For reasons I don't quite understand, the people at Domino's pizza presented the most riveting and thematically rich preview of the movie:
2. Waltz with Bashir
This stunning animated Israeli documentary beautifully captures the visceral chaos of history. Director Ari Folman smartly uses the innocuous side of the animated medium to completely immerse the audience within the mindsets of soldiers caught within a frightening and pointless war. The inclusion of live-action documentary footage at the end of the film makes for one the most emotionally devastating moments in cinema this year.
3.Gran Torino
Over the past decade, Clint Eastwood has been on an artistic role producing consistently taught and remarkably poignant work. "Gran Torino" serves as a moving tribute to both Eastwood's career and his transformation from brusque action hero to perceptive artist. That it received no Oscar nods cements this work as an underrated masterpiece.
4. Man on Wire
The story of the peculiar Phillip Petit's mission to walk on a tight rope between the two WorldTradeCenter towers could have been nothing more than a 90 minute curiosity. Like Werner Herzog, documentarian James Marsh proves capable of capturing the inspiring beauty that lies at the core of his subject's eccentric quest. To quote from my original review," “Man on Wire” stands as a beautiful testament to an impossible dream and a quiet love letter to the majesty of New York City."
5. Let the Right One In
The Swedish gem was not only one of the best vampire film of 2008, it was also one of the finest examples of world cinema.Its story of a young boy meeting a girl-turned-vampire masterfully explored the horrors of childhood while delivering a truly haunting genre experience. See it now before it gets its planned American remake.
6. Vicky Cristina Barcelona
Woody Allen's oh-so-charming "Vicky Cristina Barcelona" is sexy without showing more than an ounce of skin, engaging without being intellectually pompous. A film of boundless energy and vigor.
7. Happy-go-lucky
Sally Hawkins delivers the finest female performance of the year in Mike Leigh's fantastic film that explores the dark side of ebullience.
8. In Bruges
A textbook example of how to effectively walk the line between film genres.This deftly scripted film about two hit men who find themselves holed up in Belgium is at once tragic, hilarious and oddly surreal.
9. A Christmas Tale
French director Arnaud Desplechin crafts a disquieting Kafkaesque tale of family dysfunction that is elevated by the electric chemistry between Catherine Deneuvre and Mathieu Amalric as a mother-son pair who despise each other. Rarely has hate been rendered so palpable on the screen.
10. The Wrestler
While Mickey Rourke deserves every bit of praise he's received for his stunning portrayal as a fallen professional wrestler, the film is a wonderful showcase for Darren Aronofsky. His appropriately brutal imagery boldly illuminates the art behind the spectacle. If that wasn’t enough, the film features the most moving endings in recent memory.
Most underrated movie of the year: Che
A difficult, often misunderstood epic about the guerrilla leader Che Guevara that eschews cheap emotional theatrics for real insight into the tragically misguided leader. Hopefully, it will be rediscovered in years to come.
A Cinematic Predecessor to "Slumdog" ?
To celebrate the Oscars, I wanted to present a possible precursor to "Slumdog Millionaire" that has been much lauded for the seemingly out-of-nowhere Bollywood dance at the end of the film. It reminded me of the samurai film “Zatoichi” made in 2004 by Japanese auteur Takeshi Kitano:
Keep in mind that this finale follows a relatively conventional though sharply directed samurai film. The result of this juxtaposition? A sublime and joyous scene.
The other day, I entered Small World Coffee to have my soy latte fix, only to spot Alison Pill (the actress in ‘Milk’ who plays the lesbian Anne Kronenberg active in Harvey Milk’s campaign) relaxing with a coffee in hand and a Labyrinth bag leaning against her extended calf. I could not contain myself any longer. I had to know. I approached her, and found that she was a pleasant and charmingly awkward individual. She helped me confirm my longstanding belief: Gus Van Sant was an amazing director.
Many consider Van Sant to be the auteur of our time, versed with a distinctive perspective that caters to an esoteric, arthouse audience while still able to traverse the gap into the mainstream Hollywood arena. With the biopic ‘Milk’, the acclaimed director of Oscar winning ‘Good Will Hunting’ and ‘Elephant’, has delivered another tour de force.
It is not difficult to compare Van Sant’s efforts in supplying a forceful dent to the perceptions of conventional society with Harvey Milk’s own achievements. It is also inevitable, post-Prop 8, to regard the film ‘Milk’ as an invigorating stimulation for the gay community enraged by the de-evolution of human progress and acceptance in California. ‘Milk’ is thus, not only a reenactment of an individual’s life, but also a political beacon, the torch whose display of splendor does not disappoint. The awards and nominations it has garnered so far can attest to that.
The opening scenes of the film set the tone, where Harvey Milk (Sean Penn in another astounding performance) picks up Scott Smith (James Franco) in a subway station to avoid spending another birthday alone. They spend the night at Milk’s and formulate a new resolution: to move to San Francisco, make a difference in the gay community, and peel away from the confines of the closet.
‘Milk’ is very much a collaborative effort between director and ensemble performers. Penn, in a role that requires a 180 degree turn from his award-winning Byronic character in ‘Mystic River’, portrays a flamboyantly vociferous figure to perfection. Playing a distraught and neglected ‘housewife’, Franco withdraws from the comfort zone once again and absolutely delivers. Supplement this with Emile Hirsch’s ex-gigolo turned aid, and the cast is unbeatable. Even the ever chameleon-like Josh Brolin, last seen in Oliver Stone’s ‘W.’ and ‘No Country for Old Men’, was able to pull off a disappointingly flat character and transform it into an individual wrought with insecurities and anger.
The extensive interpolation of conventional film, Super-8 film and archival, 60s footage provides a congenial quality that reminds one of neglected memories, of lost childhood, love and encounters. One of the strongest moments in the film is when the camera zooms out of Penn and Franco locked in an intimate and passionate kiss, by a sign stating ‘we are open’ in reference to their newly opened camera shop, unafraid of outsider persecution. The moment grainy quality that seems to capture fragility and nostalgia of the time.
