More of a variety show of MGM players at the time than a viable film. Part musical, part screwball comedy, part water pageant – it never really gels together. Most of the musical numbers, although good, are kind of boring. GORGEOUS technicolor. Esther Williams, in her first starring role, is beyond beautiful, and Red Skelton is charming.

The main problem with the film is the dialogue, which is completely wrong for the era. Civil War captains giving lines like “Uh-huh.” Lots of wonderful actors, even in small supporting roles, giving solid performances although no standouts. Great plot, very interesting and probably accessible to most Americans, even those who aren’t crazy about history. Redford draws parallels between the aftermath of Lincoln’s assassination and the aftermath of 9/11 which are interesting to debate, even if you decide you don’t agree with them.

The acting is not great and the script has some forced Neil Simon-esque passages, but I loved every second of it. Possibly because I saw it for the first time as a 31-year-old. “Return of the Secaucus Seven” really hits an authentic note about your early 30s. A group of seven friends come together for a weekend. They have a long, rich history – some met in high school, others college, some have dated, some are breaking up – and Sayles’ magnificence is in presenting the viewers with fully-realized characters. There is such a depth to the relationships, they feel like real friends.

What is so quintessentially 30s is the realization that they are all settling into what their lives will be. Gone are the 20s when anything can happen. Some have successful jobs that define them, others are having to come to terms with dreams that may not come true, plans that will not work out. There is a sense of finality about decisions in your early thirties – either you will have kids now or you won’t, etc. There is the definite sense that you are not young anymore (can’t party as hard as you once could). Yet, there are still new beginnings and uncertainties. Sayles captures all of these things perfectly.

This book was on my radar when it came out a decade ago. Not being a Ripper scholar (knowing the basic history/lore of the killings and a few of the alternative theories about his identity), I approached the book with a fairly open mind.

“Portrait of a Killer” is a quick read and fairly entertaining for anyone who enjoys true crime stories. Cornwell spent six years working in forensics, so her approach is definitely CSI meets Jack the Ripper. Her claim that famous British artist Walter Sickert was the true identity of the infamous Jack the Ripper is mainly based on comparisons of watermarks in Sickert/Ripper letters (as well as supplies used to create them) and a DNA match from a Ripper letter and several Sickert letters. Unfortunately, the childless Sickert was cremated and therefore at this time there is no way we can verify if the DNA matches are actually his DNA. Cornwell is pretty straightforward about this hiccup in her case, and uses masses of other more coincidental items to back up her theory.

Most of Cornwell’s other “evidence” is based on her interpretations of Sickert’s often dark and violent artwork, for which he often used used prostitutes as models. Although some of the facts are quite interesting (a painting titled “Jack the Ripper’s Bedroom” which was actually Sickert’s bedroom at the time) and strengthen her case, a lot of seemed like fairly large stretches. Much of the art referenced in the book was not reprinted (probably due to difficulty getting permission when the subject of the book was known), so I looked many of them up online. Cornwell frequently claims Sickert’s subjects look like their throats have been slashed, but when you look at the picture it is clear that they are wearing a necklace. She claims “The Fair at Night, Dieppe” is actually what Sickert saw as he lurked at the crime scenes, but the painting looks like a crowded fair. The frequency of these weak, perception-based “clues” do more to take away from Cornwell’s argument than back it up as the reader repeatedly wonders if she is grasping at straws.

There are enough strong clues to indicate that Sickert is a good suspect, but definitely not enough to mark the “Case Closed”. Even if it is his DNA on the letters, there is no way to know if he was just another of many writing fake Ripper letters at the time. The first half of the book is much stronger and better written than the second, which seems jumbled, rushed, and trails off in the end. Her claims that Jack the Ripper was responsible for many more murders than he is accredited is hardly backed up at all, and most of Sickert’s adult life is left blurry unless it specifically fits into her theories. Did he do it? Maybe, but Cornwell hasn’t proved it to my mind yet.

In these days where gore is the new horror, I have a lot of respect for the filmmakers for making an old-school, just plain creepy horror movie. My main problem with the movie was the usual horror movie cliche of characters doing randomly stupid things – “Oh, I want to smoke a cigarette. I guess I have to pull over in this cemetary.” This was probably intentional, as the classic horrors definitely deal with this issue in spades, but we live in a post-Scream world, where most viewers are fairly savvy and writers need to step it up.

More of a social commentary than a courtroom drama. Foster completely carries the film and her brave performance still resonates (although I don’t think it deserved the Oscar compared to the more complicated performances others gave that year). Without Foster it is mediocre ’80s movie complete with an overdone score and a hero with a mullet.

