Welcome to the Paunch

There is something altogether sad about somebody really, really trying to be something that they are obviously not.
And I don't mean having a bit of a go at something you might or might not be very good at, but actual full-on delusion that you can pull of something you clearly can't. Case in point: James McAvoy. And before I get any further into this, let me state that I do like him as an actor, I enjoyed Wanted, a lot, as I did Penelope, I think he's not too bad on the eyes and there is something about a lazy english-or-thereabouts accent that really gets me going, but the man is not an action hero.
Which is made abundantly clear by his latest, euhm, let's call it a vehicle: "Welcome to the Punch", which was described on the poster as "an intelligent thriller" and for about 7 minutes or so really seemed to move into that direction, and then became a pretty standard "everybody and their grandmothers are the bad guy" type of movie that was made relatively famous by Guy Ritchie and that, as a genre, should have stuck with that man as well.

It is nearly impossible to spoil this movie for anyone who has seen even a smallish sliver of a gritty detective in the past, and I am not going to get into the story at all because, well, there wasn't that much there.

What I am going to get into are two main issues with the movie. To wit : James McAvoy as an action here, and bad scripting and editing.

Jimmy is cute, well, he used to be cute, and that is strike one against him, because full-on cute does not cut it when you are trying to be all gritty and action-y. Jimmy is also short, and a little out of shape, and he looks like he went to a good school and still calls his mum regularly. There is nothing wrong with any of these things, but they don't carry an action movie AT ALL. Now, handsome isn't really an issue. Jason Statham is handsome. Chris Hemsworth is handsome. But there is a massive difference between handsome and cute. An action hero can be (almost has to be) good looking, but he can't look "precious", which is exactly where McAvoy fails. He looks precious. If you fantasize about, say, a Bruce Willis or a Statham, you are considering exactly how much of the room he will trash while entertaining you biblically. If you fantasize about McAvoy, you imagine long letters at dusk and the occasional heart-wrenching scene in the rain. And action heroes, if they do appear in the rain (as they often do), should not be using their time there mentally writing a poem.
So the movie is off to a bad start immediately just from casting alone. And there is really no amount of casting Mark Strong (who is always, always awesome) that is going to make up for basically miscasting the lead, especially if said lead is out-acted by Mark Strong even if Strong isn't on screen, technically, at all.

Then to scripting and editing. The main issue with this movie is that it provides two storylines that separately would have made one reasonably enjoyable movie and one very strong movie. Combined it could have been very, very good, providing you keep them relatively apart. If you fully combine them, they lose a lot of strength. And that is exactly what happened here. Two storylines that meet up only at the end are muddled together constantly and each one brings out what is lacking in the other, without providing adequate sustenance for us, the suffering viewer. Moments that could have real, emotional impact are flattened by their placing in the story, deaths that could have real tension are worked through quickly and all too efficiently and characters that are relevant to the story are only introduced after their deaths. This is not a problem in a movie where tension is built subtly and the story has to be pieced together by viewers who are invested enough to pay real attention, but in this movie, it does not work. We are told important pieces of information *as important pieces of information*. There is no puzzle, nothing. It's like getting as a sudoku-hint a completely filled in sudoku. I just does not work.

A short one this week, as the movie was, ultimately, uninteresting. I suppose fans of guns and gunfights will get their fill, but if you are looking for an intelligent thriller, look elsewhere.

Hosting

It's been a while, about two years, apparently, but I am currently partial to thinking that as a return to better mental health I should take up blogging again. Directly contradicting that statement, I am getting back to reviewing movies, now that I've rediscovered sneak previews, which in all honesty cannot be said to be good for anybodies mental health.

So the first movie I'm going to tackle was not a sneakily previewed one, but just general theater offering, to wit: The Host. The movie based on the book by *cough*acclaimed*cough* writer of Twilight, Stephenie Meyer.

Sooo, yes. It's aliens. And therein lies my first big issue with the movie : aliens? just not that impressive anymore. It is relatively safe to say that if your alien isn't an acid-dripping-and-spitting shiny black monstrosity with adaptive DNA, you are just not going to pack that much muscle in the scary-department, and if it isn't insidiously creepy pod-based shenanigans, the suspense is out of the bag before act two as well.  Much like this movie, which at no point can be deemed "scary". Now, for regular readers of this blog (to whom I apologise for being this late), you know I don't find "scary" an integral part of a good movie, providing it is internally consistent and has good eye-candy.
This movie is, I suppose, somewhat internally consistent. Mostly in that the people in it are idiots, and consistently act like they are. Eye candy... well, maybe. It is certainly very pretty to look at, with wide sweeping vistas of deserty landscapes and the aliens themselves are right-pretty, but since this a Stephenie Meyer-product, we don't get much in the way of shirtlessness or steamy sexual tension. The fact that you spend most of the movie trying to see which of the main actors is Bella, Edward or Jacob certainly doesn't help.

Ok, the plot, spoilers starting now.
An alien race has invaded earth, taking over almost all human beings and eradicating hunger, strife and pollution, and generally perfecting the world in general. The aliens when they are at home look like sparkly silvery slugs avec tentacles about the size of your palms, and they invade human hosts through the neck, taking over the body, forcing the human personality to the background and into what appears to be apparent death, as well as providing very pretty shiny eyes and a general positive, trusting and polite demeanor. Which is my second big issue with the movie, in that I spend the first twenty minutes or so being squarely on the side of the aliens, what with their world-improving tack and a return to general politeness and all. Also, they are pretty, all sparkly and shiny and all, and as humans they tend to dress well and drive impossibly cool silver version of our more drab earth-vehicles. So, genteelness and style, I'd sacrifice a little bit of "being in charge" for effortless style and good transportation.

We are introduced to our main character while she is on the run from these things, and she is not effortlessly stylish or remarkably polite, which really is not helping her case from my point of view, but I suppose one has to give a little bit of leeway in the interest of story. She (obviously) gets caught and implanted, and shows us that this whole "lying back in defeat and drifting off into the great yonder"-thing doesn't always work, as she starts a full inner monologue with the invading parasite, which is actually rather well done and makes for a few genuinely funny scenes, while trying to convince said parasite to not root through her memories to weedle out the rest of the resistance. Only to then show the parasite in question the way to the rest of the resistance. Which they infiltrate (although because of the aforementioned inner monologue, we do know that the parasite isn't fully on the side of her fellow parasites), apparently with the full blessings of the leaders of said resistance.
And there is the third big issue I have with this movie : stupidity. We have a race of aliens that can invade (and thus look like) human bodies, only distinguishable by their eyes, because they can also plug into human memories they can pretty much pretend to be that person in most ways (except for a natural proclivity to be polite, which would distinguish you from most people hands down).
And in that situation, you simply cannot trust a parasitically infected member, no matter what ties used to bind you. Because (as this parasite doesn't, but could easily do) they can pretend that they have the living memory of the body inside them guiding them towards doing the right thing, only to then reveal the pocket on question to the rest of the parasites. And that means, if you are at all serious about your resistance, you shoot to kill when you see the shiny blues of their eyes.

This resistance does not, and it saves us viewers from paying money for a movie that lasts about 40 minutes, but let's face it, in a real world scenario, that's just dumb.

Also, it's pretty clear right of the bat that some personalities stick around longer than is preferred by our sluggy overlords (SOs) anyways, and that in some cases this means sluggy will defect to the pro-human side, occasionally getting wrapped up in a clump of resisting humanity. Which is what the SOs are looking for. So if you know that that is a real possibility, why not, when implanting your brethren into an available neck, also implant a small tracking device, so as to find them when they are wrapped up in their pro-human viewpoint and start refusing to report back to base? Hmmmm? For a race that has hundreds of years of experience jumping into and out of bodies like so many public transport options, this is also dumb.

I dislike dumb.

But apart from that, it''s actually not a bad movie. I'd recommend it if you are or are on an outing with any girl in the teen-range, because they'd get the most enjoyment out of the movie without being spoiled in good overlord-resistance techniques by other, better movies. The acting is.... twilight-esque, as is the writing and the obligatory angst, but all in all it is not horrendously boring or un-entertaining, just a little stupid, in places.

Oh, with thanks to TAFKAB, when I wondered who was charlies mustache, it's the wheat.

Make honey, others don’t.

This was somewhat intended to be a review of the Resident Evil-movie series, which then morphed before fingers hit keyboards into a contemplation of zombies in general, then turning into a review of a completely different zombie-movie-staple (Night of the Living Dead, in fact) and back to Resident Evil. In the end, it’s zombies.

I hate zombies. Used to be a time not so long ago where I couldn’t see a trailer for a zombie-film without suffering really quite horrid nightmares for days after. Watching “Shaun of the Dead” even though I really, really liked it, meant not really sleeping for about three weeks. Zombies, they freak me out. I do occasionally sit through zombie-movies or read zombie-related material on- or offline, suffering the insomniac results, because it pays to keep track of the enemy, and to run through scenarios of an “break glass in case of zombie-apocalypse”-nature. It also, for such is my nature, forces me to consider the mechanics of zombie-ness.


