Not That Kind of Girl.

Sometimes I feel like an outsider among my own people. People who study the same stuff as me, read the same books as me, apply to the same schools as me. But why do I come out of class detached with a deep-seeded feeling that one of these in not like the others?

I have not always been a fan of Lena Dunham. She blew up in the last couple of years, gaining accolades that she maybe doesn't deserve as an innovator, feminist icon, an average looking person. After watching a couple episodes of Girls, I decided it wasn't for me, but friends would keep me up to date as they assured me they only watched on because it was great "water cooler talk". As if a bunch of twenty year olds in college were in dire need of such a maniacal product of corporate America.

But like most people, I was fascinated by her. Here was this not-glamourous girl living a particularly glamourous life. And I was pissed. How did this happen? Why is she being heard? When did people start giving a shit about positive body image?

I did not understand why I hated Lena Dunham but also needed to read her book. As sad and pathetic as it sounds this is the truth: I thought I was better than her. That I could be better than her and that people needed to see that. Because as far as I could tell, people didn't.

What's weirder than thinking you're cool when nobody else does? Today I saw a dead canary in front of the library on my daily rush to a class to which I'm already 10 minutes late. And I stopped and looked at it and said "That's sad. It was so pretty."  to my friend before moving on. All of this happened within 5 seconds. A life was gone and mourned for 5 seconds.

My confused feelings towards this big-bottomed lass is everything personal. She accepts herself and doesn't care if others do or shoves her ass in their faces before it loses its shock factor. Normal continues to be my tyrant. I borrow hair ties from girls and talk one pitch higher than I should and take the same classes as them because I can't fight the power. I can't be honest with my weirdness but she is. And while we might  hate the things in others we see in ourselves, I hate that I can't see myself in more people.

If there's one resonating theme in Not That Kind of Girl it's that Lena Dunham is the Taylor Swift of sexploitative literature and I love it. She confides in strangers details that can only be entrusted to a very drunk girl in a unisex bar bathroom at 3 in the morning. I feel a camaraderie with her that I haven't felt with anyone else in a very long time and that both scares and excites me. Turns out I'm Not That Kind of Girl either.

Lilting.

I'll be honest. I had to look up the word "lilting".  Not for this to turn into some kind of wedding speech, but Merriam-Webster defines lilting (adj.) as a rhythmic swinging or cadence. This makes more sense than my invented definition, which defines lilting as British slang for "little thing." Clearly, I am quite clever. That's what my mom keeps telling me, anyway.

Anyway, back to the film. First things first: if you are the type who obligingly heaves at the movies or hunched over near your laptop (just being honest here), then this movie is for you. Pathos doesn't seem like a strong enough word here. The sudden death of a son and lover, Kai,  leaves both his chinese mother and English boyfriend reeling as one tries to draw closer and the other pulls away. Ben Winslow,  who is on his way to inevitable stardom as the voce of a very fluffy protagonist when David Heyman's adaptation of the popular children's book Paddington Bear hits the silver screen, stars as the kind-eyed boyfriend.

Although just as adorable as his bear avatar, Ben Winslow is a phenomenon in Lilting. He is raw, real, riveting--all the "r" words---as a man who's just lost his soulmate and trying to connect with the last piece of him: his mother. Cheng Pei-Pei plays Kai's mother and she doesn't speak a word of English. But this lady's got more to her than just a really fun name to say three times. Kai's mother dwindles in a retirement home she refuses to like despite the fact that girlfriend's pulling silver foxes left and right in there. She refuses to adjust to English life even though she has raised her family there for years, so she happily accepts the language barrier between herself and her lover. So when Winslow introduces a translator into their relationship, things get a little heavy. The words "ignorance is bliss" comes to mind.

