The Oscar Grouch, 2012.

I kept hearing critics talking about what a bad year 2011 was for movies, and thought they must be nuts. I saw AWESOME movies last year. Then I looked at this year's Best Picture nominees and I realized, oh, THAT's what they mean.

See, "Troll Hunter" and "Point Blank" might have been awesome movies, but they're not Oscar movies. If you pick up 2011 and shake it hoping that ten slightly artsy but refreshingly mainstream films for the Academy to choose from are going to fall out, you will indeed be disappointed.

So we ended up with one of the dullest nominee lists of all time, including that one year that Andy Warhol was nominated for his film about paint drying in Taylor Mead's house (the follow-up about his ass was better received. That's not even a joke, by the way, Andy Warhol did an entire movie about Taylor Mead's ass. It was called..."Taylor Mead's Ass". I swear I am not making this up). Still, it's not all bad...just mostly bad.

***

1. Incredibly Loud & Extremely Close.

Every year there's one nominee that I didn't bother to see. And here it is. The title strikes me as a comment on how uncomfortable it is watching movies in 3D. Were that the subject of the film, I might have sat through it. Moving on.

"This looks so much easier when chimpanzees do it on the Discovery channel."

2. The Artist.

Everyone else can just stay home, this should clearly be our winner. I’m not being sarcastic, I LOVE this movie.

Now, I know what you're thinking: "A black and white French silent film about the golden age of Hollywood!?" I know, it's like they read my diary, right? I mean, sure, I throw coins into that wishing well all the time, but if I knew it would actually pay off I'd probably have wished for a cure for cancer or peace in Darfur.

...actually, no, I'd probably still have wished for this. "The Artist" comes at a time when complaints about the lack of originality in mainstream movies are at an all-time high. I guess in the midst of endless franchise films and remakes, someone finally had the idea that if we're just going to build on what's already past, why not go as far past as we can?

One of these is Jean Dujardin, and the other is his dog...but I'm actually having trouble telling which is which?

3. Hugo.

At first I thought this must have been a typo, and that the actual nominee was that movie where you see Michael Fassbender's penis. (See, they meant to write "Huge"...which is not the title of that film either, but it's probably still what they would have written.) But no, apparently they really meant this, an oddball kid's movie about an orphan who lives in a train station and builds the creepiest looking onscreen robot since they finally killed off Brent Spiner's "Star Trek" character (seriously, it's one thing to visit the Uncanny Valley, it's another to build a resort there).

"Hugo" is pretty sterile. It's a love letter to the golden age of filmmaking, but it's going head to head with "The Artist", which is a bit like seeing a Beatles cover band open for Paul McCartney. While "The Artist" illustrates what was wonderful about that period, "Hugo" just talks about it, in a way that seems self-indulgent and self-congratulatory.

So why the (brace for it) eleven nominations? Well, I guess they figured if Martin Scorsese has finally gone nuts enough to think he's the man to create children's fare, they probably shouldn't antagonize him. Though Scorsese did try to helm one other kid’s movie in the past. Sadly, no one was interested in his "It's Time to Meet the Motherfucking Muppets" script. Shame.

I actually find Chloe Grace Moretz more disturbing when she's not swearing like a sailor and murdering people in a movie.

4. The Help.

Here's a movie that would have been a sure winner had it been released in 1993 or so. Emma Stone plays an upscale white woman in Jim Crow-era Mississippi who publishes a book profiling the lives of black maids working in her community. I watched the whole thing just hoping we'd find out why her character is named "Skeeter", in the vain hope that M. Night Shyamalan did a final revision on the script and she'd turn out to be some kind of Roger Corman-style mosquito woman, but to no avail.

"The Help" won the Screen Actors Guild award for "Outstanding Cast", which is apparently a real thing and a hell of a boon for whoever gets paid to manufacture those little award statues. Viola Davis is up for "Best Actress", which after "Eat, Pray, Love" and "Nights in Rodantha" validates her longstanding insistence that if she just keeps making movies based on books that Oprah read on a plane it will eventually pay off. Also a good movie to see if you're a Jessica Chastain fan and somehow missed the 17 other movies she did last year.

Huh. There's something different about the "Sex and the City" gals. Can't put my finger on it.

5. The Descendants.

Right around the first week of October, George Clooney was relaxing in whatever woman's apartment he finds himself in these days and thinking "Boy, I hope 'The Ides of March' does well, otherwise they're going to have to nominate that other movie I did." Yeah, I was holding out hope too, George.

