Random Ramblings: Alone in the Dark

(The movie essays will continue, but for now it seems appropriate to cover more abstract subjects.)

A friend of mine recently made the comment that he would have probably enjoyed a movie more if he had seen it with me. That got me to thinking: Does our experience of watching a movie change depending on who is watching with us? What if we watch alone? Does watching a movie with another person make a difference? I think it depends on the moviegoer.

I usually go to movies alone. Some people have tried to convince me that this is socially unacceptable, but I think viewing movies can be an intensely personal experience. (Same goes for other forms of art.) If the movie I'm watching is a good one, it seems to make less of a difference whether or not someone is with me. I'll find myself pulled into the story, emotionally involved, and the world around me no longer holds my attention. The only thing that can break my concentration is the rudeness of other people in the theater, but that's an entirely different subject.

If the movie I'm watching is bad, the experience is completely different―I want someone to be there with me so we can both make "clever" comments about what we're watching. This can make watching a bad movie a little more bearable because you can still have a bit of fun. But if the movie is bad and you're alone, the suffering is yours to bear and can't be alleviated with playful banter. Should you walk out? I never have. Not only do I want to know the complete story, but I also hold on to the hope that the film will get better and somehow redeem itself.

Something I've learned to do while watching movies is to laugh freely when I find something funny, whether or not I'm alone. But if I'm with someone and don't find the film amusing, I won't laugh just for the sake of it, no matter how much the other person is enjoying the show. "To thine own self be true..."

There have been a couple of times when I got the feeling that I was laughing harder than anyone else in the room. It didn't cause me to feel self-conscious, but to feel that it was too bad nobody was enjoying what they were watching as much as I was. Different kinds of stories reach people on different levels, I guess.

Having someone with me during a good movie would enhance the experience, I think, in only one way: after the movie, I would have someone with which to discuss what we just watched. Sometimes that makes the memory of the movie even more stimulating, especially if you're able to talk to someone who is an observant moviegoer.

Talking about movies we like is easy, and so is talking about movies we don't, but what's harder is breaking down the "why." This is where conversations can deepen, and a person's true thoughts and feelings can be revealed. When a person says they don’t like a particular film, usually they haven’t thought it through enough to know why. It’s just a gut feeling for most people. But having to actually explain your reasons for disliking something forces you to focus your thoughts. The process can help clarify what it is you enjoy and steer you away from what you won’t.

One of the unique qualities of a movie (or a play/musical, or a concert) is the chance to have a collective experience. Not every single person in the audience will react the same way, but there is power in shared experiences. It can give very different people common ground on which they can connect. These shared experiences can spark conversations between unlikely friends, and reveal how people think, what their tastes are, and where they stand on any given social issue.

So, as a moviegoer, does having a viewing companion make the experience better? Maybe.

Wallace & Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit

There is a part of me that yearns for silliness, and the adventures of Wallace and Gromit fulfill those yearnings. After three short films they are now in their first full-length feature, and I couldn’t be happier with the results. Two of the previous shorts were reminiscent of the work of Alfred Hitchcock, but Wallace & Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit (2005) embraces the classic horror film genre and throws in a large dose of British humor.

In this movie the world of Wallace and Gromit is expanded, there are many more characters, and the scope of their adventure is on a slightly grander scale. This time they form the Anti-Pesto team, saving the eccentric locals from a rabbit infestation which threatens their gardens on the very eve of the upcoming vegetable competition. Anti-Pesto’s humane solution to the problem (which includes using a “Bun-Vac” to suck the little blighters right out of the ground) suits Lady Tottington (voice by Helena Bonham Carter), who oversees the annual competition. She and Wallace (voice by Peter Sallis) begin an amusing flirtation which angers her jealous suitor, Victor Quartermaine (voice by Ralph Fiennes).

But soon the town vegetables are under attack from a “were-rabbit,” and there is talk of canceling the vegetable competition. It falls to Wallace and Gromit to capture the beast, which turns out to be a more complicated task than they anticipate. Their efforts are not aided by the interference of Victor Quartermaine, who would rather kill a rabbit rather than merely capture it. At first, he seems to be just a twit with a toupee and a gun but later becomes more desperate in his attempts to stop Anti-Pesto and get his hands on Lady Tottington’s, ahem, estate.

