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I never heard of this film, but I came across it on cable and watched it because it was rated 3 stars and had Jennifer Jason Leigh and Jack Black in it. It is perhaps one of the most surgically accurate portrayals of a dysfunctional family and the relationship between sisters. It's a film that brilliantly unfolds the ways that dysfunction and craziness get passed down from generation to generation, despite one's insight and best efforts to be otherwise. Surprisingly, it was Nicole Kidman whose performance was the engine that drove this excellent ensemble. She is such a nuanced and cerebral actress in this role. It was painful to watch her performance, but so fascinating and psychologically accurate. Most important, it is a film that tells a powerful tale without sinking to caricature or making fun of oddball family members. Frankly, there was an awful lot that cut close to the bone for me (having come from a similarly crazy family), and a lot to be learned from it. I made my teenage sons watch, too.

I am conflicted about this film because I loved the 1984 documentary "The Times of Harvey Milk." The documentary version was so powerful and really a terrific film, that I kind of resent the Hollywood Milk stealing any of its thunder. On the one hand Milk: The Movie is Gus Van Zandt's masterpiece (and it is in many ways), but maybe also a bit too much of "Sean Penn: The Movie." Then again I'm in danger of being too cynical because Sean Penn's performance is definitely bravura; it has so much heart and soul (though maybe not as much as the real Harvey Milk in the documentary). What I loved best about Milk is the retelling of a fascinating chapter in the history of gay and human rights. Harvey's operatic love affairs, not so much.

I was really looking forward to this movie based on the reviews, and made my two teenage sons go with me. I had to leave after 30 minutes. It was so cruel and vicious I just couldn't sit through one more act of inhumanity against children. If you thought Trainspotting was rough to take, it's nothing compared to Slumdog Millionaire. I loved Trainspotting in spite of the violence, but this movie was just relentless. I've seen much more effective depictions of the victimization of children in India, and the civil war between Hindu and Muslim, without resorting to MTV-style artistic violence. Danny Boyle, the director of both films, did a masterful job of using violence to make his point in Trainspotting; in Slumdog Millionaire I wondered whether he was actually getting off on it. Unless you have a really strong stomach and don't have a problem watching children treated like cockroaches, give it a miss. I feel certain you won't be missing much.

I got hooked on this show during my late night channel surfing. Now it's become a daily DVR staple along with The Daily Show. It is charmingly low budget, but not low in production values. The set is attractive and comfortable without trying too hard (I especially like the large aquarium in back of Byron Allen which appears to house only baby sharks). It's a terrific introduction to the latest in fresh new comic talent, although the occasional comic star drops in, too (Margaret Cho, Jimmie Walker, Jon Lovitz, Judy Tenuta, Larry Miller, etc.). Byron Allen is the laid back host who shares a brotherhood with his fellow comics and does a wonderful job of giving them the spotlight. The show is obviously cut and pasted to air the very best of the panels' bits, which is what makes the show so watchable -- you don't have to wade through the tepid or unfunny stuff to get to the gems. I absolutely disagree with the comment that the show does a poor job of trying to appear improvisational. The format is very much upfront: the host asks obviously leading questions meant to set up the comics' bits, and there's no pretense about it. It's kind of like being in on a job interview or a casting call, and as such it's actually a refreshing new format.

There are certain musician/singers whose voices I never tire of. It's the special quality of their voice and a unique musical style that sets them apart. No one else can sound like them. Van Morrison, Prince, Joe Cocker, the Beatles, Aretha Franklin, the Rolling Stones...and Neil Young. Director Jonathan Demme did a damn good job filming this wonderfully romantic tribute to just such a musician -- especially since it was clearly made on the fly as a just-in-case last rite and pre-mortem memorial before Neil Young's impending brain surgery. I must confess that, in the anonymity of the dark theatre, I wept tears of profound sorrow and bittersweet nostalgia as Neil took us on a meditative journey from his early roots to the present. The cynicism of an earlier time morphed into circumspection, reminding us of passions left behind, or forgotten or tempered through experience. The criticism of this film as a boomer sapfest and a sellout is grossly misguided and small-minded. This is a film about a man reviewing his life as he faces the possibility of his death. It is poignant beyond words, and poignancy is the loveliest of emotions.

