mockturle06: (Chris)

I wish I was of that generation that get a ribbon just for showing up. I could use a round of applause for just being upright and breathing right now.

Nothing is ever my finest hour, but I seem to be prat-falling into mess after mess of late, and, as I’m honestly surprised, none of it is deliberate on my part (OMFG, if I could stop effing up for five consecutive seconds, I’d buy myself a chocolate).

I’m going to try and explain my latest misery as a turbid mix of my very own and limitless incompetence, and work insecurity engendering a savagery in people I’d liked and respected – though clearly the opposite did not apply. At all. In any case, I’m upset to the point of unbearable despair.

Which is the mood I lumped with me, like a heavy, awkward burden, to two Wonder Woman screenings. Not two because of Mr Pine. Two because everyone in the planet was going nuts over this film and I hated it, so I thought, that can’t be right.

So let’s blame it on the rest of my life, intruding even in the cinema, as it must (I’d bought a Gold Class ticket, because it was Wonder Woman, but, of course, my order never arrived so I ended up with a movie length drink, i.e., huge, on an empty stomach, so basically I was just angry drunk for most of it). I was crying, not in joy, but in misery. I did not like it at all. I hated it. It jumped about to the point of making no sense, more like an extended trailer than any sort of narrative, the characters were flat, bitty and trite, the lauded colour was washed-out awful and of course, the only reference to nearly 10% of the Oz population being there were the Hurley photos they ripped off, including a couple that Bean tore him a new one over, being a bit fake, oh dear).

But the rest of the world was falling over themselves in glee, so I knew something had to be wrong, and that something was me. So I went and saw it again. Cattle class this time, stone-cold sober, with some morsel of food in my belly. Ok, the screen was better. That helped. Ditto having my row to myself (because I’m an angry loner).

Like most women of a certain age, I’ve waited all my life for a Wonder Woman film. And Gal did a good job in the role, nothing she did caught me as a sour note. And Pine was fine, perfectly handsome, heroic, charming and funny, just a little bit vulnerable and exceedingly doomed, all done up in period garb. My usual catnip. He was Cary Grant, Errol Flynn, Harrison Ford and my floppy haired Merchant Ivory boys all rolled into one perfect package (oh yes, the package, points for obvious ogling scenes).

But the skip-jump plot (and suddenly they were in Belgium, and, btw, Poirot has more to say about the war in Belgium than this lot) and my Ewen (Spud!) as minor comic relief, all the other characters like bit part provincials in a Shakespeare play (only with less telling dialogue) and the moustache twirling really so obvious they were announced in the pre-show ads villains – it still seemed spectacle over substance. Ok, obviously one of those films where I’ll have to read the novelisation if I want backstory (if I could be bothered). Ok, yes, superhero film pitched at nine-year olds, don’t go expecting layers or characterisation.

But still, but still. Even as a kiddie’s movie, look, Doctor Who is a kid’s show but it still manages plots with a bit of grit and purpose and meaning ­ in case you missed the colonisation, war, Brexit, cruelty, cowardice, greed and sacrifice riffs in last week’s fantastic episode. Oh my gosh, I loved that. Victorian soldiers on Mars. Victorian soldiers recreating The defence of Rorke's Drift (1879) on Mars. With Ice Warriors. And Alpha Centauri, for that hit of pure childhood nostalgia, because who doesn’t love a giant one-eyed monster? (No, not talking about the pool scene in Wonder Woman).

So I’m going to blame my lack of engagement on my greed and hollow emptiness, I wanted more than that film could give. Still, Mr Pine was perfect, and justifiably lauded for his light touch and comic timing. And there were moments I liked, vignettes, bits here and there (which is my main problem, it seemed more a string of scenes than a journey).

Maybe I’m just jaded. I knew dear old Steve was going to be fridged big-time to give our heroine that motivational push. And I knew Ares was going to be a backroom politician, not a general, because everyone knows who the real bad guys were in WWI. And as for the poisonous villainess with the facial scars as an outward depiction of her no-goodness, can you say trope? How progressive (unless they were applying a homage to tropes older than WWI and the history of film).  And the mixed ragtag band of dodgy brothers? Well, that was astounding, too, if you’ve never seen any Kurosawa films or any of the umpteen westerns and war films that riffed on them. I’ve seen music videos with more depth and character (and originality).

