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In case you hadn’t noticed – or had been living under a rock – it’s been a very Pink month. From staplers to mushrooms to cat food – it’s all about raising breast cancer awareness. Hell – even the NFL got in on the pink action. I happened to look up from my Words with Friends the other day and noticed something decidedly un-butch about the players. Every one of ’em sported a little something pink: cleats, helmets, a little stripe here ‘n there…All in honour of Breast Cancer Awareness Month.

That’s right kids – October’s not just for Halloween anymore!

So maybe you’ve already run, biked or walked for the cure. Or you’ve spun, spa’d or bought a pink ribbon. Good for you. Every a-thon counts.

Question is: have you voted??

Amid all the October awareness is a film festival getting ready for November.

Breast Fest.

And no, it’s not a porn-a-thon. Now in it’s third year, Breast Fest is brought to you by the geniuses at Rethink Breast Cancer. This weekend-long film festival is dedicated to raising breast cancer awareness using films, workshops and panelists.

For the next few days, you have a chance to be a film critic, a festival programmer and a boobie bigwhig. Click here to watch and vote in the Breast Fest Short Film Competition.

You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll cry some more. You’ll find yourself with you hands down your shirts – or down the shirts of those you love – copping a feel, checking things out. Most of all, you’ll stop and think beyond the pink.

And then, hopefully, you’ll vote. You’ve got three votes so use ’em or lose ’em as the whole shebang is over at midnight on the 15th.


How’s that for awareness??


October 12, 2010   No Comments


Geek Chic

One of the casualties of TIFF is that when it’s over I have to catch up on my regular movies. And yet, I always end up somewhat movied-out. And then I panic. All the movies that come out during the film festival are often gone by the time I want to see them.

So it was with great pleasure that I managed to catch not one, but two flicks in the past week. One set in high school, one set in university (ish). One an homage to 80’s teen flicks and one very NOW. And both made me incredibly grateful that I’m no longer a student.

But back to the movies.

First, The Facebook.

Did you know it was called THE Facebook first? At least Aaron Sorkin made me believe that. His apparently-far-from-the-truth script, with David Fincher’s direction, was snap-snap-snappy. Everything a movie in the golden-digi age of twitter/facebook (groupon?) should be. Fast. And, like said age, gone in the blink of an eye. Or the click of a mouse. Or whatever: the was one fast-paced flick.

As one wise friend so succinctly said: it’s too soon. And it is. We’re still IN the age of Facebook. While the youth of today may have already moved on (or at least the most technically-savvy of ’em) the rest of us are still figuring out how to stalk people and find friends and fans. We may not be wasting quite as much time as we did at first. But then again, we might be.

Still, it’s kinda cool that some young geek who didn’t care about the money is the world’s youngest billionaire. And that he screwed his best friend over in the process. And boy-yoy-yoing there were a whole lotta lawsuits going on. But I wasn’t as interested in the boardroom table talk as the interaction with the characters. Maybe I’m being nitpicky. Jesse Eisenberg, who usually bugs me, was very intense and despite playing Mark Zukerberg with a bit of an Aspergerian slant (according to one of my pals), he was on fire. As was Andrew Garfield – felt sick for him the entire time. Even Justin Timberlake rose to the occasion – and he’s usually the kiss of death in movies. But is it THE movie of the year? Pas pour moi… But it’s definitely the dialogue of the year. Both within the movie itself, and the conversations about it….

MOAM Likes The Social Network.

Easy A, on the hand?


Yeah, I know, it’s a totally different kind of flick. So what?

Maybe it’s a love of John Hughes (RIP), or maybe it’s because it feels like the screenwriter here was writing this baby for all of us who were actually 16 when 16 Candles came out (yes, I’m dating myself. No, not in that way) This is one teen flick that was sooo totally not just for teens. Emma Stone pulls off what everybody else thought Ellen Page did in Juno: she’s quirky, foul-mouthed, sharp as hell. Only in this case, I bought it.

After inadvertently starting a rumour that she’d lost her virginity, Olive (Ms Stone) finds herself at the mercy of nasty god-squad highschoolers – while saving her fellow outcasts by letting everybody think that they’re getting a piece of her too. Of course things spiral out of control. There are many inspired-by-80’s-flicks moments here, including a kick-ass montage of the J-Hughes Boy Hotties, and I couldn’t get enough of ’em. And get this – the parents/teachers/authority figures in the flick? Laugh-out-loud funny!!

Also – Penn Badgley. Who knew? Re-owwww.

Of course you’ll all go see The Social Network. But don’t forget about Easy A. It’s like the little movie that could – but may be out of theaters any day now to free up more space for The Social Network… about the little geek that did.

Students these days….Geniuses, cyber-bullies, scammers, sexters… A far, far cry from St Elmo’s Fire and The breakfast Club…..


