Movies

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We watch a lot of movies Under a Red Roof.  Though I think you probably know that.  This holiday season was no exception, save it may have been slightly more exceptional in volume.  Golly, did we spend a lot of time in front of the telly (in my defense, I did a lot of reading, too!).  Here are my favorites, in no particular order.

This is a real gem.  Peter, a young man nearly finished with med school, learns he will not be getting the residency he hoped for after a serious blunder with a fake patient.  Depressed, he goes to a bar to see said “patient.”  She is his polar opposite, and he is swept away by her, quite literally, hours away from home, to hers.  It is a world of counterculture pot smokers and growers, kooky and angry, living as close to the land as possible.  From here, we see the interplay between these very different worlds, learning the benefits and deficits of each.

I loved it.  As is expected from the BBC, it is light and funny (loud peals of laughter caused the hubster wonder what was afoot in the tv room), sometimes sad, and very engaging.  The cast, costumes, and sets are top notch, too.

I was surprised by this one, fearing the worst for some reason.  It is an alluring tale of first love (and poetry), the tragedy of loss, and our varying and sometimes highly unusual ways of coping.  Australian and beautifully filmed, I might add.

This one is a bit wacky and sometimes gross, really gross, while being totally engrossing (I couldn’t resist).  A famous DJ suddenly loses his hearing and copes in solitude by taking copious amounts of drugs, eschewing them all together, and learning to feel the music instead.

“I’m mad as hell, and I’m not going to take it anymore!”  That line is all I knew of this rather eerily prescient film about editorial news programs.  I really liked it, even though some of the dialogue was very dated.  1976!

The hubster and I saw this waay back when we were dating, having turned on the television thirty minutes into it, wondering what the h-e-double-hockey-sticks was going on, and laughing all the while at Albert Brooks and Rip Torn.  Meryl Streep is delightful and carefree as Julia, a character who likes to eat.  This reminds me of someone else…

Katharine Hepburn received an Oscar nomination for her role as Jane Hudson in this lovely film from 1955.  A lonely woman, she’s on holiday in Venice, looking for beauty, adventure, and companionship.  She finds it, though not quite as she expected.  It is a sweet and sad story, filled with great fashion and fantastic sights.

Being a revolutionary is about patience and education, even for those watching (it is nearly five hours long).  Everything happens in good time.  Follow Che through his first victory in Cuba and his final defeat in Bolivia.   I rather liked it, but for such a fascinating character, I would have preferred seeing his whole life.  There was time enough, I think.

Harbour and his perpetually suicidal brother Wilbur’s lives are changed for the better when Alice and her daughter Mary enter their disorderly book shop.   This one is sweet and sad, too, with a couple of surprising plot twists.  An aside, a dialogue representing the shorthand of sixteen years of married life:

Hubster:  Who is that (Alice)?

Me: She’s the one with the ronnie (female moustache) from that Irish film (Intermission).

Hubster: Right!

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I was certain the bright red Netflix envelope contained the final DVD of season two of Mad Men, so when I saw this film instead, I found myself a bit miffed.  Thankfully, I am rather pleased to say that I got over my pout in a jiffy.  This is one terrific movie!

Ralph, in many ways,  is a typical teenager.  He is a bit of an outcast, save his one friend Chester, frequently the butt of jokes and ill treatment by the boys at school, is mystified by girls, and despite knowing that he is committing a sin (venal or mortal?) he cannot help indulge in pleasures of the flesh (gulp!).  When his mother, suffering from a serious mystery illness, falls into a coma, Ralph finds himself at a crossroads. Not wanting to become an orphan (his father died in the war – presumably Korea, as it is 1954), Ralph is in dire need of a miracle.

After hearing a lecture on saints and miracles in religion class, Ralph decides he will perform one himself  and save his mother’s life by winning the Boston Marathon, despite the fact that he’s only just started to run (as punishment for a multitude of sins).  What ensues is a touching and, at times, hilarious account of his path to Boston.  A great story, full of wit, warmth, and humor – really quite fulfilling.  Five stars!

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Rize

“We’re not gonna be clones of the commercial hip-hop world because that’s been seen for so many years.  Somebody’s waitin’ on something different,  another generation of kids with morals and values.  They won’t need what’s being commercialized or tailor-made for them…custom-made, because I feel that we’re custom-made.  And we’re of more value than any piece of jewelry or any car or any big house that anybody could buy.”   Though the quotation is from Tiger Eyez, all of the young people in this moving and fascinating documentary film from David LaChapelle represent his beliefs.  These are young people literally dancing for change in a place filled with violence, irreverence, and complacency.  The place they call home.

That fact really rung out for me.  Home.  Though we never had much money growing up, we always had enough.  We also lived in a neighborhood that was mostly free of violence and crime, as well.  I can only imagine what it would be like to have home be a place where I worry about getting enough (of anything) or that I am mistaken for another person and shot dead on a street corner.  What would I do?

