sex dolls go mainstream: a more palatable take on mental illness

[I have a few older, half-written posts that I'm aiming to clean up here within the next couple days. Beware the rush of posts.]


Lars and the Real Girl is not a momentous film. Watching it is a basically pleasurable experience. It's a sweet little fantasy about a town that embraces the mental illness of one amongst its fold, rather than deriding it. For a whole town to agree to play along with a guy who falls in love with a sex doll-- going so far as to provide hospital care for her and elect her to the school board-- is droll as a concept. But clearly, to say that the idea stretches the boundaries of plausibility is an understatement.

I do not suggest that anyone desirous of seeing anything beyond a moderately schmaltzy, if quirky, "heartwarmer" see this movie. Movies like this abound. There are a million of them (Science of Sleep, Eternal Sunshine, Amelie, Punch-Drunk Love, to name but a few (I do pretty much like all those movies, by the way-- I do not mean to impugn them here.)). But not all of them showcase Ryan Gosling. Because the film itself is far from revelatory, the fact that Gosling's commitment to this character stands apart is all the more impressive. I think I heard a friend once say that she doesn't much care about "acting" because she thinks the only really good acting is the acting you don't notice. In other words, when a real person fades so deeply into an imaginary person that the imaginary person seems rea, it's good acting. (I tend to think this definition works in some cases and not so well in more stylized, but no less interesting, work.) Regardless, this definition of good acting certainly seems to describe Gosling's style.

I mean, this guy's most subtle of body language changes with each new person he inhabits-- the actor approaching a role like Gosling's in The Believer must certainly be a different sort than the actor approaching a role like his in Half Nelson. In both cases, Gosling carts in a realism of understatement. But his very molecular structure seems to shift between his parts. Example? His walk. I like to watch how men walk. The bodily rhythm as displayed in a person's gait is, without exception, unique. Some men walk well-- comfortably, loosely, inhabiting their bodies. And some men are awkward or jolting or tentative. The walk is more telling about a man's body, I think, than, more simply, the shape of his legs or his ass. Body shapes can be attractive unto themselves, but the respective attractiveness of any given body part loses relevance if it is not accompanied by a rhythmic context of movement. A gait is like a signature-- ostensibly idiosyncratic. So, Ryan Gosling is a cute guy. I watch him like I watch any other cute guy. I watch how he moves from film to film. The man has no signature. I swear. His entire body rhythm shifts and dissolves, apparition-like, into each individual character. And again, it's with characteristic understatement. I don't know how he does it.

So, what's remarkable about Gosling's performance in Lars and the Real Girl is really that he seems to be channeling Andy Kaufman. There is sweetness and soulfulness to the character of Lars that could be saccharine in lesser hands, but through Gosling, we see how frustrating Lars' commitment to his delusion is for those around him. He's irrational and that's annoying to sane people, right? And yet he's damaged and a little pitiful so everyone puts up with the crazy in favor of taking care of him. This has a feel very like Kaufman's Latka character from Taxi. And it's even more in keeping with Kaufman's day-to-day public persona as well. We were never quite sure when Kaufman was being Kaufman or when he was being someone slightly more-than-Kaufman, did we? And Gosling's facial expressions-- honestly, I'd be really surprised if Kaufman hadn't entered into his preparations for this part-- down to the sheer facial muscularity of them. Kaufman was interested in breaking the rules of comedy-- either with commitment to character to the point of extremism, or arbitrarily breaking character at will. And throughout this film, you can never quite abandon the thought that Lars is just about to cop to staging this elaborate practical joke. That you doubt Lars' delusions belies the particular care that Gosling brings to his acting, I think.

So, again, the film isn't revelatory. But I love watching Ryan Gosling. And not just because I wonder what his neck smells like. Oh, and Kelli Garner's actorly evolution (from Thumbsucker through London and Dreamland and now this, wherein she tones down the sexpot aspect but is no less appealing) is kind of exciting too.

A statue, a tower and... a romantic comedy?

Because I made such a big deal about the Oscars a few posts ago, and now they came and went, I suppose I ought to make a comment about them. Except what a snoozefest. There were a few pretty dresses but nothing really and truly spectacular. And there was a lot of blonde pin-straight hair. *sigh* This is always sad news for the redhead w/ the crazy Jew hair. But there was little excitement in the whole event. I felt like both supporting actor awards were given to the wrong people and who cares about The Queen and I'm just not interested enough in mobsters or hambones like Nicholson (man, I just know some friend or other is gonna take me to task on that one...) to be all that interested in The Departed. Yes, it was nice to see Forest Whitaker win and it was even nicer to see Ryan Gosling appear to be legitimately happy that Whitaker won and he didn't. But all in all, it was a lackluster crop of films this year and a lackluster show. Al Gore and all. Oh, it was pretty cool that Marie Antoinette won for costumes, though. I mean, I wasn't in love with this movie by any means, but it's a movie about clothes so its clothes SHOULD win. And really, they were meticulously beautiful taffeta confections, now, weren't they?

And I saw Babel. I thought it was gonna be a lot like Crash and it was and it wasn't. The movie format of seemingly unrelated, yet really quite interrelated story-threads is SO done! When people first started making movies in this format, they were about deep connections between disparate people-- like Grand Canyon, maybe, which is probably in my top 5 of all-time favorite movies, by the way. But somewhere along the way, filmmakers started tying to use this format to talk about other stuff: everyone's a rascist deep down, for instance (a la Crash). Or how all the world's problems exist because we can't talk to each other, or more accurately, because we can't listen to each other, as in Babel. And while the format sometimes works if the format is the subject of the film, the format doesn't really work if there's some other message with which the filmmaker would like to beat us over the head. And this is why Babel feels so damn contrived. I mean, I watched parts of it through my fingers because the pain on the faces of the actors was so real, but the overarching story was anything BUT realistic. However, either of the two women who were nominated for supporting actress would have been a far more accurate choice than poor Jennifer Hudson- once that poor girl's American Idol cast-off gimick-glow fades out-- well, I don't know that anyone will continue to recognize her for excellence in acting.

And I also saw a little romantic comedy. Yep, that's right. You'll very very seldom catch me in front of a screen full o' chick flick, but there you have it. My excuse? It has David Duchovny in it. It's called Trust the Man. It also has a couple more of my favorites--Maggie Gyllenhaal and Julianne Moore. And it's directing by Julianne Moore's husband, Bart Freundlich. And there's certainly nothing groundbreaking in it but it's a cute little peice about established couples falling back in love with each other. And that's kinda nice. And David Duchovny's character is a little obsessed with sex... in his typical deadpan sort of fashion. And good god.. the voiceovers he's been doing or the Pedigree dog food ads lately? The "I don't know how I got here but I know I'm a good dog" ones? The ones with the big sad puppy eyes peering out from behind chain link shelter/kennel doors? Sheesh! The man speaks to my soul. What can I say?

And I booked my plane tickets to come home for the Nashville Film Festival in April! I'm very excited. I'm hoping they'll have some stuff every bit as good as last year! Keep the light on for me, Nash Vegas!

Eh: noncommital expression, denoting apathy or indecision or lack of inspiration

It's not that I haven't been watching movies... it's just that I haven't had a whole hell of a lot to say about any of them-- even the ones I've really liked. So, for this post, I'm just gonna list stuff and give a brief response to each. For those of you who like it when I write long, insightful viewer-responses, well, uh, tough. For those of you who read my posts but wish I would just keep from running off at the mouth so much, well, lucky you!

Running With Scissors
My officemate at work hated this movie, but I gather she'd read the book. The book is not interesting in the least to me-- memoir of gay boy's crazy childhood--but the movie appeared to have some charm, judging by the trailer. I dunno. The movie wasn't really all that charming. Evan Rachel Wood, as per usual, was luminous and full of spirit. I'm again struck by the way such a beautiful delicate-looking girl can deliver charged performance after charged performance. But, really, it's Annette Bening's movie--and she does a pretty good job acting out the role of a truly awful parent. I say "pretty good" because the bad-mother-of-a-gay-boy -- or maybe just the (archetypical? Is she archetypical already) Bad Mother-- is getting to be a pretty tired variety of character. I was wondering aloud at work the other day about why we see so many depictions of irresponsible, self-destructive, unpleasant mothers in film these days... and a coworker said something about how it must be a reaction to that June Cleaver/1950s/perfect-housewife-complete-with-blinging-teeth image-- the one that puts women in a lovely little birdcage, sitting teeteringly atop a pedestal. To which I think, so, great! Now mothers are demonic.. and yet put-upon...so they are both evil and victimized? Yay! We've come so far! Well, anyway, I imagine bad mothers aren't really anything new to film-- it just seems like I'm feeling sensitive about the depictions of them lately.

