Goodbye, blue sky....

Well, all has changed in RUSH…
Sarah has gone to Thailand/rest of world (sob sob),
Alan is back in college (less time with my man),
Kelly can legally drive (no more jokes on bad driving),
EJ has got a job (no more tea),
Bones is building character (selling out to the online-CV) and
Barry, Mark, Laura and Glen have come back from Eurasia (dreaded hair).

My-my, how the tables have turned…the summer is truly over! All that’s left now is little landmarks on the road to Christmas – Halloween; my sister’s 21st; getting my provisional licence; getting a car! Of course, the only certain things are Halloween and my sister’s 21st – everything else is me with my fingers crossed saying please, please, please, please!!

So, in honour of the many changes in life, and the crap day I’m having in work, and the fact that I bought the excellent Shaun of the Dead on DVD last week, I’ve included an old review of a movie that kind of describes how it feels to work in the civil service, sometimes!!


Dawn of the Dead

Director: Zack Snyder
Starring: Sarah Polley, Ving Rhames, Mekhi Phifer
Screenplay: George A. Romero, James Gunn.

Trivially (and just-as-an-opener), Zack Snyder, the director of Dawn of the Dead, turned down SWAT in order to make his first movie an ‘R’ rated. Obviously a fan of the genre, Snyder’s first feature length is a remake that doesn’t make you gag and scream pillage on the original (!!!). Based loosely around the 1978 George A. Romero (schlock-maestro of horror) classic, this version can certainly stand on its own merits. The screenplay is Romero’s, tweaked by James Gunn – this being his only meritable mention, as his present other screenplay is now haunting parents everywhere as Scooby Doo 2 – and really does offer plenty of belly laughs along with out and out adrenalin-pumping terror.

The story begins with soft undertones of things to come –disquiet is raging in the background of idyllic suburbia, and hell is unleashed before the movie title even lands onscreen. Your blood is pumping while narrow escape after narrow escape is launched, and your skin tingles at the thoughts of waking up from a settled sleep to discover that the world has gone mad and, as the tagline goes, hell has overflowed onto earth. The zombies have graduated to moveable frights – they still have the familiar shuffle of the original ‘Dead’ trilogy, but once spying human flesh, they become more like the terrifying windmill speed demons of ‘28 Days Later’. They trail towards the mall en masse, and moan and drag until the scent of human flesh drives them into frenzies. Our heroes barricade themselves inside, all human stereotypes – the jock, the kid, the tough- cookie, the hard man, the redneck, the mother, the pregnant woman (even a dog joins the foray), as zombies wage war on their prospective dinners.

The movie genuinely does make you jump, (stay past the credits for the ending) and the comedy/terror combination of the original does not falter – watch out for the jazz version of ‘Down with the Sickness’ at a perfectly timed moment. Johnny Cash also provides a scary tune (no shock there), and the music ties in perfectly with high tension moments – particularly a zombie chase which ends in a lift with elevator-music…‘I like this song’, quips a cast member. To follow his train of thought, and finish on a plaudit, ‘I definitely like this movie’.

How long a piece of string?

It has been said that my reviews are too long. Ok, I accept that criticism - my reviews ARE too long! However, since I've only really been writing for myself up until now, it can be forgiven (let's hope!!). Anyway, from here on in I'm going to assume that somebody out there - besides my increasingly gorgeous and amazingly-intelligent boyfriend Alan - is reading this, and write reviews of a more palpable nature!

Warning, though: All old reviews will still be bloody long, ok?


The Ladykillers

Director: Joel Coen
Starring: Tom Hanks, Irma P. Hall & Marlon Wayans
Screenplay: Joel & Ethan Coen.

The brothers Coen were once such Hollywood luminaries that, Midas-like, all they touched turned to gold, and each new release was welcomed and anticipated with certainty of it’s quality. Those days – and here I pause to wipe away a tear – are gone. With the horrific advent of ‘Intolerable Cruelty’, seeds that were sown with the less-than-laudable ‘The Man Who Wasn’t There’ flourished into utter tosh, and the Coens almost lost their infallible tag. Here, I’m afraid, the last nail is hammered home.

