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'TAKING WOODSTOCK'
PILE UP IN WHITE LAKE
By Sean Chavel

According to the historical docudrama Taking Wood-stock, three days of peace and music circa 1969 was preceded by uproar by community members who believed the concert would bring upon dangerous riots. Organizers attempted to calm those fears by saying there wouldn't be more than 50,000 in attendance. By the end of the first day, the city of White Lake was declared by the New York State Governor as a disaster zone as an estimated 450,000 showed up for what became a free concert. Uptight townspeople protested on street corners to kick the hippies out by decrying a national emergency. Brighter townspeople decided to cash in on potential proceeds.

Less hippies, more straight arrows. The flower children, the musicians, and heck, the concert itself takes a backseat as the film centers on the life of Elliot Tiber (Demetri Martin), a square but sensible Jewish boy who as looking for a way to save his parent's encumbering motel business. As the President of the Bethel Chamber of Commerce, Tiber was responsible for issuing a permit for Woodstock coordinators. Elliot's neurotic and stingy parents (played by Henry Goodman and Imelda Staunton) are prevalent characters that transform from doubters to entrepreneurs as they quickly adapt to the Woodstock cash cow.

What will dawn on the unsuspecting audience is that "Taking Woodstock" is about the behind the scenes footnotes - the business behind the greatest concert ever put on. We learn about the venue limitations, the firestorm protests, the media criticism, the over-flooding, and so on. As a result, we never really as an audience get into Woodstock. It really is about the activities going on outside of Woodstock. In what feels like a narrative prank, Elliot makes consecutive attempts each day to get into Woodstock but he always gets held at the outside perimeter - when we do get a peak into the music concert through Elliot's eyes it is entirely through acid trip distortion.

For the most part Elliot, along with us, gets immersed into the typical milieu of mudslides and the paraphernalia traded in the back of parked vans and the Port-o-Potties. The film sees this all as nostalgia, of course, (it's like saying that even the parts of the festival that were a drag were still, you know, fun man!) but how about giving us a taste of the best of Woodstock?

So really, if you expect to see Jefferson Airplane, The Grateful Dead, Jimi Hendrix and Janis Joplin you're better to stay home and rent the 1970 seminal documentary "Woodstock." This Ang Lee film probably has more original orchestral music by Danny Elfman than there contains seminal music from the era, so that's a shame. Despite some artistic miscalculations, Lee doesn't totally taper away from us in what we expect to see: naked flower children, frolicking in the woods, skinning dipping in the lake, getting high and singing along in the name of peace and freedom.

Yet with such a strict narrative at hand the film sees it as obligatory to follow the arc of one character. And for Elliot Tiber, it really is about his summons to join in on the fun. Our hero's parents are a pain in the ass, as much to us as it is to him (Remember Woody Allen's folks in "Annie Hall?"). The movie gets soft and squishy with concern with how our hero will "grow" out from his parent's shadow, but as a concession Woodstock stays in the background. As a result the film never takes off.

Despite the use of such novelties as the split-screen device (that feels oddly out of rhythm), the correct mood and attitude of this material often feels misplaced. Perhaps Ang Lee ("Brokeback Mountain," "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon") is the wrong director to take on Woodstock, as his style too mannered and polite. Lee decided he wanted to make this film out of interest in making a comedy which would be a detour from his recent heavy dramatic work. Yet his film simply isn't rowdy enough. Even in the face of debauchery the film isn't rowdy enough, it's as if he wants to only get close up and personal with, well, non-hippies. Lee's biggest misstep however is that he seems to forgotten the peace and music. The film is primarily preoccupied with traffic jams and trash pile-ups - how White Lake got hailed as a disaster zone.

The English Surgeon
By Gerry Furth-Sides

“What is it like to have power over life and death, and yet struggle with your own humanity?” asks the trailer of this remarkable documentary that goes on to show not the answer but the example of one doctor dealing with the dilemma on a daily basis in "The English Surgeon."

This film was already shown on British television is oddly more fulfilling and memorable than a zillion-dollar blockbuster adventure movie. But then truth is always stranger than fiction. This film proves it with the story of acclaimed British neurosurgeon and international professor, Henry Marsh.

Dr. Marsh was dismayed at the primitive conditions he observed in Kiev during a 1992 visit as a guest lecturer. So he made it his life mission to return every year on his own to try and upgrade them. He diagnoses patients, trains doctors and performs high-risk surgeries -- all of which become the focus of Smith's documentary. We see many of these patients, knowing that his no-nonsense delivery has much behind it.

Equally unconventional and optimistic Ukrainian neurosurgeon Igor Kurilets is in cahoots with Marsh. A steel will, a wily sense of humor and a compassionate heart keep both men going against all odds.

