Here is another film I watched on the advice of my friend and colleague, James, and I am oh so glad I did.
There is something lost in the translation of this film's title, which in French is apparently an idiom for "to raise hell". So it's not a boxing picture. Okay, that helps. I admit I was afraid because it was from way before I was born and in black and white. (These are not bad qualities, mind you, but for some reason, I'm just reluctant to open myself up to older works, even classics such as this. I have been delighted by ancient films like Night of the Hunter, and you would think I'd get over my phobia, but maybe I will after a few more like this.)
The 400 Blows is part of the French New Wave cinema of the late 50's and 60's, and it comes from one of its primary auteurs, Francios Truffaut. I had seen one of his before--also because of a cinephile friend--called Jules and Jim, and while that had its moments, it didn't exactly leave me clamoring for more. But this coming-of-age film, which would be the first of several films exploring the same protagonist with the same actor (Jean-Pierre Leaud), made the kind of emotional impression on me that I suppose it's made on thousands of viewers for decades.
Plot-wise, there's not much to tell. A boy in his early teens is ignored, misunderstood, and mistreated by the adults in his life, leading him to the exact kind of trouble that his elders expect of him. (Sometimes we live up to others' expectations, if only to spite them, or because we take them in and believe these lies about ourselves and they become self-fulfilling prophecies.) By the end, we have a sad, haunting portrait of a lonely boy who never seemed to have much of a chance at happiness.
I was not the same kind of child or adolescent that the film's main character, Antoine Doinel, is. With very few exceptions, I was a model of good behavior, almost completely unrebellious. I didn't lie, I didn't cheat, I didn't steal, I didn't misbehave, I didn't get into trouble. You might think it's because my parents were super-strict, but that's not really the case. I was raised with a particular set of values and a huge amount of love, and I just didn't want to ever disappoint my parents, or any of my elders, for that matter. I suppose my general shortage of friends and peer pressure may have contributed to this good behavior, as it does seem like Antoine's trouble often stems from being egged on by classmates. But my point is, I didn't feel connected to this character on the basis that I could relate to him. I really couldn't very much. And yet, I cared about him. Maybe it's the father in me that has never had children but knows if I did, I'd treat them a lot better than Anoine's parents treat him. Maybe it's something to do with Leaud's acting ability; as his character plays aloof to the adults in his life, somehow his inner emotions are easily telegraphed to us watching. How is it we're paying so much closer attention than the people in this boy's life?
If I make this movie sound like a tragedy, it really isn't, at least not in the traditional sense. Although this film ends with uncertainty, we know that the life and adventures of Antoine continue in several other installments. I don't know how eager I am to see them though. The final moments in this film are so artfully captured, and the last frame leaves a lot to imagine, contemplate, and dream of what might be. I don't know if I want to replace my own notions with the actual continuing story that Truffaut ultimately decided to tell. Maybe I will eventually, but for now, I'm stuck--and yet quite content--with this freeze frame.
Saturday, September 5, 2015
Friday, September 4, 2015
The wistful teen world of John Green
Note: there may be spoilers ahead.
My interest in John Green as an author began when I was looking at IMDb and saw the poster for The Fault in Our Stars, which I then clicked a link onto and subsequently decided to see when it came out. As the film got closer to opening, I was surprised to learn what an intense and devoted following the book and its author had. So I knew I'd be seeing it at a theater surrounded by obsessed teenage fans, waiting desperately to find out if the film matched their image of the cherished novel. Of course, I had no preconceptions. I saw the film with a clean slate, and I loved it more than anything I'd seen in a long time.
So much, in fact, that I decided I wanted to read the book and get all the little details that the movie inevitably would have to leave out (because you can never put it all in the movie, as everyone knows). I found a box set of 4 of John Green's books, horrendously priced at a local bookstore, but wonderfully bargain-priced online, so I ordered it, and set about to read all four books, starting with the one I already (sort of) knew.
I found that the movie was actually very faithful to the book, something I would also notice when I saw the film adaptation of Paper Towns a year or so later. The novel did fill in more details, as I expected it would, but for the most part, I don't remember what's in the novel and not in the movie, with the exception of a scene involving trying to sell an old swing set on Craigslist. (That was a deleted scene on the DVD however.) I think the novel might be a tad less sentimental than the film, as films about romance and dying tend to be deliberate tearjerkers. John Green was trying to tell a good story, and the filmmakers were trying to make you reach for the Kleenex. Both efforts were successful.
By the way, if you're new to this story (book or film), it's about two teenagers who meet at a cancer support group and fall in love. Period.
This first book I read by John Green showed me that John Green has an amazing talent for writing teenage characters were are very smart--much smarter than you normally see depicted in movies--and relatable at the same time. You care very deeply what happens to them, and it's this affection for characters that makes his books page-turners, more than any kind of plot device.
There were a few imperfect moments in the book, which also made their way into the movie. Of course, one of the key story elements is the main character Hazel Grace's obsession with a particular book called An Imperial Affliction by one Peter Van Houten. There is a lot of emotional buildup to an eventual meeting with her idol in Amsterdam. When the meeting finally takes place, Hazel and her boyfriend Gus are disappointed for very obvious reasons. But I was disappointed too, for different reasons entirely. I thought the scene was too overwrought and more than a little far fetched. Yes, sometimes people don't live up to our expectations, but this character was so over the top asshole that he came across as to be almost cartoonish, even when he was played by a super-high caliber actor in the movie, like Willum Dafoe. It just played like a lot of nonsense to me.
