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.