Gay Dead Poets Society

Movies: Kill Your Darlings

Kill Your Darlings REALLY wants to be Dead Poets Society. And it falls flat on its face. Taking place in the mid 1940's, Kill Your Darlings is about the early years of the Beat poets. Allen Ginsberg (played wonderfully by Daniel Radcliffe, who is one of the few bright spots in the movie), William S. Burroughs (Ben Foster), Jack Kerouac (Jack Huston), and lesser-known Lucien Carr (Daniel DeHaan, who is the spitting image of a young Leonardo DiCaprio) are all at Columbia University together. Carr plays a Manic Pixie Dream Boy--a pretty, androgynous young man with a taste for rebellion who sucks people into his orbit--who takes Ginsberg under his wing. He invites him to wild parties down in the "queer" boroughs of New York, gets him into all kinds of drugs, and encourages him to destroy property in the quest for creating a new kind of art. Of course, Ginsberg falls in love with Carr.

Carr, meanwhile, has his own monkey on his back: David Kammerer (played by Dexter...I mean, Michael C. Hall). Kammerer was a former teacher and leader of a youth group Carr was in. The older man become obsessed with Carr, and basically stalked him all through the United States.

In Kill Your Darlings, Kammerer and Carr's relationship is portrayed ambiguously. Kammerer writes college papers for Carr, and while Carr obviously has no problem taking advantage of Kammerer's attentions, he seems weary and annoyed by the older man. Later in the movie, it becomes clear that Kammerer is obsessive and predatory. The movie doesn't really come out and say it, but it's pretty clear that the two men had a sexual relationship when Carr was underage. 



All this is leading up to a pretty inevitable conclusion (SPOILERS): After a fight one evening, Carr kills Kammerer. Again, the movie doesn't really take a stand on what actually happened. Did Carr attack Kammerer? Or did Kammerer want to die and ask Carr to kill him? I found this ambiguity misleading and disingenuous. Especially since Ginsberg at one point tries to defend Kammerer saying to Carr: "He loved you. And you loved him once." Um, sorry, but Kammerer was a stalker and a predator. The movie further demonizes Carr by showing (or rather, telling, in a paragraph of text at the end of the film) that Carr portrayed Kammerer as a predatory homosexual in court in an attempt to absolve himself of the murder (although he did spend time in prison). Such a thing was called an "honor slaying" back in the day--essentially, a straight man could kill a gay man and get away with it by saying the gay man tried to attack him.

So, Kill Your Darlings positions itself on the side of Kammerer. It suggests that Carr was a hypocritical and mentally unstable tease who led Kammerer on. Ugh. Although Carr certainly wasn't an angel, and perhaps if all of this took place in a different time, Kammerer's death could have been avoided, the fact remains that Kammerer was a stalker who preyed upon the much younger Carr.

The other plot of Kill Your Darlings is about the beginnings of the Beat movement. The movie fails here, as well. It tries to show the hijinks of Ginsberg, Carr, Kerouac, and Burroughs in a romantic, rebellious light, but the young men just come off as annoying, drugged out, immature little brats. There's one scene where they break into the university library at night and switch out the bibles housed on display in a glass case with "naughty" books like Lady Chatterley's Lover  and Ulysses. Don't get me wrong, I'm all about some college students in the mid 20th century reading some D.H. Lawrence and Henry Miller and discovering sex and all that--but the scene is utterly silly and ridiculous.

Daniel Radcliffe is the saving grace of Kill Your Darlings, playing an introverted and nerdy Ginsberg who is coming to terms with being gay in a society where being gay meant (as we see in the movie), you can basically be murdered and the murderer can get away with it. Radcliffe has been pretty fearless in his choice of roles post-Harry Potter, and Kill Your Darlings is no exception. Watching Ginsberg, seemingly the only kind and gentle person in this film, come of age and discover not just his sexuality, but his literary voice, is the only interesting thing in this overcooked melodrama.

3 out of 5 stars

Difficult Films and What to do with Them

The cycle of movies in America and how we watch them is almost ritualistic. In the summer, we get geared up for a influx of superhero movies, action films, sequels, prequels, and threequels--"popcorn movies", we call them. Meant to be seen on the big screen with a couple of friends and big buckets of the salty stuff. These movies might not be very good, but that's not the point: the point is fun. That, and watching stuff blow up.

And then, around this time of year, we gear up for "Oscar season". Nothing makes a non-cinema buff's ears perk up like the phrases "award winning" and "Oscar-nominated". Even people who don't watch a lot of movies care about the Oscars to a certain extent.

