In Which Mike Convinces You To See A Colin Farrell Movie (no, really)

Here are the things I knew about In Bruges going in:

• it stars Colin Farrell
  
• it's about contract killers
  
• it takes place in a quaint medieval European city
  

Yeah, I know. I know. But it was ridiculously hot, my air conditioner broke, and ... well, the other choice was something with subtitles and the very real possibility of an extended black-and-white shot of a chapeau blowing in the wind.

But you know what? In Bruges was, no shit, the best movie I've seen this entire year. The most amusing, the most surprising, the most laugh-out-loud funny but also not at all funny, the most engaging. Really. I am not attempting to punk you. I swear.

The setup: These two guys, one played by Colin Farrell, the other by Brendan Gleason, find themselves in Bruges. They've been sent there by their boss, either to hide out or maybe do a job, they're not sure, all they know is they're supposed to be in the hotel at night in case he phones. Until he phones, they wait.

In one of the early scenes, Ken (Gleason) drags Ray (Farrell) around the city, giddily pointing out interesting medieval details, reading from a guidebook, etc., while Farrell mopes like a surly teenager. Ken asks if he's coming with him up to the top of the belltower.

"To see what?" Ray says. "What's down here? I can see what's down here from down here."

"You're the worst kind of tourist," Ken says.

"Look, I'm from Dublin," Ray says. "I like Dublin. If I'd grown up on a farm, and was retarded, maybe Bruges might impress me, but I didn't, and it doesn't."

Also: there's a racist American midget, a couple Canadians, a ridiculously entrancing female lead, moments of real poignancy, a couple shootouts, a beautiful setting, and enough genuinely surprising plot twists to keep you guessing, even when you think you know exactly what's coming next.

So, to review: Yes, Colin Farrell is a douche. And has made a lot of bad movies. But this one is good. And you should see it. The End.

For once, "quiet" doesn't mean boring

Anyone who knows me knows I'm pretty much the last person on earth to see a film with the spectacularly boring title of "The Girl in the Cafe," particularly if said film takes place at, of all places, a G8 conference, and even more particularly if said film is described, in nearly every review, as "quiet" or "meditative" or any of those other codewords critics use for "movie I fell asleep halfway through, though people tell me it's a brilliantly muted study of the human condition."

And yet I watched "The Girl in the Cafe," mainly because of TiVo, which allows me to record all manner of potentially awful movies, scoff at them, then promptly delete them and watch the Rock of Love reunion show one more time.

Can I just say, then, how surprised I was that "The Girl in the Cafe" was not only good, not only moving, but full-on riveting? It was, in fact, a case study in how a movie with very little action, a whole lot of pregnant pauses, a good deal of quiet awkwardness, can keep you on the edge of your seat for just under two hours.

All of which is to say: you should see "The Girl in the Cafe," if you haven't already. I'd write more, and better, if only it weren't approximately eight million degrees.