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Film on My Wine I'm currently working on a method of entering these things that is somewhat of a hybrid between writing them on paper and just keying them in directly. We'll see if this works for today. Last Wednesday, I rented six movies from Blockbuster, because I knew I'd have plenty of time to watch them over the weekend, since I wasn't seeing C. (Perhaps more on that later. As much as I believe this is a space for me to get personal, and as much as I'm quite sure that no one reads this, I'm not sure just how personal I really want to get on certain issues. The fact is, up until a just over two weeks ago, I was pretty well convinced I was more in love than I'd been with someone in about seven years. And then, I developed a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach that something was terribly, hideously wrong, and despite massive attempts at reasoning with myself, I could not shake this feeling. The following Friday night, I spent the night at C's house, and things were okay, for the most part, though he seemed a bit distant. The next morning, we had a discussion whose outcome was that I was going to back off for a couple weeks whilst he did some soul-searching. He had friends coming in from California staying with him, so I wouldn't have seen him last weekend, anyway. Now that those couple weeks have passed, I've had a great deal of time to consider my position, and I'm hurt by that request, and I'm not sure where I stand. That's the short and vague version. If things fall apart, you can bet more details will follow.) So I got three "New Releases" and three "Blockbuster Favorites". I'm not sure how they can justify some of those things still being in the "New Release" category, but the ways of the Blockbuster are largely a mystery to me anyway. The films were as follows: The Deep End, Drowning Mona, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, In the Bedroom, Iris, Josie and the Pussycats. I returned them on the way to work this morning. Brief thoughts: The Deep End: Yes, Tilda Swinton is brilliant as the strong, suffering mother in this film, but her character's silent tolerance of her plight and refusal to demand accountability struck me as at best, difficult to digest, and at worst, unrealistic. Not everyone is I, though, so I guess it's plausible. Ultimately, it was very well done, but I didn't like it. Drowning Mona: I can't decide if I liked this. With such an excellent cast, it's hard to believe the film didn't do better at the box office, save for the fact that it's just so damned weird, and there's nothing pretty about it (apart from Neve Campbell, of course). I think my ambivalence has to be blamed on the writing or directing, as the actors (I've never liked Jamie Lee Curtis so much) were clearly giving it everything they had. In the Bedroom: Excellent performances from the major players here, especially Spacek, but I suppose the film was ruined for me by the climactic event which occurs about forty-five minutes into the film, and which I, for some reason, was not expecting. It gets as close as I suppose it can to a happy ending, yet still I hear Tracey Thorn in my head cooing, "It's never gonna be alright." Josie and the Pussycats: This was fun to the point that I occasionally found myself cheering in my living room, but the messages it sends are a little too mixed. If its intention was a scathing indictment of Empty-Vee and the muzak biz (Personally, I'd like to see most everyone involved with American Idol slaughtered with lawn-mower blades), I'm not sure that comes across clearly amid all the glaring advertising campaigns placed at every turn, and I don't think people like Carson Daly are smart enough to see that their absurd uselessness is the reason for having them portray themselves. (I've saved the best for last. Neither of these two films has an element of "universal appeal", but they're both phenomenal pieces of film-making.) Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas: I'm told I should have read the book first, in order to completely understand. I think I should read the book, and then watch it again, stoned, preferably with friends. By turns, hilarious and horrific, the film finally settles amid its own desert dust in the end with a philosophical position. Thank you, Hunter S. Thompson. The cast members turn in such earth-shatteringly good performances as to be, largely, unrecognisable as themselves. Fucking brilliant. Iris: It is criminal that Dame Judi Dench was passed-over for the "Best Actress" nod for her turn as Alzheimer�s-suffering writer/philosopher Iris Murdoch. She is, inconceivably moreso than usual, exquisite in this role, painstaking in its detail and gut-wrenching in its honesty and verisimilitude. Jim Broadbent is as apt a scene partner for her as anyone can be, carrying the details of John Bayly's position with such care that between the two, one might forget one is watching actors and not the real people. Kate Winslet adopts, in her portrayal of the young Iris, such a completely new persona that in her first scenes, I did not recognise the actress; she exudes the very air Dench might have breathed, had she taken the role at a younger age. Hugh Bonneville's precise replication of the minutiae of Broadbent's Bayly in his portrayal of the man at a younger age is also commendable; the research and collaboration between cast members throughout the process of making this film must have been extraordinary. This is not a biography, mind -- if you want to learn more about Murdoch's career and writing, you should look elsewhere -- But it is a riveting portrayal of the effects of a terrible illness, the toll it takes, and yet the endurance of the things Murdoch seemed most to revere: love and goodness. I shall stop here, for now, until I decide what, if anything, else I wish to say today. r
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