Stranger than Fiction

"Everyone thinks about leaping off a building."

Seriously...

Why did nobody tell me about this movie?

Oh, of course I read the generally positive (though rarely elated) reviews. Sure, I knew it was a movie I would like. But how come nobody ever came up to me and said "Dude, you have GOT to see this movie."

See. the reason I hadn't seen it so far is that I thought it would be, well, ok. Kaufman-lite, as it's been called. Fun, but ultimately dismissable. I thought it would be one of those movies that would be exactly as I expected it to be. Like The Queeni was, not too long ago: I knew I'd like the movie, and I did, but it failed to surprise me.

So, I re-iterate, how come nobody told me this was one of the most charming, unassuming, heartbreakingly funny and above all literary movies of the past year? It might not quite be up there with The Science of Sleep, but it's definitely high up on the list. And that's not just because I think I might have a crush on Harold Crick.

Oh, it's not that I don't see the problems with the film. It's not a film you can figure out for example: it might be trippy, but there's no hidden explanation anywhere, what you see is what you get: Harold's life is being narrated to him. And that means there is no explanation as to how Harold and his author can be on the same plane of existence. But does there need to be? Emma Thompson's Karen Eiffel wonders at some point how many people she killed, and I actually feel the question is best left unanswered.

Another, potentially more serious, problem is that while the narration is funny and dry and relatively well written, there is nothing to sustain the claim that the book being written could become a masterpiece. And you can wonder: is the story actually interesting WITHOUT Harold hearing the narration?

The answer to that question might be a clue to why this movie charmed me so. Because while the outline of Harold's story (man wakes up, throws his life around) is rather boring and corny, the details are perfect. The narration fades to the background at some point to allow the courtship between Harold and anarchist baker Ana (the wonderful Maggie Gyllenhaal), and it's worth watching because it's so pitch perfect, from the gift Harold gives her (and if you haven't been spoiled yet, I'd be the last to do it) to the way they undress each other.

Then there's the humor. How come there aren't more movies that mix absurdist jokes ("Aren't you relieved to know you're not a golem?") with literary ones that actually, well, assume a certain level of intelligence and general knowledge from the audience? I heart huckabees comes to mind (although, considering some things that recently popped up on youtube, I doubt I would have wanted to be part of THAT particular creative process). Everything by Wes Anderson certainly qualifies, and Wonder Boys definitely does, but they are certainly few and far between

Finally, it's so rare to find a movie where the main character can be laughed at, but is never ridiculed or looked down upon. It would have been so easy to make Harold a laughingstock, but even if he starts out as little more than a bag of tics, he quickly becomes a full-fledged character we can, and do, care for, and care about. He inspires pathos, but he never is pathetic.

It's probably a good thing I went into this film with low expectations, and by hyping it so much I might actually be doing it a disservice. But to hell with it. This movie made my day, and deserves to be seen.

Just a quick announcement: I'm about to leave for my parents place to pick up a DVD my sweet dad (aka. the guy with the credit card) ordered for me off Amazon.co.uk for the White Elephant Blog-a-Thon, in which I'll be a proud participant. Look for the post on april 1st!

And also, my dad, proving he's not just the guy with the credit card but also incredbily generous and sweet (yes, he reads this blog occasionally. Why do you ask?), added to the humble order I proposed a whole lot more...and not just anything: I will also be picking up Double Indemnity and Body Heat, as well as a very nice Film Noir box filled with titles I don't know, but that I think I'll like.

Look forward to a Noir filled month at the Fruitstand!

Sodom and Gomorrah

Warning: off topic
(also, written while still slightly under the influence)

When you fail an exam, worse, when you fail a retake, you need to vent. Parties are generally good for that. Drinking, eating, dancing, ideally flirting and taking someone home. Well, tonight, I was a bit short on the latter two, but it was an interesting evening nonetheless. See, a stripper had apparently been ordered for the three birthday boys. And while she was, well, performing, all I could think was:

"So this is the western debauchery we are reviled for. This is the evil that will (through McDonald's and MTV, obviously) corrupt the world. Then, how can it feel so....innocent?"

Worse, how can it feel so tame, so (dare I say it?) boring even. Oh sure, it was funny. And two of the guys (one of whom, interestingly enough, was muslim) seemed to enjoy it plenty. But I doubt anyone was really turned on.

It strengthened me in my belief that things that are not forbidden or hidden irrevocably lose most of their appeal. This is actually my main beef with the sexualisation of our culture: not that it shows our culture is rotten, not that it is demeaning to women even, but simply that it leaves so little to be devined, that it somehow makes things less, rather than more, exciting, and that it leaves us looking in the few nooks and crannies left obscured for something to long for.

The anatomy of Desire

The Shirt

The shirt touches his neck
and smooths over his back.
It slides down his sides.
It even goes down below his belt—
down into his pants.
Lucky shirt.

