The Calm Before the Storm

New Reviews on NightsAndWeekends.com Since Last Week:
The Ex
Provoked
Black Book (Zwartboek)
Waitress
Lucky You

I know that the Summer Blockbuster Storm is coming. I can feel it. It’s like a shadow, hanging over my shoulder. I remember last summer. It was insane. And it’s looming in the not-so-distant future. But for the next couple of weeks…nothing. This week, there were four scheduled—though I only went to three. Next week, one. The week after that, we’ll have two (though only one has been scheduled so far). I figure I’ll try to take that opportunity to get nearly caught up on things. Wouldn’t that be fun?

This week started with a Monday noon screening. In case I haven’t mentioned it before, I hate Monday screenings. I’m busy on Monday. I always have a humdinger of a to-do list on Monday. And Monday screenings don’t help my stress levels. This week, we actually had two Monday screenings scheduled—one at noon, and another at 7. And I knew that there was no way I’d pull them both off. At least the noon screening gave me an extra hour in the morning, but screenings from 12-2 and 7-9? I don’t think so. That pretty much would have meant loading up my car at 11, going from the screening to a coffee shop for a while until I headed over to my afternoon kids’ knitting group from 4-6, and then eating a SlimFast bar for dinner in the car on the way to the other screening. So I just went to see The Ex at noon and called it a day.

For some reason, there were members of the public invited to our noon screening. Only about six actually came, two of whom sat right behind me. Halfway through the movie, the girl behind me couldn’t stay quiet any longer. I don’t know if she was having a one-sided conversation with her companion or if she decided to make a mid-movie emergency call to a friend, but at one point in her conversation, I heard her say—in the loudest whisper possible—“I can’t hear you!”

Um, but the whole theater can hear you, sweetheart. Take it outside.

Other than Chatty Cathy behind us, though, the movie was generally amusing. And it ended with a fabulous Kevin Carr Ending (meaning that someone—usually an irritating character—is blown up, hit by a bus, or subjected to something equally nasty), so we all walked out feeling cheery.

Speaking of Kevin Carr Endings, 28 Weeks Later couldn’t be more jam-packed with them. In fact, pretty much everyone in that movie comes to some kind of a Kevin Carr Ending—usually in the bloodiest, most gruesome of ways, involving eyeball poking and/or blood vomiting. And that’s what we saw on Tuesday night. After it was over, a group of us stood in the theater, discussing our reactions.

One of the guys said, “I’m not quite sure how I feel about that.”

My reaction: “I think I need to go home and throw up now.”

These are the difficult times for a film critic. 28 Weeks Later isn’t necessarily my kind of movie. I can handle a little gore—but a whole movie full of it can get to be a little much for me. There were times when I had to close my eyes for a couple of seconds, just to settle my stomach. So the Going-To-Movies-For-Fun me probably wouldn’t have been all that thrilled walking out of that movie. But the Film-Critic me had to take a step back and forget about my own personal tastes (and my own personal weak stomach) for a while—to appreciate that 28 Weeks Later, despite the unpleasant feeling it caused in my stomach, is actually pretty good. For the gory zombie flick that it is, it’s actually quite good. So while my stomach may not have liked it, my head thought it wasn’t all that bad.

But enough about zombies. Let’s talk about feisty old guys. On Thursday, I once again got to meet up with two of my favorite feisty old guys, John and Clay, and play guest critic on their radio show, It’s Movie Time. This week, though, I had to be there early—because they were taking promo photos for IMT and their upcoming show, Movie Time Classics, and they had graciously asked me to be a part of the picture, as an occasional part of their team.

