Young Adult (Lydia's review)

There is not a lot to like in Young Adult. Especially unlikeable is the main character, which is a difficult (but not impossible) problem to overcome.  I liked some details--the loving, almost fetishistic attention to the inner workings of a memorex mix tape in the opening credits went too far and then kept going until it circled back around to greatness. The many close shots of manicures and pedicures; an expanse of a pale and freckled back in the foreground; the frank, underexplained images of hair pulling. These were the things I liked.

There is a standard thing that happens to characters like Mavis,* the ghostwriter in Young Adult. People as shallow and self-destructive as Mavis almost never get through a whole movie without undergoing some major transformation. Maybe it’s refreshing that instead of sticking to formula, Mavis experiences no epiphany, no change, and no catharsis. She simply decides in the end that her raging prom-queen shallowness is her best option--no, not just her best option, but actually correct.

To be fair to Young Adult, I am tired of the movies it is not. The movies that tell me how great and wholesome it is to be fulfilled by ordinary lives which are not actually ordinary at all. The it’s-a-wonderful-life syndrome, where a small-town guy thinks his life is meaningless, then discovers that actually he has a lot to live for, in the form of a beautiful and devoted wife, many adoring and/or adorable children, millions of friends, and quite meaningful work. But most of us aren’t George Bailey. If Frank Capra has convinced me of anything, it is that I probably should throw myself off a bridge, because I don’t have a lovely wife and four children, and I have never saved my hometown from the evil machinations of Lionel Barrymore. I’m bored with hollywood falsely endorsing ordinary lives.

So I should be pleased with Young Adult, which bravely refuses to embrace the lie of Capra’s small town America, an America that not only doesn’t exist now in the era of strip malls, but also never existed in the first place. Young Adult thumbs its nose (is there a more juvenile expression of disdain? flips the bird?) at the idea of values that are not utterly shallow. In the end, Mavis is faced with what might be understood as one single moment of authenticity, in the form of bad, ugly sex. Not mean sex, just bland and sad and based on a deeply felt, totally mutual pity.

I came away from this movie feeling like I’m supposed to believe you have the following choice in life: be “stupid and fat” like everyone in Mercury, or be slightly less stupid and have trichotillomania instead  of  fat, and live in a slightly less hick town, and sneer out loud at anyone who is centimers less than you as measured on the cultural cache tape measure.***

It’s surely true that anyone, at any level of success, can feel like a failure compared to one person and like a success compared to someone else. Being a superhot divorced lady and a ghost writer for a terminated series of young adult novels, for instance, might be someone’s idea of success and someone else’s idea of abject failure. That this movie accepts and illustrates that is fine. But the movie ends with music rising and cheerful, blatantly false voice-over as Mavis embraces her obviously destructive and terrible choices and the miserable life they have brought her. This makes it at best very dismal, with a message of supreme hopelessness. I guess you could call that brave.

* Is her name really Mavis? I feel like I must be getting that wrong.

** I really wish i could construct a pun here about a cultural mix tape measure, but for once I am not up to the challenge...

Tinker Tailor Etc.

I can finally see this movie on January 6th! My quest to see this movie Tinker Tailor Soldier Sucked.

FWD:

Newsweek asked Martin Scorsese for a list of "kids' movies" for their holiday viewing list. His excellent list includes Night of the Hunter, The 400 Blows, and The Curse of the Cat People.

(testing mobile posting...)

support your local

By now, I guess everyone has read Farhad Manjoo's [controversial, incendiary, blasphemous...] article on Amazon vs Independent Bookstores. http://www.slate.com/articles/technology/technology/2011/12/independent_bookstores_vs_amazon_buying_books_online_is_better_for_authors_better_for_the_economy_and_better_for_you_.html
The response has been...um...strong, I guess you could say.

What strikes me about this debate, and the Independent Bookstore whose demise everyone is urging me to mourn, is the utter foreignness of it from my experience. I have never been turned on to a great book/author because of a recommendation made to me by an employee of a independent bookstore. Not once. In part this is because I am not a very social person (that is why I like books, because reading can be so solitary), and I do not seek out conversations with store clerks. It is also probably in part because I am not big on attending readings. I don't enjoy meeting famous people any more than I enjoy meeting non-famous people. Maybe less. I have also always lived in college towns, so inasmuch as I am interested in things like Seeing a Famous Author Read Her Poems, I have always done that at a university.

Two kinds of people have given me in-person recommendations that have changed my life/habits/knowledge: librarians and video store clerks. Librarians, as opposed to people who work in bookstores (or video rental stores), are generally required to have a masters degree in what they do. And while they might not get paid enough, they usually earn a living wage.

But video store clerks. They are the cultural heroes. These are the guys (and they were mostly guys, in my own personal experience) who could tell you when the next season of The Sopranos would be out, and who might just keep a copy behind the desk, knowing you would probably be looking for it. They could answer a question like "What is the new movie from the guy who directed that movie with the girl who was the friend in the princess diaries?" They were just as passionate and serious and informed discussing who was the best Doctor, which was the most important Kurosawa film, or what country produced the greatest amateur porn. They could explain what the deal was with the subtitles on Let the Right One In, and they had an opinion about whose fault it was.

