No, I'm not joking

Evidenced by David Edelstein's obsequious missive to the Christ-like talent of Phil Seymour Hoffman, the awards season sends everyone into a congratulatory orgy (congratulorgy?). Critics suckle at the teets of actors, and no teet has been rubbed rawer than Hoffman's. Hold up. Capote is a blah film built around an interesting real person, hence the marginally interesting performance. To witness PSH's real reserve of talent, we must look to Twister. (Yes, the one where Helen Hunt and Bill Paxton make love upside down in an F5 tornado.) In Twister, PSH plays Dusty Davis, a frumpy, cowabunga-ish wind nerd. Next time it comes on TBS, keep your eye on PSH. He makes the movie at least three times more textured than it should be. He is always on the fringes of the screen (that's him in the red hat in the background), but it's a great, committed performance, many times that of his Capote, given the contexts.

Memoirs of a Geisha, a highfalutin version of the same old crap

Yeah, I haven't seen it, but I've endured its ridiculous preview 15 times; paroxysmal editing and spy-thriller music can't distract from the fact that Memoirs of a Geisha is a movie about, well, furniture. Thanks, Bobby Lee and MADtv, for expressing my rage in the proper manner.

Writing about Hostel is like pulling teeth

I have not seen Hostel, and why would I? The trailer, easily the most upsetting snippet of film out there, says that "at recent advanced screenings, paramedics were called in response to theater-goers' reactions to the film's intensity. You've been warned." This preview was approved for all audiences? Every time it blared before a feature in the last weeks, I buried my face in my friends' shoulders. I don't want to see a movie about a Slovakian torture chamber where paying customers have the privilege of slowly dismembering unsuspecting tourists. It's just not my thing, even after a couple of beers.

Evidently, it's everyone else's thing. Following in the footsteps of Saw and Saw II, Hostel was No. 1 at the weekend box office, hauling $20.5 mil. Assuming an average ticket price of $6.50, about 3.1 million people started their new year by wallowing in the gore and glory of torture. All this while various Cabinet officials tour the globe to assure everyone the United States doesn't torture detainees. We recoil in embarrassment and outrage when we hear the government tortures, but then we pay to watch torture. I think this is hilarious and insane.

The horror film genre is respected, enduring and, for the most part, sanctioned as art by academia and cinephilia. It seems to me, though, that there is enough difference between the intentions and methods of Halloween (for example) and Hostel to resurrect the question of merit. Halloween is all about a monster trying to kill people; the suspense is torturous. Hostel appears to be only about torture itself. Should it belong in the genre of pornography?

I'm not one to draw lines or inveigh against alleged artlessness; directors can make their movies as sick as they want, and people can delight all they want in the depths of the sickness. I'm just fascinated about this contrary correlation between the box office and the political climate. Again, I say all this without having seen Hostel. I'd appreciate comment, especially from crazies who have seen (and appreciated?) it.

With Dahl out of the way, Deppurton assaults Sondheim

First, Sam Mendes and Russell Crowe were attached to direct and star in the film version of Stephen Sondheim's grand, gory musical "Sweeney Todd." Terrific. Add the beatific Emma Thompson as Mrs. Lovett? Wonderful. But now there's a report that Tim Burton and Johnny Depp are the latest creative pair on board. Tragedy. They disgraced the legacy of Willy Wonka, and they'll do the same to "Sweeney." No doubt it will be all CGI, even the meat pies. And we'll have to put up with a Danny Elfman-ized version of Sondheim's glorious score. As Sweeney sings, there's a hole in the world like a great black pit and it's filled with people are who are filled with shit.

The 2005 DZ Awards

There are 311 movies eligible for the best picture Oscar this year. Too many movies are being made. This is bad because A) most are crappy, and B) a mortal can't keep up. I have not seen the Geisha movie, the new Woody, the one about the guy who likes bears (which then eat him), Pocahontas, Jane Austen: Jane Austen Returns, Fustle & Ho, etc. So here are my curbed year-end (or year-beginning?) notices for '05.

The Golden DZ goes to Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang for having some friggin' fun with itself. Plenty of great movies are sad or introspective or brooding or whatever. That's fine; see last year's greatest movie, Million Dollar Baby, a masterpiece of autumnal regret and triumph. Sometimes, though, we need a little fizz at the theater. Kiss Kiss is a corker, an unadulterated delight. It's a Chandleresque mystery movie about the movies starring Robert Downey Jr. (our greatest working screen actor?) as a petty thief turned action hero and Val Kilmer as the private dick who guides him through an obstacle course of pulpy plot twists.

