Copacabana

When people ask me a question I give them the answer

Let's talk briefly about Danny Boyle, the director of last night's Best Picture winner Slumdog Millionaire. I saw Slumdog this weekend so I could legitimately celebrate should it win Best Picture. I knew when it came out I wanted to see it because I've been a fan of Boyle's since I saw Trainspotting in the mid 90s and he co-wrote and directed another of my all-time favorite films A Life Less Ordinary. His collaboration with Ewan McGregor is really enough in my book but then of course there's 28 Days Later and I hear Shallow Grave is great although I've never seen it. Boyle has a knack for visually arresting an audience. There are a few movies I've seen once and refuse to ever see again -- Silence of the Lambs, Schindler's List, The Accused -- because they were so good that I'm incapable of separating myself from the film. I willingly suspend disbelief to a dangerous degree and when some of the subject matter is disturbing (at best) I have a hard time letting go of it. Trainspotting is among that list. Anyone who's seen it knows the "baby scene." Once was enough thank you. Because it was genius. Horrible, terrible genius.

Slumdog did not disappoint. It was a quieter, prettier genius, something I hope we'll see more of from Boyle (and for those of you shocked by this statement because of some of the harsh subject matter, see Trainspotting. Seriously.) And also because of the AWESOME Bollywood sequence at the end. It also brought the Indian culture into the consciousness of a great many people in the way that Boyle does things: with a straight forward, gritty realistic approach painted over with a sheen of wonder and hope and truth and beauty and the power of love in a jacked up hellhole of a world. I hope this recognition doesn't change Mr. Boyle and that he doesn't become "all Hollywood," although I doubt it will because he seems to get it in a way not very many people do: that the beauty of a thing like destiny is only really relevant and powerful when placed in sharp relief to all the cynicism and disbelief that most of the world insists is the only intelligent way to live. But Boyle believes in miracles. And so do I. Because it is written.

Sigh.

And Jamal was the perfect anti-hero and was very easy on the eyes so thanks for that, too.

(And Momma, sorry for the grump. I'm a little sick. But I love you and know you mean well. Just trying not to lose my grip. But you really are the best. I'm just bad at saying it...)

posted by Lola @ 1:15 PM