Juno

Along with "No Country for Old Men" and "There Will Be Blood" (which hasn't found wide release just yet), "Juno" was on my list of to-do movies this holiday season, so I went and saw it. My mom made me take my little brother, but I can deal with his presence by treating him like poop. Parking behind the movie theater was a real bitch, and I was cursing up a storm as I circled the parking lot and finding nothing. Then I saw a car backing out of a space, and I thought my search was over, but there was already a minivan on the other side of the space laying claim to it. The driver must've noticed my interest in the space because they turned on their blinker as if to say "I'm going THERE, get it?" I was in a right pissy mood because of the slushy weather and the movie was just about to start, so i was half-leaning to taking the spot right from under the other driver. It was my little brother who pushed me over the edge, oddly enough, by cackling, "Do it! Take it! Ha ha ha!" I kind of did want that space, and I had the better angle to get in, so I took it while the minivan driver leaned on their horn in rage. My and my brother were absolutely thrilled with the evil deed we'd just perpetrated. We were also giddy with fear that we might meet the other driver in the theater or that they would key up our car. Anyways, I don't know if that incident tainted my experience of the film itself or not.

I went into "Juno" wanting to like it - the same way I went into "No Country Old Men." I always want to like the same movies as other people because it makes for interesting conversation. This goes nearly contrary to my philosophy of music appreciation, obviously, and I've suffered for that by having some awkward, dead-end musical conversations. I usually can't help what I like, though. In the case with "Juno", I couldn't help but feel that the movie was essentially disposable. Like "Little Miss Sunshine" or "Eagle vs. Shark" and things of that like, it is so clearly packaged to be a quirky outsider flick to the extent that it's off-putting. Unlike "Little Miss Sunshine", "Juno" doesn't have a compelling ending or particularly endearing moments or characters to redeem it. Michael Cera has disappointingly little to do or say here, and he might even be miscast here. Though his youthful looks and unsexy demeanor are probably meant to give the impression that he is not nearly mature enough for the situation he's dropped into, he never comes across as the soul-mate material for Juno that he needs to be for the film to succeed. Essentially, all we know are that he and her are in a garage band together where they play crappy Moldy Peaches songs and share no chemistry.

The dramatic arc of the film actually has little to do with the pregnancy itself or its preparation, but with Juno's relationships with Paulie (Cera), her parents, and the adoptive parents of her child, and it's introduced late in the movie and dealt with in the most predictable way possible. The arguments and obstacles that present themselves are very foreseeable as well as mild in scale (something the film shares with "Knocked Up"), and I can't really spoil the message of the film because it's in the trailer: "The best you can do is find someone who loves you for exactly who you are" or something to that effect. Really? Find someone who will put up with my shit? I'll write that one down in my notebook after to "Don't eat silica gel."

I left the movie wondering what it is I want from viewing a film, in general. I guess it's a whole lot of retarded fun to quote lines with my friends and share a laugh, but I don't think padding a movie's dialogue with zingers gives it quality. There has to be something there that cannot be conveyed through any other medium but the film itself. The greatness of the film cannot be written about or talked about to any satisfying extent; it can only be experienced and known. I'm probably talking about the art-entertainment distinction as I see it. Great art seems to have a mysterious repellant shield that prevents it from being truly encapsulated or summarized without losing its essence. This is an unfortunate paradox! The more that a piece of music, film, or painting means to you or I, the more impossible it is to communicate that meaning. The more precise and tangible the language we use, the less we say. For instance, if I tell you "I love you," you only kind of know what I mean even though it could be a fact. However, if I use some poetic idiom like "I have butterflies in my stomach when I see you" or "You take my breath away," you better understand what my "love" means. Art, with its vagueries and half-notions, is the only true method of communicating thoughts and feelings.

I guess I got so caught up in this philosophical exercise, I don't know whether I'm being completely lame or not. I think I've just taken a page from some introductory course on art from a state school and tagged it deep thought... welcome to the blogosphere, everyone!