Ah, well, maybe I should see it one more time. There were bits I liked (no, not just Pine’s bits). Some bits oddly reminded me of Doctor Who, the second series with Rose, and not just the end of Christmas Invasion, with the not-snow. Lookit, it’s raining Steve! Little bits of Steve (no, not that bit). Oh, don’t tell me it’s ash of Ares, he’s just taking a nap because he’s got a lot to do in the 30s onwards.

Never mind. Happiness is flipping around the channels and finding Mrs Peel clutching a stuffed crocodile under her arm. Bliss. Classy British silly, all primary colours and silly villains (but at least I understood their motivations, no matter how off-kilter), a real trippy version of Le Carre – whom I’m reading at the moment, A Small town In Germany, because I don’t have enough things with EU-centric plots in my life right now (being sarcastic here). And besides, sword-fighting young cad Anthony Valentine in one episode? Yes, please.

The Avengers make me happy.  Doctor Who, when it’s good, makes me happy. There was a Buffy marathon on a wet long weekend. That made me happy. (I know, but it’s been so long since cable have bothered with a Buffy marathon, and I’m ever so nostalgic these days).

Seeing the NT Live screening of Twelfth Night made me happy.  I mean, Tamsin Grieg as Malvolia, and honestly, why the fuss, it was just one more gender-bend in a fairly gender-fluid play. It was very funny, but, as revealed in the last act, the jokes were cruel and got out of hand, and we never do get to find out if Malvolio/Malvolia gets their revenge, and how (not there’s an idea worth taking up, never mind rehashing films from five years ago). Still, the performances were just on the right side of arch (okay, some teetered alarmingly into panto) and there’s a lot about disguise, gender, roles and identity as costumes assumed and cast off, all going on.  It’s all very transgressive and queer-baiting, with dick jokes, but also grief and loss and humiliations galore.

Maybe I identified with Malvolia too much. I seem to be set up to be torn asunder myself of late, and no doubt I have brought it upon myself, just as much as Malvolia did.

Other theatre included Mr Burns at the Belvoir. The Simpsons as post-apocalyptic passion play. That’s pretty much it. Lots of Simpsons jokes, some comments on popular culture as the new religion. I was sitting in the front row and ended up bruised from a flying recliner chair. Still, Mitchell Butel, who is fast becoming a favourite (that hasn’t been snapped up by Hollywood yet) didn’t hold back in the last act, and nor could he or should he.

I was amused. The hardest thing was squirming in the first act when they tried to remember lines from Simpsons episodes, and not yelling them out. Oh, the strain to remain silent, it almost hurt.

I also went and saw Vivid. Well, a bit of it, anyway. We went round the Opera House and through the gardens. To be honest, I usually love Vivid, but I’ve found it to be a bit meh this year. Nothing has really caught my imagination, made me stand still and pay attention. Nothing was really wonderous, magical or pretty.

Sums up my life right now. I seem to be tired of pretty lights and pretty Pine. Tired of life? Far more than is healthy. Maybe it’s just winter. Not that it’s really winter any more. It’s just damp and dark.

But I’m not happy. And pretty Pine and purple flowers will not make me stop messing up, dropping the ball, or whatever I’m doing or not doing to make my life the cesspool it is. Save Steve, send me up on that plane. I’m sure as hell not doing anything useful right now (and no one would care).
mockturle06: (Sherlock)

So I finally watched the less than lauded Sherlock episode, possibly the last ever, and if the mission was, somewhat oddly for a commercial enterprise, to leave us not wanting any more today, thank you, then mission accomplished?

