The Martin Scorsese Experience

Dear Marty-

Forgive the informality of addressing you in such a familiar fashion, but in interviews, you seem to give permission it's acceptable. Besides, after nearly six decades of watching your films-the great, the good and those not to my liking (you're incapable of making a truly bad movie)-I feel I've earned the right. If we ever meet, you may call me whatever you please. A mook, even.

I've recently plunked myself into a local cinema to take in your latest, KILLERS OF THE FLOWER MOON and nearly didn't make the leap. To be frank, the running time held me back. Between you and Christopher Nolan, I've spent six and a half hours watching your recent efforts-over seven if count trailers and theater ads, but you have nothing to do with that. But the lure of the filmmaker as well as the material itself, having been previously riveted by David Grann's source material, proved to be too great a lure. 

Still, three and half hours with no intermission? In my long cinematic journey, a midway break never seemed to intrude on the experience itself. Many of them I can recall to this day. When I was a young 'un, my sister and I went to see GONE WITH THE WIND and left when the lights came up after Scarlett O'Hara declared "As God as my witness, I will never go hungry again!" Being dumb ass kids, we thought the movie was over. Took me almost ten years before I saw the whole damn thing. Intermissions are an affectation of the past, with the exception of revivals, though some are asking them to be reinstated if the three hour plus mark is to continue. 

You, sir, have flat out refused to allow theaters to allow intermissions and those that have, you and your editor Thelma Schoonmaker have claimed are violations, demanding the cease and desist. (Under threat of what? Pulling the film and replacing it with FIVE NIGHTS AT FREDDY'S?) You also said in an interview:

“People say it’s three hours, but come on, you can sit in front of the TV and watch something for five hours. Also, there are many people who watch theatre for three and a half hours. There are real actors on stage — you can’t get up and walk around. You give it that respect; give cinema some respect."

In rebuttal, I would say the TV experience is a weak argument. You can't compare the two effectively, much as you can't equate restaurants with eating at home. Cinemas and live theater have their own set of parameters that don't allow for the weapon of choice that no home can do without-the remote control. 

I get it, completely and absolutely. My love for the cinematic experience has helped shape how I've lived my life. I've made no secret that I consider a movie theater to be my cathedral and thus, a religious experience. (I've never been to a multi-plex church however, but that seems a swell idea to me.) And there is no one who has done more for cinema itself, through preservation and appreciation as well as your own work, than you, Marty. If you wish to take a hardline stance, more power to you. Someone should be especially when both the entire industry and artform itself are so fragile. Therefore, above any filmmaker alive today, you've earned the right to have your films presented however the hell you want them.

This week, since I had some time off, I found that I had four hours to spare (there's traveling time involved, m'kay?) and made KILLERS OF THE FLOWER MOON a priority and, just as I said after I hemmed and hawed before I caught OPPENHEIMER this summer, I am the better person for doing so, mainly because I saw it on the big screen. Not to lump the two films together, I can only collate them by how immersive they are. Nolan's went for the sensory route, utilizing techniques that engaged sight and sound almost relentlessly. KOTFM had been equally involving, though with more a deft touch in its unfolding of this horrific saga in American history, laying it out patiently one step at a time reeling in the viewer until the coil is taut enough to almost snap until the very end. It is an astounding piece of work. Leonard Di Caprio has never been so weasely, an absolute dope who has no clue where his loyalties lie, not with the wife he supposedly loves that's for sure since he decides to pick his wretched family and race above all else. Robert De Niro totally embodies one of the smarmiest bastards of his career, a character type that unfortunately has not died out over time. And Lily Gladstone as Mollie Burkhardt is so quietly powerful, a real welcome and refreshing screen presence that I wish she didn't spend half the movie sickly or in mourning, even though that's how the story plays out for her character. I wish the screen story revolved more around her as opposed to Leo's since  the film itself is much like she was and as portrayed by Gladstone. This sprawling epic could have a lumbering brute of a film, but in your hands, it becomes a symphony. And the epilogue is flat out brilliant. Bravo. If I were to quibble which I have be known to do, I would your own self-serving intro, Marty. It's a totally unnecessary distraction, adding nothing and dampers the opening. I felt as though you were going the Walt Disney route when he used to introduce shows on The Wide World of Color. The fact that you make an appearance at the end is more than enough. Don't belabor the point and let the film speak for itself which it does , loud and clear.

So about the length. (yeah, I have to get back to it) I didn't feel it until the last half-hour which quite honestly did not drag. It's a personal thing and could have been the time of day since I falter in late afternoons when I attended Ye Olde Moviehouse. And like OPPENHEIMER, I had to take a comfort break (aka go to the can) at, ironically enough, the halfway point. All in all, I am pleased to admit that I still have the stamina to attend a long-ass movie like yours. Unfortunately, my bladder has another agenda.

So, Marty, my ol' pal, keep fighting the good fight even if you do get all curmudgeonly in the process. If you can make films as compelling and vibrant as KILLERS OF THE FLOWER MOON and champion film as only you can do, please do. After all, you are Martin Fucking Scorsese and I think now you damn well know it.

Cinematically yours,

Scott 

The Mook

Before the Fall

Summer '23 is unofficially behind us. Technically, the first day of fall will be September 23 this year (23 for '23), but let's face it, Labor Day is the last three day blowout before we are inundated with pumpkin spice this, that and every bloody thing until Xmas rolls around and...we're done here for another year.

While not a big fan of summertime (with the exception of Gershwin), this year's season between there and here was actually pretty sweet, despite the fact that the rest of the world was either on fire or on strike. The best possible reason for rave review stemmed from the fact that I got to spend some quality time with the fam, part of which I chronicled here in the post DADA DAY IN DENVER. What's missing from that post are two separate and superb bookended evenings with my son and grandson, respectively. This damn fam o' mine sends me to the moon and back. 

While in Colorado, I finally met my friend Melanie Roady face-to-face after almost ten years of communicating only online. Mel was the theater angel who got me to write the first play I'd written in way too long a time and produced said show. The following year, we did it again. Our origin story can be found in  A FROG BLOG. 

Speaking of which, one of those plays in question, MURDER-THE FINAL FRONTIER, was produced by CAST Plays in Douglasville, Georgia, possibly making it the most popular show in my catalog, which is only one page, but at least front and back. If you can't read the fine print, the show went on the boards (as we show folk say) back in April. I didn't learn about it until I received my royalty payment from my publisher in June. 

Managed to attend two-count 'em-two movies, a very big deal in the life of me since the experience had been pretty much obliterated by the damn Pandemic, much like almost everything else I used to love. Takes a bit to get me out to the cinema again, but since the films I took in came from two of my favorite filmmakers, I set forth to satisfy my craving headed into the dark once again.

ASTEROID CITY: Nobody makes films like Wes Anderson. After this and THE FRENCH DISPATCH, I'm getting a bit concerned. It pains me to admit that ASTEROID CITY is even too Wes Anderson-y for me. He overreached and couldn't attain any honest connection with his own work when he became too bogged down in design. It's not a wash by any means, containing enough delights that will be bring me back for a second viewing. But this time around, he went for big themes and emotions so far out of his reach because he was distracted by the next shiny object. "Ooh, look! A stop motion roadrunner!" The magic act didn't work for me this time, even though I was so glad to experience it on the big screen because it is a beautiful, however frustrating object. 

OPPENHEIMER: I had been looking forward to Christopher Nolan's latest epic all year. Naturally, since procrastination is my middle name, I waited until Labor Day to catch it. The enormity of the production, a total sensory experience, overwhelms much of the time, almost relentlessly, though it doesn't become bombastic enough to obliterate the drama or the performances contained therein. I have a problem, as many others have, with the dialogue recording since Nolan doesn't believe in ADR, so I lost some key elements and pertinent info along the way. (Maybe I require sub-titles as I do at home these days) The cast is superb, though Nolan nearly falls into the same trap as Wes Anderson. Critic Judith Crist used to call these vehicles with all-star casts a "Hey, look!" movie and OPPENHEIMER has a bit of stunt casting here and there.. "Hey, look! There's Gary Oldman as Harry Truman!" Overall, a fine achievement and the best time I had in the movies all year. That's three times if you're counting at home.

