The British film magazine Total Film has a recurring feature called “My Life in Movies,” and
the questionnaire got me thinking. As The Cinema King, my life has been significantly
affected by the movies I’ve seen and the one’s I’ve continued to carry with me.
It’s ten questions – with an eleventh question for Brian Michael Bendis, the
comic book scribe whose Total Film
interview convinced me to take a stab at the quiz – so here goes. Post your
answers in the comments below!
This question is almost like asking what your first words
were; unless there’s documentation, beyond hearsay it’s difficult to recall for
certain. My instant thought was The Lion
King, which in 1994 would have been pretty close to the mark. Then again,
that’s probably more correctly the answer to the question “the first movie I
ever saw in the theaters”; I have a
strong memory of this being a significant outing for the family, of turning
around in my seat to look at the projectionist’s booth as the kaleidoscopic
colors and auditory overload of “Circle of Life” screamed into the theater.
There’s video evidence that I was watching Fantasia
as early as three years old, and on the tape I’m even dressed as Sorcerer
Mickey for that Halloween. (Mind you, this was years before any official
merchandise authenticated my trick-or-treat vocation, so a sorcerer’s-hat-tip
to my mother for meticulously recreating my painstakingly screen-accurate
costume.) Further back, I really can’t say.
As much as I pride myself on being a cerebral and coolly
logical sort, I’m on record as being more emotional than the average moviegoer.
I’m a misty-eyed featherweight, so it usually doesn’t take much beyond a
counterpointed musical note or a carefully inflected facial gesture to move me.
Indeed, it might be easier just to list the movies that don’t make me cry, or only the last five that did. There are so many small moments in many movies that get me
there – Anton Ego’s closing monologue in Ratatouille,
the airport scene in Casablanca, Pa
Kent’s “You are my son” in Man of Steel – but if we’re talking
about a whole movie, it’s La La Land.
It was my favorite movie of 2016 precisely because of the emotional impact it
had on me, and it makes the list because I’m getting teary just writing this
paragraph. If you’re not a sopping mess during the film’s “five years later”
finale, I’m not sure what to tell you; without spoilers, the film winds down
with a potent juxtaposition of fantasy, reality, and the musical memory of the
film’s peppy and romantic opening numbers. It’s the kind of ending that works
on a visceral, emotional, rational, and sensory level, and knowing how La La Land ends makes the whole film a
tearjerker.
As the song goes, “Hate is a strong word.” But my answer
to this question is, unreservedly, Mad Max: Fury Road. I don’t understand the love for this film – and I don’t
think it’s just a case of unrealistic expectations. I heard gushing, glowing
things about Baby Driver and loved
it, but the same chorus of praise for Fury
Road was met with my tidal wave of apathy. It’s not a matter of being a
contrarian or disliking this sort of movie; it’s a matter of the film failing
to engage me on any level once the initial thrill of the chase subsided while
the chase itself went on for two more hours, partway through which Max turns
around and drives back the way he came. When I reviewed the film in January
2016, I said, “I got quantitatively the same emotional rush from the trailer
for Fury Road as I did from the full
film, in about a single percentage of the time,” and I stand by that
assessment.
Unpredictably, it’s Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice. It’s holding 27% on Rotten Tomatoes, although
in what just world is Batman v Superman
a worse film than Star Wars: Episode II – Attack of the Clones, which logged a 65% rating? The two persistent
critiques I hear of Batman v Superman
are its plodding tone (rubbish) and its infidelity to source material (stuff
and nonsense). For my money, it’s a smart (not pretentious – ‘pretentious’ is a
three-syllable word for any thought too big for little minds) film that takes
us through an object lesson about hope without moralizing, using characters
with a 70+-year pedigree to tell us something new about ourselves and the way
we relate to the stories we continue to tell ourselves. It’s intricately
crafted, such that I find something new every time I rewatch it (which is a lot
of times). And I will concede that the theatrical release, excised of thirty
vital minutes, did the film no favors, but the Ultimate Edition is where it’s
at. I will fight for this film to the death.
Part Two next week...
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