These are in a loose order. Near the middle and the end, things get a little blurry for me. In this list, I try to include a cross section of dramatic actors, comedic actors, and some up and coming actors from my generation.
1. Johnny Depp
Impulsive, mischievous, dark, and always with a trick up his sleeve, this actor has a talent for drama and comedy alike. He lights up the screen most in roles that combine these two aspects. It doesn’t hurt that he’s easy on the eyes.
The opening monologue from Depp’s film, The Libertine.
2. Kate Winslet
The well of her soul is open for her audience in every performance she gives. I am constantly surprised and never disappointed by her.
This clip is from Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. This movie also makes my top ten movies list.
3. Meryl Streep
A legend in her own time, there is no challenge too great for this woman. Her idiosyncrasies never fail to bubble to the surface in every role.
This clip is from The Hours.
4. Dustin Hoffman
What a joy he is. I find his playfulness incredibly engaging. He also has the uncanny ability to disappear into a role when he wants and to stand out when he chooses.
The following clip is from Hoffman’s first film, The Graduate. It also happens to be, in my opinion, one of the greatest scenes ever filmed.
5. Dame Judi Dench
Her presence is enough to make my hair stand up on end. She is a commanding force to be reckoned with and even her strong characters are smartly crafted with just the right vulnerable cracks in their surfaces to keep things interesting.
The following is a compilation of clips of her Oscar winning performance in Shakespeare in Love.
6. Ian McKellen
One of our best Shakespeare performers alive today and the perfect Gandalf in Lord of the Rings.
This clip isn’t exactly from one of his best movies, but it is one of the funniest things I have ever seen and it happens to be Ian McKellen’s episode of Extras on HBO. Also appearing is Ricky Gervais, creator and original star of The Office in Britain.
7. Steve Carell
Steve is a master. He’s the kind of actor I aspire to be, a comedian of the soul. He is simultaneously honest, horrifying, and heartbreaking. He is a living miracle.
The following is a clip from The Office. I found better ones, but they could not be embedded.
8. Robert DeNiro
He always seems to have a secret. A talent for comedy and for drama just by being himself, he seems to know more than his audience.
DeNiro in Meet the Parents.
9. Sean Penn
I am always impressed by the characters this actor chooses to play. He always seems to be looking for a new challenge.
A clip of Sean Penn as Harvey Milk in Milk. Every moment the character was giving this speech, he could have been shot. Watching his delivery with that in mind gives it a whole new perspective.
9. Anne Hathaway
A lot of people may disagree with me on this, but hear me out. I think she has great potential and for her age, she is positioning herself perfectly. Her performance in Rachel Getting Married was nothing less than brilliantly mesmerizing.
The following clip is a scene from Rachel Getting Married.
10. Will Farrell
Again, people may disagree with me here, but I think it’s important to include comedic actors. Most of what Will does is improvisation, but some of what he’s done is unmistakable creative brilliance. His one man show, You’re Welcome, America, was nothing short of astounding. He was painstakingly specific in every moment and managed to make me feel pity for a man i despised.
A clip from You’re Welcome, America. If you watch it to till the end, I promise it will be worth your time and you may come closer to agreeing with me about him deserving a spot in the top ten.
(11.) Gene Kelly
He’s dead… but he’s so amazing that he gets to be my ghost 11th favorite Actor of All Time. His dancing, his voice, and his presence are the complete package.
To close, here’s Gene Kelly with Singin’ in the Rain
Yesterday the Emmy nominations were announced and I was very pleased to see that there was a brand-new category titled Outstanding Short-format Live-action Entertainment Program. Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog was listed amongst the nominees in this category. I was completely over the moon when I saw that this web series was getting the professional recognition it deserves.
Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog was created and directed by Joss Whedon. The web-short trilogy was born out of the recent TV strike as a testament to the potential success of powerful creative desire and good writing without the glitz, glam, and big money that goes hand in hand with Hollywood TV and film production. Whedon’s previous credits include Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel, and Firefly. Obviously, Whedon was able to use his vast Rolodex to get this done in good quality for as little money as possible. He managed a low budget that would still be considered very high by the standards of most web series producers, but I think Dr. Horrible’s nomination for a mainstream industry award marks an important step forward for all new media productions.
The web series stars Neil Patrick Harris, Nathan Fillion (star of ABC’s Castle and Whedon’s cult hit Firefly), and Felicia Day. Harris leads the cast with ease of a Broadway veteran (2004 Revival of Assassins) and the vulnerable comedy of a really good improviser. He understands video blog culture and brings a very believable “every man” quality to a larger-than-life character. Despite Fillion’s mediocre singing voice, his ability to fill the screen with his roguish presence makes him one of my favorite actors to watch. Day is adorable as Penny and plays into the comedy and absurdity of this piece well. All three installments of the series have a depth and attention to detail that make for seriously entertaining repeated viewings. Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog can be viewed for free at: http://drhorrible.com and purchased digitally on iTunes and on DVD at Amazon.com.
I first stumbled across Felicia Day while watching her hit web series The Guild. As a fan of online MMO’s and World of Warcraft, I was struck by Day’s spot-on observation of online gaming culture and the comedic timing and believability of her opening monologues for each episode. The story of funding the guild seems miraculous to me. The first few episodes of the series were self-funded, but the rest of Season One was shot completely on paypal viewer donations, which is saying a lot because The Guild is available for free online. Fan support built the series as much as the creative team and Day publicly thanks them for that regularly. Season one also earned Day Best Original Digital Series at the South by Southwest and On Network Greenlight Series Awards. She is one of my personal creative heros because she is truly a jack of all trades. Her website can be viewed here: http://feliciaday.com/and The Guild website and viewing portal can be found here: http://www.watchtheguild.com/.
I could go on, but instead I’m going to turn you all over to the capable hands of Miss Day, herself. In the following video interview for PBS, she describes the business of marketing and creating a web-series. She also discusses the advantages of retaining your creative power.
Last night I learned that the series I’m currently reading, Percy Jackson and the Olympians, is being made into a movie. I learned this by stumbling across the following preview.
The worst part about seeing a preview for a movie you’ve been dying for someone to make is that when you happen upon it, you usually have to wait months or even a year until it comes out. Now I’m sitting here and I’m practically squirming on my couch. This movie isn’t due out until President’s Day 2010. I’m in agony. I can’t even do research on the movie without running into people posting comments that contain spoilers about the end of the series. Even though I want to look up more movie production news, I have to restrain myself.
