QT loves to challenge the established boundaries of film-making, so it should come as no surprise that IB is, well, surprising. It’s surprising on multiple levels; on the bludgeoningly obvious, typically Tarantino-esque level, such as when he points out Nazi party luminaries with scrawled annotations, or interrupts the story proper for a documentary-style aside on the flammability of nitrate film; but surprising also on underlying storytelling levels, such as the inversion of the damsel-in-distress archetype or the abandonment of the hero-as-event-motivator cliché. What’s left is a bit of a mess, but a completely winning, expertly put-together mess that does nothing to dim Tarantino’s star as one of the great living directors.

I walked into Inglourious Basterds fully expecting a Western set in Nazi-occupied France, and perhaps for a day or two Tarantino had the same goal in mind. Certainly the film opens with a strong Western feel, from the Ennio Morricone strains to the opening confrontation that smacks of Sergio Leone. Inglourious Basterds, I knew, was about a troupe of eight soldiers – let’s call them gunslingers – that parachute behind enemy lines to terrorize, pillage, and generally give the Nazis something to think about.

But the opening Western feel is rather quickly shelved, and to my amazement Inglorious Basterds becomes less and less about the Inglourious Basterds and more about their adversaries and the film’s ostensible MacGuffin, the French cinematiste Emmanuelle Mimieux. The Basterds are each given a fairly equal share of screentime, and so are relatively dilluted characters compared to the larger-than-life villain (Colonel Hans Landa) and the doted-upon Mimieux, the latter being a damsel-in-distress that is not only capable but also much more interesting and relevant than the role typically demands. In contrast the supposed heroes feel more incidental to the events and rather large cast. Even Brad Pitt’s Lieutenant Aldo finds himself in few scenes of consequence and none of drama. His Marlon Brando-channeling performance is played up more for comedic effect than anything else, and one is tempted to say his chief purpose in the film is to let us see Brad Pitt play a southerner.

But make no mistake, there are scenes of genuine drama, which Tarantino assembles in a way that few have achieved. The excellent opening scene is merely a warm-up for what might be the film’s centerpiece, an intense, extended joust between three of the Basterds, a Nazi collaborator, and an SS major. This scene is completely absorbing from start to finish. Tarantino trusts his dialogue enough to let it completely drive the tension, and the result is nothing short of phenomenal. A scene involving the heroine, villain, and additional foils is equally tense.

The ending brings more surprises, which I cannot fully discuss without a big, fat SPOILER warning. Firstly, Tarantino decides to liberally rewrite history, which bothers me slightly from some kind of purist perspective…it’s a bit of a cheat, but ultimately can be lived with. More interestingly, Tarantino resolves his rather complex plot threads in part by making the villain a cheerful defector. I must question this decision somewhat. It sidesteps the traditional climax of pitting good versus evil in a way that recalls 2007′s No Country For Old Men. To my mind it’s a less-effective catharsis that also undermines prior events: the villain isn’t as unambiguously detestable and the uncertainty of the heroes’ success is marginalized. The novelty of such a decision, I believe, comes at too great a sacrifice of the overall dramatic impact.

*** end spoiler ***

Style: 8
I found the stylistic decisions to be less effective than those in, say, Kill Bill, but I think there is little doubt that Tarantino is still at his peak. His oftentimes sledgehammer approach works to both ends, with some adding to the tension and others more disarming the audience for the sake of disarming the audience. I do not doubt that I missed some subtleties with my first and only viewing.

Substance: 9
Relentlessly absorbing, cruelly nihilistic, simultaneously bewilderingly surreal and intensely real – Inglourious Basterds is definitely a ride. The dialogue is great, and a few of the characters are very memorable. Tarantino struggled with the ending and I think it shows, but it’s of small concern next to the towering heights of drama and presence that he achieves.

Overall: 9
Add it all up and it’s a film that’s uneven at points but brilliantly so. The tone of surreal nihilism, the muddled ineffectuality of human affairs, is consistent with Tarantino’s previous works; a potential deeper meaning, if you’d like, is a subtle critique of U.S. American culture, as the film portrays the Americans as irrelevant, uncultured, and inflexible. I suspect that I will find more to this film over time, and that there are layers to be exposed, but its immediate impact is undeniable.

Sweet seats.

Some tool getting in the way of the view.

Cousin Rob made it all happen. This is like a normal day at the ballpark for him.

