Recently my brother wrote a review of The Prestige on his blog The Choked Blowhole. Reading his review made me feel like perhaps I had missed the mark on this movie. I wanted to like this movie. I really did. And yet, the first time I watched it, I found it wanting. Second time I watched it, strangely disappointed. Sadly, it got filed into the growing pile of disappointing movies not to be brought out again. Until I read this review.
Let it be said at the very beginning that I am just a tad intransigent at times. That being the case, there are not many individuals who could make me take a third look at a film. Not wanting to be completely intractable, however, I decided to take one more spin in the magic box. Needless to say, this is not an easy thing to do with this particular movie. "Now you're looking for the secret... but you won't find it, because of
course you're not really looking. You don't really want to know. You
want to be fooled." Unfortunately, once you know what the secret is, you can never really watch the trick the same again.
With mind as open as I could get it, freshly popped bowl of corn in front of me, I curled up on my couch with my newly rented copy of The Prestige.
What first drew me to this movie was the undeniably stellar cast. This movie has an incredible ensemble of individuals including the incomparable David Bowie and the fabulous Andy Serkis. Then we go into the cast of main characters. You can never go wrong with Michael Caine. The man always delivers a stellar performance whether he's playing a butler or singing and dancing with the Muppet cast. I first saw Hugh Jackman in X-Men and have been an avid follower ever since. Somehow he manages to bring something different to every part he plays and I definitely felt like this was a new twist for him. Finally, Christian Bale shows up as Alfred Borden. What can I say? Christian Bale could breathe for two hours and I would watch. So far, I'm completely along for the ride.
The question then becomes, when did they lose me? This is where I have trouble separating myself from my initial impressions. Mostly because what turned me off the first time around was that I felt the movie was predictable. I knew what was coming down the pike. This time I really did know what was coming down the pike. Instead, I tried to watch the movie from the perspective of what wasn't working for me. Cast definitely delivered. I could see how the story line developed as action led to counter-action. The characters were all believable. And I really enjoyed the build up of action during the movie. Which still begged the question what left me wanting.
Ultimately, I think I was stuck on two major points. One was that feeling of predictability. Perhaps if I had not seen The Illusionist first, I would not have been suffering from that overwhelming sense of deja vu. Alas, just as I couldn't really go back with a blank slate perspective, I couldn't reverse the order in which I viewed these flicks. Be that as it may, it's hard to buy into the magic when you know how the trick is done. My other major hang up was the end of the movie. I know they gave you a run through on how everything happened at the end, but I still walked away with questions. Where did Cutter fit into the story? Whose side was he on the whole time? Perhaps it was just recognizing the ultimate body count in this movie. There really is a lot of death. It seems like it hints at much darker undertones that aren't fully explored.
Even with all the negatives, I will admit to enjoying the movie more this time around than in previous viewings. My expectations were lower, which perhaps helped in the long run. At the same time, I found quite a bit to recommend this movie which I think I overlooked last time around. I'm not sure I'll be running out to add to this my personal collection, but I have a much more open mind.
Thursday, March 27, 2014
Monday, March 17, 2014
Keeper of the Stuff
Some mothers claim that their title lies somewhere along the lines of "chauffeur" or "maid" or "cook." While all of these may seem apt on one level or another, I courteously disagree. My official title is "Keeper of the Stuff."
It is a rare day in our little kingdom when I don't spend at least 20 minutes of my time hunting for some item that has made a mysterious disappearance. Mind you, the closer it is to bed time, the more value this item has to the child in question. Alas, in some instances, it is an item that I just can't argue with. "Mom, where's my blanks?!" Blanks being the blanket that my son absolutely will not sleep without. That thing is tattered, stained beyond reason, truly well loved and still going to bed with my son four years after he received it. Mind you, had we known at the time what great status this blanket was going to have in my son's life, we would have stocked up. Unfortunately, we were too short sighted to make that call and now spend inordinate quantities of time hunting for aforesaid piece of material. Once the item has been safely retrieved from the car, the back of the trike, under the couch cushions and once inside Jaba's bed (no, folks, you can't make this stuff up), I am able to finally tuck my son into bed. Then ponder whether it is possible to attach a tracking device for next time.
The really mind boggling part about this title is that it's not just related to my child. Some part of my brain can almost justify their dependence as they are too small to reach some of the shelves in the house, have a very short attention span and usually are not the ones reorganizing things within our home. With the exception that my husband is almost a foot taller than I am, apparently all the above rules apply to him also.
