NYE in NYC

Noni is determined to have a good time at the party—you hear me, Natalie Portman?! But I digress...

Just as certain as death and taxes, while Kathy Griffin says something outrageous as the ball drops, best-NYE-movies lists pop up at the end of every year, with the usual suspects represented (and rightly so).



But every once in a while there's a curve ball, a new entrant that I had never heard of: In Search of a Midnight Kiss.

Although it reads a little douche-y in that navel-gazing hipster vein, reviews suggest otherwise. Plus, with NYC as the star attraction—the essence of romance—how bad could it be?



Flash forward to next year, hopefully the star-studded ensemble New Year's Eve won't be another one of Garry Marshall's cinematic turkeys. I won't miss it, if for no other reason than that the ever-elusive Michelle Pfeiffer has a role (and we know she doesn't grace movie screens very much anymore). [sigh]

Here's to a happy and entertaining 2011!

Central Heat

It's a cold, rainy Christmas Eve in Dallas; not the magical prelude to a white Christmas that we had last year, but a textbook winter scenario (80 degrees one day, 40 degrees the next) in Texas.

Always love this time of year, in part, because the weather elements and cinematic offerings dovetail so nicely, lending themselves to movie-watching—at home and in the theater.



This past week I caught three films—Easy A (thank you, Redbox), The Fighter (big kisses, Angelika), and Tron: Legacy (in IMAX 3D)—that couldn't be more different but shared an interesting flashpoint: a make-or-break central performance, which definitely could influence overall enjoyment of the films around them.

In case of Easy A, Emma Stone is the knowing, twinkling star of what is essentially a pretty contrived, tepid comedy. That's not to discount the few flourishes of genuine wit or firecracker supporting actors, but it's the lead actress's innate charm that is this movie's saving grace, elevating ordinary into, if not extraordinary, then at least an enjoyable diversion.



In stark contrast to Emma Stone's winsome screen presence, Tron: Legacy's bland Garrett Hedlund sucks what little life there is in an already automotan-like movie-going experience. '80s childhood nostalgia aside, Disney's reboot didn't deliver much to recommend it, starting and ending with a vacuous central character *and* performer—a film-sinking combo. Why are Hollywood suits willing to bequeath hundreds of millions for special effects, without even bothering to ensure a decent screenplay that fully forms the lead character? (Nevermind a casting process that doesn't even value an actor with the chops to add nuance and pathos beyond a thin interpretation.)

Seriously, there's only so much mileage an audience can get from Olivia Wilde's fetching, asymetrical space bob, Beau Garrett's impossibly camel-esque eyelashes, James Frain's inexplicably amusing plastic-visored posing, or Michael Sheen's scenary-chewing channeling of Bowie (circa '76, The Man Who Fell to Earth).



A lot of critics have referred to Mark Wahlberg as "inert" in The Fighter. While it's true his character can be strangely passive, I actually thought Wahlberg made a well-judged play that proved: sometimes a self-contained central character can be like a centrifugal force, which galvanizes more combustible, less stable surrounding elements. His Mickey Ward grounded a film world that easily could've devolved into a baroque, blue-collar cavalcade.

Poster Child

After seeing glimpses of Sean Penn's tough upbringing in the 'Tree of Life' trailer, it's beginning to click why that jerk is such a humorless malcontent.



But seriously, how gorgeous does this film look and *feel*? Even the 'Tree of Life' poster, in our ridonkulously photoshopped era, has the bravado to show cracks and imperfections on a newborn baby's foot. Just beautiful...



Terrence "takes-his-sweet-time-between-films" Malick is a brilliant surveyor of landscapes, both recognizably human and alien, so best believe this cinephile will be front-and-center opening night!

"Oh my God, she's fashion roadkill!"

Pains of Glass

'Rabbit Hole' doesn't open in Dallas until Christmas Eve -- count me in (sorry, family) -- but Lionsgate, ever a benevolent distributor (aside from the 'Saw' films), has given us not one but two gorgeous, color-gradiated stocking stuffers to tide us over.

Though it's hard to imagine Nicole Kidman topping Cynthia Nixon's stage incarnation, I'm just grateful for the bumper crop of thorny domestic dramas coming down the pike (and the tasty indie rock ballads previews to that genre of films inevitably introduce).

Bitch Swan

24 hours after the credits rolled, and, my God, does 'Black Swan' ever stay with you. (But with such a cavalcade of baroque beauty on display—the titular performance sequence alone is master class—that was to be expected.)



During dinner the other night with friends, one of whom is a movie critic who reviewed the very film in question last week, we talked Darren Aronofsky's filmography; his delirous directorial style that skews heavily toward uncomfortable narrative zones (remember the final scenes of 'Requiem for a Dream'?) but manages to hold viewers' attention rapt, dangerously close to grand-guignol excess.



Another wonderful thing about Aronofsky is that he gives juicy parts, big and small, to terrific, underused actors, including a personal fave of mine who gave a bitch-goddess star turn if there ever was one.



Welcome back, Roxy Carmichael.