Based on a novel by Patricia Highsmith, The Two Faces of January is a well-acted, reasonably well made, vaguely Hitchcockian suspense thriller that explores the similarities between star Viggo Mortensen (Lord of the Rings)and a guy who’s been labeled a future star so many times that he’s already leapfrogged over that stage in his career, Oscar Isaac (Inside Llewyn Davis).

Isaac plays Rydal, an ethnically ambiguous man who could very well be Greek, except he’s from Trenton, New Jersey, an ex-patriot who spurned a scholarship to Yale Law School to write never-to-be published poetry, swindle (and commingle with) beguiling young tourists (like actress Daisy Bevan), while acting as a tour guide in and around Athens. The year is 1962, and there’s a whiff of Jack Kerouac and the beat in Rydal’s soul.

Viggo is Chester MacFarland, a wealthy businessman with an exceptionally younger wife (Spider-Man’s Kirsten Dunst, as Colette/scene dressing). When Rydal spots him, patrolling the Parthenon with Colette, he’s reminded of his father. Rydal, of course, has a complicated relationship with his Dad (why else would he be in Greece instead of Law School?), one so difficult Rydal purposefully missed his funeral.

Perhaps because Chester reminds him of his father, Rydal wants to be him, wants his wife, his life. But, appearances can be deceiving. Rydal fashions himself Greek-ish and a friendly, lover of women, yet he never misses an opportunity to skim off the top whenever handling foreign currencies (said women). Chester appears to be a worthy and rich mark, but is it the other way around? Chester’s wealth and prestige is ill-gotten: he’s a con artist who stole money from investors, and he’s now on the run. Why else would he be in Greece? Because Greece is beautiful, you might say, and that’s normally an obligatory statement in such a European feeling movie, but I wasn’t particularly captivated by Athens or the various Crete villages that Rydal, Chester and Colette prance around, as its wonders were ignored or mere backdrop for their downward spiral.

Chester reminds me of Viggo’s character in A History of Violence, except that we know much sooner that Chester is not what he seems to be, that he’s not as good an actor, the simmering anger not far from the surface, particularly with whiskey close at hand.

Colette immediately takes a liking to Rydal, and vice versa, as the trio hatches an outing to explore the flea market. As these things inevitably go, after a wonderful evening (buoyed by Rydal’s date, an alluring Van Buren descendant), a smarmy private detective shows up at Chester’s hotel room, ends up dead, and Rydal finds himself in embroiled in the couple’s escape. Whether it’s for the money, for Colette or merely because he’s bored, waiting for something remarkable to happen, Rydal doesn’t get out, even while he still can.

Operating from his own script, Hossein Amini, an accomplished screenwriter and intriguing talent who wrote Drive, Snow White and the Huntsman and the unfortunate 47 Ronin, makes his directorial debut. The resulting film feels sort of like Anton Corbijn’s The American with more narrative thrust, and a con man instead of an assassin. While Viggo and Oscar get a lot to play with, Kirsten Dunst’s Colette is little more than a prop, a wedge piece between Chester and Rydal, a mutual interest. It’s a shame, because Dunst seems willing and capable of much more than being a bewitching plot device. How much of Chester’s criminal activity is Colette privy to? Why does she stay with him even as her homesickness for Brooklyn grows (and an accompany accent appears)? Chester and Colette’s past is a helluva lot more interesting than its present.

Amini proposes that Rydal and Chester aren’t much different (two sides of the same coin, two faces of January, etc.); in fact, we’re meant to believe that Chester is Rydal’s future, that despite fleeing to Greece, Rydal can’t escape his father, or becoming him. When they first meet, even when we believe what both of them say they are, neither trusts the other, and that never truly changes. The film hinges on this relationship and it doesn’t truly earn it. Despite what seems like a much longer period of time together than it actually is, I didn’t truly believe the characters’ evolution, nor was ever entirely invested in it.

