I had been hoping I would at last be able to compile a “Top Ten” Movie list this year. Now we’re at the very end of the year, and I’ve realized that, because of all my work on the book and the documentary, I have barely even seen ten movies all year. Not much of a basis for comparison. Not that I haven’t made an effort to see more - I tried twice to see Juno at the theater in Union Square, but it was sold out both times, no doubt a result of the great word of mouth that film has been receiving.
What I can do in my next few posts is give a roundup of what I’ve seen and talk about some favorite films of the year. Today I want to compare the very best film I saw all year, but one which is very unlikely to get a Best picture nod come Oscar time, with what many people believe is one of the front runners for Best Picture consideration. You might be surprised at which comes out on top.
One is Antonement, a high-toned epic love story, set in England and France against the backdrop of the 1930’s and World War II. This is the type of film that usually gets the Academy salivating. It’s also a type of film I normally love, an intelligent period piece. This one also happens to be about another subject close to my heart - the artist and the artist’s path. Specifically, it’s about the power of art to harm or heal. The other film is actually about more or less the same subject: an animated family film called Ratatouille about an aspiring chef who happens to be a rat. Ratatouille seems to have a lock on Best Animated Film — I can’t imagine anything else winning — but is unlikely to get a Best Picture nod, which is almost always reserved for more high-toned material. But which film more successfully delivers its message about art?
The first hour of Atonement is terrific: fast-paced, an intriguing plot and a multitude of characters interacting. On her wealthy family’s English estate, a precious, 13-year-old budding writer, Briony Tallis (Saoirse Ronan), has just finished her first play and is desperately trying to get her visiting cousins to act in it. Frustrated in that attempt, she is gradually drawn into the unfolding drama of love between her older sister Cecilia (Keira Knightley), and Robbie (James McAvoy), their young gardener. Misunderstanding her scene she sees by a fountain and another seen through a library door that should have been closed, Briony puts these and many other things together erroneously, and the result is a story she concocts that she may or may not actually believe herself, a story that unjustly sends Robbie to prison.
After this first exciting climax, the story falls apart dramatically, especially because there is very little to the rest of the story. It’s an extended denouement detailing the consequences of that first act drama. Almost five years later, we slog for a long time through Robbie’s wartime experiences in France (the military enabled him to get out of prison), intercut with a brief re-connection between him and Cecilia, and the now grown Briony’s efforts to pursue the artistic path as a means to atone for what she did. But the atonement aspect, which should hold the story together, isn’t very convincingly developed, in spite of a very good performance by Romola Garai as the older Briony, who takes over from the sensational Ronan. We don’t learn much about Briony’s ideas about art, how they develop and change from when she is 13, or exactly how she hopes to use them to atone. Even how she feels about art as something that is part of her soul is largely absent. The last act delivers a startling reversal, as the elderly Briony finishes her last book, but it’s not one that gives much of an answer to the questions about art raised in the film. We’re led to believe — and this is all I can say without giving too much away — that a false happy ending is somehow better than a genuine tragedy.
I’m not going to say that the ending of the Ian McEwan novel this is based on, which I haven’t read, is this trivial; many people who have read it insist that the development of the artistic theme, particularly in the ending, is much stronger in the book. Because of the tricky plot structure, among other things, it seems as though the book’s meaning is ultimately unfilmable. When the shallow meaning that results is combined with the heavy dose of pretentiousness, at least in the telling of the later part, the film is ultimately hollow.
The film that truly succeeds in exploring art is Ratatouille, produced by Pixar, which has been responsible in the last few years for one critical and commercial hit after another, including Finding Nemo and The Incredibles. It combines some of the best and most solid storytelling of the year with multi-leveled, subtle and even profound themes wrapped up in its lighthearted humor and breathtaking animation. This is a film that everyone from five to ninety-five can enjoy on some level.
