What I Wanna See at SIFF

I want to see: The Secret Lives of Dentists, because the Jane Smiley source tale used to be my favorite story and I'm crazy about director Alan Rudolph, even though he once drunkenly tried to strangle me in a restaurant, crazed by Hollywood's brutal exploitation of his ability to make $10 million look like $50 million on-screen.

The Animatrix, because Miyazaki has made me anime-mad and mad for parallel worlds. And, unlike The Matrix Reloaded, it may give me spacey thoughts without forcing me to witness the nightmare of Keanu's once-beautiful, age-ravaged face.

Wattstax, because I was foolishly home walking the dog instead of watching Rufus Thomas at the historic '70s concert.

The Education of Gore Vidal, because he'll say something rude and scintillant.

Sweet Sixteen, because this could be Ken Loach's big one and it sounds like it might have the keen family feeling that put Drugstore Cowboy over the top.

The Hebrew Hammer, because Adam Goldberg's eyebrows are seriously funny, and because I've been holding my breath for his big break ever since Dazed and Confused and must exhale.

My Architect, because I'm fascinated by artists who are the bastard offspring of brilliant, respected, covertly bigamous men. (Like the theater legend Ken Tynan, this documentary's director, Nathaniel Kahn, falls into this category.)

Le Cercle Rouge, because Jean-Pierre Melville combines the mass-market pop sensibility of the first part of Moby-Dick with the mystical weirdness of the rest of it.

American Splendor, because Paul Giamatti is genius casting and maybe it will pack the underground punch of Crumb or Ghost World.

My Dinner With Jimi, because, except for the Zappa medleys, the best parts of any Turtles concert are the shaggy-dog '60s reminiscences of singer Howard Kaylan. (And I'll bet he'll make me feel transported to swinging London, luv.)

Jason and the Argonauts, because the last time I saw it, those dragon-tooth-sown fighting skeletons made my best friend projectile vomit with excitement outside the theater, whereupon we went home and sword-fought the woods by our homes for a week until we'd subdued each and every tree transformed into a monster by our hero, Ray Harryhausenwho's here in the flesh. Matrix, Schmatrix. Jason could chop Neo down to size.

tappelo@seattleweekly.com