Much Ado About Nothing (2012)

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I have a long list of I-shoulds -  “I should take up handicrafts! I should devote myself to writing! I should learn to skate!” And every year as September rolls around, “This year, I should watch a movie at TIFF!” This year, I finally bit the bullet and bought tickets to a TIFF movie – specifically, Joss Whedon’s adaptation of William Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing. I watched it at the Elgin Theatre (crappy cellphone photos below) along with a huge crowd. The internet informs me that the Elgin seats upto 3,559 people and the auditorium looked pretty full to me, not to mention the line to get in circled all the way around the block. Most of those 3,000+ people were clearly Joss Whedon fans, judging from the snippets of conversation one heard in line and the massive cheers during the movie.

Whedon filmed this movie right after he’d finished filming The Avengers;  he assembled a cast of actors, most of whom he’d worked it on previous Whedonverse projects, and shot this movie in twelve days, at his own California home. The movie is funny, engaging and - probably because all the action is set in and around one house - oddly intimate. I thoroughly enjoyed the film – gushed about it on twitter –and rushed home to write a glowing review. That was a week ago. I’d started writing, mind – I described the movie, the environs, etc – and then I was stuck.  I was shtum where I should have been gushing. Why? Writer’s Block? Possible, even probable; but why? And then it occurred to me: perhaps I couldn’t write a glowing review because I no longer felt the film deserved it.

I should mention that the first adaptation of Shakespeare I ever watched was Kenneth Branagh’s Much Ado About Nothing. Now, I’d watched that movie in high school (a rather long time ago) mostly for Keanu Reeves who played Don John, but a lot of it stuck with me, in particular the iron in Emma Thompson’s voice as she says, “Kill Claudio.” It sent chills down my spine. When Amy Acker, who is otherwise fantastic as Beatrice, said it, the audience laughed. Now, this was an audience of Whedon-fen, clearly primed to laugh at anything, but still. No one would have laughed at, or with, Thompson in that moment. 

Whedon’s adaptation differs from Branagh’s firstly by being filmed in black-and-white, rather than colour and then by being set in modern-day California rather than Ye Olde Italy. In addition, Whedon adds a prologue: it begins in the aftermath of a sexual encounter. A man puts on his clothes, and looking back at a woman, leaves an apartment. No words are spoken. This works on two levels; first, it saves Whedon the trouble of writing a morning-after scene in Shakespearean prose; and secondly, it makes sense that Beatrice and Benedick, who ceaselessly engage in verbal combat, would resort to a silent cease-fire. Yet I can’t help but wonder if this really makes sense in the context of a play in which a character’s supposed lack of chastity is cause for her being jeered at and jilted. Besides, Benedic k and Beatrice are one of the prime examples of UNrequited sexual tension; once you find out they’ve been, er, requiting all over the place, the sexual tension becomes a little less tense.

I think though, the biggest problem with Much Ado About Nothing is the fact that in cinematic terms, it’s a meringue: fluffy, sweet and light and completely lacking in substance and any real sense of tension. I enjoyed the movie, but it left no strong impressions past funny and pleasant. Maybe it’s because Whedon made this film as a sort of cinematic palate-cleanser post The Avengers, but that film left more of an impression on me than this one, what with all the Sturm and Drang. (Yes, I preferred the comic book movie to the Shakespeare adaptation. Sue me.)

On balance, despite all the aforementioned caveats, I’d still recommend this movie; it makes a lovely introduction to Shakespeare, it’s well-directed and the acting is wonderful. (A quick aside – Nathan Fillion, aka my Imaginary Boyfriend No 5, was hilarious, and the crowd loved him. I couldn’t hear some of his lines for the cheering!) If you do watch the film, you’ll leave smiling – we did.

This Is Not The Sci-Fi You Are Looking For

My father and I were discussing Star Trek. As you do. 

