A Very Brief Review: Rachel Getting Married

I heard Anne Hathaway was nominated for an Oscar for Rachel Getting Married. To be brutally honest, I thought she seemed like a nice gal, but at the time, I hadn't seen her in anything that had Really awed me, so I was very curious about this film. Well, it came in the mail, I watched it, and I cried. Not "this is a sad movie, my eyes are getting damp...oh look, there's a tear" tears. I'm talking about Real tears. Tears you don't think about because something is truly affecting you. This is not a really uplifting film, and yet it is. That was poorly worded, and I'll try to make amends (if you've seen the film already, you may recognize the pun I just made).

This film is almost tough to get through because (in my opinion) it is honest and real. It's about a family with real world, crazy-tragic problems. It's about a young woman who's lost in her own world of pain and regret and who has a terrible time trying to connect with her family. What I love about this movie, is that real families are just as screwed up. Real families have tragedies. Real families change, and break and rearrange. Sure, this is a cool family with ties to the music industry and the cool daughter is getting married with an AWESOME Indian-motif wedding...but underneath all the pretty, there is a real history to the relationships, to the loss, the agony. It is so well written and so well put together and (I know I sound so stupid when I say this, but here goes) I am really proud of Anne Hathaway. All the actors in this film were wonderful, but it makes me so happy to see a young actress like Anne (who has a past of thinner roles) who can turn around and... (how do I even say this?) move me. This movie probably has too many painful moments for me to want to see it again for another six years or more, but it was a Great Film. And I now have a new actor crush in the form of Mather Zickel.

Time Travel

Every time I clean my room, I end up getting distracted by old diaries. I started writing them when I was seven or eight years old and wrote a LOT, especially in high school. You go through so many changes in such a short amount of time, and it never fails to amuse me to look back. Here's another silly, romantic poem I wrote. This one's dated January 20, 2006, also about the time this photo was taken.

lips

he could never hear it from my lips

it is too much to say. Too much to give away

what an ocean of sheet rock pounding through the harbor- won't he harp at me again?

I might see him in the end

sinking down the black waters, chasing the slow-swimming fish

with their puckering lips

I'd love to kiss him with my own amidst the dead, the murderous blue

he would steal me through and through

like the hydrogen hydrogen oxide

and he'd breathe into my two eyes

singing spirituals he wrote for me and God, surrounded by the life with lips that eat

but do not speak

madness pervades me, I do not know the dock from the rock from the sea

nor the parrot from the owl from the germ

as he lets me feel unnerved

is that him-floating by

on the watershades, so low, so high?

no...it could never be

he could never swim so near my lips

that they could reach his fish-friend face

(I know and love each soaking trace)

-to kiss him with these soundless lips

Where am I Going, Why am I Here?

this was taken about the time I wrote the poem

Where have I been? I don't even know. I've been trying to clean my room, getting puffy-eyed from bad make-up (am about to do a major tossing out of eye shadow, very sad about this) and listening to new music, and considering becoming a real etsy seller to make a little dough.

Anyway, I usually NEVER put poems online because they're so intimate and personal. I don't even really advertise my blog to many friends. But I don't know if I care any more. But I found this one from a notebook, dated January 26, 2007 and I really sort of like it. It's very romantic and most of the poems I've written (that I like) are very morbid and dark.

Well, here it is. Hope the itty bitty handful of readers enjoys:

beautiful captivity

I guess trees must long for spring

and slaves dream of an unowned shore

I guess I love you like that

like a deep sleep

no. a coma, heavy and dark

a place with no escape

I am lost in longing,

impenetrable, starless, moonless crypt

of longing

of loving you, I guess

and you might say simple things

and discuss your laundry or your cat

but inside of the air,

all the air

between us

I am listening, silent, arrested,

waiting, hoping, dreaming

like a mystified little lamb,

missing from the flock

loving you.

*listening to Lover, You Should Have Come Over by Jeff Buckley

**how appropriate.

The Eyes of Irene Bordoni

So you may recall that I was reading Our Hearts Were Young and Gay. Sadly, I've had to take a pause. Why? Because in the year 2003, I bought the fifth Harry Potter book along with almost Everyone else. At about page 80, I got bored with Angst-Harry and set it aside, saying to myself, "I'll finish it later...and anyways, this way I'll get to enjoy Harry Potter longer than everyone else." I've always been a fan of suspense and looking forward to things.

Flash forward six years, and I haven't purchased the sixth or seventh book and the bookmark is still in the exact same place in the fifth book. Finally, I decided: the sixth film is coming out and I want to see it in theaters. I missed seeing the last one in the theater, because I wanted to read the book first. But I'm babbling.

The last time I read Our Hearts Were Young and Gay, the new pop culture item that kept rising up was Irene Bordoni. Apparently this is another star that young Cornelia Otis Skinner looked up to. Bordoni was a French singer and Broadway star during the 1910s and 20s, and later made some movies in Hollywood. According to Wikipedia (what can I say? it's handy) Claudette Colbert copied Irene Bordoni's style in some ways, too.

Independence Day Ensemble

Geez, LOUISE.

I went to a party this 4th of July and quite a few people wore red, white and blue. I didn't really think about that. I just tried to choose something cool and cute. On another note, I am a more curvaceous woman than perhaps ever before. I feel...okay about this.

Top: bought at a market in Cairns, Queensland

Skirt:'90s Casual Corner, thrifted at a Goodwill

Les Cheveux!

I got a haircut. The inspiration came back in April when I watched No Man of Her Own with Carole Lombard. One of my summer goals is to perfect finger waves (NO EASY TASK!!!). I also bought some hot rollers on ebay so will experiment with those.

Top: thrifted, Buffalo Exchange

Skirt: Galore boutique

The Bicycle Thief

I know next to nothing about neorealist film except from what I gain from the genre title itself. I feel like average modern cinema doesn't pay too much attention to whether or not a story is realistic or absurd, etc. Not that all filmmakers are on the same track, of course. What I'm inarticulately attempting to say is that the average movie fare (the action movies, the romcoms, and even some of the period pieces, etc) seem to me to be loaded with metaphorical cheese. Hollywood is famous for this, of course...and cheese sells. An example of metaphorical cheese might be Matthew MacFayden(sp?)'s last lines in the new P&P: "I love you, I love you, I love you..." or "Mrs.Darcy" or whatever. UGH. I'm sorry. This just....no. Sorry. No.

So many films throughout time are a little bit on the sappy, contrived side. I'm not saying films should Always be realistic, but it's so refreshing when something really hits home. A movie doesn't have to try to be some high brow intellectual masterpiece in order to make you feel something. The Bicycle Thief (1948) makes you Feel Something, makes you feel a lot, and really really want to marry a good man one day and have a couple kids, including one adorable boy who follows your man around and is his best friend. Did I just...I just typed that, didn't I? And this is going to be on the internet...huh...oh well. Seriously, on a personal note, I think I have a thing for movies about little boys having good relationships with their fathers. First I teared up at Kramer Vs Kramer, and now this. But nevermind me.

The story takes place in impoverished, Post-WWII Italy. The hero is so poor that when he finally gets a job (that requires a bicycle) his wife has to sell their bed sheets so that he can buy his bike back. I read that the director, Vittorio De Sica cast non-actors for the roles, and no real actors could have done a better job. I highly recommend this one. I nearly cried three or four times.