Who’s that hiding in the manger?

Last night we of the Ritz Film Group got together for our twice monthly meeting. The movie of choice was the Alfonso Cuarón-directed Children of Men. The plot: In London, 20 years from now, humans have lost the ability to procreate. An alcoholic activist gets drawn into helping a young pregnant woman to sanctuary. And then the shit hits the fan. 

Since I hadn’t seen a commercial in months (thank you TiVo), I had no idea what to expect. All I knew was that Clive Owen and Chiwetel Ejiofor were hot, so even if I got bored I’d have something beautiful to stare at.  

I think we all got much more than we bargained for. Even those who knew what the movie was about admitted to watching the second half with their mouths agape and their hearts all aflutter. Maybe it was the shaky cam-style directing, which added to the flick’s documentary-like feel. Perhaps it was the long moments of silence, during which only the pop of gunshots and the rumble of falling rubble could be heard. The movie definitely taps into mythic sites, and comparisons to the birth of Jesus couldn’t be denied. At times I thought the writers took the messiah thing a little too far—it’s in the back of your mind the entire time so there was no need for a pregnancy’s unveiling in the barn, which of course called to mind the manger.  

It’s an exciting film, one that’s as moving as it is engrossing. The spiritual undertones became overtones as some of the characters chanted the Buddhist phrase “Om mani padme hum” during times of extreme hardship. The filmmaker’s  political views were apparent, especially during scenes involving the refugees, some of which called to mind the photos from Abu Ghraib.  

If nothing else, see it for Michael Caine’s outstanding portrayal of the pot-smoking hippie Jasper. He grows pot that makes Clive Owen taste strawberries when he coughs. Priceless.

Penelope Cruz has huge tatas

Sunday afternoon I took in a matinee, alone. I was on a date with myself in Princeton. Being single again means dating myself, which I’ve always enjoyed. The day began with a nice drive, during which I blasted random Stevie Nicks songs while trying to sing along but realizing that I didn’t really know the words. Parked in the section of Princeton that’s kind of ghetto (who knew?), and walked over to the Record Exchange. The great thing about going on a date with yourself is that you can flip through CDs for a hours, without anyone clamoring in your ear about being bored/hungry/tired.

When did the Record Exchange change hands from a hipster haven to a mecca for trashy people? There were so many trailer-park dwellers and biker types types I felt like I was in Bizarro Princeton Record Exchange. Plus there was a random farter who seemed to be following me throughout the store. I couldn’t escape the stench of this person’s ass, try as I might.

My lesbian taste in music reared its head as I handed over plastic to pay for a Lilith Fair double CD, 10,000 Maniacs Unplugged, and an ’80s compilation CD. All that for just under $11.

Tuckered out from my shopping excursion, and wondering how much money I had left, I sat on a bench in front of the theatre and balanced my checkbook. Dios mio. I am leaking money like I actually have some to blow.  Stop me.  Please.

Back to Volver. Did you know Penelope Cruz had tig old bitties? It was news to me. If you see Volver, you’ll be treated to a variety of birds-eye-view shots of her breasts.

Good movie. I’d forgotten how campy Almodovar’s style is. I was surprised during the first reaction shot, when the melodramatic music swelled in the background. But the actual plot will hold your attention, even if the melodrama slightly annoys you. I think Volver means “to come back.” The movie is about women coming back from different things–bad marriages, sexual abuse, death, madness, the list goes on. It’s kind of a phoenix story, as the different women find ways to rise from the ashes.

In one scene, Penelope Cruz sings a song that somehow brought me to tears. I’m not sure if that was her voice or not, but its lilting sadness broke my heart.

After that I worked out, baked some corn muffins that tasted like shit, made myself a martini, and watched Breakfast at Tiffany’s. I think I’m going to stop eating and cut my hair short so I can become the black Audrey Hepburn.

Cheap date night

My latest Phillyist post is here. I couldn’t resist the Big Brother and the Holding Company reset.

By the way, cheap date night works alone, as well as with friends. For the alone version, bring a book to read at the bar.

The Dunst factor

I can’t stand Kirsten Dunst. Her name is ridiculous and her teeth are worse. To me, she ruins every movie she’s in. Except for Marie Antoinette. For some reason, she wasn’t annoying in this movie. She really fit the role, perhaps because the movie itself was annoying.

People stand in line to blow Sophia Coppola, but I don’t get it. Lost in Translation bored me to tears; it was worse than watching a weed grow. Marie Antoinette had its moments, but it, too was extremely slow in places. I get that directors like to portray characters in their element, just existing. Sometimes I appreciate those scenes. But staring at snaggletooth Dunst while she frolics in the garden made me feel like I had restless leg syndrome. Even Jason Schwartzman was annoying in this film. Though he played a king who was ineffectual both in his role as king and as a husband, I kept waiting for that interesting Schwartzman thing to happen. The way he’s awkward to the point of endearment. It never happened.

