Written & Directed by Mike Mills / Release: June 3, 2011 / R, 105 min
When Richard Sánchez, a.k.a. the Creator of this space, asked me offered me the chance to drop my artsy-ricardsy critiques and impressions in a corner of his site – more exactly, where any dog would kindly pee — I said, “Ok. But no smartass reviews.”
I’ve known Richard for at least five years, quite indirectly, just a computerized and highly caffeinated version – or else where does he get all his acid humor? I met him through another Verbose Alchemist who also marks his territory in the corners of this page, the Muñoz Melancholia – much more apocalyptic than Lars Von Trier’s (do call on Mario whenever you find yourself too annoyingly cheerful).
But yes, oh bla, you know, it’s how they talk, these complicated, thirsty creatures, living inside us, sniffing on words like e-cocaine (or oxygen, I don’t do drugs). Always in want, always in need, in high demand for content and fingers pointing at the moon, because no one can see the moon.
By the time we finished our conversation, both Richard and I had forgotten the subject (Smartass reviews? Isn’t that this website’s specialty?). Then he said something about adjusting his cravat. What kind of guy says Cravat? What kind of a vampire wears one? He seemed almost relieved that I wasn’t up for this verbicidal science.
The way I see it, Sophasstication could be defined as a movie critic sitting on a donut. By the time you’re done reading, not only are you willing to move to another city where the movie just reviewed is not playing; but you also wake up in the middle of the night with increased palpitations, sweating and swearing you’ll start eating healthy from now on.
Once the limits were set and our wordpress pre-marriage agreement signed, Richard had nothing else to do but pick up his dictionary from when English-Used-to-Be-a-Language and continue to memorize large passages for fun.
So with this first post, I am officially In and infamously Harsh under disturbing Light; unless it’s cloudy, in which case I’d say, forget about all this, it doesn’t matter, let’s just stay home, make tea, you’re freezing, let’s start over, maybe some popcorn (no butter, please, I’m vegan), let us decide if anything could be rewritten, put on some thick socks, darling, watch Beginners.
Don’t watch beginners if:
Your heart hasn’t yet been terribly broken (disfigured, destroyed, cannibalized).
You don’t want to fall in love with Ewan McGregor (again). Gay or hetero. That’s right.
You don’t want to know what the sky looked like, the clouds, the people, the cars, and who the president was in 1955, and in 2003, and once again, in 2011.
You are predictable or well-adjusted.
You hate the cutest dog in canine history.
You are immortal.
You are deliberately plotting against one of the most heartfelt and delightful soundtracks* ever recorded after Amélie.
Your existence on this planet is threatened by wit and by the atrocious Vs.
You don’t like quotable scripts. And when I say quotable I mean quotes that do not lead to tacky constipation or vulgar inflammation.
You are disturbed by the thought of an independent filmmaker breathing deeply over your lonely neck.
You don’t want to share a mental blanket and a sensory couch with me.
You’re too cool for sex, life, healing, nature, magic…
In other words, like all memorable films, you need to watch Beginners for this one and only reason: