Gawd, Netflix, you've done it again! You've helped me to pass days and days and days with nothing to do and make me feel like I've accomplished something by watching so much television and film.
Recently consumed:
Portlandia, Season One (2011)-- totally freaking excellent. Can't wait for more.
Mallrats (1995)-- generally funny and obnoxious, but bores near the end
The Girls' and Boys' Guide to Getting Down (2011)-- starts off pretty funny but gets old just as quickly. If I want to spend an hour and a half watching abominable young adults snort cocaine and try to score, I'd be a part of the Greek system.
Inglourious Basterds (2009)-- totally freaking excellent. I enjoyed reading people's reviews and comments on rottentomatoes afterwards; it's fun to observe people debate the morality within a Tarantino movie.
up next: Talk to her (2002), Brazil (1985)
In other news, I've cleaned drawers, closets, bookshelves, written letters, napped myself into oblivion, baked earl grey shortbread, and attended enough holiday parties that my midsection is mildly distended (severe understatement) every evening. Fa-la-la-la-fat.
Finally! A thoroughly enjoyable movie-going experience! The Artist is a graceful tribute to the silent movie era, and playfully incorporates the storytelling paradigm of that time while remaining completely fresh and fun. Dujardin and Bejo are perfect for their roles, with expressions so minute and earnest, capable of eliciting any emotional response from the audience. They were also unbearably charismatic, and I particularly enjoyed Dujardin's character's obvious humanity and weakness. I highly recommend seeing it. It's playing at one of Seattle's most adorable movie theaters: the harvard exit.
Keira Knightley is a terrible actress. Nothing she does is natural, unless natural is synonymous with severe overacting. Everything she says is said in a forced yelp, and the Russian accent was by far the most embarrassing one I've ever heard. That's about all I have to say about this movie.
Sometimes we like to do things that we know will hurt us, but we do them anyway, because the experience is beautiful and necessary, sometimes even inescapable. Luckily, when I refer to this phenomenon in terms of watching certain movies or reading certain books, the repercussions and consequences are far, far minimized compared to when another human being is involved. Sometimes there's just something within us that we have to exorcize in any way possible. Recently I've been taking the relatively un-destructive route and watching movies and reading books that I know will undoubtedly break my heart. But part of me is pulled to these stories because they are real, and as they break my heart they make me feel whole and sane in a way that only relatable art can. There is simply no other way for me to explain the reason for my being so deeply drawn to that which will cause me pain, fleeting or lasting. I've always felt a need to experience the most soaring human emotions first hand, and this is probably why I'm not good at saying 'no' when I probably should. Plus, what sort of life is it, living in a grey muteness?
So I paired, rather unconsciously, Drake Doremus' 2011 film Like Crazy with Haruki Murakami's 1987 novel 'Norwegian Wood'. They were both wonderful and beautiful and heartbreaking. I enjoyed every minute of both works, particularly in combination with one another. In Like Crazy, Yelchin and Jones play Jacob and Anna, respectively, two seniors in college in LA. Anna, a journalism student, is from England, and as she falls in love with Jacob, a design student, she unwisely decides to overstay her visa, putting her future with Jacob in jeopardy, as she is subsequently banned from entering the United States. What ensues is a painful and impressionistic view of the following months, wrought with nostalgia and ache. Jacob and Anna can't reach one another on the phone, they turn to an 'open relationship' (riiiight), they break up, they get back together again, and then they try something most of us in a long-distance relationship, no matter how devoted, have not tried: they get married. Only now, six months stand between the two of them before the latter can join her partner in LA.
Understandably and realistically, shit gets complicated, and despite that living, pulsing love that Anna feels for Jacob and that he feels for her, the love over which they get back together despite months of not speaking over and over again, life ends up coming between the two. Like Crazy ends in the most ambiguous way, just like many of our relationships. You watch it and you say "Yeah, it was like that." And I find that to be a success on the filmmaker's part.
