Color Me Spielberg

I need to finish Spielberg’s filmography.  In fact speaking of S-named directors, I need to finish Scorsese’s filmography.  I don’t know what it is about the films 1941, Sugarland Express, Amistad, The Last Temptation, Kundun, or The Age of Innocence that makes me not want to watch them.  Well, maybe I do; 1941 is suppose to be terrible, The Last Temptation is too long and the content isn’t nearly intriguing enough, Kundun looks boring, and the two times I tried to watch The Age of Innocence I fell asleep.  Sugarland Express I for some reason compare to Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore.  As of this writing, I just found out it was made in the same year as Sugarland; the period when feminism hits film.  I’m not anti-feminist, but maybe my reluctance would say otherwise. I’d say it’s more attributed to the equation South + Domineering Patriarchy = Depressing.  But then I question why I loved Thelma and Louise.

Anyways...so why did I feel the need to see The Color Purple?

Well, after a long hiatus, I watched a few episodes of Dawson’s Creek, and with my competitive, pretentious film-major attitude, I was not going to be outdone by Mr. Dawson Leery who fashioned a poster of the movie in his bedroom.

And it was a gem, Dawson has good taste!  Another movie where I didn’t expect much and it paid off big time; a 5/5 Netflix stars, a “loved it,” 4/4 Ebert Stars, a 9/10 on imdb.  Particularly, I liked that it wasn’t about racism. Not saying anything is wrong about portraying this issue, but it was extremely refreshing to see a “black” movie take place in the early 1900s and not revolve around it.  Spike Lee needs to take a lesson.  There are indeed moments of racism and bigotry, but more significantly, are the poignant moments of family and friendship, ever-memorable characters and perfectly constructed scenes (namely, the final dinner scene). So although I could say I’m going to bite the bullet and finish those last three films of Speilberg’s, I probably won’t.  All I can say is that in the words of Jules Winnfield, Spielberg’s one badass motherfucker.