All those ‘roids have given Papi a bad case of blurriness.

A highlight of the evening was watching my favorite player, Dustin Pedroia, jack a two run homer in the first. Home runs look particularly impressive this close to the plate.

The first question I must ask in reviewing Watchmen is sort of an age-old question in the arts: how much credit do you give for something that relies on a previous version? Watchmen was supposedly based on some comic book (or something), so the creative heavy lifting had already been done by the time the movie version rolled around. That’s not to say important artistic decisions weren’t made for the movie, but it is, essentially, a “cover version” of the original. My approach is to frame the review around the quality of the interpretation.

If nothing else, Watchmen is very, very faithful to the comic book. There are some liberties taken with the action, a few lines transposed here and there, and a reworking of the ending, but much of the film directly follows the imagery and flow of the book. I give Watchmen credit for sticking to the source material (apparently not always as obvious a decision as it seems), and a little bit of extra credit for the generally good creative liberties taken.

In that regard, for starters, I think the movie is very kinetic and well-paced. A great many scenes are sped up or slowed way down, decisions that work and keep things creative and interesting. I also liked the aggressive lighting effects that used in some shots that, for lack of a better way to put it, made things feel more like a comic book. This is most noticeable (along with the interesting pacing) in the fantastic opening sequence, set to Bob Dylan’s The Times They Are A-Changin’. This is perhaps the nicest credit sequence I’ve seen, with a very interesting look, an excellent song choice (also referenced in the book), and a great introduction to Moore’s universe.

The movie opens with one of its brisk, exciting action sequences – sue me, but the Matrix-style combat still has not gotten old. The action also does a good job of establishing the superheroes as individuals to be feared, even if that benefit comes at the expense of realism (seriously, how many punches to the face can a guy take?) The casting is generally solid. Jackie Earle Haley makes for a fantastic Rorschach and Patrick Wilson looks remarkably like the Nite Owl. Dr. Manhattan was a little too distant for my tastes; his line about there being no structural difference between living and dead bodies always seemed too grossly insensitive to be consistent with the character, even in the book, and in the movie he actually uses the line on live TV (which seems just inconceivable to me – he’s not THAT out of touch). I also found it a little odd that Dr. Manhattan actually glows. I guess it works ok, but…that just didn’t occur to me.

It was pointed out in another review that Matthew Goode’s Ozymandias was one of the weaker casting calls, and on a second viewing I found myself agreeing. He’s not particularly subtle as the movie’s heavy and at the same time does not really channel the character as well as I’d have liked. Weaker decisions are also noticeable in the soundtrack, where the many instantly-recognizable songs tend to pull you out of the film (where they didn’t seem simply inappropriate to begin with). Some have critiqued the modified ending, but I actually think it works pretty well. It’s believable enough and avoids the complexities of a CGI squid (a word which actually appears on one of Veidt’s control panels).

Style: 9
I loved the action, I liked a lot of the camera work (just check out the dynamics of the shot where Veidt takes out his assassin – whabam!) Interesting lighting effects and rapid shifts in pacing keep the eye intrigued.

Substance: 7
It’s the greatest comic book ever written in part due to a fantastic cast of characters, most of which are represented very effectively here. Ozymandias IS the weakest link. Some of the line transpositions bothered me a bit, but that’s really a nitpick to a nitpick.

Overall: 8
Overall I thought this was a very strong interpretation of Moore’s original work. It could be improved by degrees with less of a sledgehammer soundtrack and a couple better decisions here or there. But overall I’d like to think Alan Moore could walk out of the theater with a little less British/artistic angst than usual and a few buckets of popcorn resting happily in his belly.

I believe film is fundamentally a storytelling art, and that good books often make the best movies. Consider Ben-Hur, Gone With the Wind, the Shawshank Redemption, the Godfather, and the Fellowship of the Ring, to name a few. The Half-Blood Prince is my favorite Harry Potter book for its grippingly dark chapters, the ongoing mystery of the Prince, and some excellent Hogwarts asides. Happily, this all translated very well into what I believe is the best Potter movie to date.

This is contrary to a lot of movie critics, but then I am somewhat unusual in that my respect for the Potter movies has increased rather than decreased with each installment. While many cite the declining sense of wonder of the franchise, I always felt the early Potter movies were too unfocused, a melee of special effects that (perhaps inevitably) felt more wondrous on page than on screen. I also have a tough time with raw actors, and indeed some of the weaker moments in Prince are due to Frank Dillane’s overacted Tom Riddle.

