Movies

I've been looking forward to seeing The Door in the Floor ever since it was released. I am a huge fan of Jeff Bridges, for starters, but I also loved the novel it is drawn from—John Irving's A Widow for One Year, which I read during my 1999/2000 summer holiday up on the far north coast.

The movie is based on the first third of the novel—a clever and sensible approach, given the structural and chronological complexity of the novel—which focuses on a summer in the childhood of the "widow" of the title. Bridges plays Ted Cole, a famous and successful children's author/illustrator (and by his own account, failed writer of novels for adults). Cole is a (superficially) great father, a dreadful husband, an irresponsible mentor and a reprehensible lover. Kim Basinger plays his grief-ridden wife, and she's good too, although it is a bit hard to judge whether or not the frozen performance is down to her limitations as an actress or a perfect representation of a woman turned to a pillar of salt by the loss of her teenage sons. (Ooh, I feel mean!)

But I'm not actually here to write a film review—not my forté, for a start, and anyway, I watched the film on DVD last night under the least optimal conditions. (My [grrr grumble] Samsung DVD/video recorder-player sucks and won't play 2 out of 3 dvds I insert, so I had to watch it on my MacBook Pro. Screen definition is cool, but the remote is extremely limited in function.) It's a film I want to buy to watch over and over again to really sort out my thoughts about it.

Why I am blogging about the film is that I was fascinated, both as a viewer of the film and as a "children's book person", by Bridge's character Ted Cole's frequently stated (with a fabulously expressive wave of the hand) dismissal of his profession:

I am an entertainer of children, and I like to draw.

Brilliant characterisation on the part of both Bridges and the scriptwriter (I do not recall if this was taken directly from the novel). Man, the dude can get a wicked look in his eye!

Still, I couldn't help but think of what my fellow children's lit afficionados would make of Cole's disclaimer. We "gatekeepers" do expend an awful lot of energy looking for slights on our profession and on the genre—and I am as guilty of that as anyone (while I am composing this blog entry I am also holding in the back of my mind a rather pissy post about the fact that apparently, you have to be Nick Hornby [ie established adult novelist and not Australian] in order to get an entire SMH review given solely to your YA book... and even then, the review isn't given to the paper's dedicated YA reviewer, but to a hitherto unheard of in the field of YA books "Sydney Reviewer"). But I digress. Well, no, I don't, actually.

As previously mentioned, Cole considers himself a failed novelist (for adults), and takes a kind of perverse pride in his false modesty about his success in writing and illustrating books for children. Is this an observation on children's literature we should get up in arms about? Or is it, by way of Bridge's performance of the narcissistic Cole, a kind of back-handed compliment to the genre and its creators?

As I said, I need to watch this movie at least once or twice more before finally making my mind up, but I am going to say here and now, that I think the latter interpretation is the one I hope children's lit folk take from the film (while understanding that the film clearly had no polemical position to take on our beloved field of endeavour—Cole's profession is a device, and a bloody good one, for establishing and exploring his character).

There's a scene in the film where Cole is reading from one of his picture books at a bookshop or similar venue, which further complicates both Cole's character and the question of what constitutes an appropriate book for children (and a successful seducer of young women!). Cole rather proudly states that his publisher objected both to the somewhat explicit and under-developed depictions in his illustrations (there's a sketchy image from the book of a naked child shown on the screen behind him) and the fact that there weren't enough pictures for a traditional picture book. Cole revels in being a renegade. Perhaps children's books are the only field that can accommodate his outlandish world view.

It's also important to remember that Cole is a man who has lost his children—even the living five year old girl who was born in an attempt to salve the wounds of the lost sons. The film opens with the girl-child looking at a photograph of the brothers she will never know, observing that her daddy is sad, but her mommy is sadder. And her father, blinded by his ego and grief, agrees. He can't even fully experience his own loss.

So, do we, the fierce defenders of the genre, get all het-up at Cole's dismissive "wave" about his books for children, or do we go deeper and say, here's a man who doesn't understand or appreciate the value of his invention, of what he creates—or of who he creates it for. But the art is sufficient. The art triumphs the ego. And not just the ego of the creator, but also of the receiver—the critic, the teacher and the gatekeeper.

