Fair warning - I am going to discuss plot elements of Avatar, including the ending.
Frankly, I don't see how it could matter to anyone's enjoyment of the movie, since the plot is a motor for the technological wizardry, rather than the other way around. In 335 BCE, Aristotle summarized the elements of drama: plot; character; thought (ideas); diction (language); song (music); and spectacle. He then stated, "the least of these is spectacle."
I'm not going to deny that the special effects in Avatar were extraordinary, or that James Cameron successfully moved performance capture technology that much further along toward perfection. Yes, the alien world of Pandora is beautifully rendered. It doesn't bother me that the story is one we've all seen before; there are many ways to retell a story, and addressing issues of occupation, war, and the rape of a planet for its natural resources is a worthwhile endeavor in any medium. It's not as though these issues are not still sadly relevant.
But I was bored through much of Avatar, and never fully engaged. I found myself thinking that I had been far more emotionally invested in Hiccup's first triumphant flight on Toothless in How To Train Your Dragon than I was when Jake Sully (Sam Worthington) first bonded with the banshee. The bond between boy and dragon was dramatically earned; the insta-bond via tentacles in Avatar is a narrative shortcut, and a cheat.
Indeed, Jake Sully's entire journey is a cheat - as near as I could tell, one of the floaty jellyfish-like creatures seemed to take a liking to him, so Zoe Saldana's Neytiri (rather easily) convinces her tribe to allow her to teach him the Na'vi way. Jake takes to it like a duck to water. We never get a sense that any of this is alien to him in any significant way. When the Really Bad Army Guy, played by Stephen Lang with absolutely no nuance or variety of inflection, asks Jake, "how does it feel to betray your race?" I thought it was actually a valid question. Not because the goals of the humans are in any way defensible, but because we never see Jake, or any of the few "good" humans, struggle at all with their choice to throw in their lot with an alien race on a planet with an environment that is poisonous to them.
That's not entirely true. We do see the regrettably underdeveloped Trudy, played by the always interesting Michelle Rodriguez, hesitate over whether to fire on the Na'vi home tree, before deciding to leave the battle. Inexplicably, she apparently suffers no repercussions from this blatant act of desertion, and is later able to facilitate the escape of Jake, Grace (Sigourney Weaver) and Norm (Joel Moore). This kind of sloppiness is typical of the movie in general.
In addition to the criminally bad dialogue - can James Cameron accept that he cannot write, and hire a decent screenwriter, please? - none of the characters are ever fully developed. It is unclear, for example, how deeply Grace has bonded with the Na'vi, until suddenly she is willing to lay down her life for them. Initially, Norm's excitement seemed purely academic - I was surprised that his dedication extended to fighting on the ground with the Na'vi. But then, the entire story is laid out in such basic strokes that we are simply expected to take it on faith that the good guys support the Na'vi and the bad guys are the ones who want to destroy the planet just like they destroyed Earth. And just in case we miss any of that, we have Jake's handy dandy ever-present narration to make sure we understand this supremely uncomplicated story. Which for all of its unnecessary detail never explains how the "few" humans who are permitted to stay on Pandora at the end would survive - or what their role would be under such circumstances.
Finally - that ending. Seriously? We are supposed to believe that humans would leave, never to return, because they lost one battle? Since the material they want is underground, I think it far more likely that they would return in full force with a scorched earth approach to the problem of the Na'vi and the rest of the inhospitable planet. But the last time James Cameron gave us a great ending was the first Terminator film - which in my opinion remains his best work.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Missing the real Sex and the City
I never really thought we needed a Sex and the City movie; much as I enjoyed the series, like most successful television, it really went on longer than it should have anyway. I couldn't resist it, though - I had to see it. And I hated it. It actually made me angry. So I can't get worked up about the reviews indicating that the new SATC movie is bad. The first one already traduced so much of what made the series work.
First of all, the movie betrayed its most likable men, and positioned its two most independent women as victims of those men. The relationship between Miranda and Steve was arguably the show's most compelling romance; certainly it was a high point throughout the life of the series. Anyone paying attention would know that Steve would not cheat on Miranda - if anyone would stray in that marriage, it would be her, not him. It also would have been more interesting to watch Miranda and Steve negotiate the very real differences between them that would lead to such a crisis, rather than an implied "all men are dogs who can't go without sex for too long" explanation for Steve's infidelity. Instead of acknowledging that Miranda always struggled with the nature of true commitment and intimacy, the movie presented her "challenge" as a lesson in forgiveness and flexibility. Characteristics, incidentally, that Steve always possessed in spades.
For me, the second most engaging romance in the show's history was the surprising love story of Charlotte and Harry. Evan Handler is a marvelous actor, and Kristin Davis developed into a delightful romantic comedienne during the show's run, so naturally we barely saw Harry, and Charlotte's only set piece was a supremely unfunny diarrhea joke. Most disturbing to me, however, was Charlotte's pregnancy.
Full disclosure - I am an adoptive parent and therefore biased. But it was supremely refreshing that the series presented a successful adoption as the happy ending for Charlotte and Harry. I was so disappointed when the movie backed away from that and gave us the "miracle pregnancy" for Charlotte. First of all, it's an inflated myth - only a small percentage of adoptive parents with fertility issues have biological children after adopting. It's annoying when mainstream pop culture reinforces that myth instead of demonstrating, as the SATC series finale unequivocally did, that for some of us, adoption is all the miracle we need.
Smith was never a terribly interesting character, but he was consistently defined by two things: his innate decency and his unwavering love and support for Samantha. In the movie, he's simply a douche. It's like watching the same actor play a different character. Equally damning is Samantha's response. The one thing Samantha never was in the series was anyone's doormat. But with both Samantha and Miranda, the movie takes the series' two strongest women and positions them as needy "victims" - and compounds that by making them victims of men who during the life of the series were two of the nicest human beings you'd ever want to meet.
And Carrie - the narrator and least likable of the four. Her narcissism in the movie exceeds all expectations, and for a longtime viewer of the series, that is saying something. My sympathies were firmly with Mr. Big throughout. She had a brief moment of clarity late in the movie, but it's far too little, too late. Everything that initially made the Carrie/Big romance appealing is gone. For one thing, it's really the chemistry between Sarah Jessica Parker and Chris Noth that made it work anyway, and they have relatively few scenes together. But the real problem is that, as the main throughline of the movie, the will-they-or-won't-they-get-married arc for Carrie and Big is an epic failure. The importance of this relationship seems utterly diminished.
Finally, the decision to move Samantha from NYC to LA should have created major plot developments. I don't care how much money you have, or how often you fly back from LA; when someone moves 3,000 miles away, that affects lives and relationships. The friendship between the four women is the primary motor for the show - even if we couldn't clearly see that for ourselves, the writers helpfully make it clear on a repeated basis. In the series finale, Carrie's decision to move to Paris was presented as a seismic event. Granted, LA is not Paris, but it's still a long ways off, and the movie's refusal to demonstrate the impact of Samantha's move upon those core relationships is a lazy cheat.
Will I see Sex and the City 2? Probably - Netflix makes it easy. It sounds embarrassingly bad - but it cannot be any worse than the first one. It's a shame, because the series really was a delight - but it was a product of time and place, and probably should have been left there. But as long as it's a money ball, the sequels will probably continue to roll.
First of all, the movie betrayed its most likable men, and positioned its two most independent women as victims of those men. The relationship between Miranda and Steve was arguably the show's most compelling romance; certainly it was a high point throughout the life of the series. Anyone paying attention would know that Steve would not cheat on Miranda - if anyone would stray in that marriage, it would be her, not him. It also would have been more interesting to watch Miranda and Steve negotiate the very real differences between them that would lead to such a crisis, rather than an implied "all men are dogs who can't go without sex for too long" explanation for Steve's infidelity. Instead of acknowledging that Miranda always struggled with the nature of true commitment and intimacy, the movie presented her "challenge" as a lesson in forgiveness and flexibility. Characteristics, incidentally, that Steve always possessed in spades.
For me, the second most engaging romance in the show's history was the surprising love story of Charlotte and Harry. Evan Handler is a marvelous actor, and Kristin Davis developed into a delightful romantic comedienne during the show's run, so naturally we barely saw Harry, and Charlotte's only set piece was a supremely unfunny diarrhea joke. Most disturbing to me, however, was Charlotte's pregnancy.
