Grace Notes @ Snarkattack

Of course I was sceptical when I learnt that Tom Ford was the director for this film which is based upon a novel by British author Christopher Isherwood. I don’t think you should hold that against me: Ford belongs to a very glitzy, polished world, and the artform we associate him with is different enough to filmmaking.

I knew nothing about the film but good friend @coliwilso had mentioned that he loved it, and he watches a lot of film. I figured it would have stood out for him for very good reasons.

An English expat literature professor living in LA is coping with the sudden death of his partner Jim. We learn about Jim through flashbacks that George (Colin Firth’s character) has – his tragic death, their meeting, their love.

George is an isolated man. He has one close friend Charley (Julianne Moore), who is a link to his past in London. Naturally, the loss of his life partner has taken a toll on his mental and physical health. The surroundings filmed appear very monochromatic or contain little colour variation to reflect this.

In what seems to me a very Death In Venice-type theme (both Thomas Mann’s novella of the same name and Visconti’s glorious film), George is partially restored to life and vigour by a young, somewhat inquisitive student of his, Kenny. This youth looks like he’s stepped out of a Tom Ford fashion shoot, and this is exploited in the film. But rather than just looking like a model, Kenny is a pensive young man, and he seems genuinely concerned for his teacher’s well-being.

There is so much in this film that normally I would dismiss as indulgent, and clichéd: the colour saturation when the camera closes up on beautiful young faces. The dullness of the environs to help us better perceive George’s despair. So much care has gone into the composition of this film – in what the characters wear, lighting – in fact, I find myself wanting to use the term mise-en-scène. Just when the film starts to feel or look excessive, the excessiveness stops, as if to trick you into thinking that it couldn’t possibly be perceived as corny.

I’ve personally never seen Colin Firth in anything appalling (no, not even Bridget Jones’ Diary or St Trinian’s) and this film is a fantastic reminder that he is a consummate actor. My only real complaint was that ageing him for his role was a tad unconvincing. I need more than a dab of grey in his mop! But still, I might even be compelled to get the film on DVD…virtually unheard of for me.

I was lucky enough to see it in the Sun Theatre in Yarraville. It’s ages away from where I live, but so worth the trip. The cinemas are so sumptuous. We were in the Davis room, which has a beautiful leadlight above.

Sadly, I do not think Disney and Tim Burton are two entertainment institutions meant to coexist. I didn’t actually realise that this new venture of Burton’s was a Disney flick.

As an Alice lover, the film disappointed on a few fronts. Yes, it was utterly gorgeous, surreal and visually sumptuous, but I went in thinking it would be a fairly straight-but-awesome adaptation of Carroll’s book Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. Not so. The ideas are, however, unmistakably original – a girl named Alice Kingsley is plunged back into a world that she thinks is part of her dreams after trying to escape societal pressures placed upon her.

When she falls down the rabbit-hole, she seems to spend a lot of her time proving that she is indeed an Alice, not necessarily the Alice, in a very confused mish-mash of Carroll’s oeuvre – both the Alice books, and the delicious poem ‘Jabberwocky’. I’m trying to determine whether or not Burton has any references to ‘The Hunting of the Snark’ but I think I’d need to rewatch the film.

It’s definitely worth a watch if you enjoy the Alice mythos as of course there are some brilliant bits. Johnny Depp as the Mad Hatter is spot-on, though I really adored Alice. Helena Bonham-Carter’s Red Queen seems to have shades of Miranda Richardson’s Queenie (from Blackadder II).

I like that it raises a few interesting issues or concepts for consideration, though perhaps to a very specific (read: wanky) audience. For instance, what is in a name? By extension, what is in the name of an author? Alice constantly has to prove herself, and acknowledges that she is not the Alice this Wonderland wants, or needs. A scroll telling of the ‘Frabjous Day’ has already ‘written’ Wonderland’s history and fate. As a former lit student, I was naturally reminded of Roland Barthes’ ‘Death of the Author’ and Michel Foucault’s ‘What is an author’ essays – both of which are shoved down every first-year lit student’s throat.

