Kate Winslet won best actress last nite in Hollywood's Golden Globes ceremony for her performance in the 1950s period piece Revolutionary Road directed by her husband Sam Mendes. Knowing nothing about the film, and never having heard of Kate Winslet, it was a movie I was not interested in.
Why then did I see it - with Sarah in Brooklyn at the famed Brooklyn Academy of Music - and enjoy it immensely while still proclaiming to Sarah, "It's a movie that kept trying to find itself, just like its characters."
I pompously pronounced Winslet's character a manic depressive with a large dollop of personality disorder and stated the movie is All About Her... and all those lantern-jawed lascivious businessmen who lusted after her. Why? Because she was a beauty and her eyes reached toward the heavens.
We saw the film cuz we were shut out of Milk, having bought tickets but not being able to get a decent seat inside.
I maintain that in a good watchable film each and every scene must be a tiny nugget of perfection. No slacking. If even one scene is dull, then you've lost your audience. Such was Rev. Road - every scene was perfect, even though the totality of the film didn't quite gell into the fine story line, say, of a Casablanca.
So much for statements like "I'd never see that movie." By default, many nice things happen.
During the endless coming attractions before Rev. Road, one movie of note captured my interest. A screaming muscular blond-haired man ranted from the screen, an actor name of Mickey Rourke - who he? - in a film called The Wrestler. He absolutely demanded to be seen in that role. And look! Like, Winslet, he also won a best actor award in last nite's Golden Globes.
What's in an award? Recognition mostly. Not hiding your lantern under a rock as the Bible says. Anyone know that quote?
This is the first post I've ever done without my contact lenses in. Too much trouble to go into that freezing cold bathroom and put em in. Bulgaria is without heat. Man o man, if that happened around here, I'd set up a tent in the backyard and burn a fire. I'd keep a pot of hot water over my fire and drink it slowly to warm my innards. There are three horrible feelings in the world for the normal unafflicted person: Being cold, constipated or sleep-deprived. I remember I used to tell that to my former boyfriend Pauly when I'd sleep over his house in Queens. He went off and married someone else (thankgod) and became a peace activist. I can just see him now marching over the Throgs Neck Bridge on behalf of the Palestinians.
Someone's gotta keep guard over the world's atrocities.
