films: Love Actually, He's Just Not That Into You

warnings: possible spoilers ahead. for sure a metric ton of swearing.

11. Love Actually, dir. Richard Curtis. 2003.

watched March 9, 2011

57. He's Just Not That Into You, dir. Ken Kwapis. 2009.

watched November 25, 2011

Tackling these two (vaguely entertaining but frankly terrible) movies together, because I have things to say that only have marginal relevance to both. (Or maybe possibly it is entirely too relevant.)

Fuck these movies. Seriously, fuck 'em. I am so ridiculously sick and tired of these tired ridiculous heterosexist white-people romantic comedies that espouse ridiculous gender conventions that are often demeaning to women.

The first half of Love Actually I spent cooing reluctantly at the actors on the screen, and by the second half I was just shoveling popcorn into my mouth shouting, "Yeah, white people! Go forth and conquer the day!" and "Yeah, white man! Why don't you show off just how entitled you think you fucking are by doing what-the-fuck-ever you are doing!" Which is, alright, a bit of an exaggeration, but seriously, Hollywood, seriously. You have that much cash on you and you can't pay decent writers to write you something fucking new? Do you think only white people go out to see movies? On that note, do you think all non-white people have a shit ton of baggage that the script must address and oh no, a two-hour movie just ain't long enough for that? I get that at least one of these movies is about holiday cheer and spreading the warm and fuzzy feelings of love but god way to alienate a good percentage of your viewers by making every single love story between white people. (And don't give me shit about how Keira Knightley's husband in Love Actually was black, the story revolved mostly around her and her husband's white best friend.)

Some people might read this and go, "Whoa, aren't you being a bit racist against white people?" And I will reply, very earnestly, "No. You can't be racist against white people. You can't erase privilege like that." So if I had to admit to being anything, I'd say that I'm prejudiced against white people in shitty films like Love Actually and He's Just Not That Into You. Why are they the only ones represented? Do Asian-Americans and other hyphenated Americans just not matter? Are our stories not worth being told on the silver screen?

What else did I hate about these movies? Ah yes, the heterosexism. Way to erase the homosexual population, the bisexual population, the trans* population, the anything-that-isn't-straight-straight-straight population.

Also, He's Just Not That Into You: fuck you. Fuck you and your massive hard-on for gender essentialism. Fuck you and your pedantic "girls shouldn't be so assertive!"

Also, who the fuck was Drew Barrymore's character? Why was she even relevant? Was it just to give everyone a happy ending, if only in potentia? (I'm pretty sure I used "in potentia" incorrectly, but at this point I don't give a fuck.) Did she exist just to poke fun of the supposed perils of internet dating? Really?

God. I just. Come on, Hollywood, is a romantic comedy not about a straight white couple too much to ask for?!

film: Shame

warning: possible spoilers ahead.

59. Shame, dir. Steve McQueen. 2011.

watched December 13, 2011

This is a really fucking sad movie. Or a really sad fucking movie. Literally.

Awkward joke aside, Shame, directed by Steve McQueen (who, as every movie review seems to need to clarify, is a British director), is a movie about sex. About fucking, and a lack of intimacy, and how what we need shapes our lives.

I'm not sure I can clarify how I feel about this film. On the one hand, it's beautiful. McQueen mixes the classy, uptown-side of downtown New York and the breathtaking skylines and the seedy underbelly (good god everything sounds like a reference to sex, now) all in one film and does it seamlessly, forces us to see the full spectrum of the cityscape. On the other hand, it's stark and painful and so, so desolate - twisted, really, twisted and needy and when the film starts off you're sitting in the theatre staring helplessly at Michael Fassbender's bouncing dick wondering if you can give this movie what it needs, what it wants you to feel. Because really, Shame wants a visceral reaction out of you. Shame bares it all but doesn't tell you how to react to it. You watch the events play out on the screen and you can't help but ask questions: what is wrong with Brandon Sullivan? Did they just hint at the fact that his condition is a result of a brain injury? Are we supposed to judge him? What happened to him and Sissy, his sister? What the fuck is going on between the two? Is this movie brilliant or just really fucking unnecessarily convoluted? but the ending of the movie doesn't offer any answers. You feel like you should watch the film a second time in an effort to puzzle things out, but it's such a jarring, arresting movie that you feel like watching it again would just break your heart and refuse to return the pieces.

If there's one definite thing Shame shows the viewers, though, it's this: Michael Fassbender can and will act the fucking heart out of you.

He is Brandon Sullivan. And as terribly cliché as that sounds, it's fucking true. You don't sit there watching him fuck a prostitute against a window and think, "god in that other movie he had such a huge stick up his ass that he probably didn't even know there was a meaning to fuck other than 'I'm going to kill you'!" You sit there in that theatre simultaneously repulsed and sympathetic and forlorn because here is a man, perfectly capable of being friendly and dating a lovely woman from work, who can't have sex when it's intimate and can't go on without sex. You sit there wondering if he tried so hard with that woman because he wanted intimacy, because he knew he couldn't deal with it but needed it anyway, or if he tried because it was just what was expected of him, what society told him to want.

Whether you loved the film or hated it, you can't deny that Michael Fassbender fucking owned the screen.

On a rather contradictory note, I think part of the reason why the film resonated so well with me is because of the underlying tone of emptiness. The opening scene of Brandon on his bed, just breathing - god. There's something so quiet and understated about it. It should be desolate, lonely, but it's not. It's just... there.

...good god, I am so terrible at movie reviews it's ridiculous.