Category Archives: Movies

Blogmonster’s Saddest Movie Moments of All Time

Some movies have the ability to absolutely kick the crap out of you. They can send you spiraling down into the dark depths of depression, and make you sob like a little girl crying for her mummy.

I cry at sad movies. I’m a crier. When I’m traumatised by a dramatic event, carefully constructed to yank at my heart strings, I don’t keep those salty beads of emotion trapped inside like a tragic prisoner of war in the battle against public embarrassment. I let them flow until my eyes are red and puffy and my nose is running like a leaky faucet.

It is terribly unattractive. But on occasion my patheticness has worked in my favour.

Which brings me to my Sad Movie Moment Numero Uno: 

Spoiler alert.

I was five years old. We were watching The Lion King in preschool and I had secured myself a spot on the hard, carpeted floor. I don’t remember everything about that movie watching experience, but I do remember losing my shit at sad movie moment no. 1.

Mufasa’s death.

Holy crap. What a scene. The music, the self sacrifice, the betrayal, the guilt, the exile. For anyone who has seen The Lion King (and who hasn’t?), I needn’t say more. Consequently I did ball my eyes out, yet on the flip side, the teachers felt so sorry for me that they kicked out some poor kid out of the bean bag and gave me prime seating. Score.

Sad Movie Moment Numero Dos:

Keeping in the vein of Disney’s ability to make you care exorbitantly for drawn animals on a screen, we come to a touching moment in their animated classic Dumbo.

So, mumma elephant is locked away after a sudden outburst, brought on by an intense desire to protect her son. Dumbo is effectively torn from his kin and the one that loves him most. In moment no. 2, we have mumma elephant’s trunk holding her baby through the bars of her prison, swaying him back and forth, comforting him, showing him that she loves him no matter what he looks like, or how different he is, all the while the heart tugging song of ‘Baby Mine’ plays in the background.

Again, holy crap. I feel a little misty just thinking about it. Play this clip at your own expense.

Sad Movie Moment Numero Tres: 

When I was eight years old, my mother actually banned me from watching this movie because it made me constantly depressed and prone to cry at the drop of a hat, even when I wasn’t even playing the damned thing.

Perhaps I was just an overly emotional child. Maybe it was the strange water table under our house that messed with my energy field, like some sort of ancient indian burial ground. But my god, I have never been so affected by a movie as I was by The Lion King 2: Simba’s Pride.

I know what you’re thinking. How could it possibly stack up to the original in emotional stirring? For one the music, for two (is that even proper grammar?) the tragic, star crossed love story, for three (yeah, it sounds kinda funny) the misunderstood betrayal, for four the intense battle scene at the end where daughter uses her father’s wise words against him to make him realise how wrong he’s been. AND THE CIRCLE OF LIFE CONTINUES.

“Look at them, they are us. What differences do you see?”

Gets me every freaking time. Waaaaahhhhhhh.

Sad Movie Moment Numero Cuatro: 

Revenge of the Sith. George Lucas kills off every single Jedi in one single scene, set to the heart wrenching tones of John Williams beautiful and haunting score blasting at you from all angles, and seeping into your soul with chair rattling bass.

Oh yeah, and Anakin kills younglings, stares woefully out the window, juxtaposed with an equally distressed Padme, destroys everything he’s ever loved in a tragic string of events, and gets chopped to pieces by his best friend.

…And I saw it twice in cinema. Oh, the humanity.

Sad Movie Moment Numero Cinco:

Peter Jackson’s King Kong.

Damn you humans. He’s not a monster! You just don’t understand him. He’s really got a kind and gentle soul. It was you, putting him in chains, that made him act out. You brought this on yourselves and now you’re killing him when it was your own stupid fault!


I went to the ladies room after seeing that movie in cinemas. I swear people were looking at me like my boyfriend had just broken up with me, or someone had died.

Ah, my poor brother having to sit with me while we had lunch, my face all puffy and tear stained.

He didn’t do this to me I swear, strange onlookers, it was that goddamn movie!

Sad Movie Moment Numero Seis, Siete, Ocho:

Alright there are just too many sad movie moments to warrant their own singular recounting. So I’m just going to bunch these together.

