license and registration, please

I am terribly confused. Just how old is James McAvoy? The Internet Movie Database says he was born 1 January 1979. That would make him 28.

But read this first sentence from an article by Ella Taylor in LA Weekly: "On January 1, one day after his 27th birthday and fresh from his honeymoon, James McAvoy slips into a coffee shop in the fashionably scruffy North London borough of Crouch End, where he’s bought a house with his bride, the actress Anne-Marie Duff."

This supposes he was born 31 December 1979. There is very nearly a year's difference here! Something tells me Taylor is right since, regarding his success so far, he is quoted as saying, "'Look at all the actors who were so successful at 27 and then disappeared.'" You wouldn't say that about yourself without indirectly referring to your own age (in this context), would you? Then again, he might just be referring to the success he's had up until that age because he's just barely 28. I don't know what to think anymore.

I apologize for nitpicking, but something like someone's birth-date always catches my attention. I have a (semi) photographic memory, and I am very good at remembering numbers, especially dates. But McAvoy's birth-date doesn't mean much in the long run, I know.

I will say this, though: If he was born 31 December 1979, it is too cool. He could have just spent hours--or even minutes--in the 1970s. Same goes for Val Kilmer; his experience in the 1950s is also limited to just hours or minutes. How do I know all this?

Oh, and I want to comment on the article's title: "Great Scot." This is the go-to headline for anything regarding a Scotsman. Ewan McGregor would get this kind of treatment in the American magazines, and I'm sure he still does somewhere.

history digestives

I should start a file where I can slip my Sainsbury's experiences inside. It didn't surprise me today that I would have to pay for the bus; I got caught up giving my French film professor Bon voyage (2003) because he's never seen it and it is related to our endeavors in analyzing how films have perpetuated/subverted the myth that all Frenchmen (and women) were active resistors during the Occupation (1940-44). But that's neither here nor there.

I almost forgot this morning my water bottle. I ran back inside and got it. Never drank from it during my jaunt into town. What I had forgotten were my Sainsbury's shopping bags (well, one is from Whole Foods), and I hadn't noticed this until I was on my way through the city center from Waterstone's to Sainsbury's. Fuck, I thought. I ended up buying two shopping bags: one just like the one I use every time and another which is more cloth-like. It turned out not to be very big (thus not worth the 75p). In any case, I really like grocery shopping without using plastic bags and when I return to the States, you best believe I am going to continue to shop without. Sorry, Dad.

I haven't had tea in a long time, and I really want to, so I bought digestives. The digestives, my friend, are back!

who the fuck is smoking in my room?

I just popped in Girl with a Pearl Earring (2003) because my friend and I were discussing Black Book (2006), the Dutch movie we're going to see on Thursday. I suddenly got the craving to see something that takes place in Holland. I couldn't wait until Thursday, apparently.

In case you are wondering, my posts are bland these days because I want to refrain from focusing on the negative. But I will say that I had a bizarre cross-cultural experience today, receiving feedback on my essay in front of eight others from the class. He did the same to them, too, and I think he was incredibly condescending and humiliating to these girls. But I'm sure his intentions were good, or at least he hoped they would come off that way...

I will say I wasn't happy with the mark I received. It's not the end of the world. But I honestly thought he didn't understand me because his main criticism about my paper was that I concentrated too much on subjective, personal history instead of collective history. The paper was about how our individual memories/interpretations of the past are a part of our identity and how we view the past depends a lot on who we are. For the benefit of everyone else in the room, he read out my title first, "History as I Remember It: The Intersection of History, Memory & Identity." Then he started to nitpick at my choosing the first person. I had to explain that I didn't mean for "I" to reflect me, Alexandra. Rather, it's just better than the detached, impersonal "one." It is meant to stress the individual's uniqueness. In any case, I thought he was a postmodernist and would understand where I was coming from, thinking my essay was just a continuation of the discourse in class. Did I really have to re-hash everything about collective memory given the word limitations?

Tomorrow, I go to a lecture on the representation of women and femininity in contemporary Brazilian cinema. The visiting lecturer is only going to focus on two films. Wow. She's really running the gamut there, eh? Well, I suppose it's probably just a chapter for a book manuscript. Nevertheless, I'll let you know what I think.

I guess I couldn't resist the negative.

i've got to admit

I paid some attention to suggestions offered by Stephanie and my father. I even tacked a sort of reminder ("Don't expect so much") on my book shelf. If I want things to get better here socially, I have to relax. I have to smile more, initiate conversation instead of waiting for someone else to start, forget about what I think I want in an exchange. No, Alexandra, they can't all be intellectual and/or about what you like.

I have taken these steps to change my mindset and attitude, and I had a great day today. Two people in my 1960s course noticed I was quite cheery. I said it was about the weather turning (it's getting brighter and warmer), but it's also about this change I want to make. I had a great day today because I talked with people, smiled, laughed, and nothing bothered me at all.

Well, actually Lacombe Lucien (1974) was exceptionally boring.

she wishes she were klaus nomi

HATE
Nina Hagen (absolutely everything)

i'm starting a new list of things

Movies I haven't seen in YEARS and desperately want to watch ASAP:

The Land Girls (1998)
Jude (1996)
Mrs. Dalloway (1997)
Gattaca (1997)
Gas, Food Lodging (1992)

I'll keep them coming...

it's about time you played 'em, jay

LOVE
Lightning Seeds

floundering laundry

Laundry. Always exciting. I write this as my wash starts its second hour of drying. But this is not the story I want to tell.

I went back down to the laundry a few minutes before the wash was finished. I thought it would only be three or four minutes, but it had seven minutes left when I got there. So, to keep myself busy, sane, I cleaned up a bit. I scraped off the lint from the lint collector/screen (what is it called?) in all of the dryers. I even collected the lint balls off the floor.

Then two girls came in. They were saying to one another how it looks so much cleaner since the last time they came in. They said all this without even looking at me, bending over to pick shit off the doors of all the dryers. It was as if they had no idea how it came to be like that. They just collected their clothes from two of the washers in their Sainsbury's shopping bags. They didn't even use the dryers. I don't understand. They had a lot of clothes. Are they just going to hang it all up to dry? Do they have a clothes line?

Later, I came back to collect my drying. Didn't think it would be ready, so I came prepared with more money. To make a long story short, after slipping in 10 more pence to get me six more minutes (what a difference!) I accidentally put in a pound, which got me an additional 60 minutes. I could have sworn it was the other 10p I had in my pocket. I laughed at my stupidity, but it really isn't that big a deal. After all, when I originally arrived to start my wash, I used the one available washer, which only needed 50p to start. (A wash costs at least £1.50, so someone must have made a mistake or was feeling generous.) So I didn't end up saving money today because I was foolish not to look at which coin I was putting in the machine.

Sorry to have bored you with this, but I am trying not to think about how I lost over $10,000 in a departmental scholarship. Bummer. Today sucks.

this is forced

I have nothing to report. Been a rather slow day. Merely started researching and writing a paper that is due in a month ("kiss my face"), read about the cultural history of advertising according to Raymond Williams, and watched three movies: Pride & Prejudice (2005), Vanity Fair (2004), and Around the World in 80 Days (2004).

