4 Months, 3 Weeks, 2 Days, 1 Review

by Memo Salazar

…and with a clever title like that, we’re off to a great film review. Last year’s Palme d’Or winner, Christian Mungiu’s 4 Months, 3 Weeks, and 2 Days is truly an amazing film. Shot in a simple, elegant neorealist style, 4 Months is a story about a 1987 Romania- communist, harsh, bleak. With beautifully long takes and honest, straightforward dialogue, 4 Months gives us a flavor of daily life for Gabita and Otilia (a pair of female college students) so convincing that by the time we slip into the film’s main focus (illegal abortions during the communist era) we feel quite familiar with the rhythm of their life, so foreign to Americans, where scoring a pack of Kent cigarettes is both difficult and essential in maintaining some semblance of humanity in this otherwise grey world. The film’s subtlety lies in the background details; in their dorm, the girls’ cheap, plastic dining tablecloth is so old, the top of it has faded to pure whiteness- only the sides reveal the pattern it once had. It’s the kind of thing you only notice if you’re paying attention, because the film never once cuts away to close-ups of anything; it doesn’t tell you where to look, or what to think- it leaves that kind of thing up to you. Characters look inside briefcases and bathrooms, but their facial expression provides our only hint as to what they may have seen.

The historical background, which I was not privy to at the time of the screening, is that Romania banned all abortions in 1966, resulting in a vast population increase just a few years later. Those that sought an abortion anyway had to do so illegally, to the point that, two decades later, more than 500,000 women had died from the dangerous, illegal procedure. In this context, 4 Months is clearly a political film, showing the stark reality of what women had to go through due to this political mandate. But the film is also a statement on morality, and how it goes by the wayside when people are forced to deal with the practical realities of getting by in such a harsh, uncompassionate world. 4 Months does not judge, but it certainly does not shy away from presenting the consequences of both ill-conceived law and personal choices, providing a lot of food for thought without any easy answers. The characters are neither praised nor scorned; they are simply acting out within a given paradigm. We sympathize with the protagonists without ever losing sight of their own shortcomings. Gabita, especially, displays a naive, irresponsible nature which is clearly portrayed as such; any empathy we might feel for her situation is matched by our frustration and anger at her unnecessarily bonehead decisions, who’s consequences extended far beyond her own life’s suffering. Some reviewers, like The New York Press‘ Armond White, trashed this film for taking abortion lightly and presenting the girls as some kind of feminist heroes. Clearly, he was so wrapped up in his own issues with abortion (and with conjuring up as many pop-culture references as he could muster for his precious review) that he forgot to pay attention to the actual film, which does nothing of the sort. 4 Months is honest and fair to its subject and theme.

Ultimately, though, 4 Months is much more than a political statement. It is a snapshot of human life, albeit an unjoyful one, proving how visual a simple, character-driven, dialogue-heavy movie can be. I found myself wishing I understood Romanian in order to avoid reading the subtitles during an extremely long, single-shot scene at a birthday dinner party. Watching Otilia’s worried face as she sits, surrounded by an older generation of gabbing adults oblivious to her current ordeal is riveting. The contrast between their superficial, well-meaning banter and the harsh experience reflected in Otilia’s face is about as visual a scene as anything Hollywood could ever churn out, with only a fraction of the typical Hollywood budget. 4 Months’ minimalist, efficient elegance is a genuine cinematic treat, even if it does come encased in one of the most depressing subjects a film could hope to deal with. Sorry, Armond, this one did deserve Cannes’ top prize.

Dan and Byron Allen Present: Oscar Fever in Iraq

by Dan Tester

 

Good Lord, man. I recently realized I have been writing for CINEMASPEAK for nearly six years now. This means that about a year ago, I passed the online requirement to become an official “entertainment journalist.” I am so relieved. I can now, without any reservations, report on the things that are truly important, without the contempt of my show-biz contemporaries who, up to now, have judged me as an unworthy hack. I have been MADE. To be honest, I started feeling the symptoms of “entertainment journalist” worthiness in the last year or so, but only now can I understand them. I remember hearing that Heath Ledger was dead, and I immediately decided that I needed to know all of the sordid details. I remember when I heard that Benazir Bhutto had been assassinated, I instantly wanted to know who she was wearing. When I heard that Brad Renfro was dead, I immediately camped out on his parents’ front lawn to be the very first to ask them about their emotions upon hearing the news of their son‘s tragic death. On the day that Gerald Ford passed away, I asked Betty “On your very worst day, how drunk was ‘drunk‘?” And when I heard that GW Bush was proposing a troop surge in Iraq, I wanted to know who the President sided with in the ROSIE v. TRUMP battle. Yes, these pipes are clean. I am a journalist.

