© Janelle Tipton 2008
More Marketing Brilliance
Onerepublic v. The Fray. Way to distinguish yourselves, fellas.
Take a Note, Ang Lee
Did you watch Grey’s Anatomy last night? A gay love story can be done sexily and normally, and not be a self-conscious “we want this to be like a heterosexual love story but we’re gonna make a big deal about it” thing. The kiss between the two military guys in the ep? Hot. Props to Benny Ciaramello and David Giuntoli—excellent work.
21 Days, My Ass
That’s how long they say it takes to establish a new habit. So why do I feel like after more than four months of daily posting it still sometimes seems like pulling teeth to come up with something even remotely interesting to post? I’m not coining the term “blogtigue”; it’s already floating around the blogosphere. But it’s an accurate description of my current state of mind. I’m daily wondering what the hell I signed up for.
Blog reticence is more like it, actually. It’s kind of defeating to know that sometimes I’m posting just to post and not because I actually have something to say. Putting serious thought into a subject and then taking the time to articulate it well is not easy. And I’m feeling that burden heavily lately, despite several recent rather long blogs to the name.
Stick with me, readers. I appreciate your time.
Music Movie Mix
Everybody can admit it’s weird when a movie doesn’t have a soundtrack to speak of. And of course people have songs that they associate extremely closely with particular periods in their lives. Because don’t we all think our lives would be much cooler with soundtracks? I’ll share this much: One summer, for example, I became quite depressed. I had trouble eating and getting out of bed and the only place that made me feel better was my mom’s bed after she went to work. (The doctor said I probably had hypoglycemia. Doctors are very helpful.) A cross-country road trip to Chicago just before school started snapped me out of it. But I can’t hear “Too Close” by Next without getting the sense of dread I associate with that period.
But how often does a movie become inextricably/inexplicably linked with a song that doesn’t appear on its soundtrack? For me, it’s happened at least twice. The first one I can say is a bizarre one: Titanic and Eddie Money’s “Take Me Home Tonight.” Yes, you read me right. “Take Me Home Tonight” was my current wake-up song on my CD alarm and I also listened to it on a loop before sleeping. While I was seeing Titanic five times in the theatre. So my dreams were filled with the song’s intro (it’s intense, you must admit) with Leo DiCaprio running down water-filling hallways.
So the new one is Coldplay’s “Violet Hill” and Blood Diamond. Okay, wait a tic, that’s two DiCaprio flicks; what gives? Anyway, I just discovered the Coldplay song Monday, the night I finally got around to watching Diamond. And so once again I was listening to it on a loop, because that’s what I do. And it’s become linked with the emotions evoked by the film. Fortunately I still like the song, even though a movie like Diamond only serves to upset the relative equilibrium of my existence. See, I said this when I discussed The Kingdom: I don’t understand people who just have rocket launchers handy in their homes. When I see a film that even remotely truthfully depicts a situation in a part of the world that is not my safe little United States pocket, my faith in my ability to understand the human creature and life at large feels as though it is enduring an 8.6 earthquake.
Regarding Diamond specifically, I will say that I liked the film, although when we first meet DiCaprio’s and Jennifer Connelly’s characters, it seems their line readings are a bit wooden, their chemistry not immediately established or apparent. I also wish Djimon Hounsou’s Solomon Vandy felt like a little bit less of a flat character, and there was a bit too much of the “noble savage” he so often winds up playing. But the three leads ultimately give touching portrayals, with DiCaprio playing well his signature tough vulnerable guy, Connelly serviceably translating the pathos of a woman who dares to tread where most don’t have the balls to go, and Hounsou fully engaging in his Oscar-nom-earning scene. But this is intense stuff, hard to watch and even harder to admit it actually happens. Kids being drugged and handed machine guns, truckloads of rebels driving into a village and cutting down anything that moves. It’s sickening.
Finally, Reviews, and a Curious Conundrum
I admit I’ve been lax on the focus of this blog.
Click here for my latest official review: The Fall
Directed by Tarsem Singh. Stars Lee Pace.
Saw Made of Honor and Baby Mama last week. Here’s my quick rundown.
I pretty much heartily agree with Sarah’s review of MOH, with a few additional comments.
