Jiro Dreams of Sushi
Director: David Gelb
Genre: Documentary
Source: USA (2011)
Rating: PG
Location/Format: Netflix Streaming
Grade: A
The Queen of Versailles
Director: Lauren Greenfield
Genre: Documentary
Source: USA (2012)
Rating: PG
Location/Format: Netflix Streaming
Grade: B+
At first glance these two films may seem like a strange pairing, other than the fact that they are both documentaries on Netflix Streaming. That said, I was fascinated watching them one after the other (first Queen, then Jiro) as a way to compare two cultures, two individuals, two families, and two definitions of success. The fact that one film explored the worst excesses of America while the other detailed the Japanese emphasis on simplicity was merely a bonus.
The Queen of Versailles deals with the Siegel family's rise and tottering fall during the economic downturn of the late-Bush/ early-Obama years. David Siegel runs the largest timeshare company in the US, selling dreamy vacations to those who can barely afford it. He and his wife--the fascinating, frustrating, and oddly sympathetic Jacqueline--embark on a project to build the largest house in the United States, modeled on Versailles. And then the bottom drops out of the economy. The shots of that huge, empty, incomplete house will stick with me, as will the casualness with which the Siegels discover how little they know how to care for themselves. They define success in the typical terms of the American dream: cash, and lots of it. The Siegels flood themselves with "stuff"--children, pets, toys clothing--as though the belongings they have will fill the holes they have within. They measure success by swimming pools and walk-in closets, and so when those things begin to disappear, both Jacqueline and David seem to enter a free fall, unable to relate to their new status as the "not-quite-so-wealthy" or to one another.
As an average-salaried teacher near one of the richer zip codes in the country, I couldn't help but see several people in my life in the Siegels. They could be some of the parents of the students I teach, unable to see that money does not make up for lack of personality, morality, or human decency. They think that money brings respect and power, never realizing that all people respect is the money, not the people behind it.
While at times the film threatens to turn into an episode of The Real Housewives of Southern Florida, Greenfield finds a note of empathy and humanity that that show often lacks. Still, I can't help feeling a little bit of glee to see such shallow people get some comeuppance, and what that pleasure says about me is just as embarrassing and small as anything the Siegels discover about themselves.
Which is what makes the pleasures of Jiro Dreams of Sushi so pleasurable. While Versailles seems to be the quintessence of "American-ness," Jiro gets closer to depicting "Japanese-ness" than any other film I've seen. Expert sushi chef Jiro Ono is, at 85 years old, the owner and operator of one of the best-respected sushi restaurants in Japan. Seating only ten, and charging around $300 per diner, Jiro has made his career on the single-minded pursuit of perfection: crafting the perfect sushi experience as much as possible.
The family dynamics in Jiro are as complicated (and at times frustrating) as anything in Versailles, yet both the protagonist and his career is so much more palatable than American film because of the humility and attentiveness with which Jiro pursues his craft. He pushes himself--and his employees--not for fame or for money (he lives seems to live simply and spend all his time at work) but because he has a singular dedication to excellence. He wants to create an experience for others that is exquisite, and he has dedicated his life to making that happen.
I don't know, maybe it's the beautiful high-definition filming--never has sushi looked so good--but the experience of watching Jiro was just the opposite of Versailles for me: it filled me with happiness, with joy, and with an inner desire to devote more time to my own crafts, such as writing and teaching.
Maybe the divisions between these two films could be drawn back to the cultures that produced them, but both of them provide fascinating looks at individuals who have pursued success to the utmost of their abilities. For Jiro that pursuit is clean, simple, and pleasurable. For Versailles that pursuit is bloated, embarrassing, and vulgar in its excess. But both films cause me to re-examine my own priorities and the way I go after them.
Well, it's about time I admitted that I am something of a nerd. After reading something so weighty (in every sense of the word) as Moby Dick, I needed something light and frothy to enjoy and ended up with Anno Dracula in my hand after a trip to the bookstore. It was a Neil Gaiman comment on the cover that first drew me to it, because Gaiman's American Gods and Anansi Boys are two of my favorite fantasy novels. I didn't learn (until several chapters in) that Anno Dracula was actually first published a couple of decades ago. In fact, it already has two sequels and a third on the way.
