mockturle06 | dangerous liasons

So it was off to another session in the Philosophical Concepts in Film series at Sydney Uni. I enjoy these so much, and yes, it is becoming a bit like a bookclub, but at least, just for once, I had a ready answer for what I'd been up to since last time, and folks actually wanting to hear about my adventures across America (yes the train trip was cheating as I took it right through, but I would have only really been tempted to get off at Flagstaff or Albuquerque) so that was fun, for me, at least.

I was my usual naughty, argumentative self, but at least I got a big tick for my comments on Picnic at Hanging Rock, which was cheating a bit because we did study it at school (it wasn't all curtain making, as I try to explain to the far better educated that at my school there was no Latin or art or music, but I did learn how to sew curtains. Not well, I might add). I'm going to hold onto that 'excellent' and 'insightful' and put them with the 'bold', 'confident' and 'independent' I picked up from folks on the train re my solo travelling. I do need to hang onto these to counter the absolute abuse the rest of the week (it's probably best I didn't watch Horrible Bosses all the way through on the plane, is all I'm going to say there).

It was about wisdom this time, the getting and forgetting, and once again I was introduced to key terms and concepts, several of which I heard dropped casually into the Supernatural episode I was watching back on Sunday morning (too cold and grew for washing, I decided). Clearly, I'm not smart enough to be watching Supernatural. Sigh.

Did a bit of hack and slash in the back jungle and I know you think I'm telling tall ones re the jungle, and you didn't see the trailing piles of vines and huge elephant ears I was carrying out to the garden waste bin (I loved that elephant ear thingy but it was overwhelming the one last living branch on my apple tree). Got bit several times. Shrug.

Had the last of the Chinese takeaway that I'd rather extravagantly ordered when I got home on Saturday night because I was too tired to cook but wanted something warm and I wasn't sure if Himself was coming home from his pub quiz (yes, destiny has arrived) fed or not. The answer was very well fed, hence the heaps of leftovers on Sunday night. Oh yes, I had to order a bit large to meet the minimum order requirements, and it was like a game show, using an old menu, can you make up the total closest to the minmum order in dollar value. I was only out by $1.10, so not bad. If this was a game show, which my life always seems to resemble, I'd have won that round, I reckon.

Loved the pork in plum sauce, which I had with the last of my Brown Brothers cab sav (Himself came home with his trophy of a very fine pinot but no touchy, sigh).

Watched back Grimm, which turned out to be the one episode I saw in the States (and why is my buddy cop show suddenly infested with chicks? The decline of the buddy cop show in direct proportion to the rise of marriage equality - discuss). Anyhoo, there were two main points of contention that occured to me on this second viewing. Firstly, our episodes are hacked to pieces, especially concerning the titular grimmness of the show. Several scenes involving folk being shot or otherwise dispatched were chopped from the show. They don't even show the bodies. Wow. I've really got to try and see the unedited versions somehow (Amazon would not let me buy the episodes, which is stupid).

The other thing is the shameful lack of continuity. I mean, this episode reached a White Collar level of hilarious badness. First we had the narration on the film going long after Nick had turned the projector off. Maybe it's my days of manning the projector speaking, but no, just no. Even if the sound was still going as the machine shut down, it'd just be blargle faaarrrglewomph. I mean, really. Film people should know that, or are these kids so digital they don't know any better, no, don't answer that. Sigh.

The second piece was the one that did have us in giggles. Nick shows up and pretty much just parks in the middle of the road, without even throwing the 'park anywhere' lights on. 'Of course I can drive', said the actor upon audition, methinks, and methinks he told porkies. If that wasn't bemusing enough, when they exited the shop apres dramtic (and edited) scene, the car is now somehow actually parked against the curb, so now we giggle that the shop has a valet parking service. Tee hee.

Okay, yes, not watching it properly. I was overtired and punchy, is my excuse (my ongoing cold told me in no uncertain terms on Saturday evening that I'd done too much). And I don't think I've ever watched Grimm properly. What have you done to my buddy cop show?

Speaking of buddy shows (alleged or otherwise), I did watch White Collar on W on Sunday night. Bomer was pretty and having emptied/wrung out the last of the Brown Brothers into my glass, it was a lot less annoying than I usually find it. Ah, wine goggles, the best viewing aid a girl can have. Show bad, Bomer pretty.

Thursday...

It is difficult to adjust to a new paradigm that is the complete antithesis to the previous orthodoxy... which is just me being silly cause I'm still giggling and chuckling over a great many recent picture of young Mr Bomer, but that TV Guide pic, I think, takes the cake. Such a little minx, these days, now that he's out. I like it.

All the buttoned down, overly rehearsed stay on message no comment rubbish is gone. I really do like it. Much better. Nothing worse than a badly scripted performance, in any medium.

[Update with this little bit of cheekiness. As always, and it's always been my main problem with White Collar, is the indisputable fact that there is a far, far better show going on behind the cameras than in front of it. Damn you, PTB, give me the show I want to watch, and, clearly, the show the boys want to be in. Not that's ever going to happen, I realise, and besides, Neal's an Epicurean and Peter's an Aristotelian and it'd never work, but my, they are so damn cute together, and Tim, eyes up, heh.].

Speaking of performance, yes, I finally got to see Mr Weaving on stage as Valmont in Les Liaisons Dangereuses. I've been looking forward to this for ages, reading the book (in rare, spare moments) and I guess I must have been guilty of gloating over my ticket just a little too much as, when the day arrived, it was not all it could be.