Murakami's novel was deeper, more disturbed, and more contemplative. Toru Watanabe looks back on his college years in Tokyo in the 1960s and relives his relationships with several young women who still have a hold on him so deep that he is brought to jolting nausea as the memories pour back in more than a decade later. Murakami's writing is exquisite, introspective, and everything I wanted it to be as I came to know 19-year-old Toru. Together we looked back on the time we learned that life and death are not so separate after all, the time we learned that not only are life and death not so black and white, but everything between the two; namely, love.
This had seemed to me the simple, logical truth. Life is here, death is over there. I am here, not over there. The night Kizuki died, however, I lost the ability to see death (and life) in such simple terms. Death was not the opposite of life. It was already here, within my being, it had always been here, and no struggle would permit me to forget that.
You have to be extraordinarily careful making a movie set in Paris these days. You must be acutely aware of cliches to avoid--visual, musical, and spoken. To my dismay, ten minutes into Hugo I knew I'd be disappointed. And I SO wanted to adore it!
But it was much too slow, childish, and sloppy. I was captivated only by the final 20 minutes or so, but even then, it was so unfresh and tired that I felt embarrassed sitting in that dark theater. Embarrassed for Scorcese, I guess. (Not often one gets to utter that phrase.)
But yes, I was sleepy and bored and embarrassed, for as the movie's plot revealed itself as one bursting homage to the history of cinema, Hugo continued to deflate and cheapen itself. The unbearable cliches included goddamn accordion music, the subway/train station musicians gag, the old lady with a teensy obnoxious dog gag, the orphan bit, the wide-eed young girl out for an adventure bit, and the stilted policeman in 'love' (portrayed completely unconvincingly by Sacha Baron Cohen) with the radiant, somehow single and SOMEHOW interested flower lady. And these cliches, folks, just about sum up the entire film. Oh dear. Well, there you have it. I found it to be a vast disappointment, distant and impersonal, the cliche of all Parisian cliches, lacking heart, quirk, and soul.
1. These socks. I bought then in Vermont over Thanksgiving break and have been crazy about them ever since. They're like funfetti, but cozy, and on your feet. As everything else at American Apparel, they were extremely overpriced, but what can I say, love at first sight, folks.
2. My cat. Forever drooling and rumbling by my side.
3. Finishing a book for pleasure.
Sad:
1. Those Beacon Plumbing ads they have plastered all over Seattle (and god forbid, elsewhere). It seems they've been around for ages, and are only becoming more ubiquitous. If you live in the Greater Seattle Area, you'll know what I'm talking about. These ads feature the Beacon Plumbing slogan "Stop Freakin', Call Beacon!" above a lady, who can only be described as faux-busty, fake-tanned, fried-haired, and incredibly sad. In fact, these ads depress me to such an extent that I refuse to even include their image in this post. The saddest thing about these ads is not even the use of sex to sell a product that is not remotely related to a busty woman. The saddest thing is that the ad is so poorly and cheaply put together that it is impossible to look at it and not consciously make that connection, and all the while your facial muscles involuntarily contort to create the most wrenching stink face imaginable.
I've been on a bit of a Tarantino kick recently, and it's been fun and perhaps even mildly cathartic. (Does 'mild' even work in a sentence with 'cathartic'?) Never having seen either volume of Kill Bill in its entirety, I decided it was about time. So I recruited a housemate and my fleece blanket behind which to hide and went for it.
It is a testament to the director that one can watch this film, at least 80% of which is comprised of violent fight scenes, and not become bored, desensitized, or overwhelmed. Okay, maybe I did get a bit overwhelmed at times but that's why I had Stefan's left arm and my blanket. In any case, Uma Thurman is so kickass, and, as all viewers before and after me, I was obsessed with the crazy teenage killer girl. The dead eyes!
