| Embarrassment never is made easier by instant replay. As the memories of grade school indiscretions enter the head at most inopportune of times, we try to find refuge in the stories of others. Only then, we can laugh. And the laughs can mask that the red-faced routine still appears, undaunted. Embarrassment in the movies comes in as many ways as there are to fall on your face. The banana peel of this plot-point is the slapstick comedian receiving the worst of life before saving the house/graduating school/winning the girl/winning the game. These |
| The Movie Diary entry for ... |
| About a Boy |
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| usually are thrust at our poor hero, the result of evil forces at work exploiting a character weakness and the cruel, cruel fates. But in some rare instances, we aren’t laughing at the characters. With an intimate glimpse into the blush, the more introverted of us feel the blood rush to the head just the same. Some cinematic connection is made, and we must peek through our fingers, afraid of what’s next and the answer to a simple question. Can it get any worse? To set up such an instance takes a great story, tremendous characters and not an ounce of contrivance. And when it happens, you’re hoping against hope that it won’t. But there’s a silent voice inside of you, pestering with the knowledge that the film is working on you. You must submit - deal with it, sonny. The climax to About a Boy exemplifies this most perfect of imperfect situations. In the first 75 minutes, we’re compelled to care about someone who’s so cruel, shallow and sometimes heartless. So when he gains his heart, he must give himself up to whatever fate has provided to cure this malady (Redemption, it’s a gambler’s bet). Hugh Grant’s Will, with each guitar string strummed, sheds the auras of cool and hip and becomes a core of what works. That doesn’t mean he’s a changed man. He still carries a tongue that stings. But he has found the delight in doing something, rather than units of nothing. The choice of “Killing Me Softly" is perfect, and not just for the story continuity and a witty kicker. It’s a guilty pleasure, the height of uncool. Anything with those lyrics and not by the Fugees is woefully out of touch with today’s “feel the cool pain and rage” youth. Embarrassment isn’t an option, it’s a certainty. And the look from between the fingers feels right. |
| Originally published Feb. 8, 2003 on Word of Mouth |
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