Showing posts with label movies. Show all posts
Showing posts with label movies. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Thursday, April 01, 2010
Scorsese to Direct 4-D Biopic of Visionary Knitter
Hollywood, CA. Oscar-winning director Martin Scorsese today confirmed rumors that he will direct Triumph of the Wool, the long-awaited cinematic treatment of the epic life of Elizabeth Zimmermann, a British-born knitter whose pioneering work liberated millions from the tyranny of the printed pattern.“It’s a no-brainer,” said Scorsese. “My work has always celebrated the underdog and the rebel. Elizabeth didn’t take no shit from nobody. That’s my kinda woman.”
The Fourth Dimension
The director was tight-lipped about specific details, but insiders hint that George Lucas’s Industrial Light and Magic has been tapped to supervise CGI fantasy sequences dramatizing the creation of Zimmermann’s mind-bending Baby Surprise Jacket and other signature designs.
Triumph of the Wool would, indeed, be a logical debut vehicle for the company's much-anticipated "AranVision" 4-D technology, which will allow moviegoers to reach out and fondle on-screen yarns and handknits.
Glittering Cast
The A-list cast will include Dolores Van Hoofen, legendary cabaret singer and noted fashionista, in the central role of Elizabeth from her early teenage years onward.Van Hoofen, speaking poolside at the Bel Air Hotel, pronounced herself “honored as all hell” to be cast and very much looking forward to a reunion with Scorsese, who last teamed with her to produce the unreleased Gangs of Rhinebeck. (Rumors of an on-set affair have been pooh-poohed by both parties.)
No Van Hoofen? Fuggedabouddit!
Scorsese admitted Van Hoofen was the only actress under serious consideration for the role. “Who the fuck else is there right now? Miley fucking Cyrus? Fuggedabouddit. Without DoDo,” he admitted, using his pet name for the notoriously temperamental star, “there is no picture. And check out that great caboose.”
Also to appear are Viggo Mortensen (The Lord of the Rings) as Zimmermann’s husband, Arnold; Lily Tomlin as Barbara Walker; and Meryl Streep (Death Becomes Her, Mamma Mia!) as Zimmermann’s daughter and heir to the company throne, Meg Swansen. (Streep reportedly went into seclusion at her chalet in St Moritz shortly after this year’s Oscars to work on her pronunciation of words like "entrelac" and "antepenultimate.")Location shooting is slated to begin in Munich and Marshfield, Wisconsin in late spring, with an anticipated release to IMAX theaters in time for Christmas 2012.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Do Gay Martians Have the Right to Marry?
It’s unthinkable for an American male of my age to say this, but it’s true: I do not, as a rule, care for science fiction.
I learned years ago not to air this singular lapse at parties. People don’t take it well. They insist, horrified, that I cannot be serious, as though I’d confessed a fondness for kicking stray dogs or pushing old ladies into traffic.
“What about Star Wars,” they gasp. “Didn’t you love Star Wars as a child?”
I didn’t, because I never saw Star Wars as a child. I still haven’t seen it, though I was persuaded to watch the final installment on a big screen. For a few minutes, it turned me into the screaming, bouncy second-grader I never was. But the thrill faded quickly and I’ve never bothered to watch the rest.
My imagination, I’m afraid, simply doesn’t thrive on what’s to come. I prefer to wander in the past. Given the chance and a time machine, I’d be tickled to pieces to sail around the world third class on a 1920s Cunard liner. If you handed me a first-class ticket to Mars, however, I’d hand it right back. I don’t want to visit Mars, don’t want to wear a space suit, don’t want to play zero-gravity badminton with little green men from some nebulous nebula.
It’s difficult to voice any of this without being accused of snobbery. And that’s funny, because it’s perfectly acceptable in America to say, for example, “I hate opera.” I happen to love opera, and when someone tells me she hates it, I often ask which opera she went to hear. The answer is almost invariably, “Well, I’ve never actually been to the opera…” Which is what I've always thought snobbery was–assuming that something (or someone) is not worth your time without taking a closer look.