The problem with these Oscar contenders is that they are often difficult, emotionally challenging films. Since they pop up around the dark months of the year, every year, and have the weight of Oscar behind them, moviegoers feel a certain need or obligation to take in a few of them. They're like a big plate of vegetables after a summer of popcorn and twizzlers: noble, good for you, but not so easy to swallow.

After hearing many friends and family draw the line at seeing the film 12 Years a Slave, saying they just don't have the heart for it, I started thinking about difficult films and how different people approach these kinds of movies. The average moviegoer is certainly willing to see some stressful, sad films, but they don't want to suffer needlessly--after all, movies are supposed to be a fun and pleasurable pastime, right?


Partially right, in my opinion. The majority of movies were created to entertain, and that's something I heartily accept--I love a movie that hits the sweet spot of wildly fun and still actually a good, quality film. One that comes to mind is the first Pirates of the Caribbean film (no need to watch the sequels. They are awful). Pirates is a movie I could watch over and over. It's not exactly The Godfather but come on! Jack Sparrow!

On the other hand, there are movies that were created with entertainment not the number one priority. These movies range from artsy for art's sake (Tree of Life) to deep, dark movies that want us, the audience, to feel something. And not necessarily something positive (Brokeback Mountain).

But just because a movie is hard to watch does not mean you should avoid it. Nor should you think it's your noble duty to bravely walk into that theatre and suffer so that you can emerge and say "Man! Slaves/Jews during WWII/gay cowboys had it tough! Wow, I really respect their struggle". This attitude strikes me as "white moviegoers burden": the idea that seeing a movie about the struggles of a less privileged group of people makes you somehow a better person. As a snobby filmgoer myself, I can tell you: it's not simply enduring a hard film that makes you a better, kinder, more empathetic person. But it can help set you on that road.

In addition to entertainment and in addition to art, some films try to be reflective of the human experience. This is a tough line to walk because so many movies that attempt to teach us something fall into the trap of sappiness and easy answers. So many movies try to show the horrors of the human condition with a nice spoonful of sugar to help the medicine go down and although that's the only way some people can stand difficult movies, I can't say that I respect the easy answers and obvious heroes and villains of those movies all that much.

The next time you go to see a sad or difficult movie, instead of gritting your teeth and preparing for the worst, try being vulnerable to the emotions that you will feel. I implore you--go see 12 Years a Slave with a soft and open heart. Let yourself feel the shock of what a slave auction looked like and the sting of humiliation at intelligent humans being treated like cattle. Feeling upset at these images means that you're human. Don't avoid or turn away from those feelings. The heart, like the mind, is something to be exercised.

***

Difficult films are a way to safely explore difficult emotions we'd rather avoid. Here's a beginner's list of movies that are tough to watch, but worth it in the long run.

Schindler's List: Schindler's List is pretty much the grand poobah of depressing movies. Based on the true story of Oskar Schindler, a German factory owner who saved a number of Jewish men, women, and children by hiring them to work in his factory during the height of WWII, Schindler's List is elegantly shot and beautifully acted. But even the gorgeous black and white cinematography doesn't hide the atrocities of Hitler's final solution. This masterpiece, directed by Steven Spielberg, is sometimes shown to students in high school. If you haven't seen it, set aside a few hours to watch it soon.

Boys Don't Cry: Hilary Swank's star-making role as a transgender man, Brandon Teena, is the main reason to watch this heart-breaking movie. Brandon, born a female but living and passing as a man, heads to Nebraska for a fresh start. But after his secret is discovered by a violent group of local men, things get ugly. Something unique about this film is that Brandon is far from a perfect person--he is actually a small-time criminal and he lies to those he purports to care about. Boys Don't Cry shows that even an imperfect person can be the victim of a hate crime.

Before Stonewall, After Stonewall, and We Were Here: These three documentaries about the gay rights movement in the United States are fascinating and will have you blubbering like a baby. Before Stonewall chronicles homosexuality in America before the Stonewall riots in 1969. Highlights include senior citizens talking about the lengths they went to hide their same-sex relationships and the formation of the Mattachine Society (one of the first homosexual organizations in the U.S.). After Stonewall covers the actual events of the Stonewall Riots and the groundswell of the gay rights movement in the late 1960's and 1970's. After Stonewall and We Were Here both focus on the early years of AIDS. We Were Here especially captures the terror of the emergence of a disease that no one knew anything about. If you want to learn about gay rights in the United States, skip Philadelphia and Milk and let those who saw it first-hand speak for themselves in these excellent documentaries.

