O Brother!

You wouldn't expect a movie set in the American south during the years of the Great Depression to be funny. It turns out that it can be done, and done well. O Brother, Where Art Thou? by The Coen Brothers is the movie that portrays the financially depressed, emotionally broke, socially racist Southern USA with humor. The adventures of Everett, Delmar, and Pete—George Clooney, Tim Blake Nelson, and John Turturro respectively—and an assortment of supporting characters (played magnificently by Holly Hunter, John Goodman, and many others) provide a surprisingly good time from beginning to end.

Everett, Delmar, and Pete are buddies, mostly by the unusual circumstance that they are linked together in a prison chain gang. Together they make their escape. Together they flee. And after breaking their shackles, together they seek the treasure that Everett has made their quest. And although Delmar's soul is cleansed and he is no longer a sinner; Pete is captured, whipped, and reveals the trio's plan; and the “treasure” is only Everett's wife's wedding ring left in their abandoned family cabin located in a valley scheduled to be flooded, the three men remain constantly committed to their quest.

Because the movie loosely mimics Odysseus's (aka Ulysses's) trip in Homer's Odyssey—Everett's first name is actually Ulysses!—our triad's escape from the chain gang is only the beginning of an epic voyage, both physical (across long distances) and mental (coming to major realizations about love, life, and the pursuit of happiness). They meet people and have experiences similar to Ulysses' ten-year return home after the ten-years-long Trojan war, though they take far fewer than ten years. They are influenced by a blind seer, tempted by three sirens laundering at a river side, and threatened by a cyclops. They get driven off course, captured, and forced to backtrack. They suffer abuse and get help. Still, they reach their goal, and Everett reunites with his wife Penny (Get it? Penny!) and their children after fighting off her suitor.

Historical figures, real events, and the actualities of life of the Depression-Era South impact the shenanigans that the three fugitives witness, suffer, get into, and perpetrate. Farmers lose their land, money, and homes; banks are robbed; inhabited land is flooded; confidence men work their wickedness; and deals are made with the Devil. Politicians and kin lie and betray. And a boy band makes it big. Every bit of it is laughable, as only the Coens can make it, even the potentially charged scene of a KKK ceremony with a planned lynching and all. (It's successfully thwarted by our bumbling fugitives.)

As you can probably guess, any movie with the scope of an epic journey, offers a plethora of “little wisdoms.” A lot happens in O Brother, Where Art Thou? and a lot is said, so there is a lot to incorporate into everyday life. Look forward to many posts about lessons from this comedy!

Making Deals

My husband and I have a long tradition of making deals. I walk the dogs in the morning; he walks them in the evening. I cook dinner; he cleans the kitchen. I rake the leaves; he bags them. You get the idea.

A few weeks ago, after a reminder from a friend, we watched Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981). I cannot recall the last time I watched any of the Indiana Jones movies. Before this, we hadn't watched those movies in ages, even though the set of them is tucked into a cabinet with our other movies—between I'm Gonna Get You Sucka and Ironman, both of which we have watched in at least the last twelve months. (The Indy movies did get some play during a recent visit from my mother, though.) And so...

What a fun movie! It was great to rediscover this gem of the action adventure genre. I had forgotten a lot of the details about this story, the acting, and the cinematography. While we watched, I repeatedly thought, “Oh, yeah, this part!”

And then it happened. Just a few minutes into the movie. “Throw me the idol,” Indy says. My husband begins to laugh. And then, there it is: “Throw me the idol; I throw you the whip!”

In an instant, this became another “movie for life.”

Well, you can imagine all the uses for this! It may not work for international diplomacy. But it does well in our regular household.

Need to trade grocery shopping for dinner cooking? “Throw me the idol; I throw you the whip!”

Want to swap breakfast with the kids for reading them a bedtime story? “Throw me the idol; I throw you the whip!”

Would rather fix the plumbing than clean the gutters? “Throw me the idol; I throw you the whip!”

These little sentences are like a secret password. Give them a try. You'll be bartering and trading like a pro in no time at all.

Back to The Edge, for a minute

We don't call these "movies for life," for no reason. As Jess and I have said more than once, what gave us the idea to write about "our" films was--not that either of us harbored a secret desire to be a movie critic, but--that lines and scenes from these movies pop aphoristically onto the screen of our inner consciousness, just when we need them. Our favorites have become our friends, and they speak to us (exhort, admonish, caution, rave, celebrate, chastise) as resoundingly as does any other member of our support group. It's a bit like having an entire conversation made up of Willie Nelson song lyrics (something I heard on KUT, day before yesterday: Willie's birthday): yeah; like that!

So, even though I'm currently writing about another movie, I'm having an Edge moment, and I think I'll write about that, instead.

Here's the back story. I set goals for myself, goals and limits: milestones and budgets. As a freelance writer and editor, there's a lot riding on my abiding by the rules I set for myself after much careful thought and planning. This morning, I took a look in the coffers, and one of them is not where it should be. What was my extravagance? Gasoline and auto repairs; a squirrel unexpectedly built a nest in my engine, doing hundreds of dollars of damage. Also, I bought a shirt, and a whole mess of glass canisters so as to take back my pantry from fruit flies. It's not that I can't afford these things; it's that I think about where every penny goes, these days, and on my current budget, if I have to spend this money, it has to come from somewhere else, like entertainment. Dave Ramsey says this is a good habit to get into, and I have developed it.

Anyway, now I am faced with a dilemma: do I cut out some of my precious Hill Country trips in May and June? or do I raid my burgeoning savings account, which is burgeoning precisely because I do not raid it? Washing the dishes, the answer comes to me: stick close to home, spend less on gas, do X instead of Y, since X is just as interesting, and Y is 577 miles farther away. (Okay, Y is the trip to El Paso to see old friends, in case you're wondering.)

Done. And I think, suddenly: because we have the six matches left, and that's--all we'll need.

Who's this? Ah! This is Charles Morse telling Bob, after they've hiked all day in a great big circle and ended up back at their dead campsite from the day before, 'We're going to make it! Why? Because we have six matches. Enough for six campfires.'

As long as no squirrel builds a nest in--well, you get the point.

Trink has a full day of work ahead of her, she is happy to report.

Let’s Not Mince Words: Run, Fatboy, Run

I recently discovered a "little wisdom" from an unexpected source: the English romantic comedy Run, Fatboy, Run from 2007.

If you’re anything like me, right now you’re thinking, "Ugh, a romantic comedy." If you’re anything like my husband, right now you’re thinking, "Ugh, a foreign movie."

I’m not a fan of romantic comedies, foreign or domestic, but the trailer for this one made me laugh. Then, in two swift steps, it was added to my Netflix queue and bumped up to the top position.

At the center of Run, Fatboy, Run is Dennis, a loser who decides to "get his girl back" by running a marathon. Dennis’ friends and enemies, including his landlord Mr. Goshdashtidar, encourage and discourage him in various ways. They bet for him and against him, buy him running shoes and evict him from his apartment, beat him up for quitting and give him a place to stay the night before the race.

Mr. Goshdashtidar is the most direct of Dennis’ frenemies. He rides a moped along next to Dennis; exhorts, "Run, fatboy, run!" and then swats his ass with a long metal spatula.

The very first time Mr. G. said those three little words and swung that culinary tool, I smirked and thought, "Yeah, tell it like it is."

I sometimes (read: often) get tired of evasion and euphemisms, of saccharine sentimentality and round about explanations. Why can’t we just say what we mean, get directly to the point, and speak with a purpose? We don’t always need a pat on the back and a sympathetic, "Oh, you poor thing," when what our friends are really thinking is, "Well, what’d you expect?" or "You set yourself up for that." Sometimes a swat on the ass and a gruff, "Run, fatboy, run!" are appropriate, helpful, even well deserved.

I’m not a boy, but I do need motivation for many, many things. Lately, I’ve found it a bit easier to do what I don’t want to do. I just let those three words and that metallic smack run through my mind. And then I get my ass in gear to do what needs to be done.

Roan Inish: Fiona's Heritage

They say the Irish live this magic realism, half-in and half-out of the dream world. The Irish say it themselves, in fact! They say it all over the place in The Secret of Roan Inish. This movie takes some very weird things as fact: shape-shifting, for one, as the native Americans call it.  In Irish lore, about which I know not much, there is this creature called the Selkie: a seal-person, something like a mermaid, only Selkies can shed their sealskin and emerge wholly human. Apparently, they are all very good-looking, too.

Fiona's grandfather's grandfather married one. That's why, though most of the Coneellys are blond as Fiona, once in awhile they "spit out a dark one." The movie is about a family thus affected, and yet this is not what got my attention at all. I just see plucky little Fiona, driving her family toward the happiness it knows, down deep, that it wants. This involves returning to the island. That's also what this movie is about.

