"There and Back Again."

Long before Peter Jackson unleashed his cinematic behemoth, I was already familiar with the work of renowned author J.R.R. Tolkien. As a toddler, when it came time for bed, my mother would read The Hobbit to me. While other moms were probably reading simplistic little fairy tales involving men in tights and maidens fair, I was getting blasted in my infantile cortex with images of goblins, wizards, wargs, dragons, elves, giant spiders, trolls and of course… hobbits. I loved it!

A record.

Being a fan of the story herself, my mother had purchased a record version of the book as well. (A long time ago, before the cassette or 8-track and long before the MP3 or the CD, there were these things called records or LPs where people would get their music from.) It was a four-record set which told the amazing story in fantastic detail using talented voice actors and wondrous sound effects to bring the tale to life. It also came with a picture book that added a new level of detail to Middle-Earth. It was one of my favorite things. She had bought the album for herself but it soon became... mine. My own. My precious. I listened to it over and over till the vinyl scratched and warped. I knew every line by heart.

Years later, while cruising through a video store which my mother had recently become a member of, I saw something all too familiar. It was a picture of Bilbo Baggins! It was just like the one from my record set! “Holy poop!” I said. I was nine. I wasn’t allowed to say “shit” yet. “It’s a movie?... MOM!” It was exactly the same as the record! (Technically the album was a copy of the film.) Who cared?! I could see the story in motion! Gollum was creepier than ever and Smaug was epic! This… was… awesome…

As I grew older I took it upon myself to read the Lord of Rings. It wasn’t an easy read but by the time I was finished I knew I had just been part of something extraordinary.

While living in Connecticut, already a grown man with an actual job and stuff, I found myself reading a newspaper outside one of the local coffee shops. The entertainment section mentioned something about some guy named Peter Jackson who was going to direct the entire Ring trilogy. Wait… he’s the Frighteners director. Elijah Wood… from Flipper!? Viggo Whats-his-face and Ian Macwho? “Ah shit!” I belched. I was old enough to say it now.

See? Creepy.

Needless to say Peter Jackson shut me the hell up. Three times in a row.

He is now poised to direct The Hobbit itself. I would trust no other person to take on the daunting task of translating this childhood treasure of mine to film. Yet regardless of what he does or how he does it, that first little cartoon will remain one of my favorite films of all time while The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings books continue to be some of the greatest stories ever told.

Arc PART 1: "You must choose..."

When I was a boy of about nine or ten my mother and I would take trips to Old San Juan every Saturday. We would hop the trolley and ride up and down the cobblestone streets every weekend like clockwork. I never grew tired of it. We would have breakfast at La Bombonera where I would order the fried eggs and bacon special with a tall glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. We would then walk into the different shops looking for nothing in particular. It had become our own little family tradition.

On one such day she asked me a question that would alter my personality and help shape my life for better or worse.

My parents had gotten divorced when I was about seven years old. My mom and I returned to Puerto Rico immediately after. My father, it seemed, had been sucked into an alternate dimension to fight off the evil dark lord Garbanzo the Wicked from the 7^th Realm of Chaos. Whatever the case, I wouldn’t hear from him for many years.

While my mother was quite excellent at the whole “raising” and “educating” thing, there was only so much a mom could do for her son. There were things only a father could teach. Even though there were some decent men in our family, most of them were out dated Puerto Rican male clichés. She didn’t want me becoming that kind of man…  beer in one hand wearing a “wife-beater” shirt with my other hand permanently secured to my crotch. She also didn’t want me growing up into a prissy little mama’s boy either. What to do... what to do?

She knew of my interest in movies and could see that it was more than just a hobby for me. It was growing into something quite personal. She saw the opportunity. Film… film was the key! So, bouncing around in a bright green trolley going at an outrageous two miles-per-hour down the unleveled cobblestone streets of Old San Juan surrounded by Spanish architecture and 20^th century noises, she asked…

“Who is your favorite movie hero?”

What kind of a question was that?! There were too many to choose from! I mean… Superman, Luke Skywalker, Perseus, Dar the Beastmaster, Captain Kirk and James Bond to name just a few. This is the kind of question that would take days… nay, years to ponder. Each character offered a myriad of admirable qualities that had to be taken into consideration and…

 Oh f**k it. It took me about two seconds

“Indiana Jones!”

Duh.

