Not only was Danny Kaye a brilliant performer but he was a wonderful cook too.

Here’s a good movie blog, Some Came Running, by Glenn Kenny. Check out this post about Martin Scorsese’s Vanishing New York.

Best Worst Movie

As I’ve probably mentioned at some point, for the last year and half or so, I’ve been meeting up with a few friends every Tuesday for Bad Movie Night. We have a few beers, order pizza, and sit around and laugh/cringe/stare in disbelief at a lousy or confusing or misguided movie: Highlander II: The Quickening; Howard the Duck; Bionic Ninja; Gladiator Cop; Body Rock… we’ve been doing this for a while now and the list is extensive. But one of our all-time favorites (“favorite” being a relative term here) is a real classic of the genre, Troll 2. It’s hilariously inept, with laughable costumes, some of the worst acting ever put to film, and a ludicrous plot that not only has nothing whatsoever to do with Troll 1 but is actually about goblins. It’s about a family that makes the mistake of vacationing in a town called Nilbog… which is, of course, “goblin spelled backwards!”

Troll 2 is so much fun in its way that it’s developed quite a cult following, with midnight screenings and gatherings around the country. Best Worst Movie, directed by Michael Stephenson (the now-grown child actor who played the son in the movie) and focusing on the small-town dentist who played his father, is a fascinating look at the bad-movie-loving subculture, and at how the people involved in a film react to having it become famous – or infamous – for all the wrong reasons. It’s alternately very funny and, at times, touching, sad, and uncomfortable. And it’s well worth a watch.

In case you were wondering, tonight’s Bad Movie selection will be Robot Jox.

The L.A. Times Magazine has a photo gallery of the 50 most beautiful women in film:

Plenty of hits and misses in there.

Where are these lovelies?

From the New Yorker’s Photo Booth blog, dig this gallery of Sam Shaw’s photography:

There’s a new biography of Humphrey Bogart. From the write up in the New York Times Book Review:

Experience had engraved itself on his face. By the time his film breakthrough came, he was 42 and already wearing the vestiges of betrayal, loss and resignation that would bring the shadow of a back story to every role he played. Photographs of Bogart in the 1920s, when he was in his 20s, show a bright-eyed, smooth-cheeked actor whose features haven’t set yet. The transformation took place before we made his acquaintance. The Bogart we came to know on the screen was mature when he arrived, with compressed emotions, an economy of gesture and a compact grace in movements that were wary and self-contained, as if all the world were not a stage but a minefield. Kanfer’s book takes its title from Raymond Chandler, who approved of the decision to cast Bogart in “The Big Sleep” as Philip Marlowe, the hard-boiled detective he had created, because Bogart could be “tough without a gun.”

…Bogart’s appeal was and remains completely adult — so adult that it’s hard to believe he was ever young. If men who take responsibility are hard to come by in films these days, it’s because they’re hard to come by, period, in an era when being a kid for life is the ultimate achievement, and “adult” as it pertains to film is just a euphemism for pornography.

One of the reasons I like Benicio Del Toro is because he’s got a face with some character. So many of the leading men today are hopelessly pretty, and when it comes to playing tough, they just don’t cut it.

From the terrific documentary, “Visions of Light,” here is Gordon Willis, “The Prince of Darkness,” talking about his work on the Godfather movies.

“Hopscotch” is an appealing but lousy movie. It looks like pea soup, the script is dull, and the acting is forgettable (I’m talking to you, Ned Beatty). But I’m a sucker for Matthau and Glenda Jackson so I sat through the whole thing, curled up on the couch with my wife over the weekend. Sometimes, it doesn’t matter that a movie is bad. If you are cozy with the Mrs watching Matthau humming Mozart, sipping beers, being Matthau, things could be a lot worse.

Been a fun week, folks. Hope you guys have a great weekend.

Today, the Film Forum gives Fritz Lang’s classic film noir, “The Big Heat.”

Tasty.

Dig this coolness: The Coenfographic.

