Ryan Getting Happy

Taurus Horoscope for 5/30/09: Today's the day to revive tht blog you've been ignoring! Try writing about something you love, like a movie you have just seen. It's therapeutic!

So here we go.

There’s a moment in Jonathan Demme’s Rachel Getting Married in which, after Rachel’s wedding, the enormous cavalcade of multiracial guests convene under a bejewled tent dressed in such a variety of garb ranging from traditional Indian saris to Hawaiian shirts to tuxedos, thrusting and grinding in pure ecstasy to the beats of rave music blaring in the background, eyes closed and hands in the air, reminiscent of the infamous orgy scene from the stellar Matrix:Reloaded (note: sarcasm).

It is in the moment that, for the first time in the hour and 31 minutes of this movie, I thought, “Wow. This is not a typical wedding.”

It was in this realization that I recognized how unconventional every little thing in this move is, from the best man humping the shit out of the soon-to-be maid of honor to the electric guitar cover of “Here Comes the Bride” to the presence of Tamyra Gray (whyyy?); and yet, I bought it all.


I think it is in the realism that this movie soars. Anne Hathaway, playing Kym, the sister of the title character, is FUCKED up… like, homegirl is straight JACKED. And yet, Hathaway’s absolutely incredible acting (Best female performance of last year, IMO) forces – scratch that- compels, even challenges the audience to feel compassion for her. In the aforementioned humping-the-shit out (in?) scene, one would expect Kym to be reeking of desperation (this violent act appears mere seconds after Kym exits an AA meeting, where she met Kieran, the humper); this was not the case. In the post-ejaculatory bliss, Kym bathes in not defeat but rather, success. It is the first (maybe the only?) time we see her confident.

Fast -forward about 25 minutes: Kym is at another AA meeting; it is her turn to share. He tells the story of when one day, while high as a kite, she (SPOILER!) accidentally kills her baby brother by driving her car over a bridge and drowning him. She ends her confession with:

And I struggle with God so much, because I can't forgive myself. And I don't really want to right now. I can live with it, but I can't forgive myself. And sometimes I don't want to believe in a God that could forgive me. But I do want to be sober. I'm alive and I'm present and there's nothing controlling me. If I hurt someone, I hurt someone. I can apologize, and they can forgive me... or not. But I can change. And I just wanted to share that and say congratulations that God makes you look up, I'm so happy for you, but if he doesn't, come here. That's all. Thank you.

I’m sorry, that is just brilliant writing.

But in the wrong hands, it could have fallen flat. Hathaway fucking soars. The pain in her eyes delivers more agony than the words she says. She could have been silent the whole movie and still been better than Kate Winslet in The Reader (don’t shoot me just yet). Lets just say homegirl has come a long way since Genovia (lol I almost typed Anatevka).

LOOK AT HER GO. Damnnnn.

Not to say that isn’t as good when she does speak. She elevates already pristine writing to pure emotional, heart-stringing gold. Even in scenes where emotion wouldn’t necessarily be expected (see: cake cutting scene) the tears flow, and whatever’s going on elsewhere, the dialogue, the facial expression, whatever, we feel either the immense, genuine pain of this addict or the relief from finding pure joy in something so simple, so real. Homegirl is fucked up, yet she gains our sympathy. When she tells about how she lies in rehab, we don’t necessarily forgive it but we accept it.

SLAP.

When she says, “You don’t get to sit around for the rest of my life deciding what I’m supposed to be like.” Ugh.

And Hathaway is not alone: she is in the company of 3 other amazing performers, Bill Irwin playing the heart and soul of the movie, Kym and Rachel’s loving father, who perfectly balances love for his children with the struggle (refusal?) of accepting that Kym is not quite as sane as is older daughter; Rosemarie DeWitt, as the title character, who simultaneously loves and hates her sister and both loves and hates to love and hate her (whoahhh, whaat?). The range of feelings she not only voluntarily chooses to express to her sister but also the ones that she not so subtly represses reveal how much DeWitt understands this character, and what incredible control she has over her. Finally, Debra Winger is just incredible in the slapping scene. ‘Nuff said.

But outside of all this jargon that really makes no sense, the movie is just feel good, whether intentionally or not. The problem I have with most character studies are their desire to wrap things all up in this tidy little package, forcing their characters to move this way or that and luring them to arrive at neat, tidy endings with little or nothing gained (see: The Wrestler). Rachel Getting Married has no interest in forcing convenience. The awkward moments are AWKWARD. The touching moments are TOUCHING. The painful moments are damn PAINFUL. And yet, it never once felt forced. Skanky Brazilian ladies danced through a crowded wedding party as a tearful Kym released a lighted lantern-boat into a swimming pool and it didn’t feel unusual. The family is obviously dysfunctional but the dysfunction came so naturally that it took me awhile to realize that this family is in fact different than my own.

And that is why I liked the movie so much. Because it felt so real. It harmonized pain and joy so effortlessly. And if this family can find joy through all their ridiculousness, why can’t mine? This movie is full of freaks but we not only enjoy being their company but absolutely love it. And that “Heaven” line was just adorable.

Whatever.

A-

In other news:
1. I’m sorry I haven’t updated this.
2. I will try my best to update this more.
3. I am finally home from Italy, and as much as I love and miss it, it is so good to be home.
4. Matt Doyle Bye Bye Birdie Whaaaaaaa?

5 more weeks.

Allora.

When in Africa...

I hate these retarded keyboards.

Where are my keys, I lost my camera

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Arrivederci!

