[Copied from my external BLOG, which I'd like you to have a look at. Also, it comes with purdy pictures] Joe Hill’s latest gem Horns was yet another tantalising taste of true horror and suspense. But this isn’t a review, because frankly, you don’t need me to do that; there are more than enough of those floating about by now, and if they don’t convince you of the book’s excellence, then you need to buy it and decide for yourself. Trust me though, he doesn’t disappoint. However, the relationship between Ignatius Perrish and poor, beloved Merrin truly had my head spinning; their story is wonderful, really. Hill manages to incorporate romance into the novel in a way that I’ve never witnessed before; it was raw, and gritty. I become totally in love with them and the journey their relationship took. The novel had me wanting to slap Merrin’s face and bang Ig’s head against a wall one minute, before sobbing uncontrollably into Merrin’s lap the next. The ‘Tree house of the mind’ is a concept which Merrin dreams up after the pair of them come to the conclusion that their secret place in the woods must’ve been a beautiful illusion. I won’t give the story away, but I genuinely adored this theme of the book; Hill somehow managed to take the essence of beauty, mystery, and heaven, and turn it into something of substance and realism. The Tree house of the mind. It just sounds lovely, doesn’t it? It sounds like the kind of romantic thing that is obliged to exist somehow, just because it sounds so perfect. In the novel, Merrin describes the tree house they found as a magical thing that appeared purely because they needed it, as though it were a figment of their imaginations, entwined by love. And so it got me thinking (which is good). If there was ever a tree house of my mind, it’d probably look like something from Tim Burton’s waste paper basket combined with the rage of a thousand angry bison personified in flames. It’d be like my own hormonal party-house, mood swings and PMS permitted only. No sane people allowed; they’ll only ruin the illusion, after all. It’s true! If my desires were brought to life in the form of a tree house, then it’d surely need some point of reference. Given that I’m a roaring angry mega-bitch a good 70% of the time, I’d surely concoct the ugliest, spookiest darn house on the mind-market, wouldn’t I? Probably not the holy, tranquil love nest belonging to Ig and Merrin; not one Laura-Ashley curtain in sight. I guess the point of my pointless pointism is that the next time I’m billowing smoke from my nostrils and scraping my hoofs in the dirt, I’ll try and keep the state of my tree house in perspective. Judging by my usual cynicism I’d have a miserable, forlorn excuse for an imaginary abode; either that or a pile of cinders.
(Copied from my external BLOG, which I advise you read for the purdy, accompanying pictures) So we’re all aware of the hit HBO TV series ‘Sex And The City’ (based on the novel of the same name by Candace Bushnell) and the approach of the much anticipated sequel to the SATC movie. Once I’d finished squealing with glee and expressing my desire to strut the cinema with my gal-pals, I began to wonder: why is it that such a diverse range of women love the show, and how does it cater to those who aren’t satisfied with ‘sass ‘n’ style’ alone? If a street surveyor were to ask me, ‘What do you find to be most exasperating about women in the media today?’ there’d be no better answer I’d rather give than: ‘Nothing! Women today represent the strongest of our era, and I’m proud to say that I rest assured In the knowledge that our youths have some fantastic role models to aspire to’ But that answer wouldn’t be realistic, would it? Of course there are liabilities to the gender, and of course I find myself giving the obligatory sigh in response to some of the stereotypical hog-faced-loathsome characters as seen on The Jeremy Kyle Show. And yes, It’s no secret that the presence of airheaded-Ugg-obsessed bimbos is (unfortunately) becoming increasingly more acceptable. This is glaringly obvious to most. I sit proudly in the knowledge that I voluntarily escaped these fates; and yet it is my belief that one show united a great deal of us, one that catered to all, and knew no prejudice: Sex And The City. I know what some of you might be thinking. It was a shallow, sex-based cult show that relied on all of the above stereotypes to keep it running. Some might say it targeted a niche audience and had little more than ‘kooky’ fashion advice and ‘sassy’ phrases to keep it sustained. I’ve often thought the same thing. But let’s examine those statements for a moment; can they be entirely true? Frankly, the