a supposedly dumb movie i'd love to see again

Hi. I haven't written in a long time. See, I was trying to come up with a way to make the blog work better. A way to make it more interesting for me and for you. So here it is. I have decided to have theme posts. I don't know how many themes there will be, but probably no more than 5. Gonna keep it simple. All my posts will have to fit into one of the themes. That's gonna be the rule.

You may wind up with some favorite themes and some others you skip. That would make more sense than just having to read about every movie I see. Also, I don't feel like writing about every movie I see.

So, Introducing Theme #1: A supposedly dumb movie I'd love to see again. Yes, of course I'm riffing off the late great David Foster Wallace's book. Apologies, RIP, David.

Recently I saw a couple movies that fit this category perfectly. One was 27 Dresses with the fun-to-watch Katherine Heigl. Oh! This gives me a chance to share with you that I have categories of actors, too, btw. Already in place but nowhere written down. The categories of actors are (roughly in order of highest to lowest): Capable of Anything; Extremely Gifted; Very Talented; Fun to Watch; Those I'd Love to Know; Always Seems the Same; Semi-Talented; and Not Talented. Only a couple of these categories contain an actual judgment call. The others are fun ways to talk about acting.

So, Katherine Heigl is in the fun-to-watch category. One of the categories I don't have to explain. She's fun. I loved seeing her parade through one garish bridesmaid dress after another.

But seriously. What was great about the movie was, it was supposedly just a romantic comedy, but it really touched on something many of us single gals feel deep inside and can't talk about. We can't talk about it because, well, it's so trite and we're supposed to have overcome it. The Wedding Dream. And the fact that we're supposed to have overcome it is part of the problem that the movie touches on. Jane (the main character) believes in love, but not in a silly way. She just does. Period. She still holds on to the Wedding Dream - the idea of marrying someone for love. Real love. And the great thing about Jane is, she doesn't mind talking about it. And the movie doesn't mind. And it's all normal and OK, and - even better! - the movie takes a gentle approach introducing the big problem we all face. The problem slips into Jane's consciousness in a subtle way, slowly coaxing her to give up her dream. That's how it happens to most of us in real life, too. The problem is, relationships are hard and flawed, so having high expectations for love is therefore naive, and when you're a grownup you're supposed to be realistic. Etcetera. These are all the reasons that many single gals can't talk about their unrealistic, naive, but still passionate feelings about marriage. "27 Dresses" is sweet, heartfelt, and honest. All without being too serious. It's a romantic comedy, after all. You get to watch Katherine Heigl singing "Benny and the Jets!"

Philadelphia - 15 years later

I saw the advertising on AMC for the 15-year anniversary of "Philadelphia," that modern-day classic starring Tom Hanks and Denzel Washington, which brought the dark persecution suffered by victims of AIDS into the broad daylight of everybody's lives. It sought to teach the common man, the ignorant man, that AIDS was not an illness anyone could catch, not transmitted through ordinary human contact, and that we should not treat AIDS patients like the lepers of biblical times. It actually did more than that -- it made people face the fact of discrimination against gays, in general, in a way that as far as I know, no other movie had done before. (Please correct me if I'm wrong.)

So I thought I'd watch it again. Interestingly, something has happened to me between 1993 and now. (Something relevant to my take on the film.) I've learned a little bit about the law. I worked in a law school, first, then later worked in several law firms, dated a couple of attorneys, and then worked in a big-city courthouse. I've also done a lot of reading: law reviews, legal history essays. It's an area you might say I'm familiar with. So when I saw this film, which is a courtroom drama by genre, I paid some attention to the presentation of the case. I became less interested in the emotional aspects of a dying man's fight against discrimination. In this context, it's a totally different movie.

If you look at it for what it was meant to be (see first paragraph) it has a big emotional impact. For sure. Here's Denzel Washington, shaking a man's hand and then stepping ten feet back after he learns that the man has AIDS. Here's Tom Hanks, trying to read in the public library, but they want to put him away in a private room as if he needs to be quarantined.

