* Rating - Three kernels
It is Saturday night, the babysitter is booked and hubby and I get to have a date night. Yeah! He picks the movie, one of those romantic comedies marketed as the ideal date flick. Actually, most of the audience is made up of women obviously on Girls Night Out, with only a few scattered couples like ourselves in attendance. This is NOT the type of movie that straight men go out to see alone or in pairs.
We expect something light and frothy, with an appealing cast. We are not disappointed. This type of rom-com hinges entirely upon actor and character appeal, and how funny the execution of the predictable plot is. Sandra Bullock plays Margaret, a hard-nosed editor at a major book publishing house (think a younger, less wicked version of Meryl Streep in The Devil Wears Prada---in some ways I suspect Sandy’s parodying Meryl, to positive effect). Ryan Reynolds plays Andrew, her long-suffering assistant, who has endured three years of abuse for a shot at a promotion and a published novel (having worked in the publishing industry for many years, I can affirm such employees and bosses do exist). A Canadian faced with deportation because she was too busy working to observe U.S. immigration policies, Margaret orders Andrew to marry her in exchange for fulfilling his career goals.
In order to convince skeptical immigration officials that their engagement is legit, they fly off to tiny Sitka, Alaska, for the weekend to celebrate the birthday of Andrew’s grandmother (Betty White). Along the way we meet his loving mother (Mary Steenburgen) and macho father (Craig T. Nelsen), from whom he is estranged because he moved to New York to work in publishing instead of staying home to run the family business empire (which seems to include most Sitka commerce).
Of course, soon the orphaned, hardnosed city girl is so charmed by the family and quirky locals that her hard heart begins to melt. Thus opens the way towards appreciating Andrew’s charms as well. We in turn, begin to understand that Andrew’s devotion to his boss goes beyond mere career ambition. Will they realize they are actually in love before immigration officials catch onto their ruse? If you’re looking for mystery, you need to find another movie.
In a nutshell, the rom-com formula works this time around. The actors are all appealing in their roles, I did come to like them (if not care too deeply), and I laughed out loud several times (to the point of weeping at least twice---a sign of quality laughs and the main reason the film gets three full kernels instead of two and a half). These three elements lend themselves to a successful rom-com and Sandy has presented us with one. Good on her that this movie provided her best opening weekend ever.
Other positives: Alaska was a nice choice for the plot (not just because Sarah Palin continues to remind us how quirky Alaskans can be). The scenery is gorgeous, though I was a bit disappointed to discover that nothing was actually filmed in the state. But such is the magic of movie-making. Few audience members will know or care that the lush views were created by digital wizardry. I actually heard an audible gasp from the audience when the first panoramic mountain image came into view (louder even than when we first glimpse Reynolds in the altogether).
Speaking of which, Sandra Bullock has her first nude scene ever in this film---played for laughs, not lust. But I must say on behalf of all females over 40: I salute you. Sandy. Whatever you are doing to maintain that spectacular bod, keep it up. Ryan ain’t too shabby, either.
White, Steenburgen, and Nelson are all pitch perfect as the family. While White has been getting a lot of buzz for her humorous role, in my opinion Oscar Nunez steals the show as a multi-talented local who can handle virtually every wedding need from the bachelorette party through the nuptials. At a certain point, the audience began to laugh just by virtue of his showing up in a scene. His mere presence becomes funny. I’m glad he was included in the ending montage (do NOT leave the theater until the credits have rolled) to emphasize his contribution to the film.
So if you have a free night out and are looking for a light, frothy rom-com that will make you laugh and not think too hard, this is the ideal formula flick for you.
*The Henhouse Movie Rating System:
Four kernels – An exceptional film worth paying for a babysitter to see in the theater, or worth staying up late to watch on DVD after the kids have gone to bed and devoting your full attention to.
Three kernels – A good film that has many entertaining elements and might be worth seeing in the theater if you have a free babysitting offer from relatives or renting to watch while folding the laundry.
Two kernels – A so-so movie that might be worth seeing if it happens to be on cable and you want something to take your mind off washing dishes without thinking too hard.
One kernel – A bad film only worth watching if you need an unintentional laugh or if it’s the only decent thing you can find on free TV while breastfeeding at 2 a.m.
Zero kernels – A film SO awful you should avoid at all costs; yes, worse than watching even a bad infomercial for the 20th time while breastfeeding at 2 a.m.
