I was going to let this movie die alone, but then it got a bunch of Oscar nods. Now, acting purely to balance what I see is quite off, I will give you my thoughts on the movie.
1 word: boring.
1 Phrase: It's not Forrest Gump.
Not that Forrest Gump is the most incredible movie ever. But so much happened in Forrest Gump. This is an equally long movie about...
SPOILERS
... a guy who was born old and grew younger. I would think a guy like this would have had a pretty epic life. "He's so curious" we are told by one of the actresses saying some lines.
Let me explain how curious he was. He got out of the house he was raised in only once in the roughly twenty years he lived there before moving out. Then he got a job on a ship and did that for a while. Then I walked out.
About 2/3 into the movie, Boring has aged (or de-aged) about 50 years. All I had seen of his life are the three girls he dated. One was the raspy, frustrating woman trying to narrate the story, one was a woman that cheated on her husband with Benjamin, and the other was a prostitute he bought every Sunday at a brothel. He also made some friends on the ship we worked on.
Like Forrest Gump and Big Fish, the story sets up for an incredible life story, but all we get is a summary of his sex life and job. Granted I walked out 2/3 of the way in (I did, actually, have to be somewhere and, not doing my research, did not know the movie was so long).
Anyway, that's the short and sweet of it, IMHO, from the critic that hates movies.
Added: This is the director (David Fincher) that made Fight Club and Seven. Talk about going downhill.
Monday, January 26, 2009
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Michael's Stories: Episode 2: Asleep at the Wheel.
Michael's stories are absolutely true stories as told by my friend "Michael" and transcribed by me, with permission. All names have been changed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Michael is currently dating a girl I will call Brooky - not officially - because that's not what he wants at this point in life, but they do hang out all the time. A few days ago, she invited him to drive with her to Pennsylvania to visit her family for Christmas.
He precludes the story by explaining that Brooky is competitively stubborn. She graduated from college in three years because one of her siblings said it was impossible.
Befre they begin the thirteen-hour drive to Pennsylvania, he says, "I'll drive. You haven't slept in two days."
Somehow, that sounded like a challenge. "How about this," she replies, "I'll sleep for an hour and then drive the rest of the way."
After seemingly putting his foot down, he picks it right back up. He either doesn't want to argue with her - familiar with her competitive nature - or he is curious to see how it will play out.
"Alright. Whatever you want," he says.
Brooky sleeps for six hours. He tells me that she was fast asleep and didn't budge at all. When she wakes, she tells Michael to let her drive.
He reminds me that six hours is nothing when you haven't slept for two days. I agree.
She drives for a little and then tells him to lean his chair back and take a nap. He isn't tired, but reclines the chair anyway. He turns on his side, facing Brooky, and squints his eyes. He watches her blink and then blink again, slower the second time.
"Brooky, are you still tired?"
"No, I'm not tired at all. I'm wide awake. Go back to sleep."
"If you're tired, I can drive for you," he offers.
"I'm fine, really. Don't worry about it. Just get some rest."
He pretends to close his eyes again. She opens her eyes really wide and holds it for a few seconds as if to stretch them so wide that they will never close again. Then she blinks and blinks again, much slower.
"Brooky! I'm serious. Do you want some coffee? I'll buy you some coffee. If you really want to drive, just pull over at the next exit and I'll get you some."
"I don't need any coffee. I'm fine. Go back to sleep." she says.
Yea, right. Michael adjusts his chair into the upright position. He was wide awake, he tells me.
They were on a four lane road driving in the right-most lane behind a slower pick-up truck and Brooky slides over to the left lane to pass it. She speeds up a bit and when far enough ahead of the truck, she slowly starts drifting back into the right lane.
Really, though, she slowly starts drifting off the road.
The car keeps going to the right. The tires cross over the white line, clunk off the edge of the raised asphalt, and rumble into the riveted, alarm-clock segment of the road; the rough, graduated lines that sound like a drill-bit. Michael looks over at Brooky. She's knocked out cold, her head bent over on her shoulder.
"Brooky! WAKE THE FUCK UP!!!" He slaps her shoulder. "What THE FUCK are you doing?!? PULL OVER."
Her head jerks up. She grabs the wheel and steadies the car in the right lane. Then she pulls over to the shoulder, gets out of the car, and sheepishly walks over to the passenger seat.
"Sorry..." she says.
