Temple Grandin (2010)

I’ve been aware of this TV film for quite a while, but it’s been quietly hanging out on my to-see-whenever-I-get-around-to-it list for almost as long.  Finally, though, I managed to see this movie, and I’m incredibly glad that I did.

The film is based on the true story of the eponymous Temple Grandin, a young woman who, in the ‘60s, works through the hindrances of her autism while at the same time using the advantages it gives her in order to excel in her field.  From her aunts’ ranch, to college, and beyond, Temple is able to approach problems from a different perspective than most, and she directs that insight and visual-based thinking toward one of the interests closest to her heart:  cows.

There’s no doubt that Temple’s story gives the movie immensely rich material to work with.  It’s impressive enough that, as a woman, she achieves so much in the world of animal husbandry in the ‘60s and ‘70s.  When you throw in how little was understood about autism at the time (the flashback scene in which her mom is basically called a refrigerator mother is just awful,) it’s incredible – not that she’s capable of the brilliant things she does, but that she can get her foot in the door to do them.  These circumstances really hammer home how determined and resourceful she is, as well as just how innovative her ideas are that she gets people to take a chance on them.

I think it’s rare to see such an honest movie dealing with disability.  Now, Temple is of course a real person, but she’s also so multi-dimensional as a character.  She’s laser-focused, creative, impatient, tenacious, logical, furious, standoffish, goofy, contented, and impassioned, often several at the same time.  Her autism is ever-present, and the film shows that, like many things, living with autism can be terrible and amazing in almost equal turn.  It doesn’t pull back from the hard moments, but it doesn’t wallow in them, either.  The ways that Temple’s neurodiversity make her work so distinct and lauded don’t diminish the tremendous stressors it can create, nor is there any suggestion that her happy ending can only be found by “erasing” or “overcoming” her autism.  The good and bad comingle, and the key for Temple isn’t to be like others, but to teach herself their subtle “language” and figure out what she needs in order to be successful.

Claire Danes, of course, doesn’t have autism.  Now, casting able-bodied actors to play disabled characters is rampant in most areas, but when dealing with disorders/disabilities that affect the mind, the waters seem to get muddier.  In this (admittedly broad) area, abled-bodied actors are cast almost without exception, and complaints about this don’t seem as loud as those about able-bodied actors being cast as, say, wheelchair users or Deaf characters.  It seems to me that there’s some uncertainty with more “invisible” disabilities as to how important it is for an actor’s life to reflect that aspect of the character.  Is autism like race or gender identity, in that it’s improper for neurotypical actors to assume these roles and take parts away from actors with ASDs, or is it more like religion or sexual orientation, in that the roles should be open to anyone who can play them, regardless of whether or not they themselves have autism?  I’m not quite sure where I stand on this issue, other than that I obviously want neurodiverse actors to be able to get work.

Warnings

Thematic elements, dramatized slaughter/cruelty against livestock, and brief sexual references.

Trevor Noah: African American (2013)

I caught this pre-Daily-Show standup special on Netflix.  Not as strong as Lost in Translation, in my opinion, but still fantastically funny.  Trevor Noah’s fish-out-of-water humor about being an African in America is fun and engaging, and he hits some excellent topics (a few joke spoilers.)

The “I just got here, your ways are so weird to me” thing gets a lot of good mileage here.  Noah riffs on American language and accents (I especially love the idea of Shakespeare kicking himself that he didn’t come up “nawmean?”), systems of measurement, driving, foreign relations, and sports, among other things.  As he frequently does on The Daily Show, Noah adopts an affable incredulity toward the goofier and more baffling elements of American daily life that most Americans probably don’t think of as anything unusual.

The newcomer-finding-his-way comedy also touches on more thoughtful topics, like race and U.S. customs.  While the lighter stuff is still plenty funny, I think Noah is at his best when he has a point he wants to make.  My favorite bit in the special is probably his anecdote about an experience with the racial demographics box on a loan application form and his subsequent remarks about how mixed race is perceived.  (It’s worth noting that commentary can find its way into the less serious routines as well.  I love when he recalls how a friend laughed at his story about someone driving on the wrong side of the road, then, upon learning that the driver was Asian, solemnly informed Noah that he couldn’t tell that story because it was racist.)

