Saturday, December 5, 2009
A Person Who has had Influence on my Life
There’s always a time in one’s life, when a hero comes along. Somebody who has inspired you, and helped you learn what life is about. I remember it as if it was yesterday, surprisingly, as my state of mind on that cold December night can be described only of numbness and confusion. It was around eight o’clock p.m. when my mother received a phone call from her brother-in-law, who told her that her sister had just recently been admitted into the hospital after experiencing difficulty breathing and chest pain. When my aunt was diagnosed with coronary artery disease, my family became worried. A physician had informed us that my aunt would need a Coronary Artery Bypass Grafting and she needed surgery immediately. While my aunt spent her time in the hospital with special care, my cousin Mark, who is mentally disabled, spent time with our family. Mark was seventeen at the time, two years older than I was, and had been born with severe mental disorders, which created a wide range of social and physical obstacles for him throughout every day life. He never had any true friends because no one could relate to him, and because he was so different from everyone else. I must admit that first I was filled with a great deal of uncertainty as to how much of a burden my cousin would bring on my family, and looking back it saddens me to see the ignorance I once displayed. I had passed judgement on him, and proceeded to assume that the time I was about to be forced to spend with him was bound to seem like an eternity. Over the two weeks that Mark lived with my family, I probably learned more about life and its meanings than I ever did before. Thinking back, I took everything in daily life for granted. I never even thought about being able to do things like walk, brush my teeth, or go to the bathroom on my own. Now I see how lucky I am to be able to do these things independently. Mark was seventeen, and learning on a nine-year-old level. Although his learning ability was exceptionally slower than most, he could still, like the rest of his classmates, learn. He showed an ambition to love life and now I have that feeling. Mark is my hero, for his disability, and my chance to have been able to live with him for two weeks, has forever changed my perspective on life. Situations such as this seem life threatening when you’re fifteen, and it’s amazing how in two years perspective on an event or time period can change so profoundly.
Friday, November 6, 2009
Some think religion is the most important matter for consideration (or the only one). Others believe that it wasteful to devote time to the study of what has proved to be an archaic and often destructive force in human society. I, personally, am not sure what I think. This series of essays is my attempt to clarify a little bit about the subject: what it is, how it affects people's lives, and ultimately whether it is true, and good, and useful, or not.
It is a guide for human interactions with technology and the material world. The world around us exists, but what is our relationship to it? When this question is not asked, we naturally tend to pursue whatever seems pleasurable. The problem is not only that such a framework makes us dependent upon the constant flow of pleasure, but that it masks our long-term interests to accommodate our short-term interests. Religion's purpose is to ask this critical metaphysical question, and solves both problems with a focus on one's duties and on righteousness rather than on pleasure. As such, it can be described as the antithesis of hedonism.
But what really is religion? Some would say that our distant ancestors invented it as a way to explain the strange and mysterious world around them, and we are simply heirs to the diverse mass of mutually contradictory beliefs that have been invented, rejected, and revised by thousands of subsequent generations.
Others say that religion is simply truth that cannot be perceived by ordinary senses. At some point in history, the Supreme Being (God, for convenience, though different religions hold many conflicting ideas about the name and nature and even the existence of this entity) chose to reveal the secrets of the universe and human destiny to one particular group of people, or a prophet, or some otherwise limited initial group. (Most religions of this sort, of course, believe that their religion is true for all people, but since a multitude of different beliefs exist elsewhere they must come up with reasons for why other people believe differently).
There are many variations on this theme: many groups claim that only their exact teachings please God, and everyone else, including ones with very similar beliefs (to outsiders, at least) is wrong. Others say that God revealed himself in different ways to different people, so that although the trappings of the religion of, say, a Hindu, a Catholic, and a Sunni Muslim might differ, at heart they are all about the same thing - though, here again, opinions differ on what that thing might be.
Then there are those who may espouse a human origin for religion and yet believe that it has captured something timeless, some great truth that is worthy of preserving in spite of the "obviously" mythical trappings that grew up around these teachings. Thou shalt not kill. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. Similar injunctions and admonitions are found in most, though perhaps not all, religions.
The presence of a large number of qualifying statements in the above few paragraphs highlights one of the greatest difficulties in talking about, let alone understanding, religion: everyone has a different take on it. Everyone also has a different opinion on the validity of everyone else's opinion. And since many people believe quite strongly that they are speaking for and about the highest source of wisdom possibly, it is little wonder that tensions are high when religious differences are dealt with.
Why religion, which universally claims to be the source of the highest morality and most admirable human behaviour, produces suicide bombers who kill thousands in a single stroke, and groups which claim the will of God for why they kill or allow to be killed hundreds of thousands of other people - from starvation due to the politics of a national theocracy, or from denial of critical foods or medical treatments on religious grounds, or from holy wars with unbelievers, and many other reasons - and still more groups who break the spirit, and perhaps even will to live, of their followers with oppressive rules and regulations, all in the name of eternal truth and happiness!
It is a guide for human interactions with technology and the material world. The world around us exists, but what is our relationship to it? When this question is not asked, we naturally tend to pursue whatever seems pleasurable. The problem is not only that such a framework makes us dependent upon the constant flow of pleasure, but that it masks our long-term interests to accommodate our short-term interests. Religion's purpose is to ask this critical metaphysical question, and solves both problems with a focus on one's duties and on righteousness rather than on pleasure. As such, it can be described as the antithesis of hedonism.
But what really is religion? Some would say that our distant ancestors invented it as a way to explain the strange and mysterious world around them, and we are simply heirs to the diverse mass of mutually contradictory beliefs that have been invented, rejected, and revised by thousands of subsequent generations.
Others say that religion is simply truth that cannot be perceived by ordinary senses. At some point in history, the Supreme Being (God, for convenience, though different religions hold many conflicting ideas about the name and nature and even the existence of this entity) chose to reveal the secrets of the universe and human destiny to one particular group of people, or a prophet, or some otherwise limited initial group. (Most religions of this sort, of course, believe that their religion is true for all people, but since a multitude of different beliefs exist elsewhere they must come up with reasons for why other people believe differently).
There are many variations on this theme: many groups claim that only their exact teachings please God, and everyone else, including ones with very similar beliefs (to outsiders, at least) is wrong. Others say that God revealed himself in different ways to different people, so that although the trappings of the religion of, say, a Hindu, a Catholic, and a Sunni Muslim might differ, at heart they are all about the same thing - though, here again, opinions differ on what that thing might be.
Then there are those who may espouse a human origin for religion and yet believe that it has captured something timeless, some great truth that is worthy of preserving in spite of the "obviously" mythical trappings that grew up around these teachings. Thou shalt not kill. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. Similar injunctions and admonitions are found in most, though perhaps not all, religions.
The presence of a large number of qualifying statements in the above few paragraphs highlights one of the greatest difficulties in talking about, let alone understanding, religion: everyone has a different take on it. Everyone also has a different opinion on the validity of everyone else's opinion. And since many people believe quite strongly that they are speaking for and about the highest source of wisdom possibly, it is little wonder that tensions are high when religious differences are dealt with.
