Finally saw Slumdog Millionaire. I have to agree with the prevailing opinion–I liked it.
I’ve heard two major criticisms of the film. One is the people are bored with the “hooker with a heart of gold theme”; unfortunately, I think that for people born into the world of the characters, women are either going to have hearts of gold or be heartless. Are there spaces in between–probably. But don’t think for a minute that the women won’t be hookers. Seen Born Into Brothels yet?
The other debate raging is whether Slumdog is “mainstream.” Who cares? Well, someone, I guess, but genre debates don’t do anything for me. It seems like the only people who would get really worked up about this are those who decide whether they like a film based on those categories of “indie” and “mainstream.”
The film was touching and smart. Can I believe in a happy ending under the circumstances like those in the film? No, but I routinely engage in the suspension of disbelief in my media.
I enjoyed every minute, except those few when the director thought we needed to see a shot we’d just seen again.
I kept thinking, though, about what this film would look like if it were an American movie–a boy from the ghetto gets on Who Wants to be a Millionaire. As he nears the pinnacle, people suspect him of cheating. We learn about his horrible, wretched life as we learn about how he knew the answers on the show.
Would this be a story of The American Dream? Would this be about how if you’re just good and if you work hard enough, you’ll get the millions and the girl (and revenge on the people who waterboarded you)? Probably.
I’m really glad that this isn’t that movie. There may be a dream in Mumbai, but it isn’t constructed the same way ours is. This movie is really great in that it teaches us about the slums of India, but I like it for the mirror it shows.
There are slums here, too.
