The Bouillon Cube Review (Movies I Left, no. 9)

I've always enjoyed and admired the four-sentence movie reviews Michael writes on Orange Crate Art––most recently, "12 Movies" (Jan. 10, 2023). He compares writing them to packing a small suitcase. Reading them has the pleasure of unpacking that suitcase and finding it includes a tiny, cleverly engineered tool kit with everything from a seam ripper to a brilliant flashlight.

I never thought to try writing one myself until I was blogging (ranting) about A Man Called Otto the other day [See below*] and I thought, this is too easy: I should try writing less.
This morning I wrote a four-sentence review of A Man Called Otto following Michael's formula: "One to four stars. Four sentences each. No spoilers. Sources... [where you saw/can find it]".

I'm not sure if what I wrote counts as a spoiler? The conclusion is evident from the get-go: If Tom Hanks is in the first act, fundamental human decency will be deployed by the end.
(Are there exceptions to this in Tom Hanks' movies? I'm no expert on his oeuvre, but that formula is probably a safe bet.)

I added an empty star to signify a half star. (Is there a way to type a half star on a Mac laptop? Probably.) If I keep writing these, I'd use a five-star system, so I wouldn't need the half star. Then I'd give this movie three out of five stars.

A Man Called Otto (dir. Marc Forster, 2023) How many times can an engineer who prides himself on knowing how things work (Otto, played by Tom Hanks) fail to engineer a successful way to kill himself? Three, if he's stopped each time by people he dismisses as "idiots"––including a hapless hardware clerk who sells him a faulty hook––but who eventually elicit the warm humanity under his grumpy exterior. Otto's desire to die and join his recently dead wife gives way to the pleasure of teaching perky Latina neighbor (Mariana Treviño) to drive, showing an ostracized transgender teen (Mack Bayda) how to repair his bike, and installing the dead wife's wheelchair ramp for a paralyzed Black neighbor (Peter Lawson Jones). Perhaps the very American message of this adaptation of a Swedish book is, everybody get some––wheels, that is. ★★☆(in movie theaters)

Thank you for the inspiration, Michael!

*MY ORIGINAL RANT, from a couple days ago:

Movies I Left, no. 9

For a treat, I took myself to a matinee on Saturday. (I've only gone to a theater a handful of times since Covid.) It was meant to be a treat, anyway, but I was very much not the movie's Target Market.
Now I have a new entry for the tag movies I left [incomplete].

The movie was A Man Called Otto, and they should put a Trigger Warning on it:
Otto (Tom Hanks) tries to kill himself three times, and each time the movie follows him as he goes through the attempt almost to the point of death--he is only stopped at the last second by something outside his control.

On his third attempt, they show him putting a rifle under his chin.  Someone knocks on the door, he jerks and pulls the trigger and misses.
I got up and left.

My mother shot herself, so that disturbed me. Worse, though, these suicide attempts are treated as something of a lark, and Otto's troubles trivialized––isn't he cute? with his quirky OCD ways and his anger management problems––and rang false, too, as if people suffering from mental illness just need a warm and plucky Latina mom to make them cookies (not that that wouldn't be nice, though I personally would resent such a pushy neighbor), and a paralyzed Black friend and a misunderstood transgender kid to help. (Did I miss any marginalized group?)

Back off, lady!

Hm... Actually, this was interesting. Above, Marisol shows Otto a picture her daughter has drawn of their family. The daughter has drawn Otto in the dad/husband spot. Marisol's husband is a child (at one point he says to the children, "no grown ups here"), and there's a very real chemistry between Marisol and Otto. (The most believable relationship in the movie.)
The best part of the film is when Otto berates Marisol (in order to encourage her) by listing her many accomplishments.
He admires her.

It occurred to me that these two maybe end up together. That would be great! That would save this movie from the shmaltz.
Oh--wait--I didn't stay for the end. Do they end up together?
Yeah, I'm sure not. (I have no doubt of what happens.)

 Okay--but speaking of veracity, Marisol says she is thirty, but the actor looks much older. I looked her up, and yep, Mariana Treviño is forty-five. Why did they do that? Why not just say she's . . . forty. She has three kids and a college degree--that'd be entirely believable. Did they want to make her not-too-close to Tom Hanks's age (66), so she seems more like a daughter than a love interest?
(I'm voting for love interest!)

I can see why plenty of people would like the movie. It has a nice message--get involved with your neighbors; try new foods; help one another. Yes! Oh, and get a cat.
A lot of us do need more of that sort of thing. But if that's all it takes to cure a person's mental and social distress that has taken them to the point of suicide, well, they're lucky.

I left too far into the movie to get my money back, but I could have known right away that I wouldn't like it from the incessant sentimental background music. There's another perception thing--audiences may be so used to strings in the background, orchestrating emotions--"feel gentle sadness here/perk up there/cry now"––they don't even consciously register it. 

One more thing: I was disappointed. I related to Otto, who goes around saying that people are "idiots". Once at work I actually exclaimed, "Are people brain damaged?!" and immediately felt bad because, yes, some of them are.
I wanted something more meaty and complex and relatable for Otto and me than cats and cookies.
(Speaking of idiots--who would expect meaty-and-complex from Hollywood? But Tom Hanks as Mister Rogers was good in the less by-the-numbers Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood.)

Well, as I say, I was not the target market.

Lake of the Isles

Saturday turned out great anyway, though:
in a bad mood after the movie, I took myself for a walk arout Lake of the Isles. I felt better halfway round. (Of course things like going for a walk DO help, if all you're dealing with is grumpiness.)
I've walked around this lake at least a thousand times, but not often in the past few years (I lived over by Lake Hiawatha for three).
The lake is most beautiful in winter. I took some panorama photos:

BELOW: I'm standing on what should be the ice rink--that's the warming house to the left––but the ice is too choppy for skating.

I stopped and watched the dogs in the dog park, which is cheering: