the darkness and achieve a certain salvation. To be sure, much of the salvation is material and some of it appears to entail a disregard for a one-time loved one. But there is a moving sense of love that has stood the test of time deeply embedded in that salvation, a fact that does not fail to touch the audience. It certainly touched me.

I am sure that Slumdog Millionaire will win its share of awards. Those awards are richly deserved--a fact that will be obvious to anyone who takes the time to watch the movie.

It has been 2009 here in Chicago for over an hour and a half. A very Happy and Prosperous New Year to all readers.

To celebrate, I figure that we ought to enjoy some Horowitz (via Terry Teachout):

Pretty amazing, nyet?

Hugh Hewitt, the old Nixon-hand, liked the movie, which somewhat surprised me. I agree with Hewitt that Frank Langella gives a masterful performance as Nixon and that Michael Sheen and Sam Rockwell do a great deal to buttress the film, as does Kevin Bacon's on-point portrayal of Jack Brennan, Nixon's Chief of Staff in exile.

But while the writing was excellent, the direction superb and the acting quite compelling, I was disappointed somewhat in Frost/Nixon for the liberties it took with the actual course of Richard Nixon's post-Presidential career. As discussed by Fred Schwartz, the actual interviews between Frost and Nixon were not the cathartic releases the movie made them out to be. Quite the contrary:

In return for his $600,000 appearance fee, Nixon "admitted" what had already been proven; dodged or rationalized inconvenient facts; acknowledged errors but denied committing any crimes; and ended with a show of contrition and a play for sympathy. Little or no new information was uncovered, and nobody who had followed Nixon's career was surprised in the least by his manipulations and evasions. The consensus was that the whole thing wound up an overblown bore.

To someone who was around back then, the idea of making a major motion picture about such a notorious fizzle seems bizarre; you might as well write an opera about "The Mystery of Al Capone's Vault." Is this just a case of memory being deceptive? Were the interviews really a landmark of a milestone of a watershed, as the publicists assert? To test this, I looked back at the reception they got in the media of the time.

The show's producers secured lavish advance coverage by giving virtually everyone with a press card some sort of "leak": transcripts, unedited video, production notes, briefing materials, correspondence. The week of the broadcast, Nixon was on the cover of both Time and Newsweek, in that long-vanished era when those publications were considered influential. In the days leading up to the broadcast, the Washington Post ran several solid pages of Watergate transcripts and analysis, flashing back to the glory days of 1973.

After the airing of the first interview -- the only one anybody cared about, since it contained all the Watergate material -- there was far less hoopla. The Post's Bob Woodward, Nixon's erstwhile tormentor, called it "a much-touted television interview which shed little new light on the scandal."

Elsewhere in the Post, Haynes Johnson's analysis dripped with disappointment: "[The former president] proceeded, for the next 90 minutes, to give us all the familiar Nixon responses we have all seen for more than a generation. Those advance reports about Nixon being broken -- or shattered -- or even shaken by the withering interrogation of David Frost are in error. Nixon is in control throughout. He offers little that is new, and less that is of substance." Johnson continued: "Last night's program was billed as a dramatic and historic encounter between Nixon and his opponent, the relentless David Frost. It was nothing of the sort. . . . By the very end of the program, Frost looks as though he's swept up by the Nixon responses. . . . The tables have been turned. Frost had met his match."

The New York Times, in a brief, unsigned "Week in Review" item a few days later, echoed the been-there, done-that theme: "The spectacle was a familiar one . . . he portrayed himself, in typically Nixonian terms and gestures, as a victim of circumstance whose errors sprang from good intentions. . . . No important factual information about Watergate emerged from the interview."

The Los Angeles Times and St. Louis Post-Dispatch went with wire-service reports, supplemented with roundups of comments whose general tenor is summed up in a Post-Dispatch headline: nixon interview generates partisan political reactions. These papers, like most others, saw no need for any follow-up after the first day.

