The Reader

The Reader: Directed by Stephen Daldry, with Kate Winslet and Ralph Fiennes.

 At long last, Friday came.  What a Friday, at that.  Today was one of those Fridays that throws one back and forth against opposing walls, relentlessly.  One of those Fridays where you think to yourself:  “I do not want to be at work that long” only to end up being rushed, poked, redirected, then rushed and prodded again for much longer than you originally intended.  However, work is only one part of life, and thankfully only one part of any Friday, and therefore, only a handful of hours of today’s adventures. 

Today was a rather familial sort of day.  Saw my Mum–which was nice, despite the subtle burn of the almost constant feeling that she worries about me.  To a degree, it’s a warm thing: Mothers worry about their children, because Mother’s tend to love their children.  Only now and then is there a slight singe, briefly.  It has much to do with trust.  After being asked three or more ways, “What’s new?”, “What’s been going on?”, “Anything new happening”, I begin to wonder what sort of response is actually being hunted.  I say, “Not much is new.  Same old same old.”  I say, “Haven’t really done terribly much lately.  Just working, we did see a couple of movies…”  The same questions keep being asked.  Odd.  I think it’s because Mothers can worry too much, and don’t trust that in such a complicated world, a simple answer of “I’m fine” may actually sum things up very neatly. 

After visiting briefly with Mum, off to Parry Center, to visit my Beloved One’s eldest.  In quite remarkable spirits today, and admirable form.  It’s always good to spend time, touch base, and remind him of the fact that we’re here.  Largely, that’s the root and the rub.  But it’s wonderful when–on days like today–everything goes smoothly, and all of the time to be shared is very enjoyable indeed. 

After Parry Center, my Beloved One and I embarked upon our Friday date!  The #9 came just as we walked off Parry Center’s campus, and whisked us away to downtown without a minute’s wait.  Both a bit hungry, we walked around looking for something to eat.  Then we walked around searching.  Then we walked around begging to find something that would work: time limit before the movie starts, can’t spend all night.  Price limit, can’t elaborate upon that, ’tis enough said.  Energy limit: can’t walk around all night.  Patience limit: I’m getting tired of walking already.  We settled for the Starbucks kitty corner to the Fox Tower.  We behaved like naughty children at the tables outside, smoking a cigarette clearly within ten feet of the windows.  Hangable, these days!  Those ridiculous little “Smoke Free Oregon” stickers–the ones that are posted everywhere; the ones that were so hiddeously designed by the chief of the coalition for hiddeously designed government issue stickers–require cigarettes to be smoked ten feet from doors, windows, and/or general glass surfaces.  It feels so wonderful to break that rule!  Even more nourishing is the realization that you can break it without other people realizing that you’re breaking it.  Particularly thrilling this evening considering the wind.  I’m confident that my carcinogenic exhalations were carried in the breeze all the way to Salem, and into the State capitol, where they afflicted the freedom crunchers more intensely than a thousand lashes from invisible whips.  Well, I’m not confident, but hopeful, nontheless. 

 After Starbucks, we skilled across the street to The Fox Tower, to watch The Reader.  What a breathtaking example of the beautiful thing a film has the potential to be. 

I was originally drawn into The Reader because of Ralph Fiennes, and then the realization that the screenplay was written by David Hare, and the film was directed by Stephen Daldry.  I never really knew thoroughly what I was getting into.  Granted, I didn’t read the reviews, because I don’t particularly care for reviews.  But I did read a few summaries, which were elusive and unclear.  After watching the film, I’m tremendously thankful they opted not to spell everything out ahead of time. 

Wonderful cast, in addition to Fiennes.  Though, a note about him: it’s very difficult to not pick up on the fact that this is not his first film set against the backdrop of Europe during WWII.  There was Schindler’s List to name the obvious.  There was Sunshine which to this day ranks in the top three of my all-time-favorite-movie-list-of-all-favorite-movie lists.  I think historical pieces, or period pieces–or whatever name you wish to pin to the genre–can be terribly dull.  There are a very few that I’ve adored, some I’ve appreciated, and many I’ve wanted to sleep through, but failed, because of Insomnia.  Each of the period films I’ve seen in which Ralph Fiennes has taken a part, have been quite good indeed.  I find him rather the ideal sort of actor for those sort of films.  He is tremendously clear, and has a tremendous amount of gravity all of his performances.  He–acting students–is someone to watch intensely. 

Kate Winslet is unquestionably the best I’ve seen her in this film.  There’s a beautiful, brief, wordless moment that takes place at an out-of-the-way Church in the country.  There’s a rather modest church/children’s choir rehearsing, and the camera reveals Winslet sitting in one of the pews, absolutely ecstatic and excited by their singing.  But what’s wonderful is the modesty and simplicity of the choir.  It’s a children’s choir.  A country church’s children’s choir.  Rehearsing.  It’s not the grand, thundering, heavenly, hundred-strong professional choir of the music capitol of the world.  It’s a simple, modest, group of seven or so children singing, and she’s enraptured, like she’d never heard singing before.  Brilliant.  Tiny moment–you could blink and miss it, but don’t.  It’s brilliant.

Bruno Ganz–who I have an odd little soft spot for anyway–played an amiable, quirky, little law professor, with one of the greatest lines in the film.  I’ve decided not to quote it here, after already typing it in, then deleting it.  I don’t want to spoil it. 

All in all, start to end, the script, the score, the cast, all of it. . .  Beautiful.  Difficult, compelling story to tell, the sort that requires a level of craftsmanship and emotional maturity, and they all did it beautifully. 

If you want to see a movie that is the best of what movies can be, see The Reader. 

© Jeffrey Puukka, 2009.