Describe the emotions that your own death arouses in you. Write down, or think carefully about, what you think will happen to you when you die, when you are physically dead. Be as specific as possible.

Done? Good.

Now that you have completed this task, I predict that you will have a stronger opinion on whatever follows in this article. Or, really, on any article. In all likelihood, because of this reminder of your mortality, you will be more passionate about your take on Britney Spears not wearing shoes into a public bathroom, global warming, or the successful first week of Transformers 3 (180 million).

This is what is called “mortality salience,” the polarizing effect of the subliminal awareness of mortality. It has been tested scientifically, and was exemplified by the extreme public embrace of George W. Bush, a charismatic, value-driven leader, after we observed, nationally, people diving off buildings to their death on 9/11. We felt for the victims and the victims’ families, but, more importantly, we were reminded vividly that each of us, personally, are going to die. Except for Charlie Sheen.

I will be thinking about death all summer, so I apologize, in advance, for moody diatribes against the new films Captain America, Cowboys and Aliens, the Zookeeper and Rise of the Planet of the Apes. No, it is not clinical depression I am going through. I am, rather, designing viral videos to promote my father’s new book on death, out next year. It is a science book, and there is a distinct lack of comforting fiction in it. In other words, he is not guiding you on how to approach death or offering salvation as a condolence. He is describing, quite nakedly, our society’s limited understanding of the scientific mechanics of death and the trouble this gets us into, most importantly, in terms of organ donation.

It seems that most of the public think organs are taken from dead people. “I’ll be dead,” people say, filling out their organ donation cards, “So what do I care?” If only this were true, it would be a nice, appropriate sentiment. Why shouldn’t my organs, now useless to me, expand someone else’s life? The problem is that organs cannot – let me repeat this, cannot – be taken from dead people.

…unless you change the medical definition of death, as so happened in 1968, when a collection of Harvard medical specialists met to change the official criteria for death. Finally, death was scientifically clarified – it was now, officially, “a loss of personhood,” which for the Harvard committee meant brain death.

Believe it or not, even “braindead” does not mean your brain is exactly dead. It means that your brainstem isn’t working, admittedly a vital, essential part of your body, basically the on-off switch, which is responsible for such things as ‘wakefulness.’ The cerebral cortex, which contains consciousness and pain, may still be in tall order. So, being braindead simply doesn’t rule out pain (or EXTREME PAIN) during organ removal. To add insult to injury, the medical establishment fails to provide anesthetic to organ donors, because, well, that’d be admitting you weren’t quite dead (and it also potentially harms the organs). Furthermore, there have been cases of people declared dead, and then cleared for organ donation, who have then come back to life and fully recovered. Very few, but a single exception nullifies Harvard’s definition, at least from a scientific perspective.

This is an inconvenient truth. Nobody wants organ donation to be flawed. It’s wonderful to be able to save people in ways that before were impossible. However, as it stands, it just isn’t honest.

I’d like my father’s book to succeed in the market, obviously, as I think it contains information heretofore unknown to most of the public. Besides organ donation, it covers the history of scientific death, non-western death, near death experiences, PVS, and, maybe unavoidably, my father’s own nihilism. It’s presented in an amazingly readable way, like a  Malcolm Gladwell book but with more substantive scientific backing (sorry Gladwell…) It’s also surprisingly funny, in a dark way. The anecdotes are well picked, unpretentious and cutting, and he describes the unique situation of having to come face to face with death, daily, for ten years. Pantheon, the publisher, has selected it as one of the books it’s going to push heavily at the beginning of next year. My father’s last book, on non-western math and science, was not a huge commercial success but it did become a New York Times notable book of the year, so odds are this one will be somewhat critically embraced as well.

But how do you sell a book that is so fundamentally grim? Do you embrace and parody the bleakness (as I am naturally inclined to do) or do you cover it up and spin it in a more digestible way? Or maybe you do the book complete justice, in documentary style a la Errol Morris?

These issues have been bouncing around as I brainstorm marketing ideas, as well as my own death, which increasingly doesn’t freak me out as much as most. My dad and I are, for now, hedging our bets and creating a bunch of different short viral ads, some interview-style, some more imagistic, and some lampooning my father (one features him, after not being able to get through to the reading public, going on a book tour and lecturing to farm animals). It’s a fun project and it allows for a lot of experimentation as we head into unfamiliar territory for both of us. We don’t know what will come out of it. It’s a lot like life, really. Maybe the viral videos will explode and garner interest, maybe they’ll obscure the point, or maybe our attempts are entirely in vain, and there is no way to get people to read this book.