Traditional living corpses, at least in mainland-Europe, where not needfully as freaky. They tended to be corpses that were “left alone” and therefore open for possession, after which they would mimic their former lives by trying to move back into their old homes, communities and, in most more icky cases, loved ones (yes, that said they tried to move into their loved ones. Think about it). The reasons they were “left alone” would be any of the usual things that would leave you outside the standard medieval community. Suicide, being a horrid criminal, going against the wishes of the local clergy, that sort of thing. They tended to result in being buried outside of the graveyard (get it, get it?) which meant you were *cough* wide open for any demon or otherwise looking for a place to stay.
Now, I agree, obviously, that this is somewhat creepy, but since traditional European animated corpses got Stokered into attractive, slightly but derangedly bisexual pretty things the creepiness swiftly dissipated, with the new breed of vampires taking over all the “living dead” symbolism of “just because it looks familiar does not mean it does not want to hurt you” and “we don’t talk about uncle Bob because of what he did which we will also not discuss but it can be contagious so stay away from what looks like uncle Bob but isn’t” (also known as “Fear of the outsider”, “Uncanny Valley” and “the monster in our midst”)

Modern zombies (and the term “modern” absolutely and irrevocably does not, in any way, shape or form, apply to zombies nowadays, but hey, license) have a completely different symbolic value. They actually represent not the fear of the slightly known, but the fear of being fully known. The great, blind, grasping masses that nonetheless have you completely in their power, and if they do get you, they get inside your head and take everything of value out of it, turning you into one of them, and all of them, in a little way, into something that is a little more you.

Less original movie-makers, even in their time, tack some sort of consumerist commentary onto the standard “there is tons of us, you cannot escape”-creep-factor but since we have, as a planet, accepted the tenets of capitalism a while ago now you could tack that little inkling of a good idea onto everything and get away with it.


So what freaks me out about zombies? Idiocy.

After more than a quarter century of having a brain that works somewhat different than the brains of most people I meet on a daily basis, I live in a constant fear that I am going to turn out to be more than slightly retarded but with most people around me thinking I’m being very brave about the whole thing and it would be callous commenting on my obvious problems, and only discussing them when I am safely out of earshot. And zombie movies bring home that “you are only a few steps away from mindless drooling, we all know it even if we are not saying anything” feeling to an extent that I can only assume my Shadow has been dead for ages but refuses to lie down for fear of being ridiculed. Strangely enough, only actual zombie-movies do this to me. Movies in which people merely exhibit zombie-like characteristics due to a virus or otherwise-invasion based affliction do not as such affect me at all, but as soon as people need to have died before shambling pitifully ‘long once child-filled streets and whatnot I am gibbering behind the couch.

But lately, that has been changing. And quite a bit, as evidenced by the fact that I have recently seen the first three parts of the Resident Evil-series without actually gibbering in fear even once. Gibbering in wordless anger, suuuure, and even in amazement in some ways, but not fear. Nor have the traditional dreams surfaced. This is always a bonus. Well, this is usually not a bonus, but this time, it is.



Something did get me though.
In the Resident Evil series, it is explained that the virus responsible for all this crap basically re-animates dead tissue with all their base instinct in tact, especially their hunger. And this is ok, I can get with that, even though we thankfully not see any zombies in full rut, and the zombie-folk do respond as a pack of very hungry animals, preferring to prey on the weak and alone first and only really attacking en masse. What gets me here is that we see zombies. Multiple ones. There shouldn’t be. Not really.

Ok. Zombies have an incredible hunger, and can still process what they used to be able to process. This works. It also stands to reason that they would try to go after things that they can most easily ingest, which is what every animal does. You go for the best average where it comes to personal risk versus gain. This ensures that it stands to reason that zombies would eat human. After all, zombies are basically made of human, and this would imply that human meat would have most of the building blocks you’d need. Also, when you have one cornered and worked to the ground, there is very little personal risk left over and you can eat to your hearts content. They are more nutritious than a chocolate bar and you don’t run the risk of being crushed by a vending machine you just tried to work open with your little ineffective zombie-paws. Combine that with the fact that being bitten by a zombie makes you a zombie, a nice and continuous string of infections and more zombies seems to be the only logical conclusion. Only it isn’t, because there is no reason to stop eating the other person after you have started. Even a zombie is still made of human meat and leaving it shambling around is just competition. So logically the first person to turn Z-side should have eaten the second one, and the third, and so on until they infected one that was bigger/stronger/faster which would then eat them and continue on. You’d have dozens of zombies, not millions, and a few piles of maybe animated but certainly just mushy and well-chewed flesh.

In the Day/Dawn/Evening/Twilight/Shortly before sunset/Whutever of the Dead series, it is somewhat established that hell is full, and those who die come back and inhabit their old bodies, albeit murderously insane. I am ok with this, as it clearly explains everything that happens in the movies given some liberties with basic tendon-strength, as most other issues have been waved away with a generic “they cannot re-die, unless you give them no body to re-inhabit afterwards”. In the Night/Day/Return/Whutever of the Living Dead (one word difference, entirely different universe) it is established that the zombies in question need the energies of living beings to maintain their own organic processes, preferably the brains, after being re-animated by a chemical substance. I am also ok with this, as it makes at least some sense. By all means humans are propelled ever onwards by some biological mechanism, and expressing this in a basic “energy” equivalent stored in human organs in such a way as to be harvestable by chemically altered corpses might be effectively ludicrous but basically somewhat sound within the confines of your story. I ask for no more. In this last example, there should also not be any other zombies, and to be honest, there aren’t. There are a few, but mostly contaminated with the same chemical (which is excreted by the zombies, in fact). It is also established that zombies can, and do, eat other zombies but that the return on investment is so much lower that it makes very little sense. This same argument is not, however, made in Resident Evil.

Even going from a starting point of a few hundred zombies with not enough time to start eating each other before fresh human flesh, which is arguably preferable over dead zombie flesh, shows up there are literally miles and miles of zombies who have had no chance of even sensing the human snacks that somehow just sit there and wait until a human pops by, usually in groups, and NOBODY eats ANYBODY. This makes no sense.

Retro-actively making the argument that the deceased flesh becomes immediately inedible or all zombies are part of one bigger organism that does not feed itself is obviously an option, and one that I cannot imagine the writers shying away from at all, but then why not give us that explanation in any of the first couple of movies? It would explain why zombies usually (but not always) stop attacking after somebody has been bitten, at least. So I’m sure that would be what they would go for to ultimately explain it but then what? What were zombies supposed to eat? If their new genetic make-up makes them attack humans only to propagate itself, a perfectly acceptable evolutionary action, what were they supposed to use for food? Never do we see zombies attack other species to then finish them off, they express only a mindless hunger for meat but nothing else seems to interest them overmuch.

I am going so far as to say I would accept the explanation that the virus only wants to maintain itself by jumping from host to host, uncaring of what happens to the host apart form the fact this host needs to be able to continue spreading, as most viruses ultimately do, but then why re-create them in the image of rotting corpses? Surely altering their make-up to make them all resemble skinny people with good skin that smell nice must also be on the list of possibilities, and would be a lot more effective where world domination is concerned. Or at least more fun to look at.

the bridal issue (2)

“Later this week” freely translates into “next month, apparently, but I have a sense of style, not time. So, on with the show.

Last time I promised to discuss the last few topics when it comes to bridal dresses, patterns, advice and friends. Let’s get cracking.

Patterns
I find it difficult to talk about tradition when it comes to bridal wear, as most of what we now consider traditional in the dress only really started happening in the last 70 years or so, which means that “traditionally” really means “before wedding dresses”. In that sense, patterns can be considered tradition, as patterned fabrics were a part of daily life and therefore used in wedding dresses.

The modern, tradition, however, shies away from patterned materials to an extent. You find laces, which are obviously but subtly patterned, and some applications of the decorative arts around waist, hemline and shoulders, but one does not really often find patterns, as such, in bridal couture.

Which leaves us with simpler pattern-based questions, or really, line based questions. Most people will tell you that horizontal lines are fattening, and vertical lines are slimming. This is, regretfully, false. Horizontal lines actually make you look taller, and vertical lines make you look wider, especially if the lines are really close together.

Now before everybody starts rushing towards the oft-neglected horizontal line, there is such a thing as taste, and most wedding dresses I have seen with a horizontal pattern seemed to lack a good deal thereof. The charming lady in my little image up there might look tall and statuesque, but imagine that same picture in yards of white satin and frills and it looks suspiciously less charming.

As with almost everything when it comes to fashion, less is usually more. Any combination of lines can be flattering, providing you follow the following simple steps:

• Your body cinches in around the waist, upper breast, wrists and ankles. If any lines are in your dress, they should be there. So your hemline, waist, shoulders and sleeves can have a definite horizontal line, either in embroidery, contrasting fabrics or thread. Everywhere else will more than likely make you look shorter.
• Your body has natural vertical lines in your legs, arms, and torso. If you already have a cinched waist, your legs will look longer, and you need to do nothing to make them appear even longer than that. The same goes for your arms, as the lines of the fabric will likely already give you long, slender arms. Your torso, however, might be in want of some help, as you have probably cut it in two already with a sash or the shape of a corset. If you feel your torso does not get enough attention, I would suggest going for simple corsetry or stitching, not straight up and down and in a color that in no way contrasts with the rest of the bodice.

