7th
Sweetie (1989)
Sweetie is Jane Campion’s first feature. It reminded me a lot of the Coen Bros’ Raising Arizona. Both films share a fascination with non-traditional, self-consuming families and both films adhere to the shifting, sliding ideology of ground-level budgets: never let ‘em know you’re broke. There aren’t many crazy camera moves, but each static shot is loved like a ginger baby. Lighting is pristine, composition is startling, and it feels like someone’s life was on the line if every image didn’t turn out just right. These sorts of films are charming; they’re infectious. Early films might be my favorite films. They have false starts. They have loose sweater threads. They stumble into dinner having already eaten, but sit down and munch away politely anyways. Early films are earnest, just wanting to please. Campion, like those Coens of long ago, is trying hard in this movie, and I admire that. This is an “A” for effort movie, a grade given with affection, not pity.
I have a bit of a crush on Campion right now. She makes pictures that are both intelligent and playful, and unlike most practitioners of the “one from the heart” style, she doesn’t believe that personal films need stomp the lead boot polka from logo to credits. Her films are honestly heart felt while being honestly entertaining. They’re more like listening to George Carlin yuk about his youth than they are like sitting through a sober, “this is so serious” Alan Ball couch session. Campion makes the sort of movies that, more and more, I find myself approving of and seeking out. It’s not just that movies should be fun even while being deep (people, I think, should be this way too), it’s that movies are only really deep when they’re fun. Real honest to god pathos can only sneak into a work of art after its companions, mirth and passion, have warmed up the crowed. If a film is only playing one number all night – the woe-be-me blues – it’s representing a very very narrow portion of the human experience. Worse still, it’s being rude. It’s like when Jenna showed up to Tracey’s birthday clad in a back brace on 30 Rock (the new relevant-to-everything show): relentlessly serious films are just trying to steal your attentions, instead of earn your affections, and are distracting you from more enjoyable, complete life experiences. Don’t tolerate that any more, America. See more Jane Campion flicks. Support Australian film.
