The Sisters, I've discovered, is based on Anton Checkov's The Three Sisters, and is just the latest in a fairly long line of adaptations about siblings who struggle to overcome their dismal existence.
In Richard Alfieri's screenplay, the Prior siblings--three sisters, and a brother--are academics who hide themselves deep within sarcasm and cynicism they've mistaken for intelligence.
Maria Bello has the meatiest role as the oldest--and clearly, the most disturbed--sister, Marcia Prior Glass. Marcia is antagonistic, petty, mean-spirited and vulgar. She seems to dominate her siblings through cruelty, while sister Olga remains analytically cold and aloof, and younger sister Irene struggles to find her own identity. Brother Andrew is clearly an outsider in the family; he is tolerated by the sisters but viewed with contempt, even though his character appears sympathetic and sincere to the audience.
Subplots involving infidelity (with Marcia) and a love triangle (with Irene) are prominent in the film, but take a back seat to the unveiling of the reason for the dysfunction that so clearly exists: Marcia, the oldest and most attractive of the daughters, was molested by their father. The cynicism and dysfunction has been formed from years of confusion, repression and denial.
Healing wounds that deep takes some seriously deep, surgical incisions. The Sisters is about that process.
The film is difficult to watch for a variety of reasons. It's designed like a play with heavy dialogue, minimal movement and few scenery transitions. And despite the obvious reasons for the dysfunctional behavior that exists among the sisters, there isn't a likable character in the entire cast. And finally, the movie's ending wasn't neatly wrapped like we find too often in today's pre-fab flicks. This ending keeps you curious about the family, and what may have happened to the siblings.
Here's a tip before you rent the DVD: If you liked Glengarry Glen Ross, you'll probably like The Sisters.
If you didn't, take a pass.
Saturday, January 20, 2007
Friday, January 19, 2007
Step Away From My Pride
It had been a while since we last spoke, so I was eager to catch up when she called earlier this evening.
"Hi," she said. "I won't keep you long. Actually, I wanted to talk about blogs."
Finally!
"Yep. I've been reading the message board a lot, because my job is sort of boring. I've been checking out your site as well as some others, and I'm really starting to get into some of the blogs. If you have a minute, I wanted to talk with you about something."
I figured she wanted my take on a movie she had rented. Or, maybe some advice about how to start her own blog.
I bet she wanted to have her new site linked to The Film Geek!
"Listen, do you read Step Away From The Barbies? 'Cause, I love it! So much that I read it every frickin' day! It's so damn cool. I mean, Jimmy The Neighbor is such a loser, and ...blah blah blah blah blah."
Uh, yeah...I dig it too...
"Hi," she said. "I won't keep you long. Actually, I wanted to talk about blogs."
Finally!
"Yep. I've been reading the message board a lot, because my job is sort of boring. I've been checking out your site as well as some others, and I'm really starting to get into some of the blogs. If you have a minute, I wanted to talk with you about something."
I figured she wanted my take on a movie she had rented. Or, maybe some advice about how to start her own blog.
I bet she wanted to have her new site linked to The Film Geek!
"Listen, do you read Step Away From The Barbies? 'Cause, I love it! So much that I read it every frickin' day! It's so damn cool. I mean, Jimmy The Neighbor is such a loser, and ...blah blah blah blah blah."
Uh, yeah...I dig it too...
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Missing That Big Ol' Outdoor Screen
A friend mentioned that he recently saw the latest episode of Rocky (and really liked it!), which caused a flood of memories for me. Back in the Carter era--Sweet Jesus, I'm old enough to recall another "era"--I was just at that age where going to the movies was something of a rite of passage.
It was, after all, the best place for a pre-teen kid who lived between two mountains to meet chicks.
There were lots of terrific movies in 1976. I didn't see a damn one of them at Grove's Theater, though. And I blame Rocky! Week after week I'd glance up at the theater marque, only to see, again:
"Held Over For The [insert week number here] Week: Rocky!"
Week, after week after week after freakin' week...Summersville loved them some boxing.
Sometimes when the theater was so booked, my parents would load the kids up in the car and head to the Craigsville, WV drive-in. Dressed in pajamas and surrounded by snacks smuggled in, we kids would gorge ourselves on popcorn and soda until we fell asleep. This usually happened about the time John Wayne shot his first bad guy in The Shootist, or sometime before Wayne figured out who killed his best friend, in McQ.
My Dad sure liked The Duke. Still does.
Me? Never cared much for the guy. His movies were too predictable, his characters too superficial.