The moment in The Notebook when the old-lady Ally remembers that it was their story all along. (Now, I don’t have any senile grandparents, or loved ones, but I can imagine how heart breaking it must be for someone you love so dearly to not remember you).

The whole third act of A Walk to Remember. Let’s just say I was mighty grateful that my two male roommates weren’t home to witness the god awful mess I turned into.

And the third act of Beaches. If watching someone reconcile with their best, closest friend, only for them to deal with their slow wasting away from some incurable disease isn’t enough, just when you’ve balled your eyes out, and can’t take no more, Bette Midler breaks out in Wind Beneath My freaking Wings. I tells ya, it couldn’t have been any crueler.

Well, this has turned out to be a very long list. And I’ve forgotten to include Moulin Rouge, which manages to destroy me every time … oh and even the end song from The Wedding Singer. So … freaking … sweet. He’s going to stay with her until she’s grey and old! He’s even going to let her hold the remote control. My god, you’re killing me.

Just look at Julia’s aka Drew Barrymore’s reaction when she realises it’s Robbie aka Adam Sandler on the plane.

Somebody stop me.

Luckily my knowledge of Spanish counting ended about three numbers ago…

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Use Your Scholarly Words

I had the most brilliant observation the other day to share with you all, then I completely forgot what it was. So, really, it couldn’t have been that brilliant.

They say writers should carry a notepad around with them so they can jot down all the little unexpected gems that may cross their minds. But like my forever disappearing Chapstick, I know I would have to have one surgically implanted into the palm of my hand.

Or a tape recorder in my head. That has to be invented sooner or later, right?

Now all I have to share is a mildly entertaining anecdote about my first day back at Uni.

Actually I use the term ‘entertaining’ very loosely. Perhaps mild is exaggerated also. What’s below mild? I’ve never seen ‘boring’ on a taco flavouring packet before…

I can’t believe that Old El Paso ad where they try to make tacos less spicy with ice and a pedestal fan. I’m like ‘cucumber yogurt people! Obviously. Or is that just an Indian thing?’

Anyways. First day back at Uni and I’d forgotten to turn my ‘intellectual switch’ back on.

I noticed that it was still on everyday-citizen/waitress/friend/daughter mode, when in my self introduction to the class, where you could share the latest move you’d seen, I described Django Unchained as ‘cool’.

I, in this mode, thought that this was a perfectly adequate description, especially when in the realms of a short personal introduction. Because, I dunno, maybe you’d gather a little bit of insight just knowing that I enjoy Tarantino films.

But, alas, no, what was I thinking? That was an everyday-citizen/waitress/friend/daughter response. You’re back at Uni now baby, you must expound. You must think critically. You must think about the way that you think.

In my defense, I was first cab off the rank, so I only forgot to flick back on my intellectual switch.

Now, to the guy that described Prometheus as a ‘spiritual’ prequel to Alien, good on you for remembering.

I have never heard that turn of phrase in my life, but it sounds intellectual, so you must be on the right track!

Believe me, I went to film school, so I could defiantly give you an in depth breakdown of all the themes and techniques used in Django Unchained. But, the thing is, when I did expand and said that it was Tarantino just indulging in what Tarantino does, with a whole bunch of long shots in the beginning that go on forever, it didn’t quite encapsulate my movie going experience like the word ‘cool’.

So, I conclude, let’s keep it simple people. It’s a self introduction. There’s plenty of opportunities for self evaluating and exegesis-ing in class.

Ah, exegesis-ing. My wielding of the English language is incomparable. I can almost feel the high distinctions already.

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Play That Funky Music

Quote of the day: Resentment is like swallowing poison in spite of your enemies.

You see, it won’t kill your enemies, it will however make you very sick, so that you vomit everywhere … and you’ll have to clean that shit up, because I ain’t cleaning it up.

Just a thought.

Anyways, have you ever been blue? I don’t mean have you ever covered yourself in body paint and proceeded to bang on drums with colourful liquid on them, but have you ever been down? As opposed to up …  (English language, why you be so strange?) If you have ever been the holder of a sad emotion then I feel you brother … or sister. So, I would like to share three things that have made me instantly happy when I’ve had a bad case of the grumps.