And that’s enough of the plot. Anyone familiar with classic horror films will be able to see what’s coming, but what makes the movie fun is having the genre filtered through the minds of creator Nick Park and his co-director, Steve Box. There are so many fun little moments and throwaway gags, but I must resist resorting to list-making. People who are familiar with the short films of Wallace and Gromit will get the in-jokes, but the film can be enjoyed by those who are just discovering these characters.

While the town locals add color to the story, especially Lady Tottington and Victor, what really matters is the unique friendship between Wallace and Gromit. Wallace is a rather brilliant inventor, but his inventions have a way of causing unexpected trouble. Usually, it is Gromit who comes to the rescue. I love that Gromit doesn’t speak. Of course he doesn’t; he’s a dog. I once threw away a book about screenwriting when it declared that complexity of character can only be created with dialogue. I disagree, and present Gromit as Exhibit A. Besides, Wallace talks enough for both of them. I’m sure Gromit would agree.

The entire story is told with tongue firmly in cheek. I think this film would fall into the category of “British eccentricity,” but that doesn’t keep it from being accessible. I don’t imagine that the style of humor in this movie will be to everyone’s liking, but I remember laughing pretty hard when I saw it in the theater. (Interestingly, this was the second stop-motion animation film release in two weeks, following Tim Burton's Corpse Bride, which is also enchanting, but in an entirely different way.) I have so many favorite moments, but what it boils down to is this: I enjoyed every moment. It’s a bloody good show.

Bridge to Terabithia

I never read Bridge to Terabithia when I was in school. I don’t know why; the book was first published in 1977, the year I was born, and has been read in classrooms ever since. My sister read it and later told the story to me (I remember thinking what a strange word “Terabithia” seemed to be). By the time the movie came along I had forgotten all but the general outlines of the story. After watching the movie, I quickly read the book and was pleased to find that everything worth loving in the book is in the movie, and that a few things have been developed and strengthened.

Bridge to Terabithia (2007) tells the story of Jess Aarons (Josh Hutcherson). A talented artist and a bit of an outsider, Jess comes from a good family that has fallen on hard times when money is tight and everybody feels the strain. He’s bullied at school and doesn’t seem to have any friends. His little sister May Belle (Bailee Madison) tags along and looks up to him but seems to mostly get on his nerves. He also has a crush on his music teacher, Miss Edmunds (Zooey Deschanel).

When Jess’s new neighbor Leslie Burke (AnnaSophia Robb) joins his class, they tentatively strike up a friendship. Leslie has a unique style of dress and a sunny disposition, and immediately becomes somewhat of an outcast. But Jess and Leslie’s friendship exists outside the realms of what the other kids at school think. As their friendship deepens, Leslie is able to unlock Jess’s imagination. As they play in the woods near their homes, they create the imaginary kingdom of Terabithia where Jess and Leslie are the rulers and defenders, and where they can get away from everyday worries.

At this point I must mention that the marketing campaign for Bridge to Terabithia was horribly misleading. The scenes where Jess and Leslie are in Terabithia are seen with great detail to illustrate the power of their combined imaginations. Unfortunately, these were the scenes the movie ads focused on, making it look like some kind of low-rent fantasy film. People complained that the movie doesn’t have enough fantasy in it―that it didn’t meet their expectations, not realizing that, since they were grossly misinformed, their expectations were unrealistic. This is a movie about real life, and about true friendship.

Leslie is the friend that Jess needs, and Jess turns out to be the friend that Leslie needs, too. When Jess sees the way Leslie interacts with her parents, they seem to have a connection that Jess doesn’t have with his own family, but we’re also able to see that Jess has things in his life that Leslie doesn’t have. Josh Hutcherson and AnnaSophia Robb are entirely convincing as the two unlikely friends. Josh Hutcherson is likable and easily gains our sympathy, and AnnaSophia Robb has one of the brightest smiles you’ll ever see.

I have never related to a movie character the way I have with Jess Aarons. It really takes me back to how it felt to be that age, the desire to become an artist, the bullying at school, the dependence on imaginary worlds. Certain moments in this movie reminded me so strongly of my own life that I couldn’t believe how deeply I was drawn in by the characters and the story.

The movie gets so many details right: the way we can love our family members and be annoyed with them at the same time; the way some kids pick on others for seemingly no reason; the way kids view adults; the way your imagination becomes an all-important way to escape when things are hard at school and at home.

I love how the music by Aaron Zigman reflects the adventurous feeling that Jess and Leslie share when they’re together. I like how, after they have fun in Terabithia, the movie cuts to the very ordinary-looking Aarons home. I like that Miss Edmunds, Jess’s first crush, is the one that takes him to a museum for the first time and encourages him as an artist. And I admire the handling of a prank that Jess and Leslie play on the bully Janice Avery (Lauren Clinton) after she goes too far. The results are unexpected and serious but in ways we don’t anticipate.

One of the best things about the movie is how the characters are given full dimensions. People have more depth to their personalities than we can see at first, which Jess comes to realize. Even his teacher, “Monster Mouth” Myers (Jen Wolfe), is revealed to have human feelings. Through much of the film, Jess’s dad (Robert Patrick) is hard on his son, but when times are tough, that’s how kids sometimes see their parents. We eventually get to see just how much Jess’s dad really cares and understands.

I tend to get defensive when I discuss Bridge to Terabithia. Part of the reason why is due to the poor marketing, but another part of it is due to the feeling that people misunderstand the purpose of the story. I think it shows how things really are in our lives, the good and the bad. I think the ultimate point of the story is to show us how to cope, how to rise above, and how to draw strength from friendship and family. Just like in real life.

King Kong

If anybody knows how to film an epic, it’s Peter Jackson. He first proved himself with the Lord of the Rings trilogy and then turned to re-making the favorite film of his childhood. King Kong (2005) is a grand adventure, taking all the possibilities of the original and bringing them to fruition.

First of all, it's a three-hour movie. I have no problem with that. There are a couple of sequences that go on just a tad too long, but I enjoyed being wrapped within the story. To paraphrase what Roger Ebert wrote about The Best of Youth (which is six hours long!), “when you hear that it is [three] hours long, reflect that it is therefore [three] hours deep.”

Jackson wisely doesn't even show us the giant ape for the first hour. Instead, the various stories of the human characters are well-established. By the time Kong does arrive on screen, the story is able to devote full attention to his relationship with Ann Darrow (Naomi Watts) without getting bogged down with the task of developing the other characters.

The first hour of the film lays the groundwork as the story begins in Depression-era New York City, circa 1933. Among those we meet are: Ann Darrow, a vaudeville performer who has just lost her job; Carl Denham (Jack Black), a desperate movie director who casts Ann as the new female lead in his movie, even though the studio executives have just pulled the plug; Jack Driscoll (Adrien Brody), the playwright who is writing Denham’s movie; and Captain Englehorn (Thomas Kretschmann), on whose ship the characters are traveling to the mythic Skull Island.

This Skull Island is some place. Our heroes first encounter a disturbingly bizarre native tribe and then have to fight off all kinds of creatures: dinosaurs, giant insects (lots of ‘em), man-eating slugs, giant bat-like creatures, and Kong himself. At one point, the men are caught in a dinosaur stampede and the digital effects aren’t quite as convincing as they could be. To quote Roger Ebert again: “But special effects do not need to be convincing if they are effective, and Jackson trades a little realism for a lot of impact and momentum.”

Kong himself is the best special effect, given life through the motion-capture work of the amazing Andy Serkis. All of his skill is brought home in the key scene of the movie, when Ann uses her instincts as a performer and somehow entertains the giant ape. One last quote from Ebert: “The scene is crucial because it removes the element of creepiness in the gorilla/girl relationship in the two earlier Kongs (1933 and 1976), creating a wordless bond that allows her to trust him. …The movie more or less faithfully follows the outlines of the original film, but this fundamental adjustment in the relationship between the beauty and the beast gives it heart, a quality the earlier film was lacking. Yes, Kong in 1933 cares for his captive, but she doesn’t care so much for him. Kong was always misunderstood, but in the 2005 film there is someone who knows it.”

At this point in the film, Kong becomes Ann’s personal protector. They even share a beautiful sunset in a scene that makes subtle use of James Newton Howard’s gentle music. The character of Ann was primarily a screamer, but now she is given more depth than Fay Wray was ever allowed in the original film. Many of Naomi Watts’s scenes with Kong have very little dialogue and involve quiet looks of curiosity and understanding.

I have hardly mentioned the other performances. Jack Black makes a good Carl Denham. In the original movie the character was sort of based on Cecil B. de Mille but now seems a bit more like Orson Welles. But this is not a comedy role, and Black is effective in the moments when his assistant, Preston (Colin Hanks), begins to see just how deep Denham’s obsession really goes. Adrien Brody is wonderful as the writer falling in love with Ann, who will have to survive Skull Island if he wants to write comedies. The supporting performances by Thomas Kretschmann, Kyle Chandler, Jamie Bell and Evan Parke are equally effective.