Don't you just love my boring weekends? I know I do.

happy birthday, kelly macdonald

Don't feel too bad about deciding not to see Travis in Glasgow in March. (Would have to miss the last sessions of two of my courses.) The band's announced a full-fledged tour for May and June, stopping in Manchester in late May. That's much easier!

camp is performed but must be perfected first

Around campus there are many advertisements that try to convince my English student-peers to work as volunteers in the U.S. doing this and that. This is nothing new, but today I saw one with "Work at camp in America." What is wrong with this picture other than the fact that the people look too deliriously happy with American flags waving in the background? This statement is missing what I presume is an indefinite article: "a." "Work at a camp in America." That sounds much better. When I first read it, I thought they mean for the English to go over to the U.S. and help the Americans get campy, help them develop camp. Americans don't need help with camp.

i was hot and i was fuzzy

Just saw Hot Fuzz (2007) tonight. Definitely not what I was expecting, but still very funny. I think I prefer Shaun of the Dead (2004) to it, though. However, I think there are elements in this new one that I don't think I would have gotten if I weren't living in England. Blowing the shit out of a Somerfield, the city as village, etc. You have to be here to understand and appreciate all of that.

I couldn't breathe I was laughing so hard when my Steve Coogan appeared as a London Metro police inspector. No one laughed like I did. We were sitting in the middle of the theatre as opposed to my favorite spot in the way back. Everyone's head was huge on the screen, even when there were no close-ups. So, seeing Steve looking like a hybrid of Alan Partridge and Mercy from Marie Antoinette (2006), giant, and in general being funny was terribly hilarious to me. Can't explain it, but I think you'll laugh your head off, too, when you see it in APRIL. Boo-ha!

They must have read my previous post in anticipation of seeing the film; they played "Caught by the Fuzz" in the end credits.

strange sex

In addition, I would like to share an idea I had a long time ago that I keep re-visiting. I once invented for the purpose of writing a short story an actress who performed in a fictional film I called Strange Sex. The film within the story revolves around a FTM transsexual who must not only contend with the trials and tribulations of dating and relationships as a new man, but also his so-called liberal mother's disapproval of his transformation.

Here in an excerpt from a fictional entertainment article about the actress, Aliceanna Rose, playing the transsexual, Sam:

"There is a scene in Strange Sex, where Sam, who has just convalesced for a period of four months following his sex-change operation, looks at himself in the mirror. It is a long scene, clocking in at over three minutes. Completely silent. From the side, we watch as he touches his penis. Eventually, his tears stop and he bursts out laughing, smiling back at the reflection. When he decides he has had enough, he nods approvingly, wipes the tears of laughter from his face, and steps away from the mirror. This scene is one of the most human ever captured on film. Newcomer Aliceanna Rose conveys the visceral catharsis of a person--finally--feeling at ease in his or her skin. And this is also the first scene of the film."

The actress later goes on to win numerous film awards for Best Actress. When she accepts her first award of the season, she asks rhetorically, "Why haven't I won Best Actor? I played a man."

I post this incomplete fictional idea now because I would love to see Strange Sex as a movie someday. Just imagine the image and narrative you're immediately confronted with. And what would it say about performance?

the confusion of genders

I've been reading more today from Female Masculinity (1998), and while it has helped me conceptualize ideas regarding transgender identity and sexuality, it has also confused me to the point where I feel conflicted.

For instance, Judith Halberstam writes that gender is not fluid because when crossing from one sex to another (i.e. female to male), there is a sort of "scripted" process in establishing/maintaining a gender identity. I understand this, but is it not possible for me to use "the fluidity of gender" to mean something else, something that would link gender fluidity to gender ambiguity? (I don't see them as the same thing.) In other words, all genders, I think, are ambiguous because no one is 100% of this or that gender 100% of the time. (Do we even know, or can we even recognize all the features of any gender? No.) It is the overlap of these features across the genders that makes gender fluid, too. I hope this makes sense, or perhaps this is just the difference between transsexuality and transgenderism?

Actually, writing about it has helped clear up the confusion. I'm OK. What I think makes sense. But it is not one of the differences between transsexuality and transgenderism. The difference, in relation to gender ambiguity and gender fluidity, is that transsexuality demands something more rigid, more hetero-normative, but at the same time doesn't reject gender fluidity or gender ambiguity, which transgenderism accepts (almost on principle).

every little thing he does is magic

Saw The Prestige (2006) last night. Can't say much because, dearest reader, you've not seen it yet. See it! It's pretty damn amazing.

narcolepsy in the uk

Here's another thing: I attract so many narcoleptics. During Flamenco (1995), the girl that had slept through my presentation on Guggenheim Museum Bilbao sat next to me and slept pretty much through the whole film. Why come to something--whether it's class or a film showing--if you're just going to sleep?

Today, I had to share a handout with a girl in my French cinema class. And as soon as slid my paper between us, she started to nod off. She would wake only when I made the slightest of movements. I was never even trying to wake her. How rude it is to fall asleep/sleep during class! If I were the prof, I would never tolerate such a thing.

Is it the plastic bags you all carry around that make you so sleepy?

i'm the queer one

This is nothing new. (See this for more information.) And it's not surprising either that my queerness comes up in Spanish class.

Someone presented a scene/song from Flamenco (1995), that awful film I had to watch for the class. "Fandangos de Huelva" was the one she chose to discuss, and I still don't know what a "fandango" actually is. I mean, how is it different from the other styles? But that's neither here nor there.

The scene basically consists of an old man sitting at the head of a long table, singing about how much he loves someone. Then the camera moves over to look at the opposite end, over all the heads of the people sitting at the table keeping the rhythm. At the other end is another old guy singing the same kind of thing, something about crying so much he collected a full glass of water/his tears. How melodramatic. Anyway, the presenter kept saying that they're crying over a woman.

I asked, "Do you think they are lamenting about the same person?"

"It's unclear."

"And do you think it can be interpreted that they are in fact singing to each other, about each other?"

She laughed, as did many others in the class. "No, I didn't think it [flamenco] was homosexual in the past." (Flamenco is an old tradition, and this song is traditional.)

"Were there no gays in the past?"

La profesora chimed in that some famous flamenco singers during the 40s and 50s were gay, and of course they weren't broadcasting that part of their lives.

Someone else said, "Flamenco is conservative, so I find it hard to believe it could be homosexual."

They miss the point: the song could very well be about repressed love between men. There's no indication that who they are singing about is a woman. I am just too postmodern for these people.

I should note that the prof's reaction to my question/comment was pretty funny. She must think I wanna queer everything up because she knows about my thesis on transgender sexuality in film. (And I do wanna queer everything up.)

Here's the other reason I am queer to these people:

I am the only American. And during another student's presentation on Semana Santa in Seville, she explained that the Klu Klux Klan stole the idea for their pointy hats and capes from the costume of the processional figures, the nazarenos, who lead the way for the heavy floats depicting biblical scenes through the streets.

During the Q & A portion of the presentation, the teacher pointed at me and started talking about the KKK, as if I know all. At first, I made a joke that I mumbled for the girl sitting next to me: "Yeah, I'm a member." In turn, I asked the presenter if she knew why the KKK adopted the costume, considering they're certainly not Catholic. The teacher suggested I research it since the presenter didn't know. Yeah right. The instructor then said "it's still a prominent group." I thought, "Not where I live."

