Gameshows and Love Stories

I saw a film last night that blew me away.

I've been accused of being hyperbolic in my descriptions of things I love. This may be true. However, I like to think that there are a lot of things to be passionate about in this world, so why bother fussing about the mediocre things? When I write a review of a film, it'll be a film I either loved or hated. If a film is middling and unremarkable, why talk about it?

"Oh yeah, that was an alright movie. It turned out to be about what I thought it was gonna be about. And the acting was pretty good. I liked the music. It was kinda fun sometimes. And the ending was pleasant. It was kind of slow, but it had its moments--you know--there were a couple of parts that were kind of cool..."

Why?

Instead, let me tell you about Slumdog Millionaire. This is going to sound strange, but I don't know how else to say it. During several lengthy segments of that film, the strength and depth of feeling that I was being pulled through actually caused me to physically tremble.

The concept is so simple. A young man is on the Indian version of "Who Wants to be a Millionaire?" He's accused of cheating. He's beaten. Tortured. Why won't he confess to having cheated? How could a slumdog possibly know the answers to all the questions?

That's what the rest of the film is about. The answers to the questions are used like touchstones in the history of this young man's life. How did he know the name of the man who invented the revolver? You'll have to see the film to find out. The premise is simple enough, almost, to be trite. But it is not trite. It is grand, beautiful, and deeply moving.

How did they pull it off? This melodrama of melodramas. Must have been the writing, which was flawless and unassuming in its seemingly effortless brilliance. Or maybe the music, which was somehow exactly right for every single second of the film. But it could just as easily have been the cinematography, or the editing, or the production design--all of which were outstanding enough to satisfy the brightest hopes of those who care about such things. Or let's argue for the acting and directing--why else did everyone fall deeply, shamelessly in love with our hero and the love of his life?

All of those things could provide powerful, convincing evidence as for why this film worked so transcendently well. But maybe, above and beneath all of that, there was something else. Someone believed in something better than what we normally see. Through all of the horror we push through, there must be something worth the struggle. It must, must, must be true, and those people responsible for the making of this film not only believed but demanded it. And then they set to work.

I'm trying to remember the last time my heart was filled to overflowing by a film. I can't. I'm sure it will come to me. I certainly won't say that Slumdog Millionaire is the most wonderful film I've ever seen. Because, like I mentioned earlier, I'm trying to avoid reckless hyberboles. I will say, though, that the film I saw last night makes that a tough thing to do.