answer is no. To truly believe those opinions would be to deny the show’s much deserved success entirely, even if it could sometimes have us rolling our eyes in disapproval. (Besides, to believe the previous assumptions of SATC entirely would be to accept the relevance of Desperate Housewives, and I shan’t be doing that!) Let us not ignore the truly gripping qualities of Sex And The City, and let’s not act as though there aren’t thousands of perfectly intelligent women (and men!) that enjoy this show too. How come, I hear you ask? My theory is as follows. Carrie, Miranda, Samantha and Charlotte, with the exception of being fashion-obsessed, are all successful career women. Occupations such as columnist, lawyer, PR agent and art dealer all sound like pretty drool-worthy jobs if you ask me. These women are not simply credit-card dwindling morons relying on daddy to pay off their debts, oh no! They are strong, independent, career-driven females. Isn’t that what we all aspire to be? Granted, they’re also glamorous, confident, and fabulous. But if you truly pay attention to the messages that drive each episode, you’ll find that despite common assumption, they’re telling us time and time again that money and success isn’t everything. These are not airheaded women; they are intelligent, ambitious, and searching for love. Scatty? Yes. Easy? Too easy. Typical? Well, aren’t we all? Now that I mention it, surely the definition of ‘typical’ actually suggests that it’s a commonly practised and understood thing? No, the women portrayed do not profess to be perfect. If you ask me, it begs question as to why some of you would expect them to in the first place. Barring all the obvious attractions of a glittering, girl-power sitcom, I find that it’s the relationship between the four friends and the success they have in their fields that sucked me in from the start. They’re living my dream, and each episode gave me the sense that I was experiencing it too; through the good times, and the down-right terrible. I made mistakes, broke relationships, and despaired alongside them; but I triumphed with them too. I like to see humans, not mannequins; if you’re a person that’s appreciative of SATC, then you’ll know precisely why I found that in this show. SATC is all kinds of girly, air-headed fun; but it’s the intelligent girl’s sitcom too.
(Copied from my external BLOG ) Nicolas Cage has been proving his diversity as an actor time and time again; I can tell you now that The Bad Lieutenant is a striking example of this. After thoroughly enjoying his portrayal of Big Daddy in Kick-Ass, it was interesting to see the character of Terence McDonagh, a decidedly dark and startlingly corrupt cop brought to the screen for comparison. Nick Cage, our harmless protagonist (in family films such as National Treasure and hillbilly comedy Raising Arizona) truly outdid himself in this piece. Despite looking and sounding like Herman Munster after root canal treatment in parts, Cage delivered a disturbingly unique portrayal of one truly screwed up cop. His comedic attributes worked well in combination with the dark, painfully troubled flipside of his character, and surprises audiences with humorous mood-swings before plunging us back into gritty realism, with some hardcore drug abuse and sexual corruption. His sluggish tone of voice worked exceptionally well in scenes which required a more unsettling atmosphere to reflect the genre, and yet contrasted for comedic value in the funnier scenes. However, despite the definite elements of comedy throughout the film, for example the hopeless, ironic character of Genevieve (Jennifer Coolidge), this was a cop drama with a razor sharp edge. The screenplay, I feel, was cleverly devised with a clear aim to absorb the essence of gang communities, particularly in relation to the issues of black-on-black crime that were present in the film. For example, Big Fate (Xhibit) expresses a kind of ghetto-snobbery towards Afrikaans, which I feel really added a subtle spice to the realism of the film, and produced a certain flavour which is actually missing in most Hollywood cop dramas. This film truly explored the grey areas of crime, particularly in relation to ‘bent’ cops, which past directors have proved a far too risky venture to achieve the desired all-pleasing affect on their audiences. The often sleazy, yet well-researched attitudes of the characters might not be suited to those more partial to family blockbusters, but would certainly quench the thirsts of those who appreciate crime/drug gems such as 21 Grams and Mystic River. Without giving too much away, the juxtaposition of two key scenes at