Matt Writes Words

January 9, 2012

Movies I Liked in 2011 (Part 1)

I’m not a big fan of ranked lists when it comes to movies, but I thought I’d muse a bit on some of the movies that I really liked in 2011. I wrote out a bunch of movies that I liked and whittled that down to 8 movies that I felt like writing about. That doesn’t mean that these are the best and these are not in any order.

I’m going to write about 4 movies here and write about the next 4 in another post, just to keep this post from being too long.

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TOMBOY

This is a movie about a young female who decides to be a boy after her family moves to a new town. After watching it, I said that it appealed to the 10-year-old girl in me who is still pretending to be a boy. That was a joke, but I think we all can relate to the attempts to learn how to be our particular gender, especially around that age. This is not a complicated movie, but it’s unusually sensitive and observant, which is where most of its power comes from. A scene in which the main character goes swimming with all the other kids while wearing nothing but the bottom part of a swimsuit with a makeshift Play-Doh penis tucked inside was the most suspenseful thing I’ve seen all year.

You can catch director Céline Sciamma’s first movie, WATER LILLIES, on Netflix Instant now. While I liked TOMBOY more, WATER LILLIES is still a beautiful work about longing and sexual confusion. I’m always a fan of movies about that.

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UNCLE BOONMEE WHO CAN RECALL HIS PAST LIVES

I like weird movies, and this is a weird movie. But it’s so delicately handled that it never feels like there’s anything all that weird about it (save for a scene in which a fish fellates an aging princess). Weird movies can often be distancing, but this movie feels like a wise, serene smile from an old friendly soul. Beautifully made on 16mm film, the perfect format to capture green trees and friendly ghosts. It’s haunting in the sweetest way. I feel like I shouldn’t say too much about it, as it’s better to let the movie surprise you. (Now available on Netflix Instant)

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WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT KEVIN

I’m a big Lynne Ramsay fan, and I had been waiting for a long time to see this movie (her last movie was 2002’s MORVERN CALLAR). From the first shot, I was blissfully back in Ramsayland. I love this movie because I love Ramsay’s sensibilities, so while there are a few things I can nitpick about, particularly regarding the portrayal of Kevin, my criticisms don’t matter. All I ask for from a movie is something to swim in, and Ramsay, along with Tilda Swinton, gave me the ocean. Every gorgeous shot, every odd sound, is so wonderfully orchestrated to plunge us into the broken mind of this ruined woman, forever doomed to swirl around the hows and whys of her relationship with her sociopathic son.

This movie is rolling out in the U.S. over the next couple of months. Look out for it and catch it if you can! Oh it begs to be seen on the big screen!

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HUGO

This movie originally had the perfect title of THE INVENTION OF HUGO CABRET, which was truncated to HUGO for some stupid reason, which, along with the horrendously candy cane trailer, gave everyone the wrong idea about what this movie really was. As it turns out, it’s a heartfelt and beautiful love letter to Georges Méliès and the magic of cinema. Martin Scorsese turned out to be the perfect director for this because of his deep love for cinema and film preservation, and he’s having oodles of fun here. It’s apt for this story to be told through the eyes of children, as the movie contains several moments of pure wonder and magic, and as we see the wonder wash over the face of a child, it’s impossible not to feel that child-like wonder ourselves. Beyond that, it’s genuinely funny and moving. The 3D is pretty good if you like that sort of thing, though not at all necessary. Go catch this one in cinemas while you still can!

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Part 2 of this list can be found here.

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November 19, 2011

Here’s to a Life Without Morals

Judgment is something that people have a really strange relationship with. Our days are filled with judgments—ones that we make upon the world, and ones that are made upon us. We are often afraid of judgment; we often feel the need to judge.

I have difficulty understanding why people make judgments about things or situations that have nothing to do with them. The only thing that I can think of is that it’s a matter of ego and a need to insert oneself into everything in order to feel involved.

Of course, I do it, too. I’m doing it right now, as I write this piece about how people judge people. But I try not to get too emotionally caught up in it. It just seems so strange to me when people get emotional and violent regarding something that has nothing to do with them. I will never understand why, for example, anybody could possibly get so disturbed and angry about the prospect of gay marriage. Perhaps the desire to suffer is so great that people feel the need to find things outside of their own life to feel bad and angry about, just so that they can suffer over it.

One of the strangest quirks of judgment is that it seems most extreme and prevalent within strongly religious communities. Perhaps I just don’t understand the idea of “judge not, lest ye be judged” and “let him who is without sin cast the first stone,” but it seems to me that it means that we ought not expend so much energy on judging others, because we ain’t exactly perfect ourselves.