Add to this some swell TV viewing with the return of RESERVATION DOGS, WHAT WE DO IN THE SHADOWS and a limited series revival of JUSTIFIED to the mix and summer '23 turned out pretty damn nifty. It was all wine and roses, disregarding being sold down the river by an unnamed entity, but that's what the fall is all about...and hopefully, a fall from which I hope I can recover. (Cryptic much?)

Now if you'll excuse, I have to store away all my white clothes until next year. Do undershirts count?

 

To Life

In times of total frustration, I feel as though I've lost a good part of myself. But the truth of the matter is that I've merely misplaced me. This comes from a lack of forward mobility, stagnation and soul-crushing procrastination. The only person I can blame for this is staring right back at me in the screen of this laptop and that is me, me me. Fortunately,I can't see me right now because I would punch myself in the mush for wasting more time and energy online than taking care of business.

So I took a couple of necessary breaks while I engage in a refresher course in things that inspire and enrich my soul to serve as a reminder of who I am and what I am supposed to be.

While I took in THE SHAPE OF WATER on my birthday, I felt a need to take in another piece o' cinema because my time before the big screen has been limited to say the very least and I feel as though I've been missing out on one of the great joys of my life.

The great Portland independent movie house known as the Hollywood Theater had a very limited engagement of DUNKIRK in 70mm over the past two weekends. Having missed it on its initial run the past summer, here was the last possible chance to see this war epic, so the saying goes, as it was originally intended to be seen. Since I've never seen any film in this format to begin with, I ventured off to the other side of the Portlandian world and made it to the Hollywood, a a theater I have not visited in over 5 years.

I love this place. This is how I would run a movie theater with first runs, revivals and special showings that are trying like hell to keep the movie-going experience alive and kicking. These include such gems as B Movie Bingo, Hecklevision, the H.P. Lovecraft Film Festival and the occasional silent film with live organ accompaniment such as the upcoming SEVEN CHANCES starring Buster Keaton. This is exactly how to run a movie theater in the 21st century.
HOLLYWOOD THEATRE

I couldn't believe my good fortune the day I ventured forth from home to the other side of Portland, which can be both a trick and trek at the same time. Leaving later than I was comfortable with, I managed to fight my way tooth and nail out of the goddamn 'burbs (as I affectionately refer them) and onto the freeway with a credit of only twenty five minutes. When you figure in both traffic and parking, you're talking a deficit that could sabotage the entire excursion. But the Fickle Finger of Fate pointed in my direction and I made to the Hollywood with minutes to spare with even enough time to hit the can on the way in.

Without fanfare or even coming attractions, the film began and kept me nailed to my seat for the next two hours. DUNKIRK is a positively masterful piece of film making. Christopher Nolan's WW II epic is riveting from its opening frame to its last and immersed me completely. What I experienced on this Saturday afternoon was pure cinema, both in content and presentation. Kismet with capital K.

Besides inspiration of a cinematic kind, I turn to the other arts to recharge my soul. I have been absent from any recent showings at the Portland Art Museum for far too long and caught a very significant exhibit, once again, just in the nick of time on its final day. (Are we sensing a running theme here?)

The Wyeth Family, that being the American artists N.C., Andrew and Jamie, along with other relatives represented, had many of their most iconic works (minus Andrew's Helga pieces) presented in this extremely moving show. To view artwork of this caliber and stature that spanned over three generations and an entire century made me gape about in awe and total admiration for what artists contribute to this world and how that can continually passed down throughout time.

When I was in high school, I took a class called Humanities, taught by a Mr. Leonard Fass, an irascible and cantankerous sort who introduced this sullen teenager to many of the finest aspects in society including, music, literature and art. on one particular day, Mr. Fass  showed us a documentary about the Wyeths. It made such an impression upon me, opening both my heart and mind. Art became part of my DNA from that day forward and I've been grateful ever since.