Why religion, which universally claims to be the source of the highest morality and most admirable human behaviour, produces suicide bombers who kill thousands in a single stroke, and groups which claim the will of God for why they kill or allow to be killed hundreds of thousands of other people - from starvation due to the politics of a national theocracy, or from denial of critical foods or medical treatments on religious grounds, or from holy wars with unbelievers, and many other reasons - and still more groups who break the spirit, and perhaps even will to live, of their followers with oppressive rules and regulations, all in the name of eternal truth and happiness!
Sunday, November 1, 2009
diwali homework
The world of Nagesh Kukunoor's latest film is a mellow one of basic and valuable emotions. This isn't the first film where the director has dealt with the ambiguous world of adolescent dreams. Unlike Kukunoor's "Rockford", "Iqbal" rocks to a rustic and heartfelt raga-rhythm.The locationis in a small Muslim village.
Though the music (Salim-Suleiman) and songs (Sukwinder Singh) tend to hammer in the message a trifle too insistently, this is a world where heart and head could easily exchange places. Kukunoor's control over the emotional quotient ensures that Iqbal Khan's struggle to realise his dream doesn't get too maudlin. Each time Iqbal spins that ball across the dusty field, the screen lights up like the sun glimmering in a glorious giggle from behind surly clouds.And yet a lot of brains has gone behind those spinning balls. Consciously or otherwise, Kukunoor has torn leaves out of Ashutosh Gowariker's "Lagaan" and Sanjay Leela Bhansali's "Black" to create a quaint and compelling nugget on the triumph of the human spirit.Wisely, Kukunoor doesn't allow Iqbal's journey from bucolic anonymity to national-level recogntion to be heavy handed or overstated. Often, the narration is so light to the touch, you tend to mistake the airiness for shallowness. To compound the sense of an extra-blithe soufflé, there are characters who appear to be straight out of a guidebook on symmetrically articulate cinema. Iqbal's doting mother (Prateeksha Londkar), his forbidding cynical father (Yatin Karyekar) and his precocious and supportive sister (Shweta Prasad) and, most of all, the burnt-out alcoholic coach (Naseer) redeeming himself by taking on the corrupt system to get his protégé to be successful... these are characters we've encountered before, in movies from "Rocky" to "Chariots Of Fire", and from "Naache Mayuri" to "Black".It's in the way that Kukunoor criss-crosses, mixes-and-matches characters and attitudes that the storytelling shines beyond the realm of the familiar. If Iqbal's rapport with his coach is devoid of surprising moments, it's also heart warming enough to make you forget its lack of newness.The glow of lived-in emotions springs up on you like a summer breeze caressing your face just long enough to make you count your blessings for the gift of life."Iqbal" is a very gentle fable of valiant and non-violent aspirations told through a lyrical labyrinth of clichéd, but nonetheless charming characters. The wheeling dealing sports coach, played by Girish Karnad, or the unctuous sports manager, who swoops down on the new bright hope on the cricket field, are all characters we've met on several occasions in various arresting and subverted avatars. Kukunoor gives a special twist and a turn to these simply imagined people. Destiny, fortitude and diligence aren't treated as lofty concepts, but offshoots of destiny, better left unruffled rather than subjected to serious tampering.Substance doesn't sit uneasily over "Iqbal". It's a derivative influence implanted on the radically uncomplicated narration by the director's deft, if somewhat over-simplified, vision.The performances infuse a supple vigour to the fragile tale. Shreyas Talpade is more than adequate as the unspoken and yet highly expressive protagonist. But Shweta Prasad, who plays Iqbal's doting kid sister, steals every scene from Talpade. Her precocity and wisdom are put to specially telling use in her sparring scenes with Naseer.Naseer is, in fact, the life and breath of "Iqbal", never mind if the breath of his character is intoxicated! Through the alcoholic fumes his persona emerges as yet another character of true worth, frail and yet triumphant. He's specially remarkable in his moments with little Shweta and the sequence where Iqbal's mother warns him she'll personally kill him if her son fails to realise his dream. ("The women of this family seem to be exceptionally dangerous," Naseer cocks an eyebrow).Finally though, the lightness of the material, and the luminous light that the narration casts across the frames are leitmotifs energising the film's emotions only to the point where the characters appear to glow with reasonable flow of light. There are no outbursts of inventive energy to irrigate the theme beyond a point.And we look at Iqbal as a child of a lesser god with the mind of a genius and the destiny of a winner. The winning streak underpins some of the weaker moments in "Iqbal" (like that longish sequence in the darkened courtyard where the "evil scheming" coach Girish Karnad tries to buy off "innocent dreamer" Iqbal's conscience). You can't come away from this big-little film without cheering for its twin heroes... the physically challenged 18-year old Iqbal and his washed-out inebriated coach whose twinkling eyes and inbuilt sense of humour carry forward the tale from its deliberately frail beginnings to a rousing finale.Iqbal qualifies as a must-see effort, not so much for its virtuosity as its artlessness of vision. No one here tells a lie. Not the storytellers, not his creations.
