'Duck, You Sucker!' blew me away because it's about dynamite and explosions and shit blowing up.

In case you're wondering what the hell I'm writing about, "Duck, You Sucker!" is a spaghetti western directed by Sergio Leone. If you don't know anything about Leone ("The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly" and "Once Upon a Time in the West"), then shame on you, Mr. President. You have neglected your duties long enough.

(Note: You are not allowed to read anymore of this blog entry until you watch some of Leone's films.)

Alrighty, there's another potentially confusing thing I need to address. This film is also known as "A Fistful of Dynamite." "Duck, You Sucker!" was Leone's preference, but the studios changed the title to "A Fistful of Dynamite," hoping to attract audiences who watched "A Fistful of Dollars." And yes, "Duck, You Sucker!" is said a few times during the movie, but James Coburn doesn't overdo it.

Fuck! I don't feel like I've said anything substantial yet.

Alrighty, so one might think that this is a silly comedic western with a title like "Duck, You Sucker!" And honestly, it feels silly for a while. The beginning of the film is essentially Coburn the Irish dynamite expert and Rod Steiger the Mexican hoodlum flirting with each other, albeit dangerously. Steiger shoots Coburn's bike tire. Coburn blows a hole through Steiger's stagecoach. Etc. This mating ritual is similar to how Clint Eastwood and Eli Wallach treated each other in "The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly," only more suggestive. Yeah, Eastwood and Wallach were flirting in that film, but they almost killed each other. Coburn and Steiger would never take That Risk, or at least that's the impression I got.

And the music is silly for a while, too, which is not the norm for Ennio Morricone. In fact, I sort of hated the music until the last third of the film, when the tone of the music is juxtaposed against some disturbing and weird flashbacks. Thank the living Christ it finally suited my ears because I've never disliked a Morricone score.

The second half of the film is clearly stronger than the first, mainly because the characters finally come into their own. Steiger's character is pretty much Wallach's "The Ugly" before The Significant Event That Changes Him. Leone's camerawork during The Significant Event is devastatingly great. At that point, you realize he's not simply fucking around with a colloquialism.

Coburn's character is explored throughout the film in flashbacks, but it's not until the second half that they get juicy. Of course, flashbacks were also used in "The Wild Bunch" to develop characters, but Sam Peckinpah doesn't make you wait for the meat. Leone is a completely different mammal. He wants you to wait for Everything. But without patience, Leone would be nothing. There's just something so damned interesting about watching two characters look at each other for minutes in silence.

The message is watch this immediately, but only if you're familiar with Leone's filmography. I can't see someone appreciating this one too much without some knowledge of spaghetti westerns. Just remember to get the collector's edition DVD at 157 minutes and prepare your ass for a long sit.

The Oscar Nominations Are Out, and It Seems I Must Slap My Grandmother.

I was surprised and giddy and thankful to find Robert Downey Jr. nominated for Best Supporting Actor. If you read the last paragraph of my "Tropic Thunder" review, you'll notice two things:

(1) An explanation of why Downey Jr. is brilliant.

(2) Doubt that the Academy would ever recognize Downey Jr. for his work. The specific comment: "It is highly unlikely Downey will get an Oscar nomination for this performance, but I would slap my grandmother if it would get him a nod."

No, I did not slap my grandmother, but maybe I owe her one.

For your official records, here is a list of the Oscar nominations. There has been a lot of savage weeping online about "The Dark Knight" being snubbed. It's not in the Best Picture or Best Director lists, and this fact causes Pain to shoot into people's Groins.

I'm glad Heath Ledger was nominated, as my "Dark Knight" review was totally dedicated to his manipulation of the audience and menacing effort. But I will not sob about any snubbing.

You might be disappointed that "The Dark Knight" wasn't nominated for Best Picture or Best Director, but it doesn't deserve either, Mr. President. Here is the intel:

1. Maggie Gyllenhaal's performance was flaccid, and her cheeks are too fucking monstrous. But I won't put all the blame on her because her character never had anything going for it. Childhood friend, sweet lawyer, shaking her head back and forth while she talks to Bruce Wayne. Jesus Christ, no film deserves Best Picture or Best Director with a savagely uncreative beast like that.

2. Christian Bale's Batman is a Sissy attempting to hide his tears by speaking in the lowest, brawniest voice he can muster behind his pathetic hyperventilation and disposition to panic attacks. This is not how a knight speaks.

