I've been meaning to write something about The Painted Veil for several weeks now, but never got around to it. It's an extremely beautiful and well-crafted period piece, but moves periodically with a sullen slowness. Clocking in at two hours, it's not a movie that you should watch if you're exhausted. Overall, it's a very good adaptation of the book, and shot with a beautiful, overarching simplicity.
The acting was very good on all fronts. In addition to the superb job done by the two leads, the Chinese peasants seemed real. Naomi Watts is an extremely beautiful and versatile actress. This love story is really about her and how she transforms from a simple and shallow person into a noble and admirable woman. Ed Norton is also commendable in his role, although you get the feeling that he's better off playing parts where his character can express an overabundance of emotion rather than turning it all inwards, as he does here.
As a movie, it gets Asian culture right (Edward Norton did major in Asian History at Yale). Nature is as crucial to this story as any of the main characters. In fact, I would go so far as to say that the lush greenery and mist covered mountain tops took up too much screen time. The movie clearly tries to capture the Eastern way of thought that humans should blend and be at peace with nature.
The movie is adapted from Somerset Maugham's tight and dry book with a heavy psychological bent. To me, there are three scenes that are virtuoso in their scope. The first is Walter bringing his wife to a cholera infested town with the intention of killing them both painfully as revenge for her philandering ways. The second is the husband and wife purposely eating uncooked salad in the disease-stricken town in an effort to prove their indifference to each other and proving who has more balls. The last is the good doctor purposely committing suicide (via self-injection with the cholera virus) so that his pregnant wife would leave and go back to Shanghai. It's pure genius and so twisted because these people are normal, but they are capable of doing such monstrous things to each other.
The Painted Veil refers to how little we know one another and ourselves because we're forced to don a veil that society thrusts upon us. Some people survive very well in this environment (they're assholes), but most people live sad and broken lives, never understanding each other. It's only when the weight of society is lifted from Walter and Kitty do they realize their true selves (mostly Kitty) and each other. The story is bleak indictment on society but uplifting about the true nature of people if only they can see themselves clearly. Kitty's transformation is so wonderful because we see society Kitty completely broken down, then the new Kitty being built from nothing at all. It's quite impressive.
The book itself was much more stark and complicated. There were no romantic scenes in a boat or anything of the sort. In fact, reform is much harder for Kitty in the book. She's still not completely free from society after she returns to civilization post Walter's death. Kitty falls a bit into a limbo between her old frivolous and inane life and the new, more purposeful life that she has created. In the end, she has to escape from society again in order not to lose the self that she so painstakingly created.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Sunday, April 06, 2008
turkish food
I'm a huge fan of well-prepared breakfasts. Although I love the American style breakfast with eggs, bacon, sausage, toast or pancakes, orange juice, etc, etc., it has none of the balance and airiness of the Turkish breakfast. This morning, I went to a brunch, and it was absolutely amazing. Rich omlettes with cheese and dill, sliced tomatoes, sourdough bread, bagels, jam, honey, butter, two types of cheese, sliced strawberries, apples, and pears, tea, grapefruit juice, orange juice, Turkish coffee, Turkish delight, and small dishes of dried apricots and walnuts (the last two might have been for decoration).
In Turkey, breakfasts consisted of pastries, toast, butter, olives, tomatoes, string cheese, fresh feta cheese, jams, and tea (of course!). It was just the perfect combination. I can't describe the taste of tomatoes, olives, and fresh cheese all at once. Quite delectable. I loved the fresh feta cheese. It's unsalted and lacks the strong, pungent taste of crumbly feta here in the US. One of my life goals is to serve a Turkish breakfast at least once. Being a typical American, I think it's too intricate to serve to myself or even two more people, but it's really dining at its best: healthy and delicious.
I do think that Turkish food is one of the top three cuisines in the world. It's prepared extraordinarily well and dazzles in its subtlety. It doesn't overly rely on spice or strange parts of strange animals to create a well-balanced and wholesome taste. The food is subtle. The one weed that I'm not too fond of is dill, which is used liberally in Turkish food. For me, the taste is very pungent and too earthy.
Kofte, or seasoned lamb meatballs, are quite amazing. The taste is richer than doner, or meat sliced from the turning spit. In general, the stuffed peppers and stuffed eggplant are quite sensational, although the fish is merely ordinary (I supposed I'm used to Chinese-style prepared fish). I was surprised to find Manti, or the equivalent (99% equivalent) of Chinese dumplings in Turkey, although it is eaten with yogurt.
Besides breakfast, my favorite Turkish food is dessert. We'll skip past the baklava (which is excellent but is generally not bad in the US) and get to the Turkish delight. I don't know what's in these little squares, but they're amazing. The taste is quite unlike anything else I've tasted. Next up is a concoction of slices of bread dripped in a honey mixture. It's so sweet and soft and pure heaven when eaten with fresh clotted cream. Also, stuffed and baked quince is delightful with ice cream. The cookies are generally excellent, as are dried cubes of almond powder that fall into pieces at the slightest touch (similar to a Chinese candy). There's so much more I can say about Turkish food, but this is a good stopping point...unless I want to start gnawing on my arm.
In Turkey, breakfasts consisted of pastries, toast, butter, olives, tomatoes, string cheese, fresh feta cheese, jams, and tea (of course!). It was just the perfect combination. I can't describe the taste of tomatoes, olives, and fresh cheese all at once. Quite delectable. I loved the fresh feta cheese. It's unsalted and lacks the strong, pungent taste of crumbly feta here in the US. One of my life goals is to serve a Turkish breakfast at least once. Being a typical American, I think it's too intricate to serve to myself or even two more people, but it's really dining at its best: healthy and delicious.
