Several weeks later than anticipated, our movie is finally locked! For reals this time! No, really... It's locked!
Jim is absolutely exhausted - which is no surprise. He's been running on fumes for months. While I got to jump off this crazy train during pre-production (with a smattering of script tweaks during production), Jim has continued going strong.
Of course he'll still have weekly meetings with our sound designer, music composer n' vis fx guy, but it will be no where near the workload he's endured since... well, since we entered development way back in August 2009. Sheesh... Where does the time go?!
On a related note, Jim was just telling me that the actor who played "Nick" (and who was a super nice fella) has unfortunately been cut out completely - even though he has already added himself on IMDB. Jeez, poor guy. When Jim pointed this out to our one producer, she cringed n' said, "I hate these calls..." I don't blame her. Thank goodness she has to make that dreadful call and not us! Gosh... I really do feel bad. Oh well, maybe there'll be a place for him in the deleted scenes.
Anyway, now that I finally have my husband back, I think I'm gonna get off this laptop and spend some q.t. with him.
Rose
Jim n' I finally put the last of our Ikea furniture together. We rearranged some of the other furniture in our bedroom to accommodate the new shelving unit, and have managed to unpack/put away the rest of our boxes. I cannot even begin to express how good it feels to have that clutter dealt with!
Thorn
Our friggin' furry floors!! That is until...
Rose
We went ahead and bought ourselves a new vacuum cleaner. It felt sooo good to de-fur our carpets without using a lint roller! I am by no means a neat freak, but when you have two long-haired cats n' no vacuum, it becomes a huge sore point. There were a number of days where I found myself almost sinking into a depression about living in this fur-filled shite hole. But now that we have a vacuum and our place has been given a good cleaning, all is bright n' shiny with the world once again. It's amazing how clutter n' filth (or in our case, fur) can seriously affect one's state of mind.
Thorn
If only we knew about "How Do You Know". What a piece o' crap! With an A-list cast of Jack Nicholson, Owen Wilson, Paul Rudd and Reese Witherspoon, and written n' directed by the very talented James L. Brooks, we both expected more. A lot more.
I know ratings n' reviews aren't the be all end all, but in this case, I'd have to agree with the 5.3 on IMDB. You know a movie is bad when you care more about a random dude who is on-screen for only five minutes than you care for the main protagonists. I said to Jim that I would've cared more about Paul n' Reese's characters if the film had started with an extra scene about each of them, filling out their backgrounds a bit more. Instead the movie immediately jumps into their problems, expecting the audience to feel sorry for them, when we don't even know anything about them yet. Jim n' I suspect that there probably were character-building scenes, but were likely cut in order to get the first act rolling faster (which still felt pretty slow...) But because we rented this movie via Telus, we didn't have the option to watch the deleted scenes to see if we were right.
On that note, while I would totally recommend you skip this dull movie, if you do happen to rent a tangible copy in a store, please watch the special features n' let me know, alright? ;) (BTW, despite my less-than-enthusiastic review, Jim thinks his folks would still probably enjoy it. So there you go, Cliffes! ;)
Rose
I finally got some rubber boots! I've quickly learned over the last while that not owning rubber boots in Vancouver is almost as dumb as not owning an umbrella. They are a groovy Walmart special of stylin' black n' white snake (I think?) print. As long as they keep my feet dry, I wouldn't care if they had horses running on them -- like our producer's $15 Canadian Tire special. Snazzy! (Actually, even though I've never been a horse girl, I do think hers are kinda fun...)
Thorn
Umm... no other thorns immediately coming to mind, except that I had a few grumpy days this past week. But I sort of covered that in my rose about the vacuum cleaner. I guess when you spend weeks upon weeks at home alone with your thoughts, sitting on a broken couch in a cluttered, furry apartment, and you can't even go outside because it's pouring rain and you don't own any rubber boots... it kinda gets to ya after a while.
Rose
On the opposite end of that spectrum, there was one absolutely gorgeous day last week, when Jim got off work early, so he joined me for a long walk. We had lunch on the patio of a restaurant that had a bazillion vegetarian options. I was so happy about being outside in the sunshine, the veggie menu, the funky neighbourhood, and just spending some time with my long-lost Jim, that throughout the meal I kept saying I thought I might burst. Doesn't take much, does it? ;P
Another Rose
Saturday night, we met up with our friend Nick who was in town visiting one of his old swim team buddies. Nick's friend suggested we hook up at Me & Julio's (I feel like we're going to become regulars there...), so we enjoyed a couple strawberry margaritas, some nachos n' fixin's, and some good ol' catching up. It was very nice. :)
Inspired by the 7-Up documentary series, I've been wanting to share with you my journey from 7 to 14 to 21 to... well, you can do the math. Unfortunately, the best photo I have from age 7 is still in Kelowna, locked in an old green suitcase somewhere in Jay n' Cheryl's garage. (At least I hope that suitcase is there, because it's not here...)
I asked my mom to send me a copy of my second grade photo. But rather than scan it, she opted to take a photo of it, which explains why the quality is shit. So here it is in all it's low-res, blurry glory. Yours truly at age 7...
As you see, my hair is cut like a boy's, courtesy of my father. And I am wearing the most hideous green dress eva, courtesy of my mother.
It's funny the childhood memories that scar... I mean, linger into adulthood. I have a very clear memory of fussing n' crying when my mom made me wear that dress to Sunday school. She told me that it was from Germany, as if that was some big selling factor, because German dresses were all the rage among seven year olds in 1986... I have no idea who brought it back from Germany, but I remember wishing that they would've left it there. I'm sure it was probably brought overseas about 10 - 20 years before this photo was taken, as the style seems more 60's or 70's than 80's. Too bad the retro look wasn't cool yet.... at least not among second graders.
A few days before picture day, I can recall that dress hanging on the back of my bedroom door, taunting me in all it's nasty green glory. I sat on my bed staring at it in defeat. I totally remember thinking to myself, "They're gonna make you wear that dress on picture day, you know. There's no fighting it. You will never win." And sure enough, when picture day came my mom made me wear it. I swallowed the bitter pill that day and forced a smile for the camera... of which the sad photographic evidence remains. :P
When I asked mom to send me a copy of the above pic, she said, "I thought you really hated that dress. What do you want the picture for?" Ha! Oh well, twenty-four years later and she finally apologized for forcing it on me.
But life when I was 7 wasn't all about ugly German dresses. It was actually a pretty big year for me, for it was the year I got my feet fixed. When I was born, my feet were turned slightly inwards. There was some speculation that it was because I was born two weeks late, but I doubt that's why. So up until that time, I had to wear my left shoe on my right foot and my right shoe on my left foot. Believe me when I say that this completely messed me up for years to come!!
