Missy | September 30, 2005
Breaking with tradition, tonight I found myself in the West Village at the Greenwich Music School in a “concert hall” (a room with maybe 80 folding chairs–all filled plus SRO–and a small stage; the sonority of the pieces battled honking cabs and loudmouths on the street) to see a piano recital of Fr
Missy | September 30, 2005
This morning when I woke up it was 50 degrees outside. That’s one degree away from 40’s. Today was the first day in months that I wore a sweater all day. I’ve had no choice but to reinstitute pajamas (i.e., a decade-old, 10-sizes-too-big Indian Motorcycles t-shirt and pink sweats) until the last holdout for turning on the heat finally caves–one hopes not for a little while yet. An extra blanket has been on the bed for almost a week, and last night when I put a favorite pair of sandals back in my closet I think I implicitly said my “See you next year”s.
(Of course, I recall sweating bullets in my Molly Ringwald prom dress on Halloween last year.)
I love this weather.
Missy | September 30, 2005
Heart attacks heard ’round the world. Heh. I’m not a Friendster user but I am a blogger with two stats engines, which means I know that YOU are reading my site. Calm down. Most of the time, I pay no mind; it’s nice to be read and, similarly, I know I like being seen on other people’s sites (because, presumably, they like to be read as well). Lord knows I’m on, say, my friend Michele’s site about 40 times per day. And I know she knows it.
Then again, I’m not blogstalking her.
Missy | September 28, 2005
I will be baking apple pie and making raspberry jam both in abundance come this weekend, thanks to a work outing today to a “pick your own” farm in New Jersey (it was beautiful, even if my hands are still cramped from lugging all the stuff home). The drag is that I got too much sun and a headache assures an early bedtime; added to which, my only religiously-followed television programs (Lost and Veronic Mars) are now scheduled against one another on Wednesday nights.
Now for Friday: do I go see Claire Danes dance at Performance Space 122 (yeah, you read that right), hear a piano recital of Ligeti etudes, or go to a blogger gathering where I likely won’t know anyone? I’m already hitting the overwhelmed-ness of the fall season. (Saturday is taken care of with Agora. And baking. And possibly class, although I know to pace myself.)
Missy | September 26, 2005
Right now I should have a bruise the size of Canada on my bottom from class on Sunday when I put my weight down on the floor too quickly during a particular move and the pain was the kind that radiated up through my stomach, throat, and jaw and left me wondering if I was going to be able to get up, much less move the legs that no longer felt like my own forward and back to walk; but I could and did and continued to dance for the remaining 20 minutes because I bucked up. But I don’t. Have a bruise, that is. Must be all the cow that I eat.
All of this is to say that, bruise or no, tomorrow is the day I try out Mark Morris‘ studio here in Brooklyn, the decision for which follows a conversation I had on Saturday at Spuyten Duyvil with (in more ways than one) Brooklyn Bombshell Anna, who works across the street from the studios, who really did once have a bruise the size of Canada on her bottom, and who, incidentally, briefly boyfriended George Clooney at Friday’s NYFF gala when she gave him a book, but by night’s end he had allegedly turned into a frat boy with “let’s get drunk!”-isms. Anyway, tomorrow: I’ll be finishing up a SAS class that should end early, giving me plenty of time to get there.
At some point this week I have to see this, a site-specific piece at the McCarren Park pool. People have been buzzing about it all over the place.
Missy | September 25, 2005
The Ponys, as part of Atlantic Antic, around the corner from my apartment
Missy | September 24, 2005
Meanwhile, this is a beautifully-captured photo, not just because it’s of Mike Mussina (and I’m no Yankees fan) who was, I might add, an econ major at Stanford. And meanwhile (again), I am envying my friend Toby’s Leica and film cameras in general. But I kind of would like a new tv first–one that is flat-screened, weighs nothing, and, more importantly, isn’t from 1986.
.
I have this habit, a pretty common one I think, of going out on Fridays. Usually, I take a cab back to Brooklyn but, more specifically, I have a habit of overtipping the cab drivers. Like, heavily overtipping. It’s as if my guilt for not walking to the F train coupled with feeling that I’m dragging the driver, who makes his money primarily in Manhattan, to Brooklyn weighs on my conscience and I end up tipping about 50%, if not more (depending on where in Manhattan I’m coming from and how much I’ve had to drink), even though it’s his job and the trip is just a quick jaunt over the Brooklyn Bridge. What can I say; I’m a nice girl, sometimes with more manners than I know what to do. (That sentence begs to be ended with a preposition, doesn’t it?)
