season of the bitch

Have you ever loved someone or something  more than yourself?

Really?

What was it? Do you still?

If this movie was any indication, it’s going to be a good movie season.

I haven’t seen a movie in a while that sent me this deep into film-geek heaven. The last one might even have been Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. From the opening scenes, with cameras behind the rotating cameras of India’s “Who Wants to be a Millionaire” and Dev Patel sweating under the lights, I was sucked into a world that Danny Boyle has no right to have created so perfectly.

Boyle might not have grown up in the slums of India, but he understands the streets and feels for the kids and knows how to make you feel for them too. At heart, Danny Boyle is a romantic, which might sound funny for me to say of a man best known for Trainspotting and 28 Days Later. But it’s true.

All the gritty realism of those films, the swirling action and heady plunge into an alien world, is here, plus a deeper love of humanity that showed up better in A Life Less Ordinary (and possibly Millions, which I haven’t seen but which also revolves around a child). Slumdog Millionaire pulls together all the threads of Boyle’s career into a movie that easily tops them all.

So many horrible things happen to Jamal (Patel) but he still manages to hope and love, and that’s the deepest message of this film and the one that resonated and left me grinning like an idiot as I walked out of the theater. But it’s also a movie about class and capitalism, not so much about the clash of East and West as it is the clash of money with humanity.

Jamal wins 10 million rupees on “Who Wants to be a Millionaire,” but since he’s a poor kid from the slums, he’s arrested for cheating. The movie flashes back through his life, explaining how he knew the answer to each question, and showing a life that would’ve turned a lesser kid hard and mean. That did turn his brother Salim hard and mean.

Salim as an adult is lanky-sexy and hard as nails, and we see in him all that Jamal could’ve become. But Jamal had Salim as a barrier against the world, and had Latika to love. So he remains wide-eyed and trusting and awkwardly charming, and with each bit of pain he endures we pull for him a bit more, like the Indian audience that tunes in to cheer for him on “Millionaire.” He is, after all, a piece of all of them.

I could talk at length about gorgeous overhead shots–a market, a train, the Taj Mahal–or a scene in which the boys’ clambering up a set of bleachers to steal purses is ten times more beautiful than the opera the rich folks are watching. I could talk about the kids from actual slums in India, who do an amazing job carrying much of the movie. There’s just so much here that begs to be seen again, and again.

The movie takes on lots of weighty subjects and themes through the lives of the boys. Their mother dies in anti-Muslim violence, they have to learn to fend for themselves, and fight off a gangster who is willing to go to extraordinary lengths to turn kids into better beggars (in one of the movie’s most horrific scenes).

And the boys learn to make money. One of the questions that Jamal answers correctly is which U.S. statesman is on the hundred-dollar bill, and Salim crawls into a bathtub filled with money at the film’s end. Money is always there, but ultimately it’s not what Jamal wants. He wants the girl, and when it comes down to the ending we’re all reminded that the money more often than not is what hurt the boys the most (though plenty of other things do as well).

The coolness with which the police officers torture Jamal and then are captivated by his story and become the good guys is chilling, and a commentary on the willingness of good people to do bad things that sets up later events perfectly.

Of course, the obvious theme is that what Jamal learns on the streets sets him up for success more than anything he could’ve learned in school. That knowledge and wisdom are not things that can be bought and sold with a degree or a fancy house or any other trinket of privilege. What it says that his final question on “Who Wants to be a Millionaire” is one about a classic of Western literature is something I’ll have to think more about, and I wonder if it was the same in the novel the story came from. But the question also relates to Jamal’s life, his bonds with his brother and the girl he loves, and these are the true meaning of the film.

Because Jamal is willing to throw away the money he’s won at every turn, just to stay on TV a bit longer, just in case the girl he loves is watching.

Snagged from Amber, because she’s awesome.

What did you do in 2008 that you have never done before?
Went to Chicago. Got paid to write about politics. Voted for the guy that actually won.

Did you keep all of last years resolutions?
I resolved not to date losers (again) and I think I’ve kept it.

Have you any resolutions for next year?
I haven’t gotten that far. Mostly I just want to get a job and get back in shape.

What countries did you visit?
The U.S.A. but fun parts.

What would you like to have in 2009 that you didn’t have in 2008?
A real job.

What date in 2008 will remain etched in your memory?
It might be a cliche, but November 4.

