Cinema ninjas: brilliant! It should be a high-paying
career option.
Source: whenonearth.net
Yesterday, Miss M and I went to the movies. (Side note: I love my child, but I'm tired of doing everything SHE wants and never getting to do what I want. I remain desperate to see adult movies...if it's a child-oriented movie, I promise I've seen it. But movies for grown ups are elusive to me, and I still need a date with a movie professional.) We saw Minions, which I thought had some issues - mainly with keeping my attention - but had its ridiculously cute and funny moments. Also: I would like to have a minion for a pet now, please. But mostly what weirded me out was the quality of human in the theater with us. We go to this theater a lot, but never on a Saturday evening to see a highly anticipated movie right after its release. (It was crowded, is what I'm trying to say. It was ridiculously crowded, and we had to sit in the break-your-neck-looking-up-at-the-screen area.) I try not to judge other people. I really, really do. This is a hard planet to live on, the Supreme Court and Congress are making the divide between the haves and have-nots even worse, and Donald Trump is running for president...AGAIN, jesus god. We are all fighting hard battles, some harder than others, and I genuinely believe that makes it important for us to be gentle with one another. Having said all that, please indulge me a moment while I judge some of my fellow human beings. I'm going to judge these people and then I promise I'll go back to being a really open, loving, accepting person: 1. The lady directly in front of us sat on her cell phone for almost TWO HOURS, playing on Facebook. From my vantage point, what she was doing was working on pictures depicting herself and her sweet children having a great time at the mall, in the car, all of them just one big ol' smile-y, happy, aren't-we-a-really-awesomely-cute-and-sweet-totally-have-our-shit-together-kind-of-family-don't-you-wish-you-were-us?! sort of pictures. I watched her, off and on, for two hours do the following: tag the pictures, adjust the pictures, repeatedly go back to check for comments and likes under the pictures. Meanwhile, her family sat next to her while she totally ignored the movie and the two sweet children in the pictures she was obsessed over. She was far too busy looking at pictures of herself being an awesome mom than, you know, actually BEING an awesome mom. (Pictures lie, is the moral of this tale, I think.) I find the 21st century to be totally ironic in this way. Thanks so much for mucking humanity up, social media. 2. I really wanted to take a picture as evidence of this, but then that would have made me part of the problem and not the solution. 3. Ladies. Ladies! If you are over 300 lbs, you are NOT allowed to wear halter tops with leggings. I know it's hot. I know that outfit is comfy. But please. This was an area with very small children. One of whom turned to me and said, "Mom! Mom! Why is that lady's huge boobs coming out of her shirt!" 4. If you are standing in line, waiting to buy tickets and your entire party is not with you yet and you do not have the money to purchase the tickets for them, then you may NOT tell the lady with the antsy kid behind you they're not allowed to go in front of you. You may not tell them this. Because that makes you a stodgy line-holder-upper. And then, when you've put yourself in the situation you have put yourself in and so now you're forced to move forward to purchase a group of tickets of which you can only afford one, and the ticket seller kid tells you you can't do that? And then the lady and her kid move up to buy their tickets like they should have been able to do in the first effing place? You may NOT stand there stewing and grumpy and put out about the whole thing. You may not do this. Because that makes you an asshole. 5. If you are buying tickets as a very, very large group of teenage boys and there's a long line waiting to be, you know, where you are so they can also buy tickets, please (a) know exactly which movie you want to see and (b) have enough money to buy your ticket. Standing around, discussing your options and saying things like, "Yo, bro! You got another dollar?" will just cause the lady with her 6 year old standing ten people behind you to wish you death threats and utter a million swear words about you in her head. 6. All babies should be outlawed from cinemas. The End.
Kermode & Mayo's Cinema Rules: also brilliant, and should be posted in every
cinema on Earth. Standards, fellow planetary citizens. Standards.
I took Miss M to see TOMORROWLAND today. OMG, Internet! Please go see this movie! Particularly if you are a parent of daughters. This movie was Sci-Fi, but it had HEART. It wasn't just about technology and science and gadgetry; it was about Hope and Possibility. And more important than that? Girls kicked ASS in it. And I cried THREE times. It's one of my favorite movies now. When M is older, we're going to watch it again...when she's not prone to wandering the theater (it was pretty empty so I let her...normally I'd be hissing through clenched teeth: Sit! DOWN! You. Are. EMBARRASSING ME.) Also, for some reason, it gave her the idea she was born a spy. And now she's a spy. There were no spies anywhere in this movie. But it must have had a spy "feel" to it, and now we're fighting espionage at our house. (Espionage is exhausting, if you must know. I recommend avoiding it.) Speaking of Hope and Possibility, I'd also like to add a rant addendum to what I just posted above. I'm posting this HERE because if I post it on Facebook, my mom (hi, Mom!) is going to call me and go, "Amy! STOP embarrassing me on social media! I want to go to family reunions and look people in the eyes!" And then my mom and I are probably going to get into a political discussion about other things we disagree on, and I'm going to have to add a sad chapter to my Mommy Dearest book. (I'm joking, Mom.) At any rate, I'm putting it here to vent my spleen, because I think the only family members who read this blog are my Mom, my sister in law, and some of my dad's relatives. (Hi everybody!) Who may or may not agree with me, but don't post crazy ass things on their social media all the time that make me say out loud: WTF?! This is incredibly the OPPOSITE of what you just said about yourself! And it's hurtful. And prejudiced. (I made a promise to myself a long time ago to always, ALWAYS speak up when I see or read prejudice, no matter who it's from.) Caitlyn Jenner (formerly known as Bruce). Is she freaky? I don't think so. I don't think anyone who's figured themselves out after half their life has passed is freakish at all; I think they're simply a human being. Can we at least agree that ALL human beings deserve our love, compassion, and understanding, whether or not you agree or understand them? Can we agree that judging someone else's choices as "freakish" or "sinful" or "disgusting," and spewing that negativity out into the Ethos is incredibly harmful to their souls, and therefore yours as well? What you do to one of us, you do to all. I think this would be a good starting point to building world peace, to agree to that. At the very least. I also think that Caitlyn Jenner is incredibly brave. Caitlyn Jenner could have just quietly faded off into a faraway tropical island to transform into her Real Self, never to be seen or heard from again. Instead, she chose to stay in her life, and be proud, and take the flogging from a media and a public that just loooooves to judge, condemn, and generally be dickheads. More than that, I think science and medicine and technology are gifts to us from the Ethos, the Great Spirit, YHWH, God, Allah, Osiris, Poseidon, Ganesha, or Humanity...whatever you choose to insist is driving this gigantic ship we're all navigating through the cosmos on. Together. Completely dependent upon one another, for kindness, love, food, health care, entertainment, parenting, financial aid, compassion. And if science, medicine, and technology have found a way to change a human body to a form that fits the one who dwells within it more comfortably, then your opinion(s) about that matter this much in the grand scheme of things: 0. Oh, you're very welcome to your opinions (as always), but then that makes you open to being welcome to my opinions about your opinions. And so on and so forth. We can do this all day if you'd like. Because when you're out of breath, and I'm out of breath, and we've exhausted ourselves into a fit of self-righteous, indignant exhaustion? Your opinion and my opinion about what ANYBODY does with their life still only matters exactly this much: 0. It's been this way to the Universe since the dawn of time, and it will continue long after you and I and ten generations of our descendants are little more than ashes and dust. Also, and further, I think that whenever (EVERY TIME) someone starts a sentence with a phrase like the following: "I'm not prejudiced, but..." or "I'm open minded, but..." or "I believe in equality, but..." or "I don't hate anyone, but..." (so on and so forth), then that someone is about to say something the very opposite of whatever they just said they are or aren't. Right? It's the "but" that gives them away. Followed of course by their prejudiced, narrow-minded, unequal, hateful viewpoints. The negativity they choose to evacuate from their insides to our world. If you have to let people know you're not prejudiced, guess what? You're probably prejudiced. If you feel compelled to make sure people know you're open-minded, guess what? You probably aren't. Whatever you want to make sure people know you are or aren't, if you tag on the word "but" to it, then guess what? You aren't. Or you are. You're actually whatever it is that follows the word "but." (I have heard the opposite of this from people, and it's always delightful: "I'm a Christian, but..." or "I'm usually angry, but..." or "I don't like homosexuality, but..." Because these are honest people, who are acknowledging another's right to just BE. In this instance the word "but" is a good thing.) So have your opinions about whatever you like (I'm giving you mine right now), but just know: in the grand scheme of things, we are mere specks of dust in a Universe that could be just one of many Universes. There are stars out there in Outer Space that are bigger than our entire galaxy...we are tiny fractions of what the Universe has had to deal with for gabillions of mind blowing millenia. And yet It puts up with us. Probably for the sheer entertainment value. Think about that next time you want to judge someone for who they want to sleep with or marry. Think about that next time you want to pass judgement on someone else for being freakish (to YOU). We're all freaks, babies. Just yesterday, for example, I googled "zero gravity sex in a time warp." Just because I'm going to be reviewing The Expanse in December, this is part of the show (one teensy tinsy part of the show), and I'm freakishly consumed with learning more about it. So I can be obsessed with it. God knows, what would I be without a few freakish obsessions? Don't judge--you know you've got yours. And if you don't? That's freakish, too. We are ALL freaks.
