I have a tendency to avoid going to movie theatres to see a film on opening day, because, undoubtedly, that is the apex of crowdedness for the theatres, and with crowds, inevitably, come the greater chance for noisy and inconsiderate people. However, I found myself going to go see see Star Wars: Attack of the Clones this past Thursday, because a friend asked me to, and it wasn't as though I had something better to do.
I've been meaning to start reviewing certain things here and there in this Blogspot, so I'll take this opportunity to begin that habit.
The first thing that struck me as odd was that at, approximately, six ‘o clock in the afternoon the next open showing of Episode Two was at 6:15, which, unfortunately, was too close to be able to make the fifteen minute drive and shuffling around to get into the theatre. The next available tickets were for 8:50 that night, so we attempted to place our online orders for tickets for then. "Online ordering at that theatre temporarily unavailable." Perfect. So, my friend and I made the drive down to the AMC Hampton Town Square 24 to pick up tickets, and decided to kill the excess time with food and chilling. What I found odd about the available showings was that, on the opening day of Spiderman, me and some friends had gone to buy tickets to the next show at about the same time of day, and the next show open was at 11:00 PM, most inconvenient. That probably wasn't the case for Star Wars because of the much more numerous number of show-times, I guess.Enough inane blathering about daily, trivial matters, though.
While driving, my friend brought out and put on the newest Tool album for our listening pleasures, much to my relief, as he is in the horrendous habit of playing modern rap/hip-hop off the radio. I recalled hearing that Tool had lost Maynard, the writer/guitarist or somesuch, to Perfect Circle, from somewhere in the blurry past. I didn't care enough to actually check the CD insert to see if he was still a member. But, what I definitely noticed was that the music seemed a little off from old Tool. The guitar styling was radically different from past albums they released, so it may have been true about Maynard, and what I heard was the influence of the new guy on Tool. I have no problems with that, though, as bands change and get new members all the time. So, based on my first impressions and truncated listening, I give the new Tool album a 33% Failure rating.
Let me take this opportunity to expound upon the rating system I just made up and utilised real quickly. Being the negative bastard I am, the rating percentage is a measure of how much I feel the subject matter being reviewed has failed, so, like in golf and the breathaliser game, lower numbers indicate higher scores.
I've never been a hardcore fan of Tool, but I have found their music apt for some moods, but, in others, it strikes me, slightly, as meandering and aimless. My friend did, also, show me a good chunk of a music video for one of the tracks on the album, and, just because it was so outrageously weird, I lowered the Failure rating.
No wasting time rating my 12" roasted chicken breast on roasted garlic submarine sandwich from Subway to be found here, instead, to the movie.
It's been so very long since I saw Episode One, and the dissapointment surrounding that time hazes my memory, but, from the very first scene of Star Wars: Attack of the Clones, invariably featuring inclined yellow text scrolling away from the viewer followed by panning the camera to show a planet and, immediately after, spaceships, to the vertical/horizontal/diagonal/clock scene wipes, to the music track, character costumes, and settings harkens back to the original Trilogy so much more than the Phantom Menace did. I could just be forgetting that Episode One did the exact same things, due to the looming presence of the shaky plot and subplot, along with the fact that it was a frickin' children's movie blocking my mind, but, anyway... I'm excluding any spoilers, so, suffice it to say, by the end of Attack of the Clones, I felt the movie had, by far, redeemed itself for its absurd subtitle more than once. (Attack of the Clones? One adjective away from a B-rated horror movie title, Killer, for God's sake.) The plot actually advanced the story towards the impending coup d'état of the Empire and purging of the Jedi. We begin to see the stirrings of the Sith, and character development of Anakin. I would have to say that, overall, the only real qualm I had with Episode Two was Natalie Portman as Amadalia. This girl can't act, to put it straight-forward and outright. The only times it doesn't feel like she's in the act of somnambulance was when she managed to squeeze out those moments of contempt, happiness, or trauma necessary to not make the viewer wonder if she has been at the receiving end of a frontal lobotomy, a la Nicholson in Cuckoo's Nest. Some potential excellent scenes were only mediocre because I just couldn't be convinced by her acting. And, finally, thank you Lucas for replacing the comic relief of Jar Jar with that of C3PO. (Does Spanish even exist in the galaxy Star Wars takes place in? "Muy muy?" Yeah, yeah, he's cute and whatnot, but, still, he just doesn't fit in a Star Wars movie.)
So, in conclusion, I give Star Wars Episode II: Attack of the Clones a Failure rating of a mere 15%.
I think it's time to give rest to the part of my brain which drives my critical and cynical side.
Ah, yes, and before I end this, while I am at it: Cowboy Bebop, all art related to it, the music of Yoko Kanno and the Seatbelts, the movie, all 25 episodes, Spike Spiegel, Jet Black, Ed, Ein, Elektra Obiwan, Vicious, Julia, and all of the other great characters invented receive a Failure rating of 0%.
Faye Valentine receives a Failure Rating of 85%.

