It seems to me that movie trailers these days just give away too much. I’m talking major plot points, the funniest jokes, shots of their leading ladies in their underwear, all of it. I think a lot of people feel this way to a certain degree. Well, the other day I came across a trailer that seemed to elevate “giving shit away” into an art form. This trailer was for a movie called 21. As I am writing this, I have seen this trailer twice. Here’s the breakdown:

1. There’s this kid Ben who’s like Rain Man with numbers. Ben goes to MIT.
2. Kevin Spacey is his teacher.
3. Ben is hard up for cash.
4. Spacey teaches Ben and his friends (including Kate Bosworth) how to count cards.
5. This film is inspired by a true story.
6. They all fly to Vegas and make some serious bank.
7. Spacey doesn’t like to be called “dude.”
8. Hottie Kate makes a move on Ben.
9. Casino man Laurence Fishburne wises up and slaps Ben around.
10. Ben “isn’t the same guy he was back in Boston” aka now it’s personal.
11. Spacey turns out to be a dick.
12. Ben decides to man up and lead the team… and have sex with Kate.

I mean, isn’t this the whole movie? I feel like I should mail the studio my $11.50. I’m not saying I was gonna rush out and see it anyway, but if I was, damn! I would feel so cheated. All we’re missing is HAPPY or SAD for an ending. If memory serves, an example of a better trailer would be the one for No Country For Old Men. It gave you a taste of the characters and the setting and the tone, but close to nothing plot-wise. Back to 21, what’s with Spacey and Bosworth? They’re in everything together.

I have long considered AJ Schnack to be one of the most insightful writers about the current state of documentary out there. So I was very happy to read his incisive take on the rather, ahem, disappointing shortlist for the Academy Award’s documentary category this year. And not just because BILLY THE KID was so egregiously and wrongfully rejected. I’m kidding (no, I’m not) of course. But AJ did make some excellent points. Below is my comment that I posted in response to the article.

I remember when the Academy finally recognized Errol Morris (the reason I became interested in documentary filmmaking) in 2004. He said “I’d like to thank the Academy for finally recognizing my films. Thank you so very, very, very much! I thought it would never happen.” At the time, I thought he was being cocky and arrogant. (And having seen him speak several times, I can’t say he is not both of these.) However, his frustration at not having been recognized previously is completely fair. The fact that last year a filmed Power Point presentation (featuring a bold-faced name and huge box office numbers) won the award, proves AJ’s point that the Academy only sometimes (seemingly begrudgingly) recognizes that documentary filmmaking is not limited to reconstructions - dry, sentimental, whatever - of historic events - but is truly an artform that illuminates and questions the truths and experiences of everyday life. I respect the hard work of each one of the filmmakers short-listed here, some more than others; but it seems the Academy chooses to downplay the very first definition of documentary, put forth by one John Grierson: “documentary is the artistic representation of actuality”, rather than just a high school film strip waiting to happen.

I’m talking about 3000 Miles to Graceland, of course. It came highly recommended by my friend Ben, even though he was the first to admit that it was pretty stupid. Turns out it’s more than that, it’s completely over-the-top in every way for the first 40 minutes. Example: The movie is about a bunch of guys who dress up as Elvis impersonators and rob a casino, however the opening title sequence features two computer animated scorpions battling it out in the desert for no reason. We even get a spray or two of bright green blood. As far as the actual heist goes, it’s entertaining, but it’s all downhill from there. (”Hey, you know what this action movie needs? More plot!”) But as bad as it gets, and it gets bad, 3000 Miles is nowhere near as bad as Date Movie, which I came across today as I was flipping channels. I seriously think I’ve lost all hope for mankind via Date Movie. I’m cold… so cold.

I thought it was too slow, too long, and too similar to other gangster movies. But hey, that’s just one man’s opinion. And I have been getting into “heated exchanges” all week as a result of this opinion. I have been told that, “You can’t go into the movie watching it like a critic and comparing it to other gangster movies. You have to just want to be entertained.” But that was all I wanted. It has always been my belief that while movies should inform and enlighten, they should primarily entertain. And I wasn’t entertained by American Gangster, I just wasn’t. It didn’t draw me in. A friend of mine caught some flack for announcing that, “There was no way Denzel could have shot a guy in the middle of the street in broad daylight and not gone to jail,” because, as we all know, it’s a true story. But I think my friend has a point. True or not, I didn’t buy it the way it was conveyed. So don’t get me wrong, American Gangster is a solid flick all around, but a gangster classic it’s not. And anyone who’s seen Training Day knows what Denzel’s really like in gangster mode. And he doesn’t say, “My man.”

Last night was the opening event for the Mahindra Indo-American Arts Council Film Festival here in New York. The opening film was the much awaited (in India) new Bollywood film Saawariya by Sanjay Leehla Bhansali, distributed by Sony around the world. The film opens tonight in Mumbai, where I am told tickets for the premier are being sold on the black market for US$500.

The movie launches the careers of two eagerly awaited new stars, Ranbir Kapoor (the leading male and rock star) and Sonam Kapoor (the leading woman and beauty). In terms of who might have “won” in his or her debut performance, I would choose Sonam, but obviously these things are personal!

The sound track is also highly anticipated, but it seemed flat to me, not nearly as lyrical as perhaps Bollywood musicals are imagined to be.

Sony/Columbia is opening this film around the world more or less simultaneously, and those in my group thought the film had been crafted especially for the global expatriate Indian community. The film takes place in a thoroughly imaginary location that is some composite of Venetian and Parisian images, and it is based on a Russian short story (”White Nights” by Dostoyevsky). But in its intensely escapist imagery and sensibility, it’s all Bollywood.

There’s barely the faintest hint of an outside reality. Les Miserables (the Broadway play) has great songs, but it’s no stranger to real world struggles. Saawariya holds all that at arms length and more, and protects its audience from any unpleasantness that would divert your attention from the love story. Here’s a link to the film’s web site.

I’ve been grappling over the last couple days with how to accurately express my feelings about the Writer’s Guild strike. As a ‘hyphenate’ who has worn too many hats to count over the past years, I find myself facing a muddled sense of detachment from the issues these folks are battling. Guild matters rarely touch me, here in the dusty outskirts of independent film. The issues they’re grappling with are Hollywood Issues, right? Late Night Talk Show issues. Desperate Housewives issues. And since I catch only a bare minimum of television, the vast majority of which involves some guy tossing some sort of ball across some sort of field of play to another guy wearing the same shirt, the idea of network television grinding to a halt fills me with a rebellious glee.

But I can’t pretend the larger conversation holds no interest or importance for me. I’ve considered myself a writer since I was twelve, when I was convinced that the only requirements of a good book were a kick-ass cover and a handful of truly horrific scares. Now I know better — the scares have to be placed at strategic moments within a three-act structure. But my passion, awe, and respect for writing has only deepened over the years. I know from experience how incredible and freeing the process can be when it’s working. I also know that there are moments when giving birth to a Chevrolet appears more feasible than squeezing out another sentence. Writing is work, and writers need to be compensated for that work, regardless of a corporation’s desires to suck a maximum of profits out of the opportunities for content dispersal that new media platforms are making possible.

Check out this fantastic blog entry by the extremely talented fellow-hyphenate Joss Whedon, of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Serenity fame for further discussion, and his reactions to the first week of the WGA strike.