The soundtrack is killer, as is the expected pastiche of genre. It was a rather unconvincing tale, but I didn't have a second to contemplate the irrationality of it all while I was watching it, which is yet another testament to Tarantino. Other favorite bits: Daryl Hannah's white trench coat embellished with trompe-l'oeil belts and buckles, every scene of Uma Thurman's utter bad-assity.
I was told by a professor that Wong Kar-Wai is the Korean Tarantino. Not sure I see that after watching my first of his films. "Chungking Express" (1994) is fresh and real, impressive, but not consistently engaging. Each half of the film is dedicated to a separate story; both detail the heartbreak two young cops experience after breaking up with a girlfriend. The most engaging and beautiful parts of this film were the scenes in which one of the cops speaks to the inanimate objects in his apartment. This film is beautiful because it shows, simply, instances of people and our yearning to connect with anyone or anything at all, and the lengths to which we go to do so. Certain scenes are unspeakably gorgeous, but I was irritated at times by the all too consciously moving camera. It's impressionistic and ephemeral, and thusly true to life.
Movies I plan to see in theaters over break:
-Hugo (Scorcese + 1930s Paris + animation...!@#$%^&*)
-Shame (sex and psychos. enough said.)
-perhaps $3 showings of The Guard and The Rum Diary (only to show my undying love of JD)
-A Dangerous Method (Cronenberg's new film. What's that you say? I get to poke fun at psychoanalysis AND Keira's pout in the same motion picture? Jackpot.)
College boys are just that--college boys. I'm over you, college boys. Also, father knows best, and according to my father, I should be dating men who are, at the youngest, in their late 20s. I promise to keep y'all updated.
So these past weeks have been fraught with stress of all sorts. My prescription: tea and movies! I recently watched a couple that are as absurd a pairing as could be, but I did quite enjoy them both and will thus give you a blurb.
Firstly, I watched "Tangled", a recent Disney flick that appropriates the grim story of Rapunzel. I'm usually not into the animated deal, and although I see the epic Pixar movies eventually, I'm never rushing to see them in theaters. Anyway, "Tangled" made its way to the recently added "instant view" flicks and I was in the mood for Disney. Ideally, I wanted to watch Cinderella, but they don't have any of the good ones on instant play. "Tangled" was super cute, as expected. The best character is Maximus, the horse, so that says something about the overall quality of the movie, but whatever. If you're babysitting, or cold and sad in bed, or just want to pass some time, you'll enjoy yourself.
Ok. Then I watched Tarantino's notorious "Pulp Fiction". Being the self-proclaimed movie enthusiast that I am, I felt pretty embarrassed that, as a 21-year-old in 2011, I had never seen the movie all the way through. Now I am shamed no more, and join the cult! It's a freaking fantastic flick, from the soundtrack to the vignette structure to the postmodern content. The violence is extreme and awesome and punctuated and stylized, and "Pulp Fiction" neither lacks anything nor exceeds in anything. It's just all-around wonderful. Samuel L. Jackson and Uma Thurman were definitely my favorite actors, the discussion of the 'royale with cheese' was my favorite dialogue, and the part where Butch kicks rapist ass is my favorite scene. Don't be an embarrassment like I was; watch it.
I almost decided against reviewing this film because watching it made me feel so ill that I had to lure myself out of my upset state with wine and Christmas carols, and I thought writing about it might make me feel horrid again. This may sound silly, but I am not joking. Some movies out there are truly, deeply upsetting, and this is one of them. (But the wine and singing helped and now I feel able to cope.)
Before I watch a movie I often check it out on IMDb or rottentomatoes.com to see how it's fared with the critics. I spotted a particular review of "The Piano Teacher" whose writer felt that to watch this movie was to "stare into a gaping wound". I can't say that I don't agree. There are some movies out there that are disturbing and perverse simply for the sake of being disturbing and perverse (you may have happened to read my review of "Incendies" which I totally called out for this very reason). I haven't quite yet decided whether "The Piano Teacher" is one of them, but I am definitely considering it.