My other complaint is on a more personal level. John Green is self-professed Episcopalian Christian, and it surprised me to see cheap jokes about the "heart of Jesus" and write a story about death and dying in which not a single person seems to have any hope or inclination that there may be an afterlife. To be clear, I would not want Green to evangelize in his novel, but the truth is, a lot of people in such situations do take comfort in the notion of a God, and to not even acknowledge that seemed a little short-sighted to me.
The next book I tackled was Paper Towns, and it tickled me when I learned that was next film that was to be made from Green's books. On its surface, it seemed like it would be a lighter affair, but it still packed an emotional wallop by the end, in spite of a good dose of humor throughout.
The centerpiece of the story is something that many of us can relate to, a childhood and/or teen crush that is long lasting, but unrequited. In Quentin's case, it started out when he was a boy, and a pretty girl moved in next door, and there was actually a friendship that developed but eventually faded. His feelings didn't fade though, all up until high school graduation approached. He had to watch her, so close (as they were still neighbors) and yet so far, as she became Miss Popularity and also a thing of mystery, rumor, and innuendo among the student body at their high school.
Not wanting to really rehash the plot here, suffice to say, he gets a surprising night of exhilaration and joy with Margo Roth Spiegelman (the crush), followed by a disappearing act, and the rest of the novel involves trying to find out where she went and why she left. Both the night with Margo and the road trip with a bunch of friends to track her down in upstate New York are the highlights of this book, filled with humor and mirth. They also explore the uniquely emotional and temporary bonds we form with our school friends, from whom we have that nagging awareness that we'll part ways, and things will "never be the same". (I actually think the movie hit that last note better than the novel did.)
Finding Margo in the end was very much like the heroes of The Fault in Our Stars finding Van Houten. It is a let-down for our protagonist, Q, and it's a let down for us...only in a slightly different way. The book treats this better than the movie, which is a little too pat in its goodbye scene. There's a little more angst in the written version, as there should be. But the problem for me, as the audience, was not that Q didn't end up getting what he thought he wanted, but that this beautiful, mysterious character was clearly emotionally unstable and unhealthy, and was going to continue to be that way. That is all right in the sense that not every story must have a happy ending, but I thought that the tone of this revelation was a little blasé, and that neither the author nor the protagonist seemed to care that much about the fact that the book's captivating Margo character was probably going to wind up homeless on the streets of New York City, meeting an ultimate fate that can't be very good. It seemed like a heartless ending to an otherwise very thoughtful story.
Well, I have at least one friend who considers Katherines to be her favorite John Green book. So that's something. But to me, it was the weakest link, the bad egg, the bastard child, the runt of the litter. It deals with a young genius named Colin who has dated only girls named Katherine (about 19 of them) and has been dumped by every one of them. He tries to solve the mystery of his cursed love life by inventing a theorem and by going on a crazy road trip with his only friend, Hassan.
There are things to like about this book. Colin, in spite of being a prodigy, is someone we can all relate to. He knows a lot of things, but none of the really important ones about life, love, and happiness. There are many clever devices John Green uses in the book, such as footnotes to explain math problems and obscure factoids, which appeals to the nerd in all of us.
My greatest problem with the book is the annoying Hassan character. He is self-centered, rude, insulting, and altogether unlikable. He keeps referring to Colin as "Kaffir", which means infidel. With every page, I wondered why Colin tolerated this. The only benefit he seems to get from Hassan's friendship is an occasional dose of tough love/truth, which we all sometimes need, but I feel like John Green could have created a better character for that purpose.
The road trip leads to some unexpected places, but ultimately never really goes anywhere. It really felt like it lacked direction, and not in the good way of a story about teens trying to find themselves, but in the sense of an author who seems to have lost his own way as well.
The last book in the box set I read is, I believe, Green's first novel. It's also the next that will be made into a movie. (Big surprise that it's not Katherines!) I'm not completely sure about this, but I think Looking for Alaska might be my favorite of the bunch. And when the film comes out, it will be me stressing over how well it lived up to my expectations.
This is a boarding school story, which appeals to me in the sense that it deals with a different kind of growing up than the one I experienced. I'm not saying I wish I had gone to one, but it's fun to imagine and think about. The kinds of friendships formed in such places can be very strong, out of necessity because you don't have the family and hometown connections to rely on. So right away, I was drawn in to the story of Miles, the protagonist, so thin in stature that he gains the teasing nickname of Pudge. It doesn't take him long to make friends with his roommate Chip, other students Takumi and Lara, but most importantly the resident girl of mystery and instant attraction, Alaska.
All these characters have a lot of adventures and conversations and new "grown-up" experiences, and you really feel like you're with them as it all happens. It's a book that is very good at creating a sense of place and atmosphere. The tone is perfect throughout, and a lot better than you would expect from a first novel. It is funny, fun, and heartfelt. It's a novel that you never want to be over, even when the mood changes drastically right in the middle.
