I'm lovely really

The Artist

Fri, 27 Jan 2012 15:37:19 +0000

I must admit in advance that this film was chosen purely by default, and that I am the first to acknowledge my own lack of patience and tolerance for anything that will not arrest my senses in a very visceral and real way. I am very demanding. However in saying this, I did possess an obscene fascination and curiosity for this movie, based solely on the fact that, while on paper it sounded tedious, boring and ultimately unsatisfying, it had achieved an excessive amount of lauding, and I had yet to find a negative review.

It is true that I am a cynical bastard, however, I also stand firm that the best way to enter a movie is with low expectations…

This, despite my best attempts at being objective, did not work.

While I concede it is brave, and an interesting premise, to create a film that conflicts with the general demands of current cinema, I also think that the public have developed a much more complex receptive criteria to be entertained, and that if one is to use an old and incredibly archaic method of portraying a story, merely going through the motions, and ticking all the boxes for that method, just simply won’t cut it.

I was waiting for that defining moment, where Michel Hazanavicius smirked ironically at the genre of cinema he was so blatantly plagiarising, and finally created something new, something exciting, something innovative. There was one point in the middle of the movie (if you’ve seen it, you’ll know what I am referring to), where I was sure we had reached a turning point, but it was nothing more than a glimpse of what could have been.

Don’t get me wrong, there are some beautifully framed shots and, in some cases, an artful use of old school cinema technique that must be remarked upon – the long shot of the staircase, where Valentin descends down and Millar ascends up, was a striking visual and symbolic display – however, weak in comparison to the endless possibilities that were at Hazanavicius’ disposal.

To put it plainly, this is a very basic, uninventive story, married with a flat and unchallenging format, and tied neatly together with uninteresting and badly acted characters. Simply arguing that over-acting is a prerequisite to an authentic silent movie is irrelevant, because that is just old hat at this stage.

If this was filmed in the 20’s, it would indeed be a masterpiece.

But it wasn’t.

Facebook does not like gif’s apparently. Why do I bother??

Sun, 22 Jan 2012 02:10:00 +0000

Facebook does not like gif’s apparently. Why do I bother??

Fuck my fucking life

Wed, 18 Jan 2012 11:19:00 +0000

Today I have:

Woken up late

Sacrificed my shower, my cup of tea, my breakfast, my morning pooh, all for the elusive reclaiming of time, and succeeded in leaving the house at relatively the correct moment

Ran to the bus

Offended a few people in the tube station as I rudely ran to the train

Waited, standing, with waning patience for the train to start moving

Listened and rolled my eyes at the drivers apologies

Cursed at the ‘will be moving within the next 5 minutes’ comment (‘Fucking FIVE minutes??’)

Struggled to maintain a level head as the train stop-started the entire way due to an ‘ill’ person at Victoria. Fucking selfish bastard

Stared daggers at the idiot with her bad judgement of spacial awareness and her too big bag, and wished it was her head stuck in the door instead

Arrived at work 15 minutes late

Sat at my desk and wondered, what the fuck am I doing here?

Had a ‘moment’

Started to think about my options in life

Died a little inside

Swore I would have a lie in tomorrow, be late, and blame the tube. Again.

Started making lists.

Fuck my fucking life.

Mr. Proust on the wonders of food memories. I'm not hungry.

Mon, 16 Jan 2012 17:46:00 +0000

No sooner had the warm liquid mixed with the crumbs touched my palate than a shudder ran through me and I stopped, intent upon the extraordinary thing that was happening to me. An exquisite pleasure had invaded my senses, something isolated, detached, with no suggestion of its origin. And at once the vicissitudes of life had become indifferent to me, its disasters innocuous, its brevity illusory - this new sensation having had on me the effect which love has of filling me with a precious essence; or rather this essence was not in me it was me. I had ceased now to feel mediocre, contingent, mortal. Whence could it have come to me, this all-powerful joy? I sensed that it was connected with the taste of the tea and the cake, but that it infinitely transcended those savours, could, no, indeed, be of the same nature. Whence did it come? What did it mean? How could I seize and apprehend it?

AGAIN, I know, but YES.

Mon, 16 Jan 2012 17:26:59 +0000

AGAIN, I know, but YES.

no internet for 6 weeks

Tue, 13 Dec 2011 12:54:01 +0000

yes really

Photo

Sun, 18 Sep 2011 22:48:13 +0100

Fucking hairy babies.

Mon, 12 Sep 2011 22:05:51 +0100

Fucking hairy babies.

