• Congratulations Roger and Mirka Federer — twin girls! Wow, Mirka is such a trouper to carrying twins in her third trimester and sitting through four hours plus of (nerve-wracking) tennis! I'm sure they'll be a sweet family. The girls are named Charlene Riva and Myla Rose. I wonder where the names come from; Roger said they were fighting over them. Mirka deserves to name them whatever she wants!

• Really, I don't mean to pile on Johnny Depp… I don't! But with "Mr Tom Hanson" starring in a movie by Michael Mann, and then co-starring with Michael Sheen in Alice in Wonderland, what can I do? It's just like I'll have to see the new Twilight movie New Moon because Michael Sheen is in it! I guess you put Michael Sheen in anything (ampalaya, calculus, dentistry)  , and you'll be tempted to think twice about it, haha.


Yup, they're the same guy. He's THAT good.

• Isn't YouTube wonderful? I did this blog entry to the tune of "Hey Deanie" by Shaun Cassidy. I was a Joe Hardy girl way back in the day, but really I had no knowledge about his music career or what he did on The Hardy Boys. I was really a babe and just latched on to him as my first TV crush. "Hey Deanie" is deadly catchy… I'm warning you! Some wonderful person has also uploaded a slew of The Hardy Boys/Nancy Drew Mysteries  on YouTube! Oh, Shaun… you nailed all the snark on the show (I kid you not — the shows had some!), but couldn't do drama to save your life, at least your onscreen acting career! He's a successful showrunner now — American Gothic and Invasion are some of his notable work. But back then, at least the Preppie Of The Apocalypse described your pretty brilliantly! The gold standard of teen idols, Shaun was a slim-hipped fireball of charisma and charm. I'm not the first to point this out, but jeez, he was lovely, like the final product of insidious cloning experiments using genetic material from baby squirrels and woodland elves. Preppie also did a killer recap of the Horatio Hornblower series! (Hmmm… now there's an idea for an entry.)

• I've been meaning to do this Mananawagan for years now. Please help me find my DVD's! Did I lend them to you? And I remain happy to lend them still, but can you at least let me know if they're with you? So, who has the following:

- The Up documentary boxed set (this is the most important one, please!)
- Running On Karma
- Infernal Affairs (all three versions I own of this movie)

Maraming salamat, po!

• There'll be some fresh Details Later upcoming. Really.

Sorry to updating this blog with OLD stuff, but unbelievably, I actually used to blog before my Details Later existence began. I made three stop-the-planet (haha!) entries in the long, distant land of Yahoo 360. Ah, the 360 was the Facebook concept in embroyo, but it never took off. And it will never take off, because they're closing it down this month!

My three bitty blog entries are moving location to Details Later. Have fun enjoying my unintended time capsule of year 2006!

May 6, 2006
So… Blogging. Have you ever heard of it before?

Like, did you know Tom and Katie (oops, sorry Tom. It's "Kate") had a baby? I had NOOOO idea. You'd think that'd be in the news or something. I wonder what Angelina and Brad are up to right now. Those guys get no media coverage whatsover. Those poor celebs.

Many of my dear friends blog plenty and blog well. Definitely fun to read and most of the time I look forward to reading new entries. Wouldn't that be enough fun for the Karen universe already?

Oh grumble.

Besides, I always forget what to blog about by the time I get to paying attention to my piece of Internet real estate. I put Alexis in charge of what topic to write about. I have duly followed orders, so herewith, kind gentlemen and beautiful ladies, is a little ditty about catering. (Oooh, sexy!)

Mabel, Peejo and I attended a media launch-slash-performance of a rightly beloved OPM star. Make that superduper star. Pretty cool event altogether, but the catering? The catering was… something to blog about.

The event's caterers lauched a lavish spread of graham crackers with jelly and Fita biscuits with cheese spread. I punk you not. Then we come to the main portion of the table, offering three chafing dishes of nachos, ukoy and lumpiang Shanghai. That was the best the table could be.

Moving forward, we had an all-expenses-spared lineup of orange "swits" in a bowl, sampaloc in a bowl, cracker nuts in a bowl… other supermarket selections I don't remember anymore. Finally, to drink we had lovely and oh-so-rare cups of Tang. With lots of chipped ice (which totally upgraded it to say, a refreshing orange drink).

I picked up a plateful of "swits" to share with Mabel and Peejo. I love busfare food! Alas, when Mabes and I bit into our respective "swits," we were disappointingly shaken to discover that the "swits" were so unchewy and would stick to your teeth. So unchewy that Mabel and I unashamedly got them out of our bicuspids in the open public. Went right ahead.

After "eating" and right before we entered the performance venue, Mabel and I won the raffle! I won a no-kidding cute watch. All is forgiven?

Photo attached to this entry has nothing to do with catering, but everything to do with how crazy awesome geniuses Stephen Fry and Hugh Laurie are. They're shown in character as Jeeves and Wooster. That show was like the free whiff of ganja that led to the crack cocaine that is their brilliant work, together and separately. Toodle-pip!

Postscript: Wow, there was short, short blog entry before this one, basically announcing I was starting a blog, and fearing that a blog monster was going to be unleashed! Hahaha! And oh my gash, the pathetic catering spread. I can still see it vividly in my head…

June 1, 2006
Hang The DJ?

Last night was the Manual Last Blast of Summer event (I'm sure it wasn't called that, but that was the idea of the party) at Fiama. It was pretty cool going, and I'm sure it got even more rockin' after I left. (Took off early—the chariot was there and would turn into a pumpkin if I left much later. Chariots are important if you live in Paranaque.)

But even before we got to Fiama, Toto Labrador was his usual "sunshine-y" self during dinner. A DJ was going to be there! What "fun" for Toto! The amusement of this truly dawned on me when we did get to hear the musical stylings of the DJ at the venue. Not so much the selections he was playing (there's a rumble later though—keep reading), but there was the gang at a Fiama booth, listening to the music get louder and louder, making it harder and harder to keep the conversation going. I thought to myself: Can someone explain to me the appeal of listening to loud music at a bar? Was it supposed to be sitting back and appreciating the awesome of the music, like at a concert? Was it to make it conducive to chat that. much. closer. to your companion(s) of the night, allowing more intimacy? To get us to dance?

Because really, with the music that loud and the strain of attempting to talk above the din to be heard by your listener (and you being able listen in return) less than a foot away is not much fun. Or is it? Hence, this shout out to the blog universe for some answers.

Plus, the DJ played the usual suspects like "Lovely Day," a song that will not just go away and leave me alone. Why must it stalk me?

"Karen, who sang this song?"
"I don't know. I loathe this song."
"Is it Mike Francis?"
"Then I super loathe this song."

I think I need to learn to drink a LOT more to get this loud music playing for no reason when it's not a dance club or rock concert thing, don't I? I'm convinced I never get wasted enough to appreciate it. Maybe I'll like it more if they don't play freakin' Mike Francis.

(No offense to Mike Francis fans! I'm one to talk—I'm the Lyle Lovett fan, the Billy Joel fan and a defender of boy bands to make a living. Except you, Justin Timberlake. You just haven't earned it yet, baby.)

Today's Photo: So I got my Numb3rs boxed set DVD over the weekend. This show has me all over other hot shows like Desperate Housewives, Grey's Anatomy and Lost. I've pestered most everyone I know on how supercalifyouknowtherest this show is. Especially when the Jeans Of Justice makes it appearance. (Squee!) DVDVerdict has it down why:

"Yes, there's murder. Yes, there's violence and crime, but if that were all there was, Numb3rs wouldn't have made it past this first season. It's really a show about family. About brothers. About how the life we lived as children seems so different when we're adults. What it's really about is humanity, which is ironic since the show appears to be about science and math. It's a great cast. It's clever writing. It's tense, exciting, and often quite touching. Most of all, it's a show you can count on to be good TV from the first episode to the last."

