"Milk" is a film that won Sean Penn another Academy Award, that introduced several young actors as entering the field of serious and solid professionals, and, most importantly, brought the always hot-buttoned topic of homosexuality into the forefront of viewers' minds.
The film is not about the story of Harvey Milk, how he dies or anything like that; Harvey's slaying is told about at the beginning of the film. No, "Milk" is about the issue of discrimination, equality, and ultimately, acceptance. In the film, Milk says that it's not the person who is running for candidate, it's the issue. It's what he is fighting for. That's why the story of the film isn't central; what's central is the treatment of fellow human beings, who are homosexuals.
This film made me repeatedly consider what it means to be homosexual, because the characters portrayed as gay were over the top and excessive. In one scene, the whole gang is hanging out in the basement and had ordered pizza. The pizza guy delivers it, and the group more or less pounces on him, putting the money in his pants and ogling him. If this were a group of heterosexual men hitting on a delivery woman, she could sue for sexual harassment and all his friends would consider him the tool/douchebag. Is homosexuality the center of a gay's existence? Are their lives propelled around sex so that every encounter is just peripheral if it doesn't involve a possibility of sleeping together? In this film, homosexuality is rooted in the deep desire to have sexual encounters whenever and with whomever. Yes, people do become couples, but only so long as each person is happy with the other. As I write this, I realize this description of sexuality goes also for heterosexuals. One is only content while he/she is satisfied and/or happy; if not, it's on the next person who is beautiful, athletic, intelligent etc. What is sexuality then?
Is sexuality the deepest means of fulfillment for a hungry and lost world? Do we identify ourselves as homosexual or heterosexual because, for most of us, that's the most definite thing we know about ourselves and our purpose? We, for some reason, know that sleeping with x type of person is what we were made to do, what is right for us, and everything else in our live can be disorganized or chaotic, but at least we know that for sure. Sexuality is certainty. At least, for most of us.
People were telling Harvey Milk and other homosexuals that they were wrong in their certainty, that the way they behaved was not normal or natural or right. So what does one do when people challenge what they believe? For Milk, it was to fight back. He didn't just protest in the streets and let people stay safe in their communities; no, Milk went the one place where he would force others to acknowledge him--the government. Milk ran (repeatedly) for offices and finally won one. "A homosexual with power," Milk muses, "that's something to be scared of." With that power, Milk fought the bill that would have taken jobs away from every teaching homosexual and anyone who defended a homosexual. When standing back and looking at that bill, how could anyone call that just and right? A person is this way, so we'll take away their means of income and leave them stranded without any government support. How could anyone call that good, let alone Christian?
I digress. The film attempts to show the humanity of gays, as most other homosexual artwork does. They are humans, but more importantly, they are brothers, they are coworkers, they are best friends, they are librarians and coaches and teachers and business people. This is an issue that is close to home for everyone.
And with that, the film wants to give hope to those who have faced tremendous discrimination and hate, and feel lost. The filmmakers want gays to know that there are others out there, fighting for freedom against a seemingly unbeatable opponent. Director Gus Van Sant wants all those hiding to know that there is victory, there is a chance, there is hope.
Friday, August 6, 2010
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Boys Don't Cry
"The bluest eyes in Texas are haunting me tonight."
After watching Boys Don't Cry, it felt good to sit unmoving as the credits rolled up the screen. I don't know if that was emotional drainage or shock or confusion--all I know is that it felt right. Maybe that's what Teena Brandon felt about kissing girls. Maybe she didn't know why she felt that she should, all she knew that it felt right.
Boys Don't Cry is the story of a kid doing things without knowing for what purpose. For the rest of the article, I will be referring to the character Brandon Teena as a he, because that's what he wanted. Brandon wanted what everyone else whats--happiness. But from the beginning of his life, he has had heartache and hardship. So, when he grows up and finds that he wants to try being another gender, he goes for it. Brandon grew up in the type of life where anything goes, where you do what you want and no one will stop you. Well, to some extent.
For a moment, Brandon finds happiness. He becomes a member of a surrogate family with other people who also have problems; he meets a girl that he falls in love with; he has friends who accept him for who they think he is, who he wants to be.
Does it mean that Lana becomes a lesbian because she loves Brandon even after she learns of his true gender? Maybe. But that's not what's important--what's important is that Lana's love for Brandon does not change when she finds out the truth about him (she may have doubts, but the final scene in Candace's house shows obvious proof that she still loves him). Is that admirable or shameful? She thought she loved a man, but she ended up loving a woman. Maybe Lana fell in love with the intrinsic traits of Brandon that did not change with the sexual organs he had. She loved "that something about him" that was who Brandon truly was. That has to be admirable.
My favorite lines in the movie are about leaving. When she pulls away and shows hesitation, Brandon tells her "be sure you get out." The subtle whisper of a line somehow drives a steak through my heart, when I think about Brandon leaving Lana behind, but both of them trying to escape the invisible strangle of that town. And as John bursts into Candace's house and corners Brandon, Lana appears in the doorway and, horrified, asks Brandon "why didn't you leave?" She was asking him why he didn't get out while he had the chance, while the door to a new world and a new life was still open. I don't know what it is about lines dealing with escaping--for some reason, they affect me deeply.
Obviously, Hilary Swank did a terrific job playing Brandon. If you want a review about her acting job, go read Roger Ebert or somebody else more qualified. For me, throughout the film, I kept wondering how she could go home after a full day of passionately kissing other women. But that's just me.
Ultimately, Boys Don't Cry left me feeling a few different ways. I was excited for Lana, because the end of the film presented her as getting out, like she had talked about; but it says later that she would up having a kid and moving back to her hometown. Brandon died, John and Tom will die in prison, so what is good about this movie? Well, let me tell you. I'm a person who probably lives in the past too much--memories are my happiness. And for Brandon, he had some memories worth dying for. He found someone who loved him for who he was and who he wanted to be. He had his time with her, his time with his friends. He had happiness, if even for a moment. This picture is about people finding happiness. And they do. That's what's good about it.
After watching Boys Don't Cry, it felt good to sit unmoving as the credits rolled up the screen. I don't know if that was emotional drainage or shock or confusion--all I know is that it felt right. Maybe that's what Teena Brandon felt about kissing girls. Maybe she didn't know why she felt that she should, all she knew that it felt right.
Boys Don't Cry is the story of a kid doing things without knowing for what purpose. For the rest of the article, I will be referring to the character Brandon Teena as a he, because that's what he wanted. Brandon wanted what everyone else whats--happiness. But from the beginning of his life, he has had heartache and hardship. So, when he grows up and finds that he wants to try being another gender, he goes for it. Brandon grew up in the type of life where anything goes, where you do what you want and no one will stop you. Well, to some extent.
For a moment, Brandon finds happiness. He becomes a member of a surrogate family with other people who also have problems; he meets a girl that he falls in love with; he has friends who accept him for who they think he is, who he wants to be.
Does it mean that Lana becomes a lesbian because she loves Brandon even after she learns of his true gender? Maybe. But that's not what's important--what's important is that Lana's love for Brandon does not change when she finds out the truth about him (she may have doubts, but the final scene in Candace's house shows obvious proof that she still loves him). Is that admirable or shameful? She thought she loved a man, but she ended up loving a woman. Maybe Lana fell in love with the intrinsic traits of Brandon that did not change with the sexual organs he had. She loved "that something about him" that was who Brandon truly was. That has to be admirable.
My favorite lines in the movie are about leaving. When she pulls away and shows hesitation, Brandon tells her "be sure you get out." The subtle whisper of a line somehow drives a steak through my heart, when I think about Brandon leaving Lana behind, but both of them trying to escape the invisible strangle of that town. And as John bursts into Candace's house and corners Brandon, Lana appears in the doorway and, horrified, asks Brandon "why didn't you leave?" She was asking him why he didn't get out while he had the chance, while the door to a new world and a new life was still open. I don't know what it is about lines dealing with escaping--for some reason, they affect me deeply.
Obviously, Hilary Swank did a terrific job playing Brandon. If you want a review about her acting job, go read Roger Ebert or somebody else more qualified. For me, throughout the film, I kept wondering how she could go home after a full day of passionately kissing other women. But that's just me.
Ultimately, Boys Don't Cry left me feeling a few different ways. I was excited for Lana, because the end of the film presented her as getting out, like she had talked about; but it says later that she would up having a kid and moving back to her hometown. Brandon died, John and Tom will die in prison, so what is good about this movie? Well, let me tell you. I'm a person who probably lives in the past too much--memories are my happiness. And for Brandon, he had some memories worth dying for. He found someone who loved him for who he was and who he wanted to be. He had his time with her, his time with his friends. He had happiness, if even for a moment. This picture is about people finding happiness. And they do. That's what's good about it.