I wasn’t as outraged as some, but then I knew where it was going the moment I saw the sword come out of the umbrella (fancy yourself Steed? Think again). As Himself remarked, about halfway through you were thinking Emma would have figured it out by now, and (and he really should have popped in a pipe or started pointing with it as he carried on with his comments) if they had to rip off The Avengers, why chose two episodes of the colour series not held in terribly high esteem by the fans (House That Jack Built, Superlative Seven) when there are much better bland and white episodes to dabble with.

I know, everyone’s a critic these days. Everything is so damn derivative. When I was trying (and failing) to write as a kid, I hated myself for how derivative I was. If I accidentally borrowed a scene from a film I’d seen six years before I’d rip myself for it, for months. Now, well, anything goes (not me, of course, I just edit articles about dog shit, yes, really).

Take La La Land (please). Look, I was in Canberra on a Friday night, so bored and alone goes without saying, and the telly and interwebs at the hotel didn’t work, but I was curious as to what all the fuss was about. I remain so. Bold choice, staging a musical with leads who can’t sing or dance. And they really don’t know how to sing at all – I seem to have had more training just for a school choir in a poor suburb (they always think choirs are so improving for impoverished urchins). Charmless, too (Ryan Reynolds was totally robbed). But the fact that the whole thing was a badly stuck together mashup of Singing In the Rain and Funny Face? As a fan of both those films, I have to say ‘hey, now’.

Then again, Rogue One wasn’t entirely shiny and new either, slamming somewhat haphazardly between reprising scenes from Star Wars with the sort of dogged devotion one used to only find in fan films, you know, the really humourless ones, and those old WWII films they used to always screen on Channel Ten (Dirty Dozen et al).

Again, and it might just be me being old, grumpy and permanently concussed, but I didn’t dig that as much as I’d hoped. Maybe I didn’t have enough red wine. The Dendy Canberra brought in two enormous art house sized glasses of red (I’d forgotten I was in an art house theatre, they give you enormous glasses that hold half a bottle instead of the usual tiny capful, so it was a very rosy viewing) and so, despite all my misgivings, I was actually enjoying La La Land, though the next morning there was a lot of regret and what-did-I-do humiliation.

Speaking of red wine, lil Chris Pine should ease up on it a touch, if some recent interviews are any indication. Either that or he’s letting his freak flag fly, which is equal parts adorable and alarming, depending on my mood (sometimes I get distressingly maternal and wish he’d smarten himself up).

My plan to watch all the dvds in my Twelve Days of Chris festival never happened because of a heatwave/concussion nexus of please just let me die, but there were a few of the standard staples on telly (Star Trek, Jack Ryan, etc.), so I did get a Chris fix. And fix is the right word. I don’t know why I decided that Chris Pine was going to be the opiate du jour of this mass, but it works, mostly, and unlike his British brethren (Tom Hardy, Benedict Cumberbatch, etc.), far more likely to be somewhere on the schedule (unless, of course, they’re in the same movie as young Chris). I mean, I’ve obsessed before, ahem, once or twice, over a jolly little actor, but it’s never been the three films daily scheduling that some Pine Nut at Foxtel manages to schedule. So it’s a steady drip feed, which I suppose keeps me slightly sane.

Harder after yesterday (I’m going to need something special, Chris). Well, it’s this whole week, really. Back at work, heatwave, over an hour’s wait just to get on a crowded bus. I fainted on Monday and caught my hip on the shower stall. I fainted again yesterday while holding a cup of peppermint tea (which I’d only fetched because poorly) and ended up dripping with peppermint tea. At least I don’t have any meetings, thinks I, gazing down at myself sopping self. Oh yeah, I suddenly do, to be told I gotta apply for my own job, and I can’t even manage a cup of tea without passing out. Fine, ok. Even better, the job I was doing that afternoon took me to my old site (what have they done) and I saw the project I was working on two years ago finally got up and done. It made me sad. And dripping with tea. And soon to be redundant. Again.

So, you know what? Not going to apologise for the Chris Pine and red wine. I need all the help and comfort I can get, and it’s just a flickering screen and a few tannins, so be it.

