Posts tagged movies
Posts tagged movies
The online situation for this documentary has been taunting me for at least ten thousand months. At least. I hope it eventually comes to my city. When I say eventually I really mean in the next hour or so. Also, how can anything involving otters have a 2.9 rating on IMDB? Because the world is full of jerks. Jerks who hate otter documentaries and also want to keep otter documentaries away from me.
There are many quotables in The Godfather saga (even part III has, “Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in,” and also excellent examples of Nonno-style cardigan fashion modelling) and some of those quotables are wisdom slaps in the face, but there is nothing as universally useful as this 20 seconds of cinema. Try it by inserting the name of someone you know in the blank:
“I know it was you, ________. You broke my heart. You broke my heart!”
Kiss of death. Intense whisper. Unwavering eye contact. Throat throttling. Confetti.
Sometimes you’re Fredo. Sometimes you’re Michael. We’re all a Corleone sometimes.
This morning I said to myself, “DDB, you are totally like Michael Douglas in Falling Down. You are feeling that feeling of the whole world being against you and you are angry and confused and upset and you just think everything is unfair and you are this close to having to repair your shoe with newsprint, and will probably go steal some guns from gang members and then you will shoot those guns in the street and Robert Duvall will come looking for you with all of his own emotional/societal baggage and then shit is going to get real, you everyman, you.”
In the past maybe I’ve been Michael Douglas in Romancing the Stone, or One NIght at McCool’s or Fatal Attraction. I know for certain I have never been Michael Douglas in Basic Instinct or Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps. Well, almost certain.
Sure, I want to tell myself I’m like some Michael Douglas character, that I am tragic or hilarious or adventurous or alluring to the point of fatalities, and maybe I am some of those things sometimes, but the thing is, unlike those characters I don’t take any action. Michael Douglas characters are running around getting up to all sorts of shenanigans and causing shit to go down or go awry. I don’t cause trouble or make a big mess.
Sometimes I think I deserve a cookie for not stabbing people in the street or not having an affair or not saying cruel shit that only I know could destroy the people I love even though nobody deserves a cookie for that stuff. That is just normal human stuff that people should do, that in our reward-based society are totally not worth even a cookie. Not even a dry, crusty oatmeal cookie with rasins. Most of us are not causing trouble and making big messes and are behaving in a way that is sometimes difficult, because we want to do other things that are sort of not good, but not as bad as shooting guns in the street. You know? And also, most of us have never encountered Sharon Stone and also we have not dealt with ice picks murders.
Mostly, I just think about movies a lot and sometimes I pretend to be in those movies and sometimes I even make different, better choices that the characters. Even Michael Douglas characters. I like to live in made up stories. And also sometimes there are just a lot of lady hormones. And also cable tv is always with the Michael Douglas.
It’s a new year and stuff. I took down my calendar and didn’t put up a new one. Numbers move around or whatever. We measure things. The Mayan calendar is being a total cooze. Persians are all like, ‘you call this a new year?’ Etc.
The only calendars I care about are the broadcast calendar, the publishing calendar, the ‘cram all the good movies into two months before awards season’ calendar. New beginnings happen all year. In September when network television launches and relaunches beloved programs. That’s when people would check in on Sam and Diane’s hate/fuck situation. It’s important. Or when publishers bait literary awards and consumers with their most delicious treats, the kind that win cash prizes and sell more than a few hundred copies. In November when producers start pushing for their Clooneys to get trophies. In April or June when HBO tricks people into watching fantasy dramas with attractive naked people and that thing we call storytelling.
Sure. I’ll give January props. It brings the return of shows from a brief holiday hiatus (it’s more of a reunion marker), or shows relegated to mid-season and more of those awards bait movies. But, there are lots of ways to measure time or newness. That’s all I’m saying. Wear your sequins and your party hats to watch the season premier of Mad Men, because it signals that something excellent it coming. That’s a real new beginning. New stories! That’s all I ask for. Start me off with some new stories. And then I’ll get happy about a new something. And I’ll wish others the same.
There are, of course, different kinds of heartbreak. Quick snaps like a finger being broken in a mob movie. The pendulum swing of back and forth love that results in alternating feelings of heart pain and elation. The devastating thud followed by ease and relief, knowing you’ve kicked the habit, something bad for you. And then the slow ache of watching your love, maybe your first love, become a fragment, a shard, a sliver of who you fell in love with, the realization that you can only love your past love, that it’s a memory, that you can’t find that love place again because it’s changed, transformed, like into the movie Transformers because that’s how bad it is.