Remy, a young rat living in the French countryside, is also a budding artist with food - his sensitive nose and palate seek out the rarest combinations of flavors. This puts him at odds with his large family who, like all normal rats, eat only to live. They’ll swallow anything, including garbage, that’s not actually poison. Remy knows that he is somehow set apart and is often impatient with his family. The film’s most poignant moments involve him trying to explain to his brother Emile just what he sees and feels and tastes when he comes across a new combination of spices or herbs. Emile doesn’t see it at all, and Remy is frustrated; and yet he doesn’t fully appreciate his brother’s loyalty to him.
Catastrophe intervenes and Remy is separated from his family, ending up in Paris, and of all places, Gusteau’s restaurant, made famous by its owner, Remy’s idol, the late chef Aguste Gusteau. Now it’s under the control of Skinner, a pint-sized tyrant who has taken over Gusteau’s empire and wants to devote it to fast food. Remy, communing with Gusteau’s ghost, at first expresses alarm when he sees Linguini, the lowliest member of the restaurant staff, whose job is to mop the floors, trying to “fix” some soup on the stove after he has accidentally spilled a good part of it, with disastrous results. Gusteau comments that even Linguini is a member of the staff. Remy knows that Gusteau’s motto is “anyone can cook,” but he can’t help muttering, “that doesn’t mean that anyone should!”
After Remy himself has “fixed” the soup, it becomes a hit, and Linguini is given credit for it, the two have to collaborate to keep Linguini at his job. Remy now has access to the kitchen, holding onto Linguini’s hair under his hat, and guiding him in his movements as Remy remains the guiding mind, always trying to keep Skinner (and above all the Health Inspector) from finding out there’s a rat in the kitchen. Not only that, Remy and Linguini will soon have to face the formidable restaurant critic, Anton Ego (superbly voiced by Peter O’Toole), who has apparently never met a dish he actually likes. There’s much more to the hilarious plot, but there is even more to the subtle exploration of Remy’s personal and artistic growth.
Remy has started out with a great deal of talent, moderate self-assurance, and a certain scorn for those not as talented as himself. Unlike Briony, he doesn’t actually misuse his talent, but he still lacks a real understanding of the nature of his medium, food, the needs of his “audience,” or of the artist’s true goals. He eventually learns a great deal about his gift, about collaboration, and about family. The scenes in which director/writer Brad Bird and co-writer Jan Pinkava show this are marvels of narrative skill, in which themes are seldom directly pointed out but illustrated in action.
When Remy first teams up with Linguini, the two have to learn to be patient in communicating, because Remy can’t speak human language and has to express his ideas through gestures and eloquent shrugs (when he is speaking with his rat family or to Gusteau, he has the voice of Patton Oswalt). Often their deepest communication takes place through food. On the first morning after Remy spends the night at Linguini’s apartment, he apparently disappears. Linguini is sure his rat has run out on him — until he discovers Remy in the kitchen cooking omelets for the two of them, an act which cements their friendship.
Later, after their first exhausting night of work at the restaurant, Linguini takes his “little chef” outside and offers him dinner — not anything he has cooked himself, fortunately, for he still has absolutely no skills in the kitchen — but some cheese, bread and grapes. Remy gratefully accepts this very simple meal. He is learning to open himself to food as communication, and to the inner meaning of art as something given from love.
This is what I originally wrote, and when I was almost finished and ready to post, I found an article in which Bird has confirmed that this is indeed the movie’s theme: “Cooks are givers, and rats are takers. In the larger world there are people who are givers and people who are takers. Cooking, feeding people, is a giving act. All art at its best is a giving act that continues to give as long as the art is consumed.” (quoted from Time).
The idea of cooking as a collaborative art and the interplay of skills required by a whole team of artists are also given a great deal of play in the story. It’s amusing to speculate that the story is on one level a kind of allegory for the collaborative work of the creative team in a movie studio like Pixar. The suspicion is strengthened by the presence of an owner and top chef who is all for a bland, mass-produced product rather than true art. The fact that the mass-production kings at Disney studios now own Pixar adds some spice to this speculation.