5 books and 25+ years in as a freelance science writer, my father is pretty eager, I think, to have this one be a big seller. Also, he realizes he’s going to die, and, odds are, sooner rather than later. I called him the other day to tell him the final chapter was maybe a little too bleak. I asked, maybe there was an honest way to lighten the last part up without compromising the book? “Look, I’ll do it anything,” he confessed, “If it helps the book, I’ll tell people at the end that they’re not really going to die, after all.”

I’m always surprised at what hits the web zeitgeist, and what doesn’t. Who thought a 13 year old’s curiously bad youtube video would amass 160 million views? And who could’ve predicted she would transcend youtube to outsell most everyone else on iTunes? And is the home video “Charlie bit my finger” that funny?

Then, on the other hand, there’s this under-appreciated gem. The concept is great: a 5 year old dictates comics to his 29 year old graphic illustrator brother, who makes them come to life on the page. It is funnier than you’d think.

During the year and a half since I graduated, I’ve been trying my hardest to be a productive writer, to prevent becoming one of those kids who says he’s a writer but hardly ever produces anything. Turns out it’s a lot harder for me to stay on point when I’m given free range, and I’ve gone from method to method with varying success:

(1) Only writing when inspired

I heaved a huge sigh of relief when I got my diploma. No more endless due dates and no more having to half-ass anything; a chance to let my projects come together organically. I could now work on what what I wanted when I wanted. But, 6 months in, I realized I hadn’t completed anything other than what was required of me at work.

That’s because this approach doesn’t entirely work, for a few reasons. The times I feel genuinely inspired to write, out of thin air, are few and far between. Generally, inspiration comes after you start writing. I’m sure I’m not the only one who’s procrastinated until deep into the night before a paper’s due, thinking I had nothing to say, only to find, halfway through writing it, I was actually nailing it. I observed this many times without ever understanding it was more than the grace of god. Writing is such an uphill battle initially if you’re out of practice. The more out of practice you are, the harder it is to translate your ideas onto the page during moments of inspiration. Even worse, your inability to express yourself properly can spoil that euphoric feeling… so screw this approach.

(2) Daily writing practice

Marie Regan, our screenwriting professor at Bard College, requires all of her classes to write 15 minutes a day and keep a journal, writing down what they work on each day. Her philosophy is similar to what I wrote above: writing is hard work and doesn’t spring up naturally.

The idea, though, is that many days you keep writing after the 15 minute mark. I suppose this works for some people. I had such a struggle writing during those first 15 minutes that I would hardly ever write longer. Most days I would stop at just 20 minutes. Resuming the next day wasn’t easier. My belief is that the best writing comes with a feeling of being slightly hypnotized, like you’re taking dictation from some deeper, less conscious part of your mind. There isn’t any instant switch to turn this mode on, and 15 minutes or so, I found, wasn’t long enough for the hypnosis to set in. Hence, I’m much too happy abandoning it when I’m not on a roll.

(3) Monthly documentation/Neurotic quantifying

My psychiatrist casually diagnosed me, a few months ago, with OCD. He thought it was abnormal I make so many lists, accounting for the number of movies I watch every month, the dollars and deliveries I make every day at my job, the number of 80s post-punk albums I hear. It’s weird I have to quantify everything, and maybe it’s unhealthy, but it makes me very uneasy if I don’t update these lists. So, for better or worse, I do it. I’m still able to have regular, relatively normative sexual intercourse, so technically, I think, I’m functional.

I found keeping track of the number of minutes I spend writing is a very simple, effective way of keeping myself on task. I take a certain pride in the numbers, and in beating the previous month, which I’ve done consistently so far. It allows me more flexibility than the previous method (I’ve found it’s not such a bad idea to have a day when you don’t write, on occasion). I suppose this is a clear affront to the principle of ‘quality over quantity,’ but I’d rather get some real work done than to start something ‘perfect’ and never finish.

You can’t predict when inspiration will strike. There have been whole seasons (mostly winters in the northeast) where I’ve felt more or less like an indistinct cog incapable of original thought and, at the same time, there have been stretches where I’ve felt on fire creatively, every day for hours. Since those stretches aren’t sustainable forever (at least for most people), you have to harvest the best you can when you can. A writer can’t force himself to write brilliant stuff, but he can manipulate the odds. (HINT: Alcohol only works for so long. Ask Faulkner, or Hemmingway.)