Remember how "Up in the Air" was slow and quiet but in an endearingly eccentric, vulnerable way, and how "The American" was slow and quiet in a tense, pathos-laden way? Well, imagine those movies without the eccentricity, vulnerability, tension, pathos, or Vera Farmiga's body double. Ta-daa: "The Descendants", a movie about coming to responsibility late in life. Clooney plays a man struggling to keep his family together after an accident puts his wife into a vegetative state. The audience joins her presently. More compelling dialogue was heard in "The Artist" (think about that one for a second).

God how I hoped King Kong would come crashing out of the jungle right at this moment. Or maybe just one of those dinosaurs from "Jurassic Park". I wasn't feeling picky.

6. Moneyball.

Christ, maybe this WAS a lousy year. Don't get me wrong, "Moneyball" is based on a really riveting story...which translated into a dulldulldulldulldulldulldulldulldull (dull) film. This will be great for those who thought "The Descendants" was just too fast-paced and kinetic.

Brad Pitt plays Oakland A's manager Billy Beane as he attempts to hornswaggle a championship for his put-upon team with the help of a ivy league-educated economist played by Jonah Hill. Yeah, Beane was cast as Brad Pitt, and Paul DePodesta ended up as Jonah Hill, which I guess explains why they changed his character's name and everything about him, probably for fear of being sued. (Don't worry, that wasn't a fat joke; Johan Hill just lost a ton of weight, and he's still unattractive and starring in bad movies. I wouldn't want to be played by Jonah Hill if they digitally grafted his head onto Michelangelo's "David").

"Moneyball" is not actually a sports movie, but rather something of an anti-sports movie. Turns out, winning isn't about "heart" and teamwork, it's about what the Beane counters (*rimshot*) in the main office did with their spreadsheets. Pitt's character would be the antagonist in any other movie about baseball, as he joylessly commodifies his players. Normally this would bring dark, cancerous joy to my misanthropic little heart, but in this case it's SO hard to care. The movie shoehorns in a subplot about Beane's strained family life and relationship with his daughter, which was so disinteresting in its own right that it was spun off into its own film: "The Descendants".

Pitt himself comprised the entire crowd for this season's A's opener.

7. Midnight in Paris.

Okay, let's talk about a good movie for a change. Save me Woody Allen, save me. No, I did not say “Soon-Yi”, I said “save me”! Concentrate, man!

After seemingly losing his mind/talent for most of the 90s (so much so that he pointedly starred in a movie about a director who has gone blind; this too-apt metaphor is widely regarded as his worst movie/therapy session ever), Woody Allen is enjoying something of a last-minute creative renaissance in recent years. I dunno, maybe he was saving it up?

Here he directs Owen Wilson (I know, I know, but stay with me here) as a put-upon writer who is mysteriously transported to 20s-era Paris, where he gets to hang out with his artistic idols and, increasingly, stop giving a crap about his banshee-like fiance. That the movie is genuinely funny and charming came as a surprise; that it’s endearing and thoughtful was a shock; that I finally finished an Owen Wilson movie without wanting to re-break his nose is fracking miracle.

As you can see, some people still haven't quite recovered from "Crash" winning Best Picture seven years ago.

8. War Horse.

Well, at least this saved me from dropping cash the stage show.

I should come clean up front: I have always hated movies about horses. As a kid I was force-fed a great many family films about a young person's "special bond" with some fucking horse, and good lord did I ever not give a crap. As soon as this one opened with imagery of a foal prancing through a sun-dappled meadow I knew I was in for a long night.

At the heart of the movie is a relationship between a horse and his boy so uncomfortably intimate that it feels a bit like someone put “Equus” in a blender with “Saving Private Ryan” and this is what poured out. I felt like I should leave and give them some peace. Matter of fact, that would have made me feel more peaceful too. "War Horse" is turgid and bloated, showcasing forced sentimentality that constitutes some of Spielberg's most self-indulgent work to date.

This close to having to black box the pic.

9. Tree of Life.

And then there's this one, which shouldn't even be on the list. Comparing "Tree of Life" to other movies is...it’s not even like comparing apples to oranges, it’s like comparing apples to an image of an apple in the background of a Dali painting on the jacket of a book about string theory. And if you’re complaining that that analogy doesn’t make any sense, well, I watched “Tree of Life” start to finish, so I feel like it’s my prerogative not to make sense if I want to.

The movie stars Brad Pitt and Jessica Chastain (see) as parents at loggerheads over how to raise Lil Sean Penn, she being gentle and holistic and he subscribing to a more Kobra Kai brand of parenting. But that's only what the movie is about when it takes the time to remember that it's about something.

What do I mean? Well, look, just by way of the most immediate example, at one point there are dinosaurs. Yes, dinosaurs. There’s a scene of CGI dinosaurs in a primeval forest, and the dinosaurs enact a little pantomime drama for us, and then the scene ends and we go back to the principal domestic plot without any context at all. Oh, but actually, first we have footage of jellyfish swimming, and then asteroids in space, and volcanic eruptions, and THEN we get back to the plight of Lil Sean Penn.

