Dear Diary

It’s not that I’ve forgotten you, but how did I go two weeks without seeing a movie? Work and travel had something to do with it, but there were other distractions as well. Though I am now officially into “wait till next year” mode with my beloved Cleveland Indians, up till now I have been spending tube time with the Tribe that might otherwise have been devoted to films. I’ve also been reading recent novels by Marilynne Robinson, Alice McDermott, and now E.L. Doctorow.

And then there’s HBO. After the season’s end of The Sopranos and Big Love, I caught up with the second season of Deadwood, to prepare for the third, which is now underway and likely to finish as a best-ever nominee for me, unless it is supplanted by The Wire, whose third season I am stockpiling on TiVo for an orgy of viewing in advance of the upcoming fourth. I am baffled by the critics who say HBO original series are losing momentum -- they just can’t be paying attention. Of course, not everything HBO does is up to the high standard they set. Despite the presence of Helen Mirren, their Elizabeth I was sub-Masterpiece Theater in the sophistication of its storytelling, but sumptuous in its settings and costumes.

I did catch my own double feature at the Clark, to kick off the “Brother to Brother” film series. Of the two Elia Kazan films, On the Waterfront gets me every time, it's indelibly great. The only thing that bothered me, as it seems to do these days, was some of the music in the more intimate scenes. Out-and-out melodrama is one thing, but if you have some pretense to realism, in those tight two-shots let the actors do the work with their faces and voices, stifle the soaring strings. The jazzy dockside music is great though, and one of the audience reminded me the composer was Leonard Bernstein. Still, Brando and Saint were more than capable of carrying those scenes on their own. East of Eden was good to see in Cinemascope, even if projected digitally. The Monterey peninsula in WWI days vies with James Dean as the star of the picture. Raymond Massey is effective as his father, and so is Julie Harris as his brother’s girlfriend, but it all seems weighted with literary significance rather than blazing with the immediacy of Waterfront.

Next up is “Brothers Under Care” on Sunday, July 9th: What’s Eating Gilbert Grape? at 1:30 and Rain Man at 4:00. In the former, the brothers are Johnny Depp and Leonardo DiCaprio, directed by Lasse Halstrom; in the latter, Dustin Hoffman and Tom Cruise, from Barry Levinson.

Looking to appeal to a mixed group of family, I got around to watching Cinderella Man (2005, dvd, n.) and it certainly filled the bill, would have been a more plausible Best Picture than Crash. Though Ron Howard’s direction is practiced to a fault, with heart-tugging made to order from the true-life fairy tale of the amazing comeback of Depression-era boxer, Jim Braddock, it is smoothly done and the ever-surprising Russell Crowe invests his character with almost more reality than the film can bear. Paul Giamatti contributes a reliably engaging turn as the boxer’s manager and trainer. Renee Zellweger looks the part of the stalwart wife, but isn’t given much to do except stir the same ashes as Angela. It’s tasteful and inspiring, and easy to let yourself be manipulated by the movie. My responses are as mixed as the critics, which Metacritic averaged out to to MC-69, and I would rate as *6+* or *7-*.

Working on an intermittent retrospective of Ingmar Bergman, I took a look at the impeccable Criterion Collection dvd of Smiles of a Summer Night (1955, dvd, r.), an uncharacteristic French bedroom farce with a Swedish accent, or Oscar Wilde under the midnight sun. It’s really very well done in every respect, and gave Bergman the popular and international success that allowed him to go on to The Seventh Seal and the rest of the work with his dour signature. As sparkling as it is, and inspirational to Woody Allen and Stephen Sondheim, it took me three evenings to get through it this time, so my *7+* rating is somewhat provisional.

Finally, I just watched Separate Lies (2005, dvd, n.) Julian Fellowes won an Oscar for the screenplay of Gosford Park, and here makes his directorial debut. Tom Wilkinson and Emily Watson are reliably excellent as the well-off couple with a London townhouse and country home in High Wickham. He’s a successful but stuffy solicitor, and she’s a not-quite-right housewife and hostess. There’s an accident, moral quandaries, revelation of deceit, and slippage of personality. It’s quite watchable but doesn’t add up, though it doesn’t overstay its welcome by very much, at less than 90 minutes. If you’re a real Anglophile who loves to see a stiff upper lip quiver, you might like this, but for me it clocks in at a *6-* (MC-71.)