Crazy, Stupid Love

I really think there is something seriously wrong with me when I (albeit begrudgingly) nudge you to go spend ten bucks on a movie just to see someone take his shirt off. You won't even see him do the deed. Wait, let me explain. See, I've only done it ONE TIME with a man who had a seriously good body. He was perfect (and, yes, I am accounting for my memory to make him so even if he wasn't in real life). He was thin, but not lanky. He was lean and muscled and proportioned correctly. I don't think I'm explaining properly. Listen, he was Brad-Pitt-in-A-River-Runs-Through-It beautiful. He worked out or he had good genes or he had recently sold his soul to the devil. I don't know, and I really didn't care. I had him, and before that, I never understood that a good body makes so much of a difference. It stimulates the senses in a way that a great mind with an okay body just fails to do. I didn't know how statistically improbable it is for a person to have the opportunity to get with a physically objectively beautiful man until I hit the jackpot that one time. So, even though Crazy, Stupid Love just turned out to be stupid, it's kind of worth it (a rental!) to be able to see Ryan Gosling and his hot body. You just don't know if you'll ever see that kind of scene in the flesh.

This summer, I saw Crazy, Stupid Love with a couple of other adults and a few fourteen year olds. I don't think I've been to a movie theater with a teenager since I was one. I don't mean to wax nostalgic here, but when I was a kid, we had no cell phones and no texting and no glowing phones. These girls with whom I went to the movies relentlessly texted and talked to one another. You might think, then, that I was so bothered by this behavior that my annoyed state rubbed off on my opinion of the movie. I honestly had no ill will toward Crazy, Stupid Love before I began watching. However, it turned out to be a disappointing movie about my favorite (and totally universal, always incorporated) theme: relationships--and, more specifically, divorce.

I love movies about divorce. And, no, it's not because my parents divorced. (Believe me; we're all better off for that little lawsuit.) Divorce movies are good because they are usually the most honest depictions of relationships. Irreconcilable Differences and The Kids Are All Right are two of my favorite divorce-themed movies. But, they're not really about divorce at all. They're about the complexities of relationships. The problem I had with CSL is that right from the start the audience (and the characters) learn that a divorce is imminent, and the characters jump ship right away. That's not real. That's not realistic. That's not how people operate. We're left with having to watch Steve Carell manipulate woman after woman into bed. (And, by the way, I was not expecting Marisa Tomei to have such a goofy part. I really wish more meaty parts could be written for middle-aged women. Here's my PSI: go see Rosanna Arquette's documentary, Searching for Debra Winger. You won't really get any answers or satisfying reasons why there aren't many good movies featuring good older actresses, but it's nice to see Martha Plimpton and, of course, Debra Winger.)

Oh, and you know my man, Ryan Gosling? Well, he plays another character where a man is a womanizer without a heart until he meets the Right Girl. This woman changes everything in his life for him. His perspective has changed; his priorities have shifted. Maybe, that scenario is true in some instances, but I think it's dangerous for women to be prompted to think that they have the power or influence to actually change how a man behaves. And, also, I hate that whole idea of a woman claiming success by changing a man's ways. Basically, I don't really buy that men change due to an influence of a woman, and I'm tired of feeling like I should be shamed or exhaulted for not changing a man's behavior or changing a man's behavior. If a man hasn't worked on his own stuff, then it doesn't matter if a woman is the greatest human on the planet; no one can change someone who doesn't want to change. So, I just wish that movies would not manipulating the public into believing otherwise.

The Fabulous Baker Boys

I'm in. I get it. Basically, piano players are sexy. We all know that. So, Jeff Bridges is already half-way there in The Fabulous Baker Boys just because he can play. Or, his stunt double can. Whatever. He's got me. Of course, there's more to his role. He is so sexy and tortured to me that I don't want to be WITH him; I actually want to BE him. I've been thinking that lately; for the first time in my life, I actually think that certain boys are so sexy that I want to inhabit their skin.

