Coened Again.

SEE.


If you want to see a movie by a director who has a veritable presidential library of films for review, you should take advantage of this fact and do a little Netflixing before plunking down your right kidney at the megaplex for a ticket. If the director has never directed or written before then it's a crap shoot. Roll the dice and take your chances, kid. But with the Coen brothers, by now, there exists an oeuvre of cinema evidence so vast, so diverse that surely you must know if you will enjoy one of their movies. Therefore, I do not, do NOT, DO NOT understand anyone who can come out of "Burn After Reading" and claim it was not funny. It's not them, it's you. You didn't do your research. You thought, "Hmmm. George Clooney and Brad Pitt, maybe it will be like 'Ocean's 30: A New Beginning.' What the hell, I'll give it a shot." No, no, no, no, no. This is not "Knocked Up" or "Superbad." This is grown-up, you-have-to-work-for-it humor. Dark, twisted and just plain wrong. I mean "No Country For Old Men," "The Ladykillers," "Fargo," "The Big Lebowski," "Barton Fink," "The Hudsucker Proxy" and, for cryin' out loud, "Blood Simple." So, to those who don't get it, don't go. I think "Pineapple Express" is still playing at a theater near you.


As an aside, Brad Pitt and George Clooney are, indeed, attractive and very funny in this film. However, I'd like to tip my hat to the Coen brothers for reminding me how inexplicably sexy John Malkovich can be (even while donning a robe and boxers and carrying an ax.) There is just something about the combination of his voice, his mannerisms and his "you do know you're a complete idiot" way of speaking that makes me wanna, well...go back to school but be very naughty while I'm there. Yes, Professor Malkovich! Instruct me! Um...anyway...let's move on to food.


EAT.



Look. I'm not the brightest bulb in the chandelier but, compared to most of these characters, I'm National Merit material. Brain food. Get some. You don't want to wind up shopping somebody's memoirs to the Russians, do you? That's so eighties. Check out http://www.brainready.com/ or http://www.webmd.com/ and search "brain food" for some suggestions on how to stave off stupidity. Help them to help you.



SHOP.


I'm sorry but boxers move me. Deeply. John Malkovich in boxers reciting Shakespeare. BRING IT ON. You can't fake intellectual prowess in your significant other but you can dress the man in boxers and imagine him stating with great consternation, "You are part of league of morons!" Okay, maybe not that line but something else that suggests intellectual aptitude on his part. Shop sexy-smart at http://www.freshpair.com/ or http://www.skiviez.com/ or...oh, wait, I might be doing a little too much research on this one. Pardon me.

One Giant Shag for Womankind.

SEE.


All the fuss about Sarah Palin's hair these days got me thinking about coiffure feminism. You know- the fight for equality in hairstyling. (Her style choice could apparently determine the election.) In view of the historical hair choice facing our nation this November (and despite the Warren Beatty hair debacle in "The Parallax View"), I decided to explore Jane Fonda's take on coiffure feminism in the Alan J.Pakula thriller "Klute."

Ah, I love hooker hair films...I mean complex, socially insightful films which feature prostitutes trying to improve their lots in life while being stalked by psycho businessmen and rescued by naive out-of-state cops and somehow maintaining too-cute hairstyles. As Bree Daniels, Jane works that 'do and works her "johns." A "hooker-with-a-heart-of-gold" she ain't. Cunning, savvy and confused. Do you know a lot of prostitutes who see shrinks? Okay, maybe you do. At least Bree is trying to break out of the life and become a model/actress. An important stride for coiffure feminism! I take it back. She's gonna need that shrink. Alan J. Pakula really helped me decide something here. If this election is to be decided by a hairstyle, my vote is that Sarah Palin adopt the shag a la Klute. There's more than one John who might benefit from it.


EAT.


This one was tough. While Warren's shag in "The Parallax View" made him seem more feminine and made me want to eat less. Jane's shag has the opposite effect. Not that she seems more like a man but she's just plain confident and that makes me hungry. In honor of walking the streets of New York, and the fact that a busy working girl like Fonda's Bree Daniels hardly has time for a sit down meal, I say, check out the street vendors of New York. After all, both professions hawk their wares on the street. Go to www.nymag.com/restaurants/features/33526. Or look up your own local street action.

SHOP.

