Having just sat through Ice Age 3: Dawn of the Dinosaurs with my boys, I couldn't help thinking about a common theme in kid films today---the formation of new, alternative "families." In some ways, this trend isn't entirely new. Ever since Bambi's mom bit the dust, family films have had an inordinate focus on orphans. Almost every major Disney hero or heroine seems to be missing at least one parent. Now, though, films allow the protagonists to create a new family. Take three examples just from this summer's fare:
Up: An excellent movie that all film-lovers should see, even if you don't have kids. The story focuses on Carl, an elderly grouch still mourning the death of his beloved wife. The couple were never able to have children, but had a wonderful marriage. Just as Carl is trying to escape from the world with his giant clump of balloons, he encounters Russell, a little boy desperately trying to earn a scout badge just to get the attention of his absentee father. We discover that Russell was once close to his dad, but ever since his parents divorced and his dad remarried, the father has dropped out of his life. By the end of the movie, Carl decides to re-enter the world by becoming a surrogate dad to young Russell. If the montage at the end showing the two of them engaged in all types of fun activities doesn't make you well up, you are made of stone.
Ice Age 3: Like the previous Ice Age movies, a funny and well-made animated movie with quite a bit of action this time around. The running theme of this entire franchise is the creation of an unconventional family (or "herd"). At the beginning of this film, the motley family consists of two mammoths, two opossums, a saber-tooth tiger, and sloth. The family cohesion is threatened by the arrival of the a new baby mammoth for the herd's stand-in "mother and father." The "adopted" children think they will be left out by the biological child. Of course, in the end, every family member proves their value and the herd remains intact, with the addition of the cutest wooly baby you've ever seen.
Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince: My Potter-crazed eldest is dying to see this one when it opens next week, but having already read the books, we already know how it will fit into the theme of making your own family. Harry's search for family is a running theme throughout J.K. Rowling's fictional masterpiece. Harry actually gets orphaned twice---once as a baby when his parents are killed by Voldemort and later when his godfather is killed by Voldemort's follower. Though he still feels the love of his parents, his other "blood kin" treat him horribly. He is forced to endure their abusive company just to survive until age 17. Harry envies the poor, but loving Weasley clan, who represent the ideal family he wishes he had [read the end of book seven to see how this element unfolds]. In the end, Harry really survives by relying on a family of his own making---his friends.
Those who push a "traditional family" agenda may protest this theme of making up your own family, but it reflects a reality of our times. Statistics prove there are many Russells out there, growing up without a strong father-figure; as well as many Harrys, whose abusive blood-relations reflect more hate than love. In all the stories, love, loyalty, and presence count more than DNA in building family. To me, this is a hopeful message, telling kids that, no matter what life throws your way, you can find happiness and love. It is a worthwhile message for any kid to hear.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Thursday, July 9, 2009
It Must Be True Love: I’m Devoted to Roger Ebert, Even When I Disagree with Him
Yes, it’s true. Don’t tell my husband, but I have an ongoing relationship with a rotund Chicago film critic whom I’ve never even met. I read his words almost daily and cannot express how much he has changed my life.
Oh, as is typical with most youthful crushes, originally I was more enamored by his tall, lanky wingman. The duo fought constantly to see which could win me over, convincing me to follow their thumbs up or down recommendation of how best to spend my weekends. The lanky one initially wooed me with his smooth words, but in the long run, like Cyrano de Bergerac, the eloquent words of the less photogenic one won me over.
I was first introduced to Ebert as a tweener when our local PBS station began showing Sneak Previews, the first iteration of the movie review show that paired him with his newspaper rival Gene Siskel. The show was a revelation to me, growing up as I did in an isolated rural community that had one drive-in and a very run-down theater that smelled like old gym shoes and never showed first-run films. Yet despite my limited viewing options, I grew up loving movies. And these two guys from Chicago introduced me to all kinds of films that I would never have heard of otherwise. They talked about foreign films, artsy films (what we now call “independent”), documentaries, scandalous movies, and even really bad films. I remember they always ended the show with “the dog of the week,” some really bad movie that had stolen two hours of their lives, introduced by a real barking dog. Were it not for Siskel and Ebert, I would never have heard of movies like Sweet Sweetback’s Badass Song (I didn’t even know you were allowed to use the word “ass” in a movie title!!) or John Waters’s Pink Flamingos (the image of the clip with Divine licking all the dishes still haunts me today). They made me want to know more about movies, even ones I would never have the opportunity to see as a minor.