Of course, I’ve only scraped the surface with this. Does anyone have any radical writing practices? I’d love to hear them. I promise not to laugh.

Their transformation of this Chuck E. Cheese in-store (presumably 90s) television show is simple: jump cutting to condense it down to its perverse essence. It’s amazing to think of all the mediocre film that is produced daily around the world, the amount of capable crews wasted on ill-conceived junk. I find it refreshing when artists change the context and make a worthwhile piece out of a previous failure.

Cedar Rapids

With a screenplay near the top of 2009′s blacklist (a list compiling the most liked unproduced screenplays in Hollywood) and produced by the ever-gifted Alexander Payne, Cedar Rapids is likely to be one of those few indie comedies actually worth getting off the couch for. Ed Helms plays a sheltered insurance salesman tasked with representing his company at a major convention in – you guessed it – Cedar Rapids, IA. John C. Reilly plays a convention veteran who breaks open Helm’s shell. It’s a simple set-up for a movie that we can only hope will transcend the “Midwest is dumb” cliché. (Feb. 11)

Meek’s Cutoff

For the past year and a half, we’ve been closely monitoring this film due to the fact that half of us had its director Kelly Reichardt as a teacher. Premiering at the Venice Film Festival last fall to some very positive reviews, Meek’s Cutoff (which is named after a trail in Oregon and not after the consequences of an amputation) is Reichardt’s most elaborate and expensive movie yet. Called a “horror movie in slow-motion” and presented in a nearly square 1.33 aspect ratio, the Western finally sees U.S. distribution later this spring. We’ll all be there, and we won’t be the only ones. (Apr. 8 )

Paul

Director Greg Mottola (Superbad, Adventureland) is two for two, as are the English writer-stars Simon Pegg & Nick Frost (Shaun of the Dead, Hot Fuzz). The supporting cast is fully packed with some of the best comic actors from television in the last decade (Jane Lynch, Jason Bateman, Kristen Wiig, Bill Hader, Jeffrey Tambor). Only potential problem? It’s about a talking alien stoner. (Apr. 15)

Super 8

Please don’t tell me I’m the only one who thought Cloverfield was great. Going in expecting nothing special, I was gripped by how personal the horror felt presented from the POV of a doofus’ camcorder. I forgave the shakiness, the holes in the plot, the lesser developed characters. J.J. Abrams originally conceived Super 8 as a prequel of sorts to Cloverfield and the film looks to be similar in tone and style, which is welcome news to me, but the director resists giving much away ahead of time, saying “I don’t know about you, but I feel I get so over informed that by the time a movie’s released, I don’t care. I’ve seen it.” (Jun. 10)

The Future

Miranda July’s second feature is a sci-fi-ish relationship drama narrated by a cat. She might be the only filmmaker who can pull that off, considering, in Me and You and Everyone We Know, she made a 4 year old’s engagement in cybersex seem endearing. (TBA)

A Dangerous Method

Michael Fassbender as Carl Jung. Viggo Mortenson as Sigmund Freud. David Cronenberg. Enough said. (TBA)

The Descendants

After a mysterious Terrence Malick-long absence from cinema, Nebraska’s Alexander Payne returns with his first film in 7 years, which stars George Clooney as a Hawaiian attorney who takes his children on a road trip to seek out his wife’s lover after she is killed in an boating accident. Speaking about his earlier films – some of the most incisive American social comedies from the last couple decades (Sideways, About Schmidt, Election) – Payne has repeatedly expressed his desire to make a ‘great film like La Dolca Vita,’ believing his previous films were merely good. Road trips, infidelity and death are not unfamiliar territory for Payne, so it’ll be interesting to see how he rises to his own ambitious standard, if he does. (TBA)

Young Adult

Can lightening strike twice for Diablo Cody and Jason Reitman? In this follow-up to Juno, Charlize Theron stars as a divorced young adult novelist who returns to her hometown to stalk an old flame, who is now married. Sounds great, but then again, this fall I kept seeing YA’s film runner (the person tasked with carrying rolls of shot film to the film lab) repeatedly dropping boxes of film, which is more than a little discouraging. (TBA)

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

Let Me In and now THIS? Is it that we think the Swedes can’t direct movies? Or is it that American audiences don’t feel like reading subtitles? I guess I’m as guilty as the next guy: I didn’t see any of the Millennium films but will probably show up to this version, directed by David Fincher. (Dec. 21)

Alvin and the Chipmunks: Chipwrecked

Just kidding. (Dec 25)