Showing posts with label chick flick. Show all posts
Showing posts with label chick flick. Show all posts
Monday, July 13, 2009
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
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Chick Flick DVD Pick of the Week: Australia (2008)
Rating - Three kernels*
Since I always like to hear other women's recommendations of movies I might like, I'll pass on the favor. See bottom of review for explanation of my rating system.
Australia was one of those movies that I had planned to see in the movies theaters. Initial reviews upon its release, even those that mocked its storyline and debated its racial narrative, praised its visual elements. The cinematography and art direction intentionally tried to emulate grand epics of old. This was to be the Australian Gone with the Wind. Having enjoyed Nicole Kidman in most of her roles and relishing the opportunity to see a shirtless Hugh Jackman without having to endure a comic-book-based action flick, I eagerly added Australia to the list of “date night” movies for hubby and myself.
Alas, it was not to be. As usual, life got in the way of the ideal movie night. During the brief period when the film was in theaters, we were too busy to fit in time to see the nearly three hour film in theaters. Since it did not perform as well as expected at the box office (earning less than $50 million), it was gone before we had to chance to even catch it on a cheap date night at the local dollar theater.
But oddly enough, what proved less-than-successful at the box office must have had appeal on DVD, as my attempts to rent it upon initial video release were always thwarted (though such failed attempts did allow me to discover The Changeling, an underrated winner to be discussed another time). Finally, I had the chance to rent the movie and check it out for myself, albeit spread out over three late nights while preparing for my five year-old’s birthday party.
I must say, the first ten minutes almost made me shut off the movie and switch to the Food Network. After an initial opening scene that fascinates with a murder and a mysterious little boy on the run, the movie shifts into a sequence designed to set up a backstory, but which manages instead to include so many western film clichés in such a silly manner that I started to think the film was going to be a parody of epics, rather than an homage to the genre.
Then, the tone shifts again once it catches back up with the very first scene of the film and the mysterious little boy who proves to be the heart of the film. The story spans 1939 to 1942 in the Northern Territory. The boy, Nullah (Brandon Walters), is the son of an Aboriginal woman and a white man at a time when racism runs rampant in the country. As a “half-caste,” Nullah is rejected by both white and Aboriginal society and is expected to be sent to a church-run mission school to “have the black bred out of him,” as one headmaster explains. In reality, many of these schools forced non-white children into a harsh life of indentured servitude.
The little boy lives life constantly on the run from local white officials who would “improve” his life by forcing him into a mission school, but receives some protection from his Aboriginal grandfather, holy man King George (David Gulpilil), and his loving mother and grandmother, both of whom work on a struggling cattle ranch called Faraway Downs. Nullah has inherited some of his grandfather’s mystical gifts and the two share a psychic connection throughout the story.
Trouble comes to Faraway Downs when the owner, Lord Ashley, is murdered and King George is the prime suspect. Nullah, who witnesses key elements of the crime, now has two reasons to run. He is led to seek protection from prim Lady Sarah Ashley (Kidman), who arrives at the ranch from England expecting to tell off her no-good husband, only to find him dead, the land threatened by a set of Snidely Whiplash-type villains, and the boy begging for help. She enlists the aid of a rugged cattle driver simply called Drover (Jackman) to lead the cattle to the capital city of Darwin to secure an important military contract and save the ranch (and possibly Nullah). Thus sets up a series of adventures worthy of classic epics of old. This is, first and foremost, a western, with odes to romances and war dramas of the past. This is just as the director, Australian Baz Luhrmann intended. Luhrmann also directed Moulin Rouge, a rousing tribute to epic musicals. This man clearly loves his grand old movies.
This is a film I could highly recommend to my parents, especially my John-Wayne-loving dad who embraces just about any film that involves cattle drives and tough cowboys. Mom would be drawn in by the good old-fashioned romanticism. I got a kick out of both, but the elements of the film I personally liked the best involve the main character of Nullah. Brandon Walters is a charming, very natural child actor who imbues his character with just the right amount of childish wisdom and impishness, without being precocious. One of the most delightful scenes is when Lady Ashley, who admits to not being very experienced with children, attempts to comfort Nullah by telling him a story. All she can think of is The Wizard of Oz, the current hit film of the time. She awkwardly tries to sing “Over the Rainbow,” a tune that will remain meaningful to both characters. It is a genuinely sweet moment.
