Do you like scary movies?
Been a while since I caught a decent film, I thought. I skipped 007, didn't get to catch Blindness, sat through the ordeal that was Max Payne, and even Madagascar 2 was somewhat of a disappointment.
Then I decided to catch Quarantine, with the girlfriend, on Saturday.
Ooooooooh damn. If you've never seen someone get hit full in the face repeatedly with a television camera, now's the time to do it. Here's my breakdown of it, for those of you contemplating getting some practice in holding your breath.
Firstly, I'll say this. If you are one of the few people I know who liked Cloverfield, you deserve a high-five, and will also bask in the knowledge that there is a high chance that you'll like this one too. The style of cinematography aside, there is a big "Oh-shit-what's-happening" feel to it, and I would actually say that this one doesn't have a single thing at all wrong with the plot.
And my regular minions will know how picky I am about things like plot-holes.
A simple, but not stupid story, told at a good pace and punctuated with sudden, heart-stopping scenes of carnage and suspense. I like.
Cast-wise, I'm quite happy with the one chosen to play the lead female. She isn't hot. Not at all. Which makes Quarantine that much more realistic than Cloverfield, with whoever it is I can't remember acting as that somewhat hot girl. Which made the unsteady camera even more annoying. For Quarantine, the only hot girl I could see was seated beside me. There's Maya though.
The only real complain I have about it is actually the people around me. Nothing on-screen can be construed to be less than good, let alone bad. Two rows to the front, a bunch of German teenagers were making more noise than Hitler at a World War rally, and behind me was a Chinese couple, blabbering incessantly about what was happening to the characters and the dogs.
As Khadi said, "Aren't there Chinese subtitles already? If you can't understand this show don't watch it lah."
Again, Quarantine is hardly rocket science.
There's no soundtrack of note, to so complaints about the music, and the special effects are actually very... wow. As I mentioned earlier, if you've never seen someone's head pummeled to an oozing pulp with a camera, now is the time to do it. The shots of bodies hurtling through the air would also leave you with a sense of awe as you start to comprehend the effects of gravity on a zombified human being.
Don't get me wrong, though. This is not a "zombie" flick. But then it would be, if you consider I am Legend to be a zombie movie. I won't say anything else about that, but some other movies that have attempted to portray a microbial antagonist should pay close attention to this one.
Finally, the end of the film is actually predictable, but that makes it all the more enjoyable. It's realistic, and not something that leaves you with a feeling of "how did that happen". If that has spoilt it for you, fear not, because if you know of the movie, you've probably already seen the end. But don't let that stop you.
After the first ten minutes of light humor, be ready to quake and shiver on the edge of your seat until that final night-vision scene. It isn't the go-home-and-be-scared-to-look-under-your-blanket kind of scary like Ju-On, but be ready for nearly two hours of apprehension.
4.5/5
Monday, December 01, 2008
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Thursday, November 06, 2008
Wednesday, November 05, 2008
Monday, November 03, 2008
Saturday, November 01, 2008
Comic Relief #137
Sometimes I don't know if I should laugh or cry. At least it's always entertaining, though.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Hoarse-play
Right now, I sound like a man approaching eighty years of age, suffering from emphysema and athsma, being strangled with a telephone cord. That is, of course, if I can get anything past my throat other than my ragged breath. My windpipe feels like there is a cactus growing inside it, sprinkled with pepper and set ablaze. I can whisper, so yeah.
I have a presentation tomorrow, something that has been bugging me for the past week or so. I don't quite know how that will turn out, seeing as how I now possess the vocal aptitude of a newborn kitten under a blanket. Whispering won't do. No, no, no.
I'm not sure how this came about, really. Today was spent pointing out the flaws in grammar and the fallacies in attributing joy to the short-lived lives of poultry, followed by a long, arduous journey home which was largely uneventful, save for a weird man who stared at other people in the hope that his glassy eyes would eject them from their seats. That and I discovered a little shop that still sells Vanilla Coke. Yay!
Then I got home, and like a parent who just knows his child is gone, or like Luke, I had a very bad feeling about this. My mom asked me to sample some of the things she baked on her day home, and when I opened my mouth to speak, my once-lovely voice had deserted me. The toneless murmur that I just barely managed to exhale conveyed little but my own shock at my new-found muteness. Dumbly shaking my head, I trudged up the stairs, shut my room door, and stared at my neck in the mirror, for reasons beyond my immediate comprehension.
No, no marks indicating surgery to remove my larynx or vocal chords.
How, how, how?
I have even resorted to suggesting protraying a mute person at the presentation tomorrow.
I have a presentation tomorrow, something that has been bugging me for the past week or so. I don't quite know how that will turn out, seeing as how I now possess the vocal aptitude of a newborn kitten under a blanket. Whispering won't do. No, no, no.
I'm not sure how this came about, really. Today was spent pointing out the flaws in grammar and the fallacies in attributing joy to the short-lived lives of poultry, followed by a long, arduous journey home which was largely uneventful, save for a weird man who stared at other people in the hope that his glassy eyes would eject them from their seats. That and I discovered a little shop that still sells Vanilla Coke. Yay!
Then I got home, and like a parent who just knows his child is gone, or like Luke, I had a very bad feeling about this. My mom asked me to sample some of the things she baked on her day home, and when I opened my mouth to speak, my once-lovely voice had deserted me. The toneless murmur that I just barely managed to exhale conveyed little but my own shock at my new-found muteness. Dumbly shaking my head, I trudged up the stairs, shut my room door, and stared at my neck in the mirror, for reasons beyond my immediate comprehension.
No, no marks indicating surgery to remove my larynx or vocal chords.
How, how, how?
I have even resorted to suggesting protraying a mute person at the presentation tomorrow.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Much Pain
They were all dead. The final gunshot was an exclamation mark to everything that had led to this point. I released my finger from the trigger. And then it was all over.
And it was, but those were the opening lines to the video game, and NOT the movie. I'm a huge fan of the games, really. Like many, though, I considered the first to be superior by far, but the second was still great. I mean, come on, bullet-time, Captain Baseball-bat Boy, Russians and Italians and moaning women? Can't get much better than that.
The movie, however, failed to encapsulate all the things that made the game(s) so kickass. I will go through my list of complaints as I see fit, fuming and generally annoyed at the outcome of my internet booking.
Anyone who has played Max Payne will recognise that Mona Sax plays an integral role in the story, at least as important as Max himself. Then you see Mila Kunis walk on screen in some black jacket, trying to look like anything other than Jackie. Come on. You cast someone famed for playing a short teenage bimbo as Mona Sax??? The same Mona Sax who is at least as high up there as Chun-Li or Lara Croft or Mrs Pac-Man? She's supposed to be like a leather-clad mysterious Chuck Norris-esque killing machine, not a high-school cheerleader.
OK, wait. I'll back up. Mila Kunis does have the Mona Sax look (window scene), but the on-screen Mona is written to be more impotent than important. She does have the trademark Uzi, but no red-leather. Sigh. It's also quite sad (but I'm not exactly complaining) that Mona's on-screen sister attracts much more attention than her. Olga Kurylenko seems to play the stripping Russian hottie perfectly.
Remember how Max Payne was perhaps the first thing after The Matrix to make use of bullet time? How cool it was to see someone dodging bullets and blasting baddies to oblivion (and the slow-mo deaths)? Yeah. Almost no bullet time in the film. Cept once where he jumps to shoot a door. And where he runs towards someone.
Speaking of shooting, it seems that the villians in the film are totally incapable of taking aim and firing with any sort of accuracy. I know that the hero almost never gets hit anyway, but when someone with a military rifle, on an elevated platform, with a scope, can fire three times and miss an un-moving target, from behind, it just goes to show that henchmen are trained by the incompetant. Maybe that's why there was so little bullet time in the film. He didn't need it.
No painkillers. WTF.
Lastly, one gets the distinct impression that alot of thought (and cash) went into making the film very Sin City-ish. While that isn't a bad thing - and to be honest, the movie looks good - for most of the film, the detail of the falling snow or feathers is far superior than the actual storytelling. The original game had a solid plot, probably one of the best one's I've ever had the pleasure of going through in any video game (fuck you, Metal Gear Solid), the film, for some strange reason beyond my limited intelligence, chooses to deviate from what was an established, enjoyable, awesome story and mix up how everyone in the story was tied to one another. In the end, you get a badly-rushed bad story (less than two hours) with a questionable and expected plot "twist", buffered by lacklustre action scenes.
AND JIM BRAVURA IS NOT SUPPOSED TO BE BLACK.
God Dammit.
At least it was better than Hitman.
2.5/5
And it was, but those were the opening lines to the video game, and NOT the movie. I'm a huge fan of the games, really. Like many, though, I considered the first to be superior by far, but the second was still great. I mean, come on, bullet-time, Captain Baseball-bat Boy, Russians and Italians and moaning women? Can't get much better than that.
The movie, however, failed to encapsulate all the things that made the game(s) so kickass. I will go through my list of complaints as I see fit, fuming and generally annoyed at the outcome of my internet booking.
Anyone who has played Max Payne will recognise that Mona Sax plays an integral role in the story, at least as important as Max himself. Then you see Mila Kunis walk on screen in some black jacket, trying to look like anything other than Jackie. Come on. You cast someone famed for playing a short teenage bimbo as Mona Sax??? The same Mona Sax who is at least as high up there as Chun-Li or Lara Croft or Mrs Pac-Man? She's supposed to be like a leather-clad mysterious Chuck Norris-esque killing machine, not a high-school cheerleader.
OK, wait. I'll back up. Mila Kunis does have the Mona Sax look (window scene), but the on-screen Mona is written to be more impotent than important. She does have the trademark Uzi, but no red-leather. Sigh. It's also quite sad (but I'm not exactly complaining) that Mona's on-screen sister attracts much more attention than her. Olga Kurylenko seems to play the stripping Russian hottie perfectly.
Remember how Max Payne was perhaps the first thing after The Matrix to make use of bullet time? How cool it was to see someone dodging bullets and blasting baddies to oblivion (and the slow-mo deaths)? Yeah. Almost no bullet time in the film. Cept once where he jumps to shoot a door. And where he runs towards someone.
Speaking of shooting, it seems that the villians in the film are totally incapable of taking aim and firing with any sort of accuracy. I know that the hero almost never gets hit anyway, but when someone with a military rifle, on an elevated platform, with a scope, can fire three times and miss an un-moving target, from behind, it just goes to show that henchmen are trained by the incompetant. Maybe that's why there was so little bullet time in the film. He didn't need it.
No painkillers. WTF.