Though the music (Salim-Suleiman) and songs (Sukwinder Singh) tend to hammer in the message a trifle too insistently, this is a world where heart and head could easily exchange places. Kukunoor's control over the emotional quotient ensures that Iqbal Khan's struggle to realise his dream doesn't get too maudlin. Each time Iqbal spins that ball across the dusty field, the screen lights up like the sun glimmering in a glorious giggle from behind surly clouds.And yet a lot of brains has gone behind those spinning balls. Consciously or otherwise, Kukunoor has torn leaves out of Ashutosh Gowariker's "Lagaan" and Sanjay Leela Bhansali's "Black" to create a quaint and compelling nugget on the triumph of the human spirit.Wisely, Kukunoor doesn't allow Iqbal's journey from bucolic anonymity to national-level recogntion to be heavy handed or overstated. Often, the narration is so light to the touch, you tend to mistake the airiness for shallowness. To compound the sense of an extra-blithe soufflé, there are characters who appear to be straight out of a guidebook on symmetrically articulate cinema. Iqbal's doting mother (Prateeksha Londkar), his forbidding cynical father (Yatin Karyekar) and his precocious and supportive sister (Shweta Prasad) and, most of all, the burnt-out alcoholic coach (Naseer) redeeming himself by taking on the corrupt system to get his protégé to be successful... these are characters we've encountered before, in movies from "Rocky" to "Chariots Of Fire", and from "Naache Mayuri" to "Black".It's in the way that Kukunoor criss-crosses, mixes-and-matches characters and attitudes that the storytelling shines beyond the realm of the familiar. If Iqbal's rapport with his coach is devoid of surprising moments, it's also heart warming enough to make you forget its lack of newness.The glow of lived-in emotions springs up on you like a summer breeze caressing your face just long enough to make you count your blessings for the gift of life."Iqbal" is a very gentle fable of valiant and non-violent aspirations told through a lyrical labyrinth of clichéd, but nonetheless charming characters. The wheeling dealing sports coach, played by Girish Karnad, or the unctuous sports manager, who swoops down on the new bright hope on the cricket field, are all characters we've met on several occasions in various arresting and subverted avatars. Kukunoor gives a special twist and a turn to these simply imagined people. Destiny, fortitude and diligence aren't treated as lofty concepts, but offshoots of destiny, better left unruffled rather than subjected to serious tampering.Substance doesn't sit uneasily over "Iqbal". It's a derivative influence implanted on the radically uncomplicated narration by the director's deft, if somewhat over-simplified, vision.The performances infuse a supple vigour to the fragile tale. Shreyas Talpade is more than adequate as the unspoken and yet highly expressive protagonist. But Shweta Prasad, who plays Iqbal's doting kid sister, steals every scene from Talpade. Her precocity and wisdom are put to specially telling use in her sparring scenes with Naseer.Naseer is, in fact, the life and breath of "Iqbal", never mind if the breath of his character is intoxicated! Through the alcoholic fumes his persona emerges as yet another character of true worth, frail and yet triumphant. He's specially remarkable in his moments with little Shweta and the sequence where Iqbal's mother warns him she'll personally kill him if her son fails to realise his dream. ("The women of this family seem to be exceptionally dangerous," Naseer cocks an eyebrow).Finally though, the lightness of the material, and the luminous light that the narration casts across the frames are leitmotifs energising the film's emotions only to the point where the characters appear to glow with reasonable flow of light. There are no outbursts of inventive energy to irrigate the theme beyond a point.And we look at Iqbal as a child of a lesser god with the mind of a genius and the destiny of a winner. The winning streak underpins some of the weaker moments in "Iqbal" (like that longish sequence in the darkened courtyard where the "evil scheming" coach Girish Karnad tries to buy off "innocent dreamer" Iqbal's conscience). You can't come away from this big-little film without cheering for its twin heroes... the physically challenged 18-year old Iqbal and his washed-out inebriated coach whose twinkling eyes and inbuilt sense of humour carry forward the tale from its deliberately frail beginnings to a rousing finale.Iqbal qualifies as a must-see effort, not so much for its virtuosity as its artlessness of vision. No one here tells a lie. Not the storytellers, not his creations.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
3 things i discovered about myself
Initially, in the ICSE the standard way of thinking had bound my ways of thinking in Visual Arts, while in the IB it was completely different. Including Literature, it was so different study pieces of work and then learn to interpret it through the eye of the reader. the Third thing that i discovered was how doing community service brought me the satisfaction which i never felt before.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
the only thing we learn from history is that we learn nothing from from history
History repeats itself, I was told in a high school history class. History repeats itself and we have to learn from the mistakes already make so that we don’t make the same mistakes again. This was the reason we had to learn history. If you don’t learn about what happened before, you are doomed to do the same stupid things over and over again. A fool is someone who does the same thing over and over again expecting different results each time.
The problem is that history keeps repeating itself no matter how many history classes are taught in High School and College. People continue to make the same mistakes over and over again, as if they are doomed to repeat them and never learn any lesson. Why don’t we learn from history and improve on the future instead of making the same mistakes over and over again?
When we look at history, what do we see? Do we see a string of mistakes that need correcting in the future? Or do we see a string of successes that have contributed to the progress in technological and human innovation?
In my mind it is the latter, we see the good things that have happened to bring us to the current point in time. We see all the wonderful things that have expanded the human lifespan, grew our food supply to sustain such a big population, and gave all the amenities that the kings of old would look on in envy. We don’t see all the so called mistakes that we are supposed to learn from, because all the good things that have happened have over powered the little mistakes that we have made along the way.
In fact, I would go so far as to say that the little mistakes are an inevitable part of humanity striving to better its condition. If allowed freedom of action, freedom to pursue its happiness, humanity will undoubtedly make mistakes along the way. Even in a controlled environment, it is impossible to calculate all the variables necessary to rule out all “bad” consequences of actions that bring about progress.
The history professors of the world would have you believe that learning about mistakes will prevent their repetition. People will get wiser from the knowledge they have gained by learning the stories of the past. In truth, this is not the case at all; people make the same mistakes over and over again for one simple reason: these same mistakes lead to good things for humanity in the long run. After so many years of death and destruction, war still exists and is a thriving industry. Even after looking at all the miserable people taking drugs, people continue to indulge. Staying up all night, a person vowed never to do such a thing again, yet the next time he does it anyway. The list is endless; there are so many follies that people have done and continue to do. Even knowing all the lessons of history, people still say, “the ends justify the means” and “you have to break a few eggs to get an omelet.”
Humanity is a risk taking species. While some individuals would like to hide from risks; as a community, people like taking risks. Corporations were developed with the goal of taking on risks to get large rewards. Countries were developed to pool the risk over large amounts of people for protection and war. However, there are always two sides to risk. There is the possible loss as well as the possible gain. When you spread the risk over many people the perceived gains always override the possible losses. So long as humanity remains humanity, history will continue to repeat itself. People will continue to make the same mistakes over and over again. In the risky roll of the dice you don’t always win. In the end though, it’s all worth it. Look how far we have come.
The problem is that history keeps repeating itself no matter how many history classes are taught in High School and College. People continue to make the same mistakes over and over again, as if they are doomed to repeat them and never learn any lesson. Why don’t we learn from history and improve on the future instead of making the same mistakes over and over again?
When we look at history, what do we see? Do we see a string of mistakes that need correcting in the future? Or do we see a string of successes that have contributed to the progress in technological and human innovation?
In my mind it is the latter, we see the good things that have happened to bring us to the current point in time. We see all the wonderful things that have expanded the human lifespan, grew our food supply to sustain such a big population, and gave all the amenities that the kings of old would look on in envy. We don’t see all the so called mistakes that we are supposed to learn from, because all the good things that have happened have over powered the little mistakes that we have made along the way.
In fact, I would go so far as to say that the little mistakes are an inevitable part of humanity striving to better its condition. If allowed freedom of action, freedom to pursue its happiness, humanity will undoubtedly make mistakes along the way. Even in a controlled environment, it is impossible to calculate all the variables necessary to rule out all “bad” consequences of actions that bring about progress.
The history professors of the world would have you believe that learning about mistakes will prevent their repetition. People will get wiser from the knowledge they have gained by learning the stories of the past. In truth, this is not the case at all; people make the same mistakes over and over again for one simple reason: these same mistakes lead to good things for humanity in the long run. After so many years of death and destruction, war still exists and is a thriving industry. Even after looking at all the miserable people taking drugs, people continue to indulge. Staying up all night, a person vowed never to do such a thing again, yet the next time he does it anyway. The list is endless; there are so many follies that people have done and continue to do. Even knowing all the lessons of history, people still say, “the ends justify the means” and “you have to break a few eggs to get an omelet.”