Since “American” only makes up half of the special’s title, it stands to reason that Noah talks quite a bit about Africa as well.  He discusses growing up biracial during apartheid (longing to go to America because he “wanted to be Black”) and tells an awful-yet-very-funny story about a school Oprah built in South Africa.  He also spends time talking about America’s limited view of Africa – he rips into the “for just $.10 a day, you can help…” commercials with some relish, and he paints a picture of what many Americans expect to see when they hear “African comedian.”

What I don’t like is the discomfort I feel at some of the humor.  This was made a couple years ago, and there are jokes here that are… I hesitate to say racist or sexist, but shall we say, maybe racially/sexually flippant?  Which, especially on the race issue, seems like a strange critique of a biracial South African comic, but every so often, there’s an impression of or remark about Black Americans or Asian people that doesn’t quite sit right with me; the same goes for a few jokes about women.  Now, I get that standup is irreverent, but after getting used to Noah’s more recent humor – which is mostly very smart, very funny, and very thoughtful, particularly with regard to race – it feels off.  (It’s true that South Africa has a much shorter history of being able to talk openly about race, so they’ve not had as much time to get PC about it.  Still bugs me, though.)  This is largely why I prefer Lost in Translation; I think Noah’s comedy has grown up quite a bit, and I imagine that the past few years working in America has helped sharpen his commentary on it, while maintaining his vantage point as someone looking at it from an outside perspective.

Warnings

Language (including the N-word a few times,) some sexual references, and thematic elements, including discussions of racism and references to domestic abuse.

Favorite Characters: Finnick Odair (The Hunger Games)

More so the books than the movies – while Sam Claflin does a fine job playing the role, Finnick gets a bit of the supporting-character-in-a-book-adaptation short shrift in the films.  I still like him, but with everything going on, the movies can’t quite provide the screentime necessary to get into the interesting facets of this character (Some spoilers for Catching Fire/Mockingjay.)

Image, media, and controlling the narrative all play important parts in the overarching world of The Hunger Games, and Finnick demonstrates these elements beautifully.  From his first Games (which he won at age 14,) people have been captivated by his no-one-is-actually-this-gorgeous-except-in-books-where-you-fill-in-the-details-with-your-imagination good looks.  He was showered with every gift he could possibly want in the Arena by his besotted sponsors, and ever since, he’s had a reputation as a lusty pretty-boy who breaks hearts all over the Capitol. 

But that’s just the image of Finnick.  In the Arena, his good looks helped him get what he needed to survive, but that doesn’t mean the victory was handed to him on a silver platter – like every other competitor in the Games, he was a child forced to attack and kill other children to stay alive, and he proved himself both lethal and highly capable at a very young age.  In the intervening years, though he’s earned a reputation as a shallow playboy, he has in fact become the personal property of President Snow, who sells Finnick to any wealthy Capitol citizen eager to pay a handsome price for the pleasure of his forced company.  He does this because, if he refuses, Snow will kill everyone he loves.  And, just like people in the Districts have to watch their children die in the Games every year and act like it’s event television, Finnick has to be sexually abused for someone else’s profit and pretend he enjoys it.  As he plays the part of the seductively beautiful plaything, he quietly gathers whispers and secrets from the beds he shares.

With these misperceptions dictating who people think Finnick is, what’s behind the sultry smiles?  Who’s the young man that Katniss actually gets to know, first in front of the cameras and later away from them?  (Side notae – the strong friendship that gradually develops between Katniss and Finnick is one of my favorite parts of Mockingjay.)  Well, he’s an excellent fighter and a fine strategist who’s instrumental in keeping Katniss and Peeta alive during the Quarter Quell.  While everyone who pays to sleep with him deludes themselves into thinking they have his heart, he’s in fact in love with a young woman from his District – a former Victor like him, one who suffered major psychological damage from her own experiences in the Arena.  Finnick’s a smart, shrewd guy, and it’s only when Annie is in danger and he can’t protect her that he hits his breaking point. 