However, if you begin paying attention to the actual court case, it becomes an infuriatingly bad movie. If you are trying to follow the arguments being made, you see instantly that they don't work. For instance, the defense attorney, in her cross examination, asks Tom Hanks a series of questions about his sexual encounters in a gay movie theater. What's the relevance in a wrongful termination lawsuit? Objection! When an objection is raised she states that her line of questioning goes to credibility. So, I the viewer take this to mean that she is going to prove he's a liar -- isn't that what you would think? That he can't be trusted? His word is no good? Something along those lines? Yet, she never proves nor disproves anything about whether the man is credible. She never even raises that issue! It makes no sense whatsoever. All she's doing is asking him about his sex life. When did he contract AIDS? Was it in a movie theater? Was it when he had sex with a stranger? Yes, yes, yes, he says (he doesn't deny anything). So for the movie's theme, I get it. People are homophobic. People thought homosexuals deserved to get AIDS because of their "lifestyles." It was ugly, ignorant, prejudiced and wrong to think that way. No one deserves to get AIDS.

OK. Does this line of questioning have emotional impact? Yes. Does it even try to sound like a point is being made, in a legal argument? No. He doesn't lie. She doesn't say he lied. She doesn't show that he lied. She doesn't even try to find out whether he lied about anything. The issue isn't even addressed.

Here's an even more glaring problem. Suppose I am not paying attention to the arguments and I'm willing to ignore the fact that neither of the attorneys is making a case. I mean, what if I had never worked in a law firm or courthouse? I'm just the average viewer now, and I don't pay any attention to the arguments. (Although this would be difficult, considering the entire movie takes place in a courtroom.) Minimally, I as the viewer care about what happens to Tom Hanks. Don't you? All my heartstrings are being pulled. Clearly I want him to win the case; I am pulling for him. So -- how bad is it that, when the movie is over and he wins the case, I can't even tell you why or how he won it?!

Usually, in almost every courtroom drama you'll see, there's a moment when the case turns; something is revealed, either in evidence or in testimony that changes the case and turns it around, usually in favor of the protagonist. Anyone, any viewer, even one with no legal knowledge, can point to the moment. It's the drama of the movie, so it's supposed to work. In "Philadelphia," that moment is skipped over. There is no convincing argument made by either side. All we have is one emotional moment after another, followed by the win, which I guess they figured we were expecting -- so it didn't have to be convincing. What a let-down. Way to treat your viewers like children. "Yay! He won the case! We're happy now, because this is what we knew would happen and it takes away the sting of death at the end! Everybody applaud the success!" Give me a break. I want to know, please tell me (now that I've invested all these hours in this courtroom), how did he manage to win it?

Was it because the partners could see lesions on his face? (There's this gut-wrenching scene where Tom Hanks unbuttons his shirt to reveal the prominence of lesions, viewable by the entire jury.) But we knew all along they could see the lesions, so nothing was proven by that display. In the beginning, the point was conceded that his employers saw the lesions but didn't know what they were. So that wasn't a breakthrough in the case. How dumb do you think I am? You think I've already forgotten the first half hour of the movie?

What I expected was that, at some point in the movie, Denzel Washington was going to uncover some proof that the partners knew about the AIDS. They claimed they didn't know; he had to prove they did in order to prove wrongful termination. He never proved that. So, I was very, very disappointed. And even though I can say, as I did in the first paragraph, that this movie did amazing things for society, when it was released in the early 1990s, it truly had impact because it opened our eyes to persecution -- I can admit that, but I can't say it was a good movie. It just didn't really try. That was the saddest part. Many movies include a legal case, and they also have another agenda, and yet they manage with a little effort, to weave together a story that is reasonable as well as emotional. This one didn't even give us the chance to use our brains. It wanted our hearts and that was all it went after. It didn't even try to put the pieces together in a way that made sense. "Who cares if it doesn't make sense? It made you cry, didn't it?" I hate that.