For this reason, I wasn't able to wear flip flops, because of the way they're shaped. This was always a big disappointment for me in the summertime. I really wanted a pair of flip flops, and my lil' mind couldn't fully comprehend why I wasn't allowed to wear them. I have another vivid memory of being about four or five, and standing next to a bin at Woolworth's, trying to convince my mom to buy me a pair of orange flip flops that had a lion on them. When she said they wouldn't fit me properly, I put them on the wrong feet (as I had to do with all my shoes) and danced around the bin, demonstrating how I could very easily wear them. I remember my mom's face looking sad, conflicted. She relented and bought me a pair, but as she suspected, they tripped me up. I could never wear them properly. :(
With annual visits to CHEO (Children's Hospital of Eastern Ontario) since birth, I always knew that when I turned 7, I would finally have my operation. It felt like a lifetime away. (Funny how time crawls as a child...) However, I wasn't afraid. Instead, I just accepted it as a part of life and even looked forward to my surgery.
Actually, a quick side note, I remember once using my surgery as an excuse in kindergarten for why I was crying. I twitched during a "stand still" game and was eliminated. For some reason that made me upset, and my eyes began welling up with tears. Another student noticed and kindly shouted out, "Melodie's crying!!" Too embarrassed to admit that I was crying because I lost the game, I said that I was afraid of the operation I needed to have when I turned 7. Everyone seemed to buy it, including my teachers. What a manipulative little brat I was, huh?
Anyway, below is a photo of me (in the middle, in case it wasn't obvious) looking pretty happy on my seventh birthday. (Completely unrelated, as kids my sister n' I always got our cousin Jodie's hand-me-downs, and in this photo she is wearing her fabulous popcorn dress. I remember being sooo excited when I finally got my hot little hands on that dress. The pieces of popcorn puffed out, which I thought that was pretty nifty.
Anyway, getting back to my feet fixin'... A month after I started the second grade, the big day finally came. The surgeons made three incisions on each foot, in order to break all the bones in both my feet. They inserted long pins that stuck out on either sides of my feet to hold the bones in their proper place. I can't tell you how much it freaked me out at first when I peered down into my cast and saw those metal sticks jutting out of my feet! Gross! I worried they'd be there forever.
After my surgery, I spent about a week in the hospital while my folks stayed at the Ronald McDonald house next door. One day some of the Ottawa Roughriders came to the arts n' crafts room, doing a little P.R. I was the only kid in there, so they all took turns signing my casts for the cameras. The news reporter asked if my daddy liked to watch the Roughriders play football. I answered honestly - "No." My mother quickly corrected me, "Oh yes! All the time! All the time! He never misses a game." Ha ha. I never got to see if we were ever on the news, but if they left our part in, I'll bet it would've been pretty funny. :)
Because I was in a wheelchair for 6 weeks and on crutches for another 6, I couldn't go to school. (And when I did return f/t, the school made me take the short bus to and fro for a month, even though I only lived 3 blocks away. Over protective much?) During that time I had a tutor, the principal's wife, come to our house every day for a couple hours. I don't think I learned a single thing in that time. We just made crafts n' did insanely easy flash cards with words like boy, girl, dog, etc.
One day she brought me to the school to say hello to my classmates. Everyone crowded around me from all directions. People kept saying, "Do you remember me? Do you remember my name? Who am I?" Maybe they thought I suffered a head trauma or something? (That didn't happen until I was 8... ;) Everyone in the class also made me get well soon cards. Some people gave me buttons, erasers and pocket change. It was the peak of my popularity, I tells ya!
Once the bones in my feet had properly set, the doctors told me that they were going to remove the long silver pins from my feet. I screamed and cried, thrashing in my wheelchair insisting that they leave them in. I'm pretty sure I frightened all the children in the waiting room as they wheeled me over to "The Body Shop", where all the casts n' pin-pullin's were done. I was absolutely terrified that it was going to be painful. Instead, when the moment came for them to pull the pins out of my feet, I think it was harder on my dad than on me. After they pulled the first pin, I happily exclaimed, "That didn't hurt at all! It feels cool! I can feel my bones moving!" My dad turned green and sat down.
Six months later, technology advanced, and they found a way to do the same surgery using lasers. CHEO wanted my parents to bring me to Ottawa for a medical presentation, where I would be the effed up "before" picture of how feet looked after doing the surgery the old way versus the new way. (Not that I have mutant feet per se -- like my charming ex used to always call 'em -- but my feet almost look like they have bunions on the sides where the bones were re-set. Except unlike bunions, they're not painful at all, just unattractive... or at least unattractive to me. Although, I've pointed out my ugly feet to many people, who all insist that they don't know what I'm talking about. So it's probably mostly in my head....) Anyway, my parents refused to participate in this presentation. Since I was only 7, they never consulted any of this with me, but I overheard a couple conversations they had with others. I think they were pretty pissed off about the idea of their child being the ugly before picture. But of course, what parent wouldn't be protective or offended?
Anyway, I think that's about all I can remember from when I was seven.
Apart from the most rabid fundamentalists among us, nearly everyone admits that the Bible might contain errors -- a faulty creation story here, a historical mistake there, a contradiction or two in some other place. But is it possible that the problem is worse than that -- that the Bible actually contains lies?
Most people wouldn't put it that way, since the Bible is, after all, sacred Scripture for millions on our planet. But good Christian scholars of the Bible, including the top Protestant and Catholic scholars of America, will tell you that the Bible is full of lies, even if they refuse to use the term. And here is the truth: Many of the books of the New Testament were written by people who lied about their identity, claiming to be a famous apostle -- Peter, Paul or James -- knowing full well they were someone else. In modern parlance, that is a lie, and a book written by someone who lies about his identity is a forgery.
Most modern scholars of the Bible shy away from these terms, and for understandable reasons, some having to do with their clientele. Teaching in Christian seminaries, or to largely Christian undergraduate populations, who wants to denigrate the cherished texts of Scripture by calling them forgeries built on lies? And so scholars use a different term for this phenomenon and call such books "pseudepigrapha."
You will find this antiseptic term throughout the writings of modern scholars of the Bible. It's the term used in university classes on the New Testament, and in seminary courses, and in Ph.D. seminars. What the people who use the term do not tell you is that it literally means "writing that is inscribed with a lie."
And that's what such writings are. Whoever wrote the New Testament book of 2 Peter claimed to be Peter. But scholars everywhere -- except for our friends among the fundamentalists -- will tell you that there is no way on God's green earth that Peter wrote the book. Someone else wrote it claiming to be Peter. Scholars may also tell you that it was an acceptable practice in the ancient world for someone to write a book in the name of someone else. But that is where they are wrong. If you look at what ancient people actually said about the practice, you'll see that they invariably called it lying and condemned it as a deceitful practice, even in Christian circles. 2 Peter was finally accepted into the New Testament because the church fathers, centuries later, were convinced that Peter wrote it. But he didn't. Someone else did. And that someone else lied about his identity.
The same is true of many of the letters allegedly written by Paul. Most scholars will tell you that whereas seven of the 13 letters that go under Paul's name are his, the other six are not. Their authors merely claimed to be Paul. In the ancient world, books like that were labeled as pseudoi -- lies.