Fans of the original film will be able to recognize plenty of lines of dialogue that are spoken in this version, albeit a little more convincingly. There are necessary changes, but Jackson is faithful and pays homage to the original, sometimes in ways that are not so obvious. Even the credits at the end of the movie resemble the credits of the 1933 version. (Here’s some hardcore trivia: There’s an in-joke reference to the original movie in some dialogue between Carl Denham and Preston early in the movie, as they discuss “Fay” appearing in an RKO picture for “Cooper.”)

Is there anybody left that doesn’t know how King Kong ends? The third act of the story takes place back in New York City, where Kong and Ann eventually find themselves atop the Empire State building. But before that there is a beautiful scene between them that takes places on a frozen pond in Central Park. I remember tears came to my eyes when I watched this scene for the first time in the theater. Knowing how people in the story react to Kong’s presence, and knowing how the story ends, seemed to lend the scene a certain sadness.

I have always had a hard time describing why I love this movie so much. It’s a strange story, really. Who could identify with a giant ape and the woman he protects? Maybe I want to identify with two characters that find a mutual understanding and trust that almost no one around them can see. Maybe there is a little anger at the way men try to destroy or control what they don’t understand. The way Ann can look into Kong’s eyes and find beauty in his soul seems to resonate within me.

I think Peter Jackson has created a great modern epic, a true journey of adventure and discovery that looks a little deeper than we expect. Strange that such a large movie is really about discoveries of the heart.

Awakenings

Penny Marshall’s Awakenings (1990) is a movie that is hard to describe. This is partly because it is based on the real life of Oliver Sacks, the neurologist who wrote a book about his experiences in a chronic hospital in the Bronx. The movie focuses on events that take place in the summer of 1969, when a new doctor (named Dr. Sayer in the film) joins the hospital staff. Dr. Sayer, played by Robin Williams in one of his best performances, is quiet, introverted, and shies away from physical contact. He spent the five previous years working with earthworms and is sorely lacking in clinical experience.

Dr. Sayer eventually becomes interested in the case of a man named Leonard and about a dozen other patients who all seem to be trapped by the same disease. It turns out that they are all victims of the “sleeping sickness” epidemic of the 1920s, which has left them immobile and unable to speak. In the film’s prologue we see Leonard as a boy when he encounters the first symptoms of his strange condition. He is played as an adult by Robert De Niro in a masterful performance as a man who has been trapped in his own body for thirty years.

The state of these silent patients appears hopeless until Dr. Sayer discovers that many of them will catch a ball that is tossed to them. It leads him to theorize about a body’s simultaneous motor impulses canceling each other out and spurs him on to find ways to break the deadlock. He is helped in his efforts by the gentle nurse Eleanor (Julie Kavner), who befriends Dr. Sayer and has faith in him even when he is doubted by his skeptical colleagues.

Leonard becomes the focus of Dr. Sayer’s efforts after he receives written consent from Leonard’s mother (Ruth Nelson), who has spent her entire life taking care of her son. Earlier in the film an aged doctor (Max Von Sydow) who has studied the cases of patients like Leonard states that “the virus did not spare their higher faculties,” because “the alternative is unthinkable.” We discover that he is wrong when Leonard uses a Ouija board to communicate with Dr. Sayer, referencing a poem by Rainer Maria Rilke that effectively describes Leonard’s current condition.

After a new wonder-drug called L-Dopa becomes available, Dr. Sayer is able to prescribe it to Leonard, who eventually “awakens.” One of my favorite scenes in the movie is when a restored Leonard greets his mother. Randy Newman’s music helps give us one of the best so-happy-I-could-cry moments I have ever seen. But observe Dr. Sayer in the background, the sole witness of this joyous reunion. As described by Roger Ebert, the movie has “sequences of enormous joy and heartbreak,” and how Dr. Sayer responds to them reveals the heart of his character, which is always at the center of the film.

It is at this point in the film that my role as an observer ends and my emotions take over. I feel empathy for Leonard, I identify with Dr. Sayer, and I begin to experience the same emotional highs and lows that they do. Penny Marshall’s direction of the film doesn’t call attention to itself, but quietly pulls the viewer in, absorbing us with its story.

