White Elephant Blogathon: Summer/The Green Ray

The spirit of the White Elephant Blogathon follows the spirit of the Christmas gift-exchange tradition of the same name: choose a gag gift (or an awful movie in this case) that some other dope will be forced to watch and write about. Now, you don't want to choose a movie that's "so bad it's good" - you want to choose a movie that's so bad it will inflict pain on the viewer.

When the verdict came in for the movie to which I was assigned, I have to admit I was both puzzled and relieved. The film was Summer (but let's call it by its original name, Le Rayon Vert), a mid-late career entry by the French New Wave filmmaker Eric Rohmer. Clueless as I am about film history, I'd never seen a Rohmer film before and I was only vaguely familiar with his name when I heard that he died last January.

Anyway, those who are familiar with Rohmer's work may have understood why Le Rayon Vert was an intriguing submission by one of the blogathon's participants. From what I gather the film demonstrates much of what made Rohmer's work loved by some and reviled by others (a character in the 1975 film Night Moves describes watching his films as "kind of like watching paint dry").

I wouldn't say it was that bad, but I can't say I find much to love about this highly acclaimed film, either. Maybe Roger Ebert said it best (doesn't he always?) in his three-star review of Le Rayon Vert: "If Eric Rohmer were basing a film on your diary, he would only use the entries where you observe that nothing much happened."

It's true. Le Rayon Vert is about nothing, much in the same way "Seinfeld" was about nothing. The completely self-absorbed (and conspiciously beautiful) characters sit around and talk...er, rather, complain about their unrealized lives. Nevermind that they are attractive, well-educated, and relatively wealthy - their lives constitute an eternal exercise in romantic suffering.

Our protagonist in Le Rayon Vert is Delphine (Marie Rivière), a twenty-something Parisian who eschews conformity in many aspects of her life, most notably in her refusal to enter into meaningless relationships with men. Her summer vacation plans fall apart when she is ditched by her friend at the last minute, forcing her to bounce around beautiful French settings, alone and suddenly in search of herself and, if it's around, true love. After hearing an older man describe the physics and romantic symbolism of the green ray (le rayon vert) left by a setting sun, her lonely desperation worsens. At the eleventh hour she acts completely out of character in pursuit of a young man, and as you can see in the clip below, the film ends with a predictable setting sun scene.

Is Le Rayon Vert boring? Mostly, at least in the same way that people think Gus Van Sant movies are boring. But Gerry this is not; there are a handful of interesting discussions if you can stay awake in between them, and while it's never as charming as something like Before Sunrise, I think Le Rayon Vert still has the potential to connect with particular individuals at particular periods in their lives (i.e., twenty-somethings facing a "quarter-life crisis"). That doesn't explain why it was so well received by critics, but perhaps we can assume that they were respecting the filmmaker more than the film.

At its worst, Le Rayon Vert is a tedious example of French intellectual blather. At its best, it's a tedious example of French intellectual blather that can be mostly tolerated because it's being said by beautiful people in beautiful settings. Take that for what you will, but I'll take some solace that I mostly dodged a bullet with the white elephant this year...

For the Love of Film: A Film Preservation Blogathon

Last summer, I had the great fortune of attending what may well have been a once-in-a-lifetime cinematic experience: viewing a stellar film print of Buster Keaton's 1924 silent film, The Navigator, accompanied by a live in-theater musical performance on the singing saw, piano, and accordion by local  band Dreamland Faces. While I was fully aware of how rare the experience was in the moment, I don't think I adequately appreciated just how many classic films have been lost to the ravages of time and lack of restoration. Since then I've gained a new admiration for film preservationists (and local theaters and filmists - thanks, Barry & the Trylon) who have made experiences like the one I had possible for so many people.

And just this weekend I was once again able to travel back in movie theater time, plopping down in a comfortable theater seat in 2010 to view a restored 35mm print of Akiro Kurosawa' 1950 classic, Rashomon. It's true, I could have watched both Rashomon and The Navigator on DVD or even for free online, but neither would have provided the pure cinematic experience as it was meant to be. Similarly, next year by this time people will be watching Avatar on their iPod Touches and 3D televisions, but they won't actually be seeing Avatar.

