The problem with film festivals is that sometimes we critics speak too soon. Earlier today I stated that after seeing “Up in the Air,” it might be the best American film of the year, and until seeing “Precious” this morning, I meant it.
Two hours later, walking out of the theater, exhausted, beaten up, stunned by the images I had just seen, yet with a kernel of hope, I realized I had just witnessed a work of art. The press, us hardened critics who can be so cynical and negative, applauded this film for several minutes as the credits rolled, but it was more than that.
Most of us grew up in stable homes with loving parents, never knowing the meaning of hunger, never having to worry about being beaten or abused either physically or verbally. Most of us, but not all of us.
Precious (Gabourey Sidibe) does not know this world because she lives in hell. In her world, her father rapes her; she bears two children by this monster by the time she is 16 and refers to her her daughter, a Downs Syndrome baby, as Mongo, not out of cruellty, but out of ignorance. Precious is obese and illiterate, yet escapes from time to time into a fantasy world of her own where she is desirable and beloved by all who know her.
(Please note, as opposed to Kris and Guy, I tend to grade films on a 5-star scale.)
When did Penelope Cruz become such a great actress? This was a woman I could barely stand looking at on screen not more than five years ago, yet now she is an absolute delight, with depth, emotion, and the ability to find the truth in her characters, an innate ability that is downright uncanny. God, her work in “Vanilla Sky” was painful and her performance in “Blow” was so shrill and terrible it was the sort of acting I’d label obscene.
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Welcome to the second installment of Oscar Talk with yours truly and
I left home at 6:30am yesterday to make an early check-in to my hotel at 8:30. One bummer, my youngest daughter, Ariana, has a flu bug and I hate leaving Sherri with her on her own. She assured me it was cool, so I managed to get out the door without being overwhelmed with guilt. Kissed the girls goodbye, loaded the van with my luggage and laptop and was Toronto-bound.
One of the joys of my life is the 10 days in September I spend at the Toronto International Film Festival, bringing the film world to our city, the world press, and enough stars to take over Hollywood. The little festival that could, as it was known in the 1970s and early-1980s, The Festival of Festivals has become a world cultural event, perhaps the most important film festival in the world, and certainly rivaling Cannes for prestige.