when The Avengers was released? I was there for the 10am showing on the
first day of release and I was alone. But I didn’t care. Some things are too exciting
to be shared with anyone else, anyone apart from a roomful of likeminded
strangers whose verve and passion equals your own….and who also don’t have to
work that day.
treated myself to. Cold and sludgy. Sick to the stomach. In a mud-like
depression. Heavy and slow. I was left feeling film-noirish. Pretty uninspired.
Pretty dry monologue running in my head. I thought The Avengers would complete me.
The ultimate high in all my favourite strands of make believe colliding together.
Instead it left me pondering why I hadn’t laughed as hard, or been as convinced
by the formation of these characters as everyone else.
and how pantomime the whole film felt. Fountains seem like the kind of place
Joseph Gordon–Levitt would sit and think in 2012. But probably not about
Loki. About girls and moving into
production and how he could be better, better then Franco, better then Tatum.
After all, Tatum was getting credible. He had a production credit to his name.
He had a biopic made about himself.
Sometimes I would circle and think about Loki and JGL but I mostly thought the last
5 minutes of The Dark Knight Rises, assembly like brain running it over and over, imagining
Nolan arguing with executives at Warner, “No, you must give us our happy ending,”
or maybe his children, “no you must give us
our happy ending.” Was it Alfred’s imagination? I hope so. Bale looked so unhappy
to be alive in the last shot. He was ready to have been exploded into a zillion
billion CGI pieces, for he was as likeable and warm and knowing as Leo DiCaprio
in Inception (and so my problem with Nolan’s leading men continues.)
wearing earplugs in the cinema. My ears would supplement a high ringing tone
whenever there was silence. A weighted silence in a café between Levitt and
Willis in Looper soon turned into a panic attack of high frequency in my ears,
my brain telling me “this sound might be around forever.” (Echoes forever and
ever and ever, and follows you around a library whispering it.) I was told to stop;
I was probably making it worse and was becoming freaked by silence in films.
That weighted moment of contemplation between protagonist and love interest. Like
the one that should have appeared between Tatum and Cody “blank face” Horn in
Magic Mike, when he explains he is more then a jiggling member. Tatum lines are
as follows “but…wait…you thought…I don’t believe this… I mean….come on… but…did
you…I mean… wait… (all the while Cody gives him blank face).” Fun film. WORST
celluloid declaration of feelings of 2012.
Tatum had chosen to stumble over his words in disbelief for ten minutes.
safe fluff, lovely and warm and picked from the belly button of a particularly
gentle bear, however the collective consciousness singing in PP grated a little.
I hate being asked to believe in characters that know what harmonies to sing
without prior discussion or arrangement. Show me a film about group accapella’s
where they spent three hours working out their corresponding parts. Actually
don’t. That sounds awful. But Damsels In Distress was a better film then anyone
led me to believe and the Gerwig will reign in 2013. My friend and I were moved
by her objectives in life, start a dance craze and everything else will just
sort of balance out.
Bristol. I had a laminate. I felt like a fraud. But with a laminate. I FEEL
LIKE THAT A LOT IN LIFE. There was short after short of dancing cranes and
dancing genitals; shorts that were subtle and quiet, shorts that hinted at
potential, and shorts that bombarded the audience with explanations. There were
well-dressed men in plaid shirts, sitting on their own, blogging probably. I
thought about approaching them, but I never did, because no one ever does that
in real life. Unless they happen to be a rickshaw driver, because if Take ThisWaltz taught me to believe anything, it’s that they get all the girls. But the
plaid men were probably writers, or filmmakers or actors or animators or
baristas or DJ’s or had written a thesis with words invented after I graduated
or before I was born.
from The Avengers disappointment, was Tom Hardy’s weeping throat in Lawless. How
I gasped when I thought he had been killed, and then the relief as he lay in a
hospital, pale of face with a bandage over his slightly bloody neck. I would
have cried “artifice!” had it not been based on a real story. His character was
a real man you see, and he was famous for living despite the odds. Like the
protagonist in The Raid, which was a better dance film then Black Swan had ever
been, the balletic movement as he moved around the hallways of an apartment
building, elbowing crotches and breaking limbs with precision and prose. Anna Karenina had a rhythm to it too, the best Wright films do, and you could feel
it’s beat, pulsating as the scenes changed around the actors, ebbing and
flowing into each other. And Knightley played a thankless character very well.
ropes of sugar cables bought in the foyer for over inflated prices you cannot
help but ask rhetorical questions about, “how much?” I cried at the ending of ShadowDancer, the last ten minutes of The Perks of Being a Wallflower, the twist of The Imposter being revealed to me before I had even seen the film, and every part
in The Muppets where it was heartfelt.
planes are for drinking, eating mushy carbs and feeling more sentimental and
contemplative then you have ever been in your life. Ever. And I had a lot of
long haul flights. Australia, Singapore, the US, Edinburgh. But it’s the
perfect excuse to sit quietly and catch up on films, because there is nothing
else you should be doing. (Should is
such a hateful word, the moment you say it is the moment your therapist points
out your needs are not being met, as thought everyone does everything out of
I watched ten minutes of The Savages until golden Blake Lively said,
“I had orgasms and he had wargasms.” Boo. How could Taylor Kitsch be in so many
goddamn awful films! I MEAN HE WAS GAMBIT FOR FUCKS SAKE. But back to flights.
A couple of white wines, and a conversation with the man next to me about his
dad’s leg being bitten off by a shark and I watched Hysteria. I felt Richard
Curtis warmth, but better. Like when you were 14, and Curtis warmth was
allowed. You know you HEART the bit in Love, Actually where the boy shows how
terrible security measures are at airports are by getting to a gate without
having a passport or ticket. If you’re short and speedy you can get away with
or from anything. As The Hobbit proved, (which I watched in 48FPS. Bit weird.)
mythical Attenborough documentary.”
9 am to 7 am, and I took half a sleeping pill during the day so I could nap, as
I don’t know how. I spent all evening eating sugar and drinking sugar free red
bull, balancing out my sugar ying and yang. Watching horror films, old and new,
zombies fighting sharks and sharks getting trapped in supermarkets after
tsunamis. So much shark in my 2012!
are freed from their cages. Oh to have written that scene! An ode to the horror
we know all too well, some more fourth walls broken, and lets add another post
to post modern. Also it was the superior
Whedon film. Lawrence, (J Law) in The Hunger Games. Making a shitty unknowable
character in a book believable and human. The end of Twilight! Finally! Now they can
stop pretending they give a shit about their audience watching a well put
together film. The cuteness of Liberal Arts, how I thought I would hate it, but
how I enjoyed the Radnor and his love of books and mid life crisis and David
Foster Wallace sly references. I wish I could separate him from Ted Mosby
though. He was like, “Less douchey Mosby.” Bardem’s messed up face in Bond. I
don’t know why I enjoyed that. Mark Duplass, and his awesomeness in Safety Not Guaranteed, and the vaguely interesting Your Sister’s Sister. All of Killer Joe.
There is Star Trek. Is Cumberbatch Khan? Who knows? Who cares! He has dark hair
in it. He is always best when he has dark hair. Les Mis! Oh the wonder of a
film with LIVE singing in it, and from one of the greatest musicals ever
written, and of course Gatsby…. Which will probably suck.
And it all starts here….