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After heaps of buzz and praise, and our own Eric Snider saying: "it's compelling and artistic, punctuated with warm humor and masterful performances, and ultimately triumphant and hopeful," Precious: Based on the Novel Push by Sapphire is finally hitting theaters today. It's a harrowing look at one girl's traumatic young life of being pregnant with her second baby (by her father), abused by her mother, and struggling with illiteracy and obesity. In other words, a movie that demands you to think and feel -- to be touched beyond the 110 minute span of the film.

Naturally, that made me think about movies that haunt us. It can be for any number of reasons -- because of a film's thought-provoking power, how it's filmed and presented, the way it latches on to pain in our own experience, unsettles our own belief systems, angers us, or challenges us. Whether it ends sadly, or with hope. Whatever the reason, certain films seep into us and refuse to leave, whether it be for a few fleeting post-credits moments, or a week, month, year, or lifetime.

Upon leaving Requiem for a Dream the first time, my friend and I couldn't get the music out of our heads. We couldn't stop repeating the same thoughts as our brains tried to process them. Even if I don't see the film before my eyes, the music brings back every feeling, every moment of tenseness. As the credits started moving in Dogville, I couldn't shake the last powerful moments out of my head. It took a while to shake the gooseflesh from my arms, and every time I let my mind slip back, there's a brief jolt of shocked memory.

A couple of weeks ago I wrote a little post about Movies That Nobody Seems To Like But You, and it was an awful lot of fun for you (over 100 comments) and me -- so today I thought we could flip it around because I happen to know for a fact that there are movies that everyone seems to love but you ... because for me, that movie is Heat.

Released in 1995, Michael Mann's crime drama was an unofficial remake of his made-for-TV film, L.A. Takedown, and is still considered one of the greatest crime films of all time. The story centered on an LAPD homicide detective and a career criminal (played by 'Method heavies' Al Pacino and Robert De Niro) in a battle of wits with Mann's trademark themes of masculine identity and how our work can define us as people. But, no matter how many times I have tried to give this movie just one more chance, I still walk away wondering what I'm missing. In fact, it's a great example of how it doesn't matter how good a movie may be, it will always come down to your personal tastes.

After the jump: it's not a 'guy thing' and what's the big deal with that diner scene?...

There are times when our fandom gets satiated. We see a world stretch out before us on the big screen, come to adore a character, and then get to follow him or her through a number of films. In some cases, they might even start to feel like an old friend, popping up over and over again. We'll become attuned to their swagger, the tone of their voice, the moments they love or loathe. Other characters, their presence in our lives is deliciously, yet painfully brief -- destined only for repeat viewings of the same scenes, the same reactions, the same outcome over and over again.

The more our movie world leans towards sequels, the more part of me wishes certain characters could have continuing life on the big screen. (Played by the same actor, of course. No Vince Vaughn/Norman Bates recasts allowed.) On the mind from earlier this month, I wouldn't complain if Lena Olin's sadistic Mona popped back up again... If Myrna Loy's Nora Charles popped up in just about every film there is. If we could see Danny Huston's Arthur Burns menace the old Outback once again. If Frances McDormand got to spend more time as a sexy music gal. If a Sirius Black-centric film focused on Gary Oldman. And while Christopher Walken always gets the tough mob-ish roles, how nice it would be to have seen more deer-hunting Nick, or bomb shelter-loving Calvin.

In a perfect cinematic world, where rewrites and crappy stories aren't an issue (they're a whole different can of worms) -- which characters do you wish you could see over and over again? It might be for your own particular quirks, a spot-on performance, or even the breath of relief that an actor is getting to do something they almost never get a chance to do. Let us know in the comments ...

I grew up watching movies. Unfortunately for me, and my job, it wasn't a rich resume of epic adventures and award-winning fare. It was a collection of retro nostalgia, horse racing, weekly Friday night movies to see the mainstream fare, and anything by C. Thomas Howell. Yes, I think between '85-'95 I saw everything with Ponyboy. My favorite, of course, being Side Out.

In reflection, I'm sure the myriad of terrible B movies and fluff fare is the reason I have such a deep appreciation for cult films. Like any parent-kid relationship, you're taught a set of values, you apply them with your own tastes, and then the parental units recoil. I'm sure they never thought that a childhood with Arsenic and Old Lace would inspire later years with David Lynch, Bruce Campbell, and The House of Yes.

