At the movies: The Nice Guys.

"How do you like my car, big boy?"

A Talk with Jamie Bradshaw.

So, a High School friend of mine has a major motion picture opening this weekend. This is awesome on a lot of levels. We talked about Branded, his feature debut, and some mildly philosophical aspects of the current cinematic experience. I hope you enjoy reading it...

At the movies: Kaboom.

The more I think about Gregg Araki's latest film, the more I love it. I've seen it three times now, and its genial awesomeness grows exponentially. It's very Nowhere, but with a great deal more positive sex vibes (which is something that the world desperately needs). If I said this was like the sex-hippie version of Demonlover, would that make you want to go?

Some terrifying shit for your mind.

The continued rise of High Fructose Corn Syrup. The vanishing scores of bees.

Turns out, it's all connected. I can't say I'm surprised. And this also confirms a lot of suspicions I've had about cold drinks once they've lost that coldness.

At the movies: Burn After Reading.

It's no Lebowski, but it's a vicious little gem that has a remarkably consistent fake-out tone; a deadpan farce shot and scored like a tragic thriller. The pleasures are in Richard Jenkins' brokedown dog of a performance, the way John Malkovich wraps his remarkable face around the script's baroque profanities, Brad Pitt's numbnuts enthusiasm and personal trainer pep (he's certainly hearkening back to the Johnny Suede days here), and J.K. Simmons' pitch black-humored CIA chief.

The plot is a typical conspiracy yarn, but nobody's working with a complete sense of the big picture. There's a very real sense of melancholy to the proceedings, because nobody actually ends up being as important as they think they are, and that realization drives quite a few reveals that linger, like the film's more baroquely violent tendencies.

And oh, sleazy, sleazy George Clooney. He's doing something very interesting here, an emotionally complex and vain hedonist who nonetheless has a way of sneaking up on you as a viewer and stealing your sympathy in spite of one's better judgment.

I wish there'd been more for Tilda Swinton to do, but the entire enterprise is such a concise and vicious jewel of a film that I can't complain too terribly hard about any constituent elements.