THE TWO FACES OF JANUARY is now available on iTunes/OnDemand and in theaters Friday September 26, 2014.

San Diego Comic-Con is at a tipping point.

This was my second year at Comic-Con, so I’m by no means an expert, but I don’t think anyone would argue with me when I say that SDCC has become bloated, unwieldy, daunting and to be honest, kind of miserable, at times. It’s exhausting, insane and becoming less worth it by the year. There’s enough programming, panels and events to fit over a whole month: if that happened, the result would be much like The Hunger Games. But instead, it’s all squeezed from Wednesday night to Sunday night.

This year, there were innumerable moments when I wished I was in bed and wondering why I was operating on 2 hours sleep to hear god awful fan questions (“Can I hear your Bones laugh, Emily?” THERE ARE 189 EPISODES OF BONES TO REFER TO, WOMAN), and this time I didn’t have to set up or break down a booth and work for months before the event to prepare. It was just me, and what I wanted to do. That should be enough, except it’s impossible to do exactly what you want to do at Comic-Con.

It certainly feels like Comic-Con could very well collapse in on itself, that we’re fast approaching a Ragnarokian implosion, something that might be necessary to bring the event under control. Hollywood loves a good reboot, right?

Comic-Con bills itself as for the fans, but I think that’s a naive way of looking at it. Comic-Con is a massive money-making scheme; it’s not for the fans. It’s for the studios that are using Comic-Con and us to do the marketing and word of mouth for them, taking advantage of our passion and love for these characters. Comic-Con can make or break movies. We are killing ourselves waiting in line to watch trailers a few months before we can pay 17 dollars to see them in theaters, or watch them online for free. It’s pretty silly, yet we keep doing it year after year, and feel like we got a show.

Comic-Con has become a place where Playboy has a Bates Motel-themed party. You can’t get in unless you’re somebody, and San Diego’s Gas Lamp quarter is filled with these parties with exclusive guest lists, open bars and/or covers throughout the week. Unless you’re high ranking press or a celebrity, or you’re lucky enough to win a contest, you’re not cool enough to get in, exactly the kind of thing you’d think Comic-Con shouldn’t be about.

Bless Zachary Levi and NerdHQ, who hosted a free-for-all dance party on Thursday night, and hold panels with the benefits going to a good cause. Felicia Day’s Geek & Sundry turned Jolt ‘n Joes into a lounge and party through Wednesday and Friday, open to anybody. These are the kinds of events that Comic-Con should be about, and the equivalent of Slamdance to Comic-Con’s Sundance. Every year, more and more people flock to NerdHQ instead of the Convention Center, to the point where their panels featuring Nathan Fillion, Stephen Amell and Tatiana Maslany sell out in minutes (so maybe it’s not that accessible, but at least your money goes to Operation Smile rather than 20th Century FOX). This is the future of Comic-Con.

If you asked A., who came all the way from Moscow, her face would light up, as she promised to come back to San Diego again as soon as she could afford it. She got to meet Jamie Bamber of Battlestar Galactica, happy to pay his signing fee (even knowing it was irresponsible), and raved nonstop about John Barrowman’s hilarious panel. She also got to walk in to Hall H to see the hunks of Supernatural on Sunday, when many of us were too tired to give a fuck.

Al. flew all the way from Kitchener, Canada, and spent Friday night in line just to see The Hobbit panel, and left before Marvel and the rest of the fanfare. She came with her Mom and sister, who were happy to sleep in the hotel. I got the sense that she was drawn to San Diego for the experience, and wanted to live it, rather than needing to be in Hall H, or obsessed with the shows and movies many of us spent hours talking about while we waited.

D. has been going to Comic-Con for 8 years straight, ever since she moved to San Diego. She lives and breathes it, and coordinates line waiting with her friends, and was in Hall H every night save Thursday, when she only got in line at 5 AM before the 10 AM panels.

