Posts filed under 'Movies'
An excellent way to spend a snowy weekend! I think it’s been a good 13 years since my last re-reading of the Cooper books, but I read them so many times before that that I really hadn’t forgotten much. It was still a delight to immerse myself in a mysterious, haunting world—a world still connected to the good, earthy pleasures of large families and fresh-baked bread and “Good King Wenceslas.”
I mentioned in my previous post that, overall, The Dark Is Rising sequence is not particularly friendly to Christianity. As I recall (and I have to admit, I remember many images and symbols and characters from the books, but my memories of their doctrine is a bit fuzzy), most of that comes across in The Silver on the Tree, the last of the five books. There are hints of it in some of the other books as well, but any discerning Christian reader should still be able to appreciate the books for their writing style and their evocation of a mythic world.
Will Stanton, the 11-year-old protagonist of The Dark Is Rising, is the youngest of 9 children born to a family in a small Buckinghamshire village. He is, however, as even his siblings realize “a very old eleven.” Not only is he mature for his age, but, as he learns on his birthday, he is actually one of the Old Ones, a group of people who serve the Light and protect the world from the forces of the Dark. Eleventh birthday, discovering you’re someone more special than you knew . . . sound familiar? Remember that Cooper wrote these books a good twenty-five years before the first Harry Potter appeared.
There is, of course, a lot of appeal in this kind of character, especially for a bookish child who often feels older or somehow different from his or her peers. You recognize yourself in Will, you think, “Oh, there IS a reason I don’t fit in—I have a special calling”—not that that makes you think you need to go around collecting the Signs of Power and learning the Old Speech. When you’re older, you may be able to apply that feeling to being called to life in Christ—and I have to admit that I’m more excited about being called to life in Christ when I read about Will Stanton than when I read the words of the Apostle Paul (though I also recognize that if I hadn’t read Paul, I might not be able to appreciate Will’s calling as much).
In spite of their simplistic names, the Light and the Dark convey a much deeper, more convincing sense of good and evil than anything in J.K. Rowling’s books (which is why it’s all the more puzzling that Cooper decides to collapse the categories of good and evil by the end of the series). In The Dark Is Rising, the Dark has no power on its own to hurt human beings, “but they can encourage men’s own instincts to do them harm.” And that’s how evil really seems to work, even when it’s not embodied by tall men on black horses.
The most heartbreaking character in the novel is The Walker, a man torn by conflicting allegiances to Dark and Light (so, you see, it’s not all dualistic). He’s sort of a re-working of the myth of the Wandering Jew, without all the anti-Semitic associations. Even though I didn’t remember his exact words, I remembered for years the sense of anguish that accompanies his interactions with Merriman Lyon.
And then there’s that sense of beauty beyond this world—a dimension totally lacking from the Harry Potter books. When Will’s brother is allowed to play an ancient flute with a marvelous tone, he fumbles in his attempt to describe the beauty of it. “There was an ache in his voice and in his face that something in Will responded to with a deep, ancient sympathy. An Old One, he suddenly knew, was doomed always to feel this same formless, nameless longing for something out of reach, as an endless part of life.”
That’s C.S. Lewis’s Sehnsucht, right there! It makes me ache just to read about it.
There is one scene in the book in which it’s implied that the church is weak and powerless against the Dark, and that Christ is simply one way of talking about a much older power existing in the Light. This makes me squirm a lot, but there’s so much else in The Dark Is Rising that feeds my soul.
I was thinking just this morning: Susan Cooper was born in England in 1935, and she grew up during the war years. In fact, she would have been close to the same age as the fictional Lucy Pevensie. What if she had had a chance to peer into the wardrobe? I don’t exactly know what I mean by that, but there it is.
February 18th, 2007
Who’d have thunk? One of Walden Media’s next projects is a film version of Susan Cooper’s children’s fantasy novel The Dark Is Rising. I’m surprised because Walden seems to prefer taking on adaptations of books that are at least sympathetic to a Christian perspective, which the Cooper books aren’t particularly.
Don’t get me wrong–I love The Dark Is Rising and the other books in the series, especially Over Sea, Under Stone and The Grey King. They made me fall in love with England and Cornwall and Wales at the tender age of 8. Plus, I think they may have contributed to my spiritual development as a sacramentally oriented Christian (not that Cooper intended the books to have a sacramental emphasis . . . but they kind of do, anyway).