[It should also be noted, by way of meta-fictionally complicating this half-baked analysis, that the picture book A Sound of Someone Trying Not to Make a Sound, written by John Irving and illustrated by Tatjana Hauptmann, was lifted from the text of A Widow for One Year and is referenced in the opening sequences of The Door in the Floor.]

Finally, this entry really just started out intending to ask for comments on the Cole character's quote. So, tell me what you think! (Not about the blog post—about the movie and the character and the quote. Or about the blog post if you like!)

Yesterday, I took my nephew James to a preview screening of Stormbreaker, the movie of the novel by Anthony Horowitz. James studied the novel in English earlier this year, and while he enjoyed it, he's more a fan of Horowitz's Diamond Brothers books.

We arrived early so we could get James's books signed, as well as books for his friend Michael, who is a major Alex Rider fan, but couldn't come with us to the movie. Anthony was as generous and charming as ever, and I am embarrassed to say that I did that awful adult thing and spoke for James instead of letting him answer Anthony's friendly questions. I could make the excuse that James had said he was a bit nervous about meeting his first celebrity, but it really was unforgivable of me. (Although James wasn't bothered, but I did feel terrible about it.) Even so, we got books signed, and a photo taken of James with Anthony (who insisted on standing up for the photo, as James, although only 13, is about 6 feet tall). I'll add the photo to this post when it's emailed to me—I stupidly left my camera at home.

On to the movie! Well, James just loved it. He's a big movie fan, and he thought it was great. I've not read the book, but James said the film was largely faithful (as you'd expect, as Horowitz wrote the screenplay), with just some minor changes, such as the villain's first name and the stated source of his untold wealth. It has a sensational cast (although Mickey Rourke is looking more and more like a living cartoon villain—what happened to that beautiful young man from Rumble Fish?) and is certainly action-packed. An early sequence, with Alex Rider on his pushbike chasing a van that has mysteriously taken away his recently murdered uncle's possessions, is genuinely exciting. It's a classic Bond-style spy thriller, with an unlikely plot and even more unlikely villains (Missi Pyle's Russian accent does Boris and Natasha proud!), and despite Horowitz's extensive experience as a screenwriter, I do wish more attention had been paid to the dialogue and plot. Outside of the impressive action sequences, there were some infelicitous editing decisions, and quite a few "huh?" moments in the plot, but the wonderful performances of the largely British cast (Ewan McGregor! Damian Lewis! Sophie Okonedo! Stephen Fry! Bill Nighy! Robbie Coltrane!) rise above the sometimes silly plot. And it has to be said, it is quite a violent film, although with a primarily youthful audience, the worst of it is off-screen. And yes, Alex Pettyfer is very good.

I didn't watch most of the final showdown between Alex Rider and Darrius Sayle, as it takes place on the top of a skyscraper, and I suffer serious vertigo from such scenes! (As I did in Friday night's episode of Wire in the Blood.) But for all of that, and all of the above, it was a rollicking hour and a half, James can't wait for the DVD, and we had a fun day out. Can't ask for more than that!

I've just got in from seeing the new Australian film Candy with my friend Nicola. Based on the novel by Luke Davies, the film is beautiful and dark, funny and frightening, often at the same time. The opening sequence, with the luminous Abby Cornish and Heath Ledger in the iconic Sydney Luna Park ride The Rotor, is one of the most beautiful I've seen, establishing the giddy, ecstatic romance of the lovers before the film plunges us immediately into the danger and chaos of their heroin-addicted relationship.

Nothing in this film comes close to romanticising heroin or addiction. We never see the world from their perspective when they're high—instead, we watch them in all their glory and despair, and you never once think, that was all OK until it got out of control, because it is always out of control. There's no descent, because they're already down so far even before the addiction wreaks its complete damage on them, their love, the people who love them. (Added later: Which is not to say things don't deteriorate—they do, horribly, but the film doesn't allow us to think for a moment that there was any point at which their using was even remotely managable.)

It's a very Australian film, too—Sydney's inner west, its suburbs and the countryside are beautifully shot. All the characters are finely drawn; there's not a false note in any of the performances. And it has a superb soundtrack.

It's a wonderful film; disturbing and difficult, but inspiring deep empathy. Highly recommended.