The two doctors laugh together at the medical equipment discards Dr. Marsh brings from English hospitals. A skilled woodworking carpenter, the good doctor fashions elegant crates in his own workshop in which to ship them. But what the two men are laughing at so hollowly is the waste they represent in terms of the rest of the equipment that is in the trashed. "This costs 80 million pounds a year," Dr. Marsh keeps repeating over and over again so he will believe this absurdity.

In Geoffrey Smith's documentary, "The English Surgeon," low key, no-nonsense Henry Marsh is a rational man living in two worlds, a substantial one in Long and a "third-world" medical Ukraine. His capability to deal with both is mesmerizing. A melancholy soundtrack by Nick Cave and Warren Ellis augments the emotion.

Whether Henry will or will not operate on a young man with a brain tumor is at the heart of the film. He can possibly save his life or destroy him. As March put it, the brain business is unique because it is more than physical. The brain determines the essence of a person.

As tense and as compelling as any drama, the bond forged over the years between Kurilets and Marsh compares with that between doctor and patient in a short time of life and death urgency.

There are the humorous moments. As Marsh diagnoses patients, doling out a life or death sentence, teeming patients grow impatient and unruly in the waiting room. Kurilets marshalls his forces after sporadic but loud directions are ignored. He herds them into submission with a box of chocolates passed from patient to waiting patient only if they are seated.

These human moments almost overshadow the major brain surgery itself. This is a tall order with the camera rolling in the middle of it, the patent awake. Even with a gaping hole in his head, religious Marian Dolishny needs to stay awake to minimize the risk of paralysis. Marsh promises will have virtually no pain but "can get a little noisy."

It is fascinating that after agonizing for months about whether to operate or not, once Marsh is in the pre-op room, he changes into a different man, a confident and even jolly man, even in the messy midst of removing a brain tumor because he knows his course of action is set.

Afterward we travel with Marsh to visit the family of Tanya, the little girl who died. He has grown close to the family over the years of her treatment. The streets are all mud, the house is tiny yet only slightly smaller than the village itself.

Relatives and friends have gathered to meet him for a meal at the big table, bringing whatever food they can as an offering. The doctor is deeply engrossed in his memories, none of which are good.

Tanya's mother notices and voices her concern, "You don't like the food?" It's not that, he explains. It is the emotion of being here without her. The family's limited English is not enough to overcome the language barrier. So instead, Dr. Marsh raises a glass to the family, and then, just for a moment, gives himself over to their healing embrace.

Julie & Julia Film Review
By Gerry Furth-Sides

Anyone who loves fine food or eating, (and who doesn't?) should see "Julie & Julia." Just don't go hungry.

Julia always said about meals, "I go to dine, not to be fed." This movie about her is a feast for the eyes, the ears and the heart.

I was a long-time Julia Child fan in appreciation of her foolproof and easy omelet technique. It turns out that like Julia herself, years of work went into its simple elegance.

Meryl Streep plays the witty, determined, competitive - and romantic- grande dame who changed American cooking forever. Meryl as great big Julia embraces life and her husband (immaculately acted as usual by Stanley Tucci) and her family and her friends and food in a great big bear hug.

Julia's loving abandon filters through Meryl's intelligent soul, adding a lasting lightness and buoyancy to the intense actress. On the red carpet and in the miles of media coverage, Meryl proves not that 60 is the new 50, but that it is the 40.

The ingenious Ms. Ephron gifts us with many magical moments. In one scene Julia and sister Dort (Jane Lynch at her gangly, brash best) pose arm in arm in front of a mirror, candle-lit and glowing in jewel-tone taffeta evening dresses. Julia passes judgment: "we look good, don't we," hesitating only a second until Dort nods, to add with a twinkle, "but not great."

The delicious Julia part of the film is adapted from his book "My Life in France," Child's autobiography written in collaboration with her nephew Alex Prudhomme.

The intersecting story is based on Ms. Powell's blogging memoir, "Julie & Julia."

Together is billed as, "the story of two wives adrift in their work life who find a professional purpose through food." The appealing Amy Adams plays Julie Powell.

But what a difference. Julia refuses to take on the role of politically conservative housewife role, instead boldly financing an enviable good life in Paris with her trust fund money. She met husband cultural attaché Paul Child, serving in the OSS (Office of Strategic Services, forerunner of the CIA) during WWII in China. Patriotic Julia had been turned down by both the WACS and the WAVES because she was too tall. It was in the OSS that Julia discovered her exceptional organizational skills.

Unfortunately, the film only hints at Julia's phenomenal capabilities, such as reworking and retyping the complicated French recipes for the book, "Mastering the Art of French Cuisine" for TEN years before she even knew the book would be published -typing with onion skin copies, and doing it while living in three different cities.