In my defense, although I escaped immersion in Star Wars I’ve still sampled enough other stuff from the genre to have formed what I think is an educated distaste. Some of it was moderately highbrow (2001: A Space Odyssey) and some of it low (the original Battlestar Galactica). None of it grabbed me.
So imagine my surprise when, after watching the trailer, I conceived an undeniable urge to see Star Trek at the theater.
Now, skipping Star Wars is a walk in the park compared to evading Star Trek. There’s been so much of it; our culture is marinated in it. And it began as television. We didn’t go to the movies much when I was a kid, but we sure as hell had a well-used television.
Yet I never watched it, in spite of fierce peer pressure. When my friends wanted to play Star Trek, they always had to tell me what to do. Otherwise I’d act wildly inappropriate and order Scotty to beam me to Paris. (Hey–they said the transporter could send you anywhere.)
I hadn’t the faintest idea why the new movie caught my attention; but when Tom said he’d like to see it, I agreed to go. By Sunday afternoon, I was munching candy and watching everybody fight the Romulans.
Needless to say a whole bunch of the film zoomed right over my head, you should pardon the expression. Still, I enjoyed it. About halfway through, I realized why.
First, I love period pieces, and this is a period piece. It’s set in the future, yes, but it’s the future as imagined in the 1960s, re-created at the top of the twenty-first century. The costumers were splendidly faithful to the ironed hair, jump suits and go-go boots¬–indeed, the attention to detail is worthy of Merchant-Ivory.
Second, it’s one of the best gay films I’ve ever seen. It’s gayer than Milk.
I’ve been hearing for years that Star Trek, unlike a lot of other space epics, used futuristic situations at metaphors for contemporary issues. And so it is with this movie, which I interpret as a roman a clef exploration of the twinks vs. bears conflict within the gay community.
No, seriously. It’s so obvious.
In case you’re not familiar with the differing camps, twinks are the sort of gay person familiar to television audiences: young, fair, slender, with a fondness for form-fitting clothing and hair products. Twinks have taken over all the best-friend roles that used to go to actresses like Eve Arden.
Here, from the box cover of a gay Art Film celebrating (ahem) the twink lifestyle, is a representative sample.
Bears, on the other hand, are seldom represented in gay media and certainly never show up in mainstream media. Bears tend to be older, rougher, hairier, and heavier, with a fondness for tattoos, stout boots, and other trappings of untamed masculinity. Bears don’t appear in straight television or film because straight male executives can’t handle the idea of gay men who could kick the crap out of them.
Here, from another box cover from a very different gay Art Film, is a group of bears.
In Star Trek, the twinks are all aboard the Enterprise, along with their signature companion: a sexy, sassy female best friend. They're all wearing the same labels. The ship is new and exclusive, with custom retro furniture and perfect lighting–the de rigueur elements of a twink nightclub.
They are fighting the bears–thinly disguised as the Romulans–led by a pugnacious leather daddy named Nero, who struts around brandishing his gigantic staff. Aside from a nasty case of cauliflower ear, Nero is a prime candidate to get his own calendar from Colt Studios.
Nero’s ship, the Narada, is black and spiky on the outside. Inside, it’s all shadowy corners and well-worn industrial fittings, with no women in sight–the spitting image of your typical corner leather bar.
Let’s do a side-by-side comparison, shall we?
Twinks and the crew of the Enterprise.
Bears and Nero the Romulan.
I rest my case, earthlings.
I learned years ago not to air this singular lapse at parties. People don’t take it well. They insist, horrified, that I cannot be serious, as though I’d confessed a fondness for kicking stray dogs or pushing old ladies into traffic.
“What about Star Wars,” they gasp. “Didn’t you love Star Wars as a child?”
I didn’t, because I never saw Star Wars as a child. I still haven’t seen it, though I was persuaded to watch the final installment on a big screen. For a few minutes, it turned me into the screaming, bouncy second-grader I never was. But the thrill faded quickly and I’ve never bothered to watch the rest.
