reeejected; troy
May. 18th, 2004 12:34 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fearlesstempAnother day, another dollar, another rejection letter from a job I'd wanted rather badly. Ah, the joys of Bush 43-era job hunting. For those keeping track, the main joy of Bush 43 era job hunting is being able to blame Bush 43 for one's inability to get a job (instead of recognizing one's own personal and professional failings, which is far less fun).
Oh blah blah blah. I almost didn't write this entry because I feared it would be boring, self-pitying, and morose. It will most likely be all three but I have decided that I don't care! Ha! Watch me not care! Watch me throw caution to the wind like the rebel I am!
Anyway. I still feel rather lame, mostly because I feel guilty for whining when in fact I know I'm a very lucky girl in most respects. I have to come up with a Word macro so that whenever I start an entry like this, it will enter a three-paragraph explanation of how I'm okay, really, and I know things will work themselves out, and I'm sorry if this is annoying people, but I just need to vent.
You know what would take my mind off of things right now? Brad Pitt. In strategically-placed battle armor. Leaping. Yes. Okay. I feel better!
In other words: I saw Troy! I loved it! Was there ever any doubt?
I have always felt bad about how little I know about Ancient Greek literature. I know I read some of it in high school, and didn't hate it (because if I had, I would have had far more vivid memories of it – I loathed The Scarlet Letter and still can recall sections of it at will), but didn't love it either, and so it scooted out of my memory by the same route taken by most of Spanish IV.
This meant that when I walked into the movie theater this weekend, all I knew of the story was a vague recollection of the parties involved – Paris stealing Helen, the big wooden horse, and Achilles was there. And wow, was I glad! Because I just know that had I deeper understanding of the source text, the movie probably would have pissed me off. But I didn't! So I could just sit back happily and giggle at the over-the-top dialogue and sit up in my seat whenever Achilles decided to lounge about in a low-slung sarong.
Let's get the complaints out of the way first: the movie was too long, most definitely. And it sounds more insulting than I mean it to be when I say that Brad Pitt was fantastic until he started talking – but that's pretty true. I don't know if that's really his fault, though; the fact that the bulk of the actors around him spoke with English/Australian/non-American accents made his Midwestern twang stand out, at least at first. But after a few minutes, I just accepted myself to the fact that Achilles was from Illinois, and let it go.
There was also the fact that the words he was asked to say were often so ridiculous that his out-of place accent didn't really matter. It seems like if there ever was a chance to take the subtle route, the screenwriters did everything in their power to avoid it. For example: Did you know that Achilles wanted his name to live on? And also, for his name not to be forgotten? And also, to be remembered? If you didn't know, the movie will tell you forty-five times!
But I can forgive all of these flaws. There's something lovable about a movie that knows what its audience wants and unashamedly gives it to them – I speak, of course, about Brad Pitt's nude scene, and Eric Bana's bare torso, and Orlando Bloom's pretty face. The girls too, of course, though I wasn't paying as much attention. Did the movie need that scene where Achilles stripped down after battle, strolled around nude in his tent, and splashed water on himself? I bet the movie would have gotten by okay without it, but I love a director (and a star! Because Brad requested it, which I learned from People magazine) who is willing to recognize what the audience is looking for in that moment, and just hand it over without asking them to be embarrassed.
(I really wish someone could do an Amelie-esque reverse camera shot of that moment in the movie, to capture the sight of every woman in the audience inching up in her seat to see better.)
At the same time, though, I loved the movie for how it subverted audience expectations in another way: that is, by telling a story with its most sympathetic characters on the side that loses. This is un-Hollywood to the extreme, and I was really quite surprised. Watching the movie, I can't believe that the creators expected the audience to identify with anyone more than we identify with Hector and his father and their doomed city. I mean, come on! Even Achilles hates the Greek army! They're the bad guys, and they win in the end. And though Achilles has a certain magnetism and tragedy about him, he's still, in the end, not the true hero of the story. Hector is. Hector is the one who lives his life with the most grace and dignity, who has the most sensible things to say, who has a family that loves him. And he dies at the hands of the movie's big star. Now that's entertainment!