But I am not interested in a 30-second gig on ENTERTAINMENT TONIGHT every Thursday, nor do I seek a featured anchor role on INSIDE EDITION. No, no. I want a Pulitzur (or however you spell it.) So I decided to take on a true journalistic endeavor. I wanted to do something important. So, at the outset I want to thank Mr. Warren Curry, the owner of CINEMASPEAK, for giving me the funds to promote my dream, and also to promote the website. He knows my passion, and he knows my vision, and he just signed a blank check and said “Tester, when you stop reaching for your dreams, take a swig of Gatorade and reach a bit further.” God bless you, Mr. Curry. You are a mensch. So I decided to travel to Iraq. This is where the buzz is, from what I hear. I have heard from some “liberal” friends that this area of the world is a virtual war zone, but I don’t care. I am an entertainment journalist. I wanted to know what the Iraqi people thought about the Academy Award nominations. And believe me, I am glad I took this mission. It is Pyulitzer worthy (or however that is spelled.)

When I first arrived in Iraq (in an undisclosed location for my safety), I have to be honest, I was shocked. What a mess that Iraq is. I saw homes that would never pass building codes back in the US. Wild cows, sheep and piglets were wandering through restaurants. People were just running around without any shoes on, wearing terribly distasteful attire. A shoeless elderly woman ran past me, and I quickly tried to ask her what she thought about the nominations for Best Supporting Actress, but she just started screaming “Yalllllla Yalllllla Yallllla Yemsheeeeeee” and threw a piglet at me. I realized quite quickly that I would need an interpreter of some sort. I yelled out, “Does anyone here speak English???” and out of nowhere TVs Byron Allen appeared, wearing a chef’s hat and a t-shirt that read “Eat At Raheem’s”. I was astonished to see Byron in Iraq, but as he explained, “A job is a job, no one can beat my ma’mounia, and I just happen to speak the language.” Thank God, I thought. Now we could proceed.

Byron secured a number of Iraqis for quick interviews. The first was Mohammed, a Sunni father of six whose entire family had been massacred by Shiite rebels. I asked him who he predicted to win the award for Best Actor, and he said, without hesitating, “George Clooney for MICHAEL CLAYTON.” I congratulated him on a fine pick, but informed him that Clooney just won an Academy Award two years ago, and that Lady Oscar does not like to pile on wins too quickly for anyone, not even George Clooney. Mohammed seemed a bit confused, and then continued “Fine then, I will go with Daniel Day-Lewis, although he was really not who I would vote for.“ Next was Farah, a lovely twenty-something woman who in her youth had been raped repeatedly by the Republican Guard, was thus banished from her village, and had only recently returned home from an unbearably long distance after hearing Dick Cheney announce that the insurgency was in its last throes, only to discover that her entire family had been killed by insurgents a few days before. I asked her who she thought would win Best Picture, but she only wanted to know, ”Who will Cameron Diaz be wearing to the Red Carpet Festivities?” I told her I simply did not know, and that the red carpet might be canceled if the writer‘s strike is not settled.  She spit on the ground and murmured, “The red carpet is all that keeps me going….but to answer your question, I will go with JUNO.” As I thanked her and started to walk away, she tugged at my bulletproof vest and quietly asked, “How is Britney doing?” I informed her that Ms. Spears was not nominated this year, and Farah just started to laugh and said “Ohhhhh, I know that! I know. I just hope that sweetheart is back on her meds.”

There was sudden mortar fire near our klieg lights, so we had to pack up and move elsewhere. Our next stop was Tikrit, and I was informed that this was the birthplace of Saddam Hussein. I wanted to see the house Saddam grew up in and to ask nearby residents if he was a decent neighbor or if he ever had loud late night parties like Dennis Rodman, but Byron Allen told me we should just get a few quick interviews and get the hell out of there. Although I smelled a scoop, I reluctantly agreed. Our first interview was with Mahmood, who seemed to know what I was going to ask, and just kept screaming “Why no nomination for Joe Wright??? ATONEMENT did NOT direct itself, sir!” I told him I understood his sentiments and asked who he would pick for Best Director in any case. He told me “P.T. Anderson, of course! P.T. should have won for BOOGIE NIGHTS, and HARD EIGHT was a lovely little sleeper, and this will be his recompense”. 

