MY MOVIE SHELF: The Hunger Games: Mockingjay, Part 1

The Task: Watch and write about every movie on my shelf, in order (Blu-rays are sorted after DVDs), by June 10, 2015.  Remaining movies: 50 Days to go: 36

Movie #390:  The Hunger Games: Mockingjay, Part 1

If you’d asked me when I first read Mockingjay whether it would require two movies to tell its story, I would’ve answered emphatically no. This is not Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, a nearly 800-page book chock full of events critical to the end of the series. Mockingjay is half that size, and its narrator Katniss Everdeen (Jennifer Lawrence) is holed up in the underground bunkers of District 13, away from most of the action, for the vast majority of it. If you take simply the first half, there’s even less going on and fewer events for Katniss to be involved in. It’s problematic, to say the least. Obviously I haven’t seen Mockingjay Part 2 yet — it doesn’t come out for six more months — but based on this first half I’ve turned my opinion around on splitting the final installment in two, not because of everything that’s in the book, but because of everything the film has added to it and enhanced.

First and foremost, Katniss is nearly insane in District 13. The terror of her two Games, the disorienting way she was removed from the last one, the haunting knowledge that Peeta (Josh Hutcherson) is in the hands of the Capitol being tortured or worse, the multiple injuries she’s sustained, and the recent knowledge that all of District 12 has been leveled, all combine to make Katniss as raw as an exposed nerve. But when your character is astute enough to narrate her story and articulate her madness, it loses its effectiveness a bit. On film, however, that restrictive quality falls away and Lawrence is able to put every ounce of her award-winning talent behind all the fear, pain, madness, anger and desperation Katniss feels. It puts actual walls around her too, and seeing the tiny, hidden spaces Katniss seeks out for refuge brings her panic attacks and frenzied insecurities into sharp focus.

The addition of actual visuals also benefit the destruction wrought by the Capitol. The annihilation of District 12 is especially poignant. The book talks of buildings turned to rubble, and a mass grave in the Meadow, but the film shows us the charred skeletons of fleeing people, and combines it with the first-person account of Gale (Liam Hemsworth). It’s infinitely more powerful and more effective, as is Katniss’s performance of “The Hanging Tree.” (A book can tell you something is a song, but the melody in the film really brings it to life.)

Mockingjay Part 1 also really showcases the role of television and propaganda in the world of Panem in a way none of the movies have been able to do yet (and frankly better than the book does as well). Natalie Dormer makes everything better (seriously, if she and Anthony Mackie were in a movie together, it might bring about world peace and everlasting love and harmony), and that includes her role as director Cressida here, in which she honestly conveys not only the journalistic and entertainment instincts of the film she’s shooting, but an artistic eye and an interviewer’s questions. She’s savvy and smart, and while you sense she’s personally invested, it’s also clear she knows exactly what she’s doing and how to best send a message. (Philip Seymour Hoffman brings this same publicity-savvy sensibility as Plutarch, but in a more conceptual, less hands-on way.)

In general, the film simply brings so much more of the conflict to life, as it expands the world far beyond the reaches of just Katniss and her experience. There are powerful and jarring scenes in the districts themselves, with other citizens fighting the Peacekeepers. The scene of the rebels’ rescue of the captured tributes in the Capitol plays out with a heightened sense of tension because we watch Katniss breathlessly follow the action over security cameras, and it culminates in a foreboding interaction directly with President Snow (Donald Sutherland) that the book lacks. But the most improved aspect comes from the performance of Hutcherson, as we watch Peeta grow increasingly emaciated over the course of several television interviews with Caesar Flickerman (Stanley Tucci), and then turn into a raging, psychotic madman once he and Katniss are reunited. It is shocking and disturbing and exactly what the film needed to convey just how terrifying a transformation he’s made, and how much of a threat he is to Katniss — a girl he’s only ever been loving and protective toward before now. It sets up the sequel beautifully, and I, for one, can’t wait to see it.

