life and puppies

Why do we like scary movies?  Sarayu, don’t answer that.  I took a film class in college on horror movies.  We watched movies like Cat People, Halloween, The Exorcist and Beetlejuice.  We studied patterns in the genre and talked about the sound bus and other conventions.  We talked a little about different philosophies of why these movies can be so appealing — ideas like, we generally live very safe lives and these movies satisfy some deep need to turn on our fight-or-flight instincts from time to time.  All that aside, and for whatever reason, I do like a good scary movie now and then.  Or at least I think I do.

Last night I was truly scared.  I saw The Strangers.  Ben said that he wasn’t interested in seeing it because he thought that a movie about people being terrorized by masked killers wasn’t so much a horror movie as it was just a gross movie about torture, which is a fair argument, I suppose.  But I read the reviews, saw the previews and wanted to see it.  It sure looked loads better than Vacancy.  I walked into the theater already scared, but ready to brace myself.  There were a bunch of other people in the theater, which was good, as long as they didn’t sit directly behind me.  There was also a guy who was pretty vocal with his laughter and cries of “No!”  In Out of Africa, I would have been furious; during The Strangers, I was grateful.

The movie starts with what I thought was very cool imagery: sort of moving snapshots of a street with homes that get further and further apart, leading you into a clearly more and more remote area.  Then there are snapshots of two Mormon-like young lads slowly entering a house, shots of blood spatter, and the sound of a 911 call in which the caller states that he doesn’t know where he is, but there’s blood everywhere.

Cut.

Ben (as I will call him because Heather did, though, yes, I realize his name is really Scott Speedman and his movie names is James, Jamie or Jimmy) and Liv are driving a Volvo (very horror movie car — safe, reliable, Swedish), she’s crying, he’s looking Ben-like.  They’re returning home from a wedding to what was described in the opening narrative as Ben’s family’s summer home.  Just an aside here: this is a totally weird summer home.  It’s a 1950s or 60s ranch that is stuffed to the gills.  I mean, there are knickknacks everywhere.  I guess some folks would use their summer homes to unload junk from their everyday homes, but there was nothing in this house that said hey, sit, relax, unwind — you’re on summer vacation!  It looked more like someone’s grandparents’ house.  Additionally, although its location was clearly remote, it still seemed to be in some sort of suburban neighborhood.  I don’t know.  Something about the house just didn’t seem to fit for me.  And that there was Corona in the fridge of the summer home in February.  And that Ben got the mail from the mailbox even though he’d been there earlier that day.  Anyway, that’s neither here nor there, though it’s obvious that I was distracted by it. 

The movie did a nice job of providing some tension between Ben and Liv without delving too deep.  I think it’s important to know a little about the characters you’re about to want desperately to survive the terror.  So, we find out that he’s just proposed and she clearly didn’t jump at the offer.  But she’s sad, he’s embarrassed.  He still takes care of her by unzipping her dress, lighting her a fire, and going to buy her cigs when she says she’s out (another interesting bit: the cigs.  In this age where groups seem to be threatening Hollywood with their anti-smoking zeal, we see super-sweet Liv chimney smoking.  Not that I’m worried about the tobacco lobby, but I was surprised by the Marlboro plugs).  I suppose the cigs were needed to get Ben out of the house so our heroine can begin the super scary stuff alone.  Which is what happens.  He leaves, and weird stuff starts.  Well, not entirely true.  Someone pounds on the door before he leaves and says, “Is Tamara home?” or something like that.  Not only did this person interrupt the great Wilco/Billy Bragg song on the record player — as well as Ben and Liv about to consummate their non-engagement — but it’s truly FREAKY.  It’s 4 am.  Do not answer the door when someone pounds on it.  Plus, this girl’s voice is enough to send me to the phone to call 911.

Freaky girl:  Is Tamara there?

Kate: [frantically dialing 911]

911 Operator: What’s your emergency?

Kate: There is a totally freaked out girl at my door asking me if Tamara is here.

So, Tamara is not home, girl has the wrong house.  Nevermind that it’s 4 in the morning and the girl is outside your damn super-isolated/suburban summer home in February with no car.  I mean, hello?  What the hell is she doing there?  And Ben is all, should I go after her?  People get lost out here all the time.  On foot?  At 4 in the morning?  In February in a supposed summer home area?  Argh.