By now we expect nothing new from the romcom genre. Made of Honor is no exception, though it stars the dreamy—yes, I said it—Patrick Dempsey. What is it about him that’s so fantastic? Anyway, he’s relying on his usual tricks—laughing in a sort of disapproving “you know I love you but I’m not going to fall for that” kind of way, giving that fully involved eye-smile—to play coffee-collar inventor Tom. He plays pompous in a good-at-heart way we can’t resist. Michelle Monaghan is the love interest, art restorer/curator Hannah, and she plays it capably. Kevin McKidd is Colin, the interrupter to Hannah and Tom’s best-friend existence. He’s robust and good-looking and royalty and Scottish and a bagpiper and a hunter. I wasn’t sold on McKidd, having only seen him in previews and not realizing that he was Tommy in Trainspotting, one of my favorite movies of the ’90s. (That’s how I perfected my Scottish accent, though I admit it’s a bit rusty now—1996 and ‘97 were watershed years for me in terms of films that shaped my critical perception: Fargo, Primal Fear, The Rock, Swingers, Romeo + Juliet, Jerry Maguire, Liar Liar, Volcano as an example of how much a waste of time a film can be, The Full Monty, L.A. Confidential, guilty pleasure Rocket Man, Good Will Hunting, and yes, the movie that got me in the theatre five times, Titanic [hey I was 17 and the cinematography was great]. Have I gone off topic enough yet? But am I wrong on any counts?) Yet McKidd is charming here. The lead roles are well-performed, the secondary roles not so much, with the exception of Sidney Pollack and Kathleen Quinlan as the widowed dad and mom of Tom and Hannah, respectively.
What I wasn’t crazy about were the cheap jokes. About half the comedy was honest and genuine; the rest of the time the writers were picking the low fruit. When you work in a very well defined genre, maybe those are expected. But they’ll never elevate the piece. I also was disappointed that once Tom made up his mind that he wanted Hannah, he never expressed any doubt: Everything became “Oh how come I didn’t see it before?” Which is perhaps noble in life but conflictless on celluloid. C’est la vie, the film didn’t feel like an entire waste of time, so I’ll complain no further. That’s generally my gauge for how good a movie is. It’s what made me determine that Because I Said So was nearly insufferable but that Hitman really wasn’t any less than what I expected.
So Baby Mama: not spectacular by any means but better than MOH. Tina Fey and Amy Poehler are quite raucous, particularly Poehler as Angie, the surrogate hired by Tina’s Kate, and they have an excellent rapport. It’s nice to see a pregnancy movie that doesn’t rely on completely unnecessary grossout humor; intelligence in the writing here. Steve Martin is chuckle-worthy as a New Age CEO and Siobhan Fallon Hogan hilariously commits to a Peter Cook–worthy speech impediment in the role of a “buhthing” coach. Romany Malco lends solid comedic support as doorman to Kate’s building, and it’s hard not to like Dax Shepard in the role of Angie’s white-trash boyfriend. I can’t not mention Sigourney Weaver’s capable work in a somewhat undefined role as the owner of the surrogacy agency—small gestures bring the character off.
I can say good things about nearly everyone in this film except I have to admit I was a little disappointed by Greg Kinnear as Kate’s love interest/kinda business nemesis. With his natural Dempsey–like charisma, he usually stands out in any film. Here he’s overshadowed, his adorability inexplicably missing. Maybe it’s just a lack of chemistry between him and Fey. I just hope he gets his mojo back in whatever we see him in next.
But this post brings up an interesting point that’s come up in conversation with my fellow media buddies lately: A person’s appeal is often readily apparent. But what is it about certain actors that requires film to translate that j’ne sais quois? Pace and McKidd from this post make that list, but Jim Sturgess is another one. Flat pictures can’t get across what makes these actors people you want to watch—people you could see yourself kind of falling in love with. Obviously the likes of Cillian Murphy, Johnny Depp, Cate Blanchett, Kate Winslet, Zooey Deschanel, Dempsey, James McAvoy (I’m trying really hard not to mention someone here) grab you pretty much no matter how they’re captured. But I found myself actually scanning through pictures of Pace on the Internet today to try to figure out if I really liked him or not. Because as you can read in my review, I thought he was great in The Fall (and there’s something very McAvoy-esque about him in it). And I like him on Pushing Daisies, although there’s something that puts me off a bit too. I can’t pin it down. And Sturgess is just gorgeous in Across the Universe.
