Breathe In

Mike Birbiglia describes love as having a secret, special skill that no one knows about and eventually you meet someone who's like "You have a secret special skill!" And you're like, "I know! So do you!" And they're like, "I know!" And then you're like, "we should eat pizza ice cream together". And that's what love is, a mountain of pizza ice cream and delusion.

I think this also applies to movies. Sometimes you watch a movie and it speaks to you in a way you can't quite describe. Like Crazy was kind of like that for me. For days after I watched the film, I couldn't quite conceptualize why I liked it, only that I did. I could only say, "I just got it."

Breathe In is a follow up to Like Crazy. Kind of. Different film, but with contributions from Drake Doremus (director), Felicity Jones (star), Ben York Jones (writer) and Dustin O'Halloran (composer). The plot is different, but the tone is similar as well as the style.

Sophie (Felicity Jones) is a foreign exchange student, spending a semester of her senior year in upstate New York with the Reynolds family, dad (Guy Pierce), mom (Amy Ryan) and daughter, Lauren (Mackenzie Davis). The decision to come is an impetuous one and Sophie begins her trip homesick and stoic. After a few days, she connects with Guy Pierce's character and they realize they're both wishing for a different life.

There's a strong musical element that played like another character in the film. Guy Pierce learned to play the cello and it was astonishing how comfortable he was. Felicity played the piano and though it wasn't confirmed in the Q&A, it seemed like the playing was all her. Impressive.

It's alluring to have a cute 18-year old Brit talk about wanting to choose her life. Not doing something out of necessity. Not being an idle player. When Guy is talking to Amy about moving into the city if his cello audition goes well, it's obvious that they both have very different ideas about their future. Life is hard enough without our own intervention, but sometimes the silence of not doing something because we're fearful is the greater tragedy. I was absolutely sucked in.

A Bit Touchy

On Saturday, my sisters and I went to our first Sundance screening of the year, Touchy Feely. Though we had loved last year's Your Sister's Sister, the movie was a disappointment. We did our usual movie breakdown/technical analysis of what we found lacking and then all of a sudden, we stopped. I forget who brought this up, but as a kind of pulling back the curtain we thought: Making a movie is hard. There are so many details that go into it, so many factors that can't be controlled. It's a marvel when a movie comes together at all. A miracle when it's brilliant or thoughtful or moving.

Touchy Feely is a film about two adult siblings. The sister (Abby), played by Rosemarie Dewitt and the brother, played by Josh Pais start out as polar opposites that then throughout the film switch roles in a sense. One is an uptight dentist whose favorite place in the whole world is the back office of his dental practice looking at x-rays of teeth. The other is a masseuse who has misgivings over moving in with her (initial) rebound cyclist boyfriend because doing so might "put her in a cage".

For reasons unknown, Abby develops an aversion to touch and she spends most of the movie slowly shutting down. While her brother finds a kind of awakening when his struggling practice picks up. He is, uncomfortably at first, lauded as a TMJ healer. The praise motivates him to study Reiki and his story was my favorite part of the film. The humor and discovery made Abby's story suffer in comparison. Have we learned nothing from season 2 of Everwood and Amy's bangs of sadness? Depression is a real and serious problem that effects millions of people, but it is generally boring on film.

Random side note: Abby's depression pajama bottoms are owned by my sister and she says you can buy them at Target on sale.

Also, Ellen Page has a storyline too. And she is MISERABLE. Or so her hair, bags under her eyes, and quavering voice would suggest.

I am going to try recapping all of the films I'll be seeing at Sundance, but with my softball criticism approach this year, I'll have to see how it goes.

You Feel Me?

Okay, internets. There's been a bunch of monologue-ing going on. T. Swift's "I Knew You Were Trouble" music video. JT getting back into the game. Maybe. Two More Days and Counting!

If feels like I should be complaining about all of the celebrity introspection, especially when I want to just hear a song already, but I'm finding it doesn't really bother me as much as I thought it would. Am I maturing? 20-13! 20-13!

Possibly. I had a conversation with my sister about movies that lean toward silences over dialogue versus those that are dialogue-heavy. Versus is the wrong word. My second favorite movie of all time, Before Sunset is all dialogue. The small mannerisms, the European setting, the fluid camera work all accentuate the words between Jesse and Celine. Two people connect through conversation and it is wonderful.

