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I haven’t seen Gran Torino yet.

Normally, I would rush out to see a Clint Eastwood movie. But I’ve been insanely busy the last several weeks, and I’ve had to choose my movies very, very carefully, so I’d be sure to pick a winner. So I started paying attention to what I read.

I must say, I was alarmed when film critic Mike D’Angelo posted this on Twitter:

Never have I seen a film as blatantly stupid as GRAN TORINO taken so seriously by so many non-idiots.

I wasn’t sure whether I should pay attention to a comment like that.

But then, one of my favorite film critics, Michael Sicinski, wrote:

Eastwood’s gentle pacing always lends projects such as these a dignity they barely deserve, and Gran Torino is the worst offender in quite a long time. The script is preposterous.Beyond that, I have nothing to say about this film.

Then, other critics whose perspectives I respect began lining up with reviews or comments that echoed these sentiments. And I must say, Gran Torino was suddenly not quite so high on my must-see list.

Here are a few of those voices:

Victor Morton:

I was impressed — in a sense. I thoroughly enjoyed myself laughing at one of the worst screenplays I’ve ever seen and one of the worst performances by a professional actor … rrrrrrr … I’ve ever seen.

Ron Reed:

If I were running a screenwriting program, and GRAN TORINO was submitted by someone applying for admission, I’d be very excited. “It’s a mess, but I love what the guy’s going for. Tons of potential.” If this script was submitted by someone as their graduating project, I’d flunk them.

I’m fascinated by the same themes that fascinate this guy (and Clint Eastwood) – violence and non-violence, revenge and forgiveness, justice, sacrifice. In fact, with respect to the last on the list, I’d be very surprised if the screenwriter isn’t a Christian.

But the script is so flawed, so amateur in execution, I truly can’t believe it got made without extensive rewrites. Honestly, the whole story it tells is just fine. But the telling of that story has every beginner weakness there is.

Ken Morefield:

Gran Torino is a bad film, yes, but at least it has the decency to be an exquisitely bad film of the type you can enjoy if you can get your head in the right place, see it with a few buddies, and one-up one another in deriding plot holes and predicting developments. (Give your self one point if you correctly predicted Clint would say confession in the second half of the film, two if you correctly predicted it would be in the penultimate scene, and three if at the appropriate time you turned to the person you were sitting next to and said, “This would be a really good place for a montage.”)

I said to my friend Peter (a.k.a. Smokey Burner) after the film–and it’s imperative that you understand that I am absolutely, positively in earnest–that as bad as the film was, it would have been perfect with two small changes:

a) The addition of a Predator.
b) If the dog could talk (or at the minimum do a voice-over narration).

Before I explain, let me just say that I think it is Eastwood’s presence that ultimately causes the film to implode. This is a shame, really, because if the film had starred Steven Seagal, Mark Wahlberg, or Vin Diesel, it could have gone straight to video as a Death Wish reboot without having to add all the Jesus imagery the only point of which seems to be to make you wonder if Gus Van Sant somehow decided to do a shot by shot remake of Unforgiven only to have a sly intern slip in pages of The Karate Kid to see if he would notice:

“What’s it like to kill a man?”
“It’s horrible; you take everything he ever has or will have. Now show me wax the car…”

Christian Hamaker:

This religious dialogue in the film is somewhat stimulating, but ultimately disappointing. … Eastwood seems to be more interested in posing—in one case, quite literally—as a Christ figure in Gran Torino, presenting themes of regret and redemption in large letters. However, the religious connections are forced and heavy-handed, unlike the far superior Changeling, where the Christian themes of justice and hope, although outwardly embodied by a man of the cloth, were delivered with more grace and power.

Weaker still is the story of Thao, Kowalski’s harassed neighbor. The young man broods effectively, but every time he opens his mouth, another stilted line ushers forth. Vang simply isn’t a very good actor, and his performance hurts the film.

