Les Miserables

I had the pleasure of enjoying the new film version of Les Miserables this evening.  I first fell in love with its music during preparations for a high school Broadway-themed choir concert.  After years of dormancy, that stirring of amore visited my heart this evening, once more, and continued to stir... up through the chest, squeezing the larynx, all the way into my skull.  With nowhere left to journey, all of that deep affection proceeded to pour out of my eyeballs.  For hours.  In public!  

I'm not sure how I maintained hydration during this multiple-hour sobbing jag.  Maybe the extra salty popcorn played its part somehow.  Other characters in my lovefest were my fellow theater patrons, sobbing and nose-honking right along side of me.  In front and behind.  (This excludes the man in the Adidas track pants sitting closest to my left; apparently dragged there by his wife and whom disturbingly escaped to the bathroom multiple times. I won't judge though.  Maybe he just needed to cry in private?)

If the audience were my fellow characters, this leaves the stars of my lovefest to be the stars of the amazing film.  Hugh Jackman (Talent and voice beyond unreal!)  Anne Hathaway (Broke my heart!)  Russell Crowe (Hate that character, so you're doing your job!)  Samantha Barks (Every girl's been an Eponine at least once in her life. Thanks for the memories!)  Eddie Redmayne as Marius (So noble and sweet.)  Amanda Seyfried (Who knew Karen from Mean Girls was a flawless soprano?)  Sasha Baron Cohen and Helena Bonham Carter as the nasty Master and Madame of the House (Mary and Joseph won't be staying at your inn!)  And, Daniel Huttlestone as Gavroche (Breaking whatever puny parts of my heart were left after Annie Hathaway got through with it!)

All my praise and all of the film and its makers' Oscar-worthiness aside, this would not be a proper blog post if I didn't mention of few slight observations.

• The French, in musical form, sound a heck of alot like Cockney Brits.
• Love-at-first-sight seems somehow believable when pronounced in song.  (Silly, but more believable in Les Mis, than in, say... West Side Story. Gag, Maria.  You hussy!)
• After witnessing Sasha Baron Cohen's brilliant performance as Thenardiers, I will be deeply disappointed if he ever goes back to playing any of his guerrilla comedy characters.  I don't care if you're offered one billion dollars for a Borat sequel, Mr. Cohen!  We've now seen what you can do.  Take that offer and squash it in your meat grinder!  If not, I vow a plague on both you houses.  (Yes, both.  Helena, that means you, too.  I now appoint you Sasha's keeper!)
• Speaking of Helena... I applaud her subtle staccato pronouncing of the lyric, "sh*t."  In every other performance I'd ever heard of "Master of the House", the Madame Thenardiers always over-emphasises the "sh*t".  As if to say, "SH*T!  Do you hear me in the back row?  I said sh*t and I said it loud.  I sang it even!  How often do you get to sing 'sh*t' on stage? ♫SH*T♫!!!"  Thanks for your restraint Ms. Carter.
• Speaking once again of Helena Bonham Carter... talk about perfect casting!  If anyone else had been chosen for the role, I would have thrown pie at the screen.
• Hugh Jackman's tongue looks to be especially slippery.  Seriously!  With all of those tight shots and wide-mouthed singing I observed not one taste bud.  I knew he couldn't possibly be human!
• SPOILER ALERT: Was that sound effect really necessary in Russell Crowe's final scene?  Those who've already seen it... you know what I'm talking about.
• Dear Fantine, who knew a bad last haircut in life would be deemed permanent for all of eternity.  Here's to hoping hair grows much faster in the afterlife!
• My next charitable donation will be floss and Whitestrips to the nation of France.
• I feel I've learned more about French history in this three-hour period of fiction than in years of schooling.  Boy, I hope this knowledge is historically accurate or I'm gonna look like an absolute dummy next round of Trivial Pursuit.
• I've never in my life used more restraint to not burst out singing in song.  Maybe in twenty years there will be "bouncing ball" sing-along midnight showings of the flick.  Then again, these brilliant performances do not need an untrained audience drowning them out. 

On this page I will now write my last confession:  My tear ducts are officially in working order.  But, I guess you've probably gathered that by now. 

(P.S. If you're looking for me this Oscar night, I'll be in front of the tube---extra-salty popcorn in bowl---cheering on the stars of my lovefest.)

Lincoln

I just returned from seeing the critically lauded new biopic about our sweet sixteenth (president, that is) and am riding the goose-pimply emotional swell of seeing and hearing a good story told well.

This is not a movie review, however... although the pic is sure to see Academy nominations for Best Picture, Director, Screenplay, Actor (Daniel Day-Lewis), Actress (Sally Field), Supporting Actor (Tommy Lee Jones) and maybe even a long shot Supporting Actor nom for the very entertaining James Spader.  Not to mention, Best Costuming and a slew of technical nods, as well.  But, this is not a review!  (Although, I must also note: At 180 minutes, empty your bladders before or during the previews, because there are no boring lulls in the film to designate as a potty break.)

No, this blog entry is designated to that 10-15 minute adjustment it took for me to adapt to the fact that Abraham Lincoln was appearing before me in motion and speaking.

You'll hear Daniel Day-Lewis's voice speaking as Lincoln moments before the camera pans to his wonderful and accurately made-up face.  And, it's quite the unexpected jolt!  I don't know how the actor chose the voice he decided to use to represent our 16th president, but it's definitely not as booming and authoritative as I obviously must have expected.

Then he moved.  Which is also quite a startle.  For all of our lives, we've seen Abraham Lincoln as still life.  Faded and photographed, sketched, oil-painted, crumpled up on our five dollar bills and frozen in marble for all of eternity at the foot of our capital's reflecting pool.

But, for the first time in our lifetime, he moves.  He ambles rigidly, clumsily, oddly moose-like.  He folds his stature practically in half and creakily crawls across the floor.

I watched, amazed.  I'm not sure what I had expected to see.  I'm not sure if Day-Lewis's choices in tone and cadence were artistic choices or historical fact.

Then it dawned on me!  My generation's ideals of this president's motion, voice and natural demeanor weren't based on film or recordings... the technology didn't exist in his time.  We're familiar with his face and stature from the aforementioned photographs and artwork we've familiarized ourselves with over time.  We're comfortable and confident in the depiction of his looks.

But, the only reference we've had to his speech and his movement, up until the release of this marvelous film came in the form of a Disney animatronic.

Ha, yes!  Mystery solved!  Hopefully, you may now spare yourselves the jolt at the theater.  Besides, it only took about 15 minutes for the unfamiliarity to pass.  Go see Lincoln, cheer on the 13th Amendment and enjoy!