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Dr. Strangelivejournal
May. 16th, 2008
07:06 am - Keyholes do not unlock jackets.
No matter how expensive one's jacket may be, the pocket lining material is invariably that shitty thin stuff, easily ripped. One item that I regularly toss into my pockets is keys, being heavy pieces of jagged metal, and it is keys that have over time worked a great big hole in my corduroy jacket's left pocket. Determined for my new and rather lovely woollen coat to sidestep a similar fate, I have been wrapping my keybunch in a plastic shopping bag when inside my pocket, for cushioning. This is admittedly a terribly uncouth solution, but it serves a very practical purpose, plus I always have a plastic bag handy if I need one (which I find I do quite a lot of the time).
Atonement is a great film, and quite affecting, as evidenced by the fact that I'm still thinking about it a few days later. It also features a terrific score that at times borders on the quasi-Musical in style, and has about the only filmic representation of Dunkirk that I've ever seen.
It is surprisingly difficult not to look at the ground when walking. But it is an oddly rewarding thing to do, to have one's eye-level horizontal, actually noticing the world for a change. Still, a glance downwards every now and then is useful if you want to avoid embarrassing stumblings on surfaces which have disagreements with the horizontalism.
May. 13th, 2008
08:02 am - Welly belly.
Just to be cheeky, Wellington decided to live up to its largely unfair reputation as a city of rubbish weather and high winds, when we visited this weekend. Still didn't dampen the mood of the trip. Went shopping (girls for wedding-ey things, while I busied myself in assorted bookshops along Lambton Quay (and, scandalously, buying nothing)), went to the odd cafe. Went to an improv comedy show which was in parts entertaining, in parts a bit mediocre, in parts utterly, utterly horrible, irredeemably bad. It was an instructive experience, and frankly made me feel a lot better about myself as an improviser.
Afterwards we trotted up the road to The Southern Cross, a very cool bar that I have vague recollections of going to once or twice in the murky past. Live music was provided by an awesomely bizarre polka/gypsy band, and we hung out in the expansive courtyard area out the back, suitably bustling with revellers but also suitably not-too-loud, so we could still converse happily. It was a bit chilly, and from the bar we got a blanket and a hottie (for the ladies).
The next day was Andrea's birthday, and we went out to lunch with friends, followed by a wander through Te Papa to check out the whales exhibition, which was pretty cool. You know, for a modern-architecture waterfront monolith, our national museum is actually quite a pretty building, in its own severe, eye-watering way. Then a bit more hanging around, then off to gatecrash a 48hours team's meeting (to which I gave some advice, so I wasn't entirely useless).
At the end of the weekend, as always happens, I began remembering all those other people I know who live in Wellington. Oh well, always next time.
May. 9th, 2008
06:00 pm - Letter to drinkey.
Drinks after work today; I wasn't planning to drink, but the non-alcoholic options were too expensive, so I had two wines instead.
We went to Letter To Blanchy, the McPhail and Gadsby show at the Court, last night. Bit underwhelmed with it to be honest. Lots of obvious, tired humour, although a couple of gems crept into the mix. But the mode of comedy in itself wasn't really a problem; it's a style, and it certainly resonated with the largely pension-collecting audience. My bigger complaint was against the manner in which the jokes were persisted with; lame jokes told briefly and in quick succession are quite amusing, but a lame joke told subtly (most of the audience got it), then told less subtly (everyone else got it), then repeated (some of the characters got it), then repeated again (the rest of the characters got it) began to wear quickly thin. Coupled with that were a bunch of scenarios so lucidly telegraphed that it was like watching a collision in slow motion. The plot was for most of its length merely a series of extended sketches riffing on the notion of what a bunch of blokes might get up to if quarantined together in a confined space, although it took on an extra rush of life later in the game when some of the characters began to really express themselves, notably Tom's character's refreshingly sincere, human outburst. So yeah, for all my complaining it was still an okay night's entertainment, with some enjoyable performances, including a surprise appearance by publican Barliman Butterbur of the Prancing Pony.
