Oceans: Tastes great, less filling

Ok, this wasn't on the treadmill. For Mother's Day we all went to see Oceans at the local indy theater. If you're not familiar with the movie, it's the latest nature porn from Canal+, right out of the Jacques Cousteau/March of the Penguins mold. It was undeniably beautifully filmed, the kind of movie that you smile at the whole time you're watching it. My first impulse was to get out the scuba gear and book a trip in warmer waters (nowhere near the gulf coast, mind you.) Afterwards you think about how banal the anthropomorphism is or how the voice over added nothing at all to the gorgeous images. Why don't directors ever make these nature pictures without narration? The images certainly should speak for themselves. Seeing the movie also made me think about the futility of good-intentioned nature films like this. We're a generation raised on nature movies, yet as the oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico demonstrates, we haven't learned a damned thing. Just two years ago our presidential election debate on energy policy gave us the choice between "drill baby drill" (how's that look now?) and meaningless empty verbiage. Not surprisingly we still don't have a coherent national policy on energy. Industry can't self-regulate--it's purpose is to make money--and the government can't get its regulatory acts together. The only good thing to come out of all this is that our own governator has stepped back from his support of drilling off the California coast, a lesson we learned after the 1969 Santa Barbara Oil spill, but had forgotten in the space of one generation. So my review of the movie? Makes me cranky. Seen it before. We're a slow learning people.

35 Rhums and Blind Side

In the past week I finished two very different films while treadmilling at the gym, and each left me unable to quite express why I felt the way that I did after watching it. It wasn't until putting the two together that I was able to begin to analyze my reactions. 35 Rhums is a French film by Claire Denis [L'Intrus), and it tells the story of a Parisian family of African descent. The film's plot is elliptical, recursive, vague, and even the ending, which works back to the title ritual, refuses to illuminate much of anything. On the other hand, The Blind Side's plot leaves nothing unexplained. It's a well-acted movie (ok, maybe not acted. It's at least well-cast), and the direction is professional and pleasing in many ways. The movie was constructed carefully and expertly to manipulate the viewer's feelings, and it's ever-so-careful to not offend and make one feel good. Like a Twinkie. And an hour later when the sugar rush went away, there's nothing left of sustain the soul. 35 Rhums is similarly made by a competent director and DP, but it manipulates the viewer's emotions but then refuses to tell that viewer how to feel about the emotions that are raised. It's leaves one something to think about well after consumption. Rather than a Twinkie, it's more like a supple, textured wine from a variety you've never had before. Disconcerting and pleasing at the same time. The camera work is amazing, as we glide with the camera on the RER through the grittier outskirts of Paris, or with a cab through glistening streets, always moving but going nowhere. In a month's time I may find that I don't like the movie at all, but it makes me want to keep thinking about it. On the other hand, can't imagine I'll spend any future time thinking about the Blind Side.