Seeing the Wyeth exhibit and DUNKIRK were more than just a couple of fanciful outings on my days off from work. They serve to remind me what I'm supposed to not only do with my life, but who I am supposed to be. Time ticks away so relentlessly that it can steamroll you into submission, allowing life to pass you by. You can cast your dreams aside from pure fatigue and soon, regret sets in like a tumor. It's time to live again before it's too late.

L'chaim!

Moonrise to Dark Knight

With the end of Labor Day, another summer bites the dust, the Big One and, for all intents and purposes, even a dusty Big One. (ptui!) Yeah, Summer 2012 has no right being mentioned in the same breath (let alone the same same sentence) as last year, but nothing could have competed with the grand and glorious New York Cherney Journey. That was one for the Book of memories while this year barely fits this here blog.

However, no sour grapes say I since it became almost a necessity to low-ball this past season  both economically and spiritually. At least I mustered up enough effort to book-end the summer with two very distinct trips to the cinema viewing two very distinct films, though they did have one thing in common: my state of mind.

After a horrific spring that culminated with my psyche taking a throttling of absurd frequency, I needed a break more than anyone really knew and took refuge in the wonderful world of Wes Anderson, namely MOONRISE KINGDOM. His wistful tale of young love propelled me back into a time when summer actually meant something in my life instead of another reason to hate hot weather. I'll totally cop to the desire to flee the present into that warm glow of nostalgia because it was a safe haven I really desire to escape into  for at least a couple of pleasant hours. MOONRISE KINGDOM called up sweet memories I never had, desires never satisfied and adventures never lived, but recalling even the longing of these gave me the solace I truly needed. So sitting in a packed matinee audience in June, usually another circle of my own personal Hell, turned out to be a tranquil afternoon that provided just the right of therapy to survive the suck and get me through to the next crisis. It also reaffirmed my love for the film-loving people of Portland who are the best audiences I've ever encountered. If I could get over some of my anti-social ways and discomfort with the general public, I'd join them more often. It's funny that I can sit side-by-side with an audience during a live performance, but I'm hesitant to do so at the movies. Then again, I never attend the thea-tah alone. Say it loud, I'm neurotic and proud.

It wasn't until August that I ventured out again to catch one more flick before Labor Day. I was all ready to step into a second run theater for a last gasp showing of PROMETHEUS, but stopped dead in my tracks when I spied a mother with five pre-teens at the box office AND two other mamas in the lobby cradling their babies. Uh-uh. No way was I going to subject myself to that torture dungeon. It didn't matter that the admission was only a dollar. I beat feet away from that place as though it was a nest of Herpes-laden hornets.

The next day, I took the plunge into the dreaded multi-plex for another anticipated film, THE DARK KNIGHT RISES. Though I had been looking forward to it for months on end, I found myself reluctant to see the grand finale of Christopher Nolan's Batman trilogy due to the morbid shadow of the Aurora, Colorado massacre the month before. How could I even begin to watch this movie without the mental images of that tragedy play through my head? I actually had an interior debate, even accusing myself of insensitivity. I decided to take my chances and deal with the guilt if and whenever it came. It didn't. Instead, I realized that here I am, a lone patron in a cinema and suddenly, I am suspect or at least, I very well could be. Attending movies solo has been my modus operandi for, well, ever. My wife abandoned the idea of accompanying me long, long ago and in almost 15 years, has gone with me exactly twice. It became one of those activities we don't do together and if I can't sit next to her, call me Greta Garbo, but I want to be alone.  I am also one of those odd ducks that never buys anything at the concession stand, preferring to bring in snacks from the outside. This usually occurs during the winter months when I can cram a lot into a large jacket. I've brought in sandwiches, hamburgers, burritos and assorted beverages (non-alcoholic). One fine day, I brought in sushi from Trader Joe's and watched the great kung fu epic HERO. This time, I didn't bring anything more than a protein bar (it's a 2 3/4 hour movie for Chrissakes). With the temperature in the 90s, a big jacket concealing various food items would raise more than just one red flag, so I lowballed it. Parking myself in the back of the auditorium, I sat in silence in awkward anticipation of suspicious glances or nervous whispers about my lonesome self crouching in the corner, a potential Madman du Jour. But these notions of mine soon evaporated into the paranoid ether once the film began and I opted to engage myself into Christopher Nolan's bold and brash cinematic symphony, just like everyone else in the theater who didn't give me a second glance if any at all. In the end, what happened in Aurora had nothing to do with the movie at all and everything to do with a crazy motherfucker with a gun. And the rest was all in my head. Maybe that's where it belongs.