She slept soundlessly in the passenger seat the rest of the way there.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Michael is currently dating a girl I will call Brooky - not officially - because that's not what he wants at this point in life, but they do hang out all the time. A few days ago, she invited him to drive with her to Pennsylvania to visit her family for Christmas.
He precludes the story by explaining that Brooky is competitively stubborn. She graduated from college in three years because one of her siblings said it was impossible.
Befre they begin the thirteen-hour drive to Pennsylvania, he says, "I'll drive. You haven't slept in two days."
Somehow, that sounded like a challenge. "How about this," she replies, "I'll sleep for an hour and then drive the rest of the way."
After seemingly putting his foot down, he picks it right back up. He either doesn't want to argue with her - familiar with her competitive nature - or he is curious to see how it will play out.
"Alright. Whatever you want," he says.
Brooky sleeps for six hours. He tells me that she was fast asleep and didn't budge at all. When she wakes, she tells Michael to let her drive.
He reminds me that six hours is nothing when you haven't slept for two days. I agree.
She drives for a little and then tells him to lean his chair back and take a nap. He isn't tired, but reclines the chair anyway. He turns on his side, facing Brooky, and squints his eyes. He watches her blink and then blink again, slower the second time.
"Brooky, are you still tired?"
"No, I'm not tired at all. I'm wide awake. Go back to sleep."
"If you're tired, I can drive for you," he offers.
"I'm fine, really. Don't worry about it. Just get some rest."
He pretends to close his eyes again. She opens her eyes really wide and holds it for a few seconds as if to stretch them so wide that they will never close again. Then she blinks and blinks again, much slower.
"Brooky! I'm serious. Do you want some coffee? I'll buy you some coffee. If you really want to drive, just pull over at the next exit and I'll get you some."
"I don't need any coffee. I'm fine. Go back to sleep." she says.
Yea, right. Michael adjusts his chair into the upright position. He was wide awake, he tells me.
They were on a four lane road driving in the right-most lane behind a slower pick-up truck and Brooky slides over to the left lane to pass it. She speeds up a bit and when far enough ahead of the truck, she slowly starts drifting back into the right lane.
Really, though, she slowly starts drifting off the road.
The car keeps going to the right. The tires cross over the white line, clunk off the edge of the raised asphalt, and rumble into the riveted, alarm-clock segment of the road; the rough, graduated lines that sound like a drill-bit. Michael looks over at Brooky. She's knocked out cold, her head bent over on her shoulder.
"Brooky! WAKE THE FUCK UP!!!" He slaps her shoulder. "What THE FUCK are you doing?!? PULL OVER."
Her head jerks up. She grabs the wheel and steadies the car in the right lane. Then she pulls over to the shoulder, gets out of the car, and sheepishly walks over to the passenger seat.
"Sorry..." she says.
She slept soundlessly in the passenger seat the rest of the way there.
Michael's Stories: Episode 1: A Stereotype Exists
All true stories as told by my friend "Michael" and then, with permission, transcribed by me. All names have been changed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Today, Michael drove to his school, a local tech college, to figure out how he can register for next semester's classes even though he still owes money for classes from the previous semester.
I'm talking to him on the phone as he arrives and he inadvertently cuts me off with a subconsciously spoken "Whoa, there's a lot of people here." Classes start next week and a hundred students just like him need help because they have also waited until the last minute to register for classes. He tells me he has procrastinated every other semester, as well, but has never had any problems getting the classes he needs.
We're still on the phone as he parks and walks to the WIA office.
"Hey, hold on Chris, what time is it?" I am sitting at my computer desk at home and I glance at the corner of my computer screen, but he continues before I can answer. "It says the hours are 8am to 5pm."
"It's 4:55," I told him.
"Oh," he sighed. "That would explain why they won't let me in."
"So you pretty much drove down there for nothing."
"Well. Hold on."
"What are you going to do?"
"Hold on, I think I can talk to someone else." He starts walking to another building.
"Hey Mike," I start, "I'll just let you go so you can focus" Since you only have 5 minutes, I implied.
"Alright man, talk to you later."
---
He calls me back about thirty minutes later.
"Hey, what's up?" I answer, which is my usual hello. Before I ask if he had gotten everything figured out, I start talking about the gym down the road he had told me about that morning. "Yea, I called that gym you told me about, but its thirty bucks a month, not fifteen."
"Oh, my bad," he says. "Maybe Sara got a deal or something." Sara must have been the friend that told him about the gym.