Today is World Book Day (did you know?) (you DO still read BOOKS, don't you?...I mean, e-readers are cool and all, but I bet they're very similar to going from smoking real cigarettes to smoking e-cigarettes--gives you the same kind of high, but something's just OFF) (Maybe cigarettes was a poor choice of example...next time I'll use gluten). At any rate. World Book Day. So I have a list (with some side thoughts) of my Top Ten All-Time Favorite Books I Absolutely Cannot Make It Through This Life Without and You Should Read These Too If You Haven't Already and If You Haven't Already Read Them What The Holy Hell Is WRONG With You?! World Book Day list. Here it is: 1. THE WONDERFUL WIZARD OF OZ by L. Frank Baum. Seriously, if you haven't read this book and you've only watched the movie? You aren't really getting it. This is like a book-movie companion kind of thing. Symbiotic. Binary. You are NOT a real Wizard of Oz fan if you haven't also read (and made notes in the margins) Baum's book. The ORIGINAL book; not any kind of abridged crap (stop being lazy). The WIZARD OF OZ is a Life guide; it will teach you about what's important, what's not, and what to do when you're really in a quandry. (Which is: sing a song, and believe in yourself.) 2. THE MIRACULOUS JOURNEY OF EDWARD TULANE by Kate DiCamillo. Kate also writes the Mercy Watson series, which are really wonderful. But this book. THIS book!! O.M.G. Seriously, your whole life will be changed. Your heart will never be the same. You will never, ever know at what True Love is until you read this book. And when you're done, go read Margery Williams' THE VELVETEEN RABBIT, because (like the WIZARD OF OZ book-movie companionship), these two books should be the two books on which you base your entire philosophy on Love and Life. 3. PETER PAN by J.M. Barrie Peter Pan isn't just about a boy who won't grow up. It's about the power of imagination and possibility. It's about courage and fear, and being Who You Are. It's about acceptance and love, letting go, and how to handle fairies and pirates. (Which I think are symbols of good angels and evil angels, but that's just me pontificating.) When I was growing up, I wanted to BE Wendy...and I wanted to marry Peter Pan. And I wanted to be a pirate and a Tiger Lily and a Tinker Bell, too. This is a ageless tale threaded with fibers of magic and, just like WIZARD OF OZ, if you're just watching the movie versions and/or movie interpretations of it, you seriously aren't getting the core meaning of it and you're doing it wrong. 4. EAT PRAY LOVE by Elizabeth Gilbert Elizabeth Gilbert is my writer hero. She is my female aspiration, both in writing and spirituality. Liz has gone to the rockiest depths, clawed her way out, and eaten some excellent pizza in Sicily while doing so. Whatever Liz says about life, love, and spirituality I pretty much agree with. And she usually favorites everything I @gilbertliz tag her with on Twitter. She's my hero, and her memoir of her own personal Hero's Journey is something I've written in over and over, dog-eared, slept with, eaten with, cried over, and whispered a million thank yous into. It's a Bible of sorts, and I think the Holy Spirit gets me on that even if you don't. 5. STORIES OF ANTON CHEKHOV by Anton Chekhov (and some editors) Oh, Anton Chekhov. Anton, Anton, Anton! What a yummy writerly dish you were, back in the turn of the century. And with every single short story, he'll show (NOT tell) you how to write right. If you are a short story writer, and you have not ever read a short story by Chekhov? You're doing it wrong. Get thee to a bookstore (NOT an e-reader store--a real, physical BOOK store) and pick you up a copy of Anton's short stories. Go home, get comfy, and start to learn, grasshopper. Master. Storyteller. 6. EAST OF EDEN by John Steinbeck Steinbeck was a master storyteller and a master (a MASTER) of the descriptive paragraph. When you start this book, your brain is woven a tapestry of what California looked like, in Steinbeck's--and his characters'--eyes. And then you're given an ancient tale of Cain and Abel, good and evil, right and wrong, and the temptations and horrific choices we all have to make. It's a subtle Bible for how to live, and who not to be. With tapestries of How To Write Descriptive Narrative woven throughout. 7. THE BLUEST EYE by Toni Morrison This is the book that made me understand what it's like to not be in the Majority. It's about quietly fighting a system that is set up to invalidate and demoralize and keep you from soaring to your highest heights. Love yourself, as is...even when They tell you that you as is is simply never going to be enough. On the surface, it's about what Jim Crow and slavery and The Good Ol' Boys network has done to our country, our black women, our society, and our world. But underneath all of that, is something that--no matter your gender, nationality, or race--we can all connect with: the need to belong. It's just amazing. Please read it if you haven't. 8. WUTHERING HEIGHTS by Emily Bronte I read this book over and over and over and over when I was in high school. I wanted to be Cathy...but I wanted to be Cathy before she went nutters. And I desperately, seriously, deeply longed for Heathcliff. I still do, quite frankly. Also, there are ghosts. And ghosts, in my book? Are always good. 9. ROOM WITH A VIEW by E.M. Forrester This is about keeping a chick down; clipping her wings and--like THE BLUEST EYE--fighting a system set up to invalidate/demoralize/keep you back from living your dreams. It's also about not succumbing to someone else's opinions, being really real, and that British class system? Gots to GO. (Sadly, I don't think it has and here in America we're making it worse.) But I love it because it's about being loved for Who You Are, as is. I cannot stress how important that is. 10. BIRD BY BIRD by Anne Lamott Annie is funny and sincere, irreverent and serious, all at once. She knows your pain because she's been there, sister (or brother). She's been down and out, up and over, and she's got the scars to prove it. And she will tell you about them, how she got them, AND give you a lot of good tips on how to Do Writing Right. One little step at a time. Baby steps. Tip toes. Bird by bird. It works for writing, but it's also just a smart way to live a life, the end. And, just because I like them, I'm going to extend World Book Day further by listing movies based on books I personally love a lot and think are excellent filmatic takes on the written word, even if famous film critics disagree with me. Here it is: 1. WIZARD OF OZ This is L. Frank Baum's book...with some artistic license...in technicolor (and black & white for Kansas, which I think was a really brilliant creative decision for MGM in 1939--ahead of their time). I used to LIVE for the airings of this movie, and I wanted to BE Judy Garland/Dorothy. I can't even calculate how many hours I spent, in my room, as a child re-enacting this ENTIRE movie. One time, my mom didn't feel like braiding my hair so I could put on my Oz play in my room, and she suggested I pretend to be Glinda the Good Witch instead. Drama actress ego meltdown ensued. I was Dorothy! Only I knew how to interpret the role of Dorothy! and HOW DARE SHE. 2. PETER PAN (2003) The Disney version is cool and all, but PJ Hogan's 2003 adaptation is just magically superb. And I promise I'm not saying that because Jason Isaacs plays Captain Hook and Mr. Darling AND responded to a dry erase easel board note my class wrote together and sent him on Twitter. You should see this movie because, like MGM's 1939 WIZARD OF OZ adaptation, this IS J. M. Barrie's book...with some artistic license...in CGI magic technicolor. I used to spend hours re-creating the story of PETER PAN in my bedroom too, as a child, but I wasn't as attached to the role of Wendy like I was to Dorothy. 3. LIVING OUT LOUD Simply, this is my all-time favorite movie made for grown-ups. This is an independent film made in 1999 by Richard Lagravenese. It's based on two short stories by Anton Chekhov, and it's about being true to yourself, finding out who you are, being accepted and loved as is, and forgiving yourself. Like Elizabeth Gilbert's EAT PRAY LOVE, whenever I'm in a what-the-hell?? kind of moment, I re-watch this movie. Every woman in the WORLD should be exposed to it. 4. A RIVER RUNS THROUGH IT There are fish (I'm a Pisces), there is water (I'm a Pisces), and there is Brad Pitt AND Craig Sheffer in it (I'm a heterosexual woman). This is about family, ultimately. And addiction. And struggling. And knowing that you can really, really love someone a lot but not like them very much. It's about how people who need the most help are often the ones who least want it; and so then it's about growing through and in spite of that pain. A RIVER RUNS THROUGH IT is about letting go, and it's about trusting in something a lot bigger than your limited self. It's about the ancient art of growing up, breathing in spite of the pain, and acceptance of the unknowable. It's about how the "river was cut by the world's great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of those rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs. I am haunted by waters." 