The low-down on this week’s premieres
Hmm. I could just about swear there’s something big opening this weekend help me out here.
|Anne Hathaway in The Devil Wears Prada.|
You know, like one a’ them comic-booky ones.
Know anything like that?
Has Gone With the Wind opened yet?
Oh, yeah. Now I remember.
Brandon Routh’s watertight-spandexed tushy will officially be on wall-sized display Friday (as will Bryan Singer’s, metaphorically) for millions of giddy, popcorn-grinned viewers, but little will they — or any of us — realize how close we were to any of a multiplicity of alternate incarnations of Superman Returns (so, that’d be, let’s see Bizarro Leaves for the First Time, I think). Theoretically, we could’ve been in for a Kevin-Smith-penned, Tim-Burton-helmed picture, starring Johnny Depp as Luthor and Nicholas Cage/Brendan Fraser/Ashton Kutcher/Paul Walker/Josh Hartnett/Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio as Superman. Don’t know what that might’ve looked like, but one thing’s for sure: there’d have been snow, weird architecture, and the juxtaposition of words like “juxtaposition” and “chode.”
Indie time! Been hearin’ about this one for a while: Mrs. Palfrey at the Claremont finally rolls in this week. Dame Joan Plowright, aka the ex-Mrs. Olivier (she was after Vivien Leigh) plays an elderly woman who befriends a young writer while in a London “retirement hotel.”
Last time you saw Anne Hathaway, she was either not really there (Hoodwinked), getting her kit off à la rebellious good-girl actress (Havoc), or playing wifey to a sapphire-eyed gay cowboy (in that other flick I can’t remember the name just now. Uh, Gone With the Wind?). Soon, she’ll be a young Jane Austen. For now, though, she’s opposite Meryl (closest-thing-to-a-stateside-Dame) Streep, who camps it up as Hathaway’s bitchy fashion-mag editrix in The Devil Wears Prada. Previews don’t actually look all that bad, but then, I’m partial to Stanley Tucci, who gets (another) sarcastic supporting role here.
The King is about a kid named Elvis who goes down Corpus Christi way to meet the dad he never knew (and never once becomes a seminal sequined singing sensation, I don’t think). Starring cat-eyed star-on-the-rise Gael García Bernal and a grizzled William Hurt. Looks interesting, but it’s another indie, folks. Handle with care.
Speaking of Vivien Leigh — can anyone remember the name of that one big movie she was in?
Have a safe week.
— Brian Villalobos
Local premiere dates for limited-release films are tentative and can change at the last minute. Please check your local theater listings to confirm showtimes.
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