When the Harry Potter books were made into movies, I knew there was such a massive, dedicated following that the production and creative team would really try to make the movies for the readers. Based on my opinions of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, that seems like it turned out to be an accurate prediction. However, a few of my discoveries have led me to believe that this may not be the case for the Percy Jackson series.
Don’t mistake me. I am completely ecstatic that Rick Riordan’s books are being made into feature films, but I’m fearful that they won’t be respected- and they deserve to be! I’m almost finished with the third book in Rick Riordan’s series, The Titan’s Curse, and as far as I’ve read, I can certainly vouch for the quality and creativity of his writing. I’m a big sucker for classical mythology so I’ve been very impressed with the way Riordan makes us view ancient myths from a modern perspective.
Alexandra Deddario plays Annabeth in "The Lightning Thief"
When I saw the trailer initially, I jumped out of my skin. Then I hopped around my living room like a little girl which probably drove my room mate crazy. After I had calmed my giddiness, I searched for the movie on imdb.com. As I scanned the impressive cast list, I was a bit confused to see characters listed that don’t appear at all in the first book, which shares the title of the upcoming movie, The Lightning Thief. The cast list includes Pierce Brosnan as Chiron, Uma Therman as Medusa (which I am extremely excited about!), Catherine Keener as Sally Jackson (perfect casting, in my opinion), and my absolute acting hero Kevin McKidd as Poseidon. I fell in love with him during his work on the HBO series Rome. I’m a little worried that Annabeth is being played by Alexandra Deddario because she seems, simply based on appearance and her actual age, to be way too old. Deddario is twenty three years old and Annabeth is twelve in the first book of the series. This is nothing Miss Deddario can control, so let me emphasize that I’m not saying she is a poor choice for the role based on her acting merit. I’m just surprised they cast someone who looks so old in a role described repeatedly as very young during the course of the written series.
I’m not exactly confident in the choice of director for the film either. Chris Columbus, who I’ve seen do some very visually stunning shots but haven’t seen get the best performances from his actors, is adding The Lightning Thief to a resume that includes Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, and Rent. The two Harry Potter movies he directed are my least favorite of the lot and I’m worried he’ll play a part in “dumbing down” the Percy Jackson series in the same way. I did not think he got good performances out of his child actors in the first two Harry Potter films and I know he’ll face the same challenges here. I will say, however, that his direction of Mrs. Doubtfire is highly commendable and that movie is one of my favorites.
I can’t exactly explain my forboding feelings regarding this movie. I want The Lightning Thief to be good. It’s not like a play where if you get it wrong the first time, there could be a revival in years to come if the script is good enough. You can hardly tell from this teaser trailer what to expect. It only shows bits from one scene that occurs near the end of the book. This also worries me because I feel like they may have shuffled around events from the book. On the other hand, I could be way too worked up about this. I just want the film to stand up to Riordan’s masterfull series, which I’m positive I will be reviewing at some point in the near future.
Tonight, I had the distinct pleasure of viewing Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince at the Clearview Cinemas Zeigfeld theater. I’m including the theater in which I saw the movie because it had a lot to do with my experience of the film. So far, critics have given the movie rather lackluster reviews, but I considered my thirteen dollars and fifty cents money well spent.
Firstly, the Zeigfeld theater is a sight to behold. It is a movie theater with a vintage feel. As soon as you walk in the building, you’re surrounded by a sea of crimson, gold, and velvet curtains with over-sized shimmering tassels. The staff is also very friendly and began shouting to the crowd about how the stars of the movie had been there the previous week for the NYC premiere as we filed into the packed theater. When you enter the theater itself, the space is vast. It clearly was an actual theater with a stage at one point and is only a few blocks away from The Great White Way.
On this particular evening, the place was packed because it was the first day of release. My friend and I arrived at the theater early, eager to settle into good seats for our epic journey into J.K. Rowling’s universe. My friend is an avid Potter fan and her intense excitement was undoubtedly infectious. I doubt I would have had the same experience if she hadn’t been with me. She has read the books more carefully and more times than anyone I know and I credit her with infallible Harry Potter expertise. We actually went to this same theater to Coraline and we instinctively knew that it was the right place to see Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. In Ngugi wa Thiong’o’s book, Decolonizing the Mind, he says that “Space is never neutral.” That is certainly the case for the Zeigfeld. There is a curtain that they close between the previews and the film. When they open it as the movie starts, it’s as if you’re looking at a live stage with infinite possibilities. Due to the nature of the space, the audience took on the characteristics of a live theater crowd, cheering, applauding, gasping, and laughing along with the performances. The place was buzzing with energy.
Daniel Radcliffe and Emma Watson
The best thing this film did, which was only further amplified by the movie theater itself, was to honor the brilliant performances that the cast turned in. It’s hard to believe that Daniel Radcliffe, Emma Watson, and Rupert Grint are the same children who performed in The Sorcerer’s Stone. Their skills have matured and deepened, each with their own specialty. Watson is stunningly vulnerable while retaining the values and strength of Rowling’s original character, crestfallen when it comes to Ron’s inattentiveness and brutal when it comes to Harry’s occasional overconfidence. Grint’s skill for improvised physical comedy is at an all time high. Especially amusing were his scenes while under the affects of a love potion and his oblivious separation of Ginny and Harry when they are about to have an intimate moment, followed by offering them scones. I simply couldn’t get enough of him in this film. He kept the audience in stitches the entire time.
I must credit Daniel Radcliffe with remarkable improvement in his acting prowess. I have to admit that when I saw the first Harry Potter film, I actively disliked him. I have seen a bit of improvement over the years, but what truly changed my mind about him was his performance in Equus, by Peter Shaffer. Of course, it doesn’t hurt that this play is impeccable on its own as a written piece, but when I saw Radcliffe perform his extremely challenging role on Broadway, I saw a spark I hadn’t seen before. He was playful, unafraid, and interesting. I’m not sure when it was, but during the run of that show, Radcliffe discovered something about being in the moment and following impulses, no matter how strange or inappropriate they might be. That was reflected in his performance in The Half-Blood Prince, impersonating spider pincers, and impersonating the characterization of his co-star, Jim Broadbent, while under the effects of a “luck potion.”
