Category: Uncategorized

I’ve always had very particular beliefs about what makes a romance movie work. The problem with many romantic arcs, both in movies and on TV, is that the characters are given no time to breathe, to authentically develop their chemistry and learn why they are in love with each other. My favorite romances tend to feature lots of dialogue, lots of cutesy flirting and just normal conversation. My favorite romance movie ever is “Before Sunrise,” a movie completely turned over to one long conversation. I want to see the characters get to know each other. I don’t want the show to just assume we’re invested in the romance because we’re supposed to be.

But “Carol” violates most of my notions of what a romance should be, and it’s still a great romance film. There isn’t much dialogue; Carol and Therese’s connection isn’t completely obvious based on what they say to each other. Most of my favorite romance movies are rom-coms, because when the characters are funny—especially with each other—it becomes so much easier to be invested in them. But “Carol” is very low on laughs, not quite dour, but serious.

Everything plays out with little visual and auditory hints. A hand brushing another, lingering briefly before dropping. Many, many long stares, full of unspeakable passion. All the sound in the room being sucked away, only silence and another woman’s face, smiling in slow motion. As A.O. Scott said, it’s “a symphony of angles and glances, of colors and shadows.”

Film critic Ignatiy Vishnevetsky, when talking about “Carol,” said that it’s easier for him to intellectually appreciate director Todd Haynes’s movies than to really love them, really feel for the characters. I can empathize with this point of view; while I really enjoyed “Carol,” I’m not sure I’d say I love it. It never really reaches the emotional highs for me that “Brooklyn” did this year, for example. There is a certain muted quality to it that created a slight distance for me—I never really came close to crying, for example. I got the sense that this was a movie concerned more with immersive details than go-for-broke melodramatic tear-jerking moments. In fact, I suspect it might be more affecting upon a second watch, when you can really sink into the immersive scenes even more. Still, I think it’s way too far to call the film ‘cold’ or ‘clinical,’ two words I’ve seen thrown around a bit.

Because “Carol” is so restrained, though, it results in some really powerful moments once the characters really express their feelings. In a movie with little dialogue that blatantly states the character’s feelings, Carol’s early musing that Therese is “flung from space” is surprisingly honest, concisely illustrating the awe and surprise Carol feels at this strange, beautiful new woman in her life.

And the visual aesthetic makes it possible for the few truly affecting scenes to sneak up on you and hit you hard. The grainy film fits with the period setting perfectly, and it seems to suit whatever emotion the characters are feeling; when Therese is sad, the shimmering film feels unstable, almost suggesting the blur of tears, but when she feels happy and horny and enamored, the lights seem to glow warm and the grain seems to simulate the dizzy fervor of falling in love. The escalation of Therese and Carol’s sexual tension is tangible; by the time they’re trying on makeup together, it’s almost unbearable.

It must be said that much of the success of the movie, aside from Haynes’s perfect direction, lies in the performances of Rooney Mara and Cate Blanchett. Blanchett has proven her talent countless times by now, but it really is difficult to see anyone else in the role. She just brings this instant captivatingly seductive quality to the screen. Mara, too, is amazing—she probably won’t get as much attention (I hate the idea that they’re campaigning for a Supporting Actress nomination for the Oscars), but she’s so perfect at achieving this very specific kind of balance. On the one hand, she’s kind of the inactive protagonist character—not a bland role, per se, but the one with less of a dominating, flashy personality. She’s awkward and embarrassed and still figuring out herself. She pulls the role off great with adorable little touches. The whole scene in at lunch, you can see Therese so nervous and desperate to impress Carol, and Mara’s expressions are perfect. She balances that more traditional role, though, with a very specific kind of attractiveness that naturally appeals to Carol; Mara’s face has this mysterious elfin quality that recalls that same alien image mentioned earlier (maybe the same reason she was chosen for “The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo” and “Side Effects”).

