2, 3, Kick, Turn, Turn, Turn, Kick, Turn

I may lose some street cred (net-cred?) for this sentiment, but I love memes. Really, I do. Especially the last few months, writing here has been stressful. I know it comes easy to some, but writing is generally a struggle for me; a worthy and rewarding one, but a struggle nonetheless. I tried to step up my game this summer in giving this site substantive content that would generate good discussion, and I feel that, for the most part, I succeeded. I certainly generated good discussion (and a hearty thanks to all those who have helped in that department), but I still feel that my writing doesn't quite reflect my personality in the way I would like. It reflects my ideas about movies and personal sensibility, but I'm still not completely satisfied with the tone. That's why I enjoy Greg Ferrara, Bill R., and Glenn Kenny so; they manage to be eloquent, perceptive, and humorous all at once. And their love of movies shines through in everything they do.

So a meme gives me a chance to both wax poetic about movies, and lighten up the mood around here. This one comes courtesy of the wonderful Marilyn Ferdinand from Ferdy on Films. It states that the participants pick their 15 favorite film dancers; but, I must be quite honest, I'm not so sure I could pick 10, let alone 15. Admittedly, this just proves Marilyn initial point, that dancers aren't given enough credit for their craft, but she has kindly allowed me to break the rules a bit, so I'm going to pick my favorite dance sequences in film. And I think this is interesting because this opens the doors to non-musicals as well.

As with all memes, any other day and I may have picked completely different set. Here are ten dance sequences that have always stuck with me (when the information is available, I'll list the choreographer as well):

Fred Astaire in Royal Wedding (1951)
Choreography by Nick Castle

There are actually two sequences from Royal Wedding that I was considering, ironic because outside of two exemplary dance sequences with Astaire, the movie really is quite lousy (one of Donen's lesser musicals, for sure). Both speak to what an incredible dancer Astaire was, as well as how innovative and imaginative he was with dance sequences. One involves Astaire dancing with a coat-rack and Astaire, with his incredible grace, makes the inanimate coat-rack feel like a living, breathing partner. The other, more memorable sequence, involves Astaire dancing alone in a room, and he starts dancing on the walls and ceiling, defying gravity. It's a breathtaking, incredibly innovative sequence; as was typical of Astaire's dance sequences, this is all done in one unbroken take, and this makes the sequence all the more phenomenal. They used a rotating set to capture this incredible illusion, and it's a technique that was borrowed for films like 2001: A Space Odyssey and The Fly.

Donald O'Connor in Singin' in the Rain (1952)

Choreography by Gene Kelly

In the case of Singin' in the Rain, it's tempting to be obvious. Of course, the titular dance sequence is among the most memorable sequences in all of film, dance or otherwise. But a musical number in the film that impresses me every bit as much is the "Make 'Em Laugh" number with Donald O'Connor doing a kind of slapstick tap dance, and O'Connor is really given a chance to show his stuff in this solo dance sequence. Throughout the film, he manages to keep up with the incredible athleticism of Gene Kelly, proving to be his equal in that respect. Too bad he decided to do Francis the Talking Mule pictures for most of his career, because he shows an incredible amount of talent throughout Singin' in the Rain.

James Cagney & Bob Hope in The Seven Little Foys (1955)
Choreography by Nick Castle

13 years after James Cagney won an Academy Award for playing George M. Cohan in Yankee Doodle Dandy, he reprised the role in the film about Cohan's 'rival', Eddie Foy (it's worth noting that Eddie Foy Jr. played his father in Yankee Doodle Dandy, but here he is played by Bob Hope). I could have picked a number of sequences from Yankee Doodle Dandy, but I actually prefer this cameo appearance in The Seven Little Foys; it's an extremely energetic, inventively choreographed sequence. Again, the movie isn't exactly great (or good, even), but this sequence is a real treasure, in no small part because Cagney, over a decade after he first played the role, (and a few years older than Bob Hope) completely upstages the film's star (though I've always found Hope somewhat insufferable). But watch the sequence closely, and you'll see Cagney is far lighter on his feet than Hope is.

