Movie Reviews: Before Sunrise, Children of Heaven, SherryBaby & The Science of Sleep

Yes, it's time for more movie reviews. Not movies that are new necessarily, but just ones that I've recently seen.

Please do continue to send me your suggestions for movies to see and review. Of course, it may take me awhile to watch your suggestion, given that if I watch one netflix movie a week, it will take me -- let me just get out a pen to jot down the figures -- a year to get through them all. Yeah, 'cause there's fifty-two movies on my queue. And fifty-two weeks in a year. See, I can do word problems! Take that, Mr. Nord! (Lower level math educators... bless 'em!) Anyway, I digress... but if you're read me before, you're used to it, right? Ok. Movie. Reviews. NOW!

Before Sunrise (1995)
Before Sunrise chronicles the short-but-sweet romance of a young American named Jesse (Ethan Hawke) who falls for a French student, Celine (Julie Delpy), on a train ride to Vienna. They spend the night before he has to return to the US walking, talking, and falling in love. This is a great example of a dialogue-based movie that actually works and does not bore. Often dialogue-heavy films do not hold my interest (sorry, I am just not into Clerks), but in this movie the dialogue was beautiful and engaging, and worked well against these lovely Viennese backdrops. If you have not yet seen it, now would be a great time, because Julie Delpy has a new movie coming out that she wrote, directed, and stars in, called 2 Days in Paris. It's supposed to be great. So check out her early work and see what you think. I'm definitely watching 2 Days and also the sequel to Before Sunrise, aptly titled Before Sunset. Look for that reviewed here soon.

Also, just for fun, I'm going to quote Jesse from Before Sunrise: "You know what's the worst thing about somebody breaking up with you? Is when you remember how little you thought about the people you broke up with and you realize that is how little they're thinking of you. You know, you'd like to think that you're both in all this pain but they're just like 'Hey, I'm glad you're gone.'" True that.

And for good measure, here's one from Celine: "I believe if there's any kind of God it wouldn't be in any of us, not you or me but just this little space in between. If there's any kind of magic in this world it must be in the attempt of someone sharing something. I know, it's almost impossible to succeed but who cares really? The answer must be in the attempt." Solid A

SherryBaby (2006)
Relentlessly depressing, bleak movie about the difficulties of a woman recovering from a life of abuse, crime, and addiction. Maggie Gyllenhaal plays a recently paroled Sherry, just out of the New Jersey pen after a three-year stint. Amazing part of this movie was how real it seemed; as a public defender, I've seen many a drug-addicted client. This movie documents well the broken coping mechanisms that female addicts often use to deal with their lives. Maggie Gyllenhaal's acting was right on the money, but the plot never really went anywhere and many scenes seemed to woefully lack purpose and direction. For some, the fact that there are a lot of nude scenes with a white-trashy hot Mags will be a plus, but honestly, the situations were so depressing that the sex was really not very sexy. C+

Children of Heaven (Iran, 1997)
I don't know if I've ever seen an Iranian movie before, but if this isn't the best one, I would be shocked. What an amazing movie! The story: Ali loses his little sister Zohre's shoes. His family is too poor for new shoes, so they concoct an ingenious plan: they take turns going to school in Ali's shoes, until Ali gets an even better plan. He will compete in a long-distance race where the prize for third place is a pair of shoes. This movie is sweet and affecting without being syrupy or trite. However, I need to cut this review short so that I can find an Iranian man to give me beautiful, wonderful children like these. Solid A

The Science of Sleep (France/Italy 2006)
Stephàne, played by gorgeous man Gael Garcia Bernal, moves to France to be closer to his mother after his father's death, takes a boring job at a calendar company, and then dreams, a lot. Most fascinating to me was the exploration between dreams and art, and the art was so darned cool. I truly loved the felt pony and the cellophane ocean and the cardboard car and the paper towel roll city. But as the film goes on, it seems Stephàne's "dreaming" is interfering with his "reality" a bit too much, and maybe he's just "completely fucking nuts." And like most crazy people, Stephàne is really annoying, especially when he hurts the girl he loves with all his crazy artist dude antics. The object of his affection, Stephànie, played by the um… interesting-looking Charlotte Gainsbourg, is one of the better aspects of the film.

So, on the plus side: interesting premise, good acting, cool art. On the downside: twee Velvet Underground cover, annoying lead character, disjointed plot, and a pretty big what's-the-point-of-all-this-anyway factor. For some, the Urban Outfitter aesthetic might be a bit much too take. It's no Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. But it also doesn't suck and you should probably give it a chance. B-

Travel: Croatia & Prague

Croatia
We made it to the Istria Peninsula of Croatia as the sun began to set. As we entered Rijeka, we got lost in a very intimidating industrial district and had to ask for directions from a security guard. I'm not sure what language Robert spoke to the guy in; apparently the Croatian and Polish languages share some words, though not so many as Czech and Polish. My terror was unjustified; imposing looks notwithstanding, the guard gave us good directions and we arrived at our hotel, the Jadran, in time for nightfall. Our room was directly over the sea, where the Kvarner and Kvarneric* branches of the Adriatic meet. The sea comes right up to the foundations of the building, and I could hear it gently lapping below. It was a warm, still night, and a soft salty smell wafted up to me. The moon shone in a long milky track on the dark, silken sea. I sat on the balcony and realized that I might never be so content again, so I savored each moment. I felt I could taste the moon melting on the sea, hear the stars tinkling like far away bells.

The next morning, we enjoyed a wonderful and fresh breakfast, eaten on a balcony overlooking the sea. Everything at the Jadran was amazing except their farmer's cheese, which, compared to the cheese in Italy, reminded me of what happens if you leave thin sliced cheddar out on a table overnight and then eat it the next day. It was chewy and grainy and it just wasn't that great. But the baked goods and the fresh fruits and the coffee with milk… oh! So fabulous. We bustled out, and decided to check out the beach down on the island of Krk. Robert insisted on stopping at some small-town grocery, I think it was in a place called Njivice. I waited in the car and watched a pot-bellied old man standing around in a year by the store, wearing nothing but a saggy pair of white briefs. It was a hot day, and even the local goats just stood there, focusing on moving as little as possible. Then a piercing "whoop, whoop, whoop" sounded from the car and its lights started flashing on and off for no ascertainable reason. Something is wrong with the security system in Robert's parents' car, and the alarm started going off full-blast. Try as I might, I couldn't turn it off. The old man ran into a house and the goats scattered. As people left the grocery, they glared at me and looked even more annoyed than the average Croatian. I still have no idea how it eventually turned off. Nothing we did seemed to have any effect whatsoever.

We got to the beach at Baska. It was punishingly hot, and I already had a rash on my hands from sun exposure, so I knew our time at the beach would be limited, but I had enough time to memorize the fantastic views. It's not surprising to me why some people call Croatia part of the "Balkan Riveria." A number of tourists of different European nationalities were taking advantage of the relaxing vistas – the rare turquoise water and the sunbathers on the gravelly beach (which was very hard on the feet. I was glad I had sandals with me). When I went for a swim, I was shocked at the salt taste in my mouth. I've never tasted water that salty in my life. So after you get out, your skin is all dry and salty and you start to heat up in the sun, and it's no wonder so many of those large German women looked like big, overcooked sausages. On the contrary, I might have been the palest person there, but I'm so glad I went running a lot before my vacation. I have never felt so relaxed at a beach as I did then – it really helps to feel comfortable in your own skin (if a little salty and tight). In any case, if you want a beautiful European beach experience that's not nearly so expensive as the French Riviera, I can't recommend a better place than Croatia.

Next we drove west to Pula, which is an ancient Roman town. We visited the grand Colliseum that used to hold about 23,000 people in its heyday. It's still a viable performance venue, though its capacity is now limited to 5000. The coolest (in both senses) part of the Colliseum was the underground section, where you could see the areas that they used to hold the gladiators and animals between matches. You could also see the enormous person-sized jugs that contained wine and ale. It's very interesting to me to compare the ways we are still so much like the ancient Romans. Many consider sporting events to be the highlight of their existence, but in no way complete without an overpriced, lukewarm, flat cup of beer. And if we think we're so enlightened as to be above pitting one creature against each other, well, that's debatable. We've got illegal fights between roosters and pitbulls, and we have legally sanctioned boxing and ultimate fighting which is just a step removed from pitting gladiators against each other. It's just wild to me to see how incredibly influential the Romans were on the modern world, and how much their mark remains.