But it was also a very particular affair. At first it was haphazard -- picking films at random, the adamant being the most successful. Then it became turn-based. My pick one week, dad's the next, mom's the week after, and so on and so forth. When I'd pick mine, half the time it would be followed by a heavy blanket of guilt and awkwardness -- the stupidity I felt picking Lost Highway when it was my turn, or in a visit back home a few years later, Undercover Brother. No matter what democracy was instilled in the process, it never turned out quite right. I guess that's the rub when trying to find a movie that pleases three wildly different sets of taste.

Was, or is, family moviegoing part of your routine, and if so: How did/do you handle it, and how did it inform your future movie interests?

While watching House the other day, I was once again struck by just how great Hugh Laurie is. I'm not the only one -- he's been nominated for a bunch of Emmys and won a few Golden Globes. People rave about his talents, and the way his accent seems to disappear without a trace. We're mesmerized.

But should we be? I mean, how much shock and awe should we feel towards actors who are simply doing their jobs well? The more I think about it, and about Hollywood in general, the more it seems like we've been conditioned for badness. Pull off a halfway decent accent and we'll be pleased. Cry in a realistic way and we'll buy it. Make everything look real and we'll be putty in your hands. But wait ... isn't that their job?

Of course, entertainment is an emotional business designed to push our buttons, whether those buttons be happiness, sadness, madness, fear. Something done well will appeal to us on a deeper level for this very reason. You can't not feel inspired and drawn to a perfect performance. But emotions aside, should it? The nuances of a talented actor should be praised, without a doubt. But where do you draw the line?

It's impressive when someone pulls off an accent, cries convincingly, morphs themselves in particular ways, or carries off a particular presence. But where is the line between basic job requirements and praiseworthy work? Have we, as moviegoers, come to expect too little of our actors?

Note: Hugh is merely a launchpad for this discussion. I am, in no way, implying his talents aren't notable enough for recognition.

While watching Michael Mann's Heat, I discovered the "cup of coffee test" for screen villains. I found myself thinking again of that great scene in which the cop (Al Pacino) and the villain (Robert De Niro) sat down to share a cup of coffee. It was a simple gesture, with no chasing or guns or shooting. Just talking. But it demonstrated on a thematic and visual level that this hero and this villain were actually very close to one another. They were very similar people, with similar natures.

I started applying this test to almost every movie. Not surprisingly, most of them fall apart. Most movie villains simply sneer and cackle and try to take over the world. But think of Batman and the Joker in The Dark Knight. They don't literally have coffee together, but they do sit down together for a talk; the movie presents them as equals, and separate from the rest of the world. They understand one another better than anyone else. Consider, also, Col. Landa (Christoph Waltz) in Inglourious Basterds, who sits down several times with several heroes over several different kinds of beverages (ranging from milk to wine). He's snaky, but smart and always cordial.

Sometimes the rule gets a little gray. For example, Clint Eastwood and John Malkovich don't exactly stop for coffee in In the Line of Fire, but they do have a quick, revealing phone conversation in which it is established that they are kindred spirits. And it's unlikely that Clarice Starling would sit down for coffee with Hannibal Lecter in The Silence of the Lambs -- mainly because he would probably use it to kill her -- but they do sit down and talk together.

And then, sometimes, all it takes to be a cool villain is a black mask and a respiratory problem. What do you think, dear readers? Do your favorite villains pass the "cup of coffee" test?

We often bash the neverending flurry of remakes, and frankly, it's hard not to. Nestled in between the possible gems are many projects that wrench the magic out of the original they're supposed to love. But luckily (especially in this remake-laden movie world) they're not all bad. In fact, sometimes they can be downright delightful, thought-provoking, or even awe-inspiring.

One of the top contenders, of course, is The Fly. The 1958 version was wildly popular and loved, yet David Cronenberg was able to sweep in and concoct a film that people rave about to this day. It remains one of the only movies able to rip through my adoration of the original and find a secure spot on the appreciation shelf. Beyond that, there are further remake chills with memorable projects like Dawn of the Dead and Cape Fear, plus a bunch of more mainstream-friendly, and beloved, remakes. Ocean's 11, anyone? Oh, and who can forget the foreign inspiration? If not for The Hidden Fortress, we'd never have Star Wars; if not for Yojimbo, we'd never get Fistful of Dollars.