Sugar came out in 2009 to excellent reviews and relatively small audiences. Somehow, despite the fact that baseball movies are something of an obsession with me, I only just got around to seeing it – and, wow. It’s an understated movie, but never uninteresting, beautifully made, and more honest about the game than all but a handful of films have ever been. I liked it significantly more than Field of Dreams and about five million times more than The Natural, and though I can’t imagine that Sugar will ever get the kind of mass audience that those movies did, I still hope it manages to stick in the cultural consciousness.

In its outlines, the story is a familiar one to serious baseball fans: kid from the Dominican Republic signs with a major league team, struggles to deal with culture shock and professional competition in a small minor-league city. We’ve all read articles and interviews with international players that fit that profile, and beyond that, nothing hugely dramatic happens in Sugar — except that this story in and of itself is, really, a pretty dramatic one, even if dozens or hundreds of players a year go through it. And while I don’t want to give away the ending, I will just say that it feels honest, and very refreshingly so for a sports movie. There is no Big Game that will make or break everything, no villains, no inspiring speech, just a series of events and decisions that together make a story.

The movie opens at the just-barely-fictional Kansas City Knights baseball academy in Boca Chica, Dominican Republic. It establishes the rhythms of the place, which is part school and mostly training facility – the camaraderie and competition between the players, the strict coaches, and life on the weekends at home in the town, where Sugar (Algenis Perez Soto, doing a good job in his only American film role to date) lives with his family. The scenes in the DR were some of my favorites, for their laid-back slice-of-life feel: peeling, brightly painted buildings, beaches, friends playing dominos, stray dogs, music, dancing, beer.

Sugar and an academy teammate finally get their long awaited call to Los Estados, attending spring training with the Kansas City Knights (who I assume were named after the New York Knights, Roy Hobbs’ team in The Natural). He and his Dominican teammates are taken under the wing of Jorge, a slightly older player who’s been slipping down the prospect lists after a knee injury – and who explains to them that you never drink the beer in the minibar, gives Sugar his old I.D. so he can get into bars, and takes the newcomers to a diner where, following his lead, they all order French toast. It takes weeks before Sugar, incredibly sick of French toast, figures out how to order eggs.

More than anything else, the movie does an excellent job of dramatizing the cultural disconnect and language barrier. There are no villains – some people are nicer than others, some are less helpful, but no one is evil. When Sugar gets assigned to the Knights’ single-A team in rural Iowa, he stays with a local couple, older farmers who live in the middle of cornfields. They are religious, reserved, extremely different from anything Sugar’s experienced before, and he feels deeply isolated living there – but they mean well. The movie is as much about finding a community in a new place as it is succeeding at baseball, and suggests that the latter may not be possible without the former, anyway.

If I had one issue, it’s that Sugar himself is a little bit of a cipher, as a character. I think partly this is by design – the character did not finish high school, has thought about almost nothing besides baseball for years, and once he reaches the U.S. is restricted by language and cultural differences – he’s quiet because he so often doesn’t know what to say or how to say it. Sugar’s favorite player is Robinson Cano; he’s never heard of Roberto Clemente. He loosens up a bit with the other Spanish speakers on the team, but even so the details of his personality come across only vaguely. Perhaps that makes it easier for the character to stand in for so many real-life immigrants.

The whole movie is excellent, but it’s the end that sets it apart for me – realistic and wistful without being depressing. He doesn’t make it to the Majors and throw a perfect game his first start out, and he doesn’t end up a drug addict with a life in ruins. The movie’s restraint doesn’t make it the least bit boring – on the contrary, because it rings true, it’s that much more engrossing.

This is how Diane’s heart stays warm on a cold day:

There’s a piece on Bobby D the New Yorker in the L.A. Times Magazine. Check it outski.

Tonight at the Walter Reade Theater, a slept-on Jeff Bridges vehicle featuring John Huston:

I can’t make it, dang it, but man, it should be a good time.

Happen to walk past the Cinema Village last night…haven’t been inside in years but I do remember seeing “She’s Gotta Have it” there, jeez, almost twenty-five years ago…

Bags hipped me to a most cool site called Scouting New York.

Dig these two then-and-now posts on “Taxi Driver” and “Ghostbusters”:

It’s chilly out there. Hope you are safe and warm inside…

(more…)

Tonight at the Walter Reade Theater, the very creepy..

Albert talks life with Esquire.