Coming Home

Get ready to get raunchy. This movie should not be called Coming Home; it should be called Coming because--let's face it--that's what you'll be doing while watching. Can I just start with Jon Voight? This is not the Jon Voight that is old and gross and makes cameos in pathetic movies like Tomb Raider. No. This is 1978 Jon Voight. The incredibly cute and hot and sexy Jon Voight. Watch The Champ or Midnight Cowboy or Deliverance to experience this sex god. In Coming, he plays Luke Martin, a returning Vietnam War Veteran who is now in a wheelchair at the V.A. hospital. Jane Fonda plays Sally, a wife of a Captain, Bruce Dern, (don't get excited...he isn't hot 30 years later in Big Love and he isn't hot in this movie in 1978...not at all) who recently goes to Vietnam. Sally, then, starts volunteering at the hospital where, on the first day, she runs into Luke (literally...he spills his catheter bag all over her), an old high school classmate. Can you guess where this is going?

Sally starts spending more and more time with Luke. She gains some independence and starts questioning the moral and political implications of the Vietnam War along with the treatment of the guys at the VA hospital. Most importantly--and I say this with all sincerity--Sally stops straightening her hair. It's important because Luke notices this; he compliments her. And, that's the beginning, my friends. God, is any of this resonating? I want to be transparent and lure you in. Luke is SEXY. Okay, he's obviously totally into Sally. No doubt. But, he's also an anti-Vietnam activist and that passion, that commitment is--let me tell you, fellas--as hot as hell. He's in a wheelchair, which makes his arms strong and--this feels wrong to admit--but, the chair gives him a sort of non-threatening air that is attractive and comfortable. The movie, Murderball (a really great documentary about quadriplegic wheelchair basketball players), references the idea that the men in the wheelchairs get a lot of women because they're more approachable. (I know what you're thinking, and, yeah, they're quadriplegics--not paraplegics. It's all explained in the documentary.)

So, blah blah blah, Sally becomes more of an activist, her husband is figuring out what a mess the war is turning out to be, and we see the effects in the hospital. Now, on to the good part. Sally and Luke finally have sex. And, it's good. (The men in Murderball say it best: "most guys in wheelchairs like to eat pussy.") It's a really graphic scene--not porn, but pretty close. Soft and sweet porn. Luke's totally getting Sally off and he loves it and she doesn't have to do any work. I first watched this movie in high school, and I thought this was what love and sex was all about. I mean, that kind of exposure at that age really made me lust after Vietnam vets in wheelchairs. Too bad I was not in high school in 1978 and I had to come to grips with the fact that Jon Voight had turned into the weirdo dad who goes on Entertainment Tonight to cry about his estranged, super hot daughter, Angelina. Life is so tough for 15 year old girls. Where is the humanity?

So, Coming Home has a lot of good social commentary. Anti-war. Pro-truth. Anti-straightening your hair. But, honestly, you'll just fall in love with the love affair between Sally and Luke. I've seen this movie at different stages in life: high school, college, after college, in a relationship, after a break-up, in a weird limbo dating phase, single, sort of with someone. Let me tell you, Coming Home stands the test of time. Some have complained that it's a little long. Maybe, but it's worth it. And, you can always fast-forward (oh, and pause and rewind at the really, really good parts).

I'm so Into Jon Krakauer.

Into Thin Air. Into the Wild. Under the Banner of Heaven. All books by Jon Krakauer. So, this is one of those times that Stephanie was talking about: I want to simply link to Roger Ebert's review of Into the Wild because he wrote a really great review of the movie starring the very good and very tiny Emile Hirsch (rogerebert.com). Roger uses his own references of a neighbor boy friend who went off to Nicaragua in the 1980s to fight with the Sandinistas and everyone thought he was crazy. Kinda how people talked about Chris McCandless (a.k.a. Alexander Supertramp), the real-life boy about which Into the Wild is written. God, that personal story really put Chris' journey into perspective. By the way, the movie IS good. It is. But, the book. THE BOOK. I read the book twice in a row. Right in a row! It's Jon Krakauer's narrative voice that really got me. A movie could never come close. It didn't ever really stand a chance.