This is bad

This is better



This is good

•  A straight thin line looks like a cut or slit, a broad straight line will distract from the shape of your dress. There really is no perfect width here but if you are going for a definite pattern, make it definite, and don’t wimp out on the last stretch, as it will look cheaper than just getting it wrong.

Your friends, and the advice you should take.

None, obviously, as this is your day and nobody is going to stand in the way of how you really want it and live.

But, if you do decide to take advice from anybody, avoid the following :

• Friends who are soon to get married : as they will either steal, or graciously allow you to copy ideas, and you might end up with two weddings that look too similar by half. Subconsciously, they will likely try to sabotage your wedding in favour of their own.
• Friends who have “opinions” on the state of matrimony : Need I explain this?
• Friends who are bitterly single : Again, you are not seeing this one yourself?
• Friends that make you feel somewhat uncomfortable in the area of appearance : Not just your too skinny model-friend, but also your slightly overweight best mate from college. If at any point during the picking of the friends you think “But I/She/He might be uncomfortable when I get undressed in front of them or try on several outfits” just scrap them. You will be discussing and trying on a lot, and you don’t need the aggravation.
• Outrageous friends : As you want timeless and stylish, not hip and happening but ultimately tacky.
• Sales-clerks between the ages of 20 and 45, and older if clearly unmarried : because they combine the annoyances of the outrageous friend with the persistence of a shark smelling a good deal. Even as a mixed metaphor, you should be able to see this is a bad thing.

Advice you should take :

• Mine : Obviously
• Friends who have been married for a while or are not “in that place” right now : They can have a clear eye unclouded by jealousy or subterfuge, and can bring experience and honesty without losing too much ground themselves.Sales-Clerks over the age of 45, clearly married or working in an established salon : they have experience, they have seen women get married before and if it is a good establishment, they should not be more interested in their commission than your happiness.
• Someone who makes you laugh : Not for their advice, necessarily, but bring them along to keep bride-zilla at bay.
• Your parents’ : Nowadays they will not be paying for the thing anymore most likely, but they have paid for a lot of things up to now, and they have a vested interest in seeing their little one look pretty, and jealousy or uncaring commercialism is probably far from their minds. They also have some experience, have probably been to some weddings with well- and badly dressed brides and can tell you what other’s did wrong so you don’t have to.



Obviously the lists above are not definite, carved in stone or immutable. You probably know who you are going to ask for advice and who not, and if it feels good, go for it. But from my first category I would take most things they say with a grain of salt, most definitely.

This ends my two-piece on bridal wear, I hope you find what you are looking for, or put it on and you’ll “just know”.

I am certain you’ll look beautiful, and radiant, no matter what, and if not, that nooooobody will let you know until yonks later.

the bridal issue. (1)

Two weeks ago, I gave you some pointers on how to arrive elegantly dressed at a wedding you have been invited to, with a swift cliff-hanger on bridal couture. Now we all realize that the world of the trousseau is slightly wider than one can easily cover in two paragraphs so I’m giving this another shot.

Wedding dresses are a big thing. They are on average ridiculously expensive, you will only wear them once (even if you do get married several times over the course of your lifetime it is very tacky to wear the same dress twice) and to be perfectly honest, given that you are dealing with a slightly biased audience, it is very easy to not really look as good as people tell you you do but you’ll only really find out when you are looking at the photos a little while later. And you’ll probably won’t mind anyways.

But I will.

So for my sake, let’s go over a few things that are easy to do wrong while shopping for a dress and how you can easily avoid a raised eyebrow from the fifth row messing with your head.

Fashion
Wedding dresses used to follow modern fashions very, very faithfully. And then flapper dresses happened, and two world wars, and when the sartorial and political smoke cleared, they didn’t anymore. For the last 80 years or so, wedding dresses have been modeled along Victorian lines, with long waists, bustles and petticoats and florals featuring very heavily. In economically more affluent years, fashions become sleeker, and in these years the Grecian lines come in, with high waistlines, clear lines and simple shapes with little decoration being the norm.

If there is anything in the world that embodies artistry, elegance and style, it is the kimono, a simple garment that has weathered every storm to come out clean, elegant and with the utmost respect and understanding of tradition. Wedding dresses should do the same thing, showing grace, purity and style, but also show that what you are doing has a sense of timelessness, tradition and respect to earlier generations.

Do not:

• Purchase a hello Kitty wedding dress (Google can find it for you), “the dress from that video-clip”, “The dress from that movie” or a dressed themed in a way that your mother or as yet unborn child would not recognize.
• Buy a “Fashion dress”, including short skirts, showgirl skirts or dresses in colours that are completely hip right now but will not be soon.
• Get a dress that is “Just like the one X had” whether X is a friend of yours, or a bridal magazine, or a celebrity. Your wedding is YOUR wedding, not a copy of somebody elses.

Do:

• Get a timeless dress that would have looked good and that you would have appreciated seeing in photo’s 50 years ago, and 25 years ago, as it will mean you will probably appreciate it after that time as well.
• Realise that a wedding dress is a uniform. The colours and shapes have been pretty much set. But as with any uniform, it is the individual details and chamrs that make it stand out. Nobody else in your life has your exact combination of features, and you would feel strange if they did. The same should go for your dress.
• Allow yourself to be inspired by dresses you liked, but mostly by those that were worn well by people who look like you. If you are not a 6ft Amazonian blonde, getting all your inspiration form photos featuring 6ft Amazonian blondes will ensure that you will not look good.

Form
Yours, mostly, should dictate the shape of your dress. As with all clothing, if it neither obscures what you have yourself nor pushes it into a new shape altogether, you are probably good. But wedding dresses are a little bit special in this regard, and allow a little leeway when it comes to the shape you are providing…
Do not:

• Overemphasize your natural features. If you are busty, do not also go for tight corsetry and push-ups, as it will just look cartoonish and cheap. Also, if you have the slightest feeling that people in your audience will think “Oh there she is again with her…”(and they will) you should adjust to avoid. 
• Overestimate your abilities. The run-up to your wedding is stressful and busy, and you will probably not go to the gym 17 times a week or stick to a very rigorous diet. By all means strife for losing some weight, but don’t expect to drop several sizes for the big day. Shop accordingly. 
• Underestimate your abilities. You probably have a few amazing features that a wedding dress will allow you show off to their fullest, and there is nothing wrong with allowing it to do so. Just don’t go overboard, or veer into tacky.

Do:

• Be honest with yourself. You could be a little chubby, or your upper-body could be somewhat long, or you could have disproportionate arms. These things happen. Don’t hide them, but find a dress that makes them less noticeable.
• Allow your personality to shine through in your choices. If you are a natural tomboy with no tendency for girlishness whatsoever, do not go for an enourmous frilly ball-gown. Adjust what you wear to what makes you feel comfortable, and pretty. Not just on of those two.

I am realizing this is getting somewhat lengthy so I am going to get back to the final topics (patterns, advice and friends) on wedding dresses later this week. Watch this space!

Wedding Style

There are, on a rough average and regardless of how often these occasions occur, about three circumstances where it is important to be timelessly, elegantly dressed, styled and behaved. These are those moments that are distinct links in time, and that are irrevocably linked to the absolute, unavoidable passage of time. These circumstances are birth, marriage, and death. And the occasions associated with them baptism, weddings and sepulchral ceremonies.


Obviously being well-dressed for either your baptism AND your funeral is mostly the responsibility of other people, and being well dressed for attending either a baptism or a funeral is ridiculously important as it is two of the absolute best occasions to sniff huffly at badly dressed people and being one of them quite distances you from this pastime. But weddings?

Either as one of the bridal party or a guest, people please.

While at a wedding you are, barring a few hopefully decidedly private moments, constantly surrounded by professional photographers (if you are lucky), amateur photographers (if you are not) or both (if the bride and groom are exceptionally cruel) and more than likely also submerged in a sea of broken whites, clear silvers and glowing ivories, so showing up in a fully denim outfit with your hair shaped and coloured like a cranky dessert is not just a bad choice but a bad choice that will be in photographs that people will still be looking at long after you, yourself, are in fact dead and buried.

So, how to actually BE well dressed for a wedding? You will basically fall into one of four basic categories, to wit : A male guest, a female guest, a male member of the bridal party, and a female member of the bridal party. There are, obviously, subcategories, as being a well-dressed bridesmaid is not the same as being a well-dressed bride, but as a rule of thumb that is your first decision: Am I a guest, or am I one of the bridal party?

As a guest, male or female, you have a few basic questions you need to ask yourself and somebody “in the know” of both the ceremony and the reception or celebration.

1) What colour will the bride be wearing?
2) What colour will the groom be wearing?
3) If applicable, what colour will the accessories of the bride and groom be?
4) What colours will the bridesmaids and groomsmen be wearing or sporting?
5) Which colours will the main decorations be in?
6) Will the ceremony be in a church, town hall or at another location entirely?

From here, it is very simple. You do not wear any of the colours that are the answers to questions 1, 2 and 3. If the answers to questions 4 and 5 differ from the first three, these are also off limits entirely except when explicitly requested by either the bride or her direct representative, in case of a themed wedding.