Lastly, one gets the distinct impression that alot of thought (and cash) went into making the film very Sin City-ish. While that isn't a bad thing - and to be honest, the movie looks good - for most of the film, the detail of the falling snow or feathers is far superior than the actual storytelling. The original game had a solid plot, probably one of the best one's I've ever had the pleasure of going through in any video game (fuck you, Metal Gear Solid), the film, for some strange reason beyond my limited intelligence, chooses to deviate from what was an established, enjoyable, awesome story and mix up how everyone in the story was tied to one another. In the end, you get a badly-rushed bad story (less than two hours) with a questionable and expected plot "twist", buffered by lacklustre action scenes.
AND JIM BRAVURA IS NOT SUPPOSED TO BE BLACK.
God Dammit.
At least it was better than Hitman.
2.5/5
Monday, October 20, 2008
The Fast & The Furious
I remember the days when little Naz looked at the clock at the top of the wall in longing, hoping for the time where the idiotic bell would ring and I could dash out as fast as my little manjan-looking legs could carry me, to join up with my mom after my kindergarten class in Marine Parade. While the motherly embrace was pleasant enough, what really made my heart race was the fact that the walk to the car would invariably lead us past... McDonald's.
I've always been a rather avid fast-food junkie. These prepubescent experiences seemed only to fuel the urge to drop by the conveniently-located outlets of the golden arches as well as KFC, when I progressed to secondary school. Later, I tried Burger King, and found their cheeseburgers pleasantly enjoyable. I would go on to blame my love for french fries for my less-than-herculean physique.
One of the few fast-food chains I had never enjoyed, however, was Long John Silver's. Firstly, I hate pirates. Peter Pan and Captain Hook? Lame. Jack Sparrow? Lame. Popeye (OK, sailor, but whatever)? Lame. And spinach is lame. I've probably only visited their outlets and actually purchased something other than a soft drink only twice in my entire life, before a few days ago.
Again, the fates brought me and my rather empty gut (I had made the conscious decision to not take a slice or two of pizza at home) to Marine Parade. With a rather irritable someone at my side, I, being the paragon of chivalry that I am, allowed her to select where we would sate our appetites. She pointed at the blue and yellow motif.
I did my best to keep my derision hidden from view, but I succeeded only as much as I would when trying to iron. Ever the perceptive cynic, the lovable girlfriend offered to allow me the choice instead, but again, my gentlemanly ways won the day over, and we walked into the joint. Well, it has no walls, and no doors, so we walked... to it.
So. Fish and chicken, eh? The regular combo's looked as appealing as CSE 101 and so I elected instead to go with the "grilled" choices, which seemed, for all intents and purposes, the lesser of two evils. After several frustrating moments, the lone girl at the counter finally turned to us to listen to our orders.
Before I continue, I will have to say that the labelling of "girl" to this "girl" is only one of convenience, for while it was quite apparent that she was of the female sex, and thus possessed such furnishings like mammary glands and a nose, she looked more like a cross between E.T. and a dayak. Watching us with eyes dulled far beyond any semblance of intelligent thought, she nodded like a drunk pirate (lame) wench and turned to yell, like a pirate, to the invisible person working in the kitchen. The unseen ninja chef yelled back, and the dayak-alien mumbled that the grills were not available anymore.
I was aghast. Heartbroken. Lost for words. Disappointed. Annoyed. Hungry.
I picked the Chicken Combo instead, seeing as how it was cheaper than the fish, which was what Little Miss Makeover ordered. Under the scrutiny of the strange life-form behind the counter, we collected our trays and our "food" and proceeded to take our (uncomfortable) seats. If the heat and humidity of the place was supposed to simulate a kind of hell, what was on the trays definitely lived up to it.
The chicken tasted like wet cardboard, left to dry on the ground a day before. It had a comparable texture as well, something even a mangy dog might turn its nose away from. The fish "fillets" were slightly more bearable, but still fell far short of the sub-standard norms that one might expct from the nearby supermarket, where frozen chunks of processed seafood waited patiently for poor untrained cooks to attempt to turn them into gourmet meals. The fries? Well, if potatoes could commit suicide, they would have been turned into fries like those. They tasted of despair and made my taste buds cry out for sweet merciful death.
The best thing about the meal was the chili sauce, in those little white and green packets.
After deciding against hacking my tongue off with the flimsy plastic spoon, I stood up from the rickety table, taking my darling by the hand, and whisked her away from the wretched place. In all my life, I don't think I have ever left so many french fries untouched. Even the freaky escargot the other day was less of a chore. With the hated place barely out of my questionable sight, I began to realise that the only thing I had missed by not being a regular patron of Long John was a severe case of food-poisoning.
I will make a pact today. Between myself and all of you. A plea, a deal, an agreement, a promise. If you ever, ever, eeeeeeever see me walking into or even close to another Long John Silver's outlet, feel sorry for me, for it would be the clearest sign yet that I wish to end my life. You may wish to stop me, advise me, warn me of the obvious dangers. But no. I have suffered through the experience of a "meal" from this "restaurant", and barely survived. If I go again, it would mean I would be seeking a slow, painful end.
I just hope the fries in heaven are good.
I've always been a rather avid fast-food junkie. These prepubescent experiences seemed only to fuel the urge to drop by the conveniently-located outlets of the golden arches as well as KFC, when I progressed to secondary school. Later, I tried Burger King, and found their cheeseburgers pleasantly enjoyable. I would go on to blame my love for french fries for my less-than-herculean physique.
One of the few fast-food chains I had never enjoyed, however, was Long John Silver's. Firstly, I hate pirates. Peter Pan and Captain Hook? Lame. Jack Sparrow? Lame. Popeye (OK, sailor, but whatever)? Lame. And spinach is lame. I've probably only visited their outlets and actually purchased something other than a soft drink only twice in my entire life, before a few days ago.
Again, the fates brought me and my rather empty gut (I had made the conscious decision to not take a slice or two of pizza at home) to Marine Parade. With a rather irritable someone at my side, I, being the paragon of chivalry that I am, allowed her to select where we would sate our appetites. She pointed at the blue and yellow motif.
I did my best to keep my derision hidden from view, but I succeeded only as much as I would when trying to iron. Ever the perceptive cynic, the lovable girlfriend offered to allow me the choice instead, but again, my gentlemanly ways won the day over, and we walked into the joint. Well, it has no walls, and no doors, so we walked... to it.
So. Fish and chicken, eh? The regular combo's looked as appealing as CSE 101 and so I elected instead to go with the "grilled" choices, which seemed, for all intents and purposes, the lesser of two evils. After several frustrating moments, the lone girl at the counter finally turned to us to listen to our orders.
Before I continue, I will have to say that the labelling of "girl" to this "girl" is only one of convenience, for while it was quite apparent that she was of the female sex, and thus possessed such furnishings like mammary glands and a nose, she looked more like a cross between E.T. and a dayak. Watching us with eyes dulled far beyond any semblance of intelligent thought, she nodded like a drunk pirate (lame) wench and turned to yell, like a pirate, to the invisible person working in the kitchen. The unseen ninja chef yelled back, and the dayak-alien mumbled that the grills were not available anymore.
I was aghast. Heartbroken. Lost for words. Disappointed. Annoyed. Hungry.
I picked the Chicken Combo instead, seeing as how it was cheaper than the fish, which was what Little Miss Makeover ordered. Under the scrutiny of the strange life-form behind the counter, we collected our trays and our "food" and proceeded to take our (uncomfortable) seats. If the heat and humidity of the place was supposed to simulate a kind of hell, what was on the trays definitely lived up to it.
The chicken tasted like wet cardboard, left to dry on the ground a day before. It had a comparable texture as well, something even a mangy dog might turn its nose away from. The fish "fillets" were slightly more bearable, but still fell far short of the sub-standard norms that one might expct from the nearby supermarket, where frozen chunks of processed seafood waited patiently for poor untrained cooks to attempt to turn them into gourmet meals. The fries? Well, if potatoes could commit suicide, they would have been turned into fries like those. They tasted of despair and made my taste buds cry out for sweet merciful death.
The best thing about the meal was the chili sauce, in those little white and green packets.
After deciding against hacking my tongue off with the flimsy plastic spoon, I stood up from the rickety table, taking my darling by the hand, and whisked her away from the wretched place. In all my life, I don't think I have ever left so many french fries untouched. Even the freaky escargot the other day was less of a chore. With the hated place barely out of my questionable sight, I began to realise that the only thing I had missed by not being a regular patron of Long John was a severe case of food-poisoning.
I will make a pact today. Between myself and all of you. A plea, a deal, an agreement, a promise. If you ever, ever, eeeeeeever see me walking into or even close to another Long John Silver's outlet, feel sorry for me, for it would be the clearest sign yet that I wish to end my life. You may wish to stop me, advise me, warn me of the obvious dangers. But no. I have suffered through the experience of a "meal" from this "restaurant", and barely survived. If I go again, it would mean I would be seeking a slow, painful end.
I just hope the fries in heaven are good.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Comic Relief #131
I don't know why girls cut their hair when it already looks good. Tsk. Maybe it's just girls with names starting with K.
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Tuesday, October 07, 2008
Comic Relief #129
First appearance of Mag/Maggie from school, and she said her current favourite colour was black. No prizes for guessing who the person in question is.
Sunday, October 05, 2008
Friday, October 03, 2008
Critical Thinking
I got a new cordless phone a few days ago.
I hate it.
Firstly, it's rather bulky, angular, white. Unlike my older, sleeker one which I could spin around and envision it being a lightsabre. It also sounds like the person on the other end of the call is talking to you from behind a wall of sand. And is suffering from a bout of hiccups.
But most importantly, this new model seems to have lost one of the features I liked best about my old phone (and really, most phones in this day and age); the ability to key in the numbers before "picking up" the phone. It just bugs me that this newer phone lacks such a straightforward yet useful ability that its predecessor exhibited with such utter simplicity. Some people just fail to think. Like the new Facebook, you know? It was great the way it was. Now, rubbish. I can't even find my feckin' wall.
I was writing some garbage today on a pilfered sheet of A4 paper, something about Plato and Aristotle in school, during an exam. The exam itself was "OK", as I told someone, who proceeded to reveal to me with not a small amount of glee that I was the only one with such a positive prognosis of the paper. After reiterating that my dedfinition of "OK" merely meant that it was not a 100% chance of sure-failure, he then agreed with my assessment.
But as I was in the midst of my prose, I happened to notice one girl who I don't know (and never bothered to know/remember) stand up and stride puposefully to the front of the theatre to thrust her sheet of papyrus at the instructor, who was expectant in every sense of the word. Of course, people finish exams early all the time (well, not all the time, only early... you can't finish an exam early, late...). I found myself staring at the wood panels that made up our Grand Hall after roughly 20 minutes during my Health Psychology paper, scheduled for two hours.
But I've always believed that if you're going to enter an exam hall, and be the first to hand in your paper, you have to either be A) very good, B) sure you're going to fail, or C) stupid. The name of today's class was Critical Thinking.