It is with frightening regularity that my husband asks me "where did the piece of paper go that was sitting on my night table?" Friends, let me assure you, although I may be a little more organizationally conscientious (did you like that euphemism?) I rarely take it upon myself to reorganize his night table. It's sort of like poking through my husband's drawers ... some space should just be his. None of this, however, matters to my husband who is sure that I have moved the item in question with the sole goal in mind of making him search for it. With a distinct lack of patience I holler back, "did you look on the night table?" "Yeah, it was there. Can't find it now." Which means one of two things. It has been moved by my husband, myself or one of our children. Possible, but not usually the case. The second option being that it is still there and has been buried under the mound of stuff that has accumulated on the furniture. Usually, within two minutes of shifting the items around on the night table I am able to locate the desired piece of paper. And don't ask me how I know which piece of paper it actually is; I am going to attribute it to some sixth sense that kicks in when you become a Mom. All I do know is that every once in a while it would be nice if one member of my family actually made an effort to look instead of automatically bouncing the job to the Keeper of the Stuff.
My son is also infamous for this behavior. "Mom, do you know where my truck is?" "Which truck would that be? You have about 20 of them." "You know, the one with the really big tires." While this does narrow the list down by about half, I'm still not sure to which one he is referring. With increasing impatience he says, "you know, the one with the really big tires that looks like a monster truck!" Obviously this is supposed to jog my memory, but I guess I forgot to catalogue that item. Now he's really hopping mad at me and says "the one I got at the playground that time!" Still with no clue what he's talking about, we go look in the pile of trucks which has been scattered throughout the living room, and find the missing item. Don't ask me why he managed to overlook this particular treasure when he dumped them hither and yon, but it seems that only the Keeper of the Stuff could ascertain its true location. Current crisis diverted, I go back to dealing with everyone else's stuff.
Presently, I find myself in the unenviable position of packing for five people to go on vacation. There was a time in my life when I could leave on vacation for a week and take no more than a backpack. True story. Having just begun my task today, I already have two bags packed with snacks and baby food for the trip; one bag just for diapers, pull ups and swimmers; and now a fourth bag going with bathing attire and toiletries. (Oh yeah, note to self, don't forget the floaties.) Before taking off on this restful interlude I still need to gather together clothing for my entourage, outerwear in case of inclement weather, blow up mattresses, a pack and play for the baby, high chair and an untold number of blankets, stuffed animals and electronic paraphernalia. Despite the lack of assistance from other members of the household, I hope to have us packed and out the door early on the morning of departure. Somehow, though, I'm sure it won't be long before I hear "Mom, did you remember to pack my ..." If it's missing, blame it on the Keeper of the Stuff.
It is a rare day in our little kingdom when I don't spend at least 20 minutes of my time hunting for some item that has made a mysterious disappearance. Mind you, the closer it is to bed time, the more value this item has to the child in question. Alas, in some instances, it is an item that I just can't argue with. "Mom, where's my blanks?!" Blanks being the blanket that my son absolutely will not sleep without. That thing is tattered, stained beyond reason, truly well loved and still going to bed with my son four years after he received it. Mind you, had we known at the time what great status this blanket was going to have in my son's life, we would have stocked up. Unfortunately, we were too short sighted to make that call and now spend inordinate quantities of time hunting for aforesaid piece of material. Once the item has been safely retrieved from the car, the back of the trike, under the couch cushions and once inside Jaba's bed (no, folks, you can't make this stuff up), I am able to finally tuck my son into bed. Then ponder whether it is possible to attach a tracking device for next time.
The really mind boggling part about this title is that it's not just related to my child. Some part of my brain can almost justify their dependence as they are too small to reach some of the shelves in the house, have a very short attention span and usually are not the ones reorganizing things within our home. With the exception that my husband is almost a foot taller than I am, apparently all the above rules apply to him also.
It is with frightening regularity that my husband asks me "where did the piece of paper go that was sitting on my night table?" Friends, let me assure you, although I may be a little more organizationally conscientious (did you like that euphemism?) I rarely take it upon myself to reorganize his night table. It's sort of like poking through my husband's drawers ... some space should just be his. None of this, however, matters to my husband who is sure that I have moved the item in question with the sole goal in mind of making him search for it. With a distinct lack of patience I holler back, "did you look on the night table?" "Yeah, it was there. Can't find it now." Which means one of two things. It has been moved by my husband, myself or one of our children. Possible, but not usually the case. The second option being that it is still there and has been buried under the mound of stuff that has accumulated on the furniture. Usually, within two minutes of shifting the items around on the night table I am able to locate the desired piece of paper. And don't ask me how I know which piece of paper it actually is; I am going to attribute it to some sixth sense that kicks in when you become a Mom. All I do know is that every once in a while it would be nice if one member of my family actually made an effort to look instead of automatically bouncing the job to the Keeper of the Stuff.
