Another Movie Blog

I came home from the movie and found Bill and his friend Eric smoking cigars on the porch.

"You bought the soundtrack, didn't you," Bill said smiling at the bag in my hands.

I nodded.

"What was with the song and dance number at the end?" Eric asked.

I thought everyone knew that Slumdog Millionaire is Bollywood. It's the only reason I was ok with the completely sappy ending. I'm pretty notorious for hating those. I think it's formulaic and contrived. I hated Beautiful Life.

If you're going to do it, then just do it. Give into it and make it ridiculous.

Several of my favorite movies this year have realistic, not necessarily HAPPY endings. The Wrestler and The Visitor stand out. I was ready to be disappointed by a stupid and unrealistic ending. I was pleasantly surprised by better writing and better acting than I expected.

I knew how Slumdog Millionaire ended story-wise. And even if I didn't know it walking in? I knew it as soon as the first question appeared. "D. It is his destiny." It's a movie in INDIA, yeah?!

I sat back and enjoyed the movie. Everything in his life led him to this one moment. Duh. Hasn't anyone ever seen a movie made in Mumbai before? :-)

And yeah, I will cut this movie slack that I did not cut for Beautiful Life (or insert dorky Hollywood movie ending here - that's just my most notoriously hated movie). I am still on record as disliking that movie.

I blame my hatred of "Hollywood" endings on my parents. My parents would not let me watch Officer and the Gentlemen when it came out since I was too young. But I distinctly remember them calling me into the TV room of my aunt and uncle's house when the movie was on HBO to watch the ending. Richard Gere comes in to Debra Winger's work place and carries her out while her coworkers applaud. My mom was crying. My dad had a goofy look on his face. I was confused. They wanted to share this great moment with me without letting me know the background. And even now as an adult who can see any movie I want, I find myself looking around the theater at the end of the movie as other adults cry and look goofy and I just don't feel it.

But today? Anna and I sat in the theater after Slumdog Millionaire. Tears streamed down my face. Anna stood up at the start of the credits. I saw the star crossed lovers stand between the trains. I saw the chorus line up behind them. I touched her arm. Why didn't anyone tell me about this?!

They sealed the deal with a Bollywood song and dance number.

Of course I bought the soundtrack.

"I'd like to thank the Academy..."

I went to Blockbuster a couple of years ago and tried to rent a movie without knowing the title. I was one of those people.

"Hi. I'm looking for a movie with a one word title that has Mickey Rourke in it," I said to a kid in a Blockbuster shirt.

"Mickey Rourke?" the kid said to me with a puzzled face. "Um. I'm not sure that I know who that is," he said apologetically. "Brian!" he called across the store. Brian turned to look at us.

"She's looking for a one word movie that has um, Mickey Rourke?, in it," the kid said.

"Diner?" Brian suggested.

"Oh! Diner! Yeah, sorry, it's not that. I think the movie is about meth?" I said.

"Oh! That's Spun," Brian said confidently. "Mickey Rourke is brilliant in that."

Brian was of course correct about both the movie I wanted that I didn't know the name of and that Mickey Rourke was brilliant in Spun. I think that the Brians of the world should get differential pay for their vast movie knowledge. There's usually one in every movie rental store.

I saw The Wrestler last night with Bill and loved, loved, loved it. The ending was perfect. Mickey Rourke was brilliant. He's been brilliant since Diner. Someone should give him an award or something. Mostly I am just happy with a Hollywood movie that doesn't have a Hollywood ending. There should be an award for that, too. And while we're handing out awards, we should award the movie rental place employees of the world who figure out what movie people want when they don't even know the title.

"I had a happy childhood..."

I found myself face to face with Super Intense Mom at the Pinewood Derby. While she and I continue to be cordial to one another, we really have not spoken since the Scrapbook Standoff of 2005 when my child and I did not participate in her end of year classroom project for the teacher. She likes to make things a Really Big Deal and she thinks I am a slacker. (And really, if I am such a slacker? Then why do we keep showing up at the same events with our kids, huh?)

The father of Frank's best friend was talking with Super Intense Mom. He asked me about Frank's car and we commiserated on the problem of waiting until the last day to adjust the wheel alignment while Super Intense Mom clucked her tongue and chimed in with their Pinewood Derby building schedule which includes months of preparation. Frank brought his Joba car from last year and the boys were playing with it on the floor.

"I don't even know where last year's car is," the father commented.

"Under a tree in the back yard?" I suggested.

The father laughed. Super Intense Mom looked like someone poked her.

"That's why you need plastic shoe boxes so you can label them 'Pinewood Derby 2008', etc.," she said.

And then the father and I looked at each other like someone poked us.

Parents try really hard to ensure that their kids have a "happy childhood." There are lots of approaches to that goal. I watch the parents around me at kid events and feel the energy put into someone else's childhood. You can almost see the parent willing, remember this. And then there are the parents obsessed with preserving childhood by stockpiling pinewood derby cars in plastic boxes in the basement. Will they remember? What will they remember?

