For several days,we have all been sans internet. Hence the lack of posting. No one's fault, just saying is all.
As of today, I love the trip but I hate hate hate France. I went on an afternoon trip to Nice. only to learn that the train folks had striked and I was stuck in the city, some 40 minutes away from where I should have been. I had to take a taxi back to Juan Les Pins-- costing me 65 Euros. Sucks hard core. I'm not so much home sick, but I can't wait to be home, to the life I have created for myself and Michael in Athens, if that makes sense. I am not home sick. I am simply heartsick. ANd that is all my own fault, I know. A word to anyone about to get married: this trip will be an awesome and amazing experience of self discovery, which comes at the price of being a bit out of place. And through that, you grow introspectively more than you may have believed possible.
A few days ago, a bunch of the trip kids and I headed down to the beach- wine bottle in hand- only to wake up the next morning with severe headaches. The class that followed was a hilarious. I really am learning so much about myself and the world at large by being here. It's truly a growing experience, and I do feel like I have completely grown into myself. If nothing else, this feeling of confidence has made the trip worth it.
I plan to go to Antibes again tomorrow for the arts festival, and spend the day in the city and go to the Pacasso Museum. On Saturday, a few friends and I are going to Monocco, then on to Nice on Sunday for a day trip and a few museum stops.
All in all, I'm really enjoying myself although I don;t love France so much. The people just, well, suck. :) I can't wait for the wedding week! I think after all of this, it'll be epic.
But as for now. My latest and last review. Number 6: "The Illusionist." As follows:
Review Six: “The Illusionist”
By Anna Ferguson
Director: Sylvain Chomey
Writers: Sylvain Chomet, Jaques Tati
Starring: N/A
Running Time: 80 minutes
Audiences have come to expect a certain caliber and excellence from French director and writer Sylvain Chomet. Following his acclaimed 2008 animated feature “Les triplettes de Belleville” (known stateside as “The Triplets of Bellville”) and “Paris, je t’aime (a.k.a. “Paris, I Love You,” released in 2006), Chomet has developed a name for himself in the world of foreign cinema.
Without ever saying a word, Chomet is able to create characters that speak measures to the implications and affirmations of the human spirit. In his latest film, “The Illusionist,” Chomet, coupled with co-writer Jacques Tati, do not disappoint, again honing in on the intricacies of familial connections, through a sparse script, layered score and loaded visual elements.
Telling the story of a mediocre magician and his somewhat adopted daughter, Chomet follows two lonely creatures as they search for magic, love and acceptance in a confusing and cold world. Though Chomet and Tati never give their characters a name, they are somehow able to give these two desolate souls a sense of ownership that commands attention, and deserves extreme recognition from the cine-phile world.
The male lead has never cared for anyone, save himself. So when a young housemaid follows him from her grungy home and into his city apartment in search of guidance, he hesitantly accepts her at his table for one.
Buying her occasional objects of clothing and gifts as much as he can afford, the nameless elderly man attempts to shower the girl in the limited love he can supply. The youthful child, on the other hand, has never been loved by anyone, and enthusiastically accepts any memento offered her way as if it were a prize worthy of gold.
Together, in an undefined time frame- it could be weeks, it could be years- the two struggle to care for each other while also striving to find their own place in the world. But, Chomet seemingly asks, how real can a love, of any form, ever really be?
In the same silent fashion that Chomet followed in “The Triplets of Belleville,” here again he has rendered a film brimming with both obliging and cruel emotions, as well as deeply developed characters, without the aid of dialogue. Relaying almost entirely on score, animated scenery and body language, Chomet captures audiences eyes, hearts and minds for the entire 80 minute running time, transporting them into the alternative reality of heartache, strife and self-fulfilling prophecies that so often accompany relationships.
Here, Chomet has echoed the strengths he displayed in 2003’s “Triplets,” wherein he says so much without saying anything. In “Triplets,” the lead character was able to convey to audiences his frustrations with the world by a mere glance, twitch of the body and adjoining musical note.
With the two lead characters in “The Illusionist,” Chomet again evenly and deliberately sketches individuals who, despite being both fiction and animated, pop from the screen with a sense of thoughtfulness that makes them seem real.
Take, for example, when the young girl stops in front of a French boutique, eyes a lovely white coat, then looks at her own tattered and torn attire. Behind her, the fatherly man is watching her every movement, and we as the audience know precisely what both character are thinking and planning in their heads. We know that in due time, he will earn enough to give his daughter-like roommate that fancy new coat, and she will not only jump for joy, she will extend a heartfelt signing of feelings that leaves no room for question as to her admiration for his gift. No actor could portray this story as well as the animated people Chomet has created.
Typically, audiences typecast animated films into a genre meant for children. But with “The Illusionist,” as well as his previous films, Chomet has proven that drawings, set to pitch-perfect instrumentals, are just as powerful, if not more so, than any live action film.
Granted, it takes patience and an open mind to fully enjoy this picture, which is obviously meant for a specific audience. The opera goers, the ballet goers, the symphony goers, of the viewing world are the ones who will be most attached to and touched by this testimony of friendship, generosity, and ultimately, loss of innocence.
I saw 43 feature-length films, as well as about two dozen shorts, while attending the 2010 Cannes Film Festival. Of all of those, perhaps a handful have stuck with me and made me ponder the intricacies of my life and place in the grander scheme of the universe. It is a pleasant surprise that I can admit, a percentage of these stellar films were lumped into the dramatic animation genre.
“The Illusionist,” as well as Cannes Film Festival Selection shorts “Chienne D’Histoire” (a.k.a. “Barking Island”) and “To Swallow A Toad,” conveyed messages in an aesthetically inspired, thought-provoking manner not readily available in today’s cinematic market. Most directors feel the need to talk to get their point across.
But by taking a creatively liberal stance, Chomet and his animated masterpiece counterparts have shown that sometimes, no words are the best words of all. Just because moments are not being narrated or spoken, it does not mean a voice is not being heard.
Rather, by entertaining and intriguing audiences with a sheerly genius score and luminous animation, Chomet and team have crafted a goldenly animated film ripe with energy, sadness and best of all, hope.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Monday, May 24, 2010
Laundry Mats Suck, Even in France
I hate going to the laundry mat. Like, more than I hate going to the ob/gyn and going to the dentist combined, is my hate for laundry mats. Even in France, the laundry mats are grundy and gross. Whatever. I'm out of clean undies, so it is an evil necessity.
Today was the first day of classes, and the festival wrapped yesterday. I got to walk the red carpet yesterday for the closing ceremony, and walked right near Kirsten Dunst. That was very cool and a moment I will never forget, though I am far from glamuorous and was obviously kinda out of place. Whatever. i was there.
So, two more review were due today. Below, are mine on "Swinging with the Finkels" and "Of Gods and Men."
Enjoy!
Review 4: “Swinging with the Finkels”
By Anna Ferguson
Director: Jonathon Newman
Starring: Mandy Moore, Martin Freeman
Romantic comedies often get a bad rap for being too sappy, too unrealistic, too predictable. And that’s not without reason. Over the years, the ratio of well made to disappointing rom-coms is not working in the genre’s favor.
Which is why, when an enjoyable, entertaining and thoughtful romantic comedy does comes to the big screen, it deserves to be noted with a gentle pat on the back.
Sometimes, romantic comedies come along that break away from the typical formula to present a creative take on films of love. Richard Curtis’ 2004’s “Love Actually” was one such film, as under his direction, it showcased the various degrees and way of expressing love. Director Nicholas Stoller’s more recent “Forgetting Sarah Marshall,” too, deserves the accolades and box office pay-off it received, for not only showing the warm and fuzzy side of a fresh relationship, but also depicting the often darkly humored underbelly of heartache.
Now, a new title can be jotted down on the “well-done” romantic comedy’s list: “Swinging with the Finkels,” a British comedy aiming to tackle the seemingly inevitable seven-year itch that plagues so many marriages.
Martin (Martin Freeman) and Sarah (Mandy Moore) Finkel have found themselves in a slightly slow lull in their union. They have been married for years, and are just bored with the routine of being man and wife. It’s not that they have fallen out of love, per se; they have just fallen out of like. Routine and a lack of communication have extinguished their spark, with bedtime being just that: a time to sleep with no hint of anything more.
The couple is not alone. It appears that their friends- or at least the one other couple introduced into the film- are also suffering from the curse of wandering eyes.
On the suggestion of her best gay buddy, Sarah decided to spice up her marriage by bringing in a some fresh faces. Maybe becoming swingers could help the two avoid the dreaded idea of adultery or divorce.
As you might expect, however, the majority of the film follows, if not somewhat loosely, the regular rom-com ideologies. Boy and girl fight, boy and girl separate, boy and girl get back together. I’m not giving anything away by telling you that. You all knew it was coming.
For however generic “Swinging with the Finkels” may be, it too offers aspects that are nonpareiled and wholly original, enough so to bring it above most other romantic comedy films.
You have to give it to director and writer Jonathon Newman (“Mustang Drift,” “Father’s Day”), for bringing a fresh idea to the relationship movie table. Here is a genre that usually plays it safe, offering audiences canned and formulaic plots, wrapping up the story with a safe, sweet storyline. Introducing swinging into the otherwise canned script kept the movie from feeling as generic as it otherwise would. While the swinging sensation comes and goes rather quickly, it nonetheless opens the door for the film to be a bit edgier than its rom-com cousins.
Take, for example, Moore’s little cucumber ordeal. While rehashing her troubles of sparklessness with a group of girlfriends, she is questioned on why she hasn’t taken matters into her own hands, literally. Offered a few solutions on ways to help herself out, Sarah becomes curious, and peruses the produce aisle looking for a proper stand in. What plays out is an interesting, hilarious and ballsy experience between Moore and a salad accoutrement. Needless to say, you will never look at a cucumber the same way again.
Whereas aspects of the script make viewers take note, the performances themselves are nothing special. Moore plays her usual, loveable self, that same character she has become known for playing, sans that twisted humor she tapped into in the under-rated “Saved.”
Freeman embodies that same goofy, sweet Brit chap he played in the aforementioned “Love Actually”, touting his cushy sweaters and undistinguished style. He doesn’t stretch his acting chops in this film, but then, he doesn’t really need to. He’s found his niche, and it works well for him.
The two formulaic and well-mannered characters together on screen make for the ideal rom-com couple, embodying the safe, sweet box set viewers would have anticipated. The trouble with “Finkels” is not that the players were simply average; the problem is their lack of believability. While playing a couple that has misplaced their chemistry, the two seem rather jolly, jovial and compatible, in that brother/sister kind of way.
No fits of passion, no fits of rage; no deep emotion is ever on display. And it seems that it has been that way all along, not some new development.
Their close friend couple, who is also experiencing martial strife, hold on to the same mundane sense of connection. Moore’s gal pal, Janet, played by Melissa George, never reaches far into her acting hat to present a great performance. She merely says her lines, makes her facial gestures, and moves on.
And though her counterpart cheating spouse Peter (Jonathan Silverman), is by no means a model husband or actor, he is able to bring up a laugh or two from viewers, with his less than stellar golf game and interesting choice of words.