First, my youknowwhats started on in earnest pretty much when the bell sounded to take our seats. Not the first time (hello, Mr Cumberbatch, and me rather cruelly wishing your character would just die already, fer fuck's sake, so I could dash to the ladies, this after flying all the way to London to see him on stage, bad timing) but not fun. Sorry, Mr Weaving, if you thought my switching and squirming was me either getting too caught up or dead bored, neither, I'm afraid, just a slight bout of discomfort (lord, understatement).

Such an intimate stage, too, and I was row B so I wasn't actually on stage like the front row, but near enough. Certainly close enough to see the scene stealing cockroach, which was the size of a small dog so even the back rows could see it scuttle around and around the elegant stage, and we're all trying so hard not to laugh when it shoots up the leg of one actress who squeals and then it darts off into the audience to cause a Mexican wave of consternation.

That Mr Weaving got us all back on track again is testamount to his mastery (and we gave him an extra curtain call, cause he earned it).

To quote the women behind me, 'how nice to see something that's actually good for a change'. Yes, quite. This was good. The book is great, the play captures up all the best bits - I always feel its a bit cheating when the source material is such a rich mine, because all the lines that got the best and biggest laughs were straight lifts from the book. Yes, laughs, it's quite the bedroom farce until it all crashes off the rails. Yes, the characters are cruel and all get their just desserts, but one wonders whether that's just the interpretation history has thrown on it (it came out eight years before the revolution), fate, karma or dramatic intent.

The period was evoked with Louis XIV style furniture, but all with an eastern suburbs feel, especially the vaguely, yet timeless, modern dress that everyone wore.

I enjoyed every minute of it, though I found myself being reminded of the film far more than I ever have while reading it. Anyway, Hugo as Valmont, yay. You really must see this man on stage. He is 100% more than the actor you see on screen, trut me (fans self). Oh my, row B. No wonder I was gloating.

Anyhoo, the program was interesting, too, reminding me that Valmont occupies a canon with Lovelace, Crawford, Willoughby and Wickham. Quite. And yes, of course he does (slaps forehead). Oh, those rakes and cads, those single minded men and their pursuit of pleasure. It's odd to put the Austen boys in with Lovelace and Valmont, but yes, of course they are. If anything, Crawford and Wickham and Willoughby are even worse, possibly because we feel more for the danger our heroines are in.

It'll come as no surprise to know that I have indeed modelled my version of Neal on those caddish lads, and yes, Perter as the pure and trembling heroine. Yes, it all ends in a train wreck, mainly because Neal, like Valmont (and Willoghby, too), fails to see until too late that he has fallen in love, and it's not a game any more (nothing worse than the suddenly beating heart of a Grade A arsehole, just ask Angel).

At least, that was the idea. I've been mesing with the fic for so long now it's quite the mess, but hey, I had fun. And, you know what, not watching it wrong - grin.

Speaking of watching it wrong, last night's Grimm. Oh, so that's why my friends kept asking me if I'd seen it (nope, on a train, and no hulu access for me), all nudge, nudge, wink, wink. I get it now. That whole awkward thing with the two boys trying to come up with a cover story - oh, hilarious as subtext, oh, to hell with it, it's text, isn't it? Really now, it's text. As if the whole 'get off me' at the start of the episode wasn't treat enough. Episodes like this make me love this show. More, please.

Boys will be boys, and if anyone knows about the hunt and the chase and the pursuit of one's prey, it'd be a blutbad, right?

As for the grim last night, well, bloodbath is right. It was all Leverage's fault. It was the finale (I think) and I was home for it for once, and tucked up in bed, and they were doing the whole farce before a fall thing, and there was a line about bowties being cool, which, yes, was a very clumsy and shameless shoutout to a certain timetraveller, and I laughed, and whoosh. No, I hadn't popped the cork on the hot waterbottle. Then there's such a gushing puddle I slip over and end up covered in myself. So not happy. I'm getting way too old for this shit. Way worse than anything I've seen on tv this week, Grimm and Supernatural et al being edited somewhat heavily. But, of course, it's all in my mind, so they keep telling me. Nothing could possibly as bad as that (it has been, you shoulda seen the Amtrack cabin, it looked like murder had been done at night, I had to tip the guy a fifty and he never smiled or made eye contact again). Who knew the old girl had so much blood in her.

Sorry, TMI, I know, but I need to to let you know why I'm not posting. And I still haven't turned my new PC on it.

It's raining, so no park today, the muses are singing and any attempt to open up notepad has had to be quickly aborted. Sigh. By the time I get home I'll be too tired, as always. I'm never gonna get it done.

Still thinking about Grimm, man, I think I have a new show, and still bemused this time about Nick posting the reapers back to Germany. Having had some recent experience in trying to send parcels overseas from a US Post Office, well, I can just imagine. Filling out the form, weighing it, having to fill out another form and going to the back of the queue. Messing up that form due to some quirk of American bureaucracy and going to the back of the queue again. And did they not x-ray it, or is that sort of scrutiny only reserved for inbound parcels (I have to show a photo ID, fill out multiple forms and I still don't know if the no food, ie no TimTams, rule still applies)? Anyway, visions of Nick down at the local PO picking out the right sized box, filling out forms, standing in line and posting the heads bemuses. Oh, who am I kidding, we all know he wouuld have got his bitch to post the parcel for him, and I don't mean the waste of space GF, either - smirk.

Oh yeah, the parcel with the Paramount jammies arrived at last. Thank goodness, because, yikes, I'd posted the wrong t-shirts, and there was my Getty t-shrt in the bag. No wonder I couldn't find it in the washing. Do not put together parcels at midnight. I do know better, but needs must, I guess. Those Sorrento hotel toddies were stronger than I thought - grin.

Snort. Can you image Nick the Grimm effing up the posting of parcel contents after one too many brandies? 'What do you mean why I have I sent you a box of preserves...oh...faaarrrk...'