Full disclosure - I am an adoptive parent and therefore biased. But it was supremely refreshing that the series presented a successful adoption as the happy ending for Charlotte and Harry. I was so disappointed when the movie backed away from that and gave us the "miracle pregnancy" for Charlotte. First of all, it's an inflated myth - only a small percentage of adoptive parents with fertility issues have biological children after adopting. It's annoying when mainstream pop culture reinforces that myth instead of demonstrating, as the SATC series finale unequivocally did, that for some of us, adoption is all the miracle we need.
Smith was never a terribly interesting character, but he was consistently defined by two things: his innate decency and his unwavering love and support for Samantha. In the movie, he's simply a douche. It's like watching the same actor play a different character. Equally damning is Samantha's response. The one thing Samantha never was in the series was anyone's doormat. But with both Samantha and Miranda, the movie takes the series' two strongest women and positions them as needy "victims" - and compounds that by making them victims of men who during the life of the series were two of the nicest human beings you'd ever want to meet.
And Carrie - the narrator and least likable of the four. Her narcissism in the movie exceeds all expectations, and for a longtime viewer of the series, that is saying something. My sympathies were firmly with Mr. Big throughout. She had a brief moment of clarity late in the movie, but it's far too little, too late. Everything that initially made the Carrie/Big romance appealing is gone. For one thing, it's really the chemistry between Sarah Jessica Parker and Chris Noth that made it work anyway, and they have relatively few scenes together. But the real problem is that, as the main throughline of the movie, the will-they-or-won't-they-get-married arc for Carrie and Big is an epic failure. The importance of this relationship seems utterly diminished.
Finally, the decision to move Samantha from NYC to LA should have created major plot developments. I don't care how much money you have, or how often you fly back from LA; when someone moves 3,000 miles away, that affects lives and relationships. The friendship between the four women is the primary motor for the show - even if we couldn't clearly see that for ourselves, the writers helpfully make it clear on a repeated basis. In the series finale, Carrie's decision to move to Paris was presented as a seismic event. Granted, LA is not Paris, but it's still a long ways off, and the movie's refusal to demonstrate the impact of Samantha's move upon those core relationships is a lazy cheat.
Will I see Sex and the City 2? Probably - Netflix makes it easy. It sounds embarrassingly bad - but it cannot be any worse than the first one. It's a shame, because the series really was a delight - but it was a product of time and place, and probably should have been left there. But as long as it's a money ball, the sequels will probably continue to roll.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Various movies, plus memory lane...
I have spent the entire day thinking that I have to re-watch Up in the Air because I don't remember Clooney wearing wingtips at the end - and then I realized. He says in the voiceover that"one of the stars, brighter than the rest, will be my wingtip passing over." I think that means the wingtip on the plane, not a wingtip shoe. But I'm fascinated by the way that completely changes the ending of the film.
I think I first started liking Hugh Grant when I saw About a Boy. I actually liked that Hugh Grant/Sandra Bullock movie (I think it's called Two Weeks Notice), which really surprised me, since as a rule I don't care for Bullock and didn't enjoy Grant at the time either. (Trivia note - the same guy directed Two Weeks Notice and Music & Lyrics. Or maybe it's the same screenwriter.) But the first time that I really liked him was definitely About a Boy, which I thought was a terrific move. I still haven't seen Love, Actually - I guess I'd better add it to the Netflix queue. So many movies, so little time...do you remember how many movies we used to see? I guess that's one of the ways we spent our time before we became parents - Tim and I have been trying to remember what we did, exactly.
I recently watched, thanks to Netflix, Next Stop, Greenwich Village. Have you seen it? Early Mazursky, set in, of course, Greenwich Village, in the early 1960s - or maybe the late 1950s. Even though our time was decades later, it made me so nostalgic for that time in our lives - young, aspiring artists in NYC. It's a state of mind and being that only a few of us are privileged to experience, and while watching that movie, I truly felt in my bones that it really doesn't matter what happened to those dreams. I don't at all mind that my life turned out so differently than I'd imagined - I'm honestly very happy, and I know how lucky I am. But I will forever be grateful for the years I spent dedicated to the belief that my life would turn out exactly as I pictured it, and that I was able to experience life in the hum and roar of that city. I don't want to live there again - but living in NYC is such a specific experience. It really is like no other place, isn't it?
