Karin drove to Cleveland to see Weird Al in concert for the second time in two years. Daniel and Samuel slept over at their grandpa’s. Abel remained with me. I took advantage of the quiet and put on the first half of The Brutalist. At intermission (yes, that’s the kind of movie it is), we went to the neighborhood’s new Popeyes; then, we came home and finished the movie. Abel slept through most of the second part. He slept the rest of the night, too, except for brief awakenings to suck from his bottle. He was lively, early the next morning; when he was hungry, he said Ma, ma, ma, ma, and I knew I was no proper mother substitute.
The Brutalist is long and arbitrarily plotted but has some striking scenes, none better than the “Statue of Liberty” scene near the beginning.
Was it really made for just $10 million? That’s amazing.
I waited for months to see it, but I have to say, Anora is better.
A few years ago, I put on I, Tonya (2017) and then quickly turned it off. I couldn’t stomach its “mocumentary” format. A respectful reassessment of Tonya Harding was then in vogue. I’d been impressed by ESPN’s documentary about the figure skater.
I’m not sure if I, Tonya tries to portray Harding’s life any more accurately than, say, Amadeus portrays the life of Mozart. What I am sure of – now – is that stylistically and thematically, I, Tonya is a re-hash of To Die For (1995).
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To Die For isn’t about Tonya Harding, but elements of that movie nod to the Harding-Kerrigan scandal as it was interpreted in the 1990s – i.e., as a specimen of:
(a) ruthless feminine ambition (to take the lurid perspective);
(b) journalistic sensationalism (to take the sober, critical perspective).
(See, e.g., the second verse of Weird Al’s song “Headline News,” which expresses both perspectives.)
To Die For’s source is a 1992 novel by Joyce Maynard. The novel draws from the real-life murder of Gregg Smart by his wife, Pamela.
However, To Die For and the Harding-Kerrigan case do share certain themes. These include:
(a) personal ambition;
(b) the sleaze of media producers, subjects, and consumers;
and
(c) violence performed over long distance.
Imagery is shared, too: especially, ice and ice-skating.
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“First impressions in one word?” says rough-edged figure skater Janice Maretto (Illeana Douglas) when asked to describe her sister-in-law, Suzanne Stone (Nicole Kidman). “Four letters. Begins with ‘C’: Cold. C-O-L-D.”
Janice looks directly at the camera. One gathers that she’s being interviewed for a documentary about Suzanne and that Suzanne has acquired a certain notoriety.
Other characters, including Suzanne, are “interviewed” during the movie, but it isn’t always clear whether it’s for the same “project” or even whether it’s during this life or the afterlife. It isn’t clear whether Suzanne herself is alive or dead.
Her husband, Larry (Matt Dillon) – Janice’s brother – is definitely dead. The movie recounts Suzanne’s role in his demise. It blends “interviews,” other TV footage, and straightforward narrative. The blend disorients, but that’s on purpose.
The general outline is simple enough: ambitious young wife tires of husband, regards him as career obstacle, plots his murder, is found out.
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There’s more to it. The murder isn’t just Suzanne’s means to a career.
No, what’s distinctive about Suzanne – her tragic flaw, if someone so hollow can have one – is her craving for attention. She wants a career in broadcasting because it’s a way to be seen.
The wrinkle is that she’s unable to supress that craving in order to obtain greater exposure in the long run. She has to be noticed at every step. It’s a compulsion.
When she gets a job forecasting the weather for the local cable channel, she inundates her boss (Wayne Knight) with suggestions about how to run the station.
Boss: “Well, Suzanne, I sure pity the person who says ‘no’ to you.”
Suzanne: “No one ever does.”
She recruits three youths to feature in her self-publicizing documentary about the lives of high schoolers. She does more than interview and film them. She becomes their after-school companion. Soon she’s hanging out with them in shopping malls, giving them weight-loss and career advice, trying on clothes in front of them. Training them to depend on her, adore her, gawk at her, hang on her every word.
Her posse consists of three losers: Lydia (Alison Folland), Russell (Casey Affleck), and Jimmy (Joaquin Phoenix). They’re the best thing about the movie. Director Gus Van Sant is on his surest footing here, sympathizing with troubled youth. Phoenix’s performance, especially, is a slam-dunk. It’s as if a dismal cartoon teenager from Beavis and Butt-Head acquired flesh and blood, became a Real Boy. Suzanne soon has Jimmy wrapped around her finger. She plays him against the other two.
Then she coaxes them to murder her husband.
Why? Why not kill him herself? Why involve these sad, incompetent children? Not because Suzanne is a criminal mastermind, but because it’s compulsive for her to play to an audience. Why bother to become a murderer if no one is there to see it?
Lydia, in an interview, explains:
Suzanne used to say that you’re not really anybody in America unless you’re on TV … ’cause what’s the point of doing anything worthwhile if there’s nobody watching? So when people are watching, it makes you a better person. So if everybody was on TV all the time, everybody would be better people.
Then, touchingly, Lydia adds:
But, if everybody was on TV all the time, there wouldn’t be anybody left to watch, and that’s where I get confused.
It’s like someone near the bottom of a pyramid scheme dimly realizing it’s a pyramid scheme.
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But hey, Lydia is on TV, isn’t she? She has made it, hasn’t she? And doesn’t almost everyone in this story appear on TV?
There are a couple of very weird scenes – whether they take place in this world or in the next one, I’m not sure – in which Suzanne’s and Larry’s families answer questions together, for a talk show, in front of a studio audience. Despite the tragedy that has brought them there – that ought to pit them against each other – the families are convivial. They even seem mildly pleased to be interviewed. Could it be that although these ordinary citizens lack Suzanne’s obsessiveness, they share her basic philosophy: that what really matters is to be seen? That, unspeakably, the destruction of Larry and Suzanne is a blessing for them? That scraps of recognition are worth people dying for? If this is so, then the movie indicts not only the outrageous, cartoonish Suzanne, but ordinary people as well, in fact an entire society.
At last, Samuel has been assigned to a school bus route.
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I took him outside this morning. We waited by the curb, in the dark.
Then the bus flew past us on a different street.
Maybe he’ll get to ride the bus to school tomorrow.
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He did make today’s return journey on the bus.
Daniel and I sat in lawn chairs on the front porch and waited for Samuel to arrive. When the bus pulled up, all the windows but one were empty … and there was Samuel’s curly head. There were his big eyes, staring out expressionlessly.
I was so proud of my little son for enduring this ordeal: his first bus ride, his first solo journey.
As soon as he got indoors, he went to his toy cars. He was virtually mute for an hour or so.
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Eventually, I learned that other children had ridden with him, and that he had enjoyed looking out at the houses.
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His driver seemed very conscientious. When she stopped the bus, she put on latex gloves and went back to help Samuel out of his seat. Then she waited to drive away until after he’d gone into the house.
The school bus is the safest vehicle on the road – your child is much safer taking a bus to and from school than traveling by car. In fact, students are about 70 times more likely to get to school safely when taking a bus instead of traveling by car. That’s because school buses are the most regulated vehicles on the road; they’re designed to be safer than passenger vehicles in preventing crashes and injuries; and in every state, stop-arm laws protect children from other motorists.