MY MOVIE SHELF: The Hunger Games: Catching Fire

 

The Task: Watch and write about every movie on my shelf, in order (Blu-rays are sorted after DVDs), by June 10, 2015.  Remaining movies: 51 Days to go: 36

Movie #389:  The Hunger Games: Catching Fire

No movie will ever be a perfect adaptation of a book. It isn’t possible. Yet Catching Fire is one of the best ever, and easily the best of The Hunger Games franchise. (Mockingjay Part 2 is, of course, not out yet, but since it’s only half the story and Mockingjay itself was the worst book of the series, it’s safe to crown Catching Fire early.) While certain scenarios are altered or streamlined and others are missing altogether, the movie nevertheless captures the tone and spirit of the second book perfectly. And Jennifer Lawrence, having won her Oscar for Silver Linings Playbook just nine months prior, returns as Katniss with a killer, deeper, more nuanced and fuller performance. For something that could be dubbed as “only” an action franchise based on “only” a YA lit phenomenon, Lawrence doesn’t phone in a bit of it. Just that closing image, in fact, of Katniss lying on an examination table in the heretofore unknown District 13, her face transforming from despair to anger to grim resolve, is practically a professional acting clinic. She’s incredible.

Beyond Lawrence’s performance, though, I also love the character of Katniss herself. She’s angrier on one hand, more frightened on the other, and more overwhelmed than ever by the enormous weight on her shoulders and the impossible decisions that lie before her. But she’s still a teenager too, and she’s still caught between feelings for Peeta (Josh Hutcherson) and feelings for Gale (Liam Hemsworth), and blessedly, the film lets her articulate that. She’s able to have a conversation with Gale in which she says flat-out that there’s no room in her life for feelings of romance because of the threats leveled against her. That’s a stance people aren’t regularly allowed to take in films. Even people who claim to be off the market or not interested in dating are often immediately thrust into a romantic meet-cute or some such nonsense. But real people are sometimes legitimately not capable of fitting romance into their lives, and it’s important that Katniss be afforded that option. It doesn’t mean she doesn’t feel love — indeed, Katniss loves and cares about many people around her — but at this point the outlet for that love is a need to protect them.

Another young woman allowed to forsake sentimentality in Catching Fire is Johanna Mason (Jena Malone). After years of abuse at the hands of the Capitol, Johanna succinctly sums up her situation with regard to President Snow (Donald Sutherland): “He can’t hurt me. There’s no one left that I love.” (This will come, in Mockingjay, to refer only to being hurt by the screams of these particular jabberjays, but the statement is true as she says it.) She’s known love, but has had it (literally or figuratively, somehow) beaten out of her, and now her response to it — in particular to the hypersexualized Finnick Odair (Sam Claflin) being actually in love with a fragile young woman from his District — is, “Love is weird.” She has no real use for it either. Johanna is a character allowed to be openly angry, to be hateful and sexual and deadly. I love her a lot. And Jena Malone gives her everything to bring that rage and volatility to life. It was seeing Catching Fire that brought me fully around to admitting I’m a Jena Malone fan, and I make no apologies for that. She is fierce and fabulous, just like Johanna.

As expected, production values go way up for Catching Fire from what they were in The Hunger Games (not that they were particularly low before, but the difference is obvious). Katniss, armed with the income of a Victor, now has a much richer — if still serviceable, at least in the Districts — wardrobe, but it’s with Effie (Elizabeth Banks) that the costume budget is really put to good use. Her butterfly ensemble at the reaping for the Quarter Quell is a work of delicate, beautiful art. (And Katniss’s wedding dress is nothing to sneeze at either.) CGI effects have been ramped up as well, as we see Katniss fighting digital holograms in her archery training session and it is every bit as impressive to the audience as it is to the other Victors. The work on the force field is also impressive, and the baboon mutts in Catching Fire are far scarier and better rendered than the dog ones in the first film (though, to be fair, the dog mutts in The Hunger Games film weren’t nearly as scary as their description in the book).

Haymitch (Woody Harrelson) gets to expand himself a bit in this one as well, being cagey and enigmatic while also being the voice of reason with regard to the relationship train Katniss and Peeta are on now. And his fear and desperation at the realization that his name is eligible for the Third Quarter Quell reaping is palpable. Of course, I would’ve liked to see a scene in which Peeta and Katniss watch Haymitch’s Games, the Second Quarter Quell, though thankfully YouTube is capable of scratching that particular itch if you want it to. (I like this one.) Aside from that small wish, though, Catching Fire is really exceptionally well-done. They even recast Buttercup as an acceptable cat. And I think we can all agree how important that was.

Next we see how to make a good movie out of a somewhat middling book as Katniss becomes the Mockingjay.

