Jane Campion’s latest, Bright Star, explores the love affair between poet John Keats and Fanny Brawne. For all its literary ambition and handsome styling, it’s never more than a coffee table book of a film – very pretty to look at, but totally devoid of substance.
When we first meet Brawne (the round, vacant Abbie Cornish), she’s a superficial fashionista who finds literature and poetry a total bore. That’s until she meets Keats (the brooding, whisp-thin Ben Whishaw). He sulks around the grounds, writing verse and wearing his impending demise like the latest fall fashion. Of course she falls in love with him and their mutual infatuation swiftly moves into doomed love affair territory. With echoes of Julianne Moore’s nagging cough in The End of the Affair, Keats begins hacking up blood and though we know how this story will end, Campion chronicles his slow end at a snail’s pace. I suppose that I was meant to feel something, but as I watched Whishaw wither away, I couldn’t help but think how much better Bright Star would have been if he died at the beginning of the film.
It doesn’t help Campion’s case that Cornish, meant to be the film’s heart, is an utterly hollow screen presence. Best known for being the third wheel in a campy love triangle with Cate Blanchett and Clive Owen in the mess that was Elizabeth: The Golden Age, she has the look of a younger Kate Winslet with none of the depth. Whishaw fares slightly better, though as written Keats is more of a lovesick teenage girl’s fantasy of who Keats might have been rather than a fully formed character. Paul Schneider (so good in Lars and the Real Girl and currently on TV in Parks and Recreation) delivers the film’s only real performance as Keats’ pompous fellow poet and confidante.
This is a rare misstep for Campion, who even when she is off (the bizarre Kate Winslet and Harvey Keitel two-hander Holy Smoke!) is at least interesting. While nice to look at, Bright Star lacks the visual whimsy and dazzle of either The Piano or In the Cut, not too mention the dramatic urgency.

god, not more phlegm

Long before he burned the image of Tobey Maguire in spandex into our minds with the Spider Man franchise, Sam Raimi was the master of B-movie schlock. His Evil Dead films are the gold standard for blood-splattered, midnight-showing-worthy guts and gore. With Drag Me to Hell, Raimi returns to the genre, this time with tongue firmly planted in cheek. Much like Robert Rodriguez and Quentin Tarantino did with their Grindhouse double bill, Raimi delivers a gleeful, self-referential horror send-up.

When we meet Christine (Alison Lohman), her life seems full of potential. She’s ripe for a promotion at work, is about to meet her brainy boyfriend’s parents, and has bouncy blonde hair worthy of a shampoo ad. Everything changes when she turns down an old woman’s request for a third mortgage extension. The old woman begs and pleads, but with that promotion in sight, Christine has security escort her from the building. Big mistake. Christine quickly learns that the last thing you want to do is shame a gypsy, especially during the housing crisis. The old woman puts a curse on Christine that she has three days to reverse, otherwise she will, as the title suggests, be dragged to hell.

As Christine works tirelessly to undo the gypsy’s curse, demons from the underworld unleash an increasingly horrific barrage of terror upon her. It’s gross, visceral stuff — geyser-like nose bleeds, home-wrecking phantasms, and phlegm, lots of phlegm. There’s an especially memorable sequence when Christine finally meets her boyfriend’s comically snobbish parents that involves a piece of cake that bleeds and spews flies.

Raimi pulls all the gross excess off because he’s winking at us the entire time. The film sustains an elevated comic tone throughout and crescendos at a memorable, shocking climax.

Lohman, best known for enduring an embarrassing succession of wigs and the foster care system in White Oleander, gamely traverses the corporeal horrors that Raimi springs on her. The film rests on her shoulders, and she carries the narrative with dignity and pluck. As her improbably supportive and understanding boyfriend, Justin Long reminds us why he’s most famous for those 30-second Apple ads — he’s a TV-sized personality who does not seem comfortable on the big screen.

Drag Me to Hell knows exactly what it is. The production values, including a memorable score by Christopher Young, conjure memories of dated, low-budget staples of the horror genre. One gets the feeling that it would feel more comfortable being watched in the middle of the night on one of the lesser cable networks. And there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that.

what's your state of play? yeah, you've got no game.

