Terry’s going to fall flat on the floor, I think, when he sees that I’ve actually posted. Breathe, Terry. Get a glass of water. In your shock, you neglect to notice I have stolen your category. Here I am, though I’m not sure how much more you’ll see of me before next week. I have a stiff schedule the next day and a half, followed by what will no doubt be a panicky sprint to the airport to catch a flight to Washington for a bridal shower. And perhaps to make the acquaintance of a blogger or two.
The other night I saw the Italian import I’m Not Scared, which is rated super-fresh over at Rotten Tomatoes.* I wasn’t crazy about it, though, and couldn’t really put my finger on the reason. As usual, someone else has said it better than I could. Stanley Kauffmann’s review hits the nail on the head, and the lack of purpose he points to made the film feel, to me, just the slightest bit prurient. The movie tries to be both a crime story and an evocation of the sensations of childhood, especially the uneven nature of children’s understanding, the way they can see certain aspects of the adult world only foggily but others more clearly than adults. I often like this sort of crossover film that’s reflective or introspective as well as action-packed, but here the results just come out feeling vaguely exploitative. I get the feeling it was a better book.
*Attention Jon Stewart! Those aren’t asterisks, sweetie, those are smashed tomatoes.