As a screenwriter he is best known for On The Waterfront (1954) and A Face in the Crowd(1957).  He is also the author of two of my favorite Hollywood books. One is the memoirs of his childhood growing up in Hollywood: Moving Pictures: Memories of a Hollywood Prince. He also wrote the popular 1941 novel What Makes Sammy Run? Both present candid views of life inside America’s dream factory.

Budd Schulberg lived an  interesting life. The Washington Post has a good Budd Schulberg obituary.

After Hours tells the story of Paul Hackett (coolest film name ever) played by Griffin Dunne. Paul Hackett is having the worst night of his life. Trying to make his way home from Soho, he faces a series of maddingly surreal and dangerous misadventures that make his pointless journey rather “Kafkaesque.” Scorcese actually called this film ”an exercise completely in style.”

Layman’s film critic, Roger Ebert, who has written a book on the work of Scorcese, is also a fan of After Hours. In  the Great Films section of his website he includes his take on this sometimes forgotten masterpiece. He describes this film as something approaching “pure filmmaking.” He says “it’s a nearly flawless example of — itself. It lacks, as nearly as I can determine, a lesson or message.” Many viewers have found the level of suspense in After Hours to be unbearbale. Ebert explains that while the film “is technically a comedy [it] plays like a satanic version of the classic Hitchcock plot formula.” Ebert has always been better at exlaining things than describing them.

The film should be available from most major movie outlets. You can read what Roger Ebert has to say about it in his review The time is three a.m. Do you know where your sanity is?

For me the review was worth reading for the quotable:

What happens to Paul Hackett is like what happens to Buster Keaton: just one damned thing after another.

That may not necessarily describe my life, but it’s a cool way to see my name used in print.

I recall The Comebacks from 2007 had an amusing Don’t Stop Believin’ musical moment. But this is really enough. Any further use of Journey in a Hollywood movie is officially camp.

Thankfully the last movie I saw, Milk,  didn’t include a single Journey song, even though Journey enjoyed their first heyday in 1978 – the most significant year of Harvey Milk’s life.

Update: Who’s Crying Now by Journey is played in Monsters vs. Aliens.

• The Best Years of Our Lives (William Wyler, 1946)
• Sunset Blvd. (Billy Wilder, 1950)
• Double Indemnity (Billy Wilder, 1944)
• Shane (George Stevens, 1953)
• Red River (Howard Hawks, 1948)
• Raging Bull (Martin Scorcese, 1980)
• Vertigo (Alfred Hitchcock, 1958)
• Groundhog Day (Harold Ramis, 1993)
• Meet Me In St. Louis (Vincente Minnelli, 1944)
• A Tree Grows In Brooklyn (Elia Kazan, 1945)

You can read the entire Times article for the commentary that goes with each choice.

The list heavily favors classics from the forties and fifties. I agree that all of these films are exceptional, and some of them are even my personal favorites, such as: Red River, The Best Years of Our Lives and Sunset Blvd. The Billy Wilder and Raymond Chandler Double Indeminity screenplay is also one of my favorites from that period.

I’m amused to see Groundog Day featured on this list. This isn’t even the first time I’ve noticed the film getting notable critical acclaim. It may not be one of the ten best American films, but it’s frequently mentioned positively in several screenwriting books.

I suppose if I were to quickly throw together a top ten list, I’d name my ten favorite Bill Murray movies (in no particular order): Caddyshack, Ghost Busters, Stripes, Meatballs, Rushmore, Groundhog Day, Kingpin….

What? No Lost In Translation?

Sorry. But that’s a little boring and irrelevant for me.

An excellent example of a reveal is John Milius’ Conan The Barbarian (1982). Anyone who has seen the film is unlikely to forget the “Wheel of Pain” sequence. Conan is introduced through a montage sequence that follows his torturous passage to manhood. A young Conan is chained to a punishing device and made to walk in circles through all seasons. As weaker men die Conan presses on. His muscles grow. We see his feet plod on as the years pass. Finally, the full grown Conan looks up and stares into the camera. He’s already a hero in our minds because he has survived an ordeal that finished off weaker men. He’s now ready to embark on any journey.