This may all seem like a bit of antiquarian curiosity, especially for people whose lives don't depend on the Bible or even people of faith for whom biblical matters are a peripheral interest at best. But in fact, it matters sometimes. Whoever wrote the book of 1 Timothy claimed to be Paul. But he was lying about that -- he was someone else living after Paul had died. In his book, the author of 1 Timothy used Paul's name and authority to address a problem that he saw in the church. Women were speaking out, exercising authority and teaching men. That had to stop. The author told women to be silent and submissive, and reminded his readers about what happened the first time a woman was allowed to exercise authority over a man, in that little incident in the garden of Eden. No, the author argued, if women wanted to be saved, they were to have babies (1 Tim. 2:11-15).
Largely on the basis of this passage, the apostle Paul has been branded, by more liberation minded people of recent generations, as one of history's great misogynists. The problem, of course, is that Paul never said any such thing. And why does it matter? Because the passage is still used by church leaders today to oppress and silence women. Why are there no women priests in the Catholic Church? Why are women not allowed to preach in conservative evangelical churches? Why are there churches today that do not allow women even to speak? In no small measure it is because Paul allegedly taught that women had to be silent, submissive and pregnant. Except that the person who taught this was not Paul, but someone lying about his identity so that his readers would think he was Paul.
It may be one of the greatest ironies of the Christian scriptures that some of them insist on truth, while telling a lie. For no author is truth more important than for the "Paul" of Ephesians. He refers to the gospel as "the word of truth" (1:13); he indicates that the "truth is in Jesus"; he tells his readers to "speak the truth" to their neighbors (4:24-25); and he instructs his readers to "fasten the belt of truth around your waist" (6:14). And yet he himself lied about who he was. He was not really Paul.
It appears that some of the New Testament writers, such as the authors of 2 Peter, 1 Timothy and Ephesians, felt they were perfectly justified to lie in order to tell the truth. But we today can at least evaluate their claims and realize just how human, and fallible, they were. They were creatures of their time and place. And so too were their teachings, lies and all.
I haven't done much blogging about the editing process, because there really isn't much to say beyond what has already been said.... Jim n' the editor try new things. Our producers (and Bruce) put in their two cents. The movie gets shown to a test audience. Afterwards Jim, the editor n' producers review the surveys and discuss their own notes. New things are tried. Repeat, repeat, repeat.
Anyhoo, the cut was supposed to be locked on Monday the 7th, but given all the tweaks on his plate, our editor said there was no way he could have it done until at least that Thursday. So an extension was given until the following Monday - no later than noon. Jim spent many late nights over at the editor's place, as the two of them tweaked scenes frame by frame. (They seriously get down to the nitty gritty!)
There was a viewing on Friday the 11th, and then more tweaky nitty gritty notes were made. The deadline was extended by another week in order to get these new notes done - which meant more late nights for Jim.
This past Friday I helped out by babysitting our editor's kids. (Who were already in bed, so really I just watched TV-- and did you know there's an aquarium channel now, much like the fireplace channel? Crazy...) By 10:30ish, the boys decided to call it a night.
Copies of the latest cut were distributed for everyone to view at home over the weekend, with plans to once again lock the cut no later than noon the following Monday. However, Sunday night further notes came in from our Toronto distributer. The feedback is that the film is very strong and that they really like it... BUT, they want the first act sped up a bit. The initial big hook doesn't happen until the 12 minute mark, and in the movie sales world, that's two minutes too long.
A while ago, TC explained that it's interesting to attend these preliminary sales screenings at festivals like Cannes (where ours will be shown). He said the room often starts off full, and within the first ten minutes, the audience will decide what sort of movie it is. If it's not the genre of film they're looking to buy, they will leave. (Most will leave.) If you still have a handful of people in the room by the one hour mark, then there's a good chance the movie will make a couple sales.
So. As I was saying, our first ten minutes needs to undergo more tweaking to either push up the first big hook, or use other imagery to somehow insert a different sort of hook in the opening montage... which is what the boys are playing around with right now.
There will be yet another screening tomorrow night at AS's place, and then hopefully the cut will be locked by next Monday. It has to be. (Then again, I thought that the last two times...)
In the meantime, today Jim n' les producers met with the music composer. Jim said that he really likes this guy and feels that they share the same sensibilities. He's excited to see what sort of score he will come up with.
I don't know how many times Jim (or even I!) have been propositioned by random people who have a friend/son/cousin who's in a band, and would love the opportunity to do music for a film. And while some of those bands are really quite good, they just didn't have the right experience or qualifications. Jim's inbox has also been getting inundated with emails from experienced composers who do qualify, and one or two of them have been especially persistent. Jim somehow handles it all in stride... I'm glad I don't have to. ;)
Outside of this blog or places like FB (where I obviously know everyone on my friends list,) I feel kind of awkward discussing our movie. Whenever I meet new people and they ask what I do (which seems to happen a hell of a lot more now that I'm so self-conscious about it), I try to simply answer, "I'm a writer." Instead it always leads into, "What do you write?" And I feel like such a dope saying I write screenplays, since I've only co-written ONE screenplay. I don't think writing one produced screenplay makes me a screenwriter - it just makes me incredibly lucky. So I just mumble the screenplay stuff into the mix, "I write a lot of marketing stuff like flyers n' web content, and different things, like a screenplay n' stuff like that..."
It's been a while since Jim has been asked what he does for a living, (I think that's because I'm more social than him and so I end up falling into these conversations more often), but when the time comes, I know he'll be very self-conscious saying that he's a director. It just sounds so pretentious. :P
We always joke in funny voices saying, "I'm in pitch-ahs! I write the talkies."
Ah yes... Anyway, I don't know where I'm going with all of this. I guess that's all I have to report for now, but just thought that some of you might be wondering how the cut is comin' along.
A stunning video narrated with the words of the late Carl Sagan, American astronomer, astrophysicist, cosmologist, and author of the book (turned movie) Contact.
When we were on set, I loved hearing everyone else's stories about other actors/directors/producers they had worked with, and the interesting experiences they had. I've never shared any of the stories in this blog, because doing so felt trashy. I don't work for TMZ.
However....
Last week I caught a few minutes on Regis and Kelly, and John Leguizamo was the guest. They were speaking to him about his new Broadway show Ghetto Klown, but then switched gears to discuss Steven Seagal. (Fast forward to 4:05 to hear what he has to say...)
So. If they can discuss Steven Seagal on Regis n' Kelly (and Broadway), then hopefully you won't find it too gossipy of me if I share a few secondhand stories I heard about Mr. Seagal on set. While I obviously can't verify the validity of any of them, I will say that each of these stories came up in totally different conversations by various cast n' crew members - so it's not like people were standing around competing to tell the most outrageous tall tale. Because SS pumps out a new straight-to-DVD flick every week (or at least it feels that way), almost everyone has had the displeasure of working with him at some point. I imagine that there are probably enough stories to fill a book - but these are the three that I remember best....
Number one: He doesn't really act, he just reads everything off of cue cards, even if he wrote the script himself. In one instance, he was reading the cue card, and then shouted, "Emmit? Who the f*ck is Emmit?" Some brave soul quietly informed him , "That's your character's name, sir." To which he apparently replied, "Who the f*ck named my character Emmit?" He did. He wrote the script.