That's never happened to me before. Normally, I would be attempting to connect with Michelle Pfeiffer--who, by the way, is really sexy and beautiful in this movie, even with her tacky clothes and jewelry. Pfeiffer plays the lounge singer that the Baker brothers hire. (Jeff and Beau Bridges are real brothers who play piano-playing brothers in the movie.) Even with the big, gaudy earrings and tight, little dresses, she is still hot. But, she's kind of butch--not like a butch dyke, exactly. She's just butch in general. It's like these characters are gender-neutral in that they are not exactly playing into typical woman/man gender norms. This, of course, is juxtaposed with the aesthetic of both of the actors. Michelle Pfeiffer has delicate features that are traditionally feminine-attractive--porcelain skin, tight body, long, blonde hair, full lips, and a perfect (surgically-altered) nose. Jeff Bridges has the masculine attributes--tall, chiseled jaw, stringy hair, and lanky in that he doesn't exercise but drinks and smokes his calories sort of way.

This time around, I'm not putting myself in the woman's shoes so that I can somehow connect with the man. It's strange because there's really nothing about this movie that outwardly hints at gender-bending. Bridges and Pfeiffer both play their roles as people. She's not a woman in her thirties desperate to marry. He's not a man getting over his wild days of dating cocktail waitresses. They're just people. They're trying to make a living making music. They're trying to embrace love with another person. They're just trying to somehow stay true to themselves. So, with all of this human emotion out there, I'm not surprised I want to crawl into Jeff Bridges' skin. But, if it makes you feel better for me to say it, I will: I would also crawl into his bed. I have to add, though, that I may want to wear a strap-on just for effect.

The Tree of Life

The first time I was exposed to the idea of "grace" was when I briefly lived in Northeast Iowa. There were a lot of Lutherans, and the subject of grace was so prevalent in the area over there that it was even discussed on snowy nights in a corner booth of a low-lit bar. Grace. A Preacher's Kid (PK)--meaning that a PK held a special social status, another idea I had never before contemplated--suggested that grace meant a sort of life trajectory inspired by the divine or, at the very least, a nod to the importance of a spiritual path or presence. Maybe, that's not even right; I was, after all, drunk most of the time I was living in Iowa. You would be, too--especially in the winter.

The movie, The Tree of Life, opens with a voiceover discussing the differences between a natural life and a spiritual one. The directions are separate and parallel. They cannot interject or overlap. This co-existence in different spheres makes it even more difficult to receive a satisfying answer about the state of the universe. And, the state of the universe encompasses all living beings, all facets of the planet earth, all stages of life. Included, and not less or more significant, are human emotions. I suspect that the writer/director was attempting to tie the states together because life trajectories do not run parallel to one another; they inherently intersect.

The Tree of Life is beautifully shot. The images are both out of National Geographic Magazine and each human's recollection of his or her respective childhood. The story of the family is set in the 1950s. But, the emotions evoked from the boys or the mother or the father could be taken out of anyone's own memory. The story is not sequential, but that's okay because we don't remember events in their correct order. We remember events in the order of their significance to the individual remembering. We only need to make sense of the emotional impact of events and feelings. The sequence is really secondary.

The movie is peppered with narrative musings and (maybe forever) unanswered questions. When it was all over, I felt both reserved and connected. We are all alone, after all. But, the loneliness is maybe bearable if we realize that our feelings are not only universal, but influenced by the universe.

every night

I think about you all the time. I think about what to write to you. I think about interesting things I've seen and done that I can report and recount. And yet it's been months since I've written and I can't even write an entry, just a bulleted list. Maybe that's good enough, for now.

Moved

1. This Radiolab episode about Lucy, the chimp effectively raised as a human. I listened to it last month and couldn't fall asleep. I just sat in bed and thought about Lucy...about human folly. About consciousness.

2. Gillian Welch -- Revelator. There's no one better and I don't care if she sings about Georgia and was raised in Santa Cruz. I listen to this song on repeat.

3. Summer Heights High . There is whimsy and sadness that exists in Jonah Takalua that is so so perfectly rendered.

Crazy Heart

After finally seeing Crazy Heart, I am certain that Jeff Bridges deserved every award he won for that movie. He even could have had me as a trophy--even though an Oscar is way more discriminating than I am--because Jeff Bridges is one sexy beast.

