Cutting Room Reviews

Sex and the City

2008-06-20T23:24:00.034-04:00

*This review contains major spoilers. If you wish to have a "virgin" movie-watching experience, please return following your screening to read and comment*

Tellingly, I feel compelled to preface this review by stating that I am an unapologetic, die-hard fan of Sex and the City, at least in its television incarnation. I own most of the seasons on DVD and will probably wear out my discs due to compulsive watching. No doubt that this disclaimer is meant to preemptively dodge (or confront?) the allegations of sexism and hypocrisy that have been leveled at male film critics - particularly straight men - who seemingly turned a collective cold shoulder to this much-hyped film adaptation of the hit HBO series. While I agree that a degree of misogyny was certainly present in the media's response to the film, I take some offense at the implication that all male critics and writers who disliked it should automatically placed in the woman-hating camp. That's a much-too simplistic reading, because the film genuinely stinks, no matter which way you slice it. In my opinion, Sex and the City is much ado about nothing, offering no sound justification for its existence (other than the obvious fiscal reasons). By the end credits, I felt like I was back at square one. Director Michael Patrick King's screenplay is a perplexing rehash of the same old, same old - Mr. Big's commitment issues, Miranda's pessimistic view of romance, and Samantha's inability to remain monogamous. We passed the "Best Before" date, and it was years ago, folks.

Picking up four years after the season finale (in which all four gals "found" stability and romance in the form of monogamy), the happenings of Sex take place over the course of a calender year. Writer Carrie Bradshaw (Sarah Jessica Parker) is back for more adventures in the Big Apple, along with her best friends Charlotte (Kristin Davis), Samantha (Kim Cattrall), and Miranda (Cynthia Nixon). You know the drill... men enter the picture, and chaos ensues. What is perhaps most depressing (and disturbing) about Sex and the City: The Movie is how conservative and regressive it is at the core. From its repulsive insensitivity towards racial politics to its paper-thin characterizations of pretty much everyone (except the exasperating Carrie character), the film spins its wheels in the mud for two-plus hours. The writing is gutless in churning out happy endings for all involved. Charlotte is able to birth a biological child like she always wanted, and Miranda forgives Steve (David Eigenberg) for his indiscretions. Meanwhile, not only does Carrie reconcile with the man (Chris Noth's Mr. Big) who has inflicted non-stop emotional abuse for ten years, but the two of them actually decide to get hitched in spite of the disastrous results of the first attempt (some people just can't take a hint). Once again, marriage is presented as the solution to all problems, flying in the face of the counter arguments articulated from the show's very first few episodes. Samantha's final-act decision to leave her boyfriend Smith (Jason Lewis) in order to love herself is interesting and makes up for her nonsensical behaviour in the final season, but it barely registers with the other gals taking centre stage.

The less said about token African-American Louise (played by Jennifer Hudson), who serves as Carrie's personal assistant, the better. Existing pretty much only to facilitate Carrie's character arc, Louise enters well past the one-hour mark and exits after fulfilling her subservient duties. While it is refreshing to see more a little diversity reflected in this world of outrageous white privilege and displayed wealth, the status quo definitely remains the same. Sex and the City remains hopelessly ignorant of anything outside of its self-contained bubble, and this feeble attempt at inclusiveness rings totally false. The gay characters (also reduced to helpful sidekick status) are treated with even more homo-hatred than usual. Competing queens Stanford (Willie Garson) and Anthony (Mario Cantone) show up only to scurry around in the background, offering a bitchy one-liner when necessary. The worst moment involving these two occurs in a scene in which the two men - who absolutely despised one another during the course of the show - act completely out of character and make out at a New Year's Party. While my audience predictably collapsed into hysterics and hoots, I felt cheated that the filmmakers had taken the easy way out.

Ludicrous plot holes also damage the screenplay's credibility, particularly the scenes leading up to Mr. Big's bout of cold feet. Are we to believe that relationship expert Carrie - even now, after all these years - is unable to detect the reluctance in this non-committal man? Forehead-slappers like "Carrie, I need to know that it's just you and me" would be laugh-aloud funny if they weren't so ghastly when delivered in context. Even more illogical is Miranda's angry aside to Big ("You two are crazy to get married!") playing a factor in his no-show at the alter, set up to generate a future rift between her and Carrie once the the truth is revealed. The entire script is built upon lame contrivances like these, drawing out the conflicts for hours until they can be tidily dealt with and filed away in the concluding moments. The humour, on the other hand, is surprisingly juvenile; when poo jokes and colouring-as-sex euphemisms are set up to garner the big laughs, there's detectable desperation in the air. There is little-to-no sex. The puns are stale. It is a giant commercial for numerous designer labels, Mercedes-Benz, Starbucks, and the Apple Store. (Side note: was there even a budget for the costumes, since drippy name dropping shamelessly occurs throughout?) The straight male characters barely register, coming across as either selfish jerks (Big, Steve), or devoted super-husbands (Harry, portrayed by Evan Handler). It makes no sense. The list of grievances goes on and on...

The four main ladies are all exceptional actors, but Davis, Cattrall and Nixon can only do so much. Davis's interpretation of Charlotte is more of a walking caricature than ever, and her storyline is not as juicy as the other ladies'. Kim Cattrall once again delves into Samantha's aggressive sexuality, allowing herself to be covered with sushi pieces in one scene and - in a bizarre moment - called to task for gaining some weight by her insensitive gal pals. The actress continues to do brilliant work with her face, and her willingness to play clown is commendable as ever. As for the lovely Cynthia Nixon, King and editor Michael Berenbaum box Miranda into such a restrictive corner that the talented artist is unable to give a more nuanced reading. This is not the Miranda who so vibrantly stood out in the past; here, she is like a completely different personality - cold, one-dimensional and just plain petty. Unsurprisingly, Sarah Jessica Parker enjoys the bulk of screen time, and while the capable actor has grown comfortable walking in the character's Blahniks, Carrie is more unappealingly self-absorbed than ever. Jennifer Hudson is robotic, while Chris Noth can barely muster up enough energy to recite his lines with conviction.

