Knowing is probably not 2009’s The Happening, but that doesn’t make it a good film. It takes a special kind of movie for me to say “but nothing’s happened” when fifty minutes remain and I’ve borne witness to a fiery plane crash and a lengthy train derailment – and all at high speeds!
Knowing is a singularly unconscious film. It’s impossible to pinpoint the genre of a film that can’t decide whether it’s a supernatural mystery, a thriller, horror or a treatise on the apocalypse. It doesn’t quite manage to be any of them and the result is not so much incoherent as it is inconsequential. If the audience (that is, me) doesn’t care about the fate of the world, let that mother burn.
Every time I attempt to do something new and exciting, I invariably get bitten in the arse. This is precisely why, in these heady times when I am inexplicably attempting a second degree and also thinking “perhaps I should make a go of actually writing as part of this writing gig”, my laptop has died.
It may be a short lived death; it may return, like Lazarus, and walk once more.
The fact of the matter is, until then, I’m living on borrowed computer, sneaking peeks from the iMac downstairs (are they still iMacs? I don’t know. The ridiculously large screened ones that have the built in hard drives), and breaking into the UNSW libraries and using their computers for an hour at a time.
If you never hear from me again, it is because I have been devoured by people who are utterly mystified by the internet. People who are within the 18-22 age group, and don’t know anything about this online world excepting Facebook and Youtube. It’s depressing, really. How can you never have heard of the Great Firewall of China, be unable to conceive of government censorship?
How, for that matter, can you be doing a Media degree and not notice that the government has, for the past little while, been trying to censor and strangle our own internet with all the grace of an ocean trawler indiscriminately taking in dolphins and narwhals along with the pedophiles, anorexics and paranoids?
For my own part, regret nothing. Have lived life, free from compromise… and step into the shadow now without complaint.
If reading this now, whether I am alive or dead, you will know truth. Have done best to make this legible. Believe it paints disturbing picture. Appreciate your recent support and hope world survives long enough for this to reach you, but tanks are in East Berlin, and writing is on wall.
I realised, after watching the Watchmen film today, that I had been approaching it as an adaptation rather than as a film. I really don’t know how it is as an actual film, apart from the fact that it is quite long with no indication as to its pacing if you’re unfamiliar with the story, and that it remains fairly episodic.
What do I think of it? The reviews have been mixed, I know. Unlike Wil Wheaton, I have not been waiting for Watchmen for more than twenty years. Unlike Roger Ebert, I don’t consider it a four star film.
A brief history of me and Watchmen: I bought it about eighteen months ago, and read it last month. As is the case with such things, the moment of consumption is the moment that you kick yourself for not doing it earlier. It was very good. I was even moved at points, and would describe the end of chapter eleven as one of the greatest things I’ve ever seen in comics.
The movie is brought to us by “the visionary director of 300“. I advise rereading that sentence. If it makes you shout “THIS IS SPARTA!”, carry on. If it makes your eyes roll back into your head and your mouth begins to foam, I accept no responsibility for your medical bills. I’m not sure how much of a visionary you have to be to produce near carbon copy faithful recreations of comic books, but I’m not sure that Zack Snyder is one … particularly in light of the fact that, despite the absolutely ridiculous fidelity to the source material, Watchmen differs in places both minor and key … including the much talked of yet infuriatingly vaguely whispered new ending.
You know what? I stayed up until midnight watching these Oscars and writing a good million words (or something like 2,500, I don’t know) by hand in a notebook. I can’t stay up much later transcribing them, and the scanning process will be flimsy. You’ll get them later.
That said, I was pleased with the process. Hugh Jackman was unimpressive but the ceremony wasn’t terrible, the speeches were reasonable, and the results were pretty good – especially Sean Penn! Way to upset the narrative, guys!
I can’t be the only person who thinks that Sophia Loren has become angry in her advanced years, surely?
Now everyone should go out and see Slumdog Millionaire, the little movie that could ’08.
I’ve long been a proponent of matching a trailer to a film. This has never been clearer than the last few weeks, my beloved Oscar Season. I understand that sometimes there simply aren’t enough films to match to any given film, particularly if that film is heavy. Still, some things aren’t quite excusable.
