Review: Dan In Real Life

Interesting and amusing, this film is an empathetic, laugh-out-loud character study, starring Steve Carell as the eponymous Dan, a newspaper columnist and widower, whose life revolves around his three teenage daughters. Arriving at the annual family reunion, he randomly meets a woman in a bookshop, played by Juliette Binoche, who he consequently cannot stop thinking about.

Steve Carell as Dan does not break any new ground as an actor – we’ve seen him before in this type of role, notably in Little Miss Sunshine. Similarly, Juliette Binoche plays the part of the quirky seductress, which seems to be her forte. While not a stretch for either of the pair, it does mean that the acting is extremely competent. Steve Carell adeptly encapsulates the petulant child in all of us, afloat in a world of divisions, between adults and youngsters, men and women. Unable to fit in with any of his relatives, he is a constant outsider, who we both feel for, yet cannot help laughing at.

The major downfall of this film may be its un-reality. Some of the comedy value is achieved through moments that are highly improbable and draw strongly from cliché, which overshadows the original brilliance that would have made this film a must-see. As it is, Dan In Real Life is still worth a look-in, especially for the secret romantics, who can’t quite allow themselves to believe in love.

Indefinite Trilogy: Part 3

… What of the prince himself? What was he doing while all around him people schemed? The truth was he, too, was plotting. What, I hear you cry, could the soon-to-be-crowned prince have to plot about? He wanted to destroy the entire cloud realm.Ever since he had been a little child, he had been discriminated against by people, from his suicidal parents, through the patronizing oligarchs, down to the disrespectful servants. Only his ogress nurse had cared for him, only she had shown him attention. Certainly, the people loved him, but what did he know of their love? It was a distant, ephemeral idea on the periphery of his mind, unlike the visceral taunts and the cutting attitudes of the men and women who saw him everyday. Now, as the day of his coronation neared, he vowed to punish them all for their contempt.

He had formed the idea from youth, slowly evolving it, tweaking the particulars, and soon it would be put in motion. At the day of the coronation, he would unleash his secret weapon, which he had reared from a foal and turned into a beast solely of pain and fury, like himself. Locked away in the tallest tower of the castle, the creature on which his design rested had grown in spite and malice, only containing its unstoppable fury through its love of knitting, which soothed its soul and quieted its thundering heart. At the coronation, he would release this destructive horse with its anger-management issues upon the kingdom, and just like the Cretan Minotaur, the Nemean Lion, and the Lernaean Hydra, it would wreak havoc and desolation upon the clouds. Then, then they would all regret their words, which had sliced like daggers not only through the strings of his heart, but the tethers of his mind.

Truly, the young prince was utterly insane.

The day of the coronation arrived…

*** any suggestions for the final installment of this mighty piece of soon-to-be classical literature would be much appreciated! ***

Strike! Strike! Strike!

I was reading on article online today about how the BAFTAs may become the most interesting film event this year. With the Golden Globes ceremony cancelled and the Oscars under threat due to the writers’ strike, the BAFTAs may be the only big English-speaking awards ceremony this year! Quite an exciting prospect, but its causes are not at all amusing.

Admittedly, I am not an expert on the events, and don’t know the exact nuances of the situation, but I am aware of the basics: the Writers’ Guild of America want a percentage of the internet sales from TV shows and the Alliance Motion Picture and Television Producers won’t give it to them. My automatic response is to side with the writers, not only because I would love to become a televison script writer, but because it would seem totally characteristic of the film and television industry to try and take advantage of the cogs that make it move. A cynical, conditioned response to the Capitalistic modern-day West? Undoubtedly, and I can’t deny that I might completely change my mind about the situation if I knew the specifics more intimately, but my initial response is to believe that the writers are being exploited.

However, this is in sharp contrast with my annoyance at the television shows that are being affected by the strike, not to mention the eventual delay to future films. Some examples that immediately come to mind are the cut-short second season of Heroes, the inevitable delay that will occur in the airing of Lost and Prison Break episodes, the complications in producing the final season of Scrubs, and the uncertainty about which new shows will make the cut, not to mention that the ones which have will have to wait ages before any more episodes will be ready, as is the case with Pushing Daisies.

I’m not going to lie, I am a bit of a televison addict, partly because I’m an insomniac and find watching TV shows makes the time go by a lot faster. While I entirely support the writers for fighting for their rights, it is extremely irritating to have my viewing habits messed about.

I want to say that the strike should continue until fair terms are reached, but realistically I just wish both the WGA and the AMPTP would shut-up and get on with pleasing their audience, without which they wouldn’t be raking in all the cash anyway!

[p.s. any suggestions for the next installment fo the creative thread would be most appreciated!]