I had my reservations about Sex and the City as a feature-length film, but I was not expecting it to be this inept. Even read as a fantasy or as a fluff piece, it still registers as deeply problematic and limiting in its view of these women's professional, professional, and sexual lives. The television show, exaggerated as it may be, still manages to deliver insightful, entertaining commentary about women dealing with ever-shifting gender roles, institutionalized inequality, and sexual politics. This film offers nothing as complex during its running time, instead focusing on inane plot twists and flashy designer pornography, ultimately settling on a farce of a finale that left more than a bitter taste in my mouth. Proceed with caution, particularly the fans - this is not the same show you once loved. D+

My Kid Could Paint That

2008-06-19T14:58:00.016-04:00

Amir Bar-Lev's My Kid Could Paint That (2007) first came to my attention after Mike D'Angelo assigned it a rare A- during last year's Sundance Film Festival. Even before reading about the film's subject matter, it was the provocative title that first caught my eye. Taunting and contemptuous, I was expecting a quirky indie comedy with eccentric parents, their exasperated children, and an all-around kooky premise. Doing a little more research, I was excited to learn that this title had been assigned to a documentary feature about then four-year-old Marla Olmstead, the controversial artist whose abstract expressionist paintings have become the objects of major scrutiny. The young girl, initially received as a genius by the art community and beyond, became a notorious personality following a 60 Minutes II segment which suggested that her parents must have played a major role in the production of these pieces. Their conclusion was made as a result of a controlled experiment in which Marla was unable to produce anything at the same level of her prior work. Let the debate begin...

The first two acts of the film are dedicated to exploring both sides of the debate, making the case for and against Marla. The first thirty minutes document the euphoric highs experienced by the family prior to that polarizing news program, and reactions from Marla's parents, supportive gallery owner Anthony Brunelli, and opinionated journalist Elizabeth Cohen (the writer who first reported on Marla's pieces). Post-60 Minutes, Bar-Lev tracks the turning tide and the effect it has upon patrons and the once-adoring media. As further videotaped painting sessions with Marla occur and more troubling evidence emerges, her genius reputation becomes less assured.

The film, ostensibly a "did-she-or-didn't-she" exposé and set up as a fall-from-grace, movingly develops into a much more complex meditation on even bigger questions about modern art. Fittingly, Marla remains a distanced, sidelined figure in this film ultimately about adults grappling with issues about representation, the "truth", and the innocence of childhood. Ultimately, Bar-Lev isn't interested in whether or not Marla actually created these pieces, but how her involvement with the contemporary art community has sparked a discussion about the very nature of how art is consumed and received. Most compelling is the question of whether or not the artist can be removed from the equation when their art is finally displayed to the public. More to the point, would these paintings have been as successful if the public was unaware that a four-year-old had painted them? Would it make a difference? (Read: How could it not?) Bar-Lev also considers the ethical matters of journalistic voyeurism into this child's life (including us viewers as a culpable audience to it), and to what extent Mark and Laura Olmstead are responsible for the onslaught of praise, criticism, and fascination that Marla will surely have to negotiate for the rest of her life.

My Kid Could Paint That particularly shines in its self-reflective segments regarding the relationship between the director and his subjects, and what each party owes the other. Bar-Lev became quite close to the Olmsteads and their children over the course of filming, and was forced to "write" himself into the piece once issues of trust and exploitation began to surface. The director handles this portion of the film with sensitivity and restraint, and the tension between his understandable guilt and his role as director is palpable. One such moment towards the conclusion involves Bar-Lev point blank asking the couple about the credibility of Marla's work. The response by the couple, especially in Mark's expressionless dodging and Laura's wrenching realization that yet another attempt to exonerate the family has failed once again, is deeply unsettling. I highly recommend watching the extra material included on the DVD, the majority of which would have benefited the film (which runs a much-too-brief eighty-two minutes).

As with any successful documentary, the fascination and questions extend far beyond the limitations of a feature-length film. Indeed, the fallout between Bar-Lev and the Olmsteads during the film's release (the parents have expressed dismay at the director's shift in perspective) adds another layer to the drama, as well as the fact that Marla's paintings continue to successfully sell and are shown at galleries despite all the mud-slinging. The speculation will surely continue as Marla grows older and, eventually, will be asked to comment on these happenings as an adult. B+

Me Actually Being a Writer Again

2008-06-17T12:19:00.006-04:00

*We interrupt this blogging dry-spell to bring you the following breaking news item*

Apparently, there is more to having a movie blog than regularly posting grades on the side column and uploading DVD screen captures. Who would have thought? Once upon a time, I was aware of this and was churning out reviews and opinion pieces weekly, but I somehow let a few months of post-graduation burnout stretch into almost years of inactivity.

Embarrassing statistic: in one calender year, I have published only thirty-one "articles" of varying length and quality. It's like I've forgotten how to do what was once second nature - watch a movie, and write about it. Soon, the whole process started to feel more like a chore than a passion (a nagging feeling I'm sure many bloggers experience at one time or another).

What has changed now? Maybe it's the fact that university courses no longer control my creative output and reading lists. For the first time in a while, I'm reading solely for pleasure (I've devoured about ten novels since classes ended, and about half of that in terms of non-fiction). And - for the first time since high school - I've become seriously fascinated with and serious about the writing process. As in, this is what I want to do with my life, in any realm (journalism, fiction, academia, curriculum planning, etc).

So.

Rather than let the blog continue to gather dust or just abandon ship, I'm staging a self-intervention to truly assess where this project is headed. I've decided to take myself a little bit less seriously - no more writing towards a lofty end goal (OFCS accreditation, a writing career, high traffic, and related delusions of grandeur) and instead start writing for myself (shocker of shocks!). I'm not promising multiple posts per day, but there will certainly be more activity on the blog, and not just film-related. That's a promise.

Growing Accustomed to a Face

2008-05-27T00:45:00.005-04:00

"Omar wished, not for the first time, that he was someone else. Someone like [his brother] Sharif, who was confident enough to be himself, and was loved and liked for being who he was. Omar felt he, by comparison, was a faker, a dissembler. He had carved out a niche for himself, created an identity for himself in reaction to Sharif. If Sharif cared nothing for books or academia, then Omar could care for nothing else. If Sharif was to be the rebel, then Omar could be the model student. Omar found it relatively easy to be a model student, in that he found it easy to be quiet, clean, attentive, punctual and rigorous in handing in well-prepared work. He discovered that being a model student meant that everybody, including his teachers, mistook him for a bright student. And yet Omar sincerely believed that he was blessed with neither superior intelligence nor original thought; he had only two abilities, the ability to read quickly, and an excellent memory that allowed him to memorize and repeat all he read.

