I meant to post on the blog a quick round-up of recommended DVDs before Memorial Day, alas. Still, better late than never.

The Proposition is an Australian western, written by John Cave and directed by John Hillcoat. It’s so good, it will remind the viewer that Hollywood can no longer act. (Angelina Jolie emotes; she doesn’t act. She should take lessons from her estranged father, Jon Voight. Also, Jolie is always herself, and that’s never a good thing.)

The story unfolds in early Australia. The legendary John Hurt (of the Midnight Express fame) is marvelous, but I honestly can’t say he outshines the rest of the cast. If you do take my advice and watch this film (and by so doing, sharpen your appreciation of just how bad the trash on American TV and in the cinemas is), pay close attention to the achingly tender relationship between husband and wife, Captain (portrayed by Ray Winstone) and Martha Stanley (Emily Watson). The two depend on one another for dear life. The civilizing English afternoon tea and the rose bushes in the desert cocoon the couple from the brutality of their reality and surroundings. This is a remarkable film.

Ray Winstone is great in another thriller (you get a feel for the type of films me and my beloved like): The Departed with Leonardo DeCaprio, whom I loved in The Aviator. DeCaprio is still puny, but he’s not as bad as when he played opposite that coarse-faced woman in Titanic (a film I didn’t see, of course. Neither have I seen “Pretty Woman” or “Sleepless in Seattle.”) DeCaprio has also matured as an actor. It’s a good action-packed flick, but nothing like The Proposition.

I recently re-watched Papillon with Steve McQueen and Dustin Hoffman. It reminded me of the way Hollywood used to be.

Update I: “The Last King of Scotland” I refuse to see, especially after the noisy and noisome Blockbuster clerk recommended it thus: “It’s amazing; they’ve managed to avoid demonizing Idi Amin.” My reply: “If anyone deserves to be thoroughly demonized, it is Idi Amin Dada. That was one natural-born demon. No thanks; I’ll pass.” The man just stared at me. His internal monologue was so loud, I could almost hear it: “Man, what a right-wing fanatic. Like, Idi Amin also had a mom and a dad. And like, we all have an Idi Amin inside of us, man.”

Update II: A glimpse of Glen Beck reminded me I had clean forgotten to recommend “Idiocracy.” For once, Beck fulfilled a purpose. “Idiocracy” is the product of Mike Judge’s genius (Beavis & Butthead, anyone?). It’s easily one of the smartest and darkest comedies. Why? Because the future is here. The “dumb-ass dystopia” Idiocracy depicts is with us.

Although I like the précis by Nathan Rabin that follows (despite its lefty thrust), my enjoyment (in the perverse sense) came from the constant circular arguments made, and taken as explanations. I see it in every TV broadcast, in op-ed pieces, and, of course, people argue this way with me all the time (and think they’re really clever). Such as “Why is Brawndo [a Gatorade-like drink] good for you? Because it’s got electrolytes. Why are electrolytes good for you? Because Brawndo has them.” Something along these lines. There is even a slot mimicking the Fox News retards. Fabulous.

Sean couldn’t get enough of the most popular reality TV show in this futuristic world: “Ow! My Balls!” It’s repetitive and…painful, and elicits great guffaws. (And is alive and well in some permutation in almost every reality show.) Say no more. As Josh Tyler writes, “The highest grossing movie of all time is called “Ass,” and consists of 90 minutes of the same naked, hairy butt on screen …” America has gone to hell in a hand basket. Garbage avalanches are common, crops have failed, and people are staving, all because there’s no one left who’s smart enough to know how to fix any of it.” Costco is an Ivy-league law school. [And America looks like Mexico.]

