How To Live A Cinematic Life

I’ve decided to live a more cinematic life. I think I’d gain a lot more enjoyment out of every day knowing my life could be filmed any moment and make a good movie. So now I’ve embraced a few new things in my life and flagged situations with great cinematic potential. It is my pleasure to share with you... how to live a cinematic life.

1.   Kiss your overhead ceiling lights goodbye. 
Lamps look much better in the rooms of your house, obscuring dirt and mess in addition to hiding blemishes and age lines. I recommend lamps to those living alone, coming-of-age or investigating unsolved mysteries. Cinematic brownie points if you use the lamp to club Benicio del Toro 21 Grams-style*.

2.   Wear sunglasses any time you are outside during the day. 
You will see the world in deliciously enhanced colour and be able to do this should you see someone or -thing not as cool as you.  Cinematic brownie points if your sunglasses will self-destruct in 5 seconds.

3.   Outfit your keyring with as many non-descript keys as possible. 
Hurrying to get inside to use the toilet or watch Masterchef will be just that bit more thrilling. Cinematic brownie points for provoking nearby crack addicts (there are always a few) as you fumble with your keys.

These are just some small ways you can live like me and those revered stars on the silver screen. There are of course further, more extreme situations you can create for yourself. For instance....

4.   Use a lot of hairspray. 
You don’t want damned hair continuity errors plaguing Senor Spielbergo in the cutting room. You will also find the people around you will be less distracted by your wayward locks and more engrossed in your coffee order. Cinematic brownie points if you use hairspray to mask pesky reflections off windows and television screens.

5.    Use riddles and ciphers.
Has someone confided in you recently? Ever been trusted with your workplace’s safe combination or grandparents’ security alarm code? Be sure to send any confidential information you have as a cipher to a children’s puzzle magazine. Cinematic brownie points if decryption of the code threatens national security.

6.   Write a new shopping list.
Do you enjoy watery vegetables on hard, crusty bread? Perfect. Because you can never have too many baguettes or too much celery. They look great popping out of shopping bags on your kitchen table or benchtop. How fancy and envied you will be eating your celery baguette in the break room every day. Cinematic brownie points for brown paper shopping bags.

7.  Flirt with danger.
See a cop car or bunch of thugs? Stop by them, smile knowingly/insult their mothers, then flee. With any luck they’ll make chase. Go via Chinatown or some gypsy markets and be sure to knock over nearby bins and trolleys to lie as obstacles in their path. Cinematic brownie points if the chase makes it to the roof tops.

8.   Become a road obstruction.
Is that friend of yours still hounding you to help him transport that large pane of glass downtown, to that street location rife with fire hydrants and prams full of cans? I implore you, deny him no longer. Man that glass pane and heed these words: park opposite the building you’re taking it into; avoid pedestrian crossings and carry it perpendicular to the road with one of you walking backwards. You never know just when a high speed car chase will come swerving down your street. Cinematic brownie points for not breaking the pane of glass / causing the permanent disabling of Jason Statham.

9.   And finally, always be down the hall and to the left of a room of importance. 
That way when people ask for directions, you can reply, “It’s down the hall and to the left”. Cinematic brownie points if ninjas are hiding inside the room.

*Studies show he is more likely to stealthily break into your home if you have Magnum ice cream in your freezer... He can’t keep away.

It was the best of times, it was the blurst of times

I had a great day today. I marked it in my datebook.

All year I’ve pencilled a smiley face on dates I’ve enjoyed a good day or night. Usually, these kiddish evaluations accompany a dinner, picnic, movie or celebration I’d been counting down the days to. Or, it might be attributed to unplanned catharsis, discovery or productivity. Other cases, it’s unaccounted for and your guess is as good as mine.

My great Sunday began at 7.21am (I once read this is the best time to wake up of a morning) with a bright, blue sky and bowl of fruit salad. Leisurely reading, learner driving and sun-safe jogging until a shower before lunch. I was treated to a couple of movies at Brisbane International Film Festival as well as a chai latte, and had happy and unexpected meetings with friends. I spilt peach juice in my bag, waited 40 minutes on printing in Office works and was perturbed by a stabby-safety-pin train traveller. But who can complain when there’s ice cream and Beach House in the world?

 A big part of my day’s fulfilment came from good company. Here’s a little musing on friendship.

Remember there are lots and lots of little things (texts, notes, doodles, chuckles, outings, whispers, hugs, smiling glances and fond thank-yous) that we forget. These little wonders come and go in an instant; they’re archived, recycled and replaced in a blip; soaped and scrubbed clean in the shower; they fall behind furniture and get left on the bus; they’re motions so shameless they allude to trust, so predictable they affirm comfort and sincerity; they’re content silences, half-spoken but well-understood sentences, ironic-turned-instinctive kisses; they’re dunced by grand gestures, less photographed than special occasions, preambles to lifelong personal jokes. Insignificant and everyday things, but they still make up the friendship – signifying, if not rendering them dear, special and life-altering. Although we couldn’t possibly access each one of these minute memories, we carry them with us secretly and subconsciously . Because I’m feeling corny, I offer an analogy: the little things are like the stitch work that turn patches of sharing and fun into blankets of love.

It’s pretty well the time of year to reflect on personal accomplishments and resolutions. My year has been aimless, anguished and mediocre. But those smiley faces are all over my datebook. Some coloured, some with mouths agape, some as neon suns. It’s a simple way to remember there are many happy days and treasured things in my life, even if I can’t remember what they were exactly.

