Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call, New Orleans

**

Bad Movie: Port of Call, Over-The-Top Filmmaking


          “Watch me fuck your girlfriend!”  I would elaborate on the scene that housed these words from Werner Herzog’s latest movie The Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call, New Orleans, but like the movie itself, why bother?  Oh, Nicolas Cage.  Wherefore art thou Leaving Las Vegas?  Let’s face it: Nicolas Cage has delivered one remarkable performance throughout his god-awful career, while lampooning the rest of the way with performances of quote unquote acting.  Whether or not he has parodied himself throughout his career is a topic for another time.  Simply put, the man is a bad actor.   The biggest travesty of Nicolas Cage’s latest role is the fact that its caricaturization was performed through the lens of director Werner Herzog’s camera.

          Werner Herzog has made a career out of creating larger-than-life characters caught within the boundaries of frantic scenarios.  With such classics as Aguirre: The Wrath of God, The Enigma of Kaspar Hauser, and Nosferatu the Vampire, Herzog has created a cinematic world full of eccentricities, agitation, and madness.  More times than not, his philosophy on the true nature of cinematic storytelling has worked to his credit.  In the case of Bad Lieutenant, however, his vision has fallen flat.  Herzog muscles his way through Bad Lieutenant with some striking visuals and assured direction, but there is only so much a camera can do with an awful script and Nicolas Cage.

          For some bizarre reason, Bad Lieutenant has received many glowing reviews.  Some critics have even suggested that there’s an outside chance of Cage receiving his third Oscar nomination for this role.  If this should happen, Cage will join the illustrious company of James Coco and Amy Irving as the only three actors to be nominated for both an Oscar and a Razzie (an annual awards show given out for the worst achievements in the movie year) for the same performance.  Cage’s work here in Bad Lieutenant is nothing short of embarrassing.

          There is a scene late in the movie in which Cage - playing the role of a cocaine addicted narcotics detective named Terence McDonagh - is fired for malpractice and consequentially stripped of his badge and gun.  Being the lawless lawman that he is, Terence decides to continue his ‘detective work’, despite the loss of all of his credentials.  In the hopes of paying off a mounting gambling debt, Terence continues his pretension of being a legitimate detective, by cutting a deal with a notorious drug lord.  The payoff scene through which Terence (all doped up on cocaine and God knows what else) receives his cut of the drug money, is perhaps the worst display of ‘acting high’ that I have ever seen.  Whether it is through his shakes, his agitation, or outbursts of laughter, Cage turns his character into a complete joke.  His work in this scene is so over-the-top that one almost wonders if Cage was performing that way on purpose.  If such is the case, then Cage has not only given one of the worst performances of the year, but in the process has also made a mockery of acting as a credible art form.  I can hear the call of the Razzies now.

          Despite boasting the unfortunate combination of an awful script and dismal ensemble cast, Bad Lieutenant does have some intriguing moments.  For instance, there is a scene early on in the film where Lieutenant McDonagh is staking out a murder scene.  As McDonagh sifts around the scene of the crime, he comes across a murdered child and finds a note sitting on the desk next to him.  It reads as follows: “My friend is a fish.  He live in my room.  His fin is a cloud.  He see me when I sleep.”  Upon reading this note, McDonagh finds a glass of water containing this goldfish.  He picks it up and holds it to the light, with his eyes glazing through the glass like a drugged-up teenager.  It is a subtle moment of symbolism, as it foreshadows the enigma of Terence McDonagh and all of his eccentric and peculiar mannerisms.

          It is a shame that both Cage and Herzog could not continue this line of subtlety.  Instead, they created a cartoonish environment which ruptured out of control, and simultaneously taught us one valuable lesson: A movie’s friend is a good script.  He lives in its actors.  His fin is the actors’ performances.  He sees us when we sleep...right through a bad, overdone movie.                          

Film Music: The Role Of The Film Score

Fly Me Through The Moon...