That's actually good news, because I really ended up enjoying it.
Set in an alternate world in which both vampires and the events of Dracula are real--except that Dracula did not lose at the end of the novel, but in fact went on to mesmerize and marry Queen Victoria. Thus vampires are now free to come out of hiding and converge in Victorian England, where politics, love, and Jack the Ripper all come to get mingled together.
So, clearly, this is not for everyone. In fact, you probably already know whether or not you would ever pick up.
I really appreciated the fun the author had with the novel. Do you know your famous vampires from movies or literature? They probably make an appearance here. How about Victorian lit? Do the names Jekyll, Moreau, or Lestrade mean anything to you? Look for cameos by them as well. Newman hit the idea of the gothic mash-up out of the park years before the genre reached the public consciousness with books like Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, and he creates compelling original characters to boot.
As I said, I have no delusions that this is a book anyone else would enjoy besides me, but if you like supernatural fiction, and "spot-the-reference" games, and like a grown-up take on vampires, the book is a lot of fun. I'll pick up the next two in the series sight unseen--in fact, I'm looking forward to them even more, since one is set in World War I and one is set in the world of James Bond. Good times.
Grade: B+
Director:Craig Zobel
Genre: Drama
Source: USA (2013)
Rating: R
Location/Format: Blu-ray
Grade: B+
I first came across the story told in Compliance when researching the themes of power and authority for a book I was teaching about a boy soldier in Sierra Leone. When I shared a slightly less-explicit version of events with my class, they were shocked and horrified--just as I was--and also confused about how any rational people could convince themselves that what happens in the story is ok. That confusion and horror only grows on realizing that this is based on true events.
In brief, a prank caller phones a fast food restaurant (the fictional ChickWich) and explains that he is a police officer investigating a reported theft by Becky, one of the employees and an attractive teenager. He convinces the (female) manager to strip search her, take away her clothes, and leave her to be "watched" by several different people associated with the restaurant. Some involved protest, some are just fine with it, and eventually the girl is sexually assaulted by one of the people left alone with her.
The question of how we respond to perceived authority--and our responsibility for our own actions--is one that has troubled our society for a long time. We ask whether soldiers are responsible for what their commanders order them to do, whether we should blindly follow religious leaders, whether we owe obedience to governments. Yet Compliance brings that dilemma to a startling personal level. Becky's manager and others involved in her detainment know her. They have worked with her for weeks and months, so why are they so quick to acquiesce to the demands of a voice on a phone. Frequently when viewing this film I wanted to throw something at the tv and shout, "Why would you do that?" Director Zobel has a sharp sense of timing, allowing moments to play out in excruciating real time. When the manager decides to take Becky's clothes to her car as requested, eliminating the possibility of escape in the near future, we follow her long walk out to the vehicle as our minds are left reeling with the exposed girl off camera. The juxtaposition of Becky's horrifying situation and the normalcy of a fast food parking lot is both effective and chilling.
Actress Dreama Walker, playing Becky, is a mixed bag. She is attractive, and as a male viewer I think we are supposed to be titillated by seeing her nude, exposed, and vulnerable, because we must question our own tendencies and actions as well. We are supposed to desire her, and we are supposed to be revolted by her situation, and we are supposed to be revolted by ourselves as well for desiring her. It's an impressive trick film can do--and has done since the days of Psycho--where the audience is linked to the voyeur, the peeping tom, and the criminal, and our own intentions must then be interrogated. But, as I said, Walker is a mixed bag. I'm not sure she quite has the acting chops to handle the role. She loses affect and her responses seem to flatten as the film progresses, and while that could be a very subtle and effective acting choice (the victim going numb and dead to her situation), at times it reads like she just didn't know how to emote in an effective manner. I think I'd have to watch the film more carefully to decide, and frankly this is not a film I want to watch again. It intentionally leaves its viewers feeling dirty, because that's the point. We might be the compliant ones ourselves.
Overall, I think the film effectively raises questions about responsibility, choice, and authority. I classified it as a drama above, but frankly it is also a horror film: Ultimately, no matter how we justify ourselves, we are the only ones responsible for our actions, yet if that's the case, are we prepared to face what our actions may reveal about us in the right set of circumstances--our own potential for cruelty?
