I'm not partial to overtly subjective reviews, yet I can't seem to find any better way of relating my response to Isabel Coixet's latest film, Elegy, an adaptation of Philip Roth's novel "The Dying Animal," which follows the romance between a college professor and his much younger former student. First, though, a note of appropriateness: early in the film, this professor, the Roth regular David Kepesh, who previously appeared in the novels "The Breast" and "The Professor of Desire," is lecturing about how literature, specifically Tolstoy's "War and Peace," will be appreciated differently by a reader at different points in his or her life. In ten years, for example, it may seem like a new book entirely.

Perhaps in ten years, then, or more likely in thirty, I will be able to watch Elegy again and have a new perspective. Maybe I will be able to relate to Kepesh, here portrayed by Ben Kingsley, when I am in my sixties and have similarly lived and experienced as much. Yet the fact that Coixet's film is so depressing makes me almost hope that I never actually live so long to find out. I should have known, what with the filmmaker's past films, such as My Life Without Me, with their gray atmospheres and dreary dealings with illness and death. While appearing on the outside to be a sexy drama about how one lecherous old man discovers love, Elegy is on the inside really just a slow, uninteresting depiction of a selfish fool who possibly too-late realizes that he's grown old before he's actually grown up.

Hell Ride is a deliberate, calculated throwback, referencing and recycling the cheapie bike-sploitation flicks of the '60s and early '70s as a band of burly brothers roar, rage and ride their way through the American Southwest on a rampage of revenge. Written by, directed by and starring Larry Bishop, Hell Ride thrums and roars with attitude; problem is, the drive shaft components of plot and character and logic just aren't there, meaning that even when Bishop hits the throttle, the roar and rattle can't hide the fact nothing's really happening.

Hell Ride revolves around a cycle gang known as The Victors, led by Pistolero (Bishop), with the tuxedo-shirt clad The Gent (Michael Madsen) riding on his right and recent inductee Comanche (Eric Balfour) an up-and-coming lieutenant in the organization, on his left. The Victors are trying to take care of business -- although what business it is they're in is never quite explained -- and the only thing interfering with that is Pistolero's obsession with righting the wrong done decades ago to Cherokee Kisum (Julia Jones), slain on the 4th of July in 1976. The Gent and Comanche are rubbed the wrong way by Pistolero's campaign of retribution, especially with the Six-Six-Six'ers and their kill-crazy leader Billy Wings (Vinnie Jones) edging in on Victors turf. ...

It must be a horrible, wonderful thing to be a movie star in this modern age -- rewarded and yet tightly caged by the public's perception of you. Stay within the expectations of the ticket-buying public, and you're likely (or, more accurately, more likely) to not fall off the public's radar; at the same time, that gilded cage must, at some point, feel more and more like a prison. I mention this in talking about Swing Vote because Kevin Costner manages a somewhat nifty trick in his performance as Bud Johnston, a New Mexico ne'er-do-well who, thanks to a close-fought election and a voting machine error, gets to pick the next president. Oh, sure, we all do that on voting day -- but, due to a electoral college tie and a tie in New Mexico, it turns out Bud's vote will be the deciding one. For, well, everyone. Before this is established by Jason Richman and Joshua Michael Stern's screenplay, though, we get a sense of Bud -- and, at first, Bud seems like another in a long line of Kevin Costner likable rascals from Bull Durham's Crash Davis to Tin Cup's Roy MacAvoy. But Bud is something more interesting -- a man whose charm can't quite cover up the holes in his soul. Bud's a drunkard. Bud's lazy. And if it weren't for his daughter Molly (Madeline Carroll), Bud would be even more adrift and frayed. Early, Bud tells his civic-minded daughter that " ... voting doesn't count for a goddamn thing." Bud's the kind of guy who's wrong a lot -- and he knows it -- but, thanks to the gentle contortions of Swing Vote's plot, never more so than now.

The basic scenario behind Swing Vote makes for an easy pitch: An average American (Kevin Costner) winds up in the position of casting the deciding vote in a presidential election. Both candidates (played by Kelsey Grammer and Dennis Hopper) fly into town and try to woo him. It's a simple premise clearly aimed at exploring the various quirks of the political process. However, although it is quite a fantastical situation, the filmmakers have put quite an effort into incorporating at least one element from the real world: News anchors. Countless movies have asked Jay Leno and his fellow late night brethren to make cameos on TV joking about this or that bit of plot to add a sense of realism, but Swing Vote brings a slightly different set of rules to the table: The presidential candidates are clearly fictional (and Grammer, the Republican candidate, doesn't have many Bush-like qualities), while the news anchors, for the most part, play themselves. If you ask me, something doesn't quite add up here.

Chris Matthews blares into the camera about the ramifications of the election snafu. Tucker Carlson follows suit. Larry King delivers his trademark monotone. And Arianna Huffington gets a full-blown monologue. How is it that all these people can play themselves in a world with a completely different president, one virtually devoid (as far as we can tell) of modern talking points like the Iraq War and the beleaguered economy? It's almost as if they've been imported from another dimension.

