A movie that inspires passionate hatred is a special thing. To really, really hate a work of storytelling, you have to sort of care about that work of storytelling. Otherwise, you'd feel indifferent.
To hate-watch can be intoxicating. It can stir you up. It can make you want to right (artistic) wrongs. I recommend the experience.
The movie I enjoy hate-watching is Jonathan Demme's "Rachel Getting Married."
I'm so puzzled and torn about this movie. I'm torn because there are things, here, that I really love. In particular:
*Debra Winger. This is a titanic Winger performance. She is a volcano of rage. That she didn't win an Oscar here is still a bit shocking. When Winger appears, you creep forward in your seat. To see her mask slipping, slipping, and then to witness that big, justly-buzzy eruption of violence: Still fascinating. It's especially fun to watch Winger because she is so rarely around, these days, in Hollywood: You feel you're spotting Norma Desmond.
*Portions of the script. This script was written by a woman, so it's a rare artifact. Also, this woman was making her debut! Moments in the writing make me so happy. The way Hathaway's character hints at eating disorders and present food concerns as a means of making others uncomfortable. The way Ethan's death is teased, and teased, and teased, like Chekhov's proverbial gunshot, so we know what is coming, even if we don't fully *know* what is coming. The way Hathaway's character turns a wedding toast into an act of psychological striptease. Wonderful.
*The sense of timelessness. Though there is of-the-moment AA language in the script, really, this is a tale as old as Jane Austen (or maybe older). It's a story about love and death. About people at a wedding, being fools. The old chestnuts are chestnuts for a reason.
And yet, alongside all this, there are things I can't stand:
*Bill Irwin. His character's cluelessness and that doofy smile drive me batty. And the script's lazy, self-congratulatory gestures toward liberal politics ("We want you home, Private!" "Let's fit more dishes in that dishwasher!") make my skin crawl.
*The self-indulgent pacing. Jonathan Demme was late in his career, here, and I'm sure he was a piece of work. Could no one on set summon the chutzpah to say, "Let's *not* include a wordless ten-minute interlude where people dance badly and stare off into the distance" --?
*The occasional clumsiness. A Duane Reade clerk spots Hathaway's character and says, "Hey, didn't I see you on COPS?" This is just too pat. It's a beginner mistake. Demme should have helped Lumet here.
So, anyway, it's a joy to feel such intense disdain while also finding things to savor. A disorientating experience. I recommend it, and I recommend it specifically with reference to "Rachel Getting Married." You'll see what I mean.
To hate-watch can be intoxicating. It can stir you up. It can make you want to right (artistic) wrongs. I recommend the experience.
The movie I enjoy hate-watching is Jonathan Demme's "Rachel Getting Married."
I'm so puzzled and torn about this movie. I'm torn because there are things, here, that I really love. In particular:
*Debra Winger. This is a titanic Winger performance. She is a volcano of rage. That she didn't win an Oscar here is still a bit shocking. When Winger appears, you creep forward in your seat. To see her mask slipping, slipping, and then to witness that big, justly-buzzy eruption of violence: Still fascinating. It's especially fun to watch Winger because she is so rarely around, these days, in Hollywood: You feel you're spotting Norma Desmond.
*Portions of the script. This script was written by a woman, so it's a rare artifact. Also, this woman was making her debut! Moments in the writing make me so happy. The way Hathaway's character hints at eating disorders and present food concerns as a means of making others uncomfortable. The way Ethan's death is teased, and teased, and teased, like Chekhov's proverbial gunshot, so we know what is coming, even if we don't fully *know* what is coming. The way Hathaway's character turns a wedding toast into an act of psychological striptease. Wonderful.
*The sense of timelessness. Though there is of-the-moment AA language in the script, really, this is a tale as old as Jane Austen (or maybe older). It's a story about love and death. About people at a wedding, being fools. The old chestnuts are chestnuts for a reason.
And yet, alongside all this, there are things I can't stand:
*Bill Irwin. His character's cluelessness and that doofy smile drive me batty. And the script's lazy, self-congratulatory gestures toward liberal politics ("We want you home, Private!" "Let's fit more dishes in that dishwasher!") make my skin crawl.
*The self-indulgent pacing. Jonathan Demme was late in his career, here, and I'm sure he was a piece of work. Could no one on set summon the chutzpah to say, "Let's *not* include a wordless ten-minute interlude where people dance badly and stare off into the distance" --?
*The occasional clumsiness. A Duane Reade clerk spots Hathaway's character and says, "Hey, didn't I see you on COPS?" This is just too pat. It's a beginner mistake. Demme should have helped Lumet here.
So, anyway, it's a joy to feel such intense disdain while also finding things to savor. A disorientating experience. I recommend it, and I recommend it specifically with reference to "Rachel Getting Married." You'll see what I mean.
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