Knowing

Sometime around the age of 12, I mustered up the courage to ask the minister of my church about the concept of theological determinism. I didn't call it that at age 12, of course; I recall being very nervous, very inarticulate and really goofy as I tried to explain how I saw the concept to be in conflict with the title Free Will Baptist, the denomination of church I attended at the time.

How could we humans have free will if life and everything in it is out of our control? He patted me smartly on the head, then told me I'd understand better when I grew up.

But he was wrong.

I generally squirmed in my seat during sermons about how life and everything in it was pre-set, and was controlled by an all-involved God who seemed to have management issues. That life and the events of life are determined and not simply random occurrences made little sense to me then, especially when the concept was applied to an unexpected death.

"It's God's will," they'd say, "and it was his time. We can't stop God's will. His death was God's way of reminding us to live right, live a full life and love the Lord."

Well, fuck that. I figured if God wanted me to live right and love him, he should figure out a less traumatic way to remind me.

Like visit me and tell me.

If God showed up in person once during my lifetime, did a small miracle and told me the bible was true, I'd believe him. But killing a friend of mine in order to scare me into service...well, that's just sick and twisted.

John Koestler was paid a visit.

Knowing's Koestler, played by Nicholas Cage, struggles with the debate too. The widower, single father and astrophysics professor at MIT thinks that "shit just happens," in life, and deals with it by drinking too much and avoiding his responsibilities. He knows he can't change the past or influence the future, so he simply hides in the moment. His house is falling apart and he doesn't notice. He forgets to pick up his son from school after a booze-induced afternoon nap. Koestler is simply going through the motions of his life: after all, he's not in charge of it, anyway.

Or is he?

Knowing shifts from a philosophical debate over determinism and randomness somewhere in mid-flick, when Koestler realizes the mysterious page of numbers he possesses is really a list of warnings about future catastrophes. The question Knowing then presents is: even if it's impossible to stop a pre-determined act or chain of events, can we influence events in some way.

The message of the movie is that we can. But to do so, we may have to change our definition of what we consider to be successful influence.

Knowing is shot in a digital format that seems to enhance color, and gives scenes a more realistic look than most film. While Cage's acting tends to cross the line into melodrama, this role is the best he's had in several years. The sci-fi aspects of Knowing are filmed with spectacular effects, and the moral dilemma Cage's character experiences in the finale is emotionally satisfying.

The ending, which suggest real peace comes from recognizing we have influence in how we choose to perceive and accept determined events, is dramatic and appropriate. Even if it's sad.

Sorta like real life.

Passengers

A significant problem with viewing a flick like Passengers with folks that know a little bit about the mental health profession is they tend to get pissed off and talk to the screen while the movie's in progress.

Here's what I heard during this dud:

[spoilers to follow]

"Huh UH! She did not just flirt with the client."

"Someone should report her skanky ass to an ethics board."

"Unbe-freakin'-believable! No matter what, they can't be doin' THAT!"

"Ummm...well, I guess they can do that if they're really ghosts."

Righteous Kill

The poster for Righteous Kill draws you in quickly:

You see it, and can't help but remember: The Godfather. Dog Day Afternoon. Raging Bull. The Deer Hunter. De Niro and Pacino are iconic talents who have helped make dozens of movies legendary; if you are even a moderate fan of film from the 70s and 80s, the Righteous Kill poster is like a drug. It calls your name, and compels you to see it.

"The ten minute, on-screen scene these two shared in 1995's Heat was just a taste, baby. Pony up $3.99 for this redbox of kronic talent!"

(I doubt drug dealers have ever used the phrases "share" and "pony up," but go with me on it.)

The problem is, Righteous Kill is more Backdraft than Taxi Driver, more 88 Minutes than Scent Of A Woman. It's a formula movie with an obvious swerve.

Although De Niro and Pacino deliver some very good moments in this flick, the movie just can't be saved. The awe of watching these guys work together wears off after the first 30 minutes, when you realize there's still an hour to kill and you've already figured out the ending.

It's more than disappointing.

The Kite Runner

The Kite Runner resonates with people who live with and understand regret.