The one thing film did cheer me up over the last couple of weeks was Fantastic Beasts. Not a Harry Potter fan, at all, but it had Colin and Eddie in it and was set in a version of 1920s New York so I went along expecting Bedknobs and Broomsticks and it kinda was, but with an odd dollop of Peaky Blinders thrown in as well, which was startling but pleasing. My goodness but Crooks Like Us has a very long tail these days. I mean, I’ve loved that book since forever (signed, my copy, been to two author talks) and I know it off by heart, so when I see it clearly being used as a reference on a film set, which it is these days, so often, I can giggle when I see a gaggle of men on film, like oh there’s p43 and p27 standing with Mr p73. So that was funny.

But I liked the film, it made some pointed anti-Trump speeches (good old JK), most of the characters were kind of sweet, and yeah. I was only a bit sad walking home because I missed my friend (I have hardly any friends, so I miss the few good ones I’ve lost along the way).

Articles of interest from the Interwebs:

mockturle06: (Dean)
So many crazy deadlines, and only a few of them self inflicted, and I'm up to my eyeballs in disposal schedules (clearing out room and desk). Oh well, at least I'm not as bad as Diddums, who had his first month of working a five day week, like, ever, and forgot to make tea with teabags. Okay, yeah, I did the same the other week, but I hadn't slept in six weeks then (and I work F/T and go out lots). Had my first weekend home since mid Jan and I figure I got some stuff done. More to do, but I figure if I get anything done, I'm doing well.

It was my turn to do the shopping and cooking last night, and despite a broken shoe and several heavy textbooks in my bag, I reckon I did okay, and tea made me so happy I slept like a baby. I bet Diddums wasn't happy because it was so heavy on the dairy, but this is what happens when you make a mad hormonal woman do the shopping. I made fettuccine with smoked salmon, mascarpone and cracked pepper. So wrong and so right. I liked it.

There was fruit to follow, too, and more dairy, with a dollop of King Island yoghurt. Heh. Well, I slept the soundest sleep I've had in a year, so I was very happy.

Yeah, I know, I'm going to have to work it off, but all this packing of groceries/books/stuff across town and back again sans automobile should do it, and if it doesn't, what's the point of it? It's not like I don't go through several pairs of shoes a month. Either the Chinese are making really shoddy shoes these days, or we must admit that I do actually wear through quite a bit of rubber, despite appearances to the contrary.
more: American tv, American theater (sic) )
mockturle06: (Dean sad)
What have I been up to? Not much. There was the Cary Grant course at Sydney Uni that I thought, as it was being given by Mr David Stratton, would be a critical examination of the man and his motives, but no, it was just sitting there watching clips and the odd film. As I'm a big time fan, it's hard to be churlish, I enjoyed the opportunity to watch Cary Grant films uninterrupted under the cover of academic study, but still. Some discussion would have been nice. I fear the, um, vigourous discourse, in my philosophy classes has perhaps spoiled me a bit, expectations wise.

So that was a touch on the meh side, as if watching North By Northwest could ever be meh. Come on, you know I'm a fan, did you see what I got up to on my last trip (still can't get out to Mt Rushmore, though)?

more: music, with a side of bacon )

wet wet wet

Mar. 4th, 2012 05:46 pm
mockturle06: (Dean)
Oh golly, this week. Where to start. Well, the good news is that we're not under water, nor likely to be, as we're on top of a hill, which I curse every time I trudge back with heavy groceries in the rain, but yeah, it all runs downhill.

And I'm sorry I'm posting these one after t'other. Type them up on notepad I can, post 'em, not so much as I've not been near my PC since Sunday, tsk.

Anyways, off to Canberra we went, in one of the wettest weeks Canberra has ever had, but we booked this ages ago, so it's just one of those things. At least, that's what I kept trying to tell people.
more: nice weather for ducks )
mockturle06: (lom tea)
So, Friday, I wanted to go see a film, but I couldn't go and see any of the arty farty oh so serious mega wank (literally) fillums I was supposed to be seeing, because, for some reason, all the awarded films on the film festival circuit are only screening during the day for unemployed people (which says everything I've always suspected about arthouse wankers, as in get a haircut and get a real job, etc, etc, etc).