May. 8th, 2008
07:17 am - Winter strike.
Minus three degrees is much too cold. Walking through town to work at quarter to seven in the morning yesterday went beyond terms such as bracing and invigorating, lingering closer to debilitating and solidifying. Once at work, in a quite agreeable, thermally regulated environment, the thaw could begin, although by the end of the day my poor thighs were still mewling at me.
The distressed body parts were possibly in part blameable against my efforts at Laser Strike on Sunday, as part of Jeff's Iron Dad afternoon. It turns out that not-especially-fit persons who don't stretch and then run around manically for forty minutes should expect some degree of pain to follow them in subsequent days. But it was awfully fun. The equipment has changed since I was last there, with fancy new flashy suit thingies and new guns with extra buttons and settings. Almost too complex for me to be much bothered with, almost.
The day continued with manly drinks at the Dux, followed by the viewing of a manly (or at least boyly) film, Iron Man, featuring that loveable rogue Mister Downey Junior. Cool film, nice, good too.
May. 5th, 2008
07:04 am - Dollops of emergency packing polystyrene balls by the coward Sheriff of Nottingham.
Scriptless on Friday was an interesting affair. For one thing, I always knew that co-MCing would be a challenge (years of Bigger Than Beatling taught me that the double act, especially one that is largely made up on the spot, is not a proposition to be entered into blithely), but I underestimated the preparation required to make it work. Still, Emma and myself stumbled through the evening, attempting to combat lack of preparedness with dollops of emergency charm. In any event the players acquitted themselves admirably, being thrown squarely in the deep end by us and being challenged to perform a bunch of handles, some familiar, some of which were variations on known games and some which we'd just plain made up. Most of our experiments went some way towards working onstage, further strengthening my belief that Scriptless shows should be more adventurous about just Trying Shit Out. After all, everything else onstage is made up, why not the games too?
The evening (and the following morning) was framed by an implausible outburst from the heavens, dumping giant boxes of those tiny polystyrene packing balls onto Christchurch, one of those occasional not-quite-snowing events that we tend to get down here. A day spent inside doing approximately nothing on Saturday was, of course, the correct and best way to appreciate the inclemency.
I did make one concession to the outdoors, which was to venture out in order to see the final performance of the latest Court kids' show Robin Hood and Maid Marian, which I thoroughly enjoyed. Dan's sheriff was pantomime villain par excellence, and the script was delightfully silly and witty, and the whole thing intelligently directed. Probably the best of the kids' shows that I've seen in the past year and a half (of course I couldn't possibly comment about the ones I was in).
Later, we watched The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford on DVD, a beautiful and extremely deliberately paced film (read: very long, very slow, and not for all tastes), essentially in-depth character studies especially of its title characters, terrifically essayed by Brad Pitt and Casey Affleck. Mister Pitt remains a fine and upstanding example of covetable manhood. Affleck has his moments too. Alas, I like girls.
Apr. 30th, 2008
12:07 pm - Li'l Miss Superbrarian.
I discovered yesterday that the words library and literary, when presented in a standard seriffed font, look almost identical to each other. Which is serendipitous, since they are meaning-related but don't (I think) have any especial etymological connection. Such things amuse me.
We saw Eastern Promises, followed by Superbad, on Friday night, a jolly double-bill of quality and somewhat varied entertainment. I had heard good to excellent things about the former, but then I was really underwhelmed by Cronenberg's previously outing A History of Violence, so it was refreshingly better. And Viggo is terrific in it, not his usual weird acting self. Then Superbad, a sweet wee film that understands very well precisely what genre it is operating in, and intelligently plays with this without ever losing sight of its inherent lowbrowedness. It seems that boys like this movie more than girls.
And do come to Scriptless this week to witness the firepower of dual MCing from myself and li'l miss Cusdin. Will be lots of fun.
Apr. 28th, 2008
01:56 pm - Chicabilee.