Postscript: I still love Numbers! Thought I know wait for the DVD compilation now, and just watch it one go. I still don't love Amita, shucks. Mike Francis? Nope, hope to never hear from him again. Hopefully, EVER. But I may have tempted the fates by mentioning him now, and will be bound to be stuck in a cab whose driver is a Mike Francis fan.

June 7, 2006
What's a superhero like you doing in a movie like this? Or Ode To Bonnie

With my head swirling with Jeremy Piven goodness (Entourage is out on HBO Asia this July!), I found myself some free time to watch Black Hawk Down, a surprising entry in the Piv's filmography. Goofy, snarky, very urbanite actor in an all-out war picture? That SO follows.

I got started on Black Hawk Down twice before, because the casting in this movie is unequivocably genius. Before I elaborate on that very matter, I need to say that the casting director for this movie was Bonnie Timmerman, a longtime casting idol whose name I'm always happy to see on TV or movie credits. I'd like to think I grow up to be her one day. Look her up at IMDB. Genius. (Second to Bonnie is Mali Finn.)

So I finally got to see the movie in full. I made total use of the fast forward button during the war bits, ceasing only to check out longtime Karen favorites, favorites she adores way, way more than the likes of Johnny Depp and Christian Bale, both of whom annoy me royally. (Yeah, I like to cause trouble!) There's:

Ewan MacGregor
Eric Bana
William Fichtner (single-handedly responsible for my best laugh in a movie for his segment in Go, among other roles)
Ron Eldard (the best eye lashes in the biz)
Ioan Gruffud
Hugh Dancy
Jason Isaacs
Orlando Bloom
Jeremy Piven (We're married. Married in my mind.)

There's a ton more, and I would happily bore you to tears on why each performer is super awesome in various roles. (Think I CAN'T do this? I hear you snickering!) But the strange thing is, there's a pattern to detect amongst some of the actors of this movie—it's practically a conclave of movie superheroes! All in one space of filmic realty!

Ewan—Obi Wan Kenobi
Eric—The Hulk
Ioan Gruffud—Reed Richards Of The Fantastic Four
Orlando Bloom—Legolas
Jason Isaacs—Lucius Malfoy

Ben Foster (Angel, X-Men) was also cast in this movie, but was replaced when he got injured during the military training. I like to imagine who would win a head-to-head battle of these heroes. Will The Force-infused Kenobi win over mighty evil of Lucius? Will Legolas merely standby looking pretty as Reed and Bruce Banner/The Hulk gorgeously discuss scientific experiments gone awry?

Who wins? Why Hollywood agent Ari Gold, of course! He's hungrier, funnier, snarkier, ruthless-er, mightier yet all-the-more-lovable-for-it persona among the bunch. That trumps all specialized powers, I think. Plus, he's an agent. He controls the roles, baby!

Postscript: Wow, this is getting closer to the Details Later style, isn't it? Even the Jeremy Piven (see main avatar) along with the Johnny Depp/Christian Bale references! (Ugh, Michael Mann [see tentpole Manhunter entry!] directing them both in Public Enemies… I love your stuff, Michael, but you guaranteed I will be crawling, not walking much less running to see it.) But I still marvel how awesome the casting of this movie was. I'm sure three years later, there's probably another star who's emerged from this cast.

Au revoir, Yahoo 360. You were a nice little place.

… this blog is alive! Not quite with the sound of an adorable Viennese family escaping the Nazis thanks to their singing abilities, but close enough, I guess.



Let's see, over the weekend, I got a new job, moved to Singapore, set up my own apartment, made a lot of new and wonderful friends, got to know old friends much, much better, and watched a lot of movies.

Wait, I'm sorry.

That happened over the last 10 months. Eeek.

I've now decided to end the galaxy's worst case of procrastination and finally tackled the blog demons to write something new here! I don't know why I make blogging so hard on myself. In my mind, it's some epic task, but really… I should not overthink this and keep it short and simple. That way I can do this more often. And Lord help us all, I will!

So here's a nice pocket-sized entry to get me started…

I loved The Wrestler, and was sorely disappointed Mickey Rourke didn't  win the Oscar for that role. I think it pretty much trumped every performance last year, except perhaps for Robert Downey's Jr's 5.0 degree of difficulty role in Tropic Thunder (an American playing an Australian playing an African-American who speaks Chinese? Yeah, Downey can do it. No sweat.)

But that's apples to Mickey Rourke's oranges. Mickey was so openhearted and laid himself bare as Randy "The Ram" Robinson: sweet, defeated, charming and powerful. It's a performance to get lost in.

A nice side effect, if you will, of Mickey Rourke's career resurrection and having slew of awards (except for that Oscar, dagnabbit) is that when he's trying to pass along his comeback mojo to his The Pope of Greenwich Village co-star Eric Roberts. Check out Mickey's Independent Spirit Awards acceptance speech where he implored all the film hotshots in the room to give Eric another chance just like he got his — before he made any of his actual thank you's! (The rest of the speech is hysterical too. Just check it out na!)

Eric Roberts is Julia Roberts' older brother, and  he was the rising, Jake Gylenhaall/Johnny Depp (eeek, don't like the Johnny, but I'm using the actor who played officer Tom Hanson of 21 Jump Street in terms of automatic, accepted awesomeness. Accepted, except by me of course) actor of his day. Except Eric was prettier and had training with both RADA and the American Academy of Dramatic Art.

I like Julia's acting OK, but Eric was far prettier than his sister Julia ever was, and he could probably portray any role better than Julia ever did (even Eric Brockavich, probably). Eric was nominated for an Oscar in 1986 for Runaway Train. That movie really packed a wallop, and I'm still recovering how sad that movie ended.

Too bad Eric got into major vehicular accident in 1981 that messed up the pretty, and he was never centered emotionally after it. Cue the downward spiral of drugs and bonehead roles. Here's Eric though, in the prime of his beauty:





These caps are from a movie he did in 1981 called Raggedy Man, a sweet romance/small-town mystery starring Sissy Spacek (can you see her in the window above the phone?), Sam Shepherd and Eric Roberts. It's set during World War II in a small Texas town, where Sissy plays a phone operator. Eric is a sailor on his way home for a four-day liberty when he finds out in the scene above that his sweetheart has married someone else. What's a sailor on leave with no place to go to do?

Sissy's character is a single mom of two boys (cute and non-precocious, the elder son played by a pre-ET Henry Thomas) and Eric's character bonds with her fatherless kids, and sweetly romances Sissy. It's a charming and simple movie — and the kind that would never be greenlighted in today's industry. Sayang. The charming and simple part is only 2/3rds of the movie though. The mystery portion happens after the love story.



Eric's typecast as wackos or snivelling villains, but he can easily play affable and tender. I wish he can do a role like that again. Eric's definitely settled, cleaned up his act and reconciled with his superstar sister. (And oh, he's the dad of Emma Roberts too.)

But hey, it turns out though, Eric may have had his "comeback" already, having starred in the second biggest box office movie of all time. Yup, he was in The Dark Knight. Which I haven't seen at all. Was he good in it?

See you soon, friends!

Now, I'm not a fan or a "hatah" of Renee Zellweger. She's OK, but I'm not keeping tabs on her career. If she's in a movie I want to see and she happens to be in it, I don't mind. Which is more than you can say about Claire Danes, or (this one's for you,Terrie!) Edward James Olmos.