Now I know that horror movies are meant to be frustrating (don’t open the door!  Turn around!  Don’t go out there!), but I must comment on the frustration because that’s sort of part of the whole experience, isn’t it?  Afterwards — and during — saying to yourself, or out loud, “If only….”  If only they hadn’t answered the door, if only Ben hadn’t gone for those cigarettes, if only he’d listened to Liv when she said a damned masked man was at the back door, if only she’d accepted his proposal…

The thing about this horror movie, though — if it can legitimately be called horror (more on this later) — is the sheer random-ness of it.  There is no Michael Myers who’s stalking his sister and her friends (or whatever that was about) or Freddie coming around to get revenge or even the devil himself taking aim at a little girl and the Church.  This is without reason.  When asked, “Why are you doing this to us?” the answer is, “Because you were home.”  And it’s said with such pure honesty.  There is no reason.

Whether that’s some comment on postmodern postmodernism, or some other ism, it’s damn scary.

As for whether or not this is horror movie, well.  In class, we were taught the prevailing theory on what constitutes a horror movie is that the movie must have, among other things, a monster.  The monster is something that isn’t human.  And it can’t just be a dog or something, either.  It has to be not-of-this-world, or out of sync, like the anachronistic dinosaurs in Jurassic Park.  I think you could make a case for The Strangers being a horror movie.  Those masked psychos were soulless.  And what’s less human than that?

Oh! I wanted to add that I thought the movie did some great nods to its predecessors — the bath scene was a little Psycho-ish (and actually the beginning in the Volvo reminded me both of Janet Leigh driving to the hotel, as well as a little Beetlejuice with Alec and Geena driving back from town), the closet scene was all Jamie Lee in Halloween and the end was sheer Carrie.  I find these allusions strangely comforting — while they’re scary because they remind us that there’s terror out there, they also remind us that we’re watching a movie.  I like a little reminder like that when watching a horror film.

The consolation I had while trying to sleep last night, in addition to the bunches of wine I consumed to calm my nerves, was that there was a very scary thunderstorm.  I told myself, as well as puppy, that scary ax-wielding masked intruders don’t like to get wet.

The other night, I watched War Games.  I’ve probably seen it a hundred times, but it really hits me every time.  Not that globalthermonuclear war is a bad idea, or that hacking into computers can mean big trouble, or even that just because your son Joshua died doesn’t mean you should give up on the living, but that 80s movies are so great!!!  Why is it that no one makes movies like this anymore?  As most of you know, I was really enamored of Kevin Williamson (Dawson’s Creek, Scream) for awhile because I felt like he was breathing new life into the genre that had been dormant for some time.  But I haven’t seen anything from him for awhile now and even John Hughes couldn’t do it alone.  So, let’s reminisce and dissect what makes 80s movies, like Some Kind of Wonderful, Pretty in Pink, Sixteen Candles, The Karate Kid, Can’t Buy Me Love, Say Anything, Footloose, War Games, Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, Dirty Dancing, St. Elmo’s Fire, & The Breakfast Club so great:

(1) great dialogue.  Who can forget lines like, “What’s the president of the Young Democrats doing working for a Republican senator?” “Moving up.”  Or, “Where’s your brain?” “Why’d you kick me?” “Where’s your brain?” “Why’d you kick me?”  Or, “Joe lies.  Joe lies.  Joe lies, when he cries.”

(2) social issues.  From Footloose’s commentary on censorship and book burning, to Pretty in Pink’s take on class issues, to War Games full-on assault on the Cold War, no one has been able to combine super cheesy fun with social issues like teen 80s movies.

(3) great romance.  This one’s a bit complicated because there are a couple of patterns these movies tend to have in this department.  There’s the best friend syndrome, which worked out well for Mary Stuart Masterson with Eric Stoltz, but not so great for Jon Cryer with Molly Ringwald.  But Andrew McCarthy’s gaze at Molly Ringwald at the end of Pretty in Pink could melt Lake Monona in January.  Then there’s just sort of the easy relationship Ally Sheedy and Matthew Broderick had, which was cute.  Then there’s the beautiful girl falls for the nerdy guy, but the nerdy guy is either Patrick Dempsey or John Cusack.

(4) memorable names.  Ren McCormick.  Amanda Jones.  Blaine, Steph, Andie & Duckie.  Ferris Bueller.  Cameron & Sloane.  Lloyd Dobler & Diane Court.  Jake Ryan.  Daniel-son.

(5) soundtracks.  This one obviously needs no explanation.

What else?  I feel like there’s a lot more to say on this topic and I know I left off a lot of folks’ fave movies  — like Real Genius & Better Off Dead & Flashdance, but Flashdance never really did it for me and I don’t know what to do with Val Kilmer.  Hmm.  I think I need to give this some more thought.

