When Occam’s Razor Fails

Image from Wikipedia

The main come-on of Gone Girl for me is David Fincher. I had never heard of the book before publicity for the movie brought it to my attention, and when I found out it was Fincher’s next film, I counted the days until its local release. I’ve followed his career since Seven, and any film that bears his name is like an invitation to a fancy dinner; I’ve no choice but to show up. The director can do no wrong.

An adaptation of a novel by Gillian Flynn, Gone Girl is, at its simplest, the story of a young woman’s disappearance, and how her husband becomes the obvious suspect. Of course, calling it that would be like saying The Godfather is a film about the mafia, or Star Wars is about spaceships. You can refer to it as a domestic thriller about the deterioration of a marriage; a black comedy about getting away with the perfect crime; or even a social commentary on the business of media and the manipulative power the press wields on shaping public opinion. It’s a whodunit that relies more on emotional resonance with the characters than the nitty gritty of forensics or the conventional dramatic depiction of crime-solving.

At one point, one of the characters invokes Occam's Razor. To which the lead detective says, "Actually, I've never found that to be true."

Nick Dunne (Ben Affleck) poses in front of a picture of his missing wife (Rosamund Pike)

Image from Merrick Morton / Indiewire.com 

The most entertaining aspect about this movie is how the balance of who to root for is constantly shifting. The audience is left guessing not just on what actually transpired, but who to believe and side with in a tug-of-war between two generally unsavory personalities. It’s refreshing to see the traditional heroes-and-villains roles completely set aside. Instead we get deeply flawed characters that are as larger-than-life as they are real. Ben Affleck brings depth and gravitas to his role as the husband, Nick Dunne, but the real scene-stealer is Rosamund Pike as his wife, Amy. I remember her from Die Another Day, An Education, and Jack Reacher, but those were negligible blips in her career, which will now be defined by her performance here, undoubtedly. Luminous, almost Grace Kelly-ethereal, Pike should get some notices during awards season.

(Bonus sighting: Patrick Fugit, who played the lead in Cameron Crowe’s Almost Famous, plays a minor character here as a police officer).

Of course, the real star is behind the camera. Fincher directs with a subtle but steady hand that I have yet to see in other filmmakers not named Kubrick or Lynch. In all of his movies,  there is a sense of foreboding that creeps up on you like mist on a gloomy day. One might think it’s easy in obvious thrillers like Seven, Panic Room or Girl With The Dragon Tattoo, but here, in a film set mostly in a quiet suburban Missouri town about the troubles between a seemingly ordinary married couple, the prickly uneasiness he builds is all the more impressive.

The writing is also memorable and razor-sharp. I couldn’t help but tear my eyes away from the screen so I could write down some choice dialogue. Here are a few:

“I love having strangers pick at my scabs.”

“We’re so cute I want to punch us in the face”

“Everyone knows complicated is code for bitch.”

“I’m gonna go Benadryl myself to sleep.”

“I need to check my red panty inventory.”

“The hallmark of a sociopath is a lack of empathy.”

“Why should I die? I’m not the asshole.”

Flynn wrote the screenplay based on her novel

Image from Wikipedia

The movie ends on an unexpected, WTF note. When the credits roll, you may need a moment to blink away or try to make sense of the ambiguous final frame. But that’s another director trademark; it wouldn’t be a Fincher movie without a tiny bit of emotional scarring.

Going North

I read Fyodor Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment in high school. Okay, it was an abridged version, and I can barely recall anything about it today, but what I do remember is the basic premise of the novel: how the protagonist (?) Raskolnikov commits a heinous act and pays for it not immediately through the justice of man, but through mental anguish and being tormented by his own conscience and guilt. It was one of those novels that I must admit was probably too much for a 13-year-old to fully comprehend.