          The world of film music is unique and little-understood. It seems that no matter which direction this art form takes, it is destined for no man’s land. Music in film is many things at once: background music for the action on screen; an amplifier of emotion when dialogue can no longer do justice; or a showy manipulator when a movie cannot carry its own weight. Add to this confusion the commonly held belief that film music is inferior to concert music, and one can only agree with film composer Danny Elfman, that this is indeed one “crazy art form”. More often than not, our real-life situations are played out without the enhancement of a background score; therefore, the creation of music in film is seemingly a superfluous one. However, if the purpose of creating art is to heighten our compassion and understanding of the human condition, than film music is an art form born out of sheer courage.

          Picture in your mind the following movies: “Star Wars”, “Jaws”, and “The Godfather”. Do this same thing again, yet this time pay closer attention to the specific feelings that may or may not arise from such recollections. Surely there was some sort of feeling that came to you, as you envisioned each movie. Whether or not you describe these feelings in words, you did, at least, generate some sense of reaction. The fact that each title came with a very different reaction means that each movie has its own unique atmosphere. There are countless factors that contribute to a film’s overall feel, and one of these factors is undeniably the music that is written for the movie. No more so is this true than with the above three titles. All one has to do is hear the words “Star Wars”, and sooner than later the now classic John Williams fanfare will ring out in their mind. And how is it possible to hear the word “Jaws”, and not hum the two most famous musical notes in film history? Duh-Dum… Duh-Dum… Duh-Dum, Duh-Dum, Duh-Dum, Duh-Dum...etc. And just try to speak of the movie “The Godfather” without immediately recalling the music that underscored the feelings of power and grandeur. There are many reasons why these reactions come so easily to us; more often than not they are the same reasons that made these three films the classics they are today. Time and again, one can associate the greatest films ever made with the greatest film scores ever written. In this essay, I will move beyond the general understanding of such truths, so that I may delve more deeply into the precise methods of film composing. I will focus on two of the most popular film scoring devices (the use of leitmotifs, and the developmental method), and will reference two key examples of film scores that highlight these contrasting styles.

          According to “dictionary.com”, the definition of ‘leitmotif’ is as follows: “A motif or theme associated throughout a music drama with a particular person, situation, or idea.” This definition has its roots outside of film music, and derives from the term ‘Wagnerian technique’. The legendary opera composer Richard Wagner was by no means the first composer to explore the concept of the leitmotif, yet he was the one who worked the most at establishing it to the level that it remains today. It is Wagner who had the most direct influence on the roots of film music, as many composers in the early days of film thought that the ‘Wagnerian technique’ of leitmotifs had a unique potential in the world of film music. Throughout many of Wagner’s classic operas the notion of musically highlighting specific characters (along with their own personal traits), philosophies, concepts, or scenarios, was one that had an infinite amount of potential. Whenever a specific character came on to the stage, a musical motif that represented the character’s nature would accompany him. This same device would occur with many of the opera’s other characters as well, so that the audience would (often subconsciously) have a musical understanding of what was transpiring on stage. The employment of such techniques brought a more rich and substantial listening experience, since the audience was able to have a more direct and personal association with the characters and the story. Since the world of opera involves not only music but plot and story as well, the pioneering film composers felt that it was only a natural progression to use the ‘Wagnerian technique’ in the world of film as well.