This girl, after handing in her paper, spun sharply on her heel, like some uptight ballerina missing a tutu and slippers, and stormed out of the class. I was sure she was proud of herself, or at least happy to have the week over with. But then the instructor mentioned she had, in all her nimble brilliance, seen it fit to totally not do a whole section of the paper (this is where you circle option C). Of course, the girl had already left, and was destined to the doom of a crappy grade.
Or was she???
Not five minutes later, as most of us were still wondering how Evian promotes nudity, the girl returned, miraculously. And asked for her paper back as she realised she had so cleverly failed to complete the afore-mentioned section (I believe it was arguments and premises).
Now... unlike some past instructors, the one we had today is not an idiot by any stretch of the imagination. Sure, she has a funny accent and is a feminist and sometimes exudes a weird sense of humor, but she isn't a moron. But she was sure as hell looking one in the eye!
"How did you know you did not do one part?"
"My friend messaged me."
"But no one has left the room except you."
"..."
I hate it.
Firstly, it's rather bulky, angular, white. Unlike my older, sleeker one which I could spin around and envision it being a lightsabre. It also sounds like the person on the other end of the call is talking to you from behind a wall of sand. And is suffering from a bout of hiccups.
But most importantly, this new model seems to have lost one of the features I liked best about my old phone (and really, most phones in this day and age); the ability to key in the numbers before "picking up" the phone. It just bugs me that this newer phone lacks such a straightforward yet useful ability that its predecessor exhibited with such utter simplicity. Some people just fail to think. Like the new Facebook, you know? It was great the way it was. Now, rubbish. I can't even find my feckin' wall.
I was writing some garbage today on a pilfered sheet of A4 paper, something about Plato and Aristotle in school, during an exam. The exam itself was "OK", as I told someone, who proceeded to reveal to me with not a small amount of glee that I was the only one with such a positive prognosis of the paper. After reiterating that my dedfinition of "OK" merely meant that it was not a 100% chance of sure-failure, he then agreed with my assessment.
But as I was in the midst of my prose, I happened to notice one girl who I don't know (and never bothered to know/remember) stand up and stride puposefully to the front of the theatre to thrust her sheet of papyrus at the instructor, who was expectant in every sense of the word. Of course, people finish exams early all the time (well, not all the time, only early... you can't finish an exam early, late...). I found myself staring at the wood panels that made up our Grand Hall after roughly 20 minutes during my Health Psychology paper, scheduled for two hours.
But I've always believed that if you're going to enter an exam hall, and be the first to hand in your paper, you have to either be A) very good, B) sure you're going to fail, or C) stupid. The name of today's class was Critical Thinking.
This girl, after handing in her paper, spun sharply on her heel, like some uptight ballerina missing a tutu and slippers, and stormed out of the class. I was sure she was proud of herself, or at least happy to have the week over with. But then the instructor mentioned she had, in all her nimble brilliance, seen it fit to totally not do a whole section of the paper (this is where you circle option C). Of course, the girl had already left, and was destined to the doom of a crappy grade.
Or was she???
Not five minutes later, as most of us were still wondering how Evian promotes nudity, the girl returned, miraculously. And asked for her paper back as she realised she had so cleverly failed to complete the afore-mentioned section (I believe it was arguments and premises).
Now... unlike some past instructors, the one we had today is not an idiot by any stretch of the imagination. Sure, she has a funny accent and is a feminist and sometimes exudes a weird sense of humor, but she isn't a moron. But she was sure as hell looking one in the eye!
"How did you know you did not do one part?"
"My friend messaged me."
"But no one has left the room except you."
"..."
"So she used her cell phone, during an examination? I would like to speak with you and your friend."
Dictionary.com lists "sabotage" as a "treacherous action", among other things. Think about it, for just one quick, hilarious moment. You walk out of an examination, and suddenly return because you forgot something? And then you say, to the instructor (and in front of everyone) that someone messaged you with this vital bit of information?
As Jonno said:
Hahahahahahahahaahhahaahahahaahaahahahaahahahaahhahahah!
This single event ranks up there, no, surpasses "It was my friend who doesn't work there anymore" as the stupidest, most idiotic, staggeringly moronic, blindingly brainless AND stab-your-friend-in-the-back-in-front-of-her-face moves I have ever seen. Even "I suddenly remembered" would have been so much better.
Seriously.
It took all of my willpower to keep from rolling on the dusty carpeting in rapturous laughter and glee after witnessing such a historic act of profound treason.
Ah.
Critical thinking, how I love thee. All the more that you are so rare among people nowadays.
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Monday, August 25, 2008
Stagnation
I realise I haven't been updating this spot for a while.
No, it's not the Olympics, and not really school. Just haven't had much to say, really. I was halfway through this rant against religion, but then decided against it.
Oh well.
Quote of the day:
If a bear is chasing you and Usain Bolt, you're fucked.
No, it's not the Olympics, and not really school. Just haven't had much to say, really. I was halfway through this rant against religion, but then decided against it.
Oh well.
Quote of the day:
If a bear is chasing you and Usain Bolt, you're fucked.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Saturday, August 09, 2008
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Comic Relief #122
Those aren't cowboy pants, but our resident Gringo says she likes her brown bermudas, so I guess we will enjoy the suggestion that she craps herself.I wonder if anyone thinks Leximir is actually a name that won't get you beat up. By girls.
Sunday, July 06, 2008
Comic Relief #120
Sometimes it pays to be a cynic. That thing still annoys me though, and I am just waiting for the wrong person to say the right thing.
Found Wanting?
I had to pick between Hancock and Wanted.
I've been looking forward to Hancock, for a long time. Ever since I saw the trailer where he flings the whale out into the ocean, many many months ago. Generally, I've seen and enjoyed alot of Will Smith movies. Men in Black. Independance Day. I Am Legend. A few others.
I chose Wanted, though.
Now, save the groans. It's actually, surprisingly, a good movie. I said the same about the second Fantastic Four movie, but I had expected that to be total garbage, and only saw it for a certain Jessica Alba, in all honestly.
Wanted has Angelina Jolie looking smoking hot, though, but even without the hotness, it would have been a good ride. Tough it did help somewhat.
If you can get past the initial feeling of "what the hell is going on here", you will probably find that the film has better action than, say, Jumper, while also retaining a plot that is by no means thin. Adapted from a graphic novel, the movie's actual story is a good one, if you leave out some technicalities.
As I mentioned, the action is mind-blowing. Forget Jumper or Tomb Raider or even Hulk, the fight and gun sequences in Wanted, especially near the end, are works of art. Those of you familiar with the concept of "Gun Kata" will find that this film takes the conceptually cool idea and elevates it to levels that have only been seen in the first Matrix movie. Enjoyed Max Payne? Not so much bullet time here, but abundance of bullets. And so, so much better than Shooter or Hitman.
All that, you you are also treated to many many shots of Angelina Jolie, including one of her bare bottom, so for you people thinking of forgoing the price of admission, you will be missing out on the visuals of the bullets in the film, but at least you can pause.
And it's funny. There really isn't much else to add to this one. Not a perfect flick, but humor, action, babe, story and a kickass soundtrack means that I gladly give it my thumbs up.
And hearing Morgan Freeman yell "Kill this motha' fucka'!" really made my day for some reason.
I've been looking forward to Hancock, for a long time. Ever since I saw the trailer where he flings the whale out into the ocean, many many months ago. Generally, I've seen and enjoyed alot of Will Smith movies. Men in Black. Independance Day. I Am Legend. A few others.
I chose Wanted, though.
Now, save the groans. It's actually, surprisingly, a good movie. I said the same about the second Fantastic Four movie, but I had expected that to be total garbage, and only saw it for a certain Jessica Alba, in all honestly.
Wanted has Angelina Jolie looking smoking hot, though, but even without the hotness, it would have been a good ride. Tough it did help somewhat.
If you can get past the initial feeling of "what the hell is going on here", you will probably find that the film has better action than, say, Jumper, while also retaining a plot that is by no means thin. Adapted from a graphic novel, the movie's actual story is a good one, if you leave out some technicalities.
As I mentioned, the action is mind-blowing. Forget Jumper or Tomb Raider or even Hulk, the fight and gun sequences in Wanted, especially near the end, are works of art. Those of you familiar with the concept of "Gun Kata" will find that this film takes the conceptually cool idea and elevates it to levels that have only been seen in the first Matrix movie. Enjoyed Max Payne? Not so much bullet time here, but abundance of bullets. And so, so much better than Shooter or Hitman.
All that, you you are also treated to many many shots of Angelina Jolie, including one of her bare bottom, so for you people thinking of forgoing the price of admission, you will be missing out on the visuals of the bullets in the film, but at least you can pause.
And it's funny. There really isn't much else to add to this one. Not a perfect flick, but humor, action, babe, story and a kickass soundtrack means that I gladly give it my thumbs up.
And hearing Morgan Freeman yell "Kill this motha' fucka'!" really made my day for some reason.
Tuesday, July 01, 2008
Monday, June 30, 2008
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Comic Relief #116
I think this is the first appearance of one Mr. Mau Fahmy. Long-suffering Liverpool fan, and potential buyer of my PS2. Hurry up.
Comic Relief #114
Kinda early, but I hope you guys have a good trip.Thnk you to Kerri for the material for this one.
Eh...
So I should be going through what I should be trying to say during my presentation tomorrow. I also should have more money, new glasses, a cleaner laptop and a kitten (preferably two), but we don't always get what we want.
My arms ache, for some reason, and that's before finishing the two games of bowling that proved how bad I am at hurling heavy oiled balls down shiny oiled wooden lanes. My nose has seen it fit to discharge fluid in its most subtl manners over the past few days, and it feels like there is a cactus in my throat. I'm fine.
I've never been comfortable speaking in public. I remember back in Primary school, being asked to give a Teacher's Day "speech" to the whole school during one of the pathetic celebratory days back in the day. So there I was, little Chinese-faced Naz, plodding towards the mic (which I had plugged in myself anyway), wearing my pressed uniform and red elastic tie, taking a deep breath before speaking. In Malay.
The hall erupted in laughter.
I admit, though, I would have laughed too. I won't say that that turned me from the path of public speaking - there was another event a few years later as well - but perhaps I never really forgot it. Tomorrow marks the first presentation of this semester, though it's just one of many, and so far, in general, I've done more than alright. Except one horrendous attempt in an earlier semester.
But I'm not sure why... tomorrow's seems different. I always have this nervousness before any occasion where I know I will have to address a group larger than, say, 10, but again, there is a different feel to this feeling. Maybe it's those around me. Maybe it's me not being as motivated as I would have liked. Maybe it's the fact that I have barely decided on what to say (though that's worked too...). Maybe it was the cheeseburger.
Oh well. It should be ok.
Should.