-Jane Kenyon (via)



-SPOLER WARNING- (for both Matador and A Streetcar Named Desire)

I know I promised a post about Matador some time ago already, and it's been a week now since I've seen it, but I've had a hard time articulating my feelings about it. I loved it, that much is for sure. And I am eager to discuss it, to talk about the odd but fascinating world Almodovar's movies take place in, about how matter of fact and logically he presents the outrageous, about the incredibly dated jackets his women wear, but I have a hard time finding a point, finding the core of what I want to say.

Luckily, I popped exactly the right DVD into my player tonight, one that is very different but shares some core themes, one that, well, only made me more confused, but eager enough to ramble to overcome my writer's block. The movie was "A Streetcar named Desire."

Now, Tenessee Williams and Kazan have a very literal way of introducing the theme: naming a streetcar the main character takes in the beginning after it, even referring to that literally later. Almodovar manages to be even more direct: his movie opens with a man jerking off to a montage of killing shots from slasher movies.

In both movies, desire and destruction are connected, but it's hard to say which is cause, and which is consequence. Or is it perhaps desire and fear? The former has Marlon Brando smoldering in his wifebeater, but it's not just his physical appearance that draws us towards him: it's that we are never sure whether he will kiss or slap us/Stella/Blanche. He drinks, he curses, he eats like a pig, he smashes things... and he wouldn't be quite as attractive without it. And for a 1951 movie, it's incredibly frank about this: we can see that the main reason Stella stays with her husband is that she lusts for him. She tells her sister that on her wedding night, Stanley smashed all the light bulbs with her slipper. Blanche is appalled, but Stella confesses "I was sort of thrilled by it."

In Almodovar's movie, two of the main characters, (former) Matador (the word literally means killer) Diego and lawyer/fellow killer Maria are attracted to each other because of the thrill of never knowing whether the other will kiss them or kill them. And we cannot simply dismiss them as two crazy people made for one another, because the other characters in the film are similarly obsessed. Angel (played by a still gangly and baby-faced Antonia Banderas) wants to be like them so much that he confesses to both their crimes, and -rather unsuccessfully- tries to project a sense of menace himself. Eva, Diego's girlfriend,dressed as a corpse to try to win him back, and when she finds out about his murders, she isn't repelled by it, but wants him even more, enough to risk her life for. What's more, they're not the only one seduced: the audience is also. I was, in any case.

What is it about the human psyche that makes us link fear and desire? What is it that makes us lust for danger? Or should I stop generalising and simply ask: what fascinates me so much in the combination?

Take another movie I recently saw for the second time: Closer. Here there is no physical danger from the protagonists, who are all -at least superficially- sophisticated modern people. But the four characters show the whole spectrum of human desire, in a way. Alice wants what she loves. Dan wants what he cannot have, Anna what she does not have. As for Larry, he's the character closest to his animal instincts, someone who just wants, and takes. Not surprisingly, he's the most interesting character to me, Clive Owen's fierce performance managing to make Jude Law make thoroughly wimpy and unappealing.

Now, Closer doesn't really fit into this rant, I realise, mostly because it's not so much about desire as it is about honesty and purity, the most innocent and blameless character oddly being the most deceitful one, who even states that "lying is the most fun a girl can have without taking her clothes off".

Which brings me back full circle, to "A Streetcar Named Desire", though Blanche would probably not agree. She doesn't lie for fun but out of desperation, because she's afraid she alone would not be enough. I have a postcard on my desk which says "only people without imagination flee in reality". Maybe that's a quote more fit for her to take in.

Well, this was rambling indeed. I warned you though. I'll try to make the next post more coherent.

Until then,

H.

A sign of the times?

It's book week this week in the Netherlands, and as a kind of publicity stunt, the committee for the promotion of the Dutch book introduced a new reading sign: the "irony sign". Meant to be placed at the beginning and ending of any word, phrase, sentence or paragraph that's meant to be taken ironically.

As it turns out, it's mostly food for columnists. Bloggers too, I assume.

The sign is silly, of course, and I seriously doubt it will catch on, but I think it's kind of alarming that we apparently need it. And I have to see, sometimes I do catch myself relying too much on smileys to convey the tone of my words, the ;-) smiley being especially abused in e-mails. And when I force myself to leave the smileys out, I sometimes worry that something I said as a joke might be interpreted as a slight.

Does that mean we're losing our ability to put nuance in our words out of lazyness, because we don't need to any more? I hope not, as it would mean a loss in style and language that no reading sign can compensate for.

Should I be worried...

...if when watching the new BBC Robin Hood show (I'm currently at ep6), I keep wondering why Marian likes Robin when right next to him stands a guy who adores her and who is WAY sexier? I mean, yes, there's the whole part where he's a brutal killer, a sadist, and someone who'd dump his own illegitimate child in the woods, but who cares, come on: do you want a boy,









or do you want a man? (Of course, in this update on the story, Marian has balls aplenty herself).










N.B. Do not worry, this is just a diversion, I'll return to more, well, classy posts soon, more specifically with a review of "Matador" (and come to think of it, having just watched that might explain my lusting for a murderer).

Films to see before you die

Yes, I am still alive. Just slightly out of inspiration. Which means that aside from a lousy draft for a post about Closer, this blog has been a little abandoned. So it's a good thing there are parents in this world, who delight their daughter with a "1001 films to see before you die" book.