          The first composer to take this transformation to a level not seen before his time, was Max Steiner; and the film score which he composed that changed the world of film music forever, was “King Kong”. Over the opening credits of the 1933 classic “King Kong”, we hear a deeply ominous three note motif, which descends downward with each passing note. This opening musical theme is otherwise known as the “Kong” motif. Whenever there is a need to highlight the savage and barbaric quality of the monster that is ‘neither man nor beast’, this three note leitmotif can be heard in the movie’s soundtrack. The introduction of this famous leitmotif immediately gives way to a more rhythmic and march-like theme (the “Jungle March” motif), which in turn passes itself over to a more desperate and uneven musical theme (the “Ann Darrow/Stolen Love” motif). Finally, this brief succession of leitmotifs culminates in the most intense and frightening theme found in the entire score: the “Sacrificial Dance” motif. This entire musical introduction happens all within the span of 2 minutes, and throughout its entirety we are introduced to no less than four of the score’s main leitmotifs. These four motifs will all be further developed and understood as the movie takes off, and the story unfolds. This prophetic use of leitmotifs in the opening credits is a technique that has been emulated time and again, ever since the release of “King Kong”. It is a brilliant technique, since many of the major themes found throughout the score are revealed in such an economical fashion and long before their future development, that the audience is given the chance to have these musical themes subconsciously installed into their minds. The end result is a most ingenious and subtle one. When the time comes to recall these motifs amidst the visual action on screen, one can automatically associate the specific actions with their suitable leitmotifs.

          Moving ahead to the scene in “King Kong” where the lead actress (Fay Wray) has been kidnapped from her boat by a group of natives who live on an uncharted island, we come across a sacrificial dance which the native people are performing. Fay Wray’s character ‘Ann Darrow’ is in the process of being tied up between two separate towers, a situation which Steiner underscores through a barbaric and brutally intense realization of the now fully developed “Sacrificial Dance” motif. The very moment Ann Darrow is being tied up to the towers, her own musical theme (“Ann Darrow/Stolen Love” theme) can also be heard. These two themes play off each other throughout the entire scene, and grow in intensity as the scene becomes more and more barbaric. Once the natives have finished tying Ann up to the towers, two giant doors of an equally massive wall shut her in so that no outside person can break in to save her. As the doors slam shut the music comes to an abrupt stop, only to return shortly thereafter as the native leader announces and introduces his fellow people to the great ‘King Kong’. Steiner uses some source music as two native guards let out a thunderous crash of a massive gong, in order to highlight the ritualistic worshiping of this indescribable beast. We soon hear the roars of what will become known to us as ‘King Kong’, as he approaches Ann from a nearby forest. As soon as Ann –and us the audience- sees Kong for the first time, we hear a terrifying version of the “Kong” motif, followed immediately by Ann’s infamous scream of terror, accompanied by the “Stolen Love” theme. Throughout the musical interplay of both themes, there remains a sustained series of terrifying screams from Ann that coincides with the horrifying roars of the great Kong.

          Whether or not the audience is consciously aware of these particular motifs and their symbolic meanings is of no real importance; the effect remains the same. With the riveting and intense sound quality of the musical accompaniment, the viewer is drawn into the movie’s visuals through a much more profound experience. Most importantly, the music compliments the images on screen in a way that does not overpower them. The result is a perfect marriage of story, thematic detail, and music. The score to “King Kong” is commonly regarded as the film score that started it all for film music. Consequently, Max Steiner has long been labelled the ‘Grandfather’ of film music, and these two scenes in the movie are only a couple of examples of what makes “King Kong” the ultimate ‘leitmotif’ film score.

          Many of the greatest film scores have utilized leitmotif as a musical tool; developmental scoring, however, is a more subtle technique. One of the first major film scores to use the method of developmental film scoring was “Citizen Kane”. The composer of this 1941 masterpiece, directed by Orson Welles, was Bernard Herrmann. Herrmann is commonly cited as the greatest film composer who ever lived and “Citizen Kane” is always ranked amongst his finest accomplishments. “Citizen Kane” tells the story of a great newspaper tycoon named Charles Foster Kane, as he travels through life with many different dreams and aspirations, always holding on to the hope of finding true love, despite all of his endless changes in personality and outlooks on life. Of course the heart of “Citizen Kane” really lies in the quest of one person’s attempt in finding out the meaning of Kane’s last word on Earth: “Rosebud.” This person’s hope in finding the answer to this question lies in his belief that if one could define the meaning of a person’s dying words, they may have a greater chance at understanding what life is all about. To approach the task of scoring such a movie (one that is in constant change, thematically speaking), Herrmann decided to use the developmental technique, since he felt this style best reflected the ever changing atmosphere that made up the life story of Charles Foster Kane.

