In honor of Mr. McGregor's birthday, I just watched Trainspotting (1996). No, I don't need a silly excuse like that to pop in one of my all-time favorite films. But it occurred to me that I hadn't watched it at all since I've been here. I know the film so well that I often can have it playing while I do other things and still repeat the lines along with Rents, Spud, Sick Boy, Begbie, etc.
But there are things that I noticed and now fully understand since I've lived in the UK (and have even been to Edinburgh).
1.) I now know what Lucozade is. (Renton lists it as one of the things you need to get yourself off heroin, along with cans and cans of tomato and mushroom soup, milk of magnesium, and tons of pornography.)
2.) I now know that the "worst toilet in Scotland" is at the back of a sports betting store. It had never been clear to me what kind of place this was. Until now. Now that I have seen many a betting store.
3.) You only see part of Edinburgh Castle, reflected in a mirror above the entrance to a John Menzies store on Princes Street downtown. Remember, one of my impressions of Edinburgh is that you can see the Castle from almost everywhere.
Yeah, well, I don't know what else to say. I don't feel like recounting my relationship with this film. Not here, not right now. It's just always been very important and special to me. And watching it just now makes me miss my *rare* poster hanging in my room at home. Of Spud, Renton, Begbie, and Sick Boy in suits (from the end of the film). Begbie is not only grabbing his crotch, he's got his whole hand inside his fly.
Memories, memories.
Saturday, March 31, 2007
happy birthday ewan mcgregor
I think I just might watch Trainspotting (1996) later to celebrate.
And while I am at it, I'll celebrate that you're working with Michelle Williams and Matthew Macfadyen on this.
And while I am at it, I'll celebrate that you're working with Michelle Williams and Matthew Macfadyen on this.
Friday, March 30, 2007
what the fuck do I want?
I should probably tell you more about this "frustration." Well, it comes from all directions, actually. I am frustrated because I have hit writer's block in this essay on La comunidad (2000). I am frustrated because the schedule I assembled for next semester is falling spectacularly to pieces. I am frustrated because I don't know what I really want.
The first problem has gotten better. I spent hours in the library today, outlining by hand my Spanish cultural studies paper. My approach is much more narrowly and clearly defined, and I will start writing it tomorrow. So I feel better about that.
I had arranged a schedule for the fall semester that complemented my honors thesis. Turns out I cannot or must wait until I get back to find out if I can take certain courses. I have to plan for backups. And the original plan was hard to come by! I cannot justify these new alternatives the same way I can explain why the others fit into my coursework and independent study plans. For once, I wasn't paranoid. I didn't "plan on a change of plans."
Spanish the language is posing another problem. I don't think I want to take it this summer after all. Do you know anyone who is more indecisive than me? I certainly don't. Why don't I want to take it now?
1.) It won't make much of a dent. I doubt my speaking skills will improve dramatically.
2.) I cannot justify spending almost $1000 for just 36 hours of classroom study spread over six weeks and twelve sessions of three hours each. If I were to take the class in the fall, I wouldn't have to shell out this extra cash because I don't pay by the credit hour in the formal semesters.
3.) I don't need to speak it for grad school. I only have to be able to read and write it. I can study to meet those ends for free with my books, on my own. This I consider a compromise. I will work on my reading and writing, I swear, but I'll forget about spending so much money on speaking it. Maybe I can get a speaking partner...
This problem is connected directly to my travel to Spain. It has been repeatedly suggested that I go to Spain while I am over here because flights are much cheaper than if they originate in the U.S. I understand this, but finding the right one that doesn't cost a lot of money, one that goes to Madrid (because I rather go there than Barcelona), or one that doesn't arrive in the wee hours of the morning at an airport miles upon miles outside the city has proven most difficult for me. It has exhausted me to the point where I don't care that my father wants me home as early as possible so I can go to Louis's specialized training graduation. It's not as if my presence at home is requested for nothing.
But I still want to go to Spain. Do I wait for another time when the trip will undoubtedly be more expensive because I will be flying from the U.S. instead of England? I keep telling myself that Spain isn't going anywhere. It is frustrating to think that I am missing something when I really am not. I don't even know what I am missing.
Having to come home earlier than I was expecting means that I can't go to Berlin in the summer either. I have tentative plans to go for a few days just before exams start. I think I should go, even if I have to go alone. I owe it to myself. It's not expensive. I can swing it. But I might honestly have to do everything alone. I'll be so sick of myself after so many days in a foreign city, a foreign country, thinking (and talking) to myself in English but hearing German everywhere else. Maybe I need to go just to see if I can make it, to see if I can stand me. I may have taken this step to live on my own in England, but can I up and leave here by myself? I can't wait to see, but at the same time I am scared.
The first problem has gotten better. I spent hours in the library today, outlining by hand my Spanish cultural studies paper. My approach is much more narrowly and clearly defined, and I will start writing it tomorrow. So I feel better about that.
I had arranged a schedule for the fall semester that complemented my honors thesis. Turns out I cannot or must wait until I get back to find out if I can take certain courses. I have to plan for backups. And the original plan was hard to come by! I cannot justify these new alternatives the same way I can explain why the others fit into my coursework and independent study plans. For once, I wasn't paranoid. I didn't "plan on a change of plans."
Spanish the language is posing another problem. I don't think I want to take it this summer after all. Do you know anyone who is more indecisive than me? I certainly don't. Why don't I want to take it now?
1.) It won't make much of a dent. I doubt my speaking skills will improve dramatically.
2.) I cannot justify spending almost $1000 for just 36 hours of classroom study spread over six weeks and twelve sessions of three hours each. If I were to take the class in the fall, I wouldn't have to shell out this extra cash because I don't pay by the credit hour in the formal semesters.
3.) I don't need to speak it for grad school. I only have to be able to read and write it. I can study to meet those ends for free with my books, on my own. This I consider a compromise. I will work on my reading and writing, I swear, but I'll forget about spending so much money on speaking it. Maybe I can get a speaking partner...
This problem is connected directly to my travel to Spain. It has been repeatedly suggested that I go to Spain while I am over here because flights are much cheaper than if they originate in the U.S. I understand this, but finding the right one that doesn't cost a lot of money, one that goes to Madrid (because I rather go there than Barcelona), or one that doesn't arrive in the wee hours of the morning at an airport miles upon miles outside the city has proven most difficult for me. It has exhausted me to the point where I don't care that my father wants me home as early as possible so I can go to Louis's specialized training graduation. It's not as if my presence at home is requested for nothing.
But I still want to go to Spain. Do I wait for another time when the trip will undoubtedly be more expensive because I will be flying from the U.S. instead of England? I keep telling myself that Spain isn't going anywhere. It is frustrating to think that I am missing something when I really am not. I don't even know what I am missing.
Having to come home earlier than I was expecting means that I can't go to Berlin in the summer either. I have tentative plans to go for a few days just before exams start. I think I should go, even if I have to go alone. I owe it to myself. It's not expensive. I can swing it. But I might honestly have to do everything alone. I'll be so sick of myself after so many days in a foreign city, a foreign country, thinking (and talking) to myself in English but hearing German everywhere else. Maybe I need to go just to see if I can make it, to see if I can stand me. I may have taken this step to live on my own in England, but can I up and leave here by myself? I can't wait to see, but at the same time I am scared.
Thursday, March 29, 2007
when does it get better?
I'm so frustrated and confused. I just wanna turn my mind off. And then turn it back on. Maybe things will make sense then. Reset. Start over.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
the upside of frustration
Now I understand why having the hot and cold water separate from each other, streaming from different faucets, is a good thing. Washing my mug just now, these black bits were falling out with the hot water. So I rinsed more thoroughly with the cold. Because you inevitably need to use both, as each one will scald you. Balances things out a bit.
Don't get me wrong: I still find it frustrating that they're not in one single faucet (because of the whole scalding issue). How modern are these facilities!
Don't get me wrong: I still find it frustrating that they're not in one single faucet (because of the whole scalding issue). How modern are these facilities!
everyone needs their priv-acy!
Would you like to know how observant I am?
When I came home from 300 (2007) and Sainsbury's this afternoon, I rushed to put my bags down. Then I turned round and saw that my wardrobe doors were closed. I stood there for a second, thinking how atypical it would have been of me to shut them. Then I looked down just below my sink and saw that my shower caddy, containing my shampoo, conditioner, etc., was missing. This pisses me right off. I went to put my food away in the kitchen and came back. I wasn't burgled. It's not as if someone snuck in on one of the few occasions that I didn't lock my door so they could play a prank on me (what do they care about me?). I knew what it was, but why would they inspect my room and not leave a note? Suppose they didn't find a shower caddy on their precious ugly carpet. Suppose they hadn't moved it inside the wardrobe, shifting my things as they were. They wouldn't have said anything, and that creeps me out. Some respect for privacy!
When I came home from 300 (2007) and Sainsbury's this afternoon, I rushed to put my bags down. Then I turned round and saw that my wardrobe doors were closed. I stood there for a second, thinking how atypical it would have been of me to shut them. Then I looked down just below my sink and saw that my shower caddy, containing my shampoo, conditioner, etc., was missing. This pisses me right off. I went to put my food away in the kitchen and came back. I wasn't burgled. It's not as if someone snuck in on one of the few occasions that I didn't lock my door so they could play a prank on me (what do they care about me?). I knew what it was, but why would they inspect my room and not leave a note? Suppose they didn't find a shower caddy on their precious ugly carpet. Suppose they hadn't moved it inside the wardrobe, shifting my things as they were. They wouldn't have said anything, and that creeps me out. Some respect for privacy!
300 and counting
300 (2007) is the gayest thing I've ever seen. It's fantastic. Don't get me wrong: it is a pretty bad movie. Plus, it adds to the whole ultra-nationalistic freedom-or-death narrative. Because of this, it is difficult NOT to interpret it on some level as being a political allegory for today. But Iran should get over it. It's a weak connection, if you ask me.
RETRACTION (STARTED) SOME 59 MINUTES LATER:
I apologize for having to print a retraction. But I just wrote two pages in my film journal on this film. I vow to write only one page per film, but when I am on a roll, I don't just stop. I have to write as completely as possible. Apparently, I had more to say than just address Iran's taking offense.
I was wrong. I don't think 300 is "a pretty bad movie." Sure, I pointed out in my journal the things about it I found problematic, such as: turning the strong queen who is equal to her king into a whore, David Wenham's overly serious narration which is poorly written (it is redundant), and likening King Leonidas to Christ at the end (when throughout the whole film his visage reminded me of Moses and Ivan the Terrible). Oh, and I couldn't stand that they recalled a lot from Gladiator (2000) and Braveheart (1995).
What did I like about it, then, you ask? Well, I did like the relationship between the king and queen until she put out to help her king. I did like the stunning visuals you keep hearing about, but for me it was more about the beautiful color palate (the gold and red are just gorgeous together). I liked that there was no prologue or epilogue. You're plunged right into it, albeit by Wenham's stupid narration. But you're introduced to Sparta through Leonidas' developing into that unique brand of Spartan warrior, not "In the 5th Century B.C., Sparta was..." Blah blah blah.
