BFF Kay and I went to see The Help yesterday, and I can tell you one thing for sure: do not leave home without a box of Kleenex. Another thing, as with all movies: you need to suspend a little disbelief.

This engaging, “you go, girl!” story takes place in Jackson, Mississippi, during the very beginnings of the Civil Rights Movement. It was the norm for wealthy white folk to have black maids who not only cooked and cleaned, but nannied (and in many cases, actually reared) their children — children who spent their childhood years loving and growing quite attached to the maids, but who grew up to treat the women like slaves.

The script was harsh at times. You can’t have a period film about racism and that not be the case. Yet, as I think back on the movie, there were A) attempts to downplay what likely took place back then, and B) overblown stereotypes, designed to sway the audience. I know, that sounds overgeneralized. Here are some for instances:

• The Klan was mentioned only once (almost whispered), and never portrayed. And we’re talking Mississippi here, people –– the epicenter of racial violence in the early 60s.
• Abilene, the maid (played brilliantly by Viola Davis — you will no doubt hear her name when Oscar nominations come out) lives alone in the outskirt slums of Jackson, but owns what one would consider a lower middle-class home — simple, but clean and almost roomy — complete with running water, modern appliances, and a telephone. That just seemed “off” to me.
• Hilly Holbrook (played by Bryce Dallas Howard), the film’s snooty antagonist, is so mean, it’s hard to take her seriously as a contributing character. She’s more like sick comic relief, particularly when she receives some tasty revenge from a maid. She never struck me as a real character so much as a well-acted caricature.

However, there’s a bright side, and it’s a big one.

The performances by the primary and secondary leads were a delight. No one misfired or failed to deliver. With the highest of highs and rock-bottom lows, this film rates 100% on the emotion scale. Kay and I were both alternately giggling like teenagers or bawling like fools. Some mother-daughter scenes between lead character Skeeter and her mom, played nicely by Allison Janney, hit particularly close to home. Oh, and it was great to see Cicely Tyson on film again.

There is no doubt that this is a woman’s empowerment movie. There’s not a single male lead (and it was fun to see Lafayette from True Blood playing a nice guy!). Many times, films with heavy female dominance tend to stick it to men. Not this one. Women are the heroes and the villains in this story, and all are played well, if not a bit over the top. A bit. The story is a smidgen slow in places (almost two and a half hours runtime), but totally satisfying. The writers and actors did their jobs: we both bawled on cue.

Oh, and a confession: During a scene where Skeeter sits at a typewriter and corrects a mistake, I leaned over to Kay and said, “No way they had Liquid Paper back in 1964.” Thought I caught them in an anachronism. Alas, I was wrong.

Still, it was a fantastic story, well acted. It was easy to cheer at the end — and you don’t hear people applauding at the end of a movie very often anymore. That was nice, too. Go see it.

On the Rat-O-Meter scale of five cheeses, I give The Help:

Of the 40 movies that won Best Picture at the Oscars since 1970, I have seen all but five. I decided a few weeks ago to view them before going to work on the previous 40 years. Last night, the list dropped to four when I watched Crash (2004).

I have no recollection of seeing any trailers for this film, and I purposely did not read up on it before watching it. My assumption from the title was that it was another “runaway conveyance” movie like Speed or Unstoppable, or a story about what happens to people who become trapped after a chain-reaction collision on an interstate. Boy, was I wrong.

I rarely throw about labels like “important” or “groundbreaking,” but this film cracks molds from the get-go, and you simply must watch it to appreciate the experience. And the experience is, for the most part, uncomfortable. To say that producer/star Don Cheadle went out on a huge limb with this project is an understatement. It gives “crash” (in this context, indicating people’s lives crashing into one another) a whole new meaning.

Before the story is three minutes old, you’ve already heard two women, involved in a fender bender, screech at each other at the top of their lungs in broad daylight, throwing repeated racial slurs (and all dignity) to the four winds. A Latina girl cruelly mocks the other woman’s Chinese accent, and the Asian woman spits back invective about “wetback Mexicans” (it’s later revealed that the girl is actually of Puerto Rican and Salvadorian descent). It was one of those opening scenes that make you go, Hmmm — I don’t think I like this. But of course, that’s precisely the reaction screenwriter Paul Haggis wants. You squirm, but you can’t stop watching.

From the wealthy LA District Attorney looking for a racial angle to get him reelected, to two thugs on the street looking for their next carjack victim, the racist banter knows no class or boundary. “Whites” are often maligned as the solo leaders in that category, but Haggis blasts that myth. Everyone hates on everyone in this film. No stereotype is left unbattered, so everyone gets hurt. Some more than others. Some, permanently. Black against black, white against white, white against black, black against Asian…I could go on and on. And in almost every scene, people’s deepest prejudices surface in ugly and menacing ways.

Aside from the particularly shocking script (incidentally, if the F-word is a deal breaker, then this isn’t the movie for you), the plot and subplot(s) meld together nicely, and tragically. Heartbreak, death, longing, sadness, happiness, justice, healing and hope combine to bring together a half dozen different situations, funneling into the film’s final statement and semi-satisfying conclusion. Props to Haggis for interweaving the plot lines in such a way that, when the unrelated characters finally meet, you don’t think OK, that was contrived. He never takes the easy way out with the writing. Gotta respect that.

One acting shout-out: Chris “Ludacris” Bridges (I’m going with the hope that he spelled “ludicrous” wrong on purpose) was completely believable — excellent, even — as Anthony, the carjacker. He should have been billed higher. I pried and tried and spied, looking for cracks in his character, but found not a one. Who knows, maybe he was just playing himself. Still, top rate performance.

Watching this movie was work. It’s not a film you enjoy; it’s a film you survive. If you want feel-good, hug-yourself sweetness, watch Pay it Forward. If you want drama with teeth (that bite), rent this. You’ve heard about movies that “take you prisoner” and won’t let go until the final scene. Well, no worries. This one just shoots you in the head, right out the gate.

On the Rat-O-Meter scale of five cheeses, I give Crash:

Ever since The King’s Speech, I’ve wanted to get my eyeballs on movies with Colin Firth. I saw a dandy two nights ago.

Painstakingly, brilliantly designed and filmed to achieve total immersion into the year 1962 (think Mad Men), the story grabs you by the throat and shakes you around a bit from the get-go. George Falconer (Firth), a Brit teaching English in Los Angeles, has just been told that his friend (and the love of his life), Jim, was killed in a car crash. He is so completely broken and lost, he decides to get his affairs in order and kill himself.

Many times, in strong lead-character movies like this, the lead runs roughshod over the lesser characters, leaving them grasping for recognition in slim scenes that were obviously written to bolster the headliner. Not so in this film. Julianne Moore, who plays Falconer’s drunken and sad BFF, doesn’t need to overdo it in her limited scenes. She is both beautiful and revolting, clinging desperately to the fond memory of a man she knows she can never have. Does a darn fine British accent, too.

Director Tom Ford allows us to assume that homosexuality in the early 60s was taboo. He never makes a big deal about it, which in my mind would trivialize and stereotype it. In other words, he respects the viewer’s intelligence. This isn’t a film about a gay man; it’s a film about a man. We know the hell that gay people were put through back then if they were outed. Ford took that private pain and tripled it for George, leaving him to suffer the ultimate tragedy in complete silence. The scene where he receives the phone call notifying him of Jim’s death is heartbreaking. Imagine having your world fall apart and have to come across to a stranger on the phone, “Oh, my, that’s terrible. I’m so sorry to hear that.”

If you’re in the mood to see some powerful acting (Firth won Best Actor for the role at the Venice Film Festival in 2010), spot-on period costumes, hair and sets, and a completely believable, real story, get thee to the vid store or Netflix. I promise it’ll be worth it.

On the Rat-O-Meter scale of five cheeses, I give A Single Man:

After a really busy Saturday, I collapsed on the sofa and fired up Netflix at 9 p.m., ready to fall asleep to something mundane. Instead, I found Agora from 2009 — a film I’d never heard of, about an Egyptian philosopher I’d never heard of. The most interesting part: she was a she.

Hypatia, in a nutshell, was a highly respected teacher, mathematician, and scholar. She was a scientific thinker who instructed men during an era when no woman ever dared presume to teach a man anything. The film depicts the story of the last decade or so of her life. You can find her on Wikipedia and other sites, but don’t do it if you want to watch the film first (which I recommend).

Of course, the role of Hypatia needed a strong and beautiful interpretation, and it was deftly provided by Rachel Weisz. I didn’t recognize her at first, yikes; her thin, gaunt face really brought out the generous size of her nose. At first, I thought it was a prosthesis. She looks nothing like her Mummy days, but that’s to be expected after a decade. She could have skinnied down for the role as well, I don’t know. Her dewy, pale complexion was one of the only hard-to-swallow visuals. The CG was quite impressive.

The story is rife with religious overtones, mixed with philosophy, history, politics, astronomy and tragedy. Of course, the radical Christians are the bad guys (let’s face it, they often were/are), but in this film, they were attacked first by the pagans, and once provoked, it was on. The enormous Library was eventually sacked, and yet another holy war began.

In places, I was uncomfortable with the story, and with Hypatia, because while her countrymen were slaughtered all around her — including her beloved brotherhood of former students — she worried herself mostly about how the Earth relates to the sun and other planets. As Alexandria fell: Do they move in a circle? Is the Earth the center of the solar system, or is the sun? Is the “circle” really perfect? She seemed incapable of romantic love, although she was adored by many men. Her father (understandably) did not want to see her talents wasted by cooking and washing for a husband, so she never married. Yet, her family owned many slaves. Gotta love the dichotomous life.

The film was gorgeous to look at, and the two leading male characters of Davus and Orestes were dark, handsome and brooding, as is seemingly required. I have not read enough Alexandrian history to comment on the accuracy or inaccuracy of the tale, other than to say the last scene was scripted from the mind of a romantic writer, not historians. But that’s all right. It made for good theater.

I’d say if you’re in the market for an epic period romance/war story, where Christians, Jews and pagans get their stonings and burnings on, this is a good choice.

On the Rat-O-Meter scale of five cheeses, I give Agora:

Is it possible  to love and hate a movie at the same time? I think a proper summary of Goya’s Ghosts would be that I enjoyed the watching, but hated that I didn’t much care about any of the people in it.

That’s quite a statement, considering the heavyweight cast. Of course, Javier Bardem plays a great bad guy, but in this film, he sort of rides the fence. I mean, if you’re a baddie trying to do good, then let’s establish that. But it seemed to me that he couldn’t really make up his mind. Incongruity is fine, as long as it’s clearly defined, which it wasn’t here. If the director was going for nuance, I missed it. Head scratcher, and an apparent strikeout for the team of Saul Zaentz and Milos Forman, who produced and directed (respectively) tiny, unimportant films like, oh, Amadeus and One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.

I am not a Natalie Portman fan, and the fact that she played a double role in this film (mother and daughter) meant that I got to enjoy her twice. No bueno. I could say that she brought some depth to her character, but she played a nice girl from a wealthy family, and she didn’t give me much to go on. I’m still checking into the significance of kissing a dwarf’s feet.  ?????

Loved Stellan Skarsgård as Francisco Goya, the Spanish painter. I must admit that I had no idea Goya was deaf. Shows my art history prowess this day. But his character was the only one who really shouted “Care about me.” Thumbs-up to Barnacle Bill.

Particularly sad was the appearance of Randy Quaid, pre-psychological meltdown. He played Carlos IV of Spain.

And then there’s the part I loved: the photography. Absolutely stunning, and instantly made the film worth watching. I almost forgot about some of the groan-inducing dialogue. I laughed out loud at Matt Brunson’s (Southeastern Film Critics Assn.) review, in which he said the storyline becomes “so silly, you half-expect Mel Brooks to show up reprising his ‘Inquisition’ musical number from History of the World Part I.”

HAAA

Now maybe if they’d done that, the movie wouldn’t have slapped leather directly to DVD.

On the Rat-O-Meter scale of five cheeses, I give Goya’s Ghosts: