Revelations of a First Love

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"First loves are always the same and always different," Roger Ebert wrote after French film "Blue Is the Warmest Color" premiered at the Cannes Film Festival five years ago on May 23. That may be the most truthful statement Ebert ever wrote.

I experienced my first real love when I was 17, which is roughly the age of Adèle (Adèle Exarchopoulos), but it was not as confusing as Adèle's experience. I knew I was attracted to the opposite sex. Adèle did not, and she experimented with a young man from her school but found that unsatisfying.

Then, after sharing a kiss with a female student and fantasizing about an older girl with blue hair whose name, the audience would learn, was Emma (Léa Seydoux), she began to question her sexuality. The movie was about the relationship between Adèle and Emma — told, as Ebert wrote, in "epic detail."

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It had to be told that way, I suppose, because, by their very nature, same–sex relationships are learn–as–you–go types of things. There is no shortage of advice books about heterosexual relationships because the vast majority of relationships are heterosexual. When I was a teenager — and I presume it is still that way — there were few if any books on same–sex relationships that could answer the myriad of questions that accompany them.

Emma was more experienced than Adèle and had already found answers to her questions. In fact, when Adèle first encountered Emma, Emma was with another female and, the audience would learn, had had previous same–sex relationships.

As Ebert said, first loves are always the same and always different. In the unlikely event that the viewer had not experienced a first love, there is much truth in that. To tell the story of a first love, it is necessary, as Ebert observed, to do so in "epic detail."

That includes all the awkward moments and the sexual exploration, which are the same for all and yet different. Awkward moments will always be awkward, and — considering how much of the population is estimated to be heterosexual — it must be a real challenge for homosexuals when it comes to those initial sexual experiences.

I remember when I was a teenager, and all the males in my junior high were herded into the auditorium for a lecture on sex. The emphasis was entirely on heterosexual sex. I presume it was the same for the girls. Those students who were homosexuals — or, at least, had concluded that they had homosexual tendencies — probably found those assemblies boring — as, I am sure, any heterosexually active students, did.

The assemblies really only addressed the physical aspects of sexual relationships, not the emotional ones.

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I was one of the rare ones, I guess. When I was in junior high, my sexual activity was, at best, flirtation with girls I found attractive. Even through my high school years, it never went any further than that.

Which proves Ebert's point. Many of my classmates — I didn't know which ones then, and I don't know today, either — had already engaged in some sexual experimentation, even if they hadn't yet experienced their first loves.

I was very naive as a boy. I tended to believe just about anything my classmates told me, assuming they had more experience than I did, and teenage boys are always eager to take credit for sexual exploits whether they happened or not. Looking back, I would have to say that my faith was misplaced. Most probably had the same experience level I did — although everyone's experiences are different.

Anyway, to a certain extent, I suppose some critics' complaints that "Blue Is the Warmest Color" was a pornographic film were justified. There was considerable nudity in the movie. And some critics complained that it was pedophilic, given the fact that Adèle was under 18.

But it had to be that way because most people, it seems to me, have their first sexual experiences in their teen years. Sometimes they are 18 or older, but often they are not. I wasn't.

I knew a girl in college who suspected, back in high school, that she was homosexual, but she didn't have her first physical homosexual experience until she was over 18.

Like Ebert said: "First loves are always the same and always different."

The Story of The Iceman

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"I don't kill women and children."

Richard Kuklinski (Michael Shannon)

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Based on what I knew about hitman Richard Kuklinski before I saw the movie based on his life story, "The Iceman," which premiered in Lebanon on this day in 2013, I assumed his nickname was due to his demeanor.

That was a reasonable assumption, given that Kuklinski seemed to have ice water running through his veins. He was said to have killed more than 100 people — and showed no emotion when doing so — before he was taken into custody.

In truth, though, Kuklinski earned that nickname because of his proclivity for freezing victims to obscure the times of their deaths. But he did have his standards. He wouldn't kill women and children.

Michael Shannon, who played Kuklinski, is a large man, but he isn't as imposing as the character he portrayed. Kuklinski stood 6'5" and weighed in at 270 pounds — and, while technically regarded as a contract killer, he was also considered a serial killer because many of his murders were carried out on his own initiative with little or no input from anyone else.

Kuklinski was also a secretive sort whose double life was never suspected by his family. His wife (Winona Ryder) never seemed to suspect a thing, even when his behavior at home became erratic. In fact, his job was dubbing movies, and his wife and family believed he dubbed Disney movies when, in fact, he dubbed porn movies.

