i've fought it for long enough

I fought it for a long time, this whole Ellen Page craze. You're probably thinking--What Ellen Page craze? Well, semantics aside, I've fought Ellen Page. Too contrived, I thought. Too hip, I intoned. She's a one trick pony! She has no range!

I was wrong and I'm not afraid to admit it. (Cuz no one reads this blog and I'm writing under an assumed name.) She's great. I wanna go get french fries with her and gossip about pop culture.

It's Christmas morning and I just finished watching "Whip It." To be fair, I watched the last third of it but I could tell what was going on based on the falling action. The denouement is where it's at. It was so good. Drew Barrymore directed and Ellen Page starred. It's fairly predictable, but a pleasure to watch anyways. Small town Texas girl discovers roller derby in big, liberal Austin. Becomes part of scene. Parents don't know about it. In the end she must choose between a pageant and the roller derby championship game. I could've described the movie in about 30 fewer words. This is no knock on the film; I think many great stories are really really simple and formulaic. When the form is set the substance can get juicy. Marcia Gay Harden is good as the well intentioned pageant mom and Daniel Stern plays his role of supportive father well. But this is a movie that knows its audience and the audience knows that the real action between a teenage girl and her parents is really all about the mom/daughter relationship. When you're sixteen your mom's opinion means so much to you but you cloak that importance in this robe of indifference. It's a weird tension and I think that Barrymore captures it quite well. All you want is her approval but at the same time you don't care at all just not one bit what your mother thinks. This is the life of a teenage girl. Page and Harden have a good dynamic. There's one scene that is especially good. It's when solipsistic Page realizes that her mother is a person. You know, she had a life before her daughter was born, she has thoughts that resonate outside of the home. It's good.

The love story is not the central focus of the film. She likes a boy, she gives herself to boy. Boy acts like, well, boy. She decides she doesn't want boy. I think teenage girls need to be shown more movies like this. It reminds me of one scene in Roseanne (best show ever, please see past entries) when David, Darlene's boyfriend is pressuring her to have sex. They're in high school and David is horny and impatient. Darlene says something to the effect of : "We'll have sex when I'm ready so until then cool it." I squealed when I heard this. I know not all girls are in the position to say these things. There are pressures to have sex. Girls feel ready at different times. Girls can be the aggressors. I know I know. But it's important to have these characters in mainstream media who assert themselves without shame or artifice. There's not really an equivalent scene in Freaks and Geeks but I like Lindsay Weir so I put her up there.

So, I had a point. My point is that I like Ellen Page. "Whip It" was fun to watch. Kick ass teenage girls are important to my emotional well being.

Untamed Heart

At the end of the movie, Stand By Me (made from Stephen King's short story, The Body), the writer writes on his computer screen something like, "I never again had friends like I did when I was twelve. Jesus, does anyone?" Well, that's sometimes how I feel about movies. The movies I saw between the ages of 11 and, say, 14 were (and remain) the most profound of my life. I guess it's because I was asserting my real identity that was some-what independent of the role my family had given me. My favorite movies at that time always had a female lead character in her twenties. And, inevitably, I identified with her. Like, I WAS her. It sounds like my ego was gigantic, but, really, I was just looking for someone with whom to identify as I was coming into my own.

That age was really lonely for me because my parents were divorcing and, really, my whole life was changing. I had no control over it. Looking back, I held tight to some principles (such as women's rights and pro-protest, Joan Baez music). I thought that by latching on to a movement or a cause, I could feel a part of something while giving myself an identity that seemed to be slowly slipping away. Well, one of those characters that I really loved was Caroline from Untamed Heart.

Marisa Tomei played Caroline, a waitress/beauty school student, in winter-time Minnesota. She was in her twenties and lived at home with her mom and step-dad. Her family used to buy a real Christmas tree every year. They stopped doing that. Caroline and I were so much alike--both female, both living in snowy places, both living with our divorced moms, both uncomfortable with all the change in our lives, both not knowing how to go forward, but both coasting okay. Yes, Caroline was a cigarette-smoking waitress who could barely afford a car, and I was a 12 year old who swam two hours per day just to calm her racing, sad mind. But, I understood her. I understood that she was a person just trying to find her way in this world that kept on disappointing her.

I know. I know. I'm not talking anything at all about the plot. Sometimes, one performance really makes a movie, and the rest is just filler. Well, she meets Christian Slater. I guess he represents a sort of fragility that was lacking in Caroline's world. She responds to his goodness. She loves him; he loves her. He teaches her that she does deserve such care and love. It was a nice lesson--a lesson a 12 year old girl really appreciates, especially when the world seemed kind of cruel to her.

Beautiful Girls

No. No. Just no. This movie is so awful. I feel so betrayed because I've gone through most of my life believing that I liked this movie. I watched it a long time ago. I thought it was good, maybe a little boundary pushing. Maybe I put myself in Natalie Portman's shoes--precocious, bad haircut. But this movie SUCKS.
It's not even gonna be a movie review. Just bullet points. This movie does not even deserve sentences. Only fragments.
- Martha Plimpton is one of the only good things about this movie. She's not on the cover. Of course.
- It's really creepy to normalize a 28 y/o guy lusting after a 13 year old.
- Every line coming out of Natalie Portman's mouth makes me want to vomit. She can't handle those lines. No thirteen year old could handle that witty, flirty banter.
- Just another movie worshiping at the altar of almost 30 something men cheating, hedging and ignoring their gorgeous girlfriends and wives. Suck it. Just suck it.
- Uma Thurman says all it takes for her to be happy with a man is four little words: "Good night, sweet girl." Wait--what? Really?! So your boyfriend could cheat on you, fart under the covers, not take out the trash then whisper "good night, sweet girl" and you'd be HAPPY?! If I sound like I am panting and screaming it's cuz I am. That is just so ridiculous. Ludicrous. Here's what I want in a relationship: Respect. Reciprocity. Mutual adoration. Intelligent conversations. Steamy s**. Good night, sweet girl. GAH.

Vision Quest

I know what you're thinking, and you're right. Vision Quest is, like, 25 years old. I'm stuck in a time warp--in a time I was really too young to even appreciate. You're right. You're right about all of that. But, I cannot control which movies were relentlessly on t.v. when I was growing up, or which movies my sisters and brother loved. I was the youngest, the ghost in the room. No one remembered I was there, so no one could tell me to not watch an R-rated moved at age five or to go to bed before 10 p.m. And, oh, did I use it. I am not claiming that I wasn't loved--far from it. But, I was sort of invisible when it came to television/movie censorship and designated bedtimes. It's okay; you can be jealous. Oh, and don't think I didn't know how odd this all was. I had to always pretend to my fellow first graders that I had no idea what Coming To America was (you know...starring Eddie Murphy and a whole bunch of curse words and sexual innuendos). Freddie Krueger movies? Please. Piece of cake. So, anyway, I couldn't control what movies affected me as a child or what movies still keep a hold on me. All I know is that I love (still! To this day!) Vision Quest.

Matthew Modine (Louden) is young and cute and completely in his prime. He is a high school wrestler who is determined to go down a weight class in order to wrestle someone on a rival team: Shute. He has to drop weight, and go from something like 190 to 170. When I was a little kid, I didn't really understand what that meant. Now I know: that's a lot of weight, especially because Louden's pretty tall. What I did understand, however, was that it took a ton of discipline to lose all of that. So, Louden goes on a sort of Vision Quest to wrestle the undefeated Shute. And, in the midst of all of that, he meets a traveler, the gorgeous Linda Fiorentino, who ends up boarding at Louden and his dad's house for a bit. She's hot. He's hot. They get it on. That little love story is not the best thing about this movie. What has made the movie good then, and what makes it hold up now is the palpability of Louden's raw determination.

Louden has to lose weight. He is obsessed with it. He cuts way back on calories. He jogs in a sort of rubber suit. He exercises at every moment he can. He climbs the cork board at wrestling practice, which is one of THE best scenes in film history. But, he's also a hemophiliac, which makes him kind of fragile. Believe me, you root for him a little when he breaks his diet one time and stuffs a doughnut into his mouth. You cheer him because it makes him human and it reminds you of all of his self-inflicted sacrifices. It's so hard to be a human who wants to feel, and who chooses deprivation as the most physical manifestation of such a thing as wrestling the best (and fulfilling a vision quest).