What vision of the U.S. are people receiving?

she's got the whole world in her hands

I just entered to win a World Traveler (as in STA Travel) contest to four countries. I can share the experience with just one other person. I hope the countries I chose on the entry form are not set in stone if I win; I doubt she'd like to go to Denmark, New Zealand, Peru, and Kenya. There are other countries I want to go to ahead of Peru and Kenya, but since I am already in Europe, the chances of me going to Spain and Germany are greater now than after I win the contest. That is, if I win it at all.

it's not irony that divides us

I've been wanting to post about some strange differences I've observed between the species homo sapien americanus and homo sapien britannicus. Here is a rough sketch of some instances:

1. The Americans know nothing of Britain, and the British think they know everything about the U.S. that they don't ask, they just assume they "know." For instance, the Americans over here know nothing about British pop culture beyond Top Gear. Apparently I am the only American in this corridor (there are quite a few) that knows Robbie Williams was formerly of Take That. And I have come across two Brits that admitted they do not know exactly where California is. One thought it was in the southeast, i.e. Florida.

2. You may think when visiting here that the hottest fashion accessory is the thick acrylic scarf, but you're fooled. The hottest fashion accessory is in fact the plastic shopping bag from places as wide ranging as Tesco and Selfridges. Almost all the girls carry one in addition to their bookbag and/or handbag. They carry library books in these bags, among other things such as that thick and heavy scarf. One girl I talked to even made a fashion statement with her bag, which I assume she must have chosen from the heap of all others in her collection simply because it is from a boutique shop in Edinburgh. By the way, they use a new plastic bag everyday. Couldn't be seen with the same one two days in a row. It's either that or it ripped.

3. Before coming here, I had no idea that in British English, one simply "takes" decisions. You do not "make" them.

4. The English are very hard to get to know, especially when you do not like spending every waking hour in the pub. They value their privacy, too, but sometimes there are blatant contradictions, such as the frequent male streaking that occurs outside in the courtyard. (I always miss the front, but I've seen many a pale ass.) And today, someone from my Spanish film class last term asked if the grade I received on my paper was OK. A bit confused by this question because it is not polite to ask/discuss grades with fellow students where I am from, I said, "Yeah, it's OK." I moved along, and thinking that it would be polite to show an interest in her, I went back and asked, "And you?" "Yeah." Glad that's sorted.

5. The English queue all day long. They queue at cash machines and at Greggs, and I hate watching them eat whatever meat breakfast sandwich they picked out as they walk around. It's so unflattering.

I think that is all for now. Feel free to ask me any questions about this fantastic species, homo sapien britannicus, as I have studied it well over four months now.

let's make out with our elbows!

As much as I love hearing "Kiss Me" by Steven Tin Tin Duffy, I must admit it's a bit ridiculous. He says to "Kiss me with your mouth/Your love is better than wine/But wine is all I have/Will your love ever be mine?" How else would I kiss him? With my armpit?

i'm riding a british surfboard

In drafting ideas for a story, this is all I could come up with:

"Why am I so stuck? Ruts are awfully uncomfortable. I feel like I can't think. Nothing can make me happy. When can I get out of here?"

P.S. The Illusionist (2006) sucks major ass.

weekends are pretty slow

I haven't done much today besides read two chapters from Female Masculinity (1998), nap for two hours because I am in pain (fuckin' period), cook (or rather heat up in a frying pan) burgers even though I ate only one, and watch Quills (2000). I wrote Louis a letter and I plan to read about Spanish television in preparation for my Spanish cultural studies class on Tuesday. Thank god we're moving on from flamenco. It's so boring and it all sounds and looks the same. I don't understand it, I admit that, but I do respect it as an art form. Please just don't expect me to see a performance if and when I go to Barcelona, one of the few places outside of Andalusia that takes flamenco seriously because most Spaniards could give a shit. This is fascinating: how something so specifically bound culturally and regionally ends up being such iconography for the entirety of the country. It's all Franco's fault.

Tomorrow I will read a play called Six Characters in Search of an Author (1921) by Luigi Pirandello as part of my European modernist literature course. It probably will be our most challenging text, but it sounds really interesting and postmodern, if you ask me: six characters are incomplete. The author hasn't fully fleshed them out, but they watch as actors rehearse the play that is based on their lives. They beg to be a part of a dialogue about what is going on. Authorship. Authenticity. Big issues. Big issues! (Please.)

Boredom. Last night, I tried to link all 206 DVDs in my collection to each other, in a sort of chain. I think I only linked about 50 before giving up and just concentrating on "couplets" or "triplets." What a useless and mind-numbing enterprise, but what else was I supposed to do?

congratulations on the new record

It's about time I received something from the Travis mailing list. I've been subscribed to it for almost two years, I bet, and now I finally get news from one of my favorite bands. They are playing three gigs in March, in my final week of classes, in fact, in: London (the 20th), Glasgow (22nd), and Warrington (the 23rd). I have looked up trains, buses, even hostels, but none of them are possible. Warrington is closest, damn near Manchester and just south of Wigan, but I cannot get there. I could take a bus but it would take 8 hours because of changes in Preston or whatever (and it's only an hour away!). Glasgow is the next closest, but this means I'd have to stay over. Where? I could go back to the hostel I stayed at before, but it's on the other end of the city center, and I'm not so sure I'd want to walk back alone in Glasgow in the wee hours of the morning. London is almost completely out of the question because it's the Monday of that week, and I'd end up missing so many classes on Tuesday trying to get home. Thanks, guys. It's almost as if they knew I would be here and chose dates and cities so as to further complicate my life.

that's inappropriate!

Why is Golden Earring's "Radar Love" being played on RadioIO80s right now? Not only do I think it is from the 70s, but it's stylistically different from everything else played. I made a comment earlier that I wouldn't be averse to hearing some Lionel Ritchie. I only brought him up because I thought of his "All Night Long" while Peter Murphy's "All Night Long" was playing. Now I see it might be possible...

this is newsworthy

Read this, from the celebrity news on imdb.com:

Pegg Accidentally Flashes Family Members

British funnyman Simon Pegg was left red-faced when he accidentally revealed his naked self to his entire family. The Shaun Of The Dead star made the mistake of showing his parents and siblings a home-made film without censoring the tape's contents. He says, "I once showed a holiday video to my entire family and forgot there was a point where I flashed. I only realized about one second before it happened and couldn't get to the remote in time to stop them all from seeing me pull down my trousers and reveal myself. My sister screamed and my mum said, 'Ooh, that's changed.'" The actor is next set to appear in cop comedy Hot Fuzz.

Now, I am sure they probably took this from an interview where Mr. Pegg was asked if he had any embarrassing moments. So, how does something like this end up in the news? It must have been a very slow news day. Couldn't they have found something about Lindsay Lohan gallivanting around like an idiot, with or without underwear?

However, it should be noted how funny this story is. "Ooh, that's changed," says his mother. And how misleading the first sentence is: he revealed himself on a tape he screened for his family. He didn't flash them directly. Newsworthy indeed!

i have a nice accent

When I missed the Sainsbury's bus yesterday, I ran into Claudia from Sicily, whom I had met on my day trip to Liverpool back in November. I met her Italian friend, Angela, who said that although she can understand British English better (when they speak clearly!), she much prefers the sound of the American accent. I assume she means the accent that isn't attached to any specific region because she says I have it. In other words, I don't sound like I am from New York, Boston, Texas, the Midwest, the South, etc. I have what people call the "accent-less" accent, which doesn't actually exist. (Everyone has an accent.) So I felt very good after she said that. Never been told I have a nice accent. Perhaps it's that I never thought I had a specific accent and thus felt less special. But I have a nice accent. How sweet.

the ugly guy

I've been meaning to post something on Kevin Corrigan, or Kevin Fitzgerald Corrigan, I should say. I saw him recently in The Departed (2006). He played Leo DiCaprio's stupid, good-for-nothing cousin Sean. When I saw him in this role, I thought, "Martin Scorsese must not really like him." He played Ray Liotta's younger brother in Goodfellas (1990), but he played more with the background than with Ray.

