Bullets Over Broadway

4 out of 7

Reviewing a Woody Allen film is one of the most intimidating projects a film critic can take on. It isn’t that he’s particularly vengeful to those who write negative reviews, but rather that any critic had better be as well read as this writer/director…and that is quite the feat.

As such, I will proclaim now that Allen is far more educated than I, but in the wonderful world of opinion, this must only limit me, not stop me.

Bullets Over Broadway (1994), a period piece that combines genres, is a story of a writer, David Shayne (John Cusack), who desperately wants his third play to receive the success and credit he feels his previous works warranted, but never got. To achieve this end, he must cast a mob boss’s girlfriend, Olive Neal (Jennifer Tilly), in a minor part, regardless of her lack of acting ability. He then suffers from a sort of artistic-integrity breakdown as he tries to negotiate between the many forces pushing on his art. Ultimately, after Neal’s bodyguard, Cheech (Chazz Palminteri), has re-written his entire play and then, because he cannot stand to see Neal destroy his work, kills her, Shayne breaks down under the pressure.

Of course, in true Woody Allen fashion, the story is one that is meant to disclose some sort of philosophic question. In this case, the question is: Which is more important, art or human life? The debate begins in a Greenwich Village debate about which is worth saving more, the only copy of a Shakespearian play or a no-name person. Shayne takes the artist’s answer of the play, only to later have that resolve tested by Neal’s death, which is done because she is destroying the art of his/Cheech’s play.

The movie ends after Shayne avoids the limelight finally due to him after a rave opening night in New York to rekindle his relationship with his girlfriend, who left him after he started to have an affair with one of his actresses. Not out of place, this also answers the above question, as Shayne chooses the woman who loves him, over the woman who inspires him as an artist.

The only real problem with this story is that Shayne, for all his mention in this review, is not the main character…or at least, not the most interesting. The most interesting is Cheech, this mobster-turned artist, who, upon discovering that he can tell a story in a very human voice, begins to value his art above all else. So, while the film may appear to support a life-over-art argument, Cheech, who eventually dies for murdering his mob boss’s girlfriend, proves that art is worth more than life. Indeed, his final words to Shayne are a new ending to the play, demonstrating his whole-hearted love for art, even over his own life.

The film gets such a low review, then, because it tells a fine story, but in doing so, opens a question that it does not then answer. Of course, one could say that this is the paradox of life/art and that Woody Allen is smart enough to avoid making a concrete answer, but such a stance then forces Allen’s work into a very post-modern reading, which does not seem to be what the author, nor the work, want at all. Therefore, if this isn’t a piece of post-modern work (and it isn’t good enough to say that merely asking the question is what is important, for it is hardly the first work to engage such a query), then we are only left to think that Woody Allen did not achieve with the film what the film should have achieved. As such, it is only a sub-par film.

From a story-teller’s point-of-view, all of Woody Allen’s work is great. He can tell an interesting story with interesting characters (often himself as the most interesting) and he can make you laugh and maybe a little smarter in the process. But, when one tries to use story telling for philosophical reasons, the answer either must be clear (which means being comfortable with being didactic) or the piece suffers.

Clerks 2

5 out of 7

Kevin Smith once again dusts off his old casts of idiosyncratic characters (and his old cast of cameo appearances) in Clerks 2, his update to the film that began his success as a writer, director and producer (Clerks).

The film follows the lives of Dante Hicks (Brian O’Halloran) and Randal Graves (Jeff Anderson), who are now employees at Mooby’s, a fictitious burger joint, after their beloved Quick Stop burns down. Like the first film, the entirety of this film takes place in one day and begins in the morning with Dante picking up best bud Randal. From there, it’s a quick run through the conflict (Dante is moving to Florida with over-bearing fiancée), the other conflict (he’s slept with and impregnated his beautiful boss Becky (Rosario Dawson)), and the third conflict (Randal hates that his friend is leaving).

There is nothing superb about this story, but the film is worth it because of the characters. It is a too often forgotten truth that watching normal people do normal things is boring; watching interesting people do normal things is exciting. In Clerks 2, there are plenty of interesting people doing plenty of normal things and every second is worth it.

