by Ian aka GayAsXmas

I finally got the chance to see An Education about 10 days ago. There is always the danger that seeing a film that has been so relentlessly hyped for months could lead to disappointment, but I completely fell for it. Based on the memoir by British journalist Lynn Barber, it details her sexual, cultural and intellectual awakening at 16 with a philandering older man in early sixties London. It’s a charming, funny, beautifully made film that features a sensational performance from Carey Mulligan in the lead role.

When the film ended, my friend David turned to me and said “Well, Lynn Barber certainly thinks highly of herself!” In some respects, that isn’t strictly fair. The character on screen is Barber refracted through the not inconsiderable skill of writer Nick Hornby, director Lone Scherfig and the luminous Mulligan. Their affection for the person that Barber described, the respect they pay her and their own humane instincts as artists inevitably make her a vibrant and memorable presence.

Still, I wonder what it must have been like to be Barber as she watched the film for the first time, to realise that she had achieved cinematic immortality with such a potent and sympathetic portrayal. I would imagine it was incredibly intoxicating to see her story unfold on a twenty foot screen and listen to the hosannas from critics. Every writer knows the emotional risks of allowing others to depict your life – even a character with the rich potential of Barber at 16 could come off as petulant and snobbish in the wrong hands. If one of the attractions of movies is allowing audience members to project themselves on to the screen, then Barber and others in her situation must experience a kind of rapture. Who wouldn’t think highly of themselves after such a heady experience?

I think most of us fantasise about we would want to play us on film (I’m going for the yet-to-be born amalgamation of George Clooney and Joe Pesci) The prospect of having that fantasy realised while you’re still live and kicking, and seeing some of your most formative experiences charted in such detail while largely powerless to affect the outcome is no doubt nerve-wracking. To have it vindicated and even celebrated is a pretty damn good way to underscore that part of your life.

By Rachael

Jamelle explains why he doesn’t like The Office:

Much in the same way that a lot of people can’t handle dramatized violence or sex, I am almost incapable of watching the dramatized awkwardness and desperation that the show traffics in. The Office regularly leaves me feeling extremely uncomfortable, and more than a little bit depressed for the characters. It is actively painful to watch clueless mediocrities trudge through their jobs animated by little more than their mutual disdain and acrimony.

I actually couldn’t disagree more. The reasons Jamelle doesn’t like the show are the reasons why I enjoy it, and, I would argue, why it’s done so well. The best humor exists in the space between comedy and pain. We see this mix most often in dramas. I’m specifically thinking of Veronica Mars and scenes where the title character masked her pain and frustration with her peers through biting humor. Or, to go back a bit further, in Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Willow and Xander were at their most comedic when they played the losers to Cordelia’s queen bee.

But we don’t often see the bitter-sweetness of The Office in half-hour comedies, particularly sitcoms. Mostly we see dumb, broad jokes, and no real character movement or depth. In contrast, Michael’s desperation, Angela’s insecurity, and Jim’s inability to take off all inform the show’s realness, and more importantly, its humor.

My current television crush, Community, is an interesting study in pain and humor. While it isn’t nearly as awkward as The Office, it has a cast of seriously hurting men and women who are all attempting to make their lives a little better. Except, sometimes they’re so screwed up that they don’t know what “better” is, and the adults who teach them are often worse off. Add to that a fantastic, often absurd script each week, and you have a show which successfully blends pain and humor.

Huh, I didn’t mean this post to turn into a plug for Community, but it seems I just can’t help myself.