Pretty Monsters, by Kelly Link

I first encountered this book of short stories in one of my fiction writing seminars at Western Washington University. My professor who assigned the book wasn't particularly in love with it, but it had been recommended by another professor, so she taught it. I am very grateful that she did. I am not normally very interested in short stories. I figure that's why I often find myself daunted by the idea of writing them; because I don't read them often enough to write one well. But I'm getting off track, and short story long, pun unintended, without this book being assigned to me, I might have never known it existed.

Pretty Monsters is perhaps best characterized as Slipstream (a nicer and more accurate name for the western-appropriated portion of Magical Realism). The worlds put forth by Link's stories range from ones that largely obey the rules of our world to full-on worldbuilt fantasies (three guesses which settings I prefer). Many of these characters are really solid. The concepts are intriguing, and the language is casual but masterfully crafted.

The only thing which put me off was the structure of some of these stories. One or two that I can think of off the top of my head introduced conflict, rose to a climax, and then stopped abruptly. I understand from my classwork that this is a somehow "fashionable" move in fiction, but Link's application of it seemed a little extreme. I could spout some existential defense of the cutoff ending, saying it mirrors life because we never know what will happen or what is to come, making the stories more relatable, relevant, resonant, whatever you please. However, I personally prefer a story that answers - or at least acknowledges - a few of the questions the body of that story raises.

SPOILERS FOR SAKE OF EXAMPLE FOLLOW. PLEASE HIGHLIGHT IN ORDER TO VIEW THEM. In the story "The Library," for instance, things get pretty strange toward the end. There is some indication that the main character has passed out of his reality and into a reality where the television show he and his friends are addicted to, called "The Library," is real. He arrives in a location where, as a reader, you have no idea whether the people he interacts with are human or not due to this potential reality shift. These characters, and whether or not reality has shifted at all, are not addressed in the end of the story. Every question raised by the story is left to hang. The same thing happens with "The Specialist's Hat."

In contrast, stories like "The Constable of Abal" and "The Faery Handbag" raise lots of questions in the body of the story, but each picks at least one and gives it a solid resolution before cutting off. I think the reason this is more effective for me as a reader is because the sense of resolution in the one answered question lends a sense of resolution to the whole story. "The Faery Handbag" doesn't answer its biggest or most important question - in fact, it answers its least important question - but that leaves the open ending much less frustrating because the story still feels complete. The fact that the main character has the majority of her adventure ahead of her by the story's conclusion, where the reader cannot see it, isn't relevant because the story feels as though it has come to a natural conclusion.

Perhaps this convention is just a part of short story-telling that I don't understand. I plan on reading several more collections in the future, so hopefully you'll see more analysis in the future. I'm open to changing my stance, depending on what I see. And even though I was frustrated by the endings, many of the stories in Pretty Monsters I strongly disliked right after reading them somehow grew on me. Perhaps they just need time to breathe.

If you like short stories, and even if you don't like them, Pretty Monsters is worth more than a gander. If you give it a look, let me know what you think! I would love to discuss it with you. Cheers everybody, happy Saturday, and have a great rest of your weekend.

Meeting Neil Gaiman

So I have some catching up to do.

Several weeks ago, okay more like a month ago now, I had the extreme good fortune of being a ticketholder to what Neil Gaiman called his last US signing tour. It was in honor of the release of his novel, The Ocean at the End of the Lane, and was held in my personal favorite Portland venue, the Crystal Ballroom. Or at least, it's typically my favorite.

We aren't sure who ordered the sweltering heat, but it certainly wasn't us - the Crystal Ballroom has no air conditioning, the ballroom is on the top floor, and they typically don't even open the windows upstairs - and it certainly wasn't Neil, who was in his customary all-black and long sleeved ensemble. Oops, Neil said that he was going to keep it a secret that Portland had days like that; I guess the cat's out of the bag.

Either way, it was a delightful afternoon with approximately nine hundred people packed into one room, which Neil informed us was about the maximum comfortable number to sign for. Apparently the event the night before had gone from 8:00 PM until 2:00 in the morning (ouch). He read from chapter three of Ocean at the End of the Lane as well as an excerpt from his upcoming children's book Fortunately, the Milk (which I will shamelessly purchase without having a little one to give or read it to).