October 6, 2010   No Comments


What I Did on my Summer Vacation

Looks like summer is officially over. Tomorrow it’s back to school. Back to carpool. Back to chauffeuring. Being a night-before stylist. An enforcer. A chef. And my fave – The Warden.
I had all these grandiose plans for the summer….
Seeing lots of movies. Check.
Exercising. Started off well.
Getting back to Bikram yoga. Got too tense – and had nothing to wear that wouldn’t either constrict in the most unflattering of ways, or flip over my head and blind me if I bent over.
Writing a script. Did a rewrite… okay, a polish… of an existing project. But that kinda counts.
Spending lots of quality time with my kids. I extended their day camp. But we did hang out a lot at the cottage. And I took them to an amusement park by myself, went on loads of rides, ate as much junk as possible, went onstage during a clown performance, AND got stung by a bee and didn’t cry. Yes, I am supermom.
I also saw how enlightening a summer can be, even when you’re 1, 4 and 5-and-a-half years old. While my baby conquered walking and learned to point instead of scream, my big boys picked up all kinds of other equally important stuff this summer.
They are now gaga masters (that’s dodge ball for those of you out of this particular loop). They love archery. They can swim in the deep end and jump off diving boards. They pretty much know the entire Beatles catalogue by heart, and are counting down the days until Beatles Rockband arrives (-2. We pre-ordered). They’ve become terrific bikers, soccer players, and catchers. They can wield a tennis racquet with the best of ’em – and sometimes even hit the ball. Over the net. They know street names, directions, and how to do English accents. They appreciate the BBQ. They’re not afraid of sunscreen, and they like wearing hats. Their phone manner and overall sportsmanship has improved tremendously.
And they can swear like sailors.
It started off innocently enough. Weiners. Balls. Butts ‘n bums.
Jackass. Piss. Crap.
Stupid. Idiot. Stupid idiot.
And then shit happened. “Say shit”… “He said shit”… “You’re a shit!”
Inevitably, they dropped the big bomb. The F-word cruised into our house on a barrel of laughs and blushing cheeks. Apparently, FUCK was one they learned here at home. From their father, God bless him. That they happened to pick it up only when off at camp and yet blame their dad amazes and amuses me. But it’s here to stay (not that it ever left!) And joining the F-word is the B-word (Buck) and the C-word. Everyone gets a little shifty and nervous when they mention the C-word. But – get this – they think it’s Cuck! And so it goes with every letter of the alphabet.
Except L.
The L word is Love. As noted by a 5.5 year old.
So while they stub their toes and scream fuuuuuuck like banshees, and call each other dicks, jackasses, and shits – but only “for pretend until school starts” – I take heart that the L word will stick around, even in grade 1.
Fucks, shits and pisses be damned.
Happy back-to-school… for those who go, those who drive, and those who remember!


Anonymous said…

the father did really teach it to them. notch another one for jack ass. summer lovin!


September 7, 2009   No Comments


MOAM Book Club

It’s that time of year again….the “have-you-read-any-good-books” season.

And, yes, as a matter of fact, I have! Not as many as I’d like – magazines and falling asleep mid-page can do that to a girl. As can watching a bunch of losers being batted into a pool by a mechanical arm. Or seeing how long a slew of idiots can stand being hung from the ceiling in their underwear….. But hey, that’s summer TV. Which is why I’m talkin’ bout books. Even if you’re not a huge reader, in summertime it’s hard to resist the lure of the page. After all, how many times can you go see The Hangover?

OK don’t answer that. But when you’ve had your fill of Mr Chow and the boys, and you’ve admitted that Bruno was boring and that you actually liked The Proposal, then it’s library time. Besides, 500 Days of Summer isn’t out yet…..

Here’s a small list to get you through the rest of the season…..Or at least a couple of weeks…

The Book of Negroes by Lawrence Hill – I actually read this one last summer. Maybe I blogged about it back then too. Whatev. It’s worth a double take because it’s awesome and devastating and impossible to put down – or forget. It’s historical fiction at its most brutal – and most stunning. One of those books you read in two days. And you cry. And you discuss with everyone else who’s read it. And rave about it to those who haven’t. And then they buy it. And read it in two days. And cry. And discuss…And so on. Required reading.

The Cellist of Sarajevo by Steven Galloway is another one. Historical fiction? Check. Well written? Check. Read in a weekend? Check. Brutal? Devastating? Brilliant? Check, check and check. Part character study, part thriller, part morality lesson, it’s a love letter to a city torn apart during our lifetime… as we watched it on the news.

If you like deep and brooding, then The Outcast by Sadie Jones is for you. Set in 1950’s England, join our anti-hero on his hellish journey to prison and back. Innocence lost. Troubled times. Terrible crimes. Or maybe not. Like our main man, you’ll find yourself heartbroken as you look for love beneath the darkness. There’s something familiar about this book, whether in the telling, or the tale, but in a good way. Think Ian McEwan….

The Vanishing Act of Esme Lennox by Maggie O’Farrell isn’t the most brilliant book of all time, but it’s extremely readable. A young woman learns she is the only surviving relative of an aunt she never knew existed – a woman who didn’t play by the rules, who was ahead of her time. While it’s tempting to simply file this away under “women’s fiction”, it’s much more than that…
And it’s by the woman who wrote After You’d Gone, so how bad can it be? (If you haven’t read that one, grab some kleenex and start)

Is this more like a winter reading list? Is it getting too heavy for you? Had enough of the depressing stuff?

