Writing it out: Turbulance, nothing major.

A recent conversation piqued my interest and 2nd viewing of 500 Days of Summer.  Yes.  Second viewing.

Upon first viewing, I was astounded at how resonant the pain in the film was.   Really fresh from a break up, watching this film in tandem with Paper Heart allowed me to scar appropriately.  After Paper Heart’s conversational, mockumentary structure, I became a tad critical of western perceptions of love – the film became a forum for the carnivalesque qualities of love.  Nothing too deep cutting.  500 Days on the other hand, had my heart slowly gripping the cavern of my chest and up out of my mouth to give me the most painful of embraces.  I wasn’t a wreck, but I wasn’t golden either.

500 Days achieved catharsis.

Relief.  Repose.  Repeat.

A second viewing, only warranted by a conversation of memory and love, and a humorous comparison of real life to cinema.  Was I Tom?  Was I Summer?

The films structure is a smorgasbord of style by the music video director Marc Webb.  Webb pulled no punches when it came to jarring and pulling the viewer into the seduction of misery.  From the opening credit sequence of the home films of Tom and Summer, to the comical nods to world renown directors-Webb wanted your heart, all of it.

A contemporary set up for the chic designer also permitted huge liberties in creating an aesthetically flat film.  Shapes and lines from the buildings, illustrations, Ikea, and right down to the casting of Joseph Gordon-Levitt and Zooey Deschanel.  The flat qualities of the film wasn’t a bad thing – Webb used that quality to maximize the appearances and conversations on love.  It made things simple, obvious.

Expectation.  Reality.  Repeat.

Webb used the jumps in time marked by the scrolling days to match up with an universal understanding of love and love lost.  Most folks remember the best, and re-live those moments.  The moment we think heartbreak is over, we’re triggered by our loneliness.  Our hearts our front loaded in way we’re fixed on pain, and healing looks like something we’d never expect.

This movie isn’t too deep.  Memory and love are themes immemorial.  Unfortunately, the 2nd viewing only revealed more of the flaws that I chose to ignore the first time.

The interspersed interruptions at the peaks of pain only avoided the potentially boring mud-wallowing of self-pity and anger.  Webb skirted this trap with flourishes that are contemporary versions of Rob Reiner’s nondiegitc interviews in When Harry Met Sally, except Webb made it for a generation of both the saccharine-indulgent and culture snobs.  Then again, I don’t think Webb had that capacity available to him in the film, he’s music video director, they cater to attention spans the size of mosquitoes (annoyance then lingering).

I had no doubt about the chemistry between Tom and Summer.  What I did doubt was their individual performances.  The quick quip to Tom alluding to Goethe’s Young Werther, and even Zooey’s attempt at Anna Karina was a bit too superficial, the story only made it clear that Tom and Summer couldn’t sustain the projection of love and it’s exploitative nature, unlike the performances in The Bitter Tears of Petra von Kant.  Then again, the film wasn’t necessarily trying to achive that kind of depth.

It’s still a fun film.  I laughed.  I cried.  I cursed her name.  I said, “I’m sorry.”

In this spectrum of Tom and Summer, most folks lie between.  Tom and Summer are the same person, just at different times in their lives, and that’s okay, the story was banking on that.

At the end of the film I asked myself if I was Tom in my last relationship.

No, I wasn’t.

Was I Summer?

No, I wasn’t.

Am I Otis Redding?

Maybe.