More non-sequiturialousness: I got linked on IMDb as an external reviewer for Sympathy for Lady Vengeance. Because of my wicked sentence structuring, no doubt.
Missy | September 21, 2005
The banner was a rush job. It’s temporary.
UPDATE: Back to normal. In case you missed it, there was a bit of a day-long celebration around these parts.
Missy | September 21, 2005
Clearly the movie monkey is still on my back. One of my favorite movies of all time for as long as I can remember is screening at BAM this weekend and I think I’m going to have to go.
Missy | September 19, 2005
Moving at a slug’s pace today.
I wanted to do one last TIFF post, borne of conversations had since I’ve returned as well as the inside baseball nature of previous posts, explaining listing which films I would actually recommend to people. As a result, I have two top five lists: one of my personal favorites and one for the casual film-watcher.
My top five:
1. L’Enfant
2. The Wayward Cloud
3. Everything is Illuminated
4. Cache
5. Sympathy for Lady Vengeance
Recommended:
1. Sympathy for Lady Vengeance
2. Cache
3. Everything is Illuminated
4. Romance & Cigarettes (this one is contentious; others might tell you to stay far away, but it’s too entertaining a film to ignore)
5. The Squid and the Whale (I could have put Tideland here but the Baumbach film is much more user-friendly.)
There were some films that received favorable reception but that I wasn’t able to see. Keep an eye out for:
Alexander Sokurov’s The Sun
Patrice Chereau’s Gabrielle
Ang Lee’s Brokeback Mountain
Shane Black’s Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang
I was hoping to catch the first two at the upcoming New York film festival, but both are sold out. I may get to see Hou Hsiou-hsien’s Three Times, however. (UPDATE: Seeing The President’s Last Bang, The Sun, and Gabrielle at NYFF.)
I don’t know if I’m off movies for awhile, particularly since I’m looking forward to the return of Lost and the new fall season (tv: what’s that?) and I have been instructed by Scott Tobias to finally discover the wonders of Firefly (I’ve had the DVDs for ages) that I know my old libertarian friends in DC love. Meanwhile, my friend Gerry informed me, for the second time, that I once again missed a terrific show with Torontoans The Constantines; this past week they played at some hole in the wall in Greenpoint as part of a series of CMJ-related shows. There’s certainly lots of other upcoming shows to look forward to: Mountain Goats, John Vanderslice, and My Morning Jacket. Finally, I’ve been missing the fun of DC blogger gatherings, which is why I was pleased to discover this.
Missy | September 18, 2005
Returning from a week away to spend the evening drinking wine with friends and then colliding with clean white sheets in my big comfy bed… that is sublime.
Missy | September 17, 2005
I don’t know about you all but I seem to be the most raw, emotionally-speaking, in the mornings, particularly on little sleep. It’s no wonder, then, that Fran
Missy | September 16, 2005
The ability to string words together and post is starting to feel like constipation. No pithy headlines, rhyming, or alliteration to be found anywhere near my brain. Or maybe I didn’t learn my lesson the first time with early morning screenings following midnight madness.
That said.
L’Enfant: Exactly what you would and should expect from the brothers: methodical pacing of bad decision-making that will leave the viewer speculating how, exactly, everything will turn out even though there are no major plot twists. It never ends quite like you think, yet the result comes with the heavy realization that no other possibility could be anywhere near as perfect as that which the Dardennes construct. Oh, and there’s actually a chase scene.
Bloggus interruptus. A woman just stopped by my table (I’m sitting at the Varsity Cinemas/small mall/office building that also serves as the festival headquarters). She sees me typing on my laptop, asks me if I work for the festival (I say no) and then she tells me she has a story and do I know where she can get a publisher. A few minutes later, a guy stops by and asks if I am from the Dubai Film Festival.
Sympathy for Lady Vengeance: Many are suggesting this is the best of Park Chan-wook’s revenge trilogy. I’m not sure I can really get behind that assessment, mostly because it required some parsing out of a few plot points that blew by some of us. Note to the filmmaker: do you really need to have narrative that is so convoluted? Also, the film feels like two movies in one, somewhat incongruently. The first portion, similar to Oldboy, is a hyperactive dark comedy, while the second part (seemingly forgetting about all the stuff it threw at us in the first part, like, where was the Pussy Posse Revenge Task Force we were all expecting?) turns into a differently paced, serious (if not message-y, save for the unsettling-because-it’s-weirdly-funny pseudo-parliamentary procedure among a group of victims’ families), and, quite beautifully, operatic film. (Jesus, that may go down as the worst sentence I’ve ever written. I must be harnessing Park’s brain.) And yet I enjoyed the film and would like a second viewing.
