Think. Think more. Think again. It was supposed to be a filler for lack of attention-grabbing titles or creative chutzpah, but then it's almost funny, kinda like a parody of the affirmation that we're human beings. Well, this is life. As I know it. What I think is what you get.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
The 500 Film Challenge: Another Year (Mike Leigh, 2010)
On one hand, Another Year is slightly related to his Happy-go-Lucky. I can only speculate the Poppy would grow into Mary. While we peer into the lonely souls that visit and temporarily seek shelter into Tom and Gerri’s (yeah, how comically named right?) companionship – the openly unapologetic Ken and the subtly imposing but kindhearted Mary – we can only sigh in what might have been their revelries of youth. (I think it’s even hinted in the unappreciated, and I should say pretty much of the film is underappreciated, musical score.) Again, Leigh’s acute observation of the nuances of daily lives exudes in the words that come out of somewhat uninteresting, commonplace characters, in quick sharp stabs and quiet mumbles. Much has been said of the terrific Lesley Manville as Mary, holding her own till the end refusing to break down, but literally the closing shot, lingers on her face and we are also weighed down with this inescapable melancholy, whether it be the thought of aging, dying alone or the terrifying thought that we are unloved and uncared for.
Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family, Choose a f—king big television. Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance. Choose fixed-interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose a three piece suit on hire purchased in a range of f—king fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the f—k you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing f—king junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, f—ked-up brats you have spawned to replace yourself. Choose a future. Choose life . . . But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life. I chose somethin’ else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you’ve got heroin?
Renton, Trainspotting
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