Valentines on a plane!!!!!!!

The only thing worse than having nerve rattling stomach pains on land is having those same pains expanding and contracting while flying in a United pressurized metal tube.

The only thing worse than not grabbing a beer at the bar a few yards away is spending an hour regretting sobriety while stuck on the runway and another 5 hours wondering how to steal the $10 2 oz. bottle of Jack.

The only thing worse than sitting next to Miss Los Angeles on land is being forced to crawl over her to get to the restroom, even though she was only pretending to be asleep so she wouldn't have to get up.

But in all honesty, the only thing worse than being forced to watch "Valentine's Day" in flight is choosing to watch "Valentine's Day" in the land of America, a magical place where you may always move about the cabin and make choices that define you.

So if you have rented "Valentine's Day" out of curiosity, I pity you. If you bought a ticket to see it and ended up enjoying yourself, I am ashamed for you. That was the worst movie I have seen all year, which of course means I had so many witty remarks to share, alas, with no one: Miss LA was watching the film but I was too afraid to say much to her because she scoffed at everything the flight attendants did; and my travel-mate, Cynthy, was in a coma next to me.

The movie is really impossible to critique because it was sans good parts. If I had to pick a story line I thought was kind of well-written and even a bit surprising, it would have to be the one with Bradley Cooper and Julia Roberts. But that is all. The rest, even without detailing the lack of chemistry in the scenes or about the painfully bad acting from the actually good actors, was crap. There were way too many story lines to follow, and bad story lines at that. Just looking at the billboards you could tell the flick was only a big money maker. It makes me sad.

More than that, I am curious. What drugs did the agents use to make their actors join the cast, or even finish reading the script?

At my wedding, I shall serve human blood

Pretty.

I bet we have more sparkly skin.

Yes this is baseball.

You are the best, most venomous boyfriend I've ever had.

I finally gave in. I finally sat down and watched Twilight.

For many moons my sister and past roommate tried to convince me that this was good literature. "Hannah, you like books. You would love this." That really is the main thing that angers me about the whole ordeal. It's not good by any means. It's entertaining, sure. Fun, sure. And I'd even say creative. But it is so ridiculous and, well, hilarious, that I can't take any of it seriously.

I love when I ask Elle a question about it (Why doesn't she just become a vampire too? When a werewolf imprints someone does everyone know? Do humans have soul mates too? Why does Edward suck out the venom and not Carlisle?), she delights in her explanation, as if this is the truth and no one can really argue it.

"You see, Hannah, the only way to kill a vampire is...No, werewolves aren't bad. Vampires are the bad ones...He does that because he wants to eat her but he can't because he loves her so much...His skin sparkles because he's the most beautiful thing ever...Yeah, his hair is long because he's an Indian."

I read about 50 pages of the first book just to prove I could put it down quite easily, a feat that most girls claim impossible. But I wanted to watch the movie because, let's be honest, that red-lipped guy and the main girl are pretty good looking.

I, like any American, enjoy watching beautiful people on screen, because while they might be gorgeous in person, they are even more so after all the hoopla and make-up and those white floppy things that reflect light to eliminate blemishes. The Edward boy is charming and the Bella girl lovely. I want to be their friends in real life.

The scenery behind the people was also appealing. It made me want to move back to the Pacific Northwest.

And I liked the music. (I hear the music for New Moon is even better.)

And I like how it was a bit edgy. The director, who also directed the maximum edgy Thirteen, certainly loves her diagonal angles.

But all of those factors do not erase the fact that this movie is so outlandish that I am sad for the screaming girls for they know not what they do. Twilight almost convinced me that is what love is like. And my very sensible sister even yelled out during the scene where they jump from tree to tree, "I want a vampire boyfriend!" I swear she's much more logical and down-to-earth than I, and yet apparently she has been persuaded that a super strong, super fast, cold as ice, sparkly glowy boy with pale skin is the only option. (For the record, she is happily married to a tall, pale mustached man who is fairly strong for a human.)

I applaud Meyer for her success, but every time I witness the obsession that has become her saga, I want to shake those koo-koo girls and tell them not to wait around for a sparkling soul mate. The catch-22 that forces Bella and Edward to practice abstinence does not exist. If this were real, Bella and Edward would do it, get pregnant, have a changeling child, and break up because Bella would be bitter toward Eddy because he took her virginity and because he can't pay child support because he's only 17 and will remain 17 forever, forever, forever ever, forever ever.

I'm sorry Miss Jackson. This is for real.