Number two: One day SS came out of his trailer and was screaming, "Who the f*ck tied my shoes? I want to know who the f*ck tied them!? They're too tight!"
Ha. There is just sooo much wrong with this picture...
First of all, he has someone tie his shoes for him!? WTH? I know actors are catered to and fussed over, but that's just pathetic.
Secondly, he's that self-absorbed that he can't even be bothered to remember who bends down to perform the demeaning job of tying his shoes every day.
Third, he was complaining about how they tied them! For real?!
And fourth, the reason he wanted to know who tied them too tight, was because he wanted them to come back to his trailer and tie them up again!
This leads to only one possible conclusion - Steven Seagal does not know how to tie his shoes. ;)
Number three: During a rehearsal take, Steven slammed another actor's (not a stuntman's - an actor's!) head into a counter, knocking out all of his front teeth and sending him to the Emergency Room.
I would imagine that in the real world, someone like Steven would probably be charged with assault and ordered to attend anger management classes. However, in the entertainment industry, they just brought in another actor to replace his now-toothless predecessor. Ah, no bid'ness like show bid'ness, huh?
This felt like a pretty full week - especially the first half. Anyway, here we go...
Rose
On Monday Emily (the gal I met at the Chong n' Chong fundraiser) n' I met with the folks responsible for the Dana Larsen/End Prohibition/Free Marc Emery campaigns, to sign up as volunteers. I presented about four marketing ideas for various initiatives, and (if it's not immodest to say so) I think I really impressed everyone. I felt like a creative director. :) I'll share my ideas in Just a Plant ~ Part Two, even though not all of them are prohibition related. One of my ideas has to do with public transit.
Afterwards, Emily n' I hung out for a few hours. Even though she's quite a few years younger, it feels like we get along like old souls.
Thorn
Okay, until we either buy a new vacuum cleaner or get ours back from Kelowna, consider this to be a permanent thorn: Cleaning those effing carpets with a lint roller! Jim n' I almost bought a new vacuum cleaner yesterday, but I know that as soon as we do, ours will be returned. Actually, I think Cheryl might be bringing it with her next weekend when she comes to Vancouver. *fingers crossed* If not, we're buying a new one. Rose
Tuesday night an old friend from out east was in town playing at Falconetti's. Mark moved from Aurora to the coast a few years ago, but I haven't seen him since he's been out here. It was great to catch-up a little n' watch him play. (The other musicians who performed were really good as well.) Mark gave me a copy of his CD, Fear No Journey, which is getting a little radio play on the island. Cool stuff.
Thorn
We requested a new parking space at our building, because the one we've got is tucked in a tight corner with a low pipe that Jim has bumped his head on a few times. Our superintendent agreed it was a bad spot and assigned us a new one where we've been parking for the last couple of weeks. However, right in front of our space there is a bunch of recycling n' garbage piled high. Jim asked our super twice to confirm if he's parking in the right space (because we'd eventually like to use that spot to store our winter tires). The super said yes, and that the garbage belonged to the lady who parks next to us, but that she's just slow to remove it. (The space in front of her spot is cluttered with tons of crap as well.)
Anyway, yesterday afternoon there was a note on our car saying that it wasn't our spot and that our car would be towed on Sunday if we were still parked there. We think the note is from the hoarder parked next to us who has claimed the spot as her overflow dumping ground. We also think it might be from her because she often parks on an angle that crowds our space. Jim returned the car to our old spot, and then contacted our super this a.m. to have him confirm whether that other space is indeed ours or not. He hasn't gotten back to us about it yet... :P
Such a nuisance.
Rose
Also on Tuesday evening, I hooked up with my friend Laura for dinner, who accompanied me to Mark's show afterwards. Laura was the script supervisor on DE, and a really great gal. Our dinner n' show slowly turned into a very late, very fun night. Although I did wake up with the sliiiiighteeeeest twinge of a headache (late) Wednesday morning. Not enough for an tylenol, but enough to let me know that I was probably having too much fun on a weeknight. ;)
Thorn
The main support beam on our couch was broken during the move - so this week we finally came to terms with the fact that we're might have to suck it up and blow some money on a new couch (y'know, because we're so rich n' everything). Or... I don't know... we'll see... :P
For the last month, we've tried using a blanket beneath one of the cushions to prop it up where the base is broken -- even so, the whole thing is kinda uncomfortable if we both sit on the couch at the same time. It really sinks, which really stinks. I'm pretty sure that neither of us would trust more than two people to sit on it at a time.
Anyway... yeah... I'm trying to look on the bright side which is that this couch is too big for our new apartment anyway, and that one of those smaller condo-sized couches would make more sense. Hindsight, space-wise we should've kept the smaller love seat instead... Of course, if it had gotten broken en route, we'd still be in the same boat.
Rose
I needed to buy some new mascara this week. Even though I knew what brand I was looking for, I'm the sort of person who likes to browse make-up aisles like I would an art supply store. Just leave me alone n' let me wander to my heart's content, exploring the colours, brands, packaging, benefits n' features... It always ruins my browsing fun whenever sales people force me to identify exactly what I want to purchase. :P (Although I guess by them enforcing focus, they do prevent me from spending too much money on stuff I probably don't need...)
So this time when I went to pick up my mascara, I wasn't there for 30 seconds when I was jumped on by about three bored sales associates. I let them do their salesy job, and actually ended up taking their advice by buying a brand of mascara I had never seen before. And because I'm writing this beneath the rose subhead, I shouldn't need to tell you that their advice paid off...
Actually, the first product one of the girls recommended had a comb applicator, and I hate those. I know some people who swear by 'em, but I find that I often end up blinking whenever I use them, which is always a piss off. Instead it was the second product that all three girls suggested - Marcell Power Volume mascara. I found that it really lengthens n' thickens in just one application. Use more than two coats, and your eyelashes would probably start looking like falsies. It also doesn't clump, smudge or flake. (Although if you get it, you might want to wipe off the end of the wand before using, as the straight brush tends to grab a lot of excess there.) Anyway, I'm impressed with the results. I think it is pure mascara awesomeness!
Thorn
I traded in a shwack of my CDs this week, and only got $28 for them because the guy said most of them were scratched, which reduces them to $1 each. I think what happened was because many of them were in two or three-packs, so even if just one was scratched in the pack, I'd still only get dollar for each CD in the set, regardless if the others were in perfect condition. (If you follow me n' that run-on sentence...?) Although I have to admit, that I haven't always been so careful with my CDs...
Rose
Instead of taking the cash, I traded my CDs in for three others:
Wagonchrist - Tally Ho!: I had heard of this album before, but had never seen it anywhere. Anyway, much like the other Wagonchrist album I own "Marsupial", it's pretty fabulous.
DJ Spooky - Riddum Warfare: This was my first and favourite album I owned by DJ Spooky. Unfortunately Mike got custody of it when we split, and I got all the DJ Spooky leftovers. I haven't seen this album anywhere since, and I'm often too lazy to special order things, so it's exciting to finally have it back!