Monday, August 2, 2010
The Squid And The Whale
The Squid and The Whale is a film about a family that fell apart and is trying to find life after divorce. But it's about so much more than that. It's about the son Walt idolizing his father and attempting to model his character after that of his father. Then, Walt finds his father trying to sleep with a 20 year old student; when he is unsuccessful, Bernie feels lonely, rejected, and searches for love where ever he can find it--he tries to "reconcile" his marriage with Joan, hoping that some love would be left for him in her heart. But she declines. Then, Bernie has a heart attack and subsequently tries to manipulate his son to stay with him, but Walt is beginning to see just how elitist, self-absorbed, and pathetic his father is. The film shows the deconstruction of an unworthy idol in the eyes of a maturing teen.
The film shows Walt rejecting his father for whom he loved for quite a while, and then turning back to his mother, the stronghold of his childhood, as he remembers in the late part of the film. His mother was the one who brought him joy when he was young. Walt allowed the sophistication of his father's projection of adulthood to blind him of the happiness he experienced as a child with his mom.
It shows the results of a dysfunctional family in the life of Frank, the youngest son; he drinks beer, masturbates, and curses wantonly. At first, this would seem comical, but then you realize that this boy has no moral structure, no framework for how to grow up. Some would say that this would be the ideal way to mature, to be allowed to try things and decide for yourself what is good. But for Frank, it obviously doesn't end well.
It also shows Joan, the mother, trying to juggle divorce, reemergence into the dating world, recent occupational success, and hatred from her son. Laura Linney plays this character with reserve, and it turns out brilliantly. Emotion pours out of her as she watches her son play the guitar for a talent show, and all she does is smile and lift her hand to her mouth. But with that simple gesture comes a look that showed how much she loves him. And Linney continues to contend for my favorite female actor.
Actually, each leading actor in this film gives an organic, intimate performance. Jeff Daniels' Bernard is intellectual, and knows it, yet he is offended when an acquaintance slanders the New York Knicks, oblivious to his own triviality. It surprised me how quickly I could identify the complexity of the characters and of the story.
What this film did was make me consider how I was raised, and how good I had it. My parents didn't cheat on each other or get divorced. They did their best to keep their fights private, something I desire to have seen, but now (after viewing results of that hypothetical situation thanks to this film) consider the right decision. The film consisted of rich, authentic characters delivering mature, skillful dialogue to create a great film that had me wishing it wouldn't end. Well done Baumbach.
The film shows Walt rejecting his father for whom he loved for quite a while, and then turning back to his mother, the stronghold of his childhood, as he remembers in the late part of the film. His mother was the one who brought him joy when he was young. Walt allowed the sophistication of his father's projection of adulthood to blind him of the happiness he experienced as a child with his mom.
It shows the results of a dysfunctional family in the life of Frank, the youngest son; he drinks beer, masturbates, and curses wantonly. At first, this would seem comical, but then you realize that this boy has no moral structure, no framework for how to grow up. Some would say that this would be the ideal way to mature, to be allowed to try things and decide for yourself what is good. But for Frank, it obviously doesn't end well.
It also shows Joan, the mother, trying to juggle divorce, reemergence into the dating world, recent occupational success, and hatred from her son. Laura Linney plays this character with reserve, and it turns out brilliantly. Emotion pours out of her as she watches her son play the guitar for a talent show, and all she does is smile and lift her hand to her mouth. But with that simple gesture comes a look that showed how much she loves him. And Linney continues to contend for my favorite female actor.
Actually, each leading actor in this film gives an organic, intimate performance. Jeff Daniels' Bernard is intellectual, and knows it, yet he is offended when an acquaintance slanders the New York Knicks, oblivious to his own triviality. It surprised me how quickly I could identify the complexity of the characters and of the story.
What this film did was make me consider how I was raised, and how good I had it. My parents didn't cheat on each other or get divorced. They did their best to keep their fights private, something I desire to have seen, but now (after viewing results of that hypothetical situation thanks to this film) consider the right decision. The film consisted of rich, authentic characters delivering mature, skillful dialogue to create a great film that had me wishing it wouldn't end. Well done Baumbach.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
One Lined Thinking
If it is not written down, it is forgotten.
You are the only thought that arrives when I try to think of something meaningful.
The hole that bleeds silently while I live quietly shouts when I am still. And the transparent blood drips down neck, over my shoulders, onto my chest, and into the heart from which it was pumped. But for some reason, seas of circulating cells only make me wonder what it would be like to have less. But I only wonder when I get like this, when I sit and listen to the subtle screaming of my soul.
You are the only thought that arrives when I try to think of something meaningful.