Hannah and Her Sisters

Sometimes, I think about moving to New York City. Well, I don't think about moving there; I think about living there. Like, really living. Being in it. Having my family there. My friend(s). Wearing great vintage clothes. Shopping at hole-in-the-wall bookstores where gems are found. Auditioning for Broadway plays. Having holiday dinners with a piano in the corner and my drunk parents playing to the crowd. Basically, I want to live not only in NYC, but also inside the movie, Hannah and Her Sisters.

Hannah and Her Sisters is my favorite Woody Allen movie. The characters live in upscale Manhattan. They wear post-Annie Hall, pseudo-men's wear with heeled boots, and an unnecessary amount of layers. No one really has friends. Instead, they have their family. And, by family, I mean they have or are somehow connected to the sisters (Hannah, Holly, and Leigh). Hannah (Mia Farrow) is sort of the glue of the sisters because she's married with kids, has an impressive acting career, and she has money to hand out to help out her wavering sisters from time to time. Holly (Diane Weist) is the former coke-addict/actress/caterer/screenwriter. Leigh (Barbara Hershey) is the youngest sister, the pretty one that Hannah's husband is crushing on, the one who lives with a much older man, and who sporadically takes classes at Columbia.

It's fair to say that I'm drawn to the sisters because I have two sisters. Well, more specifically, I'm drawn to that relationship because it is an honest portrayal of the "sister" relationship. I know someone who only has brothers who is always saying something like, "oh, how I wish I had a sister." It's hard for me to totally understand her romantic notion of sisters. I mean, it's not always easy having sisters--especially if they're like Hannah's or mine--because they are always sort of in each other's business. You didn't choose them to be in your life, but they are there. And, they know you like no other because you are all born to the same crazy parents, and you've all been exposed to each other's insecurities and strengths, and, well, it can be a lot. Woody Allen is so good at writing because he never romanticizes these women and their reactions to each other. He's pretty honest. And, I like that there are these men in the movie who sort of weave their way into the sisters' lives. They're not the center, but a privileged few who get to hang out with these women. I like that. I like it because that seems the only thing men CAN do sometimes when it comes to people like Hannah, Holly, and Leigh. But, understand--it's so important that you do--it's not about the men. It's not. It's about the women. And, the men are, well, like door prizes. Like, it's a nice surprise if you receive a good gift, but they're not the reason you go to the dance. You go for the women--to see their style, to engage with them, to hear them laugh and talk. That's why dances are fun. That's why these women are GOOD.

Oh, and it's all so funny. Like, Holly is so great when she's trying to sound all intellectual when she flirts with an architect. And, Woody Allen, of course, puts himself into the mix. He couldn't resist, and he shouldn't. It's sort of a side story from the primary one of Hannah's, but when Woody thinks he has a brain tumor...it's the funniest sequence of scenes. It's like life, I guess, but better. Better because they are rich and they live in hip New York and they have these beautiful dinners and crazy parents and crowded, used bookstores and they make tea on rainy, cold evenings. Oh, I just want to be IN their world. Maybe, the appeal is that, if you've got a sister or two, you kind of are in Hannah and Her Sisters. Well, a poor woman's version.

I totally surrender to them

This blog was my idea. My creation. Some of my html handiwork. But Kathleen has made it her own. She is faithful to it in a way that I am not. Her honesty and humor, ugh. How is she so good? And Aileen--of course. She of the brilliant sentence fragments. She who writes so casually but so URGENTLY. I bow to both these women. So maybe it's not even my place to write about not movies/not books/not art. But I long to talk about other things. So that's what I'm gonna do. Readers (all two of you), I'm sorry. Movie reviews aren't moving me right now. But words and how these words cohere to make sentences...how these sentences move to tug at my soul...that is everything.

Found poetry is the best for beginners. Brilliance is so easy. So accidental. I remember one of my first encounters with found poetry--making a poem out of the Lord of the Flies text in English class. My poem had the refrain "Because the rules are all we've got!" To me, at tender 15, it was so true. So frustrating. So repressive.

But the best found poetry is in my email account. Because my friends are brilliant and exist on wavelengths...They are not even of this world.

"DON'T try to be [a] pretty girl. that is soooo regressive!! you just can't win. I mean, there are a lot of pretty girls. i totally surrender to them. but i feel like i have more, you know?"

And if I made this into a poem--well, obviously the refrain would be: "there are a lot of pretty girls/i totally surrender to them"

And this

"You're really really attached to your family. it's a fact. Just try and break away from them. Just try."

And, my favorite--when my personhood is compacted into a small explosive ball. When i feel like I will unwind, unravel, implode. I re-read this line. Re-commit it to memory.

"sometimes im just mad at the whole world...but always always its maddening because you're mad with yourself too. for being impatient, helpless, hypocritical, sensitive"

And sometimes the day is really warm and the water is really cool -- so this:

"the world was immediate
and ours"

And

"I think insanity is the correct nomenclature. I think, in many ways, work (all day every day all year every year just to pay RENT? Can anyone say SHAM) is a type of hell, it's like rolling a boulder up a hill, watching it roll down, rolling it back up, day in and out."

Oh god...I feel like some caged animal/human who finally has an ear to listen andIcan'tstop this typing. These words, these women, they move me. They make me.

I capture the castle

Have you seen this? This gem? This brilliant piece of teenage advocacy? You might be wondering--who is the boyishly handsome man on the right? It's ELLIOT FROM E.T.!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I mean, that is reason enough to watch this movie, no??

I'm not sure anymore. But I think I watched this seven years ago on my birthday. Flanked by my two best friends. And we lapped it up. Precocious Cassandra lives with her family in a dilapidated castle. Her father is a famous writer past his prime. Cassandra, her beautiful older sister, younger brother and stepmom humor the father--keeping his fragile ego intact.

Cassandra is seventeen. Her journal is her best friend. The similarities between her and me were startling. I was also seventeen. I also wrote obsessively in my journal. She lives in 1930's England in a dilapidated castle. I also lived.

Romola Garai plays doe eyed Cassandra so well. She's good. So good. She plays her with such a succinct vulnerability. Cassandra is content always to play second fiddle to her sister's beauty. I think what "I Capture the Castle" does so well is portray sisterhood in a way that is real, rounded. Cassandra and sister Rose fight. Their temperaments are so different. Rose is flighty and only concerned with her beauty and Cassandra is cerebral, an observer. But they are best friends. There is no jealousy. Just two girls who root for each other in their hearts.

And there is love. Cassandra and Rose meet two handsome American brothers. The brothers are their tickets out of the dilapidated castle, out of not-so-genteel poverty. Cassandra loves one of the brothers. But she is only the plain little sister, good for fun, not for marriage. Cassandra feels so intensely. She lives in her head. In her journal.

Bill Nighy is as good as ever as Cassandra's father. But the movie belongs to Romola. Romola, who can express anything with her eyes. Romola, whose voice breaks at exactly the right time when she's crying. Romola, who is neither ugly nor beautiful--just perfect.

Oh and the cinematography? Endless rolling hills and beautiful vistas if that's your thing. But if your thing is an insightful female protagonist who refuses mediocrity and wants more than anything TO LOVE and to BE LOVED--oh you will love it.

some days

Some days...when life feels especially indifferent, I watch this clip of My Left Foot. And then I watch it again. And again. Turning it up full volume to drown out the off key happy birthday singers in the apartment next door. Oh god...Family. FAMILY. And he opted for "Mother" and not "Mom". How can you ever escape your family? They are my magnetic north, my phantom limbs.

The Ballad of Jack and Rose

I don't know how I am supposed to watch The Ballad of Jack and Rose. Is it entertaining in its simplicity OR is it so getting off on its wannabe-artsy aesthetic that it's actually giving itself a boner? I want to like it--mainly so that I can trick myself into feeling like an academic or an intellectual. Mostly, though, I loathe this movie. I loathe it for waxing poetic when the plot is too fluffy for it to hold any substance.