For its first half, “Swinging with the Finkels” delivers an outside-the-box plot and script that sets the stage for high expectations. Yet it looses its energy, following flat by the finish like a runner who forgot to drink his Gatorade before the big race.
Ultimately, “Swinging with the Finkels" is worth a gander if only for its interesting take on how to fix a broken relationship. British relationship flicks, as compared to American ones, tend to take on and tackle edgier agendas, and this one was no different. For some viewing audiences, it may come as a welcome surprise into the rom-com market. Tossed with higher expectations, however, and it may lead to disappointment.
My advice? Walk into the theater expecting a mediocre romantic comedy, that way you’ll be left with a smile on your face and positive impression in your head come the ending credits.
Review 5: Of Gods and Men
By Anna Ferguson
Directed by: Xavier Beauvois
Starring: Lambert Wilson, Olivier Rabourdin, Philippe Laudenbach, Jacques Herlin, Michael Lonsdale
Running Time: 123 minutes
It’s a question of faith, really. What does it mean to have faith? Is faith a mere tool to avoid making decisions? Where does faith lead even the holiest of men?
These inquiries are a mere overview of the faith-filled questions director Xavier Beauvois asks in his latest historical character study, “Of Gods and Men.” Delving into the true story of seven Cistercian monks, forced to push their own faith to the breaking point, Beauvois provides viewers with a lens through which they must examine their own struggles with a higher calling by first witnessing the trials experienced by these men of God.
For as long as anyone could remember, the small Algerian monastery had watched over the town below, providing counsel, medical care and spiritual guidance for the impoverished peoples. In 1996, terrorists descended upon the sparse town, uprooting the daily securities and freedoms of the community’s residents. Government officials and local authorities urged the monks to seek out a new shelter, abandon their flock and take solace in a different monastery. Surely, the brotherhood was a prime target for the fundamentalist militia filtering into the region.
As news spread about worsening conditions and ever-more frequent slayings, the monks were forced to decide whether to save themselves and carry on God’s work elsewhere, or stay in their simple monastery home, full well knowing they were risking their lives.
Throughout the two-hour film, the daily rhythms of monastery life were brought to the forefront under Beauvois direction. Showing the brothers undergoing their daily rounds of chants, chopping wood, making honey and aiding villagers in the medical clinic, Beauvois is able to capture the often monotinous, simple livelihood that these men experience. It would have been easier for Beauvois to speed through the tedious chores of these men’s lives, but instead he carefully takes his time, depicting their routines with a gentle hand and sharply crafted eye.
Some viewers may wish Beauvois had edited more, taken less time in building his case for why the brothers should stay or go. But in lingering on the men’s community-minded agenda, Beauvois is able to reflect the pace of living as a monk- slow, steady, consistent- as well as display the individual personalities and communal entities that make up the monastery.
Portraying monastery leader Christian, actor Lambert Wilson has rendered a multi-dimensional sketch of a patient, persistent and loyal man longing to live his life for God. Taking on a role based upon a real person, Wilson had to deliver a par on performance to win over moviegoers and hold their attention during the film’s slower scenes. And deliver he does. Whether it is when he is providing sage advice for a fellow brother, or holding a steady hand to ward off the militia, Wilson comes across as a caring yet assertive soul who is versed in religion of all forms.
In one particularly chilling scene, Wilson spouts off quotes from both the Bible and the Koran to an armed, dangerous killer, who has come to the monastery looking to highjack its already limited medical supplies. Collected and calm, brother Christian takes control of the situation without anger or concern, displaying a man so full of faith, he needs not have fear.
Within the brotherhood, resident doctor Luc (Michael Lonsdale), too displays true acts of faith, but does so with the light, airy ways of a humored man. He refuses to abandon his flock of followers and leave them for the wolves, holding tightly to his sense of convictions without ever taking himself too seriously. While his character was not the center of the story, any scene with Lonsdale is one of delight, even in the wake of a serious situation.
Though the ending of the film is perhaps the climax, Beauvois never lets that panic be the focus of his piece. What could have been a suspenseful thriller is instead a heavy, thought-provoking work that folds religion and human nature into the great scheme of a true story. Acquiring a mass audience for a religious-based film, especially one that takes its time to build toward an unresolved ending, is a challenge in and of itself.
Yet director and co-writer Beauvois, along with co-writer Etienne Comar and cinematographer Caroline Champetier, have brought together a tragically beautiful story of fine performances, keen landscape shots and masterful storytelling to offer audiences one of the most touching, soul-stirring films to hit screens in a long time. There is certainly a reason why this project took home the Cannes Grande Prix award.
In other news, my mom ordered my wedding cake. It's beautiful! See here (it won't load, sorry): http://www.publix.com/food/catalog/ProductDetail.do?id=112
I can't believe we are already halfway through the trip, and in less than 3 weeks, I'll be a married woman. What a big few weeks, dude. Big few weeks, indeed.
Today was the first day of classes, and the festival wrapped yesterday. I got to walk the red carpet yesterday for the closing ceremony, and walked right near Kirsten Dunst. That was very cool and a moment I will never forget, though I am far from glamuorous and was obviously kinda out of place. Whatever. i was there.
So, two more review were due today. Below, are mine on "Swinging with the Finkels" and "Of Gods and Men."
Enjoy!
Review 4: “Swinging with the Finkels”
By Anna Ferguson
Director: Jonathon Newman
Starring: Mandy Moore, Martin Freeman
Romantic comedies often get a bad rap for being too sappy, too unrealistic, too predictable. And that’s not without reason. Over the years, the ratio of well made to disappointing rom-coms is not working in the genre’s favor.
Which is why, when an enjoyable, entertaining and thoughtful romantic comedy does comes to the big screen, it deserves to be noted with a gentle pat on the back.
Sometimes, romantic comedies come along that break away from the typical formula to present a creative take on films of love. Richard Curtis’ 2004’s “Love Actually” was one such film, as under his direction, it showcased the various degrees and way of expressing love. Director Nicholas Stoller’s more recent “Forgetting Sarah Marshall,” too, deserves the accolades and box office pay-off it received, for not only showing the warm and fuzzy side of a fresh relationship, but also depicting the often darkly humored underbelly of heartache.
Now, a new title can be jotted down on the “well-done” romantic comedy’s list: “Swinging with the Finkels,” a British comedy aiming to tackle the seemingly inevitable seven-year itch that plagues so many marriages.
Martin (Martin Freeman) and Sarah (Mandy Moore) Finkel have found themselves in a slightly slow lull in their union. They have been married for years, and are just bored with the routine of being man and wife. It’s not that they have fallen out of love, per se; they have just fallen out of like. Routine and a lack of communication have extinguished their spark, with bedtime being just that: a time to sleep with no hint of anything more.
The couple is not alone. It appears that their friends- or at least the one other couple introduced into the film- are also suffering from the curse of wandering eyes.
On the suggestion of her best gay buddy, Sarah decided to spice up her marriage by bringing in a some fresh faces. Maybe becoming swingers could help the two avoid the dreaded idea of adultery or divorce.
As you might expect, however, the majority of the film follows, if not somewhat loosely, the regular rom-com ideologies. Boy and girl fight, boy and girl separate, boy and girl get back together. I’m not giving anything away by telling you that. You all knew it was coming.
For however generic “Swinging with the Finkels” may be, it too offers aspects that are nonpareiled and wholly original, enough so to bring it above most other romantic comedy films.
You have to give it to director and writer Jonathon Newman (“Mustang Drift,” “Father’s Day”), for bringing a fresh idea to the relationship movie table. Here is a genre that usually plays it safe, offering audiences canned and formulaic plots, wrapping up the story with a safe, sweet storyline. Introducing swinging into the otherwise canned script kept the movie from feeling as generic as it otherwise would. While the swinging sensation comes and goes rather quickly, it nonetheless opens the door for the film to be a bit edgier than its rom-com cousins.
Take, for example, Moore’s little cucumber ordeal. While rehashing her troubles of sparklessness with a group of girlfriends, she is questioned on why she hasn’t taken matters into her own hands, literally. Offered a few solutions on ways to help herself out, Sarah becomes curious, and peruses the produce aisle looking for a proper stand in. What plays out is an interesting, hilarious and ballsy experience between Moore and a salad accoutrement. Needless to say, you will never look at a cucumber the same way again.
Whereas aspects of the script make viewers take note, the performances themselves are nothing special. Moore plays her usual, loveable self, that same character she has become known for playing, sans that twisted humor she tapped into in the under-rated “Saved.”
Freeman embodies that same goofy, sweet Brit chap he played in the aforementioned “Love Actually”, touting his cushy sweaters and undistinguished style. He doesn’t stretch his acting chops in this film, but then, he doesn’t really need to. He’s found his niche, and it works well for him.
The two formulaic and well-mannered characters together on screen make for the ideal rom-com couple, embodying the safe, sweet box set viewers would have anticipated. The trouble with “Finkels” is not that the players were simply average; the problem is their lack of believability. While playing a couple that has misplaced their chemistry, the two seem rather jolly, jovial and compatible, in that brother/sister kind of way.
No fits of passion, no fits of rage; no deep emotion is ever on display. And it seems that it has been that way all along, not some new development.
Their close friend couple, who is also experiencing martial strife, hold on to the same mundane sense of connection. Moore’s gal pal, Janet, played by Melissa George, never reaches far into her acting hat to present a great performance. She merely says her lines, makes her facial gestures, and moves on.
And though her counterpart cheating spouse Peter (Jonathan Silverman), is by no means a model husband or actor, he is able to bring up a laugh or two from viewers, with his less than stellar golf game and interesting choice of words.
For its first half, “Swinging with the Finkels” delivers an outside-the-box plot and script that sets the stage for high expectations. Yet it looses its energy, following flat by the finish like a runner who forgot to drink his Gatorade before the big race.
Ultimately, “Swinging with the Finkels" is worth a gander if only for its interesting take on how to fix a broken relationship. British relationship flicks, as compared to American ones, tend to take on and tackle edgier agendas, and this one was no different. For some viewing audiences, it may come as a welcome surprise into the rom-com market. Tossed with higher expectations, however, and it may lead to disappointment.
My advice? Walk into the theater expecting a mediocre romantic comedy, that way you’ll be left with a smile on your face and positive impression in your head come the ending credits.
Review 5: Of Gods and Men
By Anna Ferguson
Directed by: Xavier Beauvois
Starring: Lambert Wilson, Olivier Rabourdin, Philippe Laudenbach, Jacques Herlin, Michael Lonsdale
Running Time: 123 minutes
It’s a question of faith, really. What does it mean to have faith? Is faith a mere tool to avoid making decisions? Where does faith lead even the holiest of men?
These inquiries are a mere overview of the faith-filled questions director Xavier Beauvois asks in his latest historical character study, “Of Gods and Men.” Delving into the true story of seven Cistercian monks, forced to push their own faith to the breaking point, Beauvois provides viewers with a lens through which they must examine their own struggles with a higher calling by first witnessing the trials experienced by these men of God.
