88 Minutes. Again?

I think titles like '88 Minutes' are a bad thing. They're too literal, too like the on-the-nose titles from the 80s and 90s like, say, 'Total Force', or 'Blunt Instrument' (I made those up off the top of my head but they're actual titles from the 80s and 90s, turns out).

Why does Al Pacino always look like he needs a good night's sleep? Here's Stephanie Zacharek's review of '88 Minutes'. She says of Pacino: He wanders through '88 Minutes' in a baggy suit that looks slept-in, but he's the only thing in it that's remotely awake. Wait a minute. He's the only thing in the movie that looks remotely awake or the only thing in his baggy suit that looks...nevermind. But, really, to me he looks like he needs a week's worth of sleep -- in every movie he does these days.

I'd look sleepy too, I guess. It's just so been there, done that. If the plot is going to be such a retread, recommend a more direct, spelled-out title. How about 'A Movie Where The Protagonist (that's the main character) Finds Out He Has Just Eight-Eight (88) Minutes To Live But Outsmarts The Antagonist (that's the bad guy) And After Some Gunplay And Hot Sex With Really Young Women Lives To See The Credits Role'. That's better than '88 Minutes', don't you think.

Honorary Oscar For Alec

Baldwin, that is. He's one of my favorite things about any given movie -- that's certainly the case for "The Departed" -- even though Baldwin only had a few minutes of screen time in this year's Best Picture winner, he nailed each scene to the floor. Stephanie Zacharek makes a good argument for giving Baldwin Salon's honorary Oscar for...um...Best Performances in Several Different Pictures in the Same Year (excerpt):

Baldwin shines in too many movies to list, and although he's different in every role, his performances often bear trademark qualities. Often, I think, we respond to Baldwin because his mere presence -- his confident bearing, the way he cocks an eyebrow at just the right angle -- speaks of healthy skepticism, an intolerance of idiocy and phoniness. An understated superhero in an age of overstatement, he can zap bullshit with a single glance: His X-ray vision seeks, and destroys, baloney. Baldwin is always both laid-back and on point, which seems a contradiction but is actually a delicate balance that's hard to strike. And although we're lucky to have him now, with his elegant carriage and knife-edge timing -- not to mention that voice, a voice with the texture and suppleness of the silkiest luxury mohair -- he'd be just as much at home in the comedies of the '30s and early '40s: Preston Sturges would have adored him.

Sure, I'll go along with that.