Pass the Popcorn: Movies from where I Sit

Since I'm not an expert on anything, and my opinion is seldom sought, I have decided the ordinary, middle aged woman might as well pontificate.  Well, why not?  I have ideas, I have thoughts, I watch a ton of movies.  This blog will not be coming from a film school critic, and technical stuff is not my forte.  I just want to express myself about something I love, films.  I like high brow, low brow, browless, you name it.  I used to say my favorite movie was "Les Enfants du Paradise", and I certainly still invoke it in my head for a variety of reasons.  When I'm sitting in the meditation hall waiting for the bell to ring, I see the parade of humanity before me, full of ego and id, posturing and positioning, sadness and joy, the whole gamut.  So that one really knocked my socks off.  "Rebecca" is another I've often mentioned when asked, and it has all the elements:  romance, Laurence Olivier, mystery, a psychotic villain, George Sanders, the hint of naughty sex, and vague ending that allows us suckers to grasp at happiness, while, if you've read the book, and I have a few times, feeling superior because you know their marriage will not end well, and no children, to boot.  Currently, I like Terence Malick's "New World".  And that is despite Colin Ferrell being in it.  Malick is a world unto himself, and his newest film "To the Wonder" has the distinction of being one of the most boring films ever made, though with Ben Affleck, what can you expect?  I know, he can direct, but his acting, really, it can't bear scrutiny. 

But this week, I'd like to explore the films I think should be up for Oscars.  "Fruitvale Station", for instance.  It's tight, emotional, cinema verite, with no editoralizing or romanticizing.  One day in the life of an ordinary urban Black man.  He's not a hero, he's not a villain.  He's real.  His life is real, his death is real, and it's his universality that marks this tragedy.  Michael B Jordan is Oscar Grant.  He inhabits the role.  Olivia Spencer is perfect as his mom.  His girlfriend has this amazing, but real face.  I'd like to think the awards season hasn't forgotten this film.  But they clearly have, since it was a summer movie and their tiny memories are unable to hold anything for longer than thirty days.  This movie does what great movies do:  it shakes you up, makes you think again about a real death, and in a different, more profound way.  And more importantly, it forces us to think of all the other Oscar Grants, invisible, uncared for, brushed off the screen of our thoughts.