However, one of the best parts of the afternoon was the question and answer portion. Every guest had the opportunity to write a question on an index card which could then potentially be drawn at random and asked on stage. The best, or at least most memorable, question went something like: "Summarize your writing process in three words or less." He thought about that one for a long moment, and then responded, glaring, "Glare," and finished with a nod, "Drink tea." Which just about summed up the feelings of everyone in the room, including mine.

And then of course came the moment of truth. The room was divided into sections based on colored slips of paper in the copies of Ocean at the End of the Lane we were given as we arrived, and each  group was called up to cue for the signing table one at a time. I had looked forward to meeting Mr. Gaiman, even for a moment, since the second I realized that tickets for the event had gone on pre-sale. Everything of his that I've read I've enjoyed, but just as importantly, he is an incredibly encouraging person. Many of my closest friends are writers and artists of some capacity, and there have been many times that we call or message each other looking for support; insecurity seems to come with most creative territories. And then, one magical day, we found Neil Gaiman's tumblr. He spends a lot of time answering asks from fans, which has always struck me as generous, and many of those responses have to do with encouraging others not to give up on their passion because they are afraid or nervous or insecure about their work, their education, or basically anything else. So going up to that table, I wanted to thank him. Not only for the encouragement and confidence I had personally taken from his internet outreach, but for the fact that he seeks to support everyone he can. It is so easy to feel constricted or crushed by the concept that you are not good enough, or that art is not worth your time because it will not make you any money, or that nothing is ever original, and seeing an author who is so successful express so much support is not only refreshing, it's vital.

I had all these things in mind when I went up there. I was calm up until the moment it was my turn. I was good and remembered that he's a person, not the clout that his name carries. But then I was there, he was signing my books, I got my thank you out, and my mind went blank. He was a good sport about it, of course, and after I stammered something else I asked if it would be alright if I got a quick hug, and he waved me over. And I am so, so grateful for that.

Just in case, I'll try again: thank you so much, Neil Gaiman, for visiting my city, for making such a long trek around the country, for bearing the hand cramps and long hours, for sharing your newest work and your stories, for answering nosy questions, and for listening to all of us blunder our way to telling you how awesome we think you are. Please never change.

Cheers,
-Maddie

If you are interested, and you should be, go visit Neil's Tumblr at neil-gaiman.tumblr.com and get inspired!

Three-Movie Weekend

From the archive of unfinished posts:

The Wrath of the Titans, directed by Jonathon Liebesman and starring Sam Worthington, was, I think, actually better than its predecessor. Clash of the Titans was decent, in a b-movie kind of way, but it had one problem: it tried to tell the story of a classic myth and failed to do so. Wrath broke with every mythic convention I can name, and was better for it. Because it hardly acknowledged myth, it didn't really have expectations to fill. I'd watch it again.

The Raven was shockingly well done. When I first saw the trailer, all I could think about was how badly this movie wanted to be Sherlock Holmes, but it turned out to be more than that. Cusack played a shockingly convincing Poe, the circumstances/traps were appropriately squirm-worthy and awful, and the mystery was downright decent. I would be willing to own this movie.

The thing you've got to understand is that The Three Musketeers is ridiculous, hands down. The Musketeers are primarily in tight leather, one of them is practically a ninja, they uncover DaVinci plans for steampunk airships and build them, and Orlando Bloom has a pompadour. In summation? It's awesome. One for all and all for one!

Cheers!

Double Whammy

Two books in two days, BAM!
And did I mention I finished Sherlock Holmes? No? Oh. Well then.

Sherlock is awesome. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle is awesome. Look into it.

Book no. 1: The Graveyard Book, by Neil Gaiman.


Suffice it to say that my initial response to The Graveyard Book was:
"The Graveyard Book is over and done -
one of the best I've ever read -
and now that day is long past gone
I'm ready to sleep like the dead."

Reading fiction, especially children's-to-young-adult fiction, doesn't usually inspire me to write poetry, let alone rhyming lines, let alone at three o'clock in the morning.

Get thee to a bookstore. NOW.

Especially if you have a love of ghost stories. Gaiman is a wizard, I swear.

However, the volume that currently consumes my thoughts is none other than

Book no. 2, Brom's latest work: The Child Thief.