Winslow really pulls out all the stops to get her approval; he cooks for her, lets her have Kai's ashes, even gives her a walking google translate for dirty talk, but mama's not buying it. Winslow wants to let her know how important Kai was to him, that he was more than just the "best friend". Essentially, he's trying to do the thing Kai couldn't: come out to his mom. What he doesn't realize is that mother's know their children although their kids' diaries may beg to differ.

The best part of this film is the glimpse into one of the most deeply romantic relationships between two men I've ever seen. Andrew Leung (Kai) and Winslow are truly spectacular and convincing as soul mates, especially in the scenes they lay in bed together considering things as couples do. The scenes are so beautiful and evocative and honest that I almost wrote a poem about it. Something about the curves and shadows of their lily white torsos as light filtered through the neat curtains. But then I realized I suck at poetry and sometimes words can't express the kind of magic you can only feel.

Lilting. Feel every curve of love.

This Is Where I Leave You.

Who you are when you're around family is arguable the most true version of yourself. These people or person know(s) you in a way nobody else does and in return you're privy to their untold truths, flaws, burdens, and sometimes twisted, unconscious love. This Is Where I Leave You is a film about family and it's interminable push and pull that both compels and encumbers, but sooner or later drives us home.

A star-studded cast makes for an interesting take on a quiet drama that otherwise would consist of unknown talent. While Tina Fey manages to incorporate Tina Fey into a family reunion movie and Jason Bateman proves he's not always an emotionally inadequate hard-ass by crying into his mommy's bosom, Adam Driver stands out as the break-out star. Perhaps a more whimsical version of his character from Girls, Driver gives an energized performance of the youthful buffoon sleeping with his therapist who just doesn't care about getting it right. Jane Fonda also stuns as usual as the eccentric, over-sharing mother with new boobs and sexual inclinations. She is the glue that holds the family together.

Coincidentally, all the film's forgettable faces are romantic supporting characters:  Timothy Olyphant (Justified) as the brain-damaged neighbor and Fey's ex-boyfriend, Rose Byrne (Bridesmaids and pretty much every film since 2010) as Bateman's Girl-Who-Waited-For-His-Marriage-To-Fail, and Connie Britton (Friday Night Lights, Nashville) as Driver's mature therapist turned girlfriend. These highly acclaimed actors become lost faces of unfleshed characters, who simply exist to serve as non-family ties to the siblings. 

Probably the most disappointing character is Paul, the oldest sibling portrayed by Corey Stoll, who is known best as Peter Russo, the beloved but unbridled senator with a secret in the critically-acclaimed House of Cards. Although he's the one who never left town, Paul hardly appears on screen with his siblings anymore than does Boner, the stoner turned Rabbi played by the always ridiculous Ben Schwartz (Parks and Recreation). Rather, Paul's baby-crazy wife, played by Kathryn Hahn, gets more character development and one-on-one time with the siblings.  

There are many scenes in this film that demand to be significant and stirring, but few that actually deliver. Notably, a scene in which Bateman and Byrne wobble around an ice rink teems with diabetic-ally sweet nostalgia saturated with cornball lines like "Anything can happen. Anything happens all the time."

Instead, the most poignant scenes in This is Where are accidental glimpses into the characters heads.The most stirring often include Driver paired with another sibling; a scene in which Driver admits to Fey that she is the voice inside his head as Fey had pretty much raised him is by far the most subtle, charming scene in the entire film. Another between Driver and Bateman in which they touch foreheads to express affection in their father's special way stirs even my somewhat cold heart especially when Driver pulls away his voice broken with restrained feelings.   

There is no denying This is Where I Leave You had problems translating Jonathan Tropper's distinct narrative as most book-to-film adaptations. The plot is too neat and tidy and predictable and sometimes the acting is overtly self-important and seems more appropriate for the stage then screen.

But while it's easier to submit to a book's request to contemplate and conduct an existential search for your soul, because as readers we are in charge of the casting, directing, and soundtrack of our own movie in our heads, this can be a difficult task for a film. Despite this, I came out of the theater feeling things--- some happy, sad, and annoyed. And in the end, isn't that the point of the movies? 