MY MOVIE SHELF: A Time to Kill

The Task: Watch and write about every movie on my shelf, in order (Blu-rays are sorted after DVDs), by June 10, 2015.  Remaining movies: 154  Days to go: 109

Movie #284:  A Time to Kill

There are a lot of things I like about A Time to Kill — things I liked when it came out, and things I like still. The affinity levels may have changed a little bit over the years, one way or another, as I’ve grown and changed as a person, but not drastically. It’s a good film, and I get a lot out of it. One aspect of it that has always made me a little uncomfortable, though, is the closing argument defense attorney Jake Brigance (Matthew McConaughey) gives at the end of the film.

Jake’s client Carl Lee Hailey (Samuel L. Jackson) is on trial for killing the two men who brutally raped and almost murdered his ten-year-old daughter. The entire trial, Jake has been trying to get details of the rape on the record, and his closing statement is a perfect opportunity to do that unencumbered and uninterrupted. It’s also his opportunity to, as Carl Lee has made clear, say the thing to the jury that will help them relate to this crime. Jake, like the jury, is “one of the bad guys,” as far as Carl Lee’s concerned, and that’s why he picked him. He sees black people and white people on different sides of a wall — “However you see me, you see me as different.” — and he enlisted the enemy to make the rest of the enemies see it his way. It’s a cold outlook, whether you believe it has merit or not, and although Jake is taken aback by this admission (He’s always looking for someone to be on his team in this film, yet he finds himself repeatedly alone.), he uses his closing to giving a detailed and emotional accounting of the brutality Carl Lee’s daughter endured, while the jury, with their eyes closed, are meant to imagine it and picture this girl. “Now imagine she’s white,” he says, and suddenly everything clicks. Even the judge and District Attorney Buckley (Kevin Spacey) and Carl Lee himself know what an impact that statement makes. But does it? Or should it?

Essentially, what that statement boils down to — and what the entire movie is getting at, really — is that we’re all people, and yet we rarely see each other as such. I find that incredibly depressing, even more so because as much as I hate to admit it, it’s probably true. If there’s one thing being on Facebook makes clear, it’s that a lot of people have no capacity to look at life through the eyes of another person. The things we post, the things we share, the things we argue about and debate at length, all lead me to believe that more often than not we’re all so clouded by the lens of our own experience, we have a hard time accepting that other people, other races, other cultures, other income levels experience things differently than we do. I’m guilty of it myself. There have been many times I’ve struggled to understand how anyone could see something differently than I’ve seen it, or how anyone could hold onto anger over an issue that wasn’t that big a deal, or could prioritize something I found inessential. And yet it happens, all the time. How did compassion and commiseration become such specialized skills? How do we fix that? Certainly not by an impassioned monologue that promises if we can only see a black rape victim as a white rape victim, all will be well in the world. It feels simplistic and kind of insulting to me, and yet I appreciate the idealism of the thought.

I’ve never felt the way Carl Lee does here, that there’s a my side and a his side, but it’s entirely possible, too, that I live in a state of blissful ignorance on the matter. Being a woman, I know full well many of the prejudices women face as I’ve experienced them first hand. As a white woman, however, I don’t have that same connection to the prejudices African-Americans face, even though I know they exist. The best I can do, therefore, is to take their accounts at face value and work to correct them, work to dispel them. And that comes from following their lead on how they feel and what they want to accomplish, just as Jake eventually follows Carl Lee’s lead on how to approach this trial. So maybe it’s not perfect and maybe it’s a little too pat and a little too idealistic, but maybe it’s the best we can do, metaphorically: Strive to be better. I can get behind that, absolutely. Does it make the ending more palatable? I still haven’t decided.

There’s a lot more to this movie than that, though. There’s Kiefer Sutherland leading the KKK, and his father Donald as a broken old drunk of a lawyer. There’s Oliver Platt as the morally compromised Harry Rex, and Ashley Judd as Jake’s ever-sweaty wife Carla (I swear, they rubbed her in baby oil before every take). There’s the awesome Charles S. Dutton as the tough Sheriff Walls and Chris Cooper as the (accidentally) one-legged deputy. And then there’s Sandra Bullock as law student and sexy assistant Ellen Roark. When I was younger, I was really irritated that Jake and Ellen didn’t take advantage of that insane sexual chemistry they had. As I’ve gotten older, I really appreciate the restraint given their relationship. It’s super easy for two sexy actors to have sexy sex in a movie; infidelity is like a go-to plot twist in films of every genre. But for two characters to be attracted to each other and to want to have sex but to not because it would be wrong? That is a rarity, and I find it all the more commendable for that reason.