Humanity is a risk taking species. While some individuals would like to hide from risks; as a community, people like taking risks. Corporations were developed with the goal of taking on risks to get large rewards. Countries were developed to pool the risk over large amounts of people for protection and war. However, there are always two sides to risk. There is the possible loss as well as the possible gain. When you spread the risk over many people the perceived gains always override the possible losses. So long as humanity remains humanity, history will continue to repeat itself. People will continue to make the same mistakes over and over again. In the risky roll of the dice you don’t always win. In the end though, it’s all worth it. Look how far we have come.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
bride wars
“Bridezilla” is a modern term for a woman who behaves in part like a bride, in part like a giant, fire-breathing lizard, in the time spanning from the moment she becomes engaged until the moment honeymoon is over. Nerves frayed beyond repair, spread too thin between work, family, romance, and planning what is supposed to be the single most perfect night of her (or maybe his?) entire life, the “Bridezilla” might kill you if you get in it’s way. It will definitely scream at you.
You know that the “Bridezilla” phenomenon has made it big because there are several reality television shows using it as a basic premise. In shows that follow some of these power-drunk, over-privileged brides-to-be raising holy hell, we learn that being a “Bridezilla” is not only to be expected, but is actually quite culturally acceptable. The way I understand it, it’s like being temporarily insane.
Admittedly, it is fun to see these girls go wild and act the fool on their special days, but Gary Winnick’s Bride Wars sucks the fun out of this trashy guilty pleasure. Here the director lights up the concept with big, splashy stars and the results are far from pretty. The 90 minutes that follow pressing “play” are filled with purely heterosexist wedding-torture porn.
Set to an insipid song score, Bride Wars begins with a montage of best friends dreaming about get married. According to the invisible narrator (Bergen), two mothers, many years ago, brought their daughters, Liv (Kate Hudson) and Emma (Anne Hathaway), to the mythical Plaza Hotel. On this fateful afternoon, a fairytale wedding was taking place and it would forever alter everyone’s lives. To be married, more specifically, to be married at the Plaza became their modus operandi.
.
The little girls grow up to be best friends as adults (gag). Emma and Liv offer up bitchy criticisms at a friend’s wedding shindig, comparing their fantasy to their friends’ perfectly fine affair. But as soon as a bouquet is thrown in the air, they both go completely mental. It just so happens, they both have “perfect” relationships and are about to get engaged at the same time and they both need that bouquet.
Through a convoluted plot device, their mutual wedding planner accidentally books their weddings on the same day, in the same venue. Predictably, all hell breaks loose. War is declared between the ladies and alleged hilarity ensues as they back-stab, talk trash about each other’s bodies, and even engage in a little good old-fashioned cat-fighting, complete with dresses being ripped to shreds. Alexis and Krystle did it much better on Dynasty about 30 years ago, though, and they were not even half as self-serious as Hathaway and Hudson seem hell-bent on being.
Bride Wars amounts to nothing more than artless trash aimed at reaching out to little girls with disposable incomes. Just in case your 15-year-old wasn’t already Tiffany-and-Vera-Wang-obsessed, this film ought to set them straight.
“I’m gonna kill myself,” Hudson says when she thinks she isn’t getting proposed to. Weddings apparently bring out the worst in these gals. “Be careful about any pre-wedding weight gain,” a sales girl says to Liv, who in turn moans to her fiancée: “You don’t alter a Vera to fit you; you alter yourself to fit Vera. What do boys learn in school?”
Clearly, according to Liv, if you aren’t thin or pretty, you can’t wear a designer wedding dress and might not even get married at all. In fact, according to this film, you just don’t (or shouldn’t) exist.
The butt-kissing documentary feature included in the extras gives a perfunctory lecture on the cult of Wang and her reputed “level of taste” couldn’t be any worse. In fact, the only thing it could explain is the use of clothing in exchange for product placement. If Wang’s designs are indeed the barometer of fine taste they are decreed to be, then forcibly inserting them into a farce such as this will no doubt tarnish her legend.
Speaking of tarnishing one’s legend, it’s fairly amazing that Hathaway can go from bordering on brilliance in Jonathan Demme’s Rachel Getting Married (which netted her an Oscar nomination for Best Actress this year, plus a slew of critic’s prizes) to something as pointless as this lifeless portrait of Emma. A supposed “mousy” brunette, she is, of course, a schoolteacher, and doe-eyed and likable. Balancing art with commerce is not an enviable task, and it is one concept that few new millennium starlets seem to grasp.
Hathaway has managed to hold her head high all the way to the box office since the beginning of her career with The Princess Diaries and even recently opposite
Meryl Streep
in the similarly-schilling, aimed-at-girls
The Devil Wears Prada
. A supporting turn in Ang Lee’s Brokeback Mountain showed her versatility and hinted at an emotional maturity that was only recently, fully tapped into in Demme’s underrated movie . Her next role is rumored to be a doozy:
Judy Garland
. Fingers crossed that she at least tries to stay out of the wedding milieu for a bit.
There is always a feeling of “been-there-done-that” when it comes to Hudson’s performances. Though she seems perfectly likable in real life, and a smart, capable businesswoman much in the mold of her mother Goldie Hawn, Hudson, in truth, has very little dramatic or comedic range; making everything she does feel exactly the same. She’s typecast even more than her mother was in her heyday, but Hawn stretched more, connected more, and maximized her charms in a way that Hudson has yet to master.
As Liv, a brilliant, aggressive lawyer (!), the actress is alternately flat, smug, and screechy (“I’m engaged” she shrieks to strangers at a decibel that could alarm the neighborhood dogs). It’s an amateurish turn that feels like a little girl playing dress up, a performance that almost rivals her pitiable, unintentionally funny turn in the misguided supernatural clunker The Skeleton Key.
She can’t, for one second, summon up any even remotely believable, authentic moments. It’s a truly embarrassing performance in every sense. The thing is, Hudson, much like Hathaway, keeps making these bird-brained crowd-pleasers, which means she can open a movie, and since money talks, expect to see a lot more of her bubble-headed antics in stupid movies like this. Sub-par products that virtually define the terms “vanity project” and “star vehicle”.
The result of all of these foul elements is basically the antithesis of everything the film is supposed to be: charming, funny, touching. It borders on petulant and indulgent in its worst moments, with characters existing inside a vacuum-sealed pretend word where apparently no oxygen gets to their brains. “She will be the most nightmarish bride, ever,” cracks a girlfriend. And she’s right on the money.
Bride Wars wants to be Sex in the City Jr., with influences on fashion and a big chunk of box office, but nothing in this film has any edge whatsoever: the music, the clothes, the dialogue, everything is dull. When was the last time you heard “Pump up the Jam” at a hot club in New York City?
The stale, non-descript music and pop culture references are excruciating to sit through (American Idol jokes?). Worst of all, the drama is boring and unbelievable, while the comedy has the polar opposite of its presumed intentions (another recycling of the fey, energetic dance instructor? Ugh.) The whole affair is depressing and bitter.
The aggression
leads, predictably, to a wedding day battle royale, just when you think it couldn’t get any worse. Then, to wrap it up quickly after a masturbatory finale in which the brides wind up writing around on display on top of each other, there is another insipid montage, a quick sing-a-long, and then some more corny narration.