He looked this face reflected back at him [in the mirror], blank, expressionless, pale. Even his colour was indistinct; he was neither brown nor white. It could be anyone's face, he thought to himself. It was a blank canvas. He looked at the family photos on his shelf, and imitated his mother's articulate, thoughtful expression, and then his father's handsome laugh, and then his brother's sexy smoulder. He blinked and looked at himself again. If it could be anyone's face, that meant he could become anyone, he could mould it into the face he wanted. The face of a someone, rather than an anyone; someone who was intelligent and academic."

- from Bitter Sweets, by Roopa Farooki

It's finally happened.

2008-05-25T03:06:00.004-04:00

You're so full of surprises, I'm speechless.

2008-03-27T19:08:00.003-04:00

These tears dry on their own

2008-03-16T00:51:00.019-04:00

Smack dab in the middle of my afternoon jog yesterday, I came to a sudden, significant self-realization: I have not cried outside of a movie theatre in five years. The last time I became emotional to the point of tears was after a crunch period in my first year of university; writing final three papers simultaneously one night proved to be the trigger, and I lashed out at a family member only to break down, overwhelmed with guilt and exhaustion. I feel fairly certain that this is the last time I cried with such force, in public, for reasons completely unrelated to any cinematic experience. More and more, escaping in film is becoming the means of expressing emotion for me, and I don't know if this is a good thing or bad. It's not a problem of being unable to cry: only that I can't do so in "real life".

Indeed, I can recall plenty of times that I've welled up at the plight of a character or a collage of sights and sounds with relative ease, but am hard-pressed to recall a similar reaction in any other context. I wept throughout all of Satyajit Ray's Pather Panchali, possibly my favourite film of all time. A second screening of The Fountain - a film which I found hokey and vague the first time around - hit me hard for reasons that are still unclear to me. Watching Mira Nair's adaptation of The Namesake was jarring only because it's rare to see my experiences reflected so precisely in a cinematic medium. Stories about first-generation South Asian-Americans or Canadians negotiating identity, family relations and history are, to put it mildly, not "hot" properties for film companies today. Most recently, Persepolis had me giggling through my tears, moved by Marjane Satrapi's nakedly honest reflections about her early years situated across several countries and cultures. Essentially, the cinema hall has become - for lack of a better word - my confessional, and everything I want to suppress and hide emerges in full-force. I suppose it's the only place where I feel comfortable doing so. The darkness and insularity provides a sanctuary for anonymous, private grief. And this is why it is hard to convince friends, family members and others in my life that film is more than an interest or hobby for me. It allows me to breathe, escape, and function. Without it, I don't know who I am.

Perhaps some of you may be wondering why this should be cause for concern? I suppose I am over-thinking this to some degree, but when I look back on my childhood, I am struck by how emotional I was in my early years. Even watching wedding videos of my aunts' marriages at the age of six was enough to send me over the edge, and I would have to leave the room and beg an adult to turn off the television (the sight of a bride leave her father's house is always a tremendously sad moment for Indian families.) I would collapse into sobs at the end of Robert Munsch's book Love You Forever, every time, because I had this intense fear of my mother dying and feeling powerless to protect her. Attending funerals, having heart-to-hearts with friends, thinking about those who had passed on - these all used to stimulate the waterworks. Part of growing older allows a person to feel more secure about themselves and the world around them. Of course, I don't miss being a nervous wreck all the time, but I do miss the part of myself that was able to feel so completely and unreservedly. I'm afraid I've lost that part of myself, or become closed off from expressing it in relation to other people in my life.

Obviously, powerful art has this kind of effect on all of us, and it is certainly clear why we are so absolutely invested in film. Thinking back, I've probably done this to protect myself from the ridicule and scorn of others. I was constantly criticized for being so emotional, for not being "tougher" and less sensitive. As such, most of my teenage years were spent trying to prove my "stability" and sensible nature, throwing myself into schoolwork and other activities.

... Hm. I'm clearly going to be thinking about this for weeks on end. What about the rest of you?

Movie thoughts going through my head today

2008-03-02T18:29:00.017-05:00

(Self-mantra: I will do this weekly, I will do this weekly, I will I will I will...)

1. No detailed Oscar postmortem this year (I imagine you all sighing sighs of relief); indeed, what can be gushed over, dissected, and criticized that hasn't been already? Highlights: Academy Award Winner Tilda Swinton, the Once song winners, everything Jon Stewart post-opening monologue and the voters' quality choices (minus Original Screenplay and Visual Effects.) Fashion choices were decidedly ho-hum this year, with my shout-outs going to a select few: Katherine Heigl (reminiscent, somehow, of A+ Charlize Theron in year of Cider House and my favourite out of the legion reds), Diane Lane (best fashion accessory: Josh Brolin; also works vice-versa), Jennifer Hudson (say what you will about the boobs, it was a vast improvement over last year and I like the freshness), Penelope Cruz (didn't like it much on the Red Carpet, but definitely grew on me by the time she presented Foreign Language Film) and Tilda (she has her share of detractors, and I prefer her BAFTA dress, but this midnight number still won me over.) [EDIT: And The Lovely Laura Linney of course! How could I forget?]

Major grievance: who was in charge of choosing the clips this year? Were they even watching the precursor races this season? Fact: Daniel Day-Lewis had some great moments in There Will Be Blood beyond "I've abandoned my boy!", and the Academy would have earned points if they boldly went with milkshake fun. Ditto for Ronan's "Yes, I saw him with my own eyes", Bardem's "Friend-o" and Blanchett's "I'm a hurricane or tsunami or whatever." And out of one-hundred-and-two minutes of running time, why did they have to choose the Norbit make-up clip in which Eddie Murphy plays an offensive Asian stereotype?

Finally, unless you were watching the Red Carpet arrivals on CTV, you probably missed this keeper: Ben Mulroney *totally* got burned by Julian Schnabel, but to be perfectly honest, the grating entertainment guru had it coming (the co-host of eTalk Daily and son of former Prime Minister Brian Mulroney, he's the equivalent of a Canadian Ryan Seacrest.) He called The Diving Bell and the Butterfly and Before Night Falls "triumph(s) of the human spirit", to which Schnabel responded curtly, "That sounds like a cliché." Mulroney countered with something along the lines of "Well, clichés can often be true!", but Schnabel, eyes rolling, had already walked away mid-interview.

2. A few of my fellow bloggers have already made closure with the year that was 2007 and have posted predictions for next year's awards season. Just skimming over these makes my head spin, but the Oscar addict within has obviously been sparked. Milk and Revolutionary Road seem like popular predictions, which surely means that one of these will falter at the finish line. Is it just me, or does Doubt look like another Proof in-the-making? Adaptations of heralded plays rarely find favor with Oscar, although I suppose that the drool-worthy cast makes a big difference. I'll agree with Streep and Adams (for now), but I'm thinking snubs in Picture/Director/Actor/Adapted Screenplay. By the way, can I just say how pleased I am that the amazing Viola Davis is returning to the big screen in two films this year? This woman can do miracles with minutes - nay, seconds - of screen-time.

I'm not going to offer extensive thoughts on this issue until September (at the earliest), but for now, let me just say that:

(a) I don't see the Heath Ledger posthumous nod for The Dark Knight happening.
(b) Kate Winslet stands a good shot of winning Best Actress this year; let's just hope that her campaigns for Revolutionary Road and The Reader don't confuse voters in a Leo DiCaprio 2006-type situation...
(c) ...unless Julianne Moore gets nominated for Blindness; then which Oscar bridesmaid will the Academy rally behind?

3. As if this past week hasn't been euphoric enough for rabid actressexuals everywhere, Nick Davis of Nick's Flick Picks has unveiled his long-in-the-making project ("The Best Actress Academy Awards") rating, ranking and celebrating Oscar's favorite Lead Women. Most people who read this blog will likely already know about this delightful development, but if this somehow comes as news to you, off you go! I have spent ~~95%~~ 40% of my weekend reading his yearly profiles, and feeling shamed about how much catching up I have to do. But I will certainly be using Nick's recommendations as a guide on where to start, and if you're feeling relatively newbie, so should you.

4. My friend Alex and I have recently established a movie-going tradition: if anything in the "step-to-rep" genre (my coinage) is released theatrically, we are all over it. Preferably on opening night, to view it with audience members who actually like this sort of thing. What began as an experiment with the god-awful Step Up has continued with classics such as Stomp the Yard and most recently Step Up 2 the Streets.

Quite honestly, I don't go into these street dance slash b-boying slash b-girling films with an agenda. I try my best to keep an open mind and seek out potentially novel ideas being articulated about race, education and class in America. Unfortunately, each one of these has been a disappointment in this regard (although I must confess that the choreography on display and watching these dancers face off has been a real pleasure to watch.) Often, these plot lines follow a familiar path (troubled at-risk teen is forced to attend a snooty prep institution against his or her will; deals with torn allegiances between their authentic street roots and the new possibilities that lie ahead; and finally discovers that dance/stepping/stomping will help them articulate their frustrations to fruitful ends.) The conventional formula aside, the characterizations and situations are regressive to the point of insulting stereotypes (a stock Asian-American character in the latest vehicle speaks with a thick accent, and is employed as a cheap joke - "I love Amelicaaa!"). The depictions of masculinity are even more clueless (the weakness of the sissy boys in dance class is constantly placed in contrast to the brawn of the male lead) and all characters of colour are reduced to easy caricatures. Here's hoping that the just-announced Step Up 3-D can marry an imaginative storyline with exciting stepping moves. C-

Lonerdom

2008-03-01T12:15:00.005-05:00

It is only natural that getting to know people should take some time. Everyday, I watch for the old man with the flowers. And I wonder... was he born here? Did he love someone here? Did he lose someone here? He doesn't seem as curious about me, but that's all right. These days, I'm something of a loner myself. I'm pretty good at staying entertained. Mostly, I like to hang out at a little bar I know, conveniently located in my backyard.

Too Good to Be True

2008-02-25T00:30:00.005-05:00

Just how happy does the image above make you? Share your elation in the comments section. I'm simply over the moon. I'm going to be talking about this for the next three months. Full Oscar postmortem coming soon...

Why not?

2008-02-24T14:28:00.024-05:00

I originally wasn't planning on posting any predictions, but I have nothing to do until the Red Carpet Specials start popping up in a couple of hours. Anyways, it's fun to look back on these posts years later and reflect on the excitement, impatience and vote-flopping indecision that precedes each telecast. Much luck to you on your picks: may all of your favourites win. Unless they aren't the same as mine. Then you're on your own.

+PICTURE: No Country for Old Men (This would be my pick, although I'd be pleased by a Michael Clayton upset.)

+DIRECTOR: Joel and Ethan Coen, No Country for Old Men (Again, my pick(s). A win for Julian Schnabel isn't out of the question. Could totally happen, although I'm really hoping it won't.)

+ACTRESS: Marion Cotillard, La Vie En Rose (The BAFTA win probably came at just the right time, just over a week before AMPAS ballots were due. Don't we need a biopic performance winning somewhere in the acting races? I'm also guessing Christie's SAG acceptance speech didn't exactly charm voters. I'm a Christie supporter through-and-through, although I think Marion would be a perfectly respectable Oscar choice.)

+ACTOR: Daniel Day-Lewis, There Will Be Blood (Lock. My vote: I'm still torn between Tommy Lee Jones and Viggo.)

-SUPPORTING ACTRESS: Ruby Dee, American Gangster (I have no idea whose name to pencil in here, so I'm staying with my original prediction and am guessing that sentiment influences the vote. This will probably be the last chance the Academy has to honor Dee, and the others in this category will have many more chances in the future. I'll be glued to my t.v. when this category is handed out. My vote: Swinton, of course.) [The Oscar went to TILDA! Never have I been so thrilled to be wrong.]

+SUPPORTING ACTOR: Javier Bardem, No Country for Old Men (Lock #2, and my favorite in this category.)

-ADAPTED SCREENPLAY: Paul Thomas Anderson, There Will Be Blood (The Coens have already won a writing prize for Fargo, and with their win almost a done deal in the directing category, voters may want some fresh blood in this race. This is Anderson's third nomination for writing, and the third time may just be the trick (it worked for Charlie Kaufman, didn't it?) Plus, can the Coen Brothers really win all four categories they are nominated in? My vote: Sarah Polley, although I'd be just as happy with a No Country win here.) [The Oscar went to the Coen Bros.]

