Yeah, we know he died 700 years ago. Just go with it.

Oh my gosh, you guys, I’m watching the Showtime show The Tudors right now, and it’s making me nuts. I was really excited to Netflix this show because I love Tudor history. I’ve watched two episodes thus far, and I now realize the last person who should watch this show is someone who loves Tudor history. These people are making radical departures from historical fact, for the mere amusement of it. They are the Oliver Stone of British television.

The show opens with King Henry’s uncle being murdered. But all of Henry’s uncles were long dead by this point, and were hardly to be expected to rise from the grave just to be stabbed by a bunch of French dudes. I was so confused and I expended a significant amount of mental energy trying to figure out what the year was supposed to be, only to realize that they were jumping around, at will, to events that occurred anytime in a 20 year period. Infuriating!

Zombie uncles were the least of my problems. Daughters and husbands who never existed were crawling out of the woodwork. Princes were called by their siblings’ names because apparently nobody on this show knows how to access the Wikipedia. The daughter of Henry’s younger sister looked to be about his age. Or older! She must have been conceived while her mother was still in the womb.

Henry had an older sister who married the King of Scotland and a younger sister who married the King of France. They merged these women into one character and had her marry… who else? The King of Portugal! Yeah, that makes sense. And let me tell you what, they’re going to regret that later when they need all that English-Scottish “We’re family but we’re enemies” tension.

One character said, “My father was executed by the king’s father,” and I’m screaming at the TV, “No, he wasn’t! Nobody executed your father! Your father was not executed!” And that was only one of many things I was shouting at my screen as my neighbors surely debated whether to pound on the walls or just try to have me committed. Others:

“Just establish what year it is. Just give me a year. Please, for the love of decency, give me a year here!”

“Why is she talking about her husband? She’s not supposed to be married!”

“Dude, you don’t have a daughter named Anne. You have an Elizabeth, a Catherine, and a Mary, but no Anne! Just call her Catherine!”

“Why are they calling him Pope Alexander? They just made up a pope! That is an entirely fictional pope right there.”

At this point I wouldn’t be surprised if Charlemagne walked through the front door. This show is not good for my health.

Movies: Ruining the book since 1920

Oscar-readiness continues with Atonement! Very good film. It got seven nominations, including one for Best Picture. It’s one of those lovely, sweeping epic films that usually win Best Picture, unless they’re up against even better films from the Coen Brothers about vicious murderers in Texas. Keira Knightley sometimes annoys me for reasons I cannot put my finger on, but she did a fine job here. James McAvoy was not physically right for the role of Robbie, but he’s so freakishly talented that you can hardly hold that against him. I did like it. I could have loved it, had not the book been quite 27 times better.

The whole time I was watching it, ringing through my mind was the motto from the T-shirt James told me about:

Movies: Ruining the book since 1920.

I can’t really get into what was different without spoiling the film, but seriously, go to a Barnes and Noble or a Borders or a library. Fiction, M. McEwan, Ian. Get the copy with the house and the fountain on the front, or the one with the little girl sitting on the steps. Don’t get the copy with the movie poster on the front or your imagination will be stunted and you’ll picture James McAvoy and Keira Knightley every time you pick it up to read it. That is, if you ever put it down. Really, this is the kind of book that makes you lie to your friends and say you can’t hang out with them because you’re busy, just so you can secretly stay home and read. This book will make you cancel dinner plans and leave parties early.

Ahem. Not that I ever did that, Chris.

But now for my favorite part of this whole experience: crossing off the nominations on my Oscar readiness list. This is especially fun since there are seven slots to cross off for this one. Crossing items off of lists is one of the great joys in life. It’s like a thunderstorm when you’re going to sleep, or messing up the peanut butter. Or reading a book by Ian McEwan.

Merry Me!

