Skip to main content

At the Movies

 Years before "KPop Demon Hunters," Domee Shi wrote "Turning Red." It's an animated film about pop music and about shame; I have nothing against "KPop," but "Turning Red" is smarter and funnier.


Mei Lee is thirteen, and she lives in Toronto. She is an excellent student and flutist; she really enjoys cleaning and tidying her domestic spaces; she has limitless time for the evening soap opera that her mother particularly likes. Mei observes that there can be a problem with "model child" behavior: "If you're so wrapped up in honoring your parents, you can forget to honor yourself." There is a pause. Then Mei declares, "That is NOT my problem!" (And this moment of self-delusion is a perfect little bow to tie around Act One.)

"Turning Red" is so sharp, so rich with lived experience, it's amazing that someone wrote the check that allowed Domee Shi to complete her project. When Mei (by accident) concedes that she has a crush on the local 7-Eleven employee, her mother makes a humiliating fuss. Mei then "makes friends" with her own anger. The fact of her anger is disorienting. Mei does not know what to do with her emotions. She attempts to suppress them--but they have a way of announcing themselves, day after day, in particularly solemn and formal settings.

I think the tension between Mei and her mother (a character beautifully played by Sandra Oh) is plausible for the full two hours. And the resolution is unusually sad and thorny; you generally do not find this level of thought in a Pixar movie (or, for that matter, any mainstream movie).

It's fun to watch this with my daughter--it's a movie that I don't mind revisiting. And that's high praise.

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...

My Favorite Pop Song

  One thing I admire about Prince is his weirdly pretentious verses: Dream, if you can, a courtyard-- An ocean of violets in bloom. Also: Touch, if you will, my stomach. Feel how it trembles inside. No one else writes like this. Did people try to shoot down these choices? Did a producer say, "We'd like to rethink this one... Touch, if you will, my stomach...."  I can't help but wonder. But it's the chorus that makes this a classic. It's direct and universal--and it ends with that bizarre flourish, the allusion to "the crying doves." (Prince's song was number one in America for quite a while; it defeated Bruce Springsteen's "Dancing in the Dark.") How can you just leave me standing-- Alone in a world that's so cold? Maybe I'm just too demanding. Maybe I'm just like my father--too bold. Maybe you're just like my mother; She's never satisfied. Why do we scream at each other? This is what it sounds like when doves cr...

Raymond Carver: "What's in Alaska?"

Outside, Mary held Jack's arm and walked with her head down. They moved slowly on the sidewalk. He listened to the scuffing sounds her shoes made. He heard the sharp and separate sound of a dog barking and above that a murmuring of very distant traffic.  She raised her head. "When we get home, Jack, I want to be fucked, talked to, diverted. Divert me, Jack. I need to be diverted tonight." She tightened her hold on his arm. He could feel the dampness in that shoe. He unlocked the door and flipped the light. "Come to bed," she said. "I'm coming," he said. He went to the kitchen and drank two glasses of water. He turned off the living-room light and felt his way along the wall into the bedroom. "Jack!" she yelled. "Jack!" "Jesus Christ, it's me!" he said. "I'm trying to get the light on." He found the lamp, and she sat up in bed. Her eyes were bright. He pulled the stem on the alarm and b...