"It's cool. Thirty bucks isn't bad, I could do that for a month. They also said they give away free guest passes, so, if I went today, they would let me work out for free."
"That's cool," he says.
"So what are you up to?"
He tells me that he is heading over to the animal shelter he volunteers at and that he wants to vent a little bit.
"Go right ahead," I tell him, preparing, for the first time, to remember every detail so I can write this blog later.
He starts by saying that he just wants to talk about something else - so that he can be distracted from his aggravation - and then he goes right into what happened.
Since the WIA office closed their doors on him, he walked over to the building containing his school's financial advisers. The WIA has an office on campus, but is not part of the school and, apparently, they lock up earlier.
Walking into the financial adviser's office, his first impression of the lady that had been stationed to help him and other students like him is that she looks good. And nice. He tells me that he felt that his chances of getting help were promising.
She asks him what she can help him with.
"I have a bill to pay before I register for classes, but I can't pay it off right now, and I need to register for classes... So I need help with that."
"OK" she answers. He tells me that she answered quickly and smiled, but it wasn't really a friendly smile.
He paused to give me a little backstory. He owes nine hundred dollars from the previous semester. He originally arranged to pay it off monthly, but his money got tight (small world?) and he wasn't able to. In order to register for classes, he has to pay it off.
He first asks, "Can FAFSA pay for it?"
"Nope," she responds. Again, terse.
"Can I work with [the school] to pay it off with monthly payments?"
"No."
"Ok. I'm about to get four grand from WIA to pay for my tuition. But, I need my [academic] transcripts. Can I get them from you?"
"No. You can't get your transcripts until you pay off what you owe," she says, adding a trite catch-22 to the story and, at the same time, proving that such cliches are both real and seemingly common.
"I started to realize that I was in a jam," he tells me. In front of the lady, his breath catches a bit in his throat as he tries to restrain the exasperation in his next question. "So what are my options?" He opens his hands in unison with the question and lays them on the table.
She tells him that he can get a student loan. He tells her he doesn't want a student loan. He doesn't want any debt.
"[Our school] is not responsible for something you should have taken care of a long time ago." He swears she must have enjoyed saying it. He knows he could have prevented this, but did she have to say it like that?
As he continues the story, I'm thinking to myself: my friend and everyone at that school is trying to move up in the world. They are self-motivated, they are paying for their own classes... you think that a member of the school's faculty would realize this and give a little help.
He tells me again that he started to feel like he was in a jam. Four months without classes suddenly became a realistic scenario. He has only two semesters left before he can transfer his credits to a graduate school. Four months without classes meant another four months before he could pursue a real career and that he would probably have to get a second job.
At this point, he tells me that he started to feel a twinge in the back of his neck; a small pressure that only arises when he gets truly aggravated. He said the pressure point continued upward into the back of his head and then pressed into the back of his mouth where the only thing he could do to dispel the tension was laugh. So he starts laughing.
Amidst tense chuckling, he musters a final, obligatory question, "Is there anyone else here I can talk to?"
"Nope," she replies.
He starts laughing again. He's laughing because of the tension in the back of his neck and because of his situation. He has become a part of textbook irony. He's laughing because we always hear about these kinds of people - people that seemingly enjoy not helping other people - and here, in front of him, the stereotype turns out to be true and all he can do is laugh. Right in front of him is a real and true stereotype.
The lady laughs with him. They're both laughing. They're looking at each other right in the eyes. He explains the situation, "There was absolutely nothing funny happening, but there we were, laughing and staring at each other. We were two people that (for the moment) absolutely hated each other, just sitting across from each other, laughing. "You bitch," he thought.
He tells me that he could have punched the lady right there. His fists balled up a little bit as a result of the tension pulsing through his body. He lightly, subconsciously, rapped his hands against the table.
"Ok," he says. He stands up and walks out.
---
"Oh man," he chuckles, sounding much more relaxed. "She was so mean!" He laughs again. He says he has almost arrived animal shelter, but if they don't have any volunteer work available for him he would come hang out with me, "Since I'm on your side of town."
"She was probably just in a bad mood," he continues, then pauses. "Yea, I'm going to say that was it."
"That's probably a good way to think about it," I state, never able to say anything is absolutely true. "She was probably dealing with people like you all day," I poke at him.
"Yea, she probably was. Alright, I'll give you a call later."
