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2003-02-17 | 10:10 p.m.
corduroy licorice's bedroom looked like a pig sty. it had wooden fencing around the perimeter, a dirt floor and a rough-hewn trough in the corner.
my favorite gourmet/health food market just opened a new store and a visit there today garnered me three star sightings. three! the first was with my entrance into the market. exiting were a very animated talia shire telling a story to a very serious-looking jason schwartzman, who was carrying their bag o' food. i wonder if there was a bottle of coppola wine inside?
on my way out of the market i almost had to cry "sweet home alabama!" for there was reese witherspoon with her baby over her arm, pushing a grocery cart past me. she was make-up-less, but radiant and looked like she'd rather not be recognized. you know how she gets when she sets that little jaw oh so firmly.
i was surprised how much my stargazing cheered me up. i'll never shop elsewhere, darling. believe you me.
in other entertainment news, two new movie reviews:
gerry is a new offering from indie great gus van sant. it stars matt damon and b-aff's little brother, casey affleck, as two friends who become lost in the desert during a hike gone awry.
while damon's over-exposed mug was a bit of a distraction, he did a good job and affleck was really impressive. the most remarkable thing about this film is how damn quiet it is. the dialogue is sparse and the soundtrack is equally as shy in making an appearance. the aural stillness combines with the austere appearance of the desert to create a cinematic palette cleanser. there was one moment when the two guys are limping across a dry lakebed in those darkest moments before dawn. the scene went on forever and the blue light and the bobbing silhouettes and the way the sound and music wove in and out were just mesmerizing. gorgeous. despite the somber story, i walked out of the theater feeling uplifted and inspired. the story was really secondary to the meditative feeling the film induced. wow.
i've noticed i'm more and more drawn to films that shut the hell up for a minute and let you soak in the scene. two films that also harness this quiet power well are what time is it there? and morvern callar.
maybe it's just the pendulum swing away from the frenetic film styles of tarantino, ritchie and luhrmann. don't get me wrong, i love the hyper ones, too, but like the kings of convenience say, "quiet is the new loud."
all the real girls, directed and co-written by david gordon green, sounded like an indie romance that was right up my alley. relatively unknown actors, a small-town story, good reviews from the right people. i was disappointed.
let's just say if you liked spitfire grill, you will like this movie. i didn't like either. i just get a bit annoyed when homespun charm is turned up to 11. why, shucks. look at the wisdom coming out of the mouths of these babes of the backwoods. why, golly. they may talk rough, but they's got heart smarts! i tell you what. why they're downright poetic between sips of schlitz.
phooey on that. have we learned nothing from the rap community? keep it real!
the one shining part of the film was the female lead, zooey deschanel. she is an offbeat beauty who gave a glowing performance, despite some groan-worthy, dawson creek-type lines and a personal misstep of her character that came out of nowhere just to stick some kind of conflict into the story.
the editing of the film made the story feel more like i was flipping through a photo album of random, calculated-to-be-heartwarming scenes versus watching a story unfold. a few seconds of the leading man leaning on his quilt-strewn bed with his sloppy-haired pooch seemed inserted solely for "isn't he sweet?/give my actor buddy more roles" appeal.
to its credit, there were a few heartfelt moments tucked away here and there. the film was lovely to look at with its ever-present autumnal light and elegantly rusted and rundown landscapes of north carolina. and the opening song actually brought a tear to my eye. too bad a good part of the rest of the film just induced eye-rolling.
take a peek at these - (c) 2000-2003 nictate:
quibbling with quitherfeather
catcher in the wry