This open source documentary had more than a few interesting arguments on the history and direction of copyright law, but too often digressed into a ‘Girl Talk’ biography, and didn’t seem to understand the difference between Napster culture (massive copying and distributing of film and music) and fair use of portions of these works towards new creativity. I am most certainly a believer in remixing, mashing up, sampling, parody, satire, and the like. I also think the statute for entering the public domain is absurdly too long–’Happy Birthday’ was written over a century ago and is still not public domain (we will have to endure ‘Red Robins’ homemade version for another twenty years). But who am I–a small beans artist who can’t make a living.

This breakthrough documentary by leftist, low-hanging-fruit, charlatan, Michael Moore was simply ridiculous. The narrative arc that drives the film is Moore attempting to get an interview with Roger Smith, CEO of GM, who at the time were laying off a lot of Flintons. Moore schemes his way into the corporate office with a film crew, or gets word that Roger will be at his elitist, private club, all without any sort of appointment or reasonable communication, and then acts surprised that they turn him away. Oooh, Roger must have something to hide if he won’t see some jeans-and-cap hack with a camera roaming around the lobby. For the majority of the other content he interviews Miss Michigan who–shockingly–doesn’t have any good economic advice on the matter, and, cartoon Flintons who are out of work and struggling to make ends meet. It comes across as demeaning, pointless snubbing of those below the poverty line (see the scene with “the crazy rabbit eating lady”). As usual, I find Moore’s sensationalism and fuzzy execution sadly distract from otherwise good arguments.

Very well produced documentary that had all the pie charts and graphics that would serve as good supplemental material, had they any material to supplement. You could fit the interesting insights on a single note card, while the musical interludes could fill the National Archive. The national debt does scare me, spending money that you do not have is immoral, right? Never mind my mortgage or school loan.

More adult-male-as-infants to drive a bland coming-of-age story (I thought coming-of-age was closer to thirteen). There must be an anthropological explanation as to why this subject matter puts butts in seats; one that I’m not interested in exploring right now, I have some “Grand Theft Auto 8: Sex Offender’s Delight” to play.

Pacino can really wear me out; two hours of yelling and the evermore obnoxious “whoo-aa” suck it. If O’Donnell weren’t there to provide some Oregon-bred ease then this film would be a lance in the earhole. The tango scene wasn’t nearly as spectacular as I remember; the love interest in the second to last scene was insulting–I was plenty convinced that Pacino decided to embrace life when he played with his niece and nephew in the driveway, not when some professor ran out to flirt with him. My favorite moment, oddly, was when Pacino’s character degraded O’Donnell, stating that finer men than O’Donnell had saluted him and he shouldn’t have insulted the act as he had–it seemed like a reasonable, humble assessment of the kid and not a rash, scalding reprimand. It is refreshing to be reminded that we aren’t all astronauts, capable of anything we put our mind to, actually not ‘better than all the rest’ as Tina Turner would have us believe. Go rent the Turner record and skip this doozy.

I was an extra in this low-budget Seattle film about a woman dealing with a terminal illness and terrestrial escape to get away from her brat kids and dick-wad husband (the two actors actually married after meeting on the set). I actually have several scenes including, ‘riding-the-bike’, ‘wearing-the-sweats’, and the noteworthy, ‘opening-the-door-to-the-cafeteria’. It was the role I was born to play baby! And yes, this shit is on my CV.

I know I should respect this film for cultural and historical reasons, but I don’t have to like it. I still love you De Palma, it was the cheap, late 70s.

I had high hopes for Kaufman’s directorial debut, with an a-list cast and yet another genius concept. The first act never left the launchpad and the second act was treading in my least favorite subject matter–adultery. I shut if off and went to bed.

Somehow, someway, Nic Cage puts butts in seats. He is a guilty pleasure, I must admit, and his camp-faux-acting is as irresistible as Canoe Reeve. Like all good trash, they do require a descent script to chew through though–”Ghost Rider” and “Constantine” were pleasureless dreck (perhaps I needed more drink). And really, giving these films an honest review and score is like grading a staple–no not that kind of staple, the kind you use to bind paper together.

Hadn’t seen this film in probably twenty years and don’t expect to see it for a hundred-twenty more. My least favorite of the Hughes/Ringwald films. At least it has a parent who isn’t a total idiot as is the base of nearly every other Hughes’ script, the Dad is just down on his luck this go around. And whoever said they like who she ends up with in the end has some explaining to do. Duckie 4ever.