Blow Up

Blow-Up 12

About as exciting as it gets, i.e. not very

Michelangelo Antonoini’s Blow Up has an intriguing end, but the almost two hours leading up to it were painfully boring. It’s the story of a jaded, nihilistic, rich photographer who happens to photograph what appears to be a couple of lovers in a park. After blowing up the photos he sees what looks like a shooter lurking in the bushes. What’s really going on? The photographer returns to the spot and finds the man’s dead body.

So far that sounds like an intriguing plot. My concise description leaves out the scenes of vapid, sexy girls whose characters are no more developed than a mannequin’s and the occasional dull conversations the photographer has with his agent or the woman in the photos who tries to get them back once and then never follows up when she doesn’t get them.

Everyone in the film is tired. The young people, whether they’re at a concert or having sex appear dead bored with life. A couple of girls practically stalk the photographer hoping to do a shoot and get famous. None of that pans out.

Don’t waste your time. There’s a clip on YouTube of the film’s end which includes a bunch of mimes who play tennis and it’s a clever mini-film on our perceptions. That’s worth a couple minutes. Otherwise, the film is too esoteric for me. I don’t want to spend two hours watching a bored, passive lost generation.

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Japanese Word of the Week

Zannen – (adj.) regrettable

You often here people sigh and say “zannen” in Japan. It means “that’s regrettable.” Somehow the connotation or culture makes it seem like a better word for healing after a disappointment.

Alas, this week I learned that I didn’t make it to a round of interviews for a job in Japan that pays well and offers great benefits. Japan is a place I would like to return to so it’s disappointing.

They didn’t specify the reason, but as the position is Assistant English Teacher my best guess is that either they don’t want someone who may well have more teaching experience than the teacher or one who’s just “too old.”

Identification of a Woman

id-of-wo

I thought this film was by the maker of We All Loved Each Other So Much, an Italian film that knocked me off my feet years ago. It isn’t. I also thought it was made in the 60s or 70’s. It wasn’t. So that’s two strikes.

Identification of a Woman follows a woe-begone film director, who’s divorced (and we can all guess why after say half an hour with him), as he searches for a dream woman for a film. As he does, he also pursues Mavi, an aristocrat, who’s bored, boring and gorgeous (or at least pretty and thin — it’s all in the eyes of the beholder, right?). Early on some secret thug whom we never see, whose identity is never revealed sends a henchmen to tell the director, Niccolo to leave Mavi alone. She’s the property of the thug. As any decent film hero would do, Niccolo won’t have it. He remains with Mavi, who lacks any personality, while looking for and sometimes hiding from the thug.

Later Mavi ditches Niccolo. I suppose she was tired of his obsession with the thug and his ennui, but she herself had so little in her life that I don’t quite buy her leaving him, as broken as he was.

Then Niccolo meets another woman, a young actress who’s loved him from afar. They form a relationship in the last third of the movie and that peters out.

Mainly, the film’s supposed to examine an artist, who’s lost and drifting, who doesn’t understand women, probably because he over complicates relationships. There were certainly some good elements. I liked the scenes which had Niccolo and Mavi driving through dense fog, which was symbolic and probably hard to film, but on the whole this was ho hum. Disappointing.

There’s a lot of explicit sex scenes which are a counterpoint to the lack of understanding between the characters. They were a lot more intimate than you see in a Hollywood film. I admit I have no idea what the title means. Anyone?

Remind Me Not to Do This Again

YesterdayI went to Lenten day of Reflection. I need to jump start my Lent as I’m not sure what to do, i.e. give something up, take some action. It really shouldn’t just be a time to go on a diet.

Well, it was pretty awful. There were 14 of us and the priest had all these rules. Mainly, you couldn’t use the word “you” and you couldn’t preach. His idea of preaching was hard to understand. At the beginning, a woman raised her hand and said, “Excuse me, but I work in logistics and I think the chairs would be arranged better if they were in a circle.”

The priest chastised her, “Don’t you think I know the chairs are arranged badly. I’ll take care of it. This is what I mean by preaching. Stop preaching.” Another man questioned his terms, “God has a ruthless love for us.” I don’t think anyone understood what that meant. He was told not to let one word trip him up. Well, all the words we were supposed to respond to were such gobbled gook that no one knew what to say. After lunch someone asked if the priest if he’d enjoyed his lunch and got snapped at. “You don’t have to worry about me. I am able to take care of myself. I’m here for you all.” (Right.)