This is not a book of plot twists and surprises. In fact, John Green uses a literary technique which basically lets you know exactly what's going to happen and when, without ever having to say it in advance. I'm not sure why he did this, but I think it was to demark that moment in time when a person's life changes forever, when nothing will ever be the same. In Paper Towns, we had such a moment looming in the distance and it was a source of dread, but we never got to it. In Looking for Alaska, we do get to it about halfway through the novel, and it's somewhat devastating, no matter how much we knew about it going in. It is even arguably a more bitter pill than the obvious outcome of The Fault in Our Stars because it seems so random and senseless. But trying to make sense out of the senseless is a very real part of the human condition, and one which Green deals with very well.
So those are the John Green books I've read so far. There are a couple more, mostly collaborations. There's a Christmas one which I intend to read this year. Green is a fascinating author and person (his video blogs are alternately insightful and sometimes silly). What makes him a good YA author is that he never talks down to his audience; he respects them and understands them, as if he had only graduated himself yesterday. He is very current in terms of modern trends in technology, social media, and culture. He seems open-minded to almost every perspective and personality type. He seems like the kind to be a friend to nearly everyone. This is what makes him relevant and such an important part of our literary (and film) landscape today.
My interest in John Green as an author began when I was looking at IMDb and saw the poster for The Fault in Our Stars, which I then clicked a link onto and subsequently decided to see when it came out. As the film got closer to opening, I was surprised to learn what an intense and devoted following the book and its author had. So I knew I'd be seeing it at a theater surrounded by obsessed teenage fans, waiting desperately to find out if the film matched their image of the cherished novel. Of course, I had no preconceptions. I saw the film with a clean slate, and I loved it more than anything I'd seen in a long time.
So much, in fact, that I decided I wanted to read the book and get all the little details that the movie inevitably would have to leave out (because you can never put it all in the movie, as everyone knows). I found a box set of 4 of John Green's books, horrendously priced at a local bookstore, but wonderfully bargain-priced online, so I ordered it, and set about to read all four books, starting with the one I already (sort of) knew.
The Fault in Our Stars ***
I found that the movie was actually very faithful to the book, something I would also notice when I saw the film adaptation of Paper Towns a year or so later. The novel did fill in more details, as I expected it would, but for the most part, I don't remember what's in the novel and not in the movie, with the exception of a scene involving trying to sell an old swing set on Craigslist. (That was a deleted scene on the DVD however.) I think the novel might be a tad less sentimental than the film, as films about romance and dying tend to be deliberate tearjerkers. John Green was trying to tell a good story, and the filmmakers were trying to make you reach for the Kleenex. Both efforts were successful.
By the way, if you're new to this story (book or film), it's about two teenagers who meet at a cancer support group and fall in love. Period.
This first book I read by John Green showed me that John Green has an amazing talent for writing teenage characters were are very smart--much smarter than you normally see depicted in movies--and relatable at the same time. You care very deeply what happens to them, and it's this affection for characters that makes his books page-turners, more than any kind of plot device.
There were a few imperfect moments in the book, which also made their way into the movie. Of course, one of the key story elements is the main character Hazel Grace's obsession with a particular book called An Imperial Affliction by one Peter Van Houten. There is a lot of emotional buildup to an eventual meeting with her idol in Amsterdam. When the meeting finally takes place, Hazel and her boyfriend Gus are disappointed for very obvious reasons. But I was disappointed too, for different reasons entirely. I thought the scene was too overwrought and more than a little far fetched. Yes, sometimes people don't live up to our expectations, but this character was so over the top asshole that he came across as to be almost cartoonish, even when he was played by a super-high caliber actor in the movie, like Willum Dafoe. It just played like a lot of nonsense to me.
My other complaint is on a more personal level. John Green is self-professed Episcopalian Christian, and it surprised me to see cheap jokes about the "heart of Jesus" and write a story about death and dying in which not a single person seems to have any hope or inclination that there may be an afterlife. To be clear, I would not want Green to evangelize in his novel, but the truth is, a lot of people in such situations do take comfort in the notion of a God, and to not even acknowledge that seemed a little short-sighted to me.
Paper Towns ***
The next book I tackled was Paper Towns, and it tickled me when I learned that was next film that was to be made from Green's books. On its surface, it seemed like it would be a lighter affair, but it still packed an emotional wallop by the end, in spite of a good dose of humor throughout.
The centerpiece of the story is something that many of us can relate to, a childhood and/or teen crush that is long lasting, but unrequited. In Quentin's case, it started out when he was a boy, and a pretty girl moved in next door, and there was actually a friendship that developed but eventually faded. His feelings didn't fade though, all up until high school graduation approached. He had to watch her, so close (as they were still neighbors) and yet so far, as she became Miss Popularity and also a thing of mystery, rumor, and innuendo among the student body at their high school.
Not wanting to really rehash the plot here, suffice to say, he gets a surprising night of exhilaration and joy with Margo Roth Spiegelman (the crush), followed by a disappearing act, and the rest of the novel involves trying to find out where she went and why she left. Both the night with Margo and the road trip with a bunch of friends to track her down in upstate New York are the highlights of this book, filled with humor and mirth. They also explore the uniquely emotional and temporary bonds we form with our school friends, from whom we have that nagging awareness that we'll part ways, and things will "never be the same". (I actually think the movie hit that last note better than the novel did.)