For the people in the film, they act out their frustrations through Krumping (Kingdom Radically Uplifted Mighty Praise) or Clowning.  It is dance, freestyle moves of exuberance and exaggeration, pumping and popping with incredible skill and speed (I don’t think I’ve ever seen bodies move so fast!).  It is not only a vehicle to escape gang life, but a meaningful way to express, via often harsh hyper kinetic movements, their anger with the world.

It is a wonderful film about the ways we can choose to uplift, not only ourselves, but the those around us via positive beliefs and actions, with dance as the dazzling centerpiece.

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Hi friends – welcome to a mid-week make-up for missing last week’s Spotlight.  Though I sat and sat at the keyboard, no flashes of brilliance came my way, and thus, no post.

I recently took one of those magazine quizzes telling me what I should do with my life.  I know, I know.  I’m a sucker for them.  The result?  Pursue a career in writing or some other creative endeavor where I can work independently and further my knowledge of the world.  Well, hot damn, I’m already doing that!  Thank you for the positive reinforcement.

To be quite honest, I am a knowledge junkie.  I love learning about all manner of  things – people, birds, flowers, bees, history, geography, you name it.  Well, maybe not sports (this is always the hardest category in Trivial Pursuit), except tennis.  I like tennis, other sports are beyond my capacity for understanding and enjoyment; though I do admire anyone who is really good at a particular sport, born for it, so to speak, like Babe Ruth, Wayne Gretzky, or Michael Jordan – these people make me cry with admiration.  This is also true of people being born for their time, like all of the fellas of World War II: Patton, Churchill, Roosevelt (his wife was pretty terrific, too), and even the wicked ones, Rommel and Hitler, for without them, we would not have known the superior logic and strengths of the former (and our brave countrymen), would we?

So to knowledge, made even more lovely when it is fun.  That’s what I’m finally getting at – fun facts.  It can be in the form of trivia, tongue twisters, or Isabella Rossellini.  If you’ve seen what I’m getting at, you already know.  But let me digress for a moment.  Isabella Rossellini.  I’ve had a girl-crush on her for ages.  She’s so fascinating, has a divine voice (I could listen to it all day), and beautiful features – eyes, skin, and lovely lips with  just the right shade of lipstick, always (see above photo).  Not to mention that certain je ne sais quoi that her mother had as well.  Lucky lady.

Now we are the lucky ones to benefit from her love of learning and film making.  Have you ever wondered about the mating habits of bees, starfish, shrimp, or maybe even a preying mantis?  Do you have two minutes?  Isabella delves into the lives of all of these creatures and more via very short films, “becoming” each creature and showing how they live (sometimes die) and reproduce.  They are funny, fact-filled, and lively jaunts, but not for the squeamish, easily offended, or children.  It’s not called Green Porno for nothing.  If I were a knowledge seeker, I would watch and learn.  Watch for yourself: Green Porno.

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I am spelling out the following number for emphasis: Four thousand seven hundred eighty-two.  This set of digits is hardly impressive when one considers population, drops of rain on my red roof, or annual salaries in America.  However, when one ponders the fact that it is in relation to  how many works of art were amassed by Herb and Dorothy Vogel in their tiny New York apartment over the course of forty years, then it expands into something nearly unfathomable.  Holy smokes – 4,782!

The absolutely adorable couple (they still hold hands and find each other cute), a now retired librarian at the Brooklyn Library and a postal worker, began collecting in order to follow what was, at least initially, Herb’s passion.   He worked nights at the post office, would sleep a few hours, and then go to the library and read everything he could about art, as well as take a painting class or two.  Dorothy, wanting to share in her husband’s interest, decided she would paint, too.  Soon, the walls of their apartment were covered in their work, but then, in 1962, after realizing they could live humbly off of Dorothy’s salary and purchase art with Herb’s, they marched forth with gusto, visiting galleries and studios all over the city and purchasing inexpensive works by unknown artists.

Their criteria were simple – they must like the piece, be able to afford it, and it had to be carried via foot, bus, or taxi to fit in their apartment.  They weren’t looking to collect anything just for the sake of it; they had to love it as well, and love they did.  They covered every possible surface with art: walls, ceiling, floor, amassing piles and rows, squeezing it in among their fish, cats, and turtles, a wonder of physics if the truth be told.  Dorothy remarked, “Not even a toothpick could be squeezed into the apartment.”  She was right.

In a bold and quite generous move, the couple decided to donate their entire collection to the National Gallery of Art in Washington D.C., the site where it all began, the first museum they visited together as husband and wife.  Of all the museums clamoring for their collection, all of them willing to pay princely sums, I might add, the Vogel’s chose the National Gallery because quite simply, as Americans, it belongs to everyone.  The works will never be sold and anyone can visit, for free, furthering their belief that wonderful art can be both affordable and accessible, just as it was to them.

It is a marvelous portrait of love – for each other and modern art.  It made me weep at how having a benevolent spirit and following our passion is rarely about how much money we have but what we choose to do with it.

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