rm | Nov. 27th, 2009

"Turkey" (it's chicken in my mother's house, but we all collectively lie about it) and various holiday accoutrements were consumed. Patty got an early Christmas gift from my parents and leftovers were taken home.

I finally saw Revolutionary Road. I didn't actually recognize myself in it at first (I look so femme, curvy, gentle and young!), but then found myself having rather acute nostalgia for those three days of filming -- my weird chemistry with Cal ("oh my god, are you guys dating, you look so in love?" from like every member of the crew, when we had no time for or interest in each other off-screen. It was very weird, but in retrospect I think a lot of it was that we both understood the time and the gender performative nature of it, and were happy to play), the rush of signing a film contract for the first time, the lonely hotel room in CT, the freakshow that were the young girls being all into LeoDio and so forth). Anyway, I thought I fucking sparkled, and name in the credits was pretty fabulous.

The film itself I found to be visually beautiful and chock full of Sam Mendes's obsessesions (some of which are now predictable to the point of annoying, which is a shame, since I love both American Beauty and Road to Perdition. The film rendered the period beautifully and faithfully, but I still found it to be suffocating (as it should have been) and without point. Lines that were clearly meant to be astute and tragic observations on the human condition struck me as obvious, and there were few, if any, characters I had sympathy for (perhaps the secretary that was sleeping to DiCaprio's character?). I certainly don't need my media to be entertaining or feel-good, but Revolutionary Road strikes me as the type of picture a lot of people hold up as serious art that tells us something about the human condition (as theoretically opposed to my various genre interests), and I found it told me nothing I didn't know, but then stories of heterosexual suffocation are not my stories.

I think at twenty-five this film would have moved and devastated me. There were moments where DiCaprio's facial expression or wounded-boy logic were so similar to Michael's that I wanted to leave the room. As little sympathy as I had for this film's characters, it also left me with little for myself -- just relief.

Also watched a bit of the SyFy James Bond marathon, which, I'll confess, I found a little bittersweet (fellow Torchwood fen understand). Also, I keep forgetting how much I ship Bond/Villiers in Casino Royale. Okay, someone totally needs to write me Ianto's horrible, and yet oddly sweet, Bond/Villiers fanfiction.

Tonight we are seeing Cate Blanchett in A Streetcar Named Desire out at BAM.

The anatomy of the White House gate-crashing incident further examined.

Recently, a man was murdered on the subway in a dispute over a seat. A photography student captured the murder in progress with her camera. Warning: graphic photos at link.

Upstairs, downstairs drama in the world of New York City's doorman buildings.

Still trying to get my head around Chris Eccleston and Naoko Mori being cast as John Lenon and Yoko Ono.

Patrick Stewart writes of the domestic violence that was a centerpiece of his childhood.

Man, you listen to one kitschy Clancy Brothers song out of childhood nostalgia and last.fm just runs wild on a theme.