Morticia's Morgue

Book Review: The Gathering - Anne Enright

2010-05-17T13:31:00.000-07:00

The word that comes to mind when I think of this book is simply; struggle. The Gathering is a struggle. The storyline is a struggle within an even bigger struggle. The first time I read it I had to leave it for another two months before going back to it and the second effort surprised me. Not only was it easier to read (easier in the sense that I got through it quicker, the subject matter is still harrowing) but it was funnier in parts and the fact that it is excellently written was also clearer.

Not being a fan of misery memoirs I was dubious before I read it initially. When I tackled it first I found it strange that it won the Man Booker Prize in 2007. However, having had time to absorb the story I realised that it is far from being a mere record of a dreadful childhood. There is a hidden richness in the writing style which only becomes apparent when the novel has been left to stew in the reader’s mind (or in my case, read for the second time). Themes of mental declension, fragmentation, hatred and the struggle for freedom are rife within this novel. There is also the central and contentious element of sexual abuse that presents itself.

Considering the rather large holes that have been picked in the reputation of the Catholic Church in recent years, this makes the book very familiar and consequently ‘too close to home’ for it to be a favourite of mine. The fact that it is set in Ireland in a contemporary timeline enhances this. I would recommend The Gathering, as the journey of the protagonist is an enlightening one and at times the humour bears a resemblance to that of Roddy Doyle. Overall, a well-written and entertaining piece of literature if a little trying at times.

Book Review: Beloved - Toni Morrison

2010-03-08T16:06:00.000-08:00

Had it not been a requirement for me to read this book for college, it is unlikely that I would ever have been persuaded to persevere with it. There are moments that are genuinely rewarding and give the impression that Morrison is heading towards an astonishing epiphany. This is not so however, and the ending is overly ambiguous, an intention on the author's part it would seem.

Not everything about 'Beloved' is disappointing. The physical descriptions of the characters are engaging and seem thoughtful without being overbearing. The character of the book's title is an intriguing feature, if a little transparent from her first appearance. Beloved's presence is undoubtedly disturbing and vividly portrayed but her overall purpose in the narrative is a little too readily presented. Perhaps the character would be more believable if more emphasis had been placed on the effect she has upon Sethe.

Towards the end of the novel, the development of Denver's character seemed very promising until Morrison seemingly abandons this elaboration in favour of a vague epilogue. It seems odd that the presentation of the one character who has a chance of escape from the mire of No.124 is suddenly and abruptly brought to a halt. Overall, an interesting if meandering literary piece

The Red Box

2010-02-16T15:43:00.000-08:00

The Red Box.

I am formed from the dreams of men and women.
I can only be seen for what I am.
My torso is constructed by the male gaze
And the female nature.
The peasant woman in Calcutta,
Who held her children as they died,
Teaches me to cherish hope.
She allows for my devotion to the dove.
The neck, both graceful and delicate
It cradles the mind of this Madame de Sade.

My hair is akin to the locks of gold, cascading carelessly
From the heads of several mermaids
Floating in the imagination of Anonymous.
It is the first thing that people see,
And ardently admire.
They cannot see the mechanical entities
That lurk beneath my flesh,
Toiling to recreate that old familiarity.
The hyper oddity. Freud could not analyze
This Narcissus. All this and my wearisome soul.

If I could exorcise the demons,
Then glorious light would fill the red box.
You know it well; it is the one that
I cannot repair.
Sometimes it starts to work again.
The surging rush of blood crashes against
The walls, momentarily.
When it stops, the blood bank closes and
I must master the art of mimicry as
My rouge insides lie dormant.

Soon there will be another box.
Twenty inches for twenty years, unless I can turn the key.
A frightful fear possesses my hands,
As soon as they touch its golden handle,
Cold as the cube it unlocks.
What will I do, should the scarlet square grow
Colder upon opening?
The sparkling ore that could free me
Twinkles in the light of hope, shining
From inside the keyhole.

A sudden jolt to the veins has prompted it to start
For a while, and my limbs rejoice in their sudden
Freedom from a gilded prison.
Now I see the glory in a stained glass window,
The wonder in images, countless in beauty
Rendered from Hitchcock’s fear of the chicken’s egg.
I almost feel the burgundy wine slapping against
The vines and leaves of my garden.
I wish to mummify that moment, which
Reminds the drum how to beat.

Perhaps this thumping will grow louder
And the apartheid desecration in my heart
Will shift under the sound.
This box absorbs all my sadness
It swells and swells.
All my dreams are locked inside,
Squirming amidst dark circles and plasma
Shattering against the walls of my garnet vault.
Unfulfilled ambitions and unrequited affections.
They are tokens of a box that ticks.

Pin Cushion

2009-12-20T16:10:00.001-08:00

There is a little pincushion
On my grandmother’s dressing table.
Soft and red, encased in a square of filigree,
Worn and fragile,
Its box lies open
For all to see.

An heirloom, priceless in sentiment.
Her delicate fingertips still
Stroke the surface to and fro.
Sharp and silver the needle glides past the velour
Padding and rests rigid in between
Scarlet seams, secure.

On Sundays, I pull out the pins,
The cushion can breathe again, for a time.
Embroidered tablecloths and napkins
Are fraying at the edges.
Sewn together by weary hands, they too
Are becoming paler shades

Tales of Childhood

2009-11-01T14:53:00.000-08:00

My family are a labyrinth. A myriad of old-fashioned values and reserved profiles. They know how to love and how to lie. There is the woman who has cared for me all my life. A beguiling creature with an unfit disposition. We both coerce ourselves into a daily act of compassion and it wears her down. I pass through it mostly numbed to the sensation. Steady in the knowledge that I could not succumb to this loss if I wanted to.

I rarely see the man who calls me his ‘Iníon uí Danann’. When I was little and he was strong enough, he would balance me on the crook of his foot and swing me round and round until I fell to the floor laughing. There are still moments where he sees the blackness in me. Sometimes he manages to cease the flow of the bile from my eyes and he always tries to mop up any residue.

The twins who live atop the nearest mountain are never to be trusted. They cackle like hags in their white-washed cottages and high-backed thrones. Their mountains are crumbling and every day they disintegrate into the abyss. In time they will lie, withered amongst the mutinous sapphire depths.

These are the ones who have created me. The warm arms that have embraced me. The tendrils that have choked me. The pearls who have wizened me. The love that has ensnared me.

I cannot leave and yet I do not want to stay. I must not become that ghost of a girl.

Album Review: Lungs (Florence and The Machine, 2009)

2009-08-22T12:37:00.000-07:00

There are certain things individual to each of us that we simply couldn’t do without. Aside from the basics in life, we all need some form of distraction. Briton, Florence Welch provides quite an intellectual and challenging one for me lately. ‘Lungs’ is the debut offering from Florence & The Machine and so far one of the most impressive albums of 2009.

Offering an eclectic mix of punkish-pop/dance ballads, the album holds allusions to the sound of Kate Bush and Moloko whilst sounding definitively unique. Although she originates from Britain there is no mistaking the Gaelic tones heard throughout in Welch’s voice, particularly on what will be most recognisable as the song from the O2 ad, ‘Cosmic Love’. Perhaps it is this wonderfully blended sound of several different genres of music on the one album that makes ‘Lungs’ such an enjoyable experience.

Opening with the free-spirited ‘Dog Days Are Over’ the lyrics automatically convey that the album is worth a listen. “The horses are coming so you better run/Run fast for your mother and fast for your father/Run for your children/For your sisters and brothers/Leave all your loving, your loving behind/You can’t carry it with you if you want to survive”. Similarly ‘Rabbit Heart (Raise it Up)’ impresses upon the listener the talent that this songstress has whilst appearing effortlessly well-arranged and controlled. ‘I’m Not Calling You A Liar’ and ‘Howl’ provide a softer, balladeer tone whilst ‘Kiss With A Fist’ serves as an entertaining interval before the highlights of the album.