So, I think I know why I love Jon Krakauer's work (and maybe even him) so much; he writes kind of like Roger. Krakauer's books, though nonfiction and not about him at all, include his own life experiences--not for a self-serving, ego-stroking reason, but to put the story or the person about which he writes into perspective. Those personal stories draw me in because the more personal, the more universal. Krakauer knows this. He's fearless in the way he includes personal stories about how when he was in his twenties, he climbed peaks just to brag about it later at the bar. But, he also reveals that the blind ambition sometimes found in young people who are compelled to explore, to figure out life, to risk comfort for truth is not simply foolish behavior. Those experiences shape your life, your existence. And, so what if they are encased in an impulsiveness that seems to disappear for many after the age of, say, 35? It's your casing, after all, and I heard somewhere that the mind doesn't develop fully until the age of 25. I hope that's true.

Into Thin Air is about the failed exhibition (failed in the sense that most of the group dies) to the Summit of Mt. Everest. Krakauer (in an interview for the Independent Film Channel's program, Iconoclasts) revealed that he didn't look at writing Into Thin Air as an act of art. He felt that it was good journalism, but that the story was too raw, too sad, and too personal to the survivors and the deceased ones' families to be viewed as anything artistic. Even in his hardcore reporting, Krakauer manages to get personal with his audience and talk about his marriage--the good and the bad aspects. That honesty is really refreshing.

Under the Banner of Heaven is the latest book I've read from Krakauer and it is a lot different than the others because Krakauer doesn't really invoke his personal experiences. He showcases the people affiliated with the Fundamentalist Latter-Day Saints (FLDS) Church and allows their stories to be told, giving many people--like women in these communities--the opportunity to be heard. Both sects--FLDS and LDS-- are totally connected even though they would claim otherwise. The nonfiction book offers a commentary on the history of the Mormon Church, the real-life slayings of innocents in the name of their god, and the way we allow blind faith to lead us--without reason or explanation--sometimes down dangerous paths to murder, bigotry and persecution.

One of the most resonating sections of the book is when Krakauer discusses Elizabeth Smart--the little Utah Mormon girl who got kidnapped by a member of the FLDS. Remember her from a few years ago? She and her family looked like they stepped out of a really wholesome soap opera. They're white and blonde and pretty and smiling. The kidnapper used scripture and references from the Book of Mormon--a faith he and Elizabeth shared at a certain level--to systematically rape her and keep her from running away even when she had the opportunity to do so. This story was so heartbreaking because, as an ex-FLDS woman said in Under the Banner of Heaven, there are thousands of 12 and 13 year old girls who are married off, impregnated and systematically raped within the FLDS community. The U.S. governmental authorities look the other way because of the FLDS's cult-like structure and the fear of treading on freedom of religion. Elizabeth Smart was rescued after a year, but the other "kidnapped" girls remain hostages. Oh, and the politics involved: homosexuals teamed with the FLDS to keep "government out of the bedroom" and feminists paired with conservative Mormons (LDS) to berate polygamy. The crazy pairings make as much sense as faith and religion.

If you haven't read Krakauer, do it. He's the mountain climber's answer to Roger Ebert. Krakauer's voice is distinct and authentic and truthful. He has an ability to let you in without ramming his experiences down your throat. He walks the line. And, he's not even a druggie like Johnny Cash. I love you, Jon Krakauer.

Every Little Step

I don't know if you can appreciate this movie if your mother is not my mother. Disclosure: my mom is a total Broadway/dance/Rockettes nut. She loves all things showy and glittery and beautiful. She's the reason I took dance classes as a girl and why all of her kids grew up dancing to The Pointer Sisters or Boy George or Lionel Ritchie or any other record (yes, record) she would put on. And, we kids never danced alone. I still remember being five years old, home alone with my mom after a half day of kindergarten, stripping down to my underpants and dancing with my mom. The Rockettes were the most beautiful women in the world to her, and she thought that getting a job as a topless Vegas dancer was the highest achievement possible (over academia or other traditionally corporate professional pursuits).

So, I have a special place in my heart for the Dancer's plight, and this movie is all about "making it." Every Little Step is a documentary about the audition process and also the history of the play, A Chorus Line. I've seen the movie (and I would like to see the play), and I think that it's necessary to be familiar with the story of A Chorus Line to appreciate this documentary. A Chorus Line, the play, is about dancers getting a break (or not) and the grueling audition process--which is the same plot as Every Little Step, the documentary about A Chorus Line. It feels layered because you're watching dancers try out for a play about trying out for a play that's based on real-life experiences about the Broadway scene and auditioning in general.