It’s generally best to reveal characters by having them doing something when we first meet them. The first glimpse we get is going to tell us almost everything we need to know about them. I call it a reveal because it should share something about both the inner and outer life of the hero.

Imagine your protagonist is a taxi driver. The scene opens inside the taxi dispatch. We see someone fastidiously cleaning a taxi at the start of their shift. A person who begins their shift in this way is probably honest, hard working and perhaps has dreams of doing something greater. This sounds a lot like the reveal from Collateral (Stuart Beattie, 2004).

• INT. TAXI DISPATCH – L.A. – DAY
• ORANGE and YELLOW FORD CROWN VICTORIAS are wiping screen. We find ourselves in a busy garage at change of shift. A balletic convergence of arriving and departing cars. One’s door’s flung open…
• INT. ONE CAB – MAX’S HANDS
• enter. They wipe the seats with paper towels and 409…a DMV LICENSE fitted into the small Lexan holder. On it is a picture of Max.

  Lights being checked. Indicators. Hazards. Switches. Similar to a pilot doing an aircraft check list. Fast. All fine.

• REVEAL NOW: MAX’S BRIEFCASE
• He opens it, preparing for his workday. CD caddy of personal mixes goes on a visor. Spreadsheet peaks out a worn Mercedes S500 brochure, clipped open. A submarine sandwich from Subway.
• LONG LENS: OTHER CABBIES – OTHER FACES
• load-in. Southern California diversity – some unshaven, swapping stories, counting cash, one stands on the passenger seat to shout over the roof to his pal, spills his coffee, couldn’t care less…

  Not Max. His cab is fly. Among cabbies he is GQ.

  And as CAR HORNS BLARE. AD LIB BANTER. CABBIES SHOUT. Max gets behind the wheel, closes the door…

• INT. CAB – DAY
• …and WHAM! The noise evaporates. Welcome silence. Max takes a moment to savor it.

  He starts the engine. RAP MUSIC BLARES from the radio. Max turns it off.

  He dumps a CD into the changer. MOZART SONATA fills the cab.

  From the open briefcase, Max also pulls out one last thing…

  A TATTERED POSTCARD

  which depicts the whitest sand and bluest sea you can imagine. A dream place. An endorphin-releasing groove. Limitless horizon. It’s the Maldives Islands in the Indian Ocean.

  MAX

  slips the postcard under the rubber bands on the visor. He can see it whenever he wants to. But not now. He flips the visor up, puts the car in gear and pulls out.

This script is an excellent example of a reveal. We are already able to empathize with the hero. He’s doing his best while still dreaming of something greater for himself. That’s something we can respect.

Reveals can be humorous, endearing and insightful all at the same time. Check out the classic reveal from Cool Hand Luke (Donn Pearce and Frank Pierson, 1967):

• FADE IN:
• EXT. SOUTHERN CITY STREET EXTREME CLOSEUP PARKING METER (NIGHT)
• Its irritating head opens a glaring red eye: the red flag pops across the entire screen:
• VIOLATION
• INSERT: PARKING METER SUPPORT (NIGHT)
• CLOSEUP of a pipe cutter attached to the meter neck, metal slivers curling out. From o.s. we HEAR — LUCAS JACKSON cheerfully humming and mumbling Auld Lang Syne and then:
• LUKE
• Okay, Mister General, you son of a bitch. Sir. Think you can put things right with a piece of tin with a ribbon hangin’ on it? Gonna put you right.
• CLOSEUP PARKING METER (NIGHT)
• as the meter head falls out of FRAME.
• NEW ANGLE ON METER (NIGHT)
• as it falls to the ground amidst a forest of meter stands and Luke’s hand comes into the FRAME to pick it up and we SEE him in CLOSEUP for the first time. He is cheerful, drunk, wearing a faded GI Field jacket. A bottle opener hangs on a silver chain around his neck. He addresses the next meter.
• LUKE
• All right. Helen, honey. I lost my head over you. Now its your turn.