After the success with Leonard, the other patients are put on the new drug which “brings them back.” Many of them have been “on hold” for years. It is hard to view this movie without thinking of the implications of what Leonard and the other patients have gone through. Think of all the mundane things we take for granted, all the “human connections” we fail to appreciate, all the experiences we have every day that Leonard and his fellow patients are cruelly denied through no fault of their own. One patient, played by George Martin (the actor, not the music producer), reacts in a way I think most of us probably would. “I feel old, and I feel swindled,” he tells one of the hospital workers. (Close observers will note the touching way his story develops.)

Leonard, on the other hand, is eager to embrace his re-introduction to life. It becomes clear to him that people need to be reminded what life is about, that we take too much for granted, that we have forgotten how good life can be. This happens around the time he meets Paula (Penelope Ann Miller), a young woman who comes to the hospital to visit her father. For the first time in Leonard’s life, love and attraction begin to take effect.

The Oscar-nominated screenplay is by Steven Zaillian, who wrote the screenplay for Schindler’s List, and also wrote and directed Searching for Bobby Fischer and A Civil Action, all of which are based on true stories. They are all stories about human nature that do not fit any standard Hollywood formulas and cannot be easily described.

The film follows the realities of life right up to the end, which is to say there is no tidy little happy ending. It is introspective, inviting us to reflect upon our own lives. We are also left to admire the work of De Niro and Williams, and to remember the characters we have grown to love and care for. Characters that remind us what “life” is all about.

Introduction

I started to write a few essays on movies two years ago. I had hoped to gather them together as some sort of “movie journal,” and even wrote an introduction as a way to gather and focus my thoughts on the subject. It seems appropriate to share that introduction here.

October 2, 2006

The first movie I ever went to was Star Wars. I was only a month-old baby in my mother’s arms, but I can still say I was physically there, even if I don’t remember. My earliest memories of movie-watching are of the Star Wars films. They had such a profound influence on my life. Not only did they begin my love for movies, but the music of John Williams almost single-handedly gave me the desire to become a composer.

I love movies, pure and simple. I’ve always been fascinated with them, watching one as often as possible. As far as I can tell, film is the only art form that includes all the arts, in some form or another. (Think about it.) For this very reason, movies are my favorite form of storytelling.

The movies that made my list of “favorites” are ones that moved me in some way. I’ve lived with some of these films my whole life, while some are fairly recent additions to the list. The one thing they all have in common is the way they swept me up into the story and made me forget that I was watching a movie. The events in the story were happening to me, my emotions were engaged, and my intelligence wasn’t being insulted. These are the movies I love to talk about.

The following essays are an attempt to do just that. They are a record of why I love these movies, how they made me feel the first time I watched them, and why I will watch them again. That first impression goes a long way. I liked all these movies the first time I saw them. But many of them have become—for me—much deeper, more moving, more thought-provoking, more powerful than they were upon my first viewing.

I could never hope to convince another person to love movies the way I do. But I can try to explain why they have an effect on me, and what it is that I like about them. These essays are not necessarily an argument for these movies as they are my personal observations of them, and an accounting of my reaction to them. Some of the best conversations I’ve had with friends have been when a movie inspired within them the same thoughts and emotions that I had experienced. Watching movies has taught me so much about human nature. But it’s taught me even more about myself, my tastes and desires, my likes and dislikes, and my dreams.

And so it begins...

This blog is the result of a growing curiosity to see what would happen if I became a little more vocal, so to speak, about “the arts”: music, movies, books, theater, photography, etc. Friends had previously encouraged me to write movie reviews for the local paper, but I just didn’t see it happening. On a blog, though, I could write about not only current movies, but also old favorites. Writing about other arts subjects just seemed like the next logical step.

So we’ll start with movies. I made a list of favorites (which is extremely difficult to do with any subject) and I’ll just work my way down the list, and we’ll see what other subjects come up in between.

But let me be clear: Everything posted on this blog will be subjective, but comments, contributions and differing opinions are welcome. When I say that something is “one of my favorites,” it does not translate to mean “I’m right and you’re wrong.” I will try to present my thoughts in such a way that it means “I enjoyed this, and these are the reasons why.”

At this point it seems appropriate to include a quote by Francois de La Rochefoucauld (don’t worry, I can’t pronounce it either): “We rarely think people have good sense unless they agree with us.” I am as guilty as anybody. But I truly believe that everyone is entitled to their opinions.

As for the blog title, I got the phrase from “Easier to Be,” one of my favorite songs by Lifehouse. It just felt right.