Okay, so it’s season 2 of Rock of Love, and I had been really excited for this because I loved the first season. The thing about the first season was that the show was so much fun, I wasn’t embarrassed to admit I watched it, despite the utterly ridiculous nature of the spectacle. The long-awaited season 2 had a promising start. As Amanda described it after the first episode:

“It's pure trash and I'm loving it. The women this season are even more ridiculous than last season… And the hair. There are at least 2 women that look like trannies!”

Trashy! Big hair! Trannies! So much fun, right? But now season 2 is just making me sad. I’m sad that the women are so stupid. I’m sad that Bret is so stupid. He either got more moronic in the last year, or his imbecility somehow escaped me during the first season. And the thing is, you really need to be able to root for him in order to enjoy the show. But this year it’s just like watching a bunch of pinballs of stupidity bouncing off of each other. And the stupidity makes me sad.

Sadness is watching three girls holding up the card they made for Bret, reading “Merry me!,” and then hearing them remark to each other, “We’re such a wonderful trio. Of brains.”

Oh dear.

I’m not going to stop watching the show yet, but I am back to being embarrassed about it.

And it begins!

Like the long awaited return of the Coen Brothers, the Oscar nominations are finally here! And happily, the noms won't give me nearly as many nightmares as Javier Bardem.

Some surprises:

Keira Knightley, James McAvoy, Angelina Jolie, Sean Penn. No Oscar for you! I haven't seen Atonement yet, so I can't comment on the first two, but at least we're safe from an insufferable political speech from Mr. Penn, and any kind of incestuous make out sessions from Ms. Jolie. For now.

Apparently Ratatouille does not suck nearly as much as my sister would have me believe. It got a screenplay nomination, people. It's now at the top of my Netflix queue.

Michael Clayton for Best Picture? Really, Academy? That's what you're going with? Really? Apparently the gene that I'm missing that would allow me to enjoy Marion Cotillard's performance in La Vie En Rose is the same gene that would allow me to see why Michael Clayton deserves to be in company with films like No Country For Old Men. I saw both of those films and I just can't see why that should be. I can't see it, I don't want to see it, and I will not see it. It is much like Norbit in that way.

Okay, let the search for a theater playing There Will Be Blood begin!

Things that make me happier than a brand new Burt's Bees peppermint lip balm

Verizon Wireless Back-Up Assistant!

I could have spent forever and fifteen minutes programming my 129 contacts into my new cellphone. Instead, I pressed three buttons and had Verizon transfer them all for me in about four seconds. Totally free, completely awesome. It's makes me glad I've lived this long.

Maybe one day she'll use her power to bring back Arrested Development

Tomorrow morning the Oscar nominations will finally be announced and I cannot wait!

This weekend I took another step in my pre-Oscar-readying regimen by going to see Juno. Great film! It does suffer from Dawson’s Creek syndrome, in that the sixteen-year-olds don’t so much talk like sixteen-year-olds as they do a thirty-four year-old screenwriter who has time to plan his dialogue in advance, with a few “teeny-sounding” phrases such as “Swear to blog!” tossed in. But aside from that, it really is a charming film that comes jam packed with a script that’s not predictable, a cast that puts their hearts into every moment of the performances, and a soundtrack that’s so perfect it’s almost like another character. Also, Ellen Page is on track to be ruling Hollywood someday. Let’s see how that goes.

To buy: one working alarm clock

So it was 6 o’clock Sunday evening and I thought I’d lay down for a short nap. I set my alarm for 8:00 PM, just in case I fell into a deep sleep. Well, I don’t even know what happened to my useless alarm clock, because I woke up at 10:10 PM, bleary eyed and realizing that I have missed the bizarre press conference that has replaced the Golden Globes this year. Maybe it’s all for the best because I would surely have had a seizure when they announced Marion Cotillard’s name as Best Actress for her performance in La Vie En Rose. Really, Hollywood Foreign Press? Really? This is what you’re going with? You’re going to cheapen Javier Bardem’s well-deserved Golden Globe like this? Really?

I think I need another nap.