I’m not religious, so I don’t believe that we will be judged in the afterlife, and I don’t find the judgment of others in this life to be that significant. So, it is not for fear of being judged that I think that judging should be avoided or minimized. I feel that the reason for minimizing judgments made upon others and upon the world is that it only brings us unnecessary pain. Feeling disgusted and hating others is such an exhausting and negative thing to have to deal with. It’s as if people can’t stand to just enjoy their lives or deal with their own problems, so they generate these negative feelings out of nothing so that they can feel bothered about this and that. Maybe it’s just a way to blame the world instead of dealing with things.

I don’t really believe in morality as a thing. I don’t feel motivated to do good or not do bad because of any kind of moral compass. I don’t believe that the concept of morality really helps other people do better or worse in life or treat people better or worse. All the concept of morality really does, it seems, is offer up an invented standard that we’re all going to feel bad for not living up to. Morality is just a set of generally agreed upon ideas to make ourselves feel bad, and to find ways of hating other people. All that morality can offer us is the sense of shame.

I feel like I’ve seen more examples of the concept of morality leading to additional suffering than I’ve seen it lead to happiness, and shame is at the center of that. Shame is what leads us to not talk about things that really need to be dealt with, and so we have cases like The Vatican ignoring sexual misconduct within the church, because it would be too shameful to admit and deal with. Instead of preventing additional harm, The Vatican facilitated additional harm by avoiding what needed to be addressed. That seems to be the kind of thing that happens when we think about things in terms of good and evil, rather than in terms of harm and no harm.

Harm and no harm requires responsibility, because it’s based upon action, and we can trace these actions and use that information to reduce future harm, which is all that really matters. An eye for an eye is not going to help your other eye. An eye for an eye is a great way to get your one remaining good eye plucked out of your skull in the vicious cycle of revenge.

So, my thoughts: do minimal harm, feel no shame, dwell on nothing, don’t concern yourself with what others are doing if it’s just going to make you feel bad. Holding onto all that negative stuff does nothing but weigh you down. Be light and be free instead. Let others do the same. Not for any moral reason. Not because it’s the right thing to do. Do it because being light and free FEELS BETTER than being angry and judgmental. Do it so that you won’t waste your life feeling bad just to feel bad.

Look at this this way: we are all going to die someday and none of our judgments will matter one lick. We’re alive now. Briefly. So let’s just skip to the good parts.

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November 11, 2011

The Freedom That Comes With Letting Go

Well, I’m on a three and a half hour flight to New York City, and I forgot to bring a book, so I figure that I might as well write something.

This week, I began working reduced hours so that I could free up my time for other things. The idea is that I will be able to write more and work on films more, and I do fully expect that to happen (indeed, I have spent most of my free time this week working on a series of short videos to advertise my friend’s upcoming play, the first of which you can view here). However, the main purpose for working less is simply so that I can slow down and enjoy my life more. I hope not to become too caught up in the idea of being productive, and I certainly hope not to feel any guilt for not being obviously productive.

I am interested in cultivating a life that is simple, peaceful, and mindful. I don’t believe that I need conflict or stress in order to create art or to lead a good and interesting life, so I’m trying to move toward a way of living that can be enjoyed in a moment-to-moment way. I am trying my best to let go of concerns about the future and the past. I’m trying to let go of wanting things to turn out in a certain way, so that I can avoid being upset when things don’t turn out that way.

It is difficult to let go of expectations, although I find it to be an interesting challenge. In fact, I find it to be central to having the kind of freedom that is most valuable to me: having a mind and heart that is free from the grips of external circumstance and unwanted thoughts. If I am not free in that way, then every time that things don’t turn out the way that I had wanted (which is inevitable and happens frequently, because I have so little control), I’m going to get angry or depressed or feel self-pity, as if I deserve to get everything I want.

The other idea behind letting go of expectations is that, theoretically, it better allows me to appreciate the present moment as it is. Am I supposed to only be happy when things are as I want them to be, or can I just be happy now? I like the idea of unconditional happiness, in the same sense that we have the idea of unconditional love. The last thing that I want is to hate myself for not living up to expectations, whether it’s social expectations, parental expectations, or expectations that I have for myself. I think that that is key to happiness and inner peace.

I still think that, even without goals or aspirations or expectations, I will write and make films, because it’s something that I am genuinely interested in a moment-to-moment way. However, I’m done with the idea that I will make a feature film by a certain age, or that I must get into some particular film festival, or that the films must impress this group of people. Even if it’s just me, alone in my room, making little movies that are acted out by puppets, that’s fine. And even if I have no success in terms of getting these films seen, that’s fine, too. AND, if I never get around to making another movie, I don’t want to hate myself for it. Who knows? Unexpected things happen and priorities change. C’est la vie.

