Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World: movie, starring michael cera
i enjoyed the SHIT out of this. before making it clear that i'm not going to go much deeper into analysis of my reaction to it than what i've just stated, i should point out that i realize that "i enjoyed the SHIT out of this" is a pretty lame, nonspecific--in short, critically flabby--reaction. reasons i should be exerting more judgment on this movie are as follows:
1. i haven't finished the comic, but did read and enjoy about 4 of the books, before getting too weighted down with guilt about not returning them to the friend i'd borrowed them from. ergo my reaction should encompass various aspects of whether or not the movie represented the source material, etc.
2. i'm always an asshole, except about stuff i like. why is that? why can't i be more of an asshole about stuff i like, and less of an asshole about stuff i don't? wouldn't the world be a better place if people were more assholes about what they liked and less about what they didn't? ergo my critique should acknowledge that, even when i like something, i have an obligation to be critical of my enjoyment, so as not to employ a double standard. i owe this attempt at acuity, not just to america, but the WORLD(-orld-orld-orld).
3. i can be pretty harsh with movies that don't manage what this one did--that is, ones that are all slick bits of fluff with a lot of modern things in them (that whole clause could be read, by the eager mind, as a double entendre. the mind would have to be pretty eager, though). just cuz scott pilgrim vs. the world was a slick bit of fluff with modern stuff in it that i enjoyed the SHIT out of, doesn't mean that i get a pass in calling it out for its slick bit of modern fluffery (getting worse and worse, sra). or, at least, if i CAN give myself a pass in calling it out, i should explain WHY.
bah. screw 1 through 3. reasons why scott pilgrim vs. the world was an awesome movie and 'nuff said are as follows:
4. it managed its cameos with grace. there are some movies where i'm like, "if you shove a single 'nother pop culture movie actor reference down my throat i will scream--i promise you," which is an empty threat, but it makes me feel better. but scott pilgrim vs. the world's cameos were fun. they were kind of just there so that we could all say, "hey, there that is," and it was awesome.
5. the day after seeing it, i don't feel bad about liking it. at a distance, the plot does get a little more hole-filled, but not in a way that makes me feel duped exactly. i didn't like the ending...but i didn't like it in the theater either.
6. okay, and then the fun stuff was awesome! the cinematography and the fights and michael cera, who again i thought was wonderful, and the jokes and all the actors esp. knives chau (ellen wong, who has beautiful eyes) and MAE WHITMAN IS BACK!!! and i really liked mary elizabeth winstead's understated performance (i bet she's getting that "understated performance" bit a lot) and i freaking REALLY ENJOYED THE SOUNDTRACK which could have gone beyond wrong and did not.
it was like sin city, which i also enjoyed the shit out of, except i think i will object to having liked it less in the future than i object currently to having liked sin city.
hmm. it was like sin city, except without alexis bledel being sooooo from the south.
okay, no, i've got it. if sin city is the sin city version of, say, the adventures of food boy (watch it and you'll see what i mean--the adventures of food boy puts the "ur?" back in "disturbing"), then scott pilgrim vs. the world is the sin city version of the apartment.
oh, i said it. because nobody else has the...(uh, insert pertinent noun here...[i don't know what it is]) to do so!
Monday, August 16, 2010
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
billy elliot: ARGH!!!!
Billy Elliot: movie starring the kid from jumper
...i liked him (imdb tells me he'll be playing st. john in a new version of jane eyre...okay, a., what's this version of jane eyre, and b., um, i would need to see this to believe it--not that i don't think he can do it, just that i'd like to see it)--i liked him and his brother and father and both the kids who have crushes on him, and i feel like the plot was handled delicately, and--
ARRRRGH!!! i don't even know what it is; just ARRRRGH! why did this movie give me such a pain? is it because i've turned my face against goodness and decency in movies? i want expostulation, rapidfire verbiage, and easily explicable plotlines with pre-recognizable emotional arcs?
probably.
i mean, as far as i could tell, it totally had a soul--and not just a soul within parameters, as some of these movies that i object so violently to do (the virgin suicides...just as an example). it had a respect for billy's process of self-expression; it showed us the way that he danced as himself, if you see what i'm getting at. i really liked that. not that i'm, like, the thoth of soul-in-movies-judging, no matter how much i like to pretend otherwise. i find myself humbled before billy elliot; i didn't like it, but i want to have. i'm capable of rejecting so many things so cruelly because of imagined slights or half-intentions, things not well thought out, too generic, or what have you. but none of these excuses for dislike apply in this case. hell, billy elliot even has marc bolan.
well, here we go--and prepare to be impressed with my audience paranoia manifesting itself yet again: i think maybe billy elliot highlights the fact (in my eyes, anyway) that cinematography itself can be a trap. i wonder if i can get away with saying that a visual, no matter how lovingly crafted, beautifully created, and germane to the point, can't tell a story.
i'm more than willing to concede that this claim may not be solid. but go with me for the moment. a visual, in its usual state, can capture an essence--and in the case of billy elliot, sometimes, the visual goes beyond the essential to, for lack of a better-established term, a sort of wild nights self-identification* (which, i'd argue, a moment captured in any medium can do--singing, pain, whatevs). this is of an awesomeness: not just the filmmaker's skill with visual representation, but his characterization of billy, are impressively bodied out by such moments.
but it's not storytelling.
yeah. arrgh, right? great characterization and beautiful depiction of states of uber-being are not storytelling, apparently. thanks, brain. i reeeally appreciate your opinions on this.
i guess what i'm trying to say is that without storytelling, with only atmosphere, i don't feel like the film survives. but it's just my opinion, and i rarely know what i'm talking about. i think it should be seen because of the things it has going for it being really great...
it's just that in the absence of an arc, even a strong characterization boils down to a bunch of beautiful and painful moments--extremely painful, because pointless. now, is this a reflection of the experience of life itself? possibly, but i don't think so. i've set my face against dub-cee williams** in this respect--i do think that every moment builds from a previous moment, and that that's why words in the end are a reflection of reality, rather than an imposition on reality (though they might not be the only reflection, and may to some extent be something of an imposition). more importantly, i don't think billy elliot provides an effective counter-argument to the above-stated. maybe nothing could, for me, except, like, something really bad, such as catalina caper. billy elliot doesn't touch me, except to hurt me. the hurt doesn't bring identification, but alienation. and i would argue (again, possibly untenably) that artistic stuff does carry the burden of hurting its audience in order to make said audience identify.
okay, i'm way out there now, and, if asked, would probably not be able to bring the argument back to anything specific to billy elliot, so should probably stop.
*jouissance? i don't think so...but i also may never have understood the term properly.
**william carlos williams' me-appointed '90's emcee name.
...i liked him (imdb tells me he'll be playing st. john in a new version of jane eyre...okay, a., what's this version of jane eyre, and b., um, i would need to see this to believe it--not that i don't think he can do it, just that i'd like to see it)--i liked him and his brother and father and both the kids who have crushes on him, and i feel like the plot was handled delicately, and--
ARRRRGH!!! i don't even know what it is; just ARRRRGH! why did this movie give me such a pain? is it because i've turned my face against goodness and decency in movies? i want expostulation, rapidfire verbiage, and easily explicable plotlines with pre-recognizable emotional arcs?
probably.
i mean, as far as i could tell, it totally had a soul--and not just a soul within parameters, as some of these movies that i object so violently to do (the virgin suicides...just as an example). it had a respect for billy's process of self-expression; it showed us the way that he danced as himself, if you see what i'm getting at. i really liked that. not that i'm, like, the thoth of soul-in-movies-judging, no matter how much i like to pretend otherwise. i find myself humbled before billy elliot; i didn't like it, but i want to have. i'm capable of rejecting so many things so cruelly because of imagined slights or half-intentions, things not well thought out, too generic, or what have you. but none of these excuses for dislike apply in this case. hell, billy elliot even has marc bolan.
well, here we go--and prepare to be impressed with my audience paranoia manifesting itself yet again: i think maybe billy elliot highlights the fact (in my eyes, anyway) that cinematography itself can be a trap. i wonder if i can get away with saying that a visual, no matter how lovingly crafted, beautifully created, and germane to the point, can't tell a story.
i'm more than willing to concede that this claim may not be solid. but go with me for the moment. a visual, in its usual state, can capture an essence--and in the case of billy elliot, sometimes, the visual goes beyond the essential to, for lack of a better-established term, a sort of wild nights self-identification* (which, i'd argue, a moment captured in any medium can do--singing, pain, whatevs). this is of an awesomeness: not just the filmmaker's skill with visual representation, but his characterization of billy, are impressively bodied out by such moments.
but it's not storytelling.
yeah. arrgh, right? great characterization and beautiful depiction of states of uber-being are not storytelling, apparently. thanks, brain. i reeeally appreciate your opinions on this.