But, I loved the drive-in! Everything about it. I loved that you paid by the carload and not by the individual. Loved that you had to walk outside to get popcorn (after you finished the popcorn you smuggled in, of course), and could smell that carnival, state fair smell that comes from damp, packed-down grass and hay. Loved the speaker you had to attach to the window, before drive-ins went high-tech and began using the better-quality-but-less-cool radio frequencies to deliver the sound.
And, chicks loved the drive-in. A lot. That--in addition to the damp hay smell--was enough for me to fall in love with the drive-in.
The first formal date Mrs. Film Geek and I went on was at a Huntington drive-in. Looking back on it, I don't think she was that keen on packing a cooler of snacks, a couple of blankets and watching Edward Sissorhands from the hatch of her Ford EXP. Beside cars full of people we didn't know. But the night was magical for me, at least.
It was the night I knew.
That drive-in, like most in West Virginia, closed in the mid-90s. A Wal-Mart was built there, then later a medical center. I was sad when the lot was torn down; it was as if part of my life was deleted.
A really important part of my life.
While traveling to Cincinnati this past weekend, Mrs. Film Geek and I drove past what I suspect is one of the last functional drive-ins in the area. Somewhere North-West of Portsmouth and South-East of Cincinnati was an honest-to-goodness movie drive-in, less than an hour from my home.
Gotta stock up on the Jiffy-Pop.
It was, after all, the best place for a pre-teen kid who lived between two mountains to meet chicks.
There were lots of terrific movies in 1976. I didn't see a damn one of them at Grove's Theater, though. And I blame Rocky! Week after week I'd glance up at the theater marque, only to see, again:
"Held Over For The [insert week number here] Week: Rocky!"
Week, after week after week after freakin' week...Summersville loved them some boxing.
Sometimes when the theater was so booked, my parents would load the kids up in the car and head to the Craigsville, WV drive-in. Dressed in pajamas and surrounded by snacks smuggled in, we kids would gorge ourselves on popcorn and soda until we fell asleep. This usually happened about the time John Wayne shot his first bad guy in The Shootist, or sometime before Wayne figured out who killed his best friend, in McQ.My Dad sure liked The Duke. Still does.
Me? Never cared much for the guy. His movies were too predictable, his characters too superficial.
But, I loved the drive-in! Everything about it. I loved that you paid by the carload and not by the individual. Loved that you had to walk outside to get popcorn (after you finished the popcorn you smuggled in, of course), and could smell that carnival, state fair smell that comes from damp, packed-down grass and hay. Loved the speaker you had to attach to the window, before drive-ins went high-tech and began using the better-quality-but-less-cool radio frequencies to deliver the sound.
And, chicks loved the drive-in. A lot. That--in addition to the damp hay smell--was enough for me to fall in love with the drive-in.
The first formal date Mrs. Film Geek and I went on was at a Huntington drive-in. Looking back on it, I don't think she was that keen on packing a cooler of snacks, a couple of blankets and watching Edward Sissorhands from the hatch of her Ford EXP. Beside cars full of people we didn't know. But the night was magical for me, at least.
It was the night I knew.
That drive-in, like most in West Virginia, closed in the mid-90s. A Wal-Mart was built there, then later a medical center. I was sad when the lot was torn down; it was as if part of my life was deleted.
A really important part of my life.
While traveling to Cincinnati this past weekend, Mrs. Film Geek and I drove past what I suspect is one of the last functional drive-ins in the area. Somewhere North-West of Portsmouth and South-East of Cincinnati was an honest-to-goodness movie drive-in, less than an hour from my home.
Gotta stock up on the Jiffy-Pop.
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
The Prestige
Obsession and a compulsive lifestyle are not based merely in eccentric, quirky behavior. True obsessive and compulsive behavior is based in how pervasive a thought or action becomes in our lives. Want something badly, yet can control your desire so that you can function typically on a daily basis? You're just pining for something, my friend. Does everything else--including family members, relationships, careers and your own safety--take a back seat to something you've been intently focused on for years?
You got the OCD. Bad.
The Prestige is a movie about two illusionist in turn-of-the-century England, both of whom apprentice with a master magician before becoming headliners--and rivals--themselves. Christian Bale's Alfred Borden is a technical marvel who lacks showmanship, while Hugh Jackman's Robert Algier is all style with little substance. Borden and Algiers are two sides of the same coin: together their skills would make them a master performer, but separately they are less than either of them ever expected to be. The men become obsessed with outdoing the other. They become petty, as a result, and each becomes insanely jealous of the success of the other.