I'm currently reading Don DeLillo's Players. Written in 1977 and largely taking place on the 79th Floor of the World Trade Center's North Tower, it reads like a time capsule of sorts. Being a DeLillo novel, it's no surprise that everyone's paranoid. One character wanders the trading floor on Wall St. consumed with the fear that people are reading his thoughts. There are also terrorists everywhere, of course.
Speaking of the 70s, and getting to what this post is really about, ha, Hollywood in the 70s brought us my favorite sub-genre of film, the paranoia thriller. Think The Parallax View, Marathon Man, and The Stepford Wives. The new film State of Play, based on the highly acclaimed British mini-series, seems to be trying to channel these genre standards. Oh, and because it's centered on journalists pursuing the truth, there are shades of All the President's Men throw in for good measure.
Russell Crowe, or rather a puffy, sweaty fleshball somewhat resembling Russell Crowe, stars as a haggard DC reporter who happens to be besties with a dignified-looking, but totally duplicitous Senator (Ben Affleck). When Affleck's pretty, young aide dies a mysterious, accidental death, Crowe investigates and before you can say "Deep Throat" there's talk of a conspiracy. Crowe and the hip/young/stubborn blogger on staff (Rachel McAdams in some terrible outfits) work together and uncover a potential conspiracy involving a Blackwater-esque private mercenary company. The plot contorts into a messy web, characters say things like "this is a conspiracy to the highest levels", and there are some fairly unconvincing chase scenes (one involving a wheezing Crowe ducking behind cars in an underground parking garage). Basically, it makes The Pelican Brief look like art.
It doesn't help that Affleck, he of the Keanu Reeves school of inexpressive acting, stars as the two-faced Senator at the center of the tangled web. An eyebrow raise or pouty lip does not an emotion convey, Mr. Affleck. Other odd casting decisions abound. A surprisingly off-center Jeff Daniels plays a Cheney-like powerbroker, Jason Bateman bizarrely beams down from another planet (or another movie) as a sleazy PR slack, and Robin Wright Penn has nothing to do with the thinly conceived "scorned political wife" role. Thank goodness Helen Mirren stomps around as Crowe's coarse, broadly-conceived editor. She looks fabulous and curses a blue streak (score).

phasers set for stun

I’ll start with an embarrassing confession. When I was a kid, I was a trekkie. I had the action figures. I snuck into the TV room late at night to watch re-runs of the original show. I even had my mother sew me an officer’s uniform for my costume one Halloween. I patrolled the neighborhood that night in full anticipation of a Klingon attack. Few pop culture narratives have achieved such a cult status. It’s the exploration of unusual worlds, the bold vision of the future, and the constant peril that befalls our heroes that has kept scores of fans rabid for every iteration of the popular series.

It’s no surprise, then, in Hollywood’s era of the reboot, that audiences would be given a slick, youthful reinvention of the classic tale. This, after all, the same town that will show us remakes of Friday the 13^th, The Taking of Pelham 123, and Sherlock Holmes in this year alone. There’s even talk of a new Footloose for 2010. Lucky for us, director JJ Abrams, the man who has millions of TV viewers in awe and constant head-scratching with his hit series Lost, manages to pay due homage to the original show while creating one of the most thrilling adventure films I’ve seen in years.

Abrams’ interpretation is an origin story. We first see James Kirk and Spock as two very different children – Kirk as a mischievous rebel and Spock as a brilliant, if tortured young mind. Abrams sidesteps the narrative issues that normally plague exposition-heavy background stories and quickly flashes forward to the two men as students at the Star Fleet Academy and eventually onboard the fabled Starship Enterprise. Along the way we meet the new versions of other members of the original show including Uhura (a knockout Zoe Saldana), Dr. McCoy (Karl Urban) and Chekov (Anton Yelchin). Abrams wisely doesn’t spend too long on the introductions, and the Enterprise is soon locked into heated combat with a rogue Romulan vessel. The action scenes are visually stunning and incredibly well-paced.

Abrams and his actors should be credited for delivering finely etched characterizations while hoping from one elaborate action set piece to the next. As Kirk and Spock, respectively, newcomer Chris Pine and Heroes’ Zachary Quinto ooze matinee idol charisma. The other members of the Enterprise crew do justice to their predecessors, most notably the hilarious Simon Pegg as Scotty.