12 Years a Slave: Yes, I know I went on about this one in this blog entry, but seriously, this may be the best film about American slavery...ever. It's as beautiful as it is brutal, and Chiwetel Ejiofor's performance as Solomon Northup will haunt you. If you truly think you can't handle watching the movie, at least take a look at Northup's memoir, which the film is based on. In print, the story is *slightly* easier to endure and it's available for free online.

4 Months, 3 Weeks, and 2 Days: In 1980's Romania, abortion is a crime punishable by death. A young woman turns to a friend to help her arrange an illegal abortion and the two women go through hell to terminate the pregnancy. In addition to showing the horrors that can arise from a culture that opposes a woman's right to birth control and reproductive choice, this film is also a commentary on dictatorship and how the most vulnerable in society are affected by such a regime.

Winter's Bone: Before she was the Girl on Fire, Jennifer Lawrence was in this suspenseful film about poverty and crime in backwoods Missouri. After her drug-dealing father skips town before his trial, Ree Dolly (Lawrence) decides to track him down so her family doesn't lose their home. Finding her father is harder than Ree prepares for since her neighbors and his drug addict associates aren't giving her any information. Winter's Bone portrays poverty and drug addiction in a straightforward, non-melodramatic way and shows the dark side of a close-knit rural community.

Up Close and Personal

Movies: Blue is the Warmest Color

*Warning: this review contains discussion of sexuality*

Love stories are hard to translate to film. Most movies, weighing in at 2-3 hours, simply aren't long enough to show the complexities of meeting someone, falling in love, fighting, possibly falling out of love, etc. There's a reason why so many love stories on screen are reduced to cliches and well-lit PG-13 sex scenes: it's damn hard to make characters' relationships feel real in such a short amount of time.

In Blue is the Warmest Color, director Abdellatif Kechiche (that's a mouthful) manages to capture, for the most part, the essence of first love and the sting of loss. At 187 minutes, Kechiche takes his sweet time focusing on the coming of age and coming out of 17 year old Adele (played exquisitely by Adele Exarchopoulos).

Adele is a high school junior, fumbling her way through a relationship with a sweet boy, when she locks eyes with the blue-haired Emma (Lea Seydoux) while crossing the street. She is transfixed by Emma and during a night out with her gay guy friend,  she follows some women to a lesbian bar, attempting to find the mysterious blue-haired girl. Emma spies wide-eyed Adele sipping a "bull dyke beer" at the bar and saddles up to the underage girl, flirting gently with her. This scene fairly breathes with a comforting eroticism: the older, worldly art student taking the younger girl under her wing.

The two begin an affair that plays out in what feels like real time. I was often confused at how much time had passed between scenes. One scene shows Adele celebrating her 18th birthday and the next has her working as a teaching assistant at a kindergarten. The entire movie probably plays out over 8-10 years, but it could just as easily have been 3 years.


Filmed in extreme close-ups, we see every pore of the actresses' faces. The camera work is hand-held and even a tad nausea-inducing at times. And just as the close-up camera basks in every runny nose, sweaty sex session, and open mouthful of food, the script isn't afraid to reveal the emotional imperfections in the leads' personalities and relationship. It becomes clear that Adele is more enamored of Emma than Emma is of Adele. Emma is also self-absorbed and almost stereotypical in the way her art comes first in her life. Adele is simply her muse. Even though Emma flirts openly with other women, she seethes with jealousy and hypocritical anger when Adele dares kiss a man she works with. During a fight so realistic I was flinching in pain, I thought "Adele is better off without this woman". But since Emma is Adele's first love, she doesn't let go easily.

Blue is the Warmest Color has been the subject of controversy for a few reasons: 1) it's about two women in love, 2) there are multiple *extremely explicit* sex scenes (more on that below), and 3) the director (a man) has been criticized for how he treated the actresses on set and for the supposed heterosexual male gaze that shines through this queer film.

I loved how this film treated lesbianism in such a...normalized way. Though Adele gets mocked by her bitchy peers for "eating pussy" (particularly by another secretly gay friend of hers who kisses her at school), the strife Adele and Emma goes through as a gay couple is (relatively) minimal. Brokeback Mountain this ain't. No one dies at the end, thank goodness. However, Adele is squeamish about coming out to her folks and coworkers, using the "it's no one's business" excuse while Emma is very open about being gay, causing tension between the two. But other than those LGBT-specific struggles, the two  women go through the ups and downs of their relationship much in the way any couple would. It's refreshing.

