My tear ducts will go on

I first saw Titanic when it first came out in theaters, making me six.  It's odd to say but I was fascinated by the Titanic when I was a kid, though for different reasons than I am now; I made my parents buy me books about the actual boat and its sinking, and though I didn't actually make it past the detailed descriptions, the concept of a ship sinking into the Atlantic was, I suppose, intriguing.  I begged my dad to take me to the theaters, and he did.  I remember little of my theater experience, save for the intermission in the middle of the movie - and if you have the movie on VHS with the two tapes, you'd probably be familiar with the point where the movie splits off ("Well, I believe you may get your headlines, Mr. Ismay") - so I guess 1997 was a time where to sit through a three hour movie uninterrupted was unheard of.  Seeing the spectacle of a ship flooding was exhilarating - my favourite part (for whatever reason) was when the ship splits - and to a six year old kid, the hour and a half beforehand with the entire romance plot was boring.

Here's what happens in the movie

Here's what I saw. My dad covered my eyes

I'd revisit the movie after I owned it on DVD, though again, I hated having to sit through the first half.  (or the first VHS tape, that is) I still watched it for the action of the sinking ship, though I know now that there are better movies to watch for action.  I distinctly remember one time I watched it with my sister, and she laughed at the shot of a frozen dead baby in the water, even though it's one of the more disturbing instances in the movie.  That, and Rose's mother's face.  It wasn't until a few years ago that Titanic became my 'thing' again, although this time, I cried harder than an Italian woman at a funeral.  Ever since I need emotional preparation before I decide to watch, but it's gotten to the point where I've seen it so many times that watching it is merely a countdown to significant scenes, and all the rest is filler.

(the only other movie that's turned into a waiting game for 'big' scenes for me is X-Men: The Last Stand, a movie I saw in theaters.. uh, five times, a movie I knew every time was complete and utter shit, and a movie I now absolutely loathe and will not watch unless I am intoxicated, or in the mood for a laugh; regardless, my point is watching that movie is now a task: oh, opening scene.. twenty minutes until Beast, another twenty until Jean flips out and bitch slaps her house..)

As upfront as I can be: I cry every single time I watch this movie.  Every damn time.  And every single time I cry at the exact same spots - and when I saw the movie last night, I counted, and there's five whole 'pressure points' in the movie that sends me over the edge (and many of them have to do with musical cues.. all of them, actually, which I guess speaks to the testament of a soundtrack's power and presence in a film), and they are:

•  "I'm flying, Jack" - that's a given.  I get emotional during the entire scene but I only really shed a tear when the music is all depressing and the ship fades into the wreckage.  Damn beautiful shot.
• Right as the drawing scene comes to a close, the camera zooms into Kate Winslet's eye, and slowly wrinkles appear until the eye becomes that of the old Rose's.  I blame the music.
• "You're so stupid, Rose!"  Dear god.  From the slow motion flare over Leo's head to when Rose jumps from the lifeboat, I'm a mess.  It's all in the music.
• The old couple on the bed.  The single most worst scene in movie history.  WHY DID I HAVE TO WITNESS THIS!?  Again, the music: the violin plays over the scene.
• The ending scene.  As the camera pans over the pictures of Rose on her desk, to the wreckage, then the moment the light floods in and the wreck turns into the untouched boat I am a goddamn mess.  And by mess, I mean that this scene makes me weep every single time.  Then the music amps up and all the people are smiling and clapping and then oh jesus you see Jack at the top of the stairs and I'm just done.

Last night, I had the pleasure of seeing Titanic 3D in a VIP theater.  I'd never been, and it really seems like a whole different world once you climb the stairs up to the 19+ section of the theater.  A bar which gladly served me beer.  Spacious rows and big, comfy leather seats with wide armrests.  In-seat service, which I was too nervous to take heed of.  The experience was really something, though it was essentially ruined by a group of five adults - adults - who didn't bother to whisper or turn off their phones; instead, they had loud conversations in Spanish (that language has been ruined for me, so it just made my blood boil), and until someone said "shut up!" halfway through the movie, they kept on talking and laughing.  Ridiculous, really; I shelled out extra money to experience a movie I care about in a theater without idiot teenagers ruining my experience - and if you're a teenager, then, shut up, because you're the worst and you ruin all movies - and it's rather disrespectful to think that adults who should be as respectful completely disregarded that respect.