Though she was gaining critical traction with Jerry Maguire and Nurse Betty, Renee Zellweger's first major Academy Award nomination for Bridget Jones's Diary (she put on an accent AND she put on weight!) has allowed her to rise above her starlet-ish peers and win an eventual Academy Award, (for Cold Mountain).  She's considered for Oscar bait stuff now.

*And she has Colin Firth's wet shirt to thank for it.

Because Helen Fielding got caught in the Darcy mania that descended upon the UK in 1995 when the BBC aired a new mini-series adaptation of Pride & Prejudice, the British columnist was to inspired to write about her own dreamy Darcy and singletons in search of him in Bridget Jones's Diary.

Cut to: book success, movie adaptation, casting Renee, casting the wet-shirted Darcy of the mini-series Colin Firth for the book's Darcy, movie success, Oscar nomination, etc etc etc…

It's a lovely story, but not as lovely as the classic love story of Lizzie and Mr. Darcy and to a lesser extent, my love for this 1995 adaptation that remains as strong as ever.



I've followed Colin Firth's career forever… well, since I saw him co-star with Rupert Everett in Another Country. (It came out in 1984, yikes.) Colin played Eton student Tommy Judd, a composite character ("like in New York magazine!"—™Nick Smith) of the young bright things of 1930s England who would betray their country to Russia. (This movie is a details_later, tentpole. Abangan ang future blog entry!)

It was the days of Betamax rentals then, and I endured any Colin Firth project that came the way of local shelves. And boy, did I watch some REALLY good stuff, like A Month In The Country, to really corny stuff, like a TV movie adaption of Camille, where Colin played the young aristocrat in love with the consumptive lead character. There's lots more, and I was grateful to watch most of it, good or bad. I didn't live in the UK, and beggars can't be choosers.

Around the late 1980s to 90s, other British actors of his generation came into ascendancy (Ralph Fiennes, Hugh Grant, Rupert Everett, Richard E. Grant), and all the lead roles went to them. It looked like Colin accepted being relegated to supporting and character roles. (See: Circle Of Friends, The English Patient) Plus, there's a steady living—and a modicum of prestige—doing costume dramas for British TV. Colin even "let go" of himself physically. I remember reading various articles how Colin was sort of relieved that he didn't have to keep a leading man-pace anymore, hence his pudgy appearance as the betrayed husband in The English Patient.

Well, it turned out his career was leading somewhere else entirely…



After reading about that same Darcy-mania that captivated Fielding in several magazines, I was determined to score a copy of Pride & Prejudice and see the wet-shirted glory for myself. I traveled to the New York and Connecticut in 1997 (take note: no DVD's yet!) and saw a 6-tape VHS boxed set for sale at (ahem) US$ 79. Yes, that's pricey, but I deliberately set aside a portion of my spending money to buy it.

And so I brought the set home to Manila and ignored it for five or six months.

It was like my Book Debt syndrome: I know it's good, I know I'll love it, I promise to watch it soon!

Then, in one of those afternoons where I was bored and could no longer stick to the excuses to avoid it, I decided to watch Pride & Prejudice, "sige ng nga" enthusiasm and all. I'll just watch one tape, I told myself. It's just one hour, then the next hour maybe tomorrow.

I ended up watching ALL six hours in ONE SITTING.

The adaptation is like crack—you won't stop at one tape, or one chapter (as the DVD case might be). I enjoyed myself so much! The performances are excellent, the love story and the chemistry between Jennifer Ehle (playing Lizzie Bennett) and Colin (Mr. Darcy) is off-the-charts swoony, the plot is rich, hilarious, insightful and remains fresh.

No need to further explain what makes Jane Austen's novel a masterpiece… but the adaptation is just spot-on and feels both true to the story's era AND modern for today's audiences. And Colin/Darcy can stare at Jennifer/Lizzie like a mutha…



Ah, that one last one, Darcy's losing his resolve na. Then there's that dip in the lake, wearing that white shirt that created a phenomenon:



…which leads to that chance encounter of Lizzie and a "less formally dressed" Mr. Darcy. (Raise your hand if you AREN'T swoonishly giggling. You aren't? You will. Soon.)


"Mr. Darcy?"


"Miss Bennett?!"

Then ensues the STARE of all stares, a stare that's a tribute to Colin Firth's acting, the superb story of Jane Austen and the excellent tension and buildup that this mini-series sustains over several hours.



Oh, still here? Thanks!

Parang I just want to keep putting screencaps, and basically let you watch the entire mini-series in this epic blog entry!

Let's just return to the notion that these mini-series was a phenomenon that transformed careers, and makes almost anyone who sees it sit in one place for six hours, needing to see the whole thing 'til the end. (Fact!)





It's the end, at last! A few Saturdays ago, I just wanted to watch the beginning again, but (shock!) I ended up watching the whole thing. Of course. I hope Renee feels the same way.

Taking a trip: Flying back home to Manila, from Hong Kong, through the window. No-flash experiment.


Hurrah for random links! The assorted links at the bottom of the IMDb homepage a few weeks ago led me to spinner.com's "25 Best Opening Lyrics."

Whether you write for fun in a personal blog, or have to produce copy that the declares this whitening cream to be the known savior of the skincare world (every month!), or perhaps best of all, writing the world's next best piece of fiction, all of that boils down to…

…the beginning. The very first words have to get laid down and squared away, so the following 7000 words can follow, and deliver whatever you're trying to say. Part of the thrill of shopping for those "book-debt" books is checking out the very first lines of the books that catch my eye, or books I've been seeking to get. Now that the work is done and printed and up for sale, you just know that the writer at the very start of it all struggled to put down the very first words you read to set everything in motion.

I'm sure songwriting is not quite the same—it's probably a more fluid writing process—but the starting words of songs are required to be the right ones. The greatest songs we've come to love won't be the greatest songs we love without them.

Reading the list was awesome fun, guaranteed to get you singing and following it up with the next part of the lyric. There were a few songs I didn't know, but most of them tickle the musical memories…

Lyric No. 25: "You were working as a waitress in a cocktail bar"
Human League! Doesn't that line seem so… film noir? The opening words set that particular stage very well. The rest of the song talks all about urgent emotions, movie sets and declarations of "Don't… don't you want me?"

Lyric No. 23: "You never close your eyes anymore when I kiss your lips…"
Baaaaaay-beh!

Lyric No. 21:  "Hello, Darkness, my old friend"
Just genius, no? I immediately love the imagery of it.

Lyric No. 19:  "Well, I guess it would be nice if I could touch your body"
How fun and sexy and a wee bit vulgar—all from the get go!

Lyric No. 17:  "I was dreaming when I wrote this"
Forgive me if I go astraaaay… Prince, Justin Timberfake owes you his career. Shut up, Justin. You do.

Lyric No. 15:  "She was more like a beauty queen from a movie scene" 
Dun, dun. Duuuun, dun. The kid is not my son!

Lyric No. 14:  "There must be some kind of way out of here, said the joker to the thief"
"All Along the Watchtower." Jimi Hendrix, by way of Bob Dylan. Right away, a particular era is nutshell-ed in a sentence.

Lyric No. 13:  "What's with these homies dissin' my girl?"
Weezer's "Buddy Holly" starts right off with these words, no musical intro. Right now, I am declaring this the best ever opening line of a song in the past 20 years. Because it is.

Lyric No. 11: "Oh, I just don't know where to begin"
Something about Elvis Costello's "Accidents Will Happen" sets off my joy buttons. Apart from the wink-wink cleverness of the opening words, right down to the melodic hooks, the bouncy rhythms, the sensational rest of the song… as perfect a pop song in the way pop songs need to be.