Lately, films and television shows have featured a number of social misfits with therapists trying to work through their social, well, misanthropy. Jane Fonda's conflicted prostitute may well have been one of the pioneers. Need to work through some issues (maybe your job as an assassin is cutting into family life) but short on time? Don't fret. Check out http://www.onlinetherapy.org/. Get right with life from the comfort of whatever dark alley you work in. Okay, it's not really shopping but it's important nonetheless. Mental health is in short supply these days. Just ask Sarah Palin's hairstylist.

Shag, Baby, Shag.

SEE.48 hours is a precious amount of time. This weekend I had a house guest; therefore, most of those 48 hours were not my own. This fact negatively impacted my movie viewing options. My house guest has standards and a husband. Thus, "Burn After Reading." A no go because the old ball and...I mean spouse has to see it with her. What about "Righteous Kill" or "Babylon, A.D."? Hello. Standards. I know. What can you do? So, after the house guest leaves I wind up watching "The Parallax View." "Why?" you might ask. Well, sometimes I like to see the way we were. "The Parallax View" was a 1974 post-JFK/RFK/MLK political conspiracy movie (back when the genre was fresh and new and untainted by...well...Oliver Stone.) This feature stars Warren Beatty as a small time reporter with an eye for unusual coincidences. I'm sure it was cutting edge at the time. Before Americans realized that these so-called "conspiracies" were just regular old politics in action, and Santa Claus was a crock. (Thank you Mr. Stone.) I'm not here to tell you the plot 'cause I'm simple. And simple people are easily distracted as I was by...Warren Beatty's hair.


Stop laughing. Stop it. I'm being serious here. I watched this entire movie, a compelling political thriller with an entrancing montage sequence that would make a music video director drool; but, all I'm thinking about is Warren Beatty's hair. People are murdered. Boats blow up. The American way of life holds on by a thread, and all I want to know is, "Was his hair just like that naturally or did they use curlers?" "How long did it take to get his hair like that if they did use curlers?" "Was that hair standard for the seventies or did they design it specifically for his character?" Did this hairdo prompt the idea for the movie "Shampoo?" Seriously, I was mesmerized for the entire movie. Unable to focus on the plot for all the hair (or is it the forest for the trees?). Watch "The Parallax View." You be the stylist/judge. Oh, and let me know if you figure out what the Parallax Corporation is and why they do what they do. I should get some educational value from this experience. EAT. I couldn't eat. I was too distracted by the hair. SHOP. I believe the style Mr. Beatty sports in this movie is a super shag. Yeah, baby. You can go to http://www.georgecarroll.com/ for detailed instruction on how to obtain Warren's modern look as well as view photos of his previous looks. But why bother with the current 'do?! To get his mind-boggling (but sexy) 1974 look just visit http://www.extremewigs.com/ or http://www.trendywigs.com/. Order up the "Shag Man." Let's hope it only refers to the wig.

You're gonna want something stronger.

SEE?

According to Wikipedia, bottle-shock can occur after bottling or transporting wine thus causing the flavors of certain wines to temporarily become muted or disjointed. Viewer-shock occurs after a moviegoer leaves the theater bent out of joint because a perfectly interesting story has been irreparably damaged by lackluster writing and misguided direction. The elements are all in Bottle Shock. An underdog story. A beautiful setting. Alan Rickman. Kicking French ass on French soil. A female intern who couldn't find a bra in the entire state of California. (Oh wait, it's the seventies, the bras were burned and didn't resurface until the one with the tassels appeared in that Madonna video.)

So why didn’t I stand up and cheer when the low-brow California wines beat the almighty French wines in a competition that changed the world of wine forever? Well… main character Jim Barrett (Bill Pullman) is an unlikable hard ass. Seriously, give me something to work with here. I have no idea what I’m supposed to like about this guy, and by the end of Bottle Shock, I almost start rooting for the French. Almost. His son, Bo Barrett (Chris Pine), did not win my heart either although that could have been the wig. (Please tell me that was a wig.) Gee, you used your mommy's money to buy the extra wine barrels your dad needs? Boohoo. Oh, and by the way, in the film version, Bo Barrett did not "save" the vineyard. It was the aforementioned braless intern, Sam (Rachael Taylor), who takes this slacker to a wine expert for some advice. I really wanted the wise and unjustly-persecuted-for-being-Mexican Gustavo Brambila (Freddy Rodriguez) to win. After all, his heart was inexplicably broken by the braless intern. Alright, Gustavo didn't seem that bothered by it but, it really irked me.