For as long as anyone could remember, the small Algerian monastery had watched over the town below, providing counsel, medical care and spiritual guidance for the impoverished peoples. In 1996, terrorists descended upon the sparse town, uprooting the daily securities and freedoms of the community’s residents. Government officials and local authorities urged the monks to seek out a new shelter, abandon their flock and take solace in a different monastery. Surely, the brotherhood was a prime target for the fundamentalist militia filtering into the region.
As news spread about worsening conditions and ever-more frequent slayings, the monks were forced to decide whether to save themselves and carry on God’s work elsewhere, or stay in their simple monastery home, full well knowing they were risking their lives.
Throughout the two-hour film, the daily rhythms of monastery life were brought to the forefront under Beauvois direction. Showing the brothers undergoing their daily rounds of chants, chopping wood, making honey and aiding villagers in the medical clinic, Beauvois is able to capture the often monotinous, simple livelihood that these men experience. It would have been easier for Beauvois to speed through the tedious chores of these men’s lives, but instead he carefully takes his time, depicting their routines with a gentle hand and sharply crafted eye.
Some viewers may wish Beauvois had edited more, taken less time in building his case for why the brothers should stay or go. But in lingering on the men’s community-minded agenda, Beauvois is able to reflect the pace of living as a monk- slow, steady, consistent- as well as display the individual personalities and communal entities that make up the monastery.
Portraying monastery leader Christian, actor Lambert Wilson has rendered a multi-dimensional sketch of a patient, persistent and loyal man longing to live his life for God. Taking on a role based upon a real person, Wilson had to deliver a par on performance to win over moviegoers and hold their attention during the film’s slower scenes. And deliver he does. Whether it is when he is providing sage advice for a fellow brother, or holding a steady hand to ward off the militia, Wilson comes across as a caring yet assertive soul who is versed in religion of all forms.
In one particularly chilling scene, Wilson spouts off quotes from both the Bible and the Koran to an armed, dangerous killer, who has come to the monastery looking to highjack its already limited medical supplies. Collected and calm, brother Christian takes control of the situation without anger or concern, displaying a man so full of faith, he needs not have fear.
Within the brotherhood, resident doctor Luc (Michael Lonsdale), too displays true acts of faith, but does so with the light, airy ways of a humored man. He refuses to abandon his flock of followers and leave them for the wolves, holding tightly to his sense of convictions without ever taking himself too seriously. While his character was not the center of the story, any scene with Lonsdale is one of delight, even in the wake of a serious situation.
Though the ending of the film is perhaps the climax, Beauvois never lets that panic be the focus of his piece. What could have been a suspenseful thriller is instead a heavy, thought-provoking work that folds religion and human nature into the great scheme of a true story. Acquiring a mass audience for a religious-based film, especially one that takes its time to build toward an unresolved ending, is a challenge in and of itself.
Yet director and co-writer Beauvois, along with co-writer Etienne Comar and cinematographer Caroline Champetier, have brought together a tragically beautiful story of fine performances, keen landscape shots and masterful storytelling to offer audiences one of the most touching, soul-stirring films to hit screens in a long time. There is certainly a reason why this project took home the Cannes Grande Prix award.
In other news, my mom ordered my wedding cake. It's beautiful! See here (it won't load, sorry): http://www.publix.com/food/catalog/ProductDetail.do?id=112
I can't believe we are already halfway through the trip, and in less than 3 weeks, I'll be a married woman. What a big few weeks, dude. Big few weeks, indeed.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Day-O-Celebs
This was an ultra day of celeb sighting. I attending a panel discussion with Michelle Williams and Ryan Gosling, plus got to meet James Franco. And, during the panel, I was the last person to be allowed to ask a question, and since the film their were discussing, "Blue Valentine," is about a couple who' marriage is crumbling, I asked about the message of the film and prefaced it with the fact that I am getting married in less than 4 weeks and the movie totally threw me off. Long story short, the whole cast and cerw wished me congratulation and a happy marriage. What's up, that's cool.
The festival is winding down, with fewer and fewer screenings, and more and more assignments being due. Tomorrow two are due, as posted below:
Review 2: “Blue Valentine”
By Anna Ferguson
Starring: Ryan Gosling, Michelle Williams
Directed by: Dereck Cianfrance
Rating: N/A
Running Time: 120 minutes
Maybe it was a truly well-made movie. Maybe the dual performances from Michelle Williams and Ryan Gosling were simply superb. Maybe the writing and directing were so in sync, it was impossible not to be moved. Or maybe, it's just where I am right now in my life. Whatever the case, director Derek Cianfrance newest film, "Blue Valentine," has proven to have a lasting, deep impact on my psyche.
The story of a married couple struggling to weave back together the dissolving pieces of their tattered relationship, "Blue Valentine" hits hard to the core, depicting characters you don't just see on the screen, but can actually feel stirring your soul. With Wiliam’s Cindy, and Gosling’s Dean, viewers are allowed to delve deeply, intrusively, into the personalities and minds of these two lead characters. So much so that you, the viewer, feel that you know these people. If you have been a lost, wandering 20-something, then you have likely been to a backyard cook-out with this couple; you have likely experienced double dates with this couple; you have likely even been this couple.
From the outside, this is a man and a woman who could not be more different. Cindy comes from an upper-middle class, though troubled, family, is attending college to become a doctor, and has her life on track to be both happy and successful. Dean, on the other hand, stems from a polar opposite perspective. He has left his home in Florida, where his mother left at an early age and his father was unable to provide much in the way of either love or opportunities. He dropped out of high school, with no real intentions of becoming anything more than full of untapped potential.
While watching the two interact through their first haphazard date and on lovely rendezvous’ in their younger years, the gap that exists between their lives is not readily apparent. It is not until the awkward family dinner that the vast difference between their backgrounds floats to the surface. Asking Dean about his life and his family, Cindy's father raises his eyebrows disapprovingly, obviously not smitten by Dean's wit and charm, nor by the fact that he has no future plans or comes from a poor, single-parent home. Not that Cindy is looking for their approval. She's not too keen on her parents anyhow, as she states early on in the film.
"I hope I never become them," Cindy says of Mom and Dad, as the family sits stiffly and quietly one night at their usual tense dinner, where everyone’s eyes are either full of distain or merely avoiding any contact all together.
And it seems that Cindy won't end up in an unhappy, loveless union, what with the generous spark struck when Dean and Cindy first meet. But somehow, life got in the way. After having an adorable child (Frankie, played by the delightful six-year-old Faith Wladyka, in her endearing debut role), working to make ends met and spending far too much time apart, the couple lets their love fade. It was no one event, but rather the series of years of non-communication that led to their utter demise, as so often happens in real life and in real marriage. Cindy leaves her best self at the office; Dean wants nothing but for his family to thrive. Somehow, they can’t make themselves fit into one another the way they once effortlessly had.
Even though the on-screen couple extinguishes their spark, the connection and chemistry between Williams and Gosling pops from the screen the entire two hours of play time.
This is not a relationship being feigned; these are two people who are obviously sharing moments, bonding, laughing, loving and fighting with anything but generic chemistry. The curious way Gosling rubs his stubble-lined face, the angry squint of Williams' glaring eyes; the actors' gestures are genuine, smooth and powerful. We, as the audience, feel what they feel, long when they long, hurt and laugh when they hurt and laugh.
Director Cianfrance, who also co-wrote the script, brilliantly crafted a deep, kinetic relationship between Williams and Gosling by, more or less, letting the characters build their connection on their own using a less than traditional method. For a month, the two actors lived together in the Scranton, Penn., home where the film was set. They did their own grocery shopping; they did their own dishes; they did just about everything a real married couple would do, except sleep together and fight.
According to Cianfrance, fighting, even more so than the graphic sex scenes, was the hardest element for the two actors to create. They actually scheduled a so-called “fighting day”, wherein the two were forced to argue.
That day paid off, as on screen, if the actors were fake fighting, you couldn't tell. Every second the couple spent nit-picking, rolling eyes or shrugging in frustration came off more as documentary than fiction. Acting, it seems, is a true gift given to both Williams and Gosling. These roles were 12 years in the making, with Williams signing on six years ago, and Gosling coming on board four years ago, allowing the picture to marinate for more than a decade to ensure a pitch perfect, meant-to-be film.
"The best food always takes the longest time to cook," Cianfrance said in a recent panel discussion. “Anything that could go wrong in the film and production process, did. This film had to be done when the universe was ready for it. And now, after a lot of hard and steady work, the universe is ready and we have made the great film we had hoped to make.”
Not so much a film of warning, but instead coming off as a simple yet layered tale of a normal couple, "Blue Valentine" balances itself perfectly between moral guide and entertainment.
Cianfrance obviously has a keen understanding of the human spirit and the human capacity for love. Having worked as a filmmaker on several documentaries, including directing “Black and White: A Portrait of Sean Combs” (a 2008 made-for-TV film) and “Dream the Impossible” (2008), Cainfrance lives and breathes by the motto that watching and listening is more important than talking when it comes to his characters. By tapping into this philosophy, he is able to create a family unit that seems boldly real and utterly ethereal all at the same time.
Beyond stellar direction, sparkling chemistry and dazzling performances, the film's script and story itself are enough to win over most audiences. Though often gritty and uncomfortable, "Blue Valentine" masterfully depicts what can happen to a marriage when the couple stops paying attention to each other, and wholly focuses on the daily tasks of living. Jumping between past and present experiences to shape a duality of perspective between the two, the film never points fingers or places blame on one or the other character. Rather, both are shown in an equally favorable/unfavorable light, with the ending offering no ultimate solution to how they do, or don’t, fix their marriage and themselves.
As an anxious twenty-something, only weeks away from getting married, “Blue Valentine” spoke to me in a way that perhaps the director never even intended. What to do, what not to do, what could be; all these ideas were on display for me during the entire 120 minute running time. Cindy and Dean were so available, so lovable, so right and so wrong for each other; it was impossible not to see a part of my fiancé and myself in each of them. “If their love could crumble, what then, of mine?” I found myself wondering, during, and for days after, the viewing.
How can a love be saved? How can a love be maintained so that it does not need saving? While “Blue Valentine” didn’t exactly answers these questions, it did make me, as it likely will for most viewers, ponder such issues, which is surely a sign of awareness. Through awareness, hopefully, comes understanding and the ability to avoid a messy situation. At least, that’s what I’m banking on.
Able to make audience's think and feel, laugh and cry, squirm and celebrate, all in equal measure, this film is neither a commemoration nor condemning of love. It is instead a loaded work, delivering a clear message with a heavy hand, proving ripe to be loved by indie audiences du jour.
Review 3: TuTu Much
By Anna Ferguson
Director: Elise Swerhone and Vonnie Helmolt
Running Time: 83 minutes
Rated: N/A
Like most little girls I grew up with, my parents signed me up for dance lessons at a young age. Jazz, ballet, tap, I tried them all. Perhaps my parents thought dance classes would teach me to be graceful, or have rhythm. It didn’t. After some nearly 10 years of being stuck in beginners classes, it became apparent that I just wasn’t meant to be a dancer.