…

Nevertheless, Gran Torino works fairly well as mainstream entertainment. It gives audiences a loveable rascal in Eastwood’s character, and allows a flawed, racist man to be the instrument of change in the life of a young man in need of direction. It also shows the lengths to which a man might go for his friends—a theme that, again, is more artfully presented in Changeling, but which is not without power here.

Readers are cautioned that the racial epithets and language in Gran Torino are distasteful, and that the movie, even with its explicit religious angle, feels warmed over. There’s not much beyond Eastwood’s enjoyable performance to recommend the film, but watching the actor give one more memorable performance may be enough for Eastwood’s fans.

But not all of my favorite critics disliked it.

Brett McCracken:

Gran Torino is surprisingly earnest—a film that is funny and angry and sad for all the right reasons, and remarkably well timed. As 2008 comes to close—and with it many things—Gran Torino captures the zeitgeist as eloquently as anything possibly could.

Andrew Sarris:

Clint Eastwood’s Gran Torino… caps his career as both a director and an actor with his portrayal of a heroically redeemed bigot of such humanity and luminosity as to exhaust my supply of superlatives.

Stephanie Zacharek:

[U]ntil Gran Torino starts rumbling headlong toward its tone-deaf, self-serious ending… it’s often enjoyable, satisfying and funny.

David Edelstein:

The movie is ludicrous, but Eastwood’s consistency is poignant. He has an agenda and sticks to it.

Director – Jimmy Hayward and Steve Martino

Writers – Cinco Paul and Ken Daurio

Based on the book by Dr. Seuss

Music – John Powell

Producer – Bob Gordon

20th Century Fox. 1 hour 28 minutes. Rated G.

STARRING THE VOICES OF: Jim Carrey (Horton), Steve Carell (Mayor), Carol Burnett (Kangaroo), Will Arnett (Vlad), Isla Fisher (Dr. Mary Lou LaRue), Amy Poehler (Sally O’Malley), Seth Rogen (Morton), Jonah Hill (Tommy) and Dan Fogler (Councilman)

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a review by Jeffrey Overstreet

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When will filmmakers learn that the magic of Dr. Seuss’s whimsical, wonderful tales has as much to do with brevity as anything else?

Let me put it another way: “A good story’s a good story, no matter how small.”

Dr. Seuss’s Horton Hears a Who is the latest of Seuss’s tales to be pumped up to elephantine proportions. And due to the disastrous Seuss adaptations that have preceded it, I’m sure it will earn a great deal of praise (as if all we ask of our movies is “Please don’t suck!”) And it will also earn points for clearly affirming all kinds of admirable themes (as if good messages are what make good movies).

Horton earns a few chuckles, has some surprising absurdist flourishes, and packs many good ideas under its expansive belt. But we’re living in a time when it’s easy to find examples of timeless, brilliant entertainment for all ages. We have Pixar and Hayao Miyazaki to thank, primarily, for a whole library of films that are both breathtaking and profound, speaking to parents as much as adults.

Thus, it’s all the more frustrating when flabby, overstuffed films like Horton come stomping into town. Theodore Geisel’s 60-page storybook had everything it needed to transcend its original context of McCarthyism and paranoia to speak to any era about respect, stewardship, and compassion. But directors Jimmy Hayward and Steve Martino seem worried that the story won’t hold the attention of their viewers. Thus, they toss in plenty of pop-culture references that seem entirely out of place here (Kennedy quotes? References to Apocalypse Now and MySpace?) And they pack these 88-minutes with broad-stroke comedy that isn’t very funny; frequent chase scenes that aren’t terribly creative; and myriad unnecessary supporting characters that crowd the story and seem to exist so another celebrity’s name can be stamped on the poster.

What gives? Were screenwriters Cinco Paul and Ken Daurio worried that the movie would fall short of feature-length? If so that’s too bad. It’s worth noting that the only lasting, beloved Dr. Seuss screen adaptation is the Chuck Jones version of How the Grinch Stole Christmas.