I happened to read Roger Ebert's review of this film and was so irked by how wrong he got it that I wrote the following response:

I am increasingly frustrated by the trend toward egocentric film reviews that, first and foremost, are about the critic's feelings.

I was particularly put off by the opening sentence to your 11/4/05 review: "I don't know what I'm supposed to feel during "The Squid and the Whale." Huh? Shouldn't you be asking what you are supposed to think during the film? Despite the fact that you seem to be a decent guy whose politics I respect, the truth is, I don't read your film reviews to better understand what makes Roger Ebert tick. To dismiss the point of view of this film because you, personally, wish you had had "cool" parents just like these kids; is a dumbing down of your role as a critic.

What I wish you had reviewed, was a film that thoughtfully explores the unintended consequences of divorce in a culture that collectively and individually tries to assuage its guilt about its effects, particularly on children. Divorce, like death, may be a part of life which we have no choice but to accept, but prevalence alone does not mitigate the affects of divorce on the children who are the civilian casualties. While Roger Ebert, the adult child, might wistfully view these two childish adults as fantasy parents; what the filmmaker explores (as J.M. Barrie did 100 years ago in "Peter Pan") is how, despite being known for their elaborate fantasy life, children are inherently conservative when it comes to their real lives.

...Or better yet, watch Fandango if you want to see a really intelligent and funny male college age road flick. Rolling Kansas sounded promising (in fact the program guide gave it 2.5 out of 4 stars which usually means it's fairly watchable) but I pretty much fast-forwarded through it. Usually road trip movies have great music, but I can't even recall whether there was music. The only high point was a small role with Rip Torn as a wise old hitchhiker/guru. Otherwise the jokes and timing missed all along the way. The four main characters are unknown actors and I don't remember seeing any of them in another movie. (Oh, yeah, I see that Thos. Hayden Church was in it, but he's in everything, good, bad or indifferent). This movie is about as funny as watching someone else stoned when you're not.

...three subjects that always speak to me. Garden State has an interesting cast, with Zach Braff doing a nice turn as the alienated stranger in a strange land. He walks through the movie, his face impassive, only his eyes moving to take in the craziness around him. Natalie Portman is a beautifully natural actress whose dialog seemed improvised, it was that real. Peter Sarsgaard did his usual creepy, all-seeing, all-knowing character. In all, a wonderfully moody, emotional, yet matter-of-fact take on the stuff that'll kill us if we let it. As a love story, it made me a believer in the concept of "soul mates" -- I was right there with them. And it's all wrapped up in a terrific soundtrack.

This film is so painful to watch, but you must. What an indictment of our society and how little we value children. It doesn't take a documentary in a third world country, when there is plenty of horrific child neglect in the richest country in the world. Why should Susan, the heroine of this story, a mother who adopted upwards of 13 significantly sick or disabled children, be such an anomaly? Such a curiosity? Why isn't the system giving her and her children every possible support and resource they need to make their lives livable? I will never be able to shake this story off, nor do I want to. Especially with the epidemic of childhood neuro- and immuno- disorders that have erupted over the last decade or so, thanks to the U.S. pharmaceutical industry and the CDC who cavalierly allowed mercury to be used to prolong the shelf life of the multitude of vaccines our children are required to have from their first hour of life.

...to use the expression from Wallace Shawn's play, "Fever," about affluent, do-gooder, middle-aged white women who use their money and position to absolve themselves of their bourgeois guilt. This is a dishonest and narcissistic video blog in which the director, Zana Briski, makes a really cool, hip video USING cute, big-eyed, velvet painting kids with light brown skin as props, to tell a story that, more important, is all about her. This is no "documentary." It is a vanity film, designed to prove to herself and anyone else gullible and guilty enough to be snowed into thinking it's a selfless act of humanity. It's one thing if you are Michael Moore, whose on screen role in his documentaries is intentionally comedic, in the genre of Jon Stewart's "The Daily Show." Quite another when you are a Zana Briski who grabs the spotlight without a trace of irony or self-deprecation.