I realized with a sinking feeling that we really only had one day, two nights in Croatia. We'd have to leave promptly first thing in the morning to get to Prague by nightfall. We only had a limited amount of time left, and it was my turn to pick what to do. For some reason I was incredibly drawn to these ruins in Dvidgrad, which was not even on out maps. There was a one-paragraph description in the guide book, saying only that it was "about 10 km from Svetvincenat." We drove up and down the roads trying to find the castle, making some wrong turns into villages that looked like something out of a movie. Chickens plucked unseen treasures out of the dirt roads, scattering upon our approach. Villagers ran from their cottages to see who on earth was driving up their one lane road. We got the sense that everyone in the village would have already known if someone else in the village were expecting guests. Eventually, we drove almost at random, going back towards Rijeka and saw a tiny sign saying "Dvidgrad" pointing down a narrow, windy road. We decided to check it out. That late summer day golden glow hung on every single thing, lighting up dust motes and making the entire scene almost mystical. Crickets chirped their sad songs to each other. We walked in the leftover footprints of peoples' lives, trying and failing to understand what it was like so many years ago. What had been one of the biggest cities in Europe until the 800s was no more as of the 1600s, due to the plague, malaria, and finally, sacking by the Uskoks. The experience of going to the castle left a huge impression on me, and it even provided some of the inspiration for the screenplay I've been working on.

We spent the evening in Reijka, but honestly, it's not worth much space here. It's an o.k. city, very beautiful, especially because it's right on the water. However, the experience was nothing that special. We had mediocre pizza at some forgettable place. The service was terrible. The waiter was grumpy and horrible and tried to overcharge us. And I realized that most of the people I saw were scowling. Perhaps historical events form the character of the people. Croatia has held out for centuries immemorial against warring factions. A less noble explanation is that it's still the mid-90s in Croatia. The music still seemed to be heavily grunge influenced, and the kids there are just getting into baby tees and belly shirts. Lots of muffin tops there. Croatia more than anywhere else I went on this trip "feels" Eastern European. People were usually very friendly but their surly expressions make me wonder what's really going on.

Slovenia, Austria, Slovakia
We left Croatia going north, and quickly hit Slovenia. Beautiful rolling hills with forests gave way to picturesque fields of wildflowers. The houses were small and tidy and had beautiful, colorful flowers growing in front patches and windowboxes. We continued north, going through Austria, then Slovakia. The funniest thing that happened that day was in Slovakia, when we had to stop to use restrooms. While I was in the bathroom I noticed a big chocolate stain on my right on my ass. NICE. So, I used some water to try to get it out, and one of the towels. The towels, unfortunately, were treated with some green dye that got all over my khaki skirt. I tried to rinse it out, and that part of my skirt got soaked. It looked so bad with the huge wet spot that I just put the whole thing in the sink and soaked it. I went out to the car to find something else to change into, and there were these four Slovakian army guys sitting right outside the bathroom. They saw me and just started laughing, without any attempts to hide it. I changed into a different skirt, and that raised some eyebrows as well. Just call me Grace.

I guess maybe Slovakia's just not my lucky place, because we had a problem at the Slovakian border. The border official said that we didn't have a vignette, which is something you have to buy in order to travel across roads in certain countries. Austria, for instance, has a vignette; Italy and Slovenia do not, and charge a toll instead. (Wouldn't that be a good idea here? How about charging the people who use the roads the most more for road upkeep?) I didn't even know we needed to have one, but no matter, we had to change money to get Slovakian currency and then bribe the official in cash in order to pass. Meanwhile, as I stood outside waiting for this to happen, the wind and rain started picking up and it got decidedly chilly. The sky turned a dark yellowish bruise color. The uber-cute Czech border guards giggled a bit at me as my filmy summer skirt and top quickly got soaked and flapped like old rags in the rising wind. It proceeded to rain harder than I have ever seen it rain anywhere, in my life. It was coming down so hard that it was almost impossible to see the road. Much impeded, we lumbered along to Prague.

Prague, Czech Republic
It is so hard for me to write about Prague. Maybe you'll understand someday, later, when you're in love, and you have to leave your lover behind. But maybe you'll have the good sense to fall in love with a person, not a place, and maybe that's a totally different experience. In fact, I'm sure it is. Here's the thing: I dream about Prague all the time. I constantly think: how can I get back to there? What is going on there right now? Oh, I dream of it and I wonder, can a city dream? In my conception of the universe, Prague dreams of me too. It dreams of my rubber-heeled purple Campers roving on its cobbled streets like a shiatsu massage, my platform stilettos striking it like staccato hammers, driving the patterned cobblestones into the ground an infinitesimally small amount downward with each step. Prague feels my eyes roam all over it, taking it all in and loving what I see.