+ORIGINAL SCREENPLAY: El Diablo, Juno. (Can we not talk about it, please? I'd be most happy with a win for Tony Gilroy here.)

-ANIMATED FILM: Persepolis (Risky, yes, but who saw the win for Spirited Away coming? Plus, people may feel enough is enough with Pixar forever dominating this category.) [The Oscar went to Brad Bird for Ratatouille.]

+CINEMATOGRAPHY: Robert Elswit, There Will Be Blood (I'm thinking Deakins splits his support, while Kaminski's two wins work against him. Plus, as precedent tells us, a nomination in Art Direction often helps here.)

- ART DIRECTION: Jack Fisk and co., There Will Be Blood (Spoiler: Dante Feretti and co., Sweeney Todd) [The Oscar went to Sweeney Todd.]

+COSTUME DESIGN: Alexandra Byrne, Elizabeth: The Golden Age (Bad reviews don't really matter in this category; see Marie Antoinette and Memoirs of a Geisha.)

+EDITING: Christopher Rouse, The Bourne Ultimatum (Showy, frantic cuts often impress voters here: Black Hawk Down, The Matrix, etc.)

+MAKE-UP: La Vie En Rose (A sure thing, and the team deserves the win.)

+ORIGINAL SCORE: Dario Marianelli, Atonement (It's memorable and lasting, which stands out amongst the pack here; crossing my fingers for James Newton Howard.)

+ORIGINAL SONG: Glen Hansard and Markéta Irglová for "Falling Slowly", Once

-SOUND MIXING: Transformers (The press for Oscar bridesmaid Kevin O'Connell has likely paid off.) [The Oscar went to The Bourne Ultimatum.]

- SOUND EFFECTS EDITING: No Country for Old Men (The lack of a score makes the work here really stand out.) [The Oscar went to The Bourne Ultimatum.)

-VISUAL EFFECTS: Transformers (Better this than The Golden Compass. Yucky.) [The Oscar went to the fakey polar bears. Figures.]

MY TALLY
No Country for Old Men - 4
There Will Be Blood - 4
La Vie En Rose - 2
Transformers - 2
American Gangster - 1
Atonement - 1
The Bourne Ultimatum - 1
Elizabeth: The Golden Age - 1
Juno - 1
Once - 1
Persepolis - 1

OSCAR's TALLY
No Country for Old Men - 4
The Bourne Ultimatum - 3
There Will Be Blood - 2
La Vie En Rose - 2
Atonement - 1
Elizabeth: The Golden Age - 1
The Golden Compass - 1
Juno - 1
Michael Clayton - 1
Once - 1
Ratatouille - 1
Sweeney Todd - 1

12 out of 19 = 63%

I know so little about the nominees in the Documentary and Foreign Language Film races this year, so I'll abstain from predicting. I look forward to catching up with them on video though.

Happy Oscars, all!

Best Actress

2008-02-21T12:52:00.005-05:00

Hermitage Exterior

2008-02-08T22:43:00.002-05:00

Lagaan: Once Upon a Time in India

2008-02-02T21:23:00.001-05:00

"The historiography of Indian nationalism has for a long time been dominated by elitism - colonialist elitism and bourgeois-nationalist elitism. Both these varieties of elitism share the prejudice that the making of the Indian nation and the development of the consciousness - nationalism - which informed this process were exclusively or predominantly elite achievements... [This historical writing] fails to acknowledge, far less interpret, the contribution made by the people on their own, that is, independently of the elite, to the making and development of this nationalism."

- Ranajit Guha, "On Some Aspects of the Historiography of Colonial India", Selected Subaltern Studies

Ashutosh Gowariker's Lagaan: Once Upon a Time in India (2001) is perhaps one of the most visible and oft-celebrated Indian films ever made, and for good reason. Even those moviegoers largely unfamiliar with cinema from South Asia can still make reference to that "long Indian movie about cricket". The film is a rare specimen in that it was able to enchant audiences and critics alike, scoring mightily at the box office in India, winning every national award in sight, and riding that ecstatic word of mouth all the way to the 2002 Oscars (it is only the third film from India to receive a Foreign Language Film nomination, alongside Mother India and Salaam Bombay.) Unabashedly steeped in the conventions of commercial Bollywood cinema (a near-four hour running time, musical dance numbers, unrepentant melodrama), the film also serves as an impressive critical intervention in South Asian historiography without ever becoming inaccessible or lofty. In fact, the temptation to simplistically (even condescendingly) frame it as a Bollywoodized "David versus Goliath" feel-good cricket fable has been so tempting that many have overlooked the significant implications made about colonial India, native resistance and the long road to Independence in 1947. For this reason, I open with Guha's tremendously influential words because they hint at the lens through Gowariker represents and gives a voice to the ignored subaltern. Call it the anti-Gandhi if you will: these agrarian farmers of Champaner resist not with swords and fists in the tradition of those mindlessly violent and easily swayed masses, but with cricket bats and a fierce determination to resist imperialist greed.

As the film's narrator (Amitabh Bachchan) informs the audience, it is 1893, and British rule is well established across South Asia. Champaner, a small village in the state of Gujurat, has been suffering through a period of crop-stunting drought for two years. This is a cause for major concern for the entire hamlet, as the villagers are obligated to hand over a third of their agricultural produce as tax ("lagaan") to their Raja (seasoned actor Kulbhushan Kharbanda). In turn, this tithe is handed over to the British, who offer the Raja military protection from neighboring feudal lords. When a cocky young farmer from Champaner named Bhuvan (played by Aamir Khan) catches the ire of snotty Captain Andrew Russell (Paul Blackthorne) from a nearby British cantonment, the stakes are raised. Russell, bored with the unadventurous status quo, makes a bet with the desperate villagers. He will forgo lagaan for three years - not only for Champaner, but for the entire province - if they are able to beat him and his seasoned teammates in a game of cricket ("gilli danda" for the villagers). If the Champaner contingent loses, they will have to pay three times lagaan to the regent, along with the rest of the accompanying villages in the region. Naturally, Bhuvan's fellow villagers are absolutely outraged at his agreement to these terms, but our hero has conviction in spades. Russell's kind-hearted sister Elizabeth (Rachel Shelley) opts to secretly help the Champaner team with learning the game, hoping to even the playing field between the two sides. The rest of the film explores how Bhuvan assembles a team of eccentrics, falls in love with the lovely village belle (a fesity Gracy Singh, making her screen debut) and negotiates oppression, prejudice and difference (in and outside of the village.)