BIFF Films:

Take Shelter (dir Jeff Nichols; starring Michael Shannon, Jessica Chastain, Kathy Baker)

Southern farm family, intriguing dualities, apocalyptic weather and strong performances

RECOMMENDED for those who enjoyed Signs, A Beautiful Mind, Twister???

Rating 7/10

Another Earth (dir. Mike Cahill; starring Brit Marling, William Mapother)

North American winter, guilt and forgiveness, gripping story, great dialogue and flawless ending

RECOMMENDED for those who appreciate 21 Grams, Sliders, Seven Pounds, this gorgeous woman

Rating 8/10

Why I hate you, your family & Benjamin Button

        “I waited the whole movie for Benjamin's 

                sweet "boo-yah" revenge

      when a 30-something Brad Pitt would just be...” 

I tiptoe. When burglarising, boom operating and discussing film, television and music in social settings. It’s something I’ve learned to do, particularly from conversations with new acquaintances. I love a good movie discussion and even more so, a good movie debate. I enjoy the banter, brainpower and soapbox involved. However, sometimes these debates fall flat and are incidentally subtitled “Why I hate you, your family and the new Robert Downey Jnr. movie”. I don’t mean to cause offense or alienation; I find disagreement and differences of opinion, when treated with lightness, stimulating stuff. At the very least, you share in common the level of passion on the topic. Not to mention, you start learning about contrasting tastes and readerships. But I’ve discovered not everyone likes to quibble continuity editing, contrived couplings by money-hungry studios, inexplicable lens flares and the logic behind shunning a dancing Penguin from your singing Penguin society. (I don’t care if it’s an Oscar-winning, Robin Williams family film; it was preachy and desperate and nonsensical.) So, these days I opt for a short, subjective review. I like to be liked and what’s wrong with that?

I’ll tell you what – I’m tiiiiiiiiiiiiired. Talking optimistically about movies and in terms of “not so favourite” films doesn’t do it for me. When I started this blog I thought it would be a good platform to consider personal observations on societal, psychoanalytic and artistic levels. Furthermore, I wanted to speak honestly about my opinions. There are sorry excuses for movies out there. Of course any assessment I will make herein regarding quality or “best” and “worst” is contestable. And I don’t mean to offend anyone’s sensibilities or intellect by flat-out describing The Curious Case of Benjamin Button as the worst movie in the history of the world, for instance. This is because: A) I’m prone to exaggeration; B) it would be the grossest understatement of the century; and C) I don’t want to hurt anyone. Nevertheless, this blog is mine. It’s unobtrusive and brought to life by my writing – made three-dimensional by my personality. If I can’t allow myself to pontificate somewhere I might just have an attack.

Both nominated for their performances: Taraji P. Henson & Brad Pitt

To begin my review, I want to point out a few things. First, I love David Fincher’s movies, direction and yellowy colour grading. Second, I think Brad Pitt has done some very mature work in the later part of his career (The Assassination of Jesse James By The Coward Robert Ford was not talked about enough – formidable, moody and poetic characterisations all around). Third, I adore Cate Blanchett, composer Alexandre Desplat and screenwriter Eric Roth. And F. Scott Fitzgerald had such a cool idea – so why have all these winning ingredients produced a bland, sunken date loaf with dodgy digestive repercussions?

Left to right: David Fincher's Zodiac and Andrew Dominik's The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford

  

My brother Damian and I set aside one night to articulate our qualms with this movie from a list of overrated cinema. “A wholly conventional plot; an extraordinary concept wasted on the character’s ordinary life; from the fishing boat stint to the elusive love interest it was a poor-man’s “Forrest Gump” (actually adapted for the screen by Roth) minus signs of any likeable/relatable/eccentric characters and engaging dramatic chapters). What we did admire were the independent variables (cinematography, production design, score, visual effects) that any Oscar-nominated professional can be hired to do to give an unremarkable movie “charm”.

At the NY Ballet: Not so hot to trot

My greatest disappointment lay in Benjamin not showing up that Young Twerp at the ballet who condescended him (as a pasty 50-year old) then split with Daisy. I waited the whole movie for Benjamin’s sweet “boo-yah” revenge when a 30-something Brad Pitt would just be and utterly emasculate the Middle-Aged Twerp. The Harley Davidson and sailing scenes were opportune glory days, but we never did see the Twerp again. It was a minor and fanciful scene I had in mind but I believe it played into the greater, true problem with the movie. What exactly did Benjamin overcome? What was his challenge, his development, his quest? I wouldn’t call his courtship of Cate Blanchett the focus point; no matter how overt and distracting her eye and hair colour were (Frodo-blue and Carrot Top-red, respectively). Aging, whether in reverse or not, does not amount to a plot. Forest Gump’s condition was an endearing and funny undertone to the main action, whereras BB's condition is the main action. It was just Benjamin living, working, eating and relieving himself pretty much. Characters are meant to drive the plot; even in natural disaster / external conflict movies where events are out of control, the protagonist is meant to react or respond or at least raise an eyebrow (face lines everywhere – use them BB!)