3. The Nolan brothers can't incorporate themes into a script without having characters indicate that the themes are indeed there. What the fuck is this, Bible school?

The final line of the film:

Gordon (Gary Oldman): Because he's the hero Gotham deserves, but not the one it needs right now. So we'll hunt him because he can take it. Because he's not our hero. He's a silent guardian, a watchful protector. A dark knight.

God bless Oldman for going through with That Shit.

The truth is that eight nominations for a comic book film is a huge achievement, and that's all it deserves, friendz.

'Gran Torino': Race and Religion in the Theater

I had never heard so many different racial slurs in one sitting, barring that one George Carlin routine about how bad language is bullshit. The first instance occurs when Clint Eastwood opens his door and finds a Chinese boy standing on his porch. "Zipperhead" is fired from Eastwood's mouth before he shuts the door.

I wasn't counting the slurs, but I remember the audience laughing the most when Eastwood directed his anger toward a group of three young black men.

But hell, I thought Eastwood was funny, too. But when Racism is involved, an important distinction is whether you are laughing at something fucked up or laughing because you are fucked up.

OK, sermon over. I have no right to make assumptions about white people in a Mississippi theater.

Speaking of sermons, I felt like I was leaving church when I made my way to the exit. I saw young adults, middle-aged folk, and senior citizens--and what seemed to be children standing around the very front row. And most people looked solemn and respectful. Eastwood got his guts blown out, which gave me a feeling similar to when I watched John Wayne die in "The Cowboys" (two death spoilers in one sentence, OUCH). But the other audience members. Looking at their faces, it would seem they had watched Christ die.

But who better to worship than Eastwood? "Gran Torino" was a straightforward story, even cliched. But the man with slits for eyes and the warmest scowl made it special.

Jesus, Eastwood, don't let it be your last one. You wrinkled old cracker.

Second Viewing of 'Burn After Reading' Exposes Me As a Fool with No Sense of Humor

Second viewings should be a fear of anyone who writes about movies. Not in the sense that you should be frightened of watching a film twice. But a second viewing can give you a better idea of what you think about a film, and sometimes your opinion can change drastically.

Months ago I reviewed the Coen brothers' 2008 comedy "Burn After Reading" and implied the idiotic characters of the film were not as entertaining as those found in "Fargo" and others. (I also used a pretentious Fellini reference like a Whore.)

Well Mr. President, I was wrong. I fucked up on that intel.

Throughout my second viewing of "Burn After Reading," I found myself laughing considerably more. I could easily watch it again. Yeah, I still think Swinton was weak, and it's nothing that original for the Coens. But it is insane and well crafted, just like that Dildo Machine.

Same thing happened years ago with "The Big Lebowski." I thought the characters were too contrived, so I kept missing the punchlines.

OK, I'm cutting out the confessions. I can forgive you for thinking I was a dumbass if you can forgive me for being one.

No, no, no. No need for formal apologies and mercy and grace. This is getting shameful and Pathetic.

(And hot damn! "Burn After Reading" made it to DVD quick, my friends!)

I do not get it, Spielberg.

I do not get it, Spielberg.

Your wallet is already Immense, so maybe you just wanted to play with George. If that is the case, I am disappointed in you and I wish that goddamn robot shark had worked and given your first blockbuster less of a suspenseful and horrifying Grip.

Fuck man. The same year you take the Third Risk in your life, you serve a bogus and inconsistent H.G. Wells family drama instead of ... well, I'm convinced the movie would have sucked no matter what.

"At least I don't do shitty special effects" is an old excuse you cunning bastard--and one that no longer is the truth. Those goddamn gophers you let George shove into an Orifice ... we all saw that in May.

You are in TROUBLE. Get it together or the respect you earned will be gone. You had better not Fuck Up our 16th President.


JP, a sometimes Spielberg defender

Consistently Absurd: 'Fando y Lis'

Because I am a manic collector, some of my happiest dreams involve finding films that I would never see in Mississippi stores. And when I wake up, I'm pissed at my teasing mind.

Last weekend I was in Princeton and visited an establishment not unlike those in my dreams. Elusive films at reasonable prices. I was tempted to throw hundreds of dollars on the counter like a fiend, but I decided only one purchase was enough: an Alejandro Jodorowsky collection.

Having seen "El Topo," I decided to hold off on "The Holy Mountain" and watch Jodorowsky's first feature length film, "Fando y Lis."