Lyric No. 10:  "Tommy used to work on the docks"
A storytelling song to rival "Don't You Want Me." Bon Jovi should write a follow up song to the fate of Tommy and Gina.

Lyric No. 08:  "Well, it's one for the money, two for the show, three to get ready, now go, cat, go!"
You can never go wrong with countdown beginnings. I will buy a Venti-size beverage to whoever can name the song AND who actually released a recording of it first. (That's a hint.)

Lyric No. 06:  "Why do birds suddenly appear every time you are near?"
Awww, isn't that just great? Every Great Opening Lyrics list should include this song. This ditty was also the lullaby of choice to put me to sleep as a kid. Heh.

Lyric No. 04  "Well, she was just seventeen—you know what I mean"
Wow, ngayon lang ang Beatles! I'm certain though, you can make a GOL (see above) list just with Beatles songs.

Lyric No. 03:  "Hey, ho, let's go!"
"Blitzkrieg Bop" by The Ramones. Does anything else need to be said?

Lyric No. 02: "I was born in a cross-fire hurricane"
Right away, I can see it: it's the middle of the night, raining buckets, howling winds and a remote cottage in the Southern landscape… Jumpin' Jack Flash was trouble right from the beginning.

And the Best Opening Lyric: "She's a very kinky girl…"
"…the kind you don't take home to mooooohttther!" I love this came as No. 1! It's good enough to start a pretty juicy novel! Rick James may have ended up with a messed-up life (and death), but this simple lyrical phrase is so right.

The others list include Beck, Patti Smith, LL Cool J (heh?!?!?) and Pavement. Shrug. I don't know them too well. The only one I wish the list included is "Mama… just killed a maaaaaan…"  Pretty iconic for it to be left out.

Any other opening lyrics you know and love and want to serve to guests? Any of the above got you singing out the succeeding lines out loud?



These Kenneth Branagh portraits don't really relate to the Opening Lyrics idea, but I wrote the entry above while listening to his director's commentary for Love's Labour's Lost. The day before I enjoyed his commentary for the DVD release (at last!) of his adaptation of Hamlet. The Kenster is still my dream interview, but I kind of don't want for the dream to come true. Because I would die if it ever came to happen. He's too witty, lovable, amazing. And just so I'm displaying my Exile-From-Cool-Island bona fides: Kenneth Branagh > Johnny Depp. Like, times a googleplex. Pic on the left from 1983 (!), pic in the middle from the 2000s, pic in the right, also from the 2000s. (I think.)

I finished two books within three weeks of each other this month (or rather, last July). This was an awesome surprise to me. I've been lamenting for a couple of years now about my MTV-fied attention span. I used to love reading books regularly, I'd say. Why can't I do it anymore? What happened to my culture steel-trap mind?

I still get giddy at the sight of a bookstore. Almost any bookstore. Like many of my friends in the D&M Gang (that's "Dinner & Movie." Hey gang, I gave us a name!), we suffer from "book debt"—titles you've purchased with that awful promise to yourself that "you'll read it later."

Try years of that and it becomes a semi-dirty secret! I know this book is good, you tell yourself. I was so excited to actually spot it and purchase the thing. But here you are, with a pile of several books unread, or worse, you gave up on. Not because it was bad, but because you succumbed to the distractions that came your way. Reading takes reading, of course.

But then, sometimes, the magic returns. The book clicks into gear, YOU click into gear, then you've finished the whole thing in a flash it seems. (This must be what's happening with the Harry Potter-ese. Of which I'm not a part of. I gave up on the first book—oh, the dirty shame!)

Years ago, I bought Cormac McCarthy's All The Pretty Horses because I loved the book cover. Little did I know that McCarthy has been acclaimed a master of modern fiction! The blurb promised an interesting story of young men traveling to Mexico but ending up in horrible trouble, but I gave up on the book. McCarthy's storytelling was great but the prose was too dense, and I struggled to read it. Add another one to Book Debt Pile.

His 2006 book, The Road  was named by Entertainment Weekly as the #1 book of 2006. After a few months, it won the 2006 Pulitzer Prize for Fiction. Intriguing as dystopian stories might be (a staple of genre fiction), I was really sold more on the relationship of a father and his young son—"each the other's world entire"—surviving in a post-apocalyptic society.

The father and son's tender love for each other sustains and keeps them moving forward on that fabled road. But their unbearable surroundings has no hope of getting better, and the desperation gets uglier each single day. (Or what you can tell as a "day"—the world is a perpetual gray.) What should a father teach his son about right and wrong? Is there a line between helping your fellow human and doing what you can to keep yourself alive? Who would the boy end up with if he (the dad) doesn't make it? Would it be better for the father to spare him from unceasing brutality and end it all?

This time, McCarthy's language was vivid and direct, yet deeply resonant as ever. I was savoring the story in high gear, and by the end of it, I never bawled so much over a book in my life. The book's power is mighty. If I pick it up, I will be plunged directly into this nameless father and son's universe again, hoping for them that they make it through another night, dry and warm. Goodness will find the boy. It always has. It will again.

Buoyed by my McCarthy accomplishment, I decided to revisit the books I gave up on. Memoirs Of A Geisha was purchased in 2003, and came highly recommended by both friends and strong reviews. I read the first 100 or so pages in a flash, but then my reading wheels fell of for some reason. When the movie version came out, I refused to see it (among other reasons) because I didn't want to spoil the ending.



True enough, I also breezed through the rest of the novel. The world of the geisha is undoubtedly exotic and mysterious, and Memoirs opened it up in glorious detail. Almost every character in the book was vigorously drawn, and the story suspenseful.

Then the last 25 pages happened.

The fairy-tale ending of the lead character, the geisha Sayuri, negated the lyrical elegance of the book. It felt… middle brow? Was the book meant to be a mere fairy tale? She didn't earn her ending! The fate of other characters in the story lent even more thud to the thud-dish ending. (What about Nobu?!?)

And let's not talk about the movie. AT ALL.

I thought these adventures in reading would be a good entry (at last!) for the details_later blog. A nice break from movies and pirates and singing contests on TV. As I prepared what to say and figure out the pictures, it dawned on me that I HAVE been reading (and finishing!) a nice amount of books in the last year, from the end of 2005 to mid-2007. This is such good news.



I loved this book. Talk about flash—I read Craig Ferguson's Between The Bridge And The River in one day. That day happened to be Milenyo typhoon day, so that might have helped Ferguson's cause. It's a multi-plot story of best friends from Scotland scattered between France and the US, two Jewish brothers fathered by Sinatra and Lawford (you can choose to believe that), lessons from Carl Jung and Socrates and the bizarre adventures in between. It's hard to summarize, but it is hysterically funny and and incredibly sweet. Craig Ferguson has a day job as the host of The Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson and was the British boss of Drew Carey in The Drew Carey Show. And then he wrote this brilliant book. I declare him the second coming of Stephen Fry.



Keith Olbermann is another guy in the details_later pantheon of idols. This guy's intelligence is sick. Enter his name on YouTube and listen in on one of his "Special Comments" for his program Countdown With Keith Olbermann. The Worst Person In The World…And 202 Strong Contenders is a book spin-off of a section in his show, where he names, indeed, the Worst Person for the week. Normally, it's Bill O'Reilly. And even if he is former ESPN sportscaster, Keith is a formidable political analyst. (Ano?!) Dick Cheney probably has Keith on some sort of list. Yes, that kind of list.


The Iraq invasion is going to define our times. What a mess, but you don't need me to tell you that. The GINORMOUS CONTRIVANCE that was laid out to justify the invasion is definitely more horrifying than the post-apocalyptic world of The Road. Frank Rich, the former theater critic of The New York Times and now an Times Op/Ed columnist, lays down the appropriate drama and all the verified details of indeed, The Greatest Story Ever Sold.