          The opening scene of “Citizen Kane” begins with the image of a ‘No Trespassing’ sign posted to a gate. Upon revealing this image, we hear in the musical score a short succession of five notes, which ends up being known as the “Power” motif. This theme has a dreary and tragic sound quality to it, and evokes a feeling of utter desperation and exhaustion. The camera then pans upward from this ‘No Trespassing’ sign as it makes its way up the gate, until it reaches the top where we can see in the far distance a mansion sitting on top of a hill. Throughout the camera’s panning of the gate, a secondary musical theme is heard. This secondary motif is otherwise known as the “Rosebud” motif, and has a more enlightened sound to it than its predecessor. It is also a slightly faster paced theme than the “Power” motif, and contains within it a touch of hope through its searching-like quality of sound. The timing of the “Rosebud” motif’s introduction blends perfectly with the visuals on screen by beautifully reflecting the many changes of the gate’s architecture (the gate’s visual style changes no less than three times). Much more meaningful than being a mere reflection to an ever changing look of a mansion’s gate, is the true meaning behind the “Rosebud” motif in the first place. Since this motif is, in many ways, representative of Kane’s constantly evolving quest for the ultimate truth in life, one can see how this musical gesture combines so well with the symbolic image of the ‘changing gate’. The result is that the audience is left with a raw sense of longing and nostalgia for the key to life’s truths.

         Later on in the film, there is a scene which depicts the breakdown of Kane’s first marriage to a woman named Emily Monroe Norton. The scene lasts only 3 minutes; yet through a brilliant use of economical editing we are able to bear witness to a disintegrating marriage all within this brief passage of time. With nearly every single cut of a frame, Herrmann beautifully captures the marriage’s fall from grace, as he employs a theme-and-variation-like device very reminiscent of the ones used in the days of Mozart. As the scene begins with Kane and Emily full of joy and cheerfulness as they sit close to one another at their breakfast table, Herrmann uses a single theme that is really a combination of the “Power” and “Rosebud” motifs. Throughout the many cuts and moments in this scene, Herrmann edits his own way through his ‘marriage’ theme, along with its own musical disintegration. He does so through a brilliantly constructed set of variations on his derived ‘marriage’ theme, which helps heighten the intensity of the conflict on screen. As the cuts grow more rapidly and Kane and Emily grow further apart, the changes and moderations of the initial musical motif become more pronounced. This methodical process builds its way up to a climax, until it reaches the last shot in the scene. In this shot we see Kane and Emily sitting at their dinner table as far away from each as possible, as they exchange glaring looks to one another while reading rival newspapers in total silence. The music in this last shot is a recapitulation of the opening ‘marriage’ theme, but it evokes a much greater sense of tragedy and loss.

          If I had to pick one musical cue in all of film music that best represented the artfulness of the developmental film score, it would be this cue from this classic scene in “Citizen Kane”. It captures everything a developmental score should have within it: recognizable themes; a rise, development and fall of these themes; and a perfect blend with the film’s own story, imagination and thematic detail. It is not only one of the best scores of its kind, but is one of the greatest film scores ever written.

          Film music is a constantly evolving art form. Whether it’s from the silent era or from film music being made today, it is one art form that will never remain stagnant. Film music today tends to lean more towards an atmospheric style of composing, which is plain to see in scores such as “Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon”, “Atonement”, “There Will Be Blood”, and “Brokeback Mountain”. For some film music fans and critics alike, this style of composing is inferior to that of the classics of the past. Whether or not film music today is becoming less artful or prominent than it was before, is merely a matter of opinion. It is forever exciting to witness the many faces and changes that film music goes through; this endless ‘changing of the guard’ however, is paradoxically the most permanent aspect of film music. It seems that the art of writing film scores is destined to reside in never-never land, as it tries to find its “voice”.