Much like last summer’s The Dark Knight, Star Trek proves that Hollywood is still capable of raising the bar for summer action epics. And seeing as though Abrams ends this chapter ripe for a more, I fully expect him to somehow top this adventure.

her again?

Well I am just blogging all sorts of things today.

I read this item about Scarlett Johansson replacing Emily Blunt in the next Iron Man movie on Nikki Finke's blog this morning, and was totally disheartened. I had heard rumors about it elsewhere (perhaps from Finke, perhaps elsewhere), and was hoping some other actress (anyone, really) to fall from the sky and into the lap of the casting director. Or for something terrible to befall the over-employed Johansson (not like tragic-terrible, more like gain-a-bunch-of-weight or caught-in-an-embarrassing-scandal terrible).

Blunt is a far more interesting choice (not only can she act, but she's funny and mischevious and not a cookie cutter starlet). It's bad enough that we had to endure Johansson in Vicky Christina Barcelona (so joyless compared to the rest of the game cast). Why more? Why?

P.S. - I try not to make a habit of Finke's blog ... it was a must when I lived in LA, but now it's not crucial for my day-to-day (obvs). She's a course, overzealous, mean-spirited know-it-all. So it's kinda like reading a train wreck. Or, rather, a five car pile-up on Sunset.

row e, center

I haven't used this space for notes on theater before (well, lately I haven't used this space for notes on anything, but that's another matter entirely). I'm lucky to live in New York, and to have friends (well, a friend, really) who works in theater and therefore gets free tickets to many things. I'm a frequent companion, and I take her out to dinner. It's a great deal for both parties.

Last night we saw God of Carnage, the new Yasmina Reza play which was a big success in London and has now transferred to Broadway with a new (stellar) cast. It's about two very different pairs of Brooklyn (tony Cobble Hill) parents who meet after their young children get into a fight. In its opening moments, the play feels like a sassy jab at bourgeois parenting, but as it progresses, and as everyone starts behaving badly and gulping rum, it turns into so much more.

The actors (Jeff Daniels, Hope Davis, James Gandolfini, and Marcia Gay Harden) are all fantastic. Daniels' role is the least interesting (a stock lawyer type), and Gandolfini's unsophisticated hardware salesman could live around the corner from Tony Soprano (it's a niche, but nobody does it as well as him). The women are the standouts. Davis is game for some hilarious physical comedy, and Gay Harden, in the play's plum role, blows everyone out of the water. As she's such a commanding presence onscreen, it's no surprise to see her milk every line reading and moment here. She's a pleasure to watch (and quite funny).

And the audience ate it up. It's currently in previews, and will assuredly open to stellar reviews. I can't help but think back to a time (and I don't know when this was, but it's certainly not now) when a show like this would be the talk of the town. Something on Broadway that New Yorkers (not tourists) saw and talked about. Oh well.

(A note on the headline. And this is really gay. In All About Eve - yes, I'm going there - Addison DeWitt comments in the film's opening voiceover that nothing in the playwright's wife's background should have brought her closer to the stage than Row E, Center. I've always thought that it would be great to date a stage actor - wouldn't it? - and to make a living running a bistro called Row E, Center. That, or Theater By Marriage).

turf wars?

Moma has launched a hella creative ad campaign in the Atlantic/Pacific subway station in Brooklyn. Above you see a print of a famous Pollock ... also on the walls are Lichenstein, Cindy Sherman, Mondrian, etc. It's an inventive take on the station's white tile walls, and it works because they've taken over all the ad space.
But let's look at the subtext. Atlantic/Pacific is the stop you get off at for a number of things. Target. And Flatbush Farm. Oh, and BAM. Maybe the MOMA folks are trying court those on the way to the Brooklyn's cultural gem (the cinema and theater programming has blown me away), but one can't help but sense that there's a little bit of a cultural turf war afoot. BAM vs. MOMA ... with MOMA on the offensive.

best. catfight. ever.