We also get a dose of watered-down Freudian psychoanalysis with the Red Queen’s obsession with decapitation (which one supposes translates to Freudian castration). Yawn, yes, I know, this has been pointed out ad nauseum in relation to Carroll’s text. It is extended to include the rather surreal and grotesque practice of pricking in this particular film, and the taking out of various characters’ eyes – this to me reeks of Burton proper, none of this candy Disney stuff. Poking out eyes is disturbing, and its use in the film is deliberate.

The Red Queen makes an interesting point to her knave (who accuses the object of his desire, ‘Um’ of making an unwanted sexual advance towards him), about how one must decapitate or kill those whom she fears, so that she cannot be let down by them. Both of these characters have very unusual and unconventional modes of acknowledging their sexualities. A straight Freudian reading would intimate that they fetishise, and therefore are deviant in their sexuality.

A very sad way to live one’s life, killing those we fear, but not dissimilar to America’s modus operandi in regards to world politics. Yes, yes, us arts grads are an annoying lot when it comes to reading metaphor in any text.

Edit: @coliwilso has kindly pointed out to me that the poem ‘Jabberwocky’ is in fact in Through the Looking Glass, or, What Alice Found There. Cheers, old man!

I was lucky enough las year to go to some Melbourne Writers’ Festival events. Apparently Melbourne is a designated City of Literature by UNESCO. I understand one has to bid and pay an exorbitant amount for this privilege.

The first event I went to with Ryan & T was a special screening of The Leopard at ACMI, directed by Visconti, and based on the novel by Lampedusa. Italian neo-realist cinema is quite a treat and I’d been wanting to see this film for ages but it rarely shows (and you can tell by the print, it’s not in fab condition). The Leopard is about a time in Italy when the aristocracy no longer enjoys the prestige it once used to – the working classes are tired of all the corruption and privileges afforded to this social class when in effect, they do so little for it and are lucky merely to be born in the right circumstances. The main character, played by an exceedingly debonair Burt Lancaster, is in an odd position in that he realises his nobility is on the way out.

I was hoping to read the novel before I saw the film, but time did not afford me that pleasure. Nevertheless, the film is an excellent piece on social history. A few of the ball scenes were a little long, but to be honest it’s hard to fault Visconti.

The second event was an all-day workshop with the American poet Emily Ballou, who has written a verse novel about Darwin. The workshop was held at RMIT City campus, which is pretty easy to get to via public transport.

This is probably one of the best workshops I’ve been to – she introduced me to so many exercises and prompts which is perfect for people who go through terrible bouts of writers’ block. We wrote poems based on…

- words plucked out of the dictionary at random
- picture prompts – a magazine page from National Geographic as inspiration
- taking an existing piece of literature and creating a ‘found’ text by striking out words from the given passage
- writing a stanza in addition to one written by the participant next to us

I have at least three poems from this workshop that I can work on, so I was pretty chuffed.

Last event, which I had so much fun at was the official launch of McSweeney’s 32, at The Toff In Town, in the city. All eventgoers got a copy of the beautiful quarterly – and they’ve never, ever launched outside of the States! Everyone seemed pretty excited.

The editor, Eli Horowitz was in attendance to talk to us, as were two of the contributors to read passages from their stories. Then there were a few acts – Suitcase Royale (surreal comedy act), The Bent Leather Band (instruments of electronic and leather-bound manipulation), and a fellow who read a cyberpunk manifesto (even though I swear one already exists, by Donna Haraway). There were some really cool steampunk furnishings on stage, too.

I didn’t get to go to as many events as I wanted, but the MWF was ridiculous fun. Bonus for being able to give Emily Ballou a lift to another MWF event, and she was adorably clad in Emily Dickinson-inspired attire (I believe she was reading her work). I really need to track down a copy of her verse novel on Darwin and recommend other poetry-inspired folk do so too.

I did so much in 2009, and I’m a bit ashamed that I didn’t really blog much. I’m especially ashamed I don’t really have a record of it (as previous readers will know, having a record of what I do helps me a lot when I’m ill – to remember what I did, and when). So this is my attempt to redeem that, especially as now, seeing films is something I’m in the habit of doing.

Last night, I went to see Bright Star in Carlton, not far from my old uni. Very briefly, it focusses on the love affair between Fanny Brawne and the celebrated English poet John Keats.

