The other day, I had a conversation with my little brother, who plays in a rock band. Over the phone, he lamented about being born in the wrong era.  He longed to be a child of the 1960s in order to experience the rock legends of the late 70s and 80s in their prime.  Led Zeppelin, Dio and Kiss are a few of his idols and he complains that music just isn’t very good these days.  No arguments there.  When I suggested that he watch Midnight in Paris, to compare his woes to what the film depicts, he seemed less than interested.  He then complained about how movies aren’t as good as they once were, referencing The Blues Brothers and Wayne’s World as the cream of the crop.  We all have different opinions.

In Midnight in Paris, Gil (Owen Wilson) has an idealistic time and place as well; 1920s Paris.  It was the era of great writers, like Hemmingway, and game changing artists, like Dalí and his surrealists.  Gil is a Hollywood screen writer who wants to write, what he considers, real literature.  He has been working, and rewriting and tweaking a novel for some time now.  On a business  trip to Paris with his fiancé, Inez (Rachel McAdams) and her parents (Kurt Fuller and Mimi Kennedy), it seems he has the right place, but not the time.  Nor the right people.

What is most frustrating to Gil is that rather than enjoying and trying to absorb the beauty and history around them, Inez always wants them to go with her friends, Paul (Michael Sheen) and Carol (Nina Arianda).  The foursome visits modern art galleries, Versailles and (my personal favorite) the Rodin Museum.  All the fun is sucked out with Paul pretentiously spouting pseudo-intellectual jabber.  He even argues with the tour guide at times.

It’s only late at night that Gil can get away and have some time to himself.  As most writers do, he walks.  And after midnight, oh the magic he stumbles into is too wonderful for me to spoil!

Seeing so much of the beauty and creative life that makes Paris special makes me wonder how exactly Woody Allen sees it.  Most film enthusiasts know that New York his his home and a majority of his films are set and filmed there.  Is Paris the European equivalent to New York to Allen?  And where does 1920s Paris compare with various eras in New York?  These are all questions of perspective, not fact, and I think Woody drops some big hints in this film through Gil, but is wily enough to make us keep guessing.

Midnight in Paris was nominated for four Oscars: Best Picture, Original Screenplay, Art Direction and Woody Allen for Best Director.

I want to recommend Midnight in Paris for everyone, but especially writers, musicians and artists of all sorts.  The artistic communities all have their great predecessors that we look to and admire.  Midnight in Paris is one of those films that fully understands that and the frustrations we can feel when others fail to.  The film can also help us get past that barrier we put up, believing that we could never be as good as Hemmingway, Dalí.  Or Dio.

“The artist’s job is not to succumb to despair but to find an antidote for the emptiness of existence.”

If The Academy is looking to award a witty, nostalgic comedy with a unique flare of magic, Midnight in Paris will win the Oscar for Best Picture.

Young Hugo (Asa Butterfield) finds comfort in imagining that the entire world is a machine, because in a machine, there are no extra parts.  In that idea, he, everyone and everything around him have a purpose.

It is obvious to see where he develops this understanding.  Before his father (Jude Law) died, he taught Hugo how to fix clockwork.  Now as an orphan, he keeps all the clocks running in a Paris train station.  Like a twentieth century Quisimoto, he observes the people within the station from his hiding places.  They have their purposes inside the station.  Passengers, conductors, the flower shop girl, cafe owner with a little dog are all benign.  However, the toy shop keeper (Ben Kingsley) is out to get Hugo for stealing and the inspector (Sacha Baron Cohen) would send him to the orphanage if he ever got a hold of him.

Along with keeping the station’s clocks running, Hugo is determined to fix an automaton he and his father were working on together.  If working properly, it should write a message, one Hugo hopes would bring him some last connection to his father.  But it requires a mysterious key, and the more Hugo works on the automaton, the more enveloped he becomes in the mystery surrounding it.

One of the fondest memories Hugo has about his father is going to the movies.  Stories Hugo heard of seeing a rocket landing in the eye of the man in the moon sounds like an old legend.  As the mystery unfolds, it brings out the influence and importance of early film, film preservation and the ways movies bring people together.  In terms of themes closes to Martin Scorsese’s heart, Hugo may be one of his proudest works.  His nomination for Best Director is well deserved.