Number one: When I was left, abandoned for a whole week, quite recently, I woke up from a nap on the couch at 9pm. Tired and grumpy that I had missed dinner time, also quite discontented that I had to forage for myself, I was in a bit of a stink. That was until one free to air movie strutted itself right into my night – groovy music pumping and badassness guaranteed. It was … SHAFT … you’re damn right. Spirits equaled instantly lifted. It was just something about that wakka wakka beat and Samuel L. Jackson sticking it to the man that made me smile.

Also, it reminded me of this … insert reference here … (Damn, I really thought there would be a video of Bart and Lisa Simpson singing the theme from Shaft that would be easy to find, but alas no cigar. Someone needs to rectify this immediately.)

Number Two: (By the way, writing out numbers in letters reminds me of Marge being impressed by the house numbers in the rich neighbourhood being spelt out in letters and Homer replying: ‘Get used to it, honey. From now on we’ll be spelling everything with letters’) Anyways, following the ‘Groovy music’ theme, one song on my ‘Groovy’ mix always seems to lift my mood without fail. ‘Kiss You All Over’ by Exile.

It’s pretty much the sheer ridiculousness of the real low notes in the beginning, followed by a cheesy ‘yeeeaahh’, then the not so ridiculous, but actually awesome funk-out sesh that follows.

And, also, it reminds me of this … (Yes! There is an actual video!)

Number Three: Okay, number three seems to be following a trend here, so let’s just say that hopping on a soul train down to funky town to get my groove on, makes me pretty happy. Whilst sitting in peak hour traffic on that marvellous merging of Brisbane and the Gold Coast, a situation that had the potential to cause me immeasurable grief, I was saved by the velvet sounds of Fever 105. (Last night a DJ saved my life, last night a DJ saved my life with a song…). If you have ever played GTA Vice City then you should know what I’m talking about. If you haven’t, then Fever 105 is a radio station specifically created for the game, and it is the bomb. ‘Pounding headache, violent stomach upset, soaring temperature – Fever 105 is ill – You got the fever!’ ‘Get Down Saturday Night’ and ‘Ghetto Life’ had me bobbing my head around in all directions, jiving, movin’ and groovin’ – I’m lucky I didn’t run myself off the road.

Whilst Fever 105 gets my freak on, Emotion 98.3 would have to be my favourite (More emotion than your pregnant wife. Emotion 98.3). Even after all these years I still basically remember everything the DJ says. I even used to do his intros when the songs were playing on regular radio. I’m pretty sure Emotion 98.3 is a highly contributing factor to my obsession with the 80’s.

The advertisements on Vice City radio are classic as well. Like Giggle Cream – ‘It’ll make you talk reaaal low. Giggle cream, it makes desserts funny’ and especially the one for Rusty Brown’s Ring Donuts: ‘How do you enjoy your Rusty Brown’s Ring Donuts? – I like to lick lovingly around the outside, then thrust my tongue in the middle – I like to munch them vigorously – I just love the batter … all over my face – On Friday nights I can’t stop eating Rusty Brown’s Ring Donuts – Omg, they’re so good – Sometimes I like to wear women’s panties and walk around 5th St (this is where I lose my shit, because it’s just so random) When you go downtown make sure you enjoy Rusty Brown’s Ring Donuts’. Eh hem, anyways …

If you’ve never played GTA Vice City, do yourself a favour. As you may have noticed I’m a tad smitten and utterly nostolgic. In the game I used to cruise around the city in my Cheetah, of which I had many others, in all different colours, stored in every garage I owned, and just listened to the radio. I’m pretty stoked that I now have the radio stations in my real car. So, now, when I’m driving I feel like I should be busting some knee caps, or picking up a hooker … or at least shooting down some police helicopters. Badass.

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Cabin Fever and Thensome.

Home Alone. Remember that movie? Of course you do, you weren’t born yesterday. Or maybe you don’t. My references have become less and less relevant these days, so …

What I’m really getting at is, for me, being home alone isn’t filled with the delightful prospect of something interesting happening, like defending my house from the humorous attempts of clumsy burglars with my sheer wit and outrageously complicated home security contraptions … no, in fact I’m more likely to lie awake at night thinking that any strange sound, any dog barking defensively means that a burglar is going to come kill me, rather than be foiled by a slippery driveway, so … let’s just say that five days in the gloriousness of my own company isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

Being home alone, I find, is more likely to resemble ‘One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest’ than a family friendly comedy. Mind you, I’m ashamed to admit, I haven’t actually seen this Jack Nicholson classic, yet merely want to draw attention to the fact that it deals with mental people. And myself alone definitely fits into this category.

