Cruel and Unusual Punishment

Last night Brandon came over and uttered the words I never thought I'd hear him speak:

"I'm kind of in a Godfather Part III mood."

Gasp! Disbelief! What is it that makes someone walk willingly toward their doom? Was it the poll I had posted on this website (which received a total of three votes, thanks a lot, guys, really appreciate it)? Did he have a premonition? Did the angel Gabriel come to him in a dream and tell him that Al Pacino dressed in old man sweaters was not worth missing?

In any case, I didn't need to confirm this temporary insanity. Off we went to Blockbuster to complete the final chapter of the Godfather saga! On the way, we discussed what kind of lunacy haunted him that he was willing to see what's been called "the scurge of the Godfather trilogy" (by me). Why was he willing to endure this cruel and unusual punishment? I will now conduct a blog sermon.

My friends, what is cruel and unusual punishment? We often think of the rack, the water torture, the dungeon, but I prefer to think of it in a more commonplace way. To me, cruel and unusual punishment is our neighbors hosting a pool party and blasting Celine Dion's The Power of Love for the enjoyment of the street. First of all, really? I'm as big a fan of Celine as the next blogger, but can't we dig out some Beach Boys or Motown for a pool party? I'd even be ok with Ke$ha, or however she spells her name. Secondly, must you replay the song five times in one day? By the fifth time, I get it: I'm your laaaaaaadyyy, and you are my maaaaaaan. But I digress.

To me, cruel and unusual punishment is the Gulf Coast oil spill and Ghana losing World Cup Soccer. The pinnacle of CUP (to create my own acronym) might be Blockbuster not having Dirty Dancing to rent.

At this point in the conversation last night, Brandon caused a minor nuclear meltdown somewhere when he admitted that he's never seen Dirty Dancing. Not once. Not even the clip that you always catch on TV. Brandon, movie connoisseur, has never seen possibly the greatest classic of our time! He doesn't know that no one puts Baby in a corner! Unacceptable. I immediately took The Birdcage off the list (because on closer inspection, turns out we've both seen it) and replaced it with Dirty Dancing. Problem solved, or will be soon. Sermon over.

 Anyway, the movie! It was just short of three hours, and although we had to watch it pretty closely because some of the plot was complicated, we felt free to talk and joke through most of it. When the two of us watch mafia movies, inevitably Brandon ends up explaining most of the plot to me. Consequently, I've given up trying to figure out who did what to which person. It's enough to me to know "that person is bad and they're trying to kill him."

To our surprise, we found ourselves liking the third movie about as much as the second one. The first, we agreed, is an art form and by far the best of the three. The other two are also good movies, but basically just decent mafia flicks. To summarize: we had our hopes built so high for the second one, but we were disappointed overall. On the other hand, we had heard so much crap about Part III that we weren't expecting much, but it was good enough to bring it to the same level as Part II. Got it? No?

This movie could be retitled, "What Happens when the Mafia Gets Old"

One thing I insist upon in movies is enough plot, and I was pleased with this because there was a decent, believable plot. At least, it was no less believable than Part II, which was so confusing that I had to pause it every 20 minutes for an explanation. The acting was, for the most part, also not bad. Surprisingly, I was impressed with Diane Keaton, who I constantly mock for her bad acting in Part II (It was a SON!) She was wonderfully catty and bitchy in this, as she should be for putting up with the mafia thing for the past 30 years or so. The following dialogue did transpire, though (I guess I should have warned you earlier about spoilers, but if you're going to skip any part of the blog post, now's the time):

Me: She's going to tell him she still loves him.
Brandon: She'd never tell him that. He'll say he still loves her, but she won't say it back.
Me: I'd put money on it.
Brandon: She will not.
Me: Will too!
Kay: I've always loved you Michael; I love you still.
Me: YESSSSS.
Brandon: Son of a ...

...followed by words that I will not post on this blog. (Ignore my use of the same word in the previous paragraph.) I will admit that I also found the scene where they're leaving the opera fantastic. Apparently Al Pacino's screams were so agonizing that Francis Ford Coppola cut most of them from the sound track. Now that's a man who hasn't lost his touch for the silver screen.

This leaves only one thing to discuss... Sofia Coppola. I will give you a tip, dear reader! This movie is about ten times less frustrating if you pretend that Sofia is portraying a daughter who's, how shall we say this, a few spaghetti strands short of a serving (that's mafia-speak for not right in the head, I've decided). I'll say no more, as I'm going to hell already, but if that were the case, she deserves the Oscar! It will also help you if you imagine that Vincent is depressed and has a Napoleon complex. Thus, he thinks that any sign of love that anyone shows him is a come-on.

Thus...
*Michael kisses Vincent's hand*
Michael: Don Corleone.
Vincent: DOES THIS MEAN YOU LOVE ME? CAN I TAKE OFF YOUR SHIRT? OH PLEASE LOVE ME!

Also, Talia Shire is just annoying in this movie. Every time she shows up in this movie, the two of us would moan, "Beat it, Connie!" She needs to go join a Battered Wives' support group or a knitting circle or something. There's only one cool thing she gets to do, and it's a spoiler, so I won't mention it.



Overall, cruel and unusual punishment? I think not. I would watch it again without qualms, but with a friend. It's not the greatest movie in the world, but it doesn't deserve all the bad rap that it gets. But you know what is CUP? The fact that my neighbors just switched from Celine Dion to country music. Oh well, my heart will go on.

(I should have one of those "Currently listening" tabs so you can know what my neighbors are listening to now.)

The Picture of Dorian Gray was photoshopped

Ah, summer. A lovely time for running in the sunshine, playing in the pool, and A STREP INFECTION! Picture the Courage Wolf meme saying that and it will be much funnier. No wait, I'll do it for you:

For some reason, Courage Wolf makes everything about ten times funnier. No matter, I'm completely un-contagious, and will be fully cured once I finish my KILLER ANTIBIOTICS! 

Yeah.

On the bright side, my extended time on the couch gave me a new insight into the tragedies of American life, such as those that befall the real housewives of New Jersey. What a shame that Ashley pulled out Danielle's hair extensions! They're quite right to hem and haw about it for five episodes while the lower class goes about their everyday lives. On a more intellectual note, I've developed a liking for House M.D., mostly because everything that comes out of Hugh Laurie's mouth is exactly what I was thinking five seconds earlier.

Once I got better, though, I jumped back into action. Still haven't defeated the Barzinis in The Godfather (you can't pick off the damn goons; they just keep popping up behind you with air rifles), but I did finish The Picture of Dorian Gray; you'll see it in red on my list. 

What did I think? Surprisingly, a great ending for a too-wordy book. Getting through the first half was tedious and took me the better part of two months, but once you hit Dorian's later life, the plot really picked up and zipped by. The ending was perfect, but that can't make me forget the beginning. It really seems like Oscar Wilde wrote the first 10 chapters to show how witty he was, writing in Lord Henry as himself.

"Yes, thank you, I am an artistic martyr whose tedious novels will be considered 'great literature' in 200 years."










Fortunately, Brandon wrote his senior term paper on The Importance of Being Earnest, so I considered him a kind-of-sort-of amateur expert on Wilde. When asked, he said that that was an easy read and that Dorian Gray is considered a departure from Wilde's typical work. 

Thank heavens for that. Let us hold up Wilde as a true example of the philosophy of Zola, since I haven't talked about that in awhile. Actually, I don't know how he helped the world, if he did at all. But he did leave a lasting work, which I will probably never read again.

I did start thinking that it could be made into a modern young-adult novel, much like they did with The Great Gatsby, but I wonder if the invention of Photoshop would create a plot hole.

Hallo! Welcome to mah bloog!

Remember how Brandon and I watched Family Guy after we saw The Hours? (Trust me, we needed a laugh: there was one joke in the entire movie. ONE!) Well, we got a laugh all right; in fact, we laughed so much that we rewound this part of the show no less than five times on Brandon's DVR. Before you go off about, "MEH LAURA'S RACIST," I should point out that I find this funny mainly because Swedish people sound nothing like this.

Now that you're done watching that five times, turn your attention to the poll on the side panel. I will explain.
Like most good Americans, Brandon and I have seen The Godfather (which we loved) and The Godfather Part II (which we thought was overrated). Now we are divided about watching the final chapter. I think it's our duty to see all three, at least for closure, and if it really is as bad as everyone says, at least we can laugh at it.
Brandon agrees with me in theory, but never wants to rent it when we're at Blockbuster because he's "not in the mood." Rather than punning about how this whole situation sounds like a bad romcom starring Vince Vaughn, I leave the decision to you!* Should he watch it? Why or why not? Why does this sound like an essay prompt?
*Keep in mind, Brandon, your vote in this poll is not counted.
I'm off to the theatre tonight! Have a great Friday, and visit your farmer's markets, folks. (We bought a free range chicken! I'm so proud of my mother.) 