Of course, this being a John Grisham story, I once again can’t really speak to the plausibility of the legal things that occur. It seems to me a lawyer can’t throw an elbow to a guy’s face even if that guy tried to blow up his house. And if I was the one guy on the jury ready to vote not-guilty when the foreman took an informal poll at the restaurant, I’d probably go to the judge about him using the n-word, which at the very least should get that guy kicked off and might lead to a complete mistrial. And of course, don’t shoot anyone for raping your daughter. I cannot guarantee you’ll get the same outcome as Carl Lee Hailey.

I actually volunteered as a rape crisis advocate several years ago, which amounted to me going to emergency rooms whenever a rape victim came in while I was on call. I would hold their hands and sit with them and listen to them and just be there for them when all the other people (cops, social workers, hospital staff, etc.) had specific jobs to do and couldn’t just be support. I was called in once for two fifteen-year-old girls, one of which asked me to phone her father because she was too embarrassed and humiliated to. I called him up and told him what happened and had to talk him down from killing the boys who did this. I understand the impulse, but trust me: Your daughter will need her father with her, not in jail. If a girl’s dad ends up imprisoned for murdering her rapist, it’ll just be one more thing for her to blame herself for. I know the justice system isn’t perfect, and a lot of times these d-bags go free, but vigilantism is not the answer. Sorry, Carl Lee.

“There ain’t nothin’ more dangerous in this world than a fool with a cause.”

MY MOVIE SHELF: Pride & Prejudice

The Task: Watch and write about every movie on my shelf, in order (Blu-rays are sorted after DVDs), by June 10, 2015.  Remaining movies: 169  Days to go: 165

Movie #214:  Pride & Prejudice

A lot of people have a great deal of loyalty and devotion for the BBC-Colin Firth-Jennifer Ehle miniseries version of Jane Austen’s most famous novel, and I can’t deny it’s excellent. However, I honestly like this theatrical version quite a lot. Keira Knightly is a lovely and charming Elizabeth Bennet. She shines with both intelligence and beauty, she is possessed with a confidence and self-assurance that is attractive and strong, and she has a powerful comfort with herself and loyalty to her friends and family. These are all qualities that are crucial to Elizabeth’s personality so her titular pride (and prejudice) comes across as admirable and understandable (in the early going) instead of off-putting or undeserved.

The other half of that equation is of course Matthew Macfadyen as Mr. Darcy. Obviously he is no Colin Firth, but if I’m being perfectly honest I can run hot and cold on Mr. Firth, and I find Macfadyen perfectly encompasses that combination of socially awkward and introverted along with being taxed with a certain set of societal obligations and expectations. He comes from a vastly different upbringing than Elizabeth does and has no doubt been inundated with the responsibilities of his class and station — a fact made obvious when you see the manner of his aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourg (Judi Dench). However, you can also see his obvious flustered appearance when he’s near Elizabeth, even as early as their first meeting. Macfadyen does a wonderful job subtly conveying that conflict within him, clearly being drawn to this woman yet arguing with himself over her lower station. It might seem a silly thing to get hung up on now, but England has long been a society with clear class lines, particularly so in the time period of the story.

The most important thing about Knightly and Macfadyen, however, and what makes their pairing work so well, is their crackling chemistry. At various times in the film, they manage to convey thick tension, uncomfortable encounters, vituperative conflict, enveloping warmth and sensuous passion. They bring a vitality to the roles that, while excelling separately, truly sparkles when they come together.

Pride & Prejudice doesn’t rest solely on the performances of their two leads, though. The supporting casting and performances are strong and convincing across the board, whether it’s Brenda Blethyn as flighty and calculating Mrs. Bennet, Donald Sutherland as composed and put-upon Mr. Bennet, Simon Woods as the shy and affable Mr. Bingley (or Kelly Reilly as his snide and manipulative sister Caroline), Tom Hollander as the insufferable Mr. Collins, or any one of Elizabeth’s sisters: Rosamund Pike captivates as reserved beauty Jane, Jena Malone frustrates as the superficial and irresponsible Lydia, Carey Mulligan (in her feature film debut) captures Kitty’s immaturity and longing with verve, and Talulah Riley is hilarious as stone-faced and super serious Mary. Even Rupert Friend in the small but crucial role of Mr. Wickham manages a sexy and captivating enigmatic nature that makes him such a great and compelling mystery. The story itself is an intricate and layered tale, making it so important that the entire ensemble is a successful and cohesive collaboration, and this film  — this outstanding cast — really pull that off.