The Silver DZ goes to Yes, a rapturous Joycean story about how we strive to transcend the mess we make, featuring Joan Allen in her career-best performance.

The Bronze DZ goes to Syriana, which ennobles cinema as a medium. It's smart, suave and utterly relevant.

The rest of the top 10, in alpha order: Brokeback Mountain blah blah moving blah blah stirring blah blah blah. Go-to guy Paul Haggis' Crash, visually and verbally stunning, with a standout performance by Matt Dillon. A History of Violence, the movie that watches you. Millions, Danny Boyle's wondrous and charming fable about salvation and currency exchange. Mysterious Skin, a deft and disarming adaptation of Scott Heim's novel, with several gutsy performances. North Country and its masterful cast. Proof, which just about shakes off its staginess, in which Gwyneth and Hope Davis finally act (and act well).

Honorable Mentions: The Nicolas Cage twofer Lord of War and The Weather Man, both bitterly funny autopsies of a man's eroding psyche. Roman Polanski's gritty, grand Oliver Twist, with Ben Kingsley's booger-y performance as Fagan. The Squid and the Whale and its painfully real family dynamic. Munich, a stunning thriller (with an overlooked and subdued performance by Eric Bana) that falters in its last seven minutes. The Constant Gardener, another virtuosic Meirelles piece. Good Night, and Good Luck, sharpened to a point, so subtle it's explosive. Mrs. Henderson Presents, a jolly trifle from Stephen Frears, with great comic chemistry between Dame Judi Dench and Bob Hoskins. The rich, unnerving documentary The Devil & Daniel Johnston. The atmospheric Batman Begins, well-oiled by Chris Nolan, one of the great modern directors.

JURY PRIZES:

The Jurassic Park Thrills & Chills Award, in a tie, goes to War of the Worlds and King Kong. Seeing Jurassic Park (three times) in theaters when I was 10 is my earliest memory of being transported by a movie. Spielberg does it again 12 years later, and he and Peter Jackson prove they are master craftsmen of keeping real the high-CGI barnburning blockbuster.

The Where was the Script Girl? Award goes to The Interpreter, which, by cutting the scene in which Nicole Kidman overhears the assassination plans, would've been a hundred times more thrilling.

The Mickey Rourke Careful-with-Your-Career Award goes to -- no, not Mickey Rourke (Sin City blew) -- Richard Jenkins, who movingly played Charlize Theron's father in the excellent North Country and slummed in the dismal Fun with Dick and Jane as one of Jim Carrey's bibulous bosses.

The Sometimes Real People Aren't That Interesting Plaque, in a tie, goes to Walk the Line and Capote. The first was Ray with bottles instead of needles. The second is one of the best reviewed and most honored movies of the year, and I don't know why. It is tiresome and boring.

The Someone Get This Man a Franchise Award goes to Joss Whedon, for his swashbuckling Serenity.

The Someone Take Away This Man's Franchise Award goes to George Lucas, for the last (please God let it be the last) installment of Star Wars.

The Best Use of Punctuation Award goes to Miranda July's pert, pleasant indie hit Me & You & Everyone We Know.

Blissfully Overrated Medals go to Wedding Crashers, Broken Flowers, Capote, Sin City.

The One Gigantic Leap Backward for Mankind Citation goes to Riding the Bus with My Sister, which must be seen to be believed.

Now please offer your own awards.

Maybe he wants to get closer to Mrs. Featherbottom

Bonnie Hunt, whom I adore, is writing a sequel to Mrs. Doubtfire. What could possibly happen? Why would the Robin Williams character need to re-don the Scottish drag? Perhaps Scotland Yard needs him to infiltrate a nursing home to wiretap the phone in room 212, where a notorious crime lord is spending the autumn of his life. Now it's your turn. What could possibly be the premise of Mrs. Doubtfire 2?

I just got around to Mad Hot Ballroom...

...and it's shockingly bland. Kids saying the darndest things does not make a documentary. I know they're only 10, but they're just grabassing while being reprimanded by teachers who wield their power with an iciness hardened no doubt by a crumbled dancing career ("...and those who can't teach gym teach ballroom dancing"). The film builds to a citywide competition. One team wins, the rest dissolve into tears. Then the film ends. In life, there are winners and losers, OK 10-year-old dancers and not-so-OK 10-year-old dancers. In the end, we all die. This is perhaps my worst post ever -- such a harmless film doesn't deserve the vitriol -- but I'm angry for spending 100 minutes watching New Yorkers' tax dollars spiral down the shitter. Oh, the rumba saved Johnny from a life of crime? Please. The only thing it saved him from was math class.