What the hell was that all about? Well, I have my own analysis, and I’m sure plenty of other people do too. And then a lot of people are just confused as hell. Ultimately it doesn’t matter, because no matter how you spin it, “Tree of Life” just isn’t put together the same way as “Moneyball” and “The Help”. It may very well be the best movie of the year...but it’s hard to make an argument for it, because it would depend too much on your point of view. While all criticism is subjective, “Tree of Life” is a movie in which there pretty much is no object.

And there are dinosaurs.

"Hey, I'm late, where's Clooney shooting? If I miss my cue that movie is going to be boring as shit!"

Lesbian Communist Girl Scouts are taking over America.

Indiana Congressional Representative Bob Morris doesn't seem to have enough to do. This week he drafted a rather lengthy letter to his fellow members of Congress warning them that (wait for it) the Girl Scouts of America are a dangerous subversive group. He gets paid to do this stuff, mind you.

The thing of it is...just between you and me, he's right. In fact, as a radical far-left terror agent myself (remember, I live in San Francisco, it just goes without saying), I know all about the inner workings of this fiendish conspiracy. To be honest, as far as fiendish conspiracies go, it's not our best work, but it's still annoying that Morris is on to us. Might be time to activate his daughters' sleeper switches and get this square-headed do-gooder out of the picture once and for all.

***

Plain text = Morris letter.

Bold text = Me.

"This past week I was asked to sign a House Resolution recognizing the 100th Anniversary of Girl Scouts of America. After talking to some well-informed constituents, I did a small amount of web-based research, and what I found is disturbing."

Look Mr. Congressman, I'll be the first to admit that it's in bad taste, but nevertheless those models are all of legal age, and the uniforms were donated.

"The Girl Scouts of America and their worldwide partner, World Association of Girl Guides and Girl Scouts (WAGGGS), have entered into a close strategic affiliation with Planned Parenthood."

Best. Acronym. Ever.

Original copy: "Resistance is futile! Submit, submit!

"You will not find evidence of this on the GSA/WAGGGS website—in fact, the websites of these two organizations explicitly deny funding Planned Parenthood."

I forgot to add in the part where they also explicitly deny funding Iranian nuclear research. But perhaps I've said too much.

"Nonetheless, abundant evidence proves that the agenda of Planned Parenthood includes sexualizing young girls through the Girl Scouts, which is quickly becoming a tactical arm of Planned Parenthood."

In case you were wondering why your Thin Mints tasted like birth control pills.

"Planned Parenthood instructional series and pamphlets are part of the core curriculum at GSA training seminars. Denver Auxiliary Bishop James D. Conley of Denver last year warned parents that 'membership in the Girl Scouts could carry the danger of making their daughters more receptive to the pro-abortion agenda.'"

I knew I shouldn't have introduced that Abortion merit badge.

"A Girl Scouts of America training program last year used the Planned Parenthood sex education pamphlet 'Happy, Healthy, and Hot.'"

I wanted it to be, "Happy, Healthy, and Homo", but there was just barely not enough room.

"The pamphlet instructs young girls not to think of sex as 'just about vaginal or anal intercourse.' 'There is no right or wrong way to have sex. Just have fun, explore and be yourself!' it states"

This replaced the traditional sex ed pamphlet, "The Place Between Your Legs is a Cauldron of Shame".

"Many parents are abandoning the Girl Scouts because they promote homosexual lifestyles."

If only.

"In fact, the Girl Scouts education seminar girls are directed to study the example of role models. Of the fifty role models listed, only three have a briefly-mentioned religious background – all the rest are feminists, lesbians, or Communists."

Hey, that's totally unfair!

There are some eco terrorists in there too.

"Boys who decide to claim a 'transgender' or cross-dressing life-style are permitted to become a member of a Girl Scout troop, performing crafts with the girls and participate in overnight and camping activities – just like any real girl."

My plan to indoctrinate boys to camping and crafts is coming off exactly as I foresaw! They said I was crazy when I floated this scheme at the annual meeting of the Commission Overseeing and Masterminding the Manipulation of Impressionable Enterprises (COMMIE) a few years back, but see how my agenda has come to fruition!

"The Girl Scouts of America stand in a strong tradition that reflects with fidelity the traditional values of our homes and our families. The tradition extends from coast-to-coast and back through the past one hundred years."

But you just claimed they were a bunch of half-sized lesbian communists? I mean, unless you're saying that lesbian communism is a traditional American value. Because if so, you've got my vote.