In one scene, Julia and Paul's photograph shows them in a bubble bath posing for one of their annual Valentine's Day cards. Later Julia at their Valentine's party pulses the red paper heart she wears on her chest, beaming at Paul across a table, so luxuriously set with food and wine it takes the breath away as they easily regale their friends with stories and jokes.

Ms. Streep brings out the romantic Julia softly and brilliantly. Though an easy target for caricature, a photo shows all 6'2'' of a young pin-up pretty Julia in tennis shorts, leggy and lovely. All of which goes against Dan Aykroyd's famous "Saturday Night Live" parody of her on the PBS TV Show that made her famous. It amused Julia. There is a scene of Julie laughing at the skit on video. Too bad she didn't read the autobiography.

True, Julie Powell has the determination to cook every recipe in "Mastering the Art of French Cooking" to write her blog. But it feels more marketing gimmick than gift. There is no joy. There is no romance. There is no fun. Her petulant self-obsession, in fact, drives away her initially supportive husband, a thankless role played by Chris Messina.

Julie claims she learned confidence from Julia. But we never see it. Their only connection comes when Julie learns from an editor that Julia criticized her. She "cannot imagine why." A little research shows it's because Julie criticized Julia in her blog. Short memory!

Ms. Ephron's films are either tiresome or fluffy perfection (When Harry Met Sally, You're Got Mail). This one is a split with ebullient Julia far overshadowing the tedious Julie. And after the film we had to eat a second supper, to "dine, not be fed," proving that Julia may inspire you to cook, but Ms. Ephron inspires you to eat.

'THE TIME TRAVELER'S WIFE'
THE SECRET OF ETERNAL LOVE
By Sean Chavel

The out of sequence structured The Time Traveler's Wife has us wondering about the paradoxes of two different versions of the traveler - one young and one old - arriving approximately in the same space and time. The time travel movie always gets you thinking about such paradoxes. But this time don't chew so hard. It's better in this particular case if you allow the paradoxes to take a backseat.

This is at times a very mush romantic melodrama, but it's also very nice with gentle souls at its center. Henry (Eric Bana) is the put-upon time traveler who bounces along the time continuum with no navigation control of where he's going to end up. Clare (Rachel McAdams) is the woman that loves him patiently, really never knowing when he's going to return.

It's a lifelong courtship of Henry seeing Clare through different periods of her life. And Clare grows up on her rich meadow prairie, born to the kind of bluebloods who hunt deer for sport, seeing Henry at different ages when he arrives from the future. Eventually their love grows rich enough for them to get married, with the oddity that a silver-haired 40-ish Henry replaces the strapping late 20's Henry at the altar.

Time travel movies always put their hero under some kind of duress upon departure. In this movie, Henry winds up naked wherever he lands up (you can't take your clothes or your wallet). This leaves Henry with the constant problem of thieving for money and clothes when he arrives in a new time. Henry has never had much stability outside a library research job. Henry loves Clare because it is his one eternal thing he can depend on.

But what does Clare get out of this relationship with a guy who just vanishes into thin air at any given time? Well, she gets a strapping dreamboat guy who is kind, considerate, and sincere, and all those other fairytale qualities. That's basically what "The Time Traveler's Wife" is, a nice fairy tale that happens to be beautifully photographed in constant idyllic sunglow. The actors are beautiful and they have appealing chemistry together. For Eric Bana ("Munich"), it's his first romantic drama success. For Rachel McAdams, it's her second romantic drama success following "The Notebook." In this age of jaded romantic films, an actress is lucky if she gets one good endearing film within the genre. McAdams has already appeared in two that will appeal to the Kleenex crowd with fine applause.

Just really, think about the gobs of crap Kate Hudson, Katherine Heigl and Anne Hathaway have gotten mixed up in. McAdams is a class act, only second to Julia Roberts, in appearing in swirling romantic fables that are… actually romantic. The story has one difficult complication: the difficulty of conceiving a healthy child unaffected by dad's genes. You ache in sympathy for the characters. Yet "The Time Traveler's Wife" doesn't amount to be as big a deal as "The Notebook" which had stronger and richer themes, but it does remind you when a time when in movies a big movie kiss felt like a big deal.

'Inglourious Basterds'
World War II Grindhouse
By Sean Chavel

In his own unique way of berserk cinematic splendor, Quentin Tarantino never ceases to surprise. Tarantino has countless cinematic influences and when he visually quotes from other movies he often makes it just plain damn better than the movies he is quoting from. In this film he is quoting from Josef von Sternberg, Sergio Leone and Brian DePalma though you would have to be a movie nerd to know that but you can be anyone with an appetite for dazzling movie drama to be enthralled by Tarantino's gamesmanship. Inglorious Basterds borrows a title from a cult 1978 Italian flick, but the story is all Tarantino's own. Oh boy, is it ever his own.

