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I, for one, adore scary movies!  As a writer, I don’t think I can afford to shut myself off from any human emotion, including horror.  I love the first HALLOWEEN.  I love the first NIGHTMARE ON ELM STREET.  THE BLAIR WITCH PROJECT scared the bejeebers out of me and hey, I even enjoyed SAW!  Instead of slasher pics, my true favorites are psychological thrillers like THE OTHERS and THE INNOCENTS.  Which may be why I think PICNIC AT HANGING ROCK is the scariest movie ever made. 

This 1975 Australian film from Peter Weir (who would later go on to make GALLIPOLI, WITNESS, DEAD POET’S SOCIETY and MASTER AND COMMANDER) is a lyrical, brooding masterpiece set at Appleyard College (an all-girls school) in 1900.  When a group from the college sets out to celebrate Valentine’s Day with a picnic jaunt to Hanging Rock--an ancient volcanic outcropping in Victoria--disaster ensues.  While the other students are napping, four of the girls defy their teacher’s instructions and set off to explore the interior of the rock.  The next thing we know, one teacher and three of the girls have vanished into thin air.  Only one girl is found--hysterical and with no memory of what happened to the others.  The disappearances send shockwaves of fear and suspicion through the community.  The movie’s cinematography is exquisite and Weir captured the dreamy quality of the film by actually filming parts of it through a bridal veil.  Although the students drift about in white dresses plainly chosen to symbolize their purity, the movie is rife with repressed sexuality.  In their darkest hearts, the girls seem to have more in common with the chaotic wildness of the Australian outback than the rigid propriety of their society, which makes it easier to believe that they may have gone willingly to their mysterious fate.  Without shedding a single drop of blood, this movie continues to haunt me years after I first saw it.

Dear Friends,

One of my guilty pleasures is watching “Dancing With The Stars” with my six year-old daughter. It’s fun for both of us, relatively wholesome, and we’re becoming experts on what constitutes a good Paso Doble or whose Samba footwork was better. And I have to say, we’re both fans of Mario Lopez, whose lightning-fast footwork and lean, facile hips lead us to suspect, as the Italian judge Bruno remarked once, that Mario has a “battery in his pants.” What a dancer. What a beautiful young man. It’s easy to appreciate Mario, in all his youthful machismo and suppleness and endearingly awkward brashness. Not to mention the dimple.

But in my fantasy-night-with-any-man-I-wanted, would Mario be my choice of parnters?

Not in a million years.

I like younger men. But younger men, with their hard bodies and callow natures, and their trendy skinny-clothes, are slightly . . . . well, underbaked. Have you ever eaten dinner rolls that should have been left in the oven just a bit longer? They don’t have quite enough texture, color or taste.

Which is why I’m here to discuss the most delectable variety of masculine treat . . . the middle-aged man.

We all become more sophisticated as we get older. Our needs change. Women want and expect more from a man--we want to be wooed, we want great sex, interesting conversation, a partner who can make us laugh, someone who offers stability and yet the occasional surprise. A tall order, yes? Trust me, it’s most likely to be filled by a middle-aged man.

Ever noticed how some men become exponentially attractive as they get older? I give you George Clooney (age 44), Tim Daly (49), Patrick Dempsey (40), Russell Crowe (42). You can keep Orlando, who is adorable but still a whelp in his late twenties. Give me a big helpin’ of Sean Bean (45), or Johnny Depp (42).

Generally, the years are kind to men in this way--the time, baggage and experience add something interesting and irresistible to faces no longer shiny with youth. By the time a man reaches his forties, he’s learned some lessons the hard way, he has some regrets, he has a few intriguing tricks up his sleeve. He’s also abandoned some of his self-interest, and has become more interested in the woman. A middle-aged man is a grown-up, so you can sit on his lap and not feel silly. He knows who and what he is, but he’s no longer certain he knows everything (a very nice quality.) Whereas the world was once black and white, he nows sees shades of gray, which makes him more complex, more understanding, and far more interesting as a dinner companion. He can’t acquire women without some effort, which means he’s learned a few necessary rules of courtship.

With a young man, you get fast, frequent sex. (I’m not against this, by the way.)

But with a middle-aged man, you get longer, slower sex, with a side of romanticism. And maybe even a little conversation afterward.

Are you a fan of middle-aged men? Care to speak up in defense of younger ones? What do you think men learn about relationships, if anything, as they get older?

Well, we’ve all heard of DIK’s (Desert Island Keepers) but to celebrate the 3rd season debut of LOST tonight, I want to talk about another feminine necessity--DIG’s, also known as Desert Island Guys.  These aren’t the men you’d necessarily want to marry.  Or even the men you’d fantasize about having a guilt-free one-night-stand with.  These are the guys who can provide shelter, conversation and a little body heat to warm up those long lonely nights while you’re waiting for the Coast Guard (or the Royal Navy) to come sailing by. 

You can count on Captain Jack Sparrow to get you drunk and seduce you but could he build a hurricane-proof tiki hut?  And what about the luscious Sawyer from LOST?  Nobody broods or scowls more eloquently but what if he was off in the jungle sulking just when you wanted him to mix you up a nice pina colada in a coconut shell?  Jack Bauer from 24 can be really handy with that all-purpose backpack (he probably already has a pointy stick designed just for catching fish or skewering government spies) but what if he starts shouting at you and you spill all of your secrets?  (Or he decides to shoot you in the head just because you have a touch of PMS?)

I was watching re-runs on TBS the other night when I picked my own DIG--Adventurer and treasure seeker Rick O’Connell from THE MUMMY and THE MUMMY RETURNS.  He’s easy on the eyes, has a strapping build, tans very nicely, is very protective, has a sense of humor and a fairly sunny personality and can fire two pistols at once better than just about any hero I’ve ever seen.  (And if anybody remembers GEORGE OF THE JUNGLE, he doesn’t look half bad in a loincloth either!)