But none of my childhood friends read the Cooper books. Certainly not the friends whose parents thought even The Chronicles of Narnia were Satanic! Even my more moderate Christian friends were suspicious of The Dark Is Rising sequence. So I only got to talk about the books with my dad, who read them to me.
Anyway, all that to explain why I’m surprised about the Walden Media connection. Moreover, the film’s director is going to be David L. Cunningham, the son of one of the founders of the evangelical Christian organization Youth with a Mission. I’ve only seen one of his films: To End All Wars, a movie about British soldiers held as prisoners by the Japanese in World War II. That film, though brutal, definitely had an emphasis on Christian forgiveness (and it starred Robert Carlyle, of whom I’m always a fan). So I’m fascinated to see what will be done with The Dark Is Rising’s spiritual themes.
I’m also excited to see that Christopher Eccleston (the Ninth Doctor Who) will be joining the cast as a villain, the Dark Rider. Some of the other casting news has me discouraged, though. Ian McShane is to play Merriman Lyon, one of the best characters in the whole series. I’ve never seen McShane in anything, but he’s only 65. He doesn’t look old enough to play the craggy-featured Oldest of the Old Ones. Where’s Ian McKellen when we need him? Now, he would make a perfect Merriman. But maybe McShane will be okay if he grows a beard and dyes his hair white.
Also, most of the children cast thus far seem to be either American or Canadian. Oh, please, please tell me they’re not going to try to set the movie in the U.S. We don’t have Old Ones here! Or Herne the Hunter! The English landscape/mythology is so essential to The Dark is Rising. So those kids had better be able to do British accents.
February 16th, 2007
So, how many of you have heard of the movie Amazing Grace (to be released Feb. 23), a new film about William Wilberforce’s campaign to abolish slavery in Britain?
I encountered news of it only by chance a few months ago, when I was conducting an IMDB search for the future projects of either Ciaran Hinds or Rufus Sewell (can’t be sure which, because I check both of their lists pretty frequently, and they’re both in Amazing Grace, much to my joy).
But not a word of it from the movie blogs I read. Not a word from Entertainment Weekly, who left it off their fairly extensive list of this spring’s movies. In fact, the only online mention I’ve seen has been from Christian social justice sources, such as Sojourners.
Social justice people are excited about the movie not only because of its subject matter, but also because there’s a campaign associated with it, a campaign to end modern-day slavery. If you look at the groups that have signed on as partners with the movie and the campaign, it’s pretty impressive in its mix of “conservative” and “liberal,” “red” and “blue” groups. I have to say, I’m encouraged to see so much cooperation across the alleged American cultural divide.
Check out the movie trailer and the Amazing Change web site. Also, if you attend a church, you might want to look into encouraging your congregation to participate in “Amazing Grace Sunday” on February 18.
Given all the noble causes connected to it, I really hope the movie is actually good. It has excellent actors in its favor, so at least there’s that. From the trailers, it looks like Ciaran Hinds is once more playing the bad guy–but Rufus Sewell gets to break out of his usual Hollywood-villain box to play an abolitionist. An abolitionist with a silly wig. Ioan Gruffudd stars as Wilberforce himself, and he sports some nifty hairpieces, too.
February 7th, 2007
Ah, how I love Monday nights. Every week, I drive twenty minutes to get to Irish dance class, and during that twenty minutes, I almost always hear something interesting on NPR’s program “Fresh Air.” That’s not to say that host Terry Gross doesn’t irritate me, because she does. She just has one of those “public radio” voices . . . and her questions and tone sometimes seem condescending (I noticed that her slang and use of “like” increased exponentially when she interviewed rapper André Benjamin of OutKast, as opposed to when she interviews a white historian—really, Terry, I’m pretty sure that André Benjamin understands multi-syllabic words). But her guests are great.
Last night’s “Fresh Air” was an interview with Little Miss Sunshine’s writer (Michael Arndt) and co-directors (husband-and-wife team Jonathan Dayton and Valerie Faris). There were enough interesting tidbits to keep my mind off the below-zero weather and instead thinking about “Sunshine.”