The characters are all pretty unlikeable, if not aesthetically (at least in the abstract) beautiful. Daniel Day Lewis is the emaciated father who smokes like a chimney. He and his daughter live on a now-defunct hippie commune somewhere off of New York's coast. The daughter is played by a Botticelli-like angel (who possesses little more charisma than her pure looks provide). Father and daughter are living their pseudo-incestuous life alone on the island when Day Lewis decides that his daughter, Rose, may need a mother to look after her sooner than later. Okay, so, the name "Rose" brings me to the first of the heavy-handed metaphors throughout this movie. See, the cinematography is kind of gorgeous. And, if you can stay alert for that, then you can make your life at least bearable for the 150 minutes of screen time by picking out all of the sexual metaphors. It's a game, if you will. Ah, Rose. Rose, who has a green thumb for flowers, turns out to be a little minx who cannot wait to **here it comes** be de-flowered. Not obvious enough? Not convinced yet? There's more.

Rose uses a shotgun and snakes to assert her own phallic powers in relation to her father. When her semi-incestuous home life is suddenly threatened by the arrival of Dad's new girlfriend (Catherine Keener) and her two sons, Rose's playhouse is suddenly blown over, dilapidated and destroyed. It goes on and on. Part of me wants to give the filmmakers credit for devising such a game of "spot the metaphors" in a maze of ugly characters. Mostly, though, I'm just annoyed about the whole farce. I'm annoyed because, deep down, I think the filmmakers ACTUALLY wanted to make a whip-smart film. They didn't. Oh, and don't EVEN get me started on the totally useless, throw-away character that is Jason Lee. He's too good for this movie. Now, that's saying a lot.

scoop of chocolate scoop of vanilla; don't waste my time...

It's just so good. Can't. stop.

it's been so long and it will be longer

Kathleen continues to write beautiful entries. And I continue to lurk. I know! I suck. I have been inundated with work, life, tears, breathing, sadness, happiness, french fries. But I promise to write a review of I capture the castle soon. I re-watched it recently. I remember seeing it for the first time on my seventeenth birthday. It spoke so deeply to me then. There is always the risk of rewatching really formative films from your youth. You risk thinking they are stupid or childish because you have grown and matured. Luckily, I have neither grown nor matured because the movie was still as good as I remembered. It perfectly displays the intensity of teenage emotion--when you are living so so fiercely in your head. In your journal.

And following Kathleen's lead, I've been listening to Ravel. Pavane for a Dead Princess is playing now. There is sadness in the air but I am happy here.

And, like always, I am obsessively watching youtube videos of limber breakdancers. These images really move me.

My best friend recently got an Iphone and yeah I know it's not a big deal cuz all the tweens have one but it's a big deal to me. Phones should be phones. Not cameras and music players! But she sent me this picture she took with her Iphone. It's her grandmother's living room. It is so so eerie. The witching hour inside. Bright bright outside. This image continues to move me.

Tootsie

Like so many movies, Tootsie is beloved by me mainly because the people I love really love it. Namely, my mom. My mom is the kind of person who knows exactly what she likes and her taste (in my eyes) has always been impeccable. She differentiates between "pretty," "cute," and "attractive," and her assessments are always spot-on. (For the record, "pretty" is best, and "attractive" can be just as appealing. The most-valued compliment from her is when she looks at my baby pictures and tells me I was not just a cute, but a pretty baby. I assure you that I was always aware that beauty is very much in the eye of the beholder. What I mean is that if my mother--who values pretty above all--wanted a "pretty" baby, she could pretty much convince herself of that, regardless of its objective truth.) My mom has a quick wit and a dry humor. Consequently, she knows what is funny and what is not. Most t.v. shows are not funny. Few movies are. Tootsie, by her analysis, is very funny. And, so, I could always completely embrace this movie with abandon. I could laugh. Out loud.

Tootsie was made the same year as Gandhi, and my entire life I heard about what a tragedy it was for Gandhi to win the Academy Award for Best Picture over Tootsie. So, when I saw the movie, Gandhi, as a teenager, I was really baffled at my own taste. I loved it and, as I grew older, loved everything about the actor, Ben Kingsley, and, of course, the importance of the real Gandhi. But, Gandhi (the movie) wasn't funny, and that must have been its fatal flaw, after all.

Dustin Hoffman plays the lead role in Tootsie. He is Michael Dorsey, a talented New York actor that can never get a part. He decides to dress in drag in order to get a soap opera gig. Of course, he gets it and becomes the raging feminist who is beloved by all contemporary women. Well, he's totally attractive to his male co-stars as well. I have a soft spot for late 1970s/early 1980s films set in New York City. The fashions are so dated and gritty. The actors actually look like real people and are not so airbrushed as is the case of recent movies. The way Tootsie plays with feminist stereotypes and women's bravado of forced assertion is interesting and provocative. Dorothy (Michael Dorsey's woman character) straddles the line between promoting her feminism and staying true to her/his self.

I realize I'm talking in the abstract about this movie, and I'm not making it seem very funny at all. It's just that the movie is filled with nuances and subtleties that are entrenched in the over-arching themes of feminism, self-exploration and self-realization. Michael Dorsey says that he thinks he was a better man as Dorothy as he ever was as himself as a man. That seems like a convoluted statement, and it sort of is. But, he is saying in a round-about way that when we allow all sides of ourselves to come out, we don't have to be boxed in. We can finally be free. And, that idea of "pretty" or "cute" or "ugly" or "funny" is no one's prerogative but each person's. So, laugh out loud. Or don't. It's your call. Yours alone.

Thoughts on the formulaic movie arch

I keep seeing a lot of previews for The Town, which is directed by Ben Affleck. The voice talking over the preview says something like, "from the director of Gone Baby Gone." I mean, is he trying to fool us? It's so lame. Why doesn't he just say, "from director Ben Affleck"? We all know, after all, that Ben directed Gone Baby Gone. I don't know if that's a turn-off or what. It's weird, too, because Ben stars in The Town. Why are we pretending he didn't have his hands all over Gone Baby Gone (with his brother in the lead role and Ben writing it for the screen and directing it) and The Town? It's bizarre mainly because I really liked Gone Baby Gone, and I think it got pretty good reviews over all. The Town is getting excellent reviews. I just don't know why the voice-over man is trying to pull the wool over our eyes when it's totally unnecessary.

The voice-over man's odd reference to the nameless director of Gone Baby Gone is making me think more and more about that movie. It's making me ponder why I actually like the movie if the director/writer is such a douche that he's not even mentioned by name. This got me thinking that, maybe, I only like Gone Baby Gone because it follows a really appealing formula. That formula, my friend(s), is the Arch. The Arch works like this: 1) A story starts out with a certain goal in mind. 2) The climax of the movie is when the goal should be reached but is not reached. 3) The main character struggles to find a way to live her/his life and move on from the unfulfilled goal. 4) During this time, the main character's emotional self is laboring and struggling to get through. 5) The aforementioned goal is finally reached, albeit with a different mindset or after math.

To demonstrate, I will examine two pretty different movies: Sex and the City AND Gone Baby Gone. They have different themes and cater to different audiences. Yet, they follow the exact same formulaic arch. **SPOILER ALERT FOR BOTH MOVIES** In Sex and the City, Carrie has the goal of marrying Big. The movie builds and builds until the wedding when he, invariably, gets cold feet. The movie takes a sharp turn in tone and emotion. The drums start to beat and we, the audience, understand that we are taking a nosedive. Carrie spends a great deal of the movie in a depressed state (even darkening her hair to reenforce the metaphor) before the principle goal of the movie is finally reached; she marries Big. The wedding is not how she planned it, and the goal of the movie takes on a different point of view.

The same is true for GBG. Patrick, as a private detective, spends the first part of the movie fulfilling the film's goal: to find and bring back a missing girl. When the goal is about to be reached, the little girl supposedly dies. The detective, then, is destitute and spends a great deal of the next part of the movie a bit lost and in a contemplative state over how he botched the job of retrieving the little girl. Ultimately, the little girl is found (fulfilling the movie's goal). However, the emotions of the main character have changed because, though the goal is fulfilled, the circumstances surrounding the goal have drastically changed.