This weekend was the 10th annual Wisconsin Film Festival and I’m so proud to relay that I managed to see five films!  Hooray! All were documentaries, and all were good. On Friday night, Stephanie and I went to see Operation Filmmaker, which was a movie that played at Sundance in January and I wasn’t able to see. It’s the story of this young Iraqi “filmmaker,” Muthana, who gets some air time on MTV, which Liev Schreiber sees and is affected by. Consequently, Liev arranges for Muthana to come to Prague where Liev is making a movie (Everything is Illuminated). Muthana is an intern on the movie, which, of course, entails things like mixing nuts and editing the gag reel. Muthana deems most of these tasks beneath him.  It’s not clear why he feels this way exactly: was he misled, is he completely full of himself, does he hate nuts? Anyway, this is really just the beginning as Muthana manipulates those around him for the rest of the film in efforts to get into film school and to score visas. It’s an interesting story because the documentary filmmaker filming Muthana’s story gets taken by him, as well. It’s also interesting because it’s unclear what Muthana’s deal really is — is he just so desperate to leave Iraq that he’ll do and say anything? Is he simply a lazy ass who believes himself entitled to all sorts of things without having to work for anything?  Does he really even have any interest in film? When Muthana finds himself in London, in school, but unable to pay his rent, it really hits the viewer that this is a guy who has barely worked and who now, even when he can’t pay his rent, refuses to look for work, preferring, instead, to ask everyone he knows for money to support him. What’s the deal with that?

On Saturday, which was such a LOVELY day, I biked over to the Union to see two approximately hour-long documentaries.  The first was Being Innu, a depressing and dark tale about the Innu people. The Innu are an indigenous group of people who live in Labrador, Canada. They are former nomads who now live a bleak life. Their community is marked by at least one attempted suicide a month. Their young folk stand around all day sniffing gas. Unemployment and alcoholism are the norm. I found simply nothing hopeful about this film. The second movie was Testing Hope, which chronicles a group of 12th graders living near Cape Town who are the first senior class to have started first grade in the post-apartheid era. In South Africa, seniors take a test called Matric, which sounds like an uber-intense exam on which your entire future rides. If you don’t pass it, you can forget about going to college or getting a decent job. So, the movie builds in anticipation for the test, but it’s filled with cute and funny scenes and the kids are just incredible.  Some of them live in conditions that I can’t fathom, but they get dressed in their neat uniforms and head off to school and study harder than I remember studying in college, much less high school. My fave kids were the girl who wanted to be a lawyer and the boy who wanted to be a civil engineer. They were all smiles. So, the test comes and they all talk about how damn hard it was (also, the movie briefly showed what conditions were like in wealthy schools — AMAZING!) and how they didn’t think they did well and it got scary for a bit. But then, the results came in and all the stars of the movie passed! (Though, interestingly, the film stated that some 30% of seniors passed the test, whereas the year before it was some 60% — what? why? No explanation is given. But maybe there is no good explanation). But then it gets bad. The very end of the film discloses that while our favorites passed, none of them did well enough to go on to school. In fact, the lawyer-to-be ends up pregnant at 19. Ugh.

Next up, Song Sung Blue at the Bartell. This movie was a roller coaster! The beginning is all love and Neil Diamond and awesomeness. The end is a monster of a tearjerker. The movie follows Thunder and Lightning, a Neil Diamond impersonating “band” made up of a Milwaukee married couple. They have their ups and downs — downs being when Thunder gets pinned under a car in her own front lawn and ups being when Eddie Vedder invites them onstage at Summerfest and they sing Forever in Blue Jeans to 30,000 peeps. [This scene is so great for many reasons, not least of which is the unique opportunity to see a young Vedder sitting on a stool with his leg crossed reading the lyrics to Forever in Blue Jeans with serious panache.  So great!] The movie is a real downer at times, as we watch these folks struggle with money and debt and a litany of health problems. But Jesus, they really were in love. My God. And they could perform!

Last up was yesterday’s screening of Twisted: A Balloonamentary, which was excellent! The filmmakers chose a few balloon twisters to follow around and to tell us about their lives — they chose a young girl who uses balloon twisting to get herself out of the trailer park, through college and, we hope, onto medical school; a middle-aged Af-Am man from Atlanta who loves to entertain kids and who is one of the few Af-Ams on the national circuit; a self-described balloonangelical, who makes half creepy half cool crucifixion scenes out of balloons; and a bunch of other super interesting folks who seriously can’t get enough of this balloon twisting. The folks’ stories were well-told, but really the balloons stole the show. Google “balloon octopus” and you’ll see what I mean. After the movie, the filmmakers brought out pre-blown balloons to teach us all how to make a balloon dog. It is stated throughout the film that if you can make a balloon dog, you can do anything. I’m grateful, though, that one of the filmmakers said that the converse is not true — if you can’t make a balloon dog, you may still be able to do some things — because I tried and tried and popped two balloons before a nice gentleman gave me his cute balloon dog and I decided to try again on another day.