So, it was popcorn, popcorn, popcorn, and best on offer was a film featuring a former darling of difficult arty films, making some bold choices, shall we say, for his latest forays into the American entertainment industry. I swear, it was this or The Vow or some film with robots or vampires in it, lorlumme.
more: great time wasters of our age )
mockturle06: (Fassbender)
It's like a week with two Monday's, this having a holiday on Thursday. At least, it sure felt like Monday this morning. So yeah, yesterday, yet another anniversary in my ancestor's forced resetllement at gunpoint. Yay. Stranded in the land of mega expensive airfares and no decent access to new releases. In other words, should have kept your bloody hands in your pockets, granddad.

As it was raining cats and dogs it seemed as good a time as any to do the old Hidden Tiger, Hounds of Baskerville double feature, especially as the interebs were as slow as and I was therefore far too grumpy and dispirited after a long strugge with the damn thing to do anything else. I needed cheering up, and quickly.

And it worked. What fun, and, putting them together, there was a lot more tonal and thematic similarities than I expected (it's been a wee while since I sat down to Hidden Tiger), more than I remembered, and that was fun, too. Who had the creepiest scientists? The flirtiest couple? The silliest resolution? Pretty much level pegging, imho. An excellent double feature.
more: speed bonny boat )
mockturle06: (lom tea)
Every time I go out into the office lobby, this enormous and bulging black bin bag has moved to somewhere else in the lobby and is skulking in a different corner or leaning against a different wall. I'm afraid I'm too much of a child of cheap and creepy British telly not to raise an eyebrow at this sort of behaviour, you know, from watching the sort of shows where they'd imbue a bin bag with dread and menance, because that's all the FX budget ran to.

Nevertheless, I'd have to declare their efforts most effective because I still can't but help find that independently mobile black plastic bin bag of unusual size rather unsettling.

Okay, yes, maybe that old wowser Mary Whitehouse had a point, but life would be so dull if there weren't any creepy deserted lobby wandering bin bags.
more: a surfeit of Sherlocks )
mockturle06: (Dean)
Apologies for the in absentia. I've been busy/lazy/fighting aliens warlords in another dimension (delete as applicable).

Anyhoo, what have I been up to. Well, I'm so glad you asked. Are you sitting comfortably? Good, then we'll begin.

I think I told you about the sheep. Love those sheep. Rest of the week was pretty, well, you know, whatever. I even spent xmas eve trying to do the washing before it rained on me. No, not rained, poured. So that was half the wash bunged in the dryer and the rest decking the halls/dripping in the halls. Very merry.

Never fear. The big hamper from Fortnum and Mason arrived by magic, and double magic, I found out later, as I was one of the chosen few to get their hampers for xmas. The hamper gods did smile.
more: cats and dogs )
mockturle06: (Dean)
Firstly, a couple of quotes from young Mr Fassbender, whom I find a constant delight:

"I've got the hat and I'm ready for action. I've got the purple helmet." - re X-Men, Digital Spy.

"Well, you know the scenes between Freud and Jung in Freud's home office? That space was amazing, full of all these set details which tried to approximate Freud's actual office. It's all wood and cigars, you know? While we were shooting this one scene, where Freud's sitting behind his desk and I'm sitting right in front of him, and we're having this really deep conversation which turns out to last like 13 hours or something.

And in between takes—at first I don't notice—Viggo keeps pushing these penises, no, what do you call them? Phalluses? Freud's desk had all of these little statutes and things, and some of them were phallus sculptures from different cultures around the world. And Viggo kept pushing them towards my end of the desk. I didn't notice at first until I looked down and saw them all, inching ever-forward, with Viggo smirking, really a prankster, dressed up as Freud. It was surreal!"
- re A Dangerous Method, PopMatters