Did I cry?  Oh, yes.  By the end I was using every muscle in my body to stop myself from letting out a wail, and I'm not exaggerating when I say I was shaking and almost felt like I was going to throw up because of my effort against outwardly crying.  Regardless, the tears came, at those very five points in the movie as I had listed, but as I said by the end as the light flooded into the ship and the souls of everyone who died started clapping as Rose entered the hall I could hardly even see because my vision was so obscured.  As I said to my two friends - who, I might add, were literally wailing and heaving as the lights came up in the theaters and Celine shrieked through the speakers over the end credits - "I'm keeping my 3D glasses on for a little while."  I don't think I'll ever become desensitized to this movie, even though I've seen it so many times: seeing it on the big screen was enough to make me positively emotionally distraught.  Great movie experience, though.  I can't imagine seeing movies in just regular theaters now - does that make me a snob? - and I can say that I'll gladly spend the extra money if it means I can watch a movie I care to see in comfort.

My Drunk Blog: Horror

Here I am, sitting on my couch once again at home - now officially moved home, I might add! - thinking about making a blog post about just that very fact when, oh, I find this treasure from last weekend.  I had a feeling there was something off with the number of posts I saw on my blogger dashboard, and lo and behold, this gem of a drunk blog was sitting there untouched.  As I now no longer feel like typing any more (maybe I'll write tomorrow..) I am assuming my duty to post what I penned a week ago while under the influence.  Enjoy as I fear for my life due to the bumps in the night.
 

Snakes on a Plane!  I don't really like that movie because I'm afraid of snakes.  But I saw it in theaters, and I was the only person in the theater so I thought there were vipers chilling with me, and I actually also own it on DVD cause I'm a fool.  Why have I been drinking?  Well, I went out for dinner with people who were certainly not my family, and therefore, I had three beers and god forbid wasting a buzz so I'm sitting at my computer with an open beer in hand.  I shouldn't even be allowed to drink at restaurants because my meal was something like fifteen dollars and yet my bill was fifty and HOLY, HOLY MOTHERFUCKING SHIT, THERE IS A HUGE FUCKING NOISE UPSTAIRS, WHAT IN THE FUCK, IT'S COMING FROM MY SISTER'S ROOM AND I'M HOME ALONE AND FUCK, FUCK, I'M DEAD.  GOODBYE WORLD.  I LOVED YOU BUT IT'S COOL.  I'M MEANT TO DIE AS A VICTIM ON CRIMINAL MINDS.  THIRTEEN GHOSTS, THE WOMAN IN BLACK, FUCK.

WHY AM I GOOGLING DEMONS!?

Update, I don't know what the sound was upstairs, I could possibly be a dead man but instead of investigating I just drank another beer.  I'm expecting to see some gnarly ass bitch crawling down the stairs being all yo, hey bitty, I'm killing you now, sorry for the disturbance LOLZ.  That's how I picture it.  Ever since reading Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban I've been terrified of home invasions, mostly because of the scene where Ron wakes up to Sirius over his bed.  My bedroom is right above the garage, and it'll easy to get into my bedroom so long as you climb onto the garage roof that sticks out, and, well, fuck.  Watching Criminal Minds religiously has not helped at all, and now I picture endless ways in which crazy motherfuckers can break into my house and I love that Firefox recognizes motherfucker as a word from the dictionary.  You go, ghetto ass dictionary.

So there wasn't any Thirteen Ghosts upstairs, but then I realized I can't see them without the glasses and I don't own any.. I'm alive, and with life comes more beer, so hoooooray.  I'm currently watching the MuchMusic countdown, and it makes me realize how little music I actually enjoy is "popular" and that sounds pretentious, certainly, but it's obvious that I'm no Bieleber or fan of OneDirection or whatever the hell that herd of chickens is called.  Sticking to Lana Del Wife, go watch her video for Blue Jeans and you don't need to enjoy it, I don't even care that it takes her four minutes to get into a fucking pool, whatever, keep up the slow motion and alligators.  Lana Del Marry Me.

I'm now watching Saturday Night Live but 1. it's a rerun with Anna Faris which is not a good episode at all except for the skit What's Wrong with Tanya? which is hilarious and 2. since I've drank so much everything seems fast forwarded.  Why, just two minutes ago it was a commercial break, and now there's a commercial break.  Either I'm foolish or advertisers are assholes.  Probably, but I just dealt with my parents while I'm drunk and I got away with it, I'm a sober bastard to them.  One time I got fucking drunk as hell before class but that was before I lived on campus so I commuted home, and somehow I got on a bus, a train, and was picked up by my mom.  While drunk I made my mom make me eggs and I took two bites then ran to the washroom and puked everywhere before I went to bed at 7:30pm.  Shhhs, they don't know I was a drunk that night, but they probably, probably did, but my parents were dumb because they didn't know I've been getting drunk since I was sixteen.  Simple, simple parents.  Shit, I puked in my mouth.  Goodnight.

