“I love you like a son.” “I love you like a father.” Colombiana, 2011 This is a sleek and disturbing and brilliant film. Because her parents are murdered (by the man who made the exchange in the above quote, with her father as the “like a son”), love can’t be real, it can only be a replacement, a decoy. Because her childhood was taken from her (literally imprinted onto someone else, out of necessity, out of conviction and love), she can only deal in images of it, sending out a message that it must MUST return to her, must be given back. Her calling card. Because reality was shaken before her, she can only manipulate it, not experience it. The final song as the credits roll, about hurt and pain, is an affirmation of the life she regains, not a denial of living — not nihilism. Life has become inadequate to her. The inadequacy of the way things are means the heroine strives for the way things should be. This means she suffers greatly, makes selfish decisions, and is reckless in cruel ways. Other people are hurt. She is not afraid to hurt other people. And in a beautiful moment, can see that struggle: “what a beautiful family you have” she says to the man who has what she wants. Not sadistically. And as she says to the only attachment she has left to the life she’s created, maybe it will take a miracle, a divine touch, to bring things back to normal, to human happiness. And as the final shot sits, we see not running away or malaie, but a chance at spiritual renewal, the next step. —— A great moment of Fantasy: instead of the click of a microwave door, we hear the lock of a gun. We see not what we hear. We get not what has been taken from us, but would could be. The film is told from the heroine’s point of view, becaus it’s her story we’re imaging, it’s her almost-cliched bloody rampage of revenge that gets displaced onto an affirmation of the strength needed to live a good life.

“I love you like a son.” “I love you like a father.”

Colombiana, 2011

This is a sleek and disturbing and brilliant film.

Because her parents are murdered (by the man who made the exchange in the above quote, with her father as the “like a son”), love can’t be real, it can only be a replacement, a decoy.

Because her childhood was taken from her (literally imprinted onto someone else, out of necessity, out of conviction and love), she can only deal in images of it, sending out a message that it must MUST return to her, must be given back. Her calling card.

Because reality was shaken before her, she can only manipulate it, not experience it.

The final song as the credits roll, about hurt and pain, is an affirmation of the life she regains, not a denial of living — not nihilism.

Life has become inadequate to her.

The inadequacy of the way things are means the heroine strives for the way things should be. This means she suffers greatly, makes selfish decisions, and is reckless in cruel ways. Other people are hurt. She is not afraid to hurt other people. And in a beautiful moment, can see that struggle: “what a beautiful family you have” she says to the man who has what she wants. Not sadistically.

And as she says to the only attachment she has left to the life she’s created, maybe it will take a miracle, a divine touch, to bring things back to normal, to human happiness.

And as the final shot sits, we see not running away or malaie, but a chance at spiritual renewal, the next step.

——

A great moment of Fantasy: instead of the click of a microwave door, we hear the lock of a gun.

We see not what we hear.

We get not what has been taken from us, but would could be. The film is told from the heroine’s point of view, becaus it’s her story we’re imaging, it’s her almost-cliched bloody rampage of revenge that gets displaced onto an affirmation of the strength needed to live a good life.