THE UNTALENTED MR. RIDLEY

The following is the beginning of Jim Ridley's film review of "Gone, Baby, Gone," a modern-day hard-boiled detective film directed by Casey Affleck's brother, Ben, who co-scripted with Aaron Stockard. Mr. Ridley is one of the many voices of Village Voice media and is a spoke in the wheel engulfing the cog that is Criticide.

“ 'Down these mean streets a man must go who is not himself mean, who is neither tarnished nor afraid,” Raymond Chandler wrote in 1950’s The Simple Art of Murder, smacking the ascot off the drawing-room mystery and all its crime-solving dilettante dandies. 'He must be... a man of honor, by instinct, by inevitability, without thought of it, and certainly without saying it.' ”

While I admire the ode-like nature of Ridley's cold-open, I'm frankly shocked at the confidence and bravado with which he spews out a mind-numbing inaccuracy. Raymond Chandler wrote "The Simple Art Of Murder," an essay, not in 1950, but in 1944, when it was first published in The Atlantic Monthly. The lesson here: Hire a fact-checker. Even Wikipedia got this one right. Ridley continues...

"Chandler was laying down the archetype of the hard-boiled detective, the hero with a thousand trench coats. He might as well have been summoning Patrick Kenzie, the dark-city crusader of Ben Affleck’s Gone Baby Gone, who hails from the broken glass of Boston’s hard-knock Dorchester district."

Weak on creative observation, strong on formulaic structure, the on-line review goes on... and on... and on. Of course, his review, like some of the best crime novels and film noirs, closes with a callback, creating the intended, if clunky, unwanted reach-around. But Ridley fails to deliver, missing the opportunity to write the review in the style of a crime novelist. Yes, it might've been annoying, but at least it would've produced some kind of emotional reaction from this reader.

"The ending resonates cruelly in this time of war, as our national susceptibility to clear-cut options of good and bad keeps us from frankly considering (or avoiding) likely choices of bad or worse. But that is the scorched earth the detective walks. “It is not a very fragrant world,” Raymond Chandler wrote, 'but it is the world you live in.' "

Open and shut. By the book. One-two-three. With "Film Criticism For Dummies" in one hand, and a reprinted 1950 copy of "The Simple Art Of Murder" in the other, Jim Ridley has read but learned nothing from either. Struggling to be wise, Ridley seems to have read far too much how-to-write literature, killing whatever creativity he may once have had. Which brings me to this quote by the master of crime fiction:

"Everything a writer learns about the art or craft of fiction takes just a little away from his need or desire to write at all. In the end he knows all the tricks and has nothing to say."

- Raymond Chandler

OBVIOUS LEE NOT AN AMATEUR

The profession known as "film critic" is on its last legs. The writing is on the wall. And because film critics spend most of their time deep-throating their own turds (no wonder they like German Cinema so much) and writing about movies, the majority of them don't have the time to read the writing on the wall. Some of them, however, make time.

Consider Nathan Lee of The L.A. Weekly. His intentionally dumbed-down review of "Balls Of Fury" is nothing more than a clever ploy to win over the common folk by attempting to pose as a complete amateur, and an idiotic one at that. Do not be fooled! Keenly sensing that the end is near, he is simply struggling to secure himself a place in the future, a time when, if all goes as we suspect it will, his two cents won't be worth a nickel in this town. Not unlike an S.S. Guard offering matzo to a Survivor during the last days of the Holocaust, Mr. Lee will be held accountable for his past crimes, regardless of his recent conversion to Regular Guy-status. His Judgment Day will come, only it won't be at Nuremberg, but in the court of public opinion.

Here is the truncated version of the accused's "Test My Balls Of Fury," published by the reliable L.A. Weekly. Funny as it may not seem, it is laughable.

"TEST MY BALLS OF FURY"

1. Balls of Fury is a movie about:

a. A former table-tennis prodigy (Dan Fogler as Randy Daytona) enlisted by the FBI to infiltrate the underground pingpong tournament of a legendary Chinese criminal (Christopher Walken).

b. Suppository jokes.

c. Little worth discussing and even less worth seeing.

d. All of the above.

2. In his first leading role for the big screen, Fogler, a Tony Award–winning actor (The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee), can best be described as:

a. A comedic genius.

b. Killing time until his agent gets a call from Judd Apatow.

c. A cross between Jack Black and Richard Simmons.

3. Because the FBI agent who approaches Randy is played by a Latino (George Lopez), he will be made to say:

a. “Maricón!”

b. “¡Yo quiero Taco Bell!”

c. “Nigga, pleez!”

d. “Say hello to my little friend!”

