No update yesterday, because my time was taken up watching the East Detroit High School Shamrocks clinch district champs for the second year in a row! They won 44-42 in a really intense game, coming back from a six point deficit with four minutes left in the game. It's even more awesome since several of them are or have been my students (good ones, too!) and it's exciting to see them live out this dream. They play in the first round of regionals Monday night, so... you probably won't see an update on Monday either, because I will be at the game.
On to the movie:
I have finally gotten around to watching the movie that earned Colin Firth his first Oscar nod (just last year) and was notably left off the lists for Best Picture (The Blind Side? Really?) and Best Supporting Actress for Julianne Moore (Penelope Cruz in Nine? Really? She was only fine, and the movie was awful). And those were my opinions before seeing this film. They haven't changed.
Though neophyte director Tom Ford's film is overall successful, his designer sense comes through in almost blinding ways. There is no lack of attention to detail, to be sure, but the way the camera lingers on beautiful images gets monotonous. Whether it's all metaphorical, or it just attempts to augment even the sumptuousness of the Christopher Isherwood novel is uncertain, but it's absolutely true that Ford at this point lacks restraint.
The constant attention brought to objects, people, and situations (George "not looking well", the aspirin, etc.) becomes overwhelming. It ruins the atmosphere by giving the viewer constant reminding that something not good might happen. It takes us out of the moment on the screen and delivers us to the end of the film each time. At times, it's almost infuriating. Like some of the dialogue. I'm not disputing Nicholas Hoult's acting ability (and, side note: damn has the About a Boy kid grown up!) but they couldn't have given him dialogue any less suited to this film. It was straight out of a stiltedly-written gay romance novel, and it was supremely off-putting.
Firth and Moore are both terrific, though not Oscar-worthily so. Still, she could have gotten a nod, at least. The movie is enjoyable, but it seems to revel in itself too much. You can tell from start to finish how emotionally invested Ford was in it. I would say it borders a bit on narcissism, but that's probably a bit misplaced. I'm not psychologist. Thusly, we'll leave it as one's grand love for a chef d'oeuvre.
Score: 7.5/10
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