I’m looking out the window on the plane and I see a beautiful sunset. C’est la vie, aussi.

One last thing that I want to write about: I think that holding onto expectations is also at the center of fear. People are often afraid to do or say the things that they’d like to because they’re afraid that things might not work out the way that they hope. But if we only do and say the things that we feel are safe and that will lead to the desired results, then that can become a trap.

Now, I say that in a very theoretical sense because I am definitely often seized by that fear all the time. I’m often afraid of the judgment of others, and I’m often afraid of complicating things or making things difficult. The easiest thing to do is to just do what I did yesterday. It means that I don’t have to deal with any new problems, and that I can just kind of shut off my brain and go through the motions without being bothered. It’s sort of a cage that I put myself in because it’s a comfortable cage, and freedom is scary.

My hope is that, as I develop an ability to let go of expectations, I will be more able to accept and appreciate however things work out. If I can do that, then it wouldn’t be a big deal if things didn’t work out ideally, or if I incur the negative judgment of others, or if I have to deal with more complicated circumstances without having routine to fall back on.

What I’m really saying is: I want to be a cat. Cats don’t seem to worry very much, so why should I? They don’t seem to fret about the future, dwell upon the past, or care what others think of them. I think that non-human animals are way more in tune with the world as it is than we are. We’ve done a lot to leave our animal nature behind, but I think that I want to embrace my animal self, and not be so attached to all this human baggage.

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October 27, 2011

The Zen of Cinema

I love movies in which nothing much happens—the ones that take their time, that emphasize poetic images and moments and give us enough time to soak all that up.

While I appreciate well-told stories, I do find that the emphasis on plot will get my mind a little too active. I’ll sit there and try to figure out what’s happening or where the story is going, and while that can be fun, it also fills me with a kind of anxiety that I often become self-conscious of, which then takes me out of the experience. Then, I’ll start wondering when the climax is going to come, and when the movie is going to end so that I can go home and get something to eat.

I know that a lot of moviegoers get annoyed with movies that don’t emphasize story, as if there is nothing else a movie can offer. There has to be conflict, resolution, action, a beginning and an end, otherwise they’ll say, “What was the point of that movie?” and mean it as less of a question than a statement that the movie was a waste of their time.

Most moviegoers have very specific expectations of a movie, and they often get angry when a movie does not fulfill that expectation. Sometimes it doesn’t fulfill that expectation because it’s a bad or inept movie, but sometimes it’s simply because the movie was trying to do something else instead.

There’s all sorts of things that a movie may be interested in doing instead, but I’m going to write specifically about the slow film that emphasizes mood over story. Even in these films, there is almost always a story, and it’s usually very clear. So, I suppose I shouldn’t say that there is no emphasis on story, but rather that there is not a lot of story. There is minimal story.

One of my favorite films is OLD JOY, which tells the story of two men. They’re old friends who have not seen each other in a long while. One of them has followed the traditional notion of growing up, and has a stable family with a child on the way. The other has held onto his college self, still bumming around with no money but seemingly carefree. They decide to catch up and go camping for a weekend at a natural hot springs in the forest. They get lost for a while, but eventually find their way. They never do really get into their old rhythm, as time has put them on separate paths. So there is this unspoken discomfort during the trip. Then they come home, and will probably never see each other again. That’s the whole plot.

It’s one of those movies in which, if you are waiting for something big to happen, you will be disappointed. So can you just sit and experience the film without holding it up against your specific expectations?

The reason I titled this post “The Zen of Cinema” is because I find the above question to be one of the central tenets of Zen thinking, with it applied to the whole of life. Can you experience things as they are without holding it up against your specific expectations? If you can’t, you are doomed to suffer, because it takes a lot of effort to bend yourself and others into some particular shape, and it’s never going to be what you expected anyway. Having your eyes on a specific outcome for the future means a lessened ability to see the fullness of this moment.

So, taking this idea and going back to cinema, I’ll write a bit about why I like OLD JOY so much. Plot-wise, it’s about as simple as you can get. There isn’t a whole bunch of dialogue, and what’s spoken is mostly unimportant. What’s there are beautiful images, with that kiss of film grain that sends my soul aflutter (the movie was shot on 16mm film). There is the sound of the birds in the trees. It quiets your mind and you begin to see perfection in everything. The film is, as all films can be with the right mindset, a joyful experience of the perfect shots in the perfect order, with each shot/edit/sound/piece of music saying everything and nothing all at once. Meaning becomes a very small idea; experience becomes all.