Do you, dear reader, recall how the 2003 film version of Peter Pan, starring Jeremy Sumpter (Peter) and Jason Isaacs (Hook), sought to re-inject some of the darkness of faery back into the tale which had been inevitably candy-coated through mediums like Disney? Brom's retelling of J.M. Barrie's classic novel gives that film a cold, back-handed, lip-splitting slap to the face.

This overhaul begins in modern New York, in Brooklyn, steeped in its drugs, thug violence, and urban brutality and desperation. Cue Peter, the Child Thief, ready to tempt his newly-found runaways into the Mist and out of this world, into one which is different in every way and yet equally cruel. Welcome to Avalon.

Like Brom's other works, The Child Thief is impossibly dark. In a way, rightfully so. Brom invites his audience to re-examine J.M. Barrie's own Peter, the first Peter, the true Peter. Brom quotes Barrie's novel, “The boys on the island vary, of course, in numbers, according as they get killed and so on; and when they seem to be growing up, which is against the rules, Peter thins them out; but at this time there were six of them, counting the twins as two.” And if that was't enough, he found another gem: ""I forget them after I kill them," he (Peter) replied carelessly.”

Personally, I had forgotten those lines. In light of them, the world of The Child Thief seems a logical, even a natural, inference to make. And while Brom's Peter occasionally shows the flippancy and the childishness that might excuse his predecessor - for surely a child would not understand death, not really, not the way an adult would - he has no excuses. He asks for none. He kills and has been killing all his long, ageless life.

Which brings me to a word of caution: this book is graphic. Terribly graphic. The kind of graphic that should never be translated into visual representations of any kind. If you can't take the thought of glistening entrails being anywhere other than inside one's body, close the book, put it back on the shelf, this one's not for you. (For the record, the language is also vulgar as hell.) Furthermore, whether or not your are opposed to the language, the portrayal, the violence, anything, this is the kind of book that once you're hooked, you're sunk, it's over, goodnight. The novel is 480 pages long. I read more than half of it today and forgot to eat. That hasn't happened to me before.

And yet, as much as it - as he - is terrifying, Brom's words and Peter's winning nature are enchanting. I found myself hoping, wishing for a reason for all the brutality, for the battles and the senselessness, and at first I thought there was. But Brom has a way of bringing out the painfully human in things which are portrayed as superhuman: of tearing away all artifice and illusion, of standing the most charismatic leader beside the most corrupt tyrant and stripping them both down to nothing more than greed, and lust, and grit, and pain. Identical. And, for some reason, it's impossible not to watch.

As harsh as I am toward Brom's Peterbird, I have to admit, he did a marvelous job in crafting him. The only spoiler I will give is a phrase used throughout the book: "...because Peter's smile is a most contagious thing." Sociopath or not, kidnapper or not, Peter is charismatic as hell. I fought with the concept of his faults all through the novel, wanting to make him into the simple hero minds like Disney's made him into, to make him into a person who was good, and only good. It wasn't possible. And that's okay. If I'd been a runaway, I'd only have had one answer, and it was the same, beginning of the novel to its end:

"I go willingly."

So if you have a mind, and a strong stomach, and perhaps even a touch of dark humor about you, pick up The Child Thief. But beware: it's not like you remember it.

Red Riding Hood

starring Amanda Seyfried as Red (Valerie) and directed by Catherine Hardwicke. Wait, you say, Catherine Hardwicke? The director of Twilight?

Yes, folks. The director of Twilight.

My first reaction when seeing the trailer and knowing this fact was "Why, world? Why didn't you let it be Tim Burton?"

In spite of this, I tried very hard not to judge it based solely on the choice of director. My dad might tell you otherwise, having watched the movie with me (sorry, dad!), but I really did try. It didn't work incredibly well. Too much of the film was just too predictable.

First, the introduction was trying too hard to be Twilight. The establishing shots of foggy, groggy, Pacific North-West style rolling forest hills could have been cut and pasted from Hardwicke's aforementioned project. Second, the acting, barring only miss Seyfried (by grace of her portraying a young lady with a million times more grace and dexterity than Kristen Stewart's Bella - then again, it doesn't take much), was pretty atrocious. I also bar Gary Oldman from this judgment, who I hope was paid extremely well in compensation for the terrible accent he had to put on. Last, and most important, was the severe incongruousness.