Frank's Boy Scout Den is pretty close. These boys go to school together and play sports together and play outside of organized activities together. They have been friends since kindergarten. In between heats, the boys were playing in the church gym, and Chris got a cut on his head and went home. The other boys in the Den got together and agreed to give Chris the "Best in Show" award which goes to best design. Chris' car was not the Best in Show - there were clearly other cars with better designs. Most notably, there was a space shuttle which was pretty amazing looking. I thought the space shuttle was the clear winner. I didn't know what happened until one of the other dads told me. After the Derby, the Den Leader took the Best in Show award to Chris. Chris figured out what happened, and he later went over to the space shuttle designer's house and gave him the award for Best in Show. (The parents exchanged emails, which is how I learned of all of this.)

When I told Frank what happened he smiled and kind of shrugged.

"That's pretty cool," I said.

"Yeah," Frank said. "We wanted Chris to have it, but the space shuttle was the coolest car."

"I think you guys are the coolest kids," I said.

There are lots and lots and lots of ways to parent. And who knows what the kids will remember from any of this. I am a mean and vindictive person (and I still have not gotten over the drama of the scrapbook) so I don't think that a kid will cherish the created memory of the car in the plastic box. I bet he remembers his friend's bloody head, though. Or maybe the giant licorice from the snack bar? Or maybe none of it? Slacker Mom believes that true childhood memories come from the interaction of friends and the creation of a sense of the world that includes compassion but also reality.

We are all good parents. We are all doing it right. The behavior of our children proves that. Their compassion and practicality proves that. I should take a lesson or two from our kids and get over myself so I can talk to Super Intense Mom and share with her my revelation.

Do Your Best

Frank's Pinewood Derby Car designs become more complex every year. This year we got some assistance from a neighbor with a woodshop who helped Frank make the cuts in the front of the car. The middle is also cut out and there are electronic items glued all over the car for fun. The "headlights" are old ear phones. The car is designed for speed. The weight is all in the back. The front is hollowed out to allow him to add weight in the back. We baked the wood to remove all the moisture. We labored over the axels and wheels to reduce friction. Frank wanted a speed trophy.

And then his mom broke his car. The narrow part in front snapped when I tried to adjust the wheel alignment. And it all happened the night of the check in for the Derby. Frank's Scout Leader helped us epoxy it together and we propped it up to dry. You can see the small piece of duct tape over the repair.

Frank stayed calm during the crisis. We weren't sure his car could be repaired and it couldn't race unless it had four wheels. He helped fix the car and we made it in under the wire for check in. The next day we anxiously awaited the first race and Frank and I high fived each other as the car went across the Finish Line. It finished 4th out of 6 cars in that heat. Frank could not have been happier. He spent the day with his friends and celebrated their speed victories and his own car's ability to at least race, if not win.

In previous years Frank won a trophy for speed. Last year he won a trophy for design / Best in Show for his Joba Chamberlain car (white with blue pinstripes and a picture of Joba on it). This year he won two trophies.



Frank's den leader chose him as the winner of the "Do Your Best" award for the Webelos I Den. The "Do Your Best" award is the award for the boy who showed the best sportsmanship. The other Dens got their awards, and then they announced the overall winners for Speed and Best in Show and "Do Your Best." The den leaders chose Frank as the winner of the "Do Your Best" award for the Pack.

Sometimes the nice guys finish first. And sometimes they just do their best. It's nice that sometimes they get trophies.

The Day the Music Died

We visited the Buddy Holly museum in Lubbock one year and Anna was drawn to a picture on the wall.

"Who's that?!" she asked with excitement. I turned and looked at the dreamy expression as she looked at his face.

"That's Elvis, honey," I said.


This look? Spans time. Elvis is sexy to teen girls no matter the year. I now understand why parents reacted to Elvis the way they did. It wasn't him or the music, it was the way their teenaged girls looked at him. This is a boy that would make you lie to your mother, if that's what it took.

It's ironic to me that Anna is in the musical "Bye, Bye, Birdie" (the rock star character Birdie is based on Elvis).

We had drama tonight and it was about a boy, of course. And it makes me crazy. Or her crazy. Us crazy.

I don't even want to go into it all. "What are you going to do? Blog this?!" Anna said at one point in our argument. Kids these days think they know everything.

It's the anniversary of Buddy Holly's death on February 3rd. I tried to take the kids to the crash site in an Iowa corn field one summer on our way to Minnesota, but I couldn't find it and the kids were hot and annoyed, and we drove on.

Buddy Holly's generation was the first generation of teenagers - the teen aged culture with its crazy rock and roll records. Teenagers exhaust me. I do love the music, but the drama I could do without.

Rave on, man.