If there’s one upside to the lines, its making friends with who you’re stuck with. You meet people from all over the world, people who share many of the same interests as you, and will also pound mercilessly at you for the shows and movies you haven’t seen (do I really have to watch The 100?). Everyone’s different, but we’re all the same, wondering incessantly if we’re going to get into Ballroom 20 or Hall H, and debating how many in the cast will show up for the panel. Many complained, but still others accepted their fate, and were happy to camp outside.

Everyone is going to have a different experience and that is part of the beauty that remains of Comic-Con. Some people camped out to get into Hall H all four nights, and will do the same until they have crippling back injuries, and that’s worth it to them (many I think do it out of imaginary obligation, wanting to prove how much they care about a movie or show or movie star; the longer you wait in line, the bigger Walking Dead fan you are). Some actually go to San Diego to see their favorite comic book writers and artists. Whoa. Many just like to dress up, as Cosplay is an industry and sub-society on its own (and it’s wonderful). Others just want to take in the spectacle, to be where the party’s at. I wonder how many even get in; there were these two elderly women who somehow got seats in Hall H on Saturday, and looked blankly at me when I told them Marvel was up next (“What’s that?”). Seriously?

I love catching the various pilots, months before they come out, discovering the next hit shows before everyone else. The 12 year old who still resides in me who discovered Kevin Smith movies was delighted to see the man himself rejuvenated creatively, and talking excitedly about his next trilogy of movies. I got goosebumps and teary eyed watching and singing along to Buffy the Vampire Slayer‘s “Once More With Feeling” in a jam-packed room of Whedon worshipers, as Nicholas Brendon ran up to the stage to sing Xander’s songs with the rest of us, something he’s done for the past four years. That is the power and magic of Comic-Con, that still lives and breathes in corners of the Convention Center. You just have to know where to look for it.

Look, I love this stuff. I check EW, io9, Deadline, Variety, et all, ALL DAY, to the detriment of everything else I should be doing. I love following pop culture news, whether it’s casting, sequels, new films, what brand of shoes Oliver Queen will be wearing. But sometimes, enough is enough, and the negative outweighs the positive, and I think that’s what has transpired with Comic-Con.

I love the Marvel Cinematic Universe, but it’s emphasis on the overarching story, and the end credit sequences, and WHAT COMES NEXT, while addictive and something I’m so hard for, puts the onus on release dates, future events, with the story and content in the actual movies almost an after thought, the entree when we prefer the appetizers, dessert and Easter eggs. To be clear, Captain America: The Winter Soldier is the best film in the entire MCU (or right up there with Iron Man and Avengers), and it’s the most recent, but once we’ve seen the end credits, our discussion inevitably leads to what’s coming next, rather than what we just saw. That is Comic-Con in a nutshell; it feels like we’re James Woods perpetually scurrying after another piece of candy.

We’re paying tons of money for advertising. We’re waiting in line to see cast and crew promise vague greatness (“No show is like _____,” “Anything can happen on ______,” “Nobody is safe on ______”) or worse, pat their backs for a season well done (“Oh my god, can we talk about _____?”). We’re dooming our legs to a perpetual state of falling asleep so we can hear everyone toe the line when it comes to spoilers or providing any sort of useful information. “You know as much as I do [nothing],” “That’s up to the writers/producers/conglomerates to share,” “I can’t answer that, can I?” or “You’ll have to tune in to find out.” or “Insert masturbatory phrasing here.” The whole thing is decidedly masturbatory.

There’s the bizarre “we just started shooting/haven’t started shooting yet so we don’t really have any footage” dance that is played at EVERY panel, which is followed by groans and cries of protest, like we actually believe them, every time, until Zack Snyder/whomever relents, smiles/winks and says…”BUT here’s a little something.” Then we freak out, clap and are ready for what’s next, rinse, repeat.