Of course, the reasons for the revision of history that surrounds Frost/Nixon are easy to understand when one remembers that Nixon is supposed to be a stand-in for George W. Bush and that the movie not-so-subtly hints that it is high time for a confessional from the outgoing 43rd President not unlike the supposed confessional the 37th President gave to David Frost. Propagating a particular story line, however, does not make that story line true. At the end of the movie, we are told that a triumphant David Frost was able to once again become the toast of the celebrity-journalism world and that he even regained his table at Sardi's, while Nixon was just known for Watergate and nothing else. Of course, if the sole object of good journalism is to get one a table at Sardi's, then one needs to worry about the mission statement journalists currently have for themselves. As for Nixon's post-Watergate career, it actually was quite a bit more successful than Frost/Nixon made it out to be; the former President was able to move back East fairly quickly--a goal that he set for himself in the movie--became the elder statesman that he wanted to be and at his death, he had either outlived many of his enemies or won their grudging respect.

I enjoyed the movie, political junkie that I am. To be sure, there was a certain battle of wills that went on between Frost and Nixon but the movie overdramatizes that battle and misrepresents history. For that, it deserves to be called out.

I approve of a great deal concerning the new direction taken by the James Bond franchise. A movie series that once was excessively cute with generous dollops of faux-cleverness added in has now become hard-edged and more vibrant and real. Bond himself has been revitalized through Daniel Craig's excellent acting skills. Judi Dench is even more of a presence now than she was before; a sort of cross between a hectoring parent and a caring teacher for Bond, someone who understands his foibles, his darkness, his potential. Bond can get bloody. Bond can get bruised. Bond can get beaten up. Bond is a real figure to us now and we understand him and empathize with him much more readily than we were able to in the past, back when he was the Unsullied Golden Boy who emerged from life's travails with nary a scratch and we . . . well . . . didn't.

For these reasons, I celebrate Daniel Craig's decision to assume the role of Bond, despite some early misgivings (we have yet to have a Bond who is the type of figure envisioned by Ian Fleming; tall, dark-haired, blue-eyed and English). I celebrate as well the camera-work that goes into the newest Bond movies; they show Bond in all of his new, raw glory. But while I enjoyed Casino Royale, I was disappointed by Quantum of Solace. The plot was vague, elliptical and at the end, quite dissatisfying. Craig's portrayal as Bond was excellent but thanks to the plot, it was also somewhat directionless. Dench provided something of an anchor for the film but from here on out, Bond films will need more than a personality to serve as their anchor.

I don't object to certain changes made in the Bond franchise. But I wish that it would be less opaque. Oh, and bringing back Q and Moneypenny would be nice too. At some point, let's do that.

I saw it in the theater quite a while ago and have been meaning to review it but never got around to it. Blame blog laziness on my part.

Fortunately, my work has been done for me. I like it when that happens and I especially like the fact that my sentiments have been expressed so completely in the review.

Link. Let the conspiracy theories begin and my traditional aversion to them notwithstanding, I might start a few theories of my own.

Those who say that Woody Allen may have lost his touch somewhat may find their arguments validated in Vicky Cristina Barcelona. While the movie is certainly clever in spots, it misses a lot of the old Allen magic that keeps one at the edge of one's seat waiting for the next great laugh. Those laughs are somewhat few and far between in the movie. Javier Bardem, as usual, puts together a great performance, as does Rebecca Hall. And Penelope Cruz is masterful as a screen stealer. But in so many instances, the movie just plain meanders and the actual laughs are so few and far between that one cannot help but be disappointed. And as for the "serious" message that the movie conveys, the presentation of that message is so cliché-ridden as to render it boring and disappointing.

Woody Allen has always been a compelling figure and will continue to be for a long time to come. But somewhere along the way, he lost his zest for originality in movie-making. One hopes that he will find it again, but with Vicky Cristina Barcelona, the search has not ended.

Excellent plot? Check.

Superb acting? Check.

Gripping dialogue and storytelling? Check.

Brilliant direction? Check.

Perhaps one of the greatest movie villains of all time? Check.

Greatest city in North America--and one of the greatest in the entire world--serving as a visible and distinctively identifiable location for the shooting of the movie and rendered glorious, majestic and hauntingly beautiful in the process? Check.

Magnificently related tale about morality without all of the traditional shibboleths one would find in such tales? Check.

