I'm going to try to make this free of spoilers. I don't think it's possible to spoil this movie, though. Just don't walk out after the first 45 minutes.
Okay, so I saw The Tree of Life this past Tuesday. Right off the bat, I just have to say that the cinemotagraphy is amazing. It looks specacular. The movie itself is the culmination of Mallick's films. Everything was there: religion, man vs. the universe, voiceover, hands running through wheat, good vs. evil, shots of the sun, shots looking up at the trees. And it was beautiful, absolutely beautiful.
But my thoughts on it haven't yet settled. At first, I thought that the parts about the dawn of the universe didn't mesh well or have a coherent message with the parts centering around Jack's family. But as I've had some distance from it, it is clearly one of the many contrasting pairs Mallick sets up in the film.
The very personal and subjective pain of losing a close family member, contrasted with the expanse of the universe
Father vs. Mother
Grace vs. Nature
Future vs. Present
Past vs. Present
Preparing for and sculpting the future, as opposed to letting things come, letting things happen
Evil vs. Good
The meting out of love (when deemed appropriate) vs. unconditional and ever-present love
Brother vs. brother
These were just a few of the themes that I felt and picked up on while watching the film. There were two specific impressions that have really resonated with me, though.
First, when it came to the Waco, TX scenes, so much reminded me of my own family and my own childhood. I am the eldest child, and I, too, felt a strange relationship to my younger siblings, both a strong love for and a certain jealousy of their presence. We were also physically disciplined (something I have no problem with), but later in my parents' marriage my dad became more abusive (something I have a huge problem with); my mom was also silently indignant about this, as Jack's mother was, but couldn't do much to stop it. Then there were some religious aspects of the film that really hit home. All of those questions were ones I had asked of God myself in some intensely personal, trying, and scary times. There is fear and awe and doubt mixed up in those moments, just as they were expertly portrayed in the movie.
The second thought that I just can't shake about this film is the similarities between it and East of Eden by John Steinbeck, one of my favorite books. East of Eden is just as beautiful, if not more so, and the juxtapositions between the beauty and wide open space of the west with the author's detailed family histories and personal memories recall Mallick's struggle to comprehend humanity and existence. Both works also allude to biblical references throughout. The book also centers around the relationships between brothers (there are at least three sets of siblings in the book, two of which feature brothers competing for love and acceptance), just as The Tree of Life spends time showing differences between the two brothers and the desire to be "good."
The book is a bit more concerned with fate and intertwining stories, as a book is so well-suited to do, but both pieces end (explicitly or implicitly) with what I interpreted as a choice. Both writers asked "why him?" with a certain amount of guilt, and I think Steinbeck provided not an answer but a choice -- an obligation -- to keep going. Although my fellow moviegoers, SM and DS, disagreed with me about the ending of the film, I saw it as a sign of freedom from the burden of grief, permission to keep going: Timshel, "thou mayest." He is the only one left to do something with his life, and he has the permission, he should do so without guilt.
These are just some reactions that have been going through my head in the past 4 days. I think I need to see the film again to really hammer down whether the questions Mallick posed were answered or if they need answers at all. DS was pretty adamant that this was one of the finest films he'd ever seen, and that there was no conclusion to be drawn from the impressionistic portrait. Maybe it's just my desire for outlines and closure, but I think there's more to this than not being able to fully interpret it, and I think we're allowed to judge the piece if it doesn't end up coalescing into anything substantial. I'll let you know if I figure anything else out.
Saturday, June 25, 2011
First Impressions
It can be incredibly unnerving to have your reputation precede you. It is simultaneously flattering, frightening, and intimidating that others have spoken of you, that their friends have formed a picture to which they will compare you from then on. Whether positive or negative, you can add to that portrait or shatter it.
I am perpetually frustrated that I am doomed to be trapped inside my own head, never able to see myself without an intimate knowledge of myself and my own neuroses. What does what we do for our own reasons look like to everyone else who is not privy to those incentives? What do other people see when they meet you? How does that change as they get to know you?