"I have two daughters who have been active in the Girl Scouts of Limberlost Council in Northeastern Indiana. Now that I am aware of the influence of Planned Parenthood within GSA and other surprisingly radical policies of GSA, my two daughters will instead become active in American Heritage Girls Little Flowers organization. In this traditional group they will learn about values and principles that will not confuse their conservative Hoosier upbringing."

Honestly, I can't imagine anything that will damage them more than being referred to as "Hoosiers."

"I have been told that, as of today, I am the only member not supporting the Girl Scout Resolution."

And what did you conclude from the realization that your career in politics has come to this?

Race study confirms: People with low standards are easy to impress.

See, there's such a thing as good news, and then there's such a thing as news that is only good if you're just barely paying attention and/or expected worse. Like those really old people who can't get upset about their diabetes because they always assumed they'd be dead by now anyway.

The Pew Research Center (not to be confused with the Peeuw Research Center, whose work I find highly dubious) released a study on interracial dating and marriage in America, concluding that Americans are much more open about such couplings than they were twenty five years ago. Why would I possibly have a problem with that? Well, look at these numbers:

"About 83 percent of Americans say it is 'all right for blacks and whites to date each other,' up from 48 percent in 1987."

First of all, 80s America, what the hell? Forty eight percent in 1987? Christ, forty eight percent of just the people who saw "Guess Who's Coming to Dinner" came out with a leg up on you, and that was the fucking 60s, when "Just 'cuz" was still a reasonable legal statute for punching a black man in the back of the head.

If you could see them from the waist down, you'd know why they were smiling.

And frankly, I'm not really happy about that 83% number either. Who is that leftover 17%? What's their problem? Is this about Obama? Look, I'm disappointed too, but this is not the appropriate way to express it.

And this part just kills me:

"As a whole, about 63 percent of those surveyed say it 'would be fine' if a family member were to marry outside their own race."

Sixty three?! Not even two thirds? If this were a high school class, America wouldn't even rate a D+ in interracial marriage. We'd be cheating off of Canada's paper all the time and probably still fucking up. People, this is just not good enough. You know what a good number is? A hundred. Nice and round. Easy on addition. Except you don't have to add anything, because it's everyone.

Now I know what you're thinking. And let me say, those thoughts are disgusting. For the love of Christ, that's your cousin. But I know what else you're thinking about too; there will always be assholes. You can't expect the best out of everybody, right? Well, I don't really give a damn. I refuse to be impressed by these results. Better than 1987 is still not good enough.

It's a low bar to clear, in some contexts.

And you know who I blame? Tiger Woods. He was like our national ambassador for cross-ethnic genital hockey, the product of an interracial coupling who could not stop having interracial couplings. Look Tiger, I know things went to shit for you, but you've got another 37% of Americans to reach. That's a lot of women.

And let's face it, it's not like you're playing much golf these days. Maybe your true calling was that other thing all along, know what I mean?

Control Issues.

Curiously behind on the news lately, it took me a while to even realize we were having a birth control controversy in America. I mean, birth control, really? It's 2012. Even the women on "Mad Men" have a pretty easy time getting on the pill (in the first episode), but we're going to have a shitstorm over it NOW?

And let me tell you, boy am I mad at the Catholic church. I step up and defend you guys EVERY time Dan Brown puts out a new book, and this is how you repay me? I feel betrayed. You're like that Judas-type guy, who betrayed people. What was that guy's name again? Oh yeah: Lando Calrissian.

No, look, I get it, every sperm is sacred. Great. Go nuts with that, I mean really, have fun (or don't, as it were). But this idea that even non-Catholics who work for you have to tow that line? Tell you what, you guys start praying toward Mecca five times a day on behalf of your Muslim employers, then we'll talk.

But here's what kills me about this; not that I was actually downright surprised to find that birth control is not already covered under most medical plans (seriously, villagers in dusty windswept fourth world countries whose economy is still primarily mule-based have access to contraception. Granted, it's often not very good, but if some people get their way, ours won't be either...), but how squeamish certain folks still are about the idea that other people fuck.

That's okay Rick, I don't want to think about you having sex either. Ever.

I hear a lot about how birth control is an easy, dependable, and reliable treatment for preventing a great many diseases, including certain types of cancer. And it is. And it's very important that women have access to it on those grounds. What I hear fewer talking heads pointing out is that birth control is also a great way to prevent pregnancy. And, ya know, as far as health concerns go, that's a pretty big one too. In terms of shit that doesn't kill you (although, of course, it can do that too...), that's pretty much the biggest.

It seems that some people are downright afraid of the idea that, if the potential to spawn young is removed from the equation, women might be free to, ya know, go around having sex. And what will happen then? They might even start having orgasms. And that will lead to...I'm going to guess earthquakes, although without Jerry Falwell around to guide us it's hard to say.

