I came home to watch this one after deciding last minute to pick this up at Hollywood on the way home, the coup-de-gras to a day characterized by editing some lectures for a book I'm helping edit, digging through material on Christianity in 1980s Poland, and reading part of one of Dorothy Day's autobiographies at the pub over a Two-Below and some chicken-and-barbeque pizza. All in all, an entirely peaceful, pacifist, and utterly pacific day: lots of coffee, reflection, reading, and intellectual stimulation.
And I finished it off with a tale of blood, vengance, boobs, and pre-teen angst and murder. Coherence? Discontinuity? Sure.
(Editorial Note: this post was begun on a couch, and completed Sunday morning on "the throne". Appropriate, n'est pas?)
There's a lot to love about this one. When I say, "love", I mean the way that Jesse Jackson Jr. is feeling about Rick Blagojevich right about now. In other words, there's a lot to feel proud, yet morally conflicted and utterly disturbed about. It's not fair to hold this one up to the Oscar lights to work like this: this is not a forrested version of No Country for Old Men. Although, the possibility is intriguing....another time, perhaps.
Loving a film like this involves finding the highlights and clinging to them. I love my fiancee for many reasons, but she's not perfect. I love her laugh and her smile and her eyes; I love the way she hates the mall and the way she loves justice; I love the way she kisses. I could go on. In other words, you hang on to the great stuff, and leave the other stuff for private discussion between you and them.
So, in celebration of one of the best portions of this cycle of films, some highlights:
Gordon the dog--finally, a canine plays a central role
Twins--it was just a matter of time before the franchise pulled this gag out.
Walkmen--I really miss mine. I miss cassettes, for that matter.
Crispin Glover--thank you, McFly. You are still awkward and gangly, and I have no idea how you sustained a Hollywood career, but more power to you.
Button-down shirts tucked into gym shorts
--a fashion trend I missed, thankfully. I still tight-rolled my jeans for a year beyond their expiration date.
Crispin Glover bringing back the Aardvark mating dance--ah, this is why Glover continues on...
Non-commital slow dances--God bless middle school.
Rampant teenage insecurity, which leads to rampant teenage hormones, which leads to rampant teenage murder.--pscyhologically, this was a nice twist on the formula: it spells out the roots of what causes Jason to draw near: it's not just sin, but fear, which leads to whatever.
Once again, premarital sex kills, and falling in love while doing it will not save you--Again, a nice twist on the paradigm. The girl's confession to falling in love in the shower only leads to her getting the axe.
Slo-mo throwing of self out a window--self-preservation! It's not just for serial killers anymore!
Til next time.