Some random movie and music thoughts
Brokeback Mountain: No, I still haven't seen it
I rented a movie this weekend (more on that in a moment), and one of the previews that played with it was Brokeback Mountain. I want to see this movie, but I was discussing it the other day with my brother, and some interesting talking points came up. It seems destined for Oscar nods, but it occurred to me that this movie may be using the homosexual angle to its advantage. I was essentially trying to comment that, all things being equal, this movie shouldn't get an Oscar for being controversial. That is to say, if its Oscar rivals carry the same amount of quality in filmmaking, I don't mind if Brokeback gets the trophy, but I would hope it would be something more than the fact that it has homosexuality.
To explain: my favorite reviewers, Adam and Sam from Cinecast, commented that this isn't a "gay" story, merely a tragic love story that happens to be about two gay characters. That got me thinking: if this plot were repeated with any other dynamic, would it get this kind of attention? If there were another movie about lovers who society forced apart, whose emotions tore themselves up inside about what could've been, would we really be this fascinated with it? My guess would be no. Oscar would look at it like every other romance that comes out, call it quant, maybe give it an award or two for "Best Costume" or something, but otherwise leave it alone. It is the fact that this is a topic that hasn't been explored, that stirs fascination. I don't think there's anything wrong with exploring undone topics, and the movie looks spectacular, and I want to see it. But we have to call a spade a spade, here. Either it's a movie that defines itself by its subject matter or it isn't. I think it is, but not in such a way that it presses an agenda; simply that it takes a significant topic and explores it. Would "To Kill a Mockingbird" be regarded as highly had been released in a time period where racism seemed like a distant memory? It's a great movie and always will be, but it was the gall to release it back then that made it such a phenomenon. In fifty or so years, when homosexuality is more accepted (and not just the lipstick lesbian kind), I'm sure Brokeback will be regarded as good, but if it were to be released then, it wouldn't be mind-blowing.
Broken Flowers
That said, the movie I was watching at the time was Broken Flowers. As someone who so far hadn't really dug Bill Murray's transfer into quirky indie dramady, I really enjoyed this picture. It didn't bore me to tears like Lost in Translation did, and it seemed like more than a series of shallow vignettes like Steve Zizou was. Instead we got a somber, sometimes funny, poignant and very subtle view of a life that has been defined by a pursuit of sex with no thought to the consequences. Murray plays an aging Don Juan who, after receiving an anonymous letter telling him he has a 19-year-old son, revisits four of his lovers from that era of his life to discover who the mother is. Instead, he finds a series of varying reactions to the pain his womanizing has inflicted.
I've never been so acutely aware as to how narration could ruin a movie. This movie has a lot of quiet moments, when Don (yes, his name is Don) is flying or driving to the house of his next former lover. In the hands of a less capable screenwriter or director, this is the type of scene where Bill would ordinarily be heard, with his inner monologue, telling us the results of the last visit, or the anticipation of the next. There are a lot of subtle moments, small clues of how he's hurt these women and what has happened to them since. But we don't need them spelled out for us. We don't need them to tell us that the first woman needs a male role model in her household for her daughter. We don't need to know the second is love-starved, or the third has sworn off men altogether, or that the fourth has undergone some form of tragedy. We never get the full details of these encounters, nor does Don, and we don't need to. All he sees is brief glimpses of the hurt he's caused. All of this peaks in a moment that I won't even bother to describe, because without the buildup of seeing his journey, it wouldn't make much sense.
If I had seen it, it would've gotten my "Indie Movie of 2005" award, so take that as what you will.
Fiona Apple
I listened to Fiona Apple's "Extraordinary Machine" on my way home from Nina's today, and I liked it, more or less. She has a deep, rich voice more indicative of the classic singers from old jazz than of any pop stars today, and I dig the retro sound of that as well as her accompanying instrumentals. My one gripe is that while her lyrics hold some great metaphors, symbols, and colloquialisms, they're all essentially about the same thing. No matter how you dress it up, Fiona, a jilted lover song is still a jilted lover song. A few in an album is okay, but twelve in a row gets tiring. I'd probably give it somewhere around an 8.5/10, if I reviewed on that system, which I'm sure I will sometime.
