Basterds Story

Fan Art I finished last week.

Capote

So, I finally watched Capote, the film based on Truman Capote’s experience as he wrote the famous, In Cold Blood. I must say, I’m finding it extremely difficult to find a Philip Seymour Hoffman film that I do not completely love.

Part of the reason this film is so very great lies in the fact that it is a film about a story, not a lifetime. Hoffman himself noted that had the movie been a “bio film”, he probably wouldn’t have done it. In a very vague nutshell, the film focuses on Capote and his near-obsession with a Kansas multi-murder case. Not only are the actors unnervingly believable in their roles, but Hoffman embraces his character with incredible precision. According to those who worked on the film, he began very early learning Capote’s history, mastering his mannerisms, and perfecting his voice, which is highly different from that of Philip Seymour Hoffman.

I also feel that I must mention the brilliance of the script, which was nominated for an Academy Award. In the writing, Truman Capote is so believable; he is likeable, funny, and undeniably absorbed in himself. He’s real.

I don’t really know what else to say, other than this movie is beautiful and fulfilling. You should watch.

(PS: wilkee.deviantart is the source of the fan art)

Latest Forms of Entertainment in my Life

Alrighty, I thought I’d share some things I’ve been doing/watching/et cetera.

Texts:

-Poetry-William Wordsworth-
-Poetry-John Keats-
-Frankenstein-Mary Shelley-

Really enjoying the Wordsworth poetry, and I’m just now getting into Frankenstein.

Music Selections

-the entire Come On, Feel the Illinoise album-Sufjan Stevens-
-Video Games-Lana Del Rey- (my roommate is obsessed with this song)
-Dilaudid-The Mountain Goats-

Films

-The Cell-Tarsem Singh-
-Ichi the Killer-Takashi Miike-
-The Fountain-Darren Aronofsky-

And now I must ramble about films.
I have finally seen The Cell all the way through, now. Though Jennifer Lopez isn’t the greatest actress this world has ever seen, the film itself is one I respect very much. The ideas are fresh, and the editing is phenomenal. The entire film is visually striking, which is to be expected from the man who directed The Fall. I would encourage anyone to give this a watch, although parts of it are slightly morbid.

As far as Ichi the Killer goes…well, it’s to be expected from Miike. Graphic and physically painful to watch, the film reads like many of his other films (i.e. Audition and Imprint) in the way that it is completely over the top. However, unlike Imprint, the film doesn’t feel pointless in its violence, and the entire story does not turn out to be a huge disappointment. Like his other films, Miike provides his audience with an unreliable narrator, in which the viewer leaves the screen with, perhaps, just as many questions as when the movie started. I liked this movie quite a bit, and as my roommate said, Miike is one of the few Japanese directors to show total disregard to formality. Like The Cell, the editing in Ichi is quite good, though the special effects are lacking. I would not encourage the weak of stomach to view this film, nor anyone who dislikes slasher flicks, (especially if foreign cinema is not a commonly watched genre). And if you’ve already seen any of his other films, you must know by now that Miike enjoys very long needles.

Okay, almost done. The Fountain is really nothing short of amazing, in the sense that is so unlike any other Aronofsky film I’ve seen. I can’t say much, because I don’t want to give anything away, but unlike Pi, Requiem, or Black Swan, this film has a certain enlightened charm. The movie is much softer, and involves multiple dimensions. I would encourage this movie to almost anyone. Hoorah.
That’s all for now.

Girl, Interrupted Fan Art

Something I’ve been tinkering around with lately. This is the finished product.

 

Nadav Ariel-Joel

From the banks of Israel you were carried

In a fireworked bluegrass you stray

Strayed for good

Stay for good—

Stayed.

The scrambled eggs to my Teflon

 

 

Never thought I’d remember you in mental pictures

Snapshots of globe time

Lisping your opinions…

You had so many.

Maybe you were using them up

Maybe you knew.

Knew it was the end.

Maybe I knew,

And that’s why I didn’t mind

Why my eyes winked as you flew about hills of tangentland

Dropping seeds in a hurry,

Never watching them grow from darkened eyes of man

Writings like scratching,

Kurt Vonnegut scribbles.

 

 

How’d you do it, man?

Did you party too hard?

Whisper your limbs into fiberglass crashes?

Or did you go the way I saw it,

For that brief moment in my mind—

In your room, on your bed,

Cloth around your neck,

Gasping for air as you died?

You weren’t really supposed to die, though.

It was supposed to be that passing from which you resurrect yourself

Soaking up the death with old t-shirts and stained socks,

Hoping to God your mom doesn’t see,

Tainted Jewman.

Painted hue man.

Brushed with the perfection of checking out young.

 

 

Rummaging through brainboxes,

I’m hanging each remembrance on silverstring

Hoping I’ll remember it, clear as choice.

Faintly, I sang Hebrew for you,

But only in thought

What’s that translation?

Have life…

Have life.

I am giving it to you, man.

For your sake, man, please

Take it.

Have life.

I am giving it to you, man, please.

 

 

And isn’t it a travesty?

We’re all thinking the same thing.

It could have been us.

Doesn’t matter how it happened.

In which manner your veins halted

And your body went cold like morning still,

It could have been

Any one of us.

 

 

תוהו ובוהו

You don’t deserve it, man…

Wouldn’t—

Deserve it.

With your nail nubs bitten

And your images

Blue like lobster is red

Unbelievable.

 

 

You have to know,

I couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t breathe today, among floraled linen and

Cream colored lace,

Thinking of you.

And all that life

Cut like wings from dew-birds

Taken like rings from Jew-herds…

 

 

History stood strong for you,

Future like empty tunnel-wave.

Silent and still

Black without reason,

Gone.

Palindrome

Bow (doll) legs 

Under soft flesh,

Extended girl stomach

With Madeline eyes so full of candles

Blur-filled with Ten Thousand

piecesoftruth

Inside curling ears, Mr. Stevens turns marrow-filled bones

Into lavender water,

Petals falling into swirled pits of lifer.

…

You know, I’m not usually like this…

Well,

That’s a lie.

I guess I’m just afraid of the singe,

Recurrent and dulled with years.

Walking into fire, white hot and knowing

Just how it will end.

Just how it always ends.

But there’s this, pulse, right?

Images like like-ning

Light lightning. 

I guess I’m rambling now.

-

So,

When did you wake?

I only ask because

The sleep has fallen away from your eyes 

And you’re still running on your morning high

Skin pressed with the floating air

I guess I’ve written myself into a corner,

But there’s room here beside me,

And,

If you want,

I’ll buy you a beer.