TTW is a much abridged and largely sanitised version of the novel. Henry is a librarian with a genetic disease that causes him to travel through time. He meets Claire when she’s really young and he’s already married to Future Claire. The time travelling concept is intriguing, but the acting isn’t great, and many exciting (and slightly risqué) aspects of the novel are completely removed. The novel’s Henry is more awesome and Claire less annoying, but the pacing of the film means all that (and the author’s many references to other novels and German poetry) is lost. Read the book.
A mobster movie starring Captain Jack Sparrow, Dr Manhattan and Batman was always promising too much. Public Enemies is quite good, but with the promise of that cast I was expecting fantastic. Enemies tells the true story of mobster, John Dillinger (Depp) who likes to see himself as Champion of the Common Folk because this makes it easier for him to hit on attractive women and get cheered by press when arrested. Dramatic “shaky camera shots” increase tension whenever Dillinger leaps out of bed to elude the coppers, but that tension is sorely lacking for the rest of the film.
Once again a fairly lengthy blog break. Multiple reasons for the slacking off: some good, some not so good, but let’s imagine that it’s all because of the post-Getting a Girlfriend euphoria and ignore the super-stressful academic pressure that was (and still partially is) piled up on me. Yes, I got a girlfriend. There is some fear from certain portions of the friendship circle that that fact will begin to encompass every post and comment in my life, I’ve always considered myself able to establish clear boundries, so that shouldn’t be a problem.
Too much study, but in between there has been: Modern Family, a movie or two and a desire not yet fully realised, to return to reading something that isn’t a legal judgement. Now that I’ve actually picked up a keyboard, there will be thoughts to follow. As it stands, it’s good to be back.
For those who care:
- Wow. Exams really sucked the creativity right out of me.
- It’s Bernard’s Birthday today. Happy Birthday.
One can’t complain. I have my friends. Someone spoke to me only yesterday.
It seems to me no small irony that films targeting children often leave me emotionally drained. Up is no different. The movie’s first fifteen minutes tugged the heart-strings a plenty and followed that up with talking dogs, aging adventurers, giant birds and a whole lot of balloons. It’s not exactly a rollercoaster ride of ridiculous humour and there’s a clear moment when I felt it crossed the line of believability (yes, this movie had talking dogs and a house elevated by thousands of balloons and I still felt there was a line), but it is a sweet, funny, geriatric adventure.
The first thought I had while watching Twilight was “Yay! A movie that glorifies pale people!” I, as a card-carrying member of the Pale People Club, am all for this. “Be gone, you Bronzed Surfers! Back to the beach with you damning examples of all that humanity can be and I am not.” And then things got a little awkward as I found the maudlin self-indulgence of these teen love puppies a little, you know, self indulgent. It is, in essence, teenagers talking about their feelings. Oh and they’re vampires. And their skin glows like diamonds in the sunlight. Sigh.
It’s hard to approach a book that I’ve declared my favourite book ever, a book I read once two years ago and haven’t had the courage to pick up again, despite buying my own copy and buying a copy as a gift for a friend. It would probably be easier to write about some of the books I’ve read repeatedly; I must have read some of Terry Pratchett’s Discworld novel four or so times and I’ve made a habit of re-reading the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy every few years, but that’s different. Those are books that I’ve enjoyed and influenced the way I’ve thought and the essence of I am, true, but Fugitive Pieces by Anne Michaels was more. The Guide and Discworld were novels that set me in a certain direction, they took the flowing river of my mind and diverted it, set it on a course of humour and absurdity, added to its flowing currents. Reading the Fugitive Pieces was uncovering a something that I’ve never known within myself; striking a subterranean lake of cool, refreshing water bursting to the surface, unexpected, overwhelming, liberating.
And painful. At times I would read a paragraph and decide that that would be enough, that that would be all I could take at this time. I don’t think I could review this book normally; as if while describing the novel I would have to write as beautifully and deeply as the novel itself to do it justice; So I’ll say a few quick words and then end off. It’s a novel about loss, and coming to terms with that loss. It’s a novel about the parts of ourselves that we are yet to find, and how we find them. Split into two pieces, telling the stories of two different men, I was initially unsettled at the harsh division between the storylines, but in retrospect they serve a purpose
And that’s all I’m going to say about it for now. I’ll more than likely return to this book, slowly, cautiously feeling my way back in and when I did I’ll post snippets of it up on the blog. But not too long a quote. I don’t think I could take that.
But sometimes the world disrobes, slips its dress off a shoulder, stops time for a beat. If we look up at that moment, it’s not due to any ability of ours to pierce the darkness, it’s the world’s brief bestowal. The catastrophe of grace.