War Horse

Out of Spielberg’s TWO planned December releases, I’m (maybe ignorantly) inclined to only include this one because it doesn’t have “unicorn” in the title. The big titan of American cinema has been failing critically with blockbusters recently, so his choosing to direct a small historical film populated with mostly unknowns is a smart change of pace, even if the film does revolve around horses. (Dec. 28)

Ten other films to look out for: Set Me Free (Dardenne Bros.), The Tree of Life (Terrence Malick), Love (Michael Haneke), Harry Potter 7, pt. 2, The Ides of March (George Clooney), Hugo Cabret (Martin Scorscese), The Beaver (Jodie Foster), Wuthering Heights (Andrea Arnold), The Sitter (David Gordon Green), Cars 2 and The Turin Horse (Bela Tarr).

Never Let Me Go (limited September 15)

Music video director Mark Romanek adapts the first Kazuo Ishiguro novel since 1993′s The Remains of the Days. Going from Jay-Z’s 99 Problems to a high literature is an odd transition no doubt, but, judging from the trailer, he might bring to the film the visual flair that the Merchant Ivory literary adaptations of the 80′s and 90′s lacked. The film is populated by a renowned but not haughty cast of Carey Mulligan (abandon Shia LeBeouf, for godsakes), Keira Knightley, and Happy Go Lucky‘s brilliant Sally Hawkins.

The Town (September 17)

Wide-releases in September don’t get much better than this. Ben Affleck’s follow-up to the surprisingly powerful Gone, Baby, Gone returns again to Eastern Massachusetts (which was portrayed gloomily but perfectly by Affleck before). With excellent casting – Jon Hamm finally stepping out of the 60′s and on to the screen, Jeremy Renner post-Hurt Locker, and the always reliably crooked Chris Cooper – a compelling thriller structure and the potential of the plot not tripping over itself in the third act like Baby, this could be the film of the year.

Wall Street 2: Money Never Dies (September 24)

I want to not promote this movie because of Shia LeBeouf, but, despite my belief that he is overused and untalented and undeserving of Carey Mulligan’s affections, I have to admit it’s a fairly inspired use of him here, although who overlooked Joseph L-G? Much has already been said about the perfect timing of this movie and of Oliver Stone’s much awaited return to form, and I won’t repeat it here (having just done exactly that). And watch out for Josh Brolin, genius.

Waiting for “Superman” (limited September 24)

I hate the presumably legal “quotation.” We’re not going to mistake this for the sequel to Superman Returns, which, if it ever comes out, should be avoided like the plague. Getting past this negativity, let me give this little, important documentary some buzz for our couple dozen readers: My friend saw this at Sundance and said it was the best documentary she had seen in years. Unfortunately, it merely adds to the laundry list of needed national reforms – but education, of course, is a fucking crucial one. Can you picture an even dumber generation? Fortunately, Shia LeBeouf is not approached by the documentarians for his opinion on the subject.

The Social Network (October 1)

When it was announced a Facebook movie was in the making and would be directed by David Fincher, I was puzzled. It seemed as implausible and far-fetched as a Monopoly movie produced by Spielberg. I wasn’t aware of the scandals that erupted out of its creation, which, if you go by the trailer, seem pretty intriguing. I thought it was frivolous at the time, but, really, thinking about it, Facebook is one of the most interesting and important inventions of the last decade. By putting the entire social experience of college [and high school] online, it dominates our culture and shapes our collective unconscious. This is Fincher’s chance to retreat from the Academy’s good graces and make up to his fans for the ill-conceived Benjamin Button.

Inside Job (limited October 15)

Here’s a real thriller. Turns out the economic meltdown was easily avoidable, if only Matt Damon narrated in our heads and not just in scandal-docs. Director Charles Ferguson (the excellent No End in Sight) interviews everyone from George Soros to prostitute-enthusiast Eliot Spitzer to uncover the truth and get us angrier than ever. It’s the last in a year of economic documentaries (Casino Jack, Freakonomics, We Want Your Money) but may be one worth waiting for, as it was voted best film of Cannes.

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Pt. 1 (November 19)

The movies have been progressively getting better, Emma Watson’s been developing nicely, and the last book is easily the best. It’s also in 3D, and one can hardly wait to see Ron Weasley’s raging erection popping out of the screen.