She didn’t seem surprised. In fact I think she already knew. Aside from the movies themselves, she remembered how, as a little boy living in Greece, I would watch the archeologists digging up the ancient ruins in search of some hint to the mysteries of the past. When we got home I would run out back intent on discovering my own underground secrets. I would begin digging for treasure or perhaps a long lost civilization… in our backyard… with a teaspoon. Indy was the perfect choice! She then proceeded to tell me to pay close attention to the intrepid archeologist and follow his lead. So I watched his every move, studied his every word, copied his every gesture and learned what it took to be a man. Courage, honor, confidence, an understanding of art and history, a leather jacket, a half shaven face, a sense of humor, a respect for the ladies even while acting like a complete prick, a cadre of loyal friends and a big ass whip for good measure. I would fight the forces of evil. I would stand up for the weak. I would be… the hero.

Tool of archeology

The first two films and a couple of cheap Indy novels kept me going for a few years but, as does often happen, children grow up and life throws things at you that you could not possibly be prepared for.

I was thirteen or thereabout. I was staying at my grandmother’s house. I had already gone to bed when I heard the phone ring in her room next door. It was one of those old rotary phones that made a massive ding-o-ling sound potent enough to raise the dead. I could hear her talking and while it was only a collection of muffled hums, I knew she was excited about something. She came into my room and said in a hysterical whisper… “It’s your father!”

TO BE CONTINUED…

"The babe with the power."

You were minding your own business watching some random film at the movie theater when suddenly you were smitten by one of the characters on screen. The movie may have been a piece of crap but you weren’t really paying attention. After the credits rolled you found yourself dreaming pathetically about some fictional character portrayed by a person you would probably never meet.

Bowie rules!

It happened in 1986… my first movie crush. The film was Labyrinth and Jennifer Connelly had left me breathless. I was twelve years old and I thought my heart was going to burst out of my chest. I had liked other girls before but not like this. It was quite pitiful. Years later she popped up in The Rocketeer. The movie wasn’t very good… I think. I can’t really remember the film. It was 1991 and she had grown up… a lot. Yep… once again, I was stupefied by her stunning presence. Over the years she had proven to be quite a talented actress. In movies like A Beautiful Mind, House of Sand and Fog and Requiem for a Dream she had demonstrated her versatility. As an avid filmgoer, I began to see her solely as a formidable element in my favorite medium.

After meeting real girls and going on real dates, movie crushes were soon replaced by real ones. Some may have been brutal and heartbreaking but they were always real and that’s what made them awesome! Now and again our jaws may drop at the sight of some outrageous beauty on the silver screen but we are able to recognize their virtual nature… unless you’re some creepy person living in a basement eerily contemplating on how to attract a certain Hollywood starlets attention. Then you need help.

As with all childhood things, we outgrow our little crushes. I watch her movies now with a great deal of respect and professional objectivity. Although… I still think she’s a hottie.

Who were your movie crushes? 

"Taught never to retreat, never to surrender."

Every decade seemed to usher in the next generation of butt-kickers. From Douglas Fairbanks in the silent era to Bogart and Cagney, even the black and whites had their fair share. Newman, Bronson, McQueen and Eastwood brought their own style of grit to the 60’s and 70’s. My generation marveled at the unapologetic might of Stallone, Schwarzenegger, Van Damme, Segal and Willis.

What the f**k happened?

There were no internal conflicts involving the life consuming consequences of revenge versus the sublime and self-healing qualities found with forgiveness. Their motives were simple. Their solutions… direct. “You tried to kill me, I’ll kill you.”
“You killed my partner, I’ll kill you.”
“You kidnapped my family, I’ll kill you.”
“You killed my family, I’ll kill you.”
“You’re holding the whole world for ransom… I will f**k you up, interfere with your evil plans, then kill you.”

Sometime during the late nineties, the concept of the action hero changed. The gladiators of old had been replaced by troubled souls in search of redemption. It added a little more depth to the characters, which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. The new millennium, however, saw something far more grotesque. Our champions had evolved into soft little boys who sparkle while others devolved into mindless raging psychopaths. People just wanted a little more depth. Instead, what they got were a collection of featherweight cream puffs with fractured minds in desperate need of a hug or the extreme opposite... soulless lumps. Ellen Ripley and Sarah Conner could eat these prima donnas for breakfast.

