That's right, its the week to honor the woman from between whose legs you oh-so gracefully emerged. In honor of this occasion, I present a tribute to the greatest maternal mistresses ever to hold their own in a darkened theater.
Oh, so many to choose from! Elaine from Almost Famous, Edna from Hairspray (whether its Travolta OR Divine filling those high heels), Beverly in Serial Mom, Erin in, well, Erin Brokovich, all come to mind. But in the end, I gotta give pride of place to these two lovely ladies:
Aurora Greenway (Shirley Maclaine), Terms of Endearment
If the film doesn't quite live up to its reputation, Maclaine's performance certainly does. You think your mum is clingy? Take a look at this woman. She often insists on sleeping in the same bed as her daughter, automatically disapproves of every single penis-bearing personage she brings home, and refuses to attend her kid's wedding because of the groom's low-paying job. Aurora's helicopter-mom antics are a hoot, until the films final half-hour, when the story slides into tragic territory, and her fierce, wolf-like devotion to her offspring becomes heart-tuggingly touching. When she dishes out an exquisite helping of hellfire to the nurse who won't give her ailing child pain meds, we find ourselves wishing our mom would behave the exact same way under the circumstances.
And, of course,
The Bride (Uma Thurman), Kill Bill Films
The killer formerly known as Beatrix Kiddo takes loyalty to new levels in Quentin Tarantino's pulp epic. Don't you wish your mother would slice and dice her way through 88 crazy Asians, a rock-salt wielding hick, and a one-eyed skank with a Hanzo sword in the name of love? And after all that, as evidenced by the film's final scenes, she looks to be a pretty good mama as well (awww, they're watching cartoons together!) Exuding blood-pumping ire and parental warmth all at once is quite a task. And, being a Tarantino film, she does it all barefoot, cold-eyed, and with sex appeal to spare.
Now, on to this week's film:
O BROTHER WHERE ART THOU
The 25: The Odyssey in overalls, and the first of many Coen works to make my list.
There are about 5 filmmakers that will make this list several times each, for they are, after all, my favorite filmmakers. Look for lots of Altman, Allen, Spielberg, Tarantino, and, the makers of this oddball crowd-pleaser, the Coens.
You keep rubbing your eyes in this movie (films that make you want to rub other parts of your body will be addressed in future posts), not because you're tired, but because you can't believe what you're seeing. The Coens are adept at exploring the dark side of human nature in their work, poking fun at it without ever skimping on the bone-deep honesty needed to make their point. But here, they're really just cutting loose, spinning a great American yarn with all the skill of an ace magician.
The film is an uber-loose retelling of The Odyssey, set in the 1930's Deep South, with George Clooney as a Ulysess Everett McGill, jailbird fleeing home to return to his wife (Holly Hunter). He's accompanied by a pair of yokels, Pete (John Turturro)and Delmar(Tim Blake Nelson), because, well, they're literally chained to him. I suppose McGill's quest to reach wifey is really the "plot" per se, but here, as my sophomore English teacher liked to say, The Journey Is The Reward. The Coens (who also wrote the film) use each new destination on our hero's road home as an opportunity to stage one hysterical comic setpiece after another-we're talking belly-laugh material here. The fugitives encounter famous bluesman Robert Johnson (or do they)? They accidentally crash a KKK rally. They get caught in a car with a cow-slaughtering would-be gangster. They get the shit beat of them by a half-man, half-animal entrepreneur (John Goodman ftw). They unintentionally sabotage a political campaign. Hell, they even lay down a hit record!
The Coens are masters of comedic timing as always, and all the actors do a bang-up job, which isn't surprising considering they're playing archetypes more than people. What's surprising about the picture is the way it becomes more than situational comedy-there's a mystical element here. There's a discussion about the nature of the devil, a baptism, a sudden, larger-than-life occurrence that takes the plot in an entirely different direction. The filmmakers manage to create one of the flat-out funniest films of the past decade, and to wrestle-playfully, yes, but palpably-with the supernatural at the same time. This element renders the movie too substantial to be a here-today, gone-tomorrow comedy.
But forget all the spiritual shtuff. The simple fact of the matter is watching this movie is such a flat-out fun experience it'll give you a warm tingle. It's a joy to look at-great actors cut loose, captured by the best cinematographer of his generation, Roger Deakins, who makes the ol' South magical and menacing all at once. There's a nice big bowl of ear candy for you to snack on as well-the dialogue, shaped by two writers who have a unique, visionary way of working with the language, the Grammy-winning musical accompaniment. In the end, this film about a bunch of unshaven po' boys is, ironically, an embarrassment of riches.
The Singular Scene: Clooney and Co. perform the film's signature tune, "I Am A Man Of Constant Sorrow", at a political rally, in a moment of sheer exuberance the likes of which we don't see on screen much anymore. Gotta love them Soggy Bottom Boys.
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