Is the Arch a formula to follow in order to ensure entertainment? Maybe, the audience responds to it because it's a rhythmically-paced ride that is both familiar and comfortable. I think it's a great sort of tool. But, like any tool, it's only as good as the person using it. I'm ready to face it: Ben Affleck has skills. You can include his name in the preview for The Town. I'll still go see it.

500 Days of Summer

I really didn't like Summer in 500 Days of Summer. She was brass and bawdy and cold and removed. I didn't like her because she was too real and too reminiscent of boys I've fallen for.

500 Days of Summer is the kind of movie that really wants to be edgy or arty. It wants to be different by letting you know that it's not going to tell its story in a conventional way. Throughout the movie, numbers flash onto the screen. The correspondence to the numbers is not really explained, but I presume they relate to the day of Tom and Summer's relationship (and there are 500 of those days). It's overtly edgy, yes, but I liked that aspect. It was a new way to tell a story--especially a love story. As Tom's little sister notes in the movie, we don't really remember our lives in a set sequence. We remember the good parts. And, we don't even ACTUALLY remember the good parts. We remember what we imagine or perceive to be the good parts. Did she really glance at you in that whimsical way or did you later imagine that she did? Did she really give you that hand job in the shower or did she accidentally brush up against you? Your mind takes you to extremes--maybe in an effort to preserve what is good or to discount the bad.

Tom is a likable kind of guy. He's sensitive, but not too much. He's open and really the kind of guy you could want for a boyfriend. And, that's sort of how this whole movie works. See, Summer insists to him right from the beginning that she does not want a boyfriend. And, she refuses to label their relationship as anything more than friendly. So, that is the frustrating (and good) part. Why WOULDN'T she want Tom?They are clearly happy together. But, that's it, isn't it? That's sort of the age-old question that we can never, ever answer. Well, maybe the better question is why does Tom stick around for someone who clearly only wants to play with him? Well, she makes him happy. For Tom, at least for the now, that is enough.

I liked this movie. I liked the color schemes of the office where Tom works as a greeting card writer. I liked the wardrobe choices for Tom and Summer. I liked how the characters went on a little tour of the architecture of Los Angeles. I even liked the cruelty that is Summer. I guess it's because we're all a little walled or icy when it comes to our inner feelings. We are almost required to share such intimate details in relationships. It's scary, and sometimes we need a little bit of armour.

There is one scene that epitomizes the manifestation of a heart break. It's near the end. Tom's reality is juxtaposed with his fantasy. We've all done that, right? We want so much for our fantasies to play out even though we understand how futile such imaginings may be when they must compete with the cruel world of reality. Oh, and the dance routine Tom does with his neighborhood peeps after he gets laid is kind of brilliant, too.

Good Hair

I have Good Hair. I mean, I guess I do. I do because I am white and my hair is straight (if not me). Bad Hair would be classified as "black" people's hair--hair that has not been straightened and is without chemicals. Good Hair is long and flowing and perfect. With that description, my hair no longer seems so Good, but it is straight, and that may be good enough.

Good Hair is a documentary narrated by Chris Rock about African American women's hair (and beauty and societal pressures on women in general) in the United States. On Oprah (when Rock was promoting this film), Rock said that he was inspired to explore this topic when he overheard his little daughter talking to her white friend, telling her how much she loved her hair. The dialogue made Rock uncomfortable because he could tell that his daughter was not only complimenting her friend in a secure way, but that she was gushing over something she could only dream of having--the set standard of Good Hair.

I watched this movie with two girls (14 and 16) whom I have known since they were born. They are the kids of my mom's good friends and they were adopted from Ethiopia. They are black girls who are being raised by white parents in a white town. The older girl gets her hair done--braided in a twist fashion--every few months for a substantial cost, and her sister lets her hair alone and wears it mostly in a ponytail.

I couldn't help but think of how these young girls felt while watching Good Hair. For me, it was interesting to learn about how the hair for weaves comes mostly from India and which chemicals are used for certain hairstyles. I learned that even girls as young as three years old have their hair straightened with chemicals. The women who were interviewed were candid about the different procedures and reasons behind some of the drastic measures (such as the astronomical costs of wigs and weaves, not to mention scalp and even potential neurological damage from chemicals). Though they spoke of procedures for African American hair, to me the documentary was relateable in that it touched on the beauty expectations of women of all races and ages.

But, what about my dear girls with whom I watched the documentary? They're teenagers and they don't readily spill their feelings. However, when prompted, they said that the film was interesting. Their parents did gush and say how interesting this whole world of hair straightening was. One of the parents said that the girls would not be getting a weave or a chemical perm. It is too expensive, she said. Well, yes, they are expensive. I think, though, that the girls' mom was saying, in her own way, that her daughters' hair is beautiful--that the girls themselves are beautiful--just as they are. That is, of course, completely true.

Mannequin

I can’t decide if Mannequin is a movie filled with metaphors for a man’s sexual insecurities and all-around bouts of self-loathing OR if it’s just really cheesy and bad in the way that only movies made in the 1980s can be. Yes, it stars Andrew McCarthy, the flavorless lug in Pretty In Pink who manages to suck out most of the charm that Duckie puts into that movie. It seems that Andrew’s job in movies is to sulk around to provide some sort of pseudo balance to the flamboyant gay/not gay man that befriends him or is somehow simply in the same movie.

In Mannequin, Andrew is a “weird” guy who gets a job dressing windows at a department store. Well, I think in the beginning he’s hired as a janitor or as a mannequin dresser or something. Then, voila, he makes these amazing window dressings. Amazing? Yeah, right. Please—before I go any further—allow me to explain these AMAZING pieces: the mannequins are all dressed in undergarments! The mannequins are simulating a tennis game by having a ball (that is on a string) sway back and forth! Amazing! Believe me, even when I first saw this movie as a very little girl, I knew this window dressing was boring at best. I played along then, so bear with me now. As you probably know, he’s not doing these displays alone. The mannequin comes to life. And, it’s Kim Cattrall who, in 1987, looks incredibly gorgeous. I mean, WAY too good for meal-y Andrew McCarthy. Of course, Andrew’s uber-flamboyant co-worker is named Hollywood. I always thought he was Anthony on Designing Women. Does it even matter if he’s not? It’s practically the same person. Anyway, I guess that’s the movie’s way of adding spice, much like the juxtaposition to Duckie in Pretty In Pink. Listen, it doesn’t really work. Andrew is bland. Just let him be that way! Do not infiltrate a movie with gay stereotypes just to add color to a vanilla actor. Now, that’s boring.

But, let’s get into what this movie is REALLY about. Like I said before, the mannequin is leggy and gorgeous and an amazing (completely mediocre) designer. She only comes alive when Andrew is alone with her. What is this movie saying? A man is so insecure that he must completely possess a beautiful woman? I mean, she is giving him the pleasure. She is for him and him alone. Why can’t she be seen by others? Maybe, he’s so insecure that he believes that if she goes out into the world, she will understand that she can do so much better than him. Maybe, if she were to brave society, she would realize that there is more to life than the male gaze (this ONE male gaze). She would maybe understand that her life does not have to be about giving this man pleasure—pleasure by way of her body and her talents. The more I write this, the more I am disgusted with this movie. Men, it seems¸ are so insecure in relationships and in themselves that they think that in order to hold onto a beautiful, smart woman, they have to literally hold on to her and cloak her from the effects and influences of society at large. The mannequin in the movie holds a blank stare when in the presence of other people (besides only Andrew). We accept her dead eyes and then embrace her loveliness and charisma when she is alive with Andrew. Maybe we do accept that because we are all so programmed to believe that women are most alive when validated by the presence of the one man, the one “special” man who chooses such possession. I swear, I am holding back the impulse to shake the intelligence back into every girl or woman who has ever copped to the belief that they are only worthy if a man deems them to be. Don’t think I leave myself out of this notion; I am shaking the cobwebs out of my own brain as I write.

Grey Gardens (revisited)

The documentary, Grey Gardens, was made in 1975 by the Maysles, two filmmaker brothers. I already reviewed the HBO movie by the same name starring Drew Barrymore and Jessica Lange. I praised Barrymore just because I thought her acting was good. In the documentary, Little Edie talks about someone playing herself in a movie. She doesn't want anyone to do that. No. If anyone were to play Little Edie, it would be Little Edie. Well, I'm back again to give Drew her props. She looks just like Little Edie--and talks like her, and dances like her, and (dare I say it?) she even captures her charm.