La Vie En Hades

I attempted to watch La Vie En Rose, the French biopic on the tragic life of singer Edith Piaf. Marion Cotillard got a Golden Globe nomination, which is not as enormous a feat as you might think, since they split the movie and best actor/actress awards into two categories (comedy and drama), giving out ten noms instead of the customary five. However, she also got a SAG nomination, and they only give out five noms, so I thought this performance had to be worth checking out in case she gets an Oscar nod.

Well, I don’t know what to tell you. I simply could not stand the film. (When pressed, I say it is elegant.) And the overwhelming reason I couldn’t stand it was Ms. Cotillard’s performance. Perhaps I don’t know enough about Edith Piaf or the type of performance the director was going for, but it just seemed overly affected and clownish and completely unbearable, which is why I shut the film off 45 minutes into it. I felt I had done my time, and I wasn’t prepared to go the full 2 hours and 20 minutes. Maybe the performance picks up in the second hour, but I prefer acting performances, especially ones that receive awards, to be good the whole way through.

I am telling you, grown men would have wept. Because of that baby.

My saga of getting Oscar ready continues. Jen, Mom, and I watched A Mighty Heart, the story of the abduction and murder of American journalist Daniel Pearl by terrorists in Pakistan. This was all in anticipation of Angelina Jolie getting a Best Actress nomination, as she’s already gotten one for the Golden Globes and the SAG awards. First of all, Will Patton was in the movie, and seeing Will Patton’s name in the credits always makes me very happy. I don’t know why. I cannot explain myself. It just does. As the credits rolled past, I gave my patented, “Will Patton! Woohoo!” exclamation. I cannot explain myself.

The movie was quite good. Angelina Jolie was very good in the role, which means a lot coming from me, as I simply cannot bear that woman. I was really feeling the tragedy, the loss, the hope rising from the ashes… when it all came tumbling down.

Warning! Small spoiler ahead for the film A Mighty Heart: Near the end of the film, they show Mariane Pearl (Jolie) holding her son Adam in the Paris hospital where she has just given birth. It’s supposed to be this great moment of joy, showing how this woman is strong and forging ahead to make a wonderful life for her son, Daniel’s legacy. However, it’s impossible to feel all those emotions when the casting director chose the freakiest looking baby in the northern hemisphere and plopped him into Jolie’s arms. My estimation of Ms. Jolie’s acting abilities increased threefold as she was able to convincingly look with affection upon that tiny, disturbing face. And it was all about the face. The baby looked like they had taken the face of a 55 year-old--and not particularly attractive--man, shrunk it, and pasted it onto a baby’s head. My mother audibly gasped. Jen tried to squeak out some sort of dialogue conveying her horror, but she was struck dumb. I, on the other hand, shrieked, “What is wrong with that baby!” Jen, having recovered her powers of speech, croaked, “It… looks like… a middle-aged… man.” She clutched little Julia a bit closer to her.

I am telling you people, this was frightening. It was like all of a sudden I was watching the opening scene of The Omen III: Damien Takes Paris. In a film about the abduction, torture, and horrible murder of an American civilian, this was the most disturbing scene of the movie. Forget Javier Bardem. I’m going to be having nightmares about this baby.

Somebody get Josh Brolin a soda.

Getting Oscar ready continues with American Gangster!

Before I talk about American Gangster, I just have to say that I think Josh Brolin was the hardest working man in Hollywood this past year. No Country For Old Men, American Gangster, The Valley of Elah. He’s popping up in everything, and he’s good in all of it. This makes me happy, as I like to see former Goonies do well. Sean Astin rocked the Lord of the Rings trilogy, and now Josh Brolin is turning in Oscar-worthy performances. Between the two of them, they just might cancel out Corey Feldman.

Now, about American Gangster. I rushed like a crazy person out of work, trying to make it up the hill to the theater by the 5:15 start time. You can’t miss the beginning of a movie. It ruins the whole thing. I entered the theater as the previews were playing. I shoved my entry pass at the poor woman working the register, squawked a dinner order at the concession clerk, and hopped inside the back of the theater, just in time to see the opening credits. The clerk had to take my concession money at the popcorn refill window in the back of the theater. I love that window. I love Andy Lasky’s theater. It is my favorite thing about living in Westmont.