My arms ache, for some reason, and that's before finishing the two games of bowling that proved how bad I am at hurling heavy oiled balls down shiny oiled wooden lanes. My nose has seen it fit to discharge fluid in its most subtl manners over the past few days, and it feels like there is a cactus in my throat. I'm fine.
I've never been comfortable speaking in public. I remember back in Primary school, being asked to give a Teacher's Day "speech" to the whole school during one of the pathetic celebratory days back in the day. So there I was, little Chinese-faced Naz, plodding towards the mic (which I had plugged in myself anyway), wearing my pressed uniform and red elastic tie, taking a deep breath before speaking. In Malay.
The hall erupted in laughter.
I admit, though, I would have laughed too. I won't say that that turned me from the path of public speaking - there was another event a few years later as well - but perhaps I never really forgot it. Tomorrow marks the first presentation of this semester, though it's just one of many, and so far, in general, I've done more than alright. Except one horrendous attempt in an earlier semester.
But I'm not sure why... tomorrow's seems different. I always have this nervousness before any occasion where I know I will have to address a group larger than, say, 10, but again, there is a different feel to this feeling. Maybe it's those around me. Maybe it's me not being as motivated as I would have liked. Maybe it's the fact that I have barely decided on what to say (though that's worked too...). Maybe it was the cheeseburger.
Oh well. It should be ok.
Should.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Hulk Incredible?
Iron Man was fan-fucking-tastic. No doubt.
With that in mind, I entered the theatre to watch Hulk with mixed feelings, having never been a fan of anything green (broccoli, SAF, Shrek) but hopeful in the wake of Robert Downey Jr.'s portrayal of Tony Stark. And any serious Marvel or movie buffs knew before hand that he'd be in Hulk anyway.
Now, like I mentioned, I've never liked the Hulk. Or Superman, or Juggernaught, or Colossus, or any superhero who is super-strong. Not sure why, just never did. That, and the fact that, well, let's just go out and say it, Hulk is about as cool as Swamp Thing at it's peak of dripping ichor and rotting vines. So he get's angry, and get's strong. And is nigh-unstoppable. Kinda unidimensional, if you ask me, eh?
But then, I thought Iron Man was lame too.
Thought.
Hulk opens nicely, I felt. I've noticed that Marvel tends to do a recap-type of thing in the opening credits of almost all their movies (or am I just mad?) and what they did in Hulk brought even the least-informed mmbers of the audience up to speed with what had happened. Of course, this film isn't a sequel to Ang Lee's horrific attempt at a movie (which could have only been made worse by someone like Uwe Boll or Mediacorp-Raintree), but what the producers did did seem to speed things up while not sacrificing anything from the actual story-telling, I thought.
For those expecting instant "HULK SMASH" and flying cars and debris, you're in for a wait. You are, however, treated to an introduction to Bruce Banner in his self-imposed exile, and what he's been doing to deal with his... condition.
Debates and arguments of whether or not he learnt Capoeira or Ju-Jitsu are irrelevant, as are the gasps of shock and awe at the diaphragmic prowess of his trainer, but one has to say that while some might think it uneventful, it does contribute to the plot as a whole, and no movie was ever made worse by development.
A few kicks and one Gringo later, you finally see the big guy, and he then proceeds to lay waste to those before him for a while. Viewers are encouraged to wince at appropriate moments. In between tantrums, Liv Tyler's character is also introduced, and here I found, was one of the funnier moments of the movie, where she (predictably but hilariously) seems to forget that she is seeing someone. I won't say more. Cue Stan Lee cameo.
The only disappointment I had with the film, really, was that "Mr. Blue" isn't who I had hoped he would be, and that Liv Tyler looks haggard in more than a few shots. Still, the fact that it seemed at least two future Marvel endeavours (Captain America and Avengers) have been set up seems very, very promising.
Final rating?
I'd say it was a smash, but stops short of being marvelous. Don't expect an awesome, Iron Man-esque ride, but it ranks among the better of the Marvel productions, and is a giant leap from the last time you saw Bruce Banner.
If for nothing else, you could go in to see if what a frind of mine said is really true,
"That Liv Tyler is such a slut. Watch the movie, she's moaning all the way. From the time in the rain to every other time she is on screen. Moaning 24/7. Normally you would be irritated, but it's Liv Tyler. Shiok."
With that in mind, I entered the theatre to watch Hulk with mixed feelings, having never been a fan of anything green (broccoli, SAF, Shrek) but hopeful in the wake of Robert Downey Jr.'s portrayal of Tony Stark. And any serious Marvel or movie buffs knew before hand that he'd be in Hulk anyway.
Now, like I mentioned, I've never liked the Hulk. Or Superman, or Juggernaught, or Colossus, or any superhero who is super-strong. Not sure why, just never did. That, and the fact that, well, let's just go out and say it, Hulk is about as cool as Swamp Thing at it's peak of dripping ichor and rotting vines. So he get's angry, and get's strong. And is nigh-unstoppable. Kinda unidimensional, if you ask me, eh?
But then, I thought Iron Man was lame too.
Thought.
Hulk opens nicely, I felt. I've noticed that Marvel tends to do a recap-type of thing in the opening credits of almost all their movies (or am I just mad?) and what they did in Hulk brought even the least-informed mmbers of the audience up to speed with what had happened. Of course, this film isn't a sequel to Ang Lee's horrific attempt at a movie (which could have only been made worse by someone like Uwe Boll or Mediacorp-Raintree), but what the producers did did seem to speed things up while not sacrificing anything from the actual story-telling, I thought.
For those expecting instant "HULK SMASH" and flying cars and debris, you're in for a wait. You are, however, treated to an introduction to Bruce Banner in his self-imposed exile, and what he's been doing to deal with his... condition.
Debates and arguments of whether or not he learnt Capoeira or Ju-Jitsu are irrelevant, as are the gasps of shock and awe at the diaphragmic prowess of his trainer, but one has to say that while some might think it uneventful, it does contribute to the plot as a whole, and no movie was ever made worse by development.
A few kicks and one Gringo later, you finally see the big guy, and he then proceeds to lay waste to those before him for a while. Viewers are encouraged to wince at appropriate moments. In between tantrums, Liv Tyler's character is also introduced, and here I found, was one of the funnier moments of the movie, where she (predictably but hilariously) seems to forget that she is seeing someone. I won't say more. Cue Stan Lee cameo.
The only disappointment I had with the film, really, was that "Mr. Blue" isn't who I had hoped he would be, and that Liv Tyler looks haggard in more than a few shots. Still, the fact that it seemed at least two future Marvel endeavours (Captain America and Avengers) have been set up seems very, very promising.
Final rating?
I'd say it was a smash, but stops short of being marvelous. Don't expect an awesome, Iron Man-esque ride, but it ranks among the better of the Marvel productions, and is a giant leap from the last time you saw Bruce Banner.
If for nothing else, you could go in to see if what a frind of mine said is really true,
"That Liv Tyler is such a slut. Watch the movie, she's moaning all the way. From the time in the rain to every other time she is on screen. Moaning 24/7. Normally you would be irritated, but it's Liv Tyler. Shiok."
A Perfectionist and a Procrastinator
It's 7.45AM now, and I've actually been up an hour or so. Set my alarm clock to wake me up at the cheery time of 6.45, with the intent to finish studying for my Psychology exam later today. But the best laid plans of mice and men...
Someone told me recently that I've been slacking off, and somone else mentioned a while back that I'm "the intelligent one that screws up his exams", and while either comment might seem derogatory, I actually agree with both statements, they brought a smile/smirk/what-have-you to my face and did get me thinking.
Back to matters at hand, I have my notes at the ready, but for some reason I have little motivation to get going, adding to the fact that I have not finished the assignment due this week, and haven't done as much as I'd have liked for the presentation next week.
Oh well.
I hate it when things don't go my way.
Maybe tomorrow.
Someone told me recently that I've been slacking off, and somone else mentioned a while back that I'm "the intelligent one that screws up his exams", and while either comment might seem derogatory, I actually agree with both statements, they brought a smile/smirk/what-have-you to my face and did get me thinking.
Back to matters at hand, I have my notes at the ready, but for some reason I have little motivation to get going, adding to the fact that I have not finished the assignment due this week, and haven't done as much as I'd have liked for the presentation next week.
Oh well.
I hate it when things don't go my way.
Maybe tomorrow.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Comic Relief #113
So, not everyone might get this... but it's ok.We've (well she, mostly) been sending weird text messages like these every other day. Some others include "... wish I was your fringe so you'd play with me all day." and "... wish I were your bed so you'd lie on me every night."
Monday, June 09, 2008
Hrm.
Seems like alot's been happening lately, at least over the past four or five weeks. Many people, all my loyal fans, I'm sure, have suffered through what others have branded a "blog statis" during this period, and for this I sincerely apologise.
Last month, of course, was perhaps the most important month of the year for yours truly, and this May seemed packed with ll sorts of stuff. From last-minute romantic getaway to a great island resort to procuring a Canon Ixus from a schoolmate to tracking down people I hve hardly ever spoken to, I'm glad that when the dust settled, she had a smile on her face.
I have a new tuition kid too, which means, for the first time in a long time, income. Three lessons gone, and I have to say that this one seems the best one of the lot. May not be the brightest, but he's by far the most fun, and definitely better than my previous one.
What I'd like to talk about today, however, is just something that's been going through my head the past few hours, a random thought or memory that sort of popped up while I was listening to "Fall For You" for th fourth time in less than six hours. Now, lot of junk goes through my head, and most people would agree that it's not a nice place to be in, but this was one of the more poignant things I've ever experienced first-hand.
A long time ago, near an MRT station not so far away, Naz and Khadi were walking home from som random excursion, when we sort of bumped into this girl who we've seen around the vicinity. Before I go on, I want to make it clear that I am far from discriminating, though to say I am a paragon of fairness would be a tad unrealistic as well. However, you can usually tell if somone is, well, not normal. Like earlier today, Khadi and I saw this pseudo-Japanese girl (we will not debate on if she is hot or not) who looked like she was an anorexic zombie robot. But back to the story.
For some reason, perhaps Khadi looked extra-friendly that day, the girl came up to us, clad in her white tudung and all, and started chatting to us strangers. For lack of a better option, and not wanting to do anything (else) stupid, we engaged in her small-talk, with Khadi whispering frightfully into my heroic ear, "Babe, I'm scared."
The conversation in itself was seemingly normal, though in Malay, thus effectively disqualifying me from it entirely, else I'd be labelled as the Special one. Things went smoothly and innocently until a question of family, I think, came up, and the girl said something like,
"... you know, because I'm, like this and not normal like you two."
She trotted off a while later.