(Elle did enlighten me that Bella and Ed get married, have violent, passionate sex, get pregnant, and have a mixed child; and to give birth to her they have to perform some sort of brutal, vampire C-section because the baby is breaking Bella's bones. At least Meyer threw in a healthy dose of convoluted reality: her version of a sex-ed video reminding kids about the harshness of forgetting protection. A writer for Vanity Fair called this wait-till-wedlock theme a perfect helping for the parents of the swooning daughters and also for Meyer's mormon friends.)

In the end, I was already tired of the battle of unquenched love between the couple. Not because it's not riveting, my god, no. But because it's absurd.

I wish I could write this week's editorial on this. But I'm not sure these opinions are worthy for print.

P.S. The baseball scene was weird.

Virgins

Just watched Virgin Suicides for the first time yesterday. Might be one of my favorite movies.

7 Pounds

Sorry to say I really hated 7 Pounds. Will Smith is way too generous with his bodily organs.

A Revolutionary Sleep Aid

When I was a baby my parents would make me sleep in a closet because I kept them awake with my unnecessary crying. I never needed anything. I just cried because I wanted to be held. Now it may seem reasonable for me to feel neglect upon hearing this delightful anecdote, but really, I don't blame them. They need their sleep too. I probably would have done the same thing with my child. This all to say that I have always had trouble sleeping. Staying asleep used to be the challenge, but recently it seems to be the falling asleep that proves the most difficult. Needless to note, I am posting a blog due to this ongoing nocturnal routine, and because every other activity available to me at the moment is unappealing.

There is not much I'd like to say. I only have a couple movies I'd like to review, please, if it's alright with you. You are the only reason I write this of course. Your audienceship is greatly valued, my two or three readers. For I do not write for the only purpose of myself, to see what I've written on the internet, but to know the possibility of someone reading what I've written. That is all I ever want. I wish I could write about books instead of movies. I like movies, but not nearly as much as I like books. Throughout this winter break I've already read almost ten books, but I cannot talk about them on here because you do not care about them. Not to say that you aren't a reader or your ignorance will keep you from knowing what I'm talking about. But that you are more likely to go see and engage in discussion about a film rather than buy a book I write about and explore its themes with me. This makes me sad because when I finish a Beckett play or a novel by Camus, I certainly don't understand the meaning of it all. I'd like a buddy to tell me "It's okay. Neither do I." And then we can talk about it and come up with a semi-rational explanation that will (hopefully) help me sleep better at night. Because most of the time, I'm up thinking about these things.

I will probably be up tonight thinking about the movie I just saw (and also from the espresso from the restaurant earlier this evening...bad choice, Hannah) hoping to make sense of it all and really to come to my own opinion. It wasn't until the end credits that I realized Revolutionary Road was based off of the Richard Yates novel, which I have yet to read. This made sense because during my viewing I was thinking about how it would have been a better book than a movie. I really didn't know what to think about the whole thing. We have this Titanic reunion, a good story set up, and a fantastic director. The trailer seemed a little daunting, but I yielded this to what I thought was a bad music choice. I was expecting a Stepford Wives type story, with a conspiracy to conform to the suburban ideal and a young married couple discovering the truth and the secret brainwashing that goes on in their inconspicuous neighborhood. Or not even with a magic realism twist, I was expecting at least a discovery of the influences of a new consumerism society in the fifties and a rejection of the values of the cookie cutter lifestyle, a REVOLUTION for individualism. But the movie did not play out that way, at least I don't think so. When thinking about this movie, especially since it was based on an original story, I consider it in two different categories: the quality of the film and the effectiveness of the message. Strictly speaking in context of the former category, I thought Revolutionary Road was not what it could have been. Although I laughed much more than I thought I would, I was a bit disillusioned. The performances of the actors were not of their best. The two strongest were Kate Winslet and Michael Shannon. And I hate to say this, but I found myself criticizing Leonardo DiCaprio. I really respect him as an actor and have never been disappointed from his films. Maybe it's because I hold him up to such a high standard that I felt this way. But oh well. He probably won't be reading this so I don't risk offending him and so I have no need to offer my gratitude for The Departed, Catch Me If You Can, and What's Eating Gilbert Grape. And maybe I didn't like the scenes because I sensed a lack of editing skills. I imagined the editor at his cutting table (although most movies are not shot on film that can be cut anymore. It's pretty much all digital now, thanks to my aunt and a small team at Qualcom by the way) viewing all the footage and choosing the most dramatic takes for each scene. Now, I want drama in a movie, but not in every scene. And I don't blame the actors for being too dramatic. While filming they do dozens of takes, some of which are dramatic and some of which are more subtle. So I can excuse the actors for this. But, as a judge in such a high authority as mine, I place the blame on the culpable editor, or whoever chose the takes to print.