This one is courtesy of defamer. And oh how happy it makes me. It's been a hella day, and there's nothing like a good, old-fashioned catfight to make me sigh with relief. This one is the improbable but kinda great dual between tween queen Hilary Duff and icon Faye Dunaway.
So, it starts when Dunaway knocks Duff after hearing that the young actress/singer plans to play Bonnie Parker in a seemingly ill-advised remake of Bonnie and Clyde. We all know that Dunaway played the role in the original, rocked it, and made flapper chic something we all had to embrace in 1967 (ok, I wasn't around, but I totally would have been all for it).
Today comes Duff's response, that invokes two things that are sure to make Dunaway do her best Joan Crawford (again): Old age and plastic surgery. It's totally Mean Girls.
It seems more than a little catty for Duff, who is a commodity but as Dunaway suggests not a real actress, to knock the great Dunaway. Sure, Faye doesn't do good work anymore (the last thing I saw with her was a CSI episode a few years back, and yes, it was awful). But at her peak you'd be hard pressed to find better. Network. Chinatown. Three Days of the Condor. Come on. Duff makes movies that co-star Heather Locklear. Case closed.
If I were Duff, I would sleep with one eye open. And clear the house of all wire hangers. That's really the one thing that could send Faye over the edge.

the holocaust, illiteracy, old age makeup, oh my!

Every year around this time, I turn into the most improbable moviegoer. All year long, even through the often overcrowded holiday movie season, I try to see all the films that garner critical praise or become hot buttons of discussion. In a perfect world, these films would be in the running for Oscar recognition, but that is seldom the case (that Rachel Getting Married’s sole chance at a win rests on Anne Hathaway’s shoulders is a crime).
But as we all know, the Oscars play from a different rule book. That’s why after the nominations are announced, you can find me in line with all the other saps to see something I would never waste time on under normal circumstances.
The Reader, Stephen Daldry’s melodrama that takes place in post-WWII Germany, exemplifies this dilemma. I had a lukewarm reaction while watching the film, but in the past few days my opinion has solidified and I’ve had trouble shaking its acrid aftertaste. The film certainly panders to the Academy’s faux-highbrow tastes. It’s painfully self-serious, dutifully photographed, and confronts one of their favorite themes, the specter of the holocaust. And all while pulsing with a disposable score that, I’ve decided, is in place to keep us awake.
The story follows a dull German student who improbably conducts an illicit affair with a much older woman (Kate Winslet) in 1950s West Germany. She’s icy, controlling, and they bathe together quite a bit. The first third of the movie is spent laboriously chronicling their trysts, an exercise that is neither thought-provoking nor stimulating.
One day, Winslet’s character leaves without saying goodbye, which sends our awkward protagonist into lamentable turmoil. A few years later, he’s a law student (still awkward, still dull), who studies the case of several SS guards on trial for murder. He’s shocked and horrified to see Winslet as one of the accused. The trial and its aftermath (where our protagonist is now played by Ralph Fiennes, and yes, still dull, still awkward) investigates the legacy of the holocaust with a club foot, and throws in illiteracy and old age makeup for good measure.
The film can’t succeed because we never get a handle on Winslet’s character. It’s meant to pivot on the tension that comes from feeling improbable sympathy for a Nazi guard, but it fails. When we first meet her, years after the war, it’s clear that she’s a damaged person, but she’s also cold, calculating, and selfish. I hate to suggest that Winslet turns in a two-dimensional portrayal, but we never get a glimmer of Hannah’s inner-life. Sure, there are moments in the film’s final act that suggest insecurity and childish curiosity, but it’s not enough to add texture to her morally dubious behavior. There’s no rule that says all characters must be sympathetic, we need enough substance to complicate and engage our reaction.

"The whole parlor to Alexandra's eyes was clouded by merged and pulsating auras, sickening as cigarette smoke."

That's a line from The Witches of Eastwick, one of my favorites, which I'm currently reading for the fourth time. I had the thought just yesterday about taking on the complete John Updike, much like I did with Don DeLillo last year (I chronicled some of this on the blog, as you'll recall the early stuff is tough to get through).

And today comes the news that we've lost Updike, one of our best writers. That his passing comes at a time when he was at the forefront of my mind strikes me as quite a bit odd. Perhaps it suggests that I'm mildly prescient.

Given the news, I think it's only fitting to take on the Updike canon. I've got less than 100 pages in Eastwick to conquer, and I've got a paperback of Couples that I can tackle after that. What should be next? When should I attack the quartet of Rabbit novels?

news flash

So I didn't finish my golden boy selections before the Oscar nominations. Oops.