What Smith does so well is play on pop culture references (which if you don’t get, does unfortunately hurt the humor of the film). But the self-referred “fat man” also creates these same sort of pop culture references. I can say quotes like “Oh we do…we definitely do” and a non-viewer of this film will only stare blankly at me (ask my fiancée…she’ll affirm this to be true). The same is true for terms like “interspecies erotica” and “pillowpants.” Don’t know what I mean? Gotta see the film.

Thus, Smith not only plays off of the culture that comes before him (including a riveting debate about Star Wars vs. Lord of the Rings), but gives back something for future jokesters and pop culture junkies to work with.

The acting is decent only because one must respect being able to keep such a straight face during such funny scenes. Particularly interesting is just how beautiful Dawson is and just how many crummy-jobbed twenty-somethings are right now Googling for more pics, info, etc… about her. I don’t often trace pop culture trends, but this film may do something for her in terms of dork-chic.

Clerks 2 is a great chance to laugh…and sometimes, that’s good enough.

The Weather Man

5 out of 7

The Weather Man (2005) delivers a child-like message in a VERY adult manner.

Since we’ve been young, assuming we had decent role models, parents, etc…, we’ve been told to just be ourselves. For David Spritz (Nicolas Cage), this message has yet to be taken to heart, even though he’s in his thirties, has two kids and is estranged from his wife. Sadly, the http://www.imdb.com/ plot outline sums up the entire film when it says “A Chicago weather man, separated from his wife and children, debates whether professional and personal successes are mutually exclusive.” For Spritz, he believes that if he can be something bigger, something better that all will go as he desires. As such, he sees his profession as a weather man as a hinderance to his personal happiness, though he complicates that idea with his desire to make it to the national stage as a weather man, with its big pay check and supposed greater esteem.

Yet, before this critique begins to paint this film in a bad light, it should be remembered that even though an old story (message) is being told again, it might still have meaning and, how it’s told is important.

The Weather Man succeeds in delivering this little moral on being one’s self through very adult situations and, especially, language. Very rarely does a film use “fuck” as many times as this film and still maintain its dignity. And while, the word is often used to its comedic end (which is no accomplishment when it comes to vulgarity), it also uses it well in dramatic ways. For a character who has “nothing to knuckle down on,” as Spritz refers to himself, sometime the most appropriate way to portray and articulate frustration, anger, and fear is through a few “fucks” (no joke implied there).

Finally, there’s a comedic part in the film that centers the message, where Spritz’s overweight daughter, who is called camel toe by the boys at her school, explains that she is called such because she’s tough. Spritz, of course knowing the true, vulgar meaning of this term, allows his daughter this illusion, if only to keep her in childhood a little longer. In this strange scene, the viewer can find the entirety of the film: Here is vulgarity, though here also is a moral, a message.

What the film succeeds in doing is capturing something quite real. It uses vulgarity as it is used in real life (ever have a fight with a lover and use fuck one too many times? Ever get mad at a friend and call him/her a name? If so, you’ve danced the same dance as this film). The film also gives a moral as one might find one if one were to spend some time in introspection. In the end, of course, the best story ever told is our own, but the ironic part is that we spend more time listening to/watching other people’s stories…even fictitious ones. What this film features is a fictitious character, who undergoes vis-à-vis a number of stimuli, a lot of personal reflection. To highlight this reflection, the film gives a lot of its story in the form of voice over from Nicolas Cage, which breaks one of the rules of good story-telling by telling, not showing. In the end, though, it works.

The film also takes on father-son relationships, a topic that very few films engage honestly, which allows Michael Caine (who plays David’s father, Robert) the screen time his talent deserves.

It was billed as a comedy, which its funny scenes certainly warrant, but do not be afraid to watch The Weather Man prepared to feel something, to learn something.

In the Company of Men

6 out of 7

In the Company of Men (1997) is a prime example of Foucauldian ethics played out in everyday life.

The film traces the actions of two business men on a 6-week project for their company who feel run-down and beat up in contemporary society. As a means of backlash (particularly against women, who they view as one of their chief enemies), the two devise a plan to “hurt somebody.” The plan consists of finding a slightly insecure woman to both pursue and then, when their time in Phoenix is up, break her heart. Their reasoning being – as it’s articulated early in the film – that no matter what happens to them in the future they can always look back and say that they were the victors in that situation.