The Great Yokai War: I don’t have much to say because I wasn’t really paying attention, nor was I trying to. But I wanted to mention one thing: would a Miike “kids movie” be a Miike film without a cat in a microwave? Well, it was a cat-like puppet in a CGI microwave, but still.
Iron Island: Just returned from the morning screening. Still not alert. Interesting concept–a mini-society of homeless families living on an abandoned oil tanker. Not as affecting as I’d hoped.
Now I have time to kill and I could use a decent meal. My erratic diet (of, mostly, coffee & cigarettes) is taking its toll–my favorite jeans that normally give me a shapely behind are begging for a belt.
UPDATE: I walked out of the big, dumb Jackie Chan movie, The Myth, which I didn’t really care to see in the first place. I think I am also hitting the proverbial wall. Even the audiences in general are sounding less rambunctious at this point.
Because of the Yokai switcheroo to last night’s midnight screening, I now have a huge chunk of time available to me tomorrow and, out of fear of arbitrarily picking whatever happens to be screening & available during that time and risking another walk-out, I may instead drop in at Toronto Dance Theatre. I could use some endorphins. Good thing I thought ahead and packed appropriate attire.
Meanwhile, I picked up a ticket to tonight’s midnighter, despite my earlier warnings to myself and lessons learned and whatnot, what with Ozon at 9:30 tomorrow. No amount of coffee, etc.
Next up: Tsai Ming-liang! I should have saved the Tsai-referencing title from yesterday for this one.
UPDATE on Tsai Ming-liang: Oh. My. God. I feel sick.
Missy | September 15, 2005
Sitting at the poker table, 1:40 am. I have a 5 6 5 movie day tomorrow (was given an extra ticket to the midnight Miike; thank you D’Angelo Miike). I may sleep through Tristram at 9:30.
(Poker is a regular late-night TIFF occurrence. This is my first go at it. I didn’t go out first, so that’s nice. Mike D’Angelo is beating the snot out of everyone. I am blogging. And the fun thing is, I can read these people’s websites while they’re sitting right in front of me. I know, lame.)
To come: thoughts on Everlasting Regret and The Notorious Bettie Page.
UPDATE #1: I slept in.
Everlasting Regret: A three hour movie crammed into two hours. It moved too quickly for me to become attached to it. Very pretty, though.
The Notorious Bettie Page: Also very pretty to look at and very sweet, if slight. Gretchen Mol really captured a free and innocent spirit. The first film I’ve seen here that felt good to watch.
Today will be awesome. The Dardennes and Sympathy for Lady Vengeance, which I’m hearing is clearly the best of Park Chan-wook’s revenge trilogy. And, some other stuff. I likely won’t be updating again until tomorrow sometime.
UPDATE #2:
Romance and Cigarettes is a dirty, silly, and poetic musical that frequently veers into batshit weird (most of the time it’s just stylized and weird). And yet, I was not prepared for the emotion with which I met the finale (actually, it started creeping in around the underwater scene). I don’t know why or how that happened, except to explain it away with the simple acceptance that I love love.
Wassup Rockers: Wassup, Larry Clark. I walked out of your movie 45 minutes in, which is why I am able to update my blog now. I hear that the film takes a wacky turn at around the point I left but by then I’d lost interest and patience. You were just afternoon filler anyway. Your friend, Hater.
Missy | September 14, 2005
Vague Spoilers for Tideland at the end of this: There’s been a not insignificant and somewhat confounding amount of backlash–including walkouts–towards Terry Gilliam’s Tideland, reasons for which I’m finding difficult to understand. I saw it with Michael Sicinski and we both found ourselves laughing during many otherwise disturbing moments. Let’s be honest here: the thing plods along at times (nothing that a little tighter editing wouldn’t help) and aside from a few patently ridiculous plot points, this is an almost wonderful movie of a child who, when left to her own devices and imagination, never quite approaches becoming a victim. And that’s kind of a beautiful thing. Young Jodelle Ferland, who is in every inch of this film, is particularly affecting.