May the odds be ever in your favour

I read the entire Hunger Games trilogy this past summer in the span of three days.  Before beginning I had this feeling that I'd go absolutely crazy over them, and I was right.  (I'm always right) After a full day of nonstop reading through the first, The Hunger Games, I sped off to Indigo to buy Catching Fire that was to be completed by the following day and Mockingjay, in two days.  Perhaps my only complaint about the book series is that the books feel too short: they are briskly paced, and a lot does happen, but I found that by the end of the trilogy a little too much happened tacked on at the end for the physical length (take Catching Fire, where there's a sizable amount of people left in the arena with only ten or so pages left to go, or perhaps Mockingjay, where I got the impression that Collins worked hard to cram everything into the three-hundred page framework she'd set up with the first two); naturally I would not complain if more books existed, but everything wrapped up nicely.  All in all, fantastic books series, disturbingly dark once you get past the glossy overlay that the theme of romance has over everything (and it even still it's important to the plot), majorly satisfying by the end, and a great source material for what I can anticipate will be a flawless film series.

The direction for this scene was, "Jennifer, imagine the awe you'll feel when you meet Matt"

With that being said, The Hunger Games was one of the best book-to-film adaptions I can think of aside from the Harry Potter franchise which, I think it's worth mentioning, did take quite a few liberties with its translation.  (regardless they were perfect) How The Hunger Games differs, then, is that I cannot think of things left out of the film by the filmmakers, maybe because it's been a while since I've read the book.  The only details of change I can think of might be Madge, the mayor's daughter, but she's relatively insignificant in the grand scheme of things and Katniss finding the pin at the black market was just as good as anything; or maybe the fact that we miss out on a lot of internal feeling and struggle we get with Katniss as the first person narrator, but really, the point of a film is to show and not tell.  Point is, to find inconsistencies is to grasp at straws or at insignificances: in fact, I heard today that a criticism of the movie is that Jennifer Lawrence doesn't look hungry enough to come from District 12, but I think I'd only accept such criticism if the critics were prettier than Jennifer Lawrence is.  (fact: ain't nobody is) I see the spine of the book eyeing me from the bookshelf now and given that the Internet has crashed as I'm writing this, I might just have to pluck it and finish it within hours again.

I can start by saying that I am endlessly thankful that we got Jennifer Lawrence as Katniss.  Jennifer Lawrence.  This girl is my age and she's already an Academy Award nominated actress - not to mention she's freaking Mystique in my favourite franchise in the world, X-Men, and while I'm ecstatic about her being in both worlds of fantasy I'm afraid Catching Fire and Mockingjay will take precedence over appearing in the First Class sequel especially since it's a case of stand alone star versus ensemble member.  Choose the blue nudity, Jennifer.  The Hunger Games is no exception to her talent.  Thinking about her acting in the movie is giving me chills, specifically the scenes immediately following [spoiler]'s death - I though I might've lost it at that character dying but what made me legitimately emotional was Lawrence's reaction, and she is bloody fantastic.  What could have been a silly film adaption like, oh, I dunno, Twilight (not that the source is scripture..), THG was driven by a powerful performance from a phenomenal actress and I'm more than happy that the film is getting legitimate recognition as a great film (and not just as an adaption) because of her performance.  You always find that, huh?  Well, I do.  The idea that if it's an adaption of a franchise sort of movie, it becomes less like a 'film:' you'll never see something like The Avengers or even Harry Potter given the label of 'the best film of the year' even if, for all intensive purposes, it really is/was.  I'm not saying that THG will get nominated for any massive awards (though I dare say she should be, but she won't, because again, this is an adaption franchise film), but everything about this movie - the technicalities, the performances, the Jennifer Lawrence - screams cinematic perfection.

The rest of the cast was extremely well rounded and similarly great.  Shout out to Elizabeth Banks who nearly stole the show as Effie; similar kudos to Stanley Tucci (I don't think I've ever seen him less than great?) as Caesar Flickerman who actually did steal every scene he was in with that idiotic smile.  Hell, I even loved Liam Hemsworth.  Will I burn in hell if I say that, in his scenes with Jennifer.. I actually supported Katniss/Gale?

I can't quite put a finger on it, but I think I enjoyed the second half of the film - the Games itself - a great deal more than I did the first half, and I found myself straining to love the first half as I watched.  Pace?  Couldn't be: the frenzied passing through the grooming to the training to the interviews was as fast as the book.  Perhaps I wasn't crazy about physically seeing the weird people of the Capitol before me, though again, it was a perfect translation as if the words of the pages made themselves solid onscreen.  The closest I can think of as a reason might be that I don't like the shifting in atmospheres - that is, from a pioneer-like District 12 to a futuristic Capitol with Lady Gaga costumes and back to an earthy and primitive setting as in the arena - but again, I think that's the point.  Enough about that.  As for the Games, I cannot say this any other way: FUCKING PERFECTION.  I am in awe thinking about the second half of the film because, seriously, it was exactly like the book.  Exactly.  It was only when I actually saw kids killing each other with knifes or after seeing dead child bodies hacked up everywhere did it hit me that the concept is downright brutal, but the brutality was spot on and effective.  [spoiler]'s death was very hard to watch, but in comparison to seeing, literally, a hulking Tribute snap a child's neck out of nowhere, a spear through the stomach seemed like a walk in the part.  And so I appreciate the film for entirely encapsulating the brutality and the anxiety and frenzy of the book; even though I knew Katniss would survive the encounters with fire or tracker jackers (this is not a spoiler, fool, she is the bloody protagonist), I still felt the sense of urgent danger.  Run, bitch!

