Spitball Army

This World War II espionage thriller is hilarious. Intentionally, it seems. Deborah Kerr’s would-be Mata Hari has spunk.

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Documentary of Roger Ebert’s famous career, ordeal with cancer, and inspiring marriage. I was near tears several times. Essential.

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Not enough pre-Code raciness, but plenty of the old ham from Paul Muni in the lead. Stereotypes R us.

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Here it is, late June in Alabama, and the forecast is for thunderstorms practically every afternoon, temperatures consistently in the 90s, and high humidity 24 hours a day. It is under these conditions that I find myself meeting my good friends A. & E. for lunch at a brand new Birmingham eatery named, ironically, Melt. […]

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This remake was unnecessary. They could have at least copied the original’s shock ending.

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The tolerance lesson is obvious from the start, but this French animation charms throughout. Vivid character quirks for a bunch of anthropomorphs.

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Charlton Heston’s Michelangelo as mercurial artist? Okay. Rex Harrison’s Julius as papal warlord? History lesson for me.

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Not an admirer of her music, but Bjork completely inhabited the character of Selma (or vice versa). A mesmerizing final half-hour.

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Stark black & white Hungarian film intersperses rapid cuts of multiple random images throughout. A dying woman’s last memories? So unusual.

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Revisited this as I feared I was unfair to it years ago. I wasn’t: still a piece of trash masquerading as art. I rate it four zzzz’s.

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