Crazy Heart could have gone down a common path. It could have followed the road about the hard-living country singer whose protege turns on him. Crazy Heart is smarter than that. Instead, the movie centers on Bad Blake (Jeff Bridges), who is Tommy Sweet's mentor (played by Colin Farrell in a surprisingly understated performance). Tommy wants to see Bad succeed, but it's hard to support a friend and mentor who hits the bottle too hard to stay on track and who refuses to write more songs, even though the songwriting is the most lucrative part about Bad's career.

Bad Blake is a guy who used to be a star; now he plays bowling alleys. Bad behaves how he believes country artists should behave. He knows you've got to have a signature liquor and a womanizer reputation. That lifestyle is how good songs are sung. More importantly, that's how good songs are written. Bad's charm on-stage and off is what ultimately aids Bad in bedding the local reporter, played by Maggie Gylenhaal. With that romance comes the best line I've ever heard on stage or off. Bad tells her, "I want to talk about how bad you're making this room look." That's a poet's line, and that's what Bad is.

Because of this raw performance by Jeff Bridges, I began to understand how heartbreaking authentic country music can be when it's performed by honest singer/songwriters. They are the ones confronting life. Sometimes, a hard life feels worth it; sometimes, the song is that good.

Lady in the Water

Some stereotypical characters plus a lovable Paul Giamatti as the lead.

What I like about this movie is one or two of its messages. One is that  --- it is a profound thing to realize (discover) your purpose in life.  Another is that -- someone can write a book, "sow the seeds of change," and inspire someone of a later generation, who will lead a revolution that is to change the course of humanity.

Visually, the film is not beautiful, but perhaps has its own low-budget aesthetic. Some scenes are funny, others are tiresome (e.g. the scene in which the film critic makes meta-predictions of what will happen next). I wish that the movie could have developed the sea people and their world, rather than just giving us one person (well, water nymph) - Story - to represent those beings who have always existed alongside humans on Earth. It is a good idea to use the existence/history of another kingdom to shed light on the character and history of our own. Nice attempt but could have been better. B+

500 More Days of Summer

I already wrote about this movie, but after watching 500 Days of Summer again, I feel like I finally understand the message. Maybe, it's because I'm no longer wallowing in the angst of (unrequited) love, and, consequently, my vision in this arena is a lot less blurry. Yes, the tone of the movie is still artsy, the scene structure is still crisp, and the clothing styles are still pleasing to me. Now, though, I see this movie as a raw exploration of the deterioration of one's self-worth when one gives himself unconditionally over to the object of his affection. It is a dangerous amount of power to hand over to another person--ultimately one's self-worth and self-possession. But, that seems to be what we do when we surrender our hearts. We are such fools.

What are we supposed to do with this gnawing emotion that we've branded as love? Now, I'm not talking about the healthy kind of love--with all of that mutual admiration and supportive bullshit. No, I'm talking about the down and dirty kind of love--the kind that rips your heart out and pounds the shit out of it. That is the kind of love that Tom experiences in the movie, 500 Days of Summer. What this type of love amounts to is the inevitable self-loathing. Love is a slap in the face as we're looking into the mirror. It tells the truth about us. When we are rejected by a person we have decided to revere and admire, the truth of ourselves is that we are loathsome and lonely and annoying.

Tom falls hard for Summer. And, why not? She's cute enough and she is aloof enough to have guys at her knees. I don't think we are necessarily meant to like Summer. I think that, instead, we are supposed to understand how Tom can begin to loathe himself just by her rejecting him. It's not an all-out assault by Summer. She rejects him with subtlety, and Tom quietly catalogues all of the rejections. Since Summer doesn't laugh at his joke, does that mean he is not funny? Since Summer does not want to label Tom as her boyfriend, does that mean no one ever will? If he thinks that she is the best thing in his life, and she denies him, does that mean all of Tom's talents are really tics?

I certainly do not know the answer to these questions. Could be yes; could be no. The point is that Tom believes in a certain answer, and that is the most tragic answer. Once we give our hearts away, and they break (always, inevitably), the only way to get them back is to allow the organ to regenerate over time. The scar tissue that results is ugly and thick. It takes a lot to penetrate it.