That said, much was made at the time of its release about the racial themes of the storyline. While some critics praised Luhrmann for condemning his nation’s past racism, others accused him of overly sentimentalizing the Aboriginal characters and making King George and Nullah almost godlike at times. Indeed, there does seem to be a tendency to make up for past movie-hero racism by having two Aboriginal characters nobly sacrifice themselves to save others and another provide the key “save” that finally does away with the major threat to Faraway Downs. I was less bothered by the mysticism of Nullah and his grandfather, mainly because it was not applied to all the Aboriginal characters (although mysticism is a key element of traditional Aboriginal religion). The film makes it clear that King George is a uniquely powerful holy man from whom Nullah has inherited special gifts. Because of the way Luhrmann shot and edited the film, most of the time it is hard to tell whether King George is really supposed to be appearing in a scene or if Nullah is just connecting with him spiritually. Frankly, I didn’t care. Sometimes it pays not to overthink these things, just go with the flow and enjoy the ride.
Despite accusations of overly praising the Aborigines, Luhrmann does underplay some of his country’s racial policies regarding children. The film seems to imply that whites and Aborigines maintained peacefully segregated, but essentially autonomous, societies and that only “half-caste” children were subject to being forcibly sent to mission schools. In fact, the practice of taking Aboriginal (not just bi-racial) children away from their parents was widespread, peaking in the 1930s but continuing until 1973. The film also implies that Lady Ashley cannot legally adopt Nullah after he is orphaned because he is half-black and she is white, but many Aboriginal children were adopted by white families. In the final analysis, Luhrmann uses the story of Australia as a metaphor for the racial acceptance that he wants to win out in his country. It is a noble idea, if a bit flawed as a historical treatise.
But then again, this is a big old-fashioned epic, not a documentary. I’d still love to see it on the big screen someday, as the cinematography and art direction live up to the hype and would look gorgeous on the big screen. Still, I’m glad I rented it and wish it had performed better at the box office, simply to encourage Luhrmann to keep making his homages to grand old movies of yore. Something tells me he will anyway.
And hey, Hugh Jackman took off his shirt multiple times without whipping out the Wolverine claws. ‘Nuff said. Rent it, gals.
Yours in Sisterhood - VB
*The Henhouse Movie Rating System:
Four kernels – An exceptional film worth paying for a babysitter to see in the theater, or worth staying up late to watch on DVD after the kids have gone to bed and devoting your full attention to.
Three kernels – A good film that has many entertaining elements and might be worth seeing in the theater if you have a free babysitting offer from relatives or renting to watch while folding the laundry.
Two kernels – A so-so movie that might be worth seeing if it happens to be on cable and you want something to take your mind off washing dishes without thinking too hard.
One kernel – A bad film only worth watching if you need an unintentional laugh or if it’s the only decent thing you can find on free TV while breastfeeding at 2 a.m.
Zero kernels – A film SO awful you should avoid at all costs; yes, worse than watching even a bad infomercial for the 20th time while breastfeeding at 2 a.m.
Since I always like to hear other women's recommendations of movies I might like, I'll pass on the favor. See bottom of review for explanation of my rating system.
Australia was one of those movies that I had planned to see in the movies theaters. Initial reviews upon its release, even those that mocked its storyline and debated its racial narrative, praised its visual elements. The cinematography and art direction intentionally tried to emulate grand epics of old. This was to be the Australian Gone with the Wind. Having enjoyed Nicole Kidman in most of her roles and relishing the opportunity to see a shirtless Hugh Jackman without having to endure a comic-book-based action flick, I eagerly added Australia to the list of “date night” movies for hubby and myself.
Alas, it was not to be. As usual, life got in the way of the ideal movie night. During the brief period when the film was in theaters, we were too busy to fit in time to see the nearly three hour film in theaters. Since it did not perform as well as expected at the box office (earning less than $50 million), it was gone before we had to chance to even catch it on a cheap date night at the local dollar theater.
But oddly enough, what proved less-than-successful at the box office must have had appeal on DVD, as my attempts to rent it upon initial video release were always thwarted (though such failed attempts did allow me to discover The Changeling, an underrated winner to be discussed another time). Finally, I had the chance to rent the movie and check it out for myself, albeit spread out over three late nights while preparing for my five year-old’s birthday party.
I must say, the first ten minutes almost made me shut off the movie and switch to the Food Network. After an initial opening scene that fascinates with a murder and a mysterious little boy on the run, the movie shifts into a sequence designed to set up a backstory, but which manages instead to include so many western film clichés in such a silly manner that I started to think the film was going to be a parody of epics, rather than an homage to the genre.