‘The Ladykillers’ never quite manages to claw itself up from its raucous stereotypes – a system that normally works (think ‘Fargo’ and ‘The Big Lebowski’), but here only serves to highlight the films inadequacies. Tom Hanks performs admirably and, at times, with the great comic fervour he so often attacks, but something is lacking in his hissing, wheezing, slimy Professor. Irma P. Hall, lady-stalwart, is merely a gabbling southern ‘momma’, reminiscent of Martin Laurence’s awful dress-ups, and even she cannot pull together the unravelling cords of the film. The ‘motley crew’ are comic relief – at best Marlon Wayans provides his ‘home-boy’ jiggling, and at worst Tzi Ma fluffs schtum-faced anger.

The premise – tunnelling underground to empty a casino vault – is well portrayed, with some fine comic turns from feline and canine alike (!). The intermittent moments of extensive dialogue, however, slow down the movie to a crawl, and allow an overall blandness to pervade the film, making it a bit of a struggle to stay awake and interested.

In the end, whether they kill the ‘old lady’ becomes incidental, as the wish for them all to die just so they stop pontificating becomes the prevailing feeling.

However, not to be all bad, the movie does provide some laugh-out-loud moments, which the cinema duly complied with, so I cannot quite write it off completely. My disappointment lies in the fact that I know the Coens can do better – with a remake of an originally unsatisfying movie, the least they could have done was improved on the original. Peter Sellers, I’m afraid, would turn in his grave!

A break from being broken

Ok, review number three - in between tales of woe!

Actually, as social commentary goes, it doesn't get more bleak than Lars Von Trier.........maybe I should pitch him a screenplay based on my horrific experiences of robbery and treachery?
Should be right up his alley.......


Dogville

Director & Writer: Lars Von Trier
Starring: Nicole Kidman, Paul Bettany, Lauren Bacall, John Hurt (Narrator).

Though Lars Von Trier once again courts controversy and dances with various media interruptions, his movie should truly speak for itself (as ‘Dancer in the Dark’ eventually did) without reference to headlines or personalities. For three hours I was entranced, strangled and released in the amazing world he created using chalk and sound – this film truly has to be seen to understand the magnitude of what he has undertaken and appreciate the skill with which his ideas are presented. A single sound stage contains all the trials and tribulations of the cast in question, chalk outlines denote houses and extras (Moses the dog being a notable example), and characters mime the opening of invisible doors to the appropriate noise track. Cars and people appear and disappear over the edge – the outside world being literally anything beyond the stretch of stage, giving the not-unintentional picture that Dogville is a world apart.

It is beyond the power of words to describe how this looks and feels, but certain scenes embody the flavour of what Lars Von Trier is trying to achieve much better than others. The moment, for instance, when Nicole Kidman’s character, Grace, opens the curtains of a blind mans darkened room to show the man that he truly cannot see is particularly poignant. He has lived in the town for years, convinced that he has kept his blindness from his neighbours, and Grace pulls down his façade in a rare moment of clarity and anger at the town’s apathy (and barely concealed hypocrisy). This moment is allowed peace under Von Trier’s direction, and he lets the beautiful red and gold light explode over Grace’s face as her expression alone shows us that she sees what we and the blind man cannot – a beautiful deep canyon and a fabulous sunset.

The lighting plays the strongest part in giving focus and depth to the simple sets, and because of this attention is drawn to each of the players in subtle ways. There are moments of such emotional and impressive content that it is truly a wonder that all is being achieved by a single sound stage with a non-theatre cast (for the majority). When Grace has been shackled and chained after suffering rape and pillage by the townspeople, has spoken out against them (in her soft and non-accusatory way) at their town meeting, and now retired to her bed where she has fended off the loving, though insistent, attentions of the town moralist, Tom (Paul Bettany), the lighting almost becomes a character in itself. Tom leaves her room and a soft light shows Grace in the foreground as she curls up as best she can on her bed, the glow adding to the vulnerability and innocence of her character. In the centre-to-back-ground the townsfolk still sit in the chalk outlined mission-house, assessing the information that Grace has given them. Their indecision and immobility is lit lowly and their presence merely emphasised as a much-repeated event – one that takes place while others of more import are happening. Tom has a light to follow his soulful journey to the rear of the stage, and as he moves to the background (ambling suggestively) the area denoting his home is suddenly illuminated. Three settings lit differently allow the viewer to focus on each separately – Grace’s weariness and defeat, the towns agitation and attempt to brush off what has been said, and in the background Tom’s indignation and impotence (quickly changed to furtiveness and action), without taking away from the ensemble tableau.