Those who like their movies big on Hollywood, hilarity, frenetic pacing and neato special effects, are bound to brand Nine Lives with the misogynist "CF" (for chick flick). Do not to listen to them. Rodrigo Garcia (scion of the writer Gabriel Garcia Marquez) is a writer-director who is not afraid to make films that showcase his intellect and humanity -- however noncommercial those qualities may be. He is that rare Hollywood species: a male director who really digs and respects women without the taint of awe or condescension. In fact his films are not really about women, they are more universally about relationships. As the director himself explained after a recent showing of Nine Lives at the Virginia Film Festival, where he was accompanied by the very cool Sissy Spacek and Kathy Baker, as well as the two (female) producers (graduates of UVA's law and business schools); "the film is about relationships that have ended but will never be over." Go see Nine Lives, if only for the single takes -- an exceedingly difficult cinematic feat that beats any special effect.

I have neither read nor seen the play this film is based on, but Mike Nichols does not attempt to take "Closer" outside the parameters of a filmed play. I don't mind that technique, Nichols has filmed many a play and he is so very good at it. Any problem the film may have is likely a reflection of the play itself. I'm guessing that Mike Nichols did more with this play than any other stage director could. I happen to really like plays about relationships between men and women, but I had the sense that the dialog was a bit too influenced by David Mamet. While the play's ideas and narrative were fine and thoughtful, I think it would have been a better play if it wasn't so derivative of Mamet. Only Mamet should do Mamet, and this playwright would have been better off using his own voice. "Closer" is an example of how a great director and great performances can elevate a play that is good enough, but maybe not as good as these players' skill at interpreting it.

I am a Jew, albeit a "heathen" Jew, yet I found myself loathing all of these hyper-religious Jews, gay or not. It wasn't until the very end of the film that the director managed to bring us back to the mainstream, the essence, of Judaism with a throwaway quote from one of the film's counterpoint talking heads, a psychologist who had defected from the flock of extreme Orthodox Judaism. To paraphrase his lyrical and solid argument, he reminded us that the God of Judaism is a God of love, not control. He is the same God that engaged in conversations, in the Talmudic tradition, with Abraham and Moses and other biblical figures, in order to respond to the needs of the changing human condition. Until that point it was unclear what the director's point of view was or who her intended audience was for this film. If this portrayal of the most extreme vestige of Judaism was intended for a general audience, then, judging by my own reaction, I'd say she may have succeeded in painting all of Judaism with the same brush. It was clear that the rigid and mindless interpretations of Judaism by the extreme right were being depicted as a bad thing, but where was the Talmudic debate as to why they were wrong? I may not be a religious Jew, and I may not believe in God, but as one of the gay outcasts from the flock explained, I do believe that being born a Jew is a gift. It is Judaism's ancient teachings, that a meaningful life must be spent in pursuit of knowledge and understanding and tolerance in order to better the human condition, that make Judaism such a special tradition to be a part of.

The message that the film SHOULD have made, and failed to do, is that EVERY religion taken to its extreme, including Judaism, is nothing more than a breeding ground for people who are like robotic religious protoplasm. Ultimately, their religious fervor serves only to maintain a symbolic, xenophobic status quo that becomes a perversion of something they blindly devote their life to preserving.

It was about 15 years ago that I first saw Ross McElwee's quasi-autobiographical documentary about his quest to trace General Sherman's unsuccessful campaign through the South during the Civil War. "Sherman's March" was a film which showed the delightful disconnect between McElwee's memories of vestigial Southern culture, with the man he had become. Just as the American South exemplifies the Sublime to the Ridiculous, McElwee's ostensible journey to follow the trail of Sherman's March was really an excuse to visit old girlfriends and childhood memories along the way.

