October 2006 Archives

DEAD POET’S SOCIETY, *****
by Victoria VanBruinisse, Staff Writer
New Haven Advocate

Peter Weir’s 1987 coming-of-age film “Dead Poet’s Society” is a brilliant endeavor that combines several aspects of genius movie-making to form an unforgettable and moving masterpiece. Smart writing, seamless directing, talented actors, and gorgeous cinematography come together to leave a permanent imprint, exposing the viewer to the souls of the lead characters and the triumphs and tragedies that ensue.

Early in the film, amid snapshots of stiff settings and musty classrooms, there shines a light in the form of Professor Keating, played by Robin Williams. Following the rigid curriculum from outside the lines, Williams delivers brilliantly penned quips and quotes through his perfectly cast role as an English professor, and in doing so begins the awakenings of the main players. Characters evolve, walls drop, and story lines develop - the main character Neil (Robert Sean Leonard) and his overbearing father projecting expectations of his son through stern, unforgiving, tight-lipped discussions; Neil’s roommate Todd (Ethan Hawke) suffering the opposite problem of parents who emotionally left him by the wayside - and how they pull each other through. The subplots of romance and antagonism in the secondary characters show even more facets of the familiar pains of youth, portraying pure emotions of anxiety, hormones, and fearlessness. The viewer is further pulled into the world of the film by period-consistent surroundings, from bicycles and cars to smart haircuts and the rumpled shirttails of upper class academia.

As personalities emerge and progress in these well-crafted story lines, the boys begin wage their own private wars as their lives play out on the battlefield of youth. Tangled up in subtle omens and dark nights, the rebirth of a secret society of dead poets emerges, and with it a fire in their very souls of its members. One particularly powerful scene between Keating (Williams) and Todd (Hawke) finds the viewer standing with the characters in front of the classroom, terrified, eyes closed, as a young man’s soul gets shaken alive through improvisational poetry, assumably for the first time in his life. At the same time, Neil is forced to decide between the flares of his own desires and the sure and swift hand of his father. The subplots progress seamlessly as well, until each character is forced to be honest with what has been discovered within him, or fall by the wayside. The enrapturing storylines peak, most notably as Neil defies his father, and at the height of his high gets throttled into utter and true tragedy.

The pure sadness and shifts that ensue, the rise and invariable fall of a bright and beautiful teacher on an otherwise desolate landscape - all these leave behind an unforgettable and unchangeable impression in the very bones of the viewer, as well as in the conclusions (and lack thereof) in the lives of the characters. As the world fades to black, and our eyes refocus on the world around us, there is the impression of seeing everything again new - and the knowledge of just having witnessed something truly amazing. This film is an absolute must see.

Victoria VanBruinisse is a regular contributor to the New Haven Advocate’s movie review section. You can read her weekly advice column, as well as view her bio page and previous articles, online at the Advocate’s website.

fucking nanowrimo. right... or, write, I should say. I balk, I hesitate, and then I remember the story about the single mom with two jobs and three kids that got published. she said something funny, like, that they ate a lot of cheerios.

last year I wrote about 20,000 words, and was on track to finish just fine, and it just fizzled out. I fizzled out. but some funny stuff came true, like tom brosseau saying one night in new york, come tour with me for a few days and take pictures. I wonder if we would have wound up in a hotel room with the long winters. heh. anyways, I have two weeks to figure it out. I'm going to table it for now, challenges duly noted (kristin).

I am very tired, but it's building character, all this hard work. I'm bringing the trash out at work tonight, and the flaming lips are on inside, and as I sort out the recycling, it drifts out the window, echoing:

suddenly... everything has changed...

and it was perfect, and I knew it was coming, and then it was there, and I just took it in. I was told recently by a wise woman that when I'm not quite sure where I'm headed, that I have to look at what's going on currently and the decisions that I'm making, and decide if that's getting me towards my goals. extra job = paying off bills = yes. paying off bills = more school = yes. so coffee shop questionnaire settles. and it flares back up, and I think about it again, and then I remember that we figured that part out already.

we. thank goodness I'm not alone.

and and and... and so it echoed out there into the alley, and my hands are cut up and my feet hurt and between tips and hourly I made... close to $100 in an eight hour shift. not too bad. at this rate, I'll be out of debt and well towards my master's in about... five years.

right.

write.

that's about all I can do at the moment. love ya.

vvb.

that's been in my head for a week. pop culture is fascinating. I simultaneously loathe and love it.

