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Feb. 29th, 2004 06:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
silverfae9One of the unfortunate side effects for the rest of you of be being in a foul mood and unmotivated to do anything at all, least of all leave my house, is that I post way, way too much. Regardless, here I am again.
I've just finished reading the review of Mel Gibson's new ickfest, and I find it terribly interesting that no one has hardly mentioned the worth of the -actors- in the movie. This review had a brief nod to Caveizel's lack of charisma but otherwise, nothing. (Don't get me wrong, I loved him in The Count of Monte Cristo--I watched it again just today. But as -Christ-? Give me a break.) It seems to me that Gibson's record breaking hubris is directing all the attention just where he wants it: on himself. So it looks like he's the winner.
Not that I plan on seeing it, thanks. And the New Yorker review mentioned something I hadn't even thought of: that people are going to be taking their kids to see it. Do you know what we're going to end up with in ten years or so, with this particular image of Christ embedded in their shrink-wrapped little brains? -More Medieval Scholars-. That's right, kids--more people who believe the Isenheim Altarpiece is the end-all in religious iconography. So that'll be fun.
(And hey, while you've all got The New Yorker on hand, read T C Boyle's fiction piece. It's raised itself to the top of my favorite T C Boyle.)
My brother is doing a report on Jimmy Hendrix for Black History Month at school (although I thought that was February?). He called today to find out what county we're in, and I'm wondering where he got the Hendrix idea from. But I'm not complaining.
I think I'll try and watch snowy Oscars tonight, since, well, why not. And drink some wine, since I've got way more of it than any girl needs without a wine rack to put it in. My camera should be here tomorrow, which means I should have it in my hot little hands by Wednesday.
(Also, you should all know that Jeff wins the boyfriend award again.)
I've just finished reading the review of Mel Gibson's new ickfest, and I find it terribly interesting that no one has hardly mentioned the worth of the -actors- in the movie. This review had a brief nod to Caveizel's lack of charisma but otherwise, nothing. (Don't get me wrong, I loved him in The Count of Monte Cristo--I watched it again just today. But as -Christ-? Give me a break.) It seems to me that Gibson's record breaking hubris is directing all the attention just where he wants it: on himself. So it looks like he's the winner.
Not that I plan on seeing it, thanks. And the New Yorker review mentioned something I hadn't even thought of: that people are going to be taking their kids to see it. Do you know what we're going to end up with in ten years or so, with this particular image of Christ embedded in their shrink-wrapped little brains? -More Medieval Scholars-. That's right, kids--more people who believe the Isenheim Altarpiece is the end-all in religious iconography. So that'll be fun.
(And hey, while you've all got The New Yorker on hand, read T C Boyle's fiction piece. It's raised itself to the top of my favorite T C Boyle.)
My brother is doing a report on Jimmy Hendrix for Black History Month at school (although I thought that was February?). He called today to find out what county we're in, and I'm wondering where he got the Hendrix idea from. But I'm not complaining.
I think I'll try and watch snowy Oscars tonight, since, well, why not. And drink some wine, since I've got way more of it than any girl needs without a wine rack to put it in. My camera should be here tomorrow, which means I should have it in my hot little hands by Wednesday.
(Also, you should all know that Jeff wins the boyfriend award again.)