Horton made his debut in a Seuss story 14 years before he heard a Who. But in this ambitious tale, the elephant’s enormous ears enable him to hear voices on a speck of dust. He comes to understand that there is a whole society on that speck, and makes contact with the Mayor of Whoville. Thus, Horton learns to care about the little things, promising that “An elephant’s faithful, one hundred percent!” and “A person’s a person, no matter how small.” (That line, much to Seuss’ dismay, was co-opted by Pro-Life campaigners as a slogan. Probably because we all know that kids love stories even better when their parents narrow their interpretation to one politically advantageous purpose.)

Meanwhile, the Mayor of Whoville takes on the role of being a prophet to his own people, testifying to the fact that their world is in danger, and only this Voice From the Sky–this unseen, enormous, powerful, and benevolent pachyderm, is looking down on them all.

These filmmakers, like the makers of 2008′s other animated disappointment, The Tale of Despereaux, have buried a tasty cupcake under several pounds of frosting. And, like little Despereaux, this beloved elephant has been given an extreme makeover. Humble, sweet Horton has been kidnapped and replaced by a flamboyant, pratfalling buffoon so frantic to hold our attention that it’s a relief when the movie zooms in on Whoville (where the Mayor himself is a flibbertigibbet).

It’s a disappointment from Blue Sky — the studio that brought us the entertaining Ice Age, which was so much better than anyone had really expected.

And it’s a shame, too, because they’re the first studio to deliver a feature-length Seussian film that looks like Seuss’s world and feels like his personality. The style, at least, is right. The Whos of Whoville move like the overcooked spaghetti noodles they resemble. And the filmmakers have clearly gone to great lengths to pay tribute to Seuss’s body of work: Watch carefully, and you’ll catch tidbits from other books like One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish.

The cast is a fine ensemble of voice talent. Jim Carrey, whose amazing performance was the only admirable thing in Ron Howard’s abominable take on The Grinch, now takes on the hefty role of Horton, a pachyderm prone to preposterous adventures. With Loony Toon intensity, he takes the simple, likable Horton and turns him into, well, Jim Carrey, investing the elephant with an excess of adrenalin and expression.

Steve Carell is better-suited to his role as the exasperated Mayor of Whoville.

Carol Burnett plays the first of several threats to Horton’s quest. She’s Sour Kangaroo (Carol Burnett), the overly-concerned citizen and overprotective mother who wants to shield her children from the alarming notion that there might be more to this world than meets the eye. (She should have been voiced by Richard Dawkins.) She even enlists an army of sinister monkeys to try and silence Horton’s ideas. She doesn’t want her kids thinking that we might need to pay attention to small things, and that there might be value in preserving the world’s most intricate details. As an enemy of imagination and conscience, she comes to represent any moralistic blowhard who wants to squash new ideas rather than test and investigate them.

But even this hysterical Kangaroo cannot expand the story enough to fill 88 minutes, so the Mayor’s city council are also given enlarged roles to play as a panel of nay-sayers who try to silence the Mayor’s urgent warnings. They’d much rather go on celebrating without any attention to the apocalyptic signs happening all around them.

And what’s this? Another villain? The kangaroo, the monkeys, and the panel aren’t enough, apparently. Vlad, a pesky vulture (and the third animated villain in the last two years to strike Nosferatu poses), serves as the Big Somewhat Scary villain, since the Kangaroo is, let’s face it, more annoying than alarming.

A surprising character almost steals the show: The gloomy, misunderstood son of Whoville’s Mayor becomes the soul of the movie merely by being quiet. In the midst of so much hyperactivity, his stillness becomes intriguing. But when the revelations about his character come, they come in the midst of the film’s riotous, prolonged, exhausting finale, and what might have been a touching resolution ends up just another firework in a Fourth of July display.

It’s easy to point out all of the story’s admirable implications. Horton acknowledges the hard work of being a believer in a world that mocks faith; the virtue of faithfulness and service to those in need; the value of even the smallest and most vulnerable lives; and the importance of being responsible stewards of the natural world. These are all very honorable. Bravo.