I do think that Turkish food is one of the top three cuisines in the world. It's prepared extraordinarily well and dazzles in its subtlety. It doesn't overly rely on spice or strange parts of strange animals to create a well-balanced and wholesome taste. The food is subtle. The one weed that I'm not too fond of is dill, which is used liberally in Turkish food. For me, the taste is very pungent and too earthy.
Kofte, or seasoned lamb meatballs, are quite amazing. The taste is richer than doner, or meat sliced from the turning spit. In general, the stuffed peppers and stuffed eggplant are quite sensational, although the fish is merely ordinary (I supposed I'm used to Chinese-style prepared fish). I was surprised to find Manti, or the equivalent (99% equivalent) of Chinese dumplings in Turkey, although it is eaten with yogurt.
Besides breakfast, my favorite Turkish food is dessert. We'll skip past the baklava (which is excellent but is generally not bad in the US) and get to the Turkish delight. I don't know what's in these little squares, but they're amazing. The taste is quite unlike anything else I've tasted. Next up is a concoction of slices of bread dripped in a honey mixture. It's so sweet and soft and pure heaven when eaten with fresh clotted cream. Also, stuffed and baked quince is delightful with ice cream. The cookies are generally excellent, as are dried cubes of almond powder that fall into pieces at the slightest touch (similar to a Chinese candy). There's so much more I can say about Turkish food, but this is a good stopping point...unless I want to start gnawing on my arm.
Tuesday, April 01, 2008
kings and schmucks
Having seen James McAvoy for the first time in Atonement, I had to watch The Last King of Scotland (No, I have no interest in seeing him as a man-goat in The Chronicles of Narnia). He's the most phenomenal young (under thirty to early thirties) male actor I've seen to date. The great thing about his characters is that I can't make them out. In Atonement, he played the earnest young man with hidden inclinations who quickly becomes disillusioned by fate (i.e. prison and war). Unlike James Bond, which is an extreme example, James McAvoy doesn't give the impression that he's a hero, good, bad, neurotic, dark, nor all of the other types that we see so often. His characters' genius rises from their complexity and refusal to be typecast. They're not real in that I could just see Robbie walking down the street (if I were living in Britain 70 years ago), but real in an emotional sense.
The one thing that is consistent in both movies is his laugh. He contemplates something for a few seconds, then bursts forth with this laugh as if he's been holding it in all the while. Other than that, there are few similarities between his devastated Robbie and loose, amoral Nicholas in The Last King of Scotland. This movie absolutely had no heroes at all. Nicholas, as the weak and selfish doctor who enjoys women, cars, and privilege, is very far from all of that. When I was watching the movie, I just wanted to hit him over the head...sleeping with married women doesn't come with a get out of jail free card, especially in war-torn Uganda under brutal dictatorial rule. However, I still found it hard to dislike the good doctor, despite the fact that he had very few redeeming qualities.
James McAvoy's characters are intensely emotional, and he plays the man-child very convincingly (perhaps because he's very young). He's intriguing because you don't really see what's going on behind those big eyes and charming smile until he goes manic depressive (Atonement), or goes through some hysterical emotional torture (The Last King of Scotland). I just want to figure his characters or his method out, and I'm getting nowhere. It's frustrating, but amazing to watch.
The real story of The Last King of Scotland is Forest Whitaker's virtuoso performance, which earned him an extremely well-deserved academy award. His performance was so realistic that he could have been the real Idi Amin. Kerry Washington also did a good job as the disgraced third wife, as did Simon McBurney as the distasteful foreign officer.
The film was clearly made with quite a lot of care, with a solid story (Based on a work of fiction and history) and actual filming in Uganda to give a sense of the people and conflicts there. It was clear that most of the extras were natives, and the entire movie blended the documentary and the movie very well. We really see the contrast between the natives living in the villages and the clean streets and tall white buildings of Kampala. On the one hand, we see Kampala and think of it as an achievement, and oasis in the desert of rural backwardness. On the other hand, it's something else that we shoved onto the African people, along with European politics and gimmicks. Wouldn't the people be better living simply as they have been for thousands of years in their small villages? Are coups, corruption, and military dictatorship separable from clean water, modern hospitals, and adequate living conditions (for a small percentage of the population)? I think not.
The one thing that is consistent in both movies is his laugh. He contemplates something for a few seconds, then bursts forth with this laugh as if he's been holding it in all the while. Other than that, there are few similarities between his devastated Robbie and loose, amoral Nicholas in The Last King of Scotland. This movie absolutely had no heroes at all. Nicholas, as the weak and selfish doctor who enjoys women, cars, and privilege, is very far from all of that. When I was watching the movie, I just wanted to hit him over the head...sleeping with married women doesn't come with a get out of jail free card, especially in war-torn Uganda under brutal dictatorial rule. However, I still found it hard to dislike the good doctor, despite the fact that he had very few redeeming qualities.
James McAvoy's characters are intensely emotional, and he plays the man-child very convincingly (perhaps because he's very young). He's intriguing because you don't really see what's going on behind those big eyes and charming smile until he goes manic depressive (Atonement), or goes through some hysterical emotional torture (The Last King of Scotland). I just want to figure his characters or his method out, and I'm getting nowhere. It's frustrating, but amazing to watch.
The real story of The Last King of Scotland is Forest Whitaker's virtuoso performance, which earned him an extremely well-deserved academy award. His performance was so realistic that he could have been the real Idi Amin. Kerry Washington also did a good job as the disgraced third wife, as did Simon McBurney as the distasteful foreign officer.
