SEE?There were a couple of warning signs about this film which I carelessly, nay, cockily ignored. First, LA Times and NPR film critic, Kenneth Turan, told me not to go. Actually, he told hundreds of people not to go. On the air. Maybe, that's not really a sign as much as a fact. Mr. Turan railed against The Edge of Love with the venom of man advising you against becoming a Nazi or purchasing a $5 cup of coffee when you can make it yourself at home. Oh, yeah, he seemed put upon to be sure. Mr. Turan complained that the actors were ridiculously beautiful and, yet, played unlikable characters. C'mon, Kenneth! It's a period piece about Welsh poet Dylan Thomas starring Keira Knightley and Sienna Miller. Of course, I'm going to hate everybody. I'm going to hate their too perfect wardrobe, adorable hair, picture perfect makeup and their overlit, overlingering closeups, too. Why don't you go watch some Danish film, Kenneth, and leave this to the professionals? I was, perhaps, too hasty in my dismissal of Kenneth's ire.
My second warning sign, as it were, was the movie marquee itself. (Here I'll boldly gloss over the fact that The Edge of Love appears to be playing at only one theater in the entirety of Los Angeles.) On the marquee, under the title of this movie, some clever sign arranger had chosen to describe the movie thusly-"Boy-o up to no good-o" and "The Precipice of Amorousness." I'll grant you I don't go this theater much so maybe this mocking style is how they choose to advertise all of their movies. Still, it seems a bit defeatist. After all, you want people to come in and pay to see the movie before they decide it's not worth it. One would think a theater owner wouldn't want the audience to give up on the movie as they drive by the theater. Maybe it's just me again.
But hey, I'm no quitter. I persevere. Mostly because I've already driven an hour through traffic to get the only theater in L.A. showing this movie. It's not like I can call up the few westsiders I know and invite myself over 'cause I chickened out of seeing a movie. ("There were just too many bad signs." "Can't we just go out for one drink? I know it's two in the afternoon.") No, no, no. I'm going to see this one through to the bitter end. And I do mean bitter. It's time to man up. Hell, I've see Underworld III, how bad can this be?
First, a lesson in the jargon of moviewatching. Melodrama: "A drama, such as a play, film or television program, characterized by exaggerated emotions, stereotypical characters and interpersonal conflicts (answers.com)." Yepper. That is what Kenneth Turan termed this film. I had no idea what he was talking about. Every movie seems to have exaggerated emotions, stereotypical characters and interpersonal conflicts to me. To me what distinguishes this movie from, say, Atonement, is one thing and one thing only-I actually cared a little about what happened to the characters in Atonement. It's an odd thing. Having a character tell another character that they are soulmates is just not quite the same as seeing that fact born out on the screen before your eyes. Characters crying or yelling or laughing will mean nothing to me if I don't know enough about them to understand why they are crying or yelling or laughing. Maybe everybody else in the world knows the story of Dylan Thomas and his tangled loves, but I don't. (Forgive me for being an American who dislikes poetry.) So, writer-man, tell me a story. Give me a framework for what I'm seeing. Remember when movies had a beginning, a middle and an end. Director-guy, don't splice together a bunch of poetry readings and characters telling me facts instead of showing me their lives. Don't deliver an expensive collection of staged tableaus dotted with artsy transition shots (creepy eyes overlaying the screen anyone?). And if you are going to do that, don't call it a art film. Please. That's just an excuse for not writing a complete historical script. Whatever I was supposed to learn from watching this movie was erased because I spent all my time trying to figure out what so charmed all of these people about each other in the first place. Maybe if I knew that upfront, then this melodrama would seem more dramatic and less cacophonous.
EAT.
Cigarettes and whiskey. Never ceases to amaze me how these two items remain readily available to people who have no discernible income. Of course, if you lived in an asbestos lined house on the ocean in Wales or in London during the blitzkrieg, I'd imagine food would be the last of your concerns. Cirrhosis might seem a welcome relief. Emphysema, a blessing. Bring on the cancersticks in a finely wrapped package! Don't forget the matches.
SHOP.
Well, it's happened. I actually have to turn to reading to find something out about a character (excuse me, real person) in a movie. I hate that. Anyway try Dylan Thomas:The Biography by Paul Ferris and Leftover Life to Kill by Caitlin Thomas. You might as well learn something about the man. The film certainly won't help much.
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