Their jealously ultimately consumes them.
Directed by Christopher Nolan (and written by Nolan and his brother Jonathon) The Prestige keeps the audience looking at the top hat. We know the damn rabbit is gonna pop out, it's just a matter of when. And if we keep watchin', we can figure out how the trick works. Nolan's success, though, is in making the audience forget that the real trick isn't the rabbit and the top hat.
It's what goes on below the table on which the hat rests.
Although we never take our eyes off the hat, the rabbit always appears. In dramatic fashion, and in a way that makes one wonder if magic really can exist.
Just like The Prestige.
You got the OCD. Bad.
The Prestige is a movie about two illusionist in turn-of-the-century England, both of whom apprentice with a master magician before becoming headliners--and rivals--themselves. Christian Bale's Alfred Borden is a technical marvel who lacks showmanship, while Hugh Jackman's Robert Algier is all style with little substance. Borden and Algiers are two sides of the same coin: together their skills would make them a master performer, but separately they are less than either of them ever expected to be. The men become obsessed with outdoing the other. They become petty, as a result, and each becomes insanely jealous of the success of the other.
Their jealously ultimately consumes them.
Directed by Christopher Nolan (and written by Nolan and his brother Jonathon) The Prestige keeps the audience looking at the top hat. We know the damn rabbit is gonna pop out, it's just a matter of when. And if we keep watchin', we can figure out how the trick works. Nolan's success, though, is in making the audience forget that the real trick isn't the rabbit and the top hat.
It's what goes on below the table on which the hat rests.
Although we never take our eyes off the hat, the rabbit always appears. In dramatic fashion, and in a way that makes one wonder if magic really can exist.
Just like The Prestige.
Monday, January 15, 2007
Children Of Men
Directed by Alfonso Cuaran, Children Of Men gives the viewer front-row insight into an overwhelmingly bleak, totalitarian society that could well be our future. Based on a novel by P.D. James, Children Of Men is a cautionary tale. It reminds us of the results of apathy, and how simply hope can be restored if and when the doldrums of apathy are shaken off.
Clive Owen is Theo Faron, a 40-something former political activist who lives in England in 2027. He's apolitical now, burned out on personal tragedy and efforts that produced no real progressive change. Faron's England is a police state, governed by those who capture, cage and torture illegal immigrants (called Fugees) on a daily basis. Eighteen years earlier--and for reasons that are never explained in the film--women became incapable of getting pregnant.
Humanity is dying, and no one can reverse the process. There is no future to live for, and societal values have broken down.
The inability to produce children is a terrific way to illustrate the devastating hopelessness that exists in this future society. There is something compelling about the innocence of an infant. Untouched by evils like greed, selfishness, ambition and envy, babies remain the hope for our future. We hope our kids can be better people than we are. We hope they can make the world a better place. If we couldn't, maybe they can.
If that hope is taken away, what else is there to live for?
Faron becomes involved in an underground uprising, which is focused on overthrowing the totalitarian rule. While assisting a Fuggee in her attempt to get out of the city unharmed, Faron discovers that she is, miraculously, pregnant. Getting her to her destination now becomes even more important. He's no longer simply helping another human being navigate through dangerous circumstances; Faron is now delivering hope to the rest of mankind.
Hope in the form of an infant, with a future-full of possibilities.
Children Of Men is clearly a flick inspired by political events of this decade. Connections are made early with the War On Terror and the war in Iraq, and how those events influenced how future societies are governed. The inability to produce children is a terrific metaphor for the loss of hope for many in the world. We are reminded that apathy can lead to destruction, but only if we allow it.
Children of Men is a terrific, thought-provoking movie. You should check it out.
Clive Owen is Theo Faron, a 40-something former political activist who lives in England in 2027. He's apolitical now, burned out on personal tragedy and efforts that produced no real progressive change. Faron's England is a police state, governed by those who capture, cage and torture illegal immigrants (called Fugees) on a daily basis. Eighteen years earlier--and for reasons that are never explained in the film--women became incapable of getting pregnant.
Humanity is dying, and no one can reverse the process. There is no future to live for, and societal values have broken down.
The inability to produce children is a terrific way to illustrate the devastating hopelessness that exists in this future society. There is something compelling about the innocence of an infant. Untouched by evils like greed, selfishness, ambition and envy, babies remain the hope for our future. We hope our kids can be better people than we are. We hope they can make the world a better place. If we couldn't, maybe they can.