On television, Siskel always impressed me more than Ebert, not because of any greater physical appeal, but because he came across on screen as the more serious critic. Ebert seemed to go easier on films, giving more thumbs up to mediocre offerings and generally trying to be nicer. Whether he really did give more thumbs up than Siskel is a matter for data keepers in other forums. I’m just reflecting my impressions from watching television. It was hard to imagine that Ebert was the one with the Pulitzer Prize, when Siskel seemed the more critical of the two. I continued to maintain this same impression through years of watching as their television show evolved right up until Gene Siskel’s death.
Then a strange thing happened. I began to read some of Ebert’s written reviews, first in his published collections, then, through the wonders of the Internet, from his Web site. Now I know why he has a Pulitzer. His written reviews and commentaries are among the most insightful and well-written of any popular film critic around. Unlike on television, where he was relegated to quickly synopsizing plot, summarizing his views and concluding with the thumbs up or down within a matter of minutes, his written pieces reflect careful thought and analysis based on a lifetime of film-watching experience. His is one of the few sites I check almost daily for updates, anxiously anticipating his every word. Ironically, though cancer has now rendered Ebert unable to speak, his lack of a physical voice has only made him a more prolific writer, proving he never needed sound to communicate effectively.
I don’t always agree with Roger, especially when it comes to his analysis of certain genre movies such as hen flicks or family movies, but I always respect and appreciate his opinions. This week he published an insightful blog about some of the less-than-thoughtful reactions to his negative reviews of popular movies like Transformers 2. Be sure to check it out at http://blogs.suntimes.com/ebert/2009/07/i_am_a_brainiac.html
The gist is that as the role of the professional film critic has been replaced with popular opinion sites such as rottentomatoes.com, the level of discourse has also declined, reflecting an anti-intellectual bias in our culture. Jim Emerson also discusses this trend in his blog: http://blogs.suntimes.com/scanners/
Personally, I think that sites such as Rotten Tomatoes do serve a useful purpose in reflecting a general consensus. And many of the video reviews offered by movie fans illustrate as much intelligence and depth as those of professional critics. Among the myriad fans whose only response to opposing views is a shallow “you suck” or “I hate you,” there are many others who can rationally explain their opposing views without personalizing their attacks. Here’s hoping the intelligent fans continue to outweigh the “you suck” group.
Still, I hope the professional critic never goes entirely by the wayside. Certainly there are some film snobs whose disdain for their readers and movie fans warrant their unemployment. But others offer a valuable service to movie fans. A good critic, like Ebert, has the ability to inform and instruct viewers, raising their awareness of lesser-known films and improving how one views movies. True movie fans, not just those looking to spend two hours in an air-conditioned room, should appreciate this instruction. Those who choose to ignore the value of such instruction and embrace their blissful ignorance remind me of high school kids who think they are too hip to try to learn anything in class.
For me, I know my life has been enriched by the knowledge passed along by Roger Ebert. I hope he keeps “teaching” and continuing our relationship for many years to come.
Yours in Sisterhood — VB
Oh, as is typical with most youthful crushes, originally I was more enamored by his tall, lanky wingman. The duo fought constantly to see which could win me over, convincing me to follow their thumbs up or down recommendation of how best to spend my weekends. The lanky one initially wooed me with his smooth words, but in the long run, like Cyrano de Bergerac, the eloquent words of the less photogenic one won me over.