And it’s easy to praise Blue Sky’s impressive visual art, which shows that they’re among the frontrunners of today’s animation studios.

But as an animation enthusiast, a fan of Dr. Seuss, and a seeker of meaningful family entertainment, I’ve come to believe that good messages, quotable platitudes, and flashy animation are not enough for great moviemaking. Horton heard me yawn at the 40-minute point, increasingly bored. No amount of clowning and action can replace thoughtful storytelling, and by the time the movie had dragged me exhausted to its absurd finale, an elaborate performance of REO Speedwagon’s “I Can’t Fight This Feeling Anymore” (Why?!), I couldn’t fight my own feeling of exasperation with the film. I wanted to go hang out with Winnie the Pooh or Totoro or Nemo for a while.

As a resource for babysitters, you could do a lot worse than Horton Hears a Who. But in the year when WALL-E reminded us of how funny, creative, and even beautiful an animated feature can be, Horton comes in a distant third (behind Dreamworks’ remarkably clever Kung Fu Panda).

In retrospect, Chuck Jones remains the only one who’s delivered an utterly satisfying adaptation of Dr. Seuss’s whimsy. Hopefully, like the Grinch himself, Hollywood will stop stealing and spoiling Seuss’s inventions, grow a bigger heart, and consider bringing these tales to a smaller screen, in smaller formats, without all of the unnecessary excess. Or how about this: Remember when Disney sewed together several short Winnie the Pooh stories into The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh? That worked just fine, without overstuffing the stories.

And isn’t that one of the lessons that the Whos have to teach us? In the smallest things come the most tremendous possibilities.

The Lorax had better beware.

A review by Jeffrey Overstreet.

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Director – Spike Jonze; writer – Charlie Kaufman; director of photography – Lance Acord; editor – Eric Zumbrunnen; music – Carter Burwell; production designer – K. K. Barrett; producers – Michael Stipe, Sandy Stern, Steven Golin and Vincent Landay. Starring John Cusack (Craig Schwartz), Cameron Diaz (Lotte), Catherine Keener (Maxine), John Malkovich (Himself), Orson Bean (Dr. Lester) and Mary Kay Place (Floris). USA Films. 112 minutes.

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Update: I wrote this review of Being John Malkovich when it was first released. Since then, my admiration for Charlie Kaufman’s skillful, inventive storytelling has increased dramatically, as Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and Synecdoche, New York became even more elaborate and challenging works than Malkovich.

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Charlie Kaufman’s script for Being John Malkovich must have seemed too good to be true for those who first looked at the project. The plot boasts the most original and daring comic premise in years.

In this dark and twisted “malice in wonderland” story, heroes crawl down rabbit holes into a world of gender role and sexual identity conflicts. But all of Kaufman’s genius depended on convincing one of the most notorious (and pretentious?) actors working today to deliver a self-effacing, sick, over-the-top self-parody.

Fortunately for audiences, John Malkovich accepted the challenge of playing himself. Or better, a version of himself invented by someone else. In a turn reminiscent of Steve Martin in All of Me and Martin Short in Innerspace, Malkovich has given his most memorable performance, playing a man manipulated by strange and sinister forces. I half-expected him to throw his arms wide and, like Short, shout “I’m possessed!”

Director Spike Jonze makes bold choices himself. This is his first feature film, and instead of making it bright and splashy, he paints it in dull colors, so dull in fact that I wondered if the projector bulb was going out at times. He casts big name stars and then makes them almost unrecognizable in trashy clothes, with long frizzy or slimy hair, and no makeup. Instead of pacing out the laughs and twists to leave room for sentiment or contemplation, he moves things along so quickly that there’s no good opportunity for viewers to go for popcorn without missing important developments. Jonze’s camera frames the shots with claustrophobic tightness. Even when we’re not in the rabbit hole to Malkovich’s brain, we’re still uncomfortable.

