1) Khoht phetchakhaat, aka The Brutal River (2005 - Thailand), directed by Anat Yuangngern. You'd think after The Python I would have learned my lesson about jungle-oriented giant animal movies from places with real jungles, but I couldn't resist this giga-gator story-- until, that is, I started to watch it. The absence of subtitles was actually a plus, but I still realized in less than five minutes that it was a typical Asian love story movie with a big critter in it. So I just sped through to the end, going in for the literal kill. And it was pretty funny: the jilted boyfriend saves his best friend (the new boyfriend) by jumping into the river with a hand grenade and throwing himself in the path of the zooming gator. Not since the exploding whale has there been such a mess o' meat-chunks. No available DVD in the U.S. (no loss), but the website is nice-looking, and takes a lot less time than the film.

2) Cani arrabbiati, aka Rabid Dogs (1974 - Italy), directed by Mario Bava. After a career of filming beautiful, otherworldly stories and landscapes, Bava took his camera inside a car and made perhaps his scariest movie. "Killers with hostages" is all the plot you need, or should have, because the tricks and thrills in the film are genuinely surprising. And George Eastman, the giant in the back seat, is a true nightmare, one of the most frightening bad guys ever. (His character's name is "Thirty-Two," as in centimeters, as in 12 inches-- we learn this in a near-rape scene.) Perfect thriller with a perfect title. (By the way, ever see a rabid dog? Yow!)

3) Yeelen, aka Brightness (1987 - Mali/Burkina Faso/France/ West Germany), directed by Souleymane Cisse. I give most movies 30 minutes-- if I'm not interested by then, I give up, usually with no hard feelings. (Like you, I can spot a true POS in no time, and I bail out of those within minutes.) Half-an-hour into this lovely but slow fantasy about a duel between father and son sorcerers, I was debating whether to keep going, when a horrible alcoholic I know showed up unexpectedly at my door and made up my mind for me. By the time I kicked the drunken idiot out, the mood was broken. Ah, the perils of watching movies at home.

I'd never heard of Kaavya Viswanathan until yesterday and the news about her first novel's plagarized sections. (The Harvard Crimson, which broke the story, counted 10 examples of lifted material, but the NYT, which undoubtedly has more experience with researching purloined prose, counted 29.) I have heard her excuse: she accidentally "internalized" (ate?) work by someone else, and didn't know it.

As someone who's been plagarized, I'm not sympathetic. Once or twice is an accident, and forgivable (at least I hope so, since it's even happened to me), but not 29 times, not even 10. Decades ago, when I was writing for The Comics Journal, there was a guy (I honestly don't recall his name) whose reviews went on forever, rambling to the point of unreadability (par for the Journal), but for a time he appeared to be the editorial favorite. Until, that is, some reader who managed to stay awake through one of his pieces realized that it was actually Pauline Kael-- paragraphs and paragraphs of Pauline. His excuse: "I have a photographic memory, and when I write, sometimes I don't realize that I'm not making it up, but instead writing something I've read."

I have a photographic memory, but I can't remember.

This was also John Gardner's excuse when he got nailed for copying someone else's work in his biography of Chaucer. No one knows what Martin Amis' excuse was for lifting sections from the one and only novel by Billy Burroughs (William Burroughs' son), because Martin never had to answer for it (although Spy nailed him at the time). And of course, Alex Haley didn't exactly come up with Roots on his own, and Dan Brown is getting sued a second time for The Da Vinci Code, and . . .

Enough. Gotta get back to the new book I'm writing, about my stay in rehab. Right now, I'm at the part where I had my sex-change operation without anesthesia.

Another behind-the-scenes photo clue, this time featuring some visitors to the set who had nothing to do with the film being made. Your job is to match the two people in the pic who were working together at the time and determine the name of that film. If you know the title, send me an email by late Sunday night; get it right and you'll get to see your name in next week's seasoned winners circle.

This may be old news (and apologies to Corey Anderson if he posted it and I missed it), but here's the complete list of films watched by Ronald Reagan during his presidency. There appears to be about 350 in eight years-- that's less than one a week, which is surprising, considering the free time he must have had. A quick look at the list shows that it's a pretty even mix of Hollywood classics and new releases (give them their due, he and Nancy stayed current with developments in their real profession).

The list is actually quite interesting and could be a fun drinking and trivia game among politically-minded film buffs. I noticed that the list seemed to get more tailored to the Reagans' age and cloistered lives as the years went on: while there are a few R-rated sex-and-murder title like Bloodline and The Fan during the first year of the list, those stop appearing soon after. Apparently, his two favorite actors were John Wayne and Ronald Reagan (the last movie he watched as president was his own Cattle Queen of Montana). It's also noticable that the list is very light on Nancy Davis movies-- I mean, they watched The Karate Kid II but not Donovan's Brain or The Next Voice You Hear? For shame!

It's interesting, too, to see the people and titles omitted from the list. Martin Scorcese's King of Comedy got a screening, but not the much more popular The Color of Money, or, needless to say, The Last Temptation of Christ. And apparently the Reagans just didn't like Richard Pryor: I can understand not showing them his autobio, Jo Jo Dancer, Your Life is Calling, but why not the pablummy Moving, The Toy, or Superman III, especially since they watched Superman II? An even more popular movie star during Reagan's rule was Eddie Murphy, yet not a single one of his movies is on the list, either. But before you jump to conclusions, they also didn't seem to like Chevy Chase movies (but then, who does?) or even Steve Martin (although they did watch Roxanne). And while they didn't bother with Ishtar, they did watch the only other Warren Beatty movie released during the Reagan years: Reds.