Since I’m a girl, I spent the whole week fretting about what I’d wear. John is a tux kind of guy (though Clay told him he wasn’t allowed to pull out the tux this time), and Clay is not. I asked John what to wear, and he suggested, in great detail, an outfit involving a black pantsuit and a flowing white blouse. The thing is, I’m a film critic, and I work from home. Thus, my wardrobe does not include a pantsuit. Or even anything that could be referred to as a blouse. I went on a shopping trip on Wednesday and came back empty-handed and panicky, knowing that the black dress that John had approved would end up with Clay spending the next year harping about “Kristin and her fancy dress” right along with “John and his tux.” So, in the end, I brought my entire closet. I wore whatever I had on that morning, which ended up being white capris and the white tank I’d thrown on while doing my hair (a phrase that I use in the lightest sense, though it did involve pulling out the hairspray from the very back of my bathroom cupboard). And I packed a bag that included a blue T-shirt, for use during recording (since I know better than to expose any cleavage—again, a term I use in the loosest sense—for too long around Clay), the black dress, and a black button-down shirt, as I thought we were doing a black theme. I was wrong. We were doing no theme. As is often the case, I totally over-thought this one, and, in the end, was told, “Just wear what you’ve got on.” So I did, for better or for worse.

After the photo shoot (which produced a couple of great shots), we headed into the studio—so Clay could sit back and laugh his deep Santa-Claus laugh while John and I messed with each other on air. And good times were had by all. You can head over and give it a listen at WCBE.org.

While I wasn’t necessarily planning on going to this morning’s screening of Away From Her, John and Clay kept telling me how wonderful it was going to be. And I fell for it—despite the fact that watching a movie about someone progressing through the stages of Alzheimer’s isn’t exactly an easy thing for someone who watched a loved-one struggle with it for years. Not exactly a cheery way to spend a warm, sunny Friday morning—especially a warm, sunny Friday morning on which one has awoken with some nasty allergies. So when I got to the theater and saw that the tiny parking lot was full, I came close to seeing it as a sign. I almost turned around and drove back home. But I didn’t. I went. And it was a rough couple of hours—mostly because the movie is so real—but I made through. And I got to see an incredible performance by Julie Christie, so that was good, too.

And now, I get to take a little break from theaters. Next week is just Shrek. But, since we’ve all been dreading it for months, I’m sure it’ll be worth a few good stories on Friday…


This Week’s Film Critic Discussion Topics:

- Spider-Man, and how it totally didn’t deserve to make $150 million in one weekend. We’re all wondering how much those numbers will drop off this weekend, after people realize that it isn’t really that great. Jason, however, isn’t complaining, since it was his draft pick.

- Kevin was also quite proud to point out that the $2 million that Lucky You pulled in put him in second place in this season’s competition.

Bored with Gore

New Reviews at NightsAndWeekends.com This Week:
300
Wild Hogs
Zodiac

First of all, I have a confession to make: since last Friday’s bowling excursion, I’ve been shopping online for my own pair of bowling shoes. David and I had so much fun that we’ve decided to make our therapeutic bowling excursion at least a monthly event—and since the cute little lady with the Marge Simpson bouffant and the bright painted lips charges four whole bucks to rent stinky old shoes, I figure a good pair of cheap bowling shoes would be a pretty decent investment. So if you know a good place to get cheap bowling shoes, do tell.

Last week’s beer and bowling had me ready to face another week. Or at least I was ready to face Tuesday—our one big day of screenings and appearances and things this week.

On Tuesday morning, we had a super-secret screening of The Lives of Others—the Oscar-winning foreign film. By super-secret, I mean that, for some reason, the email went out only to local film critics circa 1998, approximately four of whom are still around. The rest of us had to find out through those four. Fortunately, Mark filled me in, so I was there with bells on, filling up my coffee cup at a little before 11. I wasn’t totally sure that I was in the mood to sit through more than two hours of subtitles, but I hadn’t been to a daytime screening in an age (I skipped the only one we had scheduled in February), and I kinda missed them. I didn’t miss driving halfway across town, following behind people who feel it’s necessary to drive 45 on the highway. But I did miss hanging out with the gang—and being able to watch a whole movie without the distraction of the chatty teenage girls behind me. (As it turns out, sometimes film critics can be every bit as distracting as teenage girls, but that’s another story for another day.)