The eerie tones of ‘Girl With One Eye’ are well balanced with witty and poetic lyricisms. Examples include, “I took a knife and cut out her eye/I took it home and watched it wither and die” and “I slipped my hand under her skirt/I said don’t worry it’s not gonna hurt”. ‘Drumming Song’ and ‘Between Two Lungs’ hearken back to the ballad tone that is nicely fulfilled through the album. ‘Cosmic Love’ is one of the many highlights of ‘Lungs’ with its sorrowful, utopian tone – derived from the strumming of a harp - and beautiful lyrics. “I took the stars from my eyes and then I made a map/I knew that somehow I could find my way back/Then I heard your heart beating/You were in the darkness too/So I stayed in the darkness with you.”

Although the album does not utilise literary references, tracks such as ‘My Boy Builds Coffins’ produces heady images that could have come straight out of an Angela Carter novel. Lines such as “My boy builds coffins for the rich and the poor/Kings and queens have all knocked on his door/Beggars and liars, gypsies and thieves/They all come to him ‘cause he’s so eager to please” illustrate the bohemian landscape that this fiery-haired poet has appeared from. The lines “he makes them all day but it’s not just for work and it isn’t for play/…I think it’s a shame, that when each one’s been made he can’t see it again” also demonstrate the profound talent within this artist. To make such a sombre statement about a relatively simple object like a coffin is not only poetic but could earn Welch a status as a truly relevant, contemporary songwriter.

‘Hurricane Drunk’ is a refreshingly upbeat track with a memorable rhythm and main lyric. “I’m going out/I’m gonna drink myself to death/And in the crowd I see you with someone else/I raise my sails cause I know it’s going to hurt”. ‘Blinding’, it could be argued is the most compelling and outstanding track featured on ‘Lungs’. Hauntingly dark, the lyrics convey an image of a woman leaving a destructive relationship. “No kiss, no gentle word could wake me from this slumber/’Til I realise that it was you who held me under”. It is undoubtedly one of the albums highest points in terms of depth and meaning for it’s lyrical content alone “No more calling like a crow for a boy/For a body in the garden/…No more dreaming like a girl so in love with the wrong world”. There are inflections of Tori Amos and Enya within the track and it hopefully is the beginning of what Florence Welch will continue to produce in future work.

The final instalment on ‘Lungs’ is the somewhat unusual choice of ‘You’ve Got The Love’. Presumably, this tracks appearance on her debut album is due to the success of the live performance on T4’s Party in the Park, although it seems a strange choice. Considering the wealth of talent contained in the rest of the album’s tracks, the listener could be forgiven for expecting the closing track to be an original recording. On the other hand, the track is performed well and is executed very well live also. As a closing track on ‘Lungs’ though, Welch could have composed a self-penned track which would have left a stronger impression.

In conclusion, ‘Lungs’ is an extremely artistic and skilful debut. Without a doubt, Florence Welch and her well-oiled machine are one of the most promising acts to have emerged in the last few years.

Film Review: Public Enemies (Michael Mann, 2009)

2009-07-12T12:06:00.000-07:00

One minute and forty seconds flat. That’s the time it took US outlaw John Dillinger to rob a bank. It’s also the length of time it would take a viewer to realise how truly poor this film is in its portrayal of one of the biggest gangsters who ever lived. Directed by Michael Mann – Thief (1981), Manhunter (1986), The Last of The Mohicans (1996) Heat (1995) – one would expect a certain savvy in terms of production skills but the end product is one of the most underwhelming to be seen onscreen in recent years.

The story documents the true tale of the United States war on crime in the Depression soaked era of the 1930’s. Dillinger and his gang held the country in terror as they successfully plundered the biggest banks in a barrage of shootouts. Dillinger evaded capture not only through his talent and speed at the task at hand but also due to the general publics lack of sympathy with the banks who had catapulted the country into the Great Depression. J. Edgar Hoover declared the need for a nationwide bureau to destroy the most notorious crooks of the time; John Dillinger, Baby Face Nelson and Pretty Boy Floyd. This task was given to Special Agent Melvin Purvis. Dillinger managed to outwit Purvis on numerous occasions until finally he met his demise outside the infamous Biograph Theatre.

The film opens, with Dillinger (Depp) disguised as a prisoner and being lead by his partner John ‘Red’ Hamilton to a penitentiary. The two enter the building only to engage in a violent breakout of the rest of the prisoners who form Dillinger’s gang. This opening sequence is functional in portraying Dillinger’s abilities as a criminal but it fails to provide any form of background for the character. This is a notable flaw seen throughout the film, hence Dillinger and many of the other characters appear somewhat two-dimensional. At the same time as Dillinger’s breakout, Melvin Purvis (Bale) and his team of FBI agents manage to run down Pretty Boy Floyd. This results in Purvis being upgraded to lead in the hunt for Dillinger. The film marks another disappointing turnout from Bale (after Terminator Salvation). It would appear that the success of The Dark Knight may have stunted Bale’s growth and development into what has been overly hyped as a phenomenal onscreen presence. Instead he seems to be relying more and more upon his deep vocals to perform much of his work for him. As Purvis he is just about competent, enabling the audience to despise him and become more endeared to Dillinger. It could be argued that this is more directly due to Depp and his portrayal of Dillinger’s charismatic presence.

Aside from Depp, Marion Cotillard provides an entertaining turn as Billie Frechette, the check-in girl to whom Dillinger becomes devoted. One amusing sequence that occurs when the two meet at a dance centres around the couple being watched closely. Dillinger is aware that everyone present knows who he is whilst Billie feels she is being inspected for her Native-American heritage. Thus, they become the perfect outsider couple with just a touch of cliche surrounding them.

The storyline bumps along, lacking a certain finesse that can be found in other Michael Mann films. For example, when Purvis finds what he believes to be Dillinger’s hotel room,bursting in on an ordinary looking couple, there is a fragmented delay between the instance when Purvis makes his apologies, leaves and then discovers one half of the couple is a wanted member of Dillinger’s gang. The failure to eliminate Dillinger in this sequence results in Purvis demanding to be equipped with professionals who can hunt criminals dead or alive.

Another memorable scene occurs towards the end of the film. Dillinger’s trademark is one of invincibility, a status that is seen when he strolls through the ‘Dillinger Squad’, the unit of Purvis’ police force that is hunting him. Here he freely views all the information that has been gathered on him and his gang whilst the officers within the room fail to recognise him. Depp carries the scene with enough charisma to portray a frighteningly accurate representation of Dillinger’s arrogance. Similarly when Dillinger’s girlfriend Billie is captured before his eyes and he can do nothing to save her, the viewer is introduced to the vulnerable side of the outlaw.

Cotillard’s performance as Billie mirrors that of Depp. The interrogation and abuse she suffers at the hands of Purvis’ men is harrowing to watch and although the gangsters fate is inevitable, there are moments where it seems as though he may slip through the radar yet again. This of course is not the case and sadly Michael Mann chose to depict Dillinger’s death in a similarly bland manner to the rest of the film.

Perhaps the biggest flaw in Public Enemies is the sheer romanticisation in the director’s portrayal of one of the bloodiest men in history and his gangmembers. Michael Mann has not brought his viewers the tour de force that the trailers promise, instead Public Enemies is a watered-down love story that fails to resonate. One would think it was not necessary to highlight that Dillinger was not a thoroughly loveable rogue yet, this is how he appears and the atrocities he carries out are not emphasised enough. On leaving the cinema, there was an undeniable confusion and an aura of disappointment. The film is at times, attempting to be a more violent, modern-day Bonnie & Clyde and it fails on both counts. Overall, had Depp and Cotillard not provided such entertaining profiles, Michael Mann may have had a disaster on his hands.

The end titles of the film inform us of the aftermath for Purvis and Billie and this method of storytelling itself is quite frustrating. Not only is the viewer not given any background on the main characters (aside from Billie) but the end of the characters lives is told through a mere sentence on the screen. There are enough books written on Dillinger for select research on specific characters if they spectating public would prefer this. Perhaps Mann would be more suited to this method of storytelling if he no longer finds it necessary to depict his characters through motion pictures.