As for the sex: oh is it explicit and how. The crowing glory is a 10-12 minute scene that is so explicit I would have thought the actresses were actually having sex if I hadn't know that they used...er...fake lady parts over their actual lady parts. Despite leaving nothing to the imagination, the sex scenes aren't exploitative--in fact, much the opposite, as they show what it's really like to have sex, weird positions and all. The thing I found most awkward about the whole thing is that the characters never talk. They don't say one word to each other throughout the scenes. Which, to me, was really bizarre and unrealistic.

As for the whole "male gaze" thing...maybe? The leads are very stereotypically beautiful and there was definitely something almost clinical about the sex scenes that suggested a sense of "look, guys, these are two women having sex! Watch them. Observe them." While not exploitative, I do wonder if the scenes (and, indeed, the whole movie) would have been different if a woman--specifically, a gay woman--had been behind the camera instead.

One of the most uncomfortable moments, for me, was a scene at a party where a male guest talks about how women receive "nine times more pleasure" than men, and discusses how he's seen women "go into another world" during sex. Another (female) guest accuses him of seeing female sexuality as "mystical". Indeed, this character--a powerful gallery owner and artist--might very well be a stand-in for the director. But I don't know the director, and the movie didn't seem all that offensive or problematic to me, a hetero woman. I'm very curious to hear other folks' perspectives though.

Blue is the Warmest Color, like its characters, has flaws. But its flaws are also, in some ways, its strengths. It's overly long--but it needs to be that way in order to develop the relationship between Adele and Emma. The camera work is so up close and shaky, it's distracting--but at the same time, it lets us see every emotion that flickers across the faces of the characters. The sex scenes come off as a tad voyeuristic--but, hey, maybe it's a good thing for American audiences to be exposed to realistic, non-straight sex scenes outside of porn.

Blue is the Warmest Color is a frank and honest depiction of the emotional journey of two people. Like real life, it is at times frustrating, heartbreaking, and liberating. Not many movies can pull that off.

4 out of 5 stars

See it for Sandy

Movies: Gravity

A month or so ago, when Alfonso Cuaron's visually stunning film Gravity arrived in theatres, famed astrophysicist and model for one of my favorite memes ("Watch out, we got a badass over here") Neil deGrasse Tyson took to Twitter to criticize the film's scientific holes. He did so with love in his heart though, concluding that he "enjoyed Gravity very much".

I felt the same as deGrasse Tyson after seeing the heart-wrenching and extremely stressful film. Not that I could even begin to understand the science (or lack thereof) behind Gravity. But simply put, the film is not about being lost in space so much as it is about suffering from clinical depression and choosing to persevere.

*As always, spoilers ahead!*

Gravity focuses on two astronauts: Ryan Stone (Sandra Bullock) and Matt Kowalski (George Clooney). The two (plus a third guy who dies in the first 20 minutes) are taking a spacewalk to repair a hubble telescope when a cloud of unexpected space debris (from a destroyed satellite) hits them, severing Stone from her tether and sending her spiraling into open space.

Kowalski, who is less a three-dimensional character in his own right and more just George Clooney in a spacesuit, finds Stone and, with the use of a jet pack, heads towards a Russian space station. The plan is to use the space station's small escape pod to zip over to another space station (a Chinese one) and use that station's capsule which is equipped to re-enter the earth's atmosphere. Still with me? So, basically, the whole "Sandra Bullock lost in space" part of the film is only a small portion of the movie as a whole and it's more about her making her way to the space station with the correct equipment to get back to earth.

So (and seriously, major spoiler here), Stone and Kowalski make it to the Russian space station, but at the last minute, the tether between the two breaks and, though Stone is able to hold on to Kowalski with a parachute-type thing, he realizes that he's dragging her away from the station and cuts himself loose to save her--so then he spirals out into space, directing her to continue into the space station to save herself.

And this is really where the meat and potatoes of Sandra Bullock's performance emerges. We learn earlier that Stone had a four year old daughter who died. She doesn't have a spouse and doesn't speak of any other family or friends. It seems unbelievable that NASA would send a person clearly in grief with little or no social support into space, but whatever! It's a movie! While many actresses might be tempted to overplay Stone's agony--with weeping and gnashing of teeth and all--Bullock plays her like the actual mother of a dead child might act. When she talks about her little girl, her voice goes flat. Her eyes go a little dead. The way Stone has dealt with her child's death is to let it crush her so completely, that she can't convey an emotional response. This seemed very realistic to me and very much how a depressed person would act--shutting down in order to survive.