My son is also infamous for this behavior. "Mom, do you know where my truck is?" "Which truck would that be? You have about 20 of them." "You know, the one with the really big tires." While this does narrow the list down by about half, I'm still not sure to which one he is referring. With increasing impatience he says, "you know, the one with the really big tires that looks like a monster truck!" Obviously this is supposed to jog my memory, but I guess I forgot to catalogue that item. Now he's really hopping mad at me and says "the one I got at the playground that time!" Still with no clue what he's talking about, we go look in the pile of trucks which has been scattered throughout the living room, and find the missing item. Don't ask me why he managed to overlook this particular treasure when he dumped them hither and yon, but it seems that only the Keeper of the Stuff could ascertain its true location. Current crisis diverted, I go back to dealing with everyone else's stuff.
Presently, I find myself in the unenviable position of packing for five people to go on vacation. There was a time in my life when I could leave on vacation for a week and take no more than a backpack. True story. Having just begun my task today, I already have two bags packed with snacks and baby food for the trip; one bag just for diapers, pull ups and swimmers; and now a fourth bag going with bathing attire and toiletries. (Oh yeah, note to self, don't forget the floaties.) Before taking off on this restful interlude I still need to gather together clothing for my entourage, outerwear in case of inclement weather, blow up mattresses, a pack and play for the baby, high chair and an untold number of blankets, stuffed animals and electronic paraphernalia. Despite the lack of assistance from other members of the household, I hope to have us packed and out the door early on the morning of departure. Somehow, though, I'm sure it won't be long before I hear "Mom, did you remember to pack my ..." If it's missing, blame it on the Keeper of the Stuff.
Wednesday, March 5, 2014
The Communications Era
A few weeks ago I attempted to contact a company with questions about their product. I'm not going to mention which company because 1) it's not really relevant to this rant and 2) you could interchange it with just about any company out there these days and the end result would be the same. First I had to get through the obligatory phone tree. I would be absolutely astounded if I called a business these days and a live human being picked up the phone. After going through 32 possible combinations, none of which met my specific need, I began punching the "zero" button repetitively hoping to connect with an operator. The recorded lady kept insisting that if I followed their phone tree she would be better able to direct my call. She just didn't seem to understand that this option just wasn't working for me. Reluctantly, she eventually gave in and redirected my call to "the first available operator."
It has long been a theory of mine that if companies redirected all of the personnel they have working in telemarketing to the customer service department, customer relations would improve by a hundred fold. Think about it. How many of you have seriously decided to change your insurance carrier because someone was kind enough to interrupt you during the one night a week you get to have dinner with your family? Never mind the fact that you did careful research on all your options and have been a loyal customer with this company for years. Persistent telemarketer calls and now I've changed my mind. With dogged determination, though, they keep on calling. And that flood of customer service reps is still an elusive entity. I will continue to get 15 phone calls a day for Ernest Rice and I will continue to hold for 45 minutes waiting for the next available representative. Yes, folks, 45 minutes. I understand that my call will be answered in the order it was received, but 45 minutes? How many people are answering the phone, two?
Unfortunately, the above scenario is just another evidence of what I consider to be the ongoing problems with the age we live in. Now, mind you, I am fully cognizant of the irony of posting this thought process on a blog. Allow me this moment anyhow as I mention my total astonishment at the fact that we now have more ways than ever to keep in touch with each other, yet no one seems to be building relationships anymore. Seriously. Think about this.
People text, they twitter, they facebook, they leave messages and access a few other modern gizmos that I'm not familiar with while never actually connecting with a live person. I wish I had a nickel for every time someone has said to me "oh, you missed that moment? Well, I posted it on facebook!" Lovely. What ever happened to picking up a phone and calling? Or even an email? Something that says, "I was personally thinking of you and wanted you to be a part of this moment in my life." Instead I, and the other 357 individuals who are lucky enough to be friends with them on facebook, can all find out simultaneously. At the same time we discover that Becky just ate a sandwich. And Trish is no longer talking to Tanya because of that thing that happened at the prom. It's all public fodder.
Maybe I should use the 45 minutes I'm on hold for company Z to catch up on everyone's facebook page. Except I'm too busy using that time to chase children around the house, fold laundry, cook dinner and catch up with all the other minutiae of real life. Which brings me back to the lack of live people. Even outside of company Z, it seems that real people are hard to find. There are individuals of my acquaintance who I have no less than eight ways to contact them. Not a lie, folks. Do you think you can ever actually reach them. Why do we own all these modern gadgets if we're never able to get in touch with one another? Which is astounding to me that I can never reach people on their phones because it seems like the majority of individuals have them glued to their ears. Have you ever been to dinner with someone and they spent the entire meal taking phone calls from other people? Guess my company wasn't stimulating enough? Let's do this again soon! And if you do actually connect with someone it's worse than trying to schedule an appointment with the doctor. "Ooooh, the next few weeks are looking really bad, how about we look at getting together next month?" Maybe they're trying to catch up on all their facebook posting.
