I Need To Talk About Tilda

On Day 3 of the Cannes experience we saw We Need To Talk About Kevin, Tilda Swinton's new movie. It was an great film (I won't go into too much detail about it; I will write a review for it). She was amazing in it, but that's like saying water is liquid. Tilda Swinton delivers great performances time, and time again. From Michael Clayton (She won a Academy Award for Best Supporting Actress) to Burn After Reading, she's always captivating, and natural. It's like she's not trying; it's just who she is. She has a tendency to play ice queens (she played a literal ice queen in the Narnia films). Judging from her roles, and how convincing she is in them; I thought she was a thespian who took her craft as serious as a heart attack. I was dead wrong.

When Tilda talked with our class, she couldn't have been more different from the characters she's portrayed. She smiled, laughed, and told funny stores. She's so down to Earth without a trace of ego. I couldn't believe it; Tilda Swinton was like us (except she's a critically acclaimed actress with an Oscar; I'm a struggling screenwriter who's never won any type of contest. I'm also a guy and not Scottish).

Three things she talked about stood out to me:

1. When thinking about signing onto projects she doesn't look at the script, she looks at the people. She believes movies should be a collaboration with all the people involved. The most important thing to her is trust; she works with people she has a history with. There are some exceptions (Like Tony Gilroy, writer/director Michael Clayton), but genuine people are first, and foremost.

2. She talked about how her children inspired her. She told a story about her son seeing Vertigo for the first time (its a Alfred Hitchcock film). He liked the movie, and wanted to see more of his films because the direction was superb (he was ten; at ten I thought Batman and Robin was a good movie).

3. The final thing I took from her talk was the answer to a question posed by yours truly. I was curious about how she improved as an actress over the years. I like to hear about the creative process people go through in preparation for a major work. I asked this question:

"How have you grown as an actress?"

I had to repeat the question because she didn't hear me; she thought about for a moment, then answered:

"I don't know. I don't think I've grown as an actress."

I felt like I asked a stupid question, but she elaborated:

"I'm not an actor. Sometimes I feel actors get caught acting. I'm a performer...I can't say I have really grown as an actress."

Then it hit me. I thought about everything she said. Never she referred to herself as an actress. I believe what she meant was that some actors make movies in order to show how good they can act. Its not always Oscar bait movies, but they're showy roles. Some actors are caught acting for acting sakes.

Performing implies that a level of professionalism goes into making a film. I thought about it like this; we don't act in front of our family; they're the only ones who see all three dimensions for better, or for worse. She only collaborates with people she knows so it's not acting; it's a role to be played. She seems to look at it like a job; not a hobby, or a vehicle to fame. Its freeing to think of it in that regard.

Well, that's enough psycho babble. I'm not her spokesman; I'm just an young man trying to understand. Most people can come to their own conclusions about what she meant; that's just how I interpreted. Her approach may not work for everyone, but it works for her. One thing was for certain; she wasn't performing in front of us that Saturday afternoon. It's impossible to fake elegance, and intelligence; no matter how good of an "actor" someone is.

Cannes Begins

Prologue

The day before Cannes felt like a training montage: we checked in at the Palais, and got our badges. The Palais was where all the big events happened; screenings, press conferences, Lars Von Trier, everything. Behind the Palais was the Riviera; in addition to holding screening, this was where distribution companies set up shop, and tricked companies into buying their movies (did I say tricked? I meant sold). Behind the Riviera were Pavilions; each country at the festival had one (guess which Pavilion we hung out in). Along the main strip were hotels like the Majestic, the Gray, the Carlton, the Donte' (sorry, speaking into my future).

Our market badges allowed us into these hollowed halls, and if we sat long enough (or were drunk enough, same difference) a celebrity would come out of hiding, and ignore us. Our teachers told us to protect the market badges with our lives if necessary (I slept with mine under the pillow...no, seriously). After hanging around Cannes, I went back to JLP (Juan Les-Pines is the proper name, but college students abbreviate everything). I looked at all the movies scheduled for In Competition, Un Certain Regard, and market screenings. I looked over the train schedule, and packed the tux. Before falling asleep I took out my totem, and spun it. It toppled over, I wasn't dreaming.