i guess what i'm trying to say is that without storytelling, with only atmosphere, i don't feel like the film survives. but it's just my opinion, and i rarely know what i'm talking about. i think it should be seen because of the things it has going for it being really great...
it's just that in the absence of an arc, even a strong characterization boils down to a bunch of beautiful and painful moments--extremely painful, because pointless. now, is this a reflection of the experience of life itself? possibly, but i don't think so. i've set my face against dub-cee williams** in this respect--i do think that every moment builds from a previous moment, and that that's why words in the end are a reflection of reality, rather than an imposition on reality (though they might not be the only reflection, and may to some extent be something of an imposition). more importantly, i don't think billy elliot provides an effective counter-argument to the above-stated. maybe nothing could, for me, except, like, something really bad, such as catalina caper. billy elliot doesn't touch me, except to hurt me. the hurt doesn't bring identification, but alienation. and i would argue (again, possibly untenably) that artistic stuff does carry the burden of hurting its audience in order to make said audience identify.
okay, i'm way out there now, and, if asked, would probably not be able to bring the argument back to anything specific to billy elliot, so should probably stop.
*jouissance? i don't think so...but i also may never have understood the term properly.
**william carlos williams' me-appointed '90's emcee name.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
the big sleep, or when a classic's a classic, it's classic!
The Big Sleep: black and white starring...let's go with regis toomey as chief inspector bernie ohls
i think i could watch howard hawks' direction of paint drying. that dude kicks frank capra's ass out the door, as far as i am concerned. it happened one night? come on, what is there to write home about in that? clark gable's trumpet solo? hawks is the man for my money. i mean, capra comes up with these gorgeous shots that, ironically enough, end up with the same kind of aesthetic as '30's russian propaganda posters. cinematographic might makes right. the beauty of mr. deeds goes to washington is, for me, implicated by the judgmental, pixillated values of its storyline: the pictures so lushly captured by the film take on the same shape as its morals, become corrupted by their own desperate simplicity.
with hawks, you don't need to worry about anything being too simple. there's always a lot going on, and if one doesn't condone all of it (not that one has to, per se), it's okay, because there are so many other things that one can watch going on instead. for instance, i'm not too sure about all these random "sweethearts" and "dolls" that make philip marlowe so obviously the man of the hour...but i can let that go, because there was a lot of awesome crowding in around what i found objectionable.
i liked--fairly well--that it stuck pretty close to the book. there were more african americans, gay people, and nudes in the book, but, yeah, what can one expect? my main problem and yet delight was the bacall/bogart relationship, because it's what one wants from the book and does not get...but at the same time the book gives one something--well, okay, here's the final paragraph from the book:
"On the way downtown I stopped at a bar and had a couple of double Scotches. They didn't do me any good. All they made me do was think of Silver-Wig [that's Eddie Mars' wife], and I never saw her again."
this, after one of chandler's bizarre, tight, lush diatribes about death, is pretty much genius. It clings to the brain; it captures, you know, something (not sure quite what--some emotional state of loss and hard dreaming, maybe) exactly. it's like, in making the good parts version of the big sleep, the screenwriters lost the great parts version, which is the book. but on the other hand, i see what they were doing, because you can't just deny a '40's audience its bogey and bacall ending. you have to make allowances for the medium and for expectations. i guess '40's cinema is kind of like ours today--everything gets candy-coated because the consumer is king, or something like that. i mean, the big sleep has a big old edge to it--it's downright wicked within parameters (bacall singing "and her tears flowed like wine," the whole horse racing metaphor), but, as with movies today, there are certain things that just can't be depicted, can't be questioned. in the movie. the book is a slightly different story (one which leaves me questioning, among other things, raymond chandler's sexuality...but that's yet another story), but it was intended for a different audience (i think). chandler could write for pulp readers; hollywood couldn't produce movies for pulp watchers. or that's how it feels.
the above is a small sampling of my to-be famous "history by intuition." irving stone, i am not.
anyway, it's interesting to think about. all the acting is awesome, and the movie moves itself along. and the soundtrack is so cool. all those lush, almost formulaic developments, and the quasi-quixotic details...it's neat. it's keen.
yes. i've weighed in on the big sleep. because it was obvious that there needed to be yet another opinion on this classic available to the internet-having public. no need to thank me, america.