Sunnier times can be found in I Love You Beth Cooper by Larry Doyle. The author was one of the writers on The Simpsons and Beavis and Butthead. Need I say more? The book opens with the class Valedictorian giving his graduation speech… and announcing his love for the most popular girl in school. School’s out, so wat’s he got to lose, right?? With snappy dialogue and genius coming-of-age moments, it’s no big surprise that this one’s coming soon to a theater near you. The book’s hi-larious. The movie? Who knows…

The Outliers by Malcolm Gladwell is more of a conversation piece than a thumping good read. Those who like Mr. Gladwell, like him a lot. And no wonder. He dissects pop culture and makes you feel like a smartypants as he articulates things you never knew that you knew (does that make sense?) This is great for idle party chatter. Or dates.

10 Year Nap by Meg Wolitzer had all the gals talking last year. Except me who had to wait for the paperback version. Again, “women’s fiction” to be sure, but resonated with, erm, some people as it’s about a group of moms who ditch their promising careers to stay home with their kids. Of course, one day they “wake up” to find their kids at school and themselves… erm… lost in their own mundane lives. If that sounds at all familiar, then give it a whirl, if only for the “hey! I-know-her/she’s-me” moments.

Last, but by no means least, make sure Bitter Sweets by Roopa Farooki is in your cottage bag. This one’s an intricate, inter-generational story about an Indian family. A family whose very foundations are laid on lies and deceit. These folks aren’t grifters exactly, more like “spicers”, whose stretching of the truth will catch up with them, eventually. This one’s a fun, clever, soap-opera of a novel. Perfect for summer. Or any time.



Anonymous said…

al;ways a good blog this reading list! I have had the Book of Negroes next to my bed for months. I also want to read every other one on thelist. Of course I never get to read as I am too busy seeing the Hangover twice! I feel my 10 year nap will not only be related to kids, but to reading as well. I need a vacation just to read!


July 10, 2009   No Comments


Coming Soon to a Theatre Near You

Did everyone watch Oprah today?

No, wait…I mean, did everyone PVR Oprah today?


Oh, poor souls, you missed out. You really did.

Disclaimer: I am not, by nature a daytime TV person. Never have been. When the sun goes down, that’s a different story – the remote comes out. But I have too many guilt issues with daytime telly – unless I am severely under the weather or there’s some hideous ambulance-chasing newsflash I can’t turn away from. Reruns of sitcoms, maybe Ellen, OK. But Oprah? Very, very, rarely. I did watch the cast of Friends goodbye show, but that’s about it.

See, when it comes to Ms Winfrey, I’m not a fan. In fact, she kinda bugs me. I kinda liked Fat Oprah. And Sophia-from-The-Color-Purple-Oprah. And I can appreciate and barely stomach Do-Gooder-Friend-of-Nelson-Mandela-Oprah. But thin-, marathoned-, and star-f&cking Oprah? Not for me. Too condescending. Too Benevolent Ruler of Minivan Moms in audience. Too earnest. Too annoying.

BUT I put it all aside for today. I got over my aversion to Oprah and to daytime TV for today. I really let myself go to the edge of the couch for today….For today was DREAMGIRLS day.

Yes, it’s true. DREAMGIRLS has arrived. Ish. More specifically, it’ll arrive at your local theatre on Christmas day. The lucky ones in LA and NYC will, as always, get it sooner, as will a handful of other selected spots (please please please let Toronto be one of them) (I know, it probably won’t) (if you don’t ask, you don’t get) (why am I having a paranthetical conversation with myself) (because I can)…

My Euro friends, you probably don’t even know what DREAMGIRLS is, let alone when it’s coming. So you can just read along, safe in the knowledge that a damn fine show has been turned into a supposedly damn fine film and that you can – and should – book your tix AND your seats in advance.

So there they were: Beyonce, James Foxx, Anika-something-or-other, Ed Murphy and my fave, Jennifer Hudson. Her god-fearing (and spouting) ways aside, I love her. And so did the audience. She got a longer standing O than the Mighty Murphy. More whoops than the other folks combined. Rightfully so, folks, rightfully so.

For the eight of you people who didn’t watch American Idol a couple of season back, she was one of the 3 divas. Fantasia, someotherchick, and Ms Hudson. She sang the Dreamgirls’ showstopper (do I have to spell out everything? “I am Telling You I’m Not Going”). She was the first of the best to be booted, but baby, look at her now! Word on the street (and on the web) is she’s the one to watch. As it should be. She was Effie on Idol and she’s Effie now. Jennifer Hudson? The new Jennifer Holliday.

Beyonce (and, parents, it’s pronounced Bee-yon-say, not Bee-Yawns) was, as always, a real lady. Babydoll Pajama dress aside, she was poised, stunning, and modest. A glamorama movie star ’til the end – complete with costume change. And, yes, she sang. She sang the one song that didn’t come from the original soundtrack. Y’know, the Disneyfied, lyrically-on-the-nose, lame song: the Oscar song. B’s pipes were so outstanding that she actually gave some life to a truly lame tune. Now that’s star power.