I didn't know anything about the documentary until the HBO movie came out. Of course, that film sparked my interest in the real-life Big Edie and Little Edie (the Beales). I learned a lot in the documentary. I learned that the Maysles really came to love these two women, and that their portrait of them would not have been so endearing had they not. The documentary has become sort of a cult hit. I get why; it's really because of Little Edie. She is an icon and an eccentric--an articulate eccentric. In other words, she's kind of irresistible. Little Edie promotes a sort of thrift store glamour. She's a Bouvier, and with that name comes a social status that turns out to be unshakable. Oh, her fashion sense. It is quirky, but completely spot on. She's really great with color choice and even the manipulation of fabrics and whole outfits. Little Edie wears brooches on her hand towel turbins and 1950s bathing suits as a base beneath an upside down skirt.

The women are not crazy--just over the top and real. The documentary now comes with previously unseen footage of the Beales. They are incredibly charming and social. Little Edie manages to engage in the filmmakers quite a bit, even though they try to stay out of the shot. A 2006 interview from the surviving brother, Albert Maysles, reveals that there was always a bit of a running joke between the brothers and Little Edie about who Little Edie was after. She played it up, too. But, she didn't play it up for the camera. The camera just happened to be there. I think that is the charm of Little Edie. Of course, that is also the charm of the documentary. It is a ride.

Lakota Woman: Siege at Wounded Knee

I entered the eighth grade in a new school in a new town. I cannot much remember the first days of other school years or even the first days of new jobs. However, I remember my first day of eighth grade and pretty much every day after that for the year. I got called a boy by the choir teacher. Consequently, I yearned to crawl into a ball and never leave the corner of the room. This town I moved to was small, and the mindset of the people felt small, and my bedroom felt small, and my tolerance for ignorance was becoming smaller and smaller. See, eighth grade was a time when I was really trying to understand myself and express myself. That is when I began to listen to "peace" music, like Joan Baez. I became, more than ever, interested in women's liberation. Most of all, though, I became interested in Native Americans. I was obsessed, you might say. When I fall in love, I fall hard. This was no exception.

I started to read about the American Indian Movement of the 1970s. I devoured the autobiographical books of Mary Brave Bird. I learned about the incarceration of Leonard Peltier and watched documentaries about him. I was convinced, then, that he was wrongly convicted of murdering FBI agents. I would write the White House on a fairly regular basis, urging the powers that be that Peltier was a political prisoner and nothing more. Those White House folks always wrote me back, saying that the Peltier case was still pending. "Yeah, right," I thought, as I popped in the CD of Joan Baez singing Prison Trilogy. I would like to say that I discovered the American Indian Movement on my own, that I just happened to be reading my encyclopedia when I decided to learn more about the 1890 Wounded Knee Massacre and the 1970s re-taking of the land. No, that did not happen. What did happen was there was a television movie called Lakota Woman: Siege at Wounded Knee (based on Mary Brave Bird's books). I saw it and something clicked. The Native Americans were strangers in their own land; on some level, I could relate.

See, a 13 year old is sort of a stranger to herself. I mean, I was. I was awakening to the strength of my beliefs and realizing the passion behind my convictions. That's heavy for a kid. I needed help, so I transformed my struggle into the struggle of the American Indians. I made their struggle my struggle and vice verse. The historical, 1890 Wounded Knee Massacre was a slaughter of the American Indians. Then, in the 1970s, the American Indians (via the American Indian Movement), many of whom were living in poverty or who were indoctrinated with Christianity, came together to re-claim their land, to re-claim their identity. A symbol of the A.I.M. was the upside down American flag. That was used to symbolize the dissatisfaction of the American Indian people within American society.

My own mind was awakening to certain injustices and wrongs in our society. I understood the American Indians' overall unhappiness with the state of their world. I understood their unhappiness really by way of my own unhappiness with the world. I was coming into a time of my life (a state in which I still currently dwell) when I hungered to understand and paricipate in social movements for the betterment of society. Well, in a sort of solidarity with the idea and passion of social change that I saw in A.I.M., I painted an upside down flag and hung it on my window. I still remember when I was made to take it down for fear that people would shoot at the house if they saw it. (That's the kind of small town in which I was living.) I knew my flag was freedom of expression. I knew that it was unfair to take it off the window. But, I did it. I did it and I thought I understood the oppression of the American Indians. I now know how selfish I was for even relating my own pain to a whole people's. I did learn later, though, that there is no hierarchy of pain or oppression.

I love ROLLER RINKS

Longs Drugstore was located about five miles outside of the town where I went to college. If you've ever lived in a traditional college town, you know that there is a big difference between the students who come from far and wide to attend school and the people that actually live in the town. And, you also know that people who are supposedly smart (i.e. the students) can very suddenly turn into smart asses. Longs, being a safe distance away from the sprawling university, did not really cater to the students. Therefore, REAL people shopped there. A cross-section of people. Poor. Rich. (Mostly poor.) Black, White, Asian, Indian, Purple, Homeless. This was a truly refreshing place. I could hop on my bicycle and reach the land of real life. The land of Longs. A roller rink, nowadays, is kind of like Longs.

It is fair to say that I had not been to a roller rink in twenty years when I decided to go again. When I was very little, I used to go to Mom & Tot Skate, to birthday parties, and to elementary school class parties all at the local roller rink. I used to do "shoot the duck," I couples skated with my friends, and I ate at the snack bar. I thought I was incredibly cool on my skates. I thought all of my friends were cool. I thought the skating rink was cool. Now, going there as an adult, I think I was delusional. Either that or times have really changed. See, skating rinks attract representation from every section of people. On Adult Night at the roller rink, I've seen: business people in suits; couples; single women in their fifties and sixties; lots of over-forty single men; lots of over-forty single men with mustaches; young, hip men; women with hot pants on; women with feathered hair; and lots of people in jeans who looked like they ambled in without knowing they were entering a roller rink. Lots of the single men are incredibly good skaters. They zip around the rink and occasionally do tricks. Everyone moves with ease, and I've never seen even one collision.

Like I said, there are lots of single people. I was a little concerned that it would be a bit of a freak-show meat market. People are pretty friendly, but there's more of a camaraderie than a place for pick-ups. I was asked by a Regular to skate with him in a couples skate. I had to decline because, although 50 year old men with mustaches have always been my type, I couldn't betray my nonexistent boyfriend. And, besides, skating was my outlet--my fun--and I just didn't want to taint that with some pseudo skate romance. My heart wouldn't be able to take it. Anyway, it dawned on me later that he probably only wanted to skate with me so that he could stay on the rink. It was a couples only song, after all.

So, yes, there are lots of odd-ball people, including the lady in pink tights who insists on skating on one leg with her other one extended behind her, and the man who most definitely used to be an ice skater who insists on doing axles in the middle of the rink. There are also the younger men who fall in line together on the rink and do a routine as they skate the circle. That's my favorite. Those guys usually don't get to the rink until about an hour and a half into Adult Skate Night. I chatted one of those hotties up tonight. "You're such a good skater. Oh, you have a locker here. Do you work here?" I said as I batted my eyelashes. Of course, he skated only with his pals, but I kept my eye on him the whole time. He was leading their routine, and you know I love a boy who can dance--especially on skates.

There are a lot of characters. Some form of those characters are, no doubt, in attendance in all of the roller rinks across the Midwest. You get to skate under a mirror ball while watching weirdos and the (extremely) occasional eye candy. Plus, skating is lots of fun. You groove to the music. You're free. You're so free that your freakiness ceases to matter. Here, you're allowed to kick your leg out or wear a leotard or break dance in the middle of the rink. You'll be able to wave you Freak Flag, and that is infinitely better than any coolness factor you thought you possessed.