Eat Your Heart Out: Benjamin Button in his prime

I have had a few isolated discussions about TCCOBB with friends who have liked it. I asked one at a recent social event: what did Benjamin Button do for you? He described “sweet motorcycle shots”, Brad Pitt’s pan-age good looks and a tear-jerking death scene. Admittedly, Benjamin’s unusual fate and his wife’s caregiver relationship would be tragic to live. However, I found that the bittersweet ending, curiously scored by Desplat, barely appealed to my sympathy.

He can't see us if we don't move:  Lost in Translation

You know, I’m tempted to say “nothing happened” but it’s a lousy dig when reviewing a movie. Opponents of Lost In Translation will often complain it’s a slow-moving, plot-pointless exercise. The pace and point of Lost In Translation are actually fitting for the characters’ situation I believe. They’re stuck, numb and alienated and they bond over it. It was a good story which relied on characters, theme and resonance to win over audiences. BB was a good concept which relied on its makeup, visual effects and art direction to hold our attentions. Movies should be about storytelling and imparting messages and provoking thoughts as much as they’re about technical sophistication. The form and A-list billing of TCCOBB carried the movie alone.

I would slot TCCOBB into a category my family call “Fishing For An Oscar”. These are the kinds of movies that are impeccably cast, gratuitously photographed, politically-themed/historically-set, veteran-directed and rushed/held for a December release date. Movies that have a strong impression on you in the cinema, movies with “visceral performances” and “important messages”, movies that you recommend to friends and, more often than not, cannot endure to watch on DVD and cry over again. They’re movies wherein Hilary Swank, Amy Adams and Anne Hathaway get roughed up, put on accents and take off their tops. Movies like The Aviator, Invictus, American Gangster, Million Dollar Baby, Revolutionary Road, Doubt, Cinderella Man, Crash & Slumdog Millionaire. You sympathise with the characters and feel the high stakes, but commonly find yourself checking your watch saying, “surely this’ll be the last fade-out“, or “when will they have good-looking babies?” or “become paraplegic already”. These movies know they’re a sure thing come Award season; its producers seek prestige and reverence. It’s phony business but will often produce a series of poignant and feel-good films. They're usually great :) but boy they make me wretch. 

  

It's no use, I miss him too darn much. (Left to right) Cold Mountain; Atonement; Brokeback Mountain


And the Academy laps it up. And if you produce a film that isn’t poignant or feel-good but runs too long and makes ajilliongazillion dollars at the box office, they’ll loosen the criterion for Best Picture category so other overrated popcorn flicks can have a swipe at Golden Uncle Oscar Glory next year.

(Sorry. It’s late and I’m real cynical now.)

(PS. I love the Dark Knight)

Proposal For A New Inception

Logical Inception

(oxymoron?)

Please don’t talk to me about Chris Nolan or Michael Bay. I’m exhausted. I’ve stopped counting the number of times I’ve heard sentences that begin “I honestly think Christopher Nolan......” that invariably follow with adjectives like “unrivalled”, “underrated” and “the second coming of Christ”. Nolan’s elegance and Bay’s lack thereof  should just become logic due to everyone’s general consensus. Put it in the science books, add it to the doctrines of all the faiths, let it become as ingrained and undisputed in our lives as blinking. No one talks about blinking. Permit me one final word on the matter and let that be that: I’d take The Rock over The Prestige any day of the week and twice on Sunday (the bloodiest of all seven).



 

Director Michael Bay & Bumblebee







Don't dream it, be it

"I loved your memo..."

         “It was a MISSION STATEMENT.”

I’ve been thinking lately, as one tends to, about my future. I feel like it’s every other day someone asks me “what’s the plan?” or “where are you going?”. Is it that I hate people referring to the next 60 years of my life like a day-trip to the beach, or is it that I hate confronting the circumstantially-infinite though temporally-transient abyss? I have pipedreams and a bucket list of sorts but to be honest, no strategy in gear. The industry I want to work in is like any other – show up on time, put in many hours, be professional, make impressions and try to move up. There is also the hint of that right-time, right-place, right-people kind of luck. Truth is, I dabble too much and aimlessly. If I want to be a writer, why am I working in sound and AD roles? Money – yes. Contacts – yes. Experience – aye aye, Captain. It’s also fun and even if I fall gravely ill tomorrow without having made my TV pilot or whatever, I know I’ve been enjoying myself. But really, it’s not a pure-ecstasy kind of enjoyment. It’s procrastination.

I feel a pressure or maybe it’s an impatience, to be writing professionally and successfully right now. How can I expect this today let alone (metaphorical) tomorrow when I’m dilly-dallying? Doing sound jobs is fair enough, but I’m barely barking up the right bush. What I should do is lock myself into writing two hours or two thousand words every day – whatever comes first. Skip the usual frivolities and really, actively strive to fulfil this dream of mine. Not only is it good advice but a beautiful song by Tim Curry’s Frankenfurter: Don’t dream it, be it. Hell yeah, I can be stuck for ideas but from considering and extrapolating crappy ideas, out will pour new and possibly good ideas. Develop my craft, hone a style, get feedback. Also stop neglecting this dear blog.

I’m not going to set goals against a timeline because I wouldn’t take them seriously. Instead, I am going to swear a wholehearted vow into the Blogiverse and that is I’m going to write, and write and write and write and then some.

Bossypants: A Chucklesome Read

"She was one of my first female
role models ....
.... following Wikipedia reports that the sitcom
wouldn’t premiere in Australia for another year,
30 Rock became the first TV show
I downloaded..."