The hole that bleeds silently while I live quietly shouts when I am still. And the transparent blood drips down neck, over my shoulders, onto my chest, and into the heart from which it was pumped. But for some reason, seas of circulating cells only make me wonder what it would be like to have less. But I only wonder when I get like this, when I sit and listen to the subtle screaming of my soul.
Monday, July 19, 2010
Boxing, Meryl Streep, and Indie Folk
Say something. Say anything. No, not the John Cusack movie. Find something that you're passionate about, and write about it. Often I am assigned in school to write about something that means a lot to me, and I always come quickly to the conclusion that I don't care about anything important. At least, not intellectually important. I can never find a topic about which I can construct 4 page argument, defending its claims or legitimacy or whatever else the teacher wants me to do in order to cultivate a brain.
These assignments have held me captive for a while. I remember in sophomore English, we were required to give a speech on something we cared about, and I spoke about caring about something. Creative, I know. I intended to have The Goo Goo Dolls' "Iris" playing lightly in the background (this song didn't have anything to do with my topic except that it sounded passionate), and I even had my speech timed perfectly to end at the crescendo, leaving my listeners simultaneously spell-bound yet motivated to act. Sadly, we couldn't get the iPod player to work.
I usually end up writing about movies, which is fine because I am a big fan of the art form. But I end up asking myself "why am I not passionate about anything the way that other people are?" I know I'm not alone in this wondering--in the film "Adaptation," Merryl Streep's character Susan Orlean expresses the same type of angst when she admits she has "one unembarrassed passion. I want to know what it feels like to care about something passionately."
People want to want something terribly and completely. I assume that the majority of people I'm surrounded by have nothing that occupies the free space in their mind, mainly because we are all the people Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet didn't want to become but eventually did in "Revolutionary Road." We go to work, we eat dinner with our families, we read the newspaper and shop for groceries and watch tv; and none of it makes us happy. None of that gives us purpose. And, strangely, we perpetually continue these unfulfilling actions because they create a rapid lifestyle void of self-reflection. We keep living this way because if we stop, we'll realize that this type of life is doing nothing but making us sadder and emptier.
My favorite character in film history is Hilary Swank's Maggie Fitzgerald in "Million Dollar Baby." You see, Maggie wants to box. That's all she wants. She doesn't want the money or the fame or anything else that would entice someone to lace up gloves; somewhere deep within Maggie, an unidentifiable yet unmistakable force makes boxing the only thing in life that makes her happy. And even though she is much too old to start professional training, Maggie continues to pursue the one part of life that she ever felt good doing. While everything in her life is shit, boxing makes it worth living. And if she's too old for it, then she's got nothing.
How do you find that? I mean, seriously. A person gets verbally abused by her obese mother, who throws the gift of a new house back in her daughter's face, humiliated by other boxers, repeatedly rejected by a trainer, and she still holds on to a dream? How can you do that? There is nothing in my life that would make me put up with all that shit in order to keep it around. I can't understand it.
In order to find that ultimate satisfaction, I'll list what I like doing/ being around:
1. Movies.
2. People.
3. Slacklining.
4. Geocaching.
5. Long hair (mine).
6. Vibrams.
7. The Strokes and indie folk.
I can't think of anything else that equals the love I have for these things. I understand that I have come from a sheltered, religious background, thus prohibiting access to many things that could possibly make the list. But seriously, this is all I can come up with? And some of these shouldn't be here-I just put them on the list to make it longer so I wouldn't feel like a loser.
Maybe the one passion I find that drives me is to discover what I'm passionate about. I hope to God that's not my life's purpose, because that would mean that I'm not passionate about anything except thinking I'm passionate about something and trying to find it even though it doesn't exist. Yikes.
I think I have the capacity to love something as much as Maggie Fitzgerald loved boxing. I just haven't found it yet. So I guess I'll have to fake it until I find it, because teachers won't be too impressed if I answer their questions with "I have no idea."
These assignments have held me captive for a while. I remember in sophomore English, we were required to give a speech on something we cared about, and I spoke about caring about something. Creative, I know. I intended to have The Goo Goo Dolls' "Iris" playing lightly in the background (this song didn't have anything to do with my topic except that it sounded passionate), and I even had my speech timed perfectly to end at the crescendo, leaving my listeners simultaneously spell-bound yet motivated to act. Sadly, we couldn't get the iPod player to work.
I usually end up writing about movies, which is fine because I am a big fan of the art form. But I end up asking myself "why am I not passionate about anything the way that other people are?" I know I'm not alone in this wondering--in the film "Adaptation," Merryl Streep's character Susan Orlean expresses the same type of angst when she admits she has "one unembarrassed passion. I want to know what it feels like to care about something passionately."