Ten years down the road however, this film will likely be forgotten because it falls victim to its own forceful message. It is so oversaturated with gay rights themes that after 2 hours of repetition, the characters and voice of the film become quite one-dimensional. At times it seems like we were watching a crusader movie. Even Dan White’s already underdeveloped motive for killing Milk and the Mayor George Mascone, is overshadowed by the dominant spirit of gay activism. While the film flimsily suggests White’s homosexual tendencies, it felt inadequate. Perhaps a double bill in the vein of the ‘Flag of Our Fathers’ and ‘Letters from Iwo Jima’ is needed to expound the interesting background of White’s emotional and psychological turmoil.
Nonetheless, while it lasts, ‘Milk’ is an epic effort by the maverick Gus Van Sant, and would definitely collect many awards come Oscar day.
Paws: Four our of Five Pros: Great acting, distinctive filmmaking and beautifully filmed scenes. Cons: Over-saturation of gay rights theme gets tedious after 2 hours. Trailer: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=unu-9vM9VZw
I know that I should just give up already, but I still don't understand what is so great about Ugg boots, and I really wish people would stop wearing them. Why is this the one fad that refuses to die? Sure, I mean, they're cozy (I did, I am ashamed to say, own a pair at one point in my life), but doesn't anyone have any semblance of originality anymore? There are plenty of other comfortable shoes out there, like moovboots, the wellies lined with sheepskin that I am dying to get my hands on...they're so cute from the outside, that no one has an inkling that your feet are luxuriating in a soft heavenly wonderland. Warm and waterproof...what else can a girl want?
Many things, as it turns out, not least that females within my eyesight graduate to grown up boots, like Frye, and cease to inundate my poor helpless vision with those hideous brown suede "Ugly" Boots (their proper Australian name). They make you look like a fat tourist from Idaho, munching on a street vendor's pretzel while staring star-struck at Rockefeller Center. Please, take my advice, be a little different, and go downtown, buy some, "gasp", vintage boots, and ditch that Vera Bradley/Longchamp bag in favor of a nice leather tote (I particularly am in favor of those from Anthropologie, but understand that they are a little trop cher, vintage is always a more interesting alternative anyway). Only then can my sense of aesthetic rest in peace, happy with the knowledge that people are choosing to resist the devastating tendency to conform.
Normally breaks of any kind are my excuse to immerse myself in a lot of film.My patented daily regimen called “Fareed’s 7 Easy Steps to Cinematic Nirvana” typically goes as follows:
Wake up
Watch a movie
Eat lunch
Watch a movie
Eat dinner
Wrap up the day with one last movie.
Repeat this process until arriving at Princeton.
Although I would have liked to follow my time tested routine during the winter break, it was not to be.Lingering academic work and grad school applications forced me to keep my nose in the books (*shudder*)
When I had a chance to watch any movies, it wasn't any Oscar bait.As a matter of fact, I think two of the films I've seen at the cinema would be more comfortable being a part of the upcoming Razzies.
1. Punisher War Zone
2. Brubaker (a Netflix selection of a pretty good Robert Redford flick from the 1980s. I spent most of the time thinking "he really hasn't aged that much during the period between this movie and 2007’s 'Lions for Lambs.').
3. Twilight (since everyone seems to be weighing in on the cultural phenomenon, what's the harm of one more review?)
4. L'Apprenti (a delightful little French film about a boy who dreams of becoming a simple 'paysan,' a farmer. Oddly enough, rather than transporting me to another world, it only reminded me how some aspects of my native Montanan culture remain entrenched in times past).
Punisher War Zone
Youtube Trailer:
I knew things weren't going to be ideal when the first movie I saw during break was the new "Punisher" movie. Everything you've heard about the movie is true. It's terrible, I mean awful. It's tonally inconsistent, and barring a few choice moments, relies too heavily on neon lights and shadowy corridors to create a "gritty" atmosphere. One of its rare choice moments stems directly from Frank Miller's renowned graphic novel "Batman: Year One."
During a scene the Punisher invades a mobster's dinner party, the lights go out and suddenly a red flare lights up revealing the menacing vigilante (00:46 in the above trailer). In the Miller comic book, Batman gives a foreboding speech telling the mob bosses that their days are numbered. In the movie, however, Punisher (AKA Frank Castle) kills everybody including a random old lady. The initial moment where the Punisher stands on the table illuminated by a harsh red light, seemingly ripped from the Batman tale, was one of the few moments where I thought "this is awesome," instead of “this is awesomely hilarious.".
All of its problems however, do not take away from the fact that the movie is Mystery Science Theater-style fun. I laughed more during this picture than the on-point comedy "Pineapple Express." See it if your tired of great films, and are seeking some visceral, trashy thrills.
Twilight
Youtube trailer:
"Twilight" is another bad movie that can be enjoyed for somehow making $35 million look like 5 bucks on the screen. The effects are atrocious, and the acting equally so (except for the heartthrob star Robert Pattinson who understands exactly what he needs to do in order to strike a chord with audiences. In fact, he is the only person with any screen presence. It's almost as though the film is deliberately trying to amplify this quality of Pattinson by populating the screen with teenage performers who deliver their lines with all the enthusiasm of a freshly lobotomized R.P. McMurphy). Worse still, the film's pacing is meandering which guarantees that the picture falls into the trap that afflicts many mediocre works, it's occasionally boring (unlike the far worse but often more amusing Punisher).
Its one redeeming feature besides its unintended comedic ones is that the film stands as a meditation on teenage romance by generation trained with abstinence programs. Sex, even physical touch, has been replaced by longing looks and chaste caresses. The central message of "Twilight" appears to be that relationships can only be romantic and worthwhile when every aspect of explicit sexuality has been drained out.
And that's it. The numbers of films screened over vacation have been woefully low. That's one of the sacrifices of making a sojourn to Montana than industrial France during that delightful period when the studios seem driven to put all their best movies out in art-house theaters at the same time. Hopefully, you all have had a bit more luck than me with your choice of films over break, and if you are ever wondering how to spend those many empty days outside of Princeton feel free to try “Fareed’s 7 Easy Steps to Cinematic Nirvana.”
