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Joan sets out to get herself defriended
Aug. 17th, 2003 08:49 pmOkay, no, not really. But what I'm about to admit might send some of you off shaking your heads in disgust, and I wouldn't blame you a bit. I'd say nothing at all if I had any shame, but as I've said before, shame is for other people.
I like Titanic.
No, really, I do. Not because I think it's a "Grand Romantic Tragedy" or whyever the thirteen-year-olds love it. It's schlock, of course it's schlock; it practically dances a merry Irish jig while wearing a lifejacket emblazoned "I Am Schlock!" And yet it occupies the same comfortable berth in my mental cinematic roster as arguably more "acceptable" films like Waterloo Bridge and Dark Victory: "movies in which to wallow, curled up on the couch with a cat or two and a box of Junior Mints, when I need a good cry."
Lemme 'splain. It has a lot of good points, and even some of the bad points are good if you look at them crooked. The supporting cast is filled with wonderful actors paying the mortgage, folks like Bernard Hill, Victor Garber, Kathy Bates and Frances Fisher. Yeah, the lines they're stuck with are unworthy of their gifts, but that lack is compensated (for me) by the little moments, like Mr. Andrews (Garber) gently setting the clock as his beautiful ship goes down (my favorite moment, actually), or Ruth's (Fisher) brittle reserve completely shattering when Rose casts her off and goes to die with her fella, or Captain Smith (Hill) wandering dazed through the chaos he has inadvertently caused. And in the main cast, Kate Winslet blazes, despite her cardboard-cutout character. She looks gorgeous and, despite the utter stupidity of some of the lines she's saddled with, acts with a conviction and a passion that cuts right through the leaden direction and "Screenwriting for Dummies". Kate has nothing to be ashamed of in her performance, despite the mega-cheese that surrounds her.
And speaking of cheese, my favorite part of the movie is actually one of the "bad" things. I mean, of course, Billy Zane's performance. Dude. He's fabulous. Watch as he insults Picasso and Monet so we all know he's rich but without class or taste! Hiss as he showers violence and disdain on women, children and the elderly! Cheer as he attempts to kill Leonardo, and despair as he fails! Marvel at his fifty pounds of eyeliner! All he lacks is a big black moustache and a train track on which to tie Rose. Not even Titanic is big enough to contain Zane's performance; half the films released in 1997 are probably missing bits of scenery that got sucked out of their own frames and into his gaping maw. In the Annals of Overacting, Billy Zane as Cal Hockley ranks up with Joan Crawford in Johnny Guitar, Al Pacino in Devil's Advocate, and the collected works of Charles Laughton. Truly an amazing performance.
But there are many other things to love about this movie. There's fair Ioan and his Cheekbones of Doom, looking as pale and lovely as ever. There's cute Greg Ellis, currently to be seen as the "Fan of Jack Sparrow" Lieutenant in PotC (he has two lines at the end, asking Rose for her new, "poor now" name). There's the genuinely touching moment when the violinist tells his fellow musicians that it's been an honor to play with them. There are gorgeous costumes and impressive art direction. There's Bill Paxton as the voice-over guy from the Discovery Channel. There's the corniest moment in a love scene pretty much ever (Rose's hand on the glass. Good lord). There are the blatant "aaaaand, cry... now!" moments like "There will be another boat for the daddies" or the old couple curled together on their bed. There's Suzy Amis as James Cameron's girlfriend (c'mon, why else was she there?). There's Celine... well okay, even I can't justify Celine Dion. I'm broad-minded, not tone-deaf.
The writing is tragic, and not in the way Cameron was shooting for. The plotting is paint-by-numbers and every emotional response is coaxed forth with the subtlety of a bludgeon. Leonardo's moon-faced appeal escapes me. It's perhaps the least worthy film to win Best Picture in the history of the Academy Awards, and I'm including both The Greatest Show on Earth* and Going My Way** in that accounting.
And yet, and yet. There's just something about its unsubtle, calculated, sumptuous, "action movie for preteen girls" emotional naïveté that works for me. It's a two-hanky weeper striving to be a timeless epic. No, it doesn't get there. But damn if it isn't fun to watch it try.
*Beat out Singin' in the Rain, High Noon, and Orson Welles' Othello to win.