If the motive of filming the movie this way to was to present a feminist perspective on a villified queen, the mission was not accomplished. Coppola was able to evoke sympathy for the character, but never did I feel that film completely humanized Marie Antoinette or made the viewer understand her choices (or lack thereof).

The only compliment I have for this movie is one of the many scenes that involved a collection of shoes. In one of these scenes, a pair of Converse are amidst the period piece shoes. I dug that.

Get on the Shortbus

Last week a Troublekiss and I saw Shortbus. I highly recommend this movie, as long as you close your eyes during the scene where a young man blows himself and jerks off into his own mouth.

I gagged while watching it. I’m not a prude by anyone’s standards, but that was a little much even for me. Luckily enough, it’s the most shocking scene of the movie. Though it features real people having sex, Shortbus isn’t pornography. It’s a poignant film about a woman’s search for her orgasm and a man’s inability to experience intense emotion.

It’s funny, disgusting, sad, and titillating. I expected the titillating part but I didn’t realize I would be moved by the pain the characters were experiencing. Actors Sook Yin-Lee and Paul Dawson were phenomenal. Nothing about this movie seemed contrived. And the art direction was interesting, with the camera panning in and out from a painted model of Manhattan into a physical room in the city. It also captured the blackout, which by now has achieved fairy tale status as a time when New Yorkers pulled together.

We’re all searching for answers, and the people we might judge as fringy probably share our questions.

Kate Winslet is prettier than Jennifer Connelly

Do you agree with the title of this post? Then the casting of Little Children might annoy you. Kate Winslet plays the Other Woman to Jennifer Connelly’s hot husband. There’s a scene in which Winslet’s character becomes obsessed with her lover’s wife, and keeps asking whether she’s pretty. Finally the lover says yes, she’s a knockout, but beauty isn’t everything, and the comment keeps Kate up at night. The narrator says that the lover had thought he was saying the right thing, but that it was only a comment that someone else who was beautiful would make.

I just didn’t buy it. Obviously the book came before the movie, so it’s only a matter of casting, but there were a number of moments that were similarly incongruent.

All in all, it was a good movie, though good in this sense means that it got under my skin so much that I felt nauseous as the credits rolled. Only a truly good writer can evoke sympathy for a sexual predator. The film exposes the underbelly of suburban living. The Phila Inq. has lots of articles on crimes against women in Philadelphia, which is important, but you wouldn’t see an article about the death of a woman’s soul, her dreams, or her marriage in Yardley, Pa.

Bad Borat

Repeat after Borat, “May your warlord George Bush kill the terrorist men, women and children, and drink their blood!”

Sasha Baron Cohen is insanely funny. I can’t wait for this movie to come out. Apparently the Kazakhstan government has nothing better to do than to spar with a comedian. The press secretary keeps trading barbs with Cohen, who strikes back as Borat. http://abcnews.go.com/Entertainment/story?id=2505022&page=1.

When the levees broke

Tonight at 8, HBO will air Spike Lee’s Hurricane Katrina documentary, When the Levees Broke. It’s sure to be a four-hour emotional symphony of anger, frustration, disbelief, and perhaps even hope.  

It’s a year ago today that Katrina devastated New Orleans. This time last year I was on a Buddhist retreat on cultivating compassion. About the disaster I wrote:

It was completely surreal to be on a Buddhist retreat for a week, meditating on compassion, only to return to the real world to find that a kind of armageddon had taken place on the Gulf Coast and our government was impotent and unable/unwilling to give the people of New Orleans te help that they needed.

A year later, a lot of us feel the same way. Aside from providing FEMA trailers and checks (some say hush money), the government has yet really affect change in N.O. The ninth ward is still trashed, and on the radio this morning, Spike Lee said that 75% of the residents in affected wards haven’t returned. We all know the developers will make a killing once the land is condemned.

To me, this was never a race issue. It was a class issue. Though I wouldn’t go as far as Kanye West did, I say wholeheartedly that George W. Bush barely gives a shit about poor people. And when he does care, it’s only for the moments that the cameras are on.

Let’s tune in tonight at 8. Give some focused energy to people in pain and bear witness to the tragedy that happened on American soil.

On Sept. 11th, 2001, almost 3000 Americans were killed by terrorists.

Since August 29, 2005, more than half that number died in relation to a natural disaster compounded by federal, state, and local government and systemic failure.