THE DARK KNIGHT, HARRY POTTER, LORD OF THE RINGS, DARK U.S. DAYS AND POLITICS

I used to see Christ symbols everywhere. It drove my mother crazy; no matter what film or book, I’d find some kind of symbol in it. And Christ symbols were fashionable then (Ingmar Bergman, Robert S. Heinlein.) So I guess it’s no surprise that I found implanted meaning, this time political messages, in Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (the loss of Hogwarts students’ freedom and rights to Dolores Umbridge) and the Lord of the Rings – listen to this:

"It’s
like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of
darkness and danger they were, and sometimes you didn’t want to know the end
because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it
was when so much bad had happened? But in the end it’s only a passing thing.
The shadow even darkness must pass. A new day will come, and when the sun
shines it will shine out the clearer. Those are the stories that stayed with
you. That really meant something. Even if you were too small to understand why,
but I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. The folk in those stories
had lots of chances of turning back only they didn’t. They kept going because
they were holding on to something." "What are we holding onto
Sam?" "That theres some good in this world, Mr. Frodo, and it’s worth
fighting for"- The
Lord of The Ring– The Two Towers

Now The Dark Knight joins my array of political films. Think about it. Irrational evil — the Joker (the late Heath Ledger, as good as the reviews but somehow a bit Al Franken-esque)– drives Gotham City to such anxiety that its citizens are willing to surrender freedom and privacy and even to turn on their Bat-benefactor, to return order to their streets. Sound familiar? Throughout the film members of the community at large, as well as Bruce Wayne/Batman (Christian Bale), his beloved Rachel Dawes (Maggie Gyllenhaal,) DA Harvey Dent (Aaron Eckhart) and even the sainted Lucius Fox (Morgan Freeman) face — and often fail — deep ethical temptations (including abusing prisoners — sound familiar?) — and, surprisingly, those who face the most horrendous choice are criminals and civilians whose behavior is far more laudable than that of any of us (including me) who know what’s been done in our name in Iraq and have mourned but not acted to stop it.

[SEMI-SPOILER ALERT] This gigantic challenge, issued from the Joker himself, is a formidable and hopeful moment in the film. Many have written that the film is dark and without humor but I don’t think so. This scene, in particular – and I don’t want to be too much of a spoiler — seemed to me to be there to remind us that there is always the potential for good. Even so, the film is crammed with talk, as in Sam’s speech to Frodo, and especially from the wise Albert (Michael Caine) of the pain and sacrifice required in the battle against the troubles ahead.

Maybe it’s a reach, and I can hear your saying "Hey, it’s ONLY a movie!" but there you are.

MOVIES, AIRPLANES AND (ALMOST NOT) ARRIVING IN ISRAEL

Never a dull moment. After a relatively uneventful flight from Dulles to Frankfurt – even two movies I wanted to see (Michael Clayton and Gone Baby, Gone) we went to the Lufthansa desk to pick up our boarding passes for the Frankfurt-Tel Aviv leg of our trip. The airport was teeming despite the fact tat it was only 7AM. This is such a big transit point that flights come in from all over the world and you think nothing of passing women in abayas, Africans in full regalia, European speaking every language in the EU and of course Americans of every conceivable type. Even though the airport is in one of, if not THE major commercial cities of Europe, the variety is such that you don’t really think of yourself as being in Germany but sort of floating in some netherworld.

After waiting in a very long line, we finally reached the ticket agent, who took quite some time to pull up our information. This is very unusual in a German institution, especially Lufthansa, which is always completely efficient. Then we found our why. Rick’s passport expires August 11th. Today is February 18th – a week short of six months. Israeli security requires that a passport be valid for at east six months after scheduled arrival in Israel. He’s a week shy of that and we spent an anxious couple of hours in the Lufthansa business class lounge waiting to see what would happen. But when the flight was finally called, (and after we went through Secrurity causing a ruckus as my Macbook Air emerged to flounce its way through the Xray machine) we waltzed onto the plane with nary a question. Much ado about nothing — but given the German penchant for regulations and the Israeli attitude toward accommodation, it could have been otherwise.