The answer to question 6 will tell you what mode of dress you should adopt for which part of the day, if the invitation itself does not already spell it out. If nothing is mentioned and you are unsure, only the bridal party will wear morning dress or full formal outfits, as a guest you are best of with simple, semi formal dress. If the ceremony is held in a church, be aware that it is a place of respect and worship, and therefore showing more skin than strictly needed, or in places that can be assumed “unfortunate” will be a source of both shame and gossip for years to come.

As a man:

• Simple formal dress, preferably two pieces, as three-piece is rather more formal than most occasions require. If you are planning to dance and the dances are not formal styles (waltz, quicksteps and slow-foxtrots are formal dances, during a wedding) you can consider a waistcoat or vest as they remain “dressed” even when you take of your jacket, vests or waistcoats should match the suit, but not clearly be part of it. If the dances are formal styles, you really should keep your jacket on, and buttoned, while dancing.
• A tie and pocket-square in matching, but not identical, fabrics that match the “feel” of the evening.
• Shirt can be white, and really should be, or ton-sur-ton on the fabric of the tie, when you know what you are doing and can pull it off.
• Black (and polished!) shoes
• Little or no jewelry. Remember, watches are strictly a day-time accessory. Cufflinks, however, can be metal or jeweled and even a bit “novel”.

Following the list above is not heavily exciting, but you won’t appear foolish, underdressed or like you have just come from work. Which you will appreciate, during the obligatory slideshow at their fifth anniversary.

As a woman:

• Simple sheath-dress, just over the knee, not too décolleté, or a long-ish cocktail dress. Full length is very formal, and should really only be worn by the bride and het mother and mother-in-law.
• No spaghetti-straps, strapless concoctions, or bow-tied halters. You are there for the happy couple, not for happy coupling.
• “Pretty” rather than “stunning” high-heeled shoes, with a bit of sparkle.
• The hair tied up in a simple chignon, or pulled back from the face in anything but a ponytail.
• Bare shoulders, open backs, stunning up-does and incredible necklaces and bracelets are the province of the bride, and just the bride.
• As are strappy shoes, garter-belts, stockings, heavy corsetry, jewels-in-the-hair, cleavage and other direct sexual references between ankle and crown. Sorry.
• A clutch-bag, but smallish and not garish or bejeweled.
• No opera-gloves, large rings, cloaks, manteaus, or other trappings of high drama.

Following the list above will make you look elegant, mature and more than likely incredibly attractive without outshining the bride. Which, let’s face it, is what you are aiming for.

As a member of the bridal party, your life is likely to be a lot easier than any of the guests, as most decisions will be made for you by a rather frantic young woman who is more than willing and able, and probably hunger crazed enough to boot, to simply eat you if you do anything that stands between her and the best day of her life. If you are a man, expect to be told what to wear, where to show up, and who to talk to during. If you are the groom, this counts double, as there will even be somebody telling you what to say during peak moments of today’s performance. Some people consider this sufficient practice for the marriage itself.

If you are a woman and not a bridesmaid, you are either the mother of the bride or groom, in which case matronly elegance is really all that is expected of you. You will likely be heavily involved in the proceedings so should have a pretty good idea of how you can look your best, but some pointers never go awry.

• Your clothing colour should, if you are the mother of the bride, be a darker or dustier version of her colour or accessories. Muted plums and purples for red accessories, darker blues for sapphires, and greens and browns if the bride is in emerald. If you are the mother of the groom, the same goes, but for his accessories. If the whole shindig is done in white, ivory, darker golds and silvers are your thing. Consider that in photographs you will likely be close to your child, and you want to look matching, but not like you copied his or her outfit.
• You are one of the few women who can get away with a floor-length dress apart from your daughter or daughter-in-law-to-be. Go for it, I say.
• Nothing overtly sexual is required, and you should certainly not flash any skin that might be considered inappropriate. Regardless of your charms, today is for somebody else to show of.
• Jewelry can be flashy and even somewhat outrageous, providing they are family pieces or gifts from the happy couple. If you buy new jewelry for the ceremony, keep it understated.
• Shoes should be closed toed, with somewhat of a heel, but steer away from boots or ankle-boots.

If you are a bridesmaid a friendly bride will have selected a dress for you that will make you look elegant and somewhat demure. Do not, ever, alter it without discussion. If the bride has allowed you to pick out your own dress, follow the rules for a standard guest, but in pre-selected colours, and a more upscale formality. As a bridesmaid, you can have a more spectacular hairdo and jewelry than the rest of the guests, but no more than the bride.

If you are male, you are the groom, father of the bride or groom, or a groomsman. You will likely be asked to be somewhat formally dressed, in pre-described colours. Follow what you have been given, but:

• Never dye or change your hair shortly before the wedding
• Do not get into fights or otherwise bruise or scar yourself shortly before the wedding
• Always learn how to work your accessories. No watches after 5 pm, a cummerbund is tied so the creases point upwards, and only Tom Ford should try to get away with a square-folded pocket-square.
• This is one of the few occasions where your accessories will probably exactly match in both colour and fabric. It is a shame. Never do it again and this will be forgiven.
• Black shoes. Always. No contest. If black shoes do not go with the outfit chosen : complain. But wear them still.
• Try to subtly, but decidedly, move the decision makers away form novelty colours and fabrics. Powder blues and shiny fabrics are not what you want to see in ten years time when you have to re-live your wedding. Do not risk your life for this, be subtle. This is real practice for marriage.

As the bride you are likely to be well aware of what you want, and more than able to make your own decision, informed solely by your mother, some close friends, every gay man you have ever met and a billion-dollar-industry of bridal magazines, shows, expositions, soirees, party-planners, flower-people and what not (made up mostly out of every gay man you have ever met).
But, some small comments before you embark on your journey towards the graceful and elegant vision that will stroll down the center isle of the church:

• A wedding dress made up of horizontal stripes will make you look taller, but also invite comments on the wisdom of horizontal stripes.
• The bodice of your dress should not elongate your waistline. If anything is optically lengthened, go for the legs.
• Cap sleeves are better than spaghetti-straps.
• No visible zippers. If you absolutely cannot be sewn into your dress on the day and have to have a visible closing mechanism, a row of small buttons is fetching and classy. If buttons are too persnickety, and they often are, hide the zipper somewhere in the material.
• During this day you will likely have stockings, garters, a garter belt, high heels, a constricting bodice, bare shoulders and arms, open shoes and some cleavage. These items are there to subtly keep in mind what will happen that evening after you have been whisked of by your husband. Anything else that will put the mind to the marital arts is tacky.
• Your dress should not be a copy of a wedding dress from any movie, video clip, book or illustration. With the exception of the dress and veil combination in “How I married an axe-murderer” which I think is too short, but gorgeous.
• A “Novelty” wedding dress is a wedding dress that you will deeply, deeply regret. As are most too short dresses.
• Speaking of copied dresses… A “showgirl skirt” is deeply unacceptable unless you have exceptional legs, and want to hear about them every time you show people the photos. Which means it is acceptable roughly never, regardless of how good your legs are. (You know who you are, Guns and Roses…)
• The standard rule: If it looks good on the model, it might not look good on you, but if it looks bad on the model, it WILL look bad on you” applies here more than anywhere.
• As does: “Just because you can get into it does not mean it fits.”

So far, so rules. Weddings should be elegant, classic affairs that you can look back on in years to come with a tear in your eyes and a smile in your heart. A tacky, novel wedding plan is an invitation to re-new your vows a short time later without all the embarrassment, and possibly with half the church filled with different people. Keep this in mind.

Canadialand 4: Horsecarried Kevinage, euhm, drawn.

Just to put everybodies worries at rest, no, nothing happened. I am travelling with older (but massively spry and frighteningly acute) women, who seem to all come equipped with minor but annoying medical issues. And one of those had us trudging to the local medical centre at ten of the o'clock last night.
Woodstock, Ontario being what it is, you don't trudge hither and then shortly fro, no (no no no no), you trudge hither and about three hours later fro. The first hour and a half wasn't that bad, but after Aunty N and N were called in, I was left to my own devices, which consisted of one OK magazine, one People Magazine, one toy train set, three half chewed books about recognizing numbers and certain ducks, and fond but useless memories of the very cute guy that was wheeled out of the waiting room as we entered it.
I had been deeply contemplating the "If you have a stroke"-poster on the wall for twenty minutes by the time we could do the second half of the trudging. Hey, the guy was cute and all, but being in a waiting room under close scrutiny of the lovely people of the nursing staff swiftly exhausts the options your brain provides.

And the day started out so well. We noodled down to the centre of town for a very, euhm, interesting parade in the full Canadian sun (Sunburn? Nah, there has to be combustible material left for something to be called a burn) after which we sojourned to the farm of In and An. The parade, mostly made up of big men in small cars, small women in big cars, clowns (shudder) and various local marching bands did have going for itslef the fact that it had one man so determined to reach heaven that he decided to walk there himself when he died, about three years ago. Somebody gave him a flag to carry. Lush.