The setting (temporal): the village where the story plays out is one where Red/Valerie is arranged to marry the Blacksmith (Henry), as she will have a much more secure financial life with him, rather than with the woodcutter she loves (Peter). The houses are what you would imagine: simple, wooden, rustic. The costuming hints at a period piece while deftly side-stepping any real temporal commitment. When Gary Oldman (Father Solomon, who also happens to be the only character with a costume which could potentially be dated) appears on the scene, his thick pseudo-German accent would hint that they are somewhere in Europe. As he and his entourage arrive on horseback and the village, if it is truly as isolated as is professed by our heroine and narrator, would almost certainly not know of a Werewolf specialist from overseas, I have to conclude that they are somewhere at least on the same continent. All of the other actors speak with American accents.

The setting (physical): I said village, right? Rustic, scenic, isolated. The aforementioned costuming throws logic to the winds and the peasants of this community dress in fine, bright fabrics. There is an array of colors, from bright blue to bright yellow, and in hues that simple folk of their bent would almost certainly be unable to afford or make. What use would they have of a forest-green work shirt, let alone finery, when Red tells us in the very beginning that the rest of the world doesn't even know her village's name? (Thanks to IMDb's lovely reminder, I can also gripe about the glass windows, which only the rich could afford.) Back to the clothes. To give credit where it is due, I understand that this is meant to be a fantasy and that these kind of things can, and do, slide. But aesthetically speaking, to have a dingier, grittier village would have lent all the more visual power and command to Red's beautiful cloak, which was much more realistic: while it was bright red, as promised, it was coarse-woven and a gift from Red's granny. It seemed just as it should be.

So ultimately I forgive the costumes. What I can't quite forgive, as this is a period piece, was that Peter's hair was clearly moussed. Not only was this a serious affront in the period piece category, it made him an Edward-wannabe and, similar to the effect it had on Robert Pattinson, took away practically all of Shiloh Fernandez's attractiveness. And, for those of you who are interested, I don't know if you've looked at other pictures of him, but he is SMOKIN'. So seriously, I don't know what they were thinking with the hair gel. I can only hope that, in spite of bad hair choices, we'll see more of him in better-directed, better-written movies.

And now to give credit where it really is due. The cinematography was quite good. It didn't make up for the writing, but there were some extremely lovely moments, especially Red's hallucination-scenes wherein her cloak gets much longer and is usually being blown around in the wind as she walks through untouched snow. SO visually appealing. So kudos to the crew for that.

I will also own that the Wolf was meticulously animated. While I still prefer Van Helsing's man-wolf, the oversized, lean Wolf of Red Riding Hood ranks right up there with the best. I may even place it as my second-favorite werewolf design in film. (Perhaps third, with American Werewolf in London holding an honorary second place.)

The next credit-award is possibly what shocked me most of all: I actually didn't predict who the Wolf was. It distracted me even from the poor acting for almost the entire second half of the film. There are some false threads and enough ambiguity that the reveal was refreshing. I won't spoil that part, just in case anyone wants to find out on their own.

What amused me the most about this film, however, was the blatant murder-mystery-game feeling the whole production had. Gary Oldman literally said something to the effect of "Bar the entrances. No-one leaves!" I burst out laughing.

My conclusion is that someone got drunk, played The Werewolves of Miller's Hollow, watched Twilight, and spat out "I HAVE A WONDERFUL IDEA."

Tim Burton, Danny Elfman, you make me mourn what this movie could have been.

Red on IMDb
Red's YouTube Trailer
The best game in Existence: The Werewolves of Miller's Hollow and its two expansions, New Moon and The Village!

Priest

Was just like I hoped it would be. It would be an ideal double-feature with Constantine, Van Helsing, Underworld, or even Legion for optimum levels of ass kicking, badassery, and supernatural crap of some denomination.

Paul Bettany: perfect, I only wish they'd have let him keep his glorious British accent.

Karl Urban: perfect in every way. Put a gold star on the black hat.

Maggie Q: could have participated in the badassery more, but had her moment and so I am satisfied.

Cam Gigandet: had his good moments, his bad moments: if only they'd have let him actually tan rather than giving him the Jersey treatment!

The Vampires: one of the most original vampire concepts this side of Western Media in the last decade. Perhaps longer.