So who do YOU want mixing up YOUR pina coladas and braiding the palm fronds on YOUR tiki hut?  If you had to be trapped on a desert island WITHOUT a good book, who would you want to protect you, amuse you, and make you wish the Coast Guard/Royal Navy would never come sailing by? 

(AND NO, SHE DOESN'T MEAN FALL ALTHOUGH THAT'S NICE TOO.)

Okay, I'm not some rabid Patrick Dempsey fan but even I have to admit he fills out those worn Levi's rather nicely on the Fall Preview edition of ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY. I guess I must be preverse because I find crochety Hugh Laurie of HOUSE to be the hottest doc in...well...the house. (Thanks Connie for the introduction! )

I'm always a little behind because I like to watch shows on DVD because they feel more like serialized novels to me. (Just picked up the 2nd season of LOST!) But I do insist on having my weekly fix of TWO AND A HALF MEN every Monday. (Say what you will about Charlie Sheen's personal life--his comic timing is impeccable.) And yes, I'm dying to know what will happen to Luca and Abby's baby after that nasty hostage situation on the season finale of ER. (And I will definitely be pining until January when Jack Bauer returns to interrogate my heart!)

So what's YOUR pleasure and your poison this fall? Which returning shows are you dying to watch? Are you dreaming about Dr. McDreamy on GRAY'S ANATOMY or is it those DESPERATE HOUSEWIVES who have you desperately reaching for the Tivo? Have previews of any of the new shows captured your interest or your imagination?

First, I gotta say I, too, suspect the timing of the Tom apology and Vanity Fair pics are strategic to buffing up Tom's image BUT let's look at the puzzle pieces:

1> Katie Holmes has a baby and goes missing for months.

2> Tom shows up at Brooke Shield's house weepy and remorseful over his public censure of her drug use for PPD.

3> The Walgreen's in Tom's neighborhood is seen delivering a truck load of anti-depressants to the Cruise back door. Later, reporters are told they are "for the maid."


Okay, I made up that last one but as a former sufferer of peri-partum depression (where I *couldn't* take drugs) I see the possibility for a cruel bit of irony here. I know my husband would have had me hooked up to an IV with a 24/7 drip going had it been possible. And actually, it would make me like old Tom better if I thought he had undergone a real change of heart due to empathy rather than act how he thinks the public wants him to in order to improve his box office draw.

What do YOU guys think?

So Baby Suri has finally come out of the proverbial nursery closet. (And isn't she a beauty! Look at that mouth. I think she looks just like her mom! And speaking of mouths, has anyone seen the pout on Brangelina's baby? Oy!)

Despite all of their other oddities (like setting back the science of psychiatry 100 years), did anyone else think that Tom and Katie had a perfect right to keep their baby under wraps from the press? If I was a celebrity, I'd be so worried about kidnapping threats that I'd probably NEVER allow my kid to be photographed.

There has to be a compromise between making them walk around with a blanket over their head until they're 19 a la Michael Jackson with little Prince Michael and Paris Michael and poor little "Blanket" and plastering shots from their delivery all over the front of the National Enquirer.

So what do YOU think? Squawking Minds want to know!

Ever been to a movie you unequivocally enjoyed and yet were a little wary of recommending it to acquaintances? Maybe this reticence comes from my experiences with moves like “The Royal Tannenbaums” or “Two Days in the Valley” where after I said, “Wow! I loved this movie! You gotta see it!” the people I referred it to were sending me cancelled movie ticket stubs along with requests for reimbursements.

So it is with “Little Miss Sunshine,” one of my favorite movies of this year. It’s got everything working for it that I like in a movie: an ensemble; a cast built around a plot rather than a story manufactured for a star; a quirky, serio-comic set of characters; perfectly detailed and seriously flawed group interactions; clean, real dialogue; and a heart as big as all outdoors.

The plot revolves around the bitterly dysfunctional Hoover family, nominally headed by Richard (the utterly perfect Greg Kinnear) a failed motivational speaker aggressively trying to force his Steps to Success down everyone’s throat, including his family— all of whom have their own quirks and faults. Toni Collette is perfect as Richard’s wife Sheryl who has been struggling to bring home the bacon while Richard pursues his dream and is consequently now barely speaking to Richard. Alan Arkin plays Richard’s father, living with them since he was kicked out of his retirement community for his heroin habit. Also in the house are Sheryl’s teenage son (Paul Dano) from a previous marriage, a kid so deep in the throes of teen angst he’s taken a vow of silence to escape his family (and believe me, teenagers or not, you’d want to, too!), and Sheryl’s brother, played by the extraordinary Steve Carrel, a gay Proust scholar on suicide watch after a failed romance with a grad student.

The only thing the Hoover family can agree on is that the youngest of the family, pudgy six year old Olive, and the only member of the family who has yet to acquire any serious baggage (despite the best efforts of her father in a cringe-inducing scene in a breakfast joint.) By a fluke, Olive, who is obsessed with beauty pageants, has been called in as a last minute replacement in the Little Miss Sunshine contest (“something to do with diet pills.) In a family that regularly watches dreams shrivel and die, all the members come together to make sure that little Olive’s doesn’t.

The Hoovers don’t have a sou, they can’t get along, they are all dealing with extreme disappointments –mostly of their own manufacturing, their transport is an antique VW bus, and they’re running late but by God, they are determined Olive is going to get her shot. What emerges is a story about a family who, despite their pre-occupation with “winning,” are at their core human and humane, with a sweetness and commitment to one another that is a joy. The ending, I have to say, made half the audience I saw this with cheer.

So, yeah, okay. Go see it. But don’t send me your ticket stubs if you don’t like it!