a woman filmmaker has made a documentary about a famous pedophialiac priest, using footage she obtained when she went to visit him in ireland and discovered to her surprise that the priest was more than happy to chat away about his deeds and desires. she filmed him for eight days.

i could write this as a comment in the free-for-all that follows the alternet post i link to above, but i don’t have the energy to duke it out with the death penalty invokers and the castration advocates. so excuse me as i take this blog out of the purely filmic and into the political.

witch-hunt/lynching: from the description of the film, the priest sounds totally deranged. he brags about what he did, gets lascivious, indulges in details. now how cool is that? how easy is it to put a deranged man in front of a camera and allow him to crucify himself without the benefit even of a miranda warning? no wonder the man had to flee ireland. judging from the small sample on alternet, there are a lot of people out there who would like a bloody piece of him. (more…)

An enormously-pleasurable melodrama about duelling magicians, told in a manner that while fractured into a complex time (and mindfuck) structure is never less than coherent and compelling. I’m a sucker for the lore and legend surrounding the heyday of magic (and I’d note that Ricky Jay, a real expert on those subjects, turns up too briefly onstage)–it was a cutthroat business, as interesting for the backstage infighting as for the strange ‘exoticism’ and confidence tricks of the shows. The movie captures that feel very well, even though zeroed in on the story of two rivals. Every actor is quite wonderful, particularly David Bowie in a small turn as Nikola Tesla. Much hay is made about the ‘twist,’ but I wasn’t terribly surprised–and the energies of the plot do not hinge entirely or even too much on that surprise. (As with magic, the “Prestige” may be the showy flash at the end, but the pleasures are all in the getting there. Which brings me back to my theories on narrative, but you all know them, so insert here.)

And I’ll forego further conversation so as not to ‘wreck’ anyone’s surprise. But at some future date I’d love to talk about this. And how the best films of this year have been/are crowd-pleasers–from Lee’s Inside Man to Scorsese’s Departed. Screw the serious?

Saw Marie Antoinette yesterday, and I’ll say off the bat I was a little disappointed. I’m tempted to blame my fondness for Lost in Translation, but I think Sophia Coppola’s new film is just okay. It has its moments, most of which are carried by Kirsten Dunst who gives a really terrific performance. And Jason Schwartzman’s Louis Auguste is great. When crowned the new King of France after his grandfather (played by Rip Torn, who like Molly Shannon, Shirley Henderson, and the massive Marianne Faithfull, is underexploited) suddenly dies of smallpox, Louis Auguste bows down, turns his head upward and prays “God help us, we are too young to reign.” (more…)

I need a sponsor. Sunday evenings, Max babbling to himself in his room, I head downstairs and flick on the tv before doing some prep work for Monday’s classes. Or that is always the plan. Invariably I flip around the empty gestures on every network until I hit VH1 Celebreality. Every week I forget that it’s on, put it out of my head–as if to ease the addictive behavior once I’m back in front of Bonaduce, sick to my stomach that I’m watching but unable to turn away.

Help me. I’m not at all suckered in by the advertising; I don’t believe for a minute that this is unfettered breakdown. I see it as so much self-destructive vanity, strutting rooster-boy preening for the cameras and an imagined public. What I don’t get is why I watch it. Someone give me a clue. Be my sponsor, and help me shake that red-goateed, gravelvoiced, ropy-muscled, narcissistic monkey off my back.

But at least it’s better than Studio 60.

Guy Maddin’s been talked about on the blog here , and michael at least had talked about getting some of his movies over Netflix, which hopefully he has. This one was made the same year as his amputee beer baron with glass legs (and Kids in the Hall) epic Saddest Music in the World. It only recently came out on DVD.

I believe that most of it was part of an art installation Maddin did where parts of the ten chapters were viewed by individuals looking through peepholes. Here, each chapter is silent, black and white, about 6 minutes long, and with a jittery editing that makes it feel like you’re hand-cranking the film along backwards and forwards to re-watch little bits over and over again

It involves hockey, abortion clinics/hair salons/brothels, murderous hand transplants, wax museums, ghosts, the Soviet Union, male and female nudity and a kind of tribute to Kenneth Anger’s Fireworks that really I don’t think anyone expected to see. (more…)