If that hope is taken away, what else is there to live for?
Faron becomes involved in an underground uprising, which is focused on overthrowing the totalitarian rule. While assisting a Fuggee in her attempt to get out of the city unharmed, Faron discovers that she is, miraculously, pregnant. Getting her to her destination now becomes even more important. He's no longer simply helping another human being navigate through dangerous circumstances; Faron is now delivering hope to the rest of mankind.
Hope in the form of an infant, with a future-full of possibilities.
Children Of Men is clearly a flick inspired by political events of this decade. Connections are made early with the War On Terror and the war in Iraq, and how those events influenced how future societies are governed. The inability to produce children is a terrific metaphor for the loss of hope for many in the world. We are reminded that apathy can lead to destruction, but only if we allow it.
Children of Men is a terrific, thought-provoking movie. You should check it out.
Saturday, January 13, 2007
Friday, January 12, 2007
Turn The Page
I drove a little too fast to the school, I admit. I was excited! All week I had been looking forward to reading to my daughter's kindergarten class. Griffyn was excited too, she said, as long as I behaved myself and didn't embarrass her.
Me?
I've been known to do it, I suppose. But not today. Not to her. I needed to pull this 20 minutes off with flair, but temper it with something that at least appeared like adult behavior.
I went over the rules in my head as I drove, the things that I shouldn't do so as not to upset her:
No profanity, or language that might be misconstrued as such;
No references to smoking cigarettes or drinking alcohol (before, during or after the story);
No calling any of the kids "Hey, Bud;"
No telling stories about spending a night in jail.
I pulled up to the school at just the right time, and scampered inside. I was so excited.
The kids seemed a little distracted as they were herded into the room. But they sat down politely, and listened as I read. I tried to get them involved in the story, and a couple of kids seemed eager to participate.
And Griffyn couldn't stop smiling! At least for 20 minutes, her Dad was a rock star.
But still, there was something odd about the vibe in the air. Something unspoken, like it feels when you ask a girl on a date and she meets you there with her best friend. Awkward, and quietly uncomfortable.
I shrugged it off, though, and gave Griffyn a hug as I headed for the door. The teacher thanked me, and I waved to the kids as I left the room. I paused briefly just outside the door to search my pockets for my car keys, and overheard:
Teacher: "OK, kids. Are you ready to go finish watching High School Musical?"
Kids: [with dramatic enthusiasm] "YES!!!!!"
...I so can't wait for the next Parent/Teacher conference.
Me?
I've been known to do it, I suppose. But not today. Not to her. I needed to pull this 20 minutes off with flair, but temper it with something that at least appeared like adult behavior.
I went over the rules in my head as I drove, the things that I shouldn't do so as not to upset her:
No profanity, or language that might be misconstrued as such;No references to smoking cigarettes or drinking alcohol (before, during or after the story);
No calling any of the kids "Hey, Bud;"
No telling stories about spending a night in jail.
I pulled up to the school at just the right time, and scampered inside. I was so excited.
The kids seemed a little distracted as they were herded into the room. But they sat down politely, and listened as I read. I tried to get them involved in the story, and a couple of kids seemed eager to participate.
And Griffyn couldn't stop smiling! At least for 20 minutes, her Dad was a rock star.
But still, there was something odd about the vibe in the air. Something unspoken, like it feels when you ask a girl on a date and she meets you there with her best friend. Awkward, and quietly uncomfortable.
I shrugged it off, though, and gave Griffyn a hug as I headed for the door. The teacher thanked me, and I waved to the kids as I left the room. I paused briefly just outside the door to search my pockets for my car keys, and overheard:
Teacher: "OK, kids. Are you ready to go finish watching High School Musical?"
Kids: [with dramatic enthusiasm] "YES!!!!!"
...I so can't wait for the next Parent/Teacher conference.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Just Waking Up From His Long Winter Nap
Have I missed anything?
Photograph: Yui Mok/PA
James Brown's still hangin' 'round: Someone might wanna call those guys from Weekend At Bernie's.
Caricature Zone
The Donald vs. Rosie Feud: Bennifer and Brangelina are such cutesy ways to illustrate the over-the-top power of celebrity couples. I've tried with these two, believe me, to come up with something cool: The Dosie; RoDon; Donaldosie; The Beast(s) That Ate Manhattan.
Nothing worked.
So, I've settled on calling this partnership: The Rosie O'Donald.
Photograph: Yui Mok/PA
James Brown's still hangin' 'round: Someone might wanna call those guys from Weekend At Bernie's.