Cut to the present: Boy does he look awful. Sure, one of his most notable roles is as "the Ugly Guy" in Walking and Talking (1996), but he isn't actually ugly. I rather like him (he reminds me of Gaz from Supergrass), which is probably why I feel the need to remark on the state of his looks now. On Grounded for Life (2001-2005), he might have looked strangely orange compared to the rest of the cast, but I thought this was just the make-up artist's problem. Kevin's much paler than the rest, so they over-estimated how he would look on camera and ended up putting too much make-up on him. Poor Oompa Loompa.

He's no longer orange, but he's suddenly very gray, and very scary, actually. Compare:



and



It was so nice to see him on-screen again, but he just didn't look too good. Very worried.

soviet stalker

There is someone on campus I am convinced is stalking me. I see him EVERYWHERE. In the center square named after me (no, it's not like Hollywood Squares, it's just the social and commercial center of campus: Alexandra Square). I see him walking around when we're each going to classes, in a sea of people. I don't recognize most people, but I know his visage now. And recently I found out that he lives in my building and is responsible for smoking just outside the door, where the smoke lifts and finds its way into my room on the fourth floor. My room ends up stinking as if I were the one smoking.

And when I saw Music and Lyrics (2007) yesterday, he was there with his date. I get the feeling he recognized me, too. Does he think I stalk him? It's pretty funny.

I call him the "Soviet Stalker" because I think he is Russian or at least Slavic. His language, when speaking with his date, sounded like Russian. And he looks like the guy who played Ivan the Terrible in Sergei Eisenstein's 1944 epic, only not as gaunt. He's not scary, either, but he has long hair in a ponytail and wears a beard. His eyes are sometimes the same as Ivan's, I think. Maybe I should call him "Sensitive Ponytail Man." He is better looking than James LeGros.

r.e.m. song

Well, this might come as a shock: I'm not too fond of R.E.M. I know. I've even seen them live, in 1999, I think, when Spacehog supported them and ended up upstaging them, if you ask me. On RadioIO80s, I absolutely hate all of the songs they play by R.E.M. with the exception of "Orange Crush," but I don't hear it enough. I don't like these songs because they all sound the same, at least the subject does: "Finest Worksong," "Radio Song," "Radio Free Europe," "Drive," and "Driver 8." It's so boring.

I still wouldn't place them in the HATE bin. I understand that this is only a portion of their catalogue and stream host Jay Cumbie must not have any of their other records.

oh fuck it

I'm gonna have a party.*

I get the sense that it's not very cold today. I was sweating a bit yesterday walking around Lancaster, often carrying my coat. It will turn very cold at night, as it always does, but I am going to not wear my coat and instead wear my favorite piece of clothing: my adidas France jacket.

I haven't worn it since September. Not just because of the weather. I was--and to a degree, still am--afraid I would be mocked or insulted for supporting France in England. (I would imagine if I wore a Portugal jacket it would be worse since they kicked England out of the World Cup last year.) I figure now, what could they do to me? People already hate or dislike me or feel so disinterested in me that they won't even say "hello" or acknowledge my existence when I am talking to their friends.

Besides, I have done stuff here that most don't understand/like/approve of, such as my haircut (it's a long A-line 'do), my "Obsession" poster, my constant wearing of my blue winter cap (I feel like a Wes Anderson character, or a cartoon: always in the same thing), my not going to the pub EVERY night (who has that kind of money?), and my being open to discussing queer sexualities, to name but a few. So who cares anymore?

* No, not really. I rather quote this Nada Surf song, "Blankest Year," to demonstrate my little rebellion.

warning!

At Sainsbury's I picked up a packet of sugar free fruit gums. I would have posted a picture of the bag, but I couldn't take a good enough photo. Thank god they're nothing like the jelly babies that I bought last week. Tried two of those. Spat the second out. They're like gummi bears but come with this thick powder all around them. When I first saw that, I thought something was wrong, that it was abnormal jelly baby behavior. No. They're all like that in Britain. Disgusting.

These fruit gums are OK, but I am worried. There is a warning on the package that I have never seen on any kind of food before: "Excessive consumption may induce laxative effects." Not looking forward to those tonight.

what happens when a square is suddenly spontaneous?

She ends up waiting anyway.

To re-cap my day today: I missed the free Sainsbury's bus into town, and not really wanting to wait around for the next one an hour later, I paid the £1.90 for a return ticket. After all, this way I could take my time and/or not have to wait almost an hour for the bus back. (It doesn't take me long to shop.) So I went looking around for a cheap sweater. Tried on a few. The girl who worked in the fitting room at New Look (like H & M really) was such a bitch that I didn't return to try on the other size. But who cares? At least I got what I really wanted: the March issue of Sight & Sound.

I took so long wandering around because I decided to see Music and Lyrics (2007). It is Valentine's Day, after all. And what better way to celebrate than to go to the movies alone? I missed a show when I got there, so I had to wait around for almost two hours for the next one at 3.30. In the meantime, this was when I was on the hunt for a comfy sweater.

It was worth the wait. Of course it doesn't re-invent the romantic comedy genre (I'm convinced it's up to me to do this; any suggestions on how to?), but it is fun and Hugh Grant and Drew Barrymore have chemistry. Most notably, however, the music is pretty damn good. Very catchy. By the end of the film, you're singing along to "PoP Goes My Heart." It's that infectious. I must say that I think the film was probably made for us women (and men) who wanted more of Hugh Grant thrusting his hips in every direction. He teased us so in Love Actually (2003).

Last night I saw Starter for 10 (2006), something I had been looking forward to for so long because of the 1985 setting (that year promises a great soundtrack), the university setting (I'm familiar with Bristol's status after spending so much time in England), and the incredible James McAvoy. Well, the soundtrack is dominated by The Cure. Not a terrible thing, but when it's not very varied and you never see any references to the characters liking/listening to The Cure, you have to wonder: why? Plus, when will filmmakers learn there is more to New Order than "Blue Monday"? (This applies to you, too, The History Boys [2006].)

The performances are very good, especially McAvoy's. And it is pretty funny, but I don't like either of the girls featuring in his love triangle. Alice isn't very pretty, but at least she's not the stereotypical bitchy and slutty co-ed that our hero-nerd lusts after. Rebecca is just a caricature of someone as well-rounded as Holly in Me Without You (2002). She's involved with so many causes, protesting all the time, that you have to wonder what kind of state her GPA is in. Plus, can she not be loyal to a single cause? She'd get a lot more done, serve it better, if she just focused on one.

All in all, what I can take away from the film is the confirmation that I have a crush on Dominic Cooper.

happy valentine's day

For Stephanie.

i can't believe i forgot this one

HATE
10,000 Maniacs (absolutely everything in their catalogue; has to do with Natalie Merchant's voice)

what ever will happen to baby dannielynn?

