I've been into the entertainment industry since I was old enough to watch things and remember them, so it's been about 24 years of observation, research and revelry. I had my first subscription to Entertainment Weekly at age eight, if that gives you an idea. My primary focus has always been movies, outside of love and fear, they are the great unifier. A visual medium of story telling that can reach anyone in their living room to provide safe escape when you most need it/want it is a beautiful thing. For that reason, I'm a walking catalog of actors, directors, and producers (composers and key-grips, even) keeping a vigilant eye on up and comers and those that break from the pack of (ENDLESS) remakes and dumbed-down rom-coms. It's my main hobby, if not an occupational investment in one of my great passions. If you are interested in something, learn everything you can, becoming an "expert" like those that are regarded as such on a grander pay scale. My fellow nerds know what I'm saying.
I've had hands on experience in making these 120 minute vacations, I know of what I type. I had a stint in development (re-writes to a would-be script), assisted in casting and story boarding. I was an extra for a year (and can be seen in the moving scenery of about 60 odd projects), had a featured few seconds of "B-ball kissing girl" glory in the indie horror movie Katie Bird, saw production in action and absorbed life on set for a good chunk of time. It was fascinating and infuriating. I'm a tough nut to crack when it comes to endorsement, most projects tend to rule themselves out in the first few minutes, simply by following footsteps to perpetuate money making instead of art expressing.
That said, I'll watch anything to the end and give it a fair shake. I can glean goodness from even the lackluster-est. I might want to choke my own self out based on the supposed acting, but the lighting design or costume design or soundtrack could rock, so enjoy that aspect. And when ALL of it fails to hit home, just bust out some Mystery Science Theatre 3000 commentary, and have my own personalized entertainment. I try to be an impartial observer, not just a film snob that references "classics" for comparison. Those folks tend to come off as the authority on your personal taste based on what was, something that's not only impossible, but offensive at times. I'll listen to a few critics in particular-we tend to agree, and I can call them when I hear of them usually-but for the most part, I'll give it a whirl and decide for myself. I encourage you all to do the same. At the risk of sounding like a hypocrite-ahem-I have good leads for you.
Critics, audiences (or anyone else that doesn't get it), be damned, the following writer/directors are the Yin and Yang of groundbreaking cinematic adventure currently, weather they realize themselves, or get recognized as such. If you long for style, smart and sleek over the usual fare, and haven't absorbed these fellas work, let this aid in your quest for the almighty mind-altering, interesting film.
Christopher Nolan, ain't new to critical acclaim, or audience acceptance, deservedly so. He swiftly, gracefully paints masterpieces of tone, texture and triumph, in vibrant shades of seedy human conflict, occasionally and subtly gesturing at humor and culture to accent the dramatic portraiture unfolding before you. I've seen everything from the most intimate (his engrossing student film Following), to his most blockbuster-y (the Batman franchise, that he's done more artistic justice to than any preceding director), and regardless of funding or hype sustained (he deserves both), he arcs hefty plot line, jerks tears and pulls the occasional, genuine laugh while he amazes you visually, in a grounded, realistic, intelligent way. Memento, Insomniac, The Prestige. They all reek with envelope-pushing vision, and man it smells good. He challenges the norm out of his passion for a good story, totally at ease on the leading edge. It's a tricky place to be. The Academy snubbed him in the Best Director category this year, but I doubt he minds. Awards never live up to the real prize, a legacy of excellent film.
If Nolan paints larger than life pictures, Edgar Wright then, raps bright, flashy, staccato jams of buffoonery, bad-assery, and camaraderie, with a gasp-for-airs-worth of naked emotion or common place story line-but those few seconds are so sudden and genuine, you're moved-and grooving with it all is inevitable. Even the most modern movie go-er can relate to his work, in all their ADD (or ADHD if you care) fickleness. Wright acknowledges that and does it one better, as it seems to be the stem of so many pandering studio tricks, ones he pokes playfully at. I fell in love with Shaun of the Dead and Hot Fuzz instantly. Then subsequently saw the brilliant episodic Spaced, and knew then that he really is a comedic genius, not a two-off gem that Hollywood borrowed from England. He fuses pop culture past and present so quickly and deftly into his own brand of hilarity, all you can do is keep up giddily. It's a word. Scott Pilgrim vs The World just graced my DVD player (yes, I'm tardy to the party again), and even though Simon Pegg was abscent in this chunk of fantastic, none of Edgars' signature edge was. He has yet to reach the household name status Nolan has touched on, but he is every bit as deserving. His comedy is inspired.