As I wandered the streets of Tikrit, I stumbled upon a small comedy club. Intrigued, I entered. Onstage was popular Iraqi comedian Shiskatop, a prop comic. I was stunned that his entire opening act was a word-for-word recreation of David Letterman’s opening monologue from the 1995 Academy Award ceremonies. The audience just ate it up, but when Shiskatop strolled from one end of the stage to the other, saying “Omarrrrrrrrr…Abduuuuuuuul…Abduuuuuuuul…Omarrrrrrrrr” the audience literally roared with laughter. It occurred to me that, even in this hell-torn foreign land, where imminent death was constantly hanging like a vulture over their heads, the people of Iraq truly had Oscar Fever warming their blood. Hollywood magic.

The next interviewee was a horribly disfigured, nice man named Yusuf. The entire right side of his face had seemingly melted away in a house fire after a sneak attack from insurgents, his entire family had perished, and he looked quite freakish. For my American audience, he looked a bit like the Nazis at the end of RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK when they stupidly looked at that Ark, even though Indiana Jones was quite clearly screaming out loud that it was not a good idea for anyone to look at that Ark. I was very mad at Byron for choosing Yusuf for an interview, because he was not “camera friendly”, but I decided that if he gave good audio we could always use cutaways. I asked him who he liked for Best Actress, and he just stared at me for a few moments, and then started screaming “Ratatouille!!! Ratatouille!!!” And then he ran away. As I tried to explain to him that RATATOUILLE was nominated for Best Animated Film, and not for Best Actress, I was suddenly blown off my feet by a huge explosion. I later found out that the word “ratatouille” is Iraqi slang for “Look out, you idiot, there is a missile about to hit your ass.”

So unfortunately, as a result of the explosion, I suffered a severe case of turf toe and had to return home to America before I really got a good report worthy of a Poohlister (I think that is close). But I still feel this is an important document regarding swarthy people and their Oscar picks. I got hurt, so that should at least garner some sort of award consideration. Hell, I’ll even accept a Webby. And if anyone is concerned, Byron Allen is fine, although I am a bit miffed at him. He kind of stole one of my ideas. Next month, his new syndicated show BOWLING WITH THE KURDS is premiering on SPIKE TV. I would ask you to please not watch. It is an absolutely sickening thing when a colleague steals another’s ideas, don’t you think? To be honest, I would expect more from American journalists in this day and age.

The Top 5 Reasons to Ignore my Top 10 List

by Warren Curry 

 

It’s 2008 and CinemaSpeak rolls along stronger than ever (I’m purposely ignoring the fact I haven’t contributed to this blog in…ummm…a long time).  To commence with a logical observation, the beginning of a new year means we just ended an old one, right?  And in the movie world, the end of a year means it’s time for critics, reporters, friends, relatives, co-workers, Larry King and anyone else who’s seen ten new movies in the past 12 months to author their own “Best Of” list. 

If you’ve never done this, well, it’s simple.  Just make sure to see 10 movies released in 2008 by December 31, and on January 1, 2009 find a blog, website or bathroom stall to list your ten favorite movies of the year.  You might even discover that friends and acquaintances will think of you as a movie authority after reading your Best Of list.  Heck, maybe you can turn trading Best Of lists with family members into a New Year’s Day event!   After all, do you really want to watch The Rose Bowl halftime show?

I’ve been reviewing movies on the ‘ol Interweb since 2002, but hadn’t compiled a personal Ten Best list since, I think, 2004…that is, until this past year.  Breaking with tradition, the editor of the website I write for, Einsiders.com, asked a few members of the staff to contribute their own Best Of lists rather than just posting one cumulative Top 10.  It’d been a while since I had an outlet to do this, so I, of course, jumped at the opportunity.  We all know that everyone likes lists.

As I narrowed down the field of movies I’d seen in 2007 to my favorite ten, I started to question my qualifications to do this.  While I was able to see (and review) a bundle of 2007 releases, there are so many other movies I didn’t see.  As you may have guessed, I don’t make my living as a film critic.  I have a regular old day job, a wife and other responsibilities/interests (like playing cheap blackjack in seedy Las Vegas “locals” casinos), which prevent me from catching five new releases every week.  Additionally, I don’t partake in many big studio movies…a few here and there — and that’s a very literal estimate.