If you've read the book or if you haven't, go see this movie.  Buy into the hype, because it's worth it.  I can't wait to see it in IMAX this weekend.

A St. Patrick's Day Photologue

Yesterday's St. Patrick's Day festivity was a great one.  I was lucky enough to spend it with some of the best people on the earth at one of my favourite travel destinations, Thorold.  The thing about Thorold is that it's full of surprises - more often than not when I'm eating in the cafeteria at school I look up to see news reports about "man drives van into building in Thorold" or "dead body found in Thorold" - but in the comfort of the affectionately named Brockhouse I have the time of my life every time I visit.  And I owe it all to you.

Indeed, many a time have I found myself throwing up into a trash bin after being ejected from a bar without standards to begin with, or witnessing a fraction of the sort of debauchery that occurred last night, but I am proud to say that I know I'll always have a good time when I visit.  Naturally, then, coming for St. Patrick's Day wasn't even a question, and born from the excitement of the day came the idea that I would take a picture of myself with every new can of Old Milwaukee that I opened.  I'm happy to say that I followed through - I have twelve, even though I did drink more than that (we started playing beer pong and beersbee [beer Frisbee] under the hot sun around one in the afternoon) - and hopefully the deterioration of my state over the images is visible.  (I think it certainly is) And so I bring this to you, my reader: I invite you to relive my day yesterday through this shameless column of Matt portraits.  I had every intention on sharing these in some sort of social networking facet from the beginning so humour is the name of the game.  Enjoy the progression through intoxication and varying light exposures!

Commencement!  (lies, though: I had played beer pong already so this is technically number three)

Snazzy time

I think this came right after a Jagerbomb, in my defense.

Alright there's just no defense for this,

This isn't even my face.

I look like a feral child.

Help!

Creatively, I'm stumped.

This was one step away from becoming another drunk post because truth be told I've been drinking tonight, but I think I have enough sensibility to form cohesive sentences and muster actual human thought, or at least enough to drive this post.  I suppose it's worth mentioning that I decided to write this many hours ago, but I ended up sidetracked by the prospects of eating and procrastinating and listening to new music and mostly drinking: the only purpose mentioning this achieves is the verification that, yes, these are very much sober thoughts, but they happen to be produced in a not-so-sober state of mind.  In keeping with that I've proofread every single one of my sentences five times before I've moved onto the next, and if you happen to find a gross mistake, feel free to berate me.  (I'm not overly drunk, either, but I'm certainly not sober, and you almost read the word "stober" if not for my swift backspacing)

As I've exhausted already, I have too much free time on my hands.  You could imagine, then, that I've felt the need to post here more often (frequent in comparison to the rate in which I've done so for the past few months, if you will - I need to mention I upset myself when I scroll down the front page of my blog and find posts from the beginning of January), but try as I may that creative inspiration has yet to slap me in the face.  You might ask yourself, then, the point of this, and I can confirm there is no purpose to this post so if you have the slightest bit of disdain for me I'm giving you an out and you can show yourself elsewhere - liking me enough to respond will come into play very soon.  I decided, then, those many sober hours ago, that I might pose a question to those who actually read the project that is my blog, and that question is: what do you want me to write about?

And so we reach the kernel of this truly irrelevant and largely useless post: for the first time, I offer the floor to my reader.  Whether you leave a comment here on this very post (anonymous or not, I don't care) or if you comment on the Facebook link I'm minutes away from creating to this new entry or if you even tell me upfront in a text message or in person or (hopefully!) by telegraph, carrier pigeon or telepathy, I formally ask you - yes, you, the reader at this very moment - to partake in the ignition of my creative mindset by providing me with something reminiscent of a theme that I might choose to write about in the near future.  Give me some deep, philosophical concept; give me something polarizing enough that it'll be impossible for me to write a neutral response to; give me something absolutely ridiculous or shockingly personal or just mediocre overall, I don't care: all I ask is for creative, thematic aid, and I should hope I at least get some mature response.

If not, I can always pretend this post never happened.  ;)