Frustrations

Apparently, the universe is conspiring to stub every one of my metaphorical toes today -- a lunch meeting didn't happen, none of several packages I'm expecting has reached my door, and Metro's online site has failed to put up any of the reviews I've got in today's paper ... which means I can't offer you any useful links.

On the upside, I haven't been rained on today.

Not that any of today's new movies are any great shakes, to be honest.

"The Devil Wears Prada" is a feature-length episode of "Sex and the City", with Meryl Streep playing Anna Wintour as though she was her "Death Becomes Her" character with chronic-fatigue syndrome. But if you want to look at the clothes, and perhaps admire Stanley Tucci and Emily Blunt in the corners, it'll do.

"Leonard Cohen I'm Your Man" falls somewhere between concert film and hagiographic tribute -- not that Rufus Wainwright doesn't do a smashing job with "Everybody Knows", but the movie as a whole feels like the bonus DVD you'd get when you buy the concert recording.

And I admired Michael Winterbottom's "The Road to Guantanamo" more than I liked it -- although I guess "like" isn't something the movie really expects from the viewer, being an unadorned DV docu-drama about three British men who took a terribly advised trip to Afghanistan in October, 2001, and ended up spending two years down Cuba way. It's nice to see that the Supreme Court has finally told Bush he didn't have the right to detain them in the first place, though.

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