Mewvies

I'm in a good mood today. Possibly because I'm off my skateboard on coffee, and also because my hair is bright pink again. This is after a few months of trying to be a bit more 'normal'. Didn't work. Maybe because dark purple was as 'normal' as I could be persuaded to go... Sometimes I manage to disguise my inner loon - I'm like a stick of Blackpool rock, with 'LOON' running all the way through the middle. However, I admit that I'm happiest when the word 'LOON' is also written all over the outside as well.

ANYWAY, I was saying that I'm in a good mood. So I'm going to write some random, attention-deficit drivel about movies that has popped into my head :-D

WHY CAN'T THERE BE A FEMALE MICHAEL CERA?

You know, cute & quirky, but not exactly pinup material. A girl you can cast in indie (or at least indie-style) flicks aimed at audiences in their teens to early thirties. The reason is that there are not enough PROPERLY FUNNY women that aren't totally butt-faced, the formula isn't tried-and-tested for profitability, and there are too many middle-aged male executives who think they know exactly how today's 'geek chic' set of young men think. 'Cheerleader types appeal to EVERYONE!' they cry. I ask them to note the number of men my age who secretly fell for Jessica Hynes (Stevenson at the time) when she was in Spaced.

Of course, there are some actresses who get cast in these roles, and play them well. Kat Dennings in Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist, for example. But I want more of them, and I'll bet the nerd-boys do too! The nerd-boy set loves watching movies, the possibility of a convincing (ie - not an obvious cheerleader-in-glasses type) nerd-girl who gets them, and hates feeling patronised. Difficult chemistry to engineer, but Spaced got it right... if only more movies could do the same...

CAN EXPOSITIONAL DIALOGUE PLEASE BE MADE ILLEGAL? LIKE, PRISON-SENTENCE ILLEGAL?

It makes me want to run up to the projection booth at the back of the cinema and barf on the actual film itself. You know the type of dialogue: "Why can't you TALK to me?? I'm your WIFE!" or "Things haven't been the same since Mum died..." or even worse, "I AM your SISTER, you know!" Seriously, do you know anyone with such a specific type of brain damage that they feel the need to announce their relationship to those around them whenever they speak? If so, my heart goes out to them, because NORMAL PEOPLE DON'T DO THAT. It's the kind of dialogue that is lazily put in to explain to the audience what is going on by having the characters literally explain it out loud. It's unnatural and completely breaks the flow of the movie by causing us to cease to believe in and relate to the characters. It's like drawing aside the curtain to reveal that these people onscreen, with whom we've empathised and invested our emotions, are nothing more than mechanical automatons created for the purpose of pushing the plot forward. Which, of course, they ARE. But there's no reason to make that so obvious that it's offputting! If a filmmaker can't make plot advancements and inter-character relationships evident visually, or in the WAY they speak to each other rather than what is said, they have committed a fairly epic fail, and need to look at doing a bit of rewriting. I say 'filmmaker' rather than 'writer', as there are plenty of people sticking their oar in when it comes to a script in development. So stuff like this might end up in there at the behest of a well-meaning (but completely mental) executive, rather than as a result of an inept writer. If I wanted to wade through a retarded bog of clichés and poorly-handled storytelling, I'd... well, I can't finish that sentence, because I can't even IMAGINE a scenario where I'd want to do that. So I'd like it if there wasn't any of it anymore, please :-)



Okay, that's all I've got brainspace for right now, am off to read a screenplay. Hope there's no expositional dialogue, or I might eat it! :-D

Dear Jason Derulo...

I have noticed your song, 'Ridin' Solo', lately. I have noticed it because it is on Galaxy radio approximately 5,240 times an hour. Every day. I would like to draw your attention to this fact, so that you can make another song. While I appreciate your need to relentlessly inform us of your desire to bang Harrison Ford, the sad fact is that your pathetic and reedy vocal is slowly forcing me to the edge of my already-tenuous sanity. If you were to make a new song, perhaps called something equally meaningful such as 'Wet Lettuce', at least it would be a change. Still godawful audio tripe, but DIFFERENT godawful audio tripe nonetheless. Now, you might ask why I don't just change the radio station to one that does not incessantly force your 'song' down my ear canals. Good point, and I would totally do this if the radio would ever pick up any station other than Galaxy or some mad Polish one. I much prefer the Polish one, as at least its insane method of song selection defies all logic and repetition (Aerosmith followed immediately by Britney Spears on one occasion). But sometimes we can't get a good enough signal for that, and it appears that I'm not authorized to turn the radio off altogether. My ruse of pretending to need quiet for a phonecall has been marginally successful, as I've taken to turning it down until the volume is so low that I can pretend something good is actually playing. And then 'forget' to turn it back up. But plans like these can only work for a short while, until someone notices and turns the drivel back up again!

I hope you will consider my request, and by 'consider' I mean 'act upon immediately, or preferably just shut up'.

And if you see Justin Bieber, tell her she needs a haircut.

Best regards,

Ellen

UPDATE: The Polish radio station just played the Muppets version of Bohemian Rhapsody, which is possibly the most bizarre thing ever when you can't actually SEE the Muppets. It's pretty bizarre if you can, but a totally insane thing to put on the radio! One word: WIN.

No. Just... No.

It seems to be a common practice to use the word 'action' as a verb in the business world. For example, 'Ellen, please take this file and action it today'. Sentences like that actually make me want to smash things. It's incredibly difficult to follow an instruction at work when it doesn't actually make grammatical sense. Yes, I know what it MEANS, but that does NOT mean that I can hear it without grinding my teeth and experiencing a facial spasm!! It’s also very tempting to reply 'Of course, and then would you like me to computer the results?' NO! JUST NO!

