The Guardian‘s John Patterson hates Madonna and Guy Ritchie… whatever…but his 9.17 tear-down piece is wrong about two things: (1) Madonna’s palatial home near the Hollywood Reservoir was not in Silver Lake and didn’t even border on it — it was adjacent to Beachwood Canyon and is therefore smack dab in Hollywood; and (2) his observation that Madonna had to be “either terribly thick-skinned or terribly thick-headed” by continuing to make movies “after the quadruple-whammy of Shanghai Surprise, Body Of Evidence, Four Rooms and Evita” is 75% correct. Evita is a completely honorable and (for me) curiously touching film. I’ve seen it over and over on DVD, and it’s gotten a bit more rapturous each time. It’s one of Alan Parker’s finest films ever (certainly his most beautifully filmed), and say what you will about Madonna’s innate acting abilities but she’ll never be better than she was in this, largely because she wasn’t required to do anything but visually convey ruthless ambition while singing (and pretty well too, although she wasn’t up to delivering as well as Patti Lupone did in the Broadway stage show).

Good God…$50 bucks a year to henceforth access all sections of the N.Y. Times online.

Back to Los Angeles and the real world starting today…not a pleasant thought. In fact, I am filled with dread. The best film opening this coming Friday (9/23), hands down, is David Cronenberg’s A History of Violence. There’s also Flightplan, which I haven’t seen. Plus Polanksi’s Oliver Twist, The Prizewinner of Defiance, Ohio (Woody Harrelson’s character seems like such an asswipe in the trailer), and Tim Burton’s Corpse Bride.