The design: superb. I've no idea how much the design for the film looks like the designs from the original korean graphic novels (serialized in the states by the juggernaut Tokyopop), but here's a list of everything that I can judge went into the aesthetics for the movie: Assassin's Creed for the costumes of the Priests/Priestesses (Paul Bettany especially), super turbo mega awesome motorcycles a la FFVII Advent Children, futuristic Cowboys/space western/twisted western, steam power meets Blade Runner cyber-city, windswept post-apocalypse desert, enough conducting explosions to orchestral music to make V proud, blood gore violence and, of course, who could forget? a fight on top of a moving train.

In short: BRILLIANT.

Go watch it.

30 Days of Night, Dark Days, and Return to Barrow, by Steve Niles and Ben Templesmith

Remember this?

Yeah. Sadly, so do I.

Once upon an age ago I saw the film 30 Days of Night. Released in 2007 and directed by David Slade, it was first and foremost a bloodbath set in the month-long darkness of, you guessed it, Barrow, Alaska. At least writer Steve Niles was one of the screenplay artists. In spite of this fact, the film adaption falls very short from the comic which, I confess, surprised me.

Let me note before moving on that the only thing which was up to snuff for the film adaption was the level of gore. This movie - and these comics - are not for the faint of heart or weak of stomach. They are gruesome, brutal, and exactly with the kind of mindlessness which comes under attack for influencing and encouraging violence in society. The movie is the closest I have ever come to those genres of films dedicated to violence and graphic visuals for the sake of both, and hopefully it will stay that way. Luckily the comic world is, though not at first glance, slightly more complex.

The first thing I must praise is the artwork. The film adaption of vampires, rather like Buffy vampires, have distorted faces, but in a less "vampire" way and more "alien" way:

See what I mean? I understand the choice of distorting the eyes - it could even be said to make sense. The vampires in the comic are visually distorted in much more disturbing ways - like in the mouth area - but the truth of the matter is that all the characters in the comic series are distorted. The style is cacophonous, noisy, it could even be said to be sloppy. It took some getting used to, to say the least. But an indistinct style is, perhaps, better for something so gory: what would otherwise be shown in glistening visceral detail is translated to the obscure and abstract the majority of the time.

What shocked me most, other than how much I warmed up to this erratic visual style, was the appearance of plot! [Gasp! Real plot?! No!] It nearly took the addition of the second volume, Dark Days to appear fully, but it indeed exists! There is one especially plot-inducing character in the first volume, I will concede, but I'd rather not spoil it. He's pretty fabulous, for a gory, grey-skinned bloodsucker.

Back to the wasteland of sequels, Dark Days shocked me immensely in that I believe it was better than its predecessor. Its premise was predictable, but overall I think it is a decent addition to the body of vampire literature the world has to offer. Likewise, volume three, Return to Barrow, while deceptively rerun-ish at the outset turns out to have a lovely little twist at the end. I highly recommend them, despite their horrid gore.

Also, fun fact: there was also a movie made of Dark Days. I am actually disappointed to find that Steve Niles is once again a participant in the production of the screenplay, because based on the trailer, this piece of cinema was dredged up from lesser origins. Having just read the comic it professes to be based on, I don't typically take it to be a good sign when I can, while watching, say the word "wrong" repeatedly in response to what the characters are saying. However, I reserve full judgment until the day I master my gag reflex enough to actually watch it.

If you're curious, here are some links for the films and the books alike. Happy hunting!

30 Days of Night (Comic)
30 Days of Night (Film)
Dark Days (Comic)
Dark Days (Film)
Return to Barrow (Comic)

Also, a Wiki page which details the various extensions of the original trilogy!

Le Pacte des Loups

Better known on this side of the pond as The Brotherhood of the Wolf.

Released in 2001 and directed and adapted for the screen by Christophe Gans, it stars talents such as Samuel Le Bihan, Mark Dacascos and Monica Bellucci. If that didn't make such painfully obvious, the acting is superb.

If I were to recommend and/or caution potential viewers about this film, I would mention its gratuitous violence. In retrospect (having seen this movie twice now) it has gratuitous everything. Gratuitous violence, gore, nakedness, sex, incest, wit, intrigue, convolution of the plot, and wine. A relative of mine refers to this quality as having "something of everything," but more often he refers to this quality as "the best movie ever." And I have to say, there are a great many beautiful things about this film, the imagery and cinematography not the least. The costumes are exquisite, the locations are beautiful, even the transitions are artfully done. The entire atmosphere is complete in a way which puts this film, in my eyes, on the level of my other personal classics, like Le Violon Rouge and The Last of the Mohicans (the Daniel Day-Lewis one, of course).

