#39: Juno — dir. Jason Reitman
It’s been hipster hit, and Diablo Cody has been dragged over more coals than a steak by a newbie griller. The dialogue has been raged as too precious and twee, the hamburger phone has become a fucking statement of intent for this film, and blah blah blah. I do not give a shit. Juno still makes me happy. I love the twee dialogue. I love the way it was assembled, I love the over the top exchanges, and I love the nasty subversity of the images.
Look at the picture I chose. I specifically found this image because it explains why I love the candy coated acidity of the script. A pregnant teenager is wearing a Slinky shirt. What’s the theme song of Slinky? “What goes downstairs…” Pushing a woman downstairs is also called an Irish abortion. It’s a subtle, throwaway, dark-as-fucking-midnight joke, and it’s never acknowledged in the film. I love shit like that.
And for me, it really is a cautionary whale. Diablo Cody wrote a fantastic script, won an Oscar for it, and people shit all over her. I probably did somewhere in the heyday of my heinous film critic phase. Fucking stripper thinks she’s a screenwriter?! Know what? That day she fucking was. It’s the same with The Landlord, the Will Ferrell-Adam McKay short with McKay’s daughter Pearl shouting at Ferrell. That makes me crack up. And the comments I’ve seen on the video: “Farrel got PWONED BY A BABy.” “Will is sooooo unfunny.” “That’s child abuse!” “Shouting babies aren’t funny. It’s like, learn comedy.” And so forth.
People are fucking assholes. And I’ve learned to tune them out, homeskillet.