Summer ends. Fall begins. Life goes on.

Exceptional Inception

I'm sad to say that's it's been a too long of a time since I've been in a movie theater, that last time being this year's birthday movie of AVATAR...and that was back in January, for Buddha's sake.

To be perfectly honest, there hasn't been a wealth of product out there to pique my interest enough to venture off to the cinema. Oh, I'm sure I would found something to see, probably along the lines of a more eclectic nature that I am increasingly drawn to instead of the dreary, mundane product that fill what pass for movie houses these days. Of course I'm talking endless sequels, reboots, remakes, recycles, rehashes all regurgitated back into the sausage maker to make more hot dogs of decreasing taste and nutrition. In other words, Hollywood's on safe mode right now, that means more of the same, literally and figuratively. Who is the worse off in all this? For a change, not the public because they're finally catching on and staying the hell away. Nope. it's Hollywood, hurting itself almost beyond repair and destroying its own legacy by denying creativity its due in favoring of endlessly producing the tried and true until its used-up and false.

This summer has told the tale perfectly. Few diamonds have sat in this rough as TV, once the vast wasteland, has overtaken the great god Film as the hope of the future. Why? Because in the last few years, it has returned to the source-the written word. Compare, if you will some of the output of this summer's movie season to TV's.

Film: IRON MAN 2, SEX AND THE CITY 2, video game adaptation PRINCE OF PERSIA (with Jake Gyllenhaal as Kevin Sorbo), SHREK FOREVER AFTER, GET HIM TO THE GREEK (with the supremely unfunny Russell Brand, who's also starring in an upcoming remake of ARTHUR for Chrissakes!)), THE LAST AIRBENDER, KILLERS, KNIGHT & DAY (basically the same movie), SALT (this year's WANTED), TOY STORY 3 (yes, it's Pixar, but I hold them to a higher standard so it's just another sequel), THE KARATE KID, THE A-TEAM (or as I used to call it THE EH TEAM) and the 547th remake of ROBIN HOOD.

TV: TREME (the best new show of 2010 that you've never seen), MAD MEN, BREAKING BAD, TRUE BLOOD, JUSTIFIED, RESCUE ME, LOUIE (Louis C.K.'s MUCH better show than HBO's LUCKY LOUIE) , THE BIG C, WEEDS, NURSE JACKIE, THE UNITED STATES OF TARA...are you getting the picture yet?

Bottom line: TV has intelligent, intricate stories with compelling characters and superb acting.

Film has...3-D.

Yeah, I know it's summer, give me a reason to leave home, huh? (I know I'm ignoring works like WINTER'S BONE, EXIT THROUGH THE GIFT SHOP and GET LOW, but these little oasises-or is it oasi ...the plural of oasis-in the desert-haven't drawn me out either. Chalk it up to lethargy and pessimism, a deadly combination.)

I can only thank my lucky stars (or charms) for Christopher Nolan's INCEPTION, probably the best movie of the year thus far, a bold statement for someone who hasn't ventured out of the house all year. I needed a reason to go and INCEPTION has proved to be...well, the exception.

Here at last is an action film with a brain that is, by the box office take thus far, is undoubtedly being embraced by the public. Sure the imagery is incredibly fantastic and the pace non-stop, but the ideas and their delivery behind it all are garnering repeat viewings. The dream within a dream concepts set forth in Nolan's film have definitely struck a chord in audiences and certainly within me. I was also taken by the lack of cliches, such as the duplicitous team member, the obvious nod to a sequel (Its all about the franchise!) and the Gotcha! ending that would have ruined an absolutely perfect touching moment, one of the best in recent film history.

