The stuff they can't teach you, and maybe shouldn't

Film: 12 and Holding
Rating: 5

Michael Cuesta's 12 and Holding is an island of emotional density in a sea of goofy, hackneyed coming-of-age stories. In today's world, most movies about children treat their subjects as immature, even petty in some cases. When compared to these, Cuesta's film almost seems too heavy. Not in a melodramatic way, but when most kid movies these days are rated G or PG and aren't meant for audiences older than the characters, the thematic elements here alone would probably be enough to secure an R rating.

The film, distributed by the Independent Film Channel in 2005, follows a group of three 12-year-old friends in the weeks after a fourth friend is killed in a treehouse fire. One is the victim's twin brother Jacob (Conor Donovan), who was born with a burn-like birthmark over half of his face. Another is the paternally deprived Malee (Zoe Weizenbaum), a lonely and misunderstood flautist whose mother is a psychiatrist but seems ignorant of her daughter's problems. The other is the overweight Leonard (Jesse Camacho), who survives the treehouse fire but loses his senses of smell and taste. Over the course of the film, we explore the way the characters react to the fire, and how they deal with the changes that adolescence happens to bring in its aftermath.

The stories, which are vividly dissimilar but equally fascinating, never stray from their unflinching maturity. Jacob, who had always felt treated as subordinate to his brother Rudy, has to deal not only with his own grief, but with the grief of his parents and their attempt to "replace" Rudy through adoption. Jacob visits the incarcerated local bullies who set the fire, hoping to vent his anger but instead finding something more valuable. Malee pursues a painfully unfulfillable relationship with one of her psychiatrist mother's patients (Jeremy Renner). Leonard, having lost his sense of taste, takes on a new diet and an exercise routine, much to the disapproval of his obese family.

It is a tragic shame that these three child actors have not found any more major roles. Their performances are powerful and compelling, showing understanding beyond (although only slightly beyond) their years. They are, as a matter of fact, better than the adult actors. And the adult characters are not overlooked in the screenplay. Other writers might confine the parents to one-dimensional thoughts and actions, but Anthony Cipriano gives them strong beliefs and motives, however questionable they might be in some cases, that allow them to make important contributions to the story.

The core, however, remains the children. The characters here aren't tools for the filmmakers to use for entertainment. They're people, facing significant challenges, that the filmmakers must guide through an extremely difficult time in life. They confront serious problems, with an unmistakable mixture of courage and anxiety. When they learn, they don't learn the easy way. Because the film is smart enough to know that there is no easy way to learn this stuff. The kids don't face trivial or temporary difficulties like not having a seat in the cafeteria. They aren't scared because they might get beat up at recess; they're scared because they're experiencing life. They're feeling love, and frustration, and rejection, and loss on top of it all. It is a time when you start to challenge what you've been taught. When you first start to realize that you are alone. Few coming-of-age movies have so effectively captured just how bizarre and overwhelming it is to grow up.

Love in real time

Film: Before Sunset
Rating: 4 1/2 out of 5

It is a complaint tossed around tirelessly amongst anyone even remotely interested in movies, to the point where it has almost become a core principle of cinema, that sequels never live up to the original. A number of trilogies have been able to prove themselves as exceptions to the rule, but very rarely does the latter half of a two-film series have something to show for itself. Richard Linklater's Before Sunset finds itself a place in the minuscule percentage of sequels that do.

A follow-up to Linklater's semi-autobiographical 1995 talkfest Before Sunrise, Sunset resumes the story of the young American man who met a young French woman on a train in Europe and spent an unconventional, life-altering evening roaming the streets of Vienna and conversing with her. Released in 2004, the film lets us observe their reunion nine years later. Jesse (Ethan Hawke) is in Paris on the last stop of his tour for the book he wrote about the experience, and Celine (Julie Delpy) finds him doing an interview in her favorite bookstore. With just an hour left before he is whisked away to the airport by fate and a chauffeur named Philippe, they leave the shop to spend some time catching up.

At first, in all honesty, they find it awkward. The characters never admit it, and the film doesn't even make it obvious, but anyone who has ever had an uncomfortable reunion will be able to feel it. In the earlier film, they made a point of having deep discussions and avoiding "normal" conversation. Now they are older and wiser, and as a result, feel the need to talk about "real" things. They talk about their jobs, and their families, and why their plans to meet up again fell through. The dialogue is still marvelous, and their personalities have not much changed, but the magic seems to be gone. We can see it in the way they have to explain when they're joking.

The original film had an almost surreal quality. It used words and locales to open up the viewer's mind to new ideas, and show us all the possibilities that we seem to pass up on a regular basis. It was very good. But if there was not a feeling that their relationship could not work out, the sequel puts one there. If Before Sunrise is the beautiful euphoria of the dream, Before Sunset is the cruel reality of the morning. As Sunset progresses, however, their discussions begin to bend back towards subjects like those from their night in Vienna. They begin to feel like the dream is just within reach, if they're willing to give up what they've built for themselves in their real lives. The film, proving itself a wise and worthy continuation of their romance, never forgets the responsibility and realism that faces the characters. In the end, it forms a romance of its own.

This movie energized me more than I expected. The first film was a movie about ideas, and it was fascinating just to listen to Jesse and Celine talk. But at the end of it, we're thinking more about the universe than we are about the characters. We might be a little curious as to whether or not they meet again, but we're pretty content assuming their lives will be better because of the experience even if their relationship doesn't continue. It's clear that they meant something to each other, and that's all we need. The sequel, however, is a movie about the relationship between ideas and feelings. We wonder, have their lives really been better? Did they mean so much to each other that their ideas became painful, because they led to both the discovery and the loss of something these people never thought existed? As they discuss theology and history and art, do they wish they were instead expressing their love for one another? Or, rather, is that what they're really communicating in the first place?

In a way, this film is more optimistic than the original. Before Sunrise placed its characters in the most wild and unprecedented one-night romance they could have imagined, but in the end proved that love is not subject to our poetic idealism. Consequently, Before Sunset has them lamenting the unfairness of the universe, but leaves them wondering if it isn't all up to choice after all.

Although it is certainly another great addition to Richard Linkater's glorious filmography (especially when coupled with its predecessor), this movie belongs wholly to Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy*. Before, they were acting. Here, they play off of their earlier performances to fully create these two people. A few flashbacks early on serve to remind us of how much fun we had with them in Vienna. We realize we feel bad that it never worked out, and we grow to genuinely care about them. Hawke and Delpy (who wrote their own dialogue and were nominated for a screenplay Oscar) somehow craft an enormous story arc out of an 80-minute movie with a minimalist plot in which we know only as much about the characters as they know about each other. To help bridge the gap with Sunrise, they throw in enough philosophical fuel that I had to pause a few times to ride out my train of thought, but their true focus and accomplishment is getting us invested in the characters. Sunset and particularly Sunrise remain two outstanding think pieces, but the sequel affirms the series as a compelling study of Jesse and Celine's brief time together.


* Delpy also wrote and recorded several songs for the soundtrack. In the film, Celine plays one called "A Waltz for a Night" for Jesse. The scene, although it seems like a staple of the indie romance genre, is wonderful. The song is excellent, too.