Fortunately, for the love of film and for the sake of all of us, a lot of people are working very hard to make sure classics of yesteryear and yesterday remain available for viewing in their original form for years to come. The National Film Preservation Foundation has preserved 1,563 films in just over 10 years, and with our help, they can continue to "save America's film heritage" and "support activities nationwide that preserve American films and improve film access for study, education, and exhibition." (View some of the restored film footage here.)

To that end, please check out For the Love of Film: A Film Preservation Blogathon hosted by Ferdy on Films and The Self-Styled Siren, with the participation of more than 50 bloggers and film critics from around the world. The purpose of this blogathon is both to educate and, of course, to fundraise. If you contribute just what you would normally spend on a movie ticket ($10), thousands could be raised in support of film preservation - including films that may, like Rashomon, make their way back to a theater near you. Your donation is fully tax-deductible and can be made securely via Network for Good here.

Thanks to Marilyn (Ferdy) and Farran (The Siren) for their hard work on this over the last month, and to all of the participants for spreading the word and supporting the cause!

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Class of '84 Blogathon: The Gods Must Be Crazy

[This remembrance is brought to you as part of Joe Valdez's Class of '84 Blogathon at This Distracted Globe, a celebration of films from on the 25th anniversary of what many people consider the best film year of a generation.]

There are few movies that define the period in which they were made as much as the bizarre docucomedy The Gods Must Be Crazy. The story was officially set in the present day of the early 80's, but the footage of the generic city where "civilized man" lived, and even more so the music that backed this footage, inadvertently trapped the movie in a very, very specific time period (check out the first 10 minutes I've included here to jog your memory).

The Gods Must Be Crazy was actually produced in South Africa in 1980 but not shown in the U.S. until 1982, and even then in very limited release. Positive international word-of-mouth ended up bringing the movie back to the U.S. in 1984, when it opened in wide release and pulled in $30 million at the box office. So despite its birthdate I'm including it here because 1984 was the year it really made its impact in the United States.

Terminator IV: The Bond Ultimatum (Quantum of Solace)

Who ARE you, and what have you done with James Bond?

I was going to post a full defense of the reasons I love James Bond movies today, but then I ended up seeing Quantum of Solace a day earlier than I expected. So, now I can just review the new one through the lens of the old ones.

It must have been in the late 80's that I saw my first Bond movie. I'm not sure how, I'm not sure when (probably some time between The Living Daylights and License to Kill), and I'm not sure which one it was, but it kicked off what would end up being a number of years of watching all of the movies multiple times with my best childhood friend. We loved how Bond would inevitably triumph over some ridiculous villain, always using the coolest gadget weapons and then cracking wise with some play on words before dashing off with the girl. He was like a funnier version of MacGyver, but with a haircut, a fun accent, and a job (as an undercover agent no less).

I quickly gained a liking for the Bonds of the 60's and 70's. At the time I only knew Sean Connery as the old guy who talked funny, so it was a revelation to see him as a handsome action star (I had a similar discovery when I first saw Jon Voight in Midnight Cowboy). I never understood the prevalent sexual innuendo (which is good), but I always knew there was something about James Bond that made him cooler than action heroes like Indiana Jones or John McClane, even if I couldn't put my finger on exactly why that was the case.

Eventually I came to prefer Roger Moore, mostly because he first starred in Live and Let Die, which remains one of my favorite of the series to this day. Although Moore looked more like a news anchor than an awesome secret agent, he brought something new to the character. He could pull of the dashing Bond looks (flirty smirking included), he had a knack for delivering the post-kill jokes (easily the funniest Bond), and he even managed the action scenes admirably. It should be noted, by the way, that Moore was 45 years old in Live and Let Die and 58 years old in his last of the series, A View to a Kill, which despite Christopher Walken's weirdness still remains an underrated Bond movie.

