127 Adjusted Rabbits in 3D

A couple weeks ago I saw "The Importance of Being Earnest" at the American Airlines Theater. I knew nothing of the show before going into the theater. All I knew was that it was a period piece, written by Oscar Wilde, and that Roundabout Theatre Company had extended their production of the play three times.  The people who are responsible behind "Live from the Met!" were taping that particular performance to be screened in movie theaters across the country. Finally, I was in the very last row of the balcony with a very drunk couple from New Jersey sitting right in front of me (They literally took small tequila bottles out of their pockets during each intermission, downing them as if they were water).

But enough about the experience of seeing "Earnest," onto the actual show. While I was a little unclear as to what was going on in the first ten or fifteen minutes, the show was absolutely hilarious. It was one of the silliest comedies I had seen in a while, and I laughed constantly (especially in Act Three). But because it was a "period piece" a.k.a. it doesn't take place within the past 20 years, I felt like there had to be some significant meaning behind what was going on. I kept on trying to decipher some greater purpose to what Oscar Wilde had written. Was Lady Bracknell a symbol for the socially backwards monarchy? Were Algernon and Worthing representing two opposing ideologies about the actualization of marriage? Or was there no meaning behind it at all? And by the end, I concluded the latter. Who cares if A represented B? I had such a hilariously good time that three hours of Oscar Wilde felt like a whimsically enjoyable 20 minute roller coaster.

The plays/musicals that are designed to be void of heavy meaning maintain a vital position in art and theatre. People like to call "musical comedies" theatrical fluff, and the word carries a negative connotation. But there are two points I'd like to make about "Fluff". First of all, not all musical comedies are fluff (look at shows such as "The Drowsy Chaperone" and "The Full Monty"). Secondly, fluff does not inherently mean bad or insignificant. The art of musical theatre took an unsurprising turn immediately following the 9/11 attacks: a tidal wave of musical comedies opened throughout New York, mostly adapted from movies. This resurrected the idea that musical theatre overall is a go-to form of escapism, and whether you approve of it or not, escapism hardly feels insignificant, especially in a time of crisis.

While I salute those who want to make people laugh for the sake of laughing, or forget for the sake of forgetting, I can honestly say that I'm interested in something rather different. I do want to make or be involved in theatre that carries a sense of weight and leaves the audience altered in a more dramatic way. And this entirely comes from my own personal experience when it comes to seeing plays or films that move me or inspire me. Even though I'm currently working on a rather farcical and absurd operetta (being funny is not one of my strong suits... hopefully it won't explode in my face), the past stuff that I've written has had the goal of being jarring or scarring or, dare I say it, inspiring. The goal to be inspirational has got to be one of the most masturbatory and ego-driven desires one can strive for. Not to mention it also makes you look like a tool. Maybe I can thank Alan Ball and his incredible masterpiece, "Six Feet Under" for making me want to talk about rather vast topics (like death). But if Alan Ball is a tool, then I am too.

In the past few months, I've come across some movies that have inspired me or left me incredibly affected or moved. This blog post is simply just me recommending a few movies that changed me in some way, even if it was the smallest change possible. If you've seen these movies, or if you disagree, that's perfectly okay. All I know is that Danny Boyle, John Cameron Mitchell, Toni Myers, and George Nolfi have all recently made movies that carry MUCH weight to them, and hit me hard across the face. More often than not, when people tell us that something inspired them, we are then motivated to not find it inspiring. Being inspired by something is such a personal experience, that sharing it in a communal environment (whether it's a dark movie theater or... a blog) often feels unattractive. But multiple people can be inspired by a common source if people make the choice to make that possible. So allow me to mention four movies that moved me in vastly significant ways.

1. Danny Boyle's "127 Hours"

I'm a crier when it comes to movies. I tend to avoid crying in public, around friends, or even by myself. But the security blanket of a dark movie theater becomes a code for being "safe place to cry." I think it's easy to make something devastating or heartbreaking on film and cause one to cry. However, I find it to be inexplicably more challenging to move someone to tears from a catharsis of joy and euphoria. And by the end of "127 Hours", I was uplifted to tears. A movie about a man trapped between a rock and a hard place, literally, doesn't seem that thrilling. But it was an adrenaline booster that forced our protagonist Aron Ralston, as well as the audience, to ask the question, "How much is your life really worth?" and to what end do we lose sight of things that actually have value. James Franco's extraordinary performance as Aron is basically a solo tour-de-force of having to ride a roller coaster while standing in one spot for more than 60% of the movie. Danny Boyle is one smart manipulative man who uses natural sensory to heighten not only the emotion of what Aron is feeling in his time of crisis, but even in his time of jubilation.