I admit: I am that girl. You know, the girl who read all four Twilight books and went to see the movie and (don’t laugh) thought Edward’s crooked smile was adorable. It sounds bad, but I’m here to confess my latest sin against intelligent thought. Even after I realized that the books were ridiculous and the movie was a low-budget, ridiculously cheesy farce that may have violated the Geneva Conventions by tormenting its audience with heaps of sloppy, angsty dialogue, I went back for more: I read the partial draft of “Midnight Sun.”
For those in the know (or anyone who’s remotely interested in the Twilight series), “Midnight Sun” is the first book of the quartet rewritten from Edward’s perspective. Unlike “Wicked” and other spin-off novels, “Midnight Sun” was written (or, to be more accurate, is in the process of being written), by Stephenie Meyer, the imaginative woman who penned the first four Twilight books. When someone in Meyer’s camp first leaked the draft of “Midnight Sun” she was furious over the apparent violation of her rights as an author and swore never to finish the novel. According to her website, she doesn’t want anyone to read the viral version of “Midnight Sun” but she also doesn’t want to spur readers to seek out the illegal version. As a compromise, she posted to the draft on her website but urged her fans not to read it. Luckily, I’m not a fan.
First, I need to add a little disclaimer. “Midnight Sun” only makes sense if you’ve read all of the other Twilight books. Many of the details of vampirism or the Cullen family history (for example, Jasper’s story) to which Edward alludes during his narration appear only in the last couple of books in the series. Wading through Edward’s tangled psyche is trying enough without having to figure out what you’ve missed from the other books. If you attempt “Midnight Sun” without the background provided by the rest of the “Twilight” books you might assume that you didn’t enjoy the draft because you missed some of the details when, in fact, you probably didn’t enjoy it because of the awful writing and tedious pace.
Question: Why read “Midnight Sun” at all?
Answer: You probably shouldn’t but sometimes you’re just THAT bored. Maybe you liked the books. Maybe you saw the movie. Maybe you thought the combination of the first two left something to be desired, so you kept digging.
For what it’s worth, “Midnight Sun” compares nicely with the original version of “Twilight.” In some ways, the vampire version is better, but in other ways, much worse. During pre-production for the film, Meyer and Robert Pattinson, who played Edward in the movie, worked together to develop a believable personality for the blood-sucking protagonist. The two disagreed on certain aspects because Pattison took the character to a tortured extreme. In several interviews, he said that he drew most of his inspiration for Edward from the “Midnight Sun” version. Well, that would explain why the character was such a huge creeper.
Essentially, “Midnight Sun” is not so much a different version of Twilight as it is a creepier version of Twilight (and I mean much, much creepier.) For what it’s worth, the creepiness does make the narration more interesting. My biggest gripe about Twilight was Bella’s lack of depth as a character. Her motivations seemed so ridiculous. She was just acting out a teenage daydream and projecting unrealistic fantasies on the people around her. How boring. In contrast, Edward is seriously sick in the head. Every sleazy voyeur dreams of Edward’s powers. Not only can he scale walls and silently climb into the bedrooms of unsuspecting girls and not only can he remain completely still while observing his subject for hours, he can read minds. In other words, he can spy on people through their own eyes. He experiences the fantasies of all the high school girls around him from the first person point of view. Talk about freaky—Freud would have loved to get his hands on some of that crazy.
As disturbing as that sounds, it makes for much more compelling reading than Bella’s whiny oh-my-gosh-did-he-just-look-at-me-wow internal monologue. That’s the best thing about crazy people: they are so much fun. Edward’s narration has some of the same attraction that Heath Ledger’s Joker commanded in “The Dark Knight.” You caught hints of Edward’s mental instability in the Twilight books. For example, even the oblivious Bella was a little freaked out by Edward’s penchant for watching her sleep in the original novel. In the “Midnight Sun” version, his psychological issues are a little more apparent. For example, the first time he climbs in her window he realizes he should bring oil to grease up the hinges on the window for future visits. Creep much?
Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end. Just like Meyer’s other books, the narration quickly becomes tedious and plot development slows to a crawl. No amount of crazy can make up for the fact that nothing is really happening in the story. And Edward’s crazy isn’t a dynamic, fluid, fascinating crazy like the Joker. He’s a one-trick pony. His emotional agony, which should have been a symphony of crazy with rolling highs and bitter lows from a century’s worth of experience, had just one note: angst. In the hands of a better author, “Midnight Sun” could have been very cool. Beautiful, bloodthirsty, mind-reading immortal struggles with his conscience for control of his superhuman body, agile mind, and frail emotions—what’s not to love? Unfortunately, Stephenie Meyer is not a better author and “Midnight Sun” has many of the failings of the first version.
So, if you’re like me, no review is going to deter you from satisfying your curiosity, but you’ve been warned. When you’re done reading, you’ll realize that all 264 pages of the draft could be summed up by, “Hi. My name is Edward the Vampire. I like to kill people, but let’s keep that on the down-low while I stalk this high school girl. P.S. I’m in your head.”
Looking for a way relieve your boredom during winter break? Street writer Zack Newick gives his take on the Golden Globe nominated Slumdog Millionaire:
I come out of the theater feeling slightly dazed and all together happy. It’s freezing and my breath is realized as white smoke in front of my face. I’ve just seen Danny Boyle’s Slumdog Millionaire, a film that manages to make life beautiful. There, I said it. I had forgotten that the words could go together, but there is such a joy in the film, despite impossible hardship and cruelty that it is hard not to feel reassured that love always finds its way.
Danny Boyle, previously the director of Trainspotting, constructs and makes real an India that festers beneath trash and violence yet still shines gloriously through. With scenes of stray dogs and lost children wandering the bustling streets of Mumbai and images that seem to melt through the screen, so noxious are the smells and corrosive the colors, the setting seems something like a dystopian paradise. The story is a simple one: of love struck Jamal Malik, an orphan from Mumbai, and his quest to win the heart of the beautiful Latika, whom he met while at an orphan camp when he was seven. At the age of nineteen, he is a tea server at an Indian telemarketing company and an unlikely contestant on the Indian version of “Who Wants to be a Millionaire?” in the hopes that Latika will be watching, somewhere.