I was first introduced to Ebert as a tweener when our local PBS station began showing Sneak Previews, the first iteration of the movie review show that paired him with his newspaper rival Gene Siskel. The show was a revelation to me, growing up as I did in an isolated rural community that had one drive-in and a very run-down theater that smelled like old gym shoes and never showed first-run films. Yet despite my limited viewing options, I grew up loving movies. And these two guys from Chicago introduced me to all kinds of films that I would never have heard of otherwise. They talked about foreign films, artsy films (what we now call “independent”), documentaries, scandalous movies, and even really bad films. I remember they always ended the show with “the dog of the week,” some really bad movie that had stolen two hours of their lives, introduced by a real barking dog. Were it not for Siskel and Ebert, I would never have heard of movies like Sweet Sweetback’s Badass Song (I didn’t even know you were allowed to use the word “ass” in a movie title!!) or John Waters’s Pink Flamingos (the image of the clip with Divine licking all the dishes still haunts me today). They made me want to know more about movies, even ones I would never have the opportunity to see as a minor.
On television, Siskel always impressed me more than Ebert, not because of any greater physical appeal, but because he came across on screen as the more serious critic. Ebert seemed to go easier on films, giving more thumbs up to mediocre offerings and generally trying to be nicer. Whether he really did give more thumbs up than Siskel is a matter for data keepers in other forums. I’m just reflecting my impressions from watching television. It was hard to imagine that Ebert was the one with the Pulitzer Prize, when Siskel seemed the more critical of the two. I continued to maintain this same impression through years of watching as their television show evolved right up until Gene Siskel’s death.
Then a strange thing happened. I began to read some of Ebert’s written reviews, first in his published collections, then, through the wonders of the Internet, from his Web site. Now I know why he has a Pulitzer. His written reviews and commentaries are among the most insightful and well-written of any popular film critic around. Unlike on television, where he was relegated to quickly synopsizing plot, summarizing his views and concluding with the thumbs up or down within a matter of minutes, his written pieces reflect careful thought and analysis based on a lifetime of film-watching experience. His is one of the few sites I check almost daily for updates, anxiously anticipating his every word. Ironically, though cancer has now rendered Ebert unable to speak, his lack of a physical voice has only made him a more prolific writer, proving he never needed sound to communicate effectively.
I don’t always agree with Roger, especially when it comes to his analysis of certain genre movies such as hen flicks or family movies, but I always respect and appreciate his opinions. This week he published an insightful blog about some of the less-than-thoughtful reactions to his negative reviews of popular movies like Transformers 2. Be sure to check it out at http://blogs.suntimes.com/ebert/2009/07/i_am_a_brainiac.html
The gist is that as the role of the professional film critic has been replaced with popular opinion sites such as rottentomatoes.com, the level of discourse has also declined, reflecting an anti-intellectual bias in our culture. Jim Emerson also discusses this trend in his blog: http://blogs.suntimes.com/scanners/
Personally, I think that sites such as Rotten Tomatoes do serve a useful purpose in reflecting a general consensus. And many of the video reviews offered by movie fans illustrate as much intelligence and depth as those of professional critics. Among the myriad fans whose only response to opposing views is a shallow “you suck” or “I hate you,” there are many others who can rationally explain their opposing views without personalizing their attacks. Here’s hoping the intelligent fans continue to outweigh the “you suck” group.
Still, I hope the professional critic never goes entirely by the wayside. Certainly there are some film snobs whose disdain for their readers and movie fans warrant their unemployment. But others offer a valuable service to movie fans. A good critic, like Ebert, has the ability to inform and instruct viewers, raising their awareness of lesser-known films and improving how one views movies. True movie fans, not just those looking to spend two hours in an air-conditioned room, should appreciate this instruction. Those who choose to ignore the value of such instruction and embrace their blissful ignorance remind me of high school kids who think they are too hip to try to learn anything in class.
For me, I know my life has been enriched by the knowledge passed along by Roger Ebert. I hope he keeps “teaching” and continuing our relationship for many years to come.
Yours in Sisterhood — VB
Monday, July 6, 2009
Why Steel Magnolias Became the Ultimate Hen Flick and the Ya-Yas . . . Didn't
In honor of Rebecca Wells, one of my favorite writers, releasing a new book tomorrow (yeah), I feel the need to ponder on what seems like one of the great lost opportunities in the pantheon of women's fiction and movies.
