12 Years a Slave

Best Picture Winner

Best Supporting Actress Winner: Lupita Nyong’o

Best Adapted Screenplay Winner: John Ridley

If ever a movie forces us to remember our past, in all its brutality, reality, and honesty, it is best picture winner 12 Years a Slave. It depicts the life of Solomon Northup,  a free man kidnapped and sold into slavery under false papers and  pretenses.  The source material comes from the memoirs penned by Northup himself of the same title.  As a result, this history of American slavery is immediate. It is personal. It is real.  It is gut-wrenching.  And it is necessary. 

Other movies have, of course, depicted the cruelty of our American history.  But few have slapped us across the face with it.   How has it taken this long to create such an important thing?

We watch, painstakingly, as Solomon (Chiwetel Ejiofor) is kidnapped, beaten, and taken from his home in the northern states to the deepest south of Louisiana.  His first master, William Ford (Benedict Cumberbatch), is kindly but conflicted.  While he treats Solomon with respect for his talents, it’s as if he is trying to atone for the brutality of the slave-owning he is not willing to give up.

We do not look away when Solomon is hung up by his neck and left to stand on the tips of his toes as minutes…hours… what seems like an eternity go by. Close shots of his mud-soaked feet, barely touching the ground, are juxtaposed with wide shots of the plantation where a strangled and wriggling Solomon is but a blur in the background.  All is quiet, except for the gentle blowing of a summer’s breeze moving through the pastoral branches of the Louisiana south.  Slaves continue to go about their day’s labor. This is one of those masterful cinematic moments. You desperately want to look away, but just can’t bring yourself to. When Ford finally returns to cut him down, he maintains that he cannot protect him after a confrontation Solomon has had with the calculating and inferiority-complex laden overseer John Tibets, played by a hysterical Paul Dano.

As a result, Solomon is sold to the infamous Master Edwin Epps (Michael Fassbender), known as a man who “breaks slaves.”  What came before was merely a prelude to the horrors to come. Epps is brutal.  He is ruthless.  But even more frightening, he is a believer. Every word about scripture, property, and rights that comes out of his mouth is dripping with utter and terrifying conviction.  His “rights” as “master” are no more widely felt than by Patsey, played with an honesty and rawness by Lupita Nyong’o that will rip your heart clean out of your chest.  Chiwetel Ejiofor may anchor this movie in his portrayal of Solomon, but her representation of Patsey is its heart and soul.

In so many of the depictions of the history of slavery and discrimination, we are almost always confronted with a more or less mythical “white savior” type character. The Help harkens as a recent example of this mold. These “saviors” often seem to serve a cinematic purpose of soothing our white soul sand helping us feel better about our collective historical crimes.  Even though they may be characters anchored in history, their presence is often over-glorified.  I admit I typically find them unnecessary and in truth, a distraction from the efforts and struggles of those we have oppressed.  

Though there are, of course, kind-hearted white characters to be found in our dark and dismal past, 12 Years a Slave does nothing to glorify them. Nor should it.  Brad Pitt’s late arrival as Samuel Bass is understated, as is the role he plays in freeing Solomon. Director Steve McQueen and screenwriter John Ridley treat his presence as mere fact, nothing more, nothing less, an encounter necessitated by the content of Solomon’s memoirs.  Solomon’s freedom is his to gain, and it is his strength and perseverance that should be celebrated, not the strength of the white figures who may have helped him a long the way.


Towards the conclusion of the film, we witness a scene so horrifying, so brutal, and so real, I imagine it evoked a visceral reaction in many viewers.  But it is perhaps one of the more important depictions of what we put slaves through, not only physically, but emotionally and psychologically.  We want to look away, but again, most will find it difficult to do so. When the movie concludes a short time later, you will leave feeling as if you have actually witnessed, for the first time, what slavery was truly like in the United States. And though it is an exceedingly uncomfortable thing to witness, it is indeed a necessary thing.

I use the pronoun and possessive “we” and “our” quite often throughout this piece because I feel it is necessary. Though “we” may have not literally perpetrated the crimes of slavery, “we” are responsible for perpetuating myths and falsities about them.  And “we” are the ones who in many ways do not fully acknowledge the collective wounds of this period in our history that still fester and bleed today.   I do so because I am quite surprised that in 2014, 12 Years a Slave is, to my knowledge, the first piece of popular film to bluntly and directly address the harshness and truth of our past. By not acknowledging and atoning, we perpetuate these wounds.

