So when the black-and-white, self-affirming Manhattan opens with George Gershwin’s “Rhapsody in Blue,” a musical masterpiece said by some to be a portrait or tribute to New York City, we aren’t really surprised. When Allen, with his wry wit and self-deprecating demeanor, juxtapositions his opening narration, a stop-start, neurotic monologue serving as the opening to the equally neurotic Isaac Davis, even obliquely mentioning Gershwin, we’re given a distinct image of the film to come.

Given Woody Allen’s filmmaking chronology, Manhattan was created in a perhaps reactionary way to his tense, uncomfortable 1978 drama Interiors, which is as intelligent as it is painful. Interiors featured a sole musical scene: a post-wedding dance set to jazz; it is a scene that serves primarily as a precursor to intensifying drama, and it doesn’t function as any actual relief it might, in a very surface reading, seem to be.

It is interesting, then, that Manhattan is so intensely musical. “Rhapsody in Blue” sets a brilliant, invigorating tone, and Woody Allen’s simultaneously emotional and light-hearted follow-up to Interiors lifts much of the tension acquired from tense drama.

Isaac Davis, portrayed by Allen himself, is emotionally unstable, obsessive, bombastic — the archetypal Woody Allen role. It is through this lens we see that Gershwin’s piece isn’t chosen simply for the Manhattan cityscape; it represents something more involved with Isaac: As equally stop-start as his narration, Isaac is specific, pointed, and emotional.

Where the introductory clarinet “Rhapsody in Blue” bursts triumphantly, Woody Allen — no stranger to the clarinet himself — the film bursts in time. The emotional highs come fast and furious, but when the calm comes — it inevitably does — we’re lulled into a sense of ease, and we soon find it’s probably a bit misplaced.

More than just metaphor for the film, though, Woody Allen uses Gershwin’s piece to illustrate something more profound. Allen’s use of “Rhapsody in Blue” starts and end bombastically, but in markedly different ways. It begins with real flare, that clarinet trill an echo for Isaac Davis and his love for New York City, but when the film comes to a close, an ethereal quiescence flits romantically into the picture.

No, “Rhapsody in Blue” is used as metaphor for life, existence, romance, social relations: Sometimes slow and brooding, others exciting with frenetic pace, Woody Allen uses George Gershwin to create something relatable and universalizable and internalizable. Specifically, the specifics of the film may not be absolutely communicable to every person; not all 50-year-old males end up dating high school students, but there’s something deeper that makes Manhattan a success.

When we start Manhattan, there’s a waxing confidence about life, but as we continue, it fluctuates boldly. The thematic elements remain much the same from beginning and the end, but the film ranges from harried and nerve-wracking to glorious and, well, fun.

Isaac Davis’s final conversation of the film, uncomfortable and nervous as it may be, is as genuine and heartfelt as anything Woody Allen has produced. As the conversation comes to a close, and the final strains of “Rhapsody in Blue” tug at the heartstrings, there’s nothing more to be said, and the film ends. In a way, Manhattan ends as it started, much as “Rhapsody in Blue.”

Baim opens with “Pagoda”, a subtle acoustic track that sounds like an extension of the closing “Up is North” from her 2007 debut. I expect a repeat performance based on that opening; but Baim hits her stride full-on with the trance-laden “he turned my mind around”, an acoustic folksy tune that turns the corner with heavy psych guitar and lusciously hypnotic percussion. The lyrics appear to be inspired by an old Seneca Native American poem titled loosely “A Poem About a Wolf, and Maybe Two Wolves”, but the intimacy of sound is what makes this the most memorable composition on the album.

Elsewhere Baim delivers a delightfully surprising acoustic rendition of the prophetic and rather obscure Jim Morrison poem “Bird of Prey”, transforming it with harmonized backing into a rather charming modern Americana folk vignette ala the Roche sisters, but without the subtle East Coast quirky pretensions.

Baim is accompanied in the studio by an eclectic collection of friends, including Robert A.A. Lowe from one of my favorite math-rock bands 90 Day Men and more recently of Lichens; Japanese composer and multimedia artist Leyna Marika Papach (her eerie violin work is breathtaking, especially toward the end of the record); jazz experimentalist Butchy Fuego and several others. The blend of influences give a lift to Baim’s introspective and mildly dark singer-songwriter sensibilities and help to sprinkle this musical foray into something that causes the listener to happily spend nearly an hour of their irretrievable life cocooned in a blanket of soothing and thought-provoking sound.