Caricature Zone
The Donald vs. Rosie Feud: Bennifer and Brangelina are such cutesy ways to illustrate the over-the-top power of celebrity couples. I've tried with these two, believe me, to come up with something cool: The Dosie; RoDon; Donaldosie; The Beast(s) That Ate Manhattan.Nothing worked.
So, I've settled on calling this partnership: The Rosie O'Donald.
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
Wonder How Much Will This Stamp Will Cost?
Dear God:
It's been a long while since we last spoke. That's my fault, really, and I'm sorry. I've just been caught up in life stuff, you know? One thing after another. But, I reckon you do know.
The grand design is yours, after all.
I'm writing today about Pat Robertson, that 700 Club guy. I'm not sure if you've kept up with him during the last few years, but he's putting your name out there left and right, tacking fear to it in what looks like attempts to scare people into following you. Or maybe to keep himself in the spotlight, which brings him more money. (Or maybe both. After all, if he scares folks into following you, they might send him more cash.)
Anyway, the guy is out of hand.
Last year Robertson said a tsunami would hit the U.S. in 2006, and that it would kill lots of people. Before that he blamed you for causing the stroke of Israeli Prime Minster Ariel Sharon. Now, he's predicting that terrorists will attack America in 2007, and the result will be "mass killings." In case you don't read the papers, here is his latest.
Here's the kicker: He says you told him all this.
Now, I may be out of place trying to tell you how to run your business. (Although if you are inclined to take polite suggestions, we could use a tad more peace across the globe these days.) If you are talking to Robertson though, there may be some things of which you are unaware: First, he's not always quoting you directly, and that sometimes causes confusion. For example, he said this of your most recent game of "grapevine":
"I'm not necessarily saying it's going to be nuclear. The Lord didn't say nuclear. But I do believe it will be something like that."
Secondly, using Robertson as a mouthpiece may not be best for your public image. Most folks view him as a snake-oil salesman. A carny, barking out anything to get people to come to his booth and put down a quarter. Sure, people give the guy millions every year . But you have to ask yourself if you want to be associated with that type of image. Maybe it's time to find a new prophet.
I think it is.
Letting Robertson speak for you only serves to water down faith in you. And some of us--OK, me--struggle heavily with faith. I've just gotten to the point where I actually have some. Keep letting Robertson deliver your mail and the small amount I've been able to nurture these last few years may die out.
If you aren't giving Robertson some inside scoop, then I apologize for my remarks. If, though, you are feeding him the occasional inside tip, I hope you'll consider telling the guy to put a sock in it.
He's doing nobody any favors.
Sincerely,
The Film Geek
It's been a long while since we last spoke. That's my fault, really, and I'm sorry. I've just been caught up in life stuff, you know? One thing after another. But, I reckon you do know.
The grand design is yours, after all.
I'm writing today about Pat Robertson, that 700 Club guy. I'm not sure if you've kept up with him during the last few years, but he's putting your name out there left and right, tacking fear to it in what looks like attempts to scare people into following you. Or maybe to keep himself in the spotlight, which brings him more money. (Or maybe both. After all, if he scares folks into following you, they might send him more cash.)
Anyway, the guy is out of hand.
Last year Robertson said a tsunami would hit the U.S. in 2006, and that it would kill lots of people. Before that he blamed you for causing the stroke of Israeli Prime Minster Ariel Sharon. Now, he's predicting that terrorists will attack America in 2007, and the result will be "mass killings." In case you don't read the papers, here is his latest.
Here's the kicker: He says you told him all this.
Now, I may be out of place trying to tell you how to run your business. (Although if you are inclined to take polite suggestions, we could use a tad more peace across the globe these days.) If you are talking to Robertson though, there may be some things of which you are unaware: First, he's not always quoting you directly, and that sometimes causes confusion. For example, he said this of your most recent game of "grapevine":
"I'm not necessarily saying it's going to be nuclear. The Lord didn't say nuclear. But I do believe it will be something like that."
Secondly, using Robertson as a mouthpiece may not be best for your public image. Most folks view him as a snake-oil salesman. A carny, barking out anything to get people to come to his booth and put down a quarter. Sure, people give the guy millions every year . But you have to ask yourself if you want to be associated with that type of image. Maybe it's time to find a new prophet.
I think it is.
Letting Robertson speak for you only serves to water down faith in you. And some of us--OK, me--struggle heavily with faith. I've just gotten to the point where I actually have some. Keep letting Robertson deliver your mail and the small amount I've been able to nurture these last few years may die out.
