The Motorcycle Diaries

The Rock and Roll Boyfriend and I watch a lot of movies. Probably way, way too many movies, but when a) you've just had surgery and b) you can't really do a whole hell of a lot, it seems that movies are a good way to pass the time.

It's getting to the point, though, that I can watch the first five or ten minutes of a film and know whether I'm going to hate it or not. Gone are those starry-eyed days of wonder where I'll hold out hope that View from the Top will actually redeem itself in the last ten minutes of its run, yeah it doesn't, shame on you Mark Ruffalo.

I've watched a lot of really bad movies lately, and considering the run up to last weekend's Academy Awards was usually me trying to cram in all of the favourites so I'd at least have a snowball's chance in hell of winning my Oscar poll, that's kind of strange. Let's see, is it at all shocking that Little Black Book really sucks and Brittany Murphy really needs to lay off the, ahem, blow and eat some solid food, no. But I still watched that film from beginning to end, even though it was trite, demeaning to woman and made a mockery of Holly Hunter's always-excellent performances.

Annnwaaay. We watched The Motorcycle Diaries on Saturday. It's a magnificient picture, with Gael Garcia Bernal playing the part of a young Che Guevara. Okay, he's lovely, I mean, really lovely and I have a super-huge crush on him, and have ever since I saw Amores perros (I even rented The Crime of Father Amaro {embarassing I know} just because he was in it and making out with a cute girl). But that's not the reason why The Motorcycle Diaries was good, it had great performances, a wonderful script, lovely cinematography, all the makings of a typically fabulous film, no, it's more the spirit the film managed to capture that embraced me from beginning to end.

In one of the extras, Bernal, or someone interviewing him, states that he channeled the spirit of Che to prepare for the role. Now, that might sound corny, but Bernal's performance adds a measure of brevity to the role, unlike many of the Hollywood counterparts winning Oscars for portraying real people through caricature (I'm looking at you Jamie Foxx; oh, and you too Cate Blanchett, but I forgive you because you were robbed, I say, robbed by Mrs. Martin in 1999).

Bernal's "Che" is serious, studied and intense, but it's also entirely human. It shows that singular moment where your life changes so immensely over such a short period of time that you just can't go back to being who you thought you were. It takes you through an intellectual journey as you watch the man fully realize his beliefs; not with big swinging actions, big bats or fists, but with simple gestures, like shaking hands with the lepers he's taking care of, treating them like human beings, not aliens, or, well, lepers. It's a wonderful movie and one that I'll add to an ever-growing list of favourites Bernal's been in; Y Tu Mama Tambien, of course, being there as well.

I wish I spoke Spanish just so I could enjoy the film without having to read the subtitles.

And one other thing, it's a road movie, and it's so hard to capture the wonder and beauty of traveling without making it seem trite, almost paying homage to great beat writers from the same time traveling around the US, finding out the same politics, but listening to very different music. All in all, in the pile of dungheap worthly films I've watched lately, Alexander, I'm looking right at you, The Motorcycle Diaries is well worth the late fee, because no one ever brings their movies back on time, I don't care what Blockbuster says.