As Stone attempts to save herself despite mishap after mishap, there are moments were she is ready to lay down and die. I didn't blame her at all. The agony of losing her child combined with the horror and loneliness of space would have made me want to turn up the carbon monoxide and drift off into oblivion myself. But a vision of the unsinkable Kowalski gets her back on track. Kowalski's insistence on Stone's survival reminded me, perhaps oddly, of Titanic. The same dynamic between Rose and Jack is present between Stone and Kowalski, minus the romantic element: he's a charismatic guy who is optimistic in the face of death, and willing to nobly sacrifice himself to save another human being. It's a bit Hollywood, but again--I was suspending some serious disbelief with this whole movie.

I spent most of the movie curled up in a little ball in my seat due to the stress and tension of the film, but needless to say--Sandra Bullock fucking makes it. She rides her fiery little capsule back to earth and ends up in some lake in Asia somewhere. As she crawls to the shore and tests her wobbly legs out, it's a primal scene. She is an animal that chose to live despite all the shit life threw in her direction.

To sum up: what I didn't like about Gravity was the lack of scientific realism, which seemed to be sacrificed in service the the emotional heart of the film. I also thought George Clooney's character and performance, while not bad per se, was basically just George Clooney playing himself in space. He was a little too cute and charismatic for the role of someone who knows they're going to die.

But what I did like was Sandra Bullock's rock solid performance as a woman who chooses the harder path: life, with all its pain, over death. Also, the cinematography is beautiful and is one of the biggest draws of the film--see it in 3D, and in IMAX if you can. It looks VERY realistic (as far as I know, since I've never been to space).

If you can suspend your disbelief and surrender yourself to this emotionally wrenching film, Gravity does come off as a small masterpiece from a virtuoso director.

4 stars for the film itself, plus .5 for the exceptional visual effects = 4.5 out of 5 stars

His Soul Rose Up Like a Bird

Movies: 12 Years a Slave

The horrors of American slavery cut a deep gash in our nation's history, and that wound has never fully healed. Nor should it. I've written before that the evils of America's past (not just slavery, but Native American genocide, Japanese internment camps, etc) are a burden every citizen should--and can--carry. In the same way that we celebrate the triumphs of our collective past, we must do our part in mending our sins.

American slavery was a genocide in itself. Even if the intent was not to kill the body, it was most certainly to kill the will and the humanity of the slave. If a slave could read and write, that was a threat. If a slave plotted to run away, that was a threat. If you treated a slave as a fellow, equal human being, that was a threat. And so slave owners, slave traders, and individuals who stood by had to make sure they didn't see slaves as human, and more importantly, slaves didn't see themselves as human.

No film I've seen illustrates this cultural, collective choice to systematically dehumanize American slaves as well as director Steve McQueen's 12 Years a Slave. What's more, the film not only shows the dehumanizing effects on slaves themselves, but on those who tormented them.

Based on his 1853 memoir of the same title, 12 Years a Slave is the story of Solomon Northup, a free black man living in Saratoga, New York, with his wife and two children. Played by Chiwetel Ejiofor, Solomon is a gifted musician--a violinist--and a well-off and well-respected member of the community. When he is offered a two-week gig playing for a traveling show in Washington, DC, he can't resist the income. But after a night of merriment, his employers drug him and sell him into slavery.

The fact that Solomon is born free is what makes this story so effective. He not only must deny his actual name (he is given the name Platt when he's sold) and never bring up his wife, children, or the truth about himself, he also must actively hide the fact that he is an educated man--which proves difficult when dealing with vicious, condescending slave owners. Solomon is someone we can all identify with and it makes his random enslavement all the more terrifying because we know what it is to be free--and so does Solomon.

Yet, as torturous as it must be for Solomon to be a man stripped of his freedom, it also helps him survive, and, ultimately (uh, spoiler alert?), regain his freedom. The fire, the anger, and the hope never leave Solomon, even after facing increasingly atrocious horrors.

Solomon is initially sold to Mr. Ford (Benedict Cumberbatch, who I do enjoy seeing outside of memes on the Internet), a relatively kind man who is "sentimental" and fair towards his slaves, and even gives Solomon a violin to keep. But one of Mr. Ford's overseers, Tibeats (Paul Dano, doing his best pathetic, sniveling little worm here), enrages Solomon to the point where Solomon beats Tibeats with his own whip. Ford certainly can't keep Solomon after this incident, and he sells him to the vile Edwin Epps (Michael Fassbender, playing an evil man so accurately, it's chilling).

