Distorting Reality in "A Complete Unknown"

 

distort - verb - to give a misleading or false account or impression of. (Google)

The real magic of the cinematic art is that it can take a slice of reality and reconfigure or distort it. Setting, a pedestrian place in particular, can be twisted, transfigured, or transmogrified so that it can appear to be somewhere else, a completely different locale, perhaps one that isn't as glamorous as the original. 

Case in point: the recently released, Bob Dylan biopic A Complete Unknown, produced by and starring Hollywood's current hottie, the actor Timothee Chalamet. The movie, which authentically portrays a slice of Bob Dylan's rise to fame, was shot almost entirely in my home state of New Jersey. Even the scenes that are supposed to take place in Greenwich Village, practically a stone's throw away from Jersey, were staged and recorded in Hoboken. What I found astonishing is that the outdoor concert footage depicting a great lawn in what is supposed to be Newport, Rhode Island is actually one in Echo Lake Park, a bit over a mile from where I grew up in Mountainside, a don't-blink-otherwise-you'll-miss-it hamlet, hugging Rt. 22, famous for being the former home of the infamous godfather of N.J., Gip DeCarlo–also a character in Jersey Boys–whose sons I had attended school with. How the production company found the park, I have no idea. Maybe I don't want to know? The very familiar looking motel used in the film is also not in Newport, but in Cape May. 

Since I had known the actual locations before seeing the movie, I found veracity to be distracting. For instance, during the concert scenes, I kept looking for evidence of the Echo Lake Park I remembered: the wooded acres where I would hike with friends in the fall, the lake itself where I would ice skate and the hill where we would sled in winter, the playground where I would watch my daughter climb the monkey bars and listen to her laugh as she negotiated a path through the play set in spring and summer. Although some of the concert audience was C.G.I.ed to seem a lot larger, I could still make out some familiar trees and even a portion of the lake surrounding the extras. As a result, suspension of disbelief became impossible for me, yet not for the Los Angeles natives in the theater, who seemed completely convinced that they were in Rhode Island along with the cast members. 

Good for them! They left the house believing Mountainside was Newport. I left the theater believing my little town had finally found its place in the sun, the sun of Hollywood. Who would have thought? Not I. Not in my wildest dreams would I have imagined that the park down the street, 25 miles west of Manhattan, would ever, could ever touch the imaginations of millions the world over. Yet it is. Hmm. Miracles can and do happen. 

The takeaway? Never say never? The next small borough featured in a big movie could actually be your own, the one attached to your childhood. It may not have the same name or even the exact same look, but you'll recognize it. And the memories that will come flooding back will be yours alone.

Happy New Year, readers, wherever you are. Although you might disagree, I think 2025 could just be a magical, miraculous year. We'll see. Stay safe and stay positive :).

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The Benefits of Puerility

 

puerility - noun - quality of being a child; foolishness; silliness.

Yesterday, I had the distinct pleasure of turning 66 at the west end of Rt. 66–at Mel's Drive-In in Santa Monica. I invited 35 of my favorite people in Los Angeles, and twenty came to squeeze into a very long booth that spanned the length of the diner just to celebrate the milestone and to promise to contribute monetarily to two of my favorite charities. As the other half of the eatery was virtually devoid of customers, we took the liberty of celebrating with gusto, whooping it up, being noticeably puerile. You know. Being loud, raucous, immature. Like college kids at a frat party even though the majority of us culprits are in the fourth quarter of life. We weren't bothering anyone. No one complained. We were just having a good time. 

Case in point: Can there be benefits for those who behave like this? Can refusing to age graciously be beneficial? 

You bet.

Age is not a number, but this is something most of you who are in my box already know. It is a state of mind. If you think you are old, then you are. Here I am reminded of my former mother-in-law who got married out of high school, had two children–hardly taking a breath in between–and proceeded to agree to age rapidly because there was nothing better to do. By the time she was 66, she wasn't behaving like I did last night, sporting a red "Historic Route 66" T-shirt and a short skirt, laughing uproariously with her fellow revelers, pausing only to smooch with her seventy-year-old best beau (which would have been my former father-in-law) at Mel's on Lincoln. Nope. Mom was watching TV reruns of "Dallas," pausing only during breaks to light up a Marlboro and stare miserably at a series of commercials advertising such products as Listerine. Naturally, she died relatively young and unhappy only because she had no concept of joy. She consciously chose not to have any understanding of it. 

