Showing posts with label writings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writings. Show all posts

Tuesday, December 1, 2009

Top 5 Books

Oh lordy lordy, this is a very hard one. Also, it's kind of late, so I may have to do an Abridged Version Challenge for tonight's Top 5. Five words on each? Seems like a fair challenge to me!

5. If on a winter's night a traveler - Italo Calvino
Helped me understand postmodernism. Dense.

4. His Dark Materials Trilogy - Philip Pullman
Got me reading "grown-up" books.

3. Harry Potter Series - J.K. Rowling
I am an obsessive nerd.

2. Good Omens - Terry Pratchett & Neil Gaiman
Best appropriation of Genesis EVER.

1. Les Miserables - Victor Hugo
Perfect portrayal of love and grace. (that one deserves six!)

Somehow that took me longer than writing full paragraphs... Oh well. I heartily recommend every single one of those books, each worth reading in their own way. I feel like a book can really change your life in a way that nothing else really does, and that's what Les Miserables did for me. What do you other bookworms think?

Top 5 Films

It's very hard for me to do a Top 5 Films list without at least three of them being film-musicals, I hope everyone appreciates that difficulty.

I'm not generally a feature-length sort of girl, really, due mainly to the combination of factors a) that I'm too much of a penny-pincher to see films whilst they're at the cinema, and b) that I fall asleep during anything over half an hour long when watching it at home. I don't go in for "movies" a lot, so please excuse how pretentious this list looks - I assure you it represents the films that have really stayed with me.

5. Picnic at Hanging Rock
This film was the first film I ever studied, in year 7 English. There are three things that really stick in my mind with this film - the opening quote: "All we see, and all we seem, are but a dream... A dream within a dream..." - the beautiful-slash-completely creepy panflute-dominated score, and the strange, sometimes disturbing aura of pubescent feminine sexuality that pervades the film. The howling winds (genuinely recorded at Hanging Rock), the omnipresent ants, the white roses pinned to every breast, Sarah's straining, tragic affection for Miranda, and the unanswered question of the girls' disappearance make the film so perfectly disjointed, truly one of the great mysteries of our culture.

.. That being said, if you read the last chapter of the book on which it's based, it transpires that they've all turned into bush-dwelling creatures. Which not only destroys the mystery but is a very crap ending. Great thanks go to Peter Weir for avoiding that one.

4. Slumdog Millionaire
Slumdog has got to be one of the best pieces of storytelling I've ever born witness to. The way that Jamal's story weaves so perfectly through the questions, the way his life is reflected back on to you as an audience is just so wonderful and engaging, not only did I sit through the whole thing, but I stayed awake watching it again at home. Jai Ho indeed!

3. Akira
If you haven't seen this film (1988, first example of a completely cel-animated feature) then I cannot explain it to you. Go watch it, it's a visual masterpiece and an unusually intricate and genuinely disturbing representation of a futuristic dystopia. No seriously, just go watch it. The reason that it's on my list (and it's the one film that hasn't left my top 5 since I was 13) is because I think it's so important to the way that film has developed as a medium, not to mention art and anime practice.

2. Y Tu Mama Tambien
This film hasn't left my Top 5 since I was 15, so that's also a pretty big deal. Y Tu Mama tells the story of two young men who pick up an older, married woman and whisk her away on a varyingly debaucherous and introspective road trip, learning many important lessons on the way. The reason it's imprinted itself so successfully on my soul is definitely due to the tragic ending it has - the two young men are estranged by their sexual experiences with each other, and the woman leaves their lives just as she entered them, suddenly and without warning or explanation. I cannot describe how hollow I felt after I watched it for the first time, its a beautiful sort of ache that I don't think I've ever experienced again.

1. Love Actually
And now for something completely different!
Well, we're coming up to Christmas and Love Actually is my favourite film. I'm not too proud to admit that four amazing, affecting and important films (and the rest) rank below this one for me. Because it's a British rom-com featuring all my favourite British boys (Liam Neeson, Hugh Grant, Andrew Lincoln, Colin Firth and Alan Rickman) that gives me a warm, fuzzy feeling and always puts me in the mood for that tea-and-biscuits, cuddly brand of romance.