The film was clearly made with quite a lot of care, with a solid story (Based on a work of fiction and history) and actual filming in Uganda to give a sense of the people and conflicts there. It was clear that most of the extras were natives, and the entire movie blended the documentary and the movie very well. We really see the contrast between the natives living in the villages and the clean streets and tall white buildings of Kampala. On the one hand, we see Kampala and think of it as an achievement, and oasis in the desert of rural backwardness. On the other hand, it's something else that we shoved onto the African people, along with European politics and gimmicks. Wouldn't the people be better living simply as they have been for thousands of years in their small villages? Are coups, corruption, and military dictatorship separable from clean water, modern hospitals, and adequate living conditions (for a small percentage of the population)? I think not.
Monday, March 31, 2008
atoning
Atonement is a lush melodrama with colors so bright that you can only try to open your eyes wider. The lips are blood red, the grass emerald green, and the heat a foggy gray. Clearly directed by Joe Wright of Pride and Prejudice, this movie is aesthetically pleasing and well-shot, the sharpness of the story softened by the various camera angles. The movie is pretty superb for someone (myself) who hasn't read the book in all of its subtleties and cleverness. The characters themselves are almost too beautiful to even exist, from Cecilia's pouty seductiveness to Robbie's wholesome young man image with his sleeves rolled up. The only character to be presented without beauty but with astonishing singularity is Briony, Cecilia's younger sister. As for the costumes, Keira Knightly's green laser-dotted dress is marvelous (the many replicas that they used for the shoots), but her ephemeral blouse and skirt in the fountain scene truly embodied the character.
There was something wonderful and almost frightening about Saoirse Ronan's portrayal of the young Briony. I would go so far as to say that her performance goes beyond 'prodigy'. Briony is definitely not a character that you like, but she's very gifted and intriguing. There's more depth in her character's fanciful daydreams than in most people. If anything, I thought that she was so excellent that I couldn't dredge up any sympathy for her later in the movie. Keira Knightly and James McAvoy also shone in their respective roles, especially James McAvoy. There was so much tension and rawness in every scene that they were in together. Although they have so few scenes together, you could clearly feel the loss and desperation when they were apart.
Atonement makes you think about the human condition, and I came out of the movie thinking that Briony never did sufficiently atone for her misdeed. First, my belief was that she knew what she was doing that fateful day. I do think that thirteen year olds can distinguish between right and wrong. However sheltered she was or however imperfect her family life was, she grew up as a privileged and spoiled child who willfully committed a wrong because she wanted her life to be as interesting as fiction. People are perfectly welcome to do whatever they want for themselves as long as it doesn't involve others. Briony clearly knew what sex was, although she may not have known love. The ending was clever and supported the story's theme of the dangers of pulling reality into fiction.
I want to read the book precisely because of this conceit. A work of fiction pointing out the dangers of fiction and never quite redeeming fiction in its ending. By enjoying the story, are we not sinking more deeply in the quicksands of imagination? By even writing Atonement, is Ian McEwan invalidating his own work?
It's not certain that the direct effects of Briony's crime were as terrible as we perceived. Of course, Robbie spent several years in prison as an innocent man and fought in WWII. However, given that so many Brits fought in WWII, it seemed unlikely that he wouldn't have volunteered or been drafted. Cecelia was also estranged from her family as a direct result, but wasn't that for the best? For God's sake, how could she possibly stay in such a dysfunctional family? The actual heinous crime is Briony not speaking up for the next seventy years and barely admitting the truth at the end. I'm not debating the fact that what Briony did was terribly wrong and that she kept on doing wrong things afterwards, but events just completely spiraled out of control.
In essence, there is something similar between Ian McEwan's Atonement and Somerset Maugham's The Painted Veil. Both of the stories involve a normal person committing a terrible act without fully understanding the consequences. In the latter novel, the main character knows exactly what he is doing and why but is still shocked at the unpredictability of later events. Both stories are quintessentially English and deal with the stifling class structure and societal demands. The difference is that the characters do atone themselves in The Painted Veil, while the chance never comes in Atonement. Well, I suppose that it is all open to interpretation. Both stories tell of the twisted relationships that people have and are vaguely frightening. There's something grotesque floating among the characters, even some within the characters themselves. You see it in Atonement. The colors are almost too bright and slightly uneasy. Both are very modern in their ability to unsettle the audience greatly through unconventional means.
There was something wonderful and almost frightening about Saoirse Ronan's portrayal of the young Briony. I would go so far as to say that her performance goes beyond 'prodigy'. Briony is definitely not a character that you like, but she's very gifted and intriguing. There's more depth in her character's fanciful daydreams than in most people. If anything, I thought that she was so excellent that I couldn't dredge up any sympathy for her later in the movie. Keira Knightly and James McAvoy also shone in their respective roles, especially James McAvoy. There was so much tension and rawness in every scene that they were in together. Although they have so few scenes together, you could clearly feel the loss and desperation when they were apart.
Atonement makes you think about the human condition, and I came out of the movie thinking that Briony never did sufficiently atone for her misdeed. First, my belief was that she knew what she was doing that fateful day. I do think that thirteen year olds can distinguish between right and wrong. However sheltered she was or however imperfect her family life was, she grew up as a privileged and spoiled child who willfully committed a wrong because she wanted her life to be as interesting as fiction. People are perfectly welcome to do whatever they want for themselves as long as it doesn't involve others. Briony clearly knew what sex was, although she may not have known love. The ending was clever and supported the story's theme of the dangers of pulling reality into fiction.
I want to read the book precisely because of this conceit. A work of fiction pointing out the dangers of fiction and never quite redeeming fiction in its ending. By enjoying the story, are we not sinking more deeply in the quicksands of imagination? By even writing Atonement, is Ian McEwan invalidating his own work?