My imagination, I’m afraid, simply doesn’t thrive on what’s to come. I prefer to wander in the past. Given the chance and a time machine, I’d be tickled to pieces to sail around the world third class on a 1920s Cunard liner. If you handed me a first-class ticket to Mars, however, I’d hand it right back. I don’t want to visit Mars, don’t want to wear a space suit, don’t want to play zero-gravity badminton with little green men from some nebulous nebula.
It’s difficult to voice any of this without being accused of snobbery. And that’s funny, because it’s perfectly acceptable in America to say, for example, “I hate opera.” I happen to love opera, and when someone tells me she hates it, I often ask which opera she went to hear. The answer is almost invariably, “Well, I’ve never actually been to the opera…” Which is what I've always thought snobbery was–assuming that something (or someone) is not worth your time without taking a closer look.
In my defense, although I escaped immersion in Star Wars I’ve still sampled enough other stuff from the genre to have formed what I think is an educated distaste. Some of it was moderately highbrow (2001: A Space Odyssey) and some of it low (the original Battlestar Galactica). None of it grabbed me.
So imagine my surprise when, after watching the trailer, I conceived an undeniable urge to see Star Trek at the theater.
Now, skipping Star Wars is a walk in the park compared to evading Star Trek. There’s been so much of it; our culture is marinated in it. And it began as television. We didn’t go to the movies much when I was a kid, but we sure as hell had a well-used television.
Yet I never watched it, in spite of fierce peer pressure. When my friends wanted to play Star Trek, they always had to tell me what to do. Otherwise I’d act wildly inappropriate and order Scotty to beam me to Paris. (Hey–they said the transporter could send you anywhere.)
I hadn’t the faintest idea why the new movie caught my attention; but when Tom said he’d like to see it, I agreed to go. By Sunday afternoon, I was munching candy and watching everybody fight the Romulans.
Needless to say a whole bunch of the film zoomed right over my head, you should pardon the expression. Still, I enjoyed it. About halfway through, I realized why.
First, I love period pieces, and this is a period piece. It’s set in the future, yes, but it’s the future as imagined in the 1960s, re-created at the top of the twenty-first century. The costumers were splendidly faithful to the ironed hair, jump suits and go-go boots¬–indeed, the attention to detail is worthy of Merchant-Ivory.
Second, it’s one of the best gay films I’ve ever seen. It’s gayer than Milk.
I’ve been hearing for years that Star Trek, unlike a lot of other space epics, used futuristic situations at metaphors for contemporary issues. And so it is with this movie, which I interpret as a roman a clef exploration of the twinks vs. bears conflict within the gay community.
No, seriously. It’s so obvious.
In case you’re not familiar with the differing camps, twinks are the sort of gay person familiar to television audiences: young, fair, slender, with a fondness for form-fitting clothing and hair products. Twinks have taken over all the best-friend roles that used to go to actresses like Eve Arden.
Here, from the box cover of a gay Art Film celebrating (ahem) the twink lifestyle, is a representative sample.
Bears, on the other hand, are seldom represented in gay media and certainly never show up in mainstream media. Bears tend to be older, rougher, hairier, and heavier, with a fondness for tattoos, stout boots, and other trappings of untamed masculinity. Bears don’t appear in straight television or film because straight male executives can’t handle the idea of gay men who could kick the crap out of them.
Here, from another box cover from a very different gay Art Film, is a group of bears.
In Star Trek, the twinks are all aboard the Enterprise, along with their signature companion: a sexy, sassy female best friend. They're all wearing the same labels. The ship is new and exclusive, with custom retro furniture and perfect lighting–the de rigueur elements of a twink nightclub.
They are fighting the bears–thinly disguised as the Romulans–led by a pugnacious leather daddy named Nero, who struts around brandishing his gigantic staff. Aside from a nasty case of cauliflower ear, Nero is a prime candidate to get his own calendar from Colt Studios.
Nero’s ship, the Narada, is black and spiky on the outside. Inside, it’s all shadowy corners and well-worn industrial fittings, with no women in sight–the spitting image of your typical corner leather bar.
Let’s do a side-by-side comparison, shall we?
Twinks and the crew of the Enterprise.
Bears and Nero the Romulan.
