So the Oscars have been given out again, and most of the predicted favourites have won. Of the main contenders, I have seen The Social Network, The King's Speech, Black Swan, The Fighter and Inception.
Of the lot, I believe that the two supporting awards given to Melissa Leo and Christian Bale were enormously deserved in a movie where the acting was just all around superb. Amy Adams was excellent as well but lost out to Leo and Mark Wahlberg was unfortunately overlooked due to him having the most understated of the roles. Bale, in particular, did an excellent job of embodying the accent and mannerisms of a great prize fighter turned junkie.
I was less enthused by the main acting awards. Firth worked suitably hard in the role, putting on a stammer and doing an excellent job mimicking the accent. But it certainly seemed a case of him being rewarded for a string of work rather than a particular stand out piece. I am a huge fan of Natalie Portman and I have had a schoolboy crush on her since I saw her in Leon (The Professional), but I thought the film as a whole (and her performance) rather overcooked. It was a perfect role for her in many ways (sweet, innocence finding a darker side) and one almost paralled by her taking on edgier roles (for her) - Closer, V for Vendetta, No Stings Attached.
The techncal awards largely went to Inception, though a thought must be spared for the great cinematographer Roger Deakins. That he is still Oscar-less is a great travesty that the Academy must rectify at some point.
In terms of the Best Picture winner, the King Speech was a very well made film. A film that used the best of what it had to the maximum in what was essentially just a film about a friendship between two strong individuals (albeit a rather unique friendship). The Social Network might have been edgier, and more consistently captivating throughout, but the King's Speech featured understated direction, an excellent cast (Rush, Bonham-Carter, Firth, Guy Pearce and Michael Gambon among others in cameo roles!). Though making the audience feel a sense of sympathy for a character like Mark Zuckerberg (as played by Jesse Eisenberg) was perhaps a harder feat than the unashamedly sentimental patriotism of the King's Speech.
28 February 2011
Ideal Partner
A friend posted this a link to this wonderful blog post on Facebook titled "Date a Girl Who Reads". She also commented that if it had been written by a guy, she and others should date him immediately (it was not). The post struck a chord, because I might have written something like that (though in a wistful what if tone of voice, as opposed to the exhortative it currently is).
I wish I could date a girl who reads, who loves books. I wish I will find a girl who will find the fact that I have a personal library of 2,000 plus books, an enormous turn on rather than a puzzling, impractical extravagance.
I wish to find a girl who reads, and loves good movies, and who loves the theater like me, who likes long rambly conversations over a glass of wine. A girl who is intense and intellectual. Who might possess a somewhat mordant wit.
I would date a girl who reads. Now I just have to find her.
I wish I could date a girl who reads, who loves books. I wish I will find a girl who will find the fact that I have a personal library of 2,000 plus books, an enormous turn on rather than a puzzling, impractical extravagance.
I wish to find a girl who reads, and loves good movies, and who loves the theater like me, who likes long rambly conversations over a glass of wine. A girl who is intense and intellectual. Who might possess a somewhat mordant wit.
I would date a girl who reads. Now I just have to find her.
10 February 2011
The Accidental Asian
The Accidental Asian | Eric Liu
Eric Liu epitomizes the typical second generation American: the son of two Taiwanese immigrants (who met in America) he went on to graduate from Yale and serve in the Clinton White House. This is a deeply personal collection of essays, which is equal parts memoir, and equal parts reflection on race, culture, and identity. Liu examines issues ranging from his own 'Asian-ness', the typical ideas associated with Chinatown, the Asian as the 'other', and the viability of the Asian American identity, in the prism of his own experiences and those of his immediate family.
One powerful aspect that ties his essays together is a ceaseless questioning, and a refusal to accept the widely held notion or the commonplace assumption. This is immediately evident in his first piece, a deeply moving reflection on his father rooted in questions about Chineseness and assimilation - both his own and his father's. His father was in many ways typically Chinese, proud of Chinese culture, deeply familiar with the Chinese classics with a grasp of the language equal to that of any Confusian scholar-official. Liu, despite attending Chinese classes, soon lost all facility for the language and with it his cultural roots as he grew increasingly American.