Lest one forget, this is also a through-and-through musical, with six such interludes sprinkled throughout. However, these enchanting songs (composed by South Indian maestro A. R. Rahman) play an active role in pushing the narrative forward, and are not employed as burdensome time wasters. The stunningly choreographed "Ghanan Ghanan" is a show stopper in which the entire village celebrates in anticipation of a thirst-quenching and crop-saving rainstorm which never quite comes. In "Mitwa O Mitwa", Bhuvan sings a song of camaraderie, empowerment and hope in order to convince fellow villagers to join the gilli danda team (some choice lyrics: "Listen, O my friend, what is this fear you have? This earth is ours, and so is the sky!"). "Chale Chalo" is a rousing, percussion-heavy call-to-arms (or call-to-cricket-bats) in which the villagers prepare for the fateful game. And in my favourite song and dance sequence, "Radha Kaise Na Jale" (translated roughly as "How can Radha not be jealous?") Bhuvan and Gauri playfully act out the courtship of the goddess Radha by the Lord Krishna. She doubts his dedication due to his roaming eye for the gopis (cow-herding village girls), while he maintains that her jealousy is utterly unfounded. Of course, Gauri's invocation of Radha here is a thinly-veiled cover for her suspicion that Bhuvan has fallen in love with Elizabeth. It is not far-fetched to argue that deleting the songs for non-Indian audiences in an effort to lessen the running time (a rumour circulated during awards season of that year) would severely hurt the film. At many theatrical screenings, it was not uncommon to hear applause, cheers and whistles after each song.

While Lagaan certainly carries the baggage of a beat-all-odds "sports movie" (scenes of training for the big game, confronting obstacles from all directions, and the pre-climax threat of crippling defeat all follow in typical fashion), more fun is mined from picking up on Gowariker's sly winks at his audience: the man has obviously read his theory. True, there's something convenient about the all-inclusive policy of who can play on the Champaner gilli-danda team (Hindu men, a Muslim, a Sikh, and an untouchable are all represented), but Gowariker also understands how communal and religious tensions are informed, fueled and nurtured by colonial divide-and-rule policies, not by an a priori intolerance of difference. Moreover, Lagaan's conflict is not squarely characterized in a top-down structure (solely mustache-twirling Brits stamping on those poor, defenseless brown people), but in a Foucauldian network of power relations. The issue of caste is especially key here, and while Bhuvan's passionate plea to his fellow villagers to allow untouchable villager Kachra to integrate may seem like a stretch, the film makes an astonishing statement about the nature of modernity and how culture is fluid (not a fixed phenomenon.) Bhuvan even uses ancient Hindu scripture to bolster his argument, citing examples about how the Lord Ram once ate berries from the garden of a tribal woman, and that the boatman who ferries souls in the Afterlife lacks a varna himself. Moreover, throughout the film, Bhuvan not only faces the brunt of Russell's racism, but opposition from the Raja, his village elders, and Lakha, a conspiring jealous teammate in cahoots with Russell.

Even more fascinating are the screenplay's flirtations with Occidentalist characterizations and reverse Other constructions. While Blackthorne's sneering Captain Russell essentially embodies colonial greed and violence, his sister Elizabeth is so committed to aiding Bhuvan and the villagers that she actually fantasizes about becoming a part of their community (prancing around in full gagra choli, no less!) In one of the film's winsome musical numbers "O Rey Chori", in which Bhuvan finally confesses his true feelings to Gauri, Elizabeth imagines a happy life as Bhuvan's wife and sings:

My heart, it speaks a thousand words, I feel eternal bliss/
The roses sprout their scarlet mouths, like offering a kiss/
No drop of rain, no glowing flame, has ever been so pure/
If being in love can feel like this, then I'm in love for sure!

The scene, replete with curtains flapping in the wind, white doves and loud emotions is intentionally meant to be ridiculous (much credit goes to Rachel Shelley for being such a good sport about the lyrics.) At every single screening I attended back in 2001 (three shows in total), the predominantly South Asian-Canadian audience never failed to break into embarrassed titters, and it was clear why - goras aren't supposed to sing in these movies! Gowariker in essence reverses the direction of the Gaze here; it is the white lady who is Othered here, not the exotic Indian woman. However, the degree of Elizabeth's love and admiration for Bhuvan is not trivialized as a result - in a Bollywood musical, it is only appropriate her love is articulated in song (and in English, for that matter.) At the close of her fantasy, Elizabeth even applies a bindi to her forehead, to mark herself as a Hindu woman. Rarely has the concept of hybridity and culture-crossing been dealt with so cleverly and complexly. When she and Bhuvan part for good at the end of the film, it is difficult not to feel sorrow for this romance that could not be.

Aamir Khan has always been a captivating and winsome performer, who had appeared in many late '80s and '90s romantic blockbusters prior to Lagaan. But until this collaboration with Gowariker, the steel in his eyes and the earnesty in his voice had never been showcased to such effective ends. Bhuvan, with his faultless personality, socially-progressive ideas and ever-good intentions, is not the most exciting or textured character on paper. However, Khan makes him a magnetic force, whether staring down his opponents or raising morale in his fellow teammates. In a lesser film with a less discerning actress, Gracy Singh's Gauri probably would have been relegated completely the sidelines, only appearing for a dance number when necessary. Thankfully, she is a constant presence throughout the entire film. Her character is the first to embrace Bhuvan's ambitious project, and she insists on attending all the training sessions to lend support and input. While there may be an element of misogyny in how she repeatedly falls into fits of jealousy every time Bhuvan interacts with Elizabeth ("Tell me Bhuvan, why is that White Witch willing to help you?"), Singh is able to amazingly evade caricature. She is also an expert comedian, and her full expressive eyes are certainly her greatest asset here: consider the hysterical scenes in which she worriedly spies on Bhuvan and Elizabeth discussing cricket rules.