Black Swan (limited December 3)

After seeing that trailer, how can you resist? Without being sure whether it’s a gripping work of art or the hokiest guilty pleasure of the season, I was thoroughly mesmerized. More Requiem for a Dream/The Fountain in style than The Wrestler, Darren Aronofsky still considers it a companion piece to his last, seeing as both are centered in worlds that require demanding performances, though he seems to have thrown out the Dardennesque gritty realism for psychological nightmarish fantasy. Almost all reviews coming out of Venice have suggested the film displays Arofonsky’s distinct talent, though the Hollywood Reporter claims it is indeed a “guilty pleasure, a gorgeously shot, visually complex film whose badness is what’s so good about it.” This is not to be missed – it is a film that will be loved and hated, but will, most importantly, incite discussion.

True Grit (December 25)

I’ll say that I’m both turned off by the fact this is a remake of a famous Western and such fodder for next year’s awards ceremonies – I mean, come on, it’s the Coen Bros., it’s a remake of a famous film that won John Wayne best Actor, it stars academy favorites Josh Brolin, Matt Damon, and last year’s winner Jeff Bridges, and it opens on fucking Christmas. Of course, that’s no reason to believe it won’t be fabulous.

Another Year (limited December 29)

English director Mike Leigh (Secrets & Lies, Topsy Turvy, Vera Drake, Happy Go Lucky) is nothing if not consistent. He reunites here with Turvy’s Jim Broadbent and Drake’s Imelda Staunton for an ensemble comedy that looks at the loneliness and narrowing options that come with growing old. Reviews have been stellar, but that’s no surprise.

NOTE: I’m upset that these films that are all either American or English, but that’s how it goes this season, I suppose. Julian Schnabel’s Miral is a letdown, as is ZImou’s remake of Blood Simple, and Biutiful, after Babel, I can’t muster enthusiasm for.

Fish Tank, dir. Andrea Arnold (2010)

There are movies I see every once and a while that remind me why I watch in the first place. If that seems clichéd, let me assure you that Andrea Arnold’s second feature, Fish Tank, is not. Here is what we hope for and rarely get: urgency without manipulation, intimacy without bland sentiment, shock without exploitation.

The camera never leaves Mia, our reckless, British, 15-year-old protagonist. She aimlessly wanders her white trash environs, never in school, drinking and getting into fights with anyone she finds. The first thought we have is not that she’s troubled, but, rather, what the hell else is there to do? Her slutty peers are no better, and we sympathize with her further when we’re introduced to her trashy mother Joanne, dancing half-naked in the kitchen, punctuating her steps with slaps to her children.

Mia’s escape, too, is dance, but this isn’t a Lifetime movie, so it doesn’t play out as we fear it might. Her mother’s new boyfriend, Connor, takes an interest in her ambitions, but doesn’t seem to be only interested in that. We root for their friendship with great reservations. Mia gets a boyfriend, too, of sorts, but he’s not the man of her dreams nor is he a bad influence. He gives her attention, and that’s good enough.

This is the kind of movie you expect, because of its intensity, to be a brisk 80 minutes, but it’s over 2 hours. The tone changes rapidly, as aimlessly as Mia herself, and things get heavy at a certain point, out of left field. It begins like a Dardenne picture but develops an arc. I didn’t mind.

It takes risks and succeeds; why not cast a teenager you see at a train station screaming at her boyfriend? And why not end the film with a moving, hiphop dance to Nas’ “Life’s a Bitch”? I wouldn’t expect Fish Tank to work, if I saw it on paper, but it does. Along with Ballast and Wendy and Lucy, this film’s arrival indicates that the Western avant-garde has finally re-awoken. Thank god.

Our company is, also, pleased obliged to report that Warner Brother’s The Blind Side has been nominated for Best Picture. [Insert despairing, snarky remark about the Academy here]

After a record-setting year at the box office, what can we expect in 2010? More of the same. Don’t expect Hollywood to surprise us when things are going so well. Expect more 3D, more talking CGI animals, more lame comedies/soft dramas starring Sandra Bullock.

Not that I’m cynical.

Seriously, there are some really interesting projects set to premiere in 2010. Here is what I’m most excited to see:

Green Zone (March) The Bourne Occupation. Based on the nonfiction book Imperial Life in the Emerald City, Matt Damon searches for WMDs right before the surge of troops in Iraq. Judging from Paul Greengrass’ non-Bourne outings (United 93, Bloody Sunday), expect a meticulously-researched, taut thriller.  Not to be confused with Noah Baumbach’s Greenberg, out the same week.

Iron Man 2 (May) The exception to the unfortunate-sequel rule: sequels to superhero movies are generally bigger, badder, and bolder than their originals. The principal cast and crew is back and they’ve nabbed Mickey Rourke. The biggest movie of the year, and for good reason.