In addition to Best Director, there are ten other Oscar nominations Hugo is competing for: Best Picture, Art Direction, Costume Design, Cinematography, Film Editing, Original Score, Sound Editing, Sound Mixing, Visual Effects and Adapted Screenplay.  As you can see, many of them come from how technically compelling the film is.

For a film buff, some of the most amazing scenes are watching turn of the century silent movies in production.  To see them recreated, in film so vivid and colorful you feel you are right there, is a surreal experience.  It really does feel like watching dreams being made.  I was first introduced to Georges Melies in college, my professor describing his films as magic tricks.  They truly were and still are.

Personally, I view 3D as a gimmick and fad in film, but the use of 3D in Hugo is like nothing else I have ever seen.  There are no cheap tricks and the colors do not feel dulled.  Instead, the 3D brings out the depth of the scenes in amazing layers.  As Hugo runs through the train station and within its walls, the camera follows in magnificent long-shots that unfold in a lovely fluid movement and we feel transported as the surroundings and layers of steam rush by.  Its been said that Scorsese wore clip-on 3D lenses of over his glasses to assist in the cinematography and get a better grip on how the final film would turn out in 3D.  I have to say, whatever Scorsese did, he should keep on doing it.

“My friends, I address you all tonight as you truly are; wizards, mermaids, travelers, adventurers, magicians.  Come and dream with me.”

If the Academy is looking to award a magical film for all ages that reminds us how important film history and preservation is, Hugo will win the Oscar for Best Picture.

The fact that The Artist is a black and white silent film makes all the difference.  It was a unique kind of film experience.  Our eyes soaked up the perfect shades of grey and understood the first language we ever learned; body language.  Our ears were more relaxed, not searching words to decipher for meaning, but instead had music that perfectly lead us to the correct emotional state of each scene.  Without booming voices and today’s typical loud things that happen in movies (explosions, gunfire, screaming, Michael Bay-style annoyances), the entire theater experience was quieter than expected and I could hear laughter from rows away.  It was easy to see ourselves in the shots of audiences watching movies.

George Valentin (Jean Dujardin) is a silent film star in 1927 who loves the attention it brings him.  He is a bit conceited, giving his dog more credit than his costar and wife.  When a fan bumps into him with photographers all around, George plays along, sparking the question, “Who’s that girl?”  With her picture in the paper next to a star, she has more confidence and becomes an extra at Kinograph studios, under the name Peppy Miller (Supporting Actress nominated, Bérénice Bejo).  Little did she know she would be working with George and that he would help her find the one thing that can make her stand out from the other girls.  There is an obvious attraction between the two.

Problems arise for George, when he refuses to move on to talkies.  At first, he laughs, thinking a talking film is ridiculous.  When he understands the threat it presents to his work, he tries to fight it, by making his own silent film and making arguments against talkies in the papers.  Soon, he realizes it is too late.  We understand him to be a man stuck in one place as the rest of the world, including rising star Peppy, moves on without him.  That staircase scene helped illustrate that idea perfectly, no words needed.

With his Clark Gable style looks and Fred Astaire moves, Best Actor nominated Jean Dujardin feels perfectly natural in this silent era role as George.  All his “mugging at the camera” does not feel like mugging, but a perfect portrayal of emotions that can range so far across his face and movement.  When he smiles, it’s joyous.  His lowest moments can break our hearts.  Even when George’s guard is up, Dujardin has a way of showing how George truly feels.  This sort of silent acting is not miming, but a true art that has to reach deeper than superficial words, and Dujardin proves that he is a master.

I believe that music is much more important in a silent film.  It sets the tone and can replace the voices some may miss.  In one scene, you will see how orchestras used to play live at the front of the theater, providing live music to accompany the film.  Ah, how I would love to experience a silent film the old fashioned way.  The music composed for this film spans a wide range of depth, from toe-tapping jazzy to sweepingly dramatic.  And it all keeps true to the era portrayed.  If these points are taken into consideration, there is no competition against The Artist for Best Original Score.

Besides Best Picture, Original Score and the two acting nominations, The Artist was also nominated for Cinematography, Original Screenplay, Art Direction, Film Editing, Costume Design and Michel Hazanavicius for Best Director.  That is a big 10 nominations for a film that seems so out of the ordinary.   Only one other film has more nominations this year, Hugo with 11.

