Now Playing: The Descendants / Chronicle

I am not doing very well in my pursuit to watch all nine nominations…

We were supposed to see War Horse and The Artist; then I chickened out due to impending snow and we went closer to home instead catching The Descendants and Chronicle.

The Descendants
Well, this was a nice little movie. I think it takes great skill to have a movie that’s funny, serious, thoughtful and provocative. I think it’s an even greater skill to have one character embody all those things. Descendants is about a family trying to cope with a mother who is in a coma, a mother who had secrets and flaws. It’s a story about forgiveness and revenge, trust and integrity. Clooney’s performance was so well-played. I was able to relate his character in so many ways, in his anger and his love and his need to put things right. And that Shailene Woodley! Where did she come from? The pool scene alone sold that character wholly. I enjoyed it and would support a Best Actor win for Clooney. 3.5 out of 5 stars.

Chronicle
So, what would REALLY happen if (as a teenager) you woke up one with telekinetic powers? Would you don a lycra suit and mask and begin saving the world? Would you have the emotional maturity to even want to do that? These are the questions that surface when three boys find themselves with just such a power. Shot with a “handy-cam” and presented as a “found footage” film, the movie does a great job if splicing in various sources (security cameras, cell phones, police cruisers, etc.) to drive the plot forward without ever becoming the “omniscient eye”. Not since The Blair Witch Project have I enjoyed found footage as much as this (Paranormal Activity comes closes; Cloverfield was awful). A great bar-gument movie! 3 out of 5 stars.

***

Afterward, talking about what superpower we'd like (I picked invisibility), I said I sometimes yearned for the Halycon days of youth; he says, "you mean halcyon." And another Magneta Moment is born.  You're never too old to learn, poppets!

Now Playing: Underworld: Awakening

I cheated. I’m supposed to be catching up on my Oscar contenders after weeks of neglect and what do I find myself watching on Tuesday? Underworld; Awakening. Good thing no one pays me to do this here “weblog”. (You know what’s funny? Spell-check underlined “weblog” but ignores “blog”.  Hmm.)

So, last time on Underworld, we got to see the perfectly yummy Lucian and his back story. That one movie elevated the entire series. Perhaps it was the acclaimed Michael Sheen; perhaps it was the lack of Kate Beckinsale. Whatever it was, it worked.
This time, we’re back to Selene and her story, twelve years after the second movie ended (are you keeping up?). I use the word “story” loosely, as this movie is really just one action scene after another. Don’t get me wrong, the action is pretty good and the new CGI effects are even better… but really? One of the things I like about the Underworld franchise is the decent plot winding through the movies. Even when the acting was weak, the story stayed strong. I feel like they’ve completely forgotten that this time around. Sure, there’s some forward momentum, but there’s hardly any actual acting. And the questions! Don’t even get me started. One of the only good thinge to come out of this movie was the homegrown hunkinees of Kris Holden-Ried.

So, again, if you’re an average moviegoer: 3 out 5 stars. In relation to Underworld itself? 2 out of 5 stars.

Now Playing: Hugo

Now that I’m mobile, the Oscar list needs to be whittled down.  Anything that can be watched on DVD has been, so I’m moving back to the theatre.  On Sunday evening, I took in the 3D version of Hugo, based on the fabulous kid’s book The Invention of Hugo Cabret.  Directed by the venerable Martin Scorcese and starring Ben Kingsley, Sacha Baron Cohen and the wonderful Asa Butterfield (whom I loved in The Boy in Striped Pyjamas). 

Taking place in my favourite city, Paris, during the thirties, Hugo is a very pretty movie.  It captures that sense of magic and fantasy that has so many fall in love with the City (as fellow Oscar contender, Midnight in Paris, attempts to express).  On top of allure of Paris, there is a layer of romantic machinery that really makes one (read: me) feel nostalgic for a time when technology was wondrous and not ubiquitous.  The city itself becomes more than  a backdrop - it becomes a character that allows for the unfolding of this story. 