beginning and end wrapped the film up nicely, but also gave a zesty little twist to boot. Director Werner Herzog brought a delicious, refreshing approach to filming with what I perceived to be quite an abstract view. Unlike directors such as Spike Jones or Michel Gondry, Herzog used very little ambition in regards to camera techniques, but created some charming, animalistic themes; opening with the snake and ending with the aquatic scene was a nice touch to reflect the character’s journey. Plus I just like animals. However, given that hallucinogenic drugs were the primary focus of our “hero’s” downfall, this is where the director truly struck gold with me. The iguanas were interesting and humorous expressions of Terence’s twisted, drug-induced mind, particularly with Cage’s gormless drug-happy face. Similarly, I enjoyed the ‘dancing soul’, which featured a break-dancing performance and added a satirical tongue-in-cheek dollop of craziness into the concoction. Although such scenes created a great deal of what-the-f/ckery, they were executed with great clarity by all involved. Eva Mendes played her part sufficiently, though I couldn’t help but feel that her character was expendable; despite being a main focus of the film, she added little to the overall appeal. She was convincing as a hooker, but that was all I’m afraid. One noticeable fault, for me, was the overall pace of the film; it did a good job of convincing me that Terence’s life was truly spiralling into an abyss, and believe me, I didn’t miss the typical hyper-speed of some of the more airheaded cop films. However, it left a little to be desired, and at points had me fidgeting in my seat. That said, the abrupt, yet unexpected ending just about pulled it out, and left the entire piece on a high note. In all, it was a refreshing insight into cinema with a colourful new vision, and a terrific performance from Nick Cage. Full price!
I don't usually write poetry, but my course insists I try. I've actually become quite fond of free verse, and I like simplicity too. Lipstick Lipstick cannot still The quivering chin, Nor erase disdain From the reflection’s eyes. Lipstick cannot slim The face, tear back the flesh And makeup someone new. Lipstick merely mimics beauty; Preaching pride from empty shells. And if this one doesn’t fool them, I’ll wear another shade. Mr. Conscience He’d wear a brown tailored suit And bowler hat, the kind you’d Find in thrift stores. A bristly moustache would rest upon His lip, and his eyes would be watery grey. He’d sit in cafes to read the telegraph, Sipping tea from a china cup. He’d occupy the tiniest space in my brain, Cross-legged on my cerebral cortex. The rap of his cane would echo in my skull, As he tsked at my terrible choices. He’d scoff at every utterance of my name, And roll his eyes at the very thought of me.
This took about 20 mins/half hour I guess. I was just thinking what it'd be like when I have to pack up and leave my uni room for someone else. The Room The faint aroma of perfume echoes my presence in the room, and lingers for little more than a moment. A dip in the mattress cradles the slowly rising warmth of where I’d lain, and then expands; it soon forgets my shape. The mirror breathes a ghostly whisper of my lips, as a fingerprint fades from sight under the glow of the halogen light bulb. Pale figures haunt the newly naked walls; a scrap of blue- tac dries under the desk; an old pen rolls from view. Silence steals the room; the light switched off, the door shut. My key no longer fits. Not incredibly abstract I know, but personally I enjoy the simplicity of it. I'm not usually much of a poet, lawl. In other news: Still losing weight...i've lost quite a bit actually, and i'm probably levelling out to 1 or 2 pounds a week, but as they say, slow and steady wins the race. I'm not interested in losing truckloads of weight over night, only to put it straight back on again...I want to be a healthy, slim individual that doesn't think of food all the time. I'm well on my way! Uni's going good, and the sun is begining to show its face around here, which is nice, given that too much bad weather turns me into a troll. Sunshine just makes me so much more optimistic...not always, no, but more so than if it were raining. Yesterday I slipped on some mud and sprained my wrist really badly though, and it's a right pain...you should've seen me trying to undo my bra with it LOL. Oh well, that'll teach me. Or not. Class was cancelled today, so i'm gonna enjoy the sunny morning and probably watch the rest of 'MISERY', a film that i've seen a good thousand times and never tired of it. The book was fantastic too! I'm out. Ciao!
