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Resolved
I used to have a not uncommon annual tradition during this season. This week, actually. I would to sit down and fuss over a private year-end Top 10 list of movies. I had all kinds of rules (Had to be something seen on a big screen, couldn't have been a revival, though special screenings or festival viewings were fair game... that sort of arbitrary rigidity) Not this year.
The habit has been fractured by my unwillingness to admit how steeply my movie watching has dropped off (I don't get out nearly as much). I haven't even seen the movie I worked on that the country is hooting about right now.
But I'm also finding that I don't trust myself entirely. My reactions to movies seem a little weird to me. I thought Syriana was great but had an impossible time with a death that occurs in the middle of the picture. This did not used to be a problem I ever had as a moviegoer. I don't recognize myself. Who is this woman in whose body I'm sitting and why is she squeezing her eyes shut? What happened to the toughie who happily sat through any amount of carnage and human death, who only minded certain kinds of animal threat? Of course this has everything to do with having had a child. There are other things that are also different about me, though I'm hoping a little more dedication in the gym and a bit more restraint about the enormous box of delicious chocolate-covered caramels that is calling to me will remedy that.
(Here I will say, in my defense that this is somewhat different from my King Kong problem. I have always had a Kong problem, ever since I saw the 1933 version. It promises to be worse with my new viewing quirks and the fact that this Kong, as my brother says: "seems so much sadder.")
Happily, I can enjoy thinking about the wrestling match I used to have with myself, because every critic around is writing about the agony and the ecstasy of creating a Top 10 (the Village Voice does this well, too). On top of those articles, there's also the Slate Movie Club, in its final year. I adore Movie Club and have read it avidly for years. David Edelstein should know how deeply it will be missed and I hope he reincarnates it somehow in his new gig.
I don't know how long I will be so easily manipulated or when my critical faculties will normalize, but in the spirit of trying to be myself, here are some pictures- new and old, and a couple of television series- that would be on a Top 10, if I were making one, which I am not.
Here is what I remember really enjoying this year. It isn't a Top 10. I haven't seen enough to do justice to the list.
A History of Violence
2046
Good Night and Good Luck
Syriana
Wallace and Gromit: Curse of the Were-Rabbit
Three Times (a Taiwanese movie by Hou Hsaio-hsien, a favorite director who didn't disappoint)
Wedding Crashers (thought I would hate it, didn't, a complete surprise)
Sin City (would never be a top 10 pick, but was novel)
Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire
No no, this isn't everything I've seen. There are others, I know there are others, but I forgot to write everything down. And if I start weeding too hard, despair will set in until I actually find myself trying to cough up shabby Top 10 list. And then I will have to pry open my exquisite bottle of post-partum tequila I got as a baby shower present. This is only a little gesture, and a promise that I will one day return to my old ways.
On the bright side, all this talk of lists and interesting pictures has allowed me to plump up my Netflix queue. Any picks on your end? Do tell.
Next year, perhaps. Next year I will have done more, seen more and even though I will surely be under the sway of this maternal haze, have more to say. Consider that a resolution.
posted by Elise at 9:44 AM
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