Today’s screenwriter generally pays a lot of attention to white space. The opening lines from Judd Apatow’s Knocked Up (2007) reveals entire character personalities:

• EXT. BEN’S HOUSE – DAY
• BEN STONE, 23, cute in a chunky Jewish guy sort of way, boxes one of his roommates, MARTIN. His other roommates, JAY and JASON fight with broom sticks. JONAH drinks beer on the couch spectating.

Half of the characters in this movie are set up in just a few lines. We already have a sense of who our hero is and what is in store for him. Taking into account the film’s title we already have a pretty good idea where this story is going.

When putting characters on the page for the first time, it’s not just important to describe them in a way that makes them memorable. You also need to reveal something about them. Show them at work or play in such a way that the reader can see much more than what’s on the page – their inner and outer lives intertwined.

In a career spanning 50 years Newman acted in over 65 movies. His New York Times obituary describes him as “one of the last of the great 20th-century movie stars.” For more on the life of this Hollywood titan, check out his Washington Post obituary: Forget Cool: Paul Newman Knew How to Play It Smart.

One of the things I admire most about Sydney’s work is that he is a real storyteller. While the movie landscape changed so much over his long career, he always made movies that were story centered. He may be known to many as an actor’s director, but to me, he is a wonderful storyteller.

If you’re interested in reading more about this great American director, The New York Times obituary is here: Sydney Pollack, Film Director, Is Dead at 73.

The Thinking Writer tracked down and shared links to the studios that were basically giving scripts away for free. The links are More Scripts and More Scripts, Pt. 2.

Being earnest, I read all of them. In fact, I printed them all and what a mountain of paper it made.

I was not at all surprised that Cody Diablo’s Juno won the Academy Award award for Best Original Screenplay. I was quite happy with the choice, in fact. As I pored over every script I could find from the past year, Juno is the one that struck me as the most original. It is written with a unique voice. As I read, I could see the movie playing in my mind. It hooked me from the first page. And by the last page I was feeling jealous that my writing isn’t nearly as good.

It stands head and shoulders above the other original scripts I read this year. And those were good scripts too.

As for the Best Adapated Screenplay, I did enjoy reading No Country For Old Men. But it wasn’t my favorite. Of those nominated, I think The Diving Bell and The Butterfly is the one I’d rather read again.

“The first casualty of war is innocence.” That’s the tagline for Oliver Stone’s Platoon (1986), a film that’s different from other Viet Nam war stories because it’s not about two countries fighting each other. Rather, it’s a story about a country at war with itself. Although the story centers on the thoughts and fears of one soldier, everyone in the platoon faces similar moral choices, and must decide for themselves what is right and wrong.

The men in Chris Taylor’s (Charlie Sheen) platoon divide into two groups: the heavy drinkers loyal to Barnes (Tom Berenger) and the pot smokers who follow Elias (Willem Dafoe). The main difference between them is that Elias already believes the war can’t be won, but keeps fighting in it with honor. The audience roots for him because he’s a moral compass and mentor to the liberal minded members of the platoon. Barnes and his men, however, have a different take on the war. They lash out at the Vietnamese and each other; committing atrocities that turn them into the real bad guys.

With a story as multi-layered as this, it’s not surprising to find a moral center – someone who voices the author’s perspective. The moral center steers the theme, so that is not about surviving war, but surviving war with humanity still intact. The moral center of Platoon is King (Keith David), introduced early in the script:

• KING looks like a king. A lion of a black man but with a sleepy, gentle face, not to be roused, is painfully trying to scrawl a letter home with the pencil held awkwardly, mouthing the words.

He has many of the film’s key lines and entertains the platoon with his home-spun wisdom and sense of humor.

King wonders how an educated man like Chris wound up in Viet Nam. The boy’s idealistic view of the war makes him laugh. He calls Chris a crusader for thinking dropping out of school and signing up would make a difference. (Stone reportedly dropped out of Yale twice and based Platoon on his own experiences serving in Viet Nam.)