Oh, and I see the island, too. Fiona wouldn't make half the impression on me that she does, if she were lifting and exhorting everyone in the direction of -- a mountain, say. No; it's the rocky beach, so much like beaches I've walked on, eaten homemade sandwiches on (as does Fiona), and wrecks of boats I've poked around. It's looking through curtains at a far-off light, sleeping safe in grandparents' house--it's familiar, this Ireland. Maybe I'd like to visit it.

Maybe I just wish I could go to grandparents' house and be eight, again.

Tink is posting late on Sunday, but it's still Sunday! Back to regular weekly posts, now!

The Big Question: And Then What?

As many movies do, ATL ends with a tidy wrap up of the main characters' lives. After a brief fade to black, Rashad returns with a soulful voice over similar to the one that opens the movie. During it, we witness the progression of the main characters' lives.

Esquire is grinning with undisguised joy while jogging at an unnamed Ivy League college. Brooklyn has found a menial job he has kept long enough to get promoted. Teddy has his own grills business. And Rashad has become a cartoonist, a possibility briefly foreshadowed earlier in the movie.

We don't need to ask, "And then what happened?"

But ATL's ending is not like real life.

As we go along, we don't get to find out at the end of 90 minutes whether our choices work out, whether our needs are met, whether our future is bright. We may see changes after a 5-week period, as I inferred from the movie's timing. 5 weeks is a little while or a long time, depending on your situation. A lot can happen during 5 weeks. A whole life can change in that amount of time. Something you do in 5 weeks may affect the rest of your life, or it may be the rest of your life.

Whatever your outlook, be it 5 weeks or a lifetime, every little bit of wisdom you can get helps you navigate through life. And you can get them from anywhere. Take Marcus the drug dealer. He is by no stretch of the imagination a good role model or pillar of the community. But he exhorts gems like, "Say no to drugs. Dare to be different." Sure, he advises this in jest. But you can apply it in any context you want. When was the last time you dared to be different?

When you're feeling a little too proud of yourself, remember Marcus’s other witticism: "Just 'cause your head big doesn't make you smart." A little reminder to check yourself.

ATL has other more upstanding sources of guidance, like Mr. Garnett. It is very often true, as Mr. Garnett tells Esquire, that getting ahead is not always about what you know. "Sometimes it's who you know."

Let's not forget Uncle George. On the morality spectrum, he fits in somewhere between Marcus and Mr. Garnett. And during one of Rashad's most difficult moments, Uncle George gives decent advice. "It's all just feelings," Uncle George tells his troubled nephew. "From females to friends to funerals... It's all about the feelings."

Nothing can help you predict the answer to, "And then what?" But every bit of good advice can help you imagine it and then live it. Maybe some of these ATL wisdoms will help you.

Skating, Dancing, Sexing

Skating is a big part of ATL. It's a pastime, a lifeline, and an art form. For Rashad it's a way to relax, a way to be himself, and a way to show off. Skating reveals a lot about Rashad, as it does about his friends, and about all the other people who frequent the Cascade rink on Sunday nights. The skating in this movie reminds me of dancing in real life.

I've often thought that how a man dances is a glimpse at how he makes love.

Now, I don't mean Michael Jackson moon walking and kicking up his leg. I mean moving to a rhythm, in sync with a partner, present in the moment.

Maybe the salsa music and dancing in my childhood is to blame for this notion. Maybe my own special mania is. Whatever the reason, I've always thought that a man who knows how to move on the dance floor also knows how to move in the bed.

Think about it.

Picture it.

Is he engaged with his partner? Or might he as well be alone? Is he controlled, or frenzied? Is he smooth on the rink? On the dance floor? In the bedroom?

The first time I watched New New tell Teddy that she's seen him skate and that tells her "everything [she needs] to know about a man," I nearly shouted, "Exactly!"

Poor, Teddy. He doesn't understand. He goes on to explain that he is "the quickest one out there... [he] be pumpin' it out there." Again, New New and I are in sync when she says, dismissively, "Exactly. A quick pumper."

I know what you're thinking. "Skating is not dancing." You're right; it's not. And dancing is not lovemaking. But all of these activities require moves and style.

Do you know what you like? You have to know what you like to get what you like. Or like New New, you have to know what you don't like to avoid disappointment.