Ann Reinking & Erzsebet Foldi in All that Jazz (1979)

Choreography by Bob Fosse

My favorite of all of Fosse's memorably choreographed sequences (both in films he and others directed), because in addition to being a spectacular dance sequence (set to Peter Allen's "Everything Old is New Again") in its own right, showcasing the talents of the beautiful Ann Reinking and the 12 year old Erszebet Foldi, it's also an extremely dramatically affecting one as well. As Joe Gideon watches his girlfriend and daughter put on a show for him to cheer him up after the poor reception of his latest film (paralleling Fosse's own experience with making Lenny), you see in his eyes that he recognizes that this is the closest thing he'll ever have to a real family. And, considering how intensely personal this film was to Fosse, that revelation is damn near heartbreaking.

Rosie Perez in Do the Right Thing (1989)

This might seem like an unusual pick, but I love the way this title sequence combines a music video aesthetic with the film's uniquely counter-cultural, broadly comic sensibility. Set to Public Enemy's "Fight the Power", Rosie Perez does a dance that I can only describe as "interpretive boxing"; imagery that is simultaneously rhythmic, aggressive, and empowering. It gets me excited for the movie to follow it in a way that few other title sequences do.

John Travolta & Uma Thurman in Pulp Fiction (1994)

There are many memorable dance sequences involving Travolta (he has an entire movie dedicated to these abilities), but I'd have to go with this one because it's cheeky, almost self-conscious about the fact that John Travolta simply must dance in movies he appears in. He's dragged into a dance contest, unwillingly, by Uma Thurman's Mia Wallace. She not only exerts her power of him by reminding him that it is he who must do what she says (she is the boss' wife, after all), but she challenges his ego by saying that she not only wants to dance, but she wants to win. Well, dance he does, and win they do, and Tarantino wonderfully uses this sequence to illustrate the powerful sexual connection these two characters feel towards each other, complete with some Chuck Berry on the soundtrack.

Woody Allen & Goldie Hawn in Everyone Says I Love You (1996)
Choreography by Graciela Daniela

A wonderful sequence that caps a wonderful film, Woody Allen uses special effects for one of the few times in his career to create an enchanting, otherworldly dance sequence set to "I'm Through With Love". As Allen and Hawn dance on the Parisian riverside, Hawn literally defies gravity as she spins and leaps through the air. Magical.

Tim Robbins & Connie Nielsen in Mission to Mars (2000)
Choreography by Adam Shankman

Adam Shankman is the credited choreographer on Mission to Mars, but surely Brian De Palma deserves as much credit for choreography as Shankman, because his camera is as much a dancer as his characters in this sequence, set to Van Halen's "Dance the Night Away". De Palma's camera here floats weightlessly as he captures this intimate zero-gravity dance.

The Company (2004)

I'm cheating a bit here: I found it impossible to choose one image from Robert Altman's penultimate film The Company, let alone one dance sequence, all of which are extremely visually striking and memorable in their own right. Altman, using high definition cameras (his only use of the format), beautifully captures the art of dancing as the kinetic combination of theater, painting, and athleticism that it is, all the while giving an intimate behind the scenes portrait of the members of the Joffrey Ballet of Chicago. It's a wonderful film that pays much respect to the art of dancing, and those who dedicate their life to that craft.

CGI Penguins in Happy Feet (2006)
Choreography by Kelley Abbey

For a movie that goes to such painstaking lengths to portray accurate, organic dancing (through a brilliant use of motion capture technology), Happy Feet bizarrely doesn't actually credit the live-action company of dancers that brought life to the film's animated penguins (though I remember reading a New York Times article that discussed the dancer whose movements were used to render the main character Mumbles, Savior Glover). As with The Company, I'm not choosing a specific dance sequence here, as any time Mumbles or any of the other penguins dance, I'm positively enchanted.

So, those are my ten. This is the part where you're supposed to tag people to do it, but everytime I tag someone, no one does it. So I'm tagging everyone. And don't be like "Oh, I'm not gonna do it and he'll never know." I will know. Trust me.