DJ Shadow - Preemptive Strike - Oh my goodness, what an amazing find this one was! It's a two-disc set, but one of the CDs is a 24-minute track of absolute grooviness. Shortly after pressing play, I was jolted back in time, realizing that I heard this album twice before: Once when I was 19 and still living in Pemmytown. We had a party and were playing around with a video camera, when this guy started freestyle rapping to it. It was quite impressive. Then about a year later when I was living in London, we spent an afternoon visiting the guy who could rap, and someone popped the CD in again, (but he didn't rap that time).
I remember love, love, loving it back then and wanting to track down a copy for myself. I believe the CD actually belonged to my old roommate Shawn, who owned a lot of groovy stuff. Anyway, over ten years later and I'm happy to finally own it, and still love, love, love it. Yay! :)
As mentioned in my last R n' T post, I had planned on picking up Bad Religion - Against the Grain as well, but I never made it that far, before I found these three gems.
Years ago I had a friend whose father worked at AECL. Apparently he once prevented some sort of major catastrophe, (details of which were never released to the public, of course), and the company very quietly thanked him with a $25 gift certificate to Joseph's Cellar. (Which isn't even enough to buy dinner for two - but I guess that's besides the point...)
Anyway, when my friend asked him to explain his job, he said "Imagine that someone steps in dog poo, and then they walk around all over town with poo on their shoe. My job is to see where the poo originally came from, and track down all the places where that person walked."
I thought that was just his unique way of explaining a radiation leak - until I saw this recent video that was released in Japan. Kinda gross, kinda cute, and very interesting....
BTW, is it just me or do you find it weird that Rick Astley was in the suggested/related column for this video?
This evening we watched Nowhere Boy (which wasn't a musical), based on the upbringing of John Lennon. The casting was off and the momentum was kinda slow, so while it was okay, I wouldn't go out of my way to recommend it.
Regardless, this put me on a YouTube search for the song Nowhere Man from the movie Yellow Submarine - which I haven't watched in years, even though I owned up until this recent move. (I only had it on VHS, and we don't have a VCR anymore, so there was no point in keeping it...)
After watching Nowhere Man, I had to check out the video for Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds. While I like all of the creativity and nonsense in this cinematic art piece, I've always loved how they illustrated this song in particular, as it is a bit of an art explosion. I think my favourite part is the couple dancing around the 2:38 mark. I love the carefree scribbles of pastels and paint that splash out beyond the lines. It looks like they must've had so much fun!
After watching Lucy, I decided to check out some tunes from another musical I love, Pink Floyd's The Wall. Again, such a super creative film. I never realized how much Bob Geldof looked like Jerry Seinfeld before - I mean, he's obviously not identical, but I think there's definitely a similarity there...
Finally, I think one of my favourite musicals is Hedwig and the Angry Inch. It started as an off-off Broadway show, and was eventually made into a kick ass little movie. Funny n' creative, featuring excellent music with amazing lyrics. I love, love, love it. And because I love it so much, I'm gonna show two of my favourite songs from the film, Origin of Love and Wicked Little Town.
Okay, that's enough YouTubeing n' blogging for tonight. I had better be off to bed now... G'night.
Last summer when I was visiting Ontariariario, I had the pleasure of meeting Pierce n' Petra, Heather's friends from San Diego. They decided to pop up to Ottawa for a couple days, while RVing across America on their honeymoon adventure. Super cool people.
As independent documentary filmmakers, in their free time Pierce n' Petra had been plugging away on a film about illegal immigration across the Mexican border. Some of the stories Pierce shared were fascinating! Unfortunately he said they were at a bit of a crossroads, because it was originally supposed to be a short film - but at around 45 minutes, it was quickly turning into a feature-length doc. Also, since the project had wrapped, Arizona's new controversial immigration law had come into play, leaving much more work to be done.
So when I heard that the trailer for their documentary was coming out this week, I immediately thought it would be about immigration. That is until Pierce said something about the nightmare of trying to organize surfers... unless Mexicans illegally surf across the border? That's when I remembered hearing about a surfing doc they had been working on, but I mistakenly thought it had already been released to DVD.
Anyway, the film is called Manufacturing Stoke, and I have to say, both Jim n' I are really impressed and look forward to checking it out. It has some beautiful shots n' looks pretty slick. So exciting!
Lost city of Atlantis, swamped by tsunami, may be found
Zach Howard
NORTHAMPTON, Mass | Sat Mar 12, 2011 11:36am EST
(Reuters) - A U.S.-led research team may have finally located the lost city of Atlantis, the legendary metropolis believed swamped by a tsunami thousands of years ago in mud flats in southern Spain.
"This is the power of tsunamis," head researcher Richard Freund told Reuters.
"It is just so hard to understand that it can wipe out 60 miles inland, and that's pretty much what we're talking about," said Freund, a University of Hartford, Connecticut, professor who lead an international team searching for the true site of Atlantis.
To solve the age-old mystery, the team used a satellite photo of a suspected submerged city to find the site just north of Cadiz, Spain. There, buried in the vast marshlands of the Dona Ana Park, they believe that they pinpointed the ancient, multi-ringed dominion known as Atlantis.
The team of archeologists and geologists in 2009 and 2010 used a combination of deep-ground radar, digital mapping, and underwater technology to survey the site.
Freund's discovery in central Spain of a strange series of "memorial cities," built in Atlantis' image by its refugees after the city's likely destruction by a tsunami, gave researchers added proof and confidence, he said.
Atlantis residents who did not perish in the tsunami fled inland and built new cities there, he added.
The team's findings will be unveiled on Sunday in "Finding Atlantis," a new National Geographic Channel special.
While it is hard to know with certainty that the site in Spain in Atlantis, Freund said the "twist" of finding the memorial cities makes him confident Atlantis was buried in the mud flats on Spain's southern coast.
"We found something that no one else has ever seen before, which gives it a layer of credibility, especially for archeology, that makes a lot more sense," Freund said.
Greek philosopher Plato wrote about Atlantis some 2,600 years ago, describing it as "an island situated in front of the straits which are by you called the Pillars of Hercules," as the Straits of Gibraltar were known in antiquity. Using Plato's detailed account of Atlantis as a map, searches have focused on the Mediterranean and Atlantic as the best possible sites for the city.
Tsunamis in the region have been documented for centuries, Freund says. One of the largest was a reported 10-story tidal wave that slammed Lisbon in November, 1755.
Debate about whether Atlantis truly existed has lasted for thousands of years. Plato's "dialogues" from around 360 B.C. are the only known historical sources of information about the iconic city. Plato said the island he called Atlantis "in a single day and night... disappeared into the depths of the sea."
Experts plan further excavations are planned at the site where they believe Atlantis is located and at the mysterious "cities" in central Spain 150 miles away to more closely study geological formations and to date artifacts.
Feels like I just wrote my roses n' thorns... oh well...
Rose
Last weekend Jim n' I discovered Me & Julio's. I heart Mexican food, and theirs is no exception. Absolutely fabulous, with plenty of veggie n' organic choices. We loved it so much that we ate there again yesterday.
I also made plans to go out with a friend on Tuesday night, and she suggested we meet up at Me & Julio's - so it looks like I'll get to enjoy it again in the very near future! Yay! So, so, so good.
Thorn
We still haven't put that last shelving unit together yet. Jim has had to work a bit on his weekends, and we never have the time on week nights. I'd put it together for myself, but it's much too big n' heavy for a one person job. Argh... it's driving me crazy. Our remaining boxes can't get put away until we set it up. Oh well, Jim wraps up editing this week, so next weekend we HAVE to put it together, or else I'm gonna throw it off the balcony. Ha. I'm just kidding... I can't even lift it myself, how will I ever throw it? In the meantime, we have two large boxes that stretch between our living room and dining room... and Jim keeps tripping over them. ;)
Rose
I had a really great time at the Chong & Chong fundraiser for Dana Larsen on Monday night. Even though I went by myself, I didn't feel awkward at all, as everyone was super friendly and social. I immediately recognized American activist Don Skakie and got a peek of the lovely Jodie Emery, who sat a few rows ahead of me.
Tomorrow afternoon, another gal n' I will be going to Dana's office to sign on as volunteers. (Dana's team are the same folks who are also responsible for the Free Marc Emery and End Prohibition campaigns...) I emailed them with a couple fundraising and marketing suggestions to help them raise more money and broaden their demographic beyond pot smokers. They liked my ideas, and said that marketing is a needed skill, and that they could use my help. (I've got a few other nifty ideas, but I'm saving them for our meeting.)
I feel like my brain has been turning to mush lately, so I'm pretty excited to get out of the house and use my marketing savvy for something interesting! :)
Thorn
Non-constructive criticism.
Rose
Okay, so this is a small blessing, but we bought a new scratching post this week that both our cats like. No more scratching the cat chair (even though it's already scratched to hell, which is why it's called the cat chair), and no more scratching the rug. Like I said, small blessings...
Thorn
Speaking of cats and rugs, one of the things that got left behind in Kelowna was our vacuum cleaner. Our friend moved our stuff for cost, which was incredibly generous of him - but his trailer didn't have enough room for everything. The plan was for him to bring the rest of our stuff on his next trip to the coast. We didn't think leaving our vacuum cleaner behind was a big deal at the time, since our apartment is all lamanent and tile... But then we went out and bought area rugs for the entrance, living room and bedroom, because we assumed that the rest of our stuff would be here in another week or two. Well, you know what they say when you assume things....
I'm sure I don't need to tell you that owning two long haired cats and no vacuum cleaner is an effing nightmare!! I've been using a sticky-tape lint remover on the rugs, which is incredibly time consuming and doesn't do a very good job. I think we might just end up buying another vacuum cleaner, because this is ridiculous... :(
Rose
Yesterday Jim n' I explored an awesome used vinyl and CD store not far from here. I was giddy to discover a ton of Ani Difranco albums (okay, maybe not a ton - more like ten...) I limited myself to two, but right after I had made my purchase, while waiting for Jim, I found a Bad Religion album I've been looking to replace for years. And then I found a DJ Spooky album I've also been on the hunt for. Ack!!
Fortunately I managed to hold back, telling myself that they wouldn't go anywhere -- at least not in the next two days. *fingers crossed* So tomorrow I'm gonna return with that big box of CDs I still wanna get rid of, and pick up those two gems. Weeee!
Thorn
That whole mess in Japan is pretty horrific, isn't it? Earthquake, tsunami, nuclear meltdown, and even a volcanic eruption. Just terrible....
Rose
I should probably try to limit myself to one food-related rose per post, but I can't think of any other roses right now besides the delicious almond lemon chicken I made for dinner the other night. I was gonna give it a 5 star rating, but when I clicked to rate it, I noticed that I gave it a 5 star review a year ago. I don't know why it took me a year to rediscover this easy delicious dish. I should make it more often.
Okay, okay ~ I know we've all heard *enough* about Charlie Sheen already.
And yet...
Jim just showed me the rant he uploaded last night against Two n' a Half Men creator Chuck Lorre, and.... wow! He has seeeerrrriously gone off the deep end. He's not just an eccentric egomaniac coming off a coke binge ~ he is completely unbalanced. It's kinda scary to watch. Jim says he sounds like some sort of insane dictator, and I'd have to agree.
I totally imagine him going down in the books for being the first person to broadcast their descent into madness. Of course, in Sheen's world that would probably mean that he's duh, WINNING!
Yesterday while Jim n' I were out for a walk, we came across a couple of these signs. I thought they were pretty funny, so I had him take a picture of it with his phone. But before I got a chance to upload it, this morning Jim came across the following article on CNN....
The signs feature a retro black-and-white photo of Richie along with the header "Hello?" and the caption "Is it me you're looking for?" At the bottom of the page are several tear-off strips, but instead of contact telephone numbers, each strip includes a lyric to "Hello."
One hipster tipster spotted Richie hanging in an apartment building lobby while others have spied him on the streets.
The video for "Hello" featured Richie falling for a blind girl, and the single spent three weeks at No. 1 on the Billboard charts.
No word on how long the "Hello" poster campaign will continue, but chances are, more than a few Brooklynites have been up "All Night Long" searching for the signs.
Remember Roses n' Thorns? Yeah, I don't know what happened to those, but I kinda liked 'em as a way to recap each week or two. Because it's been *months* since my last R&T post, there's no way I could ever possibly catch up, so I'll just stick to what I can remember from this last week and then move on from there.
Here we go...
Rose
My mom told me a heart-touching story the other day... Since the beginning of the school year, my niece Josie, who is in the second grade, has constantly been coming home hungry. My sister n' BIL had been giving her trouble, accusing her of not eating all her lunch. However, they recently learned the reason why she wasn't eating all her lunch.... Apparently there is a girl in Josie's class whose family is very poor (she doesn't even have a bed!). This little girl's lunch usually only consists of a few marshmallows or a baggie of potato chips. Josie has been splitting her sandwich with this classmate every day. She even started making it without butter, because she knows that this other little girl likes it better that way.
I'm so proud of Jo's caring heart, although I'm not surprised that she would do such a thoughtful thing. Since she was in kindergarten, Josie has occasionally offered to give away her old toys and clothes to the poor, and has wanted to send her apple seeds to the people in Africa so they could grow their own apple trees and then have food to eat. Gosh, how I love that sweet kid!
Thorn
As I mentioned in an earlier post, I had a couple blah days this week where I didn't feel like doing much of anything. But then I felt useless for being so unproductive. Fortunately, I made up for those two days when I...
Rose
...finally started writing my next screenplay. I've had an idea for a quirky Tim Burton-esque romantic comedy pre-DE, that I have been talking about writing for a while. I had done a synopsis a couple months ago, but had yet to put a single word on a page. I realize how important it is to use this next year wisely, so as I fell asleep on Wednesday night, I decided to give myself the goal of writing 120 bad pages (the first draft is ALWAYS bad) before my b-day, which is on May 14th. Thursday I wrote 9 bad pages - and it feels good.