Album Review: Delusions of Grandeur (Jonny Mernagh, 2007)

2009-07-01T13:05:00.000-07:00

It is rare nowadays that a musician exhibits the potential for good lyricism through the vernacular. Welshman, Jonny Mernagh, manages to do just this in his debut effort 'Delusions of Grandeur'. The album displays an nice acoustic blend akin to the sounds of the late 1960's tradition of rock. There are inflections of jazz and blues throughout the album's tone as well as a nod to the style of rock in the early 90's .

As an opening track, 'No Man's Land' creates a lasting impression of what is to follow on the album. The musical composition seems nicely-thought out and creates a subtle background for the lyrics. The track has a propensity to convey the notion of searching for answers within an emotional haze of confusion and loss. This idea reappears throughout the ten track listing in various facets. 'Colours of Autumn' introduces the visual and colourful side of 'Delusions of Grandeur'. Reflective and self-aware, the song is both despondent yet hopeful especially in the mentioning of 'the endless autumn air'.

'Maybe I'd Miss You' allows for a certain aptitude with the vernacular to come to the forefront. The next offering 'Hooked On You' is perhaps one of the most promising tracks on the album. With it's light, joyful tone it is both easy-listening and catchy. Musically, the arrangement is reminiscent of early 90's rock. The most notable quality of this track are the vocals. Although unique, the raw, gravel-esque tones connote inflections of a young Kelly Jones. This quality is also heard in 'Hold That Smile'. The repetition of the lyric 'as long as I've got self-belief/I will just survive' creates a despondence that is lifted towards the end of the song, particularly in the title. A liberated aura surrounds the track, especially in the closing line 'hold that smile forever'.

The theme of visualisation within the album continues with 'Another Broken Heart'. The track highlights the influence of colour and art on Mernagh's work. Alluding to various professions and humanities, the track emits a clear adoration on the artist's part for his craft. Following on from this is the appropriately named 'Shades of Green'. This track is rather interesting for its use of a specific colour, particularly an earth colour and one traditionally linked with envy. The mention of 'the fountain/beyond the wishing-well' implies an allusion to the search for luck and contentment. Similarly, 'Shine On' is visually thought provoking. The guitar riff is simple yet contributes aptly to the vocals. Here, Mernagh forges his easy articulation as something of a trademark. The song becomes slightly dizzying towards the very end - one gets the feeling that this was the desired effect - and creates a sense of strength that emanates from the track.

A highlight of the album is 'Lost', a track that hearkens back to a long-lost era of classic songwriting. Musically, the tone is soothingly listenable. The album closes with the track 'Farewell' a nicely honed ode to the cessation of life and it's hurdles.

To say that 'Delusions of Grandeur' sounds like anyone else would be a misrepresentation. Instead, it is a new and intriguing sound. Mernagh's voice is infused with a rawness that is counteraacted by an underlying softer tone. The occasional strains of a latter-day John Lennon to be heard within his vocals are quite promising. As a debut album, 'Delusions of Grandeur' is impressive for its harmonious structure as well as the multi-faceted lyricism that is omnipresent.

Overall, it is clear that this is an artist who loves his craft and has contributed a quality to it. 'Delusions of Grandeur' is a fine achievement and casts a challenge for Mernagh's next offering 'The Hour Glass'.

Album Review: The Kick Inside (Kate Bush, 1978)

2009-06-23T12:14:00.000-07:00

With a music career that has spanned over 30 years, Kate Bush is one of the few remaining stars who has exerted almost complete self-control over her work. Considering that all the tracks on her debut album The Kick Inside are written by Bush, one gets the impression that this is an artist who truly understands her craft. Furthermore, the reluctance to perform live is also suggested to be based on her desire for perfection in the end product. There is a sense of autonomy first perceived by the albums cover artwork depicting Bush perched on a swing in front of a large eyeball with an oriental theme prevailing. This strong imagery is consistent throughout the 13 track compilation.

The album opens with the hauntingly quaint 'Moving'. Here, the listener is introduced to a common 'coming-of-age' thread found in much of Bush's work. The song seems to portray unrequited love in youth, a notion particularly well highlighted in the lyric, 'Please don't let me go/You crush the lily in my soul'.

'The Saxophone Song' is rather disappointing, especially if one is well acquainted with successive Bush albums. The musical arrangement is somewhat dizzying towards the end of the track and Bush's voice becomes lost amidst a sea of horns. The following track 'Strange Phenomena' has been referred to as 'a frank paean to menstruation'. The lyric 'Soon it will be the phase of the moon/When people tune in/Every girl knows about the punctual blues' certainly provides fodder for such a label. Although it is a bearable track, Bush is capable of far better produce.

'Kite' is one such memorable track on the album. With it's uplifting beat and witty lyrics, it is here that a marked difference in the albums progress appears. Bush utilises her voice to the very best of its ability and exhibits a tonal range and speed that is enviable. The album matriculates along with Bush's voice to a steadier and more mature niche with 'The Man With The Child In His Eyes'. Although the tone rarely alters throughout the song, the sense of calmness, control and confidence emanates so smoothly.

'Wuthering Heights', perhaps Bush's most played and well known track details the doomed relationship of Emily Bronte's, Catherine Earnshaw and Heathcliff. Aside from its popularity as a mainstream track, 'Wuthering Heights' is arguably one of Bush's most important songs for its video. Bush makes full use of her theatrical talent to recreate the scene of Cathy's devastation and need for Heathcliff, in the simplest of forms. A fan of interpretive dance, Bush is well regarded for her use of cinematic and literary references. Thus, it would seem the novel of the songs title was a perfect vessel for her form of expression.

'James and the Cold Gun' and 'Feel It' are pleasantly easy listening, with the latter providing a subtle erotic twist to an otherwise reflective album. Bush allows her knack for simple yet clever lyricism to shine through in 'Oh To Be In Love', a track which denotes tones of Shakespearean theatre. 'L'amour Looks Something Like You' is reminiscent of the earlier 'Feel It' and leads into an outstanding track 'Them Heavy People'. This is by far one of Kate Bush's most overlooked tracks annd like 'Wuthering Heights' the lyrics are remarkable for the sheer amount of literary references she manages to mention in the 3 minute duration. Speaking of the many people who have influenced her career the lyrics 'I must work on my mind/For now I realise/Every one of us/Has a heaven inside' convey a fine sense of humility mixed with a tongue-in-cheek retort of 'Them Heavy People hit me in a soft spot/Them Heavy People help me'.

The litany of references is most concise in relating to the dramatic streak within Bush when she mentions how 'They read me Gurdjieff and Jesu'. Armenian mystic Gurdjieff, most famous for his idea of 'The Work' which was connoting work on oneself and being self-aware is an obvious choice for inclusion in such a song. Gurdjief's ideas not only surface in this particular Bush song, it is a philosophy she appears to have adopted throughout her career and thus has become somewhat autonomous. The track finishes with the repetition of the lyric 'Rollin' and rollin' and rollin' and rollin' ah-', a nod to the many teachers in her life who have given her an opportunity at expression.

The last two tracks on The Kick Inside 'Room For The Life' and 'The Kick Inside' are rather unremarkable. They bring the album to a settled and melodic end but are not particularly memorable tracks.

Overall 'The Kick Inside' as a debut album is an excellent record of music and lyrics combined. Bush does not let herself down in any area and consolidates her reputation as an outstanding lyricist. In retrospect of her now thiry-year career, 'The Kick Inside' made the way for what would be an eclectic and stunning discography. Remembering that Bush was only 19 when this album was relelased in 1978, it is a further reminder of just how talented this artist is and always was. With a musical canon that would go on to be one of the most noted in history, Bush at this point had only given the world a taste of what she could actually do.

