Skip to main content

At the Movies (Again)

 "Brad's Status" is a journey story: A man needs to take his son for an admissions interview at Harvard.

This would seem easy enough, but the Harvard issue brings about a mid-life crisis. Why doesn't our man--Brad--have more money? When his in-laws die, what will they do with their cash? They wouldn't actually leave it to charity?

Brad's "Silver Points" card should offer some form of retail therapy, at the airport, but in fact Silver Points won't get you out of the long "pleb" line. Maybe an upgrade to business class would help--but the upgrade, per seat, is around 800 dollars. After Brad tortures himself, he decides to go ahead with the absurd purchase, and it's at this point that he discloses that the original ticket was bought on sale via Orbitz. The Delta rep says, "We can't upgrade an Orbitz ticket. There is literally no sum of money you could offer that would lead to an upgraded ticket."

Things get worse when Brad fields a call from an old friend, a loathsome tycoon who can't resist a humble-brag: "I sold the company and moved out here to Hawaii....Now I live with these two women...and we surf, and fuck, and surf, and fuck....It's all fluid. I thought I was retired, but I just fell into this sideline hobby, tequila-bar development, and let's just say I'm ready to branch out throughout the continental US....!!!!"

Brad feigns vicarious excitement, then studies a homeless musician on the corner: Chickens and children know the truth....Lose yourself in nature.....Be one with the soil.....

The writer, Mike White, has a gift for mining ambivalence. You can sense that he is laughing at his protagonist--but, at the same time--he also clearly has love for this insufferable guy. Maintaining a balance between total sympathy and total contempt: This is a fun trick to pull off, if you're writing a screenplay. I think White does this equally well in "Enlightened," and in "Beatriz at Dinner."

"Brad's Status" is up next, for my family, this weekend.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel  Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in  Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's  Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...

Joshie

  When I was growing up, a class birthday involved Hostess cupcakes. Often, the cupcakes would come in a shoebox, so you could taste a leathery residue (during the party). Times change. You can't bring a treat into a public school, in 2024, because heaven knows what kind of allergies might lurk, in unseen corners, in the classroom. But Joshua's teacher will allow: a dance party, a pajama day, or a guest reader. I chose to bring a story for Joshua's birthday (observed), but I didn't think through the role that anxiety might play in this interaction. We talk, in this house, quite a bit about anxiety; one game-changer, for J, has been a daily list of activities, so that he knows exactly what to expect. He gets a look of profound satisfaction when he sees the agenda; it doesn't really matter what the specific events happen to be. It's just about knowing, "I can anticipate X, Y, and Z." Joshua struggled with his celebration. He wore his nervousness on his f...

Josh at Five

 Joshie's project is "flexibility"; the goal is to see that a plan is just an idea, not a gospel, not a guarantee. This is difficult. Yesterday, we went to a restaurant--billed as "open," with unlocked doors--and the owner informed us of an "error in advertising." But Joshie couldn't accept the word "closed." He threw himself on the floor, then climbed on the furniture. I felt for the owner, until he nervously made a reference to "the glass windows." He imagined that my child might toss himself through a sealed window, like Mary Katherine Gallagher, or like Bruce Willis, in "Die Hard." Then--thank the Lord!--I was able to laugh. The thing that really has therapeutic value for Joshie is: a firetruck. If we are out in public, and he spots a parked truck, he wants to climb on each surface. He breathlessly alludes to the wheels, the door, the windows. If an actual fire station ("fire ocean," in Joshie's parla...