I think I first started liking Hugh Grant when I saw About a Boy. I actually liked that Hugh Grant/Sandra Bullock movie (I think it's called Two Weeks Notice), which really surprised me, since as a rule I don't care for Bullock and didn't enjoy Grant at the time either. (Trivia note - the same guy directed Two Weeks Notice and Music & Lyrics. Or maybe it's the same screenwriter.) But the first time that I really liked him was definitely About a Boy, which I thought was a terrific move. I still haven't seen Love, Actually - I guess I'd better add it to the Netflix queue. So many movies, so little time...do you remember how many movies we used to see? I guess that's one of the ways we spent our time before we became parents - Tim and I have been trying to remember what we did, exactly.
I recently watched, thanks to Netflix, Next Stop, Greenwich Village. Have you seen it? Early Mazursky, set in, of course, Greenwich Village, in the early 1960s - or maybe the late 1950s. Even though our time was decades later, it made me so nostalgic for that time in our lives - young, aspiring artists in NYC. It's a state of mind and being that only a few of us are privileged to experience, and while watching that movie, I truly felt in my bones that it really doesn't matter what happened to those dreams. I don't at all mind that my life turned out so differently than I'd imagined - I'm honestly very happy, and I know how lucky I am. But I will forever be grateful for the years I spent dedicated to the belief that my life would turn out exactly as I pictured it, and that I was able to experience life in the hum and roar of that city. I don't want to live there again - but living in NYC is such a specific experience. It really is like no other place, isn't it?
"Music and Lyrics": Entertaining Delight
Lea Thompson. You do have to wonder how she has managed to get so far. Maybe she's terribly nice. Do you remember that show Carolyn in the City? What a big deal that was. Did she get it because she'd been in a John Hughes movie? She just didn't have the star power to carry a whole show. Fizzlesville. You wanted to like it but it was just dishwater. How did it go four seasons?
I'd wanted to go see Music and Lyrics in the theatre, but Bret never goes to movies like that and it did give the impression it would be fine on HBO in six months. What a happy surprise when I finally got to see it.
Hugh Grant has irritated me for years. A few years ago, on some talk show he and Sandra Bullock played outtakes from some bland comedy they were in, and they seemed to be having so much fun that I sort of started to like him. And then it was probably About a Boy or Notting Hill that I began to tolerate him better. By Love, Actually I was onboard. He'd lost most of the stuttering and blithering and there were lines in his face that made him look mortal.
This new calmer Hugh Grant in Music and Lyrics, where he pokes fun at himself and seems less driven to be liked was a pleasure to behold. Drew Barrymore was a decade or so too young for him, but they were very appealing together.
I love the song Pop Goes My Heart and the accompanying video is a smilefest. You'd swear you'd watched it on MTV back in the day.
Haley Bennett (I had to look her up on IMDB) was sensational as the Madonna-Brittney Spears-style character. What a talent. You'd think she'd have gone further by now.
Music and Lyrics is a Dean Martin comedy – maybe we should say Rock Hudson-Doris Day type of comedy; his body of work doesn't support him as a whole genre. It was an evening thrown away on a fattening dinner out, high priced movie tickets, overpriced popcorn, and a sitter, but satisfying nonetheless. You're full on sugar and fat by the end, but in a good mood and humming the theme song.
I'd wanted to go see Music and Lyrics in the theatre, but Bret never goes to movies like that and it did give the impression it would be fine on HBO in six months. What a happy surprise when I finally got to see it.
Hugh Grant has irritated me for years. A few years ago, on some talk show he and Sandra Bullock played outtakes from some bland comedy they were in, and they seemed to be having so much fun that I sort of started to like him. And then it was probably About a Boy or Notting Hill that I began to tolerate him better. By Love, Actually I was onboard. He'd lost most of the stuttering and blithering and there were lines in his face that made him look mortal.
This new calmer Hugh Grant in Music and Lyrics, where he pokes fun at himself and seems less driven to be liked was a pleasure to behold. Drew Barrymore was a decade or so too young for him, but they were very appealing together.
I love the song Pop Goes My Heart and the accompanying video is a smilefest. You'd swear you'd watched it on MTV back in the day.
Haley Bennett (I had to look her up on IMDB) was sensational as the Madonna-Brittney Spears-style character. What a talent. You'd think she'd have gone further by now.
