Film Reviews from a Captivated Spectator - Stephanie Gutierrez
2011: Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides
Director: Rob Marshall
Personal Rating: 3/5 stars
Review:
The film Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides follows Captain Jack Sparrow in the fourth installment of the franchise as he races to find the fountain of youth, a perfect film to entertain a seven-year-old girl and her five-year-old brother who have just purchased the LEGO Pirates of the Caribbean video game for their Wii (despite the girl being absolutely petrified of watching the scene played in the movie where the mermaids drown the sailors, lured into the water by the siren’s angelic voices). The children happily play the LEGO game until they can’t figure out what to do next, having the LEGO Jack Sparrow character roam aimlessly in circles, bumping into NPCs and LEGO chickens, then saving the game and waiting for their parents’ friends to leave before they can ask their parents for help on what to do next.
“You think she’s playing, but she’s actually listening, so watch out!” the mother laughs and tells her friends sitting lined up on her brown couch, beers in hand. “Ella oye todo.” The girl hears this, as she is only a few feet away, playing with her littlest pet shop toys on the kitchen floor. Her mother glances over, knowing her girl is only attempting to look busy to overhear the “adult” conversations, which consist of gossip about other friends, celebrity drama, and movies.
The girl watches them laugh and hears the echo of their joy reverberate around the walls. She craves this connection, a strange craving for an eight-year-old when faced with a group of adults, but it nevertheless intrigues her. She doesn’t want to talk to them, as she knows she does not relate to them, or their topics of interest, or their bravery when watching the scene of the beautiful sirens drowning the men only a few hours ago on the big screen TV, but this sense of awe – a distinct feeling of otherness – took over when they discussed anything, drawing the girl in. She could not join, but she was satisfied with observing this separate realm of friendship and companionship that she had yet to reach outside her family, thinking that eavesdropping was a much more interesting use of her time than going outside to play cars with her brother. So, when her parent's friends leave, the girl nervously asks her father if she can rewatch the Redbox-rented Pirates of the Caribbean movie again, forcing her eyes open during the entirety of the mermaid scene while her brother mocksed her terrified face.
2017: Lady Bird
Director: Greta Gerwig
Personal Rating: 4/5
Review:
The coming-of-age film Lady Bird, set in Sacramento during the early 2000s, follows a teenager who calls herself Lady Bird, navigating her senior year in Catholic School and her tumultuous relationship with her mother, friends, and romantic partners. This film will appeal to individuals who religiously watch all A24 movies to fuel their individualistic complex and say they only watch movies with “substance” and those whose bones are rattling with the throws of teenage angst. (Bonus points if you have a headstrong mother).
The girl, with most of these terms applying to her, found the movie two years after its release in the summer of 2019, recalling some classmates of hers and random online social media users mentioning the movie's name and their love for the director, plus it starred Timothee Chalamet. She clicks play.
The girl sits with a bowl of popcorn drenched in Valentina hot sauce and watches with her mouth agape, astounded by the parallels between herself and her mother and Lady Bird and Marion, Lady Bird’s mother. The two argue, ignore each other, and constantly make snide comments towards one another. The girl, feeling guiltily narcissistic for thinking she was similar to the main character in a movie that was praised online, watched on, making a mental list of all the times she felt she had had the exact same arguments and conversations as the ones in the movie. At some point in the film, the girl loses track and chews on the soggy popcorn. During another argument between Marion and Lady Bird, Lady Bird jumps out of a moving car while arguing with her mother and breaks her arm in the fall. The girl considered pausing the movie, feeling as if the universe was toying with her and sending a sign of its observations in her daily life. The girl had never jumped out of a moving car when arguing with her mother, though she had frequently thought of doing so and threatened to once, thinking jumping out and walking home was a better option than staying in the confines of her mother’s minivan as they endlessly squabbled about how the girl forgot to bring her plastic flip-flops with her to diving practice. At least now the girl knew what would have happened if she had attempted to do so and tried to forget how the movie seemed to mimic her life.
Nevertheless, the girl recommended the film to everyone, excluding her mother, keeping her insights on the film to herself. The girl told herself the similarities were in her head, and she was simply reading too much into the movie and projecting her personal issues onto the film. The girl told herself she was watching too many movies; it was embarrassing that she related to the main character and that aspects of her life resembled the movie. She needed to go out more and live instead of rotting away behind a screen with nothing to show for her existence. Another movie queued after the film ended, and the girl clicked play.