Books on Film

The memes are coming, the memes are coming! I've been tagged for this meme, started by MovieMan, three times; twice unofficially (Ed Howard and Glenn Kenny cheated by tagging everyone under the sun), and one officially, courtesy of Bill at The Kind of Face You Hate. Anyway, the meme states that those who take part in it discuss their favorite books about film--- the books that helped shape the way we see the medium. I confess to not reading nearly enough about my preferred medium; most of the writing about film I read comes from the internet, which has its benefits, for sure. But it's also not exactly a substitute.

But that certainly isn't to say that there haven't been some books that made a big impact on me, especially at a young age. The most essential would be, naturally, the above pictured The Great Movies, by a certain critic named Roger Ebert, a writer who has found limited success in print and on television. I remember picking this book up as a 12 year old burgeoning cinephile and having my eyes opened to the powers of film; not just the latest piece of marketing that topped the box office, but to film as an art form. I remember being particularly struck by a passage from the opening:

"We live in a box of space and time. Movies are windows in its walls. They allow us to enter other minds --- not simply in the sense of identifying with the characters, although that is an important part of it, but by seeing the world as another person sees it. Francois Truffaut said that for a director it was an inspiring sight to walk to the front of a movie theater, turn around, and look back at the faces of the audience, turned up to the light from the screen. If the film is any good, those faces reflect an out-of-the-body experience: The audience for a brief time is somewhere else, sometime else, concerned with lives that are not its own. Of all the arts, movies are the most powerful aid to empathy, and good ones make us into better people"

If I could trace it to a point, I'd say the reading of this book from cover to cover (which included many movies I'd never heard of, let alone seen, along with some I had, too) I began to realize that films needed to be thought of in a more abstract way. Reducing films to their elements; story, character, dialogue, direction, etc... is dubious. It's how these elements work in tandem--- or clash--- with each other that counts when trying to appreciate a film. This rocked my 12 year old world.

And the list of films in that book is very diversified, which gave me a taste of how eclectic cinema can be; all the different kinds of stories it can tell, from fantasy to realist-drama . Everything from Casablanca to The Exterminaing Angel; from Citizen Kane to Star Wars. The first time I ever heard the names Welles, Kurosawa, Bunuel, Dreyer, Hawks, Reed--- all courtesy of Mr. Ebert. I made it my mission to see most, if not all of these films (I still haven't seen a few--- Detour and the Up documentaries), and around the time of what I can only describe as a cinematic explosion is when I remember refining my aesthetic sense.


Moving on, another book that has been of great importance to me is a guide-book called Film Directing Shot by Shot: Visualizing From Concept to Screen by Steven D. Katz. Generally I dislike books of this ilk--- books that catalog 'formulas' for cinematic storytelling, but Katz's eloquence, knowledge of the subject matter, and lack of pretension is quite incredible. He breaks down what David Bordwell would call story-telling 'norms' into such simple, economic language that I'd say this book is almost essential for anyone looking to pick up a camera and make movies. He states over and over again that there isn't one way to make a film--- but he does make the (very true) point that a film maker needs to understand these principles, and why they are established principles, if they wish to break them. This is more than a book for aspiring film makers, it's a book that perfectly articulates how we tell stories visually.

It breaks down what Katz calls 'shot-flow'; how images relate to one another. It's not just a simple regurgitation of the dictionary definitions of "shot/reverse shot", "the 180 degree rule", or the like... though these concepts are included. Rather, through the use of storyboards (some from authentic films and some drawn up for illustrative purposes), Katz shows the readers how film can convey a sense of space, motion, and time. Quite incredible stuff.

Moving on to the last two books I have chosen for this here meme, two textbooks. But they're so much more than that--- highly encompassing accounts of film history and film form, written in a wonderfully personal style. The first, a book my school would never use because of its extraordinary quality--- the irreplaceable, essential Film Art by David Bordwell and Kristin Thompson, a mainstay of film academia for 30 years (my school uses a shitty book called Movies and Meaning for their basic cinema course).



