April 5th, 2006

Carravaggio

lots of sex please, we're British

"Sometimes I dream of a tree, and the tree is my life. One branch is the man I shall marry, and the leaves, my children. Another branch is my future as a writer, and each leaf is a poem. Another branch is a glittering academic career. But as I sit there trying to choose, the leaves begin to turn brown and blow away until the tree is absolutely bare." (Sylvia Plath)

Ooh, lookit, the firewall's off today. will not abuse...will not abuse...stop it, evil hand!

Tsk. Anyways, very, very bleary eyed from last night's Brit fest. First up was Clive (and Jonathan) in I'll Sleep When I'm Dead. I decided not to do the 200km round trip to see it on the two days it screened out here. Good choice. It's okay on cable, which I'm paying for anyway, but it wasn't the best (the phrase load of old donkey's cobblers springs to mind). It was very sterile, very flat, and yes, getting all the Kurosawa references, no need to throw in faux Japanese plinky plonky soundtrack. Set my teeth on edge, so it did. Plus, Clive didn't get cute until he got evil/returned to souless bastard past, so it kind of took the pleasure out of it, and I found a lot of the cockney monkeys very stereotyped, as if they'd wandered in off a Guy Ritchie film. The subject matter was a bit grim, too. Not exactly what I'd call a date film.

Ah, but John, dear John. I loved Miranda. It was very silly, arch and twee and entirely pointless but it was John being all puppyish and young and cute and lovestruck and awwww....
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