In the hands of Blanchett and Mara, the inevitable sex scene feels truly cathartic, erotic and dreamlike in a way that feels different from most movies, even with Blanchett’s lack of nudity and the relatively short length. It’s magical from the very beginning, when Carol slowly unravels her robe while standing behind Therese, another moment that seems huge just because of how understated the film is. And the sex scene itself has a quality of relief to it, charged with passion and sexiness but layered over with that same silky, warm, borderline-surreal quality that the grainy film has helped create throughout the movie. The upside-down shots of them kissing only underscore that feeling.

Finally, there’s the last sequence, when the narrative returns to its starting point: Therese and Carol eating dinner together. At first, I was a little skeptical of the use of a framing device in this type of understated romantic drama, but I began to appreciate it once I realized its use. The first time we saw the scene, it didn’t seem like a very critical scene; Therese and Carol were eating dinner together, then Carol left early so Therese could hang out with her friends. You could tell there were some conflicted feelings going on, but it didn’t feel crucial. Now we watch again, with Therese and Carol seeing each other for the first time in a long time, and we see how far the dynamics have shifted. Carol is the vulnerable one here, obliviously asking Therese to move in with her despite all that has changed between them. And Therese, though this clearly means a lot to her, is hardened to it all. Carol was such an enigmatic figure of power at the beginning, instantly commanding the attention of both Therese and the audience, but now, Therese stares right back at her, full of hurt but more confident, resolved to do what’s best for herself.

And then Carol says, “I love you.”

It’s possibly the most powerful moment in the whole film, what all this was building towards. What struck me the most, though, weren’t the words, though they were clearly essential to the scene, essential the sense of catharsis after two hours of searching for the words and failing. What struck me the most was the moment that lingered after. Silence. It stretches on, maybe only a couple seconds, but it feels like infinity. I wish I could re-watch the scene, because I might be remembering something that wasn’t there, but everything felt like it was shimmering—once again, everything else disappears but Carol, the only sound this kind of entrancing, subtle vibration.

And then the man from the opening scene calls, “Therese?” And you know it’s coming, because you remember that first scene, but it still feels like everything is suddenly vaporized and gone, like you’re lying in a bed with your eyes closed and listening to your iPod playing your favorite song and filling you up from every angle of the universe, and then someone yanks your earphones out. Startling. Shattering.

The scenes that follow maintain that power. Therese goes to a party, but she’s distracted. And then, of course, she goes to meet Carol, like she must. She crosses the room towards Carol’s table, and once again there’s that woozy dreamlike feeling. The camera is showing you Therese’s point of view, like the very first time she looked across the department store and saw Carol. You’re moving through the restaurant as if in a daze, with people all around you but all equally insignificant. Your vision is blurred, focused only on the one thing that you need on the other side, and you feel both like you’re moving far too fast, approaching this terrifying and beautiful thing at an alarming rate, and like you’re moving through molasses, never able to get there quick enough.

But then Carol raises her head, just an inch, only just enough to catch your eye. She looks up at you, and her eyes slowly, slowly, slowly crinkle, her lips slowly, slowly, slowly curl into a smile.

It’s subtle. It’s restrained. It’s a little withholding. But it’s beautiful. It’s “Carol.”

This episode contains a relatively simple mystery, but with a complex twist ending that some may find to be too coincidental. The real stars of this episode, though, is the further development of Ned’s and Chuck’s relationship and the continuing adventures of Olive with Chuck’s secret.

Summary:

We start another episode with a flashback to Ned’s childhood at the boarding school. This trend is becoming interesting as we are learning that this season is really focused on Ned’s life and his development as a character (as well as Chuck’s since we often flashback to her life as well). This will be in contrast to season two (when we get there) as that season seems much more broad with its on characters and closer to Olives journey, rather than Ned’s. I wonder how the show would’ve progressed and if each character would’ve gotten their own season (Emerson’s probably being the third season’s character arc).

