Halle Berry accepts "Razzie" for Catwoman, calls it a "piece of shit" : “It's rare for a Razzie "winner" to make a personal appearance at the awards, but Halle Berry gets my vote for coolest person in Hollywood for not only showing up to get a Razzie for Catwoman, but also making a very funny speech.”

“Garp’s conviction that Franz Grillparzer was a "bad" writer seemed to provide the young man with his first real confidence as an artist—even before he had written anything. Perhaps in every writer’s life there needs to be that moment when some other writer is attacked as unworthy of the job. Garp’s killer instinct in regard to poor Grillparzer was almost a wrestling secret; it was as if Garp had observed an opponent in a match with another wrestler; spotting the weaknesses, Garp knew he could do better.”

John Irving, The World According to Garp.

The producers of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy have finally put together a new trailer[via] that does channel the book’s spirit — but what it shows of the movie itself, however, still doesn’t appeal to me. At all.

William Gibson, Pattern Recognition

A Neuromancer remix: still hard to read, still chock full of painstakingly detailed descriptions (and trademarks this time, as fits the subject), still a character being led from the beginning to the end, not making any single personal choice or decision in the process. Fortunately, the story is not important, only an excuse to mix touristic guide and philosophical essay on the modern world, and the end result is often fascinating.

Terrible ce qu’on peut vieillir en une seule année. Les rythmes de tournages, la coke pour tenir, tout ça…

Je ne sais pas encore si la première saison est moins bien que la deuxième, ou si c’est juste le pilote qui est très inégal (c’est quand même curieux : le pilote, c’est l’épisode sur lequel on a le plus de temps pour travailler, non ?), mais c’est en tout cas un miracle que la série ait pu démarrer alors que tous les personnages secondaires étaient présentés comme antipathiques.

“Rires” ?! Je suis bien content d’avoir abandonné la lecture de Podium version roman : s’il n’a pas réussi à en sortir le moindre plan digne d’intérêt quand il l’a concentré en une heure et demie de film, je ne risquais pas d’aimer le livre.

Poppy Z. Brite, Lost Souls

“A major new voice in horror fiction”, the cover says. And it sure is modern: three hundred and fifty pages of slash, an unbearably pompous and precious style utterly devoid of any humor, teenage characters of all ages existing only to produce and absorb each and every body fluid you can think of, boys raping their girlfriends and sucking their boy-friends off… oh yeah, it definitely is modern, and it could only be written in the nineties by an authentic livejournaler, no contest.

In short, even though it becomes more readable around the middle (either the reader gets used to the style, or the writer is out of original physiological exchanges and has to resort to writing a story, however anecdotal),I guess Poppy Z. Brite isn’t an author you can discover at 28 29. I wouldn’t have gotten past page 30 if I had been by myself, but I was reading across half a dozen years over the shoulder of someone who wasn’t too old to enjoy it — and that was a fascinating experience I won’t often have a chance to renew.

Sniff.

(It was this close to being the gloomiest series ending of the history of television, but they regained their optimism just in time for the last episode.)

Ryû Murakami, Miso Soup

Very interesting.

Japan is a bloggers’ country, and it’s too bad they can’t speak English. I feel like going to Tokyo and trying to find myself a Kenji. A good thing that, according to the book, the local gays are the only one who aren’t scared to have sex with a gaijin — a matter of size, no doubt, they’re afraid for their health but will still fuck, just like the French gays are afraid for their wallet or DVD player but still fantasize about Blacks and Arabs.

On the one hand, you wonder what noise Japan will make when it implodes. On the other, you have to wonder if it doesn’t just so happen that the only voices we hear from the outside are those from reactionary proto-fascists who just can’t bear the evolution of their society. Hard to tell without better knowledge of the author, and the country.

True that, seen from here, everything converges to give the impression that Japan is indeed having a big breakdown and is about to shoot itself in the head any time soon. But you have to be wary of apparences, especially across oceans: what with Americans being so profoundly convinced we hang Jews by the masts of French McDonald’s colonies.