Daniel Radcliffe, I hereby retract all ill wishes I harbored in your earlier years and officially give you my full support and a well deserved round of applause.
As the younger members of the cast rise to the occasion, the elder members become even more brilliant. As Snape, Alan Rickman is impeccable, both hilarious and terrifying. His comedic timing and command of his vocal instrument is a killer combination. I was on the edge of my seat, falling for the bait each time he paused, only to drop in the last word of his sentence at exactly the right moment- Simply an astounding and relentless performance.
Jim Broadbent, as Professor Horace Slughorn, gives a very intelligent performance. I have been a fan since his role in Moulin Rouge. His drunken monologue in Hagrid’s cottage was a stunning combination of brilliant writing and expert performance. Broadbent does a wonderful job of addressing the multi-faceted nature of this character.
Helena Bonham Carter is a delicious villain. Her body and her voice are incredible, enhanced by her costume and makeup. I was so thankful that we got to see more of Bellatrix Lestrange in this film.
The only performance I wasn’t ecstatic about was that of Tom Felton as Draco Malfoy. While his performance was honest and heartfelt, the way he portrayed his character’s public actions at Hogwarts was extremely over the top. Anyone who saw him would have known he was up to no good. Draco Malfoy won the “emo kid” award for the evening.
I can understand why some of the reviews for The Half-Blood Prince are negative. There was so much wonderful acting that the movie could not contain all of it while simultaneously dealing with all the complexities of Rowling’s story. There were points at which I would have been extremely lost if I hadn’t read the books and points at which I was still lost simply because I haven’t reread the books in a few years. My biggest problem was that they focused a lot on the developing relationships between Ron and Hermione and Ginny and Harry, yet left the actual mystery surrounding the Half-Blood Prince and his Potions book mostly untouched. I missed the the mystery solving capers of Harry, Ron, and Hermione. I think the director, David Yates, was more interested in giving detailed cinematic highlights of Rowling’s written world rather than a well-told story presented on film. I will say, however, that the composition of his shots is extremely dynamic. I felt in this film, more than in the other parts of the series, that there was a level of detail and depth that was fully integrated with the performances of the cast. The film wasn’t structured with stunted acting scenes followed by action sequences. The whole thing was a cohesive piece.
For anyone who enjoys the Harry Potter series, this movie is a must see. For those who haven’t read the books, I don’t think you’ll be able to understand and appreciate the brilliant parts of the movie in a way that will compensate for the otherwise unfinished story telling.
Being a huge Johnny Depp fan, I did not question spending thirteen dollars on a ticket to his recently released film, Public Enemies. When I was in Chicago during the summer of 2009, the extras were being put through hair, makeup, and costumes at the theater where I was interning so I felt a sort of loyalty to the film because I was excited about seeing how all the production work I had witnessed every day had turned out.
I always feel swept away by Depp’s performances because it’s undeniably clear to me how much he enjoys what he’s doing, how playful his choices are, and how alive he is when he’s in front of the camera. He drips with passion for his art.
This is the first time I’ve been a bit let down by him in a movie. I enjoyed a few of his “simply frank” moments, such as when he convinces Billie to “be his girl” by roughing up a man who’s giving her trouble at the coat check where she works and then holding her coat out wordlessly as if to say, You know you’re going to come with me. Also of note was the scene where he dangerously risks being discovered at the police station in Chicago where his case is being monitored. He studies his own pictures, the mug shots of his fallen comrades, and asks for the score of the game the cops are watching without them realizing who he is. It is Depp at his classic best; playful, mysterious, and confident. He did have a few great moments of characterization in this film, but I thought perhaps he was bored with this project. It seemed like he lacked inspiration.
Oddly enough, I enjoyed Christian Bale’s performance and I’m usually rather ambivalent about him. I think he’s done some cool action and mystery movies, but I wouldn’t necessarily call him a “fine actor.” There was something a bit deeper about his portrayal of Melvin Purvis. His physicality was fox-like as he ran down his pray, even with a heavy weapon like a rifle. He’s always been good with physical roles, like Batman and John Preston in the cult classic Equillibrium, but he managed to combine his physical prowess with a manifested determination. Perhaps he’s simply more compelling without his bat-mask on.
I hadn’t seen Marion Cotillard’s Academy Award winning turn as Edith Piaf in La Vie en Rose, but I had heard so many good things about it that I was very excited to see her work in this movie. With the exception of the scene in the interrogation room where she is explicitly brutalized by one of the investigators on the Dillinger case, she gave a simply honest performance, but nothing particularly special.
The aforementioned scene was actually the best in the movie. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a movie where the camera stays focused on a woman as she is beaten. It was hard to watch, but the pay off was so satisfying when Cotillard’s character told off the man who had been hitting her. It was a great movie moment, framed well by specific cinematography. However, the circumstances Cotillard’s character were often more engaging that her uneven performance.
The action sequences were too general to keep track of the story. They began. Lots of machine guns were fired. Then they ended leaving the characters either dead or in different circumstances. Sadly, it was a missed opportunity for story telling. It was easy to lose track of who was shooting and who had been shot. During the climactic action sequence at a woodland farmhouse, the heavy sound of the machine guns and the mass destruction they wrought lost their initial power after a few minutes of the long-winded shoot-out.
Stephen Graham was truly terrifying as Baby Face Nelson. He brought a sorely needed unpredictable element to the movie. When he went down, shooting wildly into the air and pelting the grass with bullets as he took a lethal volley of machine gun fire, I didn’t know whether to be disappointed or to cheer. He was such a dangerous force in the movie that I was happy for Dillinger to be rid of him, but I immediately missed his exciting presence.
I was also shocked at how many cameos there were by established actresses in the film. Leelee Sobieski played Polly Hamilton who appeared near the end of the film and had about five lines in total. I haven’t remembered seeing her in front of the camera since I was in my freshman year of high school. Emilie de Ravin, who plays Claire in the hit television series, Lost, played a random bank teller who is used as a human shield to keep the police from shooting at the men driving and defending a post-bank-robbery getaway car. As long and slightly didactic as this movie was, seeing these actresses made me wonder how much film was lying on the cutting room floor considering the fact that these ladies probably wouldn’t have signed on for the project without a supporting role as opposed to a part with a few spoken lines.
