Let there be light! But not yet.

Yes, I, too, get sick of the sound of my own voice. So if you've got something to say, email me (bdeners@gmail.com) and I'll consider it for posting here. First entry is from Teresa, who has a complaint:

"What do you think about theaters that bring up the house lights before or just as the credits start? It makes me crazy. Since I patronize the arthouse circuit (hooray for sprung seats and lousy sound systems) and tend towards the heavier fare I like to process a little and watch the credits; others usually leave quietly. Lights are distracting and trigger an immediate ruckus. I have lights and ruckus at home for free. It's one thing at a multiplex but another thing entirely at an indie joint.

Examples - the Chez brought lights fully up halfway through the ending Bollywood number in Slumdog (movie not over yet IMO). There was plenty of time before the next showing - they didn't have to herd us right out.

The Regency blew the impact of No Country's ending by bringing lights up before the screen had even faded to black. We refused to go back to the Regency until yesterday, when I was dispatched there on a reconnaissance mission. Yup, the house lights came up during the written wrapup at the end of Frost/Nixon (again, movie not over, had to IMDB the cast later). Grrrrrr! The manager said this is permanent policy as a courtesy to their target market, which is seniors rather than filmies. That's their right, of course. But aren't there always throngs of seniors at the Landmarks? They somehow manage to survive five more minutes in the dark... I regret to announce that the Regency is dead to me forever. Too bad for them, we buy a heck of a lot of wine."


I agree with Teresa. Darkness is essential to the moviegoing experience. I don't like it when the lights don't dim until the main feature starts, and, yes, they should remain off until the last credit has rolled. Sometimes, you want to know who performed a song that's used on the soundtrack. Maybe you'd like to know where the movie was shot. Keeping the house lights off is not only a courtesy to the audience; it's a sign of respect for the filmmakers -- from the actors to the grips and gaffers. Yes, it really took all those people to get the movie on screen; they deserve their moment -- not in the sun, but in the dark. Replies from theater managers are most welcome.

Oscars: The lack of interest mounts

Of course, I'll watch. And, no, I'm not particularly excited about the Oscars, which will be awarded Sunday. I have no strong rooting interests, and I'm already sick of what has become an interminable awards season. This year's show may be spiffier -- see Sunday's New York Times -- but that may simply highlight the fact that the stars alone can't carry the night.

And there may be an element of woeful familiarity about the evening. We've already seen Kate Winslet gush (at the Golden Globes); we know Sean Penn will be humbled without totally masking the edgier parts of his personality; we understand that the people who made "Slumdog Millionaire" will be thrilled beyond belief and will acknowledge the people of Mumbai without whose help, etc.

There'll be fashion disasters, although they seem to have gotten fewer in recent years. There'll be surprisingly moving moments, and when it's all said and done, we'll have had much sound and fury and little will have been signified.

Oscar predictions are a risky business. I'm not sure who started trying to outguess the voters of the augustly named Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences. I've generally wondered if the Oscars aren't more readily enjoyed by those who care the least and who view the whole business as a singular expression of Hollywood hubris: "We have evaluated our own work and found it to be superb."

But I've gotten into the habit of predicting and so I'll forge ahead with this year's guesses, which probably follow the path set by other prognosticators. There seems to be a fair amount of consensus out there, where ever "there" is.

Best picture: "Slumdog Millionaire."
Best director: Danny Boyle, "Slumdog Millionaire."
Best Actor: Sean Penn, "Milk."
Best Actress: Kate Winslet: "The Reader."
Best Supporting Actor: Heath Ledger, "The Dark Knight."
Best Supporting Actress: Penelope Cruz, "Vicky Cristina Barcelona."
Best Original Screenplay: Dustin Lance Black, "Milk."
Best Adapted Screenplay: Simon Beaufoy, "Slumdog Millionaire."
Best Animated Feature: "Wall-E."
Best Foreign-Language Film: "Waltz With Bashir."
Best Documentary Feature: "Man On Wire."or "Trouble the Water." It's a toss-up.

If you're looking for categories where we're most likely to see upsets, try these:
Best actor: Mickey Rourke, "The Wrestler."
Best actress: Anne Hathaway, "Rachel Getting Married" or Meryl Streep, "Doubt."
Best supporting actress: Viola Davis, “Doubt”


If you're interested in more insider information on the Oscars, you probably should bookmark two important blogs: "The Envelope," produced by The Los Angeles Times and "The Carpetbagger," a seasonal awards blog of The New York Times. Variety's "Award Central" page also is good a good source of news on Oscar.