But the central cast is older now, with their craft better honed and the storylines more mature. The romance between Ron and Hermoine comes off a little awkwardly, as I thought it did in the novels, but it provides some nice moments between the three friends (happy is the story that trusts its characters to play off each other). The movie benefits from the familiarity we have with the troika and their real-life counterparts, and there are scenes where I was struck by how enduring Rowling’s creations really are.

A few strong story threads prop up Prince throughout. I might quibble that some moments and moods did not translate perfectly from the book, but this is still the emotional apex of the series. The journey into the seaside cave is nearly as powerful as the written version, while the final scenes have a desperate quality heightened by the consistently moody cinematography. There are times when the movie overreaches a little – I could have probably done without the wand-lifting scene after an otherwise powerful moment – but overall, this is a movie that moves well and looks nice.

Style: 8
I was surprised by how much I liked the look of this film. Yates imbues the landscape with towering clouds and twists of black lightning that befit Voldemort’s ascension. Wide shots frequently convey the scope and grandeur of the Hogwart’s grounds, and the Quidditch sequences seemed tighter than ever. Though there is less overall eye candy than in the earlier movies, on a macro level I think Prince is more visually accomplished.

Substance: 7
There are some lovely moments between the three central characters as they confront the complexities of growing older. The storyline is more urgent than that of previous installments, culminating in a couple excellent scenes. Between Ralph Fiennes and now Hero Fiennes-Tiffin and Frank Dillane, the series just can’t seem to get Voldemort right.

Overall: 7
Like all of the Harry Potter movies, the Half-Blood Prince sometimes wanders towards melodrama. But more frequently it is beautifully executed and quite memorable. It benefits from the strength of Rowling’s plot and the maturation of its principals, ultimately resulting in the most engaging Harry Potter to date.

Objectivizing taste remains sort of a pet philosophical quandary for me. I do not have a strongly analytical or artistic mind, so my left and right brains tend to have at it each other, Black Knight from Monty Python-style. The notion that taste, traditionally a purely subjective concept, can be given a more rational framework is one lovechild from this unholy mental union. Though it may be the result of two orthogonal entities warring against each other, I think it has a certain rational basis.

Consider – there is a shared realm of psychology that we all might agree to call “sanity.” Because of our psychological gestalts, there is a fundamental sharing of value. These values are not only based on the basic psychological constructs we use to understand our universe, but the physical limitations of our bodies. High C may be such a powerful note, for example, because of its similarity to the human cry.

If the “value” or impact of notes can be reduced to a common currency, so too could more complex melodies. In the previous entry, I suggested there are many musical progressions that follow similar patterns, and propose classifying them to understand them. Good music is, for lack of a better way to put it, a “good pattern” – a structure from which the ear can discern regularity and extrapolate meaning. There is probably some kind of consistency between the feelings experienced and the mathematical relationship of the notes.

This all sounds pretty good (to me, right now, anyway), but if the fundamental premise holds true, how could we begin to assign objective value to, say, a song? After all, the human mind is fickle, especially when it comes to matters of opinion. I think at least two basic principles would be fundamental towards achieving this goal:

1) It’s my belief that there is an absolute way to define taste for any individual. By exposing the individual to enough forms of art enough times, the person would gradually converge on his/her absolute taste preferences (ATP?) The purpose of exposing the person to enough forms of art enough times would be to eliminate arbitrary opinions due to limited exposure of particular styles (or, conversely, excessive familiarity with preferred styles). From a practical standpoint, I think many people (myself included) would find their tastes in music shift radically if they were exposed to a lot more of it. By adjusting for individual experiences, we could approach that true base level.

2) In forming value judgments, the mind does not effectively juggle many ideas simultaneously. If a person is asked to listen to 50 songs and then rank them from most to least favorite, inevitable “mistakes” will be made. The person might feel quite strongly that the #5 ranked song is better than the #6 ranked song, and the #6 is better than the #7, but believe the #7 is better than the #5. Thus, in determining artistic value, a bubble sort technique could be used. This way the person would be asked to judge two items side by side, reducing the chance of overall inconsistency. (I believe this technique is already used in psychology under a different name, but since I’m a computer scientist I think of it as bubble sorting.)