Film Review: Terminator: Salvation (Director: McG, 2009)

2009-06-20T14:55:00.000-07:00

Every once in a while, a film emerges from the depths of a studio that is so original, groundbreakingly brilliant and skillfully made that it breaks all previously held conceptions about movie-making. Terminator Salvation is not any of these things. It is not groundbreakingly brilliant or likely to make a mind-blowing impact on the viewer. What it does do is provide a plausible and entertaining sequel to Terminator 2 (I refuse to believe that Terminator 3 exists - what were they thinking?)

The basic plot of Salvation surrounds the character of murderer, Marcus Wright. A meeting with Dr. Serena Kogan (Helena Bonham Carter) before his execution results in Wright donating his body for medical research. Unknowingly, he has donated his corpse to Cyberdene Systems who are responsible for the creation of the Skynet system. Skynet, perceiving humans as a threat to its own existence, sets out to eradicate humanity in an overly cliched event named Judgement Day. Wright awakens in the year 2018 to discover that he is a cyborg with human organs, thus John Connor (Bale) must decide whether Wright is his enemy or part of the solution to stopping Skynets plans.

Salvation struggles at times to offer a fully coherent storyline and attempts to cover this by exhibiting somewhat deafening sound effects. Aside from this, the plot grows quite rapidly and at times is remarkably clever. The fourth instalment notably does very little to deepen the character of John Connor, rather it makes way for the talents of Sam Worthington as Marcus Wright. While the film lacks a certain finesse in parts, Worthington's acting manages to retain a certain glory, especially when he realises he has been tricked by Dr Kogan (Bonham Carter).

I found Christian Bale unsavoury, an unusual contribution from a normally ingenious actor. After his predicted success in The Dark Knight, Bale has created an expectation and calibre for his successive movies. In Salvation, he does not so much dissappoint as he does lack an expected on-screen presence.

Overall, Terminator Salvation is a plausible and well-conceived sequel to the first two Terminator films. There is a feeling at the end of the film that the franchise is being milked to the very nth degree as John Connor's final transmission to the Human Resistance states that the war is not over. Who knows, perhaps the next instalment will further the impact made by Salvation. In my opinion, the ending of the current release could have been tweaked to bring the franchise to a conclusion rather than leave the door to a possibly disastrous follow-up widely ajar!

I like ink, do you?

2009-05-05T15:05:00.000-07:00

Come drown yourself in ink. Wash the day away in a night fuelled with powerful inky toxins. We have all types of ink down here, all colours of the rainbow, every type of fluidity. The man in the corner shop says the fountain ones would suit me best. They are long and narrow and have inflections of Shakespeare. If he says it, it must be true.

My tool of choice is long, narrow and a gaunt shade of silver. Reflections of light beam out from it's barrel. I first saw it in the corner shop. Neatly aligned under Greta Garbo's chin, it shone like a beacon that would brighten my lighthouse. I knew then it was the one.

Reverie forms little digression, so Garbo told me while we argued over the wonder that was Ninothcka. She said she liked my eyes in the light, all smoke and mirrors. No life there.

Come drown your sorrows in ink with me and I'll give you every penny I have. It's all a ruse and a game, the eyes that is. There's no life behind them.

Family Ties - Bonds of Love and Despair

2009-05-03T06:15:00.000-07:00

My mother's mother was an enigma. A strange labyrinth of conservative manners mixed with confusion and despair. Her breath was layered with the scent of toffee and Elizabeth Arden. A first impression would convey that she was meant for better things and somehow lost her way in the world. Confined to a house in an area that disagreed with her convictions, yet I never noticed her sadness. It was after the children were born that resentment set her in her ways. I would sit on her bed as she scurried through the wardrobes, gargantuam as they were, searching for a new nook to house another pair of shoes. Her numerous perfume bottles, exotic, foreign, aligned like soldiers atop her dresser. On Sundays the light from the sun made the glass bottles glisten and shine a ray of rainbow colours across the tiny room. I knew her well. At least I think I did. It was a traditional sense of knowing. Most evenings spent with her involved spending time with her favourites and their own individual characteristics. Even now I think she loved John Wayne and his walk more than any of the others.

I too smell of Elizabeth Arden and align my scents in the same battle line as she. I never saw her drink but I know she did. I wonder at times do we drink for the same reasons. She had more cause than I. My grandmother, that poised yet decadent woman who remains etched in my memories, in the rooms of my house, beside my mother in my father's car. I see some of myself in her and it frightens me. Her harshness, morals set slightly askew by a life led in a haze of confusion and her weak health. I have the same face as her. Helped by my fathers eyes and my mother's hair.

She was entirely different to my grandfather. A quiet and reserved man, he disliked raucousness and unexplained decadence. A holy figurehead, he and I were not close until shortly before his death. He would smoke at Christmas only. My father would bring him a cigar and they would talk unaware of my presence behind the couch. He always dressed smart and would take me for long walks to Bray and Tara. He believed in the innocence of the church. My silence on the subject always spoke louder than his advocations about De Valera. He always respected me. It was an unspoken truth between us that an unwavering respect was mutual between us alone. He would tell me stories about Stalin, the Mao dynasty and about his early life. It was only when he died that I fully grasped why he and my grandmother were inseparable. Drawn to each other for their inadequacies, they managed to fuflfil a need within the other. I often wonder if she had not been dying when they met would they have forged such a union. My grandfather was forgiving of her tantrums and demands. His knowledge was insurmountable and I wish I had known him better.

Diseases of the mind and heart claimed my grandmother earlier than they should have. I know she died in pain despite what they tell me. The torment of that last year was engraved on her face in the mortuary. All the things she wanted to say and do but her body would not allow. I pitied her affliction this time in particular. The third time is the most difficult. My grandfather never recovered. He died unhappy as he was in life but managed not to show it. Never showing it.

I think I have inherited my grandmother's impetousness and my grandfather's manners. Possibly, there is a small part of his gumption and endurance within me.

Are personalities genetic? Do we inherit characteristics or are they learned through life? There are moments where I believe they are in me from a younger age and then I detest the notion of being like them. In other people, such characteristics can be withstood, dealt with, ignored but in oneself they can manifest into self-loathing and hatred. Trying to strike a balance between respecting those related to you for being familial and understanding where they have come from is the difficulty. I look at their trials and times of trouble and I realise that I exhault these people for coming through it. They may not have done it all with elegance but they survived. They are impressive in my memory for never having given up.

I have giants to live up to. Or perhaps I just don't want to think of myself as a dwarf anymore.

Film Review: Let The Right One In (Låt den Rätte Komma In, Tomas Alfredson, 2008)

2009-04-26T02:19:00.000-07:00

Given the recent hype of Stephenie Meyer's 'Twilight' series, 'Let the Right One In' provides a more realistic vision of vampirism as it still exists today. The two main characters are both endearing yet unsettling in their own ways. Oskar (Kåre Hedebrant) a bullied twelve year old boy and Eli (Lina Leandersson) a twelve year old (albeit, she's been twelve for a long time) who must drink blood to live, are joined together in what seems to be a journey to save each other from their alternate worlds.

The film is startlingly blunt in its depiction of murder, particularly when Eli's father (Per Ragnar) ventures out in the night to murder young boys in order to draw blood and bring it back to Eli. The act of hanging the victim from a tree upside down and slitting the throat to tap blood alludes to ancient vampiric lore whilst the scene is set in physical contrast against a background of pure white snow. Although the actual slitting of the throat is mostly guarded from view, the sound is an art in itself as it allows for the viewers imagination to conjure an image for themselves.

Unlike 'Nosferatu' or 'Dracula', this portrayal of a vampire who does not wish to go out and kill of her own accord, unless she has to, is a challenge for the viewer. The fact that she appears as a child but is evidently much older also allows for empathy with her plight. Leandersson plays the part naturally, and effortlessly oozes an aura of suffering balanced with the knowledge that she possesses great power. Oskar is also intriguing, as he strikes a solitary figure throughout the film until he begins to fall in love with Eli. His constant torment arising from the bullying he receives almost daily is quenched by his encounters with Eli, this most peculiar of girls.