A few contemporaries like Diesel, Statham, Butler and “The Rock” Johnson have come close but, with the exception of 300, their movies never quite seem to reach that same level of quality. Besides, comic book movies shouldn’t count because, while the film and the actor may be modern, the hero is not. Does Christian Bale deliver as Batman? Absolutely. Is Batman a new idea? Nope.

The inability to recreate these archetypal heroes was further proven when studios started bringing the iconic characters of the early eighties back… using the original actors. They were old but still undefeated. Rambo, Rocky, Die Hard and Indiana Jones each made a comeback to the silver screen. While the actual movies may not have been the best in their respective series (Some just plain sucked.), the characters themselves still maintained a certain presence. They commanded a level of respect severely lacking in today’s counterparts.

“People just don’t want that kind of simple brute saving the day anymore.” says the emo-worshipping twit. I beg to differ.

Scott Pilgrim vs. The World (Which I enjoyed) was a very well put together film. Under the watchful eye of Edgar Wright, it was the perfect combination of action, comedy and heart. Throw in a little popular nostalgia and you’ve got one hell of a fun movie. So why didn’t it do so well at the box-office? Someone else took the cake. Not only did they take the cake, they shoved a grenade up its ass and pulled the pin.

The Expendables.

Sylvester Stallone is a veteran of the formula. He knew what people needed was a brief throwback to real time action with actual explosions mixed in with old school stunts and wireless fights. The plot was uncomplicated and served only to push the action forward. It was a refreshing idea that relied on classical action movie techniques. Computer generated elements were kept to a minimum. Unlike many contemporary films that require a crap-load of CG and an overdose of hyper-kinetic editing to make their heroes seem credible, this movie felt raw and bulls**t free. It presented a group of towering behemoths getting the job done. It was a welcome change from all the puny little wonderboys passing for saviors these days.

Sometimes you want to be intellectually challenged. Sometimes you want to dive deep into your own emotions. Sometimes you just want to see some s**t blow up. But even then...  you want it done right. When push comes to shove and the world is in peril, we don’t want some damaged idiot with daddy issues to come to the rescue. We want the honorable no-nonsense guy who will shoot first and ask questions later. Unfortunately, the gauntlet has yet to be passed and as long as “Go ahead, make my day.” is replaced with “I can do this as long as I believe in myself.” we’re screwed.

“Yippee ki-yay motherfu**ers!”

"Not nearly as smart..."

Once upon a time, a greedy and intellectually infertile Hollywood executive had a masterful idea. Since he could not come up with an original concept and his creativity was less than that of a rancid potato, he would take other people’s ideas instead. Anything that had had a modicum of financial success, he would buy and redo it… in his ignorant image. At first it was kind of fun and in some ways interesting. Then, like a rampant disease, it got out of hand. The age of the remake was upon us.

Foreign films were ripped from their native countries and bastardized into the “New and Improved” American rehash. Germany’s Wings of Desire became City of Angels, while Sweden’s Let the Right One In morphed into the ridiculously unnecessary Let Me In. God forbid they make people read subtitles! Even more distressing is that many of those foreign movies make reference to stuff that happens… elsewhere. Apparently it confuses most Americans if a story doesn’t take place in their own country. Besides… we wouldn’t want people becoming interested in other cultures.

Are U.S. audiences generally incapable of handling foreign films and independent features? Do they really need Hollywood’s help to dumb these movies down and spoon-feed them like cerebral baby food? OR does Hollywood underestimate its audiences’ intelligence thus producing these watered down versions of excellent films whose final result is creating a false sense of intellectual stimulation not unlike claiming to be a Shakespearean scholar because you read the fu**ing Cliffnotes?

In other words… do they dumb down the movies because people are too ignorant or do they make people ignorant by showing them diluted versions of the original?

Too harsh?

Death at a Funeral.

This movie was made in the U.K. in 2007. It was directed by Frank Oz. Aside from providing the iconic voices for Yoda and several of the Muppets, he is an accomplished filmmaker. A few of his previous endeavors include Bowfinger, Dirty Rotten Scoundrels, The Score, The Dark Crystal and What About Bob. He is no stranger to mainstream appeal. His latest project was hilarious! The only thing truly foreign about the funeral movie was that it took place in England. What do they speak over there? English! Oh but wait… it’s that weird kind of English. NOPE! For an American audience they were going to have to redo the whole movie and translate it to American in order for it to make any sense. They needed famous people in it too. How could you even think of showing a movie with unrecognizable faces? They didn’t even try putting the original one in mainstream movie theaters because it probably wouldn’t make as much money that way. So… a hearty applause for the genius responsible for creating an American remake of an English speaking film that was only 3 years old. In 2010 we were blessed with the arrival of the “New and Improved” Death at a Funeral.