This could be seen as the typical immigrant story as Liu so eloquently writes:
More than that, assimilation is never the easy transformation for the second generation child as it is made out to be. As the author himself freely admits he often attributed his father's actions to his "Chineseness" but as he admits, with considerable insight this was often in response to his own cultural insecurities : "it was I who boxed against the shame and shadow of racial stigma" as a Chinese boy in an American world; to "cloak any handicap, real or imagined" that might accrue, to his race. Often, it is the second generation that is the one truly caught in between.
This overturning of easy assumptions is again at play in his essay "The Chinatown Idea". The very idea of a 'Chinatown' is often cited as evidence for a Chinese tendency to cling together, to refuse to assimilate. He again examines this through the lens of personal experience, in this case a powerful and touching portrait of a grandmother who lived for more than two decades in the same cinder-block apartment in New York's Chinatown. She seemed a powerful symbol of the typical immigrant Chinese, separated by a linguistic and cultural chasm, comfortable only in a familiar environment. Except Liu always felt that she had a desire to be somewhere else.
As Liu notes, we all have a certain idea of Chinatown, specifically that:
Liu calls this the "cruellest myth" because many of those who are in Chinatown do not wish to stay there, like his grandmother. Far from cloistering themselves they too wish for the American Dream but for them, whether due to their illegal immigrant status, or some vast linguistic chasm, assimilation is distant and unattainable.
It is thus not the insularity of the Chinese that sustains Chinatown, but the determined blindness of the rest of America in creating this myth of a separate entity, where the Chinese often exploit the Chinese, subject to different rules and standards, a "potemkin village" that hides a "nasty brutish shadow world".
After reading the essay, I felt a distinct sense of unease. But as Liu notes there are many Chinatowns: the insular enclave of foreignness, the shadowy world of exploitation, the thriving self sufficient community and the worst mistake one could make is the one that I made: to try simplify and generalize such a diverse portrait.
Ultimately, though, it is Liu's second essay that I could relate the most deeply to. The larger question of the essay (the "accidental Asian") is presented immediately and forcefully in a list of what makes him "white". Among the items he lists are: listening to NPR; marrying a white; speaking flawless, accentless English; subscribing to Foreign Affairs; not being too ethnic; and being mindful of minority militants, among others. As he notes: he never asked to be white, never sought out such a status but he found himself being "white by acclamation". Thus he has become an honorary white to some, a banana to others.
That certainly brought back memories. Of being called Sergaent Kantang (potato) in the army for my english speaking proclivities, as opposed to the Chinese speaking Hokkien swearing rice eaters that were typical of my race. I was a banana (yellow on the outside, white inside), a man with 'atas' (high) tastes - i.e. European cultural tastes. White by proclaimation, then?
I've made my own list: I am functionally monolingual, I speak in grammatically correct, complete sentences, I love the theater and musicals, I enjoy trivia nights, I drink my beer in British pubs or trendy bars (not coffee shops), I listen to jazz, I listen to classical music, I read literary novels, I have many foreign friends.
Of course this status came as much from the things I didn't do, a negation of the typical Chinese Singaporean: I don't speak mandarin (well), I don't speak a dialect, I do not listen to Chinese pop music, I don't watch Korean or Taiwanese TV serials, I hardly karaoke (and only English songs if I do), I don't use singlish. The only mainstream local custom I seem to enjoy doing is eating. That if anything is something that is truly universally Singaporean.
The bizarre fact is that our experiences are parallel, very similar, but like two lines running opposite to one another. As much as we have both become white, or been labeled white, for him it is as a minority Chinese attempting to assimilate into the larger culture. For me it is being born into the racial and cultural majority but have been emplaced into my own cultural (even linguistic) niche, as a result of background and education. As he has become part of the status quo, I have lost my place in it.