I mean what can you say when your logical inner self protests  ‘don’t leave me alone with her. Bitch be crazy. She talks to me way too much’? I guess you’d say, ‘why are there two people in your head? Are you some sort of schizo?’ – and I’d say –  ‘no, and please have some empathy for actual schizophrenics’ … Are you lost yet? I’ve kind of lost myself so, let’s tactfully and subtly change the subject to the best invention ever made for your keyring. Because I’m just that excited that I found it. I feel like my set of keys and I are now ready to take on the world. Get this, I now am the proud owner of  a nail clipper, a nail file and a bottle opener all in one. You heard me. Now I can get drunk and if I brake a nail, yep, I can fix that too. Amazing. My life is complete.

Oh, and I just submitted my last uni assignment for the year. Things just keep getting better and better. Five months of holidays await me, and you know what that means. Yes, a higher frequency of posts that are basically written for my own amusement. I hope you can share in the strange.

Also, with all this spare time on my hands I’ve decided to post a few of my short stories on here. So, look out for those and be kind, otherwise I may have to do what my creative writing teacher does to anyone who doesn’t like her work – I may never speak to you again. (She’s just a little bit intense though. I thought her head was about to explode when she saw someone use the adverb ‘quickly’ in their short story – I wasn’t aware that this was something punishable by writing death – but apparently so … This being said I will be uber aware not to include ‘quickly’ in any of my stories, or begin any of them in bed, as that is also a serious offense in the court of writing law. Offenders be damned to the prison of writing shame, because you just don’t do such a thing. YOU JUST DON’T DO IT!) Anyways, eh hem, yes, uh, watch this space.

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Just a little bit ridiculous…

Hurrah! Back at University. That didn’t sound completely believable did it? I don’t mean to come across as sarcastic, because there is a subject I am studying this semester that is actually of interest to me. Introduction to Creative Writing. Yes. Creative Writing. They still managed to squeeze an essay into the assignments, yet I’m still mildly excited. In class we had a writing exercise. It took me back to grade seven, with my favourite teacher ever, Mrs. Rowley, an actual author, and the brainstorming sessions we would have, writing in our journals, just letting our imaginations run wild. For some reason a lot of people had images of ‘pools of strawberries’ in their heads. I don’t know why, but is seemed to be a reoccurring theme. Perhaps it wasn’t an inherently twelve year old thing to think about, perhaps my classmates just thought it sounded ‘artsy’ and copied each other. Anyhow, in this particular writing exercise we were asked to complete this sentence: When I write I feel…

Hmm, I thought, thinking back to my most recent blog post. When I write I feel like I’m unlocking the gate to a mental asylum, letting all the crazies out to wreak havoc on the page. Painting green hair and bright red smiles all over priceless artwork, like Jack Nicholson’s Joker in a Gotham art gallery, yet my paintbrush is my keyboard and the art is the relative credibility of the blogosphere.

I didn’t write that exactly, but something along those lines.

And I’m secretly quite proud of my ability to smear countless, irrelevant words on to my internet page, yet a little worried how that translates into my story telling ability.

I like to write fiction, that doesn’t necessarily mean I’m any good at it. I’ve written many words, yet the quality may be a little iffy.

My motivation also leaves a lot to be desired when writing fiction. Which is a shame, because there is a kick ass movie rolling in my head, and if I could only find a way to translate it to the page I’m sure I’d be winning. I sometimes wish I could just project what ever I’m thinking on to a screen, then it wouldn’t look like I was just staring out a window for two hours with no reason, like some sort of decrepit old lady who had lost her marbles long ago…

There are many movies inside my head. I imagine my mind would look, not so much like a sleek stack of shelves with neat, ordered DVD cases, but more like an old, dusty, dimly lit room with rolls of film shoved in draws and on rickety wooden shelves. Everything creaking, because that’s what my bones do…gosh, you 21 year old old woman you, go on crack your neck then, just move your shoulders back a bit, cccrriickk…sigh. Yes, I already feel old. I have already experienced the look of confusion and ignorance on younger people’s faces when they do not get references in my jokes or conversation.