Glen Cook, Shadows Linger

In the right continuation of the previous volume — with less humor (but the characters have all become depressive, so it makes sense), slower action, a division of narration between two characters (which doesn’t really work with the concept of an annalist narrator, but nevermind), and the same style. I still can’t decide whether it’s well or poorly written.

What’s important is, the story is interesting, you can’t wait to know what happens next, and you can’t wait to get the next volume. You already know it’s more than I can say about most of the books I read.

It’s a good thing our letterbox was just replaced (after being destroyed, presumably by high-schoolers upset at the the multiplication of conseils de discipline in the past month). I’ve been told the mailwoman left our mail on the steps yesterday, and I wouldn’t expect an Amazon package to survive long under those conditions.

“Poets have tried to describe Ankh-Morpork. They have failed. Perhaps it’s the sheer zestful vitality of the place, or maybe it’s just that a city with a million inhabitants and no sewers is rather robust for poets, who prefer daffodils and no wonder. So let’s just say that Ankh-Morpork is as full of life as an old cheese on a hot day, as loud as a curse in a cathedral, as bright as an oil slick, as colorful as a bruise and as full of activity, industry, bustle and sheer exuberant busyness as a dead dog on a termite mound.”

Terry Pratchett, Mort.

The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy Photos

Grande école

Wow, impressionnant. Dans son genre. Je serais très curieux de savoir à quoi ressemblait la pièce avant qu’ils rajoutent des bites et des culs entre les scènes pour faire passer le temps. Notez que ça pourrait être intéressant, et audacieux, d’établir un tel contraste entre le charnel et la prise de têtes d’étudiants littéraires. Mais avec des dialogues aussi gratinés il faudrait des acteurs et réalisateur virtuoses pour faire passer la pilule, alors que, là…

Troy

A real success, and it’s full of hot men in revealing clothes, so what more could you want?

Of course, when I speak of success, it’s within the limits of the big-budget 150-minute peplum that I’d never ever would have wanted to see in a theater (by the way, I really need to buy a set-top DVD player, as you can’t do something else at the same time as you’re watching a longish or mediocre movie on your PC).

And, when I speak of hot men, I’m not only about Brad, because even Orlando Bloom manages to be sexy, from all the preperation work for his poor little fight scene. Well, he still looks and sounds like a naive teenager, but at least it’s just right for the part this time.

Finally, when I speak of revealing clothes… let’s just say the director is so in love with Brad Pitt’s butt (and who could blame him?) that he’d make Achilles fight nude if he could. If you fast-forward through the batlle scenes (which isn’t really necessary: it’s pretty well balanced for an epic movie), you get a Chippendales gay movie. Well, except for the fact that Achilles fucks girls by the threes so that moviegoers don’t figure Patroclus is his life partner if they don’t want to. Actually, that’s very gay too — 1950s, Ben-Hur gay.

Shrek 2

Weird, I thought the word of mouth was good on that one. The sequel doesn’t offer much: a couple of under-used new characters, and a ton of anachronism humor that’s only funny for two minutes — good thing that in the first movie it was only for two minutes, whereas this one is pretty much built around it.

But since when does Jennifer Saunders have such a Broadway singing voice? I already heard her sing in passing in French and Saunders, but never like that.

And since when has it become acceptable for a DVD to prevent skipping not only the FBI warnings, but also the fucking trailers?! (Yeah, I know it mustn’t be new at all, but I don’t watch DVDs very often.)

Au secours, j’ai 30 ans !

(En tapant le titre du post je me rends compte que j’ai bien choisi le jour pour regarder ce DVD, tiens. Il n’y a pas de coïncidences.)

Marie-Anne Chazel a bénéficié pendant vingt ans de l’aura du Père Noël parce qu’elle n’avait rien fait de majeur depuis (si on ne compte pas deux scénarios de films très oubliables et oubliés) et qu’elle est bonne cliente en talk-show. En passant à la réalisation, elle dissipe le doute : non, Clavier et elle ne sont pas si mal assortis. (D’accord, j’exagère : ce n’est pas énervant, bête ou méchant comme le serait un film de Clavier, mais juste nul, au sens propre.)

