Mortality. Infidelity. Kevin Costner.

It was a hell of a day, yesterday, movie-wise. 49Up, Little Childrenand The Guardian. And -- not-so-nicely -- about a 10-minute window to bust five blocks between the first two; anyone who thinks this job involves no physical activity is invited to do the Market Street jog with me. It feels like awards season is here - the deadline for Foreign and Documentary films for the Oscars is approaching, for heaven's sake, and it's still September -- and that, as ever, means an embarrassment of riches. And wretches, too -- coulda-shoulda-wanna be awards flicks like All The King's Men and Bobby that are as glossy and inert as the statue they lust after.

One of yesterday's comments suggested that Josh Hartnett is "one of the best actors." I don't want to make fun of anyone -- okay, maybe I do a little -- but if you're looking to have a meeting of the "Josh Hartnett is the best actor ever" club, let me know; there's still a phone booth in my neighborhood that would fit all the members comfortably.

So we're going to do another Halloween costume contest on Cinematical this year; check out last year's winner if you want to know where the bar is set. All I know is that last year, I saw Lloyd Dobler walking down Church street, boom box aloft, and was agog and aghast at the simplicity and power of a trench coat and a stereo. We'll keep you posted, I promise.

J.