5. APOCALYPSE NOW In 12th grade AP English, we had to read Joseph Conrad's THE HEART OF DARKNESS. What a freaky book. What a freaky movie based on that freaky book. On the surface, it's about some dudes traveling up river through war torn Vietnam and all the freaky crap they saw and endured while doing that. But underneath, like Conrad's book, it's about Us vs. Them kind of thinking, which leads to all kinds of stupid shit...like, oh I don't know, The Vietnam War. And people killing each other for dumb reasons. As humans are wont to do. It's a disturbing movie, but then THE HEART OF DARKNESS is a disturbing book. Sometimes disturbing is bad, sometimes it's good. This is one of those times it's good. 6. THE COLOR PURPLE Whoop Goldberg--I fell in love with her. She played a pure, gentle soul who went on an inner odyssey of figuring out who she was in and in the process discovering her own amazing strength. Sort of like Dorothy in WIZARD OF OZ, but black and living in Jim Crow times. This book/movie is also about family, growing up, and being loved as is. Best line of a movie EVER: "Everything you done to me, already been done to you.I'm poor, black, I may even be ugly, but dear God, I'm HERE..." 7. THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS I'm not going to lie: Daniel Day-Lewis, in this movie, is someone who spends a lot of time in my night time fantasies (sometimes day time ones as well). Family, trust, respect, Man vs. Man, Man vs. Nature, staying true to your roots. It's all in there, set to gorgeous scenery and a sweeping soundtrack that makes your soul soar and spirit weep. 8. DR. ZHIVAGO I had to find a book that complemented FATHERS AND SONS by Ivan Turgenev for my senior year thesis, and this was it. So happy I picked it, because this was about a tough, kick ass woman. Oh, she LOOKED sweet and weak and naive on the surface, but ultimately men were broken by her and because of her. This movie is about love and grief and loss and it's all wrapped up in one amazing journey with a lot of snow in a country that is full of pain and horror and stark, unadulterated beauty. (I really wish Putin would stop mucking it up.)
9. THE GODFATHER This is, literally, the ONLY mafia movie I can and will watch. I think Marlon Brando and a young Al Pacino might have something to do with it; I'll be honest. I read Mario Puzo's book, and then I saw the movie. Like WIZARD OF OZ and Hogan's PETER PAN, this is Mario's book but in visual format. I would like its theme song to play whenever I exit a room. 10. TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD Gregory Peck. Social justice. Gregory Peck. Truth vs. Lies. Gregory Peck. A bildungsroman through a young girl's wide eyes. The way Law OUGHT to be. Gregory Peck. And also: Gregory Peck. I hope Harper Lee's new book will do just as well as this one did in both written and cinematic format. I mean, hello...she's had 50+ years to hone it. And last (but not least) I do have one favorite book that's been made into an excellent television show series: OUTLANDER by Diana Gabaldon. It's got time travel, Scots in kilts, Scots speaking in Scottish brogue, and a lot (I mean a LOT) of sex. With some historical background. Or maybe a lot (I mean a LOT) of historical background. With some sex. Either way, Sam Heughan. And so watch it. It's On Demand.
I am back to normal. By "back to normal" I mean: exactly 50% less geeky. What you witnessed last night was Amy on Geek Crack. I hope I didn't tweet anything too embarrassing to Jason Isaacs, Alison Sudol, or Anne Heche. Or DIG (on USA!). (Geek Crack is street drug lingo for 2 glasses of wine after a really long day.) Also, I re-read my entire blog piece about DIG (on USA!) from yesterday. I should never, ever attempt to live blog again. I clearly haven't got a clue what I'm doing. Were you confused? I'm so sorry if I confused you. I was excited and drinking wine. Two things that work better for me in person than online. If you'd been in my bedroom with me, I promise: we'd have had THE best time. But watching from your computer may have given you an entirely wrong impression of me. Or, I don't know, probably the right one in terms of me, online. ....I would like to note, though, that according to my blog statistics, I have garnered DIG (on USA!) about 360 pairs of eyeballs (if those eyeballs all followed my directions correctly). Add that with my Facebook (180) and Pinterest (1800) eyeball pairs, multiplied by all the tweets I geeked out all night about DIG (on USA), that's about 3,180,180,017 viewers for them last night. From ME alone! (This is why I don't do my own taxes.) (And you're welcome, USA Network.) Tomorrow, I will go into further detail as I de-brief you about the show. If you haven't watched it yet (and if you haven't: are you effing KIDDING me?! What the. Listen, don't even give me that look--you are THISCLOSE to my Shit List. Jesus Christ). If you didn't DVR or TIVO it and/or you simply don't have USA Network, go -->HERE<--to watch the pilot episode. BEFORE SUNDAY. I'm not kidding: I have this much time to play catch up with you: 0. Zero minutes. Miss M has begun her football (soccer) season. This is her first real team sport, and it is being coached by a real football team player. FROM ENGLAND. ....Oh, Internet. Do you have any idea what this did to me when I showed up and M's coach spoke his first words to me? You don't. Internet, you don't even know. Had it not been so cold, I'd have melted into a gooey puddle of bluthering anglophilia. Seriously, her first game is tomorrow and I've already planned my outfit and coordinated my hair and make up. If I'd only KNOWN before I came to practice tonight--I'd have at least refreshed my lipstick. I mean, for the love of all, it was freezing tonight at soccer practice and I needed a thicker coat, but if I got up to get it from my car, that meant I'd miss drinking up some of handsome Coach Mark's exotic football player talk. And as I was utterly opposed to missing out on exotic British football player talk, I sat in enthralled, raptured, frozen misery. My issues for this accent run far, and deep. (I don't know why. I'm sure I'm a psychiatric researcher's wet dream, though.) Besides which, he was directing and interacting with little girls, and he was sweet and silly and patient and they were sweet and silly and impatient, and nobody--NOBODY--was focusing on the ball. They were just interested in holding hands and jumping around in circles, and he was kind and sweet and patient with all of them. Tomorrow's game is going to be just one 60 minute fiasco of freaking ridiculous little girl cuteness, I can tell, with a patient, kind Englishman gently reminding rambunctious little girls how to run around a pitch, reminding them for the 10,000th time: ONLY USE YOUR FEET. (And: which is your goal? which is the goal you're stopping the ball? And: No, no, ducks--go the other way, the OTHER way. And: Come on now, Let's have a go, darlings. You can DO it!) Just thinking about this is making my heart melt all over again. There is nothing like watching a gentleman use a hot accent to coach little squirrely girls who are running amok and not even listening to him a single bit. Meanwhile, one of the mums in the audience is in her purse looking for her smelling salts. Whole. Night. MADE. At any rate, Miss M kept running over to give us high fives. She made some goals (I have no idea how she accomplished this, other than maybe the other little girl she was playing against was even less coordinated and/or aware of her surroundings). So we cheered--yay! YOU DID IT! GOOOOO M! And then somebody else made a goal and we cheered the same for them, except we said GOOOOO J! And thus began the drama queenery: I am NOT to cheer for other children, even ones on Eagles United (the name of M's team). I saw the face. I know it. I know that Oh HELL no! look that Miss M gets whenever she feels certain she's been slighted. (That's from my DNA. The hypersensitive, did-you-just-IGNORE-ME?!? mitochondria--that's all me.) And maybe the fact she's got Only Child Syndrome. That may be a lot of it, too. Which is why I say she just wants all the attention. A future television reality star, is what I'm saying. I'm not raising a future Meryl Streep; I'm most likely raising the next Kim Kardashian. Which is fine! I'm totally fine with this; Kim K is rich beyond her wildest dreams. I just don't want any Kanye Wests brought into the family, or that strange--what was he? a basketball player? The one who had no couth or IQ and was being led around by all the Kardashian women like broken puppy. No sports people. No. And nobody who dresses like THIS:
I can't even. I mean, can he BREATHE?