The plan goes into motion when Chad (Aaron Eckhart) discovers a deaf girl, Christine (Stacy Edwards) working at the Phoenix office as a typist. He woos her with dinner and then dinner and drinks and so on. Simultaneously, Howard (Matt Malloy) begins to woo Christine as well. Now this once lonely girl has two men treating her like a princess and allowing her to feel feelings previously denied to her.

The plan begins to unravel when Howard actually falls for Christine, though Christine has already pledged her love to Chad, who Chad is not to be stopped and ultimately crushes the girl the night before he leaves to go back to his normal life. Howard, however, cannot get over Christine and becomes sick with the notion of what he and Chad have done to her, a feeling only enhanced when Chad reveals that he hadn’t had the love problems he claimed to have had (and which served as the impetus for the whole project). This revelation means that Howard had acted vulgar, while Chad – who had also acted vulgar – was able to return to a comfortable life with his girlfriend/lover. The film ends with Howard taking a red eye back to Phoenix, only to be turned down by Christine while he screams for her to listen to him (the irony of this is enhanced by the narrative point of view switching from objective to Christine’s, allowing the viewer to see Howard as Christine sees him – shouting, but unable to hear him).

The reason Michel Foucault plays so well into this film is because the whole premise is about a power relationship. Even the most meager reading of Foucault shows that human relation (within his philosophical framework) is a form of power relation. In this case, Christine has a need (intimacy) and she uses both Howard and Chad to fulfill that need. Howard, too, has a need (revenge, as well as intimacy) and he uses Christine to that end. But, it is in Chad that the greatest example of power relation is fleshed out, as his need is merely to always be in control. He even goes so far as to say “Never lose control, that’s the key” (http://www.imdb.com/). Chad’s character is exactly what Foucault wrote about, as well as a prime example of life in the Foucauldian schema.

If the viewer feels disgusted by the actions of Chad and Howard (and there are enough juxtaposed scenes of “love” between each and Christine and scenes of plotting to easily achieve that feeling), it is probably a response to a life without ethics – or, more fairly put, a life under Foucauldian ethics. The problem is that, within the film (that is to say, a viewing of the film where the viewer does not impose his/her own ethics), no one does anything wrong. If Christine gets hurt, it is only because she pursues her need to a point of punishment. Had she shown more self-control or, as Chad would advise, “never lost control,” then she wouldn’t have ended up crying on a hotel bed after being unable to articulate (both physically and emotionally) the pain caused by the ruse.

The film received its high rating for being able to stay consistent in its tone, even when pain was inevitable. It also brings to the viewer a thought of which is greater, love or power. The film, then magnificently, does not decide the answer, rather allowing the viewer to decide. If the viewer believes in love (and, thusly, that Chad is a dickhead), its not because the film has told the viewer to believe that, but more so that the viewer is seeing a reflection of his/her own personal ethics. The same is true if the viewer chooses power.

Stories can often carry with them a moral that is meant to be lived out. Aesop, C.S. Lewis and many others are prime examples of this. However, it is difficult and meaningful when a story can serve as a mirror by which the listener can better see himself/herself.

Badlands

3 out of 7

Badlands (1973) is a bad film. No. Badlands is a bad story. Yes.

This sort of introduction is probably true for most Terrence Malick films, as Malick finds little value in characters, plot, dialogue or any of those other elements that makes stories what they are.

To ask what this film is about may be a moot point, as Malick does not write stories. Rather, he creates images – spectacular images – and lets them speak for themselves. The problem being, though, is that analyzing images, particularly multiple images within a greater story, is as difficult as explaining why one love poem is better than another love poem.

A quick synopsis of the film goes as follows: Kit (Martin Sheen), a James Dean rip-off, falls for Holly (Sissy Spacek). Holly’s father doesn’t approve and after Kit can’t talk to the man reasonably, he kills him. Because of this murder the two go on the run and in the process kill countless others. Much like True Romance (1993) with a little Natural Born Killers (1994), the film follows the couple in chronological order until their undoing. The real value, though, comes in some of the shots.