Stoners, Transsexuals, Dreamers

1. The Family Stone sucks.

2. Transamerica doesn't. It's simpler, shallower, and funnier than you'd think. Felicity Huffman deserves the plaudits -- the role of Bree Osborne is an actor's dream: Huffman, a woman, plays a man who is becoming a fully transgendered woman. Fine. One question: Why wasn't a biological male cast? The Weinstein Co. was "brave" enough to commission the film, but not brave enough to cast it with a transgendered actor? I guess we can fall back on the "gender is a construct" argument. Why shouldn't a biological woman play the part of a biological man living as a woman? But part of me thinks about that transgendered female actor out there who could've made a mark with this once-in-a-lifetime role. Ah well. The movie is cute without being maudlin or depressing, and Huffman is expert enough to keep the whole operation classy. (And Fionnula Flanagan, Elizabeth Peña, Graham Greene, and Burt Young are in it!)

3. The premise of American Dreamz seems better than the trailer, so here's hoping. If there's any two things worth skewering, it's the U.S. government's image and the culture of "American Idol."

Heaving bosom versus kvetching cad

Today the academy released the, uh, disparate list of 42 tracks eligible to be nominated for the best song Oscar. I hate this category. [Let's go back to 2004, when Annie Lennox's "Into the West" won over Micheal McKean and Annette O'Toole's "A Kiss at the End of the Rainbow." "West" played over the end credits of The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King. "Kiss" was an integral part of A Mighty Wind; indeed, it provided one of the year's great memories -- Eugene Levy and Catherine O'Hara, excavating an old romance as aged folk singers. They did their own singing and playing, of course, and performed at the Oscars in character. And it's a beautiful song. This was the perfect opportunity to honor a deserving song from a movie about music, plus give an Oscar to a respected industry couple. But the Oscar went to exit music. This has happened countless times.]

Anyway, if anything, there should be an original song score Oscar, given to the composer of a set of songs for, say, an original movie musical (like A Mighty Wind). But whatever. The academy needs five hip artists to draw music lovers to the telecast (even though eradicating the category would shave 30 minutes off the show, thereby retaining more viewers). Here are the five I expect to be nominated, none of which are very hip:

"Dicholo," The Constant Gardener (performed by Oyub Ogada)
"Hustle & Flow (It Ain't Over)," Hustle & Flow (performed by Terrence Howard)
"In the Deep," Crash (by Bird York)
"There's Nothing Like a Show on Broadway," The Producers (by Mel Brooks)
"Travelin' Thru," Transamerica (by Dolly Parton)

It'll be Mel (who won a screenplay Oscar for the original Producers) against Dolly (whose last song nomination was in 1981).

Three thoughts on the Globes

1. In case it's not apparent year after year, the Golden Globes is a silly exercise, providing categories for both drama and comedy films and performances but not for their directors or supporting actors or screenwriters. So there was the usual shafting (no Cronenberg or Frears despite best pic nominations for A History of Violence and Mrs. Henderson Presents), plus the usual ridiculous inclusions prompted by a lukewarm movie year (Sarah Jessica Parker is terrible in The Family Stone, and must we always include Johnny Depp?), plus the genre juggling to fit everyone in (if The Squid and the Whale is a comedy, then the Hollywood Foreign Press is an association of sadists). Everyone better be good and liquored up for the ceremony so we can have some good TV.

2. This is the year of Clooney. George is nominated for directing and writing Good Night, and Good Luck and supporting actor for Syriana -- identical (and deserved) Oscar nominations will follow, which would make him, I think, the first person ever to be nominated for both a performance and direction (for different movies) in the same year. Correct me if I'm wrong.

3. Brokeback Mountain, which continued its awards-season dominance yesterday with a best pic/director/actor trifecta from the New York critics, has a leading seven nominations, including one for best song, which I didn't know it had (further evidence this category should be eradicated across the board). Some might say there is plenty of time for Brokeback to lose momentum (Oscars are conferred March 5), but what film would take its place? ... You see? It played in five screens last weekend and made a half million dollars total, a phenomenal ratio. And when it opens wide this weekend, it'll hit the mother lode. Glowing reviews, stellar box office, no Million Dollar Baby type in sight -- looks virtually unbeatable from here.

P.S. Zero nominations for "Arrested Development" in the TV categories. You're telling me that Charlie Sheen is doing better work than Jason Bateman, whose sublime performance on "AD" should be starmaking? I'm done trying to figure this out.