As for the message, I felt very foggy at the denouement. I so badly wanted the movie to be about breaking from the conformity, from the unauthorized rules that bind us to the "natural way of life": go to school, get married, have kids, settle down, and be happy. But I went away confused. Frank and April were striving after the American dream in Paris. The American dream in America was obviously unsatisfactory to them. But maybe that's just it. There is no such thing as the American dream. Even with a marriage, a nice house, a promotion, two kids and one on the way, they weren't happy. I don't know. I want to think about it some more. It is very possible that Yates was fulfilling my expectations of the message of the story, but the movie remake really muddled it for me. Maybe I'll read the book, and maybe even mention it here on this fabulous website.

I also wanted to talk about Frost Nixon (which was terrific...A+ Mr. Howard) but am actually very tired now and want to take advantage of my fatigue. Perhaps another time.

Burn After Laughing So Hard You Might Make Weird Noises

Burn After Reading wasn't the best Coen Bros movie, but it certainly made me laugh, and scream, and, squeal, and shrink in my chair, and stare wide-eyed at the screen desperately wishing the scene to pass but hoping I can watch John Malkovich continue articulating his tautology of "What the fuck" at the idiocy of every human being in film. The plot is too ridiculous and nugatory to explain in detail, only because we learn in the end that the jaw dropping turn of events have no real meaning at all. Of course, you must pay attention when someone tells you not to pay attention.

The movie is more than just a "Man Who Knew Too Much," first of all because the man, and woman, know nothing at all, and second of all because there is nothing to know in the first place. Linda Litzke tries her hardest to be in control of the situation, never keeping her mouth shut or turning away pretending she didn't find a disc with "secret spy shit". She has to take it to the Russians, of course, because only they will have interest in the numbers and dates and dates and numbers. She probably didn't get the memo that the looming war some have called cold is over. And similarly, Harry Pfarrer seems in complete control throughout the movie, despite the suspicious looks and cars that follow him around. He sleeps with whomever he pleases, but tells his wife that he's crazy about her because he has the keep that constant in his life, whichever type of wood the floor he is standing on might be made of. His paranoia about the food he eats is always false; he never has an allergic reaction to any of it, to the cheese or shell fish. But when he accidentally kills the unidentified man in the closet, he suddenly becomes paranoid to the point of accusing poor little flabby-armed Linda Litzkey of being in on it. All of this lunacy happens in the nation's capital, which has become a sort of panopticon, while the CIA has strict orders to "watch them and see what they do and report back when it makes sense," turning Harry around in a 360 to see people watching him from every angle.

Linda Litzke is fully aware of her sought-after position at Hardbodies as a face to the public, so she has dedicated her life to getting enough money to get 4 extensive plastic surgeries. The filming and lighting through the movie is completely unflattering to everyone. I find almost myself endorsing Linda's taking drastic measures to become the iconic beauty so she can find that special someone with whom to laugh at "Coming Up Daisies". But then I realize she's crazy, and liposuction will only make her as fake as the smiling heads on television and will do nothing for her spastic personality. I want her so badly to stop noticing the strangers that are watching her, but look into the glass office at Hardbodies to find the ex-Greek Orthodox priest who's been pining after her while she internet dates and complains about her loneliness. She doesn't see the his previous position in the church as a fulfilled way of life, but merely points out that "that's a good job." She recognizes the importance of security and stability, but still becomes entangled in a chaotic blackmail attempt, putting her best friend in danger. Osbourne Cox kills the next idiotic person he sees, with drink in hand, because he has been surrounded by morons and is just sick of it. I'm sorry to say that I condone Cox in his drunken decision.

As far as performances go, this is the first movie I have seen with John Malkovich and now understand why he rubs some people the wrong way. But I loved him and his arrogance and his careful pronunciations while castigating the most moronic people in DC. George Clooney is always a charmer and a fine actor. Frances McDormand's was by the far the most memorable performance. I don't know what to say about her besides commenting on her commitment and seemingly perfect fit for this role, and nearly every other role in which I've seen her. Tilda Swinton was great because I hated her so much in the film. And I'm sorry to say, but Brad Pitt was more distracting than anything. His comedy was the type of church Youth Group skit comedy, formulated and preplanned. I felt like I was being told when to laugh. I did not find the way he drank his water bottle funny however. But I guess it was nice to see Brad do a less smoldering role.

This movie was one of the funniest I've seen in a long time, but I didn't know why I was laughing at such horrifically true situations. Even though the audience was small at the 2 dollar theater, it was a good one. There was one lady in the front who kept snorting she was laughing so hard. So every punch line got two sets of laughter, one for the joke and one for the lady's ridiculous snort. It was a wonderful dynamic. A good audience is sure to make the movie better, as long as you aren't too concerned about who's watching you.