Back to the flashback, we see Ned alone at school and Digby back at the house, also alone. This prompts Digby to run away to attempt to find Ned, which he eventually does. The meeting is bittersweet, though, as both remember that they can’t touch. This scene mirrors the present day as Digby’s vow to never leave Ned’s side, even with the drawbacks, represents the various relationships in the show. This is in direct reference to Olive’s dedication to Ned, Ned’s dedication to Chuck, and Chuck’s dedication to her aunts.

We then transition to the Pie Hole where Ned nearly catches Chuck making her mood-enhancing pies for her aunts. This leads to Chuck to ponder “the little things” like if her recently more extravagant dreams are due to her status as formerly dead, or if bee’s honey will taste different if they were also brought back to life. At this point, Ned reveals a gift to Chuck. On the rooftop, Ned has created a new bee hive for Chuck to care for, knowing that she missed her life back home.

We also see Olive’s internal thoughts in a new scene as she ponders about her feelings towards Ned and wonders what she should do now that she know’s Chuck’s secret. While grabbing Chuck’s pie to deliver to the aunts, a pigeon flies into the window, distracting all of our main characters. While arguing outside, Ned accidentally reawakens the bird, and is unable to touch it again. This causes another bird to fall out of the sky. The group (Ned, Chuck, Olive, and Emerson) look towards the sky, just as a cropduster flies into a nearby apartment complex.

Emerson, looking for another opportunity for cash, and Ned and Chuck go to the apartment complex to assess the situation. Here, Chuck shows off her law knowledge by explaining to Ned that there could be a lot of money involved in the accident. During this time, she trips and, Ned being unable to catch, she falls into the arms of Conrad Finch, the strapping owner of the apartment. Chuck stays behind with Conrad, while Ned and Emerson head to the morgue.

At the morgue, we run into the body of pilot and learn of his past through narration. We also get to see Ned’s jealous side as he is concerned about not being able to catch Chuck and her staying behind with Conrad. Ned reawakens the pilot and learns that he was actually hijacked by an escaped convict. He reassures the wife of the pilot that it was not a suicide.

After this, we cut back to Olive and her delivery of the pie to Chuck’s aunts, along with the pigeon that flew into the window, hoping that the aunts could help. We learn that the pigeon is actually a carrier pigeon with a message and Olive becomes determined to fix up the pigeon so that it could deliver the message. She also tries to convince the aunts to go to the Pie Hole afterwards to try and expose Chuck’s secret.

Emerson and Ned arrive back at the apartment, with Ned immediately noticing an off-putting smell. He moves over to the trunk serving as a coffee table and open it. Inside is a dead body, who we come to learn in the actual Conrad Finch. The impersonator was the hijacker.

We travel back to the Pie Hole, where Chuck is sharing Pie with the unknown hijacker. During their conversation, Chuck reveals that she finds a kind of thrill in her new life. She can discard the parts of herself that she did not like and maintain the parts that she did. While revealing this part of herself, the fake Conrad takes her hand. Chuck, enamored with the new physical intimacy, asks him to continue. She closes her eyes and pretend it is Ned’s hand that she is holding.

Chuck is reawakened by a slam on the window and finds Ned there, glaring at them. Conrad makes a break for it through the kitchen. Ned almost catches him, but loses him after his prosthetic arm comes off in his hands. After this ordeal, Emerson comes back with knowledge about the hijacker. We learn that he is actually a whit-collar crook who was arrested for insider trading. He shared a cell with a diamond thief who nicknamed him Lefty Lem (for his missing left arm). Lem’s cellmate died with his treasure still hidden and the trio goes to his grave site to find more information.

At the graveyard, the trio digs up the dead body of Lem’s cell mate. We learn that the diamonds are still under the stairs of a retired windmill. The trio decides to go investigate, believing that Lem is also looking for these missing diamonds.