Finding Margo in the end was very much like the heroes of The Fault in Our Stars finding Van Houten. It is a let-down for our protagonist, Q, and it's a let down for us...only in a slightly different way. The book treats this better than the movie, which is a little too pat in its goodbye scene. There's a little more angst in the written version, as there should be. But the problem for me, as the audience, was not that Q didn't end up getting what he thought he wanted, but that this beautiful, mysterious character was clearly emotionally unstable and unhealthy, and was going to continue to be that way. That is all right in the sense that not every story must have a happy ending, but I thought that the tone of this revelation was a little blasé, and that neither the author nor the protagonist seemed to care that much about the fact that the book's captivating Margo character was probably going to wind up homeless on the streets of New York City, meeting an ultimate fate that can't be very good. It seemed like a heartless ending to an otherwise very thoughtful story.
An Abundance of Katherines **
Well, I have at least one friend who considers Katherines to be her favorite John Green book. So that's something. But to me, it was the weakest link, the bad egg, the bastard child, the runt of the litter. It deals with a young genius named Colin who has dated only girls named Katherine (about 19 of them) and has been dumped by every one of them. He tries to solve the mystery of his cursed love life by inventing a theorem and by going on a crazy road trip with his only friend, Hassan.
There are things to like about this book. Colin, in spite of being a prodigy, is someone we can all relate to. He knows a lot of things, but none of the really important ones about life, love, and happiness. There are many clever devices John Green uses in the book, such as footnotes to explain math problems and obscure factoids, which appeals to the nerd in all of us.
My greatest problem with the book is the annoying Hassan character. He is self-centered, rude, insulting, and altogether unlikable. He keeps referring to Colin as "Kaffir", which means infidel. With every page, I wondered why Colin tolerated this. The only benefit he seems to get from Hassan's friendship is an occasional dose of tough love/truth, which we all sometimes need, but I feel like John Green could have created a better character for that purpose.
The road trip leads to some unexpected places, but ultimately never really goes anywhere. It really felt like it lacked direction, and not in the good way of a story about teens trying to find themselves, but in the sense of an author who seems to have lost his own way as well.
Looking for Alaska ****
The last book in the box set I read is, I believe, Green's first novel. It's also the next that will be made into a movie. (Big surprise that it's not Katherines!) I'm not completely sure about this, but I think Looking for Alaska might be my favorite of the bunch. And when the film comes out, it will be me stressing over how well it lived up to my expectations.
This is a boarding school story, which appeals to me in the sense that it deals with a different kind of growing up than the one I experienced. I'm not saying I wish I had gone to one, but it's fun to imagine and think about. The kinds of friendships formed in such places can be very strong, out of necessity because you don't have the family and hometown connections to rely on. So right away, I was drawn in to the story of Miles, the protagonist, so thin in stature that he gains the teasing nickname of Pudge. It doesn't take him long to make friends with his roommate Chip, other students Takumi and Lara, but most importantly the resident girl of mystery and instant attraction, Alaska.
All these characters have a lot of adventures and conversations and new "grown-up" experiences, and you really feel like you're with them as it all happens. It's a book that is very good at creating a sense of place and atmosphere. The tone is perfect throughout, and a lot better than you would expect from a first novel. It is funny, fun, and heartfelt. It's a novel that you never want to be over, even when the mood changes drastically right in the middle.
This is not a book of plot twists and surprises. In fact, John Green uses a literary technique which basically lets you know exactly what's going to happen and when, without ever having to say it in advance. I'm not sure why he did this, but I think it was to demark that moment in time when a person's life changes forever, when nothing will ever be the same. In Paper Towns, we had such a moment looming in the distance and it was a source of dread, but we never got to it. In Looking for Alaska, we do get to it about halfway through the novel, and it's somewhat devastating, no matter how much we knew about it going in. It is even arguably a more bitter pill than the obvious outcome of The Fault in Our Stars because it seems so random and senseless. But trying to make sense out of the senseless is a very real part of the human condition, and one which Green deals with very well.
So those are the John Green books I've read so far. There are a couple more, mostly collaborations. There's a Christmas one which I intend to read this year. Green is a fascinating author and person (his video blogs are alternately insightful and sometimes silly). What makes him a good YA author is that he never talks down to his audience; he respects them and understands them, as if he had only graduated himself yesterday. He is very current in terms of modern trends in technology, social media, and culture. He seems open-minded to almost every perspective and personality type. He seems like the kind to be a friend to nearly everyone. This is what makes him relevant and such an important part of our literary (and film) landscape today.
Sunday, August 30, 2015
Withnail & I ***
When I formed my theatre company this year, I made a list of movies, books, and music that I wanted to encourage all our members to experience. I called it the Kick in the Gut list because I felt they were things that did that, they made a big and bold impression on you. Like that insurance commercial during the Super Bowl that everyone got so uptight about with the boy who listed his would-be accomplishments before telling us why he could not ever do them: he was DEAD! Well, a lot of people were pissed at this, but to me, it was just a thoughtful piece of art that wanted to make you think and feel something.