4. When Randy undergoes intensive pingpong training at the Happy Mu Shu Palace (“If Mu Shu fits, wear it!”), his guru, Wong (James Hong), offers the following inscrutable advice:

a. “Be as the cricket.”

b. “The cheeks cannot hold the smoke. That is what it is.”

c. “Pingpong is not the Macarena.”

d. “I miss you, Victor Wong.”

5. Are Chinese people funny?

a. Yes.

b. No.

c. Totally, like with those weird little sticks they use to eat and everything!

6. As Feng, the criminal mastermind/pingpong enthusiast, Walken can best be described as:

a. A comedic genius.

b. Killing time until his agent gets a call from Judd Apatow.

c. Ka-ching, bitches!

7. When Feng’s Amazonian henchwoman offers the services of sex slaves to Randy, it’s funny because:

a. They’re dudes!

b. They’re dudes who scream like little girls.

c. Oh, I get it: sarcasm. Lighten up, homo.

8. Maggie Q co-stars as:

a. A pair of breasts.

b. A pair of breasts that know kung fu.

c. Who’s Maggie Q?

9. Balls of Fury is best viewed:

a. At the multiplex.

b. On an airplane.

c. Loaded.

d. Never.

Dear We The People,

Professional film criticism is on the respirator. Now it's up to us to rise up, walk over to the outlet and show some mercy by pulling the plug. Once we put Nathan Lee and the rest of the Opinion Whore Corps. out of their misery, not to mention us out of ours, we will be free to enjoy the element of surprise and eliminate the corrosive element of corrupted pre-conditioning. We urge you to send hate letters and e-mails (written IN ALL CAPS) to every publication that appropriates funds for film reviewers. We cannot complete our mission without your help. As the President might say, if you're not part of the solution, you're not part of the solution.

Salty Milkduds

AN OPEN TOP SECRET LETTER TO LARRY MANTLE

Larry Mantle is a radio talk show host at Pasadena City College's KPCC 89.3. FM. He hosts two shows, "Airtalk" and "FilmWeek."

Dear Larry,

We here at Criticide would like to extend to you an invitation to join us in our fight against some of the most egomaniacal, wickedly corrupt individuals working within the entertainment industry today. No, I'm not referring to messenger service couriers, stage moms, or even promotional street teams. I'm referring to film critics.

Below, I have outlined a three-stage plan that, if implemented, will not only make the world a safer place from misguided deconstructionists, but will undoubtedly make your show more accessible, more lively, and more unpredictable.

Stage 1: Introduce a Joe Schmo critic into your mix. Your regular guests will find it amusing at first. They certainly won't feel threatened. This is a good thing, as they won't suspect an end game. With their guards lowered, they will accommodate Joe Schmo, make him feel like an equal, allowing him to come off as cute and endearing. Just an ordinary guy with ordinary thoughts. A migrant farmworker. Has an accent. Charming. Keep him on as a regular for about six or seven weeks. Watch as the smiles on the professional critics begin to weaken, if only slightly.

Stage 2: Dump a regular. In her place, a housewife. Has three kids. Likes Brad Pitt. A lot. She can only do this just this one time, but here she is. The smiles of the remaining regulars may be further weakened at this juncture, but what can they do? Alienate foreigners and mothers? Of course not. It's same old, same old. "Werner Herzog is a genius," "It's hard to believe Ben and Casey Affleck share the same genes, ha ha ha," etc.

Stage 3: One Friday later, announce your new "FilmWeek" format. Your regulars will no longer be regulars. From this point forward, you will now be joined by laypeople who will vary from week to week... veterinarians, schoolteachers, mattress salesmen, you name it. Unfortunately, it will be necessary to remove our good friend, the migrant worker. By this time, either his ego will have gotten to him or certain parties with vested interests will have.

Salty Milkduds

INSIDE MANOHLA

When I first heard the name Manohla Dargis, I figured it had to be an anagram. All I knew was that the words "dingo," "lasagna," "nimrod," "gonads," "aloha," and even the word "anagram" were in there somewhere, but I didn't have the time nor the wherewithal to figure it out. I told my woman about my theory, so she took a crack at it, determined to uncover the mystery. Playing by the rules (using every letter without repeating any), she amused but didn't impress me with "Ham Groin Salad," "Amoral shading" and a few others. But then, she floored me with a doozy... "A Longish Drama." I thought it ironic that Manohla Dargis' enigmatic pen name, after some unscrambling, revealed something that resembled one of her thin, vague, non-committal, but pithy film reviews.

Formerly a critic for the Village Voice (way back in '87), the L.A. Times, and the dreaded L.A. Weakly, avant-gardeist Manohla has been taking the hatchet to various great movies and heavy petting some of the worst dogs this anti-critic has ever seen -- and, all the while, covering herself in those same reviews in case she changes her mind about those films in the future. Still concerned about her legacy, now she's she's spewing obligatory venom AND antidote on behalf of the prestigious New York Times. Unfortunately, the New York Times is no New Yorker, and Miss Dargis is certainly no Pauline Kael. Let's take a look at her calculated attempt to find common ground with the common folk in a review of the latest "Die Hard" flick, a review which exposes her as a Rubik's cube who makes a living keeping her readers puzzled and unable to decipher whether or not she actually liked the movie.

