Crazy Stupid Love
So I saw Crazy Stupid Love with The Girl (look, I can do code names too!) (and, yes, all of you who are amazed–there is now a The Girl. She is made of awesome and laughter and I don’t deserve her–but don’t tell her that!). It’s a good movie, but calling it a romantic comedy may be a bit much. I laughed–quite a bit–but I also cringed. Because while they got a lot right, they also got a lot wrong.
The short-short version: nice guy’s wife gets bored, has affair, wants divorce. (I know, right? But come, if I can take it you can.) Nice guy move into shitbox apartment (The heavens are aligning here, aren’t they?) and tries to move on/survive/not kill self while wife discovers single life 1.) has consequences and 2.) involves shitty dating and 3.) oh look I still love my husband, I just don’t want his dick. (At this point, dear readers, Jason’s mind just shut down and he giggled a lot. A man can only take so much.)
Enter Ryan Gosling (obligatory shout to The Girl–yes, honey. I know you’re doing the it-can’t-be-real sigh when I say his name. It’s okay. I know all his moves). He is the obligatory player in the movie–the young, fit, rich, mumbling rake all single men (and especially freshly-emasculated divorced men) will trade a testicle-to-be-named later to become. After one too many evenings of listening to Steve Carrell’s nice guy (he put in an awesome performance, btw–so good I wanted to research and find out who the cunt who cuckolded him was, because he played it right) The Rake takes The Loser under his wing.
Begin obligatory “be better than the Gap” montage of sexy sexy clothes (OMG the clothes) and the shoes (seriously, I’m straight–ask The Girl) and the haircuts (meh) and the casual sex. Which begins with best-reason-to-get-older-ever Marisa Tomei. Ohmigod.
What follows is the obvious; the schlub wins back his wife, the whore wife realizes she’s a whore and doesn’t like it, and the rake meets the girl of his dreams. You’ve seen this movie.
The issue with the whole thing is tone; if we dissect it into three acts, Act I is “love is dead and stupid.” Act II is “love will give you the creeping death” and Act III is “Love is roses and ponies and little star-shaped candies on your pillow.” All of those are fine ideas, on their own. But they don’t mix well. There was something about the way the movie ended that didn’t sit right with me. I can’t put my finger on it, exactly, and that bothers me a little–I’m sure I”ll figure it out eventually.
But not today.
So, My Weekend…
… has been busy. Where to start.
Friday evening was filled firstly with an interlude at Kohls, where I wasted two hours before the movie trying on shirts and shoes and generally spending money I can’t afford on things I don’t need. Go me. I rawk. I also learned that, had I already lost the weight I wish to lose, I’d fit in size medium shirts of a certain brand in just that right way that shouts “Look, I have muscles but not really.” Buttjangles. I must return the diet and exercise, else suffer the ravages of old age and sag. (and yes, there’s Shakespeare going in the background–Jessica Lange’s about to lose her firstborn son, natch.)
In the end, a shirt and shoes and sundry undergarmets were purchased, and there was great rejoicing. Well, there was rejoicing, anyway. I did a little dance in the car. It was awesome. (it probably wasn’t, but shut up.)
After that came Super 8, which turned out to be pretty much exactly what I expected: Goonies + ET + 20 years of little-kids-know-best movies under terrific direction, beautiful cinematography and foul-mouthed 14-year-olds. I sat through the whole thing, emotionally enthralled by the bright lights and pretty explosions but intellectually disappointed at a told-again story. It’s a good movie–maybe a great movie–but there’s nothing new there. And the only real shocker I’d like to see now is JJ Abrams get a new monster-making company; they do good work, but they only have one look for “terrifying alien, from off-world, one each.”
And after that fine cinematic experience, there followed a quick ride through the shower-of-out-after-ten making and a trick to the Upstairs to get my drink on with the boys and girls from work–but the girl, of course, bailed. So sad. If only she weren’t dying (she claims). Jury’s still out…
Jason? At a bar? I know–what was I thinking, right? I was thinking I haven’t been out in ages, and I was curious to see what had become of the bar scene. Strangely, it was differently the same. The dresses are shorter, the bras lift-ier, and the attitudes dumber. So much more muscle present these days–twas quite interesting watching guys in torn jeans and shitty t-shirts hitting on girls in 90$ shoes and $200 underwear. There may have been dresses involved… I can’t remember. I have confirmed that the bar scene is not my scene. There’s nothing there but eye candy and condescension–they bring the eye candy and I the condescension. Still, it was fun… but I need a little shinier, a little quieter, and a little older-occupied bar to get my flirt on. Though I do regret I didn’t get shot down more–if only for the practice. I can confirm, for those watching from the cheap seats, that I remain popular amongst large women and gay men.