This is just an astounding documentation of the different types of form modalities. A brief history of the medium (though a far more all encompassing account can be found in the duo's Film History) precedes an incredibly all-encompassing account of the basics of film-form--- as a starting point, one really couldn't do better than Film Art. And it's all written in Bordwell and Thompson's highly knowledgeable yet personable style; they break down such complex concepts to their raw essentials so beautifully that they deserve to be thought of as artists as much as scholars.

Plus, it's not rigid academia (which is probably why some in the academic community dislike Bordwell and Thompson), but a simultaneously personal and objective journey through the different aspects of film. For example, in the chapter about Cinematography (in the edition I have, at least), Bordwell uses examples as varied as The Crime of M. Lange, Wild Strawberries, Back to the Future, and Die Hard. In other film text-books I've read, this tends to come off as a trick the author uses to get the attention of the college age readers. "Look," the books cry "I'm talking about films you're actually familiar with in addition to these 'arty' ones!" The examples Bordwell and Thompson uses are both relevant and personal, as the examples in the text reflect Bordwell and Thompson's wonderfully eclectic taste in cinema. Plus, I just adore the two of them to pieces--- they're definitely the cutest Film Scholar couple I can think of.


I have taken exactly two courses in college that I can honestly say changed my life--- that is to say, these classes legitimately shaped my outlook on the world. The first would be the Astronomy class I took last fall, where every day I got a unique lesson in the workings of the Universe. The other class would be a History of Animation course I took to satisfy my Art requirement--- and the assigned book for the class, Cartoons: 100 Years of Animation by Giannalberto Bendazzi, is essential reading for any fan of animation and cinema.

Talk about an exhaustive account of the history of animation. Bendazzi goes by era AND by country, making connections between world animation and world cinema, going all the way back to the earliest days of both forms. Animation really does deserve more dues than it gets, as the history of cinema and the history of animation are so closely interwoven that they are almost one and the same. As a people, our first moving images were drawn ones.

And the class itself was just wonderful--- nothing like the Cinema 101 course I took my first semester at school, where my Professor pandered to the bad taste of my peers instead of attempting to enlighten them (not worth the effort, I guess). I expected similar things from my Animation class, but this Professor had a really acute aesthetic sense and an incredible knowledge of the history of the medium. We saw so much, from Disney to Chuck Jones to Miyazaki, to more obscure animation artists like Oskar Fichinger (whose abstract art-work inspired the Toccata and Fugue portion of Disney's Fantasia). He bored most of my peers to tears but I was enraptured by the films week in and week out--- I think it's the only class I've taken that I've never missed once, and it was early in the morning to boot. Not all of them were great, though some of them were, but they all had something noteworthy about them. He even showed some Méliès on the first day, which is certainly okay by me.

So these are my books, please do leave suggestions in the comment box for my illiterate ass.

I tag.... anyone who feels like doing it.

Notes on the Blogaissance

A refreshing meme came my way from Greg F's corner of the web, Cinema Styles. The post is titled "Why Being a Cinephile Matters", and it discusses the importance of cinephilia and blogging in the context of the current movie scene. This was a refreshing thing to see first thing in the morning, as most discourse surrounding movie bloggers tends to involve disparaging of them. Mere "hobbyists" who are stealing thunder from the oh-so-mighty and essential canonized crew of "professionals". The evolution of blogging is a perfectly natural evolution of the mass-communication of the internet and traditional film criticism.

Though if there's one thing I despise it's the 'one or the other' mentality with respect to the print criticism/blogging dichotomy. Blogging, to me, is a natural extension of the art of criticism; and the two certainly need not be mutually exclusive. Look at people whom I would consider Teachers to us all on the way this exciting new technology should be harnessed; David Bordwell, Matt Zoller Seitz, Jim Emerson--- these critics/bloggers have shown us the way digital technology can be harnessed in order to approach a greater sense of objectivity in criticism. They've used frame-grabs and videos to, what I feel, is a revolutionary effect: to back up their critiques with actual evidence. No longer are you left scratching your head at what may seem like baseless observations--- it's right there, in the movie, and this allows for a more detailed illustration of the criticism itself. Film is a visual form. Criticism is a literary form. The two are only compatible to a certain extent.