It's not certain that the direct effects of Briony's crime were as terrible as we perceived. Of course, Robbie spent several years in prison as an innocent man and fought in WWII. However, given that so many Brits fought in WWII, it seemed unlikely that he wouldn't have volunteered or been drafted. Cecelia was also estranged from her family as a direct result, but wasn't that for the best? For God's sake, how could she possibly stay in such a dysfunctional family? The actual heinous crime is Briony not speaking up for the next seventy years and barely admitting the truth at the end. I'm not debating the fact that what Briony did was terribly wrong and that she kept on doing wrong things afterwards, but events just completely spiraled out of control.
In essence, there is something similar between Ian McEwan's Atonement and Somerset Maugham's The Painted Veil. Both of the stories involve a normal person committing a terrible act without fully understanding the consequences. In the latter novel, the main character knows exactly what he is doing and why but is still shocked at the unpredictability of later events. Both stories are quintessentially English and deal with the stifling class structure and societal demands. The difference is that the characters do atone themselves in The Painted Veil, while the chance never comes in Atonement. Well, I suppose that it is all open to interpretation. Both stories tell of the twisted relationships that people have and are vaguely frightening. There's something grotesque floating among the characters, even some within the characters themselves. You see it in Atonement. The colors are almost too bright and slightly uneasy. Both are very modern in their ability to unsettle the audience greatly through unconventional means.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
sugar and blood
Continuing on with my infinite film thoughts: The Jane Austen Book Club and Sweeney Todd.
As an avid Austen fan and lover of Pride & Prejudice, I've wanted to see The Jane Austen Book Club for a long time, actually hoping that there would be semi-intelligent conversations about her various works. Of course, I toned down my expectations once I saw the trailers and read the 100 or so reviews on mrqe. I also have to admit that half of my enthusiasm comes from the fact that Hugh Dancy is in the movie. I've passed out of the Hugh Dancy phase, who has Orlando Bloom's good looks plus some talent thrown in.
This movie did flow very well, but there was no passion or inspiration in its presentation. The acting was solid if slightly rigid. Emily Blunt was the undisputed shining star in her role as a repressed and misunderstood snobbish French teacher who's never been to France. Although all of the characters are likable, the main question is, "Who cares?" Obviously, every woman is going through emotional turmoil in the movie. However, it was impossible to convey any depth because the screen time had to be split between six people. Of course, the one story that did get some screen time had to be between the cold man-hating Jocelyn and the affable computer geek Grigg. Emily Blunt's story was also done well until the ending, where it was killed by one completely unrealistic and sappy scene.
As for the book club itself, there were very few discussions of the book before some member of the club goes out sobbing about her failed marriage or Jocelyn and Grigg getting into a catfight. Considering how understated the drama was in Austen's novels, this movie's strange combination of unsympathetic melodrama seems inappropriate at times. Yes, we understand Jane Austen wrote about relationships. However, she wrote more about the intellectual component of relationships (It was the nineteenth century). If the movie had only followed along those lines and tried a bit harder at wittier and less at the emotional, it would have been much better. And even less moviegoers would have gone to see it.
Sweeney Todd, which I hadn't planned on seeing (although seeing Johnny Depp is always worth something, as well as Helena Bonham Carter), was good despite my aversion of horror. I've only seen three horror films in my life, and they weren't even scary by normal standards. No one but a child would possibly think of I know what you did last summer, The Blair Witch Project, and The Sixth Sense as scary movies. It's the suspense that makes me unable to sleep for a week and close my eyes in the shower.
Like all Tim Burton movies, Sweeney Todd is done with its own set of flourishes and eccentricities. Johnny Depp is excellent (as usual) as the demon barber. Helena Bonham Carter also turns in an excellent performance and almost threatening to hint at upstaging Johnny Depp (no one could upstage Johnny Depp). Together, they make a most wonderful neurotic, ugly, and dirty couple. Alan Rickman is not bad either, being his usual unsmiling, drier than sandpaper self. What I enjoyed about Sweeney Todd was that all of the characters seemed a bit off, from a lot off (Sweeney Todd) to the slightly disturbing (his daughter with her white-blond hair and huge and unblinking porcelain china-doll eyes).
I do think that this movie worked as a musical. While the lead actors didn't exactly sound like Pavarotti, they didn't sound half bad. I'm at least grateful that they made the effort. The songs were droll and dark, and the hearty sentiment was there. The throat slashing was also artistic and done well (the few scenes that I didn't cover my eyes for). One character that I didn't appreciate was Sascha Baron Cohen as a rival barber. It's terrible because I only see Borat whenever he comes on screen, and Borat is in an entirely different universe than Sweeney Todd. Despite the fact that I didn't care for the suspense, the movie wasn't terrible.
As an avid Austen fan and lover of Pride & Prejudice, I've wanted to see The Jane Austen Book Club for a long time, actually hoping that there would be semi-intelligent conversations about her various works. Of course, I toned down my expectations once I saw the trailers and read the 100 or so reviews on mrqe. I also have to admit that half of my enthusiasm comes from the fact that Hugh Dancy is in the movie. I've passed out of the Hugh Dancy phase, who has Orlando Bloom's good looks plus some talent thrown in.
This movie did flow very well, but there was no passion or inspiration in its presentation. The acting was solid if slightly rigid. Emily Blunt was the undisputed shining star in her role as a repressed and misunderstood snobbish French teacher who's never been to France. Although all of the characters are likable, the main question is, "Who cares?" Obviously, every woman is going through emotional turmoil in the movie. However, it was impossible to convey any depth because the screen time had to be split between six people. Of course, the one story that did get some screen time had to be between the cold man-hating Jocelyn and the affable computer geek Grigg. Emily Blunt's story was also done well until the ending, where it was killed by one completely unrealistic and sappy scene.
