Midnight in Paris

Woody Allen's latest film (well not latest, he does have a new Italian movie coming) Midnight in Paris has proven to me a fact that I now find immutable and it will come to the dislike of engineers, biologists, chemists, biochemists, chemical engineers, and biochemical engineers of the world. The plain and simple truth is that the arts matter. So what if great literature can't save a mother of two from breaking both arms? Who cares that Mozart's The Marriage of Figaro didn't stop that dude from having sex with a monkey and making AIDS a real thing? Would Norman Rockwell's Reading in Bed have actually cured Christopher Reeve's paralyzation? The answer to all of those questions is absolutely not (I hope so at least). And now the eyes are rolling on every reader of this blog as questions arise like "Yeah! But what the fuck does a painting have to do with a bodily function!?!?" or "How can you even compare the two, you fucking moron?!?!?" And my answer to that is EXACTLY! You can't compare the two because they have their own realms of possibility in our world. Could Robert Jarvik make The Shawshank Redemption? No, but he made the artificial heart and that is damn impressive. The Shawshank Redemption, and Norman Rockwell's paintings, and Mozart's music all have their contributions to society as well. They give some enjoyment to the boring, monotonous cycle we call life. How often do you listen to music when you study for a test? How many times do you put the TV on while you're doing homework? Suck it Charlie! This is damn good writing now!
Midnight in Paris tells the story of screenwriter Gil (Owen Wilson) who is visiting Paris with his fiance (Rachel McAdams) and her parents. Feeling unfulfilled with his style of writing, Gil decides to walk around Paris in the evening alone and without a guide. During one midnight walk, Gil is approached by an antique car where the occupants invite him in. Little does Gil know, he has stepped into a time machine and is driven back to 1920's Paris. There he runs into the artist powerhouses of the era including Ernest Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Cole Porter, and Gertrude Stein. Through his repeated interactions with The Greats, Gil becomes a more competent and impressive writer.
I was a big fan of Whatever Works because of its message: do what makes you happy. But Midnight in Paris gives an even simpler, and quite frankly much less original , moral in a far more entertaining way: be happy with what you have. Gil's mortal flaw is that he can't find happiness in his own time period and that is what drives him to the 1920s every night. But when he is transported back to the 19th century one night, he realizes that there is more to life then just pleasing yourself. I run the risk of sounding corny, but the grass does seem greener on the other side. It is Woody Allen's twisted, neurotic humor that contorts that age old adage into something that can be appreciated in our contemporary time.
Gil asks Ernest Hemingway to read his manuscript and Hemingway replies "I hate it". When Gil mentions that Hemingway never even read it, Hemingway declares "if it's bad, I'll hate it. If it's good, then I'll be envious and hate it even more. You don't want the opinion of another writer". I see this as the relationship between the humanities and the sciences and mathematics. Neither wants to admit the other sometimes makes a good point, a lot like Democrats and Republicans.  A mutual respect needs to begin to develop between the two disciplines. This is not a pro-art blog, nor is it an anti-everything else blog. I am pro-human. Now everyone hug.