In his own way, much like Katniss, his most driving instincts are protective.  When Annie is trapped in the Capitol, his inability to help her cuts through him, so much so that the strong, confident Victor can barely function.  He looks after Mags in the Quarter Quell, even though her age and frailty make her an obvious liability, and is grieved to lose her.  And when Peeta has undergone torture and brainwashing, Finnick acts as a sort of surrogate caretaker, standing up for Peeta against the others and helping him sort through his altered memories to figure out what he can trust.  When you think of the initial impression drawn of Finnick – ruthless in the Arena, pleasure-seeking in the Capitol, and out for himself in all things – it’s clear that there’s much more to him than meets the eye.

The Balloonatic (1923)

This short is from the tail end of Buster Keaton’s independent-short era.  For Buster, I’d say it’s decent – a little all-over-the-place, but with some pretty funny bits.

Through a series of carnival misadventures (because why the heck not?), Buster finds himself carried off by a runaway hot air balloon.  Eventually crashing in the woods, he’s forced to fend for himself, which, given Buster’s general luck, is no small task.  Still, he does what he can to keep himself safe, fed, and relatively undrowned, at the same time making eyes at a comely camper.

This short’s largest detriment is probably the fact that it riffs on so many ideas that Buster uses to greater effect in other films.  Whether it’s something he already did so well in a previous short (shallow-water gags in The Boat) or a subject he introduces here but later does so much better in a different film (hunting gags in Battling Butler and The Railrodder, fishing gags – and waterfall scenes! – in Our Hospitality, trying-to-walk-in-waterlogged-clothing gags in The Navigator,) many of the gags here have a second-best feel to them.  Maybe that’s not fair, since some of them are very funny – duck hunting in a hot air balloon is my favorite – but at the same time, in blaming Buster for it, I’m really just pointing out that this short has a bit of a hard time because he’s too funny elsewhere, and that’s hardly a condemnation.

If there’s a market that this short has cornered, though, it’s probably canoe gags.  Buster mines some great comedy out of that canoe, coming up with varied uses for it and adapting it in surprising ways.  He also gets tons of credit for acting opposite, not one, but two live bears – especially since he spends so much time with his back to one of them!  (He really did expect to be buried on a movie set someday, didn’t he?)  And for whatever reason, I just love that his hunting strategy evidently involves crawling on his hands and knees and then lying flat on his stomach before he shoots, no matter what he’s aiming for.

The girl here is supplied by Phyllis Haver, who I’m not familiar with.  She does a nice job playing a woman who seems fairly adept at roughing it.  She and Buster play well off of each other.  I especially like his sheepish retreat when she’s indignant about having had to save herself from a wild animal, and when she mistakes him going weak at the knees (in bear-related fright) with playful/flirtatious nudging, it’s too cute.  I’ve already talked about the short’s final gag with these two, which is a delight.

All in all, a nice enough little film.  Not the first Buster short I’d show to someone I was trying to convert, but it gets the job done. 

Warnings

Plenty of physical comedy/tumbling, but there’s really not much in terms of slapstick violence.  Just lots of “don’t try this at home!”  (Or in the woods.  Whatever.)

Doctor Who Revisit: Spoilery Doctor Edition

You know the drill by now.  Spoilers for “Face the Raven” through “Hell Bent,” focusing on the Doctor today.

Okay, let’s get this out of the way first:  the Doctor, after Clara’s death, loses his mind.  He spends four billion years trapped in a confession dial, dying and reliving the same days over and over again, punching a hole through a wall of solid diamond so he can trick the Time Lords into thinking he has the information they want on the Hybrid (so he can then trick them into extracting Clara from her timeline before she dies.)  He shoots an unarmed Time Lord – shoots to kill, forcing a regeneration – because he’s so desperate to protect her once she’s extracted.  He willfully ignores a giant time-breaking Fixed Point because he doesn’t want her to be dead, even though he lectures people on not messing with this sort of thing all the time.  We’re so far beyond the Time Lord Victorious here, it is insane.