Once on the farm, we were being treated to a beautifully chargrilled or deliciously deepfried version of the thing An managed to shoot the previous couple of months. It was glorious. I made my well-received olive bread, which was good, but it really can't hold a candle to a man holding a 6 kilo turkey above a vat (yes, vat) of boiling oil.

After dinner, we all got a chance to ride one of In's horses. The name of the horse I can't remember, but I can say that riding skills disappear over time, and everybody who says otherwise lies. That thing stalled withing seconds of me hoisting myself over it's back, and it wasn't a weight issue. I think I wasn't gentle enough with the clutch. All In's helpful comments (Use your legs, he stops moving when you stop riding, don't let him see the fence (Excuse me?)) in spite, I did not have any sort of feeling for that animal.

My mother, however, did. Which made me proud. My mother, for those who don't know her, is not a large woman. This horse, for those who don't know it, was a large animal. My mum had spent three solid days saying things along the lines of "I've never even touched a horse, they scare me, they are so big, I am not getting on one of those, no, never", which she kept up until about three minutes after she had started leading it around the paddock. In walked with her, but she still did very well. It was a bit shaming, I have to say, so I stuck to petting there incredibly friendly half-Husky half brown Lab.

Today was spent shopping in London, finally netting me my promised birthday present from my mum in the form of a Swarovski crystal bracelet and yet another pair of wicked cool shoes.
Wallets depleted, we spent a while in the house of yet another cousin, B, with his wife T. B and T are flippers, buying house, fixing them up and selling them with a profit. Their current house is in flux, but going to be gorgeous. For today as for the holiday, I'll be posting pictures at a later date.

We closed of our last day here  at the house of Aunty G and Uncle M, and I am currently in the lobby of our hotel writing this. I am also exhausted, sunburned, a little bit hungry and I haven't had more than 13 minutes of straight reading for 5 days. I am looking forward to going hoooome.

See you all soon,

Kevin.

Canadialand 3 : Moisture Moments & Coming out, well, sorta.

For those who are unaware of how the set-up is here (Everybody but about three of the people who are on the actual trip), some additional information: My little group consists of seven people. There is me; your dashing hero, K. Then there is my mother and her sister, H and W1. Along for the trip are two cousins of my mom, N and W2, W2 also the only other male presence in the group. Closing of the ranks are two of my mothers's aunts, my great aunts Aunty N, and Aunty R. We are visiting another of my mother's extended coteries of aunts, Aunty G (who turns 80 tomorrow) and her uncle, Uncle M.

I can say it is a good mixture of people. All seven of us exhibit moments of incredible mental acuity that do, but barely, outweigh the moments of intense "Ah yes, I should have seen that coming, can somebody come and help me now please"-stupidity.
But more importantly, it is a good mixture of different styles and senses of humor. Where I personally tend more to the situational, punny type of jokes, we have with us a physical joker (W2), some who find the funny side in day to day situations (H, W1, N) and those who are generally appreciative of the concept of humor (yups, everybody). It makes for some interesting car trips, I can tells ya.

Yesterday brought us to the stunning Niagara Falls. On my previous visit, my brother and I managed to make about 67 photos of water (And this is the falls from another angle, and this is the water underneath the falls, and these are the american falls, and these...) and yesterday would have been no different if my camera hadn't experienced a small moisture moment of it's own during the "Explore the Roar" boatride. At some point all my photos developed a soft-focus, ABBA-video-like effect that was charming, but not intended. Luckily a few minutes in the sun fixed the issue.
I still say the blasted thing had nothing to complain about, it might have gotten a tad wettish, I personally, along with W1, managed to pick exactly those spots on the boat where, for some reason, water just happened. (Hey look W, a free spot on the railing, let's stand here an-SPLOOSHHgggkkkggburblerble"Is that a trout in your ear?")

After having been wetted, we had good burger inflicted upon us by the daughter of Aunty G and her husband, In and An, who are providing is with BBQ this evening. I'm looking forward to that.
Yesterday we also had a piquenique party for Aunty G great-granddaughter, who turned 2 and might well be one of the most precious children I have ever seen. Amazingly focused and aware of what she wants (sticks) she sort of moseys around picking things (sticks) up, judging them (stick or no stick) and then carries them around. Crowning moment of Awesome for my mom and I was were she selected our present as the top one, refusing to open her other presents untill ours was opened and added to her current collection (of sticks)

To give you an indication of the group dynamics... I made a joke. Obviously, it was a bad joke, for I am I. My mother chose that moment to pick a piece of lint of my shoulder, but I thought she was coming in to give me a swift (deserved? who can tell(I can: Yes)) smack. So I ducked. So she missed my shoulder. And then said "do you think I'm gonna hit you?", and pretended to hit me for real, but missed.  And smacked W2 on the knee. Three-stooges-style-youtube-gold. Sad but true.

We closed the day of visiting a big souvenir store where everyone managed to find something moose-themed but me, but I have a few days left. They did sell fudge, which caused me to remark "I don't eat Fudge, I just pack it". I do think this is as close to actually coming out ass I am going to get this holiday... :)

Anyways, off to my BBQ, where I am going to try to create some good olive-bread and garlic mayonnaise.

Love, ey,
K.

Canadialand 2 : Son of Canadialand

Today was... Churchy. I am here visiting relatives who happen to be moderately to extremely religious. I am not. This is not a problem, as I do consider myself a spiritual person and respect the religious beliefs of others. Where it does become a problem is when those others religiously believe things that I don't agree with.
Even that is possible to overcome, I can dissemble like nobodies beeswax, but in this case...

I spent the morning having lunch in the church/meeting hall of the local Salvation Army branch, where my great-aunt and uncle are active members. I also spent the morning carefully avoiding all personal pronouns when discussing my current lovelife. "My ex and I broke up a few months ago"... "The house belongs to my Ex so I am just taking my furniture"... " I went to Australia with my Ex and stayed with....hi....hi...my never-to-be parents-in-law". It's both interesting and tiring. It becomes even more interesting (but slightly less tiring) when you have to explain why you don't have kids/wife/girlfriend, being all young, strapping and studly as I am. I have now resorted to telling people that "no lady has managed to catch my heart" and "I'd like to, but they run darn fast on those strappy high heels of theirs".

I fooled nobody, I think, but I like to feel like I did. At least I didn't swish. I did enjoy the moment at the table with the cake where somebody was explaining how being Gay didn't happen here only for a young boy to come up and asked specifically for the piece of cake with the purple flowers and the marzipan ladybugs. He pointed at the piece, limpwristedly, and swished off happily back to his mom. Hmmm, no gays.

On an unrelated note, it turned out the boys name was Keegan. Which is kinda cool, as I was named after a soccer player called Kevin Keegan. But for the grace of God (which he still basked in), there went I.

I have to say darn, as all forms of swearwords are heavily frowned upon. When I went to Australia with Tafkab I was warned to keep it clean, but since I heard both of his parents cursing within minutes of arriving I thought I was safe. Here, no such luck.

So far, we've caught up with local family members, easily distinguishable because they are the only few who are not dressed almost exclusively in tans and dark greens, or ohter colours best described as "Motley". The weather has turned a bit sour today, which is less pleasant, especially as we are planning to go to Niagara Falls tomorrow. A trip to Toronto is no longer on the books as we have been almost fully booked throuhout the week we are here.

So far, none of the usual family mishaps have occured, allthough I did almost walk straight through a flyscreen several times. I am hoping for a good slapstick moment in the next few days.

Greetings from lovely Woodstock, Ontario, home of the motley crew.

 Kevin

Canadialand!

So, first of, being picked up at 5.45 sucks. There is no nicer way to say this, it is par excellence a time that you should only see when you stay up to experience it, never because you wake up for it. And yes, I now sunrises are romantic, but let's face it, DVDs have them in better colour than real life.

But, having stood up at fudging5fudgingo-fudgingclock in the morning, being woken up by your mother singing in the shower, you might as well make the best of it. In my case, the best means grumbling nigh-uncontrollably until you hit the airport. At that point, the grumbling turns into so much despairing eyes raised towards the heavens that my occular muscles have developed carpal tunnel.

But it is actually very nice and warming to be coddled in the warm and inviting bosom of my family, even if that warm and inviting bosom is also remarkably stuffy and for some reason stuffed with dead animals. I kid you not, every single story either starts with a dead animal or ends with one. Unlike most of my conversations however, none ends with a punchline.

Eight hours of not sleeping later, we land in Toronto, at remarkable temperatures and practically no cloud coverage. This in no way explains the turbulence we had, I think we hit a deer or something at 10000 meters.

We've been here for two days now, catching up with the local shoots of our large and remarkably uniform family tree. I'm not able to post pictures, as my camera has not actually achieved thelepathy, but I will soon enough. So far, it's been a lot of fun.

I've not actually caught up on my sleep, as these people seem to be physically unable to go to bed at a reasonable hour, which explains why I can't actually anecdote at you just yet, but I'll be back after tomorrow, when I am going to a church service, after which we have a two-hundred person dinner, after which we have a surprise party. My horoscope actually says that what looks like a family gathering will turn into a date-like situation. It's going to be interesting, this church thinks gay men should be killed. I agree, obviously, for the most part, but not in my own, specific, case.

Wish me luck,
Kevin

Chloe

I hate things. This is not a surprise, nor is it a secret. Especially when it comes to movies I have a tendency to hate things to the exclusion of positive characteristics. Sometimes, however, I hate things so much they don’t even register anymore, which means I occasionally find myself in theatres surrounded by things I hate (cold, people, sticky floors) looking at things I hate even more (Valentine’s Day was a wonderful case in point). I sat through Happy Feet, realizing halfway through that I hated tap. I sat through the Wolfman, realizing halfway through that I hated Benicio del Toro. Clarification: I did not hate tap or BdT in the movies I hate both full time, all the time, just so, so much that I never noticed they were in the movies until the movie had well and truly started.

I deeply dislike Julianne Moore. I find she lacks depth as an actress and banks on little else but her oh so cool and clean and fragile “beauty” in whatever role she plays, and I thought her casting as not-just-to-my-mind-iconic Clarice Starling was a travesty only eclipsed by the rest of that heaven-renting disaster of a movie (Entertaining? Sure, gore almost always is. Good? Hell no).

I also dislike movies that are casted based on currently popularity of the cast rather than making effective (and affecting) use of the available pool of talent. Give me well-cast unknowns rather than badly cast bigger names. But I realize I am ranting against an unavoidability here, and I would never cast myself as Don Quixote, no matter how sturdy Rosicante, or how lovely Dulcinea. Some windmills refuse to be anything but giants, but some giants refuse to be anything but windmills, so it all works out, I find.

However, I do not hate either Julianne “Tales from the Darkside” Moore OR obvious casting so much that I avoid movies based on those aspects. I should, maybe, but I don’t.

I have been lucky in that regard as it has allowed me to see two movies with both Julianne AND relatively popularity induced casting over the last few weeks, and hey, colour me pleasantly surprised.


The first was “A Single Man” which is, apart form one small flaw, so very very poignant and touching and just all round good that it almost made me forget that I hate Julesy (and mohair sweaters) because she (like everybody in this movie) was just insanely, heartrendingly, believably on her acting-game. If you have not seen this movie yet, go see it. Now.

Reeling from finally having seen Julianne do something that did not make me want to slam her into a wall again (how else to explain that lack of profile) I decided to give the badly reviewed “Chloe” a chance as well. It has Julianne. It also has Amanda Seyfried. I do like Amanda Seyfried, somewhat, but I feel she is being overused at the moment. And I thought her somewhat to light and bubbly for the premise of the movie.

A premise that is as old, predictable and classic as it is simple: Woman (Jules) expects her Husband (Liam Neeson, another one for the “Oh really, you wanted a fatherly figure with an edge? Gosh” box) of cheating on her and decides to hire a prostitute (Seyfried) to seduce him, later suffering Horrible Consequences™ for her unwillingness to tackle the situation directly (Symbolism! Moral!).
Now, in this movie the Horrible Consequences™ are not altogether too horrible to behold. Yes, there is a little blood and some violence, but it could have all been a lot worse, and I seem to remember several movies where it did.

Seyfried seemed well set to massively disappoint, but I have to say, she didn’t. Her role as a prostitute could have been played darker, edgier and with a little more fatale glamour, but I think that the simple fact that she did not, that she kept it light, even comically teeny, made it all the more dangerous, all the more understandably seductive.
Because of course, this movie is about seduction. Not necessarily the sexual kind, but a slow and subtle game of leading astray is constantly being played. It is not always played well, obviously, sometimes the tactics and moves are a little… shall we say… pedestrian? But played it is and to relatively good effect.


I really enjoyed this movie. It was slow, but absolutely gorgeously filmed and many of the locations, outfits and shots echo a certain lush emptiness that matches the feel of the movie and the character’s very well, if a little too well in some cases. I’m not going to spoil the movie that much but to use the traditional beautiful-but-mottled-mirror-obscuring-a-face trick to imply a person’s slightly skewed way of seeing themselves has been done to death now, lovely as the imagery is.

Go see this movie as well. I’m not saying I don’t still dislike Julianne “can somebody beat her some” Moore with quite some passion, but I need to give her snaps for these two movies at least.


This post to ease myself back into some sort of regular blogging. My apologies for the long hiatus, I will strive to improve.


K

the Last House on the Left

There is a mode of thought that there are only so many stories in the world, and at some point everything is merely a variation on a familiar theme, and I do subscribe to this theory to some extent. As such, it is no surprise to me that certain movie plots seem to be copied time and time again. After all, with a limited number of stories the number of stories that are eligible for cinematization needs be just as limited, only smaller.

That being said, I don’t really think we ran out of permutations of a theme sometime in the mid to late nineties in such a way as to explain the ENORMOUS amount of re-makes, re-imaginings and other ways of saying re-hashes that are now plaguing the movie-theaters. It becomes practically impossible to spoil anything for the sheer fact that there is nothing playing where the story is not known up front and in many cases has been known up front for the last twenty odd years.

In a way, the new version of tLHotL avoids the rather disappointing effect of being spoiled by never really being spoilable. After all, a spoiler suggests that the ending is unexpected, surprising, something you would not have seen coming if somebody had not just spoiled the movie for you. tLHotL not so, there is no surprise, no twists and turns within the tale, everything made starkly clear, and unpleasantly clear, from start to finish. In its own way, it is not even a thriller, for exactly that reason, and I am not even considering placing it in the “horror” category. Horror, after all, needs a supernatural (or nearly so) element, and thrillers need tension and excitement. This movie has no supernatural element (the Norwegian tale does, but not in the main part of the story) and as said no thrills. I would call this movie simply a “drama”, if not with the melancholy or sad connotations the word holds nowadays.

TLHotL, this time, is a re-make of a movie that was a re-imagining of another movie that was a re-telling of a traditional Scandinavian folktale, and with so many “re”s it is not surprising it lost some of the old tale along the way. What is surprising is how much it has lost since the relatively recent firs tLHotL. The original (for want of a better word) is no more exciting or surprising than this one, but is more uncomfortable, which in a movie like this counts.

The story, very swiftly (as so many old tales this one also can be synopsed incredibly swiftly) is: “Parents kill the people who raped and killed their daughter”. The story is told in simple (near) chronological order, starting with the presentation of the criminals, then the parents + daughter. After this murder, rape and some murder, and then more murder. It’s gory (although less so than the Craven original version) and unpleasant (see last line within brackets) but that is the (natch) meat and bone of the movie.

What I liked about Craven’s original was the fact that it made the viewer complicit in the horrible acts portrayed. What I hate about the current one is that it absolves the viewer from any responsibility towards the situation. In the original a horrible, almost five minute long, shot of a brutal rape that seems to go on for much longer and never relents makes you uncomfortable, makes you wish the camera would pan out, show something else, anything but this poor girl being abused. But it does not, and you feel as much a part of the scene as she. But as you are looking AT her you feel slightly, if subtly, that you are part of the group that allows this to happen to her, you have a responsibility, and somehow, you feel as though you could stop this, but don’t. The new version does pan out, showing trees and other people and more importantly, it only lasts a very short time. And this time, the viewer is placed outside the scene, and thus not really responsible, you care, somewhat, but not really, as the camera seems to care, somewhat, but not really.

When, in the original, the parents find the corpse of their daughter (I won’t spoil how, it is also not important) the decision “right, they raped and killed my little girl, I’m gonna be bitin’ me off some peen” is made willingly, swiftly and decisively. As I imagine mine would be. If I ever find out somebody killed my child that person is dead, never mind that they seem to currently be breathing, they might as well not be. The parents put all their love and caring they used to feel for their daughter into destroying, knowingly, other lives. Does it make them nicer people? No. Does it make them relatable? Yes. The switch in their characters is done so expertly you feel that this killer instinct was always there, just barely kept under the surface for the sake of their child. Their energy could have gone dark as easily as it went light. Symbolically this places the child as the cap on their rage, the one thing that stops these people from turning into murderous beasts.

In the new version, the parents are unpleasant, yes, but form first view about as menacing as a disgruntled bedbug. They seem to be unpleasant to each other, the dad is unpleasant to his daughter and the mother is mostly unpleasant to herself, by staying with these horrid people. The daughter never gets a chance to represent the key to their happiness as there simply is no happiness. When she is inevitably attacked and thus taken out of the equation of this family’s life, the rage is no turning point, no corruption form light to dark; it simply makes the last final step from grubby to foul.

I enjoyed the new tLHotL, unlike the friends I was with, but I did think changes were made that changed the message and the impact of the story. A lot of the “comic relief” bumbling policemen and the like were taken out where they really, really should have stayed in the movie. In the original, at several points, the story could have still been saved but wasn’t because people decided not to take the turn, not to check out the car, not to do this or that, and as a viewer, you get tense because everything could have turned out ok, if not for that small step. The new version does not have that, and unavoidably moves towards the finish. And an unavoidable fate is not an interesting fate.