It's not a flawless work. Nolan has a tendency to blow his work all of proportion with piling on action scene after action without letting up much, almost unnecessarily pandering to today's short attention span audience. But unlike a hack like Michael Bay whose action scenes are played out like a game boy hopped up on Mountain Dew cocktails with Red Bull chasers, Nolan at least adds surprise elements of wonder within all the carnage, elevating his set pieces without sacrificing his premise. There is also no denying that the visuals are indeed spectacular such as the zero gravity fight scenes and Ellen Page's introduction as the dream architect. Still, there's a sense of overkill and INCEPTION could have benefited with at the very least, a ten minute trim.

Thank goodness for filmmakers like Christopher Nolan. With INCEPTION, he is on the path ascending to that pedestal of artists that work within the system and manage to turn out works of art within a damn fine motion picture, right beside directors like Steven Spielberg, Martin Scorsese and Alfred Hitchcock.

I'm so pleased with myself that I held out to see INCEPTION at the best theater in Portland, the Roseway. I've sung its praises before and will continue to do so. A single screen cinema with crystal clear digital projection and superb sound, the Roseway Theatre is well-worth the 50 mile round trip from my home.

What can I say? I'm spoiled. And you know what else? I deserved it.

What's Up, Dark?

It took me a couple of tries, but I finally made my way through what has been rightfully termed THE movie event of the summer and that is THE DARK KNIGHT. When I say “a couple of tries”, I’m not exaggerating and its explanation will serve as a qualifier for the bulk of my review.

I chose to see THE DARK KNIGHT at a single screen cinema, mainly because I’m fed up with the whole multiplex experience especially with the bleed through of sound that eminates from neighboring auditoriums. besides, I'd rather support the little guy instead of a mega monolith like Regal or Century. So, I picked the Cinemagic, a cute lil’ joint in the Hawthorne district that has a gold lame curtain that, unfortunately, isn’t utilized any longer. About an hour into the film, the projector broke down and the owner told the audience that it would be almost a half hour before it could be repaired. This didn’t fit in with my day, so I opted to return, which I did two weeks later. This time, I had been distracted by some twit in the third row of the center section who must have been going through some sort of Ritalin withdrawal, bouncing up and down, backwards and forwards in her chair like a two year old on crack. At one point, this moron even had the audacity to turn around and wave at me. If that’s not a WTF moment in life, I don’t know what is. When the credits rolled, I stopped her as she trounced up the aisle to leave and thanked her for ruining the movie for me. “Sorry” was her pathetic response. Unbe-fucking-lievable.

But did she really ruin THE DARK KNIGHT for me? Not really, but it came real close to doing it to itself.

I found the film to be so goddamn bombastic that I felt pummeled by the midway point. I haven’t my senses so assaulted since that first crappy sequel to THE MATRIX (THE MATRIX UNLOADED). But that was a rotten film and THE DARK KNIGHT is far from that. On the other hand, it isn’t great either, as many have asserted. It falls far short of that mark as well. There is greatness in it and perhaps a great film in the middle of all this. But what is up there on the screen in this form is one big fucking mess. THE DARK KNIGHT gave me the impression that it is a work in progress. The editing does not flow together from scene to scene, particularly choppy in the first half (remember, I saw it twice). Sure the big chase scene is spectacular, probably the best action sequence of the past five years, but there’s nowhere to go from that. The final act with the two ferries is totally incomprehensible and drags this movie down to the ground, leaving the last confrontation with Batman, Lt. Gordon and Two Face flat and almost unnecessary, except for the denouement which isn’t strong enough to fully redeem it.

About Heath Ledger, I can definitely concur with the consensus. He was absolutely spectacular and the best screen villain since Hannibal Lecter. That reeks of political correctness, but I had to agree that he is indeed the whole show and the main reason to see this film. I only wished the movie served him better in the last half hour. Even he started to wear out his welcome, peaking with his stint at the hospital as the loveliest nurse since Daryl Hannah in KILL BILL. But in the end, he seems to be wearing a retread of the Cesar Romero suit and just treading water.

