FilmFestivus: Movies for the Rest of Us

Aka, Criticizing the Critics

I had a wonderful, warm, elderly, well-respected, much-journeyed South Asian history professor who used to say "thank God the world isn't really like what the economists think it's like."

I would also like to thank goodness that movies aren't really what the critics say they are. It does me in every time--a movie intrigues me, so I read reviews for a better understanding of it. For a long time, it wasn't a problem--I mostly agreed with the critics, and knowing plots and spoilers beforehand only enhanced my understanding of the film versus detracting from it.

However, for about the past 2 years or so, I've been astounded by the mediocrity, cynicism, and sycophantism I see in many reviews. I expect the professionals to help me decide whether I want to see a given movie--but I need to cease the practice, at least until after I've seen the film. Yes, I am breaking with the critics until further notice.

I can pinpoint the time that I started disagreeing with mainstream reviews: it was in 2006, when The Illusionist and The Prestige both came out at the same time. Two movies about magicians, both amazing and memorable films. I daresay The Prestige holds up a little better on subsequent viewings, yet The Illusionist got the lion's share of accolades (Paul Giamatti and Ed Norton being more of the "it" actors at the time than Christian Bale and Hugh Jackman, who were more of the new kids on the block). Not to mention, The Prestige is based on an adult English fantasy/sci-fi novel, which made it more prone to niche film than the universal love story of The Illusionist.

The same year, Lady in the Water came out. Unique and ethereal, yet skewered in near totality by film critics. It was not a coincidence that M. Night Shyamalan, darling child who also did Sixth Sense, fell out of good favor with critics after not only getting on Disney's bad side over the film, but blatantly poking fun at them in Lady in the Water.

Unfortunately, Shyamalan has not been able to work his way back into their good graces yet. His latest US film, The Happening, did not receive many reviewers' blessings. Yet, being a Shyamalan fan, I saw The Happening with an open mind and was thoroughly chilled and thrilled by the possibility of eco-terror (not those who spraypaint SUVs mind you--no, this movie is about Mother Nature herself using her army of foliage to drive humankind to mass suicide). The movie struck a fear nerve in me more than most traditional ghost-and-slash horror movies can. Horror is all about finding new possibilities and avenues of fear--and the very timely The Happening, released in the middle of global climate change debate, certainly makes on think about the full range and wrath of environmental rebellion.

2007 was a rather unremarkable year for movies (with Juno garnering the bulk of praise--while a reasonably good movie, it is telling that no others stand out from that year), so fast-forward to 2008, the year of Slumdog Millionaire. I wasn't in a hurry to see it, knowing I would probably find it a turn-off, but you would've thought its cinematic mastery was on par with Citizen Kane according to the reviews. Yet, when I finally saw it, my worst fears about it came true--it was just another movie juxtaposing the immense poverty of India's slums with the fabulous wealth of the nouveau riche there...it was horrifically graphic, and showed the poor as brutish, brutal people prone to criminalism.

Now up to the present--2009 releases. We saw 2 movies based on sheer acclaim--Where the Wild Things Are and Paranormal Activity. Both soul-crushingly boring. In fact, I was incredulous that the movie that got lower marks than the previous two, Julie Julia, turned out to be my favorite in-theater film of the year. It is still hard to understand the unconvincing criticism of Julie Julia--how could anyone fail to be won over by Julia Child's beautiful success story? Fail to empathize with Julie's cubicle angst and quarter-life crisis?

Let's not forget the candy-colored nightmare that was Up. I mean, really--has no one seen the Czech movie Autumn Spring that deals with the problems of aging, and involves an elderly man flying away in a hot air balloon for one last adventure?! Up was Pixar's ingration to its new owner, Disney, in order to atone for its more original, early movies like Monsters, Inc. Unfortunately, Up had all the tilt-a-whirl sickeningly feel that screams "Disney," complete with the obligatory slams on diversity and contemporary society. Existing in a vacuum as much as any Disney film (did the old man not have any friends, family, social interaction, etc?!--the movie led you to believe this man lived a completely solitary existence, with the young boy conveniently walking in to his wide-open life), it screeched over those heart strings in unabashedly maudlin manipulation as only Disney can. Up was not even tailored towards children--its ridiculously false nostalgia was obviously subtly aimed at the parents of the poor tykes who got dragged along to it. Yet Up is hailed by most critics as one of the best, if not the best, movies of the year. Why? Because it is safe...no reviewer risk-taking needed.