The exhibit hall is a paradise, but that paradise has become overrun, like a Heaven with no standards, as you jostle through crowds to buy overpriced Comic-Con exclusives and things you don’t need, while hoping you don’t piss off Lou Ferrigno. It’s nerd Christmas, if everyone was trying to get their hands on the Turbo Man doll. You can meet Evangeline Lily, but you’ll have to sacrifice the entire day to do it.

George Miller and the Mad Max series is great (and Fury Road looks AWESOME), but his arrival into Hall H, and the reboot of Mad Max was marketed and promoted as something that we owed him for, that we needed to worship this legendary man making his first Comic-Con appearance. Even The Hobbit panel, which rightfully celebrated Peter Jackson and company’s extraordinary achievements with LOTR and The Hobbit trilogy, reeked of self-congratulation.

To get into Hall H on Saturday so I could see George Miller, Peter Jackson and the WB, Legendary and Marvel’s panels, I had to get in line at 9:15 PM the night before. And I barely got in, limping into the auditorium five minutes before the first panel, so I can watch these actors on the big screen (I have a better view of baseball players from the Upper Deck than the actors on the stage, oftentimes), no different than if I was watching the panels in the Playback room later on in the day.

It’s impossible to live up to the hype, to be worth the wait. Forget even the 13 hour over night wait. Many of us have been waiting all year for this, setting up impossible expectations. What do we even want to see? My imagination runs rampant for the entire month preceding it, dreaming up wild scenarios where a CGI’d James Spader struts onstage as Ultron, and if not Benedict Cumberbatch or Joaquin Phoenix as Dr. Strange, that I walk up in the red cloak, announced as the new Sorcerer Supreme. Short of Black Panther, Doctor Strange and Ms. Marvel green-lit, with the stars announced and in person/costume, a small part of me was going to be disappointed by whatever Marvel does, and they consistently put on the best show of all. I was astounded by the awesome Avengers: Age of Ultron footage we did see, and loved seeing the cast of Avengers together on stage, as excited as we all were. It truly is a treasure to see your favorite actors in person, to see how funny, charming, cute, nervous and real they are, to see the other side of a character you consider family and friend. But aside from a Guardians of the Galaxy 2 announcement that hardly felt surprising, the whole proceedings were short on news.

Plus, almost all of the sneak peaks, trailers, gag reels and previews are online as soon as we see it. There’s something to be said for seeing it first in an unparalleled atmosphere, with the stars present, surrounded by people who love and cherish these things as much as you do, but I couldn’t help but feel miffed that I could’ve watched everything save the Avengers footage from the comfort of my bedroom. And even the latter could be seen if I wanted to support the scumbags who record grainy footage on their phone/camera and post it on YouTube. I realize I sound like a cranky old man, especially to those who have never been to Comic-Con, but sometimes the fiction is better than the reality.

But I’m a sucker, and if I’m lucky enough to get press access again next year, I’ll be doing this stressful dance again, because I still feel like I’ll be missing something if I don’t. But will I? Even so, I’m going to do it a lot differently. I think I can say goodbye to Hall H, and follow along on Twitter and YouTube like the rest of the world, while getting to see some of the smaller movies and TV shows before they get into Hall H, like Sleepy Hollow, Orphan Black, Intruders, Vikings and Outlander the past couple of years. Or maybe I’ll even go to some comic book panels. What a radical idea.

Vote in our Harry Potter bracket.

My biggest problem with movie adaptations of great books (or really any books) isn’t the possibility that the filmmakers might ruin the plot or characters, or that they simply won’t create a faithful adaptation, it’s the batshit crazy bookfans that come along with the movie. They either love the movie or hate the movie from the second the darn thing is announced, and it only goes downhill from there.

Most pre-existing book fans are loyal, devoted, passionate and fiercely possessive over the written word that the film may be adapted from; if they weren’t, studios probably wouldn’t waste billions of dollars on trying to make a successful [or otherwise profitable] movie. But every now and again, bookfans go a little too far: i.e. the Twihard revolution that made all our inner-children die.

