~:: Movie Reviews & a bit of maundering on ::~

I am sitting in front of this screen, blank-minded.  After the last many weeks (would they like these napkins, or should I get those—did I forget to put the TIME on those invites—yes, yes I did—how could I forget to put in the time—and how many chairs are we gonna need, and where are we gonna get them—but I won’t know till I hear from G’s up north family—and I hope I can get away with wearing the yellow shirt or is it not mango enough?????????) of running around to pick up one tiny detail here, and another five miles away and another up valley, I’m not sure I can write a sentence without inserting a note-to-self in it.

I’m going to get to the movie reviews.  I promise.  But first: this morning when I went out to the horses, I counted the manure piles in the arena.  I know this isn’t a civilized topic of conversation, but it’s my life and I believe in truth in reporting.  There were about thirty six.  That’s 36.  Divided by four – and considering the arena was clean yesterday till I brought them in at about four in the afternoon, that’s nine poopings from EACH horse during a seventeen hour timespan.  (translates to: 500 pounds.  I’m certain of it.)  I no longer name my barn Rosewood Farms.  From now on, it’s Pooparama.  Truth in reporting and in NAMING things.

I made the mistake of watching horse training shows while I ran the treadmill this morning.  It’s a mistake because when I watch them, I see in no uncertain terms how (I’m not going to say poopy, here) lousy a job I’ve been doing with my guys over this summer.

Reading Better Homes and Gardens gives me the same perspective on my kitchen and yard, but a kitchen doesn’t kick you in the head when it gets sassy, nor do you have to chase it around in ninety degree weather to make a point.

So when I went down there this morning, it was with purpose and repentance in my heart.  Not that my horses are rude or aggressive.  I move among them easily, lovingly.  I just need to make them understand that I am scarier than anything else in the world when I get riled, and no matter what terrifying sounds they hear next door, the safest path to run is NOT where I am standing.

So I put them through their paces, and (just as I expected) found rust flaking off the moves.  Which meant we had to do groundwork.  Then liberty work – which resulted in a lot of me swinging a rope’s end and driving them and running across the arena to turn them, yelling: “Give me TWO EYES, dang it all!!!”  I did this with one horse after another till they began to get that “oh yeah, I remember this” look on their faces.

I shoulda done this at six in the morning, before we’d hit ninety degrees.  And I don’t have pictures of any of this (really, I should have Cam shoot video: yep – that’s me, the little old blond lady, doubled up, trying to suck in oxygen) because at that level of sweat, I’d either drop the slippery camera, or short it out—or throw it at a horse.

So that was my morning.  Now – the reviews:  both of these movies are available from Netflix:

Get Low

In this unexpected, character driven drama, Robert Duvall plays the kind of man he does so well—understated, short spoken, a man with a past, unsure of ever having a present.  We, along with the townsfolk, wonder what kind of hideous crimes the old man in that spooky, tumbledown shack of his might have done in his time.  The story, which is intriguing, is supported by a solid cast – including Bill Murry, who does a turn as a funeral home director, quirky as ever, but much more understated than you’d expect.  The story is well balanced, moments of real humor juxtaposed with moments of true tragedy.  I am a lover of redemption stories, but I want them to be real, honest – and this little film delivers on all levels.  We really loved it – the entire bunch of us.

Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi

I have to admit, I really enjoyed Bend it Like Beckham.  Mostly, the music.  That Bollywood music.  Not that Beckham was Bollywood, but it got me interested.  Later, when I saw Bride and Prejudice, I decided that I wanted to find out what real Bollywood was about.  So I ordered something subtitled from Netflix and settled back with delicious anticipation.

Oh, my gosh  – the movie I got was horrible. Primitive, badly written, cartoon characters (one of them a sort of super-good-guy who was determined to find answers for the murder of his father).  It was just really, really stupid, and the music was a huge disappointment.

Then, one day when I was facing a huge pile of business and domestic papers (I dump them all in the living room for a sort), I went again to Netflix and streamed a movie randomly, giving the Indian film industry one more chance.  The film was Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi—and though it has its problems – unevenness and silliness – it is one of the sweetest (and longest) films I’ve ever seen.

I will admit here that I don’t choose my cinema experiences one the basis of social realism or “art” or edginess.  I don’t love CG or any kind of self-important tone.   And sex bores the snarf out of me.  Explosions?  Nope.  Earth being invaded?  Yawn. Robots fighting? Car chases?  Busses running amok?  Please.  Brainless comedies, poor writing, characters that wobble around – no thanks.

I watch films to be delighted, surprised – either by the intelligence in the writing, or by the satisfying ring of truth in the story.  And I like my characters to have some depth.

Like I say, this movie was hardly consistent, but it had two of the most admirable characters I think I’ve ever seen fueling it.  Sweet, honorable, dear.  And the music was really fun.  There was one motorcycle scene that had me rolling my eyes – perhaps the most out-of-synch moment in the film in terms of character – but Chaz informs me that a film cannot be considered truly Bollywood unless there is a car/motorcycle chase or at least one explosion.  At the end, we are TOTALLY satisfied (if a little exhausted).  But best of all, we find our belief renewed: there can be wonderful people out there who are able to put their own needs on hold in order to serve others.

We watched it with Murphy and L and Chaz and Chelsea and we all loved it – even though it had Laura yelling at the screen from time to time.  There was just a quality in this not-slick-Hollywood production that reminded me of Frank Capra.  It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a film with that kind of heart.

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And there you have it.  All words.  No pictures.  Did you make it through to the end?