I had a bit of a relapse last week, but only slightly. I think being ill kinda took its toll on me, and I just got depressed with not being able to have chocolate and such. To be honest, what I ate was still filling, healthy and nutritious, but it was just of higher calories than I really want,and if I ate like that all the time then i'd never lose weight! Still, my body IS looking slimmer! I've been dieting about a month now, and me being a fool I still haven't gotten scales yet! I could've lost an astonishing amount and not even realise it! On the other hand, I might've lost just a little bit, only it looks like alot. Either way, i'm happy. Also, the sun has come out today and something about that just makes me feel good. Next on the agenda...I want a bicycle. They're great excersize and fun, especially as an alternative to walking //sighboringsigh//. Other news: My friend laura and I enquired about a flat to move into for next year, and was told that there was one available with 3 bedrooms (there is 3 of us moving) RIGHT outside campus, next to the shops and tube station! Hah! how lucky is that? Apparently there are 3 3rd year girls living there right now which is promising, because if it was good for them, it should be good for us too right? Also, it's within our budget! Hurray!! Let's hope they don't decide to stay, instead of going home =/ anyway, if we get the place then great, but if not, we can still go back and see what else the estate agents have to offer. S'all good! Oh, and if anyone's interested, i've decided to start contributing to my wordpress blog again. I put cartoons up there aswell as general blabberings about uni and such...it's just I haven't posted in so long, because some of the content was too sad to read again. Hopefully if I put up cartoons and things, then there will be an actual *reason* for anyone to comment, or even so much as read it. After all, what's so interesting about yet another angsty teen diary? Nothing! All the best blogs have subjects...mine shall be Uni, writing, and cartoons. Oh, alright...of course there will be angsty rants, but hey, they come with the package! All for now. Ash x Wordpress Blog
I've been sick for about 2-3 days. I've been exhausted and have had a constant headache. For a couple weeks (As long as i've been dieting) I haven't been able to *go* to the toilet properly (if you get me). In fact, I hadn't been at all til the other day. I thought that was just a natural reaction to a drastic change in diet. <If you don't want too much info, don't read on> I've had chronic diarrhea for the last two days, but it's more like just water. I've lost my appetite and I feel completely dehydrated. I was up and down during the night passing nothing but water - whatever I drank/ate came straight out again. It's like my organs aren't working properly. I'm scared. My back and tummy aches and feels bloated - yesterday night, everytime I had to rush to the loo, I came back freezing cold and shiverring, and yet I felt really hot to touch. Then it switched - I felt boiling hot. I checked my temperature and it was 37.8 - I think that's normal? Last night I slept through solidly and have only had to *go* once this morning. However, I still feel sick and tired and headachey, and I haven't been able to go to Uni because I just don't feel up to it - also, i'd rather me indoors so that if I have another bout of sickness i'm not somewhere difficult. Can drastic changes in diets do this?? Is there something i've done horribly wrong? Sorry for all the gross info, but hey, be lucky it isn't you.
