If I was the Oscars . . . .

. . . . I'd ask my sister-in-law to design my dress.

Then I'd give Best Picture to Alfonso Cuaron's Children of Men.

I watched it Saturday, and ever since I've been trying, and failing, to describe it adequately. I could tell you that it begins as a bleak dystopia, a story about a man without hope in a world gone mad with despair.

I could tell you that it's the most genuinely suspenseful action movie I've seen all year (complete with a "car chase" unlike any other I've seen, and action grounded in the weaknesses and limitations of ordinary characters).

I could tell you that it captures, with heartbreaking clarity, the paradoxical closeness of life and death, hope and despair--that it gives you a new and vivid awareness of the sacredness of human life.

But I still don't feel like I've told you much about it. The movie is, quite simply, perfect. And perfect is not a word I use lightly.) Every detail is right; everything--from the score to the cinematography to the graffiti on the city walls--is there for a purpose, adding s to the reality of the movie's imaginary world, and perfectly serving the story's needs.

The story is--well, I don't want to overuse the word "perfect," but given the chance, I wouldn't change a thing. If I'm the Oscars, a Best Adapted Screenplay award is also in order . . . and maybe a couple of acting awards, too.

In the most recent issue of Image, Alice McDermott says: "Great literature allows you to forget your own mind and enter into the life of another human being, to recognize our common humanity and hear their inner voice, to glimpse their soul." Great acting does much the same thing: when I read that sentence earlier, the first thing that came to mind was Clive Owen in Children of Men. He doesn't simply pretend to be Theo; he allows us to enter into Theo's life, to recognize the humanity we share with him--and to glimpse his soul.

The other actors are outstanding as well--Chiwetel Eijofor and Michael Caine have memorable supporting roles (Caine is simply marvelous), while Julianne Moore and Claire-Hope Ashitey portray women who are both heroic and vulnerable, and deeply individual. In fact, early every character in the movie (even the very minor characters) is a fully realized person--evidence of exceptional writing.

It is a dark movie, in many ways, and certainly not for everyone. But there are moments of laughter, even joy, which are as jolting and unexpected as the tragedies. And nothing, neither laughter nor tears, is cheap or manipulative: this is honest storytelling, willing to explore the depths of both joy and suffering, willing to look steadily at life in all its horror without losing sight of its unbearable beauty.

Of course, I'm not the Oscars, and my sister-in-law doesn't have time to make me dresses. So I'll console myself by wearing my very spiffy Firefly-dragon-necklace, and throwing popcorn at the TV screen when the Academy displays its inevitable prejudice against sci-fi, and gives top honors to the usual suspects.

In the meantime, anyone* who hasn't seen Children of Men should make every effort, reasonable or un, to go see it.



*This recommendation does not apply to Black Dragons, or to any creature profoundly disturbed by blood, explosions, childbirth, and/or words-beginning-with-F.