Seeing this movie allowed me to cross off three slots on my Golden Globe nominees list, which may not seem like a lot, but the Globes like to spread out their noms, so it’s actually pretty good. However, I can’t help feeling that Ruby Dee got a nomination simply because she’s Ruby Dee, and somewhat of a legend. She was very good in the film, but so were a lot of people. Denzel Washington and Russell Crowe were great, but this film has a wonderful ensemble cast and Washington and Crowe hardly eclipse them. I was delighted to see Chiwetel Ejiofor, who is really good in everything and needs to be in more stuff; the aforementioned Josh Brolin; Ted Levine, who I like despite his appearance in The Silence of the Lambs (aieee!); John Hawkes, because I always like to see Deadwood alums; Yul Vasquez, because “you was obviously talking to one of us!”; and a bunch of other really awesome people like Joe Morton, Carla Gugino, Jon Polito, and Ritchie Coster. A veritable cornucopia of excellent supporting players. And for me, that’s always the best part of the film.

This was a great film, and in another year it might have been a serious contender for Best Picture, but 2007 was a superb year for films, and I don't think American Gangster will be walking away with the big award. It's still definitely worth your 7 bucks and 2 and a half hours, though.

Javier is awesomely, creepily evil. But he wasn’t the most evil thing in the theater.

Every year I try to get ready for the Oscars by seeing as many of the nominated films and performances as I can. The Oscar noms aren’t released until February, but you can often anticipate what they’ll be, especially with the help of the Golden Globe and SAG nominations. Getting Oscar ready is my favorite thing about the early weeks of the new year. It’s what keeps my evenings overloaded and my Netflix queue overflowing. It’s what allows me to stop being so sad that Christmas is over. It’s what makes me get really annoyed that independent films almost never come to theaters in Corncob, PA!

My headstart began over the Christmas break when James, Kris, Jackie, and I went to see No Country For Old Men. The movie was fantastic, probably the best I’ve seen all year. Josh Brolin was awesome, Tommy Lee Jones was great, and Javier Bardem will be giving me nightmares for weeks. He clearly deserves an Oscar. Clearly.

But all this is beside the point. The point is, that it is evil, EVIL to talk in movie theaters. As my cousins and I sat in the darkened theater, enjoying the Coen Brothers’ latest offering, we heard the unwelcome sound of a voice behind us. I immediately recognized the sound of evil. A woman, on her cell phone, was saying, “Call me back. My number is 412-6…” I didn’t hear the rest of her number because I too busy hissing, “Shhhhhhhh!!!!” She took her voice down a notch, but she continued the call. She. Continued. The. Call.

Evil.

Upon later analysis, my cousins and I realized that she did not receive that call in the theater. She placed that call. If she had received it, she wouldn’t have had to give her number to person on the other end. So, not only did she place a call in a movie theater, she solicited a return call IN THE THEATER. These are the kinds of people we should have detained in Guantanamo Bay!

Jackie said that I should have sat there quietly, listened to her phone number, and then called her phone to tell her to shut it. I can just imagine it now. “Hello. You don’t know me. I’m calling from the left side of the theater, about five rows up, and I just want to tell you to shuuuut uuuuup! And that you belong in an internment camp in Cuba.”

That would have been classic, but my urge to shush has no patience. It seeks out noise and pounces on it. And until we have the good sense to lock up these evildoers somewhere where they can’t pose a threat to society, I’ll be here, shushing away.

Once

I finally got to see the film “Once.” This film is impossibly beautiful. Just impossibly beautiful. It’s one of those rare, perfect little films that trips into your life and makes you so happy you found it. And it’s filled with music that’s so lovely, it pierces you. This was a marvelous cinematic start to 2008.

Simply perfect.

Impossibly beautiful.

Happy New Year.