Much to the disapproval of Keats’ best friend and colleague Brown, Brawne and Keats meet and become quite attracted to one another. It isn’t exactly welcomed on Brawne’s side either – she is very well-to-do and is expected to marry someone worthy of her social rank and standing. Her heart has other ideas.

I don’t want to give too much away, so I’ll just state what how I found the film to be. It is rather slow and somewhat stilted in parts, particularly in the first half. It is gorgeous to look at – the costumes, the countryside and such, but comes off as a bit clinical. Ben Whishaw as Keats is far warmer than Abbie Cornish as Brawne. The chemistry is not always convincing. What is more convincing is the family Brawne – the siblings and mother seem to love each other dearly and are very close. Also, amazing to think that Whishaw played a psychopath in the ghoulish but brilliant Perfume: The Story of a Murderer.

Though I am not sure how true to historical fact this film is, Brawne and her mother really do have a wonderful, loving relationship and this is evidenced in how she eventually gives her daughter her blessing to take a man under her social class, despite how shocking this might have been at the time. I was drawn to it due to my (bleeding obvious) interest in poetry, and it might just force me to pull out my copy of the collected Keats. Might…

Just some thoughts on the films I’ve caught for the Melbourne International Film Festival 2009. I know it’s long after the fact but I’ve never been good at churning out things!
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Off the top of my head, only…four, maybe five people know what my Achilles heel is? Rephrase: how badly it actually burns.

This, though it’s soppy, did make me feel exceedingly…oh you know. Thanks to @Katrucia for showing me. Animation is adorable.

This week was several kinds of lousy. Name an area, I promise it was bad. This was largely due to flu and insomnia, both of which are on their way to being worked out.

There was one highlight however. Ellerbisms vol 2 came in the mail, after both sender and I thought it was lost.

Marc was asking people if they wanted anything special doodled, and of course instantly I said “cat!!!”, and cat I got.

Wow, 21st October 2007’s Ellerbism entry just brought tears to my eyes.

Like I said, it’s been a bad week. I don’t really understand why the l-word stuff is so hard.

Yea, I get to post a positive post for a change!

(Oh christ, I’ve forgotten how to use the ‘unordered list’ html tag, zomg nerd embarrassment…)

- Rome is being repeated on pay TV – am trying to catch it whenever I’m at my parents’ place
- found a Killdozer album that my ex once lent to me (Uncompromising War on Art Under the Dictatorship of the Proletariat in particular, which I recall being hilarious)
- I ordered some xkcd tee shirts
- I also ordered some cool comics by a guy called Jamie McKelvie (whom Warren Ellis waxes lyrical over)
- read a funny poem by Shanna Compton
- I ordered two plays by Tom Stoppard and they’re waiting to be picked up already! They are Travesties and Arcadia
- tried kangaroo meat for the first time this week at a steakhouse
- got some Keep Calm and Carry On apparel
- am on a new antidepressant (paroxetine) which seems to be loads better than the previous one (in that I’m not throwing up nearly every morning, w00t!)
- got some lovely BPAL in the mail – after ordering a month ago! sheesh
- Neil Gaiman is in Melbourne-town!
- I have the love of not one, but two cats!
- I finally have an idea for a poem, but it requires me to do some research/reading on the poet Thomas Chatterton

My wallet got stolen at yoga last night of all places. Not happy. I had 55 bucks in there not including all the change I had and had prescriptions for not one but two of my happy pills. I’m stupidly procrastinating chasing up getting all my cards replaced, sigh.

Before that though I’ve been managing to have a good time. The night before last I went out for spuntini (Italian tapas) and went to see a French film called Hunting and Gathering which had Audrey Tautou in it (of Amelie fame). The spuntini I chose to eat were meatballs, a parmesan rice ball, crumbed fish fillet pieces and beer battered zucchini fries. It was a delicious meal! And the house white wasn’t bad either, been ages since I drank wine now that I seem to drink so much beer (living with a homebrewer will do that to you). After seeing the film we went to a local bookshop which I adore and I got Camille Paglia’s Break, Blow, Burn which is a poetry anthology and a graphic novel called Alice in Sunderland by Bryan Talbot which I found out about on Boing Boing. I also ordered (!!!) two books by the Californian poet whose poem I quoted in this entry – one is a book of his erotic poetry and the other a book about poetry.