There was the other chick, the Tony award winner whose name escapes me. She plays Lorell. The one no one really gives a shit about. But she gets a solo, and a paycheck and gets to be on Oprah, so let’s not pity her.

Moving on.

Jamie Foxx. Talented? Yes. Hot? Yes. Somewhat runty? Kind of. He described himself as shiny. That says it all. Shiny good and shiny bad. And then they played some clips of him as Curtis. Clips he was proud of. Clips in which he sang all his own songs. May I remind you that he did no such thing in Ray. And maybe that’s good thing. ‘Cuz I’ve got two words for you: Weak Link. Yes, yes, yes, I’m sure his performance will be stellar. But a balladeer he ain’t.

Now, was it me, or did Funny Murphy seem kinda sad? Cliche, I know, the sad clown and all, but he did. He seemed out of sorts and kind of down. Maybe Eddie finds Oprah annoying too. Or maybe he’s just whipped by Scary Spice. Whatev – the few sound clips of him as James Thunder Early? Erm….smoking!

I first saw Dreamgirls when I’d pulled my braces off at sleepover camp so I could go home and call a boy I liked. I was that kind of girl. His number turned out to be unlisted (loo-hoo-ser), but I got to go and see Dreamgirls. And then I saw it again on Broadway. I’ve had my mother quoting it to me for years. I’ve sung every breath of every song in countless car rides. I’ve participated in (and nearly wrecked) an amateur production of the thing. I’ve cast the movie in my head and – I don’t mind bragging – pegged Beyonce and Jenny Hudson long before the producers even did. I even watched The Oprah Earnest Show to get a glimpse of the Dreamgirls Dreamteam. Along with a handful of other diehards, I’ve been waiting for this moment for 25 bloody years, so please, forgive my excitement.

And now, I pass that excitement on to you, loyal readers. Let the countdown begin:
One month, five days…


Anonymous said…


1:13 AM

Anonymous said…

“When I first saw you… I said “oh my, that’s my dream”. Not only is DREAMGIRLS THE SEMINAL 80S MUSICAL (ok– name another one, c’mon… just as I thought) and Michael Bennett’s last (notable) hurrah– it would be really easy to mess the movie up. (‘Rent’ anyone?) This is the same guy who directed ‘Gods & Monsters’ & ‘Kinsey’. Fine films, yes, but paced like the tortoise from the age-old fable. DREAMGIRLS is the definitely the Hare. In any case, it looks like they did the right thing– the movie looks stunning– and not just from a theatre-geeky, broadway-only p.o.v. I’ve been casting Dreamgirls in my head for years and while I would’ve liked to have seen it made when La Holliday was still young enough to play Effie onscreen (again, ‘Rent” anyone?), Ms. Hudson certainly fills those shoes. But I really think this film was waiting for the ascent of Ms. Knowles. She IS Deena. (And Deena, it’s only the beginning!) And hello, no slighting Lorrell (who loves Jimmy, it’s true…)– Anika’s got the most chops of the three, and for a theatre chick she even looked stylish. Besides, they had to get a bargain on someone to pay for Foxx & Murphy. By the way, Eddie Murphy, get your Oscar speech ready. I called it when they announced the casting and I’m sticking by it. Beyonce, you may have to wait your turn when they call Ms. Mirren to the podium. But everyone in the room will know who’s really the Queen! Lastly– who knew all it took was writing a letter to Oprah to get tix to the L.A. premiere. That D’Shawn guy was the highlight of the show– ultimate Dreamgirls fan, though? I, and perhaps MOAM, beg to differ!

9:17 AM

Anonymous said…

By the way, that some other chick on Idol was your pick to my Fantasia!!! How soon we forget. And Jamie Foxx did his own singing in Ray. Also as Ray in Kanye West’s Goldigger. (note to Other comment – Gods & Monsters is paced perfectly and gay enough to prove he could direct Dreamgirls! No pacing aside please.) Lorrell does love Jimmie and even though “Lorrell and Jimmie are through” – who does give a shit about Lorrell. I’m with the MOAM on that one. Can’t wait for Murphy to be getting in the “Hot tub!” He will finally make up for “My girl wants to party all the time.” I have loved him forever and think he is brilliant!


November 21, 2006   No Comments


Oprah Move Over

Yes, I have hobbies other than television.

Yes, I am literate. Ahem. Quite, thank you.

Yes, I have taken to giving away my books.

And yes, I’ve ended up buying books I’ve read before.

What does all this mean? Why should you give a rat’s ass? I’ll tell you why. Because, at long last, I am giving the people what they want: the eagerly awaited, long anticipated, not imitated: MOAM BOOK CLUB.

I don’t know why I wrote “not imitated”. Book clubs are a dime a dozen. And many of you may have even read some of these winners. But not all of ’em. Besides, this is my answer to the oft asked “read any good books lately?”.

The answer, a resounding YES.

So here, in no particular order, are my top picks for the past year. Give or take a couple of months. Most have been out for a while, ‘cuz I like to wait for paperback. Not just because I’m cheap, but also, who wants to lug a hardcover book around? They’re heavy, they’re not great in bed, and they only look good on your bookshelves if you give a shit. And, as someone who’s taken to giving my books away, I don’t. So….

WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT KEVIN. We need to talk about this book. We need to talk about Lionel Shriver (aside: she’s a woman. Lionel. That’s right.). She’s also a genius. This is a chilling, twisted book about a high-school shooter. Told by the kid’s mother. Those who are parents will be looking for signs of sociopathic tendencies in their own children. Those who are not will wonder if they should dare procreate. Kids these days…

A WOMAN IN BERLIN. An anonymous writer shares her memoirs from the fall of Berlin after the 2nd World War. It was, essentially, a rape-fest. This book was banned in Germany and only republished after the writer died. It’s brutal. And it’s excellent.

MAPS FOR LOST LOVERS. Nadeem Aslam. Set in a community of immigrants from the subcontinent who have moved to England in search of a better life. Culture clashes. East meets West. Old vs. new. Communities on fire. Oh, and loves lost too. Not as melodramatic as I’m making it sound.

A BLADE OF GRASS. Lewis de Soto. Ditto. But this time it’s White woman+ Black woman + unnamed Southern African country. Don’t worry, it’s NOT Cold Mountain. Way better. Way smarter. Way sadder.

CROSSING CALIFORNIA. I haven’t forgotten you, boys. Adam Langer’s spot on and hilarious coming-of-age novel set in the Chicago of the 70’s. Especially funny if you lived it. And even funnier if if you had older sibs (or friends with older sibs) who did. You’ll laugh out loud. You will.

Books on Film:
LITTLE CHLDREN. Tom Perrotta. Bored suburban mom takes up with bored suburban dad. And that’s just the start. Movie version is coming soon. Very very soon. read it first so you can discuss which is better.

RUNNING WITH SCISSORS. Augusten Bourrough’s hilarious account of his wild ‘n crazy childhood. One of those truth-is-stranger-fiction books. Way stranger. And way better.

Finally, my two faves of the past year:


THE HISTORY OF LOVE by Nicole Krauss.

Where to begin? I don’t want to ruin them in any way. STUNNING. I read them back to back, GENIUS x 2, and they’ve become more or less one un-f&cking-believable book in my head. AWESOME in every sense of the word. Even better, I just learned that these two extremely young and incredibly brilliant writers are a couple. A COUPLE!!! Is it an urban myth? A simple rumour? Does it matter? Read these two babies and imagine that the authors are in love. How could either find anyone better?!

So there you go. I haven’t bothered with the ones that didn’t come close to the hype. Or the real duds. Nor shall I. Between the life, the kids and the TV, who has time for a bad book? And yeah, I don’t doubt that for every book I’ve listed, someone has many more I’ve missed. Sorry, kids. My blog, my books. That said, I’m always looking for the next best thing and of course all suggestions are most welcome….


October 9, 2006   No Comments


Hey Jude II

Did you know Jude Law is the president of the United States?

No? Me neither. Maybe someone should tell his handlers ‘cuz they are totally outta control…

I went to see Breaking & Entering, Anthony Minghella’s not-perfect-but-worth-seeing flick starring my boy, Jude. I had hoped (against hope) to score a bit of a photo op, like I did back in the day when Ralph Fiennes topped my List. But, alas, ’twas not to be.

Pre-screening I tried to be inconspicuous in the Gala Green Room. Mind you, I did bring a tall, leggy blond with me, figuring at least I’d get Mr Law to look my way with such bait. But no dice. Other, yeah. Jude, no go. He came, he twinkled, he conquered. Again. And then he was gone, out to join his costars on stage.


Well, Juliette Binoche was there in a very lovely dress and a not-as-lovely hair accessory. But she was quite sweet and smiley…and blonde. Go figure. Hopefully it’s just for a role, ‘cuz it doesn’t do her justice. Not by a long shot. Especially when she stands next to Princess Buttercup.

Aaah the magnificent Robin Wright. Crazy gorgeous. And all smiles too – maybe because it was her movie and she didn’t have to babysit her surly hubby. I love Bad Boy Penn as much as the next gal, but he is a broody little fellow, isn’t he?!

Dixie Chiclets were there too. And they’re really friendly and gracious and, well, nice. Clever girls cottoned on to the idea that when you’re in town promoting your own movie, you’re SUPPOSED to all those positive things! Duh – isn’t that the point?

Something else Jude’s handlers should learn. After the movie, after the applause, after the stading ovation we stuck around. “We” being 4 people, two officially s’posed to be there, and 2, er, not. I was one of the latter. Anyhoo, the key players made their happy way downstairs. They accepted the accolades thrust their way by our group – except one who, when told that we enjoyed the film asked if we’d seen it.


And then Jude emerged. At least I think it was him. His people had him corralled and were frogmarching him out to the car. All he could do was shrug helplessly as he was bundled off by the speedy secret service types. Haste made waste as we were left in his dust.

And then there was Emilio….

Saw “Bobby” last night. Despite the film’s few tales too many, I was really moved. Yes, to tears. Y’see, I chose to ignore the movie’s flaws and just go with it – especially ‘cuz it was a blast playing spot-the-celeb. My Man and I elbowed each other every time a new famous face appeared on screen. And now we’re bruised. The rollout of stars was never ending. Some worked, some didn’t. But still, everybody should go and see the movie. RFK’s speeches date back nearly 40 years, yet they could – and should – be made today. So sad, and yet so true.