Films like this work their magic in the moment, and if you can see it as it is, in this moment, in every moment, without worrying about whether or not you’re understanding what’s going on or what just happened or where this is all going, then the experience can become so full and perfect. It becomes a meditative experience, clearing the mind with its stillness, allowing the clutter to dissipate so that one can see with clear eyes and an open heart.

This is not necessarily what cinema is meant to do, and not a lot of movies are interested in doing this, which is fine. I love all kinds of cinema and cinematic experiences. This post is just about one kind of experience that I have gotten from a few movies, and I take these movies as welcome reminders that there can be so much fullness in experience, even with nothing is happening.

October 25, 2011

Trusting the Present Moment

I’ve been listening to podcasts and reading a lot about Zen philosophy lately. Since it’s been on my mind, I think I’ll be writing a bit about it in the next several posts, just to help me sort out my own thoughts.

One of the basic ideas in Zen is to be in the present moment as much as possible. Dwelling on the past and being anxious about the future are major sources of suffering, and the mind will spend a lot of energy and time going in circles over what it can’t control anyway. The past and the future don’t exist–all that really exists is this moment. You can only make choices and take action right now. You can only find peace in the present.

I have always been able to let go of the past fairly easily. I don’t really dwell on things after it’s finished, whether it was a good memory or a bad memory. However, I find it difficult to not think about the future. I’m always anxious about the future, going over plans again and again in my mind, clinging onto my ideas of the future in order to gain a sense of safety and comfort. But that sense of comfort and safety is and will always be an unknown factor. I don’t know what will happen in the future.

There is a degree to which planning is helpful. Planning is perfectly fine, but I must be able to let go of some particular result, or else I am setting myself up to get upset when things don’t work out in the way that I had planned it.

I am getting better at not being upset when things don’t work out as planned, but my main hang up is going over the same plans over and over again, in order to gain a sense of control. That control, however, is an illusion. And I don’t particularly want to be in control (which is good, because I don’t really have much control). Replaying the future over and over again in my mind mainly serves to make me anxious about whether things will work out the way that I thought they would.

All of this is based on wanting some particular result–otherwise, there would be no need to plan. However, attachment to particular results is a major source of suffering, because things often don’t work out as we planned, and even if things do work out, we were anxious about it every step of the way. This can and does prevent the enjoyment of things in the present moment. It can and does prevent the enjoyment of life.

The present is the fullest moment, the only moment, the only point at which “truth” has any meaning or use. We can only be honest in the present moment. We can only be whole in the present moment. Wholeness and honesty is not something to be chased down in the future. Wholeness and honesty require the present.

And this is why, theoretically at least, trusting the present moment over our plans and goals is a better path toward happiness. If one is honest and happy in the present moment, it leads you toward more and more of that. It may lead you away from what you thought you wanted, which is scary. But if what you wanted required working really hard and suffering through something you hated in the hopes of One Day Getting What You Want And Being Happy, then what’s to say that you won’t be bitter and disappointed if and when you finally get what you had chased after, if it was enveloped in all that hate and suffering?

Lots of plans involve sacrifice in the present moment so that we can have what we want in the future, but that is no way to live a peaceful and happy life, unless you were happy to make those sacrifices.

What’s scary about not having specific goals, though, is the great big question of what the future will be like and how it’s all going to work out. We often want to KNOW or feel like we know how everything is going to play out, and we want to build our lives in advance. To say, “I will follow what makes me happy even though I don’t know where it will lead me” requires tremendous trust, especially when that way of living starts to lead you down some unexpected or unusual path. Following that path, though, can lead to much fuller and interesting experiences, and doing what you love to do can make you better at it.

Being able to bring these interesting experiences to what you love to do might well be that magic factor that will bring you success in what you love to do, or you may discover something else entirely and find success in that. It might not be financial success. It might not impress anybody. But if it can lead to a fuller and more interesting life, filled with gratitude and present-mindedness and peace in the heart–I’d call that a successful life.

October 8, 2011

Zen and Existentialism

Having been interested in Minimalism for the past year, I suppose it was inevitable that I would start becoming interested in Zen ideas. I’m not particularly compelled by the Buddhist aspect that is usually attached to Zen, although I am not repelled by it either, as Buddhist ideas and practices were always present, in some casual way, in the Asian culture that I grew up in.

One of the main links between Zen and Minimalism is the notion of letting go. In Minimalism, one develops a mindfulness about what is and is not necessary, and then the idea is to let go of that which is not necessary or helpful, in a physical sense (getting rid of things; not accumulating more things). Zen, as far as I have gathered in my early stages of studying it, involves the same thing, except that it is emotional baggage and concepts of self that must be let go of.