Thorn
For a couple days, one of the water heaters in our building wasn't working, which meant that our water would only get warm but not hot. This has since been resolved, but it sure sucked when we wanted to take baths. By the time the tub would fill, the water had cooled to lukewarm. Yuck.
Rose
For well over a year I've been hanging on to this funky mango liquor bottle. (The shape of the bottle was the only reason I bought the liquor in the first place.) Having long since been emptied, the bottle has sat at the back in one of our kitchen cupboards until I was reunited with it while packing. I told myself that if I wanted to spare this bottle from the recycle bin that I would have to do something with it a.s.a.p., because we really don't have the room to hoard this sort of unnecessary crap. (If you've ever watched Mental Illness for Entertainment television, ie: Hoarders, you'll see that a number of those people have all these big ideas for projects that never come to fruition, and so their collections of garbage grows. In an alternate reality, I think I could probably be the same when it comes to wanting to save nifty bottles/containers and old shoes to make art...)
Anyway, this week I finally gave the bottle a makeover and painted it with some pretty blue n' green swirls. All I have left to do is finish the top part, which I think I'd maybe like to paint as a pink lotus flower, and then spray it with some gloss. I was originally gonna keep it, but we don't have room, so instead I've decided that it's going to be the first item I put on my Etsy site! After all, that was one of my goals this year, to sell two things on Etsy.
Once I'm done that, I gotta get back to my oil painting I recently effed up. I've been waiting for "Suzie's Power" to dry so I can paint over the parts I hate. Blegh. I hate when I mess up a painting. Where's the undo button? :(
Thorn
If I were a Barbie doll, y'know the part where the leg attaches to the torso - not the stomach, but not really the thigh either? - well anyway, the other day I realized that I was tender there on my left side and could feel a small bump or something beneath the skin when I pressed the sore spot. While I'm obviously not a doctor, I don't think it's like a tumor or anything dreadful like that -- I suspect it's more of a hard knot-in-the-muscle type thing... I don't know. Anyway, I'm gonna leave it for a week n' see if it goes away before getting it checked out. In the meantime I've been putting some arnica gel on it. I don't know if that'll do much, but it can't hurt.
The only piss off is if it doesn't go away (well, I shouldn't say the "only" piss off... it'd be a pretty big piss off if I find out it actually is something serious, although I sincerely doubt it...), is that I'll have to visit some random doctor in a clinic. For years, I had a really great doctor in Kelowna who I never once had to visit except for my annual check-ups... and now that I may have something that needs checking out, I don't have a friggin' doctor. Figures. :P
Anyhoo... no need to worry just yet. I'm pretty confident it's just a weird muscle thing and that it'll go away on it's own. I wouldn't even be mentioning it on here, except that I'm having trouble thinking of thorns.
Rose
Every year MOMA (the Museum of Modern Art in NYC) does an exhibit on Canadian films, where a variety of clips submitted by Telefilm are projected in one of their rooms. Last night after our screening (which went very well, btw - but more on that in another post), we learned that two clips from DE will be looped in the cinematic collage!
I went to MOMA on a school trip when I was 17, and it still stands out in my mind as one of the highlights. Interestingly enough, I even remember watching a couple clips of Canadian films the day we were there. But never in a million years did I every imagine that something I did would end up projected on the walls beneath the same roof that houses the works of Salvador Dali, Pablo Picasso, Andy Warhol, etc. Even though our producers seemed somewhat nonchalant about it, I have to admit that I'm pretty giddy. I mean, it's the friggin' MOMA for Pete's sakes! That's SO awesome!! (At least to an art nerd like me.) Personally, it's almost as exciting as the possibility of screening at TIFF. :)
And on that note, I think that's it for another week!!
I don't recall where I first heard about it, but for years I've been hoping to check out an amazing-sounding documentary series from Britain called 7-Up. (I believe the Simpsons even spoofed it.) The premise behind the docu-series is based on the quote by Francis Xavier, "Give me a child until he is seven, and I will give you the man." And so the series begins with 14 seven year olds in the 1960's, who are interviewed every seven years, allowing us to see how their lives have evolved between each film and if their socioeconomic backgrounds have impacted their development. It wasn't until a recent visit to Tom's Video, which boasts over 100,000 titles, that I finally came across the series to rent!
Just a side note, that wasn't a typo - they seriously have over 100,000 titles! The guy who works there said it's their only way to compete with chains like Blockbuster (who are now going bankrupt). While Tom's doesn't offer all the newest releases, they've got the most impressive archive you'll ever see. Although leave it to Jim to request two films that they don't carry...
Anyway, as I was saying, I can't tell you how thrilled I was to find most of the 7-Up series there. Unfortunately they don't have 49 Up, (so make that three titles they don't carry...), which has since sent Jim n' I on an almost obsessive mission. We have scoured the internet for a downloadable version and Jim has called all over Vancouver to see if anyone else has it to rent or buy. So far we haven't had any luck. I think we may have to special order it off Amazon. Sigh.
Regardless, over the course of a few days, we watched the first 6 episodes and saw these 14 children grow up before our eyes. I'm sure I speak for both of us when I say that it is hard to articulate the mixed feelings one is overcome with while watching these films: Hope for the future. Lost innocence. Sadness for unfulfilled dreams. And a real sense of mortality, because life just moves so damn fast, as we all hurtle like space shuttles towards our demise, and then out into the vast unknown. That is not to say that any of the participants have died yet, but a surprising number have already lost their parents by the age of 42.
The death of parents in particular hits close to home. Forty-two isn't that much older than Jim n' I. In fact, both grandparents on my father's side were hit fast and hard by liver cancer and died by 65. Jim's dad just turned 65 last month. A scary thought indeed.
Another similar revelation I had in terms of mortality was when the wife of one of the participants, who now lives in the U.S., said that they only get home to England once every two years. This meant that they'd probably only see their parents 10 more times before they inevitably passed away. While I never considered anything like that before, I can certainly appreciate it. It definitely put a new perspective on things for me, as I only get home once every year or two myself... which has always felt like enough. But will I still feel that way after my folks are dead n' gone? Hard to say...
But before I got into all this grim mortality talk, I mentioned unfulfilled dreams. (Which I suppose is just as grim...) And in that regard, I think the one individual in the series who has left the greatest lump in my throat is Neil. To see him as a sweet little boy, skipping down the street without a care in the world, dancing with a smile in his free movement class, and sharing stories about how he enjoys playing pirates...
And then only hours later, watching how his sad, yet somehow inspirational future unfolds... It feels nothing short of a fascinating privilege to peek in on his unique journey. Of course, I know I'm not alone with my thoughts on Neil. And on that note, I'll divert to Ebert's 1998 review after the release of 42 Up, since he can much better sum up the series than I ever could.
Neil, from 7 up.
The Up Documentaries (1985)
Roger Ebert / October 25, 1998
The "Up" documentaries, they're called. Every seven years, the British director Michael Apted revisits a group of people whose lives he has been chronicling since they were children. As he chats with them about how things are going, his films penetrate to the central mystery of life, asking the same questions that Wim Wenders poses in "Wings of Desire:" Why am I me and why not you? Why am I here and why not there?
