An ongoing project is my book of subjective film reviews. I typically write them in the morning, for batting practice. I'm in the process of putting the reviews on the web, an index of the ones that I have up so far is here. Some of them are great, most pretty good and I have to admit that a few of 'em suck. What, you never flailed during batting practice?

Anyway, most people seem to like them, they've been quoted approvingly on three continents, that I know of, and only the occasional lunatic writes and tells me stuff like "you dont know nuthin about nuthin" because I mocked his favorite Jim Bowie movie.

I have some background in film. I took several film classes at LSU and appeared as an extra in one of the dumbest films in the history of mankind (Practical Magic). Better yet, I've watched literally thousands (my best estimate is about 10,000) of films, so I know what I like and I know what to look for.

I own several film guides, and while I find each of them useful in some way, they tend to parrot each other more than a bit, and none of them give me a sense that the author is being entirely honest. In fact, the authors all seem a bit intimidated by each other, and especially by the orthodoxy that's resulted from their collective work. They speak the same language without interesting variation, and apparently direct their comments primarily to each other.

My far superior-or at least more entertaining-reviews are almost always casual, often wickedly insulting, regularly pompous and occasionally veer onto subject matter only peripherally related to the film. In other words my reviews are akin to discussing the film with an opinionated friend who knows a good deal about a great many things, and who delights in his own antagonistically subjective evaluations.

The recent entries (rated on the **** scale) below should give a general sense of how the book will read. A comprehensive index (draft has several thousand entries) will direct readers to comments on everything from aardvarks to Zzyx, Led Zeppelin to Legos, Bill Murray, toilet paper and George W. Bush.

MAMMA MIA! (2008) ***1/2 The greatest fan letter ever written, the ultimate fan letter. If the gods have anything good to say about humans I suspect that it comes out something like this. The motion is incredible; the massive choreography, the graceful cameras. None of the singing is going to make you forget ABBA, but beyond that it gives you the sense that nothing ever could. It's such a beautiful film visually: Greece, Amanda Seyfried, Ashley Lilley, the beach, the boat, Christie Saunders, the bar, the hill, the water, the church, Philip Michael, Dominic Cooper. It's all about Meryl Streep, it all revolves around Meryl Streep, it's all about what people call the sixties but really includes most of the seventies and scenes from the eighties, it's about being young, it's all about feeling young. Meryl Streep is actually a really good singer, but I think that Christine Baranski has to be the very best part, the funnest and funniest. I admire Pierce Brosnan for standing there acting like that, this is my favourite Brosnan role by far. I am proud to have been a part of the ABBA revolution: one of millions of kids descending on the record shops of Europe every time there was a rumour of a new ABBA single. I love this movie, I know that millions of people love it, some even more than me. But I doubt that anyone ever had a better time watching it than my daughter Alexandra: in a theatre full of Russian exchange students singing along "like Dracula, 'Dancing Qveen, yong ant sveet…,' they obviously didn't even know what they were saying" and "dancing around like idiots." She knows, I know, you have to you, you have to….there may be no more human expression than dancing around like an idiot while you have no idea what's being said.

BRIDGE TO TERABITHIA (2007) ***1/2 A movie-but not just another movie, demonstrating how it might be best if at some point parents enhance their perception of their children to involve something beyond projections of themselves. And also gentle hints to the kids that at some point there may be something to be gained by creating an identify separate from what the herd sees, and wants. Social insights abound, but in passing. None of this ever gets anywhere close to oppressive or didactic, it's more like friendly and powerful swats offered in passing. The efforts towards a Christianity that lets in more light are, obviously, my favorites. It's a highly, very very emotional film, so if that puts you off it's going to. I don't quite understand the marketing approach of it being a fantasy film--imagination is central but it's all very realistic. It's going to remind your kids of what happened today at school and it's going to remind adults about childhood events that have been, sometimes fortuitously, buried or swept to the corners. It's not a fantasy film and there's nothing resembling a cartoon in sight. I wonder if AnnaSophia Robb might have a future in the business: she reminds me a little bit of Jodie Foster all those years ago, she's able to communicate a lot, she's able to communicate that she understands the breadth and weight and severity of what's going on around her. She's able to communicate that…not that it's no problem, but that it's…not that it can be brushed aside but that she can handle it. They did a good job with her in wardrobe, but it's not the clothing communicating all that. Children who have already suffered tragedy should benefit from this, it may get children who have not thinking. That's always a double-edged sword and we all have calls to make so at some point it's best to see 'em.