Available to buy on iTunes for 14.99.  Do it.  It’s worth every penny.

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March 3, 2014 · 2:41 pm

Blue Moon, Blue Jasmine

Oscar Nominations:

Best Actress: Cate Blanchett

Best Supporting Actress: Sally Hawkins

Best Original Screenplay: Woody Allen

You’ll never hear the song “Blue Moon” the same way again. We first meet Jasmine on an airplane flying into San Francisco. She is in deep conversation with her seat mate.  A close friend, we might assume, from the way that she’s talking to her, though the woman seems to be a bit too old to actually be a confidant of Jasmine.  We soon realize that Jasmine has entered into conversation with her seat mate after muttering to herself on the plane.  “She just wouldn’t stop talking!” the woman exclaims to her husband at baggage claim.

Most of her money and possessions surrendered to the government as the result of her thieving husband Hal’s financial crimes (played with predictable sliminess by Alec Baldwin), Jasmine’s move to San Francisco is out of necessity so she can live with her sister Ginger (adopted).  Ginger resides in what is apparently meant to be a downscale apartment, which clearly creates a new sense of claustrophobia and anxiety for Jasmine.  Though I appreciate the attempt to script the apartment as such, it can’t hide an undeniable Woody Allen charm and coloring present in so many of his “off the beaten path” venues.

Blue Jasmine is a treatise on the perils of extravagance and delusions of grandeur that come with it, filled with bottles of Xantax, stoli martinis with a lemon twist, and the perspiration filled panic attacks I can only presume are all too common in the life of a high strung Manhattan socialite. It tells the story of a woman whose too-good-to-be-true life has slipped through her fingers through what is apparently no fault of her own.  She now spends her days staving off panic attacks and having flashbacks to her life in New York (which we are privy to).  These often lead to episodes where she talks to herself…to no one… to someone only in her mind… as she wanders the streets of San Francisco.

Blue Jasmine perhaps doesn’t have the most original plot, but then again, that’s not really the point. Determined to “make something of herself” after settling in at Ginger’s apartment, Jasmine finds work at a dentist’s office and in her spare time takes computer classes so she can learn how to manage one to obtain an online degree in interior design.  If that sentence sounds absurd, believe me, the idea behind it is even more so.  Only a woman so wrapped up in her own delusions could believe such a “plan” could work.  Even so, work in the dentist’s office is only temporary, and naturally beneath her.

Though I had much difficulty doing so otherwise, there is one particular moment at the dentist’s office we are able to feel sorry for Jasmine. Her employer Dr. Flicker (Michael Stuhlbarg), played with the kind of sleaziness you might imagine from a smooth operating uncle who is always just a little too close for comfort, can’t take no for an answer.  When Jasmine shoves him away and tells him she is never coming back,  we don’t and shouldn’t blame her for one second.  Dr. Flicker, though seemingly harmless, represents a man who thinks he can take what he wants when he wants it.  The result is sickening and gives us pause.

Jasmine, for her part, galavants around Ginger’s apartment as if she is royalty, constantly asking her children and guests to be quiet.  She demeans Ginger’s choices in work and men because it is clearly the only thing that makes Jasmine feel good about herself. Ginger, for her part, puts up with it, though we are never entirely sure why. Jasmine eventually meets a wealthy state department employee at a party, a meeting that sparks into a new romance and potential marriage. At first blush this seemed a rather trite decision by Woody Allen.  But of course, Woody Allen is predictable in the most unpredictable of ways.

For much of Blue Jasmine you almost forget you are watching a Woody Allen film. Even the french jazz oozing from the pores of this movie seems to be meant to deliberately illuminate the dystopia he creates.  Written differently, Blue Jasmine could have been a classic redemption story.  Instead, it presents itself as one of Woody Allen’s more disarming works, though it has necessary moments of comic relief. But even these moments are filled with a dark, sardonic tone.

Perhaps what Jasmine does best is get us to believe that people in her situation truly feel victimized. “I mean, could you imagine?  I was so embarrassed!” she says upon recalling a time when an old friend runs into her in a Manhattan store where she has been forced to size and sell shoes to make ends meet.  It’s as if she cannot imagine a worse plight in the world than being embarrassed in front of people who are supposedly her “friends.”

