The festival starts tomorrow so be sure to consult their schedule. Join us in checking out Children of Invention, which we missed last month at the BAMcinemaFEST (covered by Kristin here). There are a variety of genres (documentary, shorts, experimental) from the U.S. and abroad to choose from. Short on cash? Volunteering is a sure way to get into one or two.
Hey movie lovers! If you’re trying to figure out which movie(s) to see this weekend, look no further. This week I have a fun and sweet comedy to recommend, as well as a must-see series that you should definitely check out.
For those of you who I haven’t met, this is the Bruce Springsteen of Queens. But who I am isn’t important. What is important is that you see the new movie, Slumdog Millionaire.
From the pen of Simon Beufoy, based on the novel by Vikas Swarup and directed by the notorious Danny Boyle, Slumdog Millionaire did something to me that a movie hasn’t done in a long time: kept me in almost constant surprise. If you don’t know the story, let me catch you up . . .
Despite my borderline pathetic love of vampires, I’ve been skeptical of this adaptation ever since the inane posters started cropping up all over town. I’m no graphic designer, but I could have slapped those two pasty, sexually-ambiguous teenagers together in photoshop better after guzzling a box of wine. Not even the edgiest advertising could make this film look like anything more than angst-y, adolescent, suburban crap created by Mormons because, having just returned from a curiously sold-out show at Union Square, I can say with confidence that’s exactly what it is.
While it’s no masterpiece, it’s certainly a cozy, Sunday movie. And since it’s a cozy Sunday, it felt appropriate to pay homage to this New York classic, which pays homage to classic New York.
Award-winning screenwriter, Charlie Kaufman’s directorial debut is endlessly impressive. And I mean endless. Let’s start with the title, a play on words for New York City and Schenectady, using the literary term, “synecdoche,” which refers to the use of a word that denotes a part of something for the whole - like when cads say, “skirts” in reference to women. (I realize very few people are that politically incorrect anymore, but it was the first example that popped into my head.)
Perhaps it’s this dismal weather, but today I feel vaguely nostalgic for something I can’t quite put my finger on. I want to submit to my fetal inclinations under the covers and watch myself a rom-com.
I need Tom Hanks’ stiff dance moves, choreographed musical numbers, a car chase, a straight dude in drag and maybe a show-down in Coney Island after a long, perilous, subway journey. For those of you who find that kind of thing appealing, I’ve compiled a list of New York comedies that wouldn’t necessarily be on Roger Ebert’s recommendation list - overlooked treasures, if you will, to keep you entertained while you stay dry. Enjoy.
Posted in Film by Jessica
October 31, 2008 1 comment
Heave all of your preconceptions about vampire films out the window because Let the Right One In will undoubtedly exceed expectations or rather, scare them away. Based on the popular Swedish novel by John Ajvide Lingqvist, who also penned the screenplay, this is magical realism/horror at its apex, and the undead have never been so full of soul.
If you’ve never been to this adorable movie house, it’s kind of like if your cool, stoner friend came into his inheritance and built a movie theater. It’s modest but pristine, equipped with tons of snacks though they’re totally laid back about guests bringing stuff in from the deli across the street, every screening starts about 10 minutes late, they turn a blind eye to pot-smoking during the show and it’s likely the filmmaker and/or the stars will turn up during the credits for an extremely informal Q&A.
If you ever decide to take the short walk from the Fulton Ferry Landing in DUMBO up to the Brooklyn Heights Promenade, you know that by the time you’re on the Promenade, your legs are burning and you’re out of breath from the incredibly steep climb up the initial stretch of Columbia Heights. Now imagine barreling back down that hill in a home-made wheeled vehicle of sorts, possibly without brakes - and you’ve pretty much got the Soapbox Derby.