Telemarketers beware, I have a slight hangover and have run out of green tea...

ME: Good morning, [COMPANY NAME], how can I help you?
TELEMARKETER: May I please speak to Mr [NAME OF MY BOSS]
ME: May I ask who's calling?
TELEMARKETER: This is American Express.
ME: Would this be a sales call?
TELEMARKETER: [PAUSE] We... wouldn't be selling anything over the phone...
ME: Ah, so it is a sales call.
TELEMARKETER: Uh, no...
ME: Yes it is.
TELEMARKETER: Um...
ME: I'm afraid I am not authorized to put this sort of call through
TELEMARKETER [HUFFILY]: What do you mean, 'this sort of call'?
ME: Calls from American Express.
TELEMARKETER [BLUSTERS]: And who told you that you are not authorized?
ME: Our company director.
TELEMARKETER: Oh, Mr [GETS THE NAME OF MY BOSS WRONG]
ME: Yes. Except that isn't his name. But good try!
TELEMARKETER [SOUNDING UPSET]: And when did he tell you this?
ME: Several months ago, around the time that he found out his girlfriend was having an affair with an American Express executive.
TELEMARKETER: [FAINT SQUEAK]
ME: Oh yes, it was very traumatic. It was a female executive actually, so he's had that to deal with as well. I think he thinks it was his fault somehow. He's now having major issues with gender confusion, but he's working through it with his therapist.
TELEMARKETER: I hardly think this is appropriate...
ME: Oh it was VERY inappropriate. They had just opened a joint account when she left him, with American Express actually. So it was supposed to be a serious relationship...
TELEMARKETER [IMPATIENTLY]: Can you PLEASE just put me through to Mr [NAME OF MY BOSS]
ME: Oh, you got his name right this time! Well that's better. But he's still not interested in taking this call. Not after all the trauma. If he so much as hears the words 'American Express', he breaks out in a rash and gets vertigo.
TELEMARKETER [ANGRILY]: WELL THEN IT'S HIS LOSS!!!
[SLAMS THE PHONE DOWN]

And so it begins...

Welcome to my new blog. It begins as a result of a friend's suggestion that I stop clogging up everyone's Facebook newsfeed with my lunacy and instead confine it to a more containable forum. Well, that's not how she put it, but then again she's a lawyer and we know how often they say what they're REALLY thinking...

I'm going to jump right in with a lovely story. It's called 'Oh For The Love of All That is Sacred, Please Shut Up'. It begins on the 207 to White City, on a Monday morning that was both bright and cheery (stop interrupting, yes it was). All was going well for the gentle commuters, as a soft breeze was playing through the open window and there were actually enough seats for everyone, for once. Some peacefully read books, others watched the world go by through the (fairly) clean windows. The pervading atmosphere was of calm and contemplation. Until the bus pulled into The Stop of Doom. Now, I'm not sure if it's just me that has noticed this stop as particularly portentous of calamity, but I will add the detail that it's VERY close to a very cheap off-licence. That opens weirdly early, it seems. Or they don't mind who they sell nail-varnish remover to outside of licensing hours. Either way, there is often some sort of interesting character waiting at this stop; part of me would like to believe that they lie in wait for my particular bus to pass by so that they may enliven my morning (the alternative is to accept that there are actually enough of them around for there to be one on every bus). Today was no exception. A woman the size of a generous futon lolloped aboard, greeting the startled passengers with a genial wordless bellow. She shoehorned herself into the nearest seat-and-a-half, much to the delight of the girl attempting to sit in the half a seat beside. Having taken a couple of stops to catch her breath, she began humming to herself loudly, and sort of shuffly-dancing with her feet. At this point, I began to wonder if she couldn't help her unusual bus-entering caper. However, at that point she yawned, and melted the eyelashes off all of us sitting within 10 meters of her. Ah, so this was 70 per cent proof, self-induced crazy then. As I was absorbing this fact, and trying to find a facial orifice out of which it was safe to breathe, she suddenly lunged forward and tapped the shoulder of the bloke in front of her. He was attempting to listen to some music, and so it took her a couple of seconds to get his attention, by which time she was quivering with excitement. 'Yes?' said our intrepid businessman, pulling an earbud to one side. 'ILIKEYOURSUIT' came the reply. 'Pardon?' 'ILIKEYOURSUIT, BUTYOURHAIRISGREASY!!!' The man looked blank and said 'Uh, thanks for that.' I inwardly applauded his succinct response.
The woman amused herself for the rest of the journey by reading a magazine and telling the air about her personal life. 'YOUDON'TWANTTOMEETMYBROTHER!! HE'STRYINGTOGETMARRIEDBUTHEHASATEMPER.' Then an article in the magazine would catch her eye 'CHEATING ON HIS WIFE??! FOR F**KING WHY?!!' I was quite touched at her indignation for the unknown wronged woman, until I noticed she was holding the magazine upside-down. Ah, so that was just the crazy talking, then. She also began an argument with a man who had sat beside her, and who had and become understandably irritated with her constantly nudging him in the side as she completed some sort of interpretive dance. The argument ended with her accusing him of being a child-abuser, at which point he quietly moved to a seat far away.

I left the bus during her rousing rendition of 'Everybody was Kung-Fu Fighting', complete with tuneless, high-pitched screech where the instrumental riff would usually be. And several racial slurs that certainly weren't in the radio edit.

Oh well, at least it wasn't a boring commute...