One of the smartest movies around and definitely the smartest comic book movie ever made? Check.

Must see movie? Check.

This should bring back a few memories:

Rarely have I laughed harder than I did the first time I heard a recording of this routine.

The Godfather: A Typographical Interpretation.

One of the greatest, and least safe, song-and-dance sequences in Bollywood history: "Chaiyya Chaiyya" from the 1998 film Dil Se.

The film tanked in India (for more discussion as to why, see the vastly entertaining book Bollywood Boy), but I suspect its reputation in the more general forum of world cinema will only increase over time.  Action!  Suspense!  Politics!  Really good songs!  Manisha Koirala and Preity Zinta!  Shah Rukh Khan, who has to be one of the most valuable actors in the world at this point, jumping and dancing on moving train cars!  Admittedly, it hits the three-hour mark, as most Bollywood films do, but if you have a spare three hours, it is very much worth it.  If you don't: the above clip is only 6:39.

A tremendous disappointment, and I write that with a lot of regret, for I am an Indiana Jones fan. It was nice to see Harrison Ford return to a familiar part--it has been a long time since we have seen him in a role that featured him being comfortable in his own skin. But the plot was ridiculous; the conceit that Mayan civilization owed its advances to little green men with flying saucers is so overdone as to be hackneyed and yet, we saw precisely that conceit featured in the movie. (One would think that a movie produced by George Lucas would feature spaceships more imaginative than flying saucers. One would be wrong, alas.) Also, if Irina Spalko really was a psychic, it would have been nice to have seen some indication or examples of her power. We got nothing--just some 5 second moments in which she pretended she was meditating. Her entire persona cried out "FRAUD!"

Apparently, the only reason this movie was made was so that those who grew up with the original Indiana Jones movies could take their children to enjoy what they enjoyed when they were younger. This may have been a trip down Memory Lane but it's depressing to see that Memory Lane is filled with so many potholes.

Truly excellent. Great dialogue, great acting (Gwyneth Paltrow and Robert Downey Jr. were inspired choices and they play off one another especially well), and a very welcome concept--the hero is flawed, quite obviously but he is also gifted with an especially powerful intellect that he uses to give himself nearly superhuman powers. This concept is, of course, far more appealing in many ways than is the Superman-ish bestowal of near-fantastic powers on a "hero" who actually doesn't come across as being particularly heroic (superheroes who have great powers are not as compelling as those who are human but especially courageous and industrious. Superman is noble, but "noble" is not the same as "heroic," especially when alien superpowers render you nearly invulnerable to the ordinary cares and concerns of mortals). Iron Man is a totally self-made man, a product of the genius and industry of Tony Stark. He is a force of nature thanks to a conscious choice by Stark to redefine himself, rather than being one because of the accident of an alien birth or because of being exposed to some supernatural phenomenon that endows him with extraordinary powers.

I have to say that I am really impressed with the superhero genre these days. It is smart, it is compelling, it is funny and it is filled with morals without being moralizing and grating at the same time. The Batman franchise has been completely restored and then some thanks to the new series with Christian Bale. The last Spider-Man movie was dreck but overall, that franchise has also been impressive and one hopes that it will regain its bearings soon. And now, Iron Man has come out to impress us. And impress us it has.

Like Patterico, loved watching Harvey Korman on The Carol Burnett Show when I was a kid. Read this, therefore, was shocking. This is a huge loss to the entertainment world and to all fans of excellent comedy.

Enjoy:

Donald Pittenger writes that he is a big fan of Terry Teachout. So am I and I am also a big fan of his co-blogger, the lovely and talented OGIC, who I met for lunch on Saturday and who is currently giving me a run for my money in a thrilling and nerve-wracking (for me, anyway) Scrabulous game. For those of you who believe that OGIC is exactly as she is portrayed on the blog, I can only say that you have likely underestimated all of the good things you could probably say and do probably think about her--no matter how complimentary those good things may be.

And no, I don't generally blog about the famous people I meet. But in this case, I think that readers will not begrudge me a little bragging. Or at least, readers will not begrudge some starstruck gushing.

To wit: