I’m still ill. I still feel rotten. I’m still sleeping ridiculous amounts every day. However, today I feel even worse than I normally do because much to my delight I was woken up by endless banging, clanging and drilling. Builders have taken over my garden. My bedroom overlooks the garden. They’ll be here for the next three weeks. Good times for me. Subsequently I haven’t been able to nap for long as they’re too bloomin’ loud, so instead I watched a film. The Descendants to be precise.
As I’ve said in previous posts I’m not normally one to enjoy films that are nominated for Oscars. I like your stereotypically girly films where you don’t have to use your brain: see Legally Blonde, 500 Days of Summer, Mary Poppins and The Notebook. But I genuinely enjoyed and found myself lost in The Descendants. A lot of people I know who have seen it said that they cried. That’s the main reason I watched it today, I wanted a reason to cry. Ironically, I found myself laughing more at the daughter’s one-liners throughout the film than I did crying over the tragic death of their mother. Although, to be fair, those laughs often came teamed with a bitter sting. And although I found the film to be at times funny, it was constantly tragic, realistic and never exaggerative.
The story is set in Hawaii where Matt King (George Clooney) is a land baron, who has to decide whether to keep the last plot of land that he owns after inheriting it from his Great-Great-Grandmother (who was a Hawaiian Princess) or whether he should sell it off to developers. He also tries to re-connect with his two daughters after his wife; Elizabeth is involved in a boating accident which leaves her motionless in hospital in a coma. His eldest daughter; Alexandra informs him that his beloved wife was having an affair so he goes in search of the man whom it was with for answers.
George Clooney gives an honest and emotionally raw performance throughout the film and it comes as no surprise as to why he won the Golden Globe for Best Performance by an Actor in a Motion Picture (drama). It opens with Clooney speaking “My friends on the mainland think that just because I live in Hawaii I live in paradise; like a permanent vacation, we’re all just out here sipping Mai Tais, shaking our hips and catching waves. Are they insane? Do they think we’re immune to life? How can they possibly think that our families are less screwed up, our Cancers less fatal, our heartaches less painful? Paradise? Paradise can go fuck itself.” This immediately got me thinking, and now, having watched the movie in its entirety I have come to a few conclusions;
• Bad things do still happen in “Paradise”. The film shows a more lived-in version of Hawaii, rather than the beautiful scenes we are constantly greeted with on postcards. Just because the exterior is beautiful it doesn’t mean that terrible things don’t happen, because they do and they undoubtedly will.
• Having an affair or cheating on someone is inexcusable. If you don’t love someone enough to merely stay faithful to them, then you shouldn’t be with them, nor do you deserve them.
• Some sorrows are unavoidable, such as grief. No amounts of picturesque beach surroundings or material luxury and wealth can protect you. It happens, to everyone.
• No matter how hard it may be, it really is better to forgive people for wrongs they have done. Everyone makes mistakes, after all.
• Don’t get too wound up over work, or work extortionate hours because you’ll miss out on things. Keep your work and social life in balance.
• And lastly, George Clooney is a bit of alright. Well, for an oldie anyway!
This weekend I have turned into somewhat of a sports pundit. I watched the West Ham v Millwall match on Saturday which although I cringed my way through the entirety of it, I enjoyed it and was very pleased with the result. After that I watched some of the Six Nations rugby and learnt some of the rules, such as the fact they can throw the ball out and it doesn’t mean the other team get the throw in. I also watched/shouted at the Manchester United match against Chelsea on Sunday. YES ROONEY! Bizarre as it may seem, I actually enjoyed watching both football matches (for completely different reasons) and the rugby (as it was something a bit different.) Another sport that I’ve never watched before is American Football. I’ve always wanted/planned to watch the Super bowl ever since watching that Friends episode… but I never have/I’ve fallen asleep too early! This year, however, I had every intention of making it through to at least halftime…
After getting a little over excited on Twitter and asking about a hundred questions about the game (and hashtagging #HelpMeImEnglishIDontUnderstand) such as: What is a touchdown? What teams are playing? What’s the aim of the game? Why have they got war-paint on? I was once again sent to Twitter jail, meaning I could no longer give my somewhat “individual” running commentary. Gutted. But at least I vaguely understood the game and had had my questions answered. A touchdown is when the ball is passed into the “end zone” in other words the coloured grass. The teams playing were the New York Giants against the New England Patriots. (I was rooting for the Giant’s as I heart New York.) The aim of the game is to get as many touchdowns as you can, subsequently scoring the most points. And the “war-paint” is apparently to help the glare from the lights into their eyes. Who knew?! Having been muted on Twitter I went and watched some with my Dad who explained it further to me and I was getting in to it. I understood that you have four passes to move 10 yards. So 2nd and 3 now makes complete sense to me. Amazing! However if I’m honest, the real reason I was watching it and forcing myself to stay awake when I was so desperate to sleep with my eye-lids genuinely aching, was to see Madonna’s halftime show. No matter how much I’ve enjoyed watching all this sport over the weekend my true passion will ALWAYS be celebrities.