Anyway, if I can make a list, you can too. And that's what one of our members, James, did over lunch one day. He gave me a list of films that I should see. And now I am in the process of seeing them, and when I do, I will write about them here. I may not always have a lot to say, but I will try to capture the way they made me feel because that is the important thing.
The first one I watched was the British comedy, Withnail & I, which I understand is now kind of a cult classic, and often quoted among British actors. Of course, Britain and America have very different artistic sensibilities. Often, they are not compatible. When America tries to remake a great British show (like Broadchurch), it tends to fall somewhat flat, even if they've managed to import David Tennant, star of the original show! While I liked at least season one of Broadchurch, and Sherlock, and the recent sci-fi hit, Humans, a lot of British drama (and comedy), I can't get into. You can keep your Downton Abbey and your Monty Python, and probably your Dr Who as well, although I admit I've never given that a chance. I know a lot of people say British things get dumbed down for America, which suggests that Brits are smarter than Americans. Not sure I agree with that. (However, it's shocking how much better they do with book covers in England than in America, from Harry Potter to Jack Reacher.)
So in the opening minutes of Withnail & I, I was ready for an admittedly clever, but difficult ride through the nuances of British humor, of which I can seldom relate. Right off the bat, I couldn't stand Withnail as a character, and that never really changed. I understood that he was chronically unhappy, and seemed to have no ability to empathize with anyone. I much preferred the other character ("& I", if you will), who was also strung out and dysfunctional, but somehow infinitely more likable.
The series of comic mishaps that befall these out-of-work part-time actors and full-time slacker/drunks are certainly absurd and sometimes surreal. As they try to gather essential things for survival--wood for a fire, food, more booze--it's a wonder how they have ever survived at all by themselves. Some of the wacky situations are also quite true to life, like when Withnail's obese gay relative takes a rather tender yet pathetic liking to his young friend. I could relate; he was very cute indeed, which made his natural straight-guy aversion to male intimacy hit home in a way that went beyond the general comedic vibe of the film.
Which brings us eventually to the last 15 minutes of the movie, which--to me--redeemed the whole experience. I won't say what happens, cos I mean for this blog to be a discussion with people who have already seen the works being discussed. But suffice to say, this oddball movie ends in an extremely poignant and dramatic way that pertains to the sad fact that friends sometimes must go their separate ways. Sometimes you realize a relationship just isn't good for you anymore. And when that happens, the other person may feel "dumped" and hurt. Such is life. It's happened to me several times. But I admired the courage and determination it took for the character to break himself away from that which was unhealthy, and start to live for a change.
This movie was an autobiographical film, made by Bruce Robinson, based on his own reckless youth and relationship with a self-destructive friend, Vivian MacKerrell, who died in 1995. Although Robinson obviously looked back fondly on his friend, it seems almost like a betrayal of sorts to dramatize such sordid details of his existence. It makes me wonder if a friend of mine ever made a movie about us, how I might be depicted once I was gone.
Anyway, if I can make a list, you can too. And that's what one of our members, James, did over lunch one day. He gave me a list of films that I should see. And now I am in the process of seeing them, and when I do, I will write about them here. I may not always have a lot to say, but I will try to capture the way they made me feel because that is the important thing.
The first one I watched was the British comedy, Withnail & I, which I understand is now kind of a cult classic, and often quoted among British actors. Of course, Britain and America have very different artistic sensibilities. Often, they are not compatible. When America tries to remake a great British show (like Broadchurch), it tends to fall somewhat flat, even if they've managed to import David Tennant, star of the original show! While I liked at least season one of Broadchurch, and Sherlock, and the recent sci-fi hit, Humans, a lot of British drama (and comedy), I can't get into. You can keep your Downton Abbey and your Monty Python, and probably your Dr Who as well, although I admit I've never given that a chance. I know a lot of people say British things get dumbed down for America, which suggests that Brits are smarter than Americans. Not sure I agree with that. (However, it's shocking how much better they do with book covers in England than in America, from Harry Potter to Jack Reacher.)
So in the opening minutes of Withnail & I, I was ready for an admittedly clever, but difficult ride through the nuances of British humor, of which I can seldom relate. Right off the bat, I couldn't stand Withnail as a character, and that never really changed. I understood that he was chronically unhappy, and seemed to have no ability to empathize with anyone. I much preferred the other character ("& I", if you will), who was also strung out and dysfunctional, but somehow infinitely more likable.
The series of comic mishaps that befall these out-of-work part-time actors and full-time slacker/drunks are certainly absurd and sometimes surreal. As they try to gather essential things for survival--wood for a fire, food, more booze--it's a wonder how they have ever survived at all by themselves. Some of the wacky situations are also quite true to life, like when Withnail's obese gay relative takes a rather tender yet pathetic liking to his young friend. I could relate; he was very cute indeed, which made his natural straight-guy aversion to male intimacy hit home in a way that went beyond the general comedic vibe of the film.
Which brings us eventually to the last 15 minutes of the movie, which--to me--redeemed the whole experience. I won't say what happens, cos I mean for this blog to be a discussion with people who have already seen the works being discussed. But suffice to say, this oddball movie ends in an extremely poignant and dramatic way that pertains to the sad fact that friends sometimes must go their separate ways. Sometimes you realize a relationship just isn't good for you anymore. And when that happens, the other person may feel "dumped" and hurt. Such is life. It's happened to me several times. But I admired the courage and determination it took for the character to break himself away from that which was unhealthy, and start to live for a change.