This French/Austrian film stars Isabelle Huppert, who, in 2001, is well into her "femme d'une certaine age" phase (what you say in France when you don't want to say "old" or "middle-aged" when referring to a woman). It tells the story of a highly respected piano teacher (played by Huppert) who meets a young fellow and the relationship that develops. I approached this film as a dramatic romance, but was disappointed to find that the only real drama came from shocking the viewer with scenes of extensive sadomasochism.
To make a good film about sadomasochism can't be easy. The only other film I've seen that tackles the subject is "The Secretary" (2002), which I really enjoyed. "The Secretary" and "The Piano Teacher" have common elements: both focus on women who seek men to sate their urge to be dominated. Both women use self-harm and mutilation to cope with complicated, dysfunctional family relationships. For some reason, though, "The Secretary" worked for me, while "The Piano Teacher" didn't. Perhaps my thoughts on the subject will become distilled with more time. For now, my only explanation for my aversion to this film, apart from the glaring violence and abuse it unapologetically depicts, is the ambiguous fate of the heroine. With a plot line so severe, so in-your-face, the final scene felt too 'hands-off' for me, and I feel a bit cheated after being put through the emotional pain of watching what I did. The performances were excellent, however; Huppert was so raw and pained that I had to pause the film four or five times to allow myself to calm down before I could continue. It definitely does not shy away from anything, and does not approach the Euro-trashiness and pretension of "Ma Mere" (also starring Huppert), but apart from disturb me on a basic level, it didn't do a whole lot.
Tonight, in the midst of flustered term paper writing and thesis plotting, Jenny and I decided to bake some wonderful winter cookies. Our housemate Laura had recently received a large shipment of small kiss-shaped chocolates from her parents and wanted us to help her consume them, and Jen and I thought it'd be great to incorporate them into some cute baked good.
We settled on almond butter cookies, and worked off of this recipe: http://aspicyperspective.com/2011/03/almond-butter-chocolate-chunk-cookies.html, with several alterations:
- we halved the recipe because we didn't have enough almond butter, and to compensate for the yield we just made the cookies smaller and more adorable
- instead of chocolate in chopped form, we settled on a kiss on top of each bite-size cookie
- we reduced baking time to 9 minutes instead of 12 because a) the cookies were smaller, b) our oven has no mercy, and c) we like 'em gooey.
The batter was incredible, and the cookies followed suit. I usually don't like to mix my savory and sweet, but the salty kick in these pastries is really unique and pleasant.
A three-year-old child whom I babysit on occasion and play with for several hours weekly at my shift at the preschool said the darndest thing the other night. According to his mother, at their Thanksgiving dinner, she was attempting to explain to him the meaning of the holiday.
"I'm thankful for you and Poppa," she offered, "what are you thankful for?"
"Evelina," he answered. She said he proceeded to name some delicacies such as pizza. But my name came first.
Thanks to my body still apparently living in East Coast Time, I have been waking up one to two hours before my alarm clock every morning (although to be fair, my alarm is set for 9:10 am every morning. Will I ever be this free again?!) My favorite things to do upon waking up is to stretch in bed, make lots of noises, and feel the incredible warmth and comfort of my bed. Seriously, it is heaven on a box spring. Anyway, I usually make myself some tea, grab my computer and catch up on some of my favorite blogs.
This morning I came upon a blog with which I am completely in love. It is called Raptitude and, according to its author, is all about getting better at being human. Everyone should check it out. It is incredibly well-written, insightful, and down to earth. http://www.raptitude.com/ Enjoy!
December swiftly approaches, and Walla Walla promises to be cold until at least the end of February, but for some reason I feel as if I've paid my dues to cold weather already. I am now in the midst of accepting the fact that many weeks of possibly sub-zero temperature await me; weeks during which walking the five minutes to class will seem positively unbearable, and the only sane thing is to snuggle in bed.