Those who aspire never to lose track of puerility know how to turn back the hands of time. They simply don't step into the shoes of society's antiquated expectations. They don't listen or answer when their grandkids ask why they ride Viros in and out of traffic. They don't understand what "age appropriate" means. They work out so that they look good in clothes that are designed for much younger people. They dye their hair. They intrinsically know that life is a lot less painful if they surround themselves with a variety of friends of different ages who hold onto humor as if it were a life vest in a turbulent sea. They know joy. They practice it every day by living dauntlessly, not caring what others might think of them. They give generously; they take when necessary. They love passionately. They forgive. They understand. They listen. They are as some say, "All in." And they smile wholeheartedly at the end of each day, knowing they sucked the marrow clean out of it.

Life as we all know is so very short. Why get old before your time? Why get old at all? It is not something that you are forced to do.  If you don't want to end up like my former mother-in-law, you are going to have to reset your mindset. Walk on the puerile side. You may live a lot longer, staying a lot healthier in the process. 

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"No One Mourns the Wicked": The Politics and Such of Wicked

 

political - adj. - relating to the government of a country

For as long as I can remember, children's fare–whether it be televised cartoons like the Peanuts series or live-action films like The Parent Trap–has catered more to the parents rather than to their young offspring. Of course, when I was seven watching network TV's It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown for the first time along with my sister, mom, and dad, I had no idea what Sally meant when she angrily vocalized, "I want restitution!" to a stunned Linus, but it didn't much matter as the character's body language spoke volumes. Still, the word haunted me until I was old enough to look it up in Webster's. The point I am trying to make in a roundabout way is that production companies that produce family movies have adults in mind because after all, the money is coming from their pockets; and they want to be entertained as well as their kids.

This holiday season's blockbuster Wicked is no exception. While visiting family in Utah over the Thanksgiving weekend, my cousin and I made sure to cue up at 11:30 a.m. for the first showing of the film at the local cineplex, thinking there would actually be a cue. There wasn't. In fact, only about six of us adults wound up in the theater. Oddly enough, there wasn't a single person under fifty in the house. Hmm. Perhaps the green of the Wicked Witch of the West or her prior reputation in the original version of Gregory Maguire's classic The Wizard of Oz kept the sensitive LDS families away, or perhaps they read enough about it to feel as though it was more of a PG-13 offering rather than a PG. They were right to veer on the side of caution. Although much of the suggestive content flies as high out of the range of juvenile comprehension as Wicked Witch Elphaba herself does on her broom at the close of the film, Wicked may not be designed for kids due to its political innuendoes. 

My daughter, a highly educated Millennial, was lucky enough to see the original Broadway show about seven times. The upbeat musical numbers and romantic subplot hooked her and multitudes of other fans. Throughout the years, though, due to her obsession, she managed to read the book on which the stage musical and film were based and began to understand the primary theme, which she recently texted to me as "the vilification of marginalized groups to maintain corrupt power structures." I kept thinking that by releasing the film just before the onset of Trump's presidency, Universal Pictures might be issuing a subtle forewarning to our mature society members who voted for him. During his first term, wasn't he the one responsible for locking immigrant children in cages at the Mexican border? Likewise in Wicked, the replacement professor for Doctor Dillamond, a literal old goat who is forced out of his position teaching history at fictitious Shiz University, displays a caged leopard cub, signifying to the class what the Wizard wants to do to the animals that have the ability to express themselves via language. Yikes. Albeit not exact, this is a clear parallel. Like it or not, Hollywood is expressing an opinion here, an opinion that isn't meant for youngsters to contemplate.  

Some of you are probably wondering whether or not I liked the movie. I did, but not for political reasons as I really deplore politics. Although I am in my late sixties, young matinee idols like Bridgerton's Jonathan Bailey who gives an Oscar-worthy performance as the romantic leading man Fiyero in the film, can still melt me sans any splash of water to the face. Despite being gay (and aren't the truly gorgeous guys always gay?) in real life, Jon is welcome to play the leading man in my dreams any time. 

Which brings me to something significant: the reason why we go to the movies. Most of us go to escape the drabness of reality that has grown sepia with familiarity. The emerald green of Wicked's Emerald City and Elphaba's visage shine vibrantly mainly because of talent. And green is the color of spring, of eternal youth, something we all would like to hold on to indefinitely. So grab a grandchild, daughter, son, or neighbor's teen and see Wicked if only to defy gravity for two hours and forty minutes. Mourn or don't mourn the wicked, your choice. (As a postscript: Another slightly less controversial theme that the movie implies is that there is no such concept as evil since the wicked are merely misunderstood. Politically speaking, we'll see about that :). )

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