This all serves what seems to be the film’s theme: Most people are not happy with themselves, and they’d give anything to go where the grass is greener. Sometimes we feel trapped by our own limitations. And the world is giving us more and more ways to reinvent ourselves, more and more ways to live secret lives and escape into fantasies where we have more control over others and the world around us.

Malkovich, an actor with a reputation for excellence, taste, and sophistication, is a great target, partly because his innate weirdness makes us wonder what really is going on inside his head from day to day. Thus, it’s not that big a leap to imagine there are other people somewhere taking advantage of their chance to live inside his head.

John Cusack plays Craig Schwartz, an unshaven, long-haired puppeteer with an impossible dream of success. To make ends meet for himself and his wife Lottie (the unrecognizably drab Cameron Diaz) he takes a job as a filing clerk on the 7 ½ floor of an office building (yes, you read that right). The 7 ½ floor is a Wonderland in itself… a low-ceilinged environment with an odd array of employees who make our eccentric hero seem fairly normal and sympathetic (even though Craig and Lottie have a chimp and a parrot instead of children).

And as weird as Craig’s co-workers are, even they fade into the background when Cusack stumbles onto a small, secret door in the wall of his office… a tunnel into the brain of the movie’s namesake. It’s called a “portal”, and anybody who crawls through it can see through John Malkovich’s eyes for fifteen minutes or so, before they end up back in the real world. (Where they end up… well, that’s the funniest running gag of the film.)

Malkovich’s screenplay abandons many comic possibilities to remain focused on possibilities that deal with sexual identity, impulses, and appetites. Not that that’s such a bad thing; there are a lot of questions to consider here. What happens when the voyeuristic visitors to Malkovich enter into intimate moments? How can they use this to get into bed with their objects of desire? What happens when a woman visits Malkovich’s mind? Etc., etc.

I kept bracing myself for the film to become a big statement about sexual identity. Yes, there is a lot of perversity in action, as Craig and Lottie force Malkovich to serve their own sexual desires and fantasies. We watch as these disillusioned spouses plunge their already troubled marriage headlong into chaos. Once the gimmick with Malkovich is set up, the plot centers on how Craig tries to use him to seduce his smart and beautiful co-worker Maxine (the formidable Catherine Keener in a star-making peformace) only to have it backfire in the worst possible way. Meanwhile, the company boss (another big surprise…Orson Bean!) has rather questionable involvement with Malkovich himself, which raises questions we haven’t considered since, if you would believe this, Ron Howard’s Cocoon!

The film suggests that as we sometimes feel lost in their own minds and experiences, we risk a complete disintegration of integrity, identity, and understanding if we pacify ourselves by pursuing fantasy lives, and obsessing over the experiences of others. Further, it echoes one of the prominent themes of Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings — humanity’s obsession with extending longevity, and the dangers of becoming obsessed with youth.

For all of its comic absurdity, its memorable performances, and mind-bending special effects, the moments in Malkovich that haunt me most feature puppets, not actors. Craig’s puppets provide scenes resonant with beauty. Their delicate features were masterfully crafted by Czech puppetmaster Jan Svankmajer. These figures provide some of the film’s most poetic flourishes, raising questions about the powers that influence our own movement. Are we being controlled? If so, by whom? Is there any kind of life without “strings”?

Some critics have complained that the film is too long. Perhaps that is their reaction to periods when the movie strays from manic comedy and explores the effects Malkovich’s influence is having on his controllers, which becomes something of a sordid psychological soap opera.

And the film’s relentlessly bleak vision does become rather taxing. You wouldn’t want to live in this world — everybody’s miserable with themselves and determined to get what they want no matter how many people they hurt along the way. (Isn’t that essentially the same world we see in American Beauty?)

I do wish Kaufman had explored other comic possibilities opened by this premise. Does Malkovich have any friends that might react to his changing behaviors? What other aspects of his fictional life might we explore besides his sex life and the way he eats breakfast? There’s too strong an inclination here to explore only those corners that might offer sordid possibilities.

