Signs...

...is a great movie. I mean, if you believe in both God and aliens.

Seriously, though. Joaquin is fantastic and intense and not-yet-crazy. Mel is charming and paternal and not-yet-crazy. Abigail Breslin is adorable and precocious and not-yet-overexposed. It's the perfect balance of scary and thought-provoking and entertaining and achingly sad. And did I mention that Joaquin isn't crazy?

Plot holes? Yep. But I can handle 'em.

Maybe it just reminds me of the night I turned 19, sitting in a dark, drafty theater with a few friends, terrified of crop circles and enamored with tin-foil helmets. (I believe that theater collapsed shortly thereafter, crushing a few innocent folks to death. The venue was its own horror show.) I also appreciate the frequent usage of plaid by the Costume Department.

Independence Day TV is a little awkward. And I'm tired of accepting Bill Pullman as president. Too strong of a Newsies connection for my brain to wrap around. 

P.S. Am I the only one who's amused that Phoenix plays an ex-pro ballplayer and happens to hang out in a cornfield? How very Field of Dreams of him.