Whip It!

I started documenting my list of female movie directors more than two years ago, and I'm so pleased to say that I have a huge backlog of people I would like to write about, and since beginning this project Kathryn Bigelow won the Oscar for directing the (atrociously named, but very good) The Hurt Locker.

So, things, I suppose are looking up. I guess.

Which brings me to the career of ridiculously likable actor and first time feature director, Drew Barrymore, and her film, Whip It. Written by Los Angeles Roller Derby girl, Shauna Cross (AKA Maggie Mayhem), it's both an underdog sports story and a coming of age piece. Is it super original? No. But it's extremely enjoyable and possesses both an intelligence in its execution and a lack of cynicism that's extremely welcome in these dark movie watching days when people being mean to each other is supposed to be hilarious.

Ellen Page plays a young girl named Bliss who lives in a small town near Austin, TX and participates in pageants at her mother's insistence. After picking up a flier, Page and her BFF go to a Roller Derby tournament and she is completely entranced. One of the nicest things about the movie is watching somebody find something they love. There's an early scene in which Bliss is skating in preparation for tryouts with a look of absolute joy on her face.

And yes, the film contains most of the typical Bad News Bears styled clichés, but it's amiable and low key and often funny. And - Wow! - it really, really looks to me as if the actors do pretty much all their own skating! Barrymore's direction is skilled and doesn't get in the way of her story. During the Roller Derby scenes I always knew who everyone was and where they were in relation to the other skaters (something, for example, Christopher Nolan is completely incapable of), and it looked lovely. There's a sweet PG-13 romance between Bliss and a cute musician boy, but romance isn't the point. It's about Bliss skating, and about her relationship with her best friend and her parents.

I thought Bliss's parents (played by Marcia Gay Harden and Daniel Stern) to be the weakest part of the film. They were painted a little too broadly and either Daniel Stern was completely miscast, or he's just a terrible actor, either way, I found his performance a little hard to watch. I did like that whatever issues Bliss was having with them, they were not painted as villains. After lying about her age and sneaking off to Austin to skate, when her parents found out they'd been lied to, they (understandably) freaked out. I liked that the script has Kristen Wiig's character point out to Bliss that she had lied, and that her parents clearly cared about her, and maybe she should cut them some slack.

Of course it ends with the big game in which the Hurl Scouts face their rivals, the Juliette Lewis (Iron Maven) led Holy Rollers, and none of the plot points are particularly surprising. But Whip It possesses in spades many of the simple pleasures one often wants from movies that seem so often in short supply. The film also had a really nice, understated sense of place. Another subtle touch, one I see very, very rarely was in the costume design. Bliss (later, Babe Ruthless), comes from a family without a great deal of money. And we see her character wear the same items of clothing, in different combinations, multiple times throughout the story. Barrymore paid a great deal of attention to detail, giving the film a really nice visual texture. There was nothing rote about the filmmaking.

Drew Barrymore has been acting in movies since she was four or five, and comes from one of the most legendary show business dynasties in American history. Whip It, while not perfect, didn't feel like a rookie effort. It was modern and self-assured and good hearted, all qualities one associates with her as an actor. It's one of those movies that I'll likely wind up seeing 600 times before I die, simply because I'll sit there and watch it every time it's on TV. It's the kind of movie that makes me unreasonably happy in an uncomplicated and unembarrassed way. Something that is actually pretty rare.

RIP Paul, the Prognosticating Octopus

Sad news hit my inbox this morning as I discovered that Paul, the octopus who predicted the outcome of all the World Cup games has shrugged off this mortal coil. According to Sea Life aquarium in Germany (where Paul resided until his untimely demise) he died of natural causes.

Hm. I wonder if a cephalopod necropsy has been performed. In case you have forgotten, after Paul successfully predicted to outcome of the Wold Cup final, there were threats to his life from disgruntled soccer fans. It was suggested that a proper place for Paul was to be deep fried and placed on a platter next to a bowl of dipping sauce, that is to say, that he should be made into calamari. I think a call for an investigation is in order. Was it a mob hit? Disgruntled supporters of the Netherland's football team? We won't know until this is properly looked into, but all suggestions (in my imagination) to do so have been ignored!

I smell foul play!

BREAKING: I am not the only Paul conspiracy theorist! See today's Guardian.

The Weeping, The Pink Tassel, The Ersatz Russian

I have pretty much zero knowledge of technical skating, but I think I can spot a crazy artist when I see one. I love the Olympics and I love watching individuals compete. Team sports leave me cold. I guess I should clarify and say "professional team sports leave me cold". I made a pretty solid blanket decision that I am pretty much completely disinterested in any activity or institution in which I would never be welcome to participate (except in a cheering capacity*).

Back to the Olympics, or specifically, figure skating. Actually, the much mocked men's figure skating. The American who won the gold seems like a very nice and gracious man. He is clearly very talented and apparently almost preternaturally hard working. Thankfully, the days when the US men figure skaters felt they had to butch up are pretty much gone - it was always kind of a losing battle anyway, so lots went for "boyish". The two American contenders were in full flamboyant glory. Evan Lysicek, the winner of the gold, dressed like Hamlet for both programs (once with feathers, once with silver snakes). It was like he had stepped straight out of the Ballet Russes in its Parisian glory days. Obviously, he's a very, very good skater. But he's not an artist. Really.

I don't even know what to say about Johnny Weir's long program that doesn't sound cliché. It was an absolutely heartfelt triumph of popular entertainment. He skated like Callas singing until her voice was in tatters, like a ballerina in red shoes leaping in front of a train, like Jackson Pollack bleeding on the canvas. It was so completely over the top. I don't know exactly what he was saying through skate, but he really, really meant it and said it well. At the end of his program he collapsed on the ice in tears. The audience jumped to its feet en masse. And he didn't even place.

(photo via telegraph.co.uk)