For some reason, this recollection has been bouncing around my head, juxtaposed with the phrases of "loser table" and "pathetic" that various people have used for various situations recently. I'm not at liberty to say more, but at the same time, I'm not uncomfortable or weirded out or anything, I'm just wondering why I'm thinking of this.
Maybe I'm just crazy.
Last month, of course, was perhaps the most important month of the year for yours truly, and this May seemed packed with ll sorts of stuff. From last-minute romantic getaway to a great island resort to procuring a Canon Ixus from a schoolmate to tracking down people I hve hardly ever spoken to, I'm glad that when the dust settled, she had a smile on her face.
I have a new tuition kid too, which means, for the first time in a long time, income. Three lessons gone, and I have to say that this one seems the best one of the lot. May not be the brightest, but he's by far the most fun, and definitely better than my previous one.
What I'd like to talk about today, however, is just something that's been going through my head the past few hours, a random thought or memory that sort of popped up while I was listening to "Fall For You" for th fourth time in less than six hours. Now, lot of junk goes through my head, and most people would agree that it's not a nice place to be in, but this was one of the more poignant things I've ever experienced first-hand.
A long time ago, near an MRT station not so far away, Naz and Khadi were walking home from som random excursion, when we sort of bumped into this girl who we've seen around the vicinity. Before I go on, I want to make it clear that I am far from discriminating, though to say I am a paragon of fairness would be a tad unrealistic as well. However, you can usually tell if somone is, well, not normal. Like earlier today, Khadi and I saw this pseudo-Japanese girl (we will not debate on if she is hot or not) who looked like she was an anorexic zombie robot. But back to the story.
For some reason, perhaps Khadi looked extra-friendly that day, the girl came up to us, clad in her white tudung and all, and started chatting to us strangers. For lack of a better option, and not wanting to do anything (else) stupid, we engaged in her small-talk, with Khadi whispering frightfully into my heroic ear, "Babe, I'm scared."
The conversation in itself was seemingly normal, though in Malay, thus effectively disqualifying me from it entirely, else I'd be labelled as the Special one. Things went smoothly and innocently until a question of family, I think, came up, and the girl said something like,
"... you know, because I'm, like this and not normal like you two."
She trotted off a while later.
For some reason, this recollection has been bouncing around my head, juxtaposed with the phrases of "loser table" and "pathetic" that various people have used for various situations recently. I'm not at liberty to say more, but at the same time, I'm not uncomfortable or weirded out or anything, I'm just wondering why I'm thinking of this.
Maybe I'm just crazy.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Hands Off
The world is filled with people of questionable character. I've never professed to be a saint myself, but recent observations of someone I still categorize as a stranger have made me sick to my stomach. I won't give out any names, and all of you loyal, avid, intelligent, fantastic readers can make your own assumptions.
One thing I've never stood for is for someone in a relationship to cheat on his or her other. Perhaps one of the only things that I despise even more is someone trying to make a move on someone else who is already taken.
Sure, sure, it might be labelled as just a "friendly gesture", but come on. No one persists in attempts at contacting someone day in and day out asking over and over again to meet up for supposdly innocent get togethers and meals and drinks and what not.
I don't like judging people, and I've always had the mentality that everyone deserves a chance, but few deserve a second one. In this case, I make no judgment, but those of you involved should be able to live with the consequences of your actions.
Now that I'm done rambling, I need to get back to studying.
One thing I've never stood for is for someone in a relationship to cheat on his or her other. Perhaps one of the only things that I despise even more is someone trying to make a move on someone else who is already taken.
Sure, sure, it might be labelled as just a "friendly gesture", but come on. No one persists in attempts at contacting someone day in and day out asking over and over again to meet up for supposdly innocent get togethers and meals and drinks and what not.
I don't like judging people, and I've always had the mentality that everyone deserves a chance, but few deserve a second one. In this case, I make no judgment, but those of you involved should be able to live with the consequences of your actions.
Now that I'm done rambling, I need to get back to studying.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Comic Relief #110
Trust Jonno to randomly greet you on MSN with the weirdest and most disturbing things ever, and to offer the most honest opinions on homework as well.
Wrong Number
So here I am, sitting in front of my nice Sony Vaio with its faded "ASDQWE" buttons, trying to finish my write-up of Barack Obama's speech a while back. It's due tomorrow, and I need to be very optimistic to say I'm halfway through. Yet, I found myself clicking link after link ofrandom videos, starting with Obama's appearance on The Daily Show with Jon Stewart, which soon led to, among other things, a rather obnoxious video of Uwe Boll all but begging anyone to start a "Pro-Uwe Boll" petition and another video of a few people playing rugby only to be anally probed by the unwelcome finger of an opponent.
Here's where my phone rings.
Now, it's not an exaggeration to say that everytime I look at my cellphone a little part of me dies as I envision myself wrestling with its user-unfriendly format and annoying strap. A phone is a phone, but this has got to be one Nokia that I'd like to trade in.
As the generic tone beeps, bleeps and chimes and the little black and red casing vibrates with all the energy of a newborn caterpillar, I think to myself, "Didn't you just call me less than five minutes ago? I'm trying to do my last minute work here." A private number, so I assumed that the girlfriend was calling me from the home of her pudgy little tuition kid. But I was wrong.
So wrong.
(Cue dramatic music)
As I answered the call ("picked up the phone" wouldn't be exactly accurate here, though I did have to physically lift it to my face), an unfamiliar voice greeted me like some disembodied soul sent to haunt a stranger. Only... this one was speaking something that sounded like English, but like it was being spoken by one of those weird Japanese people who are forced to read random English words on a game show, or else they'd be electrocuted.
"Hah...lo! Yoooo tock Chy-neese?"
"Err... what?"
"Ni shang sheh moh?"
"Wrong number."
"Ha?"
"Wrong number."
"Oh."
"..."
"Hello?"
"Wei?"
Here is where my patience runs out and I terminate the call. I swear, if there is a way to punch someone in the ear via a cellphone, I'd do it.
But back to my paper, I still need more than 2 pages to be safe.
My phone is ringing again.
Here's where my phone rings.
Now, it's not an exaggeration to say that everytime I look at my cellphone a little part of me dies as I envision myself wrestling with its user-unfriendly format and annoying strap. A phone is a phone, but this has got to be one Nokia that I'd like to trade in.
As the generic tone beeps, bleeps and chimes and the little black and red casing vibrates with all the energy of a newborn caterpillar, I think to myself, "Didn't you just call me less than five minutes ago? I'm trying to do my last minute work here." A private number, so I assumed that the girlfriend was calling me from the home of her pudgy little tuition kid. But I was wrong.
So wrong.
(Cue dramatic music)
As I answered the call ("picked up the phone" wouldn't be exactly accurate here, though I did have to physically lift it to my face), an unfamiliar voice greeted me like some disembodied soul sent to haunt a stranger. Only... this one was speaking something that sounded like English, but like it was being spoken by one of those weird Japanese people who are forced to read random English words on a game show, or else they'd be electrocuted.
"Hah...lo! Yoooo tock Chy-neese?"
"Err... what?"
"Ni shang sheh moh?"
"Wrong number."
"Ha?"
"Wrong number."
"Oh."
"..."
"Hello?"
"Wei?"
Here is where my patience runs out and I terminate the call. I swear, if there is a way to punch someone in the ear via a cellphone, I'd do it.
But back to my paper, I still need more than 2 pages to be safe.
My phone is ringing again.
Monday, April 14, 2008
The Long Ride
Been a while since I took a ride on the train alone, something I was forced via circumstance to do this morning. I guess it's these little mundane tasks that many of us hardly give a second thought that can seem so interesting once you detach yourself from them.
Stepping through the automated doors, the first thing I noticed, to my dismay, was the number of poor souls trapped in the carriage, their fate soon to be shared by yours truly. Finding myself a reasonably miniscule portoin of dusty floor, I attempted in vain to wrestle a book from my sling bag in the hope that some light reading would pass the time on the train.
First lesson learnt today: When people are packed so closely that they can probably overhear you thinking, one cannot remove a book from a bag unless everyone makes a conscious effort to give you the room to do so. Of course, knowing the general helpful nature of your average Singaporean, I would have been better off attempting to outrun the damn train.
I contented myself, instead, with listening to my iPod, after a few carefully-planned minutes of untangling the wires that connected the earphones to its scratched silver body. As Never Let You Go by Third Eye Blind echoed against my skull, I started to look around at my fellow commuters.
Before I go into detail, I will make one small confession. I don't actually check out girls, but I do notice, - because I am, among several things, male and not blind - if there are females in the vicinity whom I would not classify as having fallen through the ugly tree. That being said, I didn't find any this morning. But no worries, I was still happy because Man Utd beat Arsenal.
Pregnant lady to my left, thankfully without shopping bags. Standing, looking hopefully and mournfully at the seated youth before her. He looked slightly younger than me, with streaks of gold and yellow punctuating his floppy hair, and even more outlandish tones crawling over his cell phone. You all know the type. I could hear the techno music over the drone of the train. On my right, an Indian man who seemed particularly pungent this morning, an issue that was not helped by the fact he had both arms extended overhead to grasp the metal bar-pole-thing like his life depended on it. Behind me, a middle-aged Chinese aunty. I expected trouble from her, and she duly obliged a few stops later when she politely shoved my bag out of her way with her bags of groceries.
A few more sorry individuals entered our little world a short while later; among them, a youngish-looking man who was dressed to attend a business meeting, but was playing something that looked like Puzzle Bubble on his PSP. I never understood the public's sudden fascination with that thing. I mean, I love playing games, though I never owned a PSP myself. But when it was first released, it wasn't the overwhelming social phenomenon that some had predicted, and kinda died down. But in recent months, it seems everyone and their Ah Lian girlfriend are busy mashing the little buttons on their pink mini-consoles.
I spent the rest of the train ride going over how I was supposed to fabricate two days' worth of interviews and responses, as well as listening to Mercy Drive, Linkin Park, Funeral For a Friend and Michelle Branch, before arriving in school and all but bumping into Princess Tongue-Stud herself, Kania.
The rest of the day went well, hopefully it sets the tone for the rest of the week.
Stepping through the automated doors, the first thing I noticed, to my dismay, was the number of poor souls trapped in the carriage, their fate soon to be shared by yours truly. Finding myself a reasonably miniscule portoin of dusty floor, I attempted in vain to wrestle a book from my sling bag in the hope that some light reading would pass the time on the train.
First lesson learnt today: When people are packed so closely that they can probably overhear you thinking, one cannot remove a book from a bag unless everyone makes a conscious effort to give you the room to do so. Of course, knowing the general helpful nature of your average Singaporean, I would have been better off attempting to outrun the damn train.
I contented myself, instead, with listening to my iPod, after a few carefully-planned minutes of untangling the wires that connected the earphones to its scratched silver body. As Never Let You Go by Third Eye Blind echoed against my skull, I started to look around at my fellow commuters.