i think i could watch howard hawks' direction of paint drying. that dude kicks frank capra's ass out the door, as far as i am concerned. it happened one night? come on, what is there to write home about in that? clark gable's trumpet solo? hawks is the man for my money. i mean, capra comes up with these gorgeous shots that, ironically enough, end up with the same kind of aesthetic as '30's russian propaganda posters. cinematographic might makes right. the beauty of mr. deeds goes to washington is, for me, implicated by the judgmental, pixillated values of its storyline: the pictures so lushly captured by the film take on the same shape as its morals, become corrupted by their own desperate simplicity.
with hawks, you don't need to worry about anything being too simple. there's always a lot going on, and if one doesn't condone all of it (not that one has to, per se), it's okay, because there are so many other things that one can watch going on instead. for instance, i'm not too sure about all these random "sweethearts" and "dolls" that make philip marlowe so obviously the man of the hour...but i can let that go, because there was a lot of awesome crowding in around what i found objectionable.
i liked--fairly well--that it stuck pretty close to the book. there were more african americans, gay people, and nudes in the book, but, yeah, what can one expect? my main problem and yet delight was the bacall/bogart relationship, because it's what one wants from the book and does not get...but at the same time the book gives one something--well, okay, here's the final paragraph from the book:
"On the way downtown I stopped at a bar and had a couple of double Scotches. They didn't do me any good. All they made me do was think of Silver-Wig [that's Eddie Mars' wife], and I never saw her again."
this, after one of chandler's bizarre, tight, lush diatribes about death, is pretty much genius. It clings to the brain; it captures, you know, something (not sure quite what--some emotional state of loss and hard dreaming, maybe) exactly. it's like, in making the good parts version of the big sleep, the screenwriters lost the great parts version, which is the book. but on the other hand, i see what they were doing, because you can't just deny a '40's audience its bogey and bacall ending. you have to make allowances for the medium and for expectations. i guess '40's cinema is kind of like ours today--everything gets candy-coated because the consumer is king, or something like that. i mean, the big sleep has a big old edge to it--it's downright wicked within parameters (bacall singing "and her tears flowed like wine," the whole horse racing metaphor), but, as with movies today, there are certain things that just can't be depicted, can't be questioned. in the movie. the book is a slightly different story (one which leaves me questioning, among other things, raymond chandler's sexuality...but that's yet another story), but it was intended for a different audience (i think). chandler could write for pulp readers; hollywood couldn't produce movies for pulp watchers. or that's how it feels.
the above is a small sampling of my to-be famous "history by intuition." irving stone, i am not.
anyway, it's interesting to think about. all the acting is awesome, and the movie moves itself along. and the soundtrack is so cool. all those lush, almost formulaic developments, and the quasi-quixotic details...it's neat. it's keen.
yes. i've weighed in on the big sleep. because it was obvious that there needed to be yet another opinion on this classic available to the internet-having public. no need to thank me, america.
Saturday, August 7, 2010
step up 3d: do not see this movie on hard drugs
Step Up 3d: sequel 3, in 3d
i'm absolutely serious about the drugs thing. i wasn't even drunk, and the 3d freaked me out. if you want to turn a dancing movie into a horror movie...yes, this is how you do it. eeeyaaa, creepy.
things i didn't like about this movie:
1. the costumes. i don't know much about hip-hop culture, and i don't want to sound like a crazy old "get off the lawn with your hula hoops and soda cans" youth-hating mr. wilson-type person, but some of these costumes were just uncalled for in their ugliness. some of them were pretty okay--but you know it's bad when the hot male lead comes onscreen and for one second you're like, "hey, he actually looks vaguely attractive in what he's wearing." you know how the stuff the girl wears in breakin' is just unbelievable? it's like that feeling...but you're watching a movie that's happening now. very bizarre.
2. uh, i don't know. there were a lot of loose ends and other such objections.
...but who cares? the leads were likeable--many of them were pretty awesome actors too--the storyline was a little scattered, but cute--and there was a point at which my friend was like, "when did this become a good movie?", because the end (until the plot got rolling again) was actually kind of awesome. i mean, the group dynamic was totally adorable.
and then there was the dancing, which is, aside from fashion tips (that was irony) and watching people hang out together, the obvious reason to see this movie. i mean, the 3d was FRIGHTENING, but the dancing was AWESOME, and i enjoyed the freak out of it. i don't think this film was attempting to be edgy. there wasn't a racial or class conflict in sight, and i don't think closeted sexual tension between the male leads counts as an edge in a film designed for the delugation of preteens cuz come on what movie aimed toward that demographic doesn't have such stuff?
actually, now that i'm thinking about it, the lack of a racial or class conflict kind of worries me. i mean, racial and class conflicts usually come to pretty fatuous conclusions in dance movies, but at least the dance movie is a ground on which said conflicts get played out. is this an indicator of the fact that america is finally truly post-racial? or is post-racial america a place where we can't even fantasize about resolving class and race conflicts?
or are there other, more intelligently expressed and explored ways to understand the meaning of the lack of race-class conflict in step up 3d? let's think about that one.