Bless. And thank you Foxtel, for once, for keeping up the FassyFest2011.
more: sheep, stones, poets, artists, soldiers, truth, love, beauty...and sheep )
mockturle06: merlin in a hat (Default)
This is a valley of ashes—a fantastic farm where ashes grow like wheat into ridges and hills and grotesque gardens, where ashes take the forms of houses and chimneys and rising smoke and finally, with a transcendent effort, of men who move dimly and already crumbling through the powdery air. Occasionally a line of gray cars crawls along an invisible track, gives out a ghastly creak and comes to rest, and immediately the ash-gray men swarm up with leaden spades and stir up an impenetrable cloud which screens their obscure operations from your sight. - The Great Gatsby

Every morning as the bus climbs up onto the bridge I look down into the valley of ashes, the actual Gatsby set, and it's so funny, because only earlier this year, on the very same bus, I was reading Gatsby and trying to visualise it, and now it's there, right there, right before my eyes. It was never a scene I could get my head around, especially in school, but now I will always have a visual reference. Bless you, Baz, and the weird morning meta you've created.

Please tell me that last week never has to be revisited, ever, in the ongoing history of the universe. There was one bright spot, though: the philosophy of Fassbender films. read on, gentle reader )
mockturle06: (White Collar kiss)
There are Brixton riots on telly and for a moment I think it's a repeat of Ashes to Ashes again. No, just history repeating.

This week has been very Ashes to Ashes, though. I'm still smiling over the image of Sooty bashing out that unhappy tweet to me. It's the small (and yellow fluffy) things that amuse, especially this week.

Meantime, we caught a bit of Moonraker on the telly the other week. It's kind of sad, and I don't just mean the pigeon doing the double take. It's the shuttle, the concord, even the hovercraft, all gone. All that fun and wonder, just gone.

It's kind of weird when you think about it. Of all the things to emerge from the Sixties: James Bond, Doctor Who, the Beatles and space travel, who knew that space travel was the passing fad?
more: midnight magpies )
mockturle06: (matt)
Off to the theatre again tonight. Yeah, I know. It's something like one part boredom, two parts desperation. A bit of rage against the dying of the light, a strong need to have something in my life that isn't getting yelled at or washing dishes, and a weariness of having wasted the better years of my life into being bullied away from going out and having a life.

Still a bit bullied about going out to see films, so I usually wait for dvd/cable releases, unless I do sneak off to the flicks, and then it's usually not something I want to admit to. You know, those films made by middle aged men for six year old boys, and that's always a bit creepy and sad, if you ask me, the whole little boy bait thing/men who've not aged past six. I mean, you never see female film executives/producers/directors, but if you did, they wouldn't be desperate to make that My Little Pony movie they've always dreamt of. Nope, it seems to be a peculiarly male obessession, this need to inflict their sandpit Tonka truck greased up action figure fantasies on the rest of us. Well, the greased up action figure part I can at least get on board with, if he's cute and has a cute friend. Yes, I am that shallow.

So, the play. I actually enjoyed it, and considering I'd had a horrid day and had to run (uphill) all the way from work to the theatre, with no stopping for tea on the way, that they won me over is a pretty big deal.

Twas The Seagull, yet another Russian play. I tell ya, but the end of this month, I'll be all Russian-ed out. Once I used to race around the world to see a performance. These days I can barely raise the enthuism to catch a bus (though I've walked to every performance so far).

Too much, too much, but who could resist the urge to see David Wenham or Judy Davis on stage? And it was a very good production, Oz-ed up to a near ridiculous degree, modernised, with current jokes thrown with nodding winks out to the audience, and a great deal of farce, especially Ms Davis as the extraordinarily self absorbed aging actress (if that's not a tautology) and Mr Wenham as the equally self absorbed writer.
more: shoot all plot bunnies )


Dec. 2nd, 2010 05:00 pm
mockturle06: (White Collar kiss)
It really was too much to ask for, but really, was it asking so much, just one night, home in front of the telly?

Apparently so. The usual bastard bastard redball 4.15er so I had to stay back late, and fret, as the transport gets thin on the ground where I abode.