Yet in a sense he has become part of the majority, but a minority within the majority. He is not just white, but a certain type and class of white. Upper middle class, confident, socially mobile a far cry from the white trailer trash that used to hurl abuse at him on the bus. I too am a minority within a majority, culturally and linguistically. In that regard, though for different reasons, we are the same. We are both "accidental Asians".
Even though Liu's essays are deeply personal, it is has voice and his aptitude for the stirring image that captures the imagination. This is something unsurprising given that he was a Presidential speechwriter. I wish to end off with a sample from his final essay, Blood Vows about his marraige to his wife:
In this powerful memoir, and in his hands, one is impelled to believe that race doesn't really matter that much, and if it does, there are other greater things that can surpass it.
Eric Liu epitomizes the typical second generation American: the son of two Taiwanese immigrants (who met in America) he went on to graduate from Yale and serve in the Clinton White House. This is a deeply personal collection of essays, which is equal parts memoir, and equal parts reflection on race, culture, and identity. Liu examines issues ranging from his own 'Asian-ness', the typical ideas associated with Chinatown, the Asian as the 'other', and the viability of the Asian American identity, in the prism of his own experiences and those of his immediate family.
One powerful aspect that ties his essays together is a ceaseless questioning, and a refusal to accept the widely held notion or the commonplace assumption. This is immediately evident in his first piece, a deeply moving reflection on his father rooted in questions about Chineseness and assimilation - both his own and his father's. His father was in many ways typically Chinese, proud of Chinese culture, deeply familiar with the Chinese classics with a grasp of the language equal to that of any Confusian scholar-official. Liu, despite attending Chinese classes, soon lost all facility for the language and with it his cultural roots as he grew increasingly American.
This could be seen as the typical immigrant story as Liu so eloquently writes:
In our archetype of the immigrant experience, it is the first generation that remains wedded to the ways of the Old Country and the second generation that forsakes them. This we learn is the tragedy of assimilation: the inevitable estrangement between the immigrant father who imagines himself in exile and the American son who strains to prove his belonging.Except that Liu questions this assumption of the first generation immigrant, and the inevitable estrangement with their new adopted culture because:
we let ourselves think of the first generation's life as a mere chrysalis, an interlude between the larval existence of the homeland and the fully formed Americaness of the second generation. But the truth is that the father can become his own form of butterfly.In fact, his father did transform. A deep love and facility for languages was soon applied to English, and an understanding of culture enabled him to rise to respectable middle management in IBM. It was this very ability to adapt, and this openness to a new culture that gave his son the opportunity to transform himself fully into a typical American.
More than that, assimilation is never the easy transformation for the second generation child as it is made out to be. As the author himself freely admits he often attributed his father's actions to his "Chineseness" but as he admits, with considerable insight this was often in response to his own cultural insecurities : "it was I who boxed against the shame and shadow of racial stigma" as a Chinese boy in an American world; to "cloak any handicap, real or imagined" that might accrue, to his race. Often, it is the second generation that is the one truly caught in between.
This overturning of easy assumptions is again at play in his essay "The Chinatown Idea". The very idea of a 'Chinatown' is often cited as evidence for a Chinese tendency to cling together, to refuse to assimilate. He again examines this through the lens of personal experience, in this case a powerful and touching portrait of a grandmother who lived for more than two decades in the same cinder-block apartment in New York's Chinatown. She seemed a powerful symbol of the typical immigrant Chinese, separated by a linguistic and cultural chasm, comfortable only in a familiar environment. Except Liu always felt that she had a desire to be somewhere else.
As Liu notes, we all have a certain idea of Chinatown, specifically that:
Chinatown chooses to exempt itself from America: that it is purely the product of Chinese clannishness and insularity.Indeed, this is a particular cliche that I am ashamed to say I have repeated on countless occasions. After all it is only us Chinese who have Chinatowns all over the world (San Francisco, New York, Sydney). It must be a sign of our unique unwillingness to adapt to cultural morays, to assimilate. After all, Americans go abroad all the time and do not create "little Americas" all over the world now do they?
