The thing about movies, is that they're awesome. I'm no film critic (if only I was cuttingly intelligent enough....), and honestly, in spite of my private dreams of reaching the star spangled land of Keira Knightley-dom, I'm no actress. Thus, my fixation with movies doesn't make much sense beyond the fiction being a balm for my incompatibility with my time and space, and even then it doesn't always hit the spot. (Though remarkably, disadvantaged as I am when it comes to the Space-Time continuum, I thoroughly enjoyed Inception. It gives me little shivers every time I think that means I might be approaching the aura of the whole other spectrum that just is Christopher Nolan.)
Nor can I, much to my shame, enumerate the director, vice director, producer, sub producer a, b, c, d, the star, the co-star, the little galaxy of extra people and the bloke behind the camera who got all those really head spinning shots of the bat mobile crashing over Gotham. I know neither their names in alphabetical order, their involvement in other works or their individual dates of birth. I consider myself lucky if I remember that 'oooh, that bloke was in Inception too!' and even then, only after a heated debate with my brother discussing whether said 'bloke' also played a villain called the Penguin. I can't place films on a timeline, I lack the encyclopaedic knowledge to group them by genre, sub genre, and that other artsy level which is just showing off. So, to be frank, I'm not interested in film because I want to hang out with 'film people' either, because a fresh clownfish with a broken fin would last longer against a great white shark. I hold these people in sincere awe, but I doubt I would ever be able to override my instinct for the preservation of my intellectual pride and actually approach them.
I'm not even interested in movies because they're some sort of wish fulfillment, (although lets face it, I would make a fantastically swashbuckling, Orlando ridden Elizabeth Swan.) I like fantasy, and sci-fi, drama and rom-com, horror when I can stick it out without screaming and stand the subsequent nightmares, action, thrillers and pretty much everything else on the market. Like a lot of, (definitely not stereotyping) teenage to young to middle aged to probably too old for this women, I will happily settle down for a cheeky little session with a certain insomniac Seattleite. If it has an interesting plot, and the violence is neither too pornographic nor gratuitous, I'll drag a suitably strapping man to a horror film. I will be the loudest, most annoying gasper in the fantasy film when they go for a whizz on the old dragon, and I will spend hours staring at my mother trying to send her a telepathic illusion of myself as the wife of a certain Professor....X. However, in spite of my daydreams, which are both wild and detailed (again, I'm definitely compensating for the low performance when it come to the spacio-temporal vortex in which we exist) I cannot make myself avoid the fact that I will never look as good as Agent Romanov-Johannson in a skin tight black leather suit. Or, for that matter, a certain kitty Kyle-Hathaway. I have resigned myself to the fact that I will never find a beau with either Andrew Garfield's sweet sense of humour, brooding chocolate gaze, or shapely rear end...
However, I do like movies for a reason, and not because they happen to be my paradisal oases away from work. Of any kind. I was writing something other than my blog (it happens people, let it go) and all at once, I had one of those annoying, niggly, epiphanous thoughts that you should probably listen to but really don't want to. (Mostly because it means taking a hacksaw to what you've done and revamping it, with neither fangs, yellow eyes, nor Bambi.) I asked myself what the point was. And I couldn't find the answer, so out came the verbal hacksaw.
Because here's the thing. Not too long ago, a lot of people, some who knew things, some who didn't, and some who said they did and thought they did but knew less than the rest, started ranting and raving about a gladiatorial sci-fi involving teenagers and archery. "If we're not supposed to watch children killing children, then why are we watching children killing children?" The answer, from my perspective at least, as I found myself repeating to various acquaintances, was simple: "You don't watch it for the murder, or the violence, or the horror. People watch it because she gives hope. They want to see the fight. They want to see the victory of something good, specifically our something good - the triumph of all the good little fragments of human spirit over the great chasms lurking in every one of us." Which is why it is singularly fantastic that people went to see a certain Man of Bats, even after the Aurora Shooting (may the victims rest in peace, and their friends and families learn to heal.) Because the fact people continued to see the film about the hero proves that that shooter has won nothing.