Normal people--the people next door, the people in the mirror--can be monsters. And that is truly horrifying.
Alternate Film Title: "I Feel Guilty for Wanting a Chicken Sandwich Now"
Director: Jonathan Levine
Genre: Comedy
Source: USA (2013)
Rating: PG-13
Location/Format: Island Cinema
Grade: B
I was lukewarm on this movie (ha!) until I realized it was supposed to be Romeo and Juliet, and then I began to like it more and more, though I felt stupid that it took me so long to figure out. Their names are R and Julie, for crying out loud. There's a Nurse, a best friend named M (for Mercutio?) and a balcony scene. I mean, they weren't subtle, but still. A clever riff for 9th grade teachers to play with.
Warm Bodies is strange in a lot of ways, because it's really not a "horror" movie (despite the presence of zombies), it is only sporadically funny, it had somewhat bad CGI and it has a third act that didn't quite make sense to me (where are they running to and why?). But despite all that it had some life to it due to the pleasantness of all the people on the screen. Rob Corddry, in particular, is always a welcome sight, and I have never noticed Teresa Palmer before, though I've seen a few of her movies, but thought she carried herself well.
On the other hand, Nicholas Hoult--who I've liked since About a Boy--never quite seems dead enough to me to make his "growth" as significant as it's supposed to be. He is likable and entertaining, but never felt like enough of a zombie to really make his arc as affecting as it could have been. I think part of that is due to the necessary narrative device of having him narrate the movie, but it's hard to feel your protagonist is dead when he seems to be expressing himself so eloquently.
This was a fun diversion, but ultimately a forgettable bit of fluff.
Alternate Film Title: "Film Distance and Time are Extremely Flexible When We Need Them to Be"
Director: Colin Trevorrow
Genre: Comedy
Source: USA (2012)
Rating: R
Location/Format: Blu-ray
Grade: A
I once had a mentor who talked about the ideas of faith, hope, and belief, those three interrelated concepts that drive religion, that drive friendship, that drive getting out of bed in the morning. He told me about his mother, who always believed in the people around her, and trusted those she came in contact with to tell her the truth. "That meant that she got taken advantage of many times," he said. "But it also meant that what she saw around her was the good in people, the best they had to offer, and the potential for relationships based in love, rather than mistrust."
That concept has always stuck with me. Working with teenagers, it is easy to get taken advantage of; I know that on a weekly--if not daily--basis I am lied to, coerced, manipulated--sometimes in a clumsy fashion, sometimes so smoothly that I probably never figure it out. But at heart, I want to believe in the goodness of people. I want to believe that all of us have the potential and are actively trying to be our best selves. And so I try to see the best, to have faith in my students, to trust that they are people in process, but people working towards enlightenment and growth. That choice to believe in others can lead to disappointment, but it can also lead to more meaningful human interaction and deeper relationships.
I think that's why I enjoyed Safety Not Guaranteed so much. Yes, it's full of young comedic actors I really enjoy (Aubrey Plaza, Mark Duplass, and Jake Johnson, particularly), and yes, that question of whether Mark Duplass is insane or not is played for both comedy and pathos, but at its core it is a film about having to decide whether you will trust in someone else or not, whether you will open up your heart--even at the risk of being disappointed or lied to--to the possibility of other people. It is easy to be cynical and distant. It is so much harder to expose your soft inner core.
Alternate Film Title: "TV Stars Unite!"
I have a confession to make: I was not prepared for this book.
What I mean by that is that for years Moby Dick has been one of those books that I felt like I should have read, that it was a matter of education and scholarship to read it, that it would be dry and slow moving but quote-unquote important and therefore it was my responsibility to sit down and wade through it. I knew about Ahab, and the White Whale, and "Call me Ishmael" and a few other elements, but I've never read a scholarly article or delved into the plot in detail, so I expected typical 19th century melodrama with a psychological and seafaring edge.
Instead, what I found was a book that was epic, passionate, Biblical, Shakespearean, and all-consuming. In other words, it was not at all what I expected.