"Alright, see ya."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Today, Michael drove to his school, a local tech college, to figure out how he can register for next semester's classes even though he still owes money for classes from the previous semester.
I'm talking to him on the phone as he arrives and he inadvertently cuts me off with a subconsciously spoken "Whoa, there's a lot of people here." Classes start next week and a hundred students just like him need help because they have also waited until the last minute to register for classes. He tells me he has procrastinated every other semester, as well, but has never had any problems getting the classes he needs.
We're still on the phone as he parks and walks to the WIA office.
"Hey, hold on Chris, what time is it?" I am sitting at my computer desk at home and I glance at the corner of my computer screen, but he continues before I can answer. "It says the hours are 8am to 5pm."
"It's 4:55," I told him.
"Oh," he sighed. "That would explain why they won't let me in."
"So you pretty much drove down there for nothing."
"Well. Hold on."
"What are you going to do?"
"Hold on, I think I can talk to someone else." He starts walking to another building.
"Hey Mike," I start, "I'll just let you go so you can focus" Since you only have 5 minutes, I implied.
"Alright man, talk to you later."
---
He calls me back about thirty minutes later.
"Hey, what's up?" I answer, which is my usual hello. Before I ask if he had gotten everything figured out, I start talking about the gym down the road he had told me about that morning. "Yea, I called that gym you told me about, but its thirty bucks a month, not fifteen."
"Oh, my bad," he says. "Maybe Sara got a deal or something." Sara must have been the friend that told him about the gym.
"It's cool. Thirty bucks isn't bad, I could do that for a month. They also said they give away free guest passes, so, if I went today, they would let me work out for free."
"That's cool," he says.
"So what are you up to?"
He tells me that he is heading over to the animal shelter he volunteers at and that he wants to vent a little bit.
"Go right ahead," I tell him, preparing, for the first time, to remember every detail so I can write this blog later.
He starts by saying that he just wants to talk about something else - so that he can be distracted from his aggravation - and then he goes right into what happened.
Since the WIA office closed their doors on him, he walked over to the building containing his school's financial advisers. The WIA has an office on campus, but is not part of the school and, apparently, they lock up earlier.
Walking into the financial adviser's office, his first impression of the lady that had been stationed to help him and other students like him is that she looks good. And nice. He tells me that he felt that his chances of getting help were promising.
She asks him what she can help him with.
"I have a bill to pay before I register for classes, but I can't pay it off right now, and I need to register for classes... So I need help with that."
"OK" she answers. He tells me that she answered quickly and smiled, but it wasn't really a friendly smile.
He paused to give me a little backstory. He owes nine hundred dollars from the previous semester. He originally arranged to pay it off monthly, but his money got tight (small world?) and he wasn't able to. In order to register for classes, he has to pay it off.
He first asks, "Can FAFSA pay for it?"
"Nope," she responds. Again, terse.
"Can I work with [the school] to pay it off with monthly payments?"
"No."
"Ok. I'm about to get four grand from WIA to pay for my tuition. But, I need my [academic] transcripts. Can I get them from you?"
"No. You can't get your transcripts until you pay off what you owe," she says, adding a trite catch-22 to the story and, at the same time, proving that such cliches are both real and seemingly common.
"I started to realize that I was in a jam," he tells me. In front of the lady, his breath catches a bit in his throat as he tries to restrain the exasperation in his next question. "So what are my options?" He opens his hands in unison with the question and lays them on the table.
She tells him that he can get a student loan. He tells her he doesn't want a student loan. He doesn't want any debt.
"[Our school] is not responsible for something you should have taken care of a long time ago." He swears she must have enjoyed saying it. He knows he could have prevented this, but did she have to say it like that?
As he continues the story, I'm thinking to myself: my friend and everyone at that school is trying to move up in the world. They are self-motivated, they are paying for their own classes... you think that a member of the school's faculty would realize this and give a little help.
He tells me again that he started to feel like he was in a jam. Four months without classes suddenly became a realistic scenario. He has only two semesters left before he can transfer his credits to a graduate school. Four months without classes meant another four months before he could pursue a real career and that he would probably have to get a second job.
At this point, he tells me that he started to feel a twinge in the back of his neck; a small pressure that only arises when he gets truly aggravated. He said the pressure point continued upward into the back of his head and then pressed into the back of his mouth where the only thing he could do to dispel the tension was laugh. So he starts laughing.