Music and Lyrics is a Dean Martin comedy – maybe we should say Rock Hudson-Doris Day type of comedy; his body of work doesn't support him as a whole genre. It was an evening thrown away on a fattening dinner out, high priced movie tickets, overpriced popcorn, and a sitter, but satisfying nonetheless. You're full on sugar and fat by the end, but in a good mood and humming the theme song.
Monday, April 12, 2010
"Up in the Air"
I don't know exactly why I have left this movie in the past so easily, but I was so taken by the initial praise that I couldn't wait to see it. And so I did.
I know that I was favorably impressed and enjoyed the performances, and was moved. I was caught up in the love story, mildly stunned by the outcome. And after mentioning it to people the next few days, saying how good it was, I moved on. I only thought of it again during Oscar time, and when an old high school friend wrote on Facebook that it had "pissed" her off, but she didn't say why. Because she's smart, I felt stupid for having liked it, assuming I had missed some major irony or point. And then the Oscars passed it by, too.
I think your treatise is right on, Shakes. But overall, it was much more conventional a movie than I was led to believe it might be. And that is, I think, in no small part to the fact that George Clooney is so very good at making the smart movie taste good as it goes down. He's our Cary Grant, isn't he? He's a populist and a good guy. But he isn't afraid to occasionally smear the need to think in our faces (Syriana, Michael Clayton, Good Night, and Good Luck, for example.)
But this wasn't one of those kinds of movies. In a way it was like a Capra movie. Lots of identification with the "little man," and entertaining and a little righteous. The state of the economy at the time it was made and released are the only reasons the movie felt a little tough. If and when the economy improves, will future viewers see it the same way?
I had a different interpretation of the end. I got the sense that the Clooney character had changed more than you and others may have. He does narrate clearly that the shoes he's wearing onboard that plane at the end are wingtips, and those require shoelaces, an indicator that he has dumped the slip-ons for shoes that take time going through security checkpoints. I assumed he was traveling for pleasure.
Maybe I'm a little deaf and dummy. I thought it was a happy ending.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
About "Up in the Air"
WARNING: this post assumes that anyone reading it has seen Up in the Air. If you haven't and don't want to know what happens, stop reading now.
We just watched Up in the Air the other night, and I've been thinking ever since about the various reviews I read about this film. After its initial, positive response, there was a slew of commentary that damned it with faint praise, or outright complained that it was too slick, too neat, too perfect of a vehicle for George Clooney, etc.
(The most interesting complaint, to my mind, was the assertion that Jason Reitman condescended to the unemployed by hiring real, live, recently unemployed "ordinary folk" as well as actors to play some of the people who lose their jobs throughout the course of the movie. To be honest, I still have not made up my mind about that. On the one hand, isn't it a bit condescending to assume that those individuals didn't have the right to decide for themselves whether or not they were being exploited? On the other, in our five-minutes-of-fame obsessed society, how many people have the strength of will to refuse such an opportunity, especially since they could doubtless use the money? More to the point, however, is the fact that I don't think it actually added anything of note to my experience as a viewer.)
Setting that aside, I think all of the criticism that I have read missed the central thesis of the film, the issue that made me really love the movie: that what we do for a living matters, that it shapes (or misshapes) our soul. The journey that Ryan Bingham (Clooney's character) takes is a journey toward that discovery.
Consider: the movie opens and we see a happy man doing a terrible job with grace and ersatz compassion. He enjoys his life of disconnection. The movie seems to set up a traditional scenario, with Ryan as the good guy who needs to learn the value of love, positioned opposite the seemingly monstrous Natalie, played (to perfection) by Anna Kendrick. She is pushing for the efficient method of firing people remotely, via computer, and Ryan argues that the personal touch is critical in such a demeaning moment. We are set up to expect that Ryan will be vindicated and that Natalie will be humiliated and proven wrong. In a way, that happens - but it's utterly beside the point.
The point is that firing people is a horrible way to make a living. Natalie realizes that, and leaves in order to live a better life. Her epiphany is not driven by her idea to revolutionize the company's methods - her failure occurs in a face-to-face moment. It is also, not incidentally, Ryan's failure. But the movie doesn't dramatize either character paying a professional price for their failure to avoid tragedy; it is made very clear that their boss accepts their statements that they don't recall the woman in question at face value. Natalie quits voluntarily, and moves toward a career that will make her genuinely happy. When the movie ends, Ryan has won his battle and is returning to the life he so valued at the beginning, having lost all of the joy he previously took in his perceived freedom.
