Thrills, Chills, and Steve Carell

New Reviews at NightsAndWeekends.com Since Last Friday:
Broken English
1408
Evan Almighty
Fantastic Four: Rise of the Silver Surfer

Sorry for being such a slacker this week. Friday was a crazy day—one that spilled over into the weekend.

Last week was a screening-filled week—but, fortunately, it wasn’t filled with bad screenings. The Dreaded Monday Morning Screening was 1408, which I was actually looking forward to seeing—so I was totally cool with dragging my butt to a screening on Monday morning. It definitely made for a hectic day, but it was worth it.

John Cusack + Stephen King = woohoo! I was glad to see my boy John in a demanding role again. And since the story was written by Stephen King, I kept my hand conveniently near my eyes the whole time—just in case I needed to cover them, peering through the cracks between my fingers. Typically, when I watch scary movies at home, I keep a pillow (a.k.a. The Scary Movie Pillow) nearby—just in case I need to bury my face in it—but I would have looked really stupid hugging a pillow at a screening, don’t you think?

According to David’s review, I was “a puddle on the floor in the lobby afterwards.” I’m just gonna take that to be a good thing.

The second screening of the week was on Tuesday night—Evan Almighty. And despite the fact that everyone else was convinced that it would totally suck, I was keeping an open mind. I guess I was just feeling generous. Either that, or I just couldn’t handle another bad movie. Whatever the case, though, I was hopeful.

Before the screening, a group of us met up for dinner. Apparently, a table full of film critics is a little more than some waitresses can handle. And after waiting for an eternity for our waitress to return to take our order, we flagged down another waitress, who informed us that our waitress had left for the night. I mean, I totally understand, since Kevin was at the table—and, the minute she walked up, he admitted to being an ass—but we were really hungry, and we didn’t have a lot of time. And since I like neither (a) being hungry nor (b) being late, I wasn’t exactly in a cheery mood. But we eventually got our food—and Neil graciously saved us all seats—so everything turned out okay.

The coolest part of the evening, however, was that I ate more than Kevin “The Carburetor” Carr, Columbus’s Competitive Eating Champ. Sure, Kevin claims that he’d gone out that morning to do some hotdog training—and that he’d consumed a dozen hotdogs for a late breakfast. And I, on the other hand, had only had a PopTart for lunch. But counting just that one meal, I ate more than Kevin did. I was able to eat a whole hamburger and half of a basket of tater tots—and I was even tempted to dig into Kevin’s basket of fries. And for that, I’m totally proud of myself. Thank you very much.

As for the movie, everyone but Kevin agreed that it wasn’t actually that bad. The crowd around us definitely seemed to enjoy it. The person behind me regularly stomped his/her feet out of, I assume, delight—and some random guy at the side of the theater kept letting out random “HA!”s at the most bizarre times. So I’m taking that to be a good thing. And although I’ve gotten my fill of Steve-Carell-falling-off-stuff scenes for a while, it was actually a cute movie. I’d even let my mom see it—so it can’t be that bad (then again, my mother’s taste in movies is a completely different topic for a completely different day).

After a night off on Wednesday, we were back to the theater on Thursday for Ratatouille. We’ve already been reminded approximately 14 times that we’re not allowed to post reviews of the movie until this Friday, so I’ll just say that the kid behind me was lucky to make it out in one piece, after spending the entire movie kicking the back of my seat.

Finally, Friday morning was the Evening screening. I had time to finish maybe half of my Ratatouille review before heading out to the theater. I never enjoy watching heavy dramas on Friday morning (this one being about a woman on her deathbed, looking back on her one greatest regret), but, fortunately, this weekend was Comfest. So after the screening, John and Clay and I recovered by embarking on a Friday afternoon adventure. For most people, there might be something strange about a young-ish woman, such as myself, heading out on a Friday afternoon to a hippie festival with two old guys who are pretending not to be looking for topless women (unfortunately for them, I was the only one who spotted the topless girl—10 points for me!). But that’s just another Friday afternoon for me. And I have absolutely no problem with that. In fact, I thoroughly enjoy it. As Clay and I hunted for any junk food we could find, John searched for shawarma meat that was served in chunks instead of shaved from a giant cone of meat. (Sadly, he never did find it.) Then we sat and ate as some balding 40-something on the stage prattled on about whether or not he should waste the weed to make some brownies for his conservative, tight-assed boss. And a good time was had by all.