Me: So you have The Original Series, right?
Dad: Right...
Me: And then you have The Next Generation.
Dad: ...
Me: The one with Patrick Stewart?
Dad: Right.
Me: And then you have Deep Space Nine, and then comes Voyager, and THEN you have Enterprise, which is set before TOS, so it's a prequel to all the other shows.
Dad: Then where does that other show fit in?
Me: Which other show?
Dad: You know, that show you used to watch?
Me: (thinking) What Sci-Fi show did I watch that my father knows I watched? He can't mean... (aloud) BATTLESTAR GALACTICA?!
Dad: Oh yeah, that one! Where does that fit in?
Me: They have nothing to do with one another! The two are set in completely different universes!
Dad: But they both have to do with galaxies or something...
Me: ... You are aware Star Trek and Star Wars are completely different too, right?
Dad: Oh, that I know.

I am convinced he thinks that all Sci-Fi that lacks lightsabers is automatically Star Trek.

Christmas/Boxing Day Roundup

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Look what Santa left under the tree:


A Keurig B30 Mini Coffee Brewer! For all my gourmet-coffee-at-home needs. I can recommend Timothy's Columbian Fair-Trade Dorado, but you can use your own regular coffee blend with a reusable coffee filter. Now, I generally prefer teas or tisanes, but this machine makes a damn fine cup of coffee.

Boxing Day Haul: I picked up these kickin' boots at Scarborough Town. Plus Lush had a buy-3-for-the-price-of-1 deal on their soaps, so I now have Sexy Peel to last me months.

Also saw Sherlock Holmes on Boxing Day. A few quick thoughts:

• Robert Downey Jr, why so fabulous? Also Jude Law, I find myself surprised that I have taken in none of your work since The Talented Mr Ripley.
• Holmes and Watson have an epic bromance. In fact, you don't even have to squint to see it as a straight romance, really - they have a bad breakup, Watson seeks consolation in the arms of Mary Morstan, Holmes sulks.
  
• In terms of their general interaction, though - Holmes is outrageous, Watson is exasperated - they reminded me less of Holmes and Watson 1.0 than House and Wilson - who are obviously a modern, medical take on Holmes and Watson 1.0.
• When they cast RDJr, they must have filled their American cast quota because the two American roles - Irene Adler and Ambassador Standish - are played by Canadians.
  
• I thought it interesting that it was the villain - by Mark Strong - who looked most like the classical Holmes - tall, hair pomaded, the long jacket reminiscent of an Inverness cape.
• Finally, this movie is definitive proof that the rating system is completely ridiculous. It was released in Canada with a PG (Parental Guidance) rating, though it features a close-up of a dead body with maggots, boxing violence, people-being-set-on-fire violence, etc etc. Imagine the hapless parent who doesn't have time to watch trailers, and buys a ticket to watch this movie with his or her family based solely on the film's rating? "Daddy, why is that man so pale? And why are their worms on his face? Why is he sleeping in a coffin?"

On Polanski

Now Playing: A Fine Frenzy - Think Of You

I've only seen two Roman Polanski movies. The first was his 1971 version of Macbeth, which we watched in OAC English class, and the second was Chinatown, which was being shown as on TVO's Saturday Night at the Movies. I had a Penguin's Guide to Classic Films, and two of his films were featured - Chinatown and Rosemary's Baby - so I knew he was a director of no small skill.

Somewhere around this point, I discovered Wikipedia, and I looked Roman Polanski up, so that I could figure out what movies of his I should watch next. I learnt he escaped the Warsaw Ghetto and survived the Holocaust, though his mother died in Auschwitz; his pregnant wife Sharon Tate had been murdered by members of the Manson family; when he was in his mid-forties, he admitted to having sex with a child of thirteen.

I use the word 'child' deliberately, because I think to refer to the victim here as a girl of thirteen is simply window dressing that disguises the true nature of Polanski's crime. The survivor, Samantha Greimer, was an aspiring model whose mother consented to a private photo-shoot with Polanski. At the very least, Polanski had sex with a child thirty years his junior; at the worst, he drugged her with a combination of champagne and quaaludes before raping her.