So sad.
And every day past Friday, from thence to now, has been filled with copyediting–which I’m sure is making me dumber. It’s for certain making me fatter, gods damn it cross the nine hells.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get back to making the words prettier. And listening to Titus Andronicus go stark raving vengeful mad…. hahahahaaha.
To Super 8 or Not Super 8
So here’s the deal: I think I’m going to see Super 8 tonight, because I need a break from copyediting and it’s getting fairly decent reviews.
The pros:
- It’s JJ Abrams.
- I’m one of those freaks who enjoys all the lens flares, because it adds to the spectacle and I like my cinema to be pretty. No, I don’t think it washes things out too much–I think it adds a level of realism or grittiness that 3D tries to add, but fails to because of the gimmick.
- It’s getting good reviews, it’s a monster movie, and at least one of the trailers is full of guns, monsters and explosions. I am male; therefore, I am drawn to that.
The cons:
- It’s produced by Spielberg. That’s not a bad thing, unless children are involved. Children and aliens? Together? I’m getting a really really bad “oh, look an updated ET where the adults don’t understand the aliens and only the innocent hope of children can save us” vibe.
- Bugger that shit for a lark.
- It’s starring kids. Which means it’s going to have a “ooh, dangerous but not really because it’d be an R-rated movie if they killed the kids, so I won’t really fear for them” feel. Also, I’m going to have to by the usual tropes of “oh, my parents don’t understand how cool/much smarter/more world-aware I am than they are.” There will be those wry “Look, Short-Round is a real person” moments that ruined Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom.
- I will watch it thinking “oh that’s from Goonies and that’s from ET and there’s the little kid from Schindler’s List all grown up with a testosterone problem” or something…
Obviously, there are more cons. And more profanity in the cons, but that’s just editing, not content. I expect this will be a solid, well-made, technically beautiful movie with probably better-than-average acting and those Profound Moments ™ of slow-motion and hero music. Which in many movies works for me…
But I have this nagging suspicion I’m not going to like Super 8.
Nuts.
I hate it when I have that suspicion. There are times when being a cinema-freak is a disadvantage.
Twilight (et al.)
Okay.
I have friends (several) who’ve read the books, and liked them. Adult friends. Some are writers, some are not. So when I saw the movie buzz I read the first book. Then I went and saw the movie. Now I’ve read the second book.
Oh. My. GOD.
I see the appeal. It’s ridiculously simple prose, heavy on teen-angst and teen-certainty. Seventeen-year-olds deciding things for, like, forever! Instant and true love. Love conquers all. Oh, and vampires. Who doesn’t like vampires? Especially Meyer’s generic, fangs-polished-off variety.
I don’t like these books. I’m going to read them all, because I’m obsessive about this kind of crap and despite knowing I’m going to regret it, I’m going to keep going. And I saw the movie. What a shitty movie it was. As an interpretation of the novel, it was very true, and looked at strictly in that light I’m sure it was a success. The movie is a given money-maker–at $30 million to make, it pretty much just had to have the films arrive intact at the theaters to recoup its expense. And given that the last couple Twilight novels have sold off the shelf in the numbers of millions of copies, there was a garaunteed audience. They’ve announced the sequel’s production on the second day of release. Since it’s already shown a 200% return on investment, before the weekend is out.
But as a movie alone? It’s horrid. And I’m not talking about the effects, which are mediocre. Whoopdy-shit. Fatabulous effects couldn’t save Star Wars prequels. What’s horrid is the acting and the script. Again–as a novel adaptation, it’s fantastic. But as a standalone movie, it’s HORRID. Love hurts, evidently, because the two stars seem to emote passion with physical pain. What could have saved this film was better acting and direction. The novel is purile, but it appeals to its audience–playing up the characters more, keeping more of the witty (if juvenile) banter may have helped, and not spending so much time trying to show off the few effects that $30 million does buy. Instead, it’s as though Hardwicke (the director) got her scripit marked with bullet points from the novel and decided hell-or-high-water to hit them.
