Odd thoughts come in to my head. Watching a scene in this movie taking place at a breakfast table with Francesca (Meryl Streep) serving coffee to Robert (Clint Eastwood) makes me wonder about what it was that would happen in a similar situation in my house when growing up. We didn't have coffee. No, the preferred drink was Tea. With drinking Tea comes the price that rarely a limitless supply of it is available (unless you are seated at a Tea-shop). If anyone wanted a second cup someone had to brew it. It seems that in all those years, quite often someone obliged.
Although Bridges of Madison County is about two people who fall in love, the thing that strikes me most sitting here now and writing this is that the movie is moving because it reminds me of home, of growing up with my family and most of all my parents. It's odd that a movie billed as a romance should do that. It is even billed as a "chick-flick" in some circles if an issue of Men's Health is to be trusted. Why is it that romances are classified as such? Is the average man not interested in romance? I fear it is partly a perception drawn from movies themselves. Significant therefore, how this movie's perception is. The point being that a "Romance" comes with a certain amount of stigma attached to it. But this movie is far from a cliched romance and in the hands of Eastwood takes on many more dimensions. Strangely, besides the fact that it reminds me of my parents as I write there is also Chopin's Raindrop Prelude playing in my head. I believe the reason for that is that the central piece of the score by Lennie Niehaus (and apparently supported by Eastwood) certainly seems to be drawing from it.
I have said before that A Perfect World is my favourite Eastwood directed movie. Now it seems it will have to become this one. I hope this opinion does not change over time because I committing this to the Web. (Thankfully, in the even such commitments may be undone). However, that does not mean that I will change my mind. I don't think I will. This is much like what happens in the movie: In a way, some commitments cannot be undone.
There are so many things going for this movie that is hard to pick a place to start. The story, a novel by Robert James Waller is perhaps nothing special (although it has a certain appeal, which is discussed in Ebert's review), but here a lot of elements work together to elevate the material. I have mentioned the score before, which is subtle, almost minimal in its use but very effective. It is nicely complemented by Blues / Jazz numbers playing whenever possible on the nearest available radio. The cinematography is also quite brilliant, full of beautiful images and with the use of the lighting gives the movie an almost under-stated, elegiac tone. The performances by Streep and Eastwood are masteries of subtlety in almost the same way. That they manage to become a sort of argument for main-stream (read Hollywood) movies and the acting in them is a tribute to the skill of the actors here. There are critics of mainstream movies and their acting such as the opinions of Ray Carney of acting in Hollywood movies in the last 20-30 years. I understand where he is coming from but can't help feeling sorry at times for the fact that they (probably) don't feel anything when they see a movie like this (or The Shawshank Redemption). To them this is fake art, and maybe it is. But oh... it is so darn good.
Consider the many poignant moments that Eastwood and Streep achieve here together. Eastwood has a seen where Francesca gets angry at his character, Robert and suggests that the thing that they have had (their love affair) us like plenty of others that he has had before. The suggestion is so very painful to him. He doesn't say anything and really his expression doesn't change at all. But so much is conveyed (this reminds me of some moments in Forrest Gump). Watching Eastwood grow out of his type-cast of Dirty Harry / Sergio Leone days to a wise actor (and man) is one of the rewarding experiences of being a long-time movie fan. Not that Eastwood was not a good actor then, only that he has grown wise and learnt even more about his craft. I am reminded of Tow Wilkinson and his performance in In The Bedroom. But Eastwood has the ideal foil in Streep (much like Sissy Spacek in In The Bedroom) and in fact there were moments when I had thought that She was challenging her co-star to rise beyond himself, but that is being a little unfair. There is a time, when She is in a red dress looking on after him driving off into the darkness, which is indescribable for what a torrent of feelings it brings to me the viewer. Thus begins the final moments of the film and little smiles, nods mingled with many tears are the things are most heart-breaking.
Although Ebert feels that the rest of the cast, characters were a bit weak, I disagree. I thought in a strange way by adding shades of eccentricity they became more believable and contributed more to the telling of the story (apart from the necessary narration device). For example, a look at the end by the Michael's wife (Phyllis Lyons) is very striking.
The other odd thing that I was thinking about while watching this, happened somewhere around the middle of the film when Francesca and Robert had made love for the first time and were kissing intimately. I thought suddenly of the actors involved in this and other such scenes and the amount of themselves that they invest in the process of acting. That, in a way, we as human beings have a need to be voyeurs and peeking into other people's lives (and this thought is not restricted to just the kissing or the sexual aspect of things that the word "voyeur" inevitably conjures up in one's mind these days; maybe observer is a better word, but somehow an observer seems to have less involvement than a watcher). As human beings we have a need to hear (watch) other people's stories. It perhaps derives a little from the basic need for society but is more than that. It enables us to empathize with fellow humans and their concerns and in turn informs our personality. That in the century when we have apparently become most obsessed with the self is also the century in which we have invented a way of looking at (and hence feeling for) others seems at length a healthy development. That is exactly why the Art of movies is justified because done right it can sometimes do more (or at least different things) than any form before it (like books), and in effect it reaches more people because there is a much shorter / easier investment of time and attention on the part of the viewer, to get to it.