People want to want something terribly and completely. I assume that the majority of people I'm surrounded by have nothing that occupies the free space in their mind, mainly because we are all the people Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet didn't want to become but eventually did in "Revolutionary Road." We go to work, we eat dinner with our families, we read the newspaper and shop for groceries and watch tv; and none of it makes us happy. None of that gives us purpose. And, strangely, we perpetually continue these unfulfilling actions because they create a rapid lifestyle void of self-reflection. We keep living this way because if we stop, we'll realize that this type of life is doing nothing but making us sadder and emptier.
My favorite character in film history is Hilary Swank's Maggie Fitzgerald in "Million Dollar Baby." You see, Maggie wants to box. That's all she wants. She doesn't want the money or the fame or anything else that would entice someone to lace up gloves; somewhere deep within Maggie, an unidentifiable yet unmistakable force makes boxing the only thing in life that makes her happy. And even though she is much too old to start professional training, Maggie continues to pursue the one part of life that she ever felt good doing. While everything in her life is shit, boxing makes it worth living. And if she's too old for it, then she's got nothing.
How do you find that? I mean, seriously. A person gets verbally abused by her obese mother, who throws the gift of a new house back in her daughter's face, humiliated by other boxers, repeatedly rejected by a trainer, and she still holds on to a dream? How can you do that? There is nothing in my life that would make me put up with all that shit in order to keep it around. I can't understand it.
In order to find that ultimate satisfaction, I'll list what I like doing/ being around:
1. Movies.
2. People.
3. Slacklining.
4. Geocaching.
5. Long hair (mine).
6. Vibrams.
7. The Strokes and indie folk.
I can't think of anything else that equals the love I have for these things. I understand that I have come from a sheltered, religious background, thus prohibiting access to many things that could possibly make the list. But seriously, this is all I can come up with? And some of these shouldn't be here-I just put them on the list to make it longer so I wouldn't feel like a loser.
Maybe the one passion I find that drives me is to discover what I'm passionate about. I hope to God that's not my life's purpose, because that would mean that I'm not passionate about anything except thinking I'm passionate about something and trying to find it even though it doesn't exist. Yikes.
I think I have the capacity to love something as much as Maggie Fitzgerald loved boxing. I just haven't found it yet. So I guess I'll have to fake it until I find it, because teachers won't be too impressed if I answer their questions with "I have no idea."
Friday, July 16, 2010
Inception
What if I were living in a dream and the people I see are just projections from my subconscious? If I interacted with these projections, they had personalities and characteristics, they were people. What would it say about me if I identified a certain type of people as hostile or angry towards me, just upon first glace? What would it say about me if I accepted a person, if only subconsciously, by the type of car he/she drove? What must I be if I stereotyped people and places and things?
Letting go of the memory of a person is difficult when you think you drove that person away.
Finding an object that only you know its weight (or merit), its texture (or feeling), is the only way to remind one of what is reality, and what is not. This seems like a memory. A memory tells us what is real, whether it is a person changing or a place unfamiliar.
I am the center of my life/dream. I don't remember the beginning-no, I only remember it mes-en-scene.
If I had the choice of knowing if pure happiness was real or not, would I choose to know? Would it last if I knew? If I didn't? Would truth be separate from love? From contentment? I don't think so.
Keeping the idea of someone captive in the recesses of the mind is not beneficial to either party.
Letting go of the memory of a person is difficult when you think you drove that person away.
Finding an object that only you know its weight (or merit), its texture (or feeling), is the only way to remind one of what is reality, and what is not. This seems like a memory. A memory tells us what is real, whether it is a person changing or a place unfamiliar.
I am the center of my life/dream. I don't remember the beginning-no, I only remember it mes-en-scene.
If I had the choice of knowing if pure happiness was real or not, would I choose to know? Would it last if I knew? If I didn't? Would truth be separate from love? From contentment? I don't think so.
Keeping the idea of someone captive in the recesses of the mind is not beneficial to either party.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Happiness
A moment when you realize you have friends
that you have youth
athleticism
family
happiness
can not be explained.
I just tried to articulate what it makes me feel
and it went away.
It snuck up on me like a theif, and I tried to take a picture with it.
Oh well. Next time I'll just sit and smile.
that you have youth
athleticism
family
happiness
can not be explained.
I just tried to articulate what it makes me feel
and it went away.
It snuck up on me like a theif, and I tried to take a picture with it.
Oh well. Next time I'll just sit and smile.
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