I don’t like any of this because it feels so manufactured.  Some of it (like shooting an unarmed Time Lord, have I mentioned that yet?) feels obscene in how horrifically out-of-character it is.  A lot of it is angst on overdrive, Hero!Gone!Dark! drama on overdrive, and just too much Too Muchness.  The one saving grace for me in the whole confession dial situation is that I’m assuming, for the most part, that the Doctor only retains the memories of his last “reboot,” so to speak – that even though four billion years(!) evidently went by, he doesn’t feel them.  Because, seriously?  I know Who angst.  I often love Who angst (sigh – Nine…)  But the Doctor feeling the weight of four billion years spent in fear, grief, isolation, and suffering is more than just a surfeit of angst.  That’s so much angst that it’s hardcore ridiculous. 

But, as often happens with Twelve, even when I hate what the writers are doing with him, I love how Peter Capaldi plays it.  In these episodes, he carries “Heaven Sent” on his shoulders, practically singlehandedly, and he’s just superb.  His grief is raw and ragged, and even as he sublimates it into anger, retribution, uncharacteristic insanity, and horrible last-ditch stratagems, I never stop buying for a second that the Doctor is absolutely wrecked.  Even when other things take precedence, like survival or mysteries, the enormity of the loss he’s feeling stays present, seeping into the edges of everything he does.  I’ll get more into the final depiction of the Doctor-Clara relationship next week, but even if I don’t get why Clara’s death makes him go off the rails and mangle everything he stands for, I don’t doubt how true all of this is for him.

I’m not sure what to make of the final moments of “Hell Bent,” with the more Doctory coat, the new screwdriver, and Clara’s parting entreaty to “Run, you clever boy, and be a Doctor.”  To be sure, it suggests that we’re moving away from the un-Doctor-like “hell hath no fury like a Time Lord in mourning,” but I kind of feel like we’ve done this already.  Last year, there was the whole “Am I a good man?” question that culminated in the Doctor’s season-finale epiphany about himself.  I don’t want to get into a pattern of viewing the Doctor through an increasingly dark lens only to declare, in speeches or screwdrivers, that we’re getting back to business at the very end.  I feel like the good/bad question has been dealt with by now, and so, if the show is going to imply that we won’t dwell on angsty identity stuff next year, I’d prefer that we don’t dwell on it.  Remember having fun in time and space?  Isn’t that nice?  The drama and pain will come, because it always does, but let’s not forget to have fun, too.

Star Wars: The Force Awakens (2015, PG-13)

While I’ve seen all the Star Wars films, I wouldn’t consider myself a Star Wars person.  In the lead-up to The Force Awakens, my general thought was, “I’m sure I’ll see it sometime, but do I really need to see it in theaters?”  I definitely wasn’t going to be camping out in a line.  However, the movie’s excellent fan and critical reception – and more importantly, positive buzz about the dual protagonists, a woman and a man of color – put it more squarely on my radar, and I realized I’d better see this movie sooner rather than later (basic plot spoilers.)

In the time since the destruction of the Empire, a new nefarious group called the First Order has risen up, complete with their own stormtroopers and powerful leader in a black mask.  They’ve been terrorizing the galaxy and fighting the resistance movement, led by our very own Leia.  When they set their sights on a(n adorable) droid containing valuable information, it’s up to Force-sensitive salvage collector Rey and stormtrooper deserter Finn to help it reach the rebel base with its intel.  Three guesses as to which “pile of junk” ship they commandeer to escape the First Order, as well as which human-Wookie space cowboy duo said ship-commandeering attracts the attention of.

With the film, there’s definitely a sense of revisiting the greatest hits, and a number of original-trilogy hallmarks get pulled out in additional to the familiar characters; things like a cantina-esque locale and a major clash over a strategically-important droid, along with more spoilery elements I won’t mention, have a pretty strong ring of familiarity.  The nods to the past are clear, and it’s fun to see the old characters again.  In general, I think the movie does a pretty good job of reconciling what came before with the story they’re giving us now.  Han and Leia, for instance, have changed in the years since we last saw them, but very understandably so, and they’re still 100% recognizable as who they used to be.  (The original cast, by the way, don’t miss a trick – everyone does a really nice job.)

