Category Archives: film

Darius Goes West, then to HBO if New York

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Being from Athens, GA, I’ve heard of Darius more than once. My parents and friends from home have talked to me about the film, and told me last year about Darius graduating. So when I got an email yesterday asking me if I wanted to meet someone for the screening of Darius Goes West at the HBO Screening room last night, I figured I had to take her up on it, despite my headache. This won’t be the most aesthetically-inclined post you’ll read from me, but I wanted to say: you should see this film.

(I have a copy–I’ll send it to you)

Why should you see some obscure documentary made in my hometown?

Many reasons, including that it is a well-done film on the personal adventure of a boy with Muscular Dystrophy going on a journey to get MTV to “pimp his ride” and that it has a great message spread by great people. DMD, the type of Muscular Dystrophy, that Darius has, can happen to any child, effectively shortening their lifespan to about 20 years of age as the muscles degenerate until the heart stops. So the 19 year old who rolled up on stage last night and splits his time between public advocacy and rapping isn’t working for himself–but for the next generation of children. Filmed in 2005, Darius and his crew of friends rent an RV for a 3 week trip to California all the while trying to get MTV to agree to pimp his ride. Darius has so many memorable firsts: seeing the ocean, being away from his mother, going to Las Vegas.

Darius Goes West. One Year. One Million DVDs.

Darius Goes West did the film festival circuit in 2007, winning 27 awards throughout the country. This year, they are trying to spread the film’s message about DMD. They have been visiting schools and meetings across the country. Darius and his crew of friends have formed a foundation, are living off the proceeds of selling t shirts, and are trying to raise money by selling 1 million DVDs this year. Find out more at http://www.dariusgoeswest.org/.

The Remains of the Day

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I remember the acting being top-notch in the film version of Ishiguro’s The Remains of the Day. So seeing it on the bookstore shelves, I thought it would be a nice story to settle down with one night, especially as I’ve a fondness for the pre-war British era. I agree with the promo copy on the back, “The novel rests firmly on the narrative sophistication and flawless control of tone…” A butler is the narrating protagonist with no personal life, and it is through Ishiguro’s excellent manipulation of diction and memory that through the butler’s words we gain a more complete picture of the man Stevens than he has of himself. Stevens is more butler than human, consistently rejecting any attempts at familiarity and placing all is efforts toward his profession. Naturally this leaves him alone at the end of his life, and the novel closes with his sitting on a pier at the end of a rare vacation at the end of the day. He has doubts about the integrity of the man he served, so that he is even denied the comfort of a knowing he contributed to the world. True to form, with a stiff upper lip, Stevens decides to work harder at bantering with his new American employer—both quite foreign to him—and the novel closes on neither a dismal or hopeful note. Rather, it affirms that life goes on, and one goes on with it as one ages and times change. Life is still life, and for all the flaws a character has or the “might have beens,” the life one has is the most precious one to try to live.
This being said, and excellent movie notwithstanding, this was not an inspired or great book. It was competently written with great attention to structure, tone and resolution. However, it felt predictable. I found Steven’s tone more wearing in its digressions than interesting. Perhaps it is merely a simple story of a stodgy butler past his prime, and not much more can be done with it. Perhaps his character, even as you watch it turn away from what it most wants without realizing it, lacks appeal. All he really seems to lack is the ability to change—is that what makes characters interesting? Perhaps the best way to explain is this: the book is exactly like its protagonist. That is a great compliment to the telling of it, while explaining its limitations are those of narrowness, singular viewpoint, and inflexibility. Fortunately for the novel, the tragedy of being left behind by the world was not a fate it shared.

Le Grand Bouffe

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This 70s French film that I happened upon, quite by accident, left an impression on me much not unlike John Water’s Pink Flamingos. Rather than camp, this “comedy” that follows a group of men who have a houseparty one weekend to eat themselves to death, is quite dark. Both are unnerving in their complete lack of moral boundaries or “sane” reference point. The worlds are guided by an inner logic that trumps that of the world we know. In this sense, they are grotesques, curiosities of culture, much like the gargoyles and corbels of the most extravagent medieval cathedrals. The viewer simply watches powerless as the characters follow out the rules that they invented for their existence to their logical, extreme end. At the end, no sudden denoument unmasks them as aberrant psychologies—no things merely end as they had to, the characters being what they are. This is itself creates a cohesiveness, a harmony to the piece, which I think is one of its better qualities. The macbre subject matter has all the appeal of the macbre, and the odd combination of horror and laughter rather conquers the disgust one feels at watching the men, on the 3rd day into their gorging, becoming sick yet forcing themselves to eat pate and confit du canard and truffles with utter abandon. Adding to the orgiastic atmosphere is the apperance of a sweet local schoolteacher who becomes utter fascinated and one of the group. Some conflict arises as she sleeps with each man. Her sex is as unisexual, as grotesque, as the manner in which they eat. Perfectly desirable things, sex and food, become utter devoid of enticement during the film. Indeed, when it ended I was quite sure I never wanted to eat again. The ambivalence I felt nearly every moment while trying to decide whether to laugh or vomit was strong, and I couldn’t stop watching though I half-wanted to. It has a harmony all its own, and the plot impels one onward. And even though I haven’t seen it since that first time 4 years ago, scenes and images stick out so clearly in my head that I feel it must be a great work of art, and one that certainly opened my eyes to a new way of viewing life.