Truth. In widescreen.

Last night I again watched the classic 2003 Czech film “Most.”

My high school youth group showed this 30-minute gem a couple of years ago, but it was just as poignant on a second viewing, if not more.  The subtitles are helpful, as there are a couple of funny lines, but not necessary.  The whole story can ride simply on the emotion in Vladimir Javorsky’s eyes.

Javorsky plays the father to Ladislav Ondrej’s “Lada,”and most of the cast similarly keeps their real names for the movie–one wonders if that makes their responses all that more genuine.  The subplots come together so beautifully that one wonders whether the story is really about Lada and his father, or whether it is actually primarily concerned with the redemption of the troubled girl.

Regardless, it’s woven together seamlessly, and the coloring of the whole movie is just as good as the story.  Rich hues lend to the contrast between juxtaposed locations, and few things stick with you during the film like that one, strategically placed red hat.

The characters have such a distinct relationship–worlds literally colliding.  Ignorance is bliss for many of the passengers on the train, but for those who can really see what has happened, it’s so much richer.

And that’s what touches audiences the most.

[Yes, I know I butchered the title.]

Well, to get myself out of my semi-morbid jump-every-time-the-phone-rings mood, I’ve been watching Chuck on Hulu…along with some Pushing Daisies on ABC.com.  Nothing like that free, quirky online television to brighten my day (and slowly steal away all of my break time).

Apparently, ABC is preparing to can Daisies without a third season, so be sure to sign this petition if you care about the show’s future.

Also, to tack onto my earlier post about The Ring, I wasn’t trying to say that I thought it was a bad movie.  I wrote that blog right after watching the film, and was upset because it was so darn effective.  I thought I could look at the movie from a purely objective perspective, but the power of cinema won out, and I was reduced to a trembling little girl.  Nice work, Verbinski.

[The subject line is an Eddie Izzard quote that seemed appropriate.]

Okay, so, I said (or at least implied) that I would be taking a break from movies of the horror-ish variety.

Interestingly enough, I ended up in the car with my mom today, and she asked me what I’d been watching lately, and if I’d seen anything good.  I told her about the last couple of films I mentioned here, and what I’d thought of them.  She paused for a moment, and then asked:

“So…do you have any kind of standard when it comes to what movies you watch?”

I wasn’t sure what to say.  That made me a little embarassed–I’m a sophomore, I should have all of this down to a science.
It turned into a good discussion, actually–my mom had voiced some things that I’d already been (mostly subconsciously) pondering.

I basically told her that I wasn’t out to watch cheap, stupid slashers or anything of that variety: anything that I watched that was more “intense”–just like anything else–was to analyze what makes a movie “good” and determine where there’s truth to walk away with and where there’s crap disguised as art that shouldn’t be replicated.  I felt that thanks to the many people who feel the need to spout off their opinions about non-G-rated movies, we as film majors need to educate ourselves so our opponents can’t retort, “But you’ve never even seen it!”

Still, where does this all fit in with guarding our minds and hearts?  Should I pray before every movie I watch?

Hmm, doesn’t actually sound like that bad of an idea.

Okay, so, I confirmed my suspicion about myself:

I, Hannah Rose Roberts, do not enjoy being scared by a movie unless I am in the company of other people.

Maybe I was just trying to watch The Ring too soon after my little Silence of the Lambs experiment.  Maybe it was just a creepy movie.  Right now the results are inconclusive, I suppose.  But my heart rate is still a bit faster than normal, thanks to Ring’s pseudo-resolution that gives way to a freakout ending.  A neat trick, and one that gave an easy segue to a sequel–but man, that one line killed me:

“You helped the little girl?  …You weren’t supposed to help her.”

Props to Naomi Watts for the facial expressions.

Not so many props to the conceptual artists for dangling the carrot of “happy ending” in front of the audience, and then yanking it away in a ghost child’s clammy hand.

Meh.  I guess I’m trying to say that I thought it was done decently. Not as well as The Orphanage dealt with a similar concept, but not horribly.

The portrayal of VHS as “current technology” was a little amusing–maybe in twenty years it will count as a period piece, but as of right now it gives the story a touch of Be Kind Rewind quirkiness.  Nice color, and the story was okay–they cut some corners with the backstory, but I won’t say anything until I know whether everything is revealed in Ring 2.

Anyone want to watch it with me?  Because I’m not doing it by myself.

Time to go explore Bridge on the River Kwai or something else more rated-G-esque.

So I just found out about this music video competition, and I know what I’m going to be spending my weekend doing.  I’m sure there are a zillion people entering this and I have no chance of getting it, but then again, that’s what I might have said about Apple’s Insomnia film festival or the infamous YouTube “Why My School Rocks” competition, both of which have led to wins by Biola students.

I think I’ll give it a shot.

I was just telling someone the other day that I would absolutely love to spend my time conceptualizing music videos, if there are people who get paid just to do that.