It's interesting to learn that the stories that are told in A Chorus Line are rooted in truth--in real persons' experiences. All of the characters are either based on someone's real story or the story is told ver batim from a real-life experience. The best part for me, though, was watching these real-life dancers in the documentary--some way into their 30s and 40s--continue to audition (a process that takes up to a year) and try to make their dream happen. You see, the odds are completely against these performers. They're all trained; they're all really good. The probability of THAT ONE dancer getting chosen above the others is near impossible. Yet, they all continue to do it; they all continue to go for it. They do it because one more audition is another possibility. Another chance. I wish I were as brave in any aspect of my life. I hear "no" and I believe it. These dancers hear "no" and they move on and work more until they procure that "yes."

But, how do these dancers go on with their self-esteem in tact after the "no's," after the disappointment? Maybe, the lesson is in the contours of both A Chorus Line and Every Little Step: the notion that one person DID make it, and he or she pushed just as much and maybe even more than you have been nudging yourself. Maybe, making yourself do something is all that matters. I mean, even if you don't get cast, you're still a dancer. And, that is beautiful. It's beautiful under a spotlight in a flashy costume in front of thousands of people, their smiles reflecting your value. It's beautiful under the gaze of your mother in front of the mirror, your underpants-clad five year old body reflecting your worth. Maybe, the trick is getting over the idea of classifying the beauty. The dancers possess their own reflected validation of beauty. That type of spotlight must be the warmest of all.

Working Girl

I feel the same way when I watch Working Girl as I did when I visited Amsterdam: both awed and at-home. The women in Amsterdam are tall, substantial and fashion risk-takers. The same can be said about the women in Working Girl. Melanie Griffith, Sigourney Weaver, and Joan Cusack are all over 5'9" (don't question this...I google-researched this and imdb'ed it...do not question my investigative skills). That plethora of statuesque women is only one of the reasons why I totally love this movie.

Working Girl is 1980s in the best/worst sense of that decade. The girlfriends (Griffith and Cusack) are secretaries who take the Staten Island ferry every day into the Big Apple. They have really big hair, wear shoulder pads and white sneakers with their black hose before they reach the office. (I am horrified and delighted to report that women still sport the white running shoes with office wear in the streets of Manhattan.) Tess (Melanie Griffith) finds herself as the secretary of a new executive, Katherine Parker (played by Sigourney Weaver). She tells Tess to come to her with ideas, and Tess does. When Katherine goes on vacation, Tess finds out that Katherine has been stealing her ideas because Tess, after all, has a "head for business and a bod for sin." That last is debateable, but Griffith does look and act the best she ever has in her career. I love her in this movie. That "little girl" voice miraculously works here and she is the most appealing I've ever seen her.

Anyway, Tess, to be taken seriously, cuts off her hair and wears all of Katherine's clothes. No one in the office seems to notice that she's in her boss's office wearing her boss's business suits. The plot is totally confusing with tons of holes I've never been able to fill in even after watching this movie at least 50 times. Tess puts together a deal involving radio and a sexy Harrison Ford. Don't worry about the confusing details of the plot; you'll get the gyst of it. Like I said, the best parts of this movie are the bad 80s fashions (including a hideously good bridesmaid dress), the frizzy hair Melanie Griffith gets from serving Dim Sum, and the incredible music. Carly Simon won an award for the theme song that sort of plays throughout. It gets totally blown out at the end and even thinking about the song gives me goosebumps. It's that good.

Working Girl is just another one of those movies that I love to watch. I just love watching Melanie Griffith and the others. They're so tall and long and tough and sexy. Don't get me wrong: the women are totally pitted against each other. Katherine is the colossal bitch who keeps a fellow woman down. That's not easy for me to swallow. But, the secretaries keep a tight tribe, and I appreciate that. The men, for their part, are represented as both saints and jerks. (A thin Alec Baldwin is hot in a gross, no shirt, sexy sort of way, and Ford is that aw-shucks, hot, open kind of guy that you'll totally want to get it on with.) Sexy. Workaholics. Mean. Studly. Need I say more?

Temple Grandin

I resisted watching the HBO movie, Temple Grandin, for a while. Yes, it stars Claire Danes, an actor who has been relegated to mostly lame, supporting roles since her turns as Angela in My So-Called Life and Juliet in Romeo and Juliet. However, oh my Lord!, that haircut! Those clothes! I almost could not bring myself to watch.

