Playing With the Truth: Film in 2010

Based on a true story.

Inspired by actual events. 

I'm not sure if it was an actual trend in 2010 or just a common trait of the few movies that I saw, but phrases like those above seemed to appear on screen in quite a lot of films, including 127 Hours, Conviction, Howl, Carlos, North Face, and even more that I didn't see, such as Made in Dagenham, Casino Jack, Eat Pray Love, I Love You Philip Morris, Mesrine: Killer Instinct & Public Enemy #1, and Nowhere Boy, to name only a few (and to say nothing of the tricky-truthy documentaries like I'm Still Here, Catfish, and Exit Through the Gift Shop).

Are there this many films based on true events every year and I only noticed it in 2010, or is this a newly developing trend? Either possibility would surprise me. If this is common every year, why have I not picked up on it so acutely, particularly considering I usually see twice as many movies as I did in 2010, and that I have a running series about movies based on real life? On the other hand, if this is a newly developing trend - why?

I'm almost positive it's the former, that this is not a new thing at all, but in any case it doesn't matter. I'm always more interested in how these films depict the truth they are meant to represent and, in doing so, how they shape our understanding and perspective on past events. For example, when I ask you to imagine the sinking of the Titanic, what images come to your mind? What about Roman gladiator fighting in the Colosseum? What do you picture when you think of John Smith and Pocahontas, or the Zodiac killer who terrorized San Francisco, or the fate of United Flight 93, or the storming of Omaha Beach on D-Day?

You see where I'm going with this: for many people, films based on true events serve as the primary influence on the subconscious in remembering or imagining those events. If you've seen those movies - Titanic, Gladiator, The New World, Zodiac, United 93, Saving Private Ryan - you bring their images to mind without even realizing it, particularly when a.) the images are astonishingly rendered (Titanic), and b.) there are few other film adaptations, documentaries, or other visual aids to provide alternative images in your mind (United 93). In essence, perception becomes reality; what we see becomes what actually happened, even if it didn't actually happen.

But does it matter when those images and those memories produce a reality that didn't actually exist? Where does the truth end and the dramatization begin, and is the truth ever interesting enough to stand on its own, free of embellishment? I'm sure it's a question as old as film itself - as art itself, really - but I'd like to consider it in the context of five films I saw in the last few months of 2010: The Social Network, The Fighter, Fair Game, The King's Speech, and All Good Things.

Taking It Home: Julie & Julia

("Taking It Home" is an alternative review style in which I share my thoughts on a movie's themes and how they may relate to my life, while focusing less on the acting, writing, technical aspects, or even plot of the film. It's a collection of the ideas I took home, "because the movie experience shouldn't end in the theater".)

“...the first Hollywood movie to have sprung from a blog, which in some sense makes it part of blogging history." - NYT

Julie & Julia, the surprisingly enjoyable new movie that's sure to end up one of 2009's biggest hits among women, is about blogging. Yes, blogging. And cooking, to be fair, but mostly blogging. More on that in a second.

Prior to this movie I knew little about Julia Child and even less (read: zero) about Julie Powell, the New York cubicle rat turned amateur cook turned blogger turned author. I didn't know, for example, that Julia Child didn't start cooking until well into adulthood, or that it took her years to gain any respect in the cooking world, or even that she was American (hearing her kooky voice all these years I guess I just assumed she was British). To dunces like me, Julie & Julia will provide an amusing and entertaining introduction to Julia Child. To her devotees, it will be a delight; Meryl Streep predictably, effortlessly succeeds in yet another outstanding performance that will no doubt send women of all ages whooping and hooting on the way out of theaters. Incidentally, they'll be headed directly to the nearest restaurant with everybody else, if not straight home to their kitchens.

As enjoyable as the movie may be due to copious shots of food with flair, there's a flavor in Julie & Julia that you can't fully taste unless you've had the opportunity to acquire it: the sometimes bitter swill of blogging frustration. I can't describe how differently I would have seen this film had it come out two summers ago, before I began spewing forth at Getafilm. Seeing it now, however, I found it hilariously encouraging to watch Julie Powell (Amy Adams) experience the joys of blogging alongside The Joy of Cooking, from her decision to start a blog to the excitement of receiving her first comments, from the pressure of posting regularly to the difficult decisions around disclosing personal information. It was a great deal of peculiar fun to see that experience on film, maybe doubly so since my blog happens to focus on film. I have to think other bloggers would agree, and for that aspect of Julie & Julia alone I would be anxious to recommend it.

But there's another side to the movie, and to blogging, that deserves to be seen on a massive multiplex screen: the harsh reality that "making it" (however you define "it") through blogging can be more difficult than deboning a duck. Like most people, Powell began her blog, The Julie/Julia Project, as a simple hobby, a way to keep herself accountable to a real-world challenge while connecting with others interested in that challenge. What was interesting about her blog, and what probably separates it from most (including mine), is that she had a clearly defined project that was only meant to "last" a year - the 365 days in which she would complete 524 recipes. She attracted readers quickly (surprisingly quickly, I might add), and eventually gained several thousand regulars who would comment and encourage her along the way. It was all innocent, self-fulfilling fun, but the real catalyst was this New York Times article that was published near the end of her project (it being 2003, the term "Web log" was still necessary), which would change her life forever...or at least for a while.