Eclectic, no? That's definitely the case with me and films, they're not really my thing until one I love comes along. What are your favourites?

Friday, November 27, 2009

7 x 5

I'm starting a project. Sheer boredom really, but I feel it's moderately likely to help me streamline my ideas about art and life. Possibly.

The idea actually comes from a seriously bad/funny film called High Fidelity, in which the two main characters, who work in a record shop, are constantly quizzing each other on their Top 5 hit B-sides, Top 5 Drummer-turned-Lead Singers, etc, as you can imagine.

So - seven days of Top Fives.

FRIDAY - TV Shows
SATURDAY - Songs
SUNDAY - Artworks
MONDAY - Films
TUESDAY - Books
WEDNESDAY - Musicals
THURSDAY - People to get stuck in an elevator with

From easiest to write about to most difficult - and interesting - to write about, starting tonight.

Thursday, November 26, 2009

Tales from the Sickbed

Hello dear chickens and roosters (a special nod to my dear uncle Loz right there... pity your team sucks), I am most pleased to inform you that my rate of posting will be increasing due to (I am less pleased to inform you) another bout of Caitlin's Mystery Illness Adventures.

Seriously, if life were a lucky dip I would be picking up all the packages filled with pathogens, and not even the interesting ones.

I know it's not that bad, I mean it's just a case of letting myself get run down - flu followed by meningitis followed by whooping cough followed by whatever I have now (nausea, dehydration and crazy low blood pressure) is not terminal cancer, and for that I am very grateful, but HONESTLY. I am bored of being sick.

Do you remember when you were a kid and taking a day off school for being sick somehow made you a bit special or something? You got to watch tv and read and the next day when you came back everyone would ask after you and make sure you were okay. That seems so far removed from what I've been repeatedly experiencing over the last couple of months, which is being exhausted, missing out on all sorts of work, social, and most importantly musical commitments, watching awful mind-numbingly boring television and trying to find a good book to read.

But it's a learning experience, isn't it? That which does not kill us makes us stronger... or whatever.

THINGS I HAVE LEARNED FROM BEING SICK:
  • Orange Gatorade sucks. Full effing stop. I shall never drink it again as long as I live, I don't care how it replenishes my electrolytes.
  • Electrolytes have less to do with the Large Hadron Collider and more to do with fluid retention than I thought. Disappointing.
  • Trying to perform a week long run of a musical with Whooping Cough is pretty much the opposite of a good time.
  • Don't watch the news right before going to sleep when you're not sleeping well. You'll wake up at 4am and not be able to get back to sleep for thinking about escaped double murderers (Sydneysiders know what I mean...)
  • Having a boyfriend with the immune system of the Winged Victory is really very good. My Roman has never been immunised against anything, and has not got one of the diseases I've had despite being perfectly happy to sleep beside me whilst I'm coughing/feverish/vomiting. What a trooper.
  • My family are wonderful. That includes Roman, but also extends to my Mum and Dad, and Andrew and Lilly. Special mention goes to Lil for getting me a sick-bowl. Champion.
I've been very seriously contemplating how things got this way - how I've managed to make myself sick five weeks out of the last six - and I realise that I need a serious lifestyle re-arrangement. Details of said lifestyle rearrangement will no doubt follow, as soon as I've figured them out...

Sunday, March 8, 2009

It's fitting on a Sunday...

.. to talk about George and Dot.

George is my other love...





George is very special.





Dot is very special too... Have you ever seen a character and just thought...





"She is me."...?





I have.





Nothing seems to fit me right.

The less I wear, the more comfortable I feel.


More rouge...


George is very special.

Maybe I'm just not special enough for him.


If my legs were longer.

It my bust was smaller.

It my hands were graceful.

If my waist was thinner.

If my hips were flatter.

If my voice was warmer...





She sings with my voice... or do I sing with hers?





And George sings with a voice that's unlike anything else I've ever heard.





Mapping out a sky.


What you feel like,

planning a sky.

What you feel when voices that come

Through the window

Go...