I'm currently undergoing some technical down time that will not be going away in the next day or so-- in fact, I'm uncertain when the problem will be solved. So apologies to the many people who participated in last week's quiz and to those expecting one this week. The film in question last week was Fritz Lang's 1927 Metropolis, and the winners were E. Yarber, Wayne Palmer, Joe Rosenberg, Jen McCabe, Hank Parmer, Leab Marcus, Edward Gonda, Dan Andreasen, Bill Hearne, Dean Carlson, Tim Smit, and Ron Cintula. And special congratulations to Kevin Musolino, who wins the week's grand prize, a copy of "Hey! It's That Guy!: The Fametracker.com Guide to Character Actor."

(Check the page in another 2-3 days, folks, and hope for the best. With luck, the quiz will return next week.)

Bush was in my town-- Des Moines-- this afternoon, and since I didn't know it, I got caught in the security gridlock while trying to go to the grocery store (which is just down the street from the airport). When I finally got there, one of the bag-boys filled me in on the cause of the snarl-up: "The President's in town-- everybody loves him, right?" The kid had no idea how his smartass attitude cheered me up.

The day before he came here, The Great Hallucinator answered questions on the war on terror at the School of Advanced International Studies at Johns Hopkins University. This was a typical answer.

I just got a nice email from Christian, a fellow Laurel and Hardy fan, who passed on the news that BBC Radio 4 will be rebroadcasting the very moving drama "Stan" on the Wednesday Afternoon Play. I wrote about it last year, and lameneted that there was no way to hear it online. Thanks to this rebroadcast, an audio stream of the play will be available at Radio 4's archive for the next week.

This play is a must for Laurel and Hardy fans, especially those (like me) who usually hate the basic idea of someone else "doing" them. The star of this radio play, Sir Tom Courtnenay, plays Stan very gently, with only the mildest attempt at his unmistakable voice and speech, letting the words create the character instead. Be warned, though: the more of a fan you are, the harder it is to listen to, since it is an imagined enactment of their last meeting.

If you catch it, let me know what you think. And thanks again to Christian for passing along the good news.

1) Revenge of Billy the Kid (1991 - UK), directed by Jim Groom. A sick little story of a disgusting farm family and its patriarch's love for his prize goat. The vengeful title character is the hybrid love-child of that affair. Many scenes made me wince as I laughed, or vice versa, always a sign of a good gross-out horror comedy. And speaking of gross . . .

2) Dreams of the Rarebit Fiend: The Pet (1921) by Winsor McCay. McCay's pioneering comics and cartoons are great fun today, and Milestone Video has the best-ever collection of his animation work. This cartoon is one in the series he did based on his comic strip about a middle-aged guy's rarebit-induced nightmares, this one about a "monster pet" (the alternate title) that grows huge and eats everything in the house, including furniture. The Missus loves it, but The Mister asks the pharmacist for something that might "murder" it. The pharmacist suggests a barrel of poison called "Rough on Rats," and the scene where the pet eats it is surprisingly grim: the animal (it could be a dog, pony, pig, or all three) bloats and breaks out in weeping blisters!

3) Samson in the Wax Museum (1963 - Mexico), starring Santo. Santo-- played by Santo, or as his American billing has it, Samson-- was a masked wrestler who solved crimes involving vampires, werewolves, mad scientists and their hammy ilk. The cops always call him in when it looks like the supernatural is at work again, although he often cuts the conference short by saying, "Sorry, but I hafta go wrestle now." You can laugh yourself sick at Santo movies at their best, and this one has an hilarious evil mastermind who gives great tirade. (And see if, at the end, he doesn't sound a little like a certain president.)

I already know the prize and it's a good one, so let's try to make it a little tougher than last week. But it's a bona fide classic, and one pic should do it if you know the greats:

There's no accompanying sound clue because it really doesn't have any, give or take a bad disco score. If you know the title (and of course you do), send me an email by late Sunday night, and if you're right, not only will you make the winners circle, you might even snag the swag. Good luck.

Besides being one of his best later films, As Good as It Gets was also the beginning of Jack Nicholson's old man period. Seeing him on the Oscars last month and hearing his cig-ruined voice croak out "Crash!", it was clear that the guy is now a geezer. So far, he shows every sign of being born for the role.

It's never clear what, exactly, is wrong with Nicholson's character in this: he's agorophobic, which is why he's a romance novelist working in his apartment, but it seems to come and go, enabling him to go to Helen Hunt's restaurant and fall in love with her. Or whatever it is he does, because most of the stuff he says to her-- and everybody else-- is memorable mostly for its cruelty. And it's hilarious.

Just as Nicholson keeps the dog scenes from being too cute, writer and director James L. Brooks keeps the romance from getting sentimental-- thank goodness, since the viewer has to ignore the almost 30 years difference between Jack and Helen. I'm not sure that there isn't more chemistry between Jack and Greg Kinnear, and Nicholson's anti-gay cracks and comments are the source of the movie's best-known insults.

So congratulations to a larger than usual winners circle this week: Wayne Palmer, Ryan Backman, Corey Anderson (who commented on the film's ironic title), Shylina, Dustin Gaynor, John Middleton, Kate Horkey, Bjorn, Bill Hearne, Hank Parmer, Denny Lynch, Vince Tuss, Joe Rosenberg, Nick Frame, Trevor Jackson, Stella, Kevin Musolino, and Melissa Baker. And special congratulations to Mark Gisleson, who wins the week's grand prize, the 2001 documentary Go, Tigers!. Go, Wege!