"Bright Leaves" is so good a follow up to McElwee's earlier film about his search to understand his Southern roots that, rather than inviting a comparison with "Sherman's March," it simply picks up his story with a new quest. This time it's his search to understand the history of North Carolina tobacco farming, which was also a part of his family's history three generations before.

The film is at least two hours long, but not one extraneous frame is included. In McElwee's typical style, he presents us with a meandering, quiet, thoughtful and extremely funny unfolding of the tobacco story, and his signature pacing perfectly highlights the layers and layers of meaning he wants to get across.

As a Northerner and unashamed Yankee who has lived in the South for 13 years (which is 12 years too long), I can vouch that McElwee's films have just as much value for those of us who lack the DNA required to understand the South. His films are not just for born and bred Southerners who see themselves as special members of a unique and proudly eccentric group.

On a practical level, "Bright Leaves" may be the best anti-smoking film ever made, just as "Supersize Me" was the most convincing argument about the dangers of fast food. I highly recommend you take your kids to see it, too.

To those of us who view the reality show phenomenon with contempt and boredom, I appeal to you to put aside your disdain for what you think this show is about. Chasing Farrah is not the usual mindless reality show that traffics in titillation, lacking any redeeming social or anthropological value.

There is certainly enough bad stuff being produced these days that can easily be reviewed and dismissed without actually watching a single episode. For this genre of crap, it is possible, even preferable, to write a thoughtful and well-reasoned critique based entirely on the spin, the trailers, the thumbs up and the thumbs down. But you would be wrong to lump Chasing Farrah in with the kind of shows that can be reviewed in absentia.

Except for the occasional episode of Leave it to Beaver, I rarely watch the TV Land channel. I may be as much an admirer of pop culture as the next thinking man, but TV Land's line up is just not my kind of nostalgia. So, it was while channel surfing in the wee hours of the morning that my thumb paused at the site of Chasing Farrah. I'd heard nothing about the show, it wasn't at all on my radar; though earlier in the evening I did notice a listing in the program guide and thought it might be quirky enough to have a look if there was nothing else on.

I instantly fell in love with the whole gestalt of the show: the concept, the editing, the writing, the pacing, the interviews, the rambling conversations, the subplots, and Farrah as the worthy focus of it all. There is a sheep-like mass media judgment of Farrah Fawcett as empty-headed and "flaky" (the adjective with which she's been branded since her 1997 appearance on Letterman), but there really is a lot more going on there, and it would be wrong to review and dismiss her without actually taking time to watch a few episodes.

The Farrah stereotype (and that of Ryan O'Neal later on in the show) fell away during the offhandedly funny and underdramatized scenes that give us a glimpse of how she interacts with her fans. In these scenes, Farrah is deeply empathetic, relaxed and sincerely appreciative toward the socially inept, middle-aged geeks, known as her superfans. The unexpected sweetness of these scenes is what belies comparisons with similar shows, like the loathsome Anna Nicole or the Osbornes. In one scene there is an unpleasant, mean-spirited exchange between her security guards and one of these hapless fans, whose jittery excitement at the prospect of finally meeting Farrah makes you think of every downtrodden geek in high school who was bullied and mercilessly teased by his peers. In an exchange that has likely been repeated his entire life, the fan's poor social skills and general weirdness alarms the security personnel who then treats him like so much vermin in order to get rid of him.

Quick cut to Farrah sitting in her dressing room chatting with the above mentioned fan. (Apparently she had intervened and vetoed his dismissal by the nervous security guard). It is in this moment that she shines, and even humbles the rest of us, by revealing her real and best nature as she interacts with respect and loving acceptance of this besotted Walter Mitty. There are other similar encounters with male superfans who receive the same attentiveness, sincerity and warmth from her. During these human moments you see the so-called flakiness replaced with a quick wit and almost maternal quality toward the male fans who are mostly awkward and lonely social misfits. She puts them at ease, never condescends to them, and graciously responds with the kind of appreciation you can't fake. Like the Wizard of Oz, in the absence of magical powers, Farrah figures out what each fan needs. She deftly dodges their unrealistic requests for her time by giving them a few moments of her undivided attention, which is all they really ever wanted. It works like a charm as the men visibly relax, their obsession with her, satiated. In the end, it is enough just to be granted an audience with the woman they have fantasized about since adolescence.

