Bring me Your MOVIES!!!
I bring you a bonny little tale about wasting money so I could be surrounded by brainless socialites and second-rate journalists & photographers.
After the impromptu ballroom dancing exhibition, I headed down to The City Opera House for the festival’s opening reception, which I paid the exorbitant fee of 25 dollars to attend. I was determined to get my money’s worth and continue the destruction of my liver with a little under-aged drinking courtesy of the beer-table they had set up for the evening. The beer was from some Podunk local micro-brewery with ridiculously priced pale ales and a “chocolate-flavored” beer whose mere existence disturbed me.
When I went to take a sample cup, not the choco-beer, I was stopped by a guy who looked like a reject from an Abercrombie & Fitch photo shoot casting call. “Can I see some I.D. please?” At this point I knew I was fucked because I don’t have a fake driver’s license and all the possible exits were blocked, prohibiting a potential “drink-and-dash” in two-minute drill form. Backed into a corner, I reached into my wallet and handed Trent, or whatever the hell the preppy ass-bag’s name was, my I.D. It was then that I realized I could rescue a draw from this situation instead of a full-blown defeat, as Trent’s superior mental faculties made themselves apparent. After staring at my I.D. with his beady little eyes for bout 10 seconds Trent began muttering, “1986…Hey, isn’t it this date in 1984? Not ’86, right? It’s ’84. Hey man, how old are you?” I told Trent that I was 18 and he replied, “You’ve gotta be 21 to drink alcohol, you know.” I acted shocked by this wholly new information “21? You’re kidding me. Back in Ohio the drinking age is 18.” Trent was perplexed, “Really? I didn’t know that.” “Yeah man, it’s no problem. Don’t worry about it.” I walked away from the table secure in the knowledge that while I couldn’t legally drink booze, Trent was borderline retarded.
Facing a large group of Midwestern socialites could be tolerable and even a little fun while drunk, but the prospects of talking to these people stone sober had me worried, especially when I had paid 25 bucks to do so. I quickly went and downed my first cup of coffee. Over the course of the evening I had somewhere between 70 and 100 ounces of the stuff. When I finally hit the bathrooms at around midnight, I ended up taking a leak that lasted longer than an Olympic time trial for the 400-yard dash. I drank the obscene amount of coffee that I did because I was mortified at the prospect of striking up conversations in a crowd where nobody present lived in the same state as I did, much less knew me. It was like being stuck at a middle school dance where you don’t even have anybody to sit against the wall and be bored with.
I very quickly realized the futility of being at this party, and after shooting the shit and engaging in mild sycophancy with the director of “Mad Hot Ballroom”, I shuffled my ass back to my car and headed home. For fear of getting a neurological version of the bends, I decompressed myself at home by putting Bob Dylan’s “Blood On the Tracks” into the record player, opening up a box of Honey Nut Shredded Wheat, and pouring myself a whiskey and coke. I had to rest up for a Thursday, a day filled with the promise of moderate lesbianism and reformed pedophilia.
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On Thursday night I went to a see “My Summer of Love”, a film produced by the BBC and released by Focus Features; a very good sign as Focus Features is one of my favorite production companies in film today, churning out great movies like “Eternal Sunshine of The Spotless Mind” and “Far From Heaven” on a regular basis. Whenever I see those glowing balls of light come onto the screen as a precursor to the company’s logo, I get all giddy inside because I know that at the very worst, the movie I’m about to see will be intriguing.
“My Summer of Love” is a truly original take on the sub-genre of the “summer romance”, and not just because both of the romantic interests in the movie are girls. The relationship between Mona (Nathalie Press) and Tamsin (Emily Blunt) can hardly be described as a lesbian love affair, but is much more along the lines of teenage sexual exploration that evolves into a relationship. Adding to the film’s unique atmosphere is Mona’s brother Phil (Paddy Considine), an ex-con who has turned his pub “The Swan” into a spiritual center for born-again Christians, much to the disgust of Mona, who lives upstairs.
While Mona lives above a pub-turned-chapel, Tamsin is a child of aristocracy and has a country mansion all to herself while her mother pursues delusions of acting and her father shags his secretary. It’s this giant rift in social standing that provides some of the most interesting moments of this film, testing the notion that love can overcome all obstacles, especially economic ones.
What makes this movie more than just another good British import is a debut performance by Nathalie Press that would rival the talents of any actress in Hollywood today. Her passion and intensity just seeps out of every one of her pores to the point where you wouldn’t be surprised if molten lava just began oozing out of mouth in a moment of unbridled rage. As she gives herself to Tamsin, it is done completely and with no apprehension. In a pivotal scene of the movie, Tamsin says that “If you leave me I’ll kill you”, but it’s a comment taken only at face value. Without batting an eye Mona responds, saying “If you leave me I’ll kill you, and then I’ll kill myself”, and there’s no questioning the validity of Mona’s conviction in this statement.
I’ve got to stop my incessant praise of Nathalie Press long enough to give credit to writer/director Pawel Pawlikowski, and to the wonderful job done my actors Emily Blunt and Paddy Considine. Blunt’s debut is outstanding and Consadine, who gave a heart-wrenching performance in 2004’s In America, does another amazing job here.
This film is absolutely spellbinding from start to finish, and is one of the best movies I have seen all year. When it comes out on DVD, rent it with all speed. 5 out of 5 stars
After the impromptu ballroom dancing exhibition, I headed down to The City Opera House for the festival’s opening reception, which I paid the exorbitant fee of 25 dollars to attend. I was determined to get my money’s worth and continue the destruction of my liver with a little under-aged drinking courtesy of the beer-table they had set up for the evening. The beer was from some Podunk local micro-brewery with ridiculously priced pale ales and a “chocolate-flavored” beer whose mere existence disturbed me.
When I went to take a sample cup, not the choco-beer, I was stopped by a guy who looked like a reject from an Abercrombie & Fitch photo shoot casting call. “Can I see some I.D. please?” At this point I knew I was fucked because I don’t have a fake driver’s license and all the possible exits were blocked, prohibiting a potential “drink-and-dash” in two-minute drill form. Backed into a corner, I reached into my wallet and handed Trent, or whatever the hell the preppy ass-bag’s name was, my I.D. It was then that I realized I could rescue a draw from this situation instead of a full-blown defeat, as Trent’s superior mental faculties made themselves apparent. After staring at my I.D. with his beady little eyes for bout 10 seconds Trent began muttering, “1986…Hey, isn’t it this date in 1984? Not ’86, right? It’s ’84. Hey man, how old are you?” I told Trent that I was 18 and he replied, “You’ve gotta be 21 to drink alcohol, you know.” I acted shocked by this wholly new information “21? You’re kidding me. Back in Ohio the drinking age is 18.” Trent was perplexed, “Really? I didn’t know that.” “Yeah man, it’s no problem. Don’t worry about it.” I walked away from the table secure in the knowledge that while I couldn’t legally drink booze, Trent was borderline retarded.
Facing a large group of Midwestern socialites could be tolerable and even a little fun while drunk, but the prospects of talking to these people stone sober had me worried, especially when I had paid 25 bucks to do so. I quickly went and downed my first cup of coffee. Over the course of the evening I had somewhere between 70 and 100 ounces of the stuff. When I finally hit the bathrooms at around midnight, I ended up taking a leak that lasted longer than an Olympic time trial for the 400-yard dash. I drank the obscene amount of coffee that I did because I was mortified at the prospect of striking up conversations in a crowd where nobody present lived in the same state as I did, much less knew me. It was like being stuck at a middle school dance where you don’t even have anybody to sit against the wall and be bored with.
I very quickly realized the futility of being at this party, and after shooting the shit and engaging in mild sycophancy with the director of “Mad Hot Ballroom”, I shuffled my ass back to my car and headed home. For fear of getting a neurological version of the bends, I decompressed myself at home by putting Bob Dylan’s “Blood On the Tracks” into the record player, opening up a box of Honey Nut Shredded Wheat, and pouring myself a whiskey and coke. I had to rest up for a Thursday, a day filled with the promise of moderate lesbianism and reformed pedophilia.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
On Thursday night I went to a see “My Summer of Love”, a film produced by the BBC and released by Focus Features; a very good sign as Focus Features is one of my favorite production companies in film today, churning out great movies like “Eternal Sunshine of The Spotless Mind” and “Far From Heaven” on a regular basis. Whenever I see those glowing balls of light come onto the screen as a precursor to the company’s logo, I get all giddy inside because I know that at the very worst, the movie I’m about to see will be intriguing.
“My Summer of Love” is a truly original take on the sub-genre of the “summer romance”, and not just because both of the romantic interests in the movie are girls. The relationship between Mona (Nathalie Press) and Tamsin (Emily Blunt) can hardly be described as a lesbian love affair, but is much more along the lines of teenage sexual exploration that evolves into a relationship. Adding to the film’s unique atmosphere is Mona’s brother Phil (Paddy Considine), an ex-con who has turned his pub “The Swan” into a spiritual center for born-again Christians, much to the disgust of Mona, who lives upstairs.
While Mona lives above a pub-turned-chapel, Tamsin is a child of aristocracy and has a country mansion all to herself while her mother pursues delusions of acting and her father shags his secretary. It’s this giant rift in social standing that provides some of the most interesting moments of this film, testing the notion that love can overcome all obstacles, especially economic ones.
What makes this movie more than just another good British import is a debut performance by Nathalie Press that would rival the talents of any actress in Hollywood today. Her passion and intensity just seeps out of every one of her pores to the point where you wouldn’t be surprised if molten lava just began oozing out of mouth in a moment of unbridled rage. As she gives herself to Tamsin, it is done completely and with no apprehension. In a pivotal scene of the movie, Tamsin says that “If you leave me I’ll kill you”, but it’s a comment taken only at face value. Without batting an eye Mona responds, saying “If you leave me I’ll kill you, and then I’ll kill myself”, and there’s no questioning the validity of Mona’s conviction in this statement.
I’ve got to stop my incessant praise of Nathalie Press long enough to give credit to writer/director Pawel Pawlikowski, and to the wonderful job done my actors Emily Blunt and Paddy Considine. Blunt’s debut is outstanding and Consadine, who gave a heart-wrenching performance in 2004’s In America, does another amazing job here.
This film is absolutely spellbinding from start to finish, and is one of the best movies I have seen all year. When it comes out on DVD, rent it with all speed. 5 out of 5 stars