Tuesday, March 30, 2004
HAMM (anguished): What's happening, what's happening?
CLOV: Something is taking its course.
(Pause.)
Endgame is one of my favorite Beckett plays. Not that I understand it, mind you, because I don't, yet I can still somehow relate.
While Michael Gambon is unmistakably a great (Beckett-)actor - and great in ever way - it was the casting of Lee Evans as Clov, that intrigued me. The most obvious, crass idea ever or a stroke of genius?
As it turned out, a bit of both. Lee Evans was quite restrained (considering that he is after all Evans, the most Stimorol-bodied of physical comedians), and played with a naive grace that is inevitably endearing. But is Clov supposed to be endearing? Or rather - would I want my ideal Clov to be endearing?
HAMM: Clov!
CLOV (impatiently): What is it?
HAMM: We're not beginning to... to... mean something?
CLOV: Mean something! You and I, mean something!
(Brief laugh.)
Ah that's a good one!
Yes, I actually believe that I do want Clov to be endearing.
It was a great adaptation and my theatre-buddy, not familiar with Beckett (except from that wonderful, wonderful portrait), was utter praise. And there you go.
Wong-Kei (the infamous tourist-insulting restaurant in Chinatown) has two signs on the two entry doors. One says 'No'. One says 'Yes'. I think Beckett would have approved.
CLOV: Something is taking its course.
(Pause.)
Endgame is one of my favorite Beckett plays. Not that I understand it, mind you, because I don't, yet I can still somehow relate.
While Michael Gambon is unmistakably a great (Beckett-)actor - and great in ever way - it was the casting of Lee Evans as Clov, that intrigued me. The most obvious, crass idea ever or a stroke of genius?
As it turned out, a bit of both. Lee Evans was quite restrained (considering that he is after all Evans, the most Stimorol-bodied of physical comedians), and played with a naive grace that is inevitably endearing. But is Clov supposed to be endearing? Or rather - would I want my ideal Clov to be endearing?
HAMM: Clov!
CLOV (impatiently): What is it?
HAMM: We're not beginning to... to... mean something?
CLOV: Mean something! You and I, mean something!
(Brief laugh.)
Ah that's a good one!
Yes, I actually believe that I do want Clov to be endearing.
It was a great adaptation and my theatre-buddy, not familiar with Beckett (except from that wonderful, wonderful portrait), was utter praise. And there you go.
Wong-Kei (the infamous tourist-insulting restaurant in Chinatown) has two signs on the two entry doors. One says 'No'. One says 'Yes'. I think Beckett would have approved.
Sunday, March 28, 2004
SOAS is rescuing languages.
Well done.
At the same time The Times has come up with possibly the 10 most irritating phrases in the English language right now. These include: 'To be honest', 'with all due respect', 'I hear what you are saying' and 'at the end of the day'. My boss continues to 'hear what I'm saying', every goddam day, so I can vouch for the fact that it is mind-numbingly annoying. Am working on weaning the boyfriend off 'basically' and 'literally' as well.
But is it going to be worth it?
Well done.
At the same time The Times has come up with possibly the 10 most irritating phrases in the English language right now. These include: 'To be honest', 'with all due respect', 'I hear what you are saying' and 'at the end of the day'. My boss continues to 'hear what I'm saying', every goddam day, so I can vouch for the fact that it is mind-numbingly annoying. Am working on weaning the boyfriend off 'basically' and 'literally' as well.
But is it going to be worth it?
Saturday, March 27, 2004
Thanks to OKH (if you can read Danish), who's had me humming all day. Loveshop is bringing out a live album which should make for pleasurable listening.
The music of Loveshop reminds me of winter and lost loves and longing and Søren Kragh Jacobsen-films and walking home early in the morning -
It reminds me of Bjarne Reuter-books and driving in very small cars and passing by neon-signs - but never entering
It reminds me of bowing my head and watching my own breath as I exhale in the city -
It reminds me that feeling sad can be very good, of being young again, of needing this push of melancholy in order to accomplish -
I'm still a few albums short, so anyone who's feeling charitable...?
