The Best Movies I've Seen

I was waiting for something to knock my socks off, and voila! it happened. In fact I've recently seen two movies that were both much better than anything else I've caught over my Christmas break (when I usually do a lot of catching up on new releases). So, here are a few comments about them:

First, it's worth pointing out that just as in the past when I've written about two movies in tandem, there is a very strong common element to these two that speaks to one of the cornerstones of the film arts-- the willing suspension of disbelief on the part of the audience. In a straightforward docudrama like Milk, this is less critical, since the film is propelled by the truth (whether literal or figurative) of its story. But when the story is wholly a work of the imagination-- especially if the intention is to use the artistic license granted by a movie camera (and its ability to, for example, play havoc with notions of time)-- then the audience must be willing to give the movie the benefit of the doubt when it challenges our normal limits of credulity. In large measure, those limits are a personal thing, and I'm sure many moviegoers just turn off their thinking caps when the lights in the theater are dimmed. But the real masters give you a reason to keep thinking, even in the face of information that on the surface is truly unbelievable. They do this by giving your brain something else to engage, something that provokes an emotional response that overpowers the normal filters, even as it forces you to work out the apparent contradiction.

The two movies I'm referring to here as successfully causing that willing suspension of disbelief are Danny Boyle's Slumdog Millionaire and David Fincher's The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. Both of these films turn on what are frankly ludicrous premises: the first, that an uneducated street kid from the slums of Mumbai could correctly answer a long series of questions on Who Wants to Be a Millionaire because each links to some specific event in his life of almost endless ordeals, both big and small; the second, that a baby is born with the infirmities of an elderly man, and as he "grows" he ages in reverse, becoming younger with each passing year. It's pretty clear from those brief summaries that they have little basis in what we generally consider reality.

The compensating factors (those that aid in the suspension of disbelief) in Slumdog Millionaire are its speed (especially in editing-- shades of Boyle's popular breakthrough, Trainspotting) and the exotic setting (at least for an American viewer) which contribute to a slight sense of disorientation that delivers a visceral kick, even as you are trying to keep up with the narrative (largely told in flashback, the story moves briskly and haphazardly, jumping from one event to another with minimal connective exposition). It also ultimately revolves around the kind of unrequited love story that provides the handle for audiences seeking some degree of familiarity-- and which allows for an emotional payoff that does not seem inevitable given the nature of the story as it unfolds. It's a dynamite picture, and one that is sure to reward repeat viewing.

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button is even better. Unlike Slumdog Millionaire, this film moves very slowly, very deliberately. It allows you the time to consider the implications of its premise in the service of a thesis-- in other words, the backwards aging bit is not itself the point of the story (as it might be if this were an Adam Sandler comedy, for example), but rather the picaresque means by which Fincher gets at the points he wants to make about age, growth, change, and development. The film is actually based on an F. Scott Fitzgerald short story which I have not read (though I intend to look it up as soon as I next visit the library), but it's evident that Fincher makes much more of the story, as he brings it into the present age, referencing real events like World War II, the flight to suburbia, and the youth movements of the 1960s (which Fitzgerald could only have imagined). It seems to me that Benjamin's experiences in World War II are particularly key, as he enters the conflict in middle age and comes out, well, not exactly youthful, but clearly more robust and healthy even despite the terrible things he saw-- suggesting personal possibilities restored rather than ruined, even as the experience itself has matured him, and left the world he knew much older. This gets at the heart of what Fincher wants to examine, raising the question of what truly constitutes growth and I suppose progress. I'll mention one other really nice touch that also prompts thoughtfulness on this point: it's a brief shot of Benjamin and his love watching the Beatles on Ed Sullivan right around the time that their ages finally intersect (in their forties)-- Benjamin is becoming younger, just as the culture is embracing the youthful exuberance of the Beatles, but in the process "growing" away from the woman he loves, just as the generation gap was coming to define society more generally.

I don't want to say anymore about the story, as I hope you will get the chance to see and think about it for yourselves (and if these notes seem somewhat rambling-- though I hope not incoherent-- it's because I'm still turning the thing over in my own mind). I will mention that the performances are uniformly grand (Brad Pitt in the lead, Cate Blanchett as Daisy, his love, are the stars, andl the supporting cast is first-rate), and that it is almost impossible for me to imagine that you will see a better photographed and shot movie anytime soon (some of the images are truly breathtaking, and often lingered upon). I'll also say that if you liked Tim Burton's Big Fish of a few years ago, then I'm sure you'll like this as well (the similarities are in tone and general approach, not so much in plot). I think I'll also mention that after this and Zodiac, I'm inclined to rate David Fincher as the best American director currently working in movies. No one else comes immediately to mind who so neatly combines the visual power, narrative drive, and thematic unity so evident in those two films.