Great Gatsby Trailer

Whaddaya reckon? 

I honestly am not sure what to think. Certainly it's going to be a beautiful thing to look at. I'm ... tentatively excited? That's probably the most accurate way to put it. I love Gatsby, and I pray pray pray to the cinematic gods that they smile down on Mr Luhrmann. 

Also - and this is purely my own beef - I went to high school with one of the female leads. I'm hoping this won't be immensely distracting. 

Ruining my productivity

Hurr. I mean, apart from the usual hours spent on Reddit.

Behold! The reasons for productivity being down, and for procrastination being up.

Here are some things that have either made me pants-happy or heart-happy or a little bit of both.

Firstly, here's a write up of Mitch at 4bars. He's doing an amazing job running Ezra Pound, which I will confidently declare as one of the coolest bars in Perth. Even if he wasn't perhaps my closest friend in the world, I'd still gush about Ezra. And believe me, I think that after my recent trip out west I'm pretty well qualified to cast my opinion on the different elements of the Perth nightlife.

Over the past few days, I have spent an obscene amount of time laughing while reading Axe Cop. I haven't laughed that much in a really, really long time. This was the kind of cackling, uncontrollable laughter that makes breathing impossible and makes stomach muscles cry out in pain. I sent it to my brother, then could hear the strains of his laughter echoing all the way to my backyard Reb Cave.

A couple of nights ago I was sitting around, doing some work with the sounds of Happy Days re-runs providing a background soundtrack. Suddenly, I found this video and my night was ruined. It's Giovanni Ribisi, sporting sunglasses he's designed for Barton Perreira. Well shit, I wasn't expecting that. Turns out he was the face of a 2010 campaign, but that was new to me. It's a very different image to the one I have in my mind of Mr Ribisi; that of Amazing Actor, one who is wont to take Quite Intense Roles. I'll admit readily that I've been rather pants-happy for him since seeing Saving Private Ryan all those years ago. Even in my early teens, my taste was strange at best. My friends had posters of Eminem and the Backstreet Boys, I was working my way through Giovanni Ribisi's filmography. Which is what my night degenerated to after seeing this:

Right, so my brother sent me this trailer pretty much immediately after it was released. I think that while watching it I made an audible squeak of excitement. With no exaggeration in the slightest, I know that I can confidently say that I have not looked forward to a film this much for years. Dare I say it, not since The Phantom Menace (I was eleven, so sue me) has my excitement level been this high. The cast, the characters, the sheer badass nerdery of it all ... chances are I'll be in some sort of a frenzy by the time it's actually released. I'm most likely digging myself into a hole of disappointment; I don't know if any film could possibly live up to the ridiculous expectations I'm building. That knowledge won't stop my from clapping my hands with delight whenever I watch the trailer however. 

The mantle for the real revelation of the week however, is reserved for a film I saw a couple of days ago, Bill Cunningham New York. I'll be writing a review of it tomorrow for RHUM and I'll chuck a link to it once it's done. Before that though, I'm going to take a moment to do a little bit of squealy, hand flappy gushing. 

My GOD, I have not been put in a mood that amazing by a film in a very, very long time. After about twenty minutes or so into the film, I began to count the amount of times I got the shivers. I'm not even kidding. I think I got up to about seven times. This documentary is so gorgeous, so fascinating, so touching, I left the screening with a smile on my dial and I proceeded to float around the city for the rest of the afternoon in a happy little cloud.

If you've used your powers of deduction after glancing at the title, you'd be right in saying it's about Bill Cunningham. He's a fashion photographer and writer for the New York Times, and has been one of the preeminent fashion photographers - namely street fashion - since the 1960s. He's a man in his eighties now, who until recently lived in a studio in Carnegie Hall with filing cabinets of photos in place of a kitchen and proper bathroom. In an age where every man, woman, kid and marmot has a fashion blog, Bill Cunningham is the most incredible breath of fresh air, albeit a breathe of fresh air who's been at it for decades. Devoid of the douchbaggery and smugness of other fashion photographers (I can't help but think of interviews with the Sartorialist that I've read recently when I say that), Cunningham is one of the seemingly dying breed who do it for the sheer love of it. He declares that "if you don't take money, they can't tell you what to do!", zipping around New York on his bike, not ever appearing to give a darn about the high society he rubs shoulders with. He's a sight to behold, resplendent in his old blue jacket sitting in the front row of a Paris fashion show, alongside models and shiny people with incredible posture. 