The writing is also particularly praiseworthy, but IF AND ONLY IF it is viewed in its original French. Not only does the language lend a sense of overall completeness and fluidity, it's just nice to listen to. There are so many historical films which are voiced in American accents - or other accents which are equally wrong - and the English dubbing of this film takes a heavy toll on its quality.

A supernatural thriller set in the French countryside, it is narrated in retrospect by a nobleman who witnessed it all with the expectation that his world is about to convulse a second time with the advent of the French Revolution. Despite the film's location and alleged historical-fiction background, the main storyline contains a substantial amount of martial arts - quite good martial arts, might I add.

The story itself centers around the Beast of Gévaudan and the many plots which surround it. To avoid spoilers, and possibly to watch it again, I will cut this review short.

Curious? Watch a trailer!

Shutter Island

May I open this one with a great big SPOILER ALERT.
Then again, I think you're all pretty aware that I'm liberal with the details on this blog, so I don't know why I was compelled to do so. Moving on.

For a true beginning to this review, I'm going to lay it out there plain and simple: I expected a lot more from this film. I love Leonardo DiCaprio - I believe he's very talented - and I'm also a huge fan of Emily Mortimer. However, this movie definitely left something to be desired in multiple courts.

The Plot is my main concern. In fact, I think I may be experiencing the same kind of disenchantment with Shutter Island as many other people of my acquaintance experienced with Avatar: in the end, it did exactly what I expected it to, and so it was a let-down. I mean really. When the major plot twist, that the gung-ho main character is actually insane, gets predicted by someone in the room within the first half hour of the film, there's something rotten in the state of Denmark, and in this case it rank of someone failing miserably at trying to pull a Tyler Durden. I would rather have watched a hackneyed and predictable story about a bad-guy insane-asylum-gone-experimental-medical-facility post-World War II featuring a detective with post-traumatic stress disorder which, naturally, he then uses to solve the case and escape; the blind leading the blind, the traumatized spiraling into the insane in order to understand the insane and thereby gleaning a glimmer of truth to cling to. I would have adored that, run-on sentence and all. Eaten it up. But of course that's not how things seem to work right now. The only redeeming quality of the plot was the very end, the very conscious decision of Teddy/Andrew to commit mental suicide and be ice-pick lobotomized: "to die a good man" rather than "to live as a monster."

The other main aspect that I was disappointed with, honestly, was the score. It kills me to say so, as movie music is one of my favorite things in life, but there it is. Upon looking into it further, it kills me even more to see that the score wasn't original: it was hand-selected tracks from various classical sources! Oh Hollywood Gods, why do you do these things? [Give me a moment to compose myself.] I must give credit where credit is due: I desired the 'silence is more terrifying than sound' effect, and they gave it to me in spades (once I waited a while for it). However, my complaint, in light of the aforementioned discovery, is with the use of certain tracks. Every once in a while a piece would be chosen that just screamed that the film was trying too hard to be suspenseful and thereby ruined the entire setup. During the sequence wherein Teddy and Chuck are being driven to the compound on Shutter Island to work on their missing persons case, the music was so repetitive and over the top I actually laughed and said "I can'e even take this seriously right now." That same track happened at least twice more, and it totally pulled me out of the film. It became a parody of itself, and I cannot see how that could have been the intent for the piece. It did the song no credit, and it did the visual film no credit, either.

Because, dear readers, if you've even made it this far, I hate to bag on this film. I really do, and not least because the cinematography was brilliant. Stunning, even. The contrast in lighting between the waking hours on Shutter Island and Teddy's dreams of his home and wife were excellent. The stark lighting and bleached-out effect for every flash of lightning during the migraine scene was gorgeous, an almost poetic representation of the characteristic photosensitivity, as was the transition with every flash between that waking world and the dream world, witnessed only by brightness and the presence or absence of Teddy's five o'clock shadow and subtle beard. The devastatingly still sequences of Teddy's flashbacks to the war and the concentration camps were exquisitely horrifying, and beautiful because they were so. But by far my favorite shot caused a reference I can only hope was intentional: Teddy's wife, during one of his dreams, is pictured standing at the window with her back to him. At this point in the film it is an accepted idea that she was killed when their apartment was set ablaze by an arsonist. In this shot where she lingers at the window, her back is cut away so to speak, to reveal that she is hollow and made of a charcoaled log with still-glowing lines of ember. In several traditions, Faery or Elfin women, as well as some dryads, are described as beautiful women having holes in their backs which reveal that they are hollow and made of wood. The use of this image in Shutter Island was not only well done, it was striking, worked gloriously in the context of the story as well as in that of the nightmare, and ultimately demonstrated Teddy's idealistic view of his wife: as a beautiful, even supernatural creature beyond the bounds of humanity and thereby beyond the bounds of mortality. It reflected his inability to let her go using mythological connotation with a twist of logic. It was brilliant.

