The worst possible timing: The Battle for Grades, Emerson and Consciousness.
Recently vieweed films:
Divorce, Italian Style (Germi, 1961): B+
8 Women (Ozon, 2002): B
Anchorman (McKay, 2004): C
Kung Fu Hustle (Chow, 2005): C+
Paris, Texas (Wenders, 1984): A-
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Scroll down for journal-esque ramblings.
I am not sure what I expected from Divorce, Italian Style, but I sure was not expecting a Danny Devito-ish (actually, Devito was probably inspired by this film) black comedy. Marcello Mastroianni 's character is growing bored and irritated with his obsequious wife's submissiveness and incessant earplug-recommending giggle. He can barely stand to glance in her direction anymore, plus he has found a new love itnerest that he wishes to pursue. Due to the lack of divorce in 1960's Italy, he must find his wife a lover so he can murder her with "in a crime of passion". The consequence would only be a miniscule amount of jail-time. Enough, summary -- blah. As I mentioned before, I was not aware how "demented" this film is by Italian standards. It is, however, a wickedly comic tale of marriage and lust for others during marriage. Marcello, twitches an all, is brilliant once again -- inadvertently exuding a sleazy-ball charm while acting more as an antogonist than the hero we expect him to be. However, isn't that the way it goes in the inverted genre that is a "dark comedy"? Regardless, your feelings toward that character could decide your enjoyment of the film. What I had hoped for more of, but found a moderate amount of, was commentary on marriage and the period right before a couple is married. The film is very focused on it's humor, and for the most part, it succeeds. I chuckled throughout the first hour with a merrily malicious grin on my face. After the hour mark, there is a nearly self-referential moment, and this is when the large laughs are won.
By the end of the film Marcello becomes so wrapped up in his deviousness that he somewhat forgets what his motivations were in the first place. I personally believe he felt threatened that he might lose a facial hair contest between him and his wife. Frankly, instead of plotting to kill her, he should have just made an appointment for her to get waxed. B+
8 Women may not be as sharp as it wants to be, but it is frivilous, although a bit clumsy, and gleefully entertaining. B
I'll admit to laughing hard at the temporary fate of his dog in Anchorman. However, this sloppy film was just an excuse for this group of friends to subject the audience to their sophomoric frat-boy shenanigans. I simply dislike this brand of improv that is supposed to seem like natural humor but comes off as extremely forced. After a while it became tiresome and I just waited patiently for another random cameo (or parading of friends -- same thing). C
I really wanted to like the deliberately over-stylized Kung Fu Hustle -- I really did! But beyond the "wink, wink" farce, I did not find it very funny. Occasionally amusing, perhaps, but hardly enthralling. It alienated more than enchanted. My friend, who is very easy to please, also was underwhelmed despite the well-choreographed fight scenes. C+
After watching the engrossing and subtly poignant Paris, Texas last night, I felt even more disappointed by Land of Plenty. Although Travis' search for his wife and soul were heartwrenching, the highlight was the father/son relationship. Travis was figuratively reborn (starting from Paris, Texas, where he was most likely conceived and going to L.A.) when he returned home, and as a primitive being, he was almost literally coming of age (he finally drove a car!) with the aid of his precocious 7 year old son. Wonderful film. A-
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Almost everything I have worked for this semester is culminating this week: arduous exams, my decision from Emerson, the maintenance of my sanity. I am doing my best to neglect exams until Monday (they begin Tuesday), but I find myself constantly reminded. It is mostly my own fault since I frequntly remind myself when I continually repeat that I am trying to neglect them. Damn this irony, it isn't helping me one bit in my quest for complete self-delusion.
I called the admission office of Emerson this morning to inquire the status of my decision. I had called a few days ago and the woman confirmed that it was not yet sent but would most likely be within the next few days. She highly recommended that I call back on, whaddayaknow, Friday (that's today, Sherlock). Upon their answer, I stated my name and asked my intented question (read the first sentence of this paragraph if you forget, amnesiac). The Emerson employee quickly responded, "Oh, Nicholas McCarthy -- I'm almost positive we sent out your decision". This reflexive answer caught be a bit off-guard and once she quickly put me on hold to double-check I, of course, began to overanalyze. Does that mean I am in? Was there a very small amount of transfer applicants? Is she an evil person and only remembers the rejects so she can laugh at them? Is she speaking to me with the same tongue that just sealed the envelope of my rejection letter? Does she simply have a great memory?
What constitutes "wasting time"? Is it merely not being productive or can it also mean being productive in trivial matters? If the latter is included then that means I am currently wasting time writing this entry. Therefore, I will end here and continue to "waste time" outside of my pathetic excuse for a journal/screening log/some-other-random-category-I-momentarily-see-fit as I undoubtedly do inconsequential somethings. Hold on sanity.
I am continuously amused by the fact that most people only update their journal when they are intoxicated and I only do so when I am fully conscious and at my whiniest. However, those drunkards can be damn whiny also.