Life on Epps' plantation is hell. The slaves pick cotton by day and those who pick less than they picked the day before are whipped. Epps wakes his slaves in the middle of the night and forces them to dance for him and his wife. Worst of all, Epps is obsessed with one slave in particular--Patsey (Lupita Nyong'o)--and rapes her on a nightly basis. But Patsey's agonies only begin with her master's attentions. His jealous wife (Sarah Paulson) hates that his husband is attracted to Patsey and forces her to endure even further torments since she can't direct her hate where it belongs--at her psychopathic husband.

If my descriptions of this film sound like torture porn, please know that director McQueen, whose previous films Shame and Hunger also went to very dark places, shows the exploitation of slaves in the most non-exploitative, yet honest way possible. His camera doesn't flinch from revealing the welts on Patsey's back after she's whipped or the naked slaves being forced to bathe outdoors while clothed white people watch. McQueen diligently captures these humiliations without snark, without apology, and (thank Christ), without pruriency. 12 Years a Slave is a film that respects the memory of American slavery.

Despite the torture, rape, and death all around him and Epps' attempts to break him, Solomon never gives up--he takes numerous risks to get in touch with his family (in the hopes of having his free papers sent--a depressing detail in an of itself, the fact that Americans with black skin even needed free papers to begin with). Even though these attempts fail, and nearly get him killed, his memory of his family keeps him looking for opportunities to find a way out of slavery.

When at last the opportunity arrives, it's cathartic without being overly sentimental. Solomon is reunited with his family--his children are grown now, and his daughter has a son of her own. I imagined if I were Solomon, I would have gotten down on my knees and kissed my families' hands, feeling like they were angels on earth.

Ejiofor, whose previous work includes the fun (but somewhat silly) Kinky Boots and the underrated Dirty Pretty Things, carries a lot of weight on his shoulders--and in his bewitching eyes. The story of the American slave is not exactly a cake walk, and few directors have succeeded in doing it justice. But the team of McQueen and Ejiofor (both black British men, not-so-incidentally) manage to do this dark chapter justice.

12 Years a Slave is emotionally exhausting, but well-worth seeing. Brilliantly acted, beautifully filmed, 12 Years a Slave stares into the soul of hatred and reveals how love and hope conquer all.

5 out of 5 stars

Deconstructing REDRUM

Movies: Room 237


It is a truth universally acknowledged that pop culture fan theories are a wondrous, beautiful black hole to obsessively get sucked into (usually via the Internet) when you're having a boring day. Certainly, you all know that Neville Longbottom was meant to be the "Chosen One" rather than Harry Potter? That the black briefcase in Pulp Fiction contains Marcellus Wallace's soul? That Ferris Bueller is nothing more than a fictitious fever dream in Cameron's head?

Fan theories are to pop culture fanatics what Illuminati bankers and presidential birth certificates are to your slightly tetched in the head uncle who TYPES EMAILS IN ALL CAPS: we look for hidden meanings where there probably aren't any, but we can't stop and we have a hell of good time doing it (and possibly annoying others in the process).

So Room 237 is an especially fun film for a cinephile: it's a documentary where a group of cultural and film critics deconstruct the possible "true" meanings behind The Shining. The Dissolve has been doing a series of articles on The Shining this week, and it's apparent that this film in particular lends itself very easily to fan theories. As Matt Singer points out in "The many ghosts of the Overlook", the fact that director Stanley Kubrick was a noted genius and perfectionist has led fan theorists to assume that any image in the frame, continuity error, or prop can and should be seen as a purposeful message to the audience. Indeed, in Room 237, one narrator makes reference to Kubrick's IQ of 200 (is this true? Because whoa) as if it is hard evidence that The Shining is meant to be a complex puzzle for the audience to solve.

On some level, I agree that The Shining is, in fact, way more than a horror film about a guy who goes nuts and tries to kill his family. The Stephen King novel The Shining--which is equally atmospheric and scary as the movie--is about addiction, writer's block, isolation, and how the three converge to drive otherwise on-the-wagon Jack Torrance to insanity.