"A lot has happened in the 12 years since Bruce Willis yippee-kai-yay-ed in "Die Hard With a Vengeance" with a glowering Samuel L. Jackson in tow. During that time Mr. Willis's star has expanded and collapsed through hits and duds and plenty of personal off-screen noise. The world has changed too, of course, and with it the action-flick coordinates: for one, Arnold Schwarzenegger runs California, while the sober, nonwisecracking likes of Matt Damon's Bourne rules the bad-boy roost. For another: Mr. Willis has become an increasingly appealing character actor, the kind who punches up a scene or two ("Alpha Dog," "Fast Food Nation") or an entire movie ("16 Blocks"), mostly by playing it not so nice and very easy."

Let's be honest. Going snidely sideways on The Running Man is a transparent maneuver (now exceptionally safe) to forge a "you see, we have a lot in common, commoners"-bond with the general public. Why doesn't she just leave politicking to the people who should be politicking... Hollywood celebrities?!? But, this is what really gets my goat - In her review of the dull, idiotic "16 Blocks," she steps way out of line when she compares some of its characters to the characters that inhabit the films of the great Sidney Lumet. Which ones, Manhole? Sol Nazerman from "The Pawnbroker?" Sonny from "Dog Day Afternoon?" Howard Beale? Just pulling the name Sidney Lumet right out of her ass. I'm certain Mr. Lumet would object not only to that, but for being in there in the first place.

"Life or age or something has mellowed Mr. Willis. He no longer enters a movie like God's gift, as he did almost two decades ago in the first "Die Hard," lips pursed as if he alone were in on the joke — which, given the fat salary he was earning, perhaps he was. In "Live Free or Die Hard" he enters swinging, fist smashing through hard glass and sinking into soft flesh. He's making a point and so is the movie, namely that McClane (and Mr. Willis) is ready to earn our love again by performing the same lovably violent, meathead tricks as before. And look, he's not laughing, not exactly, even if the film ends up a goof."

Meathead? Goof? Are these acceptable words to be bandied about by a "L'Avventura-ficcianado?" I think not, panderer. What would Antonioni think?

"An unexpectedly funny goof, at that, despite everything, including the mayhem and somewhat creepy plot. The screenplay attributed to Mark Bomback, who shares the story credit with David Marconi, has the whiff of multiple writers, as action-driven productions generally do. It originated with a 1997 story (dubiously titled "A Farewell to Arms") by John Carlin in Wired magazine about the potential for a cataclysmic, nation-crippling "information war," which mutated and stalled, picking up new writers and equally doubtful names ("WW3.com," "Die Hard 4.0"). Somewhere along the development line, the real world intruded, which is why the original idea about an information war now includes a plausible-sounding or at least not entirely outlandish hook to Sept. 11 — hence, the creepiness."

"The whiff of multiple writers," is an odor I and most Americans can deal with. The whiff of self-aggrandizing gobbledy gook, on the other hand, has me on my knees clutching a plug-in Glade, coughing as I make my way to the outlet, considering the alternative tongue-insertion. As for her thinly veiled but unsinkable condescension, a constant in her writing, shit lathered with perfume is still shit that stinks.

"Despite its jaw-jutting title, with its evocation of revolutionary America and radical individualism, "Live Free or Die Hard" keeps a tighter rein on McClane, dialing down his man-against-the-world attitude to a low hum. He's still more or less alone, at least existentially, though, as per the action playbook, he quickly picks up a sidekick and audience surrogate in the hacker impersonated by Justin Long (flicking between annoyance and amusement)."

Why drop the existentialism-bomb? Could her weakness for the avant-garde extend even to Bruce Willis box office blockbusters? C'est it ain't so.

"But McClane is also unequivocally playing for team America, helping the F.B.I. and its no-nonsense, supremely capable deputy director, Bowman (Cliff Curtis), who runs the sillily named cyber division with blinking monitors and scurrying minions. Heroic in deed and in acquaintance, Bowman knows to side with McClane, saving his contemptuous looks for the guy from Homeland Security. Nothing on Len Wiseman's résumé — he previously directed the two "Underworld" flicks, wherein the Goth kids really are vampires — suggests that he could wrangle both Mr. Willis and this new film's nerve-jangling action to such satisfying effect. At least on the second count he has received terrific help from a sprawling cast of stuntmen and -women (and the stunt coordinator Brad Martin), who do a great deal to advance the film's old-school mayhem. The use of Parkour during several fight scenes is particularly tasty, proving that when cinematic push comes to shove, the French, who originated this ultra-cool rough-and-tumble, which finds performers bouncing like balls from wall to wall, rooftop to rooftop and many hair-raising points in between, are definitely in the coalition of the willing."