I guess no one is comfortable talking about the idea of preventing infants. After all, they're cute. Babies are indeed wonderful things; but not for everyone, and not at every time. For example, how about when you're just too hammered to even remember this guy's name, much less whether he's father material right off the bat? I guess we might say that a woman probably shouldn't be having sex under those circumstances. And to that I say: seriously, quit cockblocking me, I need this.

I tried just posting this over the bed, but it was surprisingly ineffectual.

But more importantly, I would say to mind your own damn business.

So, yeah, among its many other health benefits, birth control prevents pregnancies. And that's a good thing. Unplanned pregnancy can fuck up your life, and a woman in this day and age should have the freedom to have sex without running the chronic health risks (not to mention the long term effects on, ya know, everything in their lives). It seems that some disagree. It seems that they want women to only have sex under a very specific set of circumstances (as laid down by someone else), and probably even then as infrequently as possible. Probably always in the dark, without speaking, with a sheet over her head to hide her shame, and praying the entire time.

Maybe you might think that I'm being unfair to the other side of this debate. Surely they're not so backward? Surely it's not so bad as all that? Well, let's see what prominent presidential candidate and walking punchline Rick Santorum has to say about it:

"It's [contraception's] not okay because it's a license to do things in the sexual realm that is counter to how things are supposed to be. They’re supposed to be within marriage, they are supposed to be for purposes that are, yes, conjugal, but also procreative."

Well, it's very sweet of Rick to acknowledge that sex can be "conjugal" (I really wish I could watch him shift uncomfortably in his seat while delivering this quote), but keep in mind, that’s ONLY when it results in a baby. Otherwise it's just plain dirty. Thanks for that Rick, you never let me down.

But even that's not what got me pissed off today. No, it turns out the only thing crazier than Rick are the men behind Rick. Which is to say, the men backing Rick up. Which is to say, Rick's rearguard. By which I mean...a sodomy joke.

Continuing on the subject of assholes, we have billionaire Santorum backer (non-conjugally) Foster Friess. Do we have a picture of Foster Friess?

No, wrong guy. We need Mr. Friess here?

Also incorrect, but probably closer to the genuine article.

Well, once he was unthawed for the day, Mr. Friess had something insightful to say on the subject of contraception during an interview on MSNBC:

"This contraception thing, my gosh it's so inexpensive. Back in my day they used Bayer aspirin for contraceptives, the gals put it between their knees and it wasn't that costly."

...

There is some question as to whether this was meant to be a joke. But no, really, I'm sure that back in Mr. Friess' day, "gals" did that very thing, his day presumably being ninety diggity two, when aspirin was two bits for a gad down at the druggist. Or maybe a few decades later, when a woman could pick some aspirin up along with her meth prescription?

But I will say this; between the two of these guys, I think the women of America probably do feel they're in dire need of an aspirin. I know I am.

The "We Hate Sacramento" Project.

As it stands, pretty much everyone hates Sacramento. Even some people who have never been there, which is pretty amazing I think you'll agree. It's that big of an assburg.

Some weeks ago I was utterly failing to chat up this girl at a goth club and she said that she was from Sacramento but that she came to this club every week. That's a two hour commute both ways. Phrasing my terms as delicately as possible, I asked why she didn't just stay in Sacramento? Don't they have clubs like this there? And she gave me the longest-suffering look I've seen in some time and said:

"Only one. And only on Sundays. And it sucks."

And I felt like that sentence summed up the entire Sacramento experience. It's the "Only on Sundays and It Sucks" city. That should be Sacramento's official city motto, "Only on Sundays and It Sucks", that should be printed on the covers of the tourism pamphlets and maybe on the sign at the city limits.

You may be wondering, what have I got against Sacramento when I don't even live there and have only passed through there a few times in my life? Well, you see, it's not about me, it's about people from Sacramento. I keep meeting them, and they keep telling me how bad it is. I don't even ask, it just comes up on its own. Obviously these people are dealing with a profound pain that needs an outlet. Which is why I'm proposing the "We Hate Sacramento Project."

This would be a communal blog where everyone who has had a bad Sacramento experience (which is to say, everyone who has ever been there. That Venn diagram is pretty much just a circle) can contribute. It'll be like the Huffington Post of Sacramento haters (although in all likelihood, the Huffington Post is already the Huffington Post of people who hate Sacramento). And it will be a great public service for the rest of us by reminding us how lucky we are that we do not, have not, and never have had to live there.

Unless of course we run for state office. Which I guess explains a lot about the people who are elected around here. I mean, what kind of a psychotic masochists volunteers for that, right?