Riccarton High School had their 50th Jubilee at the weekend, and I and a few other ex-students and/or current staff put together a wee performance which sought to summarise the school's history in a trim fifteen minutes. And despite a profound lack of direction and focus in our last-minute rehearsals, it went off extremely well. The event was a dinner at the big Wigram hangar, quite a venue, I'd never been to Wigram before. Several hundred diners, mostly 40+, so I hardly recognized anyone, there weren't even many teachers there which was a shame (especially since we were parodying a number of them). But I did eventually stumble across a couple of my old school friends. Plus a few more old school friends whom I didn't quite remember, but who certainly remembered me. That was weird, and the ensuing conversation was made even more difficult by the noise of the live band drowning out any possibility of actually understanding what they're talking about, and after a couple of "What was that?"s you just pretend you heard and smile and nod.
I got to use the word portmanteau appropriately in a sentence the other day, which was very satisfying.
We saw Showbiz's Chicago last week: quite a mixed bag. Some numbers were excellent, some were dull and uninspired (eg: the puppet song vs. "All That Jazz"). Most of the performances were at least good, some excellent. It's an odd show. I generally love the music, and the theatrical conceits of its presentation, although the ending is a bit weird, at once both too quick and too drawn out. But maybe that was direction. There were a few other weirdly staged moments, notably the death of the Hungarian girl. Plus it didn't help that we were sitting down in the stalls off to the extreme side. Frankly I always feel they have a nerve selling seats with such limited view for $60, especially when the gods are only a third the price. But then, people keep happily paying for them, so why give up on a good thing?
Apr. 15th, 2008
08:41 am - Little old lady, twelve stories high, made of radiation.
A little old lady came to the door a few weekends ago, clutching copies of the Awake! and Watchtower magazines in hand. Now, sometimes I have bemoaned the lack of evangelists door-knocking at our doorstep, as I often wish I had more opportunities to invite these young and innocent happy-clappies inside for a nice cup of tea and a wee chitchat about the flaws in their religious worldview. But my plan fell down when presented with the kindly old face standing on my welcome mat. It's quite easy to conceive of debating the big issues of life after death, judgement and the end of the world when your opponent is young enough for it all to be merely abstract concepts, but when the prospect of mortality is a very tangible proposition, I just can't bring myself to challenge these comforting and closely held notions. Little old ladies must be the new secret weapon of evangelism for the Jehovah's Witnesses. Genius.
If fashion is cyclic, and if people keep up with fashion for long enough, won't they eventually regard all fashions as cool? But they don't. Which suggests that people tend to forget that they ever thought that some trend was cool in the first place. Which suggests that people are goldfish, both in terms of their memories and in their tendency to move in circles.
I saw Children of Men last night, what a beautiful, wonderful film. Beautifully filmed, with crisp, cold cinematography and astonishingly lengthy tracking shots; that Cuarón chappie has rather a distinctive visual flair. I can imagine a few things about it that might annoy a lot of people, but I often find myself liking films that annoy people.
And finally, some true facts about George Washington.
Apr. 7th, 2008
08:36 pm - Booktease.
I read The Invention of Hugo Cabret recently; what a delightful book. Part words, part pictures, and not difficult to see why it will shortly be developed into a film. Also read Axis, the sequel to Robert Charles Wilson's excellent sci-fi novel Spin, and I was rather underwhelmed. After the richness of ideas of the first book, this one feels like just more of the same, not unlike the way I felt about the Matrix sequels. Which is a pity, because there is so much potential in the world(s) that the writer has created. Quite a tease actually, the story often hinting at things just over the story horizon that sounded far more interesting than the story we're actually following. Some very nice touches, and a first interesting revelations, just not enough of them.
Apr. 6th, 2008
12:24 am - Amdram sickday clip 2.0.