What about it? Are these guys hotties or notties? Because they are pretty effing entrancing on film. Sarah made an argument for Ryan Gosling, and I can buy that. Anybody else belong on this list?
Sorry, did I say this was going to be quick?
Anticipation: Coldplay
You probably already know this, but in case you don’t, Coldplay’s newest single, “Violet Hill,” is available for download free on the Coldplay site. It’s from the upcoming album Viva La Vida, due out Stateside June 17.
I highly recommend it. Not that I need just the song, as I’m fairly sure I’ll be picking up the disc pretty quickly. It’s got a bit of a plodding beat, but there’s just something about the synergy of Coldplay’s sound, especially here: delicate piano and vocals, falsetto, raw and buzzing but precise guitar, an ethereal ambient sound, and solid percussion work. It’s just great music to have on. There’s a Beatles/Oasis quality to this one (indeed to many of the band’s songs); it’s very familiar. Oddly, there’s a little bit of Fleetwood Mac in there too. Can’t quite put my finger on it entirely. But I’ve got it on repeat till I figure it out. I’m a phase person, a creature of some habit.
Update: Apparently the download window was just one week long, and I posted this right at the end of it. Sorry. But you can still listen to the song on the band’s site.
Quandary: Time
It’s a human construct for measurement.
Some people tell you you’ve got nothing but time, all the time in the world is yours to do with what you please.
Today I had a lovely, relaxing day: went to a movie with friends, drove up the coast a bit, did basically whatever I felt like.
So why did I suddenly feel frantic midway through the day? Like I wasn’t going to have enough time to do what I wanted. Not just today but in my life? I waste hours and hours doing nothing. And yet I feel like I have no control over my time. Granted, I have some obligations that require a particular amount of time and energy. But the rest is mine. Yet I feel so short on resources. Like I need money, or better clothes, or a list, before I can use my time wisely or productively. It’s such bullshit. I get bogged down thinking about it instead of doing something about it.
But the passage of time is something I’d rather not think about. It’s like sticking my fingers in my ears and singing “La la la, I can’t hear you” even though I can hear you perfectly well. It means I’m getting older. It means no more summer vacation. It means no more playing freeze tag or neighborhood until it gets dark. I guess what it really is is feeling like you have to take more responsibility for time. When you’re a kid growing up, you don’t think, Oh I need to get this done or that done. You just do whatever you feel like. Yeah you have to do homework, or chores, but your life doesn’t begin to revolve around them. Guess I need to get out of old-fogey mode. What happened to me?
Agua…
I haven’t really had any water to drink for two days now. I keep looking for other people or things to blame this on, but it’s just my own laziness. So I got punished today with a crazy headache/grogginess/nap/disorientation thing. I’m feeling better now. And I’m drinking water. But what took me so long? Both days I acknowledged how thirsty I was, but I never put forth the effort to quench it. What gives? If I don’t watch it I’ll end up with early-onset Alzheimer’s cause by prolonged underhydration. Gar.
I Don’t Need a Shrink, I Have a Dentist
My new dentist told me today he could tell I was “busy at night” (meaning I’m an active sleeper—I think) and that I was a thinker and a worrier and creative. All because I have strong jaw muscles, which means I clench. But the structure and enamel of my teeth are in excellent shape—I even still have prominent mamelons, those ridges at the ends of the front teeth (although the word comes from the French and refers to something quite different)—which means I don’t grind, back, back, forth and forth. Or side to side.
AmalgaMay
What a weird day. Just a range of things, all over the place.
1. I might be on the verge of giving up my f-ban. I did say it twice today. The first time was in the car by myself. The girl in front of me didn’t know how to drive. I just didn’t catch myself in time. But on my usual snack safari at 3, I of course ran into a bunch of kids again. They’re so retarded! And I just decided—well, I already knew—it’s not the word; it’s the kids. They’re just so stupid. One stood out in the middle of one of the lanes of a high traffic road, for no apparent reason except just to do it. They sprayed each other with a garden hose that had been left running. Another kept yelling at the top of his lungs—that screechy, adolescent warble—to one 50 or so feet in front of him.