I had been waiting for months to see Nine (which was released 2 days ago), yet our plans to see it yesterday were nearly derailed--not by the falling snow, but by poor reviews. We almost followed the herd to see Avatar instead, or worried that maybe we'd be more chic to see Sherlock Holmes. But, forming a new FilmFestivus resolution (see below), we stuck to our guns and saw Nine. Thank God--the critics were once again wrong, (although I must admit, even by the comments of the everyday moviegoer, we who liked Nine are still in the minority).

The old ladies tittering next to us complained ceaselessly about all the cigarette smoking (the movie took place in Rome in the mid-60's people!!!!), sex, and lingerie in the film, almost earning a seat-kicking from Esposo and me. Yet we loved it--it was over-the-top, outrageous, and utterly moving and honest and captured some interesting social mores of the time. The comments of the critics, once again, were so off-base that I wondered to myself about a few of the writers, "have these people lived at all?"

What can be said about those who critique for a living? After all, there is a fine line between critique and criticism, easily crossed when it's all too easy to leave the vision and creative process to others. Why is it so easy to descend into cynicism? My tentative hypothesis is that some critics are too timid to be honest with their own life experiences. Maybe they are so used to watching other people's lives on screen that they do not remember to summon their own. Maybe critics in general (not just of movies) are too comfortable with and accustomed to watching others pour their hearts, minds, and labor into works.

And with this, I declare the start of my own personal FilmFestivus: Movies for the Rest of Us.

Beautiful Disaster: Don Quixote's Thanksgiving

The nightmare before Christmas isn't Halloween afterall--it's Thanksgiving!

Thanksgiving has always been my least favorite holiday. My memories of it are not exactly radiant--a cold, usually gray time of year in WI, but usually before the magical glow of first snow. As a child, I inwardly grumbled about how vastly inferior a holiday Thanksgiving was compared to the Christmas around the corner due to the glaring absence of presents. In my family, Thanksgiving was a tedious, quiet holiday.

Once I left home for college, I started contriving all sorts of ways to stop celebrating Thanksgiving with my family. I would see them in a month, anyway, and I resented aunts and uncles who came to holidays to get their family card punched and fall into silence for the rest of the year.

I started out by being overseas, and ultimately evolved into the tradition of celebrating the holidays with friends. In my mind, this made the event about people who wanted to be together, not who were obligated to be together.

Then, last year something happened: my son was due to have his second open-heart surgery the day before Thanksgiving, and we were to spend the holiday in the incredibly difficult immediate recovery period in the pediatric intensive care unit.

That event changed everything...I decided that never again would I feel sorry for myself on a holiday. I wouldn't take them, or any day, for granted anymore...if we were merely spending them outside the hospital, that was more than enough. And this year, an exceptional number of heart families I know were spending Thanksgiving in the hospital, some in dire circumstances, and I wondered how we could be so fortunate.

This year, I spent most of November reflecting on all there is in my life to be thankful for. It felt good--in fact, I can't recall a better November. But then, the day itself actually arrived, and I found myself and my son sick and running to the airport first thing in the morning on two hours of sleep. I almost got into an accident, my husband went out of state to visit his family, my son went to his grandparents' house, and my host ended up in the ER with her daughter...things were strained with my best friend, who'd just arrived from DC, and there was a meltdown of conflicting schedules and exhaustion. After 8 hours of driving, I ended up having to return home and completely missed out on Thanksgiving dinner.

I realized that I had measured having a "normal" Thanksgiving this year by whether we would be in the hospital or not. I thought I was returning to "normalcy," but how short memory is! There was never any normalcy to the holidays--not the ones I experienced anyway. Normalcy is actually what is abnormal for me.

Time and time again, I try to be something I'm not, live a life that is not mine, without remembering that I have been called to live an extraordinary experience. Why do I sometimes continue to try to reject was God has given me, and trade it for the mundane?

The holidays are the perfect time to allow oneself to be distracted from the prize by an iconic Rockwellian image, which makes us wish for what we think we should have versus the greater experience that God has given us.

This year, Thanksgiving was good preparatory training for Christmas. My eyes are set back on the goal, and my armor has been reinforced against drama.

What I can take away from this November, though, is the practice of lasting gratitude. In the coming years, it won't matter at all how we celebrate the actual day, because that's not that point of the holiday anyway. It is, afterall, just a gateway holiday to the coming winter celebrations.