SO much fun.

Well, Christmas came.  Good stuff.

My favorite part was probably when my little sister got a keychain with faux bubble wrap on it, so she can walk around with it and get her bubble-popping fix.

The things people come up with, honestly!

My mom got a DVD of The Sound of Music, among her other gifts, and so of course that set the agenda for the evening.  I was in and out of the room, having seen enough Rodgers and Hammerstein musicals in my time (but still not feeling like it was time for sleep or productivity).  It’s funny how movies from back in the day look different now that I’m a film nerd.

(During the scene with the Captain and Maria in the gazebo):

“Ack, do they realize how bad this framing is?  Please, let them move over…oh, there we go.”

I hope I don’t lose my ability to enjoy a movie as a movie.

I finally did it.

I sat down with my laptop and popped in the disc that threatened to scare me just by the concept.

Yep, I watched The Silence of the Lambs  last night.  In my room.  By myself.

But I’m not stupid–I kept a lamp on the whole time, and even though my screen is only 13 inches wide, I hit command-2 whenever the movie became horribly suspenseful, so I could face whatever horrors lay ahead from the safety of half-size.  Given how much the first half of The Village (watched alone in complete darkness) freaked yours truly out, I knew I couldn’t take any chances.  I may be a film major, but I’m still a girl.

So, given all of this…is it horrific to say that I actually kind of liked the movie?

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not the biggest fan of cannibalism–but there was something about the intensity, rhythm, and psychological ingenuity of the movie that appealed to my detective-novel-worshipping mind.

Also, Anthony Hopkins may be scary, but after Jack Nicholson in The Shining, there’s not too much else that creepy, balding, light-eyed killers can do to you.  As an audience member, I mean.

More thoughts after I’ve had time to process it.  In the meantime, I’d rather wrap presents.

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!

Q. What do you get when you cross nihilism, existentialism, and Sam Spade-esque sleuthing?

A. David O. Russell’s quirky 2004 venture I Heart* Huckabees.

Dustin Hoffman and Lily Tomlin’s “existential detective” characters throw their costars for a loop with their psychoanalysis of–well, everything–combined with a tendency to go to great lengths spying on their clients.  It’s a funny romp through therapist-land which, in many senses, still falls flat.  The movie feels like it was based on “Post-Modern Philosophy for Dummies,” and once the slapstick is over, one wonders what all we can really glean from it.

Perhaps the best part of the movie, for me, is when Jason Schwartzmann’s character looks first at the existentialists, then at the nihilistic seductress, and says, “Wait…do you guys all work together?”  He theorizes that the two philosophies are at different ends of the same spectrum, leaving both parties with incomplete, wacko theories about existence.

Sounds like good enough of a moral as any.  Unfortunately, Schartzmann decides to remain in said spectrum–and it’s impossible, from what I can tell, to operate under the assumption that everything is indistinct and pointless without being an extremist.

All of this existentialism talk makes me want to go watch The Truman Show.

* or Love, depending on how you read the symbol

We interrupt this regularly scheduled blog to bring you a brief, immature rant:

HOW THE HECK DID I GO OVER MY CELL PHONE MINUTES, AND WHY DO I OWE VERIZON WIRELESS $80 EXTRA BECAUSE OF IT???

Honestly though.  I never even come close to going over.  And then there was this month, with…oh, wait.  There was that play thing that I produced.  Which was somewhat of a logistical nightmare as it was. Which is why 483,926 1-minute phone calls and one half-hour one to my parents are now going to zap all of my Christmas money.

Dangit.

I’ve learned so many things about responsibility and proactivity and growing up and all of that this semester.  It’s been really good for me (though at times painful), and I’m grateful things went the way they did.

But can I please not learn anything else this year?  Please, God?  Please?

Before I left school, I was able to check out 10 DVDs from our school’s Production Center–unfortunately, I wasn’t the fastest, so many film majors had already descended on the stash of movies by the time I got there.  Still, thanks to others’ slowness (and the popularity of NetFlix), I still managed to get a few.

One of these was the Ben Stiller “classic” Meet the Parents.  I’d never seen it, so I figured it was about time.  It was mildly entertaining (something my post-finals-week brain appreciated), but I honestly thought the terrifying father-in-law thing had more potential than it used.

What I liked even less was that after all of the misunderstandings and mishaps, it’s only when Stiller’s character actually gives in and does something underhanded that everything a) hits the fan and b) gets resolved nicely.  If he just lied to the father, why is the father asking forgiveness?  Yes, Stiller was misjudged for 90% of the movie, but it’s not like he was ostracized.  Maybe I just think like a geezer, but it seems like there should have been a little more mutual apologizing.

It’s just a pity that our protagonist has to cave in.

And come on, if he hadn’t been smoking on the roof he never would have set the house on fire.  Sheesh.