But, I did and I'm glad. Temple Grandin is a real person and this film is a unique way to tell her story because we viewers are sort of dropped into her life. Believe me, you can guess how her early years went (and we do get glimpses) because she was diagnosed as autistic and weird and a good candidate for an institution. Her mother--played by the beautiful Ms. Julia Ormond...it's nice to see you...it's been years since you played the object of the brothers' affections in Legends of the Fall--is good as the woman who pushes Temple to live the fullest life she can by sending her to boarding schools and, eventually, to college. Claire Danes is pretty perfect as Temple. And, if you go on the website, you'll see that she looks just like the real deal. http://www.templegrandin.com/. Temple, understood by few, but encouraged by the ones who appreciate her brilliance, comes to design first a way for autistic persons to receive a hug--by creating a wooden Squeeze Machine to simulate human contact without the imposition of such humans. Then, Temple reconfigures slaughter houses and cattle farms in an effort to minimize the cattle's stress and create efficiency.

The real Temple Grandin has gone on to be a spokesperson for the advocacy of education for autistic people along with the restructuring of animal husbandry. Aside from the despicable fashions, I was initially turned off at the prospect of seeing this movie because I thought that Temple would get made fun of to an uncomfortable degree, and I just didn't want to see that. Temple does get taunted, but, it turns out, it's nothing she cannot take. She doesn't understand sarcasm and she doesn't understand why women would be barred from entering cattle ranches. She knows what she's good at: spaces, construction, animal behavior. She knows what she's not good at: people's behavior. That knowledge doesn't hurt her. Temple simply goes after what she wants. She dresses in her own way; she talks with her own speech inflections; she is confident in her theories. People do make fun of her, but who cares? Temple's the one with the published books, the drive, the confidence.

This is a sweet little movie about a woman who lives her life on her own terms. It sheds some light on the autism spectrum in an effort to nudge the viewers to look at people as individuals and as unique. It's not rocket science--a subject Temple loves--but, it is a nice and sometimes funny film. I sometimes wish I didn't understand sarcasm or irony. I wish I didn't classify the Squeeze Machine as sexual--as some folks in the movie do. It would be so much easier if we could just appreciate and use our minds for the gifts that they are. I wish we could all be like Temple--only, with better hair.

My Kid Could Paint That

My Kid Could Paint That is a documentary about a 4 year old named Marla Olmstead who got billed as an abstract (really, nonrepresentational) artist. (It's also a film about what is good art versus bad art versus bullshit art.) She had gallery openings and her paintings have sold for upwards of $10,000 a piece. Maybe more. The documentarian first set out to make a film about modern art and this little phenom named Marla. Soon, the documentary took a turn when it came out that Marla's masterpieces were possibly painted by her fucked-up, bully of a father. First, a local reporter starts following the arch of Marla's career. Then, the story gets picked up by 60 Minutes, where the program attempts to expose Marla for a fraud and the dad as the ultimate influencer of her paintings. The little girl, it seems, paints just as most 4 year olds paint, and whenever she's caught on camera, she cannot finish a painting and the dad speaks sternly to her in the background, freely giving pointed direction.

For the mom's part, she seems protective of Marla and reluctant to allow her daughter to remain in the spotlight. The dad, as the film goes on, sort of gets more defensive and I, the viewer, got more and more uncomfortable with the way the parents seemed to be using Marla as a way to gain fame and money. It's never really revealed if Marla is a fake or not, and that's not even the point. No matter if she was coached or coerced into painting, it was clear to me that Marla did not paint out of her own volition because it made her happy or whole or whatever it is that makes artists make art. She was told to paint, and she is a little, obedient girl.

In a way, this documentary reminded me of a really good movie called House of Cards starring Kathleen Turner and Tommy Lee Jones. Turner's daughter in the movie is brilliant--multilingual, a gifted artist, social. She witnesses her father's death and is traumatized. The little girl is diagnosed as quasi-autistic and Jones is the doctor that assists in bringing back the daughter from her self-imposed prison. The little girl uses art--she paints her body to resemble a tree trunk and then hides herself against the backdrop of a real oak. She builds a complicated house of cards and sits in the middle of it. Turner, an architect, builds a huge model of the house of cards using wood that she can walk on in an effort to understand her daughter's construction and, maybe, understand her mind.

I know that My Kid is a documentary and House is fiction. But, House serves as a juxtaposition to My Kid because the parent is actually attempting to understand the child by analyzing her art. There is something unsettling and terrifying about parents who coach their child to be creative and productive as a way to impose value on that child. Even if Marla were painting on her own and showed herself as a prodigy or genius, she should be able to keep that talent for herself until she ever chooses to send it out into the world for ridicule or praise. As the reporter in the documenary notes, doesn't every child deserve a childhood?