The music of Loveshop reminds me of winter and lost loves and longing and Søren Kragh Jacobsen-films and walking home early in the morning -
It reminds me of Bjarne Reuter-books and driving in very small cars and passing by neon-signs - but never entering
It reminds me of bowing my head and watching my own breath as I exhale in the city -
It reminds me that feeling sad can be very good, of being young again, of needing this push of melancholy in order to accomplish -
I'm still a few albums short, so anyone who's feeling charitable...?
Friday, March 26, 2004
Things that go well together:
Stereophonics and Denmark
Cigarettes and Blue Jeans liquorice
Jonny Lee Miller and Suede (the band, not the...hm, possibly that too)
More later (maybe)
Stereophonics and Denmark
Cigarettes and Blue Jeans liquorice
Jonny Lee Miller and Suede (the band, not the...hm, possibly that too)
More later (maybe)
Thursday, March 25, 2004
Can I just say, that I've lost a bit of my childhood innocence?
A bit of gossip has reached me, that makes me want to:
a) enter a convent and never touch a man again
b) turn Denmark into a Republican state
Since I'm not keen on being jailed for treason, I cannot disclose the nature of this gossip. I can say that the otherwise rather silly and pointless T4 programme A Wife for William makes more and more sense. I'm especially fond of the strapline: 'You pay for her - you choose her'. I think that's something Denmark might want to consider before it's too late.
A bit of gossip has reached me, that makes me want to:
a) enter a convent and never touch a man again
b) turn Denmark into a Republican state
Since I'm not keen on being jailed for treason, I cannot disclose the nature of this gossip. I can say that the otherwise rather silly and pointless T4 programme A Wife for William makes more and more sense. I'm especially fond of the strapline: 'You pay for her - you choose her'. I think that's something Denmark might want to consider before it's too late.
Sunday, March 21, 2004
A bit of weeding out, on the right. Doesn't mean that your blog is no good, doesn't mean I don't enjoy it. Means that I'm a lazy cow who never use my links. So there. Apologies all 'round and stuff. Hope you're enjoying your weekend.
Saturday, March 20, 2004
One in, one out.
In the swing door that is my life, my partner has gone skiing, while a friend has kindly arrived in time to rescue me from death-by-boredom-and-stupidity.
Last night I felt so stressed I wanted to cry.
I must, I must, I must - figure something out/try not to go insane/become ultra rich.
In the swing door that is my life, my partner has gone skiing, while a friend has kindly arrived in time to rescue me from death-by-boredom-and-stupidity.
Last night I felt so stressed I wanted to cry.
I must, I must, I must - figure something out/try not to go insane/become ultra rich.
Sunday, March 14, 2004
Saturday, March 13, 2004
Read Chuck Palahniuk's Guts in The Guardian.
Palahniuk always leaves me feeling torn between despair of his macho posturing and appreciation of his writing abilities and the voice in his texts.
The Guardian asks if it is 'the most gruesome short story ever published', and I hope not, since then the history of gruesome short stories would be rather sad. It is appaling, for me anyway, as I believe that people's intestines ideally should remain happily ensconced in people's bodies, but I never once considered fainting, vomiting or, indeed, to stop reading altogether. It is actually a very funny story. But then again, I am a woman, not in possession of a, uhm, member, and perhaps therefore not nearly as squeamish with regards to these particular parts as men.
Does Chuck Palahniuk revel in the bruhaha? - Or, as The Guardian calls it; 'the literary salon as drive-by-shooting'?
He says, that he has not primarily set out to shock, but I think, that he enjoys the controversy and the infamy. Why else would he count casualities (fainting, leaving) at his public readings?
For all of his alpha male vernacular there is also a great sensitivity in Palahniuk, that can as well be found in Kerouac and all the way back to Thoreau, which I find interesting although difficult to relate to. And Guts is disgusting, but also in possession of a sweetness that makes it impossible for it to be as repulsive as The Guardian claims it is.
Palahniuk always leaves me feeling torn between despair of his macho posturing and appreciation of his writing abilities and the voice in his texts.