It makes sense (as I learned today) that Moby Dick is a book that was forgotten in its time and then rediscovered by the Modernists in the 1920s. As someone who is just now, as an adult, discovering the pleasures and the pathos of reading the Modernist authors--whose cry to "Make it New" means that sometimes their writing is initially inaccessible and hard to connect with--I can see why Melville's magnum opus was unappreciated in 1851 and rediscovered as a classic years later. The form, the themes, and even some of the issues seem to predate the Modernists by 70 years.
Perhaps that is what genius is: working so far ahead of your peers that you cannot be understood until the rest of the world catches up with your brain.
The style of the novel is itself intensely modern. Melville mixes long, nearly textbook-like passages that explore every facet of the whale and whaling with chapters that read like an adventure novel and, more regularly, passages that read like Shakespeare. And I mean that in every sense of the word. The first time the "novel" is interrupted by stage directions and a soliloquy, I almost had to put the book down, I was so startled by Melville's audacity. Those soliloquies, the scope of the dialogue, and the fury of Ahab all increase as the novel progresses. I don't know at what point it happened, but I began to place Ahab next to Hamlet, and Lear, and perhaps most fittingly Macbeth, those tragic heroes whose are both all of us and the worst of us in one heart-rending package.
Yet, like Shakespeare, Melville is not drowning in sorrow, either. Honestly, the first thing that surprised me about Moby Dick and Ishmael in particular was just how funny it was. Ishmael's frustration with being forced to share a bed at an inn, his decision to sleep on a bench, his inability to get comfortable, his move back to the shared bed, and his discovery that the "savage cannibal" Queequeg will be his bed mate is all played with a wry comedy that I was not expecting. Similarly, there are some amazing comic passages later in the novel as well, as the different personalities on the ship are given chances to interact with one another.
That friendship between Quequeg and Ishmael was another surprise in its modernism. Surely there are many racist passages in the book describing the African and Pacific Island crew members as less than their white counterparts, yet at the heart of the book is also this deep bond between the white man the tattooed and brown-skinned Queequeg. One of my few disappointments in the book is only that the two don't get to interact much once the Pequod sets sail. Their friendship and common humanity sets an important tone for the rest of the novel.
I also loved the Biblical undertones (and overtones) of the book. Early in the novel, as Ishmael ventures into a church and sees a pulpit shaped like the bow of a ship, which Father Mapple climbs into like a sailor up the side of his ship, what is his subject? Whales, of course. More specifically, the Biblical whale and Jonah. Thus early on whales are tied up with divine power, with the question of God's wrath, with sin and sinners and immeasurable power. Throughout the novel, again and again Biblical and theological questions are raised, the meaning of the universe is questioned, and fate and divinity are brought into play.
It is against this epic scope that I finally began to understand why Melville felt the need to systematize, examine, and detail every aspect of whales and whaling so minutely. As he dissects, breaks down, and philosophizes on every tiny facet of the whale, the creature itself becomes absolutely knowable--catalogued, classified, and codified. Yet as readers we have to contrast that with Ahab. Ahab, who doesn't speak for days (and for chapters) after appearing. Ahab, who shuts himself away in his cabin. Ahab, who is so single-minded and focused that he cannot stop his pursuit of the whale for anything--even the simple human kindness of helping a father search for his lost son. Ahab--and by extension man--is unknowable next to the dumb biology of the whale. The whale is understandable; mankind, and other people, at their hearts are not. The whale is a thing, driven by instinct (note the time the author takes in talking about the whale's brain); while the viciousness of Moby Dick may be unique, as Starbuck eventually tells Ahab, the captain is the one who is driven by a murderous and beastlike lust for revenge, not the whale. We know the leviathan so completely so that we can realize how little we understand those right next to us. At least that's the interpretation that works for me.
I loved the book. Was it dry at times? Yes. Did I ever want to put it down and let it remain unfinished? Perhaps a few times. Yet the experience of reading this book was as profound an experience as I've had reading anything in the last few years. I think it may have entered my own personal pantheon of all time favorite books.
And quite frankly, that is the last thing I expected.
Grade: A
Director: Jonathan Dayton, Valerie Faris
Genre: Comedy
Source: USA (2012)
Rating: R
Location/Format: Blu-ray
Grade: B
I bumped this movie to the top of my queue after a recommendation from a coworker who also happens to be a big movie buff, but she and I don't always match up on tastes. Ruby Sparks was a near miss for me, with a lot that I did like countered by one thing that I didn't, and that thing's name is Paul Dano, and that is exactly why this movie is better than I gave it credit for at first blush.