The film has a number of outstanding scenes which are notable, especially for the cinematography. When Eli's father is about to be discovered and arrested for murder, in desparation he disfigures himself with acid that was about to be used in the process of killing a victim. Eli later visits him in hospital and there we see the results of his attempts to kill himself. The scene is shot beautifully and perfectly encompasses the father's last few moments of desparation and pain as Eli draws his blood and allows him to drop the seven floors from his hospital window to the snow-covered ground. The auduence witnesses his death from his daughter's perspective. For Eli this is yet another reminder of how alone she is in a world where fear of the sun, food and the need to be invited into a room are all isolating factors in her existence.

One of the final scenes is, in my opinion, the most impressive. In order to torture Oskar for retaliating against a bully, the young boy is held underwater for three minutes by the older brother of one of the bullies. As he is submerged the viewer is taken underwater with Oskar and there we hear the sound of shattering glass accompanied by the vicious decapitation of one of the bullies and the murder of the perpitrator holding Oskar beneath the water. Eli rescues Oskar as she had promised him she would and the film is brought to a close with Oskar trainbound and Eli hidden in his suitcase.

Overall, the film is well-made, a characteristic that may seem simple but appears to have been overlooked by some contemporary film-makers of the Hollywood bourgeosie. 'Let the Right One In' is a refreshing take on the vampire film. It is comforting to find a story that can portray the traditional vampiric lore through a contemporary setting, whilst remaining eerie and seemingly untouched by the Hollywood treatment of vampirism. Thus, it is advisable to see the film before Hollywood attempts a remake!

Film Review: Frost/Nixon (Ron Howard: 2008)

2009-02-01T04:53:00.000-08:00

Every review I've seen of this film seems overly eager to mention the fact that you will enjoy it if you arrive at the cinema prepared for the fact that it is a retelling of the post-Watergate interviews. This is no lie however, Frost/Nixon is something more than a dramatic remake of the battle between one Sir David Frost and disgraced former US President, Richard Nixon. The film leaves an indellible mark, a feeling of indescribable angst that Sheen's determined Frost cannot and will not draw the most widely desired apology from a man so corrupt and ignorant to his own nation and the trauma he instigated. It is not necessary to have an informed background on Watergate or Nixon's legacy (as I have discovered that many people seem clueless to him aside from affixing the suffix 'gate' to him) but it is necessary to view this film with an open mind. Anyone with an informed opinion on Nixon may feel a certain revelation after watching this. If anything, it enhances the sense that Frost is not the only one facing the biggest challenge of his career. The film divides the four segmented interviews with profiles of Frost and Nixon individually. This allows for the viewer to digest the reactions of the President to Frost's initial weak attempts at interrogation and offers room for speculation into Frost's approach to Watergate. Sheen's portrayal of Frost is both engaging and disheartening. The latter is not for any faults by Sheen but rather a relaxed disposition with the real David Frost that makes viewing a little irritating, especially during the first interview segment.

Frank Langella, star of tv's Dracula certainly rises to the challenge proposed by Nixon's dictatorial-like stance. Langella defies any myth that Nixon's character cannot be portrayed truthfully most clearly during the Watergate interview. It is here that we see the former President's weakness through a facade of strength that is broken through by Frost's straightforward approach. The films most notable moment for me occurs when Frost drops his notes after he is challenged by Nixon to interview him sans script. Here Sheen does not steal the limelight but cleverly allows the focus to stay upon his fellow protagonist and highlights the weariness and hints at a possible self-loathing within the former President. The utterly disgraceful motto, made famous by Richard Millhouse Nixon is repeated by Langella in as cold and inhuman a fashion as his real-life predecessor: "I'm saying if the President does it, it's not illegal" - referring to his part in the Watergate cover-up and the US attacks on Vietnam and Cambodia jointly.

Overall, Frost/Nixon provides a chance for the audience to review Nixon's hold in the United States - a point of particular poignancy when no US network will agree to broadcast Frost's tapes or give him financial backing in the process. It is a film notable for it's representation and lack of bias. Perhaps more importantly, it allows Langella the chance to shine like few of his previous roles have ever done.

Film Review: Schindler's List (Steven Spielberg: 1993)

2009-01-30T13:27:00.000-08:00

I cannot stand this film, despite its obvious excellence technically and Neeson's fruitful performance. Whether it's the fact that this actually happened or the fact that I was given this to watch when I was 12 and my grandmother died, I'm not really sure. Either way this film certainly traumatised me more than most. For some, The Exorcist provided the scariest notion of all time, for me Schindler's List is quite frankly the most horrific thing I've ever been subjected to. Freaks me out more than Friday The 13th and the frickin' blade coming through the bed!

Film Review: Cleopatra (Mankiewicz: 1963)

2009-01-28T11:39:00.000-08:00

I always pitied Joseph L. Mankiewicz for his attempts to make this film one of the greatest ever made and never actually getting full control of the project in the first place. Twentieth Century Fox was one of the reasons for the poor quality of the film that is available now. The problematic production costs, Taylor's fragile health and the Burton scandal are also to blame for the negative light that the film has bathed in for so long.

Originally, Mankiewicz had planned to make two films - "Caesar & Cleopatra" - and - "Antony & Cleopatra" - each, three hours in duration. At the last minute Twentieth Century Fox announced that Mankiewicz had to make one complete film involving all characters. The reason for this was that audiences would not be drawn in the same numbers if "Antony & Cleopatra" was released the following year and Taylor & Burton had not still been together. As a result of this Mankiewicz had to cut out more than two hours of footage that had already been filmed, leaving the film at 4 hours and 7minutes, which is it's current duration. This again was cut back to allow the film to be screened twice a day, so the film was originally around 3 hours long. The two hours of footage have never been found and it remains a sad omen to the film that Rex Harrison, Richard Burton and Roddy Mac Dowell have all died without seeing the complete finished film.

When one casts aside all the drama that overshadows the film, it unfortunately doesn't add up to industry standards, or my own personally. There are some credible scenes, which may only be believable as they encounter Antony and Cleopatra during their romance, at the same time as Burton and Taylor were creating their own. Harrison and Burton do rise above the rest in most scenes; particularly Caesar's defeated speech to Antony and the Senate. Burton's, Marc Antony is as Mankiewicz wanted him. A weak, little boy inside who strives to do all that Caesar could not…and fails subsequently. Burton surpasses Mac Dowell in this film I always felt, especially when Antony confronts Cleopatra in her bedchamber about her constant flaunting of the memory of Caesar. In conveying the weakness and hopelessness he feels in himself at that moment, Burton is flawless.

Taylor fluctuates in her performance. At times it is believable that she is the ruler of all of Egypt. The queen who wishes to bring out the warrior in Antony. The child who needs protection and guidance from her mentor and father figure, Caesar. The mother who wants her son to be proclaimed as the true King of Egypt. The strong ruler who will defy Octavian at any cost. At other times, she appears depressed and seemingly hassled by having to play the part when there is so much going on elsewhere. In fact the true story of Cleopatra is completely overshadowed by the false 'facts', and the feeling that the film is going nowhere. Overall, Taylor does seem to be drifting in and out of a sea of consciousness and barbiturates whilst trying desperately to give a good performance. It is impossible to ignore all the drama off the set as it sears through during the film. In one of the final scenes after Antony has been taken away and Octavian demands that the queen should surrender herself to him, Taylor's state of mind is ambiguous. It could be that she is so immersed in thoughts of Antony's death, or it could be that she no longer cares about the part. Taylor has refused to discuss the film for years and probably never will, therefore leaving it in the hands of a confused audience.

As far as entertainment goes, "Cleopatra" does not rank too highly. I think that the film is a sad documentation of the sidelines to what was supposed to be one of the greatest epics ever made. In a way it is timeless because there has never been a film with so much publicised baggage attached to it. It is by no means perfect, Taylor herself threw up upon seeing the premiere in 1963, and it is widely believed to be the film that killed Joseph L. Mankiewicz. It is far better than some other films that have been made since and deserves a place in cinema history for Mankiewicz's brave attempts at filming a movie with no stable script and managing to sign some of the world's most famous stars to make it on this basis. It is quite impressive visually, and would have been even more so had the continuity not been so poor - a repercussion of cutting out the two hours of film.

