Dan and I just finished watching (courtesy of netflix.com) the HBO special on John Adams. Amazing performances all around by Paul Giamatti as the title character, Laura Linney as Abigail Adams, Tom Wilkinson as Ben Franklin and Stephen Dillane as Thomas Jefferson. The film helped me grasp, in a more visceral way than I had before, just how delicate the state of our nation was when it was born. For those who admire politics over principle, there is plenty to like in the film's portrayal of Benjamin Franklin. For those who prefer principles over the strum and drang of political wrangling, Adams is your man (despite my disagreement with the Alien and Sedition Act). But for sheer strength of character, I admire the fictionalized version of Abigail Adams the most. She brought out the best in John, called him on his stubborn nature and his pride, and loved him with passion and humor. (Necessary in the loving of curmudgeons...just ask Dan who loves yours truly!) At the end of the movie, there's a moment where John is walking with his son, Thomas. He has a moment of nearly ecstatic vision wherein he says, "Abigail was always after me to appreciate the [pedestrian things] in life." He tries to fall to his knees, exclaiming, "Praise always." Thomas is bemused but as someone who daily counts the blessings of egrets, butterfly bushes and the monarchs they attract, thistles that some count weeds...well, words to live by indeed. I highly recommend viewing the series if you have not!
Wow, it's been a long time! I've been tempted to blog a few times since my surgery (7 weeks ago today), but this is the first time I've actually had energy to log on. (Okay, and maybe I've been hoping that Congress could come up with some kind of health care legislation in the same amount of time it took me to regrow 75% of my liver. Dreamer!) At any rate, I've been reading (mostly trashy) books, watching television and movies, and napping. Today was my first "big" walk with Hal and Charlie and it seems to have done the trick for garnering me some energy. (It's 5:46 and I haven't had a nap yet...that's some kind of record.) The main item drawing me back to the blog today is not a general update; however, it's to recommend a film from among the many that I've watched. Called Sin Nombre, written and directed by Cary Fukunaga, the film is presented with Spanish subtitles. Despite the challenges usually entailed by subtitles, this is a highly engaging film--part thriller, part love story, part political statement--that asks important questions while telling a compelling story. I'd say Fukunaga is a man with a future in film. He's done just about every behind the camera role in film making. It's clear from the film he put together in Sin Nombre, that his apprenticeship paid off.
It being a chemo weekend this Saturday and Sunday, I watched a few films. Since I'm a writer, a weaver of meaning, I also tend to notice when the universe smacks me on the head with a theme and says "Pay Attention!"
That's what happened with the three films I saw: Grand Hotel, The Reader and The Day the Earth Stood Still. First, let me say that these films were wildly different in quality, in story and in approach. I liked all three films. Grand Hotel is a classic and, as I covered yesterday, has much to recommend itself to the viewer. The Reader is a tough, demanding film with touchy subject matter and thoughtful nuance. The Day the Earth Stood Still is a much-reviled remake of a classic movie that had enough action and story to carry me through what most folks didn't care for...and I really appreciated the performances of Kathy Bates and Jennifer Connelly. (I must also confess to being a sucker for Keanu Reeves even though most folks I know would find that inconsistent with my general tastes.)
Despite the differences in quality and story line, each of these films came across to me as a metaphor for what it means to be human. In each film, deeply flawed characters express or experience moments of grace. They do so in various ways. In one film, an ex-Nazi guard (and arguably a child abuser) tells the truth about horrific things she had done in the past. In one, a thief gives back what he's stolen out of compassion for the man he's robbed. In the other, a woman and her stepson forgive each other and thereby (spoiler) save the world.
It got me to thinking, seeing all of these movies, about how we are capable...each and every one of us...of terrible evil and wonderous good. How we make choices in our lives and sometimes they're the wrong choices. How those wrong choices can inform us to make better choices next time. And just how damn essential it is to understand that we and those we share this journey with are human. Flawed. And yet able to, in our best moments, approach the divine through mercy, kindness, understanding, and something so simple as reading a book to a person who's done nothing to deserve it.
 As part of my ongoing foray into former Best Picture winners, I sat down with Dan for a viewing of the classic Grand Hotel. The movie, with its all-star cast, won Best Picture in 1932.
It was a new strategy, in the early 30's, to put all of your cinematic talent in one basket. The strategy paid off well in terms of the movie's success in the 30's and to a large extent, it continues to pay off for today's viewer.