As for the book club itself, there were very few discussions of the book before some member of the club goes out sobbing about her failed marriage or Jocelyn and Grigg getting into a catfight. Considering how understated the drama was in Austen's novels, this movie's strange combination of unsympathetic melodrama seems inappropriate at times. Yes, we understand Jane Austen wrote about relationships. However, she wrote more about the intellectual component of relationships (It was the nineteenth century). If the movie had only followed along those lines and tried a bit harder at wittier and less at the emotional, it would have been much better. And even less moviegoers would have gone to see it.
Sweeney Todd, which I hadn't planned on seeing (although seeing Johnny Depp is always worth something, as well as Helena Bonham Carter), was good despite my aversion of horror. I've only seen three horror films in my life, and they weren't even scary by normal standards. No one but a child would possibly think of I know what you did last summer, The Blair Witch Project, and The Sixth Sense as scary movies. It's the suspense that makes me unable to sleep for a week and close my eyes in the shower.
Like all Tim Burton movies, Sweeney Todd is done with its own set of flourishes and eccentricities. Johnny Depp is excellent (as usual) as the demon barber. Helena Bonham Carter also turns in an excellent performance and almost threatening to hint at upstaging Johnny Depp (no one could upstage Johnny Depp). Together, they make a most wonderful neurotic, ugly, and dirty couple. Alan Rickman is not bad either, being his usual unsmiling, drier than sandpaper self. What I enjoyed about Sweeney Todd was that all of the characters seemed a bit off, from a lot off (Sweeney Todd) to the slightly disturbing (his daughter with her white-blond hair and huge and unblinking porcelain china-doll eyes).
I do think that this movie worked as a musical. While the lead actors didn't exactly sound like Pavarotti, they didn't sound half bad. I'm at least grateful that they made the effort. The songs were droll and dark, and the hearty sentiment was there. The throat slashing was also artistic and done well (the few scenes that I didn't cover my eyes for). One character that I didn't appreciate was Sascha Baron Cohen as a rival barber. It's terrible because I only see Borat whenever he comes on screen, and Borat is in an entirely different universe than Sweeney Todd. Despite the fact that I didn't care for the suspense, the movie wasn't terrible.
the fake and the fairytale
The Counterfeiters was solid enough, but not spectacular in my opinion. I wanted to see the film that nabbed the foreign movie oscar (perhaps no other foreign movies were made last year). Once again, the acting was very good, the script solid, and the storyline undoubtedly the weakest part. The main actor, Karl Markovics, was amazing in a gradual sort of way. For the first half of the movie, I was staring at this thin man with his pinched and ahem...slightly criminal looking face and few words and never really noticed him. Suddenly, I realized that he was spectacular. I could believe that he was a real man with his stubby fingers running over the sheets of fake pound notes and dollars. He reminds me slightly of Mads Mikkelsen. They're both so mysterious and the intenseness is hidden away behind layers. Nothing's exposed until it builds up gradually and slaps you in the face. Then you realize just how intense they are. It's frightening and more subtle than Clive Owen's brooding and sullen airs. With Clive Owen's characters, you know that he's about something from his first scene.
Although the story flowed much better than the one in In Bruges, it still felt choppy. The camera work was unspectacular, and the story felt undeveloped. Moreover, the ending didn't feel quite right. Although I guess it is the director's way of telling us that our emotions trump our work and art, it's still hard to sympathize with the main character even with the spectacular job that he did. Technically, this should be a superb movie, but it just falls a bit flat.
Enchanted is a completely different experience. No more concentration camps and unsavory characters (the realistic kind). Surprisingly, I enjoyed this movie quite a bit considering that I'm averse to Disney movies and this movie pretty much takes all of them and shoves them down its own throat. Amy Adams pulls off the sweet and naive heroine without falling into the pit of saccharine and melodrama, which is a mighty feat. James Marsden nails the bland Prince Charming (He was pretty bland in the original Disney movies as well), and I rather enjoyed Susan Sarandon as the evil stepmother in her S&M/teenage goth gear. Of course, McSteamy was rather nice as the down-to-earth lawyer with his expressive blue eyes and wrinkles. I'd have to admit that he definitely made the film better for me, especially in the climactic scene fitted with an eighteenth century blue waistcoat and white tights.
Being a Disney movie, there were some clever parts in the film. Surprisingly enough, the clever parts outweighed the cliched parts that we knew had to be there. The indispensable glass shoe and singing to the birds were given a slick contemporary twist. I'd even say that I like this type of satire better than Shrek because this one was so much fluffier and romantic. Or maybe I have a fondness for people in 3-D rather than in 2-D.
Although the story flowed much better than the one in In Bruges, it still felt choppy. The camera work was unspectacular, and the story felt undeveloped. Moreover, the ending didn't feel quite right. Although I guess it is the director's way of telling us that our emotions trump our work and art, it's still hard to sympathize with the main character even with the spectacular job that he did. Technically, this should be a superb movie, but it just falls a bit flat.
Enchanted is a completely different experience. No more concentration camps and unsavory characters (the realistic kind). Surprisingly, I enjoyed this movie quite a bit considering that I'm averse to Disney movies and this movie pretty much takes all of them and shoves them down its own throat. Amy Adams pulls off the sweet and naive heroine without falling into the pit of saccharine and melodrama, which is a mighty feat. James Marsden nails the bland Prince Charming (He was pretty bland in the original Disney movies as well), and I rather enjoyed Susan Sarandon as the evil stepmother in her S&M/teenage goth gear. Of course, McSteamy was rather nice as the down-to-earth lawyer with his expressive blue eyes and wrinkles. I'd have to admit that he definitely made the film better for me, especially in the climactic scene fitted with an eighteenth century blue waistcoat and white tights.
