The sky fell. In two movies.
This weekend I saw Chicken Little and Brokeback Mountain. I liked both, and I’m surprised at the amount of parallels I can draw between them. Both are movies about not being accepted by society. Both are movies in which love seems to be a major theme. In both of these movies this love is shared by two men, although in two different situations (as lovers vs. father-son).
In both movies, stuff hits people on the head. Of course, in the instance of the Mountain movie, it’s a bit more fatal. Someone loses an article of clothing in each movie–pants in the Chicken and a shirt in the Mountain. Of course, they are in quite different contexts, but there’s still some clothing becoming disrobed.
I really enjoyed both, because both were movies that Matt was surprised by. He was surprised by the weird context that Chicken Little took on, and the slowness (to quote, “like a documentary…”) of Brokeback Mountain.
Between the two, I preferred the latter. Of course, I like movies that make me think about the screenplay as if it were a book, and trying to figure out what each little motion/movement/word/subcontext means. It’s what I do. I analyze. And the Mountain left me with plenty to analyze. For example, how much did Jack’s wife know about his death? Did she have a hand in it? Is that why she had that red nail polish smeared on her finger (symbolically, not because she killed him a few minutes ago)?
The sky fell in each movie–albeit in one it was literally and in the other it was hope and idealism falling on its ass.
Oh yes, and to the lady whose phone rang during the movie, why did you answer it? Why? Are you the president? Are you the only doctor in the state who can perform a certain type of surgery? I hope you’re happy because I had to physically restrain someone from doing something you would not have liked.
And Alicia, thanks for being my date today. You rocked at it. (So did you, Matt.)