I’ve been busy lately – as much as a person without a real/day/paid job can be busy – so after burning out from some sparse and highly coveted film work I’ve decided today would be my Recreational- nay, Lazy Day. Monday is the new Saturday. Or should it be a Sunday? As in, Lazy Monday – which makes my heart smile with Narnia-cupcake goodness. My in-/activity for the day consisted of reading Tina Fey’s newish autobiography Bossypants, which is due back to the library tomorrow. After waking at 11am and making porridge whilst dancing to The Beatles, I crawled back into bed to start and finish Fey’s life-thus-far story. I did get up to use the toilet, eat an apple and jog at sunset (all  separate occasions ) but the better part of the day – literally! (and I mean fact-wise and book-wise! [too much wordplay/grammar to handle!]) – was spent nestled under covers enjoying this light, engaging and chucklesome* read.

Fey: Rose through the ranks of Second City and Saturday Night Live
 before writing Mean Girls and creating award-winning series 30 Rock.

 

Don’t worry, I hear your cautious hands being raised (yes, somehow I can!) so I’ll take a moment to answer your pressing, anxiety-inducing concerns. Yes, this is almost a book review! It’s okay. Since I’m so animated from enjoying it, and it directly concerns TV personalities/shows/pastimes – I feel it’s very suitable to blog about it. And no, I have no further intentions to discuss books here. This is a commentary of film, TV and society – things I can watch. I’m not a “book person". Or so I say. Friends and family have heard me profess that I don’t read any books. By this I mean, I don’t finish any books. It’s a terrible habit I’ve procured over time. I blame my high school’s English curriculum: Grade 9 and 11 were particularly bad years for set reading. I actually start many books but quit them with just chapters to go – no matter if I’m totally enthralled by them; it must be something about the act of reading. I either get sleepy or remember something good that’s on TV. Ten years from now my shrink will use this analogy to highlight several failed marriages, a string of one-night-stands and a deep-seeded problem with commitment. He’ll probably attribute it towards TV remotes. Gee whiz, I look forward to having a shrink(!) but it seems a more sophisticated and educational experience to refer to them as “analysts” like they do in Annie Hall. I hope for a Lorraine Bracco (The Sopranos) / Gabriel Byrne (In Treatment) figure, rather than the Dylan Baker (Happiness), inattentive and perverted type.

A young Fey certainly had a way with the fellas, lesbians and closeted gays

Bossypants is full of embarrassing anecdotes, half-closeted homosexuals, and a number of memorable eccentrics from the time Fey went to kindergarten. Fey recounts memories both distant and recent with her trademark self-deprecating, nerdy and satirical outlook. Every chapter (of the text and it seems that of her life) is full of awkward social interactions and experiences, as well as sweet friendships and good fortune as Fey works her way up the comedy scene. My favourite bits were her descriptions and insights of her TV shows Saturday Night Live & 30 Rock (naturally), as well as her response to fan mail (hecklers) and tips for improv comedy. Rule No.1: always say ‘YES’

Cast of 30 Rock

  and accept your fellow performer’s suggestion. Rule No.2: say ‘YES, AND...’ so as to build on the scene and opportunity for comedy, in addition to affirming your value and contribution to the sketch.  Other rules addressed confidence and there being no such thing as mistakes. I liked this lesson and especially for how Fey has applied these rules throughout her personal and work lives – not just in sketch comedy. I too have found these nuggets helpful in relation to my conversational skills and collaborative efforts, rather than for improv classes I do not take.

I’ve considered being a performer of sorts over the years. I like making people laugh and being very goofy. Though I think I have a different humour to Fey – in that hers is a brand characterised by wit, sarcasm and the best kind of silly. In other words, she’s too good for me, but hey why not have high aspirations and exemplars? She was one of my first female role models – which I am ashamed to concede since I’ve been taught by many good women about many great women at school and I only really discovered Tina Fey when I was 15-going-on-16. Obviously, I have always deeply respected and admired my mother and grandmothers, but for me, Fey was a very successful and relevant figure-woman in my favourite industry.

Cast of Wayne World: Will you do the Fandango?

I started watching Saturday Night Live sketches and shows in grade 9 or 10 after my brothers hired out Mike Myers’ Best-Of-SNL DVD. I was vaguely aware of the series and that Wayne’s World the movie was based on the show’s characters. We watched Wayne’s World a lot as kids; it was crucial in developing our humour and we can still do all the words. It’s also how we were introduced to Queen and learnt all the lyrics to "Bohemian Rhapsody".  Anyway, after the Mike Myers DVD we/I went through all the other Best-Of DVDs. Tina Fey popped up occasionally in sketches and on Weekend Update. I was intrigued by her sense of timing and favouritism amongst SNL fans. With the advent of YouTube in 2006,  I became better acquainted with her comedy and eagerly anticipated her new  series 30 Rock. And here is a very special piece of information: following Wikipedia reports that the sitcom wouldn’t premiere in Australia for another year, 30 Rock became the first TV show I downloaded! ** I liked it quite well, but wasn’t hooked and have lost touch with the show in the later seasons. I’ve since become enamoured of other comediennes Ronni Ancona, Jessica Hynes (nee Stevenson), Olivia Colman, Jo Brand, Miranda Hart, and SNL alumnae Sarah Silverman, Amy Poehler, Maya Rudolph and Kristen Wiig.