The formulas follow the same pattern: stories of a multi-generational group of Louisiana women who share laughter and heartache, based on popular source material, with all-star casts of respected actors. But Steel Magnolias (1989), based on the play by Robert Harling, became a box-office hit and the defining canon of women’s films. Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood (2002), based on the popular books by Rebecca Wells, has all the same ingredients, yet performed below expectations and now reigns among the second tier of chick flicks. While the Ya-Ya film certainly has its share of fans, overall it has been dismissed as a lesser Steel Magnolias wanna-be. Understanding why reveals much about the state of women’s films, what works, and what doesn’t.
Certainly part of the difference lies in timing. Simply by being first, and successful, SM serves as the point of comparison for Ya-Ya. The ad campaign for Ya-Ya relied heavily on this comparison, clearly pitching the worn-out claim, “If you liked X [Steel Magnolias], you’ll love Y [Ya-Ya].” Even today, one can rarely find a review of Ya-Ya that does not draw comparisons to SM. Indeed, based on Internet reviews, one would think that the Steel Magnolias vs. Ya-Yas debate is as much a cultural marker as the “Mary Ann vs. Ginger” or “Betty vs. Veronica” divide. Which side you fall upon in the debate reveals as much about your own personality as it does about the films. Once again, film execs underestimate the effectiveness of the tagline.
Disregarding the timing and ineffective marketing approaches, what about the two films themselves accounts for the difference in popularity and legacy?
Let’s begin with casting. To many fans, the key difference can be summed up in two words: Julia Roberts. Granted, this film did much to launch fair Julia’s reign as America’s Sweetheart (and secured her first Oscar nomination), but I would posit that all of the roles were perfectly cast (the physical dissimilarities between Julia and onscreen parents Sally Field and Tom Skerritt not withstanding) and portrayed by all the actors. Even Dolly Parton, an entertainer whose charisma can sometimes overwhelm her limited acting range, was perfect for the role of hairdresser Truvy. Credit must be paid to casting director Hank McCann for fitting actors to characters.
Secondly, related to casting, was the screenplay, which retained enough of the witty banter and memorable dialogue to entertain and balance out the more dramatic moments. In many ways, SM is the perfect bipolar movie, with both gut-busting laughs and gut-wrenching drama guaranteed to make the viewers shed tears of laughter and joy. Both the high and low moments are delivered perfectly by the cast, whose characters remain distinctive individuals.
On paper, the Ya-Yas casting seems perfect as well: Ashley Judd, Ellen Burstyn, James Garner, etc., etc. Rarely does a film boast such a fine pedigree, with a host of actors I admire and love to see in just about any role. They even cast the other “America’s Sweetheart,” Sandra Bullock, in the adult daughter role, ala Ms. Roberts. Therein lay the problem. The producers were trying too hard to emulate the SM formula in the all-star casting, especially with Sandra Bullock in the key role of Sidda Walker, a serious character more reminiscent of Meredith Grey than Shelby Eatenton. Yet the casting choice almost required this unfair comparison between the two actresses. First of all, let me say that I personally adore my fellow Austinite Sandra Bullock, a charming and down-to-earth lady who can be highly entertaining the in the right role, and I appreciate her efforts to break free from rom-com typecasting. However, I think she was completely the wrong choice for this dour, confused character. Remember, Julia Roberts had only had one role, in the sleeper Mystic Pizza, before SM. Perhaps Ya-Ya would have been better served by casting an unknown in this pivotal part.
The casting issues are compounded by the shaky debut directorial debut of Thelma and Louise writer Callie Khouri and a less-than-stellar screenplay, whose liberties with the original source material serve to weaken, rather than strengthen, the characters and storyline. The contrived kidnapping of Sidda by the Ya-Yas is unnecessary and only seems designed to highlight the group’s eccentricities. Several film critics have commented that it is impossible to tell the difference between the three supporting Ya-Yas other than that Maggie Smith has the oxygen tank, Fionnula Flanagan chews gum, and Shirley Knight is the whiny one. None seem distinctive characters on their own and only serve as a chorus of nutty southern alcoholics. Indeed, the screenplay and direction of the film comes across as insulting to southerners in general, expecting the audience to laugh at, rather than with, the characters. In Rebecca Wells’s books (and SM), each woman is a distinct person with her own unique personality, producing laughter and tears that seem natural rather than forced. The Ya-Ya filmmakers should have given more credit to the strengths of the original novel.