There’s a trend going through film today in which the audience is subjected to long scenes of the mundane. Sometimes (when it works), the gratuitous mundanity becomes lyric – it can set a bleak atmosphere like no other technique. I recently watched 2008’s “Hunger,” which features a three-minute shot of a man cleaning a prison hallway. Without a word, the director managed to portray the daily monotony of prison, the unceasing struggle between guards and prisoners, and an utter lack of hope. It worked because there was a payoff – the long shots not only set up the atmosphere, but there was also interesting characters and a worthwhile plot.

“Liverpool” was not short of long, mundane shots. In fact, the movie is made entirely out of them. However, unlike “Hunger,” there is no payoff. Once placing the audience in a fully realized setting, the director leaves them there with a handful of one dimensional characters and a threadbare plot. “Liverpool” was a frustrating experience because its simple story was appealing, but drowned in too much atmosphere.

I didn’t give it a “Not Worth Consuming” simply because it helped me crystalize my feelings on the mundane shot (or whatever the technical term) and how it can work effectively in film. I don’t recommend it.

What I liked most about the film was its focus on the work of making a magazine. Yes, it’s “Vogue” – a fashion magazine, and there are lots of designers, clothes, and models. But the heart of the documentary is about the magazine itself and the people who create it, not the clothes.

Although it would have probably been short a few of the more eccentric characters, I don’t believe the film would have been much different if they had decided to go behind the scenes of any major magazine. Where the fashion angle really comes to play is in the way Anna Wintour is regarded. The association of being part of the fashion world comes with the price that, although highly regarded by many, her work as seen as frivolous even by the members of her family. If she was the editor-in-chief of “National Geographic” – would she still be seen in the same light?

I knew of Wintour’s reputation for being icy before the film – and although the film isn’t essentially a biography, it does give a more accurate look at the woman behind the sunglasses on the front row at Fashion Week. The filmmakers juxtapose Wintour with Grace Coddington, the creative director who started at Vogue on the same day as Wintour. Grace is the artist who pours her soul into each fashion shoot and is devastated when one of her pictures is cut. Wintour is the editing eye – some see her as callous, but she is understandably guarded when working the business side of an artistic profession. While others can focus on their small part of the magazine, only Wintour is responsible for every page, picture and letter – and she is extremely involved in every step. I found it truly fascinating to watch.

An excellent film on the costs of freedom and the oppressiveness of living in a world without it.

I, like most Americans probably, had never heard of the Katyn massacre before this movie. During WWII, Soviet forces executed 20,000 Polish POW officers and then spent several decades denying their actions and forcing the Polish people to pretend the Germans were the killers. Katyn elegantly follows the lives of those left behind. Although it is a serious subject and I definitely cried, the movie sidesteps becoming maudlin, managing to find the right tone to convey the horror and wastefulness of war – not only for the soldiers, but their loved ones as well. Those left behind were forced to choose between endorsing the Soviet lies in order to move on with their lives, or to stubbornly embrace the truth despite the consequences.

Having heard about the movie, I thought it would play like one of those late-night Skinemax movies, so I definitely had low expectations. The movie is much better than that, although not great by any means.

Kim Basinger is a recently divorced gallery employee – and she plays the vulnerability just right. She’s too trusting and too easily controlled. Mickey Rourke (gosh was he handsome!) enters – a rich, powerful man with a quiet voice (too quiet – the movie seesaws between whispered conversations and blaring bad ’80s music). Their sexual partnership is one that tests how far Rourke will go to dominate and how much Basinger will submit. I found the relationship quite interesting – Basinger letting herself be degraded, despite moments where she fights for more control. She wants them to be a real couple (meet her friends, see where he works), but he resists. He wants her to be an object, a doll he can feed, dress and have sex with.

A lot of current viewers, especially women, aren’t going to find the movie enjoyable because they will be offended by Basinger’s actions. Why let yourself get continually degraded? They’re missing the whole point, thinking the movie is supposed to be sexy – but it’s really more of a character-based drama. She was a successful, intelligent, cultured woman – yet her desires led her deep into this twisted game. She feels “hypnotized.” Rourke takes her shopping for new clothes – a tailored powersuit quite different from the baggy outfits she normally wears. “Aren’t you going to ask me if I like it?” she asks. “No,” he answers. It’s not a make-over, his intention is to create someone entirely different, and I think she enjoyed that to a degree. A movie like “Secretary” explores a domination/submissive relationship that is easier, I think, for women to handle – a young woman with some psychological demons who finds happiness through the relationship. Basinger’s character is the opposite – a woman who becomes more unstable as the relationship goes on.

There are lots of “steamy” sex scenes that seemed fairly un-sexy to me. Messy eating? Sex under a drainpipe in a NY alley? There’s also a lot of cheesy “we run everywhere we go because we’re so in love” moments. However, the movie is an interesting watch because of the well-done characters.