I've observed that the already tragic life story of baby Dannielynn, Anna Nicole Smith's newborn, is ripe for a film when she grows older. It would be about her trying to find out her identity. I think I will change that, because now with three men involved in a paternity suit, it's like a melodrama right now. Smith probably died of a drug overdose, intentional or otherwise. She was bombarded with problems before she died: son died in a drug-related death at age 20, paternity suit, being sued by some idiot who claimed Trimspa didn't work for her, etc. And now Prince Frederic von Anhalt claims Dannielynn could be his. (Don't get excited; he bought his title.) What will become of baby Dannielynn? Maybe Madonna will adopt her.

in case you hadn't noticed

I got Firefox back. Yesss! Just tweaked my network configurations. Yes, I can do that sort of thing, but don't ask me which drive I put the CD into.

[exploitative]

This evening, I saw Nuit et brouillard (1955). Since I have read for class that it cannot be analyzed as a film and thus cannot be categorized as a film, I wonder, what can we call it? It's not just a "poetic meditation." (And since when are "poetic meditation" and "film" mutually exclusive?) But I'm getting ahead of myself...

It consists of color sequences of an abandoned concentration camp (which one? where?), filmed presumably in 1954/5 because it is the "present" as far as the film is concerned. These sequences are juxtaposed with archival footage of the construction and day-to-day of the camps as soon as they are filled and later emptied. It lasts only 30 minutes, set to eerie music and a poetic French voice/narrator.

We were warned by the prof that the images would be shocking. Even now. And that they will seem familiar, but I don't ever recall watching a bulldozer scoop up naked, emaciated, dead bodies and dumping them into a large pit. Nor do I remember ever seeing non-SS officers (are they Allies?!) pick up and dump bodies into the pit with their bare hands. Horrific, but still I couldn't cry.

I cry all the time in movies. I don't even wait till the end if something really pulls at me emotionally. But I could not for the life of me cry. I think I teared up once. Even though some of the images were new to my eyes, I still felt like I had seen it all before. I feel like the Holocaust has been drilled into my head because of family lore and classroom lessons I've had throughout my education. I just feel numb. I don't feel connected to it (anymore), except I have to say I was more than likely the only Jew in the auditorium, in the class.

Watching it, I couldn't help thinking, "Who filmed all this footage at the time? For what purpose? For whom?" I feel like if people had seen this at the time, maybe things would have been different. But of course it's the Nazis filming. Why would they want to remember what they've done? Were they going to show it on a big screen to rally people around their cause? I'm sure the average Joe on the strasse would vomit if he saw this. Yes, dein Fuehrer is a fuckin' sicko.

But we have this footage now, because we don't want to forget. It's as if they foresaw that one day, we would want to watch this to study them. Little did the Nazis know that we're studying their inhumanity.

The poem says we can't comprehend the reality that "the deportees" experienced. What does the inclusion of the uncensored archival footage say to that? No, I don't think it's attempting to show any authenticity. It's true we will never comprehend the reality, not even if we visit the sites and have our photos taken of us in front of the gate. Are we smiling? The footage just raises questions of, "well, why did they attempt to show the atrocities?" It's all so exploitative.

but where?

In between classes today, I read a bit from Neither Here Nor There (1991) by humorist/travel writer Bill Bryson. He's basically going round Europe 20 years after having gone through it with a friend when he was 20. I had started reading it before I left for England, back in September because the exchange program director/coordinator I dealt with recommended it to me. I liked what I read before I left but must have gotten too busy to continue. Plus, I read like three to five books at a time. Still haven't finished Pride and Prejudice, but that's neither here nor there...

Anyway, reading it again, I laughed considerably fewer times. Only when he discussed inflatable rubber girlfriends in Amsterdam and all the different ethnic varieties did I laugh. In general, I think I regard his humor as cruel and immature. He's like a hyper-hormonal teenager, ready to make fun of things he doesn't understand. Thank god he at least once admits that he may be wrong.

I just don't think I'm going to finish it. I'm sure there are much more thought-provoking books out there just waiting for me to spend some time with them. I'm lookin' at you, Female Masculinity (1998).

how did they fit so many egos into 9 minutes?

I just saw one of the most pretentious things I have ever seen. Not only is The First Ones a basic short film, it's directed by Jake Paltrow, you know, the younger brother of that Gwyneth. Featuring seven actors, mostly those who are nominated for Oscars or at least in Oscar-nominated films this year. It's not really an interview because he only asks them one question, off camera, about which films influenced them to become actors. None of them really answer the question, if you ask me. They're just dribbling off stupid nostalgia. And we watch it because we're addicted to celebrity.

Cate Blanchett: She recalls her father's death as maybe the reason why she loved horror films so much as a child. There's no real connection made between this and why she became an actor. Did she tell us this because she wanted to surprise us? Elizabeth I watched horror movies as a kid. Get out of town! (It should also be noted that she refers to the villain in the Nightmare on Elm Street movies as "Eddie Krueger.")

Brad Pitt: Sob story about being poor and going to the drive-in with his family. Is he acting, too? How clearly can YOU remember shit when you were in kindergarten? I think it's another case of remembering something in hindsight not as it actually was.

Helen Mirren: Why is she so dressed up? Totally out of place with the others. She looks ridiculous. Her shadow on the wall is creepy, too.

Abbie Cornish: Why are you interviewing her? But of course, she has the most interesting story about experiencing Who Framed Roger Rabbit (1988) blind.

Ken Watanabe: Coupled with the black and white photography, I felt his performance was straight out of an Andy Warhol interview, him pretending to be Warhol. Or maybe some foreign artist-intellectual. He is smoking after all. Isn't that what foreign artist-intellectuals do? That's just it, Watanabe speaking in Japanese not only breaks the rhythm of the film, but really is just a pretentious way of showing "the raw authenticity of the artist."

Penelope Cruz: On the other hand, her English has improved so much! Still, doesn't answer the question.

Leonardo DiCaprio: He comes the closest to answering the question, even if he thinks the movie that had such an impact on him, King Kong, came out in 1932 (it's 1933). He cried for three days, mourning Kong because he loved animals. This is just so sappy. What a performance.

Watch it. It will make you cringe to see how important they think they are, how humbling they think they're being. Maybe it's not their fault. After all, it's been filmed and edited in such a way that I'm sure they probably didn't participate.

oh and

LOVE
Billy Bragg (how could I have forgotten him?)

add these to the list

LOVE
Beautiful South

HATE
Bronski Beat (especially "Why")

it's like the montage

Just as I was the only one in the Children of Men (2006) audience to laugh/scoff at Clive Owen uttering "Jesus Christ" when he saw that the "fugee" he is meant to help is actually miraculously pregnant--and in a barn no less; I was also the only one to laugh when Matt Damon flirted with Vera Farmiga in The Departed (2006). They meet in the elevator of his building, and, being a psychiatrist to the police, she recognizes that he is elite because of the floor he gets off. He wants to further impress her, stating that he goes to law school, but that, hey, Harvard Law School ain't open at night so he's gotta make do with a lesser school. As anyone would know, what he means is that he's actually the night janitor at MIT in addition to being a detective in the state police. And a mathematics genius. This logic works out since we never see him study or even attend classes. He's too busy, entrenched in the Irish mafia.

children of women

Last night, I saw Children of Men (2006). In a word: intense. Emotionally and physically. Not just for the characters, but for me, too, as a viewer. I viscerally reacted to what was what happening: the bomb in the Greggs-like cafe, the attack on the car, etc. For this reason, I think the movie is possibly one of the scariest films I have ever seen. It's not a horror film, per se, but I would argue it is. Along the same lines as billing An Inconvenient Truth (2006) "the scariest movie you'll ever see" or something like that. Children of Men might be classified as science fiction because it is set 20 years into the future, but it's not Event Horizon (1997) or even Star Wars (1977), for that matter. I don't believe that in two years' time, women will start to become infertile, but I see the parallels the film is trying to make with the way things are going now. It's only going to get worse. Xenophobia. State-sponsored fear.

