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I really expected to like Fast Food Nation, and to get all worked up about the issues presented. I loved Super Size Me, and can go on and on (with a bit of encouragement) about the many negative effects of our fast food culture. But this film puzzled me while I was watching it, and left me with no take away.

The puzzling aspects mostly came from a lack of fluidity and connectiveness in the movie. I kept expecting everything to come together in a more meaningful and natural way, but the various narratives and characters felt disjointed to the end. It seemed so contrived. There were also some characters and plot developments that didn't seem to serve a purpose at all (even though I had faith and kept expecting it all to make sense). Meaningless developments were belabored, while moments that could have been developed into something significant were skimmed over.

Which brings me to the lack of take-away messages. Sure, meat processing plants are disgusting. Sure, thinking about what goes on in them makes you think twice about biting into your next burger. But none of this is enlightening. The film doesn't drive home the fact that it's our American desire to get lots of food for almost nothing that creates the problem in the meat industry. It doesn't make you question what's more important, and what are we willing to sacrifice. It didn't touch on problemmatic government regulations (even when the system is at its best, what the government says is okay really isn't okay!). And the movie doesn't give hope or inspiration when it comes to changing any of this. Some people will say raising awareness of the situation is the first step, but this movie could have done so much more.

I'm happy to say I pulled off one of my favorite types of movie-watching experiences yesterday. I saw a film (Volver) that I was looking forward to for vague reasons, but that I knew almost nothing about ahead of time. I had not seen the trailer. I had not read any reviews. I only knew that Penelope Cruz was in the film (looking stunningly beautiful in every way), that it was directed by Almodovar, and that it had something to do with a few generations of women in a family.

Ahh. No expectations. Perfect.

And I loved the movie--partly because of my lack of expectations, I'm sure. And partly because I love the quirky, the unexpected, and the not-always-fully-explained-or-justified moments in films, and Volver had plenty. The characters were complex but endearing, as were the relationships between them. The city- and village-scapes were beautiful in very real, unperfected ways. And there were some really stunning scenes that have just stuck with me, including the opening scene where all the widows are tending to graves in a very windy cemetery, and a scene where the character Raimunda (Cruz) sings a song from her childhood with such intensity and emotion.

Overall, this is not the type of film that just floors you with its beauty or profundity the entire time you're watching. It's the kind of film that gently and gradually catches you up, takes you by surprise, and follows you closely after you leave the theater.

Paul and I saw this together our first night at the 2006 Denver Film Festival, and had mixed feelings about it. The man who introduced the film said he thinks it's one to watch for an Oscar nomination and possibly a Best Actor award for O'Toole. I'm not one to make such predictions, but it was an amazing performance. O'Toole's own life is winding down in a way that made him perfectly suited for the character study of Maurice, an aging actor whose health is beginning to fade. O'Toole does much more than just look and act appropriately aging--he seems to know at his core what it means to look back on your life with fondness and regret and one last burst of hope.

Apart from O'Toole and other very solid performances (Venessa Redgrave and Leslie Philips), the film has some slightly annoying qualities, as well as some very redeeming ones. I'll start with the narrative elements you'll need to understand the annoying things about the film. The whole premise of the film rests on the infatuation developed by the character Maurice for a very young working class girl named Jessie, a relative of his closest friend, Ian. He develops a relationship with Jessie (that is maybe 20 percent innocent and 80 percent highly questionable) that focuses on Maurice giving her a good dose of culture and class. In exchange, he wants to look at (and touch) youth. Can anyone say My Fair Lady? Pretty Woman? The thematic correlation is obvious, but it gets pushed over the edge by some scenes that involve buying Jessie some expensive earrings and taking her to the theatre and giving her a ride in a limo (yes, she stands up through the sunroof as they're driving through London).

