davidkaori

Perhaps it's inevitable that the producers, designers and writers of this series will care more about getting the British elements right, without being so particular about the American. To start with a positive, the British elements in this series are nearly all superb. (In passing I confess I am not wild about the characterization of MacMillan.) And about the Kennedys, I liked Jackie. The voice was right, and the acerbity was spot-on. JFK was muffed, however -- and I would not lay this on the actor. When the whole world, including the Royal Court, collapses in grief at the assassination, you have to wonder why, given the flaccid portrayal of JFK in this episode. As a matter of historic fact, when JFK reached Britain after the Vienna summit, he was broken in body and spirit because he felt he had been so badly beaten up by Khrushchev. It is also a matter of historic fact that MacMillan -- the historical one, not the one in this film! -- was quite extraordinary in helping JFK to recuperate. As a JFK fan and as a historian of this period, I was chagrined at the portrayal of JFK. And chagrined at the slap to Jackie's memory as well. No historic evidence exists to support what is shown on screen. The production staff went completely rogue on this one. I love this whole series ten times over, and this episode is the exception that proves the rule. In summary -- nice try on this one, and on the series: Rule Britannia!

I caught the last part of this documentary on one of the Bay Area PBS stations--KCSM--and couldn't believe my eyes. Unlike nearly everything one sees about Cuba, this film opens the door to a clear view of something that has been, for the most part, distorted and simplistically portrayed. The depiction we have of the revolution comes mainly from the winners--the Castro party--and also from people who identify as the losers--who cannot get out from under that feeling. By contrast, this wonderful narrative wipes the slate clean. Along the way, and just in passing, it nicely rebuts the perspectives of the Obama administration, which has crawled snugly into bed with the Castro version of things. But that's politics, and the important interest here is history. The Dutch philosopher Huizinga said that nothing can substitute for the pure taste of history. This film takes us back to the source and delivers the pure taste. It's sincere, it's stylish, it's unfettered, and it's true.

My wife and I walked out of this movie after an hour, when we found that we just didn't care what might happen with the characters. The trouble for us is that the characters are simply not likable. Now, it's also true that one isn't supposed to say this, in line with current standards of political correctness. The prevailing, I should say domineering, character is a woman in her mid-eighties who suffers a stroke. One is supposed to like her because she's elderly, distinguished, a woman, and rendered vulnerable by illness. But in her core she's immensely unlikable. She's peremptory and defensive; she cuts people off; she has created misery in her relationships; and yet people do not simply put up with her but revere her. Indeed, she belongs to the Simone de Beauvoir brigade of liberated French women who are universally admired but who are, at best, an acquired taste. She runs roughshod over everybody else in the film -- especially over her long-suffering husband -- who takes her guff with dedication and decency. The dialogue (at least as far as we saw) never digs into this character to create a rounded portrait; it is as if a female version of King Lear were allowed to rampage across the drama, never being challenged and never taking a hard look inside. The creators of this film then become Frankensteins who are buggered by their own creation. But since the rest of the world is showering praise, they'll never come to terms with it. As for my wife and me, we are done with French films of this kind; having met the syndrome a couple of other times in recent years, we will only watch newly-made French movies if they are farces or romantic comedies. Did I forget to say that no one in "Amour" cracks a smile, and that humor is nowhere near? Well, perfection is expensive.