Of course, now it all makes sense. The use of Parkour. How else could she justify enjoying this film on any level to her friends at Cannes? Senseless Asian Martial Arts she has a problem with. French dance-violence, on the other hand... ooh lah lah.

Dear Manohla Dargis,

Back in 2002, Steve Erickson interviewed you. Fascinating reading, especially this part:

"Frankly, I am pretty bored with most of the film criticism I read, to the point that I am beginning to think we need to start re-examining what it is and what it's good for, if anything. Of course, most of what's out there isn't really criticism but a degraded form of reviewing – just thumbs up, thumbs down, with a heavy dose of plot synopsis."

Okay, well, seeing as how you probably only read your own reviews, it's no wonder you got bored and questioned the validity of your profession. Who wouldn't have? All joking aside, I think it was an astute observation, and very telling. Couldn't help but chuckle at your nasty swipes at Roger Ebert and the dead Gene Siskel. But I must add, your review of "Live Free Or Die Hard" made me long for the type of review that is less gray area and more committal. It's a pity that someone with so many words in her arsenal (and within her name) doesn't use those words more effectively - that is, unless your sole purpose as an employee of The Times is to disorient the masses. I understand that you cut your teeth on films of the avant garde, but surrealism, absurdism, and post-Dada surrealistic absurdism have no place in the writing of critiques. These are simply signs of artistic insecurities, and should be used only by real artists who, to avoid ridicule, justifiably play it safe by hiding behind the mask of a style that doesn't allow for scrutiny, as there are no rules to break, no standards to rebel against, and usually nothing substantial under the surface. Stick with the linear, Man-O, that's where the true risk-takers are.

Pardon the tangent, just trying to get your attention. The message I'm trying to convey is this: If you can't decide whether to say yea or nay, say nothing and give another critic at the Times a shot. People turn to film criticism because they're trying to decide whether or not to go see a certain film. It is your job to make that decision easier, not more difficult. The average film-goer could care less about minutiae that turns you on or off. That minutiae might even repel that person from seeing a movie you recommend! I'm fairly certain this Die Hard review was a thumbs-up, but I didn't realize it until after I removed your finger from my eye. Please, for the sake of the people who still go to the movies, be clear, take a stand, sit down, and shut up.

Adieu,
Stalks Muddily

"ROST IN TLANSRATION": THE ANDY KLEIN STORY

Actually, you don't have to go far to figure out veteran movie review guru Andy Klein. Just take the last two syllables of his name and you'll get the picture: this is a critic on the "decline."

Try this at home. Round up a group of your Asian and/or Asian-American pals - Chinese, Korean, Japanese, Thai (makes no difference). Shoot a quickie martial arts flick or creature feature with Daddy's digital camera. After you're finished editing it, select from any combination of the following words: "Yellow," "Black," "Bride," "Curse," "Hard," "Attack," "Mask," "Boy," "Girl," "Dragon," "Tiger," "Gong," "Blossom," "Sword," "Armor," "Killer," "Deadly," and "Master." So now you've got your completed film: "Curse of the Yellow Mask" or "Attack of the Black Tiger" or "Master of the Dragon Sword." Great. Now dub a copy, send your DVD to L.A. Citybeat, c/o Mr. Andy Klein, then sit back and wait a week for Andy Klein's gushing review to see print.

I'm not kidding. This is a guy who can not review THE DEPARTED without pointing out how superior INFERNAL AFFAIRS is. He can not tell you how fantastic IRON GIANT is without mentioning that it's his second favorite animated feature of all-time, sandwiched in-between PRINCESS MONONOKE and SPIRITED AWAY. He once likened CROUCHING TIGER, HIDDEN DRAGON to a clever blend of Sergio Leone, Buster Keaton and Preston Sturges. But let's face it: the movie should've been titled CROUCHING TIGER, HIDDEN DRAG-ON...AND ON...AND ON...AND ON! Klein has put Lee on a pedestal high enough to go BROKEBACK on him.

Director Ang Lee is a perfect candidate for the Andy Klein BJ Hall of Fame because the guy not only has a martial arts epic on his resume but he also lensed THE HULK, which covers Klein's other unabashed bias - the superhero film. Andy Klein remains the only critic to have ever championed this mishap of a Marvel Comic adaptation; a film so bad that THEY'RE ALREADY REMAKING IT...ONLY FOUR YEARS LATER! When it comes to a Hulk movie, Andy Klein, take it from me, every other critic in America, and about 10 million comic book buffs: "Mr. McGee....You wouldn't like me when I'm Ang Lee."