The story’s themes are further developed in the treatment of the anorexic restaurant critic Anton Ego, whose pride has so warped his taste that he can’t even enjoy food as basic nourishment (His motto is “If I don’t absolutely love it, I don’t swallow!”).
The story’s climax, which takes place on the fateful evening when Anton Ego comes to eat at Gusteau’s, shouldn’t be spoiled for anyone who hasn’t seen it; not merely out of critical consideration, as with Atonement, but because it’s too good to be spoiled. It simultaneously gives us a satisfying resolution to the plot, the greatest development of character, and the culmination of the movie’s themes (it’s amazing how few films can deliver this successfully). It involves Remy moving beyond simple technique and using everything he has learned as an artist in the preparation of one very simple and surprising dish. . .and the healing quality of art is given a richly satisfying demonstration.
Ratatouille has received almost unanimous critical raves. A few critics have even launched comparisons to famous food films like Babette’ s Feast, another of my all-time favorites. Ratatouille lacks the deep religious and spiritual themes of Babette’s Feast, but is an equally valid expression of the theme that true artists give all of themselves to their work. It also dramatically shows how food can heal individuals and bring people together, in a way that Antonement only tries and fails to do.
Because Ratatouille is now on DVD and Atonement is still in theaters, you can make the comparison for yourself. Maybe you’ll agree that Ratatouille deserves that Best Picture nod.
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We had left the railroad station behind us and the car was traveling up the winding road to the top of the hill. My heart thrilled at the sight of that hilltop, because though it was over twenty years since I had last seen it, it was still as familiar to me as my own home. For all Franciscans, this is their spiritual home. The cab driver wanted to know where I was from.
“Da New York.” I said.
“È bella, New York?” he wanted to know.
“Si, ma non è bella come Assisi! - It’s not as beautiful as Assisi” I assured him.
I was here to celebrate the eighth centenary of the birth of a great Franciscan saint, Elizabeth of Hungary, and to videotape the ceremonies at the Basilica of Santa Maria degli Angeli and the Basilica of San Francesco for my upcoming documentary. This time I was on my own with the taping; I had a very good camcorder, but had only used a tripod once or twice before.
After arriving at the Leonardo da Vinci airport in Rome around noon on November 15, I got to Assisi by train around 5:30. The first thing I noticed was that it was extremely cold and windy; something you barely ever see in Italy at any time. The last time I was in Assisi it hadn’t been nearly this cold in December. Everyone was commenting on the unseasonable weather. After the cab driver dropped me off at the little Hotel “Il Duomo,” and I had checked in, I had some pizza at the little restaurant next door, which was very convenient, because it was too cold to walk very far in my light coat. After that, a little work on my translating, and to bed.
The next morning, I got a call from Fr. Fernando, head of the committee for the centenary celebrations, inviting me to dinner with him and the Presidency of CIOFS (the International Council of the Secular Franciscans) that evening at 7:30. I had to be in the Basilica of S. Maria degli Angeli by 8:00, 8:15 at the latest to set up my camcorder for the prayer service at 9:00. Fortunately the Basilica was only a block away from the convent where they were staying. It is by far the best place to hold this celebration, because the basilica is built surrounding the Portiuncula - the first little chapel of St. Francis and his friars — the birth place of the Franciscan movement, which St. Elizabeth was so drawn to follow.
It was still cold, but thankfully, not as windy. I made a quick visit to San Rufino just around the corner — the cathedral of Assisi; the font where St. Francis and St. Clare were baptized is still there. Then I began walking in the general direction of the Basilica of San Francesco, where St. Francis is buried. Assisi is a small town, and I knew it was right at the opposite end, so I couldn’t miss it. Assisi is also a very hilly town, but fortunately, my walk was mostly downhill. The little narrow streets and alleyways have barely changed since the Middle Ages.