2. John Cameron Mitchell's "Rabbit Hole"

I've never seen David Lindsay-Abaire's play performed. I read it about five years ago and remember it being an incredibly sad play. And Mitchell's film adaptation relatively sticks to the same guidelines. By the way, if I'm a crier at the movies and shed a tear or two at the end of "127 Hours", that pales in comparison to the amount of times I cried during "Rabbit Hole" (three separate times in total). Nicole Kidman and Aaron Eckhart (both giving sheer perfect and ballsy performances) play a married couple who recently lost their son. Rather than emphasizing the joy life has to bring, it dives very deeply into what it actually means to experience loss. "Rabbit Hole" is rather relentless in showing Kidman and Eckhart run around in circles of depression and being stuck. But through all the trauma and heartache, a glimmer of hope still shines through in the most unusual of ways. For "Rabbit Hole", hope does not lie in the light at the end of the tunnel. Instead, hope lives in each and every individual step in what it means to recover or to heal. Even when the next step is unclear and frustrating, there is still hope just by knowing one can create another step to take.



3. Toni Myers' "IMAX: Hubble 3D"

It's amazing how much your perspective of the universe can change in a short time of 45 minutes. But the documentary regarding the Hubble telescope and the people responsible for its inception and duration is nothing short of miraculous and astonishing. Throughout the film you see the scientists and astronauts as they not only build and describe the telescope, but you also follow them on a dire mission to save its existence. But the people in the are not nearly as mesmerizing as the main character itself, the Hubble. The breathtaking images that the telescope has captured, wondrously guided and narrated by Leonardo DiCaprio, are enough to reevaluate our own existence on the microscope Earth. Some of these images capture galaxies and solar systems lightyears away, and here's another interesting fact: the telescope has yet to see another planet or environment that is a suitable place for human beings. "IMAX: Hubble 3D" introduces you to a universe that feels too impossible and splendorous to be true and (in the most beautiful of ways) made me wonder about my own existence in our own tiny speck of a galaxy.

4. George Nolfi's "The Adjustment Bureau"

Let me begin with a brief disclaimer. I found something in this film that most people didn't seem to see. But I found something nonetheless. George Nofli's adaptation of "Adjustment Team" tells the story of politician David Norris and his fight for the girl of his dreams, a contemporary dancer/choreographer named Elise. What stands between them? A secret organization designed to keep their pre-destined futures intact, by any means necessary. This "organization" (the source of the film's title) is not necessarily composed of bad men, or evil men. They simply have to do their jobs by sticking to the plan designed to keep the world afloat and on track. "But what about free will?" David asks. And thus we are on a spiraling philosophical roller coaster on what it means to be in control of our own lives. Matt Damon and Emily Blunt as the troubled lovers are not only an incredibly sexy couple (their first scene together is one of the greatest boy-meets-girl scenes I've witnessed in quite some time) but also act as a couple I rooted for throughout the movie. We all want to control our own destinies, right? In result the couple was shockingly identifiable and hit me across the face with one obvious but profound credo: Free will is NOT a gift, but a responsibility. While "The Adjustment Bureau" is clearly science-fiction, it does  create the scenario of free will being taken away from us (almost like one of those "you-don't-appreciate-it-until-it's-gone" situations). But we DO have free will, at least I believe we do. And if we do have free will and treat it more like a responsibility and less like a privilege, then I had to ask myself a big question: Am I truly living the life I want to live? I have the free will to live my life in a full, healthy, and generous fashion. So why not take advantage of this? It's not something that I could do for myself, but it is something I should do for myself. Hence the dichotomy between privilege and responsibility. I am responsible for my life. Everyone is responsible for their own lives. David Norris taught me this (more like Nolfi and Damon). Are YOU truly living the life you want to live? If the answer is no, then why aren't you doing anything about it? I mean, Matt Damon did. And so should I.