Posted 9:49 AM by Dr. Daniel

Okay, friends and neighbors, it had to happen, and it finally did. As many of you may have realized by now, I have been on an extended furlough. What started out as a month-long journey to the Carribbean ended up as a quest. Chalk it up to reading Jimmy Buffett's "A Pirate Looks at 50" on the plane, I guess. Suddenly, I found myself on a quest for the best rum drink, the best cigar, and the best casino in Margaritaville. And, folks, I loved every minute of it.

Then, it happened. The Academy Award nominations were announced. Within twenty minutes, I was looking for a mule train out of the jungle and a taxi to the nearest airport...

Well, it took me a week to get home, and get my dog, Orson, out of quarentine, but we both arrived safely back in Carver Point late last night, and, after a few hours sleep and a Meatloaf Special from the Carver Point Diner, the Doctor is back in business.

Shall we start with the nominations, or, as I like to refer to them, the Pillaging of the Castle?

Let me start very simply - at the risk of getting e-mail bombed, I have to say this. Moulin Rouge being nominated for Best Picture might very well be the biggest farce since Rob Lowe sang with Snow White. If there was a just Movie God somewhere, Moulin Rouge would have gone straight to Cinemax, sandwiched between whatever boobfest Shannon Tweed has out this week and the latest Jean Claude Van Damme movie. Instead, this insipid piece of soundtrack fodder managed to con the world, and MTV's version of "The Time Machine" is now vendicated as filmmaking. Folks, keep in mind that I just spent some five months eating Central American cooking. I drank the water. And I never got sick. Moulin Rouge being listed as one of the best pictures of the year makes me sick... Amelie deserved a Best Picture nomination, not a back-burner nod on the Best Foreign Film list.... we all know it, but the voters pandering to the Dollar Sign felt otherwise, I guess...

For the Best Actor nods, I firmly agree with four of them. Crowe was a given. Denzel and Will, more power to you. Tom Wilkinson, congrats on a good job. Sean Penn, pallie, you should also be congratulated. You just got away with the biggest piece of larceny since that fat kid caught the fly ball that cost the Orioles the championship a couple of years ago. How a person gets an Oscar nomination for a film that no critic thought enough of to even say it was "good" is amazing. But, hey, you play the "Mental Challenge" card, you catch an updraft for glory. Crowe worked it, and worked it well. Everyone from Cliff Robertson to Dustin Hoffman has worked it. Penn, though, only drove it into the ground like a telephone pole. Ignoring people like Billy Bob Thornton in Monster's Ball and Guy Pierce in Memento in favor of Sean Penn is yet another unforgiveable sin that the Academy has to live with. For my money, people, Denzel deserves this award...

Same story goes for the Best Actress nominations. Whomever led the press campaign for Nicole Kidman's nomination for Moulin Rouge should be condemned to the eighth circle of Dante's Hell. She might have earned the right for The Others, but for this steaming pile of French dip? Not a chance. Halle Berry deserved it, as did Sissy Spacek. Judi Dench could not help but be nominated, given her track record here lately. To my longtime heartstring-tugger, Renee Zellweger, I offer congratulations for managing to get a nod for a comedy role. So, where's the crime here, you may ask? Where is Audrey Tautou, the star of one of the best films of the year, Amelie? I realize that, after Roberto Begnini, we were all a bit frightened of releasing another "foreigner" onstage at the show, but this girl ran circles around anything Moulin Rouge posted. And, wonder of wonders, she is REALLY French!!!! She's not "movie French," where all French people speak with English accents...

Best Supporting Actor? I really have problems with Ethan Hawke getting nominated here. Not necessarily because of his acting, but, folks, let's be straight here - in my book, if you get nominated for an Oscar, you should be in the habit of shampooing once in a while. He was okay in Training Day, but it was no screaming whoopee of a job. Same for Jon Voight in Ali. How did Gene Hackman not get one of these spots for his work in The Royal Tenenbaums? Go one better and explain to me how Steve Buscemi turned invisible after his work in Ghost World... Broadbent, Kingsley, and McKellen would have been better represented with these two beside them than Hawke and Voight. But, with Hackman not in the picture, you probably have to bet on Broadbent or Kingsley. (Not that it would have ever happened in a million years, but, personally, I would have voted for Eddie Murphy's voice work in Shrek before I went with Voight. At least Eddie's work made me laugh. Voight's makeup was the only thing laughable in Ali....)

Best Supporting Actress is probably the only category I pretty much agree with. I'm especially glad Marisa Tomei got a nomination, because this should shut all those idiots up that thought she only won the Oscar for My Cousin Vinnie because Jack Palance was too drunk to read the card right. She did great work in In the Bedroom, and, for my money, should win her second Golden Boy.