You can listen to the whole thirty-minute program on NPR’s web site, but if you’re pressed for time, here’s some interesting Little Miss Sunshine trivia:
- Michael Arndt has two brothers who are academics, and one of them is even a Proust scholar, like Frank (Steve Carell). Arndt didn’t say whether his brother is the nation’s preeminent Proust scholar. He did, however, share his opinion that academia is “an inherently amusing place” because of its distance from the real world: the fights are so bitter because the stakes are so low. Sounds ‘bout right.
- Arndt decided that Frank would be a scholar specifically of Proust when, in a telephone conversation, his brother mentioned Proust’s comment about the happy years of one’s life being the wasted years, that the valuable years are really the miserable ones. Arndt wanted to use the quote in his script, and he figured that audiences would only buy it coming out of Frank’s mouth if Frank were a Proust scholar. Makes sense to me. While I don’t necessarily agree with the Proustian sentiment, I absolutely buy that it’s something that Frank would say—and that it’s something his nephew Dwayne would find comfort in.
- Arndt also pointed out that a lot of comedies make the mistake of trying to be funny right away. He was determined to start low-key, introduce each character, and allow you to enter into the reality of these people, before wacky things start happening.
- Dayton and Faris used real child beauty pageant contestants for the last part of the film—it saved the time and money that would have been necessary to train child actors. Plus, it certainly adds some very, very scary authenticity.
- The now ten-year-old Best Supporting Actress nominee Abigail Breslin was cast in Little Miss Sunshine when she was six years old. By the time they got around to filming, she was around nine. Faris pointed out that, oddly enough, she had already had more film experience than the first-time movie-directors (whose previous experience had been limited to music videos and commercials) and the first-time screenwriter. Faris also mentioned that she was particularly impressed by Breslin’s capacity to listen to the other characters in a scene, rather than playing to the audience.
I really liked Little Miss Sunshine’s screenplay—but it’s up against The Queen in the Best Original Screenplay category. It’s so hard to compare them. I think I’d vote for The Queen, but I certainly won’t scream and kick things if Little Miss Sunshine wins. Sadly, probably neither will win Best Picture, but I suppose it doesn’t hurt to hope.
February 6th, 2007
From the reviews of Dreamgirls that I’d read beforehand, I was expecting to be most impressed by Jennifer Hudson’s much-touted show-stopper “And I Am Telling You I’m Not Going.” That moment fell a little flat for me (as far as emotions, not pitch!), but there were plenty of others that showed off Hudson’s amazing voice—and acting talents.
At least in the movie version (I’ve never seen the stage musical), the most powerful story in Dreamgirls isn’t that of Hudson’s character Effie; it’s the story of black music in 1960s and 1970s America. Then again, as far as Effie’s career mirrors the ups and downs of soul-infused African American music, it’s her story too.
Most of you probably already know the skeleton of the plot: Effie sings the lead for a young girl group from Detroit. As the Dreamettes get taken on by manager Curtis Taylor, Jr. (Jamie Foxx), they gain fame and popularity—but only within the black music community. The ultimate insult is when a squeaky-clean white teen idol steals a song by the Dreamettes and Jimmy Thunder Early (Eddie Murphy) and takes it to the top of the charts.
At that point, Curtis pours all his money and energy into making the Dreamettes into a crossover success (and his quest comes alive in the simultaneously thrilling and heart-breaking song-and-dance number “Steppin’ to the Bad Side”). But, as usual, success comes at a price. Curtis forces the full-bodied, full-voiced Effie to relinquish the lead, giving it instead to the thinner, lighter-skinned, sweeter-voiced Deena (Beyoncé Knowles), guessing (correctly, unfortunately) that she will have greater appeal for white audiences.
You can see why he does it. You know he’s selling his soul—in more ways than one—but you know he’s in an incredibly difficult situation. Regretfully, from this point on, Curtis becomes a pretty one-dimensional character. All the complexity in the “how far do we go to beat them at their own game?” question gets parceled out to Effie’s brother C.C. (Keith Robinson), who composes the Dreams’ songs. (I particularly liked Robinson’s performance, and I’m sad that he hasn’t received as much recognition as his co-stars.)
It’s hard to compare Dreamgirls to the Academy’s Best Picture Nominees—a group to which everyone thought the musical would belong—because its storytelling method is so different. It still struggles with the problem of making a contemporary musical film (with all the serious subject matter of contemporary musicals) that audiences will relate to. Most of the musical numbers are actually songs performed on concert stages within the film, and the evolution of the songs’ styles tells the film’s story pretty well. For me, the least effective numbers were the ones (like, “And I Am Telling You . . .”) in which a character directly expressed his or her feelings. Much better were the “concert performances” that also suggested something about the character’s current situation (like Hudson’s “I Am Changing” or Robinson’s “Patience”).