And this move towards a larger sense of objectivity is perhaps the most important thing about blogging to me. Blogging has torn down the notion of a 'consensus' surrounding films. With more voices out there, film criticism is not as black and white as it used to be. Which isn't to say that there isn't a uniformity to a certain extent--- but you're more likely to find dissenting or niche views on the internet than you are in the mainstream press. In an age where so many print critics pander to audiences and regurgitate ad copy, the blogsosphere is a place where anyone can put their voice out there and be heard. And the sheer volume of voices indicates that movies do indeed matter to a great many people. If a movie doesn't have discourse surrounding it, the film dies. Bloggers help keep the spirit of cinema alive.

There are a great many lessons to be learned from the blogosphere. Here are some of my most valued:

* Spielberg isn't exactly hated, but I still like him proportionally more than most.

* You're allowed to make a case for Hollywood and genre. You don't get voted off the island for making a case that Rio Bravo is as good a movie as The Seventh Seal.

* Ebert is a better blogger than critic.

* Comments don't necessarily need to have anything to do with the topic discussed in the post. There is no such thing as a non-sequitir.

* Speaking of non-sequitirs: waffles.

* That Jonathan Lapper dude is really named Greg.

* It's pretty commonly accepted that Verhoeven is totally boss.

* Opinions come in many shapes and sizes.

* The Siren is a class-act through and through.

* Sometimes, one of the net's most eloquent bloggers will inexplicably join your blog when you don't have a single reader.

* Maybe Lars von Trier isn't so bad after all.

* People actually like Marnie.

* Saying you like Mission to Mars will still get you into trouble.

* In fact, you still kinda get weird looks for liking De Palma.

* No, actually, there's no performer too obscure.

* Girls blog about movies, too.

* They will never, ever let me play "Name that Movie".

* Bill R. will fucking kill your ass.

* Just be yourself, engage with others, and you will make friends. Thanks to all my blogger posse, you guys and gals are what make it fun.

*There's so many movies in this world worth seeing. It's a banquet that can never, ever be depleted. And every time you think you're a littler closer to having it all figured out, the well grows even deeper. It's truly humbling.

And there's my 20. I even managed to avoid being sappy right up until the very end there.

Th-th-th-th-th-th-th-that's all folks.

Characters with Character

Oh dear. I've been tagged, it seems. An internet meme (some would say plague, but not I...) has been taking over the world of blogger, and that meme involves bloggers listing their 'favorite' movie characters. Greg over at Cinema Styles has tagged me so, if you find this painful, go over there and yell at him. Seriously, you have my blessing.

Characters are our emotional gateway into the themes a movie presents, so it's natural that there would be some who would strike a deep personal chord with us. We see something of ourselves in them, like a mirror in motion. I'm not going to pretend that this list represents my unequivocal favorites, but today, this is what feels right. So here ya go, in chronological order:

Emil Jannings as Hotelportier, The Last Laugh (1924, F.W. Murnau)

It's hard not to love a character who gets the last laugh, who rises out of the muck to join the prestigious ranks of the upper class, by sheer chance. The legend is that they forced Murnau to change the ending from what it originally was, which had the Hotelportier dying in the same washroom he was once the attendant of. Personally, I love the film, 'compromised' ending and all, and its delicious irony is part of the joy of it. The title The Last Laugh would be kinda irrelevant without that final scene, honestly.

Jacques Tati as Hulot

(Mr. Hulot's Holiday (1953), Mon Oncle (1958), Playtime (1967) & Trafic (1971), Jacques Tati)

Again, it's hard not to love Hulot. He's a bumbling, clumsy, accident proned observer of all of humanity's foibles. While the silent comedies from which Tati was inspired derived their laughs from the characters getting annoyed at the main character, Hulot never seems to inspire anger or outrage, no matter how badly he screws a situation up (though, in Mr. Hulot's Holiday, it seems that the characters are oblivious to the fact that he's the one who causes the mayhem). But the fact that he's funny is not why I love Hulot so much (though that's certainly part of it); it's because he is one of humanity's sharpest observers, always lurking in the background, observing us with an eye that is simultaneously loving, critical, and benevolent.