Nathalie…

Emmanuelle Béart est plus belle que jamais (même à Hollywood les actrices de 40 ans ne font pas si jeune !), Fanny Ardant n’a pas été aussi bien filmée depuis des années, et Gérard Depardieu arrive à être crédible dans le rôle de son mari, j’espère que vous réalisez bien à quel point c’est exceptionnel. D’ailleurs, la plus grosse réussite est bien d’avoir pu donner un métier, un mari, un fils et une mère à Fanny Ardant, et que tout ça arrive vraiment à fonctionner.

Pour ce qui est du film, c’est le pendant féminin de Nettoyage à sec, de la même réalisatrice (quoique — donc ? — moins violent) : ni incontournable ni raté, disons… un bon film français dans la tradition du cinéma français ?

I, Robot

On the whole, less dumb than I expected, particularly after the first half-hour (which reminded me the South Park mormon song, “Dumb dumb dumb dumb”). But what’s infuriating is that you can see, from the details and the dialogues (well, those of supporting actors), that this movie was conceived by people far less dumb than the result is. And that they could have made something much better, but just limited themselves with this neo-luddite crap starring the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, out of sheer cynicism. Hurray for Hollywood.

By the way, hearing for the first time Chi McBride’s real voice is a shocker. The choice they made for the Boston Public French version could quite almost be defined as racist.

By the way again, I wouldn’t mind being told what Will Smith injected to himself as he prepared for Ali, because I’d love to had breasts like these so I can get anyone I want when I go back to Paris.

Tim Burton's Corpse Bride

I’ve always been annoyed by Sydney Bristow being such a cry baby, but it’s gotten worse since I watch Alias in the original version, and even more since I know that Jennifer Garner is such a bimbo. She’s supposed to be the daughter of Victor Garber, the double or triple agent with an ever inexpressive face, and Lena Olin, the double or triple agent with an ever inscrutable face, she’s the prophetic super agent who’s been trained from the earliest age by her father, and she’d be unable to bluff anyone in a kindergarten poker game.

I’m specifically thinking about it tonight after I watched Kill Bill, because the bride is just the opposite: she’s credible as a fearless, remorseless killer, whereas Sydney wouldn’t survive for two days in the real world.

So, should I blame the actress, or is her character really supposed to be like this?

Kill Bill, volume 2

I wanted to check my review of volume 1 for reference, but it seems I never got to write it, so I’ll do it for memory: the second volume seems more uneven to me than the first.

Even though I’m not very receptive to Tarantino, I had been bluffed by the mastery of his directing, as well as by the little bursts of scenario that managed to grow in the midst of all the gore; this one I found a bit too messy, and almost phoned-in at times. Several excellent scenes, with weak transitions and even occasionally editing.

Oh, but it has to be me, it’s certainly an intentional choice that I don’t quite get (just like I don’t generally get Tarantino). Still, I’m leaving the movie far less impressed and excited than after I saw the first part.

Joss Whedon, Fray TPB

Excellent. Excellent. Excellent. The ending happens a bit too quickly, but it’s certainly inherent to the medium: you have to fit the whole resolution in one twenty-page-ish issue, because you can’t really expect to sell a ninth comic after the apocalypse just for the fun of exploring the characters’ psychology a bit further. But apart from that it’s all perfect: the characters, the dialogues (obviously), the story (although the twists also happen a bit soon, still because of the medium — and also because it isn’t designed to be read all eight episodes at a time)… and, if that wasn’t enough, the illustrations are absolutely splendid. It’s just too short.

Neil Gaiman, The Wolves in the Walls

O…kay… why did I buy that, again? I had sworn to give up on Gaiman. Oh, wait, that’s why (and, also, to give him another last chance, since everybody around is still praising him). So, yeah, alright, the illustrations are very nice, and if I had a bedroom worth decorating I could cut the pages off and stick them to the walls (all the more easily as my copy came with poor binding) and that would be very meta and all. But, apart from that, when it comes to the book as a whole, and the story an dall… for someone who’s more than four years old and isn’t learning to read, what’s the point?