As for the story as a whole, the script is built and structured in a way that preserves the original plot of the novel well. The movie feels complete but not overlong, and also manages not to hurry or cut short any critical elements. And the film itself is beautifully shot, with soft glowing camera work, misty and lush landscapes, and a lovely piano score accompaniment that is infused into the very background in a way that enhances and never detracts or distracts. It’s a gorgeous rendition, all around.

I never read Jane Austen in my younger years, but I’ve been catching up with her of late, and I understand why Pride & Prejudice is so beloved. It’s a classic tale of misunderstandings getting in the way of love — long before it was such a staple of modern romances — and it’s an encouraging example of love being able to conquer those odds, those misunderstandings, those familial expectations and obstacles, and even our own tendencies to sabotage ourselves. It’s a story of hope and optimism, of loyalty and right winning out. In essence, it has all the elements that make romances so enduring and beloved across time, and the film is a solid representation of that. If you’ve only ever seen the BBC version, sidestepping this one because it could never live up to your favorite (or whatever the reason — lord knows there are a wide range of Austen adaptations, of varying quality), give this film another shot. You might be pleasantly surprised. In fact, I quite prefer it.

MY MOVIE SHELF: JFK

The Task: Watch and write about every movie on my shelf, in order (Blu-rays are sorted after DVDs), by June 10, 2015.  Remaining movies: 221  Days to go: 220

Movie #156:  JFK

It’s important to remember two things about JFK. First, screenplay co-writer and director Oliver Stone has a long and storied (perhaps justified, perhaps overblown, perhaps both) bias against the Vietnam War. Second, JFK, like any biopic, is a feature film, not a documentary or even a historically accurate reenactment, and therefore embellishes and exaggerates certain material while altering or cutting out altogether other material all in the name of artistic license.  That being said, however, there is no way I believe the long-held stance of the federal government that John F. Kennedy was killed by a single gunman, and therefore I have a lot of interest in the story of the man who sought to prove otherwise.

Jim Garrison (Kevin Costner) was District Attorney in New Orleans when President Kennedy was shot. Based on some reports and tips that accused assassin Lee Harvey Oswald (Gary Oldman) had ties to New Orleans the previous summer, he questions a few people in the days following Kennedy’s death but ultimately leaves the initial investigation to the federally appointed Warren Commission. Upon the Commission’s findings, however, Garrison concludes that the investigation into Kennedy’s assassination was one of the sloppiest, most hurried and most railroaded investigation he’d ever known. And so in 1966 — three years after that fateful day in Dallas — he opens his own investigation, and ultimately proves to be the only person ever to bring anyone to trial for the Kennedy assassination.

The movie sets about building an elaborate structure of people and facts, actions and timelines that all seem to refute every possibility of Oswald acting alone — or even, possibly, acting at all. But whether you believe Oswald was an assassin or part of a conspiracy to assassinate or simply a convenient fall guy, Oliver Stone’s film is a thrilling and impressive mystery. There are so many people involved, so many facets to the conspiracy theory that the film suggests, it could all easily get bogged down in its own sprawling logic, and yet Stone layers the film so expertly that it never once feels out of control. It’s a long film, to be sure, and it probably could’ve been streamlined a bit in that area, but it doesn’t drag. It’s well-paced and captivating, accompanied by a rolling, thumping, insistent score that quickens the pulse and urges the film along.

JFK also boasts an impressive roster of actors — it being one of those linchpin movies that makes Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon so easy to play (or hard, if you’re trying to find people with more than two or three degrees of separation, tops) — from Joe Pesci as a peculiar little man named David Ferrie who was a possible co-conspirator, to Tommy Lee Jones as the man, Clay Shaw, whom Garrison brought to trial, to Sissy Spacek (as Garrison’s wife) to Ed Asner (as Guy Bannister) to Jack Lemmon (as informant Jack Martin) to Walter Matthau (as Senator Long) to Laurie Metcalf (as Susie Cox with ever-enlarging hair) to Wayne Knight (as Numa Bertel) to John Candy (as Dean Andrews). And of course, Kevin Bacon as male prostitute Willie O’Keefe. My favorite supporting performance, however, comes from Donald Sutherland as a former CIA operative who only refers to himself as X and who goes a long way in building a case for a government conspiracy to tie the assassination to the Vietnam War, the Cold War, and, as President Eisenhower warns in the footage that opens the film, “the military industrial complex.” Sutherland’s character is both secretive and authoritative, shown as having a wide knowledge of confidential procedures, protocol and information, and he’s largely responsible for connecting Garrison’s somewhat small-time collection of information to a much larger motive.