Plus my stats took I dive after I proposed that whole thing. Not that I have tons of readers.
2. We did deep hip openers in yoga today. I was feeling pretty shaky at the time, but when we finished the class my hips felt so loose and wonderful. I wonder if I’ll pay for it tomorrow.
3. Beautiful flowers I saw today—didn’t have my camera with, though. I’ll round ‘em up tomorrow.
4. I was feeling pretty good until I started reading a lot in the midafternoon. And I was hungry all damn day.
5. The D.C. Madam hung herself. I’m not what you’d call a liberal, but really, I don’t understand why prostitution is illegal here, as long as it isn’t forced. It is, as they say, “the oldest profession.” And obviously there’s still a demand for it. Was it worth the loss of life? I don’t think so. If this woman was indeed running a prostitution ring, then she was filling a niche in society. And we’re supposed to be living in a “free” country. It’s not as if legalizing prostitution is going to cause the country to fall apart. There are plenty of things doing that as we speak—the lack of discipline and education when it comes to our kids, for example (see No. 1). But Janelle, you say, you could use the same argument to justify legalizing drugs. Yes, you could, I say. But it doesn’t work quite the same way, although pot is probably no worse than alcohol. (Know that I’m saying this having never done a drug in my life, and drinking alcohol only rarely.) Vice is an interesting thing. More thought on that to come.
6. I think my tennis shoes need more exercise. Every day, in fact. So that’s my pledge for May. Exercise my tennies every day. Add that to the blogging, and do it anyway.
7. Standing in line at the pharmacy tonight, behind a very old couple and their aides, I realized I need to stay healthy. They bought two huge sacks full of meds. I can’t even imagine what they were all for. It reminds me of Marvin’s Room. The woman, I never saw her face, was in a wheelchair and her gray hair with thin and stringy and yellowed toward the ends. The guy, though walking, just seemed somewhat emaciated in the legs. I never want to be doddering, or feeble, or infirm. I want to live a long time; I just don’t want to have to live like that. How satisfying can it be to keep ourselves alive with such a complicated array, that you need two aides to keep it all straight? But very few people want to die. Except the D.C. Madam, who’d apparently rather that than jail (see No. 5).
Down the Rabbit Hole
© Janelle Tipton 2008
New Pretty
All written out from work today. No more words.
© Janelle Tipton 2008
P.S. Happy birthday, bro, even though you don’t read this!
Phrasal Misusage
Heard on a radio advertisement at 7:30 p.m.:
“Are you having trouble sleeping? If you’re listening to this right now, chances are you might be.”
Why would you ask me that question at 7:30 p.m., when most of Hollywood isn’t even off work yet?
Yet more curious: What are the chances that even people who aren’t listening right now might be having trouble sleeping? And what are the chances that people listening right now and not listening right might not be having trouble sleeping?
Excising the F-Word
If I venture out of the office in the midafternoon in search of a tasty treat, I inevitably cross paths with large groups of adolescents who are oblivious to all other living beings in their immediate areas—or hell, in general, probably. It requires some fancy footwork, and I don’t believe I’ve had a collision yet. I’ve never been able to dodge the f-bomb though. I’ll think I’m safe as I open the door to Starbucks and one’ll zing me.
The truth is I myself have been dropping this particular obscenity a bit too often lately. And I don’t like how it sounds on me, really—and I definitely don’t like how it sounds on these kids. It’s just dumb-sounding. And I hate anything that smacks of ignorance.
Therefore I’ve decided to remove the word from my vocabulary. I’ll leave it where it appears in my previous blog posts. I don’t think I’ve ever been recorded saying it, so that’s not a consideration. I’ll also continue to use the acronym WTF, because, as Ugly Betty’s Justin said, there’s really no other way to say it. And besides, it’s an appropriate category on this blog. However, this ban does extend to hand gestures prompted by traffic and other frustrating situations/people. But I do give myself permission to use the word when writing characters in fiction.
I challenge you to try it. Let’s make it a f@*#-free world!