I am a big snuggler. I love to snuggle, cuddle, spoon, hug, you name it, more than the average person. And as the winter envelops this town, my hunger for snuggling grows and grows. Sadly, snuggling, if it occurs these days, is short-lived and ultimately unfulfilling; housemates and friends are encumbered with term papers and exams, my cat is in Seattle, and the boy I long to snuggle with is far, far away.
SO. I bought myself a candle. That's right--I went candle shopping in Walla Walla today in hopes of finding a warm, calming scent to pervade my bedroom as I fight my way through the final, at times very lonely 16 days of my last fall semester of Whitman College. I settled on a soy candle from Studio Opal, a boutique in downtown Walla Walla that is vastly overpriced and seems to carry lots of Anthropologie rejects. Despite this glowing review, Studio Opal was the only place that carried what I was looking for (freaking Macy's had ONE candle. ONE. It was a disturbing Christmas blend.) Put on your wool socks, climb under your comforter, and light those candles, fellow lonely snugglers. We'll make it through!
hello! This morning I touched down in Seattle after a week in Vermont spent visiting a dear study abroad friend. The trip went swimmingly and, apart from a moment of severe turbulence on my first flight (Seattle to DC) during which I was minutes away from begging the two burly men on either side of me to hold me as we all plunged to our death, the travel was not that much of a pain. A little aside: airport security has gotten insanely high tech lately! Perhaps I am a bit late in noticing it but shoot, every time I feel like I am stepping into a sci-fi flick. Fun tidbit: I got selected for a "random screening" TWICE--once they rooted through my luggage (the attendant very courteously asked me: "May I?" before unpacking every bit of luggage. What if I had responded: "I'd really rather you not.") and the second time they swiped my palms with some magic terrorist-detector cloth that they ran through some secret machine before pronouncing me, seconds later, good to go.
I spent most of the week in Burlington, Vermont, a lovely town. Locals brag about it, saying it's a "slice of the Pacific Northwest" and they aren't wrong. My favorite part of my visit was probably the last full day. hannah had gone to work at the Gap on Black Friday (poor, poor soul) and I nestled myself in a nearby coffee shop called Muddy Waters. I ordered my London Fog and cozied up in a large leather armchair to read short stories by Nabokov. But people kept talking to me! And not even in a stop-talking-to-me-can't-you-see-I'm-trying-to-read sort of way, but in a really friendly chat-up-your-neighbor kind of way. I had two separate looong conversations with locals and they were just the greatest. The second one invited me to join him in a protest against WalMart (apparently I "looked like the right kind of person to ask"). I didn't end up going because it involved my traveling by car to which I had no access, but I enjoyed the invitation nonetheless. I like being included, what can I say! he then bid me adieu, well, actually he told me "good karma." Yeah, I like Burlington. I just about finished my book and spent the rest of the time doodling cringe-worthy doodles (that's right--so little talent that not even my doodles come out "right") phrases from the stories and am thinking I will start a new blog dedicated to these downright dowdy doodles (however, I am sufficiently embarrassed just thinking about the possibility so don't wet your pants about it just yet).
Anyway. I am very content and thankful for my time in Vermont with my good friends. It's always fun seeing a bit of the country outside of your own little bubble. The places I want to discover most are Portland, New Orleans, Quebec City, Montreal (not exactly in the country, I know), Nashville, Chicago, and everywhere in between. Speaking of in between, something this week of travel made me think of is the importance of all the "in-between" time. Particularly with travel, you have hours of waiting around for the next step, be it changing flights, buying a disgusting and disgustingly overpriced sandwich but you are already so hungry you don't give a crap, waiting for taxis, waiting for takeoff, waiting for your friend to get off work. Some of these periods of time may seem almost unbearable, but that's because we're only thinking about our lives as a series of appointments and are just so hopped up on moving on to the next big thing. You're probably missing a lot of opportunities for new connections, enjoyable eavesdropping, good writing material as you "kill time." Most of life happens in the in between moments so I'm working on giving them the time of day.
