The Art of Filmmaking in this Brave New World

Recently, I've picked up on a theme in award-winning motion pictures which, although realistic and at times depressing, I happen to enjoy. It's a fact that movies, not just in dialogue, story board, and acting have become far more "real world" in recent years in the style in which they are actually filmed; a harshly honest, artistic sort of way. I have been honored to sit in front of a screen and view the evolution of these films. The clearest and best portrayals of this particular style which shine in both storytelling genius and a battered trail of emotional ups and downs, include Slumdog Millionaire, The Wrestler, and Crazy Heart.

Movies like Slumdog Millionaire, which show the triumph of youth and dreams from characters beaten down my their realistic surroundings and terrifying lives in an underdeveloped country, introduce a new level of feeling within audiences. Personally, I believe Slumdog portrayed India in the most truthful of lights, showing the dark worlds of the very children who were cast in the film. That is their life. There was no cutting at the seams. Now, granted, Slumdog was based off of a book to begin with but, regardless of the actual story, the effect left on the audiences' eyes as they viewed the "inside" of a poverty stricken orphan in India is that of a lasting impression on the soul. Although, this movie still reached beyond the realm of reality and did perhaps leave us all with a triumphant "love conquers all" feeling in our hearts, a couple other movies, with almost parallel themes to each other, leave a whole different kind of impression.

The Wrestler gave a shockingly realistic look into the life of a middle aged man who confronts his lack of luck and reckless life and is forced to accept it. I was hesitant to see the movie at first, probably due to the advertisements depicting actual wrestling matches which honestly I had no interest in. I was under the impression that it was yet another Rocky movie, just a slightly different sport. Regardless, after several suggestions from friends, I decided to sit down and give it a chance.

Filmed in just a few short weeks, not far from the place I grew up, The Wrestler was, in my opinion, one of the finest cinematic performances given in a very long time. It was raw, reality; the truth conveyed that things just don't work out. The character, played by Mickey Rourke, begins to realize his own mortality is closing in on him and suddenly begins to patch up his completely torn apart life. The ending of the film is not triumphant, there are no new friends, no re-established relations with missing relatives, no cheating death, he doesn't even get the girl. What there is, is acceptance. Far too late to change anything, too much damage left from a broken past the audience knows nothing of, far too old to carry on with any dreams of another kind of grandeur. It is, in fact, the portrayal of the consequences of a lifestyle and the acceptance of those consequences and of self. This movie easily became one of my favorites, lacking a happy ending filled with hope for the future left a meaning so deeply encrusted in the fabric of all humans; we are alone, and we are responsible for that. However, another movie introduced the same type of character except this time with a little more hope.

When Crazy Heart opens in the first scene with a character that lacks any sort of caring nature for his surroundings, you feel nothing for him. That, I think, is the genius of the movie. This man is introduced, playing two-bit gigs to an endangered fan base, completely wasted and riding on prior fame. Over time however, the character progresses thanks to his slight devotion to his younger, single mother, lover who takes the risk in falling for him. Though alcoholism ruins any chance of a future for the two lonely hearts, his mistake forces him to better himself with rehab. The realism portrayed finally strikes at the end when the love of his life wants nothing to do with him, and neither does his long lost son. Just as The Wrestler, the protagonist is out of rope and time but instead of a story of accepting circumstances, Jeff Bridges's character, "picks up his crazy heart and gives it one more try."

It is these endings, I believe, which place the audience into a far more empathetic seat. We've all had moments where things seem to fall apart before we even began to get used to the idea that they were there in the first place. Just as picking up a book can capture a reader's heart and send the most truthful message to him or her with the gifts of literature such as The Scarlett Letter, or plays like A Streetcar Named Desire where things don't exactly work out the way they are supposed to. The benefit of the book is that it is able to send that message as well as portray the inconveniences which society places on people like Hester, Stella, and Blanche. Perhaps a few more years of evolving films will be able to place both these honest endings and realistic scenarios as well as provide that dark emphasis on the consequences of society's rule. For now, however, I have to say that I'm proud of filmmakers for taking a step further, as M. Night Shyamalan (a much underrated storyteller) said, "My hope is we broke so many rules we created a new rule."

What Hope Is (an excerpt)

I wanted to swim, so you obliged. But when the water reached our hearts you pushed me under and now hold me there, in that place of fading daylight. So I hold my breath, grasping that hand, I won't fight it because I believe in its equal ability to pull me back out. Here I wait with patience in the eve of the moment I'm to live or to die, my fate residing in the strength of the hand holding me under. And that, my dear friend is what hope is in its rawest and rarest form.

~"If you are not too long, I will wait here for you all my life.”~

Oscar Wilde, The Importance of Being Earnest, Act 3 Scene 3

The Story of Herm

When I was a kid I had this imaginary friend named Herm. I don't even know why I named him that, he was just Herm. I never told anyone about him. Whenever he was around I never pointed him out or talked about him because I wanted him all to myself, I was never going to share Herm. He was my best friend. When you don't have friends, you make them up. Herm and I used to build things. I was determined to build a town in my basement out of these cheap cardboard blocks that my parents had originally bought for my brother, but he never used them. Herm and I never finished because there weren't enough blocks. Now I look back and see that there really was no excuse for that, I should have found something else, anything else in the basement that I could have used to continue the buildings in our town. Herm was gone though, and we never really got to finish what it was we said we were going to do together. Every once and a while I get a real friend like Herm. We dream things we're going to do together and then one day I realize, they're gone, and I never really got to finish. I keep hoping that someday I can finish and finally put the story of Herm to rest.

To Be Set Free

To be set free would be such a wonderful thing.
I could see trees and stars and sun in spring,
I would be everything, everything he wanted me to be,
I would be strong, I would be passionate,
I would throw my whole life away for his dreams.
That's the way I want to be free,
I want to give everything.
But at night I walk alone,
I see his face and then I'm home.
He doesn't see what I could be,
He's too worried that I'm not free,
He doesn't know he holds the key.
Yes, to be set free
Would be a wonderful thing,
Too bad he'll never quite get to me.

October Tuesday (Excerpt)

~I love trying to imagine what I will do with my tomorrow, trying to actually script it. When I get exhausted thinking of all the glorious things I'm going to do with my day, somehow the script gets thrown out and the actors are all asked to improvise when the play starts. Nevertheless, I constantly find myself lying in some field wearing the wrong costume, reading the wrong book, and considering that maybe that's what eternal nothingness is.~

In The Hourglass

And so they fell apart.
Through the center of the hourglass tumbles she
he, at the top, her, the bottom
she gazes up at him,
envy and undying love bury her in silence and block his image.
She suffocates in the grains of her empty dreams, clinging to hope which still lingers.
But she knew, as always,
it was only a matter of time.