Nearly a week has passed since I saw the film, and I think of the characters several times a day: Amir, who used the moment of cowardice he experienced as a child to transform himself into a brave, compassionate adult; Hassan, the optimistic youth who understood the power of forgiveness; and Baba, who lived his life with dignity even while others were trying to strip him of it.

The Kite Runner is a powerful, well-done movie about the ability all humans have to overcome our pettiness.

If we so choose.

Revolutionary Road

Sam Mendes is quickly becoming the artist who best reminds us that we should be careful what we wish for in life: we spend our youth anticipating and planning out what our adult lifestyle will be, then become disillusioned when we finally reach the goal. Like his films American Beauty and Jarhead, Mendes' Revolutionary Road illustrates the dissatisfaction and impotence that can develop once we achieve what we've been lead to believe is the American Dream.

In public, Frank and April Wheeler are everything considered good about middle class America in the 1950s. They're charming, socially active, and conform to the stereotypes of the ambitious male bread-winner and the happy stay-at-home mother. Inside their home on Revolutionary Road, however, the dynamic is different. Frank and April feel as though they've settled for a lesser lifestyle than they should have; that feeling has caused them to become disconnected and unhappy, but with little insight into how to remedy their emptiness.

From the perspectives of their friends, the Wheelers had it all. From Frank and April's perspective, their life was a miserable failure, the result of conforming and not being true to themselves.

The hopelessness causes each to act out dramatically, creating more and more dysfunction as the years pass. Leonardo DiCaprio looks the part of the 1950s male stereotype, but provides the audience with subtle (and sometimes not so subtle) hints into his personal demons. Kate Winslet is remarkable in acting out the range of April's emotions. Just when the character becomes understood by the audience, another layer of her complex emotional state is revealed and the audience opinion of her changes.

Michael Shannon, who plays a neighbor living with a mental illness, provides the audience with terrific insight into the real dynamic in the Wheeler relationship. (Shannon's short scenes were so powerful he was nominated for an Academy Award.) The couple have all their neighbors fooled, but they can't fool him.

Revolutionary Road isn't a feel-good movie. In fact, it is quite dark and can be uncomfortable to watch. In addition to the incredible acting and direction, however, the film is important in reminding us this: happiness--which is what the American Dream is all about--should be rooted less in conformity and ambition, and be more the result of how true we are to ourselves.

The One Where I Call Joe Jackson A Prick

In case you were curious how Michael Jackson's strange perspective on himself and the world developed, here's a 4 minute and 12 second tutorial.

I wasn't a fan of Jackson, but I am a fan of the concept of family. Joe Jackson should be ashamed...

Year One

Between polite chuckles while watching Year One, I couldn't help but recall how brilliant movies by Mel Brooks and Monty Python were. Although I sound like my Dad complaining about how art from his generation was better, check out History Of The World, Part I and see how this Jack Black comedy should have been handled.

After watching the flick, (and with apologies to Brooks) the "Lord Jehovah has given unto me these fifteen..."[third tablet drops, and breaks] "Oy...Ten! Ten Commandments! For all to obey!”

10. If thou doest view Year One whilst sitting among others in a theater, thou art prohibited from yelling: "Hey, it's McLovin,'" as one child in the third row did each time Christopher Mintz-Plasse's Issac was in a scene.

9. Thou shalt appreciate David Cross for his incredible talent: but for his great turn as Cain, Year One would be an even greater disappointment.

8. Thou shalt have no other comedic gods before Jack Black...unless Mr. Black is simply phoning in the work and collecting a paycheck. Then, thou shalt enjoyeth the comedy stylings of Ben Stiller and Adam Sandler without feeling guilty.

7. Honor the memory of Michael Cera's work in Juno, Superbad and Arrested Development so that thy days of belly laughs and hearty chuckles will be long. The honor he deserves for Year One? Not so much.

6. Thou shalt not bear false witness about producer Judd Apatow. Thus, when thou is asked: "How did you like Year One?" thou shalt respond with: "Apatow's getting full of himself, and he's throwing shit against the wall to see what sticks."