By following these two principles, I think we could begin to understand an individual’s true level of artistic taste, eliminating some of the arbitrary complexities imposed by the human brain. At that point we could begin to sift for consistencies and underlying patterns, and understand taste in a more analytical form. We could even start to apply economic concepts to the results: for instance, I’d suggest artistic value could be “discounted” to bring them on level with the current artistic environment, adjusting for the impacts of innovation on overall quality.

All this may not sound very fun, but besides reductionism for the sake of reductionism, I believe there is a lot to be gained by understanding art on a more objective basis. The arts have a way of continually reinventing themselves, even when it seems “it’s all been done;” what better way to push forward than through the fundamentally human need to understand things better?

Star Trek (2009) is a bit of a poster child for movies that “I don’t get.” It’s not that the plot was confusing or anything, but rather the average movie-goer’s reaction. I was in London when Trek came out, and the Tube was littered with posters proclaiming a litany of praise for the film: “Four stars!” “Summer movie of the year!” “Best Trek movie ever!” And so on. The poster was literally covered with 20 quotes like this. Now I think this exuberance is reflective of an average movie-goer’s opinion of this film, as well as a great many Star Trek fans. My disconnect with the world might be best summarized thusly:

“What movie were you watching?”

I know, I know, I’m a curmudgeon before my own time. But help me understand by what rubric people were giving this movie such high praise. Is it because the special effects are so spot on? Or the cast so winning? Because it certainly does have a fine look and a winning cast. But surely, surely these viewers were not heaping the praise on the movie’s plot, or writing? Were they?

To me, Star Trek was an average summer film. It got some superficial things right. It didn’t particularly shine in the action department, but then we do not expect Star Trek to. The deeper problem is that it was boring. It did not reinvent the characters like, say, a Batman Begins (and I’m not even the biggest fan of that movie). That’s a problem, because we already know all these characters. It revisits them not for their own sakes, but perfunctorily. Kirk is a renegade because we see him in a clichéd scene in which he recklessly exceeds the speed limit as a kid (at a rather unbelievable age, I might add). This is followed up by your garden variety bar fight scene. Spock is an outsider because we see him in a clichéd scene in which kids pick on him in school. The rest of the film does not venture beyond even these cursory character outlines. It establishes the broadest sort of characterization for the rest of the cast (Uhura is a workaholic, Scotty a smartass, Bones a cynic). It does not allow them to reflect and interact, perhaps because there is a quota for spaceship battles in the runtime.

Lacking any sort of meaningful conversation, there is a lot of fluff in this film. What is the point of watching Scotty getting stuck in a tube for five minutes? Is this supposed to be funny? It’s a joke that went whizzing over my head like a full torpedo spread. What’s the point of his alien sidekick? Or of (spoiler, I guess) the awkward relationship between Uhura and Spock? The starship battles look pretty enough (I actually really liked the look of the ships), but they are so one-sided they are not remotely dramatic. Similarly, Kirk is chased by a giant snow beast only because we expect such things in a Star Trek film, not for dramatic purposes. At least when it happens in The Empire Strikes Back we get to see Luke use the force.

The writing is generally weak. The main villain is exactly like every other Star Trek movie villain, only less so. There is amazingly little time spent on his motivation. He does not feel threatening (even though he has one bad-ass mining ship) because as a character he is so laughably sketched out. He could have been summarized with the opening line: “Uhh, I’m from the future, and I’ve got like this blue-collar/Romulan angst, so fuck you all.” Do not even get me started on the deus ex machina laziness of assembling the Enterprise crew due to the convenient deaths or resignations of senior officers.

Style: 7
Great looking film, fine cast (though, when was the last time they got the casting wrong in a reboot/adaptation? It’s getting more and more uncommon.) Leonard Nemoy was perfectly cast for the role of “old Spock.”

Substance: 4
The jokes fall flat, and the plot is so classic Trek that there is nothing interesting or new about it. Innovate, please.

Overall: 5
Star Trek was an average movie at best. One of the rebuttals I’ve heard is that the movie effectively set up the alternate universe and thus the sequels. This is true. But couldn’t it have accomplished the same thing in a better movie? Doesn’t the mere existence of a Star Trek reboot, y’know, reboot the franchise? I don’t get why you wouldn’t demand more.