This youtube clip is certainly very educational regarding the way the Chinese view the status of Tibet. The clip is rather overblown in places (but to no greater extent than most American media clips), but still it serves as a solid reminder that you should never pronounce your stance on a topic without properly delving into the full history of the subject matter. None of which is to say that China hasn't done some bad things in Tibet, or to excuse these actions, but, well, there's always another side of the story to consider.
As a consequence of seeing Dudley Benson in concert last weekend (and buying his new CD) I went online to read up about him. And I could find no Wikipedia article on him, so in true Web 2.0 spirit I took the liberty of creating one. And although it's a pretty insubstantial stub of an article so far, I get a muted kind of satisfaction from contributing to the available online knowledge base.
Last week I was a bit poorly, and even took my first sick day with my current employer. The thing that always fascinates me about flu-ey types of sickness is the phases that it goes through, and how these often seem to correlate loosely to days, so that each new day has a unique sickness "theme": sore throat, runny nose, dry cough, snotty nose, phlegmy cough. It tends to work out well because you spend most of the day enjoying not having the previous day's condition anymore, and only towards the end does the current one begin to wear thin on your tolerance.
Saw the Elmwood Players play Fred tonight. A curious play. Extremely long too, though it's difficult to judge how much is in the script and how much in a too-leisurelily measured pace. Strange ending too, muddled and unfocused, failing to deliver on implied promises made by the play in its earlier sections, and the same question of responsibility applies to that also. The show featured a very typically am-dram cast, meaning that it had both the rough, the mediocre and the very good all tidily bundled together under one rolecall. I spent some portion of the play examining the Elmwood Auditorium space itself, more closely than I really ever have before (partly with a mind to imagining it in the context of the forthcoming Macbeth production), and golly it really is a truly weird performance space, and extremely difficult to make work effectively.
I played Scared Scriptless last night, for the first in ages, since last November I think. It was a really fun night, with a terrific bunch of players alongside me, and although perhaps not technically a tour de force of improvisation, much silly fun was had by all.
Mar. 31st, 2008
04:32 pm - French blog = safe cybersex?
Our weekend getaway to Akaroa was delightful and more than a little unexpected. Not quite the quiet excursion we had planned, but that was alright. First of all, Le Race, the annual cycle race from Christchurch to Akaroa, took place on Saturday, cluttering the road, the streets and the Akaroa Green with the two-wheel person-power machines and their riders and entourages. But we negotiated the hoards and successfully found our stay, a quaint little faux-French Cottage, furnished appropriately rustically, but not too far beyond the comforts of the modern world (although the lack of a simple toaster turned out to be rather consterning for a bit).
Then when we wandered back through town, we saw in every shop window posters advertising a Dudley Benson concert that evening, so we bought some tickets and headed along after dinner (and after observing and photographing a rather dramatically beautiful sunset across the water) to St Peter's Anglican Church to the show. Dudley's got family connections in Akaroa, so there were plenty of family and friends present in the wee wooden space. The concert itself was astonishing, featuring Dudley singing and occasionally on piano, plus an 8-person choir and a string quartet and, most surprisingly of all, guest-featuring none other than Richard Nunns himself, a bit of a living legend and authority with regard to traditional Maori instruments.
What's more, a whole cast of familiar faces populated the audience, including a couple of people I hadn't seen for several years and two who I thought were overseas (I can only presume that when people say they are going overseas, what they really mean is that they're going to hide in Akaroa).
Amusingly enough, the concert took place during that Earth Hour lights out carry-on, with stage lights shining on the performers and, more contrarily, the Akaroa lighthouse turned on especially for the evening. I'm a bit suspicious of token events such as Earth Hour anyway, since I reckon they give people a false impression that they're actually effecting change by token gestures such as just switching a few lights off for an hour, and if you make people feel too good about themselves it ultimately encourages further complacency.
Anyway, we did get some time to ourselves during the weekend, enjoying the quaintness and creaky floors of our Frenchie house. On Sunday we paid a visit to the famous 'Giant's House', well worth a visit if you're ever over that way, an astonishing labour of love that can make even those allergic to Maggie Barry think twice about their phobia of gardens. And we returned to the city not quite refreshed but revitalised in other ways. Many people who live in Akaroa don't speak French. However, there is a slightly higher than usual number of French tourists, who assist the illusion of foreignness.
