Prejudice is one of the greatest spoilers in our lives. It damages relationships, sends innocent men to prison, it influences choices in the marketplaces we frequent. Reading a book and dozens of reviews beforehand is the surest way to prejudice attitudes about any movie. I brought my own prejudice to The Lovely Bones. As the father of a 14 year old daughter any movie featuring the brutal death of a child is sure to tear my heart out. As such, Bones made me suffer through a tragedy that every family dreads.
After reading many of these IMDb reviews after the fact (I've still not read the book) and comparing the impressions of others with my own thoughts and responses, I find myself wanting to defend the movie and its telling of a heartbreaking story.
It as a story told by an innocent--a 14 year old, small town girl. She had not been seriously kissed, was still more child than woman, and possessed only vague ideas and impressions of life and what comes after. Her innocence and curiosity led her into the corn field and to her death. But, to us, her audience, her spirit flitted away, into an imagined world, into a blue space from which she could see but not be seen. This fantasy universe seemed incomprehensible to many who saw the film, offended by so much "CGI". But how would you perceive this middle-ground if you were 14? How would you construct the metaphorical space in which this transition was taking place? Hints were present everywhere, the lighthouse from the bottled ship, the gazebo where she was to meet her potential first love, the drawing with its blue space—recognized by her brother as her temporary home. From this lush purgatory, she watched with a breaking heart as her family was crushed by the reality of their loss.
Bob Dylan's recurring phrase in "Like a Rolling Stone" was "how does it feel?" That's the unspoken question I ask as I watch any movie. Can the tenuous collaboration of writer, director, and actors influence the cynical, hard hearted, over-exposed to media, information junkie that I've become? As I watched The Lovely Bones I felt tight-chested fear for my own children, identified with the bitter angst of a family who had lost so much, and hoped the daughter sitting beside me wouldn't see my tears or at least understand why they existed.
While I could have done without Sarandon's awkward mother in law and asked the same logical questions (where did he put the two tons of dirt in the corn field/why did they move the safe a hundred yards instead of moving the car), I will never forget the crushing reprise of neighbor Harvey's criminal past or the passage of all those murdered women with lives left unlived.
I've wondered how parents of murdered children cope with such an event. Bones only amplifies that question, magnifying the depth and impact of emotions. While the ending demonstrates irony more than vengeance, the real story is closure—that happiness is only possible when sadness ends.
After reading many of these IMDb reviews after the fact (I've still not read the book) and comparing the impressions of others with my own thoughts and responses, I find myself wanting to defend the movie and its telling of a heartbreaking story.
It as a story told by an innocent--a 14 year old, small town girl. She had not been seriously kissed, was still more child than woman, and possessed only vague ideas and impressions of life and what comes after. Her innocence and curiosity led her into the corn field and to her death. But, to us, her audience, her spirit flitted away, into an imagined world, into a blue space from which she could see but not be seen. This fantasy universe seemed incomprehensible to many who saw the film, offended by so much "CGI". But how would you perceive this middle-ground if you were 14? How would you construct the metaphorical space in which this transition was taking place? Hints were present everywhere, the lighthouse from the bottled ship, the gazebo where she was to meet her potential first love, the drawing with its blue space—recognized by her brother as her temporary home. From this lush purgatory, she watched with a breaking heart as her family was crushed by the reality of their loss.
Bob Dylan's recurring phrase in "Like a Rolling Stone" was "how does it feel?" That's the unspoken question I ask as I watch any movie. Can the tenuous collaboration of writer, director, and actors influence the cynical, hard hearted, over-exposed to media, information junkie that I've become? As I watched The Lovely Bones I felt tight-chested fear for my own children, identified with the bitter angst of a family who had lost so much, and hoped the daughter sitting beside me wouldn't see my tears or at least understand why they existed.
While I could have done without Sarandon's awkward mother in law and asked the same logical questions (where did he put the two tons of dirt in the corn field/why did they move the safe a hundred yards instead of moving the car), I will never forget the crushing reprise of neighbor Harvey's criminal past or the passage of all those murdered women with lives left unlived.
I've wondered how parents of murdered children cope with such an event. Bones only amplifies that question, magnifying the depth and impact of emotions. While the ending demonstrates irony more than vengeance, the real story is closure—that happiness is only possible when sadness ends.