I'm behind on preparing the Guareschi stuff I wanted to share-- concerts this past Sunday, Wednesday, & Friday, and this coming Sunday (er, today!), dontcha know-- but I do have this movie review that's been sitting around on my desktop in draft form for a while. It is, of course, another entry in what's become my "What hath Roman Holiday wrought" series... but it's better than no post at all, right? :-) ( Click to see what Eddie Albert was up to in 1948 )

( Obligatory introductory comments )

( Gratuitous movie review )

Well, that's it. I just got back from The Daily Meme, and the questions linked there have again (as in, for weeks running, now) failed to inspire (I mean, one set starts out with a question about bathroom habits. Hello?). And the sets for other days of the week haven't been tickling me any more than Friday's, so I'm beginning to think that I need to look elsewhere for handy writing prompts.

( I muse )

( I review a movie )

I took a break from my pile of bootlegs featuring you-know-who, to watch my most recently arrived Netflick. And? ( Click for it )

( Click to hear more about my weekend )

( Or go straight to the review )

We were busy this week, so our latest Netflix discs just sat and gathered dust on top of the TV. Finally, however, their silent reproach was too much for me, and last night I made time for one. It was worth it: The Hidden Fortress, a 1958 Akira Kurasawa film credited as one of George Lucas' inspirations for the original Star Wars, turned out to be a lot of fun. ( read more )

I bought it for a dollar on the way out of Wal-Mart, so my expectations were never high. Then, however, I saw that the cast included Oliver Reed, Michael York, Claire Bloom, and, in small parts, Ian Bannen, Robert Morley, and Sir John Mills. A young Hugh Grant was pictured on the cover (and yes, that is why I picked it up in the first place).

What I learned?

Even really good British actors have to eat. How else to explain the participation of all that talent in a dreadful telefilm adaptation of Barbara Cartland's The Lady and the Highwayman?

On top of the movie itself being so thoroughly cringe-inducing, the transfer to DVD was attrocious. Both audio and video were so fuzzy, I considered emailing the company to get my dollar back.

So why did I watch the whole thing?

A onetime reader of comic books, I still enjoy a good superhero story. Thus, I am the designated parent when it's time to take my eager sons to see the latest big-screen offering in the genre. And I have a pretty good time at these films: the production values tend to be quite high, the casts (esp. where villains are concerned) are generally strong, the special effects are often amazing, the philosophical implications are thick on the ground, and, because I'm way out of touch with current comics (they've become too intense and explicitly violent for my taste), the inevitable instances of unfaithfulness to source material aren't too distracting. I haven't seen every super-movie out there, but I did catch the Spiderman movies, that new Batman one, and the X-Men series, and I liked them all.

But those weren't heroes in whom I had anything invested before going to the cinema (I'd never even read an X-Men comic). I mean, Batman and the Marvel crew are all right, but, other things being equal, I prefer a hero with a little less angst and a little more of a twinkle in his eye. That's right: I'm a Superman fan. People complain that he's corny and "too perfect," but I maintain that if I want overwrought and tortured, I can just look in the mirror. When my world needs saving, give me the Man of Steel.

It's not as if the red-caped one is without all inner conflict. He's an alien, and the last of his race. He can't marry his sweetie for fear of making her a target to his enemies (like just being his pal doesn't already do that... but hush; I'm suspending disbelief). And if you need him to be physically vulnerable on top of that, there's always kryptonite.

Plus, with Supes, you get Clark Kent, and I really dig Clark. Whether he's the quietly confident, knowing CK of the early days, or the clumsy-but-sweet, nerdy CK of more recent days (and whether that social ineptitude is assumed or genuine), I always find him the most sympathetic guy in the newsroom. I'd even go so far as to say that Kent is my real-life "type"-- you know, the unassuming & mild-mannered Midwesterner with hidden depths. In fact, I married a Clark (mine's super-power is duct tape).

I enjoy Superman adaptations. ( But does that include the new film? )

That title is deceptive; I won't be reviewing a William Powell Western here. I wish I were, though (say, are there any William Powell Westerns?), for today's Netflix pick, though it does include the divine WP in a supporting role, is almost unreviewable. How to Marry a Millionaire (1953) is an utterly transparent piece of fluff with no conceivable pretension to anything except looking good (at which, one must concede, it succeeds gloriously): to what other standard could a reviewer reasonably-- or fairly-- hold it?

Fair or not, I'll proceed, if only to add my voice to that of the minority over on Millionaire's IMDb page who also can't understand why (apart from its place in movie history as 20th C Fox's first CinemaScope picture) this thing is considered by many to be a "classic"!

The plot, which had to be dated even as the original film rolled, involves three models (Betty Grable, Marilyn Monroe, and Lauren Bacall) who set out to marry millionaires... only they don't. Marry millionaires, that is. Not that they mind much in the end. Especially when they find out that one of them actually has. Married a millionaire, that is. Meanwhile, at least a couple of the prospective husbands, millionaire or otherwise, are bothered to some degree by their respective girls' obsession with cash... but not enough, evidently, to stop said guys from marrying said golddiggers and then enjoying a laugh at their own poverty-stricken expenses at the post-wedding meal. Not that they're all poverty-stricken, as it turns out. One being a millionaire and all.

Got it? ( click to watch me pan a film-- a first for this blog? )

Saw Pixar's Cars last night. All three boys were keen, as was their dad (who is a real car guy), so there was never any question about whether we'd see it now vs. waiting for the video.

Way back when the first, crudely done "teaser" trailer for Cars premiered with The Incredibles, I had my doubts. I'm not sure whom I was doubting, the company (and its ability to make a good film about talking NASCAR vehicles) or myself (and my ability to muster interest in a NASCAR cartoon even if it were well done); in any event, the concept didn't do a thing for me, nor did the first cast member name I heard (Larry the Cable Guy).

Still, I hoped I'd be wrong (after all, I knew I'd be paying good money to see it in the cinema either way), and I confess to being absurdly pleased when a much better teaser trailer was shown during the Super Bowl this past January.

And then, last night, we saw it... ( and...? )