karanguni: (Default)
... was like empty calories, but good empty calories. Loved the women, but wow, such plot, so Great War trope, wow.
karanguni: because those are some happy drugs  (WATA you on boy?)
While I scribble endlessly at Endless Fic, allow me to distract you with that which has distracted me.



Layer Cake, 1:40 of Craig/Gambon drug-dealer con-man awesomeness with a side-serving of Tom Hardy as a double-firsts Cambridge cocaine cutter. WHY ARE YOU EVEN STILL READING THIS?

Narratively and thematically it's an in-between the Coen Brothers and Snatch. Surprise, surprise! Because Snatch was produced by Director Matthew Vaughn, also of Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels fame and - sort of/not really weirdly - Stardust. He's the reason why half this movie looks like amazing still photography.

I could make comments about how much I love the OST (STARSAILOR) asjklfjal and go on about dialects of English and how they make my head spin around in happy circles, but then I COULD PICSPAM LIKE THE SHALLOW, SHALLOW PERSON I AM RIGHT NOW:

You really really really really want to click this link. )

Please go watch this film as I expire on the cutting room floor of its goodness.
karanguni: (RUFUS looks)
Language altered to appear suitably Annoyed (R) and Irascible (TM); this post bears only minimal resemblance to members of the public that may or may not be either living and/or dead. I swear.

28/1: Enumerated List of Bureaucratic Stupidity

  1. To the American Banking system (and its slew of derivatives): I do not see the need or purpose in your sending my father and myself endless streams of correspondence. I do not need additional paperwork regarding anything to make me feel more self-important about the amount of money this family has deposited in your incredibly (pun fully intended, along with your 0.0000012% per month interest rate) and needlessly complex credit system, and my father is considerably jaded as-is and does not want to be informed, by means of (to date) 7 formal letters, 3 brochures and however many bits and pieces of paper marauding as check(que)books and/or advertisements, that you are Fully Aware of where his money is at any and all times. Rather, I'd be obliged if you left me with less drivel, and more information regarding parts of my account that I should've been informed of beforehand, id est: the drawing limit on my debit card, the fact that said debit card cannot be used for online transactions, and the fact that your company - against all standards of common sense and integrity and the ability to read in sequential lines - managed to not only misspell my name but also managed to rearrange my mailing address such that the second line became the first and the first line became invention. Thank god for postal codes.

  2. To the paper pushers with whom I am communicating in order to secure simple, no-frills interviews and tours of your facilities: I plead with you never to reply to emails with the phrase (verbatim:) "[i]n regards to the unformal meetings". I weep for you, your colleagues, and whoever it is that has to read your reports on a regular basis, Mms. "Manager of International Relations".

  3. To the makers of such movies as Troy: mother of Hades, what are you on, people? I could've forgiven Alexander its woes due to the fact that its casting was doomed to begin with, but Troy? Troy? Troy? One would think that Mssr. Pitt, having acted as a vampire and a gambler and a psychopath and a de-aging-re-aging man, would be able to brush his neatly evolved American accent to one corner and do better than scream (verbatim:) "IMMORTALITY!!!!!! TAKE IT!!!!!!!!!!!! IT'S YOURS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!", punctuation not exaggerated. Furthermore, Patroclus. If actual further elaboration is necessary: what of the ardent feminisation, and then the constant implications of "cousin", and then the fact that he - and Mssr. Bloom - served only to make Mssrs. Pitt, Bana and Bean seem muscular and manly in comparison? I decline to comment on the bad theatrical execution, the constant (and annoying) soundtrack, and the fact that the depicted Paris could be broken thus by kicking any particularly adorable puppy somewhere in his vicinity.

  4. To my love, gmail: I trust you. Please cease being slovenly; I have work to do.


*g* Okay, I have to stop, otherwise I think my brain will fall apart. But, yes, today has been an interesting day: for one, I've rediscovered the effects of a cup of coffee. Maybe it's just the fact that I'd spent around 9 years of my life getting only four or six hours of sleep per night and then slogging the rest of the day, but I'd never been affected by coffee until a few months ago. Tragedy! For then I could not drink it ere sleeping. I thought that I'd acquired some strange infection of the lymph. Truefact: after sleeping only 2 hours last night and then braving the roads (thankfully dead: I guess everyone's still hung over) on my bicycle, drinking a flat white did nothing more than restore me to humanity, as opposed to pushing me over the edge into Hyped Up Psycholand. Profit!

Additionally: if you live in the Australasian continent and are on my flist, there's a pretty high chance you're getting something in the mail sometime during the next 4-6 days. *BEAM*

Also: note to self, write creepy random boring piece about how the roads were empty. ish.

Thus is my boring life. *sets to writing Tsengfic at last*

[edit] Ended up updating the downingjones section of [livejournal.com profile] nasdack; essentially: hell.

[edit] I think I'm going to sit here and stare at AIM for a while, so if anyone wants to catch me in my in between-caffeine-dosage lull, go 'head.

Alexander

Oct. 13th, 2008 02:37 pm
karanguni: (Alex KRAPANOS)
Been catching up with a lot of movies that I missed out on during their intial releases, mostly to cover time in between studying and frantically filling out [livejournal.com profile] livelongnmarry notebooks. Watched Alexander yesterday, the final cut version - and god. Oliver Stone, you took on an epic project, and while you could have made it brilliant - and you did try - you mostly made it slightly convoluted and very --

Yes, Alexander failed. If his aim had ever been to unite the worlds in a greater harmony, as opposed to a more base instinct to expand - Alexander failed, and his failure towers over the successes of many men. Mostly Oliver Stone's failure just makes me wish someone could have been there, a step back from the entire production, equipped with a giant-ass pair of scissors and a sense for continuity correction. I liked many parts of it, and he had so many talented actors under his call, but:

1) Colin Farrell. Just - no. No. No.
2) Anthony Hopkins - wasted, so wasted.
3) Linearity Isn't Always A Bad Thing
4) Condensation Almost Always Is

Though, to be fair, as ambiguous and odd as the Haphaestion/Alexander relationship was, I think it was interesting of Stone to play it as hinted-at-sexual-but-never-done, even if Bagoas totally slutted himself out got the happy Manhandling (TM). And Leto's Haphaestion, SO GOOD. Yes, you are not just a puppydog to the King! \o\ \o\

I am kind of disturbed as to how much I liked Val Kilmer as Philip. Okay, scratch that, really kind of disturbed.

And poor Jonathan Rhys Meyers. 20 seconds of time as Cassander, and like so many of the Companions/impressive-Greek-word-for-bodyguard-contingent, he never got fleshed out as much as he should've.

fjlkasjfkaj so many focal points, SO LITTLE TIME. I don't even want to be this critical, but so many stickling points just stab at me:

1) Your foley artists need to tone it way, way done.
2) Please Hire Some Voice Coaches. I don't understand why Alexander sounds Irish while Hephaestion can't make up his mind between American and/or faux-Irish-ness while Olympias sounds just totally Made Up.

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A universe of unmapped grief and love
And new master light is beyond
The pleiades and plow and southern stars.

O soaring
Icarus of outworld, burn bright
The traceries of known skymarks,
Slide the highway planets behind
Your clear waxed wings.

Go conquer the everywhere left
Beyond your sad confinement
In a predicted bonehouse,
Witch thrown riddle of flesh
And water.

O soar until nothing
remains but great glittering holes
In the black godspun shirt over your head.

- John Fairfax