hold the aliens, please

note: why anyone would read this in the hopes of actual film criticism makes me chuckle. but i should, in all fairness, say that spoilers do follow.

i'm the first to admit that i have no long-standing relationship with indiana jones. i came to the movies late [watched the trilogy with non-date over three consecutive wednesday nite non-dates, about a year ago] but liked and appreciated them nonetheless. i didn't have the nostalgia factor working for me when the latest film was released three weeks ago, but i did want to see it - if only to once again appreciate harrison ford as an actor. so mom and i headed out to a friday evening show - well stocked with a can of mixed nuts and some gummy worms [we are no movie-going slouches.] [who brings a can of mixed nuts to the movies?] [we do.] so, anyway. the movie. i found the first 2/3rds of the film to be enjoyable, if on the bloated side. cate blanchett is excellent - an observation that would seem to lose it's effect over time, as she's always excellent, but it's hard to argue with such solid evidence. also: i totally wanted her hair/cut. she reminded me of a harder-assed 'edna' from the incredibles. i didn't hate shia, much as i'd anticipated. if anything, i sort of forgot he was there. harrison? well...the hat still fit. i know the parallels between this indy & shia's character alongside last crusade's indy and his father [sean connery.] i get it. son & father figure. newbie and stodgy old guy. but the brilliance and allure of 'indiana jones' - the character - has always been his excitement, his thirst for action. he may have been reluctantly dragged into fistfights and captivity and near-tortuous conditions but he always fought through with an impish glint in his eye, with a smirk on his face, with a whip in his hand. where was that impish glint? where was that smirk? where the HELL was that whip? i'm not sure the flaw lies in how the character was written -- there was nary any verbal acknowledgement of being 'too old' to do something. it was mostly in how ford portrayed indy...which is probably why i was so bothered. if he was supposed to be grumbly, there would have been more narrative indication. there would have been more emphasis on shia's character ("mutt") as the whippersnapper, as the up-and-comer. but there wasn't. there was a direct conflict in how indy's character was written and ford's interpretation.

that actually wasn't my major quibble with the film [tangents!] i was really ok with the movie until...the end. AND THE ALIENS. are you kidding me? ALIENS? not cool. i have nothing against aliens as thematic implements. i appreciate close encounters of the third kind. i love alien. i loathe e.t. but that is for entirely different reasons [i.e. a four-year old's TERROR when e.t. is discovered in the backyard.] [i'm still shuddering.] [still.] but ALIENS with indiana jones? so very far from the realm of acceptibility.

i completely blame george lucas. he tries to put ALIENS everywhere. mostly places where they don't belong. the movie even had me when it entered into the ruins with the crystal alien skeletons. fine. whatever. but when they morph into an "actual" alien andburn cate blanchett's eyes out of her head? ....what?! i'm all for suspension of disbelief, but this seemed to be such a weak wrap-up. even in my non-nostalgic state, it made me sad.

plus: the movie is almost two-and-a-half hours. you want it to be worth your while. and while i didn't hate the film -- and did enjoy/was entertained by a good portion of it -- the last third blew it for me.

boo.

bourneography

i saw 'the bourne ultimatum' last nite. it's pretty fantastic: non-stop action, matt damon-hotness, joan allen & david strathairn hard-ass acting master class.
and if you ever thought that the candlestick was a pretty ineffective clue weapon, this film will convince you otherwise.

birthdays, poo and the healing powers of rhubarb.

today is the wee bakery's 6 month birthday! happy birthday, wee bakery. i will bake you some wee cupcakes. were you an actual bakery, i could go to you and buy said cupcakes. but you are not. you are a silly, nonsensical internety entity. readership: 4
but i love you for giving me someplace other than my binding-less, drama filled notebook to focus my craziness.

in non-birthday related news (hi. buy me a dictionary. 'news' came out 'noos' on the first go around.): for reasons we have yet to ascertain, my niece has started to refer to herself as either a "doody factory" or a "poop factory" upon the production of a dirty diaper. hilarious.

in non-birthday and non-doody related news [noos]: i got nothing. it's friday, and i'm going to see ocean's 13 this evening. saw ocean's 11 on a first date with a former boyfriend, ocean's 12 pretty much crapped the bed...the fate of the ocean's legacy in my brain forever hinges on this third installment.

yesterday i gleefully sent my mother this recipe. today, she emailed back saying that a teacher at her school brought in some rhubarb so, "your assignment, should you choose to accept it..."
i believe the spirit of kitty grandma (my maternal grandmother) shall be dancing a jig over her granddaughter's new food project. happier, hopefully, than the time mom and i were making easter cookies and the porcelain cardinal fell off the shelf, a clear sign that we were being watched and should not omit the anise flavoring, no matter how much i complained. my grandmother was a brilliant cook and baker and certain things about her and her house will forever (hopefully) be inscribed into my brain: her yellow rice with mushrooms, the possum that temporarily moved into her porch, helping her pick strawberries in the back yard, getting stung by a hornet that nested in the front steps, seeing her drop a piece of chicken onto the floor while turning it over to see if it was done and unleashing a "sonofabitch!" -- the likes of which i've never heard again. her cat. her basement, lined with jars upon jars of home-canned fruits and vegetables. it was a veritable laboratory of food brilliant. going to the premiere of this movie -- in the town where she lived -- and the accompanying terror of sleeping in her house, or any house with windows, for at least a year. i've missed her everyday for eighteen years.

