Me and Earl and the Damaged Spacecraft
Blasting off live from snowbound Houston
Apollo 13
“Houston, we have a problem”
Ron Howard and Tom Hanks made the phrase iconic. They also got it wrong. The actual quote was “Okay, Houston, we’ve had a problem here.”
Ever since the movie Apollo 13 came out, any time a Houston sports team has an important game on the road, as sure as death and taxes there will be someone in the crowd holding a sign that says “Houston, you have a problem!”
<pause for sarcastic chuckles>. Such wit you all have. Not a very intimidating taunt, considering the fact that Houston solved the problem.
I’ve never been fully comfortable embracing concepts like civic or national pride. A lot of it comes down to people taking credit (or feeling guilt) for something they didn’t have a part in doing. Comedian Doug Stanhope has a pretty good riff on it and has similar viewpoint.
But where I am tempted to feel some civic pride as a Houstonian is the “mailbox”.
The astronauts aboard Apollo 13 would have died if not for the improvisation of the engineers in Houston. With slide rulers, math, and duct tape, they constructed a filter out of material available inside the spacecraft to keep the carbon dioxide levels breathe-able. Eventually they nicknamed the life-saving device “the mailbox.”
Practical engineering in filmmaking also gives Apollo 13, the movie, a powerful aesthetic. Director Ron Howard made the brilliant choice to try to make as much of the low-gravity moments of the film as believable as possible by getting the actors to perform scenes inside NASA’s reduced gravity aircraft, also known as the “vomit comet.”
Filming these recognizable actors in shots of low-gravity that are clearly not special effects gives the movie an incredible sense of immersion and believability. As the problems on the spacecraft multiply, the rising tension becomes almost unbearable because the illusion is so powerful - you feel like you’re really in that tin can they call a spacecraft.
Set design, costumes, and locations give the film an incredibly authentic feel—with the possible exception of the camera lenses with respect to the actual depth of mission control. If you ever visit Johnson Space Center, you’ll probably be awed, like me, but also surprised at how small the room feels.
There is a crime associated with this film, and it’s that Ed Harris was robbed of a Best Supporting Actor Oscar. His performance as Flight Director Gene Kranz is pitch-perfect: capturing the leadership, intelligence, critical thinking, ability to stay calm amidst chaos, and engineering imagination of the iconic-vest-wearing Kranz.
Through the years, Apollo 13 has been a reliable go-to movie to demonstrate the abilities of a home theater system: from the stirring score by James Horner, to the realistic special effects and cinematography, or the detailed nuances of the performances (filled with a high number of close-up shots, given the claustrophobic conditions of the story).
I’ve never considered Ron Howard any sort of visionary. He’s a versatile craftsman able to helm large productions, but this is one exceptional piece of directing, representing the heights of what a Hollywood studio production can be, a masterpiece of all of the individual talents of the system working in concert.
Me and Earl and the Dying Girl
Sometimes you need a good cry. A flick you can count on to plug you into your emotions and provide some catharsis.
Me and Earl and the Dying Girl is that and so much more.
When people use the term ‘cinematic’ to describe a contemporary film, it’s usually reserved for a massive production, probably an action film, with lots of camera movement and quick editing. A movie that obviously demonstrates the kind of motion picture storytelling meant to be experienced in a theater.
When I think about Me and Earl and the Dying Girl, I want to celebrate its full use of the language of cinema. It uses voice-over narration to frame the entire story and give us a sardonic, self-aware, and possibly unreliable guide. It pops up on-screen section titles for various moments to wry effect. It features stop-motion animation throughout the film as a recurring joke, yet later the stop-motion technique is the basis of an astonishing, transcendent sequence.
It uses quick-cut montages of repetitive moments to efficiently chronicle the passage of time. It uses super wide-angle lenses early in the story to provide optical distance between our two lead characters.
The film invites a celebration of cinema as the “Earl” and “Me” of the title work together to create a series of jokey short films inspired by classics of foreign and American independent cinema. Snippets of their oeuvre are intercut throughout the film, and a number of scenes take place at a boutique video store while our protagonists browse an impressive selection of Criterion Collection titles.
The cast of Me and Earl and the Dying Girl create an ensemble performance that will stomp your heart. Nick Offerman’s eccentric father figure, providing a sampling of oddball cuisine and the wisdom of restraint in parenting. Connie Britton’s earnest portrayal of motherly compassion. Molly Shannon’s unconventionally honest depiction of a person overwhelmed and numbed by tragic circumstance. Jon Bernthal’s bemused and carefree riff on the “cool history teacher” we all wish we had.
And especially each of the actors behind the titular trio.
Earl, played by RJ Cyler, should be in the argument in the cinematic pantheon of best-ever best-friend to a protagonist. But unlike many great cinematic friendships, where loyalty, support, and positivity are the more celebrated traits, Cyler’s Earl gives us the ultimate depiction of - not the friend we want, but the friend we need. The friend who’ll look you in your eye and not only give constructive criticism, but cut right through your b.s. as only a close friend can.
Greg (the “Me” of the title) is played by Thomas Mann, fully embodying awkward teenage self-doubt, but instead of making it off-putting, brings a demented charisma to this everyman viewpoint character.
Rachel (the “Dying Girl” of the title) is played by Olivia Cooke, who performs with stillness and subtlety, conveying a multitude of conflicting simultaneous emotions.
In the years after my mother’s death, a pair of films about grief hit me with hurricane force. One is Manchester by the Sea, which is one of those staggeringly brilliant yet hellishly-dark films that you acknowledge the greatness of, but never want to see a second time.
The other is Me and Earl and the Dying Girl, and it is one that I come back to a lot. Perhaps because it explores the subject in more layers than most. We see how the prospect of death navigates its way through a small community. How they treat an ill person, how they treat that ill person’s mother, how they treat that ill person’s friends, and how all of them change how they treat each other.
There are a couple of sequences in this film that are absolute gut-punchers. Moments of sustained lump-in-your-throat sorrow. What is remarkable is how it manages to make such powerful connections to these characters within its lean 105-minute running time. It’s highly re-watchable and rewards multiple views with additional insights.