I'm being very judgmental, aren't I? I think that was a New Year's goal of mine, to stop doing that to fellow human beings. But I mean, honestly, who comes up with stuff like this? (Although...most Monday mornings, I guess I'd actually kind of like to have a face cover. It would shave 25 minutes off my prep time and I could make all kinds of faces at people I don't like very much and no one would be the wiser.)
Speaking of England (keep up, I'm off Kanye and back to soccer now): I showed my class PETER PAN (2003 version) today. We'd watched the Disney version, then read the chapter book...actually, I read the chapter book, doing my very bad posh British accent for the dialogue parts. (Two things about this: -1-switching between American and British is hard on the tongue, and -2-I have two accents I'm halfway good at: posh British and Lucky Charms Irish [The Irish hate Americans like me, every March 17: "ach! bless me loocky chARms!" "Top o' the marnin' to ye!" All. Day. Long.]. And I have one accent I absolutely excel at: twang Southern.) (I don't think I actually sound that Southern, though I do say "y'all," and "bless his heart." If I start talking fast, I also drop all my g's from my -ing words turn the pronoun I into AH. And then there's the slurring of my words....okay. Okay, fine. I'm a damn Yankee Southerner. Whatever.)
So after reading the book (by the way, PETER PAN by JM Barrie is in my Top 5 most favorite children's books...it's all about bravery and loyalty, friendship and imagination, conquering fears and going forth into the dark vast of the unknown; ultimately, it's about staying true to yourself...and, of course, staying forever young no matter what), and after completing numerous compare/contrast, writing, character analysis, and other very very academic activities, we watch the 2003 movie. Which is just magical. It has some plot issues (for instance, what's up with the weird Aunt Vanessa Redgrave character? I mean, I liked her character, I just didn't get why they put her in), but little kids don't know about any of that, and frankly they don't care. They just come to be entertained. And if a little kid isn't entertained, they'll let you know. In ways Mark Kermode couldn't even begin to try to rival. (Do you know who Mark Kermode is? He's smart: go here.)
So I read this book and show this movie to my classes every year. And every year, I have to, at some point, stop the movie and say things like the following:
"Hey. This isn't a football game. We aren't cheering for teams. Just WATCH THE MOVIE."
"Hey. Stop with the running commentary. Peter can't hear you."
"Hey. You guys are a HORRIBLE movie audience. If this were a real theater, I'd be glaring hard at you in the dark and shushing you. And then I'd call a manager over to have you forcibly removed."
"Hey. Pencils are NOT popcorn. Stop that."
Every year! Every year I have to stop the movie periodically to say things like that. But not this year--this year, they were enthralled and captivated. And you know that part when Tinkerbell drinks the poison? They immediately started clapping so she'd live again. And when they realized this movie doesn't do the clapping, they started immediately chanting "I DO believe in fairies, I DO I DO!" I tried to capture that moment on Instagram--no faces being shown, that could land me on the 5 o'clock news, y'all--you'd have just seen my lesson plan book and heard a bunch of upset children begging a fairy to live, live again! But my phone mucked up. (Typical.)
Anyway, at the end of the movie, I took a quick straw poll. Usually, my classes are all about the pirates. All the little boys want to know where they, too, can purchase themselves a Capt. Hook hook after seeing this film. Not this year--this year, they all wanted to be Lost Boys, and the girls wanted to be Wendy or Tinkerbell or Tiger Lily. I think I had one little girl who secretly aspires to piracy. But more eye widening? One of my toughest little boys came up to me at the end of the day and whispered, "Ms. S, I really DO believe in fairies."
Oh my god. Internet, OH MY GOD. I'm tearing up again just remembering. I mean, seriously. This is the little boy who gets yanked out into the hallway at least once a week and told, "I am very disappointed in your choice. This isn't funny! Look at my face: this is my I am NOT HAPPY with you teacher face and I do NOT like having to wear my I am NOT HAPPY with you teacher face." And also back in December he tried to ruin Santa Claus for a little girl in our class. Freakin' kid.
But now he really does believe in fairies. He does. He DOES! You guys! This is when Movies can truly bring us Magic.
(Don't get starry eyed; I promise by Monday afternoon that kid'll be back in the hallway and I'll be crouched down in front of him going, "WHEN. When? When do you think you'll make a better choice? Go move your clip down and figure out how you'll fix your problem. Let me know when you have a solution. And this is NOT funny.")
British league soccer coaches with soft hearts for little girls. Tough little boys who secretly believe in magic. ......And then there's Kanye West's idea of fashionable.
Going to stick with soft-hearted Brits and tough little boys who secretly believe in magic.
I am late with this. Normally I try to post by Saturday morning. But this Saturday morning, Miss M & I ate pancakes at iHop. (Is that how you spell it? Or is it IHOP all caps? Everything is so Apple-y now, so if it starts with the letter "i" I leave that letter "i" lowercase.) And then there was a playground visit. And laundry folding. And one movie called THE TRUTH ABOUT CHARLIE airing on HBO and starring one of my favorite thespians, beautiful Thandie Newton, so I had to watch the whole thing once it started. (My take away: Thandie Newton was too good for Marky Mark.) And then grocery shopping. And now I'm making spaghetti. And I'm drinking some wine while making that spaghetti. And later, I'm going to have some more wine. And coffee with Bailey's Irish cream because I'm a grown up now and I can do that. Here is last week, summarized: Monday-Wednesday, I treaded water, as I normally do. Mondays are always supremely hard. On Monday mornings, my friend Cindy texts me things like: Amy, it's 7:45 AM. Time to go to work. Get out of your car and come inside, Amy. Now. And then I sigh and say quietly in my car, "I know. I know." And then I go in. (Teaching poor kids is rewarding in that the kids are my everything...everything else is spiraling me into Dark Nights of the Soul.) On Thursday, I got home to a package waiting for me. I thought it was a left over order I'd put in for Christmas that had just come WAY late. No! It was a beautiful, silver ring inscribed with my all-time favorite Rumi quote: That which you seek is seeking you. It was from Tanya, a Midwest friend I haven't met in person, but we did a group blog together many years ago--we all challenged ourselves to complete a project that scared the beejezus out of us and wrote about the process together on the blog--and she and I are still in touch today, years later. So months ago, T threw up a Facebook post asking for people who'd like to participate in a Pay It Forward thing--7 (or more people) would say yes, and at some point in the year, she'd send each of those 7 (or more) people some kind of gift...and then each person was to put up the same Facebook status so that they could do the same for 7 (or more) people who responded to them. So. Cool. (And that T-dawg actually remembered! And it came at a time when I really needed something like that to fall into my life.) (This is when the Internet connects people and is actually a good networking tool, rather than just the hub for porn and psychos and angry people it usually is.) I took Friday off for a couple of doctors' appointments, and when I was through, I went to the movies. By myself! And I didn't have to see a movie with animated characters, singing animals, or princesses! It was insanely amazing. I had too, too many choices and basically had to do eenie meenie miney moe. It ended up being between CAKE, THE IMITATION GAME, SELMA, or A MOST VIOLENT YEAR. I was interested in seeing CAKE because Jennifer Aniston was desperate for an Oscar and so she got fat (Jennifer, that's so cliche, but I still think you're lovely and a great actress, and overdue for an Oscar--stupid Hollywood, making its actresses get ugly or fat or play a crazy person before they give them an Oscar)...I wanted to see THE IMITATION GAME because I'd heard good things about it and, apparently, every straight female and gay man in America wants to sleep with Benedict Cumberbatch, and they like to call themselves "Cumberbitches," which the feminist in me just winces at...I wanted to see SELMA because it's a biopic about MLK (who's one of my heroes) and the husband of my sweet friend Angie worked crew on it (he got to drive Oprah around)(and also, I think they have scaffolding from some sets sitting in their driveway now)...and I wanted to see A MOST VIOLENT YEAR because Jessica Chastain is in it, and I will always see movies Jessica Chastain is in since I desperately wish she and I could have a coffee date and become BFFs. In the end, THE IMITATION GAME won because the timing worked out. My take away: It was so good! Please go see it, particularly if you're a WW 2 buff and/or technogeek. It's all for you. For me, I took away how important it is that we take care of each other; bullying does nothing to further our species. I cried in two places. Benedict has beautiful eyes and is a really, really good actor. Keira Knightley is gorgeous and talented--I wish people would stop being sarcastic about her (Oscars people, I mean YOU). Governments are full of sons of bitches. War is hell. Nazis, ultimately, were pretty stupid. Human beings can do awful things to one another. Alan Turing was robbed. Now, for the rest of the weekend: I have a mountainous stack of papers to grade. I have other paperwork I need to fill out since Parent-Teacher winter conferences are looming. I need to plan for next week's lessons. We're going to a friend's house to celebrate men in helmets jumping on top of each other (I'm going for the Super Bowl commercials, beer and chips/dip--I simply don't understand sports) (though, for some reason, I think I could potentially kick ass at golf). I need to work on my resume some more. I hate grey, rainy days--yesterday was beautifully sunny and I had 95% more energy. Today it got cloudy and grey and my whole outlook depleted. I may need to invest in an anti-winter darkness light. It is not lost on me that I am winter-born and do not like anything about the winter, except for the occasional snow day here and there. And that's only because I'm a Southerner and it's a novelty; if I were up North, I'd have ten million complaints about snow. I keep meaning to meditate and then keep forgetting to. I have way too much on my schedule and a needy, clingy 6 year old isn't helping things. On Friday, when I had some time to myself, I just sat in the peace and quiet...have you done that? You should do that. It's hard, especially if you have a brain like mine that refuses to shut up. But I found that if I just breathed deeply and really focused, for a good 10 minutes or so there were no worries; only peace. It was nice. You know what else is nice? Jeff Bridges. Jeff Bridges just made a music album for insomniacswho want to help kids not be hungry. You can download his Sleeping Music, for whatever you'd like to donate--there is no real price on it--and every single bit of money goes to No Kid Hungry. Isn't that nice? Jeff Bridges is another favorite thespian of mine. But he's also such a lovely, artistic soul--he's a musician, and I think he's also a gifted photographer. (I find that most creative people are gifted in more than one craft or like to dabble in more than one. My friend P is a talented writer and musician...my friend Kat is a talented writer and photographer...most creatives are drawn to anything that creates. Which seems to make sense, in the grand scheme of things.) Next time I write I will probably be doing some more promoting for several of my favorite thespians (including but not limited to Jason Isaacs...hello to him) because March 5 is coming, and March 5 is when DIG (on USA!)starts. I've been slacking off on my DIG free PR I promised to Jason Isaacs last summer on his Instagram account. This looks like an amazingly amazeballs show that will make you question EVERYTHING. If you don't live in the United States, you will be so sad. So sad! Since you won't get to see it until they put out the DVD for it (I hope they will put out a DVD for it, so other countries can see it). I don't necessarily feel bad about this, since I had to wait to see the BBC's Case Histories series 1 and 2. But it does underscore my belief that, because stories connect human beings, there should be no borders when good shows come on the air. We have satellites flying around in outer space right now--I'm sure technology exists that would let whoever, wherever, watch any country's television shows. If I can listen to BBC radio live every Friday, then I should be able to watch BBC television shows live whenever. Join the 21st century, television networks. Until that happens, we'll just have to share amongst ourselves, I guess. Be storytelling Resistance Fighters and all that. Channel our inner Alan Turings. Pay it forward. Let Jeff Bridges put us to sleep while we help hungry kids eat. Get plenty of UV Vitamin D rays, wherever we can, in the low winter sun moments. Be unimaginably wonderful and stupid, amazingly brilliant and crazy; find ways to channel our inner Resistance Fighters about pretty much everything. Resist everyone and everything that would like to contain us, keep us within safe borders and tell us who to be, where to go. Let's work on that, focus on it, all of February. Want to? Here's a picture with something I'm pondering for the week and you can too, if you'd like:
Before you read: I apologize. I am sorry. I tried to find a way to break this into two posts so I wouldn't be jumping around all over the place. But I couldn't find a way to do it, after I wrote it, that wouldn't have involved a major re-write in some places and...I'm just happy to be able to find something to write about and the energy to still do it. So sorry but not sorry. Come jump around in my brain with me--it's fun!
*******
Y'all, I have the most ridiculous child. You may think yours is ridiculous, but I'm sorry no. Mine is way more ridiculous. She both amuses and confounds me. Do you know that this flippant thing walked right up to me on Monday afternoon and announced she was sick. Then she announced I would need to help make her better by fixing her some hot tea and buttered toast and that when I was finished, I could bring it up to her room ON A TRAY as soon as it was ready. On a tray. With a little dainty napkin for her little dainty mouth and also some grape jam on the side, please, and oh yes: a chocolate biscotti as well.
Whatever. She's little and I had time, so I went ahead and played nurse. She plays foot masseuse with me occasionally, so it's the least I could do I figured. But then I got up to her room with tea/toast/tray, and she had her little Polar Express bell necklace out. As I set the tray down, she let me know that, for the rest of the day, whenever she needed something she'd ring her little bell, and I was to come upstairs to ask what she needed.