Erik Larson's The Devil In The White City is contagious. I lent it to two people, and the two people bought their own copies of it afterwards. (A keeper!) The making of the 1893 World's Fair in Chicago and detecting the trail the world's first known serial killer (yup, the one in this story probably inspired Jack The Ripper!) is improbably addicting and fun to read. On occasion, reading the minutiae of architectural plans and construction problems of the Fair is even more suspenseful than the parallel serial killer story.  Daniel Burnham (he of  the Manila city planning and the Baguio park) and Dr. HH Holmes (who might have murdered over 200 people!) are fascinating men come to spellbinding life. And the little things you take for granted today? A/C current, the Ferris Wheel, refrigeration, even theme parks—all take their origins here. Amazing.

Now… to finish East Of Eden by John Steinbeck. Been stuck on page 288 since I started in (gulp) April 2004. 313 pages to go…

PS. Why is Oprah stealing my thunder? Soon after I decided on reading The Road, she made it a selection of her Oprah Book Club. She even nabbed an interview with Cormac McCarthy to boot! The man's given one interview in 20 years. East Of Eden is an Oprah selection too. Hrumph.

There's a line in your movie-going life that separates a "before" and "after."

Before was when movies were that special treat of mom and dad taking you to the movie house as a special outing, followed by merienda, or a trip to the toy shop.

After is when it dawns on you that a movie goes beyond entertaining you—that it's something you feel connected to in a creative sense. That you will probably be a MOVIE FAN.

Well, no shock—this is a phenomenon that happened to me. Sometimes you get lucky, and there will be that a movie (or movies) that will draw that line.

I've been trying to recall what chronological age I was when that happened—the earliest experience that made me see the movies differently. Was it Ordinary People? (Could be. Merits further thinking, which, I'm sure you know I'm doing!) Chariots Of Fire? Amadeus?

Who knows, really. (Yeah, yeah. I'll think about it. Some more.) So I decided to make the first long-promised "tent pole" discussion on Manhunter, directed by Michael Mann, released in 1986. It stars CSI's William Petersen. (That's his hot self up there in the first photo, 20 years ago and pretty hot!) It's not the first on the tent pole list, but I do know this movie is definitely part of it.



Manhunter is the first movie to feature Hannibal Lecter, adapted from the book Red Dragon by Thomas Harris. How it ended up with a generic-o, exploitative title like Manhunter is the usual, Hollywood cautionary tale. "Red Dragon" sounds martial arts-y, doesn't it? It's striking, because despite the gruesomeness of a serial killer murdering whole families and the use of nasty Dr. Lecter as a forensic Virgil, Manhunter is super far from exploitative. (No ick-ish brain sautéeing, no faces removed from live heads… you don't even see how the murders happened.)

Michael Mann was in his full Miami Vice bloom, so there are bound-to-amuse 80s flourishes in the flick, but Mann's flair for composition and camera movement is undeniably great in any era. Love that flare effect in the pic above, and the pic below is gorgeous and evocative.



William Petersen is FBI Agent Will Graham, who's captured a few serial killers in his day, INCLUDING one Dr. Hannibal Lecter. His "immersive" detective techniques brings him to the edge of his sanity and apprehending Lecter in particular landed him in dire psychological straits. (Do you want to be in Lecter's brain?) As Manhunter begins, Will has quit the FBI and raising a family in Florida. But capturing the "Tooth Fairy," a family-murdering serial killer requires an agent of Will's skills. Will's compelled back into the game, mentally fragile as he is. So the chase begins, and director Mann and actor Petersen unveil the investigation with flair, dread (for both the danges posed by the Tooth Fairy and for the sanity of Will) and exhilarating intelligence. These agents are wicked smart, and seeing that displayed is way more fun than cutesy pirates fighting menacing squids, or whatever it is they do on those Pirates movies.




The portrayal of evil in the likes of Lecter and the Tooth Fairy also takes a novel approach. They never signal "bad guy over here!" machinations. Mann is able to make you certain these antagonists are horrid and trusts the viewers to come to that conclusion. (And I was glad to see this method revisited in the recent Zodiac.) Brian Cox plays Lecter and his three scenes, simply written, impart such deep evil. No ooga booga Claaarriiicceee hamming it up. Lecter doesn't even get a frightening lair. He's kept in an all-white glass cell, no frills and clinical. (This being Michael Mann and all, he set the Lecter prison in the actual Atlanta Museum of Modern Art, designed by architect Richard Meier.)






Something about Manhunter made me want to watch it over and over (it is pretty entertaining), and each viewing got me thinking, speculating, wondering how Michael Mann made such an awesome suspense/action movie with hardly any gore or stunt-filled action sequences. What I've called a show-not-tell directing style.

When a movie can give you this much, even though Mann & co was probably just aiming to make a nice piece of entertainment, it's a pretty neat magic trick, no?

Also, you'll never listen to Iron Butterfly's "In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida" the same way again. You'll always see this movie in your head.

"Do you believe in magic? Do you think small can be beautiful? Are you looking for a little film you can make your own, an enchanting, unpretentious blend of music and romance you can watch forever?"

You can't buy reviews like this. This is how Kenneth Turan of the Los Angeles Times describes a movie called Once. After all the bluster of the Spidey's and Pirates and ogres, was there really any movie to look forward this (American) box office summer? One that wasn't a sequel, maybe? (OK—maybe Bourne Ultimatum.)

But a little film I could love forever could end my movie-watching dilemma. I'm ready to be inspired! Once is set in Dublin, where Street Musician boy and Czech emigré girl, meet, bond over music, perhaps find love. "The formula is simple: two people, a few instruments, 88 minutes and not a single false note," the New York Times tells me.

And hey Street Musician boy is played by Glen Hansard, who I still remember from The Commitments. You're still cute, Outspan Foster!

Here's the trailer. More music, pics and info at here.




Coming soon (for reals): Why this boy is the Idol winner Simon is drooling to have in the American version of the show. (And no, not in a Ryan Seacrest way. Please.)

Ah, Adrien Brody with a cute dog. How can you lose? Certainly not Adrien. He won in 2003 for Best Actor in The Pianist, an upset win over FOUR previous Oscar winners (Jack Nicholson, Nicolas Cage, Michael Caine, Daniel Day Lewis). Adrien is also the youngest man to win Best Actor Oscar at age 29. (Previous record holder: Richard Dreyfuss for The Goodbye Girl.)  It was one of the better Oscar wins in the last few years (read: one of the wins details_later really liked). That was the also the year Martin Scorsese was supposed to get his (pity) Oscar for Gangs Of New York. But alas, another dramatic upset: Roman Polanski trumps Marty! Roman directed The Pianist.

I really feel for Martin Scorsese, even though I'm not his fan. So many people believe in his greatness and it must have been tough to see him lose. Well Marty fans, your agony is ovah! No more whining about the injustice, OK? He didn't deserve to lose back then, but he sorta didn't deserve to win now. It's kinda all balanced out.

Many of you may already know thefashpack is the best at getting you to uh… do her bidding. (We say this with great affection: "You failed me!") She requested my Oscar opinion in the comments section of the "Meet Me In Montauk" entry. I, of course, followed instructions despite it being 1 AM in the morning! So here goes…

The Departed—sigh… once again, I feel very Emperor-has-no-clothes about this movie. They saw fireworks in the acting, the script, the direction and in Jack and Leo. All I saw was dull, dull grey. I struggle with being honest with myself on whether it's my Infernal Affairs bias. The most striking thing about The Departed is the plot and all its surprises… and that goes solely to Infernal Affairs. So that already is a huge strike against Scorsese's movie. (And even that gets distorted: we're supposed to be following the fates of Matt and Leo, and all of a sudden it hinges on Jack? Who is a *BEEP! SPOILER* himself?)