So, despite the fact that on my bike ride home, my balloon dog flew out of my bike basket and was almost immediately crushed by a car, it was a great weekend.

Ok, as most — if not all — of you know, my friend Heather has a brilliant mind. I respect her opinion on all things and way more times than not, I agree with her. So it is with heavy heart and some confusion that I confess that I thought that There Will Be Blood was a terrific movie. Maybe her scathing review helped me. I saw the movie today, in the afternoon, and armed with a large diet Coke. I expected a slow, methodical movie and that is what I got. I also got a movie that I sum up as fascinating. Here’s why.

I agree with Heather that the movie was slow. I suspect that it is because she prepared me for the pace that I enjoyed the film. This movie reminded me some of Citizen Kane, but with even fewer women and definitely less dialogue. Like Charles Foster Kane, Daniel Plainview is a madman who has built himself quite an empire. Unlike Kane, though, there is no Rosebud and Plainview is plainly insane. At least that’s my take.

For those of you that haven’t seen it, the movie begins at the turn of the century when Plainview finds oil in the desert. The oil comes up inky and thick and people start getting hurt. This is a messy, painful business. The movie goes from there, with Plainview building his fortune. One day, a young man comes to him and sells him information on where a great deal of oil can be found. This leads Plainview to the community of Little Boston, California where he starts buying up everyone’s land. In exchange for the first tract he purchases, he is to give Eli Sunday, the son of the owner of the land, $5000 to get Eli’s church off the ground. Eli is a Jesus man. Daniel is not.

The movie continues as Daniel builds wells and pipeline in Little Boston and Eli builds a congregation. They come to blows more than once during the film, and Eli is no match for Daniel. No one is, really.

I wouldn’t say that the film has a moral center, though Daniel’s son H.W. is probably the closest the film gets to one. And while I really can’t say that I understand the “point” of the movie, if there is one, I still think it was a great epic tale about a man’s madness. And it cannot be said too often: Daniel Day Lewis is a tour de force and I think he, once again, deserves the Oscar.

For those of you that have seen the movie, I’d welcome your thoughts. Let’s talk.

It’s true! Tonight, I had a lovely dinner with my mom & Severa, Michael, and Terry & Steve. It was a belated birthday dinner that, in my view, was just wonderful. Everyone seemed to be in great spirits, despite the snowfall and imminent below zero temps. Aside from the excellent company and yummy comfort food, I received — as always — amazing and way-too-generous gifts. I got three extremely generous gift certificates, a gorgeous vase, some super cute and fun coasters and journals, and a trip to Puerto Rico! It’s true! I’m going to Puerto Rico with Terry from March 11th through the 15th. I’m just so excited and grateful. I thought that I had given up my opportunity to travel to PR with Terry when I decided to go to Sundance. So, this is a true surprise and I’m so thankful.

I would also like to say a word, if you don’t mind, on No Country for Old Men. I thought this was a really, really great movie. I thought it was exceptional story telling. I think the Coen brothers might just be getting better and better. I wonder when, and if, they will peak. One of the few problems I had with the movie, though, was the Woody Harrelson character. Folks, tell me what you think. I was confused by this character. I’m not sure that I understand the purpose that he served. His exposition on Javier’s character was, in my opinion, entirely unnecessary and superfluous. Perhaps he was there just to introduce us to the “manager” behind these crimes — the man in the suit and the office in the highrise. But this seems like a lot of work for this purpose. And it strikes me as distracting to place a Celebrity in such a role — I expect the role to have more import when someone I know is in it. So, if someone can fill me in on the point of this character, I’d be grateful. I think maybe I shall read the book and see what I’m missing. Maybe he was just there to serve the purpose of showing that there are degrees of moral bankruptcy even in the world of the hired guns — as in, Woody isn’t great, but Javier is even nuttier.

Go Badgers! I’m listening on the radio tonight because, as we all know, the Big Ten Network is not on Charter. As in the best Shakespearean works, it’s hard to know whom to blame in this horrible situation that is known as not being able to watch most Badger games in Madison.