Drive is about silences and mystery. The driver doesn't have a name or a background. He connects with a young mother in his building but their conversations are sparse. He sees a future less bleak, less lonely. But when the mother's husband returns home from prison, that future goes away. Ryan Gosling kicked serious trash in that movie.

I admire both films for what they do, maybe giving Drive the slight edge (though not as beloved). I love words so much. I love the power they possess, but I have found there is power in silence. There are things that can be conveyed just as well, if not better in a small smile, a haggard breath, a lowering of one's gaze. I am trying to make my stories less florid, more affecting. I hope to be successful this year.

Review

What was that? No, I couldn't help myself

There are a few things I thought to post for the end of 2012. Instead of going with my initial instinct of "So long, sucka" or variant, I thought I might post what I learned this year.

In 2012, I learned:

Electric tea kettles exist and are awesome (thanks, NZ cuzzies)

When a person orders fish and chips in New Zealand, there is more than one fish variety to choose from!

Learning to play the piano is pretty much as difficult and intimidating as I thought it was going to be, but practicing makes it feel less impossible.

Rolling my eyes at the NYC weatherman that says "It's so unusual for a hurricane to be heading this way when it would've normally been in Cuba right now" does no one any good.

Also, when said hurricane knocks out the hot water in one's building, a shower can be cold enough to turn one's appendages blue.

The series finale of Gossip Girl did not make me cry, but the freakin' end of Breaking Dawn: Part 2 did and for that I am a little ashamed. Not so much for the material itself, but for the song selection. We can do better.

Also, Chuck's onesie makes me happy. Always.

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Biting

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I watched Reality Bites with the husband yesterday. I forgot what a smooth operator Ethan Hawke was in this movie. Troy, man. The 90's dream. Roving intellectual, plus laissez-faire philosophy, plus tortured family life, plus lead singer in a rock band, plus, yes, being easy on the eyes. It made me want to watch Before Sunrise again.  

The movie is good on its own. The quintessential coming-of-age 90s drama, where college graduation means freedom but more than that, large scary question marks. Also, it reminded me how much I like Peter Frampton.

XOXO

Pic from NY Trip

Why write a love letter to the show when the CW provided an hour long Gossip Girl love fest? Oh, well. Since I am highly impressionable, I have to thank the show for not only introducing me to serious retail envy with 'Alexa' Mulberry bags, Alexis Bittar cuffs, and Charlotte Olympia heels, but the literary and musical name checks too.

Would a casual fan read Anna Karenina, The Beautiful and Damned, The End of the Affair, Washington Square, The Petting Zoo, Bright Lights, Big City, The House of Mirth and The Secret History? Hmm, I didn't intend for that list to be so long. #don'tjudge

Also, Lana Del Rey, Gotye, Kimbra, James Vincent McMurrow, Sia, The xx, and, though I'm loathe to admit it, One Republic.

In short, I will miss Blair Waldorf smack talk, NJBC takedowns, Chuck's onesie, S&B catfights and makeups, GG in Paris, not all but the better part of Chuck and Blair shenanigans, and what I will miss most: NY Mag's weekly reality indexes.

I would've posted a video from my NY trip where I am standing a few blocks away from the Empire Hotel and my sister is shouting "look it's Gossip Girl, your one true love" at me, but said video also includes me tripping over a pothole. Next time, I guess. Anyway, you know you love me...

Not Yet

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My husband has reassured me that I don't have whooping cough. This is a comfort as the whole-coughing-till-I-puke is getting kind of old. What's a persistent cough, when I have things to do! Two weeks until Christmas and I have no one checked off my list, four items of which are handmade knits. 19 books left to read on my "50 books read in 2013" goal. Did I mention the silly delusion I have of writing stuffs completed by the end of this month?

Also, I am hoping to be proven wrong next week that Nathaniel Archibald is not actually Gossip Girl. Yesterday's episode seems to be pointing to Dan, but oh, man. WHAT THE HECK AM I GOING TO OBSESS OVER WHEN THIS SHOW ENDS NEXT MONDAY? My real life? My above list? Frankly, I'll wait until next week to write my love letter to this silly, ridiculously awesome show, but today I'm listening to BoB "Ghost in the Machine" on repeat and dreaming of Paris.