Something wicked this way comes.

So, did the prime minister of Italy really read a book that scared him so badly he made it illegal, or are the publishers of said book just shockingly unscrupulous? It really does have to be one or the other, there's no third option on this thing.

Now, Silvio Berlusconi is automatically a person of dubious character just based on the fact that he thinks being prime minister of Italy is a good idea. Italy has had 38 prime ministers in 63 years, meaning that office has a shelf life better suited to dairy products. What person in his right mind looks at that track record and says "You know the problem with those 38 guys? None of them were me!"

Add to this the fact that Berlusconi is the only sitting world leader whose Wikipedia page has to have a chart differentiating the dozens of criminal trials he's been the defendant in, including THREE cases still pending, and you've really got to wonder if this isn't the sort of person you should even trust to lead a line dance, much less a nation.

At left, the plaintiff; at right, Berlusconi.

So that's Berlusconi. In the other corner we have the editors and distributors of a book called "Thirteen", a collection of horror stories that has been called the scariest book ever written, although the people calling it that are almost always the people who wrote and distributed it.

The marketing around this thing leaves something to be desired in terms of tact and good taste. For example, they consistently try to perpetuate a rumor that the compiler disappeared shortly after the book was published. Another rumor holds that the man actually legally changed his name to help perpetuate this fiction. You may notice that nothing being used to promote this book has anything to do with its merits, which, speaking as a person who had read it, is not surprising.

So what's the overlap here? Apparently Berlusconi read "Thirteen", or more specifically its infamous (again, a self-applied term) first story "The Magic" and was scared so badly that he outlawed it in Italy. Supposedly this decision was rooted in a legitimate belief on his part that the story invokes certain "powers", which I shall not detail for the sake of remaining spoiler free.

Berlusconi's cabinet have repeatedly asked him to stop opening meetings this way.

Pretty nuts, huh? But the question on my mind is whether this Berlusconi story is legit. See, the only sources I can find that cite the supposed censorship are ones that come from the publisher's channels. There doesn't seem to be a single real news article about it.

Their YouTube channel does show a press conference where Berlusconi supposedly defends the censorship to some feisty protestors and reporters. I don't speak a word of Italian, and anyone who does could easily kick my knees right out from under me on this, but I have a suspicion that the subtitles on that video are not legitimate. I really honestly think that the publishers of "Thirteen" manufactured the whole thing. I admit, that's speculation, but the whole thing does smell fishy, doesn't it?

We all know that most people will believe anything they read on the internet. We have all, at one point or another, been suckered. My knee-jerk reaction was to swallow this story whole, if for no other reason than, ya know, it's Berlusconi. Only when I was in the midst of writing a piece on it did it occur to me that the whole thing might be bullshit. I still don't know one way or the other, but really it doesn't matter, because no matter what my first instinct should have been skepticism, and it wasn't, and that's a problem.

For example, I'm starting to suspect that that's not a real rabbit. Something about it just seems off to me...

Oh, are you wondering about the story? Well, I won't spoil it, but I gotta tell ya, I wasn't impressed. I mean, it's a cute stunt I guess, but that kind of thing was more effective as, say, a chain email from 2001 or so. I find regional Italian politics a hell of a lot scarier, but to be fair, that's just true of most horror stories.

Hang on, I have to go let the rabbit in.

Summer Mockbusters: Last Call.

You may have noticed that I watch a lot of movies. But you don't even know the half of it.

Usually I only bother to write about wide release movies that are accompanied by big marketing campaigns, but since theater-going is rather a compulsion for me, I'm prone to wander into anything with a cool-looking poster. Such as:

13 Assassins:

Takashi Miike releases, and I'm not kidding when I say this, four or five movies every year. Most of them are straight to DVD, and he has, well, let's call it a divisive style, which is to say that some people think he's brilliant, and other people think he's the anti-Christ and want to eat his children.

Critics.

Not being a fan myself, I almost passed up the chance to see this American release of his 2010 historical war drama about a dozen plus one guys plotting to off the Shogun's brother. But as it turns out, "13 Assassins" might be the best movie ever made in which a man is set on fire and then split in two with a sword. And that's saying a lot.

I admit, I didn't think Miike could make a movie this good. I feel like I should apologize, but according to this film that would mean ritually disemboweling myself while someone else cuts off my head. So we're going to pass on that.

"Yes, the line for the midnight screening starts here, and no, we will not save your place."

Midnight in Paris:

Really, how could I not see a movie with that title? And it's got Marion Cotillard too. I didn't stand a chance.

This Woody Allen-directed romantic comedy tells the story of a disaffected writer who is, somehow, sent back in time to Jazz Age era Paris, where he parties with Ernest Hemingway and Gertrude Stein and begins to question whether he really belongs in his own time.