Liu calls this the "cruellest myth" because many of those who are in Chinatown do not wish to stay there, like his grandmother. Far from cloistering themselves they too wish for the American Dream but for them, whether due to their illegal immigrant status, or some vast linguistic chasm, assimilation is distant and unattainable.
It is thus not the insularity of the Chinese that sustains Chinatown, but the determined blindness of the rest of America in creating this myth of a separate entity, where the Chinese often exploit the Chinese, subject to different rules and standards, a "potemkin village" that hides a "nasty brutish shadow world".
After reading the essay, I felt a distinct sense of unease. But as Liu notes there are many Chinatowns: the insular enclave of foreignness, the shadowy world of exploitation, the thriving self sufficient community and the worst mistake one could make is the one that I made: to try simplify and generalize such a diverse portrait.
Ultimately, though, it is Liu's second essay that I could relate the most deeply to. The larger question of the essay (the "accidental Asian") is presented immediately and forcefully in a list of what makes him "white". Among the items he lists are: listening to NPR; marrying a white; speaking flawless, accentless English; subscribing to Foreign Affairs; not being too ethnic; and being mindful of minority militants, among others. As he notes: he never asked to be white, never sought out such a status but he found himself being "white by acclamation". Thus he has become an honorary white to some, a banana to others.
That certainly brought back memories. Of being called Sergaent Kantang (potato) in the army for my english speaking proclivities, as opposed to the Chinese speaking Hokkien swearing rice eaters that were typical of my race. I was a banana (yellow on the outside, white inside), a man with 'atas' (high) tastes - i.e. European cultural tastes. White by proclaimation, then?
I've made my own list: I am functionally monolingual, I speak in grammatically correct, complete sentences, I love the theater and musicals, I enjoy trivia nights, I drink my beer in British pubs or trendy bars (not coffee shops), I listen to jazz, I listen to classical music, I read literary novels, I have many foreign friends.
Of course this status came as much from the things I didn't do, a negation of the typical Chinese Singaporean: I don't speak mandarin (well), I don't speak a dialect, I do not listen to Chinese pop music, I don't watch Korean or Taiwanese TV serials, I hardly karaoke (and only English songs if I do), I don't use singlish. The only mainstream local custom I seem to enjoy doing is eating. That if anything is something that is truly universally Singaporean.
The bizarre fact is that our experiences are parallel, very similar, but like two lines running opposite to one another. As much as we have both become white, or been labeled white, for him it is as a minority Chinese attempting to assimilate into the larger culture. For me it is being born into the racial and cultural majority but have been emplaced into my own cultural (even linguistic) niche, as a result of background and education. As he has become part of the status quo, I have lost my place in it.
Yet in a sense he has become part of the majority, but a minority within the majority. He is not just white, but a certain type and class of white. Upper middle class, confident, socially mobile a far cry from the white trailer trash that used to hurl abuse at him on the bus. I too am a minority within a majority, culturally and linguistically. In that regard, though for different reasons, we are the same. We are both "accidental Asians".
Even though Liu's essays are deeply personal, it is has voice and his aptitude for the stirring image that captures the imagination. This is something unsurprising given that he was a Presidential speechwriter. I wish to end off with a sample from his final essay, Blood Vows about his marraige to his wife:
Let me explain why I married a white woman. It wasn't as if I had a plan. I wasn't trying to prove a point or defy convention. It was simply a matter of who was there and what was possible. Why did Carroll marry a Chinese man? Why do people of different races marry at all? For the same reason today that they go to school together, live together, travel together, work together: because they canwhat should immediately strike you is the fact that any explanation is even necessary. As he soon makes clear:
I chose. I chose to enter into a relationship with Carroll. Not with a "white woman", not with some nameless paragon of "white beauty" but with Carroll Haymon, who has always had an uncanny knack for finishing my sentences; who knows when to humour me and when not to; who, as a Southerner schooled in the North, is no stranger to acculturation; whose neck bends just so when she reads; who sings a soulful alto and scorns the designated-hitter rule; who has a way of putting complete strangers at ease. Nobody - and nobody's subconscious tricked me into falling in love with her.