The Guardian asks if it is 'the most gruesome short story ever published', and I hope not, since then the history of gruesome short stories would be rather sad. It is appaling, for me anyway, as I believe that people's intestines ideally should remain happily ensconced in people's bodies, but I never once considered fainting, vomiting or, indeed, to stop reading altogether. It is actually a very funny story. But then again, I am a woman, not in possession of a, uhm, member, and perhaps therefore not nearly as squeamish with regards to these particular parts as men.
Does Chuck Palahniuk revel in the bruhaha? - Or, as The Guardian calls it; 'the literary salon as drive-by-shooting'?
He says, that he has not primarily set out to shock, but I think, that he enjoys the controversy and the infamy. Why else would he count casualities (fainting, leaving) at his public readings?
For all of his alpha male vernacular there is also a great sensitivity in Palahniuk, that can as well be found in Kerouac and all the way back to Thoreau, which I find interesting although difficult to relate to. And Guts is disgusting, but also in possession of a sweetness that makes it impossible for it to be as repulsive as The Guardian claims it is.
Friday, March 12, 2004
Tuesday, March 09, 2004
There is a problem if a writer doesn't like the characters s/he is writing about. If s/he despises their theories and their minds and their behaviour. If s/he has neither professional nor personal admiration for them. There is a problem if s/he bases his/her play on 'real people' in whom s/he cannot find redeeming features.
Or perhaps this is not true, perhaps there are several instances of plays, that work wonderfully in spite of all this.
Calico is an enjoyable play. So it's a bit too vaudevillian in some places, and some of the characters are not mapped out strongly enough, but never mind that. Imelda Staunton is brilliant. Had I been a knight, I would have laid my sword before her in admiration. The themes are interesting; schizophrenia (or not), with a touch of Tourette's (or not) and a bit of incest (or not). The ignorant family, the kind stranger. The expectations, the necessity, the heritage of being famous - or infamous.
It would have benefited greatly from not having been about Joyce and Beckett. At certain times the writer had to do the soap-opera-thing and have them explain themselves in too much detail - detail that had no real significance within the story. The writer, in the programme, comes through as a man with a vengeance - wanting to expose to the world how insensitive, incestuous and pointless Joyce was and how insensitive, incestuous and evil-spirited the Joyce-estate is.
But perhaps I'm just too fond of Joyce and his writing to see a clear picture. My theatre-buddy, not a Joyce reader, thoroughly enjoyed the play.
Nevertheless, in celebration of James Joyce I am reading James Joyce and the Politics of Egoism. And I'm listening to Arabesque. It feels good.
Or perhaps this is not true, perhaps there are several instances of plays, that work wonderfully in spite of all this.
Calico is an enjoyable play. So it's a bit too vaudevillian in some places, and some of the characters are not mapped out strongly enough, but never mind that. Imelda Staunton is brilliant. Had I been a knight, I would have laid my sword before her in admiration. The themes are interesting; schizophrenia (or not), with a touch of Tourette's (or not) and a bit of incest (or not). The ignorant family, the kind stranger. The expectations, the necessity, the heritage of being famous - or infamous.
It would have benefited greatly from not having been about Joyce and Beckett. At certain times the writer had to do the soap-opera-thing and have them explain themselves in too much detail - detail that had no real significance within the story. The writer, in the programme, comes through as a man with a vengeance - wanting to expose to the world how insensitive, incestuous and pointless Joyce was and how insensitive, incestuous and evil-spirited the Joyce-estate is.
But perhaps I'm just too fond of Joyce and his writing to see a clear picture. My theatre-buddy, not a Joyce reader, thoroughly enjoyed the play.
Nevertheless, in celebration of James Joyce I am reading James Joyce and the Politics of Egoism. And I'm listening to Arabesque. It feels good.
Sunday, March 07, 2004
By now, we all know that 21 grams are the weight we lose in the moment of death. Some say it is the weight of the soul - or "life", as it is. Some say that it is the burden, the grief, the anger of death that is lifted from the dead and put upon the shoulders of the living. I like the idea of life weighing exactly 21 grams, although the rational part of me rejects this as myth.
21 Grams is also the title of a new film (this, I believe, most of us also know by now), starring Sean Penn, Naomi Watts and Benicio Del Toro.