A marginal review

I'm back! Life has felt so so small. Started a new job that takes up at least 8 1/2 to 9 hours of my day. How am I supposed to review movies?! I've been a bad movie reviewer again and of course Kathleen has been as on her game as ever. Never missing a beat. It's funny because I recently watched Lovely and Amazing and loved it, as well. The director, Nicole Holofcener takes a risk in that film because none of the characters is particularly relatable or likable--least of all Keener, who is her perennial muse and star. Keener played plucky, aging Homecoming Queen so well. She was entitled and spoiled but she was ABOUT SOMETHING. Sometimes the something was unclear...She was about making tiny, oversized figurines? She was about telling random people to "F*** off"? But she stood up for herself, at least. Holofcener is the Nancy Meyers antidote. Her movies are darker, more somber. Her films feature women who don't have sprawling mansions with breathtaking vistas. Her movies are real and sometimes they make you uncomfortable. I watched "Walking and Talking" a few years ago--starring Keener and Anne Heche. That movie was about losing your best friend to your best friend's boyfriend. Well, it was only marginally about that...Who among us can't relate to that? I remember meeting my sister's college boyfriend when I was an angsty sixteen year old and just hating him. I wanted my sister all to myself! He stayed in our home over winter break and I couldn't even make eye contact with him. Then, as now, I had very few social skills. Sometimes Holofcener skirts the question : What is female friendship when unmediated by men? The answer to that question is so much more interesting than the kiddie pool rom coms that can only ask : What is female friendship in relation to men? In the latter, the sidekick can only comment wistfully or wittily about the boyfriend/prospect. Who cares!?!?! Bride Wars I'm thinking about you....Women have thoughts, you know. Internal lives that don't always revolve around boys. Holofcener shows that. There are so few female directors in the limelight. I try to do my best to support them when I can.

One Memorial Day three years ago the three writers of this blog dressed up in all black and held an actual memorial for fallen soldiers. Foregoing barbecues and red tag sales we stood around a gorgeous hand dyed yellow flag and set it on fire. We talked about soldiers dying and how such a somber day could come to mean 50% OFF EVERYTHING!!!!! We talked about make up and the inexorable push and pull to it. Then we poured a bucket of water on the fallen flag and wondered how to get the smell out of our hair. See? Movies should portray women like this--making no sense, making little sense, making beautiful sense, making a scene...Trying to articulate thoughts that are ineffable. I love women.

Toy Story 3

"Would I be lost because I didn't see the second installment? Would Buzz and Woody's inside jokes make no sense to me?" I mulled over the answers as I entered the movie theater to see Toy Story 3. I needn't have worried; Toy Story 3 is a good movie--all on its own.

Toy Story came out in 1995. 1995 was the year I stopped playing with my Barbies. Once I made the decision to stop playing, I could not start again. I know because I tried. I set up my Barbie houses with my Barbie furniture, picked out the Barbie dolls I would play with, and started. But, I could not go back once I quit. That was one of the saddest days of my life. My Barbies used to be everything to me. I would play for hours. I kept story lines going. It was absolutely my escape. Once I put a moratorium on playing, my sanctuary was destroyed. I gave it all up because I was afraid a friend would come over and make fun of me for still playing Barbies. No friend in eighth grade (I know...that's how OLD I was) was worth that, but I gave up part of my life anyway. The Toy Story film makers understand and respect each toy. They understand each toy's back story, how it is played with, who would play with it, and why. The film makers also understand the children who love such toys. That, I think, is the charm of the Toy Story movies.

The first movie is sweet in that it explores a child's relationship and devotion to her or his toys. Really, the movie explores how children create their own allies within their own little world. I can relate. I mean, I guess that's why I spent so much time and energy on my Barbie world; it was controllable and intricate and friendly in a real world that was not always that way.

Toy Story 3 brings the charm of the first one, but adds a new dimension. The toys' boy, Andy, is no longer a little boy. He's heading off to college. What, then, should become of his toys? I was not expecting to be moved by this movie in the way that I was. At the heart of Toy Story 3 is this message: Respect your past enough to allow yourself to move on and leave what you can in capable hands. Remember in the first Toy Story when all of the toys worked together (and relied on the Army men) to find out what toys Andy got for his birthday? Well, there's a scene in the beginning of T.S.3 that mirrors that in an alternate universe. The toys work together once again to concoct a plan to make a 17 year old Andy open his toy box. See, Andy doesn't play any more, but the toys think that maybe, MAYBE, just by seeing them, Andy will want to love them again. That scene is a prelude to the tears that will inevitably come for the viewer at the end of the movie. Be comforted that you won't be the only one weeping during the last 15 minutes of the film. I will not say more about it. Just go see this movie.

Lovely and Amazing

Sometimes, there are movies that you just don't want anyone else to see. Having someone else see it would be the same as sharing your diary or letting the lunch lady from your elementary school watch you take a bath. For me, Lovely & Amazing is one of those movies. Lovely & Amazing is about a white mother and two grown daughters. (One, who is played by Catherine Keener, is married with a child. The other, played by Emily Mortimer, is a single actress who routinely picks up stray dogs.) The mother also has a black, adopted daughter named Annie. She's about 10 years old. The mother goes in to have liposuction on her stomach. She's got a crush on her doctor. Oh my gosh...this IS a personal story to me. I mean, does everyone's mother fall in love with her doctor? For my own piece of mind, just answer me "yes." While the mother is in the hospital with the procedure, the older daughters go on with their lives and have to take care of Annie.

They're all in it together because they're sisters. And, as is the case in certain families, that is what they have; that is their family. The most moving parts of the movie deal with body image. Annie wants to tear her skin off to make it look white like her mom's. Annie's fat like her mom, and understands that her mom is having liposuction to look better. However, when your mom goes to such great lengths to change her appearance (an appearance that, in some respects, matches her daughter's), a 10 year old girl is not really emotionally equipped to come to terms with such a conclusion. I guess it follows that the actress-sister has the same sorts of body insecurities. Maybe it's because they were/are raised by the same mother. Maybe it's because they are women/girls in this American society. What alternative do they really have than to be unsatisfied with and insecure about their bodies?

Emily Mortimer's character has, possibly, the most honest and uncomfortable scene. She stands naked in front of a famous actor (played by Dermot Mulroney...Keener's real-life then-husband and now ex-husband) after she has sex with him. She tells him to tell her what is good and bad about her body. The critique that she requests (which he does give) is startling because Mortimer's character, although self-deprecating and kind of insecure, seems ultimately strong in herself. The critique represents a kind of truth women both want and don't want about their bodies. It's a vulnerability that seemingly self-assured women rarely display.

After, the actress walks away to rescue another dog. Only, this one bites her in the face. I think this daughter will ultimately be okay, though, because the next morning she wakes up to a house full of her sisters. They're waiting for the call from the hospital to finally pick their mother up. I get the feeling that maybe Mortimer's character--just for that moment--doesn't care that some one-night stand guy told her that her teeth were yellow or that her arms were flabby. See, in that moment, her family was together. And, that's what she has, mentally and physically, and for better or for worse.

The Secret In Their Eyes (El Secreto de sus Ojos)

I don't really know where to begin with this. See, I saw The Secret In Their Eyes (El Secreto de sus Ojos) tonight by myself, and then I met someone for drinks after. I couldn't really talk about the movie because I was afraid I would give something away. But, that's all I could think about. It consumed me. I was so emotionally overwhelmed that I had to compartmentalize it all until I could totally spill. I guess this is my spill because I feel like I'm just needing to tell everything and nothing at once (because I just don't want to spoil anything). I knew next to nothing going into the movie (other than 1. it won an Oscar for best foreign film; 2, it's from Argentina; and 3. three of my friends told me they really liked it. Well, one of them said it's an epic film. I knew that meant something because he prefaced that statement with, "I wouldn't normally ever use the word 'epic,' but that's what it is." I think he was right.)

There is a rape and murder that takes place, and everything stems from there. The images are not so gruesome that you can't watch, but they are affecting because they never seem to leave the protagonist's mind. By transference, they never leave the viewer's mind, either. The images of the dead woman linger and serve to taint all the other parts of the movie. The main character (Benjamin), 25 years later, decides to write a novel (even though it's a true-event story) about this rape/homicide case. So, we the audience are tossed back and forth between him writing and reflecting on the case and the time period in the past, and present day. The shift is not jarring; if anything, it's a way to clarify his feelings in the present and understand the events that led up to the now.