The Hours (aka the Depressed Women's Society)

Two nights ago, the Depressed Women's Society had a meeting at Brandon's house. The members were all in attendance:

No one brought brownies, but that was ok; Meryl made the "crab thing" and it proved very popular (and yes, that's a rare joke from the movie). And so we were off on a two-hour journey that shuttled from 1923 England to the 1951 LA suburbs to 2001 NYC. At the end of the meeting, Brandon and I didn't jump to talk about it, but sat in silence for a minute as the credits rolled and let it sink in.

Did we like it? It was hard to say. We definitely didn't not like it; it was so complex that we tried to get through all the layers before making a final judgment call, which is still difficult to do. We came up with the following:

-The acting is phenomenal. Meryl Streep is great as usual, but it's one of the few times in her career that she's actually out-acted. Nicole Kidman perfectly portrayed a woman succumbing to mental illness. I've read a bit about Virginia Woolf (namely her hilarious Dreadnought hoax, which is possibly the best practical joke ever played), but I never realized just how much her illness affected her; I never could quite picture her in real life. Nicole Kidman pulled it off in an Oscar-worthy performance.

And Julianne Moore--holy Mrs. Dalloway, where did that come from? I haven't seen her in a lot, but I'll never doubt her abilities from now on. In Far From Heaven, she plays a character in the same time period and position as in The Hours, yet the roles are perfect polar opposites. We agreed that she should have won the Best Supporting Actress Oscar for The Hours. Not to mention, she played herself old, which could have been hilariously bad, but it wasn't.

Also, the supporting cast was all great. John C. Reilly, Toni Collette, Ed Harris (!), Allison Janney, Jeff Daniels...all had small roles, some for only a minute or two, but they were all brilliant and supportive of the powerhouse performances by the three main women. Now that I've gone on for three paragraphs about the acting, let's move on, shall we?

-All that said about the acting, the script could have used some improvement. "I felt like several times they were going somewhere good," said Brandon about the movie's various monologues, "but they got sidetracked just a little bit and ended up going somewhere else." (Nonverbatim.) I felt a little differently. Some of the script was good, but half of the character's speeches could have been cut. Frankly, Julianne Moore's segments had no impassioned monologues, and hers was the story we were both most interested in. Coincidence?

In contrast, in the 2001 setting, not a scene went by without a monologue, yet they seemed to go nowhere. Let's be honest here: in the 2000s, people rarely go on for six minutes about their feelings unless they're a) onstage, b) full of crap, or c) ACTUALLY have something important to say (the rarest of the three.) Ed Harris is brilliant as a former love interest of Meryl's living with AIDS, but he went on for way, way too long about abstract things while I zoned.

At one point, while cooking loads of food for her party (and rather suspiciously separating eggs with her hands...ew...), Meryl breaks down and monologues...about what? For that matter, was Jeff Daniels's character even necessary? He mainly comes in to witness this breakdown.

"Uhhhh, Meryl, are you aware of the dangers of salmonella poisoning? Not to mention the fact that you've got too-long fingernails, making this even more sketch?"




**Also, on another note, I would like to point out some of the realism flaws in this film. Supposedly, Mer is giving this hugeish party at her apartment, complete with seating chart. Cool, but why would you start making all the food that day? Would you really leave the baking, or even some of the prep work, until you're all frazzled? Not only that, but she takes breaks from food prep to:
a) cry in front of Jeff Daniels (who, as you can see from the picture, really doesn't give a damn)
b) cry in front of her daughter (who also doesn't really give a damn), and
c) lie on her bed with her daughter and talk about life.
As the Realist of the World, I would like to point out: THIS DOES NOT HAPPEN IN REAL LIFE. In real life, you run around like Charles Manson prepping everything, while crying and talking about life. It's called multitasking.

I might have to rename my blog: "The Philosophy of Zola...and, advice for hosting dinner parties!" And now, I will take off my Realist cap, and return to the film analysis.**

So, in closing, the script could have stood a rewriting. I haven't read the novel, so I don't know how adapted it is, but yeah.