So why do I have my mawashi in a bunch? Well, have you read this week's L.A. CITYBEAT review for TRANSFORMERS? He dismisses the Michael Bay toy/comic-based blockbuster thusly:

"Bay's notion of excitement is to smash up bunches of stuff on screen, with no rhyme or reason, no characters to care about, and no clarity or structure to the action. If that floats your boat, go ahead and have a blast. I'll be in the next auditorium, rewatching LIVE FREE OR DIE HARD."

What the fuck? If I want characters to care about, I'll go see FORREST GUMP! Something tells me if this feature had been directed by Seijun Suzuki and involved giant robots battling it out in the middle of Tokyo instead of the plain ol' U.S. of A., this review would read more like an endorsement to let Bay join Mensa International.

In the process of dissing TRANCE-FORMERS (his dumb pun, not mine!), Klein even takes a moment to sam Slam Raimi...I mean slam Sam Raimi: "Honestly, it's not like I went into a film based on a merchandising concept expecting BATTLESHIP POTEMKIN or THE TERMINATOR or even SPIDER-MAN. But I could at least hope for SPIDER-MAN 3..."

This from the guy who loved, loved LOVED SPIDER-MAN 2...yet he HATES SPIDER-MAN 3 with a passion. Seriously, dude, ultimately, in the big scheme...WHAT'S THE FUCKING DIFFERENCE?! IT'S THE SAME FREAKING MOVIE MADE THREE TIMES!

I only pray that when Wong Kar Wai's MY BLUEBERRY NIGHTS comes out later this year, we don't get an Andy Klein-penned CITYBEAT cover story hailing it as the best motion picture since THE GRAND ILLUSION.

- This is Karry Ling reporting for CRITICIDE

Dear Andy Klein,

You're a critic with a two-track mind. Time to broaden your horizons...beyond the Far East. As a Chinese-American, I can spot a Jewish guy with an Asian fetish from a mile away...and I'd really appreciate it if you to stay a mile away...from the cineplex!

Love and dim sum,
Karry Ling

THE ANDYMAN FAN

I know speaking ill of the ill is even worse than speaking ill of the dead, so I'll hold off on making a hamburger out of that sacred cow, Roger Ebert. At least for a couple weeks. Instead, right now I'd like to accentuate the positive with a heartfelt rave review of one of the most underrated, under-appreciated critics alive. His name is Andy Klein, and his game is truthsaying.

Speaking of hamburgers... As a kid, back in the mid-eighties, I suffered from an affliction known as Astro Burger's Syndrome. Donkey Kong, Pac Man... even Elevator Action. I spent more time inside that AB on Santa Monica and Gardner than Jerry Stahl spent out in front of it scoring H. And once a week, on the day The L.A. Reader hit the stands, I would anxiously run down there to grab a copy, only to find myself LMAO at Matt Groening's "Life In Hell" and David Lynch's "Angriest Dog In The World"... but only after reading AK's latest movie review. Bullshit soaked in perfume is still bullshit, and that's what you get from most critics - but not what you get from Andy.

Andy Klein is like a great prizefighter who delivers punches only when necessary, and does not, in the process, wear himself out. He doesn't wear the reader out, either. Two-fisted, no-nonsense body blows - that's what you get from Andy. And not unlike Republican Welterweight Ron Paul, but with the flair of an old-school journalist, he's ready to scrap for what he believes in and against each injustice he finds himself in the ring with, even if it means going up against his sheep-like colleagues. And, unlike the fancy car-driving pushover critics (you know who I mean), he never took a dive. Take a gander at Andy's Top 10 list of 2005, and note that "Crash" is nowhere on the list. In fact, here's what he's said about The Big "C": "contrived, schematic, and way overpraised, with its checklist of good African American, bad African American, good white cop, bad white cop, etc." How's that for an Uppercut-A-Palooza?!?! Anyway, here's that list... are you down for the count-down?

Andy’s Top 10 of 2005

1. Batman Begins. It only took four titles for Warner’s Batman franchise to fall apart, declining from the inspired sloppiness of Tim Burton’s first two entries to the campy excess of Joel Schumacher’s Batman and Robin. After a hiatus of eight years, the studio made the surprising, but wise, decision to bring in Christopher Nolan (Memento) to revive the moribund series. Nolan’s strategy was simply to approach this 66-year-old iconic character with respect. Gone are any vestiges of campiness or surreal production design or strangely unpatched plot holes. He puts Batman in a relatively real world and makes us understand why he strikes fear in the hearts of the bad guys. The result is darker, more disturbing, and far more character-oriented than its predecessors without forgoing the requisite action sequences. (Christopher Nolan, U.S.)