The Perfect Balance, the Golden Mean

A strange story, how Esposo and I ran into each other, and it all began with Lake Michigan's left bank.

Before we ever met, the stage was set when we were children.

Esposo is from a neighboring state, but his uncle also happened to marry a Milwaukee girl and the pair moved to Port Washington--a small city half an hour up the lakeshore from the big city. When Esposo was a child, his parents would bring him on family vacations from Iowa to play on the beaches adjacent to Port Washington.

My father has roots in Port Washington, and I was also taken on weekend trips to play on these beaches.

Esposo and I have pictures, playing as children with our respective families, on the exact same beaches--him a few years older than me and trailing his dad as they tight-roped the places where wave meets sand, me a 4 year old in a green and yellow swimsuit building a sand castle.

We played on the same beaches, 20 years before Esposo would be offered his choice of 2 job locations and choose Milwaukee based on his childhood memories of the place and his uncle's residence here, and we would meet and fall in love.

Sometimes I like to imagine that my 4 year old self looked a bit up the beach and asked the boy Esposo to build sandcastles with me.

Instead, I did 20 years later.

A Stretch of Shoreline

Walking on the Lake Michigan shoreline on a Sunday morning
I met a young man dressed in black
with a pale white face like a mask
a mime either pretending sorrow, or unable to pretend joy anymore.
He looked away, shrugged to the side, cast his glance downward.
Taking a piece of driftwood, he scratched words into the sand
And disappeared where forest met beach.
Approaching his words, I read
“No one cares about me” and
“I’m all alone.”
As the waves at my feet licked his words away
And swallowed them into quiet eternity,
I desperately scanned the edge of forest
But I was alone
and powerless to salvage his shipwrecked words.

Is Italian the Lingua Franca of Heaven?!

Aka random food diary post.

Every time I make risotto, I wonder how my Italian ancestors had the patience. Then I marvel at how I (most impatient person in the history of risotto makers) have the patience, and I chalk it up to the fact that there must be something indescribably comforting about standing over a hot stove and stirring.

Although I have other points of origin making up my heritage, I've always felt most connected, by far, to my Italian side. To begin with, they were the branch of my family that I grew up around, that I spent the most time with. I was my great-grandmother's unabashed favorite, and some of my earliest memories are of the aroma of her home-baked Italian cookies (the very same aroma that gives my brain a punch back in time when I walk into Sciortino's Bakery). Italian cuisine is among my favorite, if not my absolute favorite, and Italian language is the most beautiful human sound to my ears. I rent Italian movies just to hear the language--I turn off the subtitles and attempt to understand it as best as I can. Then there's what esposo refers to as my "Italian temperament," which I probably shouldn't say too much about, lest I fall into the realm of stereotypes. Suffice to say, unemotional, dispassionate, stoic type I am not...and I live for the finer things in life, like my loved ones, loads of olive oil, and the beauty of the natural world :)

And, of all the places I'd like to go, Italy has moved to the top of the list. I've always wanted to go there, but I feel the pull more and more. I've already been to the other places my family came from--Ireland and Poland. The closest I've been to Italy is Greece, where my fav cousin lives, which I also long to go back to for the great food and rocky beaches and clear blue water--this time with esposo!

To me, food is very wrapped up one's personal stories--and this is the wrapping Italian cooking has for me. In my last post, I mentioned getting 95% of my recipes (excluding the ones I've come up with on my own, of course) from Eating Well. Well, last night I tried one that falls into the 5% category: A Sanford D'Amato creation. According to my grandmother, our family and D'Amato's family were friends in past generations, both being of Milwaukee's east side/Riverwest Italian American community. However, those days are long gone--most likely due to the Americanization pressures placed on immigrants for most of the 20th century, and let's face it--white flight had something to do with it too.

Mr D'Amato is one of Milwaukee's premier chefs, and is renowned nationally as well. He has 2 very well-respected restaurants that I know of in the city. His recipes have been appearing lately in the Sunday edition of the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel, but they've been a little too involved for a parent of a 1-yr old toddler. A daring, toddling infant makes having several open pans on the hot stove, and knives of all sorts out on the counter, rather nerve-racking.

Not to mention,, I'm frankly a bit jealous of him--each of his recipes has appeared with a description of his travels in Italy--the bikes along the sun-kissed coast with his wife, the tiny roadside cafes filled with untold cullinary surprises--Mr D'Amato, you're killin' me!

