Last weekend I meandered over to the Bijou for a second view of “Volver,” because I had unanswered questions. Though it was no “Memento,” Almodóvar’s new film had complex elements I had to sort out in my over-curious brain. Oh, those art-house films and their thought-provoking ways…
I came home ready to write a full review for the paper and a critical analysis of the mise-en-scéne. Thankfully my roommate stopped me from spending Saturday night intellectually engrossed.
“Hey Karyn, do you want to watch ‘Broken Bridges?’” Kai asked, his long black hair just asking to be braided.
The temptation of a mindless-movie-watching session with my roommates was too much to pass up.
I had no idea what I was in for.
Why would Kai, my artistic, bilingual, 23-year-old roommate intentionally order “Broken Bridges” from Netflix? I asked myself.
Why not, Karyn?…Why the hell not?
This full-length, Country Music Television classic starring Toby Keith had me glued to the bean bag on the living room floor. I developed a sick, sick obsession with seeing how Toby would mend the broken relationships (bridges) between him, his ex-girlfriend and their love child. Via country music duet, I surmised.
In the first shot, good-looking troops wrestled on the grassy grounds of a small southern town. Typical. Or was it? I’d never seen a CMT classic before. Time to brush all stereotypes aside, I thought to myself. Who am I, an arthouse-film junkie, to judge my first Toby Keith movie?
So the plot goes like this: Some troops from a small town die in a training accident. Brother of a dead soldier, Bo Price (Keith), a washed-up country singer who left his pregnant girlfriend as a teenager, returns home. Meanwhile, his ex-girlfriend (Kelly Preston) and her Ashlee-Simpson-esque daughter travel from Miami back to the small town, where the three must reunite to mourn the loss of relatives as well as face each other for the first time in 16 years. Beautiful.
As I washed away all my preconceived notions of how country-music inspired flicks might play out, “Broken Bridges” fulfilled every stereotype in the book. The big, sassy black maid only chimes in to say things like, “Aww honey you don’ even KNOW.” Et cetera, Et cetera.
Burt Reynolds plays a disgruntled southerner who makes fun of his granddaughter’s kooky clothing… oh those young people! The kids in the town go off-roading in a giant, brand new Ford truck, Bo Price gets drunk with his buddies at a hoe-down and Reynolds’ character’s wife preaches about the job of a woman to stay by her husband in all circumstances. She says to her grown daughter, “You don’t know what goes on between a man and a woman in a marriage.” What goes on? I’d love to know the secret of an unhappy marriage to Burt Reynolds.
No, really.
All right, enough “Broken Bridges” bashing. Let’s get down to the intellectual analysis. I was utterly intrigued by the odd, sexual tension between Keith’s character and his daughter, Dixie. They go swimming together and giggle as their wet clothes cling to their bodies. Father-daughter bonding indeed. This incestual undertone must have been artistically intentional, to show the intricacies of southern living. I also enjoyed the poorly dubbed musical performance at the end, which mirrors the characters’ mature realization that not everything has to be perfect in a family, or in a major motion picture. Also, the three main characters’ total reformation of the “broken bridges” between them into strong, Golden Gate-like bridges happens so fast and for no reason, I realized, hey! I don’t have to work hard to make old friendships last! I can just invite Willie Nelson to play a benefit concert at my local high school, and everyone will love me again.
Thank you, CMT, director Steven Goldmann and of course, you Toby, for breaking the mold of bible-belt stereotypes and enlightening me on truth about the South.
Keep in mind, I watched the whole DVD, plus extras. I loved it. Just as much as I loved “Black Christmas.” I’m serious. Sometimes guilty pleasures outdo chic, mind-boggling artwork. “Broken Bridges” provoked my thought-processes more than “Volver” by a ten-fold. Toby Kieth made me seriously question the meaning, and the point, of life.
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