We are attached to particular meanings that we associate with our experience and our desires. We become attached to certain expectations of how we are supposed to be, or perhaps we become attached to the notion that we are entitled to something. These meanings that we attach to our lives and to the world are, ultimately, the cause of the emotional suffering that we feel.

Here is where I see common ground between Zen and Existentialism: they both acknowledge that, in general, people attach particular meanings to things. Those meanings are usually not questioned, at least not in a radical fashion. I’m sure that most people are familiar with the feeling of existential dread (angst), especially when they wake up in the morning and have to go to a job they don’t like so that they can pay for things that they don’t really care about that much. I’m sure that most people have asked themselves, “What’s the point? Why bother?” But I don’t know how many people really stick with that trail of thought, because ultimately it leads to some pretty dark and scary places. For them, these questions may never be satisfactorily answered, or some may find solace in religion or spiritual practices.

Existentialism considers these questions, and basically operates from the premise that there is no inherent point or meaning to life. We assign these meanings to things, and we get emotionally caught up in these meanings and expectations and concepts of self. In being mindful of the lack of inherent meaning, we can, hopefully, take the opportunity to assign meaning by active choice. The potential of meaning is broadened, and I find that to be a very positive idea.

We have particular social understandings and expectations that are thrown at us every day. Zen and Existentialism meet at the point where we can identify those already-formed meanings, and be able to let them go. One must be able to view the world in a detached way in order to better observe things as they are.

Both of these philosophies are famous for the radical detachment aspect, and as such, many people tend to think of Zen and especially Existentialism as being about nothingness or emptiness in a negative or defeatist way, when really, those thoughts are merely the first (necessary) step toward creating new meaning. Those meanings will bend and shift and grow with our experiences, giving us the opportunity to experience the world through many different perspectives throughout our lives.

Yet, when some meaning fails to hold the weight that we put on it, we must be able to step off of that particular meaning. There is no reason to stick blindly or doggedly to any meaning, since it constructed by us in the first place, and we can construct new ones. This, to me, is the appropriate use for meaning—as temporary platforms to stand on to be able to act in this world. Without these platforms to stand on, we are unable to operate, as we need something to push off of in order to progress. We would be depressed or suicidal without meaning.

To use a goofy analogy, meaning is more like software than hardware. We can consider the physical world, including our bodies and brains, to be the hardware. Our ideas, however, are virtual. Not only are they adaptable, but we can also abandon old software and start using new software, or have many different pieces of software that we’re using at any given time—each piece of software serves its own purpose, and you use it accordingly.

The reason to be against taking any particular sense of meaning too seriously is that there is no idea that truly holds the whole of everything. Rather than adapting our ideas to new experiences, we twist and contort what we experience into our comfortable sense of meaning.

This is strikingly clear in politics, where every event and idea has to fit into the narrative of “we’re good and smart, and they’re bad and stupid.” This certainly illustrates the constructedness of meaning, because two political parties can talk about the exact same event and arrive at opposite conclusions about what is going on. However, there is no awareness of the constructedness and meaninglessness of it all, and so they get angry, sneaky, greedy, and competitive. Being right becomes more important than anything else, and politics becomes a game to win instead of a means to facilitate the betterment of peoples’ lives.

Rather than getting so emotionally tangled up in these silly ideas of right and wrong, why not try to develop a mindfulness about whether these ideas are hurting us or helping us? We can prevent so much of our own suffering if we can learn to do that. Of all the ideas and things that we are attached to, very few of them actually matter or are worth suffering for. It’s not feasible to just drop our attachments all at once, as these attachments are so very sticky. However, the ability to detach seems to me to be a valuable aim, because then when we reattach ourselves back to the world, it is done so on our own terms.

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September 30, 2011

Solitude

There is no One Thing that I want. It’s normal to cycle through desires—necessary, even. As much as I fantasize about having one passion that I could dedicate my life to with an unshakable focus, the truth is that I can’t do that. It’s not due to external distractions so much as it is due to internal shifts in mood. In this post, I’ll write about what is currently seizing me: a desire for solitude.

There are those who seem to be afraid of solitude, at least for long periods of time. I’ve known people who need to constantly be around others. But I think that most people can understand the desire for solitude, and crave it from time to time. There is a romance attached to solitude: the lone wolf; the artist holed up in his or her studio; the writer holed up in a cabin in New England, taking long walks and chopping wood, drinking tea and reading books, looking out at the trees and taking in The Peaceful Quiet.