Image from Wikipedia

Through Jessica Zafra, all-around savant and hellraiser, I learned about Norte: Hangganan ng Kasaysayan, the latest film of Lav Diaz. I like watching movies, but no, I am not a film snob and certainly don’t claim to be any sort of expert or one of those hardcore cinephiles (I’ve been known to be quite handy with movie trivia during Quiz Nights, though). I have never seen a Lav Diaz film before, but I am well aware of their, er, distinguishing characteristic, or filmmaker trademark, if you will: they’re long. As in don’t-wait-up, squirm-in-your-seat, risk-of-callouses-on-the-ass long. But the fact that Jessica has championed the film for months (she’s a producer on it, too) was enough reason for me to check it out. I found out a bit later that it’s apparently a loose adaptation of Crime and Punishment, and that only made the movie more appealing. Reimagining 19th century Russia into modern-era Philippines? Intriguing.

I was happy when it got a commercial run. Previous screenings of Norte were one-off; tickets were almost always sold out. Jessica also mentioned that it was the most accessible for general audiences out of all of the director’s oeuvre. I finally caught it Sunday night with my perennial movie buddy Madel. It was about four hours long, which wasn’t bad considering that other films of Lav Diaz were much, much longer.

Image from Jessica Zafra's blog (jessicarulestheuniverse.com)

The best films, I think, are those that challenge you to see the world in a new way, or at least, make you feel something in your heart long after you leave the theater. Norte did that by making me question my beliefs on justice and morality. (And making Madel cry. Hard. Sorry Madel!) All the glowing reviews it has gotten--everyone from foreign film critics to local captains of industry, to my own colleagues and Facebook friends--are well-deserved. It’s long, yes, but, save for an extra bathroom break (I usually only need one, or none at all), I don’t think I even glanced at my watch. Having read the book upon which the film is based, I knew what was coming the moment the character Magda was introduced. Beyond that, I had no idea what to expect, and what I saw was disturbing, depressing and eye-opening.

Initially I found the philosophical discourses a tad pretentious, but quickly realized that people like that do exist; those who engage in “smart” talk about concepts and ideas instead of events or personalities. The actors were all phenomenal, but Sid Lucero is something else. His Fabian is both damaged and arrogant; self-centered but empathetic. I thought of him as a part-time sociopath whose perceived intellect makes him justify his actions, whatever they are. That’s actually one of my main takeaways from this movie: a brilliant mind that isn’t challenged will likely descend into madness or despair. Or worse.

Could the film have benefited from more economical editing? That is not a question for me to answer. (I’m sure the filmmaker is so exasperated he’ll probably shoot point blank the next person who asks him why his films are so long). For me though, the end came so suddenly that I had to stifle nervous laughter. That was it?! Why did [blank] have to die? What’s going to happen to [blank]’s case? And [blank] stares off into the horizon from a boat? Is that the end of history? There are more questions than answers. But my first experience with a Lav Diaz film was certainly that: an experience. Norte is like a splinter that has lodged itself near my heart so deeply that I found it difficult to move or even breathe. And those are always the best kinds of movies.

Day Of Reckoning

The list of musical artists I would like to see before I die is quite long. John Mayer is at the top, of course, but that box has (thankfully) already been checked, along with Oasis, Snow Patrol, Maroon 5, Gin Blossoms, Japandroids, Norah Jones, Vertical Horizon, Smashing Pumpkins, Jason Mraz, Stars, Phoenix, Aerosmith, Kings Of Convenience, The Drums, Alt-J, Haim, Gotye, and many others.

Acts still on my wish list: Damien Rice, Arctic Monkeys, The Perishers, Coldplay, Athlete, Goo Goo Dolls, Sarah Mclachlan, Collective Soul, Sting, U2, Dave Matthews Band, Pete Yorn, Foo Fighters, and, again, many others.

Then there’s Howie Day.

Howie working the delay pedals at a show

Image from Wikipedia: Credit: Justin Pugh

I’m finding it difficult to start writing about Day because the thoughts are coming faster than I can type. I’ve been a fan of his since 2002; I remember because that was the year I also discovered Mayer’s music. It was around that time that the age of the modern singer-songwriter was burgeoning; after Mayer there was a whole slew of artists that rose out of the woodwork with the same schtick—Jason Mraz, Pete Yorn, Matt Nathanson, Ari Hest, Matt Wertz, Josh Kelley, Tyler Hilton, Marc Broussard, et. al.

Out of all these names, it was Howie Day’s music I gravitated to the most (next to Mayer’s, of course). His debut album Australia was never released locally so it was pretty hard to come by (remember this was before the age of lightning-fast torrent downloads and Spotify). I asked someone to buy the CD for me from the US. I liked it immediately after one listen—it was raw and honest, somber but uplifting. It was the kind of record I put on after a long day at work, with the lights turned down and maybe a glass of wine in one hand (kidding, I couldn’t afford wine back then; I was probably guzzling a Pepsi).

The music was good, but what really reeled me in about Day was his live shows. YouTube hadn’t been invented yet, so what was available were bootlegged VCD copies of his performances. I managed to get my hands on one of those shows. To say I was blown away would be an understatement; Day introduced me to the magic of performing with samples and effects pedals. Basically he would record one guitar or vocal track and play over it with another, all by himself, onstage. At one point, it was like an entire band was playing, and the whole thing was nothing short of mesmerizing.

Here's Howie performing "Bunnies" from the Madrigals EP Bonus DVD

Day never became a household name, until 2003, when he released his second album (as well as his major label debut), Stop All The World Now, which contained undoubtedly his biggest hit (and the one song most people associate him with), “Collide."  I remember running over to the record store the day it was released (yes kids, we went to the record store to buy our music back then). Here’s a snippet of my “review” that I posted on a message board dedicated to Day:

I've been listening to it since I got it and one thing I can safely say: Howie's come a long way since his debut album “Australia.” It takes some getting used to hearing him backed by a full band and even a string orchestra on some tracks, but considering this is Howie's major label debut (Australia was independently produced), I'm happy to say that this album only magnifies what I've come to love about Howie's music: mainly his introspective and heartfelt songwriting and incredibly expressive vocals. 

Although I have to say that I much prefer the rawness and stripped-down appeal of his work in Australia, I don't think he's lost any of the passion and intensity evident in that album in Stop All... It's still there, although a bit “glossed over” by all the production work. And nowhere is this more pronounced than in the reworked version of “She Says.” You'll get the idea once you compare the version here and the one in Australia. After a couple of spins, my favorite tracks are “Collide” (probably the closest thing to a proper love song as we're gonna get from the always somber Mr. Day) and the trippy “Sunday Morning Song.” 

All in all, I think Stop All... is a satisfying sophomore outing from Day. Nga pala, the CD also comes with a VCD, kind of like a behind-the-scenes, “making-of” type. It's pretty cool, since I don’t think we've ever really gotten to know Day, not as much as Mayer or even Mraz.

Fast forward to today. Howie has since released one other full-length album (Sound The Alarm), and a live album (Live From…). I have all of his albums on CD (except Sound The Alarm, which I plan to get, if it's still available). I even have the rare Madrigals EP, which I got in Singapore in 2005. When news broke that he was coming to Manila, it was the most thrilled I got since, well, since I found out Mayer was coming. I got so excited I was inspired to write this long-ass post, which nobody but the most hardcore of fans will probably bother to read. Nope, doesn’t take much to make me happy. Just send me an amazingly talented singer-songwriter to play live onstage and my year is pretty much made.

Howie Day Live in Manila happens on September 11, 2014, thanks to Pinoytuner.com. Check out their website for updates on venue and ticket prices

Love Story

A+K

There are times when I fancy myself a hardened cynic who rolls his eyes at anything too adorable or blatantly virtuous. And there are other times when all that cynicism vanishes and I’m nothing more than a wide-eyed innocent, weeping at a fastfood commercial that hits just a little too close to home.