Despite my misgivings, I carried on and cobbled together my Best Of list.  In fact, you, lucky reader, can view this list (and others) with just one click of your mouse on the following link: http://einsiders.com/features/columns/show_article.php?article=370.  So have fun perusing the titles; perhaps you’ll find a good recommendation or two. 

But back to my point — I’ll be the first to call my Top 10 inconsequential for the reasons stated above.  I’ll be even more specific and list five 2007 movies I didn’t see, which any self-respecting film critic should have seen before being allowed to pen a Top 10.  So here’s one more list (arranged alphabetically) to toss on the pile… 

American Gangster: Believe you me, I had every intention of seeing this movie when it opened.  Its release happened to coincide with the beginning of the AFI Film Festival, which kept me busy for two weekends, and when the fest ended, I was bombarded with too many other screenings to make this a priority.  I had a chance to see a pre-release screening, but regrettably opted for the dismal “Margot at the Wedding.”  Looks like I’ll be Netflixing “American Gangster” (it’s getting a 2-disc AND limited 3-disc release). 

Charlie Wilson’s War: Blame the Las Vegas Review Journal.  When I was visiting my parents over the holidays, I planned to take my mother to see this one afternoon.  We checked the paper, agreed on a start time and arrived at the theater 15 minutes before it was supposed to begin.  My attempt to purchase tickets was met with the unfortunate realization that the Review Journal’s movie listings were incorrect.  It was playing at the theater we chose, but not at the time it was supposed to start.  Instead of returning a few hours later, I consulted Moviefone for other theaters playing the film, but none of the times were convenient.  So we drove to another theater and instead saw the very obvious, but also fairly well-executed, “The Great Debaters.”  After the movie, my mom said, “I’m glad we saw this instead of Charlie Wilson.”  And if mom’s happy, then I’m happy.  I doubt I’ll see “Charlie Wilson’s War” in the theater, so Netflix it is. 

I’m Not There:  I guess I’m just not that interested in Bob Dylan, because it’s strange I’d skip Todd Haynes’ follow up to his fantastic “Far From Heaven.”  I don’t dislike Dylan’s music; I just haven’t heard much of it (even though in high school a few friends and I used to love poking fun at “Lay Lady Lay”).  Perhaps Haynes’ use of multiple actors to portray Dylan at various stages of his life is a successful experiment, but it sounds like a ploy that portends a pretentious, overly “arty” movie.  I’m mildly curious about this film, but will I ever see it?  Maybe if I stumble across it on cable. 

Michael Clayton: If you were to sing this movie’s praises to me, I wouldn’t be skeptical in the least.  I’m sure it’s a fine film.  In fact, I’ll go ahead and agree with your assessment as long as you promise I never have to watch it.  Two of the past three years, George Clooney has starred in critically acclaimed films (”Syriana” is the other one) that look about as fun to watch as knocking back a jar of fish oil in one gulp.  Maybe the movie is more palatable than I presume, but the incredibly “serious” advertising just leaves me cold.  And I’ve always been ambivalent about Clooney; he’s an actor who just can’t seem to check his celebrity arrogance at the door when he steps on screen.  I consider him more of a presence than a talent. This Just In:  Warner Bros. is re-releasing “Michael Clayton” in theaters nationwide on January 25!!!  Thank you, Warner Bros., for giving me another chance to miss it!

P2: To subvert the premise of this piece somewhat, “P2″ makes this list, not because I didn’t see it, but because I did.  The last time I spent money on a movie I knew going in would be utter junk was when I parted ways with a ten dollar bill to see “Paparazzi.”  “P2″ has a few satisfyingly ridiculous moments, decent enough gore and star Rachel Nichols isn’t hard on the eyes.  Overall, however, it’s terrible enough that I wished I could escape through a trapdoor in the theater, directly into my car, so no one would spot me walking out of this movie.  Wasn’t Wes Bentley a budding star at one time?  His post “American Beauty” career makes Thora Birch’s look like a smashing success by comparison.  I wasn’t forced to see this movie — I wanted to.  “American Gangster” was even playing in the same theater, but the allure of “P2″ was irresistible.  Do you need any more reasons why my Top 10 can’t be taken seriously?

And on that note, I’ll sign off hoping you enjoyed this list.  If not, feel free to make a Top 10 list of reasons you didn’t and leave them in the comments.