If you like documentaries, if you've ever enjoyed taking a photo, or if you've ever reveled in wearing something pretty, you really MUST watch Bill Cunningham New York. I think it's released in early November, but don't quote me on that. Until then, watch the trailer. Then go check out his weekly slideshow for the Times. 

Catch Up.

I've been in South America for the past three and a half months. I went to the movies five times during the journey. Even though one would sooner expect sight-seeing and crazy happenings than film nerdery from a South American adventure, for someone who heads to the ol' cinematorium at least once or twice a week, that number's alarmingly low on the quota.

What did I see? I saw X-Men: First Class in Arequipa, Peru (fun). Then I went to see Midnight in Paris on a Hangover Day in Salta, Argentina. It was perfect for a Hangover Day. Absolutely perfect. Some things never change, right? A night on the turps followed by a bit of Woody Allen, grease and a giant energy inducing beverage. Anyway, it was delightful. It got off to a slow start, and I was unsure at first as to whether Owen Wilson would rise to the occasion. The film quickly cut through my doubts however, as well as my awful mood, and my nausea. Honestly, I think it's Allen's most rewarding effort in a good long while. I left the cinema with a spring in my step, ready to take on the world. All I did was get on a bus to the next city and fall asleep, but that's besides the point.

In said next city (Cordoba), I managed to find the municipal cinema club and took myself to a screening of Orlando. It proved to be the perfect film to watch at that exact moment. Tilda Swinton, in all her glory, winking at the camera and being incredibly interesting to watch. I high-fived myself on the cold walk home.

Oh, Swinton.

Next was Harry Potter 7.2 in Buenos Aires, complete with a cinema full of squealing Argentine children. Santiago was meant to be Captain America and Cowboys and Aliens, but thanks to student protests and a mis-reading of session times, the only thing we saw was Horrible Bosses. Which I'd describe as perfectly adequate. I laughed. There were a few inspired moments. I quite like Charlie Day. Meh.

So that's the extent of my moviefilm consumption over the past few months. Unless you count watching half of Swordfish, most of Jurassic Park, some of The Social Network and all of Hostel.

So last night I was cruising around Apple Trailers. My oh my, have I missed out on a lot. A hell of a lot. Don't I feel behind with the times. Behind, running after the times frantically, yelling at them to slow down as I'm rather unfit (months of Argentinian steaks and a lot of beer will do that, apparently). All these releases about to occur that I had no idea were even being pondered. So many trailers. So many things to watch. The mind boggles (and that's not even counting four months worth of Epic Meal Time). You know what though? "Severely underwhelming" seems to be the reaction of my thoughts after much of this particular bout of trailer watching.

Seriously, a remake of Footloose? Seriously? A non-Bacon Angry Dance? Seriously?

Imagine in your ears the sound of my vomming, then of me choking on my own vom, because I don't want to live in a world with this film in it.

Similarly terrible looking are Trespass (Nicolas Cage and Nicole Kidman are rich, then get robbed), The Odd Life of Timothy Green, The Vow (THIS SUMMER Channing Tatum must teach his wife how to LOVE AGAIN), Redtails, The Woman in Black (Daniel Radcliffe gets haunted, hasn't discovered any new facial expressions to use), Hunger Games and that Glee 3D piece of shit.

I'll tell you what I do want to see. 50/50, Little Rock, Shut Up Little Man, Eye of the Storm and The Inbetweeners.

Anyway, let the catch-up begin. Jane Eyre this afternoon, Win Win on the weekend. The Change Up looks stupid but goddamn, I'll be watching it. Who wants to come with me? It opens next week.