And to touch on the performance itself, there was not a single actor who I found lacking in skill or conviction. I continue to be impressed with both Leonardo DiCaprio and Emily Mortimer. I was also very impressed by Ben Kingsley and Mark Ruffalo. There was no lack of talent or fervor in the cast, and I commend them for making the most of that which they were given. It was only that which they were given that I had quips with.

So, in short, overall I was disappointed. I feel that this had potential to be much more than what it was, especially with the visual brilliance displayed throughout the film. But, I think now that I have detained you for long enough.

Snatch

Oh my goodness have I delayed on this review and I apologize to the Film Deities for said delay. This film deserved immediate attention and I can no longer conjure the reason it did not receive it.

Snatch is a jewel of a film. Released in 2001, it can only be called an action flick with every good thing: con artists, incompetent thieves, bare-knuckle boxing, gypsies - throw in one cute dog and one bat-shit crazy pig farmer and you've pretty much got it down. Written and directed by Guy Ritchie, it's one hell of a ride. Infused with a host of unique characters and with one of my favorite plot twists of all time, the film's cherry-on-top is a star-studded cast featuring names like Jason Statham, Benicio Del Toro, Alan Ford, Dennis Farina, and, that's right, Brad Pitt.

The whole cast was impressive, but I think the best performance goes to Brad Pitt. For those of you who know me well, you'll already be aware of the fact that my conversion to Brad Pitt fandom was fairly recent. That conversion would have come much quicker if I had seen Snatch sooner than I did. He portrays Mickey O'Neil, a lightning-fisted and almost completely unintelligible Irish "Pikey." (Wiki article on said derrogative term here.) I think it's one of the best performances he's ever done. The accent was perfect, the attitude was marvelous, he as a whole was simply excellent.

I would highly recommend this movie to everyone I know, just know that it is VERY heavily curse-laden. If you have no problem with this (and even if you do but are willing to set it aside for about two hours), watch it and see what happens. My dad has repeatedly grouped it with Bank Job and The Italian Job (2008), in a way as their predecessor. [And hey, the marvelous Jason Statham is in all three! That's always a plus.] Snatch is quickly becoming one of my favorite films, and I can't wait to see it again.

Until next time, dear readers. And remember, don't Snatch.

Links
IMDb
Trailer (Sadly censored. apologies. Had trouble with my videos.)

Ink

I wish I could have captured my first impressions about this glorious and strange film right as they occurred, but alas, fate did not tend that way. Since I do not have my initial impressions and reactions, I will offer first facts and then recollections.

In the facts department, Ink was released in 2009 and appears to be entirely thanks to the handiwork of Jamin Winans. The film is produced by his production company, Double Edge Films with the aid of Kiowa K. Winans. It was written and directed by Jamin Winans, and the score was composed by him as well. It leaves a very distinct "what CAN'T he do?" feeling.

Now the recollections. My first recollection is how sheerly visual the film was. At first I found myself wondering if it were going to be so abstract as to have no dialog at all. Even then I found it had nothing wanting: the aesthetics are incredibly engaging, as are the dynamics of the forces at work. The Storytellers, Incubi, and Ink himself are all terribly fascinating to look at and watch, and thereby they are ideal. My favorite aspect of the movie by far was the design: it had me wanting to run off and make things, which is increasingly the sensation I get when I really, really enjoy something.

The concept was also superb. It was certainly surreal enough for me. In some capacity it reminded me of The Fountain, and in another of Neil Gaiman's Sandman. For fear of spoiling anything, I'll avoid saying much more, but it was, in my experience, one of those stories which only makes sense at the very last moment, and I enjoyed it thoroughly.