I know that the credit can't completely go to the filmmakers since they're obviously operating from a pretty classic story, but anyone can tell you how thoroughly and unashamedly movies can remove the true meaning and heart of a classic story (and who knows, maybe they have done just that and I'm not aware of it because again, know next to nothing about the original story) in the quest to give the movie a typical Hollywood ending. Again, we return to The Scarlet Letter, Demi Moore's version -- perhaps the most useful horrible movie of all time, since it is such a handy reference point for people talking about horrendous film adaptations of books. Thank you, Demi!
I've read some places that the events of the movie and actions of the characters reflect modern day American attitudes more than Ancient Greek ones (for example, the recasting of Patrocles as Achilles's cousin instead of his lover [which, from what I've read here and there, is a more accurate description], and the removal of the gods from the story). To that I say: Of course it does! Movies always say more about the times they're created than the times they depict. My go-to example is always the movie Glory, which is nominally about the all-black regiment in the Civil War but features as its male lead the regiment's white leader, played by Matthew Broderick. Does the movie tell you more about the Civil War or late-1980s race relations in America? Both?
I do find that aspect of Glory problematic, and I bet a lot of people find the intrusion of 21st century American ideals onto The Iliad problematic as well, but the clincher for me with both Glory and Troy is the fact that for me, at the end of the day, the story worked. I cried at the end of both movies – a completely unexpected event when it came to Troy, which I'd giggled over through most of the movie, whispering to my friend about how silly certain lines were, only to be completely blindsided by the ending. All of a sudden, after laughing at the stupid dialogue and Orlando's earnest expression (I actually think he was pretty good in this) -- all of a sudden, I cared what happened in the movie. I think it happened after Hector died, after that great scene between Peter O'Toole and Brad Pitt -- from that point on, the movie had me. Achilles made me cry! Briseis made me cry! The fall of Troy made me cry, a little bit!
Oh, why did I write all this? All it really comes down to is the fact that I bought it. A lot of people didn't, a lot of people won't, and no amount of long-ass paragraphs on my part will make the fact that I cried at a movie most people found ridiculous less pathetic. Oh well!
ETA: Oh my goodness, this retelling of the movie is funny as hell.
Oh blah blah blah. I almost didn't write this entry because I feared it would be boring, self-pitying, and morose. It will most likely be all three but I have decided that I don't care! Ha! Watch me not care! Watch me throw caution to the wind like the rebel I am!
Anyway. I still feel rather lame, mostly because I feel guilty for whining when in fact I know I'm a very lucky girl in most respects. I have to come up with a Word macro so that whenever I start an entry like this, it will enter a three-paragraph explanation of how I'm okay, really, and I know things will work themselves out, and I'm sorry if this is annoying people, but I just need to vent.
You know what would take my mind off of things right now? Brad Pitt. In strategically-placed battle armor. Leaping. Yes. Okay. I feel better!
In other words: I saw Troy! I loved it! Was there ever any doubt?
I have always felt bad about how little I know about Ancient Greek literature. I know I read some of it in high school, and didn't hate it (because if I had, I would have had far more vivid memories of it – I loathed The Scarlet Letter and still can recall sections of it at will), but didn't love it either, and so it scooted out of my memory by the same route taken by most of Spanish IV.
This meant that when I walked into the movie theater this weekend, all I knew of the story was a vague recollection of the parties involved – Paris stealing Helen, the big wooden horse, and Achilles was there. And wow, was I glad! Because I just know that had I deeper understanding of the source text, the movie probably would have pissed me off. But I didn't! So I could just sit back happily and giggle at the over-the-top dialogue and sit up in my seat whenever Achilles decided to lounge about in a low-slung sarong.
Let's get the complaints out of the way first: the movie was too long, most definitely. And it sounds more insulting than I mean it to be when I say that Brad Pitt was fantastic until he started talking – but that's pretty true. I don't know if that's really his fault, though; the fact that the bulk of the actors around him spoke with English/Australian/non-American accents made his Midwestern twang stand out, at least at first. But after a few minutes, I just accepted myself to the fact that Achilles was from Illinois, and let it go.
