Things That Make You Go "BLECK!"
I'm all for independent film. Love it. Think it's vital. 9 times out of 10 I'd rather see a little/miniscule budgeted film rather than another
XXX or
The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. Just kind of what I dig, but still, I recognize there are indies out there that when you see, the only reaction is, "What were they thinking?" Or in the immortal words of Barbara of Act One, "BLECK."
The latest film to add to this canon is a little picture I saw on DVD this week called
Book of Love, starring Frances O'Connor, Simon Baker, and Gregory Smith. The plot goes basically like this: Motherless teenage boy meets nice, loving couple in their early 30s/late 20s. They think he's great. He thinks they're great. They agree to take him to Disney World. He sleeps with the wife. She tells her husband. He insists on still going to Disney World because he promised. He quits his job as a teacher and decides to donate sperm to their lesbian friends. Creidts roll.
I'm not joking. That's the movie. All I could think was why did somebody ever read this script and think it's a good idea. I don't even want to get into what's wrong with the script. I think the synopsis sort of tells it all.
Aren't I Postmodern?
Since it's come and gone, I really don't feel like debating the cinematic unmerits (if there were such a word) of
Sin City. I will say a year that has produced
Hide and Seek,
Elektra, and
Sin City, doesn't give me much hope. The only thing going for this year so far is that there have been two Joan Allen films (
The Upside of Anger &
Off the Map) and a really charming family film in
Millions.
Nevertheless, I read this article by
Ron Rosenbaum of the
New York Observer and found it spot on. Everything that Rosenbaum says about the Tarantino-ites and wannabes strikes at the chord of cinematic malady that is the art of postmodern reflexivity. Ever since postmodernism invaded
Bonnie and Clyde, films have been referencing themselves backwards and forwards. It's not something new and it will continue to be done. Television does it as well. (Bless Josh Schwartz's heart,
The OC wouldn't exist without it.)
Self-reflexivity can be done in a serious homage (
The Limey), as a joke (
Ocean's Twelve), or weird experiments that make you scratch your head and wonder what plane somebody is working on (
Full Frontal). [See, everything you need to know about cinema really can revolve around the genius that is Soderbergh.]
When reading Rosenbaum's article, the film that popped into my head was Gus Van Sant's remake of
Psycho. Tarantino can claim that frames of
Kill Bill are an homage to martial arts films and Rodriguez can attest to
Sin City referencing graphic novels right and left, but the work that they refer to is not an unadulterated masterpiece like
Psycho. Not to disparage the films Tarantino loves, but I doubt even he would disupte the fact that they don't live up to the level of
Psycho, but then very little does. However, when Van Sant made his film in 1998 and used a shot by shot by shot recreation of one of the benchmarks of horror, there were no supporters arguing that what he'd done was art. There were simply people denying they'd ever seen the thing.
So what's changed in the five plus years? I'm not sure that anything has changed as much as it is that Tarantino has a lot more geeky fans than Van Sant. If Tarantino had done the Hitchcock recreation, I venture to say that you would hear a lot of noise about the genius that is the
Psycho remake. However, since it was Van Sant (who is cool on a level upon which Tarantino will never sit) and not Tarantino, the comparison is moot.
Rosenbaum is right about everything he says. Something isn't postmodern art just because it's postmodern. Postmodern and self-reflexive are the adjectives. They are not the nouns. First and foremost, it must be art. And I echo Rosenbaum in saying, none of what goes in this discussion is even bad art.
Where There's Smoke
In the "and I've never done that before" category, today as I was driving up the freeway (in my car that is finally fixed), and I see all this smoke barrelling over the road. I thought it was smoke from a factory or something. However, as I get closer to the smoke, it started getting thicker and thicker and blacker and blacker. I wasn't sure what was going on.
However, as I got a little further up the freeway, I look over to the southbound side and see a car smashed into the median, set ablaze.
Not expecting that one when I got in the car...
Vengeance & Grief
"Vengeance is a lazy form of grief." After seeing
The Interpreter this weekend, this is the line that stuck out the most when the entire film was over. Despite an incredibly effective second-act sequence that would have made Hitchcock proud, this is what I have dwelt on for three days when thinking about the movie. (In addition to my constant thoughts of just how beautiful Kidman actually is.) In the film, Kidman talks about African culture and tribal views regarding solace and misery and makes this comment to Sean Penn's character.
At the time, it struck me as one of those lines in a screenplay that makes things seem more intelligent than they may actually be. That's what I assumed this would be--a statement that sounded great, but rang a little hollow when you start looking at it. I've realized that's just the opposite.
Acceptance, forgiveness, servitude--they can all be really hard. The reason is because they all revolve around a sense of self instead of a focus on others. We want to experience revenge and retribution when we are harmed because it's way too easy for people to concentrate on ourselves and our own personal desires. As a result, we rarely look beyond ourselves to recognize what our forgiveness means to others--how our refusal to revenge helps other grow, experience life more intensely and more fully.
I'm not sure where all these thoughts are going, but I'm sure I didn't expect to think about this when I got in line for a "political thriller." Go figure.