After the hero survives an injury, King – whose very name is symbolic – accepts him as part of the group. He takes Chris under his wing, shrugging off the possibility that he might have let the platoon down. King tells him there is “no such thing here as a coward,” a line that he repeats later in the film.

As an ally, King introduces Chris to the “head,” an underground world where Elias’ crew smoke pot and escape the war. He gets Chris high for the first time, which not only relieves the pain of his injury, but initiates him into the underworld. The symbolism of this occasion isn’t lost on King:

• KING
• (smiling)
• This ain’t Taylor. Taylor been shot. This man Chris been resurrected…

King is not the only moral guide in Platoon. The Christ like figure Elias is another strong force of good and the focal point of Chris’ admiration.

In my mind, the moral center is generally a less active participant in the story and more of an observer. Elias plays a big part; staying very involved in the plot. He helps the men prepare for missions and teaches them what he can about survival. When faced with difficult tasks he crusades for good. King is more of a witness and commentator on the action. His actions never influence the direction of the story.

When the platoon suspects that Barnes actually killed Elias they talk about getting revenge. Barnes turns up drunk and challenges them, giving them a chance to get even.

• King, the biggest one there, is about to say something, but the moment passes.

He knows that an eye for an eye is not justice; and remains an observer. As an observer King is also the only that notices Chris isn’t writing home anymore. In case the audience hasn’t noticed Chris’ transformation, King is there to point it out.

We don’t know what happens to Chris and the other members of the platoon at the end. King makes it out alive before the final battle and he gives Chris some final advice:

• KING
• Make it outta here, it’s all gravy, every day of the rest of your life man – gravy.

If anything, this is the delivery of the film’s real message. War is a terrible experience for everyone involved. Surviving it is one thing, but surviving it and still remaining human is another.

For King, to have another chance at life, and to live life to the fullest, every day is gravy. It’s an extra gift that is worth staying alive for.

The legendary Italian director is another cornerstone of the art film world. Two of his most memorable films from his six decade career include “Blow-Up” and “L’Avventura.”

Once again, The Washington Post has an obituary in their online entertainment section.

The Washington Post has a well written obituary: Swedish Film Director Ingmar Bergman Dies at 89

The second-rate cinema mind has always been attracted to symbolism – the apple blossom falling in the rain, the broken glass, all the sham poetic ways of avoiding the direct statement, which demands some insight into the way men really act.

In the same piece, he describes the overused technique of filming an old man about to die. Rather than showing his death, the camera settles on the stylus of a gramophone scraping at the end of the record.

I agree completely with Graham in his take on symbolism. The trouble with symbols is that they invite clichés. An artist that uses a grand symbol may think he is being pretty clever. He may even fool himself into believing that he is doing something that has never been done before. Of course, everything has been done before and then done again. Today’s screenwriter knows that avoiding clichés is an essential part of good writing. Without any completely original ideas to work from, many writers like to start with a cliché and turn it on its head. They will write something a little different by defying an expectation. In any case, the result should be far more interesting that resorting to symbolism. A writer will never have cause to pat themselves on the back for coming up with a clever symbol.

History is nearly always kind to films. It’s something to be thankful for when a film that doesn’t open to strong sales can be out of theatres and on its way to rentals within the same week. Many films that audiences miss the first time around gain a wider following over time, and like cream, they rise to the top.

For this essay on an ambitious failure, my initial thought was to go for a classic film, perhaps an early Howard Hawks film that went unnoticed until critics got serious about his work in the 1960s. On further thought, I decided to explore something much more recent, a film that is still building it’s audience and deserves a little boost now.

