Wedlocked

UP: The animated film for grownups who dream

It didn't take long before the first tear fell. And another. And another.

In the sanctuary of the darkened movie theater and knowing there was just a father and daughter rows behind us, I tried to stifle the sniffles. But I was audibly crying. Audibly.

We went to watch UP on a whim and it's certainly been lauded by the critics and heralded for its visual storytelling. Without watching a full-length preview and never reading about the story line, my tears were as unexpected as the adoration I felt when I left the theater.

Maybe it was the timing or maybe I was just in a good mood today but that movie struck a chord in my heart that I don't think I knew existed until it played my tune for an hour and a half. The economy is down, we've had our fair share of devastating news, and we're struggling to find the joy while still mourning the losses of our past. This movie captured all of that impeccably.

In recent past Pixar has become known for tales that have layers of jokes and story lines for adults and children, crafted so carefully that while the details are enjoyed by kids, some points sail right over their little heads. I'm convinced, without reading any interviews, UP was written for adults by adults. I'm convinced that perhaps by chance or by careful calculation, this movie was meant to address something left for sweeping epic dramas with the heart and warmth of a children's flick.

UP deals with loss, regret, death, aging, life, love, and the way the curves of living get in the way of achieving and sometimes chasing after our dreams. Within the first 15 minutes of the film the first tears fell and intermittently throughout the movie, I went ahead and let them fall down from my face, down my neck and wet the front of my shirt.

Sure, I laughed. And I definitely cried. I held my husband's hand as we had so many times on previous dates but this time it was different. We have now, in six years of journeying together, had to work our way through the themes interwoven into UP.

I don't want to go into too many details about the movie itself, and I recommend to anyone who watches it, to not read any potential spoilers. But the literary quality of the storytelling, for me, has set a new standard for what it means for a movie to reach out from the screen and not let go. Did I mention I cried in the car even after we had left the theater?

The imagery of the balloons, a fantastical childhood object that is often lost on our digital driven adolescents, tapped into the harboring of dreams larger than life that I had while growing up (and the dreams my husband and I share while talking at the dinner table or in late-night conversations in bed). The home holds a lifetime of stories and the old man, Carl Fredricksen, is a relatable character for anyone who has seen ambition of all levels squashed by the limitations and daily intrusions of reality. UP is for anyone who has ever had to put off the 'what ifs' because of the 'oh craps' and the 'dammits.' UP is for anyone who has planned to the best of their ability only to learn life doesn't always follow your schedule. UP is for anyone who has been torn between walking away from everything they knew to rediscover who they could be.

UP is for the people who drop pennies in the jar only to have it broken open not for the big trip, but for the unforeseen costs of life.

UP is for the adults with the spirit of adventure that is buried under all the things we have to do that come with age. UP is for the part of us, that wondered why we stopped dreaming big in the first place.

UP isn't for everyone, I'm sure. Some will critic its story, its visuals, there's always something that will be imperfect. But in its imperfection, there's a remarkable story that in my opinion is approached with the brevity and gusto that is rarely found in film. I am typically drawn to literature by words, authors' vivid imaginations, and the nuanced lessons relayed through characters and vocabulary.

But on this rare occasion, I wished for a literary equivalent to UP, the book that came first, the verbal inspiration for the soaring balloons floating over the jungle, a scene so vibrant on screen that I could only be disappointed by going back out into the real world after the movie ended.

UP is for those who know what it's like to reach out for a dream and find themselves feeling like they grabbed the wrong string.

Maybe it was the timing, maybe with the recent events in my life, I needed a story like this. By approaching a well-worn hero's epic with details that could easily be missed by children, UP evolves into a moving and unforgettable story for the kid inside our disenfranchised, grumpy, life-hardened exteriors. No matter how old we are or what gets in the way, we're never too old to go on a new adventure.

Looney for Clooney

This is a longer, unedited version of the narrative story that ran in the Imperial Valley Press about my unrealized brush with fame.

I searched the clusters of men with salt and pepper hair. This one could do.

See me with the back of George Clooney’s head? One guy even was wearing an “Oceans 13 Film Crew” t-shirt. But that was too easy. Movie stars don’t walk around wearing t-shirts of films they were in, do they?