Actually, I am almost certain she cannot.

This is a movie, of course, that is all about the performances.   Cate Blanchett is deliciously despicable and delusional as Jasmine. She literally crumples before our eyes on screen as she fights to keep the smooth veneer of an exterior whose cracks keep getting bigger and bigger.  She glides easily between the world of the poised millionaire’s wife to the anxiety and sweat filled existence of her new life in San Francisco, so easily, in fact, you might wonder if Jasmine might suffer from some form of schizophrenia.  Sally Hawkins’ Ginger is a foil for Jasmine, yes, and though she may not have the best job or the most respectable man, Ginger is somewhat content.  And Hawkins plays her with the sort of sweet innocence and forgiveness we might expect from someone who isn’t used to having everything, or anything, really.  And if money, indulgence, and high social standing does to everyone what it does to Jasmine, then I don’t want one drop of it.

Finally, Allen is right to withhold evidence of what really led to Hal’s financial disgrace and Jasmine’s fall from upper class royalty. And when you find out why, you’ll have a hard time knowing what to really think about Jasmine.  And it makes this movie just a delight… a sick, twisted, and delusional delight.

Available to rent on iTunes for 4.99.

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February 18, 2014 · 1:16 pm

Dying with his boots on…

Oscar Nominations:

Best Picture

Best Actor: Matthew McConaughey

Best Supporting Actor: Jared Leto

Best Makeup and Hairstyling

Ron Woodruff is a fairly reprehensible man. He sleeps around.  He drinks himself blind.  He cheats his pals out of money.  He’s stubborn, rude, and intensely homophobic.

Dallas Buyers Club is based on the life of this Texas man, virtually sentenced to die when it is discovered that he is infected with HIV and that his t-cell count is 9.  This number means almost certain death within 30 days. It is 1985. AZT is only now being given in very early and potentially lethal trial runs. Ron desperately tries to obtain some through legal channels, only to have the door shut on him.  It would be a year, at least, before it’s available more widely.  But Ron Woodruff isn’t just a “Texas, hick, white trash, dumb” kind of man. He finds a way to have AZT snuck to him by one of the hospital orderlies.  He takes it for almost a month, downing pills like water in the midst of the never-ending desert that is living with AIDs.


One day, his “dealer” tells him there are no more pills; they’ve been locked up. Ron collapses and wakes up in the hospital.  Doctors demand to know how AZT got into his blood. He refuses to crack.  Defiantly, he leaves. Eve, a female physician, tells him he is too sick to be out of bed. “Sorry, lady,” Ron says, “but I prefer to die with my boots on.”

This doesn’t occur before a chance encounter with Rayon, a beautiful and damaged trans-gender man played with wit and verve by Jared Leto.  Though their encounter is brief and somewhat caustic, it will prove vital to Ron’s choices down the road.  Rayon has been chosen for the AZT trial, which Ron will soon learn is far more destructive than American doctors and pharmaceutical companies are willing to admit.

Ron finds his way to Mexico, where he finds a doctor engaging in AIDs treatment with a collection of vitamins and drugs (perhaps better known as ‘the cocktail’) more promising and safe than AZT.  Ron soon realizes that he could actually make money by selling this alternative in the states, and manages to sneak thousands of pills across the border.  Struggling to find buyers who trust him, he reconnects with Rayon and they set up “The Dallas Buyers Club.” Members pay a 400 dollar monthly fee and in return are given all of the medication they need.

It was difficult for me to choose an angle from which to write this review.  It’s more than just a redemption story, though Matthew McConaughey’s fiery and raw performance gives us every reason to believe in Woodruff.  It’s a damning critique of our health and legal system, as we see pharmaceutical companies peddling fairly untested drugs, looking to make a buck, doctors buying in, and the FDA swooping in to put a halt to the Buyers Club on technicalities like “mislabeling.”  When Ron’s case is dismissed before the U.S. District Court, the judge states, “Mr. Woodruff, I am moved to compassion by your plight.  But I have no legal standing on which to support your cause.”  If that doesn’t make you think twice about the system we live in and the extent to which it actually protects the weak and the innocent, I don’t know what does.