Back at the aunt’s house, Olive helps Lily and Vivien to create a prosthetic wing for the bird, which they have affectionately nicknamed Pidge. The aunts continue to lament to Olive about how much they miss Chuck and this only furthers Olive’s determination to reveal her secret to them. During an aside, Olive tries to convince Vivien to open Pidge’s message and read it, but she refuses, alluding to an event in their past where Vivien read a message she shouldn’t have and Lily never forgave her for it.

After the production of the prosthetic wing, Pidge flies out the window without its message. The aunts and Olive chase after it trying to deliver the message. We find that they are actually heading to the same windmill as Lem and the trio of investigators. We cut to the car containing Ned, Chuck, Emerson while Ned and Chuck are discussing their relationship problems. Chuck find Ned to be too jealous and misses the physical intimacy that usually comes with a relationship, whereas Ned is concerned about Chuck’s romantic interaction with Lem.

Unfortunately, Lem makes it to the windmill before either of the two cars and finds a woman there. Bored, she allows the stranger into her house and becomes his hostage. The two share some romantic banter (while she is tied to a chair) before the car containing Olive and the aunts arrives with Pidge.

During an unusually cordial tea time, we learn that Pidge has actually been sending messages between Lem and the woman in the windmill all along. We then flashback to learn how this is true. We learn that Lem’s old cellmate actually met the original owner of the windmill while hiding his jewels and the two fell in love at first sight. After getting captured, the two sent messages to eachother through the carrier pigeon. Both of them died and they ensured that the other would continue to get messages so as to not break their partners hearts. Lem was trusted to keep sending messages to the owner of the windmill and the owner asked her daughter to keep sending messages to the convict. After the flashback we learn that the woman actually had the diamonds hidden in her prosthetic leg the entire time.

The group suddenly gets interrupted by a knock at the door. Olive looks through the peephole and finds Chuck, along with the others there. She goes to open the door to reveal the secret, but think backs on her time with the aunts. She realizes that they shouldn’t go through more trauma and warns Chuck so that she can remain hidden. Olive sneaks the aunts out the back and drive off, though Lily catches a glimpse of Chuck through the rear-view mirror.

In the end, the trio catch Lem and turn him over to the police. Lem and the windmill lady continue to write and Olive tries to console the dead pilots wife their new found information.

Pros:

-There is some much needed depth added to the relationship between Ned and Chuck

-Olive’s softening to Chuck at the end helps to make the character more likable. We get to see a more compassionate side to her and her relationship with the aunts is touching.

-The relationship between Lem and the woman in the windmill is well executed and well acted, if a bit coincidental.

-Aunt Vivien’s allusion to a mysterious note helps to create a larger, overarching plot thread that helps to keep the audience invested and eager for more episodes.

-Every character is imbued with the right amount of humor, especially Jayma Mays’ windmill woman.

Cons:

-The mystery was a bit lackluster, but this helped to keep the audience more focused on the character relationships.

-The pigeon plot thread seems like too big of a coincidence and may break a few watchers’ suspension of disbelief.

Overall:

This episode is a bit disappointing when compared to other episodes in the series. The mystery in not very engaging and the twisting plot thread can be a bit exhausting to watch. Especially since we are still getting necessary exposition at the very end of the episode. What saves the episode, though, is the relationships between Ned and Chuck, and Olive and the aunts. It’s great to see negative aspects to Ned and Chuck’s relationships, when in the past, any problems were solved by the end of the episode. And it is especially great to see more empathetic emotions shown by Olive. Her adventures were really the best part of the episode, from her quirky relationship to the aunts, to the wonder we see on Chuck’s face when she learns the aunts are at the windmill too. The episode was good, but could have definitely been delivered better with a deeper mystery, more delving into Olive’s plot, and better use of all of the characters.

Rating:

7/10 Daisies

I was surprised to find that the remastering in the latter two original Star Wars movies didn’t bother me nearly as much as “A New Hope.” There might be a few reasons for this; for one, these two movies clearly had a much bigger budget than the first one, so the visual effects are noticeably better, meaning the changes don’t feel as dramatic when it comes to explosion effects. Also, “The Empire Strikes Back” has barely any changes. Still, “Return of the Jedi” does have a lot of changes, more significant than any of the other movies, so it should’ve bothered me far more than “A New Hope.” I think that by this point, though, I’d gotten used to expecting changes, so it didn’t annoy me as much.