“Wait!” says the Hollywood serpent. “Let’s not just take another country’s ideas and make them our own… lets dive into our own cinematic history and shred it all to hell!” Apparently every goddam movie and T.V. show must be redone! Nothing is sacred. Our memories are being raped and pillaged by these corporate barbarians. Stories are being rewritten and heroes demolished into McDonald’s Happy Meal toys.

A country’s cultural maturity is measured by the quality of its artwork. This applies to all mediums including literature, music and film. Reproducing mediocre copies of other people’s ideas and smearing all the great things you have done in the past for a quick buck… says a lot.

Click here for an extensive list of remakes past.

Click here for a frightening view of remakes to come.

"That's Morality for you."

There are some sick movies out there.

I would often make fun of people who couldn’t handle certain types of movies. Films like Romper Stomper, Hate, The Accused, Precious and American History X frequently received harsh criticisms from the poor unfortunate souls who simply could not stomach the subject matter. While they dealt with very delicate themes, they were nowhere near as disturbing as other movies out there. The only reason to proclaim these films unwatchable is if you have suffered these atrocities first-hand… or your level of empathy borders on the supernatural. Of course we share the anger. Of course we feel their pain. We cry with the characters and we follow their grief but when all is said and done, we should be able to let it go. After all… it’s only a movie.

I was living in Connecticut. Soon after college I had decided to leave the island for a couple of years in order to gain new perspective, broaden my horizons, see the world from a different point of view… some bulls**t like that. Danny, Julio and all my old friends from college, were back in Puerto Rico. I still kept in touch.

On one particularly uneventful morning, I decided to call Danny. We spoke about the usual and he mentioned a movie he had just seen but would never see again. There was genuine disgust, with perhaps a hint of fear, in his voice. Dan wasn’t the type to shy away from films so easily. Neither was Julio. When I spoke to him, he told me about a movie Danny had recommended that completely shattered his comfort zone and chilled him to the core. I believe he may have cursed Danny’s name in the process.

It affected both of them? What could be so disturbing? These guys were moviegoing badasses. We had lived through some of the most grotesque films on print. We clenched our teeth and hardened our hearts while facing hideous scenes of violence and abuse. We had survived Passolini’s Saló, or the 120 Days of Sodom. Talk about disgusting! I could take the time to offer an in depth critique of the unsettling Italian masterpiece using only the most technical and professionally critical vocabulary. However for brevity’s sake I shall summarize. That movie was F**KED UP! Violence, sodomy, poop… lots of poop, Nazis and rape... THE END. I have no desire whatsoever to sit through that movie again. I emerged exhausted and perturbed but ultimately unscarred.

What could possibly be nastier than that?

Irreversible.

That was the name of the film that had left my dearest friends cinematically catatonic. Wussies. I would have to see this for myself.

Not only did I find a copy of the film on DVD, I bought it… if only to mock my weak-willed acquaintances. I went home and prepared for my movie night. I pulled out an enormous plastic bowl from the kitchen cupboard. It was the kind of bowl used for mixing large amounts of salad. I filled it with Lucky Charms and just about emptied a half-gallon of milk. I got comfortable and the feature began.

So… there’s some old man in his underwear talking about some random crap. The camera is spinning. A little dizzying, but I can take it. Some guy is walking into a club. It’s an underground club. It’s gross and dark. The guy seems pissed. He’s looking for someone. He sees him. He takes a fire extinguisher and OH! OH DAMN! WHAT THE… ARE YOU SERIOUS?! HOW?! The camera spins. I am dizzy. Like Memento, the story is playing backwards. After each scene, the camera does a little dance and I am thrust back in time to the events that happened just before the scene I just watched. So why was the guy so pissed? Oh I see. It’s because… HOLY S**T! NO NO NO! ENOUGH! CUT GODDAM IT! CUT! What the hell is wrong with this guy?! I had to hold back the urge to punch my T.V. My eyes were watering. Not so much out of sadness… but out of pure unadulterated rage.