The nominations were announced this morning, and I came into work late so I could watch the broadcast. That's about as nerdy as I get (I wish ...), but I've been doing that since I was in middle school. The nominations are normally when the big surprises happen, and to here it live makes it all the more exciting. This year was no exception, with big shut-outs and surprising inclusions. Here's what people (Hollywood people, at least) will be talking about today:

- No The Dark Knight. Despite eight nominations (including Heath Ledger's foregone win in Supporting Actor), the superhero flick was snubbed in the Best Director and Best Picture categories. Bummer, as included the groundbreaking film would have virtually guaranteed improved ratings. Also, it's the best film of the year.

- Instead, we get The Reader. After Manohla Dargis' dismissive review in the Times when the film opened, I thought that this one was all hype and hot air. Guess I was wrong. Looks like Harvey Weinstein has re-asserted some of his mid-90s magic for getting obscure titles attention. I need to see this one.

- Kate Winslet, not a double nominee, gets a lead nomination for The Reader, not Revolutionary Road. So much for the Golden Globes being a predictive force. People expected Winslet to be named in the supporting category for The Reader (though everyone who has seen the picture agrees that it is a lead performance). So even though the campaigns said one thing, the academy thought for themselves. Cheers.

- Michael Shannon nominated for Revolutionary Road. By far the best element of this underwhelming melodrama (aside from the also-nominated production design ... seriously I DiCaprio and Winslet would be fighting and all I could think of was how I wanted their toaster), was Shannon's brief, ferocious turn as their mentally unstable neighbor. He's a New York theater actor (so good in Sidney Lumet's Before the Devil Knows You're Dead last year), so it's a treat to see him included.

- Best Actress. This was the hardest category to peg. I really thought that critical favorites Sally Hawkins and Kristin Scott Thomas (in my favorite performance of the year) would make it, as would Cate Blanchett because, well, she's Cate Blanchett. Instead, Melissa Leo surprised for the indie Frozen River (which is fine, but very Lifetime), and Angelina Jolie actually made the cut for Changeling (a good performance in an awful movie). I thought Jolie would be snubbed because she didn't make it for better work in A Mighty Heart last year. They must have felt bad about that.

OK. Enough is enough! I'll keep you posted with my picks. I still need to see The Reader and Frost/Nixon, though I doubt anything will come close to my ardor for Milk (yay for including Josh Brolin).

golden boys - part 2

So now supporting actor.

1. Heath Ledger, The Dark Knight

It's to the point where this one goes without saying. He will be missed, for sure. This indelible portrayal of malevolence will be remembered up there with Anthony Hopkins' Hannibal Lector.

2. Josh Brolin, Milk

It's a small part that stands out. Brolin plays Dan White, Harvey Milk's bitter and contentious rival on San Francisco's city council. It could have been a throwaway role filled with generic crazy. But the grace of Brolin's performance is his ability to add texture to every moment. He creates White as a jealous, small, and confused man. There's ambiguity, too, and a queer studies-ready

 reading of the part. Compared to his two-dimensional Bush impression in W. (perhaps not his fault, as he was asked to play a man with the complexity of a piece of cardboard), this is Brolin's best work yet.

3. Bill Irwin, Rachel Getting Married

I was one of the lucky theatergoers who saw Irwin's sad-sack interpretation of George in Edward Albee's Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf a few years ago (opposite the force of nature that is Kathleen Turner). I've been craving more of Irwin since. He stands out in Jonathan Demme's sprawling ensemble as the beaten-down but eternally upbeat father of his two warring daughters Kym and Rachel (Anne Hathaway and Rosemarie DeWitt). It's another performance consisting of divine small moments. The dishwashing scene? Killer.

4. Brad Pitt, Burn after Reading

So this has been his year. Previous to this film and The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, I've never been too impressed. His Oscar-nominated work in 12 Monkeys was entertaining, but still fell in that stock-straight jacket crazy category. And Casey Affleck managed to slyly steal The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford out from under him. But here, pairing with the Coens for this first time, Pitt makes a striking impression. As Chad, the hard-bodied, soft-minded trainer and confidante of Frances McDormand's plastic surgery-obsessed lonelyheart, Pitt elicits guffaws whenever on screen. Watch for the small movements, it's a great physical performance.