Despite my own inadequacies with the form, I still enjoy watching the medium with fervor. I jump on any chance I get to attend a recital from a professional dance company, watching eagerly as the elegant performers spring up en pointe, twirl into pirouettes and leap across the stage. Such poise, talent and stamina, are all required to take a choreographed piece from a music-filled thought to art in action. Any performer who can do as much has my attention.
So it was with much excitement that I attended the debut of the documentary, “TuTu Much.” A Canadian film directed by Elise Swerhone and Vonnie Helmolt, “Tutu Much” follows a group of dancers during a four-week summer session with the Royal Winnipeg Ballet Dance Company in Canada. Dancers came from across the globe to attend the summer school dance session, in hopes of both honing their skills as well as being offered a year-long stint with the company after the session wrapped.
Nine young women, ranging in age from 10 to 14 years old, were followed throughout the four-week session, as we watch them improve (or not) on their already sharp gift. The pressures and pitfalls of dance life are highlighted, with the girls offering candid interviews to reveal their true feelings about themselves, their time at the school and their hopes for the future.
Though Swerhone and Helmolt capture the girls’ excitement, anxieties and bonding with ease, the two seemingly miss a fine opportunity to tackle the ugly unknown or un-discussed elements of the dancing field. An art industry riddled with troubles, the dance world is a prime venue for exploring the larger realm of societal problems. It’s no secret that dancers’ lives are often rampant with issues, with eating disorders, drug use, injuries, depression and homosexuality among the top concerns. And yet “TuTu Much” simple did not hit on any of these. Merely, it glosses over a few of the topics without any real investigation or explanation.
The major issue troubling the dancing world seems to be the demand to be of a certain body type. Tall, thin, long, lean bodies, that can form strong, graceful lines, are ideal in the eyes of dance instructors. Because of this tradition, girls outside that limited segment of bodies are often alienated and seen as too far outside the norm to be professional dancers.
In the film, Swerhone and Helmolt only glaze over this issue, by focusing on one girl, 13-year-old Melissa, who is rejected from the company due to her broad shoulders and short neckline. Though she has true promise as a dancer, and is shown later in life to become a successful member at another company, the Winnipeg school opts out of using her talents due to her shape. The directors never come out to openly discuss this rejection or issue of body image, leading audiences to feel that the film has missed a golden opportunity to get across an important message.
The duo of directors again fail to open the film to controversial issues by avoiding interviews with male dancers. The company and summer session were littered with both young and older male dancers, and yet none of them were given a platform for offering a man’s perspective on what it is like to be a dancer.
Swerhone and Helmolt, however, are able to draw upon the financial and emotional burden that being a young dancer has on families. Several of the girls who were accepted into the company were unable to take their invitation due to monetary concerns, as their parents were unable or unprepared to pay for their training. As well, home-sickness played a role in why some of the accepted girls turned down the once-in-a-lifetime offer. By interviewing both the dancers and their parents, Swerhone and Helmolt seized the opportunity to depict the difficulties faced by both dancer and guarding when taking on this tumultuous art profession. Here again, the directors merely glaze over the issues, but at least each was momentarily addressed.
One issue that “TuTu Much” fully captured and delivered was the enthusiasm, passion and female bonding that occurred between these pre-adolescent and teenage girls and their love for the forum. Because these young women were so enthusiastic about their craft, the directorial team had no trouble bottling up then showcasing their drive and energy, which plays to the film’s favor and balances out the often-distracting production elements. On more than one occasion, a boom mic is in the frame, the camera unintentionally shakes, and images that should be in focus are accidentally blurred. Ultimately, viewers will want these mistakes to be overlooked for the sake of the dancers gifts, but depending on the viewing venue, that may be easier said than done.
Though Swerhone and Helmolt do wrap the film with an updated synopsis on the girls’ careers and lives post-summer camp, they never fully show the girls in action, an aspect of the film that should have been included. Seeing as this was a documentary about dancers, it would have been refreshing and nice to see them in more than warm-ups. Once again, the two directors missed the boat.
Overall, though, the film comes off as a moderately in-depth glance into the world of dancers, though it never really goes far enough. The nine interviewed girls add oomph to the piece thanks to their stage presence and energy, but it seems as if the youngsters do all of the heavy lifting.
With so many girls offering so many aspects of the dancers life, “TuTu Much” comes off as too too many interviews and too too little real information. The abundance of dancers and lack of directorial fortitude prove for a weak, if not entertaining, 83-minute film. On the directorial duo’s next go-round, if there is one, hopefully they can flush out their piece, edit more and create a work that can stand on its own two pointe shoes.
Otherwise, things are good. The sun is back out. We have hot water finally. And it looks like in a few days, I will be able to get more than 4 hours of sleep and eat more than bread and Coke Light. Although the steady diet of Coke Light and great soft bread is rather enjoyable, now that I have discovered the great condiments in the French grocery stores.
In bad news, on kid (John David) got slapped in the face by a mean French men, causing a nose bled, Anna Beaver's purse was stolen, I was elbowed more than 20 times today (I counted), which all backs up my theory that 3/4 of the French natives are a-holes.
And, check the Grady web site, (http://www.grady.uga.edu/). The Cannes group is on the main page!
The festival is winding down, with fewer and fewer screenings, and more and more assignments being due. Tomorrow two are due, as posted below:
Review 2: “Blue Valentine”
By Anna Ferguson
Starring: Ryan Gosling, Michelle Williams
Directed by: Dereck Cianfrance
Rating: N/A
Running Time: 120 minutes
Maybe it was a truly well-made movie. Maybe the dual performances from Michelle Williams and Ryan Gosling were simply superb. Maybe the writing and directing were so in sync, it was impossible not to be moved. Or maybe, it's just where I am right now in my life. Whatever the case, director Derek Cianfrance newest film, "Blue Valentine," has proven to have a lasting, deep impact on my psyche.
The story of a married couple struggling to weave back together the dissolving pieces of their tattered relationship, "Blue Valentine" hits hard to the core, depicting characters you don't just see on the screen, but can actually feel stirring your soul. With Wiliam’s Cindy, and Gosling’s Dean, viewers are allowed to delve deeply, intrusively, into the personalities and minds of these two lead characters. So much so that you, the viewer, feel that you know these people. If you have been a lost, wandering 20-something, then you have likely been to a backyard cook-out with this couple; you have likely experienced double dates with this couple; you have likely even been this couple.
From the outside, this is a man and a woman who could not be more different. Cindy comes from an upper-middle class, though troubled, family, is attending college to become a doctor, and has her life on track to be both happy and successful. Dean, on the other hand, stems from a polar opposite perspective. He has left his home in Florida, where his mother left at an early age and his father was unable to provide much in the way of either love or opportunities. He dropped out of high school, with no real intentions of becoming anything more than full of untapped potential.
While watching the two interact through their first haphazard date and on lovely rendezvous’ in their younger years, the gap that exists between their lives is not readily apparent. It is not until the awkward family dinner that the vast difference between their backgrounds floats to the surface. Asking Dean about his life and his family, Cindy's father raises his eyebrows disapprovingly, obviously not smitten by Dean's wit and charm, nor by the fact that he has no future plans or comes from a poor, single-parent home. Not that Cindy is looking for their approval. She's not too keen on her parents anyhow, as she states early on in the film.
"I hope I never become them," Cindy says of Mom and Dad, as the family sits stiffly and quietly one night at their usual tense dinner, where everyone’s eyes are either full of distain or merely avoiding any contact all together.
And it seems that Cindy won't end up in an unhappy, loveless union, what with the generous spark struck when Dean and Cindy first meet. But somehow, life got in the way. After having an adorable child (Frankie, played by the delightful six-year-old Faith Wladyka, in her endearing debut role), working to make ends met and spending far too much time apart, the couple lets their love fade. It was no one event, but rather the series of years of non-communication that led to their utter demise, as so often happens in real life and in real marriage. Cindy leaves her best self at the office; Dean wants nothing but for his family to thrive. Somehow, they can’t make themselves fit into one another the way they once effortlessly had.
Even though the on-screen couple extinguishes their spark, the connection and chemistry between Williams and Gosling pops from the screen the entire two hours of play time.
This is not a relationship being feigned; these are two people who are obviously sharing moments, bonding, laughing, loving and fighting with anything but generic chemistry. The curious way Gosling rubs his stubble-lined face, the angry squint of Williams' glaring eyes; the actors' gestures are genuine, smooth and powerful. We, as the audience, feel what they feel, long when they long, hurt and laugh when they hurt and laugh.
Director Cianfrance, who also co-wrote the script, brilliantly crafted a deep, kinetic relationship between Williams and Gosling by, more or less, letting the characters build their connection on their own using a less than traditional method. For a month, the two actors lived together in the Scranton, Penn., home where the film was set. They did their own grocery shopping; they did their own dishes; they did just about everything a real married couple would do, except sleep together and fight.
According to Cianfrance, fighting, even more so than the graphic sex scenes, was the hardest element for the two actors to create. They actually scheduled a so-called “fighting day”, wherein the two were forced to argue.
That day paid off, as on screen, if the actors were fake fighting, you couldn't tell. Every second the couple spent nit-picking, rolling eyes or shrugging in frustration came off more as documentary than fiction. Acting, it seems, is a true gift given to both Williams and Gosling. These roles were 12 years in the making, with Williams signing on six years ago, and Gosling coming on board four years ago, allowing the picture to marinate for more than a decade to ensure a pitch perfect, meant-to-be film.
"The best food always takes the longest time to cook," Cianfrance said in a recent panel discussion. “Anything that could go wrong in the film and production process, did. This film had to be done when the universe was ready for it. And now, after a lot of hard and steady work, the universe is ready and we have made the great film we had hoped to make.”
Not so much a film of warning, but instead coming off as a simple yet layered tale of a normal couple, "Blue Valentine" balances itself perfectly between moral guide and entertainment.
Cianfrance obviously has a keen understanding of the human spirit and the human capacity for love. Having worked as a filmmaker on several documentaries, including directing “Black and White: A Portrait of Sean Combs” (a 2008 made-for-TV film) and “Dream the Impossible” (2008), Cainfrance lives and breathes by the motto that watching and listening is more important than talking when it comes to his characters. By tapping into this philosophy, he is able to create a family unit that seems boldly real and utterly ethereal all at the same time.
Beyond stellar direction, sparkling chemistry and dazzling performances, the film's script and story itself are enough to win over most audiences. Though often gritty and uncomfortable, "Blue Valentine" masterfully depicts what can happen to a marriage when the couple stops paying attention to each other, and wholly focuses on the daily tasks of living. Jumping between past and present experiences to shape a duality of perspective between the two, the film never points fingers or places blame on one or the other character. Rather, both are shown in an equally favorable/unfavorable light, with the ending offering no ultimate solution to how they do, or don’t, fix their marriage and themselves.
As an anxious twenty-something, only weeks away from getting married, “Blue Valentine” spoke to me in a way that perhaps the director never even intended. What to do, what not to do, what could be; all these ideas were on display for me during the entire 120 minute running time. Cindy and Dean were so available, so lovable, so right and so wrong for each other; it was impossible not to see a part of my fiancé and myself in each of them. “If their love could crumble, what then, of mine?” I found myself wondering, during, and for days after, the viewing.