I slipped into watching "Angel's in America" on HBO, the AIDS film by Mike Nichols. It's an immensely powerful film, even though I'm not big on hallucinatory sequences, of which there were a lot. Apparently the original play (and the movie is more like a play than a movie) was a huge success on Broadway, but I wasn't in NYC in the 90's so I can't compare the two. But the writing is a pleasure and NO ONE can coax a performance out of an actor like Mike Nichols. No WAY would I have guessed that Meryl Streep was playing the ancient Orthodox rabbi. And Al Pacino's performance as Roy Cohn, well, it was beyond brilliant. Even though I absolutely, totally think that Al Pacino sucks and is the most over-rated actor ever, if I had to base his acting ability on this one role, I would have to agree that he is as good as everyone says. My absolute favorite, though, was Jeffrey Wright, whose only other major film role was as Basquiat in the film by the same name. I could have watched him forever -- man, that is acting. But what got to me most was the central story about the young man dying of AIDS, alone and abandoned by his lover who couldn't deal with it. I don't know what could be a worse fate. It reminded me of the central theme of the excellent docudrama "Into the Void," about the mountain climber who willed himself to drag his broken body back down the mountain because his worst fear was to die alone. Worse than death itself. Even Al Pacino's Roy Cohn kept insisting, "I'm not afraid of death." But he was so desperate not to die alone that he took solace and comfort, not fear, from his hallucinations of Ethel Rosenberg, whose execution he bragged about having caused.

Before Sunset picks up nine years later and, unbelievably, it is an even better film. Actually, I'm not sure which of the two films is really better, except that "Before Sunset" is more relevant at this stage of my life and "Before Sunrise" is now more nostalgic. They are both so perfect in every way, and I can't think of another film like them. I guess Linklater was influenced by that genre of French films in which "a man and a woman have a conversation about life and love and not much else happens." The difference is that so often in the French films the conversation is banal, pretentious or self-important, posing as something more profound. Linklater's dialog is so natural; it moves from the mundane to the intelligent without a single false note. Both films were written and directed by Richard Linklater who does this kind of talky, real-time, thoughtful and realistic slice of life better than anyone (his film, "Slacker," was a masterpiece). The story of Before Sunrise/Sunset is about serendipitously finding one's soulmate (for lack of a better word) at the wrong time, and desperately trying to forget and move on, but utterly failing. In the case of the couple in the film, they discover each other when they are students traveling on a train through Europe; he's American, she's French. When they unexpectedly meet again nine years later they learn that, in the intervening years, neither had found anything remotely close to what they shared in their brief time together, and they reconnect so easily, it's as if only a couple of months had passed. Once again, as in the first film, their timing is off; neither are free to drop everything else in their lives to take the plunge and play out the romance. As the Ethan Hawke character puts it so well, "It is a choice between being my best self or my honest self."

I saw this film at 3am on Bravo and couldn't turn it off. For some reason both the play and the film adaptation never came across my radar. What a wonderful surprise to discover this gem. It is a fine example, like "The Odd Couple," of how to stage a Broadway play for the big screen. Though I haven't seen the play to make a comparison, the director is faithful to the pacing and staging of a play, while using the camera skillfully to enhance the meaning and drama. And the performances! All three actors were stellar; they owned these characters. They were exceptionally nuanced; not once did they play over the top or to the balcony, where other actors might have been tempted to chew the scenery to show the depth of the emotional drama of this play. Though filmed in 1968, it doesn't feel a bit dated, it holds up beautifully as a relevant, poignant and very meaningful drama of an American family.