Since this site is transitioning more towards a hybrid movie-music review site, and since I have (temporarily) cancelled my Netflix, which was only delivering old movies that few people cared about anyway…well, to hedge my bets a little, I added a top 100 albums list to proclaim the site’s move towards artistic diversification. I promise top 100 paintings and breakfast cereals are not going to follow. (P.S. – School of Athens and Raisin Nut Bran.)

Now I’m not going to say I’m (along with Nineflick) back, per se.  Because I just don’t trust myself enough. But ye should not take this post as a sign that I am not back.  And I do have a couple current movies that I think will be a lot of fun to review, so stay tuned. Sorta.

Marquee Moon by the New York-based Television is perhaps the best of these under-appreciated classics, and one with a genuinely strong set from top to bottom. Though associated with the early American punk scene, Television leveraged a more intricate song structure, and prog rock qualities like longer songs and otherworldly lyrics. Perhaps that combination makes them post punk; they were definitely more post than non-post, at least on Marquee Moon.

The album kicks off with See No Evil, a perfect introduction to the band’s dueling guitar work. Right away you can appreciate the layered riffs and aggressive tempo changes that make this album such an interesting listen. See No Evil is probably the most straightforward listen on the album, although lyrically it’s just as inscrutable as the rest. There are several interpretations of this album’s lyrics on the internet, so I find it hard to make a definitive comment on their quality; with the exception of the title track and perhaps the last song, I find them generally more baffling than effective. See No Evil, for example, talks about flying fountains and jumping mountains. It’s all generally upbeat imagery, so I guess it works with the music.

The album’s second track, Venus (de Milo), is a standout. It features a constantly evolving guitar part, starting with an urgent, marching sound that transforms into a triumphant rising and falling melody. Venus continues the album’s tendency to eschew traditional structure, and lacks any readily identifiable chorus – the changing guitar sound drives the song. Lyrically, the song talks about falling into the arms of a famously armless statue, which is at least somewhat interesting. However there are goofy lyrics as well, including something about dressing as cops. Have fun with that.

Tracks three, six, and seven are all associated in my mind as the most traditional songs on the album. Track three, Friction, is a fun song with a unique falling guitar hook and a big chorus. Track six, Guiding Light, is the album’s most gentle cut, built around a simple six note progression and a piano-backed chorus. Track seven, Prove It, was dubiously released as one of the album’s singles. Though its clockwork guitar hook is solid, an anticlimactic chorus and typically indecipherable narrative did this song, or the band’s popularity, no favors. It should be noted that despite not being one of the album’s strongest cuts, Prove It is still quite listenable.

Tracks four, five, and eight all share psychedelic qualities. Track four is the titular track and probably the album’s best. It features some strong imagery centered around death – “I remember when the darkness doubled…I recall lightning struck itself.” But once again it is the guitar work that makes this such a remarkable piece, all 10 minutes of it. Like Venus, Marquee Moon starts with an urgent strum that blends effortlessly into a transcendent feel. Its unique and epic sound has quickly made it into one of my all-time favorites. Track five is Elevation, which, like Prove It, features a disappointing chorus; it is however buttressed by an otherwise excellent, dreamy sound (as in the breezy line “I sleep light / on these shores tonight”). The final track is Torn Curtain, which has a plodding somber tone and the vague menace of disturbing revelations. It’s an appropriate closer and a fine example of prog rock.

Taken altogether, I’d suggest that Marquee Moon is the definitive underrated album. Though its popularity has grown with time, it still seems to fall short of the extremely high praise it deserves. Highly listenable and with novel, intelligent song structure, it’s an album I’d recommend to anybody.

Roger Ebert, my favorite critic and yours, somewhat infamously remarked a couple years ago that video games could not be art. He later backpedaled a bit, refining his viewpoint to state that video games could not be “high” art.

There are about a million different directions in which I could go with this topic – the definition of art, the definition of “high” art, or plunging down the rabbit hole of blogs and internet postings that dissect both sides of the argument. Let me sidestep some of this with a link in which the topic is handled very adroitly by Tim Maly of Toronto. He writes to Ebert:

Thank you for jump-starting a discussion about the relative artistic and critical merit of video games as compared to film and books. I do take issue when you argue that video games can never have the merit of a great film or novel. You say: “There is a structural reason for that: Video games by their nature require player choices, which is the opposite of the strategy of serious film and literature, which requires authorial control.”