BE MY GUEST (1965) ** Rather understated British efforts towards a rock 'n' roll movie. I guess it's not really possible to imagine that anyone found any of this outrageous, I'm sure they did but it's pretty much a bunch of forgettable acts doing forgettable songs, long since forgotten. Jerry Lee Lewis being the exception, obviously, and the ironic centerpiece being that Steve Marriott is one of the stars of the plot-such as it is-but never gets near a guitar or mic stand. Hmm, I see. It's all very confusing, the father denouncing the old fashioned signs about the place, yet insisting on treating his adult son as an infant. David Hemmings is in it, for fans of '60s things that did actually swing, and it's not without any modicum of charm. It's not a rock 'n' roll charm though, far from it, a bit, really, you know, mad auntie-like women and schoolboys a few minutes late and that sort of thing.

LOVE HAPPY (1949) *** What are the Marx Brothers at something less than full power? Pretty damn good. Harpo could carry a film just by doing whatever he could towards standing around, and there's never been anyone more dangerous with a trench coat full of props. Chico, ya gotta love 'im. GrouchO is fine, but strangely and unequivocally eclipsed by his brothers. It should be said that this one has fewer knock-down awe-inspiring moments than some, but the musical efforts by Harpo, and particularly Chico, are amazing. They're so great, and so unique. And you don't even have to see it to know that any scene with Harpo and a penguin is going to rule. Vera-Ellen knocks 'em dead in several of her scenes, but it's become traditional to get more twiterpated when Marilyn Monroe makes her historic entrance. You make the call, I vote for Vera. It's commonplace to consider this a lesser light in the Marx Brothers' canon. Maybe, but if so it's only because so much of everything else is so great, some even greater. In Through the Out Door was one of the very best records of 1979, but everyone just remembers it as the least great Led Zeppelin record. When mere mortals scoff at the immortals it barely rises to twittering. I'll do my tweeting some place else.

GODZILLA VS. MOSURA (1992) ** I don't know what's more confusing: having a confusing plot, or just pretending there was one there in the fist place. Am I the only misguided soul who thinks you're supposed to vote for Godzilla in a Godzilla movie? Well, most of the time anyway I guess, it's kind of like politics what with allegiances shifting like….there's a great line in this, something like "He's causing tidal waves everywhere he goes. That will make it easy to locate him." The battle scenes are what it's all about anyway (oh yeah, also the message Take Care of the Earth[!]), and they're loud and fast and frenetic and frantic and memorable and clichéd, in that honoured and respectable way. The scenes and sounds surrounding Mothra's metamorphosis are kind of moving, actually. What?, I said "kind of." You probably won't cry or anything. And the shots of Mothra and Battra flying through the air with outstretched wings…but there's never anything like Godzilla storming out of the clouds of chaos he's created. I'm tempted to say that I think they left a few loose plot strands, except I believe that I already went on record as saying that there wasn't a plot: Again, Godzilla transcends human logic and understanding, and puny human weapons.

TRON (1982) *1/2 The Metamorphosis meets Frankenstein and Gladiator in mid-20th century cyberspace, but without the transcendence quotient of an average comic book. Portions rise almost to the level of a Nancy Drew mystery. You have to be of a certain age to get much out of this at all, and although I'm of that age I don't anyway. I never applauded video games, always preferred pinball. In fact, it's the allegedly evil computer program that finds corporations boring…hmm, such an obvious truth and yet one that eludes those set up as heroes. I wonder….although there is a reasonably useful proverb about never attributing to conspiracy what can be attributed to stupidity. And those behind this don't strike me as overly bright. Still and all, there is and are occasionally mildly amusing aspects to the embryonic graphics, hopelessly dreary plot…well, not the plot line, but the suits (no, not the corporate ones but them too) are so stupid as to quite nearly demand admiration. Is there something visionary about it? Not for me, but lots of folks said the wheel was just a circle. Of course in the hands of these people it would have been.

IT'S A WONDERFUL LIFE (1946) **** One of man's greatest accomplishments to throw against the seemingly hollow reverb of the cosmos. More a religious achievement than a film, or even art. How do you idealize, or even make interesting, a guy who's sold his own dreams, lives in daily abject frustration and professional cowering before morally inferior forces, and is in daily danger of being overwhelmed with regret? Jimmy Stewart gives his greatest performance, alternately saint-like and going down for the third time under demonic possession. Frank Capra shoots his face as big as the screen with pathos to make Hitchcock sick with jealousy. Same for Donna Reed (shot big, not jealous) who breaks the heaviest moment with her tres chic librarian ensemble: young bachelours, don't marry until you see her . Even way back then you had to have a greedy capitalist bastard to run a morality play properly-Wall Street must be filled with coroded souls who saw this film and envied Lionel Barrymore. Henry Travers, William Edmunds, the sound of the piano player in Nick's, Gloria Grahame, H. B. Warner, books have been written about everything that went right in this film but there's no way to do anything more than point in the general direction of the best parts. But is it real ? Is that how it really works? I don't know, but if Philip Van Dorn Stren can come up with this, I'm willing to believe that God can come up with something even better.

back home please