By the mid-90's I was well versed in the older Bonds and simply satisfied with Timothy Dalton's two movies. In fact I was so busy watching the older ones during that period that I didn't even notice a new one hadn't been released in six years. When GoldenEye eventually came out, I was as surprised as I was excited. It wasn't an immediate hit for me when I saw it, but after multiple viewings and what must have amounted to several thousands of hours of playing the N64 game with my friends, I came to include GoldenEye as one of the most watchable of the series. Pierce Brosnan seemed like a great fit, and had it not been for his last three movies in the series, he might have been one of the greats. Of course, it wasn't entirely his fault since by the late 90's Bond had lost his mojo. A new generation wasn't responding to the old tricks, Austin Powers arrived, and Bond became a slick action series instead of a witty spy series. It's no wonder Brosnan's four films each grossed more at the box office than any of the movies all the way back to Moonraker.

If only because I had almost completely lost faith in the franchise after Die Another Day, Casino Royale was a most interesting development. Daniel Craig, whose first starring role was in my favorite movie of all time (The Power of One), did not at all seem like he could do justice to James Bond in my head, but with the help of some solid action and a nod to some of the older Bond movies, I found Casino Royale to be at least as good as anything since GoldenEye, and my enthusiasm returned for the series. Which brings us to Quantum of Solace.

Before addressing the movie, I have to first address my shocking surprise at the amount of Bond backlash I have seen online in the last month, not only among trusted blogger friends of my generation (Fletch and Elgringo, for example), but also in major movie circles. Who knew that so many people disliked James Bond? I'm blinded by my nostalgia for the series, but how can people find not any redeeming quality in a franchise that's lasted four decades? For a character that fights for his country and the world - and makes jokes while doing it (speaking of which, how could you even find anything in Austin Powers funny if you've never seen Thunderball)? For movies that have some of the best stunts and locations of any action movies in history? I don't get it. There are cases to be made against Bond, but I either haven't heard enough of them or I haven't heard any persuasive ones. For the biggest film franchise in history, I dare say it's only fair to judge them on merit according to each other, and not to the popular culture of the day.

"Come with me if you want to live"...

When judging Quantum of Solace only in relation to the other Bond movies, then, you find that it's an almost complete reinvention of both the character of James Bond and the style of the Bond movie. You find, unfortunately, that it's quite awful.

Beginning as it should with a frenzied action scene, we confirm that we're watching what amounts to deleted scenes from Casino Royale. This is no surprise, of course, as the movie is meant to be a full-on sequel. Producer Michael Wilson simply made up the plot for Quantum of Solace during the production of Casino Royale, and the same screenwriting team is back, along with Paul Haggis (Crash, In the Valley of Elah). Ian Fleming? His influence is nowhere to be found.

Aside from being too confusingly edited (which continues throughout the movie, I might add), this opening scene is also way too serious - a real harbinger of the mood to come. Bond is all business now, and he's got no time to have fun or crack a joke about the car he sends off a cliff. As the pre-title sequence ends, we're indeed emotionally "shaken, not stirred".

I first heard about the rumors of the new Bond song at Craig Kennedy's Living in Cinema (I just realized it was actually this thread that produced the Bond series idea, Craig). When the artists were finally confirmed as Jack White and Alicia Keys, I was...curious. Turns out I had good reason, as "Another Way to Die" is possibly one of the worst Bond songs to date, hampered even further by a terribly unimaginative, weirdly futuristic title sequence. I couldn't wait for the beginning to end.

Director Marc Forster (The Kite Runner) doesn't seem to add much new to this production either, aside from some unnecessarily artistic location subtitles and a cloak of confused depression over the entire production. As Bond travels from location to location, we rarely get the same jet-setting feeling present in so many older Bond productions, where we knew we were in a different place because of obvious cultural stereotypes (the gypsy fight in From Russia With Love) and an exotic new Bond girl. The best Forster can offer is Bond's brief time in Port-Au-Prince, Haiti, where the hotel clerks inexplicably speak with Jamaican accents.