Elegy

What a sad, sad movie. I love Ben Kingsley, I love his seriousness and his composure and his changeability and his intensity and his depth of feeling. I love his eyes and in this case, they were sad eyes. He can do anything with them; he can make them mean or cold or angry or hostile or threatening or intimidating or loving or gentle or sweet or intelligent or calculating or pensive or... I love Sir Ben Kingsley. What a fine, fine British actor he is. I loved him in "House of Sand and Fog" and "Schindler's List" and here again. What a treat.

I didn't love the movie, "Elegy," however; as much as I love a great romantic story, this one was just too damn sad. You've got to be prepared for some sadness with a title as obvious as "Elegy," but you don't need a somber piano score and a lot of extra tear-jerker dialogue when you've already got your heart out there on the line for doomed romance. Yeah.

Young at Heart

I watched this old movie, quite by accident. Though I rarely channel-surf, I hit upon this movie the other night and became hooked. I even recorded it; I have since watched it a couple more times. What was it, Doris Day's seductive voice? She has a way of speaking that is feminine and melodic, gentle, and yet commanding. Her voice goes into a whisper for effect and yet it can also rise up quite matter-of-factly when the need arises. Was it the time warp evoked by the trio of blonde hairdos, by the 1950s attire? (As the three sisters look up at once, smiling in perfect stylized synchronicity, not a hair out of place, all lip-glossed and golden, it reminds me of an Olympic sport... Were all the women in the 50s so perfectly put together? I think of Plath and how she suffered for it.)

No... These things moved me, but what really hooked me, I think, was Frank Sinatra. Honestly, his character cast a spell. Barney Sloan. The gaunt cheeks, the deep self-pity. Doris Day stood in contrast, as what Barney called "the gay-young-thing type." She was all sunshine and he was all gloom. Exactly as billed.

But more than that - The way they talked to each other - it evoked the most poignant aspects of a time when our culture was fundamentally different, when certainly women approached men a different way, and likely vice versa. Yet although men may have been said to have the "power," at least politically speaking, women had the real power when it came to romance. Laurie (Doris Day's character) was like the muse -- she provided the beauty, the inspiration, the magnetism which in turn provided Barney a reason to live. But I oversimplify. She was commanding, as I mentioned, and nurturing as well. A woman in charge of herself who could be "someone to watch over" him. (Yes. He sang that song in the film. She was watching.)

How is it achieved? I wonder. This balance of seduction, attraction, beauty, femininity, with strength, presence, confidence? And why do women now feel that if they intentionally make themselves attractive to men they'll lose respect, at least self-respect? Why do women now feel that to be powerful they have to be "ballsy" and hard -- stiff, unmoved, like Hillary Clinton? It was her downfall ultimately that she fought exactly this internal battle. Although I raged against that fact as a feminist, when I watch Doris Day I think maybe Hillary could've learned something from her. Am I crazy?

But in the movie, you wouldn't see all this without him. Man and woman truly complement each other here. That's the hook. Say all you want about Doris Day. It all boils down to Barney - Sinatra acting Barney - and the way he appreciates her.

There's a scene where he's in a bar, playing piano and singing ("Just One of Those Things"), and smoking his cigarette, feeling down on his luck, and the whole picture, which has since become cliche -- but at the time was not, so it's OK -- and Laurie walks in, and he's surprised to see her. "What are you doing here?" he asks. "I could ask you the same question," she says, "And a few more besides." He tells her about his latest round in the battle with the Fates. The latest bad card they have dealt him. He's in love with her and she's about to be married. Why, he asks, does she have to be so beautiful? If only her eyes were dull or her nose shiny...