I’d love to tell you how I smiled for the camera, heard the shutter click, forever etched on a memory card that I brushed elbows with Clooney, shook Ewan McGregor’s hand, said something witty to Kevin Spacey and made a reluctant Jeff Bridges say, “The Dude abides.”

But as quickly as the Press confirmed that Clooney (presumably without friend Brad Pitt) was indeed in town filming a movie, he vanished into the air like a ghost. My imagination would have to conjure what it would have been like: the Day I Met George Clooney.

As a reporter, you get your brief brushes with fame even in Imperial Valley. They are pleasantries set up by press people and the byproducts of the occasional concert in town. Handshakes and smiles, absent any hard-hitting questions.

True brushes with fame for most people are like mine outside of work. It happens by some act of serendipity when you look up and there they are. Last year I found myself staring at someone that looked a lot like Carlos Santana. I saw the guitar cases being carried by the assistant, noted his white fedora and leisure suit and it all clicked. It WAS Santana.

I stalked him to Gate 81 at the San Francisco Airport, where he waited for a plane to New York City. I shook his hand, told him he was a legend and babbled about how awesome he was.

I asked for a photo and he refused. Fair enough. I walked away without proof and cemented the details to my memory instead.

So when the slim opportunity arose to meet Clooney, my thoughts soared. What would I say? What would I ask? I drew the envy of friends and my mother, a longtime Clooney fanatic from way back in the “E.R.” days.

Then reality settled in. What could I say to these stars that hasn’t already been said or asked? My prospective questions were lame. Name your top five records of all time. This was going to play out like a bad regurgitated version of “High Fidelity.”

I’m guessing the lure of the picturesque desert or the prospect of an exclusive interview with me couldn’t keep Clooney around. The story was over before it started.

The Blue Angels even tried to entice the stars to stay a little longer. They upped the ante with a proposed thrill ride. Would you rather be glued to the seat of a F/A-18 Hornet with the possibility of throwing up that ham and cheese croissant you ate earlier or answer “top five list” questions from a local reporter?

Even if I were Clooney I wouldn’t want to take my interview.

Then I had to endure several calls from the Blue Angels asking if I was still “hanging out with Clooney.”

Rub it in, why don’t you. No. No I am not still hanging out with Clooney.

But I’ll let them continue thinking I did. Damn. I should’ve tried to get a ride while I was at it.

Walking out into the bustle of crew men (without a star in sight) assembling giant cameras against the backdrop of the Valley’s spectacular assets, was the 24 hours leading up to that moment when I got the assignment.

For 24 hours I had the best conversation starter at dinner, the butterflies in my stomach as I thought about what the next day would bring and the heart-pounding minutes of speculation with the Press entourage as we rode out to the desert.

You know that whole journey versus the destination controversy? This experience completely settled it.

As the revelation was made that I would not, in fact, get to meet the stars nor even admire them at a distance there was a disguised eye roll and blank stares passed between me and the photographer. What would the story be now? Where do we go from here?

I plucked a banana from the perfectly ripe bunch (none bruised, naturally), and took a sip from the photographer’s pricey pomegranate juice from the catering cart. Our brush with the famed catering cart was our consolation prize. “Take anything you want! You want something to eat? There’s coffee!”

The “set” was a lone winding desert road and a director’s small crew huddled around a camera on the bluff overlooking the dunes.

It was beautiful. The wind whipped stands of hair in my face and the sun shone down but wasn’t blinding. There was no remnants of the Valley I knew.

I guess months from now when this movie never makes it to our selective local theater I can say I saw that snippet being filmed. That car driving down the road? Yeah, I was there.

Oh, um, stars? Did I see stars? Well, it’s funny you should ask. The thing about Clooney is he skips out as soon as he’s done. Even the Blue Angels couldn’t get him back. But the camera shy heartthrob did let me take a picture with the back of his head. Yeah, he really does wear that t-shirt from Oceans 13. I know, he’s so down to earth.

Even worse is the fact that I don’t have a story to tell. So 24 hours later, I’ll still be dealing with the straggling questions of the star-studded experience that wasn’t.

It’s a collective disappointing sigh for the Imperial Valley.

Meanwhile, I’ll have to settle for the day that I got to eat a banana off the same catering truck that the likes of Clooney, McGregor, Spacey and Bridges once touched.

And hope that one day I’ll have another moment, when I least expect it, that makes me look up and say, “Hey, isn’t that....”