Illusions and Recycled Air

The 40 something executive in a customised designer suit who zips through check in, while you wait it out behind the four parent, six screaming kids nightmare of a family returning from a ski vacation. The woman who clocks in sixty thousand odd air miles, managing a career, a family and two children. The hotshot young manager who comes up with a way of cutting 85% of the cost to company, two weeks into her first job. 

Ryan, Alex and Natalie are the key protagonists in the film in writer/director Jason Reitman's "Up in theAir", during the course of which he effortlessly takes these and other hallowed examples of what constitutes a  successful human being in modern society, and manages to get the viewer to see beyond the cliche. - Ryan has lost any semblance of human connect, Alex has "settled", and Natalie hasn't realised that she can't have it all.


Through the course of the film, the characters reveal their cynicism ("Think of me as yourself, only with a vagina" - Alex) and their essence ("How does it not even cross your mind that you might want to have a future with somebody" - Natalie), with effortless wit and irony, and, at it's end, you leave not feeling sorry for any of them, but rather reflecting on (as Ryan would put it) what you, if anything, would really  "put into your backpack before you set fire to it."

There are many metaphors for the decline of substance and real human connection in this film, one of them perhaps is also that it has been pitted with the likes of Avatar in race for the Oscars. While it is unlikely that it will triumph over the flash and dazzle of technology, the money making juggernaut, or the political correctness of other contenders, in itself, it is a quirky little gem, with some great acting (a shoutout to a brilliant Vera Farmiga and a merciful lack of schtick from George Clooney), brilliant writing and the pluck to stick to what filmmaking is all about - that sleight of hand that makes you engage and reflect while thinking that you are being entertained.

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Death to the chick flick

It appears that Hollywood currently agrees on the type of cinema that women want. Beautiful and successful woman, managing a hectic career, maybe a child and a diet and exercise regimen that makes her eligible to be a runway model. Ruggedly handsome, male lead, great with children, successful, capable of putting relationships first, with body to die for in case he needs to take his shirt off. Both yearn for true love, and try to find it, unsuccessfully with supporting cast members, till the final few scenes where they decide they were made for each other. Throw in a few outrageous sexual gags and a designer product placement, and you have a box office winner.

Julie and Julia then is not a chick flick. One of its main characters is an unsuccessful writer living in a pokey apartment, working a dead end job as a receptionist, and the other is an uncoordinated, loud middle aged American preoccupied with French cooking. The men are hardly GQ material, one of them is a balding career diplomat, and the other a struggling writer with the Archeological Digest. To make matters worse, there is no scope for yearning and sexual tension. Both women are in committed relationships.

The film switches back and forth between the lives of Juila Child (who achieved iconic success in America with her book "Mastering the Art of French Cooking") and Julie Powell who stumbles upon writing success through a blog based on cooking her way through Julia's recipes. Through the film, the characters deal with issues of failure, frustration, finding their purpose in life and the struggle and heartbreak that goes alongwith. The search for true love is not their main preoccupation, but love, rather, is something that is always present and sometimes taken for granted, in the passionate pursuit of the ultimate end.

The film (courtesy the brilliant Nora Ephron) is quirkily and disarmingly funny, sweet and poignant and like one of Ms Child's desserts, holds a melting richness and depth of flavour. Meryl Streep as Julia Child is over the top yet outstanding (see Nora Ephron’s hilarious tribute to Streep at the AFI’s), Stanley Tucci portrayal as the romantic, humorous, indulgent Paul Child is heartwarming. Amy Adams is a tougher, street smart version of the Meg Ryan, her relationship with her boyfriend is a very real portrayal of a modern day relationship.

This then is not a chick flick, simply because its makers did not intend it to be one. It chooses to respect the modern filmgoer enough to trust that they would watch a film that is well written , has engaging characters and a good storyline. With more such screenwriting and less cynicism, we could then possibly look forward to a revival in good popular cinema.

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