Jean-Marc Vallee’s near-documentary style helps capture the subjectivity of the characters’ perspectives, but what makes this movie compelling are the performances.  McConaughey is unrecognizable, shrunken to only a shadow of what I imagine Woodruff used to be.  In one moment he lets out a cry so awful, so utterly miserable and full of self pity it makes your gut clench up.  This is the performance of McConaughey’s lifetime, and though we get hints of that McConaughey swagger we’ve seen in so many other of his movies, the depth of his portrayal makes you forget almost entirely the man behind the character.  Praise should also be given to costume designers Kurt Swanson and Bart Mueller, who made a deliberate decision to have Ron’s clothes for much of the movie be misfit and baggy. This small detail serves as both a physical and symbolic reminder of the toll that AIDs takes on the human body.

The supporting cast is good and well placed, especially Jennifer Garner’s gentle portrayal of Eve, the compassionate physician who befriends Ron.  But the greatest credit must be given to Jared Leto’s Rayon, who serves as more than just the foil for Ron’s crass, homophobic sentiments.   Leto as Rayon is stunningly beautiful, played with subtlety, intention, and a deep vulnerability despite her strong and witty exterior.  She symbolizes many of the victims at the heart of the AIDs crisis. Openly despised and attacked for being trans, gay, and infected, she quickly develops a thick skin and is seemingly impervious to bigoted attempts to set her aside. Vallee and screenwriters Craig Borten and Melissa Wallack were wise to not play up the redemption Ron gets as a character when he allows Rayon into his life as a business partner, though even the hardest of hearts would soften at his fierce protection of her.


Despite the deeply interpersonal relationships that are explored, especially between Ron and Rayon, these are not the focal points. In moments where characters face death and loss, we are not allowed to mourn. There are more important things at stake. We care about the plight of these AIDs victims, as their physical and emotional discomfort is so always apparent. But we should care more about how little was being done to help them. Dallas Buyers Club is more than just a “based on a true story” movie of atonement and survival. It has important things to say about the functioning of our society, the state of our legal system, and our treatment of outcasts, all aspects that are still highly relevant in the United States today.

Available to rent on iTunes for 5.99

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The Oscars are Coming

Hey Folks-

Well lord in heaven, it’s been almost a year since I last wrote.  For that I sincerely apologize.  I’ve been busy PhD-ing, running marathons… too many other things to list and name.

But the Oscars are coming.

So stay tuned for reviews and predictions. I’m SERIOUS this year about seeing as many nominees as I can.

In the mean time, I’ve also started watching Game of Thrones (I know, I’m seriously behind the times).  Holy shit. Talk about a rip your heart out, keep you on the edge of your seat thrill ride.  Does anyone else hate Joffrey? And all the Lannisters except Tyrian?

At any rate- until I review my first Oscar nominated film…!


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In Sickness…

For many of us, death is a distant friend, a reified concept that exists only in our minds, far away from the cares and concerns of our daily existence.  But the opening scene of Michael Haneke’s movie, “Amour” brings death to our doorstep.  We see firemen breaking into an apartment in Paris.  Nothing is spoken about why they are there.  All is implied. We find a woman, many days past life, lying peacefully on her bed. We don’t know yet who she is, how she got there, or why she is there.  All we see is death.

In an instant we simultaneously know and don’t know the entirety of “Amour.” There are no spoilers here, no ending to reveal.    Through the gentle, subtle movements of Haneke’s camera, we come face to face with death in the opening sequence.   Amour is not a film about plot, or reveal. It is not an easy film.  It is not a film about resolutions, or heartfelt moments, or manufactured connections.  It is as real and honest as a film could be about a subject such as death.

Emmanuelle Riva in "Amour."

Emmanuelle Riva in “Amour.”

The rest of Amour lets us peer into the lives of Georges and Anne, retired musicians, living in a simple yet elegant apartment on a street in Paris.  Music must mean a great deal to them.  We see this very early on when we are witness to an audience from the point of view of a stage at a piano recital.  It is here we first meet George and Anne.   Instead of focusing in on them, it is up to us to determine their importance, as Haneke’s shot is a wide one of the entire spectrum of the audience.  We later learn that this was a concert played by one of their proteges.

Georges and Anne come home from the concert alive and abuzz with life and happiness (albeit in their own reserved and quiet way.)  Georges tells Anne she looks particularly beautiful that night.  Anne asks Georges what has gotten into him.  This is our first hint of what their marriage is like, a simple, subtle thing that defies formulaic expressions of love.  It is very clear they are reserved in their words and their actions, even with one another.

Then, disaster strikes.  While eating breakfast in their small and outdated kitchen, Anne is suddenly overtaken with blankness.  She stares out into the distance as Georges tries to reach her, patting her neck with a cool washcloth in attempts to revive her.  Nothing. Her eyes have glazed over with the familiar emptiness that afflicts so many individuals with mental impairment.  As Georges puts on his clothes and prepares to call the doctor, the tap he has left on is suddenly turned off.  He returns to the kitchen to find Anne sitting there, as if nothing happened, asking him why he left the tap on.

What ensues is a tortuous yet incredibly important two hours of movie going, one that is sure to reach into the very depths of your soul and force you to question the meaning of love.  It is certainly an experience worth fighting for, however, and one that the viewer will not soon forget.  Anne suffers first one stroke, then another, leading her down the inevitable path of death and decay that we all must face.  Georges, forced into a promise to never return her again to a hospital or a home, takes care of her with gentle diligence.  His love for her is never spoken, but it is shown in inestimable bounds and is tested beyond all imagination.  I find it beautiful and fascinating that whenever he must move her from her wheelchair to her bed, or to the bathroom, or to the living room, it seems as if they are dancing.

Amour is a feat of incredible strength and restraint, both for the director, Haneke, and his actors, Jean-Louis Trintignant (Georges) and Emmanuelle Riva (Anne).    For his part, Trintignant is reserved, poised, and dedicated to Anne until the very end, yet he reveals to us the inevitable cracks that begin to form in all those whose burden is the care of the terminally ill (and indeed, the mentally unsound).  In the end, his burden becomes almost unbearable, both for him and for us. Riva is astounding, her portrayal of a stroke ridden victim is filled with the fieriness of her character (and perhaps her own being as an actress) even up until the very end, when the last glimpses of who she was fade away into the screen. Both we and Georges are forced to face the realization that sometimes, when we die, who we knew and who we loved become unrecognizable as their bodies and their minds decay. There has never been (and perhaps never will be) a more honest, real, transformative, and gut-wrenching portrayal of the end of life on screen. Give this woman an Oscar, for God’s sake.

It is striking that throughout the entirety of Amour, neither Georges nor Anne says “I love you” to one another.  I am not entirely sure what this means.  I like to think that Haneke means for his viewers to find their own meaning, but one can never be entirely sure.  I shall take the optimist’s view that love is never spoken, but always shown.

I must admit I was deeply affected by this film, having had to go through many of the scenarios faced by Georges and Anne as a 26 year old due to my own illness over the past year.  Watching it with my husband brought back memories of being carried from my hospital bed by nurses, slowly relearning to walk, to eat, to be normal again, dealing with the embarrassing yet inevitable consequences of being confined to a hospital bed.  In a way, we experienced what many couples don’t experience until they reach the age of Georges and Anne.  This film simultaneously forced me to question the bounds of my own love, and yet reinforced them beyond any doubt in my imagination.  It is one of the most beautiful films I have ever seen.

One may not immediately feel “good” after seeing Amour.  Indeed, I spent much of it with silent tears streaming down my face.  But it is an important film to see, to experience, and to contemplate as we face the inevitable end that is called death in this world.

If the purpose of film is to bring an aspect of human experience, such death, closer to our own understanding, then Amour certainly fills this role. It is a grand masterpiece, a sweeping epic that is somehow contained to a single apartment in Paris.  It does not lay the important questions out there for the viewer, but forces you to find the questions that are right for you to ask of yourself.  Meaning is not jammed down your throat, but subtly implied, and largely left up for the viewer to discern according to their own precepts.

Go see Amour.  And afterwards, find someone you love, hold them close, and show them you love them.

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I’m in a foul mood today, politically speaking, so I figured I’d resurrect this gem of a post from last year.

Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas-
Available on iTunes: $3.99
Available on Netflix: Delivery
Available on Amazon Instant: $2.99

Originally posted on Cinematocracy- Films for the Frugal Fan:

I get it.  There’s a heat wave.  There’s no need to remind me, except that there are reminders EVERYWHERE.  My ice cream turned into mush before I could even get a lick in.  I am relegated to the bedroom- the lone room with AC- with two very, very unhappy and hot dogs.  Because my husband and I essentially live in an attic (hey- it’s what you get when you’re both graduate students)- the ceilings of our humble abode in the trees are literally hot to the touch.