Inception (July) How do you follow up after making one of the most successful blockbusters–financially and critically–in history (The Dark Knight)? Use the new, expanded resources the studios are now willing to give you to return to your roots. This sci-fi, potentially time-travelling story (the press and trailers are vague) suggest Memento for Imax. Leonardo DiCaprio and Ellen Page (!) star.

The Green Hornet (December) Michel Gondry, Seth Rogen superhero adaptation, just in time for Christmas, written by the scribes of Superbad and Pineapple Express. Could be all wrong, or just right. I’ll bank on the latter.

The Tree of Life (TBA) Terrence Malick makes films every half decade, if that. This generational epic, originally titled Q, has been in the works for 30 years. Brad Pitt and Sean Penn star. Expect something interesting, if not magnificent, with a pervertedly long running time.

The Beaver (TBA) A year ago, the script of “The Beaver” was number one on an “official” list of best unproduced screenplays. This quirky portrait of a CEO who suffers a mental breakdown and, following, can only communicate through use of a beaver puppet, originally had Steve Carrell attached but now has (gulp) Mel Gibson. I couldn’t think of a more fitting comeback.

The First Gun (TBA) The director of Hero and House of Flying Daggers remakes the Coen Bros’ Blood Simple for the Mandarin-speaking crowd. Hey, we do it all the time to them. Here is some sweet vengeance.

Black Swan (TBA) Darren Aronofsky’s psychological ballet thriller. Yeah, I know. I can’t wait either.

Life During Wartime (TBA) Todd Solondz’s sequel to 1998′s great dark comedy Happiness has already made the festival circuit to generally positive reviews. Apparently, it’s more talk-heavy and politically overt than his previous films. Suitably, it’s named after a Talking Heads song.

Rabbit Hole (TBA) John Cameron Mitchell has proven he’s capable of stage-to-screen adaptations. In this one, Nicole Kidman and Aaron Eckhart star as a couple dealing with the death of their 4-year-old. Decidedly less wacky than Hedwig and the Angry Inch.

Looking through our top films of 2009, I’m a little disappointed with the range of films.

Admittedly, in recent years, many big-studio films have become more sophisticated (“The Dark Knight,” “Iron Man,” “Star Trek,” and anything Pixar–”Up” is the unanimous 2009 Company choice), and there’s plenty of eager filmgoers looking for escapism. In fact, despite the recession, Hollywood just had it’s biggest year ever (10 billion+). These are good things.

Let me explain myself: I just tried to going to an evening showing of The Blind Side with my mother. Neither of us really wanted to see it. Neither of us like football, Sandra Bullock especially, or “based on a true story” shit. We just felt like seeing something. But when we got to the front of the line, this crowd-pleaser, that had been out for 44 days, was sold out. Everything was. Everything out right now–Sherlock Holmes, Avatar, Alvin 2, It’s Complicated–is a hit. People just want to see something.

But there’s excellent stuff out there, as always, that nobody sees. Some only come to New York City for a week or two and then vanish. If it comes to Chicago, Roger Ebert sees it and raves or maybe he doesn’t see it at all. He does better than me, as I live 2 hours from any major city. I try to go out of my way to see films, but there’s an excruciating long list of top-reviewed fare that never came my way but which I was dying to see in 2009:

Summer Hours, Tulpan, Il Divo, Lorna’s Silence, Seraphine, Revanche, Forbidden Lie$, Still Walking, The Beaches of Agnes, 35 Shots of Rhum, The Damned United, The Sun, Crazy Heart, Broken Embraces, Police, Adjective.

Giampaolo saw a few of these. None of us saw the best-reviewed film of the year, 35 Shots of Rhum, superb French director Claire Denis’ latest.

And we should have.

Like I was saying, it’s not entirely our fault. Independent movie theaters are quite often hardly that. Around Amherst, MA, where I live, we have two, Amherst Cinema and Pleasant Street Theatre, with 5 screens in total. These are non-profit theaters that are owned by the same people. Starting next week, however, three of the five screens will be taken up by Invictus, Up in the Air, and Fantastic Mr. Fox. These films are fine, maybe great (?), and helmed by some of the most talented directors in the game. So what’s the problem? They’re already playing at the multiplex down the street! One time they even played Shrek 3.

Still, we owe it to ourselves and you to seek out and promote the films not getting screened anywhere. In the same spirit that the Blind Side couple adopted that black kid and gave him footballs for Christmas, etc., we need to do something about these orphaned films.

This is our resolution for 2010.