Once the wheels of justice were set in motion, Polanski accepted a plea bargain that saw him pleading guilty to statutory rape, rather than go to trial for rape by use of drugs, perversion, sodomy, lewd and lascivious act upon a child under 14, and furnishing a controlled substance(methaqualone) to a minor. Rather than go to prison, however, Polanski fled the United States for France, where he held citizenship and from whence he was unlikely to be extradited. He has since not visited either the United States or the United Kingdom, remaining in mainland Europe to live and work.

Last week, however, Polanski visited Switzerland to attend the Zurich Film Festival, where he was to receive a Lifetime Achievement Award. He was arrested at the airport and is being held while the Swiss review his case and decide whether or not to extradite him to the US. This has led to a wave of support for him from members of the entertainment community as well as figures in the french and polish government - Polanski holds double citizenship of both these countries - and an opposing movement which calls for justice to be carried out.

I present a sample defence of Polanski from Joan Z Shore, who is (cue double-take) the co-founder of Women Overseas For Equality, with my comments in bold, a la the fabulous Malene Arpe:

Arresting Roman Polanski the other day in Zurich, where he was to receive an honorary award at a film festival, was disgraceful and unjustifiable. Polanski, now 76, has been living in France for over thirty years read - has evaded justice for over thirty years, and has been traveling and working in Europe unhindered, but the Swiss acted on an old extradition treaty with the U.S. and seized him! Yes, how dare the Swiss uphold an international treaty! The Swiss Justice Ministry will decide whether to extradite him to the United States. Which is toooootally unfair, since he's not even Swiss, you guys!

The judge in the 1977 statutory rape case is dead. Well, if the judge is dead, you obviously get to go off scott-free... Polanski had agreed at the time to a plea bargain, but then the judge reneged on it. Um, correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't Polanski flee before he was sentenced? After a grand total of 42 days in jail? Polanski has tried to appeal.

But there is more to this story. The 13-year old model "seduced" by Polanski had been thrust onto him by her mother, who wanted her in the movies. Mommie Dearest foisted the girl at him! So that makes it totally okay! Candy for everyone! The girl was just a few weeks short of her 14th birthday, which was the age of consent in California. (It's probably 13 by now!) Um, I don't even know what to do with this. And you claim to be the co-founder of what appears to be a feminist organization? Rape is okay if you're close to the age of consent?!? Which I'm fairly certain is not fourteen?!? Polanski was demonized by the press, convicted, and managed to flee, fearing a heavy sentence. Well, that makes it okay then, since he was afraid of a heavy sentence. *headdesk*

Read more at: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/joan-z-shore/polanskis-arrest-shame-on_b_301134.html

Read more at: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/andy-ostroy/why-robert-harriss-iny-ti_b_304100.html

Read more at: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/andy-ostroy/why-robert-harriss-iny-ti_b_304100.html

Whoopi Goldberg, on The View, said, "I know it wasn't 'rape' rape. I think it was something else, but I don't believe it was 'rape' rape." So having sex with a child of thirteen was only kinda rape? sorta rape? decaf rape?

Polanski's friend, photographer Otto Weisser, was quoted on CNN as saying, "He's a brilliant guy and he made a little mistake 32 years ago -- what a shame for Switzerland."

Read more at: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/anna-wainwright/welcome-home-mr-polanski_b_301994.html

Um, yes, I can see how sleeping with a thirteen year old was an easy mistake to make. No, actually, I can't. Please explain? And yes, definitely, it's Switzerland that should be covering itself in shame.

Harvey Weinstein, formerly of Miramax, chimed in with an op-ed piece in The Independent:

Roman Polanski is a man who cares deeply about his art and its place in this world. What happened to him on his incredible path is filled with tragedy, and most men would have collapsed. Yes, his life has been filled with horrible tragedy. Instead, he became a great artist and continues to make great films. And along the way, he found the time to have sex with a child. I was with him the day he won the Legion of Honour in France, which was a spectacular day. I remember the incredible love and affection that people have for him. Come oooon, you guys! People like Roman! You can't send him to jail![...]