Delicatessen
What's up with French comedies, lately? Why must they all seem like cartoons, and yet not be? I'm thinking here of movies like Amelie, which, don't get me wrong, is adorable... but why continue to produce movies that feel like they're populated with caricatures more than characters? Perhaps this isn't a legitimate complaint to make of French comedies in general, but, man, was I bored by this movie... and maybe the fact that I was seriously fighting sleep for the last 45 minutes of it contributed to the fact that I couldn't figure out what the hell was going on... I don't know. Maybe I owe it a second chance. But basically, there's a former clown who goes to work odd jobs in a tenement building where a bunch of loonies live-- including a couple of, uh, comically suicidal loonies, and a murderous butcher and his myopic daughter (of course, she's the object of affection for the has-been clown). And somehow, there are all these weird men in goggles and suits made out of Glad bags who are, I dunno, vegetarian crusaders? Really, I think I must've missed a lot. Maybe I won't have two glasses of wine before I watch it next time...

The Motorcycle Diaries
If I were to judge a DVD by its cover, I would assume that I'd just love this movie. It's about the life of a political revolutionary (Che Guevera (ok, I have to interject that it just occurs to me that Jessica Alba's character (Max Guevera) in the short-lived James Cameron(ugh)-produced TV show, Dark Angel, was most likely named for Che... um, anyway...)) and stars Gael Garcia Bernal,to whom I'm beginning to pay much attention, mostly because he chooses such INTERESTING movies. But alas, I felt like this movie was a total let-down. And in a totally bizarre way. Assuming the audience already knows all about Che, the movie quickly becomes a series of snapshots in which we see Che's heroism mounting. On his motorcycle journey w/ his friend, he meets a poor migrant worker and his wife: *click*. He encounters umpteen other poor folks throughout Latin America: one *click* for each. He goes to live in a leper colony for a while: several more *clicks* here. I mean, yes, I'm sure these events were integral to shaping this political figure, but the movie lacks any form of subtlety at all. And so, I come away from it feeling like I've been looking an an airbrushed portrait or an angel for two hours, rather than a gritty movie about a gritty man. Tres disappointing!

Loverboy
Yeah, um, this isn't a very good movie. Kyra Sedgwick plays a woman who, at the beginning is VERY single-minded in getting herself pregnant. And then, once she manages to do so, becomes one of those mothers that makes me thank my lucky stars that my own is as great as she is. For example, my mother never tried to kill me and herself so as to prevent me from growing up. Thanks, Mommels! I owe ya one! But aside from this being yet another lousy mom story, I couldn't help but feel like there were some real gaps in story-telling here. There are a few flashback scenes to when Sedgwick's character was a kid-- and her parents, Kevin Bacon (also the director) and Marisa Tomei, are ickily lovey-dovey. And then one day Kevin Bacon coughs. And then one day, the two of them commit suicide, I guess? Yeah, I didn't entirely follow there either. And Sandra Bullock plays a hot-but-sad neighbor lady. And Matt Dillon shows up briefly. And Campbell Scott. And they all stand in front of the camera, wave, then walk off. OK, they kinda do stuff, but they're each sorta there to be placeholders for Sedgwick's character's psychological associations. And, though the kid does his best to rebel and prove that he's a real kid, he seems just a much a flat projection of her psychic state as the rest of the characters. So, I'm 4 for 4 now, aren't I?

