I usually post my movie review stuff on www.cecilyknobler.net, but I figured, hey, it's Christmas..
Based on this year's top ten movie list, I've been accused of either having no heart (due to my elimination of "Hugo" and "War Horse") or being a big old softie girl (due to literally every choice on my list.) Well let me set your minds at ease: I am a girl. I am not a softie. "Hugo" is actually very loosely based on Hugo Chavez (false statement) and the War Horse purposely kills like eight people. Now are you judging?
So without further adieu, here's my list of favorite movies for 2011.
Top Ten, 2011
The Trip A+
I loved this Steve Coogan road-trip dramady across Northern England, not just because I'm an Anglophile or because there's a Joy Division song in it. I loved it because what other movie has dueling Michael Caine impressions? Riddle me that!
Beginners A+
This is one of those films that was somewhat killed by its own PR campaign. It was marketed as a quirky rom-com (with a feisty dog!) when in fact, it was a quiet, thoughtful movie about relationships, (father/son, man/woman, man/man.) Ewan McGregor is perfectly cast and okay yes, there's a really adorable dog involved.
The Artist A+
Based on this, I hope silent movies replace 3D as the future of film. These actors (most of them French) do more with their facial expressions than most can do using everything, (I'm talking to you, Scarlett "Flat Affect" Johansson.) An homage to the silent days of film, plus a little 40s-era Gene Kelly thrown in for good measure. I'm getting giddy just writing about it. (Please note: I might have just switched bodies with Rex Reed.)
Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close A
I'm still crying and I saw this a week ago. Eric Roth (who wrote the screenplay) has this way of making you think that your two hours spent with him unlocks some sort of existential key to everything. Sure, it's manipulative, but so were most of my boyfriends and that didn't stop me. Tom Hanks seems a little miscast, but everything else fits as tightly as Roth's screenplays always seem to. Still…crying…
Moneyball A
Look, those who know me know I'm strictly a football-chick. (You can take the girl out of Texas, but you can't make Romo win in December. Wait, what?) But baseball will do, especially when you mix in writer Aaron Sorkin and "Capote" director Bennett Miller. Plus, Brad Pitt doesn't hurt matters. It's exactly what it needed to be: smart.
Bridesmaids A-
With the exception of one scene in a wedding dress shop (which may have scarred me for life) this was clever, absurd and just an all around great time. Written by women, for women. (I used to be a copywriter for a tampon company.)
The Muppets A-
What I'm about to say may upset some of you. As a kid, I enjoyed the Muppets (but keep in mind, I also had a crush on Charles Grodin, true story!) But then there were a couple of decades where I did not like them at all. Fozzy's awful stand-up paralleled the hell I was going through while watching comics at open mic nights. I flip-flopped on wanting to strangle Miss Piggy or sprinkle her on my Cobb salad, (She's lucky I don't eat bacon.) But then Jason Segal came along and restored my faith in this magical Jim Henson creation. And the songs! "Flight of the Conchords" Bret McKenzie wrote some of the catchiest tunes ever and the classics (e.g., "The Rainbow Connection") are simply heart-wrenching.
Tabloid B+
A fascinating documentary from Errol Morris about a woman you've probably never heard of…and that's what makes it work. You've got your standard kidnapping, sex-games and dog cloning (you know, the basics) and it will keep you on your toes (or on the edge of your seat, your choice) till the end.
Being Elmo: A Puppeteer's Journey B+
We’re back to Jim Henson. Frankly, I never asked myself, "Who is the puppeteer behind Elmo?" but I'm glad this movie came along to tell me. Kevin Clash does for puppets (and Muppets) what Steve Wiebe did for Donkey Kong. (Check out "King of Kong: A Fistful of Quarters" if you don't know what that means.)
Midnight in Paris B+
Sharp, quaint and the casting of Owen Wilson in the "Woody" role was a good call. If nothing else, check this out to see Corey Stoll as Ernest Hemingway.
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
De-Evolution
Well it's now a year after my book tour and I've decided it might be a good time to re-visit this blog. (It was either that or continue watching Hoarders and frankly, even my television needs a break.) The entry below is from a column I once wrote for the NoHo Los Angeles News. Some of it found its way into the book and even another blog entry from months ago. This was it in its entirety and like most things I write...it exemplifies my insanity. Enjoy!
I am de-volving and I’d like to prove it to you.