I rest my case, earthlings.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Love Snack
Hi, it's Dolores. And shit, am I ever excited.
Today, the fourteenth of February, is my Day of Days.
As heiress to the Love Goddess tradition embodied through the ages but such hotcha gals as Venus, Cleopatra, Delilah, Helen of Troy, Mata Hari, and Mamie Eisenhower,* it is my duty on this sacred occasion to spread the message that love is grand, love is universal, and love makes the world go 'round.
As I once said to Paul McCartney in a tender aprés-schtupp moment, "All you need is love, cupcake." Guess what happened next.**
And let me tell you, to celebrate love you don't need anybody else in the room. A lover can be nice, don't get me wrong–even if it's just the temporary kind you pick up at the market along with a bag of Cheese Doodles and a bottle of Pellegrino.
But if you're alone, see, you can still have a snack and a drink and you don't risk a fight in the afternoon because somebody forgot to wash his hands after eating the Cheese Doodles and now you've got sticky, neon orange fingerprints all over your underpants, the new satin sheets, the headboard, the kitchen table, and the privacy fence next to the Jacuzzi.
If you're having a solo Valentine's Day, why not get yourself a little something nice to nibble on and have a romantic film festival for one? Or for you and your best like-minded pals? Since this blog caters to yarn-centric types, Harry and I put together a list of romantic knitting classics:
Now, if you're really out of the love loop and would prefer to see people struck by chainsaws rather than Cupid's dart, ponder our list of stasher movies. You might achieve catharsis.
But remember, kids, you're never truly unloved. I love you, as how could I not considering the earth-shaking extent to which you love me? Mama's got more than enough Valentine going on here for anybody who can handle it.
Just remember to wash the Cheese Doodles off your fingers if we shift into second gear.
* Seriously. I knew Mamie. Trust Me.
**Note to Paulie: Where's my effing royalty check, you cheap bastard?
Today, the fourteenth of February, is my Day of Days.
As heiress to the Love Goddess tradition embodied through the ages but such hotcha gals as Venus, Cleopatra, Delilah, Helen of Troy, Mata Hari, and Mamie Eisenhower,* it is my duty on this sacred occasion to spread the message that love is grand, love is universal, and love makes the world go 'round.
As I once said to Paul McCartney in a tender aprés-schtupp moment, "All you need is love, cupcake." Guess what happened next.**
And let me tell you, to celebrate love you don't need anybody else in the room. A lover can be nice, don't get me wrong–even if it's just the temporary kind you pick up at the market along with a bag of Cheese Doodles and a bottle of Pellegrino.
But if you're alone, see, you can still have a snack and a drink and you don't risk a fight in the afternoon because somebody forgot to wash his hands after eating the Cheese Doodles and now you've got sticky, neon orange fingerprints all over your underpants, the new satin sheets, the headboard, the kitchen table, and the privacy fence next to the Jacuzzi.
If you're having a solo Valentine's Day, why not get yourself a little something nice to nibble on and have a romantic film festival for one? Or for you and your best like-minded pals? Since this blog caters to yarn-centric types, Harry and I put together a list of romantic knitting classics:
- The Way We Worsted
- Cashmere to Eternity
- Feltin' in the Rain
- A Colorway Named Desire
- Sheepless in Seattle
- Yarnstruck
- The Postman Always Purls Twice
- The Last Tangle in Paris
- The Koigu and I
- It Happened One Knit
- The Yarn Stores of Madison County
- It's a Wonderful Laceweight
- The Unbearable Lightness of Kidsilk Haze
- When Harry Met Sally Melville
- Gone with the Ball Winder
Now, if you're really out of the love loop and would prefer to see people struck by chainsaws rather than Cupid's dart, ponder our list of stasher movies. You might achieve catharsis.
But remember, kids, you're never truly unloved. I love you, as how could I not considering the earth-shaking extent to which you love me? Mama's got more than enough Valentine going on here for anybody who can handle it.
Just remember to wash the Cheese Doodles off your fingers if we shift into second gear.
* Seriously. I knew Mamie. Trust Me.
**Note to Paulie: Where's my effing royalty check, you cheap bastard?
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