I have this theory that Prague and I are meant to be together. I'm part Czech, after all – my great-grandmother and great-grandfather were Bohemian, the part of the CR where Prague is located. Is it possible that I'm genetically predisposed to feel like I belong there? What if I'm right? I need to go back.

So, Prague, in the more, here's-what-it's-like, tourist-friendly fashion: Prague is a remarkable example of a glorious old European city wasn't bombed to high hell during WWII. Praha, as they call it there, is an amazing place, with many wonderful historical sights. I'm going to omit descriptions of most of them, because if you want a guide book, I suppose you'll just go buy one. For me the best part of all that was simply to see so many eras of history layered upon each other. One of my favorite parts of the city is called New Town, built in the 19th century. I love it, that that's "new" there.

We stayed at the Jeleni dvur,* which is in this wonderful, quiet part of Prague called Hradcany* behind the grand Prague Castle. The room was tiny but had windows overlooking the Castle walls. We had a great starting point for our excursions, just a few blocks from everything. One of my favorite excursions was to the Toy Museum in Prague. There was a myriad of wonderful old toys, and one couldn't help but feel sentimental for a seemingly simpler time. And then they had to bring on the Barbies: they had a Barbie exhibit which included all the old school Barbies and then all the new, crazy weirdass couture Barbies.

We had lunch at this old school Czech restaurant, where the menu was entirely in Czech, and the waiter spoke only Czech. I had a dish that was exactly the same as my mom used to make, some tender roasted pork with potato dumplings and other roasted veggies. I wonder if she learned it from her grandmother. Everyone talks about how bad the food is in the Czech Republic, but I think that's because they're eating at tourist traps. Anyway, I loved it.

An added bonus? There was an outdoor music festival going on by the Vltava River, and different areas up and down the river had wonderful music playing, all different genres: hardcore Czech rock groups, folk music, indie. My favorite stage was the one playing hip-hop. These girls were doing a fabulously good job dancing to Nelly's beloved "Hot in Here" song, and then a jester hopped up on the stage and began doing the exact dance they were doing. Perfectly. Every single move. A jester. In the US, the closest thing to jesters you get are acne-pocked teens at Magic the Gathering festivals who love Staind, Fatboy Slim, and Disney showtunes, who feel rebellious because they wear a jester cap that they got at Hot Topic. In contrast, this jester managed to be a jester and still be so completely fucking rock and roll at the same time. In between sets, he got on his razr and texted people. It was amazing.

I wound up making some friends in Prague, which was unexpected and
wonderful. I had such a fun night, wandering around the city, having cappuccino and cake, enjoying the way the lights play on the dark river, trekking through the silent courtyards around Prague Castle, empty of their tourists. I also went to a 100% weird club that was three levels and featured strippers on the bottom floor. I practiced my very few words of Czech, supplemented by my only marginally less few words of Polish. I loved being on my own on a Saturday night in this truly world-class city.

My last day in Prague, I went to mass in Czech at St. Vitus's Cathedral by the Palace, and saw the door where St. Wenceslas was rumored to have been murdered. We had lunch, and then all too soon, it was time to go. We drove back to Zurich through Austria and Germany. My last night there, we went to look for a traditional Swiss restaurant. Where the place had been, the restaurant was no longer, so we went to the next closest place, which happened to serve Thai and "pan Asian." Word to the wise: stick to cheese and chocolate and yogurt in Switzerland. (I'm spoiled, of course. I've heard people say that there's better Thai food in Seattle than there is in Thailand.) I picked up a last few boxes of Sprungli for Marcus and it was time to go to bed. My plane left early the next morning.

Post Script
Blogging about my experiences in Europe has been an interesting process for me. I realize that part of me doesn't want to finish this blog, because that means it's really over. It's over a month since I got back. Time for me to stop talking about it, dreaming about it – at least not so relentlessly, right? Maybe finishing this is exactly what I need to do to get "back in the swing of things." Maybe I've been waiting until I have another trip coming up to finish this series, because I fear my life might feel bland or boring without something to look forward to. No worries: today I booked my tickets for Los Angeles.

*I don't have the characters on my computer to spell some words properly. This is the closest approximation I could make.