Oh, the little pleasures in life. I just love it when I'm scanning the 'flix and something I had wanted to watch months earlier suddenly pops up on my "New to Instant" list. That's how I ended up finally watching "Life in a Day," a unique little movie whose preview I first saw this summer while enjoying a screening for the Seattle International Film Festival.
The idea behind "Life in a Day" is that two directors told the world to send them footage of whatever they pleased--as long as it occurred within the 24-hour span of July 24, 2010. They ended up with upwards of 5,000 hours of footage from 190+ countries (dude, there are only 196 I'm pretty sure...) and after what I can only imagine to be one of the most grueling processes in film history, compiled selected bits and pieces into a loosely-directional piece.
At only 90 minutes, it is not a huge investment, and I would recommend it to most anyone. Some of the pieces are more like vignettes--my favorite was probably about a single Japanese father and his zombie-esque son, but that was mostly due to the fact that he used a fisheye lens which really highlighted the absurdly chaotic, small, and crowded 'apartment' in which the two live. The rest are little snippets. The film strives to cover the major things that arguably make us human, and make us One: What do you love most? What do you fear? What's in your pocket? Overall, the film fulfills its role of the arty, voyeuristic, optimistic little flick and my only major complaint is the last scene. I'm sorry, but it really had me going and then lost me completely on a non-compelling, non-novel final bit. And it does feel a bit like an elongated Kodak commercial. It did, however, remind me to continue to work on being present in everything I do; hell, if footage of an overweight dude in his undies brushing his teeth can make it to hollywood, it must be important.
Whether or not you check my blog consistently for updates does not matter. What is far more important is the fact that I have finally, after several months as you can tell, figured out how to re-login to my blogspot account. I am not the most clever when it comes to computers and internets, but I managed to figure out I had some weird "gtempaccount" from which I was supposed to be signing in instead of my regular Whitmail account.
ANYWAY.
It's late November! Go figgur. Time flies, darlings, and how I have missed reporting on movies I watch and things I bake! Because both you and I have been deprived, I will promptly recommence my reviews.
Went to see "Crazy Stupid Love" at the Big Picture in Seattle tonight. Firstly, this theater is fantastic. I remember my mom and I pulling up in front of it when I was about 15 years old, eager to see a movie featured in that summer's international film festival, and being told the theater was 21+. So that was a bummer, and I promptly forgot about it. But thank goodness for the rediscovery! It's a cocktail lounge with temper-pedic seats and bartenders will actually deliver drinks to you mid-way through the movie. It's swanky silly. Definitely feels like stepping into 1920s America.
Right, I was going to write about the movie. Ah, the rom com. We love em, we hate em. I mostly hate em. Or so I thought, but then I decided to take a peek at all-time favorite movies and realized that a couple fit the rom com genre (Amelie, The Princess Bride). Whereas I usually gravitate towards the dram com genre (A Room With A View, Match Point, harold and Maude, Moulin Rouge) I could not deny my penchant for laughs AND romance.
So despite refusing to see anything starring Sandra Bullock and/or hugh Grant (they've got to have been in a movie together by now) for years, I decided I kind of maybe wanted to see this new cute rom com. Also vastly important was the presence of Ryan Gosling, Julianne Moore, and Emma Stone, on all of whom I have vague celebrity crushes. (how grammatically maladroit!)
The acting was good, the wardrobe was incredible (seriously, more than anything this movie made me ache to shop for men's shoes) and the soundtrack cute (although Middle East's "Blood" seems to be getting overused recently). Don't be fooled by the title, there is nothing particularly "crazy" about the movie, so if you're looking for thrills, well, don't. Ryan Gosling's charm and body definitely made the movie, without which it would have been outweighed by the dull, formulaic scenes and structure which burdens it regardless. All in all, it's kind of a hit-AND-miss, so it just depends what you're jonesing for on this particular movie night.