I cannot remember the specifics of Sin City (2005), but I imagine it was like this, too: there may be a lot of blood, but you don't see many bloody faces and bodies (but there ARE decapitations!) and the CGI blood splattering is like that famous scene from The Matrix (1999). Like Neo, the blood never touches the ground. For me, this seems like a comic book as an action movie. And 300 is; it's based on a graphic novel by Frank Miller and Lynn Varley. The incessant slo-mo reflects the script's source material (not history!), and it's most apparent in these parts where the blood never touches the ground. Because they're moving so slowly, it's as if the pace is paralleling the pace at which you read a comic. There's action, but it's dissected and you have to see/read it in increments, frame by frame. Plus, when there is blood splatter in comics, it shows the action by being drops in the air, falling. You never see it touch the ground. Do I make sense?
Plus, with the blood being so obviously CGI, I think this says something about violence in entertainment. Because it doesn't seem real and it doesn't look real, I think the film's technology is playing with what we expect from an action movie. It's like a concession. "Yeah, we'll give you violence and gore, but it will not be realistic." Compare with former epics centering around battles where you see UP CLOSE the arrow going through the eye or the sword stabbing the chest. Also compare with movies whose violence is so realistic you think you're really watching them blow each other's brains out. (See The Departed [2006].) There's just no dwelling on their slashing up the bodies of the enemies. This may sound paradoxical considering all the violence and blood and gore in the film, but: there's no glorification of the gore. Because it's fake and the filmmakers are totally embracing this!
Not to mention, this stylized blood splatter and battle torture do make our bloodthirsty heroes more sympathetic. Easier to root for even if they've disemboweled so many faceless foot soldiers in the army of a megalomaniac.
On a lighter note, consider this because I already have. Gerard "Gerry" Butler: A star is born. This will definitely do for him what Gladiator did for Russell Crowe. That's OK. He's a very fine actor, one of my favorites. He was the best damn thing about the cast. A terribly likeable king because he's smart, clever, and lovable. He's also the best warrior.
What else did I like? I loved that it was so gay. Besides the obvious homoeroticism, the leader of the army of craftsmen who joined the 300 Spartans looked as if he got lost finding the S&M club or leather bar. The evil Xerxes is just a really TALL drag queen! The two young soldiers and their ironic repartee. They made it fun! ("Oh, I'll watch your back.") Won't you just! And along these same lines, I also enjoyed the objectification of the male body (Casino Royale [2006] has started such a wonderful trend, don't you think?) I should probably call it a "male physique" because let's face it: they're a specific type. They're not average Joes. Oh, but there is some objectification of the female body, of course. Quite shocking to see the queen's tits, really. Oh, and there's also a gaze on The Other, which was a bit grotesque. Damnit, will things never change?
I have to say that if you enjoyed Mr. Craig's crotch-shots, if they were so mesmerizing that you couldn't look away it was too funny, then you'll just laugh your ass off throughout this one. Because you feel naughty (!) for liking it so much.
RETRACTION (STARTED) SOME 59 MINUTES LATER:
I apologize for having to print a retraction. But I just wrote two pages in my film journal on this film. I vow to write only one page per film, but when I am on a roll, I don't just stop. I have to write as completely as possible. Apparently, I had more to say than just address Iran's taking offense.
I was wrong. I don't think 300 is "a pretty bad movie." Sure, I pointed out in my journal the things about it I found problematic, such as: turning the strong queen who is equal to her king into a whore, David Wenham's overly serious narration which is poorly written (it is redundant), and likening King Leonidas to Christ at the end (when throughout the whole film his visage reminded me of Moses and Ivan the Terrible). Oh, and I couldn't stand that they recalled a lot from Gladiator (2000) and Braveheart (1995).
What did I like about it, then, you ask? Well, I did like the relationship between the king and queen until she put out to help her king. I did like the stunning visuals you keep hearing about, but for me it was more about the beautiful color palate (the gold and red are just gorgeous together). I liked that there was no prologue or epilogue. You're plunged right into it, albeit by Wenham's stupid narration. But you're introduced to Sparta through Leonidas' developing into that unique brand of Spartan warrior, not "In the 5th Century B.C., Sparta was..." Blah blah blah.
I cannot remember the specifics of Sin City (2005), but I imagine it was like this, too: there may be a lot of blood, but you don't see many bloody faces and bodies (but there ARE decapitations!) and the CGI blood splattering is like that famous scene from The Matrix (1999). Like Neo, the blood never touches the ground. For me, this seems like a comic book as an action movie. And 300 is; it's based on a graphic novel by Frank Miller and Lynn Varley. The incessant slo-mo reflects the script's source material (not history!), and it's most apparent in these parts where the blood never touches the ground. Because they're moving so slowly, it's as if the pace is paralleling the pace at which you read a comic. There's action, but it's dissected and you have to see/read it in increments, frame by frame. Plus, when there is blood splatter in comics, it shows the action by being drops in the air, falling. You never see it touch the ground. Do I make sense?
Plus, with the blood being so obviously CGI, I think this says something about violence in entertainment. Because it doesn't seem real and it doesn't look real, I think the film's technology is playing with what we expect from an action movie. It's like a concession. "Yeah, we'll give you violence and gore, but it will not be realistic." Compare with former epics centering around battles where you see UP CLOSE the arrow going through the eye or the sword stabbing the chest. Also compare with movies whose violence is so realistic you think you're really watching them blow each other's brains out. (See The Departed [2006].) There's just no dwelling on their slashing up the bodies of the enemies. This may sound paradoxical considering all the violence and blood and gore in the film, but: there's no glorification of the gore. Because it's fake and the filmmakers are totally embracing this!
Not to mention, this stylized blood splatter and battle torture do make our bloodthirsty heroes more sympathetic. Easier to root for even if they've disemboweled so many faceless foot soldiers in the army of a megalomaniac.
On a lighter note, consider this because I already have. Gerard "Gerry" Butler: A star is born. This will definitely do for him what Gladiator did for Russell Crowe. That's OK. He's a very fine actor, one of my favorites. He was the best damn thing about the cast. A terribly likeable king because he's smart, clever, and lovable. He's also the best warrior.
What else did I like? I loved that it was so gay. Besides the obvious homoeroticism, the leader of the army of craftsmen who joined the 300 Spartans looked as if he got lost finding the S&M club or leather bar. The evil Xerxes is just a really TALL drag queen! The two young soldiers and their ironic repartee. They made it fun! ("Oh, I'll watch your back.") Won't you just! And along these same lines, I also enjoyed the objectification of the male body (Casino Royale [2006] has started such a wonderful trend, don't you think?) I should probably call it a "male physique" because let's face it: they're a specific type. They're not average Joes. Oh, but there is some objectification of the female body, of course. Quite shocking to see the queen's tits, really. Oh, and there's also a gaze on The Other, which was a bit grotesque. Damnit, will things never change?
I have to say that if you enjoyed Mr. Craig's crotch-shots, if they were so mesmerizing that you couldn't look away it was too funny, then you'll just laugh your ass off throughout this one. Because you feel naughty (!) for liking it so much.
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
vamos a comenzar
Finally got my Spanish grammar books in the post this evening. You should have seen the smile on my face. I couldn't see it myself, but I assume it was pretty big because the porter noticed how eager I was and how happy I was to receive the package (or "parcel," as they say here).
This is embarrassing, but I don't care: I sniffed my books to see if they smelled like home. No, I only sensed their coldness, and I could smell the scent of the newspaper stuffing on them. I got emotional just handling my dictionary. It's rumpled and its cover is on the verge of falling off. Compare with the French dictionary I brought with me from home: like new. I told you I've had some good, extensive time with that dictionary, and it shows.
I used the box Stephanie and Dadd shipped the books in as a prop for my second one-act play from junior year in high school. I know this because it says "SONY" on one of the flaps inside the box.
Memories, memories.
This is embarrassing, but I don't care: I sniffed my books to see if they smelled like home. No, I only sensed their coldness, and I could smell the scent of the newspaper stuffing on them. I got emotional just handling my dictionary. It's rumpled and its cover is on the verge of falling off. Compare with the French dictionary I brought with me from home: like new. I told you I've had some good, extensive time with that dictionary, and it shows.
I used the box Stephanie and Dadd shipped the books in as a prop for my second one-act play from junior year in high school. I know this because it says "SONY" on one of the flaps inside the box.
Memories, memories.
Monday, March 26, 2007
ain't it the truth?
For the record [pun intended], the following was not written by me, but by Paul Heaton and Dave Rotheray of the Beautiful South. I just heard "I Love You (But You're Boring)" on RadioIO80s. Hey, apparently they've also got a song called "I Hate You (But You're Interesting)." And instead of taking the lyrics out of context, I thought I would post them here in full because they're FANTASTIC:
Birds are singing in the trees
As we rise up on a beautiful morning
But I can't hear
That beautiful sound
Because I'm permanently yawning
What about the time of the fancy dress
When you came dressed as your mum
And there I was splendid in my penguin suit
So scared to show my bill
You must have been listening to your Carousel
Your Carousel, that Carousel
Remember the time
When I turned the house into a rocket ship
And you refused to come to Mars
You said "It's too far"
You had to be back by six to watch your Carousel
Saturn's much too far
You had to watch Carousel (What's going on in there?)
When we first met
I asked you for your hand
I didn't really mean that hand
I meant join hands
Bake phallic cake (Bake phallic cake)
Carry round sticky tape
And love those devil dogs
Be an Indian elephant (Be an Indian elephant)
Bait straight people
But you must have missed my wink
You must have missed my wink
(I love you,
But you're boring, you know,
I really do love you
But you're so particularly boring)
Maybe you were too busy listening to Carousel
watching Carousel, living Carousel
You were listening to Carousel
You were watching Carousel
Birds are singing in the trees
As we rise up on a beautiful morning
But I can't hear
That beautiful sound
Because I'm permanently yawning
What about the time of the fancy dress
When you came dressed as your mum
And there I was splendid in my penguin suit
So scared to show my bill
You must have been listening to your Carousel
Your Carousel, that Carousel
Remember the time
When I turned the house into a rocket ship
And you refused to come to Mars
You said "It's too far"
You had to be back by six to watch your Carousel
Saturn's much too far
You had to watch Carousel (What's going on in there?)
When we first met
I asked you for your hand
I didn't really mean that hand
I meant join hands
Bake phallic cake (Bake phallic cake)
Carry round sticky tape
And love those devil dogs
Be an Indian elephant (Be an Indian elephant)
Bait straight people
But you must have missed my wink
You must have missed my wink
(I love you,
But you're boring, you know,
I really do love you
But you're so particularly boring)
Maybe you were too busy listening to Carousel
watching Carousel, living Carousel
You were listening to Carousel
You were watching Carousel
i don't heart 'em either
I'm just like all those other celebrity-obsessed bloggers. I've watched two videos that feature the MAJOR rift between Lily Tomlin and David O. Russell on the set of I Heart Huckabees (2004). The other one is here. The second is worth checking out just to see Tomlin curse at Dustin Hoffman for trying to console her.
It's also quite funny to hear Russell tell Tomlin to act like an adult when he's behaving just as badly, if not worse. And he's an idiot to think that, toward the end of the clip, he hadn't yelled at her. Oh, yes you did, pal. We've got it on tape! Or video or whatever. You know what I mean.
I'm not crazy about this movie. I don't like Russell because I've heard he's a prick. Remember the fight he had on the set of Three Kings (1999) with the Clooney over Russell's alleged mistreatment toward a crew member? And I'm not a fan of Tomlin, either. But I watched it because I wanted to see celebrities yell at each other and to see if any would get caught in the crossfire. Ouch, poor Dustin.