What surprised me the most about The Artist, is that even though there are some themes that hearken back to Singin’ in the Rain and Sunset Boulevard, it feels very original.  I was not able -nor distracted enough to try- to guess what would happen next.  The plot was driven by the characters, and they felt so real and compelling that the whole audience celebrated their triumphs and mourned beside them; even the dog.

The Artist gives me hope for the next generation of film making.  Taking a step back and remembering exactly why we love film, what originally made it so great, is one of the best ways to improve upon this art.  This is an amazing homage to an important era in film history that keeps the visuals and ideas simple.  But most importantly, it puts story and character first.

If The Academy is looking to award the most unconditional film that celebrates why people have always loved the movies, The Artist will win the Oscar for Best Picture.

I would dare to say that Terrence Malick’s The Tree of Life is like no other film you have seen or will see in years.  It tries to encompass all the mysteries of the universe and yet focuses, like a microscope, on one suburban family in the 1950s.  Their life is shown beautifully, through images that make up Jack (Hunter McCracken), the oldest boy’s, memory.  There is no concrete plot, but we are not lost, confused or wondering what the point of all these images are.  It’s shown how most people would look back and remember their own childhood, even if it was not as idealistic as young Jack’s.

In the beginning of the film, we are shown images of Jack in the present as a successful middle aged man (Sean Penn), mixed with the memories of the tragic death of one of his brothers.  We are shown the contrasting reactions from his mother (Jessica Chastain) and father (Brad Pitt), the typical comforts and unhelpful words of neighbors, “Life goes on.  At least you still have the other two.”  We see the wind billowing thin white curtains, the sunlight through a tree, empty rooms featuring a perfect artifact from a common home of the period.  Each shot is completely different from the last, yet continuity is achieved.

Then the film shows beautifully organic masses, meant to portray the creation of the universe.  This feels both calm and incredibly intense at the same time.  We watch computer generated cosmos open up, lava flow over the earth, even a few dinosaurs are shown.  It is very much like a combination of  2001: A Space Odysey and The Rite of Spring in Fantasia, only in breath taking high definition.

Throughout the film, you will hear voices, sometimes whispering.  Usually it is young Jack, wondering out loud in a bit of an abstract prayer to God, “I want to know what you are.  Why should I be good?  When You aren’t.”  Other times it is the voice of his mother, usually with some subtle advice on life, and all its complexities, “Help each other.  Love everyone.  Every leaf.  Every ray of light.  Forgive.”  The film is better enjoyed if you keep an open mind and soak these words in, rather than scoff at their attempt to be profound.

Jack’s childhood is shown from the day he is born until he is a young teen.  There is none of the usual narration, that would be too simple.  Instead of anything being told to us, we are shown everything.  His interactions have very little dialogue, not because it doesn’t happen, but because it is not needed.

Through what we are shown, we understand that his mother is kind, loving and very in tune with nature, whereas his father has a much harder exterior, demanding respect, that chores being done right, and becoming a model of tough manhood for his sons.  We see the boys and mother rejoice in freedom while the father is gone and cower together at his outbursts.  Generations today might regard Pitt’s character as a villain or an unfit father, but in a typical family from the 1950s, this was very much how most fathers behaved.  Jack seems to understand this is just how it is.

The entire film is photographed beautifully, earning the film a nomination for Best Cinematography.  It feels so naturally free form, continuing the ideas of the abstract universe this all takes place in.  For indoor scenes, there is rarely any lighting other than the sunlight coming in from the windows.  This always brings out the natural beauty of these people, and they are rarely given a typical Hollywood style close up.  The way the camera captures them makes them look so soulful and real, like you’re looking into an old family album.

Now, I do not think The Tree of Life will entertain everyone, though I believe its nominations for Best Director and Best Picture are well deserved.  Some people will be very put off by the non-linear plot, lack of dialogue or how Sean Penn was a big part of the advertising campaign only to be a very small part in the whole film.  However, I do encourage everyone to give it a try.  Clear your mind, let it open up to everything you see and hear.  You might not be able to figure out any mysteries of the universe through The Tree of Life, but then again, it might be a step in the right direction.

“Do you trust in God?  Job too was close to the Lord.”

If The Academy is looking to award the film that dares to be existentially artful, the Oscar for Best Picture will go to The Tree of Life.

