Richard Martin = Travis Birkenstock
I am a frequent traveler of time. I travel time quite often. In fact, I traveled over a year backwards in time just this very minute when I opened this forsaken livejournal and sampled life from January of 2010. I may as well be the goddamn 12th Doctor with my frequency in traveling time. At least I have a set of fantastic eyebrows, Mr. Smith. Oh, you have a Daisy Lowe? Do you now? Ah, touché.
This week I found myself in 19th Century England. It all began when I watched the 2011 film Jane Eyre. Wait, no, it began when I happened upon the 1997 A&E adaptation of Jane Eyre on Ovation one night. Crestfallen that I had already missed thirty minutes of the story, I remembered that I possessed the 2011 film on my computer, just waiting for me to watch it. I was saving it for the perfection conditions to properly experience a Gothic love story: after having eaten far too much dinner and feeling remorseful and rather distended. It is common knowledge that one does not simply watch Jane Eyre willy nilly just as one does not simply walk into Mordor. I had wanted to see this film since even before its release, but workings of the universe were not in my favor (perhaps the universe was trying to spare me the sorrow). It spent a short time in theaters and once it hit movie limbo (no longer in theaters, not yet released/leaked) I was devastated. What can I say; I thoroughly enjoy period dramas because I possess such refined taste, sophistication, and class. Oh and Michael Fassbender's fine-ass self is in there. CanIgetaAmenLadies???
So I watched Jane Eyre in all its Gothic glory. As expected, I was left visually pleased in its memories but regretful, resentful, and still distended in its passing. Very much like a bad date. In dire need of levity and a resolution that doesn't make me want to punt a panda, I decided to watch the 2009 mini-series of Jane Austen's Emma. For the next three days it was 1814 Highbury.
When I returned from 1814 and back to 2011, I missed Highbury very much. The fashions consisted of Empire silhouette dresses with lace and ribbons, causing me to question my not one but two purchases of booty shorts. The weather required the use of parasols and bonnets yet allowed for the donning of layers. It's so goddamn hot here in Texas that it's no wonder I bought two pairs of booty shorts! The characters have daily teatime with biscuits and cake. Today I baked cookies by opening a frozen package of Pilsbury cookie dough and baking it. My biscuits tasted like shit so I ate two of them. The communication between Austen's characters was eloquent and witty. For instance, after Emma's condescending slight against Miss Bates, Mr. Knightley berates her saying, "It was badly done, Emma. Badly done." Had I been Mr. Knightley, I would have said something to the effect of, "Girl you done fucked up," all whilst wearing booty shorts and my prostitute eyes (because that is what I wear to a picnic on Box Hill). Alas, this is why I shall never be a lady of the manor, for I do not own the manner.
I am greatly tickled by the comedy of manners. I find that this sort of humor is lacking profoundly in today's mainstream entertainment, and was not Emma a mainstream novel in its time? While I thoroughly enjoy the films consisting of John Cena shooting his way through a world that happens to have a very explosive atmosphere of unstable gases, I equally love films (and books) whose plots rely on verbal sparring as opposed to that of bullets, blades, and bodies. I believe that my occasional favor for stories dominated by witty banter resides in that they give me a more realistic fantasy to fall into. Quite simply, I find solace in the fact that I can verbally destroy you and cause you to feel shame and defeat because I most likely cannot fire two guns in your stupid face whilst jumping in the air and going, "Aaah!"
Perhaps I will follow up this mini-series with another glorious adaptation of Emma: 1995's Clueless. Because I experienced Clueless as a child before even knowing what Emma was, I can't help but say "Ouch that was way harsh, Tai" when Emma basically tells Miss Bates, "Shut da fuck up" in both reading and watching the story. I really enjoyed watching Emma, and Romola Garai making lulzy facial expressions. I laughed out loud when Mr. Elton proposed to her in the carriage because her face made me believe that if but for a moment she was about to say, "Aaaas iiiiifff!!!" Overall this series is quite beautiful to look at. The scenery is beautiful as well as the costumes and of course, Romola Garai (I shall add a piece of her magnificent hair to my mythical wig of destiny). The genteel mannerisms rubbed off on me as well, further inspiring me to be a classy lady. See, I only used "goddamn" twice in this entry. That's class.