5. Emile Hirsch, Milk

I feel like I'm cheating a little bit with this one. Yes, I love how Hirsch disappears into the role of Chuck Jones, one of the activists who dedicates himself to Harvey Milk's cause (and who is, incidentally, the only main character portrayed in the film who is still alive). And this coupled with last year's Into the Wild makes Hirsch one of the most exciting young actors around.

But, really, this one is here because so many people have told me that Hirsch's Jones, in attitude, behavior, and gesture, reminds them of me. Looking at the film again, I must agree. So, this is probably as close as I will come to an on-screen portrayal, so I must give it the attention it deserves.

golden boys - part 1

So as you may know (or have heard), we are a week away from Oscar nominations. Here's a not-so-stunning admission - I am movie, and therefore movie awards obsessed. It's a pretty frivolous hobby, and a lot less violent than the other spectator sports (unless you count Angelina Jolie's cool staredowns a form of assault).
For the next week, I'll be featuring my picks for the big six categories (and maybe the screenplays, depending on how frequently I can pull myself together). Let's start with Best Supporting Actress, a category that has honored both the great (Juliette Binoche in The English Patient, Marcia Gay Harden in Pollock) and the dubious (Marisa Tomei in My Cousin Vinny, Mira Sorvino in Mighty Aphrodite).
Here are my five picks for this year's top five:

1. Penelope Cruz, Vicky Christina Barcelona
Several years ago in college, for our annual joke issue, the Trasher, I think it was called, I wrote a faux news item about Penelope Cruz winning an Oscar. At the time, she had starred in Vanilla Sky and Sahara, so the idea did seem preposterous. This was before Almodovar transformed her into our generation's Sophia Loren, a timeless beauty with screen magnetism to spare. Her bit part in this Woody Allen laugher proves that her career-defining work in Volver was no fluke. She's a hoot as the wildly unstable Maria Elena, an artist consumed with herself, madness, and undying love for her ex-boyfriend (Javier Bardem). As worthy as the other actresses this year no doubt are, I'm pulling for this one.



2. Rosemarie DeWitt, Rachel Getting Married


The sibling relationship in Jonathan Demme's criminally underrated Rachel Getting Married reminds me of Georgia, a film that say one of its siblings (Mare Winningham) nominated for the Oscar. The title characters in both films play second fiddle to their crazy, neurotic, selfish sisters (Jennifer Jason Leigh - in one of her best roles - in Georgia, and Anne Hathaway in Rachel).

Like Winningham before her, DeWitt does not allow her put-upon character to fade into the background, or to let the film turn solely into a showcase for Hathaway's histrionics. Of all of the film's naturalistic, raw performances, DeWitt's feels the most lived-in and authentic. You believe her frustration, aggravation, and ultimately (and here's the trick), her ability to relate and forgive. It's a performance so good that many are likely to see past it (it doesn't scream, "Hand me that damn statue!" in a Bette Davis-eque voice). At the very least, hopefully it will allow us to see more of her.


3. Tilda Swinton, Burn after Reading

Who knew she could do comedy? After searing dramatic work in Orlando, The Deep End, and Michael Clayton (for which she won the Supporting Actress Oscar last year), I knew she had range, but that doesn't always translate into winning comic timing? As the uptight wife of John Malkovich's discontented CIA man in this Coen Brothers fiasco, Swinton is my pick for best in show in a mostly winning ensemble.

4. Evan Rachel Wood, The Wrestler

Talk about a film full of surprises. Not only does it feature the year's best performance in Mickey Rourke, and pack an unexpected emotional whallop, but it also features this minor gem from an actress I've never really enjoyed. Sure, Wood's messy bundle of adolescent angst in Thirteen did resonate, but her bizarre off-camera existance (going goth and briefly dating Marilyn Manson) totally turned me off. Here, though, in the small role of Rourke's estranged daughter, all of Wood's confusion, detachment, and disappointment ring true.


5. Misty Upham, Frozen River

I wasn't a huge fan of Courtney Hunt's somber look at two desperate women barely making it by in upstate New York. It's a bleak view of the new economy, but the main storyline, about a discount store cashier saving up for a new trailer for her two sons, felt played out. The subplot, involving Upham's character, a Mohawk woman who lost custody of her young daughter, was far more intriguing. Upham imbues her character, who is forced to play on the wrong side of the law just to get by, with dignity and strength.

