a million miles from van gogh's ear

Above: will make up avant-garde film movement for food.

LOL. (2006). Dir. Joe Swanberg. Written by Swanberg, Kevin Bewersdorf, C. Mason Wells. Starring Swanberg, Bewersdorf, Wells, Brigid Reagan, Tipper Netwon.

My initial reaction to LOL was so strong and so negative that the only response I felt I could grasp at were insults: insults, along the line of, “only an acrobatic group-lesbian-strap-on sex scene featuring seven or eight of the Suicide Girls or the on-screen resurrection of a fully ambulatory Christopher Reeve could possibly redeem this film.” This bothered me, though. Not that I’d prefer to be watching a half dozen of the Suicide Girls screw each other with fake dicks, but that parody was the only thing I could muster when confronted with something so painfully insipid. As they say in action movies, this would make me no better than the monsters who committed this awful deed. I came to realize instead that I needed to Rise Above. Yes - meet horror and outrage with dignity, or at least something resembling it.

So: LOL is a glimpse into the lives of a group of peripherally-related, early-twentysomethings in Someplace, Chicago, a circle of friends drifting in and out of orbit around one dewey-eyed uber-indie musician. They have conversations with people we don’t see on their cels, they meet other moppet-haired twentysomethings in drawn-out, obviously unscripted scenes, they watch extremely attractive young actresses take their clothes off in staged amateur online porn, and they have more conversations with people we don’t see on their cels. Indeed, a considerable chunk of every scene begins with someone deeply absorbed by a computer, or a cell phone, or something you plug in. I have no doubt that’s supposed to mean something, but it’s a something that’s only kinda-sorta glanced at, not even a point that gets made or exploited or anything else you do with points in a movie, really.

I have an impression that LOL (and maybe in a larger sense the rest of the “mumblecore” movement this film locates itself in) has aspirations towards something like Dogme 95. But purveyors of the latter attempted to blow up conventions of filmmaking they believed had become crusted over with corny, technological tricks and still tell a story, and LOL doesn’t much care for story or plot or characters or entertainment, but to only make vague gestures in the direction of nihilism and youth culture. I’ve seen references to Seinfeld and Cassavetes and Cronenberg and the flourishing of new fresh viewpoints on the net, and I really do wish I could make space in my own evaluation of this movie for all of that – I mean, I don’t want to miss the Van Gogh Boat either - but man, I just ain’t seeing it (and this is coming from someone who beats off a whole helluva lot and is bored a fair share of his waking life). Write-ups in the New York Times and Village Voice are totally awesome and whatever, but last I checked story and acting and a modicum of skill with a camera counts for something, too.

This rush to anoint these kids, and this movie, a movement made me angry. No, more than just angry - LOL made me wish there was a military draft right now and that the young filmmakers who were flogging these cheesily improvised scenes of post-adolescent sexual discomfort and guileless boredom with gadget-laden lives weren’t instead swept up to some sandblown hellpit in the Middle East so that they could return many years later with some real issues and things to work out; or wonder that, per the ancient Chinese curse, we live in probably one of the most interesting times one can hope/dread to experience, and these kids still believe that as artists they lack for content or themes beyond masturbation and one-sided cell phone convos but are still bold enough to declare their stuff part of a movement; or that I had finally gazed into the abyss of white privilege I’ve been hearing about all this time since going back to college, and it left me feeling cold, and empty, and guilty, and made me yearn for the deliberate and careful wisdom of Louis Farrakhan or Alan Keyes. But I owe you more than to actually post all that...

Hey Juno...UP YOURS!

I hate Juno. I take that back. I don’t hate Juno, but I hate the critical acclaim it’s received unanimously from the Nation’s critics. I hate that it’s received four Oscar Nominations. And I hate that it’s being called “This Year’s Little Miss Sunshine.” I hate how every comedy from here on out that’s kinda quirky and features a cast of delinquent characters will always be referred to as that year’s “Little Miss Sunshine.” Juno’s the first, and I hate that.

I hate that Juno’s showing up on Top Ten Movies of 2007 lists from the Nation’s critics down to the blogger next door. Number 1 movie of the year, Roger Ebert?! Really?!! (I know you don’t believe in numbering your lists, but secretly you know and I know that this was your favorite movie of the year). I hate that this movie’s being embraced by everyone from all walks of life. From Hipsters to Pro-Lifers Everybody’s falling for Juno! (Hmmm….that would make a good tag-line for the Theater Lobby One-Sheet).

I hate how Ellen Page who plays Juno is being called the next big thing. The Nation’s critics unanimously rave about her star-making performance. She overacts. Can’t they see that?! She overacts in her debut movie Hard Candy, and she overacts here in Juno. I hate that she oversells her lines like she’s performing Community Theater. The critics don’t see it, but I do. I feel like Roddy Piper in John Carpenter’s They Live, and instead of seeing aliens when I put on the special sunglasses, I only see really bad acting. I can’t be all alone on this one. Where’s Keith David when you need him?

I like Diablo Cody, even though I hate her flamboyantly pretentious name. It makes her sound like a Dime-Store novelist or a member of G.L.O.W. But really, can you hate a sexy Ex-Stripper turned overnight Screenwriting sensation with a multi-picture, multi-million dollar deal topped off by an Oscar Nomination? I do hate the character she’s written in Juno, though. Every teenager is a smartass, but Juno carpet-bombs every conversation with her insensitive quips and flippant comments. Who would want to be her friend? Even worse who would want to knock this girl up?! Is a screenplay of one line zingers worthy of a Best Original Screenplay Nomination? Seriously. But I have to admit, the line about the guy’s Hoo-Ha tasting like Blueberry Pie is a classic.

I like Jason Reitman and Jennifer Garner. Reitman previously directed Thank You for Smoking, one of the best movie satires in recent years and far more worthy of a Best Picture nod than Juno. I saw him at a Q&A after a Juno screening. He was genuinely charming and very quick-witted. When asked what his next project would be, he said, “Well, I’ve tackled Tobacco and Teen Pregnancy. I’ve got a really funny screenplay about AIDS lined up next.” Garner on the other hand, has had my heart from the moment she walked on the small screen in disguise as Agent Sydney Bristow. Her performance in Juno really is the movie’s heart and soul. Her’s should be the one recognized with a nomination at the very least. It didn’t happen, and I hate that.


I hate that Juno’s nearly reached the 80-million dollar mark domestically. I hate that that number will only continue to climb shortly before and after the Oscars. I hate that the media coverage of the film leading up to the Oscars will tout this as the “Little movie that could.” Kinda like ‘Little Miss Sunshine’. What I DO take comfort in is this movie will have a short shelf-life. This isn’t a Big Lebowski or Airplane or Something About Mary. By this time next year those same people tripping over themselves about the prego, smart-aleked Bitch named Juno will hardly remember her name. And I like that.