Now we’re in Tel Aviv – back at the wonderful Nina Suites in the arty neighborhood of Neve Tzedek, and enjoying what I”m pretty sure is a nice funky neighborhood about to turn into the unaffordable Soho of Tel Aviv.

But we’re jet lagged and grubby and so now we’re going to sleep. But I’m leaving you with one extra photo – te kind you show to your kids in the “gee wiz” years They were de-icing the wing right outside our window as we waited to leave Frankfurt.

COOL, HUH?

EVERYONE LOVES JUNO – AND THEY’RE RIGHT

You’re probably sick of hype about Juno, a movie that deserves every ounce of praise heaped upon it now and in the future (and that will happen – and happen… and happen!) One of our sons called to insist that we go, then, in San Francisco, the other walked in to lunch and said "Forget Atonement, you have to go see Juno. It’s the best movie in so long!" Inertia, and the chaos of the holidays, plus that fact that everyone we were with over the holidays except Rick and me had seen it, intervened. Then, when we got home I ran into a sixteen year old friend with whom I share Harry Potter pleasures, and she urged us to go.

So last Saturday night I invited two friends of ours, close to 80 and major movie maniacs, to go with us. They came, although nobody but me wanted to see it. It was raining. The online ticket thingy didn’t work and we had to wait in line in the rain. THEN the line to get into the theater itself snaked all the way back past the concession stand. I was in big trouble. You of course can imagine the outcome: despite all the drama – everyone loved it. I can now tell you with some authority that be you sixteen or thirty or sixty or eighty, male or female, cynic, cerebral, romantic, adolescent, child psychiatrist, game designer, law professor or young parent, unless you have a heart of stone or no sense of humor, you will love this film!

There’s no reason to describe the story; it’s appeared everywhere. But here’s the trailer.

Let me add only that calling Juno a movie about a girl who gets pregnant is like calling Atonement a war movie. The characters and the script they inhabit*, the acting, the wonderful production decisions from opening credits to casting to sound track (so so great) to transitions, were spot-on. So stop reading this and go see it! And if you feel like it, let me know what you thought.

*written by Diablo Cody, who was a stripper/blogger who was recruited to write the film by someone who frequented her blog on the sex trade.

REDS, WARREN BEATTY, REVOLUTIONS AND HISTORY

Yesterday I promised to write regularly about that infamous year, 1968, from the perspective of the forty years that have passed. I was there for so much of it and have wanted to re-think it for some time but could never seem to face it in its entirety. Among other things, it’s the year I graduated from college. And worked in the McCarthy campaign. And was present at the Chicago "police riot" at the Democratic Convention. I’m going to do it – I promise.

But last night’s insomnia led to the two of us watching Reds, Warren Beatty’s remarkable film about John Reed, Louise Bryant, Greenwich Village radicals, Eugene O’Neill, Emma Goldman and left wing intellectual life before and during World War I.
At the end of what was, in the theaters, the first act, there’s a wonderful montage. John Reed (Warren Beatty) gives an impassioned speech, revolutionaries begin to sing the "Internationale" and the film cuts between scenes of political passions and those of the passions, both physical and intellectual, between Reed and Louise Bryant. To me, it’s the perfect metaphor for our lives in 1968 — shared political passions even with the most intense of lovers – inextricably combined with personal passions intensified by the sadness, rage and sense of mission brought on by events – in their case the attempt to build a "workers paradise" in Russia, on ours, the war in Vietnam. The YouTube clip of this beautiful five minutes won’t post outside YouTube – it’s been blocked, but you can see it here. In the meantime, watch the trailer and think about what it’s like when life, love and politics intersect with such precision.

