Well, dear readers, here it is, the start of a brand spanking new week. I’m still fighting whatever bug is trying to get me – I’ve got a semi-sore throat and I’m quite congested, but the bug has not won, no, not by a long shot, and the bug will not win, not without a big fight from me. I will fight the good fight, damn it all. Yesterday, whilst fighting the good fight, I had quite a relaxing day. I proofed the first half of the galley – found a few things to fix, and a few things I hadn’t caught the other eight times me and my proofers proofed. I also wrote a few pages of the short story and am just about one or two pages away from finishing, which I hope to do today. I already have the idea for the next short story, which I’m anxious to get going on. I also made a few phone calls, did an errand or two, and ate some eggs and toast. Isn’t that exciting? Isn’t that just too too?
Last night I attended a screening of a motion picture entitled Mr. and Mrs. Smith, starring Mr. Brad Pitt and Miss Angelina Jolie. I’m afraid it was pretty bad. First of all, the script is routine, and the conceit of the film has been done better long before this film. The first time I saw this story was in the marvelous Time of the Barracudas, a play by Peter Barnes that tried out here in Los Angeles – it starred Elaine Stritch and Laurence Harvey. The problem, as always with today’s movies, is that they don’t know when to quit. They don’t know when they’ve gone too far – which happens frequently, so that you just can’t believe one thing that’s happening on the screen. It doesn’t really matter how far-fetched a plot is if everyone takes the plot seriously and obeys the laws of the universe they create. I find Mr. Pitt and Miss Jolie typical of today’s “stars,” i.e. they’re not stars in the way that I think of stars. I was trying to come up with the perfect word to describe what I think of them as actors (and others of their ilk) – and what I came up with is “smug.” They are smug actors, full of themselves, preening before the camera in a completely nauseating way. I was never aware of Cary Grant being smug, or Jimmy Stewart being smug, or Henry Fonda being smug, or Audrey Hepburn being smug. The other thing that drives me crazy is the non-stop music that I always complain about. It literally kills movies today – ruins them completely. Mr. and Mrs. Smith has a grand total of thirty-two seconds where there is no music. Some of the movie might have actually been sort of tolerable if one weren’t being assaulted and hit over the head by loud pounding music every second of the way. The studios and directors insist on it because they think all audiences are ADD. And because they continue doing it, audiences become ADD. Audiences would be perfectly fine if there were scenes without music. They’d have to get used to it again, but they would, if only the idiot children who run studios and direct films would stop this disgusting game with wall-to-wall music. It’s pitiful.
What am I, Ebert and Roeper all of a sudden? Why don’t we all click on the Unseemly Button below because I must fight the good fight against the bug that’s trying to bug me.
Don’t forget, Donald should have a brand spanking new radio show up for your listening pleasure. And, don’t forget, you have until tomorrow evening at midnight to submit your answers for the Unseemly Trivia Contest. So far, we’ve only had two people submit answers, so give it your best shot.
I tell you I am fighting the good fight, dear readers. I am drinking emergenC (down to two cups yesterday – one in the morning, and one before bed time). I’m also taking NyQuil at bedtime, in hope it will help me sleep through the night. And, I did have me a big ol’ bowl of chicken soup with a matzoh ball last night, and we all know that chicken soup has healing properties. One of its healing properties is in Glendale.
Yesterday, I also watched a motion picture on DVD entitled The Adventurers. It’s one of the all-time worst movies, and yet it is a complete guilty pleasure in every way. It’s got risible dialogue, nudity, beautiful scenery, violent battles, amusing love scenes, Lesbianism, and Brit actor Alan Badel as a South American General (he doesn’t even attempt an accent, so you keep thinking you’re watching an RAF flyer rather than someone named General Rojo). The film runs an astonishing three hours and seems like it runs six hours. It even has an intermission slug at the two-hour mark. The film boasts quite a good score from Antonio Carlos Jobim – very symphonic and robust, with some excellent themes. The transfer from Paramount is their usual top-notch job. If you like guily pleasure movies, you might want to give this a try. As with most Paramount DVDs, it can probably be found for eight bucks or so.
Well, dear readers, I must take the day, I must do the things I do, I must write, I must proof, I must relax, I must watch a DVD or three, and I must fight the good fight against the bug that is trying to bug me. Today’s topic of discussion: If you could wake up tomorrow and be eating breakfast anywhere in the world, where would it be and what would you be eating, and why would you want to be there as opposed to somewhere else? Let’s have loads of lovely postings, shall we? We shall.