But in spite of its missed opportunities, Being John Malkovich remains a funny and creative movie. I agree with the critics who express astonishment that this script actually made it to the big screen today, alongside mediocre junk like Random Hearts and The Story of Us. Seeing this, Fight Club, The Iron Giant, The Sixth Sense and The Limey all up on the big screen in one year is a promising step into a future where the unexpected just might become the norm. Wouldn’t that make moviegoing more rewarding?

A review by Jeffrey Overstreet.

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Director – Alejandro Monteverde; writers – Alejandro Monteverde, Patrick Million and Leo Severino; director of photography – Andrew Cadelago; editor – Fernando Villena; music – Stephan Altman; producers – Leo Severino, Eduardo Verástegui, Alejandro Monteverde, Denise Pinckley and Sean Wolfington; Starring – Eduardo Verástegui (José), Tammy Blanchard (Nina), Manny Perez (Restaurant Owner), Angelica Aragon (José’s Mother), Jaime Tirelli (José’s Father) and Ali Landry (Celia). Roadside Attractions. 91 minutes.

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Jose (Eduardo Verástegui) is a New York chef in his brother’s Mexican restaurant, and he’s such a good chef that the kitchen can hardly operate without him.

But Jose would never win any of television’s “top chef” competitions.” His heart is too big. It’s so big, in fact, that his eyes almost shine, and his face is so wracked with sympathy for people in need that it’s easy to believe that he’s actually Jesus in disguise.

And that’s a good thing for Nina (Tammy Blanchard), the waitress who has just discovered that she’s pregnant. When her pregnancy test comes up positive, making her late for work, she keeps her secret even though her tardiness incurs the wrath of her boss. So Jose, sensing that something isn’t right, goes after her to try and console her. When he does, we learn that Jose is not Jesus at all. Rather, he’s a man with deep wounds of his own, and regret so powerful it has grown him an impressive beard.

As Jose and Nina get to know one another, we’re brought along on a memorable journey across New York, the highlight of which is some time in Jose’s house among a family of big personalities, big appetites, and big hearts. We’re also subject to jarring flashbacks that are jarringly incongruous with the quieter, more subtle aspects of the film — scenes that seem contrived, designed to make us bleed and sob and yearn for a resolution as unlikely as this scenario.

I enjoyed Bella, not so much because I find it to be a great work of art — it’s a decent movie with some admirable performances, endearing characters, and moments of quiet humor — but because it is a testament to the resourcefulness of inspired, creative people. Alejandro Gomez Monteverde’s first feature is a handsome, engaging film that was made on a very small budget, in very little time, with a good deal of improvisation and a lot of hard work. It’s a standup piece of work that looks like it was made on a budget ten times larger than what was actually available.

Having said that, it leans a little too heavily on sentimentality. And if I didn’t know the story of how the film was made, I would not have been quite so impressed.Bella is to romance and tearjerking drama what Primer was to mind-bending sci-fi.

But how much should the process of the film’s creation influence a critic’s assessment of the finished product?

The film itself is enjoyable, but hardly extraordinary. Tammy Blanchard steals the show with a convincing, understated performance, but there’s a lot more excitement out there over the lead actor, Eduardo Verástegui, whose screaming female fans could not contain themselves during the screening I attended. (The honor of People Magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive can’t be too far from his reach, apparently.)

The storyline becomes rather predictable, but the actors achieve some delightful moments of incidental humor, and the handheld video is creatively employed without making anybody motion sick. My favorite scenes were those shared by the brothers, Jose and Manny (Manny Perez), because I had no trouble believing that they had a lot of history and a complicated relationship.

But near the end, the film starts working too hard to wring tears from the audience. I detached from the film emotionally with about 20 minutes to go (precisely when Nina starts talking about her mother), because the storytellers were working so hard to make me Feel! Cry! Care! I already cared! I didn’t need any characters to offer long, revelatory monologues at the end to squeeze sympathy from my pores. If the film had cut out a good deal of the dramatic dialogue, if it had stopped trying to convince us that these characters deserve our compassion, we might have had more chance to arrive at our own conclusions, experience our own feelings, without being so manipulated. The film just strives too hard to make us feel, and not hard enough to make us think.