 



Fey: Hilarious headlines on
Weekend Update

Funny women (left to right): Kristen Wiig, Maya Rudolph and Fey

 

I still like Tina Fey very much and I recommend Bossypants to devotees and those otherwise just the same. Remember, as well as an actress, she’s a writer and her language here is colourful and articulate.  As I mentioned earlier, her climb and time as a comedy writer/performer in Chicago and New York are arguably the best bits. Her upbringing whilst average is still very amusing and contains several quirky stories. It's her recent years (post-Sarah Palin impersonation) that are the least compelling chapters. It might just be a relatable factor for me or their comparison to making a TV show, but reflections on in-laws and motherhood weren't real page-turners. Having said that, they were touching insights and were treated with equal humour and irreverence.  

Overall, Fey's autobiography is well-structured and it feels like genuine effort went into writing it - unlike many auto-/biographies that are released "medium rare" as opposed to "well done" purely to reach the market during the pinnacle of it's subject's popularity. Maybe it was one of these books designed for the Best Sellers: Fey is still young (41 years) with no life-endangering experiences, addictions or scandals to recount; the last few chapters may have been tacked on; and the book is only 275 pages long. But honestly, Fey's writing is so thoroughly and consistently entertaining that if there was any rush or half-heartedness involved, it has been expertly masked by her writing talent. As expected she is a wonderfully charming subject: funny, down-to-earth and a very anxious Bossypants.

8/10 rubber chickens***

*Chucklesome:

(1) characterising something that evokes laughter

(2) of or relating to chuckles

(2) an original word Claire uses to define her times and doings spent chuckling

**Note: I am not a serial serial downloader. Just when I’ve missed an episode or a series or when it’s not airing in Aus. I do like having regular shows to watch on TV, although the number of them have waned over the years.

*** Good Game reference I enjoy but will not steal/use ever again.



Best.Movie.Ever

"...I feel my all-time favourite movie should match my spirit, which is far more positive, excitable and sentimental than Steve Zissou’s misadventures..."





The Life Aquatic:
A Story of Father & Probable Son

For a number of years I’ve maintained The Life Aquatic With Steve Zissou is my all-time favourite movie. But in recent months I’ve realised that it just isn’t so anymore.



Make no mistake, I am not off my love of Wes Anderson, which a friend of mine announced to me a little while ago. He’s aboard the PT bandwagon. PT Anderson is another favourite filmmaker of mine. The first time I saw Magnolia it was like I had never actually breathed oxygen. I wasn’t living (and that is a very ridiculous claim). I left the room looking at movies, storytelling and life in a whole new respect. That was after an immediate re-watch the second it finished (yes, six straight hours of PT). It was part of my Phillip Seymour Hoffman month and Magnolia was far and away the highlight of the marathon.





The Magnificent Andersons: Paul Thomas (left) and Wes (right)                                       The Hoffman-athon



Every minute of Magnolia was compelling; it was like it was always building to something – constant panning and slow zooming; secrets and revelations unravelling scene to scene; orchestral music forever on the verge of a crescendo. And then that stunning moment… I’m sorry, P.T., but are all your characters singing an Aimee Mann song across scenes, sets and storylines? Is this really happening? How could he do that? How come no other filmmaker has ever realised this genius device before? Then “the frogs scene”. I was actually smiling and shaking my head in disbelief like a really irritating grandfather quibbling/revelling in modern technology. If you haven’t seen Magnolia, you’re missing out on some really fun and original filmmaking.

   



Magnolia: The Frogs Scene



But I’m way off track – I was reconsidering my all-time favourite movie. I don’t think Magnolia would take my number one spot, but I’m not looking to replace it exactly. I’m just trying to feel okay about my re-evaluation, or betrayal, you might say. You probably wouldn’t say “betrayal” – I doubt Wes would either – I would, because I feel very strongly about films. It’s how I learn about other people, cultures, histories and sides to life from a safe distance. And in turn, considering other possible/fictional worlds and circumstances, it’s how I make sense of my world.



The Crayon Ponyfish

The Life Aquatic had a very significant impact on me – it was 2007, post-graduation, post-schoolies and the friends and family I was closest to all happened to be abroad. I was working a cruddy job and wasn’t sure if I should study film or transfer to television – as was the suggestion of a QUT professor/interviewer. I am probably more a TV than movie person – I think you form greater and more meaningful attachments to a series because you have regular, years-long interaction with them. Anyway, I was stuck a little and didn’t have any of my usual confidants around. Then late one lonesome night, The Life Aquatic came on Channel 7. 

 



Seu Jorge: Portugese
Acoustic Bowie Covers

It was the right deep-sea/deep-soul exploration, providing the right humourous tone, that I needed to help negotiate my - what I believed to be original - existiential crisis. (Not to mention the stellar David Bowie soundtrack.) If a film could move me this much and toward the strangest sense of self-assurance, damn mother-flippin' straight I’m studying film. My love affair with Wes continued and but we've been evolving since in quite different directions, creatively and personally (I presume, Wes!). Indeed, there have been times I’ve considered he might be indulgent or unfeeling or cyclical, but a mere re-watching or analytic study of his films prove him to be a hilarious, introspective storyteller, if not  dedicated artist. The thing is though, I watch Rushmore more regularly and possibly more enjoyably than any other Wes film. And Fantastic Mr Fox is really something else; I felt like a proud mother / gloating one-night-stand when it came out. My point is The Life Aquatic will forever be dear and significant to me, but it’s really not what I’m about. Or something, I dunno. I feel my all-time favourite movie should match my spirit, which is far more positive, excitable and sentimental than Steve Zissou’s misadventures.