Fried Green Tomatoes

Reader(s), it is almost 3 AM in the morning. I am listening to Jeff Buckley's "Forget Her" on repeat. And I know, this review is a long time coming. I promised a review of "Next Floor" and "Crazy Heart" and they will come in time. But I just rewatched Fried Green Tomatoes and must write about it. But first, a few thoughts. The name of this blog is sort of a misnomer, I know. Sometimes we don't write about images at all. Sometimes we write about a snippet of a song, or words, but most often feelings. But it'd be silly to call the blog "Feelings move me" cuz of course you are moved by feelings. Perhaps just "Moved"? And speaking of "moved," Esquire recently published a profile of Roger Ebert that was just good. You can find it here Roger Ebert profile. Kathleen and I are big big fans of Ebert. He writes so well and he manages to insert his personality and voice in every work. He's funny and irreverent. He gets it. Sometimes I wonder why I should write about anything he's written about? Kathleen said it best when she said that she sometimes just feels like linking to an Ebert article instead of writing her own review. I echo that sentiment no doubt. And I have moments of hesitation when I wonder: what is the point of putting Another Blog That Doesn't Say Much out there? But I think it's important that we write, even if not well (speaking for myself), and even if we have 2 1/2 readers, because it's about subjectivity. Affirming subjectivity and creating it. We are subjects in process and writing helps us be and become. Writing a movie review is really hard. It's hard to describe the camera work, the characters, the plot. It's hard to show and not etch. And I know that I don't often rise to meet the challenge. For instance, I have written reviews about movies where I have entirely ignored the plot because I have forgotten it. But I am trying to get better. But I am not Ebert or Manohla Dargis or A.O. Scott and I will never be..,Okay, now onto the review!

How can you go wrong with a saccharine sweet storyline and strong female actors like Kathy Bates, Jessica Tandy, Mary Stuart Masterson and Mary Louise Parker? Can someone please tell me WHAT HAPPENED TO MARY STUART MASTERSON? MSM is amazing and she stole my heart in Some Kind of Wonderful, Bed of Roses and Benny and Joon. Hollywood needs Mary. Really. There's something off-putting about her. Her beauty is modest and she has the most intelligent eyes. End rant. In the movie, Kathy Bates is an unhappy housewife who tries to attain self actualization by attending these feminist consciousness raising sessions. But of course (typical Hollywood patriarchal ploy) the sessions don't liberate her, storytelling does. She begins to listen to the stories of an old woman played by Tandy.

Tandy tells her the story of Idgie Threadgoode and Ruth Jamison--two best friends in the Depression era South. Idgie, played by Masterson, is a free spirit who wears men's clothes (but form fitting and sexy men's clothes, obviously), gambles and curses. She teaches Ruth (Parker) how to be free and live. They open a restaurant together and build a life together. In one scene they get into this foodfight with berries and chocolate and flour and they are so close to kissing. I wanted them to JUST KISS ALREADY. But they didn't because it wasn't that kind of movie. But the sexual tension between Masterson and Parker was palpable, though I may be the only one who felt it. Masterson helps uptight, prissy Parker let her hair loose. But *spoiler alert!* Parker's character ends up dying of cancer. The illness was sudden and sort of seemed thrown in to resuscitate and dying story but I have mad love for the cancer stricken heroine. I know what you're thinking. You're thinking: this sounds like a poor woman's Steel Magnolias. To which I will answer you: SHELBY HAD DIABETES, NOT CANCER. I won't lie...Fried Green Tomatoes is basically Steel Magnolias. Don't watch them both. Just watch Steel Magnolias. No no, I'm just kidding. Fried is good because Mary Stuart Masterson is in it and I swear she carries the movie. She can do no wrong in my book. And the costume work is incredible. The movie does deal with race relations but it does so heavy handedly, in my opinion. Idgie (Masterson) befriends the town's blacks and feels the wrath of the KKK. There's also an exciting murder trial that sort of fizzles at the end. I know this is not a very glowing review but you know those movies that you love because they try just hard enough and get just far enough? Fried Green Tomatoes is no masterpiece. Some of the acting could use some work and Kathy Bates's southern accent was cringe-worthy. But Mary Stuart Masterson? Well, she's irreproachable and I will watch anything she's in. Twice.