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Movie Reviews

Alamar is stunning in both its beauty and simplicity. A man teaches his son the rhythms of a life in relationship with nature and the sea, all the while forging their own relationship before the boy returns to live with his mother in Rome, thousands of miles away. The father is a subtle teacher, infusing knowledge via the everyday activities of making shelter, fishing, swimming, eating, watching birds, and enduring storms. It resonates on the deepest of human levels, both in the story and the method of filming. There are no special effects or fancy cameras, even lighting the darkness is eschewed, highlighting what is essential and precious: life as it IS.

Rising Son – Christian Hosoi was the talk of the skateboarding world back when I was a young thing. He was a natural, possessing great style and mad skills. He won many a competition and held world records for his amazing, never-before aerials. With his skill and fame came a lot of money and very little supervision from his parents. As you might imagine, this eventually led to his downfall, with drug use becoming more important than his performance on the board. Thankfully, there is redemption and a whole lotta awesome footage of Hosoi and his contemporaries doing what they do best. This veiwer was awestruck.

Dear Lemon Lima – Vanessa is a fish out of water, recently dumped by her boyfriend, yet still madly in love, she must find her way through the labyrinthine perils of being an outcast in a private high school where he is at the top of the pecking order. She’s there on a minority scholarship for the Yup’ik heritage she scarcely acknowledges, yet is forced to embrace when she is named the only freshman team captain for the Snowstorm Survivor Competition. In defiance of convention, Vanessa chooses a troupe as unpopular and misunderstood as she.  After tragedy befalls the team, she learns the meaning of true friendship and finally begins to embrace her heritage in hopes of an underdog win. A marvelous story, rich with detail, and Colleen-style quirk. Beautifully filmed, as well, though the one disappointment was learning it was shot in Washington and not Alaska, where the story takes place.

I was a tad nervous to discover that Ricky Gervais co-wrote and directed Cemetery Junction, but I’d already started and stopped several others, and figured one more wouldn’t hurt. Thankfully, he (and Stephen Merchant) did a terrific job of capturing three young friends at a crossroads in their life, on the cusp of manhood, if you will, circa 1973. Though it is not a comedy, it had some very Gervais-like funnies in all the right places and a pretty nuanced story. It’s got a snazzy sound track, too.

Le Samourai – Oh dear, the opening scene, were I actually keeping track, is likely the most beautifully framed I’ve ever seen. And that bird chirping! Ooh la la! There isn’t a lot to this story, in that fine French way, yet it is wholly captivating and had me on the edge of my seat. Jef is a contract killer who fails to make a clean getaway and is brought in by the police. He is released, but they still believe he is their man, and the men who hired him are less than pleased that he’s left a trail. It’s a bit of a cat and mouse game, with Jef trying to keep the police and the men who hired him at bay. Who will prevail?! Also, for fellow car lovers, this fil-um is chock-a-block with dazzlers. Here is proof and an awesome resource to peruse, the IMCDb, eek!

Men Who Swim – Friendship. Belonging. Purpose. What are we without these elements in our life? Dylan struggles with all three, doing his best to cope and make ends meet in his newly adopted home of Sweden. Everything begins to change when he joins a middle-aged men’s synchronized swim team. Yup, you read that properly. It’s a poignant look at the individual as part of a collective, success and failure, and that ever present struggle for meaning in our lives.

Mongolian Ping Pong – Imagine never having seen a ping-pong ball. Imagine living in a place so removed from modern society that no one you know has ever seen one either. When Bilike finds a ping pong ball floating in the river near his home, the mystery captivates the boy and his two best friends, sending them on adventures, sometimes fraught with danger, near and far. They consult friends, family members, even scholarly lamas to uncover the mystery of the little white ball. It is fascinating and endearing and a little heartbreaking, with beyond picturesque Mongolia an integral character in the story. It is also an intimate glimpse into the quotidian of Mongolians. Tending the herd. Spinning wool. Riding horses. The gradual creep of modernity and innovation and society. Then the final scene, when the secret is revealed? Magic.

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Holy frijoles, peeps! It’s been a while since I wrote about fil-ums. A dearth of the spectacular, I suppose. Life is like that, sometimes. Average. Meh. Vanilla pudding. Though, I must take occasional exception to that last expression. Vanilla pudding, when done right, is anything but vanilla pudding, silky, smooth, delicious, the height of splendor! Yup, yup.

Starting with Safety Not Guaranteed, for it had me in stitches, loud peals at pretty regular intervals, thanks to great lines like “You’re dangling my vagina out there like bait” and “Storm Troopers don’t know anything about lasers or time travel. They are blue collar workers.” To be followed by a most grateful round of claps and cheers at the end. I kid you not. It was one of those rare moments when I actually wanted to explode with glee and happened to be in sync with the rest of the theater. Pretty awesome, if I do say so.

