The Film Fest, Part I

We're in the middle of the best thing about winter around these parts -- well, except for the Hygienic Art Show -- The Garde Arts Center New London Winter Film Festival.

This year's line up is, truly, one for the ages. Every single movie is a must-see. And it's all so timely and important and pop-culture-crucial with the Oscars coming up on Sunday.

Let's take a look-see at what we've seen so far, shall we?

Flight
I loved it, although I'm partial to movies about drunks. I prefer, though, non-redemptive movies about drunks. In one scene when Whip Whitaker, the pilot played by Denzel Washington, chose *not* to grab a bottle of booze I whispered to Mistah, "Can I boo?"

Most of our friends were unimpressed, though. Chris thought the movie was trying to teach two different things. Is the drunk the hero or the anti-hero? Hsin thought it was "predictable, too long, and preachy." Mistah and I, though, we sat back and completely enjoyed a fine actor being a mighty-fine drunk. Well, until the whole redemption part.

ParaNorman
No idea; I didn't see it.

Beasts of the Southern Wild
Wow. What a movie. What a preternatural presence the then-six-year-old Quvenzhané Wallis is. What a graceful and confident presence. She is in every scene in that movie, and you can't take your eyes off of her in any of those scenes. Except when looking at the set -- that must have been a set designer's dream-come-true.

Poverty, strength, redemption (sigh), global warming, a drunk named Wink the night after a drunk named Whip, this movie had it all. And it rendered most everybody who saw it speechless. Chris announced that it immediately vaulted onto his all-time Top-10 list. Justin, however, was less impressed: "Too much yelling."

It was so different, so moving and poignant, and featured such a wonderful tribe of righteous, iconoclastic individuals. And Quvenzhané Wallis' Hushpuppy will knock your socks off.

A Royal Affair
Oh, those wacky Danes. They're not very kind to eachother, those Danes. At least they weren't in the late 1700s. The story is "known far and wide . . . in Denmark" as the screenwriter reports. "This is probably one of the most famous historic episodes in Denmark, and I would say that every single Dane knows about it. But it’s funny, because as soon as you cross the border, nobody knows it."

Me, I only had eyes for my man Mads Mikkelsen. And ears for the Danish language. And closed eyes during any and all beheadings.

I liked it though; hey, what else are you going to do on a Sunday afternoon in New London Feburary? With wine? And Jennie?

The Sessions
This was the only movie I had previously seen. I liked it the first time; I liked it a lot. But this time? I loved it. I loved it with the depth of my soul, and I had to practice lamaze breathing not to weep out loud in the Garde Theater at the end. Plus I had no tissues so my black shirt's sleeve is a wreck.

Bill found it clinical, Dawn and Hsin and James told me they loved it, but frankly, I didn't ask for too many opinions. I loved it so much I didn't want to know what anyone else thought. How was John Hawkes not nominated for an Oscar? He was supine, and didn't move, and was completely riveting. I couldn't take my eyes off of him. After the movie I basked in that post-movie cocoon of love. Swooning love. With bloodshot eyes.

Sigh. How I love the movies.

Tonight is Argo. Tomorrow is The Life of Pi at 3 and Anna Karenina at 7:30. Next week is . . . well, let's just meet back here then, and we'll discuss . . .

Good luck to everybody on Sunday. May the best actress, actor, director, cinematographer, screenwriter, lighting director, set designer, composer, gaffer, and, most imortantly, best boy win.

See you at the movies.