How can a love be saved? How can a love be maintained so that it does not need saving? While “Blue Valentine” didn’t exactly answers these questions, it did make me, as it likely will for most viewers, ponder such issues, which is surely a sign of awareness. Through awareness, hopefully, comes understanding and the ability to avoid a messy situation. At least, that’s what I’m banking on.
Able to make audience's think and feel, laugh and cry, squirm and celebrate, all in equal measure, this film is neither a commemoration nor condemning of love. It is instead a loaded work, delivering a clear message with a heavy hand, proving ripe to be loved by indie audiences du jour.
Review 3: TuTu Much
By Anna Ferguson
Director: Elise Swerhone and Vonnie Helmolt
Running Time: 83 minutes
Rated: N/A
Like most little girls I grew up with, my parents signed me up for dance lessons at a young age. Jazz, ballet, tap, I tried them all. Perhaps my parents thought dance classes would teach me to be graceful, or have rhythm. It didn’t. After some nearly 10 years of being stuck in beginners classes, it became apparent that I just wasn’t meant to be a dancer.
Despite my own inadequacies with the form, I still enjoy watching the medium with fervor. I jump on any chance I get to attend a recital from a professional dance company, watching eagerly as the elegant performers spring up en pointe, twirl into pirouettes and leap across the stage. Such poise, talent and stamina, are all required to take a choreographed piece from a music-filled thought to art in action. Any performer who can do as much has my attention.
So it was with much excitement that I attended the debut of the documentary, “TuTu Much.” A Canadian film directed by Elise Swerhone and Vonnie Helmolt, “Tutu Much” follows a group of dancers during a four-week summer session with the Royal Winnipeg Ballet Dance Company in Canada. Dancers came from across the globe to attend the summer school dance session, in hopes of both honing their skills as well as being offered a year-long stint with the company after the session wrapped.
Nine young women, ranging in age from 10 to 14 years old, were followed throughout the four-week session, as we watch them improve (or not) on their already sharp gift. The pressures and pitfalls of dance life are highlighted, with the girls offering candid interviews to reveal their true feelings about themselves, their time at the school and their hopes for the future.
Though Swerhone and Helmolt capture the girls’ excitement, anxieties and bonding with ease, the two seemingly miss a fine opportunity to tackle the ugly unknown or un-discussed elements of the dancing field. An art industry riddled with troubles, the dance world is a prime venue for exploring the larger realm of societal problems. It’s no secret that dancers’ lives are often rampant with issues, with eating disorders, drug use, injuries, depression and homosexuality among the top concerns. And yet “TuTu Much” simple did not hit on any of these. Merely, it glosses over a few of the topics without any real investigation or explanation.
The major issue troubling the dancing world seems to be the demand to be of a certain body type. Tall, thin, long, lean bodies, that can form strong, graceful lines, are ideal in the eyes of dance instructors. Because of this tradition, girls outside that limited segment of bodies are often alienated and seen as too far outside the norm to be professional dancers.
In the film, Swerhone and Helmolt only glaze over this issue, by focusing on one girl, 13-year-old Melissa, who is rejected from the company due to her broad shoulders and short neckline. Though she has true promise as a dancer, and is shown later in life to become a successful member at another company, the Winnipeg school opts out of using her talents due to her shape. The directors never come out to openly discuss this rejection or issue of body image, leading audiences to feel that the film has missed a golden opportunity to get across an important message.
The duo of directors again fail to open the film to controversial issues by avoiding interviews with male dancers. The company and summer session were littered with both young and older male dancers, and yet none of them were given a platform for offering a man’s perspective on what it is like to be a dancer.
Swerhone and Helmolt, however, are able to draw upon the financial and emotional burden that being a young dancer has on families. Several of the girls who were accepted into the company were unable to take their invitation due to monetary concerns, as their parents were unable or unprepared to pay for their training. As well, home-sickness played a role in why some of the accepted girls turned down the once-in-a-lifetime offer. By interviewing both the dancers and their parents, Swerhone and Helmolt seized the opportunity to depict the difficulties faced by both dancer and guarding when taking on this tumultuous art profession. Here again, the directors merely glaze over the issues, but at least each was momentarily addressed.
One issue that “TuTu Much” fully captured and delivered was the enthusiasm, passion and female bonding that occurred between these pre-adolescent and teenage girls and their love for the forum. Because these young women were so enthusiastic about their craft, the directorial team had no trouble bottling up then showcasing their drive and energy, which plays to the film’s favor and balances out the often-distracting production elements. On more than one occasion, a boom mic is in the frame, the camera unintentionally shakes, and images that should be in focus are accidentally blurred. Ultimately, viewers will want these mistakes to be overlooked for the sake of the dancers gifts, but depending on the viewing venue, that may be easier said than done.
Though Swerhone and Helmolt do wrap the film with an updated synopsis on the girls’ careers and lives post-summer camp, they never fully show the girls in action, an aspect of the film that should have been included. Seeing as this was a documentary about dancers, it would have been refreshing and nice to see them in more than warm-ups. Once again, the two directors missed the boat.
Overall, though, the film comes off as a moderately in-depth glance into the world of dancers, though it never really goes far enough. The nine interviewed girls add oomph to the piece thanks to their stage presence and energy, but it seems as if the youngsters do all of the heavy lifting.
With so many girls offering so many aspects of the dancers life, “TuTu Much” comes off as too too many interviews and too too little real information. The abundance of dancers and lack of directorial fortitude prove for a weak, if not entertaining, 83-minute film. On the directorial duo’s next go-round, if there is one, hopefully they can flush out their piece, edit more and create a work that can stand on its own two pointe shoes.
Otherwise, things are good. The sun is back out. We have hot water finally. And it looks like in a few days, I will be able to get more than 4 hours of sleep and eat more than bread and Coke Light. Although the steady diet of Coke Light and great soft bread is rather enjoyable, now that I have discovered the great condiments in the French grocery stores.
In bad news, on kid (John David) got slapped in the face by a mean French men, causing a nose bled, Anna Beaver's purse was stolen, I was elbowed more than 20 times today (I counted), which all backs up my theory that 3/4 of the French natives are a-holes.
And, check the Grady web site, (http://www.grady.uga.edu/). The Cannes group is on the main page!
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Days Running Together/ Internet Not Running At All
These two blog entries are blurred together as a single blog, based on emails I sent to my family. This is not because I am lazy, but because I get up at 6:30am everyday to get to early red carpet screenings, and then don;t come home until something like midnight. Meaning, I am so exhausted and have no patience for blogging (also the reason for all the spelling errors, my apologies). Hence, the following two emails, for you:
May 18
A Bust
Day SIx was a b-u-s-t. I only got to see 2 movies, and both were only ho-hum. The first was "The Princess of Montcontpence--something", a period piece about this chick who is forced to marry a dude she doesn't love, and she actually loves his cousin. The whole time she is longing for the other guy, while all these other other guys keep falling in love with her, and her husband is a short douche bag with an even shorter fuse. And ps- none of them were very good actors, so that made this ultra-long movie even slower. This girl needs to just get over it, accept that she is a women in the 18th century with very few options, and just enjoy living in her phat pad with her maids, huge closet of cool clothes and awesome view of the French countryside.
My second movie was "The Round-up," and it was NOT about cowboys, as one man asked me post-viewing as the whole audience walked out with tears running down their cheeks. THe film is actually about the Holocaust, and a mass rounding up that the French did of Jews living there. Some 13,000 people were collected and put into internment camps; 4,000 of them were children who were subsequently ripped away from their mothers. Only one child survived, and is still alive today, according to the film's producer. This wasn't a bad film by any means, but it had that sanitized feeling of a made-for-TV movie. It just seemed too glossy. Moving, yes; but deeply stirring? Not really.
In the middle of the day, Elizabeth Guider, editor of XX, spoke to our group about her role in the festival, her job, and how we can become just like her. It was an interesting lecture and she did offer some good advice that I think will come in handy for all of us, no matter what field of the media we are entering.
Overall, aside from the lecture, the day just fell flat. Perhaps I had my expectations set too high, as the past 5 days have been amazing and busy; perhaps I just didn't organize my day as thoroughly as I have been; perhaps it was just That Day when everything sort of just falls through. Whatever the reason, I have hit my re-set button and am ready to knock 'em down tomorrow.
Oh, and for all the music fans out there, I realized that there is a documentary playing tomorrow night called "We Are The Weakerthans." Most of you are likely thinking, "The weaker- huh?" But The Weakerthans are this great Canadian rock band that no one here has ever really heard of, but I love. The documentary plays at 10:30pm, though, a problem because it is 98 minutes long, and the last train leaves for Juan Les Pins at 12:10am. I won't have time to see the whole thing and still make it back to the hostel. I'm debating what to do, but either way, I now know that the film exists and I can at least Netflix it if I can't make it on Tuesday.
As far the pictures go, I brought the wrong camera chord, so I can't upload anything unless someone here has a card reader. I can steal pictures form Facebook though, which I may do if the card reader search turns up empty.
May 19
Ok, OK, I know. Been a few days. Time,
apparently, does not exist in France, as everyday runs together and I
feel like I never sleep (maybe that is why French people are such
assholes). But yes: I'm here and fine! I know, it's been a few days.
Sorry. The Internet has been very wishy-washy (and that is a major
reason why my emails and blogs are spelled so badly, because once it
is typed, I hit send, knowing that the internet could stop at any
second), and last night I didn't get in until 1am (after being in
Cannes since 7am), so I was just pure out exhausted. But things are
good and going and you know, busy. The festival s winding down and
good movies are becoming fewer and fewer to come by. But the good ones
I do see are really really good (although I have to wait in line for
like years to see them). Today the good ones I saw were "Four Lions,"
a dark comedy about a group of Jihad terrorists who are really, really
bad at being martyrs, and "Poetry," a Korean film that was really,
really really slow, but kinda touching, about an elderly woman who is
working on creating a poem about her life. It dragged for a long time,
and never really hit a high speed, but in retrospect, I guess it was
pretty good. It was one of the Cannes Competition films meaning it was
supposedly great, but whatever. Maybe I'm just too dense to get it.
Yesterday, I saw a really great film, "Of Gods and Men," about Monks
in Algeria who struggle with leaving or staying at their Monastary
during a time of Cival War and terrorism, and end up getting kidnapped
and murdered. It was based on a true story, making it all the better.
Again, this one was slow (what's with artsy fartsy films having to be
so slow?) but also beautiful and poignant.
I also saw "Blue Valentine," about a couple that has been married for
a few years, has fallen out of love, and is struggling to put the
pieces back together. It's set in a 24 hour time frame, and they go
off on a "night alone" date night o a shitty hotel to see if they can
mend their relationship, which they can't, and it made me really
uncomfortable but I also really liked it. So, I guess as long as a
movies makes you feel and think, it's worth seeing.
