The universal truth about Fight Club

I have never reviewed a YouTube ckip before...

My fondness for Jane Austen has been reported here many a time. I am indeed a latecomer to her genius, and I do love the modern stuff that has been done with her few novels. She has been transformed into a real horror show. She has been mashed-up with time-travel.

And now there is this puppy:



One of my favourite films, meets one of my favourite genres of novels and dramas. This is the REASON YouTube works!!

Zombies only want you for your brains

So, zombies, huh?

Seems like they are kind of everywhere. The omnipresent undead

Jane Austen has been busy again (almost as if she is a zombie herself, posthumously prolific, this chick), with the help of Seth Graeme-Smith, creating the deliciously disgusting and post-modern Pride & Prejudice & Zombies. Ever wondered why Darcy so suddenly turned from "she is tolerable I suppose" to "she is the most handsome worman I have ever met"? Its because at the ball where he DIDN'T dance with her, there was a zombie attack, and the kung-fu trained Bennett sisters went NUTS. And Eliza is apparently the best fighter of all.

Have you wondered why Darcy convinced Bingley that Jane wasn't interested? It's because he thought she had been bitten by one of the manky terribles!

And why did Charlotte settle for the really inpleasant and unhumourous Mr Collins? It was because she had been infected by the plague, and wanted to experience married life and have an honourable burial before she died.

The zombies are used to kind of explain all the bizarre conventions of Austenesque society, plus the incorporation of gratuitous violence into a bonnet-tale is a welcome refreshment.

And last night was Zombieland. In the vein of the fanfuckingtastic Shaun of the Dead, this is also a zom rom com. The nameless of characters of Columbus, Tallahassee (once accidentally referred to as Florida), Wichita and Little Rock join forces to cope in the post-apocalyptic ruined nation of the USA.

This film is gratuitously gory. More blood and guts and offal and sinew than any human needs to see. After about 15 minutes, you have to get used to it, or you may hurl (as my companion almost did. Still smiling), you pretty much have to make a decision to see it as tomato sauce and pieces of foam.

It is also high-camp ridiculous. Complete suspension of disbelief is required.

But it is great fun. Join the ride, and shoot the control box to let this film take you away. Killer one liners, really lovable protagonists and fantastic titles that are incorporated into the action the whole way through. Heaps of fun, but not for the weak of stomach.

PS The future of the zombies in pop culture is pretty safe, too. The P&P&Z film is in pre-production, and Zombieland II is set for release in 2011

More of a Slide

Gotta say, I thought this was a bit disappointing for Nick Hornby. Slam has a very beige blurb on the back cover. The premise of a talking Tony Hawke poster is lame beyond belief. The tale of teenage pregancy is cliche beyond reckoning.

But High Fidelity and Fever Pitch were such good treatments of what otherwise could be considered cliche topics the midlife crisis of an underachieving music fan (who doesn't know one of them? or isn't one of them?) and the difficulties of being a passionate football supporter. Plus they made for some fanbloodytastic stimulus for films. John Cusak? Hell yeah! Colin Firth? Uh-huh! There is an extra B in Hornby films.

So I decided to give Slam a bash.

And was underwhelmed. Usually, Hornby writes with bite and pith and moments of clarity of recognition of one's own life on the page. With Slam, his first "teenage" fiction he has dumbed himself down. I would have thought as an English teacher in his previous life that he would have known that in order to write a really good novel that will appeal to teenagers you SHOULD NOT DUMB DOWN. EVER.

The crazy narrative structure and time travel governed by a poster that regurgitates the autobiography of the world's most famous skater make the book a little more complex, but not more interesting. Having said that though, the characters were slightly compelling. Not in a Harry Potter or Lyra Belaqua or Eliza Bennett Need-To-Know-What-Happens-NOW kind of way. But in a Oh-It's-Bedtime-I-Might-See-What-Happens-To-These-Kiddies kind of way.

If I had a job in a bookshop, this is NOT one that I would put a staff recommends sticker onto.