But before you decide there's no way you'll see this movie, let me tell you what does work. Keep in mind that O'Toole works. There are some really funny and touching scenes between Maurice and his best friend, Ian. Their friendship is truly delightful. Plus, the use of light in the film is really beautiful. Look for the long, silent scenes where Maurice is sitting on the edge of his bed with the light coming in the window. And the film's treatment of larger issues and themes was very compelling to me. The film sets up several important contrasts: youth and aging; power and powerlessness; what we have and what we want; companionship/touch and isolation; privilege and poverty; pain and forgiveness. These are the contrasts of life, and they make the film worth seeing.

Ellie Parker (the film and the character, played by Naomi Watts) got under my skin in ways I didn't expect. Although Ellie's life as an aspiring actor going to one audition after another in LA, isn't anything like my own, I found myself relating to her--understanding exactly why she was laughing or crying, why she felt trapped, how she felt toward her best friend, why she let her frustrations get the best of her. I essentially empathized my way through this film. It all felt so real to me.

I think two or three factors really played into my experience with this film. For one, Naomi Watts based this film somewhat on her own life. It makes sense that even a semi-autobiographical film will come across as "more real" and identifiable to its audience.

Another factor is that Naomi partnered with her friend Scott Coffey, a director and screenwriter, to make this film. (He also plays a somewhat significant character--one who is endearing yet at the same time awkward and maddening.) I could really sense the fun that Naomi and Scott had making this film together. I sensed their extreme comfort level and mutual understanding and the many conversations they probably had along the way. It wasn't just "work" to them. (I guess they filmed it over a five-year period.)

Finally, the film was shot on digital video in a style that really drew me in. It had just the right amount of a "home video" effect--it added to the story rather than distracting from it.

Beyond all of that, Naomi Watts is amazing, and there are just some really funny moments in this film. They're funny in the way life can be funny (and sad and frustrating all at once). I'm going to venture out and say I loved this film. But I say it with caution, because it's not for everyone. I think anyone who considers themselves a moderately- to highly-adventurous film watcher will not be disappointed.

With 51 Birch Street, Doug Block has created a documentary around his journey to understand his parents as people, not just parents, and to understand their marriage in that light. In addition to many conversations with family members, the film includes insight drawn from years of his mother's journals, which were discovered after her death. (The journals include all kinds of information most adults would rather not know about their mothers). Overall, the film is touching, sometimes funny, often sad, but somehow not depressing. It seems to say, "This is life. This is what it means to be human. We all have variations on the same stories."

I think the most moving part of the film, for me, is an interview Doug has with his mother's best friend of many years, Natasha. He asks her if she thinks his mother would have wanted him to read her journals. Natasha goes through a long process of thinking and making a string of "difficult thinking" expressions before she answers emphatically "Yes!" I love how sure she is after taking the time to think about the issue from many different angles. I also love what she says to back up her response: "What a relief for someone to really know us, and still love us."

The film held many similar moments for me--moments of articulation that left me feeling that I was understood, not alone. As I talked to both friends and strangers after the screening, it became clear that I was not the only one to be moved in that way. We all have our own, unique stories, yet we are all connected. Films like 51 Birch Street simply bring that connection into the light.

I went to see Little Miss Sunshine last weekend. For some reason I went in expecting to chuckle and smile, but not to belly laugh. I expected the film to be a bit over the top, a tad too gimmicky, and generally another Napoleon Dynamite wannabe. There's definitely a formula young filmmakers have been trying to hit since the success of Napoleon Dynamite at Sundance in 2004.

So my expectations were moderate. Going into a film this way always helps, but I think even if my expectations had been on steroids I would have been thoroughly pleased with Little Miss Sunshine. Each character, while conceptually over the top (with the exception of the mom), was played perfectly. (Steve Carrell as the uncle was particularly brilliant and perfectly understated.) Similarly, even though many of the plot's premises are over the top, they work. You don't sit there thinking "That wouldn't happen." You sit there laughing like a fool. 

