The studio projections are in for the weekend and it looks like {Eminem is going to post an impressive $54.5m debut, showing Britney and the like who’s boss.

Next weekend will promise to be even more intriguing, as we’ll see what sort of drop-off the film experiences. In the current market, it’s not unusual to see a 40-50% drop in take (example: in its second weekend, Jackass: The Movie dropped 44.1%). This is due to the studios’ strategy of opening a film as wide as possible in order to a) demand a larger chunk in revenue sharing from the exhibitors and b) outrun bad word-of-mouth (though the Internet has done something to inhibit this; see also Nash, Pluto).

That’s why I am fascinated by My Big Fat Greek Wedding. After 204 days in release, it gained 2.3% this weekend, for a cumulative total of $192.75m. (That places the $5m picture ahead of MiB II for the year, which had a $140m production budget.)

I hope this is a story that will be repeated even more in the future, as the landscape changes to allow different stories to have access to distribution — perhaps even those that don’t star white rappers.

I’ve now seen this Michael Moore film twice. Each time, the crowd gave the film a round of applause at the end. (I can’t remember the last film I saw that received such a reception.)

It is worthy of applause. Unlike the dreck that Hollywood is producing, Columbine has humor, seriousness, and (in some scenes) a fierce honesty, as when Moore captures a home security consultant overcome by the “viciousness” of the shooters at the school, or the sadness of the principal at Buell Elementary, where a 6-year-old shot another 6-year-old.

Unfortunately, in other parts it can also play a bit fast and loose. Rather than interview the owner of the gun used in the Buell shooting, Moore ambushes Dick Clark with questions about welfare-to-work. It sure can be fun to see celebrities squirm, but in this case it didn’t feel true.

On the whole, though, these misgivings are a small part of an otherwise good film, and I must wholeheartedly recommend it to anyone. We need more people like Michael Moore, asking important questions and sharing views in the movie theater. Here’s hoping more documentaries like this one get wide theatrical release.

I’ll admit, I entered the film distracted. When I read in StudioBrief that Ann Hornaday, a Washington Post movie critic, had labeled Eminem‘s mouth “aristocratic” I just had to find out what the hell that meant.

I still don’t know, but now that I’ve seen the movie and read her review (the way-too-cutely titled “The Reel Slim Shady“) I conclude that she does know what she’s talking about — at least as far as acting and pacing is concerned.

Eminem is definitely watchable. Even at rest he has an intensity that draws your attention. Still, there isn’t much to work with here, both in terms of his available range as an actor and what the script offers. It takes a long time to get to an ending that everyone knows is coming. (The vaunted rapping is a small fraction of screen time, and the rest is less compelling.)

Mr. Mathers does have two interactions with a gay man that seem designed to soften his homophobic image. The effect is somewhere between contrived and convincing, but it’s a start.

Final verdict: acceptable. And I’d watch Eminem again.

I’m not quite sure how to take Punch-Drunk Love. It’s different right from the start, when it opens without any titles. Barry (Adam Sandler) is on the phone discussing plastic breakage and offering his home phone number to a clearly nonplussed vendor.

Then a strangely timed accident, a mysteriously appearing harmonium and a quirky woman enter the picture, setting off a train of events that includes strangely timed accidents and quirky women, with the odd harmonium reference.

If it all sounds weird, that’s because it is. But it’s an enjoyable ride. I let some of my analysis faculties take a rest while I took great pleasure in imagining how the stereotypical Adam Sandler fan would react to the picture. Perhaps it was best captured by the couple in front of me:

Woman: What the hell…
Man (overlapping): What the fuck was that?

I know. What an inauspicious beginning. I offer no defense. It was fifty cents, and Debbie was interested in going.

Even allowing for my incredibly low expectations, it was poor. While I certainly didn’t mind the first ten minutes, what with the beautiful water shots and one or two deeply-tanned boys with impossibly low-hanging shorts, it got worse from there.

I won’t bother with the “plot” except to say: please. And in the same picky vein, the points where they used CGI to map the star’s face to the stuntperson’s surfing were unconvincing. It made me think of the Sopranos episode they created after Nancy Marchand‘s death: just… off. Some sheen, some glow, some hint that the face is just not quite right.

Supporting stills still to come.