Funny Boy

My problem with Funny Boy is not the homosexuality or the opinions of the author, but the main character, Arjie, himself. How disappointing to watch him progress through adolescence and conclude with an insulting gesture towards a man who wants to save hsi Tamil race. I'm aware that Arjie did it out of love for Shehan, and that he didn't realize the larger picture, but it really was a letdown to watch his overall character arc stop with this gesture. Each story in the book has a sense of loss and evasive sadness; Arjie feels it when he's young and knows he cannot play with the girls anymore. He goes outside and watches the tide descend away from the beach and he knows something is gone. This loss creeps in on Arjie and other members of his family, but he doesn't heed its advice when the moment arrives. As he embarasses his Headmaster, he looks over at his family and notices their own sad awareness. I was really bothered by this, almost to the point where I rejected Arjie's character completely. I think he's a very stubborn character who cannot get past his own wants and desires, but I think I can understand why he did what he did. The hindsight might haunt him in the future. I kinda hope it does.

The Merry Widow (The Lady Dances)

Watching an Ernst Lubitsch film is like fooling around under the covers with someone else in the room. You know what's going on, your mind is totally infatuated with it, but you don't say it. You don't let it break the surface. You look at your partner in the dark and wink; everything's an in-joke. And occasionally, a song and dance breaks out.

And there you have The Merry Widow (1932). What a pleasure it is to sit back and watch a movie that seeks to only entertain and suggest a sexual merriment that doesn't seem to exist anymore in our over-sexed culture. I bet sex was a lot more fun back in the day because it had so much promise behind it. When it was behind closed doors, the world could only imagine and fantasize. And if you were Lubitsch, you found tricks to fantasize about it all the time.

If I could be any character, let me be a Lubitsch character. Let me be someone who has somethign witty to say at every turn. Even in sad moments, let me talk my way out of it with a smile and a wink.

The Merry Widow works, I think, simply because Lubitsch made it. The story is nothing special, and the editing needs some work. It drags at times. Characters are underdeveloped. But what a world. What world exists today with lavish ballrooms and italian violinists and dukes with dramatic moustaches. The movie keeps pulling rabbits out of hats. Nothing is taken serious. The "wedding" scene at the end arrives out of thin air, and we can only smile and shake our heads in our seats. Pure escapism, and thank god for it.

Let The Right One In

Some movies come along and make you realize how shitty other movies are shot. Let The Right One In (2008) comes from a director (Tomas Alfredson) with an eye for wonderful compositions. Count how many doors/frames you see in this film. Symmetry is at work here. Many shots have small inklings of red, little cues to satiate your thirst until the actual juice starts flowing. A good horror movie (this is a theory) makes you really start to panic whenever the camera starts a slow, tracking shot. There is a scene in particular when a man is in a room he should not be in; he walks into a bathroom and the camera trails slowly behind him, as if it's afraid to follow.

Needless to say, this is an excellent movie. The horror derives not from scares or visceral blood splatters, but from a realism that festers within these haunted and pathetic creatures. Oskar lives a lonely life, trudging through frost-bitten playgrounds with no one to really look for guidance. No parents for this boy. No friends. Just bullies and a knife to talk to at night. Eli arrives on the scene and we see her (him) elevated above Oskar slightly, spying on him like a curious bird of prey. The fascinating thing about Eli as a character is that she is indeed a vampire, but she is not evil. She kills not out of malice, but of literal starvation. One of the minor notes of brilliance in this film is the animalistic sounds we hear of the characters. Quiet whisps of breath that chill against the frigid air, the rumbling of a stomach, the growl of a defensive animal, the smacking of a tongue against splattered blood. Eli maims her victims and then looks at them in horror for what she has taken from them. I wonder if this vampire has a soul. What is Eli? Is she an animal or a person still?

And a better question, what gender is Eli? That name is typically male, I think, and Eli says she's not a girl. We see what looks like her vagina, but is it really? A strong homosexual current runs through this movie. The motifs of penetrating barriers, "letting the right one in", male bullying/dominance, the use of the knife (phallus), the bloody kissing on the lips. What a warm invitation this movie gives off.

Suck it, Twilight.

Paul and Robert

After the utter joy of watching The Sting (1973) this summer, I have to say that Butch Cassidy and The Sundance Kid is a letdown (1969). I think this disappointment develops from the film's confusion of tone and meandering pace. Robert Redford and Paul Newman have enough star power to make an Ocean's movie, but they cannot carry a film on looks alone. As one-liners slip and slide throughout the movie, I couldn't help but be bored with where they were going. I didn't really care about their mythic characters. Everything dragged on a bit too long, and I found myself wondering where the story went.

Referring to Northrop Frye's Anatomy of Criticism, I think we could place these two heroes under the ironic category. I found myself looking down at them and their antics. This is not the case for the troublemakers they play in The Sting. You want them to steal and swindle. In this one, I couldn't help but feel sorry for Mr. Woodcock for being swindled by a bunch of amateurs.

I've Loved You So Long

Phillipe Claudel's film was saved by the last 30 minutes. And it's title. The title was probably the reason I decided to check out the movie. Something about it is so plan, yet so sincere. I think sincere would be the best way to describe this movie. A love letter to a lost child. A child killed by his own mother. An intriguing premise that is complemented with a very quiet movie. I wish it hadn't followed around the other sister so much, because I cared more about Juliette and her life after 15 years of prison. I cared about her and I wondered what could motivate her to kill her own son. I wondered what made her chain smoke and look out windows towards the bustling world unfolding around her. There is a scene involving a letter that is bonecrushing it its sadness. The last minutes of the film reveal everything, and it's not enough to justify the sense of loss we carry out.

I've loved you so long. Elegiaic.

Where Are We Going?

That might be the best question to ask for Roman Polanski's Chinatown (1974). As the credits start the film, a harmonic chime hums in the background and a lone trumpet croons to its audience. Where are we going? What world have we decided to join? Will be able to get out? I'm not sure about the last question, because of the film's mixture of sexiness and macabre nastiness. To the core, this world seethes and the monsters leech in and out of it. Forget the black and white shadows of film noir. Chinatown is a dirty, muddy brown, where grit and dust attach themselves to sunlight like parasites.

What a fully realized film this is. For the first time, style does not carry the noir genre; rather, storyline, set development, and acting really elevate this film to a masterpiece of the time period of noir. When you develop the world, there really is a feeling (as an audience member) of inescapability, of surrender. As J.J. Gittes watches Mrs. Mulwray's corpse drip out of her car, we hear the blood dripping on the sidewalk, we see the sweat cool on Gittes's forehead. The slutty lights of Chinatown surround us in a hypnotic pulse and this world infects us with its filth.

However, that main theme by Jerry Goldsmith plays on. Something about it remains in my head. It might be the masterstroke of the film. It's not dirty or filthy. It's not broken down by this noir universe. Something about it remains. It manages to breathe despite the fog of crime and corruption. It's a somber tune, yes, but it's romantically somber. It carries the voice of the long-lost knights who pioneered into the California basin and founded this slut of a city. It remains in the valley like a distant echo, beating off the cold-dark wind.

And Gittes. What a man. Go home, Gittes. Go to sleep.

Q & Q

Questions are everything. Gotta try and remember that. Curiosity can take you far.