In which I am hungry.

Well, it's dinner time and I find myself in a house with no food (none belonging to me and of the dinnertime persuasion, anyway). This is, of course, due ot a complete lack of foresight on my part, but this self-awareness ain't going to fill my tummy. And so it looks like I'm having a can of soup and possibly some pasta. Mmm. There are some bits of salt and pepper squid in the freezer, but I'm a little concerned about how good for me deep frying is. Anyone want to weigh in?

Soup. It's what's for dinner.

Tomorrow I have to go on the unappealing search for undergarments that I can wear with very particular outergarments without said undergarments being immediately noticable. Sigh. When did getting dressed require so much effort? I am not expecting much success, especially in light of recent bad moods.

But as the Mr Whippy van finally decides there are no more kids on this street and moves on, I hear the jug has boiled, so it's time to whip up some culinary brilliance. Then I'm going to tempt fate by watching "What Lies Beneath". Before bedtime, no less.

In which I am making headway into becoming a grumpy old woman

Nothing like a rant to get the blogging mind back on track.

Today I'm complaining about the growing trend that seems to permeate film, and in fact is not that recent a trend, when I think about it. What it is, is the idea that it doesn't matter if the guy is tubby, short, hairy, or generally not that attractive, but the GIRL has no option but to be hot. No questions.

I don't know if I'd feel better about things if the guy were also required to be hot. Or whether, if they were both ordinary looking, I'd feel as though a victory had been won. All I know is that the current state of things irks me. The girls are required to look deeper to find true beauty, but the guys are allowed to do what they like. Have I put too much thought into this?

Well, possibly. And yet, I felt it necessary to put in a blog. I suppose it's something that seems to have bled into my life, lately.

Meanwhile, the other night I saw The Box. If I had ever seen Donnie Darko, I probably would've been more prepared (same director), but I haven't, so I wasn't. (Side note: before the screening the MC said "I'm guessing there isn't a single one of you who hasn't seen Donnie Darko", followed by laughter from the audience, like la di frickin DA, nerdlingers.) The first part of the premise was REALLY well done -- the moment when the button is pressed (because you know there's no movie without that happening, but you still don't want it to happen) was gasp-inducing. Anyway, it was all very tense and quiet and suspenseful.....and then it went a little odd. Like, paranormal odd. Like zombie vessels with nosebleeds, odd. I suppose it raised some interesting questions, but I would have preferred a little less of the paranormal, I think. I mean, SOME, sure, but I think there was a more interesting story in the bare bones of the premise that didn't need the hoo-ha.

Last night, after a soul-crushing night in which I discovered that people I've known for half the year as part of my dance class don't actually know my name, I missed my connecting bus and ended stranded in the middle of a major road with no taxis in sight. This is what I don't like about Point B - its transport system leaves a LOT to be desired. Anyway, what followed was a 40minute walk home alone at 11pm, with many a run-in with cobwebs and bitey insects. Needless to say I wasn't feeling my best when I finally made it in the door, and lay on the floor for some time watching Glee. Unfortunately, even this excellent show (I'll have to express my love for it some other day) failed to lift me out of my mood, hence today's grumpy blog.

Grumpily yours,
O

Random story #1

There are three golf balls on the moon.

The first was a practice hit, or so Neil had attested. This may have had something to do with the fact that it lay embarrassingly close to its original position, half-buried in the fine granules of moon-dust not far from the footprints the first lunar module left behind. The moon had felt the shift in its surface makeup, lightly, like an itch, or a fly landing on a person's cheek. It had recognised the extra mass of the golf ball, too, and in the end had accepted it with the philosophy of one who has witnessed a larger scope than could be disrupted by a mere golf ball. It appreciated the similarities, though, of the pock-marked orb that now made up part of its mass.

The second had been a hole in one, or close to. Few knew that several minutes of the first lunar landing had been spent arguing over the legitimacy of that shot. It now lay against the flag pole, next to a slightly incriminating footprint that suggested it had been nudged at some point out of its actual landing.