Precious: Based on the Novel Push by Sapphire

****

                    
Moving Forward Through The Past


          Oscar Wilde once wrote about the morbidity of modern society's sympathy with pain: "The less said about life's sores, the better."  This restrained philosophy is the base of the thematic core of director Lee Daniels' sophomore film Precious.  Sometimes movies act as entertainments in themselves, and sometimes these entertainments stand for something more than mere escapism.  Occasionally, however, a movie such as Precious will contain neither of these features, and instead, will stand on its own merit, with no need for glossy entertainment or pretentious moral reasoning.  Life is sometimes just that: life.  Sometimes, life has no words in response to its questions.

          Precious is a hard movie to watch, but a very worthwhile film to experience.  The film is shot in an almost documentary-like fashion, which helps augment the strong sense of rawness and vulnerability found within many of the film's key performances.  Precious tells the story of an illiterate teenager named Clarieece Precious Jones (Gabourey Sidibe), who has already experienced a lifetime of unimaginable abuse and suffering.  Her father sexually abused her and impregnated her with 2 children; her mother is physically, mentally, and emotionally abusive towards her; she is overweight and consequently made fun of by her school peers; she has no friends, and instead takes care of her abusive mother (who is on welfare) by cooking her meals, and cleaning up around the house.  The list goes on, and on, and on.  Thankfully, the courage for a better life is carried along with her, as Precious never gives up hope for herself and her future, even when her life has seemingly hit rock-bottom.


          Newcomer Gabourey Sidibe gives one of the best performances of the year, and one which will surely land her an Oscar nomination come February.  It is one of those jaw-dropping performances that is so overwhelmingly powerful, that upon finishing the movie one cannot help but feel fully connected to her character.  Sidibe infuses the fictional character of Precious with such raw humanity, that one completely forgets she's fictional at all.  This authentic sense of empathy instilled in the viewer, is accomplished thanks to Sidibe's seamless balancing act between the horrors of her character's past and present, and the blissful fantasies of her unknown future.

          These fantasy sequences occur a few times throughout the course of the movie, and are brilliantly staged by Lee Daniels and cinematographers Andrew Dunn and Darren Lew.  The garish lighting and flamboyant sets in these sequences are beautifully expressionistic of Precious' inner yearning to escape her horrific living conditions, while at the same time they reflect the artificiality of her ever realizing such a polarized experience.  On the opposite spectrum, the contrasting atmosphere of her abusive flashbacks is of equal brilliance in lighting and design.  In contrast to the obtrusive glitz used in the fantasy scenes, the flashback sequences are shot using very little light.  With its jarring editing, dizzying camerawork, and great use of light and shadow, these flashback scenes are truly menacing and quite difficult to sit through.  They are, however, important bits of filmmaking, due to the realism they show in portraying the true nature of abusive flashbacks.
        
          The other remarkable performance in Precious, and a shoo-in for a best supporting actress Oscar, comes from Mo'Nique as Precious' mother Mary.  As central to the film as Precious is, it's the character of her mother who truly drives the film's thematic power.  Mo'Nique is mesmerizing (and equally frightening) throughout her entire performance, but there is one scene towards the end of the film involving Mary, Precious, and Precious’ social worker that becomes a crucial turning point for Precious' future.  Without a doubt, Mary is a horrible mother and a villain in the truest of senses.  There’s never any true justification for her motives or actions, and as such it could have been easy for Mo'Nique to turn Mary into a caricature.  However, the way in which Mo'Nique handles this seedy character is nothing short of phenomenal.  So as to not risk revealing any of the crucial details of the emotionally climatic scene nor its turning point, I will refrain from discussing it any further.  I will, however, hark back to Oscar Wilde's quote on human anguish, which, as a philosophy, mirrors the key decision made by Precious towards the end of the film.

          As students of any subject matter, whether it be science, religion, literature, philosophy, psychology, etc., it is always important to look to the future.  In order to succeed with these forward strides, however, a diligent student must always be mindful of past inspirations in his or her field.  Only when it comes to the subject of life itself, does the student’s diligence become truly imperative.  In Precious, the titular character is forced to endure an unfathomable amount of abuse, on route to her self-discovery.  Nothing will ever erase the horrors she had to go through.  Not even the wisdom of her social worker and all of her schooling can help Precious remake her past.  Sometimes, there is just nothing that can be done.  It is with these precious cases, however, that the less said, the more accomplished.          