It's also quite funny to hear Russell tell Tomlin to act like an adult when he's behaving just as badly, if not worse. And he's an idiot to think that, toward the end of the clip, he hadn't yelled at her. Oh, yes you did, pal. We've got it on tape! Or video or whatever. You know what I mean.
I'm not crazy about this movie. I don't like Russell because I've heard he's a prick. Remember the fight he had on the set of Three Kings (1999) with the Clooney over Russell's alleged mistreatment toward a crew member? And I'm not a fan of Tomlin, either. But I watched it because I wanted to see celebrities yell at each other and to see if any would get caught in the crossfire. Ouch, poor Dustin.
climate change of plans
I'm such a pussy.
I didn't go to Dukes to see Climates (2006), the Turkish movie I've read a lot about in Sight & Sound. I was planning on seeing it no matter how far I got into writing my essay on the French New Wave cinema being a discourse with Hollywood. What ended up happening was that I got VERY far into writing the essay and chickened out. I didn't want to suddenly stop and then shift gears to get ready. Plus I am afraid the buses to and from town don't run very often during the holiday break and that I might end up stranded in town and have to pay for a taxi back. This cannot be the case, surely. You've even checked the timetables online, I tell myself. No matter. Climates will be on DVD by the time I get home anyway, I bet.
On a happier note: the essay's all written. It just needs a conclusion and to be edited and edited and edited some more.
I didn't go to Dukes to see Climates (2006), the Turkish movie I've read a lot about in Sight & Sound. I was planning on seeing it no matter how far I got into writing my essay on the French New Wave cinema being a discourse with Hollywood. What ended up happening was that I got VERY far into writing the essay and chickened out. I didn't want to suddenly stop and then shift gears to get ready. Plus I am afraid the buses to and from town don't run very often during the holiday break and that I might end up stranded in town and have to pay for a taxi back. This cannot be the case, surely. You've even checked the timetables online, I tell myself. No matter. Climates will be on DVD by the time I get home anyway, I bet.
On a happier note: the essay's all written. It just needs a conclusion and to be edited and edited and edited some more.
Sunday, March 25, 2007
making time
Well, everything is back to normal again. I am now five hours ahead of the East Coast and eight ahead of the West. The changeover happened last night before I went to bed. I noticed because my computer was telling me I was going to bed at 2.20 am. I didn't even realize British Summer Time was starting, so it came as a bit of a shock. "Uh, I didn't think it was so late..."
I had to change the time on my watch so it wouldn't be 50 minutes behind. "50 minutes behind?" you ask. "Why isn't it an hour?" Well, I have always set my watch a couple minutes ahead. It once was four minutes fast, then it slowly turned into seven and then nine and then eleven. I don't understand how I lost time like that, but to end the confusion, I decided to set my watch to the actual time.
It is 1 pm.
I had to change the time on my watch so it wouldn't be 50 minutes behind. "50 minutes behind?" you ask. "Why isn't it an hour?" Well, I have always set my watch a couple minutes ahead. It once was four minutes fast, then it slowly turned into seven and then nine and then eleven. I don't understand how I lost time like that, but to end the confusion, I decided to set my watch to the actual time.
It is 1 pm.
Saturday, March 24, 2007
i'm gonna have a party
Ugh. I am going to do something that will make me happy. I'm going to watch 24 Hour Party People (2002).
nothing to look forward to
Today is my second day of the Easter holiday. In these four weeks, I have to write four essays, totaling 9000 words. It won't take me four weeks to do it, so I am not starting today. However, I will say that, while I was looking forward to people being gone, I can now see that I won't like it so much. I'm afraid while they are at home or gallivanting through Europe, I will be stuck here with the only person I do not like. (Does he ever go home?) There will be four weeks of awkward silences and him staring at me. It will feel even lonelier with him here.
I'm also not looking forward to all these long days of doing nothing. Those Spanish books better come soon. I can't see myself spending hours on end in the library doing anything, really, but maybe when I start to work on my essays, I will go in there. Gotta get out of here.
I'm also not looking forward to all these long days of doing nothing. Those Spanish books better come soon. I can't see myself spending hours on end in the library doing anything, really, but maybe when I start to work on my essays, I will go in there. Gotta get out of here.
Friday, March 23, 2007
i don't even know what to call this
"IE is always better than Y."*
*Note to self: this statement concerns scholars/authors with the same name, only there is a difference between the spellings of their surnames.
*Note to self: this statement concerns scholars/authors with the same name, only there is a difference between the spellings of their surnames.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
having a nice day
I've had a great day today and here's why (you know how I love lists):
1.) I've seen so many people while walking around, everyone from Lisa to neighbors, Claudia the nice Sicilian girl whose friend likes my accent, a girl in my modernist literature class I'd chitchat with from time to time (hope her foot gets better fast!), and even a girl from my history in film class last term. I do know people after all!
2.) That Fanta was good.
3.) I paid my rent for the Easter holiday break and the summer term. No, I'm not happy to part with over £800 all in one go, but I am relieved I don't owe the university any more money! Yesss!
4.) Even though many people didn't show up to my 1960s class seminar today, I think we had a very good wrapping up session. Yes, we talked about the academic essay due after the holiday and the exam, but we also discussed the topics of our creative essays. (I turned mine on Joe Colombo in today.) And in my response to someone else's topic, I even shared something she "might add" to the paper. That's what we're all here for: to learn from each other. It was a very good meeting.
5.) After feeling bad for refusing a flyer-giver even after we (meaning the flyer-giver and I) chuckled at how the girl ahead of me refused him, I took a flyer from a friendly-looking girl. I glanced down and read: "Is Jesus the son of God?" I immediately crumpled it up. Then, later on my journey home, I read the entire flyer. The organization sponsoring the event was not completely religious. "The Source: thinking seriously about life's big issues." But the event IS hosted by the Christian Union and is for "open-minded people." Shit. I'm not one of them, I guess. There goes me, ignoring my Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes.
Unfortunately, I am tired and want to nap. My mouth is certainly tired after shoving all those cheese curls in. I keep procrastinating from reading/looking at this book on Jean-Jacques Beineix, director of Diva (1981). It's been recalled and it's due tomorrow, but I'm sure a nap right now will not keep me from EVER looking at it before tomorrow night at 10 pm.
1.) I've seen so many people while walking around, everyone from Lisa to neighbors, Claudia the nice Sicilian girl whose friend likes my accent, a girl in my modernist literature class I'd chitchat with from time to time (hope her foot gets better fast!), and even a girl from my history in film class last term. I do know people after all!
2.) That Fanta was good.
3.) I paid my rent for the Easter holiday break and the summer term. No, I'm not happy to part with over £800 all in one go, but I am relieved I don't owe the university any more money! Yesss!
4.) Even though many people didn't show up to my 1960s class seminar today, I think we had a very good wrapping up session. Yes, we talked about the academic essay due after the holiday and the exam, but we also discussed the topics of our creative essays. (I turned mine on Joe Colombo in today.) And in my response to someone else's topic, I even shared something she "might add" to the paper. That's what we're all here for: to learn from each other. It was a very good meeting.
5.) After feeling bad for refusing a flyer-giver even after we (meaning the flyer-giver and I) chuckled at how the girl ahead of me refused him, I took a flyer from a friendly-looking girl. I glanced down and read: "Is Jesus the son of God?" I immediately crumpled it up. Then, later on my journey home, I read the entire flyer. The organization sponsoring the event was not completely religious. "The Source: thinking seriously about life's big issues." But the event IS hosted by the Christian Union and is for "open-minded people." Shit. I'm not one of them, I guess. There goes me, ignoring my Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes.
Unfortunately, I am tired and want to nap. My mouth is certainly tired after shoving all those cheese curls in. I keep procrastinating from reading/looking at this book on Jean-Jacques Beineix, director of Diva (1981). It's been recalled and it's due tomorrow, but I'm sure a nap right now will not keep me from EVER looking at it before tomorrow night at 10 pm.
i didn't think i could get food cravings until...
Lying in bed last night, I was extremely thirsty. All I could and still think about is Sprite. Ironic, I know. "Obey your thirst." And I will. I also want something else from Spar: either orange Fanta or Irn Bru. I also craved hot rotisserie chicken, but I think I will skip that one.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
who is jane austen?
It's not released in the U.S. until August, but I just saw Becoming Jane (2007) before going to Sainsbury's this afternoon. The movie theatre (or as they say here, "cinema") was empty. There was only one person manning the concessions area, and I had to ask him to tear my ticket so I could go into the auditorium. It was that dead.
And when I got inside the theatre, I was the only one there. For at least ten minutes, and then couples started to pour in: mother and daughter, teenage female friend and teenage female friend, and even middle-aged male friend and middle-aged male friend (or is that male lover and male lover?). I really was looking forward to having the theatre all to myself. Not only would I be watching it alone, I would be watching it alone, in a first-run movie theatre, a full five months before it comes out in the States. Pity. That would have been a great blog post.
Now, the film. I haven't even written about it yet in my film journal, so I hesitate to get really into it, but I will say a few things:
1.) Anne Hathaway's acting is better with an English accent.
2.) James McAvoy tried too hard to be Jane Austen's lover that he acted more like one of her CHARACTERS. If Mr. Darcy and Mr. Wickham and all those other men are inspired by McAvoy's Tom Lefroy, it seemed more like HE was inspired by THEM. I suppose this is the danger in making a biopic about an historical figure, a writer whose characters are so well-developed we think they're REAL because we've seen them in our minds as we read or on our TV screens as we watch actors portray them over and over. You can't wipe Mr. Firth and Mr. Grant and Mr. Northam and Mr. Hinds and Mr. Macfadyen (the best!) away, whether you're playing a new Jane Austen man or watching him. But having said all this, I think McAvoy is still one of the sexiest Austen men.
3.) I think they granted Jane a lot more "independence" than she probably had. What is this called? Retroactive gender role subversion?
4.) Very much inspired by Pride & Prejudice (2005) because it is grittier and more conscious of how to use the medium to create a style that captures a time and place. The other major filmic adaptations--Emma (1996), Sense and Sensibility (1995), and Pride and Prejudice (1995)--are very by the book, if you will. The Keira Knightley version, which I take over the Firth-Ehle one any day, represents the landscape (I'm not just talking Nature here) as one that is much more lived-in and beautiful. It's not stiff and prim and proper all over. The Dashwoods may be poor, but their cottage is so cute and charming, everyone wants a house just like it. How realistic!
5.) Hated the title, but I've thought about it some more. Yes, the film is about how she developed into a writer, how her experiences contributed to her worldview and to her work. I think it can also be that she is very becoming.
6.) Unfortunately, the epilogue overlapped with the last sequence of the film. And I think it would have been better without one because let's face it, anyone who sees it must already know a thing or two about Austen and/or her works. Unless, of course, you are one of my former roommates who LOVED Masterpiece Theatre and romances, but when I mentioned Pride & Prejudice (it was coming out while we were still living together) she didn't know who this Jane Austen person was that I was talking about.
Glad I saw it, and I recommend it because you are a Jane Austen fan. Wish I had iTV so I could see the Masterpiece Theatre-type adaptations of Mansfield Park, Northanger Abbey, and Persuasion.
And when I got inside the theatre, I was the only one there. For at least ten minutes, and then couples started to pour in: mother and daughter, teenage female friend and teenage female friend, and even middle-aged male friend and middle-aged male friend (or is that male lover and male lover?). I really was looking forward to having the theatre all to myself. Not only would I be watching it alone, I would be watching it alone, in a first-run movie theatre, a full five months before it comes out in the States. Pity. That would have been a great blog post.