Of most significance is the hide-out the two take after the initial murder of Holly’s father. They build a little home in the trees of South Dakota, where they steal or shoot the food they need and spend their days not-so-romantically together. The real importance in these scenes is the contentedness in which the two find themselves. They aren’t passionately wrapped in one another’s arms, nor are they planning any sort of return to civilization. They are contented being together and away in a manner that is not easily scripted nor shot. This may be the first key to understanding this cinematic poetry: Malick appreciates nature and its value over all else.

To continue this point, the two spend the rest of their days (after being flushed out of their Swiss Family Robinson-esque home) in the Badlands of South Dakota, traveling across the dusty and rocky land at night and dancing in the moonlight. One of the most poignant shots is of Kit holding his gun across his shoulders, turning himself into either a scarecrow or crucified man, staring at the moon as it makes its appearance in the dusk sky. Somehow in a film about a man with a gun who is killing people, the real star (no pun intended) of this scene is the sky…nature.

What destroys this film is that it is still telling a story. In fact, it is based on the “Starkweather-Fugate killing spree of the 1950's, in which a teenage girl and her twenty-something boyfriend slaughtered her entire family and several others in the Dakota badlands” (www.imdb.com). Much like In Cold Blood, by Truman Capote, Malick tells the story of treacherous doings in the gentle and idealistic parts of America. Capote, though, knows he’s telling a story and never loses sight of that. Malick, apparently, can’t keep his lens off the grasshoppers long enough to complete the task he started.

Is the film beautiful for what it’s doing? Sure. Should it be doing that? Maybe not.

If you’re looking for an aesthetic experience, visit your local museum. They’re in much more need of your attendance (and may be lost if you don’t) than this film is.

Failure To Launch

4 out of 7

Its tough to screw up a romantic comedy with two of the most attractive people in cinema today, but Failure To Launch (2006) comes eerily close to doing so. The film, which stars Sex in the City goddess, Sarah Jessica Parker (as Paula), and Texan stud, Matthew McConaughey (as Tripp), delivers an odd plot that never gets fully fleshed out.

The main problem with the film is that the viewer is supposed to join in on the woes of Tripp’s parents – Sue (Kathy Bates) and Al (Terry Bradshaw, of all people) – as they try to get their son to leave home. Yet, because the film starts with Tripp and his friends talking about how they love living at home, the narrative perspective gets a little screwy, so that when the parents begin to complain with other parents who have the same problem, the scene feels out of place. The viewer doesn’t know who he/she is supposed to side with, but all the sudden he/she is thrown into a plot with the parents against their son.

The plot is, of course, to hire Paula to come and woo Tripp away from living at home. Her diagnosis for his syndrome is “failure to launch,” a convenient term given Tripp’s profession as a boat salesman and his love for the open seas. Her confidence is all there and she’s had success in the past with a certain formula (a formula that treats men like dumb animals…whether justified or not, I will not commentate). The steps include making him like her (easy enough, she is beautiful), making him enjoy her company (by just liking whatever she likes), never having sex (it demotivates men…maybe the most honest point to the whole film), having the man help her through a trauma (faked, of course), getting the friends to like her (complete with “the nod” – you’ll just have to see it to understand) and then allowing the man to teach her something. Tripp clips along through all these steps nicely, but a few problems begin to arise, chiefly, Paula is falling for Tripp.

Of course, one of Paula’s rules is to never sleep with her clients, but once she realizes that she’s fallen for Tripp and that, subsequently, he is about to dump her (its his modus operendi for dealing with women), she breaks this rule, but under the justification that its to keep his therapy going. The problem with this is that it is supposed to be the physical representation of the turn in the film, with the turn being that Paula actually likes a man instead of wanting to fix a man. The turn, emotionally, happens while at sea and is believable enough. The turn, physically, happens with the sex, but is unromantic, unsexy and plain disappointing (she was on Sex in the City and while she never bared all, the average viewer has seen what SJP can do in bed). Again, this is just another little chink in the armor for the film.

Naturally, too, when it rains, it pours and Paula is discovered for who she is by Tripp’s friends, who then tell Tripp. AND Paula discovers (and this is the real twist to the film’s plot) that Tripp lives at home because a woman he was once going to marry, Amy, died suddenly. After which, he moved back with his parents. Now Paula knows that she must end the treatment (he isn’t, after all, your normal slacker, loser) as there are just too many elements working against it (including, still, her own attraction to him). Tripp, however, having been told about the whole plot by his friends, makes a big production out of ending it with Paula and letting his parents know that he discovered their little rouge to move him out.

