Venus

My friend Karen reminded me that I never talked about Venus, the Hanif Kureishi film from last year which was directed by Roger Michell and starred Peter O'Toole. In fact, it's the one film I've seen since January 2006 that I haven't talked about on this blog. Sorry for the meta-blogging, but I thought I would include the discussion of the film I had with Karen here:

It was so exactly what I expected from Hanif Kureishi, which means I liked its audacity and disliked its grotesquerie. His films always have this quality. They are so seedy and about such unlikeable people, and yet there is a humanity. And Kureishi actually likes his characters... a lot, unlike a scribe like, say (and I know I always berate him, but here I go again) Neil LaBute. As for Peter O'Toole. I don't get the appeal. I get why everyone likes him in Lawrence of Arabia and Becket and The Lion in Winter. I love him in those movies. But the rest of his oeuvre: it's all overhyped if you ask me.

I'm probably being unkind to O'Toole. It's just that films like My Favorite Year and The Stunt Man and The Ruling Class—each of which has seen O'Toole so highly-praised for his acting ability—all left a sour taste in my mouth, as though his acting were a kind of comment on acting or comment on his own persona as a star. Zzzzz. That said, I rather liked him in Venus and in Ratatouille (go see it!). And, truth be told, I liked Venus a lot better than I liked The Mother, the last Kureishi film that Roger Michell directed.

Sorry this post is about five months late. Oops.

A Thought from My Brilliant Roommate for This Evening

This is from an essay she wrote on My Beautiful Laundrette:

At some point in each of our lives, we will feel like outsiders. This moment is inescapable, whether in regards to our artistic aesthetic, sexuality, religion, race, or economic or educational background. One moment finds us confident in our sense of fellowship with those around us, while the next could easily replace that feeling of belonging with uncertainty and disconnectedness. A veritable moment of belonging cannot exist because in order to create that moment of kinship, we alter ourselves. The person now belonging is no longer the person who wished to belong.

Progress, a Play, and Baked Goods

Today I read a play and baked some brownies and sent out my requests for official GRE scores for my ten schools. After this is all over I will have to blog about how much this is all costing me. The GRE scores are $15 per school (!). Tomorrow: requests for official transcripts and maybe even an application or two.

The play I read is called Our Lady of 21st Street by Stephen Adley Giurgis. It was okay. Good with language, but very light on character and plot. Hopefully the next is better. It's called Jesus Hopped the A Train. Good title, anyway.

I also watched a little of My Beautiful Laundrette. I must've seen it when I was too young to get a lot of different stuff. I had forgotten that Saeed Jaffrey was even in it. I don't know who I thought that was if not Saeed Jaffrey, but anyway... It's a good movie. I will have to sit down and watch the whole thing again someday soon.

Laughter on the Third Floor

I got the email Saturday morning that said that Rick Williamson (Petruchio) is dropping out of the show.

Adios.

I have no actor now, but... Adios.

Yesterday, Derek and I saw The Mother with Anne Reid. She has gotten tons of good reviews and could possibly be a contender for the Best Actress Oscar—we should know in December. She was good, but the character was just such an odious human being. This has been okay with me before (I loved Denzel Washington in Training Day, for instance), but I think because this character is so collossally selfish, I found it really hard to sympathize with her.
I think we were supposed to feel sorry for her, too. I know I have a well-documented dislike for the elderly, and so I should probably stop talking about them. But this character exemplified everything I dislike about the aged. A horrible mother, who, once her husband had died, forced her son and then daughter to give her a spare room. Then she starts fucking her daughter's horndog boyfriend. The daughter has clearly communicated she is desperately in love with this man, too. So, it's not like she was gonna break it off or anything. The mother is just this monster of a woman, who doesn't give a fuck about her kids, but expects all of them to care about her. Ludicrous. My problem with the film is that none of the characters have any redeeming qualities. It was written by Hanif Kureishi, who wrote (the very sweet My Beautiful Laundrette), but it feels like it was written by Neil LaBute, the hatred for these characters is so strong.
Derek rather liked it, I think. I was rather bored. I find that if I don't invest in the characters as people—if I don't get behind at least one of them and root for them to win—I start to be really bored.
The mother looks like she's about to kill herself at one point in Act Three, and I found myself muttering "Do it. Do it, now."