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Photo by Gail Harvey, no reproduction without permission
Storyville The much-anticipated list of Oscar nominees came out and brays of dismay went up in the masses. Rightly so: some years the whole thing just smells really funny. One need only glance at the Best Original Song category and note the glaring absence of Bruce Springsteen. EH? If you have anything left in your tear ducts by the time the film, “The Wrestler” comes to the end, Bruce’s song will likely finish you right off. The music from Slumdog Millionaire IS excellent, but how did the double nomination for that one movie come to mean the usual quintet of nominees got winnowed down to three? Did Bruce offend someone at the Academy or was it just another case of bringing The Wrestler down to the mat in every way possible? No nomination for the original screenplay because it also wasn’t worthy of a Best Picture nod and so of course we have to ‘forget’ that without Darren Aronofsky, Mickey Rourke wouldn’t even be up for Best Actor. You can’t exactly do time in pariah prison, then collect Employee Of The Year without first being hired by a compassionate boss, right? The math is just all-around bad in Oscarville this year. But if life revolved around the little gold man exclusively, a lot of fantastic films would never have been made. Come to think of it, if awards were the only motivation for making art of any kind the world would be a much quieter, less colourful place all-around. No books to clutter up the night-stands and no bothersome paintings on bank walls...Children could then come home from school to announce, over a monochromatic, boil-in-bag meal, “Mom, I’d like to be a dancer. But only if I can win a prize really soon into my career, otherwise, why bother.” To which the mother or father might reply, “I wouldn’t bother dear, because while your urge to be creative is amusing, it’s also putting me off my unimaginative meal. Just knowing you won’t win a prize or award immediately, I vote for a career in pharmaceuticals.”
Maybe the too-intimate relationship we’d been having with our snow-shovels drove us to it, but the wife and I decided to embark on a movie-thon. A little cinematherapy for the overwintered soul never hurt anyone. And since when did the Academy know from greatness anyway? Four movies, two days, VERY do-able when three of the flicks were playing in the same complex. Although my old-fashioned heart cringes to say it, a ‘cineplex’ does have its occasional advantages in January. This from someone who’s been trying for years to explain to people why shopping at independent bookstores is ESSENTIAL. [I know, I know: but I don’t recall ever announcing that I was perfect in this lifetime and have no plans to begin. Let she who has never entered a mall cast the first stone.] Rebellion against the corporate monsters can take many forms. Refusing to pay eighteen dollars for junk food and water, for example. No way.
The Wrestler, as mentioned, is a dynamite movie. Script, performances: killer. I think too much is being made of Rourke’s magical rise from the Hollywood dumpster. Hype sells tickets, but this is a great story that digs its scalpel right into the marrow of most [honest] humans: “What if I end up with nothing after ALL this?” It’s an exquisite and terrifying look at what it costs to do what one loves most, but it is also a bracing metaphor for aging and our fears of same. Maybe Oscar didn’t like the reality check: sometimes people DO blow every chance they get and wake up with nothing much and nowhere to turn. It happens every day and in many cases, there’s nothing accidental or fated about it. Moral dilemmas in story were everywhere this year. No wonder, after eight years with Bush in office! [Canadian film should be equally ‘interesting’ in this regard after a little more time with Harper and his funding yo-yo.] A long-time Streep fan, I HAD to see Doubt. Which reminds me: just WHO is responsible for referring in media and reviews to Philip Seymour Hoffman as ‘Hoffman’? There is only ONE man who can go by Hoffman alone. If society gives birth to a Philip Seymour Deniro or a Philip Seymour Pacino the same rule will apply. Outrage! Doubt is worth seeing. A story that shows how a little gossip and speculation can go a long and dangerous way, and how righteous people can be. Just when you think you can’t take another movie about nuns, along comes the entirely unlikeable Sister Aloysius. We had a lot to talk about after THAT one but I’d hate to spoil it for you.
It was a pretty intense day of movie-watching. Good-tired as the expression goes, worn out by thrilling stories well-told. A little ass-yoga between films and all was fine. Slumdog Millionaire deserves the mega-kudos it keeps getting. For those who stumbled into the cinema thinking “Wheee, I just loved Monsoon Wedding! Those Indians sure can make a musical!” I must shake my head and chuckle. Slumdog is more like being driven through the back streets and acid truths of India by a psychotic bi-lingual cabbie who nevertheless drops you at a really delicious restaurant after some ‘enlightenment’ about street kid life in Mumbai. Sean Penn’s performance in Milk was everything we’d expected. The man simply has the chops, and whether or not he takes home the Oscar when ultra-thespian Brad Pitt is on the same nomination remains to be seen. [I am woman, hear me meow.] The footage of Anita Bryant made me shudder. While she may be thought of today as the crazy orange juice lady, there was a time...Hell, it’s still happening, albeit with new spokespeople at the hate-helm. Something so painful about watching this bio-pic, imagining how Harvey Milk would feel today, as Prop 8 takes away rights from gay and lesbian couples these many years later in the very same state. Had he not been gunned down by a man who used his junk-food diet as explanation for his homicidal rampage. Doubtful this defense would work today, given that MacDonald’s is considered a regular food group by so many. Maybe someone should make a movie about personal accountability and choices made one of these days...wait...it’s called The Wrestler.
Four incredible stories, devoured in under 24 hours while safe and warm and inspired by the range of human dilemmas we all face in different ways. Spoiled to live in Canada. Thankful to those who make movies because they love telling good stories.
Listening to: The Wrestler, Bruce Springsteen
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