So good on you Emilio! A far cry from “Kirby he’ll freeze”, that’s for sure! And what’s better than having a bratpacker right there in front of your eyes?

I know! TWO bratpackers! Yep, Mr. Estevez’s former fiancee, Demi, was there. With her current hubby. And, unlike the other night, Dashton didn’t try to hide: waving to fans, even pulling down their car window as they drove off. Ditto Sharon Stone. She dazzled the curb crawlers as they called her name. And it’s gotta be said, that Shazzy is drop-dead gorgeous. I don’t care what she or Demi have spent on their bodies and faces – worth every penny.

Who else? Christian Slater – hasn’t aged. Pacey…I mean, Josh Jackson, was there, along with a myriad of screaming youngsters.The guy’s still got it! Who knew? Joy Bryant…not sure why she isn’t more famous. She’s very good and very hot. What more could you want?

Sadly, that was the last of the film fest films for this chick. Our babysitting bill has gone through the roof. Our kids forget what we look like. And I’m sick of popcorn for dinner. Blah blah blah.

Maybe next year I’ll be reunited with Jude-judy-judy-judy-judy-judy Law. Or not. My ever-changing moods. And Lists… Happy End of Fest everyone


September 15, 2006   No Comments


Hey Jude

September. Back to school. Back to books. Back to teachers’ dirty looks.

Back to everybody’s dirty looks ‘cuz the Toronto Int’l Film Fest is on. The stalking, gawking, and party crashing has begun. Not for me tho’. Despite daily visits to Ted, Lainey, and Perez (and a ‘script to US Weekly), I refuse to lower myself to the standards of the camera-toting throngs, opting to see some films instead.

And of you believe that….

That’s right kittens, after sitting out last year due to newborn babe (and accompanying heft and angst) I’m back in the green room. Sorta. Gone are the heady days of lounging backstage at the Galas. What? You call it skulking around, I call it lounging. Tomato/Tomahto. Anyhoo, those days are done, replaced by the wealthy big game hunters who pay to play with the stars. Or stand near ’em, cuz their handlers have become ever so ferocious, protecting their charges from the flashes of unathorized cameras. But whatever, I can still share, right?

So sit back and relax, cuz this might take a while. Ladies and Gents, I bring you the First Annual Mother of All Mavens, Not-even-close-to-the-red-carpet, All-singin’, All-dancin’ Revue Review.

AKA the who’s nice, who’s rude, and who’s loaded with tude report. With a slice of cinema on the side.

First off, saw a Brit Flick called Confetti. LOVED IT! Hilarious and completely improvised. Took ’em 6 weeks to shoot, yet 6 months to cast. Well worth the wait because these actors are GENIUS. Anyone who is married, was married, wants to get married or – hell, knows anyone who is/was/will be married should go go go. Opens later this fall. Remember: C-O-N-F-E-T-T-I. The little flick that could…

Unlike Volver. Sorry Pedro, but I was unimpressed. Sure I liked the film, but I wanted to love it. Problemo was Penny. She was just too hot to handle. Seriously, her beauty was distracting. The camera loves this gal. Little Pia was there in person and, while obviously pretty, I hate to break it to ya boys, but she’s certainly not the robobabe she is on-screen. Go figure.

On the other hand, a man who IS a robobabe (in a farmhanded kind of way) is Brad Pitt. But y’know what? I kinda felt bad for him. The stage was lined 3 deep with snappers (hee hee) and the second Brad set foor on stage the place turned into a rave. They should’ve warned us. We’re talkin’ seizure-inducing amounts of flashbulbs. They should’ve warned Brad too ‘cuz he became a deer in the headlights. Poor guy. And he’s quite slight, not nearly as hunky as expected. Beyond the pretty face was the movie itself: BABEL. Now we’re talking magnificent. It was un-f&cking-believable. Run, don’t walk. Intense and brutal and amazing and and and. Can’t praise it enough.

Oh, and after it was all over? It was like being at a boyband concert. Deafening screams, chants, the works. Ole, ole, ole Brad Pitt indeed. We found ourselves outside with the greatest access ever (basically outside his car. Yes, his car) (we’ll take what we can get, thank you). But my Man and I decided to just take it in stride. And leave. Why stoop to such levels of stalkerazzi? He’s just a guy after all…

Unlike Jude Law.

He’s my fave. Topper on my List. That List. And he. was. there. last night. But wait!Before we get to him, I must tell you we saw Christopher Guests eagerly anticipated oscar spoofer, For Your Consideration.

Two words:

Wha happened?

Loved Waiting for Guffman. Adored Best in Show. Amused by A Mighty Wind. Wouldn’t consider Consideration. I hate to be the one to tell y’all, but it sorta sucked. Yes it was amusing, of course it was. But the subject matter was ripe for the pickin’ and they barked up the wrong trees. Think of any metaphor for DISAPPOINTED and you’ll get my drift. Kudos, however, go to Kitty O’Hara. As always, she stole the show. And Fred Willard wasn’t bad either. But the rest of the gang? Solid “c”: Coulda done better.

