Three rocks to which I flee for refuge from the annual orgy of hypocrisy and greed that threatens to drown us, even as our leaders espouse law and order except as it applies to them: yes, in a word, Christmas:
Hollywood is making a few movies for grown-ups, and one of the finest is The Descendants. A real story without special effects or car chases but with plenty of explosions, the psychological kind. Also, best portrayal of a woman a coma since Million Dollar Baby.
The Secret Mask by Rick Chafe, which premiered in November at Winnipeg’s Prairie Theatre Exchange. Wonderful acting and terrific writing that refuses sentimentality.
The Sisters Brothers by Patrick deWitt: Call it cowboy noir, revisionist western or “aching celebration of miscreantism,” it’s a ride just as insane as anything by my favourite crazy, Jim Thompson. And it’s great to see book publishers paying to create arresting cover art.
On the horizon, a couple more potential rocks: The Antagonist by Lynn Coady, Oliver’s Twist by Craig Oliver, Margin Call.
If those rocks crumble, I plan to crank up Satan is Real by the Louvin Brothers.