Bride Wars showcases some of the worst behavior from the most over-privileged snots. What it is teaching (indoctrinating?) the young female viewership is that getting married is paramount, screwing over your best friend is okay if it is for your wedding, and that, ultimately, that the four “C”s – cut, clarity, color, and carat, are the most important thing of all. Aside from impossible fairytale romances and ceremonies that cost hundreds of thousands of dollars. You know what this movie will make you want to do? Elope.
The epilogue suggests we haven’t seen the last of these nitwits and that a sequel might have been in the works before the film mercifully tanked at the box office, tossed into the January market like cheap Christmas trash. Thankfully, we will all now be spared the horror show of these two characters giving birth onscreen. They would most certainly be spawning a generation of future “Bridezillas”. I say let’s end this cycle of violence now before we’re overrun with millions of screaming, fire-breathing little “Bridezillas”.
You know that the “Bridezilla” phenomenon has made it big because there are several reality television shows using it as a basic premise. In shows that follow some of these power-drunk, over-privileged brides-to-be raising holy hell, we learn that being a “Bridezilla” is not only to be expected, but is actually quite culturally acceptable. The way I understand it, it’s like being temporarily insane.
Admittedly, it is fun to see these girls go wild and act the fool on their special days, but Gary Winnick’s Bride Wars sucks the fun out of this trashy guilty pleasure. Here the director lights up the concept with big, splashy stars and the results are far from pretty. The 90 minutes that follow pressing “play” are filled with purely heterosexist wedding-torture porn.
Set to an insipid song score, Bride Wars begins with a montage of best friends dreaming about get married. According to the invisible narrator (Bergen), two mothers, many years ago, brought their daughters, Liv (Kate Hudson) and Emma (Anne Hathaway), to the mythical Plaza Hotel. On this fateful afternoon, a fairytale wedding was taking place and it would forever alter everyone’s lives. To be married, more specifically, to be married at the Plaza became their modus operandi.
.
The little girls grow up to be best friends as adults (gag). Emma and Liv offer up bitchy criticisms at a friend’s wedding shindig, comparing their fantasy to their friends’ perfectly fine affair. But as soon as a bouquet is thrown in the air, they both go completely mental. It just so happens, they both have “perfect” relationships and are about to get engaged at the same time and they both need that bouquet.
Through a convoluted plot device, their mutual wedding planner accidentally books their weddings on the same day, in the same venue. Predictably, all hell breaks loose. War is declared between the ladies and alleged hilarity ensues as they back-stab, talk trash about each other’s bodies, and even engage in a little good old-fashioned cat-fighting, complete with dresses being ripped to shreds. Alexis and Krystle did it much better on Dynasty about 30 years ago, though, and they were not even half as self-serious as Hathaway and Hudson seem hell-bent on being.
Bride Wars amounts to nothing more than artless trash aimed at reaching out to little girls with disposable incomes. Just in case your 15-year-old wasn’t already Tiffany-and-Vera-Wang-obsessed, this film ought to set them straight.
“I’m gonna kill myself,” Hudson says when she thinks she isn’t getting proposed to. Weddings apparently bring out the worst in these gals. “Be careful about any pre-wedding weight gain,” a sales girl says to Liv, who in turn moans to her fiancée: “You don’t alter a Vera to fit you; you alter yourself to fit Vera. What do boys learn in school?”
Clearly, according to Liv, if you aren’t thin or pretty, you can’t wear a designer wedding dress and might not even get married at all. In fact, according to this film, you just don’t (or shouldn’t) exist.
The butt-kissing documentary feature included in the extras gives a perfunctory lecture on the cult of Wang and her reputed “level of taste” couldn’t be any worse. In fact, the only thing it could explain is the use of clothing in exchange for product placement. If Wang’s designs are indeed the barometer of fine taste they are decreed to be, then forcibly inserting them into a farce such as this will no doubt tarnish her legend.
Speaking of tarnishing one’s legend, it’s fairly amazing that Hathaway can go from bordering on brilliance in Jonathan Demme’s Rachel Getting Married (which netted her an Oscar nomination for Best Actress this year, plus a slew of critic’s prizes) to something as pointless as this lifeless portrait of Emma. A supposed “mousy” brunette, she is, of course, a schoolteacher, and doe-eyed and likable. Balancing art with commerce is not an enviable task, and it is one concept that few new millennium starlets seem to grasp.
Hathaway has managed to hold her head high all the way to the box office since the beginning of her career with The Princess Diaries and even recently opposite
Meryl Streep
in the similarly-schilling, aimed-at-girls
The Devil Wears Prada
. A supporting turn in Ang Lee’s Brokeback Mountain showed her versatility and hinted at an emotional maturity that was only recently, fully tapped into in Demme’s underrated movie . Her next role is rumored to be a doozy:
Judy Garland
. Fingers crossed that she at least tries to stay out of the wedding milieu for a bit.
There is always a feeling of “been-there-done-that” when it comes to Hudson’s performances. Though she seems perfectly likable in real life, and a smart, capable businesswoman much in the mold of her mother Goldie Hawn, Hudson, in truth, has very little dramatic or comedic range; making everything she does feel exactly the same. She’s typecast even more than her mother was in her heyday, but Hawn stretched more, connected more, and maximized her charms in a way that Hudson has yet to master.
As Liv, a brilliant, aggressive lawyer (!), the actress is alternately flat, smug, and screechy (“I’m engaged” she shrieks to strangers at a decibel that could alarm the neighborhood dogs). It’s an amateurish turn that feels like a little girl playing dress up, a performance that almost rivals her pitiable, unintentionally funny turn in the misguided supernatural clunker The Skeleton Key.
She can’t, for one second, summon up any even remotely believable, authentic moments. It’s a truly embarrassing performance in every sense. The thing is, Hudson, much like Hathaway, keeps making these bird-brained crowd-pleasers, which means she can open a movie, and since money talks, expect to see a lot more of her bubble-headed antics in stupid movies like this. Sub-par products that virtually define the terms “vanity project” and “star vehicle”.
The result of all of these foul elements is basically the antithesis of everything the film is supposed to be: charming, funny, touching. It borders on petulant and indulgent in its worst moments, with characters existing inside a vacuum-sealed pretend word where apparently no oxygen gets to their brains. “She will be the most nightmarish bride, ever,” cracks a girlfriend. And she’s right on the money.
Bride Wars wants to be Sex in the City Jr., with influences on fashion and a big chunk of box office, but nothing in this film has any edge whatsoever: the music, the clothes, the dialogue, everything is dull. When was the last time you heard “Pump up the Jam” at a hot club in New York City?
The stale, non-descript music and pop culture references are excruciating to sit through (American Idol jokes?). Worst of all, the drama is boring and unbelievable, while the comedy has the polar opposite of its presumed intentions (another recycling of the fey, energetic dance instructor? Ugh.) The whole affair is depressing and bitter.
