Changeling

First of all, I couldn't help but snicker at the description on the back of the Netflix envelope referring to "Ace director, Clint Eastwood." Who wrote that? An old-timey journalist from 1938? Ace director! He's the cat's pajamas!

Don't get me wrong, if anyone deserves the Ace title, it's Eastwood. The man delivers a good film and Changeling is no exception. Although, if anything in this film, his directing is so spartan and unembellished that you won't even notice it. I guess I'm saying that even a tool like Bruckheimer probably couldn't have screwed up this material: the story is that good. We loved watching it.

Changeling follows the true story of 1920's Los Angeles mom, Christine Collins, as she battles police corruption to find her missing son, Walter. The LAPD, facing horrible public image problems, brings Christine's son back to her, but she's convinced it's not her son. When Collins tries to make public the fact that the LAPD returned the wrong kid, she quickly finds herself staying at a mental institution on police orders.

A legal team headed up by anti-LAPD preacher, played by John Malkovich (who is just so good at being preachy, let's be honest) and a shark of an attorney come to the rescue of Collins and attempt to mount a strike at the LAPD. But what makes the movie really compelling is the co-story of the alleged murderer, Gordon Northcott, accused of murdering 20 boys, Walter Collins among them. Northcott's scenes are riveting and his madness is chilling.

Collins is played by Angelina Jolie. Now, I will be the first to admit that she's a good actress and she handled the role with skill. But I couldn't help but feel like she's just too physically striking to make this role believable. Draped in face-framing clothes and brilliantly rich make-up, she looked stunning...too stunning. The camera loves her face but it's so distinct that it distracts you from the character.

At no point was I unaware that I was watching Angelina Jolie, not Christine Collins. I could only imagine how powerful the role would have been in less facially-captivating hands (that is a nice way of saying "not so pretty"). Forgive me, but I'm thinking Frances McDormand here.

My favorite character in the film was Collins' lawyer. For the life of me, I can't figure out who the actor is (why have you forsaken me, IMDB?) but I've seen him in other roles and he's superb in this film. He'll make you want to love your lawyer. I'll refer to him henceforth as "Ace Actor Portraying a Lawyer."

Burn After Reading

In Burn After Reading, the Coen brothers are back in their dark comedy groove in a film that’s one part Fargo, one part Big Lebowski. Burn doesn't tread in new territory for the Coen's, but it's one of the most enjoyable films I've seen in a long time.

The plot is a twisted warren of woefully misdirected characters, each on a singular, selfish mission that prevents them from ever seeing the larger impact of their actions. It’s a stew of adultery, blackmail, government bureaucracy and the most loveably dimwitted gym employees on the planet.

The cast, including George Clooney, Tilda Swinton, Frances McDormand and John Malkovich, delivered terrific performances. And it pains me to say it, but Brad Pitt was so hilarious that the theater was in laugh-out-loud mode whenever he appeared on screen. It kind of makes me wonder how Brad Pitt and George Clooney lucked into such fantastic roles...cue dream sequence music here:

PITT: Hey Clooney, see you’re still dragging that Oscar with you everywhere.

CLOONEY: Well, I didn’t expect you to bring along the entire cast of a Sally Struthers’ commercial, but here we are.

PITT: Those are my children, Clooney.

CLOONEY: I’ll pay you five million dollars if you can tell me all their names right now. I’d offer more but that’s all I’ve got in my wallet.

PITT: Save it, Clooney. I don’t need your money. I need a film, friend. It’s time to bring back some of that Brad Pitt magic to the big screen. I’ve been away too long saving the world and showing up Bono and whatnot.

CLOONEY: My god, Pitt, you’re really depressed, aren’t you?

PITT: You have no idea. I’m even too depressed to make another baby.

CLOONEY: Egads! Manservant! Pitt is talking crazy. Bring him a case of Chateau Margaux, a gallon of orphan’s tears and a stack of those Google stock certificates we use as toilet paper.

PITT: That’s sweet, George, but I don’t think it will help.

CLOONEY: No? We could light a fire using stacks of thousand-dollar bills. That always makes me feel better.

PITT: Nah. Did that yesterday.

CLOONEY: My god man, your life has reached a new handsome low. At least you still have your wife.

PITT: Sigh. For the thousandth time, she’s not my wife. She’s my lover-slash-co-parenting-partner. Why is that so hard to remember?

CLOONEY: Hmmm? Sorry, I didn’t catch that. I was too busy looking at my handsome reflection in this priceless mirror that belonged to Julius Caesar. Oops, dropped it. Oh, well, I’ll just get another.

PITT: Here, take mine.

CLOONEY: You know what, Pitt, you are a true friend. I think I’ll let you in on this next Coen Brothers film I’m doing.

PITT: Do you mean it, George?

CLOONEY: I’m too rich and handsome to lie. Consider it done. Manservant! Bring me a telephone! No, no, not the one covered in priceless gemstones. I want the one with a unicorn horn as the antenna!

PITT: A real unicorn horn? I didn’t think those existed.

CLOONEY: You don’t own a unicorn? Oh, Pitt, no wonder you’re so depressed.