Cyrus: "I Will Knock You Out."

A couple weeks ago, I dragged an old Favorite Friend of mine from school out to Crooklyn to the New York premiere of "Cyrus," the new film starring Marisa Tomei, John C. Reilly, Catherine Keener and the ubiquitous Jonah Hill.

Tomei and Reilly, Brooklyn natives, were introducing the film at the opening of the BAMcinemaFest; post-viewing, they were to be mingling in the crowd with us plebes, where beer and scotch sponsors gave us all free drinks and hot dogs and sugar-coated peanuts.

There were so many hipsters there that I think my bud and I were the only two who had circulation to our feet.

It was awesome.

A PopSci colleague gave me the tickets after he heard me chewing the fat about how much I wanted to see the film, and how I'd likely die if I ever saw Marisa Tomei in person -- the tickets were very much appreciated.

I'm sure we've all seen the trailer for Cyrus by now, and the premise is pretty original. I'd been waiting months to see Hill play Tomei's son (not to be impolite, but ... such a spawning could never happen, I'd dare to say), and John C. has been a favorite for years.

Reilly plays the Loserville guy, John, who meets the woman of his dreams, Molly (Tomei). Suddenly, he's rapt by love, his life is going to go somewhere, he's head over heels.

Then.

There's Cyrus (Hill), and he's rather Hell-bent on his Oedipal Complex; he's not too keen on having the likes of some guy moving in on his mother.

Catherine Keener plays Reilly's ex-wife, Jamie, in a weirdly amicable divorced situation - she champions Reilly to plug on after Tomei, and if you can suspend reality enough (or just wish that it was always that peachy), they have an endearing relationship that helps you root along Reilly/Tomei.

Jonah Hill is hilarious, as always, in his weirdo persona as a 21-year-old son who's too protective of his hot mother; Tomei is just ... breathtakingly gorgeous as always, and endearing to boot; and, we always root for John C. because -- he's got a root-for face.

I really loved the movie -- kooky, weird, unbelievable, sure ... but, fun.

I leave you with a favorite Tomei scene from "My Cousin Vinny."

The (Inexcusable) Oscars, and Cyrus: "It's Like a Crippled Tree, Reaching for Heaven."

Well, that was supposed to be a fun night. Sure, we all knew 2009 had been a year of movie mediocrity, a crime against our collective sensibilities. But, I'd been awaiting Oscar night since the turn of the year -- and, now I'm going to have to hesitate each time I fork over my $12 to see anything.

That was the most piss-poor performance of hosting I've ever had the (un)privilege of watching. In the past few days, I'd watched "Parenthood," "My Blue Heaven," "Dirty Rotten Scoundrels," "Planes, Trains, and Automobiles," and "The Jerk," in homage to Steve Martin; I've always been caught up on "30 Rock" (for Mr. Baldwin) but, I even re-re-re-watched "Beetlejuice."

All those hours of being glued to the screen, just so I was sure I'd catch any movie-references and/or jokes that were going to be put forth on stage.

And, what'd we get? Nothing.

To jab/twist the knife further, "The Hurt Locker," really?

Sandra Bullock in "The Blind Side," REALLY?

Perhaps the Academy of Jerks is waiting to give Meryl a Sidney Poitier-esque Honorary Award in the years to come when she's an old lady, but ... Wow, to snub her Julia Child performance in "Julie and Julia" to laud Ms. Bullock? -- even I, with the heart of ice, doesn't approve.

82nd Oscars, thumbs down -- just like all the sh*t movies 2009 presented.

(Disclaimer: Thank the gods that Jeff Bridges won for "Crazy Heart," and Cristoph Waltz for "Inglorious Basterds" -- else, all would be wrong in the world.)

To get our minds off of this travesty, let's watch a trailer I saw yesterday at the moofies. "Cyrus":

"What are you doing here in the forest, with Shrek?" -- "It's like a crippled tree, reaching for Heaven." -- "I will knock you out." Awesome.

Sigh, Sigh -- "Hey Mickey," The Wrestler ... More Movie Marathons

I tend to sigh a lot; in my brain tunnels, I sift through ways to be creative in my myriad iterations of how to "sigh." Sometimes, I'm too self-conscious to write them out. I leave my exasperation/frustation to one's imagination, resigning with: "sigh." But ... there are plenty of ways to write phonetically my Sigh.

I don't think there are as many iterations I could ever conjure up than there are in "The Wrestler."

"Whiiiish," "Phooosh," "Sheeeeeeeeesh," "Shiiiiiish," "Whooofff," "Oif." "Blerrrg," "Bleh," "Meh," "Herrrrm."

None of these speak to the quality (amazing, layered) of the movie itself, only to the very real way that Mickey Rourke, Evan Rachel Wood and Marisa Tomei (holy sh!tballs ... the lady has remained so beautiful!) alleviate their minor and major frustrations with Suh-igh.

It's not as though the movie hasn't gotten major play in the headlines -- it has. But, I didn't know what I was getting into.

Back when I saw JCVD, I was quite enamored with the self-awareness and meta-assessment of Jean-Claude's sense of his own life; this movie makes that look trite. Perhaps I wouldn't go that far, but it's close ... Rourke's portrayal of a washed up WWF(ish) star by far outweighs JC's portrayal of an outbeaten Steven Seagal competitor. It's just more real -- something little Grice loves.

Brutal, bloody, honest -- brilliant!

I watched 5 movies today before moseying to Sunshine Cinema ... that's after dealing with holiday season being over, taking with it my friend whose presence won't be expected for three more long weeks.

Alas.

(Movies watched today: "Made," "Wall Street," "Reversal of Fortune," "The Hours," "All the President's Men," "The Wrestler" ... maybe going to wander across the street and use what little disposable income I have to tide me over on another.)

Happy post-holidays.

I received several unexpected gifts this past week -- with them came unexpected movie memories, which will be unwarrantedly blogged about ... tomorrow.