...
oh well, i guess there are always high school sports movies.
i'm absolutely serious about the drugs thing. i wasn't even drunk, and the 3d freaked me out. if you want to turn a dancing movie into a horror movie...yes, this is how you do it. eeeyaaa, creepy.
things i didn't like about this movie:
1. the costumes. i don't know much about hip-hop culture, and i don't want to sound like a crazy old "get off the lawn with your hula hoops and soda cans" youth-hating mr. wilson-type person, but some of these costumes were just uncalled for in their ugliness. some of them were pretty okay--but you know it's bad when the hot male lead comes onscreen and for one second you're like, "hey, he actually looks vaguely attractive in what he's wearing." you know how the stuff the girl wears in breakin' is just unbelievable? it's like that feeling...but you're watching a movie that's happening now. very bizarre.
2. uh, i don't know. there were a lot of loose ends and other such objections.
...but who cares? the leads were likeable--many of them were pretty awesome actors too--the storyline was a little scattered, but cute--and there was a point at which my friend was like, "when did this become a good movie?", because the end (until the plot got rolling again) was actually kind of awesome. i mean, the group dynamic was totally adorable.
and then there was the dancing, which is, aside from fashion tips (that was irony) and watching people hang out together, the obvious reason to see this movie. i mean, the 3d was FRIGHTENING, but the dancing was AWESOME, and i enjoyed the freak out of it. i don't think this film was attempting to be edgy. there wasn't a racial or class conflict in sight, and i don't think closeted sexual tension between the male leads counts as an edge in a film designed for the delugation of preteens cuz come on what movie aimed toward that demographic doesn't have such stuff?
actually, now that i'm thinking about it, the lack of a racial or class conflict kind of worries me. i mean, racial and class conflicts usually come to pretty fatuous conclusions in dance movies, but at least the dance movie is a ground on which said conflicts get played out. is this an indicator of the fact that america is finally truly post-racial? or is post-racial america a place where we can't even fantasize about resolving class and race conflicts?
or are there other, more intelligently expressed and explored ways to understand the meaning of the lack of race-class conflict in step up 3d? let's think about that one.
...
oh well, i guess there are always high school sports movies.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
water lilies: so much better than "therese and isabel"
Water Lilies: film in French, brought to me by instant Neflix
i don't think i can say anything particularly intelligent about this, but i really really liked it. there was a lot of the camera staring at pauline acquart's face--deservedly so; she was amazing.
it's just me--i admit, it's just me, but i like dialogue. i remember dialogue fondly. now, water lilies, unlike, say, the last airbender, really pulls off its lack of dialogue--i felt like water lilies does what it does so well that there's almost no need to criticize. but there is a bit of a...well, not need, of course, but desire to do so. i don't love the ending, because i feel like the overall silence of the film doesn't establish the two best friends' friendship fully enough to make the final image have the meaning it needs to to end such a good film in a fulfilling way, or even a satisfyingly un-fulfilling way.
but it's a pretty wonderful movie. i always get caught up in objections such as, "okay, you captured the heck out of the atmosphere that you're attempting to capture, film-that's-not-water lilies (for example, harry potter 6)--but why the heck do we care? YES, there's an atmosphere! YES, we can practically breathe it in! NO, an atmosphere doesn't do everything to insure yourself a meaningful movie! man cannot live by an atmosphere alone!" (though, to be fair, he can't live without it, either.) i do not have these objections about water lilies. i was like, "YES, there's an atmosphere! and the atmosphere is YES!! well done, atmosphere! i really feel like you're showing me something not just beautiful, but beautifully germane to the movie."
all the focusing on pauline acquart's face is kind of an example of this. to me, it exemplifies the feeling of claustrophobia that i remember from being fifteen--the necessity, and the intense pressure, of knowing exactly where your hands and feet are and what your face is expressing, and the inability to know, really, anything beyond said pressure. the world may be beautiful; it's also intensely outside one. that was why the whole thing with eating the garbage apple was so wonderfully illustrative (just an example out of a whole movie's worth of wonderfully illustrative moments): pauline acquart character is trying to make a connection (and pauline acquart does this beautifully, like she does the whole thing beautifully--the other actresses are also really wonderful, but the movie's about the pauline acquart character, so the whole thing rides on her, and she really carries it)... anyway, i feel like the water lilies atmosphere contributed to its storyline, as opposed to either standing in for said storyline, or floating alongside said storyline.