For me, though, I’m more excited for the new threads introduced in this movie, chiefly Rey and Finn.  I think I need a bit more time to fully process them (expect a Relationship Spotlight and/or some Favorite Character posts before too long,) but I really enjoy both the leads here.  Daisy Ridley and John Boyega do terrific work as these two characters, and the friend/partner/ally/romantic/whatever chemistry between them is great.  They both have a feel of being very familiar within the Star Wars universe while somehow seeming completely new at the same time.  I’m looking forward to learning more about both of them in future installments.

Other drive-by cast members of note (so many characters, and so little screentime for many of them) include Lupita Ngong’o (Patsey from 12 Years a Slave,) Andy Serkis, Gwendoline Christie (Brienne!,) perennial J.J. Abrams collaborator Greg Grunberg, and Ken Leung (Miles from Lost.)  Fine work all around!

Warnings

A fair amount of sci-fi violence and frightening images for younger viewers.

Relationship Spotlight: Aaron Burr & Alexander Hamilton (Hamilton)

(Bizarrely, I couldn't find any Burr-Hamilton shots from the show itself.  That's okay, though - this one is so fun!)

More than rivals, more than friends turned enemies, more than two men whose shared stories culminated in a duel.  The show does a tremendous job at showing the manifold ways in which Hamilton and Burr mirror, foil, and contrast with each other.

From the start, Hamilton wants to emulate Burr.  Not due to who Burr is, but what he’s done – like Burr, Hamilton wants to accelerate his studies and graduate early, but he’s run into red tape and is looking for some pointers.  When he finds out that Burr, like him, is an orphan, Hamilton immediately takes him up as a kindred spirit; he longs for the coming revolution as an opportunity for them to show that they’re “worth more than anyone bargained for.”  It doesn’t make a difference to him that he’s penniless while Burr was amply provided for, or that he’s an illegitimate immigrant while Burr’s family was highly respected.  In this, he feels, they’re the same, and he imagines that Burr’s fight for distinction is no different than his own.

But just as quickly – in the same number, in fact – we see the huge philosophical differences between them.  While Hamilton is all nervous energy, flashes of brilliance, and impassioned verbosity, Burr offers his new friend his own personal recipe for success:  “Talk less. / Smile more. / Don’t let them know what you’re against or what you’re for.”  Hamilton can’t wrap his around this wait-till-the-dust-settles attitude, and even as the two begin to move down similar paths, this difference defines how each approaches it.

Hamilton is the sort of man who debates in the street for sport, who itches to command his own unit in the war, who writes volumes in defense of the Constitution because he believes in it.  He doesn’t think twice about putting himself (or, especially, other people’s opinion of him) in jeopardy for what he feels is important.  Not that his fervor is entirely idealistic; in part due to his obscure beginnings, he wants to make a name for himself, and he’ll risk an awful lot in service of that goal.  Meanwhile, Burr is just as hungry to rise, but his means of getting there are, at the same time, not especially particular but highly cautious.  He holds back until he can “see which way the wind will blow,” at which point he aligns himself, not necessarily with the side that matches his own beliefs, but the one that will position him most advantageously.  Even as Hamilton butts heads with the Democratic-Republicans, Burr switches parties and becomes one in order to better advance his career.  When Hamilton – and other politicians – criticize Burr, it’s to say that no one knows what he actually believes, because he shifts with the tide.

But while Burr’s guarded approach is more calculated for success, it’s Hamilton who more readily finds it.  Burr can’t understand this.  To him, Hamilton bursts into any situation with the subtlety of a wrecking ball, alienating potential allies with his polarizing ideas and unshakeable belief in his own rightness.  And it’s true that Hamilton makes enemies like they’re going out of style, but it’s also true that he has ideas, that he does the work required, and that his passion can win him support as well.  As Hamilton reminds Burr, “When you got skin in the game, you stay in the game, / But you don’t get a win unless you play in the game.”  No risk, no reward.  But Burr can’t see this.  He sees it as Hamilton (“the bastard orphan immigrant” who doesn’t deserve the chances he gets) strong-arming his way into Burr’s rightful opportunities with his smart mouth and relentless prodding.  This is the ultimate wedge driven between them, the insurmountable conflict that proves their undoing.