This week I found myself in 19th Century England. It all began when I watched the 2011 film Jane Eyre. Wait, no, it began when I happened upon the 1997 A&E adaptation of Jane Eyre on Ovation one night. Crestfallen that I had already missed thirty minutes of the story, I remembered that I possessed the 2011 film on my computer, just waiting for me to watch it. I was saving it for the perfection conditions to properly experience a Gothic love story: after having eaten far too much dinner and feeling remorseful and rather distended. It is common knowledge that one does not simply watch Jane Eyre willy nilly just as one does not simply walk into Mordor. I had wanted to see this film since even before its release, but workings of the universe were not in my favor (perhaps the universe was trying to spare me the sorrow). It spent a short time in theaters and once it hit movie limbo (no longer in theaters, not yet released/leaked) I was devastated. What can I say; I thoroughly enjoy period dramas because I possess such refined taste, sophistication, and class. Oh and Michael Fassbender's fine-ass self is in there. CanIgetaAmenLadies???
So I watched Jane Eyre in all its Gothic glory. As expected, I was left visually pleased in its memories but regretful, resentful, and still distended in its passing. Very much like a bad date. In dire need of levity and a resolution that doesn't make me want to punt a panda, I decided to watch the 2009 mini-series of Jane Austen's Emma. For the next three days it was 1814 Highbury.
When I returned from 1814 and back to 2011, I missed Highbury very much. The fashions consisted of Empire silhouette dresses with lace and ribbons, causing me to question my not one but two purchases of booty shorts. The weather required the use of parasols and bonnets yet allowed for the donning of layers. It's so goddamn hot here in Texas that it's no wonder I bought two pairs of booty shorts! The characters have daily teatime with biscuits and cake. Today I baked cookies by opening a frozen package of Pilsbury cookie dough and baking it. My biscuits tasted like shit so I ate two of them. The communication between Austen's characters was eloquent and witty. For instance, after Emma's condescending slight against Miss Bates, Mr. Knightley berates her saying, "It was badly done, Emma. Badly done." Had I been Mr. Knightley, I would have said something to the effect of, "Girl you done fucked up," all whilst wearing booty shorts and my prostitute eyes (because that is what I wear to a picnic on Box Hill). Alas, this is why I shall never be a lady of the manor, for I do not own the manner.
I am greatly tickled by the comedy of manners. I find that this sort of humor is lacking profoundly in today's mainstream entertainment, and was not Emma a mainstream novel in its time? While I thoroughly enjoy the films consisting of John Cena shooting his way through a world that happens to have a very explosive atmosphere of unstable gases, I equally love films (and books) whose plots rely on verbal sparring as opposed to that of bullets, blades, and bodies. I believe that my occasional favor for stories dominated by witty banter resides in that they give me a more realistic fantasy to fall into. Quite simply, I find solace in the fact that I can verbally destroy you and cause you to feel shame and defeat because I most likely cannot fire two guns in your stupid face whilst jumping in the air and going, "Aaah!"
Perhaps I will follow up this mini-series with another glorious adaptation of Emma: 1995's Clueless. Because I experienced Clueless as a child before even knowing what Emma was, I can't help but say "Ouch that was way harsh, Tai" when Emma basically tells Miss Bates, "Shut da fuck up" in both reading and watching the story. I really enjoyed watching Emma, and Romola Garai making lulzy facial expressions. I laughed out loud when Mr. Elton proposed to her in the carriage because her face made me believe that if but for a moment she was about to say, "Aaaas iiiiifff!!!" Overall this series is quite beautiful to look at. The scenery is beautiful as well as the costumes and of course, Romola Garai (I shall add a piece of her magnificent hair to my mythical wig of destiny). The genteel mannerisms rubbed off on me as well, further inspiring me to be a classy lady. See, I only used "goddamn" twice in this entry. That's class.