The feeling people work so hard for, and sacrifice so much for, is the feeling of accomplishment, winning, knowing you're the best, knowing it'll be okay, and overall euphoria. I get a fine share of all the previously listed feelings when I put on Most Valuable Player. It is peace of mind itself.

Most Valuable Player's vibe gives you that feeling when you are looking out the window of your car as you drive by a deserted field, whose only inhabitant is the wind. Nat Baldwin - the vox of it all - has a most unique voice. The only comparison I can make to his voice is that of Robert Smith of The Cure, minus the accent, and the towering, misplaced hair. It has Robert Smith's male calming effect, but there is a major difference. Nat Baldwin sings in many tones, groans, and uncommon sounds. It sounds almost foreign, as if speaking in tongues.

This has a plus side though; these hymns and tones have a relaxing effect, as does that of a mother hymning her baby to sleep. Backed by either a trumpet, or clarinet in all but a few songs, it seems orchestrated. This only adds to the successful feeling like the slow-motion moments of people crossing the finish line, or "We Are the Champions" by Queen. When you listen to this, you have won. Just like the title of the CD, you are just that; you're the Most Valuable Player and you've got it all.

~Patrick Chamberland

Patrick Chamberland is a 14 year-old, freshman in high school. He lives in the most northern point of Maine.

Most Valuable Player will be released April 29 on Broken Sparrow Records.

Roots Restaurant, 466 Bush Street (at Grant Avenue, in the Orchard Garden Hotel), (415) 659-0349

~Laura Albert

Let me just cut to the chase (as I feel this movie should have) and say that Cloverfield fails to be redeeming on any level except, perhaps, as a near thirty second blip of a trailer that I and others witnessed prior to a screening of the live-action release Transformers last summer. Designed to spark curiosity in its audience based on its omission of content, the trailer to Cloverfield remains to be the film's only indicator that could possibly place it within the realm of this hyper-realistic style of visual storytelling that one sees on a daily basis if one happens to watch "reality television" or stream a video on Youtube (I am pretty sure that this was exactly the intent and feel that the filmmakers were attempting to reach in order to give the film urgency). The shaky hand-held camera combined with loud, uncomfortable sounds coming from off-screen can do wonders for an advertising campaign but does not even begin to sustain itself as an effective (or even a watch-able one, for that matter) form. It irritates, nauseates, and then ultimately bores an audience when relied upon too much.

However, there is an anecdote available to such a conundrum: a sharp script and talented actors—both of which, Cloverfield lacks. From the film's start to the film's end, one hopelessly searches for respite from the annoyingly shaky camera style through the story and characters, but only dwindles down to young twenty-somethings running and screaming on a story trajectory that is just what one would expect from such a shlock film: young man must find young woman amidst the death and destruction, blah, blah, blah, heterosexual coupling, blah, blah, blah...
Needless to say, Cloverfield (based on the trailer that I had seen) had the potential to use a form of visual storytelling that has become so widely accepted as reality that it is, in fact taken for reality to great affect. It could have been a film that carried a social commentary with it. Instead, Cloverfield carries bad acting, awful scriptwriting, and exhausting visual storytelling.

~Michael Rodriguez

Paul Thomas Anderson's films always inevitably devolve into a cinematographic game of "name that director." And There Will Be Blood, his latest film based on an Upton Sinclair novel [Oil] about an oilman's obsessive, cancerous lust for the black gold, is no exception. Fortunately, what sets There Will Be Blood apart from other pseudo-homages like Magnolia and Boogie Nights, and what makes it his most mature film to date, is a result of the blood, sweat, and tears of one man. Daniel Day-Lewis is one of those rare actors able to rise above his directors' deficiencies. As the oil baron, Daniel Plainview, he grounds the film with the heavy weight of his character's soul and forces Anderson's attention-deficit-disorder directing to remain as sharply focused as the steel bit on a rig.