The two might be opposites in "genre" (so far), but they willfully bend any conventional categorizing, fusing them all together at times. Both know that you have to start with good writing and work your way out. Both are nerds themselves, they have specifics in mind and won't compromise their ideas. Whatever the feeling evoked, both oversee execution (in dialogue and visuals) so precise, you have to watch their films twice/rewind repeatedly to catch every bit of nuance. They both ask you to take their hand and sprint alongside them, as opposed to the throngs of so many others that grab your hand gruffly only to trot or stumble, because they're too lost in their own bull-honkey to cross the finish line to completion.
Our culture on the whole tends to love a good explosion, Black Eyed Peas song bumping in the background, the main character flashing charisma and one-liner flair, and that's all good too, as I said before. Ultimately though, that kind of redundant movie experience leaves you as quickly as it comes along, so what's the point, really? If we are to celebrate the industry as it encourages us to, let's do it in honor of those slinging integrity and innovation for your hard earned buck, I say.
Cheers to both respective super heroes of film rescuing us from certain boredom, defying the villainy of forgettable crap. I eagerly await the next epic battle, from both.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Monday, January 10, 2011
The SMD: Light At Last
Us mamas work in reiteration like Van Gogh in toxic, edible paints. It's necessary for our craft but, boy howdy, is it monotonous. I've gone months with the same phrase of discipline on replay like a solo Mantra for Dummies seminar that I can't leave. "Clean your mess" and "Treat others with love and respect" aren't just life lessons and skills to hone, but daily, grating audio backdrops. You doubt they hear you, care or the longest shot, that they are retaining any knowledge you're dropping all over them. How sweet it is when you catch them connecting the dots in thought and/or practice.
Many firsts have happened this year for the Loganator and myself. First year of school (battling germs and influences of others), first time being a steady volunteer (love it for the kiddos, hate the politics), first time remaining in a place that we have no real support system (and succeeding at all with flying colors, if I might subtly toot me ol' horn). When the "firsts" occur, "indefinatelys" are sure to follow, and all the dogged coaching along the way. We trudge, soldier, and keep keepin' on.
I've recently become part of a twosome (refer to The SMD: My Own Betrayer for any backlog on how rare it is that I am legitimately), something that single children are none-too pleased about, especially if the single child has a single mama as her only touchstone. And vice versa.
It's been quite the awkward roller coaster at times...Logan's idea of men is slightly skewed and limited. From her dad not being in the picture to her Grand dad and uncles being around two to three times a year with minimal interaction in between, she tends to struggle with the masculine and where they fit, I've been both for her all her life.
We made our annual trek to Wyoming for the holidays this year (let me sum it up: COLD, family elation/drama, friend elation/drama, wonderful gifts, hellatious travel), and around the fourth or fifth day, my dad mentioned to me that Logan had been a lot cooler to him this trip. I queried for details, and he said in his gruff, comforting, blue-collar-stoic growl "just in general".
You don't have to be Freud to figure that one, but it warmed the very crevices of my heart to hear. Lo and behold, the living, breathing standard to which us ladies hold up all potential dudes to (with all the heart rending results) is giving me props on how my daughter (by-product of a major previous potential dude and I), relates to him. I know that consistently having a male individual around that's joyously plays with her, backs me up discipline wise and shows us love and affection openly has helped her realize all the broken record talks about trust and navigating relationships with men in her life, aren't just words. How awesome for her, and all three of us together. Well, four if you count dad. Seems wrong not to.