A short while before Christmas I attended a parade with my children. There was a lady sitting next to me and she made a comment about the parade or my children or some other friendly rejoinder. I embarked upon a conversation with her. Only to discover that I was standing next to the one crazy person at the parade. In between talking to me, this woman was having a conversation with herself. I briefly thought about backing away, but didn't want to insult her if she was really off her rocker. I wasn't sure whether to be relieved or annoyed when I finally figured out she was talking on a blue tooth. (Still say they remind me of those guys in the Cloud City in Empire Strikes Back, but that's just me.) On the one hand, she wasn't the raving loon I thought she was. On the other hand, here I thought I was connecting with someone and it turns out that she was talking to her friend Beth several states away. Maybe I should just give her credit. At least she was personally connecting.
It has long been a theory of mine that if companies redirected all of the personnel they have working in telemarketing to the customer service department, customer relations would improve by a hundred fold. Think about it. How many of you have seriously decided to change your insurance carrier because someone was kind enough to interrupt you during the one night a week you get to have dinner with your family? Never mind the fact that you did careful research on all your options and have been a loyal customer with this company for years. Persistent telemarketer calls and now I've changed my mind. With dogged determination, though, they keep on calling. And that flood of customer service reps is still an elusive entity. I will continue to get 15 phone calls a day for Ernest Rice and I will continue to hold for 45 minutes waiting for the next available representative. Yes, folks, 45 minutes. I understand that my call will be answered in the order it was received, but 45 minutes? How many people are answering the phone, two?
Unfortunately, the above scenario is just another evidence of what I consider to be the ongoing problems with the age we live in. Now, mind you, I am fully cognizant of the irony of posting this thought process on a blog. Allow me this moment anyhow as I mention my total astonishment at the fact that we now have more ways than ever to keep in touch with each other, yet no one seems to be building relationships anymore. Seriously. Think about this.
People text, they twitter, they facebook, they leave messages and access a few other modern gizmos that I'm not familiar with while never actually connecting with a live person. I wish I had a nickel for every time someone has said to me "oh, you missed that moment? Well, I posted it on facebook!" Lovely. What ever happened to picking up a phone and calling? Or even an email? Something that says, "I was personally thinking of you and wanted you to be a part of this moment in my life." Instead I, and the other 357 individuals who are lucky enough to be friends with them on facebook, can all find out simultaneously. At the same time we discover that Becky just ate a sandwich. And Trish is no longer talking to Tanya because of that thing that happened at the prom. It's all public fodder.
Maybe I should use the 45 minutes I'm on hold for company Z to catch up on everyone's facebook page. Except I'm too busy using that time to chase children around the house, fold laundry, cook dinner and catch up with all the other minutiae of real life. Which brings me back to the lack of live people. Even outside of company Z, it seems that real people are hard to find. There are individuals of my acquaintance who I have no less than eight ways to contact them. Not a lie, folks. Do you think you can ever actually reach them. Why do we own all these modern gadgets if we're never able to get in touch with one another? Which is astounding to me that I can never reach people on their phones because it seems like the majority of individuals have them glued to their ears. Have you ever been to dinner with someone and they spent the entire meal taking phone calls from other people? Guess my company wasn't stimulating enough? Let's do this again soon! And if you do actually connect with someone it's worse than trying to schedule an appointment with the doctor. "Ooooh, the next few weeks are looking really bad, how about we look at getting together next month?" Maybe they're trying to catch up on all their facebook posting.
A short while before Christmas I attended a parade with my children. There was a lady sitting next to me and she made a comment about the parade or my children or some other friendly rejoinder. I embarked upon a conversation with her. Only to discover that I was standing next to the one crazy person at the parade. In between talking to me, this woman was having a conversation with herself. I briefly thought about backing away, but didn't want to insult her if she was really off her rocker. I wasn't sure whether to be relieved or annoyed when I finally figured out she was talking on a blue tooth. (Still say they remind me of those guys in the Cloud City in Empire Strikes Back, but that's just me.) On the one hand, she wasn't the raving loon I thought she was. On the other hand, here I thought I was connecting with someone and it turns out that she was talking to her friend Beth several states away. Maybe I should just give her credit. At least she was personally connecting.
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