For the Best Director award, well, I was tickled to pieces that David Lynch finally got nominated for one of his freaky films. There is nothing better than getting about five beers into a twelve-pack and watching a David Lynch freaky film. Congrats for a deserving nod go to Peter Jackson for managing to pull off the impossible and make a film out of the Tolken trilogy that was understandable and fun to watch. Pete, my boy, you did what too too many wanted to do and couldn't figure out how to accomplish. Robert Altman? Bob, son, move to Ireland and shut up. Ridley Scott? A handshake for making a kick-butt movie. But, folks, it is time ol' Opie Cunningham gets a Golden Boy for his mantlepiece. Ron Howard has proven himself to be one of the best direcors in the business, and, for whatever reason, he hs never gotten the proper credit. As much as I hate the idea of giving Oscars for a body of work rather than one specific film, this one has to go to Ronnie. A Beautiful Mind is a fantastic film, and, after not winning for Apollo 13 and Backdraft, the gold has to go to Mayberry's own hometown boy.

Other thoughts and such ---

-- It's about flippin' time you decided to recognize Animated Feature Films with their own category. The shame of it is, though, the three nominated are not traditional animation. Basically, what I'm saying is this - for all the recognition animation will get, the men and women that made animation an art, through Disney, Warner Brothers, and the like will still be forgotten...

-- When is anyone going to wise up and let Dennis Miller host this thing? Granted, he stunk on Monday Night Football, but, with a crowd like this to work with, you know he would be funny...

-- One can only pray for more montages from Chuck Workman. The man makes the best movie montage specials in the business.... Let him shine on the best night of the year for it...

-- The moment I'm waiting for? I want to see Wes Anderson and Owen Wilson win the Best Original Screenplay award, just because I want to hear their speech... In truth, though, this award should be a tie. Wilson and Anderson deserve a statue, but so do the Nolan boys for Memento. Two films from opposite ends of the spectrum with near-perfect screenplays... Gotta give out two awards, people... hey, if the Olympic skaters can do it, why can't movie folks?

-- Do you people realize that, with Sting and Paul McCartney catching Oscar nods here, we have the makings for a very cool "Oscar Live" album? Sting, McCartney, Springsteen, Dylan, Beck, Elton, Collins, and, help me, Lord, even Celine Dion. Pretty nice CD, if you ask me....

-- The moment I dread worse than root canal? The inevitable "interpretive dance" sequence from Debbie Allen.... It's coming... I can feel it like my bad knee feels cold weather... Ten minutes of swaying toilet paper and gauze, to the scores of John Williams and Randy Newman... excuse me... I need Dramamine...

-- Want an early pick for Best Documentary Feature? Find out which ones were made by HBO Films... HBO is the best market right now for documentary filmmakers, and they make the best....

-- I do want to congratulate the voters in the Academy, though, for not losing their minds with Pearl Harbor or Harry Potter.... I honestly thought that Pearl Harbor would get a Best Picture nomination, not because it deserved it, but because of all the hooplah and hoo-raw surrounding it... Instead, neither got anything outside of the technical awards.... impressive, for a change...

-- And, lastly, just for the record, I am quite over the whole joke of people wearing that godawful swan dress like Bjork did last year.... I need not see Whoopi, or John Goodman, or Shrek, or anyone else wearing it... mark it down as well-tread-upon territory and get a new joke...

Okay, folks, that's it... The Doctor is back, and he's ready for anything....

Get "reel" soon,

Doc

Posted 4:36 PM by Dr. Daniel

Moulin Rouge. Okay, here's the deal. I've never been to Paris, France. I do not wish to offend any of our French friends and neighbors, but, quite honestly, outside the Eiffel Tower, there's really not anything there that captures my imagination. I know the Mona Lisa is about the size of a bulletin board, and the whole "smile" thing has never done it for me. If I were stuck in Paris for the day, I'd spend most of my time outside the Cathedral of Notre Dame asking people if they'd seen Lon Chaney, just to tick them off. The rest of the country looks beautiful, particularly around Montmartre, but Paris just ain't my style.
That being said, I wasn't particularly drawn to Moulin Rouge out of historical perspective. I was interested because I was, quite literally, both amazed and horrified by director Baz Luhrmann's version of Romeo and Juliet. I thought to myself, "Self, there's just no way this one is going to be the same way. Nope, not going to happen."

May I say for the record that, while I am an admitted egotist at times, I continue to flabbergast myself at my capability to underestimate the Hollywood mentality.

Nicole Kidman plays Satine, an "entertainer" at the Moulin Rouge, the number one nightspot in Paris in 1899. Into her life walks Christian (McGregor), a struggling writer who immediately falls under Satine's spell of amour. As it turns out, though, Satine is (get ready, you're gonna love this) dying of consumption, as well as being promised to another man (I told you so -- one curse is not enough.) The "other man" in this case is a wealthy duke, played by Richard Roxburgh. If Satine will be the Duke's "private dancer," so to speak, the Duke will pour a ton of francs into the Moulin Rouge, making it possible for the scandalous nightclub to reach a level of respectability. The manager of the Moulin Rouge (Jim Broadbent) has apparently tired of being the owner of the hottest nudie bar in town, and wants to be the owner of an "adult entertainment palace," as such places are now referred to in America. Remember when they used to be "strip joints?"