Before I go into detail, I will make one small confession. I don't actually check out girls, but I do notice, - because I am, among several things, male and not blind - if there are females in the vicinity whom I would not classify as having fallen through the ugly tree. That being said, I didn't find any this morning. But no worries, I was still happy because Man Utd beat Arsenal.
Pregnant lady to my left, thankfully without shopping bags. Standing, looking hopefully and mournfully at the seated youth before her. He looked slightly younger than me, with streaks of gold and yellow punctuating his floppy hair, and even more outlandish tones crawling over his cell phone. You all know the type. I could hear the techno music over the drone of the train. On my right, an Indian man who seemed particularly pungent this morning, an issue that was not helped by the fact he had both arms extended overhead to grasp the metal bar-pole-thing like his life depended on it. Behind me, a middle-aged Chinese aunty. I expected trouble from her, and she duly obliged a few stops later when she politely shoved my bag out of her way with her bags of groceries.
A few more sorry individuals entered our little world a short while later; among them, a youngish-looking man who was dressed to attend a business meeting, but was playing something that looked like Puzzle Bubble on his PSP. I never understood the public's sudden fascination with that thing. I mean, I love playing games, though I never owned a PSP myself. But when it was first released, it wasn't the overwhelming social phenomenon that some had predicted, and kinda died down. But in recent months, it seems everyone and their Ah Lian girlfriend are busy mashing the little buttons on their pink mini-consoles.
I spent the rest of the train ride going over how I was supposed to fabricate two days' worth of interviews and responses, as well as listening to Mercy Drive, Linkin Park, Funeral For a Friend and Michelle Branch, before arriving in school and all but bumping into Princess Tongue-Stud herself, Kania.
The rest of the day went well, hopefully it sets the tone for the rest of the week.
Comic Relief #109
Introducing the newest member of the cast of everyone's favourite Comic Relief, Verena. That isn't a crumbs or anything on the skirt, just "fashion faux pas", according to her.
And I'll choose to take the above quote as a compliment. I think.
And I'll choose to take the above quote as a compliment. I think.
Comic Relief #108
My latest attempt at replicating the super-lashes of a certain Miss Elizabeth. Not fantastic, probably far from it, but oh well.Saturday, April 12, 2008
Tuesday, April 01, 2008
Sunday, March 30, 2008
The Orphanage
"What is the time, Mister Wolf?"
Many of us, no doubt, have chanted that seemingly innocuous-sounding line at some point during our childhood, amongst games of goli and hopscotch. After watching The Orphanage (or El Orfanato), the game takes an entirely new meaning altogether.
The Orphanage is a horror film directed by Juan Antonio Bayona and produced by Guillermo del Toro (Mimic, Hellboy, Blade II). I'm not exactly sure if it's Bayona's first attempt at what looks like a large budget film (i.e., I was too lazy to plug his name into Wiki), but I have to say, it's awesome.
Firstly, I watched the film less than 24 hours after watching Be Kind Rewind, so I was already quite pleased with my cinematic experiences for the week. Not totally satisfied, but pleased nontheless. The Orphanage was the girlfriend's pick, and a big, big, big part of me (no, not that part) has to thank her for a great choice.
If any of you have watched the film Hide and Seek, starring Robert de Niro and Dakota "Big Eyes" Fanning, you'd have been introduced to the concept of a sinister imaginary friend in a household as a villian of sorts. Like Hide and Seek, "of sorts" is the key term here. I can't really reveal more without spoiling anything for those of you who I'd advise to catch it (i.e. most of you), so I'll leave it at that. That aside, it seems like every section of the story-telling process fits together almost perfectly, with elements of gore, horror, suspense, drama, comedy and feel-good factor woven together in a masterful manner.
Now, the closest thing I've seen to a Spanish film before this one would probably be The Mask of Zorro, and that had Catherine Zeta Jones almost nude and fancy fight scenes. No nudity or fight sequences in The Orphanage, but I have to say that it's one of the few horror films that doesn't depend on shock factor to wow audiences. There are segments of the film where I was genuinely holding my breath, on the edge of my seat, thinking to myself, "What the fuck, what the fuck, WHAT THE FUCK is that?!?!?" and trust me, there are at least two instances where you feel that the plot seems to be taking a turn towards idiocy, but is then saved by a brilliant twist.
Plot holes. None that I can see. Excellent. Soundtrack, also close to none, which serves its purpose at least as much as the amazing job that the lead actress Belen Rueda does portraying a mother looking for her son.
The ending had some in tears, though I half-predicted it after a certain scene between Rueda and her on-screen husband, but nevertheless, it has neither the weakness of I Am Legend or the ambiguity of Cloverfield, leaving most happy, yet sad. Yes, sad ending. Prepare for it, guys and gals.
In closing, I'll have to give The Orphanage a really high rating, possibly full marks. It definitely beats Be Kind Rewind, which in itself wasn't a bad movie by far, and got me laughing out loud more than any other film I've seen recently.
5/5? Perhaps.
Many of us, no doubt, have chanted that seemingly innocuous-sounding line at some point during our childhood, amongst games of goli and hopscotch. After watching The Orphanage (or El Orfanato), the game takes an entirely new meaning altogether.
The Orphanage is a horror film directed by Juan Antonio Bayona and produced by Guillermo del Toro (Mimic, Hellboy, Blade II). I'm not exactly sure if it's Bayona's first attempt at what looks like a large budget film (i.e., I was too lazy to plug his name into Wiki), but I have to say, it's awesome.
Firstly, I watched the film less than 24 hours after watching Be Kind Rewind, so I was already quite pleased with my cinematic experiences for the week. Not totally satisfied, but pleased nontheless. The Orphanage was the girlfriend's pick, and a big, big, big part of me (no, not that part) has to thank her for a great choice.
If any of you have watched the film Hide and Seek, starring Robert de Niro and Dakota "Big Eyes" Fanning, you'd have been introduced to the concept of a sinister imaginary friend in a household as a villian of sorts. Like Hide and Seek, "of sorts" is the key term here. I can't really reveal more without spoiling anything for those of you who I'd advise to catch it (i.e. most of you), so I'll leave it at that. That aside, it seems like every section of the story-telling process fits together almost perfectly, with elements of gore, horror, suspense, drama, comedy and feel-good factor woven together in a masterful manner.
Now, the closest thing I've seen to a Spanish film before this one would probably be The Mask of Zorro, and that had Catherine Zeta Jones almost nude and fancy fight scenes. No nudity or fight sequences in The Orphanage, but I have to say that it's one of the few horror films that doesn't depend on shock factor to wow audiences. There are segments of the film where I was genuinely holding my breath, on the edge of my seat, thinking to myself, "What the fuck, what the fuck, WHAT THE FUCK is that?!?!?" and trust me, there are at least two instances where you feel that the plot seems to be taking a turn towards idiocy, but is then saved by a brilliant twist.
Plot holes. None that I can see. Excellent. Soundtrack, also close to none, which serves its purpose at least as much as the amazing job that the lead actress Belen Rueda does portraying a mother looking for her son.
The ending had some in tears, though I half-predicted it after a certain scene between Rueda and her on-screen husband, but nevertheless, it has neither the weakness of I Am Legend or the ambiguity of Cloverfield, leaving most happy, yet sad. Yes, sad ending. Prepare for it, guys and gals.
In closing, I'll have to give The Orphanage a really high rating, possibly full marks. It definitely beats Be Kind Rewind, which in itself wasn't a bad movie by far, and got me laughing out loud more than any other film I've seen recently.
5/5? Perhaps.
Friday, March 07, 2008
The Leap Years
If a man promises to meet you in four years time, but there is no one there to hear it, does it make a sound?
What the hell?
That's an actual excerpt from Mediacorp-Raintree's latest box office smash hit blockbuster, The Leap Years. And no, I haven't confused it with some philosophical Zen musing. But other than that totally misplaced bit of literary garbage, how was the film? Let's have a look...
Superficially, the movie is the hybrid spawn of Before Sunrise, The Holiday and Growing Up, with Wong Li-Lin leading the "stellar" ensemble as a 24-32 year old teacher/writer Li-Ann, maturing and falling for a stranger she meets, while at the same time fending off the advances of her best friend KS (and yes, we are never told his full name, more into this later). The movie follows a slightly confusing time-line, with much of it actually being flashbacks as an older Li-Ann(not played by Li-Lin) recalls the good and the bad while tearfully scribbling a note on a piece of paper. Careful observers would be able to guess much of the plot from what she writes/narrates in these first few scenes.
After Li-Ann/Lin falls for the afore-mentioned stranger, a few poblems arise, and startlingly similar to the whole catch of Before Sunrise, they agree to meet on the same date again in the future. Of course, because the date was Feb 29 (hence the title, SO CLEVER!), they are only to meet in four years time.
I won't spoil it any more for those of you who choose to watch it in theatres, but all in all, this is probably the best locally-produced film I've ever seen. And it's not even because of Wong Li-Lin parading around in skimpy clothes (if any) or the hilarious revelation regarding Vernetta Lopez' character.
Still, there are a few complaints that I can (and will) make.
Firstly, while I felt that Wong Li-Lin (and whoever played her mom) did a fan-fucking-tastic job, carrying the whole movie, really, some of the supporting cast didn't raise their game. The bloke playing KS, for example, sounds like Microsoft Bob, if he was Chinese. I might agree that his character is supposed to be "poor" and supposedly "uneducated", but he sounds like he just got off the junk from Beijing.
And his comical ramblings about regret and mistakes lead me to the first line of this entry. The idiotic dialogue that peppers an otherwise watchable film. I'm not a huge fan of love stories or romantic comedies, though I did enjoy things like Love, Actually. But some of the things said in The Leap Years sound like they were written by a pre-pubescent schoolgirl with little to no experience or knowledge of how people actually talk. Given that the film was heavily based on a "novella" by a Doctor Catherine Lim, the directors and producers are either totally ignorant (or stupid), or the book got switched for Mr Kiasu.
Some have complained of "plot holes" within the film. Avid, loyal, wonderful, intelligent, amazing readers of this glorious site would have picked up hints that I absolutely abhore plot holes in films; this one, however, didn't really have any major ones, or else I was just cringing from the speech of Qi Yu Wu as he slaughtered the English language with little else but his thin lips and floppy hair. The absence of plot holes aside, however, I particularly disliked the ending.
Many have mentioned that the film did a good job of bringing tears to their eyes, and as far as the ending goes, that fails in epic proportions. Lipstick and white furniture are the only things that stand out from the final scene, and if it had gone the other way, it would have been much more touching, I felt. Unless of course they were crying from the way a certain someone was shooting off words like he had a block of wood in his mouth. Or at the way Vernetta Lopez looked for most of the movie - about ready to report to work at McDonald's.