Mar. 28th, 2008
07:08 am - Music rant #1.
There has never been a question of Elvis versus The Beatles. Unless you are talking about record sales or merchandising or number of fans, the debate is a non-starter. Because, musically, they are apples and oranges. And because, well, musically The Beatles are far superior. Take any musician or band since the 1960s, and ask them to name their top ten influences. Pretty much every one will name The Beatles. Maybe one-in-five might name Elvis, if he's lucky. I mean, he was a great entertainer, and when he started out a massively influential innovator in pop music, but by the sixties he was just treading water creatively. It's like comparing some early cinematic auteur, a master of silent film, with say Hitchcock. When sound and then colour came Direktor Elvis took it bad, and ended up as a hired hand helming dodgy B-grade horror movies. Hmm, the analogy is stretching... if Hitchcock had split as the Beatles did, he would have become unrecognisable, and none of his pants would have fit.
Mar. 27th, 2008
07:05 am - The necessity of new toys.
At long last, my not inconsiderable music collection has been complemented with, and complimented by having, a new and decent stereo system. Furthermore, by setting it up all connected to the DVD player and the telly, I've assembled an improvised home theatre system of sorts, it's all very grown-up. The system's a Philips MCD-708, and it was awfully cheap for what it is, and it sounds very nice (but then, anything would after my previous setups), and most importantly it looks very pretty, all black and grey/silver, with glowey blue bits. Next up I have my sights on a new car stereo, one that plays more than twenty percent of aforementioned music collection.
Another purchase made over the long weekend, and one which was slightly more exciting to Andrea, was a lovely new bookshelf, also got at a very reasonable price, on which much (but not quite all) of our DVD collection now lives. It is as equally pretty as the stereo, though in rather different ways, and it rather serendipitously matches almost exactly with the design and wood colour/finish of another piece of furniture in the lounge. Still, the rosewood speakers of the stereo bring the number of different colours and styles of wood in the room to about ten or so.
These purchases were necessities, you understand.
We are saving money, honestly.
Mar. 26th, 2008
06:57 am - Increasingly accurate iterations of abroad simulator.
Increasingly, I find myself watching movies set in exotic locations and really imagining being there in a very tangible way. Largely due to the fact that I have in fact been there. I was watching Breaking and Entering last week, and its portrayal of the King's Cross area of London (pretty much where we used to live) was so vividly real, so immediate. Similarly with Jumper, the scenes in Rome were like some missing home movie from my travel collection. I used to watch these sorts of things and think 'Wow, that's so exotic, imagine actually being there'. And even the places that I am yet to go, even these I find I have a greater capacity for imagining (I believe) fairly accurately what the actual experience of being in these places would be like.
Not that I had to imagine what Akaroa would be like, but I will get a chance to freshen up my memories of the place by going there this weekend (haven't been for many years).
Mar. 22nd, 2008
06:40 pm - An unexpected lack of doingness.
Does anyone know any professional photographers who work in Christchurch? Currently shopping around for someone to do the wedding, and are looking to avoid a) poor quality, b) ridiculously prohibitive cost, and c) both a) and b) combined (which is surprisingly common, if some of the websites are any demonstration). The wedding industry and its army of bloodsucking denizens is such a minefield to navigate, it's so mechanized, so vanilla, and yet, with certain aspects it's difficult to find viable alternatives to the institution.
Saw Juno last night (finally!), and it turns out that it is quite the equal of its impressive hype, a lovely lovely film that sidesteps pretty much every possible cliche that tends to leech off the situations and characters essayed in its story, it leaves you feeling all fuzzy. Being an indie film, it features the obligatory but still joyfully eclectic indie soundtrack (we were singing "I'm a vampire, I am a vampire!" over and over again as we strolled back to the car afterwards). And the next day, being this morning, I was inspired enough to write a wee 'indie' song of my own, which turned out very well. Hadn't written much of anything really for quite some time, so the creative burst was refreshing. It also means that I feel like I'm not entirely squandering a four-day weekend. Not that I would have been anyway, although I have been quite busy lately, so that a usual level of commitment and doingness feels positively slothful to me.
