So thursday was supposed to be my day off working on the kitchen (imagine me holding out my hand with a claw-like grip of malice and saying it in a Shatnerian exaggerated voice whenever I type that word) so that I could kick back, go see a kick-arse new film and hang out with a bunch of my friends for the day. So as I'm preparing to leave my dad says 'so when are you doing the grouting today?'. Sigh. Okay, it's not that bad, it only took about an hour and a bit, but I was kinda hoping not to have to do that on thursday. So much grouting, painting and wrecking things.
It seems like my entire life has been taken over by the birthing of this massive project in my flat. Ach, I'm probably just over complaining. It'll be over on tuesday night, when Dad goes home and I get to slob around in my underwear for a few nights before my brother arrives. But then that's what I'm doing right now and my Dad is actually in the room. He's been to see my uncle Bob and his... let's go with 'eccentric' wife, Margarite. (If that's how you spell it, when I was a young one she was called Maggie, but apparantly that's not an option anymore.)
It's taken me about three days to write this blog entry and I'm not entirely sure why. I guess that this kitchen has taken a lot of energy out of me. I haven't done any solid writing for about four or five days now, will have to catch up when he's gone.
In other news my new roleplay group will be forming for the first time on wednesday, whether they're ready for it or not! A new game of Hunter that can overlap with the Hunter game I run in Newbury (or should I say used to run in Newbury, when I lived there).
Hot damn, I should probably have other stuff to write about but I honestly can't think of anything at the moment, other than the kitchen. I swear I dream of that thing. And sport. Sport is on the television A LOT these days, but still holds little interest.
Sod it.
4.3.2.1
So this was a film that I was at first dissmissive of, then a raging interest took hold of me when I discovered that Michelle Ryan was in it, along with a host of British talent of the established and up and coming varieties. Now for those of you who are unaware of my feelings towards Miss Ryan, they go something like this (mother, look away now):
WANT.
AHEM.
Now this is the brainchild of Noel Clarke, a man who is best known for being in Doctor Who, despite that he wants us to know about his gritty independant films, Kidulthood and Adulthood. Haven't watched them yet but they're on my list. Still, he's a young, dynamic actor, writer and director and most importantly... he's British. Oh yeah, feel that national pride.
Now this film has many different angles all going for it. It's something of a heist movie, blended with the social realist drama of four teenage girls trying to get through a particularly rough weekend and combined with a frank look at British youth culture.
Needless to say, the various elements are jarred and discordant, but that's pretty much how the movie was intended to play out. It's crazy, it's hectic, it's messed up, it's got the most graphic lesbian sex scene outside of actual porn and it's really cutting.
Basically, this is Noel Clarke's take on Snatch from the perspective of four teenage girls. That's the best way to describe this movie and if that at all appeals to you then you should sodding go for it because this movie will not disappoint you. It's lary, it's rude, it's a bit violent and it's BLOODY GOOD FUN. If you like that sort of thing. Which I do.
Next one: Wild Target.
(It really did take me about four days to write this sodding entry, it was supposed to be up on the 8th. Damn this kitchen!!)
Thursday 8 July 2010
Friday 2 July 2010
The Swelter
It is hot in southampton. Frickin' hot. I've had a bunch of manual labour to do over the last few days as well, which hasn't helped matters. Ever since my dad arrived on tuesday we've been tearing apart my old kitchen, putting down new tiles and I think we're now on the assembling new cabinets stage (I'm not really sure, he's sat out there scratching his head and looking at diagrams while I've snuck off to make a blog post).
So I've learned a bit about tiling and pipework, but I'm not a handyman, that's quite clearly obvious. I've never been one for all the practical skills, which is annoying, since I'm actually a landlord. Still, delicate creative types like myself have to stick to what we're good at. And what I'm good at is being a snooty anti-snob who thinks he's a far better writer than he actually is. Oh yeah. I know my place, baby.
The Summer Expanse stretches ever onwards, but I've started work on my final script now and I might even be able to continue the way I've been going without relying on finding work, which'll be a relief, since I can't seem to find work as it is. We'll see. Anyway, the contracts are signed with Mr. Anthony Burtenshaw (he so old that even Death thinks he'd better back off), so he shall be living with me next year. I shall look for another tennent when the time is right, or when the iron is hot.
I should do some ironing, on that point.
Wimbeldon (the word that normally summons rain) is drawing to a close I think and the only reason I give a crap is because my dad is watching it. In other sporting news, England are out of the World Cup. You know why?
THEY SUCK.
And that's probably the longest I've ever talked about sports. I promise now to talk about something interesting instead, such as video games, movies or experimental eyeball surgery. Or I'll just go with Bad Lieutenant.
