Winter Storm Jonas Film Festival

Ah... A good old fashioned blizzard! If Facebook is any indication, many NY'ers went out to see what happens to the view when two feet of snow is dumped on it. But for me, there's no better time to hunker down with some of your favorite comfort foods, a blanket, and a glass of something boozey to watch movies. Also, you don't have to put on your pants for a couple days.

My Winter Storm Jonas Film Festival started Friday night with Tootsie (1982). This film is one of those eternal pleasures. No matter how many times you watch Dustin Hoffman's Dorothy Michaels character chastise, chest clutch, or stammer, it's always a warm, funny time.

Hoffman wanted to elevate this character beyond the obvious joke of an actor who dresses like a woman to get a part. Much like Jack Lemon in another cross-dressing classic Some Like it Hot (1959), Hoffman eschews camp for an acceptance of the behavioral and physical differences between the two sexes, inhabiting a female character instead of parodying it. Dorothy is so enjoyable I find myself disappointed when Hoffman reveals himself on live television.

Like Julie (the captivating Jessica Lange), "I miss Dorothy." Terri Garr, Charles Durning, Dabney Coleman, Sydney Pollack, Doris Belack, George Gaynes, Geena Davis, and a pre-world-weary Bill Murray are all so wonderful you are willing to forgive the sometimes cringe-y Stephen Bishop soundtrack. This time around while watching an interview with Dustin Hoffman on the Blu-ray edition, I learned that Sydney Pollack was not the original director. He inherited the project after Hal Ashby left. My imagination is piqued by what the quirky director of Harold and Maude (1971) would have done with Tootsie.

Next up was British drama/romance The Crying Game (1992). This is one of those movies that infected the cultural zeitgeist in large part because of its big reveal. But I've never gotten around to seeing it. I mean, I know that the girl is actually a guy- so surprise over. Nothing to see here- except Jaye Davidson's weiner. Well, not exactly. Neil Jordan's political drama turned romance turned gay/trans drama seems to be hiding as much as Davidson's Dil. Motives and desires are shrouded among the many layers of translucent scarves that surround Dil's apartment. Stripped down, the movie parallels the fight over national identity with that of sexual identity. Stephen Rea has reason to question his Irish patriotism and his attraction to Dil.

The problem is that by the end of the film, I'm not sure he finds an answer to either of these conflicts. But then again, in 1992 there was no Good Friday Agreement of 1998 to ease tensions in Northern Ireland and no Caitlyn Jenner to publicly address trans issues. So perhaps within its ambiguous decisions, The Crying Game, is a perfect reflection of its time. It also unconsciously continued my men dressed as women film festival. So I had to move on to a different vision of womanhood.

Switchblade Sisters (1975) is sheer, Seventies sexploitation crap. But that's what makes it fun. No need to fuss over the plot or negative images of women. Switchblade Sisters shows what happens in a girl gang when a new girl shows up to challenge the leader. Of course it leads to prison catfights where robes open up exposing breasts, para-military black Maoists shooting-up a food truck, and two chicks having a winner-takes-all hair-pulling/knife fight for control of the gang, The Jezebels.

Everyone in this movie looks like somebody else- like the casting agent hoped the audience would think there were stars in this picture. Monica Gayle looks like Sissy Spacek with an eyepatch, Asher Brauner looks like Josh Brolin, and Don Stark looks like a younger version of Mr. Pinciotti from That 70's Show- wait- Don Stark is the younger version of the guy who plays Mr. Pinciotti from That 70's Show. 

Stark's character Hook is on the receiving line of one of the few bon mots of the film, "Everybody knows your crank could hook a tuna." There are movies that are so bad they're good. This one is so bad it's worth a couple laughs... if you've been drinking.

I finished my snowy movie weekend by throwing on some boots and tromping out to an actual movie theater to see Oscar-nommed, Carol (2015). I love director Todd Haynes. He makes movies that need to be seen on the big screen with an aestheticism that rivals classic directors like Douglas Sirk and Vincente Minnelli. And in this sense, Carol is a triumph. Set during the Christmas holiday of 1951, Carol tells the classic "love at first sight" story, but with two women. Therese (Rooney Mara) is a shopgirl in the toy section of a department store. Carol (Cate Blanchett) is a married well-to-do gal looking for a doll for her daughter.

Looks exchanged over a toy train propel the story over a fraught relationship. One of the great challenges of film is its ability to project the ecstatic feelings of first love and thwarted desire through visuals. Most films have lots of witty dialogue, grasps and clutches, and protestations of eternal longing. Haynes takes a different, largely visual approach. In a time when the open expression of a same-sex attraction was verboten, it is the little things that signaled affection. A longing glance, a lingering touch, the view of your loved one sleeping, fragmented images of a hand or face. The love between Carol and Therese is subtle and lovely. The attention to period-specifics is obsessively beautiful.

Unlike Haynes' Far From Heaven (2002) the colors seem muted, trying to keep the love blossoming in front of us from drawing too much attention. Carol isn't terribly complicated plot-wise- and lacking the obvious dramatics is more of a tone-poem than Far From Heaven, but it is a graceful addition to the Haynes canon. And it concludes my estrogen-infused movie-viewing marathon.  Maybe the next time it snows I'll get sucked into a John Wayne movie-hole.

What did you watch during Winter Storm Jonas?