The last and final point of chance that really did chance so much for me in this movie centers on redemption and escape. In the original, the parents meet up after their rampage, covered in blood, in the living room of their home. They end the story still in the story; they have already begun haunting the place of their crimes. There is no redemption for anybody, as nobody physically leaves the scene of the crime. Also, with their daughter dead and summarily avenged, what do they have to live for? You feel, if not know, that they are ready for a hell of their own making, no more love, or light, but no willingness or need for hate and darkness. A grey eternity rehashing their actions while sitting in that living room, in those clothes, close to their victims memories.
The redemption they sought, the peace they hoped to find is not, and will not be, there. They are punished for their violence, however understandable within the context of their actions, as they are judged by the same standards they have judged by.

In the new version, not only does the daughter live, she is also instrumental in her own and her parent’s survival (alerting them to the danger under their roof). The final scene of this movie has the parent’s, along with their daughter (and for reasons explainable one of the members of the criminal group) in a boat speeding towards help. They leave the place of dark to go into the dawn. They are by their actions or character redeemed. The family is stronger than ever, the daughter has found a new assertiveness along her mother, and the junior criminal looks towards no live of crime. Even better, he fills a void that was left by some unneeded and unexplained back-story death.

Completeness through adversity, strength through resistance and redemption through action are NOT tenets of this story, they are NOT heartwarming messages to take away. The original, as does the original tale, tell that revenge does NOT fulfill, that it does NOT make everything a little bit better, it just makes things worse. With the redemption of the family we condone violence; we say “given the situation you acted right” where they really did not. Remember that the daughter lived, and that therefore the cap was never off the rage, the energy that was put into lighting her life never needed to be turned towards avenging that same life. It makes all the actions unreasonable and the redemption and escape undeserved. It completely turns around the message of the story, and in doing so, negates the impact to such an extent that it makes the movie less “worth it” less debatable, less a topic for discussion (how would YOU act?) and more a standard (or sub-standard) exercise in gore.

International Kev

In an unrelated but still very nice note, I have now gone cross-borders! A lithuanian co-worker of mine has a blogging friend who has a tremendously good looking blog on cooking related things that is paired with a more personal blog, for which I have written a short bit.

I am very proud of my first international blog, even if it proved impossible to translate.

You can find it (and the cooking blog, which looks really good) here:
http://pragarovirtuve.lt/instrukcija-kaip-atpazinti-geju/2462/

All stripes at fully open for happy!
K

Fashion, cyclical nature of,

Fashion is not often seen as the most democratic and fair system of social interaction, given as it is to focus on those of us with slightly thinner than average bodies and slightly better than average faces, but there is an underlying balance in fashion as in all things that govern the chances even for those not currently shaped as in vogue as others. It has been said that fashion is a form of ugliness so bad we change it every 6 months, and with some unfortunate exceptions this holds relatively true. This means that those things in fashion now will soon not be, and those things not in fashion will be within an overseeable period of time.

The reason for this is as superficial as it is logical: Money. Or better yet, sales. And the money and fame that run concurrently with sales when discussing shops and brands.
If you are currently selling skinny jeans by the bucketload you know you are selling only to those people that wear skinny jeans. People who don’t aren’t buying. But soon enough the skinny jeans wearing crowd will have their fill of them, the market becomes glutted and it is in the best interest of stockists everywhere to start promoting the non-skinny jean, as the demographic of non-skinny jeans wearing people is ready to start buying again. Fashion is designed by the magazines, who are influenced by advertisers, who are influenced by sales, and see a real good thing in selling products to that group that holds the most money. So by setting up a relatively predictable cycle of opposing fashions the industry ensures that most of their own can stay in business while providing overall to all punters.

So if this year the a-line dress is very popular and worn under a bolero and over three-quarter length leggings all in primary colours, you can be almost certain that the next mode will be baggy pants topped with a cut-waisted upper body and the one-layered look in pastels or basic browns and grays will reign for a few months. Taken over two years (the rough time a buyer for a store needs to prepare for a new fashion trend) the see-saw of fashion will have ensured that people of all possible shapes, sizes, skin-tones and preferences have crossed the threshold of the store at least once, with a good chance of getting money from all of them.

But that is basic, day to day fashion, what about the vintage craze? What about the materials and forms which were fashionable three decades ago? Why do we feel the need to renaissance every conceivable style this and former centuries have seen? This is a process that is a lot more subtle, as it seems not to be inspired as much by direct sales but by the whims of designers. And it is. Obviously nothing is ever cut and dry black or white, and many things tend to inspire the look of an age, but bear with me here for a moment.

When I was younger my mother had one friend who everybody always commented on was very well dressed. She always had on high heels, always wore sleekly cut jackets and was usually not afraid to show a bit of cleavage. Her hair was usually swept and pinned up and she wore those kick-ass eighties glasses that give off a sexy-librarian vibe even if the gender of the person involved is not what is sexually attractive for you. Now when I think of a well dressed woman or when my friends ask me for advice on fashion, I notice I move into the friend’s direction very easily, after all, in my mind that is the template for a well dressed woman.

Fashion designers also have mothers, and more than likely these mothers also had a friend like that. So fashion designers also grow up with an image of a well-dressed woman (this all applies for men as well, obviously) somewhere in their head, which almost unavoidably bleeds through in their work. So when a new alternative need to be found for this season’s neckline it is very easy to just import the well-dressed-friend-of-mum’s neckline into existing shapes. And suddenly the 70’s neckline is back in fashion (which is itself a reflection of a 40’s neckline, because the person who introduced it into the 70’s also had a mum, and she also had a friend). But it is now used to augment and add to daily fashion that is inspired by many designers, and thus by many designers mum’s friends. This together will give a feel of an age in current fashion that grows naturally from all these borrowed elements.

These cycles together repeat ad infinitum, always inspired by best practices, new options in production and new fabrics and dyes to use to create an ongoing image of fashion as a constantly reinvented world where everything stays the same and everything comes back into fashion if only you wait long enough. Obviously, this is only an apparent truism as there are things that have, through impractically, lethality or stupidity become unfashionable for ever. The real test of ongoing style is the ability which items will be modish again in ten years and which shouldn’t even have been today.

Ties, what to do and what knot to do.

Much as we have American sit-coms to thank for an encroaching childishness in the work-place, I personally can thank a specific American sit-com for a marked improvement on my style and sense of dress. Having changed recently from a long string of temporary jobs to a job that I hope will be the beginning of a long-enjoyed corporate career, I have also changed my style of dress from preppy-casual to a standard of suits and dress shoes, along with a modest but expanding selection of shirts and ties. Having been blessed by good advice in my past and a slight penchant for dandy-ism in my present, I do believe I have managed to weather this awkward and uncomfortable change with a reasonable amount of success, as evidenced that people still comment on my sense of style well after the novelty of suits should have worn off.

Suits (and shoes) will have their own entry on this blog, but I would like to start the subject of office-style with those accoutrements that allow for a little bit of flair or a great bit of garish insanity by adding a personal note to any uniform outfit; the tie. For every well chosen colour and knot-style walking the corporate hallways today there are several half-knotted wool concoctions holding together unbuttoned collars, which is a shame, as there really is not that much to the art of dapper deployment.

Personally, I like symmetry in my ties, so the traditional slanted stripes are not really a preferred part of my collection. Give me a solid colour or centralized pattern at any time. Others might prefer the college-look of blocky stripes slanting over their tie, and there certainly is something to be said for both options. There are things to keep into account however, as not every choice of pattern or colour goes with every type of shirt or suit.

• For double-breasted or high-lapelled suits (three front buttons or three-piece suits), don’t choose a thin tie or a thin knot, but cover as much of the space between the lapels as possible without going overboard toward the cravat-point. For lower-lapelled suits (one or two front buttons) a thinner tie and less obvious knot will do fine, providing one does not walk around like a colour-coded blues brother. A good rule of thumb is the more shirt-fabric the suit allows you to see, the more fabric the tie can allow you to see. Less shirt-fabric between your lapels means larger knots and wider ties.


• A striped suit and a striped tie can work remarkably well, but is very tricky. As always, if you are not exactly sure yourself it looks right, it probably does not. Smarter to go for solid coloured ties on a striped suit and allow your striped ties their time in the sun under a solid suit.


• Bow ties are associated with clowns, eccentric uncles and slightly misguided dandies. Stay away from them (ties and personages). A cravat can be very elegant, but be prepared to be seen as an antiques-dealer on the way home to his much younger boyfriend. Comical ties and novelty patterns fall into one simple category : discount fare. These can send a very clear personal message, but that message almost aways is “I have no sense of humour” or “I wear what my kids can afford to get me”


• Be careful choosing ties with shirts. Yellow tie on a blue shirt can make the yellow look green or the shirt look denim (if you are wearing a denim shirt with a tie already, please leave this blog now). It is best to stick with white or black shirts for brighter ties, as the colour will be brought out most. Striped shirts or more pastel shirts do well with muted ties.


• Patterns other than stripes should be subtle, if possible a result of the ties’ weave more than a dying process. If anything on your tie looks painted on, it might as well be a novelty tie. Another risk of applied patterns is that they can disrupt the lower edge of the knot, or start shedding where you usually would tie the knot, which is regretfully also the part most on view.