The plot revolves around a group of individuals who are staying at Berlin's "Grand Hotel." The group includes John Barrymore as a fortune-deprived Baron, Greta Garbo as a Russian ballerina who can barely bring herself to dance anymore, Joan Crawford as a "do anything for money and damn the consequences" stenographer and the delightful Lionel Barrymore as a man living his last few days to the fullest. Also in the cast are Wallace Beery as a German industrialist and Lewis Stone as a war veteran doctor who (presaging Waiting for Godot, perhaps) utters the movie's epigram: "People come. People go. Nothing ever happens."
Actually, quite a bit happens in the film. There are romances, comic bits, a birth, a death. I found myself, as the film went on, interpreting the Grand Hotel as an extended metaphor for life. Some, like Lionel Barrymore's character, are aware that life is fleeting. Some are overcome with ennui. Some serve. Some demand service. All are "in this together," often in ways they don't suspect.
Two aspects of the story which I found particularly engaging were the "pre-code" morality which showed Crawford's character as quite willing to take money in exchange for "being nice" to Beery's industrialist. Pre-code films are really a treat for their realistic reflection of the times rather than one that's been "morally" spruced up for general consumption.
In a way, the pre-code nature of the film allowed the second aspect I most enjoyed to flourish: a lively (if unspoken) debate over which characters are "moral" and which are not. The "thief" turns out to be more moral than the industrialist. The cheap girl has more to her than the famous ballerina. The drunk loser surprises himself and everyone else by insisting on life on his terms.
The film's worth watching in almost every respect. While I found Garbo somewhat tedious, the rest of the cast turns in strong performances. Overall, a film well worth the time you'll invest, for its own merits as well as for a peek at the film that began the All-Star trend.
I've got three things buzzing around my mind this vle-post chemo day.
1. Newsweek's Redesign: Having concluded that "news" is being covered by the 24/7 blogosphere and news channels, Newsweek has been in the process of reinventing itself as a news outlet. Instead of being a "current news" delivery device, they've moved in the direction of offering commentary, in-depth interviews and profiles.
I like the thinking very much but believe they will be better able to engage their audience in this new format if they break things up a bit more. Intersperse commentary (and woo Quindlan back for heavens' sake) with more in-depth articles. Sprinkle the social commentary fluff-stuff throughout the magazine instead of saving it for the end. A few little tweaks and Newsweek may be onto something. Sorta wish Meacham had been in charge of the automotive industry this last decade or so.
2. My at long last viewing of Shut up and Sing, a documentary about the Dixie Chicks and the "long road" they took to come back from lead singer Natalie Maines' off the cuff comment in London, on the eve of the invasion of Iraq, that she was embarassed that the President of the United States was from (her home state) of Texas.
The backlash from that comment (mainly from Country Music fans and the stations that used anti-Chick backlash to whip up some publicity) was brutish, ill-informed, and (as it turned out) dead wrong about the war being the right decision.
The film follows these three incredibly talented performers as they navigate the fallout of Maines' comment and their subsequent choices. There are some interesting nuances to the argument about free speech. It seems like the producers of the film were all for Natalie's free speech but not so much for the free speech of those who disagreed with the Chicks. I've been there, to a much lesser degree, when I wrote about abortion rights and came home to a hateful call on my message machine about being a baby killer. It's hard to support someone's right to free speech when it gets personal.
3. Jon Meacham's interview with President Obama. In it, Obama describes his process for deciding to surge troops in Afghanistan. Listening to the way he approached the problem--taking into account historical contexts and lessons learned by other super powers who ventured there, gathering together people from every agency with something to add to the discussion, listening and asking questions, then demanding answers before making a decision--how refreshing in a Commander-in-Chief.
Those Dixie Chicks, they were right on.
 Earlier this week, I sat down to watch The Broadway Melody, winner of Best Picture from 1929. My review in a nutshell is this: The movie is a must see for cinophiles and film historians or fans of the principal actors. If you don't fit into one of those two categories, you might consider taking a pass.
The reason the film is fascinating from a historical perspective is that it is one of the first "talkies"--so it's located very close in time to silent films and makes a fascinating snapshot of that transition. Some conventions from the time of silent films remain while other issues arise from the relatively new process of sound for film:
1. Scene Cards: Some modern films still use a version of this, giving us a date, time, place stamp to help us locate where we are and when we are. But these are done in the silent film tradition where the screen goes black and a card comes up telling us where the next scene will be located. Interestingly, this is not done for every scene. From this I surmise that the film's director felt the audience might need more help in one place or another.