And now here it was. I saw the Upper Basilica first, because I approached it from the road that leads there from the upper part of the city. I was anxious to see if the damage from the 1997 earthquake that had caved in the ceiling was still visible, and if it had damaged Giotto’s famous frescoes.
The church was quite dark inside, and oddly, seemed smaller than I remembered. There were a number of tourists walking around, but it looked gray and cheerless. No one was taking pictures; in fact, people are discouraged in many churches in Italy from taking pictures with flashes. So I didn’t take any. I could see very little damage, none at all to the beautiful Giotto frescoes, though they seemed to have become a little more faded with time. The frescoed layer of paint seemed to have flaked or fallen off above the church entrance, but that may have been there before the earthquake. There was a kind of yellow flatbed with wheels, which looked almost like a tractor bed, underneath the frescoes at one side, perhaps used to support the scaffolding for some restoration work, though there was no scaffolding there at the time. Perhaps services are seldom held here now; I never found out for sure.
The couple in the square, who seemed to be on their second honeymoon, apparently didn’t mind my taking a picture (though the huge square in front of the lower church was my real subject). I though the colonnade surrounding the square and the cathedral door especially lovely.
I was delighted to find the lower church better lighted and more welcoming. I was also happy to find that an English-language votive Mass for St. Francis was just starting at one of the transept altars, so I joined the people in the pews. I wondered if they were Secular Franciscans and were here for the centenary. I spoke to some of them afterwards; they were actually people from a parish in Florida, making a pilgrimage to Italy with their pastor; they were celebrating the Mass of St. Francis in honor of it being his basilica, as they had in all the church in Rome they had visited.
I looked at all the famous frescoes in the lower church, including the one of the Franciscan saints with Clare and Elizabeth. Then I went to the little room below that held all the relics of St. Francis, including his poor grayish-brown habit, patched like a crazy quilt with all different colors of cloth. St. Elizabeth, according to the testimonies at her canonization process, wore one just like it. There was also a little ivory horn, given to St. Francis by the Sultan of Egypt, after he had walked through the battle lines to speak with the sultan about peace — the peace of Christ. This is a very hard room to leave.
Then — but I had go go back upstairs to do it –I took another little set of steps down to the crypt of the Basilica, where St. Francis lies, surrounded by his closest companions, including the Roman noblewoman Jacoba dei Settesoli - his dear “Brother Jacoba.” (The handkerchief with which she wiped his brow as he lay dying is also in the relic room).
My final visit was to the bookstore of the friars, where they sell Franciscan books in every language, along with religious articles. I had barely started to talk about my book on St. Elizabeth in my halting Italian, when the friar running the store said - “Fine, we’ll take twenty.” I could hardly believe it! (I mailed the books after I arrived home).
After all this, I was really hungry, and had a very late lunch around 3:00 at a little pizzeria. Then a long walk, mostly uphill, to the main square of the town, the attractive Piazza Comunale. Many of the buildings are medieval. The most beautiful thing in it, though, was the Temple of Minerva, dedicated to the goddess when Assisi was a Roman town, sometime in the first century B.C. The beautiful Corinthian columns are a little worn and pitted by time, but still intact; it is one of the few temple facades surviving intact from antiquity. Inside is quite a contrast — you see a little church called Santa Maria Sopra Minerva with baroque paintings framed in elaborate altarpieces. The church is served by Fr. Fernando and the Franciscans of the Third Order Regular (TOR); their convent of San Antonio is just around the corner of the square. The Third Order friars must have quite a thing for ancient Roman architecture, for their convent in Rome at Saints Cosmas and Damian was once part of the Roman Forum.
The hotel was only a couple of blocks (on a very steep uphill climb) from the Piazza Comunale. From there I got the suitcase with all the camera equipment ready and took a cab back down to the convent, right near the train station. I arrived early enough to get in on the last part of the meeting of the Presidency; it was wonderful to see my friends again. We had a wonderful supper in the sisters’ dining room, but for me it was a very quick one. Doug Clorey (one of my interview subjects from February) volunteered to help me take my suitcase over to the Basilica. We made it there in record time, but it was already almost 8:15.