Adios

Currently Playing Song: Yoko Kanno and the Seatbelts - Rain
Quote of the Moment: "Bitch, motherfucking on it bring, yo." - What Yoda should of said right before facing Dooku.

Art: Force-Fed Expression?

Part II: No

In the mornings, when it actually occurs that I have already awakened, I pick up the newspaper and read an article which harkens interest, within which, occassionally, I find a typo, it irritates me. While conversing with my parents, I constantly correct their grammar, specifically, in most cases, when pertaining to the use of the common double-negative. Some would say I'm anal retentive in that manner, which, honestly, I wouldn't really disagree with. What it comes down to is that I take communication and language seriously, whereas most people don't. The average person's only, solitary goal in talking and writing is to convey their meaning or message, no matter how sloppily or haphazardly. I've come to believe, over the years, that the best way to speak and write is in a way which can not be debated, can not be questioned, and is only ambiguous when it serves to enforce a point, not harm it. The writings of William Faulkner enthrall me, especially his stream of conscious works that explore the limitations of language, and, to quote Fugazi, "Language keeps me locked and repeating," an idea I fervently agree with. The spoken and written word are simply conveyors by which we carry outward from our minds ideas and thoughts. There's no real danger or threat in doing that, ever. The same applies to visual arts, or performed arts. When the newspaper fails to care enough to lay down their ideas carefully and precisely, then just that much respect is diminished from it. When a person is too preoccupied getting what they think out as fast as possible to say it as clearly and understandably as possible, then that idea is just that much more confusing and blurred.
It could be said that I take art too seriously. However, I would be apt to disagree, in fact, I would opt to say that what the case would be is the exact opposite. I do not take art that seriously, at all, and everybody does does. Quite frankly, if I don't see where someone is coming from in a piece of art or work of fiction or whatnot, without sufficient enough support to satisfy me, I do not concur nor very much care about what is being said. Someone may blasphemise this very Blogspot, but I care less about that than this aluminum can of lukewarm Caffeine-Free Diet Pepsi I am drinking. It could be sweet, delicious, frothy, chilled A&W Cream Soda, but it's not, so, whatever, I will not deny its existence, but I don't fret too much over it, either, and I move on, drinking it until it is gone and I can find me a frosted mug of Cream Soda. Which, as of now, sounds damn inviting. I accept that not everybody thinks as I do, but I will not accept that people hate and kill over petty disagreements in opinion, like ignorant children or bigoted adults. So that redneck down the street hung a Confederate Flag on a pole in his front yard, so what that those Neo-Nazis down the street are preaching semantic beliefs and telling of the perks of an Aryan world, so the hell what if that artist portrays prepubescent girls in the nude. All of these, indubitably, seem wrong to your ears, and to mine, somewhat, as well, but, if that is all that is being done, then... "Oh, well." I shrug my shoulders and move on. I don't do nothing but further incite anger and violence by burning that redneck's flag down, or throwing rocks at the Nazis, or bomb that artists home. It's hypocritical and idiotic to crusade righteous ideas while acting in a manner identical, at the core, to the one who are crusading against.
It may sound like this is all advocating the idea of, "If you ignore the kid teasing you, he'll stop." No, please, I, of all people, understand perfectly well that that philosophy is absolute bunk. What I say, though, is that when someone "teases you," you respond by, kindly, ripping them to shreds in an intelligent and decent manner, in the same way which they are acting against you. Someone insults you, you insult them if it really does bother you, if they hit you, you hit them in the god damn face if it hurts. However, what people should realise, is that what hurts is not supposed to be meaningless and trivial. A man who shows your deity defiled in his work of art is not telling you that your entire way of life is stupid to him. He is telling you that he holds a different opinion of religion than you do. People need to learn when and when not to take things to heart. Most of the times, there's not very much worth taking to heart. Art is, definitely, not one of those times.
Everything is an expression of ideas and thoughts, opinions and beliefs, life experiences and constructed theories, from words on paper, to words from an actor's mouth, from paint on canvas, pencil on paper, chisel on marble, motion on camera. Those opinions are put out there to show or demonstrate or educate, not to be taken personally, or radically alter your life, or drastically change your mind on something. It can do those things, mind you, but only if want them to, if you are open to the possibility. Art is art, art is humanity's monument to free will and individuality, art is part of what separates us from animals, leave it the hell alone.