A few months later, the brother jumps out of his room and slams his door, almost knocking into the girl, balancing an overfilled glass of water, with the condensation threatening to roll down the side of the cup and onto the floor.
“I just watched Lady Bird,” he said with a strangely astounded look plastered on his face.
“You barely finished it?” the girl replied. “What’d you think?”
“It was really good, you were right.” The girl smiled at the comment; she never doubted her movie recommendations. “It’s weird though, the mom and Lady Bird reminded me of you and mom. Like a lot…”
“Oh,” the girl said.
“Yeah,” the brother replied.
2019: 1917
Director: Sam Mendes
Personal Rating: 3/5
Review:
The film 1917 follows two soldiers in World War I, who are following orders to cross into German-occupied territory to deliver a message that could save the lives of over 1,000 soldiers, with one of the soldiers volunteering to deliver the message to save his brother. This is a great war film for a father to bring histheir girl along; however, it is crucial to note that this may only apply to fathers who are unnervingly talented in avoiding any and all signs of negative emotions like it is a hyper-contagious disease and has an infected girl, in the trenches of yet another major depressive episode.
The father, bored of being home for a few hours, decides that 10 pm on a Monday night is the perfect time to go watch a movie, so he awkwardly knocks on his girl’s bedroom door, never entering, scared of contracting the gloomy shadows of emotions emanating from the pink bedroom in thick, invisible clouds. The girl pauses the movie she was streaming on her school-assigned Chromebook, covered in stickers gifted by classmates, utterly surprised by the father’s impulsive bravery.
The father asks her if she wants to go watch a movie, buttering up the offer by saying they could go to In-N-Out before the movie starts. The girl rolls over the idea of braving the cold wind on a winter night like she is debating going into the kitchen to complete some chores, which she has failed to do for weeks. The girl goes to shake her head but catches herself. She doesn’t remember the last time she spent time with her father, let alone talked to him. The father was always caught up working at the restaurant or in the backyard, and the girl was stuck, restrained by the comforting embrace of her soft blankets and bed. Plus, grabbing a burger and animal-style fries sounds pretty nice. So they hop in the car and silently listen to The Beatles (White Album), with the smell of greasy burgers lingering in the car long after the meals have been devoured.
The two sit in the back row for the best view of the big screen, holding an array of confections: buttered popcorn, a large Diet Coke that tastes like it is beginning to get flat, and some Skittles they snuck in from home. Although they just ate, the father believes it’s a sin to go to the theater and not get a bucket of popcorn, even if he only plans to eat a handful or two.
The theater is empty, and the father unabashedly falls asleep during the first twenty minutes of the film, snoring loudly while the girl tries to tune him out, in awe of the cinematography, surprisingly engrossed in the film. A woeful orchestra plays while the end credits roll and the girl pokes her father awake. “What the heck, what happened?” he yawned. “The movie’s over,” the girl replied, and explained the entirety of the movie on the short drive home, which was the longest conversation they had had in weeks.
The movie 1917 touches on themes of morality, sacrifice, and loss of innocence, briefly displaying the soldier’s love for his family, persisting during the most challenging moments and in the face of danger. The girl would later recall the sacrifice one of the soldiers made for their brother, willingly risking his life to save the brother he loved. Although the film did not focus so much on this, it was a love that overcame even the most tragic and darkest moments.
So, when the news headlines in 2019 went from reporting things like the fire at Notre Dame and school shootings to “US declares coronavirus a public health emergency, CDC updates guidance” and “CORONAVIRUS OUTBREAK, All Schools to Close; Large Gatherings Prohibited,” the girl was left to ponder on the fleeting nature of one’s life and how quickly relationships could be severed when faced with the news of constant illness and death.
“They’re overreacting,” the girl’s English teacher had said at the end of class when the murmur of school getting canceled floated through the classroom doors. “It’ll probably just be for two weeks,” she sighed and leaned in her desk chair.
