The book was better.
155 million dollar opening weekend notwithstanding, it’s just something you can’t argue with, and frankly, that is how it should be. I don’t care how much CGI magic you have penciled into your budget; it will never compare with the shit your imagination is going to envision when you’re racing through a rip-roaring story with your pulse pounding and trying to resist the urge to flip to the end of the book to find out WHAT. HAPPENS. NEXT! Continue reading “The Hunger Games”
Some days I feel like I’m being mocked by fish. As a child, I was traumatized when I was forced to consume a creamed fish dish called Finnan Haddie, which I always thought was Fin and Hattie until I just wikipediaed the name. (I envisioned a jaunty chapeau worn by a goldfish that was drenched in butter and cream that made the house reek for days). When I was pregnant with my first child, the smell of anything scale-related made me nauseous to the point that if I saw a Long John Silvers I would have to cross the street. Even now, I avoid the Shedd Aquarium. Continue reading “Salmon Fishing in the Yemen”
I like my movies with a little content. Oh sure, now and then I may seem a bit shallow as I pant over some actor’s glorious abs, and a good super hero flick always makes me happy (how much longer till The Avengers?), but there is something to be said for falling into a few hours of delicious symbolism and random references of the primal beginnings of life, especially if they are gorgeously imagined as bursts of spectacle and life forms that glow like a solar flare explosion reflected in the iris of a dinosaur’s eye. I’m not really sure what that sentence means, either. Welcome to The Tree of Life! Continue reading “The Tree of Life”
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