Babel vs American Dreamz

Babel is one of those movies, like Crash or Magnolia, that play like three or four movies simultaneously. Only near the end do we start to see the connections, and hopefully, recognize our own humanity in the threads on screen. Unlike those movies, however, Babel doesn’t have any celebrities standing in for symbols (well, not really), and it doesn’t go as far in establishing the connections. It’s a harder film to watch that either of those, and ultimately not as good (well, as Magnolia. With repeated viewings, Crash comes off a little Afterschool Special-ish, and thus isn’t much of a threat to Babel or anything else), but Babel is riveting at times, in ways I wish other movies would try.

In Japan, a young deaf girl named Chieko (Rinko Kikuchi) plays volleyball, parties with her friends, argues with her dad. At first, she seems like a regular teen, but soon we learn that she’s especially angry. Her family has suffered a tragedy in the past year, and Chieko is becoming more aggressive out of sadness and paranoia (the latter because the police keep coming around asking to speak with her father.) Besides her temper, Chieko expresses her sexuality in shocking ways. Hardly anyone Chieko encounters knows sign language, and when the confusion over the language barrier becomes frustrating or belittling, off she goes. Kikuchi gives a don’t-look-away performance (and not just because she’s constantly sans underwear). She’s as heartbreaking and lonely as a Lars Von Trier heroine, without leaving behind that dirty feeling some of us get from watching Lars Von Trier movies.

In Mexico, a woman attends the wedding of he son. It’s one of those dusty, street-fair type weddings most of us will only see in movies (because that’s the only place they exist?). Because she’s unable to find anyone else to watch them, the woman—a maid in America—brings along the children of her boss. What occurs over the course of the evening and the next morning could easily have supported an entire movie of its own, and contains one of the best performances of the year. Adriana Barraza plays Amelia, a compassionate, lonely woman with more capacity for love than practicality. It’s not that she doesn’t make a fine nanny. The kids love and obey her. But if you’re, say, an illegal alien, and don’t necessarily have proof that those blond, blue-eyed moppets in the backseat are truly your charges, then you’ve got problems. Barraza is good—heartbreakingly, frighteningly real—and as her story continued, I feared alternately for her safety, her citizenship, and her sanity.

In Morocco, two boys are out amongst the goat herd playing with their new gun, and even though we all know it’s a mistake, they take a shot at a tour bus. When the bus screeches to a halt, the boys take off, hiding the gun and hoping nothing too awful has occurred. Something has. An American tourist (Cate Blanchett) has been shot in the neck, and will soon find herself on the floor of a tiny hut, trying not to bleed to death while her husband (Brad Pitt) tries to get them to a suitable hospital and out of the country. Pitt and Blanchett are crucial to Babel’s success in these scenes. They’re both good, but for once, the fame of the actors helps with the storytelling. Besides being the only cast members speaking English exclusively, they’re also the closest Babel’s got to icons. So not only do we have a chance to share in the language-barrier frustration (each segment of Babel portrays the distance between languages as equal to the distance between understanding), but also the frustration of Why won’t they help him? Don’t they know who he is? Blanchett and Pitt do an admirable job in difficult roles. Our only experience with them pre-gunshot has been unpleasant; they’re bickering in a restaurant. That she’s vaguely racist and cold doesn’t help garner sympathy. Blanchett makes her human though, so we understand Pitt’s devotion to her, amid his decreasing expectations that she might make it home alive.

Babel was directed by Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu, almost exactly as he directed Amores Perros and 21 Grams. Timelines blur, lives intersect, characters bond over shared tragedies. This time things are a little pat, unfortunately. Just from reading the descriptions above, you can probably guess whose children attend the Mexican wedding, and possibly even where those boys in Morocco got the gun. It’s also got a bit of a rushed ending, with certain plot points told rather than shown. But on the whole, Babel makes perfect sense, even as it stretches so far to show us how horrible things are when they make no sense at all.

Like Babel, American Dreamz is a globe-trotting movie with several characters and plot threads coming together. Unlike Babel, it’s not heavy with emotions, confusion or violence. It’s like if Babel were funny. And had songs. And maybe a bald cap or two.

American Dreamz, directed by Paul Weitz, is such a close spoof of American Idol that it’s barely one at all. The bland, safely diverse contestants; the snide British judge; the awkward product placements; the terrible original songs are all present. Of course, part of the problem in spoofing American Idol is that it already spoofs itself (there’s a “Worst of” collection on DVD now, for example). And so, American Dreamz remedies this by also spoofing the current White House administration. Dennis Quaid, Marcia Gay Harden, and Willem Dafoe do not necessarily portray the President, First Lady and Vice President, but if they were to, they’d be great at it. The President’s approval rating has dropped, and in a crisis of conscience, he’s starting trying to educate himself by reading the newspaper. This sends him into a spiral of depression and self-doubt, and soon, the press is wondering if he’s had a nervous breakdown. A little spin later, and the President is booked on American Dreamz.

Like Babel, American Dreamz has to struggle a bit to get the two groups of characters to come together (the President guest-starring on a reality show is hopefully not a possibility anytime soon), but it’s a comedy, so I was a little more forgiving of dangling plot strands. Besides, it’s pretty funny. Mandy Moore plays a small-town careerist with fame tunnel-vision. She’s a singing Tracy Flick and even has a boyfriend played by Election’s Chris Klein for good measure. Hugh Grant is the Simon Cowell stand-in. It’s one of those casting decisions that was probably written in the script: “Martin Tweed, a Hugh Grant type”. The film throws in some darker humor, with the story of Omer, a Taliban flunky sent to the United States to get on American Dreamz and set off a bomb on stage with the president. (If you cringed at that description, relax: Weitz talks a big game, but Amerian Dreamz is nearly as fluffy as the show it’s aping). What no one expects is that Omer is a closet song-and-dance man, has a good heart, and just might win on his own merits. He’s played by Sam Golzari with hilarious, open-faced optimism you don’t often see on anyone besides Muppets. He’s the one missing ingredient in Babel. Hey, you’re on the floor bleeding; you might as well sing.

Babel: A-
American Dreamz: B