Good movies are hard to come by. The barrage of badly written, badly acted, badly directed films actually makes you wonder if it can really be that difficult to get a screenplay picked up. Just looking at what’s come out recently, I could list at least five, but I don’t want to have to gag and type at the same time.
Just think along the lines of poor Tolkien wannabes, pathetic pop star I-can-be-bad-ass acting (hint: the commercial for the movie actually begins with the lines “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” but sadly, they’re not), laughable vampires, juvenile parodies, and dance-offs (why does it always come down to the dance-off??). You get the impression that people are on the sets of movies purposefully not talking to each other, lest someone should point out how much of their lives they’re wasting just showing up.
Perhaps even scarier, though, is that somewhere out there, theaters are packed with people rushing to get good seats for these movies, and even if they could be forgiven for honestly confusing a bad movie for a good one, they really couldn’t be – because half the time they don’t realize it. I know, I know, movies, like any art, are subjective, and that’s totally cool, but people, there’s a line. . .
That being said, I bring you three movies that really salvaged my trust in the film industry (for every 10 crap movies, there’s always a good one). Even though they are in the “January” movie category, I know they were released earlier, but since I saw them in January, then in the “January” category they will remain. Oh, and there are several others that I know could be on this list, but again, these are just from the ones I got around to seeing, so don’t go complaining to me if your beloved Dreamgirls and Letters from Iwo Jima aren’t here.
Pan’s Labyrinth
Wicked. Dark, wicked, magical, and amazing. Set in the Spanish countryside, 1944, during the Spanish Civil War, a young girl named Ofelia moves with her mother to the headquarters of the fascist Captain Vidal, her stepfather of sorts. The acting and the visuals are brilliant. In the midst of a cruel and violent world, Ofelia disappears into a fairytale world with some of the creepiest, craziest characters. Seamlessly melded together, as one world dissolves into the next, Guillermo del Toro leaves you not knowing what to believe. He does it so well, that I almost don’t like him for it. . .
The idea for Pan’s Labyrinth was years in the making, and the depth of it really shows. It’s rough at points, with some pretty bloody scenes, but it was worth it – this coming from a person prone not only to shutting her eyes when scenes get icky, but also her ears (hearing icky might actually be worse than seeing it).
I left the movie in a daze. It reminded me that the world’s a sick place, but fantasy is just as disturbing.
Children of Men
It’s set in the future, 2027, but the genius thing about it, is that everything that happened in it, could be happening somewhere in the world right now, except for the overarching basis of the plot – people can no longer reproduce, so the youngest person alive is a teenager. hehe – but besides that small detail, everything else, not too far-fetched. Clive Owen and Michael Caine both do excellent jobs, and even all cynical, disheveled, and on the verge of being killed as he attempts to safely transport a young woman about to give birth, Mr. Owen still managed to make me laugh. . . and smile and swoon.
Great dialogue and acting all around, combined with the wrenching shots of a ravaged world, keep you wide-eyed from beginning to end. I watched this one clutching the $100 I saved for not buying nachos and a drink at the food stand, and I was okay – I would’ve been too nervous to eat.
The Queen
Whenever I say The Queen was a good movie, I always get an annoying echo with, The Queen?? To which I answer with a very defensive, “Yes!! The Queen!!” I understand that people naturally assume you have to be of a certain disposition and with emotional investment in a topic as touchy as the royal family and Princess Diana to want to see the movie or understand it, but regardless of whether or not you remember the whole incident or know the story(ies) behind it, you’ll agree it is a great movie.
It begins around the time the new prime minister, Tony Blair, is elected and the tragic death of Princess Diana takes place. The movie then examines the royal family’s reaction to what has happened, both behind closed doors and in front of the public, slowly peeling away the layers of stoic royalty, pretentious formality, and public personas to get to the heart of what really might have happened and why. Interspersed with actual footage during the time of the events, the movie touches a nerve with viewers, whether you ever saw those events happen on tv or not.
So yes, The Queen.
I think this constitutes as three blogs in one, so I think it’s safe to say that enough has been said.
