Review: Big Hero 6

First, a personal note: This has been an especially great movie year for my husband. Don't get me wrong, I've enjoyed them too, but this is the second movie this year that had a main character who was practically Brian's avatar - first there was the slightly-misanthropic-but-genuinely-wanted-to-be-liked tech-wizard ensemble member who saves the day multiple times (and who also happened to be a cute fuzzy animal), and now there's a movie whose primary protagonist is a super-gifted half-Japanese kid dealing with severe personal loss and depression precisely by learning to reach out to people and being a tech wizard and (eventually) becoming a superhero. Some of this is probably just demographics - now that we're in our 30s, people our age and with our generational values (love of technology, importance of diversity/teamwork, distrust of authority without proven reason for its continuance) are starting to be in decision-making teams on projects like major movies. But the very specificity of how well he has resonated with these films has been a complete joy to watch.

Although, to be fair, Big Hero 6 is a pretty complete joy to watch even if you're not the wife of a slightly-misanthropic super-smart tech-wizard half-Japanese man who loves superheroes and has dealt with severe personal loss. I hope this film becomes a primary text in screenwriting courses; it's an amazing example of how to develop character without slackening the pell-mell pace of its 90-minute screen-time, and does a great job balancing genuinely deep emotional moments with real humor and sweetness. Somewhat ironically, then, my only real complaint about the story has to do with how well its characters are developed, and the associated implications for group dynamics. But in order to discuss it, we're getting into early-film spoiler territory. It's a pretty predictable plot point, but they pull it off well enough that it carries real weight, so if you want to go in blind, ( here's a cut. )

Still, even with my group-psychology quibble, this is a fantastic movie; the sort that carries all sorts of Positive Messages for kids (the role of human connection in overcoming hardship, the importance of skill-diversity in team-building, the necessity of not letting your emotions control you so you lose sight of the bigger picture) while still being the most colorful outright comic-book FUN you can have. And it was a nearly perfect movie to see on a day when I'd been dealing with major emotional vulnerability. A

Arting Harder, pt. II - audition analysis, plus bonus Moment of Gratitude

I've been reflecting further on the audition experience, now that the adrenaline's worn off and I've been able to look at things with more distance.

One of my acquaintances at yoga today asked me how it went, and after a moment's thought, I realized I was able to say honestly: "It's some of the best work I've done." I was emotionally vulnerable and true, something that's been difficult for me in the past. (I spent the morning, when I wasn't practicing, watching Brené Brown's and Amanda Palmer's TED talks, which I'd been meaning to see for a while and which cover a lot of similar territory when applied to art; I think it helped me feel like I had permission, if that makes any sense.) And I practiced enough that, rather than being certain the emotion would overwhelm my brain and make me forget what I was going to say, I was able to trust that the words would be there when I needed them. And...they were. The words were the signposts, there to define the boundary even when the tide came rushing in.

(Of course, this is all coming from the perspective of the performer, and it's perfectly possible that to the audience, I just made a complete ass of myself, or more likely, was completely unmemorable - they had a lot of people going through very quickly, so it was an in-and-out kind of experience without much feedback. But that's not what my gut says, so I'm going to trust it, since I hear that's what performers do.)

The weirdest part of all of this has been how Zen I've been feeling about all of this. It seems counterintuitive: you would think that, having done what feels like a stellar job, you'd be raring for the recognition, and therefore crushed at the prospect of a rejection. But I feel much the same way I did when I submitted that story back in July; I did the best work I could, and was the best representation of myself I could be; if that's not what they're looking for, that's because of their needs and not a rejection of me personally. Which is kind of a change from the procrastination-filled half-assed efforts I've made in the past, when I was desperate for the affirmation of a positive result despite knowing I hadn't done anywhere near as much as I could to earn it. What a strange paradox.

Meanwhile. I have so much to be thankful for in my life, but I'm taking a moment, here on this blustery and chilly autumn night, to have some special gratefulness tea and really appreciate our condo. I love it here. I love the location, near the train and two major bus lines and two awesome restaurant neighborhoods and a gay bar for dancing or fabulous brunch. I love that it's recently built, with central air and good insulation. I love the big bay windows in the living room that let in lots of afternoon sunlight and overlook our surprisingly quiet street. I love the tall ceilings, which accommodate our whole 9-foot Christmas tree. I love the kitchen, with the giant cupboards and wine rack and island and gas stove (even if it is more of a pain to clean than the flat-top electric style we had in Bisbee). I love that it has two bedrooms, so we can host guests comfortably, and two bathrooms, so we can offer our guests a bit more privacy (and so we don't have to fight over who gets to go first after returning from an outing!). I love that the rent ended up being well under our planned budget, and that our landlord is reasonable and quick in responding to maintenance issues. I especially love that it has a working fireplace, something that I enjoy so much this time of year but didn't even feel I could reasonably hope for when I was searching from Arizona and trying not to feel hopeless at how quick the turnover was.

I doubt we'll be here permanently; even without unforeseen life fluctuations, Brian wants to buy a place eventually, and I think I'd like just a bit more space if we're making that long-term of an investment. But as a place to spend the next five-to-ten years, I'm not sure I can articulate how happy I am here. All the more so because that happiness means we're unlikely to need to move again anytime soon.