Movie: Half Nelson

Brilliance upon brilliance. What a fantastic movie.

I'm normally not the first one in line for films about beautiful white people who save the underprivileged with their witty idealism and anti-conformity-themed rubrics.

But I'll make an exception with this one.

Rumor has it, Ryan Gosling feels pigeon-holed. Ever since he defrosted our hearts with his epic performance in The Notebook, people refer to him as, The Notebook guy. (Sort of like Leo's Titanic guy problem) So if Ryan took this part in the movie Half Nelson because he was trying to diffuse the glow a bit... well, he sure did succeed.

Because this is my blog, I get to talk about my favorite scene in the movie without having to worry about giving anything away. Well, it doesn't give a darn thing away, actually. But it's a beautiful moment. Ryan (the actor) is getting out of his car in the morning, on his way into the school. The camera is held tight to his face. He is gathering everything he needs for the morning: briefcase, books, thermos, lunch. He's composing himself a bit in the mirror. He sings that Sesame Street song, "1-2-3-4-5...-6-7-8-9-10...-11-12". Remember that? Then he gets out of the car. There was just something about that whole scene that I really liked. It told so much with so little. I listened to the director's commentary after, and he talked about that scene. How he gave Ryan a note to count to ten to himself, to get himself really ready for the scene, and then Ryan decided to incorporate it into the scene itself. The director said it really gave him an idea as to what type of actor Ryan was, and how he worked. I don't know, I just liked it. It was simple, and complex.

Great, great movie.
See it.
Then watch the Oscars in two weeks, and see if Ryan gets one.

Museum: MOMA

Today I visited my famous friends. We're on a first name basis now, so it was great running into Pablo, Sal, Rene, and Henri.

I find it quite thrilling to see a work of art that you've studied and discussed for so many years, live and in the flesh. I think it's titillating to see the brush strokes, the pencil lines, and the canvas staples. I like getting up real close and finding the mistakes. I like knowing that it's all real.

I like to wonder whether we make too big a deal out of things, like art, and how it comes to be that a painting is worth more than a life. I like discovering how some paintings are enormously huge, and others are surprising small.

I like seeing that one painting, you know the one, the one you always think about, the one you always speak about. I like that moment when you see it, under the lights, and the frame around it isn't gold, but quite an understated brushed metal. I like how it just sits there, quietly, smug, discreet. And crowds gather round it, pointing, staring at it solemnly.

I like wondering how art really changes the world. Does it? Is it really that significant, or do we just like the drama?

I like wondering whether the world today is in a place where it can handle newness anymore. Are people still making such bold statements? Are people still breaking ground? Or is the ground so shattered that our ears are numb to the sounds of the drills and we are jaded by the fractured cement around us. If you make something new now, it falls through the cracks, silently. But still we stand, agape, at the blue paintings that changed the world 100 years ago.

I went to the MOMA by myself, because I wanted to see what it would be like to take all this in without having to hear what anyone else thought, without having to pace myself, without having to be judged for how quickly I walk through the halls. I have ADD in museums. I am judgemental. I don't like to give anyone credit that they don't deserve. I walk briskly through 3 halls in a half hour. And then I see one painting that takes my breath away in a flash, and I will stand in front of it for 20 minutes. That's the feeling of beauty. That's what it means to dive in. I save all my energy for those moments. It's all instinct. It's thrilling. I, know what I like.

I don't know if you understand what I'm talking about. But that's OK. Here are the two new friends I brought home with me today for my own home. And no, I didn't steal them off the walls.

Movie: Music & Lyrics

I was going to begin this post by saying, "I should really start seeing some good movies" because I expected to trash this film. Expected to, because, how could I not? It's got yes please I'll take extra butter on my popcorn written all over it.

But I loved it! And I loved it because I'm in one of those moods where cupids and construction paper hearts make you go, awwww. If you're not in one of those moods, I don't suggest you watch this.

I used to be obsessed with Drew Barrymore. I remember the poignant evening it began like it was yesterday. I was maybe 12 years old, and we were all at my grandparent's house for dinner. There was a little article in the Post about Drew, and how she was about to enter rehab for a drug problem. That little article was my first exposure to pop celebrity. It was the first time the gleam became tarnished, and I was in shock. Drew? Little Drew? Little dress-up E.T. Drew? A drug addict?

After realizing we were nearly the same age (and therefore, I was certain, would have been the best of friends), I read anything I could about her. Those were pre-google days, so I was forced to get anything I could from lifestyle sections of bad newspapers. I even read her "book" (yes, I put that in quotes). My dad swears her story is the reason I never became a drug addict. I have to agree. If not for Drew, I'd be writing this from the Betty Ford clinic.

