God, I Love Movies
Jul. 13th, 2002 10:28 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bryantSo some connected Hollywood type guy is giving away a bootleg set of Star Wars DVDs -- the original movies, not the recut things that were rereleased recently. Plus a fourth DVD with various cool extras on it. The contest: tell him about your favorite movie and why it's important to you.
Hey, that's a writing contest. I can do that.
Since I'm pretty pleased with my submission, I figured I'd repost it here for your delight and so on.
A long time ago, on the opposite side of the United States from where I live now, I snuck into a movie theater to catch this movie I thought ought to be pretty good. It was R rated, so I had to sneak in, but I was pretty sure I had the moral high ground. This wasn't some cheesy R rated teen comedy, which in my opinion was the kind of movie R ratings were meant for. This was a new flick by the guy who did Time Bandits, Mr. Funny himself, let's get a good laugh together, Terry Gilliam. I was in the mood for a good old Monty Python laugh. So I snuck in, grabbed my popcorn, and settled down to ignore the previews. Waited, patiently. Listened to the strains of orchestral music rise as the title appeared on the screen.
Brazil!
That'll teach a kid to read the movie reviews before he hits the multiplex, huh?
I spent the next two hours and eleven minutes glued to the screen: barely breathing, clutching the arms of my seat. Here and there I found myself crying. When it was over, and I left the theater, the grey light of an overcast Cape Cod sky was nearly too much for me. I didn't want to experience something so mundane after what I'd just seen.
Through the transformative alchemy of Terry Gilliam's genius, I suddenly understood what good film was all about. Before Brazil, I knew nothing. Hey, Breakfast Club, that's an insightful drama! I'd never bothered to keep track of actors, I'd never really wanted a complex story -- I'd been pretty much a passive consumer. I got my complex stories out of books.
But man. When Jonathan Pryce gave De Niro that puzzled frightened look, I got it. This was acting. This was a guy turning in a brilliant performance. And when Gilliam picked up the clouds again, and brought the music back up, I got it. This was a theme, tying the movie together, creating structure in a way no linear narrative could.
I realized that you can break the rules, and wind up with something special out of that. I realized that film does matter as something other than casual entertainment. I realized that this was something worth caring about.
So here I am: a fan of Cronenberg and Lynch, but also -- as I learned to appreciate the quieter glories -- of Soderbergh and Curtis Hanson. For that matter, I even still love the action flicks. I cried again a little when I heard Frankenheimer died (not for Reindeer Games, but for Ronin and Manchurian Candidate and the rest). But thanks to Terry Gilliam, I know why I love those movies. And I have enough sense to skip the Wild Wild Wests.
So there you go. Brazil. (Sing it when you say it.) Brazil!
Thanks, Terry. I owe you, even if you'll never know it.
Hey, that's a writing contest. I can do that.
Since I'm pretty pleased with my submission, I figured I'd repost it here for your delight and so on.
A long time ago, on the opposite side of the United States from where I live now, I snuck into a movie theater to catch this movie I thought ought to be pretty good. It was R rated, so I had to sneak in, but I was pretty sure I had the moral high ground. This wasn't some cheesy R rated teen comedy, which in my opinion was the kind of movie R ratings were meant for. This was a new flick by the guy who did Time Bandits, Mr. Funny himself, let's get a good laugh together, Terry Gilliam. I was in the mood for a good old Monty Python laugh. So I snuck in, grabbed my popcorn, and settled down to ignore the previews. Waited, patiently. Listened to the strains of orchestral music rise as the title appeared on the screen.
Brazil!
That'll teach a kid to read the movie reviews before he hits the multiplex, huh?
I spent the next two hours and eleven minutes glued to the screen: barely breathing, clutching the arms of my seat. Here and there I found myself crying. When it was over, and I left the theater, the grey light of an overcast Cape Cod sky was nearly too much for me. I didn't want to experience something so mundane after what I'd just seen.
Through the transformative alchemy of Terry Gilliam's genius, I suddenly understood what good film was all about. Before Brazil, I knew nothing. Hey, Breakfast Club, that's an insightful drama! I'd never bothered to keep track of actors, I'd never really wanted a complex story -- I'd been pretty much a passive consumer. I got my complex stories out of books.
But man. When Jonathan Pryce gave De Niro that puzzled frightened look, I got it. This was acting. This was a guy turning in a brilliant performance. And when Gilliam picked up the clouds again, and brought the music back up, I got it. This was a theme, tying the movie together, creating structure in a way no linear narrative could.
I realized that you can break the rules, and wind up with something special out of that. I realized that film does matter as something other than casual entertainment. I realized that this was something worth caring about.
So here I am: a fan of Cronenberg and Lynch, but also -- as I learned to appreciate the quieter glories -- of Soderbergh and Curtis Hanson. For that matter, I even still love the action flicks. I cried again a little when I heard Frankenheimer died (not for Reindeer Games, but for Ronin and Manchurian Candidate and the rest). But thanks to Terry Gilliam, I know why I love those movies. And I have enough sense to skip the Wild Wild Wests.
So there you go. Brazil. (Sing it when you say it.) Brazil!
Thanks, Terry. I owe you, even if you'll never know it.