I've been dieting for about two weeks now, and I feel so much...healthier. I actually feel cleansed, it's amazing. Eating the right food has actually made me feel slim before i've even gotten there! My usual diet: Breakfast - Small bowl of cornflakes and chopped banana OR two slices of small nimble bread, toasted, low fat spread. Lunch - Wafer-thin chicken with salad in brown nimble bread OR Crabsticks on crunchy crackerbread (only 19 cals per piece....amazing stuff) OR Small crabstick salad with a teaspoon of dressing. Din Dins - Soup and a slice of brown bread OR Stir-fry vegetables with egg noodles OR Chicken with red/green peppers OR Tomatoes/scrambled egg/beans on toast Dessert: Low-fat yogurt, and a piece of fruit as a snack. If I get hungry inbetween meals I either have a small bowl of cornflakes, fruit, or a piece of nimble bread (toasted). Aaaaand I think that concludes whatever I might've eaten during the last two weeks. My treat was a small mug of hot chocolate, which I felt guilty for, but it stopped the cravings for a bit. Amazing as it sounds...I haven't eaten any chocolate! Today I felt awful though - our car ran into trouble and we were stuck for hours waiting for the repair man to come. I was really hungry (my dinner time has become quite early, around 5-6pm, and it was nearing 9pm) so I went in to try and find something healthy - bad luck. I managed a 300 calorie sandwhich and :sigh: a bag of baked walkers crisps I ate the crisps but only half the sandwhich. I guess my calorie intake wasn't so big considering I halved it (a trick i've picked up) but I feel so bad for having eaten them they were baked, so 70% less fat I guess...but still....I feel like I broke my diet. Ugh. I know I didn't *have* to, but it was either that or chocolate, and to be honest, I'd rather eat something that was low-fat and a fraction of the calories of the usual choice of crisps then go hungry. Especially when I had an hour car ride ahead of me too...I'm not stupid enough to starve myself for the sake of that. I've been walking alot more this week, getting up earlier, and being more active since going to uni - however, I haven't been to the gym. It's been snowing constantly so the roads are slippy and it's freezing cold at Uni. I know it's no excuse, but this isn't swimming weather. I think i've lost quite a few pounds since starting, as you actually do when you first make the drastic diet change. I know that soon it'll whittle down to....what? 2 pounds a month? Hah. Unfortunately I have no idea how much I haven't bought scales yet, but I really should do. I also need to make a calorie-intake diary to log everyday...I suppose those things are next on the agenda. It's worth it though, in the long run. Great points: I've noticed weight-loss from my waist, and I've had lots of compliments of how slim my face looks! Weight seems to come off my face first. I know that really it comes off equally all over, but my face seems to be most noticable. Must keep going Must keep going Must keep going....
It might be the semi-erotic reading I've been doing lately, but all of a sudden I feel grotesquely overweight, ugly, and a complete turn-off. I want to be able to dress up and look gorgeous. I want to be able to wear skirts and shorts, vest tops and dresses. I'm sick of hiding myself away and feeling like just the fat useless girl that lumbers around the place and clearly has no confidence. I need to change desperately, and I'm ready to. I'm seriously dieting now, and I'm going to start excersizing too. It'll be difficult, but if others can do it, so can I. I'm easing myself into my diet this week, and then when I'm back at Uni, I plan to stock my cupboards with nothing but healthy dieting food, and excersize daily. I also want to go swimming atleast once a week. I'm 3 days in so far....I must get a set of scales so I can see how much I've lost. Next week I'm going to start recording my daily calorie intake, any excersize I've done, and whatever weight I've lost in this blog. Wish me luck. Perhaps there's a pretty girl waiting to get out...
Evil penguin Evil penguin Evil penguin Evil penguin Evil penguin Evil penguin Evil penguin Evil penguin Evil penguin Evil penguin.
I'm getting really bored of feeling so crap all the time now. Really, really bored. My moods have been really bad the last few years, but this year in particular has been terrible. I've been having dramatic highs and lows, but now, it just seems like i'm on a constant low. And when I say low, I mean really ****ing low. Anything bad that happens, or even an off look from someone or a sarcastic comment always results in the same answer: It's because I'm a complete C/nt and I don't deserve to be happy. I don't feel secure and I don't feel like I'm connecting with anybody. Everyday I feel like a zombie, as though I'm a ghost looking through my eyes without actually controlling my body. I'm so tired all the time, completely exhausted. Everything seems so murky and low and horrible. I feel like I'm always on the verge of either crying, or screaming. The only time I'm happy is when Matt is with me, because that's the only time when I feel like a whole person - or like a person at all for that matter. I'm f/cking sick to death of feeling this way, and now that I'm at Uni I really can't afford for it to start getting worse. I don't care what I have to do, I just want it to f/cking stop and go away.