So the whole thing is off and Paula is moving back in with her parents (oh the irony). This is when Paula’s roommate, Kit (Zooey Dreschanel), and Tripp’s friends and family conspire to get the two back together, which ultimately leads to maybe the only worthwhile part of the film. While planning to get the two back together, Kit’s boyfriend/Tripp’s friend (another little sub-plot), Ace (Justin Bartha), recommends that they send flowers to one saying its from the other and vice versa. He gets laughed down and the plot they settle on is to knock Tripp unconscious, tie him up and hide him in a closet. Then, Kit takes Paula to the place where Tripp is tied up and hidden and they lock her in the room. The play on the traditional sappy means of reconnecting lovers (ala Sleepless in Seattle and You’ve Got Mail) is thrown out the window for a much more realistic trickery and bondage plan. Ultimately the two can talk out their differences and fall madly in love.

Failure to Launch is a fine date movie if your significant other likes those sorts of films. The acting isn’t terrible and there are some genuinely funny scenes that I did not highlight in this review (it should be noted, at least, that funny men Patton Oswalt and Rob Corddry both have small roles). The main problem is that the director leans too much on the viewer’s understanding of the genre and as such, while the viewer knows what he/she is supposed to feel, he/she doesn’t necessarily feel it. For those wanting to write a romantic comedy, this is often a problem, so keep in mind that the leg work of establishing a solid point-of-view and creating a complex, but believable plot must be undertaken or the whole film should be scrapped.

The Notebook

6 out of 7

There isn’t much to say about overly sappy love stories, except that anyone with a heart will inevitably be drawn to them. So it is with The Notebook (2004), the Nicolas Sparks novel turned sentimental sensation.

The film has a metanarrative of Duke reading a story to Allie in a retirement home. It doesn’t take long (or much guessing for that matter) to discover that the young lovers in the story Duke reads are Duke and Allie in their youth. Time, however, has taken its toll, particularly on Allie, whose mind has begun to falter to the point that she no longer recognizes her husband or children. But Duke, who begins the movie with some of the most touching sentiments in film when he says, “I am nothing special; just a common man with common thoughts, and I've led a common life. There are no monuments dedicated to me and my name will soon be forgotten. But in one respect I have succeeded as gloriously as anyone who's ever lived: I've loved another with all my heart and soul; and to me, this has always been enough,” has a stance that love may just conquer all.

The main story (that of Young Noah and Young Allie) is touching, if not a little trite, but by surrounding it with the greater story of love in its twilight years, everything witnessed takes on a deeper meaning.

With a constant whirlwind of debate around marriage in our culture, all would probably benefit from an honest viewing of this film. Don’t get caught up in the romance (though it is great), nor allow yourself to cry (except when appropriate), but really ponder the significance and power of pure matrimony. Such a viewing puts petty debates of tax rights into their appropriate place.

The story’s moral can’t be found in the story of the two young lovers, but rather the story of the two old lovers. When a doctor cautions Duke from trying to revive Allie’s deteriorating memory by reading to her, he calm ticks off that “where science ends, God begins,” and so the viewer is left no option but to try to understand love in its deepest meaning.

The film ends with the two lovers – once young, now old – dying together in a nursing home bed. For these two it is a miracle of Love and the film does little, if anything, to dissuade the viewer from such a stance. On their final night together, Allie recognizes Duke without the aid of the story and questions how long they have and how long they’ve been living like this. It is she who hopes that Love will bring them to an end together.

What is interesting about this film is that its significance is found in love that has aged and matured and weathered all sorts of toil and trouble. In fact, it might be that for any love story to truly succeed, it needs to be told from the perspective of love near its completion. A friend challenged me after viewing the film to try to think of a romantic film (not a romantic comedy) that isn’t a period piece. He reasoned that by using the time period of the 40’s and 50’s, there is an implicit innocence that amplifies the love on the screen. While I certainly see merit in such thoughts, I believe more that love in its infancy, while magnificent to live through (and even enjoyable to view), is less significant if we don’t know how it ends. Inevitably this film would have boiled down to some simple conflict of man vs. man or man vs. society if not for the metanarrative. The viewer would be left with Titanic – just a story of a boy overcoming social classes and another lover to be with the woman he is supposed to be with. The Notebook goes that extra step further and lets the tragedy be found not in the untimely death of young love, but the timely death of it, and in doing so, demonstrates that there is no “timely” end for love; it is a tragedy at any age.