I was in the car for about three hours today and listened to a constant drone of stories on NPR about David Cameron, Libyan rebels, the gang-of-six debt ceiling negotiations, and other topics that I simply can’t seem to recall through the haze at this time.  It was all, yes, a strange and terrible mixture of depressing news, hot car…

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When watching biopics, I am never quite sure what to think.  It is tempting, no doubt, to write off the life you are viewing as separate and distinct from your own- a story to enjoy and a person to admire, pity, or fear.  I think, however, it is impossible to do so entirely.  You see, in every life we witness, in every character we come to know, be they real or imagined, I believe we see a piece of ourselves and a reflection on a part or the whole of society

Howl tells the story of the life, or at least a piece of the life, of Allen Ginsberg, the 1950s Beat Poet who gained fame after writing the poem of the same title.   I must admit I was largely unfamiliar with Ginsberg’s groundbreaking piece and his life prior to seeing Howl.  I actually came across the movie after doing a Netflix search for movies in which Jon Hamm has a role (never underestimate the awesome discoveries that can occur when searching for Jon Hamm roles!)

Howl seems to be as much a love letter to the life of Ginsberg as it does to his poem.  The movie is infused with the words from Howl, spoken by a solemn yet enthusiastic James Franco in a smoky, ill lit coffee shop full of young adults in the 1950s.  We are treated to not only flashbacks on Ginsberg’s life, but to present day musings by the poet, dramatic cartoon imaginings of the images his words inspire, and quite importantly, sterile and perfunctory scenes taken place in the room of a courthouse where the fate of Howl’s publisher is to be decided on the grounds that he deliberately published obscene and pornographic material.

One of the stronger points of Howl is the almost effortless weaving in and out of Ginsberg’s actual work; it acts like a thread that anchors the scene transitions between Ginsberg’s apartment, the smoky coffee house, and the courtroom where the work’s fate is decided.   The courtroom itself is a reminder of the wall through which Ginsberg is trying to break through- filled with men in three piece suits, women in hats and pearls, and a brightness that gives it the feeling of an operating room. David Strathairn has a strong performance as the prosecuting attorney, although I would have liked to see his discomfort with the subject matter far more apparent.  Perhaps he should have taken his cue from our dear Republican politicians who find it so prudent to angrily rail against today’s “obscenities.”

Although it is a movie that centers on the so-called “obscenities” and free-spirited beings that were almost bursting through the seams of the 1950s, it is also one that is very much about our own time.  Ginsberg, at least as portrayed by James Franco, seems to be a delicate soul who was, at least for much of his life, trapped in the fears of normalcy and deathly afraid of being seen as anything different.  His story is a symbol for much of the youth of today’s generation, scared into submission over identities not yet deemed normal by the high-holy standards of American life. But even more than this, Howl, both in movie and in poetry, slams the point home about the importance of free expression and openness of ideas.  These are themes that are timeless, and Ginsberg’s original poem is the paramount representation of the importance of breaking the mold, forging paths, and cherishing new ideas.   These ideas come to a head near the end of Howl with an eloquent and timely monologue given by Howl’s defense attorney Jake Ehrlich, played as always with cool confidence and a righteous ease by Jon Hamm.

“The battle of censorship will not be finally settled by your honor’s decision, but you will either add to liberal-educated thinking, or by your decision you will add fuel to the fire of ignorance. Let there be light. Let there be honesty. Let there be no running from non-existent destroyers of morals. Let there be honest understanding.”

It’s important to note that, as far as I know, all of the scenes that took place in the court room, including this one, were directly lifted from the transcripts of the trial.

Given today’s political climate, this film spoke very deeply to me. It always amazes me how much we as human beings (and perhaps most of all Americans) seem to repeat the mistakes of our past.  Howl serves as a reminder not only of the groundbreaking work of Allen Ginsberg, but what his work and his life meant for changing the course of American thinking on what counts as “normal” and “socially desirable.”

Who would enjoy this film?  Anyone with a penchant for great literature, and perhaps especially those who are feeling particularly upset about the state of the rights of those in this country who are not yet deemed to be apart of the American mainstream.

Pairs well with: A good craft IPA like Bell’s Two Hearted or Mad Hatter New Holland

Available on-

Netflix: Instant streaming or delivery

Amazon: Rent for $2.99


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