Overall, Dreamgirls is definitely worth seeing for its portrayal of an era—and of the struggle of African American musicians during that era to make their music heard, while still making it their own.
Oh, and did I mention that John Krasinski has an itty, bitty cameo as a screenwriter for one of Deena’s potential movie projects? He has one line, I think.
February 2nd, 2007
Christianity Today has just released its list of “The 10 Most Redeeming Films of 2006.” According to their intro, by “redeeming film,” they mean, “They’re all stories of redemption—sometimes blatantly, sometimes less so. Several of them literally have a character that represents a redeemer; one even includes the Redeemer. With others, you might have to look a bit harder for the redemptive thread, but it’s certainly there. Some are ‘feel-good’ movies that leave a smile on your face; some might leave you uncomfortable, even disturbed, and asking, ‘How should I process that?‘ But you won’t be able to shake it from your memory, either.”
Okey doke. I can go along with that. But, my question is, can a film really be “redeeming” if it’s lacking in artistic quality? Does it even make sense to look at these qualities separately?
I’m very happy with some of the movies on the list: Children of Men and Sophie Scholl: The Final Days, in particular (Sophie Scholl was, of course, released in 2005, but since it’s a foreign film, most people in the U.S. didn’t see it until 2006). Some I haven’t seen. Then there’s Akeelah and the Bee, a movie I liked a lot, but one that could have been done better. Same goes for The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada, which had a plot that was obviously supposed to be redemptive, but which had huge characterization problems that made the “redemption” completely unbelievable.
I guess that’s one of my main criteria for a “great” movie: if I can imagine improvements, it’s not “great.” And if I can see big flaws, I’m not sure how redeeming it is, since it doesn’t reflect well on our God-given creativity.
And that’s my big beef with putting The Nativity Story at the top of the list, because, while it told the most redeeming story in history, it was, frankly, boring, except for the bits with Joseph. As I’ve mentioned before, I think Children of Men, with all its violence and strong language, actually did a better job of conveying the need for a redeemer and of portraying the hope and joy surrounding the birth of one special child.
One thing that particularly interested me about the list is that three of the ten films are foreign (actually, all three were 2005 Oscar nominees for Best Foreign Film). I don’t think that other countries’ filmmakers are any more interested in redemptive stories than U.S. filmmakers. My guess is that the foreign films that make it to the U.S. and do well here are the more “feel-good” ones (“feel-good” would apply to Tsotsi and Joyeux Noel, though not to Sophie Scholl, I think).
January 31st, 2007
Check out the cynical cleverness in Steve Rose’s article “Heal the World,” in yesterday’s The Guardian. It’s all about the cliches that go into those Hollywood movies where some conscientious white person confronts “the horror, the horror” of a third-world country with darker-skinned people in humanitarian crisis.
Here’s one of my favorite bits, to give you a flavor of the article: “Wherever you are in the world, especially in the greatest depths of dark-skinned human suffering, you’re sure to find a smokin’ hot white woman. Usually she’ll be struggling to rectify the situation single-handedly on behalf of her uncaring compatriots, carrying the conscience of the western world on her shoulders, and bravely maintaining immaculate skin tone despite the absence of cosmetics.”
The one puzzle is that, as an example of this genre (along with Blood Diamond, Traffic, The Interpreter, The Constant Gardener, and Syriana), Rose includes Alejandro Iñárritu’s Babel. This seems odd, because, unlike the directors of the other films, Iñárritu is Mexican and therefore not exactly from the First World. It’d be interesting to explore how and why Babel acquiesces to the Hollywood pattern–if indeed it does. Of course, I have to actually see it first, which won’t be happening until it’s released on DVD next month.
From what I’ve heard, The Last King of Scotland may follow this formula to some degree as well. The one difference is that the white character, a Scottish doctor played by James McAvoy, actually gets drawn into participating in, rather than observing or fighting against, the horrors of Idi Amin’s regime. But several reviews have mentioned that the film’s ending, where McDoctor takes his story back to the white, Western world, implies that justice can only be brought about when the U.S.-European authorities get involved.