The script does not quite do enough justice to the fantastical ideas of stage Lars Von Trier had envisaged and, for the most part, followed through on for this production. The lines are spoken with fervour, but contain little passion in their wording, so by times the conversations are nonsensical to the point of incoherence. However, that said, because the movie was written scene-for-scene by Von Trier, his enigmatic direction brings forth performances that make words unnecessary, and so nullifies any qualms one may harbour about where the characters speeches originate or, indeed, their destination.

Minor script faults aside, the make-up of the town and the expressions used by the indigenous people as opposed to Grace, who seems blown in from a different time, recall something older and primal – as though Cain and Able could both have fought and died on this very mountain. These people are truly biblical, hacking a living from the rough terrain, and trying to hold on to things that represent to them their humanity and nature – moral lectures, gooseberry pie, checkers, intellectualism, the beauty of apples, the sophist theories – but ultimately proving that the fight is in vain, and at their base they are animals not far from their bloody origins in Genesis. Grace becomes the lamb, laid out to bear all their fears and pain – a scapegoat sent out into the desert to die with their sins on her shoulders, whilst they continue their existence, content in its mediocrity and wallowing in its lack of introspection.

At times the length of the narrative became too much. At three hours, this is a movie you must make a total commitment to from the opening scene. Towards the middle, when all your conceptions of the people of Dogville have been established and defined, it becomes almost claustrophobic as they are dashed, and you are bombarded with some truly horrible images and a frightening turn to the story. The momentum is carried through in almost Lynchian undertones – something about the town does not sit right from the moment its inhabitants are introduced, and this anticipation is a buzzing sound easily ignored through focus on Von Triers settings, but soon it all comes to the forefront. It becomes a chore, by times, to struggle through the layers of shock and schlock to find what the director/writer was really trying to demonstrate, and he becomes so heavy-handed in his moral lectures (as forceful and repetitive as you imagine Tom’s weekly lectures on moral, social and philosophical issues were to the townspeople) that you find yourself not really caring as much anymore what happens to the people involved. Grace’s initial saviour, Tom, gradually goes from butterfly to caterpillar, struggling against the animal within unsuccessfully. Dogville, it would appear, is the absolute power – corrupting absolutely.

The feeling of being cheated does not materialise because Von Trier handles his topics with such eloquence and stunning prose. Grace loses our compassion, because of her willingness to submit, but she does not lose our belief in her right to a better existence -which is why the characters around her must become more and more base and animalistic. Without this descent into primeval glop we might never have reached closure on the issue – a variation on the ‘sky is always darkest before the dawn’ scenario, and therefore the eruption of chaos and disbelief in the finale comes as a release for all the feelings caged in throughout the movie. So, in the end, Von Trier bows to that most trite of Hollywood pastiches – the happy ending, and leaves us with an almost sweet aftertaste from a somewhat bitter cinematic experience.

Breaking rocks in the hot sun

Ok…to update! I called the Square and braced myself to be really angry – then asked to be put through to security (growl). The girl that answered was friendly enough, until I queried how many times an hour the security was supposed to patrol the car parks.

Girl: Who are you?
Míse: I’m someone who had my car broken into last night.
(Slightly enraged voice!)

So, then she decided that she couldn’t answer my questions and told me a manager would call me back…which he did! An absolutely lovely man – but hey, I thought the Garda in Tallaght was lovely, and it turns out he didn’t know his stuff at all (the plot thickens) – the security firm that Mr. Garda said were giving the nod to the local THIEVES were fired two weeks ago, and the new firm have some pretty fancy credentials, let me tell you! (God bless the Internet – I checked them out thoroughly!) Anyway, the upshot of my angry conversation with Mr. Manager is that he is aware of a thieving ring that have been targeting Hyundai jeeps and Honda cars for their radios in the car parks of The Square, Liffey Valley and Blanchardstown. They are doing all they can, but that – I’m afraid – didn’t stop me from giving out yards to him. After all, I waited for the Gardaí for 30-40 minutes in the car park, and saw not one security patrol in that time. He stated that this was because of two cars being stolen on the other side of the centre. I then pointed out how badly lit the whole area is, to which he argued that he has been in meetings with the management of the centre to get that changed. Fat lot of good that does me now! I also asked about the cameras – i.e., is only one camera monitored at a time, as per Mr. Oh-so-helpful-Garda, which was denied outright by Mr. Manager. So, anyway, he’s pulling the CCTV footage of the car park to see can he find anything for me. Turns out the Gardaí hadn’t even come across there Friday to check the footage – Mr. Manager says they seem to think it’s a waste of time following up these cases. Not good enough, Garda Force – this robbery will not stand!

