Move Me
Friday, January 25, 2008
Over the past two weeks, I’ve seen The Kite Runner, American Gangster, Juno, and Atonement (the latter just a few minutes ago, hence my drive to get certain film-related sentiments out of my system) on dibidi, all five of which have earned Oscar nominations in varied categories. Money well spent on stolen goods, I have to admit, though I do think seeing them in a proper cinema is also a very worthwhile effort.
Of the five, American Gangster was the least impressive, however. Probably only liked it because I’m physically attracted to black men and loved seeing Russell Crowe’s attempt at some sort of American accent. I do have a Last Shot Syndrome as well, wherein a film, no matter how trite or dragging (which this one was at certain points), can still win me over with its very final scene. Gangster’s last shot was fucking priceless.
The Kite Runner I loved mainly for the acting. The little boy who played the title role, this little amateur Afghan, if I’m not mistaken, gave such a harrowing performance that I felt just plain harassed the rest of the time. If a film can make me feel perturbed for no good reason, make me hug my knees to my chest and bawl like an idiot, then I consider it of worth. This is not necessarily a requirement for me, though it must be said that anything that can reduce me to a runny lump of snot has its charms.
Atonement made the best use of the medium. If it doesn’t bag Best Cinematography (especially considering this single, incredibly pretty, 4 minute-long tracking shot on the beach with hundreds of actors and set obstacles, the difficulty of its filming I can’t even begin to imagine), I’m going to hug my knees to my chest and bawl like an idiot. I have my patterns. And if The Kite Runner starred a most pitiable little boy, Atonement had a piece of prime, 13-year-old bitch. Downtrodden Afghan boy needed a hug. Willowy Brit brat needed a stake through the heart. Plus, Keira Knightly’s skinniness is just so apparent in the film, it's riveting, really. Remember: the more harrowed I feel, the better I believe the film to be.
Which brings me to Juno. Last year, people demanded that I watch Little Miss Sunshine because they thought I was Olive Hoover-incarnate. This year, I had been told by my friends that Juno MacGuff reminded them much too much of me, and when I finally saw the film last night, I knew what they meant. Neither Juno nor Olive actually do mirror me. I believe they are far nicer, kinder people. But I knew what my friends meant. Regardless, these films’ screenplays were reason enough for me to slobber all over both. But the ego trip’s a plus.
My guess for Best Pic: Atonement. Good filmmaking in all respects. (And Best Actress must go to Keira Knightly, if only because her ribcage was so expressive, so moving, so...I can't put my finger on it. Oh wait, I can. Literally. I think it's a method thing.)
posted by marguerite @ 11:53 PM
|