The cast is full of startling look-alikes for period writers and artists (Tom Hiddleston looks so much like F. Scott Fitzgerald that it frankly scared the shit out of me), many of which are Oscar-worthy despite being all of five minutes long. As it turns out, Adrian Brody is even better at being Salvador Dali than he is at being Adrian Brody.

This is the first Allen movie in a long time that has the trademark dry wit and self-conscious craftsmanship of his stuff from the 70s. It's also the first movie in a long that has made me want to not kill Owen Wilson. That deserves an Oscar category in itself.

That shoulder never had it so good. I want to cut it off and preserve it so that her smell never fades. Is that weird?

The Tree of Life:

Oh man. This is gonna get rough.

The latest passion project from auteur's auteur Terrence Malick, a man I once referred to as a cross between James Lipton and the serial killer from "Seven", "The Tree of Life" might be the most contentious movie released in decades.

Most people lose patience with the movie when its primary plot, about a kid growing up under the harsh tutelage of his father, Brad Pitt, and the more holistic, nurturing guidance of his mother, Jessica Chastain, suddenly and inexplicably goes into a holding pattern so that we can instead watch asteroids and jellyfish float around to classical music.

Then there's some desert footage. Then a volcano. Then there's dinosaurs. Yes, fucking dinosaurs show up. This goes on for a while. Like, twenty minutes, at least. I actually have an opinion on what this all means and how it relates to the movie’s ostensible plot, but I think most people don’t care.

That “The Tree of Life” is a gorgeous movie goes without saying, and I ended up liking its gauzy, breathless cinematography and indirect storytelling style in spite of myself. That said, Malick might need a punch in the face, for his own good. But I’ll punch him with my thumb up in tribute to the quality of his work.

"Now son, place your arm so that you're restricting my carotid artery and I will pass out. Once your enemy is unconscious, show no mercy."

Hobo with a Shotgun:

I just like saying the title of this one, particularly after having to talk about "The Tree of Life." It's really not a good movie at all, but that's okay because, well, it's "Hobo with a Shotgun."

Trollhunter:

Oh my yes, this is a real thing.

This faux documentary centers on a man-shaped slab of cragginess and gallows humor named Hans who works for the Norwegian government, secretly policing the country's wild troll population. Yes.

What might not be apparent from the (truly awesome) trailer for "Trollhunter" is that the movie is a dark comedy. From this film we learn that you can add the word "troll" to ANY sentence and automatically make it hilarious. Have you ever wondered whether the phrase "I'm throwing out some Christian man's blood!" could possibly be funny in any context? Wonder no more.

"Midnight in Paris" is likely the best movie of the year to date, but "Trollhunter" is by far my favorite.

This is Norwegian for "badass."

Conan O'Brien Can't Stop:

A documentary covering the six months of Conan O'Brien's life after he left the Tonight Show and was legally barred from appearing on television. To my disappointment, he did not spend the time hunting wild trolls.

The movie ends up being a really, really, REALLY weird portrait of celebrity. On the one hand, Conan comes off as quite an ass sometimes, throwing prima donna fits and running down his staff (whose entire lives revolve around him) with hilarious abusive monologues at their expense.

On the other hand, he's constantly charming and funny even when he's being a dick, and he seems to be acutely aware of these personality defects even while, as the title suggests, he seems incapable of doing anything about it. The net result is that, as one critic put it, Conan comes off as “the world’s nicest narcissist.”

Oh, and it’s funny too. Case you wondered.

"Tensions run high on day four of the hostage crisis. O'Brien refuses to release his audience until they've heard all 3454 verse of his new song about cats. UN Peacekeepers have surrounded the auditorium."

Tabloid:

And now, a movie about a crazy ex model who kidnapped a Mormon missionary and chained him to a bed in a remote cottage for the weekend. And then shit got really weird.

Yeah, the 70s were fucking nuts.

This documentary about a particularly sordid tabloid sex scandal some decades ago lacks comprehensiveness; of all the dozens of reporters (I use the term loosely here) who made a killing writing about these sordid exploits, the filmmakers only seem to have interviewed one. Though the events of the film captivated and repulsed thousands, only half a dozen people are consulted by the documentarians.

But the more these men talk, the more it becomes clear why they were picked: they are all clearly still obsessed with the woman at the center of the whole mess. Even thirty years later, even all firmly aware that she is, in the words of the reporter, "barking mad", she still has a kind of magnetic allure that they clearly can't shake.

The subject of the film is less what she did to make headlines so much as the magic mojo she used to make it all possible. It’s also about cloned pit bulls. Yes, really, and no, I’m not sure why.

They had to fotoshop in the sweater.