Review: I Am Legend

In a market saturated with entirely action-based films, it is occasionally pleasant to come across a film that attempts to go deeper. For I Am Legend, its main strength lies not in its sudden scares but rather in its psychological delving into the mind of a man completely alone, in a city heaving with virally infected humans.

The premise is one we’ve seen before: virus mutates humans into primitive cannibals, desperate for the taste of blood, and the few people not infected must somehow stay alive. Inevitably echoing 28 Days Later, the makers have tried to give I Am Legend its own nuances, and succeeded to some extent. One hesitates to call the infected humans ‘zombies’, for these monsters are very much alive and can be cured, which is the main aim in the life of Dr. Robert Neville (Will Smith), apparently the last man alive in New York, and immune to the virus. The exploration of Dr. Neville’s current lonely life is inter-cut with explanations from the past, in an effective manner that keeps the audience from becoming bored by the bleak life of the film’s protagonist.

And bleak is how the film could be summarised. The psychological effects of isolation have led to Dr. Neville’s mental deterioration, made believable by Will Smith’s convincing acting in very difficult circumstances. As the film opens we are allowed one day in the normal life Robert Neville has been living for three years, which is depressing in itself, before everything really starts to go wrong and we are plunged further into despair. Certainly, there are moments of reprieve, but these are quickly followed by moments of tragedy and fear.

This is not a film to see solely for the horror aspect: while there is undeniable tension and many a shudder, the virally infected humans are portrayed in sub-standard graphics for the modern day. Neither is this a film to see if you are fond of clear-cut happy endings and crystallised moments of joy – there is nothing for you here but the rare glimmer of hope.

For one to truly appreciate I Am Legend, the viewer must be prepared for thoughts, as well as scares, challenging the mould of traditional zombie flicks, and most importantly examining the role of uninfected man as saviour, rather than mere survivor.

The Indefinite Trilogy: Part 2

… They met secretly, in the dark chambers deep within the depths of their cloud mansions, and schemed. There were many ideas on the manner in which they could remain in power, ranging from the simple to the obscene to the downright deranged. Some were in favour of merely trying to influence the young prince’s judgement as puppet-masters behind the scenes; others claimed the only way forward was to imprison him in a tower; but the majority knew the only way to be absolutely sure of power was to kill him.

How else could the people be dissuaded from continually trying to reinstate him? It was for their own good, the nobles argued, for while the prince was all kindness, goodness, understanding, he was thoroughly incompetent in matters of state. His reign would inevitably lead the kingdom to ruin. There was nothing for it but to betray him. For the good of the people.

But how was this to be done? And who could be entrusted with this most delicate task? While the decision had been made, none really wanted to be in charge of the actual deed. None, except one minister: Lord Tartarus. A lover of trickery and bloodshed, it was even rumored that he had killed his own children and fed them to guests. All the other oligarchs feared him with a scorching dread that left them sweating whenever his cold, granite voice spoke.

“Completely insane,” the other ministers concurred, but none dared do anything about him. After all, he rarely interfered in matters of state, as long as he was left to rule his own autonomous cloud region without investigation.

So it was settled, and the die was rolled, and the bets made, and life’s roulette wheel began to spin, circling the black and bloody numbers.

The oligarchs parted.

Left to his own devices, Lord Tartarus began to consider how best to dispatch the prince. First he considered a poisoned chalice, but that seemed so boring. Perhaps a knife-wielding re-animated corpse? No. His experiments in that area were as yet unsuccessful. Then, suddenly, as if a bolt of lightning had shot out from one of his pointy-sharp contraptions and struck him, it came!

A tiger juggling ….grenades! What could be simpler or more full-proof?

First, he would need to train the tiger to wield grenades, then give it uni-cycling lessons, and finally figure out how to how get the grenade-wielding tiger to attend the coronation without arousing suspicion. The wheels – or more accurately the wheel – was in motion…

The Winds of Change

I have decided, after my long absence, to completely reorganise my blog and give it some kind of structure.

There will be three sections (or more realistically three different ongoing topics – it won’t really be different sections within the blog, as I have no idea how to do this!):

1) The review thread, where I will review some form of art, generally film, literature or theatre;

2) The creative thread, in which I will write a story entirely based on the comments and suggestions given on my blog each week by any readers;

3) The random splurge thread, so that every seven days I can rant/moan/praise whatever happens to be on my mind at the time

Hopefully this will make my blog more organised, but not so much so that it becomes tedious. What does anyone out there think?

HAPPY NEW YEAR ALL!!!

The Untitled Trilogy: Part 1

I promised seduction, betrayal and deceit and you shall have it, o ye of little faith!! However, as it is under pressure now that I write, it may be a little rickety about the framework, though this piece will surely enchant your imaginations, or at least invoke your disdain… but is it not said that to make people feel any emotion, positive or negative, is better than to produce mere apathy? Or have I just made that up? If so I am a visionary (but it is unlikely that this is the case)…

TO THE STORY!!