“Have you actually ever seen Jack Nicholson’s Joker?” (I don’t know why that reference keeps popping up, let’s just say with my recently acquired Bat-mobile key ring, Batman seems to be on the mind.)

“Who’s Jack Nicholson? Isn’t that other guy the Joker, the one that died?”


Dammit, I wasn’t even born when Tim Burton’s Batman came out, but kids today, seriously… Soon no one will get my pop culture references and then what will I do?


But surely, surely my Simpsons references are still relevant?

Well no, not always. And, if I may say, that’s just ridiculous, or as I like to say redonkulous, or because I’m Australian and Australians like to shorten everything, just redonk, or if I want to add a little pimp/gangster flavour, redonk-y-donk, or to just mix things up a bit, redonkey-kong…

Okay, I don’t really use these turns of phrase, because they, quite frankly, are just a little redonkey-kong.


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A Whole Lotta Waffle

I can play it cool. I can tell others that University is pretty cruisy. That I’d just be happy to pass. That it don’t really need to over achieve academically to go where I want to go. But when I’m alone and those marks come up on my computer screen and I’ve done well…

I can’t bloody sit still. I’m all over the place. I forget to take my money with me to the bank, resulting in loudly calling myself a dick at the petrol station because I’ve filled up the tank and have to put it on card and I’ve forgotten my pin number. I mean, no biggie, credit/signature works fine, but still…disappointing.

Anyhow, getting these marks makes me wonder how I can manage to write a thoughtful essay on Post-colonial writing back, whilst still being completely unfocused, irrelevant and trivial when writing on here.

It’s a gift. I know. And as per usual I’m going to share my gift of the irrelevant and trivial with you today. How? With the laziest form of writing in existence: the list. I love me a good list. It doesn’t provide too many details and I can group together a bunch of random thoughts that would have otherwise made no sense put together in one blog post. I call this one: Things that have made me wonder between the dates of May 3rd 2012 and right now.

Number One: How does my Sha’bam! instructor keep a straight face?

If you haven’t heard of Sha’bam!, it’s kind of like Zumba, but with club moves and krumping, possibly designed to make me feel even more white when dancing than usual. Why I mention my instructor is because of the quite…interesting things she yells out whilst dancing. Something about how we’d all be looser if we had tequila shots, that we should pretend like night club security was going to come get us, and various other yeah, yeah, yeah sounds I’d rather not repeat, or most likely have blocked from my memory. Oh, it’s all fine and dandy after a couple of classes but in the first class, you’re just a little like ‘huh?’ and then when the instructor reminiscently says ‘remember what it was like in your first Sha’bam class?’, I think ‘woman, this is my first Sha’bam class!’ – Did I miss the introduction? Was there some sort of easement into this crazy exercise!? Plus, no, I don’t really feel very sexy dancing Sha’bam…The name Sha’bam! makes me think I should be looking something like this…

Foxy Cleopatra. She’s a Whole Lotta Woman!

Not feeling more like this…

A less appealing, more manly version…

Possible Explanation: My Instructor actually did get into the Tequila shots before hand…

Number Two: How did I, whilst at an after party for the cast and crew screening of three films I had the pleasure of working on last year, manage to…wait for it…remove most of the skin off my elbows?

Possible Explanation:  a deadly combination of rough wooden table tops, the anesthetizing effects of one too many Midori sodas, and the loud beltings of a band singing, pretty much what seemed to be, the whole 90’s rock playlist I have on my iPod. Effect being the necessity for elbows to be on such rough table tops in order to lean in to hear other people talk, and not realizing the damaging effect it was having on my wenis… *snigger* (it’s a word, look it up people).

Number Three: What is the deal with artists? In particular, what is the deal with sculpture artists? Upon a little trip to the Maroochy botanical gardens for Mother’s day, we stumbled upon this little number…

Oh, that’s what it means? I totally got that…

Possible Explanation: ???