Stylistically, I think it is interesting. And here, there is another example of how this film defies being categorized into just one genre. It is filmed in a very rough documentary or docudrama fashion with shaky camerawork, crouching down to follow the characters as they escape in claustrophobic exteriors. Made me think of Welcome to Sarajevo (1997). War-torn setting. And it is a bit of a war movie, too. The conflicting interests, the extreme, graphic violence. And its grayness. Reminded me of Saving Private Ryan (1998).

I have a few questions/problems, though: Why wasn't global warming ever mentioned? Is it truly the least of their problems? Secondly, I agree with the friend I went to see it with that it is not acceptable for the film to blame women for the reason why there are no more humans being born. Who says it's women's infertility? Could it not be the men's problem? Also, why is the UK the last refuge on earth? Because it's a small island? Post-colonialism? Because that's where P.D. James set the novel on which the film is based? Then why did he set it here?

The characters all assumed the black pregnant "fugee" (made me think of Lauryn Hill and all) would give birth to a male baby. That wouldn't exactly help them, now would it? Of course it has to be a girl if you want her to keep the human race going again. I thought, "Yes, we shall inherit the Earth. What a fuckin' mess."

Almost forgot to mention the excellent song in the end credits. By Jarvis Cocker. "Running the World."

"The cunts are still running the world."

no in-betweens

As I have previously written, I listen to RadioIO80s for hours on end every day. While I do other things, of course. It usually is a very good mix. Before, the stream host, Jay Cumbie, was playing the same stuff over and over, but he's added some new songs. Most of them suck, but at least it's been spiced up.

Anyway, I am writing now to list the bands/artists that I love to hear and those that I hate to hear (whenever, wherever):

LOVE
New Order
Electronic
The Smiths
Morrissey
Adam and the Ants
Pet Shop Boys
Erasure
ABC
Style Council
The Church
XTC
Crowded House
Squeeze
Madness (except "One Step Beyond")
Split Enz
The Go-Betweens (have you heard "Cattle and Cane"?)
The Housemartins
Talk Talk
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark

HATE
Elvis Costello (except for "Watching the Detectives" and "Pump It Up")
The Go-Go's (I hate them with a PASSION)
Violent Femmes
Sisters of Mercy
Peter Gabriel (there are only a few exceptions)
They Might Be Giants
Altered Images
Berlin (especially "Sex (I'm A...)"; it's so stupid)
Kate Bush
Shakespear's Sister
Michelle Shocked
Phil Collins (though he's not played on RadioIO80s; thank god)

That about does it for now.

i was wrong

I have a confession to make. It's really startling. I am still coming to terms with it. You see, because I've been really depressed, lonely, and bored lately, a lot of people (from home) have asked if I feel homesick. Truth is, I don't. I don't miss my house or living where I did. I can move on from there. Sure, I miss my dad and my dog, but I see them regularly via webcam.

Truth is, I miss L.A. I told you it would be a startling revelation, didn't I? I miss it because it is fun in its own way. I love that you CAN actually walk to places (depending on where you are). You just park and walk to different kinds of places. Or you live near a major intersection. You can get anything in L.A. It's not special because of this. This is the way all cities are turning. (Especially in Britain; it's all the same.) I miss L.A. because I only go there to see my sister.

Whenever I get a craving to see it, I watch Laurel Canyon (2002). I've watched it a few times in the past couple of months. And I can say I like it better than when I first saw it, than when I last saw it, too. I appreciate its cinematography and interiors most. The aerial shots of L.A. in the beginning are breathtaking and don't attempt to capture the hills and the freeways empty. (Who said landscapes had to be uninhabited? Mel Gibson and Braveheart?) People live here. You can't deny that. I just kinda wish I was one of them right now. I might feel differently in the morning...

figured it out

Now I know why I cannot use hyperlinks in my text: I use Safari as my web browser, and such text formatting features don't work in Safari, only in Internet Explorer and Mozilla Firefox. I would use Firefox as I did at home, but it does not work on my network here in England. Fuckin' piece of shit.

don't you know me? i'm in movies, too.

I saw photos from the Oscars luncheon, where all the nominees got together. You should check out a few pictures. I mention this only because I was terribly amused by the nametags they wore. Does Steven Spielberg really need a nametag? Don't they all know who he is? Seeing this definitely de-constructed the myth that everyone in the Movies knows everyone. Flipping through the online gallery again, I see only some are wearing them. What does this say about ego?

http://uk.imdb.com/features/rto/2007/gallery/oscar07-lunch/33?seq=33

Here's another thing: I make a point to learn actors' and filmmakers' names and faces. Don't they do the same for their colleagues?

they shoot nationhood, don't they?

Just got back from a lecture given by Rob Stone of Swansea University. About Julio Medem's Basque Ball: Skin Against the Stone (2003), a controversial documentary that aims to create a dialogue around the "Basque Situation" through the film's construction (the juxtaposition of different opinions) and its audience consumption. I have never seen it, but I want to, and I was able to understand the lecture regardless.

It's a sad thing that one of the most striking aspects of his lecture was in the Q & A section: his constant references to any conversations he's had with the prolific director. Yes, he is an expert, and his research concerns Spanish and Basque cinema, but it got to the point where I felt like he and Medem are old chums. I would have like to have asked, "And how does your relationship (is there one or am I reading too much into this?) with Medem affect your interpretation of his work?" I understand he can directly quote Medem, and he knows the context for their conversations, but I just felt that he was not acknowledging his bias (in his presentation, even), for he came to his defense a lot. But at least he admitted the film is problematic. In any case, he was just name-dropping too much, and while it might have been to show that he can answer a question based on what he has genuinely experienced through his interaction with Medem, it was distracting.

Anyway, I think the Q & A section did raise some important issues: what is national cinema? Basque cinema? Basqueness? how is auteurism manifested? what is the difference between auteurism and the critiques the director gives him/herself in the media? should documentaries overtly address/profess biases? should the medium overtly show how the film is constructed?

Stone doesn't think films should be defined by nationality because the politics are too complex. Now, I am not saying we should over-simplify things (fuck no!), but nationality is important to identity. But I'm getting ahead of myself. I should say I was surrounded by faculty and grad students in the department who study language, identity, culture, and media from a European point-of-view. Nationality is very different when you discuss European cinema in that the governments directly fund the arts, including filmmaking. Some films can be co-productions between nations, and when you have different people working on it, it's more difficult to apply a nationality. Julio Medem is complicated because he comes from the Basque Country, made this documentary because he wanted to get in touch with his Basque roots (apparently) after having lived in Madrid for so long. However, he's usually discussed as a Spanish director, and Stone thinks he should be seen as a Basque director. I find this contradictory because he was the one that said nationality shouldn't define films. Shit! I should have called him on this!

What I am trying to say is that, no, we should consider a film's nationality. It's true that there is more to a film than the nationality of its director, the auteur. But what else would we use to classify them? Genres are restrictive, too. Auteurism just excludes so many other factors and treats the director as if she works in a vacuum. These approaches to analyzing film constitute the exact reason why I don't want to go into film studies. It's too narrow. Globalization has made it more difficult to see nationality, but that's no reason to ignore its link to other films, to the filmmakers themselves. And classifications will always be implemented. It's how the mind works. We must identify something--anything--against everything else.

A nation, or a culture, is represented on film regardless of which nation or culture is attributed to it. The filmmakers might have handed these impressions to us, or we might have made up the pattern ourselves based on our previous experiences with representations of the nation or culture in question. This, to me, just makes discussing films within the context of nationhood all the more interesting. What kind of nation is produced on screen, and how is it consumed by audiences?

the f word

I have had enough.

I have had enough of people coming in my room, noticing the poster on my wall, quickly turning their heads, and never addressing the fact that I have a giant picture of a woman's bare chest on my wall. The novelty, of course, is that she has "Obsession" scribbled across her chest, her nipples substituting the O's in the word. I got the poster at the Design Museum (the only cool thing in London, if you ask me), and it is an old advertisement for a play entitled Obession and Fantasy.

I understand it makes me look like a lesbian. (And the poster on the opposite wall from the Gay and Lesbian Archives doesn't help either.) And it is polite not to ask someone about their sexual orientation. But why wouldn't someone, who probably knows I am straight, say, "Hey! What a poster you've got here!"? What are they afraid of?

The meaning the poster has for me is best explained in relation to a particular visit to my room. Last week, my misanthropic college residence officer (he's a bit like a landlord, but there's more bureaucracy I have to deal with than just him) and his assistant came in my room for a "room check." Basically making sure I haven't broken anything. I was not expecting THEM to do this; I thought this petty task had been contracted out. And I knew there was a possibility that my room would be checked (the selection was random, I am told).

Oh, they noticed the poster. Of course they didn't say anything. I understand they were there under official business, and that whenever they see me, they might remember "lesbian" in relation to my room number, but their not looking at it after noticing it proves my point: as I can assume they're straight, the poster is addressing their obsession and fantasy about the female body. What better way to say this than have it written on some (small) breasts? Can't you look your fantasy in the eye? What is there to be ashamed of?

Therefore, you can see where I am going with this. I see the poster in a very feminist light. And so that I am not misunderstood and taken for a lesbian, I have edited the poster. Oh, no, the tits still show in all their glory, but I have written in block capitals (a la the title credits of Dr. Strangelove) "FEMINIST." So dirty.

I should add that I merely want to stop being interpreted as a lesbian. (This is not new to me.) I do not think it is fair that someone with an interest in queer issues, comfortable enough in her own sexuality, should be thought of as something she is not. And I understand that I just add fuel to the fire with a poster from the Gay and Lesbian Archives especially, but I am also challenging stereotypes. And for the record, being a lesbian--or even called one--is not a bad thing, but it is not me.

there are tastes for a reason

Just heard a stream host on RadioIO80s advertise her new show. I listen to RadioIO80s for hours every day, as if just waiting to hear "Getting Away With It" by Electronic. But that's neither here nor there. This Mary McCann advertised her show, Great Music--I think it's called--as being a collection of great songs from all genres and eras. I thought, "If you like everything, you like nothing." I can't stand people whose tastes are so wide-ranging. Can they not be loyal? Plus, she identified herself as a life-long music freak. As if you're the only one, hon.

i hate "colorblind" because i'm not a racist

Read another article, this one by Sean Smith and Allison Samuels from Newsweek: "Colorblind at Last?" (http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/16950918/site/newsweek/).

Are the Academy Awards finally colorblind since 5 blacks (Djimon Hounsou is African, and perhaps not necessarily American) have been nominated this year? My answer is no. I have many problems with this question, though. "Colorblind" is a dirty word. There's really no such thing, even when they mention that youth today "care much less about race than their parents do" because "colorblind" ignores the fact that race and prejudices matter.

Another problem is: we have to stop thinking in this black-white binary. Yes, 11 black actors have been nominated since 2002, but what about other racial or ethnic minorities? Latinos? Asians? Native Americans? I could go on. And what about other groups? Arabs? Indians?

Now, the article does point out that a "Japanese actress and a Mexican actress, plus one Latino director" have been nominated this year, too. Alejandro González Iñárritu is Mexican. Why is he called "Latino"? Am I wrong in thinking that the word "Latino" refers to Latin Americans living in the United States? I'm pretty sure he lives and works in Mexico, and in Mexico, he is not "Latino." "Latin," maybe, but not "Latino." He's no different from the "Mexican actress" (Adriana Barraza) in this way.

Another thing: While the Academy Awards are international, and I do not see a problem with a non-American being nominated and/or winning, I do see a difference between someone who is, for example, Asian-American and someone who is Asian. I'm going to use Rinko Kikuchi from Babel (2006) as an example. I don't think her nomination is as groundbreaking because she is from Japan and lives and has worked outside the context of American racism. (Well, since she is an actress in what might be considered in some part an American film, I can see how the American context of racism affects her in this one case.) The point I am trying to make is: when was an Asian-American actor nominated? Fuck, we don't see them enough on TV or in film in order for them to get nominated! (This should be fixed. Now. Sandra Oh, a Canadian-Korean, is not enough!)

So what? Look at racism in America as an indication of who is missing from the big screen, from the nominations ballot. Someone from outside America doesn't represent those Americans from the particular racial or ethnic minority in relation to "breaking the color barrier." It's not broken.

And I didn't even get into what kinds of representations these roles for the minority actors have! And the politics of it all! (Need I remind you that Denzel and Halle won for roles that perpetuated negative stereotypes?)

the filmmaker as slacker

Just read Sharon Waxman's "The Mystery of the Missing Moviemakers" (http://www.nytimes.com/2007/02/04/movies/04waxm.html?ex=157680000&en=2bd3cb4967a53a03&ei=5124&partner=permalink&exprod=permalink).

Would have seamlessly pasted the hyperlink into the text, but Blogger won't let me. Pisses me off.

Basically the article's about how unproductive the darling filmmakers of the 1990s are today. This group includes Spike Jonze, Kimberly Pierce, Darren Aronofsky, and David O. Russell. I have to disagree with these last two: Aronofsky might have taken seven years to make The Fountain (2006), but does this mean he'll take another seven for his next project? And in those seven years he was making something very intricate and personal (have you seen it Sharon, even if it was critically panned and seen by almost no audiences?). Should films be rushed? Why do we have to see a movie from a director every year? Then it's as if it's a factory, mechanical and thoughtless, on an assembly line. What fun is that? Woody Allen makes a movie every year pretty much, and well, these past ones (yes, including Match Point [2005]) have sucked.

Now. David O. Russell has never struck me as being a lazy, unprolific filmmaker. An asshole, but not a lazy drudge. Again: so he made I Heart Huckabees in 2004. Who gives a shit if he didn't come out with a film in 2005 and 2006?

