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Oh what a wonderful movie is Wonder Boys. Bitterly funny about the creative life and sharply observant of how inspiration can be both encouraged and crushed, this is one of the best movies ever about what it means to be a writer.
I have a gut feeling that The Nightmare Before Christmas may be the movie closest to Burton’s subconscious. This Edward Gorey phantasm of a film, I think, is Burton’s id come to life.
God, I love those snarky 40s comedies in which there’s just a bit of meanness under the humor. Holiday Inn is, of course, filled with the kind of pretty Christmas songs and picture-postcard scenes of snow and horse-drawn sleighs that make for beloved holiday movies. But there’s also some darkness lurking here.
Little did I know when I reviewed Jingle All the Way that it is part of a trend in 90s holiday movies in which inattentive, workaholic Boomer dads go all out in attempts to win back the affections of their young, ignored sons. But while Jingle’s Arnold has to resort to a girly endeavor like shopping in the effort to appease his spawn, The Santa Clause’s Tim Allen and Jack Frost’s Michael Keaton have a much cooler alternative: magic. Allen deals in white magic; Keaton’s, unfortunately, is of the darker variety.
Miracle on 34th Street is, as all of us who love this classic film know, the story of how Macy’s department store in New York City not only found the real Santa Claus but hired him to, well, play Santa Claus.
Funnier and more touching and meaningful than its predecessor, Toy Story 2 is the rare sequel that improves upon its progenitor — and, considering how wondrous Toy Story was, that’s saying something. Toy Story — as funny and fun as it was — was also bursting with joy, with the delight the filmmakers obviously took in bringing a roomful of toys to life. Toy Story realized that secret childhood fantasy we all had, that our toys had lives of their own, that they played with one another when we weren’t around.
Beautifully written by W.D. Richter and directed with a sure hand by Jodie Foster, Home for the Holidays wraps all those contradictory feelings up and serves them for Thanksgiving dinner. Perhaps the most realistic holiday movie I’ve ever seen, this oddly charming, poignant, and blackly funny film is a treasure not to be missed.
An out-of-work puppeteer unwittingly discovers a portal into the brain of actor John Malkovich. That bald description of the film’s strikingly original concept doesn’t even begin to cover how deliciously odd Being John Malkovich is.
Chubby Rain may be a disaster in the making, but Bowfinger itself, written by Martin, has one of the best scripts to hit the screen this year: slyly and outrageously funny, by turns edgy and sweet. I suspect that Bobby Bowfinger is more Steve Martin than appearances might suggest.
Made on the cheap, *American Graffiti* has a timeless power that speaks to everyone who was ever a teenager.
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