Anyway, one of my closest friends, JW, had an engagement party (in celebration of her engagement, of course, but also her civil union -- her husband, JD, is from out of the country, meaning lots of paperwork ahead that they'd like to settle sooner rather than later). When I met 2 of my fellow bridesmaids, her other best friends from college, the first words out of their mouths were, "this is the Tiff?" "It's so great to finally meet you!" Of course I had heard loads about them and was happy to finally meet them as well, but I was immediately caught off guard -- what does that mean? What could they possibly know about me that I don't? We talked for a while, and JW came over. "She's so great! I love her!" they said. "I know, right?" JW responded, as if there was something I wasn't in on; they'd clearly talked about this before. I honestly don't get it. I thought they were really nice and really cool, and we certainly share some interests, but I kept getting the nagging feeling there was something I was missing, and it weirded me out.
I admitted this to SM the next morning: what is it that people see that I can't? How drastic a difference is the sense of our selves we get in our own heads from the self we are actually projecting to others? Obviously I know no one else is privy to my inner monologue, but one thing SM brought up that I hadn't thought of before was that what I take for granted may be what others lack and what they like in me. For example, he said, his mother finds me to be "warm," and he used the word "genuine" too. In discussing what those descriptions could possibly mean, we mapped it back to what I always thought was just asking questions about people and things because I actually wanted to know. Apparently not everyone does that? I've also been accused of far worse -- being cold, being moody -- but in my head, there's always a reason, whether it's not knowing what to say; trying to internally wrestle with whether or not I'm doing the right thing; or watching my precious plans crumble before my eyes, leaving me helpless and clueless. Fortunately SM has learned to pick up on all of those things, and he knows how to read the situation and act or not act accordingly.
I'm sure everyone has their own reasons for everything, then, right? Is getting to know someone just familiarizing yourself with the differential between the inner workings of one's brain and the person you met that first time, the projection of that person in that first impression? Can you be close to someone without being familiar with that differential? Is Person X really such a bitch in their own head as they are in real life?
I'm reminded of a 30 Rock scene in which we see that Liz's impressions of high school -- mainly that everyone shunned her because she was such a nerd -- were completely devoid of reality, and that it was she who was really the one who was harsh and outspoken. I had a similar experience with a friend a few months ago. It's less about what others think than the idea of not knowing myself: did I really do that? Did I really hurt you? I had no idea. The oblivion is unnerving. If really knowing someone is indeed somewhat dependent upon being okay with that space between the inner workings of my head and the outer manifestations thereof, then I don't really think I am very well acquainted with me.
I am perpetually frustrated that I am doomed to be trapped inside my own head, never able to see myself without an intimate knowledge of myself and my own neuroses. What does what we do for our own reasons look like to everyone else who is not privy to those incentives? What do other people see when they meet you? How does that change as they get to know you?
Anyway, one of my closest friends, JW, had an engagement party (in celebration of her engagement, of course, but also her civil union -- her husband, JD, is from out of the country, meaning lots of paperwork ahead that they'd like to settle sooner rather than later). When I met 2 of my fellow bridesmaids, her other best friends from college, the first words out of their mouths were, "this is the Tiff?" "It's so great to finally meet you!" Of course I had heard loads about them and was happy to finally meet them as well, but I was immediately caught off guard -- what does that mean? What could they possibly know about me that I don't? We talked for a while, and JW came over. "She's so great! I love her!" they said. "I know, right?" JW responded, as if there was something I wasn't in on; they'd clearly talked about this before. I honestly don't get it. I thought they were really nice and really cool, and we certainly share some interests, but I kept getting the nagging feeling there was something I was missing, and it weirded me out.