He claimed that his first murder occurred when he was little more than a boy himself, about 12 or 13. His first victim was alleged to have been a neighborhood boy who had taunted him.

The movie never mentioned that — or any of the killings Kuklinski was said to have carried out on his own. It suggested that his first murder was of a random homeless man at the insistence of a crime boss played by Ray Liotta.

Whether that was true or not, I don't know.

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There were certainly times when the violence in "The Iceman" seemed gratuitous, over the top. But that was how he lived his life, how he conducted his business.

The Story of Shattering Baseball's Color Barrier

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"I don't think it matters what I believe, only what I do."

Jackie Robinson (Chadwick Boseman)

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This Sunday will be the 71st anniversary of Jackie Robinson's historic major–league debut.

Three days before the 66th anniversary, on this day in 2013, the movie "42" premiered in American theaters. It told the story of that event with Chadwick Boseman starring as Robinson and Andre Holland playing black sportswriter Wendell Smith, who played a significant role in encouraging Branch Rickey (Harrison Ford), the general manager of the Brooklyn Dodgers, to choose Robinson to be the first black ballplayer in the majors.

Blacks had already served with distinction in World War II yet the armed forces were still segregated. Robinson broke baseball's color barrier more than a year before Harry Truman desegregated the troops.

Last week, we marked the 50th anniversary of the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., who is widely regarded as the father of the civil rights movement. But King was a teenager when Jackie Robinson first played in the major leagues.

When Rickey presented the idea to Robinson, the future barrier buster asked if Rickey wanted someone who didn't have the guts to fight back.

Rickey replied that he wanted someone who had the guts not to fight back.

It was a different country in the 1940s, and Rickey knew that there would be obstacles every day in every city. He knew that whoever that first black ballplayer in the majors turned out to be, he would be subjected to all kinds of abuse — almost all of it sanctioned by the laws and attitudes of the time.

That is probably difficult for many people to comprehend in the 21st century.

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But, as I say, it was a different country. And Jackie Robinson was one of those who helped change it.

The movie repeatedly made that point — as it should. To the black community, Robinson was a hero. It is fair to say he was considerably less than that in the eyes of the white community.

But he persevered.

And he inspired the many black ballplayers who followed — one of whom, Ed Charles, was depicted as a child in the movie. Charles, who died last month at the age of 84, was a member of the 1969 Amazin' New York Mets.

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As miraculous as the Mets were, they weren't as miraculous as Jackie Robinson's barrier–breaking season.

While Charles was presented as a child of perhaps 9 or 10 in the movie, he was actually a teenager in 1947.

One more thing. Ford, who was 70 when "42" premiered, was better suited for the role of Branch Rickey than he was to play Indiana Jones again (as he had five years earlier) or Han Solo again (as he did two years later). In fact, Ford was five years older than Rickey was in Robinson's historic season.

A Supernatural Story

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"Fate is not a straight road. There are many forks in it. You have the free will to choose which one you take, but sometimes it will bend around and bring you straight back to that same stubborn fate."

Odd Thomas (Anton Yelchin)

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The first time I ever saw Anton Yelchin in a movie was when he appeared in "Hearts in Atlantis," which was based on a Stephen King story.

He was still rather new to the acting profession, but I was impressed with his talent. Sadly, though, I have only seen him in one other movie — "Odd Thomas," which made its debut at the River Bend Film Festival on this day in 2013 — and I will get no opportunities to see him in a new release. He died in a freak accident nearly two years ago.

"Hearts in Atlantis" was one of his first movies. He made many movies in his all–too–short career, but, considering how he died, "Odd Thomas," in which he played a clairvoyant short–order cook, would have been a good finale for his career — which, by the way, was far from what we have come to expect from child stars. Other child stars seem to hit the wall when they try to transition from children's roles to adult roles, but Yelchin was an exception to that rule.

"Odd Thomas" was based on a novel by Dean Koontz.

Like the youngster in "The Sixth Sense," Odd Thomas could see dead people, and they never spoke to him, either, but, in his own words, "I do something about it." His tipoff that something big was going to happen was when he saw the shadowy bodachs who thrived on pain and carnage — and, as the movie began, he started seeing the bodachs more and more.

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They seemed drawn by a stranger in town, and Odd (that was really his given name — an explanation was given early in the movie) said there were more bodachs around him than he had ever seen before. But they seemed to lose interest, which was puzzling — until Odd Thomas did some further investigating.

Odd Thomas, I should mention, had a working relationship with the chief of police (Willem Dafoe), who knew of his talent — but Odd Thomas was at the center of things.

At this point, I ought to remind you that this is a movie about supernatural talent — and it is probably best to avoid giving away any other details.

But "Odd Thomas" had a few other things in common with "The Sixth Sense" — including an unexpected ending for which viewers should have been prepared by all that had come before.

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Of course, that's the way it was in "The Sixth Sense," and the finale of "Odd Thomas" probably lost much of its impact because of its similarity to that earlier movie.

But that didn't mean "Odd Thomas" wasn't worth seeing.

Shredding the Envelope on Sexual Boundaries

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Polarization is the new normal — and not just in politics.

And "Adore," an Australian–French movie that premiered at the Sundance Film Festival on this day in 2013, was as polarizing (along gender lines) as a movie can get. At least, based on my experience.

In that experience, I have found that most women seemed to love "Adore," and most men seemed to hate it. For the record, I did not hate it. I thought it was silly, preposterous, but I didn't hate it.

The fact that the movie's stars, Naomi Watts and Robin Wright, were two of the more respected if underrated actresses in the business only partially hid the fact that, whatever else it may have been, "Adore" qualified as a guilty pleasure.

The story was simply too implausible, the circumstances too flimsily connected. I heard the movie described once as a chick flick for grandmothers. That summary vastly oversimplified things, but there was a kernel or two of truth in that description.

I suppose there were reasons for interpreting it that way. After all, the general plot was about older women who were sexually involved with much younger men. In fact, the women in the movie, who were lifelong friends, were involved with each other's sons.

Setting aside, for just a moment, the ethical implications of that situation, isn't it everyone's fantasy — at some point — to be desired by a much younger person? Wouldn't that be the best of all possible worlds — to possess the wisdom that comes with age and the physical appeal of youth?

Of course. But the setting was just too implausible for my taste. Watts and Wright's characters had grown up best friends in an affluent Australian beachfront community that seemed to exist in some kind of bubble where the normal rules didn't apply — which encouraged all kinds of behavior — and they were raising their sons in the same place.

Now, I live in Dallas, Texas, and I know there are pockets all over this city that would fit that description. I'm sure there are similar pockets in cities all over this country — and, indeed, all over the world. But this one was just too perfect for the story — the sun, the sea, the sand, the isolation.

The women were very close — so close that sometimes the male characters wondered if they were lesbians.

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They weren't, of course, and the audience knew that — they even marveled at the godlike attributes of their progeny as they watched them surfing the same waters in which the women had cavorted together as children — but there was an absence of male figures in their story that helped promote that idea among the men — and even, to an extent, among some of the women — in the movie. Watts was widowed early in the story, and Wright's husband was offered a job in Sydney; consequently, he was not around much as he was busy with the demands of the new job and getting settled.

Their sons were best friends as well, but no one suggested that they were gay.

The problem audiences had with "Adore" was rooted in the age–old differences between men and women and how they perceive love, sex and intimacy (which is not always physical) — the eternal tug–of–war between the emotional and the physical.

Anyone who has interacted with the opposite gender (in other words, everyone) knows that the genders don't see those things in the same way — yet we always seem to assume that the opposite sex will come to see those things the way we do. I don't know why we do that — and I will concede that there are some who don't but comparatively few.

The women with whom I have talked about this movie expressed admiration and praise for the story. One spoke of the courage of the actresses, which baffled me. And that could be because I am a man — but I tend to think it is more because of the insipid dialogue in the movie.

For example, at one point when Watts and Wright were speaking about the situation, Watts lamented that they had "crossed a line." Ya think? I really had to wonder how she could say that with a straight face.

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The ludicrous writing really surprised me because the screenplay was adapted by Christopher Hampton, who won an Oscar for his adaptation of "Dangerous Liaisons."

It goes without saying, I suppose, that he received no nominations for this one.

And a couple of cautionary words for any hot–blooded young people hoping to catch more than a fleeting glimpse of nudity, given such a provocative premise.

Look elsewhere.

The mothers in the story are beautiful, yes, but they and the boys who play their sons are, with maybe one very brief exception, nothing more than eye candy with clothes — skimpy clothes, perhaps, but clothes nonetheless.