Now, before I start getting e-mail from the same folks that still send monthly hate-mail for my thoughts about Dirty Dancing, let me say this - this movie is nowhere near a disaster, as disasters go. I have sat through disasters before, and that horrible feeling of drowning didn't occur this time, like it has so many times before. But, folks, plain and simple here, there's only one question to be asked about Moulin Rouge. The question is this -- "What the hell was that?!?!?!"

Let's start with the obvious points first. Nicole Kidman and Ewan McGregor are cast in a musical, and neither of them are particularly known for their singing prowess. I can buy this piece, because I have seen everyone from Clark Gable to Clint Eastwood and Lee Marvin cast in movie musicals. Believe it or not, Lee Marvin actually did a passable job singing in Paint Your Wagon. McGregor and Miss Nicole, though, should not have been pushed into singing. Neither of them are much past the "shower-stall virtuoso" stage of their voice talent. McGregor is a bit stronger than Kidman, but that's like saying one of the "Dawson Creek" kids has more depth than another. A puddle's still a puddle, no matter if it gets your shoelaces wet or just the soles...

Another screamingly maddening point: can someone please, for the love of all that is good and pure, please explain to me this sudden fascination with taking a subject from the past history of the world and dumping things from the twentieth, and even the twenty-first, century into the mix? Look, people, I am not a purist by any stretch of the soul. I know West Side Story is just Romeo and Juliet updated to New York in the 1950's. I know A Thousand Acres is a disguised version of King Lear. I enjoyed O Brother Where Art Thou, knowing full well it is a retelling of the Odyssey written by Homer some 2000 years or so, give or take a century. I accept that. I also accept that, every now and then, a little anachronism thrown into the mix of a period piece can be humorous. But, what started this summer with Brian Helgeland's A Knight's Tale has only grown into some virulent form of disease here. Do I honestly need The Police's "Roxanne" and Elton John's "Your Song" in a movie taking place in 1899? Do I need a profession of love from a man to a woman to be scripted by lacing a half-dozen dumb song titles together? Do I need Jim Broadbent, outstanding in Topsy-Turvy, condemned to be remembered for singing the most horrifying version of Madonna's Like a Virgin since, well, since she sang it in that gondola in Venice? Hellfire, why do you need John Leguizamo playing Toulouse-Lautrec in this movie? Why not grab Kurt Russell in his outfit from 2000 Miles to Graceland, and have him play Elvis playing Toulouse-Lautrec? It would have fit perfectly! Oh, and, while you're at it, why not let the guy that does all the emceeing in the Moulin Rouge be played by Casey Kasem?! "And, before you go, ladies and gentlemen, remember, keep your feet on the ground and keep reaching for the stars...."

Point Number Three: Baz Luhrmann is quite possibly insane. I mean that in the nicest way possible, but Bazzie-boy, your combo plate is missing a taco. Not only do you install two admittedly beautiful non-singers into a musical, and not only do you pollute what's left over with your music choices, you just had to go berserk with the sensual overload, didn't you? Everything in this movie is positively soaked in alarmingly bright color. And I mean colors that do not exist in the normal world, friends. Colors you only see in the unused row of the 64-Crayola box are here, front and center. Unless, of course, they're buried under the 90 tons of glitter and confetti and sequins that virtually rain down in every scene. Here's a thought, Baz - think "muted' just once. Make a point in at least one scene by making it black and white. Make an emotional statement by having Miss Nikky's lips, just once, not be the color of Ronald McDonald's pompadour hair. Or, better yet, give us a break and let one scene be in "Miami Vice" pastels before our brains explode from sensory bombardment!

All this adds up to a fascinating phenomenon though. After about the third reference to the absolutely ridiculous fact that Satine is both dying and girltoy to somebody else, this film takes on the same quality as one of those television shows on Fox, the ones that show people getting mangled by animals and police chases that end up in wrecks. You find yourself fully mesmerized by the fact that none of this makes any sense, you could care less about anyone in this movie, but you cannot bring yourself to leave. The weight of your brain, swollen to capacity by explode-a-color, wretched singing and anachronistic pop tunes, will not allow you to walk out. And you're stuck like a jujube on a wet floor until the final credits run.

Diagnosis:
Folks, I say it again, I know I am setting myself up for a chorus of hate mail from every point of this globe, and, quite honestly, I don't care. I'm telling you point blank -- Moulin Rouge is like a two-hour acid trip, one where the radio is stuck on a light rock* station. I'm sure there are people out there raving about this film's "courageousness," "style" and "eye-popping" visuals. But, lemme tell you, if you have to catch your eyes during this movie, it's because they jumped out of your head trying to escape the pain.

* If it's truly rock, how can it be lite?