Look, I never saw it... just not my thing. Never considered watching it. Once, while I was browsing at Blockbuster with some chick (my mom, I think), she suggested renting it. With all the sincerity I could muster, which wasn't much, I said... "Uh... I... already saw it." But, this guy's got balls for topping his list with it. Great big ones, but not as big as the balls of...

2. King Kong. Another intimidating icon gets an update, this time Merian C. Cooper and Ernest Schoedsack’s oversized gorilla. Peter Jackson not only takes advantage of technical possibilities that didn’t exist in 1933, but, more importantly, fleshes out the relationship between Kong and his human paramour, which was always one of the most confused elements in the original. It might not have worked, were it not for the extraordinary Naomi Watts and the work of Andy Serkis, whose performance was transferred to Kong through the same techniques used for his Gollum in The Lord of the Rings. Jackson has added a lot of humor and expanded the action sequences, none of which I would have wanted to miss. Still, at three hours and seven minutes, the whole might be too much of a good thing. (Peter Jackson, New Zealand/U.S.)

Couldn't get over the use of a song recorded in the fifties by Peggy Lee. Why didn't they just use a recording of the same song from the thirties, when the story supposedly took place? Ruined the whole movie for me, but I thoroughly enjoyed the glowing review.

3. Oldboy. Park Chan-wook’s dazzling thriller – about a middle-class man (Choi Min-sik) who escapes (or is released) from a bizarre private prison and then tries to find out who had him locked up … and why – may sound ridiculous, but eventually comes together in a way that at least makes sense within the film’s heightened universe. The style – both visually and on the soundtrack – is so rich that Park finesses us past any sticky points. Some may argue that the film is essentially empty: all effect and contrivance, but so hermetically sealed off from the real world as to be trivial. But there are rich thematic underpinnings here that justify Park’s excesses. (Park Chan-wook, South Korea)

Yes, Mister Klein has one weakness. His Achilles is Asian Cinema. This movie is okay, but it's no "Kung Fu Hustle," which had action, romance, humor, and real emotional depth, not the kind of shoehorned heart at the core of "Oldboy." Andy, if you're out there, when you're reviewing films, put away the manga cards and ease up. BTW, "KFH" was my number one pick that year.

4. The Aristocrats. Okay: call me crazy, but this documentary from comedians Penn Jillette (producer) and Paul Provenza (producer/director) gave me more sheer pleasure than anything else I saw this year. Multiple viewings did nothing to diminish my nearly health-threatening laughter. The pair taped more than 100 of their colleagues, telling their individual versions of a classic dirty joke called “The Aristocrats,” or alternately discussing it, analyzing it, re-creating it in endless ways. Provenza has edited the film to touch on a whole variety of serious (in the good way) issues about humor and jokes and taboos and bad taste and being a comedian, without ever getting serious (in the bad way). (Paul Provenza, U.S.)

If there's one thing AK has, it's a great sense of humor. I'll never forget reading his review of "Swing Kids," a movie about an underground Jitterbug craze/movement in Germany (during the reign of Adolf Hitler). Although the film itself is not a comedy, in his review Andy evoked the name of one of America's greatest humorists, the too often ignored Jack Douglas, describing the film's concept as one he would've enjoyed. In addition to writing for "Laugh In" and a host of comedians including Jack Paar, Jack Douglas wrote some of the funniest books ever written, including, "My Brother Was An Only Child," "The Neighbors Are Scaring My Wolf," and "A Funny Thing Happened To Me On My Way To The Grave." Andy brought him up again in a review of the Woody Allen film "Anything Else" - "By way of incomplete homage, Dobel (Allen) makes mention of Jack Douglas’s hysterical book Never Trust a Naked Bus Driver – which I pretty much worshiped in junior high school – without, I’m sad to say, crediting Douglas as other than 'a very funny man.'” Kudos, Andy, for acknowledging a great writer who probably had more than just a little influence on the earlier, sillier writing-style of The Woodman.

5. Brokeback Mountain. Ang Lee’s sensitive adaptation of Annie Proulx’s short story has been deservedly racking up awards. Despite what sounds like the world’s least commercial concept – two cowboys (Heath Ledger, Jake Gyllenhaal) fall in love with each other in the early 1960s – it seems to be touching the hearts of multitudes who are neither gay nor cowboys. The film doesn’t really pick up until a half hour in, when the two are separated and have to retreat into some very well-guarded closets. It’s downbeat, but the leads carry it off, particularly Ledger, who gets more to work with. (Ang Lee, U.S.)

Think they should've kept the original title ("High Moon"). AK, maybe you can tell me why, in a rural town during a time when Vietnam was supposed to have been raging, there was no mention of the war. Wouldn't that authenticity have made the film resonate more? Or do you think it would've distracted everyone from something infinitely more important - man-kissing?!?

