Sunday, October 21, 2012
Returns, Triumphant
Last night marked my first trip back to the movie theater since my semi-freakout at The Dark Knight Rises. As much as it pained me to miss the gritty realism and heavy social content of such recent hot hits as Sparkle and Dredd, I'm pretty sure that teenaged theater managers all over the greater Chicagoland area were gratified to not have me repeatedly checking their fire exits and demanding that creepy loners' bags be searched. And I carefully planned my return, such that it was at a theater and for a movie that seemed to be pretty low risk. Psychotic maniacs could frankly do a lot better than The Master in its fifth week of limited release.
So the good news is that I didn't act like a crazy person; the bad news is that I may not be a smart person either. I liked The Master just fine but I don't really think I "got" it. Frankly, I was too busy wondering if Joaquin Phoenix had permanently fucked up his posture in real life by stooping with his hands behind his back for months of shooting. And what was going on with his face. (A lady in the elevator afterwards said that she read he used some sort of device in his mouth to keep one half of it still. But that doesn't explain the eyes, oh, the eyes.) As a general matter, though, I enjoyed the performances (but would it kill Amy Adams to play an unpleasant person at some point in her life?) and thought it was all beautifully shot and put together. I just didn't know what it meant. Could this be a case where humping a lady made of sand on the beach is just humping a lady made of sand on the beach?
Anyway, I'm back in the game, such as it is. Next up I'm thinking about catching Argo at the month-old mark. Yes, I know, I am a wild man.
Last night marked my first trip back to the movie theater since my semi-freakout at The Dark Knight Rises. As much as it pained me to miss the gritty realism and heavy social content of such recent hot hits as Sparkle and Dredd, I'm pretty sure that teenaged theater managers all over the greater Chicagoland area were gratified to not have me repeatedly checking their fire exits and demanding that creepy loners' bags be searched. And I carefully planned my return, such that it was at a theater and for a movie that seemed to be pretty low risk. Psychotic maniacs could frankly do a lot better than The Master in its fifth week of limited release.
So the good news is that I didn't act like a crazy person; the bad news is that I may not be a smart person either. I liked The Master just fine but I don't really think I "got" it. Frankly, I was too busy wondering if Joaquin Phoenix had permanently fucked up his posture in real life by stooping with his hands behind his back for months of shooting. And what was going on with his face. (A lady in the elevator afterwards said that she read he used some sort of device in his mouth to keep one half of it still. But that doesn't explain the eyes, oh, the eyes.) As a general matter, though, I enjoyed the performances (but would it kill Amy Adams to play an unpleasant person at some point in her life?) and thought it was all beautifully shot and put together. I just didn't know what it meant. Could this be a case where humping a lady made of sand on the beach is just humping a lady made of sand on the beach?
Anyway, I'm back in the game, such as it is. Next up I'm thinking about catching Argo at the month-old mark. Yes, I know, I am a wild man.
