Surplus Shopping at Gatsby's

Baz Luhrmann's adaptation of the Fitzgerald classic follows the novel verbatim -- the script is practically copied and pasted from the book, which is a smart move considering the number of people who love quoting Daisy Buchanan's "Well, I'm certainly glad to see you here," and Gatsby's "You all right, old sport?" However, he packages the film in a different manner, and in the first few minutes we see the narrator Nick Carraway talking to a psychiatrist, articulating the first two pages of The Great Gatsby.

Now, if I were in an art gallery and The Great Gatsby was a painting, Baz Luhrmann would be the patron of that day's show and he would be talking about The Great Gatsby, but I, new to the paintings, would be unconvinced. He would only come off as a dilettante. That is the film, in a nutshell.

The film had its glorious moments, times when I marveled at the accurate replay of the twenties' surfeit of glamour and wondered if the producers actually came up with a budget in the first place. Each scene is an explosion of noise and color; nothing went overlooked in the production. The lines were delivered with perfect enunciation. Basically, everything is and has everything.

And that is the problem.

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This Year's Cannes Lineup Looks Delicious

France's Festival de Cannes, which, this year, spans from May 15 to 26, has always been one of the most celebrated film festivals worldwide. Personally, it is the one I look forward to the most (owing certain bias towards the French people.)

A staple selection would be of the coming-of-age gender, which I am also a big fan of; hence here is the film I am most excited about seeing:


Jeune et Jolie (literally, "Young and Beautiful") is a drama by the renowned François Ozon, known for his satirical dark comedy masterpiece 8 Women. Jeune et Jolie details the story of a young prostitute named Isabelle, played by Marine Vacth (get this: she is a  veteran model and used to be the face of a line of fragrances by Yves Saint Laurent called Parisienne), who is actually from a well-to-do family but indulges in paid intercourse. Isabelle is less interested in the money of the business -- she sells herself for the pleasure.

With that said, I am still anticipating all the other selections. Click here for the complete list of participating films.

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Iron Man 3: "Wait, hahaha! Oh, okay."

The third installment of the Iron Man franchise is every bit as action-packed (I never thought I would actually use action-packed in a sentence) as the first two. Did the fight scenes elicit so much excitement that I almost passed out? Yes (partly because my heart already beats abnormally fast.) Did it make me laugh? Yes, actually. Were the people sitting beside me noisy little fan girls whom I would take much pleasure from gutting? Yes.

Was it different? Wait, I'm not sure. Was it memorable? No, not really.

That's the problem. Despite the spectacular effects and Robert Downey Jr.'s consistently sexy performance as Tony Stark - there is a scene where he does a macho dance to a Christmas song -  the movie is as predictable as organic reactions are. (Fork, it's a reference to my major! Heaven save me.) It is a rehash of every other superhero movie that is set to be the only thing people think it should be: action-packed. That really disappoints me. I was expecting so much because this is the third movie, and is supposed to transcend the boundaries set by its predecessors.

Overall, though, it is a good watch, especially if you're the conservative moviegoer. No regrets, just a few unfulfilled expectations.

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"I have loved you since Skins!"

- is what I would say when, by a good turn of events, I would get the chance to meet Nicholas Hoult. A statement that is both chaste and obsessive is what celebrities probably like to hear from their fans (or in my case, parallel-universe lover).

Today, I decided not to be picky within the perimeter of the movie theaters, and that I should not be so judgmental as to base my verdict on a movie by its poster (because, honestly, which movies have good posters these days?) so I went on to watch Warm Bodies with a friend. The decision was mostly his; I was actually more inclined to the idea of getting my mind thrown off by Andres Muschietti (director of Mama). I was not exactly enthusiastic when I entered the theater: everything I knew about the movie was limited to the poster, which had already left a bad impression on me in the first place, and to the fact that Nicholas Hoult was there, which was a relief, but then I realized I did not like Teresa Palmer much either. There was an aggressive conflict going on inside of me but I had no time to sort that out so I gave in. That was a good decision.

