Wednesday, April 27, 2011
I've wanted to see this movie since forever,ok at least since Christmas. And I love movies like this team work and growth and success at the end with a big finish and people clapping.
OK in the first 20 minutes of the movie Bertie does very little actual conversing, he tells stories and shouts, but there's very little back and fourth. Making a light bulb go off when he starts to talk to Lionel.
Act one is sketchy.
My ears can’t hear the dialect difference between Firth and Rush, and Rush carries himself so masterfully that I am left to think of them as equals in power… Maybe that’s what they were going for. I think he could have gone a little further to make himself "peculiar."
Although Rush has great lines I feel they are misdirected in act one, although in the final two acts of the movie the friendship and performance becomes believable.
Bertie and the Queen Mom are both insulted by Lionel and choose to come back, obviously by the end we know it makes sense, but why in the beginning was it because “Lionel was different?” Because of the little boy at the door, because he was so sure of himself. What made him want to pull that album out of the drawer was there no other choice? Was a friendship made even with all the insults?
Act 2 raises the stakes. Not only will Bertie need to give speeches but King Edward is a little “preoccupied” and will need to be replaced.
Beautiful montage of Bertie and Lionel working on what I know as theatre games cut with him giving a speech.
Guy Pearce is HOT. Colin Firth isn’t. Although I was looking through some interviews for clips and yep, he’s still got it, so they zapped his hotness for this movie, too bad.
Both Lionel and Bertie love to tell stories to their kids. There's something they share.
How lovely is it when Bertie plays with the model airplane?
I wanted to smack Churchill. This is how you do Churchill.
Colin Firth brings to light all the movies tension in the rehearsal of "the speech," all the things he’s learned from lessons and his talks with Lionel. There is a burst of power and vigor we would love to see him use when the time comes to give the real speech.
Bertie has learned to prepare himself. He mirrors the professional at the start of the movie.
After seeing Hitler’s speech and Bertie rehearse, there is more tension, in a different way this time, as Bertie puts all his energy into just delivering the speech, and not into moving a crowd.
I watched it twice, well three times if you count the time with the Nachos but I missed most of it due to the crunching, in Frosty world it was a good movie.
PS as I get better I hope to write about movies in full paragraphs.
Monday, April 25, 2011
Sunday, April 24, 2011
I went over to #1’s house with the movies “The Princess Bride” and “The Young Victoria” but we settled on “Let Me In.” We had just finished watching this week’s installment of Vampire Diaries so in a world dominated by the likes of Buffy and Angel, we liked the idea of a vampire and a little boy becoming friends.
This is not Buffy or Angel or The Vampire Diaries.
What I liked about the movie.
The friendship between the young boy and the vampire were well constructed and whenever anything happened it was believable. Sure it was predictable in places, but I was happy that it made sense and could be held accountable for its actions.
I loved walking away and knowing what the little boys life would be, even though we’ve only spent a few weeks with him. We learned so much about the relationship between the vampire and her slave. We saw the total life cycle.
I like how she used him, how she manipulated him into needing her and I wondered what kind of relationships the writer has had in his past to make a woman so nasty. Abby could figure out puzzles, she could figure out what to say and do to make a 12 year old boy need her to save him.
#1 asked if she was so old did she have the mentality of a 12 year old. I felt that she did, that what she did was in a 12 years means to do, almost like she was doing it but because she was 12. She seemed totally the innocent. She could have chosen to bait an adult and had a totally different movie, but instead picked a little boy.
I liked the reason why she couldn’t kill people herself and needed someone to do it for her. (I’m not going to give that away.)
Watching this movie made me very aware of the relationship I’m building in the short story (a real short story) I’m tackling after all the attempts and pieces of paper with half finished ideas on them.
What I didn’t like about the Movie.
It made me feel bad and think about bad things. Thankfully I was spared nightmares.
The first murder felt like I was there too, partaking in it, like I was getting pleasure out of watching a killer bleed a person to death. I didn’t like that, that’s not me.
We didn’t see the little boy actual kill someone, there’s still doubt left about whether or not he can do it. The writers could have written the story that Owen brought one of the little boys to her as Abby as gift.
That’s a lot of murders for one policeman (who we don’t know much about) to handle, especially in a world without cell phones and internet.
I didn’t like that she didn’t wear shoes, I thought it was unique, but I thought that with neighbours who are so aware of what the little boy is doing behind his window, they would notice this 12 year old girl that didn’t go to school and who didn’t wear shoes in the snow.
I really enjoyed watching the movie with a friend because together we picked out things that I would have never picked up on my own and I would have never watched this movie on my own. We talked about evil in our world and our little town, how it was part of us, how different would the conversation have been if we had chosen to watch "The Young Victoria?"
Next stop The Kings Speech, that’s more my pace.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Imagine, if you will, what it would feel like to have each of your natural faculties systematically peeled away from your consciousness. First, imagine you lose your ability to make sense of sound coming in through your ears. You are not deaf, you simply hear all sound as chaos and noise. Second, remove your ability to see the defined forms of any objects in your space. You are not blind, you simply cannot see three dimensionally, or identify color. You have no ability to track an object in motion or distinguish clear boundaries between objects. In addition, common smells become so amplified that they overwhelm you, making it difficult for you to catch your breath.