In the late summer of 1999, with Disney steadily dominating the animated film market, The Iron Giant was released by Warner Bros. Pictures.  With director Brad Bird at the helm, most known for his work on The Simpsons at the time, the film reminded audiences what an animated film could really focus on: an engaging story.  It had no catchy songs to sing along to.  No cute talking animals.  No princesses or fairy tale motifs whatsoever.  Instead, it had a boy growing up in 1957, who befriends a giant alien robot.  The film shows the unease of the Atomic Age in America, just after the Russians had launch of Sputnik.

Hogarth (voiced by Eli Marienthal) is a boy wanting a pet, but his single mother, Annie (voiced by Jennifer Aniston) will have none of it.  One night, when Hogarth notices the antenna on the roof is gone, mysteriously bitten off rather, he follows a trail of destruction to find The Iron Giant (Vin Diesel’s voice computerized).  The Giant is an innocent creature, much like E.T., and learns English from Hogarth in the same way.  The problem is keeping The Giant hidden, from his mother and the rest of town.  There is a hilarious scene with The Giant’s hand running around the house like a dog and Hogarth desperately trying to get him back outside.  Eventually, word gets out and a government agent, Kent Mansley (voiced by Christopher McDonald) is sent to investigate.  Driven by power and paranoia, all he wants to do is destroy The Giant.  The impending doom from Mansley’s actions are more realistic and solemn than what most animated films dare to convey.

The film does a wonderful job of showing children the early years of Cold War America in ways that they could identify with.  In Hogarth’s school, we see them watching a film describing what to do in case of a nuclear attack.  The little jingle, “time to duck and cover, the bombs are coming down,” seems almost like an oxymoron now.  The comic books Hogarth shows The Giant are all created out of this new idea and fear of foreign weaponry.  Superman would surely not be around if it had not been for the early atomic age.

There are other great moments that illustrate the time period.  Hogarth’s mother works at a classic diner, while Dean (voiced by Harry Connick Jr.) portrays a stereotypical beatnik, complete with his espresso and scrap metal sculptures.  Great detail was taken to make sure all the cars depicted were from the era, including the train.  Hogarth staying up late and watching a typical B-horror movie is one of my favorite scenes.  I love how he rolls his eyes when leading man asks the woman if she wants to get a nightcap.  And if you notice a star moving in one scene, it’s meant to be Sputnik.

What I believe makes The Iron Giant a great animated film is the fact that it has a strong story that both children and adults will find captivating.  Adults will appreciate the accurate depiction of the time period more, but it will not push children away.  And what kid wouldn’t love the idea of having a giant robot friend?  Best of all, it has a simple parable about being who you choose to be, that adults can feel good about showing children.

“Oh, that’s Atomo, the metal menace.  He’s not a hero, he’s a villain.  But you’re not like him.  You’re a good guy, like Superman.”

In the spirit of honoring the Academy Awards, this review will focus on Bridges’ Oscar winning role, rather than the entire film.  This seems more appropriate for an Oscar focused blog, especially since Crazy Heart is a film driven and focused on Bridges’ performance.  In the film, Jeff Bridges plays Bad Blake, an aging, washed up, alcoholic country singer.

What many people remember most from Crazy Heart is Bridges singing and playing his the songs.  Now, I’ve listened to classic country music most of my life.  Country may be easier on the guitar, but they come so close to the heart that the singing cannot be faked.  Bridges captures this idea in his voice perfectly.  And it doesn’t matter whether he is drunk on stage or solemnly writing new songs on his porch, that country style brought on by heartache and hard times shines through as if he were channeling Hank Williams.

The most powerful things Bridges shows us about Blake are his low points.  Sure, he can remember to dedicate a song to people he met earlier that day, but he will be too busy drunkenly vomiting outside to sing the song.  When he quietly walks out of the concert with Tommy Sweet (Colin Farrell, who also sings his own numbers), who was hoping Blake would do a duet with him, we feel a mutual shame and disappointed in him.  And when he loses a child as he is trying to satisfy his thirst for whiskey, we know that things have gone too far.  The half-drunk, limping desperation Bridges brings in his frantic search in Houston is heartbreaking.

I never believed Bad Blake was really a bad person, just a man who had made some bad decisions.  Perhaps earlier in his life, Bad was more appropriate, but who we are shown is a man stuck with an old name he cannot shake.  It seems to be one of the things keeping him in his rut.  As the film progresses, his atonement for the bad decisions he made becomes more fulfilled.  If there were doubts about Blake’s good side, they are washed away.