Jude Law. Jude Law Jude Law Jude Law. J-u-d-e L-a-w.

In a flick called All the King’s Men. With Sean Penn, Kate Winslet, Mark Ruffalo, Anthony Hopkins, Patricia Clarkson and James Gandolfini. Star-studded? Whatev, wake me when it’s over. Or so said my Man. And he had the right idea.

Flick was a heavy handed snoozefest that went like somethin’ like this: narration by the gorgeous and talented Mr Law. Screaming speech by Crazy-haired Penn. Plot, plot, plot. Shot of cross-lined rural road. Dramatic music. Shot of car/train/truck nearly missing camera. More narration by the gorgeous and talented Jude Law. Another screaming speech, etc. And repeat. Over and over and over.

Swing and a miss.

And the kids themselves?

Sean Penn? Surly, as you’d expect. Princess Buttercup? Gorgeous. Might way 100lbs on a bad day, as you’d expect. Jimmy Gandolfini? A brute and boor, as you’d expect (come on, people, he could go either way) Mark R.? Divine. As you’d expect. Kitty Winslet? Eyebrows aside, a stunner – and also quite tiny. As you may not expect.

And Jude? I could barely look at him. Magnifique! But he’ll be making another appearance later this week. As will I. As you’d expect. Hopefully I’ll muster up the mustard to actually look at him for more than 2 seconds. Or not. Stay tuned for all that…And more!


Anonymous said…

Jude? Really? You don’t live in England anymore, MOAM. You know that right? Maybe you should go dressed as Mrs. Featherbottom. He seems to like the nannies.

2:59 PM

Mother of all Mavens said…

No I certainly don’t live in London anymore. Jude the more Obscure was practically my neighbour. A mere local lad. A B-lister. Look how we’ve all grown! Old enough to know I ain’t dressing like a nanny, let alone a feathered bottom one! Plus he’s been there, done that. Damn.

4:22 PM

Anonymous said…

Excellent entry mother. If only all reporters told it like it is. I care if they are really skinnny, have bad skin, are nice to the homeless (Nathalie Portman reference who I saw not only giving cash, but have a full-on converstaion with a man on the street) – that kind of stuff.

It’s so interesting that Mr. Pitt is so over-the-top famous again because of his sex vixen babe. They won the PR wars hands down. Jenny A should go back to TV – there is no competing with Richard Burton and Liz Taylor!


September 10, 2006   No Comments


Summer Box Office

What’s with the film industry?

Come summertime, while they’re busy taking holidays or making Christmas-time release masterpieces, we’re stuck with a slew of shlock. Aside from some family fun flicks, it seems all that’s out there are duds, suitable only for the dreaded demo: boys 8-18. Boys with a penchant for no-brainers. Boys with silly, gross-out toilet humour sensibilities. As for the rest if us, it’s like it or lump it. For the most part.

Like everybody else, I went to see Pirates of the Caribbean. Unlike everybody else, I went kicking and screaming. We all know Johnny Depp is hot. But Johnny Depp mincing about in drag? More like luke warm. Yeah, he’s funny. Yeah, he’s still watchable, eyeliner and all. And yeah, he does a mean Keef Richards. But I still didn’t want to go. The charms and derring do of ‘Lando Bloom were no match for the enormous pain in the butt that is Keira Knightly. Yeah, she’s gorgeous (open-mouthed smiles aside). Yeah, she’s British and yeah, she – or her agent – has good tast when choosing roles. But she’s the next Winona. And is that a good thing? You tell me. Alas, I went and we watched and yo ho ho and swashbucklers forever. It was a summer flick. And that means ish.

Want another example? The Brothers Wilson. What were they thinking, doing such lame-ass pics? More importantly, what was I thinking? I fell into the it’s-a-chick-flick-but-how-bad-can-it-be trap. The one that gets you every time – ‘cuz they’re always THAT bad. I confess, I saw both My Super Ex-GF AND You, Me and Dud-pree. And to make matters worse, I went for the back-to-back double header! I snuck into the second flick, so at least I didn’t have to pay. But karma has a way of paying you back: the freebie, like it’s paid-for counterpart, blew. Sure the Wilson boys are hot. And their ladies were hot. And after all the gushy interviews I wanted to look for signs of chemistry between Ms. Hudson and O. Wilson. (there was none with Matty D. Not a drop…in interviews or on film) And now that Katie is newly single, who wants to bet she goes for the gold? Or the – ahem – butterscotch? Crow or Stallion: who would you choose?

But I digress.

Kiddie flicks and stoooopid boy humour aside, there are a small handful of pics worth leaving the patio for. But the only one I’ve actually seen is Scoop. Y’know, the not-so-new Woody Allen flick? Finally saw it yesterday. A matinee. What a truly fine bit of afternoon delight it was. Re-ow!

In two words: Hugh Jackman.

Hugh Jackman.

Hugh Jackman.

