I arrived by canoe at sunset, then I rented a dog sled to take me to the festival igloo, where the movies are screened by the light of a whale-oil lamp.

Today I saw Anne Hathaway bid for an Oscar as a recovering junkie in “Rachel Getting Married,” Dakota Fanning bid adieu to her childhood as a rural runaway in “The Secret Life of Bees” and Michael Cera of “Juno” bid for the title of Hollywood’s most lovable geek in “Nick and Nora’s Infinite Playlist.”

Tomorrow, Brad and George will hold a press conference for the Coen brothers’ spy comedy “Burn After Reading”; but the only stars that interest me now are the constellations steering me ever northward to the pole of pure cinema.

Mush!

I like to think that I’m immune to such hype, but maybe there’s a subconscious reason why I’ve been anticipating the film for weeks–ever since a recent trip overseas. Maybe these vacation photos from Paris will provide me a clue.

That commercial was the first time most people had seen LaFontaine’s face. Yet the man with one of the world’s most famous voices  didn’t seem to mind his strange mix of fame and anonymity. In his 30-year career he did more than 3,000 voiceovers–sometimes as many as 20 a day–and his yearly income was in the millions.

Yesterday I saw a film called ”Plastic City” that symbolizes the cross-pollination within the new world order. It’s a Chinese film about a Japanese gangster who controls the counterfeiting of U.S. goods in the slums of Sao Paolo, Brazil.

There’s a lot of talk here about the emerging economies that are impacting the cultural dialogue, particularly the booming countries that are collectively called BRIC–Brazil, Russia, India and China.

Meanwhile, almost no one here is talking about the U.S., whether culturally or politically. My trip began right after the opening ceremony of the Olympics, where Chinese filmmaker Zhang Yimou helped flex the collective muscle of more than a billion people who rightly expect to have a big say in the world’s future. As the American political conventions kicked off, not a single person I met on my trip expressed any interest in them. Although it seems fitting that there is a bi-racial candidate and a woman in the mix, the countries I’ve visited (and the movies I’ve seen) take multiculturalism as a given.  Once-lilywhite London is now a mecca for Muslims and other immigrants from England’s former empire, there are districts of Paris that pulse to an African beat, and the explanatory signs in Pompei are in six languages (not counting Latin).

Even the few American movies in this year’s Venice Film Festival have an international flavor. ”The Burning Plain” takes place on the U.S.-Mexican border. ”The Hurt Locker” is about Iraq. A film called ”Vegas” is by an Iranian-born American. An Indian-American director traveled to Kashmir to make a movie about a pickpocket called ”Zero Bridge.” And even Ross McElwee, the Harvard film instructor whose navel-gaving ”Sherman’s March” practically invented the first-person documentary,  left his comfort zone, traveling to South America to adopt an infant girl (and muse on colonialism) in the the effecting film ”In Paraguay.”

Next week I”ll be at the Toronto Film Festival, which I expect will be dominated by the self-pitying or self-congratulatory crud that the North America film industry churns out. But my eyes and ears are open now to a world full of others who are seizing the stage.

The Wednesday kickoff of the Venice Film Festival was lit by Hollywood star power, but like the world economy, the weeklong event is being propped up by Europe and Asia.

George Clooney and my Mizzou classmate Brad Pitt were on Lido Island to premier the new spy comedy “Burn After Reading,” the Coen brothers’ follow-up to the Oscar winning “No Country for Old Men.” But it is depressingly clear that the prizewinner for the festival will not be emerging from the English-speaking entries. There are only five of them—half the number   of last year’s festival, which boasted “Atonement” as well as Clooney’s “Michael Clayton” and Pitt’s “The Assassination of Jesse James.”In front of the beachside cinema complex, I watched George and Brad graciously signing autographs before the premier. But I wasn’t there. A certain cut-rate airline—I’m looking at you, Air One—delayed my connection from Naples for six hours, so I missed the movie (until a enchanting outdoor reprise last night in a Venetian piazza that was like a real-life ”Cinema Paradiso”).

On my flight I met Walter Parkes and Laurie McDonald, the producers of another American entry, “The Burning Plain,” which is the directorial debut of crafty screenwriter Guillermo Arriaga (“Babel,” “21 Grams”). Parkes and McDonald were bemused by an article in the International Herald Tribune that said this year’s slate was a downbeat echo of a world in turmoil. The article described their film as a drama about a young woman (Charlize Theron) and her mother (Kim Basinger) who “struggle to re-establish a troubled relationship.” Parkes luaghed and said that that description left out a particularly dark detail.

The dark vibe extends to the other American entries. Jonathan Demme’s “Rachel Getting  Married” is about a fashion model (Anne Hathaway) who is furloughed from drug rehab to attend her sister’s wedding.  Kathryn Bigelow’s “The Hurt Locker” is about a bomb disposal team in Iraq. And Darren Aronofsky’s “The Wrestler” challenges us to gaze upon Mickey Rourke in Spandex.