There's crime and intrigue and humor and suspicion, but I'm neglecting the most resonating part. There is, in fact, a tragic and beautiful love story that you really must experience to appreciate. And, there's not just one. Benjamin's longing for Irene, the lawyer on the case, gets interlaced with the murdered woman's grieving husband, and maybe Benjamin even loves that woman, too. There are three key scenes in The Secret In Their Eyes that especially took my breath away. Forgive the evasive nature of this review, but it's important that I give nothing away. Suffice it to say that all three key scenes start with a glance or a gesture and end with perfect dialogue.

I know I'm not really doing justice to this film. It's way past midnight now, and I'm still thinking about the cadence of the plot and the arch of the characters. I'm still sorting it all out. You just need to see it. It's exactly how I think movies deserve to be: strong and developed and tragic and funny and alive.

The Sisterhood of the YOUNG ADULT Novels

I just finished reading The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. I've seen the movie in passing, as it's been on HBO from time to time. The daughter from Gilmore Girls is in it, and there is something so blah about her (and the show!) that I can't even watch. The movie is like Now and Then or any other bad movie that WANTS to make a profound movie about girls' lives but manages to fail miserably. I saw the book in The Salvation Army, and it only cost 32 cents. Who was I to pass up such a deal? And, besides, I really missed reading Young Adult books. They are my absolute favorite.

So, I read The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. The characters were more developed and more relateable than in the movie. I have to admit that the book was as hokey as the movie, but that it was, honestly, a pleasure to read. The girls in the book go through their own turmoil of sorts, but it's nothing too heavy to deal with. And, it's nice sometimes to read a book that you can just breeze through. So, reading The Sisterhood brought me back to my own days as a young girl and the love that I had for books. I mean, it was a love that compelled me to want to be a writer when I was little. (And, no, not a reporter. A writer. There's a difference.) I'm reminded of the last line in the movie, Stand By Me (Stephen King's short story, The Body), when the writer types something like, "I never again had friends later in life like I had when I was twelve. Jesus, does anyone?" That's kind of how I feel about books. That's why Young Adult novels are close to my heart. But, it's a distant closeness because you really cannot go back in time. Twelve is gone. Forever.

The best Y.A. books, in my opinion, are by Judy Blume. She's kind of the master. (Blubber, Otherwise Known as Sheila the Great, Starring Sally J. Freedman As Herself.) She later came out with Summer Sisters, a book that one of my friends admitted to re-reading every summer as her ritual. Lurlene McDaniel was one of my junior high favorites, too. Yeah, all of her main characters had terminal illnesses. But, nothing was too intense, too desperate, or too unbearable.

Young Adult books are so important to children of a certain age because they read these books at such a critical point in their lives--right before high school and right about the time school portraits should be outlawed because everyone seems to look incredibly awkward and ugly. I still really like the Y.A. books--not because they are escorting me into my teens, but because they remind me of how free and optimistic and open I once was. And, because, you know, I still want to be a writer. And, no, not a reporter. There's a difference.

every night

You know...Sometimes people suck and they make fun of a guy and the guy happens to be a schizophrenic GENIUS.

Solaris (1972 Andrei Tarovsky)

Two weeks ago, my littler brother told me about how we might see aliens in our generation, according to stephen hawking. (my response: who is stephen hawking??) so after some you-tubing, i realized that it must seem so obvious to someone like hawking, who lives and breaths cosmology, that we should colonize other planets ASAP for their resources and that when other aliens come to us, they will want our resources  ("If aliens visit us, the outcome would be much as when Columbus landed in America, which didn't turn out well for the Native Americans").

And this is when I decided it's time for a good sci-fi. This one is slow-moving, moody, eerie, and emotion-building. Normally, thanks to Netflix, I like to spread out a movie in two or three days, watching a little each day. I carry it with me; it becomes a part of my week, my thoughts, my dreams, rather than a 2-hour affair. Solaris is 2 hours and 45 minutes long, but I saw it in one sitting. It didn't feel that long...others might disagree. Others might also object to the low-budget set and visual effects. But that kind of fanfare excitement was not what I was expecting when I wanted a "good sci-fi." The movie carried me in to its world; it absorbed my imagination, so I was able to believe what it was implying, hinting at, even without the special effects to spell it all out before my eyes. So even now, I can still think about Solaris, what "reality" is like on that planet, that ocean. Mysterious.

KOKORO BY NATSUME SOSEKI

when it rains it pours, right? and now, i will blog for the next three hours to reinstate my little to nonexistent presence here on this loved blog.

i'm not adding a pic because the only editions i could find online have super boring covers...and the blk/wht portrait of soseki himself won't make you wanna read him either.

let's just say, i read a third (or was it a quarter?) of norwegian wood. didn't like it. or maybe i read everything, or skimmed everything, and asked my boyfriend (the only other books i've known him to read from cover to cover is harry potter. ugh i should have known...) what happened in the end. because it's sort of like - well which one of the two girls does the main character get with in the end?? something i half-heartedly wanted to find out because i owed the book, or my one-third investment in it, at least some amount of curiosity, and to seek closure.

kokoro is NOT like norwegian wood. kokoro is SINCERE and BEAUTIFUL. it was written in the 1910s and translated into english (in the edition i read) in the 1950s. but the prose is so clean and fresh and modern. not modern in the clever syntactical, meta self referential, irony irony post modern literature kind of way. the language is simple, as is the story telling. but powerful and vivid. and the pace is cliffy-hangy. it's a page turner! a quick read, but leaves you with a good strong moral story. read it if not for the story, then for the aesthetic. after kokoro, i sampled a whole slew of novels, none of which i was able to get into because i found the language superfluous, and therefore tedious and petty.

Children of a Lesser God

Inspiring teacher. Hot romance. A young William Hurt and a smokin’ sexy Marlee Matlin. Like, what is better? William Hurt is a teacher who takes a job at a deaf school. Marlee Matlin is a reportedly brilliant former student at the school who now works as a janitor. She’s deaf, and to assert some sort of power she believes she doesn’t really possess, she sleeps with guys. Deaf guys, hearing guys. Whatever. Hurt pushes his agenda of teaching the kids to vocally speak in order to give them more independence. And, he encourages his class to perform a song. They eventually learn to talk and sing. A lot of them come out of their shells, and it’s all very inspiring. As always, I like to get to the good part of the movie: Hurt and Matlin start a relationship. She is super sexy and, of course, they begin their love affair.

He respects her and sees her potential. This is a new phenomenon to Matlin, who is used to using sex for power and does not respond well to someone who encourages her to use her smarts and to assert her own independence. She’s used to using her body for power, for sex, for assertion. Hurt urges her to use her voice, but she refuses because she’s embarrassed by its sound. The scenes of Hurt and Matlin arguing in sign language are interesting because the characters are basically screaming by way of the use of their hands. No words are exchanged (although he does speak most of the time), but the energy they convey to one another is palpable, even through the silver screen. Sometimes, it’s difficult to switch up a mentality you’ve held for so long. Matlin has mastered her body and understands the power it can yield. It’s difficult to initially grasp that type of assertion, but once you do, it can feel way too vulnerable to unclamp that grip. Hurt is really asking too much of Matlin when he wants her to have sex without an agenda, when he wants her to let go of the grip, and when he wants her to speak his vocalized language. He’s the teacher. She’s the student. But, you know, that’s not really true because when it’s all said and done, she’s still the deaf janitor. And, when she’s in bed and the lights are out, Matlin is totally in control. I mean, I’d do her.

It can be seen as fetishising to give a deaf woman this sex ability. We can ask ourselves what it means to be turned on by this deaf woman who is powerful in the bedroom, but doesn’t speak. Would she be as hot if she were talking the whole time? No. (But, in all fairness, no one is as hot in bed when he or she is talking. I mean, even I—who never can shut up—know to be quiet. Well, I mean, I get the no-talking thing.) Maybe, we’re actually taking steps forward by sexing up a person with a disability. I think that’s a dangerous rationale to follow, though. I mean, making a movie about legless prostitutes doesn’t necessarily set the women’s movement or the a.c.l.u soaring ahead. But, who am I to make those claims? Maybe, stereotypes die only when we can picture having sex with the subordinated classes. Whatever the outcome, I’d be into seeing if that actually works. Sex on screen is never a bad thing. And, while we're on the subject, legless prostitutes are pretty hot, too.