I haven't even mentioned the love story at the movie's center. It could work almost as well without it, but who would wish for this movie without Vera Farmiga's Alex? Clooney has never had an onscreen partner this strong - the closest was Jennifer Lopez, of all people, in Out of Sight, and how long ago was that? The romance, like the rest of the movie, is set up according to movie convention and then neatly turns that convention on its ear. We get the epiphany, we get the hero dashing through an airport and racing to proclaim his feelings at last - what we don't get is a happy ending. Instead, Ryan sees that he has given his heart (for the first time in his life) to a deceitful, dysfunctional human being. It was the right resolution, but no less excruciating for that.
The movie's ending is, I think, deliberately ambiguous. We know that Ryan has grown a little. He gives his precious frequent flyer miles to his recently married sister so that she and her husband can have their dream vacation after all. His misery in the final closeup is indicative of his new awareness - the question is, will he sink into misery or do something to change and redeem his life? Anyone who doubts Clooney's ability as an actor should take another look at that closeup; with no change in facial expression, I saw a man gazing into the depths of his soul and seeing only emptiness looking back.
I've gone on this long because I think this is a rare topic for an American film, and that is why it has gone unremarked. Some of us are lucky enough to find work that matters to us, that feeds our spirit; not everyone has that luxury. But there's a difference between working purely for sustenance, and doing something that is actively destructive. Active destruction hurts the person who commits it. It's a notion not many people discuss, but I consider it to be a central truth, and I was very glad to see a mainstream American movie with one of our biggest movie stars exploring it.
However, critical reception indicates that most people didn't pick up on that aspect of it at all.
We just watched Up in the Air the other night, and I've been thinking ever since about the various reviews I read about this film. After its initial, positive response, there was a slew of commentary that damned it with faint praise, or outright complained that it was too slick, too neat, too perfect of a vehicle for George Clooney, etc.
(The most interesting complaint, to my mind, was the assertion that Jason Reitman condescended to the unemployed by hiring real, live, recently unemployed "ordinary folk" as well as actors to play some of the people who lose their jobs throughout the course of the movie. To be honest, I still have not made up my mind about that. On the one hand, isn't it a bit condescending to assume that those individuals didn't have the right to decide for themselves whether or not they were being exploited? On the other, in our five-minutes-of-fame obsessed society, how many people have the strength of will to refuse such an opportunity, especially since they could doubtless use the money? More to the point, however, is the fact that I don't think it actually added anything of note to my experience as a viewer.)
Setting that aside, I think all of the criticism that I have read missed the central thesis of the film, the issue that made me really love the movie: that what we do for a living matters, that it shapes (or misshapes) our soul. The journey that Ryan Bingham (Clooney's character) takes is a journey toward that discovery.
Consider: the movie opens and we see a happy man doing a terrible job with grace and ersatz compassion. He enjoys his life of disconnection. The movie seems to set up a traditional scenario, with Ryan as the good guy who needs to learn the value of love, positioned opposite the seemingly monstrous Natalie, played (to perfection) by Anna Kendrick. She is pushing for the efficient method of firing people remotely, via computer, and Ryan argues that the personal touch is critical in such a demeaning moment. We are set up to expect that Ryan will be vindicated and that Natalie will be humiliated and proven wrong. In a way, that happens - but it's utterly beside the point.
The point is that firing people is a horrible way to make a living. Natalie realizes that, and leaves in order to live a better life. Her epiphany is not driven by her idea to revolutionize the company's methods - her failure occurs in a face-to-face moment. It is also, not incidentally, Ryan's failure. But the movie doesn't dramatize either character paying a professional price for their failure to avoid tragedy; it is made very clear that their boss accepts their statements that they don't recall the woman in question at face value. Natalie quits voluntarily, and moves toward a career that will make her genuinely happy. When the movie ends, Ryan has won his battle and is returning to the life he so valued at the beginning, having lost all of the joy he previously took in his perceived freedom.