Team Zissou: an all-star cast

So, Wes, please know I will continue to watch The Life Aquatic With Steve Zissou and continue to feel fuzzy about it and grateful for it. I will continue to recommend it to others as well as defend it against the critics. This is, by no means, a goodbye or even the slightest omen of a farewell. It’s a big hug and perfectly-wrapped box of smooth chai tea leaves to acknowledge a beautiful past together and signify the endless search for my actual all-time favourite movie. I’m not even 21. Like relationships and jobs and housing and family, it’ll never really be settled. I know it’ll change and become unimportant at times.

It is a little trivial, I admit. But as a film graduate and sometime socialite, I’m often asked – and as a matter of fact, it’s a really sweet thing to have in the back of your mind: when you need a little pick-me-up, when you want to share a lovely evening in, when you’re nostalgic for its characters, when you’re delirious from recalling and laughing at its quotes, it’s sweet to know you can pop on this one movie that seems designed for you and enjoy it start to finish, even if it’s the 100^th time you’ve seen it. 



Steve Zissou: The search continues...



Old frienz

Say it with me: PRE-TEN-SHUS

I think I’ll go back and watch Garden State again.

I liked it the first time I saw it but I’ve since concluded it was a contrived film and wanting audiences to glorify Braff’s sensational indie music taste. I actually watched it three times within 24 hours that one time I hired it out so many years ago. (Overnight new releases - gotta get ya money’s worth ay).
 

It was all in the midst of Scrubs being one of my favourite comedies on TV and I thought the movie was great. But the third time I watched Garden State, I listened to the director/cast commentary and felt so uneasy hearing Zach Braff flirt with Natalie Portman for 90 straight minutes. NatPort was friendly and chatty but hardly reciprocated his obvious infatuation. He was just trying too hard. Then moments of tenderness and subtlety on-screen became insufferable as their creator similtaneously fawned over his leading lady off-screen. From the wake-up-one-morning beginning to the unusually oomphless hair* to the screw-it-let's-be-happy ending, Braff's directorial debut now reeked of pretension. Every awkward pause, every whispered line, every sparsely furnished room made me wretch. I mean, not even Wes Anderson's frame is that symmetrical.  Afterward I started to respect him less. Then I started enjoying Scrubs less and less. I’m not saying I found it less funny but I felt like I knew what Zach Braff was really like underneath and it reminded me of one too many fellows that made me queasy. I got over it (well mostly) because obviously, I don’t know him at all and he is still a wonderfully funny and charismatic actor. Scrubs means a lot to a lot of people and it certainly had an impression on me. I loved staying up late to watch/simultaneously tape them. I remember taping Scrubs + Arrested Development + Curb Your Enthusiasm + The Office late on school nights. I made so many tapes of pure sitcom awesomeness, but I’ve since bought a number of them on DVD.



Awesome sitcoms: (left to right) The Office [US], Scrubs & Arrested Development

I had very few friends who watched these shows at the time; it was a bit sad that I could only joke about it with my brothers and I had a reputation in school for laughing out loud just thinking about these sitcoms – no one knew what I was on; I'd feel (as) silly explaining it. I haven’t stopped laughing to myself or by myself either. Dad says he can hear me at odd hours of the night several rooms away having a good ol’ chuckle. Be it Doctor Who, Mork and Mindy or whatever. Nothing makes me laugh more than Arrested though and the jokes never wear.

My high school / sitcom tape days were also the days when I really loved David Letterman. Since then I’ve seen him go through a number of scandals and I don’t see him the same way anymore, and he

Dave's Best Look: brown framed glasses and grey suit

probably knows it. I don’t mean me in particular, but he’s submitted to this new view audiences have of him. We’ve both grown jaded with age. It’s like he’s a friend I went to school with whose since gone through a bitchy/slutty period and now has this sad maturity from being knocked up, raising a child and all the accompanying gossip, and we have this awkward encounter when we see each other at the grocery store**. It’s really only out-of-the-blue-awkward; s/he’s too tired to care about social appearances these days. When we part ways, s/he clutches my shoulder quite tenderly and sincerely and adds, “Hey, take care of yourself”. Surreal and heart-warming, no? Geena Davis would play the part of my high school chum / David Letterman in a midday movie.

Anyhow, people are imperfect and people can change. It doesn’t mean they’re any less sensitive or likeable. That’s why I feel guilty about my summation of Zach Braff and Garden State so I’m going to re-watch it and judge the movie for what it is and maybe it’ll recapture the admiration I first felt for it as a teenager. It’s not uncommon to dislike movies you once enjoyed as a child. I’m curious to see how Curly Sue, George of the Jungle and The Swan Princess have withstood the test of time and my maturity. I know cartoons will usually appeal to wide demographics but Jim Belushi/Brendan Fraser movies are another thing entirely. It should be an interesting / nauseating / eye-gouging experience.

Second chances: NatPort & Braff

*It means he's serious.