The aggression
leads, predictably, to a wedding day battle royale, just when you think it couldn’t get any worse. Then, to wrap it up quickly after a masturbatory finale in which the brides wind up writing around on display on top of each other, there is another insipid montage, a quick sing-a-long, and then some more corny narration.
Bride Wars showcases some of the worst behavior from the most over-privileged snots. What it is teaching (indoctrinating?) the young female viewership is that getting married is paramount, screwing over your best friend is okay if it is for your wedding, and that, ultimately, that the four “C”s – cut, clarity, color, and carat, are the most important thing of all. Aside from impossible fairytale romances and ceremonies that cost hundreds of thousands of dollars. You know what this movie will make you want to do? Elope.
The epilogue suggests we haven’t seen the last of these nitwits and that a sequel might have been in the works before the film mercifully tanked at the box office, tossed into the January market like cheap Christmas trash. Thankfully, we will all now be spared the horror show of these two characters giving birth onscreen. They would most certainly be spawning a generation of future “Bridezillas”. I say let’s end this cycle of violence now before we’re overrun with millions of screaming, fire-breathing little “Bridezillas”.
proposal
“The Proposal” is a nice reminder that not all romantic comedies have to crush our souls into a fine powder. If you have talented leads working from a script with sharp dialogue, then you can make for a fine date night flick. While it needs a slightly longer set-up, goes too mawkish in its third act, and relies too heavily on Betty White in the “wacky-granny” role, watching Sandra Bullock and Ryan Reynolds snipe at each other is absolutely delightful and worth the price of admission.
Due to be deported back to Canada for violating the terms of her visa, vicious publishing editor Margaret Tate (Bullock) quickly decides to wed her hapless, long-suffering assistant Andrew (Reynolds) so she can keep her job in the US and in exchange, Andrew gets a promotion to editor. A preposterously aggressive Homeland Security agent (Denis O’Hare) threatens their ruse and so the two must travel to Andrew’s parents home in Alaska for his grandmother’s (White) birthday celebration and learn about each other so that they can pass the examination or else she’ll be deported and he’ll go to jail. When Margaret and Andrew are at each other’s mercy is when the fun really starts. Once they start falling for each other, the fun kind of abates.
Sandra Bullock has become one of the queens* of romantic comedy, but she has a masculine quality that sets her apart from her peers. I don’t mean that in terms of looks, but she conveys a domineering strength that sets her apart and makes her more interesting than other doe-eyed damsels. But Bullock knows how to keep that masculinity from overtaking her feminine side and that balance has served her well in the past and continues to do so in “The Proposal”. The movie does play up her “fish-out-of-water” aspect once she lands in Alaska, but while she’s ruling the business world and making Andrew’s life hell, we still like her and she understands that her character is supposed to be overly-guarded, not predatory.
But she’s only one side of the equation. I hate that Ryan Reynolds has to be so attractive AND funny. It’s not fair.** And yet, as always, I am charmed by Reynolds who, despite his impressive physique, is adorably pathetic when getting bossed around by Bullock and yet, once they make their bargain, he lets his character revel in three years of pent-up aggression towards his abusive boss without ever letting the character go cruel or malicious. It’s in this back-and-forth between Bullock and Reynolds where the two actors know each other’s comic timing and physical idiosyncrasies that “The Proposal” becomes infinitely enjoyable.
Sadly, the film doesn’t really take the time it should in the first act to really let us enjoy their interplay. It does the bare minimum in setting up the premise and a sketch of their current dynamic. Andrew’s revenge would be so much more rewarding if we saw a brief montage of his three years as Margaret’s assistant and it would also grant us a better look at Margaret’s character.
The film has the opposite problem in the third act where the film continues to hammer us over the head that these characters have fallen in LOVE. Perhaps the filmmakers were afraid that audiences wouldn’t believe that two people who felt nothing for each other for three years would fall in love in three days but going overboard with the sentiment doesn’t help the point as much as it drains the movie of humor.
Despite its rushed opening and rocky finish, “The Proposal” is a romantic comedy that doesn’t break any new ground but works well as a date film because of Bullock and Reynolds’ terrific performances. It is ultimately “just another rom-com” but it’s certainly not a bad one.
Due to be deported back to Canada for violating the terms of her visa, vicious publishing editor Margaret Tate (Bullock) quickly decides to wed her hapless, long-suffering assistant Andrew (Reynolds) so she can keep her job in the US and in exchange, Andrew gets a promotion to editor. A preposterously aggressive Homeland Security agent (Denis O’Hare) threatens their ruse and so the two must travel to Andrew’s parents home in Alaska for his grandmother’s (White) birthday celebration and learn about each other so that they can pass the examination or else she’ll be deported and he’ll go to jail. When Margaret and Andrew are at each other’s mercy is when the fun really starts. Once they start falling for each other, the fun kind of abates.
Sandra Bullock has become one of the queens* of romantic comedy, but she has a masculine quality that sets her apart from her peers. I don’t mean that in terms of looks, but she conveys a domineering strength that sets her apart and makes her more interesting than other doe-eyed damsels. But Bullock knows how to keep that masculinity from overtaking her feminine side and that balance has served her well in the past and continues to do so in “The Proposal”. The movie does play up her “fish-out-of-water” aspect once she lands in Alaska, but while she’s ruling the business world and making Andrew’s life hell, we still like her and she understands that her character is supposed to be overly-guarded, not predatory.
But she’s only one side of the equation. I hate that Ryan Reynolds has to be so attractive AND funny. It’s not fair.** And yet, as always, I am charmed by Reynolds who, despite his impressive physique, is adorably pathetic when getting bossed around by Bullock and yet, once they make their bargain, he lets his character revel in three years of pent-up aggression towards his abusive boss without ever letting the character go cruel or malicious. It’s in this back-and-forth between Bullock and Reynolds where the two actors know each other’s comic timing and physical idiosyncrasies that “The Proposal” becomes infinitely enjoyable.
Sadly, the film doesn’t really take the time it should in the first act to really let us enjoy their interplay. It does the bare minimum in setting up the premise and a sketch of their current dynamic. Andrew’s revenge would be so much more rewarding if we saw a brief montage of his three years as Margaret’s assistant and it would also grant us a better look at Margaret’s character.
The film has the opposite problem in the third act where the film continues to hammer us over the head that these characters have fallen in LOVE. Perhaps the filmmakers were afraid that audiences wouldn’t believe that two people who felt nothing for each other for three years would fall in love in three days but going overboard with the sentiment doesn’t help the point as much as it drains the movie of humor.
Despite its rushed opening and rocky finish, “The Proposal” is a romantic comedy that doesn’t break any new ground but works well as a date film because of Bullock and Reynolds’ terrific performances. It is ultimately “just another rom-com” but it’s certainly not a bad one.