The third ball had rebounded directly off the pole, the result of a misunderstanding of the nature of the atmosphere. It had driven into a rocky area, where the relaunch of the lunar module had knocked a fragment of rock into a slow lob. Eventually, it had made contact with the ball, ricocheting off the latter and knocking it into a rocky gutter. The ball tipped, tripped, rapped and rattled through the low-gravity atmosphere, gaining momentum with each sluggish arc. It was surprised by its own progress; looking back it saw the earth-rise, upwards the diminishing speck of light that came from the engines of the lunar module as it powered upward, leaving the golf ball to its own devices. Abandoning, even, to an environment too ancient to even fathom its existence.

Eventually, of course, the ball would come to a stop, and the moon's orbit would continue on and on into each new space, taking with it the three new additions to itself.

In which it is Friday.

At the moment I'm watching Frost/Nixon, and I'm very pleased with the investment. Frank Langella is a god. Also he makes me want to give him a really big hug.

Today I finished up work with a tremendous sense of relief. Yes, I still have work to do over the weekend, but there is nothing like the feeling of easing off your shoes at the end of a day's hard work, sitting down on the floor and leaning back against the couch and just...breathing. The air is growing warmer, sweeter, and while I could really do with a great big thunderstorm, I'll take this balmly weather for now. Ahhhh.


Saw Inglourious Basterds the other day. It's the first Tarantino film I've ever seen, and I have to say...I was marvellously impressed. It was just...mesmerising. There were parts that I didn't like at all, to be sure (not all that interested in the bludgeoning of heads with a baseball bat), but for the most part...it's constructed in the most intriguing way - five or six really long scenes that are beautifully crafted, or at least fascinatingly creative, fraught with an impressive amount of tension and some truly wonderful acting. Christoph Waltz is indescribably good - difficult to keep your eyes off him, and I'm totally picking him for an Oscar nom, if not a favourite to win for Supporting Actor in 2010.

Now THAT's a pipe.

I understand Tarantino has a penchant and a reputation for violence in film, and it's carried over here, but overlooking that there is some great enthusiasm for filmmaking in his work. I'm quite pleasantly surprised. Not sure I'm going to go out and watch Kill Bill, but...

In which I spend a little while reveling in the Potterverse

I would like to begin by saying this: I want a t-shirt that says "I'm what Willis was talkin' 'bout".


Meanwhile...I'm cooking a casserole. It's been in the oven for about 1.5 hours, and I'm STARVING, although possibly also curious to see whether it'll work. It has meat and mushrooms and carrot and onion and parsley and thyme. Lots of thyme. I may have gotten carried away.


I saw the latest Harry Potter movie the other day (for those keeping score, The Half-Blood Prince), and I am smitten, as I always seem to be by this series. I love it. O, how I love it. Almost for its own sake, and it seems to have been made just for me! Meeee! Anyway, As a result I've dived (diven?) back into the books, and spent much of today pleasurably ensconced in the Potterverse. It's the vividness of the world that I love. A perfectly wonderful excuse to abandon reality in favour of something a little more magical.

Awesome.

In which I cut New Hollywood some slack

I've been asked to elaborate on the Old v New Hollywood battle, and I suppose it's largely interpretive (in my mind, a 50-ft glamour-queen in an elegant, feather-trimmed gown is blithely slapping a scrawny midriff-baring, thigh-high boots-wearing teen with too much eye makeup and a vacant expression. Take that! And that!). I'm sure - in fact I know - that studios back in the day could be just as money-focused and story-indifferent as they are these days...but perhaps because there is so much more money floating around nowadays, it seems worse. Changing the ends of film adaptations in order to avoid a downer, casting the studio darling instead of the person who would have looked the part...oh, and remaking films that don't need remaking, just because you're sure they'll make you money, without caring about whether they are bringing anything significant to the world....