The Notebook takes on serious issues of our culture, including the significance of marriage, respect for the elderly and the emotional impacts of the increasingly frequent dementia attacking the elderly in their last years. These are emotionally-charged issues for most who’ve had to encounter them personally and the story handles them all very well.

The film does not succeed without the superb acting of James Garner, who plays Duke. He adds a maturity and lovingness that will take in even the staunchest cynic. Go ahead and rent this film the next time you’re with your lover, but don’t treat it so lightly.

The Family Stone

4 out of 7

Anyone who has ever gone through the awkward task of meeting their significant other’s parents will spend the first hour of The Family Stone in complete awkwardness, which will then give way to half an hour of anger and finally 10 minutes of confusion (and in this reviewer’s case, bitter cynicism).

The Family Stone (2005) follows the arrival of Meredith Morton (Sarah Jessica Parker) with the put together son Everett Stone (Dermot Mulroney) to the Stone family’s three day Christmas celebration. The “hilarity” that ensues is exclusively at the expense of Meredith while her future mother-in-law and Stone matriarch, Sybil Stone (Diane Keaton), and future (and bitter) sister-in-law, Amy Stone (Rachel McAdams), work systematically to embarrass and discourage Meredith at every turn. What, however, gives this sort of behavior its true tartness is the obvious closeness between the family, including Thad Stone’s (Tyrone Giordano) gay life partner, Patrick Thomas (Brian J. White). Thus Meredith is regularly put down in one of the happiest, family-oriented homes in cinema; the contrast is irritating.

Simultaneous to the family togetherness is a deep, unspoken secret about the return of Sybil’s cancer, which, as the viewer discovers in a later scene, has already claimed her right breast. In fact, it is only an ambiguous scene between Kelly Stone (Craig T. Nelson), Stone patriarch, and his other straight son, Ben Stone (Luke Wilson) that allows even the slightest understanding of the trauma the family has come through and, apparently, must go through once again.

The holiday progresses with more troubles for Meredith, while her boyfriend (who incidentally wants his grandmother’s wedding ring to propose to her) stands around and intervenes only at the worst times, slowly allowing his family to perceive his future bride as an idiosyncratic, uptight bigot. Soon Meredith sends for her sister, Julie Morton (Claire Danes), for support. Julie’s cool arrival and quick fit into the family only serves to amplify Meredith’s outcast status, which sets the scene nicely for Christmas Eve dinner, and the turn in the film.

Over this dinner, Julie begins to question Thad and Patrick about their adoption process. An innocent question of race is asked, given the couple’s bi-racial status (Patrick is African-American). The conversation prompts Sybil to comment that she wished all her sons were gay. This outrageous proclamation confuses Meredith, who questions the claim on the grounds that being gay makes life more difficult and wonders what parent would desire such discomfort for their child. Her big snafu comes when she stammers out the word “normal,” causing Kelly to shout-down the conversation and Meredith (again) leaves the room crying. Thus ends the awkwardness.

To begin the anger is the completion of the above scene, which includes three ridiculous events. First, Sybil tells her gay, deaf (I’ve yet to mention that, I know) son, who is in a bi-racial relationship that he is “more normal than any asshole at the table.” Even if this assertion is viewed as a completely ideological claim, there is absolutely no reason to lose focus of reality. This liberally-charged, didactic proclamation dips into absurdity when one considers the character it is directed toward. Thad, while a lot of nice things as a character, is not normal and there is no reason to go about changing the definition of normal to allow him in. What the movie reaffirms in this comment is the myth that “normal” is a virtue (and its antonym: “abnormal” is a vice). Rather than allow an odd character to be secure and loving even in his oddness, Thomas Bezucha, writer and director of this monstrosity, decides to try to expand normal even for those things that are obviously abnormal because he feels those excluded things are done an injustice by their exclusion. Exclusion is only an issue if it creates a gap the individual must overcome. If, however and as in this case, the exclusion is done as a means of identifying, no harm is done.

