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It wasn't the best of times, and it wasn't the worst of times. In the final analysis, the 2000-2001 television season was just kind of there. Sure, it had its moments, but when mere moments stand out as major creative accomplishments, something clearly is wrong.
MY LOVE of movies is well docu-mented, but what most people don't realize about me is that my real delusion finds me as the star of a television show. People make movies with a clear vision: They know how long it should be, they know whom it will star, they know it will end. Television, on the other hand, is a less perfect medium with many more unknown elements, making it more like real life.
There was no gargantuan, narcissistic video screen spanning the stage. There was no 100-foot orange swizzle stick, nor did they appear from within a giant lemon-shaped disco mirror ball. No, after waiting an hour to give the sold-out crowd of 20,000 ticket-holders a chance to catch their breath following the The Corrs' opening act, the foursome that is U2 merely walked onstage with the lights still on. Perhaps they were taking heed of their own advice in "Walk On," the Irish band's current single and the inspirational anthem with which they chose to end the show.
I'm only looking forward to Sunday night's Oscar telecast for one reason: Julia Roberts.
It may be called "The Mexican," but Gore Verbinski's quirky caper is an entirely American affair - a studio product that has "Made in Hollywood" stamped all over it.
Some second helpings just aren't as rich as the first. But that doesn't mean they aren't still very good. "Hannibal," the sequel to 1991's "The Silence of the Lambs," is a delectable confection that leaves a slightly different aftertaste than its predecessor. Whereas the first was gritty and gripping, "Hannibal" is more grotesque and gothic.
I vow to stay strong. I will not give in. I will remain loyal. With words as strong as these, you would expect me to talk about something really important, right? Well, I am.
The term "transcendent" is perhaps the ultimate compliment that can be paid to a work of art, but it's one that risks overuse. I'll run that risk, however, and apply it to Ang Lee's "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon," an enchanting rhapsody that is no doubt the greatest cinematic triumph of the last year - and would hold that title in any year.
I confess - I'm one of those supposedly "good" students who managed to squeak through high school without ever having read "The Odyssey" or even "Ulysses," James Joyce's more mystifying retelling of the classic.
Chuck Noland is an all-American average Joe of the movie moment. His age we can't quite pinpoint: too old to still be enjoying his salad days, and yet too young to be past the prime of his life. He runs every moment of his life according to a meticulous schedule and adores Elvis Presley. He has a perfect girlfriend (Helen Hunt) and a great job as a FedEx efficiency expert. Yes, Chuck seems to be the one man in the world who has everything figured out.
"Traffic" does not waste any time getting to the gritty heart of the matter. Steven Soderbergh's drug drama is an epic dissection of the world of narcotics, one where the line between good and bad is almost completely obscured and one where the person next to you could be a user or a fighter - or maybe both.
I do understand that with only 11 months out of the way, a list acknowledging the best and worst of film this year seems a little premature. But that won't stop me from continuing with such a list.
Last spring, I wrote a nasty letter to the Academy, blast- ing them for failing to recognize just how fertile film had been during 1999. Well it looks like you've saved me the trouble of another letter by creating an absolutely abhorrent follow-up year.
Sometimes I think that writers come up with a catchy hook, whether it is a moment, a twist or even just a catchy phrase, around which they try to weave an entire story. This is my theory about how M. Night Shyamalan, writer-director of "The Sixth Sense" and the just-released "Unbreakable," works.
"Six Characters in Search of an Author," the modernist farce by Luigi Pirandello, was one of the first major influences of the Theatre of the Absurd. Its "play within a play" structure made it a malleable work. However, director Richard Warner's current rendition at the Culbreth bends it to the breaking point, and it nearly snaps in the face of the audience.
Producer-writer Darren Star's sixth series, "The $treet," is his first to cover the long days and even longer nights of the Wall Street elite, but when it comes right down to it, his song remains the same.
"Billy Elliot" isn't a movie about ballet; it's about the pursuit of a dream, and just how liberating that pursuit can be.
Long before TV audiences paid attention to the ever-changing hairstyles and form-fitting attire of Courteney, Jennifer and Lisa, they were transfixed by the gorgeous locks and looks of Jaclyn Smith, Kate Jackson and Farrah Fawcett-Majors, better remembered as the original "Charlie's Angels."
I'm not usually one to say the book is better than the movie. But in the case of the new film "Pay it Forward," the book is better than the movie.
We first see Clarice Starling running along the Quantico ropes course, jumping all obstacles in her way and always looking forward. It's clear she is a woman with a will of steel.