A very good movie if it makes me think about all that. I am left with reflections about Art, of Artists and their contributions, movie-makers, and of my fellow beings, how much I am interested in their condition (and also an uncanny need to begin answering the Ray Carney brigade). At the center are thoughts of my parents, their sacrifices, compromises in raising me, the commitment and the things they might have given up. Ultimately, I am overwhelmed and I cry.
Although Bridges of Madison County is about two people who fall in love, the thing that strikes me most sitting here now and writing this is that the movie is moving because it reminds me of home, of growing up with my family and most of all my parents. It's odd that a movie billed as a romance should do that. It is even billed as a "chick-flick" in some circles if an issue of Men's Health is to be trusted. Why is it that romances are classified as such? Is the average man not interested in romance? I fear it is partly a perception drawn from movies themselves. Significant therefore, how this movie's perception is. The point being that a "Romance" comes with a certain amount of stigma attached to it. But this movie is far from a cliched romance and in the hands of Eastwood takes on many more dimensions. Strangely, besides the fact that it reminds me of my parents as I write there is also Chopin's Raindrop Prelude playing in my head. I believe the reason for that is that the central piece of the score by Lennie Niehaus (and apparently supported by Eastwood) certainly seems to be drawing from it.
I have said before that A Perfect World is my favourite Eastwood directed movie. Now it seems it will have to become this one. I hope this opinion does not change over time because I committing this to the Web. (Thankfully, in the even such commitments may be undone). However, that does not mean that I will change my mind. I don't think I will. This is much like what happens in the movie: In a way, some commitments cannot be undone.
There are so many things going for this movie that is hard to pick a place to start. The story, a novel by Robert James Waller is perhaps nothing special (although it has a certain appeal, which is discussed in Ebert's review), but here a lot of elements work together to elevate the material. I have mentioned the score before, which is subtle, almost minimal in its use but very effective. It is nicely complemented by Blues / Jazz numbers playing whenever possible on the nearest available radio. The cinematography is also quite brilliant, full of beautiful images and with the use of the lighting gives the movie an almost under-stated, elegiac tone. The performances by Streep and Eastwood are masteries of subtlety in almost the same way. That they manage to become a sort of argument for main-stream (read Hollywood) movies and the acting in them is a tribute to the skill of the actors here. There are critics of mainstream movies and their acting such as the opinions of Ray Carney of acting in Hollywood movies in the last 20-30 years. I understand where he is coming from but can't help feeling sorry at times for the fact that they (probably) don't feel anything when they see a movie like this (or The Shawshank Redemption). To them this is fake art, and maybe it is. But oh... it is so darn good.
Consider the many poignant moments that Eastwood and Streep achieve here together. Eastwood has a seen where Francesca gets angry at his character, Robert and suggests that the thing that they have had (their love affair) us like plenty of others that he has had before. The suggestion is so very painful to him. He doesn't say anything and really his expression doesn't change at all. But so much is conveyed (this reminds me of some moments in Forrest Gump). Watching Eastwood grow out of his type-cast of Dirty Harry / Sergio Leone days to a wise actor (and man) is one of the rewarding experiences of being a long-time movie fan. Not that Eastwood was not a good actor then, only that he has grown wise and learnt even more about his craft. I am reminded of Tow Wilkinson and his performance in In The Bedroom. But Eastwood has the ideal foil in Streep (much like Sissy Spacek in In The Bedroom) and in fact there were moments when I had thought that She was challenging her co-star to rise beyond himself, but that is being a little unfair. There is a time, when She is in a red dress looking on after him driving off into the darkness, which is indescribable for what a torrent of feelings it brings to me the viewer. Thus begins the final moments of the film and little smiles, nods mingled with many tears are the things are most heart-breaking.
Although Ebert feels that the rest of the cast, characters were a bit weak, I disagree. I thought in a strange way by adding shades of eccentricity they became more believable and contributed more to the telling of the story (apart from the necessary narration device). For example, a look at the end by the Michael's wife (Phyllis Lyons) is very striking.
The other odd thing that I was thinking about while watching this, happened somewhere around the middle of the film when Francesca and Robert had made love for the first time and were kissing intimately. I thought suddenly of the actors involved in this and other such scenes and the amount of themselves that they invest in the process of acting. That, in a way, we as human beings have a need to be voyeurs and peeking into other people's lives (and this thought is not restricted to just the kissing or the sexual aspect of things that the word "voyeur" inevitably conjures up in one's mind these days; maybe observer is a better word, but somehow an observer seems to have less involvement than a watcher). As human beings we have a need to hear (watch) other people's stories. It perhaps derives a little from the basic need for society but is more than that. It enables us to empathize with fellow humans and their concerns and in turn informs our personality. That in the century when we have apparently become most obsessed with the self is also the century in which we have invented a way of looking at (and hence feeling for) others seems at length a healthy development. That is exactly why the Art of movies is justified because done right it can sometimes do more (or at least different things) than any form before it (like books), and in effect it reaches more people because there is a much shorter / easier investment of time and attention on the part of the viewer, to get to it.
A very good movie if it makes me think about all that. I am left with reflections about Art, of Artists and their contributions, movie-makers, and of my fellow beings, how much I am interested in their condition (and also an uncanny need to begin answering the Ray Carney brigade). At the center are thoughts of my parents, their sacrifices, compromises in raising me, the commitment and the things they might have given up. Ultimately, I am overwhelmed and I cry.
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