I haven't even mentioned the love story at the movie's center. It could work almost as well without it, but who would wish for this movie without Vera Farmiga's Alex? Clooney has never had an onscreen partner this strong - the closest was Jennifer Lopez, of all people, in Out of Sight, and how long ago was that? The romance, like the rest of the movie, is set up according to movie convention and then neatly turns that convention on its ear. We get the epiphany, we get the hero dashing through an airport and racing to proclaim his feelings at last - what we don't get is a happy ending. Instead, Ryan sees that he has given his heart (for the first time in his life) to a deceitful, dysfunctional human being. It was the right resolution, but no less excruciating for that.
The movie's ending is, I think, deliberately ambiguous. We know that Ryan has grown a little. He gives his precious frequent flyer miles to his recently married sister so that she and her husband can have their dream vacation after all. His misery in the final closeup is indicative of his new awareness - the question is, will he sink into misery or do something to change and redeem his life? Anyone who doubts Clooney's ability as an actor should take another look at that closeup; with no change in facial expression, I saw a man gazing into the depths of his soul and seeing only emptiness looking back.
I've gone on this long because I think this is a rare topic for an American film, and that is why it has gone unremarked. Some of us are lucky enough to find work that matters to us, that feeds our spirit; not everyone has that luxury. But there's a difference between working purely for sustenance, and doing something that is actively destructive. Active destruction hurts the person who commits it. It's a notion not many people discuss, but I consider it to be a central truth, and I was very glad to see a mainstream American movie with one of our biggest movie stars exploring it.
However, critical reception indicates that most people didn't pick up on that aspect of it at all.
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Dean Martin equivalents
You are right, of course - I was just so startled to turn on the television and see someone interviewing Lea Thompson about the "enduring" popularity of the Back to the Future movies. Then again, Thompson herself has always been something of a mystery to me. These moderately attractive, moderately talented people who keep getting work - well, Thompson is not as much of a mystery as, say, the "super stardom" of Sandra Bullock, who to me is the personification of mediocre likeability.
More to the point, if there is one, your post started me thinking about not-great movies that give more pleasure than one would reasonably expect. A relatively recent example, for me, is Music & Lyrics.
That movie made me ridiculously happy the first time I watched it, so much so that I ended up buying a DVD of the movie at Target, and yes, I've watched it a few times since. It's the equivalent of its subject - a great pop song. It makes me happy the way that "Love Grows (Where My Rosemary Goes)" used to make me happy as a teenager. It's effervescent and cheerful and it's well-played on every level. While the plot is typically predictable, there are enough surprises in the dialogue and performances to elevate it above the current crop of romantic comedies - which are a sadly woeful lot, in general.
I've read many a review about the sad state of the romantic comedy, a genre once perfected by American film makers and now in such decline that even a moderately enjoyable entry can generate excitement. But nothing in recent years can even approach the unparalleled greatness of Bringing Up Baby or My Man Godfrey or the flawed-by-sexism but nevertheless (to me) fabulous-beyond-words The Philadelphia Story.
I remember thinking during the early heyday of Hugh Grant (Four Weddings and a Funeral, etc)that his movies (and performances) were overpraised because people were so hungry for a great romantic comedy that they'd settle for a decent one.
But it may be time to change the subject to bagels and peanut butter.
More to the point, if there is one, your post started me thinking about not-great movies that give more pleasure than one would reasonably expect. A relatively recent example, for me, is Music & Lyrics.
That movie made me ridiculously happy the first time I watched it, so much so that I ended up buying a DVD of the movie at Target, and yes, I've watched it a few times since. It's the equivalent of its subject - a great pop song. It makes me happy the way that "Love Grows (Where My Rosemary Goes)" used to make me happy as a teenager. It's effervescent and cheerful and it's well-played on every level. While the plot is typically predictable, there are enough surprises in the dialogue and performances to elevate it above the current crop of romantic comedies - which are a sadly woeful lot, in general.
I've read many a review about the sad state of the romantic comedy, a genre once perfected by American film makers and now in such decline that even a moderately enjoyable entry can generate excitement. But nothing in recent years can even approach the unparalleled greatness of Bringing Up Baby or My Man Godfrey or the flawed-by-sexism but nevertheless (to me) fabulous-beyond-words The Philadelphia Story.
I remember thinking during the early heyday of Hugh Grant (Four Weddings and a Funeral, etc)that his movies (and performances) were overpraised because people were so hungry for a great romantic comedy that they'd settle for a decent one.
But it may be time to change the subject to bagels and peanut butter.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Back to the...What was it again?
I admit I'm a little surprised to hear that anyone is throwing accolades at this series of movies. The last time I heard them mentioned was when the derelict movie set burned down a couple of years ago. A great comedy series of the 20th Century? Well, maybe we're too close to it to judge them clearly. They have an artificial 80s vibe in my mind.
I remember going to see them all when they were new, and dutifully, too. I must have liked them to have made the commitment. And I have some recollections of scenes: the town clock, the Delorean, Christopher Lloyd's goggles...I see an old locomotive in the Old West, and Shirley MacLaine's daughter, Sachiko, in a bit part (I remember hoping she would have a career in movies out of it), and Crispin Glover scratching his head and being all weird, and I was left wondering what he was doing there in such wholesome company.
These movies were anchored so well by the capable and immensely likable Michael J. Fox. Is anyone more likable? Not even Tom Hanks.
The films are perfect popcorn fare. I was going to say that it would be too much effort to watch them again, that there are too many new movies to watch, lined up on my Netflix queue. But, you know, somehow I'm starting to think these would be great to watch with my son. Sure, the special effects probably look a little dated, but I am no big fan of CGI myself.
One weekend, some years ago, I stayed in a little rental house in the Connecticut countryside, and in the cellar I found an old diary, written by a teenaged girl in the 1960s. She offhandedly mentioned going to see a Dean Martin comedy at the theatre in town, and I was struck by the lack of enthusiasm she had about it, for I'm never not charged up one way or another about any movie I go see. But it dawned on me that this Dean Martin comedy was nothing but a summer evening pastime for her. Americans line up for movies as a matter of course, not always expecting more than a smile or a momentary thrill. The "Back to the Future" movies were fluff, zany big budget pastimes. My son goes to the movies far more often than I did as a child - I can count the times I went on one hand - and a movie of his youth like "Up" or "Avatar" may, for him, be nothing more than a Dean Martin comedy in retrospect, just like "Back to the Future" registers so dimly with us.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Getting Started
For anyone who may stumble across this blog, it is intended as a conversation between old friends. Peter and I met in New York City in the early 1980s, an era that seems as impossibly distant now as the 1930s did to us then. We lost touch in the late 1990s, and reconnected recently, via Facebook, as so many have.
It is interesting to speculate that one of the greatest joys of Facebook - finding people one thought lost forever - is a temporary treat. It seems likely that people who grow up in the current era will lose complete contact with far fewer people. But then again, I could be wrong.
Peter and I first conceived of this as a place to exchange thoughts and opinions about pop culture, but we by no means limit ourselves to that should other subjects come to mind.
So - to start - Peter, I have been thinking lately about the recent 20th anniversary of Back to the Future. This is one of those times when a cultural touchstone seems to have passed me right by while I was standing there watching it go. I have never understood why that movie achieved such significance. I mean, sure, it was funny. I never had any desire to see the sequels, though I think I saw bits of both. Michael J Fox was adorable, Christopher Lloyd was hilarious, and the rest of the cast was solid. The concept was by no means novel. The execution was competent. I wasn't surprised it was a hit - but I have been surprised throughout the years by the way people seem to view it as one of the great American comedies, and the idea that the 20th anniversary of its release was in any way noteworthy took me by surprise.
What did I miss, PD?
It is interesting to speculate that one of the greatest joys of Facebook - finding people one thought lost forever - is a temporary treat. It seems likely that people who grow up in the current era will lose complete contact with far fewer people. But then again, I could be wrong.
Peter and I first conceived of this as a place to exchange thoughts and opinions about pop culture, but we by no means limit ourselves to that should other subjects come to mind.
So - to start - Peter, I have been thinking lately about the recent 20th anniversary of Back to the Future. This is one of those times when a cultural touchstone seems to have passed me right by while I was standing there watching it go. I have never understood why that movie achieved such significance. I mean, sure, it was funny. I never had any desire to see the sequels, though I think I saw bits of both. Michael J Fox was adorable, Christopher Lloyd was hilarious, and the rest of the cast was solid. The concept was by no means novel. The execution was competent. I wasn't surprised it was a hit - but I have been surprised throughout the years by the way people seem to view it as one of the great American comedies, and the idea that the 20th anniversary of its release was in any way noteworthy took me by surprise.
What did I miss, PD?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)