Skip to main content

On Ethan Hawke

 One reason I love Ethan Hawke is that he is the ultimate "dad"; though Hollywood sometimes forgets that families exist, Hawke plays a dad again and again and again.


In "Boyhood," he has a great scene where he demands that his kids report on their day. "Why should we? Why don't YOU tell us what YOU did all morning?"

In "Maggie's Plan," Hawke enrages Greta Gerwig when he forgets to do some marital heavy lifting. And in "Sinister," Hawke annoys his clan by insisting on a move to a creepy new house (and by "forgetting" to explain his reasons for the move).

But my favorite Hawke role is in "The Purge," a movie that looks like a dystopic tale but also looks like a domestic comedy. Hawke has enriched his children's lives by selling faulty security systems to the neighbors; he never stops to think that his ostentatious purchases might infuriate those same neighbors. Hawke has a daughter with some bad ideas about dating. And Hawke must try to feign enthusiasm for a new "low-calorie" entree that is making its debut at the family dinner table.

It's a delight, to me, to see all these moments on a big screen; the horror-film elements are just window dressing.

"The Purge" recently became a "rewatchable"--and I endorse Bill Simmons's decision. A wonderful movie.

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...