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I read a lot. I also enjoy movies. Sometimes I write books.

Movie Review: “Little Women”

It’s an unfortunate fact of life in 2020 that the merits of this remarkable film have been overshadowed by endless thinkpieces about how “Little Women” is just another example of “that one movie men won’t see” Enough. Put all the clickbaity culture-warring off to the side. Whether you’re male or female, a longtime fan of the book or a first-timer, “Little Women” is a fantastic film that demands to be watched and contemplated.

For those who don’t know, “Little Women” is a sprawling book chronicling the activities of the four March sisters—elegant Meg (Emma Watson), spunky Jo (Saoirse Ronan), serene Beth (Eliza Scanlen) and fiery Amy (Florence Pugh)—over a number of years. As the film opens, the March girls and their mother (Laura Dern, in a particularly inspired casting choice) must deal with the absence of their father (Bob Odenkirk) during the Civil War. Their lives end up intersecting with a constellation of supporting characters—melancholy young gallant Laurie (Timothée Chalamet), who dislikes his aristocratic upbringing and pines after the spirited Jo; status-seeking Aunt March (Meryl Streep), who’s obsessed with the March girls’ marital prospects; and many others.

(There are going to be lots of spoilers in the below. Over 100 years seems like enough time that this warning shouldn’t be required, but, here it is.)

In what may be one of the most audacious—yet effective—cinematic choices I’ve ever seen from a classic literature adaptation, director Greta Gerwig elects not to use a traditional linear narrative. Instead, Gerwig’s “Little Women” starts midway through the story—where a slightly older Jo, laboring as a writer in New York, is writing stories loosely derived from her upbringing—and depicts the book’s first half through flashbacks interwoven to form a (relatively) seamless tapestry. (For the most part, the movie’s “late-timeline” scenes are filmed with a colder blue hue, while “early-timeline” scenes are filmed with a golden hue.)

This technique has a number of immediate advantages. First, it enables the audience to meet Jo’s love interest—rumpled professor Friedrich Bhaer (Louis Garrel)—early on in the film rather than deferring his appearance towards the end (more on this later). Second, it allows the book’s obvious emotional apex—Beth’s tragic death from scarlet fever—to serve as the film’s natural climax.

But third, and perhaps most importantly, the nonlinear approach illuminates clear character trajectories connectingwho the Marches were as girls and who they became as women. For instance, equipped early on with the knowledge that Meg chooses to marry a poor tutor over a rich heir, in observing her quiet contentment and compassion as a girl we immediately realize she couldn’t have made any other decision—her youthful choices and character are intimately bound up with her adult destiny.

All of the Marches have compelling arcs, but Jo’s character, of course, is far-and-away the most interesting—a fact Gerwig well knows. And accordingly, it’s the film’s ending—which suggests a striking departure from the book when it comes to Jo’s fate—that will undoubtedly spark the most chatter.

As book fans will well recall, “Little Women” ends with a weeping Jo confessing her love for the slightly eccentric academic Professor Bhaer. It’s an abrupt, but not entirely unearned, conclusion: we’ve come to understand that Bhaer brings out the best in Jo in ways Laurie simply could not. Midway through the book (and early on in the film), Bhaer challenges Jo to write stories of quality, not simply scandalous short pieces that will sell well. Jo, unsurprisingly, responds poorly to Bhaer’s honest critique and storms off in a huff. But both book and film leave no doubt that Bhaer’s analysis of her work—despite the seeming harshness of his delivery—is essentially right: Jo is at her best as a writer when she’s not pandering to audiences’ worst instincts. And so Bhaer and Jo’s eventual marriage makes sense: he is her true and proper complement.