The Hurt Locker

I'll use director Kathryn Bigelow's own quote from imdb regarding The Hurt Locker, "War's dirty little secret is that some men love it. I'm trying to unpack why, to look at what it means to be a hero in the context of 21st-century combat." And, so goes The Hurt Locker. Before I watched it, I heard that there's no real commentary on the war in Iraq, that it's about a bomb detonator, and just about combat in general. Well, that sold me. I like movies about war. What I like more than movies about war, though, is a movie that does not tell me what to think about war, but shows me the most real moments without backing down. Thank you, Kathryn Bigelow. You had me at Point Break, but The Hurt Locker is an example of the best prose, the best art. It shows you and doesn't tell you.

Of course, there are lots of movies about the aftermath of war or even an inner dialogue of sorts on war (see: Born on the Fourth of July, Saving Private Ryan, or even Upon A Midnight Clear). In a way, The Hurt Locker reminded me more of In the Valley of Elah (starring Tommy Lee Jones and Charlize Theron), a film about a father who tries to figure out what happened to his son in Iraq. The footage of his m.i.a. son is clips of combat, of life in the desert among insurgents and friendly fire. The Hurt Locker blows that out and stays only in the danger zone. And, there, there's little room for reflection or even doubt.

In The Hurt Locker, we're thrust into the battle. We're in Iraq. There are bombs. The bombs need diffusing. Enter Sergeant Will James (Jeremy Renner). He's fearless in his job, and he gets it done. He's the best in the business. This movie's grittiness is its finest quality. We are totally in it with James, and--I have to say--I was on the edge of my seat. I get what the fuss is all about in regard to how some soldiers get addicted to the rush of war. They fall prey to the inevitable adrenaline rush that comes with risking life and avoiding death. Just watch this movie. Stay with it. I don't know if it will answer any questions about what we are actually doing in Baghdad or how we will ever win this unwinnable situation in which we find ourselves. I don't want to give anything away, but at one point in the movie, James is talking to his baby and he says that as we grow older, we love less and less things. I guess the world would be more satisfying if I thought that the one thing James loved was his baby. Unfortunately, the world is what it is.

The Cove

The documentary, The Cove, is about the slaughter of innocents. After seeing this, you'll recognize the slaughter of your own innocence. I know! I know! That sounds too simplistically deep to have any meaning, but trust me; I mean it. Once you see this movie, I don't think you'll be able to go back to being complacent about anything regarding our environment or our people. The Cove is a story about a secret cove (but not secret enough, as it supplies dolphins to theme parks and fish markets around the globe) in Taiji, Japan. The fishermen trap the dolphins inside this enclosed body of water and then capture them or kill them. Only two options. They are never released back into the wild.

Ric (Richard) O'Barry was the original trainer of the 1960s t.v. show, Flipper. For something like nine years, he trained and lived with four female dolphins that collectively made up Flipper. He says in the documentary that he never really understood the suffering that the dolphins experienced--the depression, the stress--until he witnessed one of the Flipper dolphins, Cathy, commit suicide in his arms. A dolphin consciously takes a breath, and Cathy, due to her depression, chose not to breathe any more. He didn't become an activist against dolphin slaughter and dolphin captivity until years later. He's been at it now for over 35 years (trying to repair the damage he created by showing the world how cute and obedient and special dolphins are in captivity), and it is his life's mission to protect and save The Dolphin, a mammal as intelligent and self-aware as any human being.

Ric and his team--assembled of free divers, adrenaline junkies, movie prop guys, and other activists--travel to Taiji to expose the slaughter of the dolphins. Interlaced in the documentation of the team's efforts is a glimpse into the politics and procedures of the International Whaling Commission (IWC). The original purpose of the IWC, as I understand it, was to put a moratorium on the institutionalized whale slaughter. That ban has since lifted, and Japan is leading the way in its revitalization of whale killing and dolphin killing. In fact, Japan pays off poorer countries, like Barbados, to form allegiances with Japan regarding its whale policies. This (the IWC) just feels like a show of how governments really function--they do nothing to support or protect the people or the environment. That job is really left to The People. We humans are not necessarily the smartest beings on the planet, but we are certainly the ones most capable of saving the planet--mostly because we are the ones most responsible for systematically destroying it.

The Cove is not preach-y and it's not even that tragic in the way you might expect. Yes, we see the actual slaughter of the dolphins, and that is difficult to watch. But, the movie is almost a thriller in that half the battle of the filmmakers is even getting the footage. They are blocked at every avenue they attempt. The fishermen and the government prohibit photography in and around the cove, and they will attempt to arrest any activist or on-looker for nonsense charges. The movie deals with the slaughter of dolphins, of course, but it brings up a lot more issues that are as troubling--if not more so. For example, the ocean waters are so polluted that the fish and dolphins are considered toxic dumps that are full of mercury. The dolphin meat is being used as whale-substitutes to ignorant consumers and even as routine lunch menus in schools. We are poisoning our children because mercury poisoning causes mental retardation as well as physical paralysis and other problems.

I've seen dolphins and whales in the wild. I've swum in the presence of dolphins. One of my favorite surf spots in San Onofre (Southern California) was frequented daily by a pod of dolphins. They fearlessly swam right by the waiting surfers and even took turns in the waves. So, to see the torture and slaughter of dolphins was really painful. I can't even look at Sea World--basically a torture chamber for marine mammals--the same way again. The Cove just really opened my eyes about how we are behaving as people and as governments. To this day--even with this documentary out winning awards and being seen by many--the slaughter continues. The poisoning of people and the earth continues. I know I sound simple or sentimental, but I feel like if we don't start to care about health and safety of ourselves and our environment, there really will come a time when we will not be able to reverse any of the damage we've caused. I just want to be more like Ric O'Barry. I want to start fighting for the health of our planet, and not mind the risk I might face. For more information about the cove and what you can do, please visit: http://www.takepart.com/thecove/

what comes around

Moving to a new place is weird cuz you don't know the streets...You don't know how to pronounce "Schuykill"; you don't know which food trucks will give you food poisoning..but most importantly, you don't know the RADIO STATIONS. It's unexplored terrain and it's frighteningly vast. Yeah, I know there's satellite radio and this new thing called the IPOD but AM/FM radio is so powerful because it's contextual. Coming from Los Angeles, I was totally spoiled by KCRW, which had the perfect mix of liberal news coverage and kick ass music. When I lived in Berkeley, I fell in love with KMEL and Energy 92.7. KMEL was your run of the mill top 40 hip hop station but on Sunday evenings they had this program "Street Soldiers" where reformed gang members would talk about their experiences. A lot of frustrated mothers and grandmothers would call in and talk about their children and grandchildren. It was just perfection. Oh god, a quick Google search has informed me that Street Soldiers was cancelled. F*** corporate radio! Well, Energy was an amazing dance station partial to electronica, house and techno. Imagine you're at a gay club. Then imagine it is playing the best dance music on earth. Then imagine you didn't have to pay a cover; you only needed to turn on the radio! It provided the soundtrack for many late night impromptu dance parties during my college years. A quick google search has informed me that ENERGY 92.7 HAS BEEN REPLACED BY A TOP 40 HIP HOP STATION. WHY?!! It was dubbed "the little gay station that could." But, I guess it couldn't...Ugh...okay I will try to continue writing but I'm pretty upset...RIP Energy...

Now I live in Philadelphia and I'm trying to get a handle of the radio stations. Of course there's the local NPR station that provides stimulating news coverage...and I've found a good station that plays only Al Green on repeat it seems. But the station I think I'm falling in love with? WKDU...A COLLEGE RADIO STATION. Yes, college radio... The dregs of music. Entire shows devoted to Hungarian synth pop and annoyingly obscure B sides. When I was a Berkeley student I avoided the local college radio station like the plague. The DJs were too knowing and I was a little hater. But now that I am older and wiser, man, college radio is the sh*t. Punk's not dead! F*ck the police! Yeah! I'm making up for lost time...