-The score is by Philip Glass. That's all I need to tell you. I like Philip Glass's music, but it all sounds the same, and it all reminds me of The Illusionist.

-I absolutely loved the editing, and Brandon agreed: the way it seamlessly combines and intertwines the stories of the three women is attentive to detail and award-worthy. There was a specific type of name for that editing, but I don't recall it; perhaps he'll comment and tell me. Great filmmaking in general, but Brandon's more the critic of that than I am.

-And, in regards to Nicole Kidman, I loved the scenes between her and the servants. She's simultaneously afraid of them and bitching them out:

"Nelly, please go to London to get some ginger for the children. I want to give them a treat."

"I have to make lunch, ma'am. There's no time."

"You'll take the 12:30 train to London and the 2:30 back, which should leave you plenty of time. Or do I miscalculate?"

"..."

"*death stare* Is something detaining you, Nelly?"







PWNED, NELLY. And well-won, since Virginia had just caught the servants making fun of her for being mentally ill and all.

As a side note, that isn't actually the movie character. I kept trying to Google image search Nelly from the movie, and this Nelly kept coming up instead:

In my humble opinion, he would have gotten the movie the Best Picture Oscar.

-After some hard thinking, B and I decided that it was a close call, but Salma Hayek should have won Best Actress that year for her performance in Frida. Both actresses were brilliant, but Nicole only had to cover one day... Salma had to cover a lifetime. Not that Nicole didn't deserve it, of course.

So! In short, how to sum up The Hours? As you can see, it's impossible to entirely sum it up in a neat and orderly fashion. If I had to, I would say a well-performed, well-meaning movie. It's not about love, although there's a lot of love in it; it's about three women in three time periods, connected through mental strife, strength, and determination. And the ending...I won't tell you the ending, but it connects back to the beginning and the whole film so well. I call this meeting of the Depressed Women's Club to an end, and someone had better bring brownies next time.

In closing, Meryl wasn't the only character subject to a monologue. Julianne and Nicole both gave cathartic speeches; Julianne pulled hers off the best. However, Nicole's might be the most famous. It drew mixed reviews from the two of us. Brandon thought it wasn't entirely sincere; I thought it came close--so close--to the mark.

 Found at the train station by her well-meaning husband, who has her under his constant care and protection, Nicole aka Virginia explains to him that mentally ill is not synonymous with emotionless. In fact, she is still very much alive:

 If I were thinking clearly Leonard, I would tell you that I wrestle alone in the dark, in the deep dark and only I can know, only I can understand my own condition. You live with the threat; you tell me, you live with the threat of my extinction. Leonard, I live with it too. This is my right. It is the right of every human being. I choose not to suffocate in the anesthetic of the suburb but the violent jolt of the capital. That is my choice. The meanest patient, yes, even the lowest is allowed some say in the matter of her own prescription. That by which she defines her humanity. I wish, for your sake, Leonard that I could be happy in this quietness but if it is a choice between Richmond and death, I choose death.

And, after this intellectual discussion, we watched a few hours of Family Guy and Who Wants to be a Millionaire reruns. I love the contrast of my life.


P.S. I update the lists below when I accomplish things...

Lists

Looking back at the summer I've had so far, I can't deny that a lot of it has been spectacularly boring. But that doesn't mean I haven't tried! There's been a lot of books, a lot of cooking, and, oh yeah, a ten-day trip to see this:

And this:

...and honestly, what can compete with that? (Oh, and the exceptionally cute Wyoming waiters. Did I mention that there are far more men in Wyoming than women?)

But, for the most part, I operate best under a scheduled regime, which is probably why I've been making so many lists this summer. Most of them are to-do lists commanding me to finish cleaning out my closet and desk, which I happily ignore. But a few have strayed from the norm. My friend Brandon, a movie aficionado, and I recently drew up a list of the following movies that we must see together:

-Frida

-The Hours

-Far From Heaven

-The Birdcage

-I've Loved You So Long

-The Cider House Rules

-Moonstruck

-Hannah and Her Sisters

-Rachel Getting Married

-Brokeback Mountain

-Requiem for a Dream (with Mr. Laura)

-Pan's Labyrinth

-Moon

-Dances with Wolves

-The Godfather Part III

-The Graduate

Most of these are movies that one of us has seen and we want to show the other person. As you might have guessed, the ones in red are the ones we've watched. Yes, we have a long way to go. Don't judge us. Did I mention that Brandon is on a mission to watch every Oscar Best Picture winner? We're such busy people.