And stretching the cocoon analogy a bit further, ‘Laughing Boy’ also shows Matteah Baim blossoming into a noteworthy force on the modern experimental folk landscape. Find this CD and rip it onto your iPod immediately – spring is coming and Baim’s musical wanderings provide a ready soundtrack to a new season and all its possibilities. Highly recommended.

If you can’t remember, high school was painfully awkward for most parties; it was rife with fighting and bickering, especially between differing social classes. At least, that’s the image put forward in A Better Place, a 1997 film directed by one-time director Vincent Pereira.

Produced in association with Kevin Smith’s View Askew, A Better Place isn’t always visually dazzling, but its simplicity allows more subtle elements to fall into place. The vibrancy of some of the colors used and the straightforward editing and cinematography combine to create memorable imagery that strongly supports the film’s most vital asset: dialogue.

Though Barret, the film’s protagonist, may visibly fit the awkward-nerd-in-high-school persona, dialogue reveals unusual amounts of character depth. Pereira has a style and sense of development that escapes many, and to find he’s directed only this sole film is unnerving, especially considering fellows like Uwe Boll and Michael Bay can’t seem to stop finding funding.

A Better Place feels sincere, honest, genuine — all those adjectives usually used to describe successful but unusual films, the ones that just don’t fit the usual molds.

Musically, the soundtrack is effective, if unconventional. The low, ambient tones effect tense moments, but it’s something more than just that: Maybe it’s the shaky camera movements, maybe it’s the dialogue that doesn’t always fit the situation, but there’s something consistently unnerving about the film.

Sure, this movie isn’t always happy, and it’s not really the type of movie that will attract the usual movie-goers, but it doesn’t pretend to be everything for everyone. With quality dialogue, interesting music, and a compelling plot, A Better Place is well worth the small investment it takes to watch attentively.

Drawing Flies, 1996 release from View Askew Productions, may feature several actors from Kevin Smith’s Clerks and Mallrats, but expecting a romp with the same cinematic quality as either is slightly off the mark.

A tale of some slackers attempting to make do on welfare, Drawing Flies tells a story of social abandonment from a perspective akin to other View Askew films, strangely with the setting of a search for the infamous Sasquatch.

Jason Lee, now much more famous than he was in 1996, puts in an efficient performance, but he doesn’t make the movie. While he does put in some of the film’s most solid performances, the prominence he’s given in packaging (as evidenced on IMDB, it’s not like I’ve seen the packaging myself) is strange, considering he shares screentime with several other leads — including Jason Mewes, famous for portraying Jay of Jay and Silent Bob. Late in the movie, the decision becomes clear, but it may puzzle some viewers looking for a Jason Lee-centric movie.

Mewes may elicit laughter with his antics as the taller half of the duo, but without Kevin Smith’s quiet repose — though he does make a quick appearance as “John,” Mewes doesn’t quite convince in this picture. Still, he manages to be one of the most entertaining aspects of the film, which is a testament to Mewes’ vaguely exasperated vocal style: It may not be convincing, but it sure keeps a light humor in the frame.

Musically, Drawing Flies stands out for its use of mostly unknowns to set mood. For this, Gissing and Ingram ought to be applauded; though this film certainly didn’t launch any careers, it does further the notion that music in films need not be from the hottest, hippest artists of the day to be effective.

All told, Drawing Flies is an interesting film in some respects, but those looking for the comedic romps associated with the View Askewniverse should turn elsewhere. Still, there’s quality to be had in this low-budget independent film, even if it doesn’t quite live up to all expectations.

With a well-crafted plot and some fun twists, Gissing and Ingram’s directorial debut (and Gissing’s only directorial entry) is a little hit-and-miss, but at only 70 minutes, the little bit of investment put into watching this film pays off.

I’ll give it a B- Personally I enjoyed it quite a bit, because I have a thing for these sappy movies.

I give it an A-

Overall I will give it a C+ It was interesting, but in the end it didn’t make much sense and left me feeling like there was no reason to watch in the first place.

I give What Happens In Vegas a D.

Overall I would give this movie a B+. Here’s hoping that Apatow’s gang keeps bringing us funny, witty comedy for years to come.