30.11.10
Marilyn
I married at the age of 17 and felt the weight of a life already spoken for, a man who I was supposedly destined to marry, children to bear who I would have trouble caring for, the image of a woman who wasn’t expected to do anything but become creator to an ideal family, an ordinary vision.
When we first got married, he was a distant man, I felt him best embraced, a hard chest and arms that clutched me like a dream, otherwise our lives moved to a preset rhythm, roles we couldn’t break and a music that slowly seeped into the background of our muddy existence. Over time he softened, had beautiful things to say about tomorrow, that we’d stay loyal to this path and soon find ourselves like everyone else, happy.
I learned to write poems during the days spent alone, the isolation tests the limits of your emotion and played catalyst to a creative force I could neither control nor understand, I began with verses brief and full of dark whimsy, but learned to pack more of myself into the prose, days when I felt empty and giftless my poems breathed heavy.
The day he sought to love me, was when he became a stranger. His every attempt to be affectionate, each will to kiss and hold was suddenly infused with warm and nervous energy, a stillness roused inside him and wanted to be celebrated, I tried to fix my feet unto this swingle, but there was a boundary I couldn’t pass. I could only love him so much, something in my heart held on to this defeat like it was an opportunity.
I’ve taught my body to recognize your name, fingers flock to a memory of nights content in quiet, we saw too late that we had aged and our youth was now a wish, perpetually wishing for better things. I have little left to give, contemplation is a young girl’s game. My being is hustled like machinery, void of the simplest of faith.
We’ve lead a long life together, I’m sorry for the person I’ve become. All that you desire from a woman’s company, the things you’ve missed in my voice and smile, all the parts of me there are to treasure: they are all there locked into the poems I’ve written, devote yourself to them, you may be lucky to find a woman still dancing (across dots,letters and infinitely open spaces), she will whisper into your ear lovely things and lull you into an ageless bliss.
…
29.11.10
28.11.10
Interview: At HOME with Elle Piyanka
Its obvious to say that nearly the whole weight of the film rests on this one character, the daughter of the family, and it was a hard role to cast for because we had hundreds auditioning, but it is impossible to gage someone’s personality within such a short time. Especially because the role required very little dialogue, my idea was for it to be very atmospheric and to establish the characters with a passive, invincible voice. On paper the project is bare and quiet as is the short script, because I wanted it to possess a loud and impactful psychology.
My film HOME deals with a home invasion, a family of four who live in the country are suddenly confronted with a group of strangers all dressed in black, they communicate but not verbally, are organized, schematic and dangerous.
When I met Elle I wasn’t sure about her, so many of the girls we met before were unimpressive and I began to had doubts about the character, thought maybe the vision I had for it was unachievable, so it was a leap of faith to take Elle.
And in the time we spent with the whole crew, I was deeply fascinated by her as an individual, this role demanded a lot, a girl’s innocence is broken in the most terrifying way possible, the courage she finds to deal with the events of that night are accompanied by a psychopathic rage that is pure emotion, it is no place for words, reason, fear, the brain is sieged by one overriding need: to survive.
Elle latched onto this character, fed and groomed her and finally became her. She needed to be provoked, go berserk, be tamed, when the cameras roled I sensed a force from her physique that was defensive and always on guard, with a mouth still closed she could project a face that was screaming, there was the blood, sweat and tears we saw in the character, a part that refused to leave you comfortable, pushed you into darker places, and this was entirely Elle’s responsibility.
HOME needs to be seen and experienced. People do crazy things everyday, and from our point of view it is outrageous, in this journey Elle and I take you to merely one example of how circumstances can influence certain actions, and I hope by the end of the film despite whatever personal reaction you may have towards this character, be it sympathy, revolt, annoyance, I hope that between the two of you, a connection was made.
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27.11.10
25.11.10
A Late Review: Harry Potter & the Deathly Hallows Pt. 1
Its smart of them to split the last installement into two, putting them 8 months apart, holding fans hostage to the franchise, but after watching Part 1 I its obvious they could’ve easily cut to the chase and wrapped it all up into one film.
There are so many uneccessary bits that linger and stay longer than they should, between scenes of them solving mysteries and nearly being killed, are parts where they read books, stare pointlessly into the scenery, suddenly fight about petty things.
This is however, the most picturesque of the series, the acting is top-notch and there is a professionalism and maturity that was missing before. If in the past we were trained to be fascinated by spells, magic and the discovery of all these kooky things, now they are barely mentioned, the story is stripped of tricks and tomfoolery, and in the few occasions where magic takes centre stage it is spectacular, free of loudness or fanfare, and the main actors are no longer forced to walk throughout an entire film with shocked, impressed faces.