Reds – Reds

Posted Apr 30, 2002

Warren Beatty’s award winning epic mixes drama and interviews with major social radicals of the period. "Reds" tells the story of the love affair between activists Louise Bryant and John Reed. Set against the backdrop of the tumultuous start of the twentieth century, the two journalists’ on-again off-again romance is punctuated by the outbreak of WWI and the Bolshevik Revolution. Louise’s assignment in France at the outbreak of the war puts an end to their affair. John Reed’s subsequent trip to Russia

ATONEMENT: THE MOVIE

Have you seen Atonement? It’s haunting me. I’m not going to offer a full-on discussion – we’re leaving for San Francisco in the morning and have to get up at 4ish so this is a quick consideration. It’s one of the most beautiful films I remember in a long time, intelligent and sad. The ending is annoying but inevitable. I’m a World War II freak though – the heroism of the British has a always particularly attracted me. I have friends who always remind me of how much more the Russians suffered and how much less credit they get, but you still have to admire the strength of those suffering the Blitz for so long.

So go see it. See for yourself. Think about the universal participation – rich girls in nurses uniforms, maids and chauffeurs joining peers and poets at war. It’s at least worth going for its exploration of those times. Post here if you feel like it; I’d like to know how others feel.

Meanwhile we leave in the morning for San Francisco to see the boys and their friends. Back New Year’s Eve. For word from the city by the bay, watch this space.

REMEMBRANCE OF THINGS PAST – TOM JONES AND SO MUCH MORE

Not to be too obscure here but think about this: Marcel Proust’s REMEMBRANCE OF THINGS PAST was inspired by the scent of one cookie (a fancy one called a Madeline.) Sense memory is a powerful thing.

I saw Tom Jones 44 years ago, with my high school “film club.” The club was just 6 seniors and our creative writing teacher. Our mill town high school wasn’t a culture haven but this young teacher was. He handwrote Irwin Shaw short stories onto “ditto sheets” because there was no budget for the books, started a literary magazine (I was the editor, naturally) took us to Shakespeare performances and — started the film club. At first we rented films (screened on a projector in his classroom) and then moved on to evening journeys “downtown” to local art houses. We saw LA STRADA and THE SEVENTH SEAL, SUNDAYS AND CYBELE and SHOOT THE PIANO PLAYER — and TOM JONES. The films were so intelligent, so clearly different from the “movies” we saw on our own; the theaters served espresso and everyone was smoking. How sophisticated we felt!

This morning as I watched this nearly half-century old film – still funny and charming even though the playful sexual innuendo recalls a more tender time, that 18-year-old girl I’d been came back – all of her. I didn’t know whether to be sad — miss all that I was then – all that’s changed — lost — or just plain passed – or to be grateful for the remarkable kaleidoscope of experiences that my life has been. From the adventure of a 36 year old marriage to the joy of raising two of the most spectacular young men on the planet to presences at royal weddings and presidential inaugurations, travel all over the world and great music experiences to a gentle childhood with talents acknowledged and appreciated to memorable private moments at weddings, bar mitzvahs, graduations and other celebrations with family and friends, a lot has contributed to the wiser woman I am today. I know there’s no way to live the life I’ve lived – or any other – without losing some of the shiny stuff of youth but even so it’s a shock when awareness of those losses lands on you in the middle of an unambiguously optimistic movie 44 years old.

Here’s what I think: there isn’t a person on the planet (despite Edith Piaf) who has no regrets. Recalling days that seem idyllic is a privilege – many haven’t got many to recall. Sadness about the joys of the past emerges only from an accumulated reservoir of happiness that is a blessing in itself. As Auntie Mame used to say “Life is a banquet, and most poor sons of bitches are starving to death.” My sisters and I swore we would live by that.

I’ve tried – and I’m still trying. That’s why this blog is called Don’t Gel Too Soon. Wherever that 18 year old film fiend has gone, parts of her are still part of me – informing and enlivening the person I’ve become. The real challenge in this portion of my life is to hang onto the enthusiasm and curiosity of those years – never freezing in place. The last line in Tom Jones, one of my favorite anywhere, was written by John Dryden – way before movies or even radio. It still works though, and I offer its wisdom for us all. “Happy the man, and happy he alone, he who can call today his own; he who, secure within, can say, tomorrow do thy worst, for I have lived today.”