What was your biggest achievement of the year?
I don’t know if I can claim the above as an achievement just for me, because that sounds cocky, but really, this year was defined in so many ways by the presidential election.

What was your biggest failure?
Something really, really personal that I ain’t sharing.

Did you suffer any illness or injury?
Nothing major–knock on wood. Just dealt with other people’s.

What was the best thing you bought?
New laptop will probably be it. It wasn’t a year for big purchases.

Whose behaviour made you appalled and depressed?
Besides the president? And other politicians? Well, appalled might be the wrong word, but I was definitely depressed by my ex a few times.

Where did most of your money go?
Rent, bills, rent, bills, rent, bills, and food.

What did you get really really really excited about?
Obama! Also, comics. Chicago, BUST, Nick Cave, Boss Hog, new laptop, a crush or two, and Twilight. (Yes, I’m lame. No, I don’t care.)

What do you wish you’d done less of?
Eaten crap food and worried about the ex. And missed Kacie. I wish I didn’t have to miss her.

How will you be spending Christmas?
In South Carolina with the fam.

Which LJ/OD users bloggers did you meet for the first time?
Pop Feminist, Belledame, GallingGalla, Kristin (no blog, but she counts), Erik…

Did you fall in love in 2008?
Nope, but I fell in lust a few times.

How many one night stands?
None

What was your favourite TV show?
On a Buffy binge, but that’s DVD. So I must say The Rachel Maddow Show.

Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year?
Nope

What was/were the best books you read?
The Savage Detectives by Roberto Bolano, and a whole bunch of comics (Scalped, Northlanders, Local, Watchmen…)

What was your greatest musical discovery?
I’m hooked right now on the Long Blondes.

What did you want and get?
A certain guy (for a time), some art, my internship at BUST, to go see Nick Cave, new friends, new tattoo.

What did you want and not get?
A few cabinet appointments, the internship at The Nation, a certain other guy.

What was your favourite film this year?
The fucking Dark Knight.

EDIT because I saw Slumdog Millionaire tonight and it was pure movie bliss. Perfect from start to finish, and I’m not even leaving out the dance number in the credits. I LOVED that. I loved The Dark Knight, too, but it loses points for not ending at the logical ending point.

What did you do on your birthday and how old were you?

28; had some dinner and drinks with a few good friends. And got a visit from the boy.

What one thing would have made your year more satisfying?
Not having the world’s biggest economic downturn? And something, once again, personal.

How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2008?
Oh yeah, I remember what it’s like to wear skirts! I can be cute!

What Who kept you sane?
Brian, Lucas, Janelle, Lawson, and my dog.

Which celebrity did you fancy the most?
Rahm Emanuel and James Franco

Which political issue stirred you the most?
See above.

Who did you miss?
Kacie. Lots of other people too, but that one’s for real.

Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned this year?
As cheesy as it sounds, sometimes all that hard work and believing pays off.

Quote a song lyric that sums up your year…

And nothing comforts me the same
As my brave friend who says,
“I don’t care if forever never comes
‘Cause I’m holding out for that teenage feeling
I’m holding out for that teenage feeling”
-Neko Case, “That Teenage Feeling”

~*~

Tag, you’re it, if you so choose!

Pinup model Bettie Page has died.

I’m sure there are so-called feminists out there who would take me to task for glorifying a patriarchy-pleaser like Page, but I really could give a shit.

I love Bettie Page. My story is not in the slightest bit original, so I’m not going to bore anyone with the details.

I’m sad that she’s gone, and I hope that she knew how much she meant to women, not just to the men who ogled her pictures. And a little part of me is glad that I cut bangs again recently. My little personal homage to Bettie.

Someday, perhaps, I will meet someone who doesn’t immediately close off to me as soon as it becomes clear that I care as much as they do.

Never happened yet, though.

Longest relationship I had was because I never let him in.

That’s a bit fucked up, no?

In no particular order:

Elizabeth Taylor. Shakespeare. New comics. black-and-white films. Anais Nin. blank verse. jasmine. pink lipgloss. swingsets. snow. kissing. boys’ hipbones. arm muscles. my dog’s snores. late night phone conversations. Thai food. chocolate. breakfast food at odd hours. outdoor train stations. classic movie stars’ autobiographies. Converse. Levis. the beach at night. naughty whispers. talking movies. Exene and John’s harmonies. the way my tattoos rise up sometimes so you can trace them, like braille, across my skin. red nail polish. big thick hardcover books. Marilyn Monroe’s eye makeup. Axl Rose’s wail. finishing a paper. the words “squid” and “defenestrate.” my pink boxing gloves. girls on motorcycles.