Divorce, Italian Style (Germi, 1961): B+
8 Women (Ozon, 2002): B
Anchorman (McKay, 2004): C
Kung Fu Hustle (Chow, 2005): C+
Paris, Texas (Wenders, 1984): A-
---
Scroll down for journal-esque ramblings.
I am not sure what I expected from Divorce, Italian Style, but I sure was not expecting a Danny Devito-ish (actually, Devito was probably inspired by this film) black comedy. Marcello Mastroianni 's character is growing bored and irritated with his obsequious wife's submissiveness and incessant earplug-recommending giggle. He can barely stand to glance in her direction anymore, plus he has found a new love itnerest that he wishes to pursue. Due to the lack of divorce in 1960's Italy, he must find his wife a lover so he can murder her with "in a crime of passion". The consequence would only be a miniscule amount of jail-time. Enough, summary -- blah. As I mentioned before, I was not aware how "demented" this film is by Italian standards. It is, however, a wickedly comic tale of marriage and lust for others during marriage. Marcello, twitches an all, is brilliant once again -- inadvertently exuding a sleazy-ball charm while acting more as an antogonist than the hero we expect him to be. However, isn't that the way it goes in the inverted genre that is a "dark comedy"? Regardless, your feelings toward that character could decide your enjoyment of the film. What I had hoped for more of, but found a moderate amount of, was commentary on marriage and the period right before a couple is married. The film is very focused on it's humor, and for the most part, it succeeds. I chuckled throughout the first hour with a merrily malicious grin on my face. After the hour mark, there is a nearly self-referential moment, and this is when the large laughs are won.
By the end of the film Marcello becomes so wrapped up in his deviousness that he somewhat forgets what his motivations were in the first place. I personally believe he felt threatened that he might lose a facial hair contest between him and his wife. Frankly, instead of plotting to kill her, he should have just made an appointment for her to get waxed. B+
8 Women may not be as sharp as it wants to be, but it is frivilous, although a bit clumsy, and gleefully entertaining. B
I'll admit to laughing hard at the temporary fate of his dog in Anchorman. However, this sloppy film was just an excuse for this group of friends to subject the audience to their sophomoric frat-boy shenanigans. I simply dislike this brand of improv that is supposed to seem like natural humor but comes off as extremely forced. After a while it became tiresome and I just waited patiently for another random cameo (or parading of friends -- same thing). C
I really wanted to like the deliberately over-stylized Kung Fu Hustle -- I really did! But beyond the "wink, wink" farce, I did not find it very funny. Occasionally amusing, perhaps, but hardly enthralling. It alienated more than enchanted. My friend, who is very easy to please, also was underwhelmed despite the well-choreographed fight scenes. C+
After watching the engrossing and subtly poignant Paris, Texas last night, I felt even more disappointed by Land of Plenty. Although Travis' search for his wife and soul were heartwrenching, the highlight was the father/son relationship. Travis was figuratively reborn (starting from Paris, Texas, where he was most likely conceived and going to L.A.) when he returned home, and as a primitive being, he was almost literally coming of age (he finally drove a car!) with the aid of his precocious 7 year old son. Wonderful film. A-
---
Almost everything I have worked for this semester is culminating this week: arduous exams, my decision from Emerson, the maintenance of my sanity. I am doing my best to neglect exams until Monday (they begin Tuesday), but I find myself constantly reminded. It is mostly my own fault since I frequntly remind myself when I continually repeat that I am trying to neglect them. Damn this irony, it isn't helping me one bit in my quest for complete self-delusion.
I called the admission office of Emerson this morning to inquire the status of my decision. I had called a few days ago and the woman confirmed that it was not yet sent but would most likely be within the next few days. She highly recommended that I call back on, whaddayaknow, Friday (that's today, Sherlock). Upon their answer, I stated my name and asked my intented question (read the first sentence of this paragraph if you forget, amnesiac). The Emerson employee quickly responded, "Oh, Nicholas McCarthy -- I'm almost positive we sent out your decision". This reflexive answer caught be a bit off-guard and once she quickly put me on hold to double-check I, of course, began to overanalyze. Does that mean I am in? Was there a very small amount of transfer applicants? Is she an evil person and only remembers the rejects so she can laugh at them? Is she speaking to me with the same tongue that just sealed the envelope of my rejection letter? Does she simply have a great memory?
What constitutes "wasting time"? Is it merely not being productive or can it also mean being productive in trivial matters? If the latter is included then that means I am currently wasting time writing this entry. Therefore, I will end here and continue to "waste time" outside of my pathetic excuse for a journal/screening log/some-other-random-category-I-momentarily-see-fit as I undoubtedly do inconsequential somethings. Hold on sanity.
I am continuously amused by the fact that most people only update their journal when they are intoxicated and I only do so when I am fully conscious and at my whiniest. However, those drunkards can be damn whiny also.