These guys did not have lofty ideas about "educating the masses" or "creating spaces of cultural literacy" or whatever: they just really loved movies. They were geeks of the highest order. And I will miss them.

p.s. I just heard that Amazon is planning on opening a facility in Chesterfield, and hiring some 1300 Virginians. So does that mean that when I buy from Amazon now, I am supporting my local economy?

James Franco in the news again

"Overhyped Hollywood hunk"? Come on, NY Post. No way.

http://www.nypost.com/p/news/local/manhattan/the_franco_cut_kIRVk4WuVdydz59WZ4I5tL

The Key to Reserva, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Commercials

I am not sure if I'm required to write 500 words for a film that runs only nine minutes. A two hour film gets about 600 words, which averages out to about five words per minute or 45 words for The Key to Reserva.

It seems that this short was an advertisement for Freixenet Wines, and it may be the only film I review that you can watch in its entirety online. Before going any further, you should consider watching the film as it will prevent the disappointment of spoilers.
I'm not quite sure if I should feel upset or amazed by this film. It's not uncommon for big name directors to do commercial work, and prove that they are able to create amazing pieces of art (Terrry Gilliam has a brilliant Nike soccer commercial).

Let me explain why I'm amazed. The film brilliantly captures the aesthetic style of a number of Alfred Hitchcock's greatest films. Though I watched the film only once before writing this post, I'm certain I saw refernces to Vertigo, Rear Window, The Birds, and Notorious.

But it's not just the references that makes this so enjoyable. Scorsese is extremely funny, and funny in a way that I don't think would be accessable to the general viewing public. But perhaps Freixenet only wants to cultivate the most intellectual of wine drinkers.

However, I feel an overwhelming sense of disappointment because I realize the film is just a commercial for Spanish sparkling wine, and perhaps this means art can be just a byproduct of a commercial investment. I have no idea why this depresses me so much.

Of course, I might not find this practice so depressing if commercials were only directed by talented people who wanted to make an interesting short film instead of try and push product based on what market research tells them will compel people to buy it.

I haven't mentioned that this film features Simon Baker and Michael Stuhlbarg, and only Simon Baker is listed on the commercial's web page. The only reason I bring this up, is that Stuhlbarg goes on to work with Scorsese on both Boardwalk Empire and Hugo.

On a side note, I tried to keep every paragraph to 45 words as a challenge for this short film. Though I'm well under 600 words, I do believe I've worked nine times harder than I have for any blog post I've written to date.

This Entry Should Be Read Loud!

In the previous two entries I had emphasized the desire in Scorsese's films to create their own realities, and I thought that what I would very cleverly do was use a documentary to discuss the ways Scorsese captures reality. Even having seen The Last Waltz twice in the past month, I failed to remember how "unreal" it is, and thus I'm going to spend yet another entry discussing how Scorsese creates reality in place of capturing it.

I fucking love The Last Waltz. I never want to write that again in a blog post, but there is something about the music in this film that makes me want to ignore my pretenses and just make bold and unrestrained comments. If you'll permit me one more, Van Morrison is the greatest human being ever.

Okay, now that's out of my system I want to say that this documentary goes out of its way to try and prove to you that this was a real event and the camera is only capturing the last performance of The Band. During interviews with the various members of The Band, Scorsese is featured prominently and they even discuss restarting scenes to make sure they get the right take. Even the short tracking shot with both Rich Danko and Scorsese walking through the studio feels like it wasn't intended to be part of the film, but was simply them setting up the next shot. The desire to be transparent is just too transparent.

So how does the The Last Waltz create its own reality? First, this concert features Bob Dylan, Van Morrison, Joni Mitchell, Eric Clapton, The Staple Singers, Dr. John, Emmy Lou Harris, Ringo Starr, Ron Wood, Neil Young, Neil Diamond, Muddy Waters, and yet it's about The Band. You might see a line up like this at a festival with each performer on stage for his/her own set with The Band as the featured guest. No concert like this could ever exist in this format. That's a fact.

Then there are the moments when the film cuts from the concerts and interviews to "live" performances on a sound stage. The Staple Singers perform, "The Weight," and Emmy Lou Harris performs "Evangeline." It's during the performance with Emmy Lou that again the camera work reveals just how much of a movie this is by showing the crew and the stage all working during the performance. What's even more bizarre is that there is absolutely no audience in attendance to watch either of these performances. Oh, and Robbie Robertson is clearly playing a fictional instrument during the performance of "The Theme of the Last Waltz."

I think the inclusion of the sound stage performances is part of what undoes the "reality" of this documentary. This and the fact that the film begins with the encore, all make us uncertain as to what it is we're watching and how we can orient ourselves in this film. This should be fairly easy as it's a live concert, but then again it isn't. Maybe it's like Robbie Robertson says in the film, this isn't a concert it's a celebration of sixteen years of touring and performing by The Band.

What I really want is for someone to write about having watched the concert to get a sense of what really happened because the film, though brilliant, is in no way an accurate portrayal of the concert. Again, this isn't a critique nor is my desire to have just a straight concert film, but I find it brilliant and at times frustrating to see someone use live events to create a completely different reality.

For the next film, I'm thinking I might watch the Age of Innocence as I have absolutely no desire to watch it, and think it's time to come down from my Last Waltz high. Oh, and though I didn't get a chance to comment on it, no one has done more cocaine than the cast of this film. Just ask Neil Young.