There are some changes that do bother me, though. The abominable snowman-esque wampa at the beginning of “The Empire Strikes Back” is effective, but I was surprised to find upon researching the changes that the monster originally isn’t shown. That’s so much more effective for building suspense! Why did George Lucas need to add in multiple full shots of the monster eating? Also, there’s the infamous “Jedi Rocks” scene from “Return of the Jedi,” which is honestly ridiculous. Jabba the Hutt’s music works fine with those few shots of the people dancing, but that one alien just approaching the camera and singing directly to it is so inappropriate for the scene, so weirdly over-the-top. In the same vein as showing the wampa, I dislike how the remastered edition fully shows the sarlacc’s mouth and tentacles as it pulls people to their death. It’s so much more disturbing as a carnivorous hole in the ground.

There’s also the annoying added dialogue of Darth Vader saying, “No…NO!!!” as he suddenly attacks the Emperor and throws him to his death. Why is that necessary? It’s very hokey, and his change of heart would be so much more badass and affecting if he hadn’t said anything, just silently made the choice to switch to the light side. I don’t mind the added shots of Naboo and Coruscant and all those other planets celebrating the defeat of the Empire at the end, but I’m not a huge fan of the new music; I like that Ewok music. As for the infamous replacing of Sebastian Shaw with Hayden Christensen, I don’t mind it much. It’s silly and unnecessary, but it doesn’t actively annoy me like it annoys some people.

As for the actual movies, they’re both very enjoyable and fast-paced. “The Empire Strikes Back” is known as the best one, and I can understand why. It’s a big step up in effects. It introduces many of the iconic characters, like Lando Calrissian and, of course, Yoda (I was surprised by how much I liked Yoda; he might be a wise old man, but he’s not extremely peaceful like Dumbledore. He’s pretty harsh with Luke, actually, and is initially reluctant to train him. I also didn’t mind the ugly puppet as much as I thought I would). There are lots of iconic lines, like when Leia tells Han she loves him and he says, “I know.” If I had one complaint, it’d be that Luke and Han really don’t get much time to know each other in these movies; their plots are separate almost the entire movie, and it might’ve been interesting to see more of their dynamic, since they’re kind of the two main characters. Still, the way their stories eventually weave together is smart and effective as Luke finally arrives in Cloud City to save Han and Leia.

Some of the moments in these movies are just naturally not going to hit as hard because I know how everything happens. Watching Luke find out Darth Vader was his father, I was conscious of Mark Hamill’s slightly silly scream instead of really feeling his pain and shock. It all happens more abruptly than you expect upon rewatch, like how Vader suddenly just says “I am your father,” not some dramatic, “LUKE…I AM YOUR FATHER.” Similarly, though I like the climactic fight in “Return of the Jedi” a lot, the final moment between Luke and Vader as Vader finally takes off his mask didn’t really profoundly affect me emotionally. I can’t tell you exactly why, because on paper, it’s really emotional and powerful. Maybe, again, it’s just because I know what happens, and so much of the story has entered pop culture that it’s hard to really feel as a story on its own.

There’s still so much to like in these movies, though. I really like the icy planet of Hoth in “The Empire Strikes Back” and the forest climate of “Return of the Jedi.” I really like the opening of “Return of the Jedi,” when Luke saves Han and Leia from Jabba (especially the fact that Leia is the one who kills Jabba!!!). I love how Leia and Han’s romance progresses, especially with her line to Han in the last movie when he tells her he loves her and she shoots back, “I know.” I like how Chewbacca, R2-D2, and C-3PO are used in both movies. I love how Luke, so whiny and inexperienced in the first movie, progressively becomes more and more badass. When he’s force-grabbing his lightsaber at the beginning of “The Empire Strikes Back,” or flying around and taking down those AT-AT Walkers, he’s a certifiable badass. Maybe it’s a bit premature since he hasn’t even trained with Yoda yet, but it doesn’t matter. Star Wars is very much the kind of franchise where you can wave away logic (the Force in general is pretty undefined) in favor of, well, cool shit.