I’ll start by sharing a “poem” I wrote in the 8th Grade. Mind you, it was the 80s and I was inspired by shoulder pads, Yaz, a guy we'll call "Vance" and clearly Pink Floyd lyrics. Here goes: “The bloody tears of a clown slide from my smile. Too many eyes, blue, green, brown, middle child stands aside and looks upon a frown." (Quick aside: I was not a middle child.) "Let us say goodbye to the silver worms of reality and welcome our reward…death.” Now as you can no doubt see, I was a well-adjusted, healthy middle-schooler. And while I never read that poem out loud to "Vance," I did sing Depeche Mode’s “Somebody” directly to him at the talent show…in front of 900 kids…while wearing an Angora sweater inspired by Howard Jones from the “What is Love” video.
Obviously, I had to leave that school system shortly after and luckily was accepted to the performing arts high school wherein I became a mime, but we’ll come back to that. Now years later, I am no different. I mean, the “bloody tears of clowns are not still sliding from my smile:” that would be ridiculous. And technically, I’m not still obsessed with miming. But I am still an adolescent and I don’t know what to do about it. I see adult friends around me with problems that derive from real grown up issues, like mortgage payments and kids having the flu. But I’m so stuck in my childhood that my fears are the same fears I had in 5th grade. Most of them stem from playing games like Pitfall and Adventure on my Atari, so I literally stay up nights worrying about alligators and quicksand and dragons and bats stealing my sword.
And that’s weird, right?
I’m struggling with what it means to be a 30-something. Oh by the way, I recently was so spaced out that as I was pondering this very subject I thought, “There should be a TV show called 30-Something. I should pitch that.” Yes, I’ll pitch that, right after I write my treatment f or M.A.S.H. But there are things I know that aren’t typical for a woman my age. For example, I still watch the Real World/Road Rules Challenge and I don’t mean casually. I don’t mean, like oh it’s 11:00pm and there’s nothing on, so I guess I’ll watch this old thing on MTV. I mean I set my Tivo, but don’t really have to because I always make it a point to be home at 10:00 on Wednesdays. I get nervous when the team I’m rooting for is losing and my heart races when CT or Johnny Bananas look like they’re about to take someone out. Now most of you probably don’t know of whom I speak…because you’re not 15.
Speaking of being 15, let's go back to my mime days. Being in the high school mime-troupe was a big honor at Arts Magnet High. You had to audition by writing a short, obviously silent play-let in which you had to show off your “space-work.” I wrote mine about “peer pressure and saying no to drugs.” Now in order to have the honor of a mime troupe, we did have to give up football at my school, which in Texas is a nightmare. I think because I never to got to show off my school spirit, except obviously at mime-offs, I have what some might call a juvenile love of the Dallas Cowboys. It’s like I’m still in ninth grade, rooting for that quarterback I never knew. I wear my team colors, I cry when they lose, I get wasted at the after-parties and by that I mean, I drink alone in my kitchen.
The point is, I feel there has been no evolution for me. It was so much easier in the good old days because we had John Hughes to tell us who we were. We could fit so neatly into one of his clichéd categories: the jock, the brain, the princess, the basket case, the richie or Duckie. But somehow I’ve gotten stuck in defining the world around me this way. I’m still begging the question, “What about prom, Blane? What about prom?” What’s sad is even Jon Cryer has moved on (quite successfully) but I just can’t. In fact, because of John Hughes, I can see that my life is so off-balance. I don’t have any Blanes around me, but I have at least 100 Duckies. That’s too many and that could be my problem.
All of this gets even worse when I go home to Texas. My friends from high school are all now either divorced or married with three kids. (There seemingly is no in-between.) And when I go to visit them and their children and their grown up lives, I feel like I’m perceived as the “wacky” spinster aunt-like character. I might as well just wear a purple cape. I was there not long ago, hanging with my friend Annie and her three year old son, Dylan. Annie told him “Cecily lives in L.A.” Dylan threw a Spaghettio at me. “Dylan, don’t do that. Cecily is a big writer in L.A.” Dylan then asked “Do you have babies?” “No, but I live in LA” I said back to him, defensively. He didn’t seem impressed and I know this because he then threw his Barney doll on the floor and started crying. (To be fair, that’s how most of my relationships have ended in Los Angeles, but I digress.)
I recall my parents seeming a bit worried about that 8th grade poem, but like most parents who have rebellious, silly teenagers, they always claim “Oh they’ll grow out of it.” Well…TA DA! Maybe I’m just not cut out for adult issues. Maybe I’ll always just be that Cowboys-obsessed mime who won’t settle for anything less than a Jake Ryan.