Rachel Shelley is compassionate and moving as a British woman struggling with her allegiance and identity as an outsider wanting in. Much credit should go to the actor for convincing us that a powerful and elevated woman of status in that period, with its norms about racial hierarchy, could fall in love with an Indian peasant farmer. Paul Blackthorne's Captain Russell is not afforded much dimension beyond hatred of all things Indian, but he sneers and condescends fittingly. A cast of established character actors round out the Champaner gilli danda team, special notice going to Raghuvir Yadav as a frazzled chicken farmer and booming Rajesh Vivek as the opinionated village seer, who provides superb comic relief. Meanwhile, Rajendranath Zutshi hints at a fascinating back story as Muslim Ismayeel with his limited screen time, and Yashpal Sharma's expressions are always priceless. Also deserving of special mention is Javed Singh as conflicted Ram Singh, a servant in the Raja's palace, who allows us to understand how Indians placed in positions of authority over their fellow countrymen face complicated realities about loyalty and kinship.

As already mentioned, A. R. Rahman's work as composer contributes a great deal of information about this land and its people, seeking inspiration from rustic folk music and the structure of the classical Hindu epics. Costume designer Bhanu Athaiya, who won an Oscar for Gandhi, could have easily recycled her work from that epic film, but is nicely attuned to how the Gujurati agrarian community is varied in terms of dress itself (distinguished village leaders versus the constituents of the village, the Raja's golden fineries versus the dhotis of the farmers, the particulars of Muslim apparel versus Hindu garb, etc.) The finery of Russell and Elizabeth's ensembles are never overstated, while the redcoats of the British army look appropriately lived-in. Anil Mehta's cinematography does amazing things with the flat, dry landscape of the Bhuj desert, a pronounced departure from the bleeding crimsons and dazzling sapphire blues in 1999's Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam, which he lensed just before this film. Art director Nitin Desai (another alumnus of Sanam) and his team traveled to Bhuj four months before shooting began in order to erect an authentically period township. Editor Ballu Saluja deserves special praise for making a four-hour-long film seem like half the length; his work assembling the cricket match is especially commendable. Interesting fact: to add an additional layer of authenticity, the screenplay was written and performed in the dialect of Avadhi.

By presenting a village of peasants as political beings struggling against imperial exploitation through non-violent means, Gowariker writes back into history the voices that elitist historiography has overlooked or silenced. Nationalism then, Guha and Gowariker remind us, is not an exclusive pursuit by personalities such as Mohandas Gandhi, Muhammad Ali Jinnah, and others who are often credited with "leading" the Indian people to Independence. As the narrator informs us at the close, "Even after this historic victory, Bhuvan's name was lost somewhere in the pages of history." What other stories of native resistance have been suffocated by master narratives over the decades? Yes, Lagaan is an endearing film about overcoming the greatest of odds, but look closer at how Gowariker has also played the conventions of commercial Hindi cinema to his advantage. Working both as a populist crowd pleaser and scholarly dissertation, Lagaan is magical Bollywood cinema at its most winsome. A

Food for thought

2008-02-02T18:28:00.001-05:00

Only twice has the Screen Actors Guild accurately predicted the acting races (4/4) at the Oscars: in 2005 (Swank/Foxx/Blanchett/Freeman), and in 1998 (Nicholson/Hunt/Basinger & Stuart/Williams). And even then, I don't think they deserve points for that last one, giving kudos to Gloria Stuart as well as eventual winner Kim Basinger.

As such, I'm not so comfortable with my predicted winners list as it stands presently. Is it really going to be Christie, Day-Lewis, Dee and Bardem yapping away at the podium on Oscar night? This thought occurred to me while submitting a comment for Adam's musings on this year's Supporting Actress race. Even in the most monotonous "locked and loaded" years, there has been slight variation between SAG and AMPAS's choices. Let's look at the facts...

Among the boys (SAG/Oscar):
- Harris/Spacey in '96
- Duvall/Coburn in '99
- Del Toro/Crowe; Finney/Del Toro in '01 (although this was more attributed to category confusion than anything else.)
- Crowe/Washington; McKellen/Broadbent in '02
- Day-Lewis/Brody; Walken/Cooper in '03
- Depp/Penn in '04
- Giamatti/Clooney in '06
- Murphy/Arkin in '07

The two voting bodies are a tad more consistent with the female actors: seven gals have won the Actor statuette without going on to grab the Oscar, in contrast to the aforementioned eleven men: Jodie Foster (Nell), Kate Winslet (Sense and Sensibility), Lauren Bacall (The Mirror Has Two Faces), Kathy Bates (Primary Colors), Annette Bening (American Beauty), Judi Dench (Chocolat), Helen Mirren (Gosford Park), and Renee Zellweger (Chicago).

Statistically speaking then, we have to have an upset in the making somewhere. Most would point a finger at the Supporting Actress race, often cited as the breeding ground for such shockeroos. But I have a hard time letting go of Dee - Blanchett has already won, Ryan is the critics' darling a la Virginia Madsen, Swinton doesn't have the heat, and the nomination's the reward for Ronan.

But if not here, then where? Actor and Supporting Actor look pretty locked up right now, and while former winner Julie Christie might be this year's Sissy Spacek, Halle Berry was still able to swing SAG in that dead heat race.

Where will it be? Where!!? Or is this going to be another 2005?

Sarah Silverman has something to confess

2008-02-01T12:38:00.001-05:00

My favourite line? (SPOILERS) "Remember when I told you I was fucking Matt Damon? I was fucking Matt Damon!"

R.I.P. Heath Ledger

2008-01-23T17:51:00.002-05:00

1979-2008

In the very few hours I've had to myself since the news broke (usually between intensive lectures, lengthy classroom observations and broken units of sleep), I've been pouring over every write-up and tribute on display. A post I keep reading is Nathaniel's first words on Ledger's passing; I had returned to Nate's blog Tuesday afternoon to chat some more about the Oscar nominations announced earlier that day. When I saw that photo and those years in closed brackets, my heart sank into my gut instantly. Although I fully knew what this meant, I didn't want it to compute. I followed the accompanying links, additionally tapping away the addresses of every familiar online news source (entertainment-related or not) in order to verify this claim. And then I went back to that original post and sat there for about ten minutes with my mouth ludicrously agape. Eventually, I had to pull myself together and attend a linguistics lecture. I was able to make light conversation with my classmates and pay attention to the professor's points, but I had that same pit in my stomach throughout.