BAD LIEUTENANT (2010)
A remake in the same sense that I'm a remake of my great-great-grandfather, this is a film that bears only thematic similarities to the Harvey Kietel film of 1992 of the same name. They might as well have called it something different, there was absolutely no reason to associate it with the '92 movie, but then I suppose there wasn't much reason not to, either.
While attempting to ascertain the nature or a particularly brutal murder case in post-Katrina New Orleans, a police lieutenant by the name of McDonagh sinks deeper and deeper into the seedy world of drugs, lies, blackmail, gambling, addiction, prostitution, murder, more drugs, gangland killing and some more drugs. It's a screwed up movie, that's for sure.
Second in a row of dirty cop movies as well, so I can't help but compare it to Brooklyn's Finest just a little. Saw this one the day after Finest. Finest was a lot saner. That's it.
Nicholas Cage is a man who is determined to play absolutely anything and everything, no matter your opinion of him, he refuses to be pigeon-holed or typecast as an actor. He has 'The Sorcerer's Apprentice' coming out soon and that couldn't look more different from this film if it were from Mars. Of course, that film isn't going to be directed by Werner Herzog.
Officially, Herzog is as mad as box of frogs who have been slurping at the good stuff. If the box was made of jelly. And the frogs were made of pop-rocks.
So this isn't a film that I would say is particularly *good* per se, nor is it bad in any way, but it's a film that will make you watch it and make you go "what the *hell* am I watching?!" It's a film that demands you succumb just a little to the insane logic that seems to run through it, while at the same time keeping things dark and mysterious in a conventional sense. The ending is almost gauranteed to throw the audiance, not because of a twist, but because there really isn't one! Several members of the audiance at my screening of it actually asked me if I understood what the hell was going on. The answer?
Of course not!
You're not meant to!
Next time: 4.3.2.1
So I've learned a bit about tiling and pipework, but I'm not a handyman, that's quite clearly obvious. I've never been one for all the practical skills, which is annoying, since I'm actually a landlord. Still, delicate creative types like myself have to stick to what we're good at. And what I'm good at is being a snooty anti-snob who thinks he's a far better writer than he actually is. Oh yeah. I know my place, baby.
The Summer Expanse stretches ever onwards, but I've started work on my final script now and I might even be able to continue the way I've been going without relying on finding work, which'll be a relief, since I can't seem to find work as it is. We'll see. Anyway, the contracts are signed with Mr. Anthony Burtenshaw (he so old that even Death thinks he'd better back off), so he shall be living with me next year. I shall look for another tennent when the time is right, or when the iron is hot.
I should do some ironing, on that point.
Wimbeldon (the word that normally summons rain) is drawing to a close I think and the only reason I give a crap is because my dad is watching it. In other sporting news, England are out of the World Cup. You know why?
THEY SUCK.
And that's probably the longest I've ever talked about sports. I promise now to talk about something interesting instead, such as video games, movies or experimental eyeball surgery. Or I'll just go with Bad Lieutenant.
BAD LIEUTENANT (2010)
A remake in the same sense that I'm a remake of my great-great-grandfather, this is a film that bears only thematic similarities to the Harvey Kietel film of 1992 of the same name. They might as well have called it something different, there was absolutely no reason to associate it with the '92 movie, but then I suppose there wasn't much reason not to, either.
While attempting to ascertain the nature or a particularly brutal murder case in post-Katrina New Orleans, a police lieutenant by the name of McDonagh sinks deeper and deeper into the seedy world of drugs, lies, blackmail, gambling, addiction, prostitution, murder, more drugs, gangland killing and some more drugs. It's a screwed up movie, that's for sure.
Second in a row of dirty cop movies as well, so I can't help but compare it to Brooklyn's Finest just a little. Saw this one the day after Finest. Finest was a lot saner. That's it.
Nicholas Cage is a man who is determined to play absolutely anything and everything, no matter your opinion of him, he refuses to be pigeon-holed or typecast as an actor. He has 'The Sorcerer's Apprentice' coming out soon and that couldn't look more different from this film if it were from Mars. Of course, that film isn't going to be directed by Werner Herzog.
Officially, Herzog is as mad as box of frogs who have been slurping at the good stuff. If the box was made of jelly. And the frogs were made of pop-rocks.
So this isn't a film that I would say is particularly *good* per se, nor is it bad in any way, but it's a film that will make you watch it and make you go "what the *hell* am I watching?!" It's a film that demands you succumb just a little to the insane logic that seems to run through it, while at the same time keeping things dark and mysterious in a conventional sense. The ending is almost gauranteed to throw the audiance, not because of a twist, but because there really isn't one! Several members of the audiance at my screening of it actually asked me if I understood what the hell was going on. The answer?
Of course not!
You're not meant to!
Next time: 4.3.2.1
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