But Bella‘s heart is in the right place, and it’s refreshing to see a slow-build romance that has little or nothing to do with making out.

Many people have rushed to embrace, or dismiss, this film as a piece of Pro-Life propaganda. Others heralded it as championing the importance of Choice. Me, I don’t think the film works as propaganda for either campaign. This is a story about particular characters in a particular situation that is resolved in a particular way… it’s not meant to represent the ideal solution to single-girl pregnancy. It arrives at an ending that makes sense for this story and these characters, not a Message or a Lesson that sends us out ready to vote one way or the other. So it’s curious that the filmmakers welcomed the politicizing of the film. But then, in the world of independent filmmaking, some folks think that any press is good press, even if it skews the way people will see your movie when they finally sit down to watch it.

Here’s Roger Ebert:

The movie is not profound, but it’s not stupid. It’s about lovable people having important conversations and is not pro-choice or pro-life but simply in favor of his feelings — and hers, if she felt free to feel them. The movie is a little more lightweight than the usual People’s Choice Award winner at Toronto, but why not? It was the best-liked film at the 2006 festival, and I can understand that.

Steven Greydanus is a bigger fan of the film than I am, but I appreciate his thoughtful analysis:

… Bella is not about the pro-life and pro-abortion “positions,” movements or causes, nor does it address the question of laws permitting or outlawing abortion. It is a drama about specific characters, relationships, events and decisions; broader issues are present only implicitly. José is Catholic, and his family, highlighted in a delightful domestic sequence, seems to take their faith seriously. José is clearly troubled by Nina’s decision — but he shows his commitment to life not in word, but in touching and heroic deed.

From a pro-choice perspective, Nina has all the reasons in the world to want an abortion. She rattles off a litany of them to José over lunch. They are understandable reasons. Over against this, Bella ultimately interposes, not more words or arguments, but a moment of revelation — a transcendent affirmation of life in its incalculable value.

In the end, Bella has something to challenge everyone, pro-life or otherwise. For pro-lifers, the inspiring ending represents a call to love of neighbor. It isn’t enough just to oppose abortion: We are called to love those in need with the love of Christ, potentially at a cost to ourselves. For those who favor abortion, the ending represents a challenge to recognize that life is a beautiful and precious gift even in far from ideal circumstances, and the choice to embrace life, even when it involves great sacrifice, is also beautiful.

Ken Morefield:

… All kidding aside, though. I didn’t hate Bella. Sure, it was contrived in manipulative ways–he killed a little girl, his family has successfully adopted, and he just happens to knows somebody willing to hire her on his say so–but so are a lot of critically acclaimed films that express an ideological point of view. (Claude Chabrol’s The Story of Women and Jonathan Demme’s Philadelphia come to mind as examples.) It shows its low budget in its editing at times (like the accident scene), but its free form conversational structure is the sort of thing critics have orgasms over if it’s in a Richard Linklater movie about sex, an Eric Rohmer movie about love, or a Seinfeld episode about nothing; so maybe it does feel a tiny bit like a cheap shot to me to give the film technical demerits for doing the sorts of things crtics often finds charming in films that aren’t so heavily perfumed. If it lacks the polish of a more processed commercial film or a more accomplished independent film, neither does it have the sort of glaring technical incompetence that is the defining feature of so many (religiously or politically) proselytizing films–films that evidence the makers never bothered to study their craft because they don’t care about art as art only art as delivery vehicle for truth with a capital “T.” I have no desire to ever see Bella again, haven’t thought much about it since I screened it, and didn’t struggle for a second wondering if there were any deeper meanings or insights to be gleaned from thinking intentionally about the film, but I wouldn’t rule out seeing another Montverde film or be sad to see the leads in something else.

First, a little video.

Here’s a stirring tribute to what President Barack Obama has proven: Even a child who enters the world against seemingly impossible odds can rise to become a leader and an inspiration to millions.