I have seen 188. So there's work to be done.

To be precise (and I am a scientist, so I cannot help it), there is a slight error margin here, say +/- 2. See, for example, I didn't count Lawrence of Arabia as "seen" because I only saw the first disc when I was living in the same house as someone who had the DVD, and I moved out before I had a chance (or the urge) to see disc 2, but I DID count Apocalypse Now, even if I never saw the last half-hour, but I feel like I have for all the clips of colonel Kurtz I have seen. Some films I know I saw/must have seen entirely a long time ago, but don't remember much about.

But so, my new assignment: if I have nothing to write about, I should pick open this book at a random page, find a film I have seen or one I have not seen but have something to say about nonetheless, and write at least a short entry. I would try to go through them one by one, but a) I don't have that kind of time, b) many films are hard to get a hold of here, and c) someone's already doing it.

As for the selection, I have to say I agree with it overall, also because it does not present itself as a list of the 1001 best films, but more a list of 1001 significant films. I like that genre films are included as well as the more traditional "classics". I like that they include a significant portion of old films, even silent ones, but don't forget classics from the seventies and eighties. I do feel, however, that they should have put a limit in 1997 or something (like the National Film Registry does, for example), because if you're talking about the significance of films, you simple NEED time to tell what impact has been made.

Maybe that's why the later films are the ones where I have the most question marks to put. I understand the inclusion of "There's Something About Mary", even if it's a film I've never understood the appeal of, simply because it's become so ingrained in populat culture, but "the Constant Gardener"? I have to admit that'sone of the many films I haven't seen, but the need doesn't seen very pressing. And "Un Long Dimanche De Fiancailles" (A very long engagement) for instance: I liked the film, thought it did some innovative things, but is it really a film people will still watch 10, 20 years from now? Especially with Jeunet already represented by "Delicatessen" and "Le Fabuleux Destin D'Amelie Poulain", it seems a bit much. Personally, in their place, I would have put "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" and "A History of Violence", but I admit we'll have to wait a while to see if those stick. I wonder also, this being the 2nd revised edition, which films had to be dropped to make room for Brokeback Mountain and other recent films.

Among the older films, I don't really have many objections. Many I love, many I have wanted to see for a long time. 3 films, actually, that I own on DVD but haven't watched yet, meaning I should probably stop buying DVD's for a while and watch those I have. One notable ommission: "The Third Man", which I believe to not only be a wonderful film with one of the most beautiful endings, a gorgeous long shot which just takes my breath away every time, but also a film with a significant impact on filmmakers then and still to this day.

I'm sometimes unsure whether to be delighted by the store of great films I can still see, or desperate considering how impossible the task to see them all is, especially when I cannot even keep up with all the movies coming out now. But I do hope that I will one day have seen most (all seems hard) of the films in this book.

H.

CORRECTION: The Third Man is actually in the book. Apparently I missed that particular page when going through the book in the train on my way back home.

Lost in Tokyo

You know sometimes you read a book, and you get so lost in it that when you look up, the world seems a silly place? Seems less real than where you were? Seems like a dream?

But what if the book itself reads like a dream?

Such is the case with the aptly called number9dream, David Mitchell's sophomore book, and, as far as I'm concerned, his best yet. Admittedly, I have yet to read ghostwritten, but this book has more heart that Cloud Atlas, and much more wow than his latest, Black Swan Green.

Mitchell is a bit of a mystery, because his most distinctive feature seems to be the lack of an own voice. And it's not just because he's such a chameleon, though he is: in Cloud Atlas he adopts 6 different kinds of not just perspectives, but also styles, lexicons, emotional ranges, and even in Black Swan Green, he subtle modulates his style. He doesn't let his own voice come through, but that's not the only thing. If I met Dave Eggers, I think I would know more or less not just how he would talk, but also what his interests are, his obsessions, his sense of humor, I'd know (to an extent) what kind of person he is. David Mitchell? I have no idea. It's a well-known cliche that it's impossible to write anything without revealing much more than you'd like, but Mitchell seems to be an expert at remaining in the shadows.

That is, I think, why I admired Cloud Atlas, but couldn't bring myself to love it: it was a masterful stylistic exercise, but -except for the Frobisher segment- it was cold. As for Black Swan Green, it was affecting, but I felt too acutely how Mitchell tried to be more small scale: his effort showed.

But number9dream....Maybe it's because, apparently, Mitchell lived in Japan himself (and, as I just found out on wikipedia, 5 months in the netherlands for research. Damn. I could have met the guy. Soaked up some writing genius, even.), and maybe that's why his portrayal of Tokyo feels so vibrant, so there, so alive.

Not that he's not up to his usual tricks here, too. Heck, I'd probably lose interest without the tricks, and he's so good at them, too. Every chapter here is part of the same story, but different nonetheless. Take the first chapter. It starts in reality, at some indeterminate point lapses into daydream, then backs up to the point where reality stopped, only revealing then what was dream and what wasn't. Only to jump back into dream a few paragraphs or pages later.