Images you can bank on -- and little else

I didn't get to see "The International" until the night before opening, which -- come to think of it -- might have been a blessing. This thriller from director Tom Tykwer ("Run Lola Run" and "Perfume: The Story of a Murderer") has a plot that's as tangled as the current financial situation -- if a lot less dire. Had I seen the movie earlier, I might have spent more time trying to figure it out.

Say this, though: "The International" sprawls across the globe finding some of the best locations of the year in France, Italy, Turkey, the U.S. and Germany. That's not surprising because Tykwer knows how to create astonishing images, and, in this visually impressive effort, he receives a major assist from cinematographer Frank Griebe, who also shot "Perfume," a movie that seemed incomprehensible in far more intriguing ways.

Looking half-deranged -- no, make that fully deranged -- Clive Owen plays an Interpol cop who's trying to expose the evil doings at The International, a bank that's involved in arms sales to the highest bidder. Owen is joined by Naomi Watts, who seems to pop in and out of the picture at random. She portrays a Manhattan DA who's also involved in the case.

A long, destructive and skillfully executed set piece set in New York's Guggenheim Museum shows more respect for bloody genre conventions than for art or architecture, which is odd because Tykwer has a keen and acute visual sense. There are great shots of Berlin office towers, and the views from Istanbul's rooftops are at once bracing and mysterious. If I were a student of cinematography I'd race out to see "The International" because Tykwer seems incapable of framing a dull shot. Too bad he's not equally incapable of directing a movie with a plot that ties itself in knots.

"Shopaholic" proves easy to resist

How lightweight an affair is "Confessions of a Shopaholic?" Put it this way: This woeful piece of fluff makes "Sex and the City" look like something out of Eugene O'Neill. Based on books by Sophie Kinsella, the movie follows the exploits of Rebecca Bloomwood (Isla Fisher) as she negotiates her way through the New York magazine world while battling an insatiable shopping addiction. Her British boss (Hugh Dancy) struck me as a poor man's Hugh Grant, a dispiriting thought because Grant himself can seem a bit second-hand. Fisher, who grew up in Australia, seems intent on proving that she's the hardest working woman in show business. You could work up a sweat just watching her. A negligible supporting cast includes John Lithgow, Joan Cusack, Kristin Scott-Thomas and John Goodman. In all, "Confessions" feels like a low-rent version of other so-called "chic flicks," notably "The Devil Wears Prada." Calculated (boy is it ever) to speak to its target demographic -- teen and slightly upward, "Confessions of a Shopaholic" seems like a knockoff rather than the real thing. Like many knockoffs, it doesn't wear well.

"FRIDAY THE 13TH" TRIES FOR NEW LIFE

Also, opening this week: "Friday the 13th,'' a remake of a touchstone bit of 1980 horror that spawned numerous gory sequels. Marcus Nispel, who provided a similar update of "The Texas Chainsaw Massacre" in 2003 follows the expected formula, which should please a new generation of viewers eager to watch young people hacked to death at Camp Crystal Lake. The words "offensive" and "gratuitous" must be applied here, and I wondered why a little more originality couldn't have been shown. Think of the possibilities had Jason -- the killer with the hockey mask -- been let loose in "Confessions of a Shopaholic." At the very least, he could have chopped up all those credit cards.

Welcome to hard times, Part 2

Banks, brokerages and just about every other kind of business seem to be gagging on mega-helpings of financial woe. Now comes the disturbing news that elevator music may be also be taking a hit. The New York Times Wednesday reported that Musak Holdings has filed for bankruptcy protection. Musak's creditors evidently include music companies that license songs for use on elevators and also in stores. According to the Times -- which ran an Associated Press story on the Muzak matter -- the company plans to continue operations. But next time, you're on an elevator or in a store, don't take that background music for granted. Like everything else, it's not immune from economic difficulty. For reasons that have yet to be clarified, Treasury Secretary Timothy F. Geithner hasn't offered a comment on elevator music, even though the operative words for the economy might be, "Going down."

"Welcome to hard times" is an occasional feature of this blog.

A slogan that needs changing

“Limes regiones rerum.”

That's the Latin inscription that appears on the gateway to the University of Southern California’s School of Cinematic Arts. The school's new facilities were designed -- at least in the earliest stages -- by George Lucas, who donated $175 million for construction. Warner Brothers, Fox and Disney threw in another $50 million. The University is looking to raise another $50 million, most of it for its animation department. That would make a grand total of $275 million for an institution that has a fine reputation when it comes to film schools. It's the oldest in the nation.