Jamal doesn’t really expect to get very far on the program however, but it turns out that the tragedies he has endured and the small victories he has claimed have given him every answer to the questions on this fateful day. Seeing his mother bludgeoned to death by anti-Muslim marauders, stealing shoes at the Taj Mahal and diving into human excrement for the sake of an autograph end up giving Jamal the exact knowledge he needs for one magical night on television.
The film opens however with his torture and interrogation, as the show's host doubts that an orphan up from poverty could ever win such a prize. But in this fairytale of a story , the worst of India is still gorgeous, and the best of man is accentuated. With a breathless soundtrack and stunning cinematography, Slumdog Millionaire is must-see entertainment.
I can’t decide which cliché I should start off with: a sagacious, “Less is more,” or a slightly more frustrated, “Enough is enough already!” Both apply equally well to Stephanie Meyer’s Twilight Series, comprised of Twilight, New Moon, Eclipse and Breaking Dawn. Like so many other eager readers, I was sucked into the vortex of Twilight movie promotion hype, and I found myself thinking, “Hey, it could be interesting, right?”
So, over Fall Break, I found myself at my local Borders bookstore, mocha latte at my side, plumbing the murky depths of vampire romance through the befuddled eyes of Bella, the series’ masochistic little heroine with a hidden talent for mysterious accidents, in Book One of the quartet. I cannot tell a lie: I was amused. I was engaged. I was—in retrospect, I cringe to say it—invested.
Granted, I was mostly “invested” in the dramatic, exquisitely detailed bits about Bella’s vampire beau, Edward, and his gradual deification (by both the smitten Bella and the equally smitten author). The whole book seemed to revolve around Edward. It was essentially a series of snippets of Edward’s slightly deranged personality, with some fluffy filler in between which existed simply to generate greater anticipation for the parts of the book Edward was in. Even the author seemed to be waiting for her next chance to add another glimpse of Edward’s Adonis-like body, his keen intellect, his chiseled face, his superb skills on the piano, and—God have mercy on all the tweens of the world—his perfect, bronze-highlighted hair.
To be perfectly honest, that didn’t bother me in the slightest. I went into Twilight expecting an over-the-top, sickeningly cheesy romance about a crazy girl and a hot-as-hell vampire, and that is exactly what I got. I can respect that, even appreciate it. After studying organic chemistry for most of my Fall Break, I needed that kind of fun, accessible prose to keep me sane.
The problem was the second book…and then the third book…and—the horror, the horror—the fourth book. Don’t get me wrong: I am not a snotty, highfalutin, scholarly-merit-first literature Nazi. I like my beach reads as much as the next girl. I’m the first person to admit that I thoroughly enjoyed Twilight, but I think you have to respect the fact that Meyer is not a great author. In fact, she’s not even a particularly good author. She’s a teen romance author who knows how to give her readers a few cute thrills. She’s smart. She knows how to jazz up an otherwise ordinary romance with a few supernatural elements to keep things interesting.
Unfortunately, none of that can hide the fact that the series had no plot to speak of. She took a decent idea for one book, and tried to drag the poor thing out into four, five-hundred-page, back-breaking novels. Deceptively, the books were thick, but the tension was thin and uninspiring—and non-existent in the case of the fourth book. The obvious lack of plot was forgivable in the first book: I was too distracted by the swooning, lengthy descriptions of Edward and his tormented past to realize (or care, if I had realized) that nothing was actually happening in the book.
But, as you may have heard, there is virtually no Edward in the second book, New Moon, and that’s where things start to fall apart. You start to realize that, hell, this book is all about some self-indulgent, prissy, ridiculously sexually frustrated, needy teenage girl who spends half her time bemoaning her fate and the other half messing up other people’s lives. And you start to wonder why you’re wasting your time when you should be taking the 1996 practice exam for CHM 303.
Regrettably, I assumed that Meyer was working up to some big thrill, a real shocker that was going to turn the series around and make up for hundreds of pages of sloppy angst. I assumed, kept assuming, and kept waiting, right until the end of the fourth book, which ended in the most ridiculously anticlimactic battle scene I have ever had the misfortune of reading.
Since I finished the series, a few of my friends have also picked up Twilight and I have given them all the same piece of advice: Stop there! You might be curious how things pan out in the rest of the series. You might think you need to read at least the second book since there is going to be a second movie. You might want to know if Edward and Bella really do find their happy-ever-after, but, frankly, it’s just not worth it. The first book was good. It leaves you interested, excited, and engaged. It leaves you with a little itch, that hankering to know more about your new favorite coven of compassionate vampires. Don’t scratch that itch. It’s simply not worth the disappointment.
Disclaimer: This post is more or less directed towards the ladies.
Sometimes it seems like all of our interactions with the opposite sex are governed by one age old question: is there such a thing as a purely platonic relationship? The responses are mixed. Those of us who say yes are shocked when our “just friends” make a move on us. Those of us who say no are disappointed when our prospective life partners find significant others of their own. So what gives? Is there not a simple answer? Of course not. Granted, we all can agree that platonic relationships have to exist. How else can you explain your male neighbors and classmates? The simple platonic relationships are those that aren’t too close. Past a certain point of familiarity, the boundaries become less defined. Here’s when it becomes difficult. Is your guy just super-duper nice or does he want to be more than just friends? Sometimes we over-analyze. We think the pats on the back, the invitation to “do something,” and the nice gifts on our birthdays are signs of something more. And maybe they are. Usually, guys tend to lavish attention in similar manners as girls. Girls love to focus on and flirt with their crushes and guys like to do the same. But if the answer was just that simple, then there wouldn’t be hordes of girls confused about the state of their relationships. It really depends on the guy. As much as we’d like to think that guys are all just simple-minded creatures who all think in the same, uncomplicated manner, that’s simply not true. Guys, as hard as it is to admit, are each unique in their own ways. Some guys just seem to pay equal attention to all girls they meet. They are gregarious. They flirt shamelessly with everything female that moves and everyone loves or claims to love them. Look around you. Is everyone flirting with this guy? Do you have something special that sets you apart from the crowd? Do you guys have inside jokes? Cute nicknames? Secret handshakes, maybe? Are you going to be cool with it if you guys become a couple and he continues his behavior? If not, grab another pole, it’s time to head back out to sea. This time, try to pull out one who is legitimately interested. Sometimes, though, you might pull out one who is legitimately interested, only to find that he is absolutely cryptic about his intentions. He is attentive and sweet, but never takes the initiative in advancing the relationship. If this sounds like your guy, drop a slight hint. Not so much that you scare him away. But realize that the guy might just be a bit dense. He might have no idea of your feelings unless you show them. He might also be too worried about rejection to dive in head first and admit he likes you. Sometimes, you need to prod him along just a bit. This is not to say that you should take the initiative and start the relationship. NEVER be the one to start the relationship. That would be the easy way out, and the route will usually take you off a cliff. As sexist as this may sound, guys and girls respond differently to taking risks. There’s scientific evidence that guys are more ready to take risks, due to innate differences in the male and female brains. Since starting a relationship is a huge risk (it’s like diving off a cliff, not knowing where or on what you’ll land), if the man who can more easily take risks doesn’t want to take the chance, then don’t even try to get him. And then there are those other guys you might pick up who have no problems taking that giant leap. Even if you don’t want him to. These guys seem desperate. They call all the time, want to hang out all the time, and never seem to take a hint. You avoid them at all cost for weeks on end, and they still manage to find you and pretend nothing is wrong. Sound familiar? If you’ve got a guy you can’t shake, drop hints you only want to be friends. But chances are you’ve already tried this and he just can’t wrap his mind around the fact you don’t think of him in that way. So introduce him to someone else who might be perfect for him. Or you can simply dodge him for the rest of your life. The best solution is to find a boyfriend of your own. But if that was so easy, why are you reading this?
