I shake my fist at you.

By Friday night, I was starting to feel better. I’d had a light lunch at school, and by the time we left for BFF Kay and Bob’s house for dinner, I was feeling OK. So, I ate a big meal.

Big mistake.

Spent all day and evening chained to the couch so I could be near the…well, ick. And although this morning is a mixture of weakness, sleepiness (how in the world??) and dehydration, I’m on the mend. Blast you, flu, you foul thing.

Not having the concentration to read or the strength to get up and do anything other than make more tea, I watched movies. Five of them; two I’d seen already, and three I hadn’t. I’m interested to know what you thought of the following, if you’ve seen them:

1. Howards End. Loved it, although I love just about any James Ivory period piece (Remains of the Day, A Room With a View, Surviving Picasso), or any period piece at all, actually — especially Edwardian England. If you’ve ever pined to repair to a secluded, peaceful, gorgeous cottage in the English countryside where not much exists except you and nature, you’ll see lots of photography you like in this film. The story is the perfect marriage of tragedy and delight — with some comeuppance thrown in at the end for good measure. It was worth a third viewing. I think I’ll get Remains to watch the same two lead actors (Emma Thompson and Anthony Hopkins) in very different roles.
2. Brooklyn’s Finest. My film sensibilities don’t require this much misery and bloodshed. I can’t lie. There was not a single moment of anything but drudgery, pain, murder, disillusionment, anger, bitterness, loneliness and guilt in this film. My constitution — at least the state it was in yesterday — couldn’t handle it. But I finished it. The one positive note is that the ending held a bit of a surprise, in that the people I thought were going to survive didn’t, and vice-versa.  Unless you go for gritty dramas featuring all kinds of cops (the cynical near-retiree, the drug money skimmer, the hardcore undercover), take a pass.
3. The Hudsucker Proxy. Had to watch this one again, after not seeing it since around 1995. While a bit trippy and silly, it’s a good representation of the Coen brothers before they decided they had to be so unbelievably bizarre that people would say, “Wow, that makes no sense at all; it must be great art!” The best part of the movie is Jennifer Jason Leigh, whose characterization channels a strange combination of Katharine Hepburn and the Wicked Witch of the West. It’s awesome. Watch this film and you will hear and see both.
4. Modigliani. A pretty film with a whole lot of flaws. Music that doesn’t fit the era, hugely popular artists who seemingly have nothing to do and just happen to be everywhere Modigliani decides to go, and jumpy-jumpy plot and venue changes are among the niggling details that bugged me. But — and this is a BIG fat but — Andy Garcia was dreamy. Case closed: worth watching. And speaking of anachronism…
5. Moulin Rouge! I knew I was supposed to like this film. After all, it’s A) a musical, B) it contains some really nice tunes from the last 30 years, C) Ewan McGregor’s in it and D) everyone who’s anyone loved it. Um…A) so what? B) see A, C) eww, and D) I guess I’m a nobody. McGregor’s irksome sing-yelling (honey, take the time to study and learn how to control your upper register) was the biggest obstacle for me. That, and the fact that every time he smiles, he reminds me of the guy from Creature Features, a Chicago-based horror show I used to watch in my childhood. I know, that’s really shallow. Guilty as charged. But still, the plot jumped so higgeldy-jiggeldy from campy Rocky Horror nods to serious issues dealing with consumption and grief, it was hard to care about any of the characters. And for me, I have to establish that empathetic link — at least on some level — or the movie is a deal breaker for me. I have to admit, though, the “Like a Virgin” production number was awesome. And don’t get me wrong; non-singing actors who do their own singing get my respect. Both leads sang in tune, and when McGregor was in a comfortable range, it was pleasant enough to listen to. It just didn’t happen often enough to diminish the cringe factor.

So, to summarize:

YES – Howards End, Hudsucker Proxy, Modigliani
NO – Brooklyn’s Finest, Moulin Rouge

And all the above + $3 will get you a…

[Ask me how I know this.]

I took two opportunities this weekend to watch films that languished for awhile in my Netflix instant queue. While I recommend them both to you this day, I won’t review them, because, well, it’s too depressing.

Both movies dealt with the lives of artists: one a painter, the other a stonemason. Not sure why I felt the need to bathe myself in four hours of doubt, misery, horror, neglect, disillusionment, abuse, self-hatred and utter tragedy before and after spending such fun hours with my grandsons, but there you have it. Still, I must recommend both films to you, if for no other reason than their ability to transfer complete and abysmal woe to the screen in a way that makes one think, “I have never really known despair.”

In my case, the reward for watching these films is the acting of Ed Harris (Pollock) and Kate Winslet (Jude). I was keen to see Jude because of my interest in movies based on classic literature; in this case, Thomas Hardy’s last novel, Jude the Obscure. While the 1996 film was a bit fleshy (in the nekkidness sense) for my taste, Winslet’s performance as Sue Bridehead, a young, vivacious woman who descends slowly into grief, sorrow and madness, was captivating. Christopher Eccleston was serviceable as Jude, but I am embarrassed to say I couldn’t get past his rather unlovely face. Shallow, I know. The story contained a horrifying scene that I can’t shake, even after coffee and breakfast this morning, and thinking about rehearsals and general school madness. For good or ill, it made the movie unforgettable.

Speaking of madness…my favorite of the two films was Pollock. You simply must watch it. Ed Harris was brilliant as the completely tortured American painter Jackson Pollock (1912 – 1956). One wonders how such a talented individual can bring down on himself so much sadness and tragedy. Seems the good ones always do, ja?

Aaaaaand now I’m out of time, or else I’d write more about Pollock. It’s Monday, alas, and time to hit the road. Truth be told, I’d rather stay home and plow through the next 13 movies in the instant queue…

FO

As many of you know, I am not a fan of horror films. The reasons vary, but allow me to quote myself on a post from back in October:

And I won’t even go into the “Ghost Train” nightmare at Riverview [long-ago amusement park in Chicago], where the train ride stalls in a pitch-black tunnel and all manner of scary creatures — played by real people — emerge from the walls, reaching and grabbing. All this at seven years old…no wonder I’m a flippin nutcake.

That said, Let Me In (a surprisingly recent remake of the 2008 Swedish film Let the Right One In) was a refreshing diversion from the dichotomous vampire tales of today (romantic/brooding, and rip-heads-off gory). In other words, a great deal of the most graphic violence is suggested; you don’t see as much of the makeup and CG gore as you might expect. There’s actually a story here, about a lonely, bullied middle school aged boy who befriends the strange girl who moves into the apartment next door with her guardian.

Sometimes slow, other times predictable (I mean, how many shocking plot twists can there be?), the movie gives ample time to the relationship between the two children, and how strikingly similar their lives are, in light of their other obvious differences. The ending is a bit stark, but satisfying enough. And of course, the little thugs who relentlessly torment young Owen get some fun treatment as well.

I’d say if you’re looking for a vampire film that will allow you to go upstairs in the dark afterwards, this is a good choice. It had enough emotional story to hold my interest, and enough fang to keep the Thriller from retiring to his office to work on a research paper.

On the Rat-O-Meter scale of five cheeses, I give Let Me In:

Sometimes, I’d rather not see a movie based on a book — especially a collection of classic novels. For instance, I’m not sure how I’ll feel about watching The Dark Tower films (if in fact they are ever made). I have too much of a personal and emotional investment in the books, which could be compromised by someone else’s vision. Know what I mean?

