Fourth of July movies, part 3

Continuing from my previous list, just in time for July 4th of 2004. Once again, these are cataloged in no particular order, and I'm not even sure my numbering (sequencing) is consistent with my last installment.

6. Return of the Jedi (1983). Even though this is the sequel with the cutesy teddy-bear like Ewoks, there are also some terrific sequences involving speeder bikes in the woods and Princess Leia as a hostage. It's also the movie where the idea of Star Wars as a metaphor for American independence (vs. the imperial British and/or fascist Nazis, take your pick) becomes most obviously revealed. Toward the end of the movie, the Ewoks and the other rebels celebrate their independence through fireworks and revelry. There's also a shot of the three Jedi spirit-ghosts (Obi-Wan, Yoda, and Anakin) standing by in silent reverence, the senior guard guarding over the renewed spirit of independence and self-reliance. This shot was made ridiculous when Lucas digitally replaced the original, older actor playing Anakin beneath DarthVader's mask with a younger version of himself, as portrayed by Hayden Christensen. This is dumb for several reasons that I know have been expounded on at length on various websites through the years, the most important of which are (1) Hayden Christensen was only like 2 years old when this movie was released, and (2) the other Jedi spirits don't become any younger. (Why not replace Alec Guiness with Ewan MacGregor?) Besides being a great touchstone in the discussion about Luca's evolving "grand plan" that he continually has updated, this reminds me of the kind of Christian "lore" I used to hear as a kid, like the idea that we revert to our younger, more ideal selves if and when we get to heaven. But the image was already kind of dumb (and weirdly evangelical-like) in that Darth Vader (as Anakin) is able to step into this place of reverence and redemption after just a couple of lines of apology as he lies dying in Luke's arms. (Like, sorry about killing all those people, son, including those times I blew up entire planets or choked people with my mind.) The image reinforces that common religious idea that nobody is beyond redemption, which is OK, I suppose -- in that it allows people to still have hope and turn a corner no matter what they've done -- but that doesn't mean they should be revered and worshipped as dieties in death or that they should just be able to step into this weirdly little holy trinity of Yoda-Obi Wan-Anakin.

7 and 8. Titanic (1997) and Planet of the Apes (1968). I'm lumping these movies together because of the way they both make great use of the Statue of Liberty, albeit in very different ways. Rose admiringly gazes at the statue in the rain as the Titanic pulls into New York, and in Planet of the Apes --  well, I don't want to spoil it for anyone, even though it's more than 50 years old. The statue remains a powerful symbol for America and all its promise, so powerful that it's often used as a signifier for the destruction of those ideals, and we see it toppled over in countless disaster and action movies. In both of these movies, though, it makes you think about what America has tried to stand for (even as it often failed) and how that optimism and sense of promise is often forgotten among political and personal battles. In Titanic, especially, it reminds us of the promise made to immigrants and also to the way ships have been used as a metaphor for America generally, as we navigate troubled waters and depend on a sense of purpose to see us to safety. 

Photo of flags on Bolivar ferry. Taken using Lomo "four-square" camera, which captures four slightly different times of the same image (separated by the distances of the four lenses) to convey a sense of quick action. 

9. Glory (1989). This was the very first film I ever reviewed for a newspaper, as a kind of "try-out" piece. The newspaper published the review of the other person trying out, but they still liked mine and hired me as a reviewer. (I think this was the most mainstream movie I ever reviewed, though; after this, the paper liked to send me to weird movies like the 4-hour version of the The Mahabharata). The film may seem dated for a number of reasons, but it's still a great, stirring, action-based film with nice performances from Denzel Washington and Morgan Freeman, among others. What other people may cite as "dated" (specifically the centering of the Matthew Broderick character) is still often done in movies (in spite of filmmakers' best efforts) as a simple way to make a narrative more complex and interesting. (Instead of "just" telling the story of the black regriment, you're also telling the story of the conflicts and struggles experienced by the officers in charge.) It's still one my favorite Civil War movies, and while many films romanticize the Civil War, this one does a good job of displaying the ugliness and horror of the violence as well, reminding us (in turbulent and divisive times) that a civil war should not be something we contemplate lightly. (I remember hearing people throw the term around when Obama Care was passed (!)). 