It's obvious D'Amato, like yours truly, enjoys the good things life has to offer--like any good chef worth his salt (pun intended). That much is obvious from merely glancing at his recipes--not just by the ingredients (9 tablespoons olive oil!?!) and structure alone, but by the very technique, the very construction of each dish.

Yesterday, I set out to prove that I too can make one of his recipes. The one I chose was like nothing I'd ever heard of before: Adriatic Shrimp Soup with Chickpeas and Saffron. I mean, seriously--get a load of that recipe! I was so bedazzled by the sound of it that I paid little attention to what the grocery bill might cost...until I started shopping, that is. Quite the expensive pot of soup, but was it worth it? Oh, yes. And 1 bowl plus crusty bread is enough to fill me up--so really, we will be getting about 8 meals out of it.

I have to admit that I cheated a bit. I knew rapini would be hard to find this time of year, but I at least expected to find mustard greens to use as a substitute. No such luck--I ended up having to go with dandelion greens, which turned out to be a fine choice, adding the bitter contrast to the sweet shrimp and savory fennel bulb. I also bought a cheap knock-off of Sambuca, as esposo hates anise (though I love it)--I wasn't about to spend $28 on an entire bottle of the stuff when all we needed was a couple tablespoons. My budget also only allowed for cheaper powdered Spanish saffron as opposed to the golden threads, and to save time I bought canned chickpeas instead of soaking dry ones overnight. As for the dry white wine--it can be hard to find a white wine dry enough for some recipes (without settling for the same old buttery Chardonnays and citrusy Sauvignon Blancs), so I always go with a dry white bordeaux in these situations, and it hasn't disappointed me yet.

Then, what I really splurged on was the shrimp. Being a vegetarian, and only eating seafood once every couple weeks or so, I feel like I can really afford to spend the extra couple bucks on quality, sustainable meats and seafoods. I went to a local place that I know has exceptional seafood, and bought the fresh, shell-on jumbo shrimp (the recipe calling for peeling the shrimp and steeping the exoskeletons in chicken stock to make the broth).

The result was unbelievable.

The soup practically had me speaking Italian. In my heaven, Italian will be the lingua franca...or at least something as beautiful as Italian. I don't think I can spend eternity speaking English, having to say words like "park" and "eat" and "bake."

No, no...English is not the language of angels.

Eating Superbly Well

Shawn and I share a love of cooking...and of eating. We get a bit competitive in the kitchen, especially because we have differing styles when it comes to crafting dishes. Shawn finds a recipe and follows it exactly, and by some magic (good taste and intuition), what he makes almost always turns out world-class. I take a look at what ingredients I have sitting around and throw them together in impromptu creations--dark chocolate walnut cranberry coconut muffins, bok choy tofu udon soup, etc. When we have people over for dinner, we work on our separate dishes, and to my seething chagrin, Shawn's dishes seem to get the best accolades. "These fried plantains and this Caribbean rice is great. But what Shawn made, the Puerto Rican fish stew, that...that was like something a chef would make. That was amazing. I'll never forget that. That's the best thing I've had in a very long time."

Yes, precision and good taste are Shawn's strengths. Fearless adventure is mine. I'm not a baker--all those measurements?! When I read "sift," to me that says, "scoop loosely; don't pack." For Shawn, "sift" means "go to the store, buy a flour sifter, and painstakingly sift until my thumb cramps up."

Now that we're deep into fall, I'm in all my farmer's market glory--buying gnarled varieties of squash, selecting new heirloom apples to try, on quests for the perfect purple bell pepper, lugging Canary melons under one arm, and collecting "dragon apples" (heirloom tomatoes--the weirder-looking, the better!) as if they were gems. This may be the one season where Shawn cannot outshine me...and he dare not even try to match my pumpkin-selectin' and pureein' skills...in my homemade pumpkin pie, mulled wine, and spiced cider, I have absolute confidence--yes, Sept and Oct are my favorite "food months" of the year.