I suppose what humanises Mitchell here is how well-found the daydreams are. Not only do they only gradually stray from the plausible, but they're both imaginative and exactly how daydreams can be (and trust me, I'm enough of a daydreamer myself to judge).

What's more, it sets the tone for the whole novel: it makes us both go along with anything that's said because it might be true, but it also keeps us guessing. This is why you don't tune out when the story takes a turn for the bizarre (and gruesomely funny) in chapter four. And when the author, in the final (well, officially penultimate) chapter tells us about Eiji Miyake's dreams, it's not boring (like other people's dreams usually are), but on the contrary is a fitting way to lead us out of the strange world of the novel.

I suppose what really won me for this novel is the chapter "study of tales". In it, there are fragments of stories about "goatwriter", "Mrs. Comb", and "Pithecanthropus", and these finally show something deeply personal: the author's love of storytelling. And his inventiveness with it.

See, it starts innocent enough. Yes, Mrs Comb might be a chicken, maybe, and it's a little weird and jumpy, and it seems to have nothing to do witht he story at hand, but it's easy to just read through and dismiss as a fairy tale that might be explained later. And then Mitchell shows us what he can do.

First, there's a scene where Mrs. Comb is revealed to be, indeed, a chicken, but it happens in a weirdly realistic warzone, and without apparent consequences. Goatwriter's finds out that his stories were not stolen, but that he's eaten them (and what does that say about story creatures?). But the thing that really threw me, that gave me a jolt of surprise depite my willingness to accept anything at this point, is that when they're confronted with the stereotypical Evil Queen...she's an internet creature bent on digitalizing goatwriter's creativeness.

How do you do that? Take fairy tale creatures that belong in another age, that drink from literal streams of consciousness, and then put modernity in there?

Oh well. I'll stop spoiling the fun and just bow to Mitchell in deep veneration. It's my weakness for all things pomo, definitely, but it's more than that. The man's a genius. And his love of storytelling is infectious.

Just call me goatwriter.

H.

So, being a pathetic sucker, I of course HAD to check my (snail)mail box this evening, just in case. But instead of the red envelope(s) I'd secretly hoped for, there was just a blue one. Which, as every Dutch person knows, means a letter from tax services.


The most ironic thing? Even that wasn't for me.

Happy Valentine's day everyone

Review Index

Titles are usually in their original language, unless the language uses another script.

Les Amants Réguliers (Garrel, 2005)
Átame (Almodóvar, 1990)
The Big Heat (Lang, 1953)
A Bout de Souffle (Godard, 1960)
Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (Burton, 2005)
Crash (Cronenberg, 1996)
Croupier (Hodges, 1998)
Death Proof (Tarantino, 2007)(pt. 2)
The Departed (Scorsese, 2006)
Detour (Ulmer, 1945)
Gerry (van Sant, 2002)
Goodfellas (Scorsese, 1990)
The Good German (Soderbergh, 2006)
Hairspray (Shankman, 2007)
Heathers (Lehmann, 1989)
A History Of Violence (Cronenberg, 2005)
King Kong (Cooper & Shoedsack, 1933)
El Laberinto del Fauno (Del Toro, 2006)
The Lake House (Agresti, 2006)
Marie Antoinette (Coppola, 2006)
Masculin Feminin (Godard, 1967)
No Direction Home (Scorsese, 2005)
Ocean's 13 (Soderbergh, 2007)
Once (Carney, 2007)
Othello (Welles, 1952)
Picnic (Logan, 1955)
The Player (Altman, 1992)
A Prairie Home Companion (Altman, 2006)
The Prestige (Nolan, 2006)
The Science of Sleep (Gondry, 2006) (pt 2)
The Sheltering Sky (Bertolluci, 1990)
La Stanza Del Figlio (Moretti, 2001)
The Strange Love of Martha Ivers (Milstone, 1946)
Stranger Than Fiction (Forster, 2006)
Le Temps Qui Reste (Ozon, 2005)
Thank You for Smoking (Reitman, 2005)
The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada (Jones, 2005)
Volver (Almodóvar, 2006)
Whistle Stop (Moguy, 1946)

A Prarie Home Companion

I am ashamed to admit that I've only seen 4 Robert Altman movies. Gosford Park, Cookie's Fortune, The Long Goodbye and, as of yesterday night, A Prarie Home Companion.

I liked the first one, though it left me rather cold. The second one, well, enjoyable, but I barely remember it. I loved The Long Goodbye, but mostly for its brilliant first 20-30 minutes. But I feel like it's only now that I've really discovered Altman.

See, I don't think this movie is a masterpiece. It doesn't have much in the way of a plot, there's not really any arc or tension, and only one character goes through some kind of development. But you know? You don't care. Because I wasn't watching this film because I was curious what would happen next. I wasn't watching to see if they would "save the show". I was watching because I was thoroughly enjoying hanging out with these people.

Maybe that, in retrospect, is why I couldn't get into Gosford Park. I was too focussed on the murder plot, because the characters were not likeable and interesting enough to me.

