What would it feel like to be famous?

Come on, admit it, you’ve fantasized about the idea.  Wouldn’t it be fun and exhilarating as well as surreal?  Along the way you’d realize fame is a prison of sorts, from which you’d desperately want to break free. All of that is in A Hard Day’s Night.

The Beatles were suddenly among the most famous people in the world. A year earlier they were a regionally-known British band trying to make it big, but in early 1964 they went directly from their wildly successful American debut on the Ed Sullivan Show to shooting this movie.  The schedule was rushed and the budget was low because of worries that their fame would be fleeting.  Black and white film was used to keep costs down. Director Richard Lester had the idea of utilizing hand-held cameras to capture the frenzy around The Beatles. Scriptwriter Alun Owen spent a few days with the band and realized their lives were “a train and a car and a room and a room and a room.” Because none of them were actors, they were told simply to be themselves when the cameras rolled.

The result is cimema verite, a piece of movie magic that feels real.  When The Beatles break free and goof around to Can’t Buy Me Love, we believe that’s who they really were.  In 1964 there was nobody else like The Beatles, and all that coolness and exuberance comes through again and again in this movie.  A year later the prison of fame would have closed enough for them to title their follow-up movie Help! A decade and a half later fame would take the life of the band’s leader.  But in 1964 it was all great fun and this movie is pure joy to watch.

Remember when you heard “they” were making a movie about Facebook and you knew it would be terrible? Remember how you were wrong?

Well, it’s happening to you again.

That new baseball movie with Brad Pitt that’s based on a book you didn’t read is awesome and you’re going to love it. Moneyball, as it turns out, is not just baseball for the guys and Brad Pitt for the girls. Moneyball is a masterfully told story that shows the power of eyes that see.

The Social Network and Moneyball have one important thing in common: Aaron Sorkin. If you ever wondered why screenwriting has its own Oscar category, people like Sorkin are why. He wrote the screenplay for both films along with all that amazing dialog in West Wing and a couple of awesome TV shows that got canceled because he’s too smart for mainstream audiences [Sports Night & Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip].

Just read this description of The Social Network from IMDB: The story of how the social-networking website Facebook was founded.

Could that sound any lamer? Seriously. I know they’re trying to be concise, but that’s the equivalent of describing the Grand Canyon as “a large whole with some water at the bottom.”

Equally snooze inducing is the description for Moneyball: The story of Oakland A’s general manager Billy Beane’s successful attempt to put together a baseball club on a budget by employing computer-generated analysis to draft his players.

Wow. Don’t forget the popcorn.

The concise description of what Sorkin has created is this: In a world full of noise and distraction, there are those who see and those who don’t. Those who see are changing the world. Those who don’t are not.

That my friends is what I call Moneyball.

What is love? Better yet, where is it?

For better or worse, there is a predominant standard in feature films. They are typically anywhere from 80 to 120 minutes in length and revolve around a singular storyline. The focus is on a particular set of characters independent of any particular location(s).

French producer/director Emmanuel Benbihy decided to buck this trend with the creation of Paris Je T’aime (Paris, I Love You), a collaborative film with its fixation on a specific place, in this case, Paris. With the film unwritten, yet decidedly centered on the “City of Lights”, the (revolving) door opens for an ensemble cast of actors and directors to help create the story.

The premise?

Use Paris’ districts (neighborhoods) to be the framework. Twenty short films by twenty different directors surrounding Paris’ twenty arrondissements for one feature film.

Here’s why this is interesting. In most films, we are forced toward one perspective, the directors (and/or writers). But if we’ve learned anything from our post-modern critics, it’s that reality is better understood from a variety of angles and perspectives.

For example, say a film focuses on a particular couple at a particular cafe in a particular village. Great. But what is going on with the other couple at the other cafe in the other village?

This is Paris Je T’aime.

—-

Interestingly enough, only 18 of the 20 shorts produced made the final film. Directors include Joel and Ethan Coen, Sylvain Chomet (The Illusionist), Wes Craven, Alexander Payne (Sideways), Gus Van Sant, Tom Tykwer (Run Lola Run), and Alfonso Cuarón (Children of Men) to name a few. Since its release, a franchise series entitled “Cities of Love” has been created with Paris, Je T’aime as the first installment. New York, I Love You premiered in 2008 and Rio, Shanghai, and Jerusalem are set to follow soon.

How is man made?

One of the most relentless and intense movies of recent years, There Will be Blood remains in our collective conscious due to the questions it raises. Daniel Day-Lewis, who famously stays in character on and off-set, brought a limitless fever to the film.

Compared to Citizen Kane for its ability to capture the essence of a power-obsessed man in early 20^th century America, only the generations will tell if this movie has the same transcendence beyond the time that made it. We follow Daniel Plainview as he adopts a partner’s son and battles Eli Sunday—a preacher in the area who is Daniel’s spiritual foil.

Plainview’s words resonate. From his confession, “I have a competition in me,” to a scene on in Eli’s church (mainly in an effort to acquire more land), “I want the blood!” We are left feeling ambiguity: Is he contrite at all? The blood works on multiple levels, from familial desires, to repentance, to greed and competition.

In the end, even Eli Sunday shows himself shallow and does not offer a compelling alternative to the raw monstrousness of Daniel Plainview. We’re left wondering about how a man (or woman) is made, about what basic material holds sway in the end, about the hopes and stories we tell ourselves to define our lives. Daniel Plainview’s story is a warning as much as an exploration; we wonder at the enigma and recklessness of a towering man, whether that haunting phrase is “I want the blood,” or “Rosebud.”