Clearly, I am raising Cleopatra. (I have been Googling lots and lots of stories about what happens, in the end, to queens like Cleopatra and Marie Antoinette and the like and we've been having some mommy/daughter history lessons.)
Speaking of royalty, Twitter is abuzz with news from Sundance 2015. You guys! The Sundance Film Festival is on my bucket list, in a BIG way! I am insanely jealous by each and every tweet and twitted picture I am exposed to when something with #sundance or #sundance2015 lands in my twitter feed. Or, you know, I torture myself by actively searching for Twitter news of what's happening right now in Park City, Utah. I wish you could be inside of me so you could feel how bitter I am that I am here and not there. There are a butt load of people, right now, drinking wine over steaks and salads and talking about some fabulous film they just saw. They are sitting in front of large bay windows of restaurants and coffee shops, panoramic snow capped mountains as scenery, arguing plot points and debating endings while snowboarders and skiiers hop onto ski lifts in the background.
I'm sure they're also working very, very hard out there in Sundance Land. It must be exhausting to visit swag parties (party after party!) with people handing you expensive things (free of charge!). And then? To have to go watch a lot of movies (movie after movie!) on top of that? I seriously don't know how they manage. And then after all the interviews, they maybe do some skiing. Or sit in a hot tub surrounded by snowy icicles. Eat a steak. Have fans send complimentary drinks to your table. Hard stuff like that. The life of a movie star is very, very strenuous, I can tell.
Here's what I did today, just to compare/contrast: I taught Calendar Math. I made 6 people move their behavior clips down; one landed on Purple (the SUPER DUPER BAD color...I gave him a choice: lose indoor recess or I call your mom--he chose wisely and went for recess). I gave a Reading Comprehension quiz and a Word Study quiz. I had to say "NO" exactly 10,000 times. I taught a 40 minute lesson on stars and constellations. I had to do indoor (aka LOUD) recess because it was disgusting and rainy outside. I had to deal with two boys hitting each other in the boys' bathroom--both had confusing stories about who did what when where why. I deflected 25 tattle tales. I made one child cry because she had 2 yellow owls on her weekly conduct card and didn't get to go to the treasure box. I had to help dress a boy who dresses himself every morning...in the dark, obviously--his shirt was buttoned all crazy and it was inside out. He also had his shoes on the wrong feet, but they were two different shoes so there was nothing I could do to help him there. I had to have a long conversation with someone about telling the truth, no matter what. I had to have a long conversation with someone else about how it's okay not to know but NOT okay not to try. I had to have a long conversation with everybody about how reading every day is important or they'll never increase their reading level data. I had to re-direct constantly, and nobody (nobody!) felt like walking through the halls with a bubble in their mouth today.
The highlight of my WHOLE day? Showing them THIS VIDEO and having 3 out of 25 kids say (out loud), "Wow! That was AMAZING! So, that means that inside, we're...STARS!")
Yes you are, my darlings. Inside, you are all stars. But your teacher still wishes she were watching movies with the bigger, brighter ones instead of hanging out here with you.
....Did you know the bigger a star is, the older it is? Did you know that VY Canis Majoris, a red hyper giant star, is 1,800 times bigger than our sun? Did you know that one day, our closest star the sun will get bigger...and bigger...and bigger...and explode us all to smithereens? But don't worry--it'll be 2 million generations from now that have to deal with that. If we don't melt their polar ice caps first.
The thing I like about the solar system is the fact that we are all connected by the sun and the moon--we all see the same sun, we all see the same moon. That's the same sun and moon the dinosaurs saw, that Father Abraham and Ghandi and Buddha and Jesus and my great-great-great-great-great-grandma and your great-great-great-great-great-grandma and George Washington and Napoleon and Ghengis Khan and John Lennon and Susan B. Anthony and Queen Victoria and Shakespeare and Joan of Arc and Sappho and Eleanor Roosevelt and Emily Dickinson and Charles Darwin and Socrates and Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton and their great-great-great-great grandmas all saw. When we look up in the sky, we are connected through the Universe. And when we look at stars, we are literally looking back in time. Starlight goes on through space and time, long after its life has ended. I can't think of anything more magical and amazing and connecting than Outer Space...and its stories.
Speaking of looking back in time: I watched one movie this week during a frustrating Insomnia Fest. It was calledFIELD OF LOST SHOES. One of my favorite actors (hello, Jason Isaacs) was in it, but this is not why I watched it. Okay, fine. I knew about the movie because he's in it so Jason Isaacs was slightly why I watched it--I did have other movie options available to me. But ultimately I watched it for my dad. Like all war-themed movies I end up seeing: I watch them for my dad, because he no longer can. (I'm more into movies like LOVE ACTUALLY and FORREST GUMP...I'm the kumbayah commie pinko hippie wannabe peacenik, remember?)
When I watch war-themed movies, I also watch them from a soldier's daughter's perspective. I'm writing about FIELD OF LOST SHOES because this is a movie my dad would have loved. My father would have talked about this movie for days after. And then he would have talked about his time at Pennsylvania Military College (now Widener University) back in the day and how it related to the Virginia Military Institute in this movie. Not only did FIELD OF LOST SHOES involve guns and soldiers and war and military college kids, it was History (capital H). And my dad was all about History--he lived and breathed it. I mean, he died after falling asleep to the History Channel.
What I'm saying is: I found myself at several points during this movie longing for my father. The opening scenes reminded me of photographs my family has of my father's PMC military rehearsals. (Which led me out of curiosity to do a YouTube search and--omg, you guys!Look what I FOUND! ...I don't think my dad is in it, though he'd have been at PMC then, because this is mostly of the band which he wasn't part of. But more nostalgia--my dad would have eaten up YouTube, too.) It brought back memories of my dad taking my little brother and me to visit his alma mater, and that, even at 13 years old, I could tell he was struggling to contain the emotional connection he still felt to a place he'd loved dearly.
The exposition of the story, when the main characters are introduced, reminded me of stories my dad told of upper class men being fairly torturous toward their incoming, green freshmen. (One story: all the upper class men locked all the freshmen into their dorm rooms one afternoon; my father's roommate desperately had to go to the bathroom and they wouldn't let him out. But he had to go Number Two! This would have been horrific--he had to do it in his pants or their floor or both. Their room was on the ground floor, so my dad helped his friend stick his ass out the window and find relief in the bushes below. An upper class man happened to be walking by just as they were doing that, and they both had to, like, clean toilets with their toothbrushes for a week or something.) (The military does this to its incoming, and they do it on purpose--it bonds them, and teaches them not to be a hero...you're going to need to look out for each other later on, when you're trying to kill the real enemy.)
This story was why, quite frankly, I was surprised the upper class men in FIELD OF LOST SHOES didn't go through with a threat they made to little, innocent Sir Rat. At PMC, I'm fairly sure they would've. Maybe they had to cut that scene due to test audiences' reactions. At PMC, they'd have shrugged and said, "Get over it, you fucking weak-kneed vermin! GET UP OFF THAT $%!@#*&#!!&^%# FLOOR RIGHT NOW AND RUN YOUR $%!TH))# @%%#$ OFF BEFORE I KICK THE *&^$%^!)(*!&^#!!$$%#*@#!*&^$! OUT OF YOU!!!! WHAT ARE YOU STANDING THERE LOOKING AT ME FOR GODDAMMIT?!?! I SAID: RUUUUUNNNN!!!!! RUN! RUN! RUN! RUN! RUUUUUNNNNNN YOU $^%@#%!&!*&!!!!!!!")
Soldiers: they live hard, they die hard, they watch each others' backs. And they cuss a lot.
