Epiphanous rambling

I went for a bit of a walk this morning. The silly cat wakes me up at 5.30 on the dot anyway, demanding food, so I thought might as well and headed out. Having recently watched and become besotted with Rocketman, I had been listening to the soundtrack on a loop. And it was when the first strains of The Bitch is Back started that I had my titular epiphany. I realised in that moment why I fixate on certain actors (the one exception being Kevin Smith) and start watching their films obsessively. Because these people make movies that, as Rocky would say, fills certain holes. And I get utterly lost in their art and their lives and I get different things out of each of them. Rocky gets me inspired and back in the gym. Kevin Smith makes me feel like anyone can do anything. Simon Pegg makes me happy because a nerd grew up and made movies he used to dream about. And Rocketman - gosh, Elton's music and his life was something we grew up with. I remember reading about his divorce and about him identifying as bisexual without even understanding what that was at the time, hearing about his hair transplants and discussing with my sister how exactly that would even work. No one in Sri Lanka knew about hair transplants back then! We loved Elton then, I love him now and that movie is just such a testament to who he is and I love it to bits. Ergo, it brings me joy.
And while I'm caught up in any of these bouts where I chase some person's life and their creativity I'm elevated. I can shut out the everyday and just get lost. It's a form of therapy I suppose. And since I don't seem to be able to stick with actual therapists (or afford them!) this'll have to do.

Can you feel the MEH

So, I was forced to watch the Lion King remake yesterday. I say forced because the offspring wanted to see it and I had to thus, sit through it. Given a choice I would have given this one a wide berth.

Having now seen the movie I rate it U for Unnecessary.

This one was completely and unabashedly a money grab for Disney. Lion King is already an amazing story. And unlike earlier remakes - like Jungle Book which I really enjoyed - this particular rehashing adds nothing new to the story. Why do we need a shot for shot remake of a movie that is already brilliant?  Where in the original we had the expressive, facially emotive cartoon characters we are now given photo realistic animals trying to talk and it just doesn't work. There's a moment in the movie where young Simba cries "Noooo" and it just ruins what should be the most poignant scene of the movie.

Technically speaking, the 2019 Lion King is a masterpiece. It's awe inspiring- from a visual and design point of view. Hands down some of the best computer generated imagery out there. Kudos to the team that worked on it in that aspect. But oh dear, it's so woefully inadequate in every other aspect.

One of these things is not like the other

"But what about the kids?" I hear you cry. "Surely it's nice for the kids to be able to have a new version to watch?". No, I reply. Let them watch the cartoon. That's the beauty of movies- it's not like theatre- as long as you have it on [insert medium of choice] you can keep watching them forever. And it's not like this story is one that would ever date. This new version bored me to death and the only refreshing thing was Timon and Pumba riffing new dialogue.

Before going in to watch this, the only thing I thought might be this movie's saving grace was John Favrau directing. Like I mentioned above I loved his version of the Jungle Book - which one would argue was more an actual 'live remake' in that the main character was a real live actor. Also it wasn't a take for take remake, and all the changes were for the better. In the 2019 Lion King the main change seems to be that the heart of the movie has been supplanted with a cash register. 

Rocketman - that fuse ain't burning down

Taron in one of his most Eltoniest get ups

Rocketman, coming pretty soon after Bohemian Rhapsody, makes a comparison between the two inevitable. Thank the gods that this one they got right. Bohemian Rhapsody played out like a standard biopic - very reminiscent of Dewey Cox in fact - as more than one reviewer mentioned. Rocketman is a fantastic musical which doesn't necessarily follow a standard this happened, and then this happened, format. It does follow Elton's life for about two decades in a somewhat linear fashion but the story unravels as moments rather than a sequence of events. And each of these moments is either lovingly cradled or exuberantly paraded using one of Elton's songs rather brilliantly sung by Taron.

Taron Egerton is the absolutely heart and soul of the movie. As the lead, I suppose that's expected but he so amazingly embodies Elton that it's beautiful to watch. It's not a mimicry - even when he sings Taron doesn't try to copy Elton's voice. He sings like himself (with Elton's blessings) giving each song the emotional drive it deserves to service that particular scene in the movie. So you will get a gentle, hesitant, loving rendition of Your Song and then you will get a snazzy jazzy let's get things rolling version of Honky Cat. The fact that Taron sings the songs in his own way is a good thing because his singing voice is different to Elton's - not as strong for one thing - and had he tried to ape Elton's voice it would have sounded forced. He sings in a way that's true to his own voice and that works really well.