Second, in Meredith’s attempt to escape, she crashes the car a few times into shrubbery and the like, until Ben comes to her rescue and, in true Christmas Eve spirit, takes her drinking. The absurdity, though, comes in the mounting romance between Meredith and the Bohemian Ben.

Thirdly, as Meredith tempts her fidelity to Everett with his brother Ben, Everett tempts himself with Meredith’s sister Julie (insert eye roll here).

Christmas morning arrives with Meredith in Ben’s bed, Sybil giving Everett the wedding ring he much desired (and had previously been denied) and Everett promptly placing it (and getting it stuck on) Julie’s hand. Meredith gives a meaningful gift of an old picture of Sybil pregnant with Amy to every family member and promptly declares that she won’t marry Everett, which Everett then, and nobly, responds to by saying “I wasn’t going to propose.” Meredith again flees the room in tears and Julie sneaks off to purchase a bus ticket, feeling bad for the drama she has caused. As she calls, the ring falls off her hand. Once Julie is discovered missing, Everett chases her down, while Meredith snuggles in bed with Ben. The movie ends during Christmas a year later with Sybil dead and all the siblings sorted out romantically. The closing shot is on the gift Meredith gave a year ago, thus amplifying the absence.

The film suffers from a number of problems, the least of which is not a choppy plot that never shows what’s most important (Sybil) until the end. The viewer would be helped greatly by this knowledge (as would Meredith!). Beyond this lack of info, the film has some internal consistency problems, chiefly with the perception of the family. Such a loving, all-inclusive clan should not hide the trials of their past from those new to the group. It’s fairly certain that both Thad’s deafness and sexual orientation were adjustments to be made (indeed, this is proven – at least in part – by everyone signing as they talk), but no mention is made. Sybil’s illness took its toll on the family, but no one discusses this. Fact is, such a perfect family could only be disrupted by an outsider, because outsiders necessitate explanations of the past, which may not be perfect. The Family Stone, led by Sybil, is afraid to let any outsider a look into who they are and how they became that way. As such, the provide no opportunity for Meredith to live through their struggles via their stories, if not for the chance to understand and, even better, grow as an individual. Though, ultimately, maybe this is intentional and the director wants to make a critique of liberal America. The setting is, after all, a small town with a small, liberal college at which Kelly teaches. There are many shots of the college, so its importance, while ambiguous, is justified by the film. It may be that the film is saying that liberal America has lost its heart (to cancer?) as it no longer values the art of story-telling as a means to change and now dresses itself up as perfect (though its not) and asks for outsiders to assimilate and model what they see and becomes outraged when this doesn’t occur.

Finally, the film suffers greatly from Dermot Mulroney’s, who is the biggest waste of a cut jaw-line, acting. His character varies between impartial to impotent to enraged. He makes it known that something is missing from his life and his attraction to Julie comes because she can go to a totem pole in Alaska and cry, while Meredith, upon meeting Everett, persuades him from a Tibetan monastery to drinks and dinner. While the problem is obvious, the viewer must still be skeptical of Everett’s attraction to Julie, as it might be more of an expression for his need for personal growth that draws him to her more than anything that has to do with her and her needs. Once that “hole in my heart” is filled, Everett could just as easily wake up and realize he isn’t with the person he should be. Even if one holds to the idea that Meredith stunts his inner quest, it only serves to critique Everett for losing sight of what is important to him. There must be some personal responsibility here and Meredith isn’t to blame for pursuing a relationship with him, when he wants to pursue something else. If anything, one can only assume that Everett lacks the character to do the right thing and the whole messy Christmas is his doing. If this is assumed, one must be careful to not read everything working out as a form of redemption. Coincidence is not redemption.

Ensemble casts are tough to script and direct and who gets how much screen time is always in question (and to think Claire Danes gets top billing over Diane Keaton! Even Sarah Jessica Parker for that matter) and The Family Stone might just be one or two children too large for any real, meaningful story.

Welcome to my Blog

So, I did this not because I want a blog (when I feel I need to express my thoughts, I just go talk to people...a lot), but because I wanted to leave more than annonymous posting on my friend Greg's blog (make sure to check it out at www.gregpveltman.blogspot.com). At any rate, I may say something here or there about something or another, or this could be my first and my last. Peace.