Once upon a time, on a cloud far far away, there lived a prince of extraordinary ugliness. It was rumored that, when his parents saw him, they screamed a scream that split the once unified clouds asunder, and it was then that the earth first saw sunlight. In their disgust, the king and queen flung themselves together from the top of the highest tower of their cloud castle to an untimely death, rather than live to raise a child so hideous.

So it was that the young prince, almost from the moment of his birth, became a young king, under the guardianship of an ogress. Now whatever may have been told to people on earth about ogres and ogresses, the truth is that, at least in the cloud regions of this world, they are the gentlest of creatures, except when it comes to love. Indeed which creature is not blinded by love? Most are blinded by mere lust, but that is a completely different thing altogether, and who can tell whether it was love or lust that most ruled the ogress? None can know another’s heart except in mutual folly.

As the young king grew, the love the ogress felt for her young charge changed from maternal affection to passionate desire, and soon her heart was consumed in the all-consuming ice that froze her mind to all other things but the ugly orphan. How to win the man to her will? “Seduction!” her soul shrieked, and her heart concurred, and her mind began to brood upon a plan of action.

It was nearing the time when the young king could truly claim his throne, and remove the governing of the now disparate cloud kingdom from the hands of various ministers that currently ruled. The young king was so kind, so good, so empathetic with the hurt of every bird, beast, and spirit that crossed his path that the people longed eagerly for the day of the coronation. Despite his deformed visage, the people loved him, and cursed the superficial parents that abandoned him.

Let us not judge them too harshly though, because while the multitude loved their young king, they saw but occasionally what a mother and father must see habitually.

With the fall of their oligarchy imminent, the ministers began to plot…

* Feel free to deride, to sneer and to shout slander, or even to improve and to contribute. If nobody has made a continuation by the twelfth hour of the seventh day from hence, I shall be forced to proceed alone, wherever this road may lead….*

p.s.

for those of you who are waiting for seduction, betrayal and deceit, I will address this part of my blog very soon…

How Much Is Too Much?

How often should one post on one’s blog? Once a week? Twice? Whenever you feel like you have something to say?

If you write too little you’re not doing enough work on the blog, but if you write too much is anyone actually going to read it? I try to check in on everyone’s blog but if there’s too much there I tend to just read one of the numerous articles that have appeared since I last looked. Is this because I don’t really give a crap about everyone’s blog? No, some people really do have the most amusing/original/interesting things to say,while others are innovative in their ideas and style. However, I simply do not have the time to sift through every single post. Sad but true.

So how much is too much? And how does this apply to life? How much is too much food? How much is too much alcohol? How much is too much sex? How much is too much self-love/self-hate/self-apathy?

Is it about how often you do something or how much you pack into it each time you do it?

So many questions and I’m not narcissitic enough to belive that I have the answers, or does that mean I have too little self-confidence in my knowledge?

Thoughts are too much. Life is too much.

This post has become too much.

Review – 30 Days of Annoying Screaming Vampires Who Are Not Hot

What is wrong with 30 Days of Night? Could it be that it is all too symptomatic of the contemporary approach to horror, which requires fake blood to be thrown everywhere? Could it be that it has a nonsensical timeline that skips forward suddenly without cohesion or justification? Perhaps it’s the lack of almost any scary moments? To be honest, it’s probably just that there is nothing good about it.

The story revolves around some fairly non-descript characters that muddle along in their out of the way, shit-hole of a town, until some vampires decide that they feel like a killing spree and descend upon the area just as it begins to undergo its annual 30 days of night (something to do with not having much light in winter etc. etc. blah blah). Feeding on men, women and children, they dispatch most of the town during the chaotic first day of their attack, and then slowly pick of the survivors over the next twenty-nine days. Josh Hartnett and his ex-girlfriend find time to discuss the failure of their relationship, while attempting to lead the few remaining townsfolk to safety. Considering they only have half their minds on the task, it’s not really surprising that most of the people who have put their trust in them end up dead.

Admittedly, the acting isn’t atrocious, or at least, amidst all the other elements that are wrong with this film, it didn’t seem noticeably so. Sadly, there really isn’t much scope for anybody to show any acting talent because the back stories of the characters are all so horrifyingly shallow and generally non-existent. Of course, this might be excusable if the film achieved a creepy, disturbing atmosphere, but even the use of children as bait to draw out the surviving townspeople provokes only a yawn, rather than a pleasant outrage. Undoubtedly, the best thing about the film is its ending, not solely because it signals the finale of this terrible experience, but because it is the only non-clichéd part of 30 Days of Night. However, the lack of empathy at this point for the cast, the direction, the vampires, for anything at all, means that what could have been a beautifully tragic ending is merely a tedious epilogue.