I rented a movie this weekend (more on that in a moment), and one of the previews that played with it was Brokeback Mountain. I want to see this movie, but I was discussing it the other day with my brother, and some interesting talking points came up. It seems destined for Oscar nods, but it occurred to me that this movie may be using the homosexual angle to its advantage. I was essentially trying to comment that, all things being equal, this movie shouldn't get an Oscar for being controversial. That is to say, if its Oscar rivals carry the same amount of quality in filmmaking, I don't mind if Brokeback gets the trophy, but I would hope it would be something more than the fact that it has homosexuality.
To explain: my favorite reviewers, Adam and Sam from Cinecast, commented that this isn't a "gay" story, merely a tragic love story that happens to be about two gay characters. That got me thinking: if this plot were repeated with any other dynamic, would it get this kind of attention? If there were another movie about lovers who society forced apart, whose emotions tore themselves up inside about what could've been, would we really be this fascinated with it? My guess would be no. Oscar would look at it like every other romance that comes out, call it quant, maybe give it an award or two for "Best Costume" or something, but otherwise leave it alone. It is the fact that this is a topic that hasn't been explored, that stirs fascination. I don't think there's anything wrong with exploring undone topics, and the movie looks spectacular, and I want to see it. But we have to call a spade a spade, here. Either it's a movie that defines itself by its subject matter or it isn't. I think it is, but not in such a way that it presses an agenda; simply that it takes a significant topic and explores it. Would "To Kill a Mockingbird" be regarded as highly had been released in a time period where racism seemed like a distant memory? It's a great movie and always will be, but it was the gall to release it back then that made it such a phenomenon. In fifty or so years, when homosexuality is more accepted (and not just the lipstick lesbian kind), I'm sure Brokeback will be regarded as good, but if it were to be released then, it wouldn't be mind-blowing.
Broken Flowers
That said, the movie I was watching at the time was Broken Flowers. As someone who so far hadn't really dug Bill Murray's transfer into quirky indie dramady, I really enjoyed this picture. It didn't bore me to tears like Lost in Translation did, and it seemed like more than a series of shallow vignettes like Steve Zizou was. Instead we got a somber, sometimes funny, poignant and very subtle view of a life that has been defined by a pursuit of sex with no thought to the consequences. Murray plays an aging Don Juan who, after receiving an anonymous letter telling him he has a 19-year-old son, revisits four of his lovers from that era of his life to discover who the mother is. Instead, he finds a series of varying reactions to the pain his womanizing has inflicted.
I've never been so acutely aware as to how narration could ruin a movie. This movie has a lot of quiet moments, when Don (yes, his name is Don) is flying or driving to the house of his next former lover. In the hands of a less capable screenwriter or director, this is the type of scene where Bill would ordinarily be heard, with his inner monologue, telling us the results of the last visit, or the anticipation of the next. There are a lot of subtle moments, small clues of how he's hurt these women and what has happened to them since. But we don't need them spelled out for us. We don't need them to tell us that the first woman needs a male role model in her household for her daughter. We don't need to know the second is love-starved, or the third has sworn off men altogether, or that the fourth has undergone some form of tragedy. We never get the full details of these encounters, nor does Don, and we don't need to. All he sees is brief glimpses of the hurt he's caused. All of this peaks in a moment that I won't even bother to describe, because without the buildup of seeing his journey, it wouldn't make much sense.
If I had seen it, it would've gotten my "Indie Movie of 2005" award, so take that as what you will.
Fiona Apple
I listened to Fiona Apple's "Extraordinary Machine" on my way home from Nina's today, and I liked it, more or less. She has a deep, rich voice more indicative of the classic singers from old jazz than of any pop stars today, and I dig the retro sound of that as well as her accompanying instrumentals. My one gripe is that while her lyrics hold some great metaphors, symbols, and colloquialisms, they're all essentially about the same thing. No matter how you dress it up, Fiona, a jilted lover song is still a jilted lover song. A few in an album is okay, but twelve in a row gets tiring. I'd probably give it somewhere around an 8.5/10, if I reviewed on that system, which I'm sure I will sometime.