Next stop Tallaght Garda Station!!!

Death to THE SQUARE!!

Well, I don’t feel much like putting a review on right now (that may change by the end of the day) because last night I was exposed to the underbelly of Irish Society (sic). I have spent my life defending the people who rob, who steal and who attack because I’ve always felt that we, as a society, need to take responsibility for the people we have created through neglect and detrimental social laws and care. However, last night whilst my practically-sister’s (brother’s fiancée) jeep was parked in The Square, Tallaght with my newly-bought-for-my-neice-and-nephew birthday presents inside, it was broken in to and fleeced. The radio – worth 2000 yo-yo’s – was ripped out, but worst of all they took the kids presents! I mean, what kind of scum steals from kids, I ask you?!?! Imagine if that had have been Christmas, and the car full of presents…? Ok, I still feel that society should take blame, but I don’t bloody see why I should (another ‘sic’)! I have done nothing but defend these people to my family and friends, and now I feel betrayed! What leg have I to stand on now? How can I defend the indefensible?

The Garda (most helpful – kudos to Tallaght Garda Shickoliní) was very impressive, and told us that there had been three other cars broken into that night, and two others had actually been stolen – so, in the grand scheme of things, at least we had a way home! Most interestingly/scarily enough, he told us that they had put an undercover Garda into the car park of The Square for a month’s reconnaissance work and, in that time, not a single car was broken into or robbed. He feels, and I tend to agree, that the Security Guards who work in the centre are ‘giving the nod’, so to speak, to local gurriers as to which car to go for. And they were also telling them that the undercover Garda was on the beat.

I still feel that a society is only as strong as it’s weakest members the same way that a chain is only as strong as it’s weakest link, and that we need to protect and help those in lesser circumstances than us…not in a Nietzsche superman way, but in simple day-to-day ways. And I will still argue that we need to protect ourselves as much as we need to protect others, and the easiest thing to lose in these situations would be our sympathy…but that doesn’t stop me from feeling this way! Right now, if I saw some scum with a game of Screwball Scramble under his arm I would take a baseball bat to his head. No kidding.

And, I suppose, the lesson in all this is that to lose our humanity would be to let this aggression change our life. Something I am not willing to do for the sake of a Spiderman web-shooter, a chemistry set, a ballet centre, a marble game and an insurance-covered radio. Not just yet, anyway.

My next port of call is The Square itself. I stood waiting for a squad car for 30-40 minutes and in that time not a single Security Guard was to be seen. The area was badly lit and, according to the Garda, the security cameras are just for show (I’m sure the security scum/guards are telling the car-robbing scum/people this vital piece of info). Now, someone will take the blame for this. If not today, then soon. If not The Square, then the security firm it hires.

I will not rest until I see someone’s head on a platter and policy in The Square change to stop this kind of thievery.

And so the quest begins……(I’ll keep you posted)

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

Review number 2 - and it's really looking as if I'm NOT that busy, isn't it??

Anyway, I adored this movie, and I think it's a good one to follow Lost in Translation, because it really does follow on from where Lost... left off - the feel-good factor that is so formulaic in other movies works so perfectly in both! Another of my 2004 favourites, and the best relationship movie since Annie Hall!

Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind

Director: Michel Gondry
Writer: Charlie Kaufman (screenplay & story). Michel Gondry
& Pierre Bismuth (story)
Starring: Jim Carrey, Kate Winslet, Mark Ruffalo, Kirsten Dunst,
Tom Wilkinson, Elijah Wood.

How happy is the blameless Vestal's lot!
The world forgetting, by the world forgot
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd.
Alexander Pope

