Another Video Montage

I love these things. This is a montage of that crisis moment in all those action movies when  -- well, it'll become obvious in a moment.  (Warning: language gets pretty R-rated towards the end.)




I've tried tracing back to the source (got this from The Litter Box) but apparently there isn't a list of the movies it cuts from.

Movies of the 2000s

I picked the following up from tywkiwdbi.  It is a montage of movies released since 2000.  Some I recognize, many I don't, some I recognize but haven't seen before, and now am more intrigued (may have to gird my loins in preparation to see The Dark Knight, which I haven't had the stomach for, but which has a fascinating tidbit here).

This one by Paul Proulx is comprised of clips from films of the 2000s.  For a list of the component movies, see the comment thread at Vimeo.  Via The Daily Dish.

The Twilight Saga: New Moon

This evening, the Texan and I went to the local second-run cinema, where for the $2 entrance fee, you get to sit on couches and you can drink beer (and eat, in my case, a vegetable panini).  Pretty much the best way to see any movie; as a disclaimer for my comments to follow, like gently chilling wine, or adding butter to anything, a microbrew and a couch will improve any movie experience.

We saw New Moon tonight.  I cannot believe that any of my readers will not have heard of this juggernaut of a book/film franchise -- the new-famed story of simple, ordinary Bella Swan, loved beyond death by the good vampire Edward, and, in this film, also loved in warm hunky life by the good werewolf, Jacob. Bella loves Edward -- there is never ambiguity about her feelings -- and poor Jacob is destined to be the "loved only as a friend" romantic loser in the triangle.  The books and films are worshipped by teenaged girls and, strangely, their romantic-sap mothers, across the world.

I had read (and quite enjoyed) the first book of the series, Twilight, when I was in Forks for a research project in early 2008 (the book takes place in Forks, although the first two movies weren't filmed there); the Texan went on to read the whole 4-book series.  The stories are melodramatic and filled with brooding angst and yearning, a Buffy the Vampire Slayer without the bite or the humor. We saw the Twilight the movie a year ago (in the same theater). It was filmed in the Columbia Gorge and around Portland, so I had some fun identifying locations, but the story was almost painfully eye-rolling; even more melodramatic on film than in the book.

So I would have given New Moon a pass, but the Texan wanted to see it, and it was a rainy Saturday, and it's been a long time since I had my wimpy half-pint of a micro-brewed ale. And I have to say, I was pleasantly surprised.  Everything about it was better than I expected -- the story had a deeper edge and more trajectory; the acting was actually good (although the story restricts much of the emoting by all the characters to "brooding", "pleading" and "yearning", while Bella has the added complexity of "confused vulnerability").  There was the merest suggestion of self-aware humor. The film-makers recognize the target audience, and for once, instead of bikini-clad women cavorting with men in suits, Bella is dressed generally in jeans and a sweater, while the men around her are stripped to their hips, muscles bulging and abs ripped.  And whenever I got bored, I could just admire Kristen Stewart's amazing eyebrows, so perfectly in place and tweezed that they might have been applied as a unit.  Maybe they were CGI (in which case, better CGI than the werewolves, which had to be given a conscious suspension of disbelief).

This is not to say that I would go so far as to recommend New Moon.  Or rather, do see it, but with the attitude of sociologically observing the hormonally-driven mind of a teenaged girl. Yeah, there are lots of eye-rolling bits, but the movie is no more inane than many a James Bond or other action thrillers (directed at hormonally-driven teenaged boys) that I've chewed my nails through. This movie simply has a different goal about which reaction it is trying to achieve in its audience.  There aren't a lot of movies out there for 14 year old girls, and it's nice to see one with upscale production values.  So I'll definitely see the sequel (Eclipse, already in production) -- about 3 months after it is released, with a beer and panini in hand, sitting on a comfy couch.

"Nil by Mouth" and "The Diving Bell and the Butterfly"

The title of this post is in quotes, because I'm quoting other titles. The first is from a blog entry by Roger Ebert -- apparently, Ebert is now entirely unable to speak, eat or drink -- hence, nil by mouth.  His last words were spoken to his wife before he underwent yet another throat surgery a few years ago.  He may not be able to speak anymore, but he can write, and he is still writing prodigiously.

In his post (click here to read the long, articulate and witty original) he talks about how his memories have sharpened, in exchange for the loss of the ability to taste foods, so that now he can relive taste sensations of whole meals.  He goes on to say that the worst thing for him is the loss of the social aspect of eating and drinking. He can't really meet anyone for coffee any more, because he can't chat.  At dinner parties, by the time he's written out his comments, the conversation has moved on and the most frequent response is "what are you referring to?"

When I was house-sitting last month, I watched The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, a lyrical film based on the book of the same title. ("Lyrical" is the word the critics use, and it applies for this film. It is visually melodious.) It is a true story, written by a former editor at Elle magazine in Paris (French -- he was French, the book was in French, and the movie was in French although directed in English by an American).  Jean-Dominique Bauby was driving his son to a movie when he suffered a stroke that left him in the rare locked-in syndrome -- complete paralysis except for control of his left eye.  With this eye, eventually, he was able to write a book about his experiences.  Like Ebert, communication is slow -- in Bauby's case, he spelled every word out via blinking: a person would list letters of the alphabet (in order of frequency of use) and he would blink once when they reached the letter, and twice to confirm it thereafter.  Conversations become stilted, but his internal life flowed. His memories became more vivid -- like Ebert, he could relive conversations, meals, experiences generally, as if he were experiencing them all over again.