This movie was an autobiographical film, made by Bruce Robinson, based on his own reckless youth and relationship with a self-destructive friend, Vivian MacKerrell, who died in 1995. Although Robinson obviously looked back fondly on his friend, it seems almost like a betrayal of sorts to dramatize such sordid details of his existence. It makes me wonder if a friend of mine ever made a movie about us, how I might be depicted once I was gone.
Is Miles Teller the new Tom Hanks?
First a housekeeping note. I don't intend to post any photos on this blog. Not one. The reason is I just read someone else's blog about being sued for using a photo, and she thought she had taken every precaution necessary, so since I'm just doing this for fun, and not trying to make money, nor do I even care how big of an audience I get (it's meant for my family and friends more than anything), it's not worth of hassle of trying to post safely.
Now, back to the promised headline subject. Comparing Miles Teller to Tom Hanks could be a compliment or not...I guess it's in the eye of the beholder. I happened to watch three of his (Teller's) movies this week, and there were some things to observe. First, he's got real acting chops, which is best evident in Whiplash. Of course J.K. Simmons got a zillion awards, and Miles Teller didn't get any that I know of. He should have at least gotten an MTV award for heaven's sake. That drumming was his, and I swear when you look at his face in those intense drumming scenes, it really does feel like you're looking into someone's soul. (I thought about saying "tortured soul", but that only applies part of the time. There are actually many different emotional layers.) The other thing that makes him like Hanks is that he's not super-duper attractive, and yet he's good enough looking with a suave charm that is very appealing. He comes across as someone you might actually know, which is not something you can say for all the model Hollywood types out there.
The Spectacular Now and Two Night Stand are both what I would call "millennial romances", the latter being a romantic comedy. I had already seen The Spectacular Now, but I saw it before Shailene Woodley was ever on my radar from The Fault in Our Stars and the inferior dystopian teen angst sci-fi melodrama, Divergent Series (which happens to also feature Teller; apparently they're friends in real life). So especially after seeing Teller in Whiplash, I wanted to give it a second look. And it turns out that while The Spectacular Now is the real deal--great script, wonderful cast, beautifully directed--it presents Miles Teller with a dangerous prospect of being typecast as this sort of carefree, cool cat-type of guy who appears shallow on the surface, but eventually surprises you with tenderness and emotional depth. I say this because that's what you get in Two Night Stand as well: a very similar character, but not nearly as developed.
But the one worth talking about is Whiplash. In our house, we use VOD (video on demand) and not usually until it's free, so I ended up waiting a long time to see this one. Yes, Simmons deserved every one of those awards. A fascinating character in a fascinating film. You don't really know if he's a complete sociopathic monster, or if there's a human being hiding somewhere in there. There are times you think you know the answer, and then the rug gets pulled out from under you. In the end, it was pretty ambiguous to me. It was unclear whether the Teller character won his personal battle or lost it. Did he have to lose his soul to get his drive of greatness? When the credits roll, I wasn't sure if the two rivals were still bitter enemies, or if there was a possible friendship. At the very least, there was some kind of connection, but what exactly was at the heart of that? These were all very compelling issues, and it took two incredible actors to create that dramatic symphony, not only one.
(Sorry, I'll dispense with the obvious metaphors from now on.) I did have a few problems with the script. I thought it was under-developed, which is surprising, considering it was extended from what was initially a short. Teller's relationship with his dad was a little confusing; sometimes the dad seemed supportive; other times aloof. There are scenes that don't make a lot of sense, such as the family dinner scene, where Teller and some other men his age are sparring over whose accomplishments are the most impressive. It felt irrelevant to me because there had been no establishment of their relationship before in the film, and there would be none later. So why even bother with those characters at all? I wasn't even clear on who they were...his brothers, I assume? Similarly, there is the matter of the extremely brief romantic relationship that basically ends as soon as it begins. There is no middle. There is no exploring what these two people mean to each other, which is why the breakup doesn't have the impact that it should. There ought to have been one more scene exploring the chemistry (or lack thereof) between the two characters. I feel like there were crucial scenes that must have been left on the cutting room floor. I don't have the DVD, so I don't know.
But in spite of its imperfections, I was glad to finally see Whiplash, and Teller at his best. It's a movie that will make you think and feel. And at the end, you may not even be sure what it is exactly that you're feeling.
Saturday, August 29, 2015
Fearless is now about media reviews!
Hi. So a long time ago, I started this blog as a personal journal, but like so many that have gone before, that's bit the dust, and now I'm starting over--but with the same title and web address because it was easier that way--and using it to write about films I've seen, music I've heard, and books I've read. I hope that if I'm faithful to share mine, you'll share yours!
Here is a review of this concert I posted on Facebook last month:
Concert Bucket List: John Mellencamp
Here is a review of this concert I posted on Facebook last month:
First, before going into any details, I must say it was an
excellent show, which met all my expectations and more. So even the small
negatives aren’t really negatives at all, just things I’d change if I was in
control. I honestly don’t know how these
guys do it day in and day out, and John is something like 63 years old, a
chronic smoker and former heart attack victim. But you would not know any of
that by the level of sheer energy that he and his terrific band put into the
show.