As Quantum of Solace moves into the heart of the production, we begin to recognize a smidge of Casino Royale and a hint of the old Bond spirit. Some of the same characters float in and out, with a boring new Bond girl (Olga Kurylenko) and a completely dispassionate villain (Mathieu Amalric). There is the obligatory grand party scene (an outdoor opera) and the always creepy villain's sidekick. A boat chase is a particularly welcome sight, but while it's better than the one in From Russia With Love, it's not nearly as much fun as those in Live and Let Die or even The World Is Not Enough. Most of the attempts at capturing the Bond spirit either feel lazy (a complete ripoff of Jill's death in Goldfinger) or accidental (the taxi scene and amusing arrival at the hotel in La Paz was pitch perfect). More than anything else, in fact, Quantum of Solace reminded me a lot more of non-Bond movies.

The scene similarities to The Bourne Ultimatum, for example, could hardly be more obvious, including the hotel room hand-to-hand combat, the cobbled rooftop chases, and even the exact same rear view balcony-to-balcony jump stunt. This James Bond has no gadget weaponry, no tricky killing schemes - not even a cool car! Like Jason Bourne, he's just an amazing athlete with a chip on his shoulder who knows how to use a gun, and like The Terminator, he uses the gun with the same amount of emotion that we use operating a calculator. That the piercingly blue-eyed Daniel Craig doesn't smile one time throughout this movie is about all the proof you need that this isn't good ol' Bond.

Good ol' Bond has a witty line after every elaborate kill (silent after the boat chase?). Good ol' Bond is a charming lothario in the bedroom, not a cold-blooded robot awkwardly trying to crack a joke about not being able to find stationery. Good ol' Bond actually seems to like his job, believe it or not. And really, we don't know much more than that about good ol' Bond, because the old Bond movies aren't actually about James Bond, just like the old Batman movies weren't actually about Bruce Wayne. But now we have The Dark Knight and Quantum of Solace, two attempts to breathe new souls into decades-old characters. Both movies also come as sequels to "new" interpretations of a character (Batman Begins is to The Dark Knight as Casino Royale is to Quantum of Solace).

And while both movies are top-notch cinematic productions, The Dark Knight worked well for me because I have no connection to the Batman character of decades past. Tim Burton's Batman was the start for me, just as GoldenEye was the start for many current Bond fans. But for those people who have an appreciation for Ian Fleming's Bond, for Albert Broccoli's Bond, for Sean Connery's and Roger Moore's Bonds, I can only be surprised if they also enjoy Quantum of Solace. I suppose I should expect that many people have been waiting for the dark side of Bond to emerge, but I'm just not one of them.

"007" is simply the model number of this robotic killing machine...

"Bond, I need you back," presses M as Bond walks out into the snowy night at the end of the movie. "I never left," he says as he drops Vesper's pendant in the snow. Um, is there any better proof that you did leave, James? Since when were you driven by vengeance and a broken heart, like Jason Bourne? Well, I suppose since Casino Royale, which is meant to precede all of the other Bonds anyway. It's just that I still have trouble accepting that this Bond becomes the old Bond, because he seems like a completely different person. Hopefully, the dropped pendant is the end of this chapter in Bond's life.

Please move on, because I need you back, too, Bond.

_________________________________

Don't forget to check out these other Bond posts:

• Christian's insightful background on the Bond brand, including a special appreciation of Timothy Dalton in The Living Daylights;
• Craig's fondness for the score and scenery of You Only Live Twice; (Day Two); (Three); (Four); (Five);
  
• Alexander's persuasive defense of Sean Connery in Goldfinger;
• Miranda's musings on the best Bond women, the best Bond villains, and the best Bond cars;
• My love for The Spy Who Loved Me;
• A classic Bond pre-title sequence from Diamonds Are Forever;
• Alexander's thrashing of Quantum of Solace;
• Miranda's review of the original Casino Royale;
• Alexander's review of the 2006 version of Casino Royale;
• Miranda's review of Quantum of Solace;
• Miranda's review of The Living Daylights;
• Christian's take on the original Casino Royale;
  
• Miranda's review of Moonraker;
• Miranda's review of License to Kill;
• Christian's appreciation of the Bond theme song that never was;
  

REVIEW: The Spy Who Loved Me

[Note: this is part of collaborative Bond appreciation series between me, Alexander Coleman, Christian Divine, Craig Kennedy, and Miranda Wilding (surprise, Miranda! But you've already done it...). Also make sure to check out entries in the Licensed to Blog: James Bond Blog-a-thon, hosted by the tireless Piper at Lazy Eye Theatre.]