So we are left with the acting. Who did great here? Mark Wahlberg and Alec Baldwin. And they played NOTHING roles. Leo was awesome? Yeah, he awesomely chewed the scenery. And Jack? Is a virus eating everything and everyone alive in this movie.

So Best Picture? Hell to the No! (tm Whitney Houston)

Martin Scorsese—A "sige na nga" Oscar for sure. Kawawa naman the other nominees when they saw Francis Coppola, George Lucas and Steven Spielberg presenting the award. They must thought the fix is in, for sure! And imagine if Marty lost again? Wow, egg on their face. And all over the Kodak theater!

But still, Martin's earned it, and I feel at peace him winning. (Because it's all up to me, di ba?)

Jennifer Hudson—Andre Leon Talley was supposedly responsible for her look on her Oscar night. Seriously, the silver shrug/bolero? Andre—what happened?! Jennifer looked good pa naman each and every step of the way during awards season. I like the silhouette of all her outfits though.

My lingering thought: Okay, so Jennifer had to change outfits to perform onstage. But she ended up wearing THREE outfits for the night. Girl, you don't have the right to skip out on watching who won Best Sound Editing (or any other award) to go backstage and dress up. You're still paying your dues. They made you sound great in the movie—show your darned appreciation while their 45 seconds in the limelight is happpening! Where would your performance be if your voice didn't sync with your lips onscreen? In No Oscar-land, most likely!

The ceremony—Didn't get to watch it through. Hoping to catch the Star Movies repeat so I'm not crushed from the volume of ads. Saw Daniel Craig. That was cool. Loved Robert Downey, Jr, Al Gore for being a sport (and having comedic timing!) and… that's all I have. Saw Michael Sheen on the red carpet. Did he do anything on stage? He played Tony Blair opposite Helen Mirren in The Queen. I love him. He's the next Who-To-Watch-Out-For. And I've called a few in my day, if I may so. (In my blog. So I guess that's OK. That's what blogs are there for.) He deserves to win an Oscar. And he probably will. (Take that, Kate Beckinsale!)

Best Dressed and Over-all-Put-Together: Kate Winslet. Just right. Everything.

Also approved Cate Blanchett, Penelope Cruz (you know how I feel about her, but she really did look Oscar-worthy. Ceremony lang, ha. Don't know about the statuette), Ryan Gosling, Nicole Kidman (very fashion-forward, editorial outfit).

Sorry (you looked bad in front of billions): Gwyneth Paltrow (shapeless mess). There were others, but luckily they won't get as much attention as Gwyneth!

I'm glad there's a Star Movies broadcast to enjoy. We've all survived the onslaught of REPETITIVE ads on RPN 9. Now that I've seen the ceremony…

Ellen de Generes as host. Pretty good going. She didn't hit out of the ballpark, but she did a lovely job. She weirdly stretched out her only bad joke in the monologue—the one about billions watching and being nervous. I don't know. But she can come back and host again.

I loved the Jack Black-Will Ferrell-John C. Reilly musical number. "I'm going to beat you down with my Nickelodeon Award!" was just AWESOME.

James McAvoy was the "cuting" who presented with Jessica Biel, thefashpack. Another one in my list of He's-Going-To-Be-A-Star/ Hit-The-Big-Time. Want more details? Now? Not later? Just ask Terrie. For reals.

The Parabola Shadow Dancers Whatever They're Called alternated between "Amazing!" and "Again?!"

OK, I want to hear your what you thought of the wins and the ceremony this year, a week late as it is. Especially from thefashpack and Terrie!

Next week's assignment: tentpoles.

And just for fun: I changed the little quotes on the right-hand side of the blog. Give me shoutout if you recognize any, or have any questions about them, or want to let me know what made you laugh!

Fancy the idea of a Jim Carrey love scene?

Yeah, it's either you're squicked (sooo likely) or you might a fancy a bit of it.

Terrie, Rachelle, Hazel and I watched The Number 23 last night. Rachelle squished her nose and sheepishly didn't like the movie, party-hearty Hazel snoozed (she didn't like the movie probably, nothing sheepish about sleeping through it!) and Terrie was sufficiently entertained.

As for me?

I thoroughly enjoyed Jim Carrey's shoulders, and they are more than lovely. Why hasn't he shown them off more? He's always wearing suits or winter clothes or something non-shouldery.

I am pro-Jim Carrey's shoulders. Totally.

More on this in a bit.

Really. No three-month wait. I'll try THREE HOURS.



Meanwhile, enjoy this pic of the Kooyong 2007 tennis tournament participants. I like this bunch of dudes. OK—I mostly like the dude fifth from left.


OK. I'm back. Like I promised!

The Number 23 is a Joel Schumacher movie. That alone should give you a tipoff. This will not be a milquetoast flick. (And normally that's a good thing.) But then Schumacher often doesn't know when to step on the brakes. His new movie has got a very intriguing premise (oooh, the number "23" disturbingly keeps showing up in the most significant times and places) with a potential conspiracy theory AND a murder mystery to boot. Jim Carrey in drama mode turns (most) people off, but I'll always give him a pass because of Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind. (And it's a pass that'll still never make me see The Grinch Who Stole Christmas or Ace Ventura movies.)

The movie could go either way. You may have patience and enjoy it, or think it's pretentious (see varying Terrie, Hazel, Rach reactions). The beginning is so tightly made it'll draw you in, no doubt. The ending gets a bit messy. I liked it enough for Jim Carrey's shoulders and  the affecting performances—Jim is heartbreaking, Virginia Madsen keeps you off-balance, Danny Huston is so good at being instantly slimy, in an enjoyable way, and the dog who played Ned The Dog is adorable.

Then there's the love scenes. Jim gets to be sexy (shoulders!) but Jim is polarizing enough to make you avoid this movie because of it. So… (shrug).

By the way, it is SO hard to find a decent pic of Jim Carrey in a nifty tee showing off the gorgeous shoulders. 15 pages of Google images didn't yield anything useful. This is your fault, Jim! It's either he's goofy, or he's bald… many other wrong things. So a standing O for the Details stylist who saw the light of Jim's shoulders. You have done a service to humankind! OK, maybe just to details_later.



Odds & Ends (or what you end up doing if you ignore your blog for too long)
• Music & Lyrics is a definite Run, Don't Walk. (That's the Karen system of movie rating.) Hugh Grant is effortlessly charming, and it's a quality that hasn't reached it's expiration date yet. And hear me, Kara, Sandy and Paula! Who's the one who pushed you to watch "Euro-pudding" movies like Champagne Charlie and Impromptu, starring the old Hughs-ter? (Oo na, they said.) The 80s jokes are hilarious.

• Roger Federer (figure out which one he is in the Kooyong pic) won the Australian Open last month. This year should be so exciting! I began Sort Of… But Not Really when Roger won the US Open. Some kind of extra wonderful: Roger is a GREAT dresser. Thank you Mirka!



• Robbie Williams needs to get centered. Like many brilliant guys, he seems to be on the edge one too many times. Get well, soon Rob. (BTW, it was his birthday February 12th.) I'd like to put a recent GENIUS (of course) quote by him as feather to this entry's cap.

"In the future, EVERYBODY will be anonymous for 15 minutes."

Amazing. Think about it.

