Friday, October 30, 2009

Happy-Go-Lucky

Dir. Mike Leigh
2008
8.3


There is something seriously paralyzing about unrestrained optimism. In a time when pessimism encroaches on us from all sides and dissent is a way to spend a free afternoon, optimism has the potential to seem like baseness. There is an assumption of hollow dumbness when it comes to those free-of-care types. A subconscious envy of their bliss exists that is senselessly undercut by an open deriding of their pacified nature. The belief is that happiness stems from ignorance while hopelessness stems from enlightenment; that happiness is a byproduct of stupidity. Those who are miserable defend their anguish with paranoia and anxious morbidity. One side sees a brilliant green lawn, the other side sees chemicals and the autocratic cultural need to “keep up the Johnsons.” Like oil and water the two groups are bound to mix but never mingle. Happy-Go-Luck is the sublime story of a woman, Poppy (Sally Hawkins), who lives in an exalted state of joy. She acts without pretensions, loves without regret and forgives without question. She is not just an exemplar of passionate goodwill, but a reason to do good in this troubled world.

We are introduced to Poppy as she rides her bike down a city street, stopping to inspect a local bookstore. Inside she attempts to converse with the man working there. He completely ignores her cheery gabbing and wisecracks. She exits nonchalantly unaffected by the man's lack of hospitality. Outside her bike has been stolen. Where the former scene of poor temperament may have possibly gone unnoticed by the average person having a good day, the stolen bike surely would have swung their internal emotional pendulum back toward antipathy. Polly's reaction? She didn't get to say goodbye to the inanimate object of her affection. Thus her heroic world begins to unfold before us with all its intricacies and delicate folds, like living origami.

The first assumption a person might make about Poppy is the same one mentioned above: that she is blind to reality. If you saw only the first half of Happy-Go-Lucky you might be prone to agree. The first hour of the film meanders, daintily plucking scenes from Poppy's day to day life as a primary school teacher, drinking buddy and good natured, fun loving girl. Terms like “fun loving” and “good natured” are like the word “nice”: we use them when there is little else to say about a person. Poppy is at no point completely unidirectional, but dimensionally she flourishes in the film's second half.

At this point the film wanders away from the emotional ground upon which it was founded. In order to prove its versatility, it puts the viewer in awkward, intimate environments with friends, family and strangers. We meet vicious , emotionally unstable driving instructor Scott as well as over controlling, defensive and unsatisfied sister Suzy. These two characters in particular represent challenges to Poppy's earnest, grounded optimism. Scott tells her, during paranoid rants, that she should be unhappy because the government is making its people into slaves and seemingly everyone is moronic beyond comprehension. Suzy tells her she needs to “plan for the future” and “take life seriously”. They both cruelly make assumptions about Poppy's good nature, mostly that she is lying to herself. Poppy on the other hand knows her happiness but also instinctively puts others before herself. She doesn't need to argue because her conviction cannot be shaken. Poppy doesn't make any grand, sweeping statements about the state of the world, nor does she try to inflict her ways upon others. She exerts her influence in positive, thoughtful ways that make her not only irresistible but inspirational as well.

The film's message is clear: It is good to be happy and it is also good to be balanced, suggesting that the one enhances the other. Poppy is both. She meets the challenges in her life rather than attempting to avoid them. In a climactic scene with Scott, during which he flies into in an inexcusable rage fueled in part by his repressed childhood trauma and his unrestrained passion for Poppy, the audience is given a true picture of her character. In the face of physical abuse she still tries to help Scott, doing everything in her power to extend even a little bit of her happiness to him. He refuses it. The incident is not ignored but rather kept in context, one of Poppy's best qualities. She moves forward not giving up but rather taking from the encounter any lesson that could have possibly been learned and adding it thoughtfully to her lexicon of satisfied living.

In Happy-Go-Lucky Mike Leigh, through a penchant for natural filmmaking and a strong belief in humanity, has given the world a character worth talking about and a story worth remembering. He has conquered the injustice of insensitive fools who equate naivete to happiness and cynicism to rationality. He has shed light upon the complexities latent in the optimist. Most of all though he has a told a story of a hero who actually deserves her happy ending.