Fortunately, The Lives of Others is a fabulous film—well deserving of its Oscar. If you get a chance, check it out. Just brush up on your speed reading before you do.

By the time I made it back from the screening, it was already 2:00. So I scarfed down some sort of lunch while I did some work—because I had a lot to do and very little time to do it in. I was out the door less than three hours later, on my way to meet Mark, who was joining me for the big Columbus preview for the Cleveland Film Festival, which we’ll be attending in a couple of weeks (woohoo!). There, we met up with Clay, who was the event’s distinguished host.

I really wanted to hang around the event—and have a drink or two—but we were scheduled to be at the 7:00 screening of 300. Since it would obviously pull in a house full of fanboys, we needed to be there on time—to make sure we still had seats. So, unfortunately, we had exactly 30 minutes for the event. That gave us just enough time to chat with Clay, pick up our programs for the event, and nibble on some munchies.

In that 30 minutes, however, the strangest thing happened. As we were making our way back from the buffet of wraps and nachos and wings, Clay walked up and introduced me to David. David had recognized Clay’s voice from the radio show (which comes as no surprise, since you can easily pick out Clay’s voice—even from 100 feet away in a crowded theater lobby) and had stopped by to say hello. As he and Clay were chatting, David asked about me. Me. No kidding. So Clay brought him over to meet me.

As an online critic, I don’t get a lot of readers walking up to me and introducing themselves. None, in fact. I’m just a name. I’ll get an email every once in a while, which is always cool, but I never get strangers walking up to me in a bar to say hello. Sure, I’ve appeared on John and Clay’s radio show a few times. And I do realize that a lot of people listen to it. But I guess it never really occurred to me that people other than my mother were listening to me. So I definitely wasn’t prepared to meet David. It was, however, a pleasant surprise.

After gathering up our film festival programs, Mark and I were once again rushing out the door, driving back to the theater, where we met up with the rest of the gang. The poor little guy at the door tried to count me as Mark’s plus-one, but I made a point of giving him my name and outlet. I’m telling you—these people will get to know me if it’s the last thing I do.

Once we were seated in the theater, it became quite clear to me and to David’s wife, Deb, that we were horribly outnumbered. David pointed out that there was only one female in the whole row behind us—and that was poor Lori, another one of our colleagues. Mostly, the theater was packed with very eager and caffeine-loaded college-age guys—mostly of the geek variety. You know…the ones you used to find lining up days early for the opening of Star Wars or The Lord of the Rings. When the movie began, they all cheered and hooted. After a while, though, not so much. Maybe they were as bored as I was.

Perhaps I saw so much blood and gore back in December that it just doesn’t shock me anymore. But it was just all too obvious that the filmmakers were aiming the movie at the fanboys seated around me—the ones who cheer for any form of violence and/or sex. Show blood droplets in fancy CGI slow-motion, and they cheer. Show a nipple or two, and they cheer some more. But after about a half hour of blood and nipples, I’d pretty much seen all there was to see. In fact, after a long day of rushing around, I felt like curling up and taking a little nap. If it hadn’t been for the loud music, maybe I would have done just that.

The rest of the guys had been looking forward to 300 for ages (they were just slightly less excited about it than they are about Grindhouse)—so I figured I’d be the only one who didn’t like it. But I was surprised to find that there was a general consensus—that there’s just so much sword-fighting-against-green-screens that you can watch before it loses its excitement.

Following our one long day on Tuesday, the rest of the week was pretty quiet. The only other screening on the schedule was a Thursday screening of Pride—which most of us skipped because there are still approximately 14 more screenings until it hits theaters in a couple of weeks (and because very few of us actually want to see it). Right now, we’re all just resting up for next week. The screenings start on Monday morning—and we’ve got seven scheduled for the week (not counting the two kids’ movie screenings on Saturday morning, which we rarely attend—since being surrounded by kids and their all-too-eager parents is usually worse than being surrounded by teenage girls). It’ll be like December all over again….