Last night, I forgot the crucial rule of pub quizzes – if there are four choices, and you can easily rule one out (while the others seem plausible), always choose the one that seems impossible. After all, you’ve only got one chance in three otherwise, and you’ll get to have the ineffable sense of smugness normally reserved for the knowledgeable if you’re right. (The question was about where Ridley Scott had a cameo; the correct answer was Alien.)
I also, humblingly, discovered another universal – a certain class of geek is annoyed that the five-pronged weapon in Krull is called the Glaive, and will tell you exactly what a glaive actually is, should the subject come up. This probably comes from the same place where eight year-olds are faintly contemptuous of someone calling a velociraptor a tyrannosaur, or rugby fans being annoyed when asked how many goals were scored. It’s not because it’s not sword-like in the least, so the derivation from gladius makes no sense; it’s because the people it offends have memorized the “real” meaning, and in some way using the word wrong is dismissing the importance of that knowledge. I may never need to know what a naginata, ranseur, pike or halberd is outside of a cheap knock-off of the Monty Python cheese-shop sketch, but I do, and that… somehow makes me better than someone who managed to get a pretty decent fantasy film made? I don’t know.
Beautiful French animated film about the inhabitants of a picture, where the Allduns lord it over the Halfies and Sketchies. The art style worked well, it was prettily animated, and overall fun to watch. In some ways, it reminded me of U, though the vibe was hopeful rather than melancholic. I’d happily watch it again.
I didn’t mean to go to this film – I thought I’d be sitting, having a Devonshire tea and battling poor wi-fi access. But it was recommended to me by a stranger in the queue waiting to go in, so I decided to take a punt; and I’m glad I did. There was a lot that surprised me about this film – for example, how rough some of the choreography was (though perhaps that’s only in comparison to the slightly mad perfectionism of Fred Astaire, or the slightly soulless robotic perfection of today’s dance numbers); or how much like a female impersonator the otherwise superb Jane Russell looked when she went from brunette to bottle blonde. 🙂 It doesn’t have Louis Armstrong, so it can’t compete with High Society, but there was a lot that was charming and fun about the film, and I’m glad I watched it.
There was a lot that I liked about this film – the overlapping, naturalistic dialogue, and the sister’s interactions, and it’s funny in a natural way. But I’ve got to say that I was surprised to see that it was written by a woman, since I would have assumed that the guy was the self-insertion character (in that he seemed a bit too self-involved to be worth the attention, at least in the beginning). Don’t let me saying that put you off, by the way; it’s a good film, and I enjoyed it.
This is a documentary about how the law works in the Palestinian occupied territories (basically, there’s martial law for the Arab population, and the option of Israeli law for the settlers, which gives you a nasty mix of bad things). The documentary was admirably up-front in its manipulativeness, talking about how much power the documentary-maker has to present their own point of view; and was a mix of to-the-camera interviews with former military judges and prosecutors (all sat behind a desk provided by the film-maker, and what does that imply?), and historical documentary footage with voice-over commentary.
(There was a bit where one of the interviewees asks, “How will I know when we’ve started?” and the film-maker answers reassuringly, “I’ll tell you; I’ll ask questions, and you’ll answer.” At first, I thought it was dishonest; on reflection, it’s seems an excellent way for the documentary-maker to say, “Look, don’t trust me – try to watch critically.”)
One thing that I didn’t really like was some of the audience. It felt very partisan, and I found myself having sympathy for the Israeli side of the equation, even though they were obviously making major, horrible mistakes; and being the ones in power, they need to be the ones choosing to do right. I remember feeling the same way about Jesus Camp; I don’t like sneering at people, and it felt like some of the audience were doing that there as well. I don’t doubt that there are people on the Israeli side that are poisonous – but something felt off, and I’m not sure I can articulate why.
Huh.
That was… crazy. A Frenchman, with a pronounced accent, an Algerian father, dark hair and brown eyes, and a penchant for pretending to be a teen (to gain access to shelters), manages to get taken into a Texas household as their missing 16 year-old son – who was blond-haired, blue-eyed, and wasn’t likely to be getting a dark five-o’clock shadow. And when he came up with a weird story about being kidnapped by the American military, and used as some sort of sex slave all over the world… well, it’s not surprising that some people had doubts. But not the family… or did they? And if they did, why would they embrace him like that?
Unsettling. I mean, I know about change blindness, and people are very good at seeing what they want to see; and if you’re not sure of something, that can make you more stubborn about sticking to your guns. But… huh. My preference is to not believe a proven con-man, especially in a “truth” that makes him look less guilty, and only comes up when he’s being caught. On the other hand, it makes a sensible story, unlike his other cobbled-together affairs. So… I don’t know.
As far as the film goes – well done, slickly put together. It must have cost a fair amount to make, even if you’re only thinking about the music clearance fees, let alone all the actors for the re-enactments. It was very easy to watch – except, of course, for the subject-matter.
I was worried that this was going to be very, very dark, and very, very depressing. It wasn’t a sparkling musical comedy, but it was at least slightly hopeful, and the protagonists were people that I could actually like. The housing estate patois came on thick and fast at times, but I never felt unable to follow what was going on, and they managed to make things feel suitably dangerous without losing the British vibe. I enjoyed it.
(Nothing much to say about the short, Suni-Man — a competent “young Polynesian guy dealing with the temptation of and peer pressure towards a life of crime” film, with the optional younger brother hero worship and dead father elements. It did what it set out to do, basically.)