Whip It: Good

Drew Barrymore is a little bit like ordering at the West Bubblefuck Thai take-away. Sometimes it is really good - flavoursome, succulent, noodles cooked to perfection, just the right amount of spice. Othertimes it is decidedly average - like when they put too much of that weird red sauce in the pad thai, or when they use too much oil in the chicken cashew.


Sometimes Mz Barrymore is spot on. Fifty First Dates and The Perfect Catch (or Fever Pitch if you want to be all American-remake-that-doesn't-acknowledge-the-Nick-Hornby/Colin-Firth-original about it) for example.


Other times she is very much NOT on the money. Never Been Kissed and Ever After for example.


I do love the fact that she has overcome that whole alcoholic at age 4 or something rediculous, and growing-up-in-the-paparazzi-eye to become a film producer with her own (very cheesily named) production company Flower Films. She has gone "I've got some money. I've put up with some shit in my life. I'm going to do something with it." Kudos to you, Drew.


But it was with a raised eyebrow that I learned of her directorial debut; Whip It.



Then David and Margaret pretty much gave it a luke warm review, and I wasn't sold at all. In fact I thought I would give it a miss. Even though it has the very adorable Ellen Page in it. And even though the subject is roller derby - something that has always fascinated me.


But then I did a movie marathon with my bro (Monday and Tuesday!) and we saw the preview. And it looked *AWSOME!* (you really need to sing that in a high pitched voice to get the full effect of the sentence). And so on Wednesday, we went.


And it was good. (And ever since then, I have had Devo's "Whip It" in my head)


Sure it might have been the fact that I was just in the mood for some silliness of a predictable sports film. And possibly it might have been the fact that the treat of 3 dates with my bro in a row was a treat I couldn't help but be delighted with. And the fact that I was hyped up on sugar and post-gym endorphins also probably assisted my jubilance. But I loved it!!


The plot is pretty much based on the same old sports film structure. In fact, change a culture, and a sport, and this could be Bend it like Beckham on skates. Fights with mother, lies and sneaking around, gorgeous skinny boys in the love story sub-plot (and seriously, Landon Pigg is a dead ringer for the delectable Jonathan Rhys Myers).


Ellen Page was indeed adorable. She is an entirely believable actress, especially with the coming-of-age genre. And Alia Shawkat (Maibe Funke in Arrested Development) as the best friend was so hot. And fabulously obsessed with cute boys.


As soon as the opening credits started, I leaned over to my bro and said "This is going to be a killer sound track", and I was not disappointed. Heaps of indie gold, a bit of old school rock... Of course, no outlet in West Bubblefuck will stock it, so I'll have to order online and wait a few days.


And then there was the skating. I have been a little obsessed with all things 1950s design for a while now. Give me a full skirt, or a cherry motif, a cinched waste or a high ponytail and you can pretty much bet that I'm in. Roller derby has the blunt fringes, the fishnets and the frilly knickers thing poached from 50s design. But it is also a contact sport for girls. Which my mother reckons is just soft porn. But I think is pretty awesome. Plus there is the whole tough-names-with-puns thing. And we know what a sucker I am for puns. Bloody Holly, Smashley Simpson, Babe Ruthless... The derby scenes were pretty haphazard (Margaret complained that she couldn't keep up with the action - I just reckon she isn't sports-brain-wired) but so much fun. And I could only see ONE stunt stand-in in the credits (and that was for Barrymore, possibly because she was a bit busy, you know, directing and stuff). I laughed so hard when the Hurl Scouts (the team we were meant to be cheering) got floored by the Flight Attendants (coached by none other than Har Mar Superstar).


I've played one game of hilarious rugby in my life. I used to play basketball (which could get pretty rough) and I plan on playing soccer again next year (even though West Bubblefuck doesn't have women's comp!!!! Seriously, how backwards is that??!?). I'm not averse to some push and shove, and I do love showing off a haematoma. So all in all, I kind of want to play. Not only because it looks like a mega amount of fun. But also because I know it would annoy my mother...?

If only I could skate.