Blatantly stolen (because look at that face) from Vogue, April 2019 (Photographed by Anton Corbijn)

As much as I admired Rami Malek's dedicated take on Freddie, it always felt very caricature-ish. The humongous teeth, the fact that he was so small, it just felt so jarring and kept lifting me out of the whole experience. The only saving grace the movie had was the music - and that was also a stage performance type of affair.

In Rocketman the whole rehab story telling device could have come off as hackneyed. But thankfully it works. Everything just gels. It's no secret that Dexter Fletcher took over at the tail end of BOhemian Rhapsody after Bryan Singer left. But given what he has done with Rocketman it's clear that he had very little creative leeway with Bohemian Rhapsody. It just goes to show what effect outside control has over the final outcome of a movie. It's evident that Queen and Elton must have had very different ideas about what they want said in their respective movie. Elton fought for the R rating and a near depiction of what his life really was back then (proper sex, drugs, rock and roll). And while Freddie's life must have been as way out there, very little is depicted in the film, which is more a vehicle for the music of Queen than an actual biopic. It's a pity, because I would love to see a proper Freddie Mercury story. Maybe Sacha Baron Cohen would have made it. We will never know.

Awwwwwwww. These two.

It's been a while since Elton was putting out new music all the time and you tend to forget what an absolute star he is. At 72 he is still a tour de force at the piano  - you only have to watch him in that now famous duet at Cannes when he and Taron sing Rocketman. Taron can sing but Elton, hoo boy, that's proper star power.
Roketman is one of those movies that I could have just kept on watching, and watching for as long as the music lasted.

F is for ...

I was happily binge watching Poldark cast interviews when the possibility of Aiden Turner being offered the role of James Bond was brought up by one interviewer. Aiden fielded it by saying that so many other actors were also rumouredly being considered for the role.  Then Eleanor Tomlinson jokingly said that in fact, she was going to be the next Bond. And that was when I thought, oh god, it's only  a matter of time before some studio exec says 'hey, what about Jane Bond?'. If it hasn't happened already that is (I'm scared to look). 

At the cost of repeating what better people before me have said ad nauseum- why have we stopped creating strong female characters in movies and television who are not based on (or are a rehashing of) male characters? Starting from the obvious Ripley and  Sarah Connor examples there have been, over the years, quite a few amazing female characters. Of course the numbers are probably less than we would like and that is what we need to fix. And the answer is not to  create female versions of every damn thing. So no. Don't do Jane Bond. Create an original story with a female lead  - do that instead. Don't do silly things like retelling an already amazing movie but now with an all female cast (you know who you are. and I don't want to call this version of you). Do what Ocean's 8 did  -  they didn't replace the men, they just made a different bad ass team in a world where the men also existed. 

If you think that toppling the patriarchy means literally shoving the patriarchy aside and standing there in its place saying 'Here, take me instead' - that's not what it should be. By any means. What you need to do is stand upto it and say 'Here, take me also. Take me also and attribute to me the same worth'.

"Oh, when you said we need guns you meant actual guns. Sorry I wrecked the bed man. 

 

Poldark

Ye gads. Why on earth did I delay getting round to this one. The better part of most episodes had me gripping my arm rest with one hand with the other on my heart. And not just because Aiden Turner habitually misplaces his shirts.

scythes before hoes

It's like Wuthering Heights had a love child with Jane Eyre and was raised by Far from the Madding Crowd. The sap in me is well pleased. 

I am a Zogwarg hear me roar

All hell breaks loose when you least expect it. Last night the kid and I were in a really good place. We made brownies in the evening (they came out really well) and then watched an episode of Good Omens over dinner (Broccoli and grilled chicken - an all time favourite). We had moved back to the bedroom where i was in the midst of changing the bed sheets when my mother walks into the room and berates the kid for being rude to her. Now the kid has been pretty standoffish with my mother for a while now. She's in that phase of her life where everything is being ruled by her hormones and even with me she's not her best self. My mother can't deal with this. She insists on taking it personally and I guess whatever the kid did last night must have pushed her over the edge.
So anyway, that happens.

I should have let it go, I really should have. But instead I decided to investigate.

Turns out (provide that the kid was telling the whole truth) that it was a minor incident.  I should have ended it there.

But I didn't.

I got into this whole spiel of how she needs to be kind to her grandmother. How she loves her and how the kid doesn't appreciate her yada yada - the whole works. So fine, lecture done, I should have ended it there.