Now, the film. I haven't even written about it yet in my film journal, so I hesitate to get really into it, but I will say a few things:
1.) Anne Hathaway's acting is better with an English accent.
2.) James McAvoy tried too hard to be Jane Austen's lover that he acted more like one of her CHARACTERS. If Mr. Darcy and Mr. Wickham and all those other men are inspired by McAvoy's Tom Lefroy, it seemed more like HE was inspired by THEM. I suppose this is the danger in making a biopic about an historical figure, a writer whose characters are so well-developed we think they're REAL because we've seen them in our minds as we read or on our TV screens as we watch actors portray them over and over. You can't wipe Mr. Firth and Mr. Grant and Mr. Northam and Mr. Hinds and Mr. Macfadyen (the best!) away, whether you're playing a new Jane Austen man or watching him. But having said all this, I think McAvoy is still one of the sexiest Austen men.
3.) I think they granted Jane a lot more "independence" than she probably had. What is this called? Retroactive gender role subversion?
4.) Very much inspired by Pride & Prejudice (2005) because it is grittier and more conscious of how to use the medium to create a style that captures a time and place. The other major filmic adaptations--Emma (1996), Sense and Sensibility (1995), and Pride and Prejudice (1995)--are very by the book, if you will. The Keira Knightley version, which I take over the Firth-Ehle one any day, represents the landscape (I'm not just talking Nature here) as one that is much more lived-in and beautiful. It's not stiff and prim and proper all over. The Dashwoods may be poor, but their cottage is so cute and charming, everyone wants a house just like it. How realistic!
5.) Hated the title, but I've thought about it some more. Yes, the film is about how she developed into a writer, how her experiences contributed to her worldview and to her work. I think it can also be that she is very becoming.
6.) Unfortunately, the epilogue overlapped with the last sequence of the film. And I think it would have been better without one because let's face it, anyone who sees it must already know a thing or two about Austen and/or her works. Unless, of course, you are one of my former roommates who LOVED Masterpiece Theatre and romances, but when I mentioned Pride & Prejudice (it was coming out while we were still living together) she didn't know who this Jane Austen person was that I was talking about.
Glad I saw it, and I recommend it because you are a Jane Austen fan. Wish I had iTV so I could see the Masterpiece Theatre-type adaptations of Mansfield Park, Northanger Abbey, and Persuasion.
getting in touch with my american side
The fascination with my Americanness continued after being asked to fill out those cross-cultural questionnaires.
Yesterday a very nice girl in my Spanish cultural studies class presented on a topic we hadn't covered: fashion. More specifically, she told us about how Madrid has banned size 0 models from their catwalks, and the rest of the country (and even Milan) have followed suit. [Pun intended.] Size 0 means size 4 in the UK, and I have no idea what it is in the U.S., which is probably the first time I can't find an equivalent in the States for something as universal as clothes. I've been here too long.
In any case, her topic instigated an hour-long discussion that reached such topics as fashion trends, body image (for women AND men), and health issues like anorexia. A size 0 model had collapsed and died on the Madrid catwalk because she had been eating only lettuce leaves for months, which I think really drew attention to the seriousness of the issue of teeny tiny models for Spanish cultural/fashion/health officials.
However, I do have to say that I did not like how the presenter said that "since most fashion designers are gay men, their ideal of the female form is rather boyish." Something tells me that this is not even true. There are many female fashion designers and a minority of straight male designers, too. Who said that gay men think the female form is "boyish" and why would that be the reason for clothes only being designed to fit walking hangers? Plus, she has linked homosexuality with pedophilia. Does she think all gay men prefer "boyish" men and/or boys?
But I digress.
In the discussion, they asked me about fashion trends in the U.S. If people have such anxiety over their weight and size and body image and finding clothes that fits them. What did I contribute? This: "Well, whatever I have to say is very subjective. Because I am so short, I have to find ankle-length or petite bottoms. This is a very hard thing to do." How insightful, I know. I had the opportunity to say some of the differences between how people want to look here and the image people want to or unintentionally project at home. And I didn't take it. Oh well.
And in my French film class, le prof was interested in where Les Amants du Pont-Neuf (1991) fits in critically and commercially in "North America." (I hate it when they call it that; I cannot speak for all of America let alone for all of Canada and Mexico and Guatemala and Nicaragua and etc., too.) He asked me this because people in the class were curious to how it relates to Diva (1981) and Subway (1985), if this film is also part of the cinema du look phenomenon. Plus, Les Amants is a very famous film, and he assumed that it was so in the U.S., too. And yes, I think cinephiles and foreign film-lovers would know it, so I said that it ranks with Krzysztof Kieslowski's Trois Couleurs: Blue (1993), White (1994), and Red (1994). Yeah, I still think that's about right.
Figures people would only become interested in my Americanness in the last week of classes.
Yesterday a very nice girl in my Spanish cultural studies class presented on a topic we hadn't covered: fashion. More specifically, she told us about how Madrid has banned size 0 models from their catwalks, and the rest of the country (and even Milan) have followed suit. [Pun intended.] Size 0 means size 4 in the UK, and I have no idea what it is in the U.S., which is probably the first time I can't find an equivalent in the States for something as universal as clothes. I've been here too long.
In any case, her topic instigated an hour-long discussion that reached such topics as fashion trends, body image (for women AND men), and health issues like anorexia. A size 0 model had collapsed and died on the Madrid catwalk because she had been eating only lettuce leaves for months, which I think really drew attention to the seriousness of the issue of teeny tiny models for Spanish cultural/fashion/health officials.
However, I do have to say that I did not like how the presenter said that "since most fashion designers are gay men, their ideal of the female form is rather boyish." Something tells me that this is not even true. There are many female fashion designers and a minority of straight male designers, too. Who said that gay men think the female form is "boyish" and why would that be the reason for clothes only being designed to fit walking hangers? Plus, she has linked homosexuality with pedophilia. Does she think all gay men prefer "boyish" men and/or boys?
But I digress.
In the discussion, they asked me about fashion trends in the U.S. If people have such anxiety over their weight and size and body image and finding clothes that fits them. What did I contribute? This: "Well, whatever I have to say is very subjective. Because I am so short, I have to find ankle-length or petite bottoms. This is a very hard thing to do." How insightful, I know. I had the opportunity to say some of the differences between how people want to look here and the image people want to or unintentionally project at home. And I didn't take it. Oh well.
And in my French film class, le prof was interested in where Les Amants du Pont-Neuf (1991) fits in critically and commercially in "North America." (I hate it when they call it that; I cannot speak for all of America let alone for all of Canada and Mexico and Guatemala and Nicaragua and etc., too.) He asked me this because people in the class were curious to how it relates to Diva (1981) and Subway (1985), if this film is also part of the cinema du look phenomenon. Plus, Les Amants is a very famous film, and he assumed that it was so in the U.S., too. And yes, I think cinephiles and foreign film-lovers would know it, so I said that it ranks with Krzysztof Kieslowski's Trois Couleurs: Blue (1993), White (1994), and Red (1994). Yeah, I still think that's about right.
Figures people would only become interested in my Americanness in the last week of classes.
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
words to live by
I cannot remember why I pulled up today a very old document, which essentially is an elaborate list of an actress's filmography. But here are some personal quotes (as if from her IMDb biography page) I once attributed to this fictional character that I think are quite clever and insightful:
"Beauty fades, but intelligence lasts forever."
"If you listen to your heart often, you’ll realize that your mind has been right all along."
"Why should you pretend to be great when you can honestly try to be great?"
"Challenge someone else to challenge yourself."
"Smile more because you won’t only make that stranger on the street’s day, but possibly your own."
"Trust your instincts: trust yourself."
"Beauty fades, but intelligence lasts forever."
"If you listen to your heart often, you’ll realize that your mind has been right all along."
"Why should you pretend to be great when you can honestly try to be great?"
"Challenge someone else to challenge yourself."
"Smile more because you won’t only make that stranger on the street’s day, but possibly your own."
"Trust your instincts: trust yourself."
Monday, March 19, 2007
lovers on the brink
"To Hell With Poverty" by Gang of Four is playing. "We'll get drunk on cheap wine." Reminds me of what I've just seen tonight: Les Amants du Pont-Neuf (1991).
an american in the department
I'm finally the American everyone is interested in. Second-year European Studies majors have to do a cross-cultural project, interviewing non-Brits. I learned about it through my friend Daniel, and today he interviewed me about culture shock.
Then, after the screening of Les Amants du Pont-Neuf (1991) for my French film class this evening, two students who do not regularly acknowledge my existence asked if I would fill out each of their questionnaires for the same assignment. One even said she felt awkward asking me (because we never really talk). She wants a different perspective, a non-European one, and that is why she asked me. I imagine at least one or two of her participants is French since that is what she is studying.
I find this very funny and ironic, but I am very happy to do it.
Then, after the screening of Les Amants du Pont-Neuf (1991) for my French film class this evening, two students who do not regularly acknowledge my existence asked if I would fill out each of their questionnaires for the same assignment. One even said she felt awkward asking me (because we never really talk). She wants a different perspective, a non-European one, and that is why she asked me. I imagine at least one or two of her participants is French since that is what she is studying.
I find this very funny and ironic, but I am very happy to do it.
Sunday, March 18, 2007
i spy with my little eye
I was just plucking my eyebrows with a hand-held mirror so I could keep one squinty eye on French Kiss (1995). I noticed something very strange about my left eye. Yes, I have known for years that I have a "discoloration": I have big brown eyes, but at the bottom of my left there is this hazel-green patch. What I noticed just now is that there is a streak of my dark brown cutting through the green area. Technically, I suppose I have two green areas. How wonderfully strange!
yet another list
Making this long list of films I haven't seen in years made me think of all the films I have never ever seen. And they deserve their own list as well. To begin:
Last Tango in Paris (1972)
La Haine (1995)
Les Jolies Choses (2001)
Mi Familia (1995)
Oh and please add Carrington (1995) to the list of films I have seen but not in a long time.
Last Tango in Paris (1972)
La Haine (1995)
Les Jolies Choses (2001)
Mi Familia (1995)
Oh and please add Carrington (1995) to the list of films I have seen but not in a long time.
Saturday, March 17, 2007
the list just keeps getting longer and longer
ASAP:
Wilde (1997)
Tom Jones (1963)
To Die For (1995)
Return to Paradise (1998)
Plunkett & Macleane (1999)
London Kills Me (1991)
Wilde (1997)
Tom Jones (1963)
To Die For (1995)
Return to Paradise (1998)
Plunkett & Macleane (1999)
London Kills Me (1991)
Friday, March 16, 2007
no, i don't only think about it while it's playing*
I was just thinking it would have been great if "Kiss Me" by Steven Tin Tin Duffy was featured in Brokeback Mountain (2005).
*But I admit that I made the connection between the song and film because the song is in fact playing right now.
