Mel’s Minute Apocalypse

A few days ago, I caught Apocalyptico, and I was throughly shocked.  I wasn’t shocked by the beauty of the South American jungle, or the brutality of the Mayan people, or the talent of the unknown cast members in the film.  I was shocked that somehow, this story is remarkably small.

I think Roger Ebert said something about the greatest stories having one consistent theme: “get home.”  Gibson’s magnificient film, with all of its bluster and macabre, is one of those great stories.  The careful viewer will notice the warnings Gibson is giving about bloodlust indicating the decline of a culture and the dangers of urbanization, but in the end, on the most basic level, this is a story about a young man striving to find his way back to his family. 

To be fair, I admit there are moments of “modern” dialogue that give the viewer difficulty in suspending his disbelief, but the sincerity and ease with which these native Mayans speak their language quickly dispels any nagging doubts about authenticity.  After about five minutes, one barely notices the subtitles, and the native costume, which appears strange and unsanitary at first, becomes as comfortable to look at as any modern garb.

The film is not for the faint of heart (ironic after a post about femininity), but frankly, after all the media build-up about the gore in this film, I was almost disappointed.  Although Gibson does not shy away from dark story-telling, he is not presenting the “stylized” violence of Kill Bill and Saw.  He is simply being honest, and his honesty is hardly audacious (perhaps there is one exception–the jaguar’s run-in with a Mayan face). 

All in all, this film is like nothing you have ever seen.  But it is not Ben Hur.  It is no epic.  It is a story about family love, and that resonates much more largely than the decapitation of the Mayan culture.  This movie’s main weakness is its title; this is no apocalypse,  it is simply a new beginning.

Prairie Home Promises

A while back, I told you a quaint little story about trying to see A Prairie Home Companion the film.  You remember–the power went out mid-movie, and we didn’t get to see the end.  If you’ll recall, I promised a more thorough discussion after I’d gone back and seen it again.

The problem was, I never got back to theater to see the film in the three day time span that it was actually available in theaters.  I had to wait until the film came out on DVD to finish it.  Lately, a venerable member of my reading community has been clamouring for my thoughts on the film, so now that I own it, I probably should go ahead and give my critique.  Let it never be said that Killian doesn’t keep promises.

As you probably are aware, Prairie Home is a fictional account of the last night of a radio program not entirely unlike the show that graces NPRs airways Saturday night.  Both the show and the film are brain children of Garrison Keillor, a phlegmatic writer who, through no explanation other than Providence, masterfully brought the genre of radio variety show out of the dusty coffins of the early twentieth century and made it into a staple in many twenty-first century Americans lives.

According to Keillor’s commentary on the DVD, he had been toying with the idea of writing for a film, and Robert Altman happened to be interested in directing it.  It turns out the Altman’s wife is a huge fan of the show…and, well, to make a long story short…Altman agreed to help Keillor out.  What followed was one of the most unique films I have ever seen.

The movie does have some typical Altman conventions: extremely realistic-almost to the point of distraction-rapid fire dialogue and incredibly long, continuous scenes.  In my view, though, the similarities to Altman’s other work ends there.  As Altman claims in one of the DVD interviews, he is simply a “recorder” of the intricate story that Keillor has constructed.  If the movie doesn’t work, it’s not Altman’s fault.  Likewise, if it does, Altman doesn’t deserve much praise. 

The writing and construction of this film are eerily reminiscent of Thornton Wilder’s experimental work (think Pullman Car Hiawatha and The Long Christmas Dinner), and I do think that Our Town’s daddy would weep as I did at the profound statement that Keillor manages to make without having to explicitly state it. Indeed, the viewer spends the length of the movie laughing at the silly and somewhat shallow depictions of show favorites such as Guy Noir and Dusty and Lefty the cowboys, but in the end, he realizes that he has received a sermon on the brevity and urgency of life that rivals any he has ever seen. 

The performances are wonderfully delivered, even the performance of Keillor himself (who admits that he has a face more suited for radio than film), and the soundtrack is refreshing and a delightful reminder that there are still people in the world who can make music that resonates without making a single political or social claim.  All in all, the complexity of the film’s script paradoxically echoes the simple, Norweigen claim:  we are who we are, and we are built to do what we do, so there’s no need fussing about the superfluous stuff. 

So, since I feel that the film has encouraged me to embrace simplicity, I’ll state my opinion of this film as simply as possible:  I like it.  I think it is one of the most important movies I will ever see.

In case you are illiterate, or blind…check this out!