Cannes: Day One

I got to Cannes around 11:00 am (or 5:00 am AT), and went into the Palais. I checked my tux, and saw my first movie upstairs. It was called Turn Me On G*d***it (got to keep it PG). It's a Norwedgian film about a horny teenage girl coming to turns with her sexuality, and over active imagination. About 9 of us saw it (the lady scanning badges looked us strange because we all gave her Peachy Dawg Production cards; like she's never seen 9 buyers from the same company). The movie was good despite it's title; it was like Judd Apatow, and Diablo Cody wrote a screenplay together. It was funny, touching, and featured a lot of nudity (which would become an ongoing theme throughout the festival). The next movie I saw was called Unwelcome. Should've known the title was a warning; it was horrible, and that's the nicest thing I can say about it. This movie also had a lot of sex (I think there's a quota of T&A each movie has to meet to be screened). I tried to see Attack The Block, but thanks to Murphy it was a no-go. Didn't have time to dwell on that, I had to get ready for the 19:15 (7:15 pm AT) premiere of Midnight in Paris; the new Woody Allen movie opening the festival. It was tuxedo time!

It wasn't as exciting as the exclamation point suggests. I just wanted to get in for the experience; it wasn't fun. I got dressed in a bathroom stall so small even Superman would've had trouble changing, and he had a phone booth. After changing, I made a sign to beg for tickets (I failed to mention that changing into a tuxedo in a smelly bathroom was no guarantee I would see the movie. Murphy-2, Donte'-0).

I stood outside in my tux sweating, and begging (I was the best looking hobo France had ever seen). On top of that, my bow tie was falling apart, and I kept adjusting it. By 7, it tore apart. I picked it up (and my pride), and went back to Juan defeated, and a little smelly (Murphy was winning). As a consolation prize my photo was taken (so when I become famous this photo will resurface just to spite me). I got back to the room, poured some orange juice (still in my tux), and slipped it slow (my dream since that morning). I knew things would get better (it wasn't like I could go home). I pulled out my totem, and spun it; it kept spinning. I was getting worried, but it wobbled a little. Then--

France at First Glance

It didn't take long to experience my first France adventure. Some classmates and I went to a restaurant called Le Pan and Cake; its across the street from where we're staying, and above it are some apartments. Once in the restaurant, we met the owner, and his daughter (they're wonderful people who speak English, which means it's a safe place). We were eating when this guy pulled up, and parked in the middle of the street. The doors were open, and everyone could see what was happening.

This guy got out his car, and yelled at the person living above the restaurant. He was spitting, veins popping out his neck, and turning red. He was mad as hell and wasn't gonna take it anymore (I learned later they're brothers)! He stopped yelling, and turned back towards his car, but must've forgot some curse words because he turned back around five seconds later, and yelled some more!

The owner's daughter was about to go outside, but the guy turned back towards his car again. I'm was about to take another bite of my sandwich when Mr. Personality turned back around, yelled some more, and kicked the car he was standing in front of. This made the owner's daughter angry (it was her car). She went outside, and yelled at the guy! They had an heated exchange (I pulled out the universal remote I keep in my back pocket, and tried to change the subtitles to English, but realized this wasn't T.V; the jet lag was killing me). He left, but turned back around (just kidding, he really left this time). I'm sure hurtful words were said, but I can't prove it without subtitles (in the biopic I'm already planning this will be the opening scene).

After leaving the restaurant I got on the elevator. When I got off on my floor, the hallway was pitch black (I had only been in France for a couple of hours, and was already having a horror film moment). I looked at the wall, and saw an illuminated strip. Being someone of superior intellect, I pressed it, and the lights came on (they're so green here...at least at first glance, but that's a story for another post). I walked into my room, sat down, and looked around; it still hadn't hit me that this was France. It felt like a dream; like I was a spy or extractor (and yes, these thoughts ran through my mind). It just seemed too cool; everyone was given envelopes with information in them (like I said, real spy stuff).

Because of the jet lag, I didn't look at my change. I looked at the change, and realized it was in coin form (hooray coins)! The coins aren't like puny, American coins; these coins have value. The biggest coin is 2 Euro, which is like 4 American paper dollars (or something like that). To put into perspective how strong the Euro is, 170 million Euro is about 120 million dollars (typing that sentence made me sad). Europeans could own America if they wanted (but they would have to share with China; let me stop talking bad about America before I'm not allowed back in).

Some of us went to the beach to kill time, but it wouldn't die. Though it felt later, it was only four in the afternoon, and by the time we left it was 6. By the time it was 11, my body decided to wake up. After taking a shower, I sat around until bedtime, but it was worth it; the sleep was glorious! I woke the next morning and couldn't move. After about 2 hours of staring into space, I got up, looked out the window, and saw the brother of the guy I mentioned earlier, and he looked creeptastic (as bad as I wanted to yell at him, I also wanted to keep my life).

Well, that was my day one in a nutshell. Next time, I will talk about something else France related. Until then, pray I don't cause an international incident.

