Errata is a web journal written by Robert Davis who has neither spent a night in a ghost town nor pulled a turnip from the earth. He doesn't even know if turnips grow in the ground. Perhaps on trees, like candy corn. Therefore, Errata is a non-commercial project.

Observation #1: It may be appropriate, when leaving a movie theater, to say "mysterious."

Observation #2: It may be appropriate, when leaving a movie theater, to say "mysterious" at the top of your lungs. Bring your eyebrows together before you say it. Effective!

Observation #3: Same for books. Even at libraries.

There is a prize for people who correctly guess the thing about Metropolis, Nevada.

Except where the text specifically states otherwise, Errata's vagaries are indicated vaguely and its authors are indistinct in the traditional way of the Internet, except where the authors lay claim to their work. In some cases Robert Davis lays claim to work that is not his own but has been abandoned like so many ghost towns. Except where held presently, fistfuls of dirt are suspended via dispersal, or dispersed via suspension (in the air), and thus their dissolution is their transcendence, or their transcendence is their dissolution. And yet our eyes tear, and our vision is impaired, demonstrating for the umpteenth time that one entity's gain is another's fit of sneezes. Except where indicated, storms shall outlive the clay upon which they rain, unless storms are improperly delimited by their clouds, which dissolve, rather than by their inevitable return. Thus the clay loses, unless the clay is said to own the storm, to use it to make itself heavy, to make itself cling to white garments, refuse dispersal, cake upon the facades of abandoned buildings, and sit like Man [sic] upon the earth where it is pelted by a storm that it owns. In which case the clay still loses, if you ask us.

Some of the above is legally binding and should be considered a mental contract between Errata and those upon whom it acts. The bit about the prize should be considered an overstatement insofar as prizes differ from dirt and prize dispersal differs from dirt dispersal. Please recall that ownership is a weight and, therefore, hope that you do not win the prize.

One day Errata or its representatives will call upon you for a favor. It is expected that you will hop-to without delay.

You may contact Robert Davis by email unless it's about the rock that was thrown in anger. The rock is more properly called a clod. Why do you continue to raise the topic?

17 August 2003

Whale Rider

2002, New Zealand

director: Niki Caro

Whale Rider tells the story of a young girl, Paikea, who lives in New Zealand with a stern grandfather who apparently needs to get modern. Every scene tells us this and gives us an opportunity to tsk-tsk his staunch rejection of his granddaughter who he believes can't inherit the leadership of this Maori village because of her gender, despite her lineage. She'll need to convince her grandfather that she can lead just as well as the boys can, and she'll need to do it before the end of the movie.

But just when you think you have this movie pegged, its sincerity manages to break through the thin characterizations and age-old plot. Young actress Keisha Castle-Hughes gives Paikea a richly expressive voice, and the turning point is an astonishingly heartfelt speech that she delivers at a school program for parents. The musical soundtrack goes silent, and the camera sits at the foot of the stage looking up at her while she talks about her admiration for her grandfather and explains how she destroyed a long line of chiefs by being born. In everything she does, she balances a challenge of authority with obedience and respect, as if she's trying to find a way to accept both herself and her grandfather's tradition at the same time rather than rejecting tradition outright, which would have been simpler for a movie like this. Castle-Hughes has uncommon grace and beauty on the screen.

The third act where all of our predictions come true has a quiet dignity, and although it does move from A to B as expected, how it gets there is surprisingly mysterious, and the common ground on which the girl and her grandfather land has more nuance than the setup would seem to allow. The village has a problem that manifests itself physically on its beaches, and we recognize immediately that this is the moment when Paikea must prove herself to her grandfather. But her proof doesn't involve boat motors, fighting sticks, or feats of skill like we might have guessed. It's more mystical than that. Destiny quivers in her fingers. She has the option of doing nothing; instead she acts, responding to the call of her ancestors and her village, which she is the link between. In her final voice-over she focuses on neither herself nor her grandfather but on her people and their future, a born leader, through and through.

This capsule also appears in print as a DVD review in Paste Magazine #8, February/March 2004.

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