I admitted this to SM the next morning: what is it that people see that I can't? How drastic a difference is the sense of our selves we get in our own heads from the self we are actually projecting to others? Obviously I know no one else is privy to my inner monologue, but one thing SM brought up that I hadn't thought of before was that what I take for granted may be what others lack and what they like in me. For example, he said, his mother finds me to be "warm," and he used the word "genuine" too. In discussing what those descriptions could possibly mean, we mapped it back to what I always thought was just asking questions about people and things because I actually wanted to know. Apparently not everyone does that? I've also been accused of far worse -- being cold, being moody -- but in my head, there's always a reason, whether it's not knowing what to say; trying to internally wrestle with whether or not I'm doing the right thing; or watching my precious plans crumble before my eyes, leaving me helpless and clueless. Fortunately SM has learned to pick up on all of those things, and he knows how to read the situation and act or not act accordingly.
I'm sure everyone has their own reasons for everything, then, right? Is getting to know someone just familiarizing yourself with the differential between the inner workings of one's brain and the person you met that first time, the projection of that person in that first impression? Can you be close to someone without being familiar with that differential? Is Person X really such a bitch in their own head as they are in real life?
I'm reminded of a 30 Rock scene in which we see that Liz's impressions of high school -- mainly that everyone shunned her because she was such a nerd -- were completely devoid of reality, and that it was she who was really the one who was harsh and outspoken. I had a similar experience with a friend a few months ago. It's less about what others think than the idea of not knowing myself: did I really do that? Did I really hurt you? I had no idea. The oblivion is unnerving. If really knowing someone is indeed somewhat dependent upon being okay with that space between the inner workings of my head and the outer manifestations thereof, then I don't really think I am very well acquainted with me.
Friday, May 13, 2011
Yes, this is why I love Community
What he said.
Also, kudos to the AV Club for being my gold standard for pop culture criticism. I rarely give them direct shout outs, and, while they aren't necessarily my models, they certainly give validity to a lot of what I think about and how I make connections between things in that sphere.
While we're at it, hat tip to DMP for pushing me to watch Community in the first place.
Also, kudos to the AV Club for being my gold standard for pop culture criticism. I rarely give them direct shout outs, and, while they aren't necessarily my models, they certainly give validity to a lot of what I think about and how I make connections between things in that sphere.
While we're at it, hat tip to DMP for pushing me to watch Community in the first place.
Saturday, May 7, 2011
Reluctant Symbology
Back when I first read Catcher in the Rye, it genuinely irked me that my English teacher harped on and on about symbols. Between the red hunting hat and those ducks, I just didn't buy that a writer would go through and plant all that crud for us to pore over the text and ferret out. As I got older, I started to appreciate that there are some writers out there who would do such a thing. However, throughout all of the films I studied in college, some of my skepticism surely remained. That said, I have to hand it to my high school English teachers: they sure beat that ferreting habit into me.
Just last week I went to a screening of Terrance Mallick's Badlands with a few friends. Last year we'd endured a Kurosawa series at the Gene Siskel Film Center together, and this year we'd contrived to setup our own Mallick series, only to find that the Music Box had already done it for us. Anyway, we saw Badlands and then headed to a barbecue together (first of the season!).
Fresh from the theater, the movie was, of course, on our minds. I prefaced my contribution to the group critique with a caveat: "I hate when people look for meaning and symbolism in works of art, especially film. You can just make up some bullshit, and as long as you run with it, carry it through to the paper's conclusion, you can pass. But..." I hesitated before submitting my question. "Do you think there's any significance in her father being a sign painter?" Before others could fully form their own arguments, I involuntarily began forming the answer to my own question, the clues coalescing into a college paper as I arranged the condiments onto my medium grilled hamburger. Fortunately, I suppose, DS saved me by offering up a tidbit Mallick's biographical history, that he was an aspiring academic, a Rhodes Scholar, before he was a filmmaker, in philosophy no less, so my search for significance beyond the screen and the text was most likely not in vain.
So here's my theory: of course it's significant that Holly's father is a sign painter. Whether he leads her on the right path or not, he serves as sole guider for a character who doesn't show any agency of her own until a brief and minute act of independence and self preservation near the end. the signs he paints are never shown to be direct commands, rather they are tableaus or brand names, passive declarations of what is and what should be in your life. Similarly, while he may have had questionable tactics, he sure had a lot of influence on how Holly lived her life, setting up rules and consequences that were outward manifestations of how he believed life should be, always demonstrative and never really explained by a man of few words.