The Road

***1/2

The End Less Travelled


          For decades now, cinema has been fascinated by humanity's fear of the end of the world.  Unfortunately, the nature of this fascination has had more to do with the subject's potential in bringing in box office success, than the emotional core found within this grave fear.  With such greedy exploitation, Hollywood has forever romanticized humanity's greatest fear: the end of all living things.  It has been a long time coming for a filmmaker to step outside the box of this clichéd genre, and finally create something real and humane with this bleak subject matter.  With The Road (adapted by Cormac McCarthy's novel of the same name), director John Hillcoat has made one of the most credible post-apocalyptic movies in recent memory.

          Much of this credit is due to the outstanding lead performance of Viggo Mortensen, and the stark cinematography by Javier Aguirresarobe.  The story takes place in post-apocalyptic times, but unlike many other Hollywood predecessors, this film gives no explanation for the exact cause of its apocalyptic environment.  Instead, The Road focuses on the relationship between a father (Mortensen) and his son (newcomer Kodi Smit-McPhee), as they travel episodically from one desolate area to another, merely trying to survive another hour.  Mortensen gives an extraordinary Oscar-worthy performance, as he once again steps outside his heroic Lord of the Rings-like typecast, and strips his character down to the bare necessitates of life and basic human survival.

          Coupling Mortensen's gritty performance is the film's cinematography.  With no need for epic explosions or in-your-face special effects, Aguirresarobe's cinematography relies heavily on the natural elements of light and shadow.  His images are as bleak as the story itself, and reflect in perfect unison the film's discernment of that which truly matter in life.  The majority of our everyday lives are filled with superficial codings, with scarcely a day passing by when all of life's true necessities are recognized.  The Road juxtaposes images of skulls, empty cans of food and drink, naked and starved human beings, with those of abandoned ships, decrepit buildings, rusted cars, and so on.  Despite the bleakness of such imagery, these pictures help form the film’s wakeup call.

          However, as great as Mortensen is as the father, McPhee is equally successful at portraying a ‘cute’, whiny 12-year old boy.  Since The Road exhibits such an enormous scope of gloom, it is imperative for the story to involve at least a few moments of human innocence.  However, almost every time McPhee opens his mouth to speak, one begins to expect an upcoming cry of whining and complaining.  The frequency of such complaining inevitably becomes distracting from the film's more tactful handling of human anguish.

          Found within this episodic journey of father and son, is a back story of the mother's gradual departure from the family and its plight.  The mother is played by Charlize Theron, who gives an honest and empathic performance of a mother in conflict, as she tries to make the impossible choice of either surrendering herself over to the family's likely demise, or choosing survival through hope.  Her scenes have the potential for being heart-wrenchingly powerful, but they have such little screen time that whenever they do transpire, they end up falling flat emotionally.  For such a key character, in terms of shaping the father's driving ambitions for his son's survival, it is unfortunate that she is not given more screen time.

          The film's other major shortcoming is its climax.  After revealing such a gritty and credible portrait of the end of the world, the film's climatic scene between father and son seems relatively insulting to the intelligence and prudence of its audience.  Through falling back on the melodramatic dialogue of yesteryear's disaster flicks, director Hillcoat loses touch with his unique vision of an end less travelled.  When all is said and done, however, The Road will be able to hold its head high as at least one film that tried to be real, even while the majority of other such films took the easy route.

Slumdog Millionaire

** 1/2

An Unfortunate Fairy Tale


          Once upon a reality, there was a need for fantasy. Through a shared pursuance of redemption, human beings have created ingenious methods for enduring suffering. Whether it is through performing physical activity, or turning to more creative outlets such as the human intellect, we as a species are consistently looking outside of our realities in order to enhance the quality of our everyday experiences. This tool for survival could very well have been the same source that helped spark the storytelling genres of fantasy/science fiction, as well as the ageless legends and fairy tales that have been passed down from generation to generation.

