Flick Crit of the Week

Almost-TDay Greetings full of film criticism:

On 16 October 2009, a childhood favorite bedtime story was made into CGI/Real-People film (Yes, that is what I call them "Real-People films" You got something better?). The book Where the Wild Things Are, written and illustrated by Maurice Sendak who also illustrated the Little Bear series, is complete before the 40 pages mark, so, obviously, writer-director Spike Jonze was bound to take some creative license to fill up 101 minutes of screen time. But who expected that license to lead the story into practically apocalyptic grounds?

One of the best achievements of both the book and the movie is the monsters' scary-yet-not-so-scary look. They are furry, carry our protagonist Max around, and even smile and laugh. However, Jonze's monsters' behavior is strikingly volatile and disturbing. On the other hand, what do you expect when none other than Tony Soprano lends his voice to the main monster, "Carol"? SPOILER ALERT: I don't exactly remember anyone ripping off an arm in the beloved illustrated children's book... In fact, I don't remember anything in the book being quite that violent.

Before I come off as a concerned parent who wants to censor a film (I don't have kids, but I feel like I sound like someone who does), I do want to clear the air on this whole problem of violence. Violence is okay in movies when its logically appropriate. Saving Private Ryan would have hilariously sucked if water guns was their only option because it just doesn't match up. Censoring heavy material results in laughs while adding violent material to a children's story results in discomfort. And that's exactly what I felt in my movie chair eating my saturated large popcorn: uncomfortable. Where the Wild Things Are was a little less Where the Wild Things Are and a little more Lord of The Flies.

Ok, the movie itself had value and deserves a rave opposite my rant. Though it left the original book behind, it kept its main message and easily translates the illustrations into real-world likeness and cinematography. Max Records, who ironically plays "Max," wins our hearts as the kid putting up with this nightmare. Max's behavior is erratic, like that of any troubled nine-year-old, and Jonze truly and honestly depicts "sunt pueri pueri, pueri puerilia tractant," ("Children are children, and children do childish things"). The vulnerability and art in this movie cannot be ignored or criticized; it's a breath of fresh air from the usually predictable Hollywood.

Jonze leaves his audience hoping for more--but not exactly in a good way. SPOILER ALERT: Max returns home in his boat never hugging or saying goodbye to Carol. The only truly-likeable monster Douglas is left with a stick arm. We still are angry that Max never reconciles with Judith or Alexander (whose voice, by the way, is lent from Paul Dano whose cathartic performance of the older brother in Little Miss Sunshine earned him deserved attention). There's hardly any closure. Yet, then again, closure is achieved with his journey home and his mother's welcoming embrace. I feel better for Max, but I just can't seem to shake the misery left behind for the monsters.

Kernels Pop and So Do Bubbles!

As I sit in my blue, fuzzy Snuggie (yes, I have one, don't judge...) listening to pre-Thanksgiving Christmas music on Pandora.com, I scan the internet for no reason at all as many of us do. I type in "Thought Bubble," because I once saw a comicbook writer list the names for the random symbols inside thought bubbles, and this delightful little website collection graces my monitor's screen like Santa's sleigh (too early? I don't care! I'm a Christmas-a-holic!). How cute! It kind of makes me want to be a science teacher...ok, for a second.

Then I'm poking around with my little mouse arrow and go to the home page. Likely being a future teacher, I find this website absolutely intriguing. Jerrie Cheek gets an idea for Educational hotlists, eh? Wouldn't the world be a better place if we could all have our own little educational hotlists with resources listing web-based learning under all our interests? "Mark Twain Hotlist: Click for all the other pseudonyms Samuel Clemens considered. Click to compare and contrast Twain with Seuss and Poe. Click for a free viewing of Big River. Click to figure out the circumference of Mark Twain's head from the dimensions of his skull!" Once again, the curse of the English major: too many ideas, too little time.

Waking From a Coma

I'm sorry to get so serious on you so soon, but have you heard about this guy in Germany who was in a "coma" for 23 years--HALF his life--but, really, he was just paralyzed? Yeah, Rom Houben was thought to be in a vegetative state since an accident in his twenties, but Steven Laureys, a neurologist from the University of Liege in Belgium, detected brain activity. Strangely enough however, this is making news now though it happened three years ago. I'm utterly shocked that this wasn't more of a media headliner three years ago, especially since the story would have placed closer to the widely-known Terry Schaivo case from 2005.

I guess what has gotten the publicity today is this man's resilience. Houben, ex-engineer fluent in four languages, plans on writing a book on his traumatic 23 years. The Guardian article explains that after intense therapy, he now communicates with one finger on a touchscreen. We are offered two snippets of his chilling and poetic accounts communicated through this touchscreen and then internet article, "I screamed, but there was nothing to hear," "I'll never forget the day that they discovered me. It was my second birth." What amazing words to come from a man who unwillingly took a vow of silence and immobility to fate for twenty-three years.

Can you imagine? No. It's virtually impossible to. My friend tried to explain her sensation of sleep paralysis, and I couldn't even fathom that fully, either from limitations in my mind or a barrier of fear. That's a hard kernel to chew...

Whose popcorn bag is this anyway?

It's mine. A twenty-something snacking on cheap popcorn bag innards in place of meals blogging in order to use this useless English major from undergrad. Well, correction. It's not exactly a useless major. The major does make you always know when someone's modifier is dangling or what "metaphysical" means, but it's just so gosh darn broad (insert Sarah Palin accent there) most of us have no idea what to do with it. Some of us go into education, of course--stick with what you know, you know? But most of us only picked English in the first place because we had no idea what to do with our lives, and, heck, it sure sounded better than "Undecided" to your parents. Thus entered the ideal English major: "So broad you can do anything!" But, in actuality, more like: "So broad your career path will be as unclear as it was when you got in to this university!"

The thing about us English majors is we just like so much stuff we don't know what to do with ourselves. Check out the average English major's reaction at a local book fair: "Cool! A book about moon phases and its effect on the creative mind?! Ooo! Ooo! Look at this one, Inventions of the 13th century! Ah! Recipes for Indian cuisine! A Complete Shakespeare Anthology! Home Storage Ideas! HOW DO THEY KNOW ME SO WELL...?" You just may be an English major if you find yourself running out of shelf space, yes, even after you got rid of those awesome roaring lion bookends, in order to fit all of those "intellectual investments." In other words, English majors are generally in the same phylum as "pack-rats."

Or, "popcorn-fiends." There's nothing like a few years in college studying George Herbert to Florence Nightingale to Carl Sandburg to Maya Angelou to get you acclimated to late night popcorn popping. Ah, those blessed kernels of golden goodness. So many times have they saved me from eating my index cards for ENG 202: Obsolete Word Origins of the American Lexicon, Section I Need Caffeine at this 8am, or, perhaps, ENG 397: What Is This Class Again? Section My Professor Has a Booger in His Nose Every Single Day and I Am 100% Distracted.

Of course, I'm being partially facetious; remember, we English majors take interest in the most ridiculous topics. Well, everything except doing any numerical computations. We can read about fractals, but you better sure as hell not make us do one!

So here I am. Using my faithful friends, words, to create my precious kernels of survival for someone else. English major or math major, graduate or drop-out, those who prefer their popcorn kettle or those of the movie theatre butter persuasion--all of you out there, here's a popcorn bag for you.