The characters in A Prarie Home Companion have as a job to make people listen, to entertain them, and they are good at it. I was so full of good will toward them after a while, that I laughed uproariously at the "bad jokes" told by Dusty and Lefty, even if they were, in all honesty, quite bad. I wanted to sing along with Meryl Streep and Lily Tomlin, and I wanted to listen to the entire back catalog of shows (which can be found online, btw, so I did listen a little after the movie).

These people are storytellers, first and foremost, maybe that's why I liked them. We hear several versions of how GK got into radio, one weirder and more implausible than the other, but told without a wink, without irony. It's a competition, but it feels like the viewer is the winner.

"The death of an old man is no great tragedy"

Still, it's too bad we won't be getting more moving from Altman. Luckily for me, there are many left to discover.

Why you should be reading Questionable Content

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Under normal circumstances, based on poster, trailer, plot, main actors, etc., I probably would have passed on seeing "the Lake House". It looked sappy, corny, unbearably earnest. It looked like something nobody with any taste or sense of irony could like. Dismissable, that's probably the best term for it. Not necessarily bad, but not worth the time of anyone who wanted to call themselves a cinephile.

However, then, the movie led to one of the most amusing episodes of Filmspotting (aka. my favorite podcast. Ep #110, if you want to look it up). And not because it was artfully and articulately ridiculed (although Sam did quite a good job of that). No, it was hilarious mostly because of the fight it occasioned. See, Adam, to own surprise, admitted he thought the movie was quite charming. Even that *gasp* he thought Keanu gave quite a good performance.

You understand, this movie I had to see, if only for its divisive qualities. And as a friend of mine loves it unabashedly and was over to study, we decided we'd watch it as a reward.

The verdict? Who do I side with? Well... It is sappy. Corny, definitely. Unbearably earnest? Well, very earnest, in any case. Still, as much as I am a cynic, and as much as I hate to sound unhip, I see Adam's point.

Alright, I'll admit it: I am, I'm afraid, a hopeless romantic at heart. Romantic enough to accept the magic mailbox despite some glaring problems with the internal logic, in any case. Romantic enough to think "Oh, I wish people still wrote letters, that someone would send a love letter to me" instead of "why doesn't she just google him?". Romantic enough to admit that, to use Adam and Sam terminology, it got a little dusty in my room towards the end.

Unfortunately, I'm afraid I'm not romantic enough to overlook one thing: these people are kind of boring. Actually, strike that: they're incredibly boring. So, no matter how romantic you are, it becomes a little hard to understand not only why they would fall for one another, but if we could fall in love with them.

This is tricky for the movie especially because we have to believe the characters fall in love without meeting, without even knowing what they look like, so it can't be something based purely on physical attractiveness or something else primal. It has to be about ideas, passions, about connecting on a deeper level. Kate and Alex in this movie, bond over... a walk through chicago. Loving "when it starts to rain just at the end of the picknick". Trees (I kid you not).

I like to hope that this was intentional. That they wanted to make these character everyman/everywoman. But if we're supposed to believe two people belong together and not with anyone else, there's got to be something distinctive. I've often complained about the superficial quirks assigned to characters in romcoms, but these characters don't even have quirks! Additionally, it doesn't help if your main characters are played by two of the most bland actors working today. I've defended Keanu in the past, but lonesome, tortured and pining? Not his thing. As for Sandra Bullock, well, I she's given a supposed fear of commitment, but we never really see any evidence of it. All she does, really, is look sulky.

I am a hopeless romantic. So I'll give this film a pass, if only because its refreshing to see a film where characters don't always have the perfect quip ready. And because, I admit, I was charmed for the duration of the film. But to be truly moving, truly romantic, the people have to be real people. Flawed. Damaged. Twisted even, if you really want to get my attention. And this is only a temporary substitute for the real thing.

Bring on the LoVe

"That might play with the masses, but underneath that angry young woman shell, there's a slightly less angry young woman who's just dying to bake me something. You're a marshmallow, Veronica Mars. A twinkie!"

So, yeah, you know you're addicted to a show when you start reading quotes on wikiquote to prepare a blogpost...and all of a sudden more than an hour has passed. And what's worse, aside from bringing back countless memories of moments that make the show great, I still don't quite know where to start talking about it.

Maybe here then: aside from being snarky and funny and heartbreaking, Veronica Mars constantly subverts (gender) expectations, and offers an exploration of what it means to be a girl in today's society.

Now, those are big words. But I think I can defend them.

Let's start with the concept. It's not just P.I. in high school, it's girl P.I in high school, and the girl part is just as important as the high school. I mean, just think about it: how many books or movies with a female detective do you know? They're there, actually, just google it and see, but generally, when we think private eye, we think private dick.

Considering this, making the main character female was already quite innovative, and to be honest, would probably not have been thought of were it not for the success of Veronica's big sister Buffy. But the creators went further, and dared to investigate what this gender change meant.

Joss Whedon has stated on numerous occasions that the inspiration from Buffy came partly from the "take back the night" campaign. What would happen, he wondered, if after a cute tiny blonde and a scary monster went into a dark alley, it was the monster who would come out battered and bruised, and the perky blonde victorious?