Although it rarely appears in compendiums of great films, "Cleopatra" is a wonderful film. It's uniqueness and sad undertones make it interesting viewing, even if it is to get a glimpse of the Taylor-Burton affair in full swing

Review: Veronica Guerin (Schumacher: 2003)

2009-01-25T14:57:00.000-08:00

As the first in what shall be a virtually endless list of rants on my favourite and despised films and books, Joel Schumacher's version of the real-life murder of Veronica Guerin seems fruitful fodder.

While Blanchett is virtually faultless in portraying Guerin's ruthless approach to reporting the activities of The General and his cronies, the film fails to resonate with me. A stellar cast and evident research on Blanchett's part do not save 'Veronica Guerin' from leaving little to no impression on me. Schumacher's typical staunchy direction is the most likely culprit. The storyline, albeit factual is disjointed and the scenes where John Gilligan's henchmen launch attacks on Guerin at her home are unimaginative.

If you've lived in Ireland and are familiar with Guerin's background then this film will provide the facts but distinctly lacks the gung-ho effect that Blanchett and Fricker so clearly try to convey. If anything the film does show the injustice that has survived in gangland Ireland, particularly surrounding John Gilligan's impending release. Considering this is not Schumacher's only flawed film (he's made far too many) my judgement of this effort is harsh. If the man finds it difficult to communicate Guerin's story with such an impressive cast perhaps he should retire.

Thank Christ that's over!

2008-12-26T14:22:00.000-08:00

Another December and thus another year draws to a close. Another yuletide season brimming with civilians suffering from boiled blood pressure and a burning hole seeping through many a wallet. Oh yes. Christmas is finally over. I am the last individual who would begrudge the holidays but in a time where the economy is sliding quicker than Anne Doyle's boobs, Christmas is the last thing we need.

As a retail employee I have experienced the panic and stress that others take upon themselves in order to provide their loved ones with the perfect gift. At first it's 'only something small, they get loads from everyone' but then again it is Christmas so what's the harm in throwing in a few 'small' extras and a 'wee' few bob. Before they know it, the doomed customer is single-handedly accosting their own tiny wallet with a bill worth a 'small' fortune. And so begins the pressure and hatred of every song that harkens from the depths of a car radio, pounding the sound of Mariah Carey's tonsils to Ballsbridge and back. My question to all of these shoppers is...why?

I (am about to play the poor student card so beware) must in the forthcoming months, save every penny to go to college abroad and live in the grounds of said college. I had no money (nor patience, truth be known) for this Christmas shopping lark. So, like a poor church mouse who has been handed a hefty church bill on the very day his wife ran off with another mouse and stole all the cheese, I resorted to scrooging my way out of Christmas. Working in a bookshop does do untold joy for the soul of someone who is attempting to better the lives of others (I bought books dead cheap and gave them to my family) and I refrained from burning aforementioned hole in aforementioned poor church mouses pocket.

I would like to close with a final warning. Christmas is a time for everyone. Do not re-mortgage your home merely to give someone a gift they may not even use. Make them something. Or better yet...kill them all!!!!

Hallelujah

2008-11-04T14:56:00.000-08:00

Well I heard there was a secret chord
That David played and it pleased the Lord
But you don't really care for music, do ya?
Well it goes like this
The fourth, the fifth, the minor fall and the major lift
The baffled king composing Hallelujah

Hallelujah Hallelujah Hallelujah Hallelujah...

Well your faith was strong but you needed proof
You saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew ya
And she tied you to her kitchen chair
She broke your throne and she cut your hair
And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah

Hallelujah Hallelujah Hallelujah Hallelujah...

(Yeah but) Baby I've been here before
I've seen this room and I've walked this floor,
(You know) I used to live alone before I knew ya
And I've seen your flag on the marble arch
And love is not a victory march
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah

Hallelujah Hallelujah Hallelujah Hallelujah...

Well there was a time when you let me know
What's really going on below
But now you never show that to me do ya
But remember when I moved in you
And the holy dove was moving too
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah

Hallelujah Hallelujah Hallelujah

Hallelujah...

Maybe there's a God above
But all I've ever learned from love
Was how to shoot somebody who outdrew ya
And it's not a cry that you hear at night
It's not somebody who's seen the light
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah

Hallelujah Hallelujah Hallelujah Hallelu...
Hallelujah Hallelujah Hallelujah Hallelu...
Hallelujah Hallelujah Hallelujah

Very Soon My Pretties!

2008-10-30T13:58:00.000-07:00

As tomorrow is the Eve of all Hallows, I felt that this would be the perfect opportunity to indulge in some textual banter. Given the delight I found when I dryed my hair using a new hairdryer last night, I christened this as bloggable content and perfect fodder for anyone who is a fan of the dearly beloved Bela Lugosi (Oh yes, it's one of those rants!).

My arrival in my new abode last night as well as the recent onslaught of bucketing rain, meant that I was yearning for a hot shower accompanied by furry pyjamas and many a cup of tea. I was given full use of a hairdryer, which I was thrice informed is verrrrry expensive and verrrrry good - a prospect that I am always mindful of. I was however shocked (yes, shocked) at the sheer brilliance that is this wonderful, mechanical, steam blower-outer. The purple/maroony colour that my hair has recently adapted was heightened by a sensational glowing effect. Albeit, I'd put money on this being down to the GHD and it's fabulous straightening/shine injecting ability. After said hair pampering I vainfully trotted - oh yes it's a trot - downstairs to flaunt my new head to my aunt and anyone who would listen. Even she said it was lovely (So there Graham!).

Whilst this may seem a trivial reason for posting a blog, I merely wanted everyone to be aware of the beauty that is this excellent hairdryer. Which I can't remember the name of...but shiny shiny people!!!

C'est La Vie...Je ne sais pas

2008-10-03T16:16:00.000-07:00

Funny thing life...I was stocking books upon a shelf during the week (flinging them atop it, truth be known) when I suddenly had a rare flashback. I remembered when I was very young and my father arrived home one day bringing with him an aura of excitement which I had never known. My mother and I were playing Twister or some similar child's game involving a mat on the floor. Whilst I indulged in some nonsensical rant about witches, goblins and such(a common feature of my childhood),my father dropped - gently - a baby puppy from inside his lapels (that's coat collar for anyone who's going wha????). It is the earliest moment that I can recall in my life and I have never forgotten it. There are moments in life that can for whatever reason, slip away from our mortal grasp. As much as we as humans can despise this disregard on the part of who/whatever created the world and its misfortunes, it is this lack of remembrance and thought that forges some of our biggest troubles.

The reason for said curious subject matter is due to a conversation I had last weekend with a good friend. During our frequent ramblings about the possibility of HMV returning my mysteriously 'misplaced' copy of Pan's Labyrinth ( Oh I haven't forgotten!) we eventually drifted onwards to the subject of general human ignorance. As it was, we shared a dislike of the general public (we both work in retail you see) and will make exceptions only for those few who remember that please and thank you are indeed still in use in the English language today - words that take a second to say and are remembered for hours! Anyway I diverge, the point is that we found ourselves beginning to blame this general ignorance upon people's various backgrounds and life experiences...then we remembered that we had also undergone our own trials and tribulations yet we manage to deal with everyone we encounter in a pleasant way (except Gerry Ryan but come on now...)