Preface: This was mostly written in December, but it proves a point to someone and it’s still relevant as the movie just saw release.
What do you put as a trailer before a movie like Vicky Christina Barcelona, if you’re more of a mainstream cinema? Well, there’s understandable quirky semi-mainstream like The Curious Case of Benjamin Button (which is required by law to be great, even though Zodiac sucked, David Fincher [date showing here … it turned out to be okay but not as good as the Academy would have you believe!]), and legitimate left-of-centre stuff like Frost/Nixon. With no ads to fill the gap, you’re left with only one option: a vehicle for the featured movie’s star.
What I’m talking about here is He’s Just Not That Into You, featuring Scarlett Johansson, which looks to have just about everything wrong with it:
In gender politics, society is always talking in stupid, meaningless absolutes that are clearly destroyed by the blatantly obvious fact that they simply aren’t true. What movies and TV have taught me, and what some people will distressingly back up, includes the following:
Men and women can’t be friends.
Women can’t be friends.
Gay men can’t be friends.
So I don’t know, apparently if you’re a woman you can’t be friendly with anyone (although maybe gay men don’t “count” as men, but then, all gay men are rampant misogynists and gynophobes), and if you’re a man you can only be friends with people in your fraternity who aren’t gay. I’m getting the impression that He’s Just Not That Into You reinforces a lot of this.
In real life, I was quite distressed when one of my American friends informed me that men and women really cannot be friends. Obviously I’m a little removed from that world … America and heterosexuality … but is this really the world that we want to live in? Where a man can’t get along with a woman because of the rampant sexual tension that exists between every single one of them, regardless of any individual’s actual feelings? Where an alleged biological imperative is driving us towards being terrible people who avoid one another at every turn? A world where we’re supposed to believe that women aren’t funny?
With the Oscars a mere two days away, I present the partially written ages ago …
Oscar Nomination Round Up 2009!
Or, “The Latikas”, as they shall henceforth be known.
So I’ve had a week (hah!) to think of these babies, and here’s some initial thoughts. As with every year, it’s a hodge podge mix of what I would like to happen and what I think will happen. I’ll most likely deadblog the event again this year. I mean, seriously, I care about the outcomes but the ceremony itself eventually grinds you down regardless of who the host is.
Three years ago I went to see Brokeback Mountain for a second time instead of staying home and watching Crash win. I still think I made the right decision.
(I've updated parts where necessary, and marked the parts out. Everything past Original Screenplay was written on February 21 or later)
An underline means what I think will win, a bolding means what I kind of think should win but might not be 100% certain about on a case by case basis.
I’m frequently too lazy for words, but very rarely am I lost for them. I promised Clara I would try, but I must warn you in advance that I’m unable to do justice to what I’ve seen tonight. That doesn’t indicate the quality of Revolutionary Road in any form. I’m not sure what qualities it has, in which direction. I suppose I can say that it’s well made and well acted.
Funny things, old people: until Children of Men happens, they’re an infinitely renewable resource. In their later years, they make movies like The Bucket List, which is impossible to watch more than twenty minutes of before giving up in disgust. Clint Eastwood is an old person who proves himself time and again worth having around. The Only Good Republicanâ„¢* strikes again with Gran Torino, a movie that shattered what little expectations I went in with.
* Disclaimer! In the immortal words of April O’Neil, “it was a joke!”
The strangest thing about the Madagascar franchise, I feel, is that the funniest jokes in both of them are Twilight Zone references … and they both happened on planes – the other strange thing is how anyone can think that the character designs of the four leads are anything approaching pleasant.
Madagascar: Back 2 Africa is not only an example of obnoxious number substituting for a word (at least Step Up 2 The Streets did it with class), it’s also a prime example of franchising a property whose title is thematically incompatible with any sequels. Even if there are more Kung Fu Panda films (freakin’ five of them), they could either make sense due to the continued presence of Po or present a series of films named for separate members of the Furious Five.
Escape 2 Africa, however, is a vaguely racist, all-over-the-place movie that once and for all proves that black people zebras all look the same and share a uniculture, and once again showcases a theatrical son whose father is disappointed he isn’t a “real lion”. Hmm indeed.
I guess it’s not terrible, though, so that’s probably something.