Wow, people know about James Bond movies. A lot about James Bond movies. People look at me askance each time I mentioned some innocuous bit of movie trivia. You are such a freak. But when I would mention that I got to watch the Casino Royale Wednesday night screening of Star TV, right away the question is asked: What gadgets did he have in the movie!?

Why do they know? How come this is the first bit of info they ask about? Aren't they interested on how good the movie was?

And in Casino Royale, there aren't any gadgets that'll offer vertical liftoff getaway via jetpack, a pen that contains a poison dart (oooh) or a device to render your car invisible. The niftiest and awesomest gadget this movie offers is in the glove box of the agent's Aston Martin. Which I won't spoil. Maybe not so gee-whizy, but never has a gadget seemed more vital!

Which I guess is the real story behind Casino Royale. There are no gimmicky gadgets, no silly girl shrieking  "Oh James!" while the British agent does battle with nefarious henchmen (can you say Tanya Roberts in A View To A Kill?), no creaky villain wasting time jeering  at our disadvantaged hero (and giving time for the hero to find his way out. Of course).

Casino Royale makes its mark as a legit, viable and terrific action movie. 007 or no 007.

I have to disclose a bit of background here. I have never been interested in the Bond franchise. I have seen three: A View To A Kill (because Duran Duran sang the theme song! Hence the familiarity with the thespian stylings of Tanya Roberts), The Living Daylights and Licence To Kill (only because Timothy Dalton possesses the most buttery voice in the business. And I love his acting). I have also seen various bits of Bond (naughty!) from the previous 20 movies in the franchise because my dad is devoted to this series and watches his DVD's all the time.

Just goes to show you I'm bereft of cool cards in this area too. (And also because I use the term "hence" regularly.)

Adding Pierce Brosnan to the mix made me even less interested. The guy has no heft whatsoever. Pretty as he is, he's just so benign.

All of which goes to say, the casting of Daniel Craig as James Bond meant: Daniel Craig's big acting break has finally arrived!

Years ago, Yeyey Cruz and I caught him at a Euro-Manila Film Festival screening, in a movie called Hotel Splendide. We didn't choose to see this movie. We just decided to catch whatever movie was playing in the 5:30 PM slot. It's a very sexy movie about cuisine and bowels (I'm not kidding!). Daniel Craig plays an oppressed chef who comes to life when he falls in love with Toni Collette, left an indelible presence. Who was that guy? Where can I see more of him?

He's slowly made his way into the limelight since then (Splendide came out in 2000). People (ie., the universe) were worried how he would fare as the secret agent. Certain Pierce Brosnan fans started an infamous Internet campaign to ditch Craig. (And they're still at it, even though the movie has been released. Too late, kids.)

My own worry was that the Bond franchise wouldn't do justice TO Daniel Craig. He was so much better than that role signified. But hiring the blond actor, plus the promise of getting back to a more grounded-in-reality plot meant Casino Royale might not just be another blow 'em up Bond movie.

And it isn't. Casino Royale makes its mark as a legit, viable and terrific action movie.

And Daniel Craig is the central reason why. He brings the smarts, the guts, the sexiness and the pathos (ding ding!) to the movie.

He might be the best Bond ever, only because I believe Daniel Craig would reject any 007 script that called for cheezy winky-wink or evil villain out to rule! The! Universe! He'd keep franchise straight.

And I finally did get to see MORE of Daniel Craig. Need I mention a certain swimming trunks scene? Daniel though, really ROCKS the T-shirt. The man can wear T-shirts all the live long day, as far as I'm concerned.

A few weeks ago I was having a super late lunch (call time: 3PM!) with LA Consing Lopez. Things got super relaxed post-meal, we started admitting on what would take away our "cool cards"--the little quirks that would label us terminal (or at least, long-term) dorks if we declared them in public. We're not talking about "I don't like Tom Cruise" levels here. We're hardcore! Naturally, admitting them AGAIN here makes us fearless and/or does nothing to restore our coolness. (Hey LA! Population Dorkdom: One--only me. They won't be able to tell what is where, up or down, left or right!) 

"I really can't stand Cameron Diaz!"

"Almost Famous is kinda over-rated. So is Dead Poet's Society."

"I really love Rocky, and it totally deserves its Best Picture Oscar."

"I don't watch movies that have Christian Bale in them. He's a terrible actor."

Then it happened: I revealed what apparently is the TRUMP CARD of un-coolness. Beats all others, hands down.

"I can't stand Johnny Depp! I think he's a smug ass."

Hey, where'd you go?

This from a person who thinks phone-throwing Russell Crowe is a sweetheart! The Deppster has been eternally tainted with me since his days on the TV show 21 Jump Street, where he was a surly whiner despite being the star of the show that shot  him into the public consciousness. (And unleashing the icky Richard Grieco upon us because of it. Dear Johnny: Eeew! No thanks, Karen)

Ever since, I've never been able to buy  his I'm-cool-because-I'm-so-awesome-I-only-do-alternative-stuff-none-of-that-mainstream-shite persona. Whatever acting skills he possesses can't  overcome it.  Pirates Of The Carribean only compounded it.  Sure it was a Disney movie,  but his faux charm was just another form of smugness. Me no likey.

LA's jaw dropped to the ground upon my confession, and he's probably exhausted from dragging it off the floor since he hasn't raised it back up since.  No way--you can't NOT like Johnny Depp., he said. (Subtext: You can't NOT like Johnny Depp. It's like, not liking Christmas!)  Alas, I don't care about Johnny Depp the way some people don't care about some vegetable, or chopped liver. It's just not for me.


Consider this a refreshing sorbet after all that heavy Depp-ness. Seen here is Alessandro Nivola with Frances McDormand. Because I HAVE seen a few select Christian Bale movies, like Laurel Canyon. But only because Alessandro and Frances were in it. Especially because of Alessandro. Yummmm. 

A Word Of Thanks...
... goes to mrshobbes (go check her blog! She's in my Friends page) for being my very own Thom Filicia/Nate Berkus in renovating my very vanilla blog! This swanky new look--in fact this blog's very existence--is a testament to her blog passion (and how well she twisted my arm! Ha ha! She know's I'm joking!). Thanks so much!

mrshobbes,  otherwise known as Alexis Aldeguer, is leaving us at the ol' workplace. To say she will be sorely missed is a severe understatement. The fun won't be the same if you're not there, Lex. You were so patient with my snark! More than that, having Lex on the team was like the Hope Diamond--so valuable. You'll want her on your lifeboat. She had that joy d'viver.

Here's a little surprise for you, Lex!



Awww, Colin Firth and Kenneth Branagh in A Month In The Country, circa 1984. Or 85. Can't remember. So young, these are probably baby pictures! Consider this part, dessert!

 
I bet my photos aren't working again. Or is it? Is Andy Lau here?

Here it is upon us, the American version of Infernal Affairs called The Departed, directed by Martin Scorsese. When I first saw the Hong Kong version, it was so good it made talk a lot. (And I already talk plenty!) I just couldn't shut up what a great movie experience it was. Movie fanatic that I am, it is actually rare  for me to have an out-of-body, damn-this-is-a-good-movie sensation inside a theater, and this was one of them. I keep trying to re-live that experience each time I buy a movie ticket, but it doesn't happen as much as I want to. Even with movies with actors I deeply adore in it. Maybe for key moments in a story, but the all-the-way-through ones I can count on one hand.

