The Truman Show (1998)

Director: Peter Weir

Cast: Jim Carrey, Laura Linney, Noah Emmerich, Natascha McElhone

Have I Seen it Before: Oh, yes. The summer of 1998 was one of those summers where I diligently saw everything on tap. I remember so clearly going to see this one with some friends. I arrived on time, but later than everyone else. While they grabbed seats, I grabbed popcorn for myself. When I returned, the movie had started. I couldn’t find my friends, and eventually had to give up and find a seat. It took a solid five minute to realize I had wandered into the wrong theater, which was currently about an hour into running the film. So, that first day I saw the scene where Truman (Carrey) is reunited with his father (Brian Delate) twice.

Did I Like It: And the film worked pretty well in both contexts then, and it ages insanely well today. It’s nearly impossible to peg this as a 90s film, and indeed could have been produced (with maybe some slightly tweaked special effects in just a few spots) ten years early or ten years later. It may be the most ageless summer comedy ever produced.

It’s the perfect vehicle for a Carrey looking to diversify his image from the broadest possible comedies and Batman villains*. Allowing Carrey to occasionally indulge in his instincts, but ultimately needing a fully-fleshed out performance to deliver a real story, it’s the perfect stepping stone between The Cable Guy (1996) and Man on the Moon (1999)**.

Ultimately, though, it is that thing that was rare enough in its day and is almost unheard of today: a big Hollywood movie with some ideas. I remember that day after my friends and I had seen it the first time (while I saw it 1.25 times). On the way home we talked about free will, and the inclination of powers greater than us to thwart the exercise of free will. It was heady talk for a smattering of 14-year-olds. I can reassure you we didn’t have anything like the same conversation on our way out of Armageddon (1998).

*Not that there is anything wrong with either of those things. I happen to like both of those things a great deal.

**Again, two things I happen to enjoy a great deal.

Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World (2003)

Director: Peter Weir

Cast: Russell Crowe, Paul Bettany, James D’Arcy, Robert Pugh

Have I Seen it Before: Never, and I’m not entirely sure why. It was Oscar bait in one of those years where I saw everything, regardless of whether it was award worthy or not. Hell, I saw Gigli (2003) twice*, what was stopping me here?

Did I Like It: Right out of the gate, I can tell I’m going to forgive this movie any number of sins it might commit for the rest of its runtime. I was first introduced to the idea by the DVD commentaries of Nicholas Meyer, but I fully admit someone else may have originated from someone else. Nearly every movie that is set in a historical—or for that matter, fantastical—era naturally gravitates to be a product the age in in which it is made. Between the choices in cinematography, costuming, and dialogue choices, one can guess when a film was made within about five years. Hell, choices in hairdressing alone can tip a film’s hand almost immediately.

I don’t know if this film will continue to age as well, but it could have easily been made last year, or even thirty years ago, instead being only seventeen years old. All too often, the artists behind cinema produce their work aiming only at the initial exhibition. Every movie ever made is going to spend the near totality of its existence on TVs in the years to follow. More filmmakers should have in the back of their mind how their films will play in the years to come. Weir should be commended for this.

The story might be faulted for being too simple, but I think it is another secret strength. If the plot can be whittled down to its basic elements (the British ship has some problems while hunting an enemy French vessel, prevails honorably, but at a cost) then the delicate work of the photography and other artistry can shine through.

*Although only once in the theater. Even I have my limits.