5. Thou shalt not covet high quality comedies while watching Year One.

4. Thou shalt feel free to covet Juno Temple, who co-starred as Eema.

3. Thou shalt not murder...unless a man who looks strikingly similar to Oliver Platt's High Priest character asks for one more hot oil rub.

2. Thou shalt not commit adultery. (The lone exception to this commandment, to which the Lord Jehovah concedeth, is if thou is seduced by June Raphael's Maya, whilst she wears her cave woman outfit.)

1. Remember the Sabbath and keep it holy. Catch this flick as a Sunday matinee, kiss the "holy" part of your holy day goodbye.

Last Chance Harvey

The opening scene of Last Chance Harvey, written and directed by Joel Hopkins, provides clear insight into the personal characteristics of Harvey Shine, the lead played by Dustin Hoffman. In the opening, Shine attempts to play a song at his piano, but doesn't have the skill or the patience to finish it.

So he simply switches to a different tune; one that's more upbeat, and easier to play.

Harvey's most often taken the easy way out of the complications of life. And he's now paying the price: he is estranged from his daughter, his career is failing and he is terribly lonely.

After traveling to London to attend the wedding of his daughter, Shine begins an accidental romance with another lonely soul. Kate Walker, played by Emma Thompson, seems slightly out of step with others, and connects with Shine through her refreshingly honest perspective on life.

Last Chance Harvey is billed as a romantic movie, and I suppose that's accurate. I found it an interesting character study, however, about the awakening an elderly man who had long ago given up on a life he didn't think he could achieve. Hoffman and Thompson have great chemistry, and the dialogue is wonderful.

In summer blockbuster season, where things are exploding, time is being altered and robots are transforming on screens everywhere, it was enjoyable to lean back in the easy chair and enjoy a well written, well acted flick.

The Haunting In Connecticut

Allegedly true.
Also contains alleged
acting and suspense.

I Love You, Man

Many of the folks living on Salem's Branch in the late 1970s, when I was a kid living there, shared a party telephone line. When I ask my kids to put down their cell phones and text devices long enough to tell them stories about the olden days, they scoff when I mention a "party line." But it's true; and using the party line to talk to friends, and the girls I hoped would become more than friends, was tough.

Me: "Well, how about we meet at Groves Theater on Saturday? I hear they are holding Rocky over for another week!"

Potential Girlfriend: "Sure, even though I saw it last week, I'd..."

[Interrupted by Mrs. Nichols, who lived up the street. She picks up the phone, and clicks the hang-up buttons a couple of times]

Mrs. Nichols: "Kenny? Is that you, Kenny?"

Me: "This isn't Kennie, Mrs. Nichols. It's Marc, from down the road. I'll be finished with the phone in a minute."

Mrs. Nichols: "Do you know Kenny?"

Me: "Yes, ma'am..."

Mrs. Nichols: "Have you seen Kenny?"

Potential Girlfriend: "Uh...I'm gonna go now."

It happened way too often.

For lots of reasons--like the telephone party line, and the fact that there were no kids my age living within a mile of me--I spent a lot of time alone.

Eating cereal, riding ponies, horses and motorcycles, hoeing gardens and feeding chickens. But rarely hanging out with other boys.

In fact, I can recall only once that another kid slept over at my house.

Once.

As a result, I grew up a bit of a social misfit. Unsure of myself in social situations, and unclear how to behave. Especially around other men.

The stereotypical, testosterone-filled stuff came naturally. I could play sports with other guys, talk about girls with other guys and even fight guys once in a while. But put me in a room with a dude and expect me to carry on some small talk?

I just couldn't do it. Still can't very well, even today.

Like Peter Klaven, the lead in I Love You, Man, I was mostly a girlfriend guy, more comfortable with women than men. Unlike Klaven, I didn't go on a series of man-dates in order to improve my skills. In fact, I did the opposite: I mostly avoided other guys who wanted to hang out, at least until they stopped wanting to hang out.

I wish there had been a Sydney Fife in my life at that time to hang with, jam with and exchange nicknames with. As it was, my only nickname came from Kenny.

And "Shit-Licker" ain't that cool a nickname...