I also didn’t much care for the whole China sequence, a sub-plot I found bland and uninteresting since the wrap-up was so garbled. The Harvey Dent storyline also felt like a whole lotta piling on, with the courtroom scene where he disarms a thug in the witness stand being the dumbest goddamn thing I’ve seen all year. It seemed like a parody out of THE KENTUCKY FRIED MOVIE. Aaron Eckhart did his damndest not to look the fool and rose above a lot of the doggerel he had been handed. Here lies some of the problems that has been inherent in the Batman film franchise since BATMAN RETURNS: Why the need for more than one villain? What, The Joker isn't a strong enough character on his own? Still, this Two Face was an vast improvement over the previous Joel Schumacher interpretation. He just paled in comparison to The Joker. Then again, anyone would have.

Christian Bale served to annoy me more than anything else and he’s the damn star of the movie. His Bruce Wayne, except with his scenes with Alfred, have become Johnny One Note, playing the arrogant prick card far too much for my liking. His Batman has become Throat Cancer Boy. Is this vocal inflection supposed to compensate for his short stature or does he just need a lozenge? I’m not getting the duality of human nature from this guy nor am I getting the conflicted vigilante that may not be mentally stable himself. I’m just getting impatient. Maybe that's why Bale pushed his mum around. She probably offered him a Ricola...or told him that she liked him in NEWSIES better.

The rest of the cast-the great Gary Oldman (thank you for keeping this man’s career alive and kicking), Michael Caine, Morgan Freeman-each and every one of them stalwarts.

BUT…

HERE COMES THE ICEBERG WHO DAMN NEAR SINKS THIS TITANIC…

Maggie Goddamn You to Hell Gyllenhaal gives the singularly WORST performance of this or any other year as the supposed paramour of both Harvey Dent and Bruce Wayne. The world-and in particularly the geek world-owes Katie Holmes an apology for what was said about her work in BATMAN BEGINS. She may have been wooden. She may have been miscast as an Asst. District Attorney, (kind of like casting Britney Spears as Maria von Trapp). But she didn’t fuck the movie up so much that you wanted to start yelling at the screen for an actress’ blood like Maggie Gyllenhaal does in the movie. She acted like a petulant substitute teacher in the midst of all this- drab, dull and just downright snotty like she just walked over from the SEX AND THE CITY auditions where she lost out to Jennifer Hudson. Jesus, what a lox.

The best part? She won’t be in the next movie.

Let's face it. The Batman franchise has had one decent female performance in six films: Michelle Pfeiffer. (I'll bet you thought I was going to say Alicia Silverstone, didn't you?)

Here are a few other things that bothered me and, because it’s 2008, I have to say this, at least for my own conscience:
SPOILER ALERT!
What happened to The Joker? Oh, he was caught and that’s that? Something told me another scene exists out there, probably with his death. Maybe they didn’t want to kill Heath Ledger on screen. That’s pure speculation, but if that isn’t true, why not a final nod to the character, maybe even just a last laugh, hmmm? The whole movie is centered around The Joker and he get zilch. If you didn’t want to kill The Joker, then he’ll be back, right? Who’s going to play him next time? I hear Mike Myers isn’t busy at the moment. (heh-heh-heh)

Didn't the school bus driver behind The Joker see him drive out of the bank?

Why does the mayor of Gotham City wear eye liner?

Christopher Nolan, I was rooting for you all the way, believe it or not. Your first effort, BATMAN BEGINS, resurrected Batman from the ashes and you really aimed high the second time around. The problem is you went all out in almost every single scene and didn’t know when to quit or how to put together a cohesive whole. By the end of THE DARK KNIGHT, I felt frustrated and not the least bit weary. Nothing could have really lived up to the hype that surrounded this film. It’s been oversold since Day One (thank you, Rick Emerson). Still, I expected more, but the more you gave, the less I wanted. You ended up not overreaching, but burying your good intentions and interesting ideas in a Phil Spector like Wall of Noise instead of trusting the material before you. It's as if you cooked a fine meal only to smother it all in an overbearing sauce. That's not a crime. You just didn't know when to quit. As it stands now, THE DARK KNIGHT represented that more was less instead what should have been the other way around.

Of course, my new best friend in the third row of the Cinemagic didn’t help. She only made it worse.

Maybe I should have showed her the pencil trick.