Nobody does it better than Roger Moore...

Featuring arguably the best pre-title sequence of all the Bond movies, Lewis Gilbert's The Spy Who Loved Me manages to maintain a breakneck pace of action, intrigue, romance and even comedy throughout its 125-minute running time. Though I have an unhealthy admiration for Live and Let Die, it's difficult to make a case against The Spy Who Loved Me being not only Roger Moore's finest installment in the series, but one of the top five Bond movies ever.

Depending on how you look at it, that either makes Ian Fleming a hack or a genius, because aside from two characters (Bond and Jaws), The Spy Who Loved Me took only the title from Fleming's tenth novel. The entire story, in fact, was the work of screenwriters Richard Maibaum and Christopher Wood (who circuitously ended up actual novelizing the movie after its box-office success). Although Fleming was hardly involved, however, we can see upon closer examination that Maibaum and Wood simply added to the dense Bond framework Fleming already had in place. (Although it's interesting to consider that The Spy Who Loved Me takes so much from You Only Live Twice, which also took almost nothing from Fleming's novel. How could these two movies both be "original" but both be the same?)

So if The Spy Who Loved Me wasn't the first "original" Bond movie, it was likely the first one to have so many challenges in pre-production: longtime Bond producer Harry Saltzman's departure, difficulty in confirming a director (amusingly, even Steven Spielberg was approached), and a drawn out legal battle involving the script. About the only constants involved in this film were Roger Moore and producer Albert Broccoli, who had teamed up with Saltzman on the entire series to that point. Considering of all of this, it's no wonder the three years between The Spy Who Loved Me and its predecessor, The Man With The Golden Gun, was the longest period between any of the ten Bond films to that point. But aside from the unlikely success after a shaky production, there are several other reasons The Spy Who Loved Me is one of the best in the entire series, and of them is the clip shown above.

As the film opens, a Russian submarine is electronically hijacked in the middle of the ocean. The Russian Major Anya Amasova (agent codename “Triple X”) is dispatched from the comfort of her bed, which she is sharing rather romantically with another Russian agent leaving on assignment to Austria. It is there, in a cozy lodge in the Alps, that we also find 007 in his favorite place: the arms of a beautiful woman. He receives his own dispatch from London (via a nifty wristwatch that churns out a message imprinted on punch label) and immediately changes into his ski suit. “But James, I need you,” coos the young woman. “So does England,” replies Bond as Marvin Hamlisch’s campy adaptation of the legendary Bond theme begins. Eluding the black-suited skiers and killing Triple X’s lover with his modified ski pole rifle, Bond skis off the face of the cliff into breathtaking silence until…whoosh, relief in the form of a parachute boastfully constructed as a giant Union Jack flag.

As Bond safely descends, he’s cupped in the silhouetted hands of the title sequence as a lovely piano intro begins. Although Hamlisch wrote “Nobody Does It Better” (and received an Oscar nomination for Best Song in the process), it was Carly Simon’s rendition that, three decades later, still sounds as beautiful as it must have in the theater upon the movie’s release in the summer of 1977. It must be considered one of the top three Bond songs, rivaling only Shirley Bassey’s stunning “Goldfinger” and Paul McCartney’s psychedelic “Live and Let Die”.

The greatness of The Spy Who Loved Me extends far beyond this simple title sequence, however. Not only are the stunts and action among the best of the Bond canon, but the characters are among the most memorable. As played by Barbara Bach (who would go on to become Ringo Starr’s wife) Major Amasova/Triple X is a Bond girl with brains, sex appeal, courage and conviction. She’s loyal to her country and, eventually, to her country’s partnership with Britain (in the form of the handsome Bond, of course). Not only is Triple X one of the most impressively well-rounded women in the Bond series, but she’s one of the few with whom Bond actually establishes a legitimate romantic relationship (the flirting in the scene where Triple X is maneuvering the van around the grasp of Jaws in the Egyptian desert is right out of a romantic comedy). When apart from Triple X, Bond simply reverts back to his indiscriminate sexual predation. “When one is in Egypt, one should delve deeply into its treasures,” he says as he ogles his Egyptian informant’s mistress.