But I didn't.

I wanted her to respond. Now this is where I always get frustrated. Because this kid has made an art-form of listening to a lecture with a poker face and not showing any emotion whatsoever. And this really gets my goat. So what did I do? I tried to get her to respond, and of course she didn't and I got increasingly frustrated. And then I said the words I promised myself I would never say again.

"You're just like your father"

(she is, when she behaves this way. but that's besides the point)

Then I walked out the room.

A little while later I went to my study to find, in place of an old drawing of hers that used to be up on the wall, the following written in green marker:
"I hate you.
Your not my mother
DROP DEAD"

and as an aside, in smaller print:
"being an orphan would be better than this"

I read this three times. then I took a red pen and added and apostrophe and an 'e' to the 'your' and I left it. She took herself to bed. Didn't say goodnight to me. I was determined to show that I wasn't rattled (and I was in shock so I couldn't react anyway) so I said a cheery goodnight which went unanswered.

This morning we spoke - about regular things - while on the way to school. Then by evening it was all back to normal.

If I said that this didn't rattle me, of course that wouldn't be true. I spent the whole day with the words "DROP DEAD" floating in front of my eyes. But, rather uncharacteristically for me, I didn't break. I think on some level, even as soon as I saw it, I decided not to react to something she clearly said (wrote) in anger.
I spent whatever free time I had during the day reading up on that kind of behaviour, and why kids say such things. Research says that it's mostly because that's the only way they can vent their frustration when they feel helpless. So they try to hurt us or make us feel helpless as well. my usual MO is to be hurt and show her that I'm hurt. But apparently you have to show your kids that you're strong - else they feel insecure. And if you retort with anger that's a bad idea. You'll just end up pushing them further away. Once you realise it you kind of feel stupid for not knowing this all along. but I'm so used to reacting to things instantaneously and thinking about things from my point of view I don't usually allow myself time to think my responses through. I'm glad I took a step back last night and decided to figure out what to do later. Something in my gut told me that I should not acknowledge what she wrote. I think it helped to go back to how I used to feel as a kid - I've done things in anger and then instantly regretted it and desperately hoped that no one would notice. So I did the kid a solid. I didn't respond or react to it. she will never know if i saw it or not. but I think she appreciated the way I handled it. When i got back to my study after her bedtime the drawing was back up on the wall. :)

(The author apologises for overusing the words 'response' and 'react' as she was under a significant amount of emotional turmoil and couldn't be bothered to find suitable synonyms.) 

CATHARSIS

catharsis

kəˈθɑːsɪs/

noun

noun: catharsis; plural noun: catharses

The process of releasing, and thereby providing relief from, strong or repressed emotions.

Death, or rather dealing with death usually lasts you your lifetime. So there's no actual moment of catharsis - just a series of catharses. (I wrote this sentence mere moments after wondering when anyone would even use the plural of catharsis. And now I know.)

I lost my father when I was 21. My daughter lost her father when she was 6. I thought at the time that she wouldn't miss him too much - he had been unwell for a long time and so he couldn't do most of the typical dad stuff. But I hadn't counted on how much she would miss the idea of him. Last week we were talking about him, because a couple of his close friends were due in Sri Lanka and they wanted to visit his grave and pay their respects. We talked about this on the car ride home. She was exceptionally silent, studiously looking out the window, so I suspected she was crying. When we got home I stopped the car and turned to her;

"Are you crying?"

turns. nods. sniffles.

"Oh, baby I'm sorry." she folds herself into my arms. No longer the small person that bundled up neatly into my hug. Now it's all arms and legs. 

"I miss him."

"Do you remember him?"

"Not much. But I remember that though he couldn't do much, he did what he could"

That. That gutted me. 

Yesterday she and I met up with his friends. It was a wonderful afternoon. They reminded me so much of him. It was the sort of conversation I was part of back in the day when I would hang out with him and his friends. And I hated the fact that he wasn't there. Because he would have enjoyed that day. 

That's what gets me. The stuff he misses out on. He doesn't know what his kids look like now. He doesn't get to watch all those movies that came since - I know exactly which ones he'd like, which ones he'd love and which ones we'd disagree on. Sometimes when I'm watching something I know exactly how and when he would laugh out loud. And I hate it. I hate the fact that he's not here - listening, speaking, feeling. I don't miss him for myself. I don't like that the world is missing him.