Life of Pi. Life of Pi. Life of Pi. (Self wants to see this one again, which hasn’t happened to her since Midnight in Paris)
Next: Warm Bodies. Warm Bodies. Warm Bodies.
Next Next: Silver Linings Playbook. Silver Linings Playbook. Silver Linings Playbook.
Yet to See: Amour (Anthony Lane of The New Yorker says it has “a sense of foreboding” that is “clear and encompassing . . . more so, in fact, because the only villain is time, and the only fault of the victims is to grow old.” Self saw Haneke’s earlier film, “The White Ribbon,” which drips with dread and community guilt and shame, so she can well imagine what a joyous two-hour romp in the theater she will have watching this. Nevertheless . . . )
Thinking more about Warm Bodies and that performance by Nicholas Hoult: the only reason there is not more heat in the end is that — gulp! — Teresa Palmer underplays her role to the point of (almost) vacuity. If that had been Jennifer Lawrence . . . Nevertheless, self loved the way Palmer wielded her shotgun in the early scenes.
Next question: Why is R seated by himself in the backseat, happily bleeding, while Julie and her father exchange loving glances, etc as if no one exists except each other? Are the two not aware that there is a man bleeding in the back seat?
OK so R is happy he is bleeding because it means he can feel pain, and to feel anything is to be human. I understand that part. But doesn’t being human also mean being more concerned? And, this is no ordinary person in the back seat, this is — R, the hero of our story! If a passerby can feel sympathy for M because his “zombie fingers” have difficulty opening an umbrella, what more the victim of a gunshot wound? Who is bleeding all over the back seat? Shouldn’t Juliet and her father at least be telling R to lie down, or keep pressure on the wound, or something of that sort? Or is R still a zombie, and thus he can never die or bleed out? Self finds all of this terribly confusing.
Stay tuned, dear blog readers. Stay tuned.