So far, this has been Bridges’ only Oscar win.  Since 1971, in The Last Picture Show, he has been nominated by the Academy for six acting nominations, three for lead actor and three for supporting.  His most recent nomination was in 2010 for playing Rooster Cogburn in True Grit.

If I wasn’t lied to, the Oscar statue I held back when I first began this project was intended to go to the winner of Best Actor of 2009.  I’m sure my fingerprints, along with countless others, were wiped clean before the ceremony, but it is still fun to think that I got to hold Jeff Bridges’ Oscar back when I was just hoping that it would go to him.

“Ain’t rememberin’ wonderful?”

Until the other day, I was sure I had never seen The Night of the Hunter.  Yet, as I watched I had a few moments of déjà vu and it brought back my childhood weariness of boisterous preachers.  From the harping televangelist, to a broad rimmed hat spouting trite ideas on faith, I somehow grew up with an odd suspicion of many ministers, most of whom where probably very decent men.  Robert Mitchum’s character here is the is the icon of evil men who use religion as a cloak to lure the trusting masses in and I was ever mindful to not be the next chump.  It makes me wonder now if I might have seen The Night of the Hunter as a small child and have no solid memory of the event.  Is there such thing a repressed cinematic memory?

In the movie, the phony preacher learns of a newly widowed woman, whose husband hid ten thousand dollars he stole somewhere near their home.  When this man, Harry (Mitchum), finds the widow and her two children, he turns on his preacher-man charm and wins over everyone but the son, John (Billy Chapin).  Skeptical John and his doll-faced little sister, Pearl (Sally Jane Bruce), know where the money is hidden, but promised their dead father they would never tell anyone where, not even their mother.  After Harry marries their mother (Shelly Winters), he becomes even more menacing and inescapable.  The more he asks where the money is, the more he pits their naive mother against the children.  Eventually, the children have no choice but to run, joining other wandering children of the depression era.  But Harry is a cunning and tireless hunter, always pursuing them.

Mitchum created one of the most unforgettable characters in classic cinema in The Night of the Hunter.  Harry is perfectly menacing with his booming voice.  The way he can almost always keep it so calm and cheerful with every word patiently elongated only heightens the tension he creates, especially in his threats.  And the respectable Reverend act he puts on to gain trust everywhere he goes is despicable.  Loosely paraphrasing a bible story, singing and letting little ones sit on your knee seems like the small town trifecta for acceptance.  And the songs he always sings always have a lingering air of dread in them.  I get chills just thinking about him singing, “Leaning… leaning… leaning on the everlasting arms.”

The film is full of haunting images, a few of which contributed to that bit of déjà vu.  Some of them make the film have an oppressive feeling, like a horror film.  One that people remember most from this movie are the tattoos on Harry’s knuckles, reading LOVE on the right and HATE on the left.  Part of me is afraid to wonder if there is a different story as to how Harry got those.  The image of Harry on a horse in the distance is wonderfully unsettling, especially when you think about how far away he is and how close his voice sounds.  And without giving anything away, that underwater shot has the same kind of eerie beauty present in the opening scene of Sunset Boulevard.

It is interesting to think of the film as an odd type of modern fairy tale.  It focuses on the children, their struggles and most of the adults around them are useless against Harry, who is the obvious monster.  A wolf disguised as a sheep if you will.  Many times, the point of these types of stories back in Grimm’s time was to give children guidance against good and evil.  Perhaps The Night of the Hunter serves to help children uncover evil lurking under clever disguises.

Unfortunately, The Night of the Hunter was received so poorly, it made Charles Laughton vow to never direct another film again.  And sadly, he stuck to that promise.  It did not earn any Oscar nominations.  No awards at all for that matter.  However, it is in the National Film Registry.  Today, classic film buffs still clamor about the wonderfully artistic images throughout the film and revel in Mitchum’s magnificent character.

“I can hear you whisperin’ children, so I know you’re down there.  I can feel myself gettin’ awful mad.  I’m out of patience children.  I’m coming to find you now.”

Fantasia is one of my all-time favorite films, and I believe it is the crown jewel of all animation.  As a kid, I rewound its VHS tape over and over so much that the Night on Bald Mountain sequence is more warped and scratched up than the rest of the tape.  Now, I’m just a big kid, watching it on Blu-ray and usually moved to tears a few times before the end.  The mix of stunning animation and beautiful music is still astounding over seventy years later.