The Quiet American (Phillip Noyce, 2002) is one of the finest adaptations made from a Graham Greene novel, perhaps only surpassed by Carol Reed’s The Third Man (1949). The Quiet American is set amidst the political intrigue and violence of the French struggle against communism in Indo-China. Michael Caine is Fowler, a cynical foreign correspondent that goes so far to avoid taking sides, that he doesn’t even want to form opinions. Into the complicated struggle for power, comes Pyle (Brendan Fraser), an idealistic young American who wants to promote democracy in Vietnam through a mysterious “Third Force.” This is the beginning of American intervention in Vietnam and Pyle’s actions end up causing more violence and bloodshed.

If that were not enough to cause tension between the friends, Pyle also steals Fowler’s girl, a beautiful young Vietnamese woman, Phuong (Do Thi Hai Yen). As the political situation continues to heat up, Fowler is inevitably forced to take a stand and choose a side. His actions lead to directly to the death of his friend, and allow him to get Phuong back. This version of the film beautifully maintains the moral ambivalence that ends the novel.

There was an earlier film version of The Quiet American (Joseph L. Mankiewicz, 1958), which made significant changes to the story, basically turning the interfering Pyle into a good guy and making a buffoon of the British correspondent. Greene was outraged by the original adaptation, calling it a treachery, and saying that “Mankiewicz…made it into a propaganda film for America in Vietnam, when it had been an attack on the American influences in Vietnam.” (The Graham Greene Film Reader, 543) If the author had lived to see this version, the former film critic would undoubtedly have been very pleased with the results.

As faithful and interesting as this adaptation is, The Quiet American very nearly vanished into obscurity becaue of the heinous events of September 2001. In Down and Dirty Pictures, Peter Biskind’s portrait of American independent cinema, the author details the film’s near demise.

Biskind writes that The Quiet American was first tested with audiences on September 10, 2001 and scored reasonably well. The unspeakable events of the following day postponed the director’s meetings with Miramax, who had won the American rights to the film. The film was tested again in October and the scores plummeted, casting the film’s fate into limbo. Test viewers did not like a film they saw as “taking a swipe at America.” Mirimax stalled on plans to release the film and it looked like it might be released straight to video.

Director Phillip Noyce (Clear and Present Danger, 1994; The Bone Collector, 1999) pushed hard for the film’s theatrical release. Ultimately, it was under pressure from star Michael Caine, who insisted that Miramax meet their contractual obligations, that the film was screened at the Toronto International Film Festival. Full support was still not forthcoming. Miramax didn’t even provide press kits at the press screening.

The film was sunk by lackluster marketing. It opened in 2002 and played for about two weeks, with Miramax meeting the bare minimum of their contractual obligations. The film earned $13 million in the US and another $25 million worldwide. It has been suggested by indie film publicist Mickey Cottrell, that the film would have fared much better with Miramax’s full support. Instead, they put all their weight and support behind the Oscar hopeful Gangs of New York (Martin Scorsese, 2002).

The Quiet American is the film that should have gotten Michael Caine a best actor Oscar. He has already won twice for supporting roles. This was his fourth nomination in a leading role. Of films in this genre, The Quiet American ranks with The Killing Fields (Roland Joffe, 1984), and Salvador (Oliver Stone, 1986) in terms of acting, storytelling and historical significance. As an expat who has lived in Asia for nearly ten years, I feel that this is one of the few films that accurately captures the reality of overseas life.

All of the character’s motivations and the underlying subtexts of each scene are exemplary. We can credit Greene with a great story, and laud Noyce for its brilliant execution. The Quiet American was critically praised, but commercially neglected, leaving many people like myself to discover the film on DVD. It is one of my favorite films of all time; a story told with a great deal of depth and a refreshing taste of authentic atmosphere. (I am writing this post in Hanoi.) The Quiet American does what truly great art should do, not portray life as it is, but life as it should be.

The Quiet American appeared on over 20 top ten lists for 2002, including the National Board of Review and the American Film Institute.

Entertainment Weekly recently ran a Q&A with Kurt Russell aptly titled Remake The Snake? Kurt jokes that Hollywood is “remaking everything I’ve ever done.” With plans in the works for remakes of The Thing (1982) and Escape From New York (1981) he could be right.