Then, the tone shifts again once it catches back up with the very first scene of the film and the mysterious little boy who proves to be the heart of the film. The story spans 1939 to 1942 in the Northern Territory. The boy, Nullah (Brandon Walters), is the son of an Aboriginal woman and a white man at a time when racism runs rampant in the country. As a “half-caste,” Nullah is rejected by both white and Aboriginal society and is expected to be sent to a church-run mission school to “have the black bred out of him,” as one headmaster explains. In reality, many of these schools forced non-white children into a harsh life of indentured servitude.
The little boy lives life constantly on the run from local white officials who would “improve” his life by forcing him into a mission school, but receives some protection from his Aboriginal grandfather, holy man King George (David Gulpilil), and his loving mother and grandmother, both of whom work on a struggling cattle ranch called Faraway Downs. Nullah has inherited some of his grandfather’s mystical gifts and the two share a psychic connection throughout the story.
Trouble comes to Faraway Downs when the owner, Lord Ashley, is murdered and King George is the prime suspect. Nullah, who witnesses key elements of the crime, now has two reasons to run. He is led to seek protection from prim Lady Sarah Ashley (Kidman), who arrives at the ranch from England expecting to tell off her no-good husband, only to find him dead, the land threatened by a set of Snidely Whiplash-type villains, and the boy begging for help. She enlists the aid of a rugged cattle driver simply called Drover (Jackman) to lead the cattle to the capital city of Darwin to secure an important military contract and save the ranch (and possibly Nullah). Thus sets up a series of adventures worthy of classic epics of old. This is, first and foremost, a western, with odes to romances and war dramas of the past. This is just as the director, Australian Baz Luhrmann intended. Luhrmann also directed Moulin Rouge, a rousing tribute to epic musicals. This man clearly loves his grand old movies.
This is a film I could highly recommend to my parents, especially my John-Wayne-loving dad who embraces just about any film that involves cattle drives and tough cowboys. Mom would be drawn in by the good old-fashioned romanticism. I got a kick out of both, but the elements of the film I personally liked the best involve the main character of Nullah. Brandon Walters is a charming, very natural child actor who imbues his character with just the right amount of childish wisdom and impishness, without being precocious. One of the most delightful scenes is when Lady Ashley, who admits to not being very experienced with children, attempts to comfort Nullah by telling him a story. All she can think of is The Wizard of Oz, the current hit film of the time. She awkwardly tries to sing “Over the Rainbow,” a tune that will remain meaningful to both characters. It is a genuinely sweet moment.
That said, much was made at the time of its release about the racial themes of the storyline. While some critics praised Luhrmann for condemning his nation’s past racism, others accused him of overly sentimentalizing the Aboriginal characters and making King George and Nullah almost godlike at times. Indeed, there does seem to be a tendency to make up for past movie-hero racism by having two Aboriginal characters nobly sacrifice themselves to save others and another provide the key “save” that finally does away with the major threat to Faraway Downs. I was less bothered by the mysticism of Nullah and his grandfather, mainly because it was not applied to all the Aboriginal characters (although mysticism is a key element of traditional Aboriginal religion). The film makes it clear that King George is a uniquely powerful holy man from whom Nullah has inherited special gifts. Because of the way Luhrmann shot and edited the film, most of the time it is hard to tell whether King George is really supposed to be appearing in a scene or if Nullah is just connecting with him spiritually. Frankly, I didn’t care. Sometimes it pays not to overthink these things, just go with the flow and enjoy the ride.
Despite accusations of overly praising the Aborigines, Luhrmann does underplay some of his country’s racial policies regarding children. The film seems to imply that whites and Aborigines maintained peacefully segregated, but essentially autonomous, societies and that only “half-caste” children were subject to being forcibly sent to mission schools. In fact, the practice of taking Aboriginal (not just bi-racial) children away from their parents was widespread, peaking in the 1930s but continuing until 1973. The film also implies that Lady Ashley cannot legally adopt Nullah after he is orphaned because he is half-black and she is white, but many Aboriginal children were adopted by white families. In the final analysis, Luhrmann uses the story of Australia as a metaphor for the racial acceptance that he wants to win out in his country. It is a noble idea, if a bit flawed as a historical treatise.
But then again, this is a big old-fashioned epic, not a documentary. I’d still love to see it on the big screen someday, as the cinematography and art direction live up to the hype and would look gorgeous on the big screen. Still, I’m glad I rented it and wish it had performed better at the box office, simply to encourage Luhrmann to keep making his homages to grand old movies of yore. Something tells me he will anyway.
And hey, Hugh Jackman took off his shirt multiple times without whipping out the Wolverine claws. ‘Nuff said. Rent it, gals.