The last film of the day, which started at 10pm and was the reason
didn't get home until forever late, was "Biutiful," with the Spanish
dude, Javier Barieum (spelling is wrong, I know), from "No Country For
Old Men." I think it was good, but I waited in line with a mass of
500+ people, pushing and shoving to get in, stepping on y toes and
elbowing me in the ribs, for more than 2 hours. It was so hot and
crowded in the lobby (the size of a shoe bow, no joke) that one chick
actually passed out. People were acting completely like vultures,
scouring the room for any nearly-empty space into which they could
squeeze, to break in line and get in first. Once in the theater,
people were being total a-holes, saving seats for friends who may or
may not have made it in (the theater only sat 300 people, about half
the crowd) and I ended up in the second row, far to the left, almost
unable to see the screen. The rush into the theater was literally like
being corralled into a cattle arena, pushed and pronged along the way.
I have never been in a situation where humans have acted so
inhumanily. I blame all the French snots who live here. (For real, I
have never been anywhere as crowded with assholes as I have been these
last couple of weeks here. France it really just a country of
pretenious, snotty douche bags, in my opinion. Not to say I am not
enjoying my time here, because I am.) So, after all that, I needed
this to be the best movie ever, which it was not.
But yes. I am still here. Still alive and mostly well. Just very, very
emotionally and physically worn out. I feel like I am just crowded all
the time. So many people, everywhere, all the. Such small rooms. Ect.
Plus I have not talked to Michael in a week, and I am having slight
withdrawal, and I miss you guys!
In celeb news, no one today, but I did sit a few seats down from
Michelle Williams yesterday at the screening of "Blue Valentine" (she
stars in it). So, that was major cool.
So, I don't think I have been this exhausted both mentally and physically in a very, very long time. I am having the experience of a lifetime, but I am just ready for bed.
May 18
A Bust
Day SIx was a b-u-s-t. I only got to see 2 movies, and both were only ho-hum. The first was "The Princess of Montcontpence--something", a period piece about this chick who is forced to marry a dude she doesn't love, and she actually loves his cousin. The whole time she is longing for the other guy, while all these other other guys keep falling in love with her, and her husband is a short douche bag with an even shorter fuse. And ps- none of them were very good actors, so that made this ultra-long movie even slower. This girl needs to just get over it, accept that she is a women in the 18th century with very few options, and just enjoy living in her phat pad with her maids, huge closet of cool clothes and awesome view of the French countryside.
My second movie was "The Round-up," and it was NOT about cowboys, as one man asked me post-viewing as the whole audience walked out with tears running down their cheeks. THe film is actually about the Holocaust, and a mass rounding up that the French did of Jews living there. Some 13,000 people were collected and put into internment camps; 4,000 of them were children who were subsequently ripped away from their mothers. Only one child survived, and is still alive today, according to the film's producer. This wasn't a bad film by any means, but it had that sanitized feeling of a made-for-TV movie. It just seemed too glossy. Moving, yes; but deeply stirring? Not really.
In the middle of the day, Elizabeth Guider, editor of XX, spoke to our group about her role in the festival, her job, and how we can become just like her. It was an interesting lecture and she did offer some good advice that I think will come in handy for all of us, no matter what field of the media we are entering.
Overall, aside from the lecture, the day just fell flat. Perhaps I had my expectations set too high, as the past 5 days have been amazing and busy; perhaps I just didn't organize my day as thoroughly as I have been; perhaps it was just That Day when everything sort of just falls through. Whatever the reason, I have hit my re-set button and am ready to knock 'em down tomorrow.
Oh, and for all the music fans out there, I realized that there is a documentary playing tomorrow night called "We Are The Weakerthans." Most of you are likely thinking, "The weaker- huh?" But The Weakerthans are this great Canadian rock band that no one here has ever really heard of, but I love. The documentary plays at 10:30pm, though, a problem because it is 98 minutes long, and the last train leaves for Juan Les Pins at 12:10am. I won't have time to see the whole thing and still make it back to the hostel. I'm debating what to do, but either way, I now know that the film exists and I can at least Netflix it if I can't make it on Tuesday.
As far the pictures go, I brought the wrong camera chord, so I can't upload anything unless someone here has a card reader. I can steal pictures form Facebook though, which I may do if the card reader search turns up empty.
May 19
Ok, OK, I know. Been a few days. Time,
apparently, does not exist in France, as everyday runs together and I
feel like I never sleep (maybe that is why French people are such
assholes). But yes: I'm here and fine! I know, it's been a few days.
Sorry. The Internet has been very wishy-washy (and that is a major
reason why my emails and blogs are spelled so badly, because once it
is typed, I hit send, knowing that the internet could stop at any
second), and last night I didn't get in until 1am (after being in
Cannes since 7am), so I was just pure out exhausted. But things are
good and going and you know, busy. The festival s winding down and
good movies are becoming fewer and fewer to come by. But the good ones
I do see are really really good (although I have to wait in line for
like years to see them). Today the good ones I saw were "Four Lions,"
a dark comedy about a group of Jihad terrorists who are really, really
bad at being martyrs, and "Poetry," a Korean film that was really,
really really slow, but kinda touching, about an elderly woman who is
working on creating a poem about her life. It dragged for a long time,
and never really hit a high speed, but in retrospect, I guess it was
pretty good. It was one of the Cannes Competition films meaning it was
supposedly great, but whatever. Maybe I'm just too dense to get it.
Yesterday, I saw a really great film, "Of Gods and Men," about Monks
in Algeria who struggle with leaving or staying at their Monastary
during a time of Cival War and terrorism, and end up getting kidnapped
and murdered. It was based on a true story, making it all the better.
Again, this one was slow (what's with artsy fartsy films having to be
so slow?) but also beautiful and poignant.
I also saw "Blue Valentine," about a couple that has been married for
a few years, has fallen out of love, and is struggling to put the
pieces back together. It's set in a 24 hour time frame, and they go
off on a "night alone" date night o a shitty hotel to see if they can
mend their relationship, which they can't, and it made me really
uncomfortable but I also really liked it. So, I guess as long as a
movies makes you feel and think, it's worth seeing.
The last film of the day, which started at 10pm and was the reason
didn't get home until forever late, was "Biutiful," with the Spanish
dude, Javier Barieum (spelling is wrong, I know), from "No Country For
Old Men." I think it was good, but I waited in line with a mass of
500+ people, pushing and shoving to get in, stepping on y toes and
elbowing me in the ribs, for more than 2 hours. It was so hot and
crowded in the lobby (the size of a shoe bow, no joke) that one chick
actually passed out. People were acting completely like vultures,
scouring the room for any nearly-empty space into which they could
squeeze, to break in line and get in first. Once in the theater,
people were being total a-holes, saving seats for friends who may or
may not have made it in (the theater only sat 300 people, about half
the crowd) and I ended up in the second row, far to the left, almost
unable to see the screen. The rush into the theater was literally like
being corralled into a cattle arena, pushed and pronged along the way.
I have never been in a situation where humans have acted so
inhumanily. I blame all the French snots who live here. (For real, I
have never been anywhere as crowded with assholes as I have been these
last couple of weeks here. France it really just a country of
pretenious, snotty douche bags, in my opinion. Not to say I am not
enjoying my time here, because I am.) So, after all that, I needed
this to be the best movie ever, which it was not.
But yes. I am still here. Still alive and mostly well. Just very, very
emotionally and physically worn out. I feel like I am just crowded all
the time. So many people, everywhere, all the. Such small rooms. Ect.
Plus I have not talked to Michael in a week, and I am having slight
withdrawal, and I miss you guys!
In celeb news, no one today, but I did sit a few seats down from
Michelle Williams yesterday at the screening of "Blue Valentine" (she
stars in it). So, that was major cool.
So, I don't think I have been this exhausted both mentally and physically in a very, very long time. I am having the experience of a lifetime, but I am just ready for bed.
Monday, May 17, 2010
Day Five is a High Five/ Review One
Here I sit. It is 1:02 a.m. France time. In the Lobby I sit. All around me, I see me cannes commrades, sitting with Mac or Dell laptops in their laps, one ear bud in, as they type away, listening to music, chatting and working on our first assignment-- which is due tomorrow (a film review of anything we have seen). Well, technically, I suppose it is do today, seeing as it is 1 a.m. I, too, am guilt of the ear bud trick. Except I have both buds in. Total block. Whether with one or two ear buds, we are all completely entranced in our writings, our music, and our own thoughts. This, truly, is a moment of silence and concentration among friends. Something that may, hopefully, never be forgotten. New friends, sharing old habits, in comfort.
My review is on "Howl," a great movie about the poet Allen Ginsebrg, as played by James Franco. All the gals here ( on the study abroad-- I can't speak for the "here" as in France as a whole, though I suspect it may be a similar sentiment) LOVE James Franco. Like, you say the name, they swoon. I don't exactly get it. But I don't exactly not get it either.
Anyway, in this film, he was amazing, as France typically is in indie films (as opposed to mainstream films, when he tends to lock knees and weaken up).
My review is in poem form, as the film was about a poet and recited several of his work "Howl and Other Poems." As follows:
Review 1: Howl
By Anna Ferguson
“Howl”
Director(s): Rob Epstein and Jeffrey Friedman
Starring: James Franco, Bob Balaban, David Strathairn, Jon Hamm, Jon Prescott, Mary-Louise Parker, Todd Rotondi
Rated: N/A
Running Time: 90 min.
Grade: A+
Editor’s note: The following review was written in poem form to reflect the stylings of the film “Howl,” based on the trials of censorship and debate about the definition of obscenity surrounding Allen Ginsberg publication, “Howl and Other Poems.”
A poet who represented
Inspired
A generation.
An actor whose roles
Have done equally
As much.
The matching of casting
Direction
Score and writing
From guttural
Space
All come together
Cohesive
Elegant and moving
Like a Baptist sermon on
Sunday.
The form: a piece
Called “Howl.”
The place: a space
Called Cannes. 2010.
Poetry in motion
Rings throughout
Being both literal
Both figurative
Told through
Interview, court case records and published
Works.
Airy yet tight
Loose yet controlled.
Offering sentiments often know yet so
Often never told.
This work that inspired a generation
Of freethinkers and hipsters.
This film that will hopefully
Do the same.
“Howl” embodies a transformation.
A generation lost after
War and corruption.
How it mirrors the generation of today.
Searching, wandering, confused,
Inundated with options and opportunities
Yet limited by the social markings
Of yes-men and proprieties.
Black and white and color
And animation set to various
Interpretation.
A mingling of forms,
None favored.
Reenacting the trails
That put Allen Ginsberg on
The literary, creative map.
Now grouped with greats
With his inspirations
With names like Kurack
But prior to,
Never know by the masses.
Neither pretty neither ugly
But often using the language
Of the vulgar.
Spewing words like cock, cunt and scattered sperm.
Blow, blew and fuck.
A vocabulary obscene
Made beautiful.
An anger forthright
Made justified
Fortified.
Made for audiences select,
Those who enjoy the off-kilter,
The outside the box,
The smoke and dreams, the smoke and joint.
Dueling directors Rob Epstein/ Jeffrey Friedman are able to capture
The time
The emotion, the angst, the longing
That gripped the post-war youngsters.
Current darling James Franco,
Holds audience in his soft hands
Gazing at us through those
Thick, lovingly turtle-rimmed
Glasses,
Not just being but
Becoming
The poet Himself.