(Apologies for the apparent addiction to parentheses in this post. Possiblity of too much caffiene causing my brain to work tangentally)

Obsession?

So I have been contemplating this blog, and its purpose, its title, and ultimately who I want to be reading it.

I realised that the most interesting stuff I am going to be saying on here is probably going to be the reviews of the stuff of culture, pop, modern and otherwise.

So now I am thinking that while playing with words is probably my favourite thing to do in the world, I don't know that it is the obsession that I am exploring in this blog. I need a new title, cause Entendre doesn't cut it.

I also realised that Mr Darcy keep cropping up. I don't want him to keep rearing his arrogant head into my life as much as he does, for fear that I will cripple myself with the obsession like Amanda Price...

This post, despite the opening line, has little purpose.

Post Script: I changed the title this afternoon. (NB it used to be ENTENDRE)

Mr Darcy meets Sam Tyler... I mean Amanda Price

It is a universally acknowledged truth that a woman in possession of two eyes and enough hands to hold a novel will be entirely consumed with obsession about Mr Darcy

I was a latecomer to the Austen phenomenon. I HATED studying Emma in year 12. But then, you are meant to hate your HSC texts. (Then again, I loved 1984 and Brave New World...). I managed to avoid Old Jane at uni, but a few years ago I pretty much devoured all her works, along with the appropriations (Clueless, Bridget Jones, Pride & Promiscuity... etc) as well as ALL the film and TV versions of everything.

And in reality,without a syllable of hyperbole, it is a universal truth that Colin Firth is the ultimate in Darcy characters, and he shall never be surpassed.

(and nor shall the Wet Shirt Scene. Phwaor!)

As we have already discussed Sunday Night, as the holiest of nights, should be devoted to The Bonnet Drama.

Last week, Lost in Austen started. It was not as good as the BBC-Firth P&P. Hell, NOTHING is as good as that. It didn't even reach the moorish heights of the Knightley/MacFadyen fluff (that forced both G & I to take sharp intake of breathe at the shot of Darcy striding across the moors. I say again... phwaor!@!!)

In fact, it was a little bit like Bonnet Drama Collides With Life On Mars/Back To The Future. A bit of banging on doors, trying to get back to... the future (in this case, Hammersmith). It wasn't quite bonnety enough to be a totally successful bonnet drama, but it was enough to whet the Austen tastebuds.
On the ABC, we saw it as 2 long episodes, which I understand is different to the ITV screening of 4 eps...


I spent the first half of Ep1, silently begging Amanda to get her bonnet on. The fish out of water leather jacket was just distracting and annoying, when everyone else is looking fab in the decolotage and baloony in the arse in the empire line goodness. Her dramatically ironic whinging about what is meant to be annoyed the shit out of me- Amanda, sweety, you're in a different text, obviously. You got drunk and snogged Bingley. Your Mr Collins sniffs his hand once he readjusts himself. And Caroline is a muff diver. We're not in Kansas any more!

As she got into it, as she got MORE Lost in Austen, the story/the audience/Amanda and me all managed to suspend our disbelief a little more. She donned the empire line, she turned the diction up to 11, and dropped the dropping off the ends of her words. She took up the fan, the manners and reignited her Darcy fondness.

And it turns out George Wickham, actually not a bad guy!





Oh, and there was even a bit where Amanda convinced Darcy to jump in the pond, to recreate a wet shirt.... I couldn't decide whether to swoon or laugh hysterically. A combination of reactions I have not really done before...

Of course, the naffest bit was when Darcy followed her through a door and ended up bounding out of a port-a-loo into the main junction at Hammersmith (another one of those "I've Been There!!" moments), and she ditched her dishy boy who was offering her a trip to Barbados (which he sold the Ducati for. Hi5 and Jolly would be MORTIFIED!)... wow, digression much?)

And the All Live Happily Ever After Kissing With Tongues ending was also fairly naff too.

Overall though, it was more obsessive tele. Because, obviously, I need more of that in my life...


BUT!



Ruth Ritchie, possibly my favourite columnist of all (and she writes a TV column... way to go the high brow journo!) in her SMH Spectrum this week... committed the highest form of blasphemy for those that worship at the altar of Austen...