James Stewart as John 'Scottie' Feguson, Vertigo (1958, Alfred Hitchcock)

One of cinema's great tragic figures, Scottie Ferguson becomes enveloped by love that evolves (or regresses) into obsession. While most of us have never been pushed to the ends that Scottie finally is in the film's heartbreaking, soul-crushing final scene, I think most of us can still identify with not being able to get a person out of your head, no matter how hard you try. You see the person everywhere because they have, in effect, become part of you. His monologue to Kim Novak's character at the end is one of the most intense moments I've ever seen in any film--- his anger, heartbreak, and righteous indignation are all there for the audience to see. When she takes the final plunge, and the mystery woman is out of his life forever, he finds himself right back to where he started. As though she was never even there.

Frank Sinatra as Dave Hirsh in Some Came Running (1958, Vincente Minnelli)

Another tragic figure, this time played by ol' blue eyes in Vincente Minnelli's masterpiece-of-masterpieces, Some Came Running. I love this character because of the way his past literally explodes in his face, and he needs to come to terms with the friends and family he wronged before abandoing them. Along the way he gets mixed up with something of a bad crowd. It's an old and familiar story, but I don't think it's ever unfolded quite like it does in Minnelli's film. Also, here Sinatra plays against his friend, Dean Martin, in some of the finest acted scenes I've ever seen.

Jean-Pierre Leaud as Antoine Doinel

(The 400 Blows (1959), Antoine et Collette (1962) , Stolen Kisses (1968), Bed & Board (1970), Love on the Run (1979), Francois Truffaut)

Watching Antoine Doinel grow from petulant, misunderstood child to petulant, misunderstood young adult to somewhat petulant husband is one of the great joys film has to offer. Brought to life by French New-Wave icon Jean-Pierrre Leaud, the odyssey of Antoine Doinel is just about as enjoyable as it gets. But, like everyone else, it's the image of the directionless young boy alone on a beach that sticks with me to this day. I think we've all been there.

Jean-Paul Belomondo as Pierrot in Pierrot le Fou (1965, Jean-Luc Godard)

Poor Pierrot. As you can see, by the end of his story he gets himself into something of a desperate situation, painting his face a hideous shade of blue and preparing himself to strap dynamite around his cranium. But, can you really blame the guy? He lives a boring, tranquil life with bratty, aggravating children. But he's invited to start a life of crime with the irresistible Anna Karina, and that's when the self-fulfilling Bonnie & Clyde prophecy begins to pan itself out. He and Karina are really just playing out roles they'd seen in dozens of American pictures (notably Nick Ray's They Live By Night). From the moment the journey began, it had to end with Pierrot blowing himself to kingdom come. It just couldn't have gone any other way.

Douglas Rain as HAL 9000 in 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968, Stanley Kubrick)

This will probably sound strange, but has there ever been a more human character in films than the immortal HAL 9000? Obviously, he's simply a high-functioning computer, but more profound questions on the nature of humanity have never been raised. The human beings we see in this film are more or less mechanical beings, relying on their technology to do their bidding. But HAL has a soul. He remembers his childhood. He remembers his first teacher. He knows all the words to "A Bicycle Built for Two". The scene where Dave removes his memory is one of the most heartbreaking moments in all of cinema. If humanity is indeed defined by our memories, both individual and collective, then HAL is about as human as they come.

