in bruges
Proof positive that even dour, suicidal whiners can be entertaining. At least that’s the angle I’ll be trying to sell to those of you who are still on the fence.
I’d actually been looking forward to the release of In Bruges since The Cracka and I first saw the trailer back in ‘07, so we went to see it promptly after its release back in frosty early-February before the mighty resurrection of MediaSlave. After that viewing, we managed to smile for longer than either of us had previously remembered doing in recent memory. For my part of it, I was happy to have seen such a well made film with someone who could appreciate it but also register and understand my affection for it. I’m not going to call it the best black comedy since Heathers, unless you ask me to reference it in relation to the last black comedy I enjoyed with the same approximate amount of admiration. Do they still call them black comedies? Or is that somehow racially insensitive? When Twinkie called me last week after seeing the film, saying that she immediately wanted to either see it again or fly to Bruges for the sole purpose of mocking an entire town and its attractions, I was quick to volunteer for either outing. Since the dollar is weak right now and I’m still trying to see how long I can live without ever crossing the Atlantic, we just went to the movies later that weekend.
I’m not going to get into specifics, lest I wander into the oft-treacherous waters of spoiler territory, but there’s a weight that Colin Farrell’s character Ray carries throughout the movie. This weight makes it difficult for him when he tries to enjoy the little joys of life, like visiting religious sites, dating mysterious criminals and midget-spotting. All of these pursuits are successfully albeit temporarily distracting, particularly the midget-centric one for which he possesses a unique enthusiasm, but they don’t seem to ease the burden and loss he shoulders. There’s a touching desperation in his attempt to find reasons to continue. I know what you’re thinking. You know a guy like that. A guy who’s doing what he can, and you want to show support. But at the end of the day, you just wish he’d realize the past is the past, and he should just pry his heart open again and seek new happiness. I’m hear you. I like Mel Gibson in Lethal Weapon, too.
And who knew Ralph Fiennes could be so funny? I mean, he’s kind of funny in Harry Potter, but I think that’s because he doesn’t have a nose. You know, the way that Domo-kun is funny. Like he’s cute but he might eat you. Here, you laugh at him because he’s just kind of unstable and odd. Like if you knew him for real, you’d never invite him out to hang out when you were meeting up with other friends, but at the same time, you wouldn’t want to be alone with him, so you’re always sitting around awkwardly in restaurants or coffee shops because there’s less chance that he would break public social protocols and set about devouring your organs. Evidently, this tangent has unearthed from the depths of my psyche the deep-seeded fear of being ingested. Who knew? Speaking of which, they couldn’t just find some authentic fat Americans for this flick? I mean seriously, it’s not like we’re having a shortage over here.