Friday, January 02, 2004
I've pretty-much spent the last three days in bed recovering from Christmas and Boxing day, and fooling around with my computer. (Dungeon Siege, legend's of aranna, and other fan-created mods). It's been relatively restful.
In between, I spent new year's in company of an old friend eating dinner over too-sweet wine, too-sweet food, and much-too-sweet dessert. It's funny how spoilt I've become since my army daze. Me, a food - if not connosseur, then appreciator? how odd. Nonetheless, that was how we spent the turn of the year, chatting and bemusedly watching all the couples, well, couple when the clock struck none. Suddenly, I was the sole male who had failed to surreptitiously slide across the trenches, into the opposing camp's territory. As I said then, oh, I didn't realise it was that kind of establishment - but I did then, hungry eyes and burning hands couldn't have been more blatent than in that refined little eaterie, and why not? A new year breaketh.
New Years day I crawled reluctantly out of bed to 1) drink egg-nog latte at Starbucks, Borders, an experience best left forgotten and undescribed, and 2) watch Cold mountain.
I didn't like Cold mountain at all. Ranting at my friend (who did like it), I expostulated about wooden screenplay, soul-lessness, and lack of imagination. Plodding, predictable story - and here he treks, and here he bleeds, and here he almost-dies but comes back, and here they re-unite, and when does he... ah yes, here he dies. Titanic meets Lord of the Rings... sleek, polished and completely unmemorable.
But perhaps the real reason I didn't like it was because I don't have a Cold Mountain of my own.
Asking myself if I'd ever cross a continent for the attraction of someone I didn't know very well (and the cynic leaps up and shouts HA! rather obnoxiously) -- well, certainly I'd do it a little more carefully I told myself... mustn't talk to strangers or barge in on little widows desperate for companionship in these dangerous times, and certainly spare a moment to fry those delicious crabs rather than swallow them raw -- the answer was no. Too pragmatic, too practical for that. They barely exchanged words, helped in no small way by the heroes linguistic capabilities of a small, half-eaten shellfish. Oh sure, he whips out philosophical gems every three years, but in between he's as vocal as a george bush junior.
But then what about an attraction involving years of thoughts and words. no kiss, just a lot of idea-exchanging. A lot of chances for unwilling observation. What if that - I will never forget you - thing that was tearing up both leads (Nicole Kidman, pretty as always did that far more palatably than that whositwhatsit guy who ended up dying like a Chinese soap opera heroine) really exists? And then, even so, I suppose the answer would be maybe -- but only if she'd really, really wanted me to. And certainly not because she was so inept she couldn't work a complicated precision instrument with as many articulated moving parts as a garden rake.
And so, I suppose that is why I didn't like the movie.
Because I have no Cold Mountain to gravitate towards, anymore.
Because Cold Mountain is about hope, and watching it through hope-deserted eyes, it really wasn't very interesting. Except mebbe the bit when Nicole Kidman got jiggy, but even then it was kinda... dispassionate.
Anyhow, happy new year to everyone who is vaguely acquainted with me, and all the people I have wronged in this lifetime. Happy new year to the people who have forgiven me. And Happy New Year, You. And you too. And you and you, and you. :)
In between, I spent new year's in company of an old friend eating dinner over too-sweet wine, too-sweet food, and much-too-sweet dessert. It's funny how spoilt I've become since my army daze. Me, a food - if not connosseur, then appreciator? how odd. Nonetheless, that was how we spent the turn of the year, chatting and bemusedly watching all the couples, well, couple when the clock struck none. Suddenly, I was the sole male who had failed to surreptitiously slide across the trenches, into the opposing camp's territory. As I said then, oh, I didn't realise it was that kind of establishment - but I did then, hungry eyes and burning hands couldn't have been more blatent than in that refined little eaterie, and why not? A new year breaketh.
New Years day I crawled reluctantly out of bed to 1) drink egg-nog latte at Starbucks, Borders, an experience best left forgotten and undescribed, and 2) watch Cold mountain.
I didn't like Cold mountain at all. Ranting at my friend (who did like it), I expostulated about wooden screenplay, soul-lessness, and lack of imagination. Plodding, predictable story - and here he treks, and here he bleeds, and here he almost-dies but comes back, and here they re-unite, and when does he... ah yes, here he dies. Titanic meets Lord of the Rings... sleek, polished and completely unmemorable.
But perhaps the real reason I didn't like it was because I don't have a Cold Mountain of my own.
Asking myself if I'd ever cross a continent for the attraction of someone I didn't know very well (and the cynic leaps up and shouts HA! rather obnoxiously) -- well, certainly I'd do it a little more carefully I told myself... mustn't talk to strangers or barge in on little widows desperate for companionship in these dangerous times, and certainly spare a moment to fry those delicious crabs rather than swallow them raw -- the answer was no. Too pragmatic, too practical for that. They barely exchanged words, helped in no small way by the heroes linguistic capabilities of a small, half-eaten shellfish. Oh sure, he whips out philosophical gems every three years, but in between he's as vocal as a george bush junior.
But then what about an attraction involving years of thoughts and words. no kiss, just a lot of idea-exchanging. A lot of chances for unwilling observation. What if that - I will never forget you - thing that was tearing up both leads (Nicole Kidman, pretty as always did that far more palatably than that whositwhatsit guy who ended up dying like a Chinese soap opera heroine) really exists? And then, even so, I suppose the answer would be maybe -- but only if she'd really, really wanted me to. And certainly not because she was so inept she couldn't work a complicated precision instrument with as many articulated moving parts as a garden rake.
And so, I suppose that is why I didn't like the movie.
Because I have no Cold Mountain to gravitate towards, anymore.
Because Cold Mountain is about hope, and watching it through hope-deserted eyes, it really wasn't very interesting. Except mebbe the bit when Nicole Kidman got jiggy, but even then it was kinda... dispassionate.
Anyhow, happy new year to everyone who is vaguely acquainted with me, and all the people I have wronged in this lifetime. Happy new year to the people who have forgiven me. And Happy New Year, You. And you too. And you and you, and you. :)