6. Capote. Director Bennett Miller and screenwriter Dan Futterman tell the story of famed writer Truman Capote researching and writing his crime bestseller In Cold Blood. On the level of gestures and speech – that is, of impersonation – Philip Seymour Hoffman is just about perfect, but he is also convincing in the more important ways – in terms of creating an intimate sense of the writer’s internal, spiritual conflict. (Bennett Miller, U.S.)

Hey, nobody asked who the best male impersonator was. And as far as I know, Phillip Seymour Hoffman IS a male. Hell-o-o!

7. Good Night, and Good Luck. In addition to coproducing and starring in Stephen Gaghan’s Syriana, George Clooney directed and cowrote this re-creation of Edward R. Murrow’s risky opposition to McCarthyism. David Strathairn impressively captures Murrow. It’s both a political parable – with obvious resonance in post-9/11 America – and an homage to the early days of TV journalism. (George Clooney, U.S.)

I'm sorry, Andy, but who wants to see a movie about some guy who obviously stole Keith Olbermann's act? Move over, Carlos Mencia. You got nothin' on this Murrow fellow.

8. Caché (Hidden). Austrian director Michael Haneke is a professional cinema provocateur, whose narrative experiments match his harsh indictment of the smug bourgeoisie. Daniel Auteuil and Juliette Binoche play a couple whose lives are turned upside down by a series of anonymous videotapes, which may be the revenge of an Algerian the husband wronged 40 years earlier, when both were children. The film is a thriller, but not the sort we’re accustomed to. For one thing, the central riddle – who’s sending the tapes? and why – is never satisfactorily resolved, even for viewers who notice the crucial, barely visible hint during the final shot. (Michael Haneke, France)

You had to do it, didn't you? A French film on your Top Ten list? Well, isn't that perfect? Maybe you're just like the rest after all. Call me post-tentious, but that's not just a red flag... it's a blue, white and red flag. You, sir, suddenly smack of cheese and condescension.

9. Wallace & Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit. With an assist from codirector Steve Box, Nick Park, who has yet to disappoint, returns to Wallace and Gromit – the plasticene-animated characters of his early shorts. W & G’s first feature is essentially more of the same – and that’s a good thing. The humor is all of a piece with the shorts, dense with background jokes. Kids will probably love it, though there may be even more here for adults. (Nick Park/Steve Box, U.K.)

Don't know if you're a father, Mr. Klein, but a lot of things "kids would probably love" aren't good for them. In fact, they're downright life-threatening. Just because it's shiny doesn't mean a kid should swallow a fifty-cent piece. Grow up and smell the danger, A-hole! The Aussies are taking over!

10. Match Point. After a string of mediocre to passable films, Woody Allen fans had good reason to wonder whether the once revered filmmaker had lost it. This new entry – which covers some of the same turf as the 1990 Crimes and Misdemeanors, one of his true masterpieces – should put their fears to rest. For more, see the review elsewhere in this issue. (Woody Allen, U.S./U.K.)

WHAT?!?! That sounds vaguely like something E.T. might have spewed! And now that I think about it, your review of "Sicko," although not as jaw-droppingly offensive as Miss Taylor's, did also cause you to dredge up your personal life.

"So, a couple of months ago, I was getting jerked around by my health plan. The details are probably of interest to no one but me and a few friends (and I’m not so sure about them), but suffice it to say that it seems to have all worked out. Various functionaries kept telling me I was out of luck, citing a succession of bogus reasons, but my experiences years ago navigating the financial aid office at UCLA taught me a valuable lesson: The red tape is designed to wear you down, in hopes that you’ll just give up. So don’t."

Dear Andy Klein,

Stopping short of accusing you of literally sleeping with the enemy (although I can't think of any other logical explanation for the eerie similarities between Ella Taylor's review of "Sicko" and yours ), I will say this - you still work at a paper that has retained a certain amount of respectability, thanks mostly to you (and the fact that L.A. CityBeat is not at the mercy of corrosive political correctness). My advice is to stay away from her. At all costs! She will eat your soul for breakfast, tell you it's delicious, then make some snarky remark about how she prefers the taste of kippers. Leave her now, even if she promises a three-way with Manohla Dargis.
Your Cutman,

Salty Milkduds

SKIP THE TAYLOR, SEE THE MOVIE

Okay, here's the deal. I just read Ella Taylor's "mixed review" of Michael Moore's "Sicko." When I got through the following bit of text, I decided to stop reading so I could start this blog in a vain attempt to rid the world of every last anointed, pseudo-intellectual, self-indulgent, disgruntled screenwriter who fancies him or herself worthy of a job that used to be more than simply a platform to air one's personal issues and/or show off their talent for puns and other wordplay. Sorry about the long-winded run-on. I just thought it would be ironic to go L.A. Weekly on you.

