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:

Bach and Rostropovich.

Horowitz plays Liszt:

Well, you know the rest:

The good, the bad and the ugly at the Met. When does the next swan leave?

I can go for a little dramatization in a biographical film. But this much? Come on.

There can be no doubt; Charlton Heston was certainly one of the most driven and devoted actors ever. And he was certainly one of the greatest. He got into acting for all of the right reasons and never allowed fame to get to his head. Quite the contrary; he used fame for the best purposes by thrusting himself into the public sphere and involving himself in civic causes in which he deeply believed. He was an actor-activist in the best sense, always ensuring that he was exceedingly well-informed about the subject matter he worked on and passionate about spreading his message to others--even when his stances threatened to curtail his acting opportunities. Hollywood is not an easy town in which to be a conservative. But Charlton Heston showed that it could be done and showed that it could be done well.

Ben Domenech, my RedState colleague, has a fine tribute. It is typical of Heston that while receiving praise from a fan, he would deflect it back and praise the fan instead. Would that others had so much class. My family and I would regularly watch The Ten Commandments every year that it came on around Passover. With Passover so near, Heston has now chosen to leave us. Interesting timing for the old actor. But I guess that in show business, you need to know how to make an exit.

Goodbye, Moses. We shall miss you.

Suzanne Vega is not blogging here.  She is blogging here.

No, this is not an April Fool's joke.

I haven't  heard her latest album, but if you don't own Songs in Red and Gray, you really ought to.  "Harbor Song" and "Song in Red and Gray" are just gorgeous.

So a generous friend of mine has sent me a copy of Mar's Villa (the apostrophe is optional), the joy of which we discovered together a while back courtesy of the guys who run the New York Asian Film Festival.  To sum things up quickly, the film itself is Taiwanese, the soudntrack is pretty much lifted wholly from Hang 'em High, and the villainy and action choreography is from Stephen Tung Wai, one of the great specialists of action in the 1980s and 1990s.   One of the pleasures of the film (besides the sonic punishments, wild fighting, and latent feminism) is realizing that the prissy guy who looks like a potential recruit for the East Asian version of Menudo would go on to do the action directing for As Tears Go By, Days of Being Wild, The Blade, and Hero.

My friend could not have anticipated, however, that I would feel a little sad when I opened the DVD.  That's because the liner notes were written by Linn Haynes, a self-made Asian film scholar and, from everything I've heard, a stand-up guy.  He died on February 28th in a car crash, at the age of 33. Kung Fu Cinema has a tribute. 

If it hadn't been for people like Mr. Haynes working to spread the word about films like Mar's Villa, I would never have had the chance to see it myself, much less encourage you all to go see it.

Several people have linked to this Joe Queenan essay (written in honor of the UK debut of The Hottie and the Nottie) and offered up their own suggestions, using Queenan's criteria, of the worst movie ever made.  Queenan himself chose Heaven's Gate.  Alex Massie chose The Sicilian, and Daniel Drezner and Megan McArdle weigh in, respectively, with Caligula and either Far and Away or The Road to Wellville.  (For an alternate take on Heaven's Gate, see Nathan Rabin's "My Year of Flops" entry.)

They all make decent cases.  However, to review Queenan's criteria:

1. It has to have been made with some expectation of being a good movie (thus The Hottie and the Nottie, or Snakes on a Plane, don't count).
2. It has to be famous, or at least not obscure.
   
3. See #1: it cannot be a deliberate attempt to make the worst movie ever.
4. It must feature real movie stars.
5. It must generate negative buzz long before it actually reaches cinemas.
6. It must "induce a sense of dread in those who have seen it, a fear that they may one day be forced to watch the film again - and again - and again."
7. "...it must keep getting worse. By this, I mean that it not only must keep getting worse while you are watching it, but it must, upon subsequent viewings, seem even worse than the last time you saw it."

Given those rules, I can think of no better candidate than this film.  I have seen it three times, including opening night, and it got exponentially worse each time.