Also saw Jumper the other night, not quite a classic by any stretch, had its moments, not quite as bad as some people have made out, although it gets extremely muddled at the end. And it also got me thinking about the perils of knowing too much about storytelling architecture. Specifically, in the past week or so I feel like I've seen or read three or four separate examples of the old "place character who is equivalent to main character in horrible (and usually life-ending) situation, to underline to the audience/reader what the potential consequences are, precisely what danger our hero is in" trick. Which is of course a reliable stake-raiser in good storytelling. Except, is it still good storytelling if I'm seeing through the story to the scaffolding? Is the story at fault, or just cynical ol' me? Personally, I blame all this improv training: it gives you the skills to create the magic, but I wonder if sometimes it takes away the skills to blindly enjoy the magic. But no, that statement is false, and I am quite capable of switching off my analytical brain as an audience member. But sometimes the best storytelling isn't perfect storytelling, it's just... unexpected storytelling.
Mar. 11th, 2008
09:22 am - Zen and the art of accidental comedy.
Interesting evening of comedy last night at the Dux; a slow burn, low-key event, with a self-doubting MC who somehow miraculously managed to turn endshow disaster into an strangely uplifting denouement, by overstaying his welcome so much that an accidental comedy styling emerged. My own material was a bit last-minute in the preparation (nothing new there), and I fell back on my safety net of deadpan delivery, despite intending to try a new approach (concerns of being samey alongside certain other comedians were probably fairly well-founded, but it's really quite hard to be an effective high-energy comedian). Danny was quite good, proving that people with accents are inherently funnier. Jeff was very good, especially in his first five minutes, proving yet again that his best moments are the moments of immediate, improvised inspiration. And Justin gave what may be the most consistently engagingly set I've seen from him, proving that a single, well-told story can provide a solid backbone for an entire set.
More comedy tonight for me at Fat Eddie's, busy week. Not sure how much of last night's set I'm gonna recycle at this stage - I'm always loathe to repeat myself, but really, it's a good chance to practice the same set twice with an audience. As long as it's not entirely repeated material, I won't feel too bad.
And. It looks like next month's comedy at the Dux will be one you won't want to miss, with potentially a couple of Extra Special Guest Acts. Book your, er, tickets now.
Feb. 25th, 2008
11:12 am - An entirely average weekend (feat. 4-Corna Eyez).
Sometimes I rather narcisstically imagine that someone has decided to randomly sample one random day in my life and on that day to follow me around, be a fly on the wall, and that random day just so happens to be that day. The particular day would be wholly unrepresentative, of course, but would make you look like quite an interesting person. Friday for instance. I was on the phones all day, doing my dayjob, then at half five (5.45 actually, due to the inevitable difficult call at 5.20) rushed off to do my emergency fill-in performance in a show that started at 6pm. Then, once that finished, straight off to the Arts Centre to do a Ghost Walk. Both performances turned out really well, so I ended the day in a really good mood. And big ups to my lovely fiancee, who was my chauffeur for the day.