I am certainly not about to launch into a needless debate over the futility of existence and such nonsense, the point is we are all clearly here for a good time, not a long time. Thus, the issue I have with people in general is that a majority of them see to be so pre-occupied with their own lives and purposes that they forget they are not the sole survivors of the world and its battles. On the other hand there are the individuals who wallow in the perceptions of others and figuratively, will not step outside the door without pondering what others will think about them. I find this absurd and to assure any pointed fingers in my direction, I will attest that I have always ensured my best appearance is at hand (the quality of such will balance upon the current state of health/interest I have in looking good you realise) but ne'ertheless I certainly will not question myself or doubt my own attractiveness (do ignore the four pots of foundation in my bag as I type) but I do pity those who would occupy their time with nothing more fruitful!

Au Revoir Mon Cher...et je'taime

2008-08-13T15:16:00.000-07:00

My absence from my homeland over the past month has resulted in a lengthy delay in updates, but all is well and I am alive...somewhat. I arrived back fom London last month to a whole new world of stress and debauchery (I make it sound more fun than it is). Not only had work become absurdly busy, but I was also greeted by my final transcipt of results which stated that I am indeed the recipient of an honours degree (is that the sound of one's own horn a-tooting I hear?.

Anyway, I also turned 21 on the 1st of August, thus I was quite unable to attach my fingers to a keyboard - or anything else, truth be known - as I was fervently overcome with the bittersweet taste of a man named Jack Daniels. You may have heard of him. I was then whisked away last Friday to Paris, France with one of my best mates whereupon I discovered that there is culture beyond the streets of the big shmoke. And a beautiful culture it is too. With beautiful men. And women. And fabulous food. No, an English degree does not guarantee that you will end up speaking, or indeed typing correctly..at all!

I am now fully ensconsed in the Emerald Isles once more (not for that long if I can help it) and must return to the toil and trouble of working tomorrow. Unless I want to starve and take up a new abode with the rats in the back garden. No tanks luv!

Oh England, My Lionheart!

2008-07-03T16:22:00.000-07:00

Finally arrived in London on Tuesday last, after a panic stricken wait in Dublin airport where Ryanair made yet another of their infamous cock-ups. By leaving the details of a previous flight on the departure gates screen, the passengers destined for Stansted were suddenly awestruck that Ryanair had decided to take them to Amsterdam - without their permission. After consulting the ever helpful currency converting people, I became slightly edgy (anyone who knows me will be aware that this is the largest of exaggerations)and preceeded to pace the corridor of Gate D64 for the next ten minutes anxiously figuring out what to do should I miss my flight. Needless worrying. I put it down to an early morning, a lack of comprehension of my surroundings and a messy night spent packing and stalking others on Bebo...yes Leila, you know it was you!

Since my arrival, London has as usual provided me with much entertainment as well as the chance to revisit old haunts. I went straight to view some houses with the cousin straight from Stansted and then home for a natter with the aunty. Wedneday was spent deliberating on whether or not to purchase an oyster card - mainly because I kept spluttering with laughter over having to say the word 'oyster' followed by 'card' to a shopkeeper. Mature as ever. The same incident occurred when I remembered that English people refer to the underground as the 'tube'...not so much remembered as decided to myself that this was funny. Again, mature as ever.

After the tubing/oystering, I visited Oxford Street. I know....I spent about half of my hard-earned wages in the first hour. Completely unneccessary but I did need some make-up. And a new toothbrush. And a cheap foundation. And a pot of ridiculously expensive Bourjois emerald eyeshadow. And three films for £3 each! And Stardust along with Pride & Prejudice for only a tenner...I will be broke like a hooker with syphillis before Monday comes.

Anyway, I have had a chance to catch up with my reading and drawing and spent most of last night reading the Marquis de Sade - hmmm, yum! Today I meandered the winding streets of Covent Garden. I discovered many new vintage shops, none of which proffered anything that would fit me but I made up for this by mentioning it to my aunt who offered to join me in Kensington and Notting Hill for a stroll around the best of vintage. I also consoled this earlier loss by buying some film stills - how beautiful is Vivien Leigh? - as well as some jewellery that I managed to convince myself I would not find in Dublin, oh how reverse psychology does benefit the unstable mind of youth.

Of course, there was also the unexpected sighting of Michael Flatley and his wife Niamh at Oxford Circus. Flatley smiled at me as if he knew me, when I relayed this to my father he replied that he should do as I've made the man bloody rich! I sincerely hope he returns the favour.

The Test

2008-06-10T06:11:00.000-07:00

Ha! It's official!

Your Score: Morticia Addams!

Our test has determined that you possess
56% Hellbentness, 65% Sanguinity, and 51% Creeps!
Well done!

Your Proto-Goth Icon is Morticia Addams!

Morticia is a vampish woman who dresses only in black and loves to cut the buds from roses, leaving only the thorny stems. She and her husband Gomez both come from long lines of maniacs and monsters.

Morticia and Gomez are passionately in love, and are deeply concerned with the well-being of their children. Though they all share an obsession and interest in death, dying, and other gothic and macabre subjects, the Addamses are not evil people (in several of the TV episodes, Gomez is willing to donate large sums to worthy causes, to the shock of the already shell-shocked visitors), and usually restrict their ghoulish activities to within their own family. Most of the Addamses' neighbours are less than understanding, however. Within the larger community, the Addamses are viewed as oddballs, dangerous, or worse.

. . .

Link: The what Proto-Goth Icon are you? Test written by anastasia_x on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the The Dating Persona Test
View My Profile(anastasia_x)

In the words of Sir Alan Sugar - you're fired!

2008-06-03T13:55:00.000-07:00

Shockingly, the thesis didn't kill me. I submitted three soft-bound copies of it this afternoon and I have to say the surging emotion of pride is wonderful. Hopefully it won't be short-lived and the thesis will demonstrate exactly why I look so haggard and decrepit.

The lack of sleep I've had for the past week is something cruel. All this stress shall be undone by the wonderful holiday that I booked this evening...to London, Eng-u-land! I can't wait, I haven't been away in ages and I still want to leave the bookshop.

It's amazing how much time I have for hobbies now. I can read again, draw and write more often all without worrying about exams or a thesis...until the end of June when I get my results...vomit...hmm...that title is incredibly misleading...

Hell hath no fury like a thesis student scorned in her own bookshop!

2008-05-30T15:15:00.000-07:00

Stupid cluck that I am, I turned down a job offer last week. It was in Sabotage on Drury Street. Although it sounds like a foolish move, I seriously disliked it. I'm not one for getting into dressing rooms and telling people they look great or otherwise when I'm really not arsed about the appearance of people I don't know. How people wish to dress is their choice and I certainly wouldn't want some shop assistant getting nitty gritty with me behind a velvet curtain...that sounds a bit wrong. Anyway, unfortunately for me, that means I'm stuck in the bookshop with a lady who wants to be my bestest chum one second and Ares God of War the next...if only she was as attractive as Kevin Smith, hamana-hamana....No! Back to the point-I can't have that! How dare she toy with my emotions...especially not with schoolbooks looming...oh. dear. god. the. horror...the...horror!!!

After consulting the fairy cards I indulged in last week, I was told that a new career and a new home lie in wait for me very soon. I should bloody hope so!

The thesis is officially going to be the death of me. Tuesday is the deadline, it will all be worth it just to see how far I get in defining Batman as an existentialist character and if I manage to score an honour in as little time as possible...anything's possible righ!!!

Oh Freedom! Where art thou?

2008-05-10T11:53:00.000-07:00

The toil-Oh! I mean joy (damn Freudian slip)...of the thesis has officially begun. I created 2,000 words last Tuesday which I emailed to my supervisor in the hopes of getting his approval...and some sleep. I desperately need sweet slumber...like an alcoholic needs Jack Daniels and Coke. Since getting up early to work on said thesis, I find that my body clock has decided (all on its own!) that it will no longer let me sleep past 8 in the morning. Horrible...jus-just horrible! I seem to be anticipating failure, even though I do want to do well. I even went as far as to purchase a satchel of Guatemalan worry dolls two weeks ago, to lighten my exquisite load. If anyone is in doubt of what these creations are, they are tiny (you can get bigger, but I'm cheap) wooden figurines, with painted expressions and little outfits. And as I pointed out to a little girl (or rather, her patronising mother) who was standing next to me, pointing and laughing when I was buying them, they are not 'golly dollies for big girlies'...in the words of this little dumpling's dipstick of a mater. The Guatemalan people tell the dolls their worries and place them in the little drawstring bag that they 'live' in, they place the bag under their pillows and in the morning the dolls are said to have taken their worries away.