As for movies I’m anxiously awaiting – 300 and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.
That’s right, TMNT. Admit it, you still get excited every time you watch the trailer.
You know you do!!
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
six more hours
Everything that doesn't kill you, makes you stronger. And later on you can use it in some story.
- Tapani Bagge
six more hours - That’s how many more I could use in a day. Even four more would do. For someone who cringes at the mention of a 9-5 job, I’m busier than even I can figure out. Let’s see, the last two weeks have included the following and more:
Music video sets, photo shoots, hunting expos, expensive gyms, not-so expensive gyms, expensive city outings, interstate lion dancing, half-assed spears, weekend teaching, bridal shower planning, birthdays, conference preparation, tennis tournament inquiries, headshots, working at the magazine, article writing, online magazine planning. . . not to mention that in the next few weeks there are graduate classes to start, an anniversary to celebrate, t-shirt website designing that must be done, rock climbing, more lion dancing, bachelorette party planning, more conference preparation, more teaching, and at some point, a game of tennis or two.
Surprisingly, though, I’m not overwhelmed.
Okay, maybe a little, sometimes even a lot. More than a few days have gone by where I haven’t had a chance to write anything, except for in my planner, which doesn’t count. So what consolation do I find – that in almost everything I do I try to find ideas to write about. Perhaps it’s the schemer in me, but there’s always something, even in the most mundane.
Some of the most prolific writers have the most mundane jobs. Not that I’m saying I want to do that, at all, but it’s true, all the crazy errands I run, that never make my list of things-I-did even though they might actually constitute one-third of my waking hours, have garnered me the craziest ideas. Like a trip to Blockbuster last night that didn’t yield any good movies but rather a headache, I would be missing out if I didn’t write something about it. When I was there, I didn’t know what I would rather listen to, one employee talk to himself while stocking movies, counting numbers so abruptly that I was startled at least twice, two employees shout at each from across the store, like the full-length, from the very front to the corner in the back, or two employees get together to shout at each other about the meaning of life. If anything, situations like this provide a strange look at the human condition - the sad, sad confused human condition. When we walked out, they were shocked, and almost visibly upset, that we hadn’t found a movie. Not to mention the crappy, beyond crappy, movie selection there is to choose from these days, there was no way I could’ve intelligently chosen a movie listening to them. So we left, with my most sincere, “You have a great night.” I worked in retail a long, long time ago. Yeah, I know, it’s not fun, and neither are customers, but there’s a level of courtesy and professionalism that should be upheld in any job. I know, tangent. . .
Point is, I left with a smile, of sorts. It definitely wasn’t the most enjoyable part of my day or week, but if I could find the humor in that, then there’s hope for all things mundane and hectic.
Even better, imagine when we do all the things we love, everything that keeps us busy, how much there is in that – how much there is to write about. Yeah, I’ve had a crazy month, but I’ve enjoyed it, and the errands are only brief intervals that I’ll laugh at and deal.
You have to love what you do – or else what’s the point?
- Tapani Bagge
six more hours - That’s how many more I could use in a day. Even four more would do. For someone who cringes at the mention of a 9-5 job, I’m busier than even I can figure out. Let’s see, the last two weeks have included the following and more:
Music video sets, photo shoots, hunting expos, expensive gyms, not-so expensive gyms, expensive city outings, interstate lion dancing, half-assed spears, weekend teaching, bridal shower planning, birthdays, conference preparation, tennis tournament inquiries, headshots, working at the magazine, article writing, online magazine planning. . . not to mention that in the next few weeks there are graduate classes to start, an anniversary to celebrate, t-shirt website designing that must be done, rock climbing, more lion dancing, bachelorette party planning, more conference preparation, more teaching, and at some point, a game of tennis or two.
Surprisingly, though, I’m not overwhelmed.
Okay, maybe a little, sometimes even a lot. More than a few days have gone by where I haven’t had a chance to write anything, except for in my planner, which doesn’t count. So what consolation do I find – that in almost everything I do I try to find ideas to write about. Perhaps it’s the schemer in me, but there’s always something, even in the most mundane.
Some of the most prolific writers have the most mundane jobs. Not that I’m saying I want to do that, at all, but it’s true, all the crazy errands I run, that never make my list of things-I-did even though they might actually constitute one-third of my waking hours, have garnered me the craziest ideas. Like a trip to Blockbuster last night that didn’t yield any good movies but rather a headache, I would be missing out if I didn’t write something about it. When I was there, I didn’t know what I would rather listen to, one employee talk to himself while stocking movies, counting numbers so abruptly that I was startled at least twice, two employees shout at each from across the store, like the full-length, from the very front to the corner in the back, or two employees get together to shout at each other about the meaning of life. If anything, situations like this provide a strange look at the human condition - the sad, sad confused human condition. When we walked out, they were shocked, and almost visibly upset, that we hadn’t found a movie. Not to mention the crappy, beyond crappy, movie selection there is to choose from these days, there was no way I could’ve intelligently chosen a movie listening to them. So we left, with my most sincere, “You have a great night.” I worked in retail a long, long time ago. Yeah, I know, it’s not fun, and neither are customers, but there’s a level of courtesy and professionalism that should be upheld in any job. I know, tangent. . .
Point is, I left with a smile, of sorts. It definitely wasn’t the most enjoyable part of my day or week, but if I could find the humor in that, then there’s hope for all things mundane and hectic.
Even better, imagine when we do all the things we love, everything that keeps us busy, how much there is in that – how much there is to write about. Yeah, I’ve had a crazy month, but I’ve enjoyed it, and the errands are only brief intervals that I’ll laugh at and deal.
You have to love what you do – or else what’s the point?
Sunday, January 14, 2007
too many ideas to count
Everybody walks past a thousand story ideas every day. The good writers are the ones who see five or six of them. Most people don't see any.
- Orson Scott Card
A writer’s life revolves around post-it notes, jotted down afterthoughts, and sentences scrawled on fast food napkins. One of those pocket notebooks helps, so does a laptop, a palm pilot, a multi-tasking phone, a daily/weekly/monthly mega planner, a thick To Do list notepad, and an extensive filing system, but ultimately it all comes down to wherever you managed to scribble down the idea that ran through your head while you were standing on the platform waiting for the train yesterday morning.
Point is, those little scraps here and there, those fleeting moments of inspiration, they all add up to . . . well, something. Even if we don’t know what exactly it is at the moment that we’re looking for, all those chance encounters, strange occurrences, bad days, and frightened moments all end up creeping out in one story or another. It’s just a matter of finding all those sticky notes and ripped napkins.
Then, of course, there’s the rest of it. They say everyone has a good beginning, even maybe a good ending, but it’s somewhere in the middle that it all falls apart. So what is a writer to do when all there seems to be is one great idea after the other? Well, the obvious step would be to just start writing, but the reality is that there are probably millions of great stories left floating on an ellipsis somewhere, abandoned in the bottom of a drawer.
Writers are afraid of writing crap, and as a result, they’re often left not writing at all. That gap between what you imagined in your head and what came out on paper can be devastating. To the creatively inept, those who equate art and words to nothing more than hobbies (even though without it, all the science and math and physics in this world would exponentially leave the world that much more depressing), such a concept is lost, but to the writer, closing that gap is often what you live for and often the reason why you keep writing.
It begins with the idea, and that’s important. How many people fall out of cabs and miss their trains and lose their luggage and get insulted by a stranger without seeing the potential behind it? How often do we shut our eyes, cover our ears, only to miss the craziness?
Out of one hundred ideas, maybe only one of them will work, and even then, the story might fall flat. Hours of crap writing, pages of ill-focused nonsense, lifeless characters, uninteresting descriptions. All the worst comes out first, but dig your way through it, and then when you least expect it, when you’ve convinced yourself that you were meant to work in a cubicle somewhere, you’ll find an idea that works, and a story that made all the hardship worthwhile.