Finally, perhaps the most telling mark of an iconic film is the memorability factor. SM has lasted, in part, because it contains so many images and lines that stick with the audience. Who can forget the armadillo groom’s cake, the Pepto-Bismol colored wedding, the locker room “color commentary,” Truvy’s shop, the cemetery scene, or lines like “that looks like an autopsy,” "all gay men have track lighting . . and are named Mark, Rick, or Steve" or “I’d rather have thirty minutes of wonderful than a lifetime of nothing special.”
Nothing in the Ya-Ya film has entered the lexicon in the same way. To be honest, after viewing the film, the only images that really stuck with me were the flashback scenes involving Ashley Judd as the young Vivi. That is the one characterization the film replicates accurately from the novel. Judd perfectly embodies the strong, vivacious young woman whose spirit is dampened by her own mind. The novel makes it clear that Vivi’s detachment from reality proves both her greatest strength and her greatest weakness. Her childhood belief that she is destined to be famous helps her survive a harrowing home life and horrific reform school. As an adult, it contributes to her mental breakdown when her spirit can’t handle being reigned in by domesticity drudgery. These nuances are somehow lost in the film version.
While familiarity with original material can enhance the film-viewing experience, movies should be able to stand on their own. Likewise, they should not rely solely on repetition of a successful formula to assume success. Too often film studios think they can fool audiences with the “If you liked X, you’ll love Y” appeal, especially when it comes to films for women. We’re smarter than that. We know that using the same cookie cutter does not ensure the same results if the ingredients are not mixed correctly. Ya-Ya had the perfect recipe for success, but the Hollywood cooks wasted their ingredients, thinking the cutter, not the batter, created the appealing flavor. Here's hoping that, should TPTB ever try to produce Wells's works on film again, they do her creations justice this time around.
Yours in Sisterhood — VB
The formulas follow the same pattern: stories of a multi-generational group of Louisiana women who share laughter and heartache, based on popular source material, with all-star casts of respected actors. But Steel Magnolias (1989), based on the play by Robert Harling, became a box-office hit and the defining canon of women’s films. Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood (2002), based on the popular books by Rebecca Wells, has all the same ingredients, yet performed below expectations and now reigns among the second tier of chick flicks. While the Ya-Ya film certainly has its share of fans, overall it has been dismissed as a lesser Steel Magnolias wanna-be. Understanding why reveals much about the state of women’s films, what works, and what doesn’t.
Certainly part of the difference lies in timing. Simply by being first, and successful, SM serves as the point of comparison for Ya-Ya. The ad campaign for Ya-Ya relied heavily on this comparison, clearly pitching the worn-out claim, “If you liked X [Steel Magnolias], you’ll love Y [Ya-Ya].” Even today, one can rarely find a review of Ya-Ya that does not draw comparisons to SM. Indeed, based on Internet reviews, one would think that the Steel Magnolias vs. Ya-Yas debate is as much a cultural marker as the “Mary Ann vs. Ginger” or “Betty vs. Veronica” divide. Which side you fall upon in the debate reveals as much about your own personality as it does about the films. Once again, film execs underestimate the effectiveness of the tagline.
Disregarding the timing and ineffective marketing approaches, what about the two films themselves accounts for the difference in popularity and legacy?
Let’s begin with casting. To many fans, the key difference can be summed up in two words: Julia Roberts. Granted, this film did much to launch fair Julia’s reign as America’s Sweetheart (and secured her first Oscar nomination), but I would posit that all of the roles were perfectly cast (the physical dissimilarities between Julia and onscreen parents Sally Field and Tom Skerritt not withstanding) and portrayed by all the actors. Even Dolly Parton, an entertainer whose charisma can sometimes overwhelm her limited acting range, was perfect for the role of hairdresser Truvy. Credit must be paid to casting director Hank McCann for fitting actors to characters.