The actors, too, were remarkably good. The only complaint I lodge on this front is with the Drifters (Steven Brown and Shauna Earp). Though they were described as poorly acted to me, I don't think they were so much poorly done as overdone. I didn't mind them too terribly most of the time. I think I'd have to see the film again to have a real opinion on this front. On the other hand, the rest of the cast was glorious. I especially liked Jeremy Make as Jacob, also known as The Pathfinder. He was excellent. And, though it was a short-lived appearance, Jeffrey Richardson's Incubus Prince was glorious. I would have loved to see more of him. Then again, I love antagonists.

In the end, I was impressed with how poignant and heartfelt this movie was. It kindof blindsided me, and it was a pleasant surprise, indeed.

Links for your convenience and leisure:
See the trailer here at TrailerAddict.com
The film is available to purchase through Amazon, as well as through the Official Ink Website.
IMDb is perfectly thorough, and Wiki is busy discussing it as well (just for you, my wiki-addict reader: you know who you are)
And last but certainly not least, if you're interested in Double Edge, pay them a visit right here on Blogspot!

Stay thirsty, my friends.

Just a Thought

You know, I’ve always considered Brom’s The Plucker to be a sort of Toy-Story-Gone-Wrong, but, after watching Toy Story and Toy Story 2 in marathon (gearing up for seeing the new one tomorrow), I can’t help but think that if Woody and Buzz ever met this they’d be scared shitless. I mean really – a Jack in the Box who is infused with the essence of Banshee and armed with a sword and poisoned pin? Seriously. And Jack’s the GOOD guy.

Just sayin’.

Dante's Inferno

Animatrix-style.

So there's this videogame of Dante's Inferno being released. You know the one. So they made a promotional movie out of the plot of the game, Animatrix-style.

Now when I say that, I mean that it's animated and switches styles at various times, lending a wide range of aesthetics and feelings to the piece as a whole. Oh, did I mention it's fabulous?

Or at least, if you're in the mood for dark, gory, terrifying animation that occasionally looks ridiculous and occasionally looks about ready to come out of the screen and eat you alive (cue demon babies and succubi, please). It recalls the style of every (good) dark vampire or goth-drama manga or anime I can think of, especially Hellsing.

I do have a quip or two with this piece, however. The first of these is Beatrice. She is, clearly, a devout and good soul in context of the story. That's the entire point, that she is a soul meant for Heaven. If this is the case, then why, for goodness' sake, does it make sense for her to strike a deal with the devil for her soul? And over Dante's faithfulness, no less? Also, doesn't just that simple act - a wager with Satan - taint her soul in the first place? It's a wholly counterintuitive plotbunny. I suppose the reason it bothers me so much is that it's so blatantly a plotbunny. There was no effort to mask the thought process of "So we need to get him to go into Hell to save Beatrice. Why is she there? She....struck a deal with the devil! That's it!" [insert sarcasm and eye-roll here]

On another note, overall I love the animation. There is only one style I have to unavoidably question. Everything about it was great, except for the title character. His face was entirely incongruous with the rest of his body. He was animated to be hugely buff, but he had giant anime eyes. I was immediately reminded of the quite unique style of Saint Seiya: Knights of the Zodiac, except on steroids. I mean really. Who thought that one up? Other than that the character design was almost flawless. My personal favorite will always be the one which reminded me of Hellsing the most: a thin but clearly monstrously strong Dante with long hair. That segment was full of my approval. I was remarkably sad to see it go.

And finally, the finale. In other words, the ending. There wasn't one. It would have been different if one of four things happened: i) Dante was unable to escape hell, ii) Dante went to heaven, iii) Dante directly stated he was condemned to a kind of outside-of-hell purgatory, or iv) if Dante bid farewell to Beatrice. None of these happened. There was no closure of any kind and while I am all for open-ended conclusions to stories for the sake of feeding the imagination of the viewer, they have to be well executed. This, really, was the thing that annoyed me the most. All of the options I listed left room for a second game/movie/story arc just fine if that was the angle the writers were going for. The difference is that mine aren't drowning in obscurity.

All the same, the animation for the creatures and fights is spectacular. It's gut-wrenching, it's visually appealing, and it certainly makes me pine desperately for an Xbox. So if you're a videogame or Hellsing fan, check this out. It's a jolly good romp through the circles of hell.

Here's a trailer, to appease the curious. Enjoy, and seriously, watch out for those demon babies.