Bookfans tend to take adaptations extremely seriously. They expect every minor subplot and character to make an appearance, and if they don’t it’s the end of the world. While I absolutely understand the irritation and agony they go through when their favorite book is “ruined” on-screen, what they don’t seem to understand is that cinema and literature are two entirely different mediums. Books generally have a lot less restrictions (editor and publisher depending) and they can be poetic for pages about the blazing sun on that one glorious day and that’s a-OK.

Movies, however, have constraints they must abide by. First, and unfortunately foremost, is budget. How much money is that twenty-minute CGI sequence going to cost? (Although, the barrel sequence in THE DESOLATION OF SMAUG was pretty bad-ass.) If the cost of making a certain scene is going to be too extravagant, it either needs to be slimmed down – or possibly even removed altogether.

Issues like time, characters, settings and subplots are all taken into account when adapting a story, and in order to translate the bulk of that story onto the big screen there are sacrifices that must be made and most bookfans cannot seem to wrap their heads around that.

But more than my frustration with the bookfans that refuse to see the bigger picture, is my anger at them for being such hipsters about their adaptions.

Well, you’re not a real fan if you didn’t read the book.

Bitch, please. I enjoyed the film, therefore I’m a fan.

Without fail, any adaptation made will have a posse of hipster-followers waiting to condemn you for only seeing the movie. The one, and really the only, fan-base that I can exclude from this group of crazies is that of Harry Potter.

The Harry Potter fanbase doesn’t care if you’ve read the book series once, twice, ten times or not at all; they just want you to experience, enjoy, and fall in love with Hogwarts the same way they did. They are all-inclusive and oh! so welcoming to those of us (like myself) who have never read the books.

And that’s not to say that I didn’t try. I remember reading the first paragraph of the first book way back when, and being completely unable to read-on. A whopping nine years old, I had the most difficult time getting through that paragraph because it was written for children: it was so simplistic and adolescent that instead of making it easy to breeze through, it was painful. It’s not that I didn’t want to, I just didn’t know how to reverse my brain and go backwards into a children’s book. (This makes me sound like a child-genius, which I really wasn’t. I just liked reading more mature books. And by “mature” I mean young adult, cause guys? I was 9.)

But the Harry Potter fans I knew, met, and became friends with didn’t care that I never suffered through the books. No matter how much they loved the series, my having not read any of it was trivial – they still wanted to share it with me. They invited me to their midnight showings, and explained to me the subplots and minor characters that had to be left out for various reasons. They invited me to Cosplay with them and dress up for Halloween with them, because even if I only loved the movies that was good enough: I still wanted to go to Hogwarts, too. (Of course, after the Order of the Phoenix film had been released I was too impatient to wait for the other films so I skipped ahead and read Half-Blood Prince and Deathly Hallows. That I was shamed for.) Overall, the Harry Potter fanbase has been the most accepting and wonderful group of freaks and geeks that I have been part of. No matter how minimal your appreciation or how obsessive your love is, they will still Tumblr scream about FANTASTIC BEASTS AND WHERE TO FIND THEM BECAUSE OMG.

My point is: bookfans, take heed. Get your heads outa the sand and stop being the bullies on the playground. Let’s all play nice with the other children… Even if one of those children is a little weird, has glasses and likes to play Buffy the Vampire Slayer all by herself at lunchtime.

To confess that it’s rocked a few friendships maybe isn’t that shocking, but I am still not ashamed to admit that I have never seen STAR WARS, nor do I have any direct intention to. Not to say that if it’s on or some buddies want to watch it I’ll run for the hills screaming, but I won’t put it on of my own accord. Why? Because I don’t need to. And I am no less of a nerd for having not watched it.