But I digress. This is an adorable, harmless little film. So shut up with your judgment, and add it to your Queue.

Movie: Just Like Heaven

The theme of this blog is, "I have to tell you." Usually that means I'm going to write about something I support. Well, today I'm going to put the whites in the color pile and mix things up a bit. Here is something I am not supporting.

Just Like Heaven.
I am not supporting this movie. It was trite, contrived, and glossy. Of course, I knew that going in. But here's a little fact you may not know. Movie producers in Hollywood have meetings once a month where they discuss my lack of will power when it comes to big-budget blondes who learn a lesson about love in the end. And then they invest millions of dollars into witty previews that I get to download in high-bandwidth formats on apple.com and feel compelled to add to my Queue. So, I caved.

The movie was so bad that I'm going to go even further off topic. I like the word Queue, and the way it's become a casual new addition to our lexicon. Here's how it works: A friend mentions a movie they saw. I tell them I haven't seen it. They say flippantly, "Oh, add it to your Queue." And right away, with one word, I know that they are referring to Netflix, and their assumption that I have already taken the time to register with that company, provide my email address, mail address, and a user name of my choice. And with that, comes a Queue that I have the ability to add to, delete from, edit, rearrange and divide into sub-categories.

This is a phenomenal word, and if not just for the fact that it employs u-e-u-e in it's spelling, I think it deserves higher accolades. I think it's time to push the envelope with Queues. I want to take personal responsibilty for expanding it's girth in conversation usage. I want a Queue for things I need to buy at the hardware store, and for people I should have called back last week. I want a Queue for things in life that I need to be more well-versed in, so that I can participate in conversations that I can schedule to arrive in my life in 3-5 days, depending on the Christmas rush.

"Have you heard about Putin's criticism of U.S. Power?"

"No, I haven't."

"Oh, it's quite aggressive. You should add it to your Queue."

"Cool, I'll do that. I have Congress curbing lobbyists right now, but I'm usually too tired at night to get into it."

"Yeah, that one is a bit overdone. But the bloopers are hilarious."

Book: The Dive From Clausen's Pier

This was a really intense book. I think I liked it. I'm not sure. It took a while to get through, but I was thoroughly intrigued by the story line and wanted to know what would happen next.

The thing was, the main character was, hmm, not entirely likable. I guess that's why I'm not sure if I can rate this book as "good" or "bad". It was, uncomfortable. Her life, during this book, was complicated. The problems she faced were unimaginable, and I'm pretty certain you could not judge her actions unless you were in her situation. As unique as it was.

But the thing is, I'm not sure what she would have done different had this specific trauma (not giving it away) hadn't happen to her. And that's the thing. It didn't really happen to her. It happened to her boyfriend. And normally, when a book tells the story of an accident that turns someone into a paraplegic, the story follows that particular person. But in this case, it didn't. It followed the person on the peripheral. It followed the one that watched it happen.

It's an interesting scenario. Imagine a relationship that is going sour, that is maybe "not meant to be". Imagine you are coming to that realization, slowly, and you are watching things crumble through your fingers. But, it's hard to face. It's hard to acknowledge. So you take your time.

And then, something bad happens. Something really bad. Something that would serve as a benchmark for any relationship. You'd see things in terms of, before "it" happened, and after "it" happened. And everyone then looks to you, to see how you'll handle this bad thing that has happened. But the truth is, things were bad before it happened. Things were already dying. But now you have to step up to the plate. Now you have to be the support system, for someone whom you really have no business supporting anymore. Because before the trauma happened, you had already left. You just hadn't said so out loud yet.

I couldn't sleep last night so I stayed up till 3 am reading, finishing this book. And I'm not entirely sure how it ended. And however it ended, I'm certain I didn't see it coming. It left me slightly bewildered.

I think I understand now why Kilroy wouldn't reveal himself to Carrie. Through out the story, you feel her frustration. You see him as potential trouble. But then it started to dawn on me, he probably knew the whole time she would leave. He probably had a sense. He probably knew that it would happen any day, at any moment.

That's the thing about this book. You never really see anything from anyone else's perspective. It's entirely Carrie's. Which makes it feel a bit selfish at times. I understand it was about her struggle, the whole way through, but I just wish she had thought about how she was impacting other people a little bit more.

I guess if a book makes you think this much, it's a good thing.