Maggie says:
Two recent rentals offer completely different movie experiences as well as a glimpse into the disturbingly wide spectrum of interests in this head of mine. I heartily recommend both: one as comfort food, and one as that gluttonous snack you eat furtively, at night, alone.
Ratatouille
My animated movie viewing ended about the time I stopped babysitting in the early ‘90s, so it’s really saying something that Ratatouille was on my must-see list. I'll freely admit the snob appeal here, though: when an animated movie is talked up on my favorite food blogs, I pay attention. And you know that talk must have percolating at full steam to overcome my phobia of both Disney AND rats. Whew! Turns out I’m okay with vermin as long as they’re foodies at heart named Remy, set up little beds that overlook the Eiffel Tower, and can reinterpret a rustic peasant dish into a sculptural ode to contemporary eating. This movie is great fun. I loved Ratatouille's food humor, the poking fun at the industry, the sweetness of the characters, and the gorgeous orchestration of rats – yes, rats! – reaching a kitchen crescendo amidst the copper pots and pans. This movie nails the true pleasure of eating, of loving taste and ingredients and finding a combination that you’d die to try again and again. I swear you can smell the kitchen as they cook, and it’s a damn cartoon! Rent it, for real. I don’t even think you have to be embarrassed. And as a bonus, the female character doesn't wear a corset or have long, flowing locks - she's an ass-kicking chef who rides a moped and tells the waffly male lead how it is!
Crazy Love
On a completely different spectrum, I offer up Crazy Love as an antidote if you’re feeling a little bit crazy or even completely screwed up, because I assure you that the most maladjusted person reading this blog is still a thousand times healthier than the couple in this documentary. I don’t want to spoil it, but I’ll say that last year a Times article about these two was sufficiently torrid to have me checking on the DVD release date for months. The wait was worth it, and the documentary is as riveting as it is insane in content. The footage of mid-century New York, newspaper clippings, personal mementos, and photos are used remarkably well here, giving weight to the anxious half-dread/half-incredulous emotion of the story, which is pretty much the cinematic equivalent of the car accident you can't stop looking at. Besides the unintended therapy this documentary offers, it also manages to prompt some searing questions without ever blatantly asking them, which is precisely the power documentaries can have. How far will some of us go to get what we want? How low will some of us go not to be alone? What is the value of a relationship at any cost? When can a network of support turn into a bad influence? How far could we take our worst impulses? Can any of us ever really change? After you rent Crazy Love (because I know you will), ask yourself this: how different might the outcome have been ten years later, twenty years later, or thirty years later? That question fascinates me, and I can’t stop thinking about this damn crazy couple no matter how hard I try.
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