January 28th, 2007
The biggest shocker is, of course, that Dreamgirls wasn’t nominated for Best Picture. It was replaced by Clint Eastwood’s Japanese-language movie Letters from Iwo Jima (and I say “replaced” because the other four nominees were pretty much what everyone was expecting). I haven’t seen Dreamgirls yet, so I can’t comment on its omission from the top race (though it had eight nominations total), but I can say I’m sorry that Eastwood got nominated. Nope, I haven’t seen Letters from Iwo Jima either, so it has nothing to do with that: I just don’t like Eastwood. And the Oscars seem to love him. Grr.
Over at Entertainment Weekly, they’re joining me in mourning that Children of Men didn’t get nominated for any of the biggies. It got nods for Cinematography, Adapted Screenplay, and Editing, but that’s it. Pan’s Labyrinth, however, did a bit better than expected, with six nominations total, including one for Best Foreign Film, one for Original Screenplay, and one for Original Score—which was beautiful and haunting, by the way (you can hear it at the Pan’s Labyrinth web site). Speaking of scores, I’m pleased that Ennio Morricone’s work is being recognized with an honorary Oscar—his soundtrack to The Mission is one of my favorites.
I’m also happy for every single bit of recognition The Queen receives—it’s still the best movie of the year, in my opinion.
You can view the full list of nominees at The Envelope.
January 23rd, 2007
Why is it that no one is talking about how three Mexican filmmakers have taken the world by storm this winter? Alejandro Iñárritu’s Babel did win the Golden Globe for Best Drama, and it’s quite possible that it will be one of the Oscar nominees for Best Picture—which is curious, because though I haven’t seen Babel yet, reviews seem to indicate that it’s weakest of the trio of Mexican films. Guillermo del Toro’s Pan’s Labyrinth did win Best Picture from the Society of Film Critics, but nobody really pays attention to them (except for obsessive people like me). And Alfonso Cuarón’s Children of Men, which may be the best of the three, is getting very little awards love at all, perhaps because of its (and Pan’s) late release date (see the aforementioned Mark Harris article for an explanation of how release dates can affect a film’s Oscar chances).
But people are seeing Pan’s Labyrinth and Children of Men, in greater numbers than they saw Babel. Pan’s Labyrinth was 7th at the box office this past weekend, despite playing in only 609 theatres across the nation (most others in the top ten were playing in at least 2,000 theatres). Not bad for a subtitled film.
Iñárritu, Cuarón, and del Toro are all friends, and Cuarón even served as a producer for Pan’s Labyrinth. I found that connection especially interesting, since Cuarón’s version of A Little Princess (which I highly recommend) combines fairy-tale scenes and “real” scenes, as does Pan’s Labyrinth. In both films, fantasy isn’t merely an escape; it’s survival, and it matters.
I’m particularly impressed at del Toro’s dedication to making sure he hasn’t portrayed fantasy as an escape—which he does by making the young protagonist Ofelia’s ventures into the fantasy world scary and grimy. She gets real mud on her clothes when she goes on a fantastic-real quest. In fact, the biggest difference between the fantasy and realistic worlds of the movie is that, in the fantasy realm, Ofelia can act, whereas she is largely powerless in the world of 1940’s Spain.
Del Toro also anchors the fantasy plot in reality by drawing deliberate connections between Ofelia (Ivana Baquero) and Mercedes (Maribel Verdu of Y Tu Mamá Tambien, which may be the only Cuarón movie I don’t like), Ofelia’s stepfather’s housekeeper. It’s clear that Mercedes sees something of herself in Ofelia, and del Toro reinforces that bond by giving both characters archetypal objects that mirror each other.
Ofelia and Mercedes are also alike in their bravery and their refusal to follow orders without question (a central theme of the movie). The film’s “real” story is set just after the end of the Spanish Civil War, while the Franco-istas are still trying to stamp out vestiges of resistance in the mountains. Ofelia’s new stepfather, Captain Vidal, is in charge of an outpost in northern Spain, and he is relentless in his efforts to succeed against the rebels. But, the movie suggests, he isn’t as brave as he thinks, because he never has the courage to ask questions. He always shoots first.
Of course, Vidal is a microcosm of the larger problem with fascism, as del Toro himself states. “For me,” he writes, “fascism is a representation of the ultimate horror and it is, in this sense, an ideal concept through which to tell a fairy tale aimed at adults. Because fascism is first and foremost a form of perversion of innocence, and thus of childhood.”