Review: Best Laid Plans

Country: United Kingdom
Genre: Drama
Director: David Blair
Cast: Stephen Graham, Adewale Akinnuoye-Agbaje, David O'Hara, Maxine Peake

Best Laid Plans is a frustrating movie; it's like a professional athlete with all the talent in the world, and the ability to take over a game, but pretends to be an average player because he/she fears the big moment. All the pieces for a powerful story are in place, but the fear of being different, and going out on a limb keeps Best Laid Plans from succeeding.

The story revolves around the friendship between Danny (Stephen Graham), a low level thug, and Joseph (Adewale Akinnuoye-Agbaje), a giant man with the mind of a seven year old. Danny is in debt to a powerful crime boss, and in order to pay it off he persuades (i.e., manipulates) Joseph into participating in underground cage fights.

This premise could go two ways: the way of the coward, or the way of the brave. The way of the brave is not relying on cliches, and stepping out on a limb. This movie should tell a story about the fallacy of man, greed, and learning the meaning behind friendship...and of course this movie does not do that. It chooses the path of the coward: cliched plot points, fear of making the characters look bad, and not fighting for the audience's affection. This movie assumes just because one of its protagonists' is mentally challenged, it's granted automatic sympathy, but all this does is make one wonder if the screenwriter rides the shortbus.

The screenplay is afraid; there are not a lot of consequences to actions. The characters are never in any real danger. The only time I feel anything is during Joseph's first fight, but I feel disgust; I should be rooting for him to win. This is the pattern of Joseph's fights: he yells for Danny, his opponent gets the upper hand, Danny looks away, Joseph sees his blood, Danny tells him to fight back, Joseph gets mad, and turns into the Incredible Hulk (in a figurative way of course, though that would make things better), beats up the guy, and cries for Danny to take him home: rinse and repeat (and you too can make this movie). Joseph has some bruises; they're under his clothing, and never on his face because that would be silly. Joseph's girlfriend Isabel (and yes, she is also mentally handicapped) does not notice nor does her social worker (?) mother. Joseph never goes to the hospital, or does the audience see Danny helping him heal. These illogical missteps are unforgivable.

Danny is an awful human being, which is fine. The problem is that the movie tries to hide this, and make him into some hard luck guy this all just happens to. Danny does not make any sacrifices for Joseph, he pushes Joseph to fight, and we see that he feels bad about it...at least I think he feels bad. He's too busy falling in love with a lady of the night (that's a nicer way of saying prostitute). Danny runs around free even though he owes this kingpin a lot of money. Danny's girlfriend never finds out the truth nor does she change his perspective of the world. Again, fear rears its ugly head.

This movie should be gritty: There's fighting! There's sex! There are drugs! Danny's girlfriend is not only a prostitute, but a painter (a painter and a prostitute...that's some two for one special), and he even has a Scarface poster! This film should be so gritty the audience can snort cocaine off of Danny's living room table. Instead, the story sports an uneven tone that's borderline comedic; there's a 30 minute period in the film where there's no fighting. The movie pretends to be character driven but it's really all the plots ever seen in one movie. This makes the emotional scenes fall flat; when Danny finally stands up for Joseph there's just a meh feeling. Joseph fares a little better, but it's only out of pity rather than wanting to see him succeed. Joseph never questions Danny (even 7 year old's question their parents from time to time).

This fear trickles down into the performances as well. Stephen Graham does his best to make Danny seem human, but he just comes off as another small thug stereotype. There is never any silent moment of reflection until the end. He does not hate himself, he hates God because it's His fault for making him stupid. Akinnuoye-Agbaje makes Joseph come off like a cross between the Jolly Green Giant, and Frankenstein. I don't know if he's going for a Michael Clarke Duncan vibe, but it's an epic fail (he goes full-retard instead of Forrest Gump retard). David Blair shows the ability to photograph beautiful scenery, but the lighting overall is flat. He does not show much during the fight scenes; it's unfair to come up with this premise and not at least show any brutality.

There are some clever lines and beautiful shots, but in the end Best Laid Plans comes up shortbus. It could be a brave movie with something to say, but it's too afraid to deliver. It's like the pretty girl everyone has a crush on in school; she can pull off any look, she's nice and she waves at the unpopular kids. She has everything going for her...then she opens her mouth.

Score: 5/10

The Reboot

It's so good to be back! Lots of changes have occurred over the last couple of months. I'm about to graduate and head into that scary place called the real world (I was force fed the red pill even though I chose the blue pill). Right now I'm in France; the Cannes Film Festival just ended and yours truly was there. It was a fantastic experience and a game changer for me. To be there, and meet so many people was amazing.

While watching ESPN one day, one of their million analyst said this quote, "Change is inevitable, but growth is optional." I know, I know; ESPN is the last place people go to find something inspirational but it worked for me. I will not fight the changes in my life and I will grow because of it.