Today I'm trying an experiment. I've noticed that in my large lecture classes, the number of laptops present has been rising as the term goes on. I've never brought a computer to class before, so here's a play-by-play of my first class digitally "taking notes." This is for all the students out there who are considering hauling a computer around but never have. So pay attention.
9:52- I show up early. I already feel more productive.
10:03- The professor's not here yet. Maybe this computer thing really is worth looking into.
10:04- I'm becoming paranoid that people sitting behind me (yeah, you, girl in the black jacket) and in the balcony are staring at my computer screen and my awesome OIT-supplied background picture of Nassau Hall. Maybe I shouldn't have sat in the front and center of the (enormous) classroom. I dim the computer screen to deter prying eyes.
10:05- The professor's here, looking and sounding slightly flustered. Maybe it's the vast multitude of computers staring back at the stage, and the corresponding eyes glued to the screens. "Printer trouble" sounds like an excuse, anyway.
10:12- I've determined that taking notes is more fun this way. But, contrary to what I expected, I feel even more compelled to pay attention, perhaps guilty for having my computer with me in the first place.
10:19- I notice that in the first three rows of the classroom, there are 11 students, and six laptops (my own included). Do 54.5% of students use a computer in class? (Really, this is a commentary on how cool it is that I can pull up the calculator application with such convenience, even in a very-non-QR class. How cool? Completely cool.)
10:26- I send an email. But I totally had to.
10:41- I'm still surprised. I haven't had the urge to go to CNN.com, NYT.com or even Facebook. More than I can say for the girl in front of me.
10:43- Class isn't over yet, but the verdict is in. Laptops in class are great. One can focus on their notes (typing makes the notes look more official, I decided), but also check email or other (purely academic, of course) sources during class when necessary. What a discovery.
After two months at Princeton, eating every meal out of the Rocky-Mathey dining hall, I’d forgotten how amazing a home-cooked meal could be. On Wednesday, the night before Thanksgiving, I went to Rocky College Master Jeff Nunokawa’s house to cook a pre-Thanksgiving feast with some other students spending Thanksgiving on campus and couple of food-loving grad students (whose conversations sounded like a well-scripted Britcom, but more on that later). We spent three hours cooking squash soups of varying degrees of spiciness, roast chickens, stuffing, enough roast potatoes and parsnips to feed a small village, and snazzy little canapés with toasted French bread, sliced apples, goat cheese, and cranberry sauce. We spent the next couple of hours dining (or feasting, depending on your idea of dinner), assembled around Jeff’s spacious, if infrequently used, dining room table, listening to the two grad students’ exquisitely British repartee (almost reminiscent of Fawlty Towers). One of the other undergrad dinner guests summed it up when she said, “They’re almost like grownups.” Because that is what it was: a grownup dinner with real food and real conversation. How strangely novel.
I never read the “Twilight” books by Stephanie Meyers. For all I know, they might be good enough to appease the burgeoning sexual desires of a pubescent girl, but the film version by Catherine Hardwicke (of “Thirteen” and “Lords of Dogtown” fame) is anything but. Instead of an “erotic delight” as promised by a “Twilight” movie poster outside the cinema, I spent most of my time stifling my “delight” (laughter) with my coat, sniggering as painfully awkward lines were thrown around and the film effects attempting to showcase a vampire’s speed looked like the cursor trail I had on my Windows 95 computer. Teen cult sensation film? Yeah, right.
The synopsis of the movie is so dreadfully simple it should deter any individual with a real-brain on their shoulders from watching it (my excuse was that I wanted to see how horrendous this production can be). A seventeen year old Bella Swan (Kristin Stewart) moves to Forks, a town in the middle of nowhere, where the sun don’t shine and the rain don’t stop, to live with her father (Billy Burke). She encounters Edward (prep yourselves for the clichéd character construction), who is problematic and something of a mysterious James Dean, and also (wait for it… wait for it…) a vampire! Against all odds, they fall in love (or lust?), him because of the irresistibility of her blood and her because she is just plain-old daft. They come together only to be faced with a milieu of problems brought upon by their differences. Oh, the drama!
Obviously, “Twilight” is no episode of “Gossip Girl” when it comes to the theme of teenage sexual attraction. Yet, in comparison to the suave Chuck Bass, who is a mere 17 year old mortal with the innate power to make women bend in his favor, the indestructible Edward the Vampire (Robert Pattinson) is as bland and repulsive as the weird kid who sat behind you in 10th grade Biology and mouth-breathed salaciously whenever the word “reproduction” was mentioned. You would think that a 100 year-old, “teenage” vampire endowed with the powers of strength and hypnosis and glistened like diamonds in the sunlight would be interesting enough as a character. In this movie, not really.