But about that motto. I gave up on Latin as soon as it ceased to be compulsory; i.e., at the end of the seventh grade, an altogether miserable year made worse by endless conjugation. I was happy that the New York Times, which ran an article on the USC school in today's editions, translated. It means: "Reality ends here."

At first, I misread the quote, mistaking "rerum" for "rerun," which would have a whole other meaning, one that might prove a little too apt for an industry dedicated to formula; i.e., attempts to mine future profits by repeating the elements of past success. But even an accurate translation bothered me.

Look, reality is a construct, so in a way the quote is grandly and pretentiously meaningless, particular when rendered in Latin. But I'd be more encouraged about the future of "film" -- better termed "moving images" because the long-term future may be mostly digital -- if the slogan were changed to read, "Reality begins here." How about a school with a commitment to the arts as a quest for personal and social truths that resonate deeply?

The discussion of reality and art could sink any blog entry, an anchor of gravity tossed off a rowboat built for quick-hit observation. So I offer my suggestion in the same genial spirit that once inspired the late Jimmy Cannon, a fine New York sportswriter. Cannon occasionally wrote columns -- actually collections of one-liners -- entitled, "Nobody asked me, but..."

Nobody asked me, but I think it's time that cinema renewed its commitment to reality -- even when it's fantasizing. After all, what's artifice for, if it not to bring us closer to what's real?

A beautifully realized fantasy world

It should come as no surprise that "Coraline," a movie directed by Henry Selick ("The Nightmare Before Christmas" and "James and the Giant Peach") proves visually stunning, particularly at selected theaters which are playing the movie in 3D. I'm not a huge fan of 3D -- hate the glasses, hate thinking about it while watching a movie -- but I'd say that Selick makes wise use of the third dimension, emphasizing depth over gimmicky stunts in which objects seem to fly off the screen. Initially charming but increasingly prone to darkness, "Coraline" has been creatively realized by Selick, who specializes in stop-action animation and brilliant puppetry.

The story centers on Coraline (voice by Dakota Fanning) an 11-year-old who moves with her parents (Teri Hatcher and John Hodgman) into a large, somewhat lonely house. The isolated Coraline turns to her parents for attention, but they're always busy working. Left to her own devices, Coraline discovers a hidden door that leads to a tunnel which lands her in an alternate universe, the flip side of a life in which mom and dad never seem to leave their computers.

Coraline's mom and dad are present in this new world -- after a fashion. Unlike their real world counterparts, "alternate" mom and dad are happy, fun-loving folks. Everything looks rosy for Coraline, although signs of trouble quickly appear. Both mom and dad have buttons where their eyes are supposed to be. I don't know about you but the thought of eyes sewn onto a face -- especially if it's mine -- feels pretty disturbing.

The bright imaginative surface of this new world masks its perils. Mom isn't quite as accommodating as she initially seems. In fact, menacing adventures await Coraline, who learns that she probably should have been a little more accepting of her parents, the ones with real eyes and busy schedules.

So appealing at first, Other Mother -- as alternate mom is known -- turns out to be a monster, and "Coraline" takes a creepy turn that disqualifies it as entertainment for the youngest children. (Someone suggested that age 12 might be an appropriate starting point to enter the sometimes threatening world that Selick creates.) Little kids may be justifiably unnerved by the fact that Coraline's Other Mother doesn't want her to return to the "real" world.

It may be possible to walk into "Coraline" at any moment during its 100-minute running time and be swept away by its colors and hand-made artistry. Early on, I found myself completely engaged in the world that Selick creates; but as "Coraline" wore on, I began to forget the story and focus on the visuals. For me, "Coraline" stopped being a movie and turned into a museum-quality curio -- an achievement to marvel over even when it wasn't being totally enjoyable. Put another way, the world that Selick creates may be as memorable as anyone in it. Still, it's quite a world.

A trendy guide to relationships

Here's what you need to know about "He's Just Not That Into You," provided that the word "trendy" makes you run for cover.

-- The movie is a big-screen adaptation of a bestselling 2004 relationship guide by Greg Behrendt and Liz Tuccillo. The book's subtitle: "The No-Excuses Truth to Understanding Guys." The whole thing reportedly was inspired by a line from a "Sex and the City" episode. Need I say more? Need you hear more?

-- "He's Just Not That Into You" has been filled with a variety of pretty faces, actresses with a definite appeal for a female audience in which ages top out at about 40 -- and probably skew a little younger.

