Since I’m currently in the process of trying to turn my parenthood writing into some kind of publishable something, I decided that I would start using my blog to write about the books I’m reading, movies I’m watching and music I’m listening to, and those of you who read this can let me know what art you’re consuming lately.
This weekend Nancy and I watched an independent movie that came out a couple years ago called All the Real Girls, directed by a guy named David Gordon Green, who grew up in Arkansas and South Carolina and likes to make movies on location in the South, with mostly untrained actors.
I should begin by saying that All the Real Girls is sort of a romantic comedy. And I know that many people are opposed to romantic comedies on principle. I personally think that the problem with most romantic comedies is that their suspense tends to be predicated on false conflicts. Couples are kept apart by circumstances of fate, misunderstandings, lost phone numbers, bitchy fiancées, the police investigating their daddies, etc. These people are never actually struggling to get to know and like each other. Or if they are, it’s all one-sided adoration and attempt at seduction.
All the Real Girls skips over that whole seduction business by beginning with a young couple, standing outside at night, in a yard strewn with stray auto parts and other junk, trying to decide whether or not they should kiss for the first time. It turns out that the guy, Paul, is the biggest player in this small town, who has hooked up with every chick around. The girl, Noel, is his best friend’s younger sister, who’s just come back to town from several years at a boarding school.
What makes the opening so unique is that it’s the kind of scene that usually occurs about a third of the way into a romantic movie. By skipping the cinematic clichés of falling in love, the stock montage of laughing, running through the flowers, giving each other nuggies, and winding up in bed, All the Real Girls tries to do something rare: to show two characters actually in love. One of the best, and most embarrassing, aspects of falling in love is the way it allows you to become a child again, and this movie really captures that. In particular, you get to see Paul and Noel having the kinds of conversations, full of loopy pseudo-poetic and yet utterly sweet nonsense, that only two people who are spending way too much time together would ever have.
Of course, that happiness can’t go on forever, or there wouldn’t be a plotline. Noel’s older brother doesn’t want her dating Paul, so there’s conflict there. And Paul isn’t sure he wants to have sex with Noel, because he’s had sex with so many girls, and he doesn’t want Noel to be just another notch on his belt.
I won’t give away what happens, but the point of the movie isn’t really the plot. The whole thing is structured more like a series of isolated moments than a journey from beginning to end. And though I might have been more satisfied by the storyline if it had been more straightforward, it wouldn’t have felt quite as authentic. You can almost smell the campfires in this movie; you can almost taste the beer. At one point, Paul and Noel are kissing in Noel’s bedroom, and Paul stops the kiss to point out that she keeps way too much junk on her bed.
That’s what I loved about this movie. I can’t remember the last time I saw a romantic comedy that would have taken the time to point out the junk on someone’s bed.