So, here I am, about done with my latest review. What's the verdict? The last time I remember Wong Li Lin was in Triple Nine with James Lye. Let's just say The Leap Years is no VR Man.
What the hell?
That's an actual excerpt from Mediacorp-Raintree's latest box office smash hit blockbuster, The Leap Years. And no, I haven't confused it with some philosophical Zen musing. But other than that totally misplaced bit of literary garbage, how was the film? Let's have a look...
Superficially, the movie is the hybrid spawn of Before Sunrise, The Holiday and Growing Up, with Wong Li-Lin leading the "stellar" ensemble as a 24-32 year old teacher/writer Li-Ann, maturing and falling for a stranger she meets, while at the same time fending off the advances of her best friend KS (and yes, we are never told his full name, more into this later). The movie follows a slightly confusing time-line, with much of it actually being flashbacks as an older Li-Ann(not played by Li-Lin) recalls the good and the bad while tearfully scribbling a note on a piece of paper. Careful observers would be able to guess much of the plot from what she writes/narrates in these first few scenes.
After Li-Ann/Lin falls for the afore-mentioned stranger, a few poblems arise, and startlingly similar to the whole catch of Before Sunrise, they agree to meet on the same date again in the future. Of course, because the date was Feb 29 (hence the title, SO CLEVER!), they are only to meet in four years time.
I won't spoil it any more for those of you who choose to watch it in theatres, but all in all, this is probably the best locally-produced film I've ever seen. And it's not even because of Wong Li-Lin parading around in skimpy clothes (if any) or the hilarious revelation regarding Vernetta Lopez' character.
Still, there are a few complaints that I can (and will) make.
Firstly, while I felt that Wong Li-Lin (and whoever played her mom) did a fan-fucking-tastic job, carrying the whole movie, really, some of the supporting cast didn't raise their game. The bloke playing KS, for example, sounds like Microsoft Bob, if he was Chinese. I might agree that his character is supposed to be "poor" and supposedly "uneducated", but he sounds like he just got off the junk from Beijing.
And his comical ramblings about regret and mistakes lead me to the first line of this entry. The idiotic dialogue that peppers an otherwise watchable film. I'm not a huge fan of love stories or romantic comedies, though I did enjoy things like Love, Actually. But some of the things said in The Leap Years sound like they were written by a pre-pubescent schoolgirl with little to no experience or knowledge of how people actually talk. Given that the film was heavily based on a "novella" by a Doctor Catherine Lim, the directors and producers are either totally ignorant (or stupid), or the book got switched for Mr Kiasu.
Some have complained of "plot holes" within the film. Avid, loyal, wonderful, intelligent, amazing readers of this glorious site would have picked up hints that I absolutely abhore plot holes in films; this one, however, didn't really have any major ones, or else I was just cringing from the speech of Qi Yu Wu as he slaughtered the English language with little else but his thin lips and floppy hair. The absence of plot holes aside, however, I particularly disliked the ending.
Many have mentioned that the film did a good job of bringing tears to their eyes, and as far as the ending goes, that fails in epic proportions. Lipstick and white furniture are the only things that stand out from the final scene, and if it had gone the other way, it would have been much more touching, I felt. Unless of course they were crying from the way a certain someone was shooting off words like he had a block of wood in his mouth. Or at the way Vernetta Lopez looked for most of the movie - about ready to report to work at McDonald's.
So, here I am, about done with my latest review. What's the verdict? The last time I remember Wong Li Lin was in Triple Nine with James Lye. Let's just say The Leap Years is no VR Man.
Tuesday, March 04, 2008
Better to Search or Find?
Big news. Terrorist escapes. Manhunt underway. The search is on.
By now, almost everyone reading would have been intimately familiar with the visage and name of a certain short Indonesian (not you, Kania) who walks with a limp. I personally only found out about it rather late, compared to most others. It was in school when someone rushed up to me and stammered "Naz did you hear about the terrorist? Oh my gawd!" and all I could do was to stare blankly and not appear irritated with my unmanageable hair.
Since then, I (like many others) have received curious "Wanted" messages (presumably) from the police amid the constant barrage of news reports on the radio and television, detailing that one Mas Selamat bin Kastari is "still in Singapore" and is "looking for food, money and shelter" despite the best efforts of our boys in blue. And in green.
Now... isn't it a bit, uh... stupid that a guy little bigger than a midget, with a limp, was able to single-handedly escape from a detention centre?
Come on.
Then again, alot of us, myself included, have been through time in the armed forces. Someone said that the guards were probably taking an impromptu canteen break while he was apparently relieving himself. Because, like, you know... it's not like he's going to escape, is he?
Because I'm such a helpful and patriotic guy, I'll even point out where he might actually be!
1. Siglap: The amount of construction sites and abandoned houses there are overwhelming.
2. The National Library: Because who really goes to a library where you aren't allowed to study?
3. A random S-League match: Who's going to see him?
4. Mediacorp Studios: More speicifically, the secret underground bunker where they keep the old tapes of VR Man.
5. Kembangan Plaza: WHo the hell goes there, except for, gasp, Indonesian maids and workers?
So he wanted to hijack a plane and crash it into the airport. One of our pride and joys. The big question is, however, which terminal? Terminal One is due for a makeover anyway... and Terminal Three seems to have been built wrong; it's more a shopping centre or a mall than an airport.
Of course, everyone has their own opinions and views on the incident, and how the search is going. There has been gossip, debate, discussion and dialogue from all corners, via every available medium. One person in particular mentioned that she wrote in to the Forum section of the Straits Times, and I was told it was a typical "Why are the things and people in Singapore so incompetant" spiel.
This person, criticizing the search, later went on to find something she was not supposed to find (yet).
Big news.
Big drama. Tears and tissues, grief and guile, laments and lies greeted us as we stepped into class yesterday amid the throng of curiously displaced students; half-heard whispers about a phone call and a petition bouncing about like a hyperactive Disney character.
It's hard to face someone when the tears are flowing.
But it's alot fucking easier when you just sat/stood through several minutes of them spouting their own deluded inventions of deceit and slander and betrayal and hurt. Why yes, it did put a rather ugly-looking dent in their CV, but calling us hypocrites when you remain guilty of the very same accusation, compounding it with every breath you take, is beyond unjust.
So there.
The incident also highlighted a few things that some of us may have been oblivious to.
It is said that in traumatic or stressful events, the true colours of those around you shine through. Let's just say that we found a few among us whose colours weren't that admirable. Self-preservation is one thing, but trying to weasel your way out of an issue one clearly has to take responsibility for is just pathetic.
Well, at least I'm mid-way through my mid-terms, eh? Yay?
Big news, big drama. Far from over, in either case, I feel.
By now, almost everyone reading would have been intimately familiar with the visage and name of a certain short Indonesian (not you, Kania) who walks with a limp. I personally only found out about it rather late, compared to most others. It was in school when someone rushed up to me and stammered "Naz did you hear about the terrorist? Oh my gawd!" and all I could do was to stare blankly and not appear irritated with my unmanageable hair.
Since then, I (like many others) have received curious "Wanted" messages (presumably) from the police amid the constant barrage of news reports on the radio and television, detailing that one Mas Selamat bin Kastari is "still in Singapore" and is "looking for food, money and shelter" despite the best efforts of our boys in blue. And in green.
Now... isn't it a bit, uh... stupid that a guy little bigger than a midget, with a limp, was able to single-handedly escape from a detention centre?
Come on.
Then again, alot of us, myself included, have been through time in the armed forces. Someone said that the guards were probably taking an impromptu canteen break while he was apparently relieving himself. Because, like, you know... it's not like he's going to escape, is he?
Because I'm such a helpful and patriotic guy, I'll even point out where he might actually be!
1. Siglap: The amount of construction sites and abandoned houses there are overwhelming.
2. The National Library: Because who really goes to a library where you aren't allowed to study?
3. A random S-League match: Who's going to see him?
4. Mediacorp Studios: More speicifically, the secret underground bunker where they keep the old tapes of VR Man.
5. Kembangan Plaza: WHo the hell goes there, except for, gasp, Indonesian maids and workers?
So he wanted to hijack a plane and crash it into the airport. One of our pride and joys. The big question is, however, which terminal? Terminal One is due for a makeover anyway... and Terminal Three seems to have been built wrong; it's more a shopping centre or a mall than an airport.
Of course, everyone has their own opinions and views on the incident, and how the search is going. There has been gossip, debate, discussion and dialogue from all corners, via every available medium. One person in particular mentioned that she wrote in to the Forum section of the Straits Times, and I was told it was a typical "Why are the things and people in Singapore so incompetant" spiel.
This person, criticizing the search, later went on to find something she was not supposed to find (yet).
Big news.
Big drama. Tears and tissues, grief and guile, laments and lies greeted us as we stepped into class yesterday amid the throng of curiously displaced students; half-heard whispers about a phone call and a petition bouncing about like a hyperactive Disney character.
It's hard to face someone when the tears are flowing.
But it's alot fucking easier when you just sat/stood through several minutes of them spouting their own deluded inventions of deceit and slander and betrayal and hurt. Why yes, it did put a rather ugly-looking dent in their CV, but calling us hypocrites when you remain guilty of the very same accusation, compounding it with every breath you take, is beyond unjust.
So there.
The incident also highlighted a few things that some of us may have been oblivious to.
It is said that in traumatic or stressful events, the true colours of those around you shine through. Let's just say that we found a few among us whose colours weren't that admirable. Self-preservation is one thing, but trying to weasel your way out of an issue one clearly has to take responsibility for is just pathetic.
Well, at least I'm mid-way through my mid-terms, eh? Yay?
Big news, big drama. Far from over, in either case, I feel.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
IDSPISPOPD
Google the title and you might figure out why I chose it. It's kinda less obvious than bamf.
Anyway, I just got done watching Jumper, and the first thing that hit me was "Shit. It's Vader vs Mace. Holy crap!" And really, it doesn't disappoint in that aspect. Lets see what I think.
Firstly, I'll admit that after watching the trailers for the film, I was caught in two minds. Firstly, I loved Nightcrawler in X-Men 2, and am generally tolerant of Sci-Fi action flicks of most sorts. However, after the debacle that was AVP:R (which I'm not even going to bother reviewing), my faith in the genre has sunk to new depths. I'm a huge fan of things like Terminator, Alien, Predator, Robocop, Minority Report, Jurassic Park and I, Robot, but then there are such painful memories as, well, AVP and it's bastard child of a sequel.
The movie opens up with young David (who I'm tempted to call Anakin) narrating to us, the fortunate audience, how he discovered his "ability". Of course, not the most original introduction to a story about people with super powers, but it works. And at the same time, you're introduced to his lady friend, Summer from the OC. Incidentally, I was dead sure her name was Rachel Wilson, and I immediately thought of Rainn Wilson, or Dwight from The Office.