In this powerful memoir, and in his hands, one is impelled to believe that race doesn't really matter that much, and if it does, there are other greater things that can surpass it.
7 February 2011
30 Books Before 30
I've decided to amend my previous list to keep things along the lines of the '30' theme. The 30 selections I have made are a rather eclectic bunch. The only defining criteria was that I do truly want to read all of the books on this list, and more than that I can actually stomach reading them.
It is for that reason that you won't fine Dante's Divine Comedy (too intimidating), Gibbon's Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire (yawn), Chaucer's A Canterbury Tales (interesting but just too long and difficult), James Joyce's Ulysses (I would probably end up going what the hell?). There is one notable exception. I forced myself to include the Chinese classic Romance of the Three Kingdoms; it is shameful enough that I am reading it in an English translation.
I will try and explain the stranger of my choices at some point, but here is the list for now in random order. Suffice to say this is quite a daunting list, and I had better get cracking!
It is for that reason that you won't fine Dante's Divine Comedy (too intimidating), Gibbon's Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire (yawn), Chaucer's A Canterbury Tales (interesting but just too long and difficult), James Joyce's Ulysses (I would probably end up going what the hell?). There is one notable exception. I forced myself to include the Chinese classic Romance of the Three Kingdoms; it is shameful enough that I am reading it in an English translation.
I will try and explain the stranger of my choices at some point, but here is the list for now in random order. Suffice to say this is quite a daunting list, and I had better get cracking!
- The Illiad
- The Odyssey
- The Analects | Confucius
- Romance of the Three Kingdoms
- Paradise Lost and Paradise Regained | John Milton
- The Rights of Man | Thomas Paine
- Moll Flanders | Daniel Defoe
- Emma | Jane Austen
- Jane Eyre | Charlotte Bronte
- Wuthering Heights | Emily Bronte
- Middlemarch | George Eliot
- Great Expectations | Charles Dickens
- Madame Bovary | Gustav Flaubert
- Huckleberry Finn | Mark Twain
- War and Peace | Leo Tolstoy
- The Brothers Karamazov | Fyodor Dostoyevsky
- The Moonstone | Wilkie Collins
- Walden and Civil Disobedience | David Henry Thoreau
- Democracy in America | Alexis de Tocqueville
- On the Origin of Species | Charles Darwin
- The Complete Sherlock Holmes | Arthur Conan Doyle
- Portrait of the Artist As A Young Man | James Joyce
- Lolita | Vladimir Nabakov
- Catch-22 | Joseph Heller
- 100 Years of Solitude | Gabriel Garcia Marquez
- The Trial and Metamorphoses | Franz Kafka
- Under the Volcano | Malcolm Lowry
- Murphy, Malloy, Malone Dies | Samuel Beckett
- The Spy Who Came in From the Cold | John Le Carre
- The Book of the New Sun | Gene Wolfe
5 February 2011
30 Movies Before 30
I had earlier created a list of fifty movies to see as part of a thirty before thirty list. After a conversation with my sister who is creating a similar list (albeit with much more time to spare), I have decided to trim the list to thirty, in keeping with the general theme of 'thirty' before 30.
The new list is largely based on the previous one, with some simple rules: obviously only movies which I have not already seen will be added to the list. Additionally, there can only be a single film from a particular director represented on the list (this made for some very difficult choices).
Finally and this turned out to be a very important rule, the list is a mixture of aspiration and personal pleasure. In other words, this list in part represents films that are definitive, critically acclaimed, and otherwise essential works which I feel is vital to my film 'education', but tempered by the simple rule that I have to want to watch them. We often feel compelled to watch or read things which are recommended by critics, on the supposition that they are supposed to be good because some superior authority has decided it to be so. Part of turning 30 is the realization that life is too short to slavishly follow critical opinion and must see lists. Trust informed judgment but in the end, watch what you really want to. It is in this spirit that the following selections were made.