TAKEN
Pierre Morel, of District 13 fame, has just released his second directorial effort. Like District 13, Taken is a meditation on the immigrant question wrapped in a gut-thumping actioner. Like District 13, Taken throws a lot of sweet sweet thrills at us that can’t distract us from the subtext, for better or worse. And blimey, is that subtext — and dialogue — ham-fisted and poorly written (sorry, co-writer Luc Besson). Taken contains one of the most painful set-ups I’ve ever sat through — it’s Plot for Dummies delivered through Syrup of Exposition that’s spoonfed to us like a pack of waiting ninnies. The whole thing is mindlessly propagandic (not an oxymoron after all), and the editing in the fight and chase scenes is Bourne Ultimatum beserker-esque, and decent actors come off looking like amateurs, but all in all it’s not the worst action movie I’ve seen. It’s cobbled out of clichés, and it’s ridiculous (but not over-the-top ridiculous enough to excuse it), and it will probably wind up on the wrong side of politics, à la Dirty Harry, but it can’t be totally dismissed, either, because its tension and its star, Liam Neeson, grease its clunking mechanisms enough to get it operational.
The trailer and movie poster make a plot summary redundant, but it’s part of the job description, so here goes: Neeson plays an ex-operative named Bryan Mills who retired from service in order to spend more time with his daughter, Kim (Maggie Grace), if not the wife (Famke Janssen) who already left him for a less neglectful mate. Barring contact with a few of his service buddies, Mills is rudderless, lonely, and nurturing an unhealthy daughter fixation that shows itself in his creepy scrap-booking of snapshots of events that weren’t particularly positive. Mills just wants to spend time with his spoiled, clueless kid, who in turn just wants to be spoiled and clueless. He reluctantly gives Kim permission to travel to Paris with a friend, hating to lengthen the tether he’s attached to his kin — a tether that seems to be made of 50% natural affection and 50% unsettling possessiveness. But possession is thematic in Taken; it comes to a head when Kim and her girlfriend are abducted by sex traffickers soon after arriving in France, and Mills is forced to use “a very particular set of skills” to retrieve his own from the takers.
The movie has its moments. Decent sequences include Mills beating and chasing an oily spotter named Peter, who skulks around Charles de Gaulle airport looking for young women travelling alone; Mills nurturing one of the traffickers’ victims in a hotel room in order to press info about his daughter from the girl; and Mills’ awkward interaction with a corrupt Parisian cop who may or may not be in on the crime. I said they were “decent,” though, not outstanding, and not particularly convincing (except for the way Mills wails on Peter and creates a joyous public chaos). And if impressionistic beserker editing is your poison (no action shot lasts longer than a second — many for half that), you’ll probably enjoy the thrill scenes. Some degree of care was put into those, and Neeson is awesome when he’s in Statham mode. In fact, he’s the best thing about the movie (cotton-mouthed American accent aside). It’s always nice to see a substantial actor heavy-lift like a bad-ass. When Neeson isn’t cracking skulls, he’s providing us with believable passion. There’s a moment early in the film when Mills tells his buddies that his daughter has just invited him for lunch; Neeson cracks a smile as he delivers the good news that hits the heart of desperate-daddy love.
It’s a blindingly good bit of acting that only makes the contrast between Neeson’s performance and Janssen’s (for instance) more visible. For every decent moment in Taken, there are two or three that bring the enterprise down. We’ve seen the evidence of Janssen’s abilities elsewhere, but Morel and Besson put Desperate Housewives mannerisms on her form and terrible dialogue in her mouth; action movies don’t tend to overwrite the parts of bit players, but when we notice just how poorly written they are, knuckles ought to be slapped. Maggie Grace, as Kim, is all limbs and bubble-headed flair; there’s nothing in her role or performance to latch onto, which just amplifies how much the movie is about the owners and how little about the ostensibly owned. Wives and daughters and even female pop-stars are positioned like chattel (purposefully — though for what purpose is debatable); the pop-star is a “cash cow” for her managers and the daughters are sold off to the highest bidders. Taken gives us a man’s world where women have zero agency; they live in bubbles and leave homes and homelands at their own peril. Without daddy’s or husband’s arm, they wind up tied to the bed of a rapist sheik. Women-as-property may be a notion borrowed directly from actual culture, but skins will prickle to see it so idealized (never let it be said that action movies aren’t, at bottom, pure romance).
The movie, apparently, is designed to push gender buttons, but it launches off immigration politics, too, and — if you were inclined to — can be read a certain uncomfortable way. It will make some viewers angry; others will pull the “it’s just a popcorn movie” card and shut discussion down. Make of the film what you will — it’s your viewing experience, after all. But it’s all there, mallet-subtle, and Taken doesn’t complicate itself in the end the way (so I’m told — I have yet to see it) Gran Torino does. Morel and Besson have given us a picture that can inspire a lot of “are they or aren’t they?” questions in anyone with a grasp of current French politics, and it can generate a solid thirty minutes of hectic post-viewing conversation for the predisposed. Unlike District 13, Taken is entirely pro-West — no French filmmaker can put what Morel and Besson put onscreen “accidentally” or naively and not know what compatriots will make of it. Not in 2009. It all makes for a picture much more interesting than the sum of its parts — even a picture that seems to have been written for trailer soundbites alone, and built on shocks that aren’t, ultimately, as shocking as designed.
The trailer and movie poster make a plot summary redundant, but it’s part of the job description, so here goes: Neeson plays an ex-operative named Bryan Mills who retired from service in order to spend more time with his daughter, Kim (Maggie Grace), if not the wife (Famke Janssen) who already left him for a less neglectful mate. Barring contact with a few of his service buddies, Mills is rudderless, lonely, and nurturing an unhealthy daughter fixation that shows itself in his creepy scrap-booking of snapshots of events that weren’t particularly positive. Mills just wants to spend time with his spoiled, clueless kid, who in turn just wants to be spoiled and clueless. He reluctantly gives Kim permission to travel to Paris with a friend, hating to lengthen the tether he’s attached to his kin — a tether that seems to be made of 50% natural affection and 50% unsettling possessiveness. But possession is thematic in Taken; it comes to a head when Kim and her girlfriend are abducted by sex traffickers soon after arriving in France, and Mills is forced to use “a very particular set of skills” to retrieve his own from the takers.
The movie has its moments. Decent sequences include Mills beating and chasing an oily spotter named Peter, who skulks around Charles de Gaulle airport looking for young women travelling alone; Mills nurturing one of the traffickers’ victims in a hotel room in order to press info about his daughter from the girl; and Mills’ awkward interaction with a corrupt Parisian cop who may or may not be in on the crime. I said they were “decent,” though, not outstanding, and not particularly convincing (except for the way Mills wails on Peter and creates a joyous public chaos). And if impressionistic beserker editing is your poison (no action shot lasts longer than a second — many for half that), you’ll probably enjoy the thrill scenes. Some degree of care was put into those, and Neeson is awesome when he’s in Statham mode. In fact, he’s the best thing about the movie (cotton-mouthed American accent aside). It’s always nice to see a substantial actor heavy-lift like a bad-ass. When Neeson isn’t cracking skulls, he’s providing us with believable passion. There’s a moment early in the film when Mills tells his buddies that his daughter has just invited him for lunch; Neeson cracks a smile as he delivers the good news that hits the heart of desperate-daddy love.