Now disaster struck. The church was closed and locked! We rang the convent bell but no one answered. In fact, no one showed up to unlock the church until five minutes to 9. A huge crowd was already waiting And I had so carefully arranged ahead of time for the basilica to be open to set up for the taping! Nevertheless, since people still had to enter and the priests still had to robe, I got about 10-15 minutes to set up the camera with Doug’s help. The place they directed me to was far from ideal. It was right in the corner between the front and side pews, so that when people stood to sing we wouldn’t be able to see anything of the proceedings up front. I was also disappointed that we were situated in such a way that I could get only a little of the Porziuncula chapel itself into the frame. But I reminded myself that I was sure to get at least a little good footage.
The service consisted of hymns and prayers, interspersed with passages from the sources on Elizabeth. I was amazed and delighted to discover that passages from the Anonymous Franciscan, the source that I had edited and made available for the first time, were included. Fr. Michael Higgins, the new Minister General of the TOR (and our host in Rome in February) gave the talk, pointing out how it was at the Portiuncula that St. Francis had held the chapter that had sent the friars to Germany in 1221, where St. Elizabeth first became acquainted with the Franciscan movement. He pointed out that her spirituality was completely imbued with the spirit of the early Third Order for women. I knew right away that I wanted to include this portion in the film.
The Mass early next morning went much better, since the church is always open from around 6:30 in the morning, and I had plenty of time to set up. I also made sure I was far enough back that I wouldn’t always be getting nothing but the backs of people’s heads, and that the tripod was raised up far enough. The mass was celebrated by a very large number of priests, the Ministers General of the branches of the First Order, and a Secular Franciscan deacon on the altar. The Bishop of Assisi presided and gave a beautiful homily.
Then followed lunch with the CIOFS Council, an impromptu book signing, because the President’s Council had bought copies of my book for everyone, and a much-needed siesta — much needed by me, especially, because I had scarcely slept at all the night before. We also had a quick dinner before heading to San Francesco for the concert in the Lower Basilica by the Schola Hungarica, which I had also planned to tape. This time I had a very clear space in front of me, so I could just start the camera, sit on the side altar steps and relax. Unfortunately, the Lower Basilica wasn’t as well lighted as Santa Maria had been, so I wondered how well the picture would turn out. At least I was now more experienced in setting up a tripod.
The time was going so fast! Sunday was my last day in Assisi. I attended Mass at Santa Maria Sopra Minerva and had a delicious lunch at a little trattoria on the main square. I spent most of the day taking footage outdoors with my camcorder, hoping some of it could be used in the documentary. That night I had a delightful dinner with Father Fernando and his friars at S. Antonio.
Monday morning, I was up early to catch the train — which never came. Nor did the next one. In fact, I finally found out, all trains heading south would be delayed until at least 11:30 — and my flight was at 2:00! I took a cab to Foligno, but missed the train there by two or three minutes. I knew right then I would miss my flight. I finally caught a later train from Foligno. But when I got to the airport and tried to rebook fly flight to New York, I was told my airline was closed, and nothing could be done until morning. But it wasn’t all bad. I called Fr. Higgins from the airport and he invited me to spend the night at the convent. I wasn’t at all sorry to spend another night at our lovely Cosmas and Damian and feast my eyes once again on the Colisseum. “All the other friars are away,” Fr. Mike said, “so it’s just you and me for dinner.” We had pizza at one of the picturesque places just across the way on the via Cavour.
And Tuesday afternoon, reluctantly, I got on the plane for home. Reflecting would come later. I couldn’t even write this until now - a month later — because of the backlog of work once I got home. But I hope to post some more updates on the documentary here soon.
Until then, enjoy the trailer: here:
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