And actually, the mere act of establishing motive for the killing goes a long way into making the film feel as credible as it does. For all the hard-line declarations of Oswald as the lone gunman that have been offered as fact in our country’s history, no one has ever really established, or even attempted to establish, anything remotely like a strong enough motive — for JFK’s death or for the death of his brother Robert or for the death of Martin Luther King, Jr., which the film tangentially attempts to connect to this military industrial complex conspiracy, albeit rather unsuccessfully. This historical lack of any strong and clear motive on Oswald’s part certainly leaves the door open for people to create one, and that’s where Stone pounces, though he finds his greatest leverage more in the physical science of the case than in his elaborate suppositions. The most effective, logical point the film makes is when Garrison stresses the action taking place in the Zapruder film and details the supposed path of the infamous (and absurd) theory of the Magic Bullet. That’s his most compelling argument, by far, and it underscores why the jury was left believing there was a conspiracy at work, but couldn’t find any kind of proof that Clay Shaw was involved, thereby acquitting him of all charges.

I’m a person who likes answers. I like certainties. I like knowing what’s ahead of me and I like knowing the reasons for what’s come before. It can be a pretty frustrating way to be in real life, actually, but I’ve come to terms with it. When I’m stressed about money, I run all sorts of mathematical scenarios in order to calm myself. When I need a break, I plan vacations, even if I can’t take them. When I have writers’ block, I come up with character names for every letter of the alphabet and try to decide who each one is. These activities soothe me. I don’t like not knowing things, and I used to daydream that when I die, all the unanswered questions I’ve held onto in my life will be clarified. I’ll know why this relationship really ended and what happened to that thing I lost out of nowhere and who stole the money out of my purse that one time during gym class and, yes, who really killed President Kennedy. It’s a fantasy, I realize, but like I said, it soothes me. So in its way, JFK soothes me as well. It provides answers and options that weren’t there before, that hadn’t been provided before with anything other than illogical nonsense. It likely doesn’t get to the truth, but I feel like it gets closer than the currently accepted theory does. And more than that, it promotes Jim Garrison’s actions as necessary and patriotic — though he was often accused of the opposite — precisely because he doesn’t accept a government answer that doesn’t make sense. I admire that, I really do. And I hope someday, some more reliable answers will come to light.

MY MOVIE SHELF: Cold Mountain

The Task: Watch and write about every movie on my shelf, in order (Blu-rays are sorted after DVDs), by June 10, 2015.  Remaining movies: 304  Days to go: 293

Movie #69: Cold Mountain

Cold Mountain is almost two different movies altogether. At first, it is a slow, mournful tale of the delicate beginnings of love being snatched away from two shy, quiet souls at the start of the Civil War. Inman (Jude Law) goes off to fight, as all men of a certain age must. Ada (Nicole Kidman) waits for him to return. Things fall apart for both of them, and they can no longer bear this separation, even if they barely know what it’s like to be together. The movie — this first part — is an embodiment of sorrow and longing. It wrenches my heart with each sweeping vista and soaring note of its score. When Ada begs, “Come back to me,” I can feel her need as if it were my own. And then, suddenly, Ruby Thewes (Renee Zellweger) shows up and breathes life and hope into the whole wide world. It’s such a dramatic shift in tone, as I said, it’s hard to believe the two halves exist in the same film.

Mind you, the worlds of Ada and Inman — and Ruby, for that matter, and Sally (Kathy Baker) and Sara (Natalie Portman) and Stobrod (Brendan Gleeson) and nearly everyone else — is still swathed in misery after Ruby’s arrival. The war has ravaged the land, the population, and the whole society of the South. The people are at the mercy of the Home Guard and the marauding Yankees, both of whom viciously abuse the power they have over everyone else, acting solely in their own interests, to their own ends, for their own amusement. Ruby doesn’t change that. What Ruby does, however, is take action. She is not one to sit back and let life happen to her. She is a woman of strength and determination who will not abide foolishness or laziness or mistreatment. She saves poor Ada’s life, no doubt about it, simply with her force of will and take-charge personality. And she faces everything in front of her with integrity and verve. “I despise a flogging rooster.”