The list (with short explanations where appropriate) can be found below, followed by a section detailing some discarded choices and the rationale behind them:
More interesting are some very well known films that I have chosen not to include because they fail my acid test rule (I just don't feel like watching it):
First, All About Eve. Screwball comedies or even intelligent comedies have just never been my thing, besides which I find I am much more attuned to British as opposed to American humour. Besides, Wilder, despite being famous as a comedic director, also made Double Indemnity, which I consider to be one of the greatest of film noirs, and of course Sunset Blvd. another noir masterpiece whose cynicism I can relate to far more than his later comedic works.
Some Like It Hot is probably considered to be the greatest American comedic film of all time. Tony Curtis and Jack Lemmon are supposed to be one of the greatest comedic duos on film. It has Marilyn Monroe in one of her strongest performances, where she transcends her dumb blonde persona. Sadly it just doesn't appeal.
One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest was a huge academy favourite. It did the grand slam of big five Oscars (only It Happened One Night and Silence of the Lambs can match that feat), it has Jack, well being Jack. A good friend, Jake, who knows more about movies than most people I know, loathed it, saying it was completely over the top (then again Jake also disliked Shawshank for being fake, and sentimental). Still, based on what I saw of Amadeus, I could see how this criticism of Milos Forman might be accurate. Also, I already have Jack in Chinatown. If anything, I would be more curious to see another Forman film - the adaptation of the notorious 70s musical Hair featuring hippies, LSD, marijuana and unusual sex practices.
American Graffiti is a cult movie. It shows a different side of George Lucas before he went megabucks. But do you really want to be watching a coming of age in 60s America movie when you're going to be turning 30? Forget the post WWII boomer generation optimism. You're supposed to be far too close to a mid-life crisis to be watching stuff like this. If you feel nostalgic you could at least put on a re-run of Grease. And realise that John Travolta is now fifty. And Olivia Newton John has sagging breasts.
Easy Rider - yet another cult movie movie involving Jack. Two men riding around on motorcycles going against the establishment. You know what they say about mid life crisis - you know you are having one when you buy a Harley, and a motorcycle jacket to go with it. Do I really want to see a movie about two men riding on motorbikes exploring "freedom"? On the one hand it is cliched; on the other, it might just cause me to wonder what the hell I am doing with my life and quit my job and move to Tijuana. Better not push my luck.
E.T: The Extra Terrestrial - I know this is supposed to be brilliant. But I just could not bear a film that was liable to be far too sentimental (an early Spielberg trait). The thought of watching a little alien that looks like a shriveled prune riding in a bicycle basket is vomit inducing enough, worse is me remembering that when I was five and on a visit to Universal Studios, I was chosen to stand in for Elliot in showing how the shot was created (the magic of cinema!). Ergh, no.
The Exorcist: probably the greatest horror movie ever made. Problem is, I have never seen a point to horror movies, period. Except campy Zombie ones. Go George Romero.
Early silent classics: The Battleship Potemkin, Metropolis, Intolerance, Birth of a Nation, early works of Luis Bunuel. Sound is an essential part of the cinematic experience. That is why movies have been shot in sound since The Jazz Singer. I've made one exception - a Charlie Chaplin film, given the man's endlessly acclaimed genius, and out of sheer curiousity. Besides, physical humour I can see transcending the need for speech or sound (there is a reason why one of the most popular comedies of recent times is Mr Bean).
The new list is largely based on the previous one, with some simple rules: obviously only movies which I have not already seen will be added to the list. Additionally, there can only be a single film from a particular director represented on the list (this made for some very difficult choices).
Finally and this turned out to be a very important rule, the list is a mixture of aspiration and personal pleasure. In other words, this list in part represents films that are definitive, critically acclaimed, and otherwise essential works which I feel is vital to my film 'education', but tempered by the simple rule that I have to want to watch them. We often feel compelled to watch or read things which are recommended by critics, on the supposition that they are supposed to be good because some superior authority has decided it to be so. Part of turning 30 is the realization that life is too short to slavishly follow critical opinion and must see lists. Trust informed judgment but in the end, watch what you really want to. It is in this spirit that the following selections were made.
