MILLION DOLLAR BABY - REVISITED AND EXAMINED

My Toronto friend and extraordinary cinephile Ambrose Roche recently responded to one of my blogs saying something to the effect that unexaminable films are more depressing than the downbeat films that seem to lure both of us to certain non-escapist fare.

Having just seen the striking and startling Korean film OLDBOY, I chose not to go to one of the four film community events going on last Thursday night (the premiere of FUNNY HA HA and the screenwriting talk by Laura Bernieri and Vinca Jarrett among them) where one would have to be positive and do the obligatory networking. Instead, I went with an old friend to see again Clint Eastwood's MILLION DOLLAR BABY, at a two screen theatre in a town where the streets are dead at 9pm, and no film starts after 7pm on a weeknight. No networking there. (At least the theatre serves beer and wine at the concession stand)

The film holds up. Hilary Swank's performance was even more impressive in its range and intensity. I had hoped that Morgan Freeman's voice over narration would more closely cohere as a letter to Eastwood's long absent daughter, the scene that closes the film, than it did, but it was affecting anyway And I was not bothered by Swank's cartoonish trailer trash family. But it was Eastwood's performance that stood out. His face, often filmed in close up, etched with lines and shot in patterns of light and shade, his character, with a history of having made questionable life choices, was a model for someone who is examining his life at the end. Not just for the character, but for the actor and director, who probed moral depths in both UNFORGIVEN and MYSTIC RIVER.

There are, as always, with 7 -a dozen films opening every Friday, lots of films to see. But the satisfaction of seeing a film again, one which examines life, both as a story, and, I think, one in which the director/actor is also examining himself, one which, in its cinematic complexity is worth examining, and one which, ultimately, forces us to examine ourselves, beats the experience of seeing the truly depressing feel good escapist films that dominate the screens.

So, my friend Ambrose thinks I ought to see TURTLES CAN FLY. I'll try, for it seems to be having a longer screen life than the brilliant but short-lived OLDBOY