Funny People (2009)

Movies as candid and honest as "Spanglish" have attracted my husband and I to movies starring Adam Sandler. The trailers of "Funny People" made it a tempting proposition as a way to spend a couple of hours together. Two weeks ago, we sat down for a couple of laughs and a blunt perspective on relationships. Little did we know...

This movie was written by men, for men, in "man speak". Nearly every word spoken is explicit, derragatory, and is in reference to bodily functions and/or anatomy. About fifteen minutes in, my brother entered the room and laughed saying, "This movie is so funny!" I knitted my eyebrows together and asked, "Do guys really talk to each other like this?!" For me, the launguage was so foreign that it was unbelievable until Quinn made a comment that my husband answered in the same language that was on screen. "See, even he knows it!" exclaimed my brother.

The rest of the movie, for me, was like watching an episode of National Geographic.

The storyline wasn't that intriguing or compelling. As a movie - this one is terribly disappointing. But it prompted some thoughts on the expectations (or lack thereof) we have for men, in general. For decades (at least), our culture has been saying that men only have one thing on their mind. Initially, it may have been intended as a warning for our daughters. How could it be anticipated that this untruth would become an excuse to have a public, peer-driven face that is motivated completely by sexual acts? Even my husband, an intelligent, sensitive, and skilled Physics Major knows how and when to wear this mask.

Generations of women have focused on the opening and advancement of opportunities for women, but many of these steps have come in nasty, derrogatory stereotypes generalizing men into a pigeon hole that I do not want for my own sons or as companions and partners for my daughters. If we want to be equal partners, we will have to have greater expectations and know when to stand still - making room for men to step up.

The House of Mirth (2000)

Yesterday, I experience the unsettling and beautiful movie based on a book by Edith Warton. The cinematic version was nominated for and received several awards, but the original publication was met with mixed reviews. America's wealthy felt that it 'impuned the social elite.' Indeed.

Lily Bart is the heroine of the story. She is lovely (played by Gillian Anderson), but naive. Her beauty gains her enemies more quickly than friends. The movie begins with her in the embarrassing situation of needing to marry a wealthy suitor to cover some gambling debts. We never see her play. She says that, "Bridge requires a great deal more brains than I have." And that she is "Penitent." This seems to be an honest assessment of her character. Life in high society is a high stakes game and her innocence and trusting nature fail her at every turn as she becomes prey for those who would use her. However, she also has strong ideas about love and a fortitude in chastity, integrity, and honor that leave one feeling dazzled.

This movie was terribly hard to watch. There was nothing "offensive." (It carries a PG rating.) There was no need for skin or blood or harsh words... the story is very strong on its own. It was heartbreaking to watch someone trying so desperately to live honorably, being crushed - literaly - by the gossip being pumped out by those she would not give in to. No one believed there were innocent circumstances in any case.

Reflecting on why this was so difficult for me (I'm still choking up thinking about it), religion and culture press on us that if you do the right thing, you will be rewarded for it. Hollywood thrives on the underdog story. Work hard, play nicely with others... but, how many find themselves completely shunned for nothing but someone else's vanity?

As a period piece, the costumes are stunning, the study in manner, speach, and lifestyle of this time period are impeccable (doubtless because Warton captured these things flawlessly in her writing). The love story is enchanting, and Lily Bart is a character to both admire and long for.

Six Inches of Space

Last night, at MoJo's, I was surrounded by people I love who regulary nurture the muse. We were listening to a poet and I was snagged by a line in her poem - the title of this blog. I spoke my thought outloud and said, "We should all write something with this title." The reply I received was completely unexpected. Leah, The Sculptor, raised her hand as if measuring the space and raised her eyebrow at Roghaar, The Poet. His thick moustache danced knowingly above his lips, and he nodded back.

I, in a rare bout of innocence, had no idea what the average measure they referred to was until I turned to Google to begin a "found poem". Well, now I know. And here is the result of what I found:

Six Inches of Space

How can we fill it
when locks of love require four inches more?
When this Imperial length
is the difference between a river and a flood?

A good chef's knives don't have to be long.
Even Ben Franklin turned green
in your wallet, looking
down at the stainless steel
stilettos from Sevilla - a smooth rimmed bowl
made of Cherrywood.

The Pentagon's pushing pop icons
to enter
the decision space
of potential soldiers,
and Mr. October taught Hoot Gibson
to make chin music with it.

Global creativity doesn't have to be based
in Mumbai. Dangerously
low-levels of Pringles in Cincinnati
and overnight snowfall in Canton, Illinois
can press -
when six inches
and a coronary are all that separate us.

Somewhere in Bali

Virginia Wolfe said that all women needed to become writers was a room of one's one. I'm fairly certain that to write in this room, I will need a considerably full pocket book as well. But, if you're going to dream... dream it big.

Can't you hear the surf and the salt getting into the pages?!