For me, the bank robbing scenes were the highlights of Public Enemies. They were a window into a different age when crime was waged with different tactics than in today’s world, not to mention that Depp’s rock star quality had a chance to shine.
Public Enemies is by no means a horrible film, but I don’t think it makes my “Must See” recommendation list. With with movie ticket prices in New York City at an all time high, this is one where I would wait for the release to DVD.
Last night I watched Contact twice. Not once. Twice. In a row.
The movie came out in 1997 when I was 12 years old. I was in 6th grade and absolutely obsessed with outer space. I even had my own armory in my closet which consisted of space blasters, lightsabers, and Jedi armor. As a Girl Scout, I was taught to always be prepared. Let’s just say that if Darth Vader had materialized in my room, I could have easily been ready for an old fashioned Jedi showdown.
I certainly loved everything to do with Star Wars and most other sci-fi/fantasy universes, but I also knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I wanted to be an astronaut. I was serious about learning everything I could concerning NASA, its history, and development.
It was only natural for my father to take me one Sunday afternoon to see Contact, the film adaptation of Carl Sagan’s book by the same title. As we sat in the cool, dark movie theater, I didn’t even resent him for not letting me get candy or popcorn. I was going to see a space movie and that was all that mattered.
As the story unfolded, I idolized the heroine, Eleanor Arroway, who was played to perfection by Jodi Foster. She was so brave and strong willed. She fought for what she wanted and at the end of the movie, no one even believed her story. It made me incredibly sad for her. I marveled at how the director had used well-edited clips of Bill Clinton to make it seem like he was speaking about building the alien transport system and responding to questions about the fictional events presented in the movie. There were even interviews with my favorite hosts from “The Today Show.” which I watched every morning before school. It was almost as if the whole thing had really happened right under my nose. The audience was implied as a part of the story because the movie had incorporated figures from our daily life.
I remember leaving the theater and tugging on my Dad’s arm and asking,
“Daddy, what’s a worm hole?”
“Daddy, I can’t believe that they didn’t believe she went to Vega!”
“Daddy! Which star is Vega?”
“Daddy! How long is a lightyear? No wait! What’s a black hole?”
The list went on and on and my dorky, lovable father, who is a professional know-it-all, patiently answered all of my questions. The movie had perked my interest in the mapping of space rather than its deeper themes.
Watching Contact 11 years later is a completely different experience. I’m an actress and not an astronaut. I’m a writer with a critical mind and not a child with a dramatic sense of wonder. After such a large perspective shift, anyone is bound to see things differently than when they were 12 years old. Still, I was especially struck by the difference in my point of view on this particular film.
I no longer saw a film full of whimsical science fiction and alien technology, but a story about how we as humans can reconcile faith in a modern world where science is sometimes made out to be be anti-religious. After all, we’ve gotten to the point where certain religious institutions do not want to teach evolution because they believe that its heretical.
When I was younger, faith wasn’t an integral part of my life. I’m the daughter of a Protestant mother and a Jewish father. We attended church pretty much only when my grandmother was in town and went to the synagogue only when a friend had his or her bar or bat mitzvah. I was allowed to believe in what I wanted to believe, but because of my own interests in science, I tended to side with Jodi Foster’s character in Contact.
I saw no evidence for or against God, but I did see a lot of civil limitations connected to Christianity.
I have always been very supportive of my gay family members and hearing the “religious right” tell the world that marriage is for a man and a woman has always seemed outrageous to me. My uncles have every right to same advantages my parents have. Seeing religious rallies against a woman’s right to choose abortion if she felt she couldn’t properly care for her child seemed like yet another misplaced limitation being forced on women.
As a child, I had seen religion as an obstacle and that’s how I identified it in regards to this film. I wanted Eleanor Arroway to be chosen to represent humankind on their mission to contact alien life and I was outraged that just because she didn’t have a strong connection to a higher power, that she was discriminated against. “What about that separation of church and state thingy?” I had asked my father afterwards.
Religion in the form of cult worship is demonized in the movie and made into the very the source of terrorist acts and the backbone of the suicide bomber who disrupts the alien machine’s first test, killing the initial candidate for the mission and destroying the entire aparatus.
What I wasn’t mature enough to recognize in 1997 was that “faith” can be separated from religion. To me, faith is an odd mixture of trust and determination. In Contact, there is a communal sense of faith in God that Eleanor Arroway doesn’t identify with. However, she experiences faith in the unknown throughout the whole film, even when no one believes in her project or in the end, her journey. She heads a project that is running out of funding which requires her to sit alone for hours, listening for a signal from beyond that may never come. Despite the odds, she knows she has to be there if it does. When others want to give up on her project, she insists that it’s necessary, convincing them of its importance despite the fact that she can’t provide a foreseeable result of her studies. When the other scientists want to add a chair with straps to the alien design for the pod, Arroway questions them. “Shouldn’t we have a little faith?” When she is offered a cyanide tablet, she refuses it, retorting that she didn’t come this far to bail out on the Vegans who sent their message across the stars. She intends to see it through to the very end and directly as instructed by the message she received. She trusts their plans for her with no guarantee of success or survival.
When the movie ended back in 1997, my 12-year-old self was most interested in the fact that no one believed that Arroway’s pod had traveled to Vega. I revelled as the president’s adviser stuck it to the movie’s “villain,” announcing that there although there was only white noise on the whole video recording of Arroway’s journey, it lasted for exactly the amount of time Arroway had claimed to be in transit form Earth to Vega.
“Ok to go,” Arroway states over and over again as she readies herself for that epic journey. She trembles as the terror takes over. She has no idea how this machine will work. She has only been able to speculate up until this point. Yet Arroway presses on. She has planned for this moment her entire life. The fear keeps her from being able to fall back into the comfort of her precious logic. She must simply be vulnerable to the experience.
As the pod moves through space, she can see through its walls,racing through worm holes and floating amidst gas formations only seen before in the form of Hubble Telescope images. Her eyes are wide. There isn’t even a hint of analysis or calculation in her gaze as she unstraps herself from the chair, looking out into the starry masterpiece. “So beautiful… It’s so beautiful,” is all she can muster.