This week should make for another busy week, since it’s the last week before I head out on vacation. And with the holiday approaching, we’ve got screenings for Die Hard (the PG-13 rating of which Bill is still totally distraught about), License to Wed, and Transformers.

Actually, I’m supposed to be at a screening of Sicko as I write this. But, for one thing, my husband got a new job (woohoo!), and he has today off before starting his new job tomorrow—so I figured I’d stay home and hang out with him a bit. And, also, Michael Moore makes me angry. That’s not to say that he doesn’t make some interesting points. He does. But while Al Gore, for instance, tends to make his points by calmly and rationally stating the facts, Moore makes his points by bullying people and making ridiculous assumptions. Personally, he lost his credibility when, in Bowling for Columbine, he walked into random homes in Toronto to prove that Canada is a trusting and non-violent country. I found this to be totally silly because (a) I know plenty of people in the States who don’t own a gun and who leave their doors unlocked when they’re home during the day, and (b) I know enough about Toronto to understand that if he’d tried to do that in certain neighborhoods, we never would have been subjected to another Michael Moore film—because the occupants would have shot him on the spot.

As another critic explained, he wasn’t going to the screening because, politics aside, he was concerned that after five minutes, he’d want to punch Michael Moore in the face.

Ditto.

But the rest of the week should be interesting, to say the least. And I’ll be sure to fill you in on Friday.

And So It Begins

New at NightsAndWeekends.com Since Last Week:
Ocean’s Thirteen
Mr. Brooks

After last week’s slow screening week, things started picking up a little bit this week. The craziness began right away, on Monday morning, with a totally-last-minute screening of Ocean’s Thirteen. As it was Monday morning—which I tend to spend absolutely freaking out—I was running a little behind, but I did make it. When I arrived at the theater, I found the rest of the gang hanging out in shiny café booths that had been set up in the theater’s lobby—just for the theater’s run of Waitress. I slid into a booth during a little discussion about this week’s episode (#12) of Fat Guys at the Movies, which delves deeply into Neil and Kevin’s ongoing feud with some podcasting guys from Chicago. As it turns out, I got a plug on the show, too, in reference to last week’s Film Critic Discussion Topic about the electronic gadget introduced by Regal Cinemas. At one point in the show, they also announce that, since I’m a girl and all, they need to get me on their show. Either me…or a naked stripper. Either one.

Fortunately, however, I am one of the only people mentioned in this particular episode who was not proclaimed a “douche bag,” so I’m thrilled. And relieved. Thanks, guys! Oh, and good luck to Kevin Carr, our resident competitive eater, who’s in another hot dog eating contest this weekend.

So anyway…the new booths at the theater added an increased amount of insanity to the usual pre-screening chatter. Instead of standing around, waiting impatiently for the screening to begin, we grabbed our assorted cookies and muffins and cups of coffee and settled right in. It was like Cheers. It was so much fun, in fact, that we begged the theater manager to keep the booths. But alas, the fire marshal apparently wouldn’t be as thrilled as we were—so the booths will be leaving the theater along with Waitress. We’ll just have to enjoy it while we can.

Despite the fact that Ocean’s Twelve made me violently angry with that ridiculous Julia Roberts twist, I actually found myself totally digging Ocean’s Thirteen. In fact, I no longer cared that I had to see it on a Monday morning (had it sucked, however, I would have been totally pissed—I get that way on Mondays). In fact, I have officially declared Ocean’s Thirteen the best of this summer’s Big Threes. I even told my husband that I’d be willing to pay real money so he can see it, too. And that’s saying a lot.

On Wednesday morning, we once again got to hang out in the booths, waiting to see September Dawn. I almost skipped it, since I was a little behind schedule for the week. But, somehow, I ended up talking myself into going. Perhaps because it features Jon Voight with a beard. Or maybe because it’s about a massacre—and I just haven’t seen enough massacres lately. But, two hours later, I was totally kicking myself for leaving the office. As we stood outside after the screening, Kevin, Neil, and I kept trying to remind ourselves that the movie is based on a really tragic true story—and that lots of people really died—but that didn’t stop us from laughing about the movie anyway. It’s a lot like Home of the Brave—a movie that takes on a serious topic but does it so terribly that it ends up being inappropriately funny. During the screening, there were snorts coming from various corners of the theater. It was that silly.