Whatever you think about the so-called crime, Polanski has served his time. Forty-two days in jail. Yeah, that should do it. Plus the past thirty years that he's spent having a family, making movies, yep, he's definitely done his time. [...]

I hope the US government acts swiftly because because film makers are looking for justice to be properly served. I will be organising the effort myself by emailing everybody I know to sign the petition. And I know that Thierry Fremaux has got hold of Nicolas Sarkozy. Sarko, mon pote! C'est moi, Thierry. Bah, ecoute, on va laisser les Americains extrader notre gars Polanski? C'est pas cool, ca, quoi?

We will have to speak to our leaders as well – particularly in California. I'm not too shy to go and talk to the Governor of California, Arnold Schwarzenegger, and to ask him once and for all to look at this. Thankfully the Governator has already ruled out a gubernatorial pardon for Polanski. I never thought I'd say this, but yay Republicans!

It is a shocking way to treat such a man. Polanski went through the Holocaust and the murder of his wife, Sharon Tate, by the Manson family. Free personal trauma pass, people! How do you go from the Holocaust to the Manson family with any sort of dignity? In those circumstances, most people could not contribute to art and make the kind of beautiful movies he continues to make. This is true. I am fairly certain though, that despite their artistic deficiencies, most people might manage to keep their hands and assorted appendages off thirteen-year-old children.

I would also further direct your attention to Andy Ostroy's demolition of Robert Harris' unctuous Polanski defence in the New York Times - though I suppose you can't blame Harris, Polanski is directing a movie based on his novel The Ghost:

Harris begins with: "...His past did not bother me, any more (presumably) than it did the three French presidents with whom he has had private dinners, or the hundreds of actors and technicians who have worked with him since 1977, or the fans who come up to him in the streets of Paris for his autograph."

French presidents? Is he kidding? Middle-aged Frenchmen accept and forgive Polanski's sexually deviant behavior and that's a defense? Perhaps Harris would welcome support from Italy's scandal-plagued, teenage-girl-chasing Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi too? Are we really to let Polanski off Scot-free because movie people like him? Or because fans seek his autograph? Perhaps Harris has never witnessed the throngs of idiots who still drool all over O.J. Simpson as if he's America's former football hero instead of the brutal monster who butchered two people. And this may come as a shock to Harris: America's judicial system couldn't give a rat's ass whether certain criminal behavior bothers you or not.

Harris then asks, "Why now?" To which I reply, why the fuck not? The argument that he's been allowed to roam free for 30 years, therefore he should be allowed to stay free is moronic. Just because some lame-ass law-enforcement authorities had their collective thumbs up their asses for three decades does not give Polanski a get out of jail free card. Should we not arrest Nazi war criminals because they've been living in Argentina for 65 years and might be "liked" by their neighbors? Who cares when justice ultimately gets served, as long as it gets served. Let's keep things in perspective here: the Los Angeles DA's office has not committed any crimes. Polanski has. [...]

Harris ends his convoluted diatribe by claiming Polanski is a "doting father" who's children "want him home." I'm sure O.J.'s kids want him home, too. Again I should remind Harris that in America we don't let children decide the judicial fates of their law-breaking "doting" dads.

In his closing line, Harris smugly quotes the Romans: "So cui bono," or, "who benefits?" The criminal justice system benefits, as does every single child who can feel some comfort and security that we still have laws that protect them from sexually-perverted adult predators who seek to horrifically abuse them.

*sigh*

I am angry and saddened that so many people have reacted as if Polanski had received a life sentence for jaywalking, and then fled the the USA for Europe and its less draconian traffic laws. What Polanski did is not a little boo-boo. Not being able to travel to Los Angeles to receive your Oscar in person is not justice; it's what happens when you're on the lam from justice.