“A long-shelved, not-screened-for-critics, high-concept science-fiction comedy that’s being released in a handful of cities with all the fanfare of a CIA black-ops mission, Idiocracy gives viewers many reasons to be suspicious. But before dismissing it sight unseen, it’s worth remembering that Mike Judge’s last film, 1999’s Office Space, was released to groaning indifference, only to become a cult classic, and that Idiocracy is an unrepentant satire, a genre George S. Kaufman famously defined as ‘what closes Saturday night.’ Idiocracy feels more like a Beavis And Butt-head follow-up than an Office Space follower, thanks to its depiction of a society devolving at a rapid clip, and the way it satirizes its instant-gratification-obsessed target audience using the limited vocabulary of the terminally stupid.

In Beavis And Butt-head, that devolution is just suggested; in Idiocracy, it’s made dizzyingly literal. A perfectly cast Luke Wilson stars as a quintessential everyman who hibernates for centuries and wakes up in a society so degraded by insipid popular culture, crass consumerism, and rampant anti-intellectualism that he qualifies as the smartest man in the world. Corporations cater even more unashamedly to the primal needs of the lowest common denominator—Starbucks now traffics in handjobs as well as lattes—and the English language has devolved into a hilarious patois of hillbilly, Ebonics, and slang.

Idiocracy’s dumb-ass dystopia suggests a world designed by Britney Spears and Kevin Federline, a world where the entire populace skirts the fine line separating mildly retarded from really fucking stupid, and where anyone displaying any sign of intelligence is derided as a fag. Working on a sprawling canvas, Judge fills the screen with visual jokes, throwaway gags, and incisive commentary on the ubiquity of advertising—for instance, with the presidential-cabinet member who works paid plugs for Carl’s Jr. into everyday conversations. Like so much superior science fiction, Idiocracy uses a fantastical future to comment on a present in which Paris Hilton is infinitely more famous than Nobel laureates. There’s a good chance that Judge’s smartly lowbrow Idiocracy will be mistaken for what it’s satirizing, but good satire always runs the risk—to borrow a phrase from a poster-boy for the reverse meritocracy—of being misunderestimated.”

Update # III (July 1, 2007)

I’ll keep this post going, but will tack on the most recent reports at the top. In anticipation of Independence Day, patriots ought to ponder how much freer early Americans were as compared to today’s Americans. Once you’ve done that small thing with huge repercussions, you’ll want to indulge in some escapism. If I were you, I would definitely avoid The Queen, with Helen Miren in the lead. From the information I’ve gathered—and the many approving reviews from slobbering left-liberal sources—the Queen is one of those contempt-filled efforts at dissing tradition, duty, and the stiffer upper lip. Embodied by the Queen, these are all ingredients in the British national character, which once made that nation great. The British have since ditched that aspect of their past, and adopted the dodo Diana as the nation’s darling. Diana exemplifies the new, “cool” Britannia, in which the Queen’s iron-lady qualities are obsolete (both the “iron” and the “lady” aspects thereof). Diana was a manipulative neurotic, given to histrionics; the Queen, her absolute opposite. With such a message I could do without. Besides, the Queen promises to be sleep-inducing. A Might Heart is another film (not yet out on DVD) to avoid. In the post “A Mighty Ego,” I explained why.

I did watch “Breach” with Chris Cooper, whom I like a lot. Perhaps because he’s manly. With the rise of the new effeminate man, the old, macho type—my type—is becoming rarer in film. Manliness is being bred out of the male population. Opposite Cooper is one of the new androgynous males: Ryan Phillippe. He can’t act. You’ll also have to endure staring at his puffy pink lips and soft doe eyes. Where is Jeff Bridges when you need him? Or Russell Crowe, who is every bit as sumptuous, but much more talented. (Read the interview he gave “60 Minutes.” As well as my “Affirmative Oscars,” although, in retrospect, I was a bit unfair to the dazzling Denzel.)
But Cooper makes up for Phillippe. The story is that of Robert Hanssen, an FBI agent who was convicted of selling secrets to the Soviet Union. His motives are not explored well. This is not a well-developed depiction, although “shallow,” like “unmanly,” is the norm in Hollywood these days. Still, if faced with the Queen or Breach, take the latter.