one might argue that the atmosphere was the storyline. i guess i wouldn't object to that reading of the film. but if so, the atmosphere was an actual story, with characters and wild nights* dynamics, as opposed to a series of "profound" metaphors or a cover for pointlessness.
so, yay. thank you, water lilies. for proving to me that i can like somewhat serious films...sometimes...provided they're about teenage lesbians (i know, i know, it's not actually a lesbian film).
*i keep using this phrase--just in case one hasn't heard the poem, it goes thusly:
"Wild Nights--Wild Nights!
Were I with Thee
Wild Nights should be
Our luxury!
Futile--the Winds--
To a Heart in port--
Done with the Compass--
Done with the Chart!
Rowing in Eden--
Ah, the Sea!
Might I but moor--Tonight--
In Thee!"
ah, emily dickinson. that's why i love the idea, and her. the reason i can remember the line (totally different proposition, of course) is because of a parody i couldn't help writing when i forgot the rest of the poem:
"Wild Nights! Wild Nights!
Let me Come In!--
Not--by the Hair--
On my Chinny Chin Chin!"
the more you know.
it's just me--i admit, it's just me, but i like dialogue. i remember dialogue fondly. now, water lilies, unlike, say, the last airbender, really pulls off its lack of dialogue--i felt like water lilies does what it does so well that there's almost no need to criticize. but there is a bit of a...well, not need, of course, but desire to do so. i don't love the ending, because i feel like the overall silence of the film doesn't establish the two best friends' friendship fully enough to make the final image have the meaning it needs to to end such a good film in a fulfilling way, or even a satisfyingly un-fulfilling way.
but it's a pretty wonderful movie. i always get caught up in objections such as, "okay, you captured the heck out of the atmosphere that you're attempting to capture, film-that's-not-water lilies (for example, harry potter 6)--but why the heck do we care? YES, there's an atmosphere! YES, we can practically breathe it in! NO, an atmosphere doesn't do everything to insure yourself a meaningful movie! man cannot live by an atmosphere alone!" (though, to be fair, he can't live without it, either.) i do not have these objections about water lilies. i was like, "YES, there's an atmosphere! and the atmosphere is YES!! well done, atmosphere! i really feel like you're showing me something not just beautiful, but beautifully germane to the movie."
all the focusing on pauline acquart's face is kind of an example of this. to me, it exemplifies the feeling of claustrophobia that i remember from being fifteen--the necessity, and the intense pressure, of knowing exactly where your hands and feet are and what your face is expressing, and the inability to know, really, anything beyond said pressure. the world may be beautiful; it's also intensely outside one. that was why the whole thing with eating the garbage apple was so wonderfully illustrative (just an example out of a whole movie's worth of wonderfully illustrative moments): pauline acquart character is trying to make a connection (and pauline acquart does this beautifully, like she does the whole thing beautifully--the other actresses are also really wonderful, but the movie's about the pauline acquart character, so the whole thing rides on her, and she really carries it)... anyway, i feel like the water lilies atmosphere contributed to its storyline, as opposed to either standing in for said storyline, or floating alongside said storyline.
one might argue that the atmosphere was the storyline. i guess i wouldn't object to that reading of the film. but if so, the atmosphere was an actual story, with characters and wild nights* dynamics, as opposed to a series of "profound" metaphors or a cover for pointlessness.
so, yay. thank you, water lilies. for proving to me that i can like somewhat serious films...sometimes...provided they're about teenage lesbians (i know, i know, it's not actually a lesbian film).
*i keep using this phrase--just in case one hasn't heard the poem, it goes thusly:
"Wild Nights--Wild Nights!
Were I with Thee
Wild Nights should be
Our luxury!
Futile--the Winds--
To a Heart in port--
Done with the Compass--
Done with the Chart!
Rowing in Eden--
Ah, the Sea!
Might I but moor--Tonight--
In Thee!"
ah, emily dickinson. that's why i love the idea, and her. the reason i can remember the line (totally different proposition, of course) is because of a parody i couldn't help writing when i forgot the rest of the poem:
"Wild Nights! Wild Nights!
Let me Come In!--
Not--by the Hair--
On my Chinny Chin Chin!"
the more you know.
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