If you aren't giving Robertson some inside scoop, then I apologize for my remarks. If, though, you are feeding him the occasional inside tip, I hope you'll consider telling the guy to put a sock in it.
He's doing nobody any favors.
Sincerely,
The Film Geek
Monday, January 01, 2007
The Ant Bully
Humanist Carl Rogers often spoke of empathy, and the importance of sharing an emotional journey with another person.
More than just walking a mile in the shoes of another, the concept of empathy as developed by Rogers was about being in the moment with another person. Understanding needs, desires and motivations because you can experience them, too. It didn't matter if you disagreed with the person (or even that you shared his or her desires), having that empathic experience let you see life from another perspective.
Understanding the needs of another in such a complete way allowed you to interact more fully, and most honestly, with other human beings.
Empathy was a core component of Person-Centered Psychology, an approach to mental health counseling that Rogers developed. He didn't limit it to therapy, though. He believed the core concepts--including empathy--could be used in a variety of environments, including politics.
He was probably right. His paradigm depends upon one thing, however, that doesn't often occur in politics:
True diplomacy and altruism.
But, greed and the hunger for power that seems inherent in politics--and in life-- get in the way too often.
I was reminded of Rogers while watching The Ant Bully. In the animated flick, Lucas is a timid and small child who gets bullied. A lot, mostly by kids who are bigger, louder and more powerful than he. In order to feel more powerful, Lucas turns to bullying things even smaller: ants.
He torments them daily, flooding their anthill and disrupting their colony.
His actions are legendary within the ant colony, so much so the ants create a name specifically for him: The Destroyer.
Lucas the Destroyer is kidnapped by the ants one evening, and reduced in size. (How that happens is rather silly, but a necessary plot device to allow the film to continue.) He is put on trial for his crimes against the colony, and sentenced to live among the ants so that he may learn more about them. He does, while the ants also learn more about humans. They learn to work as a team to overcome difficulties, and learn to trust each other.
They also learn their respective needs are not mutually exclusive; both ants and humans can live in harmony, if they so choose.
The Ant Bully isn't necessarily innovative in style or animation. The voices used for the characters aren't terribly distinctive--even though mega-stars were used--and didn't serve as a distraction. Nope, there is nothing that distinctive about The Ant Bully to separate it from all the other animated flicks of 2006.
Except the message.
Empathy, understanding and peace.
I hope 2007 is that kinda year for you, and for me.
More than just walking a mile in the shoes of another, the concept of empathy as developed by Rogers was about being in the moment with another person. Understanding needs, desires and motivations because you can experience them, too. It didn't matter if you disagreed with the person (or even that you shared his or her desires), having that empathic experience let you see life from another perspective.
Understanding the needs of another in such a complete way allowed you to interact more fully, and most honestly, with other human beings.
Empathy was a core component of Person-Centered Psychology, an approach to mental health counseling that Rogers developed. He didn't limit it to therapy, though. He believed the core concepts--including empathy--could be used in a variety of environments, including politics.
He was probably right. His paradigm depends upon one thing, however, that doesn't often occur in politics:
True diplomacy and altruism.
But, greed and the hunger for power that seems inherent in politics--and in life-- get in the way too often.
I was reminded of Rogers while watching The Ant Bully. In the animated flick, Lucas is a timid and small child who gets bullied. A lot, mostly by kids who are bigger, louder and more powerful than he. In order to feel more powerful, Lucas turns to bullying things even smaller: ants.
He torments them daily, flooding their anthill and disrupting their colony.
His actions are legendary within the ant colony, so much so the ants create a name specifically for him: The Destroyer.
Lucas the Destroyer is kidnapped by the ants one evening, and reduced in size. (How that happens is rather silly, but a necessary plot device to allow the film to continue.) He is put on trial for his crimes against the colony, and sentenced to live among the ants so that he may learn more about them. He does, while the ants also learn more about humans. They learn to work as a team to overcome difficulties, and learn to trust each other.
They also learn their respective needs are not mutually exclusive; both ants and humans can live in harmony, if they so choose.
The Ant Bully isn't necessarily innovative in style or animation. The voices used for the characters aren't terribly distinctive--even though mega-stars were used--and didn't serve as a distraction. Nope, there is nothing that distinctive about The Ant Bully to separate it from all the other animated flicks of 2006.
Except the message.
Empathy, understanding and peace.
I hope 2007 is that kinda year for you, and for me.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)