Months ago I wrote that "El Topo" was a mindfucker but a positive experience. True, I had to view it again to really get it, but from the beginning I knew I would be able to decipher its secrets.

Not so with "Fando y Lis." I may never be satisfied with it. Initially I felt confident, looking at the back of the DVD and spotting the 96-minute running time, almost a half hour shorter than the confounding "El Topo." But that bastard Jodorowsky was particularly absurd in 1967. I would never spoil "El Topo," but I am fed up with Jodorowsky's psychological bullshit, so stop reading if you don't want any rash spoilers.

I understand the General Story. Fando and Lis are a couple searching for Tar, a legendary city they believe will cure the crippled Lis. Throughout the film, Fando gives into frustration and abuses Lis but soon apologizes and the two travel on. In the final act Fando goes too far and kills Lis. He lies by her grave in mourning so long that ivy overtakes him, and you see Lis escape the ground and scurry off, naked and happy. The straightforward message? Fando was a depraved dick, and Lis was only happy after death. The search for Tar should have been an Unnecessary Endeavor if the two loved each other.

The only reason the description above makes sense is that I have edited out the numerous vague and insane events of the film. "El Topo" is wacky but never boring, and its various chapters add up despite the weirdness. Sometimes, "Fando y Lis" is unentertaining drivel.

But it's hard not to admire Jodorowsky's willingness to do anything. In a flashback, we see Lis as a child chased by adult male perverts. They finally catch her and lie down beside her. You never see literal molestation. Instead, Jodorowsky cuts to male hands squeezing eggs until they crack and seep yoke. The writer/director delves into uncomfortable territory but pulls back and yet retains the wretchedness of the moment.

And as a Fellini fan, I enjoyed how Jodorowsky takes the surreal scene from 8 1/2--where Marcello Mastroianni dominates women with a whip--and turns it around, this time with the male, Fando, being whipped by a female as other women toss bowling balls at him.

And some people call Jodorowsky a misogynist.

(A Final Note: The DVD transfer of "Fando y Lis" is flawed. Lis's whiteness was Blinding, and other images are mysteries. My vision has worsened over the last year, but the contrast on this DVD was Disturbingly Abnormal.)

'The Wild Child,' Philosophy and Science and Heart

"The Wild Child" is my first exposure to Francois Truffaut and French New Wave. (Yeah, I'm behind, but I live in Mississippi and don't find online rental services that appealing.) Before going any further, let's not confuse this film with the upcoming "Wild Child," which appears to tell the story of a spoiled bitch who trashes her dad's girlfriend's stuff and is sent to boarding school in England for more bitchy adventures before the epiphanic "Hey, I'm a stupid bitch" occurs and her heart is purified and she and a group of new friends jump into an ocean. I apologize in advance if I spoiled a potential experience for you.

But back to Truffaut's movie. It reminds me of "The Elephant Man," which was released a decade later. Both films raise the question, What makes a human? Of course, the protagonist of each film is seen as inhuman for very different reasons. The Elephant Man is a disfigured circus freak, so his appearance is the perceived shortcoming. But when that film concludes, we see him as a human. We learn he can recite Shakespeare, that he understands our social norms, that he wishes to sleep on his back without suffocating.

With the forest boy in "The Wild Child," his appearance isn't what raises the question, especially after he is taken in and cleaned up by a doctor (portrayed well by Truffaut himself). But his behavior is that of an ape. As you watch the boy relax his savage gait and learn words, you see a human finally taking shape ...

But wasn't he already human? What the hell would we be doing if not for socialization?

The Elephant Man's big line, delivered beautifully by John Hurt, was "I am not an animal! I am a human being!" If The Wild Child could talk, his line would be "I am not a human being! I am an animal!"

Along with the philosophical element, there's a lot to appreciate in the "The Wild Child." Truffaut puts the outmoded iris shot to effective use. (I could not find a helpful page on the iris shot. It is simply a fade involving a circle. So if it is a fade out, the screen shrinks into a circle. This technique was invented by Billy Bitzer, who worked with D.W. Griffith.) Jean-Pierre Cargol is believable as the jungle boy, definitely one of the greatest child performances I've seen. The film can also feel like a scientific exercise, as the majority is dedicated to the doctor testing the boy and writing in a journal.

But you've gotta have a heart while watching this movie. That's the only way it can be fully appreciated. Otherwise, it could be seen as a pointless story about a stubborn doctor tampering with an idiot kid.