This essay is about the Oscar-nominated movie "Up in the Air," and contains spoilers. If you haven't seen the movie yet and want to be surprised, you'll want to skip this one. If you hate George Clooney, you'll also want to skip it; it will make you want to barf, 'cause I love me some Clooney.
Today on Slate there is an article about "Up in the Air," written by Dennis Lim, apparently a real Jason Reitman hater. My opinion is that some of the comments on the article are much more useful, to anyone who hasn't seen the movie, than the article itself.
I'm not going to compare this movie to Reitman's other movies, for the simple reason that I haven't seen them. What I want to say is this: the movie is not what it seems. "Up in the Air" is not a satire, not a social commentary, not a political piece, not "about" employment or the workplace or the economy.
"Up in the Air" is a romantic comedy. It is the unusual romantic comedy in which the central relationship is engrossing, charming, enjoyable, entertaining; and in which the romantic partners are evenly matched in intelligence, ambition, and accomplishment - and brilliantly played as such by Mr. Clooney and Ms. Farmiga. It is way outside the predictable track in that the female partner is the one to hurt/betray/abandon the male. It seems to have escaped classification as a romantic comedy because it happens not to have a conventionally happy ending, and to be framed by events that nearly everyone can agree are unfortunate.
In the typical American romantic comedy, a more or less mediocre man gets "redeemed" or otherwise improved by the love of a sensational woman, a process accompanied by slapstick, easily-avoided misunderstandings, and other predictable shenanigans. The woman will have her flaw ... she's flaky or controlling or career-obsessed or (whatever); but she's always beautiful, forgiving, and sincere. In this movie, the man basically (let's be honest here) has only one flaw: he wants to not be tied down. The scenes surrounding his trip home for his sister's wedding point to everything he wants to not be tied down to.
The big thing for Clooney's character Ryan Bingham is that his imagination stopped at a mythical frequent-flier mile accumulation. He is like the Ed Norton character in "The Italian Job" - once he's reached his goal, he's at a loss what to do with it. He hasn't gone on to imagine what his whole life might look like, because he's been focused on the one goal.
The relationship with Farmiga's character is an eye-opener because she suits him so perfectly ... or so he thinks. He is completely honest, with everyone he meets, about what he does, why he does it, and why he thinks it has value. His understanding of other people may be self-serving, but it is profound. In contrast, Farmiga's character is obscure, opaque, and ultimately revealed to have completely misrepresented herself. She is, in fact, an anti-feminist caricature on a scale not seen (by me) since "Fatal Attraction:" sexually voracious; shallow; impulsive; and a liar. She is not the least bit interested in understanding anyone else.
It's not a caricature in the sense of a stick-figure. It's a fully-imagined character. But it is the type of female character that most people abhor. Oddly enough, the spin on this movie has not really delved into the actual romance (which provides the through-plot; little else really happens in the movie; it's about the romance). So it's surprising to me that so few people have picked up on this angle, at least in print.
As the movie goes on, you see - if you are watching - the way Clooney expresses Bingham's emotional awakening. He is not a "look at me" actor. For all his facility with a witty line of dialogue, he is most remarkable in his silent moments, because there's always something going on in his heart and mind, and he lets you see it. Farmiga did similarly excellent work by completely obscuring any part of her character's heart. She lets you see the calculation, though, and it is cold.
I think the real strength of this movie is not that it addresses downsizing, outsourcing, or any of those other business words. I think the real strength is that it shows - very subtly - that a human heart can be changed, and once the heart is changed, the mind will follow. Bingham's heart is cut open, but his response is not to close in on himself and crawl into a cave to heal. Once his heart is open, it stays open.
Bingham's first post-heartbreak look at his sterile, empty apartment is a look not of satisfaction, but of loathing. His first idea about what to do with some of his ten million miles is to give some away - to his sister, who otherwise couldn't afford a honeymoon. His reaction to the departure of his much-scoffed-at junior associate is not to say "good riddance," but to write her a glowing letter of recommendation. Just by those actions, the film sets up a world of possibilities for this character, who's taken big steps toward a connected life.
Any good movie is about transformation. Things change. This is what we, as audiences, respond to. We don't want to see a movie - however brilliantly photographed, well-acted, perfectly written - that ends with its characters exactly the same as they were in the beginning. Maybe current events have been too much on everyone's minds, but I think this movie will have a long life because, at its core, it is not about current events. It is about the heart.
