Good movies I’ve recently seen: Waitress, Milk, and In Her Shoes. Commonality: not a lot. People overcoming adversity? Movies with big name people that still felt like Independent FILMS? (I make a big distinction between movies and films. Films you watch at a theatre with deliciously fattening popcorn and fizzy Coke. Films you watch at “showings” on campuses and in weird locations like libraries and museums. You know, you have that friend who’s like, “hey, you wanna go to see this film with me at this place? It’s artsy, I think.” And, the foregone conclusion is that, although it might be weird, uncomfortable, lush, or eye-opening, it will be—dum-dum-dah! A Film. Movies, well, movies you might watch on cable. Specifically TBS. They usually have Adam Sandler saying things in silly voices. Now, you just might see a movie at a theatre with said low-calorie popcorn, and it’s not a film. Example: Twilight. I know I love it, but it’s still in the category of movie. Movie. Film. Get it?)
So, in the interest of preventing my mind from exploding with cinematic joyousness, I humbly attempt to analyze (that’s probably not the word) my appreciation for Adrienne Shelly (murdered writer, director, and actress in) and Waitress, Sean Penn and Company in Milk, and the good and lovely Cameron Diaz, Toni Collette, and Shirley MacLaine in In Her Shoes.
How to start? I watched Waitress and In Her Shoes at home on DVD (God bless Netflix…for these and all the television shows I watch artfully, 4 episodes to a sitting.) Waitress was a solo view, but I felt in spirit a little connection with Katy—seeing as how Felicity actress (come on, do any of us call Keri Russell ANYTHING but Felicity?) stars and Katy and I share a weird obsession with Felicity’s college experience. I could pretend it’s my appreciation for JJ Abrams and all he’s done for unique television, but it’s not. I just liked Felicity. No Lost, no Alias…whatever—the characters were endearing, the plot had moments of mirroring reality, and it seemed to have, well, heart. I think that’s what I’m getting to about these three films: la Coeur. They all have the most charming heart—beating in the center, pulsing the plot along through beautiful pillow shots, shocking action, gruesome conflict, and my voyeuristic annoyance with Cameron Diaz’ underclothed body.
Waitress is about a mentally and sometimes physically abused woman in the deep south (time period not clear, most definitely contemporary) overcoming a terrible marriage, an illicit affair, and disaffection for her unborn child through her friendships and support of a grouchy old benefactor, two ninny-headed, but lovely friends, her ability to make delicious and creative food, and her own fortitude.
Milk is a narrative-documentary style biopic about the life of Harvey Milk, the slain politician who happened to hold the title of being first public political office holder in California (and arguably the US) who was openly gay. An advocate for rights of many, including racial minorities, he was shown through the film as being vulnerable, hopeful, loving, and righteous. Penn and the supporting cast created a stunning and emotionally-wrought group to support the agenda of the history-telling, and the ideology of the film.
In Her Shoes is a main-stream chick-flick about two sisters who don’t get along because one is responsible and boring (Collette) and one is frivolous and naughty (Diaz)—but they are united over some family misshaps and reconnections with a long-lost grandmother (MacLaine). Through this, they all find what they have been missing—generally to be needed with a relationship or family, a career that supports and nurtures, and appreciation for family and loved ones.
Commonalities again? Yes, the heart part. Relationships make up WHY we watch movies which leads to the Heteronormative push. Check-nope-check. However, the gay relationships presented in Milk (between Penn and Franco, for example) seem more healthy, supportive, and loving than the heterosexual ones in Waitress. Russell’s husband hits her, demands she not love the baby more than him, breaks chairs at a friend’s wedding. This is not wedded bliss. All the waitresses in the movie seem to be settling—one is settling for having an affair with a married cook while she has the honor not to leave her comatose husband, one marries her stalker (but he seems so nice with the spontaneous poetry…?) and Russell is having an affair with her married OB. Moments before the climax made me feel, well, awful. This poor woman’s spirit should have been broken down by the men around her, her poverty, her place. She even asks around to see what makes people “happy” and decides that she is, in fact, not happy, but there’s nothing and no one who is going to save her. She simply must exist.
However, the film takes a turn and the solution, then, seems to lie with the camaraderie of women as friends, daughters and mothers. Russell continues the tradition of cooking pies (handed to her by her mother, with the tune of a sweet song) with her daughter, but this time has the upper hand of owning her own pie diner, named after her little girl. She’s divorced the paralyzing husband, abandoned the cheating doctor who’s married to a “trusting” wife, and made a home for her waitress friends in the bright, shiny diner to be able to cook with her precious little one and head home, a woman happy.
In Her Shoes has relationship troubles—of course, it’s a romantic comedy! Mental illness, suicide, child-abandonment, aging, sibling-rivalry, and birth-order expectations are all touched upon during the serious moments of the film which are mercifully punctuated with the excellent MacLaine and Collete. As the older sister loses grips with her uptight lawyer life due to a series of dates gone bad, her bratty baby sister ups the ante and gives her motion to make some life changes. As the baby sister meets the grandma she didn’t much remember, she gains some self-confidence, puts on some damn clothes, and gets a job she’s good at. She also has some moments miraculously overcoming a learning disability (the English teacher in me says, yeah, okay.) but it lends credence to her desire to become a deeper, more full character.
I was drawn to this movie by Emily, my bratty (sometimes) baby sister who we share many traits similar to the girls in the movie. We, however, do not wear the same size shoes. Although the rising action has moments of ridiculousness that Em and I would never put each other through—the moments of realization that the big sister had sheltered and protected the little one through so much childhood trauma—and that the extended family was so supportive—hit very, very close to home. Again with the heteronormative—Diaz is punished in a way for her sluttiness—she lives at a retirement home and doesn’t get laid past the first 20 minutes of the movie. Colette on the other hand, loses a bad guy in an affair, but gains a great guy in a really sweet Jamaican-style marriage. It’s adorable. Diaz even quotes an ee cummings poem, which is about carrying the other’s heart—and it’s truly how I feel about my sister—that although we are separate people, wholes, jobs, interests, musics, etc.—we always have the other’s heart.
Oh, and onto Milk. I have trouble articulating my impression of this film—because I was so impressed! It had excellent sound design, plot, characters, documentary footage, music, unusual shots (the body bag in the reflection of the danger whistle on the street, for example), allusions, and foreshadowing. None of the actors seemed to “overdo” it for me. Ironic, considering the fact that it was about a band of gay guys who didn’t set off to change the world—but started a revolution in San Francisco that helped lead to so much progress in the world. The parties, the sets, the music, the intimation of experience—it was all so powerful. I left the theater feeling full—not from the artificial butter topping on my popcorn, but from my heart feeling like I had just lived through something heinous and real—and that I couldn’t stand by for change not to come for so many people in so many places. Penn did an outstanding job portraying a sometimes-fatalistic guy who had hopes and dreams—but never got too full of himself. “My name is Harvey Milk and I’m here to recruit you!” seemed to be his battle cry of an opener for speeches. His love of opera, photography, and pursuit of happiness made him whole—and impressive to see captured for film.
So the ultimate commonality? The sisterhood. I’ll leave the cheap joke in there for Milk, but these three films center around the dynamic, ethereal strength of sisterhood. The heart part comes in here, of course—the heart of these people—the marginalized—as women, as poor women, as orphaned children, as gay men—comes to its strongest, most admirable beat when they work together for a cause—for the cause of family, for the cause of protection, for the cause of progress. Minorities in groups—sisterhoods, if you will, are a mighty powerful thing—on film and off.
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