And I though my Post-colonial essay was waffley…Now I know I can just hand in a rock I bashed a couple of times on the ground and say it represents the struggles of power…hmm

Number Four: I recently saw ‘The Ides of March’, a great movie I might say, and it made me wonder about the corruption in the American political system and the expendability of interns and other campaign workers on a Presidential candidate’s way to the top…

Who am I kidding? It made me wonder about Ryan Gosling and the strange, mystical hold he has over me. The man is a wizard. A beautiful, beautiful wizard.

Possible Explanation: Have you seen Ryan Gosling? Not only that, have you seen him act? Looked into those intense blue eyes? Seen that wry little smile?…Eh hem, snap out of it woman. There is no explaining magic…

Get out of the way Paul Giamatti! Stupid YouTube thumbnail.

Edit: That’s better.

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So…you think you’re a cat.

I discovered, in the way imperial powers sail the world and discover new and foreign lands, Thai takeaway in the Uni plaza the other day. A welcome change to the usual meat and salad wrap that consists mostly of iceberg lettuce. I hate iceberg lettuce, it’s about as flavorsome as an iceberg and the most boring lettuce in the entire cosmos. Don’t even think about putting it in my wrap! Especially in one you call a Greek wrap. I’m pretty sure the Greeks did not have iceberg lettuce with their lamb Souvlaki. You’re cheapening my wrap experience. This is why Cashew Nut Chicken saved my lunch time.

I took my meal to a sunny little table amongst the trees that I had previously walked passed and sprayed all my mind juices on, that is, mentally claimed. I casually power walked to that table, throwing averted glances at all the passes by, internally hissing and raising my heckles like a territorial cat…raow. Luckily for them they stayed away from my table. I ate alone and when you eat alone by choice, you must feign busyness to avoid that glazed over look you may adopt whilst shoveling food into your mouth, staring into the distance, lost in your own thoughts. It appears kind of sad, even if in reality your just enjoying the serenity of the place. Ah, the serenity. So I started writing a future blog entry about the weather in Autumn, to which you might say: “Oh really? You must tell me more! Oh, please miss, I am ever so fascinated by the weather in Autumn.” And I would reply, “Don’t be a smartass. You will sit there and listen to another one of my rambling anecdotes about nothing.”

Because it’s that time of year again, when the air turns cool and crisp and the sun is prime for basking like a reptilian, soaking up those rays like they’re the giver of life itself. My friend once had a word for it – Salamander. Yes, he did compare me to a lizard and hopefully my penchant for lazy sun bathing was the only reason for it. They say that memories are highly triggered by scent and smell, so I figure that could be extended to feeling temperatures and changing climates as well. Because these months, April and May, have me reminiscing about the strangest things. This seasonal weather will never let me forget the feeling of going to see the most influential movie of my life for the very first time. Okay, I’m about to tell you what it is, but don’t groan, at the time I was in an obsessive teenage mental state where my favorite movie franchise and most recent movie star crush could do absolutely no wrong. However, I don’t really believe this sullies my memory as I’ll never forget the feeling of being completely blown away by… Revenge of the Sith.

It was on a clear, chilly late afternoon in May that I carried my stuffed Ewok under my arm and walked into that cinema with my big brother. And in walking out after it had finished, it was apparent that I had been profoundly affected. My brother and I talked about that movie more than any I’ve ever seen, or have yet to see – we discussed it the entire 40 minute ride home. Some may turn their noses up at the prequel Star Wars trilogy, but that shit (as in ‘the’ shit) ruled my childhood, man. From the time I was 8 years old, with a brief relapse in the ‘Attack of the Clones’ era, to total domination in High School, when I was 15, Star Wars was my obsession. The behind the scenes of ROTS made me want to make movies, which led me to studying film. Watching George Lucas and his crew do their thang, creating that fantastical world I was so enamored with, looked like so much fun, I just had to be a part of it. Later, I did realise that film making wasn’t all brainstorming about the appearances of alien creatures, playing with lightsaber props and building volcano sets – as the making of Star Wars probably wasn’t all about – but still the dream was shattered. So, I stopped doing film and started studying creative writing instead, because at least I can create fantastical worlds in my head. And maybe, if they’re awesome enough, they will be made into movies and I will be invited on set to play with prop swords and such and be involved in an exciting creative process.