** Beat out Laura, Double Indemnity, To Have and Have Not, Gaslight, Olivier's Henry V, and Meet Me in St. Louis to win.
I like Titanic.
No, really, I do. Not because I think it's a "Grand Romantic Tragedy" or whyever the thirteen-year-olds love it. It's schlock, of course it's schlock; it practically dances a merry Irish jig while wearing a lifejacket emblazoned "I Am Schlock!" And yet it occupies the same comfortable berth in my mental cinematic roster as arguably more "acceptable" films like Waterloo Bridge and Dark Victory: "movies in which to wallow, curled up on the couch with a cat or two and a box of Junior Mints, when I need a good cry."
Lemme 'splain. It has a lot of good points, and even some of the bad points are good if you look at them crooked. The supporting cast is filled with wonderful actors paying the mortgage, folks like Bernard Hill, Victor Garber, Kathy Bates and Frances Fisher. Yeah, the lines they're stuck with are unworthy of their gifts, but that lack is compensated (for me) by the little moments, like Mr. Andrews (Garber) gently setting the clock as his beautiful ship goes down (my favorite moment, actually), or Ruth's (Fisher) brittle reserve completely shattering when Rose casts her off and goes to die with her fella, or Captain Smith (Hill) wandering dazed through the chaos he has inadvertently caused. And in the main cast, Kate Winslet blazes, despite her cardboard-cutout character. She looks gorgeous and, despite the utter stupidity of some of the lines she's saddled with, acts with a conviction and a passion that cuts right through the leaden direction and "Screenwriting for Dummies". Kate has nothing to be ashamed of in her performance, despite the mega-cheese that surrounds her.
And speaking of cheese, my favorite part of the movie is actually one of the "bad" things. I mean, of course, Billy Zane's performance. Dude. He's fabulous. Watch as he insults Picasso and Monet so we all know he's rich but without class or taste! Hiss as he showers violence and disdain on women, children and the elderly! Cheer as he attempts to kill Leonardo, and despair as he fails! Marvel at his fifty pounds of eyeliner! All he lacks is a big black moustache and a train track on which to tie Rose. Not even Titanic is big enough to contain Zane's performance; half the films released in 1997 are probably missing bits of scenery that got sucked out of their own frames and into his gaping maw. In the Annals of Overacting, Billy Zane as Cal Hockley ranks up with Joan Crawford in Johnny Guitar, Al Pacino in Devil's Advocate, and the collected works of Charles Laughton. Truly an amazing performance.
But there are many other things to love about this movie. There's fair Ioan and his Cheekbones of Doom, looking as pale and lovely as ever. There's cute Greg Ellis, currently to be seen as the "Fan of Jack Sparrow" Lieutenant in PotC (he has two lines at the end, asking Rose for her new, "poor now" name). There's the genuinely touching moment when the violinist tells his fellow musicians that it's been an honor to play with them. There are gorgeous costumes and impressive art direction. There's Bill Paxton as the voice-over guy from the Discovery Channel. There's the corniest moment in a love scene pretty much ever (Rose's hand on the glass. Good lord). There are the blatant "aaaaand, cry... now!" moments like "There will be another boat for the daddies" or the old couple curled together on their bed. There's Suzy Amis as James Cameron's girlfriend (c'mon, why else was she there?). There's Celine... well okay, even I can't justify Celine Dion. I'm broad-minded, not tone-deaf.
The writing is tragic, and not in the way Cameron was shooting for. The plotting is paint-by-numbers and every emotional response is coaxed forth with the subtlety of a bludgeon. Leonardo's moon-faced appeal escapes me. It's perhaps the least worthy film to win Best Picture in the history of the Academy Awards, and I'm including both The Greatest Show on Earth* and Going My Way** in that accounting.
And yet, and yet. There's just something about its unsubtle, calculated, sumptuous, "action movie for preteen girls" emotional naïveté that works for me. It's a two-hanky weeper striving to be a timeless epic. No, it doesn't get there. But damn if it isn't fun to watch it try.
*Beat out Singin' in the Rain, High Noon, and Orson Welles' Othello to win.
** Beat out Laura, Double Indemnity, To Have and Have Not, Gaslight, Olivier's Henry V, and Meet Me in St. Louis to win.