- Orson Scott Card
A writer’s life revolves around post-it notes, jotted down afterthoughts, and sentences scrawled on fast food napkins. One of those pocket notebooks helps, so does a laptop, a palm pilot, a multi-tasking phone, a daily/weekly/monthly mega planner, a thick To Do list notepad, and an extensive filing system, but ultimately it all comes down to wherever you managed to scribble down the idea that ran through your head while you were standing on the platform waiting for the train yesterday morning.
Point is, those little scraps here and there, those fleeting moments of inspiration, they all add up to . . . well, something. Even if we don’t know what exactly it is at the moment that we’re looking for, all those chance encounters, strange occurrences, bad days, and frightened moments all end up creeping out in one story or another. It’s just a matter of finding all those sticky notes and ripped napkins.
Then, of course, there’s the rest of it. They say everyone has a good beginning, even maybe a good ending, but it’s somewhere in the middle that it all falls apart. So what is a writer to do when all there seems to be is one great idea after the other? Well, the obvious step would be to just start writing, but the reality is that there are probably millions of great stories left floating on an ellipsis somewhere, abandoned in the bottom of a drawer.
Writers are afraid of writing crap, and as a result, they’re often left not writing at all. That gap between what you imagined in your head and what came out on paper can be devastating. To the creatively inept, those who equate art and words to nothing more than hobbies (even though without it, all the science and math and physics in this world would exponentially leave the world that much more depressing), such a concept is lost, but to the writer, closing that gap is often what you live for and often the reason why you keep writing.
It begins with the idea, and that’s important. How many people fall out of cabs and miss their trains and lose their luggage and get insulted by a stranger without seeing the potential behind it? How often do we shut our eyes, cover our ears, only to miss the craziness?
Out of one hundred ideas, maybe only one of them will work, and even then, the story might fall flat. Hours of crap writing, pages of ill-focused nonsense, lifeless characters, uninteresting descriptions. All the worst comes out first, but dig your way through it, and then when you least expect it, when you’ve convinced yourself that you were meant to work in a cubicle somewhere, you’ll find an idea that works, and a story that made all the hardship worthwhile.
Saturday, January 6, 2007
tell me a story
A writer is a person for whom writing is more difficult than it is for other people.
- Thomas Mann
Depression, torture, unhappy thoughts – future income.
Uneventful, relatively happy days - stagnation.
Sitting alone for hours on end – contentment.
Getting rejected every day – a day at work.
Steady work for little pay – a career.
Your name in print – relief.
. . . .
A blank page – hell.
Writing is a funny thing. Telling people you’re a writer is even funnier. It’s almost like telling people you’re an actor, except they’re much more skeptical. You could tell someone you’re a financial accountant, and they’ll believe you, even if you spend your days twiddling your thumbs and checking your MySpace account, they’ll seldom ask to see what work you’ve done. If you say you’re a teacher, well, then you must really be because every day you have dozens of other people to vouch that you were standing there, talking, and ultimately teaching. But who vouches for you when you write? Who knows all the hours you spend in front of a blank screen? The chaotic, mad thoughts that went through your head? Every ounce of blood that fell from your fingers?*
Ultimately, the only person is you. And for that reason, whenever you tell people you’re a writer, they’ll half-smile, cock their head, and say, “Really?” That’s when you turn and throw your book at them . . . no, I suppose not really, especially if you don’t have a book of your own to throw, the point would be lost.
Successful writers are those who can produce work after work after work, with the knowledge that only a fraction of that will ever meet the public. The drive must be constant, the will must be strong, and the result must be exceptionally successful.
Perfectionists, depressives, obsessive compulsives, dreamers, and failures you’d think need not apply – but they are, in fact, the writers in the end we most remember.
The act of writing, of course, is only half the battle. The other exhausting half is getting someone to believe you’re worth what you’re writing, and that’s the half where most people come to a full-speed stop. Rejection. Fear. Hopelessness. Wasted time. Misplaced effort. What kind of task asks such emotion of you and expects you to do it again, fully knowing it might happen again?
Tell me a story. Make me believe it. And then you’ll be a writer.
* The phrase is both figurative and literal. If you don’t bite your fingers out of anxiety or lack of words, it’s best not to start. We’ll leave it at that.
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