Two Movies, Two Reactions

Why do we go to the movies?

I've asked that question in classes before (when I've had a chance to talk about film) and it provokes the usual responses - to be entertained, to laugh, to be moved, to think ...

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The best movies, I think, do all of these things at one, or even take us somewhere new ... they leave us, as the credits roll, abuzz, slightly off-kilter, wondering what it was that just hit us like a psycho-spiritual 2 X 4.  The magic of the film, whispered to us in the darkness via flickering light and Dolby speakers, should resound even as we head back out into "reality."

I saw two films this week, Monuments Men and Her, and only the latter had that effect on me. I wish both had ...

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Monuments Men, a George Clooney-helmed drama based on a true story from World War II, about a band of soldiers dedicated to recovering art stolen by the Germans, left me largely indifferent, or unexcited, which was strange considering that I'm fascinated by the stories of that war, and was looking forward to it, but the sizable group of actors (some of whom are my favorites, like Bill Murray and John Goodman) moved about from scene to scene like lifeless pawns in a game. It was too bad, because the film was exploring ideas of the importance of art (amidst brutality), and those who would fight back against the “loss of our history.”

But then, the next day, I saw Her, the pseudo-science fiction love story written and directed by Spike Jonze (who deserves more fame than he gets) and I was hit by that 2 X 4. I emerged from the Bethesda movie theater into the cold winter air with the images, words, and themes all spinning and echoing in my mind, recounting the intense performances of Joaquin Phoenix and Scarlett Johansson (technically Johansson's voice), and the playful synergy of the film, and it's attention to detail.


The central plot line of Her concerns Phoenix's love affair with an operating system (a Johansson-voiced machine) and from this simple idea Jonze heads off deeply into emotional and engaging terrain, and shows us all the wonderful, imagined details of a worrisome future of everyone plugged into their machines and still lonely as hell (Phoenix spends his days as a writer speaking into a computer, composing letters for other couples).


I don't want to spoil the film but there's some marvelous images in this movie. In one scene, Phoenix sits forlornly on the edge of the street in front of a giant video screen with his back to it, as the image of a gigantic owl swoops down toward him, talons extended. In another, Phoenix ascends some steps to an overview of an incredibly overfilled beach, which suggests ever so quietly about our future being a pretty crowded place.


When I've taught media studies, I love challenging students to step back and see their world, and to regard their own relationship with technology, even daring them to survey their media use or even (gasp) fast from it for 24 hours. In at least one class, I brought up the issue of “people marrying robots” and asked students what they thought about that concept. Several reacted with some revulsion at the idea, some joked that it was probably inevitable, and still others wrestled with the pros and cons and were unsure.


I, for one, am fascinated by the light speed we're moving at in this day and age and our often unquestioning allegiance to all the newest technology that flies in and out, only to get replaced. I wonder at the slow and steady encroach of personalization technology, and at the idea that we aren't very well educated in the use of our media (in the larger, critical-thinking sense), and so I love it when artists and philosophers (and others) try to ask “why?” get us to peek behind the curtain, or ask why we're so unhappy even though we have so much amazing stuff.


I know I have spent more than a few moments just peering about me on public transportation in Bangkok and Washington, D.C. And New York City, viewing the juxtaposition of people plugged into their personal devices, chatting away on their Bluetooth's, flipping through screens, oblivious to the person who stands next to them.

What a wonderful, and odd, world we have come to live in ... what a wonderful film to make me ponder all these things again ...