So back to formulas. Obviously, some things really make a good story, a good film, and those things should be paid attention to and learned from. (It's not like Sunshine is the first road trip film ever created, or the first with an overly angst-ridden teenager.) And even though legitimate formulas can be traced between successes like Sunshine and Napoleon, I still think the "anti-formula" has to be at the heart of a film like this if it's going to make it. It has to be fresh, like Napoleon was when it came out. I think Sunshine is the perfect balance between what works and what's fresh.

I could write a dozen or more completely different posts about Grizzly Man, the Werner Herzog documentary about Timothy Treadwell, who lived among grizzly bears in Alaska for more than 10 summers before being mauled by one in October of 2003. What really hit me most about the film, though, was this: A camera inherently contains a tightly wound bundle of potential, whether it’s put in the hands of an amateur or a master.

On one hand, you have Timothy Treadwell. He had no formal training in film, but he had a vision, the stark Alaskan landscape, and the grizzly bears and foxes as his cast. Treadwell manages to capture some gut-wrenchingly perfect scenes—he has an eye not only for moments, but also for composition: Two grizzlies running at full speed along the barren shore of a lake, for instance, and the scenes taken inside Treadwell’s tent, like one with the feet of a baby fox creating impressions and shadows on the roof, the creation of an abstract impressionist. Herzog comments on Treadwell’s ability to create something so moving and effective with only the most basic equipment and no crew. It’s obviously a huge part of why Herzog was drawn to this story, and he devotes a significant portion of the film to celebrating Treadwell’s artistry, straight up.

Herzog, on the other hand, knows completely what he is up to with the camera, and he pulls it off perfectly. He’s in his element, with Treadwell as his complex protagonist. There was one moment in particular that made me lean forward, almost holding my breath until it was over, and then sit back, nearly devastated by the artistry of a great filmmaker. The moment came when we finally see how Herzog chose to handle the audio of Treadwell and his girlfriend being mauled by the grizzly. Herzog’s choice demonstrates how we each are mirrored in the faces of those around us—those who see us, take in the expressions we’re not even aware we’re making, and are affected by them. In this moment in Grizzly Man, rather than seeing Herzog’s face as he listens to the audio, we see the face of Jewel Palovak, Treadwell’s close friend, who is watching Herzog. It says it all—it says perhaps even more—and once again reminds me of all that is tender and crushing and stunning about human relationships, and a human’s capacity to capture all that in a moment on film.

Overall, the documentary is a fascinating psychological portrait of a complex man you find yourself at once admiring and pitying. The film is informative, interesting, gripping, even humorous, and not nearly as graphic or frightening as you might expect.

Several of the best things about film festivals came together for me in Freedom's Fury, which I watched at the Waterfront Film Festival last weekend.

1. I saw a film I probably wouldn't have been able to view on a big screen in my small town
2. I saw a film I most likely wouldn't have picked up at the rental store (even if it looked interesting and I thought "someday I want to get this")
3. I witnessed the result of supreme filmmaking talent—the film is proof that it is possible to take two seemingly disparate topics and successfully weave them together in a way that appeals to even unconnected people (in this case, I learned it's possible to bring together water polo and a political revolution—go figure)
4. I got even more excited about the film when I heard the filmmakers, Colin Gray and Megan Raney ("The Sibs") talk after the screening about their process and experiences
5. I later had the opportunity to meet and talk to Colin and Megan, and found them as genuine and kind and smart and engaged as two people could be
6. I'm now only two degrees of separation from the likes of Lucy Lui and Quentin Tarantino, both executive producers on the project (this kind of "near brush with fame" really doesn't get me going, but I couldn't resist)

So anyway, it's obvious that this film experience did it for me at Waterfront. But I think Freedom's Fury will do something for you in your local theater or your living room, too. It has everything: good storytelling, good character development, captivating visuals, unexpected moments, suspense and action, heartbreak, and a sense of closure mixed with possibility and hope for the future.

(If you want to read more about this film and the filmmakers, check out SpoutBlog and The Sibs.)