But wait, where there's Alan Rickman, there's hope. Rickman's Steven Spurrier is really the only underdog in this movie worth rooting for. He's a Brit who has chosen to live amongst the French and sell their wine to them. Um. Well, maybe, there's only so much sympathy you can give the man. Nonetheless, Rickman manages to make a snooty, know-it-all character appear a touch insecure and vulnerable. When Jim Barrett asks if there is a spare tire while he offers roadside assistance to Spurrier, Spurrier responds with a combination of indignity and bewilderment, "Yes, and a snakebite kit!" C'mon. Isn't he just the cutest? (Sadly, he doesn’t make wine so you can’t really root for him.) If Alan Rickman doesn't float your boat then consider the opportunity to view Dennis Farina in a full-on seventies green polyester suit complete with a silk neck scarf. Maybe if you drink a bottle of fine Cali wine beforehand, you can avert viewer-shock and just leave pleasantly buzzed. Probably not. I'd try a double scotch instead.



SHOP.

Clothes, clothes, clothes. It's all about the seventies so get to know the retro at http://www.ballyhoovintage.com and http://www.rustyzipper.com. Sure people will look at you all funny and stuff but, hey, Dennis Farina owns his look. No, I don't mean literally. He works it, and you can too.

EAT.

Before “spam” was known as junk mail in your e-mail inbox (hell, before there was e-mail), Spam was a lunch meat. It was invented in 1937. It was doled out to those in need during WWII. It scared many a school age child when they opened their lunch pail during the Cuban missile crisis. Still, for some strange reason, I associate Spam with the seventies. My mom never fed me Spam but, dammit, I'm trying to celebrate a decade here. Sure I could have easily typed up some list of the California vineyards that competed in the 1976 competition that this movie is based on, but wouldn't you rather have something hearty and, possibly, non-biodegradable. Check out http://www.spam.com/ for Spam recipes, fascinating Spamfacts and even, a Spam store. Yeah, you heard me. If that doesn't give you bottle-shock, I don't know what will.

Sex and La Ciudad

SEE.

If I was Woody Allen and I was in Barcelona with Penelope Cruz and Scarlett Johansson, I, too, would concoct a tastefully reserved lesbian love scene. I mean I’m a straight woman but still. Who’d pass that up? Except for some kissing, the action takes place entirely in the mind of the viewer. So, who’s the dirty old man now? Oh, wait. I forgot the part about the movie. Take one part Vicky (Rebecca Hall), a graduate student with a ridiculously narrow thesis subject who favors a sure thing over experimentation; add one part Christina (Johansson), a woman searching aimlessly for her “gift.” And as for Barcelona, well, just sprinkle her in where needed for refreshing scenery. Voila! A movie is born. You may substitute Javier Bardem and Penelope Cruz as needed for international flavor.

I won’t tell you that I loved this movie. It’s watchable. Woody Allen writes female characters that you would not befriend if someone held a gun to your head. If these were the only women I could muster up in my well-traveled mind, I’d switch teams. Pronto. Although, hey, the men aren’t exactly prizes either. The most attractive trait of a Woody Allen male is that he believes he is attractive despite all evidence to the contrary. But hey, that’s ballsy, and guts count for something. Bardem may prove the exception to that rule. When Bardem’s Juan Antonio approaches Vicky and Christina with a “let’s-cut-to-the-chase” sexual proposition, everyone in the audience checked sexual orientation at the door and said, “Yes!” If nothing else, I’d see it again just to relive that sensation.

EAT.

Tapas? Too contrived. I suggest you don’t eat. If you’re having sex with Javier Bardem, I mean Juan Antonio, don’t do it on a full stomach. Drink. In this movie, wine pours forth as though a bottomless Rioja fountain exists in the center of Barcelona. Spanish wine could give you the courage to explore or maybe to resist. Please. You are not gonna resist Javier, I mean Juan Antonio. Who are you kidding? Check out the Spanish wine page on http://www.jrnet.com/ And if you don’t drink, then...

SHOP.

Summer in Spain is similar to a well heated bread oven so less is more. Think lingerie. Why not? Unless you’re a man. In which case, you should buy it for someone you’d love to see wearing it. In celebration of the somewhat creepy and voyeuristic (c’mon Woody!) lesbian lovin’ of Christina and Maria Elena (Penelope Cruz), go get yourself something sexy. Be authentic. Try http://www.etam.es/ for the genuine Spanish article of clothing. Maybe you too will take a trip and be hit on by a sexy artist. Of course, it didn’t happen to me in Spain or Italy or France but, then again, I’m no VickyChristinaBarcelona.