Starting with a digression. Milo is snoring like that cartoon character of childhood, blowing a feather up off his lips, again and again, more like a machine decompressing than a true snore. I think he learned it from the hubster, lying prostrate on his chest, paws curled in the sweetest heart shape, cataloging his every move. Though the pair is quite capable of sawing gigantic logs, as well. Last night, as a matter of fact, the the G-Man was roaring something fierce, and I tickled him on that soft spot near the hollow of his hip bone, and his body leapt, utterly and completely shaking the bed. I laughed and told him everything was alright before the pair of us drifted off, though who knows where. I have only echoes of those dreams.
I realized that it had been a while since I told you about movies, so here we are, despite the fairly steady stream I watch. I wonder if Netflix has a little widget like the Goodreads one? It would be nice to always have them there, quiet and patiently waiting for a click. Do you look at them, the books I read? That last one was a goodie, Autobiography of Red, still wrapping my brain around it.
Anyhoo, to fil-ums, these are coming-of-age stories, magnifying those painful bits we all go through in one way or another.
Submarine takes place in Wales during the eighties and follows Oliver Tate, as he navigates the waters of his first love with Jordana, a girl with a lot of extra-curricular problems and a wicked sense of humor. Although his life isn’t without complications. He is awkward and nerdy, with few friends, and suffering at home, too, through his parents faltering marriage. His father is inept and clueless, while his mother contemplates an affair with an old lover, a pseudo-ninja, self-help guru with a bad mullet. It is comical and sad and hopeful, too, punctuated by a great soundtrack and unusually great narration. Proof that first love matters, always.
Oh dear, this is a toughie, to tell it straight. I did a whole LOTTA tonglen during this one, dear readers, the hubster looking over at me, tears streaming, but breath a-flowing. From the novel of the same name, A Guide to Recognizing Your Saints follows Dito as a youth and an adult through some pretty rough experiences. This is a memoir made of composites of people the author/director knew growing up. His parents, deeply in love with their son, but rife with their own problems. His own first love and the coarse ways between them, yet tender, too. His best friends, on the cusp of insanity, hopelessly tethered to violent homes and surroundings, drinking and drug use, the infinite love and jealousy that can never be spoken, and the one who sees it all with enough clarity to know that they will be the end of him if he doesn’t make his own way, apart from them. A heartbreaker.
Chris Waitt has an interesting way with women. They dump him. One by one, again and again. He sees this as a problem and decides to make a documentary in which he seeks out his ex-girlfriends to ask them what happened. After a bit, it becomes obvious to everyone but Chris, though, bless his heart, he plods on, ever determined to get to the root cause. And he does, in his own way, with a little bit of everything, including help from his dear Mum, S & M, getting arrested, and being verbally abused by more than one ex. Hilarious one minute and tear-filled the next, watch how a grown boy becomes a man, for all the world to see.
Now to the Eames, Charles and Ray, who, like me, maybe you thought were brothers, instead of husband and wife, despite being fairly well educated on Modern Design. After the shame of my ignorance wore off, I really got into it, loving that the pair were so much more than really cool chairs. They made truly awesome animated fil-ums: puppets, stop motion, and drawn; collected ephemera, designed buildings, and worked, worked, worked, their minds like Vesuvius in a constant state of eruption. I loved their quirkiness, their manner of dress (so sweet and dapper), and how they truly loved everything they did, adding so much flair and panache to the world. Inspirational!
In Bruges, takes place in, you’ll never guess, Bruges! Or “fucking Bruges” as Colin Farrell’s character often says. He plays Ray, a hit man who makes the rookie mistake of murdering a boy along with his mark. He’s in Bruges with his partner and sort of mentor, Ken (the brilliant Brendan Gleeson), while they wait for the dust to settle back in London. I’ve seen this fil-um touted as a comedy, and while there are some humorous moments, don’t go in thinking that it’s going to be funny. It’s actually very melancholy and quite beautiful, save for the end. Avert your eyes, for there will be blood, my friends.
Troubled Water is Norwegian and tells two perspectives of the same event. The life of Thomas after his release from prison for murdering the boy, and Agnes, the mother of the murdered child. Each takes half of the film and merge in the end.