Rob Thomas took this idea to the logical next step: Veronica is a rape-victim. This immediately makes us aware that she is more vulnerable than the traditional PI's, who ran the risk of getting beaten or killed, but rarely to be violated. At the same time, it makes her stronger, or at least more fierce. Veronica is not just a PI with boobs: she's a PI who has other problems than the traditional ones, and other solutions.

In this way, the show investigates not only what it is to be a girl PI, but also more generally how to be a strong woman in today's society. Veronica copes by putting on her "angry young woman shell", and getting vengeance. In her own words: "Here's what you do: you get tough. You get even."

On the one hand, we can understand why she turns to this technique. On the other, we are presented with some alternatives, girls/somen who deal in different ways. We have the traditional madonna represented by Meg (complete with "immaculate" conception), though it has to be said she ends up dead. On the "whore" side of the spectrum, there are many examples, chief among them Kendall, who's gone so far into the manipulative and out for herself that she doesn't seem to have any emotions (she ends up dead too, incidentally). It seems nobody has found the perfect way of coping, not even Veronica

There is no doubt that Veronica is a role-model, at least in some repects. She is smart, she is strong, she is funny, certainly pretty, and while the most terrible things happen to her, she always stands back up and fights back. The stand up for herself, and for others. At the same time, she is not by far perfect, and she might not even always be the hero. In this way, she is exactly like Sam Spade, Phil Marlowe and all those others. She doesn't even always have the moral high ground. And she struggles with the balance between the twinkie inside and the (often all too ) necessary barrier that protects it.

No PI, of course, without a dame. And of course, here it's easy to run into trouble, and they did at first.

See, the mistake made at first is to intepret the femme fatale as someone who might be dangerous. And hence, we got dreadfully dull Duncan, who had weird "spells" and might have murdered his sister. But there's a problem with this did he or didn't he approach: if and when it turns out he didn't, the character becomes entirely uninsteresting. And let's be honest, nobody ever believed Duncan did it. Furthemore, while Duncan fit well with the overly sweet and vulnerable pre-murder and pre-rape Veronica, there was never any noticeable spark with the Veronica we all know and love, and luckily the writers quickly discovered they had another asset on their hands: Logan.

See, what really makes a femme fatale (or in this case homme fatal) dangerous is that they're in the big grey zone between good and bad. They usually feel real affection for the hero, but they never forget their own agenda, and they can't stop themselves from exploiting the hero's weaknesses.

Still, there remains a problem with the concept. See, the gender reversal here can never be complete. Veronica is a woman who is quite resolutely from Mars, and how could she ever fall in love with a Venus denizen?

They tried "feminizing" Logan in some respects. He is, for example, often the more affective of the two, while Veronica keeps her self-protective impulses firmly in place, as witnessed in this exchange:

Logan: [About Keith] He should feel lucky. I mean, you could be out here with some pretty boy jerk just looking to get laid.

Veronica: Wait, what are you saying? You aren't pretty?

Logan: What I'm trying to say is that I'm in love with you.

Veronica: The things guys'll say to get past second base.

There are more respects in which Veronica is "the man" in the relationship. Witness for example the first LoVe kiss: without a doubt, Veronica is the initiator. However, while Veronica is often the leader and the one who invests less, Logan is never weak, because as subversive as gender roles often are in this show, the makers can't change the fact that while a certain weakness and perceived powerlessness is found attractive in girls (a fact Veronica often exploits), it is not something perceived as remotely attractive in a guy.

I often wonder what it is I find fascinating about guys kissing. One of the explanations I have considered is that when two guys kiss, there can be ambiguity about who's kissing whom. While there are, of course, differences within the particular relationships, the basic premise is one of equality. When a girl and a guy kiss? Not so much. No matter how equal a relationship might be, when it comes to kissing, the girl is always supposed to be yielding.

I'm as guilty as the next girl. When I like a guy, not only do I giggle more, but I also try to appear somewhat softer. More vulnerable, even. I'm not sure how much of this is nature and how much is nurture, but there's no denying it's true. And I'm not even sure it's a bad thing, to be honest. I kind of like the feeling of being protected. But there's no denying a thrill is missing. A thrill often present in scenes of boys kissing boys. A thrill present in that wonderful scene in which Buffy and Spike bring the house down. A thrill present in those first two kisses Veronica and Logan share, because there is no way Veronica is yielding, ever. But here's where my examples stop, simply because I can't think of many.

What about girlpower, you say? What about the surge in female action heroes? Well, because despite their butt-kicking ways, they're often either non-sexual or as girly if not more so in their private lives. In the former category, think of Lara Croft, for example. Yes, she has big boobs. And I am aware she is very much lusted after by boy geeks. But the character itself is a video-game character, and even in a film remains flat and devoid of any true sexual nature. In the latter category, think of Charlie's angels, especially the ones played by Cameron Diaz and Drew Barrymore. They might be able to hold their own in a fight, but in their private lives they're just the same giggly, unsuspecting creatures men love to protect -and deceive.

The closest we've come to a LoVe or Buffy/Spike situation was another Angelina Jolie outing, "Mr. and Mrs. Smith", which had some interesting things to say about gender roles as well (note especially how Mrs. is the more professional assassin). And strengthening my theory, I thought that kiss was not bad at all.