so I'm reading kristin's blog this morning and realize I need to be writing. because it is fall, and it is change, and leaves are shifting even though the weather's holding out, and I'm entertaining thoughts of skirts with boots, and I made some new scarves already. I'm crafty, I think. sometimes. most times.

in the last few days: my fish died, I brought my mom home from chemo only to have her go back to the hospital for some random chest pain (that wound up being nothing), I decided to take on more hours at the coffee shop, I've got an art show there in april (for a whole month!!!), and we've tentatively decided to blow out my mom's garage into a 2+ car and put an apartment on top. like an inlaw. only now. so, like I was saying this morning, I guess this would make us outlaws. I'm picturing a wall of closets and my pictures all over the place, everywhere there's not a window. I think it will be good.

so I'm scared about my mom. I trust her doctor completely, so there's no issue there, but I'm thrown to horror stories about people going to the hospital for gas and getting sent home and like, their appendix explodes or something. but I can't live in fear. so what do I do? how about move in? really. it sounds extreme, but I think we've got a pretty serious case here. not to mention all the little things around the house that even in fine health that my mom can't really do, little things that make me look around the house and think someone else lives there. I don't want to live with that sadness, and neither should she. plus, is it really that much of a downer to go live in a brand new custom designed apartment, for what the equity line will cost (about $300 a month), plus utilities? I don't think so.

it just seemed like so much was happening since the last time I went to write. I'll hear about my paper friday, when we watch "dead poet's society" in class. I haven't seen it in long enough that bits of it will be new again - it's so great. I love that movie so much. my hair is growing back in, and I'm learning to make kick-ass foam without cheating and using different milk. it was sad to flush heywood away, he looked the same, but his poor little fish-eyes were all strange and gross... I had him for four years. almost exactly. through four apartments, a marriage, a house, a divorce, and three-quarters of my sobriety. more than that, I got him about a year in. so 5/6ths of my sobriety.

like kristin said, he's gone off to that big toilet bowl in the sky.

more to follow -

vvb.

Carly Simon’s song “You’re So Vain” is not what many consider to be a source of irritation. It is a beautifully written story, backed by a simple melody, delivered to us by a chart-topping female vocalist of the early seventies. However, the meaning behind the tune, the inspiration and the contradiction that intertwine to form the very life of the song – all of these are enough to drive someone mad. A select few, yes, but from these listeners comes a common cry of frustration.

“You’re So Vain” begins full of gorgeous imagery and telling detail. “I had some dreams / they were clouds in my coffee” stamps scenes into memory of a woman sitting at a kitchen table, stirring absentmindedly, maybe gazing out the window at her past, of lovers long gone on to other things. Or maybe the mind recalls a relationship that never was, or the one who got away, or a perfect romance that quickly became a pile of broken dishes on a cheap linoleum floor. Then, we’re transported into some of the details of Carly’s life, as one man in particular begins to haunt her. “Well I hear you went up to Saratoga / And your horse naturally won” and earlier hints, like “You had me several years ago / When I was still quite naïve / Well you said that we made such a pretty pair / And that you would never leave” start giving us more personal snapshots, as we watch a mystery man trample her precious heart.

As we’re swept away to these distant corners of our minds, the very crux of the song suddenly disintegrates in the chorus. Carly cries out, full of taunt, yet laced with longing: “You’re so vain / I bet you think this song is about you / don’t you?” Herein lies the source of the frustration – because it is about him! She spends several verses telling us exactly who he is, and what he did, and then makes the very heart of the song useless, bordering on ridiculous! It’s almost as if she’s saying to her subject, “I’m going to exactly pinpoint who you are, and then make fun of you for thinking I wrote this song about you – when in all actuality, I just did.” It spits on the brilliance of her imagery and mangles the beauty of her recall.

For some, frustration runs in the form of long lines in the grocery store and bad drivers on the highway. For others, it may be a particular form of handshake, or window blinds left haphazardly half-straightened. And then we have “You’re So Vain”. In the years since it was written, Carly Simon’s compliance in shrouding her suitor’s face from the musical paparazzi gives him the very life she tries to deny. Whomever it was she dreamed of as she held her pen to paper that fateful day, be it James Taylor, or Warren Beatty, or any number of high profile suitors the rumor has encompassed – it is, in fact someone. And yes, Ms. Simon, as we gaze into our coffee cups, we bet he thinks that song was about him. We think so too – because you’ve already told us so.

so, amid searing burns at the coffee shop and pet peeve essays, kristin and I have managed to do this:

hot avocados photography

check it out. I mean, kristin like, built the site and everything, and I just did the gallery, but still. I'm in business. I've even been getting paid and stuff. and I ordered business cards too.

kisses,

vvb.