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FX & emotional rollercoasters.
May. 19th, 2003 12:33 amLa. So TVL closed. Can't say I'm terribly surprised, although I woulda liked to know it was coming in a most official of ways. :P Oh well. Can't dwell on the stuff you saw coming anyway.
[i am currently refusing to think of such psychic jokes. really.]
I saw two movies today. Two reviews [of sorts] you get, plus the story that's been slowly forming in my head the last month.
The Matrix: Reloaded:
forward It was probably a bad idea to agree to see this on such a small breakfast and the blindness I get from waking up before 8am. However, I did, and this is how the movie affected me and how I reacted. Just a warning.
Is it possible to overdose on special effects? That is the question The Matrix Reloaded dares to ask. And the answer is a resounding "hell, yes!" The movie itself is 138 minutes long, according to my best friend. Since she lives with one of the guys who works at the movie theatre, I'm assuming she'd know better than most. However, the plot itself only takes up about 25 minutes. In fact, I know cartoons with more of a plot than this. However, what plot there is, is good. A bit convoluted at times, and definitely hidden behind lots and lots of flashy FX and double speak, but still it exists. There are revlations to be found, and amazing fight scenes. Characterization is actually never a problem, as each character of the main variety is given time to shine or weep in their own way. Some problems do occur, such as why is someone in the story? Just to push along the Neo=Christ thought, or is there something else?
God above knows. The movie opens with a dramatic explosion and no words at all. Grunts and FX galore. And that pretty much sums up the rest of the movie for me. Why actually give more of a plot when you can just slow things down and look really fucking cool? Still, it is impressive.
The real problem doesn't come up until SPOILER ALERT!Neo is fighting a bunch of Agent Smiths. The entire fight lasts 10 minutes and while really cool, also begins to resemble nothing more than a standard CGI goodie in a decent RPG video game. Very cool to look at, but seems really fake at times. Perhaps this is due to someone's glaring error of not realizing that when real actors are used, the scene is awash in green tones, yet the CGI Neo is all normal flesh colored. Thus, about 4 minutes in, you begin to notice the difference and feel kinda sick watching it. Your eyes are screaming "For the love of all that's holy, stop!"
At least mine were. This happens a couple more times in the movie, especially the Freeway scene.
Saw certain plot twists coming a mile away, and others were very cool and rather shocking. Too bad we had less plot than FX, eh? I left the theatre [after the trailer for the next matrix film. so if you see, make sure you wait out the credits to see the trailer] feeling sick and shaky from the heavy doses of unreality.
White Oleander
Where Matrix relies heavily on the male reaction to FX and the female reaction to Keanu Reeves, White Oleander is an emotional film. It's not completely without action to propel it past women [usually blond women] talking, it doesn't rely completely on these sorts of things. In fact, a lot of the action is implied or talked about rather than seen. Which works, because you don't always need to see the wound to know it's there.
Unfortunately for me, I read the book first. I really try not to do this with movies I know I'm going to see because I always compare them and the movie almost always falls short in someway. That said, I really liked White Oleander. The acting could never be faulted, and with a few visual exceptions, it is a beautiful film. [note to directors: green lighting on blondes is iffy at the best of times and downright distracting at the worst]
I can't really blather on, only to say that I liked it very much. I shrieked "Sookie!" when Melissa McCarthy was on screen [braids!] and then did a similar reaction when Kali Rocha was on screen. [Hallie! Halfrek! No one told me Halfrek was in the movie!] Ingrid was perfectly evil without ever actually being evil, and the suitcases were a joy to see as I really liked the thought of them in the book. Astrid grew and evolved, and yet stayed partially the same at time. And I loved Claire [Clare? Dunno] so much that I wish she'd had more screen time. Alas, alack.
Anyway. Both free to see, and no real complaints about the latter, while the former had a few. Neither sucked, though if given a choice between Matrix and X-Men, chose X2.
story
It's been six weeks since my grandmother died. They say she went peacefully in her sleep, probably didn't feel a thing. Everyone should be so lucky, they add between the sniffles and the sobs. I wouldn't know. I wasn't here; I didn't even know she was sick.
Then again, I'm told she didn't know either. Apparently years of smoking really can kill a person. Who knew? Still, you never really do believe it'll happen to you or anyone you know until one morning at breakfast, the phone rings, and it's someone telling you that your father is an orphan now. Even at the ripe old age of 50, you can still feel like an orphan. Even at 50, a man will break down in tears at his mother's funeral, sobbing for the life that was, the life he missed out on, and for all the times he didn't take enough time to call or write.
