Black Market Blogging: The Reader, Waltz with Bashir (last season: Eagle Eye, Inside Man)

I am stuck in an empty German library on Fifth Ave for the next 90 minutes...reasons too bizarre to go into. What better opportunity to play blog catch up.

First and foremost, it is Oscar season, a film buff's NFL playoffs. Except replace Budweiser ads with holocaust commentary...scantily clad beer wenches with birthday suited Kate Winslets. Hollywood is known for honoring those who have been slighted in past ceremonies, as well as those who disfigured themselves for the betterment of cinema (please see: Nicole Kidman's prosthetic nose, Hillary Swank's boyish haircut). In the case of The Reader, the moment I saw Kate's transition to cataractic prisoner, I envisioned her on the Kodak podium with earrings accompanied by bodyguards. Sam Mendes is waving from the audience.

The Reader was a good film. It was not a great film. In a better season, it would have been released in October, not December, and would not have made the Academy's top 5. But the Weinsteins are clever, as are Daldry/Hare, Pollack/Mighella (RIP) and now it will earn a place in the 00s cannon where The Lives of Others should be.

This was a movie of two halves, but not necessarily one whole. We have the "Kid" Michael(played expertly by a newcomer) and the Guard Hannah who develop a sexual relationship after Hannah helps Michael home when he is coming down with scarlet fever. Hannah is illiterate and in exchange for sex, young Michael reads to her. A great scene: the two in the bath, Michael paging through a racy DH Lawrence, Hannah looks insulted, tells him that the story is inappropriate, but please "Go on." Their love affair ends when Hannah is promoted and Michael decides to play with kids his own age. But their connection has a lasting effect on both.

We enter the second half of the film. Michael, now in law school, is observing a trial of SS guards charged with killing Jews at the concentration camps. Hannah is among them. He is conflicted--knowing what she did was wrong, but also feeling for her in his heart that she is a good and loving person. The trial is very emotional, but the camera leans more on him and his waring conscience than the historical proceedings. Michael has an opportunity to come forth at one point on her behalf and choose not to. This decision haunts him the rest of the film, as Hannah is locked up for the rest of her life.

I was engaged for more than two hours, making ethical sense of this film, battling like Michael, to understand how Hannah could have participated in genocide. However, the script doesn't fill in the intermediary years. I was left to my own devices. Plus Ralph Fiennes, the older Michael, has always creeped me out. I exited the theatre (the Paris on 58th---so beautiful and regal) feeling uneasy and disturbed. One of the final scenes, the Manhattan penthouse of a holocaust survivor came off as almost entirely unsympathetic. I couldn't quite tell you why. Mostly because I felt like Ralph Fiennes was trying to seduce her. And secondly, because the conspicuous consumption decor seemed to make light of the horrible past she had experienced. Though the line about the Jewish literacy charity got a good laugh from the audience, probably her neighbors.

Nonetheless I will recommend this film for at least prompting some interesting discussion.

Waltz with Bashir, Israel's contribution to the foreign film category, was unsettling for other reasons. We have a documentary filmmaker piecing together his memories from the Lebannon war in trippy animated interviews with friends. While I liked this concept in theory, the delivery was a little choppy. I had a tough time distinguishing the perspectives of the interviewees through all the jumbled "Waking Life-esque" segments. The last 10 minutes were brutal. I immediately had to treat myself to a serious shopping binge, even though we are in a recession and I know that the issues of this film are still being waged today. See the front page of any international newspaper. The last time I left a movie this emotionally charged: maybe Monster with Charlize Theron or Monster's Ball with Halle Berry. I had no choice but watch Simpsons marathons while eating smores.

Because I try to pair the serious with the seriously ludicrous thrillers, I also Netflixed Inside Man directed by Spike Lee and Eagle Eye starring Shia LeBeouf. Both entertained and gave me a great idea: Shia and Clive Owen! Son and father! I am not sure how you would account for the sullen and the satin voice, but wow. Inside Man garnered rave reviews, but I am not sure as to why. It seemed unfinished and I am a little peeved by Denzel's phoned in performances as of late. I did, however, love the A.R. Rahman Bollywood-infused soundtrack. Perhaps it will be the year of bhangra? They are making a sequel. Though I am not sure what bank is still worth robbing?

Meanwhile, our current drug of choice are Starbucks tea infusions. Get them before your local Starbucks goes under. And that it is not a twig floating in your Earl Grey, it is part of the concoction. Don't panic. We are only fearing peanut butter right now.