I am de-volving and I’d like to prove it to you.
I’ll start by sharing a “poem” I wrote in the 8th Grade. Mind you, it was the 80s and I was inspired by shoulder pads, Yaz, a guy we'll call "Vance" and clearly Pink Floyd lyrics. Here goes: “The bloody tears of a clown slide from my smile. Too many eyes, blue, green, brown, middle child stands aside and looks upon a frown." (Quick aside: I was not a middle child.) "Let us say goodbye to the silver worms of reality and welcome our reward…death.” Now as you can no doubt see, I was a well-adjusted, healthy middle-schooler. And while I never read that poem out loud to "Vance," I did sing Depeche Mode’s “Somebody” directly to him at the talent show…in front of 900 kids…while wearing an Angora sweater inspired by Howard Jones from the “What is Love” video.
Obviously, I had to leave that school system shortly after and luckily was accepted to the performing arts high school wherein I became a mime, but we’ll come back to that. Now years later, I am no different. I mean, the “bloody tears of clowns are not still sliding from my smile:” that would be ridiculous. And technically, I’m not still obsessed with miming. But I am still an adolescent and I don’t know what to do about it. I see adult friends around me with problems that derive from real grown up issues, like mortgage payments and kids having the flu. But I’m so stuck in my childhood that my fears are the same fears I had in 5th grade. Most of them stem from playing games like Pitfall and Adventure on my Atari, so I literally stay up nights worrying about alligators and quicksand and dragons and bats stealing my sword.
And that’s weird, right?
I’m struggling with what it means to be a 30-something. Oh by the way, I recently was so spaced out that as I was pondering this very subject I thought, “There should be a TV show called 30-Something. I should pitch that.” Yes, I’ll pitch that, right after I write my treatment f or M.A.S.H. But there are things I know that aren’t typical for a woman my age. For example, I still watch the Real World/Road Rules Challenge and I don’t mean casually. I don’t mean, like oh it’s 11:00pm and there’s nothing on, so I guess I’ll watch this old thing on MTV. I mean I set my Tivo, but don’t really have to because I always make it a point to be home at 10:00 on Wednesdays. I get nervous when the team I’m rooting for is losing and my heart races when CT or Johnny Bananas look like they’re about to take someone out. Now most of you probably don’t know of whom I speak…because you’re not 15.
Speaking of being 15, let's go back to my mime days. Being in the high school mime-troupe was a big honor at Arts Magnet High. You had to audition by writing a short, obviously silent play-let in which you had to show off your “space-work.” I wrote mine about “peer pressure and saying no to drugs.” Now in order to have the honor of a mime troupe, we did have to give up football at my school, which in Texas is a nightmare. I think because I never to got to show off my school spirit, except obviously at mime-offs, I have what some might call a juvenile love of the Dallas Cowboys. It’s like I’m still in ninth grade, rooting for that quarterback I never knew. I wear my team colors, I cry when they lose, I get wasted at the after-parties and by that I mean, I drink alone in my kitchen.
The point is, I feel there has been no evolution for me. It was so much easier in the good old days because we had John Hughes to tell us who we were. We could fit so neatly into one of his clichéd categories: the jock, the brain, the princess, the basket case, the richie or Duckie. But somehow I’ve gotten stuck in defining the world around me this way. I’m still begging the question, “What about prom, Blane? What about prom?” What’s sad is even Jon Cryer has moved on (quite successfully) but I just can’t. In fact, because of John Hughes, I can see that my life is so off-balance. I don’t have any Blanes around me, but I have at least 100 Duckies. That’s too many and that could be my problem.
All of this gets even worse when I go home to Texas. My friends from high school are all now either divorced or married with three kids. (There seemingly is no in-between.) And when I go to visit them and their children and their grown up lives, I feel like I’m perceived as the “wacky” spinster aunt-like character. I might as well just wear a purple cape. I was there not long ago, hanging with my friend Annie and her three year old son, Dylan. Annie told him “Cecily lives in L.A.” Dylan threw a Spaghettio at me. “Dylan, don’t do that. Cecily is a big writer in L.A.” Dylan then asked “Do you have babies?” “No, but I live in LA” I said back to him, defensively. He didn’t seem impressed and I know this because he then threw his Barney doll on the floor and started crying. (To be fair, that’s how most of my relationships have ended in Los Angeles, but I digress.)