There was also the fact that the words he was asked to say were often so ridiculous that his out-of place accent didn't really matter. It seems like if there ever was a chance to take the subtle route, the screenwriters did everything in their power to avoid it. For example: Did you know that Achilles wanted his name to live on? And also, for his name not to be forgotten? And also, to be remembered? If you didn't know, the movie will tell you forty-five times!
But I can forgive all of these flaws. There's something lovable about a movie that knows what its audience wants and unashamedly gives it to them – I speak, of course, about Brad Pitt's nude scene, and Eric Bana's bare torso, and Orlando Bloom's pretty face. The girls too, of course, though I wasn't paying as much attention. Did the movie need that scene where Achilles stripped down after battle, strolled around nude in his tent, and splashed water on himself? I bet the movie would have gotten by okay without it, but I love a director (and a star! Because Brad requested it, which I learned from People magazine) who is willing to recognize what the audience is looking for in that moment, and just hand it over without asking them to be embarrassed.
(I really wish someone could do an Amelie-esque reverse camera shot of that moment in the movie, to capture the sight of every woman in the audience inching up in her seat to see better.)
At the same time, though, I loved the movie for how it subverted audience expectations in another way: that is, by telling a story with its most sympathetic characters on the side that loses. This is un-Hollywood to the extreme, and I was really quite surprised. Watching the movie, I can't believe that the creators expected the audience to identify with anyone more than we identify with Hector and his father and their doomed city. I mean, come on! Even Achilles hates the Greek army! They're the bad guys, and they win in the end. And though Achilles has a certain magnetism and tragedy about him, he's still, in the end, not the true hero of the story. Hector is. Hector is the one who lives his life with the most grace and dignity, who has the most sensible things to say, who has a family that loves him. And he dies at the hands of the movie's big star. Now that's entertainment!
I know that the credit can't completely go to the filmmakers since they're obviously operating from a pretty classic story, but anyone can tell you how thoroughly and unashamedly movies can remove the true meaning and heart of a classic story (and who knows, maybe they have done just that and I'm not aware of it because again, know next to nothing about the original story) in the quest to give the movie a typical Hollywood ending. Again, we return to The Scarlet Letter, Demi Moore's version -- perhaps the most useful horrible movie of all time, since it is such a handy reference point for people talking about horrendous film adaptations of books. Thank you, Demi!
I've read some places that the events of the movie and actions of the characters reflect modern day American attitudes more than Ancient Greek ones (for example, the recasting of Patrocles as Achilles's cousin instead of his lover [which, from what I've read here and there, is a more accurate description], and the removal of the gods from the story). To that I say: Of course it does! Movies always say more about the times they're created than the times they depict. My go-to example is always the movie Glory, which is nominally about the all-black regiment in the Civil War but features as its male lead the regiment's white leader, played by Matthew Broderick. Does the movie tell you more about the Civil War or late-1980s race relations in America? Both?
I do find that aspect of Glory problematic, and I bet a lot of people find the intrusion of 21st century American ideals onto The Iliad problematic as well, but the clincher for me with both Glory and Troy is the fact that for me, at the end of the day, the story worked. I cried at the end of both movies – a completely unexpected event when it came to Troy, which I'd giggled over through most of the movie, whispering to my friend about how silly certain lines were, only to be completely blindsided by the ending. All of a sudden, after laughing at the stupid dialogue and Orlando's earnest expression (I actually think he was pretty good in this) -- all of a sudden, I cared what happened in the movie. I think it happened after Hector died, after that great scene between Peter O'Toole and Brad Pitt -- from that point on, the movie had me. Achilles made me cry! Briseis made me cry! The fall of Troy made me cry, a little bit!
Oh, why did I write all this? All it really comes down to is the fact that I bought it. A lot of people didn't, a lot of people won't, and no amount of long-ass paragraphs on my part will make the fact that I cried at a movie most people found ridiculous less pathetic. Oh well!
ETA: Oh my goodness, this retelling of the movie is funny as hell.