BONNIE AND CLYDE, VIOLENCE AND TIME PASSING

Last Sunday the New York Times reminded us that Bonnie and Clyde, a film seared behind the eyelids of people like me, is 40 years old. I remember it particularly because just after I saw it, I went to a 21st birthday dinner for a friend at her uncle’s home on Park Avenue in Manhattan. I was new to such places then, and, despite my anti-war lefty politics, both thrilled and intimidated – particularly because her uncle was a writer of some renown. For a college senior, it was another experience milestone.

Along with most of adult America, our host had been appalled at the violence of the film. We, on the other hand, argued that the film was an accurate metaphor for the violence in Vietnam; a social comment that spoke deeply to all of us. The argument was long, fierce and audacious — and, of course, unresolved. I haven’t seen the film in many years and am curious how I would react.

I’ve become a lot more sensitive to visual violence as I’ve raised my sons. Beverly Hills Cop was released when my younger son was five. His big brother was nine and really wanted to see it; since we hated leaving Dan behind, he came too. Do you remember the ending? It was a gun battle too but multiples more gory and violent than Bonnie and Clyde ever dreamt of being. The worst part? My son was upset, yes, but the audience barely reacted – and many cheered. Film and TV violence in the years between 1967 and 1984 had escalated slowly, right in front of us – and we had barely noticed. That progression has continued.

It’s a creepy dilemma. I’m a true romantic who revels in love stories like Bull Durham (1988) and Shakespeare in Love (1998), oldies like Now, Voyager (1942) and two I’ve written about before, The Ghost and Mrs. Muir (1947)and Rebbecca (1940) as well as decade-old satires like Wag the Dog (1997)and Warren Beatty’s (aka Clyde’s) masterpiece Bulworth (1998). But another of my favorite films is Pulp Fiction (1994)- steeped in violence, much of it random. Silence of the Lambs, too. And of course, The Godfather Trilogy (1972, 1974, 1990) None of these, and other more "realistically violent" films, would have been possible before Arthur Penn brought Bonnie and Clyde to life.

My protective instincts as a mother and activist clash with my respect for the vision of the artist and the gifts those visions can bring to the rest of us. This isn’t a new conversation of course, any more than it was new in 1967. It’s been going on as long as artists have. What’s different this time is that I was a kid when Bonnie and Clyde slammed into our lives; now I’m at least the age of that angry uncle. I know a lot more and that colors how I look at things I don’t know.

I named this blog Don’t Gel Too Soon because I struggle to stay open – available to understand, to appreciate, that which comes next, and to remember that no matter how lovely the lovely there’s more to life than that. And that, after all, if someone doesn’t help us to see it, we can’t join together to change it.

Chuppas, Kallahs and Spiderman

Today I went to a wedding – the first in the new building donated to the Ronald S. Lauder Foundation for its work helping to rebuild Berlin’s Jewish community. This is the bride (Kallah) and groom. Here are a couple more:

The bedeken – where the groom lowers the veil over his wife-to-be’s face in recognition of the ploy that led to Jacob’s marriage to Leah when he thought he was marrying his beloved Rachel —

Men dancing in celebration.

This was the first Orthodox wedding I’ve ever attended – and since almost everyone was from someplace in Eastern Europe- especially Russia, – it had an exotic flavor anyway. I have lots to say about it but I wanted to post the photos now because I have to think a bit about how to describe the intense feelings it evoked.

Strangely – we decided this evening to go see SPIDER-MAN 3 in German, since it wasn’t playing in English except way downtown. It was just such an interesting contrast – a quiet reverence and sense of something sacred at the wedding, and brash, crashing violence and special effects at the movies. I speak almost no German yet only had to ask Rick what was happening maybe 2-3 times since almost none of the exposition was verbal. It does make you wonder how to understand one’s modern self as respect for old, old traditions grows with understanding.

