16 blue ponies, 21 airplanes, and 12 spinning midgets
Things I’ve learned recently. When going to the drive-in theatre with imported beer, it might be a good idea to bring a bottle opener.
Scratch that. It might be better to bring mini-bottles of wine with twist-off caps so you can laugh at your boyfriend as he struggles to pop the caps off of beer with old house keys and random latches found in the car, rendering it warm and revolting.
Even better. Read Boing Boing for random links to DIY bottle opener origami from paper. (Doi…this was after the fact, of course.)
So, you’re asking yourself, what should I see this summer before I have to start wearing leggings under my skirt*? Well, might I suggest the following…
Neil Marshall’s The Descent. I have learned to like horror flicks over the years, and know a handful of people who appreciate this genre. My sister’s husband, however, is a connoisseur. He recounted a story of The Exorcist in 1973 and how every audience member was asked to sign a release form before entering the movie theatre. There were cases of vomiting and hysteria. Part of which may have been the result of all of the head-spinning and the cross-humping in the movie. But also maybe the cause of having the preconceived notion that the movie would cause harm due to the fact that they had to sign a form. Oy, dizzy from all the circular reasoning.
When I left Descent, however, I was nauseous. A very bad nauseous that lasted the extent of the evening. And it wasn’t because of any disclaimer or horrific scenes of swimming in six-foot pools of blood and dismembered body parts. Descent’s success is primarily due to its camera direction. As an example, one reason why directors use high or bird’s eye angles is to give a sense of disorientation. Without bearing, this angle forces the audience to think about what they’re seeing - familiar objects become unfamiliar (it also gives a sense of omniscience). The Descent’s setting is a cave, giving Marshall every opportunity to use this angle from a low point-of-view. The effect overpowers the senses, giving the subject a sense of insignificance and disorientation. Add spinning blood and screaming to this factor and you have an overwhelming sense of nausea.
Another factor that Marshall has going for him is that the film is, ahem, SHOT IN A CAVE. He takes every chance to feed on fears associated with caves, especially claustrophobia with extremely tight and close angles and a sense of misguided, unfamiliar direction that lead characters into an unknown and pants-peeing place.
Additionally, this film is a fine example of everything that could go right for women in horror movies. All of the characters are empowered, both physically and mentally. Not one expression of Captain Save-a-Ho or acts of heroic masculinity. Not one scene of a woman running through the woods in stiletto heels and falling to the mercy of some masked monster. There is only one man, and I think it could be safe to say, who dies in the first two minutes. The only downside is that this film was written by a man. The fact that a woman hasn’t written or directed a horror film along the same lines of female empowerment is disappointing.
Woody Allen’s Scoop (for Woody Allen fans). Some haiku writers, on occasion, switch to alternative and humorous forms of senryu. Reason being that a person can write so much about cherry blossoms or snow flakes before needing a release, hence, senryu -- a relaxed form of self-awareness that focuses on human satire and wit. So how does this relate to Woody, you ask? My review on Woody’s Matchpoint focused on the concepts of luck and fate. Woody asks us, When the ball hits the net, which direction will it go? Will fate favor or thwart us? Matchpoint was a dark spin into tragedy. Scoop is Woody’s senryu, his comic release.
Pransky (Johansson) persuades Waterman (Allen) to help her pursue her first journalistic scoop on a high-profile murder. Allen initially resists, claiming that he is only a magician. She counters with acuity, “Exactly. Your whole life is built around deceit.” Allen as auteur works the same magic on film. As a director, he sometimes gives the audience what it wants to see, like Matchpoint’s antagonist clawing through social class struggles like a dove flying out of a handkerchief. Or he literally saws a person in half like Scoop’s privileged aristocrat’s fall into depravity.
While neither the same characters or plot is introduced in Scoop, we see Johansson reintroduced as an ambitious Pransky. And gladly so - especially for her audience who didn’t see her full range in Matchpoint. (I concede that this was intentional - her character had Captain Save-a-Ho mentality, hence, her superficial qualities). Woody redeems her in Scoop, providing a humorous outlet for her to show her talents. He also returns himself to the screen as the Woody we all know and love: a self-doubting, darling neurotic. And thank God - because Johansson completely brought Woody out of his decade funk. We all need our muses, our cherry blossoms and snowflakes, and methinks Woody found himself another Annie Hall in Ms. Scarlett.
Read more about the Allen-Johansson working relationship in the New York Magazine.
Read about Allen’s latest metamorphosis in the New York Observer.
*Please note that I’m not advising for you to wear leggings - this is a god awful fashion experiment spooned down our throats from people such as Sienna Miller and Mischa Barton, both of whom should be shipped to an island of fugly and deserted.
Scratch that. It might be better to bring mini-bottles of wine with twist-off caps so you can laugh at your boyfriend as he struggles to pop the caps off of beer with old house keys and random latches found in the car, rendering it warm and revolting.