Vidal’s cruelty is almost unbelievable, but I think that’s intentional, because the Faun, in Ofelia’s fantasy world, is something of a parallel, but he is morally ambiguous (as fauns of mythology usually are). As a result, the Faun’s world seems a bit more real, while the “real world” is presided over by an evil king, a one-sided villain of fairy tale.
I do think the movie’s violence sometimes borders on the gratuitous, however. Yes, we need to see that Vidal is cruel, but we can understand that without seeing everything that the movie shows us. And there’s a medical amputation scene that’s absolutely unnecessary to the plot.
The gratuitous violence is part of why I’m going to say, after some debate, that I like Children of Men better than Pan’s Labyrinth. Overall, Children of Men is about survival, while Pan’s Labyrinth is about the good death. Children of Men ultimately offers more hope for life on this earth, while Pan’s Labyrinth, in an unusual move for a contemporary movie, hints at hope in the supernatural and in the afterlife. Both are necessary. Both are more courageous in dealing with spiritual themes than any American movies I’ve seen recently. Both are great films that should get Academy recognition. But I have a feeling I’m going to be grumpy on that score tomorrow morning, when the Oscar nominees are announced.
Note: Pan’s Labyrinth will probably be an Oscar Best Foreign Film nominee (for Mexico), because, unlike Babel or Children of Men, it’s not in English. Oh, and in case you’re wondering why a Mexican director chose the Spanish Civil War as his subject matter, del Toro has an answer. Many Spanish Republican expatriates settled in Mexico as a result of the war, and, del Toro writes, “These expatriates heavily shaped Mexican culture and cinema. Some of them became key mentors of mine growing up. They had tales of leaving Spain behind as children. These tales affected me a lot.”
January 22nd, 2007
I finally saw Little Miss Sunshine! I happened to be in Turkey and Egypt when it was playing in my town, so I’ve had to wait until DVD to enjoy the mayhem—and enjoyable mayhem it is.
Most of the people who have recommended the movie to me have been through therapy. And that actually makes me trust their opinion of the movie’s portrayal of human experience more. The Hoovers’ trip from New Mexico to southern California certainly concentrates disasters: within the trip, we get to see how each character reacts to devastating failure. The pile-up of “oh no, this can’t be happening” moments, if a little exaggerated, by that very exaggeration gives us something that we can identify with. Who hasn’t had a series of debacles that makes you finally shake your fist at the sky and yell, “This isn’t funny, God!”?
But of course it is funny when we get to watch movie characters go through it. I won’t give away many of the details of Little Miss Sunshine’s plot here, because that would definitely spoil part of the effect. But all the twists and turns along the road are wacky and rewarding.
I particularly enjoyed seeing Steve Carell’s portrayal of the nation’s preeminent (and also gay and suicidal) Proust scholar. I’ve always thought Carell had a lot of acting versatility: his characters in “The Office” and The 40-Year-Old Virgin are extremely different from each other, though both belong to a kind of comedy painted with broad strokes. Carell manages to bring nuances even to those characters, but it’s a pleasure to see him blend into the background of the ensemble (a very talented ensemble) in Little Miss Sunshine.
For a small movie directed by relative unknowns (husband and wife team Jonathan Dayton and Valerie Faris, whose only previous directing experience was with music videos), Little Miss Sunshine has done very well both at the box office and in the awards season so far, leading to its new epithet: “the little movie that could.” An article about the awards season in last week’s Entertainment Weekly points out some irony in the situation: Mark Harris writes, “This year, Fox Searchlight has done everything but trademark the color yellow in its attempt to drive the Little Miss Sunshine bus all the way to the Kodak Theatre [where the Oscars are held]. One of the season’s ripest ironies may be the company’s mammoth effort to secure prizes for a movie that makes such acute fun of the American obsession with winning.”
So it may be a little ironic, but I still want to reward the film for creating such an appealing portrait of losing. All the Academy’s acting races may be fairly predetermined this year, but there’s a chance that Little Miss Sunshine could sneak in as the fifth nominee for Best Picture (I’d like it to be nominated, but I’d still prefer that the award go to The Queen). We’ll see when the nominations are announced on Tuesday (yup, the same day as the State of the Union—hmmm, which am I more excited about?).
January 20th, 2007
Next Posts
Previous Posts