I hope his story and his legacy change the minds and hearts of millions around the world. I pray that that the lessons of his own story influence his decisions as governs. God bless President Barack Obama.

Let us all remember that he said this:

For as much as government can do and must do, it is ultimately the faith and determination of the American people upon which this nation relies. … It is the firefighter’s courage to storm a stairway filled with smoke, but also a parent’s willingness to nurture a child, that finally decides our fate. … What is demanded then is a return to these truths.

I am grateful that, even in the midst of great turmoil, a woman gave birth to that precious human being that she conceived, and that she nurtured him and raised him, against all odds. His life had tremendous value and potential, and his right to live his life was respected. Thank God.

The Browser: News & links to raise your eyebrows & furrow your brow. New headlines may be added as the day goes on. Stay tuned.

(more…)

The LA Times reports what happened behind the scenes that led to Disney throwing Aslan out of the Magic Kingdom.

I haven’t seen The Wrestler yet, but I’m pleased to refer you to this review:

Michael Leary:

If Bazin was right when he said, “the cinema more than any other art is particularly bound up in love,” then The Wrestler is just barely cinema. It is nice to look at, and is by far Aronofsky’s best film to date, but despite frequent nods toward the development of its broken characters he still seems distracted by things like the perfect 80’s track, the proper strip club mood, or catchy flashbacks.
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Aronofsky’s ambivalence towards his characters in The Wrestler is demonstrated in the paint-by-numbers movement of Ram through a storyline that has all the depth of a Euripides third act. In his century BCE, Euripides made some interesting narrative moves. But a character with Ram’s awfully modern teleology deserves better than a stripper whose big conundrum is that she can’t date clients, a daughter who is mad at her daddy for staying at the bar for too long, and a service job that pushes his social skills to their limit. By the time we get to the end of the film, Ram’s demise neither fulfills nor subverts the dread that has been growing throughout the film. It simply punctuates it, one more wound in Ram’s broken flesh. It is no different than the end of Nacho Libre, in which Jack Black soars senselessly (yet beautifully) through the air towards the credits. It isn’t the end of Ram in any significant way, it is just the end of the film.

This observation about The Curious Case of Benjamin Button has been going around for a while. But I haven’t seen it expressed so convincingly as this.

(Warning: HILARIOUS.)

WARNING: This post is written by an unapologetic U2 fanboy. Extreme enthusiasm ahead.

UPDATE: Here’s Ann Powers in the LA Times considering the new song.

I’ve just listened to “Get On Your Boots” about five times through after buying it from iTunes.

It showed up at the iTunes Store for a very short time tonight, and now the Search that I used to find it isn’t working anymore. (I’m sure it’ll be back up there soon.)

Anyway… in my humble opinion, the song is a lightning bolt of inspired pop. The band sounds like they’ve plugged into some kind of Sgt. Pepper power source. This song is going to send the fans berzerk during the live shows with its energy, its addictive guitar hook, and it’s exhilarating gear-shifts. What does it all mean? It sounds like Bono wants to laugh, wants to capture a few moments of joy, wants to put behind the politics and the commentary in favor of EL-E-VA-TION. In fact, this song rivals *that* one for the title of “Funnest U2 Song Ever.” (I’m giving myself permission to say “Funnest” because, well, Apple’s doing it on their new iPod commercial.)

“Laughter is eternal if joy is real.”

“Let me in the sound, let me in the sound, I’m goin’ down, I don’t wanna drown, meet me in the sound!”

I am not disappointed. They’ve delivered.

How old are these guys again? No young band can make me feel as young as these geezers do.

If the rest of the album is as inventive and exciting as this song sounds… well, wow.

Find it. Load it up. Turn it on. And, as the Purple One once said, “Dearly beloved, we have gathered here today to get through this thing called life. Go crazy.”

First, a preview!

HD here.

The Browser: News & links to raise your eyebrows & furrow your brow. New headlines may be added as the day goes on. Stay tuned.

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