Movie Review Time: Bright Star

The last two films I have seen were both absolutely fantastic, and could not be more different. The first, The Hurt Locker, I can't even write about. It's so good, so perfect, that you should just see it as soon as humanly possible.

The second, Bright Star, I saw two nights ago. If you have ever yearned for flower-filled fields of romance, if you've ever read a poem by one of the Romantics and sighed, if you've ever been 15 or 18 or 21 and in love (and probably a woman, though not must be one)... SEE THIS MOVIE.

I will not reveal any spoilers. Unless you didn't know that the poet John Keats died at age 25, and then I will be sharing that spoiler. So there.

The film is subtly erotic... while being rated PG and totally chaste, and totally appropriate for tweens, with nary a French kiss to be seen... it is incredibly swoon-worthy and romantic and captures the overwhelming experience of new love. The director, Jane Campion, is so clearly having fun behind the camera - she is excellent at her job, and the sense of playfulness, her mastery as a director, and plain ol' exuberant joy shines through. Even for those who might have a tendency to say, "But I can't tell one director from another,"... I would be surprised to hear them, no matter how cinematically unsure, say that about Bright Star.

Campion continually cuts the scenes just before they feel over, and it's like being a teenager again - where you want to savor the event but the party's over, time's up, before you feel done. It reminded me a bit of blinking and missing something, or closing your eyes because it's too perfect and painful to full absorb.

An excellent historical portrait of why love couldn't matter as much as money... an Oscar-worthy performance from Abbie Cornish (one of whose scenes was almost traumatizing in it's emotion)... a loving visual postcard to springtime in England... actor Paul Schneider who is sorely underused in widely distributed films... insight into the life of John Keats while he was living... a calmly paced and quietly memorable film all around... Bright Star isn't for everyone, but I confidently believe it will stand the test of time and I felt absolutely, 100%, thoroughly satisfied at its end... and THAT is what a good romance film is about. Take your sexist, simplistic rom-coms and give me heartbreaking Romantic, poetic love every time.

PS. There is a shot in this film involving a spring breeze and an in-love young woman. I defy you to not be aroused, in one way or another, by its execution and perfect beauty.

Home Sweet Home.

Starting out: that's the front gate to the office/my home. (As viewed from upstairs.) One of the first things you notice about San Jose, Costa Rica is that everything is gated, guarded, barred and barb-wired. (And electric-fenced.)

Next up, that's the back wall, if you look close: currently it is enhanced by a nice line of broken bottles and other sharp glass.

Then, that's the vista from the office conference room - looking S/SW into the hills of Escazu, the neighborhood of San Jose we're in. Finally, that's a second-floor shot of the bamboo stand outside my window. I admit, when it squeaks and whines, I still sometimes think it is a door opening, but I'm getting more relaxed each day.

And now, the story from Friday.

The introduction is important, because many things I took for granted come into play. For one thing, when you rent in CR, you don't get a stove or refrigerator. You don't get a phone line - your landlord owns the phone line and grants you access to it, with a hefty deposit. (S/he doesn't want to lose it and have to wait for another.) In our case, we don't know the voicemail code!! The last tenant changed it and didn't leave it behind.

The security system, too, is owned by the landlord and the responsibility of it is temporarily transferred to you, the tenant.

So, on Friday night, I got two kind but clearly determined visits from the street's night guard, who was concerned because my alarm was going off. (It was? I couldn't hear it.) His English was zero; my Spanish is that of about a three year old. For example, if "gorda" is fat and "gordita" is a cutesy pudgy person, then to me, it followed that if "ahora" is now, ahorrita would be right right right now, please. Uh, not so much.

(For your Spanish reference, ahorrita means in just a few minutes from now.)

Anyway, me and the sweet but concerned Miguel went back and forth twice about my alarm, which I then just disarmed for the night. (I still have locks. And broken glass.)

Miguel's third visit, with escalated concern, had him asking me, Entiendes? (You understand?) and me repeating, no, no, indeed I clearly DO NOT understand what is happening.

So, like so many of my dear friends and family, I hated to do it... but... I decided I had to ask for help. I called a co-worker, who was gracious and wonderful and zipped down the hill from her house, to translate, explain and ... upon seeing a friendly face who I could communicate with after a stressful, dark, foreign evening ... set me off into tears. Isn't it strange how when someone asks, "How are you?" you respond off hand, "Good!" But when someone looks at you, sees you, and asks with genuine concern, "How are you?" it can set you off into tears? Maybe its just me.

The problem was not clearly identified, but with three dogs, four neighbors, my coworker and her husband (who kept being so nice that it made me start crying again and again) plus me and a security guard, it was determined we would let it go till morning, and I would sleep with the system unarmed for the night.

After adding another dog, three more friends, and two more security guards to the mix the next day, we figured it out!!!

That previous tenant... she changed the generic setting of "People in the House but Keep Us Safe" button to mean "Well, Actually, Motion Sensors on the First Floor Are Always Armed and Will Go Off and Cause Emily to Cry and Security Guard to Freak". So NOW I have it figured out! I can set the "I'm Inside" alarm, but only be on the second story. If I want to go downstairs, I disarm for a bit, then re-arm at bedtime.

It is a relief and as United Statesy as it is, I slept better last night knowing the first floor was motion-detector protected. (Please do not send me any news stories about easily foiled motion sensors. Thanks in advance.)

Of course it already seems silly to dissolve into tears over not being able to communicate with the security guard. But that's the power of language. Whether it was god's wrath about the tower of Babel or something a tad more Darwinistic, language sure prevents humans around the planet from perfectly, clearly, effectively collaborating on common goals. And solving this eensy teeny puzzle took sign language (the landlord is deaf!!), English, Spanish and big dose of patience all around.

I'm off to watch the Oscars! Go Slumdog! Go Anne Hathaway!