" A long train held up by page on page. A hard reign held up by rage."
Sunny and warmer today. Our high was 59˚F, and it is now 58˚F.
I was up at 7 a.m., as advertised, and I watched the sunrise over Shades Mountain to melt the frost. And then I wrote 1,084 words on this story that still has no title. If I can do the 7 a.m. thing again tomorrow, I have hope of finishing it before we have to be in Leeds at my mom's at 2 p.m. for an Xmas Eve afternoon meal what have you.
Have you read about the gigantic new Carboniferous millipede from Britian, a millipede "the size of a small car"? Well, if you haven't, you should.
And last night we watched The Matrix Resurrections, and, honestly, I don't have a lot to say that's good. Or even not bad. One of the best things I can say about this film is that it was entirely unnecessary and adds nothing whatsoever to the story told in the trilogy. The farther I get from it, the less I like it. There's a startling sort of shoddiness about it, from the point of view of the complex art of cinema, and it's a far cry from the stylish (if often meandering) originals. The action sequences are flat. The casting is wonky. At least Neil Patrick Harris seems to be having fun, but his campy performance only adds to the confusion. People do things. Stuff happens. Guns. Explosions. Long-winded pop-philosophy speeches. Only, without the grace, the beauty, the audacity, the grimness, the intelligence, and the charisma of the films that made the Wachowskis a big fucking deal. I'd have been pissed if I'd paid to see this in a theatre. Honestly, this feels more like a Saturday Night Live skit lampooning The Matrix than it feels like a new Matrix film.
The afternoon's film was Christopher Nolan's Dunkirk (2017).
And that's all I have for now.
Later Tater Beans,
Aunt Beast
9:39 a.m.
I was up at 7 a.m., as advertised, and I watched the sunrise over Shades Mountain to melt the frost. And then I wrote 1,084 words on this story that still has no title. If I can do the 7 a.m. thing again tomorrow, I have hope of finishing it before we have to be in Leeds at my mom's at 2 p.m. for an Xmas Eve afternoon meal what have you.
Have you read about the gigantic new Carboniferous millipede from Britian, a millipede "the size of a small car"? Well, if you haven't, you should.
And last night we watched The Matrix Resurrections, and, honestly, I don't have a lot to say that's good. Or even not bad. One of the best things I can say about this film is that it was entirely unnecessary and adds nothing whatsoever to the story told in the trilogy. The farther I get from it, the less I like it. There's a startling sort of shoddiness about it, from the point of view of the complex art of cinema, and it's a far cry from the stylish (if often meandering) originals. The action sequences are flat. The casting is wonky. At least Neil Patrick Harris seems to be having fun, but his campy performance only adds to the confusion. People do things. Stuff happens. Guns. Explosions. Long-winded pop-philosophy speeches. Only, without the grace, the beauty, the audacity, the grimness, the intelligence, and the charisma of the films that made the Wachowskis a big fucking deal. I'd have been pissed if I'd paid to see this in a theatre. Honestly, this feels more like a Saturday Night Live skit lampooning The Matrix than it feels like a new Matrix film.
The afternoon's film was Christopher Nolan's Dunkirk (2017).
And that's all I have for now.
Later Tater Beans,
Aunt Beast
9:39 a.m.