*But I admit that I made the connection between the song and film because the song is in fact playing right now.
there's always more to see
ASAP:
Kings and Queen (2004)
Head-On (2004)
Spanking the Monkey (1994)
CQ (2001)
Kings and Queen (2004)
Head-On (2004)
Spanking the Monkey (1994)
CQ (2001)
happy birthday isabelle huppert
I want to know who is speaking in French throughout "Harley David (Son of a Bitch)" by the Bollock Brothers. She sounds like Isabelle Huppert, but I cannot find the answer anywhere. Looking her up, I notice that today is her birthday. Unbelievable.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
blankest year
Whenever I wear my new iPod shuffle--whether it is on trips to town to buy groceries or on jaunts from one end of campus to the other--I cannot help thinking I sold out. On so many levels. Some fuckin' socialist I am.
First, I had always criticized people who are equally glued to their portable music machines as they are to their mobile phones. (In the UK, there must be the quickest typists around; everyone is always texting away, and the sound annoys me like you would not believe. But I'm digressing.) It is very desensitizing and dehumanizing this Digital age we are living in. Before, I would comment that I am one of the few people on my university campus back home that could be seen walking to and from class without speaker buds in my ears, a cell glued to my ear, or even in some cases without a body walking in tandem with me. I went it alone. People are much more unapproachable when they're investing so much of their present, aural attention in something that keeps them from seeing what is round them.
Second, being on the other side of it now (owning and using the mp3 player in much the same way most do), I recognize I was right. I can't say whether or not it has made me feel even lonelier because I have always been lonely. But I think that if I continue to use it in these ways, it will only further hinder my socialization, which is already delayed as I am almost 21 years old. It doesn't help either that I use the device to block out the awkward stares I feel are being lasered in my direction as I walk to class. I am paranoid and ultra-sensitive. We've been through this before.
I will say that this brooch of just another branded commodity is in fact useful for when I want to shut out noisy neighbors at night. I lie awake in my bed, staring up at the ceiling, with my pink headphones (they're more comfortable than the ear buds that do not fit), lip-synching anthems. Like I would ever do that on my way to class.
First, I had always criticized people who are equally glued to their portable music machines as they are to their mobile phones. (In the UK, there must be the quickest typists around; everyone is always texting away, and the sound annoys me like you would not believe. But I'm digressing.) It is very desensitizing and dehumanizing this Digital age we are living in. Before, I would comment that I am one of the few people on my university campus back home that could be seen walking to and from class without speaker buds in my ears, a cell glued to my ear, or even in some cases without a body walking in tandem with me. I went it alone. People are much more unapproachable when they're investing so much of their present, aural attention in something that keeps them from seeing what is round them.
Second, being on the other side of it now (owning and using the mp3 player in much the same way most do), I recognize I was right. I can't say whether or not it has made me feel even lonelier because I have always been lonely. But I think that if I continue to use it in these ways, it will only further hinder my socialization, which is already delayed as I am almost 21 years old. It doesn't help either that I use the device to block out the awkward stares I feel are being lasered in my direction as I walk to class. I am paranoid and ultra-sensitive. We've been through this before.
I will say that this brooch of just another branded commodity is in fact useful for when I want to shut out noisy neighbors at night. I lie awake in my bed, staring up at the ceiling, with my pink headphones (they're more comfortable than the ear buds that do not fit), lip-synching anthems. Like I would ever do that on my way to class.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
hometown hero
No one ever expected 300 (2007) to rake in almost $71 million this past weekend. No one ever expected the film to set the record for the highest-grossing March release or the highest grossing IMAX experience ever. It ranks third among R-rated films to have the biggest opening weekend. No one ever expected it to do so well considering no one really famous is in it. Everyone's trying to figure out how this could have happened. Looks like it's word-of-mouth, the stunning visuals, and a clever internet ad campaign. Another factor they have forgotten to mention is this: it is based on a Frank Miller graphic novel. It may not be one of the most outstanding factors, but I would think some of the same people who saw this one are the same fanboys who love Sin City (2005). Just a thought.
happy birthday catherine dent
It happened again. I just heard "Train in Vain" by the Clash and I wanted to look up whose covered version is featured in Someone Like You (2001).* Looking up the film, I wanted to see if the actress who played Ashley Judd's sister (Catherine Dent) has been in anything recently. Turns out she turns 42 today. I'm telling you, wandering onto someone's page when it is his or her birthday is freaky.
*It's Annie Lennox's.
*It's Annie Lennox's.
my cinematical mind
It should come as no surprise to you that I enjoy films and that I once (twice, thrice, four times maybe) thought I should be a filmmaker and then convinced myself otherwise each and every time. I never needed to exactly explain my position on this issue. People have either always agreed or even gone so far as to recognize that I "really like movies." It just makes sense.
Why do I want to be a filmmaker?
Glad you asked. Other than my intense interest in film production and consumption and criticism and history and etc., I fancy myself a photographer and a keen observer of the human condition. Stories fascinate me. My twenty years of watching films have greatly affected how I see the world. Literally. And my eyeglasses help frame this view. It's as if my looking out through these lenses that help me see better constitute a camera. That I can see the frame only emphasizes my self-awareness of the medium, as a director of my own life. My ears are fine-tuned to what goes on round me. I love spotting seemingly random and quotidian sounds. The absurdity of life, which I encounter everywhere, is always fodder for filmmaking. It only makes sense.
When I was in middle school and high school, I was a very depressed and lonely figure (still am to some extent, but that's another series of blog posts). Whenever something unpleasant happened to me, whether it was the nasty words and stares girls at the lockers would shoot my way or a C on a math test, I tried to forget about it. Especially the bad grades. I would tell myself, "You are not stupid. This is your life. It is a movie. It's in the script. But it's not in the script that you'll fail." Delusional, I know, but we all have our own ways of dealing. Mine was to pretend my life really was a movie and that nothing is real (even when I am the one who was unpleasant to others). I still feel this way sometimes.
Everything affects me. No matter how big or small. Some people call it ultra-sensitivity, arrogance, paranoia, etc. I don't know what to call it. I'm just uber-observant. I am so observant that I notice things before others and pretend not to notice at all. So as to avoid talking or arguing about it.
No one else is going to make a movie out of my ideas. I may have these ideas and joke that I wish someone would make them into films, but they're not going to.
A piece of advice that I collected while talking with a documentarian: "make sure you choose the right medium for your idea. You make think you want to make a movie, but it might be better as a short or hell, even a novel or short story." I admit some of my ideas shouldn't be films, but every time I have an idea, I see it played out in front of me like my pseudo-dreams. (I call them "pseudo" because I am awake while they take place and I consciously manipulate what happens.)
More to the point: it's not enough to analyze and write about films. Through discussion of films--whether verbal or written--there is always a lesson, or at least some indication of what to do or avoid in fixing my idea onto celluloid. In other words, my study of film has taught me how to be a filmmaker. How Tarantinian of me.
I have the French New Wave manifesto of le politique des auteurs to thank for this one. And also how filmmakers since them have interpreted this ideology that the filmmaker is an artist and how he or she uses the camera to tell a story is highly personalized, even if it's a collage of styles. How unexpected to be inspired by Luc Besson's Subway (1985)! A film that, according to the comments I scribbled in my film journal upon watching it for the first time, I didn't like or dislike.
I'm a postmodernist. I'm forever making connections. And I could go on. Probably will.
Why do I want to be a filmmaker?
Glad you asked. Other than my intense interest in film production and consumption and criticism and history and etc., I fancy myself a photographer and a keen observer of the human condition. Stories fascinate me. My twenty years of watching films have greatly affected how I see the world. Literally. And my eyeglasses help frame this view. It's as if my looking out through these lenses that help me see better constitute a camera. That I can see the frame only emphasizes my self-awareness of the medium, as a director of my own life. My ears are fine-tuned to what goes on round me. I love spotting seemingly random and quotidian sounds. The absurdity of life, which I encounter everywhere, is always fodder for filmmaking. It only makes sense.
When I was in middle school and high school, I was a very depressed and lonely figure (still am to some extent, but that's another series of blog posts). Whenever something unpleasant happened to me, whether it was the nasty words and stares girls at the lockers would shoot my way or a C on a math test, I tried to forget about it. Especially the bad grades. I would tell myself, "You are not stupid. This is your life. It is a movie. It's in the script. But it's not in the script that you'll fail." Delusional, I know, but we all have our own ways of dealing. Mine was to pretend my life really was a movie and that nothing is real (even when I am the one who was unpleasant to others). I still feel this way sometimes.
Everything affects me. No matter how big or small. Some people call it ultra-sensitivity, arrogance, paranoia, etc. I don't know what to call it. I'm just uber-observant. I am so observant that I notice things before others and pretend not to notice at all. So as to avoid talking or arguing about it.
No one else is going to make a movie out of my ideas. I may have these ideas and joke that I wish someone would make them into films, but they're not going to.
A piece of advice that I collected while talking with a documentarian: "make sure you choose the right medium for your idea. You make think you want to make a movie, but it might be better as a short or hell, even a novel or short story." I admit some of my ideas shouldn't be films, but every time I have an idea, I see it played out in front of me like my pseudo-dreams. (I call them "pseudo" because I am awake while they take place and I consciously manipulate what happens.)
More to the point: it's not enough to analyze and write about films. Through discussion of films--whether verbal or written--there is always a lesson, or at least some indication of what to do or avoid in fixing my idea onto celluloid. In other words, my study of film has taught me how to be a filmmaker. How Tarantinian of me.
I have the French New Wave manifesto of le politique des auteurs to thank for this one. And also how filmmakers since them have interpreted this ideology that the filmmaker is an artist and how he or she uses the camera to tell a story is highly personalized, even if it's a collage of styles. How unexpected to be inspired by Luc Besson's Subway (1985)! A film that, according to the comments I scribbled in my film journal upon watching it for the first time, I didn't like or dislike.
I'm a postmodernist. I'm forever making connections. And I could go on. Probably will.
i'm feeling nauseous
As one of my "Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes" suggests, I have started to read a book outside of my coursework. In fact, I bought Nausea by Jean-Paul Sartre a few weeks ago but had to read Our Father San Daniel by Gabriel Miro for class. And that tome took up a bit of my time.
Nausea, in case you don't already know, is about an Antoine Roquentin who is writing a book about a forgotten historical figure and he is camped out in a village/small town because it's where the best archival information on his subject is. The novel is actually Antoine's diary. I know this doesn't sound very exciting (and it isn't), but Antoine gradually determines that the world is devoid of meaning and everything is completely random, so he must find a way to live in this world with purpose. According to the back cover* of the book, Nausea is "an exposition of one of the most influential and significant philosophical attitudes of modern times--existentialism." I am only about 45 pages in, and Antoine is only just starting to have his bouts of nausea--a sort of hallucination--where he feels sick to his stomach and anxious based on his observations of society. The fits end up clearing up things for him, helping him come to this conclusion about the world.
I hope I did not sound condescending there, describing the premise of the book because I don't know much about it either. Neither the Waterstone's on campus nor the one in town had Misfortune by Wesley Stace (aka John Wesley Harding), so I decided to wander through the fiction section. I scoured every shelf. Since I don't normally read fiction, it is amazing to me the sorry state of fiction today, to see all these serial novels, like the ones about women detectives in African huts or the ones that are historical romance novels about the Tudors. (I think every character from Elizabeth [1998] must have his or her own novel.) In short: nothing really interested me.
Until I found this one. Yes, I have heard of Sartre before, and I knew he was an existentialist, but I have never read anything by him. I couldn't name anything he'd written before finding Nausea in my hands. The topic interested me, but I never intended to buy something on existentialism that day. (I made a choice; how existentialist of me!) I say this because "existentialism" has always been a word that floats in and out every now and again, and before you can call yourself something (or deny it), you have to know SOMETHING about it.