I've branched out these past couple years, however, due to Eating Well Magazine. Thanks to these good folks, I've actually come to enjoy collecting and treasuring recipes. While all of their recipes seem to be online, I still find it well-worth it to subscribe to their print magazine, with its sumptious photos, aesthetically-pleasing layout, and informative ecological articles. I like how their recipes are both meat- and vegetarian-friendly, which has really bridged the gap between me and my carnivorous friends/family at dinner gatherings. And, ingredients that I never bought before, I now look for every time they're in season--asparagus, brussels sprouts, watercress...so here is an ode to our top 10 Eating Well recipes, which are guaranteed to make you like such daunting ingredients as Savoy cabbage and fennel. They range from simple sides to more ambitious entrees...all striking in their celebration of the fine things earth has to offer :)

My Top 10 Eating Well Recipes:

1. Puerto Rican Fish Stew (There's really nothing you can do to make this one vegetarian, so this is a great option for pescetarians who have meat-eaters over for dinner--THE singlemost best recipe ever. Serve with fried plantains and Caribbean rice)

2. Shrimp Tamale Casserole with Three Sisters Black Mole (The mole really makes this one, but pesco-friendly tamales are always a treat. Pure vegetarians could subsitute roasted veggies for shrimp)

3. Gnocchi with Tomatoes, Pancetta & Wilted Watercress (Vegetarians, substitute veggie bacon for pancetta. Cook separately and add last, since adding early to the dish will just impart more salt, and the flavor of the veggie bacon will be cooked out)

4. Asparagus Soup (Vegan if veggie broth is substituted for chicken broth)

5. Creamy Fettuccine with Brussels Sprouts & Mushrooms (This one made me like brussels sprouts, which I now can enjoy cooked up in just some sherry and served with some parmesan on top)

6. Tuscan Cabbage & Mushrooms (Vegetarians substitute veggie bacon for pancetta, and veggie broth for chicken broth)

7. Asparagus with Curry Butter (This is so easy that's it's become our fav way to cook up fresh asparagus)

8. Spaghetti Squash & Pork Stir-Fry (Vegetarians substitute veggie chicken strips for pork)

9. Roasted Squash & Fennel with Thyme (Vegan)

10. Blue Cheese-Walnut Green Beans (an early summer fav way to cook all those green beans you bought at the farmer's market)

Eat well and prosper!

Alternative Dimension: Time's Tea Party

Last year I heard a woman share a story about her joy at watching her daughter play. Her daughter was in the backyard, setting up an imaginary tea party and unbeknownst to the child, her mother casually kept an eye on her from an upstairs window. After a time, the mother called the daughter in to help set the dinner table, but the memory of her daughter's idyllic tea party stayed with her. She believed that was how God must feel when he sees his children--all of us--at play. Just like a good parent gives the child time for play and time for responsibilities, so God gives us time for play and work as well.

But how many of us adults really take time for play? And of that time, how much of it is spent with unabashed joy and gratitude? How much of it is instead pre-scheduled and structured, more of an appointed obligation with either a hidden purpose or agenda, a "to-do" or "should-do?" How much of it is spent self-consciously and guiltily, instead of with exuberant creativity and imagination, with appreciation for creation?

Most of us today see time as an enemy, not as a gift. We live in opposition to time instead of in harmony with it; we try to stay ahead of it instead of living alongside it. We over-book and hyper-schedule in an attempt to "get ahead" or "stay on top of," all of which results in barely keeping our heads above water.

Many drown in the sea of time instead of floating on its surface, buffeted and overwhelmed by waves and currents--and a drowning person does not have the perspective to see the shore or the horizon. We feel that we should constantly strive to beat out the competition--but won't there always be sales to take advantage of, friends to be made, and money to be earned? Do we truly believe that if we don't get what we want today, we never will? And if so, what does this say about things of eternal value vs the things of this world--status, money, material--that we should not be measuring our life's worth by anyway?

Even if we see finite time as a curse to mankind, I still believe that God wants to take any evil thing that befalls us and turn it to good. Therefore, even if we see finite time as our enemy, we still must see it turned into a gift from God. Yes, time on earth leads us to a bodily death, but if Christians believe death leads to eternal life, can we not look a bit more kindly on time?

What if we see time as a banquet set before us? Is time a bowl of candy to be devoured--rotting us from the inside out, making us crave more until we're sick and unsatisfied? Is a bowl of gruel, sullenly ate without joy, nothing inspiring us to continue partaking but solely getting to the end and being done with it? Or is it a spread as varied as creation itself, with nearly endless possibilities and choices?

I personally think sitting at God's banquet includes an optional tea party. The courses at God's table can fortify and inspire gratitude and wonder in us, or can (if we choose) lead us to excess and greed, or can even lead us into joyless denial and pointless sacrifice. But what about what just is? What purpose does sitting down to tea serve? None, nutritionally. It's purpose exists in really having no purpose--in letting time just be, in taking a break from the other cares, pursuits, and agendas of the world.