I’ve always craved solitude. Perhaps it stems from effectively being an only child (my siblings are much older than I am, and were all out of the house shortly after I was born). I’ve always spent a lot of time alone in my room. I’ve rarely invited friends over. I like to watch movies alone. I like to travel alone. I mostly like to do things that I can do alone.

Generally, I’m a very “thinky” person, and I suppose I give myself a lot of time to just think about things. With that said, I’ve also always enjoyed to meditate, which involves deliberately not thinking for a period of time–typically 20 minutes or so. It’s quite challenging, because I have to fight against my natural “thinky” state, but I’ve found it to be beneficial when I do it regularly. I will either sit or lay down, and focus on relaxing my body. I try my best to become aware of all the muscles in my body, and concentrate on relaxing them. I breathe deeply and slowly. The goal is to take a break from being my typical “thinky” self, and simply be in the moment, quietly, by myself.

Any person’s day is filled with mental stimulation, and it’s essential to have some downtime in order to properly digest and internalize all that stimulation, not to mention just to keep yourself from burning out. Sleep is a big part of that, during which the brain works its voodoo magic behind the curtains (the brain is very active during sleep), but moments of wakeful contemplation are also incredibly important for mental and emotional growth, I’ve found. We need that cycle of stimulation and rest in all things. I’ve found that I want the majority of my time to be spent in that restful, contemplative state, and it’s a state that I only know how to reach in moments of solitude.

Recently, I’ve taken up running again. I think I mostly enjoy running because it’s something I can do in solitude. Often, I will run for a couple of miles and then have to walk a mile back home, which has been a great time to think. I’m not very good at avoiding the temptation to go online when I’m at home, so going out for a run or a walk is one of the few times during the week that I get an extended period of time to think without distractions. The repetitiveness of the activity lulls me into a meditative state, but instead of the relaxed body I have during regular meditation, my brain is excited by all the extra oxygen rushing through it. I find that I frequently have very interesting ideas during my runs, and especially during my long walks home. This is a big part of why I prefer solitary runs over other kinds of exercise or playing sports.

Finally, and most obviously, writing is a solitary activity. I think I write because it seems like a natural thing to do when spending so much time alone. Or, at least, I think that’s why I started to write in the first place. Maybe now I choose to write because it seems like a productive way to spend my alone time. It’s a way of sharing myself with others without actually having to be around them. I write this alone. You read this alone. This allows us to both be alone without feeling lonely. Sometimes when I leave my little private bubble, I’ll run into a person who will tell me that they like my writing, and I get to feel some gratification before retreating back into my solitude.

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September 25, 2011

Matt Writes Movie Reviews: WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT KEVIN (2011)

I shall open this review with a love letter:

Dear Lynne Ramsay,

Sometime around 2003, I heard about your first two films, RATCATCHER and MORVERN CALLAR, and sought them out on DVD. This was during my formative years as a cinephile (I guess every year has been a formative year, now that I think about it), and I didn’t immediately know what to make of these two strange films.

Instead of blowing me away, both films dug themselves into my brain and planted themselves firmly inside. I have never stopped thinking about those films, and over time, they have become two of my favorites.

I’ve let cinema deep into my heart, and it has shaped so much of who I am today. Without exaggeration, I can say that your work has played a huge role in nurturing my very soul, shaping my thoughts and desires and dreams. I have absolutely no idea how you’ve done that, but you have done that.

I, along with many of the cinema-obsessed, have awaited your third film with bated breath. Watching the film was like seeing an old friend again, and I was deeply moved by the experience.

Lynne Ramsay, you are back with a film so bold that it was as if you never left. Thank you, for everything.

Love,

Matt

In 2007, when I first heard that Lynne Ramsay was attached to adapt WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT KEVIN, I decided to read the book. I knew what it was about before reading it, and I can’t say for sure whether or not it makes much of a difference whether or not you know about the story’s biggest event, because it’s really a story about all the small events that come before and after the big event.

This is the story of Eva Khatchadourian (played by Tilda Swinton), formerly an adventurous, fiercely independent woman, and now a mother to a disturbed child, Kevin (played at different ages by Rock Duer, Jasper Newell, and Ezra Miller). “Mummy was happy before widdle Kevin came awong, you know that, don’t you?” Eva tells the mischievous toddler, “Now Mummy wakes up every day and wishes she were in France!”

Eva’s relationship with Kevin is deeply complex. He is every bit a part of her, making it difficult for Eva not to feel responsible for Kevin’s troubled nature. Yet, it is clear that, from birth, Kevin was not a normal child. How much of Kevin’s behavior was shaped by nature, and how much by nurture (or lack thereof)? Both of them understand each other like nobody else does, and both of them secretly share the same wish: that Kevin was never born.

