In 1975, the documentary Grey Gardens was released.  It followed the lives of Edith (Big Edie) Beale and Edith (Little Edie) Beale, a mother and daughter who, in their prime, had been part of the extremely wealthy class that summered in East Hampton.  (They were aunt and first cousin to Jackie Kennedy Onassis). The family owned a “summer home” (i.e., mansion) there called Grey Gardens.  As Mr. Beale left Mrs. Beale, then died, she was left alone in the house with only her daughter, and nearly no money.  The house began to fall apart, they were hoarding cats, feeding the raccoons living in the walls and attics, and they sealed themselves off completely from the outside world.

In this film, the documentarians did something that was very unusual for documentaries of the time: they pointed the camera and let the people on screen tell the story in a style known as direct cinema, a style that was pioneered by the directors of the film.  Essentially, “It is said to rely on an agreement among the filmmaker, subjects, and audience to act as if the presence of the camera does not (substantially) alter the recorded event.” (http://www.greygardensonline.com/documentary.html)

The documentary plops you right down in the middle of these women’s lives, without giving you any back story, explanation, or exposition.  You watch these two women, who are a product of an era and lifestyle that no longer exists, living in absolute squalor and bickering constantly.  The only inking that the audience gets about why they live the way they do, or why they are the way they are, is through the women’s explanation as they tell it in the present time.  There’s no research, no photo montages, no backstory. 

And it’s fascinating. And tragic. And endearing. And maddening.

The Beales are, to put it bluntly, train wrecks.  And you can’t help but be fascinated by them, pity them, and laugh at them simultaneously.  These women had shut themselves off from the world for 30 years, allowed their mansion (and their lives) to crumble around them, and they had nobody but each other.  It’s so surreal that it belongs in a Dickens novel.  But it was real life.  It gives voyeuristic insights that are so prevalent in today’s “reality” TV, but without the sensationalism or manufactured drama that usually accompany that “reality.”

This slice-of-dysfunctional-life style of documentary filmmaking seems old hat today, but watching its roots, it’s easy to see how, in many ways, the earlier style was more effective and affecting.  Modern documentarians sometimes have difficulty leaving the camera still for long enough to actually capture life.  They want to use interesting angles and funky lighting.  This is a case when simplicity really is best.  You get to see so much behind the “glossy” façade that Big and Little Edie are trying to put on.  You can see and feel the pain, the regrets, and the love between them.

The direct cinema style shows ALL the flaws, too.  About halfway through the film, I wanted to stab both of the women in the voice box to get them to shut up.  And by the end, I was left with a strong sense of melancholy.  It was just fascinating.

In 2009, Drew Barrymore and Jessica Lange joined forced to film an HBO made-for-TV movie (which are usually quite excellently made) also called Grey Gardens.  While the HBO film does recreate some of the scenes from the documentary, they take pains to show the process that drove Big and Little Edie into the state they were in.  We start back the 20s, witnessing Little Edie’s coming out party, up through the events of the documentary and after.  The backstory adds so much to the documentary.  According to the special features, it was quite meticulously researched, and has a real ring of authenticity to it.  I get the feeling that these people’s lives didn’t need a lot of heightening to make good storytelling.

I have always said that Drew Barrymore doesn’t get enough credit for her prodigious talent (which, admittedly, is often underutilized or completely misused), and her performance in this film proves how much she deserves that respect.  Both Lange and Barrymore’s performances in this film are nothing short of astonishing.  But Barrymore, in particular, inhabits the character of Little Edie.  She rounds out the slightly two-dimensional portrayal of Little Edie that you see in the documentary.

Lange is brilliant at all.  It’s like she’s channeling the spirit of Big Edie. 

Also, huge kudos to the makeup, wardrobe, set, and art direction crews on this film.  This is Oscar-worthy work on the technical side.  I mean seriously…look at the two pictures above.  The top one is from 1975, the bottom one from 2009. Brilliant, brilliant work.

This isn’t a film for people who like neat, tied-up little packages of happiness for the closing curtain of their movies.  Much like the documentary, it’s fascinating to watch, but as an actor, I found myself constantly floored by the performances. 

I would recommend both of these films.  Watch the documentary first.  It’s available for streaming on Netflix.  The 2009 TV movie is available as a DVD from Netflix, but not streaming, unfortunately.  They are both really fascinating glimpses into the lives of two women who watched their lives crumble around them.  And it was exponentially more poignant because it wasn’t just based on reality.  It was reality.

When it comes to movies and television, chances are that you probably don’t know many people who see more than I do.  It is my day job, after all.  If you tell me a movie title, I can probably tell you the studio that distributes it, most of the stars, and probably the director.  I follow television and movie blogs, interact with the folks at the studios on a regular basis, and have access to watch most television shows before they air.  (I, for instance, knew who got voted of The Biggest Loser at 1:00 PM.  The show airs at 8:00 PM.  I see a ton of stuff, both good and bad.  So, it’s not often when an entertainment medium rocks me to my core.

Tonight, I saw a movie that was one of the most powerful films I’ve ever seen in my life.

The movie is called Precious.  The film won both the audience and critic awards at the Sundance Film Festival last year.  I sincerely hope that it is nominated for and wins several Academy Awards this year.

Precious is the story of a morbidly obese 16-year-old black girl who is pregnant for the second time from her father.  (So you know it’s a real feel-good story.)  I won’t give a full plot synopsis, because the preceding sentence tells you everything you need to know about the plot to determine if this is the kind of movie you’d like to see or not.  Suffice it to say, this film resonated and burrowed in to my soul in a way that few movies have.  I left the theater three hours ago, and I still can’t get the film out of my head.  It astonishes me to think that there are, in fact, real stories just like this one in the world around us every day.

I started really watching movies when I was sixteen.  That year, my family got our very first VCR.  That same year, I also got my driver’s license, and as a result, Jamelah, Jeff, and I would drive in to Jackson every single weekend (sometimes twice in a weekend).  I watched pretty much every movie that came out.  I have seen hundreds, probably thousands of films in my life.  I have never in my life–and I truly mean NEVER–been so completely overwhelmed by the performances of a cast of actors.  They were so honest, so painful, so real. 

Precious stars Gabby Sidibe in the title role, with a startling strength and vulnerability that someone so young shouldn’t be able to embody the way she did.  Mariah Carey was unrecognizable as a social worker overseeing Precious’ situation.  But the real standout performance for me was the one provided by Mo’Nique, who plays Precious’ abusive (sexually, emotionally, and physically) mother.  Mo’Nique is not known for her canon of powerful dramatic roles.  But her performance had me reduced to silent sobs in the movie theatre.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone lose themselves so completely in a role that must have been grueling to perform. (It’s a good thing I went on a Tuesday evening to a 7:45 showing of a movie that’s not your traditional feel-good holiday fare–there weren’t too many folks around to witness the fallout.)

This movie was so hard to watch that it made me feel physical pain.  But it was also one of the most uniquely satisfying films I have ever had the great fortune of seeing.  It left me with a sense of almost unbounded hope.  I have never been so grateful to have lived my life the way it has been than I was after watching Precious.  This obviously isn’t a movie for everyone, but it is one of the few that I’ve seen that I feel actually changed my life.  The medium of film is so wonderful.  It can bring light-hearted entertainment, tears, and sparkly vampires.  It’s rare, however, for films to transcend the medium entirely.  Precious, in my opinion, did.  I can’t possibly recommend this movie enough.