Until they distance and die,

Until there's nothing but sky

And how you're always turning back too late

From the grass or the stick

Or the dog or the light,

How the kind of woman willing to wait's

Not the kind that you want to find waiting

To return you to the night,

Dizzy from the height,

Coming from the hat,

Studying the hat,

Entering the world of the hat,

Reaching through the world of the hat

Like a window...





George is an artist, Dot a work of art. They are my greatest inspiration.





I don't think you, reader, could possibly understand the power of this poetry until you hear it sung through George's lips.





If there is one new thing you listen to this week let it be Sondheim's aesthetic masterpiece Sunday in the Park With George.





This is what perfection sounds like.





Thursday, January 1, 2009

All Things Renewed

All things quiver with excitement...
All things romantic unfold...
All things become chaotic...
... and all things are renewed.
In 2009, please creative, explore, question, fight, and love.
Happy New Year.


Sunday, December 21, 2008

How Mary-Sue Got Her Groove Back or Caitlin's Twilight Film Review

Once upon a time there was a bored young woman called Stephanie. One day, Stephanie decided to turn her mind (an arguably blunt instrument) to writing teen fiction. And what better thing to write about than her own richly romanticised and deeply sexual fantasy life.


It's quite a common phenomenon for authors to insert sort of avatar or idealised form of themselves into their writing, and this is particularly common in magic-realist, fantasy, and teen drama tales, especially when written by young women (sorry ladies, you know it's true). Stephanie Meyer's Twilight slips neatly into this category and the result is one of the most blatant Mary-Sues (self inserted character) in the history of literature.





Similarly to my Beedle the Bard review, I must say that my love for Harry Potter, which many not-quite-academics say has had its throne usurped by Twilight and its three sequels, has coloured the way I read the book.


A friend of mine was quick to exclaim "it's syntax is identical in every sentence!" which is not as much of an exaggeration as one would think. The narrative flow variously drags and races in places, it misses the mark when it comes to philosophical dialogue about the nature of the vampires' cursed immortality, and the romance between MaryBella and Edward (cue fangirlish shrieks here) is so implausible even before we consider the fact that he's 108 and drinks blood.


However - it is undeniably addictive. Another friend of mine told me that he found its page-turning quality second only to Da Vinci Code, but not as clever...





... which is definitely saying something.





Anyway, the point is that the book is just a little bit rubbish. It's a trashy good read at best, a mind-numbing waste of paper at worst. My own opinion on the novel is somewhere in the mid-range of these extremes, which is why I approached the recently released film adaptation with a healthy amount of skepticism.


My expectations were that basically the film would be sexy, glamourous, big-budget slick, have a seat-wetting effect on teenage girls, and be pretty much soulless (excuse the pun), but it turned out that I was not completely right - there were things I expected and things that (pleasantly) surprised me.


The production values came as no surprise - everything was very smooth, everyone was very young and beautiful, and some of the aerial shots screamed "look at our big budget!" I was really impressed by the special effects for the exact opposite reason to the one you'd expect: there was something really wonderfully understated by the way the vampires' supernatural powers, especially their fast movement and diamond-like skin glittering, were rendered.


I appreciated this because of the way the rest of the film was presented visually.


Let me eat my hat for a moment and admit that the film was beautiful. It was slightly over-exposed and grainy, and the colours were filtered in high-contrast to emphasise pale skin tones and dark hair, making it perfectly moody and gothic. I cannot emphasise enough how aesthetically pleased I was by the film, even before you add the cast of superhumanly beautiful young people.



And my, how beautiful they were. Honourable mentions go to Bella, played by Kristen Stewart, Alice, played by Ashley Greene, and the two fathers of the story, Charlie and Carlisle, played by Billy Burke and Peter Facinelli. Both of them were just a bit gorgeous for old men.



But anyway, past the supermodel casting, there was some value to the film. It definitely caters to the tween audience for whom the book, with its simplistic, prosaic style, is written, however it is clear to me that Meyer's story is only improved by the shift in medium. The change from reading to seeing suits the narrative perfectly, as it allows us to appreciate the romance and action without having to deal with Bella's endlessly simpering eternal monologue that narrates the novel.