When the perpetual mental thrashing was over, it took me several hours to fully calm down. I looked to my side only to find a gigantic bowl filled with some colorful uneaten slop. I hadn’t touched my cereal. At all. For the entire hour and a half, I had completely forgotten about everything.

I called Danny. I told him I had just finished watching the movie. I may have cursed his name. We agreed that the film was wonderfully executed. We discussed how effective it was in delivering its tragic message of inevitability. We also agreed that we would probably never watch it again. I was screwed. I owned it. I still own it. Seven years later and it sits on my shelf glaring at me. I haven’t seen it since. My friend Dave wanted to watch it. I lent it to him. It messed him up. I believe he cursed my name. He hasn’t seen it since.

This can't save you.

This is not a date movie. This is not something you invite your friends over to see while sharing a gargantuan tub of popcorn. These movies are ferocious. Some don’t even have ratings. They don’t turn the camera to avoid showing the ugly parts. They don’t hide behind visual metaphors. They dive head on into the darkest regions of humanity and explore the unrelenting shadows with the lights on. While this validates their creation and subsequent appreciation, they should not be viewed by everyone. There are films that shock for shocking’s sake. After viewing so many movies, it becomes easier to spot the difference. The ones that linger are the ones that tell the wicked truth. Keep your eyes open. The world is a beautiful place but the natives… can be very dangerous.

Have a lovely day.

EPILOGUE:

The story should have ended there. But alas, Danny is a twisted bastard. You see… the only part of the movie I didn’t quite get was the introduction with the old man. Danny explained that Irreversible was essentially a sequel. Not an actual continuation but a story set in the same universe as another film. He read that, in the previous film, the old man was the protagonist. All I kept thinking was “There’s another one?!” It was called I Stand Alone and it definitely took place in the same world as its successor. It was brutal; maybe not as much as Irreversible, but brutal enough. Danny felt it would make a lovely Christmas gift. He just thought it would be cool if I had the complete collection. Bless him. He hadn’t even seen it but was thoughtful enough to let me watch it first.

Just the other day he informed me that Gaspar Noé, the director responsible for kicking our souls in the groin, would soon be releasing his latest movie, Enter the Void, on DVD. I did a little poking around and apparently it is very uncomfortable to watch. And yes… it is to be seen as a sequel to Irreversible thereby completing his trilogy of doom.

Oh crap… I’ll probably get it for my birthday. 

"I'm a knight on a special quest."

So who is my favorite director? Terry Gilliam. Why? Well… sit back with a nice hot cup of cocoa and let me tell you…

We are told to grow up. We are taught that life isn’t fair. We are given a set of rules and forced to obey them without question. We are expected to understand. The problem wasn’t that I did not understand. I did understand. I just didn’t accept it. Some of these rules made no sense. They had nothing to do with the “good” of the people or the rights of all living things. They catered to the selfish wants and needs of specific groups and self-important individuals.

Time to face the real world.

Reality, apparently, was like a hungry, unwavering animal and I was expected to just stand there and let it rip me apart, chew me, swallow me, digest me and poop me out. And be grateful. F**k that!

How’s that hot chocolate?

It started with a question. When I was a young lad (lets say around 10 or 11) I asked my mother, “What is the funniest movie you have ever seen?” She thought about it for almost two whole seconds and answered, “Monty Python and the Holy Grail.” I was intrigued. Who was this Monty Python guy and why was he searching for the cup of Christ? Even more intriguing… why was that so funny? I had to know. I begged and I pleaded to go to the video rental place. We went, she rented and we drove back home. I had, in my hands, a copy of what my mother believed to be… THE FUNNIEST MOVIE IN THE WORLD. We placed it in the VCR. Tracking was adjusted. Warnings were read and understood. It began. What the hell is this crap? My mother was in tears. Her whole body was convulsing with laughter. I didn’t get it. Aside from the Black Knight scene and the killer bunny, I thought it was the stupidest thing I had ever watched. That was my introduction to English humor. It was also my initiation into the twisted world Monty Python. And I had just witnessed the work of the man who would later become my favorite director.

