7th year straight. Stuff seen on TV/video/DVD denoted with a ^ after the parentheses, shorts denoted with "sXX" for whatever number it is, repeat viewings have "/ /" around the film title.Cool? OK. Oh...and reverse chronological order, just for the convenience of those who don't want to scroll all the way down as the months pass. My, I am special.

345. (Dec. 31) Little Buddha (1993, Bernardo Bertolucci)^ ***

Buddhism rendered as kitsch Orientalist skits, sporadically interrupted by one of the rainiest presentations of Seattle on record (an annoyingly artificial blue as opposed to The Ring's honest gray). Keanu Reeves' eye make-up (as "Siddhartha") is truly unfortunate, though he's not the most egregious player thanks to Chris Isaak's stunningly inept line readings. Peaks early, as unnervingly perky Buddhist monks seemingly stalk Bridget Fonda at the playground, freaking her out; potential for rude comedy of socially unmediated spirituality and un-American directness vs. wishy-washy mid-90s New Age mores startled when confronted by the real thing peters out shortly thereafter.

344. (Dec. 30) Wes Craven's New Nightmare (1994, Wes Craven)^ ***

Not as clever as the first two Scream films, but Craven has a nice way of using music and baroque movements for ramping up a feeling of pleasantly hysterical drama rather than merely for kills. Best one of those: Krueger hand-claw pop coming to life repeatedly to kill. Best dream fake-out: Heather Leagankamp slowly realizing she's in a dream of the movies rather than opposite her real-life co-star John Saxon. "Why are you calling me John?" "Why are you calling me Heather?" Most of the inside baseball could've been funnier though.

343. (Dec. 29) Cluny Brown (1946, Ernst Lubitsch) ****

The pre-war setting gives the light social comedy a real charge (better managed here than in To Be Or Not To Be imo), with Charles Boyer's ex-pat status taking on a real weight. Triangle between Boyer, Jennifer Jones (charming) and small-town pharmacist Richard Haydn very British indeed, while the set-up (Jones as the inexperienced maid in a old-school peerage house, non-eccentric division) is acutely class-conscious. Very funny, though the retreat-from-reality ending is telling. First time a Lubitsch film ever worked start to finish for me, for whatever that's worth. Was reading Gravity's Rainbow at the time too, and the section I was on just before the film started was surprisingly apposite: "What was it like before the war?" "One took lots of aspirin. One was drinking or drunk much of the time. One was concerned about getting one's lounge suits to fit properly. One despised the upper classes but tried desperately to behave like them..." Pretty much a synopsis of this film.

342. (Dec. 28) Winnebago Man (2009, Ben Steinbauer)^ ***

341. (Dec. 27) Lipstick (1976, Lamont Johnson)^ ***

Opening first ten minutes as concise a portrait of both the allure and rancid sexuality of the fashion world, but the rape sequence is so unbelievably exploitative (and Anne Bancroft's prosecutor so nutty) it's hard to take the film seriously without getting offended. Chris Sarandon is a predictably creepy rapist, though his profession (electronic composer) gives some scenes a buzzing, eerie sonic background (courtesy of underknown French songwriter Michel Polnareff). The mall finale — crowded and glossy below, abandoned glass plates and empty rooms under construction above — is a great setting, and the whole thing looks predictably great thanks to DP William Fraker.

340. (Dec. 26) The Fighter (2010, David O. Russell) ***

Far livelier than expected: vulgar and stereotyped but lively (and, let's face it, accurate) Greek chorus of harridan sisters are the collective antagonist, and their horrid treatment of Amy Adams (the most surprisingly convincing Boston bar-trash of the year, far outdoing Blake Lively's tentative efforts) is a comic highlight. Culture wars in full force: they call her "MTV" (they mean she's a slut), and the film's 1993 setting (a year before Russell's feature debut) is apt. The song cues fight back against the philistinism, cueing not just a Led Zeppelin montage the sisters might approve of but also The Breeders' "Saints" (the third and least loved single from the Boston band's unexpected smash Last Splash). Entire cast predictably on point, but everything pales in comparison to the flawless opening sequence. Opening shot — a POV from Wahlberg shoveling gravel, whistling as the moving-forward camera sharply looks down, building into a kind of five-minute musical number as Wahlberg and Bale march triumphantly through their neighborhood to Whitesnake, all the locals cheering them on — is one of the year's best sequences. For a get-out-of-financial-jail Oscar-bait inspirational film, this is as lively as prestige pics have been since Cold Mountain; Russell, presumably, can now actually do something both formally and thematically energetic.

339. (Dec. 25) 10 To Midnight (1983, J. Lee Thompson)^ ***

Total trash, Death Wish with rape instead of murder. The rapist is Gene Davis (Brooke Shields' dad!), and his mano-a-mano interrogation with Charles Bronson (wrapping his mouth around some fairly unpalatable dialogue about sexual deviance and fake sex toy vaginas he's clearly not feeling) is a campy highlight. Davis kills in the nude (shades of Equus); like Bronson yells, "His knife is his penis." A rare chance to see Bronson lose his cool, and reasonably entertaining as far as reprehensible exploitation goes.

338. (Dec. 22) How Do You Know? (2010, James L. Brooks) **1/2

Need to see this again because a) I was pretty trashed (vacation) b) a lot of people I know respect this and it seems to be my kind of mess, but it just seemed to stifle anything good under a sea of bland lighting, a twitchy score and not very much of anything to really latch onto. Like watching a boxer flail wildly against no one, then collapse into a sweaty mess while the clock's still got plenty of time to run off. 

337. (Dec. 18) Tron: Legacy (2010, Joseph Kosinski) ***

336. (Dec. 17) /Fear And Loathing In Las Vegas/ (1998, Terry Gilliam)^ ***

2nd viewing, 1st since age 16 or so and I'm clearly not the same viewer (thank god): it's repetitive rather than bracing in its nastiness, but you have to admire this kind of obdurate fidelity to a concept. The best scene is the near-rape (which says a lot about this film): a rare reminder that Gilliam can be fearless in the face of real-world ugliness, observing rather than tipping his hand (because, after all, it's obvious the film isn't going to endorse this, and he has no need to play for sympathy).

335. (Dec. 14) Yogi Bear (2010, Eric Brevig) **1/2

334. (Dec. 14) White Material (2009, Claire Denis) ***1/2

Parenting = hubris, which is a very good idea and Denis' best: colonialism's patronizing failure never witnessed in full flower, but documented in detail at the family level, as Isabelle Huppert's nagging worrying over her son's laziness turns out to be a completely off-target worry to have about his future direction. Interaction of well-meaning colonialists trying to prove they're different from the awful systems they represent (failing to really Get It) was better shown in Chocolat, though this still becomes hypnotic. (For Denis, it's almost an action film.) Still no substitute for reading Franz Fanon, and not as politically incisive (or allegorically coherent) as Denis seems to think it is.

334. (Dec. 12) Vampyr (1932, Carl Dreyer) ***1/2

No subtitles, but I got the idea. Need to see it again. Equally hypnotic and frustratingly elusive, in ways that are systemic but sometimes seem to shut me down.

333. (Dec. 11) Speedy (1928, Ted Lloyd)^ ***1/2

a) Harold Lloyd seems to find the big city distasteful (small town boy at heart), and women unnerving. There's a weird, uncomfortable but kind of intriguing puritanical streak in his work. b) The big street fight seems like a shot-for-shot inspiration for the opening fight in Gangs of New York.