Since the weekend is coming a little early, it's time for some early picks. But one doesn't come easily -- I went by The Block last night with the full intention of seeing a midnight movie, then came home when I decided none of them seemed as interesting as the Academy screeners I had at home.
However, none of those midnight showings was of THE MIST, which I do want to see, based on a Stephen King novella that scared the hell out of me in my teens. I still don't understand the appeal of Tom Jan
Rarely have I gotten the kind of hate mail that I received a year ago when I gave a semi-positive review to Uwe Boll’s BLOODRAYNE. Anonymous posters attacked me personally and went after my family and regular website commenters in an almost deranged fashion, merely because I had deigned to write something less-than-hateful about Boll, who inspires a visceral disgust in cinephiles that could almost be equated to the reaction George Bush evokes in liberals. And it’s not exactly unfair, either
Onlookers might have mistaken the 90-degree, May 2005 morning scene atop a downtown Los Angeles apartment building as an active movie set. A tall, agitated, 29-year-old man stripped nude, threw his clothes down 20 stories to South Figueroa Street and danced on the ledge--his bare feet scolding from the hot asphalt and gravel--as he threatened to jump. Above, a helicopter noisily hovered, making it difficult for anyone to communicate. Below, dozens of alarmed firefighters and police, including a