The Obvious Child.

It makes me mad when things are not allowed to be funny. A blank-faced group of critics decide on the caliber of seriousness of a topic and then they closely monitor the thin-haired border between drama and comedy daring people to see what happens if they tip a little too far in the wrong direction.

So what happens when you laugh at an abortion joke? Struck by lightening. Suddenly burst into flames. The Obvious Child makes viewers laugh, feel slightly horrified and then continue laughing. Why? Because it's fucking funny.

Donna Stern, a between young and getting older stand-up played by Jenny Slate thinks funny is reality by making it a point to clue her audience in on literally everything that's going on in her personal life. A surprise breakup. Then, a surprise pregnancy and decision to get an abortion. On Valentine's Day. Also, an obscenely high number of fart jokes.

I saw this movie in a tiny independent theater in Soho, NY and as I watched it became increasingly clear why The Obvious Child isn't playing at an AMC.

EXHIBIT A- An exchange between Donna and Nellie, her bestie, in the unisex restroom of the comedy bar the day before her abortion and right before her gig.

Nellie: You're going to kill it [tonight]. 

Donna: Tomorrow I am.     

Aside from the hard liquor taste of comedy, Obvious Child surreptitiously weaves a subtle budding romance throughout the film. Slate and Jake Lacy, who plays her baby daddy, radiate an obvious chemistry that makes their on-screen one-night-stand that-became-more feel natural and honestly,  pretty damn enviable. Lacy's sweet nice guy hilariously compliments Slate's bizarre and borderline psychotic.

There was never a moment the theater didn't react to a joke. Maybe it's because the film is set in New York and New Yorkers only really like other New Yorkers. Maybe because a feminist, a gay comidian, and a jewish COD living in Williamsburg (pretty much the holy trinity of NYC society) make for a more honest take on Girls. Or maybe, because we all googled The Obvious Child and found it playing in only two theaters in the entire city and consequently were all bound together with a mutual respect for each others taste in independent cinema. But most likely, because it's just fucking funny.

The One I Love.

The world is full of undeserving binaries and yet they exist. Good vs. Evil. Male vs. Female. Reality vs. Fantasy. Re-creators vs Starters. There are different reasons why someone wants to recreate something: preservation, rekindling, reminders of happiness, betrayal, even desire.A starter would rather move on; accept that things are and can be different. But, like all binaries there should be a clear successor. The One I Love makes you question the space in between.

With a semblance of a simple story of a man and woman trying to salvage their failing marriage with a weekend getaway, The One I Love challenges the realms of reality, fantasy and even genre. Critically-acclaimed Top of the Lake actress Elisabeth Moss and silent indie star Mark Duplass are a couple in this romantic dramadey who want different things and different people. She wants a new beginning and he wants another chance. An opportunity presents itself when they find out the guest house of their getaway home has warped time/space/dimension/wiggly-wobbly-timey-wimey and allows each of them to encounter an alternative version of their partners. While she gets a cooler, physically active husband with contacts and beachy hair, he gets the perfect stepford wife complacent with his every desire. 

When the couple, who speak to each other more like business associates, begins to experiment with this dream house, it becomes obvious one of them is enjoying this more than the other. Her naiveté and hopefulness lend to Moss's acceptance of her alternative partner, while jealousy and doubt plague Duplass' tolerance for this strange take on couple's therapy. Then, in a peculiar twist of events, they find their doubles are no longer just a figment of their imaginations. Regardless of their origin---(robots, clones?) it's time for them to choose. Rather, for Moss's character to choose the one she loves.   

You can't help but endure the turmoil Moss goes through in making this decision. Do you choose the one who cheated on you with the chance you can recreate the happy times or do you start something new that holds endless possibilities? Duplass' decision is not as complicated and you can't help but wonder who exactly first time director Charlie McDowell is pinning as the bad guy. The unforgiving wife or the stubborn husband? The film tests structural binaries society has engrained in us and turns the table on the viewers.

