On True Grit

I went to see True Grit on a whim, purely because my flatmates were going and happened to ask if I'd like to go along. I figured it's been acknowledged by the Academy this year - I might as well check it out, even if it looked like something I would find deathly boring. Westerns? Not exactly my thing. However, by now I trust the Coens enough to give them the benefit of the doubt despite trepidations about genre.

This turned out to be a good decision on my part; I had a vague feeling that whatever happened, I would probably enjoy the ride, and I was right. For all that Westerns are not my thing, this film certainly was, and for a couple of hours it showed me exactly what fans of the genre see in it.

Visually the film was quite breathtaking. Roger Deakins' cinematography was nothing short of beautiful, and this is one of its main strengths. True Grit boasts a generous helping of the usual black humor and razor-sharp wit I've come to expect from the Coen brothers, but with characters like Mattie Ross and Rooster Cogburn, it doesn't for a moment feel forced or contrived. The cast delivered brilliant performances, especially Jeff Bridges (and I am not a particular fan of his, but this was truly excellent work), and Hailee Steinfeld, who more than lived up to the stellar cast.

My only issue with this film is the fact that the final sequence felt - well, flat. I don't know what happened. It was charging forward so fearlessly, and suddenly, just as it drew to a close, it stumbled. In a jarring case of mood whiplash, it suddenly lost momentum and...well, I left the cinema feeling slightly confused. What exactly was the point of that epilogue-type deal? I may never understand. However, don't let that put you off seeing it - do see it.
In fact I demand that you see it.
Go on.

On bewilderingly popular films.

You know, I saw Black Swan, and I didn't care for it.

It was alright. I mean, it wasn't a bad film. I don't regret sitting through it. It held my attention reasonably well. However, I really don't get what all the hype is about. I've got status updates about its peerless brilliance littering my Facebook feed, and I just don't get it. I didn't care about the main character because she was a high-strung yuppie (and the only high-strung yuppie I care about is an insane serial killer), and the plot was so predictable that I spent at least half the film thinking "Hurry up and get to the bit where she dances and it all goes to hell. I get it, I get it, she's the white swan, Mila Kunis is the black swan, her mum is controlling, she's breaking free/going nuts, blah, blah, blah."

Really? People were really blown away by this? By Natalie Portman playing a repressed rich girl with a demanding job? I mean, I'm not saying her performance was bad, because it wasn't. It was quite good - but not great. It wasn't great, because she was basically playing herself. The girl peaked at 13 in Leon: The Professional. Frankly I found Mila Kunis more engaging; I'm struggling to see where the Oscar hype is coming from.

Evidently my opinion is in the minority at the moment, but...

On nostalgia in the form of film.

I spent tonight revisiting Cruel Intentions, the 1999 film that blew my little baby mind wide open when I was about 13. I was 8 years old when it was made. Aside from reminding me how excellent it is in every way, it made me long for the 90's.

Gone are the days of The Rachel, jelly bangles, Cindy Crawford and her glorious hair:

Children are being raised these days totally ignorant of the fact that there ever was a show called 'Pokemon'. They don't really have a clue who Princess Diana was. They missed the release of Titanic. They missed Shakespeare in Love winning Best Picture at the Oscars and confirming that the whole event is nothing more than a popularity contest. There are young people out there who probably don't realize that at one point Mariah Carey was a respectable pop artist. R.L. Stine never even got a decent chance at their early literary careers.

You remember.

The 90's saw the release of one of the greatest Disney films of all time, The Lion King. The Spice Girls, tamagotchi, the ten minutes when rollerblades were cool - who knew there could be so much to miss in the decade that produced Blink-182 and ER?

The most fun my 7-year-old self had ever had.

I intend to watch Cruel Intentions at least twice more tonight, and pretend I don't know that Ryan Philippe and Reese Witherspoon are going to break up. 

And remember kids - "Email is for geeks and pedophiles."

On my subconscious and its habit of trolling me.

So there I am, settling down for sleepytimes. It's really late at night, I can hardly keep my eyes open, my bed is warm and comfy, it's all coming together.

And then BAM. I wake up in a total panic, I have no idea why but at the time it was imperative that I sit up and try to see my attacker.
For some reason, in the pitch darkness of my room, my eyes decide to blatantly lie to me and tell me that the vacuum cleaner is sitting near my heater, watching me menacingly. And then the fucking vacuum cleaner starts moving. Of its own accord. Advancing on me, clearly intending to strangle me with its hose or some ridiculous thing. It was terrifying. It sounds stupid, but you try being stoic when you're half-asleep and convinced you're being attacked by evil cleaning appliances.
So I start telling the vacuum cleaner "no!"
Loudly.
I am sitting in bed in the middle of the night, shouting at the imaginary evil vacuum cleaner, "NO! NO!"

Whatever. I managed to turn my lamp on and see that the vacuum cleaner isn't even in my room, and I go back to sleep, my sanity restored.
Or was it?
The last dream I remember having was - from my point of view - frankly glorious, but it was the kind of glorious that means when I wake up and realize it was only a dream, I react badly.

Like this.

My glorious dream consisted of some sort of movie viewing. The only thing I recall clearly about the movie was the fact that it had paired a couple of male characters - which was cute and all, but more importantly, they were played by this man:

That's Ian Somerhalder...on a fucking motorcycle.

and this man:

Anyone who knows me knows that my ovaries just exploded.

Cillian Murphy and Ian Somerhalder. I don't even know how my dream-self witnessed it without spontaneously combusting due to sheer joy. For reasons I think I just made quite clear, my return to reality was accompanied by this sort of behavior:

Forever.

On the importance of history

Those who have been blessed with the opportunity to view the comedic brilliance that is Mean Girls may have thought the main character's name - Cady - was a strange choice for the lead role in a mainstream American film.

In fact it is in keeping with the film's theme of female empowerment; it shares its unusual spelling with the birth surname of Elizabeth Cady Stanton, an 18th-century pioneer in the American women's rights movement.

Elizabeth Cady Stanton

Before she began her activism in the name of gender equality, Elizabeth Cady Stanton was also an abolitionist. She attended the International Anti-Slavery Convention in 1840, where she and every other female present were required to sit in a roped-off section where the men in attendance would not have to look at them. This incident was partly responsible for pushing her politically active spirit towards the issue of women's rights.

The Anti-Slavery Convention of 1840

Also present at the convention, and one of the only women to be included in the painting of the event, was one Baroness Byron. The name should sound familiar; she was the long-suffering wife of the poet Lord Byron, and mother of Ada, Countess Lovelace -- a brilliant and highly educated mathematician who is now regarded as the world's first computer programmer.

Annabella Byron, 1812

And that is how Mean Girls and Lord Byron conspired to make me consider the invention of the world's first analytical engine.

On The King's Speech

This is the only coherent reaction I can give.

Colin Firth? Give that man an Oscar, so help me God.
Geoffrey Rush and Helena Bonham Carter were both stunning, flawless and generally perfect in every way for this film. The film itself looked fantastic - the costuming was understated and brilliant, the sets and locations elegant and beautiful - but more than that, it felt amazing. I literally had tears in my eyes not fifteen minutes in, due mainly to King Firth's mind-blowing excellence. He exuded this man's anxiety and shame, and maybe I can relate to that a little more personally than some, but it was a stunning performance nonetheless. He made a guy's stammer interesting.

I can't even imagine how immense my rage is going to be if an Oscar is not forthcoming.

Haven't seen it? Do yourself and the movie industry a favour by seeing this intelligent piece of art at a cinema and letting your money do the talking for you, because your money will be saying "The general public wants more well-written and beautifully acted films." Don't let the coins in your pocket stay silent! Cast your vote! Raise your voice! We want YOU!

Between two evils, I always pick the one I never tried before.

Upon reviewing Christopher Nolan's 'Batman Begins', I believe I could overcome my natural aversion to comics in order to further immerse myself in this world. Of course I'd obviously prefer an animated series, and I do have a vague urge to track down a copy of 'Batman Beyond' somehow, but there's a first time for everything. I'm particularly fond of the villains; I'm almost convinced that the only reason Batman appeals to me at all is because of the recent shift toward the anti-hero, a role which Batman adapts to with minimum fuss.

At any rate, I think there's an unfair tendency to rag on the supervillainesses more than their male counterparts - oh, sure, The Joker, The Riddler, Scarecrow, Two Face, they're all fine, they're more or less substantial enemies, worthy of the (strangely square-jawed) Batman's attention, but Poison Ivy? Harmless, a tease. Catwoman? Isn't she practically Batman's girlfriend? Harley Quinn is passable based purely on excessive amounts of badassery, but she's still just the Joker's sidekick (and punching bag). I find it largely unjustified and distasteful.

Dr Pamela Isley is an eco-terrorist with a penchant for plant-based toxins and mind controlling pheromones, plus she has an immunity to all natural toxins and diseases. I'm sorry, but that is fundamentally pretty cool. On top of that, at least one of her storylines involved attempting to bring Gotham down via huge amounts of superpowered marijuana. So basically, you could think of Poison Ivy as the ultimate dealer.

Dr Harleen Quinzel (are you noticing a trend here? Higher education = villainy? Interesting) is a trained psychoanalyst and a talented gymnast with a whole lot of crazy packed in there to boot. Although she's possibly one of the worst role models for young women imaginable, they're both so batshit insane that no one could mistake her romance with the Joker for a 'healthy' relationship. Harley eventually gains immunity to toxins from her partner in crime, Poison Ivy.

Selina Kyle is the original feline fatale, a whip-wielding jewellery thief with a talent for breaking and entering. Catwoman has gone on to become one of Batman's most enduring love interests, and in recent times has been portrayed as more of an anti-hero than a supervillain. She has always been slightly different from other supervillains in the sense that she is not a killer. This isn't to say she doesn't have claws; she does, literally, razor-sharp retractable claws, along with an assortment of bullwhips and cat-o'-nine-tails, in addition to which she is an extremely skilled hand-to-hand combatant and a gymnast.

It's not that I don't think these characters have flaws, I just don't see why they're so easily dismissed in comparison to the male villains. I'm pretty sure they would turn out just as brilliantly as the already iconic portrayal of the Joker by Heath Ledger if Nolan would give them the chance.


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