“Return of the Jedi” is known as by far the worst of the original trilogy. At first, I didn’t really get this. The heist-like rescue scenes at Jabba’s palace might be completely unrelated to the main plot of the movie—if you think about it, Jabba isn’t related to Vader and the Empire at all—but they’re so fun that they don’t just feel like dealing with business before the real plot kicks into gear. And the forest moon of Endor is pretty cool; seeing all that green vegetation is refreshing after the all-white and all-brown worlds we’ve been used to. And that first Endor battle scene, with Luke and Leia flying through the forest and watching stormtroopers crash into trees, is so dynamic and fun.

In terms of flaws, one of the small problems is that the Emperor isn’t a super satisfying villain. Darth Vader is so effective because he has an emotional tie to Luke. He’s a tragic figure, a Jedi turned to the dark side. The Emperor, on the other hand, is a pure figure of evil, completely dark, the puppet master controlling Vader. He’s cool, and Ian McDiarmid as the Emperor is great, always spouting stuff about the dark side and encouraging Luke to join. It’s an interesting conflict, even though it’s clear Luke is never really in danger of joining his father. On his own, the Emperor is cool, but the fact that he suddenly becomes the main villain kind of telegraphs that Vader is going to have a change of heart. This isn’t a huge problem, but it takes away a little bit from a wholly surprising and fascinating ending. At least Vader still dies, so it’s not overly happy or anything.

The only real problem, though, is an obvious one: the Ewoks. When the Ewoks first showed up in that scene with Leia and helped her out, I thought they were cute and inoffensive. I wondered why people hated them; it’s not like they were the major driving force of the story, right? It’s not like their narrative would threaten to overtake the main characters’, would it? Then they became an increasingly large part of the narrative. There’s the needless digression of them capturing the main characters. I like that it’s a moment of lightness, and it’s clever that Luke would force-levitate C-3PO to make him seem like the god the Ewoks fear, but it all goes on with too long. And they become even more important later on. Look, I don’t really mind the plausibility of them defeating the stormtroopers. I can accept Lucas’s half-baked Vietnam metaphor, with the technologically inferior natives beating the superior invaders. I can buy that the Ewoks would have some ingenious tricks to take the Empire by surprise.

It’s not an issue of plausibility; it’s an issue of what’s good for the story. The Ewoks are basically the ultimate case of deus ex machina. Part of what’s so engaging and appealing of the Luke-Han-Leia trio (with Chewie, C-3PO, R2-D2, and Lando helping out) is that you feel like it’s just them against a massive Empire. Even with some remaining Rebel pilots, how could they hope to destroy multiple Death Stars and end the tyrannical Empire? But the Ewoks—these random aliens who, like the Emperor, don’t really play a role until the third movie—are basically the ones who save the day. Han and Leia barely do anything at the end, and they’re some of the best characters!

The final battle sequence is a bit strange—while really serious character conflict is happening with Luke, Vader, and the Emperor, the battles outside are light, fun, and almost comedic. Some of the ways the Ewoks defeat stormtroopers are practically slapstick. I like that the battle is fun, but the Ewoks’ dominance makes it feel even more silly and inconsequential, as opposed to the sky battles with Lando.

As an individual film, “Return of the Jedi” may have a lot of flaws that bring its quality to a lower level than “A New Hope” or “The Empire Strikes Back.” But as the conclusion of a legendary film series that permeates pop culture, it’s satisfying. It’s easy to forget that these films have very real issues when their influence is so prevalent, but all of those issues have contributed to the full legend of Star Wars that exists today, Ewoks and all.