The night before that I also went out to the pub with a workmate and had pumpkin soup with far too much cream and tried Pure Blonde beer for the first time. It’s supposed to be a low-carb beer (what an interesting concept, wouldn’t you agree?).

Over the weekend I went to see Beowulf 3D with a family friend which I really, really enjoyed. We got to wear these supremely geeky glasses which I’m still in possession of. They were far too big for my face and my friend said all I needed was the fake nose with the glasses. The screenplay was written by the darling Neil Gaiman (who has his finger in all manner of pies it seems!). God, to be as talented as Neil and capture the imagination of many, what a treat that would be.

I don’t blog for ages then I get all sorts of things I need to write about!

The day started off pretty badly – back to my usual antics of needing twelve hours sleep as I took my medication when I was supposed to this time. But I ventured into the city centre and got some important crap done then bought some comics! Now that I’m back at home I do feel much better than I did when I first woke up.

Rob, my housemate, and I have decided to conduct an amusing social experiment involving third housemate who goes by the nickname of Frosty (his last name being Frost and all). It has come to our attention that Frosty never buys toilet paper. Ever. It’s always Rob and I buying it when we run out (and I frequently fret about our running out, being a girl and all, I kind of use more than they do).

So we devised a cunning plan. Rob kindly bought some more toilet paper and we shared the packet and stashed it in our bedrooms. There is one communal roll left before we begin our BYO toilet paper experiment. We want to see what Frosty will get up to – will he a) finish up the tissue boxes (apparently this is what he resorts to) b) burst into our rooms and commandeer our own supplies or c) actually go out and get some? Also, will he cotton on to what’s going on or will he blissfully ignore? Will he ask us what the hell is going on? Serious metaphysical hijinks will ensue.

Yesterday evening I caught the Guggenheim exhibition with my pal Mark. We got to see some of this bizarre film cycle called The Cremaster Cycle and witness spectacles of pop art and much more contemporary art. It wasn’t quite as long as we both hoped and Mark felt it a bit abbreviated. I went in expecting to buy the catalogue and was so non-plussed by the exhibition that I held off and saved myself some dough. We were both totally drained after the exhibition and consoled ourselves by gorging on fast food burgers. It amazes me how much boys eat – Mark had two burgers. He needed a chaser after his first one, hahahaha.

Oh and according to Mark I whistle like a man. I throw darts like a girl according to Rob (well, duh, I am one) but I whistle like a man. Cool.

The first casualty of Spring Reading Challenge is…

*drumroll*

…a graphic novel called Age of Bronze: A Thousand Ships by Eric Shanower. You can take a look at it here.

Again, another edit to show it in its glory thanks to the discovery of aNobii – here’s the cover.

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Do all conversative governments act like they only think about the near future? I’m starting to think so.
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If we idiotic humans deliberately choose not to learn from it. Ugh.
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I believe it may have something to do with growth and life, too.
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Cable has been on the blink all day, bloody Foxtel. Fat cow poet, do your job and take calls, sodding cow! The help line has been engaged for just as long as service has been cut.

Anyway, there were some noteworthy programmes – I’m over the moon that a new English history series has started up – David Starkey’s Henry VIII. Starkey is one of the more well-respected history doc guys, and he’s usually dry and posh, but he’s gone a bit…smutty? Is it because they now refer to him as Professor? There seems to be a bit of a trend in BBC type history documentaries to jazz up history and relate it to contemporary events.
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There is a small part of me that really wants to be a burlesque dancer. No, it doesn’t have anything to do with yesterday’s book purchase (or rather, I mean, I got that book because of my interest in it, rather than it making me interested in it).

Sadly, upon looking at the newly acquired book, it seems that I have this knack for picking professions I’m clearly meant to struggle to be any good at.
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Yes, indeed I had a nice day. Being yanked out of bed after only four hours sleep meant that I was shaky all day: because holding your breath when you need to do something requiring coordination is so fashionable…heh. I think not.
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Throw the John down the well!*
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