Posted on 3/14/10 09:17 AM
I'm curious: are all American critics balding, insecure men with rampant penis envy aimed at a 23-year-old kid who dares to emote for a living? If so, is this something that's going to be a fixture in the American cinematic universe for the next 20 years? I ask, because as far as I can tell, Robert Pattinson, the actor, is here to stay.
I've heard that critics are actually (gasp!) telling people NOT to watch this movie. Seriously?! You know, for the first time in about three years, this makes me appreciate and empathize with the frustration my Republican and Hillary-ite friends and family exhibited... their complaints about the American "free" Press in general may have been on the dot. Since when have we become the kind of fascist/dictatorial culture where a handful of men and women can tell us what to see, think, do, like?
My advice -- as an American filmgoer -- to American film critics: get therapy and get off of our backs.
End of rant.
As for the movie: 'twas good (not great). It was surprising, affecting, provocative, satisfying. It's not a story that bears much analysis. It's heart. All heart. I lost someone near and dear to me in 9/11. I still have nightmares. It goes unprocessed still -- that loss. I do not need analysis, I need catharsis. This story provides it.
Four things stand out: the acting, the interactions, the pacing, and the resolution. The undertow of emotion that a functional depressive contends with daily is effective in Pattinson's young yet fast developing hands. The ensemble was brilliant; especially, Cooper, Brosnan, Ellington, and Jerins. The relationships are luminous -- especially the ones between Tyler and his posse of beloveds. The resolution -- out of the blue: exactly as it happened. None of us anticipated that, and I didn't anticipate this. The pacing adequately reflects the mood of pre-9/11 NYC and then 9/11 NYC. I know, I was here. Everything... *everything* slowed down. Just as in one of those ghoulish, silent, unending nightmares. The movie depicts that in a tortuous, emotionally driven, three minute apogee. I took my parents (my 83-year-old father and 72-year-old mother) and they were silenced into quiet tears by that hushed, poignant end. They had expected a story of love and loss. They hadn't expected a big dollop of soul.