It’s a blindingly good bit of acting that only makes the contrast between Neeson’s performance and Janssen’s (for instance) more visible. For every decent moment in Taken, there are two or three that bring the enterprise down. We’ve seen the evidence of Janssen’s abilities elsewhere, but Morel and Besson put Desperate Housewives mannerisms on her form and terrible dialogue in her mouth; action movies don’t tend to overwrite the parts of bit players, but when we notice just how poorly written they are, knuckles ought to be slapped. Maggie Grace, as Kim, is all limbs and bubble-headed flair; there’s nothing in her role or performance to latch onto, which just amplifies how much the movie is about the owners and how little about the ostensibly owned. Wives and daughters and even female pop-stars are positioned like chattel (purposefully — though for what purpose is debatable); the pop-star is a “cash cow” for her managers and the daughters are sold off to the highest bidders. Taken gives us a man’s world where women have zero agency; they live in bubbles and leave homes and homelands at their own peril. Without daddy’s or husband’s arm, they wind up tied to the bed of a rapist sheik. Women-as-property may be a notion borrowed directly from actual culture, but skins will prickle to see it so idealized (never let it be said that action movies aren’t, at bottom, pure romance).
The movie, apparently, is designed to push gender buttons, but it launches off immigration politics, too, and — if you were inclined to — can be read a certain uncomfortable way. It will make some viewers angry; others will pull the “it’s just a popcorn movie” card and shut discussion down. Make of the film what you will — it’s your viewing experience, after all. But it’s all there, mallet-subtle, and Taken doesn’t complicate itself in the end the way (so I’m told — I have yet to see it) Gran Torino does. Morel and Besson have given us a picture that can inspire a lot of “are they or aren’t they?” questions in anyone with a grasp of current French politics, and it can generate a solid thirty minutes of hectic post-viewing conversation for the predisposed. Unlike District 13, Taken is entirely pro-West — no French filmmaker can put what Morel and Besson put onscreen “accidentally” or naively and not know what compatriots will make of it. Not in 2009. It all makes for a picture much more interesting than the sum of its parts — even a picture that seems to have been written for trailer soundbites alone, and built on shocks that aren’t, ultimately, as shocking as designed.
the class discussion about whether animals have power to reason or whether they have that is the instinct. on a personal note i think that each animal has the power to reason. practically, when a lion is hhungry he hunts for his prey and once he is full he stops eating. this clearly shows the power to reason, because when the lion is full he understands and therefore the counter reaction is he stops to feed on the dead carcass.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
knowledge at work assignment -
Zozoo ad: Vodafone; musical greetings
The advertisement displays a zozoo lying in the hospital bed with a fractured leg. another zozoo emerges from a gift box and starts playing a musical instrument which is as creative and imaginary as the zozoo itself. This musical instrument is an admixture of a trumpet, saxophone, flute and other instruments assembled haphazardly to look like one musical instrument. The lyrics of the tune played are “he is a jolly good fellow, he is a jolly good fellow, he is a jolly good fellow, so say all of us”. This has been selected with a purpose namely- to cheer and boost the morale of the injured.
The ad itself is an ingenious and implausible piece of art. The making of the ad is creatively outstanding. Originally people thought that the zozoo characters are animations conceived and developed on the computer, but it is not so. The zozoo, like most Disney characters, is a mascot and the advertisement is used not only to convey the message of the advantages of the Vodafone musical “sms” but also to emphasize its role in bridging geographical barriers.
Though the zozoo has broken his leg and cannot move around and communicate with the rest of the world, he is not a victim of loneliness and isolation as another zozoo reaches out to him and makes his day by playing the musical band. The aspect of musical sms propagated by the Vodafone has more than just advertising value. Music is one aspect which connects people all over the world and has played a significant role in the healing of psychological ailments since the beginning of recorded history.
In ancient Greece, Apollo was both the god of music and medicine thus revealing the close and complimentary relationship between the two. According to Ancient Greeks, Music is an art imbued with power and it nourishes us in ways we don't even realize. It inspires us, relaxes us, and energizes us–in short, it heals us and keeps us well. The universe is a symphony of many sounds interacting and vibrating harmoniously.
Music in this zozoo ad is most prominent as it is used as a therapy for the ailing zozoo. Anyone who is bedridden and cannot go about his own mundane activities is bound to feel a sense of worthlessness and depression and is in need of psychological healing more than physical healing. The rhythm of a good piece of music has a serene effect on one’s emotional mindset and helps to minimize the desolate feeling.
The concept of musical sms introduced by the Vodafone is a long leap in the field of technological advancement scientific progress has undoubtedly brought the world closer and has quickened the pace of many activities one of them being reaching out to people who are dear but not geographically near. It is a boon to the consumer and a feather in the cap for the advertising team which has conceived and created the zozoo ad which upholds the eternal need for human interaction.
The advertisement displays a zozoo lying in the hospital bed with a fractured leg. another zozoo emerges from a gift box and starts playing a musical instrument which is as creative and imaginary as the zozoo itself. This musical instrument is an admixture of a trumpet, saxophone, flute and other instruments assembled haphazardly to look like one musical instrument. The lyrics of the tune played are “he is a jolly good fellow, he is a jolly good fellow, he is a jolly good fellow, so say all of us”. This has been selected with a purpose namely- to cheer and boost the morale of the injured.
The ad itself is an ingenious and implausible piece of art. The making of the ad is creatively outstanding. Originally people thought that the zozoo characters are animations conceived and developed on the computer, but it is not so. The zozoo, like most Disney characters, is a mascot and the advertisement is used not only to convey the message of the advantages of the Vodafone musical “sms” but also to emphasize its role in bridging geographical barriers.
Though the zozoo has broken his leg and cannot move around and communicate with the rest of the world, he is not a victim of loneliness and isolation as another zozoo reaches out to him and makes his day by playing the musical band. The aspect of musical sms propagated by the Vodafone has more than just advertising value. Music is one aspect which connects people all over the world and has played a significant role in the healing of psychological ailments since the beginning of recorded history.
In ancient Greece, Apollo was both the god of music and medicine thus revealing the close and complimentary relationship between the two. According to Ancient Greeks, Music is an art imbued with power and it nourishes us in ways we don't even realize. It inspires us, relaxes us, and energizes us–in short, it heals us and keeps us well. The universe is a symphony of many sounds interacting and vibrating harmoniously.
Music in this zozoo ad is most prominent as it is used as a therapy for the ailing zozoo. Anyone who is bedridden and cannot go about his own mundane activities is bound to feel a sense of worthlessness and depression and is in need of psychological healing more than physical healing. The rhythm of a good piece of music has a serene effect on one’s emotional mindset and helps to minimize the desolate feeling.
The concept of musical sms introduced by the Vodafone is a long leap in the field of technological advancement scientific progress has undoubtedly brought the world closer and has quickened the pace of many activities one of them being reaching out to people who are dear but not geographically near. It is a boon to the consumer and a feather in the cap for the advertising team which has conceived and created the zozoo ad which upholds the eternal need for human interaction.
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