Being a Disney movie, there were some clever parts in the film. Surprisingly enough, the clever parts outweighed the cliched parts that we knew had to be there. The indispensable glass shoe and singing to the birds were given a slick contemporary twist. I'd even say that I like this type of satire better than Shrek because this one was so much fluffier and romantic. Or maybe I have a fondness for people in 3-D rather than in 2-D.
my movie binge
In the past week, I've suddenly been hit with an explicable urge to watch movies. This might be because I sit on my chair for 14 hours a day and need a proxy for the physical, mental, interpersonal, spiritual, and all other types of stimulation that I seem to be lacking. I've made my way through an impressive stack of stories and actors and have come to several conclusions:
1) There's no way I can go back to TV shows.
2) I need to hit the gym.
3) I need to talk to real people.
4) James McAvoy is absolutely amazing.
5) Edward Norton is ten times more articulate than my english professors in college.
Where do I begin? The most rational place would be the two that I actually saw in theaters: In Bruges and The Counterfeiters. Before I start critiquing, it seems to me that all movies I've seen (perhaps by coincidence) have a surfeit of acting genius, solid though unremarkable dialogue, and a less than stellar storyline. It's very puzzling. Moreover, the American actors are getting upstaged by their better trained, more sensitive, and deeper counterparts.
In Bruges is one of those movies that had potential until you noticed that it was limping on its three legs, much like the bloodied and bullet-ridden half-dead people that drag themselves over the cobblestones at the end of the movie (that was obvious from the very beginning). The story was semi-interesting, but the scenes just didn't flow. The pace was bad and the action just dragged and dragged.
Many aspects of the story line seemed disjointed and rather pointless, especially the midget/dwarf. The dwarf jokes were just gratuitous. In fact, the entire storyline seemed pointless, and directly contrasted the fact that the scenes were crafted very carefully. My main problem is that the movie was self-conscious of its own cleverness (or non-cleverness).
So that this movie doesn't get thrown into the same bin as Martin and Orloff (which is the absolute worst movie I've seen in my life. I don't remember anything about it except that it was utterly abominable), the acting is exceptional, especially the scenes and Ralph Fiennes as a delightfully assholish type of bastard with a slight anger-management problem. Colin Farrell is also not bad as the conscience-stricken hitman who never left adolescence. If anything, he was a bit overly emotional. And Brendan Gleeson blended into his role so naturally that I didn't even notice his performance.
Another great thing about the movie is its unflinching use of racial slurs and some virtuoso swearing (with words that I wouldn't even say). There might be fear lurking inside every character (except for Ralph's character, who's imbued with 110% bastardness), but the movie is unflinching in showing us its rawness, which is quite spectacular in a few terse scenes, not to say that the rest of the movie isn't sparse, because it certainly is. There are a few twists and turns, but everyone ends up exactly where you think they will. Overall, I wouldn't watch the entire movie again, but there are a few bright bits that I might be willing to see just for the sheer talent contained in a few raw moments.
1) There's no way I can go back to TV shows.
2) I need to hit the gym.
3) I need to talk to real people.
4) James McAvoy is absolutely amazing.
5) Edward Norton is ten times more articulate than my english professors in college.
Where do I begin? The most rational place would be the two that I actually saw in theaters: In Bruges and The Counterfeiters. Before I start critiquing, it seems to me that all movies I've seen (perhaps by coincidence) have a surfeit of acting genius, solid though unremarkable dialogue, and a less than stellar storyline. It's very puzzling. Moreover, the American actors are getting upstaged by their better trained, more sensitive, and deeper counterparts.
In Bruges is one of those movies that had potential until you noticed that it was limping on its three legs, much like the bloodied and bullet-ridden half-dead people that drag themselves over the cobblestones at the end of the movie (that was obvious from the very beginning). The story was semi-interesting, but the scenes just didn't flow. The pace was bad and the action just dragged and dragged.
Many aspects of the story line seemed disjointed and rather pointless, especially the midget/dwarf. The dwarf jokes were just gratuitous. In fact, the entire storyline seemed pointless, and directly contrasted the fact that the scenes were crafted very carefully. My main problem is that the movie was self-conscious of its own cleverness (or non-cleverness).
So that this movie doesn't get thrown into the same bin as Martin and Orloff (which is the absolute worst movie I've seen in my life. I don't remember anything about it except that it was utterly abominable), the acting is exceptional, especially the scenes and Ralph Fiennes as a delightfully assholish type of bastard with a slight anger-management problem. Colin Farrell is also not bad as the conscience-stricken hitman who never left adolescence. If anything, he was a bit overly emotional. And Brendan Gleeson blended into his role so naturally that I didn't even notice his performance.
Another great thing about the movie is its unflinching use of racial slurs and some virtuoso swearing (with words that I wouldn't even say). There might be fear lurking inside every character (except for Ralph's character, who's imbued with 110% bastardness), but the movie is unflinching in showing us its rawness, which is quite spectacular in a few terse scenes, not to say that the rest of the movie isn't sparse, because it certainly is. There are a few twists and turns, but everyone ends up exactly where you think they will. Overall, I wouldn't watch the entire movie again, but there are a few bright bits that I might be willing to see just for the sheer talent contained in a few raw moments.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Stop the Insanity
I'm on my way to my fourth doctor's appointment in a month, where I'll be treated for one of my numerous ailments and most likely pick up another one on the side. Honestly, I'm a walking bag of diseases. Right now, I'm haunted by the itch of scabies and the lingering effects of a bronchitis-induced cough.