That's why I watch films. Not because of maniacs and psychopaths, not to prove a point. Not to take tips in seduction, or to drive myself mad over whichever chippendale-esque and totally non objectified hunk is in fashion. I watch films because, science fiction or fantasy, romantic comedy or thriller, action or horror, there is always a human truth to be found. No, it's not likely I'll ever develop the mutant powers of my dreams and run away with James McAvoy. But prejudice against minorities happens every day. It is unlikely that a superhero will ever turn up and then dispose of a nuclear bomb in a suitably heroic fashion, but sacrifice, great and small, is omnipresent. No, the characters are not real people. But the stories are eternal, and human, manifold and true. They are necessary mirrors, of our struggles and our victories, our flaws and our saving graces.
And yes, honestly, they're also the only places where I'll see that many good looking men in one place, and not avoiding eye contact.
Tuesday, 31 July 2012
Wednesday, 25 July 2012
Typhoon Vs Subway
Hong Kong has a really ship-shape public transport system. No truly, for all the crowding, lack of recycling/green space/responsible use of electricity, and general toxicity that is the city, the MTR really can't be faulted.
Most of the time.
There are these great blinky light maps, so even Little Miss What-Space-Time-Continuum? doesn't get lost. Everything is in English and Chinese, so as long as you're not a tourist from the 150+ countries which speak neither, you won't even need a phrasebook. The trains are efficient, the trams are fairly regular, and the buses break the speed limit on a regular basis to drive past you because they're full. The ferry has one of the best views in the world, and is normally only a little bit bumpy.
And best of all, because it is Chinese, it is very, very clean. As in, no food or drink clean. As in, wear masks so you don't breath germs clean. As in, feeling ashamed because you've tracked in a puddle clean. Which is nice, as well as neurotic and intimidating. In Hong Kong, you can jump on the subway without holding your breath to avoid air born toxins, and you simply will not find chewing gum stuck anywhere. It is, in fact, a gum free zone.
The only problem with Hong Kong MTR. The only teensy weensy tiny little thing, is the minor issue of crowding. As you may or may not be aware, Hong Kong's population makes it to just over 7 million. There are, roughly, 16,000 people per square mile in the city. Which means there's about 3 people per square foot. And when there's a typhoon warning ( bearing in mind that the marvelous, clean, efficient public transport just shuts down at 'T8') all 16,000 people within your little square mile try to defy all the laws of physics and anatomy in order to crush themselves into one tube of aluminium and plastic, otherwise known as the train.
Because, you know, you couldn't stand around in the well lit, clean, spacious station and wait for the next one. In two minutes. That's just asking too much, really. Especially when you just got let off work early, and you really do have nothing better to do than beat up that silly white girl with your briefcase, because as a middle aged man with no small amount of paunch, it's both likely and reasonable you'll fit into the space between her and the doors. The space which, incidentally, is smaller than your briefcase...
The Hong Kong public transport system is great, just not when you're method acting a human sardine.
And I know that Typhoon Vicente was a pretty big deal. And I know that more than a few people didn't want to get stuck in the middle of the city during what was essentially a tropical hurricane. But I also know, now, what it feels like to have my face pressed into a strange man's sweaty armpit. And next time? I think I'll take the storm.
Most of the time.
There are these great blinky light maps, so even Little Miss What-Space-Time-Continuum? doesn't get lost. Everything is in English and Chinese, so as long as you're not a tourist from the 150+ countries which speak neither, you won't even need a phrasebook. The trains are efficient, the trams are fairly regular, and the buses break the speed limit on a regular basis to drive past you because they're full. The ferry has one of the best views in the world, and is normally only a little bit bumpy.