A perfect excuse to articulate L-O-L

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Red and Probably Feminist

Here's something for you 500 Days of Summer fans:

Let's say there's a writer who, despite the massive success of his debut novel, is experiencing a horrible case of writer's block. He visits his therapist, who gives him a writing assignment. Unfortunately, he is presented the same problem: he could write about anything, but what is "anything?"

So one night, his subconscious decides to put a woman in his dream, all too "real" for the likes of him and, to quote the script, "back-lit by the sunlight." He wakes up and, mesmerized and hormonal, he sits in front of his typewriter and writes about her. He names her Ruby and gives her red hair.

A few days later, however, at the peak of his lunacy and his "love for the character", Ruby materializes in his house.

You will have to watch Ruby Sparks to find out what happens next.

#

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Awkward Kissing Scenes and Bad Establishing Shots

What I do not get about the Philippine film industry is why it worships romance so much. Don't get me wrong - I love the Philippines and attest to the insane "It's more fun in the Philippines" maxim, and I am not so cynical as to trample on the romanticist beliefs of others, but the blatant trend of Philippine cinema focuses so much on the romantic genre that sometimes I wonder if foreigners think we're always in bed with someone.

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Define Sentimentality.

When I am genuinely happy (and that doesn't happen too much these days, but saying that gives more weight to this review, so what the hell) I tend to smile like a retard while walking insanely fast. Embarrassingly enough, I had been doing those exact two things five hours ago when I walked out of the cinema that housed the movie adaptation of Perks of Being a Wallflower. Sappy, I know, but when you've "blogged" (the frequency of my entries does not make me a real blogger, ha ha) for a long time you realize that writing honestly makes things much easier. And I am sentimental by nature, even if I constantly try to look like Jessica Zafra.

I must embarrass my friends a lot.

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Les Miserables! + Our Pet Tortoise

2012 is a good year for the film industry!

I haven't read Victor Hugo's Les Miserables yet, unfortunately (and disappointingly, considering it is among the staple food for bibliophages) so I am threatening myself right now that if I haven't read it by the end of  my month-long semestral break, I am going to feed myself to my pet tortoise.

Yes, I, in actual fact, have a pet tortoise; only it isn't entirely mine or even mine to begin with. Yesterday, my best friend celebrated her birthday and for some reason the cosmos decided to throw a tortoise unto her doorstep (literally. Take note that I do not use such juvenile idioms if the situation does not demand it.) She brought it in a paper bag to where we stay in the university. It was hilarious.

After about twenty minutes of debate, we named it Cumin after one of Ted Mosby's Halloween costumes. (Marshall was Salt and Lily was Pepper.) I'm not particularly fond of reptiles but I'll take what I can get.

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Dark Consensus

Tim Burton's Dark Shadows is one of the most-awaited films of the year for two reasons: one, it's a freaking Tim Burton film; and two, Johnny Depp and Helena Bonham Carter are in it.

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Good Will Hunting

I've developed a penchant for "old" films over the summer (Dead Poets Society, The Breakfast Club) and I've just finished watching Good Will Hunting. The 1997 film follows the adolescence-to-maturity portion of Will Hunting's life. Will is an offensively (very) smart laborer from South Boston who works as a janitor at MIT. When an acclaimed professor named Lambeau posts a problem taken from the algebraic graph theory on a hallway board, Will solves it secretly. Lambeau is, of course, baffled (and possibly threatened but given his French ghetto-esque surname probably nothing scares him anymore) so he posts another problem. This time, he catches Will in a universally-accepted film technique of eerie coincidence so Gus van Sant could cut some runtime off and the producers could save money.

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10K + Eugenides, Coppola

I just hit 10,000+ views today. So...exciting!

Meanwhile, here is the trailer for Sophia Coppola's 1999 film rendition of Jeffrey Eugenides' The Virgin Suicides. It's one hell of a good book; so good that I can't even begin to think of how to write a good review. The Lisbon girls are some of the most interesting characters I've ever come across (Lux and Cecilia, especially) and I particularly like how Eugenides decided to render the story through the neighborhood boys' perspective. Although the book was published in 1993, it still feels like a fresh read. (So much love for Jeffrey Eugenides! I'm definitely buying more of his books.)