When Ruby discovers her father still alive, the first time, she is justifiably angry yet also thrilled. When she thinks he’s been foolishly killed again, she is mad and frustrated and heartbroken. When she finds him alive the second time, she is awash with relief and fear. Ruby is fully realized in this way, capable of experience a broad spectrum of emotions about a single event because of all that came before it. She has a past and a future and a strong presence equally matched by her point of view. I love Ruby. If I had another baby girl, I would name her Ruby in a heartbeat and sing to her all the time, “Ruby with the eyes that sparkle.”

The movie uses vignettes throughout to represent the passage of time, the changing conditions, and the various trials of both the folks back at Cold Mountain and Inman as he makes his way back there on foot. Like the dozens of letters Ada writes, we see a small sampling of events: the death of her father (Donald Sutherland), the continuing encroachment of the Home Guard, the crows in the well, Ruby’s firm and vital charge of the farm, Sally’s tragedy, and brief glimpses of happiness shared with Stobrod, Pangle (Ethan Suplee) and Georgia (Jack White). Meanwhile, Inman’s journey is long and arduous and fraught with danger. He encounters the Reverend (Phillip Seymour Hoffman) twice and is appalled how a man of God can be so full of sin. At Junior’s (Giovanni Ribisi) house, the inhabitants are dirty and debauched but rewarded for their dishonesty. Maddy (Eileen Atkins) saves Inman’s life and nurses him back to health, even though it could be a risk to her and even though she has very little herself. And the young widow Sara offers him shelter and allows him to comfort her, but shows no mercy to the Yankee soldiers who would show her none. All these people have been changed by the war, some becoming opportunistic and jaded, others becoming hardened but no less human, and Inman finds that he, too, struggles to keep his head above water and to still be a man worthy of someone like Ada waiting for him. All he wants is that peace and the quiet contentment of home. It keeps him moving forward, intent on fulfilling her request. “Come back to me. Come back to me is my request.”

The vignettes also work well in highlighting how Ada and Inman’s entire relationship is just a collection of moments — brief, stolen moments — and very few words shared between them. Their love, if they have one, is more idealized fantasy than reality, and yet it’s stronger and more compelling than everything else around them, as it keeps them both going — moving forward toward each other. Their reunion is similarly brief, similarly stolen. It’s the moment she realizes the man before her is him, the moment they talk by the fire, the moment they trade vows — “I marry you. I marry you. I marry you.” And it’s the sweet, fleeting moments of their lovemaking — the moment between marriage and death.

In 2004 I was in L.A. on Oscar night (of all Renee Zellweger’s performances, I’m so glad this is the one she got an Oscar for), standing outside the Vanity Fair party when Jude Law arrived. I fell in love with him as Inman — that quiet, simple longing and fortitude of his — and shouted “I marry you” three times across the throngs of photographers. But I’m not sure it counts if he doesn’t say it back. It’s just as well, though, because my husband now infuses me with that same feeling. Our lengthy separations (due to the nature of his job) keep me always looking forward to and longing for our time together, so much that I cherish it all the more. And every day I’m without him I fill myself up with all the things I’m going to say the next time we talk; I’m forever composing messages to him in my head. And if (God forbid) I ever were to lose him, I’d still be writing to him every day. That’s what love is, to me.

Cold Mountain is a film about the preservation and perseverance of love, about the constancy of it, even through hard times and tragedies. I carry that message with me, inside my heart, always. “I like that.”

MY MOVIE SHELF: Animal House

This is the deal: I own around 350 movies on DVD and Blu-ray. Through June 10, 2015, I will be watching and writing about them all, in the order they are arranged on my shelf (i.e., alphabetically, with certain exceptions). No movie will be left unwatched . I welcome your comments, your words of encouragement and your declarations of my insanity.

Movie #18: Animal House

First off, I’m not going to be talking about John Belushi in this movie. That is well-covered territory — so much so that fetuses are doing the “I’m a zit” bit in utero. No, what I’m going to talk about is everything else.