A nightmare. Ebert merely has an inconvenient disability, in comparison. (And I don't mean to imply that Ebert is complaining -- he seems quite content with his lot, perhaps because of the obvious -- it's better than the alternative, which would have been death by throat cancer.)  But even Bauby found beauty and humor and love in his locked-in life.

They certainly put mundane annoyances in perspective.

Why does one "enjoy" a movie?

Why does one watch movies? What are you getting out of sitting there in the dark, staring at a big screen full of flickering light, with swelling music and sound effects?  Can a movie with a terrible plot but earnest and lively actors still have something to recommend it? Can a film with outstanding dialog but ill-fitting costumes be worth your $10?

Mater and I watched Bright Star tonight. Bright Star is writer-director Jane Campion's latest film, a lush retelling of the doomed romance between John Keats (who died in Italy at 25) and his non-poetic neighbor Fanny Brawne (the link is to Keats, actually).  As an aunt wrote to me, it is slow, arguably uninvolving, and deep in mumbled Brits accents -- she walked out of the theatre half way through. We did not (we had subtitles, by the way).  Mater indicated at the end that she thought it slow, overly poetically filmed ("lots of scenes of children running through flowers") but there was a sweet love story at the center of it that made the film worthwhile.

I can't say I loved the film overall, but I found many things to enjoy for two hours. Contrary to Mater, I found the "sweet love story" to be tiresome and over-dramatic. Rather, I thought the characters were rather over-dramatic, like a pair of 18-year-olds in love for the first time.  Which is what they were portraying.  It was slow, but not quite slow enough -- there were long, loving camera caresses of textiles that ended too soon (because Fanny Brawne was interested in sewing and designed all her own clothes).

When I see this poster of the movie, I want to push aside those reaching lips and get a closer look at the pleating in the rust-colored dress she's wearing.  In one scene, when they are pledging their love to each other (again), just before Keats is to depart for Italy, I was severely distracted by the lovely dark brown shine on the folds of the dress she was wearing, and frustrated that there wasn't a better angle to see the embroidered sash tied at her back.

I loved that in the early parts of the film, the clothes she's wearing seem over-bright and to call attention to themselves, as if the designer (Fanny) was trying to -- well, call attention to herself.  Later on, when she's (sigh) in love (sigh) her clothes settle down too, less about her, and more about them.  The dress pictured above left -- ivory with a triple mushroom ruffle, as the character points out, with counter-matching lavender gloves..! (early scene)

This amazing "sweater" sewed from tiny crocheted diamonds is from a later scene.

Just a money shot, for those of us who love the costumes more than the story. She has great shoes and interesting hats, and I'd swear that all her clothes -- if not all the clothes in the movie -- were hand-sewn.

 

And it's not just the clothes.  This curtain is a 10-foot (or taller) panel of natural linen, with a 3 inch hem at the bottom, giving it weight and a visual border, too.

And I can't forget to mention that there are several Keats poems recited throughout, which was lovely to hear. Lovely to swim in the language of Keats, like floating in the textures of the clothing.  (To be honest, I'm not a fan of the Romantic Poets -- can't figure out all the classical allusions or even what the heck they're talking about, but if you give yourself up to the flow of the sound, they are beautiful.)

[The DVD is a bust for extras, though.  One interview with Campion, broken into thankfully three short featurettes -- one of which mentions that Janet Patterson did all the costumes and the sets, and that she was obsessive about trying to get contemporary patterns and fabrics. Not a single closeup of the costumes or the fabrics, nor a discussion about where she got the materials.]

Oops. Movies

I missed a day! Only 22 days into NaBloPoMo -- National Blog Posting Month (although I haven't officially signed up) -- which is a pledge to blog every day for a month (and then to do that every month) -- and I missed a day.  Chalk it up to social pressures.

Mater Familias is visiting.  After a day cleaning, and then a day essentially picking her up (Logan Airport makes all air travel all that much worse -- they were actually stopping cars and searching them on Thursday, in the midst of the usual tangle of traffic entering the aiport), we sat and talked all day yesterday. Very pleasant.  We did drive to a local mall and walk around, for exercise (because Mater doesn't do very well on icy streets and there are no sidewalks around here).

First night she was here, we watched Charade, the classic Audrey Hepburn-Cary Grant (and can't leave out Walter Matthau) romantic thriller.  Last night, it was Michael Clayton, the recent George Clooney (and can't leave out Tilda Swinton or Tom Wilkinson) non-romantic thriller.

Of course, we loved Charade -- there's nothing not to love, especially as the story made a point that Cary Grant (59 years when the movie was made) was way too old for Audrey Hepburn (33 years when the movie was made), although their age difference wasn't as egregious as many films of the period.  I don't know how the same story would hold up, today -- Audrey, for all her gamine, convincing, sincere beauty, was rather dependent, clingy and almost stupidly trusting. (Perhaps the proof is in the pudding -- it was remade as The Truth about Charlie in 2002, which did badly critically and at the box office.  But the remake didn't have Hepburn and Grant.)

We liked Michael Clayton, too. Mater even commented on the quality of the theme music (which might be a sign of a bad movie -- that you're paying attention to the music, not the story, but in this case is not). It had just the right amount of suspense for me, more of a story of self-discovery than of thrills and chills.

George Clooney arguably could be called as much of a movie star, with that essential quality of charm and looks and gravitas, as Cary Grant.  Pair him with, perhaps, Scarlett Johansson in 10 years, or Amy Adams in 5, and you might get something approaching the magnetism of the classic stars. (Other suggestions for young women stars -- no one will have that unique Hepburn quality, but they might have some quality that's equivalent?)