          There is, of course, a potential danger in using such survival techniques; dangers, which tend to spawn from the inevitable rebound effect of denying one's own personal reality. In real life, this all-too common scenario can harvest tragic consequences. This same situation constructed within the confines of cinema, however, tends to yield itself towards a more offensive exploitation. It is within this precise consequence of romantic flair, where "Slumdog Millionaire" wrecks its own train of heart.

          "Slumdog" tells the story of a young Indian man who is living in Mumbai and finds himself in an inquisition of sorts, as he attempts to justify the legitimacy of his recent success on India's version of the popular TV show "Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?" The movie begins with our protagonist (Jamal K. Malik, performed with an earnest sense of yearning by Dev Patel) having long surpassed the expected benchmark of achievement for the show's contestants. For the Indian authorities however, this accomplishment by Jamal is all the more astonishing, given the nature of Jamal's background while growing up. It is known that Jamal lived the majority of his young life growing up in some of the poorest, most violent and most diseased ridden areas in all of India. As such, it is this reality of Jamal's upbringing that gives the authorities the 'justification' for their thorough inquiry.

          Here we find ourselves back in the reality of customizing human suffering. Yet once more we find ourselves within the clutches of pure Hollywood fantasy. For this is yet another movie in a long line of factory like productions, where the depraved realities of horrific living conditions take a subordinate step backwards, in order to let in the stench of implausible delusions. Remarkably, each prominent experience of suffering that Jamal endured as a child and teenager had within it a real life scenario that reflected the correct answers needed for "Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?"  As Jamal sifts through his own past in order to find the correct answers for the TV show, we the audience are supposed to buy in to the absurdity of this implausible plot.
  
          Yes it is true, that director Danny Boyle was not afraid to reveal the harrowing conditions found underneath the rapid development of India's middle to upper class. Still, it is the unfortunate path which Boyle and screenwriter Simon Beaufoy take, that only leads to the complete negation of "Slumdog"'s theme and message. Let's face it: the combination of some of the world's most robust economies hitting a low point not seen since The Great Depression, and the continuance of countless wars and lands ravaged by famine, would seem to lend itself well to a movie like "Slumdog Millionaire". With its story of rags to riches contained within a boundless sense of epic proportions, this movie would seem to be a panacea.

          It is all very well to learn the lifelong art form of embracing the light in the ugliest of experiences, but to make an attempt of this sort through such an improbable dream that is "Slumdog Millionaire" is not only counter-productive, but futile. Being able to acquire a sense of wisdom and profundity through one's own suffering, has been a courageous achievement witnessed time and again throughout human history. Yet, if we are to believe in the possibility of translating our moments of suffering into the correct answers for world issues on a hit TV game show like "Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?", then we might as well stop believing in the possibility of redemption altogether. One of the biggest stretches of credulity for the audience is that Jamal's quest of being on this television show is based on his dreams of reconnecting with his childhood love. He actually believes that she will be watching the telecast, but the plot is not convincing enough to give these dreams any real hope of becoming successful. Since most of us go to the movies in order to escape (thus enhance) our everyday lives, one must ask what the point is of making such a movie as "Slumdog Millionaire"? This film clearly does not work on a literal level yet it remains equally pointless on any metaphorical scale. It may have its endearing moments from time to time, but it ends up being no more substantial than the ridiculous Bollywood music video, found in the end credits.

And now for the million-dollar question: How could I possibly write such a polarizing commentary on a movie that won 8 Oscars, including Best Picture and Best Director?

Answer: A) I am far from being an Academy Awards scholar.
B) I copied and pasted Roger Ebert's review of "Slumdog
Millionaire".
C) I've never even seen the movie "Slumdog Millionaire".
I took just one look at its title, and began writing.



D) "It was destiny."