Still, no relationship on TV is as consistently fascinating and subversive as the one between Veronica and Logan (currently "on" again, for those keeping track). Theirs is an "epic" story, as Logan says "Spanning years, and continents. Lives ruined and blood shed. Epic! ". They're perfect for each other, and perfectly wrong. Logan's right. No one writes songs about the ones that come easy.


P.S. Wow, this was meandering, wasn't it... Oh well, as procrastination, it did its duty. Also, if you don't know VM, don't be discouraged by the above blather: the show is actually a lot of fun, not an exercise in feminist critique. It references "The Big Lebowski" repeatedly, for instance. And it has episode titled "Hi, Infidelity". And basically, it just rules. So watch it. Help keep it on the air, 'coz I can't.

Now THAT's inspired casting

via

Volver

It's strange. My top 4 of 2006, made only in 3 weeks ago, reads:

Brick
Brokeback Mountain
Volver
The Science of Sleep

Why strange? Because it's already shifting. Brick is fading, was already when I made the list, but I do want to see it again soon, re-evaluate it. As for Brokeback Mountain, I was putting together a wishlist for my upcoming birthday the other day, and I realised I don't really feel the need to own it. Oh, don't get me wrong, it's a beatiful, heartbreaking film, and I loved it, but I somehow doubt I'll see something different, discover something new on a second viewing. That, and I'm afraid the sweeping landscapes won't translate well to the small screen.

Numbers 3 and 4, on the other hand, keep climbing. My love for The Science of Sleep should be obvious now from the previous two posts. And Volver (#20 in cinemarati's top of the year), well, snatches of the film come back to me every once in a while, and I can't wait to see it again. In fact, I think it might be my favorite Almodóvar movie (of those I've seen, at least).

I know that, even among Volver lovers, I'm in the minority here. And I'll admit, it's easy to discard the film as nothing but a piece of cotton candy. But I think that Almodóvar finally found the perfect balance between camp and melodrama here.

Most of the time, when camp is used, when films go so over the top as this one does, when everything in a film is bigger (like Penelope's butt) and brighter than life, it tends to be to undercut the drama, rather than underline it. (Melo)drama is unhip and, more importantly, uncomfortable, so irony is used to put some distance between it and us. To make sure the drama doesn't come too close.

There is a scene here that could be interpreted in that way. Raimunda (Penelope's character) sings, and her mother looks at her hidden in a car across the street, crying. Thing is, it's obviously not Penelope who's singing, or if she was it's clearly overdubbed. It's deliberately fake, and it's tempting to think this is meant to be off-putting. I don't think it is though. It reminds us that we are just spectators, certainly, but also that it's not so much the specific story that matters, or the specific relationship, but beauty and feeling in general. I'm not phrasing this well, and it's hard to articulate, but in a way it's pulling the emotion of the song into the abstract, and it's all the stronger for it. Overwhelming, even, at least to me. Everything in this film is, in a way "fake", except the emotions themselves, with the strongest being the love Almodóvar has for life, for his characters, and last but definitely not least, for his actresses.

Of course, it's not the first time Almodóvar has pulled this trick, but it's the first time he's succeeded so perfectly (again, of the movies I've seen). In Todo Sobre Mi Madre, the melodrama takes the upper hand. And well, it works, I remember crying buckets, but in a way it's a little too easy. The loss of a child is always a tragedy, while the loss of a parent is of course very sad as well, but it's less trick of destiny and more of a transitional phase, not luckily a universal experience but one that hits closer to home, less something that happens "just to other people". Hable Con Ella was beautiful and disturbing, but it was a little too much on the earnest side, missing a sense of fun. On the other hand of the spectrum, there is for example La Mala Educación, which I loved, but which missed the sincere emotion present in Volver.

Despite the hyperbole above, I realise defending Volver as Almodóvar's best is probably beyond my writing and analysing skills, but I doubt he's made a warmer film, or one that's more alive. Words like vibrant and luscious have already been used too often too describe it, but it's because it is. It's a film that makes scrubbing a headstone seem life-affirming, a film where a farting ghost seems like the most natural thing. And it's a film I'd love to get for my birthday to watch over and over again.

The Science of Sleep (just a small thought in addition)

I should have done this a long time ago. I write, and all of a sudden the thoughts keep on coming. I know this effect won't last long, but I'm going to exploit it while I can. For too long now I've fallen back on TV series and other easy-to digest fare, sitting back and just absorbing what comes towards me, or rather letting it flow through me without causing the slightest stir.

See, I was standing under the shower (aka. the only place I can think undistracted) and all of a sudden it hit me. Stéphane is what Calvin could have turned into had he grown up. And by analogy, Gondry is in fact the new Watterson.

Think about it. Calvin has his transmogrifier, his time machine, his other inventions. Stéphane has his one-second time-machine, the 3-D glasses, etc. Calvin sees his teachers and parents sometimes as aliens, while Stéphane sees his co-workers in very different guises in his dreams. Calvin's makes art with snow, Stéphane with cellophane. They both have trouble distinguishing reality from fantasy.

