Years from now, when cinephiles are asked to name the movies' golden age, they'll say it was when Cate Blanchett was in them.

The visual palette suggests the creepy pastel paintings of Guy Peellaert (Rock Dreams) the fantasy battles with monsters and samurais echo the muscular landscapes of Frank Frazetta and Boris Vallejo. The movie is like an arrested adolescent's Google search run amok.

Mausoleum air and anguished pauses: If this production were a poem, it would be mostly white space.

It is an actor's passion to observe the world. It is his art to become what he observes. And finally, it is his job to let the world observe him.

Hollywood was born schizophrenic. For 75 years it has been both a town and a state of mind, an industry and an art form.