{some spoilers here}

The Lizzie McGuire Movie announces itself as a riff on Singing in the Rain with its ending, an unveiling of performance fraud and a final romantic unity between the two protagonists, who until then have exchanged banter and advice. In SITR the unity is representational of artistic unity (or "truth"), that of sound and image, satisfying the natural human desire to have a relationship drawn out between the two. The last shot of TLMM does not include its title character, and her friend darts away before fireworks start up in the night sky, filling their absence with joy and light before turning back to black. The last line before they leave is from Lizzie, "I can't afford any more trouble." It's transcendent, for me, maybe even more than SITR, because it acknowledges that even with a little happiness in our lives, there is more to life than that artistically unified experience -- there is the absent, the imagined, what is up not for us to experience but for cinema to show us while life conquers us.

The argument against that could be “fireworks in and of themselves are banal,” but the shot is a reference to earlier in the film when Paolo takes Lizzie (on their last time out together) to see them, in which Lizzie and the fireworks are linked but her reaction to them and subsequent making out are inter-cut with them. In other words the only time Lizzie and the fireworks are in the same shot is the first time she sees them, and they become a part of her memory as well as ours. The difference between this scene and the last shot is that Lizzie was in the same field of viewing in the last scene, so had she stayed, the fireworks would have been directly behind her. There are other plays with height and field of vision in the editing that are just as effective: the first shot of her in film is the top of her door, following the brother-mounted dv at the bottom, fulfilling the camera’s needs not to its possessor but to us. Another, after Gordo sacrifices himself and rides an elevator in fade-out, is followed by a vast darkness with a small light in a corner; it’s as if we’ve gone into his head, until the auditorium lights come on.

Paolo is not necessarily an “ideal” male but an extension of two inextricably formative elements of her life and an outside one: the music she hears, her friend Gordo, and the “cultural” influence of her principal, Ms. Ungermeyer, who is the only consistently strong female character in the film (just as Paolo’s bodyguard is the only consistently strong male character). Paolo shares with Gordo a near-unreasonable dependability, but Paolo is separated by the inconsistency of his life, the obligations of travel and to please others. Paolo is more experienced in general human behavior and Gordo more in the specific, which makes it seem fair that Gordo should be able to do ultimately more for Lizzie in the film. The generalizations of Paolo can be found in the songs on the film’s soundtrack which specialize in generalizing feelings; the first time Paolo takes Lizzie out, we hear an Americanized version of an Italian song, covering the cultural alienation of Lizzie in a nutshell; the second, we hear “Why not?” which could be not only a descriptor for Lizzie’s rebellion but for Gordo’s sacrifices; the third, we hear “Open your eyes,” implying that’s all a song can really tell us to do, if our ears are already open. The way Paolo is shot in the film, with higher and higher contrast of light until the last scene with him, where his surrounding darkness is intercut with the intimidation of bright photography, tells that such generalization of happiness is bound to collapse on itself, even if it’s what we’re looking for. The very brief moments when Gordo and Paolo interact doesn’t establish a negative dynamic between them: the first is an intimidated reaction to Ms. Ungermeyer by Paolo, followed by a more wearied assertion of her strength by Gordo; another is when Gordo blocks Kate’s view to cover Lizzie and, consequentially, also Paolo, and Paolo gives friendly if nervous recognition to him.

What I like most about the film is its acknowledgement of doubles and halves, the paradoxical consciousness of dreams becoming reality and vice versa. For example, it’s book-ended by two performances, one in Lizzie’s “private” life that becomes public as soon as the film has “activated” via her brother’s attempts to embarrass her, and another, publically, which makes privacy possible, and leads to the destruction of the tape of the first. Lizzie isn’t so much awkward as plagued by the potential of awkwardness; the way she “overcomes” it is by interacting with another version of herself, which could just as well be a metaphor for the assumptions we make about performing for (or just communicating with) other people, versus the reality (and excitement) of carrying that communication out. Lizzie avoids self-consciousness by celebrating it; “Have you ever wondered what this life is all about?” is answered in the final song with the usual life-affirming here-and-now response, only to be questioned by the film’s beginning again: wasn’t then the “here-and-now” too? Is cinema “here-and-now?” Is her experience less significant once thrown in the water, or is the film really pro-future, the coin in the water leading up to it all?

I would have rejected something like this movie if I thought it was moralistic/hypocritical/conventional, and I don’t, but I can see why it could be taken that way: why does Lizzie have to be unpopular and awkward (especially considering how ridiculously hot she is) before going to Italy? Well, the only two characters determined to make her feel unnecessary are Kate and her brother, one an ex-best friend and one a brother, neither of whom are supposed to have “always been that way” (since they have always been in Lizzie’s life) and neither of whom are merely thrown away by the script; Kate is still trying to find things that work to her advantage but one of those things just happens to be finding out that “hypocrisy” is inevitable and questions, although important to ask, don’t always have answers. And the brother’s video is thrown out, but it’s just as significant to us, and in a way to Lizzie (as an artifact of another life), as it is to him. And when the final big twist happens, and Lizzie looks at Paolo for the last time, she clearly doesn’t know what to do; she shows as much bitterness as sadness, as much hope as resigning anxiety. When a film is this rich with complicated feelings, playing off of for the most part around getting a grip on consciousness, I can ignore whatever target-group panderings sink the rest of it.

7.28.03

baaab

{There are probably a few things I didn't address here completely, and I'll try now. One thing I've heard others have problems with is the parents. The mother is obviously overprotective but also just generally obsessed with being around her daughter. For me, this keys in with the film's concept of photography as both a damaging and preserving record of time. The mother helps "energize" Matt's friend who influences him into using his records to gain money; when we first see her, she extends her feelings about Lizzie by varying a sentence, ending on "without me" finally. Her love for her daughter is really a projection of her fear of being forgotten (death is directly addressed in the passage where Lizzie's dad quotes Shakespeare on greatness). The last shot of the parents is of them being photographed, alone, without Lizzie, ambivalent about what to do with only themselves and the eternalizing of the moment to bind them. Their transportation to Europe may be implausible emotionally, but as a sequence of visuals, it works for me. And anyone who thinks her parents are solely controlled by the whims of their children should check out the shot of her going "As interesting as this is... where are you taking it?" (it's as if Fall is constantly questioning his own motives in filming the movie, and questioning himself here).

The animated sequences work for me too. Lizzie's image of herself contradicts her actions and thoughts as much as it matches them, and also the use of the animated Lizzie in the final shot is moving because it's the only one where she isn't made to be a miniscule version of Lizzie, forever screaming at her; the Lizzie who wants and the one who has have finally communicated, even if they're not at one, and (elaborating on the film's general use of size and spatial depth here) as good as fireworks look from below, they still obscure Lizzie as an equal.

Also Paolo isn't so much "vapid" as an inverse of Gordo who allows Lizzie to act more openly towards him. Gordo is really willing to do anything for Lizzie but projects reluctance and frustration; Paolo's motives are foul (and he isn't as honest) but he's intent on giving her as much self-confidence and expressiveness as possible (ex. despite the usefulness of it, he tells her to sing at rehearsal). Despite the bad sides of both men Lizzie feels it's necessary to recognize goodness and the potential of g[reat/ood]ness that Paolo projects. If Paolo is vapid, then Gordo is equally; one is concerned too heavily with his future, the other with his present (in the sense that Gordo doesn't really want any "adventures" for himself...). If the issue is that there's no way to sympathize with Paolo's motives, all he's really doing is breaking off from someone who he's been contrived to communicate with. Lizzie doesn't have anyone in particular, but she's looking.

Also the other students are supposedly just cliches. This doesn't make sense to me. Ethan, the supposed dumb jock, isn't so much dumb as overly dependant on others; if he likes spaghetti and Kate doesn't, who's wrong (hint: there's no answer)? Even his ultra-lazy comments (i.e. "I read the list") revolve more around forthrightness than laziness. The one line of his that's really emphasized (it ends a scene) is "Why does everyone always look at me like that?" after he's just elaborately explained where Lizzie is; the answer to that question certainly isn't "'cause he's dumb."}