Film Review: Les Misérables

                                                'FIGHT. DREAM. HOPE. LOVE.'

           Hey, hey! Second post in as many days; you must be getting sick of me. So, why on Earth am I here again? Well, reread the title...there you go, that's your answer. I went to see Les Misérables last night and again, didn't really want to keep quiet. Now, I'm aware that, once again, you DO NOT need me to tell you how great this film is. But I'm going to, because, well; I feel like it. For a full synopsis, cast list, etc., I am once again sending you here.

          I digress, slightly. So, I went in unfamiliar with the stage musical so every move and moment was a surprise. For that reason, I adored it. There is a great deal of 'hype' surrounding this film, and while I was watching it, there were moments when I wondered if I'd been subjected to too much of this, and my expectations were too high. In short; I wondered a couple of times whether I was enjoying it because I was enjoying it, or because I'd basically been told to.            
           I came to the conclusion that I was enjoying it for its own greatness, somewhere between not noticing that my leg had gone to sleep due to its stillness for God only knows how long, and noticing that I hadn't blinked for around the same period of time. My eyes didn't stay dry for long, I'll be honest.

www.http://collider.com/tom-hooper-les-miserables-james-bond-interview/

       
             So, getting down to the film itself, its individual elements and such - the acting is wonderful, actually, no; wonderful isn't the word. There may not be a word. Anne Hathaway was phenomenal, really, crazily phenomenal. When she sang 'I Dreamed a Dream'...wow. That's all, I can't verbalise it. Hugh Jackman was fabulous, both of these characters show desperation so well, and make you really feel it. 

            The film is the first to use live singing - it didn't pre-record the vocals and edit them, so if a character is crying, you hear the desperation and the sorrow. It's so beautiful. 

             I didn't write this review last night or this morning for one good reason: this is a film that with each passing hour, and each new moment given to thinking about it, its power just increases. I didn't realise this until some time in the night, so thought I'd give it something like 24 hours, to completely just let it fester and grow with me. That way, I could be as emphatic as my name suggests. (Though, disappointingly, not as panda-like) 

              I don't want to say too much about the plot in case anyone stumbles across this who hasn't seen it. If that's you; I urge you to see it! Please see it. I won't accept 'it's not my type of film' as an excuse; it's everyone's type of film. It's magnificent. What I will go into though, is just how empathetic I felt for every individual character throughout the film. You love the characters you're supposed to love, and hate the characters you're supposed to hate. In the end, you still feel sympathy for the ones you're supposed to hate. There are incredibly bleak times, as the name would suggest, but there are some truly funny scenes which include Sacha Baron Cohen and Helena Bonham Carter which really do their job well in relieving the darkness of the world of the film.

http://seizetheabsurd.blogspot.co.uk/2012/12/les-miserables-movie-review-symphony-of.html

                               

             Sitting here now, writing this, I just want to go and watch it again. I'd cry more, laugh more, engage more now that I know how much I love it, and why I love it so much. I've never known a film to have  almost filled the room almost two months after its (UK) release; have more than half of its audience in near violent tears, and receive a round of applause at the end. Wow doesn't cover it. Incredible nearly does. Seriously - people were sobbing; one couple had to stay behind for a while because the girl was legitimately having a breakdown. I can't cry at films in front of my family, and I couldn't hold it in. 

             The only very, very tiny and almost insignificant criticism I have, is that you don't have to sing literally every word, some more of it could have been done in normal words, but like I say; that's not relevant, and it didn't ruin it or take away from any aspect of awesome at all.

              Drop me a comment with your thoughts and opinions, are you in the minority who thought it was mediocre or poor? Or are you more fanatical about it than I have been (I didn't realise how much I loved it until I was halfway through this post and have seen the adjectives I've used for it.)

             It's still not been released in every country yet, for your country's release date, have a look here; I'm going to leave you with this, and I'm going to go and get my hands on the soundtrack so I can relive it on the way to everything. 

   

                                             

                                              Thanks for reading, you're really great! Laura

                                                                                                          xoxoxox

Film Review - Django: Unchained

        This isn't normally my field, I know. However I went to see 'Django: Unchained' last night; almost two weeks after its UK release; and I just can't keep quiet.

        Of course, there are the facts that it already has a plethora of great reviews, and the fact that it's a Tarantino, which mean that you don't need me to tell you that it's really, really great. Check out the synopsis, rating, revenue and cast list here.

               

        'Django: Unchained' is set two years before the American Civil War, when slavery and the slave trade were at its peak. 