Since buying these dolls, not only have I decided to take more creative past times upon myself (I bought a canvas and randomnly began to paint upon it -surprising...no -instead of doing work) but the nauseating stream of pain that was previously lodged behind my eyeballs, has now worked its way up into the crevices of my brain and ransacked all my memory of what existentialism is all about...needless to say, the dolls don't work. Admittedly, it is down to my abundant skills in procrastination that are the real culprits for my lack of academic sobriety. I'm finding it difficult to care about my appearance (as anyone in the real world who actually knows me will attest to), and my diet has taken a severe demotion. This will all go away in due course and I will be my happy, healthy self once more....blehhhhh...

I am also in the process of searching for a new job. Today in work, I walked in behind the counter and almost had an epileptic seizure. There...on the floor...amidst the piles and piles of dusty boxes...there lay an ominous school book list (cue dramatic shrieks that seem to come from nowhere). I cannot begin to explain the fear and panic that seized my spinal cord and shook my brain...that was actually when I repeatedly banged my head upon the counter and screamed "WHY GOD....WHHHYYYYYYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE?". Then my boss said, "Michelle, it's only a piece of paper"...which of course put everything in perspective for me. I think it says a lot when one knows they would enjoy reading AND(!) deciphering J.R.R Tolkien's books, including 'The Children of Hurin', rather than compile a list of books that will neither educate nor put manners on the dregs of society...I mean, your little darlings :())....Grrrrrrrr.....scowl!

So long, farewell, aufwiedersehen, goodbyeeee!

2008-04-30T15:31:00.000-07:00

All good things must come to an end, unfortunately. I definitely felt a pang of emotion when the clock struck 11.30 this morning (exactly 12 hours ago, which means I've been up for approx. 17 hours!). My final exam in DBS marked the last time that I shall ever sit in one of their classrooms as a student...sniff. It is odd to me that after spending much of my younger years detesting school life, I rather suddenly came to love DBS and my course from the first day I arrived. I'm so glad to have been educated there and to walk away with the memories I have.

All I have left to complete is the thesis, which is due exactly a month from now...eek! Oh yes, that's all. It will be the largest piece of academic writing that I have ever done and on a subject that I love...the character of Batman and existentialist theory...aaah! (falls over with nerdy joy at the thoughts of writing on the Bat)...come on what's not to like? Michael Keaton, Jack Nicholson, Michelle Pfeiffer and everyone loves a bit of Alfred - Michael Gough from the Hammer Horror films as he's also known.

Aside from the thesis, I must venture forth this week and hunt for a new job. I'm hopeful, yet pensive as I fear that the students (a.k.a: bastards) will get there before me and nab all the enjoyable jobs from right under my nostrils. I'm not so sure that I want to work in a bookshop any more as schoolbooks have traumatisd me to the very depths of my soul. Seriously, if you're laughing you should try it. If parents think that time of year is stressful, they need to step behind the counter...in my place...right now.

Thesis Time

2008-04-23T23:52:00.000-07:00

The other day, whilst happily buried amongst a pile of books on existentialism (ultimate nerd that I am) I started to ponder the possibilities of a premature mid-life crisis. The stuff is heavy going and I enjoy it because it's really interesting, but it also accounts for part of my grades and thus I must know it inside and out. While we've covered many different theories in the past three years of study, our lecturers never covered existentialism. The one little problem that I seem to have brought upon myself is that I've always loved the theory side of the lectures (see, total nerd!). This means that the theory is not only challenging but as I've also to form my own topic, I have to make sure I cover everything in it comprehensively - and there could be stuff in my topic that I can't even see! My supervisor, Matthew will undoubtedly point it out to me, but it will irritate me endlessly if I don't manage to do what I set out to do myself.

It had started to upset me slightly the other day and I had (I admit) begun to cry over my lack of comprehension of Kierkegaard (vomit!). Then I found Sartre - aside from Richard Burton and my possible future husband, Sartre could be my hero - and all was well. Now I'm frantically trying to get my ass in gear to get this thesis actually written, do two exams and find a new job...I'm sleepy already...at the very least I've only to work 6 hours this week - score!!!

Last Day of College 2008

2008-04-18T15:53:00.000-07:00

I am no longer a student of DBS...I have two exams and a 15,000 word thesis to do and that is my final contribution to my degree. Today was possibly one of the saddest days I can remember. Hardly any of my class turned up and we didn't go out to celebrate. That will happen after our final exam but it was sad nonetheless. None of the class seemed interested in socialising they just want to get out and make the films! Gumption is great and all but some socialising is good for everyone!!!

I'll miss DBS for definite, it's an excellent place to learn and the lecturers are brilliant. I'd recommend it to anyone and I'll still be dropping in to visit every now and then!

Irish Drama...oh the woes of it when it goes wrong

2008-04-15T14:23:00.000-07:00

I went to see Life is a Dream last night in the Project Arts Centre and I honestly don't think I've ever seen a worse production of a play in my life. And I've seen a lot of plays. The translation from Calderon's text was an abomination. I couldn't believe it was so bad and what was worse was there were two really good actors in it. Paul Reid and Barry McGovern were outstanding, but were brought down by the ridiculously over-acted performance of Rosaura by Hilary O' Shaughnessy. Oishki!!!

Anyway, I have to write a review of it for drama class tomorrow. I'm bloody dreading the thoughts of ever having to go back to the Project Theatre again, it was so uncomfortable! Grr! Arrrgh!!!

And now...the time is near...and so I face the final curtain!

2008-04-12T14:30:00.000-07:00

In exactly one week, college will be over for me and I will be officially in a constant state of paranoia (until May 30th) as a result of never feeling like I've done enough work to get a great honours degree. Thesis deadlines are not nice, even though they aren't 'til the end next month...still!!!

On a brighter note, I decided to take a year out of studying so I can work -hopefully abroad- and save to do my masters in London - yeah babayyy! If all goes according to plan I'll be able to work from the UK and get some of my work published there...excitement!

In work today I had one of the strangest conversations with my boss, about how I should start applying for another job pronto before all the students get in before me. Now, this may sound like she can't wait to get rid of me...on the contrary, I just can't stand schoolbooks and my boss is a lovely lady who doesn't wish to put me through the stress of them again....yeah right! It was actually very amicable, she genuinely wants me to get a job that I like and am good at...and where I can't irritate her, let's be honest!

At last, things look really good at the mo...here's hoping!

The sheer brilliance that is Terence Rattigan

2008-04-11T14:07:00.000-07:00

Last night saw the unfolding of my third venture to theatre land especially for our thetare review class in college. The play? The Deep Blue Sea. The playwright? Terence 'superstar' Rattigan - reminds me of Rattigan from Basil the Mouse Detective heehee! It was directed by the amazing Alan Stanford, a regular at the Gate and Abbey Theatres and he didn't let me down. I love when people don't let me down!

Anyway, the play was terrific and wonderfully entertaining, everyone involved should be commended...but we don't have time for that here!

Wrap Party Aftermath

2008-04-08T04:14:00.000-07:00

So we finally did it. Our class finally went out as a full group after 3 years of studying together! It was a while coming but thankfully worth it. Captain America's was the venue for our meal followed by a quiet drink in Sinnott's, then some raucous laughter was heard in The Palace for the guts of two hours. And what was all this in aid of? A final wrap on the stress and joys of the last month of filmmaking. We were all in a state of semi-exhaustion - cured by the lovely cocktails and alceehol! Tracy and I managed to remember our cameras but not our id's, luckily it comes in handy when one of you used to work for the owner!

It's all over in less than two weeks, college, our degree...exams still loom as does the frghtful thesis but we shall prevail!!!