The film certainly keeps these elements as plot points, but they decrease in importance when compared to the creepiness and overall wrongness of The Overlook hotel. The film The Shining is less about addiction than it is about freakin' ghosts and labyrinths, man! This is one reason why Stephen King has been so strongly critical of Kubrick's adaptation. Kubrick put Jack Torrance's alcoholism and writer's block on the back burner and instead made the hotel itself insane--and it's clear that there's something wrong with both Jack (played by wild-eyed Jack Nicholson) and the Overlook itself from the first few scenes. There is no "slow decent into insanity" at the Overlook. There is just insanity.

The best interpretations in Room 237 touch on the giant sense of dread that hovers over The Shining like a fog. One narrator argues (in what is probably my favorite reading of the movie) that it's a film about "pastness"--about The Past and History as concepts. He points out that Danny escapes his father in the hedge maze by retracing his steps, much as we can only escape repeating mistakes by retracing our own steps--personal and collective--and learning from them.

Other interpretations range from unlikely yet intriguing (that The Shining is "really" about Native American genocide or The Holocaust) to downright laughable (The Shining is Kubrick's confession that he helped fake the moon landing footage). In some cases, there is just enough "proof" (for example: abundant Native American imagery and a reference to the Overlook being built on an Indian burial ground) to make you think "yeah, I can see that". But some of the "clues" provided by the critics are so silly, they can hardly be taken seriously (one commenter points out that a paper tray on desk of the Overlook's manager looks like a protruding erection in one frame. I am not kidding).

But my favorite scene in Room 237 is when they play The Shining backwards and forwards at the same time--not side by side, but with one image overtop the other like a transparency sheet. The result is super creepy and mesmerizing--kind of like "Dark Side of Oz", but scarier.

I think this is why Room 237 is so enjoyable: even if you think all the fan theories are completely bogus, the film itself is so aesthetically interesting and so complex that it's fascinating to inspect it closely. Kubrick was known for his unique cinematography: clinical, color-saturated, each shot framed perfectly (now that I think about it, he's like a sinister Wes Anderson. Or perhaps I should say that Wes Anderson is a gentle Stanley Kubrick). Symbolically and thematically, his films are stuffed full. So even if some of the fan theories are silly and "out there", it's a pleasure to dig deeply into one of the greatest horror films of all time.

4 out of 5 stars
(and for the record--I give The Shining 5 out of 5 stars)

Whoever comes to me, I will never drive away

Movies, Books: Higher Ground, Confessions of a Latter-Day Virgin

"I've done everything. I've changed everything. I changed cities. I changed countries, careers, friends, boyfriends, hobbies. But after everything I've done to make my life feel right, the one consistent is I feel like shit when I go to church."

~Nicole Hardy, Confessions of a Latter-Day Virgin


It's taken me a while to begin composing this entry. I see a lot of movies and I read a lot of books, but it's rare for one to really strike my heart. Nicole Hardy's memoir of growing up in the Mormon church and eventually realizing her religion was destroying her really affected me. Not because my experience is exactly like hers--it's not--but because she writes about the push and pull of religion so perfectly and beautifully--she wants to believe, she wants to obey God, she wants so desperately to feel at home in her church, but the truth is that this church has no place for her, and the spiritual and emotional demands are slowly grinding her down.

On top of this, Hardy was a virgin into her mid-thirties. In her church, premarital sex was a grave sin, and she tried so very, very hard to honor the church's teachings. But loneliness and desire for something all of her church friends got when they married young finally came to a head. Hardy didn't want the things Mormon girls are supposed to want--namely, children. She realized this gradually, and also realized that it would effectively bar her from a Mormon marriage, since the Mormon church is extremely family focused. Hardy also realized she was a feminist, pro-gay rights, intellectual, independent--all things that added to her unmarriageability in her church.

My life mirrors Hardy's in a few small ways: I always knew I was a feminist. As of right now, I've never had a strong desire for children (never say never I guess...my ovaries could explode at 30). I was a late bloomer romantically and sexually, and I still have a nagging feeling that I am "behind"--whatever that means. And finally, I have a complicated, antagonistic relationship with faith. I'm not an atheist. I was raised in a family that went to church, but also valued reason and education. I've never been a sentimental Christian, or a good girl. If I believe in God, I want that faith to reside somewhere deep and meaningful within me, independent of my political affiliation, my sex life, how I spend my Sunday mornings. And so, I struggle with what I believe.

I feel towards religion the way a big sibling feels towards a little sibling: I feel that I should be allowed to mock, criticize, tease, and fight with my own faith...but if others mock and make fun of it, I get protective and defensive of it.