        The movie opens with a group of slaves being transported from one plantation to another by a pair of traders. The succession is stopped by a friendly 'dentist' - Dr. King Schultz (Christopher Waltz) which beautifully weaves in some humour in an otherwise bleak and depressing scene. It's worth mentioning that the scene up until this point, has some really, incredibly beautiful images - the men struggling to walk by the light of a lantern in the dead of night, framed by ice covered trees. These are elements which Tarantino is famous and celebrated for, after all.

        For the next two and a half hours, the audience come to love Django (Jamie Foxx) and Dr. King Schultz. They grow as individuals, and as a partnership. 

           People will always talk of the violence in films, saying that it shouldn't be portrayed in the ways that it is; but does that not add to the realism of Tarantino's films? Does that not make it more hard-hitting? And honestly, if you're that squeamish and scared/angered/offended by violence and swearing - a Tarantino film is probably not the way you should spend your Friday night. Of course, there is a lot of violence in this film, but it features the slave trade, and a bounty hunter, so how on Earth could anyone make a film without violence in it, which contains those elements? The roles are well cast and superbly acted, so you grow to really hate and love the characters, therefore, seeing the bad guys die in a uniquely, Tarantino-esque way is so satisfying. 

         There are twists, turns, clever one-liners, touching moments and elements of humour, when the subject matter is bleak, to say the least. Django as a character is charming, witty, talented, and in short: bad-ass. There are moments where you might feel the need to look away, you might be shocked, you may even feel sick. But it is truly an amazing thing to behold.

        All in all, this may just be one of Tarantino's best films yet (and I'm pretty fanatical about Tarantino's work) The casting is perfect, the acting is incredible. The dark themes are lifted with moments of beautiful humour. The camera angles add to the depth - creating such awesome images. 

         In short, I LOVED this film, and I think you should all watch it. Aside from Argentina, Turkey, Taiwan, Japan, Singapore and India - the movie has been released pretty much everywhere - so you have no excuse! For more information about release dates in your respective country, you can look here.

        I can't wait to see this film again!

       I'll leave you now, to the peace of your day. If you haven't seen this film, go! It's £10 (ish) and 2-and-a-half hours (with adverts) well spent. If you have seen the film, comment below with your thoughts and opinions! Like I (think I) said in a previous post, I've changed the settings so now everybody can comment, not just other people with blogs.

                                      Thanks for reading! You rock!

                                                                     Love, Laura

                                                                               xoxoxoxox

Flood

            Well Hi! I don't remember the last time I posted, I just remember lying to you about how I was going to tell you all the things I'm crazy about. Anyway, I wrote this piece a while ago. We were told to write 'a horror story', and I didn't feel like writing about blood, so I took a different spin on the term 'horror story'. I tried to make it really sentimental, and it's actually really close to my heart because the story of the flood behind it is true. I have also been to the place where this happened countless times, and the local people still seem to be reeling from it, and are happy to tell you all about it. It's a small, seaside town in England called Lynmouth, in Devon.

The rain started an hour ago. I can hear the river rising, and from my chair, I can almost see the top of it. There are reports on the news that we’ve so far had about a months-worth of rain, and it is showing no signs of stopping. This seems so unreal. I look at the calendar, checking the date. 15^th of August, 1952. How can it rain so heavily in the middle of the summer?

                There is no-one outside, understandably. The atmosphere is dark; I don’t just mean the mood, I mean the actual air. I think if you caught some air from outside in a jar, and held it under a lamps, you’d see dark blue and grey swirling around inside.

                The sound of the water hitting the roof and the windows is deafening. I can’t hear the television anymore; I’m not sure I want to.

                I can hear something louder than the rain coming; a roaring, angry sound and it’s coming for all of us. I can hear what sounds like walls falling – almost exploding – I want to look out of my window and make sure the village is still intact, but I can’t move from my seat.

                In seconds, I’m glad I didn’t move from my seat; the river has fought its way out of it banks, and is raging through the village, pillaging. My front wall moved away from its foundations and exposes me to the elements. The wind punches me in the gut and throws my photos from the walls. Memories lay scattered on the floor, a flurry of rain is also brought in and speckles the broken glass.

                A tear rolls down my cheek. I look to my wife who is sitting in the armchair beside me, she places her hand in mine and squeezes her eyes shut, letting a tear roll down her wrinkled cheek, mirroring mine. I look at our hands, seeing in every wrinkle and little brown spot, all of the times we laughed, cried, sang. I notice how her wedding ring is still in pristine condition; it’s so true of her character.

                The water level is rising across our living room and I can hear another onslaught coming, from further upstream. I look to my wife again; her eyes are still closed and I think she’s praying. I raise her hand to my lips and kiss is gently, one last time.