Check back in a few days for my Best Supporting Actor picks.

more review

I'm taking a page out of my friend Em's book (or blog, rather) and lifting her list of year-end salutations as a jumping off point. I'm a sucker for lists, and 2008 was a good one, so here we go.

1. What did you do in 2008 that you'd never done before?

2. Did you keep your New Year's resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
I don't quite remember what they were last year, though I'm sure they had something to do with staying healthy, eating well, working out etc. I'll give myself half credit. This year, it's eating fresh and local, cutting down on processed foods, and getting to the gym at least five times a week.

3. Did any one close to you give birth?
No, thankfully. It sounds coarse, but it would have been a Juno situation if someone had.

4. Did anyone close to you die?
Gramps, my paternal grandfather (he was quite old, though, 92).

5. What countries did you visit?
France, to see two great friends living in Paris.

6. What would you like to have in 2009 that you lacked in 2008?
A boyfriend. Ha. It'd be nice, I won't lie. Otherwise, I'm fairly complete.

7. What dates from 2008 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?
Martin Luther King Jr. weekend: Three nights of excessive going out. When I am older and think back to being in my '20s in New York, I'll remember that weekend.
September 10: A day during Fashion Week spent at the shows at Bryant Park.
November 5: Election night. In Gowanus and Park Slope with friends. A proud day for us all.

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?
To wax careerist, I'd say the three particularly precarious projects I managed to complete successfully. I've never worked so hard.

9. What was your biggest failure?
I read about a job at nymag.com, but didn't apply.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?
Despite being a sick mess for a week in October, I didn't take a sick day.

11. What was the best thing you bought?
A navy blue Rag & Bone cardigan and a white Band of Outsiders shirt with black buttons.

12. Whose behavior merited celebration?
Frank Rich. He's able to articulate the impossible in a way that makes me totally envious.

13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?
Those who made Prop 8 a reality.

14. Where did most of your money go?
Rent. Obvs.

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?
Paris. The Catskills. West Village stay-cations. So any excusion, it would seem.

16. What song will always remind you of 2008?
M83's Kim and Jessie.

17. Compared to this time last year, are you:
a) happier or sadder? Happier.
b) thinner or fatter? I think about the same, though potentially a tad heavier (eeep!)
c) richer or poorer? Richer.

18. What do you wish you'd done more of?
Running. Reading.

19. What do you wish you'd done less of?
Cigarettes and vodka. Ha.

20. How did you spend Christmas?
With family in Connecticut.

21. Did you fall in love in 2008?
Nope. Though my relationship with Brooklyn is going really well.

22. What was your favorite TV program?
30 Rock

23. Do you hate anyone now that you didn't hate this time last year?
I don't like that word. Nor did I know anything about Sarah Palin or Rick Warren.

24. What was the best book you read?
Handmaid's Tale, Margaret Atwood.

25. What was your greatest musical discovery?
Girl Talk.

26. What did you want and get?
A new computer (sweet).

27. What did you want and not get?
An iPhone (technically a 2009 get).

28. What was your favorite film of this year?
Paranoid Park.

29. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
I turned 25. The night of my birthday my cousin threw a small dinner party at her W. Village apartment for me and a few close friends. The following Saturday there was a hyper-low key party at a bar in Carroll Gardens (Abilene if you must know).

30. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
A larger clothing budget.

31. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2008?
Increasingly mod. Solid colors, clean lines, more attention paid to accessories such as scarves and eyewear.

32. What kept you sane?
My friends.

33. What celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
Carrie Fisher because of her indispensible memoir Wishful Drinking and special brand of crazy.

34. What political issue stirred you the most?
Gay rights. Obvs.

35. Who did you miss?
My brothers.

36. Who was the best new person you met?
Joe and Kendra. It was New Year's Eve last year, but the whole really began in 2008.

37. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2008.
I'll probably realize it later on.

38. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year.
I don't do song lyrics. We'll go with Carrie Fisher and something that stuck with me, which I think is true, "Life under tremendous stress is necessarily funny."