Later one man really spoke from his heart describing how he’s come to a point where he felt that while he did all the things a good Catholic should, he was a hypocrite and his faith lacked depth. Every time he slipped and said “you know,” he was chastised. (You can be used to mean other people particularly or like the French use “on” as a generality, e.g. Where do you buy tickets?) This man was in no way offending anyone other than the priest with his use of “you.”

I decided 1) to never attend another event there and 2) not to share with the group.

One surprise of the day was that a woman I went to grade school with was there. She was the meanest terror of my class. I hope I get some points for having lunch and conversing with her husband and her. I was astonished that a seemingly really nice man married someone who’d been so vicious. I think that encounter was the blessing of the day. The program itself was an endurance test. I wound up leaving an hour early. I just couldn’t take any more. The priest is good when he gives homilies, but dealing with actual people is not his forte. How does the Catholic church march onward with these types as their leaders? Truly that’s the biggest miracle of all.

 

Sherlock: The Last Vow

A First: A Guilty Displeasure

Magnussen's data on Sherlock

Magnussen’s data on Sherlock

My vow after watching this horrendous Sherlock episode on PBS is not to watch again unless three highly esteemed friends insist writers Moffatt and Gatiss have regained their sanity and writing ability. The season 3 finale “The Last Vow” was a hokey train wreck.

The real crime seems that these writers have been kidnapped or possessed by zombies of some sort. You know how Sherlock’s able to delete irrelevant information from his brain. How I wish I could delete the experience of watching “The Last Vow.” It kept me up last night and was the first thing in my head when I woke.

This episode involved Sherlock in pursuit of uber-blackmailer, Charles Augustus Magnussen after the government official whose face he licked (talk about creepy to watch) enlists Sherlock’s help.

What follows is a mishmash of slick graphics and preposterous scenes that made my head spin. While many parts of the story were culled from Arthur Conan Doyle‘s original stories, it’s as if someone took pages of the stories, put them in a food processor, removed any sensible bits, stirred the remaining mess up, spit in the bowl and served it up to the viewers. I watched with my aunt and we kept saying, “How is it possible that this has gotten worse?” And the true sign of a terrible show: I kept looking at the clock to see how much longer we had to watch.

Ever the optimist, I thought the show would redeem itself at some point, but alas, it never did.

last bow

Observations

  • Sherlock’s a mastermind who can read people with incredible precision, yet he didn’t see that Mary was a spy and assassin when he met her. Are we supposed to believe that?
  • Though Mary Marston is connected with uber-villain Magnussen and shoots Sherlock, we’re supposed to buy that John staying married to her is a good thing. She has completely presented a false identity and we have no idea who she is and John’s not certifiable for wanting to stay with her? Isn’t not wanting to know who she really is the height of objectifying a woman? Since John gets so frustrated with Sherlock’s lack of empathy, wouldn’t Mary whose empathy is questionable at best and put on at worst, make her a terrible wife for John?Sherlock doesn’t have the logic to see this? Divorce is legal and acceptable in England.  In this case, i.e. fraud, annulment is in order. John can try to get custody of the child, which he’d get if Mary is in jail, where she belongs. Viewers realize that what’s deep down matters in a person and deep down, Mary is not trustworthy. She will kill when it suits her. How’s that for ethics?
  • I could do without the face licking, thank you very much. Could all screenwriters make a note of that?
  • Why wouldn’t Mary going to jail be more satisfying?
  • How long can someone who’s been shot walk around town solving crimes?
  • Why didn’t this woman who would have had to push her way to the top of a male dominated field, stand up to Magnussen?
  • There’s a reason cutting from scene to scene in a manic fashion is not listed in Aristotle’s Poetics. It does not result in good storytelling. Cheap flashy cuts just make viewers head’s spin.
  • Though I missed Moriarty, bringing him back through implausible means wasn’t want I wanted. I can live with the loss and as AV Club reviewer Genevieve Valentine points out, when there are just three episodes, we don’t need an overarching villain. Remember there’s something called evil in the world and that more than suffices.
  • It’s implausible that John has some highly tuned sociopath detector that sensed that Mary was a sociopath so he was drawn to her. There’s nothing in earlier seasons that showed the Everyman character was that far gone. What  does that say about everyone?
  • Packing multiple pieces of Doyle’s stories into one episode just doesn’t work. There’s no need to.

Questions

  1. Did the British audience take to this?
  2. Has or should Moffat issue an apology for this disgraceful writing?
  3. Did anyone else feel they needed a shower or some sort of medical attention after suffering through this?