And best of all, because it is Chinese, it is very, very clean. As in, no food or drink clean. As in, wear masks so you don't breath germs clean. As in, feeling ashamed because you've tracked in a puddle clean. Which is nice, as well as neurotic and intimidating. In Hong Kong, you can jump on the subway without holding your breath to avoid air born toxins, and you simply will not find chewing gum stuck anywhere. It is, in fact, a gum free zone.
The only problem with Hong Kong MTR. The only teensy weensy tiny little thing, is the minor issue of crowding. As you may or may not be aware, Hong Kong's population makes it to just over 7 million. There are, roughly, 16,000 people per square mile in the city. Which means there's about 3 people per square foot. And when there's a typhoon warning ( bearing in mind that the marvelous, clean, efficient public transport just shuts down at 'T8') all 16,000 people within your little square mile try to defy all the laws of physics and anatomy in order to crush themselves into one tube of aluminium and plastic, otherwise known as the train.
Because, you know, you couldn't stand around in the well lit, clean, spacious station and wait for the next one. In two minutes. That's just asking too much, really. Especially when you just got let off work early, and you really do have nothing better to do than beat up that silly white girl with your briefcase, because as a middle aged man with no small amount of paunch, it's both likely and reasonable you'll fit into the space between her and the doors. The space which, incidentally, is smaller than your briefcase...
The Hong Kong public transport system is great, just not when you're method acting a human sardine.
And I know that Typhoon Vicente was a pretty big deal. And I know that more than a few people didn't want to get stuck in the middle of the city during what was essentially a tropical hurricane. But I also know, now, what it feels like to have my face pressed into a strange man's sweaty armpit. And next time? I think I'll take the storm.
Monday, 23 July 2012
Not quite Zeus himself, but...
Wow, just wow. Currently sitting in a typhoon (the wonders of Hong Kong public transport to be discussed tomorrow) and as ever in storms, I'm enjoying being impressed and a little bit intimidated by the sheer power of the world we live in. Then I stumble across this. Amazed anyone?
Sunday, 22 July 2012
You know you're somewhere fancy when...
So, first off, apologies for the unforgivable and excessively prolonged absence. Apparently, reality got the better of me, and for a short while I was hurled into the abyss that is five hour revision sessions, parent society Burns nights, and, horror among horrors, not finding chocolate cereal in the canteen. I can now say however, that it is all over....for now. Currently I'm enjoying the summer, and discovering that speaking French isn't all that great an asset when trying to get a job in Hong Kong, who knew? So I'm teaching myself Japanese. Because why pick the right country's language when you have so many hundreds more to choose from?
The weather in Hong Kong at the moment, for those of you who are curious, is rainy. Yeah, you'd think that moving 6,600 miles to a country widely considered to fall into the 'tropical' category would guarantee a break from certain precipitations. Apparently not. Owing to this, I discovered flip flops are designed to double up as Extreme Sports kit when applied to wet pavement with pressure. But hey, I'm taking the good with the bad, and plan on signing up for the next high speed skating world cup.
Honestly actually, thanks to the vast, sparse, soul destroying sahara that is my search for jobs, I've not been doing a great deal. Started reading Camilla Lackberg's 'The Ice Princess', which is great, but hard to really get into when you're on an island in the South China Sea, and there is a distinct lack of arctic wasteland. So I moved on to Leo Tolstoy's 'Anna Karenina', set in nineteenth century Russia. You know, because I'm logical like that. I watched 'The Amazing Spiderman', which was great, I experimented with making smoothies...
At this point you're probably wondering, if I've done so very little, why on Earth am I bothering to sit down and blog about it? Because I had done all but nothing, until last night.
Last night we visited the Asian Nirvana, nay, Olympus, nay, the Valhalla, that is Hutong Restaurant. Seriously, you know you're somewhere fancy when washing your hands is an artistic experience. I mean it! I am easily pleased, but in this case I could have been a dinosaur confronted with an artistic representation of a meteorite and I'd have been bowled over. I mean - this sink for example! The tap was a sort of bamboo tube coming from the bottom of a hanging basket. It took me about five minutes to figure out this gorgeous water feature was actually a tap. When I did I experimented for another five.