This is why reading Hardy's memoir affected me so much. I understand where she's coming from. How it's not so easy to forsake something that's been a huge part of your life. There's a reason why R.E.M's "Losing My Religion" is a sad song. As freeing as rejecting religion can be, there is a sense of profound loss as well.

After reading about her struggles with confining her sexuality and dutifully attending church as she ages out of her young singles group, I felt like a giant weight had been lifted off of me, the reader, when Hardy finally reaches an epiphany. She is back from a disastrous vacation with a semi-boyfriend. During their trip, she says something that offends him and things just get worse from there. By the end of the trip, they aren't speaking. She confines herself to her apartment for days, crying her eyes out--not just because she lost a potential boyfriend, but because of the enormous pressure weighing down on her from all sides.

She looks at herself in the mirror and thinks: "You are the one who takes care of you, I tell myself. Who will, if you don't? I say it again like a promise, into the blue-rimmed gray of my irises. You are the one who takes care of you. The words inspire a tectonic shift, a click like the spring of a lock, exposing what's been lying in front of me for days, unassuming and cataclysmic: I am finished with my church."

This passage was so fucking profound, I wanted to sob for Hardy. For myself. For everyone. You are the one who takes care of you. It doesn't have to be about church or about relationships. It's about self-respect. Self-affirmation. All the things in the world that weigh down on us--the expectations, family, work, love, sex, religion, body image, social status, money. The ties we form, the acceptance we seek, the improvements we endlessly subject ourselves to...all of it is meaningless unless we can find it in us to love and accept ourselves.

There's a lot more to Confessions of a Latter-Day Virgin. At times, Hardy's writing is a bit self-absorbed (how could it not be since she is telling the story of her life?), but Hardy's self-awareness is her strength. There are moments in the memoir where she is the bad guy, or the fool. But she knows this and doesn't try to make out like a saint or a victim. Her struggles are solidly middle-class, white struggles--she knows this also. But even though she is privileged, never hungry, always loved by family and friends, her memoir captures a specific kind of struggle--the relentless demands of conservative religion, and the loneliness of feeling like you don't fit into the social group you were born and raised in.

5 out of 5 stars

***

In the same vein of Confessions, Vera Farmiga's directorial debut, Higher Ground is a beautiful take on one woman's relationship with religion over a few decades of her life.

Farmiga plays Corinne Walker, a woman who comes to Christianity after watching her child almost drown in a freak accident (the teenage Corinne is played by Taissa Farmiga, Vera's younger sister). Corinne and her husband join an evangelical, hippy-dippy church that coincides perfectly with the feel of the time period--the late 60's and early 70's. The members of the church wear homemade frocks and both genders sport long hair. There's a lot of hand-waving and singing. It's basically Woodstock minus the sex, drugs, and rock n' roll.

Corinne is presented as a woman with very strong faith. Even when she is chastised by an elder woman in the church for speaking up too often and verging on "preaching to the men", Corinne reacts with surprise and humility rather than rebelliousness.

Her faith is tested when her close friend, Annika (played by the lovely Dagmara Dominczyk, wife of actor Patrick Wilson), is diagnosed with a brain tumor. Annika undergoes surgery which saves her life but radically changes her personality--she goes from a sassy, sexy woman who can speak in tongues to a silent, scowling woman completely dependent on her husband.

Corinne's own marriage has serious ups and downs. Her husband, Ethan (played by Joshua Leonard of Blair Witch fame), is not a dominating, macho man, but he attempts to rule the roost at home in a way that is contrary to the equal partnership the two had in the early years of their marriage. This rubs Corinne the wrong way and it all comes to a head in a terrifying scene where Ethan chokes Corinne during a fight. Not long after, she decides to leave him.

Like Nicole Hardy, Corinne is a woman who naturally has faith, yet finds herself not fitting into (or rather, growing out of) her church. Higher Ground is a movie where no one is the bad guy. It's not a film that is anti-religion, but rather it attempts to realistically portray the natural changes that occur over the course of a person's life-- including changes in the relationship one has with religion.

Higher Ground ends on an ambiguous, yet positive, note. Corinne has left her husband, but still is part of her family's life. She visits her church to watch her girls perform a musical number and then speaks to the church members about waiting for Jesus to knock on her door--some days, he does, and other days she feels she lives in "a lonely place". But that faith is still there, and God has not abandoned Corinne, even though she has grown into a new person and new phase in her life. It's a fitting and beautiful end to a movie that lives solidly in the gray areas of life.

4 out of 5 stars