I'll let you know about the novel as it comes.
*I should note that the front cover attracted me, too: Salvador Dali's Little Cinders from 1927.
Nausea, in case you don't already know, is about an Antoine Roquentin who is writing a book about a forgotten historical figure and he is camped out in a village/small town because it's where the best archival information on his subject is. The novel is actually Antoine's diary. I know this doesn't sound very exciting (and it isn't), but Antoine gradually determines that the world is devoid of meaning and everything is completely random, so he must find a way to live in this world with purpose. According to the back cover* of the book, Nausea is "an exposition of one of the most influential and significant philosophical attitudes of modern times--existentialism." I am only about 45 pages in, and Antoine is only just starting to have his bouts of nausea--a sort of hallucination--where he feels sick to his stomach and anxious based on his observations of society. The fits end up clearing up things for him, helping him come to this conclusion about the world.
I hope I did not sound condescending there, describing the premise of the book because I don't know much about it either. Neither the Waterstone's on campus nor the one in town had Misfortune by Wesley Stace (aka John Wesley Harding), so I decided to wander through the fiction section. I scoured every shelf. Since I don't normally read fiction, it is amazing to me the sorry state of fiction today, to see all these serial novels, like the ones about women detectives in African huts or the ones that are historical romance novels about the Tudors. (I think every character from Elizabeth [1998] must have his or her own novel.) In short: nothing really interested me.
Until I found this one. Yes, I have heard of Sartre before, and I knew he was an existentialist, but I have never read anything by him. I couldn't name anything he'd written before finding Nausea in my hands. The topic interested me, but I never intended to buy something on existentialism that day. (I made a choice; how existentialist of me!) I say this because "existentialism" has always been a word that floats in and out every now and again, and before you can call yourself something (or deny it), you have to know SOMETHING about it.
I'll let you know about the novel as it comes.
*I should note that the front cover attracted me, too: Salvador Dali's Little Cinders from 1927.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
listen, i feel very passionately about this
I absolutely hate the phrase "fair enough." I absolutely hate indifference in language, whether it is the use or the meaning (or both) that is indifferent.
Monday, March 12, 2007
if only someone would ring it
Alan Fletcher and I have the same doorbell. I noticed this the other day. In my poster of different spaces in Fletcher's house/studio, you can see his doorbell at his front door:
And here is mine:
I realize this is probably not all that special. It must be very common in the UK, but it's quite a novelty for me. When I take the poster home, I will always be reminded of my own doorbell here. Tear.
And here is mine:
I realize this is probably not all that special. It must be very common in the UK, but it's quite a novelty for me. When I take the poster home, I will always be reminded of my own doorbell here. Tear.
Sunday, March 11, 2007
sweet dreams are not made of these
I had one terrible night of sleep last night. Because of my late morning nap, I didn't go to bed until 1.35 am, which is OK. I've done that before. But my neighbors were very noisy, and then it settled down for hours only to reach very weird heights around 5.30 am. They must have been drunk, totally unaware of the time, to have been stammering their mouths and bodies through the hallways, right? There is broken glass just outside our corridor's entrance and another empty pint down the hallway.
When I had gotten to sleep, I had the most bizarre dream. Louis and I were waiting for a bus with Stephanie on it. At the bus stop, we were waiting with Paul Haggis. Haggis and I aggressively discussed Crash (2005), but he admitted to me that "it's not very good." When I was finished exchanging words with him, Louis and I hopped on a red London double-decker but we weren't in London. At least it didn't look like it. I don't know what it looked like. We told Stephanie about our confrontation with Haggis. And that's all I can remember.
Then this morning, I didn't wake up by 8 or 9 am or exercise as my list of changes requires me to do. I was finally woken up by my next-door neighbor who tried to unlock my room's door. I opened the door, he looked like a zombie, and I pointed my finger to my left. "That's you," I said. He didn't say anything, but with my tip, he went over there and it took him a few minutes to get in. 10 am? Why is he drunk at 10 am? I would think he'd be hungover, but you can think when you're hungover. Totally bizarre.
When I had gotten to sleep, I had the most bizarre dream. Louis and I were waiting for a bus with Stephanie on it. At the bus stop, we were waiting with Paul Haggis. Haggis and I aggressively discussed Crash (2005), but he admitted to me that "it's not very good." When I was finished exchanging words with him, Louis and I hopped on a red London double-decker but we weren't in London. At least it didn't look like it. I don't know what it looked like. We told Stephanie about our confrontation with Haggis. And that's all I can remember.
Then this morning, I didn't wake up by 8 or 9 am or exercise as my list of changes requires me to do. I was finally woken up by my next-door neighbor who tried to unlock my room's door. I opened the door, he looked like a zombie, and I pointed my finger to my left. "That's you," I said. He didn't say anything, but with my tip, he went over there and it took him a few minutes to get in. 10 am? Why is he drunk at 10 am? I would think he'd be hungover, but you can think when you're hungover. Totally bizarre.
Saturday, March 10, 2007
is tomorrow wide enough?
Hot damn I am productive. Despite getting a late start, around 2 pm (I woke early this morning and went back to sleep for two hours following breakfast because my back was hurting me), I managed to brainstorm/outline all four of the essays I am to write over my month-long Easter holiday. And I wrote a very clever letter to my brother as well. I admit I am boasting here and now, and I can feel you foaming at the mouth.
Tomorrow involves me doing the laundry and washing my bras in my sink since I've now got Woolite (!), finishing Our Father San Daniel (that boring Spanish novel that is only now getting interesting with half to go), reading an article on the Spanish film industry for my cultural studies class (a review of some sorts considering I took Spanish film last term), and going to see Pan's Labyrinth (2006) at the cinema on campus.
Tomorrow involves me doing the laundry and washing my bras in my sink since I've now got Woolite (!), finishing Our Father San Daniel (that boring Spanish novel that is only now getting interesting with half to go), reading an article on the Spanish film industry for my cultural studies class (a review of some sorts considering I took Spanish film last term), and going to see Pan's Labyrinth (2006) at the cinema on campus.
Friday, March 9, 2007
turn and face the strange
"This is the Day" by The The is playing right now.
Last night, while watching Tristram Shandy: A Cock and Bull Story (2005), I made a list--in pretty good handwriting, I might add--of the changes I want to make in my life. There are a lot, and since it is never my objective to bore you, I will just tell you a handful:
"Be more open-minded--open to new ideas, people, activities"
"Don't take naps unless you're genuinely tired"
"Cut out the swear words"
"Take more photos if you want to be a photographer"
"Smile!"
"Read a book outside of your coursework"
"Finish that scarf"
"Add to this list often"
I already started exercising this morning. I'm waiting for the endorphins to take effect, but I am happy that I am already on this track. After all, I didn't buy any digestives or sweets while I was at Sainsbury's.
Last night, while watching Tristram Shandy: A Cock and Bull Story (2005), I made a list--in pretty good handwriting, I might add--of the changes I want to make in my life. There are a lot, and since it is never my objective to bore you, I will just tell you a handful:
"Be more open-minded--open to new ideas, people, activities"
"Don't take naps unless you're genuinely tired"
"Cut out the swear words"
"Take more photos if you want to be a photographer"
"Smile!"
"Read a book outside of your coursework"
"Finish that scarf"
"Add to this list often"
I already started exercising this morning. I'm waiting for the endorphins to take effect, but I am happy that I am already on this track. After all, I didn't buy any digestives or sweets while I was at Sainsbury's.
this used to be my playground
This used to be my desktop: La Grande Arche de la Défense, the amazing landmark sitting smack dab in the middle of the business district just northwest of Paris. From the top of this white block, looking back at Paris, you can see L'Arc de Triomphe. (Meaning: The Champs Élysées.)
Thursday, March 8, 2007
no, i don't go there and i've never even been
I wore my Berkeley sweatshirt to my seminar today on the May 1968 student riots in France for my class on youth and political culture in 1960s Europe. No one pointed out the irony there.
the urban community
Saw La Comunidad (2000) tonight. A non-melodramatic Spanish black comedy. Enjoyed it very much even if it was unbelievably ridiculous. Carmen Maura plays a sort of down-on-her-luck temp working as a real estate agent. (Where on earth can temps do that sort of work?) To make a long story short, she finds 300 million pesetas in the derelict apartment of her dead "neighbor" upstairs (she kinda camps out in the swankiest apartment on the market in Madrid). Everyone else in the building has been waiting for the guy to die so they can have the money he won in the sports lottery twenty years ago. Everyone wants it so badly that s/he'll kill Julia and even each other to keep it all to him/herself.
Anyway, for our essay in Spanish cultural studies, we have the opportunity to write on the film, exploring such ideas as femininity, urbanism, and "invented communities." Because I had no idea what La Comunidad was about before going in, I didn't understand the question that asks me to analyze the Julia character "in relation to ideas of urbanism and femininity." But while watching it, I saw it.
Just when the film ended, the narcoleptic who slept through Flamenco (1995) said she didn't understand how she could examine the "urbanism" of the film. She said something to the effect of: "They [the characters] never went outside the building. We never really saw the city." I thought I should share this one with you. How could they not see housing as a part of the urban landscape? Is it not a building too? My teacher said that it relates because the building and its inhabitants form a sort of microcosm of society. That's true, but I see the way in which you can examine class in relation to urbanism as represented in the film.
Anyway, for our essay in Spanish cultural studies, we have the opportunity to write on the film, exploring such ideas as femininity, urbanism, and "invented communities." Because I had no idea what La Comunidad was about before going in, I didn't understand the question that asks me to analyze the Julia character "in relation to ideas of urbanism and femininity." But while watching it, I saw it.
Just when the film ended, the narcoleptic who slept through Flamenco (1995) said she didn't understand how she could examine the "urbanism" of the film. She said something to the effect of: "They [the characters] never went outside the building. We never really saw the city." I thought I should share this one with you. How could they not see housing as a part of the urban landscape? Is it not a building too? My teacher said that it relates because the building and its inhabitants form a sort of microcosm of society. That's true, but I see the way in which you can examine class in relation to urbanism as represented in the film.
Wednesday, March 7, 2007
at least he didn't mug me
An old guy in a motorized cart tried to run me over a few times at Sainsbury's today. This itself is not funny, but watching his wife chastise him for it as if he were a little boy was. "You're backing into someone! Stop it! Go forward and stop!" And he didn't say anything, not to me, not to her.
Tuesday, March 6, 2007
i love the 80s
You know very well by now I spend a lot of time every day listening to RadioIO80s. I am almost convinced I am the only person who does. Of course this isn't the case. How else would they stay in business? It's just--because no one else I know listens to it, I feel like it's all mine. We have this sort of thing in our lives all over the place, don't we? We're convinced no one else does/likes whatever it is because we can't see outside of ourselves, out of our own universes where we're the sun.
Oh, this is not the post I wanted to write. R.E.M. is playing again. Have I told you I can't stand them? Talk about twangy and sounding the same all the time. But this is neither here nor there.
What I wanted this to be about was my love of 80s music. If you ask me, it is the best decade in music. Sure, we couldn't have gotten here without what came before. And we wouldn't be where we are now without 80s music to some degree. Please don't get me wrong, I am not thinking in strictly causal terms here.