For anyone unfamiliar with the concept of Fantasia, it is all explained.  The film begins with the screen opening to an empty orchestra.  Slowly the musicians go to their seats, their silhouettes dancing on the blue screen behind them.  We hear a few warm up, play a few notes, tune their instruments.  The light reflects off and seems to illuminate the instruments as they play, with warm colors.  I always had this idea of the musicians bringing their instruments to life at this point.

Deems Taylor enters and explains that what we are about to see is a new form of entertainment where the artists (not musicians) have developed images and stories inspired by music.  There will be three types of music: the kind that tells a definite story (The Sorcerer’s Apprentice), the kind with “more or less definite pictures” but no sustainable plot (The Nutcracker Suite), and “music that exists simply for its own sake” called absolute music (Toccata and Fugue).

Then the fun begins, and we are sent on a musical journey, conducted by Leopold Stokowski.  It starts out slow, taking a while to move away from the musicians playing, then onto abstract colorful images set to Toccata and Fugue.  The Nutcracker Suite shows a beautiful twist on nature, featuring a variety of dancing flowers and glowing fairies who change the seasons.  The Sorcerer’s Apprentice features Mickey Mouse, and is usually the most recognizable sequence.  The Rite of Spring shows the scientific journey through evolution on Earth, up through the dinosaurs.  We are shown a scene full of mythological creatures in Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony, The Pastoral.  Dance of the Hours becomes a comic ballet with ostriches, hippos, elephants and alligators.  And the finale brings the forces of light and darkness together in beautiful balance in the spooky Night on Bald Mountain, followed by the uplifting Ave Maria.

Between the musical numbers are introductions and fun moments.  During the intermission, we watch the musicians walk off the stage, and come back afterward.  They have a bit of fun, starting an impromptu jazz session, showing that they don’t always have to play classical.  After the intermission, we are introduced to The Soundtrack, a simple visual representation of various instruments, with a slightly shy personality.

Walt Disney was over ambitious with Fantasia and intended it to be like going to the symphony and hoped to add on new sequences every year.  He even played with the idea of releasing scents into the theaters to correspond to different moments in the film.  Unfortunately, the film flopped financially and gained popularity in the late 60’s.

Fantasia is a unique film experience.  Its blend of music, movement and color were revolutionary at its release and still captivate viewers today.  For those who enjoy classical music, Fantasia is a must see.  For those who seem skeptical of beautiful animation set to symphonies, keep an open mind and let yourself become immersed in the music and images on the screen.  Though my Blu-ray gives me plenty of enjoyment at home, Fantasia is the one film I would most love to experience in a theater.

“Go on. Go on; drop the other shoe, will you?”

Everyone has their own favorite holiday film.  Some go with the Oscar nominated, family classics, like It’s a Wonderful Life or Miracle on 34th Street.  I go for a film that best reflects the Christmas and family values I grew up with, A Christmas Story.  It was not nominated for any major awards, but nonetheless I felt compelled to share it with you.

The film has a corny type of nostalgia, as the adult Ralphie (voiced by Jean Shepherd) looks back and narrates one of the most memorable Christmas seasons of his childhood.  It’s filled with a variety of hilarious misadventures.  A friend double-dog-dares another friend to stick his tongue to a frozen flag pole.  Ralphie’s father wins a “major award” and displays it in the window, much to his mother’s dismay.  And of course, Ralphie’s cunning pursuit to receive the ultimate Christmas gift: an Official Red Ryder Carbine-Action Two-Hundred-Shot Range Model Air Rifle.

Now Ralfie (Peter Billingsley) is like the kind of kid I once was.  His big glasses soak up the world around him and he dreams of a Christmas gift that seems out of his reach.  When faced with trouble, like witnessing Flick’s tongue freezing to the pole, or ratting his old man out for teaching him such filthy language, he is a bit of a coward.  When he’s dropped the ball, he can really get down on himself, knowing that his real punishment will be the absence of that BB gun.  But after so much holiday stress, the kid can snap and find himself beating the snot out of the biggest bully on the block.

The way the family works reminds me so much of my childhood.  My younger siblings were also a comforting thorn in my side.  We would also regularly hear my father curse at whatever machine he was working on.  The soap treatment was also punishment for repeating the words dad didn’t mean to teach me.  My siblings and I witnessed our parents restrained feud over decorations, whether they be tacky or tasteful.  And whenever we were in real trouble, our mom could down play it enough to save our little butts.

