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.