Gerwig’s movie complicates this ending. In the film, moments before Jo confesses her love to Bhaer, Gerwig cuts away to a conversation between Jo and her editor, where the two are discussing Jo’s latest work—a book based on the March girls’ lives. According to Jo, her character marries no one—neither Laurie nor Bhaer. But—just as Louisa May Alcott’s own editor did—Jo’s editor pressures her to write an ending that will sell, one in which her character ends up married. The film’s “main” narrative then resumes: Jo and Bhaer marry and open a school for girls, in a golden-hued sequence intercut with images of Jo’s book, “Little Women,” being printed and bound.

What this implies, at least on the surface, is that the “canonical” ending of “Little Women” is a fiction, and the “real” ending is that Jo becomes an independent writer who marries no one at all. But I’m not convinced that this is the best reading of the film’s ending, for several reasons.

In perhaps the film’s most haunting moment, Jo fiercely exclaims “Women, they have minds, and they have souls, as well as just hearts. And they’ve got ambition, and they’ve got talent, as well as just beauty. I’m so sick of people saying that love is just all a woman is fit for. I’m so sick of it!” That’s where the movie’s trailer ends the quote. But the movie itself does not—the quote actually ends in Jo’s wrenching confession: “…but I’m so lonely.

It’s tough to imagine a more perfect encapsulation of the modern millennial dilemma than this. Men and women alike are barraged with messages of emancipation and liberation and autonomy, encouraged to keep options open and not close any doors. But all of that falls away in the face of the single, icy reality that we’re all so lonely.

“Little Women” strongly suggests that it’s Meg—who marries penniless John Brooke—who seems most truly satisfied in her life, despite the stressors of limited money, omnipresent children, and social expectations to maintain a certain lifestyle. This, Meg reminds Jo, is her dream. It would appear, then, that true happiness is intimately bound up with the inherent limitations found in being who one is made to be—not someone else, a creature of infinite possibility. And that, in turn, means that the best marriages are commitments within which spouses can bring out the best in the other.

An ending that grants Jo a kind of artistic fulfillment (publishing her book) at the expense of a relationship that brings out the best in her (marriage to Professor Bhaer) feels fundamentally untrue to the character and to the larger story Gerwig tells. That would mean that there’s no ultimate resolution to Jo’s aching loneliness, and no satisfying answer to why Laurie was so wrong for her as a match. (Also lacking is any explanation of why, at film’s end, Jo suddenly seems so much more confident in her negotiations with her publisher—it strikes me as much more plausible that a healthy and satisfying marriage produces that sort of confidence.)

Accordingly, I take Gerwig to be drawing a veil of directorial discretion over Jo and Bhaer’s life together, leaving their future forever a matter of speculation. Perhaps they move to New York together, or even California, allowing him to teach and her to write. (I’m fine consigning domestic, school-managing Jo to the realm of fiction.) And I think the film itself offers support for this kind of reading: Jo and Bhaer’s kiss in the rain is shot with the same blue filter that denotes “reality,” while everything after appears in the hazy gold of memory. That, to my mind, is a conclusion that both retains the integrity of the film and keeps true to the spirit of Alcott’s novel.

In any event, suffice it to say that “Little Women” is more than worth your time. I haven’t said anything about the production values yet, but they’re all stellar—especially Alexandre Desplat’s magnificent score. The performances are Oscar-worthy (Ronan’s in particular), and the set design is top-notch. Frankly, I would love to see Gerwig have a free directorial hand to put together an action movie—if “Lady Bird” and “Little Women” are any indication, we’d get one of the best, most character-driven action flicks of all time.

But at bottom, “Little Women” is great because I can’t think of a film in the last six months that’s provoked me to this level of reflection—and I certainly never expected, going in, that the movie would be this good. As far as I’m concerned, Rey, of “Star Wars” fame, has nothing on Jo March (or, for that matter, any of the others).

“Little Women” isn’t a chick flick any more than Quentin Tarantino’s “Once Upon a Time . . . in Hollywood” is a dude movie: it’s a story about life and about human nature, and that makes it well worth seeing (something I’ve often thought of, ever since I first read the novel, is that maturity means understanding—at a deep level—why Jo and Laurie couldn’t have ended up together).

Buck up, male moviegoers of the world. Time to shatter some stereotypes.


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Posted by on January 5, 2020 in Historical


Movie Review: “Cats”

I have never seen anything, in my life, that comes remotely close to the weirdness that is “Cats.” One exits the film imagining director Tom Hooper, jaw firmly set and eyes agleam, crouched over a MacBook and muttering under his breath “this will work, this will work, this will work”—while no one around him dares to say “you know, Tom, maybe this wasn’t the best idea in the first place.”

It is difficult to articulate the plot of this movie—such as it is. Things begin when white cat Victoria (ballerina Francesca Hayward) is tossed out of her home onto the cold streets of London, where she promptly meets the tribe of “Jellicle cats” who are gathering for an important ritual. One special Jellicle, chosen by “Old Deuteronomy” (Judi Dench), will be selected to ascend to the mystical “Heaviside Layer” and be reborn into a new life. The bulk of the movie’s runtime is spent introducing the audience to the various Jellicle cats, including the hedonistic Rum Tum Tugger (Jason Derulo), the slothful Jennyanydots (Rebel Wilson), the enigmatic Mr. Mistoffelees (Laurie Davidson), the slinky Bombalurina (Taylor Swift) and the villainous Macavity (Idris Elba). Plus, of course, there’s the weathered Grizabella (Jennifer Hudson), the Glamour Cat who followed Macavity into sin and who has seen far better days. There is nothing more to “Cats” than this. And frankly, I feel like I lost 10 IQ points writing this paragraph.

But even this summary does not do justice to the indescribable madness that is this film. The chief issue is this: Instead of using costumed human actors (as in the original musical) or photorealistic CGI cats (a la 2019’s “The Lion King”), Hooper attempts to split the difference, loading up his film with hideous cat-human hybrids that wear clothes—or don’t—as the mood takes them. Imagine “Avatar,” but way, way weirder, and you have a pretty good sense of what’s going on here.

This staggeringly weird artistic choice has, shall we say, far-reaching consequences. At the risk of being uncouth, I have to point out that what is genuinely upsetting about “Cats” is the sheer deranged sexuality of the thing. While there’s ostensibly no human flesh onscreen (thanks to the much-vaunted “digital fur technology”), since almost every cat’s fur is skin-tone, every big dance number looks like it’s comprised of a horde of naked people. (Scenes involving cats wearing collars give off a positively S&M vibe). One cannot help thinking, at every second, that an “Eyes Wide Shut”-style orgy is about to break out.

I would like to say that the music makes up for this, but it does not. Early on, Jennyanydots leads an impossibly weird dance number involving imprisoned mice and cockroaches, who are also somehow humanoid (the four-armed cockroach-people wear tight leather outfits and look like the misbegotten progeny of “Fifty Shades of Grey,” Rodgers and Hammerstein, and the Bhagavad Gita). Things deteriorate from there, culminating in an ear-shredding rendition of “Memory” that subsumes Jennifer Hudson’s vocals in a wall of orchestral fury.

Last but not least, on the thematic front, I tried at first to read the film as a kind of parable about Calvinism or redemption in general (who truly merits “election” to the Heaviside Layer? The repentant Mary Magdalene figure, Grizabella!), but I cannot bring myself to build out the analogy further. I can pull out a Neoplatonic reading of “Frozen II,” but “Cats” leaves me beaten.

I suppose, at the end of the day, the most striking thing about “Cats” is that fact that $100 million was spent on this film without anyone pausing to wonder whether that investment was a prudent one. Indeed, “Cats” has even forced me to reconsider my long-held belief that a gigantic and epic failure of a film is oftentimes far more entertaining and enjoyable than a safe yet unambitious one. If you, for some reason unbeknownst to me, decide to partake of the Lovecraftian nightmare fantasia that is “Cats,” don’t say I didn’t warn you. There are not enough intoxicating substances in the world to make this movie make sense.

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Posted by on January 1, 2020 in Fantasy

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