If You Care for Good Narrative, You Must See This Film
Go see 'A History of Violence.' Don't read anything before you go--no reviews. Go in without expectation of what the story is about, and I promise you will be rewarded.
I saw it last night, under similar conditions: I didn't really know what it was about, didn't know what people had said about it. And I can't stop thinking about it.
Narratively, it is one of the tightest movies I have seen in a long, long time, and this even with astonishingly patient camera work that you think would make a movie "slow," but it doesn't. I can only find the word "patient" to describe those scenes, and they were essential to the film, and made me long for the days when movies weren't so frenetically edited and cut. (Mostly relevant tangent: They say that Mr. Rogers is so appealing to very young children because of the pace of that show--very slow and it takes place in real time--it makes sense to children and because it is so close to real time, they are comforted by a sense of understanding. I think that though adults can superficially understand what is happening in a jumpy and flashily edited scene, that we don't psychologically or emotionally connect, which is how desensitization happens. We lose the characters and our ability to empathize with them when we are barraged with images of them--for all our adult sophistication, I still think we understand on the level of the body only when we are allowed to let something sink in, to think for a minute, to breathe at the same pace the actors are breathing.)
Okay, so the miraculous thing about this film is, you get to do this, but it is never boring. I'd like to go see it again, purely so I can see how the narrative unfolds in this patient, full way, but without boring us. It is artfully done, that's all I can say.
I marveled, too, at the specificity of detail--it made the film so fresh and original--I never felt as though I were watching stereotypes or cliches. And the narrative arc was so perfectly formed and satisfying. There are many things done on the level of the literary in this film, so much so that I know I can learn from it, just as I would from a story or book. Actually, as I was watching it, I felt like it was the same kind of experience I have reading a short story--the perfect length, nothing wasted. Nothing was longer or shorter than it needed to be.
Do I have any complaints about this movie? Honestly, not really. It is a rich work, and I know that on subsequent viewings it will reveal itself even more fully.
Go see it. Really. Go.
I saw it last night, under similar conditions: I didn't really know what it was about, didn't know what people had said about it. And I can't stop thinking about it.
Narratively, it is one of the tightest movies I have seen in a long, long time, and this even with astonishingly patient camera work that you think would make a movie "slow," but it doesn't. I can only find the word "patient" to describe those scenes, and they were essential to the film, and made me long for the days when movies weren't so frenetically edited and cut. (Mostly relevant tangent: They say that Mr. Rogers is so appealing to very young children because of the pace of that show--very slow and it takes place in real time--it makes sense to children and because it is so close to real time, they are comforted by a sense of understanding. I think that though adults can superficially understand what is happening in a jumpy and flashily edited scene, that we don't psychologically or emotionally connect, which is how desensitization happens. We lose the characters and our ability to empathize with them when we are barraged with images of them--for all our adult sophistication, I still think we understand on the level of the body only when we are allowed to let something sink in, to think for a minute, to breathe at the same pace the actors are breathing.)
Okay, so the miraculous thing about this film is, you get to do this, but it is never boring. I'd like to go see it again, purely so I can see how the narrative unfolds in this patient, full way, but without boring us. It is artfully done, that's all I can say.
I marveled, too, at the specificity of detail--it made the film so fresh and original--I never felt as though I were watching stereotypes or cliches. And the narrative arc was so perfectly formed and satisfying. There are many things done on the level of the literary in this film, so much so that I know I can learn from it, just as I would from a story or book. Actually, as I was watching it, I felt like it was the same kind of experience I have reading a short story--the perfect length, nothing wasted. Nothing was longer or shorter than it needed to be.
Do I have any complaints about this movie? Honestly, not really. It is a rich work, and I know that on subsequent viewings it will reveal itself even more fully.
Go see it. Really. Go.
posted by Tiffany Hamburger at
9:12 AM
2 Comments:
Okay, I finally read your blog. And I love everything about it, especially your questioning of its purpose. I did not intend to comment until I read the part about a History of Violence. I wasn't sure why I liked that movie so much but you put it into words for me. Actually, I don't like people putting anything into words for me, but I give you a pass...because I like it...but I don't...but I do.
By
Anonymous, at 11:10 PM
I had to come back and re-read my post because honestly I couldn't remember what I wrote. I left work early the night I wrote it. Actually, I left at 5 but I have so much work that was pretty early. So when I got home, I put a game on, poured myself a drink and logged on to do some work. I was looking for a deleted item and I saw the email titled "J'accuse!" and remembered I hadn't read your blog yet. About an hour and several more drinks later I read it. How you knew I had been drinking is beyond me. It appears rather innocuous to me, especially compared to what I normally write you. Perhaps you think I'm all the time wasted (Ivan used to insert "all the time" in place of "always" so now I all the time do it too.)
One other thing. I feel kinda creepy reading your blog. I didn't the first time, but now I do. So please know you won't have a work person reading you anymore. Now I gotta go get a glass of rum so I can keep working. See you tomorrow. Patrick (oh yeah,
<<<>>>
I have no idea what I was about to type afer "oh yeah" because I wrote it almost three hours ago. I was about to finish this post when the phone rings. It's Kristen. She's on her way home from a party and she's feeling a little groovey and we're all talkin' and what not. She gets home, opens up her door and she notices her whole apartment has been rearranged. She's starting to freak out a little and I'm trying to put my pants on while holding the phone and pushing my chihuahua out the door so he don't crap in my room while I'm gone. I get in the car and she's really scared and saying something that sounds like "a guy followed me up the stairs and tried to get in my apartment to use the phone but I wouldn't let him use my bathroom." Did I mention she'd been drinking?
So I hop outta the car, run back in the house and grab a gat and a pack of Camels. She smokes, not I. I haul ass over to your old apartment building with all the damn hills around it. It turns out I've lost a lot of weight lately. My jeans don't fit well and I didn't have time to put on a belt. This is relevant because when I got out of the car I tried to jam the gat in the back of my pants but it's heavy and I'm going up hill and my pants are falling down and I look like a retard going up the stairs holding onto my pants while trying to pull the roscoe out of my ass. I'm trying to psyche myself up to do battle with the Son of Sam but I feel like Professor Julius Kelp (check google images if you need to).
You'll have to wait to hear the rest. I've got to get some sleep. By the way I never got that rum. I'm sober this time. In case you're wondering why I'm sending this to you on your blog it should be obvious I don't want to send it by TxDOT email. Try re-reading the story while imagining Joe Pesci is telling it. I think it's funnier.
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Anonymous, at 1:21 AM
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