-- The key players in this ensemble are Jennifer Aniston (as a woman who's been living with a guy for seven years and wants to get married); Jennifer Connelly (as a wife who's renovating a house with her less-than-committed husband); Ginnifer Goodwin (as a young woman who wants a relationship but tries too hard); and Scarlett Johansson (as a singer who's not sure what she wants, maybe another movie with Woody Allen.)

--Goodwin currently can be seen as the impetuous Margene in "Big Love." In that popular HBO series, she plays one of three wives in a Utah family that believes in "the principle;" i.e., multiple wives. Here, she can't even get a date.

-- The movie was directed by Ken Kwapis, who directed "The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants" and who has a lot of experience in television. It shows.

-- An episodic "story" is interrupted by self-conscious monologues that enumerate the ways in which men are dogs.

-- There are some amusing moments, and everyone is attractive, but the movie tries too hard to reflect the contemporary social scene, at least as its experienced by a variety of young, reasonably affluent residents of Baltimore.

-- Many guys are going to be dragged by their dates to see this movie.

-- Kris Kristofferson has a blinkingly tiny role as Aniston's father. Ben Affleck plays one of the nicest guys in the movie, prompting what might be its only lingering questions: "What's the world coming to?"


KEEP ON PUSHING -- OR, ON SECOND THOUGHT, DON'T

I decided to attend a preview of "Push," the new sci-fi action movie, because the movie was filmed in Hong Kong. I've never been. I want to go. Movies may be the closest I'll ever get. "Push" offers some great shots of teeming city streets, sleek glass skyscrapers, a harbor dotted with small boats and a variety of bustling markets. Too bad, the actors sometimes block the view.

Watching "Push," all I could think about was the meeting that might have taken place when this misshapen mess was hatched. What if we took a really confusing story, created a bunch of characters with paranormal powers, wrote some bad dialogue, incorporated a variety of special effects that evoked memories of movies such as "The Matrix," and hired actors who seem committed to showing only one facial expression? Sounds like a winner to me.

"Push," which features characters who are pushers, movers and watchers, tells the story of Nick Gant (Chris Evans), a guy who's trying to hide from The Division, a force dedicated to capturing people with paranormal powers and using them as weapons. He's joined by Cassie Holmes (Dakota Fanning), a teen-ager who can see into the future. That's what watchers do. Nick is a mover, he makes objects float through the air. Pushers, by the way, don't sell drugs; they penetrate people's minds and overwhelm them with the power of suggestion. Everyone runs around madly with director Paul McGuigan setting a frantic, panicky pace. Talk about ruining a trip to Hong Kong.

Welcome to hard times

The other day, my filmmaking partner -- Jim Phelan -- and I were talking to a friend and client about (what else?) the disastrous state of the economy. Jim, who's prone to optimism, took the lead, saying that perhaps some good may come from the current decline in just about everyone's financial prospects. Maybe people would stop thinking so much about themselves and start helping one another, he said. The third party to our discussion agreed and mentioned something about the way people sometimes will bring dinner to a person who's suffering a loss and how maybe more folks might start thinking that way now that we're all in the same leaky economic boat.

As I listened, it occurred to me that the four most powerful words in English might be "How can I help?" I wish I used them more often, but even as this discussion was going on around me, my brow began to furrow. When times are hard, wouldn't evidence suggest that people might become more brutal and more self-centered, that a "me-first" attitude might become even more prevalent? I hope I'm wrong. I hope my companions are right, and, as I grow older, I have to admit that simple acts of kindness seem more important to me than, say, intellectual accomplishment or other stunning feats, like winning the Fourth of July hotdog eating contest at Nathan's in Coney Island. (Yeah, I watch it every year.)

So I vowed that I would keep a sharp eye out for evidence that supported one or the other of these theories about human behavior. Today, I noticed a story in the New York Times that seems to lend credibility to those who worry that deprivation doesn't often lead to a bull market in goodness. It appeared under the headline, "Where snow has fallen, plow thefts have risen."

The headline pretty much tells you what you need to know about the story, which was filed out of Boston, but I'll give you the second paragraph anyway: "Reports of stolen trucks and plows are on the rise in many cold-weather states, and the authorities suspect that people who have lost their jobs or are looking for extra work are stealing the plows and setting up shop or selling them to plow drivers in need of new equipment."

I'm drawing no larger conclusions based on a single Times story that appeared toward the back of the first section, but I offer it as the way of encouraging you to keep an eye out for stories that may shed light on this important question: Are our better angels likely to be pulled toward the ground as the economy goes to hell? Stay tuned.