In 1991 or thereabouts, I had gone to the movies with a group of friends from high school. We were all big Robin Williams fans at the time and decided to go see his latest film… The Fisher King. I thought it was amazing. It was a very dark film but somewhere within that chaotic story of guilt, redemption, loss, insanity and the conflict between fantasy and reality, there was something else. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. I could feel it but I couldn’t name it.

It also marked the moment where I first got into an analytical discussion about a movie. I can’t remember all the people who went with me that day but I do remember walking outside of the theater and discussing one of the most potent images in the film with my good friend Angella. We talked about the symbolism behind the apparition of the red knight and it’s psychological impact on the Williams character, Parry. We didn’t have all the vocabulary but we had enough. It was fun.

I looked up the director’s name and found a list of his previous endeavors. The Adventures of Baron Munchausen, Brazil, Time Bandits, Jabberwocky and… huh? Monty Python and the Holy Grail? By that age I was already more familiar with the Pythons. I didn’t know all of their names and I definitely had no idea, which one Terry Gilliam was. After doing a little research, I discovered that, while he did make a few appearances on the show, he was mainly responsible for all the weird animations. I loved those!

After diving into his limited but potent filmography, I was hooked. Munchausen had been based on the legends of an actual German baron. Visually breathtaking, it made me realize that this guy was a technical genius and a master storyteller. Time Bandits had an equal effect. I was devouring every bit of it. As prepared as I thought I was, I was nowhere near ready for… Brazil. This thing blew me out of the water. Too young to truly understand the Kafkaesque criticisms of modern bureaucracy, I could still tell this was a powerful piece of work. I would come to appreciate it in full as an adult. The sickening ballet between zombified public officials and redundant paperwork felt like I was participating in a distorted version of Swan Lake being performed by a group of crippled orangutans on crack.

Needless to say, I awaited each of his subsequent movies with great anticipation. I still do. As an avid moviegoer, I appreciate the fact that he never underestimates his audience. He tells his stories with a matter-of-factness allowing fantasy to merge with reality in the most unconventional ways. He doesn’t spend thousands of hours explaining how the “machine” works, simply that it does. That is a level of trust and respect seldom found in directors nowadays. Granted, there is a certain complexity in the presentations themselves but once you get past the “weirdness” and see the movies as a whole, you begin to feel their underlying message. That said, I would never presume to know what goes on in his brain. I can only speak of what I see, how I interpret and what I feel when I watch them.

Be it an escape through drugs in Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas or the back and forth race through time in 12 Monkeys, it was always about the struggle; the struggle for happiness within the confines of the “real” world. Even in the documentary Lost in La Mancha you saw Gilliam’s own war against the inevitable as everything, from illness to natural disasters, led to a whole slur of legal banter which ultimately impeded the completion of his Don Quijote film.

When The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus was announced, I was thrilled. When Heath Ledger died halfway into production all I could think of was… “Crap!” It was a tragedy to say the least. Ledger was turning out to be a fine actor. It was a brutal loss. Gilliam just seemed to be surrounded by s**t. Here was another film about to be lost to the relentless beast. Thankfully, I am not the only Terry Gilliam fan and Heath had a few good friends as well. Johnny Depp, Jude Law, and Colin Farrell stepped in to help complete the movie; a testament to Gilliam’s abilities and Ledger’s talent. But how in the hell was he going to justify four guys playing the same role? The answer… flawlessly.

Reality can be a difficult place. It is vicious at times and most people are as insane as the rules they follow. So why bother? Why fight it? Why not just turn my head to the ground and assimilate? Because of the other element in his films. The other soldier in that great war and the reason why fantasy plays such a predominant role in his features. It was that thing I’d felt when I had watched The Fisher King so long ago and the only weapon against the onslaught of the unwavering animal…

Hope.

For his unique vision of the world, his untiring devotion to his craft and for inspiring me to not take life too seriously lest it consume me… he was and still is my favorite director.

So, finish your cocoa and check out his movies when you get a chance. Let me know what you think.

Storytime (short)

The Miracle of Flight (short)

Monty Python and the Holy Grail

Jabberwocky

Time Bandits

The Crimson Permanent Assurance (short)

Brazil

The Adventures of Baron Munchausen

The Fisher King

Twelve Monkeys

Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas

The Brothers Grimm

Tideland

The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus

The Legend of Hallowdega (short)

And coming soon… The Man Who Killed Don Quixote

Oh and… who are your favorite directors? My cocoa is ready.