The story itself is equal parts mystery,  tragedy, and comedy.  Excellent casting allows for small moments (the two dogs meeting) to become great ones.  And the fact that this is historical fiction, based on the real-life Georges Méliès and his works (getting renewed attention) makes it all the more intriguing.  It's hard to talk about the movie without giving huge parts of it away - it's the unfolding of the story that makes it so compelling. I will simply say you should watch it and that I give it 4 out of 5 stars.

baking bread

Assignment #5: food

My apartment, last night: suburban lights twinkling outside, uninterrupted by skyscraper, ambient music in the background (“oh this uncertainty is taking me over”), countertop strewn with flour, oven preheating to four hundred.  In my life, there are few outlets for creative control.  There is writing, but she is a harsh, cruel, and fickle mistress.  My hands cannot play an instrument or draw a still-life or knit a scarf.  No, my hands can do only one thing: bake. 

sour

Assignment #4: overheard at a bar

Thursday night is my quiet night. After work, I walk over to the local pub, sit at the bar and read my book. Two amaretto sours, fifty pages or so, and I head home. Thursdays are sometimes local band nights; mostly, though, it’s quiet. The bartender and I are on a first name basis. Alex usually has my low-ball poured by the time I sit down.

One night, on a particularly warm February night with dry sidewalks and a quiet wind, I walked in to find the place crowded. Clearly the natives were restless and had come out to play. I actually had to manoeuvre my way to the bar. Alex removes an empty beer case from the stool furthest from the stage, giving me a wink. He’s a good man, that Alex.

polly

Assignment #3: birthday

I am an only child.  Sure I have a sibling, but in my brain, I'm still an only child.  I can amuse myself for hours, do not like to share my toys and am most happy when it's quiet.  When my mother revealed that she was pregnant and that I was going to be a sister,  I said I did not want to be a sister.  She said I was going to be one anyway.  I was unamused.  When LilBro came home, I asked how long he was going to stay.  Mom said forever and I cried.  It wasn't a great beginning.  The months that followed were not good for me.  I was only five and couldn't quite grapple with the intense envy I felt for the new baby.  I mean, I had gone from being someone to being someone else's older sister.  I began having nightmares and wetting the bed.  I lost so much "baby fat" that my school uniform had to be resized twice.  I would hide under the dining table and blithely turn a deaf ear to being called.  My hair began falling out, darkened noticeably, lost all its curl.  There are no cute pictures of me holding a baby.  As an adult, anyone would say I was sinking into depression; as a child, everyone just waited for me to grow out of it.  Perhaps it was guilt that prompted the most lavish birthday that followed.
 
I wanted a dress just like Cinderella had in my fairy tale book: it was violet satin, with a triple skirt, and white lace trim.  I wanted her tiara.  I wanted a a cake like her wedding cake.  What I really wanted was to leave my wicked stepbrother and be swept off by a prince.

beloved

Assignment #2: music

When I was seventeen, I ordered a set of classical music CDs from Columbia House.  Upon receipt of them, I was immediately drawn to Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata (which I prefer in D minor).  I played it on loop, wrote reams of (bad) poetry, read his encyclopaedia entry.  Fifteen minutes was too short.  I visited my local library and borrowed all his CDs; I sat cross-legged in front of my floor to ceiling window, watching the crab-apple trees outside blossom white and pink, crescendoes crashing in my ears.

I fell in love.  Hard.

For a good month, all I did was listen to Ludwig.  I felt his pain, his torture.  I felt his frustration and rage.  I felt his quiet sorrow.  I even related to  his pithy attempts at feverish jocularity (which always felt stilted and awkward).  This man was made for teen angst.

It is no great secret, then, that whenever I hear the Sonata (standing in my lobby, on hold with a certain cable company) I am immediately transported back to the windy Spring days of 1998.  I connect that melody with the beautiful tragedy of the asymptote, which is ever-diminishing even as it carries on to infinity.  I think of university applications and awkward (unsent) infatuation letters.  Mostly, though, I remember the thick sadness that coated my movements, a sadness that (after a while) became addictive.

I hadn’t heard the sonata in its entirety for many years.  Until today.  Its power has not waned.  I know that I can only give it a few hours before I must stop listening.  Its dark thrall is as enticing and as seductive as it ever was.  It would be too easy to wallow, to drink deep of his melancholy.