Saturday, November 01, 2008

Children of Men, a non-review

I just watched the movie Children of Men, which I’ve long wanted to see and, for some ridiculous reason, put off. I do this often. God knows I’ve been wanting to read this book or watch this movie or check out this band for a long ass time, but do I get to it? Not when there’s TV to watch and hours to waste.

But I got around to it. Couldn’t be happier that I did.

When I feel that cinema is up against the wall and being choked by endless remakes and the worst kind of mediocrity, a film like this comes around and knocks me off my fucking feet. I don't feel compelled to say much about it here, because you’ve probably seen it and if you haven’t, well, what am I going to do to convince you? Yeah, it’s a blog and that’s what bloggers do (when not going on about their personal lives), they write about things that interest them and pretend to be great critics (guilty!), but I’m not going to try and pick apart this movie. Fuck it, just see it yourself if you haven’t. I’m not in an analytical mood at the present moment. I’m too awed but what I just saw and want to let this feeling last before I begin deconstructions. Or maybe I'll leave the deconstruction for the deconstructionists. Art is alive, so why perform an autopsy, you know?

I will say this: The bonus bits on the DVD feature a short little talk with philosopher and cultural critic, Slavoj Zizek. After being bowled over by the movie, I was bowled further by seeing the top shit thinker of the day speaking about the themes and metaphors of this film. Why the hell not? Go Zizek! Go Cuarón!

So I see the movie, love it, pop it out of the DVD player and back into the Netflix pouch, seal that and walk to the nearest mailbox (and to the dry cleaners and, well, just walk a bit aimlessly). Eventually I make it home, make tea and turn the TV on to see what’s on. What’s on? Six Days Seven Nights with Harrison Ford, Anne Heche and one of the guys from Friends. Maybe movies like Children of Men stand out only in comparison to formulaic trash. Maybe I'm a snob, but to me the line between art and trash was really never clearer then it was today.