Despite it's unique premise, the film's erratic pace is sometimes uncomfortable, starting off very slow and flashing forward at random moments. I did feel emotionally invested in the character's decision, but the budding feminist inside me has to question why the writer decided to portray the husband as the sensible one, while his wife falls into the role of wide-eyed day dreamer.

If you had the chance, who would you choose to be the one you love?  

About Alex.

We spend a lot of time living through something that we've already experienced. Maybe we'll learn something new that we didn't notice before. And we tell ourselves this is a good thing, because that's how people change. But, mostly we're lying. Because we're not looking so much as we're feeling, tasting, smelling. Connecting with a version of us we want to preserve. We go back to a moment because it was either the best or worst and important because of the very fact that it's unimportant.

The idea of "letting go" becomes an ignored mantra we tell ourselves when it starts to become impossible to discern a moment from this moment.

About Alex captures this struggle. A distress signal in the form of a suicide attempt brings a group of college friends together to ignore this instance and recall others. A twenty first century re-imagining of the 80s classic The Big Chill, the young cast is dotted with rising indie stars such as Aubrey Plaza and Jason Ritter. Max Greenfield, best known as Schmidt on New Girl, gives a surprisingly fresh performance as a different kind of irate Jew. Although the premise is far from novel, About Alex’s singularity lies in its spin on the overworked reunion trope. It’s not just a class reunion, it's a Life Progress Report. 
 While it's 80s counterpart's pop/rock soundtrack became a monster of its own, releasing multiple albums featuring the sounds of a fading generation, About Alex's soundtrack is an eclectic collection of the new millennium. In a memorable scene, the hodge-podge clan of late thirty-somethings struggle to find a generation defining record to play. After rejecting Arcade Fire as "too Canadian," they settle for the Generationals' indie sleeper hit "When They Fight, They Fight," sway to its upbeat tempo and get lost in a cloud of marijuana smoke. Lyrics like "And when it all comes crashing down/What can you do/To find what you're looking for?"makes the song an actual thirty-something has probably never heard of become the perfect reason why this song represents their generation.

There are a lot of people who dismiss this movie that dares to tag itself as "generation-defining" and point to "The Big Chill" as the real deal. What they fail to see is the beautiful irony in their criticism. If there is one theme that defines this millennium it's that nothing new is allowed to be relevant.  

This attitude reproduces the fundamental message of the film: sometimes we get lost in a moment, but fail to live in this one.  

Frank.

When I like something I become obsessed and I try to hold on to it like a dream that's drifting away and I squeeze it, choke it until there no juice left, no substance...and then I let it go. I'm over it. But for a moment I'm like Jake Gyllenhaal in Zodiac. I need to know who the Zodiac Killer is this instant. "This instant" is key here because that's what it is: a moment something enraptures you, makes you owe it something, strokes your spine in just the right place. It demands to be touched, to be felt. 

Frank is my Zodiac Killer. Maggie Gyllenhaal, Fassbender, a pair of emo frenchies, and Bill mother fucking Weasley have stroked my spine and my fiddley-digits have never felt more electrified.
>//<I love you all.>//<

In select theaters now. 

He's Not The One.

Your skin feels like fire every time you see him.  

You start to question the very foundation of physical 

sciences, because how can it be that your soul literally 

leaves your corporal body when your phone vibrates 

in the pattern you personalized just for him.  

You've got it bad. 

But here's the thing. 

He's not "the one." 

Sky Ferriera's striking words resonate strongly with a gen so devoid of romance. So over it.  

"The one" is a figment of our imaginations. The stench of teen spirit that lingers after. A normalized escapism. Echoed feelings from another time before two christmases a year. 
   
Frankly, there are far greater concerns. Like a Pregnapacolyse.