Here's a summary: Say goodbye to parents sobbing my eyes out. an hour later being invited out by a group of bimbos - but hey, I have to push myself to make friends, right? Have a massive migraine- go to bimbo room where they give me ****ty whine, two different types, and I down it on an empty stomach. I Immediately feel worse. Go all the frickin' way to picadilly circus with them, being the odd one out, them gradually taking less notice of me until I might aswell disappear alltogether. I'm the short one who doesn't where heels. I realise it's a mistake when I feel like i'm blacking out on the tube and we aren't even there yet. At the tube station a stranger passed me their travel card - god send right? We get to the stupid nightclub eventually and to my horror I cannot find my ID. It's ALWAYS in my purse but for some reason it isn't there. I find the excuse to leave - they don't question it or offer to help. I leave feeling like an idiot but so glad to be able to get out. I use my free travel card and on the way I feel like death. It seems to take an age. When I get to the station for my Uni, I feel so sick that I have to find somewhere to puke. I run out of options and puke in some horrible corner. It's 12am at this time, so nobody's around but I feel dirty and want to die. I stumble down this long road, it's pitch black - I'm crying down the phone to Matt because everything's so horrible. I've made no real friends, I've got a horrible headache and sickness, and I can't even go back to the comfort of my own home. I get to my room eventually and need to puke again. That poor sink. There is nothing but cheap whine in my stomach. More crying on the phone. Eventually, I get a horrible night of broken sleep on a hard bed and pillow. I wake up feeling like death, lonely and foolish. Why am I such a ****ing moron? I'm always the bloody loser no matter what I do. What a ****ing horrible first night.
(You're supposed to write 25 random things about yourself, to give people an idea about you. One of those silly facebook things) 1) I usually have crushes on men aged 40 and over. (Johnny Depp, Keanu Reeves, James Hetfield for examples). I just really like older men...don't ask why, lol. 2) My first crush as a child was for David Bowie as the goblin king in 'The Labyrinth' 3) As a child, after seeing the Addams Family film (Christina Ricci, Raul Julia, Angelica Huston) I tried to sleep with my arms crossed over my chest like Wednesday Addams every night. 4) My favourite colours are Black, Purple, and red. 5) I have Hypothyroidism and Chronic Fatigue, which is strange for my age group, but not entirely uncommon. I have to take two pills every day for the rest of my life, just to stop myself from falling asleep constantly each day. It's ****. 6) I need to be an Author, and I write all the time. I say 'need', because I want this more than anybody and always have done. 7) I'm a bookworm 8) I draw for fun, but am often told that I should make it into a career. However, I think hobbies should stay hobbies. 9)My natural hair colour is brown/ginger, but I've been dying it since I was about 11. 10) I didn't listen to music (except on the radio, and my dads music) until I was a teenager, when I discovered heavy metal and Rock. 11) I'm frugal with money, but sometimes tight to the point of selfishness, and inability to let go and have fun. Lol. 12) I only drink Cider, I hate most alcoholic drinks. 13) I've never been drunk before, and probably never will be. I can't stand the thought of losing control of myself. 14) Past mistakes are blocked out of my mind, and it infuriates me when people try and remind me of them. 15) I've gone mad over Jealousy many times. 16) I've never truly believed in myself, or believed that anyone else has either. 17) I'm awful at Maths and science, but great at English - my talents are few, but distinguishable. 18) I'm only ever peaceful when I'm sleeping - If i'm stressed, upset, depressed - I will sleep until it goes away. That's probably why I've never had an attendance rate over 80% at school. 19) I'm a pessimist, but I'm good at being optimistic for other people. 20) I'm very cynical, but I try not to be. If I see flowers, I look for a coffin. 21) Tim Burton is my favourite director, because all the films I loved as a child were directed by him, and I wasn't even aware of it. I've loved everything he's ever made since. 22) My favourite director, actress, and actor were all together in 'Sweeney Todd' and it was wonderful. 23) I'm scared about Uni, but am desperate to do well, because I'm scared for the future. 24) There isn't a single thing I like about myself, but atleast I know who I am now. There was a time when I was very confused about my identity. 25) My dog pebbles means the world to me.