[Spoiler alert] After Kit kills him, Kit's philosophy takes control over Holly in the place of her father. She comments on his behavior but still fails to act independently from him or even squirm under his guiding hand. But while her father had a demonstrative style of control in the form of figurative signposts (your dog has been shot: wrong way), Kit had a more passive, leash-like hold over her. Her life with Kit surprisingly holds no signs. For somewhat of a road trip movie, there is a noteworthy dearth of signage (not even highway names or exit signs): the only sign I remember seeing is one for Texaco at a gas station after she's already separated from him. For much of the movie they aren't even on roads.
DS made a point of insisting that this is not a film about morality, and I agree. There is a reason Holly's father is not portrayed as saintly or even good. As I said, his methods have something to be desired, but furthermore it's important to note that it's not clear where he was attempting to guide Holly to. My point is more to emphasize the fact that she was being guided at all. I may even go as far as saying there's a bit of a bildungsroman hidden in here, the apex of which is her decision to stop fleeing and submit to being apprehended by the police. It was actually somewhat of a relief for me to see her show some agency for once in the film. It's a small climax, but I think it's there nonetheless.
Part of me very much enjoys watching movies and other media with a critical eye. If you were to ask me, though, it's how it all comes together collaboratively and technically that I find exciting. I would argue that this also extends to the details of how exactly the idea/writing is portrayed onscreen, and so I don't completely ignore the craftsmanship of the writing. But when it comes to all those symbols, imagining someone painstakingly seeding that trail for the viewer to follow, another part of me just doesn't buy it. There are so many other things to worry about than tracing the movements of a red hat throughout a story, right? Luckily for whatever writer or director is out there ahead of me on the trail, though, I find myself seeing the signs, taking the bait again and again, and following them down. When I see Days of Heaven tomorrow as a part of this series, I suppose I'll have to see it with new eyes. I've gushed over the cinematography before, so I guess I'll have my eyes peeled for the next set of symbols Mallick throws my way. I might even write about it here. But I'll have you know, I won't be very happy about it.
Just last week I went to a screening of Terrance Mallick's Badlands with a few friends. Last year we'd endured a Kurosawa series at the Gene Siskel Film Center together, and this year we'd contrived to setup our own Mallick series, only to find that the Music Box had already done it for us. Anyway, we saw Badlands and then headed to a barbecue together (first of the season!).
Fresh from the theater, the movie was, of course, on our minds. I prefaced my contribution to the group critique with a caveat: "I hate when people look for meaning and symbolism in works of art, especially film. You can just make up some bullshit, and as long as you run with it, carry it through to the paper's conclusion, you can pass. But..." I hesitated before submitting my question. "Do you think there's any significance in her father being a sign painter?" Before others could fully form their own arguments, I involuntarily began forming the answer to my own question, the clues coalescing into a college paper as I arranged the condiments onto my medium grilled hamburger. Fortunately, I suppose, DS saved me by offering up a tidbit Mallick's biographical history, that he was an aspiring academic, a Rhodes Scholar, before he was a filmmaker, in philosophy no less, so my search for significance beyond the screen and the text was most likely not in vain.
So here's my theory: of course it's significant that Holly's father is a sign painter. Whether he leads her on the right path or not, he serves as sole guider for a character who doesn't show any agency of her own until a brief and minute act of independence and self preservation near the end. the signs he paints are never shown to be direct commands, rather they are tableaus or brand names, passive declarations of what is and what should be in your life. Similarly, while he may have had questionable tactics, he sure had a lot of influence on how Holly lived her life, setting up rules and consequences that were outward manifestations of how he believed life should be, always demonstrative and never really explained by a man of few words.
[Spoiler alert] After Kit kills him, Kit's philosophy takes control over Holly in the place of her father. She comments on his behavior but still fails to act independently from him or even squirm under his guiding hand. But while her father had a demonstrative style of control in the form of figurative signposts (your dog has been shot: wrong way), Kit had a more passive, leash-like hold over her. Her life with Kit surprisingly holds no signs. For somewhat of a road trip movie, there is a noteworthy dearth of signage (not even highway names or exit signs): the only sign I remember seeing is one for Texaco at a gas station after she's already separated from him. For much of the movie they aren't even on roads.
DS made a point of insisting that this is not a film about morality, and I agree. There is a reason Holly's father is not portrayed as saintly or even good. As I said, his methods have something to be desired, but furthermore it's important to note that it's not clear where he was attempting to guide Holly to. My point is more to emphasize the fact that she was being guided at all. I may even go as far as saying there's a bit of a bildungsroman hidden in here, the apex of which is her decision to stop fleeing and submit to being apprehended by the police. It was actually somewhat of a relief for me to see her show some agency for once in the film. It's a small climax, but I think it's there nonetheless.
Part of me very much enjoys watching movies and other media with a critical eye. If you were to ask me, though, it's how it all comes together collaboratively and technically that I find exciting. I would argue that this also extends to the details of how exactly the idea/writing is portrayed onscreen, and so I don't completely ignore the craftsmanship of the writing. But when it comes to all those symbols, imagining someone painstakingly seeding that trail for the viewer to follow, another part of me just doesn't buy it. There are so many other things to worry about than tracing the movements of a red hat throughout a story, right? Luckily for whatever writer or director is out there ahead of me on the trail, though, I find myself seeing the signs, taking the bait again and again, and following them down. When I see Days of Heaven tomorrow as a part of this series, I suppose I'll have to see it with new eyes. I've gushed over the cinematography before, so I guess I'll have my eyes peeled for the next set of symbols Mallick throws my way. I might even write about it here. But I'll have you know, I won't be very happy about it.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Long Live the '90s!
I remember turning to my brother during a late season episode of The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air and questioning what could possibly be pulled from the '90s and mocked like the '60s and '70s. Wow, have I eaten my words. Looking at Will, Hilary, and Ashley's hair styles and clothing now, they're obviously recognizable relics from that era. The main theme's song and the graphic design also immediately take me back to circa 1992, when I used to skip around the house with my family and recite the rap, complete with that last head twirl he gives before he knocks on the Banks' front door.
Of course, as with every passing decade, we have a lot to look back and laugh at. But we've gotten a lot of good stuff from the '90s too. One of the things I really miss about that time was that shows like Fresh Prince and The Cosby Show (check out those sweaters) could even be on and popular. They were especially important to me as a black girl who grew up in Minneapolis and went to a pretty affluent school to see black people who talked like I did, did their homework just like me, and had relatively stable family lives as I did at the time. However, I'm hard pressed to find such a message on primetime television today.
Nowadays, when we're not mocking the pop culture of the decade, we're often celebrating freedom from its tyranny of political correctness. I remember textbooks and classroom posters of multicultural groups of friends: there were always two white kids, a black kid, an Asian, or at least someone of an indeterminate, poly-ethnic brown, and maybe a kid in a wheelchair. I even laughed at the idealistic inclusiveness back then. On the other hand, though, as I've grown older, I realize that my friends are of all different races. While some black people I know are unsettled by my Facebook photos with my white friends, they really have no clue how much effort I've put into including many different levels of diversity in my life.
It's not like I go out looking for new and diverse friends (in fact, new people are one of the things I am most dubious about, and I often dread having to meet them). Rather, I have found it quite natural for me to be in the company of different types of people, and I am actually interested in how we all differ. I like to be aware of those diverse presences around me, because, honestly, it really weirds me out to be in an inverse situation. Both to be outnumbered and to outnumber to the point of exclusion makes me incredibly uneasy, whether it's blacks and whites, women and men, Christians and atheists. Even being a witness to it gives an eerie layer to whatever I'm watching.