Let me before I conclude sing the praises of lead actress Kristen Stewart - she is simply, naturally beautiful, writes and performs her own music, and most of all gives Bella a voice and presence that turned the Twilight adaptation from fucking ridiculous to decent in my mind. I really enjoyed her performance and I'm very much looking forward to seeing what she does in the future, within and without the Twilight saga. But mainly without, if I'm honest...



Twilight is a very entertaining film, and its art direction is worth commenting on. It plays, expectantly, to its intended teenage girl demographic, and as such is no tower of artistic integrity, but I'm sure that will come as no great surprise.

Much of the praise I have for the film is only in comparison to the novel, but I do truly think that the story works better as a film, and if you're into very beautiful people and very beautiful cinematography, it is very worth seeing.

Monday, December 8, 2008

The Tales of Beedle the Bard

What a fantastic little offering from the very talented woman behind Harry Potter.
I am probably not the right person to be taking a critical look at anything by J.K. Rowling, seeing as I am an insane fangirl and wholeheartedly believe that the woman can do no wrong.
So, in that spirit, here is my gushingly positive review of The Tales of Beedle the Bard.

This book is a collection of original folktales set in the Harry Potter universe, touching on the same themes of the corrupting nature of power, the foolishness of pride, the importance of tolerance and acceptance, and the finality of death, as the seven Potter books do.
In addition to the five folktales, there are five small chapters of academic notes on each story, written from the perspective of Albus Dumbledore, with additional explanatory footnotes by J.K. Rowling herself.

The five stories are all very original whilst retaining a folksy feel full of archetypal characters and features, making the collection seem very familiar and very intimate. For me, it was The Fountain of Fair Fortune that struck a chord, in which three witches are accompanied by a knight on a journey towards the fountain in the tale's title, which gives fair fortune to the one who bathes in it. Throughout the story, the witches overcome the journey's obstacles despite the knight's valiant efforts to protect the lady, and in the end each of the four travellers find that the journey, rather than the destination, has given them fair fortune.
All five aim to teach a certain moral point, whether it be the virtue of charity, as in The Wizard and the Hopping Pot, the perils of being coldhearted, as in The Warlock's Hairy Heart, or the self-destructive nature of hubris, as both Babbity Rabbity and her Cackling Stump and the Tale of Three Brothers teach (though there is obviously a deeper folkloric dimension behind the magical objects in the final tale).

These moral ideals are given a whole new dimension through the way in which they are contextualised in the magical world of the Potterverse, where "we meet heroes and heroines who can perform magic themselves, and yet find is just as hard to solve their problems as we do". Subsequently, we meet resourceful witches, cunning old crones, and the humble but cunning Ignotus, the youngest brother in the final tale, but on the flip side witness the failure of Babbity's failed charlatan, and the horrible fate of the (literally) heartless warlock in the Hairy Heart.
Magic adds dimension to the fantastic fairytale plotlines but Rowling refrains from using magic as a solution to the hero/ines' problems and plot complications.

Dumbledore's notes were a fantastically sweet addition to this book that I was not expecting until I opened the cover this afternoon - and what a treat. Such a loved character who got a rather raw deal as far as page-time in the end of the series deserves his time to shine, and Rowling writes brilliantly for him in this volume.
Amongst my favourite moments in Dumbledore's commentary were a recount of Hogwarts' Only Attempt at a Christmas Pantomime in which an engorged salamander set fire to the great hall, Dumbledore's correspondence with Lucius Malfoy over the propriety of wizard-muggle relationships depicted in Hogwarts Library literature, including this fabulous quote: "this exchange marked the beginning of Mr Malfoy's long campaign to have me removed from my post as Headmaster of Hogwarts, and mine to have him removed from his position as Lord Voldemort's Favourite Death Eater"; and of course the good professor's musings on the inalienability of death in the notes on the Tale of Three Brothers.

Finally, the artwork must be commented on, for all the illustrations on the cover and within the pages of the book are by J.K. Rowling herself. They are very organic, natural and well-detailed drawings that look like they were rendered exclusively in biro (I thought you might enjoy that, dear Emily) and you can even see some of the remaining pencil marks underneath the ink lines on the title page. Though they are not quite professional standard illustrations, they are commendably in the spirit of the text and there can be nothing more relevant than that.