Now, don't get me wrong. I like Dano a lot as an actor. His Eli Sunday in There Will Be Blood is an unexpectedly strong balance to Daniel Day Lewis's Daniel Plainview. He's done good work in other films as well (most notably Looper), and he does good work here, in that he and his character annoyed me so much as to make the movie almost painful to watch.
And I think that's exactly the point. point. His Calvin Weir-Fields is a wunderkind who everyone has been calling brilliant and amazing for as long as he's been around, and the movie takes on the narcissism and egotism that such an environment produces. We are supposed to see just how in love he is with himself, and how better to do that than to make his words come to life--literally--in the form of Ruby Sparks, the perfect woman he wrote for himself who then shows up in his kitchen.
After a while, his selfishness, his cruelty, and his worst tendencies are allowed to play out, because Calvin can keep writing and make Ruby do, be, and feel whatever he wants. In time, what seems like a fantasy becomes revealed for all that it is: masturbation and self-gratification, and a sad, hurtful form of it at that.
My first reaction to this movie was to dislike it, but the more I thought about it--even as I wrote this review--the more I realized that the distaste with which I viewed Calvin was the point. Calvin pushes away others as he gets wrapped up more and more in himself (via Ruby), and at a certain point even he can't deny the shallowness of his actions. His drive to create the perfect companion is not about the need for love (as he first believes), but about gratifying his own desires. Real love doesn't mean your partner is exactly who you want all the time; real love means you learn to understand and know and accept them because at times they surprise and confound and even disappoint you. It is about learning to embrace and accept and value someone else's personhood. When you can do that instead of making it all about you, maybe you're figuring something out.
I'm not sure the film (or the characters) deserve the ending they get, but maybe that's ok too. I'm not sure I deserve all the things I get in my life either.
One last note: I was impressed to discover that the film was written by Zoe Kazan, the actress who plays Ruby herself. What a great bit of meta trivia: the actress plays a character written by a writer that she wrote as well. I don't know why it impresses me so much that she wrote it, but I think it adds a layer of interest, if nothing else because I hear of fewer male "vanity" projects than female. Plus, it turns out she's Elia Kazan's granddaughter, so there's another thing.
Alternate Film Title: "I Want Antonio Banderas as My Awesomely Crazy Stepfather Some Day"
Director: Edward Zwick
Genre: Drama
Source: USA (1994)
Rating: PG-13
Location/Format: Netflix Streaming
Grade: D+
Wow, this movie was not very good.
From Julia Ormond crying in practically every scene, to music that was trying so hard to be epic and bold that it got in the way of letting the viewer find an emotion on their own, to Anthony Hopkins' scrunchy stroke face. It just didn't work for me.
Moments that were supposed to be profound became silly. Moments that were supposed to be romantic became dull. Moments that were supposed to be meaningful came off as trite.
I admit, I like Aidan Quinn and Brad Pitt, and both of them are working well with what they've got, but what they've got is too much out of a soap opera to work for me. And I just wanted to take a huge knife of my own to Brad Pitt's hair.
I can imagine that had I seen this movie when it was released I would have thought it was awesome. And I can imagine that had I seen this movie on Blu-ray I would have thought it was at least pretty to look at. But Netflix Streaming and being a grown up made neither of those things really work for me.
But I guess I can say I've seen it now. (And props to Clementine for having the good sense to not be swayed by Brad Pitt's good looks and still to realize it wasn't a very good movie).
Alternate Film Title: "A Man's Gotta Do What a Man's Gotta Do, and Sometimes What a Man's Gotta Do Is Cut Out His Brother's Heart"
Jiro Dreams of Sushi
At first glance these two films may seem like a strange pairing, other than the fact that they are both documentaries on Netflix Streaming. That said, I was fascinated watching them one after the other (first Queen, then Jiro) as a way to compare two cultures, two individuals, two families, and two definitions of success. The fact that one film explored the worst excesses of America while the other detailed the Japanese emphasis on simplicity was merely a bonus.
