smokingboot: (svengali)
Or, the producer previously known as Genius Love Puppy because he's a) a genius and b) a love puppy. You never know just how gifted he is until he shows you his work, cos he spends his entire life clowning around like a ninny, earning the studio's unanimous title of 'The Idiot.' Stark and simple though the accolade seems, one must consider the calibre of the competition around him. We are legend or deserve to be. To stand out among such a mob of promising morons is an achievement indeed.

The thing is, this guy totally brings out my Inner Fan Girl. Conversations tend to be embarrassing:
Lost in Translation )

No, I have no idea what that was about either. And they're all like that, though usually less linear. Nice guy. Films, clear and strong, conversations, uh, charming but incomprehensible.I was dreading reading his story. And then I did. It's in front of me now.

Well hmm. I can write off some of this as gifted undergrad stuff as he tears through the language and forces me to re-think the way he uses it. Is this poetry? is this prose? Too self aware maybe, until he lets himself go and gets inside the thing. OK, he's not worried about pace and he knows no-one talks like his dialogue, he gets that; I have been trying to pare excess adjectives out of my writing since I was 13, he just doesn't, he uses them to reshape everything. He pulls me into the undercurrent, the subtext and the feeling. Just as I reach for my red pen, I stay my hand and can't edit out what seem to be mistakes. Because they aren't. This isn't bad language, or overly self-conscious stylisation. It has evident derivations (Raymond Chandler, James Ellroy, Gerard Manley Hopkins and James Joyce spring to mind) but this is something else. He isn't working outside the box, he just isn't aware of the box. I think he's good. Extremely good.

Just as well my IFG didn't know this the other night, cos the sound of popping awe would have drowned out the pub chatter. He insisted on getting us all another drink, went over to the crowded bar and made bashful eyes at the barmaid, who smiled back and served him straight away. Even with her efforts we were a tiny bit late for the briefing (first time ever for me since I began working at the studio). He swept us through reception where a curmudgeonly gentleman signs us in. One look at mein beaming host, all facial granite dissolved and the lost minutes magically reappeared on the signing sheets. We went upstairs where the night's organiser was waiting for us, a stern frown replaced by grin at the sight of the Puppy, everyone's sweetheart, fortune's favoured son. No-one gets a reprimand, hugs go on forever.

Well here's the lowdown, homeboy; am a bit stunned by your talent, just like every other idiot in the 'hood. Tain't a fancying thing, just an admiration thing. You win, you win! Thankfully you're too smart to notice. Now get out of here and give my IFG a rest, OK?
smokingboot: (porcupine)
Doubtless we have all wondered what would have happened if the Rocky Horror Time Warp had ever worked and Dr Frankenfurter had made his escape into ancient history. It seems indisputable that he would have mutated himself into a 12 foot long cheesey poove, and kicked Greek arse aided by an enormous collection of persian crabmen and goats from his harem.

If the above seems unlikely to you, there is the vague chance that 300 may disappoint. But in case any reader of my journal should find themselves transported back to this strange world, let me give you one word that will get you out of all difficulties. Simply roar 'SPAHTAH!' and everyone will understand and leave you alone.
Roaring 'SPAHTAH!' gains you a six pack at the cost of your cerebellum, allows you to laugh hysterically at any and all situations, despise the ugly/corrupt until they give you information (which you must then believe entirely of course) and best of all, helpfully kick your enemies down your own city well. Impressive. 'SPAHTAH!' is a short word for testosterone without reason, and the standard reply is a resounding 'HOOON!' meaning 'We too, are very stupid.'

I am enjoying this far too much. 300. It's just not very good.

There was more to enjoying [ profile] larians birthday than this, thankfully. We spent the weekend in London with his brother and brother's girlfriend, enjoying the many mooded ambience of Beach Blanket Babylon, and going on to the infinitely funkier Electric House bar. I was pleased to see my boyfriend finally enjoying the Big Smoke. I've always liked the area around Notting Hill. It was a good weekend.

There was other good news. Some may recall I recently had to do some location shoots with Hard Wired, the producer who once notably called me a complete spastic. I was dreading the entire experience; turns out that the results have delighted our bosses. 'The best so far,' they call it, though considering their delight with the hideous ads, I won't break out the champagne just yet.Hard Wired, on the other hand, may well be unbearable after this.

And on Friday, was the funeral for Rick of course.

I should record this so I don't forget.

Read more... )
smokingboot: (indiablossom)
Enough. Yes, Hard Wired and I are doomed to combust in an apocalypse of malfunctioning tech, vile weather and insane passers-by. Morituri te salutant! I shall think on it no longer.

Instead I will reveal how to make the most glorious cocktail as discovered by [personal profile] ravenrigan and explained to me by a barkeeper last night, before I went on to enjoy Hot Fuzz in the company of [profile] larians, [profile] evilwends and[profile] cyanidemigraine.

For the delectable cooling cocktail known as The Bombay Flower one mixes:

Bombay Sapphire Gin: Double shot
Elderflower cordial/presse: Half a single shot
4 mint leaves shredded
A squeeze of lemon if preferred

And the mysterious hitherto unknown ingredient:
Syrup de Gomme (brand = Molin}: half a single shot

Don't tell Mad Carew; he'll just steal the gin or offend the locals by ripping up their herb gardens, or squirt lemon in your eyes because you told him he can't kiss properly. Let's leave that loser somewhere north of Kathmandu, steal his aspirin, and we shall cross dream borders, you and I, under a jasmine moon two nights before the monsoon...
smokingboot: (dreams)
Objectively: this is a magnificent film.

Subjectively...Seeing my mother's world: not really about the film )


smokingboot: (Default)

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