Infernal Affairs is the story of  two moles, deep undercover (Andy is a mobster who's infiltrated the ranks of the cops, Tony Leung Cheu-Wai, a policeman taking on the Triads) for nearly 10 years. Tony understandably wants out, the ugliness of his task weighing heavily on his psyche. Andy wants to stay in--he's a smart cop who's life is coming together with a new promotion, new digs and he's newly engaged (to Sammi Cheng, so their chemistry is like gangbusters. Oops. Bad pun. Their chemistry feels genuine).  During a failed drug bust (truly one of the best action set-pieces EVER. The suspense won't let you breathe) it is apparent to both our protagonists' bosses (Eric Tsang, Anthony Wong) that a stooge is in their midst. Now Tony and Andy are tasked to smoke each other, and in a way, themselves, out.

In 90 minutes, Infernal Affairs plays out this story with depth, tackling identity and destiny with insight and  twists that punch you in the gut. It's a perfectly formed, almost geometric creation that wastes no energy, no moment. That this was done with a minumum of violence speaks to the movie's exquisite greatness. (Well, the psychiatrist played by that Kelly actress girl should've been played by someone else. Good thing her buzzkill wasn't enough to affect the movie.) A fandom was born: Andy and Tony gave such superb performances that I inhaled about 20 of their movies in the last two years.  Don't get me started on the sequels. Infernal Affairs III is a complicated puzzle, but boy did it pull out the rug from under me. I was gutted by its very last scene. Ouch.

It's no surprise then, the IA got picked by American producers for a big, splashy remake. Well, big and splashy it was. I was frightened when Martin Scorsese got the call to direct the movie. He is SO the opposite of perfectly formed, almost geometric. He's usually sprawling  and leisurely (that's not the word I'm looking for. But you get the drift).

True enough, The Departed is like a ginormous SUV  to Infernal Affairs'  sleek roadster. If you haven't seen the Hong Kong version, The Departed is actually quite enjoyable.  It was obviously made with care, the dialogue has lots of amusing moments, Leonardo Di Caprio (in the Tony Leung role) has finally returned to his lean, spare acting style (almost. There's a chewy  moment here and there) and and the always-premium Matt Damon (as Andy Lau), especially in the earlier part of the movie, shows the viewer (or just me) something he hasn't shown before: all-out charm. (Could his next movie be a cutesy rom-com? The adorable-ness would be off-the-charts.)

What's missing though, is the pathos (Karen's abused word of 2006) and desperation of Leo's and Matt's predicament. Instead, loads of movietime is spent on Jack Nicholson's gangster. Yeah, the evil behemoth that needed to be brought down and propel the movie forward, but the movie became all. About. That. He hijacks the story, and we learn over and over and over and over again that he is a Nasty Man. He's bad, okay?!!! Instead of confronting the crisis of redefining identity, it's how do we stop the heinous monster that is Jack?

Then there's the awkward plot development of the girl who comes between Leo and Matt (Vera Farmiga's is appealing, but her character makes me furrow my brow), the shocking violence, the two-hour-and-a-half running time (seriously!) and the very final frame of the movie. That gutted me with its LAME-O-SITY. Did the acclaimed Martin S really think that would great? Dude. No.



One thing that Matt and Leo have it better in The Departed? There's no way the two leads would ever sing the movie's theme song, like Tony and Andy did. I confess with no shame though, that the Infernal Affairs' theme is catchy as (eternal) hell.

I'm trying to figure out if my picture-posting abilities are up to snuff. Roger Federer's pic WAS supposed to be here on Entry #1, but he's hiding. Maybe Daniel on flickr should do the trick. Is he? Doing the trick?

Daniel Craig is James Bond, you know. The only other James Bond I've seen is Timothy Dalton. How cool am I? (Not very.) I've always found the James Bond movies so tedious. Bang, bang. Nudge, nudge. What ba is the pathos of the Transformers? as I queried once on another blog. It didn't help that Pierce Brosnan was cast as the most recent Fleming hero. I've never cared for him. (And I grew up in the Remington Steele era. The annoyance begins! Go Miles Murphy! Or Murphy Miles! You were loads cuter!) Pierce always seems so… benign . Plus, no substantial acting chops. He was OK, but that was it. OK.

As for Daniel, he's the opposite of benign. He exudes and expresses so much. I've been having a Daniel Craig month. First, the mini-series Sword Of Honour, from Evelyn Waugh's novel, then Archangel, from Robert Harris's novel. Blew my Hong Kong money buying British DVD's!

It helps that Martin Campbell and Michael Wilson, producer and director of Casino Royale respectively, promise a real plot, real PATHOS for James Bond this round. Daniel Craig is just the man for the job.

So, some people are named Geoffrey. Why do some people insist on pronouncing this as JOFF-rey? Where did they get that idea? If you're nickmaed Geoff, your name is Geoff (read: JEFF!). So the English are an eccentric bunch who have weird spellings that don't follow their phonetic appearance. The English are eccentric, full stop!

Worcestershire? WOOOS-tersheer.
Leicester Square? LESSS-ter Square.
Gaol? JAIL.
Sean? SHAWHN.
Geoffrey? JEFF-rey!

Capisce?

This came up because I finally have in my hands, Stephen (STEVEN! Yes, "ph" masquerades as "v." Eccentrics I tell you) Fry's new book The Ode Less Travelled: Unlocking The Poet Within. Stephen is a genius. I don't where else to go with that. Just kick ass smart in the loveliest, peachiest, creamiest sort of way.

It's time to take away my cool card, for two reasons: 1) My whininess on matters "Geoffrey" (Really, Karen. Does it matter?); 2) I am foisting upon you an excerpt from Stephen's (STEVEN!) new book. Honestly, it's renewed my will… to blog. Ha ha! Curmudgeon state hereby removed!

"Do you give up the Sunday kick-around because you'll never be Thierry Henry? Of course not. That would be pathologically vain. We don't stop talking about how the world might be better because we have no chance of making it to Prime Minister. We are all politicians. We are all artists. In an open society everything the mind and hands can achieve is our birthright. It is up to us to claim it.

And you know, you might be the real thing, or someone with the potential to give as much pleasure to others as you derive yourself. But how will you know if you don't try?

Yes, this journal began life with a different name. Was trying my darndest to remember this phrase (this is the right one) that I swore would be my famous last words. Jenny (of course!) came to my rescue.

Oh Jenny... I still see DeKalb and the Maynard building so vividly in my head. Including the rude Sabrett's cart person who was rude to you (and never approached in your honor!)

It's sweet (or hilarious) that people (I'm looking in the direction of mrshobbes) are eager to see me blog. I mean REALLY blog. I do have some blathering living somewhere in the Internet universe, but it's location is very near (non-)planet Pluto. Right by Neptune, in other words.

I should attempt a blog meant to be found on planet Earth. So welcome, kids!

I have recently been bothering mrshobbes about the Feder-Bear, Roger Federer's adorable Beanie Baby version of himself available for sale to aid UNICEF.

"You should blog about that!" (It was snarkily sweet and hilarious when she said it.)

As I am fond of following directions (but not really…), I happily share with you all that viewing the kee-yoot Feder-Bear can be done right here. It's for a kee-yoot cause too. And important.

Did I mention something about a high note?

Oh yeah, the Feder-Bear is all the more adorable because of Roger Federer, the world's number one tennis player and super awesome, even in the minds of the legends of the sport. In Jessica Zafra's column for The Philippine Star today, she describes in the creamiest, loveliest terms why this is so. For some tennis observers, Federer seems "cold, self-contained, lost in a world of mathematical probabilities (for what is tennis but calculus with a racquet?)." But Jessica, a longtime fan, counters:

"When Federer is on, he's inhuman. He routinely makes shots that defy physical laws…

We all want excitement in our lives… but we also need proof that we can be better than we've ever imagined. We need to remember that the sublime is possible. That it exists. That is why there is Roger Federer."

There you have it: a celestially talented person discussed in a blog that's finally on Earth.