Saturday, October 24, 2009

Forgetting Sarah Marshall

Dir. Nicholas Stoller
2008
6.5
The break up film is a weapon of mass confusion and illusion in America. The very words conjure up images of lone men sprinting through airports, heart broken singles in sappy song montages, and, for some reason, the Seattle Space Needle. The whole purpose of the genre, tied inexorably to the romantic comedy, is the affirmation of love and life and that both go on in the wake of personal upheaval. It is supposed to get the viewer slightly emotional and relatively connected to the plight of its characters. It is supposed to relieve that viewer of any and all anxieties about severed romance, nomadic loneliness, and all other banal abstractions somehow related to losing some kind of a connection. What break up films do instead is instill a false confidence about the irrefutable obviousness of the now-ex-lover's stable mental health. In Layman's terms they suggest that we are too stupid to be sad. Everything is going to be fine because we're not even thinking of the alternative: that everything will NOT be fine. That the world is going to fucking end. That we will never love again.

Recuperating from a bad break-up (in which you, the reader, are the victim) is like recuperating from a bad break up movie. At first you feel OK because you want to feel OK. Then you reflect. After feeling OK for a little while you over compensate by being hugely critical. You assume everything was a waste of time. You are remorselessly cruel to yourself for even participating in the travesty. However, after enough time goes by you can put everything into proper perspective. You can calmly evaluate the pros and cons. You kinda realize that you were cheated by falsity, but that harshness would have really hurt your feelings. You go back and see how things could have been a little more balanced and a little more real. Forgetting Sarah Marshall is not your typical break up movie, although it is mostly about a typical break up, only on a much larger scale. Though Appatowian (official terminology) in its realism, the film is restless without the crutch of the standard romantic comedy structure. Full of modest laughs and efficient dialog the film ends up hobbling around for 90 minutes before deciding to sit down, get some work done, and get over itself.

So all that was pretty meta. The break up film as break up; the film as protagonist; its self realized nature. It's a mind fuck when you really think about it. But that's what films associated with producer/director/writer/cult god Judd Appatow are like. They are intensely self-reflective, unsure of themselves and geeky as fuck, kind of like Appatow and most of his buddies. They take the tried and true genres we're familiar with and give them a truly enlightening sense of earnestness and familiarity. Appatow's most effective weapon, besides his humor, is his disarming sense of honesty. I don't need to remind you that Appatow, in one way or another, has been a part of the best film comedies of the last five years. Appatow's influence on a film isn't always so much seen as it is felt. In Forgetting Sarah Marshall, Appatow is not the director nor a writer, yet you can feel his aged wisdom in lead actor Jason Segel's script. You can also see it in his performance. Segel plays Peter Bretter, a gawky guy trying to be funny, failing a lot of the time, disconnected and basically waiting to have his life ruptured in some way. Of course, that happens when long time girlfriend Sarah Marshall (Kristin Bell) breaks up with him for “tragically hip” rock star Aldous Snow (Russell Brand). Then Peter accidentally follows the new couple to Hawaii. He attempts to sabotage their rendezvous but ends up upsetting himself to greater and greater extents until he meets and falls for hotel receptionist Rachel (That 70s Show's Mila Kunis).

Given all that, what's most disappointing about this movie is also what's most obvious: the absence of a noteworthy climax. Is it when Peter rides his surfboard into Aldous after finding out how long his ex-girlfriend's affair had been going on? Or is it when he propels himself off the side of a cliff into the crystal clear Pacific? Is it when Sarah and Peter attempt to have post-break up sex only to find that Peter's penis is too near the heart that Sarah smashed into a million pieces to have effective consensual intercourse? It is pretty unclear. What's clear is that toward the end of the film things go down hill cinematically while conversely becoming cliché and uplifting. The film submits to it's own disingenuous desire to fit a pattern, to pull the wool back over our collective eyes. After opening the viewer's mind to the myriad ways in which reasonable, sane and otherwise average people react to being broken up with, it turns around and insists that even if you're writing a rock opera about Dracula which incorporates lots of streamers and puppets, the hot girl you met in Hawaii will totally come to see it and realize she wants to be with you. Oh, and she will see you naked. Synopsis: Forgetting Sarah Marshall. Funny? Yes. Disappointing? Indeed. Broke my heart? Well, let's just say I'm just getting off the couch.