While most people were seeing Surf’s Up on Wednesday night, I was watching my husband play hockey—so we caught the screening on Thursday night instead. It was a rush to make it, though, since I’d spent the afternoon downtown with John and Clay, enjoying the annual Arts Festival and eating food I shouldn’t eat. We ate up on John’s balcony, overlooking the city—and while John ate food that was fitting for his palate (his home-cooked chicken and pesto), Clay and I stuffed ourselves with all the junk we could. Because Clay and I like food. Bad food. (Clay, especially, likes bad food—I, however, draw the line at movie theater hot dogs.) Like pulled pork sandwiches and fried pickles and pecan chocolate mousse pie. And then we topped it off with John’s champagne. Needless to say, my stomach was seriously pissed off later that afternoon.

Anyway…I didn’t get a pass for the Thursday screening—and I never did get a response to the email I sent to the rep—so we had to find a way to get into the theater. Since there are all kinds of different people who work the counter at the theater, it’s not like they know any of us—which is why we’re supposed to have passes to get in. I’m not going to tell you exactly how I managed to walk right in, but I will say that my husband was thoroughly impressed. And amused. But I’m smooth like that. Either that, or they’ll just let anyone in. That could be the case, too. It probably has nothing to do with me or my inherent smoothness.

As we took our seats and compared notes on the week’s screenings, I was again struck by how varied the tastes of the local critics are. It’s a good thing we’re all so easy-going (or perhaps we’re just resilient), or we’d all hate each other. In fact, one of the critics who was there on Thursday didn’t agree with me on a single movie we’d seen all week. But it happens. We make our arguments, we occasionally mock each other, and then we move on.

So…Surf’s Up is, of course, a kids’ movie. Which means that there were, of course, a ton of kids at the screening. Which also means that the constant chatter volume in the theater was at about the same level as a Metallica concert. Our row was filled with critics and small children—one of whom I totally expected to climb onto Bill’s lap and grab some of those sour watermelon things that he’s so obsessive about. But, somehow, despite the noise…and despite the kids…and despite the fact that the movie is, in fact, about surfing penguins, we actually enjoyed it. Go figure.

The most exciting part of the screening, however, was at the beginning, when we got to watch a Guy With A Flashlight go after someone in the front of the theater. Bill and I were hoping they’d finally caught someone attempting to pirate a movie. After all, they bring in the people with the night vision goggles just for busting people who are trying to pirate the movie. It would be nice if they’d actually get to catch one from time to time. But alas, it was just a grandma with a cell phone. That’s not to say that she didn’t deserve to get busted—because anyone who’s stupid enough to make a phone call from the front row of the theater in the middle of a promotional screening of a kids’ movie deserves to be busted (or perhaps even electrocuted)—but I was really hoping for a busted pirate. Better luck next time, I guess.


This Week’s Film Critic Discussion Topics:

- Penguins. Are film critics the only ones who notice that studios keep releasing movies about penguins? Do moviegoers suffer from short-term memory loss, or do they actually realize that they’re constantly being duped into seeing more movies about penguins and buying stuffed penguins and penguin DVDs? Anyone? Before seeing Surf’s Up this week, we were discussing how the critics quoted on the movie’s commercials were calling it “unique”—which Neil wisely amended by calling Surf’s Up “The Most Original Penguin Movie Since the Last Penguin Movie.” Seriously, though. Aren’t there any other entertaining animals? How about monkeys? Whatever happened to monkeys? Or maybe even otters. Otters are cute. Or maybe llamas (because it’s fun to say “llama”). Or kangaroos. Anything but penguins.

- Bad promotional tactics. This week, I got an email announcing that the makers of Hostel II are sponsoring an eBay auction. They’ll be auctioning off autographed posters and things from the movie—to benefit the Elizabeth Glaser Pediatric AIDS Foundation. Is it just me, or is that just sick and wrong? “Well, we’re auctioning off naked headless pictures of Bijou Phillips—but it’s okay, ‘cuz it’s for the kids.” In the wise words of my esteemed colleague, David Medsker, “That does it. Eli Roth must die.”