Having watched some of the Super bowl, I’ll tell you this. It is LONG. There are SO many advert breaks in it, it’s horrendous. My dad told me that without all of these, the game is actually shorter than a football match; however America likes to drag it out over four hours. Absolute nutters! I was getting very sleepy and actually dozed off at one point, however luckily I awoke just in time for Madonna to take the stage. YES. I’ve always liked Madonna. I’m a big fan of her old material. So much so that I wish I was born earlier on in the 80s so I could have grown up with her.
Anyway the first half of the match was over and we cut back to the BBC studio where they told us Madonna was seven minutes away. Those seven minutes dragged like hell. Thankfully I was able to stay away though, to witness the best 13 minutes of my year so far. Those 13 minutes were filled with plenty of surprise cameos, high-tech stage lights and, of course, some of the biggest classics in pop music.
Her entrance was very small and reserved…. NAAAAAT! She dramatically came out and was initially hidden by huge feathers, dressed like Cleopatra being pulled by hundreds of ripped topless men. YES Madonna! She was dressed in Givenchy, which was completely back and gold, with a gold head-dress and past-the-knee leather boots. She looked flipping fierce for a 53 year old. However one thing I did notice was that she was wearing sleeves. Probably because she’s read all the nasty things people have written about her muscular arms, well it was either that or it was cold…!
She opened the show with an an edgy remix of ‘Vogue’. Vogue is one of my all time favourite songs, so we were off to a flying start! Team that with her ingenious 'walk-like-an-Egyptian' inspired Vogue dance moves and I was in Madonna heaven. The song then morphed into her hit 'Music' as her gold head-dress was taken off by a fit-bodied man. One of my favourite moments of this part of the show was where she did a cartwheel with her head in the crotch of a young, hot male. YES Madonna that's right! Next up she gracefully clambered onto the shoulders of her first guest performers, LMFAO. They went on to sing ‘Party Rock’ and ‘I'm Sexy and I Know It’, which was entertaining to say the least. A shufflin' Madonna, yes, I repeat, a shufflin' Madonna (and in those leather boots as well – priceless!) was then joined by female rappers Nicki Minaj and M.I.A and they smoothly transitioned into her newest song, 'Gimme All Your Luvin''. I was loving every moment so far, and things were only going to get better!
The female rappers both got their chances to shine and although Nicki and M.I.A’s parts were both only brief, they still completely slayed, and helped form the perfect cheerleading trio with Madonna and all teamed with gold pom-poms and a brilliant catchy latest hit. "L. U. V. Madonna! Y. O. U. You wanna?" Next in this spectacle came on a marching band, with Cee Lo Green up front wearing a helmet and a cape. Bizarre yet brilliant! They briefly sang an Open Your Heart/Express Yourself medley which was obviously fantastic and then went into ‘Like a Prayer.’ For this Madonna wore a head-to-toe black gown and was raised up on a platform, with Cee Lo, who was also now dressed in a head-to-toe black gown (although his was covered in sequins – jel!) with a black and white gowned gospel choir singing beneath them. Up there they swayed along whilst singing her hit song. After that Madonna disappeared in an enormous puff of smoke, and the camera shot out to show the stadium lit up with the message of ‘world peace’. I mean, what’s the point of a performance without a public service message?! And with that, it was over. I was devastated. I wanted more, immediately. So I rewound and watched again!
Even though the Queen of Pop's glitzy show appeared to run smoothly, the over-the-top theatrics might have helped cast a shadow over some of the fumbles. Including a moment where she nearly fell over, MIA flipping the bird and the fact she didn’t sing a word; speaking of which the "Mime Police" can take the high road. I for one would much rather watch a brilliant performance filled with superb cheography resulting in it being a show rather than a live vocal. Errrr, hellooooo, I love Britney! And anyway, apparently it is a Super Bowl policy that all halftime show vocals must be pre-recorded, so shhh! People also complained about the amount of thrusting that was going on, along with the fact that she wasn't completely covered up in clothes. Are you fo'real? If I look like that when I'm 53, I will be doing the exact same, just not on a massive stage in the middle of an American Football pitch, just casually along the streets of Britian. Mark my words. Having said all of that however; having Madonna without some controversy would be like having a roast dinner without any gravy. Dry and boring. No thank you.
Madonna’s halftime show was ridiculous, but in the best possible way. The stage and choreography was spot on. It was dramatic, entertaining, mesmerising, amusing, energetic and grand, which not many would be able to pull off within just under 13 minutes. It would be fair to say that she’s most definitely still got it. And if all halftime shows are like that then I vow to never miss a Super bowl ever again! I’m off to go and buy some gold pompoms, a ticket to her concert, a gym membership and a one-way ticket to America…
All I’ve left to say is; L. U. V. Madonna!
(Oh and for those of you who were asleep or haven't yet seen it, watch it immediately!)
Yesterday we waved goodbye/good riddance to January (which in my opinion is quite possibly the longest, most painful, dullest and just generally a super pooey month) and we warmly (or not so, what with the absolutely freezing temperature and all) welcomed in February. I like February because it’s short. I dislike February because it’s home to the most ridiculous day of the year, but that’s another topic..
Cast your minds back to the end of December. What with Christmas and New Year there was obviously quite a bit of alcohol consumed all round. On Twitter there were talks from many about having a “Dry January”. Dry January being the phrase used to describe not drinking any alcohol for the entirety of January. I for one was not going to be participating in this. Hell no. And, I thought the people who were, were quite frankly nutters. I was home in Bournemouth for the first week of January and I had every intention of going out on the Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights. Dry January? Dry Schmanuary!
However, lucky old me went and contracted Laryngitis which resulted in me spending the majority of my week off work in bed. Brilliant. It was alright though because I had an invite to a birthday party the following week, where TOWIE stars would be present. Brilliant. I’d party with Joey Essex and make up for it then…. Nope, alas I was still poorly and too ill to go. Cool. Having returned to London for work, I lasted just two days and I was back in Bournemouth feeling sorry for myself, but more positive as I had Jazpups around. I was feeling even worse than I had done originally, but I thought a week in bed resting would work because that’s what the Doctor said. So I did just that, in the hope that I’d be better for the weekend which would mean I could have gone out for another friend’s birthday. (I may not necessarily like January, but at least I have a lot of birthdays to attend to help me through it!) But once again, nope, that didn’t happen either. FML big time!
Ironically whilst I was going strong in Dry January (albeit unintentionally) the majority of people I knew who were supposedly participating were dropping off the bandwagon and getting right back on the alcoholic scene. I was livid. What I would do to sit in Aruba with a strawb daq in my hand and my friends around me gossiping. This was ridiculous. One positive thing about Dry January is every Sunday morning waking up hangover free whilst everyone else rants about their head and how they’re feeling on facebook. Gutted!
After several tests from the Doctors they eventually found out last week that I have Glandular Fever, which would explain why I’ve been so run-down, had a high temperature, why my glands have been up and also my extreme tiredness (yesterday I had so little energy in me that I had to sit down halfway through my shower, seriously.) I’m sleeping ridiculous amounts, at least 11 hours over night and then a couple of hour naps throughout the day, its mental. So even if I was feeling relatively better I wouldn’t be able to stay awake long enough to go out anyway. And the best bit of all of this is that Glandular Fever can last months. SU-BLOOMIN-PERB. This means I could actually be in for a Dry February, March and April. Yaaaay!
I’m renowned for crying. Just the other day I cried when I thought I’d lost my phone. I hadn’t. It was in my hand. I realised this as I went to wipe away my tears and was greeted by a hefty phone knocking against my face. It would be fair to say that I cry very easily, especially at films. No matter how many times I watch Marley and Me I’ll always shed a tear. But it’s not so common for me to cry tears of joy. However that very thing occurred whilst I watched The Artist.
It’s a film set in the late 1920’s/early 30’s about the black and white silent age of Hollywood and is itself also in black and white and silent. Well almost; there are a couple of spoken words at the end and an orchestral background throughout. The French movie tells the story of George Valentine and Peppy Miller. George is an elder, more established Hollywood star, whereas Peppy is only just starting out and seeking such fame. George helps her on her way but is soon overtaken by her success as she willingly ventures into the unknown of acting ‘speaking’ roles, which George, down to his pride, daren’t accept. I won’t ruin the whole plot but there’s romance, comedy and drama all hidden within the silence. Oh, and I mustn’t forget about George’s trademark sidekick, his adorable little Jack Russell terrier, Uggie. Who hands down steals the show, just like he did at the Golden Globes!
Drained of all colour and noise I’m surprised I enjoyed the movie as much as I did. I won’t lie there were some points where my concentration wavered and I begin to tire. This wasn’t ideal as without words it is vital that you watch every moment to understand or else you miss parts and are left behind. With that said the music did all the talking that was needed, along with the rare use of subtitles.
Now, I’ve always been one to watch and thoroughly enjoy shallow films. Ones where you don’t have to think too much because the storyline is easy to follow/you can guess what’s going to happen ten minutes into it! Throw in a good dose of romance, a few belly-aching jokes, a good-looking actor (for example Ryan Gosling) who preferably takes their top off at some part throughout the film, and I’m usually sold. Subsequently it shouldn’t come as much of a shock when I tell you that I’d never watched a silent movie before. The Artist may well be the first one I have watched, but it most definitely won’t be the last.
The whole no speaking rule reminded me of the other week when I was relaying how I was unable to speak for several days to my boss, he replied with the simple remark of "silence is golden" along with a somewhat patronising smile (it was fair - I talk too much!) This proverbial saying is often used in circumstances where it is thought that saying nothing is preferable to speaking. This of course, in my eyes, didn’t relate to my circumstance at all. In fact I’d say my circumstance was more torture; however it suits The Artist down to the ground. As the movie captures the essence of this saying and proves it to be absolutely correct. No words were uttered during the endearing movie until the very last minute, and no words were needed up until then either.
...It turns out that they most definitely do still make ‘em like they used to! Here’s to hoping it wins all the Oscars!