Secondly, related to casting, was the screenplay, which retained enough of the witty banter and memorable dialogue to entertain and balance out the more dramatic moments. In many ways, SM is the perfect bipolar movie, with both gut-busting laughs and gut-wrenching drama guaranteed to make the viewers shed tears of laughter and joy. Both the high and low moments are delivered perfectly by the cast, whose characters remain distinctive individuals.
On paper, the Ya-Yas casting seems perfect as well: Ashley Judd, Ellen Burstyn, James Garner, etc., etc. Rarely does a film boast such a fine pedigree, with a host of actors I admire and love to see in just about any role. They even cast the other “America’s Sweetheart,” Sandra Bullock, in the adult daughter role, ala Ms. Roberts. Therein lay the problem. The producers were trying too hard to emulate the SM formula in the all-star casting, especially with Sandra Bullock in the key role of Sidda Walker, a serious character more reminiscent of Meredith Grey than Shelby Eatenton. Yet the casting choice almost required this unfair comparison between the two actresses. First of all, let me say that I personally adore my fellow Austinite Sandra Bullock, a charming and down-to-earth lady who can be highly entertaining the in the right role, and I appreciate her efforts to break free from rom-com typecasting. However, I think she was completely the wrong choice for this dour, confused character. Remember, Julia Roberts had only had one role, in the sleeper Mystic Pizza, before SM. Perhaps Ya-Ya would have been better served by casting an unknown in this pivotal part.
The casting issues are compounded by the shaky debut directorial debut of Thelma and Louise writer Callie Khouri and a less-than-stellar screenplay, whose liberties with the original source material serve to weaken, rather than strengthen, the characters and storyline. The contrived kidnapping of Sidda by the Ya-Yas is unnecessary and only seems designed to highlight the group’s eccentricities. Several film critics have commented that it is impossible to tell the difference between the three supporting Ya-Yas other than that Maggie Smith has the oxygen tank, Fionnula Flanagan chews gum, and Shirley Knight is the whiny one. None seem distinctive characters on their own and only serve as a chorus of nutty southern alcoholics. Indeed, the screenplay and direction of the film comes across as insulting to southerners in general, expecting the audience to laugh at, rather than with, the characters. In Rebecca Wells’s books (and SM), each woman is a distinct person with her own unique personality, producing laughter and tears that seem natural rather than forced. The Ya-Ya filmmakers should have given more credit to the strengths of the original novel.
Finally, perhaps the most telling mark of an iconic film is the memorability factor. SM has lasted, in part, because it contains so many images and lines that stick with the audience. Who can forget the armadillo groom’s cake, the Pepto-Bismol colored wedding, the locker room “color commentary,” Truvy’s shop, the cemetery scene, or lines like “that looks like an autopsy,” "all gay men have track lighting . . and are named Mark, Rick, or Steve" or “I’d rather have thirty minutes of wonderful than a lifetime of nothing special.”
Nothing in the Ya-Ya film has entered the lexicon in the same way. To be honest, after viewing the film, the only images that really stuck with me were the flashback scenes involving Ashley Judd as the young Vivi. That is the one characterization the film replicates accurately from the novel. Judd perfectly embodies the strong, vivacious young woman whose spirit is dampened by her own mind. The novel makes it clear that Vivi’s detachment from reality proves both her greatest strength and her greatest weakness. Her childhood belief that she is destined to be famous helps her survive a harrowing home life and horrific reform school. As an adult, it contributes to her mental breakdown when her spirit can’t handle being reigned in by domesticity drudgery. These nuances are somehow lost in the film version.
While familiarity with original material can enhance the film-viewing experience, movies should be able to stand on their own. Likewise, they should not rely solely on repetition of a successful formula to assume success. Too often film studios think they can fool audiences with the “If you liked X, you’ll love Y” appeal, especially when it comes to films for women. We’re smarter than that. We know that using the same cookie cutter does not ensure the same results if the ingredients are not mixed correctly. Ya-Ya had the perfect recipe for success, but the Hollywood cooks wasted their ingredients, thinking the cutter, not the batter, created the appealing flavor. Here's hoping that, should TPTB ever try to produce Wells's works on film again, they do her creations justice this time around.
Yours in Sisterhood — VB
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