Rushing to conclude, whilst still having to play the fake puzzle, characters get into trouble only to conveniently disappear themselves out of innuendo, this is the pattern than repeats, any threat of real danger can’t be taken seriously, knowing that the script is altogether ready and stocked with quick and silly remedies.
I don’t think anyone below the age of 20 would really enjoy this much, for a story about wizards and witches it is sadly without magic: a wand with lights shooting out of it, a small bag that can actually store an entire house’ worth of items, clues and symbology. This is not magic,this is Nickelodeon-type stuff for toddlers.
150 minutes is a long time to endure, but there were few highlights for me.
Helena Bonham Carter makes best of the little time she’s given, exacting brilliant, short bursts of lunacy and her character is much more polished than the screaming mess that first appeared in the series. When a Hocrux is unlocked and a gusto of darkness is unleashed, it is reminiscent of the strong imagery of the Potter series, streaks of black smoke (Dementors) flashing through the sky, tall pointed hats and gold, winged emblems, these are strong colors and shapes that will be remembered a long time after the Potter fanaticism expires. Not unlike the green crystals that form Emerald City, or the Yellow Brick Road in Wizard of Oz.And finally,the animated retelling of A Tale of Three Brothers is currently front-runner to being the most amazing thing I've seen in cinema this year, it was luscious,pure beauty and my mouth was gaping open the whole way.
I just know this will be a case of Kill Bill Vol. 1 and 2, where Tarantino put all the action in the first, and for the plot and exposition to bloom in the latter. Except here its inverse. So Part 1 of the Deathly Hollows might’ve done well purely due to our anticipation and was full of talky-talk, but Part 2 will no doubt play a bigger role being the final punch, there’ll be less talking, more explosions and it’ll be a shameless and entertaining bloodbath,once the two are viewed as a whole I think we’ll see how they complement each other, and the magic of Deathly Hallows will be obvious.
...
22.11.10
Draft: Vacation
I don’t normally refer to him as my father, it feels like a foreign term and leaves a light sting on the mouth, but that’s what he technically is. A few months ago we met and I believe he was dedicated to getting sober, something I’ve never heard him say or seen his behavior indicate.
He seemed to be sincere about changing, and yes althroughout my childhood, and in my late teens before I left home he was a monster, I watched everyone in my family disintegrate and wear themselves down with depression. The thing I have realised is fundamental to relationships is that having a close bond to your immediate family, is a prerequisite to be able to connect to others, and this is a skill both my brother and I lack. Being young, I can’t remember a time when I didn’t feel alone, boxed into myself.
He was drunk most of the time, I don’t recall this being an active problem, he stuck to his couch, numbed by beer and TV and this is how he grew old, a dark neon flickering across his empty face. I didn’t think much about how my mother felt back then, we weren’t close either, noone ever spoke of anything personal and only much later did I know she suffered most. Imagine having to share a bed with a man now vacated from affection, an absent being, indifferent to his own family.
To me, the prospect of escape was something to look forward to, I knew one day Carl and I would leave and build our own lives from scratch, have people we could rely on and genuinely care for.
So when my father apologized and the words came without a stutter, scripted almost, but I couldn’t expect every man to be as emotional as I am, so I accepted. We slept in separate beds in this dingy motel upstate, where the plan was for us to stay there until he felt clean, however long it took, then maybe later I’d take him to see Carl.
I was there when he had trouble sleeping and was soaked in sweat and his whole body red with this furious heat, he had nightmares and wept in his sleep. In the day appeared this huge appetite and I’d play along, we binged on fried chicken and tacos over afternoon soaps on TV, waiting on another day.
I admit that I expected to find someone new, a person I might’ve missed growing up, someone I could have lost to the booze. Yet as he sobered up and paved each day towards recovery, I began to see how wishful I was, there could be nothing that was kept hidden, he could've just been hollow. This was what I suspected, and I was afraid of the disappointment and didn't want to find out, and I told myself that the years I spent with him was punishment enough.
I didn’t want to be involved with him anymore, even if he could’ve turned out a better person, all the best intentions could not have reassured me. So one night I waited until he was deep asleep, packed my things in the dark and left.
I haven’t seen him since, he didn’t call, its better this way for him to belong to a ruined past. I worry about Carl and call to check up on him everyday, personally I think I can handle whatever damage my father might’ve brought, but I put in a lot of effort into pulling Carl out and have him come out the other side as unaffected as it was possible for him to be, and I love my brother more than anything in the world. I can’t put his happiness into the hands of a man who could have been a better father to us, its far too late to fix things. We moved on a long time ago, I guess he should be able to.
…
21.11.10
20.11.10
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