Was it the script? All the lines in the film were corny regurgitations attempting to capture real passion as found in “Romeo and Juliet” or “Gone with the Wind”. But when lines like “and so the lion falls in love with a lamb” and “you are like my own personal brand of heroin” are being served, the saccharine nature of this, oh-so-romantic! film has the ability of turning even Takeru Kobayashi bulimic. Its cloyingly romantic ingredients surprisingly enough does nothing to inspire anything physical, and by the end of the movie, its extremely PG-nature (Bella and the Vampire kissed a grand total of three times), had a few members of the audience in the cinema I was in shouting “JUST GET IT ON ALREADY”.
The acting too, is a disappointing, below par performance for such a big production, and I think the casting should have raised more eyebrows than it did. I remember seeing Kristin Stewart alongside Jodie Foster in “Panic Room” and was under the impression that she was a boy until Foster started screaming that she needed to medicate her daughter. Though Stewart did grow into a decent-looking individual, I am surprised that the production company allowed the weight of this movie to be carried on this girl’s shoulders. She has no physically enamoring quality or charisma about her to warrant such devotion from such a powerful figure.
In spite of that, Stewart did an adequate (but not great) job of portraying a girl yearning for sexual gratification. However, the same thing cannot be said of Robert Pattinson as Edward the Vampire, who was a miscast in every reason possible. Firstly, this guy is not hot. Him as Cedric Diggory before never did convince me. He has a concaved face that looked like he was involved in a childhood freak accident where a horse trampled on his face. Twice. And instead of leaping with excitement every time he came onscreen (an onscreen presence Orlando Bloom has in Lord of the Rings), my heart felt like it was on heavy horse tranquilizers. Secondly, his acting was utterly despicable and unconvincing, as he delivered his lines with no enthusiasm and a wide-eyed look that made him seem like he was constantly on crack. If you were Cory Kennedy you would totally dig him, but I think he is a complete weirdo.
The effects too were appalling. Dream sequences where Bella imagines the Vampire sucking her blood and the passage of time depicting the very, VERY innocent escapades of Bella and the Vampire, where all they did was sit around and talk (how erotic), were very amateur. Throughout the entire production, I felt like I was watching a B-grade film I could easily have seen while surfing TV stations.
I am overwhelmingly disappointed that the director, who chilled me to the bone with her award-winning “Thirteen”, could produce such an awful movie that lacked soul and creativity. This film, in one single stroke, has managed to make the perennially seductive vampire unsexy.
Wait, and what is this I heard that they are making a sequel? A WHOLE SERIES???
As you can probably see from this review, I loved me some New York Film Festival (NYFF).I discussed only the truly great films for the published piece since they defined the experience for me.That being said, the NYFF offered other interesting films which didn't quite reach such a high standard. Here are my thoughts:
I'm Gonna Explode (Voy a Explotar)
Adolescence: an awkward time filled with raging hormones, social pressures, and according to the new Mexican film "I'm Gonna Explode", tumultuous romances.Roman is the depressed son of a local congressman who meets the bored girl Maru in detention. To pull a fast one on their annoying parents, the kids hide out in Ramon's mansion leading everyone to believe they've run away.
At the heart of the film are two fine performances that expose teenage boredom and the pitfalls of blossoming sexuality. The film falters, however, in its attempt to make the story of teenage outcasts more exciting with a ridiculous infusion of Hollywood-style violence.This clashes and takes away from the often startlingly good central actors and the excellent performances they give.
Ashes of Time Redux
What happens when a world-class art house director Wong Kar-wai and a martial arts movie come together? You get "Ashes of Time Redux" which explores questions about memory and love under the pretext of an action film.The overly complex story about dueling assassins and lost loves takes a back seat to the beautifully shot imagery.Peppered throughout the deliberately slow film, are striking sequences that capture the duelists in almost mythic terms.While one character duels against her reflection in the lake, explosions of water follow her every sword thrust.Awesome stuff.
While it has its share of whiz-bang moments, do not go into this movie expecting a visceral thrill ride. "Ashes of Time Redux" is kungfu at its most meditative.
Night and Day (Bam guan nat)
This Korean comedy twists the now clichéd culture shock genre by centering on a traveler who cares very little about the new land he finds himself stuck in.Sung-nam flees to Paris in order to escape the authorities in South Korea for smoking marijuana.Most interesting about Sung-nam's adventures are not his interactions with the French but his awkward meetings with fellow countrymen. In the city, he interacts with a broad cross-section of his culture including fundamentalist Christians and, most hilariously, a North Korean.Sung-nam cannot help but see the latter in disbelief as an artifact from some distant, fantastical world.
The director Hong Sang-soo echoes the disengagement of protagonist by capturing Paris' iconic landmarks almost incidentally.As the camera pans there are occasionally catches glimpses of sites like the Orsay museum, but the city is deliberately cast as a backdrop for the hero's meanderings. While "Night and Day" has a lot to admire, the movie feels like a series of vignettes- sometimes interesting even amusing but just as often unremarkable.
Remember when I said that I would only talk about the festival's lesser pictures? Well, that was a bit of lie.There was an excellent movie which knocked my socks off that I didn't get a chance to write about in my full review. Here is below:
A Christmas Tale (Un Conte de Noel)
If you have ever found yourself watching a Wes Anderson movie and thinking "I wish this is darker...much darker," then "A Christmas tale" is right up your alley. Don't let the deceptively light title fool you as the relentlessly somber, visually rich flick explores the many degrees of a family's mutual hate.
Following the discovery that the matriarch (played by Catherine Deneuve) of an eccentric family has cancer, the estranged clan has an impromptu reunion over Christmas.Bucking the trend of these dramas are starkly photographed affairs, the director incorporates many haunting images in the film.Periodically, old black-and-white photos of the once happy characters are intercut into the narrative suggesting that a large part of the damaged people died along time ago.
Though the tensions run high between all of the family, the most dysfunctional pair of the brew is the mother and estranged son (played by Mathieu Amalric).Deneuve and a particularly despicable Amalric have such chemistry that their mutual loathing for each other seems absolute. As repelling as it is perversely exhilarating, "A Christmas Tale" stands an intimate yet epic look at a family in crisis.