Where you see a flaw, I see promise. Arguing that games are inherently inferior because books and movies are better at telling stories and leading us through an author-driven experience is begging the question. It’s like saying that photography is better than painting because photos make more accurate visual records.

(snip)

Many people would agree with you that there aren’t yet any games that rival the best films or books that you care to list. Game makers are only just beginning to understand that games are not films/books with action sequences. I think that you’ll see that the more we work that out, the more we will find ways of creating meaningful artistic works that are unlike anything anyone’s seen before.

Bonus points to Tim for the correct use of the term “begging the question.”

I agree with Tim (and to an extent, Ebert) in that while elements of video games are art, the genre has by and large not gotten to the level of, say, film. I think video games are best classified as a skill or leisure activity. Yet as Tim argues, gaming is not inherently disbarred from attaining the level of art, which I would define as something that makes a statement, or is designed to be interpreted or provoke thought. The gaming industry may be on the cusp of that hallowed level, and I submit that Grand Theft Auto IV may be one of the first examples.

To the few people reading this that are not familiar with the Grand Theft Auto (GTA) series, you take control of a thug that pulls off various heists. As the game progresses the character becomes more and more involved in the criminal underworld of the game’s setting, a fictitious version of New York City. The easily-offended might emphasize the game’s crudeness or apparent insensitivity, but keener minds will emphasize the impressive scope and vision of the game. More than any other game I’ve played, GTA IV achieves two things: a terrific sense of comedy (ironic, considering the central storyline is a tragedy), and a merciless parody of U.S. culture. It is the latter that I think bears close attention, and may herald the beginning of a new art form in the coming years.

Simply put, no other game I have played has made such an articulate and effective statement about something relevant. Grand Theft Auto satirizes almost everything you could think of in American culture, including, but not limited to: the country’s obsession with wealth, the disgusting ubiquity of fast food (in the game you can buy a 6 lb. burger called The Heartstopper), the broken aspects of our political system, the rampant use of drugs to medicate away problems, and the American superiority complex. Perhaps these are all easy jabs in the abstract, but they are handled with a relentless satirical bite that Voltaire would have been proud of. The satire comes in the form of TV shows, radio stations, internet sites, billboards and advertisements, and the city’s inhabitants. You are literally immersed in an environment of pure satire.

To me, the most affecting aspect of GTA IV comes in the form of the people you encounter around the city. Everyone is in a rush to get somewhere. If you get in their way, they’ll call you an asshole and maybe look to pick a fight. This too is satire, poking fun at New York’s ultra-urban environment, but one that somehow struck a little closer to home. It shows how sad and mean-spirited this culture can be; it showcases our cultural lack of empathy.

And there it is, right there – GTA IV is perhaps the first video game that actually made me reflect. It reminded me how pathetic it is to be rushing around everywhere, proverbially pushing people out of your way as so many of us do. And the way in which game developer Rockstar delivers this message is so subtle and well-conceived that the game attains qualities of a work of art.

Other fans of the game might also cite the game’s relatively engaging storyline, which also contains a message. Though I would not want to detract from GTA’s story – which for a video game is quite good – it falls short in the broader storytelling medium. For one, the moral of this story has been delivered more effectively in film and other outlets, partially because GTA IV does not find a consistent tone (as alluded to above, the elements of tragedy are undercut by many lighthearted moments). GTA IV’s story is fine, but it is not genre-transcending. I believe its environment and satire is.

Grand Theft Auto IV has been an all-around phenomenon, setting various video game sales records and getting universally rave reviews by the media. But for all that, I think gamers might not realize exactly what this game represents. Placed in the context of history, it may be seen as something more: one of the first video games to show the world how subtly powerful – and yes, artistic – the medium can be.

As I finally complete the “B’s” of Roger Ebert’s Great Movies list, it occurs to me that I need to focus more on modern movies (preferrably films opening in the theater) to keep things interesting and relevant.  So hopefully over the the holidays I’ll be able to get outdoors a little bit and actually watch some contemporary movies. My Netflix queue is still mostly devoted to the Great Movies, with “C” being a surprisingly short buffet.  Hey, maybe I’ll get through this list after all.

Keep in mind, I’m happy to review any movie you name. Just allow 1-2 weeks for shipping and handling.

Thanks for reading!