Hugo, which is virtually Scorsese's love letter to the world of cinema, is one which only movie purists could love. It is beautifully filmed, lovingly acted, but far too tedious in its telling of its story.
Just when you start believing there's no hope for anything daring and original coming out of Movieland, something gets released that surprises you. The Artist is one such movie -- and what's new about it is that it's old.
The utter lack of any wide releases next weekend plus the likely downward plunge for Breaking Dawn part I means that The Muppets will likely top the box office next weekend. There clearly is an audience for this 35-year-old franchise.
I was skeptical when I first heard that Martin Scorcese was taking on Brian Selznick's award-winning book The Invention of Hugo Cabret. Its original mix of text and illustration had me all the more dubious; how on earth would that unique reading experience translate to film?
In Martin Scorsese's homage to cinema history, Hugo, there's a delicious moment, one of many in this stunning 3D epic, when two children, Hugo and Isabelle, attend a black and white silent Harold Lloyd movie and the actor dangles from the hands of a giant clock.
I have a huge picture in my living room of me, at around eight years old, meeting the Beatles. What I remember most about it, besides meeting these boys I was crazy about, was that I kept trying to lose my dad.
In 2001, when it became evident that George was not going to live, a friend said to him, "this will be the most exciting chapter of your life." After years of speculation about the moment of death, we knew the spectre of disembodiment was actually imminent.