I realize my territory is DVDs, and the theater-going tract is properly my cohort Mr. McShyster’s, should he ever choose to actually go and see a movie, but I would like to save the public some more Sept. 11-level misery by begging, pleading with them to avoid seeing You Got Served. Never before has a filmmaker so adequately summed up his audience response with a movie title. It will not go down in the annals of history, but certainly came out of someone’s. With that warning justly “served,” let’s get to this week’s slew of home entertainment fare.


In Theaters

In the Cut
Finally the question is answered: Can a patronizing lowbrow thriller be pretentious, too? A resounding yes. Jane Campion successfully terrorized us with Harvey Keitel’s penis in The Piano, yet somehow hopes Mark Ruffalo can top that frightmare as he plays psychological games with Meg Ryan. The result is a serial killer film to at last make America realize violent murder is entertaining for no one. It does succeed, however, in allowing fraternity morons and people on long car trips link Kevin Bacon to The Sopranos by going through Ruffalo and James Gandolfini’s co-starring vehicle The Last Castle. Not to belabor the point on how bad the movie is, but I am currently working on a doctoral thesis about the utter lack of imagination or involvement in the title alone.

Sylvia
Possibly the first movie based on an Oprah transcript from a show on depression. In the realm of television, where the sights are set much lower, Lindsay Wagner or the commune’s own Clarissa Coleman might have played this to moderate success. But Gwyneth Paltrow’s Oscar mantle was a little lopsided, so she opted to go for the old play-an-author-to-critical-raves ploy, only to fail since modern Hollywood only knows authors John Grisham and Stephen King. It’s a shame Sylvia Plath herself couldn’t have seen the movie, she might have avoided committing suicide just to keep it from being made. Also, for whatever reason, though he’s not in the movie itself, there is the distinct musk of Affleck in the air.

Intolerable Cruelty
It’s hard to not like the Coen Brothers, yet I manage. At least, however, their films are memorable—until now. It could be billed as the least memorable Coen Brothers film ever, but I think they forgot to market it. Honestly, I watched it three times just to write this review, and I’m still having trouble remembering what happened after Catherine What’s-Her-Face gets on the screen. Not to demean her questionable acting ability, but she’s never successfully portrayed a character. When I see those commercials I don’t even believe she likes cell phones. George Clooney, as always, is successfully George Clooney. I applaud his “why bother?” style of acting. As for the Coen Brothers—what movie was this again?


The Lion King 1 ½
Oh my God, they actually made this. Disney is only separated from the National Socialist party at this point by the lack of stylish armbands. The potential for decimalized sequels is hideously opened up by this, and I fear a new era of hell on earth has just begun.


If I have raised the level of American taste even a marginalized decimal point, then I have raised you to exactly one marginalized decimal point of taste. Return here in two weeks and I’ll review more DVDs, and we’ll work on “the rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain.”

February 2, 2004
Barbieshop 2: Back in Bidness, The Big Bounce, Miracle

January 26, 2004
Radio, Lost in Translation, Under the Tuscan Sun

January 19, 2004
Along Came Paulie, The Butterfinger Effect, Mindhunters

Orson Welch’s Cream of the Crop of 2003
The Lord of the Rings: Return of the King, Mystic River, La Toad D’Wont