As I said, she's perfectly put together, but it's his appreciation that really draws out the magic; it's his pain that makes this scene romantic. He wants her. Sinatra's able, somehow, to make us feel this quality of wanting. Throughout the movie, with his stance, his face, his voice (of course), we see a man wanting. A man needing. And he's no less masculine for it!

She's totally in charge of herself, even when he seems to stop feeling sorry for himself, when he stands up and says he's going to fight for her. Even when she starts to cry, because she feels so deeply for him. She might seem to be acting like the weepy female, but she's acting conscientiously like a woman who's careful with a man's ego. So she allows him to say "Go." And after a pause. "Go!"

Maybe this is the romantic movie I've been looking for. It's not one or the other of them, but man and woman together, as I said before, in perfect complement.

Youth Without Youth (and Funny Games, briefly)

Francis Ford Coppola is a name we all respect. Why? Because of "The Godfather. "

Last night I watched "Youth Without Youth" which was billed as Coppola's comeback film. I didn't say it; some high-falutin' film critic did. Or more accurately, several high-falutin' critics. You know, the professionals. They build 'em up, they knock 'em down. That's what they did in this case. Told us he was a master, told us this was the master's comeback, then told us the master's comeback was crap. What happened to the respect? the adulation? Hmmmm?
What I want to know is, why didn't they like the film? I suspect it's because they raised their collective expectations too high. Waaaaay too high.

Anyway, I liked the film. Sure, it has some extraneous and confusing stuff in it. But on the whole, it was a beauty. Here you have two characters. One is an old man, who represents age [read: time passing] and wisdom [read: benefit of time passing]. One is a young woman, who represents beauty and youth [the opposite of age, of time, of wisdom]. Yes, they are symbolic characters.

The old man (Tim Roth) participates in a miracle. His youth is restored to him. He is able to gain time, in other words. When you're 70 you don't think you have that much time left. If you were suddenly made 35 again, you've gained exactly 35 years (wow, I can do math). Why would this happen?

The reason he gains the time is because he's overly ambitious. He wants to learn the whole of human knowledge. He's writing a book that can never be finished. He's a student of languages but hasn't got time to learn all the languages of all the periods of history. Until!

Enter the second character, Young-Girl-Youth-and-Beauty. She participates in a miracle too. She is able to channel the languages of all time, and hopefully can take Old-Man back far enough in time so that he can discover all of human knowledge. Problem is, while he remains young, she enters into a rapid aging process because of channeling all that ancient history. He had to get younger to have more time to write the book. She had to get older to feel the weight of ancient time. It's all very beautiful and poetic, magical and metaphorical. You must see this coming: Old-Man falls in love with Young-Girl and he has a choice to make.

Let her turn into a 25-year-old with wrinkles? Let her descend into death long before her time, for the sake of knowledge? Or... leave her and restore her youth and beauty. Abandon knowledge and wisdom (and love! which is evidently the fruit of wisdom). Abandon the value of expanding time, embrace the value of the finite, accept that life is short for a reason.

I found it beautiful. We didn't need Hitler's goons chasing Old-Man down with a gun. That part was a little ridiculous and quite unnecessary. There were some other tossed-in scenes that may have added to the confusion some of the critics apparently felt. (Even Almighty Ebert used the word "confusing!" It's less confusing than "Inland Empire," man.) But it was still very powerful. I can forgive Coppola these little mistakes. He's only human, after all.

Tim Roth, coincidentally, has been on my screen a lot recently. I also watched "Funny Games" the other day. It's a thriller - no one would dispute the label in this case - and a dark one. Ask yourself: Do you want to watch Tim Roth and Naomi Watts be tortured? That's all it is. The end was surprising, but not in a good way. All I can say is, this was a ride I really wanted off of. But I am starting to understand Tim Roth. I used to think of him as simply a Tarantino man, for obvious reasons ("Pulp Fiction," "Reservoir Dogs"). Now I'm understanding that Roth'll take anything that might be unnerving -- he's simply confrontational, as an actor. He must be a very interesting person to talk to.