2. Histrionics: One hallmark of silent films was the tendency to portray emotions in an over the top manner. Again, I surmise that this was done to compensate for the lack of dialog. Since The Broadway Melody was filmed so soon after the transition to talkies began (indeed, it was the first sound film to win Best Picture), it's only natural that the acting needed to convey emotion on a silent screen bled over into the first talkies.
3. Abrupt Cuts: Although this is more due, from my small amount of research, to the fact that cameras were still largely stationary, the film carries over the convention of isolated closeups where the actor is "in" a group scene, but we cut to a shot of them where no other actors are visible while they react to bad news, unwelcome advances, etc.
4. Sound: For the modern viewer, sound quality is very spotty in the movie. Most noticeably, there are instances where loud events are taking place just next to the actors, yet there is no background noise. During some scenes, there are long periods of silence as an actor emotes. And more than a few lines are lost in general hubbub. Again, this all makes sense given the historical context of the filming.
From an artistic point of view, I found little to recommend the film. The only noteworthy song, in my opinion, is "You Were Meant For Me." History bears me out as I believe this song is still frequently performed while most of the others in the film are not. "Give My Regards to Broadway," which is found in many versions of this film, was alas not in mine...and it was an add-on to the musical rather than part of the original.
There is one noteworthy performance during one of the big production numbers, a tap-dancing ballerina who was fascinating to watch.
Of the acting, the only performance I found remotely interesting was that of Bessie Love, the smarter of the two sisters in the "sister act" come to Broadway that the film is purportedly about. Although she has a loyal following, I found Anita Page to be alternatively bland and over-the-top in her performance. Lead actor Charles King did absolutely nothing for me...I couldn't understand why either sister would love him, let alone both.
I enjoyed watching the film as an example of an art form in transition. I'll be very interested to compare it to The Jazz Singer in the weeks to come.
I am working my way through the winners for Best Picture (as awarded by the Academy of Motion Pictures). Yesterday's film was The Life of Emile Zola, and I was lightly mocked (and the film much maligned as boring) by my viewing companions.
I will admit that the film has the sort of schmaltzy feel (aided by the over the top score) of its era. It was released in 1937, so some of the acting is what we'd describe as overwrought today. The inital life of Zola is less interesting than his transformation at midlife to successful writer from starving artist. The film really hits stride when Zola (played by Paul Muni) finds himself confronted with the choice between righting an injustice or resting in his comfortable status as a man of letters.
He chooses to fight injustice, championing a man unjustly convicted of treason (Captain Alfred Dreyfus played admirably by Joseph Schildkraut). He does so at great cost to himself, his reputation and his wife. Which makes the story that much more inspiring to me.
A few quotes from the movie may illuminate why I fell in love with this old sleeper:
"We of France, who gave the world liberty, shall we not now give it justice?"
"What matters the individual if the idea survives?"
"The world must be conquered, but not by force of arms. But by ideas that liberate--then we can build it anew for the humble and the wretched."
"He had the simplicity of a great soul."
"He was a moment of the conscience of man."
That last one really gets me. And the first one, too. We've spent a lot of time, us Americans, telling the world in recent years how democracy can offer freedom, wealth and a way out of tyranny. Where we've dropped the ball (with Abu Ghraib, Guantanamo, for example) is in the realm of justice. Justice cannot be found in courtrooms where the accused have been silenced or tortured, where they cannot have access to evidence given against them, where their advocates are unable to obtain detailed information about such evidence.
The Life of Emile Zola reminded me of that truth...and it plays, especially in the trial scene, perilously close to home.
Dan and I were up with the birds this morning, on our way to play golf with Tom and Renee' Dobyns. While neither of us burned up the course, Renee' had her best round to date and it was great fun to see her chip in on the 9th hole (if memory serves).
I had some great drives worth remembering, but my short game (other than the sand, where for some peculiar reason I did very well, very often) was off. No worries. I only got grumpy on the 17th hole where I put 3 balls in the water for my maximum 9x. Grrr. And I knew better, but chose the route to the green based on my imaginary game rather than the game I brought.