Tellin’ The Truth Can Be Dangerous Business

by Dan Tester

 

It has been 20 years now. It is time to come out of the closet.

It is time for me to openly admit a dark secret. This is kind of a momentous occasion for me. It is not easy to reveal such private inner feelings in public, and certainly not on a little-read blog base. I assure you, it is not because I am ashamed, but it is because I know I will be judged. I will immediately be scorned, and disdained, and possibly pitied. But I don’t care any more. I am tired of living in this secrecy, and I will no longer allow ignorance to regulate my lifestyle. So I say it now…I say it loud….I say it proud…I scream it from the hills……

I LOVE ISHTAR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I still remember the day I first saw the theatrical trailer for ISHTAR. I was at a high school party in a classmate’s house and I was sitting next to Alex, a Mexican exchange student. It was 1987. It was a low point of the party, and the TV was still audible. The ISHTAR ad came on, and I watched. And I was intrigued. So was Alex. I think he was intrigued. I exclaimed “I gotta see that one” and he turned to me and said “Si, Si.”  Just to test him, soon afterward I turned and said “The crockpot is cookin‘ that ham quite nicely Grandma, and a burrito is really just a glorified taco with some added Poop-Poop-de-Doop!!” And Alex turned to me and said…”Si, Si.” Honestly, I am not sure how he was even in our high school. But I sure loved his camaraderie.

I remember about a week later, I went on a date with a nice girl named Anne. Well, it wasn’t really a date I guess. We were at another high school party, and it was kind of a dud, so I asked Anne if she wanted to see ISHTAR. She said “Uhhhhhh…you mean with you?” So we went, and we both loved it. But then, nothing happened between us. I was a geek unable to understand the connections that could be cemented from such a potentially aesthetically physically bonding mutual experience. About a week later, I lied to my best friend Matt, and told him that I hadn’t seen it, and that I really wanted to, so he went to see it with me as well. And Matt liked it too. Somehow, I found a way to see ISHTAR a few more times in the theater.  I just couldn’t get enough. I loved this smart, funny comedy. And I still do.

The plot is not deep. ISHTAR is about two horribly untalented New York singer/songwriters named “Rogers and Clarke” (Dustin Hoffman and Warren Beatty) who are so bad they can only find a booking in Morocco. So they book it. They are dreamers. Of course, upon arriving to the desert, they become the pawns in a power struggle between the CIA and the evil dictator of the neighboring nation of Ishtar…a situation that can completely destabilize the status quo of the Middle East. You see, these two nincompoops, through a series of misunderstandings, are mistaken as the two “Messengers of God” who have been predestined to stabilize the region, and thus must be stopped at any cost. I will take a step back now and allow you to make your own analogies, 20 years later, to George W. Bush and Dick Cheney.  As far as I can tell, neither of those two knuckleheads can carry a tune either.

Speaking of tunes, the songs of “Rogers and Clarke” in this film are brilliant. It is hard to write stupid as smart. But Elaine May and Paul Williams obviously put great time and effort into perfecting the naïve amateurishness of the songs in ISHTAR. It would have been easy to just write dumb songs, and then allow the protagonists to appear as simple fools. But it is something else to write dumb sounding songs that are so perfectly representative of the innocently non-cynical nonsense from untalented creative types out there who think they are writing the next “Bridge Over Troubled Water.“ And ISHTAR allows us to see the birth of these songs, as we watch Rogers and Clarke toiling over their tortured art, struggling to make each word sound just right, resulting in Hoffman castigating Beatty to forget the word “herb,” because there has never been a hit song with the word “herb” in it. May and Williams really capture the inner struggles of a couple of schnooks who have no talent whatsoever but have really put their heart and soul into potential hits such as “The Lawnmower Song,” “I‘m Leaving Some Love In My Will,” and my personal favorite, “Wardrobe of Love“…. “She Said Come Look, There’s A Wardrobe Of Love In My Eyes. Take Your Time, Look Around, And See If There’s Sumthin’ Your Size.”