However, even this gorgeous little novelty could not keep me away from the main restaurant for long, and we'd not even ordered yet. Because apart from the interactive, sculptural vision that is the bathroom, one of Hutong's best features is the floor to ceiling, wrap around wall of windows, opening onto what is quite probably the best view in Hong Kong. Truly, it's enthralling to the point of being obsessively beautiful, you just can't take your eyes away. Before you, a black satin carpet ripples with silver and burns with the lights of the city above. Ships and ferries make their graceful way from one side of the harbor to the other. The buildings themselves bring to mind a 21st century vision of the Tower of Babel.
It's so easy, on visiting Hong Kong, to come away with the negatives. To come away with the pollution, and the crowding, and the excess and the ludicrous living conditions bestowed on the vast majority. But it truly is a beautiful place, and a very very human one. Hutong presented Hong Kong's best face on a silver platter, and it was as entrancing as it was impressive.
As for the food, it stood up to the view, which is a tall order. And it made my brother, affectionately nicknamed the Human Hoover, pause and allow his tastebuds to share in the experience normally sent straight to his gullet. Myself, I was lost for words.
I think that says it all really.
Till next time, all the best.
The weather in Hong Kong at the moment, for those of you who are curious, is rainy. Yeah, you'd think that moving 6,600 miles to a country widely considered to fall into the 'tropical' category would guarantee a break from certain precipitations. Apparently not. Owing to this, I discovered flip flops are designed to double up as Extreme Sports kit when applied to wet pavement with pressure. But hey, I'm taking the good with the bad, and plan on signing up for the next high speed skating world cup.
Honestly actually, thanks to the vast, sparse, soul destroying sahara that is my search for jobs, I've not been doing a great deal. Started reading Camilla Lackberg's 'The Ice Princess', which is great, but hard to really get into when you're on an island in the South China Sea, and there is a distinct lack of arctic wasteland. So I moved on to Leo Tolstoy's 'Anna Karenina', set in nineteenth century Russia. You know, because I'm logical like that. I watched 'The Amazing Spiderman', which was great, I experimented with making smoothies...
At this point you're probably wondering, if I've done so very little, why on Earth am I bothering to sit down and blog about it? Because I had done all but nothing, until last night.
Last night we visited the Asian Nirvana, nay, Olympus, nay, the Valhalla, that is Hutong Restaurant. Seriously, you know you're somewhere fancy when washing your hands is an artistic experience. I mean it! I am easily pleased, but in this case I could have been a dinosaur confronted with an artistic representation of a meteorite and I'd have been bowled over. I mean - this sink for example! The tap was a sort of bamboo tube coming from the bottom of a hanging basket. It took me about five minutes to figure out this gorgeous water feature was actually a tap. When I did I experimented for another five.
However, even this gorgeous little novelty could not keep me away from the main restaurant for long, and we'd not even ordered yet. Because apart from the interactive, sculptural vision that is the bathroom, one of Hutong's best features is the floor to ceiling, wrap around wall of windows, opening onto what is quite probably the best view in Hong Kong. Truly, it's enthralling to the point of being obsessively beautiful, you just can't take your eyes away. Before you, a black satin carpet ripples with silver and burns with the lights of the city above. Ships and ferries make their graceful way from one side of the harbor to the other. The buildings themselves bring to mind a 21st century vision of the Tower of Babel.
It's so easy, on visiting Hong Kong, to come away with the negatives. To come away with the pollution, and the crowding, and the excess and the ludicrous living conditions bestowed on the vast majority. But it truly is a beautiful place, and a very very human one. Hutong presented Hong Kong's best face on a silver platter, and it was as entrancing as it was impressive.
As for the food, it stood up to the view, which is a tall order. And it made my brother, affectionately nicknamed the Human Hoover, pause and allow his tastebuds to share in the experience normally sent straight to his gullet. Myself, I was lost for words.
I think that says it all really.
Till next time, all the best.
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