*Fanfare* Introducing the Heavenly Hundred!

"Making a top 100 list is what separates movie lovers from bona fide cinemaniacs."

I saw this on the back of some sprawling lead-weight of a coffee table book at Barnes and Noble yesterday. Whoever wrote it probably intended it as a simple, vaguely humorous statement. I took it as a challenge. I can make a top hundred too, bitch. And so, on this final day of my second Winter Break (I refuse to call this "Spring Break"-open your damn windows, people), I begin:

THE HEAVENLY HUNDRED-The Best Films Ever Created, As Selected by An Adolescent Jew Who Truly Loves the Art Form. Intimately.

Five Questions You're Asking (If, in fact, you care)

1. Shouldn't you wait till you're older to do this?-Shouldn't I do this before I go off to college, get married, have a kid, get a job, get divorced, and die alone/with a trusty trio of dogs as my only compadres? While I have time, youthful energy, a low bullshit tolerance, and all of my film-crazed soul to pour into this, might as well git'r'done.
2. How often are we gonna have to put up with your damn blabbering?-Once a week, at some point during the weekend, I'll post a new film. A film a week for 100 weeks-this'll take over a year. I hope you'll stay along for the ride.
3. What makes a "great film"?-I like movies with purpose, even if the purpose is just flat-out entertainment. When a picture doesn't know what its trying to do-is it a slasher flick or a social commentary? A fancy-free shoot-'em-up or a tragic drama that just happens to contain violent outbursts?-it tends to show up there on the screen like a metaphorical wardrobe malfunction. I live for those great moments when every facet of a production comes together to create pure magic-the finale of Goodfellas or the "I'm Easy" scene in Nashville. But ultimately, as Roger Ebert said, great films are defined by something intangible between the frames-golden threads of strange, invisible magic that draw all the beautiful pieces together into an indelible whole.
4. What is the "25"?-In Robert Altman's dark-as-night comedy The Player, a screenwriter refuses to acknowledge a film's greatness unless it can be summed up, or "sold" in twenty-five words or less. So, to prove the infinite badassery of these works, I'll follow his rule.
5. Will you get started already?-Sure. But one last thing. If you've seen the film, if you agree, disagree, want me dead, want to have a moviefilm festival, want me extradited, WHATEVER-please comment. In addition to fulfilling my constant need to broaden my cultural horizons and further solidifying my inability to shut up, I would love to spread my movie love among my readers, like the best virus ever.
SO, HERE WE GO. I'll always introduce these posts with "HH", so you know what they are....



Film #100: SPACEBALLS

THE 25: Yiddish jokes in space, flying Winnebagos, and other classic comic conceits from a maestro of madness.

Oh god. You've given up on this already. You were looking for a philosophical picture, a classic, something moving, controversial, groundbreaking. Instead, my first pick is a film where a principal character is called Pizza the Hut and penis jokes are stretched (no pun intended) to truly epic proportions. It's made by Mel Brooks, one of the most successful Jews out there. He's trafficks almost entirely in comedic pictures, but there's something unique about his approach. Most comedies contain simple stories that serve as structural clotheslines on which to string a handful of Big LOL-Worthy Set-Pieces-think the dance scene in The Proposal. In Spaceballs, we hardly pause for story-it plays like a succession of set-ups and punchlines that just happen to unfold in a linear, plot-esque fashion. Mel Brooks is like that drunkard who throws a million darts at the board in hopes that a couple will stick, except said darts are actually jokes. Spaceballs just happens to be the film in which an unusually large amount of them hit bullseye. If there is a "plot", it's something about a Hitler-stached politican (Brooks himself) and the nebbishy, fetish-mad mastermind Dark Helmet (Rick Moranis) teaming up to capture a wealthy runaway-bride princess (Daphne Zuniga) as fodder for a blackmail scheme, and the roguish duo of man-boy (Bill Pullman) and dog-man (John Candy) who protect her.
But it's all an excuse to explore the mad, mad, mad, mad world Brooks has created, an absurdist universe where oxygen is sold in soda cans and princes are named after medicinal products. We meet Yogurt (again, Brooks), a pawn-shop Yoda who's too busy making merchandising for the movie we're watching ("Spaceballs the lunchbox! Spaceballs the flamethrower!") to be of much help to our protagonist, a robot (Joan Rivers!) equipped with a "virgin alarm" and a love of dishy galactic gossip, and a military crony who's actually named Major Asshole. As you can see, the puns are everywhere here-some will inspire chuckles, some outright snort-laughs, some indifference-in a movie where every frame is filled with gags, a few are bound to either escape us or not quite tickle us, if not just because our funny bone hurts from being tickled so incessantly for so long. But the one character whose every line inspires roaring belly-laughter from every audience is Dark Helmet-Moranis makes him into a sweaty, kvetching mess of a manboy-it's as if one of those geeks who dresses up as a stormtrooper for Halloween (okay, I've done it) was actually handed the keys to an empire. Even when his face is hidden by his helmet (a hysterical sight gag in itself), you can sense still his mouth-breathing, bug-eyed wonkiness. Everyone who sees the film has a different favorite Moranis moment-personally, I giggle like a litylr girl when his literal-mindedness causes him to "comb the desert"-with giant hair-grooming utensils of course. By now, I've described this film in enough detail that you know whether or not its for you. If you're a cynic looking for higher humor, reading this was a waste of your time. So terribly sorry. The rest of you go to the DVD store, and, in an age of Meet the Spartans, be reminded what REAL cinematic silliness looks and feels like.