‘Adaptation’ gave us a bird’s eye (minds eye?) view of Charlie Kaufman’s story problems – finishing in a flurry of madness, ill-defined (though entertaining) narrative and nonsensical twists. The lesson of third-act panic personified by Cage’s character has already been displayed in all previous ventures; ‘Human Nature’, ‘Confessions of a Dangerous Mind’, even ‘Being John Malcovich’ finishes on a crawl. Kaufman, it would appear, cannot finish strongly. Until now, that is. The movie to silence all doubters, ‘Eternal Sunshine…’ succeeds on levels that Kaufman’s other ventures have not – the connection you feel with each character not being the least of these achievements. The characterisation and actual acting bring life and soul to an already excellent screenplay, and all in all ‘Eternal Sunshine…’ gives a more comprehensive view of human relationships and love than any other movie. Ever. Broad statement this may be, but think about ‘Annie Hall’, ‘When Harry met Sally’ or ‘Say Anything’ (it slipped in)…they all profess to give us a beginning to end study, but only Eternal Sunshine gives us an end to a beginning followed by an end to a beginning. The reverse pattern with quirky (technically excellent) editing and montage clipping (take a bow Mssr. Gondry) give us an astounding insight into the main characters. We get to hate them as they hate each other at the end of the relationship, and then we are privy to their slow, backward dance to love and happiness through Joel’s (Jim Carrey) mind.

The awkwardness of youth, embarrassments of childhood and the introspection of adult life are explored in depth throughout the film, charting the fall and rise (and fall again) of Joel’s love life. Kate Winslet is at her un-Titanic best, appearing likeable and quirk-ridden as well as fallible and narcissistic. Showing a previously unseen side to herself, she replaces Merchant Ivory’s corset heaving and Titanic’s crocodile tears with real passion and power – giving Clementine faucets of personality that Kaufman himself probably hadn’t yet visualised. Coaxed by Gondry’s sensitive and quizzically probing direction, both actors embody the physical tics, the personable quirks and the likeable traits of each character, giving them flesh and soul beyond expectation. Reiterating a constant refrain, it must be said again that Jim Carrey is a fine actor! Constantly an issue up for debate, he now inhabits a man, Joel, who is actually described as ‘tight lipped’ and is depression-prone, hysterical, boring and human. Carrey gives him life and will, silencing all doubters with this display of fine thespian fervour. The movie seems to suit even his face – weather worn and even hangdog, reminiscent of Bill Murray, Carrey dispels with all ‘rubber-faced’ tags, and puts in a performance to be proud of.

Gondry’s intensive and pro-active editing, mixed with his camera motion and music choice, forms an equal match to Kaufman’s foil than even Spike Jonze managed (lending credence to a script that may otherwise have fallen into the trap of ‘Adaptation’ or, indeed, Gondry’s own ‘Human Nature’ – that of lack of audience connection or sympathy). Kaufman’s stellar rise has brought subsequent resting on script-laurels, and this fault is rectified by Gondry’s light touch and obvious affiliation with actors. His singular use of camera, honed from years of music video’s and short film, offers insight and caress to the individual problems and trials Kaufman so expertly describes.

Gondry was the original story man – coming up with the idea of a man discovering his recent love has erased him from her memory, only to erase her in retaliation. The actual mind erasure, along with the peripheral characters of Dunst, Ruffalo, Wilkinson and Wood (who play out a night of intense proportion in Joel’s bedroom around his sleeping body), are incidental to the true story at the base of this fight for memories – love found, love lost, and love sought. A common theme uncommonly told, this is Kaufman’s most commercial film to date. Those unfamiliar with Kaufman’s style may still find this a slog of sorts, and those familiar may smirk at the many traits of ‘Adaptation’, but both mindsets should appreciate the level of storytelling on display, and the home truths it draws the audience to. Allowing you to choose a character, and sympathise with them, it then dashes all your expectations without denting your appreciation. It makes you smile, it makes you laugh, and it makes you sad. In short, the movie connects.

Lost in Translation

Ok, I'm going to stick an old review in here because I'm MENTALLY busy in work at the moment, and haven't had time to write a review in ages! Actually, I'll probably put in all my old reviews here over the next few days - just to keep everything up to date!!

Anyway, review 1 is one of my top movies of 2004....

LOST IN TRANSLATION

Director & Writer: Sofia Coppolla
Starring: Bill Murray, Scarlett Johansson, Giovanni Ribisi.


The moment the movie opened I was captivated beyond belief. Tokyo spreads out and fills the screen, accompanied by such haunting music that I was placed slap-bang in the middle of Bob Harris’ mind, joining him in his feeling of desolation and ennui. Though Tokyo’s electric city is a common view Sofia Coppola manages to instil an almost immediate impression of weariness – the camera not only shows us Bob Harris’ view, but it has become his eyes, and we (de rigueur) voyeurs are suddenly allowed a glimpse not only of who this character is, but who he was and who he has become. As soon as Bill Murray’s world-weary face comes into view, those who have not already grasped the complexities of Bob Harris’ character do so now with this first glimpse. The car pulls into a tall, grey hotel and Bob is surrounded by Japanese concierges, attempting to pull him every way and pressing packages into each available nook. However, Sofia Coppola chose well in Bob Harris’ image-maker, giving Bill Murray the starring role he truly deserves. He remains the hypnotic eye-of-the-storm, his face never changing from its bleak and tired crinkle, even as the dervishes spin around him. This first introduction to Bob Harris permeates the whole movie and his whole character – Bob Harris is every job you ever felt was beneath you, every trip you wish you’d stayed at home, every relationship you can’t understand how you got in to, and every day that feels like the long, dark Sunday-afternoon of the soul.

