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My reasoning for not expecting much from Mr. Bean's Holiday was twofold: Firstly, I hated Bean, the first film of this series. It's cliché story was embarrassing and excessively Hollywood for a film based on a British television program. Also, in between a narrative I neither cared for or paid attention to, were all the same gags I had already seen on the television show (Remember Mr. Bean getting his head stuck inside the turkey?). Unlike the Kids in the Hall movie, Brain Candy and Beavis and Butthead Do America, this film did not bring anything new to the table beyond what television had already given us.

My second reason for not expecting Mr. Bean's Holiday to be worthwhile was it's title. It's obviously a tribute to the Jacques Tati film, Mr. Hulot's Holiday, the story of a Bean-like character's often hilarious romp through a vacation spot, causing chaos and mayhem amongst society's elite. Rowan Atkinson has cited Tati as a major influence for the Mr. Bean character and has even pointed out this film specifically as his masterpiece. Knowing this going into Mr. Bean's Holiday, I assumed the film would entail Rowan Atkinson performing Jacques Tati beat by beat. I couldn't have been more wrong.

Surprisingly, I found Mr. Bean's Holiday to be more of a Chaplin-esque version of Pee Wee's Big Adventure. Though the Tati influence is always apparent in the character of Mr. Bean, the gags in the film were some we haven't seen in over eighty years, paying homage to Chaplin more than anyone else, though there is some Buster Keaton in there as well.

The film begins with Mr. Bean winning a trip to Cannes at a church raffle. After a stop in Paris, along with a series of mishaps, Mr. Bean finds himself stuck at a train station in the middle of France, without his passport and with a child that does not speak English (or whatever language it is Mr. Bean speaks). Reminiscent of Chaplin's The Kid, the scenes between Mr. Bean and the child are some of the funniest, mostly because the language barrier opens up for Atkinson the possibility to do what he does best as the lovable character, communicate without words. Though it's a craft developed and sharpened by such geniuses as Chaplin and Keaton many years ago, nowadays, in a cinematic world in which most comedies are overflowing with poorly written jokes and the corniest of punchlines, it's refreshing to once again be amused by the lifting of an eyebrow or the wiggling of an ear. But Atkinson does more than that. He pushes the physical limitations of every scenario to the brink without seeming too "cartoony," as would most likely be the case if it were a Jim Carrey comedy. Like Chaplin's Tramp character, there is a sweet, tender side to Mr. Bean that is undeniable and is the backbone of our attraction. Even when Mr. Bean is inconsiderate, as is the case when he pours the inside of clamshells into a woman's purse, we can't help but sympathize since he seems to be put in a position where he doesn't have any other recourse.

William Defoe is amusing as the self-absorbed filmmaker who not only kicks Bean off the set of a commercial shoot but also instigates the final chase scene in Cannes as well. Ultimately, however, his character only serves the function of a nemesis and nothing more. Like the love interests in a Marx Brothers film, it is crucial for the sake of storytelling but not crucial to the story.

The story, in the end, is about the survival of a character who is truly an original, battling the limitations of society. Like Mr. Hulot, as well as Pee Wee Herman, The Tramp, and many other characters through the history of film, Mr. Bean endures because of his unique way of life, the unique manner he chooses to approach conflict, and his uncanny knack to achieve his goals, despite his, as well as society's, shortcomings.

Much like its director, Brian Depalma, Femme Fatale, a creatively slick crime drama that deconstructs the Hollywood archetype of the same name, has been completely ignored in this country since its release in 2002. Regardless, it is still a cinematically inventive masterpiece that utilizes every possible convention of the genre and then turns it upside down, in a way that only Brian Depalma can. Ever since his horror masterpiece, Sisters, released in 1973, Depalma has been exploring Hollywood genres, picking them apart, finding out what is so fascinating about them, then exploiting those fascinating elements beyond necessity, in both a celebratory way, as well as a satirical one. His films become essays on whatever genre he is navigating us through and perhaps this is why he is often misunderstood in America. The overindulgence of sex and violence in his movies is more of a reflection of the excessive sex and violence in movies in general. People react positively to these type of images so Depalma gives it to them in spades, taking the genre to the umpteenth degree. Ultimately though, one has to realize there is much humor in his presentation and quite often these scenes are satirical jabs more than anything else. Depalma both loves and laughs at Hollywood movies.