Adios.

Currently Playing Song: Neon Genesis Evangelion - Cruel Angel's Thesis (Rei, Asuka, Misato)
Quote of the Moment: "My mother is a fish." - Vardaman, As I Lay Dying, by William Faulkner.

Having been given some time to recuperate after my first full year of college, I feel it is time to update this little Blogspot of mine, so, here I am.
In retrospect, as I've said before, that year was simultaneously a blessing and a harm to me. On the good hand, I meet a lot of interesting and intelligent people, and realised that High School must be the single most dense concentration of idiots and morons on the face of the planet, because, it seems, everywhere else on the planet is a stew of brainpower compared to it. I figured out that life isn't utter shit and that the world doesn't completely suck. I came the closest I ever had before to a nervous breakdown, and I also reached some of the highest levels of happiness I have ever been fortunate enough to experience. I made friends, I moved further away from friends I had before, and I lost a few friends; that is, simply, how it goes in life. Educationwise, I became more sure of what I enjoy learning, and quite positive of what I hate learning. Read: Physics. I expanded my sphere of knowledge regarding anime, literature, writing, chess, and many other matters. I didn't really need any confirmation that women are evil incarnate, mind you, but these two semesters served to concrete that theory. I jest, though, as women have been the medium by which I hit my lowest and highest... You know the saying, I'm sure: "Can't live wit' ‘em, can't shoot ‘em in da fuckin' face," or something along those lines, I believe that's a little off... Somewhere... Heh...
As a person, I've dramatically changed in the past six or seven months. I have grown much more apathetic towards how people think of me, surprisingly, to a point where I can ask random people in the Santoro Hall lobby if they smell. I lost most of my old defenses hiding who I really was, and I matured emotionally, wisened up a little, and sharpened the edge on my sarcasm and reflexes. More tears have stained my face than I thought ever would, and I've grown much more accustomed to smiling. Life is always a double-edged blade.
Well, I've already been writing for a few hours now, so I believe I'm going to take a break from the written language for the night. I swear I'll finish "Art: Force-Fed Expression?"and re-edit some older entries, later, really. Not that many people read this, but I feel obligated to vow that. I get to find a part-time job, next week, so... Yippy!

Adios

Currently Playing Song: Tub Ring - Bite the Wax Tadpole
Quote of the Moment: "Living is changing." - Ryoji Kaji, "Neon Genesis Evangelion.