i feel old and sad. and anxiously awaiting that rhubarb.

oscarvaganza.

sadness.
the oscars have come and gone another year.
some initial thoughts, post-show:

• ryan gosling should sit in the front row of every awards show, regardless of whether he's nominated or involved in any way (i.e. the espys, nobel peace prize, etc.) he is that fantastic.
• it's fitting that three highest profiled winners gave three of the classiest speeches (helen, forest, martin); granted, they've had plenty of time to rehearse.
• great dresses: penelope, helen, kate, reese, jada, rachel.
• not-so-great dresses: kirsten, anne, beyonce.
• six reasons to watch the oscars: george, ken, gael, ryan, marky mark and clive.
• one more: no brad pitt.
• dear oscar show producer: the new layout of awards? not conducive to the attention span. you need to hook in the viewers who aren't sure they want to be watching in the first place. categories like 'art direction' are not the way to do that (no offense to the art direction nominees -- but i realize i am in the minority in terms of viewers who care.) start with a bang (always have george clooney open the show or ensure that whoever wins the first award will do/say something incredibly outrageous/thought-provoking.) we like action. even if it revolves around hundreds of people who sit for 4 hours.
• ryan seacrest: he. is. pointless.
• things that have worn out their welcome: MONTAGES, kirsten's bangs, barbie hair.
• things that are funny: meryl streep's glare, the tuneful ode to comedy, jennifer hudson's bolero jacket, interviewers who attempt to ask serious questions on the red carpet (lisa ling, i am talking to you. we know you're smart. this is not the forum in which to prove it.)

i'm madly in love with you and it's not because of your brains or personality...

oh, oscar. it makes me happy that you heard my heartfelt plea; today's nominations were a testament to our friendship. yes, there are a few disappointments (not enough love for 'children of men'; peter o'toole?) but, as i previously mentioned, you played your cards right. 'little miss sunshine'!; ryan gosling!; nobradpitt! -- i could go on and on. in addition to the aforementioned happiness, i'll mini-list my top 5 favorite moments from this morning's announcement:

1. no best picture nomination for 'dreamgirls'. i enjoyed the movie (it's a good movie musical; it's a decent movie) but in no way thought it was bp worthy.
2. paul greengrass for best director. 'united 93' was an incredibly painful, painfully incredible film. this was an excellent use of a nomination, for a film that no one necessarily wanted - but absolutely needed - to see.
3. mark wahlberg. seriously -- marky mark? love it.
4. costumes for 'marie antoinette'. obviously 'devil wears prada' was a given in this category (hello, shout-out.) but the costumes in 'marie antoinette' are practically a lead character.
5. adriana barraza. it's no secret that i was less than enamored with 'babel' (see above reference to brad) - still, it was impossible not to be affected by barraza's emotional, tragic storyline. she was the sole reason to see this film.

dear oscar:

i am an award show fiend. specifically: you. oscar sunday has long been my favorite evening of the year. but not too long ago (2000) we began a feud that, i'm sad to say, has increased in intensity throughout the years. you may remember that in 2000 russell crowe won for best actor...for gladiator. he won you for grunting and fighting computer animated tigers. for grunting and fighting the air. but as much as i don't care for crowe, my shock/anger/nausea/incredulity couldn't even be aimed at him. someone told him to fight that 'tiger'; he was just doing his job. and someone told him to fight that 'tiger' because they knew it'd be bait. bait for the golden boy. thus my disdain went higher. much higher. it went to you, oscar. it pained me to see our long-standing romance turn sour, but that's exactly what happened. in the years to come i would have to sit through shows that rewarded halle berry. then charlize theron. renee zellweger. i can feel phyiscal pain having to type that out. sadness. despair. yes, you had some redeeming moments (clooney. hoffman. cooper. harden.) but -- nothing for scorsese? crash as 'best picture'? how was this possible? why was this happening to us? for as long as i could remember, i would pour through the world almanac, drinking in the list of winners past...reveling at how many times meryl and kate won, or what year 'it happened one night' took the top four honors. but all that was a distant memory now. i loathed your history, oscar. it was forever tainted.

however.

i am a very forgiving person.

so i shall mini-list the top 6 things you, oscar, must do to regain my love and affection:

1. nominate ryan gosling for half nelson. this is what we refer to as a 'long shot', but if you comes through for me here, i'd be willing to consider all debts paid.
2. a win for helen mirren. closest thing to a 'lock', but i need to see it in writing. ask annette. she knows. am pretty sure she's not speaking to you either.
3. babel cannot win for 'best picture'. when brokeback mountain lost last year i considered disowning you. a win for babel would send me into an oscar-free, hermit-esque existence. i don't care if the globes are doing it...being your own person!
4. matt damon must appear someplace prominent in the telecast. mostly because he's pretty. also because he almost always looks like he just heard a really filthy joke. love that.
5. nominate children of men for 'best picture' and/or clive owen for 'best actor'. it's funny/heartbreaking/depressing/hopeful/ridiculously realistic. the amount of brilliance encompassed by that film is nearly overwhelming. it's a big, fat anarchaic diamond.
6. nononononononobradpittnonononononononononononononono. no.

that's it, oscar. i'm a simple girl. i hope you're listening.