What the hell happened to Yann?!

Fri, 09 Sep 2011 11:38:00 +0100

Yesterday, I finished reading the long awaited 3rd literary installment of the acclaimed ‘Life of Pi’ author, Yann Martel, and am, well, totally underwhelmed.

Contrary to the outrage and disgust married with the rapture and utter enlightenment that has been the extremely mixed reaction to this, I am rather unaffected by what can only be described as a bland and underdeveloped nothing-more-than-a-long-short-story-of-a-novel.

The thing that causes a mild disquiet in my mind is the question: What the hell happened to Yann? This book is clearly the mish-mash of a confused author, plagued with writers block, too much creative freedom, and the shadow of a predecessor that is almost impossible to directly compete with.

I honestly don’t know where to start; it’s taken me this long to even form an opinion on it.

I was left with the sense that I should be affected by the confusion and ridiculousness of the ending, by the fact that very little was resolved or justifiably explained, or that - despite so much potential, and a genuine interest in the characters at the beginning of the book - there was a distinct lack of character development or a solid storyline. But rather I just put the book down, and didn’t really feel anything.

It’s merciful brevity, in this sense, is therefore its most redeeming factor, meaning I could read it in a few short tube journeys, and consequently not feel as though I had been short changed; I would have only spent that time scrutinising the shoes of my fellow passengers anyway…

But mostly, I feel sorry for Martel, because all of this seems so much bigger than him. While in one respect the novel comes across as a self-indulgent and pretentious delve into a personal interest, a bit of faffing about with the beginnings of a plot line and the self-righteous belief that what is being done is a courtesy to one of histories most horrific legacies. In another, it seems that Mr. Martel is just very lost and confused…

Aaawh.

(sad face)

NO. WAY.

Tue, 06 Sep 2011 19:12:38 +0100

NO. WAY.

PEOPLE WHO PUT SALT AND PEPPER ON THEIR FOOD BEFORE THEY TASTE IT.

Thu, 01 Sep 2011 12:43:00 +0100

YES

Wed, 31 Aug 2011 23:50:00 +0100

YES

I saw someone reading this today, on the tube. Just a flash of...

Fri, 19 Aug 2011 11:57:00 +0100

I saw someone reading this today, on the tube.

Just a flash of the cover - which implicitly suggested that the book was written by Chuck Palahniuk - and thus got my novel-reading juices flowing.

With furtive glances from the right, I managed to surreptitiously read the synopsis at the back, which, though not classic Palahniuk gore, did possess a certain amount of potential.

I let my imagination run wild with the hopeless, nihilistic and ironic imagery that could be assimilated from this simple horror story outline: The crumbling old building, a set for some transgressive plot twists and sardonic character development. The morbid, yet darkly humorous elderly neighbours who have garnered a sinister interest in the unborn child. The mysterious - yet obviously fallacious and underhand - unexpected success of the husbands career, and the mild suggestion that alludes to the questionable methods by which it was achieved…

BUT alas, it was not written by him at all.

Hmmm, wonder if this Ira Levin guy is any good?…

blackandwtf: Date unknown (via Nationaal Archief)

Tue, 16 Aug 2011 22:16:50 +0100

blackandwtf:

Date unknown

(via Nationaal Archief)

Kshaw, Diet Coke is always so melodramatic. GET A GRIP.

Mon, 15 Aug 2011 22:13:23 +0100

Kshaw, Diet Coke is always so melodramatic. GET A GRIP.

Photo

Mon, 15 Aug 2011 21:59:10 +0100

Hotel Breakfast Buffets

Mon, 15 Aug 2011 19:51:00 +0100

Right now, at this very moment, there is nothing more brilliant.

It’s been so long since I’ve raped one, like properly taken advantage of someones misguided assumption that I will eat a ‘normal’ portion.

I’m getting cravings for a ridiculous combination of sweet and savoury morning snacks.

ALL ON THE SAME PLATE.

(like a seal preparing for winter)

"My interests lie in the disconnect between reality and our perception thereof."

Sat, 13 Aug 2011 01:12:00 +0100

“My interests lie in the disconnect between reality and our perception thereof.”

- Saatchi Online Behind The Canvas: Interview With Rives Granade (via saatchionline)

… exactly

jesuisperdu: an unofficial music video for alsatian darn by...

Fri, 12 Aug 2011 19:55:07 +0100

jesuisperdu:

an unofficial music video for alsatian darn by panda bear, animated by ori toor.

Photo

Fri, 12 Aug 2011 19:09:08 +0100