A supporting cast with mere glimpses
Of dialogue and script
Are long-lived in memory,
If short lived
On screen.
Names big and glittering with
Expectations.
Like Mary Louise Parker, Jeff Daniels
David Strathairn, Jon Prescott
All abide by the actors code
Never showing anything
But character
Never breaking code
Not for a moment.
Above all we love
Our Don Draper.
Also known as Jon Hamm.
Who is God’s vision
Of how a suited man
Should act, look, move.
Bold, strong-fisted, demanding,
Commanding attention with a mere gaze
With a mere string of words
With a mere moment on in the limelight.
What beauty is this thing
Of a “howl,”
Of a historical retelling of then
And today.
Asking the questions we so often forget
But must be wary to always remember.
What is this thing we call freedom?
Who are these people we call different?
What is this statue we call art?
Who labels it
Who recognizes it
Who chastises it.
Breathing life and vitality
Inflating inspiration and a calling
Howl and team remind audience
To always remind themselves
What they mean and expect from this
Thing
They lake to call
We love to visit
Known by the label of
The Movies.
That may be contrived. But I admit I am proud of what I wrote.
This was Day 5 of the festival. I saw 6 movies. I saw 6 1/2 yesterday. What a jumble. The best from yesterday day were "Howl," "Twelve", (rich white kids on drugs= bad combo), "Gasland" ( documentary about oil drilling, not farting) and "Swinging with the Finkels" (swinging the act, not dancing; sorry Mom).
Today's best were "The Illusionist" (by the director of the great "Triplets of Belleville"), "Bang Bang Club" about photojournalist in South Africa during Apartheid battles; (after which we had a pow-pow with the producer-- very cool) and The Romantics" (which may not have been that good, but it was about antsy quarter- lifers getting married, to which I can relate).
I spent about an hour at the American Pavillon with John David after my final movie, just getting a beer (Stella Artios :(- the only option), watching big yachts in the sea and waiting for the 10:10pm train. Turns out, he, as well as a few other of the kids are, are super cool. I am finally having the great time I thought I would have. Somehow, that balance of alone movie time and group social time has reached a perfect setting. This is truly, rally, very much so, a great group of travel companions. Even the annoying kids are fun. We just all, you know, get along. This is either a) camp for cine-philes, or b) rehab for a crazy past year of stress. Either way, it's nice. Though I admit during every film, I hit a moment when I miss Michael and my Athens life. I guess that means my life is what it needs to be right now. How refreshing to feel that loveliness.
Still no big red carpet premier for me. I just don't care that much. BUt that's not to say there have been no celeb run-ins since that first screening when I saw a baker's dozen or so. I saw Emily Blunt eating lunch yesterday, and also saw Mary J. Blige waling dow the street. I also also almost got hot by an "official" car on it's way to a red carpet premier last night. In the backseat? Woody Allen. Had I been hit, that would have been a golden ticket to every party during my stay. But alas. I was not hit. My legs are still in tact, but my golden ticket drifted off. There is always a trade off, I suppose.
My sister has pointed out that I have still not posted any pictures, meaning I could just be typing all this from my house. But I'm not. I am in France. I just have yet to find my camera chord. It is here somewhere. I promise- picture are coming at some point. I am gone all day-- 9am to 11pm-- and getting anything done in the resident lobby (the only place where there is Internet here) is a hassle. But yes, pictures are coming. I have self-imposed a deadline of Tuesday.
OK-- it is almost 2am here. Meaning-- I am off to bed. 'Night!
My review is on "Howl," a great movie about the poet Allen Ginsebrg, as played by James Franco. All the gals here ( on the study abroad-- I can't speak for the "here" as in France as a whole, though I suspect it may be a similar sentiment) LOVE James Franco. Like, you say the name, they swoon. I don't exactly get it. But I don't exactly not get it either.
Anyway, in this film, he was amazing, as France typically is in indie films (as opposed to mainstream films, when he tends to lock knees and weaken up).
My review is in poem form, as the film was about a poet and recited several of his work "Howl and Other Poems." As follows:
Review 1: Howl
By Anna Ferguson
“Howl”
Director(s): Rob Epstein and Jeffrey Friedman
Starring: James Franco, Bob Balaban, David Strathairn, Jon Hamm, Jon Prescott, Mary-Louise Parker, Todd Rotondi
Rated: N/A
Running Time: 90 min.
Grade: A+
Editor’s note: The following review was written in poem form to reflect the stylings of the film “Howl,” based on the trials of censorship and debate about the definition of obscenity surrounding Allen Ginsberg publication, “Howl and Other Poems.”
A poet who represented
Inspired
A generation.
An actor whose roles
Have done equally
As much.
The matching of casting
Direction
Score and writing
From guttural
Space
All come together
Cohesive
Elegant and moving
Like a Baptist sermon on
Sunday.
The form: a piece
Called “Howl.”
The place: a space
Called Cannes. 2010.
Poetry in motion
Rings throughout
Being both literal
Both figurative
Told through
Interview, court case records and published
Works.
Airy yet tight
Loose yet controlled.
Offering sentiments often know yet so
Often never told.
This work that inspired a generation
Of freethinkers and hipsters.
This film that will hopefully
Do the same.
“Howl” embodies a transformation.
A generation lost after
War and corruption.
How it mirrors the generation of today.
Searching, wandering, confused,
Inundated with options and opportunities
Yet limited by the social markings
Of yes-men and proprieties.
Black and white and color
And animation set to various
Interpretation.
A mingling of forms,
None favored.
Reenacting the trails
That put Allen Ginsberg on
The literary, creative map.
Now grouped with greats
With his inspirations
With names like Kurack
But prior to,
Never know by the masses.
Neither pretty neither ugly
But often using the language
Of the vulgar.
Spewing words like cock, cunt and scattered sperm.
Blow, blew and fuck.
A vocabulary obscene
Made beautiful.
An anger forthright
Made justified
Fortified.
Made for audiences select,
Those who enjoy the off-kilter,
The outside the box,
The smoke and dreams, the smoke and joint.
Dueling directors Rob Epstein/ Jeffrey Friedman are able to capture
The time
The emotion, the angst, the longing
That gripped the post-war youngsters.
Current darling James Franco,
Holds audience in his soft hands
Gazing at us through those
Thick, lovingly turtle-rimmed
Glasses,
Not just being but
Becoming
The poet Himself.
A supporting cast with mere glimpses
Of dialogue and script
Are long-lived in memory,
If short lived
On screen.
Names big and glittering with
Expectations.
Like Mary Louise Parker, Jeff Daniels
David Strathairn, Jon Prescott
All abide by the actors code
Never showing anything
But character
Never breaking code
Not for a moment.
Above all we love
Our Don Draper.
Also known as Jon Hamm.
Who is God’s vision
Of how a suited man
Should act, look, move.
Bold, strong-fisted, demanding,
Commanding attention with a mere gaze
With a mere string of words
With a mere moment on in the limelight.
What beauty is this thing
Of a “howl,”
Of a historical retelling of then
And today.
Asking the questions we so often forget
But must be wary to always remember.
What is this thing we call freedom?
Who are these people we call different?
What is this statue we call art?
Who labels it
Who recognizes it
Who chastises it.
Breathing life and vitality
Inflating inspiration and a calling
Howl and team remind audience
To always remind themselves
What they mean and expect from this
Thing
They lake to call
We love to visit
Known by the label of
The Movies.
That may be contrived. But I admit I am proud of what I wrote.
This was Day 5 of the festival. I saw 6 movies. I saw 6 1/2 yesterday. What a jumble. The best from yesterday day were "Howl," "Twelve", (rich white kids on drugs= bad combo), "Gasland" ( documentary about oil drilling, not farting) and "Swinging with the Finkels" (swinging the act, not dancing; sorry Mom).
Today's best were "The Illusionist" (by the director of the great "Triplets of Belleville"), "Bang Bang Club" about photojournalist in South Africa during Apartheid battles; (after which we had a pow-pow with the producer-- very cool) and The Romantics" (which may not have been that good, but it was about antsy quarter- lifers getting married, to which I can relate).
I spent about an hour at the American Pavillon with John David after my final movie, just getting a beer (Stella Artios :(- the only option), watching big yachts in the sea and waiting for the 10:10pm train. Turns out, he, as well as a few other of the kids are, are super cool. I am finally having the great time I thought I would have. Somehow, that balance of alone movie time and group social time has reached a perfect setting. This is truly, rally, very much so, a great group of travel companions. Even the annoying kids are fun. We just all, you know, get along. This is either a) camp for cine-philes, or b) rehab for a crazy past year of stress. Either way, it's nice. Though I admit during every film, I hit a moment when I miss Michael and my Athens life. I guess that means my life is what it needs to be right now. How refreshing to feel that loveliness.
Still no big red carpet premier for me. I just don't care that much. BUt that's not to say there have been no celeb run-ins since that first screening when I saw a baker's dozen or so. I saw Emily Blunt eating lunch yesterday, and also saw Mary J. Blige waling dow the street. I also also almost got hot by an "official" car on it's way to a red carpet premier last night. In the backseat? Woody Allen. Had I been hit, that would have been a golden ticket to every party during my stay. But alas. I was not hit. My legs are still in tact, but my golden ticket drifted off. There is always a trade off, I suppose.
My sister has pointed out that I have still not posted any pictures, meaning I could just be typing all this from my house. But I'm not. I am in France. I just have yet to find my camera chord. It is here somewhere. I promise- picture are coming at some point. I am gone all day-- 9am to 11pm-- and getting anything done in the resident lobby (the only place where there is Internet here) is a hassle. But yes, pictures are coming. I have self-imposed a deadline of Tuesday.
OK-- it is almost 2am here. Meaning-- I am off to bed. 'Night!
Friday, May 14, 2010
Men With Issues
Today was thread was a definite theme: men with father issues. I saw five movies today; up at 9am (although I meant to be up at 8am, damn the alarm!) and home by 10pm. It was movie stacked upon movie stacked upon wrong movie theater/being lost stacked upon movie. And in every movie, all the men had issues with their fathers. Which, having slightly study feminist media in may scholarly days, is a def. switch form the women with mother issues. I'm not sure if this is refreshing or disturbing, or both...
But. I saw "The Perfect Age of Rock & Roll" this morning. It was basically the poor man's version of "Almost Famous." 'Nough said. Expect let me add, the two supporting band mates characters with no real dialogue were great-- some one give these guys real lines.
I then made my way over to "Tuesday, After Christmas." During which I suported my long-held theory that I don't like movies with 'Christmas' in the title, and I really don't like Romanian films, as you may have noted from my previous posting about "Poilce, Adjective." Romanian films seem to be so slow, so long and just boring. No point. Just a film for the sake of making a film. Like, trying to be artsy, but ending up just being boring. No thanks. You're all so pale. Paler than me. I'll pass from now on.
Movie three was something I don't remember, so it couldn't have been very good. I then got lost trying to find this 60 degree theater for the showing of "On Tour." Obviously, I checked the map, picked out the wrong theater, got about 2 miles off course, and got lost in the sea of movie goers. I missed the screening, but am hoping to get to it at some point.