I recall my parents seeming a bit worried about that 8th grade poem, but like most parents who have rebellious, silly teenagers, they always claim “Oh they’ll grow out of it.” Well…TA DA! Maybe I’m just not cut out for adult issues. Maybe I’ll always just be that Cowboys-obsessed mime who won’t settle for anything less than a Jake Ryan.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
A quick weigh-in on Jake & Vienna
Here's my honest opinion, Bachelorette fans: Jake is a sociopath. He's a control freak who doesn't respect (and I don't think is even attracted to) women. I don't know him and this is only an opinion, but I've dated guys like this: they lie so willingly and easily, it becomes second nature for them. I think Jake might actually be the John Edwards of "The Bachelor" history. (I'll bet that's never been said before.)
Oh and P.S.? Chris Harrison, if you're reading this: don't ever, ever go into marriage counseling. I mean, really. If you love Jake so much, why don't YOU marry him?
Oh and P.S.? Chris Harrison, if you're reading this: don't ever, ever go into marriage counseling. I mean, really. If you love Jake so much, why don't YOU marry him?
Monday, June 28, 2010
TOP TEN WORST DATES...JUST A FEW DAYS AWAY
For those of you bad-date-survivors who have been patiently waiting to hear our top ten, we're only a couple of days away. Hang tight and we'll soon reveal the worst of the worst, as picked by me! Thank you again to everyone who entered the contest. Your stories were funny and insightful and you all made me laugh!
Any other stories you want to share, please do. Email me!
Any other stories you want to share, please do. Email me!
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Linked up to Vegas
Wanted to share a link to my interview on Fox in Las Vegas last month. The host, Rachel Smith, was/is so much fun and I had a great time on her show... click here to watch!
More TV appearances are on the way. Thanks for watching! If you want to share your thoughts, have a question or just want to say hi, email me at Shescrazyhesaliar@gmail.com, won't you?
More TV appearances are on the way. Thanks for watching! If you want to share your thoughts, have a question or just want to say hi, email me at Shescrazyhesaliar@gmail.com, won't you?
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
More from the Hometown
Just a few more snippets from my trip back home to Dallas...
Apparently, when I was on "Good Day, Dallas" I said the following, "Men like it when your breasts are this big!"
After I filmed the morning show at Fox, I decided to cab it over to my old high school, Arts Magnet in the Arts District. I kid you not, I had the greatest cab driver of all time as he drove what's called a karaoke cab! Yes, when I got in at 8:55am, he put on a fog machine, flashing lights and made a TV screen come down in the backseat, so I could sing along. He then produced a microphone and I think he sang "Baby, I Love your Way"...but I was so overwhelmed by his amazingness, I'm not quite sure. If you're ever in Dallas and need a cab, call Karaoke Cab. It will make your day better!
Lastly, I ended up having a lovely time at my book signing at Borders in Uptown. Here's a quick picture of me before the "signings" began.
Apparently, when I was on "Good Day, Dallas" I said the following, "Men like it when your breasts are this big!"
After I filmed the morning show at Fox, I decided to cab it over to my old high school, Arts Magnet in the Arts District. I kid you not, I had the greatest cab driver of all time as he drove what's called a karaoke cab! Yes, when I got in at 8:55am, he put on a fog machine, flashing lights and made a TV screen come down in the backseat, so I could sing along. He then produced a microphone and I think he sang "Baby, I Love your Way"...but I was so overwhelmed by his amazingness, I'm not quite sure. If you're ever in Dallas and need a cab, call Karaoke Cab. It will make your day better!
Lastly, I ended up having a lovely time at my book signing at Borders in Uptown. Here's a quick picture of me before the "signings" began.
Friday, June 11, 2010
When Bad Dates Pay Off...
Just want to give a huge "thank you" to everyone who entered our Dating Disaster contest. There were some incredibly hilarious and scary and eye-opening stories in there and it was tough to choose! I've picked our top ten "worst dates" and I think the lesson here is that we're not alone. There's at least one bad date in all of our pasts and we've survived and lived/blogged to tell. We'll be talking more about some of your dates soon, but until then...be careful out there! And remember: even if it's not great, it can still be funny...
Keep those emails comin'. I love hearing from you. Shescrazyhesaliar@gmail.com
Keep those emails comin'. I love hearing from you. Shescrazyhesaliar@gmail.com
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