Recently, while I was whiling away the minutes before work with The Hollywood Reporter, I came across a curious piece on what would appear to be a rather straightforward legal proceeding. Superficially, the article is about how rapper MIA and the National Football League are still locking legal horns over the 2012 Super Bowl halftime show, in which MIA flipped the bird to the audience. In short, the NFL believes she owes them a lot of money for making them look bad.
(Writing the above forced me to consider for a full minute whether calling MIA a “rapper” makes me sound old. I invite you to write in with your opinion.)
People often say a movie is made three times: once when it’s written, again when it’s actually filmed, and finally once more when it’s edited.
When I first heard this, I didn’t realize that with time and consideration, it would have a strange duel effect on me. On the one hand, it seems so incontrovertible that it’s almost common sense, which is the effect so many old saws have. They begin to seem obvious and so lose their power.
From the past couple of days comes this piece by Susan King, writing for the L.A. Times about the portrayal of Abraham Lincoln along the history of cinema. It’s timed, of course, to the release of Steven Spielberg’s new Lincoln.
I find I have mixed feelings about a drama of this sort, based on a figure of real historical weight. The real Lincoln is a figure whose image will always be too prominent to be kneaded safely into a fictionalized universe; the real person is always a possibility in the mind of the viewer — well, at least in my mind — and further investigation always promises the possibility of getting to the real man behind the representation of the filmic lie.