Even better. Read Boing Boing for random links to DIY bottle opener origami from paper. (Doi…this was after the fact, of course.)
So, you’re asking yourself, what should I see this summer before I have to start wearing leggings under my skirt*? Well, might I suggest the following…
Neil Marshall’s The Descent. I have learned to like horror flicks over the years, and know a handful of people who appreciate this genre. My sister’s husband, however, is a connoisseur. He recounted a story of The Exorcist in 1973 and how every audience member was asked to sign a release form before entering the movie theatre. There were cases of vomiting and hysteria. Part of which may have been the result of all of the head-spinning and the cross-humping in the movie. But also maybe the cause of having the preconceived notion that the movie would cause harm due to the fact that they had to sign a form. Oy, dizzy from all the circular reasoning.
When I left Descent, however, I was nauseous. A very bad nauseous that lasted the extent of the evening. And it wasn’t because of any disclaimer or horrific scenes of swimming in six-foot pools of blood and dismembered body parts. Descent’s success is primarily due to its camera direction. As an example, one reason why directors use high or bird’s eye angles is to give a sense of disorientation. Without bearing, this angle forces the audience to think about what they’re seeing - familiar objects become unfamiliar (it also gives a sense of omniscience). The Descent’s setting is a cave, giving Marshall every opportunity to use this angle from a low point-of-view. The effect overpowers the senses, giving the subject a sense of insignificance and disorientation. Add spinning blood and screaming to this factor and you have an overwhelming sense of nausea.
Another factor that Marshall has going for him is that the film is, ahem, SHOT IN A CAVE. He takes every chance to feed on fears associated with caves, especially claustrophobia with extremely tight and close angles and a sense of misguided, unfamiliar direction that lead characters into an unknown and pants-peeing place.
Additionally, this film is a fine example of everything that could go right for women in horror movies. All of the characters are empowered, both physically and mentally. Not one expression of Captain Save-a-Ho or acts of heroic masculinity. Not one scene of a woman running through the woods in stiletto heels and falling to the mercy of some masked monster. There is only one man, and I think it could be safe to say, who dies in the first two minutes. The only downside is that this film was written by a man. The fact that a woman hasn’t written or directed a horror film along the same lines of female empowerment is disappointing.
Woody Allen’s Scoop (for Woody Allen fans). Some haiku writers, on occasion, switch to alternative and humorous forms of senryu. Reason being that a person can write so much about cherry blossoms or snow flakes before needing a release, hence, senryu -- a relaxed form of self-awareness that focuses on human satire and wit. So how does this relate to Woody, you ask? My review on Woody’s Matchpoint focused on the concepts of luck and fate. Woody asks us, When the ball hits the net, which direction will it go? Will fate favor or thwart us? Matchpoint was a dark spin into tragedy. Scoop is Woody’s senryu, his comic release.
Pransky (Johansson) persuades Waterman (Allen) to help her pursue her first journalistic scoop on a high-profile murder. Allen initially resists, claiming that he is only a magician. She counters with acuity, “Exactly. Your whole life is built around deceit.” Allen as auteur works the same magic on film. As a director, he sometimes gives the audience what it wants to see, like Matchpoint’s antagonist clawing through social class struggles like a dove flying out of a handkerchief. Or he literally saws a person in half like Scoop’s privileged aristocrat’s fall into depravity.
While neither the same characters or plot is introduced in Scoop, we see Johansson reintroduced as an ambitious Pransky. And gladly so - especially for her audience who didn’t see her full range in Matchpoint. (I concede that this was intentional - her character had Captain Save-a-Ho mentality, hence, her superficial qualities). Woody redeems her in Scoop, providing a humorous outlet for her to show her talents. He also returns himself to the screen as the Woody we all know and love: a self-doubting, darling neurotic. And thank God - because Johansson completely brought Woody out of his decade funk. We all need our muses, our cherry blossoms and snowflakes, and methinks Woody found himself another Annie Hall in Ms. Scarlett.
Read more about the Allen-Johansson working relationship in the New York Magazine.
Read about Allen’s latest metamorphosis in the New York Observer.
*Please note that I’m not advising for you to wear leggings - this is a god awful fashion experiment spooned down our throats from people such as Sienna Miller and Mischa Barton, both of whom should be shipped to an island of fugly and deserted.
posted by anarchic at 9:12 AM
1 Comments:
Matchpoint was a creepy movie for me. I dont know why, maybe the raw animal behavior that human beings are capable of when put in a spot where you run the risk of losing everything? And on another level how every male in that movie sounded very gay with the english dialect. I know many english people my granny is english and not one male sounds that gay when they speak. Not that there is anything wrong with that, it jsut kind of seems like a gross misrepsentation for dramatic effect. I dont know.
Post a Comment
<< Home