Hugh?! Who knew?! Beneath the board-treading Wolverine lies something truly divine: Hugh Jackman. My gal pal and I were breathless at the sight of him. And who wouldn’t be? Charm? Check. Passable Anglaisy accent? Check. Clothes that look magnificent on and off his crazy cut chiseled bod? Check check check. The man is the definition of tall, dark and handsome. Plus, he’s sex on a stick. He turned us into drooling, slobbery fools. He turned us into lovesick teens. He turned us into….BOYS!

The movie was good, don’t get me wrong. It was delightful and de-lovely. Not the most complicated of flicks, but so what? Totally worth seeing. Even aside from ever-so-hot Hugh. Woody was less pervy lech and more funny fatherly. Grandfatherly, but who’s counting? Throw in some Scarlett for the boys and everybody’s happy. It’s sharp and funny and set in London. Add it up and it’s well-worth the price of admission.

And have I mentioned Hugh Jackman? Apparently, the more mature ladies have known about the Jackman charms for years. Not me. I didn’t get it. Not at the Tony’s, not on stage, not in that cheesy Meg Ryan flick, and certainly not with all the facial hair.

But girls, it’s all about Hugh. That’s the real scoop.


Anonymous said…

I forgot about the Meg Ryan flick, but my sister said she was a Hughgenut once she saw him in that piece of doo. Ah the charm. I personally LOVE that he played the ever-so-straight husband of Liza, Peter Allen. It makes me love him more. Meanwhile for me, verdict is still out on Johansson. She’s sexy and hot to look at, but she ain’t no Kate Winslet and her lame ass Woody voice was annoying. But she was hot. Now who’s the boy.


August 18, 2006   No Comments


The Devil Wears Patricia Field

Shiver me timbers. Yo ho ho and a bottle of Malibu.
What’s with the pirate motif you ask? I dunno…Just trying to figure out how the entire movie-going world can be bothered going to see a flick based on a Disney ride rather than going to play outside. If you must sit in a darkened theatre – and I, for one, must – head straight to DWP.
Duh – Devil Wears Prada!
Finally saw it last night after a couple of false starts, sold out runs, and Dairy Queen diversions. And let me tell you, it didn’t disappoint. Was it a brilliant work of art? Er, no. Oscar worthy? Ummm, a bit of a stretch. A damn good ride? Hell yeah!
When I saw the trailer last week, I knew I’d like it. How bad could it have been, really? Kinda like the book itself – sorta cheesy, but who the hell cares? It’s entertainment. Truth be told, I cannot for the life of me remember if I read the book. I think I did. But I also read The Nanny Diaries, and some other ex-fuax-se about a celebrity tabloid reporter. And they’re all kinda the same for me:young ingenue meets bitchy employer, tries to be “one of them” but remains true to herself by staying one of us. It was one of those books I wished I had written. Except as weird as my years working for a big shot English-gone-Hollywood movie director was (at times), it was never really that book-worthy. Anecdotes a-plenty. Scandalous behaviour? Only if I spiced it.
But back to the movie. It’s the perfect summer flick. And not just a chick flick either. Boys, don’t be afraid: the cinema was packed with your kind. It was actually kinda weird how many men were there. Straight men. Maybe they came to pick up women. Or maybe they were out to revel in their true metrosexuality. Whatever, they enjoyed it too. Everyone there seemed to enjoy it (yep, we had the over-enthusiastic fans near us. The groaners. The whoopers. The worst.).
DWP was an actor’s – and wardrobe person’s- movie. Less a character-driven ensemble piece, tho’ I s’pose you could call it that. No, it was about the performances. These cats owned their roles (for the most part).
First of all, Ms. Streep. Genius! She’s perfect, perfect. It ain’t breaking news – she’s got the ice queen down pat. Hence all the buzz. So nothing new to report there. But did you know Stanley Tucci’s quite the cool queen himself? Divine! I’ve never been a huge fan of Mr. Tushy, I’ll admit. Maybe because I was obsessed with Murder One way back when. He was Richard, the creepy guy who did it. The murder, that is. Remember? Anyhoo, he’s terrif in DWP.
And props (yep, I said props) to Anne Hathaway. Not too horsey, not too doe-eyed, not too keen. She almost broke Brokeback Mountain for me. Made me want to hurl. So it was with extreme skepticism that I approached the theatre. But not only didn’t she wreck the flick, I thought she was quite good. Believable, beautiful, and – that boatnecked-and-buttoned-up combo with the cap and layered necklaces aside – she owned those outfits! Not that the outfits were anything I’d pine for….But they served their purpose – to make Patricia Field a lot of money and keep that Sex in the City trendoid cheese look in our collective consciousness.
Oops. I almost forgot about Emily Blunt: Fab. And Adrian Grenier: Vince. The other folks were forgettable and/or insignificant so we’ll fast-forward over them. Especially fashion-boy-love-interest-guy from that kids’-lawyer-advocacy show that flopped. But you get the picture. So skip on the Pirates in their has-been boho garb and head straight to Prada – if for no other reason than to see what you’ll be wearing this fall.


Anonymous said…

“ex-faux-se” — brilliant! Get Heather Reisman to put it on a sticker and slap it on to “A Million Little Pieces” and on to that plagiarizing Harvard chick’s book, too. You’ve coined a new one, MOAM. Add it to the lexicon!


July 11, 2006   No Comments