marramgrass

After this and this I have been looking forward to some wonderful snow.

Large swathes of Scotland are shut down, and I’m ‘enjoying’ two light dustings of nothing very much.

<Harrumph>.

Link-o-matic.

‘In his verdict he went on to say that her “physical appearance during the three-day hearing - carefully groomed, dressed differently each day, with rings, bracelets, fancy earrings and large glasses - … does not fit the profile of a woman who has suffered months of aggression”.’

This is taking the mick, surely?

So. Tired.

For some reason not sleeping terribly well at the mo’.

And. So. Tired.

The Last Samurai was the second Japan-set film I saw in a week. I’ve tried several times to write some comment on Sofia Coppola’s Lost In Translation, but haven’t managed yet.

I thought almost as much of it as of TLS, but for very different reasons. Nothing much happens in Lost In Translation. It’s almost a two-hour character-study. But it’s… beautiful, I think would be the word. Bill Murray turns in a career-best, and Scarlett Johansson is very nearly as good. It’s bleak and hopeful and tender and laugh-out-loud funny all at once.

There’s two bandwagons out there waiting to be jumped on: the ‘Lost In Translation is the best movie ever ever EVER!’ faction, and the strong and vocal backlash. I would fit in with the former, were I in the mood to jump.

Was perfect for a late-Friday-night after a very hectic evening at youth club.

I like cinema that makes me feel, that can reach down my throat and grab those heartstrings and then give ‘em a mighty yank. This film did that with the greatest of ease.

I like The Last Samurai a lot. It appeals to me on many levels. It tells a powerful story. I can’t comment on the historical accuracy of it, but it works as a film (remember that even a film ‘based’ on history - say, the Samurai rebellion in 1877 - is still a work of fiction).

It’s got samurai and ninja in it, and there’s always been something fascinating and attractive to me about the samurai way of life as it’s portrayed in film and literature.

The fight sequences are beautiful and thrilling, and the final battle puts the various LOTR efforts to shame - it’s not about scale and CGI’d cleverness, it’s about intensity and power.

Almost every single performance in it is astounding. Check out Cruise’s burnt out vet, the uncertain young emperor (telling oh so much of his character in a very short screen time), each of the band of samurai, and particularly Ken Watanabe as Katsumoto. It’s a shame about Billy Connolly’s slightly Glasgow-inflected ‘Oirish’ accent. It was only just before his character’s exit in my second viewing that I figured out he was meant to be an Irishman…

I have an unfortunate tendency to rave uncontrollably when I like a film. So I’m raving. I enjoyed this more than I’ve enjoyed a movie in a long time, and it will definitely challenge Pirates for the record of how many times I see something in the cinema.

Go see it - 150 minutes of your life will disappear, and you won’t even notice.

Greatly enjoyed The Last Samurai this morning, and was struck by some higher-than-normal standard acting from the man himself.

One moment of note (albeit a slightly lower quality one - contradictions-r-us, after all) had Cruise as Nathan Algren protesting that the soldiers he was training weren’t ready for battle. To prove his point, he ‘insists’ one of the recruits shoots him. When the soldier misses, he is plainly all of relieved, vindicated, and disappointed that he’s still standing there - with all ghosts still present and correct (watch the film).

I liked it, anyway.

Quite some time ago, I heard about these things called iPods and reckoned they sounded like a fairly hot idea. Fairly. No big deal.

Then I went and saw one in the flesh (stainless steel and plastic, if you’re feeling precise), and was fairly intent on obtaining one. Which I did, a few weeks ago. It’s very nice.

Visiting family, I showed it to my brother. He now will not rest until he gets one - despite the fact that they are, in the words of one salesman, hens’ teeth. My brother is currently throwing his CD collection at iTunes.

The iPod effect.

DISCLAIMER: I’m feeling a little materialistic at the moment. Please excuse me - I’m working on it. If you held an iPod, you may at least understand.

Later, I’m sure I will expound at great length on various wonderful design features that are slowly impressing upon me the genius of Apple.

A cold, dark morning sometime between Christmas and New Year. The street is asleep, all but me and my wife who I have to drive to work. It’s been another excruciatingly cold night. The frost lies thick. It takes the better part of fifteen minutes to clear the windscreen of the car.

Pulling away, cursing the gloves that were left in the car overnight and the blower that just won’t heat up, we spy the true ruler of our street.

Evil Cat™.

A full-coated, long-haired, snowy-white incarnation of villiany. Think James Bond, or Cats & Dogs. Surveying the morning with an air of total self-possession - total street-possession, even - he caught my eye.

“Yes,” I could sense him thinking. “Kneel before me, for every inch of this cold darkness is mine. Even you.”

I fear it may be so. Evil Cat™ lives in my street.