(True confession: when I originally wrote and published this blog entry, I had the original soldier-y swears in that ALL CAPS dialogue up there. But then I started feeling the disapproving ghost of my father watching me, shaking his head at me and saying something about being ladylike and ladies don't blah blah blah ladylike. So when I woke up this morning, I couldn't stop being nervous about that, and I edited it all out with cryptic symbology. One day I will stop seeking my father's approval; today will not be that day. Sorry if you missed it; I was astounded, impressed, and amazed at how much filth I am able to access. It was really kind of breathtakingly lovely and disgusting, all at once. Let's meet for drinks and I'll recreate it for you in person. We can horrify the old ladies dining near us.)
At any rate, back on track: This movie gets a high five from me. You will like it, I promise. However, as a (commie pinko, left-leaning liberal) Southerner, I'll be honest and say I had a bit of a problem with how they dealt with the slavery thing, and I usually do whenever I watch movies like this--this is not a negative commentary, is what I'm saying, because it wasn't a surprise. I think a lot of storytellers don't know how to deal with some of the touchier stuff, especially issues that society is still healing from. Which seems very human--we all instinctively want to gloss over embarrassing things our ancestors did, note that we're horrified by it, and then try to sort of desperately find some sort of nugget of human kindness to latch onto, to prove to ourselves there were good people even on the bad guys side. The fact of the matter is, it's still sort of being done. Isn't it? It is. You can see it, because we are very, very uncomfortable about talking about it and worried about putting it in our art if our ancestors were the antagonists. (Fighting really REALLY hard here not to tangent off into a rant about SELMA and the Oscars with an anecdotal side story about how I cried when Halle Berry won an Oscar.)
Lots of people, especially in America, continue to deal with racism's after shocks to this day. Seriously--go talk to a black or a brown or any other color that's not white person; go have a chat with someone who's not Christian in America...bet they've got at least 100 personal stories of prejudiced or bigoted things someone's done or said to them and/or someone they love. This continues to be a problem, and we continue to pussyfoot around it, and if you don't think so it's probably because you're a WhiteAngloSaxonProtestant. And don't argue with me until you've had a heart to heart with someone who's not a WASP. And if you're arguing with me and you're NOT white, well goodness gracious...bless your heart. And if you're all mad at me because you're convinced there's a war on Christ, you have just GOT to stop watching FOX News. I'm not kidding. It's totally messing up your synaptic neurons, giving you a slow lobotomy of sorts.
I've completely off-tracked me. Where was I? Right--FIELD OF LOST SHOES. I wish they'd have just dealt with it or not dealt with it at all. There really didn't seem to be a reason to add in scenes to prove the lead characters were just fighting because their daddies said to, that they abhorred slavery which they probably didn't really...so some white people feel better about pieces of their history. They did what they did then because they didn't know better. But now we know better, so we should try to do better. Embrace thyself and thy history, Humanity. Tell the story like it really would have happened so no one wants to live it again.
The truth of the story was: once upon a time, America enslaved black people. There was a war over it. A general named Sherman was ruthless. This is a story about a group of boys who lived back then, and were products of their times. One of them was Jewish, ain't that some shit. People are complicated. Life is hard. We're going to tell you a story about a heartbreaking moment in our history when the shit hit the fan. We aren't here to fix what and why this happened, we aren't making ROOTS here. We're telling a small moment story about some babies being sent to fight grown ups. This is a story about friendship and honor and what happens in war sometimes. People should be allowed to truthfully tell their stories.
I think it would have been okay for these storytellers to basically say that. In the prologue and/or in interviews. (It's possible they did and I am unaware. But as someone just looking for a movie to watch at midnight one night, that's what I wondered about at the end.) I mean, I'm pretty ticked off still about women in Civil War times being held down, confined to narrow roles, and nothing was done to address that situation in this movie. Just let be what it was--this is how things just were back then. And in some houses to this day.
But I'm also a Southerner and get the nuance--this was filmed and premiered in the South, and believe me when I say we have a sordid history that continued well after slavery ended and people are very, very sensitive about to this day. Nobody wants to be professionally skewered in the press here. On the flip side: down here in the South? There are still people fighting this war in their hearts--and they are STILL holding grudges against Sherman and I'm not kidding or making that up. Sherman is still cursed here in some places--I think this movie did a good job expressing why through his character's brief onscreen bits. This was a nasty war, and it left scars, scars that we are still tending to in the 21st century. There was a LOT for the filmmakers to grapple with, psychologically, artistically, professionally, historically. So, not judging, just wish they hadn't done as much revising to the story's contents. Yet as a Southerner, I get them. We are a weird country.
The rest was fine and lovely and what mainly gripped me as I watched, what I kept thinking, once the plot really got under way was: these boys were just babies...they were only babies. And I think there are a lot of common threads we can identify with today: children are being scarred right now by grown ups who are killing each other and sometimes using them as shields and bargaining tools in the process; there are grown ups, right now, shoving AK-47s into the hands of babies and turning them into lethal killers.
Only a few of the boys sent into fight that day came out of the battle alive, and these scenes wrought tears from me. No child should ever die because adults can't manage their shit. The boys this movie is about were very, very brave. Far braver than the men in charge who were afraid of losing--men who feared losing enough to send in babies to fight their war, men who feared losing enough to pull their triggers and fire their cannons at children and young men barely out of childhood. This was a movie with a lot of complicated moral issues underlying it. (And I like those. I don't know if you can tell or not.)
I downloaded it on cable; I'm not sure if it's in theaters still. If you have time, and you like to watch war-themed movies (for yourself or for your dad because he can't now), you should watch this. It's an independent film, and those have notoriously low budgets, so going in knowing that I was so impressed with what they were able to do with what they had. And the people they had in the cast--wow. This was clearly a labor of love.
If you have a 6 year old, you'll have to watch it after 9 PM. If you do watch and disagree with anything I've written here, please let me know--we can meet for coffee or wine and argue about it. If you do watch and agree with lots of what I've written, still let me know--we can meet for coffee and wine and we can high five each other on how very brilliant and so much smarter than everyone else we are.
One day, I hope to be doing just that in Park City, Utah, with someone fabulous, after a Sundance premiere. Or just myself. Whatever. I'm fine either way as long as I have access to a hot tub and there are snow capped mountains behind me.
Not a real film critic. But thankful for stadium seating.
Last night, at midnight (which is when I watch all my PG13 and R rated movies), I watched the movie DIVERGENT. Full disclosure: I have not read the book yet. But after watching the movie, I will just stick myself out on a limb and say: I sense this is one of those movies that was better as a book.
It wasn't bad! It wasn't bad. It was a thoroughly enjoyable movie watching experience--it kept my attention, I was invested in the outcome for the main characters. It was a good movie. Shailene Woodley was amazingly good--and also, she has great hair. I think I mostly stayed glue to the screen just to watch Shailene's gorgeous, thick, shiny hair in action. What products does one need to get hair like that? But she's also stunningly talented...in case you haven't seen it yet or read the book or just don't like spoiler-y people in general, I won't tell you the circumstances--but there is a scene in the movie that if you don't cry with her or at the very least tear up? Something is terribly, terribly wrong with you and you should seek help.
Also, at the beginning of the movie, I teared up when she made a decision to leave for a different kind of life than she'd always thought she'd have. It hit me in the stomach, and I was all kinds of ooh, THIS is going to be one of those movies I get to pick apart psychologically, yay! But then it wasn't and boo. But it still wasn't bad. It's just...there were parts that just didn't seem that believable to me. Or were missing something. I think real film critics call that plot issues. One bit that sort of annoyed me was when the heroine (Tris) was in grave danger and her boyfriend trainer guy comes and saves her. I really hate that in movies--damsels in distress getting saved by a knight in shining armor. If I want a Disney princess movie, I'll watch Cinderella. One of the reasons I wanted to see DIVERGENT was because it was about a strong girl who finds herself. So things didn't add up, or they just...I kept thinking of THE HUNGER GAMES, is what I think I'm trying to say. Throughout the whole film, I just kept waiting for them to kill each other so the odds would ever be in their favor. But ultimately this Tris was no Katniss. Even though their names kind of rhyme.
