avengers23 - 28/50 books | 42/50 movies
Books
28.
Count Magnus and Other Ghost Stories, by M.R. James
I struggled to find something to say about this collection of early ghost stories by M.R. James other than it's a fine collection that's enhanced by S.T. Joshi's annotations in the Penguin Classics edition that I read. I was drawn to them because they influenced H.P. Lovecraft; James's "Count Magnus" has been cited as an inspiration for Lovecraft's "The Case of Charles Dexter Ward." James's stories are fairly formulaic; a male scholar or researcher travels to an unfamiliar or fictional locale, described in great detail by James, in order to work on his writings or investigate artifacts like manuscripts or artwork. Small moments of creepiness build to the grand revelation of the mystery's secrets, whether it's the occupant of a mysterious thirteenth room that only appears at night or what lay inside a sarcophagus. The protagonist escapes swiftly, and the mystery is sometimes resolved, sometimes left lingering. James's style is dry and almost conversational, and his stories carry a theme about wariness of the unknown and the steep price of curiosity. I read and enjoyed them on a mostly intellectual level; the distance of years or my own temperament may have prevented me from enjoying them any more deeply than that.
Movies
40.
ESPN's 30 for 30: The Price of Gold
The defining moment of the Nancy Kerrigan and Tonya Harding saga is the footage of Kerrigan rocking on the floor, crying and asking the universe in general. "Why?"
The Price of Gold, ESPN's documentary for the second 30 for 30 series of documentaries, doesn't focus on answering Kerrigan's question, Instead, director Nanette Burstein, limited by Kerrigan's refusal to participate in the documentary, focuses on Tonya Harding's story, almost giving the floor to Harding to rebut the popular narrative about the attack on Kerrigan, Harding's role in planning the attack, the disproportionate power of the judges in a subjectively judged sport like figure skating, and Harding's legacy in women's figure skating.
The focus on Harding, profiling her abusive mother, her abusive first husband, the lack of funding to help Harding pay for the ice time, the equipment, or the training necessary to make the most of her innate ability to skate help to paint Harding as the underdog, the skater for which the poorer parts of America could root. It builds audience sympathy for Harding, even as the film never excuses Harding or Jeff Gillooly for their roles in the assault.
Burstein coordinates observations about the criteria figure skating judges and the American view public use to judge skaters' performances. They comment that everyone prefers the graceful, swanlike, fair, delicate ice princess over the more muscular, more overtly athletic skater. It's similar to criticism around how women gymnasts are judged and criticized and what happens to gymnasts who don't fit the popular ideal notion of a gymnast. Kerrigan, the film observes, could play that game. Harding couldn't or simply refused to, and she suffered for it.
On the other hand, the film doesn't lay the blame completely at forces beyond Harding's control. Harding made her name by executing the triple axel in competition before any other American female skater; when her life got in her way and she could no longer execute this type of athletic jump, Harding's desperation could define the narrative. You can trace the logic, from Harding's desperation to become a famous skater so she could earn money she didn't have growing up to Gillooly and associates deciding that the best way to secure Harding's success (so Gillooly could feast upon it) was to eliminate the competition.
No documentary about Tonya Harding would be complete without the documentarian directly asking Harding about her involvement in the attack on Kerrigan. Burstein skillfully cuts between footage from the initial investigation to Harding declaring that no one who truly knew her would believe that she had a role in the attack to Harding's childhood friend confessing that she avoids asking the question herself and admitting that she believed that Harding had a role in planning the attack. But no breakthroughs are made; the viewer is likely left to the same opinions on Harding as he or she came started with before watching The Price of Gold.
Lastly, it's given cursory notice, but Tony Kornheiser brings up the boom in figure skating popularity after the attack and the resulting investigation. That's a thread left unexplored, and it might have been the most interesting part of the story.
41.
Patton
I'm not sure I have anything to say that
Roger Ebert hasn't already said, but this was captivating. You can trace the path from Patton to
Apocalypse Now'sCol. Kilgore, but I think you can also track Patton, as he's presented in
Patton, to John Wayne's Ethan Edwards in
The Searchers. Though Patton actually did have ivory-handled revolvers, it seems fitting that he carries sidearms that would have been familiar to Edwards.
As a society, one could argue, we need men like Patton or Edwards to protect us, to have a monomaniacal dedication to achieving victory by annihilating our enemies for us. But when the crisis is over, we have no room for people like Patton or Edwards. Edwards will forever be outside our door, unable to enter because he feels unworthy of entering civilization, represented by a warm and happy home. Patton, whom we first see dressed in a well-decorated uniform that marks all of his martial accomplishments standing before a giant American flag as addresses his troops, leaves us with the impression of an old man wandering into the cold alone with his dog. Both chose this way of life (though Patton has a wife, we have only a single mention of her), and both are left separate and apart from the civilized world because of their choices.
42.
The Way Way Back
As I watched
The Way Way Back, written and directed by Nat Faxon and Jim Rash, I couldn't help but compare it to
Adventureland. The superficial similarities are there. Young white males who experiences a summer that changes his life? A soundtrack that's populated by indie musicians? A playful soul with hidden depth that helps the teenage boy understand himself better? Domestic trouble drives the boy to find summer employment at a decaying amusement park populated by wacky characters played by an all-star cast? It all matches!
I stated a preference for
The Way Way Back right after I finished watching the film. I'll admit that I was probably charmed by the film, which is designed to charm. But
The Way Way Back lacks the melancholy that
Adventureland has in spades.
The Way Way Back feels trite and sentimental even as it portrays on the margins the protagonist's mother stay in a bad relationship out of fear and the mother's unfaithful boyfriend emotionally abuse the protagonist. It also suffers from Allison Janney who is extra loud even though cutting her volume by half would still get across the point of her character.
The best relationship in
The Way Way Back is the brotherly, almost paternal relationship between Sam Rockwell's Owen and Liam James's Duncan. It's the one we spend the most time with, and it's given the most shades. Rockwell plays unhinged and manic beautifully here, and the film at least shows how tiring it can be to work with someone like Owen even as he could appear to be the coolest person in the world to a teenager like Duncan.
And that's the biggest difference between
Adventureland and
The Way Way Back. Jesse Eisenberg's James Brennan has graduated college; he sees his life ahead of him with hope and anticipation. His summer affair with Kristen Stewart's Emily unlocks a part of him that he could have found himself as he matured. Liam James's Duncan is still in high school, and I doubt that he can see past high school graduation. It's not his gentle summer crush on AnnaSophia Robb's Susanna that changes his life, but his summer friendship with Rockwell's Owen that gives him the confidence he needs to survive to the point where he could become something like Eisenberg's James.
Adventureland's characters are a few years older, so their melancholy about the world and their lives is just a little more pronounced, which makes for a more emotionally rich film.