Amidst tense chuckling, he musters a final, obligatory question, "Is there anyone else here I can talk to?"
"Nope," she replies.
He starts laughing again. He's laughing because of the tension in the back of his neck and because of his situation. He has become a part of textbook irony. He's laughing because we always hear about these kinds of people - people that seemingly enjoy not helping other people - and here, in front of him, the stereotype turns out to be true and all he can do is laugh. Right in front of him is a real and true stereotype.
The lady laughs with him. They're both laughing. They're looking at each other right in the eyes. He explains the situation, "There was absolutely nothing funny happening, but there we were, laughing and staring at each other. We were two people that (for the moment) absolutely hated each other, just sitting across from each other, laughing. "You bitch," he thought.
He tells me that he could have punched the lady right there. His fists balled up a little bit as a result of the tension pulsing through his body. He lightly, subconsciously, rapped his hands against the table.
"Ok," he says. He stands up and walks out.
---
"Oh man," he chuckles, sounding much more relaxed. "She was so mean!" He laughs again. He says he has almost arrived animal shelter, but if they don't have any volunteer work available for him he would come hang out with me, "Since I'm on your side of town."
"She was probably just in a bad mood," he continues, then pauses. "Yea, I'm going to say that was it."
"That's probably a good way to think about it," I state, never able to say anything is absolutely true. "She was probably dealing with people like you all day," I poke at him.
"Yea, she probably was. Alright, I'll give you a call later."
"Alright, see ya."
Monday, January 5, 2009
A more blog-like entry
Here's what's going on with me:
I think I'm going to start writing more blog posts- possibly starting with a nitpicky review of The Curious Case of Benjamin Button or a new type of episodic blog post called 'Michael's Stories'. These will be stories recounted by my best friend "Michael" who has a natural storytelling gift. I haven't told him I'm typing up all his stories, yet, and I don't know when I will. :D
- I graduated a few weeks ago (December 10th, Georgia Tech)
- I don't have a job yet.
- I'm talking with 2 companies. This week, now that the holidays have passed, is when I expect to hear from them.
- One company is in Sunrise, Florida and the other is in Austin, Texas.
- One makes applications for a smart phone and one makes video games for the Wii.
- I'm living with my parents, sleeping on a couch, and actually doing a bit of traveling. Why?
- I got a new car. A brand new Toyota Scion. Manual.
- I've already put 2000+ miles on it.
- I'm using Geico. It's all because of the caveman.
- About 6 months ago, I broke up with my girlfriend of three years.
- We're still friends.
- I feel like my life is moving in the right direction.
- I'm living off my credit card.
- I have not been very productive (call it fear of starting a project while in such limbo or... something else)
- I am, in fact, on the opposite side of production. I am absorbing. I am in the middle of quite a few pieces of work:
- My 3rd Haruki Murakami book: The Wind-Up Bird Chronicles.
- The English Translation of Mother 3, the sequel to Earthbound.
- Mushroom Men. A very colorful game with incredible music for the Wii.
- Zelda: The Phantom Hourglass for the Gameboy DS.
- I hope to finish them all before my vacation ends.
- I'm growing out sideburns similar to Jemaine's from Flight of the Conchords. It's taking a while.
- My younger brother, Jonathan, (my only blood brother) shipped off to Iraq.
- I sent him my PSP and a few games as well as a bunch of beef jerky, chunky soup, and baby wipes (which are apparently worth their weight in gold in the ash-filled "shit-hole" of Iraq)
- He promises to send me pictures someday, though he can't post pictures online that may give away his location to... terrorists.
- My grandmother moved from Iowa to North Carolina. For now, she's close again.
- As I said, I'm staying with my dad and stepmom until I get a job. They moved into this new house a month or two ago.
- It is awesome.
- It is right across the street from my stepmother's grandparents- which is great for everyone.
- I've had a sharp pain in my back for the past few weeks.
- It could be the result of driving too much, sleeping on everything but a bed, or stress from being in limbo.
- Last night I slept 11 hours for the first time in months. It felt great.
I think I'm going to start writing more blog posts- possibly starting with a nitpicky review of The Curious Case of Benjamin Button or a new type of episodic blog post called 'Michael's Stories'. These will be stories recounted by my best friend "Michael" who has a natural storytelling gift. I haven't told him I'm typing up all his stories, yet, and I don't know when I will. :D
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