|
Thursday, January 10, 2002 Written yesterday, 9 Jan., but unposted until today due to Blogger publishing problems: I've been busy these last few hours cracking myself up. It's true -- some days I am easily the most hilarious person I come into contact with. (And I will not explain or justify that assessment. You'll either just have to take my word for it or piss off.) So it felt like the perfect day to see a film like Ghost World, a product the publicity calls 'una comedia ácida' -- a marketing phrase a touch too glib for my taste. (Isn't that a great word? Glib. GLIB. Glibglibglibglibglib. How did those four letters get fastened together in that order? And aren't they a dynamite example of a word that somehow sounds like what it's supposed to mean?) It's about a lot of things, really, Ghost World, alienation and, well, glibness being two of them. Or maybe the glibness is simply a caustic outgrowth of the alienation. Regardless, the film goes after a number of things. Painful at times. At times funny. I found myself laughing loudly quite a bit, then realized I was the only person in the theater doing so (not that there were more than five or six misguided souls there for the 3:55 Wednesday afternoon showing), which for some perverse reason made it all funnier. Not sure whether the story's end worked or not, but it was interesting and -- I grovel with apologies here for the use of this word -- honorable. Everyone else in the theater left during the credits, which meant they missed an outtake tacked on at the very end in which Steve Buscemi (still the reigning king of indie cinema) rewrites a bit of his nerdy character's history. That's the risk in bolting before a movie's actually finished -- you never know what you'll miss. For instance, a relative of Bob Balaban -- one of the supporting players in Ghost World and a face you've seen if you've done any serious moviegoing during the last 20 or 30 years -- is listed in the credits as something like the Second Assistant Assistant Director. Really. Also, the film features a bunch of interesting artwork by the daughter of R. Crumb, Sophie Crumb. Great soundtrack, by the way. The theater complex posted a lackey in our little viewing space at the film's end to try and ensure that everyone exited the door to the street instead of back into the theater (where some miscreants might attempt to sneak into other movies). I had to use the bog, so the guy had no choice but to let me back into the theater or I would have relieved myself on his shoes. After I'd accomplished my mission I passed through the lobby, where I picked up the handout re: the film. And here's the thing: the combination of everything -- the day, the film, the outtake, relieving my bladder, the people waiting in the lobby, the woman there who returned my smile, the gentle light of the softly falling Madrid evening -- left me in a great mood, and I emerged into the post-movie world smiling, where I took a leisurely walk back to my humble Chueca dive, smiling most of the time. It's interesting to note people's reactions when they pass someone who appears happy. Some seem curious, many take no notice, others begin to smile. Most folks walking on their own here do not seem to smile. In fact, back in the States, a Spaniard I know who spent one of his high school years as an exchange student near Columbus, Ohio heard a story -- maybe on NPR, but don't hold me to that -- re: Spaniards who had lived in the States. He told me that one of the Spaniards interviewed in the story mentioned that they felt under great pressure to appear happy, to smile, when in fact they didn't feel like smiling a lot of the time. Not that they were unhappy, they simply didn't want to have to smile. So there's a cultural difference at work there, and it may be that a putz like myself flouncing smilingly down a Madrid street stands out in that way. The other thing: I love watching people, and coming out of a film like that -- which spent a great deal of time observing how the inner workings of its characters showed themselves -- people-watching was the perfect thing to do. There were some low-hanging clouds in the western sky, brilliant with the last light of the day, and the people passing by seemed similarly radiant with the complexity of their inner worlds. It's good, this life. Really. Right. Enough of this. I must go be a student and study. Later. rws 1:07 AM [+] |