To the details: The fil-um centers around a magazine writer and two interns as they investigate the above ad. Did this person really invent a time machine, or is he just mad as a hatter? Well, he certainly isn’t your everyday Joe. He’s a little odd but sincere, too. He’s wounded and paranoid and completely dedicated to the task at hand. He takes one of the interns into his confidence and friendship blossoms. Then there is the magazine writer, chasing his own past while trying to get his male intern laid like his life depended upon it. It’s a great bit of everything, very human characters, romance, fun, mystery-thriller. Put it in the queue!

Griff the Invisible is an Australian import about a twenty-six year old man who believes he is a Super Hero. He’s got the costume, scads of surveillance equipment, and a sincere desire to rid his neighborhood and the world of evil. The trouble is, he’s not the best at it, and even worse with actual people. He is awkward and flails at work, falling prey to the office bully and his cronies. His brother, who sincerely wants the best for him, is also a bit clueless, trying to get Griff out of his shell and into the real world. Then he meets Melody, fascinated by science and equally drawn to Griff, the one person who sees the universe as she does. It’s about the painful ways we learn of our delusions and the people who love and encourage us, despite them.

All of My Friends are Funeral Singers, well, hmmm, this one is a tad odd, even for me. I’d venture to say that it is bordering on the avant-garde. Zel is a psychic and lives in a house filled with ghosts: a child, a bride, vaudevillians, and some musicians, too. They are her only friends, save her love, and the source of her power, giving voice to the dead and eyes to the future. She loves and hates them, yet knows no other life. When a bright light beckons the ghosts to the woods beyond, and they cannot leave, Zel must unearth the truth behind their shared existence and contemplate a life without them. It’s got a great soundtrack too, by Califone, who, as it happens, will be at Mississippi Studios on November 30th. Could be fun!

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A quick and easy cake for summer, with raspberries from our own patch!

 

Raspberry Sponge Cake

2 eggs

1 cup flour

1 t baking powder

1/2 cup sugar

1/2 cup milk

2 tablespoons butter

1/2 teaspoon almond extract

2/3 cup fresh or frozen raspberries

Glaze

1 cup powdered sugar

milk

1/4 t almond extract

Cake:

Sift flour and baking powder; set aside. Beat eggs in a medium bowl until thick, 3-4 minutes. Gradually add sugar, beating another 4-5 minutes, until very fluffy. Add the almond extract and flour mixture; beat on low until combined.

Heat milk and butter in a small saucepan until butter melts. Add to batter, beating until combined. Pour into a greased 8″ or 9″ square pan. Scatter the berries over the top. I think blueberries would work, too, something light, as they will sink to the bottom, so be sure your pan is greased really well. Bake at 350 for 20-25 minutes, until a toothpick comes out clean. Cool in pan.

Glaze:

Sift powdered sugar into a small bowl. Add almond extract. Add milk until glaze is thin enough to spread in a layer over the top of the cake, 1-2 tablespoons.

Enjoy!

Oh, and maybe watch the latest from Jim Gaffigan while you eat, because sweet and hilarious are a terrific combination.

Happy Birthday, Jef!

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Have I ever written of my love of Wes Anderson? I don’t remember, but it really seems like I should have, for the man can do no wrong in my eyes, at least in all things cinematic and concerning the wearing of suits. I know not a whit about his personal life, which suits me fine. However, should he ever invite me to tea or whiskey to find out, you can bet your bottom dollar that I’ll be there, with bells ON. The king of corduroy has a new movie out, and I’ve been eagerly awaiting its arrival since I saw the trailer months ago, which seemed more like ages. I don’t know that I’ve ever anticipated a film’s arrival more than this. Proof, perhaps, that this gal needs to get out more often, or that, as previously stated, I am a rather big fan of his fil-ums. Moonrise Kingdom finally came to Portland two weeks ago, but we were ever so busy doing a whole weekend’s worth of yard work that made me far too tired to go, which made me a bit sad, too, but I recovered. I am an adult and can survive disappointments.

This past weekend, however, there were no projects on the books and stellar weather, so we headed out for a long and leisurely day. We started at Pacific Pie CO for lunch, our first and definitely not our last time there. It has swell decor, very good service, and the aforementioned pie. I love pie, sweet or savory. They have both, but we only partook of the savory because our bellies were full up. Tooting my own horn here, they have the best pie crust I’ve ever had next to my own, which is damn good. It is light and buttery and super tender. I had the beef and mushroom with a side of broccoli (did you get that Mom? I ordered broccoli. What is happening to me?!) and the hubster had the lamb with spicy coleslaw. Both were happily devoured in short order and promises made to come back for the cherry and the creamy chicken. In that order, I think. Why the hell not?