And hey...just as a side note: Millenials, can we talk for a second? What is with you guys? With all this killing each other and punching each other and all the stark futuristic emo crap? Whatever happened to just sitting around in the high school library for Saturday detention, mourning one's life, while songs by Simple Minds play softly in the background? Or being angsty about turning sixteen because your mom and dad forgot your birthday on account of your sister getting married? I bet social media and smart phones have a lot to do with this. Too much Internet--you guys! It's turning our teens into cyborgs. I bet 100 years from now humanity is going to look just like The Hunger Games/Divergent. With some sparkly vampires running around here and there.
I submit the above movie "critique" as hard evidence why I'm not a real film critic. And still need a date with a movie professional so I can sound like I actually know what I'm doing when I talk about why movies did or didn't work for me.
Unrelated Topic #2: Anglophilia.
Union Jacks are colourful.
I've been very open about my life-long, deep love for all things UK. I think it started in high school when I discovered Monty Python and then subsequently started watching British comedies on PBS--Black Adder, Only Fools and Horses, Fawlty Towers, Steptoe and Son. British humor (humour?) makes me laugh and laugh.
Other reasons why I heart the British/Scottish/Irish/Welsh:
*They spell swanky.
Which means even when they swear, they sound swank. And let me tell you, having hung out with some UK ex-pats for a bit, people from the UK make swearing an art form. As an American with a love for the British, I find it shocking and endearing all at once.
*Pubs.
They're not bars like here--everybody hangs out at the local pub, even the kids. Pubs are for families (possibly not after 10 pm). I mean: Guinness. And Toad in the Hole! And situations like THIS:
*Boxing Day.
You all! I think the British get, like, TWO Christmases. And then they made up that whole song The Twelve Days of Christmas. Christmas is, like, a THING in the UK.
*The British royal family.
I know some English people feel they must go, they are draining the country. But I like them. Especially Harry. (Especially Harry.) Getting rid of the British royal family would be like...like...like making everyone in the UK switch to driving on the right-hand side of the road.
*British endearments.
My favorite British thing ever is when they call you "love." It feels warm and embracing, and I'd pretty much be putty in the hands of any British person who used it on me. I was once told, in a faux Irish pub here in Atlanta, by a real bloke from Liverpool that the endearment "love" is going away. And that made me sad. But then he called me "love" all afternoon after I told him I liked it, and that made me hopeful. I'm hopeful for you, UK. Don't let me down. There's not much I wouldn't do for a Brit wielding the word "love," and I sense many of my American counterparts feel the same.
*Football.
We call it soccer, but it makes more sense to call it football. Our football doesn't really involve a lot of foot work, unless it's running. Really, our football ought to be called Helmet-Shoulder Pads Rugby. Or Tackleball since there's so much jumping on top of each other. Calling our football Tackleball would free us up to join the rest of the world and call soccer what it actually is: football. Get on that, ESPN. (ESPN and all American NFL fans are evil eyeing and hissing at me right now, calling me a traitor...I can really feel it.)
Also, that Liverpool guy who called me love? He taught me what a "pitch" is. I was with him and a bunch of UK and South African people watching 2007 World Cup games, and everyone kept screaming about people doing things on the pitch. American me kept looking around the screen wondering when someone would throw the ball (because baseball pitchers), and going: that's weird--I thought only the goalie gets to throw the ball in this game; why do they keep telling the players to pitch? So, finally, I leaned over to my Liverpudlian table mate and said that to him. After a 20 second very intense stare, he finally got what I was asking, rolled his eyes, sighed, and said, "You Americans. Everything's about how America does it. No, love. No one's pitching anything. The 'pitch' is the field. It's another word for field." Then he proceeded to teach me about how Liverpool has two teams, the Reds and the Blues (they have actual team names, but I've forgotten and I'm too lazy to look them up). He was a Red person. Apparently, the Red people go around and say things like "Red til I'm dead!" I don't know what the Blues say (Blue til I'm due?) , but according to Tim from Liverpool, who cares? Blue people are going DOWN. Still, they're also called the friendliest league because, within whole families, you'll have some people who are Red and some who are Blue. And so you can't just keep yelling at each other about football Red people vs. Blue people all the time, can you?
I told Tim (from Liverpool) that this sounded a lot like the American Civil War. He looked at me very hard for another 20 seconds, then shook his head and took a long sip of English ale.
(On a slightly related side note: Miss M has been signed up for Spring Soccer (Football). Her team is the Fire United. Maybe because Manchester United was taken? I confess: I really don't know how sports work.)
*How the British say "I love you."
Basically, it seems to work like this: when the British love you, they insult you. When they're super polite and sweet with you, they pretty much hate your guts. The more you are loved, the more you are gently insulted. Gentle insults are they only way Brits know how to express love. I suspect William the Conqueror may have been responsible for this, but I'm only saying that because William's archbishop is my ancestor.
At any rate, once I figured this out, I felt really bad for going off on an English friend of mine several years ago. He was in the habit of calling me "muppet." I'd do or say something quirky, and he'd use the word muppet. Which for a long time I thought was so sweet: oh, that's nice! He's using a British term of endearment on me! Like love, only more Jim Henson. And then, one day, I got curious and googled the word "muppet." Google informed me it means "idiot." And so my indignant American came out and I told him to stop calling me that. And now I think we just had a total cultural breakdown--he was insulting me but it was a GOOD thing. In return, I basically told him, "Take your British love and shove it!"
I'm certain this is how the American Revolution began.
*Maths/Sport.
Americans say Math, Brits say Maths. Does it matter? Technically, the British are correct: it's mathematics, plural. But then they refer to sports as "sport," which doesn't make sense to me. Unless they're only talking about one sport in particular.
We could also argue a lot about tomato vs. tomahto, too, I guess. Either way, when British people say it, it sounds swankier.
*Xs at the end of messages.
At the end of messages, lots of British people put a small x. As in:
See you tomorrow, then.
-Tim x
This feels just like when they call you "love," and I like it.
*British swear words.
Bloody. Simply my favorite British swear ever. It's like the F word. You can stick it in anywhere and it works. And if you add the F word in addition, now you're just showing off. It's bloody fucking brilliant.
*British speak.
The British like to abbreviate words. Brekkie for breakfast. Pressies for presents. Baccy for tobacco. And then you get into the different slang for the different UK dialects--Scouse slang, Yorkshire slang, Geordie...it's mind boggling how they all understand each other, and yet they make it work. I think I've written about this before: The British are magic.
*Harry Potter.
It's a world-wide phenomenon. Hey, remember how the British tried to colonize the entire planet? And then the entire planet was all basically just, Hey, get out you British guys! at various different points throughout history? Then, one day, JK Rowling came along and pretty much did it single-handedly via a series of books with some help from very talented film makers. I bet Queen Victoria feels very vindicated, wherever she is. (It's another good example of why storytellers should be running things--if the Redcoats had just sat the American colonists down for some good stories over Welsh Rarebit, scones, and stout beer, we never would have left you, Mother England. We never ever would have left.)
I have more things I love about the UK, but I don't want to overwhelm you. Basically, I think I live on the wrong side of the pond. Is what I'm saying. But then there's a series of cold, rainy, grey days like we're about to get this coming week and I think: Nope. I'd end up in the dark corner of a pub somewhere, mourning the loss of my American sun.
It's a real conflict. Like how I felt at the end of DIVERGENT. (There, I connected these two topics.)