And the finished product (a film, held against other films) suffered for it.
Oh. And it’s going to make a shit-ton of money. Did I mention the books sold millions of copies?
Beautiful Girls
So I just watched this movie Beautiful Girls. Oh my god, what a depressing movie. And it’s supposed to be a comedy!?
Leaving aside the intelligence of putting Rosie O’Donnell on the cover of the DVD (WTF?), and taking into account that I usually like Timothy Hutton, I still ended that movie with a “Jesus, I hope my life doesn’t suck that much…” tempo going. A review called that one of the important generational movies… Again with the WTF?
I mean, if the thematic meat shot of that film was supposed to be Matt Dillon’s bedridden “I’m so surprised my life didn’t end up the way I expected it to when I was a kid” speech, come on! I know a bunch of people whose lives “ended up” (if you can call 30something ‘ending up’) pretty much how they envisioned it, and they’re just as dysfunctional as the rest of us.
So the moral of the story is that despite the fact that life’s a bitch, and very, very few of us end up with our dream lives, it should take a long weekend of real life knocking on the door with those “Hello, this is a fun place called reality. We realize that you should have learned about it in school, but of course school is about dreams and aspirations, not making a living and finding contentment. So here’s a nice bitch-slap, to wake you up.”
Wow. Just, wow.
Quantum of Solace
So. I saw this movie.
Because of the wonderful timing of my schedule with Nora, I saw it Thursday evening (or rather Friday morning) at 12:01am. It was either that or wait until Monday, and since I had a serious geeking-out about Casino Royale, I didn’t want to wait.
By 2am Friday morning, I’d rather wished I had waited.
That’s not to say that it’s not an entertaining film–it is. And it continues the new style of Bond film begun by its predecessor, except that it does so rather poorly. Or, rather too quickly.
I am biased, of course. I made an evening of it–a friend and I ordered in pizza, watched Casino Royale on my flatscreen with surround sound, and then went to the premiere–but after having just seen its precursor, I felt a bit let down. Not because it wasn’t as original as the reinventing Casino Royale had been, but rather because it seemed more interested in breaking new ground cinematographicly than in story or character. I could go on, but instead I think I’ll just steal this quote from a review: “Yes, there are weaknesses – M’s office is overdesigned, a few scenes could have played better, the Goldfinger reference just seems lazy, the song is crap and the gunbarrel sequence is a big and unnecessary mistake – but it’s not the crushing disappointment some are claiming. It may not be a great Bond movie, but it most definitely is a Bond movie, and a damn good night out at the pictures. And one that left me seriously thinking that even if the series never recaptures the high of Casino Royale,we may just be entering a genuine second golden age of Bond movies.“
It is a good movie–but don’t expect it to be the wonderful experience that Casino Royale was.
Bolt
Nora and I have just returned from a sneak preview of the animated movie Bolt. It was funny. Not as good as some, with the weak spots you’d expect, but certainly worth the hour and a half devoted to it.
Take your kids. They’ll laugh.
Day Two
Day two of the Seekrit Projekt #2 complete… only 1,000 more words today (for a total of 5,800 words (or about 4.6%)) so not real stellar on the treadmill part. In pennance I did a staggering shitload of research (sixty or so pages of note-samples printed and lying about the place) which should make tomorrow an easy 5,000 or 7,000 word day. I’ve also streamlined a bit of process on this, which should keep them coming quickly.
Which is good, because tomorrow night is also movie night. I think in one night I’m going to get both Max Payne [imdb] and Sex Drive [imdb], because free time is scarce and I like the way these movies look.
In other news I managed to control my eating today (horrible portion control but should come out around 1,500 or so on calories) and got in an hour on the elliptical machine. Much sweat. Fewer pounds.
Weight lost since tracking began October 10 = 3-5lbs (it’s not a good scale)
![Trolltunga extreme [explored]](http://static.flickr.com/7082/7263574706_ae04cd869d_t.jpg "Trolltunga extreme [explored]")