This is the year of the rat, and I'm a rat...so I suppose it's not my luckiest year. Still, why me? I did get peroneal tendonitis in Turkey last month, which was my own fault since I was wearing stiletto heels on rough cobblestone. Of course, I kept walking on my foot because I was on vacation in Turkey! The only thing that would've stopped me is a broken leg. Then I came back a few weeks later and got food poisoning at home. How ironic is that? I don't get food poisoning in a foreign country but in my immaculate germ-free home from home cooked food.
I barely made it back to school and everything was all right (foot healing very slowly) until the week of my birthday, when I got a sudden and intense itch in the middle of the night. It turned out that I somehow got scabies in Turkey (most likely) as well. Then I went through treatment for that (among a lot of itching), and now I'm still itching two weeks later and heading back to the good old waiting room. The doctor always look at my chart and remarks on what a healthy human being I am. Then he (or she) scratches his head when he sees the impressive number of trips to the waiting room that I've racked up in the past month.
When I got treated for scabies two weeks ago, I was sitting between two coughing people in the waiting room...and guess what? I got a sore throat and a cough a few days later. So...I ate soup all of last week, coughed so hard at night that I couldn't sleep, and itched on the side.
I'm not sure that I can take any more of this. Please please please. This is the absolute worst semester to get sick. I doubt I could keep up with all of my classes even if I were well, so this is asking me for the impossible. Instead of telling myself that I'll be all right, I just want to crawl back into bed and sleep (Except I know that I'll be itching if I do that). I promise to exercise once I get better (If I ever get better). I promise to be a nicer person, study harder, keep in touch with my friends, if only I can get better soon.
This is the year of the rat, and I'm a rat...so I suppose it's not my luckiest year. Still, why me? I did get peroneal tendonitis in Turkey last month, which was my own fault since I was wearing stiletto heels on rough cobblestone. Of course, I kept walking on my foot because I was on vacation in Turkey! The only thing that would've stopped me is a broken leg. Then I came back a few weeks later and got food poisoning at home. How ironic is that? I don't get food poisoning in a foreign country but in my immaculate germ-free home from home cooked food.
I barely made it back to school and everything was all right (foot healing very slowly) until the week of my birthday, when I got a sudden and intense itch in the middle of the night. It turned out that I somehow got scabies in Turkey (most likely) as well. Then I went through treatment for that (among a lot of itching), and now I'm still itching two weeks later and heading back to the good old waiting room. The doctor always look at my chart and remarks on what a healthy human being I am. Then he (or she) scratches his head when he sees the impressive number of trips to the waiting room that I've racked up in the past month.
When I got treated for scabies two weeks ago, I was sitting between two coughing people in the waiting room...and guess what? I got a sore throat and a cough a few days later. So...I ate soup all of last week, coughed so hard at night that I couldn't sleep, and itched on the side.
I'm not sure that I can take any more of this. Please please please. This is the absolute worst semester to get sick. I doubt I could keep up with all of my classes even if I were well, so this is asking me for the impossible. Instead of telling myself that I'll be all right, I just want to crawl back into bed and sleep (Except I know that I'll be itching if I do that). I promise to exercise once I get better (If I ever get better). I promise to be a nicer person, study harder, keep in touch with my friends, if only I can get better soon.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
kicking the classical
For the past year or so, I've set rock, alternative, and pop aside for classical and soundtrack music. The conclusion? I can't do classical. It's too complex for my large but apparently vacuous brain. As someone who's tone deaf and has few musical inclinations, listening to classical music always makes me feel like I'm missing something. It's the equivalent of sampling a superb seven course French meal with one taste bud. I love the idea of learning about music and taking classes in music theory, but only the idea. Listening to classical music is sometimes like sitting in lecture. My brain shuts off and my eyes start drooping when information is flying at me. In that case, I give up and either fall asleep promptly or adopt the dazed 'deer in headlights' expression. Quite a few classical composers make me feel like that.
There were some pieces that I did enjoy in my attempts to embrace other musical styles, including 'Winter' from Vivaldi's 'Four Seasons' and 'Pertissimo' from Beethoven's earlier sonatas. Otherwise, I've been indulging in soundtrack music, including almost everything that Hans Zimmer ever composed (as usual), although Gladiator is still his crowning achievement with King Arthur coming in at a distant second. Of course, I love soundtrack music for its simplicity and grand flourishes.
As with everything else, we enjoy the music that we grew up listening to. I do discover new music regularly, but my fondest memories are of Savage Garden, Matchbox Twenty, and other bands that I listened to religiously in high school. In terms of sophistication and quality, Savage Garden and Matchbox Twenty were both a cut above most in their respective categories, but obviously not comparable to the complexities that define classical music. Yet, one voice, a guitar, a bass, and a keyboard is so much more soothing to me than 30 violins, 20 violas, etc. I remember not liking Savage Garden at all when I first heard them perform. It was only when I borrowed the CD from a friend and listened to it several times that I found myself liking the sound.
Back then, I had only been exposed to classical music before tentatively trying out Savage Garden. As a result, their CD sounded like a marriage of Metallica and Offspring. It's hilarious when I think back to that time. Eventually, I got into Nickelback, 3 Doors Down, Nirvana, Blink 182, and everything else. A year ago, I got sick of this music (a lot of it does sound very similar) and now I'm sick of classical music as well.
Currently, I'm going back to my obsession with Jeff Buckley's Hallelujah, old old music (Sade and Engelbert), and some Moby, Black Eyed Peas, and Norah Jones thrown in. I'm always transitioning to new music, but I doubt I'll find anything that I liked as much as when I was discovering music for the first time. I don't love music enough to enjoy one style forever, nor do I have the time or inclination to learn it properly. As with so many other things, I've a healthy appreciation for music but not the steadiness nor the inclination to learn it properly.