I have loved Sean Penn for as long as I can remember. As a young man, he was so intense and heartbroken and just plain sad - a forerunner for the Joaquin Phoenix line of despair, almost - and a brilliant, brilliant actor. (Of course, there was Spicoli in Fast Times at Ridgemont High, who wasn't particularly sad, but highly amusing). As he grows older he loses none of his intensity, but he grows dignified, and his acting takes on a new dimension of the experienced. From Carlito's Way to Mystic River to this, he is a joy to watch.
21 Grams is perhaps not joyful watching, but it is a supreme film. The usual themes are present; love, hate, redemption, grief, faith, death and such, dealt with in a mature, interesting way. None of the characters are particularly nice, none role-models, but all human and recognisable.
The film is at times almost unbearably sad - but for me, who revel in sadness, this is a good thing. Go see - but only if your attention span can deal with a juxtaposed time-structure, and not knowing for the first 15 minutes what is going on. And then you get it. And then you understand.
21 Grams is also the title of a new film (this, I believe, most of us also know by now), starring Sean Penn, Naomi Watts and Benicio Del Toro.
I have loved Sean Penn for as long as I can remember. As a young man, he was so intense and heartbroken and just plain sad - a forerunner for the Joaquin Phoenix line of despair, almost - and a brilliant, brilliant actor. (Of course, there was Spicoli in Fast Times at Ridgemont High, who wasn't particularly sad, but highly amusing). As he grows older he loses none of his intensity, but he grows dignified, and his acting takes on a new dimension of the experienced. From Carlito's Way to Mystic River to this, he is a joy to watch.
21 Grams is perhaps not joyful watching, but it is a supreme film. The usual themes are present; love, hate, redemption, grief, faith, death and such, dealt with in a mature, interesting way. None of the characters are particularly nice, none role-models, but all human and recognisable.
The film is at times almost unbearably sad - but for me, who revel in sadness, this is a good thing. Go see - but only if your attention span can deal with a juxtaposed time-structure, and not knowing for the first 15 minutes what is going on. And then you get it. And then you understand.
Friday, March 05, 2004
Do not listen to Metro's interpretation of Joyce's homelife.
Come to think of it; do not listen to Metro at all.
Come to think of it; do not listen to Metro at all.
Wednesday, March 03, 2004
I am a very anti-social person, not getting less so with age. I am not a person who just *loves* people and who is genuinely interested in everything these people have to say.
No.
I love my friends and my family and interesting people are always, well, interesting, but I do prefer to chose my surroundings - to be able to pop in and drop out at my leisure. Which is terribly spoilt of me, I know.
But having my boundaries crossed every single day, to be mentally vandalised and emotionally drained on a daily basis, is almost too much for me to take.
Should I change my job or commit a crime of passion?
No.
I love my friends and my family and interesting people are always, well, interesting, but I do prefer to chose my surroundings - to be able to pop in and drop out at my leisure. Which is terribly spoilt of me, I know.
But having my boundaries crossed every single day, to be mentally vandalised and emotionally drained on a daily basis, is almost too much for me to take.
Should I change my job or commit a crime of passion?
Tuesday, March 02, 2004
/rant II/
A while ago I made a couple of lists, weighing staying in London against going to Denmark to live. Hey-ho, here's a grim reason to stay put: the Danish right wing party Dansk Folkeparti (Danish People's Party, I guess) has attacked a Pakistani born Danish politician Kamal Qureshi for going to a party at the Queen's, dressed in traditional Pakistani dress. How petty can you get? Instead of embracing the diversity of Danish so-called Democracy, this party questions the politician's nationality and feels that he has now chosen to present himself as Pakistani, i.e. as a fiend of Denmark (presumably???). This narrow-minded, dictatorish push of a false idea of patriotism combined with plain stupidity is one of the reasons why I sometimes find Denmark hard to swallow.