The next stop was for the Chinese film "Chongquin Blues." The spelling could be wrong, but it's close. I had heard it was depressing but awesome, and so I checked it out. Indeed, depressing, and very good. Also an official selection, meaning it's up for judging and likely coming to the US at some point, at least to indie theaters. It's the story of a father, who has been absent from his son's life for 15 years, and come home when the kid is killed by the cops for holding a woman hostage at the mall. He investigates, well, questions folks about what happens, to get a better understanding of who his kid was. The bottom line: be nice to your kids and try not to screw them up. Or else.
Following that, I hoped over to the great great great film, "Howl," which depicts the works of poet Allen Ginsberg and his effect on censorship (and American views on homosexuality). It was beyond words great. I was moved to tears by this film. Mixing three film genre- black/white, color and animation- this film literally and figuratively puts poetry in motion. Google it. Now.
I then saw the Canadian comedy/crime flick, "Fathers and Guns." It's apparently the highest grossing Canadian comedy of all time. I don't know how many comedy's Canada has actually produced, but I'm guessing enough to make this an achievement. Think "Super Troopers," but with a murder bike gang twist.
And for celeb reports: A group of folks just busted in saying they just say the crew from "Whale Wars," which means little to me. But I did see Emily Blunt eating lunch (love her- simply beautiful!) and Mary J. Blige (I think is how you spell it) walking down the pier. So, there's that.
I also figured out the best way to approach eating while in Cannes. Before hitting up the train, I stopped at the corner bakery for a big roll (like, really big) that lasted all day. Then come home and use my groceries for making dinner. The roll was like 80 euro, so cheap cheap.
And beware of (yes, French ATMs) and French wine sellers. (Sellers, not cellars, as far as I know.) I went to buy a bottle from the local wine shop, and he short changed me buy 10 Euro (I assume b/c he figured I was s stupid American; which I am, but I am also a complaining American, so there you go). I realized after I left the shop, and went back in, hand motioned that I knew he had short changed me, and demanded he give me the rest of my money. Looking downing shame, he walked to the cash pile and gave me my money, then muttered 'sorry' in English. Ha. Poo poo, French wine man.
Ok-- off to plan my big day for tomorrow! I promise-- pictures are forthcoming. I just have to find my camera chord!
But. I saw "The Perfect Age of Rock & Roll" this morning. It was basically the poor man's version of "Almost Famous." 'Nough said. Expect let me add, the two supporting band mates characters with no real dialogue were great-- some one give these guys real lines.
I then made my way over to "Tuesday, After Christmas." During which I suported my long-held theory that I don't like movies with 'Christmas' in the title, and I really don't like Romanian films, as you may have noted from my previous posting about "Poilce, Adjective." Romanian films seem to be so slow, so long and just boring. No point. Just a film for the sake of making a film. Like, trying to be artsy, but ending up just being boring. No thanks. You're all so pale. Paler than me. I'll pass from now on.
Movie three was something I don't remember, so it couldn't have been very good. I then got lost trying to find this 60 degree theater for the showing of "On Tour." Obviously, I checked the map, picked out the wrong theater, got about 2 miles off course, and got lost in the sea of movie goers. I missed the screening, but am hoping to get to it at some point.
The next stop was for the Chinese film "Chongquin Blues." The spelling could be wrong, but it's close. I had heard it was depressing but awesome, and so I checked it out. Indeed, depressing, and very good. Also an official selection, meaning it's up for judging and likely coming to the US at some point, at least to indie theaters. It's the story of a father, who has been absent from his son's life for 15 years, and come home when the kid is killed by the cops for holding a woman hostage at the mall. He investigates, well, questions folks about what happens, to get a better understanding of who his kid was. The bottom line: be nice to your kids and try not to screw them up. Or else.
Following that, I hoped over to the great great great film, "Howl," which depicts the works of poet Allen Ginsberg and his effect on censorship (and American views on homosexuality). It was beyond words great. I was moved to tears by this film. Mixing three film genre- black/white, color and animation- this film literally and figuratively puts poetry in motion. Google it. Now.
I then saw the Canadian comedy/crime flick, "Fathers and Guns." It's apparently the highest grossing Canadian comedy of all time. I don't know how many comedy's Canada has actually produced, but I'm guessing enough to make this an achievement. Think "Super Troopers," but with a murder bike gang twist.
And for celeb reports: A group of folks just busted in saying they just say the crew from "Whale Wars," which means little to me. But I did see Emily Blunt eating lunch (love her- simply beautiful!) and Mary J. Blige (I think is how you spell it) walking down the pier. So, there's that.
I also figured out the best way to approach eating while in Cannes. Before hitting up the train, I stopped at the corner bakery for a big roll (like, really big) that lasted all day. Then come home and use my groceries for making dinner. The roll was like 80 euro, so cheap cheap.
And beware of (yes, French ATMs) and French wine sellers. (Sellers, not cellars, as far as I know.) I went to buy a bottle from the local wine shop, and he short changed me buy 10 Euro (I assume b/c he figured I was s stupid American; which I am, but I am also a complaining American, so there you go). I realized after I left the shop, and went back in, hand motioned that I knew he had short changed me, and demanded he give me the rest of my money. Looking downing shame, he walked to the cash pile and gave me my money, then muttered 'sorry' in English. Ha. Poo poo, French wine man.
Ok-- off to plan my big day for tomorrow! I promise-- pictures are forthcoming. I just have to find my camera chord!
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Disney World of Movies
This place is, quite literally, the DIsney World of movies. I do the Disney World walk (you know, the haul ass hustle) from place to place, practically running past your fellow walkers to get to where you need to be. And to be first.
Today, I saw five and a half movies. the half was a walk-out and I don't even remember the title. By far, the best was "The Perfect Host," with David Hyde Pierce and this really attractive, dark-haired criminal who's names escapes me. Google the trailer. Now. I don't want to give too much away, but it is the ultimate twisted Cat vs Cat (no mouse) game. You know how you feel after watching "The Usual Suspects"? All chilled and amazed that somehow had enough talent to create such a piece? yeah, it's like that, but 10 times more so. Like I said, see it.
The second best flick today was "Bon Apetite!" which was a rom/com that was almost really predictable but had an ending that was actually really realistic. An easy watch, but entertaining.
Aside from movies, I had my own adventures about the city today. I spent the day mostly alone, trying to learn how to get from place to place and read the train schedule. And I did it. Look at that. I'm an adult able to do things on my own. What a nice feeling.
The other feeling I am having? Tired. In that great exhausted way where you know that means you were so busy that day. My legs are numb from the knees down. And the circuits in my brain are fried from seeing so many films. And my stomach growls constantly. This must be what it's like to be up the spout, needing to eat all the time. It's crazy-- and expensive. I went to the grocery store and try to pack in my own food so I can save some Euros, but that only works kinda well, because I eat all my food by like 3pm, and still have some 7 hours ahead of me. The food here is so good, too, which doesn't help this problem.
When you walk off the train into cannes every morning, it smells first like a sea of great French perfume, followed by a massive wave of freshly baked bread. Lovely.
Tomorrow, I am getting into Cannes by 9am to see "The Illusionist," which is by the same director who did "The Triplets of Bellville," which is a great animated films. (Pencil animation, but the Pixar kind.) I can't await to see it. I had this same thing yesterday, when I thought I should go to bed on the early side to get up early. So I tucked myself into the tiny top bunk by 12:30pm, only to lay awake, too excited to sleep, until 3:30am. I hope this isn't a continuing problem.
What's not a problem? The wine here. A rather nice bottle is like # Euro, translated to about $6. And better- there are no open container laws. I've seen lots of folks drinking fmor wine bottles like it was a water bottle. One person today was even doing it to a cop, drinking and chatting with the cop. No boggy here. The cop's here are also rather cool.
I was interviewed again today by a European Internet news channel while I begged for premier tickets to "On Tour" (It was another no-go, but whatever. I figure if I try everyday, I'll eventually get one.) I couldn't understand what she was saying as far as what channel, but she asked my about my dress (she likes it!) and why I was there. I plan to beg for premier invites daily, just to see what I can get.
Oh, I am fried, my friends. Time to shut down the laptop, and slow down my brain. That Disney World walk takes it toll.
And yes-- I will post pictures eventually. So far, my best shots are of massive crowds, but I'll work on getting more creative in the coming days.
Today, I saw five and a half movies. the half was a walk-out and I don't even remember the title. By far, the best was "The Perfect Host," with David Hyde Pierce and this really attractive, dark-haired criminal who's names escapes me. Google the trailer. Now. I don't want to give too much away, but it is the ultimate twisted Cat vs Cat (no mouse) game. You know how you feel after watching "The Usual Suspects"? All chilled and amazed that somehow had enough talent to create such a piece? yeah, it's like that, but 10 times more so. Like I said, see it.
The second best flick today was "Bon Apetite!" which was a rom/com that was almost really predictable but had an ending that was actually really realistic. An easy watch, but entertaining.
Aside from movies, I had my own adventures about the city today. I spent the day mostly alone, trying to learn how to get from place to place and read the train schedule. And I did it. Look at that. I'm an adult able to do things on my own. What a nice feeling.
The other feeling I am having? Tired. In that great exhausted way where you know that means you were so busy that day. My legs are numb from the knees down. And the circuits in my brain are fried from seeing so many films. And my stomach growls constantly. This must be what it's like to be up the spout, needing to eat all the time. It's crazy-- and expensive. I went to the grocery store and try to pack in my own food so I can save some Euros, but that only works kinda well, because I eat all my food by like 3pm, and still have some 7 hours ahead of me. The food here is so good, too, which doesn't help this problem.
When you walk off the train into cannes every morning, it smells first like a sea of great French perfume, followed by a massive wave of freshly baked bread. Lovely.
Tomorrow, I am getting into Cannes by 9am to see "The Illusionist," which is by the same director who did "The Triplets of Bellville," which is a great animated films. (Pencil animation, but the Pixar kind.) I can't await to see it. I had this same thing yesterday, when I thought I should go to bed on the early side to get up early. So I tucked myself into the tiny top bunk by 12:30pm, only to lay awake, too excited to sleep, until 3:30am. I hope this isn't a continuing problem.
What's not a problem? The wine here. A rather nice bottle is like # Euro, translated to about $6. And better- there are no open container laws. I've seen lots of folks drinking fmor wine bottles like it was a water bottle. One person today was even doing it to a cop, drinking and chatting with the cop. No boggy here. The cop's here are also rather cool.
I was interviewed again today by a European Internet news channel while I begged for premier tickets to "On Tour" (It was another no-go, but whatever. I figure if I try everyday, I'll eventually get one.) I couldn't understand what she was saying as far as what channel, but she asked my about my dress (she likes it!) and why I was there. I plan to beg for premier invites daily, just to see what I can get.
Oh, I am fried, my friends. Time to shut down the laptop, and slow down my brain. That Disney World walk takes it toll.
And yes-- I will post pictures eventually. So far, my best shots are of massive crowds, but I'll work on getting more creative in the coming days.
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