And isn't it a nice fantasy to think that there might actually be a place in our world for a grown up Calvin?

The Science of Sleep

" Stéphane: [Shows 3-D glasses ] You can see real life in 3-D
Stéphanie: Isn't life already in 3-D?
Stéphane: Yeah but, come on. "

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, as I probably have mentioned more than once, is a movie I love. It gets everything right. It's unbearably romantic without being sappy, it's smart, it makes sense, it features people with true flaws instead of the standard rom-com "quirks", and its ending is both unexpected and inevitable. Some find it cynical, but I think it couldn't possibly be more optimistic.

All this time, I somehow gave 100% of the credit for this wonderful film to Charlie Kaufman. That is, I did until I saw the Science of Sleep. Now I'm not so sure any more.

Oh, Kaufman is definitely responsible for how neatly the plot fits. For the surreal idea at the basis also, probably. But for the heart, the optimism, the idealism (if that's the right word)? For that, I now think we have Michel to thank.

See, The Science Of Sleep, written by, directed by, and clearly entirely of Michel Gondry, is all heart, all warmth, and again without even becoming sappy or predictable. It's less clever, less carefully constructed than Eternal Sunshine, and rather than ending in a perfectly formed and placed period it unravels like a homemade sweater, but despite and somehow also because of that it might be the movie I like better. The one I'll return to more often. I might even go see it again in theatres, something I've never done.

I've always had a longing to be creative. I wanted to be an artist, I wanted to make music, sing, paint, craft, anything really as long as it meant creating something that wasn't there before, and couldn't have been without me. As I aged, more and more options closed off as I discovered I had no particular musical talent (I tried the piano, the guitar, singing in a band, singing in a choir), that my most serviceable drawing was of my left hand, and that clay, in my hands, refused to become anything but just that: a lump of clay. The one glimmer of artistic talent I could discover in myself was writing, but even there... There is a scene in The Man Who Wasn't There where Scarlett Johanssen has just played for the famed french piano teacher, and Ed anxiously await his judgment. "She's a nice girl", the man says. "She plays...like a nice girl."

I've always felt like I write "like a nice girl" (whether I am in fact nice is still a matter under discussion).

I also discovered, however, that I was a pretty good spectator. Someone who noticed things most other people didn't, someone who could get lost entirely in a different world, mostly in books at first but then also in movies, in music.

I know this is a long digression, but stick with me a little longer, there is a point and I'm getting to it. See, just when I had made my peace with the fact that I would be a spectator rather than a creator in this world, I went to a screening of "the Science of Sleep". Not only did it re-awaken my desire to create somehing, anything, but it made it seem like a possibility. It made the entire world feel full of possibilities.

Most movies about creative people keep you at a distance. You see them paint, compose, write, but as a viewer you remain outside, looking in. It seems in film, it's as difficult to show the creative process than it is to illustrate how a mathematician thinks. Or should I say "seemed"?

What's made in the Science of Sleep is not, by any stretch, "high art". Clouds made of cotton, a sea made of candy wrappers, a toy horse that hobbles. But there's so much fun here. So much enthusiasm. And it feels like you're part of the creative process, like you're sharing in a secret with the main characters.

There is also, or course, a lot about love. Stephane and Stephanie, that's got to be meant to be, n'est-ce pas? It's impossible not to fall for Gael Garcia Bernal as Stephane, the boy who can't really distinguish dreams from reality, and who charmingly mingles French, English and Spanish. He cooks up dreams within his dreams, and they're a concoction that's both eclectic and oddly tangible and down to earth. And how could we not fall in love with his next-door neighbour Stephanie (played by Charlotte Gainsbourg) outwardly tough but with oh-so-recognisable insecurities lurking just under the surface, who needs only a little encouragement to come out to play with Stephane in his dream world, but who has a hard time finding the patience to deal with all his odd behavior?

Still, even if the love story is front and center, the movie is ultimately about more than just relationships, and that might be what makes it stronger than Eternal Sunshine. Aside from revolving around two people who belong together and whether they will, in fact, make it, it's first and foremost about creativity. About being and staying a dreamer. About seeing the world with fresh eyes, as I certainly did after walking out of the theatre, blinking against the harsh sunlight of reality.

The feeling of possibility fades all too quickly, I'm afraid. Maybe that's why I long to get myself a new shot of optimism by seeing the film again. In any case, I know one thing for sure: Michel Gondry is not just a guy who can do amazing things with his toes. He's also someone in whose world I'd love to live.

N.B. Dreamers be warned. Click here only if you're a cynic.

" Stéphane: P. S. R. Parallel Synchronized Randomness. An interesting brain rarity and our subject for today. Two people walk in opposite directions at the same time and then they make the same decision at the same time. Then they correct it, and then they correct it, and then they correct it, and then they correct it, and then they correct it. Basically, in a mathematical world these two little guys will stay looped for the end of time. The brain is the most complex thing in the universe and it's right behind the nose. "

Further Reading:
Gondry interviewed about dreams
A little about his new project