I'm so happy, I screamed and ran straight to my mum when I found out. She's been crying all day, haha. I cried too. This really is the best day of my life. Everything that I went through this year was worth it, the good, the bad, and the ugly. This year really was the worst year of my life. But now, I can start a new one. I just can't believe that I've really done it. And I couldn't of done all of this without Matt taking me by the hand all the way. I love him. Middlesex here I come!
Antichrist Director: Lars Von Trier Rating: 0.2/10 The only thing that could’ve prepared me for the utter monstrosity that was ‘Antichrist’ would be if Jim Henson teamed up with Pamela Anderson to create a low budget porno entitled ‘When the Muppets met Pam – adventures in the wild.’ Though to be frank even that’d be easier to swallow; I’d rather be face to face with Pam’s love pillows and Kermit the frog for two hours than have to suffer another disgusting image of Willem Defoe in yet another excessively explicit sex scene with his trout-faced partner and their animatronic fox any day of the week. The minute I heard the name ‘Willem Defoe’ I immediately thought of these two words: ‘Artsy Bull****’ – call it a premonition, but low and behold, I was right – and it took me a grand total of ten seconds at the most for me to realise that either I’m a precognitive psychic genius or that most films beginning with ‘Prologue’ written on a chalkboard generally do turn out to be utter ****e. Another slow-motion shot of Willem Defoe’s ever-so-neutral crease-ridden mug under showering water confirmed this (How artistic!), but it wasn’t until I saw the following scenes of their toddler falling to his death whilst they thrashed about in the bathroom to sombre music that I realised exactly what I was in for. Yet another film festival throw-out, splurged from some sex obsessed ‘artist’ with a vision of raw-reality and lots of experimental camera angles to make up for the lack of funds followed. Let’s begin with my immediate thoughts – Sex will undoubtedly be their ‘coping method’ when grieving for their son; the intertwining scenes of sex and their child’s journey towards the window (and his proceeding death) were predictable enough, as was the scene consisting of the pair knocking the child toys off of the counter to create space for themselves, which was less of a symbolic foreshadowing, but more of an artsy slap in the face with a wet fish. This to me was a prime example of regurgitated abstract symbolism; anybody who’s watched channel 5 soft-core porn at three in the morning (or channel four in the 80’s) will have seen it all before; there’s nothing contemporary or meaningful about that. The child’s teddy bear impacting the ground seconds after the boy did might’ve acted as some sort of symbolism for the death of either innocence or attachment, but whether that was the director’s intention or not is neither here nor there – the raw symbolism, for me, was not only a poor choice but predictable to the point of nausea, given that just about every child death scene in just about any film will feature a similar technique to this. It seems that the director has tried desperately hard to be original in just the opening scene (or ‘chapter’ as the chalkboard stated) but failed, and instead regurgitated old methods and created a sloppily contrasted sequence that pretty much spoke for the entire film. The text featured just two main characters, played by Willem Defoe as ‘He’ (Oh well done Lars, keeping them nameless to create empty-shell characters for the audience to pour themselves into. If the film wasn’t so tacky that might’ve been interesting.) and Charlotte Gainsbourg as ‘she’. Now don’t get me wrong, It’s not that I don’t appreciate good acting – I know it when I see it, and given the circumstances, the pair did pretty good – not fantastic – but good. The dialogue, however, was terrible – wooden, monotonous, unrealistic and (you won’t be surprised to hear this) sickeningly profound. Neither character seemed to give a rat’s arse that their child has lost his life, but cared more about spitting out therapist Jargon for the benefit of the apparently uncultured audience. It would seem that the entire film was made not for the sake of a good story, but to spray the audience with philosophical backsplash and force hopeless profundity down their already gagging throats. Faults such as her fear of the outdoors (having already laid down in the grass and slept mid-trek, I might point out) acted as nothing more than a gap-filler and excuse to reinforce the psychologist’s skill and determination to help his ‘loved one’ as it were, and yet another prompt for ‘she’ to expose ‘He’ to his own arrogance and taunt him about his lack of ability to credit others in their capabilities when it comes to anything remotely intelligent. Again, it was repetitive, boring, and pointless. Parts like this left me wanting to scream ‘We get it! You’ve succeeded director! I see what you did there! Director: 1, audience: 0 – happy now?!’ The props and camera techniques were sloppily presented and tactless – the camera cut from shot to shot in quick succession making it difficult to focus, and not only that, but the proceeding shots weren’t even level with one another, making it all the more harsh on the eyes. The merging of scenes wasn’t awful, but again predictable – in one scene the camera zooms into a glass of murky plant water and out again to reveal the next scene – it’s an easy method to use when you’re penniless, but if it held no real purpose other than to cut from scene to scene then it might as well not be there at all – they could’ve at least cut to a scene of some relation to the murky plant water, for a start. The ‘three beggars’ (A crow, a deer, and a fox) constantly presented ‘He’ with images of death, such as the crow dying and the deer running with its dead young hanging from its bottom still covered in blood and amniotic fluid, which is fine if you’re a fan of ‘Surfacing’ by Margaret Atwood (In fact, having seen the entire film, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if it was inspired by that very book) but I draw the line at the talking fox. I tell you no word of a lie when I say that the entire audience burst into raucous laughter after seeing the animatronic fox turn to Willem Defoe and declare ‘Chaos Reins!’ in a very Henson-esque manner. Think ‘The dark crystal’. If there was ever a time when an already terrible film went right ahead and bit itself right in the arse then this was it – the wannabe-artistry I can comprehend, but the cheap puppetry? Come on now, Lars – you’re pushing it. The problem that was most prominent to me was that the director clearly had no idea what he really wanted this film to be – one moment it acted as a montage of the grieving process (Thank you once again for the instalments, Mr.Chalkboard), the next it was an abstract view of sexual representation, and the next it was a woman’s quest to demonstrate philosophical and mythical knowledge to her typically sceptical therapist husband, as well as conquering her angst regarding the mistreatment of women back in god-knows-what century. None of these concepts are a problem in particular, but it was more the way in which it was delivered. The director chose to use raw visuals (and scarcely any research) to convey ‘she’s’ psychosis, and though its harshness may not have been such a problem had it been produced more tactfully, the fact that it had absolutely no foundations supporting it (I.E a plausible story and character representation to begin with) meant that it was completely useless – raw visuals will be nothing more than raw visuals if the audience feels absolutely no attachment to them. Not only that, but the way in which the sexual representation and mistreatment of women was delivered was disgusting and hardly difficult to interpret – cutting off her own clitoris with a pair of scissors to de-sexualise herself I can understand quite easily, as could the rest of the audience – but the fact that it was filmed in such detail was not only vile but patronising. I’m left wondering why the director felt the need to deliver it in such a way as though the audience needed a reality check. The constant dirty sex scenes and grotesque de-sexualisation (Crushed testicles and blood-spurting Penis’s, anyone?) as well as the sketchy historical references (the buried women, the faceless people ascending up the hill at the end as though ‘He’ had been awakened’) weren’t altogether unnecessary, but it was painfully obvious that they served no purpose other than to force the audience into feeling something that the director simply couldn’t achieve any other way. Over all, the film was a complete shambles – It dressed itself up to be some symbolic, abstract, victorious breakthrough in contemporary film making ( or “the most controversial film of the year” as advertised), but in the end served as nothing more than an artsy porno with minimal back story to keep you watching. I’d recommend this film to anybody who wanted to see the biggest cinematic ****up of 2009. 0.2 out of 10 – and that’s being generous, trust me. This review was written purely to express my opinion about the film, as well as put my writing skills to productive use. By A.E.Grace (me!)