/end rant II/ (And I'm sorry about the Danish-only links)
A while ago I made a couple of lists, weighing staying in London against going to Denmark to live. Hey-ho, here's a grim reason to stay put: the Danish right wing party Dansk Folkeparti (Danish People's Party, I guess) has attacked a Pakistani born Danish politician Kamal Qureshi for going to a party at the Queen's, dressed in traditional Pakistani dress. How petty can you get? Instead of embracing the diversity of Danish so-called Democracy, this party questions the politician's nationality and feels that he has now chosen to present himself as Pakistani, i.e. as a fiend of Denmark (presumably???). This narrow-minded, dictatorish push of a false idea of patriotism combined with plain stupidity is one of the reasons why I sometimes find Denmark hard to swallow.
/end rant II/ (And I'm sorry about the Danish-only links)
/rant/
People are botoxed up to their eyeballs, in their armpits and palms of their hands. Many are honestly looking like crack-whores. Nicole Kidman really does have that lollipop-look going for her now. It's not nice.
I can't get excited about the merits of Lord of the Rings.
And what happened to Alan Cumming? I missed him this year, not popping in as usual to say hi to Jonathan Ross and me, spreading outrageous gossip and giggling himself into overdrive.
The Oscars surely aren't what they used to be.
/end rant/
People are botoxed up to their eyeballs, in their armpits and palms of their hands. Many are honestly looking like crack-whores. Nicole Kidman really does have that lollipop-look going for her now. It's not nice.
I can't get excited about the merits of Lord of the Rings.
And what happened to Alan Cumming? I missed him this year, not popping in as usual to say hi to Jonathan Ross and me, spreading outrageous gossip and giggling himself into overdrive.
The Oscars surely aren't what they used to be.
/end rant/
Monday, March 01, 2004
Hear ye! Hear ye! Oscar-time has cometh!
Well, actually it, as we all know by now, cometh last night, but as I have reached the overripe age of 31, and furthermore am working full time, I have yet to actually watch the entre bloody thing, which is at the point virginally unseen on a cheap VHS tape.
But obviously I have seen the stars, the winners and most of the dresses. I also attempted to see Cold Mountain last night, but frankly, it was so boring, that the last third must wait until a rainy day, when there's nothing else to do. And I don't buy Nicole Kidman's coy, innocent girl, no way. She is a flirty thirty-something modern woman! And, Renee Zellweger...I know you all love her, but I am sooo not impressed. Generally. Oh, so she puts on a few pounds to play Bridget Jones. So brave to dare to be a size 12. Ooh, she's got a squaky voice, but she sings really well. Does she really? Cold Mountain left me, well, cold, and not even the sight of Jude in long johns can change that.
But back to the Oscars. No major surprises there, then. Except perhaps that the otherwise immaculate Charlize Theron looked a bit...orange. Jonathan Ross is always a laugh, of course, but am I the only person in the world who finds Ronnie Anconda or whatever her name is (it's Ronnie Ancona, ed.), wildly overrated and generally unfunny?
Maybe I'm just becoming a grumpy whinger (comes with age?), but to me, that's half of the fun. I whine therefore I am.
Well, actually it, as we all know by now, cometh last night, but as I have reached the overripe age of 31, and furthermore am working full time, I have yet to actually watch the entre bloody thing, which is at the point virginally unseen on a cheap VHS tape.
But obviously I have seen the stars, the winners and most of the dresses. I also attempted to see Cold Mountain last night, but frankly, it was so boring, that the last third must wait until a rainy day, when there's nothing else to do. And I don't buy Nicole Kidman's coy, innocent girl, no way. She is a flirty thirty-something modern woman! And, Renee Zellweger...I know you all love her, but I am sooo not impressed. Generally. Oh, so she puts on a few pounds to play Bridget Jones. So brave to dare to be a size 12. Ooh, she's got a squaky voice, but she sings really well. Does she really? Cold Mountain left me, well, cold, and not even the sight of Jude in long johns can change that.
But back to the Oscars. No major surprises there, then. Except perhaps that the otherwise immaculate Charlize Theron looked a bit...orange. Jonathan Ross is always a laugh, of course, but am I the only person in the world who finds Ronnie Anconda or whatever her name is (it's Ronnie Ancona, ed.), wildly overrated and generally unfunny?
Maybe I'm just becoming a grumpy whinger (comes with age?), but to me, that's half of the fun. I whine therefore I am.
Powered by Bravenet