And so Waxman ends her article about the Mexican triumvirate: Alejandro González Iñárritu, Alfonso Cuarón, and Guillermo del Toro. This year they've been compared a lot to one another because of what they have in common, let's face it: Mexico. (Is it not interesting that though they're from Mexico, their films from 2006 are not wholly about Mexico?) I rolled my eyes when I saw her comparison, but at least she acknowledged their link as being the superficial reason for their constant comparison. And I didn't know Iñárritu and Cuarón are such good friends they help each other with the other's work (ideas and editing). So that was refreshing, but I couldn't help noticing the trajectory her argument had taken: "here are filmmakers who don't work much and we had such high hopes for them" to "why is this? are they not being properly nurtured?" to "the Mexicans who are compared to each other all the time." The Mexicans get it right. They nurture each other. Obviously this is not enough.

And why didn't Waxman think about FINANCING? How it's so hard to secure? C'mon! That's the obvious answer, is it not?

an un-interesting story, in fragments

I saw L’Année dernière à Marienbad (1961) this evening. Having not really enjoyed A Bout de souffle (1960) or Les Quatre cents coups (1959) all that much, I wasn't really looking foward to this one. Its reputation as being very difficult to figure out precedes it. In fact, I would have been happy to just to read about how there are at least 18 credible or logical interpretations of the events depicted. Didn't need to see this pretentious mess. All of the characters are creepy, too.

But I might be getting ahead of myself. The story is in fragments. A man tries to convince a woman that they met at this swanky hotel a year ago and that she promised to run away with him a year later. She's not sure this ever happened, and soon the scenes that take place in the past mingle so well with the present that you're not sure of what is past and what is present. Does she remember him? Was it a seduction? A rape? Did they fall in love? Is this seduction/rape/affair only just starting to happen now? It really doesn't matter. I appreciate what the film is saying though: it has no meaning without the viewer, who must actively engage with it in order to make sense out of it. How do people do it? You need to see the film 121 times to remember all the nuanced instances in order to put it all together.

All this made me think: in what sequence did they film it? That would maybe help, to make all the pieces of the puzzle fit.

fix the day

I am such a square. I just created and printed a schedule for the purposes of better managing my time outside of class, to cure boredom, if you will. With the afternoon classes and awkwardly long and drawn-out gaps in between, I need to find something more constructive than sleeping. So far, I have penciled in "Read something!" between Youth and Political Culture in 1960s Europe (Mondays, 1 to 2 pm) and film screenings for French Cinema since 1945 (Mondays, 5 to 7 pm). And I plan to "Work on [My] French!" after Cultural Production and Consumption in Contemporary Spain (Tuesdays, 11 to 1 pm) but before a lecture in French Cinema (Tuesdays, 5 to 6 pm). And let's not forget running the weekly errand to Sainsbury's on Wednesdays from 1 to 3 pm.

What else can I do with my time during the day?

what's in a name?

I'd been meaning to Google myself for weeks and only just got round to doing it. Really shouldn't have because I've experienced something truly bizarre. Now I know I must learn to detach myself from my name, recognize that it is not the only thing that identifies me. You see, reading my name anywhere, I naturally think it refers to me. Just as you would think of yourself when you read your name, right? There must be so many women out there with my name. Well, there were 1,570,000 hits, anyway. Suddenly I feel less unique.

This had to happen just when I started to re-claim my given name. Damnit.

caught by the fuzz

Forgot to say that on Wednesday, riding to Sainsbury's on the bus, I saw advertisements on the sides of all other buses for Hot Fuzz. Every time I saw one, I smiled. And when I wrote in my film journal today about Shaun of the Dead (2004), I said that "this comedy team" (namely Simon Pegg, Edgar Wright, Nick Frost), sure know how to cheer me up, how to make me laugh.

I cannot wait until February 16. If I were in the U.S., I'd have to wait till April, I think. Damn good thing I am here then.

beetles and things

I am not used to a thick comforter or quilt, but I have a duvet here. When I lie under it and look in the direction of my feet, I notice how puffy it is, engulfing me. I call it an iron lung because it looks like one.

I hang my coat on the hook on my door. The way the sleeves droop down reminds me of a beetle because they hold their larger, stronger wings over their weaker ones as if encasing them in a shell. The outer wings are called elytra. But because the coat is long and narrower than a beetle (proportionally speaking, of course), it reminds me of a dragonfly. Dragonflies cannot hold their wings down along their thin bodies. They have to keep them outstretched when resting.

By the way, I just read The Metamorphosis (1915). I really liked it, but it made me very sad. I also think it's Gregor's family that goes through a transformation, not Gregor himself because he remains considerate, loving, and quiet as ever.

if i were orson...

Weeks ago, I thumbed through the top ten best films ever made, according to tens of directors and critics from around the world. Repetitive, to be sure. But it got me thinking: maybe I should compile my own list. Although, I don't think there are ten films that I would rank so highly. (Perhaps it's stupid to rank them anyway.) And the thought of any one of these directors or critics seeing my list made me feel embarrassed. Sorry, there's nothing really old.

And so I've compromised. Here is a list of five films that would influence me if I were a film director:

24 Hour Party People (2002): My favorite film, yes. But I like it for the same reasons that would influence me as a director. The subject matter itself is terrific: a social history of Manchester through music. That our guide through the times, Tony Wilson (Steve Coogan), is aware that the film is just a reconstruction of past events and feels the need to constantly remind us of this, is ingeniously postmodern. As if the mix of archive footage with reenactments wasn't enough.

Elsker dig for evigt aka Open Hearts (2002): As is characteristic of all Dogme95 films, the emphasis is on the interaction between or among people, their dynamic and complicated relationships with each other. To come up with a story as simple as this but weighs so heavily on your heart (as corny as this sounds) would be quite an achievement. I would want to make a film that expresses how heartwrenching it is to really, really want someone.

Marie Antoinette (2006): Even though I think Sofia Coppola is an idiot (the things she says! aloud! to other people! to the press!), I can appreciate her brave interpretation of history. Her unmatched ability to compile a soundtrack and set it to stunning visuals is what influences me as a would-be director. I kind of hate her for using my Adam and the Ants.

Under the Tuscan Sun (2003): I know. You certainly weren't expecting this. It's one of the very best romantic comedies because the romance is not between a man and a woman who must go through all the trials and tribulations before seeing they can stick together for all time. It's about a woman realizing that she shouldn't give up. The best line in the film comes when she tells her pregnant lesbian gal-pal Patti, "You are my love life." She finds the love you're expecting her to find, but it is the relationships she has with others (specifically Patti) that really express the love. Plus, I just really want to re-invent the romantic comedy genre. Breathe some new life into it.

Stealing Beauty (1996): Not everything is spelled out for you. Characters you never see or hear loom over everyone. They have a sort of presence and mystery that the characters you see in most films can only ever wish of having. The obsessive writing down of thoughts and collecting odds and ends--I can relate to that, too. Introspective and sensitive individuals make the best leads, and if I were a director, they'd head the cast.

we've got time to start again

I once had a blog, a long, long time ago. And then I stopped writing in it. Didn't want to air out my dirty laundry for everyone and anyone to read. But I'm indecisive--and bored--so I've changed my mind. I've started anew. There's still this urge in me to want to create something, to want to put a stamp on it. And I figured now is as good a time as any to start (again).