So, the $64,000 dollar question: What does this all mean? Well, it means I am changing the subject matter of my blog (wait, don't leave). Instead of talking about sports (that's so 2010), I will write movie reviews and talk about my Cannes experience. I'm now international, (step 2 in my secret evil plan to take over the world) so my blog should show my growth as a writer and a person.

This is not your grandfather's reboot; this is a rebirth except less messy. So, for the two people still reading, get ready for something fearless, and fun!

Lover's Scorn

OK, let's get this out of the way; I am adding a new commandment to my blog: Thou shalt never mention Brett Farve again. If I have to acknowledge from henceforth he will be referred to as "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named". Anyone who mentions "You-Know-Who" by name will be subject to arrest and punishment.

Now that we have taken care of one egotistical, narcissistic, attention starved, and slightly neurotic athlete, let's talk about another (jk, I love LeBron, lol). Because this was a relatively low-key story, I feel it is my responsibility as a journalist to look at it from every angle, dig up every detail and be more unbiased than Bill O' Reilly is with Barack Obama (seriously, this is a big story, how could no one have covered or discussed this). Anywho, LeBron jolted his dried up ex-team, the Cleveland Cavaliers, for his new, sexy team, the Miami Heat. LeBron saw a greater opportunity and took it; no one should blame him for it. LeBron joins Chris Bosh and Dwyane Wade to form the most powerful trio since the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost (I hereby christen these guys the Justice League! Great moniker, right!?).

But, as in all relationships, there is the break-uper and the break-upee. The Cleveland Cavaliers were the break-upee (as evidenced by this letter from Cavs owner Dan Gilbert, you can practically smell the tears and the vodka). In a recent interview with GQ, LeBron finally responded to said letter, "I don't think he ever cared about LeBron." I give LeBron extra points for referring to himself in the third person (He's like Lord Voldermort; he refers to himself in the third person, and he is better than the rest of us). However, LeBron is wrong; Dan Gilbert loved LeBron. He needed LeBron; it's like getting hit with divorce papers after 40 years of marriage. Dan became a shut in, he did not like going out, and he took his partner for granted; meanwhile LeBron stayed in shape, stayed in-tune with pop culture (thanks to my blog) and finally got tired of his loyality being assumed. To save a doomed marriage, Dan allowed him to stay out all hours of the night, come home when he felt like it, and even made sure his dinner was ready when he finally came home from with lipstick on his collar and a missing tie (ok, I am taking this a little too far).

Dan believes if he can't have LeBron, no one can! He cried, yelled, cursed; heck, the only thing he did not do is set himself on fire like the Roman wives when their husbands died (he did beg, this guy is an accurate re-enactment of Dan Gilbert). I am sorry to break it to Dan but...LeBron has found someone else; someone younger, better looking, and dude, let's face it, it's South Beach (you can frown if they want but tell me if you want to live in a city nicknamed, "The Mistake By the Lake")! So Dan, if you are reading this (I know you are) listen: You have to let LeBron go; I know it's hard. Who knows, maybe you will luck up and find someone who likes you for you (not likely but hey, hope springs eternal). Maybe after you put down the Jack Daniels and Orange Juice, you will realize this break-up was for the best. You will get back in shape, start dating again and maybe even come face-to-face with LeBron and talk about the good times. But, until then, stay strong!

I'm Back!!!!

Hi everybody! I know, I know, it's been too long! I stopped writing without any explanation but I assure you this blog was not canceled (this blog is critically acclaimed; though that did not save Arrested Development) but fear not; for I am back and better than ever. It has been brought to my attention that I broke one of my ten commandments but believe me when I say I will never break them again(I have given myself one hundred lashes; they were very painful and it just stopped hurting to sit down).

So, the one-trillion dollar question: Donte', how was your summer? Well, I saw the majestic black dolphins of Quahog, I traveled to Colorado and learned how to rap in Spanish, I planted an idea in the mind of a prominent basketball player (I even met this guy), and last but not least I wrote a book but that was nothing compared to everything else. I guess the next question is: How did I pay for all of these trips? Well...(I am not proud of myself; I got a chest contusion after too many chest bumps) but that's neither here nor now, the important part is that my summer was awesome (though I will never be able to bro-out ever again)!

So, for all the sports blogs that have started up in my absence and thought I would not come back, I am telling you to CEASE AND DESIST (That's right, I just used all caps). This is your only warning: If you continue I am coming after you, Michael Corleone style (that was a bit extreme, I take it back...kinda)! I am serious when it comes to my return; I'm hungrier than Mike Tyson after eating his opponents children and angrier than a Mel Gibson voicemail. I'm focused and ready to give the bloggersphere the unfiltered truth (well, as much as humanly possible). There's nothing else to say...I'm back!