A Million Little Frappuccinos
If you’re like me, this Monday was a day that you find other people eminently punchable, and thoughts of shuffling off this mortal coil particularly seductive, I mean, even more so than usual. It might be because January 23 was the most depressing day of the year.
Determined to beat the day at it’s own game, I headed off into the mean streets of Austin seeking mood-altering substances. As it was too early for bars to be opened, I went to Starbucks.
I sat at my little table at Starbucks, nursing a cinnamon dolce frappucino, silently judging the guy sitting opposite me for attempting to manifest a youthful appearance with fake tan and bad highlights.
As a habitual user of frappucinos I knew my high wouldn’t last long and I’d crash before too long. And so I racked my brain, trying to think of what my next fix should be, the thing that would lift me out of the doldrums. A name fought through the sugar and caffeine fog and flashed like the bright lights of Las Vegas:
Woody Allen.
I slammed back the rest of my frappucino, cast a withering glance at fake tan guy and flounced off to the cinema.
Right from the opening strains of Caruso singing, you’ll know that this is not your father’s Woody Allen movie.
Aces:
1. Three words: Jonathan. Rhys. Meyers. This is his first leading role in a major movie, I think he did well. And he’s oh so pretty in it.
2. JRM’s boxer briefs clad posterior.
3. The scene where Scarlett used JRM’s tie to blindfold him, eliciting lovely sounds from him.
4. The scene where JRM ripped apart Scarlett’s shirt.
5. The scene where Scarlett and JRM, both very wet, made out in the rain in the middle of a grass field.
6. The wonderful Brian Cox once again disappearing chameleon-like into his role.
7. A clever plot twist that made the audience gasped.
What the deuce?!
1. Scarlett Johansson’s breasts were nowhere to be seen despite plenty of opportunities for them to make an appearance. .
2. The dialogue is ho-hum and stilted.
3. Match Point lacks the trademark wit and humor of the Allen oeuvre.
4. The music, which is mainly opera, just did not work. And there was one scene where music was used rather ambiguously. JRM’s wife Posha von Boring enthused over Andrew Lloyd Webber’s musical Woman in White. I don’t know anything about the book, so I don’t know if it’s some sort of a comment like JRM reading Crime and Punishment at the beginning of the movie (okay, the C&P scene was actually funny), or if Woody Allen is using Andrew Lloyd Webber to lampoon the lumpen tastes in toffs.
Early in the movie there was a bizarrely flirtatious scene between the scion of a wealthy family and JRM that made me wonder for a wild and hopeful moment if JRM’s character was thinking by god, if I had to sleep with men to make a crack at high society then so be it. Alas, though this movie is different from other Woody Allen movies, it’s not that different.
But if you have an inclination towards writing slash fiction based on Woody’s movies, there’s your in right there, and I want to read it when you’re done.
Like previous Woody Allen movies, Match Point provided fodder for my real estate fantasies. Used to be, I wanted to live in a spacious, cozily cluttered Manhattan apartment, and sneeze on somebody’s cocaine. But now, I want to live in a spacious airy London flat overlooking Thames, and work in a glass phallus, taking frequent breaks from my high paying yet undemanding job to gaze out of the glass walls and scheme evilly.
The Gherkin, sodomising London’s skyline.
To summarize, watch Match Point if a Richard Curtis-ian "Little London" doesn't annoy you and the thought of JRM setting your loins aflame (in a non-STDs way) is pleasing.
Determined to beat the day at it’s own game, I headed off into the mean streets of Austin seeking mood-altering substances. As it was too early for bars to be opened, I went to Starbucks.
I sat at my little table at Starbucks, nursing a cinnamon dolce frappucino, silently judging the guy sitting opposite me for attempting to manifest a youthful appearance with fake tan and bad highlights.
As a habitual user of frappucinos I knew my high wouldn’t last long and I’d crash before too long. And so I racked my brain, trying to think of what my next fix should be, the thing that would lift me out of the doldrums. A name fought through the sugar and caffeine fog and flashed like the bright lights of Las Vegas:
Woody Allen.
I slammed back the rest of my frappucino, cast a withering glance at fake tan guy and flounced off to the cinema.
Right from the opening strains of Caruso singing, you’ll know that this is not your father’s Woody Allen movie.
Aces:
1. Three words: Jonathan. Rhys. Meyers. This is his first leading role in a major movie, I think he did well. And he’s oh so pretty in it.
2. JRM’s boxer briefs clad posterior.
3. The scene where Scarlett used JRM’s tie to blindfold him, eliciting lovely sounds from him.
4. The scene where JRM ripped apart Scarlett’s shirt.
5. The scene where Scarlett and JRM, both very wet, made out in the rain in the middle of a grass field.
6. The wonderful Brian Cox once again disappearing chameleon-like into his role.
7. A clever plot twist that made the audience gasped.
What the deuce?!
1. Scarlett Johansson’s breasts were nowhere to be seen despite plenty of opportunities for them to make an appearance. .
2. The dialogue is ho-hum and stilted.
3. Match Point lacks the trademark wit and humor of the Allen oeuvre.
4. The music, which is mainly opera, just did not work. And there was one scene where music was used rather ambiguously. JRM’s wife Posha von Boring enthused over Andrew Lloyd Webber’s musical Woman in White. I don’t know anything about the book, so I don’t know if it’s some sort of a comment like JRM reading Crime and Punishment at the beginning of the movie (okay, the C&P scene was actually funny), or if Woody Allen is using Andrew Lloyd Webber to lampoon the lumpen tastes in toffs.
Early in the movie there was a bizarrely flirtatious scene between the scion of a wealthy family and JRM that made me wonder for a wild and hopeful moment if JRM’s character was thinking by god, if I had to sleep with men to make a crack at high society then so be it. Alas, though this movie is different from other Woody Allen movies, it’s not that different.
But if you have an inclination towards writing slash fiction based on Woody’s movies, there’s your in right there, and I want to read it when you’re done.
Like previous Woody Allen movies, Match Point provided fodder for my real estate fantasies. Used to be, I wanted to live in a spacious, cozily cluttered Manhattan apartment, and sneeze on somebody’s cocaine. But now, I want to live in a spacious airy London flat overlooking Thames, and work in a glass phallus, taking frequent breaks from my high paying yet undemanding job to gaze out of the glass walls and scheme evilly.
The Gherkin, sodomising London’s skyline.
To summarize, watch Match Point if a Richard Curtis-ian "Little London" doesn't annoy you and the thought of JRM setting your loins aflame (in a non-STDs way) is pleasing.