Jill Bolte Taylor Ph.D My Stroke of Insight.
I read the whole book in two sittings, this after starting and not finishing at least 7 other books. This paragraph was the only one I highlighted.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Not my photo
Beyond the window I sit at, the one thing that feeds me dreams, when I look up from my work computer, is the old theatre. The last soprano made her mark there, cracking leather chairs, corroding brass and withering velvet. A note once so beautiful echoed goodbye to painted set pieces and a towns imagination.
A van drove up and out the left door stepped a woman wearing white overhauls and a pink baseball cap. She fiddles at the lock on the theatre door for a bit and then, with a crow bar opens the door. She enters and exits the building many times as I input numbers into Excel. At lunch she sits with a beer and a homemade sandwich.
So I take my lunch over and introduce myself, ask what she is doing.
“I’ve been retired for a year and needed a project. My husband suggested I redo the theatre, he was joking of course, but I took him up on it. Come in.”
Inside, as I looked around, I thought about all the art that would have happened in the building, of all the times I went with my friends to movies or plays or concerts. All the times I had ever run up the isles of a posh theatre in my bare feet.
I thought about how I was like an old theatre. And how like this one woman I am entering my insides and one inch at a time making it better for people to visit again. Soon I will be sending out invitations to the first show.
“I thought it be great if I could sing here one more time.” She said.
Saturday, April 2, 2011
The first trick I learned on the camera was to point and click. Sometimes the pictures were blurry sometimes the subject got lost in the background. But I just kept taking picture after picture of the same thing until I learned where it looked good and started applying that to other pictures I took. Today I am taking pictures of strawberry blossoms. I am anticipating red berries framed by the black coal road and spreading out over the many fields that rest beside it. Today it is just black and white.
I chose the dress with the patterns of other countries, countries that people warn you are not safe, that I only visit in dreams and National Geographics. I try on three pair of shoes, but they all make me feel trapped so I walk down the black road in my bare feet, there is no one around for miles. I no longer feel scared that something will happen to me and there’ll be no one there to help.
When people go by they wave, it’s pretty easy to know I like walking. I only get offered a drive if the road is rough or the weather is bad; even then I have to think about accepting a drive. Sometimes I just want to go for long distances really fast sometimes I want the world to go by fast. But today I walk slow and it feels like the day will last forever.
We are all miners. We all go deep into earth and life, with the ability to pull laughter and friendship out of the darkness. We all go underground before the sun comes up and come up when the sky starts to turn orange and purple and pink.
I stop by the river and take pictures of the blossoms. From the back of my camera I know which shot I want to hang on my wall. I will point it out to everyone who enters my door. Show them this part of me; let everyone fall in love with this little flower.
After I’ve found my perfect photo, I walk to the centre of the river. The water only comes up to my ankles and I wash off my feet, for a moment they shine, and I can see veins and open pours. The minnows all scatter unhindered but the speed of the water rushing from the lake. As the dark coal washes away, I see cuts and scrapes from day; the icy water sooths.
From the road I see a car stop. The man driving asks if I wanted a drive says:
"That's a pretty dress."
I walk up from the river.
“Would you like to see my picture?”
He holds out his hands, and I let the stranger hold the camera, but he just looked at me and handed it back.
“There are so many strawberry blossoms this time of year.”
Then I shook my head and continued walking and placed my camera back around my neck.
Would I have gotten in if he had fallen in love with the flower?
Friday, April 1, 2011
I went to university with as much experience as I knew how to get. It wasn’t a lot but I had drive and determination and every now and then I’d get lucky and something would happen or make sense. I caught on fast and got my fingers into every piece of the dairy free pie I could, but there was always something missing. I never knew where all this creativity came from, it always just happened. And when I left university it didn’t happen. People would say I was good, but never request me again. If someone wanted a play I could write one, some good some bad, but leave me on my own and nothing happened.
There was more than just the art as this blog is also about the struggle with depression and food, but there was a part about the art that I just didn’t have the capacity to understand. Before I moved home I would walk by a film set and feel anger and hate, doing theatre made me sick.
Today my friend asked me if I was still turning myself inside out for my job striving to be perfect, and only hours before I realized I am not the be all and end all of a person’s call, I do not dictate how they say something and what they say. My way is not 100% right and my decisions are often appealed. That’s also what I learned from talking about Splice and watching Monsters which I was told was better, but through all its pitfalls I still liked Splice. What other people see, hear and do is different than me and I can’t change that.
I have to go back to the grass roots, Tink wants to do Vlogs she’ll be perfect for it she’s pretty smart witty and quick… we had T-roy shaking his head today, I instantly thought I would love to help her, but do not want to do Vlogs, I love what I’m creating as Frosty Duncan and the voice that is slowly poking through. I have been playing with the Video on my camera and thought it would be nice to do spoken word poetry, once I focus a little more on rhythm and alliteration.
I wrote to a real filmmaker and said I want something very simple to start “B’Town style,” I know I can do more, I have done more, but I need to do little baby steps. I need to play with and do what I didn’t have the means or understanding to do before university I need to do some stuff that isn't perfect so I learn to do it. I’ve walked the block or two in life and I came back to B’Town, and I need to learn what I didn’t learn the first time from what I did learn the first time.