It didn’t happen with the Potter films, strangely enough. I’ve enjoyed them all so far. Looks like it’s the same for the Narnia series of films. We saw the second one last night. Some general observations:

1. It wasn’t as captivating as the first movie, but as sequels go, that’s not particularly surprising. I was delighted, however, at how close some of the scenes matched my own construction from reading the book.
2. Too. Many. Battle scenes. There weren’t just numerous battles, there were numerous lengthy battles. I guess that’s the nature of battles; just not my speed.
3. I adore the personalities of the four children. By the second film, all four have changed. Peter is darker and more prideful, Susan more mature and introspective. Edmund puts his big-boy trousers on, and Lucy grows wiser. It was also fun to see how Ed and Lucy have grown (physically) since the last movie.
4. The creatures were, as one would expect from a Disney film, quite well done, with seamless CG. Also just the right amount of grumpiness from Trumpkin; perfect sarcasm from Reepicheep. Always a wink somewhere in the script.
5. Aside: We really enjoyed the commentary by BFF Kay and Bob, because much of the movie was filmed in Slovenia (where they lived six months out of every year for several years).
6. I wish Prince Caspian (Ben Barnes) would have decided on an accent and stayed with it.
7. If you’re looking for blood-slinging fights, they don’t happen. The ubiquitous battles are tame — which I liked. No severed heads, dangling limbs or gushing wounds. Some would say that cheapens the effect, but I’d be quick to remind them that in the days before ratings were necessary, all gratuitous violence was subdued. It’s called using one’s imagination. Imagine that.

Still, it’s a wonderful story (if a bit overdone — think LOTR and various others), and I’m looking forward to seeing the latest film, which is still playing in theaters, at least for the time being.

On the Rat-O-Meter scale of five cheeses, I give The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian —

Happy Saturnday to you, fiends. I get the Js tonight and the Bears & Packers tomorrow. How about that for a weekend?

FO

As many of you know, I am an ardent fan of Tudor history. Ever since watching The Six Wives of Henry VIII as a 13-year-old, I’ve been fascinated by their ascensions, reigns, and the lasting influence their policies exacted on the western world.

For those who may not know, the whole of Europe was ruled by the Roman Catholic Church until Henry VIII broke ties forever with the Pope by declaring himself Supreme Head of the Church in England (translation: Pope wouldn’t grant him a divorce, so he took his toys and went elsewhere). Think on what might have happened had the rift not taken place: the pilgrims who stepped off the boat at Cape Cod might have been Catholics — which could also mean that there quite possibly would have been no pilgrims. Hmmmm. Ripples in a pond…

Anyway, get to the point. I’ve been carving out some time in my evenings to watch Elizabeth R, the highly-acclaimed 1971 BBC miniseries. Featuring Glenda Jackson as Elizabeth, the second daughter of Henry VIII, it traces her reign (the  longest of all six Tudor monarchs) from 1558-1603.

I wanted to watch it because of its high praise for being the most historically accurate portrayal ever of the Virgin Queen (classified as such because she chose not to marry, as opposed to choosing to remain chaste, although there is no real proof that she was or wasn’t). After having viewed four of the six 80-minute plays, I must say I am delighted.

Don’t expect the expected. There are no special effects; no epic jousting or fighting scenes, no zooms on the beheadings, no slash and gore. Save a few outdoor shots of people on horses or traveling a country road, the production could easily transfer to a stage without alteration. The tasty parts are in the acting.

Obviously, this is a one-woman show, so Glenda Jackson bakes, takes and eats the cake. She successfully portrays the inner struggle — yet outer victory — of a woman sworn to be a good and benevolent queen, in spite of having been largely abandoned and neglected by her father and the court as a child. (Her mother was Anne Boleyn, and as we all know, that didn’t end well.)

I found myself transfixed during the long scenes of dialogue. This series is definitely not an amalgamation of  fluffy, pretentious and unintelligible Britspeak. Rather, it’s a riveting, dramatic history lesson for the British people about their own royal line. Fortunately, thanks to syndication and whatnot, the rest of the world gets to learn, too.

So, fellow Anglophiles, bibliophiles, historiophiles, Tudorphiles, and any other philes — don’t miss this. It’s a stimulating, informative and heartbreaking peek into the world of a woman whose reign inspired a great flourish in the arts, literature, science and foreign relations. It’s available streaming on Netflix, so get bizzy.

On the Rat-O-Meter scale of five cheeses, I give Elizabeth R:

OK. Off to get ready for breakfast with Finkville fiend Meg, then a sleepover with the Js. Vacation = good.