Everyone loves STAR WARS. And what do people do when they love something? They talk about it. Constantly. (LOST, anyone? I never even finished Season 1 because the entire series was spoiled for me by the daily chatter and buzz about it.) I already know the plot twists (Thanks, PITCH PERFECT! But not really.) and have a general idea of what each installation is about, so why do I need to waste an entire day watching it? I like to maintain a spoiler-free zone at all times.

“But, hey! What about all it did for science fiction and film in general! You can’t deny it was revolutionary!”

I never said it wasn’t. I can appreciate how something was revolutionary and changed cinema without liking it (CITIZEN KANE? Who actually likes that movie?) or even watching it. I can respect STAR WARS and George Lucas all the same and still avoid sitting through R2D2 and Yoda for hours on end.

The big question I keep getting slammed with is: Why do I feel that STAR WARS should not be the golden standard to which we hold nerds and nerd-pride? Well, to me it seems to be the opposite. Why is STAR WARS the big kahuna? Why is STAR WARS the be-all-end-all? Without having seen it, I can only infer from the spoilers I’ve been privy to, that it was a largely generic story, albeit with a couple good twists and turns and a sci-fi journey that maybe hadn’t been seen before. But was it actually good? CITIZEN KANE –while it makes me want to gauge my eyes out – was a good movie. It was well-made, beautifully written, superbly acted… it just wasn’t my thing.

From all I’ve heard about STAR WARS, all the OMG STAR WARS, WTF U HAVEN’T SEEN IT and DISNEY’S GOING TO RUIN IT, I haven’t been told a single reason as to why everyone loves it so much. Colorful weapons, philosophical aliens, shiny robots, cool. I can get that pretty much anywhere, so why STAR WARS? Was it well-made, beautifully written, or superbly acted? In all the things I’ve heard and read about STAR WARS, I have never been witness to anyone commenting on the quality of the components individually, only the film as a whole. (Which, to be fair, was still mostly ERMAHGERD LERT SERBERS or drooling over the drones or whatever. I won’t pretend to know what they’re called.) Are being “revolutionary” and “good” mutually inclusive? From where I sit on my tiny soap box that’s covered in rotten tomatoes, no. They aren’t.

“Well, then you aren’t a real nerd!”

Ergo, my nerd-cred is then slammed for my aversion to STAR WARS every time it comes up, but I am still a nerd. (Sorry, folks!) I absolutely considered getting a GAME OF THRONES tattoo (I already have one for DOCTOR WHO!) and I am proud to say that I probably have more X-MEN comics than you.

But, if it’s so important to judge nerd (or is it fanboy? A topic for another time) culture and popularity, why shouldn’t it be on something absurdly impressive and noteworthy? Let’s take a vote on how many of us have seen all the original episodes of DOCTOR WHO: the longest running science fiction show in the history of television. At final count I believe it was 784 Classic episodes. And that’ not including any mini-movies, radio episodes, or any other DW narratives that used to air. I’m only halfway through season 1, but that’s probably a whole lot further than the rest of you self-proclaimed nerds.

Time permitting I’ll eventually finish up BATTLESTAR GALACTICA and all the STAR TREK series’. I own all the extended editions of LORD OF THE RINGS – am slightly embarrassed at how many times I’ve watched them – and the complete ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES (in hardback leather binding, no less). I have no words to express how I feel about X-MEN: THE LAST STAND and am more hesitant than I’d like to admit about upcoming CAPTAIN AMERICA: THE WINTER SOLDIER. I refuse to borrow any books even if it’s only to read them once; I MUST OWN THEM. And I faithfully watch BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER all the way through seasons 1-7, once a year every year.

But my nerd-cred, no matter how big or how small, is thoroughly dismissed by all the “real nerds” because I choose to remain a STAR WARS virgin. I vote we abolish all the nerd-shaming and competition over who has bigger glasses and higher wasted jeans. In the hippie spirit of my motherland, Berkeley, California: Stop the nerdism. Love the nerds.

#NerdLove

NOTE: The images were chosen by your faithful editor, who happens to like CITIZEN KANE.