** Note it's not a supermarket. Grocery stores are where people encounter each other in movies.

- - - - - - -
Garden State re-viewed August 2011:
- A well-written film.
- Best performance: Natalie Portman.
- Some moments/scenes make me aware I'm watching a movie. I don't usually like to realise this. I guess a symmetrical mise-en-scene sticks out more in the beginning of the film because I'm yet to be absorbed by the characters and the plot. A number of times I think he's piecing together a lot of "I've always wanted to do this in a movie" ideas. But overall, very entertaining ideas, eccentric characters, and a lot of "sweet job man" directorial touches that I have to commend Braff for.
- Good movie.
- I still hate the "have a listen to the Shins while I smile over and over" scene. It's gratuitously cute.

SIDE EFFECT: nostalgic for the present

 

To quote Stephen Baldwin- 

"The strangest thing...."

I was suddenly hit with the most unexpected and overwhelming sense of worry, doom and futility. I was just about to reach for a pen and piece of paper – I wanted to write down some must-read/see books and movies to get my hands on from the library - and this flash of impermanence struck me when I looked and saw the many books, post its and bits of paper I usually record my thoughts on. Every now and again, I throw the papers out. I keep the books and will on occasion thumb through them and fuzzily recall the time I had written particular notes-to-self – where I was studying and working, what was making me stress and laugh, who was I seeing and hanging out with, what my attitudes were and what I hadn’t experienced yet. I love growing and learning and maturing-of-mind. But I also hate letting go.

I was listening to John Frusciante at the time I reached for the pen and paper and stopped suddenly, and I still am listening to his music now. This all happened mere minutes ago; I find it amusing that I’m recounting it like in a memoir and it all happened decades ago – as if it was an inconsequential part of an inconsequential day that has stayed with me for some reason; as if it made me wonder and reason profoundly at the time, then I forgot about it upon re-entering reality, and every few years I'd try to remember the instance and dizzy, worrying sensation whilst watching the sun rise over the waves at the beach. Anyway, I love living in the moment, particularly in my post-grad days where I float between jobs and read and watch movies as my purpose and future gradually unfold. That’s why it’s so sad and sentimental for me - moving on from a moment I enjoy so much. I tend to remove myself from situations I’m having the most fun in – reflecting and often spoiling the moment by announcing “these are the days we’ll cherish” or “this is a good time” or even simply “look at us”.

I get so damn nostalgic for the present! I’ll probably be a blubbering mess recalling these events in twenty or thirty years’ time. Then again, I don’t seem to remember much from things that happened ten or fifteen years ago. Never mind that my wee brain was still making sense of the world - I seem to remember lots of little things no one else can. However, I can't ever remember the main events, notable things; specifically, some riotous affairs and shenanigans my friends remember well. My friend Kirra, who I went through primary school with, amazes me with her memory and tales of how I was a conniving, lying little girl. Kirra has the best stories. She knows what everyone is doing and who they’re seeing currently. Anyway, John Frusciante’s music has ended and I’ve lost my sentimental touch and that ludicrous sensation of transience has long passed. I’m just going to write down those books and films I think I’d enjoy. I’ll probably watch the movies when my family has gone to bed and it can be my little secret hour and a half of education and enjoyment.

It really was the strangest thing. I didn't quite know moments like those existed. Looking back on the experience, I feel like a character from a J.D. Salinger or Virginia Woolf novel and I don't know if that's a comparison to feel merry about. The association is pretty cool and pretty devastating at the same time. They're the kinds of folk who do the quaintest things like go to flower shops, fall in love at first sight and order martinis - usually right before some dreadful fate or tragic accident. I hope I don't sound exclusively "deep" here. I know we all have moments of reflection, enlightenment and profundity - but do people have ones that render them paralysed? I was for a bit this time. No joke. I'm surprised I didn't yak afterward. I wonder if John Frusciante has had a moment like that. I feel like he would since his music seemed key in my "moment" and he's probably experienced a variety of states having been addicted to hard drugs for extended periods; states of homelessness and depravity being amongst them. Drugs are messed up, but man.... he's so great. XD

Hating strangers for no good reason

I was at a party a couple of nights ago, celebrating a friend’s twenty-one years. I knew many people there in varying depths and degrees- from ‘really well’ to ‘quite well’ to ‘a little too well’.  Naturally, I spent a lot of the evening focused on them. However, I’m  confused as to why that evening I also focused my attentions on an attendee I did not know at all and why I hated her so much and why so instantly. Strange how a momentary impression can spark an aversion so consuming without any real knowledge of who that person is (oh Darcy! Oh Lizzy!). Yes, thanks to years of meeting a wide variety of people / watching many TV shows, we have the luxury of knowing only one person, then encountering ‘types’ like them.  For instance, we know Ross and can recognise his external characteristics when encountering Russ (not neccesarily referring to looks, but for that episode of Friends), and may then apply Ross' internal characteristics (values and backstory) to Russ.

Figure 1: Mr Darcy and Miss Eliza Bennet had quite the first impressions

It’s insulting and really not fair on those targeted: each person has unique interests, experiences and personalities; and it can even inspire prejudicial treatment. Perpetrators get their just desserts after they force an Asian peer to write their assignment for them, only to discover they have to repeat their senior year when their Eastern alum isn’t really a chemistry whiz. Burrrrrn.

