Children of men and, yeah, Cuarón

Alfonso Cuarón is quite something. He has an incredible range as a director. He has directed movies so different between them and yet he has managed to leave his mark, even when directing a big budget, hugely-anticipated franchise movie, Harry Potter and the prisioner of Azkaban. Y tu mama también is just a wonderful exploration of youth and death. A little princess is one of the best live-action family movies (I dare to say) of all time: a hidden gem. Now he offers this futuristic tale that is more of an analogy with the present, a metaphor, and an allegory in which he displays a immense politic consciousness (which can be seen in almost all his interviews), a sincere worry about the future, but, ultimately, a hope.

Every single Children of men review I’ve read starts something like this: “Children of men is a dystopian thriller”, “It’s set in a world where women can’t conceive anymore, so every hope is lost” or “Though is not a sci-fi…”. All these things are quite true. But Children of men is a lot more than that. It is not sci-fi, that’s for sure. It’s more of a reflection of the present, as Alfonso Cuarón, the director of the film, says all the time. It’s a very political film, setting the English government as a cruel, authoritarian bitch, but also England as the last remaining country (as we use the term now). It’s a very rough prediction of what could be happening twenty years from now.

But the most important feature of Children of men, besides of being wonderfully (and I mean wonderfully) shot and directed, is the heart of it. It’s not a feel good movie, you can tell just to look at the trailer or even catch a glimpse of the poster, but it’s conceived with love, with an incredible artistry. Cuarón really puts himself into his projects and you feel it. You feel the movie, that’s what makes it so great. You’re distressed, amazed, worried, you’re kept on the edge of your seat (forget the cliché, remember my point), all in the same movie. And Clive Owen has a lot to do with it. One of the most impressive features in the movie are those long shots you just have to see to believe. A car chase, a battlefield crossing, a look at the city, a bomb explosion: everything is as jaw-dropping as it is difficult to shoot, for the director and for the actors. So, because of that and everything else we feel because of him on screen, Clive Owen deserves an Academy nomination and more: he deserves to be on the Hollywood top list, or, at least, to be fully recognized as one of the greatest actors of his generation.

Children of men is one of the finest, more human movies in a while. And it's, without a doubt, one of the best movies in 2006. Sadly it didn't have a lot of Oscar success. It's not that bad.

Where the fuck am I standing?

Sometimes I wonder that. I know it makes no difference, but I still like to ask myself. Ask myself: torture myself. You know, listening to some subtly suicidal music like One for my baby (and one more for the road) or Take me home by Aqualung. I’m gay, you’re saying? Maybe, but a quiet one. In the meantime —I mean, while I’m not depressed and full of questions— I also think of other things. Like art and sex and people and money and future, the fucking future, and Hollywood and dudes and college and Internet and what the hell happened to Gregor Samza and the loyalty of my friends and the unfairness in the world and that bunch of issues that run through my head and I just can’t seem to take out. What else could I write about? So here it is, a magic blend of nothing-to-do-with-each-other blend of topics that will unleash the emotionally unstable inside of me. And the sexy beast. And the repressed student. And the politically-incorrect. And the gossip columnist (not so much, I hope). The mainstream and the alternative. The pseudoscientist. The confused. The teenager and the old man. The James Dean. And the wannabe blogger.