I either love people very, very quickly or not at all.

I may convince myself that I do, but I’m only lying to myself.

This goes for all kinds of love. (But are there really multiple kinds?)

I’ve never identified with the romantic heroine. None that I can think of, anyway.

My favorite book, Les Miserables, has among other things (revolution! socialist politics! humor! angst!) a sweeping romance, love-at-first-sight style. And I never liked Cosette. I identified with Eponine, rejected, dead on the battlefield.

I never liked Romeo and Juliet, but Mercutio made me laugh. In West Side Story they added another female character, and I liked Anita way better than Maria.  I wanted to be Rizzo in Grease. Liked Rayanne better in My So-Called Life.

My favorite love stories were always full of action or doomed. The happy endings never seemed real. I liked True Romance and Natural Born Killers and The Crow.

I’m starting to wonder if that affected how I feel about romance.

I wonder.

So I’m reading and idly thinking about the difference between a “scene” and a community.

A scene is a place to be seen. It is by the very choice of that word, a setting, something visual, spatial, artificial. The scene is the clothes you wear to the punk rock show–the community is the group you go home with afterward, or stumble to the diner to talk it all over afterward.

The scene can be a place for community to grow, but it can also kill community by creating the illusion that this is all there is. If all it appears to be is clothes and club nights, then you reject everything when you take off those clothes and stop going to the club nights.

If it means more than clothes–if it means music, art, politics, blood, bone and love–most of all love–then no matter what you wear or how old you get, your community will not fail you.

This is why modern hipsterism feels so damn empty. It is nothing but visual, spatial. You can’t be a hipster on the telephone. You can be on the internet, but only in pictures snapped at the cool parties, with the cool kids, in the cool clothes. You cannot be a hipster alone in the forest.

To write, create, you must go beyond hip. You must go beyond the scene. My writing prof is always nagging us to write a story, not a scene, to find something deeper, something meaningful, something that changes you.

This is why I have more love even for a book like Twilight, cheesy, occasionally inept and often laugh-inducing when it’s not meant to be, because it has not the slightest bit of irony. And this is why it has a rabid fan base (more later). Because to write, to create, you have to put yourself out there to risk being mocked.

And this is why books like that create communities, friendships, bonds, even though many people cheerily admit that they know it’s terrible.

The blogosphere is my new punk rock scene, but more than that, it’s my new community. As I grow older and hide my tattoos under sweaters and skirts and high heels. It creates communities because we cannot be seen. It is not temporal–once you put something on the Internet it is there for good, and you lose control of it–and it is not spatial, because where is the Internet?

While we may blog our bodies, perhaps, we blog those inner pieces that are not so easy to see or to change. Perhaps I would have been more accurate to say that we blog the experiences our bodies have had, have caused for us or been through. After all, would blogging as a Jewish woman be the same for me in Israel as it is in Philadelphia? Was I the same in Boston as I was in South Carolina? It is not just our bodies but the social construction of and around our bodies that really shapes who we are.

And we find community within those lines and across them. Because we put ourselves out there, not to be seen, but to be understood.

OK, those of you who’ve been following me on Twitter or elsewhere might have realized that I’ve become sort of a sap since Tuesday’s victory. I cried then, of course, and several times since. I cried at The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants yesterday, damnit.

So while I’m blaming Barack for my newfound connection to my emotions, I must say that Keith Olbermann’s “special comment” on Prop 8 might have made me cry in any case.

You are asked now, by your country, and perhaps by your creator, to stand on one side or another. You are asked now to stand, not on a question of politics, not on a question of religion, not on a question of gay or straight. You are asked now to stand, on a question of love. All you need do is stand, and let the tiny ember of love meet its own fate.

You don’t have to help it, you don’t have it applaud it, you don’t have to fight for it. Just don’t put it out. Just don’t extinguish it. Because while it may at first look like that love is between two people you don’t know and you don’t understand and maybe you don’t even want to know. It is, in fact, the ember of your love, for your fellow person just because this is the only world we have. And the other guy counts, too.

You can read the rest, but I recommend the video. Both are here.