This book is printed on Forest Stewardship accredited paper, and 100% of the profits from sales go towards the Children's High Level Group, a non-profit organisation that endeavours to change the lives of institutionalised and marginalised children in Europe, improving literacy and quality of life. Everything about this book is worth picking up a copy, which are readily available across the globe from today, I believe, and I cannot emphasise enough how well spent my $10 was.


Wednesday, November 12, 2008

A Field of Poppies

This is a beautiful piece of speechwriting that is an absolute inspiration to me as a writer and as an Australian.

We do not know this Australian's name and we never will.
We do not know his rank or his battalion. We do not know where he was born, nor precisely how and when he died. We do not know where in Australia he had made his home or when he left it for the battlefields of Europe. We do not know his age or his circumstances – whether he was from the city or the bush; what occupation he left to become a soldier; what religion, if he had a religion; if he was married or single. We do not know who loved him or whom he loved. If he had children we do not know who they are. His family is lost to us as he was lost to them. We will never know who this Australian was.
Yet he has always been among those whom we have honoured. We know that he was one of the 45,000 Australians who died on the Western Front. One of the 416,000 Australians who volunteered for service in the First World War. One of the 324,000 Australians who served overseas in that war and one of the 60,000 Australians who died on foreign soil. One of the 100,000 Australians who have died in wars this century.
He is all of them. And he is one of us.
This Australia and the Australia he knew are like foreign countries. The tide of events since he died has been so dramatic, so vast and all – consuming, a world has been created beyond the reach of his imagination.
He may have been one of those who believed that the Great War would be an adventure too grand to miss. He may have felt that he would never live down the shame of not going. But the chances are he went for no other reason than that he believed it was the duty he owed his country and his King.
Because the Great War was a mad, brutal, awful struggle, distinguished more often than not by military and political incompetence; because the waste of human life was so terrible that some said victory was scarcely discernible from defeat; and because the war which was supposed to end all wars in fact sowed the seeds of a second even more terrible war – we might think this Unknown Soldier died in vain.
But, in honouring our war dead, as we always have and as we do today, we declare that this is not true. For out of the war came a lesson which transcended the horror and tragedy and the inexcusable folly. It was a lesson about ordinary people – and the lesson was that they were not ordinary. On all sides they were the heroes of that war; not the generals and the politicians but the soldiers and sailors and nurses – those who taught us to endure hardship, to show courage, to be bold as well as resilient, to believe in ourselves, to stick together.
The Unknown Australian Soldier whom we are interring today was one of those who, by his deeds, proved that real nobility and grandeur belongs, not to empires and nations, but to the people on whom they, in the last resort, always depend.
That is surely at the heart of the ANZAC story, the Australian legend which emerged from the war. It is a legend not of sweeping military victories so much as triumphs against the odds, of courage and ingenuity in adversity. It is a legend of free and independent spirits whose discipline derived less from military formalities and customs than from the bonds of mateship and the demands of necessity. It is a democratic tradition, the tradition in which Australians have gone to war ever since.
This Unknown Australian is not interred here to glorify war over peace; or to assert a soldier's character above a civilian's; or one race or one nation or one religion above another; or men above women; or the war in which he fought and died above any other war; or one generation above any that has been or will come later.
The Unknown Soldier honours the memory of all those men and women who laid down their lives for Australia. His tomb is a reminder of what we have lost in war and what we have gained.
We have lost more than 100,000 lives, and with them all their love of this country and all their hope and energy.
We have gained a legend: a story of bravery and sacrifice and, with it, a deeper faith in ourselves and our democracy, and a deeper understanding of what it means to be Australian.
It is not too much to hope, therefore, that this Unknown Australian Soldier might continue to serve his country - he might enshrine a nation's love of peace and remind us that, in the sacrifice of the men and women whose names are recorded here, there is faith enough for all of us.



The Hon. P. J. Keating MP

Prime Minister of Australia




For Remembrance Day.