This Danish film, like all good movies, is real.  We get to meet characters in a real world and watch them take steps in their development as humans.  There’s love, some pain, and joy.  It’s the best movie I’ve seen in a while.

Kristoffer and his friend Geir work for an advertising company pasting posters on billboards.  They cruise around some Norwegian coastal city in a dilapidated little VW van-truck.  Like Thierry Guetta, Kristoffer is an obsessive filmer.  He carries his camera everywhere recording the antics of Geir and their reclusive roommate Stig. They make a sort of milder version of “Jackass”.

Kristoffer’s love life drives the movie, but along the side there’s drama to be found in Geir’s past and Stig’s fears.  When some tapes are discovered by a TV station, the three roommates get thrust into sudden stardom, adding an extra layer of excitement.  All along we grow to love Kristoffer for his sweetness and naivete, his broken heart and his awkwardness.  We love Geir for being a good friend and for becoming a man, and we love Stig for facing his fears and sharing his true feelings.

We love these people just as we love anybody with a good heart, and we want desperately for them to be happy.  And while we see where we want these characters to go, how we want their lives to work out, there’s nothing so elaborately developed or abnormal as to make the ending obvious.  So we sit and we watch and gradually things unravel and reach a tipping point, and then our characters step up and speak their truth and show who we’ve really known them to be all along, and everything collapses back into place in the most satisfying fashion.

I guess I don’t need much of anything in a movie besides truth.  I just want to believe that these people could exist, and I want to see them grapple with the rich experience of life.  100 minutes later, I can feel my heart stirring as the ending credits cruise by.  It won’t jump out and shock you, but “Buddy” will remind you of how perfect life is.

Today I’d like to share a fantastic interview from Tulsa public radio.  Stanley Lewis is a force of nature in the art world.  You will never meet a man more excited about painting, committed to his work, or genuinely interested in the artistic growth of his students.  Above all Stanley lives life with a childish sense of wonder and a firm presence in every moment—characteristics that make him a joy to be around and a legendary painter.

Stanley’s work is currently on display at The Hogue Gallery on the University of Tulsa’s campus, and he took time to discuss his painting practice with Rich Fisher.  It’s 30 minutes well spent, and here are some highlights:

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At the Chautauqua School of Art where I studied this past summer, the studios are situated in a horseshoe-shaped block that opens onto a grassy quad.  In the quad are picnic tables and a big shade tree, and art students often congregate here while not at work in their studios.  There’s a covered walkway that goes around the front of the studios, with lateral beams spanning a row of white wooden columns.  It is on one of these beams that I managed to experience one of the most embarrassing moments in my life.

The beams hang about nine feet above the ground, and early on last summer I discovered that with a full leap I could touch the top of the beam with both hands, and with a serious commitment I could jump up and grab on.  I found the process both frightening and rewarding, as I’m terribly afraid of heights, but once up on the beam I could do a few pull-ups and gently drop back to earth, which made me feel very strong and manly.

I made a point to attempt this maneuver a few times each day—usually right before meals.  I felt that I was slowly conquering my fears with each leap, steadily making myself into a better person and a stronger man.  Each time I would make a couple of practice jumps, then steel myself for the big leap.  Each time I had to overcome my fear and commit fully to the jump, I had to visualize my fingers securely over the edge of the beam, and then throw myself up there with all my might.  Sometimes, after a couple of practice jumps, I’d chicken out and head for food, but I usually got up there at least once a day.

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