SIGH.

Maybe it all comes down to money - less chances back then to have a flop? Are there more classics to come out of Old Hollywood? Look at To Kill a Mockingbird, The Philadelphia Story, 12 Angry Men, It Happened One Night, Rear Window and Roman Holiday...they're not perfect films, certainly not from a technical standpoint, but there is more art in those films, and in the way that they do the best with what they've got to create magic.

But here are a few movies that I think have really gone for it with art.

Firstly, and obviously to anyone who has talked to me about films, is Road to Perdition. A gangster movie about family, regret, fear, consequences, but it's so much more. Some of the best Cinematography I've ever seen (by the late Conrad L. Hall) - I mean, there's the most awesome shot of someone smoking a cigarette that I've ever seen, some amazing, telling fades and transitions, and man, there's this scene in the rain, and JAYZUS, it's indescribably beautiful. So there's that. But there's also the Colours - muted, browns, greens, whites, greys, cautiously, tentatively lightening as our protagonists travel through the film, and the white, white sands of the beach at Perdition. And the Music. It just - oh, it just WORKS. It means something.

Also I prefer this poster to the one that happened later (one of those "big faces of the stars over what would have otherwise been quite a moving poster" posters).

Hmm. Quite liking this topic. Now what else...

In which Old Hollywood kicks the CRAP out of New Hollywood

So let me tell you about the movies I've watched recently.

On Saturday, as previously stated, I watched All About Eve, starring Bette Davis and her infamous eyes. This is the story of a great but aging stage actress who meets "her biggest fan", Eve, a meek, sweet-looking girl from Wisconsin (the cheese state) who has seen every performance she's ever done and can you see where this is going? Oh yes, it's the old young-meek-fan-turns-psycho story. Quite chilling, although not as much as it could have been with a different soundtrack. This is where John Williams kicked ass - the music. Ms Davis was quite wonderful in what would become her defining role, really, and I sincerely despised Eve, so I suppose well done to her as well. It's funny, this period in time was one with a lot less in the way of rights for women than now, but I find a lot more to admire in a woman who doesn't need to put a man down in order to stand equally with him. I'm not sure exactly what my point is here, I'm just more impressed with Bette Davis than I am with the cast of Sex and the City.

Incidentally, the number of Oscar Best Picture winners I've seen has reached 46. 34 to go!

Today I saw Inherit the Wind starring Spencer Tracy, Gene Kelly, and that guy who played Col. Potter in M*A*S*H. The fictionalised (which it turns out means something like "same story, different names") story of the Scopes "Monkey" Trial, where a teacher was arrested for teaching Darwin's Theory of Evolution, or, more specifically, for teaching a science that contradicted the idea of divine creation. The film itself was quite intriguing, and a heck of a decent performance from Mr Tracy, and a fine performance from Mr Kelly (excuse me while I amuse myself with the fact that these two people have feminine last-names). Also, apparently, the play on which this film was based was written as a way of criticising the witch-hunts during the McCarthy era, but without being - y'know - arrested for criticising said witch-hunts. Good lord.

Continuing the theme of persecution, I also saw Milk this weekend, and I must say, very well done. Sean Penn, it will not surprise you (or at least those of you who like Mr Penn) was much-deserving of his Oscar for this role, and the whole telling of the story was really, really nice. Shot almost like a documentary, which gave it a sense of realism, and helped, I think, sidestep any over-sentimentality that could have happened. Weirdly enough, the director, Gus Van Sant, is scheduled to make another film based on the same story, called The Mayor of Castro Street, in 2012.

Hollywood is weird.

And while we're on the subject, it turns out that the excellent British film Death At A Funeral, released in 2007, is already being REMADE in America, with American actors and an American script. I find it difficult to express how stupid I find this.

Hollywood is also stupid.

But not always (see previous films). And when I return to the "classics" section of the video store, I'm diving back into the Awesomeness of Old Hollywood.