When she finally arrives on the beaches of Vega, she is greeted not by an alien life form, but by her father, the man who inspired her to begin her work with audio analysis in the first place. She reconnects with the origins of her life’s journey, while at the same time she is meeting with the unknown, making contact with both past and future simultaneously. The Vegans never appear to Eleanor in their true form. She must decide for herself whether to believe she has had and encounter with an alien life form or merely hallucinated a meeting with her dead father.
“This is just the beginning. This is just contact,” Her father says to her, tenderly brushing her cheek with his fingertips.
Listening to that line, I think of all of those times I’ve heard people say, “That’s when I found God.” Arroway is given a precious, life affirming experience, something she cannot deny whether the experience was real or simply a vision.
Even though I’m not sure if I believe in God in the Christian sense, I can I identify with moments when I’ve felt something more, or gained a sense of the unknown. This film suggests that our great human need for discovering and connecting with the unknown is not only present in the ritual of daily prayer, but in our scientific reach for what lies beyond our star system. Science does not have to be anti-religious and at the same time we don’t have to believe in a higher power to sustain faith. We can sustain faith simply by believing in something great than ourselves, whether that lies in Heaven or beyond the reaches of the Milky Way.
One of my co-workers reported that one of her clients had said this disparaging remark regarding her personal appearance. It shocked me so much that all I could do for a moment was blink. The client she was quoting was in her mid thirties. I thought I must have heard her wrong.
Maybe it’s just my time.
Does it “just become our time” to get plastic surgery these days, like some inevitable, foregone conclusion? What ever happened to aging gracefully like Whistler’s Mother?
There is something sickening about our new trend towards eternal youth. I understand that people want to retain their smooth skin, high breasts, and taught muscle tone, but at some point, we are all going to get older.
Of course, it’s easy to say that at the tender age of twenty three.
To be honest, I can’t exclude myself from that cultural trend. I’ll probably cry when I get my first gray hair and my first wrinkle.
Like so many girls and women today, I have body image issues. I’m not a slight woman. Slightly deranged, perhaps, but not thin. When I walk past a window or a mirror, I look at myself. I eyeball my measurements and press on through my day ashamed of what I see. I check my makeup and wonder how my face disappeared in the full moon of fat I see in my reflection. I know I’m not alone in this kind of life and I know all of these self-hazardous thoughts are partially true, and partially an infectious disease boiling in my brain.
I work at a gym where I am constantly confronted with the fact that I am out of shape. I perform in an industry where skin deep beauty is a skill you can list on your resume and some girl’s with that one skill and not much else “make it big.” Weight and self image are indelible parts of my life because of the vocational choices I’ve made, but I truly believe that they weaseled their way into my psyche long before I decided to become and actress who took a day job at a gym.
Disney is the devil.
Disney is glorious.
This dichotomy echos in my mind constantly. As a child I loved Disney movies. I worshiped Disney Princesses and sang along to every film. I loved Ariel’s red hair and singing voice, Belle’s spunk and her golden ballgown, and how Cinderella got her Prince Charming even though she spent most of her days toiling as a maid. I idolized them each for their own personalities and also for their stunning beauty. I remember every girl in my class going to see each film and planning to dress as that character for Halloween. I never dared to follow suit because I knew I would look awkward and tubby compared to the rest of the perfect Belles and Jasmines. I preferred odd, lumpy, home made costumes like “The Universe,” complete with hula hoops fit for dangling planets made of tin foil.
Looking back, all of that Princess worship seems relatively innocent, but as an adult looking back at the very animation of Princesses, I have to say, they became increasingly sexualized as time went on. Snow White was a domesticated pie-serving Betty-Homemaker and the last animated Disney heroine, Megara from Hercules, is a bit of a con-artist and seducer who is in league with Hades to meet her own ends. Hers is a story of depravity and eventual redemption. Obviously all of the princesses are idealized, but this one is actually a seducer with a waist the circumference of a pin. Hades is able to wrap his thumb and forefinger around it. That’s sick. She’s was voiced by Susan Egan, the original voice of Belle on Broadway… but that’s neither here nor there. Her voice is sultry and her words laden with double entendre. I’m including the following video to give you an idea of what I’m talking about. It’s appropriately backed with the song, “She’s a Lady,” by Tom Jones.
When the movie came out, I loved her. I loved her power and her prowess. I loved the song she sang. I loved her hips and her sensual physicality. I wanted hair like that. She was sexy and I knew it with every fiber of my being.
I was twelve years old.
I was twelve and I was heralding this woman as a sex symbol. Isn’t that just a bit young to be thinking of someone in that capacity? Don’t even get me started on Jasmine in Aladdin. I loved the way she seduced Jafar at the end of the movie in order to cover for her beloved street rat. I wanted to wear that little red slave girl outfit with the transparent silk scarf draped over my shoulder.
These days, Disney doesn’t even use animation to mask their oversexed young women. They have created real life Disney Princesses in the guise of Miley Cyrus and Vanessa Anne Hudgens, both of whom are idolized by young girls and both of whom have been involved in what I would describe as “provocative picture scandals.” These pictures are so accessible that when I typed their names into Google, their taboo photos came up in the first few image results. Think about how many 10-12 year olds type those girl’s names into search engines every day to be met with sexualized images of their role models. Whats worse, the role models were the ones taking them. They weren’t victims of an evil photographer or director. They chose to take these pictures themselves.
No wonder young girls are dressing more provocatively than ever. They are being taught by example that it is desirable and cool to be sex symbols. They plaster their facebook pages with pictures of themselves in bikinis and bras taken at arms length or in a mirror. They pout their lips and push out their budding chests. They lie about their ages advertise themselves for the attention of male websurfers, hoping one will comment on their wall or their online journal to tell them they are beautiful.
The first time I was told I was beautiful by a man was on the internet. I can still remember the fluttering feeling that pulsed in the pit of my stomach as I read the navy blue comic sans font in the instant message. I got up from the computer and danced around the black swivel chair in my mom and dad’s study, unable to believe that someone could possibly see the beauty I could never find when I looked at searched myself so desperately in the mirror.
Even so, it wasn’t exactly how I’d always imagined it.
I still had to face my classmates every day. Things didn’t get any easier when I went to boarding school. I was an odd, musical theater loving, Star Wars fan whose sense of humor wasn’t exactly main stream. When it came to dances, I was so shocked and frightened that I never stayed for long.
