Lady Bird: Flying Close to Home

When I was young and driven around in the backseat of my parents’ van, I would pick out different houses I wished I lived in. One was on the way to church, a green and white farmhouse big enough for my sister and I to share with our future hockey player husbands. The other was just down the street, a two-storey, brown-shingled house with large windows and a magnificent weeping willow draped over a pond. I imagined a spiral staircase inside. Growing up in a rancher that was in a perennial state of renovation and boasted one bathroom for five people, I think the novelty of different stories was fantasy enough.

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LadyBird

Photo courtesy of Scott Rudin Productions

 

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Our Little Sister

I mentioned last post that I saw a wonderful movie at the Victoria Film Fest earlier in February—a movie I had no expectations about and which completely surprised me with its understated beauty.

Our Little Sister is a 2015 Japanese movie by Hirokazu Kore-eda about three sisters in their 20s who live together in Kamakura and take in their 13-year-old half sister after their father dies. In Japanese, it’s called Umimachi Diary which means “seaside town diary.”

It’s a quiet film that relies on subtle storytelling and believable characters to give it it its emotional depth. None of it feels sentimental and none of the four sisters conform to easy stereotypes. Each sister was her own character and got fairly equal screen treatment, which I felt was a wise move.

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The sisters live in their grandmother’s house that they refer to as the “girls’ dorm.” Sachi, Yoshina, and Chika Kouda have grown up in this home by themselves. The eldest, Sachi, inadvertently became the mom to the younger two after their father had an affair and their parents divorced. Their father remarried, having another daughter Suzu. The girls’ mom had some sort of breakdown and left them shortly after their father did.

The three Kouda sisters meet their half-sister at their father’s funeral (whom they hadn’t seen in 15 years). They take Suzu in because her stepmother is not a great caregiver (Suzu’s mom had died earlier), and Suzu is happy to join them. She is a gentle and sweet presence in their lives and they love looking after her, but her addition in the “girls’ dorm” also brings up a lot of memories and unhealed wounds from the past.

I love that the sisters felt so human, so nuanced, so relatable. Having a sister myself, I found a lot to identify with, but you don’t need to be a sister to appreciate this film.

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Sachi is responsible, loving, cautious, lonely, and, as it turns  out, still angry at her mom and still so eager for her love. She is a senior nurse in palliative care at the local hospital, unhappily involved in a relationship with a married man.

Yoshina (Yoshi) is the high-heeled wearing reckless middle sister (not that reckless, she just drinks too much) and isn’t afraid to confront people about their actions (like her older sister’s pent-up anger). She has a decent job at a bank. Her compassion is really poignant closer to the end of the film when she has to consult clients about filing for bankruptcy and asks Sachi for advice about how to do her job well and not bring it home with her so much.

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Chika is the somewhat nerdy and free spirited youngest child who, according to the other two, has “weird taste in men.” She works at a sports store and is the peacemaker when familial tensions get tight. But her depth comes out too, like when she wants to know from Suzu what their dad was like. None of the other sisters ask Suzu this, even though they’re all yearning to know. It’s not surprising that Chika forms the closest relationship with Suzu, being the closest in age.

Suzu is quiet, thoughtful, and wise beyond her years. You feel her tension of being caught between sisterly love and a heightened sensitivity about her very existence bringing pain to those she loves: “Someone is always hurt, just because I’m here.”

This is a movie that made me laugh and made me weep. I was watching a family that was beautiful and messy and full of joy and sadness and everything in between. All those ideas were wrapped up in the recurring motif of cherry blossom trees, symbolic to Japanese culture of the beauty and fragility of life, the acceptance of loss and the hope of new growth.

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Take this Waltz

She wanted to make a movie about desire. So Sarah Polley made Take this Waltz where desire is everywhere, even in the light-infused cracks of a sultry Toronto street in summertime. She said she knows she has a romanticized view of the city, and I think any person watching the film can see that. She made it look desirable. Tantalizing.

Margot (Michelle Williams) is an aimless woman married to Lou (Seth Rogen), a loving husband who cooks chicken all day in his effort to compile a chicken-only cookbook. Margot meets Daniel, her dark-haired, handsome artist neighbour who drives a rickshaw.

As the object of Margot’s desire, Daniel’s character is fairly two-dimensional. We know him the least. And I suppose this is to be expected when someone is made to represent something. (His biggest, most personal action was moving away). It’s a brave task to make a film about that which eludes, but Polley played out well the complexities of this difficult thing called desire. How anything you desire, you kill once obtained. It never lives up to your expectation. You like it better when you didn’t have it.

And so you, the viewer, can see clearly the path Margot is choosing the more she hangs out with Daniel. Polley holds off the sexual tension between them for so long that you know it’s going to come big when it eventually comes, but the sex scene(s) to the titular song by Leonard Cohen felt the most anti-climactic of the entire movie. Maybe because you know what’s going to come next and you wished Margot had enough foresight to see this too. But as Polley says, this movie is about flawed people. She even calls it a celebration of flawed people.

Interestingly, as soon as Margot runs away (literally) from her husband, the plot lags. I thought the film was over. The latter parts with Daniel weren’t nearly as interesting or coherent as the “boring domestic scenes” with Lou. In the “Making Of” feature of the DVD, Rogen comments on how different it was for him to play a character who was in a committed relationship. He mentions how it was fun to pretend to be married and play those everyday scenes like making breakfast in the kitchen, spraying your wife with the sprinkler, joking around, brushing your teeth while she sits on the toilet.

Polley said she wanted people to be uncertain what decision Margot should make. Yet I think she makes it pretty clear, early on, that Margot will choose Daniel and that it will be a mistake. Her sister-in-law Geraldine (played by Sarah Silverman) is a recovering alcoholic and the wisest, most honest and likeable character in the movie. We get a lot of these clues through her looks and the comments she tells Margot. Women figure out other women pretty quickly, and we know she knows exactly what Margot is up to. She subtly hints/warns Margot in the after-aqua fit shower scene: “New things get old,” but she doesn’t criticize Margot directly until Margot leaves Lou.

In the best line of the movie, she tells Margot, “Life has a gap in it, it just does. You don’t go crazy trying to fill it like some lunatic.”

This might be one of my favourite movie lines, period. Maybe Margot’s not completely happy with Lou but she’s less happy when she’s finally with Daniel. The regret is all over her face when her and Lou talk again at the end, in what is their last conversation.

She comments on the success of his chicken cookbook and he shares in her surprise: “Yeah, who knew so many people would like chicken.” She adds, “And in so many different ways.” It’s probably true that she didn’t appreciate all the ways to know and love Lou until she left him, but the movie implies that that is a lesson taken on faith without having to experiment with the greener grass. As Lou tells her when she hints at them getting back together, “Some things you do in life, they stick.”

The annoying and yet completely human thing about Margot is that she doesn’t know what’s the matter and she doesn’t know what she wants, and maybe the two are one and the same. Even Daniel asks shortly after meeting her, “What’s wrong with you? You seem restless, but in a permanent kind of way.” If her unhappiness and restlessness is permanent, this was another clue that it doesn’t matter who she’s with. Her gap isn’t something someone can fix. It’s about her learning to live in the gap.

You know you’ve watched a good movie when it reminds you of other art on the same topic, when it participates and adds something to the conversation. Two poems come to mind.

The first one takes us back to 14th century Italy. Petrarch is a goldmine on the deadly nature of desire. This figure of early humanism obsessed over Laura, a married woman he saw briefly in a church and whose image inspired a life-long passion/agony he channeled into verse.

No. 141 from Il Canzoniere

As sometimes when the sun shines bright

a foolish butterfly, seeking the light

in its desire, flies into someone’s eyes

and kills itself and makes the other cry:

I, too, am always racing toward the fatal

light of her eyes that show me so much sweetness

it makes Love careless with the veins of reason,

and who discerns is vanquished by desire.

And I can see how much her eyes disdain me,

and I am certain I will die from it–

my strength cannot hold out against such pain;

but so mellifluously Love dazzles me

that I mourn for her wrong, not my own pain,

and my soul, blind, consents to its own death.

The second is a modern poem written precisely for women like Margot.

The Feast by Robert Fass

The lovers loitered on the deck talking,

the men who were with men and the men who were with new women,

a little shrill and electric, and the wifely women

who had repose and beautifully lined faces

and coppery skin. She had taken the turkey from the oven

and her friends were talking on the deck

in the steady sunshine. She imagined them

drifting toward the food, in small groups, finishing

sentences, lifting a pickle or a sliver of turkey,

nibbling a little with unconscious pleasure. And

she imagined setting it out artfully, the white meat,

the breads, the antipasto, the mushrooms and salad

arranged down the oak counter cleanly, and how they all came as in a dance when she called them. She carved meat

and then she was crying. Then she was in darkness

crying. She didn’t know what she wanted.