Dan and I had lunch at the club and then decided to sneak off and watch the new Star Trek movie. Overall, (and forgive my fan-boy slavering) I loved it. They did a great job with updating the franchise for a new generation while also giving us longtime Trekkies the nods we wanted (and deserve!). The guys behind me said it was the best one yet. Dan and I still vote for The Wrath of Khan as number 1.
It was more of an action film than a sci-fi film...and I did note, with a bit of sadness, that the original series' idealism and vision of the future as an adventure in discovery and peace (rather than mostly a battle) was missing from this more rough and tumble Star Trek world. But Roddenberry was speaking to another generation at another time, with a medium that was high tech for the time but seems dated to this younger band of merry travellers. I found the film riveting. I will buy the DVD. I'm glad I lived to see it, even, in a way that feels frankly spiritual to me.
And I am also nostalgic for the Original Trek sense of the world. I know there are idealists out there in this new generation. I'm related to quite a few of them. I hope the future looks more like we projected in the 60's than the one we saw today...but that's going to be up to these new idealists.
OTOH, I love Aliens and Terminator...so I'm all for a good, well-developed action flick that respects the lore of the world it wants to inhabit. Go see it if you like sci-fi, Trek in any form, or even if you just like Spock/Syler (from Heroes)/Zachary Quinto.
Dan's brother, Steven, and his partner, Kevin, are safely arrived from North Carolina. We have a variety of activities lined up...movies, possibly a Legoland venture for the two Morefields-by-birth, a jaunt to the beach and Monday we are headed to the Getty Villa and a festive dinner in Santa Monica.
All in all, a good excuse to hang out and relax with people we love. Nice, eh?
The other "visitors from North Carolina" that I want to blog about is a wonderful independent film called Junebug. We saw it the other night and while the film was not to Dan's taste, it was right up my alley.
The film is about many things: culture clash in America between blue states and red states, "elites" and "just plain folks;" stifled histories in an emotionally constipated family; the definitions of art; hope and loss. The extremely engaging aspect of the movie to me was that one had to participate actively in viewing the movie--I found myself concentrating on the ways that the characters illuminated different themes in the movie without the director or writer once telling us what we should think, what the movie was "about," or how we should feel about the characters in their different moments of extremis.
There was a saying back in the screenwriting classes I was privileged to take with David Gerrold and D.C. Fontana: Show, don't tell. (I realize David and Dorothy were not the only ones to say this, nor the first ones to say this--I think, but they said it often enough with my scenes that I hear it in their voices.)
This movie does exactly that. It shows us what it's like to take the risk of escaping a stifling environment while loving the people you left behind. It shows us the cost of staying behind. It shows us the cost of hope in the face of crushing loss. It shows us how differently people define family and what being part of a family requires.
And not once did the film lecture...no characters waxed philosophical. The movie just evolved naturally from the interplay of characters. Sort of like life. And better than reality t.v. ever dreamed.
If you like independent films, if you are content to let story unwind from character, then I urge you to rent or buy Junebug. Exceptional performances, too, by Amy Adams and Embeth Davidtz, among others.
Ken and Cindy got here yesterday and it was a lazy-ish day as they adjusted to the time zone and to taking the red-eye here from Hawaii. I was, of course, still mostly sedentary although we did manage to get in my longest walk since surgery. Go team!
One of the fun things about hanging out with Ken and Cindy is that they love movies as much as I do. I was definitely ready for a movie of stronger fare than I had last week (watching old favorites and enjoying Space Chimps is fine in its way but sometimes a new, challenging film is called for.)
We found just the ticket in the movie, The Visitor. I had previously seen bits of this movie while flying across country...with the sound off and only intermittent viewing, it didn't appear to be much of a film.
But with the sound on, with the full texture and nuance of characters presented by a uniformly talented cast, this film is truly a jewel of a story. Richard Jenkins, an easily recognized character actor, has the lead as a widowed professor who finds squatters living in his New York apartment and forms an unlikely friendship with them. To tell you any more about the moving plot would be to deprive you of the experience of the film's unfolding.
Jenkins was nominated for a SAG award for his role. In my opinion, any of the other characters in the film's small cast would also be worthy of nomination. The actors are: Haaz Sleiman as the young, drum-playing squatter, Daina Gurira as his girlfriend, and the luminous Hiam Abbass as the drummer's mother. If you haven't already seen this film, buy it for yourself for Christmas. It is rich with meaning, thick with craft and a film you will see again and again.
|
RSS Feed
My StumbleUpon Page