"It becomes just what it should not be, the story of an escape."
Roger Ebert should have never appeared on television nor gained the international recognition he did, nor made his saliva gland cancer a documentary special. He debased his critical acuity by becoming a buffoon, even if this is in part my resentment at my own lack of recognition, it is still more than that, because one thing that is gone forever, outside of the studio make-up room, is public deportment-- and I hear at least 10,000 bloggers stampede on my skull. "What about you?" My "public behavior," which would lead to Google's sanction if I had the money or the acumen for advertisement, is merely symptomatic of the disease: We only look "our best," to use fat man's phrase, in front of the camera.
Heaven surprised me because I knew nothing about it; had I seen it before I saw Babel perhaps Inarritu would not have traumatized me so forcefully, despite the fact that I cannot give the man his leftist victory, leaving it at that-- which is not to imply I want to argue against his movie-- far from it. Every director needs to care as much, even with lighter fare.
The question, unresolved, is whether Tykwer cares as much as Alejandro, and I am absolutely undecided, because the escape to which Ebert refers may be one of forgiving grace, but it also may be one of consequence. The opening with Blanchett engaging in her violence made me think yet another political thriller along the lines of The French Connection, and I was entirely unprepared for the fact that it transforms into a secular Christian allegory with a touch of genocidal overtures to its lighting and costume. A hardened ideologue would not be imbued with Blanchett's vengeful remorse.
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