There were some pieces that I did enjoy in my attempts to embrace other musical styles, including 'Winter' from Vivaldi's 'Four Seasons' and 'Pertissimo' from Beethoven's earlier sonatas. Otherwise, I've been indulging in soundtrack music, including almost everything that Hans Zimmer ever composed (as usual), although Gladiator is still his crowning achievement with King Arthur coming in at a distant second. Of course, I love soundtrack music for its simplicity and grand flourishes.
As with everything else, we enjoy the music that we grew up listening to. I do discover new music regularly, but my fondest memories are of Savage Garden, Matchbox Twenty, and other bands that I listened to religiously in high school. In terms of sophistication and quality, Savage Garden and Matchbox Twenty were both a cut above most in their respective categories, but obviously not comparable to the complexities that define classical music. Yet, one voice, a guitar, a bass, and a keyboard is so much more soothing to me than 30 violins, 20 violas, etc. I remember not liking Savage Garden at all when I first heard them perform. It was only when I borrowed the CD from a friend and listened to it several times that I found myself liking the sound.
Back then, I had only been exposed to classical music before tentatively trying out Savage Garden. As a result, their CD sounded like a marriage of Metallica and Offspring. It's hilarious when I think back to that time. Eventually, I got into Nickelback, 3 Doors Down, Nirvana, Blink 182, and everything else. A year ago, I got sick of this music (a lot of it does sound very similar) and now I'm sick of classical music as well.
Currently, I'm going back to my obsession with Jeff Buckley's Hallelujah, old old music (Sade and Engelbert), and some Moby, Black Eyed Peas, and Norah Jones thrown in. I'm always transitioning to new music, but I doubt I'll find anything that I liked as much as when I was discovering music for the first time. I don't love music enough to enjoy one style forever, nor do I have the time or inclination to learn it properly. As with so many other things, I've a healthy appreciation for music but not the steadiness nor the inclination to learn it properly.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
At least I don't live in Haiti
I was reading Penn's daily newspaper a few weeks ago, and I came upon a short blurb about the very poor in Haiti. Because they have no food to eat, they collect mud from a riverbank, add sugar and spices, and bake them into mud cookies. Imagine growing up in an environment like that or in many parts of Sub-Saharan Africa where family members are dropping from AIDS and there's no food either, so you sniff glue to temporarily get away from hunger pains (I read that in an essay several years ago). On the one hand, it's simple to compare myself to billions of people like this and think that the laptop that I'm typing this post on could probably feed several families for a year. Still, it's difficult to actually go through every day thinking about how fortunate I am and not forgetting it. Even though so many people are around us, we are in our own little privileged world.
Thinking more on the children subsisting on blocks of mud in Haiti, I felt slightly guilty that I had been complaining to several of my friends because I couldn't control the heat in my apartment and I felt like I was in a sauna every time that I opened the door. I even contemplated turning on my AC in conjunction with the heat because opening the windows just didn't seem to do it. Then I realized how much energy I was potentially wasting, not to mention the bucketloads of water that I use when I shower (I know this because my shower doesn't drain especially well). The list goes on and on. Eventually, you're compelled to think about chance and destiny and all that because there's so much disparity in people's lives.
The problem is, we're not thrust into situations where we're scrabbling for a living. Maybe if we were, we'd give more thanks instead of worrying about the bigger TV or nicer house that we can't afford. I don't know if we, as relatively privileged citizens of the world, are compelled to help the starving masses. People make arguments about Darwinism, and accept without question our 'superiority' simply because of circumstances. We were born into relatively well-off families, in a country that's relatively less corrupted and more fair than most. Although earlier generations have fought for these rights, it's not as if we lifted a finger. Given all of this, is it acceptable just to do a mediocre job at work, lumber home at night and watch a few hours of TV, then push repeat? Should we even have the right to complain about our miserable lives and lackluster jobs (at least we have jobs)?
Conversely, it's not as if we're really here to help other people. If something happened to me, I doubt that anyone would rush to my aid except for my parents. Since we're not responsible for other people and no one's responsible for us, maybe there's no validity in thinking about the welfare of starving people in Haiti. That doesn't mean that I don't think about them anyway. Occasionally.
Thinking more on the children subsisting on blocks of mud in Haiti, I felt slightly guilty that I had been complaining to several of my friends because I couldn't control the heat in my apartment and I felt like I was in a sauna every time that I opened the door. I even contemplated turning on my AC in conjunction with the heat because opening the windows just didn't seem to do it. Then I realized how much energy I was potentially wasting, not to mention the bucketloads of water that I use when I shower (I know this because my shower doesn't drain especially well). The list goes on and on. Eventually, you're compelled to think about chance and destiny and all that because there's so much disparity in people's lives.
The problem is, we're not thrust into situations where we're scrabbling for a living. Maybe if we were, we'd give more thanks instead of worrying about the bigger TV or nicer house that we can't afford. I don't know if we, as relatively privileged citizens of the world, are compelled to help the starving masses. People make arguments about Darwinism, and accept without question our 'superiority' simply because of circumstances. We were born into relatively well-off families, in a country that's relatively less corrupted and more fair than most. Although earlier generations have fought for these rights, it's not as if we lifted a finger. Given all of this, is it acceptable just to do a mediocre job at work, lumber home at night and watch a few hours of TV, then push repeat? Should we even have the right to complain about our miserable lives and lackluster jobs (at least we have jobs)?
Conversely, it's not as if we're really here to help other people. If something happened to me, I doubt that anyone would rush to my aid except for my parents. Since we're not responsible for other people and no one's responsible for us, maybe there's no validity in thinking about the welfare of starving people in Haiti. That doesn't mean that I don't think about them anyway. Occasionally.
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