A Needed Winter Triple Feature: Second, Shutter Island

Oh, Martin Scorsese. How my heart is torn.

After seeing "The Crazies" the other night, I steeled myself and looked suspiciously around at my fellow movie compatriots and wondered what airborne infectious disease I was going to catch if I ventured back into the theaters to see "Shutter Island."

I figured, "Go hard, or go home," and at 10:40pm, I certainly wasn't going home without a fight.

So, off I went. "Shutter Island" it was.

(I should give a disclaimer that I was one of those 14-year-old girls who saw "Titanic" in theaters 9 times back in the day, so DiCaprio has always been sort of a pet-idol of mine, not like Paul, but still, even when his career was waning. And, per Scorsese, I'm also a sucker for pretty much all he does, minus the "Cape Fear" remake of '91.)

Enough disclaimers.

"Shutter Island"

The assumed premise is easy: Teddy Daniels (DiCaprio) and Chuck Aule (Mark Ruffalo) are two U.S. Marshals sent to an island holding the criminally insane to investigate the disappearance of a very dangerous and disturbed lady.

Once on the sequestered sands of old Shutter Island (near Boston), Dr. Crawley (Ben Kingsley, awesome) begins to put weird obstacles in front of Teddy and Chuck's investigation.

Oh, you want to access patient files? Hmm, I don't think that's allowed. At the Marshals' protest, Crawley and cohorts invoke obsolete chapter 3.06.11.9 rules of some handbook that gives them seniority over even the most top officials' queries.

Teddy (DiCaprio) is given some pills; we have some hallucinations of his dead wife (Michelle Williams), some head-spinnery, and the appearance of George Noyce (Jackie Earle Haley, who I hadn't seen since "Little Children"), the man that DiCaprio has a seemingly-rightful vendetta against.

Of course, there's the mysterious and creepy Dr. Naehring (Max von Sydow), who is the man in the trailer who asks DiCaprio: "Going somewhere?" Yikes.

So as not to spoil it, just know that you get distracted by the staginess of the movie -- which is clearly an intentional Scorsese move. The allusions to the old noir-ish days of long takes and very-conscious camera glances are palpable; but, for me, they worked so well.

You get Hitchcock, "The Shining," and an awesome mystery that makes you remember the days of "Clue" all in one. I know I'm the movie geek, but ... even just writing that sends shivers down my spine.

And, by the end, I had the same feelings I had from "A Beautiful Mind" and "Vanilla Sky." As I walked out of the theater chucking my popcorn in the trash and sighing, it was the first time in a long while that strangers asked me if I knew what the true ending was.

That made me smile.

Thumbs up!

And, for sh*ts, "Clue":

"Youth in Revolt": 'Are You Cera'd Out Yet?'

Last week, when I was piddling away my time after work at PopSci, one of my many bossmen (let's call him PopSci BMOC) knew that I was really binging on post-work movies. I told BMOC that I was going to see Michael Cera's new "Youth in Revolt" movie.

"Are you Cera'd out, yet?"

"I might be, I'll tell you tomorrow."

I wasn't. The movie isn't amazing -- there are twinges of "Juno" (which I hated), and there was a moment I thought I was going to feel all "Igby Goes Down" (unfortunately, I never got there). But, watching Cera play himself, capitalizing on his 16-year-old self-ish stock character, while acting like a cigarette-smoking alter ego in the interim was quite nice.

I haven't read the book, but it really was the first time we've gotten to see Cera not be just his "Superbad" character.

I didn't love Portia Doubleday, who plays Cera's love interest. I found her quite cloying, and certainly an unbelievable teenager. I loved Dawson's Creek growing up -- so I can usually extend belief, but she looked my age. At least Cera's baby face allows you to forgive knowing he's in his twenties.

On the rubric for this week:

"Sherlock Holmes" (can't believe I haven't seen it yet, especially since RDJ stars in it.)

"Fish Tank"

And, just so we can all remember old "Igby":

Dallas Cowboys, District 9, Robin Williams -- Nothing in Common

Like a little angel, my Favorite Food Critic, and former-colleague (and one of the few fine folks I miss from Up North), sent me a note sometime last week to the effect of:

"Lady Grice, big news: your old employer ["The Blerg"] has sprung for a big trip down your way for my column. Any interest in going to the opening Dallas Cowboys game on Sunday? See the new stadium?"

"I'm sorry, I just read that aloud to my brother," I began in response, "I believe he must've swallowed some mosquitoes just now -- he hasn't picked up his jaw from the floor. Are you serious?"

"Tell Brother Grice he's welcome to come, too."

So, Brother and Sister Grice took another trip, flying past little tiny Texas towns until we came upon that snobby city 4 1/2 hours to our north. Dallas.

Food Critic had to be driven to an anonymous-looking building to get the tickets; we drank cocktails from glass cowboy boots. It was an unforgettable trip.

(Thank you, again.)

I won't lie and say I'm the hugest football fan; every Friday night growing up was spent at my high school stadium, but the moment I'd sit down, I'd swing my feet around the bleachers in an about-face to talk to my buds -- always ignoring the game in full.

But even I knew how big a deal this whole Dallas event was, and how Bro G would appreciate the weekend. So, we went, we ate, we saw, we cheered, we swam, we toured, we ate...and ate, and ate.

And then we saw those old Cowboys let the Giants shame them.

Dawson wouldn't have wanted Tony Romo's life this weekend, I'm sure.

A whole month (to the day) since the last post. I don't even remember how to write on this old bloggle.

Leeeeettt's see. I was bogged down with a bunch of editing (I know so much about Texas teaching standards these days ... fun stuff, she says, lying through her teeth.), but I've managed to keep up the movie watching.

"District 9" -- I was so late in the game on that one. Mama Grice saw it and told me that she didn't care for it because the aliens were "ugly"; for some reason that deterred my better judgment for some time, delaying my viewing for well too long.

I really, really enjoyed that film. It felt a lot like the "28 Days Later"/"28 Months Later" movies, which I liked perhaps too much. It had the same sort of realistic-feeling special effects, not ruined by slap-you-in-the-face CGI bologna that's wrecked so many could-be/would-be good movies. The social allegories were also welcome, and a fun twist on traditional sci-fi fare.

And I really adored the South African government agent Wikus Van De Merwe (Sharlto Copley), who hopefully has more up his sleeve.

Importantly, for the past several weeks, that movie has inspired me to speak in clicks and twitches (a la the alien "Prawns") -- something that might've been frowned upon before this film's arrival.

My Friend and I were at a movie loss recently and decided to head to the Houston Angelika to see a more indie-trendy film and stumbled upon Robin Williams' recent "World's Greatest Dad" ... hmmm.

Williams plays Lance Clayton (great name for this role), a somewhat depressing yokel of a man who's a creative writing teacher -- who's never published a thing. He's the single dad of a jerk teenager whose ... "extra curricular activities" are rather unsavory; his teacher-girlfriend toys with his heart. Etc. When a tragic (ahem) event takes his son's life, Lance is suddenly thrust into the public eye -- which leads to some counter-intuitive outcomes.

It's good, but not great. It feels as though writer-director Bobcat Goldthwait needed just a few more months of tweaking to make it a little funnier, poignant, dark ... something. And, perhaps a few more months to find a better actor to play the son's character (Daryl Sabara).