Paging Noah Baumbach

You wouldn't finger me as a fan of independent films -- a category I define broadly as movies that people in New York and San Francisco like to watch -- and you'd mostly be right; the last great movie I saw was "The Sorrow and the Pity," followed closely by "Terms of Endearment." But lately, in the service of little-C catholicism, I've been trying to expand my filmic diet, and so it wasn't too long ago that I ventured out to see the latest from the director all the kids are talking about, Wes Anderson. Let me put it this way, so as not to offend: Hated it.

But something in the movie did catch my eye -- the final credits, in which I spied a heretofore unknown name in the screenwriter's billing, that of Noah Baumbach. Now, friends, Dennis Kucinich makes it a point to know most every big name he reads; I never forget a name, this is one of my peculiarities. Go ahead, ask me anything. I dare ya. Who was Ross Perot's running mate in 1992? Easy. Vice Admiral James B. Stockdale. What about, oh, say, Michael Dukakis's veep choice from 1988? Lloyd "I knew JFK" Bentsen. In fact, ask me about any VP choice of the last 200 years! I know them all! This what I do, folks. It's a hard, sometimes sad, often solitary life, but someone's got to know these things, and in our time it's me. Ask me the name of the US Open Women's tennis champion, 1992. No, forget it, don't ask me. It'll be an insult to my intelligence, and it'll make you look like a fool in front of your woman. For real, don't ask me. You'll sound stupid, trying to trump me with something so outlandish and then having me slap it back in your face like it was last week's electric bill. So, better not to ask me.... What? You still want to ask me? Yeah, I figured you would. They always underestimate me. Anyway, here's your answer (punk): Monica Seles (of course). She of sound mind and firm abdomen, strong thighs, a grunt you'd have to be a priest not to notice. Now go cry to your sister.

But I was saying. I saw the name Noah Baumbach and I got curious, and when one is curious these days one of course types his query into a computer, and when that query is "Noah Baumbach" one finds some interesting movies and a half dozen or so Shouts & Murmurs from The New Yorker. Curious about Mr. Baumbach -- curious about he'd ended up as Mr. Anderson's partner on this movie -- I looked up some of his old films, and today was able to watch his second film, "Mr. Jealousy," with Eric Stoltz and Annabella Sciorra (Michael Powell reminds me that she also starred in "Jungle Fever.")

I hear you in the back yelling at me to get to the point, so I will. It's not even a long point: What a perfectly delightful mediocre movie! Yes, some of the lines are bad and the structure's all wrong and the narrator's intruding and the acting's not that great (I let Michael know it's no "Jungle Fever") but for all that, the plot is creative and surprising, with odd twists you wouldn't guess (watch for the stutter) and even a good ending, a good, good ending.

So please: Do watch.

Also, one more thing, yes, of course I know the answer to that. The Piggly Wiggly.