2007: The year in cinema

What I saw in movie theaters in 2007, with a sentence or two about each one.
Children of Men: In addition to a compelling storyline, this had two or three long shots that will be shown in film schools along with that one in Goodfellas and the one in The Player. Bonus points to Cuaron for taking a page out of Hitchcock early on, too.
Zodiac: David Fincher took a fairly low-key approach to this one, and I think it paid off fairly well, although it has the creepiest use of Donovan's "Hurdy-Gurdy Man" ever.
Black Snake Moan: Chock full of offensive goodness.
300: I can't believe they're letting this guy direct Watchmen.
Grindhouse: This was, without question, the best time I had at the movies this year. Rodriguez has such visual panache that you don't mind that his characters are ridiculously one-dimensional, and Death Proof ultimately delivered the sort of visceral adrenalin rush Tarantino hadn't really captured since Pulp Fiction.
Spider-Man 3: I think Spider-Man 2 really benefited from having Pulitzer Prize-winner Michael Chabon working on the story, as Spider-Man 3 just barely survives being a convoluted, nonsensical mess.
Pirates of The Carribean: The One with Cwabs: Well, it was better than the second one, anyway.
Knocked Up: Enjoyable, but probably my least favorite of the three Judd Apatow-related movies released this year
Ocean's 13: See Pirates of The Carribean.
Ratatouille: Anthony Bourdain was listed as a consultant on this film, and yet I didn't see a single member of the kitchen staff swearing, getting high, or having sex in the walk-in cooler.
Transformers: I was never into Transformers as a kid, primarily as a function of my parents unwillingness to let me play with toys that had the possibility of never-ending collectibility (and therefore expense). I need to remember to thank them, as had I been a fan I'd probably be bitching about Michael Bay raping my childhood about now.
Harry Potter and The Order of The Phoenix: I always associated Umbridge with a certain ex-girlfriend; significantly younger, much more obsessive. That they didn't cast her instead of Imelda Staunton is only a factor of her American heritage, I'm sure.
Hairspray: Negro Day's the best!
The Simpsons Movie: Having not watched The Simpsons at to any significant extent in the last ten years, it's nice to see that I haven't really missed a whole lot.
The Bourne Ultimatum: Solid.
Superbad: Movies like this make me think that that I missed out on too much debauchery in high school.
3:10 to Yuma: 90% of a great western, written by Elmore Leonard, and 10% of a children's movie written by a twelve-year-old girl.
Gone Baby Gone: I've read all of Dennis Lehane's Kenzie-Genarro novels; a lot of them end up cloying and silly in spite of the underlying current of hard-boiled detective work. Gone Baby Gone cut that out, and ends up ultimately being better than the book.
Beowulf: There's a scene early on in this where Virtual Anthony Hopkins comes into his great pleasure hall and waves his arms, and you can see Robert Zemekis telling Anthony Hopkins-In-A-Motion-Capture-Suit, "I want you to come in and wave your arms."
No Country for Old Men: Behold the power of compressed air!
I Am Legend: Well-done, especially for what is largely a Will Smith one-man-show.
Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story: If Joaquin Phoenix and Jamie Foxx can be nominated for Academy Awards for their roles, I see no reason that John C. Reilly shouldn't, as well.
Sweeney Todd: God. I have to end the year with this one, which becomes progressively worse with each passing moment and each quote by one particular Johnny Depp-obsesssed acquaintance of mine. Why couldn't I have gone to see Enchanted or something?

Opening lines:

I'm in the process of reading Steve Martin's memoir of his early years, Born Standing Up, where he talks about the best opening lines he'd ever heard, and I thought I'd share my own best opening line.

When I was seventeen, just graduated from high school, our small church had a "youth Sunday" where youth (or youth-oriented folks) were supposed to participate in the Sunday service, singing in the choir, leading the music, etc. The morning sermon was delivered by an itinerant youth-oriented pastor, but the evening's sermon (Baptist--we had morning AND evening services on Sunday) fell to one seventeen-year-old Fancycwabs, who'd considered various scriptures to preach from and decided that he would go from John 21, where Jesus keeps telling Peter to "feed his sheep." My message was that, as Christians, we don't often pay attention to the instructions explicitly spelled out about loving our neighbors, etc. and still do our own selfish thing in spite of various Biblical admonitions otherwise.

That's not the point, of course. The point is that I, in my one and only sermon, accidentally delivered the best opening stand-up line ever devised--which only works in church. And absolutely KILLED that night, which probably distracted from my overall message of tolerance and goodwill.

Picture if you will, Gulf Hills Baptist Church in Mobile, Alabama: Sunday morning attendance somewhere between 150-200 and Sunday evening attendance bordering somewhere in the 60s, sanctuary can seat 300-400 comfortably. We've sung a number of hymns, as is the tradition (morning service gets maybe three hymns, evening service 4-5). The biggest congregation I've ever seen for an evening service (maybe my imagination, or a lofty memory, but I'm thinking we might have had a congregation of 80 that night) has shown up to hear me preach, and they've just passed the collection plate, to which almost nobody has contributed (most, if not all of them, contributed in the morning service, if at all).

I should note that our pastor, while an effective minister, wasn't really a great orator. I normally ran the sound system from a hidden alcove beside the organ, and occupied my time during sermons reading from the books of the Bible that mentioned great Cthulhu-like earth-devouring monsters, Daniel and Job. I didn't think the congregation would find descriptions of many-horned beasts destroying kingdoms as interesting as I did as a teenager, however, and stuck to the gospels for my topic.

I was probably the most nervous I've ever been up to that point in my life, getting ready to speak in front of 80 folks who've known my dad (the minster of music) since I was six. I've given my topic some thought, but I was working from the faintest of notes and mostly off-the-cuff, figuring the spirit would strike me and allow me to do whatever it is preachers do.

With no small amount of trepidation, I approached the pulpit.

"Hi," I said. "How many of you came here tonight just to hear me?"

Probably three-quarters of the congregation raised their hands.

"Well, I hope you get your money's worth."

The roar of laughter that followed set the tone for the remainder of my ten-minute (if that) sermon, which was punctuated my more laughter than anything--and I can't remember another word I said. I didn't win anybody to the cause of Christ that night, and hadn't thought I'd made much of an impression at all, until the day the pastor moved from that church to another church in Birmingham, and at his farewell reception repeated the exact same joke, which didn't get a laugh (it helps to have collected the offering mere seconds before).