Yours in Sisterhood - VB
*The Henhouse Movie Rating System:
Four kernels – An exceptional film worth paying for a babysitter to see in the theater, or worth staying up late to watch on DVD after the kids have gone to bed and devoting your full attention to.
Three kernels – A good film that has many entertaining elements and might be worth seeing in the theater if you have a free babysitting offer from relatives or renting to watch while folding the laundry.
Two kernels – A so-so movie that might be worth seeing if it happens to be on cable and you want something to take your mind off washing dishes without thinking too hard.
One kernel – A bad film only worth watching if you need an unintentional laugh or if it’s the only decent thing you can find on free TV while breastfeeding at 2 a.m.
Zero kernels – A film SO awful you should avoid at all costs; yes, worse than watching even a bad infomercial for the 20th time while breastfeeding at 2 a.m.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Women's Pictures to Chick Flicks: Evolutions in Film
This will be the first in an ongoing series of commentaries, or cluckings, about films appealing primarily to female audiences. They will be accompanied by regular reviews of films either currently in theaters or on DVD that fit within this genre. Why bother? Mainly because I love movies and think the genre of women-oriented films is woefully undervalued by most traditional film critics and misunderstood by modern-day film studios. The most useful and insightful information about such movies tends to come from other women. Hopefully this feature will help spark a dialogue with fans of the genre to help enlighten and improve our awareness of films for us.
Once upon a time, the industry referred to such films as “women’s pictures,” more recently replaced by the term “chick flick.” But even that current phrase may now be too restrictive. Contrary to what many filmmakers and marketers seem to assume, not all films that appeal more to women than men can be classified as “chick flicks.” Just as with literature, there are different categories that appeal to different types of women. In popular reading, “chick lit” refers to stories about hip, single first-career 20-somethings , while “women’s fiction” generally involves female protagonists facing some personal challenge. Candace Bushnell (Sex and the City) writes chick lit; Jodi Picoult (My Sister's Keeper) writes women’s fiction.
The recent surge in “chick lit” has influenced development of the “chick flick,” which seems to be a hip film appealing mainly to young single women (think: the majority of romantic comedies produced by the major studio starring hot television actresses under 35). “Chick flick” seems inadequate to describe films that may appeal more to women over 40 whose life experiences have refined their film palettes. We’ve matured beyond “chicks” into “hens,” thus the title of this column and use of the term “cluckings.” (I personally prefer the word “gal,” but that may be a regional preference).
But while I call this feature “Hen House Theater,” that term still does not seem adequate for the genre of movies that appeal to women over 40. I’ve been struggling to come up with a term that might be less stodgy than “woman’s picture,” but more mature than “chick flick.” Here are a few that have crossed my mind:
Mammary Movies
Cervical Cinema
Feminine Films
Ovarian Art
What do you think? Write-in votes are always welcome. If we have consensus, or I just like your term, we’ll stick with that. Who knows, we might even come up with something that surpasses “chick flick” in the popular lexicon.
Yours in Sisterhood - VB
Once upon a time, the industry referred to such films as “women’s pictures,” more recently replaced by the term “chick flick.” But even that current phrase may now be too restrictive. Contrary to what many filmmakers and marketers seem to assume, not all films that appeal more to women than men can be classified as “chick flicks.” Just as with literature, there are different categories that appeal to different types of women. In popular reading, “chick lit” refers to stories about hip, single first-career 20-somethings , while “women’s fiction” generally involves female protagonists facing some personal challenge. Candace Bushnell (Sex and the City) writes chick lit; Jodi Picoult (My Sister's Keeper) writes women’s fiction.
The recent surge in “chick lit” has influenced development of the “chick flick,” which seems to be a hip film appealing mainly to young single women (think: the majority of romantic comedies produced by the major studio starring hot television actresses under 35). “Chick flick” seems inadequate to describe films that may appeal more to women over 40 whose life experiences have refined their film palettes. We’ve matured beyond “chicks” into “hens,” thus the title of this column and use of the term “cluckings.” (I personally prefer the word “gal,” but that may be a regional preference).
But while I call this feature “Hen House Theater,” that term still does not seem adequate for the genre of movies that appeal to women over 40. I’ve been struggling to come up with a term that might be less stodgy than “woman’s picture,” but more mature than “chick flick.” Here are a few that have crossed my mind:
Mammary Movies
Cervical Cinema
Feminine Films
Ovarian Art
What do you think? Write-in votes are always welcome. If we have consensus, or I just like your term, we’ll stick with that. Who knows, we might even come up with something that surpasses “chick flick” in the popular lexicon.
Yours in Sisterhood - VB
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