Tuesday, 8 May 2007

Eyes on the box (no, not that one)

Yesterday’s ‘drivel dvd’ was V for Vendetta. It was good as long as V sounded like Rowan Atkinson (re snooty Blackadder voice). Less amusing once I reminded myself it was Hugo Weaving behind the mask.

Hearing ‘The Girl From Ipanema’ was another highlight.

Watched ‘The Machinist’ today. I’m still recovering.

It’s supposed to be “Fight Club meets Memento”, two films I love. But this was just… eew! He’s way too skinny, and it was so crazy I felt I was going nutty myself (well, nuttier). Why make it? This isn’t entertainment, it’s torture!

One gruesome scene (you know which I mean if you’ve seen it) was extra yucky cause it reminded me of an erstwhile friend who’d lost part of his arm in a sugar cane thrasher cutting thinga-ma-jiggy. He was attempting to dislodge something using a long stick and couldn’t be bothered taking the time to turn the machine off first.

He has the apt sobriquet of Lefty.

The other day I had a much more enjoyable experience (documentary this time) revisiting the life and art of Frida Kahlo - she of the most beautiful monobrow. (And I recommend the movie if you haven’t already seen it. I mean, who doesn’t like Salma Hayek??)

Most tragic in Frida’s life was the accident she was in when only 16. A tram hit the bus she was in. The bus split apart. Frida ended up naked and impaled by a handrail (who a guy on the street yanked out of her), her body shattered. She was covered in gold dust which had been carried by a labourer on the bus and now adhered to her bloody body. Pretty horrible stuff. A few years back I went to see a play about her. My then husband was with me and when the accident scene came up so did his dinner – he just managed to control it thank goodness. (I probably should tell him not to see The Machinist...)

Anyway, the image of her, impaled and covered in gold dust, makes me understand why she was so influenced by religious art. I was ‘raised’ Catholic (I have since ‘left’ my faith, but of course I feel very GUILTY about it!), and the art’s pretty gruesome. So is some of Frida’s art, but it helped her to deal with her tortured body.

Her husband was Diego Rivera. He was an ugly sod but popular with the ladies. She became interested in him romantically when he shot a phonograph. As you do. (Here’s a lesson for you guys, get a ‘pistol’ and shoot a ‘phonograph’. That’ll have ‘em lining up!)

Well, enough rambling. I’m off to the oldies’ for dinner now. Off to the sanity of my family to remove the clinging nuttiness of the Machinist.

Actually, it will just be replaced with a different nuttiness. More of the fruitcake variety than the nutcake.

And it’s an excuse to drink a nice bottle of Cab Sav which I have held for such an occasion.