It almost goes without saying that Tilda Swinton’s performance is absolutely perfect. She’s one of the most fearless and capable actresses out there today, playing one of the most complex characters in recent literature. There’s really nothing to say about it; just sit back and revel in this masterful performance.

I can’t quite say the same for the actors that play Kevin. My only criticism of the film is that Kevin, at all ages, is very on the nose. The complexity of his character is lessened by the one-note sinisterism on display. Because this movie is about Eva, Kevin does not actually appear on screen that much, so in order for his presence to be as looming as it needs to be, much of his dialogue is limited to succinct observations, delivered in the most sinister of tones. The torturedness of Kevin is presented a bit too broadly, with occasional moments of overacting.

But it’s really a very small criticism in the face of how magnificent the movie as a whole is. The visual and aural sophistication is unmatched–I was deeply inspired to see a filmmaker in such control of every detail. Every single shot, every scene, every link between scenes, every sound, every song choice, all so beautifully done and put together, achieving a quality nothing short of miraculous. I was nearly in tears at how beautiful this film is. Ramsay is clearly inspired by the Terrence Malick and David Lynch of yore, and in the film’s strongest moments, she surpasses these old masters, creating a whole new level of etherial cinematic beauty. A new bar has been set.

Ramsay also brings a particular kind of femininity that is sorely missing from cinema. It’s a bracing, unsentimental femininity, unafraid to show women as they are, in a way that male directors largely don’t seem able to do. The details that are lingered on are entirely different from most films, and much of them are body-oriented. Specifically, her films are aware of and interested in how the female characters feel in their own bodies.These are not the weightless, perfect creatures that we see in most cinema–Ramsay’s women have blood, organs, sweat, odor, body hair, periods, stomachs, gas, occasional bad breath, grease on their skin and in their hair. Sometimes they want to make themselves pretty, and sometimes they don’t give a shit. But they are always beautiful.

As someone who has seen a lot of movies and has made a few films, a lot of the magic of cinema has been lost for me, because I typically know what to expect and exactly how it’s done. There is no big mystery to it. But once in a while, there comes a filmmaker who can create something so strong, with such a clear vision that is unlike anybody else’s. From the first shot, I knew that I was watching A Lynne Ramsay Film–it was all there in the look, the sound, the mood, the themes. I felt like I was watching something that nobody else could have made. Something so distinct. And I have no idea how she does it! There’s some magical quality to her images that goes far beyond the basic building blocks of how to construct a scene. Every frame is infused with something extra, and I don’t know what it is. And I don’t want to know. I just want to revel in being able to experience mystery and magic in the cinema, where all of my savvy is good for nothing, and all that’s left to do is bask in the wonder.

[Grade: A]

September 22, 2011

Why Is Writing So Hard Sometimes?

I have been pretty busy this past week. I’ve been assisting on a film shoot, so that, coupled with my day job, has left me with little time to write. During the little bit of time that I do have available, I’ve been mentally drained. BUT, those are just excuses.

With the exception of yesterday, I have been sitting down to write every day. Not much has come out of it, but at least I put the time in. Without the daily deadline to spur me on, though, it hasn’t seemed to matter how much actually got written. The daily deadline, in many ways, made it easier to write. The hardest part of writing seems to be deciding to do it, and staying with it until you’re finished. The actual writing part is only the second hardest part.

I started a blog post a couple of days ago, and as I was writing it, I could tell that it was gibberish. I really don’t know what to do in times like that. I guess… keep writing, and edit that gibberish later?

But that’s not what I’m doing. Instead of finishing that blog post, I’ve started this new one to just whine a bit about how foggy my mind is feeling right now, and how difficult writing can be sometimes.

But it’s important, right? A couple of days ago, while on a long walk (I had gone running, and ran out of steam earlier than I anticipated, and had to walk 1.75 miles back home), I had the thought that if I wrote and ran every day, then everything else would fall into place. I don’t know why, but that thought wouldn’t leave my mind. I thought, “Even if it’s just a quarter mile; even if it’s just writing for five minutes… make it happen every day.” I just might take myself up on that idea.

I don’t want the writing or the running to be a source of stress, though. I don’t want those two things to feel like another two things that I have to juggle along with all the other obligations in my life. What I want, ideally, is to enjoy those two things, and not worry about anything else. I wish my life could simply be a daily asking of two questions: Did I run today? Did I write today? If the answers are both yes, then I can feel like I’m doing just fine.