Today I’m feeling closer to the latter.

I’ve said before that I think it’s a beautiful thing when friends find love. It’s even more amazing if they find it in each other. This is the story of two of my friends, who did find love. And I’m happy I had a tiny part in making it happen.

(They may find it embarrassing that I’m writing about them, so I will call the guy A and the girl K. I know, it’s not much of a secret if you know me and my friends, but for everyone else, I guess you’ll just have to guess).

I never thought A and I would hit it off as friends. We like the same music, but that was pretty much it. He likes sports, especially basketball, and, well, I don’t. There wasn’t anything else that I could consider common ground, but I guess a shared fondness for singer-songwriters and their ilk is enough to base a friendship on because, over 10 years later, he’s one of my closest friends. I don’t think there’s enough drama in my life that would qualify as an after-school special, but in those instances when there was just the barest hint of spectacle that might qualify as drama, he’s always been there, and I appreciate him for it.

K, on the other hand, I met through common friends. She used to go out with a colleague who died. I can’t forget a conversation we had on the last night of the guy’s wake, when I told her I had a dream that the guy hugged me to say goodbye, and she gave me a hug, too. I think that’s when I knew we’d be friends. We haven’t hung out as often as I’d like to, but we’ve always been on each other’s periphery, seeing each other during the occasional barkada get-together. And she’s been witness to the mighty highs and depressing lows of my previous and current, actual and pseudo-relationships, always dispensing critical advice and basically just being there as a human sounding-off board.

I can’t remember exactly when they met the first time, or when I first realized the potential of an A-and-K pairing, but what I do remember is that when it hit me, I knew it made sense, like Coke and hopia, red wine and steak, or Friday nights and two pizzas (the Joey special, natch). When I thought about the two of them, I could hear the turbines turning and I knew something would click. He’s the quintessential good guy, a bit clueless sometimes, but always with the best intentions. Think Archie of the comic book series, only with dark hair and a Honda Civic (oh excuse me a new Ford Escape na pala) instead of a red jalopy. She’s a Betty-and-Veronica hybrid, full of life, perpetually smiling, but with just enough of a mean streak so you don’t even think about taking advantage of her kindness. Physically, it was an almost even match (I’d give her the slight edge, though, sorry A), but mostly I thought her free spirit, childlike wonder and intense passion would work well against his generally laidback demeanor, openness and incredible generosity. Besides, they came from the same school, and cheered for the same collegiate basketball team, so really, it was a no-brainer.

But it was not to be. Well, not immediately anyway. That initial night-out to go see the gig of a favorite local troubadour went well, from what I remember, but for some reason, nothing materialized. Like a science experiment that needed time to mature, the relationship wasn’t instantaneous. Those cheesy lyrics from that cheesy Melee song come to mind: “All of our friends/ Saw from the start/ But why didn’t we believe it, too?”

Melee's "Built To Last" 

It took five years since they first met for something to happen. I am not exactly privy to the details; K tells me that she just woke up one day thinking about A, in THAT way. Perhaps there is no specific answer; love moves in mysterious ways and all that drivel. But that initial tiptoeing finally progressed into something concrete. Something real. We all used to go out as friends, casual, easy, but now, the two of them were side-by-side, arms around each other, fingers interlocked. They think we don’t notice: the whispers, the loving looks they give one another, but we do, and while our friends (including me), give them a hard time, with constant jokes and eye-rolling, I hope they know we couldn’t be happier for them. Me especially.

It’s so easy to be cynical about love. But the truth is that almost everyone is looking for it. We may raise our eyebrows or stick our nose up at the latest romantic comedy on the big screen, or scoff and say “Eeww!” when we see couples holding hands or kissing in public, but really, whether we care to admit it or not, I think that’s coming from a place of envy and resentment. We want that, too. A and K have it, and if anything, their story reinforces the belief, that maybe, hopefully, it could happen to us, too.