OK! I am off on my week and a half long Spring Break. I will be either in Pisa, Porto, Lisbon, Madrid, Casablanca, Marrakech, Barcelona, Venice, or Rome. So expect to not recieve any updates till I get back (not that there were very many anyways). But I PROMISE i will write and journal so I'll have something to throw on here when I get back. If you need to reach me please call, all my contact info is on my Facebook.

Until then, here's a little present of our current excursions, at the Florence chocolate fair in San Marco. ARRIVEDERCI!

Milano, more than just a cookie

Milano cookies are incomparable. I bite into one of those delicious little things and I am immediately reminded of cuddling into bed and pulling a bag out of my pillowcase and... well, thats too much information. And wow, I'm a fucking fat ass.

Milan the city is equally scrumptious, only a tad more wet and rainy. Imagine if Florence and New York both got incredibly disgustingly drunk one right and had painful, regrettable unprotected sex (for the purposes of the story, New York is male and Florence is female). They create a baby and try numerous ways to abort it to no avail (Florence pulls a Kate Winslet without, you know... dying.) Out pops Milan, a nice hybrid of the old school beauty of Florence and a hustle-and-bustle of New York City, without quite being either.

Our Hostel was a nice little place, complete with kitten bedspread, a bide (sp?) without an adjacent toilet, a bunny-ear television, and a life-size porcelin Snow Leopard. (We would soon find out that Milan is not the city of lights or shopping but rather of quite large porcelin creatures) Little did we know that the Snow Leopard would be one of the highlights of our visit (our visit was by no means bad but the Snow Leopard was just that fucking amazing).

And so our Milanese journey began. In Centro was the Duomo which, to be honest, kicked the sweet little ass of Florence's duomo. It was not only huge but incredibly ornate... After an incredibly long hike, we were treated to the roof of one of the most beautiful Catholic structures I have seen in my life. Statues of saints every two steps, pillars, marble... Words cannot describe, not even rain could dampen this sight. Definitely one of the highlights of my trip abroad so far. (also there was a billboard of our dear friend ScarJo)

Then we got hunted down by African imports trying to sell us bracelets. They do a silly little thing where they run up to you, shove seed in your hand, and wait until the birds come and ravage you. Then expect you to give them money. Yeah right, I will not pay you to get shat on so you can buy your wives in your home country fare from the Amistad.

What else? We went to this huge castle with like, 40 million museums. While they were all interesting in their own ways, one particular highlight was the enormous porcelin crab. Once again, the procelin animals reveal themselves.

That night, we went to the best resturaunt ever in the entire world. 4 euro Margherita pizza with no cover charge. Success. Food in general was just wonderful in Milan. We also went to a bakery that had CHOCOLATE CHIP MUFFINS that you had to eat with a spoon! What a concept.

Yes, Milano was fabulous. It was like cramming two together and making a super Milano sandwich... yes, I am a fatass.

This was written two weeks ago.

Ok, I haven’t updated this in a while, I know… But I have an excuse. I usually do these blogs in Accounting class (the most boring class in the history of the universe) and I haven’t had the class in two weeks. But now I’m here. And you’d think I should be paying attention, because I have my first midterm in this class (already?) next week. And I’m gonna fail. Stupid Stern curve. Anways, Venice…

Hold on. Pause: No one in our class understands anything and we’re all going to fail the test so I may need to pay attention if only for a bit…

A couple weekends ago, Jess and I took a wonderful trek to Venezia, Italia. It was the perfect day for the perfect city: as soon as I steppe off the train I knew I’d fall in love with it. I was born and raised a mere 2 minute walk from the Pacific Ocean, and I could see it from my bedroom window. I’ve always been obsessed with water: I love streams through forests and rivers through canyons and sunsets on beaches.

And I think that’s why I loved Venice so much—no streets, just canals running through the city, with boats replacing cars and bridges replacing crosswalks. Instead of tripping and falling off a sidewalk into the street, you ran the risk of plummeting into a huge body of water with no form of barricade protecting you.

As I said earlier, the day we got to Venice was probably the most gorgeous day I’ve seen so far in Italy. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, the weather was a perfect 65 degrees F, and the sun was almost setting, reflecting a gorgeous orange on the faces of all the surrounding bodies of water. The walk from the train station to our hostel was about 30 minutes (contrary to the directions they gave us, which said it was 15), but it really was a great walk, and the more of the city I saw the more I fell in love with it. Bridges, gondolas, and cobblestone paths merged perfectly with Lush and McDonalds; Little shops and stands selling souvenirs stood perfectly situated outside of The Disney Store and United Colors. There was even a huge, old style church that had “Ad Majorem Dei Gloriam” etched across it’s front; the first Jesuit anything I’ve seen in an extremely Catholic country. It was, honestly, extremely exciting.

After our 30 minute self-touring of the city, we finally got to our Hostel, called The Venice Museum, which was a lot like a museum: busts on the wall, huge paintings abound, and ornate vases and tables everywhere. We met up with dear Holley and Brooks, who came down to Prague for Jess’s birthday, and walked around the city even more.

The first memorable locale in which we found ourselves was at the Ponte Rialto, the Rialto bridge. It sits above a primary river, and because the day was absolutely gorgeous it was quite a sight to behold. Gondolas going up and down the river against a postcard backdrop…. Beautiful.

Then everything is a haze, because it happened like a month ago. DAMN this stupid blog! But we went into this gorgeous palace, which is where my newfound love for ceilings originated. That palace whose name slips my mind is definitely one of the highlights of Venice… what is it called? The Doge Palace? Anyways, it was beautiful. I believe a masquerade ball in its main hall is in order, ala Gossip Girl.

Another highlight was the main cathedral, Catedrale San Marco.