The point I was making a tangent ago is that it’s really terrible to presume something about someone, but I can’t help it. At this party I perceived someone outside the dress codes of conformity, mild manners of repression and beige-faced club of oblivion. She was loud, overdramatic and pretentious. But beyond this, I did not know her. I knew ‘types’ like her. And so I disliked her, immediately. The moment she made herself known to me (and the rest of the room), I had made predictions about her diet, occupation, relationship with her parents and/or step-parent, the name of her Robert Smith tribute band, ironic sentiment behind her don of a gothic crucifix, and I had guestimated her number of Facebook friends. In a word, she was cool. I couldn’t quite pick if she was the type that shamelessly embraced their coolness or if she was the type self-aware of their coolness and thus prone to exhibiting subversive and ironic levels of coolness.

It was after ragging on her to an equally agitated friend, that I quipped, “Really, I want to be her and you want to sleep with her”. Then I discovered a sad truth. Not that my friend and I secretly want each other, but this girl was an ideal role model and/or partner. She was being who she wanted to be. She was comfortable with herself in front of a room of mostly strangers. And the people who weren’t strangers – you might call them her friends – probably liked her and enjoyed her company. Was I the one being overdramatic? Maybe her big entrance was merely mild – the party wasn’t exactly pumpin’ – at that point it was categorised by soft music and light chatter amongst eagerly prompt guests. Maybe her generous display of flesh and cleavage wasn’t about her self-importance but self-confidence. Maybe her shrill squeals weren’t attention-seeking but induced by a tickle fight or complimenting the dry wit of a friend. I think I’m drifting from sincerity into sarcasm. Do I actually hate her then? And if so, for a reason?  A good reason? Is my hate motivated by jealousy or repugnance?  

Figure 2: (left to right) Ego, Id, Superego

It’s here that I consider notions of id, ego and superego, social norms and constructs, and the Western world’s centuries-worth of efforts establishing personal values based on repression and  the ‘greater good’. And it’s here that I dispel them all, reassuring myself and you, the reader, that it’s okay to dislike someone based on your judgments. Really, as long as your judgments centre on universally-disliked intrinsic qualities. If you want to hate on someone because they donate to charities, then you’re just sadistic.  Unless that person donates to charities to be seen and admired, then yeah you can hate them. I felt quite alright after this self-enlightenment. Then confused by my particular set of circumstances at the party. I went to yahoo answers, then to stuffwhitepeoplelike.com in hopes of finding this ‘judging’ business a common trait amongst my peers and, with a sigh of relief, simply and safely able to diagnose myself as new-age white.

It’s not there. Following this in-depth research, allow me to try to reason this out here.  

Figure 3: Judge Reinhold

Judgments can only be informed by knowledge, and on whatever level that you know a person – superficial or intimate – you will perceive qualities that you have already deemed ‘good’ or ‘bad’ from some instance in your life. For instance, I perceived ego-centricity in this party guest. I think God, Freud, David Mitchell and all the ontologists out there can agree that it’s a negative quality in a person. Say if I got to know this girl, I’d perceive other qualities in her – more than likely, admirable ones. As our friendship blossoms I might in fact learn another side to self-confidence, a rare and humble side that sometimes manifests itself as ego-centricity to the untrained eye and ignorant soul. Like how I used to think So You Think You Can Dance would make for boring television. Boy I was wrong, until I saw and quit the Australian version. Or maybe that’s another instance of ill-comprehension on my part.

The point is, I’m sure this girl and I would find some common ground and I’d like her quite well. {I’ve been throwing around the ‘hate’ bomb throughout this article, when I don’t really dislike anyone with that much passion.}  I couldn’t stand to be nasty to her because deep down I know she’s not all that bad or deserving of it. I wouldn’t have a problem slighting a taunting, homophobic, racist, thieving, killing, Joker-like criminal. With this girl and other strangers, I don’t want to think of myself as prejudiced but rather mistaken. My knowledge of her was incomplete. I recognise that I disliked her based a minor facet to her personality which leaders of many faiths have taught me to be intrinsically wrong; a facet arbiters of society have deemed unfavourable; a facet which I might have just miscalculated.  The idea that I am open to getting to know her and belief that there’s more to her than meets the eye, means I’m not actually a bad person, right? Or I am just condoning prejudice in a round-about, guilt-negating way?

You may dislike this article and me for authoring it. To which I might argue, hey you really don’t know me. Your summation of me is mistaken and incomplete. But then again, these are quite intimate musings that highlight a self-centred anxiety and insecurity in social situations. Nonetheless, in trying to understand why I don’t like certain strangers, certain qualities in strangers and whether by act or in assessment these judgments make me as bad as I deem them, I think I’ve produced a convoluted examination of a mild and sub-conscious pastime. Perhaps I should have selected a different case study with a more obvious conclusion- like hating ‘so hot right now’ actors Paul Rudd and Ryan Reynolds just to go against the crowd or ragging on Anne Hathaway just because she’s more talented and successful than me. 

Figure 4 (left to right): Brittany and Santana and a case of mistaken identity

If you’ve taken away something from this article (other than contempt) I hope it’s that people can surprise you. I don’t think any Gleeks saw it coming when that bitchy, promiscuous cheerleader they had watched scheme for two seasons actually turned out to be a repressed lesbian. Please be kind and accepting of others differences; most will be harmless. You can judge all you want, to build yourself up or whatever the deal. But remember someone will be judging you, whether here on Earth or wherever Charlie Sheen hails from. Ha, so topical.