Happy Hallowe'en!

And, of course, tomorrow is All Saints' (or, if you reside in Mexico, el Día de los Muertos).

Whatever the reasoning, it's a time to celebrate and eat things that are really bad for you. so go nuts.

I'd say I'm going to give out candy tonight; but we never get callers, so it's unlikely.

It might be just as well, however, since I think I might be coming down with something. I've been having congestion since the weekend, and it's making me dead on my feet (fitting, ne?). It or the NyQuil (big fucking Q) I had last night, though I think that should've worn off by now.

I'll be going to Shaws on my break to buy Airborne and vitamins. BU employees are lined up for flu vaccines this week, but I'm not sure it would be a good idea if I'm already coming down with something else. And there's that tricky egg allergy--I can eat egg under certain preparation, but I've had bad experiences (and flu vaccine is contrived with the use of eggs, so they typically warn those who may be allergic). I don't know. I'll see how I feel on Thursday.

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Lined up for this evening? An odd bundle of movies from Netflix (if they arrive)--Before Night Falls, Brigadoon, and Chinatown. I still have six discs of The Twelve Kingdoms at the top of my queue, but there's a "short wait" on the first one, which apparently leads them to skip the rest and go on to what's after. It's not that I don't appreciate that (I wouldn't want to watch them out of order anyway); I just wish the wait would end.

Last Friday I received Alfie (the Jude Law version), An Awfully Big Adventure, and Bend It Like Beckham. Boo to Alfie, lukewarm reaction to AABA (in spite of my love for Mr. Rickman and Mr. Grant), and a generally good reaction to BILB (though that was a near thing too).

Why didn't I like Alfie? Because there's no redemption for him. At all. Okay, so Jude Law is hot, and that's a redeeming quality, but the character has no redemption. He's a sleaze who sleeps around A LOT, loses friends because of it, and learns nothing by the end. He just goes on. And again, if not for the fact that Jude Law is so damn good-looking, the film would be a complete wash-out. **

An Awfully Big Adventure was the first movie I watched from the lot--and it's horrifying, but a really good story with excellent acting. If that sounds like a mixed reaction, there's a reason for that--and a good reason too.

One can recognize the genius behind something while still admitting it's more than a little cock-eyed. Good story. Good twist. But still horrifying. It's like "Oedipus" but reversed, and there's no way it could've ended well at all. ***

I watched Bend It Like Beckham last, because I guessed that it would be the most uplifting of the bunch, and I was right about that. In spite of all the family fighting and strange relatives, our protagonists are (of course) successful in the end. They become football stars and get to go to the States on a soccer scholarship.

But I was almost angry at this film. Why? Because Jonathan Rhys Meyer's character has a relationship with Jesminder (Parminder Nagra), but--in spite of the fact that she's going far far away, he just gives her a hug. A HUG?! THE FUCK IS THIS?! was my reaction ... until the very end, when he shows up at the airport. And they kiss. Thank you. This hugging nonsense is bollocks. ****

And if you've noticed a certain amount of alphabetized movie-watching ... ? Yes. Not by full title, just by the first letter (the rest keeps it random). The next movies (I'm not doing this with television series) on the queue are Career Opportunities and Caligula.

Turn the page ...

Close the book ...

Match Point, etc.

Fittingly (or not, I don't know), I went out to the movies on the night of the Golden Globes ... to see Match Point.

Happily, this is not a tennis movie. All the plot summaries I found online set it up to seem like tennis was a big part of the film. And, metaphorically, I suppose it is; but it's primarily a backdrop and a motif for other things that are happening, rather than a major part of the film (it's not Wimbledon is what I'm trying to say--and while that is a good movie, it's not what I was looking for this time).

It's a fairly grim plot with some absolutely brilliant dialog, and for my limited experience with Woody Allen (The Front, remember?), this did not surprise me. For others more acquainted with his comedy (I am not one of those), it might go over badly. But I loved it. It's grim and gritty and beautiful.

And yes, it helps that Jonathan Rhys Meyers is in every scene. Some reviews I've read have described his character as being less emotional than he should be. I think he's just right; he's sick, torn, brutal, guilty, and falling apart. And it's just fantastic.

And for reasons that would be more evident if you've seen the film, this got my mind going on the issue of legitimacy--especially in regards to Shakespearean villain, Edmund. I think it would be wonderful to write and/or read an adaptation of the Edgar/Edmund/Gloucester relationship in a modern or alternate universe context and see what could be done with it. With or without the connection to Lear, I don't care; but I think Edmund is interesting enough without pulling in the main plot of King Lear.

... I know, I know. One project at a time, right?

Yesterday I also went to CVS (for pre-show goodies, which are cheaper than in-house goodies), and they had a BOGO on any Coke product with Diet Black Cherry Vanilla Coke as the free-b. The flavour reminded me of a rum-n-coke, to be honest; and I'm still debating whether that's good or bad ...

Other reflections I keep having: I don't often wear my contacts, once or twice a week, which is not nearly as often as I should. Every time I do wear them, however, I find myself staring at things. And I think this is what gaining "vampiric sight" would feel like (if such a thing actually existed, mind you)--suddenly seeing things that you never see otherwise. A little squirrel running across a power-line; sitting on the T, watching people sitting inside their apartments through un-curtained windows; every twig and branch of a tree on Beacon St. in sharp relief against the sky; or tiny separate pin-points of Christmas lights that usually seem like a continuous bright white blur. And it makes me think I ought to wear my contacts more often--except for this awful habit of staring at everything with near-foolish wonderment when I do.

Turn the page ...

Close the book ...