The list (with short explanations where appropriate) can be found below, followed by a section detailing some discarded choices and the rationale behind them:
- 81/2
- 400 Blows
- Apu Trilogy, The
- Apocalypse Now
- Bicycle Thief, The
- Big Sleep, The
- Blade Runner
- Blue Velvet
- Bonnie and Clyde
- Brazil
- Breathless
- Brief Encounter
- Chinatown
- Chunking Express
- Clockwork Orange, A
- Donnie Darko
- Fight Club
- Great Dictator, The
- On the Waterfront
- Roman Holiday
- Rules of the Game
- Seventh Samurai, The
- Seventh Seal, The
- Shoah
- Taxi Driver
- Touch of Evil
- Tokyo Story
- Umbrellas of Cherbourg
- Unforgiven
- Vertigo
More interesting are some very well known films that I have chosen not to include because they fail my acid test rule (I just don't feel like watching it):
First, All About Eve. Screwball comedies or even intelligent comedies have just never been my thing, besides which I find I am much more attuned to British as opposed to American humour. Besides, Wilder, despite being famous as a comedic director, also made Double Indemnity, which I consider to be one of the greatest of film noirs, and of course Sunset Blvd. another noir masterpiece whose cynicism I can relate to far more than his later comedic works.
Some Like It Hot is probably considered to be the greatest American comedic film of all time. Tony Curtis and Jack Lemmon are supposed to be one of the greatest comedic duos on film. It has Marilyn Monroe in one of her strongest performances, where she transcends her dumb blonde persona. Sadly it just doesn't appeal.
One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest was a huge academy favourite. It did the grand slam of big five Oscars (only It Happened One Night and Silence of the Lambs can match that feat), it has Jack, well being Jack. A good friend, Jake, who knows more about movies than most people I know, loathed it, saying it was completely over the top (then again Jake also disliked Shawshank for being fake, and sentimental). Still, based on what I saw of Amadeus, I could see how this criticism of Milos Forman might be accurate. Also, I already have Jack in Chinatown. If anything, I would be more curious to see another Forman film - the adaptation of the notorious 70s musical Hair featuring hippies, LSD, marijuana and unusual sex practices.
American Graffiti is a cult movie. It shows a different side of George Lucas before he went megabucks. But do you really want to be watching a coming of age in 60s America movie when you're going to be turning 30? Forget the post WWII boomer generation optimism. You're supposed to be far too close to a mid-life crisis to be watching stuff like this. If you feel nostalgic you could at least put on a re-run of Grease. And realise that John Travolta is now fifty. And Olivia Newton John has sagging breasts.
Easy Rider - yet another cult movie movie involving Jack. Two men riding around on motorcycles going against the establishment. You know what they say about mid life crisis - you know you are having one when you buy a Harley, and a motorcycle jacket to go with it. Do I really want to see a movie about two men riding on motorbikes exploring "freedom"? On the one hand it is cliched; on the other, it might just cause me to wonder what the hell I am doing with my life and quit my job and move to Tijuana. Better not push my luck.
E.T: The Extra Terrestrial - I know this is supposed to be brilliant. But I just could not bear a film that was liable to be far too sentimental (an early Spielberg trait). The thought of watching a little alien that looks like a shriveled prune riding in a bicycle basket is vomit inducing enough, worse is me remembering that when I was five and on a visit to Universal Studios, I was chosen to stand in for Elliot in showing how the shot was created (the magic of cinema!). Ergh, no.
The Exorcist: probably the greatest horror movie ever made. Problem is, I have never seen a point to horror movies, period. Except campy Zombie ones. Go George Romero.
Early silent classics: The Battleship Potemkin, Metropolis, Intolerance, Birth of a Nation, early works of Luis Bunuel. Sound is an essential part of the cinematic experience. That is why movies have been shot in sound since The Jazz Singer. I've made one exception - a Charlie Chaplin film, given the man's endlessly acclaimed genius, and out of sheer curiousity. Besides, physical humour I can see transcending the need for speech or sound (there is a reason why one of the most popular comedies of recent times is Mr Bean).
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