If Triple X provides Bond’s pleasure (his wife having been killed by Ernst Stavro Blofeld in On Her Majesty’s Secret Service), shipping tycoon Karl Stromberg (Curd Jürgens) provides his pain, mostly in the form of Jaws (Richard Kiel), the mute giant of a henchman whose last visit to the dentist had to have been painful. Jaws sports gleaming metal teeth and brandishes them in order to chew through steel chains and wood planks - when he’s not taking a bite out of people’s necks, of course. Kiel plays the lumbering Jaws as a bit of a goof, always brushing off his baby blue suit jacket after being foiled by Bond (because Jaws was such an iconic character as I was watching the Bond movies growing up, it didn’t hit me until he recently that Kiel also plays Adam Sandler’s giant former boss in Happy Gilmore). I almost wish Jaws would have been in more than just two movies from the series, but he’s a bit of tiresome villain as well, never letting up and never trying anything new aside from just punching through walls.

As the megalomaniac out to destroy the world (there’s one in every Bond movie, isn’t there?), Stromberg is a bit of a more interesting villain (and the first to make any impression after Bond crippled Blofeld in Diamonds are Forever). Stromberg remains tucked away in Atlantis, the futuristic underwater base from which he plans to launch the warheads from the hijacked submarines, thereby destroying New York and Moscow and paving the way for a new kind of civilization. Amusingly, Stromberg laments the “decadence” of humanity as he sits in his opulent throne room listening to Mozart and Bach while stuffing his face and sending people into his shark tank via a trap-door elevator. Bond’s eventual showdown with Stromberg is frankly bland (and is preceded by an overdrawn three army battle), but the destruction of Atlantis in the open sea is truly a sight to behold.

So are all of the filming locations on land, including Egypt, Switzerland, Italy, Canada, Scotland, England, Malta, and most memorably, the Bahamas, where get to enjoy the gadgets on the Lotus Esprit, simply one of the best Bond cars ever. Equipped with missiles, flash charge bombs, and oil and ink sprays, the Lotus is half car, half submarine (and, amazingly, now a reality). Flying off the dock at the end of a helicopter chase, Bond drops the Lotus into underwater mode, destroys the helicopter, evades scuba assassins, and, hilariously, drives out of the water and onto the beach in Sardinia, dropping a dead fish out the window as the flabbergasted beach goers stare in awe. It goes like this (but without the audio dubbing):

The proof is all right there in The Spy Who Loved Me, boasting among the best songs, best Bond girls, best cars, best villains, best comedy, best locations, and best action sequences in the entire Bond canon. What I have yet to mention, of course, is that it also features arguably the best Bond: Roger Moore. That's not a statement I can take very far, however. Each of the Bonds (even Lazenby) has his own unique charm, but something about Moore (his ability to save the world while looking like a news anchorman?) made his seven movies among my favorites.

The best Bond?

If that doesn't jive with you, read:

• Christian's insightful background on the Bond brand, including a special appreciation of Timothy Dalton in The Living Daylights;
• Craig's fondness for the score and scenery of You Only Live Twice; (Day Two); (Three); (Four); (Five);
  
• Alexander's persuasive defense of Sean Connery in Goldfinger;
• Miranda's musings on the best Bond women, the best Bond villains, and the best Bond cars;
• The history of my Bond fandom and my disappointment in Quantum of Solace;
• A classic Bond pre-title sequence from Diamonds Are Forever;
• Alexander's thrashing of Quantum of Solace;
• Miranda's review of the original Casino Royale;
• Alexander's review of the 2006 version of Casino Royale;
• Miranda's review of Quantum of Solace;
• Miranda's review of The Living Daylights;
• Christian's take on the original Casino Royale;
  
• Miranda's review of Moonraker;
• Miranda's review of License to Kill;
• Christian's appreciation of the Bond theme song that never was;

Finding a National Treasure or: How I Learned to Stop Hating and Love Ben Gates

Forgive me if this seems a bit strained. It's just that Nicolas Cage has been my least favorite actor - by a country mile - for going on about a decade now. The tics, the accents, and the shouting are utterly unbearable for me. So when Fletch asked me to defend the indefensible and write a positive argument for a movie starring Cage, well it was simply a challenge that I had to take on, and a fear that I had finally had to face.