This World War II flick - and it's a flick because it is certainly not history - can be categorized as an angry revenge fantasy. It's a boyhood fantasy of good American G.I.s kicking Nazi ass, and humiliating them in the process. Brad Pitt as Lt. Aldo Raine, leader of the Basterds, orders his outfit to scalp the Nazis at their death and orders his outfit to offer no mercy. In an early scene, a Nazi is spared his life but has to endure a permanent reminder of his Mein Fuhrer origins by way of nasty incision.

The other crew Basterds are played by the likes of Til Schweiger, Omar Doom, B.J. Novak, Gedeon Burkhard and Eli Roth as "The Bear Jew," who earns his title by viciously clubbing Nazis to death with a baseball bat. If you are not familiar with these actors' names you will sure be familiar with their faces after the movie is over. Now, of course, if you know anything about World War II history than you know there was no such renegade outfit as the Basterds. But Tarantino does resurrect other real persons such as Winston Churchill (Rod Taylor), Joseph Goebbels (Sylvester Groth) and Hitler (Martin Wuttke) and cunningly spins them off in his own creatively licensed directions.

Occasionally it can be easy to acknowledge that Tarantino is too much of a storytelling oddball using revolving chapter breaks, flipping between three separate languages in a single scene, and at times leaving the Basterds off-screen for a thirty-minute period. You might feel you miss the Basterds yet all of Tarantino's characters are so vividly imagined that it is all too easy to be swept away by other great players in this tale. An over-plump Mike Myers memorably hams it up as General Ed Fenech, the stunning Melanie Laurent as an escaped German named Shosanna now hiding out as a French proprietor of a movie palace, the enigmatic Diane Kruger as German actress Bridget von Hammersmark turned double agent, the seething but charming Daniel Bruhl as Nazi sniper Fredrick Zoller whom has a passion for the cinema. Bruhl, in particular, is likely to go down as the most underrated actor in this impeccable ensemble.

One actor that will be infinitely remembered is Christoph Waltz as Nazi Colonel Hans Landa. Austrian actor has dozens of French film credits, but rarely has had an American film credit (he was briefly seen in "Goldeneye"). Waltz gives an astounding sinister performance as a "Jew hunter," and he is likely to go down as one of Tarantino's greatest villains. Col. Landa lives not by the Nazi code, but by his own code - he's tickled at his own precise instincts. The masterful opening sequence of the film features Col. Landa inspecting a French farmer's home, chats with the farmer over a glass of milk, laughs and guffaws through the conversation before he makes a great, terrible implication that he knew more than he let on before entering. The scene is, I repeat, masterful in every way that a scene can possibly be masterful in terms of drama, suspense, cinematography, acting, and manipulation of language and dialect.

Nothing is more skin-crawling at the movies this year than watching Waltz outwit and verbally out-scoff his adversaries, always coming in under the radar with his cordial gentlemanly demeanor. But Tarantino is a directing virtuoso for a very good reason, most pointedly in the way he uses a close-up on an actor frozen in fear, or when essential trembling in fear. When Col. Landa and refugee Shosanna are face-to-face, the tension-filled power between the two of them is at high pulp.

Speaking of Tarantino's liberties with fiction, the auteur always delivers hunky and chewy dialogue. Tarantino has always been more than just a dazzling wordsmith, he uses long, blustery dialogue to prolong the suspense to the extent of agony (the underground pub scene might actually go on a tad too long). "Inglorious Basterds," like Tarantino's other pics, are acts of gamesmanship because as a viewer you're sitting back having no idea when he is going to let the boil of a scene fully erupt. Patience is rewarded in Tarantino-land. If you can withstand the (pleasurable) agony of suspense then it must be said that his over-the-top climax, taking place at Shosanna's movie palace where the Nazi propaganda film "Nation's Pride" is being shown with Zoller as the centerpiece actor, is deliriously thrilling in a way that reminded me of DePalma's ending in "Scarface," preceded by Pitt and company's mangling of the Italian word Bongiorno that is right out of the Marx Brothers.

We've had plenty of share of WWII movies that have done history right, and too many in recent times like "Defiance" and "Valkyrie" that pretend that they are foremost history lesson articles but serve up superficial action to "entertain" us. "Inglorious Basterds" has no pretensions, only intentions in thrilling us and joshing us (before this we only thought WWII movies could go about it in one way). Tarantino is a premiere artist in crazy subversive fun and if he wants to lace a scene with David Bowie rock music, then let it be damned, let him lace a scene with David Bowie rock music.

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