Amy Adams as Julie Powell...

I'm not giving anything away, of course, since the movie itself could not exist without Powell's subsequent book, "Julie & Julia: 365 Days, 524 Recipes, 1 Tiny Apartment Kitchen". She is releasing a second book, "Cleaving: a Story of Marriage, Meat, and Obsession", upon the release of Julie & Julia, and it's safe to assume she's receiving some royalties from selling the rights to her story to Columbia Pictures. But what's next? How long can you ride a wave of popularity based on a moment-in-time phenomenon? For another example, consider the case of Christian Lander, who turned "Stuff White People Like" into a book worth a few hundred thousand dollars, and who is now the host of an online TV show (is that an oxymoron?...anyway, it's some kind of new media phenomenon).

In light of Powell's success, then, Julie & Julia can be seen as not just the first movie created by a blog, and not just the first movie about blogging, but the most inspirational movie about blogging as well, since millions of bloggers (and there are millions of us) will no doubt leave the theater thinking, "What if...?".

But unless you start blogging with the sole intent of turning it into a business, or unless you have an amazing stroke of PR luck (Powell), or unless you have some great idea that will catch the wave of pop culture at just the right time (Lander), or unless you are willing and able to devote 40+ hours a week to your blog, well there's really no way to know where your blog will end up, and even then how long it will take. I remember reading a NYT article a few weeks ago, "When the Thrill of Blogging is Gone", which cited a 2008 Technorati survey as follows: "...only 7.4 million out of the 133 million blogs the company tracks had been updated in the past 120 days. That translates to 95 percent of blogs being essentially abandoned, left to lie fallow on the Web, where they become public remnants of a dream — or at least an ambition — unfulfilled."

Depending on your goals, that's a reality check that can leave you with some serious indigestion. See Julie & Julia and call me in the morning.

What did you take home?

Taking It Home: Doubt

Streep and Hoffman compare notes from the drafts of their Oscar acceptance speeches...

If John Patrick Shanley considered several one-word titles for his play before eventually settling on Doubt, chances are one of the possibilities was "Candor"; almost never in my life have I heard people talk so openly to each other about such sensitive issues. The discussions between the characters in Doubt are so brutally honest, in fact, that I found myself scoffing at the screen in my head, thinking "Come on, people don't have conversations like this."

But to get caught up in questions about the reality of the language used is to miss the point of the story. Whether spoken with these words or not, the arguments between Sister Aloysius (Meryl Streep) and Father Flynn (Philip Seymour Hoffman) certainly happen in real life. They might communicate non-verbally or through third parties, but judging by the number of shameful accusations made against Catholic priests in the last two generations, there is no "doubt" that men of the cloth have found themselves under obvious suspicion from those in their innermost circles.

Shanley's play, which was adapted by him for the film directed by him, is a rich study of the pain and suffering that comes not from knowing that a crime has been committed, but from not knowing for certain that a crime has been committed. The doubt itself is in some ways worse than the actual sin - not necessarily in God's eyes, but in the experience of the individual.

Take the wife of a cheating husband, for example, never sure how to interpret his sneaky behavior. Or the teacher of a dishonest student who turns in a plagiarized assignment. Or, more significantly, the police officer who draws his weapon on a shadowy figure or the president who sends his country to a war based on questionable intelligence.

For each person, the gnawing uncertainty about their gut feelings is torturous. Actually confirming that the husband is unfaithful, or that the student has lifted from a classmate, or that the risk of danger was unfounded, doesn't make the problem go away. But it does make coping easier, if only because the individual can acknowledge the truth and move on, for better or worse. Until this truth is known, however, the person will endlessly suffer through cycles of certainty and skepticism. I would even argue that regret, in one of its many forms, is simply doubt by another name. When I think back on my life, half of the decisions that haunt me are the ones for which I'll never truly know the "other" outcome.

I haven't experienced the horrors of sexual abuse, but I can only imagine that those who have, especially by a trusted individual like a priest or teacher or relative, may be forever filled with doubt and suspicion and distrust of people in such positions. It must be extremely difficult to regain faith in former beliefs, evidenced by Sister Aloysius in Doubt or, as another recent example, Juliette Fontaine's brother-in-law in I've Loved You So Long.

How do you quiet the questions in your head and heart? I don't know, and I also don't know if you should attempt to relieve yourself of all uncertainties - after all, you can't have faith without also having doubt. But somewhere you have to draw the line and make a decision, and I've found it's nearly impossible to do that with any level of comfort.

What did you take home?