Movie theater musings
A festival can be held back at by its choice of movie theaters and here the NYFF is a little lacking.The Walter Reade Theater is excellent.Stadium seating and a screen that’s just the right size for the auditorium. Perfect.
As good as the Walter Reade, the Avery Fisher Hall in LincolnCenter is bad. The setting usually reserved for big premieres like the closing night film.This auditorium can literally fit thousands of people, but it was not constructed as a movie theater.This means that you run the risk of getting partial view seats with a big security rail cutting right across the screen. Oh boy!Even if you're a big spender like myself and are willing to lay down $40 for a seat, you are still not guaranteed an ideal movie going experience.I was so far back from the screen while watching "The Wrestler," I had the impression I was watching a television. Luckily, next year Avery Fisher Hall will no longer be used in the festival.All I can say is good riddance!
Final thoughts
It says a lot about the quality of a festival that it can feature such a mediocre theater and still deserve a wholehearted a recommendation.This is the case for the NYFF this year which truly was a pleasure to attend.
More trailers
Below are some trailers of the some of the other films I watched at the fest. For my thoughts on each, go to my published review here. Leave a comment if you find any English versions of the foreign trailers.
Though I am normally not a big DKNY fan, I adore her funky Fall Collection this season. Thick, chunky sweaters contrast beautifully with delicate lace and bright tights. Don't forget a hat when recreating this style; it pulls the whole look together and gives it a distinctly Fall-like quality.
The number one word heard at this year’s New York Fashion week was “optimism”. Literally looking into the future, designers were oft quoted saying they took their inspiration from the
presidential election (see Michael Kors’ collection) and all the hope that it inspires.
Whatever happened to living in the moment? Fashion, by its very nature, is constantly looking ahead, making us dream big dreams of wearing bathing suits when we are packing them away in September, and fur lined hats when the only suitable accessory is a bottle of suntan lotion. After all, the present is bleak, and it is much more interesting to idealize the future, with fashion being the perfect means for doing so. Indeed, looking at Carolina Herrera’s luxurious reds and elegant cocktail gowns, who could really believe we are in a recession?
This season, more than ever, such blind idealism was magnified on a tremendous scale, as dazzling colors dominated even more than they usually do, and the future was not only bright, it threw the present day into oblivion.
Although some of these collections were complete flops- one Elie Tahari dress actually looked as if a wave had thrust her skirt into her underwear- there were still some well-done collections that managed to go beyond the clichéd message of a promising spring, and create something worthwhile.
L’Wren Scott, for example, though still playing on the Grecian theme, which for me at least, is getting a tad dull, created beautifully tailored and delicate pieces that at their best seem to be floating down the runway. My favorite was a tight-fitting white dress with black lace detailing, which managed to be both delicate and businesslike at the same time.
Diane von Furstenberg certainly bought into the whole optimistic scene, with long, flowery dresses that would be appropriate for a May Day celebration (the ribbons in the model’s hair didn’t help). Yet, there is still something very interesting in her designs, which conjure up not only the sanguinity of the hippies, but the circumstances in which they were fighting. There is a rebellious spirit in her dresses that makes them more than just pretty; they are positively subversive.
But the real stand out this season would have to be Marc Jacobs, who took a truly unique approach to the wide-eyed hopefulness that seems to have captivated designers this fall. His collection is artfully layered, and thus incredibly complex; it is not easy to pick out any one aspect of his designs, because each piece is completely connected to another. Like so many things in life, there is no easy exit. His collection is, essentially, a brilliant reminder that a bright future is not as easy to achieve as zipping up a sundress. Or making a campaign promise.
Well, it’s that time of year again: out come the Ray Bans, pin stripes, and flip flops. And once again, the line up really isn’t anything to write home about. But I’m gonna write home about it anyway; or at least write to the Street Blog. Here we go, club by club, a run-down of the talented and not-so-talented who will be blaring loudly across Prospect in less than 36 hours.
CHARTER: Seemingly convinced that bringing U2 to Princeton wasn’t a bad enough idea, Charter club are roping in the appallingly named cover band 2U to provide some Irish luvvin’ Sunday afternoon. Expect the usual anthems – “Vertigo,” “Beautiful Day,” hopefully a tongue-in-cheek rendition of “Sunday Bloody Sunday” – and revel in the fact that you’re watching someone who not only likes Bono, but likes him enough to dress up like him. Fingers crossed for those wrap-around shades, and maybe a look-a-like Bob Geldof if we’re lucky.
COLONIAL: Over at Colonial we’ll have yet another cover band playing us some familiar classics, in this case a selection of the Dave Matthews Band’s back catalogue. So for those of you who like their Dave Matthews, 2pm at Colonial is the place to be. And hopefully they’ll play Dave Matthews’ early hit single “Ants Marching” as they watch the swarm of Princeton students marching on up the Street to see someone else.
T.I.: Having spent their entire annual budget on beer, T.I. has only been able to hire alumni band “Where’s Waldo” to play on Sunday afternoon. For those deluded (or drunken) few who aren’t over at Quad cheering for Lupe Fiasco, I wish you luck. And at least it fails to beat last year’s lawnparties band “Gonzo’s Nose” for ‘WORST BAND NAME EVER IN THE WORLD’ award. This is them at Cottage last year:
TOWER: The main performer at Tower this year will be singer-Songwriter Eric Hutchinson, whose greatest achievement was to have his song “Rock & Roll” featured on the “Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants 2” soundtrack. Now that is pretty darn cool. And surprisingly enough – considering the number of cover bands choking Prospect this year – that isn’t a cover of the Led Zeppelin song, but a breezy, reggae-tinged pop/rocker, quite pleasant but also instantly forgettable. Opening for Hutchinson at 12:30 will be Amanda Duncan, a folk-lite acoustic rocker who sounds rather a lot like Jack Johnson, if Jack Johnson was a woman. She also seems to be rather into recycling, and banjos, judging by her MySpace page.