This is a performance far more nuanced and less showy than Day-Lewis' turn as Bill, The Butcher in Gangs of New York. Daniel Plainview has a back-story a thousand dusty miles long. You can see it in his hunted animal eyes, his clenched jaw, and his stoop and stagger. This is a broken, spiritual “dead-man-walking,” with Day-Lewis treading nothing less than Academy Award territory. Anderson took a big risk in the wordless opening, eschewing dialogue for rich, long shot images of the old and Wild West – a chance that pays off when we're jolted into the story by the sound of Plainview's oddly cadenced baritone. His voice is so unfamiliar and untraceably foreign that we treat it with unwavering attention. His proclamations about being "an oilman" become sermons from on high. Like in No Country For Old Men, the theme of man coming to terms with the notion that anything outside of fate is just a mirage is up close and personal. Day-Lewis as Plainview (every bit as bizarre as Javier Bardem's Anton Chigurgh) is himself often out of control. But some actors – like Brando and De Niro in their youth – a director can let get out of control. That's where they shine. These actors are artists who can devour without chewing scenery. (And then of course there are those like Jack Nicholson, clearly not in their ranks, as everything from The Shining to The Departed can attest.) There's a scene in which Plainview is awakened in the middle of the night to the news that one of his workers has been lost in the well. After receiving the crucial details he's about to return to sleep when he's startled by the realization he hasn't asked the most important question of all, "Did you get the bit?" Everything about this character is crystallized in the delivery of that line. Up until that point we're not quite sure if he's going to be able to pull off this strange performance. Afterwards, you can't imagine the character being played any other way. Day-Lewis is simply that brilliant. And Anderson has every reason to blindly trust him – he's that good.

But there's another preacher in the film whose sermonizing is just as powerful as Plainview's– a second antihero in this darkly brilliant tale. Paul Dano, as the young minister Eli Sunday who must match wits with the oilman else lose his community, has mastered the art of going up against a giant like Daniel Day-Lewis. He's a smart David in the face of this Goliath, choosing to go under Day-Lewis instead of over, lowering the tone and volume in an effort to shrink him down to his own size. Dano is a young
Edward Norton playing Ali to George Foreman, the water antidote to Day-Lewis' fire. Their acting is 100% physical – Dano preaching with his body, Day-Lewis' posture changing as his body begins to deteriorate, making physical his character's spiritual disintegration. (And the manipulative preacher versus the hustling baron is indeed a delightful prizefight, each testing the other to see if he's a man of his word or whether they're simply two sides of the same coin.) Dano knows he can't knock him out, so he just quietly waits, lets Eli take the punches (literally), until the monster wears himself out. Though Day-Lewis is an acting machine who never grows tired, by the end he's psychically battered and bruised. Paul Dano is the best thing to happen to Day-Lewis in a long time– the new kid on the block forcing the master to step up his game. (Actually, the casting is nearly perfect– the only misstep being not wooing Willem Dafoe to the role of Plainview's long-lost brother Henry. What I wouldn't give to see Day-Lewis and Dafoe in an acting showdown!)

I only wish Paul Thomas Anderson would have been so inspired. Though he benefits from a script founded in great literature, he's a risk-averse director relying on the fearlessness of his leads to overcome his own shortcomings. His camera often draws attention to itself instead of serving the story, moving on top of the script rather than with it (which is why Day-Lewis' voiceover works every time, with the narration serving as a focal point for when the lens wanders too far). He's an inorganic filmmaker, the separate pieces of cinematography, screenplay, and music never quite flowing together. (Though he has his moments. The suspenseful, Jaws-like music is fitting for the oil well blowup. Things finally get organic with stringed instruments drawing us in, not distracting, as the multiple POV images seamlessly segue into one another. But that's just one scene in a two-hour-plus film.) Yes, Anderson is able to employ the stillness of Sayles – didn't I see some of that footage in Matewan? – isn't afraid of the silences anymore. He's learned a lot from Altman about using the camera to probe a character's conscience. He shares his love of shooting the overwhelming landscapes of the west with Malick. In fact, his constant referencing of these directors through the visual only serves to remind that Paul Thomas Anderson will never be any of them. He's simply traded in his Scorsese shots of Boogie Nights for a course in Days of Heaven.

Only when Anderson takes the next step of absorbing the legendary filmmakers' directing – then making it his own – does the movie truly succeed. The film's finale is such a disconcerting, twisted mix of Scorsese's The Age of Innocence with Kubrick's The Shining, complete with decrepit gilded mansion and trailing, low angle, Big Wheel shots in a surreal bowling alley (and a mob rubout to boot!) that you can't help but sit back and admire it. Anderson has finally created something new like the best, DJ remix. The filmmaking has risen to the level of Day-Lewis' performance. "The third revelation? What is the third revelation?" Plainview mockingly terrorizes Eli. I can only hope that the Academy voters see that the answers in plain view.

~Lauren Wissot

Lauren is a film critic, screenwriter, and author of the memoir Under My Master's Wings