It’s a bit too ideal, probably, but I think it would be a good challenge–the running every day thing. I mean, maybe I’d take two days off a week and walk instead of run. I like walking, but I don’t do it much.

Anyway, that’s what’s going on in my mind right now. I also have a few other things running around in my mind that has been making it difficult to concentrate when I sit down to write. I’ve written this post without any real focus, but I hope that something in there was interesting to somebody.

Even though this is a scatterbrained chunk of writing, I’m going to post it anyway. I told myself that I’d write 10 posts a month and I have to stick to that. I think it’s when the writing is not going well that it’s most important to stick with it. I expect to get out of this funk fairly soon. I think I know what I need to do to get back on track a bit, but I’m at least happy that I’ve been sitting down and writing, even if only for a little bit, almost every day. I don’t want to let that habit die. I think that means that there will be some ramblings on here from time to time.

So yeah, this post is here as proof to myself that I did write something. Maybe someday someone will see it when they’re struggling through something and feel like they’re not alone.

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September 16, 2011

Why I’m Grateful for the Crappy Economy

I’ll start with a disclaimer that I understand that this poor economy has been devastating to a lot of people, so I hope that I don’t come off as being flippant about it. However, in this post, I will be writing about the silver lining that I see, as far as how the bad economy is affecting my life. I chose the word “grateful” for the title because I’m coming around to the idea that this weak economy is instilling me with habits that will be better for me in the long run than if money and jobs were more readily available.

What I’m going to write about pertains only to me. I realize that this economic “downturn” is affecting each person in a different way, so I’m not going to argue that YOU should be grateful for this tough economy.

Okay, with that said, I’ll give a little bit of my story. I moved to Austin, Texas last year, and was lucky enough to be able to stay with a relative, which reduced the pressure of needing to find a job immediately. The economy is relatively stable in Austin, but job availability has still been affected. I eventually found a job doing some data entry stuff, which is the job that I still hold right now. The pay is quite low for data entry work, and I came to find out that my company used to pay significantly more for the same position, supposedly because of the bad economy (but really because they were bought by another company that doesn’t like paying people a good wage).

The prevailing wisdom that has been given to me from almost everybody is that, in this economy, I should be grateful to have any job at all. It seems like most people, including myself, have been scared into learning to be happy with less.

And so I am happy with less, which I think is an attitude that will benefit me in the long run. I think that if the economy were strong, I’d expect myself to make more money and to want more things.

Like most people, I don’t really like working for others. It feels like a waste of my life. In this economy, working for others is offering less and less in return. For me, it’s gotten to a point where I’ve realized that the monetary difference between working full-time and working part-time is so minimal that, with minor adjustments in my lifestyle, I could afford to work part-time. This way, I can spend less of my time doing stuff that I don’t care about, and free myself up to write and make films. My salary will go from paltry to slightly paltrier.

Considering how easily I was sucked into this whole full-time work thing without even making very much money, I shudder to think how trapped I would feel if I ever got used to making more money. I don’t think I’d even be able to comprehend how to live without a decent amount of money coming in every month. Maybe I would have felt comfortable in buying a car that required monthly payments. Maybe I would have rented a place with higher rent. Maybe I would have bought a bunch of fancy things. In fact, I’m sure that all those things would have happened, and each of those things would have been another nail in the coffin, sealing me into an existence in which I’d never be able to do the things that are meaningful to me.

Another factor that has been brought forward by the terrible economy is that frugality has become more popular. Living within your means is COOL. There is absolutely no shame attached to having a very low cost of living. So many people are interested in learning how to consume less, and how to determine what is important to them. There is less of a sense of entitlement, and more of a sense of gratefulness. Okay, maybe not everybody is feeling that way, but at the very least, I find it easier to feel that way about my life in this economic climate.

I think I’d be an asshole if I had a lot of money. I think I’d hate my life. As I’m planning out my part-time work lifestyle, I’m getting excited! I can’t wait to make less money! I’ve even found myself giving more money away because I’d rather do that than buy myself a beer or go to a restaurant, and I think that that will be a continuing trend.

It’s weird to say, but I’ve gotten to a point where I’m glad that I don’t make much money, and whittling away unnecessary expenditures makes me happy. I suspect that that wouldn’t be the case if the economy were booming. I don’t think I would have given myself the chance to find out the joys of living with less. I’ve heard it said that in times of a struggling economy, there may be opportunities to be found. I feel like I’ve gotten the opportunity to learn how to be somebody that I like. I dream not of a big house and fancy things, but of time, which has, in some bizzaro way, become more affordable in times like these.

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