Gerry

Well, that's probably the last time Julie comes to the movies with me : (

Out last night with the lovely Julie and the lovely Alana to see 'Gerry', now four years old but, I thought, worth a look. The overall opinion: AJ enjoyed the first half very much but the second less so, and Julie can now tell you how many seats there are in that cinema (adding insult to injury - the poor lass had just fallen down a set of stairs, bruising herself quite horribly in the process).

For myself, I enjoyed the idea of the film very much. I applauded the absence of background music and dialogue, and relished the long, long shots where you could watch the light fade in the background over some quite stupendous landscapes. I think it was supposed to make you feel uncomfortable; in the beginning I was willing on the conversation, trying to push the plot along - like forcing yourself to meditate - but once I relaxed into it the cinematography became almost hypnotic.

That said, however, 'Plan 9' could tell this film something about shot length. I appreciate the point that was being made, but they really did overdo it in parts. AJ maintains that the relationship between the two men was handled very well; I admired it but would have liked to have seen more still - but then I missed a crucial plot development right at the end and had to have my interpretation corrected later : ) Silly girl. Still - seldom has the discussion of any film I've been to in company carried on for so long after leaving the cinema.

Got home from taking the family to lunch today and was attacked by the dome of my lovely (glass) cake keeper. I have no idea what I did to dislodge it (the crumble in it wasn't one of my best efforts, but I didn't think suicide was the answer), but as I opened the door the bloody thing leapt off the top of the fridge and through the window, smashing into a million pieces in the courtyard. It was a present, and I felt quite remarkably upset seeing it lying all over the sage. Come home, Lauren - you need to help me choose another one.

Lonely Is

Have been reflecting over the last few days how easy it is to accidentally go without human contact. It's exacerbated, I know, by my working hours and the nature of my job, but there must be lots of other people in the same boat.

The other day I don't think I had any kind of conversation until 4:00 in the afternoon. I got up after everyone else had gone to work, paid my bills by phone, and then studied, cleaned, read or watched telly until I went in to work, where I must have exchanged about four sentences with the captioner coming off shift before he ran for his bus. Then I sat under headphones for seven hours and got home after everyone else had gone to bed. Even when I go to aqua aerobics there's not a lot of talking going on - just some being talked at. And yet you don't notice - you get the impression that because you've been taking in TV, radio, email or whatever that you've been talking. So my long-suffering mates get run over by a talking steamroller when at last our shifts coincide or I get fed up and phone them in the wee hours. Still, this should all improve a bit when I go back to working at uni next week.

Futhermore - I've lived in my bijou flatette for about six months now and I still don't know my neighbours' names. (I only worked out the girls living on one side are Chinese last week after catching a 'ni-hao!' floating up the stairs.) Still, it's incredible how much we must have all worked out about each other. The man on my left and I, without ever speaking to each other, have devised an equitable system for the taking out and bringing in of our shared garbage bins. His lovelife seems to be improving because the lady who used to come to visit once a week is now there every couple of nights, because I hear her leave just after I get home. (Perhaps his lovelife isn't THAT great yet : ) I don't think he's much of a chef, though, because while I often hear him clanging around in his kitchen, they always go out around meal times when she's there. I shudder to think what they must have worked out about me...

Trapped At Work

Captioning a truly awful rendition of 'The Scarlet Letter' from 1995 featuring Demi Moore, who I can't STAND! And, of course, it's due out tomorrow, so I'm stuck here in the office all by my lonesome until the darn thing is finished. The only consolations so far have been the presence of Gary Oldman (totally unrecognisable as always - I think he's brilliant) and a fantastic 5-minute sex scene, complete with hilarious symbolic shots of hands raking through barley (?) and Walt-Disney-type vomitous glissando chime music. (Sex scenes are great in that they rarely require subtitles, and five minutes of tape is about an hour's work.)

The afternoon started promisingly enough with 'Hi-5' - disturbingly catchy, although it isn't a patch on 'Play School' - and I should be grateful for the four episodes of 'Doctor Who' coming in tomorrow (we've had to fight the Sydney office for them ever since we made it up to Tom Baker) but I have to wade through this stuff first. Time for another cup of instant, methinks.

Head-On

So, here I am. Let's not hang about.

Tonight I embraced my campaign to Enjoy My Own Company and took myself off to the cinema to see 'Head-On'.

I'd seen mixed reviews and wasn't sure what to expect, but I enjoyed it immensely.

Granted, it's based on a very odd premise - relentlessly suicidal Turkish girl proposes to Turkish-German boy in the reception room of a mental health clinic in an attempt to escape her family the morning after TG boy has driven his car at high speed into a wall - and the graphic depictions of attempted suicide made my veins hurt and had me squirming in my seat, but the relationship that evolves between these two in their arranged marriage is confronting and captivating and underwritten with remarkable tenderness despite the horrible griminess of their world. I loved it, and so, I think, did the other four people in the Schonell with me.

There's a lovely moment when the psychiatrist, talking to TG boy about making a fresh start, says, "So, end it. End your life. You don't have to die to do that."

I had enough of FM radio on the way out of the university carpark and, daggy as this is I'm admitting it, ended up sailing home along Coronation Drive in a joyous rush with 'Ode to Joy' full blast on my car radio.

A promising start to a chapter of outings for one : )