IVY: Performing at Ivy are the Beach Bumz Band, whose choice of cover songs continues what seems like a deliberate trend to alliterate the letter B: the Beach Boys, Bob Marley, and Jimmy Buffet are apparently favourites. So, expect a nice mix of surfer songs, reggae classics and utter crap. Eeek:
TERRACE: An interesting riff on the word naysayer, New York Band Yeasayer describe their music as “Middle Eastern-psych-snap-gospel.” Whatever the hell that means. Anyway a brief Youtubing trip reveals a surprisingly poppy, Smiths-influenced sound, with hooky mix of high-pitched vocals and jangly guitar playing. And opening for them at 1:30 is the Philly rap group Plastic Little, whose single “Cheap Thrills” transforms MJ’s “Thriller” into a towering electro-rap anthem. Not that “Thriller” wasn’t a dance anthem already. But anyway, if you wanna rave it up, you better be there.
QUAD: And saving the best for last, we have this year’s main attraction, Chicago-based hip hopper Lupe Fiasco. Often referred to as the most lyrically talented rapper working in the mainstream today, Lupe deserves a big pat on the back for being able to bring nerdy hip hop back to the top of the charts. He raps about comic books, skateboards and hamburgers – among other, deeper issues – and even managed to make the line “the economic pecking order of relief distribution systems” sound good on his last album, “The Cool.” Point is, he is cool. So be there. And if you’re camping out for front row seats you’ll likely be treated to the folk-rock stylings of opener Matt Nathanson – if you recognise any of his songs, that means you’ve watched the “American Pie” movies a few too many times. According to his wiki entry, his song “Laid” has featured on two of their soundtracks. Sounds like a good song.
CLOISTER: Another lawnparties band, another terrible name. Performing at Cloister from 2 to 5 PM we have Fools and Horses, a four-man band who peddle a very glossy brand of anthemic rock. Seemingly intent on recreating the blandest mid-eighties hard rock – think Journey, or Foreigner – this is really nothing special. Expect some soaring choruses and crunching riffs, and a singer with the most irritating voice in the world:
COTTAGE: Performing at Cottage club Sunday afternoon are Sweetbriar, who seem to like drinking rather a lot, if their MySpace page is anything to go by – Jack Daniels and cocktails are featured in their profile pic, and their EP is called “The Hangover Sessions.” Well, sounds like they’ll be a perfect fit for Cottage – and with their utterly forgettable “country rock & soul” style, they’ll also fit in fine with almost every other band playing Lawnparties this year.
After spending the last few weeks watching some of the Tribeca Flm Festival selection, I was left more than a bit disappointed.In my review of the festival published in Street last Thursday I gave it a less-than-stellar 2 of 5 paws.While I saw two excellent films (Man on Wire, Angels and Idiots), they were weighed down by some very mediocre movies that I could have done without.This past Sunday I came to Tribeca with a new tactic hoping to catch up on some of festival awards winners.To my surprise of the three films I watched two that were downright superb and go a long ways to redeem the entire festival.
“War Inc.” starring John Cusack and Hilary Duff (yeah, the pop star)
The only non-award winner that I watched on Sunday was the comedy "War Inc." that satirizes the United States and its war in Iraq.The film stars John Cusack, who plays an assassin sent to kill the president of a fictional Middle Eastern country. In this "brave new security world," the United States fights its "first war 100% outsourced to private enterprise." Although most of the gags in the film are less than subtle they often work because of how audaciously they take on the establishment. In one disturbing scene, a prosthetics manufacturer shows off his wares by having amputated female veterans dance the cancan. Hyper exaggerated scenarios like this one unfortunately play second fiddle to a far less interesting drama involving Cusack's character who regrets his life as a professional hitman.During a moment of introspection, he says menacingly "I have many enemies, I've done many things."Wow, stirring stuff.Although the stylish "War Inc." fails as a latter day “Dr. Strangelove,” it stands as a refreshing change of pace from the inert Iraq war dramas that have made their way to the multiplex these past few years (I'm looking at you "Lions for Lambs").
“Let the Right One In”-The Founders Award for Best Narrative Feature
The Swedish movie "Let the Right One in" uses the horror trope of the vampire perfectly to create a moving tale about childhood, coming of age and friendship. Oskar and Eli are two ostracized kids who find solace in each other's company. Although the mysterious girl Eli just happens to be an ageless vampire, she is never the most frightening thing about the film. Through the bullying that Oskar continually experiences, "Let the Right One in" exposes the pain associated with simply growing up in any elementary school setting. Whereas Eli kills for her survival, the kids tormenting Oskar practice a disarming cruelty that seems without motive. These serious moments perfectly offset lighter ones where Oskar musters out the courage to ask Eli "want to go steady?" Lina Leandersson who plays Eli lends her vampire with a convincing maturity that melds well with Oskar’s timid boyishness. For all its success as a drama, the film is no slouch in the horror department presenting bizarre sequences that intertwine innocence with a deep but frightening violence. At once touching and horrifying, "Let the Right One In" is as a classic vampire flick that beats with a fascinating life.
“My Marlon and Brando”-Best New Narrative Filmmaker
The final film of my Tribeca experience "Gitmek: My Marlon and My Brando" was the perfect way to end the festival.The film focuses on actress Ayca who fell deeply in love with a Kurdish actor on a film set.After a year apart, she goes in search of her man, traveling from Istanbul to the border between Iran and northern Iraq just as Operation Iraqi Freedom begins.The star Ayca Damgaci imbues her character who wants "to destroy all fucking borders" with compelling conviction. Meanwhile, Ayca's love interest, Hamam Ali is but a middle-aged bald man who flaunts his imperfect English sprouting phrases like “I kiss you a million times in my dreams” as though they were poetry.His numerous video love letters to Ayca, although shabbily produced, are extraordinary heartfelt and showcase how this imperfect fellow can be the hero for one struggling woman. Ultimately with Ayca's story, "Gitmek" suggests that through cinema we experience our joy, our dreams and our ideals.It’s a powerful but resonant statement that’s particularly apt for the Tribeca Film Festival.
Thanks to the last two features of the festival, my whole experience at Tribeca was elevated.By my final count, four of the nine films I saw at Tribeca were excellent.If you wait until the festival award winners are announced, you can insure yourself a day in the Big Apple filled with great movies.It worked for me and definitely adds another paw to my final score.