Okay, I’m getting ahead of myself. Carlene Carter opened the
show, which is not as strange as it might seem considering that a.) she
performed on the soundtrack to Mellencamp’s collaboration with Stephen King and
T-Bone Burnett, The Ghost Brothers of Darkland County; and b.) Mellencamp’s own
work in recent years has drifted a long way towards country, especially his
latest album, Plain Spoken. (Personally, I don’t much care for this
development, although his last two Burnett-produced American roots music albums
are very good.)
Not a fan of country, though, I wasn’t familiar with
Carter’s work. She performed solo with only an acoustic guitar and a piano. I
liked the fast guitar tracks, which are apparently from her 90’s heyday. The
other stuff was mostly a tribute to her famous Carter/Cash family, and there
was a lot of talking about being in that family, which just didn’t interest me.
Then she was off, and a half hour later, John and his band
came onstage. He opened with “Lawless Times”, which is the last song off the
new album, and the only one with a hint of rock-n-roll in it. Kind of an
offbeat surprise way to get started. He later did the 2 best tracks from the
record—“Troubled Man” and “Isolation of Mister”—and then left the new album
alone for the evening.
The set list was surprisingly diverse, covering ground that
I never expected him to with album tracks such as a wildly stripped down
version of “The Full Catastrophe” from 1996’s Mr. Happy Go Lucky. And later,
the biggest shocker of the night, the violinist and accordion player came
onstage alone to perform the sweeping “Overture” from that same album. Two
songs I never thought I would ever hear live. Another surprising moment was
when Carlene Carter returned to the stage to perform a couple of duets from
Ghost Brothers.
Others of my favorite albums were untouched. There was nothing
from his wonderful 1999 self-titled album, nothing from Big Daddy, Cuttin’
Heads, Whenever We Wanted, or Freedom’s Road. He even left out 2011’s folk
foray, No Better Than This. And the reason is obvious: the need to play all
those famous 80’s hits, at least one of which (“Crumblin’ Down”) I’ve actually
never liked. Some of these songs come with stories he’s told 100 times, and
that’s okay; some of them I was hearing for my first time. (Others I’d seen on
You Yube.) My favorites of these old songs were “Check it Out”, “Rain on the
Scarecrow”, and “Cherry Bomb”, which was the evening’s closer. Even though this
band has played these songs many, many times, there is no shortage of vigor and
enthusiasm in their delivery.
It really does seem like they are not tired of
these songs. Two notable exceptions might be “Jack & Diane” which he
basically admitted that he only plays because “I know you want to hear it” and
“Paper in Fire” which lost its fire by the removal of a chorus and a toned down
approach.
But honestly, there was so much to love about this show: his
tender reflection on mortality in “Human Wheels” which must seem that much more
poignant 22 years after its release…his impassioned plea to live life to your
fullest, and appreciate it in “The Longest Days”…and his affectionate tributes
to his family and band mates, who have seen him through over such a long and
brilliant career, a career that is still creative and thriving after these
years.
Well, it seems like there were a lot of naysayers when it comes to this season. And on one point, I may agree with them. The plot was incredibly and unnecessarily convoluted, and it was very difficult to keep track of everything that was going on. There were too many people, too many names and small details to remember. It may have worked better for a day-long binge watching session, but not week by week. A lot of things happen in a week, and you’re not thinking about the world of the show. To be expected to come back every Sunday night with perfect clarity about all the facets of the mystery that have so far been revealed is not reasonable at all.
Although the acting in season 1 was stellar (McConaughey and Harrelson giving some of their finest performances ever), I actually admired the acting in season 2 every bit as much—though some didn’t see what I saw, obviously—and the characters were much more likable and sympathetic, even Vince Vaughn’s criminal character, Frank. Here was someone you could both like and fear at the same time, which, to me, was refreshing, as I typically avoid gangster stories. The detectives Ray, Ani, and Paul were all deeply flawed—like those in season one—but all searching for redemption, a way to right the wrongs of the past and make peace. The greatest thing that got in their way was not the criminal element at play in the show, but rather their own demons, fueled mostly by anger and self-hate. You could clearly see the origins of this tangled mess in Frank, Ray, and Ani, and to a lesser extent in Paul. Paul Woodrugh is the one character who I think got shortchanged by the writers, not because he died an episode earlier, but because there was a lot of mystery in his background that was left unexplored, and it would have been interesting. Clearly he was a self-loathing homosexual who was trying to be an archetypal straight American male, complete with macho job, a woman, a kid. Obviously someone like me finds a character like that very compelling, and wanted more.
But Colin Ferrell almost makes up for it. He actually is usually cast in the type of role that the Taylor Kitsch character aspired to be in life. But Ferrell also has a sensitive side, as evident in movies like A Home at the End of the World, which is one of my favorite movies that most people have never seen. My heart broke for his alienation by his wife and estrangement from his son, even though his son was a WEIRDO of such proportions that his scenes almost played as comedy. One little tragic moment with Ray and his son that I would have changed is how the very last message that Ray tried to send, expressing love to his kid before he was killed, failed to go through. I would have had it successfully sent. One minor difference if Matt Russell had been the filmmaker.