The interview is worth a read because Kurt puts things rather well. On the remake of Escape From New York, Kurt says: “I didn’t play Snake Plissken. I created him!” And that’s something that the latest slew of remakes can’t recapture. You can bring in new writers and update the material. But the characters that people identify with, are the artistic creations of the original actors. The recent Casino Royale (2006) only really worked because Daniel Craig was all about redefining the character. For me, Escape From New York and The Thing are Kurt’s defining roles. His whole screen persona can be found in those films, and his recent comments have given the most convincing reason for giving up on more remakes. Kurt is Snake. What’s the point of bringing in new actors to replay someone else’s creation?

Aside from A Christmas Story’s warm nostalgia, Bob is also the director of a few other childhood favorites of mine. There is of course Porky’s (1982). Up until last year Porky’s was Canada’s highest grossing movie. Yes, it was a Canadian production. I’ve been so taken with Porky’s over the years that I even wrote an academic paper on it when I was a film studies student at Carleton University. At the moment I can’t quite remember what I had to say about it though.

Porky’s is truly the seminal teen comedy, standing head and shoulders above it’s followers and imitators: Revenge of the Nerds (1984) and American Pie (1999).  All these films share the common theme, a Joeseph Campbell Hero’s Journey to lose one’s virginity. According to legend, Porky’s was based in part on the director’s own experiences growing up, and he shares a co-writing credit on the film.

Another of Bob’s classic oeuvres is the teaming of Sylvester Stallone and Dolly Parton in the musical comedy Rhinestone (1984). Not only is this one of Sylvester’s more interesting artistic detours, the film also shows him flexing his screenwriting muscles once again. I’m somewhat fond of this movie because I’m the treasurer and vice-president of The China Sylvester Stallone Fan Club. We do frequent screenings of Sly movies followed by serious discussions of the films. Rhinestone was very well received and got high marks from the club for story, directing and screenplay.

Bob Clark was 67.

It took a long time to come out, but someone has posted footage of Director David O. Russell going off on Lily Tomlin. Once again, this shows the power of “new film.” It’s another of those clips that captures someone saying or doing something they probably shouldn’t. And it plays out better than any movie you could write.

No one’s disputing the pressure, paranoia and tension that can work its way onto a movie set. Getting a movie made period is probably one of the hardest things to do. Making that movie good is sometimes beyond anyone’s control. But there is no directing course or book out there that advocates this approach to working with actors. Everyone has different ways of working, but a hostile director is never going to bring out the best in people.

Two thumbs up on this clip of a director going berserk and making an ass of himself. My favorite part is watching him prance around yelling “Grow up! You’re not a baby!” It’s ironic given how immature he looks during these lines. Maybe he should go back to spanking the monkey.

He was probably suffering from the attitude that many artists have: the belief that critics never create anything, and earn a living by tearing down the work of others. It would be totally unfair of me to perpetuate the belief that critics only have a negative impact on filmmaking. Despite all the hard work and suffering that goes into making a movie, not every finished film is worthy of admiration. Above all else, critics are the ones in the best position to help us understand what makes certain films good.

Certainly there are inherent differences between journalistic criticism and academic criticism. While the film reviewer writes for a mass audience, his work is not that different from the scholarly work that tries to understand why film works, what it means, and what effects it has on people. The deeper understanding of film that professional critics can develop is something the aspiring filmmaker and writer should not overlook.

There are many notable examples of critics turned writer or director. Perhaps most famous of these is François Truffaut, one of the directors at the forefront of French New Wave cinema. François began his film career as critic for the film journal Cahiers du Cinema. In this role he was so outspoken in some of his criticisms of contemporary French films that he was was refused a press pass to the 1958 Cannes Film Festival. In his short career he went on to work as a screenwriter, director, producer and actor. Some of the classic films he helmed include The 400 Blows (1959), Jules and Jim (1962), and Day For Night (1973), which won the Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film. Entertainment Weekly voted him the the 27th Greatest Director of all time, the highest ranking former critic to make the list. He died in 1984 of a brain tumour.