High School dances look like orgies these days. At my high school, all the girls gathered near the stage and danced with each other in a circle, just waiting for a guy to come and “grind” with them from behind. For those who don’t know, “grinding” is a club dance where a man stands behind a woman and the two begin rubbing against each other in a lascivious rhythm. Some people may think that I’m being overzealous in my “wee” crusade here, but I’m just trying to express my own experience. I realize that this is common behavior in high school, but that’s exactly my problem with it. Dry humping has become common behavior at chaperoned school dances. It’s one thing in an +18 nightclub, but in high school? I remember when I was a camp counselor at a summer camp for 10-17 year olds, it was my job to walk around the dance floor with a ruler, making sure all of the couples had at least a foot between them. Let’s just say grinding wouldn’t have made the cut.
So here we are, modern Disney Princesses reaching the age of our former stepmothers and villainous evil queens, realizing our lips aren’t as red as they once were and our skin is no longer as white and smooth as fresh fallen snow. In a way, I suppose it makes sense that we are desperately trying to purge ourselves of all the undesirable traits we find creeping up on us as the years roll on. Perhaps our time is waiting for us just over the hill… and beyond the mossy knoll. With just a little help from a good surgeon and the right diet, we can be ready for our 11 o’clock number.
It has been a long time since I last felt patriotic. The sound of “Proud to be an American” makes my skin crawl and decidedly ashamed to be an American.
That feeling of my stomach turning is so far from the joy I got from marching in the Memorial Day Parade in Chicago as a child. I would innocently dress up my pink, purple, and white tricycle with red, white, and blue streamers. I remember my mom and dad twisting the small silver wires to make a white dove with real feathers bought from some arts and craft store roost beneath my seat. It was truly a glorious vehicle to behold.
We would march, ride, rollerblade, and walk through the city with drums rat-a-tat-tatting all the way the way to the park. They thundered so loudly in your heart and when you closed your mouth, you could feel the sonic vibrations in your teeth. Additionally, I remember these colorful packs of jelly candies that they gave out every year when we got to our final destination in the park. They did acrobatics and someone important gave a speech. That was always the boring bit as a child, but I was way too busy eating my jelly candy and giggling with my friends from the neighborhood to care much.
I also have fond memories of going to Connecticut in the summertime to celebrate 4th of July with my father’s side of the family. Our current patriarch, my dad’s oldest brother Jack, invited every member of our clan to his house for the weekend and we would set up a volley ball net and I would swing on the swing that hung from the massive branch of the giant oak tree out front. There was also a fish pond in the backyard and a big log that I would climb across and pretend that it was the gateway to another world. We would cook burgers and laugh and when the evening settled down, we would all watch a classic movie like Sunset Boulevard or Psycho. It was a time to feel the love of family and reunite and refresh. It almost felt like New Year’s Eve in the sense that I sort of measured my childhood years by the arrival of the 4th of July.
As I grew older, these small acts of patriotism faded. I grew out of my tricycle. The Connecticut house burned down. I began going to summer camp in North Carolina and I simply began to loath family dinner parties and the baggage of having that one evening to give people information and updates on my life by which they could measure my progress from the previous Thanksgiving or whenever we had spoken last. I enjoyed seeing people of course, but I always felt tremendous pressure. As an actress, I wanted to make my parents proud of what I was doing or I wanted to be seen as successful in an industry that is “hard” if not impossible.
My innocent idolatry of the red, white, and blue became like some distant memory.
The closest I came to patriotism was watching Independence Day when Bill Pullman gave the big speech before the epic battle with the Alien race that wants to take over Earth.
In that movie as a whole and especially during that speech, there is a collective sense of community and duty in the face of death. It connects American independence with the rest of the globe. I think I was attracted to it because as I was growing up, I really felt like America was an island. I was very blessed to be able to travel around the world to Italy, France, the United Kingdom, Ecuador, Turkey, and Greece. I was exposed to other views of America from outside of our borders. I remember that I was roaming the streets of Paris as a child and looking into the glass window of a Patisserie. The owner of the shop rushed out and ushered me away to my American parents who were just down the block finishing their French morning coffee and croissants. The shopowner was not happy to have some American child poking around his window and pushed me towards my father before stomping back up the street and into his store.
When I was doing a theater exchange with some students from England, they were very welcoming but wouldn’t stop pestering us about how in God’s green earth President George Bush had been re-elected. I had to remind them that none of us, who were in our junior and senior years of high school, were old enough to vote. However, nothing I said could assail them. They wanted to know how our country could have been so dumb.
As a liberally minded young American, I became increasingly upset at many of the topics brought into the spotlight during the Bush Administration. In my mind, so many of them were connected to religion. Many of the protests against gay marriage focused on the fact that the Bible “tells us” that marriage is specifically for a man and a woman. Whatever happened to the separation of church and state? Why should the Christian God dictate what our citizens of varying religions should do? So many Bible Thumpers were in arms over A Woman’s Right to choose. I agree that this is a sensative subject, but I just don’t think that anyone should be able to dictate what I can and can’t do with my body. The rate of teen pregnancy is increasing in our country and more and more and our young men and women are starting families before they are ready. On top of this, the administration wanted to stop stem cell research, research that could help to find a cure any number of diseases that our world faces. In a way, stem cell research gives new life to these “pre” humans by using them to advance our knowledge and understanding of the human body and the development of new medicines and treatments to help us thrive and save lives.
After 9/11, I was devastated just like everyone else. It was just such a horrible tragedy. I could try to quantify my emotions and the events that followed it, but that is not really the subject of this article. However I will say that somewhere inside of myself, there was a tug on the string of my patriotism. I think it would have blossomed if I hadn’t been overwhelmed by the mass marketing of everything blindly patriotic that poured from middle America. Perhaps I shouldn’t have looked down on it all, but honestly, as I said at the outset of this peice, the song “Proud to be An American” makes my stomach turn because it is so mind-numbingly broad. Words like freedom and liberty are so much a part of our collective conciousness that they begin to loose meaning with every use. I think we take them for granted as does that song. It employs almost every one and manages to fill up verses and choruses while actually not saying much of anything at all. America as a whole became so inarticulate after 9/11 that I became desensitized to the American flag. It was on bookbags, pins, T-shirts, miniflags, keychains- EVERYWHERE. The flag itself became a pop sensation. No wonder no one took us seriously. No one takes Britney Spears seriously.