I’m grateful for days like today, when my life lives up to the title of this blog — never gel. “Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.” Another, more attractive (at least to me) movie hero said that….

BLAME IT ON THE ROLLING STONES

Here I am, working in my office with the TV on for company. It’s behind me on a filing cabinet so mostly I’m really listening. And I hear "Christmas, Christmas time is here, time for joy and time for cheer…" It’s Alvin and the Chipmunks – the sped-up voices singing every December since I was in junior high – and they’re singing now because they accompany the opening credits of ALMOST FAMOUS — Cameron Crowe’s wonderful film about an aspiring rock journalist who wrote for ROLLING STONE, and it has emerged on TBS.

Immediately I’m transported back to the "community room" of Thomas Jefferson High School on Route 51, 6 miles south of Pittsburgh. Sock hops. Standing along the wall waiting for someone to ask you to dance. Crying in the girls’ room when they didn’t. Driving around for hours in Barbara Morton’s dad’s convertible listening to our "Daddio of the Raddio" Porky Chedwick.

Beyond it all, the transporting power of the music. It’s actually kind of weird; this week I was in a Torah class studying ancient rules about when men are, or are not, permitted to listen to a woman’s voice. The rules are very different for the singing voice than for the speaking voice. Yeah – both of them are a bit peculiar but it is fascinating that as long as people (mostly men) have been thinking about these things. they’ve been aware of the power of music to distract, seduce, inspire and arouse.

However disturbing it may be to learn that our long-ago sisters, in all cultures, not just Jewish ones, were isolated because of the perceived dangers of what might arise between women and men if relationships were allowed to emerge, they weren’t wrong about the underlying power of the music.

The theory — at least one — was that listening to a woman’s voice, asking how she is, even, could lead to dangerous interactions. I’m not here right now to discuss this topic, but to observe that as long as man has been making music it has been seen as dangerous and seductive.

Nothing too profound, but it’s Saturday night. What do you want?

JULES, JIM AND ME

I was 19 the first time I saw Jules and Jim. French New Wave films, especially those by the wondrous François Truffaut, were almost mystically revered by “intellectual” college students who hung out in art houses that served coffee and would have chained the doors shut rather than screen English language films (except for British New Wave, of course — or something like Zorba the Greek.) I remember loving the rebelliousness of the three of them: the amazing friendship between Jules and Jim; the disruptive but liberating presence of Catherine. She defied gender stereotypes, conventions of behavior and all other societal bonds. It was thrilling.

As I watched it tonight though, I realized that somehow I had missed the entire second half: the disintegration of the relationships, the selfish, destructive manipulations by the glamorous Catherine and even more interesting, the dominance, over all, of the friendship between the two men. As the narrator tells us, “Jules and Jim’s friendship had no equivalent in love.” Although both men loved Catherine, desperately, and lost so much because of her over the years, the truest, most enduring love was between the two of them. It’s also so interesting that they were German (Jules) and French (Jim) and that their friendship survived the horrors of the Great War though they fought on opposite sides. It’s particularly interesting since Truffaut lived in German-occupied France during World War II.

I guess watching the story at different points in one’s life is in many ways like it was for the three of them, living it. How we see life and what it brings us changes over time. If we are lucky, our early days permit the intoxication of rebellion and challenge of authority. If we continue to be lucky, none of those acts of rebellion does the kind of permanent damage that came to Jules, Jim and the woman they loved. And if we’re very lucky, blessed as I feel blessed, as those later days emerge, we recall what came before with amusement, affection and a joy tempered by rueful wisdom. That’s why this film – a completely different experience in 2007 from what it seemed to be 1965- is still such a gift. That’s why it will continue to matter. That is why, when mentioned among people my age, the response is a sigh and a smile. We’ve learned a bit about living and managed not to drive off into the river but, instead, to apply our hard-earned wisdom to keeping the car on road.