‘The Virgin Suicides’ looked great and, for all its faults, was a good story, but if the ultimate aim was connection, then it failed. ‘Lost…’ does not fail, which is why the main factor for me will always be the satiated feeling I got from watching it. I left the theatre smiling, and so many trimmings combined to give this to me that the result as a whole is as near to perfection as I’ve seen in a long time. Sofia Coppola is rapidly maturing into a fine filmmaker and a sterling writer. The direction is flawless and, as Ms. Coppola is wont to do, the music perfectly matches the camera flow and character movement. From its haunting introduction of Tokyo to the ebbing and flowing of the obligatory karaoke scene, the camera and score are so in tune with each other that they appear as one. ‘Air’ and Sofia Coppola gave a sense of fantasy and wonderment in ‘The Virgin Suicides’, but here she takes it all a leap further, where the original music sounds so much the better for having being written specifically.

Scarlett Johansson is a revelation in the making. Though not proud, in her own words, of the character she played in ‘Ghost World’, that is exactly where she first came to my attention, outstripping the wonderful Thora Birch and proving herself worthy of notice. Again in ‘The Man who Wasn’t There’ she shone, and I am purposely ignoring Scarlett’s earlier performances in ‘The Horse Whisperer’, etc, as I am now dealing with Scarlett Johansson the adult. She interacts perfectly with the young Giovanni Ribisi (unobtrusively great – he stays in the background as much as his character, rumoured to be based on the erstwhile husband of the Director, Spike Jonze), and transfers this pleasant skill onto the older character of Bob. This movie shows Johansson at her obstinate, spoilt, aloof, lonely, lost best – allowing her to fill out Charlotte as she chooses with smiles and gazes and body movements so simple you almost miss the glimpses of inner-character she is offering you.

However, this is undeniably Bill Murray’s film. Every scene, every moment, he fills with this character and forces you to take stock of his loneliness and unbearable ache of being. Sympathy goes one step further and the viewer is forced to feel and be Bob Harris, drowning in the pain of existence and willing him to do anything to change it. That is why, when a girl smiles at him in an elevator, his face instantly lights up and we begin to feel the warmth enter us as it has entered Bob. Coppola’s strength is her simplicity, and moments that stand out for me are the tableau of the two strangers and soul mates lying on a bed, she curled up and he straight as a board, his hand resting lightly on her bare foot. The moment screams with emotion, but represses it until the final departing, where both characters reveal their underlying fears. Another scene finds the two seated in a hallway, Bob in uncharacteristically ‘hip’ t-shirt and Charlotte in a platinum wig, finally succumbing to who they really are. Not the singer in a karaoke or the drinking woman, but two lost and lonely souls who just need to sit down for a while.
Take-on-take, this movie offers one of the most stunningly inventive and intuitive glimpses at human nature and its resistance of fate that I have seen – a stunning portrayal of friendship forged of desperation and the recognition of a kindred spirit. If this film is about anything, it is about two people about to go under, grabbing at the only life preserver they can see – each other. The writing, though perfectly good, covers a quarter of how the feeling comes across in this movie. The direction and acting extend this beyond mediocrity to excellence, the actors especially allowing the many quiet moments of reflection to speak for themselves. Silence is strength itself, and more is shown through the character interaction and facial tweaks than a thousand words could manage. True life depiction at its finest, and that rarest of creatures – a movie to be truly proud of.

The beginning....

Besides IMDB, I get a bit frustrated that there is nowhere else to post reviews. Also, IMDB isn’t exactly selective in which review it shows up front – so you don’t get any feelings of satisfaction from seeing yours there because, basically, you might as well be posting it on your own web page – that’s how good/bad/indifferent anyone is judging it to be. So, I’ve decided to go ahead and do that – use this free blogging thing to document my movie-life. Beginning now. (Soon).