Femme Fatale begins with a jewel heist that takes place in the midst of the Cannes Festival. And in true Depalma fashion, it includes long tracking shots (taking us up and down staircases, down long hallways and through ventilation shafts), a Bolero-esque classical piece that helps to build the suspense slowly (forcing viewers to shatter their expectations for fast cuts and fast action), and a sex scene hotter than any Depalma has shot previously (which says a lot, considering he also directed Body Double and Dressed to Kill). After the heist is foiled and the heroine, Laurie (Rebecca Romijn), narrowly escapes her former partners in crime, who are now out to kill her, Laurie finds herself mistaken for another woman. Laurie takes advantage of this turn of events and steals the woman's passport, as well as her ticket to America. Fast forward seven years later and Laurie is now married to the American ambassador to France and is forced to return to a country where assassins are still after her. She remains incognito, so it takes some effort for the photographer, Nicolas (Antonio Banderas), to capture a picture of her for the tabloids. Ultimately he does and her picture is plastered on billboards all over France, putting Laurie's life in grave danger.

Similar themes that exist in earlier Depalma films find their way into Femme Fatale, particularly the theme of "the double," in which there is either a case of mistaken identity, twin siblings with opposite personalities, or a character suffering from multiple personality order, as was the case in Body Double, Sisters, and Dressed to Kill, respectively. The theme of surveillance and its intrusion into our personal lives has also found its way into Femme Fatale, much like in Blow Out, Depalma's Americanized version of Antonioni's Blow Up, in which a soundman records a car accident that proves to be no accident. These themes mentioned play a crucial role in Femme Fatale, but ultimately, it is the theme of the Hollywood archetype, the "femme fatale," and the expectations put on that character that dominates this film. And ultimately those expectations are shattered and a new understanding of the archetype comes into existence. This understanding could only be possible with a master writer/director manning the helm and Brian Depalma is just that, a master. Wake up, America!

Based loosely on Le Samurai, by French New Wave director, Jean-Pierre Melville, Ghost Dog tells the story of a hit-man who lives by the code laid out for him in the book, The Way of the Samurai. It is a dense film, at least in the sense that Jarmusch mixes several genres in this tale, in a way that only Jim jarmusch can. It is at first the story of a warrior, a hit-man, who lives and breathes a certain way of life in order to survive. It is then a gangster picture, in the Goodfellas or Sopranos sense, with sharp urban gangster dialogue and some of the very same actors that helped revive the genre in the seventies, eighties and nineties. At times, it also reflects the art-house sensibilities that helped to make Jim Jarmusch famous, particularly when Ghost Dog "communicates" with his one and only friend, a Frenchman who speaks no English. Ghost Dog does not speak French either, yet the two enjoy each other's company and speak to each other regardless, knowing that the other may not understand the words they speak but the tone of their speech and the emotions they are expressing are somehow getting through. And finally, this film borrows some elements from the western genre, with a final showdown in the middle of the street, with two gunman and their guns drawn, filmed in the same manner as the final confrontation in High Noon.

Now, stir all these bits and pieces from the various and greatly different worlds of cinema together and, again, you have a dense, touching and often hilarious film, made by a master filmmaker. Jim Jarmusch puts his heart and soul into every story he tells and Ghost Dog may be the greatest example of that. When this film was made, it seemed he had already left behind the simpler, yet still poignant, stories told in films like Stranger Than Paradise and Down By Law, for more complex tales told in the vein of films like Raging Bull and Taxi Driver. The character of Ghost Dog is a multi-dimensional figure, who is suffering from the inner conflict of having to protect himself from the man who had once saved his life. According to The Way of the Samurai, Ghost Dog owes this man everything. Still, now that the man is forced to kill Ghost Dog and Ghost Dog must wrestle with his sense of duty and his sense of self-preservation. It is this conflict that is at the crux of the character, as well as the story. Ghost Dog is a colossal figure, not just in size but in scope as well, much like Robert Deniro's Jake Lamotta in Raging Bull. And Forest Whitaker brings home the performance of a lifetime in the role, projecting all the conflicting feelings and emotions within Ghost Dog. Never mind Idi Amin. This should've been the film that brought Whitaker the Oscar.