I'm going to be honest with you, world: I don't understand The Descendants.
It's going to win best adapted screenplay - it won the Golden Globe for Best Drama - this technically puts it in the second slot (though I'd say slot #2 absolutely belongs to The Help). It's directed by one of the most acclaimed writer-directors working, its headlined by the biggest male star on earth - who is gunning for Oscar gold and who Entertainment Weekly puts ahead of du Jardin. That's right, kids, EW has Clooney taking it. But I've got to say, it just wasn't there for me.
I absolutely loathe going into what it is about a picture that I do not like. Particularly when all signs point to my opinion being in the minority and my having missed something about a film the world finds fantastic. I am willing to admit that I may be absolutely wrong about this movie - I'm just telling you how I felt when I saw the thing - and the fact that it's so out of line with the majority opinion "leaves me conflicted" (to be said as Rip Torn said the line in Wonder Boys). In fact, I am going to have to sit myself down some time this Oscar weekend - pop in my screener - and give this thing a second chance. I'm reacting to this thing the way I reacted to The Fighter last year. I had no idea what all the fuss was about - meanwhile Bale and Leo walked away with every supporting trophy out there. I had the same reaction this year to The Descendants. So what is there for me to say?
A few things.
First, I would like to say that this years Warrior put The Fighter to shame. I realize I didn't latch on to David O. Russell's Southie box-fest, so my opinion needs to be taken with a grain of salt. But I love me some boxing. I watch it whenever I get the chance. I love boxing movies. I love fighting movies. I love a good family drama. I love a sibling rivalry that is straight-up toxic. All these things are crack to me. Warrior slays every single one of those categories and does it with drunk old dad as the root of the problem -- expertly played by Nick Nolte -- who not only has von Sydow to deal with but the octogenarian juggernaut that is Christopher Plummer. So... there's that.
Secondly, I wonder what was going through people's minds when they put together the advertising for The Descendants. Mom's in a coma. Dad, you didn't know she was having an affair? That's right, Dad, you're George Clooney and Mom was banging the lanky guy from Scream (who was great, by the way -- all sorts of love to Matthew Lillard). But you basically lay that out there and then show me Clooney making hard turns in Hawaiian shirts and popping up behind manicured hedges like he's a cross between the dog from Duck Hunt and Mr. Brady on that fateful trip to Hawaii.
And that isn't even close to what this movie has in store.
Truth be told, Alexander Payne is a complex director. He manipulates form, adapts great pieces of literature, and has a quirkiness that walks a precarious line between comedy and drama. Whether it's Election and all it's off-beat sex, unflattering freeze-frames, and the absolute destruction of Matthew Broderick's ("Mr. M.!") life. Whether it's Giamatti crumbling to pieces in the Santa Ynez Valley while the sultry Virginia Madsen explains how life is like a glass of vino. Or perhaps its Nicholson floating in a hot tub with a naked Kathy Bates one moment, then crying his eyes out, streaking his face with cold creme while he writes letters to Ndugu. I loved them all! I was on the hook! I found nothing jarring about the balance of these films and found the performances remarkable.
This time it wasn't there for me.
It wasn't Clooney's fault.
It was something with the overall world of this film -- the Hawaiian responsibility to the land while my wife languishes and I wonder what my life's worth is THING. I'd honestly like to hear a Hawaiian's reaction. Keanu, Obama... are you there? Fill me in.
As I said, I'll watch it again. And this sucker is absolutely going to win some trophies. For me, The Descendants rave is a mystery. How it sidelined Pitt and Moneyball will be something I never understand... unless, of course, Keanu and Obama take me to dinner. I'm in the book, boys.
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