10. The Patriot (2000). I'm sure some people criticized this movie because the two main actors (Mel Gibson and Heath Ledger) are Australian (though Gibson was born in America and retains dual Irish-American citizenship), and the film has undoubtedly been increasingly ignored as Gibson has faced backlash (appropriately so) for some of his troubling personal behaviors. However, it's a stirring and well-constructed story that, like Glory, does not romanticize the graphic horrors of war and also pays direct attention to the problem of young people too eager to serve and sacrifice (a problem that seems all too relevant in the way that young people continue to be recruited and serve -- as is said in Troy, war is when old men talk and young men die). It's the only movie listed in my July 4th list (I think) that directly concerns the war for independence, and I think it approaches the subject matter with appropriate realism even though there are streaks of patriotic reverence (a kind of American Braveheart). Also, the action sequences with Gibson's character and his tomahawk are terrific. In another way, also, it's interesting to have Australians play early "Americans," since they would have been British subjects, anyway, and not entirely evolved as Americans in the way that we may envision. 

The TV Kid

 A few years ago, in a used bookstore, I came across an old copy of a children's book called the The TV Kid by Betsy Byars. I had fond memories of reading the book in the 4th grade or so, so I bought the faded copy to take home and read again, which I didn't do it until just a few days ago. As I remembered, the story is easily summed up as follows: a lonely boy who lives with his single mother in a motel they run is bitten by a rattlesnake one day while out exploring. The boy is a fanatical TV viewer and often references TV shows and characters in his ongoing mental narrative of the events that unfold. 

Sign in Utah (my photo, 2011).

Many Gen Xers were raised by television, so to speak, and it's in fact one of the defining characteristics of what shaped our generation (this is how generations are defined, more or less). I was probably on the more severe end of this Gen X continuum, in that like Lennie (our character), I was a lonely, quiet kid and had moved more than most kids (due to my father's being transferred and my parents' divorce). Television and reruns especially (also a favorite of Lennie's, as he references shows like The Brady Bunch and Bonanza) provided a kind of solace and refuge, and there wasn't much quite like the feeling of settling into thick carpet with a glass of Coke to watch reruns on afternoon TV as a way to assuage feelings of loneliness and being out of place (and spectacularly bad at sports). 

Lennie's story thoughtfully takes us to a place where the hero realizes, in the aftermath of his snakebite, the falseness of television and the reality of the people around him and even, appropriately so for a book with older elementary readers as its target audience, the value of reading and education. He writes a report about his snakebite experience and learns to apprepriate the people around him, including the visitors to his motel and a new policeman friend. There are a few striking, even heartbreaking lines in this book, a minor novel from a writer known for other works, including Lennie's thought that he sometimes thinks maybe he "needs to take acting lessons on how to be a person."

Lennie's realization about TV is all well and good for a story (and the snakebite as an awakening agent of change or epiphany is a nice, 4th-grade-level metaphor), though it's perhaps too obvious to point out the irony of this message being revealed through yet another kind of storytelling. It was a standard 1960s-80s perspective to denigrate the value of television, however, so this kind of meaning-making is expected. For me, though, it's important to restate that just as the "real world" exists online even as we insist it is only found elsewhere, television has historically served as more than just a medium for unhelpful advertising and cheesy, worthless entertainment. At its best (even before the so-called golden era of streaming television), it was a valuable medium for communal storytelling with important series like Roots but also with less important sitcoms like The Brady Bunch that helped to bring people together while providing a common set of images and references. 

For me, though it's painful to think about and reveal, television provided an escape but also a salve for my young loneliness, and I still have positive (though not entirely pleasant) memories of eating macroni and cheese while watching reruns of old Planet of the Apes movies that would show on Friday night television. I still like television, though an old book like the The TV Kid (and other books) probably does more to help me with loneliness these days. So I pass this old book along, though I wonder what a modern young reader would make of the dated TV references.

One side note on this book: Lennie conjures an imaginary set of TV commercials in his head for a product called "Friend," a life-size doll companion for lonely kids. This is meant to be rather sad and pathetic (and it is), though it also foreshadows the introduction of the My Buddy dolls in the 1980s (which in turn weirdly provided part of the inspiration for the Chuck movies). Byars and the My Buddy dolls rightly hit on a growing sense of loneliness among male children especially, perhaps, which has in turn grown into an ongoing discussion of male loneliness in general, still with us.