I Bought a Zoo, and So Should You
Saturday, December 24, 2011 at 11:51 Today I published an article about Cameron Crowe's latest film, We Bought a Zoo, on FirstShowing.net. But I didn't get to say all that I truly wanted to. As it is, I push the boundries of personal admisson over there, so I'm going to append a bit more of a personal coda to the piece here, instead. For context, here's a bit from the piece linked above:
"We bought a zoo!" It's a line exclaimed by precocious, cherry-haired Rosie throughout the film to anyone in earshot. Strangers. Animals. Herself. And every time, her voice is pure. It's the embodiment of optimism. It'sjoy. Complete, unadulterated joy. There's a reason—sure, among more obvious ones—We Bought a Zoo is titled as such. It's that line. But, really, it's the emotion that line evokes. That joy. Cameron Crowe is a filmmaker who is able to capture, personify, and epitomize emotion better than most other filmmakers. Emotion is his currency. And he doles it out with impunity.
So, for someone like myself whose life is lived—more often than not to a fault—through emotion rather than logic, Crowe hits a sweet spot that few others, if any, can touch. He gets me, and I him. I think he even wrote a line about completing something or other one time that still holds true...
What I'm hemming and hawing about here is that I'd always rather feel something deeply, feel something honestly that is flawed rather than admire something from a distance that, while beautiful and perfect, is abstinent. We Bought a Zoo is flawed. But it is so joyous, soulful, and lovely that I couldn't care less.
But now that I'm out of the theater, wiped away the tears, and downloaded Jonsi's score and deleted every other track on my iPhone, it's the film's flaws that are just sort of floating there in front of my face like dust caught in the sun. But let me try and look past the dust to the sun a bit first.
...
I suppose I'm so frustrated with this film because its flaws are so small yet so visible and even more fixable. The way it made me feel is the way I feel when watching my favorite movies. The way I felt in the theater, though, just didn't carry over as I drove home. The film should have been—could have been—amazing with a few tweaks, less over-writing, less contrivance. And I'm saying this while still feeling my love for it.
Most of the film is so assured, trusting itself as it thrives in emotion born of its mostly fantastic characters that feel real even if there's no way they are, expressing emotion in ways that feel even more real. (It doesn't hurt that Crowe pulled some truly phenomenal performances from his actors, young and seasoned alike. Elle Fanning is especially exceptional. She's a beacon on screen. The film's brightest spot.) Yet, can it be that all of that just isn't good enough? You know what, I'm going to take a page out of the Mee playbook: I'm going to take Cameron Crowe's hand and cross party lines. I'm going to buy a zoo and damn the consequences. Hell, I've already bought the zoo. Feels good, man. Feels like joy.
What I didn't say, above, is how directly I connected with Dylan, Benjamin Mee's son. I was an angry kid. I couldn't control it and, most of the time, I didn't even know I was flying off the handle when I so obviously was. I punched holes in drywall, tried to punch holes in concrete, tore my larnyx and ruined my voice for screaming.
There's a VHS tape of my sister and me just as we arrive at a cabin our family rented for our vacation in North Carolina; I was to be the audience's—inevitably me, twenty years later—tour guide through the cabin. I showed the bedrooms, kitchen, bathrooms, and original hardwood banisters like a realtor selling for his right to live. My sister, though, she always wanted to be involved. She wanted to be there for it, right there in the middle, no matter what it was. I love that about her, now. But then, despite the grain and failing tracking of the VHS, you can see the anger setting on my face like concrete over top a coffin. Thinking about it makes me cringe. Watching it makes me recoil.
What did I have to be so angry about? Dylan lost his mother, lost his friends, was moved from the city to a run-down zoo in the middle of nowhere... I didn't have any of that fuel. But seeing Dylan there on screen, I felt his anger so deeply. His cynicism. His frustration.
I'm often called a cynic, still. Usually, it's when I walk out of a movie theatre. There's nothing I love more than feeling deeply. Feeling honestly and purely. But there's nothing I do better than analyze. I can't not see flaws. I can't not fix them, even if fixing them happens only in my mind. I can see how frustrating it must be for those around me when all they want to do is express how wonderful something was or how truly awesome this one thing made them feel... while I physically, literally can't not talk about what was wrong around those things. But it's never from a place of malice. It's because I want it, whatever it is, to be better. And I think it, whatever it is, can be better! I don't think that sounds like something a cynic would say. Or maybe it's exactly what a cynic would say.
This internal gladiatorship is why We Bought a Zoo has me so conflicted. It's a film that, no matter how real it is, it feels like it kills cynicism. Dead. Gone. Joy and optimism and idealism win, once and for all. And I felt that there in the theatre. But, here I am... saying it can be better...
Maybe it's me that can be better. All I know is that I don't feel like a cynic. And I totally want to buy a zoo.
"We bought a zoo!" It's a line exclaimed by precocious, cherry-haired Rosie throughout the film to anyone in earshot. Strangers. Animals. Herself. And every time, her voice is pure. It's the embodiment of optimism. It'sjoy. Complete, unadulterated joy. There's a reason—sure, among more obvious ones—We Bought a Zoo is titled as such. It's that line. But, really, it's the emotion that line evokes. That joy. Cameron Crowe is a filmmaker who is able to capture, personify, and epitomize emotion better than most other filmmakers. Emotion is his currency. And he doles it out with impunity.
So, for someone like myself whose life is lived—more often than not to a fault—through emotion rather than logic, Crowe hits a sweet spot that few others, if any, can touch. He gets me, and I him. I think he even wrote a line about completing something or other one time that still holds true...
What I'm hemming and hawing about here is that I'd always rather feel something deeply, feel somethinghonestly that is flawed rather than admire something from a distance that, while beautiful and perfect, is abstinent. We Bought a Zoo is flawed. But it is so joyous, soulful, and lovely that I couldn't care less.
But now that I'm out of the theater, wiped away the tears, and downloaded Jonsi's score and deleted every other track on my iPhone, it's the film's flaws that are just sort of floating there in front of my face like dust caught in the sun.
...
I suppose I'm so frustrated with this film because its flaws are so small yet so visible and even more fixable. The way it made me feel is the way I feel when watching my favorite movies. The way I felt in the theater, though, just didn't carry over as I drove home. The film should have been—could have been—amazing with a few tweaks, less over-writing, less contrivance. And I'm saying this while still feeling my love for it.
Most of the film is so assured, trusting itself as it thrives in emotion born of its mostly fantastic characters that feel real even if there's no way they are, expressing emotion in ways that feel even more real. (It doesn't hurt that Crowe pulled some truly phenomenal performances from his actors, young and seasoned alike. Elle Fanning is especially exceptional. She's a beacon on screen. The film's brightest spot.) Yet, can it be that all of that just isn't good enough? You know what, I'm going to take a page out of the Mee playbook: I'm going to take Cameron Crowe's hand and cross party lines. I'm going to buy a zoo and damn the consequences. Hell, I've already bought the zoo. Feels good, man. Feels like joy.