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.