On the other hand, the movie made me feel a bit dizzy. It's not bad. I just feel like it could have been better without those cheesy dreamy scenes of Lux moving around, which makes Kirsten Dunst look awkward.

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N Days of Anime: Spirited Away

(Ante-script: I don't know how many anime films I am going to watch considering I have a growing list. As of now I have four more queued up for time consumption and ambitious analysis, them being Grave of the Fireflies, My Neighbor Totoro, Howl's Moving Castle, and Children Who Chase Lost Voices from Deep Below. Note that I am using the word "film." The selections I am/will be writing about aren't mere pictures that move 23 frames per second, but are works of art by preeminent Japanese directors who have no apparent limit to imagination. Respect, man. Respect.)

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No! I paid for this!

I love film festivals. It's one of the rare times when I am not compelled to look back at movie posters I just passed by and think, I feel sorry for the producer or That movie title was probably the idea of the director's five-year-old son --

-- but wait, what is this monstrosity? This year's selections for the 2011 Metro Manila Film Festival are, what, the digital equivalent of indigestion?

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Holy Sh-

I am beyond traumatized.

If you're a loaded filmmaker and are looking for a makeup team, hire the one that worked on Pan's Labyrinth. I have to be honest; in my seventeen years of living, I haven't seen scarier fathermucking monsters.

The theatrical poster. Source: MetroJunkiie on Blogspot

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Paris, Je t'aime!

When I was in kindergarten, my favorite show was Madeleine, a cartoon based on Ludwig Bemelmans' book series of the same title. This had been popular during the 90's and had spawned several adaptations like a live-action film. My love for the show led me to developing a sort of instinctive adoration for France (the process of which, as I reflect upon it now, is actually quite shallow.)

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When the Only Good Thing about a Movie is a Girl

I have this undying love for Logan Lerman. To say "I forced my dad to waste money on a movie just for him" is an understatement for my devotion.

The theatrical poster from imdb.com

Today I got to watch The Three Musketeers with my parents (my sister was ranting all the time so she doesn't count) which, if you ask me, is kind of awkward. Kids in this generation are not meant to watch contemporary movies with their parents in theaters. Nevertheless, I took on my dad's offer to see the movie because 1) I have already set out plans to watch it, even if that would have meant going alone and 2) I'm stingy.

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It's Seer-sha, Not Sa-yohr-see

Do you know what's ironic? It's the fact that loneliness has been my constant companion these past days/weeks/months. My class schedule is pretty crappy. I have six hours of break time, and I have 7 am classes before that. What's a person to do to keep away from being on the verge of insanity?

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Mischief Finally Managed

I believe that someday, when I turn wrinkly and my skin starts to sag at all the wrong places, I  will remember only one person when I hear the name "Harry"--  neither Harry Dresden nor Harry Truman, and not even Harry Shum Jr. Only one Harry ever mattered, matters and will matter to me: the scrawny bespectacled son of James and Lily, the famous half-blood, the boy who lived. Today, however painfully I had to do it, I wept for him for the last time.

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First Class Powers

Sometimes I am under the delusional notion that I have superpowers.

Yesterday afternoon, my friends and I went out to celebrate a certain birthday . Of course, mobile birthday celebrations always include watching a rad movie, which in this case we decided to be X-Men: First Class. I've remained a loyal fan of the franchise right from its first movie. Secretly, even, I believe I am a mutant myself.

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Rain, Sunshine and a Racist

It's raining.

I see lightning flashes and hear thunder. I can smell the softness of the rain (what?); the breeze carries it whenever there is downpour. The sky is gloomy now-- an hour ago it was just as sunny as it is now dark.

And here I am, sitting in front of my freaking laptop, typing away minutes of my life that could have been more productive in terms of calorie-burning.

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