Oh, I am sassy today! After the pie, we crossed the river and loafed around before show time, taking in the Oregon History Museum on free day, because everything is better when it is free. It is an interesting assortment of curiosities, as you can see, though I was certainly most jazzed by the architectural models on display, this one being Pietro Belluschi’s house (he also designed the Portland Art Museum and the Commonwealth Building, in which I once worked) and the letter from Ansel Adams. Shazam, that is pretty awesome letterhead, which made the hubster and I decide that we need our own. One day, when we have more time, we’ll head up to the fourth floor and see if our house has any interesting history of its own, present occupants excluded, of course.

The fil-um did not disappoint, though I never had a doubt. It was Wes Anderson, through and through, with a nod or two to Francis Ford Coppola (his son Roman was co-writer), with wounded oddballs and misfit characters occupying idyllic homes (ah, the Bishop house!) in picturesque landscapes. They stumble through life, encountering both the vicious and the tender kind, searching for people with whom to share their pain and great capacity for love. They are impeccably dressed and coiffed, a bit wild, and make this viewer cry, though not nearly half as much as they make me laugh out loud.

We’re at the Central Library now. Isn’t it beautiful? We roamed the stacks a bit and checked out a couple of neat-o architecture books with great pictures. I don’t suppose we ever outgrow a good picture book, do we? I sure haven’t.

More downtown gorgeousness before we get back to the car. I love the clouds in this one.

When we got home, we hung out on the patio, talked about the movie, perused our books, and the hubster and cats took a nap while I watched and occupied my mind with random thoughts.

It got cool, and the mosquitoes started buzzing, so we came inside and cuddled on the sofa before doing some more reading. We’ve started The Game of Thrones, taking turns reading aloud to each other, which is fun, and we are both enjoying, for the most part. I am definitely not the primary audience for this series, as I am neither a fan of explicit sex or graphic violence. This has both, but not too much, for now, at least.

A perfect day in our own little Moonrise Kingdom.

 

 

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Starting with a digression. Milo is snoring like that cartoon character of childhood, blowing a feather up off his lips, again and again, more like a machine decompressing than a true snore. I think he learned it from the hubster, lying prostrate on his chest, paws curled in the sweetest heart shape, cataloging his every move. Though the pair is quite capable of sawing gigantic logs, as well. Last night, as a matter of fact, the the G-Man was roaring something fierce, and I tickled him on that soft spot near the hollow of his hip bone, and his body leapt, utterly and completely shaking the bed. I laughed and told him everything was alright before the pair of us drifted off, though who knows where. I have only echoes of those dreams.

I realized that it had been a while since I told you about movies, so here we are, despite the fairly steady stream I watch. I wonder if Netflix has a little widget like the Goodreads one? It would be nice to always have them there, quiet and patiently waiting for a click. Do you look at them, the books I read? That last one was a goodie, Autobiography of Red, still wrapping my brain around it.

Anyhoo, to fil-ums, these are coming-of-age stories, magnifying those painful bits we all go through in one way or another.

Submarine takes place in Wales during the eighties and follows Oliver Tate, as he navigates the waters of his first love with Jordana, a girl with a lot of extra-curricular problems and a wicked sense of humor.  Although his life isn’t without complications. He is awkward and nerdy, with few friends, and suffering at home, too, through his parents faltering marriage. His father is inept and clueless, while his mother contemplates an affair with an old lover, a pseudo-ninja, self-help guru with a bad mullet. It is comical and sad and hopeful, too, punctuated by a great soundtrack and unusually great narration. Proof that first love matters, always.

Oh dear, this is a toughie, to tell it straight. I did a whole LOTTA tonglen during this one, dear readers, the hubster looking over at me, tears streaming, but breath a-flowing. From the novel of the same name, A Guide to Recognizing Your Saints follows Dito as a youth and an adult through some pretty rough experiences. This is a memoir made of composites of people the author/director knew growing up. His parents, deeply in love with their son, but rife with their own problems. His own first love and the coarse ways between them, yet tender, too. His best friends, on the cusp of insanity, hopelessly tethered to violent homes and surroundings, drinking and drug use, the infinite love and jealousy that can never be spoken, and the one who sees it all with enough clarity to know that they will be the end of him if he doesn’t make his own way, apart from them. A heartbreaker.

Chris Waitt has an interesting way with women. They dump him. One by one, again and again. He sees this as a problem and decides to make a documentary in which he seeks out his ex-girlfriends to ask them what happened. After a bit, it becomes obvious to everyone but Chris, though, bless his heart, he plods on, ever determined to get to the root cause. And he does, in his own way, with a little bit of everything, including help from his dear Mum, S & M, getting arrested, and being verbally abused by more than one ex. Hilarious one minute and tear-filled the next, watch how a grown boy becomes a man, for all the world to see.

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