MOVIE REVIEW: Slumdog Millionaire


In keeping with my Washington’s Birthday tradition, I went with my wife to see a movie. I chose Slumdog Millionaire to watch with her because I knew in advance that it would more…intense than she might have thought. As I was discussing on Twitter this week, it was rated R for a reason.

How on earth does a poor young man fare so well on India’s version of “Who Wants to Be a Millionaire”? He must be cheating! But how? The police use “extraordinary” means to find out, only to discover that there’s an explanation for it all, based on an extremely difficult childhood.

Owen Gleiberman of Entertainment Weekly said: “Slumdog Millionaire is nothing if not an enjoyably far-fetched piece of rags-to-riches wish fulfillment. It’s like the Bollywood version of a Capra fable sprayed with colorful drops of dark-side-of-the-Third-World squalor.” Well, maybe. I know the producers didn’t bill it as such, but as a friend of mine put it, “it took a long time for this ‘feel good’ movie to feel good.”

I think part of the problem was that it took three actors each to play the three main characters and I didn’t always buy the transition from one to the next. One either buys into the sheer level of coincidence or one does not. I guess I never fully engaged enough to buy in. So the “happy ending” seemed less joyous than it should have been; I didn’t feel the payoff. Whether this is a function of the low-key acting styles, especially of Dev Patel, the last lead male, or what, I’m not sure.

This is not that I did not enjoy elements of it. The outhouse scene was memorable. Having had to go to the bathroom while taping a television quiz show, albeit in the United States, I was intrigued by another particular scene. Frankly, I was a bit of a sucker for that original run of Millionaire hosted by Regis Philbin, so I enjoyed the game section on that level. The smelling of a $100 bill will stay with me. The stuff at the Taj Mahal, though, I swear I’ve seen before in some movie or TV show.

My friend David savaged the movie, noting that it was not even the best film made in India last year. He may very well be right, but for the Hollywood community, it’s irrelevant. Hollywood is not savvy to Bollywood cinema.

Ultimately, when I see a movie, I’m ready and willing to suspend my belief that it’s just cinema and surrender to it; just didn’t happen for me. I didn’t hate the film, and I’m not unhappy that I saw it, but I can’t imagine wanting to see it again.
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Remembering Gene Siskel by Roger Ebert. Recommended highly.

ROG

March Rambling

Yesterday, I was walking home from the drugstore carrying a couple bags, including a couple prescriptions plus bottles of ginger ale and cranberry juice for Carol, who had a couple wisdom teeth removed yesterday morning. This guy in his car yells out his window, something “doing with those f*****’ bags?”, looking at me. Then he giggled and drove away. I’m not sure why, but I’ve been a victim of that “yell and drive” before, in Albany, at least twice with a racial overtone. Sure I can ignore it, but I’d lying if I told you it didn’t bother me, more as a reflection of the inanity of human beings, rather than any real damage done to me.

Still, if I weren’t carrying items that slowed me down, I might have tried to catch up with this dude and ask him why he was being such a [end place for the digestive tract for an equine].

In fact, one time when I was a target of yell and drive, I was on my bicycle, and I did go after the car, which caught a traffic light. I got up to the car, pounded my fist on the trunk once, then pulled over to the passenger side, where the yeller was. He got all “hey, man, only kidding, man, it was a joke, man” on me. I said nothing as the car pulled away. That WAS fun, though.
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There is this quite lovely woman I’ve seen on the bus. She is, as they say, “a woman of a certain age”, with gray hair. She had age lines but they looked (really) good on her. A couple days ago, I see her and she’s dyed her hair brown. Oddly, it made her look older, for the gray hairs, her face earned; the brunette ones, not so much.
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High lead levels found in some Albany schools. This is not only somewhat distressing, but also a bit surprising. One of the schools is brand new (opened in January 2007) and is the school Lydia is likely to attend in a couple years.
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There was an excellent story, written by a sixth grader, in the local paper about her peanut allergy. we’re going to make copies so that Lydia and the people around her will have a better idea what Lydia is/will be going through.
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Clutter and mess trump clean and neat: a story after my own desk, er, heart.
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Here’s a useful caffeine reference.
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My old pal David Brickman has one of his photos, “View of Arbor Hill Neighborhood looking North from Lark Street 1998,” which was purchased by the Albany Institute of History and Art last spring, now on exhibit in their “entry gallery,” where works from the vast permanent collection are showcased. If you are within reach, you can go to the Institute and have a look. Or, use the link to see the image on his website.
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My daughter woke up screaming at 4 am yesterday from a nightmare. SHE went back to sleep; I didn’t. Then last night, I stayed up watching basketball (I got 3 out of 4 -Memphis won by 1 – ouch) until 12:30 am. Need caffeine. More tomorrow.

ROG

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