                The river rushes into what is left of our home, taking the television, the coffee table, my wife and I.   It feels like a betrayal; the river we have lived next to for the last thirty years, and have loved all of our lives is ruining us. It saw our love blossom, saw our children born, raised, married. It’s taking away everything we ever had. It can take whatever it likes; I won’t let go of Mary.

                                                                                 ***

                The next morning, when the rain had stopped, the clean-up began. Thirty-nine buildings had been destroyed, leaving thirty-four people dead. A single policeman had driven for miles in the night to get to the nearest phone, calling in reinforcements. The people who survived came out of the buildings which still stood, and began to pick up the people and buildings who didn’t. It was thought that the little seaside town had experienced over three months of rain during the night, causing devastation which would be talked about, fearfully and speculatively, for over sixty years after the event. The damage can still be seen along parts of the river, with small front walls, and steps up the side of the bank; preserving the memory of the people who were lost in the flood. 

             Drop me a comment if you liked it, or if you didn't - I changed the settings a while ago so that anyone can post comments - not just people with google+ accounts, and I'd love to hear from you.

             

            Thanks for reading, Laura!

                                           xoxoxox

Something Old...

         I thought I'd take a moment to share with you a poem I wrote about four years ago. (I took a while to think about how long it had been and then it scared me.) It's based on the story of Macbeth which is by William Shakespeare, and not by me at all, in any way shape or form. (just for legalities, should there be a need) It was a class assignment to 'transform a text', this is not what I ended up using for the coursework, but I'm still pretty proud of it, given how early on in my writing 'career' this was. It's not as long as it looks, and it's from the point of view of the witches. I hope you find some element of whimsy in it.

We three witches always meet,

Sun or thunder, hail or sleet.

We plot and plan and laugh and cackle,

Our foes will end up dead or shackled.

We hate the king; he’s not so noble,

Poisoned his father, frog’s eyes and toadstools.

He used our knowledge to gain his power,

Then he cast us out, began to cower;

He couldn’t pay us for what we showed,

And now we’ll collect the debt he owes.

Macbeth is kind but somewhat weak,

His wife has power but acts so meek.

We can see Macbeth is fighting,

For his king; his love undying.

When he and Banquo cross the heath,

They’ll know not what lies beneath;

Our crooked smiles and twisted tales,

Our evil traipsing through the vales.

We want to use him to gain vengeance,

We’ll waste no time with moral repentance.

We looked to the future and witnessed with glee,

Macbeth had power! His king deceased.

We conjured a plan, just us three,

Aided too by Hecate;

To tell Macbeth of what’s to come.

But he shall know not how it’s done;

We’ll go away and leave them to it,

But from a far, we’ll see him do it;

Kill the king and blame another,

His heirs will then go undercover,

Leaving a clearing for Macbeth,

To rule as king until his death.

Then we shall disappear in smoke,

And they shall take it as a joke.

We shall go to the underworld,

And watch as callas acts uncurl.

We’ll laugh at him, watch him suffer,

His wife shall leave him, so shall others.

He’ll give his all to take the crown,

And that will be what brings him down.

          So, that was that. I hope you liked it a little bit. Lots of love, and thanks for reading <3

                                                                                 Laura xoxoxoxox

Another deviation from normality...

       I know, I know - this is the second time in a row that I haven't made something up for you. But isn't it nice when we're honest with each other? Now, I've been looking after the @BrunelWriter's twitter for the last couple of weeks and have thoroughly enjoyed it. Not only have I been able to say different things to a different audience, I think I've actually grown intellectually due to looking at quotes from author who I idolize. I've learned to find inspiration in everything, to create characters and story lines from a flash of an image, or from something the person is carrying. (A little old lady on a bright pink moped lead me to a fantastic narrative on Wednesday)

       I think the point of this is basically to tell you that you can find inspiration anywhere. Go for a walk, get on a bus or a train and watch people. Go to a café and do the same. As Earnest Hemingway says; 'When writing a novel, a writer should create living people; people not characters. A character is a caricature' 
        I'll leave it there, I just wanted to say something a bit profound. The next post will be about 'things I'm crazy about.' Don't worry - my creative pen hasn't run out of ink, I just can't decide how to present my next piece. I promise it will exist soon! Also, I'm hoping that some time in the next month, 'How to Fight a Dragon', 'Awakening' and 'Close Encounters of the Awkward Kind' will be back up, as they were three of my most popular posts, ever.


                          Take care and thanks for reading! Laura
                                                                              xoxoxox