They also strike me as an inspired, even noble, use of the film medium. No other art form can capture so well the look in an eye, the feeling in an expression, the thoughts that go unspoken between the words. To look at these films, as I have every seven years, is to meditate on the astonishing fact that man is the only animal that knows it lives in time.
"The child is father of the man," Wordsworth wrote. That seems literally true as we look at these films. The 7-year-olds already reveal most of the elements, good and bad, that flower in later life. Sometimes there are surprises; a girl who is uptight and morose at 21, vowing never to marry, blossoms in the later films into a cheerful wife and mother.
And consider Neil, who for most followers of the series has emerged as the most compelling character. He was a brilliant but pensive boy, who at 7 said he wanted to be a bus driver, so he could tell the passengers what to look for out the windows; he saw himself in the driver's seat, a tour guide for the lives of others. What career would you guess for him? An educator? A politician?
In later films he seemed to drift, unhappy and without direction. He fell into confusion. At 28, he was homeless in the Highlands of Scotland, and I remember him sitting outside his shabby house trailer on the rocky shore of a loch, looking forlornly across the water. He won't be around for the next film, I thought: Neil has lost his way. He survived, and at 35 was living in poverty on the rough Shetland Islands, where he had just been deposed as the (unpaid) director of the village pageant; he felt the pageant would be going better if he were still in charge.
In a way, I didn't expect him to be back for the next film. But the latest chapter in Neil's story is the most encouraging of all the episodes in "42 Up," and part of the change is because of his fellow film subject Bruce, who was a boarding school boy, studied math at Oxford, and then gave up a career in the insurance industry to become a teacher in London inner city schools. Bruce has always seemed one of the happiest of the subjects. At 40, he got married. Neil moved to London at about that time, was invited to the wedding, found a job through Bruce, and today--well, I would not want to spoil your surprise when you find the unlikely turn his life has taken.
Some lives seem to proceed with a certain inevitability. Tony at 7 wants to be a jockey, at 14 is a stable boy, and at 21 has actually ridden in the same race with the great Lester Piggott. Speculating that he might not be able to make a career as a jockey, he talks about taxi driving, and at 28 he is content as a London cabby, happy with a wife and two children, talking about his annual holidays in Spain, thinking about opening a pub. Because he is doing what he wants to be doing, he likes his life.
That seems to be the key: Doing what you like. There are two subjects who go into teaching. Bruce, Neil's friend, sees his decision to teach in poor schools in positive terms, speaks of his socialist ideals, seems happy. Another subject teaches in a similar position, but sees the job as a dead end. You can sense fundamental differences in their personalities, and see that the most overworked cliches may indeed be valid--that it helps to look on the sunny side. It is not the job that makes you unhappy. It is whether you want to be doing it.
Looking again at the 28, 35 and 42-Up films, I noticed more than before the roles of the spouses. Although modern feminism came of age during the making of the series, the men in these couples essentially define the conditions under which a couple lives, and the women still essentially raise the children. There is much talk about task-sharing, but in the smiles and shrugs of the women, and their glances into the distance, we read the rest of the message.
One subject, an Oxford graduate, took a job at the University of Wisconsin, to pursue his research on fusion. His wife, also an academic, came along into exile, but talks winsomely of visiting England only once every two years; she realizes she can expect to see her family members perhaps only 10 more times in her lifetime. Talking about raising a family, she says optimistically (in 1984) that a computer in the home may help her juggle work and domestic duties. Another wife, the mate of the unhappy teacher, doesn't want children because they will limit her choices; on the basis of the lives of the others in the film, she's right. Still, we see subjects dubious about children at 21 but treasuring them in later years.
Because all of the subjects are British, there are qualities that leap out for an American viewer. One is how articulate the subjects are; from the three working-class girls in a pub to the well-born graduate of the best schools, from the taxi driver to the Cockney who moved with his wife to Australia, they're all good at self-expression. They speak with precision, and often with grace and humor. One ponders the inarticulate murkiness, self-help cliches, sports metaphors and management truisms that clutter American speech. (**Jim n' I were quite blown away by how articulate and introspective they all were as well - even as young children. Quite a difference from North American speech indeed!)
It is also evident that class counts for more in Britain than in America. One woman says she believed when she was younger that there were "opportunities," but now sees that she was deceived. We sense those in the middle are the least content. The working classes seem sure of themselves, confident in their idiom, realistic and humorous. The fortunate also seem to have found interesting options (an upper class twit at 21 refused to be interviewed at 28--but by 35, amazingly, had flowered into a worker for a relief project in Eastern Europe). Those caught in the middle seem more trapped, unless education has released them; the nuclear physicist relaxes on the shores of a Wisconsin lake and talks about how American universities open up new opportunities for every generation.
Watching the films again, I became more aware of the role the countryside plays in British lives. Many of the subjects live or visit the country, and are at home with gardening and the outdoors; during one interview the camera casually changes focus to show the subject's dog, in the background, capturing a rabbit.
The subjects are good sports. At 7 they didn't volunteer for this project, but now they're stuck with it. The series plays on British television, so their notoriety is renewed on a regular basis; it doesn't help to grow gray, because the cameras keep up with them. Some refer to the project ruefully, but there have been fewer dropouts that one would imagine, and one subject came back in from the cold. Even Neil, the loner who is the most worrisome of the subjects, comes forward. They accept that they're part of an enterprise larger than themselves: Their films exploit, more fully than any others, the use of cinema as a time machine. I feel as if I know these subjects, and indeed I do know them better than many of the people I work with every day, because I know what they dreamed of at 7, their hopes at 14, the problems they faced in their early 20s, and their marriages, their jobs, their children, even their adulteries.
Apted says in his introduction to the book 42 Up (The New Press, $16.95) that if he had the project to do again, he would have chosen more middle-class subjects (his sample was weighted toward the upper and working classes), and more women. He had a reason, though, for choosing high and low: The original question asked by the series was whether Britain's class system was eroding. The answer seems to be: yes, but slowly. Sarris, writing in the New York Observer, delivers this verdict: "At one point, I noted that the upper-class kids, who sounded like twits at 7 compared to the more spontaneous and more lovable lower-class kids, became more interesting and self-confident as they raced past their social inferiors. It was like shooting fish in a barrel. Class, wealth and social position did matter, alas, and there was no getting around it."
None of the 14 have died yet, although three have dropped out of the project (some drop out for a film and are back for the next one). By now many have buried their parents. Forced to look back at themselves at 7, 14, 21, 28 and 35, they seem mostly content with the way things have turned out. Will they all live to 49? Will the series continue until none are alive? Revisiting these now-familiar faces, I think of my own life. Curious how, at 7 or 8, I wanted to be a newspaperman, and how today I am one. Anyone watching these films goes through a similar process of self-examination. Why am I me and why not you? Why am I here and why not there?
Despite the possible challenge of getting your hands on a copy, if you should ever come across this incredible series, I really encourage you to check it out. I'm hopeful that it will be shown on TV within this next year or so, as 56 Up is scheduled to be released in May 2012!