William Finley as Winslow Leach/The Phantom in The Phantom of the Paradise
(1974, Brian De Palma)

A tragic self-fulfilling prophecy, Winslow Leach was just asking for trouble giving his cantata to the insidious Mr. Swan. He'd poured his heart and soul into a full rock-opera version of Faust that he handed over to the record producer Swan in hopes of notoriety, but Swan simply stole the sound and trashed it up and dumbed it down for mainstream consumption (without giving Winslow credit, no less). De Palma's film is one of the most critical takes on what industry does to art, the fundamental differences between the two enterprises; and the character of Winslow Leach is the ultimate sap who gets his life-worked scorned in the name of mainstream pap. It's like the lyrics to the Billy Joel song "The Entertainer"; You've heard my latest record/It's been on the radio/Ah, it took me years to write it/They were the best years of my life/It was a beautiful song/But it ran too long/If you're gonna have a hit/You gotta make it fit/So they cut it down to 3:05. Eventually, Winslow sets himself and everyone else free of Swan, but only by sacrificing himself. I find his death scene deeply moving, even in the context of this kind of goofy post-modern mash-up.

Woody Allen as Harry Block in Deconstructing Harry (1997, Woody Allen)

I probably could have littered this list with Woody Allen characters, but I settled on Harry Block because of the way he channels his life into his work. As Woody Allen says in the film, his character can't function in life, but in art. It's a more hard edged version of my favorite Francois Truffaut quote, "I have always preferred the reflection of life to life itself,". But Woody Allen's film is also about the wall that must be put up between the artist and humanity, in order to effectively capture it. Deconstructing Harry is as profound a rumination on the relationship between art and the artist as Fellini's 8 1/2, and with Woody's trademarked wit. Oh, and it's one of the most deliciously vulgar movies I've ever seen, with profanity elevated to poetry.

Jeff Bridges as the Dude in The Big Lebowski (1998, The Coen Brothers)

Sometimes....there's a man. And that man is The Dude. I know it's something of an obvious choice, and picking him makes me your typical 20-something-stoner-slacker, but that doesn't mean that I don't attempt to embody The Dude's spirit. Jeff Bridges really brings what could have been a cardboard cut-out character to life, and gives him a personality. Not to mention, he has a killer fashion sense.

Jude Law as Gigolo Joe in A.I. (2001, Steven Spielberg)

If anyone ever abandons me in the woods, I sincerely hope I run into a Gigolo Joe. He's just a class act, and he's a lady-killer if ever there was one. Not to mention, his head seems to be a juke-box which plays very romantic old-standards, which helps liven up the mood. I really want one of those. While it is indeed a fantastic character, it's Jude Law's performance that makes the character unforgettable; he carries himself with all the grace of a classic Hollywood icon, and he is consistently a joy to watch. A huge smile just envelops my face whenever he's on screen.

Bill Murray as Steve Zissou in The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou
(2004, Wes Anderson)

Sometimes you see elements of yourself in a character. Sometimes, you almost feel like the person on the screen is you. And, sometimes, you see yourself and your parent in a character or characters, and in this case it's myself and my father. Steve Zissou being a man simultaneously in awe of the beauty of the world and embittered by his life experience is something I see very much in my father. And the way he gets re-acquainted with a child he'd never known only to have to say goodbye again so soon feels like it was almost transposed from my life, though in my case there wasn't death involved. As for his propensity for marijuana, alcohol, and films...well, yeah, that's me. There are also touches of Werner Herzog in Steve Zissou, his insatiable desire to go out, make films, in spite of the fact that common sense dictates that you should stop. But, as they say, 'this is an adventure'.

Sally Hawkins as Poppy in Happy Go Lucky (2008, Mike Leigh)

Shit, I realize at the end of this post: no women. While Sally Hawkins in last year's Happy-Go-Lucky doesn't necessarily embody strong feminist values, her attitude towards life is one I aspire to have, though in not quite such an outward way as she does it. Being 'happy' isn't something that just happens, it's a moment-to-moment attitude that you either embody or don't. Poppy doesn't let anything or anyone get her down, instead relating to the world in her own bubbly, humorous way. But by the end, she realizes the effect she has on people (both positive and negative) and the consequences of her actions and the actions of others. Poppy is made immortal by a fantastic performance from Sally Hawkins, who is a joy to watch in one of the best films of last year.

So, that's 13, but I don't feel like taking anyone off the list, so you're just gonna have to deal with it. I live by my own rules.

I tag Rob, Keith, Ali, Ted, & Jim. Not that any of you actually look at my blog, but if you did, you'd be tagged.