In conclusion, I just want to underline why I'm so angry, with a little help from Melissa Silverstein:

Feminists everywhere are aghast about the fact that we have lost sight that this man raped a 13-year-old girl. Feminist everywhere stand up against rape because it is endemic in our society.

So to just remind people why we are all livid about this:

• 1 in 6 women will be sexually assaulted in her lifetime.
• In 2007, there were 248,300 victims of sexual assault.
• Every 2 minutes, someone in the U.S. is sexually assaulted.
• Approximately 73% of rape victims know their assailants.
• Only 6% of rapists will ever spend a day in jail.
• 44% of victims are under age 18.

I never did order those other Polanski films; I don't doubt his brilliance as a director, but his behaviour has been both criminal and repugnant, as is his refusal to accept the consequences for his actions. It's my own little boycott, and I'm happier for it.

Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End

They killed Norrington! Those Bastards.

(The rest was passable, except for the complete waste of Chow-Yun Fat. Gah.)

Hot Fuzz

Hot Fuzz: worth the price of admission just to watch Simon Pegg kick a granny in the face.

Children of Men: "Yeah, it's a miracle, innit?"

Now Playing: Muse - Map of the Problematique

Ted Chiang is said to have remarked that what distinguishes science-fiction and fantasy is possibility; science-fiction describes that which may one day be possible, whereas fantasy describes that which we can never have. So which is Children of Men?

It is 2027, and the world has gone to hell in a handbasket. Women haven’t been able to have children for more than eighteen years, and the resulting despair has pushed humanity into a chaotic frenzy of destruction. The lone holdout is Britain - bastion of civilization & rescuer of art from the pillaging hordes – but also a totalitarian regime where refugees are herded into cages and the state engages in torture. Theo (Clive Owen) has grown cynical and weary in this world without hope, when an old lover, Julian (Julianne Moore), leader of a resistance group called ‘The Fishes’, asks him for his help transporting a girl to the coast past security checkpoints. The girl, Kee (Claire-Hope Ashitey) is sullen, childish – and pregnant. Her only hope, and perhaps that of humanity, lies with her getting to a boat named Tomorrow, which will take her to the mysterious Human Project. Theo, at first recruited because his influential cousin can get them papers to get past the checkpoints, soon finds himself Kee’s de facto guardian and protector, and the two set out on a journey that is by turns frightening and moving.

Children of Men’s real power lies in the potentiality of the reality it depicts. Discard the device of the infertile women, and the rest of the picture – a world in total chaos – is one that becomes more and more possible with every passing day. In 2027, British citizens by and large ignore the human rights outrages that go on underneath their noses, just as now, developed countries turn a blind eye towards suffering elsewhere. For example, more than 52,563 Iraqi civilians have died because of war-related violence since 2003 – but if you include other effects, such as destruction of infrastructure, worsening healthcare, lawlessness, the numbers go up – massively – to 654,965 deaths, or 2.5% of the population, since 2003. And yet, Iraq remains on the periphery of our collective consciousness? But I digress. There are no flying cars in Alfonso Cuaron’s 2027 – it is our world, with way more flat-screen televisions and a lot more grime; rickshaws in the streets of London, and deer ambling through abandoned schools. That we learn a lot about the world in 2027, is to Cuaron’s credit, especially since he does it without clunky expository dialogue (which, apparently, he hates.) We hear an ad for a government-endorsed euthanasia medication in a train, or watch a message exhorting Citizens to denounce illegal aliens, & 2027 feels real, and all too possible.

Clive Owen’s Theo is as real and compelling as the world he inhabits, and rightly so, because at its heart, Children of Men is about Theo’s journey, from its beginning in London, to its end in – but I won’t spoil it for you. Theo’s actually quite like Ian Rankin’s John Rebus – a drunken sadsack one should never underestimate – but unlike Rebus, Theo never picks up a gun, and when he resorts to violence you know that he is as shocked and scared and squicked out as you are – and that’s especially remarkable considering Owen was on the short-list to play Bond and that some of his best work has involved him playing hard men (I’ll Sleep When I’m Dead, Sin City). It’s wonderful work by Owen and one hopes he gets some kind of award recognition for it. Claire-Hope Ashitey is a wonderful foil for him – Kee is irreverent, curious and wonderfully vital, picking out names for her child – Frolly, Bazooka – as gunfire blazes around them. Michael Caine, as Theo’s pot-smoking friend Jasper, is a joy to watch as always, as are Julianne Moore and Chiwetel Ejiofor as Luke, one of Julian’s Fishes.