She said And why doesn't one of us, one of the vast league of misunderstood, misguided Elizabeths, get to go back to Highfield, to Pemberton, to the ball, and cock it up our way (jeans, yum cha and swearing).


PEMBERTON!!!! Ms Ritchie has just forfeited her invitation to dine at my estate when Pemberley and Darcy are mine.

Hunt me out

My not so secret guilty pleasure is watching DVDs of TV. I try not to do illegal things like download shows, unless there is no other way I can get my hands on them. But watching season upon season of good (or utterly shite) quality drama or comedy will be a sure fire happy me.

Late last year I stumbled across Life On Mars. The sound, British version. Where it was blokey, sexist, racist, homphobic, sweaty and un PC (pardon the pun) patriarchy, where corrupt cops could pull off believable corruption because Manchester in the seventies was a sesspool of very convincing scum. Unlike that poor excuse for a remake from Across the Pond. Besides, Manchester at least still looks like it did in the seventies. Well, the parts they filmed in, anyway. Rather than using freaky stock/lighting effects... (I gave it a shot. Various Australian TV critics said that I would love it, even though/because I loved the first one. I didn't. They lied).

If you haven't seen the show, get your hands on it, and watch the whole first season without stopping for dinner.

The obsession for me was not in the main story arc. I didn't give a hoot about Sam Tyler and his time-travel/hallucination conundrum. I wasn't sold on the Tyler/Annie love story.

I only have eyes for Gene Hunt.

Despite the sexism, racism, homophobia, slightly dubious behaviour, terrible haircut and tendency toward violence.... Or maybe because of them.... (I never claimed I was a woman without issues).

And I am not the only one. Glenda Cooper has ranted on this one before me (but I only found this rant in my cyberstalking of the character). And as India Knight reports, the very clever British public voted him as some kind of sexiest character in another meaningless poll.

Maybe it's because of the delciousness of the fact that his name is also an act of someone looking for the person with the right chromosomes with which to share to make babies (because if I could end the hunt for genes with him, oh I would. I would!). And a pun that tasty (while a long stretch of the bow) is too much for me to walk by without a nibble.

Maybe its because of his razor sharp wit and matching tongue.

Or his passion and his spontaneous behaviour.

Or perhaps his authority.

Really, I think its because he resembles a seventies version of Mr Darcy. (Wow, that is the second time this month I have mentioned Darcy. Better make a tag for him too.) He is obnoxious, prejudiced, proud, talks WAY before thinking, generally tries to make himself unlikable.

And yet...

He means well. And he is unwavering in his loyalty. Just like Fitz is.

The funny thing is, I only saw it when watching Cranford. When the combination of Gene's powerful manly commanding voice (swoon!) was coupled with the sideburns, ruffled shirt and tight strides. Nothing like a Sunday night bonnet drama to give you an epiphany!

Gruff and Gruffer

The life of the late-twenty-something is invariably filled with weddings.

Usually these matrimonials see me traipsing up and down the West Bubblefuck Highway to the Big Smoke, or beyond, and forking out megabucks on transport, accommodation, food, presents, dress, shoes...

This weekend, Mohammud Came To The Mountain.

Cz and I went to school together, here in West Bubblefuck, and we went to uni together too. So when she and her Glaswegian boy flew in from Scotland for a wedding at home, all the troops from all around the place came to ME for the wedding. Gotta say, I loved the not going anywhere part of the weekend.

For as long as I have known her, Cz has been a little wedding-centric. A little obsessed with the plastic romance of Hollywood and Austen (especially Hollywood's version of Austen), and I was always worried that she wouldn't find her Leading Man. But she has.

Her BEAUTIFUL speech at the reception (which she didn't even want to make) went a little like this-

"In Alasdair I have truly found my other half. I have found the person that makes me stop wondering if there is anything out there to be waiting for. I have found my Mr Darcy - who challenges me when I need to be challenged and is by my side when I need him there"

Cry? Like a CHILD.