An early American critic turned screenwriter was Robert E. Sherwood, the Oscar winning author of The Best Years of Our Lives (1946). As a film reviewer for Life and Variety, Robert’s column was syndicated to hundreds of newspapers nationally. He later served as an uncredited script doctor on innumerable Hollywood classics. Some of his more notable screenplays include The Petrified Forest (1936), Rebecca (1940), Waterloo Bridge (1940), and Northwest Passage (1940). He died of a Heart Attack in 1955.

One of Britain’s most enduring contributions to cinema was Graham Greene, who had a varied career as novelist, travel writer and playwright. He also began his literary career as a film critic. Later on he took stabs at producing and writing screenplays, including adaptations of his own work Brighton Rock (1947), The Fallen Idol (1948), and The Third Man (1949). His years as a critic were prolific, and he voiced the opinion that the job of the critic was a compromise. He felt it was the critics job to judge the artistic merits of a film and entertain the reader at the same time. His own writing follows through on this belief as his reviews show clearly there is more to writing a review than telling the reader why a film is bad. The Graham Greene Film Reader is about as excellent a book you can find that that traces the path a critic takes to becoming a screenwriter. It includes an an excellent introduction David Parkinson. Graham died in 1991 of natural causes.

The lives of these individuals are inspirational to any aspiring writer or director. Over and over again one thing is proven: there is no single path to the director’s chair. Even the greatest antagonists of filmmakers have gone on to make films of their own.

Being stuck behind the severed cables I brought in the first new year in a long time without Internet access. So when thinking of my favourite things of the past year, such as movies and music, I couldn’t turn to the net for more info. A few months have passed and thinking back on it, something unusual happened in 2006.

When trying to come up with a list of my three favourite movies of the year I realized that not a single Hollywood movie made my list. But this year my choice of top films weren’t even foreign films or indie flicks. The three films I watched in 2006 that left the longest lasting impact on me were movies I watched on YouTube. As you can still find all these movies online I will only briefly recap them here.

1. Bus Uncle
   This 6 minute movie caught on video phone by a Hong Kong bus passenger gets my vote as one of the greatest films of all time. Now granted, you need to have a fairly deep understanding of Asian culture and the concept of face to enjoy this film. But more than any other film I have seen, this captures the true essence of someone trying to “save face.” The lines are hilarious, and it has a great dramatic structure, climax, and ending that couldn’t have been scripted better. It’s a truly great life story that makes me smile every time I go to Hong Kong, because no writer could ever come up with something this real and human. I love it.
2. Michael Richards Racist Tirade
   Just like Bus Uncle, this video captures a moment of real life better than anything a writer could dream up. Coming on the heels of Mel Gibson’s racist tirade, shooting off the mouth became the topical thing for 2006. I can see that Michael was trying to be funny, up to a point anyway. Perhaps if he had a great one-liner he would have gotten away with this. But the words failed him. This is another movie I react to every time I see it. There is a woman in the audience that says “Oh, my God!” And when you hear that, you feel as if you have just witnessed the end of a man’s career in that moment. It’s a sad video to watch, but many of the truly great comedies are the ones that hurt when you laugh. A screenwriter can learn from the humanity and counterpoints of this film.
3. Pauly Shore Gets Punched
   I know that this movie was probably staged. But it’s a great parody. This film has found a timely subject  (comedians and their big mouths) and exploited it fully. It is funny and dramatic at the same time. It also shows Pauly can act. It is a fine film for rounding out my three favourites from last year.

Online movies and videos have arrived in a big way. Does any of this mean that Hollywood needs to worry? Perhaps not just yet. But I would have to say that 2006 saw a sea of change for entertainment. I consider myself rather traditional when it comes to movies. I prefer the classics. Thanks to the above films I now turn first to the Internet for my kicks and movie entertainment. Thanks to Bus Uncle and those wily comedians, one day I may find myself saying goodbye to DVDs and the cinema.  And I will remember 2006 as the year my tastes in movies changed for good.