Fox Searchlight Pictures, Sony Pictures Classics, Matador Records
Seat belt bucked in the 747, set for the 5 hour excursion back home, I reached up to pull myself off a shelf. Delta movies help get it done swiftly. First up, Birdman. For some time, despite Oscar status, I avoided this movie. I have a low tolerance for the cerebral, the meta, and the over-feeling. But for post family – I won’t say cleanse, let’s say re-sullying – it was the perfect antidote. Set in New York, characters ache with time lost, with selves they can’t seem to shake. The perfect antidote. Feeling more myself, I followed Birdman with Whiplash. I’ve watched this already, but I couldn’t resist a replay. Miles Teller’s character, Andrew, struggles in his own darkly lit, bloody palmed world, his eyes widen with equal parts need and terror. Teller gives an impressive performance, plus he reminds me of the Florida boys I grew up with – a certain type of dress, a certain kind of cocky, and most certainly with koozie in hand.
Wheels touched the ground in total darkness. I later grabbed a cab to drop me off in a near-empty parking structure. On the way home, I dug out Interpol’s Turn on the Bright Lights because dancing further into the darkness is what I craved. Blaring Obstacle 1 and free in the black of night, I rolled down the windows and breathed in the last of the October heat wave.