Over the years, Cinematical has written about the best science fiction remakes, horror re-do's that don't suck, and even remakes that are better than the original, but I wanted to hand the reigns over to you. What remakes do you love? They could be as good as the original, better, or even be loathed by the general population. That's the thing with taste -- it's wonderfully subjective and there's always someone out there who will disagree with you. Are you a fan of Goldblum becoming a buzzing insect, or do you bravely hold onto an appreciation of the latest Planet of the Apes, Willy Wonka, or -- egads -- Gus Van Sant's Psycho?

When I first heard the news that Patrick Swayze had passed away at age 57, my first two thoughts were as follows: Point Break (1991) and Donnie Darko (2001). Those were my two personal Patrick Swayze cult classics, the ones I own on DVD, the ones I can watch again, anytime. But the next thing I saw was a tribute on morning television, and the main clips came from Swayze's biggest hits, Dirty Dancing (1987) and Ghost (1990), two films I do not own on DVD and do not particularly care to see again. Then I looked him up and saw a cornucopia of other titles, ranging all over the map, including a bunch of stuff I had never heard of. There were two I reviewed as a critic, the awful Green Dragon (2001) and the very cool 11:14 (2003).

There was an early appearance, along with a handful of other rising stars in Francis Ford Coppola's The Outsiders (1983). There was a Golden Globe nomination for the campy To Wong Foo Thanks for Everything, Julie Newmar (1995). There was a failed bid for Oscar glory with Roland Joffe's City of Joy (1992). There was a British comedy that seems pretty popular in England, Keeping Mum (2005). There were some cheesy 1980s action films, like Steel Dawn (1987) and Next of Kin (1989). Then, further down the list, I noted two more films of a different nature, Red Dawn (1984) and Road House (1989). I saw Red Dawn so long ago that I can't remember any of it, and I have never seen Road House, but they are on my radar as much-loved cult films in other quarters. From the looks of them, however, they probably fall somewhere between the "cheesy" and "so-bad-it's-good" categories of cult films.

As movie fans, we always complain about the uber-annoying patrons who text their way through the film, kick your seat for two hours straight, and do their best to be an all-out nuisance. But they're only some of the many problems that can plague any theater-going experience. I was recently e-mailing with David Nusair of Reel Film Reviews, and we got on the topic of bad moviegoing luck -- those times when something unusual went wrong and ruined the cinematic experience.

On the audience front, there are the mishaps and emergencies that can't be avoided. I remember curling up to watch Interview with the Vampire for the second time at an old rep theater when a man had such a big seizure that the girls in front of him were covered in saliva, and everyone was in a panic thinking he was dying (he wasn't). And that's only the tip of the potential physical issues that can pop up, from heart-attacks to water-breaking labor. (Thankfully, I've never had to contend with those.)

But movie theater issues aren't only about patrons ...

After 35 years of movies, John Waters has hinted that he might be leaving the biz soon. While talking to ArtInfo, he mentioned how financing for Fruitcake (the kids' flick that was to star Johnny Knoxville and Parker Posey) has fallen through twice and: "I want to do two more movies -- that's enough. I hope I can make two more."

I can't imagine a world free of fresh, new, campy, audacious, controversial, and wonderful Waters fare. It's like a world without Divine's "chocolatey" treats, which paved the way for Seann William Scott in American Wedding, a world without rectal recitals, which paved the way for a certain scene from Shortbus, a world where there's no hairspray to sing about, and no John Travolta cross-dressing mixed with Zac Efron mania. A world without "Demented Forever," Patty Hearst's film career, and, well, you get the hint.

People hop in and out of retirement all the time in the movie industry, but if this sticks, we'll have to stick with nostalgia to get our John Waters fix. So, in light of that possible future, I ask you: What's your favorite John Waters film and moment? Which will you turn to again and again when Waters retires?

Me, it'll be Cecil B.Demented and Maggie Gyllenhaal's eyelash curler scene.

[via Movieline]