“Gin a body catch a body, comin’ through the rye”-J.D. Salinger
Just as Holden Caufield mishears and misinterprets Robert Burns poem, filmmakers, Ariel Schulman and Henry Joost, also try to attempt to metaphorically hook the title of Catfish by attributing it to some borderline retardo husband, who flippantly and anecdotally relates how catfish are employed to help keep cod fresh, to how artists’ need to be coddled, protected, and enabled by somebody. Pretty much like Kathy Bates in Misery, “Mr. Man” is Nev Schulman.
Fake as her Facebook profile pics were, this Catfish’s art was so terrible she even had to pass it off as her 5 year old’s! If Holden Caufield were around, considering his biggest pet peeve is phoniness, he would have dragged Angela out of the field of rye and thrown her fat ass off that fucking cliff! I have more respect for the Craigslist killer.
Besides the extreme cost of living and bedbugs running rampant, one of the many benefits of living in NYC is going on opening nights and hearing a short Q & A from the director, Schulman and producer, Andrew Jarecki afterwards.
Most of the questions hurled at them were about the validity of the movie and the true depiction of the characters (which is understandable considering how they/the distributors marketed the movie as a thriller with it’s Blair Witch like trailers) but they feigned innocence in one of the many deceptions surrounding this movie, and I call it a movie rather than documentary because of this. I mean, it certainly was entertaining watching a Facebook romance blossom between a very likable NYC photographer and a sexy singer/songwriter/horse whisperer from Ishpeming, Michigan, but unless you were born in the 1800s and are naive enough to believe people don’t represent themselves as they really are in cyberspace, Catfish is not enlightening like a documentary should aspire to. As for the real cancer free painter Angela, who substituted romance novels for Facebook and a snapshot happy dancers’ photographer to a fish loving father and his knuckleheaded retarded children, she will most likely profit from this movie for selling her artwork in which the filmmakers adamantly stressed is good to sort of somehow justify their expose. But I’ll pass on purchasing her spit & hair laden paintings and just recommend this movie for those who never got a chance to Shoot the Freak at the recently demolished old Coney Island.
Hopefully Nev Schulman will at least videochat next time or blame Facebook creators and see Social Network opening night with me! Holden’s final words were, “Don’t ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody.” That was over 50 years ago, now it’s more like, “Don’t ever Friend anybody anything….”