It still hasn't gone away. The more newspaper articles, emotional reactions and pictures I seem to consume, the less I'm able to understand it. I feel so distanced from the whole thing now, and in a strange way, I feel compelled to read Nathaniel's words again and again to really come to terms with it. The sense of loss is even more acutely felt when taking into account the sudden passing of Brad Renfro just a few days earlier (I've been a fan since The Client, and yes, even Tom & Huck.)

It seems so off, so improperly timed. After Brokeback Mountain, Candy and I'm Not There, it felt like he was just getting started. And his film career aside, I had grown used to his adorably dumpy fashion sense, that goofy smile and his distinctive nervous-but-generous chortle.

I don't have much to offer here, but the blog seems like the obvious place to jot down some thoughts.

No Oscar for (Homeless) Young Men

2008-01-22T09:34:00.001-05:00

A strange morning, to say the least. In the same format as last year, here are my thoughts...

THE "I AM FEELING NEUTRAL ABOUT THIS" STUFFs
- What on earth happened to Into the Wild this morning? Did whisperings and write-ups about Sean Penn's personal life of late hurt the campaign this badly? I thought everyone in Hollywood loved this movie (see SAG.) Although that nifty Editing nomination points toward a Best Picture nod in-the-making, it appears nowhere else except in the Supporting Actor race. What of Eddie Wedder & co.'s songs? The Wild camp must be hurting badly right now. But grouchy Mr. Penn must be relieved that he won't have to sit through yet another awards ceremony this year (that is, if it even happens what with WGA and all.)
- Atonement manages to pull off a Best Picture nomination after all, indicating that the film has more fans within the Academy than I had originally figured. I thought the Joe Wright picture would be this year's Dreamgirls like many other bloggers, but I suppose one should never underestimate the British period prestige contender. Good for Wright & co. I'm not ga-ga over all of the hit-and-miss Atonement, but I do lurve that first half with Ronan as Briony.
- With Jason Reitman's surprise appearance in the directing category, does the Best Picture race now come down to No Country for Old Men versus Juno?
- Philip Seymour Hoffman's appearance in the Supporting Actor race now means I'll have to watch Charlie Wilson's War.
- The Simpsons Movie booted out of Animated Feature for Surf's Up. While I heard surprisingly good word-of-mouth regarding the latter, I totally thought those Springfeldians were a lock here simply due to the popularity and lasting power of their film.
- I'm not a fan of The Bourne Identity trilogy, but it's nice to see that it's finally made an impact this year (I accurately predicted all three of its nominations.) Ultimatum is probably my least favourite of the three though.
- Sweeney Todd missing in Makeup and Cinematography? Weird.

THE GOOD STUFFs
- I was correct in intuiting that voters had not forgotten about Tommy Lee Jones in In the Valley of Elah, but dead wrong in figuring that a vote thrown his way for No Country for Old Men would suffice. This is probably my favourite nomination this morning - it's heartening to know that a seemingly forgotten performance like this one can still make it in the final five without any precursor love at all.
- (Expected) strong showings for No Country for Old Men and There Will Be Blood.
- Say hello to Academy-Award nominees Tilda Swinton and Viggo Mortensen. S'about time!
- Ronan! Atwood! Marianelli!
- I share Glenn's er... enthusiasm in celebrating Sarah Polley's Away From Her Adapted Screenplay mention. This is obviously a "we're sorry we couldn't nominate you in the directing category" nod, but Sarah and I will take it.
- No Country for Old Men is recognized in both the Sound Editing and Sound Mixing categories. KABLOOIE. In the same regard, I hope Transformers remains an Academy Award nominee, nothing more. (My ears!)
- Cheers for Casey Affleck, even if he is nominated in the wrong category.
- I should have known that Enchanted's most showy and memorable musical number ("Happy Working Song", in which Amy Adams frolics with a sizable number of New York City's pest population) would be remembered come voting time.
- While on the topic of Original Songs, congrats to the Once camp for "Falling Slowly" being recognized. I don't like the film very much, but I'm not so crusty as to obnoxiously poo-poo the stellar soundtrack as well. This means we'll actually get to see it performed if the ceremony goes on as planned!
- Michael Moore's flawed, funny Sicko gets a Documentary mention. Hopefully this will get more people to watch it.
- Roger Deakins thankfully gets in for both Jesse James and No Country for Old Men. But now will he lose to Janusz Kaminski's gimmicky Diving Bell aesthetics?
- James Newton Howard's Original Score nomination for Michael Clayton - that pulsing, jangling score was über-intense. Great stuff.
- Ruby Dee! Not one of my personal picks, but I certainly preferred her to Catherine Keener or Vanessa Redgrave. Slap him again Ruby!
- Tony Gilroy gets two nominations for his feature film debut. Go Team Clayton.

THE BAD STUFFs
- Jason Reitman for Juno? One of the best-directed films of the year? Ok. Not a travesty by any means, but come on people.
- Angelina Jolie, where art thou? One of the hardest snubs to swallow this morning, even if Linney managed to make it in. Speaking of Linney, love it, but I'm going to pretend that nod is for Jindabyne instead.
- The wig-wearin', hairline-raisin' Cate Blanchett - just like last year - party crashes a category that could have accommodated more deserving nominees. But we knew this was coming, right? Good for her on that I'm Not There shout-out though.
- I haven't seen any of the Foreign-Language films nominated here. Are you listening, Canadian distributors!!?
- More Pirates repeating their same adventures in the Caribbean? Thankfully the future holds no more installments of that franchise (hopefully.) I tried watching this on video, but couldn't make it past the first ten minutes.

THE DOWNRIGHT PAINFUL STUFFs
- Here's an obvious moment to further abuse Norbit, but why bother? I'm more interested to see if it can achieve that rare distinction of being both an Oscar and Razzie winner.
- The Golden Compass for Visual Effects? Ew! I thought this was one of the film's weakest elements. Those polar bears looked so fake, and the daemons fared even worse.
- WHERE IS ALEXANDRE DESPLAT???! They have now snubbed three Oscar-worthy scores of his (Birth, The Painted Veil, and now Lust, Caution.) Bad form!

THIS NOW MEANS I HAVE TO WATCH
- Charlie Wilson's War
- The Kite Runner
- Lars and the Real Girl
- 3:10 to Yuma
- Persepolis (obviously, I was going to watch this anyways.)