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part 2 (2011)
I don't believe I need to post a trailer to this one as man, beast, and flora has been subject to its special effects.
Unnecessarily sarcastic comments aside, this movie was, by far, one of my favorite of the series. I actually saw it twice in theaters, and the first time I went with my poor brother who had no idea what he was in for. By that, I mean I wept through the entire Snape storyline and, after I had exhausted my own sweatshirt as a sponge, I moved on to my brother's tshirt. he was a very good sport.
Win Win (2011)
I stumbled upon this little movie while I was checking what was playing at the Crest, the $3 theater in north Seattle. It had quite a few little yellow stars by the title, so I decided to check it out. I should have avoided reading the glowing reviews before seeing it because I was a bit disappointed. To be fair, I was exhausted after a long day's work, but I found myself spacing out on more than one occasion.
Quoting myself in a phone conversation with a friend, Win Win is about "Paul Giamatti being fat and high school wrestling." Pretty accurate, that. Giamatti is a husband and father to a young daughter. his law practice is about to go to the dogs when he finds he can make a bit extra money per month by finagling his way into being a guardian for one of his dementia-riddled clients. Eventually Giamatti comes across the guardian's estranged grandson and through a series of events, becomes a father figure, coach, and mentor to this silly, bleached moptop. The movie tries to be quirky but comes off as a bit too cozy, and I'm not a huge fan of Giamatti, so I felt that I was forced to look at him a bit too often. The dialogue with the grandson got quite a few giggles out of me, but I think this independent film is being overhyped. I've seen much, much better.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bPJOmH9g8WM (embedding disabled, copy and paste)
The Tree of Life
Where to even begin with the The Tree of Life... This piece of art is a two+ hour meditative poem on the existence of faith and the meaning of life. It is exquisite, every frame is carefully crafted and could stand alone as a piece. The acting reaches unusual depths; there was not only a complete suspension of disbelief throughout the dream (?) sequences but immense emotional involvement.
The Tree of Life tells the story of a grown man, Jack (played by Sean Penn), who looks back on his life growing up in suburban Texas in the 1950s with his two brothers, father, and mother. he struggles to come to terms with the death of one of his brothers, his pubescent loss of innocence and period of rebellion, and most importantly, aches to reconcile the struggling forces of Nature and Grace, Father and Mother. The only frustrating part of this film was that the bits with grown-up Jack didn't seem to fit into the grand scheme of things. His scenes read as sad little add-ons and almost took away from the emotional depth of the flashback familial scenes.
This film works as a patchwork of scenes. It is totally anachronistic, has no plot, and includes a CGI sequence of considerable length that documents the creation of life, from the Big Bang to dinosaurs, and eventually back to our Southern suburbia. I would hesitate to recommend this movie widely, because, well, quite odd, and undeniably slow at times (though that never bothered me). Many people will be put off because they expect a linear story, or a story at all, and I respect that. But if you think you can handle the nonconventional nature of this film, I urge you to see it immediately. It is exquisitely beautiful, involving, and thought-provoking. The soundtrack is also unbelievable.
(If you've seen it, did the final beach scene remind anyone else of "Big Fish"?)
Bridesmaids (2011)
Silly, goofy, gross fun. Kristen Wiig doesn't turn off the funny. I'd say she is the funniest cast member of SNL. Sadly, this movie has been mismarketed as a typical chickflick (actually, it's really been undermarketed). It's fresh and although not surprising plot-wise, will cause you to belly laugh at least once. Probably during this scene:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ABmTxZl4NK4
Horrible Bosses (2011)
Mehh, pretty funny. I laughed the most at Charley Day, and that's probably because I was getting "kitten mitten" flashbacks from that episode of "It's Always Sunny." It's far from original but the cast is impressive and the naughty bits are entertaining, obviously.