As I have told people for 20 years (well, those that cared to listen), the true beauty of this film is in the performances. Dustin Hoffman and Warren Beatty are great trading filmic personas, Charles Grodin is at his dry witted best as a duplicitous CIA agent, and Isabelle Adjani is as cute as she is subversive as the Ishtari freedom fighter who complicates matters for our fearless duo.  Due to time constraints on this review, I will just leave this point at that. I mean, if I really have to push this aspect of the film to convince you…just stop reading and go rent RUSH HOUR 3 immediately, now available nationwide on DVD, Blu-Ray and Betamax. It has a really, really funny Black guy in it, and a hilarious Chinese guy too, and they never understand what each other are saying!!!!!  And there‘s lots of car crashes too! I’ve been told it is “3…3…3 TIMES THE FUNNY AND WHITE PEOPLE WILL LOVE IT!!!!!!!!”

(This has been a paid political advertisement from the CONFORM AND SUBMIT GROUP, a political action committee affiliate of the ELECT RUDOLPH GIULIANI FOR PRESIDENT consortium.)

But back to focus here…

The writing and direction of Elaine May is evidence that ISHTAR is…brace yourselves now… the last great 1970s film. I defy you to watch the first half hour of ISHTAR and not think “70s.” ISHTAR has classic ’70s cinema written all over it. Unfortunately, it was released in the budget-aware apocalypse of the 1980s. 

And on that note, I would like to address a personal message to my dear sweet Elaine May.

Dear Elaine May:

I love you. You made great films in the 1970s - MIKEY AND NICKY, THE HEARTBREAK KID, A NEW LEAF and HEAVEN CAN WAIT (oh I am sorry, Elaine, you only “co-wrote“ that one…my mistake). An impressive list amongst your contemporaries of the great 1970s. But in an unfortunate set of timing, you were a “female” directing a major film in the soul-sucking decade of the 1980s. Had you been a man, you would have survived, as did your male contemporaries of the ’70s who had similar “profit margin” diversions in the 80s - Scorsese had THE KING OF COMEDY and AFTER HOURS. Coppola had THE COTTON CLUB and ONE FROM THE HEART. Georgie Lucas had some nonsense about a DUCK. But I still love you, Elaine May. You should have gotten the second and third chances these fellows got. Because you are wonderful.

Love, Dan

A lot of hoo-hah was made about the budget of ISHTAR, long before the film even graced the screen. I remember as a youth reading stories about how horrible ISHTAR was, months before it ever even premiered. I will be proud to go on record here and say…brace yourselves…that the authenticity the budget allowed for makes ISHTAR that much better. The wide shots of the Moroccan desert, as Rogers and Clarke try to negotiate their blind camel to safety are not only beautiful, but they accentuate the import and reality of their dilemma. I guess you could have shot this film on a Hollywood soundstage, utilizing cardboard cacti and Gilligan’s Island lagoon sand, but ISHTAR wouldn’t have been as good. The location shooting was vital for the import of the tale to work, particularly in reference to the classic “desert gunrunner” sequence. I dare you not to laugh during this scene.

And if we are really talking about budget ramifications here, then Kevin Costner should have been executed for THE POSTMAN. Kevin Costner should have been hung by his neck until he was dead for THE POSTMAN, if we are really talking about the penalties of financial deficits and creative self-indulgence. If Elaine May was blackballed in Hollywood for ISHTAR in the mid-1980s, then I am sorry, Kevin Costner should have been put out of our misery in the late 1990s. And this scenario only works if we all assume that Costner actually survived the firing squad he faced for WATERWORLD. But Costner is still going strong, ain’t “he”? Where is my beloved Elaine May????? Unfortunately, “she” is gone.

In conclusion, I will leave you with this…

If you watch ISHTAR, and hate it, then all I will say is…thanks for taking the chance.

If you watch ISHTAR, and like it…please send an email. I would love to correspond.

If you haven’t watched ISHTAR, and still say it sucks…GO FUCK YOURSELF. (Twice)

At the bottom of this article will be a link to a great ISHTAR fan website. Please do an old white boy a favor…click the link below, and when the page appears, click on the “Watch The Trailer“ option. It is the original promotional trailer that I saw on TV that day in 1987 while I was sitting on a sofa next to a Mexican exchange student at a high school party, and I was hooked. I mean, come on. It’s Dusty Hoffman!! And Warren Beatty!! And Chuck Grodin in his prime!!! And…and….well, either check it out or don’t.  There is nothing more I can do.

http://www.ishtarthemovie.com/

ISHTAR is also available for your Netflix queuing, by the way…right here!!!!

http://www.netflix.com/Movie/Ishtar/60035967?trkid=189530&strkid=1775528404_0_0

In the immortal words of Rogers and Clarke - “Life is the way we audition for God. Let us pray that we all get the job.”