What makes this movie so great, every year, is all the memorable moments that seem to live on.  Seeing Ralphie with a huge red bar of soap sticking out of his mouth has become iconic.  A few years ago, we gave a leg lamp replica to my father for Christmas.  The mashed potato scene lives on as a contest held in northern Indiana, where the film was based.  The ending in the Chinese restaurant is always worth waiting for.

The most memorable scene is visiting Santa.  Today, most mall Santa stations are fairly low key, and only one story.  This Santa sits at the top of a staircase, with a red slide to send the kids down when their time with him is over.  He and his elves are less than cheerful, physically lifting and turning each kid, leaving them disoriented on Santa’s lap, his creepy red face too close for comfort.  For small kids, it can be an intense scene.  Ralphie’s sense of urgency is heightened, with a long line to wait in and the store closing soon.  When he finally finds himself on Santa’s lap, his mind blanks and he nearly blows his opportunity to tell the big man what he wants for Christmas.  At the last moment, he catches himself on the slide and tells Santa what he wants, only to get that dreaded response he’s heard over, “You’ll shoot your eye out kid.”  And nothing says Merry Christmas like Santa’s foot on your forehead, sending you down to a pile of fluff, next to your crying kid brother.

While A Christmas Story is no Oscar worthy film, it gets my praises every year.  It perfectly tells the story of a kid’s Christmas, what is most important to him and his family’s dynamic.  The best part is, while kids are focusing on their wish lists and calculating toward that perfect gift, it’s the parents who ultimately make that attainable.  Of course, never tell this to a kid, they figure it own once they’re older.

“They looked at me as if I had lobsters crawling out of my ears.”

As one of the most delightful screwball comedies of the 1930’s, Bringing Up Baby, has been enjoyed by generations and all ages.  Directed by Howard Hawks, it is the story of befuddled boy meets impulsive girl and she gets in the way of his museum’s grant for one million dollars.  Not the best way to capture his heart.  But she can keep him beside her if he thinks that she is in danger of a leopard in her apartment.  Don’t worry, Baby is as docile as a kitten, I hope.

The boy in question is Dr. David Huxley (Cary Grant in thick glasses).  We meet him contemplating high in the air next to a brontosaurus skeleton.  He is engaged to marry Miss Alice Swallow (Virginia Walker) tomorrow and their match seems less than romantic.  She clearly states that, “Our marriage must contain no domestic entanglements of any kind.”  Looks like all work and no play coming up for David.

The girl is Susan Vance (Katharine Hepburn in her first comedy).  At first, she just seems daffy, accidentally taking David’s ball at the golf course, then his double parked car, against all his logical explanations that it is clearly his.  Later, we see it is all a ploy as she attempts to win his heart.  After she realizes that taking him away from the golf course had cost him one million dollars, she tries to make it up to him, but her live-wire antics keep getting in the way.  When he’s about to leave, and get married on top of that, the luck that she has a leopard in her apartment brings them together again and out to her aunt’s home in Connecticut.

Winning over a no-nonsense paleontologist is not easy when the fossil he’s been waiting for has been snatched up and buried by your dog.  Or when he’s had the misfortune of meeting your aunt in nothing but a fluffy cuffed bathrobe.  Clearly, David is just annoyed by Susan for a good duration of the film, but watching him endure such frustrations and embarrassments is fun and makes him a more like-able character.  Who knows, maybe all that screwy fun will bring him around to Susan.

The film is filled with delightfully hilarious moments.  David and Susan working together to get out of a formal party with their wardrobe malfunctions unnoticed had me in stitches.  The misadventures on the road with Baby in the car were a riot.  Misjudging the depth of a stream whole leopard hunting ends in a huge laugh.  And Susan repeatedly stealing cars out of the blue never gets old.

Bringing Up Baby is a wonderful hoot of a film.  Hepburn and Grant play off each other with perfect chemistry.  Unfortunately, the film bombed at the box office so badly that Hepburn became labeled “box office poison.”  That certainly didn’t attract the Academy.  Yet today Bringing up Baby is a treasured film, showing how a screwball comedy should be played and winning over more and more viewers, including me.

“There is a leopard on your roof and it’s my leopard and I have to get it and to get it I have to sing.”