Please don't call it a remake.

Honestly, I knew there was no way in hell anyone could successfully remake Fame. The original is one of my all-time-favorite movies that I've probably seen 100 times. I watched the original on VHS so many times the box is completely worn and faded and I've kept it despite retiring the old VCR ages ago.
Fame09, while admittedly was not as tortuous as I expected, did a really good job at losing the original's soul. There was so much missing - character backstory, smoking, emphasis on the tough teachers, love letter to a gritty and real NYC, Freddy Prinze references, abortion, tragedy, boobs - that I'm not quite sure how they were able to fill all 107 minutes. I suppose there was that CarnEVIL Halloween dance sequence, but I guess I prefer seeing Rocky Horror Picture Show stoned to a sad Baz Luhrmann rip-off.
As slick and sexy as it was, I just couldn't help but think "is this what our culture has come to"? I know it makes me sound terribly old-fashioned, but it disappointed me to see supposedly teenaged girls in thigh-high stockings and not much else gyrating face down on the floor, rather than doing grand jeté drills in pink tights and toe shoes. Granted I have been listening to Black and Gold all day.
Fortunately, I hadn't done much research on Fame09 before seeing it. I wouldn't have been able to pony up full price admission if I knew 22-year-old Kevin Tancharoen's, the director!, resume consists of pretty much only Pussycat Dolls Present: The Search for the Next Doll. You got me again, Century Theaters!
Instead of making my mistake, watch the original this weekend in your slippers. Then tell me your favorite line. Here's mine: "Elton John's mama's got six mink coats!"
In the meantime, a little taste:

No need for J&J snobbery

OK, so SWPL's recent post about "Where the Wild Things Are" hit pretty close to home. Though I really can't stand Dave Eggers, I can't wait to see this flick. And that has pretty much everything to do with loving "WTWTA," the book, for as long as I can remember.
I borrowed "Julie & Julia," the book, from a friend a couple of months ago, and promptly packed it in a box and forgot all about it until Madewell threatened to steal it from me so she could study up for the impending movie. So, I did what any really good friend would do: Didn't respond to her request and read it myself over the weekend the movie came out, finally ponying it up in the parking lot after the credits had rolled. I know that brought me some very bad karma, but whatevs.
Anyway, I now spend a lot of time reading food blogs for my job, and there has been a lot of percolating hatred for one Julie Powell, author of "Julie & Julia," the book. (Funny enough, most of these people have no beef with Nora Ephron, who really made all of the questionable decisions in turning the book into a movie.) I heard lots of bitchy reviews about how they should have cut all the terrible Powell parts and just made a Julia Child biopic, for better or worse.
I have to say, I have read many, many worse books. And some really, really terrible memoirs (cough*"Eat.Pray.Love."*cough) that should never even be considered for the big screen. (Julia Roberts, how could you?!) But I thought "J&J," the book, was decent.
The movie was solid. Good even. Someone in our viewing party cried a little at the end, if that tells you anything. But she is pretty sentimental for Julia Child and turning 30.
Yes, the Julia Child parts are way better. However, I think Ephron and Amy Adams tag-teamed to do Powell a little bit of a disservice. They turned her from a sarcastic, funny underachiever with awesome friends and a pretty rad husband into a weepy, feeble doormat with a slightly better job and terrible friends. They did keep the cute, lovely hubbie, though. Not sure how these changes added to the movie's plot or anything -- and if you haven't read the book you probably couldn't care less.
Long review short: Go see it. And pick up some Parisian-style macarons at Ginger Elizabeth on the way to the theater like we did. It makes it that much sweeter.

Confessions of a Shopaholic

I don't have a whole lot to say about this movie, which is probably a good thing. For a film based on chick lit, leaving the theatre just kind of "yeah, cool" is the best case scenario. The movie isn't really about shopping, though, but it did play a nice underlay. And the slap-stick ridiculousness wasn't too outrageous. It's doubtful that the movie would've been entertaining at all if it weren't for the cast. Isla Fischer = good. Love interest = exceptionally cute. And for crying out loud, can you go wrong when the parents are Joan Cusack and John Goodman?

So, a feel-good time, if you're willing to risk your life at the Downtown Plaza. (Did anyone else hear about the two girls who were robbed IN an auditorium?) I don't think I'd read the book though.

Crying in the dark

Marley and Me made me bawl like a baby. Multiple times. I can't say that happens all that often, but waiting around outside the bathrooms afterward and seeing all the bloodshot, puffy eyes trickling out of the theater made me feel a little better about it.
I'd recommend it to anyone needing a little bit of an emotional purge, or if you enjoy comtemplating your mortality while chuckling at witty quips delivered by Owen Wilson. Who doesn't, really?