On Saturday I headed out to the Halswell version of prefab suburbia to where Andrew's parents' place is, to experience the carnage of a 24-hour movie marathon. Except that I only hung around for nineteen and a half hours. Lots of really good and a bit of really bad stuff all mashed together. Tone ranged from the delightfully fun Brave Little Toaster (which, as Andrew pointed out, contains surprisingly large doses of Toy Story foreshadowing) to the incredibly tense and difficult-to-watch French thriller/horror A L'Interieur (which absolutely no one who is considering having children should see). At the rubbish end of the quality and watchability spectrum Mystics of Bali took the cake, followed by Please Don't Eat My Mother followed by Equinox. At the good end were Sukiyaki Western Django (the old west, but populated by Japanese, with an occasional appearance by Quentin Tarantino), Across The Universe (crazy and largely awesome musical built around the Beatles' music - possibly best bit: "I Want You (She's So Heavy)" recontextualized as a montage concerning the Vietnam draft), A L'Interieur (if only for being so goddamn knuckle-whitening), and a late entry into the excellent film stakes, King of Kong (brilliant documentary about the micro-culture of Donkey Kong uber-players, and of the self-aggrandizing that often happens in niche, really rather trivial communities, featuring one of the most perfectly realised villains I've ever seen in a documentary, with (seemingly) very little editorial work required on the part of the filmmakers - some egos are just that big).
It constantly surprises me how much a good night's sleep can seem to erase all the hours of not-sleep from the previous night. Simple arithmetic doesn't apply to tiredness, it seems - Mister Morpheus has much more complex algorithms at play.
Feb. 21st, 2008
09:58 pm - Them eerie wafer sieve once uh.
I performed a smallish-medium-sized part in The Merry Wives of Windsor this evening, a part I had begun learning on Sunday. The show went well, and my scenes went largely without incident, although there were a few faffed lines thrown in for good measure. This was primarily due to the fact that I hadn't rehearsed with one actor in particular who, as it turned out, said quite a lot that cued my lines.
The process has also further illuminated my understanding of how I, and possibly everyone, learns lines and roles. Most of all, it turns out that simply 'learning lines' isn't much use to anyone, unless all you do is declaim soliloquys. The process of learning a performance involves developing connections in your brain between the lines and the physicality and the spacial environment. Often certain words or phrases are learned kinesthetically, linked with the application of some motor skill or other.
But at the end of it all, if you still haven't learned what you are supposed to do, then the trick is to simply do it wrong but act like you are doing it right. I guarantee you no one will notice.
Feb. 17th, 2008
09:19 pm - Not just movies.
I finally saw Eagle Vs Shark the other day, and happily all the hype was justified. I believe that one of the signs of a maturing society is that it can laugh at itself, and finally some genuinely kiwi and genuinely funny NZ comedies are being made (compare with Australia, which has been comfortable laughing at itself onscreen for years now). And oddly, Jemaine Clement's character Jarrod was surprisingly familiar - eccentric, heightened comedy and emotional truth, who could ask for anything more?
My moviegoing day yesterday comprised two very different pieces of cinema. The first was There Will Be Blood, which was sublime. The second was 27 Dresses, not an entirely intolerable experience, quite enjoyable indeed in parts, but sublime is certainly not a describer to use.
The most amusing part of the latter film was in fact the trailers which screened before it. There were three of them. The first was a romantic comedy about an accidental marriage, set in New York. The second was a romantic comedy about trying to decide who to marry, set in New York. The third was a romantic comedy about a guy realising he's in love with his friend, and wants to marry her, but she's marrying someone else, set in New York. So the question is, what percentage of Hollywood romantic comedies are not set in New York?
Almost all my recent entries seem to be concerned with what movies I've been watching. Which isn't to suggest that that is all I've been doing; it's just an easy thing to write about I suppose. Other points of potential interest in my recent life: I'm still employed by a major New Zealand telecommunications company, and still quite enjoying it; wedding plans continue steadily, with a workable guestlist proving problematic; and I am filling in for someone else in a show on Thursday night, a part that I have to learn in four days, good fun.
Feb. 16th, 2008
09:43 am - There will be TLAs.
Can someone please explain to me what the "ETA" bit added to some livejournal entries stands for? I can only assume that it doesn't mean 'estimated time of arrival'. Which begs the question (that phrase applied in its modern usage): why would an already existing TLA be re-chosen for a different meaning, when there are clearly plenty of unused one still in the TLA stockpile?
Okay, off to see There Will Be Blood now, this year's feel-good Valentine's date movie.
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