My Aunt Sylvia, Grandmother's youngest, has finally invited me up to the house to pick through Grandmother's things and pick out anything I would like to keep. I'm one of the last family members invited, and I'm lucky to even receive this invitation. My mother had to raise high holy hell just to get me invited here for a day. My willingness to clean up after everyone else's mess has earned me a pass for the rest of the summer, if I like.
My grandmother paid most of her bills way in advance, so there's no reason for me not to stay. No reason at all, except for Aunt Sylvia, who doesn't like me at all, and I don't think ever has. It's okay; I don't like her all that much either. She's useful though. She's insanely knowledgeable about my grandmother's life, and on good days she talks to me about it. We sit on the back porch, looking out at the lake, sipping sodas and she tells me of a life I never knew.
She talks to me about my uncle and my father, and how the three of them raised hell together. How life used to be, and how it should have been. She makes sure to throw in hundreds of little stories about her kids and how they spent so much time with my Grandmother, and how she loved them so. In spite of this, I know she's just hurting because she's all alone, despite their huge family. When someone loses their mother, you cut them a lot of slack, even if they've never really done the same for you.
So I tell her I'll stay all summer, cleaning the place up and shipping various relatives their stuff, or calling and telling them when it's okay for them to pick it up themselves. Worse ways to spend the summer, I suppose. I call my mother and she agrees to send some of my stuff up, after making me promise to call often and to write even more.
The first couple of days are spent alone for the most part. Aunt Sylvia explains that the tagged items have been claimed, but if I really want something, I should call the relative in question and explain it. We both know that I won't, as I barely know these people and have little claim to anything in this house. Which is precisely why she tells me this. I try not to get too upset, because she does live right around the corner and could, if she so chose, make my summer miserable.
Instead, I unpack in the room where I used to stay as a child. It seems fitting and right somehow. I can't bring myself to sleep in her room, and not because she died there, but because as a child, I was never allowed in there alone. It would feel very strange to sleep there. I don't sleep in the main guest room as that's where my parents always slept. I may be 22 years old, but I don't feel much like an adult yet. So instead I go back to the kiddie room and make a mental note to sweet talk my cousin Trevor into fixing the air conditioning vent in that room. Until then, I'll just have to buy a couple of fans.
[i am currently refusing to think of such psychic jokes. really.]
I saw two movies today. Two reviews [of sorts] you get, plus the story that's been slowly forming in my head the last month.
The Matrix: Reloaded:
forward It was probably a bad idea to agree to see this on such a small breakfast and the blindness I get from waking up before 8am. However, I did, and this is how the movie affected me and how I reacted. Just a warning.
Is it possible to overdose on special effects? That is the question The Matrix Reloaded dares to ask. And the answer is a resounding "hell, yes!" The movie itself is 138 minutes long, according to my best friend. Since she lives with one of the guys who works at the movie theatre, I'm assuming she'd know better than most. However, the plot itself only takes up about 25 minutes. In fact, I know cartoons with more of a plot than this. However, what plot there is, is good. A bit convoluted at times, and definitely hidden behind lots and lots of flashy FX and double speak, but still it exists. There are revlations to be found, and amazing fight scenes. Characterization is actually never a problem, as each character of the main variety is given time to shine or weep in their own way. Some problems do occur, such as why is someone in the story? Just to push along the Neo=Christ thought, or is there something else?
God above knows. The movie opens with a dramatic explosion and no words at all. Grunts and FX galore. And that pretty much sums up the rest of the movie for me. Why actually give more of a plot when you can just slow things down and look really fucking cool? Still, it is impressive.
The real problem doesn't come up until SPOILER ALERT!Neo is fighting a bunch of Agent Smiths. The entire fight lasts 10 minutes and while really cool, also begins to resemble nothing more than a standard CGI goodie in a decent RPG video game. Very cool to look at, but seems really fake at times. Perhaps this is due to someone's glaring error of not realizing that when real actors are used, the scene is awash in green tones, yet the CGI Neo is all normal flesh colored. Thus, about 4 minutes in, you begin to notice the difference and feel kinda sick watching it. Your eyes are screaming "For the love of all that's holy, stop!"
At least mine were. This happens a couple more times in the movie, especially the Freeway scene.