Adam Sandler was my first pin up. I didn’t have pop stars on my walls. I had this goofy heeb who laughed at his own jokes. We had Saturday night dates. Or Sunday morning’s with the VCR. He wasn’t a huge movie star. He was a dork in GAP denim, a red-hooded sweatshirt, a ridiculous wig. And even when he became a big movie star, when he had to go back to school, when he picked up a golf club, when he was a freakin’ waterboy, a wedding singer, an indie experiment in a blue suit, through all of it, I held onto my crush, as embarrassing as it was. I let it throb in a tiny chair, in a tiny corner of my heart room.
Then things began to change. The movies became charmless. Or he did. I stopped paying to go sit in the theatre, no popcorn on my lap while we whiled away a few hours together in the dark. I didn’t rent his DVDs. I didn’t stop to watch a profanity-free airing on basic cable. I didn’t even consider downloading his latest release. I just stopped caring.
And now. This thing he’s in. I just…
But it’s good. The slow ache is a twinge. Maybe I can go back and watch my old favourites without all our baggage. My love behind us he can just be another idiot I used to think was cool.
You know when you’re having a swell day and thinking, oh man I am being so productive and delightful, and you make up a song for yourself in your head about how great that is and how slammdiggity your day is and how the world is full of wonder and awesome stuff and you walk into an art supply store full of pretty things and weird things and things to make other things with and you’re in awe of how much greatness there is out there and then you see this and everything stops being great and your heart punches your stomach and lungs, and your bowels seize up and you fear for the fate of the world, for the children of the future in a non-Whitney Houston kind of way, and that environmental disasters and financial problems and government corruption and famine are all probably somehow linked to this situation you can seem to drag your eyeballs away from?
Of course you know what I’m talking about. It’s such “a thing”, right? When someone takes one of the best things in the world, gorgeously simple stationery with some nice historical/literary/arty nods thrown in for added one ups and then combines that thing with the greatest atrocity humans have created, and you feel like you can’t trust the world with even the simplest things. If it wasn’t limited edition, and wasn’t going to go away soon I’d probably have set the store on fire. But since it is limited edition it will only garner the unwarranted affection usually reserved for heiresses who only speak in baby talk.
What a world, what a world.
Mindy Kaling describes types of women in romantic comedies:
The Ethereal Weirdo
“The smart and funny writer Nathan Rabin coined the term Manic Pixie Dream Girl to describe this archetype after seeing Kirsten Dunst in the movie “Elizabethtown.” This girl can’t be pinned down and may or may not show up when you make concrete plans with her. She wears gauzy blouses and braids. She likes to dance in the rain and she weeps uncontrollably if she sees a sign for a missing dog or cat. She might spin a globe, place her finger on a random spot, and decide to move there. The Ethereal Weirdo appears a lot in movies, but nowhere else. If she were from real life, people would think she was a homeless woman and would cross the street to avoid her. But she is essential to the male fantasy that even if a guy is boring he deserves a woman who will find him fascinating and perk up his dreary life by forcing him to go skinny-dipping in a stranger’s pool.”
me: i see nothing wrong with forcing people to go skinny-dipping in a neighbor’s pool. that’s just a good time
smart friend: sure. except when it’s meant to be a clear sign that lonely dude is meant to be with manic pixie girl because she’s just so spontaneous and naked
me: isn’t that how people hook up? i feel confused
if people didn’t have magical encounters they would never like any people
i just feel defensive of my eccentric tastes
smart friend: i think it’s more that it’s contrived
like a meet cute
like every quirky event in our lives is supposed to have emotional significance
me: again, it isn’t?
i am clearly insane
smart friend: you watch a lot of tv?
me: where are you going with this? you know i do.
smart friend: lol
i think tv and movies reinforce that idea?
me: my whole thing is that i’m always looking for ways to make my life more interesting
smart friend: some people really do have all these little magical connections and events that signify things
me: and if weird shit happens, it’s important
smart friend: it’s probably why i don’t like zooey deschanel and miranda july, and you do. i think sometimes weird shit means stuff. but sometimes super mundane shit is what’s important…
me: but i don’t like the significance and metaphor inherent in sci fi
i find it to be cloying
maybe it’s presentation
smart friend: yeah
me: like, obviously that (sci-fi metaphor) means whatever, you dipshit!
god. take off your stupid spacesuit
smart friend: maybe if the cylons wore polka dots and hair ribbons and acoustic folk rock played in the background …
me: i would have liked it more
smart friend: haha
to each their own signifiers
me: like, i’m supposed to take that show seriously because they’re wearing neutrals and uniforms ?
I don’t know how I missed this film adaptation of Muriel Barbery’s The Elegance of the Hedgehog, but now that I am aware of its existence I will most likely have to view it. The actor playing the suicidal 12 year old is killing me with her glasses and corkscrews and that intense look on her wee face. And hedgehog Renée, you had me at first door slam.