In any case, I recently thought that I would like to work with music. This sounds really vague. No, I can't play an instrument (I have no rhythm whatsoever) and I can't sing. And I don't want to review records or concerts. And I don't want to write biographies or film documentaries about obscure/long-forgotten/influential artists (take your pick). What I want to do is write about 80s music within the scope of my own interests, as a bit of cultural criticism. I don't have a general subject that interests me, but I am fascinated by the image/performance that musical acts such as Adam and the Ants and Bow Wow Wow projected/represented.
Is it possible to study musical lyrics as poetry in English departments?
Oh, this is not the post I wanted to write. R.E.M. is playing again. Have I told you I can't stand them? Talk about twangy and sounding the same all the time. But this is neither here nor there.
What I wanted this to be about was my love of 80s music. If you ask me, it is the best decade in music. Sure, we couldn't have gotten here without what came before. And we wouldn't be where we are now without 80s music to some degree. Please don't get me wrong, I am not thinking in strictly causal terms here.
In any case, I recently thought that I would like to work with music. This sounds really vague. No, I can't play an instrument (I have no rhythm whatsoever) and I can't sing. And I don't want to review records or concerts. And I don't want to write biographies or film documentaries about obscure/long-forgotten/influential artists (take your pick). What I want to do is write about 80s music within the scope of my own interests, as a bit of cultural criticism. I don't have a general subject that interests me, but I am fascinated by the image/performance that musical acts such as Adam and the Ants and Bow Wow Wow projected/represented.
Is it possible to study musical lyrics as poetry in English departments?
Monday, March 5, 2007
it just makes me want to be a photographer
This is my current desktop background, a detailed excerpt from the facade of The Institute of the Arab World in Paris.
¡viva el español!
Being engulfed this academic year in only European Studies courses has had a tremendous effect on me in numerous ways. However, right now, I will only discuss the two major (and long-lasting) effects:
1. I miss American Studies. Of course the concepts and ideas, readings, and cultural history that I had studied at home about America has greatly aided me in my study of Europe. But it is sometimes frustrating when my classmates don't know certain concepts. For example, in a class on the cross-cultural narrative with final-year students, I was the only one familiar with the terms anthropology, ethnography, postcolonialism (as Brits, how could they not know this one?), postmodernism, etc. The seminar group depended on my explanations of what they were because I was the only one who dared to tackle defining the terms.
I also miss American Studies because all I do is study Europe. Of course I chose this concentration in my major coursework for comparison, but sometimes you really just can't bring in America all the time. I'm often itching in my seat to comment comparatively, but if I do, it would be a digression. Race, for instance, is not the same, and you'd think it didn't matter at all in my courses sometimes. But at least I can still talk about gender till everyone's blue in the face.
2. I miss my language studies. Over the two terms, I have taken three country-specific courses: Spanish film, Spanish cultural studies, and French film. The courses on offer here in the European Studies Department are fantastic. I would love to take them all, but I can't because they are conducted in the individual languages. (My three are in English.)
I quit studying languages when I quit linguistics. I was spreading myself too thinly by trying to study three languages at once since high school. In subsequent years, I have lost so much Spanish, I fear. I used to be a really good writer, and I can only understand and read Spanish now. (I could never speak it, which is why I quit.)
I'd been enchanted by French off and on. The last time I formally studied it, it was an intensive elementary review over a year ago. I haven't lost much since then, but since I am in two Spanish courses this year and listening to it is always a delight, I feel that it is tempting me to start up again. I don't know if I can ever forgive myself for abandoning it for French, and I don't know if I am prepared to abandon French for Spanish, either. All I know for certain is: I cannot have both. I won't progress. I need to concentrate. I'm so indecisive.
My friend Denise helped to quell my anxiety over my pervasive indecisiveness. She said if I can't decide between two things, then clearly I don't want either one enough so I don't need to choose. This is not to say that I should necessarily choose a third. I don't need to choose anything.
Oh, but I miss Spanish. In high school, it was my favorite subject. It was the only way I studied (any) culture. I was a good writer and I loved to read it. How could I ever have convinced myself to give it up? Why didn't anyone remind me of what it made me feel? Confident. Even if I couldn't speak it.
You heard it here first: I think I want to continue studying Spanish formally. Besides, it complements my burgeoning interest in Latin American history, cinema, culture, etc. Especially Mexico's.
1. I miss American Studies. Of course the concepts and ideas, readings, and cultural history that I had studied at home about America has greatly aided me in my study of Europe. But it is sometimes frustrating when my classmates don't know certain concepts. For example, in a class on the cross-cultural narrative with final-year students, I was the only one familiar with the terms anthropology, ethnography, postcolonialism (as Brits, how could they not know this one?), postmodernism, etc. The seminar group depended on my explanations of what they were because I was the only one who dared to tackle defining the terms.
I also miss American Studies because all I do is study Europe. Of course I chose this concentration in my major coursework for comparison, but sometimes you really just can't bring in America all the time. I'm often itching in my seat to comment comparatively, but if I do, it would be a digression. Race, for instance, is not the same, and you'd think it didn't matter at all in my courses sometimes. But at least I can still talk about gender till everyone's blue in the face.
2. I miss my language studies. Over the two terms, I have taken three country-specific courses: Spanish film, Spanish cultural studies, and French film. The courses on offer here in the European Studies Department are fantastic. I would love to take them all, but I can't because they are conducted in the individual languages. (My three are in English.)
I quit studying languages when I quit linguistics. I was spreading myself too thinly by trying to study three languages at once since high school. In subsequent years, I have lost so much Spanish, I fear. I used to be a really good writer, and I can only understand and read Spanish now. (I could never speak it, which is why I quit.)
I'd been enchanted by French off and on. The last time I formally studied it, it was an intensive elementary review over a year ago. I haven't lost much since then, but since I am in two Spanish courses this year and listening to it is always a delight, I feel that it is tempting me to start up again. I don't know if I can ever forgive myself for abandoning it for French, and I don't know if I am prepared to abandon French for Spanish, either. All I know for certain is: I cannot have both. I won't progress. I need to concentrate. I'm so indecisive.
My friend Denise helped to quell my anxiety over my pervasive indecisiveness. She said if I can't decide between two things, then clearly I don't want either one enough so I don't need to choose. This is not to say that I should necessarily choose a third. I don't need to choose anything.
Oh, but I miss Spanish. In high school, it was my favorite subject. It was the only way I studied (any) culture. I was a good writer and I loved to read it. How could I ever have convinced myself to give it up? Why didn't anyone remind me of what it made me feel? Confident. Even if I couldn't speak it.
You heard it here first: I think I want to continue studying Spanish formally. Besides, it complements my burgeoning interest in Latin American history, cinema, culture, etc. Especially Mexico's.
doppelgangers
Not a day goes by that I don't find something offensive. Today, one of the things is a photo gallery from The Los Angeles Times suggesting actors to play serial killers if their stories should ever become the stuff on the silver screen. Looking at these mug shot-like portraits (the actor's and the serial killer's juxtaposed together), you can see staff writer Patrick Day's suggestions are mainly based on what the actor looks like. Mind you, this is not what they always look like (with the exception of Kevin Costner maybe). Day may write that Benicio del Toro "would be perfect to channel [Ricardo "The Night Stalker" Ramirez's] intensity," but what he really means is, "He looks kinda like him. You can't get that guy from Babel. He doesn't look like him!" It's even clearer when Day says that Vincent Gallo should play Charles Manson because he's had a bug bushy beard and a coif reminiscent of Manson's anyway. Nothing about his acting cred.
The actors should be offended. It's as if Day's suggesting Philip Seymour Hoffman can be mistaken on the street for John Wayne Gacy, the "clown killer" who raped and tortured boys with whom he had contact due to the nature of his job as a party clown. (Then again, I bet Gacy wouldn't be out on the streets; probably behind bars.)
As a cinephile, I am offended at the suggestion that Ryan Seacrest should play Jeffrey Dahmer. Never mind the fact that there's already been a movie about him. Saying Seacrest has a "leg-up" on other contenders for the role because he has witnessed "many acts of human depravity" as host of American Idol really degrades Dahmer's victims and the singing contestants on the show. The torture is not comparable. It's just sick.
I realize this is all just a joke, but c'mon. It's pretty low.
The actors should be offended. It's as if Day's suggesting Philip Seymour Hoffman can be mistaken on the street for John Wayne Gacy, the "clown killer" who raped and tortured boys with whom he had contact due to the nature of his job as a party clown. (Then again, I bet Gacy wouldn't be out on the streets; probably behind bars.)
As a cinephile, I am offended at the suggestion that Ryan Seacrest should play Jeffrey Dahmer. Never mind the fact that there's already been a movie about him. Saying Seacrest has a "leg-up" on other contenders for the role because he has witnessed "many acts of human depravity" as host of American Idol really degrades Dahmer's victims and the singing contestants on the show. The torture is not comparable. It's just sick.
I realize this is all just a joke, but c'mon. It's pretty low.
you say it's your...
I'm officially freaked out. I have this uncanny ability to wander onto someone's filmography page at IMDB when it is their birthday. For example:
Yesterday, I was looking up Diva (1981) because I have to see it tonight for my French film class. None of the names looked familiar but Dominique Pinon, who I knew already was from Amelie (2001) and A Very Long Engagement (2004). What do you know? In confirming who I thought he was, I noticed that March 4 was his 52nd birthday.
And just now, I looked up Dario Grandinetti because I had watched Hable con ella (2002) last night and fell in love with it again. Today is his 48th birthday.
I told you birthdays mean a lot to me, but this is just weird.
Yesterday, I was looking up Diva (1981) because I have to see it tonight for my French film class. None of the names looked familiar but Dominique Pinon, who I knew already was from Amelie (2001) and A Very Long Engagement (2004). What do you know? In confirming who I thought he was, I noticed that March 4 was his 52nd birthday.
And just now, I looked up Dario Grandinetti because I had watched Hable con ella (2002) last night and fell in love with it again. Today is his 48th birthday.
I told you birthdays mean a lot to me, but this is just weird.
Sunday, March 4, 2007
a breath of fresh air?
Last night, I spat into my own eye. It was quite a feat, let me tell you. There was something in my left eye, and whenever something like this happens, I usually blow upwards into my eye to get the stuff out. (If this fails, then I reluctantly take off my glasses and rub it out.) This time, however, my air was accompanied by a little bit of spit. I laughed at the ridiculousness of this at the time. Now I'm just embarrassed to have told you about it.
Saturday, March 3, 2007
happy pancake day
Today is not really Pancake Day. That was Mardi Gras. Fat Tuesday. Last Tuesday. Apparently the Brits celebrate by making pancakes. I was speaking with two of them on that night, and I said that Pancake Day is Mardi Gras. Then the guy (who has never said anything remotely intelligent or observant) said, "Oh, that's the Brazilian thing." Then I pointed out that that "Brazilian thing" is Carnival and is celebrated all round the world. Venice is known for its Carnival, too.
In any case, I had bought about two weeks ago the pancake batter where all you need to do is add water, or in my case, milk. This morning, finally having enough milk, I got to work on making some pancakes. It was a disaster.
I didn't have oil for the pan, so I borrowed some. Too much. So my first pancake was too watery since I had tried to wash the pan, to free it from so much oil. Each pancake after that never really improved. I was so frustrated on top of this because before I left my room, my mouse/trackpad was frozen. I couldn't even use the keyboard. Plus, the one guy who lives on my floor that I really can't stand was in the kitchen, probably amused at how horrible a pancake-maker/flipper I am.
There's about a third or maybe even a half of the batter left. I got so tired and fed up I just quit. The pancakes aren't even that good. They're not thick and fluffy like IHOP's. They're more like spongy crepes. I put the rest of the batter in the refrigerator with the label "TAKE ME, I'M YOURS. BUT TAKE ME SOON 3/3/07."
It's only 11 am and I'm already having a shitty day.
In any case, I had bought about two weeks ago the pancake batter where all you need to do is add water, or in my case, milk. This morning, finally having enough milk, I got to work on making some pancakes. It was a disaster.
I didn't have oil for the pan, so I borrowed some. Too much. So my first pancake was too watery since I had tried to wash the pan, to free it from so much oil. Each pancake after that never really improved. I was so frustrated on top of this because before I left my room, my mouse/trackpad was frozen. I couldn't even use the keyboard. Plus, the one guy who lives on my floor that I really can't stand was in the kitchen, probably amused at how horrible a pancake-maker/flipper I am.
There's about a third or maybe even a half of the batter left. I got so tired and fed up I just quit. The pancakes aren't even that good. They're not thick and fluffy like IHOP's. They're more like spongy crepes. I put the rest of the batter in the refrigerator with the label "TAKE ME, I'M YOURS. BUT TAKE ME SOON 3/3/07."
It's only 11 am and I'm already having a shitty day.
Friday, March 2, 2007
more movies
ASAP:
Grace of My Heart (1996)
Der Tunnel (2001)
Twin Town (1997)
Love and Other Catastrophes (1996)
Grace of My Heart (1996)
Der Tunnel (2001)
Twin Town (1997)
Love and Other Catastrophes (1996)
Thursday, March 1, 2007
private eyes... they see my every move
I am under investigation.
Got something in the mail today saying that the TV Licensing Enforcement Division is investigating whether or not I am receiving TV programming since I do not have a TV license (a £131 value, I might add, for the whole year). To watch terrestrial TV (i.e. the BBC) without a license is against the law, punishable with a fine of up to £1000. Well, I really shouldn't be too worried. After all, I do not have a TV.
I assume this is just a general tactic, sent to anyone who doesn't have a license regardless of whether or not they have a TV. It's also a way of advertising. I imagine it's tempting for some people who have previously written off buying the TV license for whatever reason. But buying one is completely out of the question for me. It's not like I have the money to buy the TV, too.
How do people deal with this? I understand *why* TV licensing exists--it's a sort of membership fee or a tax for public broadcasting. I respect this. The BBC is world-renowned for fantastic public programming. PBS in the States is floundering all the time and some of its financial support comes voluntarily from the public. Still, there's something about me, a socialist, that inhibits me from this cultural practice: why should I pay for TV?
Got something in the mail today saying that the TV Licensing Enforcement Division is investigating whether or not I am receiving TV programming since I do not have a TV license (a £131 value, I might add, for the whole year). To watch terrestrial TV (i.e. the BBC) without a license is against the law, punishable with a fine of up to £1000. Well, I really shouldn't be too worried. After all, I do not have a TV.
I assume this is just a general tactic, sent to anyone who doesn't have a license regardless of whether or not they have a TV. It's also a way of advertising. I imagine it's tempting for some people who have previously written off buying the TV license for whatever reason. But buying one is completely out of the question for me. It's not like I have the money to buy the TV, too.
How do people deal with this? I understand *why* TV licensing exists--it's a sort of membership fee or a tax for public broadcasting. I respect this. The BBC is world-renowned for fantastic public programming. PBS in the States is floundering all the time and some of its financial support comes voluntarily from the public. Still, there's something about me, a socialist, that inhibits me from this cultural practice: why should I pay for TV?
if only they were all as sexy as carmen miranda
As promised, I will now discuss the lecture/seminar I attended last night. I think the speaker came all the way from Victoria, Australia, to give this talk among doing other things in the UK, too. She might have been jet-lagged, so please keep this in mind while I write about the experience. Superficially speaking, I think she was very nervous. In some parts, she spoke too fast and/or stumbled. She was also very expressive with her hands. I appreciate people who talk with their hands (they won't be restricted to expositing only with their mouths), but it was a bit distracting, like fireworks or an interpretive dance.
The lecturer spoke on the kinds of representations women and femininity receive in contemporary Brazilian cinema. She focused on Me You Them (2000) and Central Station (1998). I have only ever seen Central Station, and that was years ago, but I remember it surprisingly well, especially as she talked about it. So, any of my thoughts regarding the first film were pretty much based on what she gave us in her lecture. I had heard of Me You Them before and have always wanted to see it, but I had no idea it revolves around a woman who finds in three different men what she wants: a home and security from her--albeit oppressive--husband, a friendly and compassionate helping hand from her husband's cousin, and a passionate and corporeal relationship with a younger man who works in the fields with her.
When it came time to the Q & A section of the talk, I asked if it is possible to read the protagonist, Darlene, as a feminist figure. I had gotten this impression of her because she isn't framed, according to the speaker, as a slut even though she sleeps with various men and has children with the two men that are not her husband while she is still married to him. She wants all three of the men, and the system--this postmodern or non-traditional family structure--does work. Also, the previous question asked how female directors in Brazil approach (re)constructing Brazilian female sexuality in the face of the stereotyped but ultimately accepted view of women as being hypersexual. This discussion led into my question, I think, especially since the director (Andrucha Waddington) is a man and the screenwriter (Elena Soarez) is a woman.
In short, the lecturer did not think my interpretation had no grounds, but she doesn't think she is that great a feminist figure because her husband, at the very end of the film, registers all four of her children--none of which he fathered--as his children, under his name. Legally, this means he retains ownership of them, just has he has over Darlene because she is his wife. The speaker thinks this move is his way to of re-affirming his authority, now making it impossible for Darlene to ever leave him for the youngest man because she would never leave her children.
To write Darlene off as not being a feminist figure for this reason supposes that in order for her to be feminist she must be the most powerful force in the house. Can she not be a feminist for finding a way around patriarchal norms, for finding two men that fulfill her needs in addition to what her husband has provided her with (food and shelter)? She is subverting his power over her body when she sleeps with these other men. She is re-claiming it for herself. That she does not leave him because of the legal binding he has wrapped her in is just realistic, I suppose. In my opinion, the film suggests that gender equality is not something that happens overnight.
The film apparently does not have full closure. You don't see how they adjust to what he has done, but the speaker agreed with me that just because he has registered the children under his name does not mean that they cannot go on living like this in the poor rural Northeast.
All in all, she did not convince me that Darlene isn't an allegorical feminist figure. I have to see the film for myself.
Moving on: at first I found the speaker's examination of Central Station problematic. When discussing the lead character, Dora, I thought she was saying that she was not feminine. Maybe in the strict hyper-feminine way, she is not, but Dora is neither masculine. In listening to her further, I came to better understand what she was talking about.
The film charts Dora's transformation from a bit of a "cynical" loner to a more feminine maternal figure for a boy who she is trying to reunite with his father and brothers following the sudden death of his mother, one of the illiterate people Dora would write letters for in the central station. I agree with the lecturer's interpretation that Dora's journey to maternal figure is at the expense of her sexuality. She may become more feminine--she wears lipstick to appear pretty for a truck driver while she and the boy are on the road--but she never gets laid.
I am not saying her attempts are fruitless (who knows what will happen when she returns home to Rio; she might get a date!), but it is her conformity to heteronormative social patterns that I find distressing. It doesn't help that she arrives at this transformation following the encouragement of the boy who, let's face it, at his age can recognize normal gender roles and appearances, but does not necessarily understand how they are a social construction, and that he's just policing appropriate gender behavior. Figures this film was made by men (director Walter Salles and screenwriters Marcos Bernstein and João Emanuel Carneiro).
Very anti-climatically: I think I am done.
The lecturer spoke on the kinds of representations women and femininity receive in contemporary Brazilian cinema. She focused on Me You Them (2000) and Central Station (1998). I have only ever seen Central Station, and that was years ago, but I remember it surprisingly well, especially as she talked about it. So, any of my thoughts regarding the first film were pretty much based on what she gave us in her lecture. I had heard of Me You Them before and have always wanted to see it, but I had no idea it revolves around a woman who finds in three different men what she wants: a home and security from her--albeit oppressive--husband, a friendly and compassionate helping hand from her husband's cousin, and a passionate and corporeal relationship with a younger man who works in the fields with her.
When it came time to the Q & A section of the talk, I asked if it is possible to read the protagonist, Darlene, as a feminist figure. I had gotten this impression of her because she isn't framed, according to the speaker, as a slut even though she sleeps with various men and has children with the two men that are not her husband while she is still married to him. She wants all three of the men, and the system--this postmodern or non-traditional family structure--does work. Also, the previous question asked how female directors in Brazil approach (re)constructing Brazilian female sexuality in the face of the stereotyped but ultimately accepted view of women as being hypersexual. This discussion led into my question, I think, especially since the director (Andrucha Waddington) is a man and the screenwriter (Elena Soarez) is a woman.
In short, the lecturer did not think my interpretation had no grounds, but she doesn't think she is that great a feminist figure because her husband, at the very end of the film, registers all four of her children--none of which he fathered--as his children, under his name. Legally, this means he retains ownership of them, just has he has over Darlene because she is his wife. The speaker thinks this move is his way to of re-affirming his authority, now making it impossible for Darlene to ever leave him for the youngest man because she would never leave her children.
To write Darlene off as not being a feminist figure for this reason supposes that in order for her to be feminist she must be the most powerful force in the house. Can she not be a feminist for finding a way around patriarchal norms, for finding two men that fulfill her needs in addition to what her husband has provided her with (food and shelter)? She is subverting his power over her body when she sleeps with these other men. She is re-claiming it for herself. That she does not leave him because of the legal binding he has wrapped her in is just realistic, I suppose. In my opinion, the film suggests that gender equality is not something that happens overnight.
The film apparently does not have full closure. You don't see how they adjust to what he has done, but the speaker agreed with me that just because he has registered the children under his name does not mean that they cannot go on living like this in the poor rural Northeast.
All in all, she did not convince me that Darlene isn't an allegorical feminist figure. I have to see the film for myself.
Moving on: at first I found the speaker's examination of Central Station problematic. When discussing the lead character, Dora, I thought she was saying that she was not feminine. Maybe in the strict hyper-feminine way, she is not, but Dora is neither masculine. In listening to her further, I came to better understand what she was talking about.
The film charts Dora's transformation from a bit of a "cynical" loner to a more feminine maternal figure for a boy who she is trying to reunite with his father and brothers following the sudden death of his mother, one of the illiterate people Dora would write letters for in the central station. I agree with the lecturer's interpretation that Dora's journey to maternal figure is at the expense of her sexuality. She may become more feminine--she wears lipstick to appear pretty for a truck driver while she and the boy are on the road--but she never gets laid.
I am not saying her attempts are fruitless (who knows what will happen when she returns home to Rio; she might get a date!), but it is her conformity to heteronormative social patterns that I find distressing. It doesn't help that she arrives at this transformation following the encouragement of the boy who, let's face it, at his age can recognize normal gender roles and appearances, but does not necessarily understand how they are a social construction, and that he's just policing appropriate gender behavior. Figures this film was made by men (director Walter Salles and screenwriters Marcos Bernstein and João Emanuel Carneiro).
Very anti-climatically: I think I am done.
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