Near the end of Sherman Edwards and Peter Stone’s musical, 1776, John Addams wonders on the eve of the signing of the Declaration of Independence if anyone sees America the way he does. I am including the lyrics here for anyone who has not seen the show. I am including the sequence here for your viewing pleasure.
I began to feel a bit like Addams in this number. “Is Anybody There? Does Anybody Care? Does Anyboy See What I See?” I saw the lifeblood of true America dying a little each day. I saw our liberties being questioned and taken from us one by one.
This year, everything changed for me. Barack Obama was elected our 44th President of the United States of America. As a Chicagoan, I knew he was the man for the job almost immediately after I heard he was running. I knew it would be a hard road, but for the first time in a long time, I hung on to a hope for this country. I invested in current events and our national progress. Instead of writing off this war as an egregious nightmare created by the Bush Administration, I saw a man capable of ending our part in the turmoil and I what’s more, I listened and I felt connected to those lost, and those still fighting.
I know that in recent articles I have been disparaging about the spirit I sometimes feel while living in New York City. However, I haven’t mentioned that the true strength of our community sometimes shines so brightly that I am left gaping in awe. I have felt it several times, but I will tell you that on Election Night 2008, New York City came alive. Cars zipped through Bushwick in Brooklyn with loudspeakers chanting Obama’s name. People smiled at each other in the East Village and waved American flags not because thats what they were obligated to do to support our country but because they were moved to raise our country’s iconic colors. In Time’s Square, the lights shown with hope and triumph, and not with amusement park neon.
In his iconic speech from Election night 2008, Barck Obama reminded me that we are not a collection of red and blue states, but that we are forevermore the United States. I realize that I am capable of prejudice, that in this post I have called middle America uncultured, and called recent national patriotism into question. I have pointed many fingers. I know have a lot to learn and I am not saying that I don’t believe it can come from being exposed to opinions from other parts of our great Nation. But today.
Today we stand United. Today, I am proud to be an American. Today somebody is there. Today is our Independence Day.
If you haven’t seen Disney Pixar’s Up, then you are a bad person. You need to accept your faults and find the nearest toddler you can get your hands on and use him or her as an excuse to go to this movie. Or if you’re secure enough in your inner child, go by yourself.
The film is extremely layered and more complex than most Disney movies. Sure, it has its fair share of adult jokes to entertain parents and the most perfect portrayal of what dogs would say if they could talk that I have ever witnessed (I won’t repeat any of it here because it will truly ruin it for people who want to see the movie), but the themes in this movie are what make it so special. I will be discussing parts of the film in detail, so SPOILER ALERT for anyone who cares, but honestly I think reading this would only provide a lens through which to view the film.
Firstly, it contains a poignant vignette detailing the childhood and relationship of Carl Fredrickson and his wife Ellie. As children, they vow to adventure together to Paradise falls in the footsteps of their hero, explorer Charles Muntz. The children grow up and end up getting married and building their dream house, all the while saving up for their adventure. But life often comes with curve balls and they never quite get around to seeing their goal through before Ellie dies and Carl is left with their house full of fond memories and dreams of Paradise Falls. This part of the movie could honestly stand on its own. The story telling is winning and perfect. Bright and funny, you fall in love with the children versions of Ellie and Carl before they fall in love with each other. The depiction of Ellie is particularly articulate. A firecracker, she helps a stifled young Carl to come out of his shell and includes him in her adventurer club.
When I was younger, my best friend Pam and I used to create clubs just about every day. We had soccer clubs and spy clubs and God knows what else. I know we would have had a great relationship regardless of these childish enterprises because we’re like sisters, but I think those clubs did have a very special way of keeping our imagination and impulsive sense of adventure at full throttle. It was very believable to see the relationship between Carl and Ellie bloom from the seeds of their adventurer club to the full bloom of life long love because in my own life, I have grown into such intimate sisterhood with my friend Pam. By intimate, I mean to say honest self deprecation and the examination of the soul rather than some torrid lesbianic affair that the word “intimate” brings to mind for some people. So keep it in your pants, gents.
During the montage of the relationship between Ellie and Carl and her ultimate end, the story tellers gave us specific visual cues to hold onto; the way Ellie always has to set the little, red, ceramic bird on her mantle at the right angle, the mail box that Ellie and Carl put their hand prints on, and most importantly, Ellie’s adventure book which she shares with Carl on eve of their first day as club-mates and presents him with on her last day on Earth.
The first half of the book is filled with Charles Muntz idolatry and drawn pictures of her dream house resting at the top of Paradise Falls. The second is labeled with a title page that reads:
“The Things I’m Going to Do.”
During the powerful montage, Ellie and Carl strive to do those “things” but other things always get in the way and Carl is wracked with depression when he realizes that his wife will never get to fill in those pages. I think we all dream about the things we’re going to do. When we’re children, we’re allowed, encouraged even, to dream up elaborate lives and goals for ourselves. I often think about where I am as opposed to where I thought I’d be. I’m not old enough to be a sage, but I do know that life takes you places you didn’t necessarily think you would go. I also have my journals from my clubs with Pam and they are similarly half full. I never did join the CIA or play soccer in the Olympics so after a while I ran out of things to record from my life as a Secret Agent with a cover as a famous professional athlete.
I was surprised to find that the screenplay writer, Bob Peterson, was not afraid to touch the subjects of Ellie’s miscarriage and personal tragedy at the very outset of the film. I knew I loved this film during the transition from the sepia tones of the sensitive and tender scenes of their wedding and renovating the house and colorful shots of the couple painting the nursery for their expected child, to the stark shot where Ellie finds out she’s miscarried, followed by the shot of a concerned Carl watching her from the window as she is seated in the yard. There was something about the oddly placed wooden dining room chair sitting on the grass and her hair gently wafting in the breeze that was so sad and so intimate. There was also a collective gasp when Ellie died. A little girl sitting in front of me poked her mommy in the arm and exclaimed in disbelief, “She died!?” It brought to mind the first time I saw Bambi. However, when Bambi’s mother dies its a good way through the film. This was within 10 minutes of the start, and yet we as the audience had already felt the weight of a lifespan of love and loss.
For Carl, Ellie lives on in their house through her pictures and the chairs sitting side by side that the couple had enjoyed in their living room, her picture on the wall, and her adventure book. Unfortunately, as is the case with many lonely, elderly folks these days, he ends up facing the reality of a nursing home. Rather than cave and leave his beloved house behind (which he talks to as if it is an incarnation of his dead wife), he opts to spend his last dime and use every remaining helium tank and balloon from his balloon cart to fly his house and his memories far away from his hometown and the waiting nursing home attendants.
This image was so gorgeous and poetic to me. He packs all of his grief, loss, and stubborn habits into his house and takes off with them, leaving the world behind and ready to live cloistered in them for the rest of his life in solitude and peace. When he escapes, he’ll be able to dwell as much on the past as he desires rather than facing the changing modern world springing up around him.
Little does Carl know, his nemesis, a young “eagle scout” who constantly tries to give unsolicited aid to the elderly is stuck on his front porch.
The two characters embark on an adventure to Paradise Falls where they nurture and enrich each other in ways I certainly didn’t expect. Of course it was predictable that the kid would breathe new life in Carl’s stale existence, but what I didn’t expect was the portrayal of the boy named Russell.
He wasn’t just a lively kid that reminded Carl of his wife and how they had acted together as children. Russell was the victim of a broken home. His mother was dead and his father left. Russell describes his memories of his father pinning on his scouting badges and how he hoped that getting this final “Aid to the Elderly” badge would bring him back. I was struck by the brilliant writing of this monologue that exposed how memories of someone aren’t always exciting. They’re just the little important boring things about existing with a person that you remember after they are gone, whether they leave you by choice or they are taken from you.
I relatively recently got out of a long term relationship where I was truly in love with someone. The things I remember and miss aren’t necessarily trips we took or the highs and lows of our time together. I remember waking up next to him and snuggling close, or the way he draped his arm over may waist when we watched Lost on my laptop at night, knowing that I would almost immediately fall asleep- Just the little things that make a house a home.
When they land at walking distance from Paradise Falls, the man and the boy begin dragging the house towards that “promised land” as it floats above their heads. In a moment, instead of being a vehicle, it becomes an obstacle that Carl must contend with and eventually let go of. I found that it was such a perfect metaphor for loss.
You let loss carry you for a while. Then you carry it until you’re ready to let it go.
Watching this play out on screen was such a joy, both in the sense that I giggled and in the sense that I cried. I truly recommend this movie, and for me, seeing it in 3D at the Regal Union Square was worth every penny.
Before you Bible thumpers get too excited, let me preface this with the fact that this is not a religious blog, nor is it a religious moment in a religious post. In fact, this is the antichrist of blogs. Well, maybe that’s pushing it, but let me tell you something. The devil is real, ladies and gentlemen.
Now when I say devil, I’m not talking of a red guy with a pointy tail, or an animated Satan in love with Saddam Hussein. No, my comrades, I am speaking of our modern opportunities for addiction. Honestly. Every time I turn around I hear someone saying, “You know what I’m obsessed with now?” Even I must admit that I have a moderately addictive personality. Ok… I may have an EXTREMELY addictive personality.
These days, addiction can sneak up on you. It’s that Starbucks coffee you think you need before class or that last high score you need in Tetris before you get back to writing your final English Paper. It’s facebook and myspace. It’s Ben and Jerry’s Fossil Fuel Ice Cream (Can you really blame me?).
Granted, some addictions are more serious than others. There are the old classics; sex, drugs, and booze. They’re still around.
I happen to be obsessed with Star Wars. I always have been. I think it probably creaped out the rest of my freshman class in high school. Han Solo is a hottie. You know it. I know it. Actually, I think my additional obsession with musical theater didn’t help too much in the popularity department either.
For the last 2 and a half years I’ve played World of Warcraft. Now, if that isn’t an addiction, I don’t know what is. I have levelled away HOURS of my life on that game. I have three level 80’s and I raid with my guild three nights a week. Its like having a part time job that I don’t get paid for. Does this make me sexy? No. The only person WoW makes sexy is Felicia Day. No. World of Warcraft makes me quite decidedly UNSEXY, nay, quirky at best.
I’m amazed at how easy it is to get addicted to games on my phone. The Sims 3 is one of my most recent iPhone love affairs. I loved fishing and selling my wares at the market so I could build my magnificent Sim House and get my Sim married off to whichever loser Sim lived in the house next door. I loved making them have sweet sweaty Woohoo on my hard earned Bohemian bed. After I got bored of repairing refrigerators and filling the empty parts of my Sim Mansion with potted plants, we broke up. I rebounded with Archers, a free iPhone app where you use your finger to aim an arrow at an opponent at a distance which is operated by your phone or in my case, my father. The first one to kill the other player wins. Suffice to say, it got dull fast.
Today, I welcomed the Devil into my home again, and by “home” I mean iPhone (which in itself, is another addiction). I signed up for Twitter. I have 5 followers, all of which are probably selling something. Lets not fool ourselves. They are all selling stuff. I thought Twitter would be some horrible thing that lonely people use to stay connected. Then I realized: I’m just a lonely person who wants to stay connected, plus following Dane Cook provides me with brief comedic respites and frankly, what’s not to love about that?
It is actually kind of fun to read about what your favorite actor’s, writers, and singer’s are up to in an average day. It got me thinking. With all of these little addictions that take us away from being face to face with one another in any sort of recognizable form of social interaction, Twitter is this odd cry for help. People need to feel connected in an increasingly digital world. That’s what their little video on the website says. I mean, sure, there is such a thing as threat level STALKER, but its kind of fun to take stock of what I’m doing during the day or post that my boss is making me prune her cactus with my bare hands (NOT AN ODD SEXUAL REFERENCE, I SWEAR) or reassure renowned award winning novelist Neil Gaimon that its OK for him to want to buy a particularly nice table.
But when it comes down to it, why don’t I just go knock on my neighbor’s door and ask to borrow a cup of sugar and then invite him over for some tea? Is it time we rest our eyes from the glow of the computer monitor or iPhone? Everything that seems fun these days is a trap. Holy shit. We’re living in a booby trapped virtual playground.
That said, if you want to know what goes on inside my crazy head during the day, you can follow me on Twitter. @annrichmond
Or, if you are boycotting Tweets in general, stay tuned to this blog.
These are in a loose order. Near the middle and the end, things get a little blurry for me. In this list, I try to include a cross section of dramatic actors, comedic actors, and some up and coming actors from my generation.