I suppose I should be very grateful I did manage to get through the door in time to see Lee Majors hand on the tv tough guy mantle to (not so) young Valley on Human Target. It's so cheesy, but kinda sweet, and really, really a lot of sun king/dying king mythos, if you've been over indulging in the Rosemary Sutcliff oeuvre (guilty as charged). What can I say? It was a cheap and cheesy tv moment but I liked it, because it wasn't just referencing tv tradition, and tv of my childhood at that, but much, much older traditions, too, if one wants to read such meaning into a daft show like Human Target, and one really shouldn't.
more: if there's something you'd like to try... )
mockturle06: (White Collar kiss)
I spent all weekend in bed with the Leverage gang. I should do that more often. That was fun. Even though the plots did tend to get a touch repetitive when viewed in a block, it's the characters that make it. I love that show. It makes me smile.
more: this guy's in love )
mockturle06: merlin in a hat (Default)
Laurie, who keeps his US accent in between takes, says: "I know I'm not the first British actor to play an American in a network TV show - in this, as in so many other aspects of my life, I have modelled myself on Jane Seymour - but I have tried to represent the UK as well as I know how. I am punctual, sober, I know my lines and I haven't threatened any of my co-workers with a gun. If that has helped smooth the way for other British actors, hooray!" - The Guardian

I just loved the "hooray" at the end. I'm not sure if I should picture him in full Bertie mode, or young George. Oh, I miss Blackadder. I miss Jeeves and Wooster. set???

Btw, fabby Roman mosaic on Time Time the other week. I love a good mosaic.

Meanwhile, this is just too cute:

Bradley James (who plays Arthur) is a bit like a son to me, and I’m a bit like a father to him. And, Colin Morgan (who plays Merlin) and Bradley get along really well. They have the same relationship, off screen. He doesn’t push Colin around like he does on screen, but the banter is there. And, they have this very strange humor that no one else gets, and they just crack up at each other’s jokes. - IESB
more: knickers, twisted )
mockturle06: merlin in a hat (Morse)
The two men try to steel themselves for a serious conclusion. Fassbender looks over at Cunningham and asks: “Have we forgotten to tell him anything?” Cunningham shrugs, smirks, then adds: “Other than the fact that we’re lovers, no.” Steve McQueen’s Hunger: featuring one of cinema's greatest ever scenes ( Michael Fassbender & Liam Cunningham )

Sorry, just had to share that quote. And also apparently invoke an impromptu Liam Cunningham festival on what started out as a rather grim Saturday, so I caught up on my telly which meant Liam in Murphy's Law and Liam in Messiah (which also featured a wee Sam Troughton). Enjoyed both though neither offered anything particularly new, although it's unfair to accuse Messiah of ripping off Dexter, but since I've seen it after Dexter, that's the way I'm viewing it.
more: royal society for the protection of detective sergeants )


Sep. 1st, 2008 02:30 pm
mockturle06: merlin in a hat (doctor glasses)
Heh, the links section is rapidly turning into a defacto Scandinavian Actors Weekly (Mads, Alexander, Viggo). Not that I mind one bitty bit (but no, keeping track of Brits is bad enough). But can you imagine? I mean, I could go so silly and include actors from York, and the north east of Scotland, which was once part of Norway. But I won't. That would be very, very silly indeed (doesn't stop folks lobbing Aussies, Kiwis and Canucks on the Brit list, though).
more: posh people behaving badly )
mockturle06: merlin in a hat (doctor glasses)
Oi! British newspapers! Spoilers!

Sheesh. Some poor impoverished mud hut dwellers have only just started the series, you know. Harumph.
I mean, fair enough in the tv sections, but on the front page? That's just mean, that is.
more: steele up to their old tricks )
mockturle06: merlin in a hat (mads)
Sigh. No more Unit One. I'd never seen the last two episodes before and was bemused at just how Cranford the ending was, though I don't remember Cranford dropping the C bomb quite so often (perhaps if it had been a HBO show - grin). Certainly Unit One seemed to be shooting for Deadwood's record, and surpassing it. Seriously hardcore, these Danish cop shows.

I will miss it though, and the Cranford ending was very telling, for it was terribly soapy, in its own way. Girlie tv in disguise.
more: kiss kiss hykeeba )


mockturle06: merlin in a hat (Default)

June 2017

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