It's Rachel Bilson.
But back to Jumper. As most American movies do, it centres around a love story that is intricately tied to the larger-than-life plot. Like Peter Parker agonising over telling Mary Jane, or Bruce Wayne hiding behind a mask and revealing himself by kissing some blonde, or Clark Kent shuffling his glasses uneasily around Lois Lane, David tries to hide his "talent" from Millie (Summer/Rachel), something most of us would have expected.
What I didn't expect, however, was the way most of the "jump" sequences were actually quite enjoyable. The fight scenes in particular, while paling in comparison to the latter half of Nightcrawler's assault on the White House, were original enough, I thought. Fans of DotA would be thinking "BLINKSTRIKE" here and there, and I haven't even begun talking about teleporting cars.
A big part of the movie revolves around the on-going war, which has "been going on for years", between the Jumpers and the Paladins. This is where the "Vader vs Mace" thing comes in, as Samuel L. Jackson resumes his role as the hard line, no nonsense black cop-person. Sort of like Shaft. There's also the issue of "how the hell do you realistically fight against people who can teleport, at will?", and that's dealt with too, at least to my satisfaction.
Then, the movie kinda ends on a lame note.
Because Vader is in it, there's the obligatory "parent" save. I guess it's a legacy that dates back to Luke being burnt by lightning (and also repeated in Awake), a move which kind of fell into line with the "I am your mother" "twist" in The Golden Compass. I didn't like it.
Still, I disagree with the generally poor reviews that Jumper has gotten. It's by no means an awesome movie, but it's still watchable, at the very least. It deserves more than a 3.5 out of 5, but I rarely give out 4's, but maybe this comes close.
Anyway, I just got done watching Jumper, and the first thing that hit me was "Shit. It's Vader vs Mace. Holy crap!" And really, it doesn't disappoint in that aspect. Lets see what I think.
Firstly, I'll admit that after watching the trailers for the film, I was caught in two minds. Firstly, I loved Nightcrawler in X-Men 2, and am generally tolerant of Sci-Fi action flicks of most sorts. However, after the debacle that was AVP:R (which I'm not even going to bother reviewing), my faith in the genre has sunk to new depths. I'm a huge fan of things like Terminator, Alien, Predator, Robocop, Minority Report, Jurassic Park and I, Robot, but then there are such painful memories as, well, AVP and it's bastard child of a sequel.
The movie opens up with young David (who I'm tempted to call Anakin) narrating to us, the fortunate audience, how he discovered his "ability". Of course, not the most original introduction to a story about people with super powers, but it works. And at the same time, you're introduced to his lady friend, Summer from the OC. Incidentally, I was dead sure her name was Rachel Wilson, and I immediately thought of Rainn Wilson, or Dwight from The Office.
It's Rachel Bilson.
But back to Jumper. As most American movies do, it centres around a love story that is intricately tied to the larger-than-life plot. Like Peter Parker agonising over telling Mary Jane, or Bruce Wayne hiding behind a mask and revealing himself by kissing some blonde, or Clark Kent shuffling his glasses uneasily around Lois Lane, David tries to hide his "talent" from Millie (Summer/Rachel), something most of us would have expected.
What I didn't expect, however, was the way most of the "jump" sequences were actually quite enjoyable. The fight scenes in particular, while paling in comparison to the latter half of Nightcrawler's assault on the White House, were original enough, I thought. Fans of DotA would be thinking "BLINKSTRIKE" here and there, and I haven't even begun talking about teleporting cars.
A big part of the movie revolves around the on-going war, which has "been going on for years", between the Jumpers and the Paladins. This is where the "Vader vs Mace" thing comes in, as Samuel L. Jackson resumes his role as the hard line, no nonsense black cop-person. Sort of like Shaft. There's also the issue of "how the hell do you realistically fight against people who can teleport, at will?", and that's dealt with too, at least to my satisfaction.
Then, the movie kinda ends on a lame note.
Because Vader is in it, there's the obligatory "parent" save. I guess it's a legacy that dates back to Luke being burnt by lightning (and also repeated in Awake), a move which kind of fell into line with the "I am your mother" "twist" in The Golden Compass. I didn't like it.
Still, I disagree with the generally poor reviews that Jumper has gotten. It's by no means an awesome movie, but it's still watchable, at the very least. It deserves more than a 3.5 out of 5, but I rarely give out 4's, but maybe this comes close.
Comic Relief #101
Yes, I got another idiotic call from MINDEF today telling me about another Alert Amber. Like, WTF. Starting on my birthday too.
WTF.
This is the kind of uncalled-for shit that has led to me seriously considering why the hell I'm still here in this "clean, green, safe and secure island haven" which is, in reality, nothing more than a place where zombies work and study their asses off just so they can pay for inflated transport fees and cups of coffee.
WTF.
WTF.
This is the kind of uncalled-for shit that has led to me seriously considering why the hell I'm still here in this "clean, green, safe and secure island haven" which is, in reality, nothing more than a place where zombies work and study their asses off just so they can pay for inflated transport fees and cups of coffee.
WTF.
Monday, February 18, 2008
Comic Relief #100
I guess the 100th Comic Relief wouldn't be complete without a mention of cats and Jessica Alba. Trust Kania and Jonno to be so considerate as to supply me with the neccessary means to commemorate the occasion with a couple of my favourite things.
Someone tried to sketch a heart on my knee today, with one of those felt-tipped pen/marker hybrids. You know, the kind that has a "fine" and "medium" end and comes in all sorts of fascinating colours like pink and lime green and dirt brown. This was purple.
Typical of the way things have been going, the heart ended up looking like a headless, legless, proboscis-less butterfly, something I helpfully pointed out as Kerri put in the finishing touches of the rather sad-looking masterpiece.
Of course, she added antennae and a few squiggles that vaguely resembled legs (though if they were, it would have been one hell of a lame insect in every sense of the word).
Still, it got me thinking.
Do affairs of the heart really work out the way we all hope they will? The way we are told they will? The way two people fall for each other, totally, truly, honestly, sincerely, eternally as they so often do in books and TV and the silver screen?
Or does it just always end up messy, something other than what you mean and want, leaving you with nothing else but to salvage what you can and turn it into something else entirely?
...And maybe watch it fly off, or fade with time.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
A Lack of Communication
My phone is now officially crazy.
I apologise in advance for any missed calls or unreplied messages.
I apologise in advance for any missed calls or unreplied messages.
Friday, February 15, 2008
Thank You Note
Thank you,
To the ones who have bombarded me with things like "Are you ok?"
To the one who baked and did an (impressive) impression of Comic Relief on paper wrapping.
To the one who understood that it was difficult to talk.
To the one who had us over and made me laugh and wince at the same time.
To the one who offered to listen, even when burdened with problems.
And thank you,
To you who bothered, when I didn't.
To the ones who have bombarded me with things like "Are you ok?"
To the one who baked and did an (impressive) impression of Comic Relief on paper wrapping.
To the one who understood that it was difficult to talk.
To the one who had us over and made me laugh and wince at the same time.
To the one who offered to listen, even when burdened with problems.
And thank you,
To you who bothered, when I didn't.
Comic Relief #96
If I had added three pizza's, eating butter from one's fingers, and someone squeaking wildly while apparently dry-humping the floor, it would have been a very accurate depiction of Valentine's 2008 for me.
I'm not pointing any fingers, but you know who you are.
Saturday, February 09, 2008
Sunset
Something inside me died today,
When I watched the sun fall into the sea.
My heart choking, drowning
In the salty tide upon my cheeks.
And her outstretched hand upon the tabletop,
Unanswered but for the question,
Why?
When I watched the sun fall into the sea.
My heart choking, drowning
In the salty tide upon my cheeks.
And her outstretched hand upon the tabletop,
Unanswered but for the question,
Why?
Friday, February 08, 2008
Sunday, February 03, 2008
The Demon Barber
There's a hole in the world like a great black pit,
And it's filled with people who are filled with shit,
And the vermin of the world inhabit it.
I like that. From Johnny Depp & Tim Burton's latest collaboration, Sweeney Todd. I just caught it a couple of days ago, here's what I think.
Alot of people I've spoken to offer either "I gave up on Depp after Willy Wonka" or "A musical? sheesh." To the former, I would have to agree. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory was shit. The book was awesome; reading it multiple times as a kid really got me going.
As for those who would bash the movie becuase it's a musical, therein lies my chief complaint about the film. Too much singing. There, I said it. The movie opens with a sailor (no, not Matt Damon) singing about going to London, before Depp - dark eyes and all - interjects singing about how London is really unlike anywhere else in the world, but for different reasons altogther than those floating around the pretty sailor's feeble brain. Of course, he forgot to mention Arsenal, Chelsea and Tottenham.
From there, the movie moves at an alright pace, with more songs to guide the (hopefully) enthralled audience along the dusty scenes. The exchange between Todd and his "landlady" in what would become (or was) his barbershop was actually really good, I thought.
Then there's Jack Sparrow vs Borat, another nice exchange, leading to the first...
Well, I won't give the plot away.
But suffice to say, I thought the movie bloody funny. Literally. Just have to listen, and try not to cringe.
PS: If you are going to watch it, don't bring any food with chili inside, or at least eat it quickly before... well, before.
And it's filled with people who are filled with shit,
And the vermin of the world inhabit it.
I like that. From Johnny Depp & Tim Burton's latest collaboration, Sweeney Todd. I just caught it a couple of days ago, here's what I think.
Alot of people I've spoken to offer either "I gave up on Depp after Willy Wonka" or "A musical? sheesh." To the former, I would have to agree. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory was shit. The book was awesome; reading it multiple times as a kid really got me going.
As for those who would bash the movie becuase it's a musical, therein lies my chief complaint about the film. Too much singing. There, I said it. The movie opens with a sailor (no, not Matt Damon) singing about going to London, before Depp - dark eyes and all - interjects singing about how London is really unlike anywhere else in the world, but for different reasons altogther than those floating around the pretty sailor's feeble brain. Of course, he forgot to mention Arsenal, Chelsea and Tottenham.
From there, the movie moves at an alright pace, with more songs to guide the (hopefully) enthralled audience along the dusty scenes. The exchange between Todd and his "landlady" in what would become (or was) his barbershop was actually really good, I thought.
Then there's Jack Sparrow vs Borat, another nice exchange, leading to the first...
Well, I won't give the plot away.
But suffice to say, I thought the movie bloody funny. Literally. Just have to listen, and try not to cringe.
PS: If you are going to watch it, don't bring any food with chili inside, or at least eat it quickly before... well, before.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Comic Relief #92
As requested, Elizabeth now appears with her trademark lashes.
Yes, those squiggly lines are lashes. Give me a break. They're stick figures!
Sunday, January 20, 2008
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
