This afternoon, the family went to see Wallace and Gromit in The Curse of the Were-rabbit. Hilarious and superb. A review in the NY Times had credited Gromit with the most expressive face in film. They were right, quite a feat for a blob of clay with marbles for eyes.


Good Night and Good Luck , shot in black & white and cigarette smoke, is a powerful reminder of McCarthy and the Commie hunts, the fifties equivalent of Karl Rove. Where is this decade's Edward R. Murrow?


I'll admit it: I'm a David Cronenburg fan. In Existenz, people port a virtual reality game directly into their central nervous systems and can't separate reality from the game. Crash was a weird little number where people get off on intentional car wrecks. And I'll never forget the scene in The Fly where Jeff Goldblum calls on his fly-strength when arm wrestling and breaks the other guy's hand off at the wrist. Cronenburg's latest, A History of Violence is pointless. The few action scenes are so fast you almost miss them. I don't know why they bothered to make this one.

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