Movie of the Week: Julie & Julia---French cooking, Focus, and Food

Four Kernels*

Just caught the newest Meryl Streep flick, Julie & Julia, based on two memoirs: Julia Child's My Life in France and Julie Powell's Julie and Julia, an account of the year she spent trying to cook every recipe in Child's seminal cookbook, Mastering the Art of French Cooking, and blogging about the experience. The film deftly switches between the two women's stories to show how Child (played by Streep) came to write the book, essentially how she became THE Julia Child of cookbook and TV fame; and how 50 years later her efforts inspired rudderless Julie Powell (Amy Adams) to get some direction in her life.

Much has been made of Streep's glorious performance as Child, capturing not only the distinctive warble, but also the infectious enthusiasm of the famous chef. Every superlative is justified, as Streep once again turns in a stellar performance sure to garner another Oscar nomination. She IS the definitive actress of our age. Unfortunately, her portrayal is so good that poor Adams bears the brunt of criticism directed at the film simply because her character is not as interesting or vivacious as Child. Other critics gripe about how Powell's character reflects all the narcissistic, celebrity-obsessed, get-rich-quick, etc. traits of the modern Internet generation. I think those who level such criticism at the film miss an important point: Powell would agree with them.

Based on interviews I've seen and read with Powell (an Austin native, BTW), her portrayal on screen---warts and all---is a fair reflection of her personality and life. In 2002 Powell was at a crossroads in which many young people find themselves: facing her 30th birthday and feeling like she had not lived up to her potential. As shown on screen, despite being married to a very nice guy, Eric (Chris Messina), Powell has no direction. A college graduate who was apparantly a very good student, she find herself underemployed as a calltaker at a New York center handling issues related to the 9-11 disaster. She has no power and must listen to a barrage of complaints and sad stories all day. It's enough to make anyone depressed. Add to that, she and Eric can only afford to live in a tiny apartment over a pizza parlor. Meanwhile, all of her college friends (which whom she masochistically endures regular lunches) have gone on to great career success and treat her like a poor, sad relation. Julie, who once aspired to be a writer, has nothing to show for that dream but one unfinished novel.

One thing Powell likes to do is cook, so she issue a personal challenge to herself to cook every single recipe in Julia Child's mammoth cookbook (524 recipes) in one year. Eric suggests she take the project a step further by blogging about it (in the movie she gets the idea to blog first, but in real life blogging was secondary to the experiment). The film shows how Julie becomes obsessed by Julia Child, reading all about her life as well as her cooking. The experiment yields some culinary ups and downs, but in the end, she succeeds in cooking every Child recipe and in having a hugely successful blog that spawns a professional writing career and this film.

The movie intercuts Julie Powell's experiment with the story of Julia Child, taking place mainly in France during the 1950s. One can see why Julie Powell felt a kinship with Child. Both were childless, married to wonderful and supportive men, in love with fine food, and looking for direction in their lives. Child, a Smith graduate who had once been a clerk for the OSS, arrives in Paris in the late 1940s when her husband, Paul (Stanley Tucci), is assigned to the U.S. embassy. Financially, she has no need to work, but she is bored with many of the matronly duties of other embassy wives. Fascinated by French culture, and especially French cuisine, Child enrolls in the all-male Le Cordon Bleu cooking school and blows away skeptics with her fearlessness. She soon becomes a cooking teacher herself and along with two French friends, writes a French cookbook for Americans that will transform the cookbook industry. Her later career as a pioneering TV personality is reflected only through taped shows that Powell studies.

As portrayed in the film (and in real life), Child was indeed fearless and funloving. The title of her cookbook was apt, as she was totally dedicated to the art of cooking as well as to the proper instruction of it. She and her co-writers toiled for eight years to produce the cookbook, carefully testing recipes and revising wording to make sure the text was useful for its intended audience. This was a labor of love and obsession, much like French cooking itself. There should be no shortcuts (a point well-made when one potential publisher insists the length of the tome be cut and recipes simplified for modern cooks who prefer working with boxed mixes). Not surprisingly, in 2003, when the nearly 90-year-old Child was informed about the buzz surrounding Powell's project, she is said to have dismissed it as "disrespectful" and "not serious." It is to Powell's credit that she neverlet this lack of admiration by her idol dim her own spirit. In fact, to this day Powell still talks about Child with an air of reverence and mist in her eye.

If critics think Powell stacks up unfairly when measured against Child, then they get the point of the movie and of Powell's experience. None of us can dare measure up to our idols. Julia Child was an original and trailblazer. That is why Powell admired her. By taking on the daunting task of cooking every recipe in the book in a year, Powell came to admire Child even more. French cooking (heck, any REAL cooking) is hard and time-consuming (since Powell worked until 6 p.m. and many of these recipes were time consuming, she and Eric often didn't eat until after midnight). It requires dedication and artistry, just as with other creative efforts, like writing.

It is no wonder that during the course of the experiment, Powell finally became the professional writer she always wanted to be. As she herself has said, the experiment gave her focus for the first time. Lest anyone think that Powell is just a second-rate blogger who lucked out with a gimmick, it should also be noted that she has since won two prestigious James Beard awards for writing about food (the Beards are considered "the Oscars of the food world," according to Time magazine). She may not be Julia Child, but she has a talent that might never have been tapped without the inspiration of Julia Child.

So, in addition to being a fun, inspiring film worthy of a Saturday night out, Julie & Julia also offers something else: reminders that sometimes we need to challenge ourselves to find out what we are made of, and that we can look to amazing women who have gone before us for inspiration. For some, this might be cooking 524 recipes in 365 days. For others, it might be training for a marathon, losing 100 lbs., or completing a novel. Whatever it is, the challenge is worth it, because if you stick to it, you just might find it opens up new possibilities in life that you never knew existed. As Julia Child might say, life is a banquet, so bon appetit!

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.

Kid Flicks and the Meaning of "Family"

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.

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

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

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.