CHE (Steven Soderberg, USA, 2008)

Quite calm meditation by Soderberg on Comandante Ernesto Che Guevara - out of 4 hours of screen time we stuck 85 percents in Cuban and Bolivian woods in guerilla mode, and most of the times director chooses to look at Che from rather unconventional angle: he's almost in spectator's mode, observing deeds and mistakes of his troops. Maybe it's to do with little filming period - Soderberg shot each part of 'Che' in 40 days. Neverthless, if you read the Guevara's diaries on which the films were based (I most certainly did), you wouldn't expect action bonanza. But Del Toro's acting and presence lifted film's power, and after watching this you may feel as blessed as some Bolivian peasants after meeting Comandante - "Was it really Che Guevara? Did I really shook his hand?"

MONKEY BUSINESS (Howard Hawks, 1952, USA)

As Jaques Rivette wrote for Cahiers du Cinema: "The evidence on the screen is the proof of Hawks's genius: you only have to watch Monkey Business to know that it is a brilliant film. Some people refuse to admit this, however; they refuse to be satisfied by proof. There can't be any other reason why they don't recognize it." There's nothing more you can say, actually.



The funniest scenes (not involving naked baby Cary Grant or chimpanzee performing some chemical experiments) are when Ginger Rogers discovers her juvenile passion for dance, of course, she's got such a wonderful physicality. I wouldn't be jealous of young Marylin Monroe in her place.

LA FRONTIERE DE L'AUBE (Philippe Garrel, 2007, France)

Doesn't Garrel gets kind of tired filming his son walking around Paris, looking forlorn, and screwing bohemian Parisienne chicks? You can't get tired of it, obviously. Dunno. Maybe if I was in my adolescent stupid phase, I could get something out of this movie. For now it's just seems so irrelevant to me, like a complete waste of time. Even if the chick really had some screen presence.

REEFER MADNESS (Louis J. Gasnier, 1936, USA)

It's not funny, not even in unintentional or ironic way, this boring cautionary tale on dread effects marijuana does on people in 1930's. You people must be really smoking too much weed for your own good, if you dig this shit.

WHEN I GROW UP TO BE A GIANT (Inna Tumanyan, USSR, 1978)

It's not the first time I see this teenage Soviet movie about romantic madcap scholar on TV - and everytime I find myself hopelessly glued to it. Now I know why - perfunctory research indicated that it was one of the first screen roles of Mikhail Olegovitch Efremov. It means I was right when I was telling myself - I know this mug from somewhere! And now of course the final scene with the drunkard-husband of his beloved school teacher (Liya Ahedjakova in teacher's mode again) makes perfect sense - Efremov-jr is widely known for his life of alcohol excess. Can't blame him, though - not in the least for starting out like that in acting. And I miss those movies terribly (this one in particular was shot the year I was born in) - they don't make'em like that anymore.

WHO KILLED TEDDY BEAR (Joseph Cates, 1965, USA)

There's much poignance when characters of this seedy noir meet in the zoo - and not just because all of them (at leaste the male ones) admit that there's an animal inside every one of them. Zoo absurdity versus the absurdity of metropolitan life (that's way too pre-Sex and the City, way to pre-Megan's law, and hey, Hayes' code is still in?). You can consume all kinds of adult culture (that's when it crept it's way into genre movies) but shall not consume person of opposite sex against her will - even if she looks like willing. Thanks God they invented the phone already (that's way too pre-internet) - you could stalk them. It's like the first time such characters allowed to express their bent mind (that's way too pre-Taxi Driver) on screen - and what's more funny and weird, their spokesman, looks all pouty and lascivious, like Italian immigrant version of James Dean. Sal Mineo, the actor, finished even more tragic - stabbed to death on the street. Talk about life imitating art. Or blurred lines between sanity and going psycho. This b/w beauty finally gets re-release on DVD. 

And of course final dancing scene should feature in any list of dancing movie scenes, which feature Pulp Fiction's twist. It's not only on par with it - that's where the animals inside finally gets unleashed. 

NOW I KNOW HOW MICKEY ROURKE FEELS

Mickey Rourke womanizing on a national Russian TV-channel news. You're not gonna have a problem communicating with women, when 20 years ago you smeared jar of honey or yoghurts or whatever all over them in the movies. 

SYNECDOCHE NEW YORK (Charlie Kaufmann, 2008)

I slept on it, but it still feels like quite unsettling and long-forgotten life-changing experience from watching latest Charlie Kaufman's film. It's not like this film felt close to home, it's more like it dipped its paw right into my brain and turned it all over. Blinking beacon lights of cultural cross-references (Harold Pinter, Kafka's "Trial) didn't help. I could compare this to some Frankenstein-like bastard of Woody Allen and Roy Anderson on LSD doing some devastating self-analysis and coming up with some really bad news. Saying the ultimate. I can not recommend this movie to those with fear of dying. It's not like they living in parallel universes but thought that Philip Seymour Hoffman's performance will not secure him Oscar or whanever recognition for his role is mind-boggling. But so is everything about this movie, it's the pinnacle of everything Charlie Kaufman ever did and really complete and holistic work to boot.  One more thing about parallel universes: Russian film distributors (themselves not really averse to mind-fuckery - see, they gave Public Enemies with Depp a new name "Johnny D.") gave it (not-very-)new name - "New York, New York". It's easy to see why they did it, but it's too wrong, it kills all Kaufman's self-deprecation about not being able to give his work a proper title (see Eternal Sunshine of Spotless Mind) and there's no way it will help film make some money over here - Scorcese's movie of the same name wasn't really box-office smash, and only handful of movie-buffs know it round here, anyway. Now I'm depressed, just like you.

ХРАНИТЕЛИ (THE WATCHMEN, Zack Snyder, 2009)

I was never really into movie adaptations of graphic novels (Sin City and V for Vendetta went right past through me), so I didn't really expected much from Watchmen. While not being exact eye candy, Zack Snyder's anti-superhero opus of epic proportions tried to incorporate in itself a bit of everything and, of course, fails in doing so. What we've got from almost 3 hours of running time is great opening titles, some cheesy or oh-look-at-me-I'm-so-clever soundtrack decisions (lifted from Moore's graphic novels, as I heard), a bit of good old ultra-violence (looking quite odd, really, next to near-perfect automatic sheen of cinematograhy), bald blue naked man with his cock hanging out (nice present, I guess, for all the ladies on 8th March day) and some confused and confusing conclusions about fate of humanity. Not so bad, really, and if director at the helm had a bit more talent or personality instead of ambitions on display, it could've turn out even better.