In the depth of quarantine, the girl somehow saw her family even less when encaged in her family’s home. Her brothers stayed in their rooms playing games, and her father was deemed an essential worker, working long hours at a restaurant no one was allowed to enter. Her mother roamed quietly, cooking and cleaning, leaving her girl to her room. There had come a silent agreement between the mother and the girl: do not enter the double doors of the girl’s bedroom, and she will not exit unless absolutely necessary. This brought peace, and no longer did the brothers have to awkwardly look away when the mother and girl’s conversations were punctuated by slammed doors and glares thrown like daggers across the kitchen counter. But her stomach growled painfully, so she stepped into the minefield of the kitchen – no man’s land – and quickly toasted two slices of wheat bread and slathered the toast with strawberry jam, the most elaborate meal she had made for herself in days, before returning to the small black hole of her room. The girl had just finished watching Howl’s Moving Castle, and American Psycho was strangely recommended next due to the beauty of streaming platform algorithms. Patrick Bateman had been a few minutes into divulging his extensive morning routine when there was a knock at the door. The girl paused the movie. Her brother peeked his head through the sliver of the opened door. “Want to watch a movie with me?” He asked. “I’ll DoorDash us some food.” The girl accepted with a quiet “sure” and made the great trek to the living room couch.
2023: The Iron Claw
Director: Sean Durkin
Personal Rating: 5/5 Stars
Review:
The Iron Claw is a biopic following the lives of the Von Erich family, a set of brothers who became famous for wrestling in the 80s, and the unfolding of multiple tragedies in the family's life. If you need a film that makes you cry and analyzes the dangers of toxic masculinity during the overly cheery season of Christmastime, then this movie is for you!
The girl and her brother do not know much about the film except that it has Zac Efron and Jeremy Allen White, so they impulsively purchase the tickets on a cold winter night, with nothing better to do on their school break. The show screening is empty except for, oddly enough, two people sitting at the very front of all the rows, right beneath the big screen, laughing and talking loudly. The brother and sister side-eye each other and take out the snacks they snuck in from their pockets, the plastic packages of candy bars and chips crinkling as the advertisements before the film begin to play over the sea of empty, black recliner seats.
Although the two siblings came in with no expectations or knowledge of the Von Erich Wrestling legacy, the brother and sister did not anticipate the Von Erich brothers would die, tragedy after tragedy. The girl sat there, tears welling in her eyes. She looked up at the ceiling, fighting to keep the tears from breaking loose and smearing her eyeliner and mascara. She turned to her brother, who was openly crying, tears streaming quietly down his face. That was the first time she saw her brother cry. He tells her she wouldn’t understand. She just nods politely while the film shows the actual pictures of the Von Erich brothers and Kevin Von Erich’s family in 2023, with “Live that Way Forever” playing as the credits roll and the two people in the front quietly walk towards the exit. Her brother sniffles, and she points at the picture of Jeremy Allen White blown up on the big screen, making fun of his curly he-man haircut. Her brother laughs and says they need to convince their youngest brother to get that same haircut, but the girl mentions that might actually be considered child abuse.
Although the siblings never read the names listed in the credits, they waited until the screen went black and the lights turned on in the room, announcing it was time for them to leave. The girl breathes out, the Von Erich tragedies still weighing heavily on her chest, while the brother rubs his eyes, almost falling down after accidentally missing a step on the stairs. Two workers carrying brooms and dustpans stand outside talking, and the siblings both duck their heads as they leave the theater. He doesn’t want people to see him crying, eyes puffy and red, and she doesn’t want to accidentally make eye contact with her old coworkers from the year prior when she briefly worked there, but she feels their eyes pressed on their backs as they rush to leave.
The entire front entrance of the theater is made up of glass doors. Of course, when they attempt to open the doors, they are already locked. They awkwardly stand frozen and try another one, feeling the invisible stares of the workers waiting for them to leave. The girl remembers the door all the way on the left side is always the last door locked at the end of the night, so they go to pull the door, praying they will not have to confront a worker to let them outside.
The frigid outside air slapping their faces comes as a relief, jolting them awake in the dead night. The welcoming embrace of outside air is short-lived; the blowing gusts of frosty wind make the girl regret leaving the comfort of the theater lobby. The painfully bright street lamps shine on the empty parking lot, illuminating the frost forming on the patches of grass and her tiny gray car parked too far in the distance.
“Can we go to In-N-Out?” the brother asked as they walked towards his sister’s car, “I wanna get a milkshake.”
The girl smiled and zipped her thin jacket. Still shivering, she said, “You read my mind.”
Stephanie Gutierrez is a Mexican-American writer born and raised in the Central Valley. She is a senior pursuing her BA in Creative Writing at California State University, Fresno. Her work typically explores the complexities of relationships and identity in fiction, creative nonfiction, and poetry, with previous publications in the San Joaquin Review.