Now in its 65th edition, the Venice filmfest is the oldest and one of the most prestigious in the world. But with the U.S. dollar plummeting, not many American critics are flush or foolish enough to travel here. (Instead many will attend next week’s Toronto Film Festival, as will I.) So the international press corps  is focusing much of its attention on the crop of films from Asia and Europe.

Both festivals will be screening the Coen brothers’ spy comedy “Burn After Reading.” I may also get to see “Blindness,” from the director of “City of God”; Steven Sodebergh’s pro-Communist biopic “Che”; Charlie Kaufman’s unpronounceable (and reportedly unwatchable) “Synecdoche, New York”;  and a Cannes prize winner called “Gomorrah” that depicts my ancestral home of Naples as hell on earth. But the guiltiest of pleasures may turn out to be Darren Aronofsky’s “The Wrestler,” starring Mickey Rourke as an aging grappler and the growing-younger Marisa Tomei as a stripper who no doubt has a heart of gold.

Be good.

Arkansas native and diehard Cardinals fan Thornton didn’t mention  anything about it when he was in town last Thursday, gigging at both the Ameristar Casino and Vintage Vinyl with his retro country band The Boxmasters. And frankly I don’t think he’s scary enough.

While he was signing autographs at Vintage Vinyl, I slipped Thornton a picture of his arch-nemesis: Benjamin Disraeli, the Conservative prime minister of England from 1874 to 1880, whose unnaturally curly locks send Billy Bob into a tailspin.

“I’m a little creeped out,” he confessed as he gazed upon the face of Disraeli. So how is the new Freddy Krueger going to react to a slumbering teen with a bad case of bed head?

Joel Hodgson, the gentle Minnesotan who created and hosted the original MST3K, will be spoofing a 1972 horror flick movie called “The Oozing Skull” live at the St. Charles Family Arena on Saturday, Nov. 1, with his team Cinematic Titanic. CT includes several of the show’s original writers and actors, including Trace Beaulieu (Crow T. Robot), and J. Elvis Weinstein (the first-year Tom Servo), as well as Mary Jo Pehl (Pearl Forrester) and Frank Conniff (TV’s Frank). Their first three spoofed movies are available for download at EZTakes.com. (I’ve tried it–it works.)

Meanwhile, head writer and replacement host Mike Nelson is churning out MP3-based satirical commentary of blockbuster movies (like “Harry Potter”) with his enterprise called RiffTrax. He’s also released several spoof-a-movie videos with his team The Film Crew. The Film  Crew includes Bill Corbett and Kevin Murphy, who continued doing the voices of Tom Servo and Crow T. Robot after Joel went into the invention business. Film Crew spoofs are available through the usual online retailers (Amazon and such) and for streaming onto your computer at hulu.com.

Confused? Me too.  I say, support both enterprises. Start by buying their various videos. Then contact Metrotix for ducats to Joel’s live performance on Nov. 1. I’ll be there, celebrating my birthday. (Astrologically, that means I was born under the Movie sign.)

The centerpiece of his set will be his new tune “I’m Watchin’ the Game,” a retro-country  story/song about trying to catch the Cardinals on the tube while the wife keeps blocking the view. (Think Red Sovine at his reddest.)

Thornton grew up in Hot Springs, Ark., where he dreamed of someday pitching for the Redbirds. He’s come close–he’s thrown ceremonial first pitches at various Busch Stadiums, and he pinch-hit in the broadcast booth for the 2007 home opener.

If you love the Cardinals, you gotta love Billy Bob Thornton. And if you love Billy Bob Thornton, you have to experience his Clintonesque charisma live. (Yes, he’ll be signing autographs. Just don’t pester him about certain touchy subjects, such as Benjamin Disraeli’s hair.)

Vintage Vinyl is at 6610 Delmar in the U. City Loop. While you’re there, support the hometown economy and buy something, good buddy.

Last week we mentioned the local premier of “Kuselan,” the latest film from the actor called Rajinikanth (AKA Superstar), who performs in the Tamil language of Southern India. This week, Bollywood’s Hindi-language contingent offers us a different kind of superstar: rapper Snoop Dogg, who performs the intoxicating title track for the highly anticipated new film “Singh is Kinng.” (Yes, that’s how it’s spelled.) The gangster comedy romance, filmed in the northern Punjabi region,  screens at the St. Charles Cine Friday at 8 p.m., Saturday at 3 p.m. and 9 p.m. and Sunday at 3 p.m. Tickets are $15. For more information, visit www.seemaent.com.

In the meantime, dig the Dogg in this music-video tease for the movie: