I finally got to see Slumdog Millionaire. I had been urged, by many, to see it. My husband saw it twice. And he never sees anything twice. My friend Yolanda makes a routine of walking out of movies she finds stupid; which is most of them. She told me to go see this one. So, I did. Meh.
Ok, I didn't hate it. I thought it had its good parts: the way the story is told, the rawness of the portrayal of the country and culture, the visceral acting done by the children. I loved those parts. And if the ending wasn't so god-damned schmaltzy, I would have loved the movie. I mean, the whole pining for a lost love. Been done. And much better. And, she comes from the slums. She ain't leaving the riches. Trust me.
I spoke to my sister about the movie. She said that it was hard for her to believe the ending because Asians, in general, are not very emotive and demonstrative. We are almost always practical. We don't wait everyday, at the train station, at 5 o'clock, for anyone... except maybe our train to work. Or home.
There was a part at the end that I really liked. The Bollywood dancing.
My husband said that the reason I didn't like the happy ending was because I was a cold-hearted bitch. I am. And I never really liked "happy ever after" endings. Which is what I felt this movie was. For a movie that was ingenious in using flashbacks to tell us how he knew all the answers, that pulled few punches in telling of the poverty the children came from, that laid out the forsaken life they were born into, that tapped into the strength of the child actors, the ending sure seemed poorly routine. Later.