About a week ago, I realized that my to-do lists weren't doing me much good, so I completed a master list one morning in bed. (I always seem to complete my lists in bed. Does anyone else find that you're so much more optimistic in bed in the morning before the world quashes all your plans for the day?)

Goals Before Summer's Out

-Balance checkbook: Somehow,  I haven't balanced it since...hmmm, checking my checkbook...pun!...March. I is the good financial guru.

-Become the Don of NYC on the Godfather for PS2. Defeating the Barzinis means I'll take over the game!

...well come on now, people, I had to have something on this list I'd actually be motivated to do.

-Make at least one artisan chocolate: From my new cookbook, aptly titled Making Artisan Chocolates. It's one of those pretty cookbooks where you look at the pictures and never actually use it. I'm thinking of starting with the chocolate truffles.

-(Mostly) complete movie list with Brandon: See above. I added the "mostly" when I realized how many hours he works.

-Complete one short story

-Plan some kind of Team Awesome summer reunion: Team Awesome is what a group of my Large-East-Coast-Public-University friends and I call ourselves. Original title, no?

-Finish The Picture of Dorian Gray: It seems that every time I sit down to read it, it reminds me of food. Or other books. Or friends. Or daydreams. Or anything other than itself, because it's such a boring read. I know, I'm an English major. Crucify me.

-Read Growing Up: A family friend gave me this as a graduation gift last year, and I've never had the time to read it. It looks great though.

-Read one more book for pleasure: Before I succumb to my fall review of Brit Lit, Cape Cod Lit, and possible "What is Literature?" lit. 

-Spa day with Kirsten. You remember Kirsten, don't you? Well, the legendary best friends have barely seen each other all summer! We've decided we need a day at the spa to catch up! It'll be fabulous! ...if our wallets can take it.

-Best birthday ever!: No explanation needed.

-See [insert names of various friends from home whom I haven't seen all summer]

-Aunt Laura Day!: This is way, way, way too good to explain in a simple list, and so you'll learn about it later.

-Email Large-East-Coast-Public-University housing office: For minor housing concerns, as you might have guessed.

-Apply to be a Peer Tutor for school: Hey, I need to get a real job at some point.

-Lose two pounds: From the Freshman 7 or 8 that I gained.

Oh yeah, and this final gem:

-Restart my blog.

P.S. Enjoy the new layout! I find it a lot easier to read.

If nothing else, a new way to slice your bread!

At the end of an email (ok, Facebook message), my friend Mia added this saccharine little snippet:
"Also, you should start writing in your blog again. You are seriously slacking."


First of all, see what I did there? I added the word "saccharine" where it doesn't even belong, just because it sounded good. Saccharine: sentimental, cloying, sugary, sickening. I only looked it up after I used it, because it was such a darn good word right there. Too bad it was the wrong word.


Anyway, all questions of word choice aside, I've been putting this off for way too long. Why? I've used every excuse, from "I don't have time for a blog," to, "I have no working camera, and no one wants to read a blog without pictures!" Psh. That never seemed to stop me before, Google Image Search willing. To my credit, I've had a busy/exciting/rough first year of college, but now it's time to focus on what makes me me, not just freshman survival tactics. This blog is me.


This morning I wanted a piece of bread for breakfast. Like any normal almost-19 year old, I decided to slice it on top of a cookbook, which prompted the following conversation:


Mom: Laura, was there any reason you had to slice your bread on top of my new grilling cookbook? We have cutting boards. We are civilized people.


Me: I know, but I'd just get another cutting board dirty, when cutting it on top of your book saved me a lot of trouble. [Wise reasoning, in my opinion.]


Mom: L-A-Z-Y, that's what you are.


...and then she laughed. Proving I have the best mother ever.


But when it comes down to it, yes I've been busy, but I've also been lazy with this blog. And, in the year to come of discovering myself, I am determined not to be lazy. And I am also determined that I will not make this blog post a long promise-of-why-I-will-never-cease-writing-again.


I'm off to make Sunday soup.