The other big one has been the petition for a pet. Logan is hell bent on getting a little white mouse or a chameleon, or a kitten or the holy grail: a puppy. Homegirl can't even put her dishes in the kitchen or clean up her Moon Sand (damn the Moon Sand!) without a good ten minute prodding. I intimated long ago that in order to have a pet, she needs to get her poop in a group and start showing-not telling-how she is responsible enough to take on another living creature and be it's soul benefactor. Before bed last week, she had a revelation (all her best ones come at that particular time, where mine are in the shower). "Mama...I think I'm going to be good. I'm going to help out and even make friends with Randy more." Randy is the plus-sized odd duck in class, one that Logan is hesitant to needlessly include in anything, so I know she's really thought about this if she's mentioning him. I responded that I'm proud of her decision, hope she'll see it through.
The next day she came home with a teal star (meaning she was awesome in class), and an ear-to-ear grin that came from not just the years of pep-talks on responsibility/good leadership finally making sense, but the fact that she was the captain in command of it all. It was one of the best moments at the bus stop to date. No pet yet, but she's getting there.
It's starting to feel like I'll be at Logan's graduation ceremony by the end of 2011, how fast it goes. Enjoying the journey is paramount. I know that this tunnel to decent, thriving adulthood we're sculpting together is dark, dreary and claustrophobic at times. Then that dawn breaks, and we can see our work ahead ain't so bad after all.
Many firsts have happened this year for the Loganator and myself. First year of school (battling germs and influences of others), first time being a steady volunteer (love it for the kiddos, hate the politics), first time remaining in a place that we have no real support system (and succeeding at all with flying colors, if I might subtly toot me ol' horn). When the "firsts" occur, "indefinatelys" are sure to follow, and all the dogged coaching along the way. We trudge, soldier, and keep keepin' on.
I've recently become part of a twosome (refer to The SMD: My Own Betrayer for any backlog on how rare it is that I am legitimately), something that single children are none-too pleased about, especially if the single child has a single mama as her only touchstone. And vice versa.
It's been quite the awkward roller coaster at times...Logan's idea of men is slightly skewed and limited. From her dad not being in the picture to her Grand dad and uncles being around two to three times a year with minimal interaction in between, she tends to struggle with the masculine and where they fit, I've been both for her all her life.
We made our annual trek to Wyoming for the holidays this year (let me sum it up: COLD, family elation/drama, friend elation/drama, wonderful gifts, hellatious travel), and around the fourth or fifth day, my dad mentioned to me that Logan had been a lot cooler to him this trip. I queried for details, and he said in his gruff, comforting, blue-collar-stoic growl "just in general".
You don't have to be Freud to figure that one, but it warmed the very crevices of my heart to hear. Lo and behold, the living, breathing standard to which us ladies hold up all potential dudes to (with all the heart rending results) is giving me props on how my daughter (by-product of a major previous potential dude and I), relates to him. I know that consistently having a male individual around that's joyously plays with her, backs me up discipline wise and shows us love and affection openly has helped her realize all the broken record talks about trust and navigating relationships with men in her life, aren't just words. How awesome for her, and all three of us together. Well, four if you count dad. Seems wrong not to.
The other big one has been the petition for a pet. Logan is hell bent on getting a little white mouse or a chameleon, or a kitten or the holy grail: a puppy. Homegirl can't even put her dishes in the kitchen or clean up her Moon Sand (damn the Moon Sand!) without a good ten minute prodding. I intimated long ago that in order to have a pet, she needs to get her poop in a group and start showing-not telling-how she is responsible enough to take on another living creature and be it's soul benefactor. Before bed last week, she had a revelation (all her best ones come at that particular time, where mine are in the shower). "Mama...I think I'm going to be good. I'm going to help out and even make friends with Randy more." Randy is the plus-sized odd duck in class, one that Logan is hesitant to needlessly include in anything, so I know she's really thought about this if she's mentioning him. I responded that I'm proud of her decision, hope she'll see it through.
The next day she came home with a teal star (meaning she was awesome in class), and an ear-to-ear grin that came from not just the years of pep-talks on responsibility/good leadership finally making sense, but the fact that she was the captain in command of it all. It was one of the best moments at the bus stop to date. No pet yet, but she's getting there.
It's starting to feel like I'll be at Logan's graduation ceremony by the end of 2011, how fast it goes. Enjoying the journey is paramount. I know that this tunnel to decent, thriving adulthood we're sculpting together is dark, dreary and claustrophobic at times. Then that dawn breaks, and we can see our work ahead ain't so bad after all.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