(Excerpt from Ella Taylor's Film Review of "Sicko") 6-27-07:

"Conversely, Moore has nothing but contempt for American HMOs, including those that get as close to socialized medicine as most Americans will allow. While it’s true, for example, that the Kaiser Foundation has had its share of recent scandals (patients dumped on Skid Row, treatments denied to the seriously ill), I’ve had consistently good care there, and a Kaiser surgeon did an outstanding job of uncrossing my 2-year-old daughter’s eyes, for which I was charged $2."

Now, I love the British as much as the next guy. In fact, I myself am a descendant of Ethelred The Unready (which makes me less French than any living Royal)... but Good God!!! Apparently, in her world, patients crawling around the streets of downtown in feces-stained Kaiser gowns and those in their final stages of life should be acknowledged, but only begrudgingly, and only between parentheses. I hate to sound as insensitive as Miss E.T., but maybe her 2-year-old daughter shouldn't have been reading her reviews in the first place. An ounce of prevention, as they say...

Anyway, now you know why I've been wanting to take her down ever since she closed her critique of "Adaptation" with a marriage proposal to Charlie Kaufman. We can only be grateful that he didn't take her up on the offer. Had he, I'm sure we would never have seen the likes of "Eternal Sunshine," because our greatest living screenwriter would either have offed himself shortly after the honeymoon (over feeling left out) or he would have succumbed to her adjective abuse. Uh-oh, guess I overstepped there. Speaking of overstepping, read this next excerpt.

(From Ella Taylor's Film Review of "Match Point") 12-15-05:

"(Woody) Allen turned 70 two weeks ago and seems to have made a happier life for himself in recent years, though God only knows at what cost to others. But it’s sad to contemplate that we’ll likely never see another Annie Hall, a Purple Rose of Cairo, a Manhattan or even a Radio Days in his lifetime."

Wow! What a way to close a review and simultaneously put one of America's greatest filmmakers in his place. What the hell? Why not just put the nail in the coffin and read him his last rites from THE GREAT BOOK OF PROPHECIES?!?! Jesus, I guess you really are only as good as your last film. If that's so, Billy Wilder's legacy is FUCKED!

Despite Miss Taylor's obvious issues with The Woodman himself, "Match Point," even though it cribbed much more than a little from "A Place In The Sun," was one of the better films of 2005, a year in which one of the most laughably awful films ever to have disgraced the silver screen received not only an Oscar for Best Screenplay, but for Best Picture - "Crash." Yes, I know, a lot of critics sipped the Kool-Aid and totally got swept up by its inexplicable popularity, but for Miss Taylor to dub this heavy-handed, spoon-feeding, cynical, two-dimensional-character-driven tripe as "One of the best Hollywood movies about race," is unforgivable and cannot be ignored. History will show that "Crash" is no "Do The Right Thing," no "To Kill A Mockingbird," no "In The Heat Of The Night." In fact, according to THE GREAT BOOK OF PROPHECIES, it will go down as the longest P.S.A. ever unleashed on the unsuspecting public. A very good one, but a P.S.A. nonetheless. Don't get me wrong. I believe anybody who doesn't know what racism is, as well as those who do but don't care (incarcerated skinheads, Jesse Helms' corpse, etc.), should be forced to watch this movie over and over and over again. I'm not totally against cruel and unusual punishment, I just vote like I am.

But, I digress. Ella Taylor is probably the best critic the free L.A. Weekly has to offer (the rest who are currently there aren't even worth mentioning). She can be slightly amusing sometimes, in a droll, cartoonishly English sort of way, but it almost feels as though she doesn't really exist at all - as if she were conjured up by several gay white men who maybe once wrote for "Sex In The City." Now, I'm assuming she probably spends a great deal of time Googling herself. That's what I've heard, anyhow. My hope is that maybe she'll come across this blog, learn something about herself, and make some adjustments in her review-writing that might serve the Weekly's readership.

Dear Ella Taylor:

Look-at-me writing is not what the public wants when reading a movie review, it's just what the public expects. Unfortunately, the quality of each year's best films has been sinking ever since you've been "in office," and people's expectations have followed suit. I suppose it's only natural for film critics to trudge down the hill with them, but I'd like to think it's a critic's job to set the bar high. You must be tougher on lousy movies. And, you must not bring your home to work with you. Personal issues should stay personal. Nobody wants to hear about your family except your family. Nobody wants to be your shrink except your shrink. In this age when Reality TV has taken hold and Time Magazine's "Person Of The Year" is everybody on the planet, it's more important than ever for the critics of this once great nation to lead us not into the abyss of mental-masturbatory movie reviewing, but to deliver us from mediocrity. Do your job, Ella. Or quit and start a blog nobody's going to read.

Respectfully,
Salty Milkduds