Let’s start with the cast. Yes, there was John Belushi in his first feature film, becoming an international comedy icon and symbol of the slacker dorm room poster industry right before our eyes. There were also two future Oscar nominees (Tom Hulce in Amadeus and Peter Riegert for a live action short film), perpetual That Guy Bruce McGill (as D-Day, his perhaps only truly badass role, though my favorite remains the bartender Al in the Quantum Leap series finale), Karen Allen before she became love interest of Indiana Jones in Raiders of the Lost Ark, current villain of the blockbuster Hunger Games movies and Hollywood patriarch Donald Sutherland, and some guy named Kevin Bacon who has literally appeared in so many things there’s a game named after him based on the idea that no actor ever in history is more than six degrees separated from him. That’s one hell of a pedigree for a tiny little comedy made by a bunch of no-names.

Oh, and those behind-the-scenes no-names? John Landis directed Animal House — it was his third film — and would go on to give us The Blues Brothers, Trading Places, The Three Amigos, Coming to America, and more, just in the ’80s. Harold Ramis wrote the script for Animal House with two collaborators; it was his first. He went on to write Meatballs, Caddyshack, Stripes, Back to School, Ghostbusters and Groundhog Day, among others, plus act in and direct some of the funniest movies of his time. And when Animal House came out in 1978, producer Ivan Reitman was still a relatively new name, but he would become one of the biggest and most respected men in the business.

The movie’s soundtrack is also historically great, featuring indelible songs of the ’60s like “Louie, Louie,” “Wonderful World” and “Twistin’ the Night Away.” The most memorable song from the movie, however, is “Shout” by The Isley Brothers. Originally released in 1959, “Shout” became the signature song for a movie based in 1962 that was filmed in 1978. But that’s not where the story ends. I graduated from high school in 1993, fifteen years after Animal House came out in theaters (more than thirty years since the song’s original release), and that song was still being played at my school dances. Every time, without fail. They still play it at weddings today. It’s a staple of the portable DJ business. Not only that, but the entire way people dance to that song, to this day (arms in the air, crouching down at the “softer now” parts, jumping at the “louder now” parts), comes from this movie that featured it. If you catch an old episode of America’s Funniest Home Videos on cable some night, and somebody’s grandmother falls on her backside while trying to squat as low as she can during this song, it is because of Animal House. That is monumental cultural influence, and it doesn’t stop there.

Animal House isn’t just a movie, it’s a landmark. If it had been made this century, it would have no fewer than two sequels that would have likely diluted its cultural significance,  but as a standalone film-cum-global phenomenon, it wields massive influence over our collective idea of what college is like, of what young adulthood is like, and it has seeped into all manner of things in our society.

When I was a freshman at Syracuse University my best friend came to visit me for a weekend and as we were wandering around the party houses just off-campus, we stumbled into a toga party. Why a toga party? Because of Animal House.

If you went to a college in the last thirty years that had any kind of fraternity/sorority presence, it was because of this movie. Animal House single-handedly revitalized the Greek system on college campuses, for good or for ill. They wouldn’t be here today if not its popularity. (And weird fraternity brother nicknames? This movie.)

The bizarre and completely played-out myth/idea that girls are constantly having pillow fights in their underwear (or less, if a director is looking for an easy path to gratuitous nudity) features prominently into this movie.

Veronica Mars seasons 2 and 3 featured a fraternity jerkwad named Chip Diller. Chip Diller just so happens to be the name of Kevin Bacon’s character in Animal House.

If you’ve ever been able to correctly use sensuous and sensual in sentences because “vegetables are sensual, people are sensuous,” if you’ve ever shouted “food fight” and expected everyone to respond by flinging things, if you’ve ever said “Thank you sir, may I have another,” it is because of this movie.

Oh, and it’s pretty much accepted as the quintessential college party movie. (I saw one list that put Old School at the top, but there would be no Old School without Animal House.) I’m not saying Animal House invented these things necessarily, but it’s undeniable that Animal House made them mainstream and unforgettable. Just as all sci-fi changed after Star Wars, just as all summer movies changed after Jaws, all adolescent/young adult party comedies changed after Animal House.

And yes, John Belushi was a key player in the movie’s overall impact, but for the record my favorite part is when Kevin Bacon gets literally flattened by a stampeding mob of townspeople. Now that’s funny.