I really wanted all the main characters to pull through and live happily ever after, but you know with a show like this that it won’t happen. I predicted that Ani would be the only one to live, but Jordan made it as well. As far as redemption, I think Ray came close. He had recently experienced a moment of true connection—perhaps even love—with a woman, which had the potential to be deeply healing after all he’d been through with his wife and kid. He had a moment where he was looking up at the sky through the trees, and I had the feeling that he may have been making peace with God. If not God, then at least with his life and choices. He was letting go of everything, and was able to embrace his destiny before actually facing it. Woodrugh unfortunately didn’t have time for that. He was killed execution style, and all he was able to say was “FUCK!”, angry to the very end. One of the last exchanges he had with his fiancé was him telling her that he was trying to be a good man, and her telling him that he wasn’t doing it very well. But worse by far was Frank, who made his own criminal bed, but it was very sad to see him succumb to his fate, trying to walk through the desert with a deep knife wound (which had to be excruciating) and haunted by the ghosts of his tortured past. Even when he sees the mirage of his one true love, it feels like cold comfort.
Worth mentioning is the Leonard Cohen song, “Nevermind”, at the beginning of the show. Of course everybody likes Leonard Cohen, and when the song came on at the start of each show, I would want everyone to be quiet to I could listen to it and get in the mood. The song is from the album, Popular Problems, and contains some beautiful female verse, sang in Arabic, that is not featured in the show version. It’s worth checking out.
True Detective, season 2 (spoilers for those who haven't watched yet and want to)
Well, it seems like there were a lot of naysayers when it comes to this season. And on one point, I may agree with them. The plot was incredibly and unnecessarily convoluted, and it was very difficult to keep track of everything that was going on. There were too many people, too many names and small details to remember. It may have worked better for a day-long binge watching session, but not week by week. A lot of things happen in a week, and you’re not thinking about the world of the show. To be expected to come back every Sunday night with perfect clarity about all the facets of the mystery that have so far been revealed is not reasonable at all.
Although the acting in season 1 was stellar (McConaughey and Harrelson giving some of their finest performances ever), I actually admired the acting in season 2 every bit as much—though some didn’t see what I saw, obviously—and the characters were much more likable and sympathetic, even Vince Vaughn’s criminal character, Frank. Here was someone you could both like and fear at the same time, which, to me, was refreshing, as I typically avoid gangster stories. The detectives Ray, Ani, and Paul were all deeply flawed—like those in season one—but all searching for redemption, a way to right the wrongs of the past and make peace. The greatest thing that got in their way was not the criminal element at play in the show, but rather their own demons, fueled mostly by anger and self-hate. You could clearly see the origins of this tangled mess in Frank, Ray, and Ani, and to a lesser extent in Paul. Paul Woodrugh is the one character who I think got shortchanged by the writers, not because he died an episode earlier, but because there was a lot of mystery in his background that was left unexplored, and it would have been interesting. Clearly he was a self-loathing homosexual who was trying to be an archetypal straight American male, complete with macho job, a woman, a kid. Obviously someone like me finds a character like that very compelling, and wanted more.
But Colin Ferrell almost makes up for it. He actually is usually cast in the type of role that the Taylor Kitsch character aspired to be in life. But Ferrell also has a sensitive side, as evident in movies like A Home at the End of the World, which is one of my favorite movies that most people have never seen. My heart broke for his alienation by his wife and estrangement from his son, even though his son was a WEIRDO of such proportions that his scenes almost played as comedy. One little tragic moment with Ray and his son that I would have changed is how the very last message that Ray tried to send, expressing love to his kid before he was killed, failed to go through. I would have had it successfully sent. One minor difference if Matt Russell had been the filmmaker.
I really wanted all the main characters to pull through and live happily ever after, but you know with a show like this that it won’t happen. I predicted that Ani would be the only one to live, but Jordan made it as well. As far as redemption, I think Ray came close. He had recently experienced a moment of true connection—perhaps even love—with a woman, which had the potential to be deeply healing after all he’d been through with his wife and kid. He had a moment where he was looking up at the sky through the trees, and I had the feeling that he may have been making peace with God. If not God, then at least with his life and choices. He was letting go of everything, and was able to embrace his destiny before actually facing it. Woodrugh unfortunately didn’t have time for that. He was killed execution style, and all he was able to say was “FUCK!”, angry to the very end. One of the last exchanges he had with his fiancé was him telling her that he was trying to be a good man, and her telling him that he wasn’t doing it very well. But worse by far was Frank, who made his own criminal bed, but it was very sad to see him succumb to his fate, trying to walk through the desert with a deep knife wound (which had to be excruciating) and haunted by the ghosts of his tortured past. Even when he sees the mirage of his one true love, it feels like cold comfort.
Worth mentioning is the Leonard Cohen song, “Nevermind”, at the beginning of the show. Of course everybody likes Leonard Cohen, and when the song came on at the start of each show, I would want everyone to be quiet to I could listen to it and get in the mood. The song is from the album, Popular Problems, and contains some beautiful female verse, sang in Arabic, that is not featured in the show version. It’s worth checking out.
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