Your knot should be symmetrical, fill your collar-points and match up with the lower line of the collar. It is best to choose a tie that fills the space you need to fill, but in the interest of maintaining the customary dimple right underneath the knot it is better to tie a tighter knot in a wider tie than to fluff the knot on a thinner one. Paradoxically, it is always better to have a double knot on a thinner tie than it is to under-knot a wider one as the amount of fabric also guides the type of knot. A knot should be tight, but never strain the fabric. You are presenting yourself, not tying down an errant pony. Personally, I prefer a half-windsor, as it provides a nicely symmetrical knot and allows easy knotting with different styles and materials.

The Pocket Square will be discussed in a separate blog later this week. For now, you should have enough fun with finding some good ties.

Kevin

Woman on a pier

I haven't blogged in a while because I've had some problem getting into situations that require blogging or complaining in a public forum. But I still have my creative outlets, currently based around character sketches and suchlike. To get back into a semi-regular way of writing things out to the world, I have decided to just post a few of the snippets that float around my brain. Starting with this one.

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There is, as much as anything within a story can be said to be, a woman standing on the edge of a pier looking out over the cold grey water. She is gaunt and pale, her long black skirt rustling in the sea-winds. She is beautiful, or at least she appears beautiful, but one gets the impression she would have been merely pretty if she had not chosen to let herself go thin and whispy in the salty air, if she had had a life lived inside, with kitchen and kids and other words starting with K.
Instead, she stands there looking out over the sea and she personifies the wait, the loneliness and the loss of all who look upon her, and she is glorious. Boys who see her once on holiday with their family foresee and remember the rest of their lives, striving from then onwards to be the type of man to warrant such devotion and to be always awaited by a girl not quite so striking. Girls copy in one glance for ever the image of her shadow, her long skirts and cloudy wrap, and know that they also desire once to stand just so, be still and calm and terrible, and alone, because the loneliness alone implies a period when loneliness was the furthest from anybodies mind and what more to wish for than the certainty that you are or have been not alone?

She is the inspiration for love-songs and country-ballads, for long slow novels that treacle away drizzly Sunday afternoons when the air presses in and the world is filled with boredom and endless rounds of laundry, for she inspires and personifies longing and the final end of passion. She shows us what we all know deep inside. The knowledge that all relationships end in pain through betrayal or death, that all flowers wilt and that all puppies grow old and kittens grow cranky. To see her is to hear violins and low guitars playing in the distance and to remember the drum of heartbeats and the rasp of skin in the present. In her way she is daughter and sister and mother to all women who wear red dresses with buttons down their backs (who expect someone to be there to unbutton them when the dress needs to come down and who never have the time to stop and sit down and consider the future) and women who wear black and who wear sensible shoes and old hats to work in the garden (who remember buttons and red dresses but know that in the end you are best helped with dresses you can undo yourself and a good taste in tea).

Her frailness is not weakness, but strength, for who would attack one so obviously unable to consider retaliation. Her thinness, that would seem unattractive in another (more approachable) woman, is a boon here, no wind can seem to take a hold of her as she stands on the wooden walkway that leads to nothing but clouds and gulls and she seems not to be buffeted or accosted like the day-trippers looking for a photo-moment that only return with inside-out umbrellas and wind-disrupted raincoats. Here around her, we are told, no reality invades. She is lost in memories of the one across the water and no needs or certainties of the world she stands in can infiltrate the world she sees before her.

She is older than you, but not so old, as she met her love when they were young and they both had all the time in the world, and so she reminds you of how you were when you were young and had all that time stretching away in front of you. She is younger than you, but not so young because her love went away from her a while ago, at least long enough to take the colour from her cheeks and eyes and she foretells you of all the empty days ahead, and you think about the length of life and how much time there is left to fill and how few things you can thinks to fill them with.

She inspires sadness by telling you that life is sometimes sad, loneliness by showing you that it can be lonely and the smells around her are of salt water, of wearing clothes a day too long and tears that have been allowed to mould. She inspires joy because there is joy in the knowledge that love touches you, and happiness by showing you that keeping someone in your heart can mean more than all the people around you, the smells around here are crisp and sea-crunchy, of clothes that you put on again because you had so much fun you did not find the time to go home and change, and she smells of salt and sweat and memories of touches and strokes across bare skin.

She turns around, slowly, as you walk towards her. Her long hair streaming in the wind makes it hard to see her face, and her eyes can’t find you at first.

How many ships?

There is a scene in the movie “The Last holiday” where one character asks another if the ceiling above them ever made her want to cry. The first character saw it for the first time, the second one saw it every day. By the end of the movie, character Two was seen staring up at the ceiling with tears in her eyes. Something really beautiful does exactly this, it attracts the eye, and fires up the mind.

Last week I had dinner with “the girls” from work, at a Thai restaurant. During this dinner, a beamer was projecting a Victoria’s Secret fashion show on the screen above our table, so apart from the (really quite excellent) food we had a constant viewing of more or less desirable flesh in more or less fabric to occupy us when not eating or discussing the food or the fashion.
During dinner, at several points, a certain amount of envy was expressed towards models in general and specific Victoria Secret models in particular. For reasons far, far beyond my comprehension.

I strife to live my life based on a guiding principle of beauty. I try to write, sketch and talk in a way that evokes a harmonic ideal, I like being around attractive people, and on the whole, I think I manage to inject at least a little of my own idea of beauty in my normal circumstances.
As such, it is quite pleasing to me to be working in a department filled to the brim with really quite attractive women. As a result, at my table during that dinner was a group that by rights would have send the girls on the screen scurrying to the bathrooms to vomit some more out of sheer insecurity. If Rainer Maria Rilke was right and beauty really is the beginning of terror that we are just able to endure, I work in an environment that is just one application of mascara and a swipe of lip-gloss removed from chaos. And yet these girls profess insecurity when compared to someone whose main goal in life is not to trip while passing Anna Wintour (who doesn’t do Victoria’s Secret of course, but that is hardly the point).

Then, earlier this week, I was having a discussion with another one of the “girls”, who wasn’t at the dinner, about attractiveness, or more specifically, about whether I had ever seen anyone so beautiful that the mere sight moved me to tears.
No, I haven’t, but I did know immediately what she meant. I know the feeling of having your heartstrings tugged by the sight of a face so incredible that it just makes you want to sit down and have a good sob.

And not just because it isn’t fair to the rest of us that there are people that look like they’ve stepped out of an airbrushing studio moments earlier, or out of a sense of not measuring up.
Certainly, I think it IS unfair that I have to fight the resilient forces of the evil pimple kingdom on a daily basis where some apparently roll out of bed and are given a quick firing in the kiln of porcelain-skin, but that is not, I think, the reason one gets emotional over something pretty. Given the fact that the “girl” in question here has a passport photo that would launch at least a good 500 ships and in real life tempers these good looks with a wicked brain (worth an additional 400 ships at least) and perky attitude (and another good 200 ships, maybe adding a rowboat or some such for good measure) that would slay a lesser man, I don’t really think jealousy was at the base of her reaction either. I think her response to seeing this beautiful boy comes from something far more meaningful, for all its’ ostensible superficiality.

Beauty like that moves us because we instinctively feel it has to, has to, mean something, and it is saddening that it probably does not.
God knows I am not a religious man, but I hope and pray in my moments of weakness that the sight of a striking face implies a plan, that the beauty alone means that there is a reason for that beauty. For if results like that come solely from the happenstance collection of a father’s nose and grandmother’s eyes into a whole that defies understanding than there is something seriously wrong with the world.

Studies show we associate good-looking people with pleasing character aspects. Show 100 people in the street a picture of a good looking man or woman, and a picture of a not-so good looking man or woman, and kindness, compassion, sweetness, sense of humor and suchlike are mostly attributed to the attractive person, whereas the lesser peon gets burdened with “mean”, “misery” and more descriptions that can at best be called less than favorable.

Again, this is because we feel that the looks alone should mean something more than good genes, should mean something other than sheer good luck and a good moisturizer. We see ideals behind the beauty, never mind if all that is really behind those sparkling eyes is just a litany of boredom, and never mind if all that this beauty is destined to become is a faded shadow of itself in years to come.

And that, really, is what lies at the base of our obsession of beauty. The direct, intuitive assumption that it cannot last, that it has to be, in some way, fleeting. As such, the limited availability alone ups the value of beauty to its’ logical extreme. The most beautiful girl in your class will turn into a no more than usually attractive woman after school, the bartender with the great smile and the brown eyes will grow bald and wrinkly. This means that the fact that they are gorgeous now is only more important, and more poignant. One of my brother’s friends was born an incredibly ugly baby, growing into a teenager so heartrendingly beautiful the only real option seemed to be to freeze him now and let it just be done with. Because this freezing never happened, he continued to grow into a normal face in the crowd. What good his beauty then, if nothing ever came of it?

There are those, and I am one of them, that say that beauty is its’ own reward.

Not for the carrier, but for those around it. For as much jealousy, hatred, and misunderstanding it can inspire, it also inspires love, joy, music and those lost and stolen moments in time where everything, for a split second, makes a little bit more sense. This is worth the occasional tear, and it certainly makes it worth the efforts of genes or gods to maintain beauty in the world.

Stripes at 00000, for I have found my most beautiful one (that would be Boyfriend, yes), and need no other,

Kevin