Ah, what big ambitions I have. I feel like just giving myself a toy lightsaber and a pat on the head. Then I’d reply to myself, “Don’t patronize me woman”, and then I’d realise that a response like that warrants some heavy medication and a straight jacket.

The point is, as all my points are so resoundingly clear, that the greatest cinematic experience of my life, so far, was seeing that movie. As some may have felt watching A New Hope for the first time in 1977, I felt with Revenge of the Sith in 2005.

And, to be completely honest, it did help that I thought Hayden Christensen was the hottest thing in Jedi robes that had ever graced god’s green earth. Don’t hold it against me, regardless, the movie was still brilliant.


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Get and New Plan Stan. 50 Ways to Leave Your…study.

I’ve come to the resounding conclusion that procrastination is directly linked to cleanliness. Being that when I put off doing undesirable things, like reading Flaubert’s Parrot (which is actually pretty amusing – I mean any one who says ‘I am like a cigar: you have to suck on the end to get me going’ has got my attention…momentarily), things get clean. When there’s uni work to be done – washing the dishes, washing clothes, vacuuming, mopping, spraying and wiping, obviously takes precedence. And so does brushing and walking the dog, and saving those overripe bananas, that are attracting a swarm of fruit flies, and turning them into delicious muffins. Which I will regret later as I eat them for breakfast for five consecutive mornings, and realise that you really can have too many muffins.

There’s also another effective, yet less productive way to distract yourself from reading – watching movies. Any movies. Seriously. I watched ‘The Rock’ in shiny satin pajamas and fairy wings last night because I didn’t think to use my time more wisely. Yet, sometimes watching movies is technically study…ch-yeah, for lazy people who haven’t read the book. And when you have read the book, I swear, sometimes, watching the movie adaption will just make you dumber. Or incensed with inconsolable rage…especially when you watch said adaption in your tutorial and cannot leave, curse, or throw things at the screen. I’ll admit, the novel itself, namely ‘Wide Sargasso Sea’, wasn’t really my cup of tea – but it had its moments and potential to be a more tolerable movie. Man, was I wrong. Just a warning, I am about to go on a spiel about what I was thinking at the time of watching this movie, and having spent a year studying film, which has completely ruined my ignorance and tolerance of flaws, I’m going to sound like a bit of a movie snob….Anyways, when the movie finished the classroom forum was open for discussion – about themes, about inter-textual readings, about stupid stuff like post-colonialism – and all I wanted to talk about was how freaking horrible the actual film was. I, movie critic that I am, (cough, cough) immediately after, whipped out my phone,  jumped on IMDB so I could discover who this terrible director was that created this abomination. It was a soapy director, whose main credit was ‘Neighbours’! Ah hah, my inner reviewer was having a field day with this information. The people must know my thoughts! Sure they picked up on the complete miscasting of Rochester. The actor not quite measuring up to the Byronic hero, by way of his face forcing this temperamental emotion similar to that of a toddler, his weak screen presence and how his spindly, pasty body and lack of finesse made the numerous sex scenes quite nauseating…No, but let’s not talk about how repulsive the character of Rochester is, that’s in the book, wasn’t anyone completely put off by the sickly yellow colour grade on all the nature/jungle scenes? The unflattering lighting? The overexposed sky? The way the director so desperately wanted to emulate Terrence Malick in the way he brings nature to life through beautiful cinematography, but ended up with some weird swaying grass, with some obnoxious music over the top? The unnecessary and distracting use of hand held in random dialogue scenes, where the characters are sitting and drinking tea? The overused trope of echoing voices in the characters head and flash cuts as he runs mad into the jungle? No? Are you sure? Damn, I say as I wear my black beret and black turtle neck sweater, stroke my primped grey beard and turn into that obnoxious hack of a movie critic in my local newspaper, whom I so despise, mostly because he completely missed the point of the shaky cam in the Hunger Games (amongst other things). I don’t want to be that guy. I don’t think I’m like that guy, but nevertheless I’ll put away my scathing pen for now and reflect on why I don’t normally do movie reviews.

Hmm…Obviously, I just get too worked up. It’s not healthy.

I’m thinking that maybe I should just read that parrot book now.

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