Another Earth:

I was on the edge of my seat waiting for this movie because of it's awe-inspiring premise: scientists discover mirror planet, identical to ours in every way, including the population. It’s a second earth with a second you on it somewhere. A woman full of regret tries to win the chance to travel to "Earth 2" and meet her other self, in the hopes that this other woman will have made better decisions with her (their) life and, hopefully, give her closure.

Compelling stuff, isn't it? Too bad the movie itself is such a big, dull dud. It appears that someone, somewhere had a dull, depressing, unpleasant character drama all written out but then realized, in a flash of uncharacteristic lucidity, that no one would ever want to watch it.

To solve the conundrum, he married it to that really awesome low-fi sci-fi idea described above, and what we've got is a great premise held hostage by a story that's only slightly more pleasant to sit through than your average police interrogation. It seems that the filmmakers felt it was necessary for the audience to hate these characters as much as the characters hate themselves.

I'll say one thing for "Another Earth", it certainly communicates angst and quiet desperation. Namely, yours.

As it turns out, that's neither a moon nor a space station.

Point Blank:

I think when a lot of people imagine contemporary French cinema, they think of something like this:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q-uQWNd540I

But most French movies I watch are like "Point Blank", a tense, engaging, competently-made, beautifully executed action thriller. A normal guy wakes up one day to find that his wife has been kidnapped and that her abductors have given him until noon to spring a suspect from police custody if he ever wants to see her again.

This is just the first of his many problems.

American movies of this type tend to cop out on the "normal guy" part. You can never really buy Harrison Ford or Liam Neeson as ordinary people, nor do their movies really try to sell them to you on those grounds, no matter what the plot summary says. They're not people, they're stars.

Gilles Lellouche on the other hand, he's the real deal. You can't help but accept that he's an ordinary man in an extraordinary situation. The film's tension comes from your very legitimate concern that he's just barely keeping his head above water and that the next wave might crush him.

There's not much tension, and consequently not much fun, in watching Jason Bourne trounce mooks who are clearly unqualified to be fighting him. The charm of "Point Blank" is that it's an underdog story. Lellouche has no great plan, no master strategy, he can only live minute to minute and pursue his goal with all of the tenacity that is not more immediately occupied with keeping himself alive; however much that may be at the time.

My only regret is that he didn’t take a minute to go put two rounds through the heads of the cast of “Another Earth.” C’est la vie.

"Yes, I realize this is an outstanding, once in a lifetime cellular service offer, but this really, really not a good time."

Grave Encounters:

As late August turns into early September, studios start unloading their horror movies on us. This piece of geist follows the crew of a cheesy, "Ghosthunters"-style show as they are locked into a haunted insane asylum for an all-night shoot. Because that sounds like a great idea, right?

"Grave Encounters" features some of the most unintentionally hilarious "scares" of any movie I've ever seen. I almost pissed myself laughing. I'm not usually cynical about horror movies, I'm not one of those people who think that they're too cool for movie scares, but there's just no way to take this seriously.

I feel bad shitting on the filmmakers, since they plainly did the best they could with their resources, but “Grave Encounters” only has two modes; boring and unintentionally funny. This style of horror movie has come a long way since “The Blair Witch Project”, but you wouldn’t know it from “Grave Encounters”, which repeats the mistakes of that decade-old film without apology.

"Yes, some pain is normal after wisdom tooth removal. Just take the antibiotics and call us if the swelling doesn't go down."

Yellowbrickroad:

Yes, that's "Yellow Brick Road", all as one word, and don't think that poor Google doesn't just have a damn breakdown over that one.

Once upon a time, indie horror flicks like this and "Grave Encounters" did the festival tour and, failing to scare up support for a wide release, defaulted to DVD and thus spared us all.

But "Paranormal Activity" (a much better film than either of these, for what it's worth) created a new model through which filmmakers basically just agitate for a release through viral marketing hoping to build up demand directly with an audience. If all else fails, nag your way into theaters.

Hence, "Yellowbrickroad", which offers a premise so tantalizing that it's almost impossible for the average person not to want to see it, which of course was the plan all along: In 1940, the residents of a small town pick up and leave en masse without a word, marching off along an obscure hiking trail into the wilderness, never to be heard from again.

Decades later, our plucky team of researchers follows their path in hopes of discovering the reason for their ghostly exodus, finding mystery, madness, and existential terror along the way.

Admit it, you want to know what happens. Who wouldn't? The problem? We never find out. The damn movie is just a cocktease.

What we get instead is quality time with annoying characters who become even more unpleasant as they go insane. And lord how I envied them. Had I gone crazy too, I might not have suddenly had enough sense to stop watching.

Cast or audience? Tough call.