I just rewatched the little cinematic gem known as "Muriel's Wedding" this weekend. I always forget how sad it is. And I always take for granted how well-acted it is. Of course, Toni Collette and Rachel Griffiths show their early promise, but the woman who plays Muriel's mother, Jeanie Drynan, completely breaks my heart with her sweet smile, wet, blank eyes and swallowed self-worth. Remarkable performance.
Now that the year is winding up, I have to start thinking about my top 10 movie list. I still need to see Anderson's "The Life Acquatic..." and Almodovar's "Bad Education" before the final verdict. I'm sorry I missed "Primer," which sounded like a winner according to the trusted cinematic connoisseur Mike D'Angelo. TGfDVDs.
One upcoming movie that I plan to avoid is "Ocean's Twelve." I found "Ocean's Eleven" obnoxiously smug and slick and actually was driven out of the theater midway through the film by the painful sound of Don Cheadle attempting a Cockney accent.
I'm a fan of the work of Clooney, Pitt, Damon, Roberts and Soderbergh on other films, but took Eleven's glib self-satisfaction as a personal affront. It looked like a bunch of spoiled movie stars just wanted to phone in their lines and have a vacation in Vegas on the moviegoers' tab. Which might explain my somewhat violent reaction after reading their new movie's advertising tagline: "Twelve is the new eleven."
My outloud-in-my-moving-car-to-an-inanimate-billboard response? "Oh, yeah? Well, f*ck is the new you."
Put that in your roulette wheel and spin it, Twelve pack.