Children of Men is not, by any means, a fun movie – but it is a great one, well worth the watch.

PS – You know how I said the movie was real? One exception – in a conversation with Jasper, Theo mentions that an ex-girlfriend of his left him to join a religious group whose members self-flagellate to do penance for their sins. Now I’m good with suspension of disbelief, but please. As if anyone who was dating Clive Owen would dump him in favour of self-inflicted pain!

The Prestige: "Are You Watching Closely?"

Now Playing: Gomez - How We Operate

It’s best to watch The Prestige, Christopher Nolan’s latest, knowing as little of the plot as possible. Suffice it to say that the movie concerns two 19^th century magicians, Alfred Borden (Christian Bale) and Rupert Angier (Hugh Jackman) whose friendship is quickly soured and twisted by tragedy. A game of one-upmanship ensues, with both Borden and Angier obsessively trying to improve their own tricks while sabotaging the other man.

The first half-hour of The Prestige is Christopher Nolan’s Pledge - the initial part of the magic trick where the magician shows you something supposedly ordinary – as he show us what seems to be nothing more than a vendetta film, with nice set-dressing and period props, but told in a entrancingly non-linear way, using nested flashbacks and multiple narrative threads. At one point in the movie, Borden is reading Angier’s diary, in which he documents his attempts at translating Borden’s diary, which is encoded in cipher, which goes on to describe the early acquaintance of the two men.

The Turn – where the ordinary object does something extraordinary – comes when Borden creates a trick called the Transported Man, where he walks into a closet and comes out of another, entirely separate closet several feet away. How he does what he does & how Angier tries to replicate The Transported Man serves as the narrative thrust that propels the movie into The Prestige – the payoff, where the astonished audience tries to figure out the trick, usually without success. Nolan’s a filmmaker, not a magician, so he does tell you the secret, revealing clues throughout the movie that add up inexorably until you gasp with revelation.

The Prestige is better than entertaining – it’s intriguing, with a twist so deliciously macabre it feels like Jonathan Creek – The Victorian Years. Neither Borden nor Angier are conventional heroes or villains – simply men obsessed with the art of illusion – and the movie succeeds because it pulls us into that obsession, because we want to know these men’s secrets just as much as they do. Bale and Jackman both do good work here, ably supported by a cast that includes the always awesome Michael Caine, Scarlett Johansson and David Bowie. The cinematography and editing are impeccable – you don’t even realize what they’re hiding – or even that they’re hiding something - until the dénouement, when you’re stunned by the sheer audacity of it all.

(See the Trailer)

A Tale of Two Movies

Now Playing: Partners in Rhyme - Teri Meri

Before we get to the main course, ladies and gentlemen, let me draw aside the curtain of my mind (is that a song lyric?) and give you some insight into my train of thought:

• Stephen and I are chatting.
• Stephen remarks on the catchiness of Bhangra, having just been introduced to it.
• I refer him to the Bend it like Beckham soundtrack, which has some very catchy bhangra tunes on it.
• I remember one non-Bhangra tune on the album that I like, a Partners in Rhyme' remix of a Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan song called tere bin nahin lagda.
• I decided to see what Partners in Rhyme have done since then.
  
• I stumble across a track called teri meri (literally, yours and mine).
• I press play.
  
• The song is ridiculously addictive. It's like musical crack.
• I can't stop playing it!
  

Which is why I've always said Bhangra is dangerous. No good can come of it, ever.

Anyway, saw two movies adapted from novels recently; loved one, was utterly meh about the other.

any guesses?

The first one I saw was Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. I have to admit that I was completely psyched for this one up front. The trailer looked amazing, the book has arguably the best twist in any of the HP books so far, and there was going to be an amazing bouncing ferret!!! So Linda, my brother & I trooped down to Paramount to watch the movie. We figured that if we waited till its second week of playing, we'd miss most of the crowds - a fairly logical idea, except that most of downtown Toronto came up with the exact same thing, and so we had to toss stray children out of the way in our over-zealous quest for good seats. After all of this, the movie has to be awesome, right? I wish.

In their quest to streamline the movie, Newell et al threw out whole chunks of the book, thereby junking some of my favourite scenes from the book. We don't get to see Skeeter being a complete bitch and Hermione figuring out her secret - and frankly, with what little screentime they did give Miranda Richardson, I'm surprised they didn't just cut her out entirely), we don't get any of the comedic gold that was S.P.E.W, and then they overextend the first task by having Harry be chased all over Hogwarts by that crotchety Hungarian Horntail. Pshaw. Also left out is the Defence Against the Dark Arts class where we find that Harry is mostly resistant to the Imperius curse, which is probably one of my favourite Harry-scenes from the book. Then finally, the confrontation with Not!Moody at the very end - they don't show the spyglass! Why go to all the trouble of pointing out the nifty little magical device in which you can see your foes approaching you - if you're not going to actually show the foes approaching in the damn thing??? That scene in the book always struck me as one that would look cool on film - three faces slowly growing clearer, until finally Dumbledore, McGonagall and Snape burst through the doors of Not!Moody's office - and they left it out! In all fairness, I should say the movie is really not half-bad, especially for those who haven't read the books. That first sight of the dark mark towards the beginning of the movie was effectively and entirely creepy, the acting was good, etc - but I have to ask: Why are the filmmakers shoving Harry & Hermione down our throats? I mean, c'mon anyone who's read the books know that Ron 'n' Hermione are the canon couple, so what're they playing at?

Anyway, the other movie that I saw - and loved - was Pride and Prejudice. Now, it's no secret that I adore this book. It's the one book that I have found impossible to "read-out" - whereby I read a book so often that by the end of the whole process, it's as if I've drained the thing dry, and there's nothing left on those dog-eared pages for me anymore. This is what happened with Oliver Twist, Sense and Sensibility, Jane Eyre even - I can't read those books anymore. Not Pride and Prejudice. I have read the book any number of times, seen all the assorted film versions - of the list on that page, I've seen all of them except the Mormon version & the assorted BBC versions pre-1980, and I'm here to tell you, this new version more than holds its own.

Where to start? Okay, it's not a romantic comedy, a la the Olivier and Garson version; this one is a romance, from start to finish. But before my male readership decamps in alarm, they should know this movie is really well made technically - long, lovely tracking shots a la Serenity, and wonderful piano music by Jean-Yves Thibaudet. And the script - now, this is how you condense a novel well. Gone are the Hursts, the little Gardiners, the sundry Lucases (Charlotte, obviously is indispensable, but the only other Lucas one sees is Sir William at the Assembly Ball, and only in passing), Mrs Phillips, etcetera - the story and the cast is pared down to the barest essentials. The acting is wonderful - I really hadn't expected Keira Knightley to be able to pull it off as well as she did, but how glad I am to be wrong. Her Elizabeth is clever, irrepressible and girlish - something that could not be said of her predecessors in the role, Jennifer Ehle and Greer Garson. Matthew MacFadyen is perfect as Darcy - taciturn, intrigued & passionate by turns. Comparisons to Colin Firth are inevitable, but MacFadyen more than holds his own. The supporting actors - Donald Sutherland, Brenda Blethyn, Rosamund Pike, et al all do justice to their parts. Quite seriously, it is a wonderful movie, and one you ought to watch.

Wow, I've really run on here, haven't I?

Yours garrulously,

Sharon