Dreamland
I admit it. I rented this movie for no other reason than it has the kid from the Mac commercials (Justin Long) in it. C'mon-- you all think he's completely charming, too, don't you? His nerdy/cool ratio seems awfully well-balanced. And this movie is certainly... well... earnest. So much so that I nearly found myself caught up in the soap opera of the trailer park for which the film is named. First, there's Audrey, your average nurturer/caretaker, who has a drunk/agoraphobic/widower/heart-broken father. And then there's Cindy/Calista, Audrey's very cleavage-y best friend, with eyes on the big prize-- that's right! She's shootin' for Miss America. Except she has Multiple Sclerosis. Sad. Enter the perpetually sweaty, perpetually fish-belly-white-despite-the-fact-that-the-movie-is-set-in-New-Mexico Mookie (the Mac kid) to steal the hearts of both girls. Within moments of his arrival in the trailer park, he has meaningful sex with Calista-- out in the desert (no fear of the jumping cholla up the ol' tuckus in these brave, brave folks!)and then, within days, it seems, he decides that he's fallen hopelessly in love with the poetess Audrey (unfortunately, someone felt it was necessary to have her do voiceovers reading some of the saddest, most adjective-heavy, moony variety of high-school poetry I've heard in some time) and Calista wises up and, from her hospital bed (she crashed her motorcycle-- never fear, she's not ready to die just yet!), she tragically dumps Mookie, who immediately goes sniffing after Audrey, with whom he then has meaningful sex in the comfort of her very own trailer. And then Audrey gets to leave all the trailer park sob stories behind and go to college! Yay! I dunno. I kinda feel like there IS something salvageable in this story, but man! The pacing was just so far off! Either the passage of time was not conveyed effectively, or everyone was doing some turbo-bonding! I don't mean to be such a skeptic about true love amongst economically challenged teens... but this is basically your average teen love/sex drama filmed as though it wants to be considered an innovative independent film. Nice try, folks... but no dice.

Tadpole
So, now it's time for a commentary on a totally dated film. Tadpole came out when I was in grad school, so it's probably at least 5 years old. I could look it up, but I'm lazy. But I feel like this movie illustrates a number of things I've been talking about for some time on this blog. It's a movie about a 15-year-old kid who's in love with his stepmother, and proceeds to have an affair with this stepmother's best friend. There are a number of discussions between women about how they are unsatisfied by boring, staid, cynical men their own age.. and how a 15-year-old boy, given that he's smart enough and passionate enough and speaks French enough and is sophisticated in a million other ways atypical to 15-year-old boys, isn't such a bad alternative. And truly, the character of this 15-year-old boy is pure fantasy. But! He's a 15-year-old boy who is given the precious gift of sexual agency. True, he is far too adult to be convincing, but no one condescendingly calls him "innocent" or questions the fact that his desires are both sincere and adult-like in their viscerality. However, if men in their 40s are all boring, staid, and cynical... jeez. This bleak prospect makes me want to stop thinking about this movie immediately and move onto the next.

Half Nelson
Ryan Gosling's nominated for this film this year and I'm glad about that. When I saw The Believer, a little-known, but FANTASTIC film about a Jewish kid who becomes a Neo-Nazi, I remember feeling like I was watching something transformative happen-- as though the character was a presence above and beyond this very pretty actor. And same goes for Gosling's performance in Half Nelson. However, acting aside, I like this movie very much (yep, finally one that I liked, unequivocally) because the audience is unsure throughout where to invest its loyalties. I wanted to love this smart, articulate, sad, compassionate man, who is also incredibly fucked-up, who is also an addict (yep, an addict even I can love) but, as to be expected he lets me down, and he lets his students down (oh, yeah, he's an inner-city middle-school history teacher, doing his damnedest to impart Hegel's theory of dialectics upon a bunch of 7th graders). And there's a drug-dealer character, who is set up in opposition to Gosling's character (how's that for dialectics for you?), who's out there contributing to the detriment of his community, yet trying to protect his de facto family as best he can. There are a few simply wrenching moments in this film-- one in which Dan (Gosling) finally succumbs to buying crack from the aforementioned dealer, not realizing that the dealer is sending out Dan's favorite student to do the deliveries that night. They're exchange is silent but her sense of betrayal is palpable, his defeat also palpable. And there is a also a pretty interesting underlying political discussion that keeps popping up. Dan makes jokes about our ridiculous president a couple times, he engages in a totally stoned monologue about the futility of American humanitarianism, he feels his educated left-wing ideals are completely ineffectual, thus contributing to his very addiction. It's a movie about the frustrations and mis-directed coping mechanisms of economically challenged Americans, and for that, I'm glad it's getting it's little glimmer of Oscar attention, even if Forest is destined for the glory next Sunday night...