With the film Swing Vote arriving in theaters this Friday, a small viral campaign has hit The Tube -- featuring a number of smear ads from both men running for president in the flick. See, Swing Vote stars Kevin Costner as a dude who, thanks to his pesky 12-year-old kid, winds up as having the final say in a presidential election between Donald Greenleaf (Dennis Hopper) and President Andrew Boone (Kelsey Grammer). That said, those two men have both created YouTube channels, and while there are some live-action shenanigans posted from a couple months ago, the latest smear ads (posted late last week) are pretty damn funny. Check out the one up top, then make your way to Greenleaf's Page or Boone's Page. Enjoy.

[via The Hot Blog]

Cinematical has just received this exclusive poster for Elegy (click image to enlarge), starring Penélope Cruz, Ben Kingsley, Peter Sarsgaard, Patricia Clarkson and Dennis Hopper. Sweet cast, huh? Based on the novel The Dying Animal by Philip Roth, and directed by Isabel Coixet (My Life Without Me), Elegy follows a cultural critic (Kingsley) who views his life as being in a state of "emancipated manhood" until, one day, a well-mannered student (Cruz) waltzes in and awakens a sense of sexual possessiveness in her teacher, the critic. In other words, her touch is toxic ... to him, at least. Seems rather exotic, and with two dynamos like Kingsley and Cruz in the lead, here's hoping Elegy awakens the sexual possessiveness in all of us. Wait ... that would be a bad thing, right? Okay, keep the sex and remove the possessiveness. There ya go -- I'm seeing it. Check out the trailer over on Moviefone.

Elegy hits theaters in limited release on August 8.

I know that studio attempts at "viral" internet marketing are a dime a dozen these days, but you should watch this. It's funny.

Swing Vote, due August 1st, presents the wildly improbable scenario that a United States presidential election comes down to one politically apathetic New Mexican's choice, leading the candidates -- an incumbent Republican played by Kelsey Grammer and a Democratic challenger played by Dennis Hopper -- to converge on his tiny hometown and court like they've never courted before. The obvious marketing hook: a campaign ad! Actually four of them, two by each candidate, all targeting Kevin Costner's Bud Johnson. My favorite one is above; the rest are here and here.

I like these because they're done with some nuance; I particularly enjoyed the parodies of real-life candidates' disingenuous tendency to "swing to the middle," decimating whatever convictions they previously claimed to hold to pander to "moderate" swing voters. The folks behind these videos take that to its absurd conclusion, of course, with the Republican uncomfortably embracing gay marriage and the Democrat haranguing his opponent about not being pro-life enough. The latter's the video I've embedded at the top of the post -- it cracked me up.

[hat tip: Cinema Blend]

Finished with my jury responsibilities, I managed to check out some features. A favorite of mine was Chelsea on the Rocks, by Abel Ferrara (director of Bad Lieutenant and a terrific little mob flick called The Funeral). It's a documentary about the infamous Chelsea Hotel in Manhattan, but it's far from traditional. There are lots of odd transitions and edits, the interviews are beyond casual (Ferrara says something along the lines of "No shit!" every ten seconds while listening to the stories of those living in the building), and there are some utterly ridiculous and unnecessary re-enactments of notorious events in the hotel's past (actors play Sid and Nancy, Janis Joplin, and assorted hangers-on). Truth be told, the whole thing was kind of a mess. But watching it felt a lot like spending a night in the hotel, and it's a ride I'm glad I took. I didn't learn a thing, but it brought me inside a place full of fascinating characters, a place I walked past countless times in Manhattan without a second thought.

I'm coming to you live from the tenth annual CineVegas Film Festival in the fabulous Palms Casino and Resort. Yes, that's the very same hotel where the Real World Vegas clan turned a hot tub into a simmering cauldron of gonorrhea. Thankfully, I'm staying in a different suite. I arrived late Friday night, was also fortunate enough to attend the now legendary Britney Spears party, and woke up yesterday with a crippling hangover.

The fest is sponsored by Grey Goose, and to quote the greatest songwriter/pants-wetter of our day, Fergie, Grey Goose got this girl feeling loose! I can't seem to turn around without being handed a cocktail. I can certainly see why Nicolas Cage had such a problem with alcohol in that movie about leaving Las Vegas ... strangely, its title escapes me right now.

Uh-oh.

Submitted for your approval: a berk named Merk in bed with his bird. The fuzzy photo cannot really sum up what's going on here. The still I would have preferred is this film's money-shot: a red-cloaked Milton Berle conducting a Satanic mass in convincing Latin. Somehow this is not available on the Internet. Here, instead: a relatively chaste shot of quintuple threat Anthony Newley (actor/director/co-writer/singer/composer) grappling his real-life wife (the beeyoutiful and talented Joan Collins).

The still is a relic of what I've sometimes thought was the worst film ever made by a human being in world history.