I guess I can understand the feeling of liberation from PC pressure. I certainly get annoyed at overboard attempts myself. But sometimes I think people dismiss it because they think we're done, we did our part. Many people of myriad backgrounds fought hard to be able to portray a stable, middle class black family on television, and that it was popular was a boon. Done. But I'd wager that many others who had never met one of those families let the possibility of the existence of others like them enter their minds and were better off for it. And probably still others, like me, became that much more comfortable with themselves and maybe even made it their mission to get to know lots of different kinds of people. Why does that have to stop, especially now when the anonymity of the internet and the divisiveness of our political landscape reveals that there are multitudes of closed minds out there? The closest thing we're getting now is having a completely opposite effect, with atrocious and embarrassing works from the likes of Tyler Perry.
A lot of those textbooks we used to have looked so laughably forced, and the friend groups formed on TV had so many easily identifiable token characters. But hopefully there are people out there for whom those situations were real life, and they'll create something feels a lot more natural and real. I think there are network television shows like that out there now, like "Community" and "Parks and Recreation." (Not to mention shows like "The Wire" and "Treme" -- of course cable is producing quality, diverse work) Fortunately, there are others out there who grew up in the '90s who will soon be in charge of creating the media that's pouring out into the world.
Of course, as with every passing decade, we have a lot to look back and laugh at. But we've gotten a lot of good stuff from the '90s too. One of the things I really miss about that time was that shows like Fresh Prince and The Cosby Show (check out those sweaters) could even be on and popular. They were especially important to me as a black girl who grew up in Minneapolis and went to a pretty affluent school to see black people who talked like I did, did their homework just like me, and had relatively stable family lives as I did at the time. However, I'm hard pressed to find such a message on primetime television today.
Nowadays, when we're not mocking the pop culture of the decade, we're often celebrating freedom from its tyranny of political correctness. I remember textbooks and classroom posters of multicultural groups of friends: there were always two white kids, a black kid, an Asian, or at least someone of an indeterminate, poly-ethnic brown, and maybe a kid in a wheelchair. I even laughed at the idealistic inclusiveness back then. On the other hand, though, as I've grown older, I realize that my friends are of all different races. While some black people I know are unsettled by my Facebook photos with my white friends, they really have no clue how much effort I've put into including many different levels of diversity in my life.
It's not like I go out looking for new and diverse friends (in fact, new people are one of the things I am most dubious about, and I often dread having to meet them). Rather, I have found it quite natural for me to be in the company of different types of people, and I am actually interested in how we all differ. I like to be aware of those diverse presences around me, because, honestly, it really weirds me out to be in an inverse situation. Both to be outnumbered and to outnumber to the point of exclusion makes me incredibly uneasy, whether it's blacks and whites, women and men, Christians and atheists. Even being a witness to it gives an eerie layer to whatever I'm watching.
I guess I can understand the feeling of liberation from PC pressure. I certainly get annoyed at overboard attempts myself. But sometimes I think people dismiss it because they think we're done, we did our part. Many people of myriad backgrounds fought hard to be able to portray a stable, middle class black family on television, and that it was popular was a boon. Done. But I'd wager that many others who had never met one of those families let the possibility of the existence of others like them enter their minds and were better off for it. And probably still others, like me, became that much more comfortable with themselves and maybe even made it their mission to get to know lots of different kinds of people. Why does that have to stop, especially now when the anonymity of the internet and the divisiveness of our political landscape reveals that there are multitudes of closed minds out there? The closest thing we're getting now is having a completely opposite effect, with atrocious and embarrassing works from the likes of Tyler Perry.
A lot of those textbooks we used to have looked so laughably forced, and the friend groups formed on TV had so many easily identifiable token characters. But hopefully there are people out there for whom those situations were real life, and they'll create something feels a lot more natural and real. I think there are network television shows like that out there now, like "Community" and "Parks and Recreation." (Not to mention shows like "The Wire" and "Treme" -- of course cable is producing quality, diverse work) Fortunately, there are others out there who grew up in the '90s who will soon be in charge of creating the media that's pouring out into the world.
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