Saw certain plot twists coming a mile away, and others were very cool and rather shocking. Too bad we had less plot than FX, eh? I left the theatre [after the trailer for the next matrix film. so if you see, make sure you wait out the credits to see the trailer] feeling sick and shaky from the heavy doses of unreality.
White Oleander
Where Matrix relies heavily on the male reaction to FX and the female reaction to Keanu Reeves, White Oleander is an emotional film. It's not completely without action to propel it past women [usually blond women] talking, it doesn't rely completely on these sorts of things. In fact, a lot of the action is implied or talked about rather than seen. Which works, because you don't always need to see the wound to know it's there.
Unfortunately for me, I read the book first. I really try not to do this with movies I know I'm going to see because I always compare them and the movie almost always falls short in someway. That said, I really liked White Oleander. The acting could never be faulted, and with a few visual exceptions, it is a beautiful film. [note to directors: green lighting on blondes is iffy at the best of times and downright distracting at the worst]
I can't really blather on, only to say that I liked it very much. I shrieked "Sookie!" when Melissa McCarthy was on screen [braids!] and then did a similar reaction when Kali Rocha was on screen. [Hallie! Halfrek! No one told me Halfrek was in the movie!] Ingrid was perfectly evil without ever actually being evil, and the suitcases were a joy to see as I really liked the thought of them in the book. Astrid grew and evolved, and yet stayed partially the same at time. And I loved Claire [Clare? Dunno] so much that I wish she'd had more screen time. Alas, alack.
Anyway. Both free to see, and no real complaints about the latter, while the former had a few. Neither sucked, though if given a choice between Matrix and X-Men, chose X2.
story
It's been six weeks since my grandmother died. They say she went peacefully in her sleep, probably didn't feel a thing. Everyone should be so lucky, they add between the sniffles and the sobs. I wouldn't know. I wasn't here; I didn't even know she was sick.
Then again, I'm told she didn't know either. Apparently years of smoking really can kill a person. Who knew? Still, you never really do believe it'll happen to you or anyone you know until one morning at breakfast, the phone rings, and it's someone telling you that your father is an orphan now. Even at the ripe old age of 50, you can still feel like an orphan. Even at 50, a man will break down in tears at his mother's funeral, sobbing for the life that was, the life he missed out on, and for all the times he didn't take enough time to call or write.
My Aunt Sylvia, Grandmother's youngest, has finally invited me up to the house to pick through Grandmother's things and pick out anything I would like to keep. I'm one of the last family members invited, and I'm lucky to even receive this invitation. My mother had to raise high holy hell just to get me invited here for a day. My willingness to clean up after everyone else's mess has earned me a pass for the rest of the summer, if I like.
My grandmother paid most of her bills way in advance, so there's no reason for me not to stay. No reason at all, except for Aunt Sylvia, who doesn't like me at all, and I don't think ever has. It's okay; I don't like her all that much either. She's useful though. She's insanely knowledgeable about my grandmother's life, and on good days she talks to me about it. We sit on the back porch, looking out at the lake, sipping sodas and she tells me of a life I never knew.
She talks to me about my uncle and my father, and how the three of them raised hell together. How life used to be, and how it should have been. She makes sure to throw in hundreds of little stories about her kids and how they spent so much time with my Grandmother, and how she loved them so. In spite of this, I know she's just hurting because she's all alone, despite their huge family. When someone loses their mother, you cut them a lot of slack, even if they've never really done the same for you.
So I tell her I'll stay all summer, cleaning the place up and shipping various relatives their stuff, or calling and telling them when it's okay for them to pick it up themselves. Worse ways to spend the summer, I suppose. I call my mother and she agrees to send some of my stuff up, after making me promise to call often and to write even more.
The first couple of days are spent alone for the most part. Aunt Sylvia explains that the tagged items have been claimed, but if I really want something, I should call the relative in question and explain it. We both know that I won't, as I barely know these people and have little claim to anything in this house. Which is precisely why she tells me this. I try not to get too upset, because she does live right around the corner and could, if she so chose, make my summer miserable.
Instead, I unpack in the room where I used to stay as a child. It seems fitting and right somehow. I can't bring myself to sleep in her room, and not because she died there, but because as a child, I was never allowed in there alone. It would feel very strange to sleep there. I don't sleep in the main guest room as that's where my parents always slept. I may be 22 years old, but I don't feel much like an adult yet. So instead I go back to the kiddie room and make a mental note to sweet talk my cousin Trevor into fixing the air conditioning vent in that room. Until then, I'll just have to buy a couple of fans.