Actually, it wasn't that hard. I love National Treasure. Moreover, I love Nicolas Cage as treasure hunter Ben Gates. Somehow, someway, a little action-adventure that I didn't see in the theater slowly grew on me over a solid year of every-other-day showings on one of the Encore movie channels. The end result: me sitting in the theater at an opening weekend showing of National Treasure 2: Book of Secrets.

Between the witty, strong-willed woman (Diane Kruger), the sarcastically hilarious sidekick (Justin Bartha), and the deliciously deviant villain (Sean Bean), National Treasure almost plays like a second generation version of an Indiana Jones movie. And although Ben Gates is no Indy, he has his own charming personality quirks, like knowing archaic colonial ciphers and codes and playing a brilliant game of show-and-tell with the original Declaration of Independence. Best of all, Cage attempts no accent and only has a couple of spaz attacks. The fact is, Indy is the spoiled, handsome action star while Gates is the nerdy underdog hero with the superstitious father (Jon Voight). Who would you rather root for?

If the stereotypical characters and the cheesy dialogue don't satisfy your need for a guilty pleasure, watch National Treasure for some decent action sequences and an insanely elaborate conspiracy theory. Who can't appreciate the entertainment value in that? Also, I haven't even mentioned yet that the National Treasure franchise is one of the few action-adventure series being produced these days that's appropriate for the whole family: no profanity, sex, gory violence, or otherwise inappropriate content, and no dark themes that can misinterpreted as subliminally evil. It's just honest-to-goodness silliness that you can watch with your kids on movie night.

There you go: Nicolas Cage, against all odds, as a provider of fun, wholesome cinematic entertainment.

Now don't anyone dare use that sentence outside of the context of this movie.

[This defense is an entry in CAGEFEST, a "celebration" of selected films starring one Nicolas Cage, hosted by Fletch at Blog Cabins, otherwise known as the shepherd of the LAMBs and the only person who bags on Cage in public more than I do in private.]

SNUBBED: Julianne Moore in "Freedomland"

I've been known to complain about a lot of Oscar snubs over the years, but there is one that still stings, still keeps me up at night, and still tempts me to boycott those stupid awards. That Julianne Moore didn't even receive a nomination for her performance in 2005's criminally underrated Freedomland is, to be quite frank, a travesty.

Although we all know she was stunningly stellar in such movies as The Ladies Man, Evolution, Laws of Attraction, The Forgotten, and Next, it's her turn in Freedomland that sends chills up your spine and tears down your face. I've provided evidence of one of the film's stronger moments above.

Observe her brilliance in acting like she's disoriented and panicked. Watch her navigate a sea of emotions as she fully inhabits the character of a psychotic mother. Take notes on her incredible ability to cry without actually crying.

Every great performance involves two actors, however, and Samuel L. Jackson gives an acting clinic here perhaps worthy of its own Oscar nomination. He's almost unrecognizable from his other roles here, shouting and repeatedly questioning someone while standing above them. Also, I know people with asthma, and I had to ask them if they could determine whether he was acting or not. I could not. His wheezing, huffing, groaning and puffing adds significantly to the gripping intensity of the scene.

Take this to the bank, folks: Freedomland is arguably one of the best films of the decade, and no Oscar snub discussion is complete without its mention.

Because the oversight is just so tragic, I think even more evidence may be needed to cement that claim: the first 1:17 of this long clip. I know it will be hard to tear your eyes away from the screen, but I've limited it to that so you don't become too emotionally overwhelmed.

Put my heart at rest. Put my heart at rest, AMPAS: honor Julianne Moore and Freedomland with a retroactive Academy Award...

[This post is one of many featured in Lazy Eye Theatre's Bizarro Blog-a-Thon, June 23-25. Don't bother checking out any of the other featured posts... ]