04 May 2017 Untitled

A few years ago, I first watched the trailer for Boyhood, and, attracted to the gentle acoustic simplicity of the song used, I watched it a few more times. I remember feeling enthralled by the power of such a simple story—the trailer doesn’t reveal much about the plot of the movie, other than the fact that it centers around the story of a young boy, and his growth through twelve years. The most alluring part of the movie is the fact that it was actually filmed over a twelve-year period, using the same actors and allowing them to change in natural ways as time went on. There isn’t really a main point, except that in this film, life has been depicted in a way that speaks to the average person. In Boyhood, life is shown just to go on.

            I didn’t get the chance to watch Boyhood until a few years later, when I discovered with great fortune that it was available suddenly on demand with my cable subscription. I wasn’t doing anything else, and so the over three-hour commitment was feasible. I remember being so captivated by the simplicity of the film—there were no turbulent plot twists, no predictable arcs of rising action, climax, and falling action, and it seemed that any kid off the street could have been the one asked to showcase the formative years of his prepubescent and young adult experience. The depth at which development occurred within the characters surpassed any real need for cohesive, predictable plot. Safe to say, I loved Boyhood.

            I’ve always been a sucker for relatable characters. In my own writing, where I’ve allowed plot often to fall by the wayside, I’ve always been meticulous in transcribing the most minute details of my characters’ psychology—I love to describe why a character has come to recognize the world in a certain way, or how a character has grown the way that he has. It isn’t that I fall in love with my portrayals of the human race, but rather that I find my own depictions more realistic if the character is one who seems ready and able to walk off the page.

            In this way, Boyhood surpassed all my expectations. In fact, the film was one that made me feel inspired to write something of my own—it was one of those moments where I felt that any event in life, with the right highlights, could be one worth sharing.

            I think this is one of the flaws of many writers—in film and not—today. Many are so concerned with crafting a story they believe will draw the reader in and keep their attention, that they completely neglect the intricate creations of the average day. That sounds cheesy, but in a way, it’s entirely accurate. I also think this is a flaw of many viewers of modern films—too often are people willing to write off a film because of its lack of an exciting plot twist, or its use of long, slow-paced shots really meant to dedicate one’s attention to the scene as a whole. Although Boyhood doesn’t really bother with the latter, its rather simplified storyline caused most of my friends to express distaste for the film as a whole. Certainly the length was partially culprit for this, although this certainly cannot take all the blame.

            An additional example of this somewhat simplistic storytelling (albeit with a more catastrophic plotline) that I really enjoyed was Manchester By the Sea. Although this film is more typical of films I encounter today, with the depiction of a more or less average person being leveraged by tragic life events, I think the depth of the characters strengthened the overall performance. Most of the film shows the main character, Lee, going through the uncomfortable moments of life that must occur after someone in your family has died. Lee is an aloof, less than approachable character, with a quiet voice, and a clear desire to avoid situations of extreme tension or emotion. The conversations with him and any other character in the movie seem realistic; the film is sometimes quite awkward to watch, but I think this really adds to its strengths—how many awkward conversations have we all had to have in our lifetimes? In Manchester By the Sea, I suppose what attracts me the most is the successful portrayal by the actors of realistic, deep, and interesting characters. Similar to Boyhood, this film has been one of my absolute favorites.

            As the only child of two parents who were never together in the first place, I’ve grown accustomed to using only my own judgment and personal experience in order to formulate my identity. In other words, I’ve spent a long time getting to know myself, and develop a pretty extensive, in-depth sort of character. Perhaps this makes it fitting for why I’m so drawn to films whose characters have reached similar levels of development—we all like that which is familiar to us, right? Or at least that which reminds us of ourselves.

            My friend and I actually had a conversation about this recently—we were discussing one of our other friends, and how we think this person is hard to define because we haven’t had the experience with her that would give us some concept of the depth of character she has. We hadn’t really had many conversations with her at all that went past general interests, and our relationship with this person was more about doing things together than getting to know each other personally and psychologically. The way I phrased it actually is kind of funny—there’s a phrase floating around that has been developed into memes, and generally now is used mainly colloquially—“white people nonsense”. This person, our mutual friend, I don’t know her well enough to say confidently that she never has thoughts about how to formulate her identity, or how complicated it can be to form her character into one with depth, one that is well-rounded. But from what I’ve seen, she’s always more concerned about doing things (“white people nonsense” type of things), without any real concept of understanding the inherent implications.

Never having to think much about formulating your identity is a privilege, and those who have that privilege so seldom understand how lucky they are. The friend I was conversing with is white, and yet she still considered my usage of “white people nonsense” as totally accurate to describe our other friend. I guess what the two of us have in common (and what made this conversation between us so successful) is the fact that we have both had difficulty in formulating our own identities. Not that we’ve had trouble really understanding who we are, but that we’ve been met with resistance. Allowing yourself to follow your instincts is hard when others constantly tell you that your instincts are wrong. And when everything you do to formulate your identity follows what others have told you (either by chance or by your choice), it becomes a lot easier to lack real depth.

I guess that’s why I liked Boyhood and Manchester By the Sea so much. The characters didn’t seem to have gotten it very easy, and so the resulting depth from that gave them a real allure to me, they just felt more real. Not many movies have been able to successfully inspire that feeling for me, which is a shame.

You would probably think that Moonlight, a movie centered around the difficulties in formulating one’s identity as a gay black man in Miami, would fall easily into the category of movies that I loved. A movie centered entirely around the experience of personal character development? Ideal. However, I remember watching this film with my aunt (in Florida, no less), and being kind of disappointed. Maybe it was because I watched the film after watching the Oscars, and the hype of such a well-liked film ruined my actual experience of watching it.

But I think it’s something more than that—I think in actuality this film, though strong in its plot, was weak in its depiction of its characters. It’s such a strong idea—what a specific and nuanced experience, having to grow up and form one’s identity not only in the racial, but also in the sexual identity minority. However, I thought some of the scenes were left to vague, with little dialogue I suppose meant to mimic awkwardness, but unsuccessfully so. I remember when the film was over feeling surprised—it’s very short, only an hour and fifty-one minutes—that the film was already over and that I felt so unsatisfied at my overall experience of watching.

Sure, the plot was well developed. I think that the plot was actually successful, despite some minor confusions I had when things moved more quickly than I think they should have. The death of the older mentor for the main character, for instance. I think it occurred before the two characters really had the chance to develop a meaningful relationship on screen. But that could be a result of the constraint of the time limit. Overall though, I think the film was good in theory—it’s a story of the type of person who has so seldom been represented in popular film, and I think this is a major strength and a grand step for the film industry in general. But if I had to choose a movie to watch again in order to inspire me about the difficulties of creating an identity for oneself, I would choose Boyhood.

It’s really crucially important to me for a piece of meaningful artwork or for a relationship to be developed in depth of character, rather than in plot, or shared experience. I think it’s so essential to have an understanding of oneself and one’s role in the world. Depictions of this are what I find most meaningful—reality for me is more about characters.

In this way, my writing reflects this. I aspire to create something in my life that has an impact on others the way that Boyhood had an impact on me. I suppose that’s nothing I can really control or anticipate. But it’s something interesting to think about.