Sunday, March 4, 2007
Tonight's movie
Since I've been whining and complaining recently in this spot, I'll throw in a little more by way of explaining why I'm watching a movie at 2 a.m.
First, I'd found this amusing template - usable only in Classic as many are - and was fussing with it early this morning when The Great Hand of Headaches swooped down and thwacked me hard upside my - well, yes, upside my head. Blessedly, I've had only one previously that I know was a migraine, about fifteen years ago, and this was another. Boyoboy. They are, without equivocation, nasty business. You can't get up without feeling woozy and you can't lie down without your head hurting. You can't mindlessly watch tv or stare out the window because a glimmer of light is physically painful. You can't read because you can't see and, anyway, getting any light to read would hurt. You're hungry and sense that eating would help but you don't want to eat lest you get sick. You feel as if too much caffeine may be responsible yet you know that caffeine is reputed to help. You desperately need aspirin or advil but you can't get up to get it without . . . back to #1. If I knew what I did to make this happen, I promise I would never do it again. I used to think it was about drinking coffee on the way to work but I don't do that any more.
Anyway, back to the topic at hand. Somewhere around 6:30 or 7:00 this evening, the rotten gloomy cloud on my head lifted and I joyously downed a bowl of soup, some French bread, some yogurt and a salad. Food can be a glorious thing when you felt as if you'd never live to enjoy anything again. (Who's melodramatic? Who?! I'd sure better never get . . . well, never mind, I won't temp the poltergeist-ish gods who amuse themselves by listening in on such things.) So then, after fiddling with French homework and laundry and a bit of neatening up, a movie turned up that'd slipped past me when it came out. One of those near-nuclear-holocaust movies, this in a submarine, Crimson Tide stars Gene Hackman, Denzel Washington and James Gandolfini. It's produced by Tony Scott and Jerry Bruckheimer, than whom few tell more gripping stories (CSI, Pirates of the Caribbean, Cold Case, Without a Trace, Close to Home, etc. - Bruckheimer and Numbers, Hostage, The Gathering Storm, Top Gun, etc. - Scott). It's not especially original nor as deliciously tense as some mutiny stories, but the acting and photography are marvelous. What pushes it over the top is the Hans Zimmer soundtrack, complete with men's chorus at just those moments when you are holding your breath anyway (and nice touch that an important character is named "Mr Zimmer"). If you enjoy a fairly old-fashioned war movie with Oscar-worthy cinematography and sound, be sure you catch it.
First, I'd found this amusing template - usable only in Classic as many are - and was fussing with it early this morning when The Great Hand of Headaches swooped down and thwacked me hard upside my - well, yes, upside my head. Blessedly, I've had only one previously that I know was a migraine, about fifteen years ago, and this was another. Boyoboy. They are, without equivocation, nasty business. You can't get up without feeling woozy and you can't lie down without your head hurting. You can't mindlessly watch tv or stare out the window because a glimmer of light is physically painful. You can't read because you can't see and, anyway, getting any light to read would hurt. You're hungry and sense that eating would help but you don't want to eat lest you get sick. You feel as if too much caffeine may be responsible yet you know that caffeine is reputed to help. You desperately need aspirin or advil but you can't get up to get it without . . . back to #1. If I knew what I did to make this happen, I promise I would never do it again. I used to think it was about drinking coffee on the way to work but I don't do that any more.
Anyway, back to the topic at hand. Somewhere around 6:30 or 7:00 this evening, the rotten gloomy cloud on my head lifted and I joyously downed a bowl of soup, some French bread, some yogurt and a salad. Food can be a glorious thing when you felt as if you'd never live to enjoy anything again. (Who's melodramatic? Who?! I'd sure better never get . . . well, never mind, I won't temp the poltergeist-ish gods who amuse themselves by listening in on such things.) So then, after fiddling with French homework and laundry and a bit of neatening up, a movie turned up that'd slipped past me when it came out. One of those near-nuclear-holocaust movies, this in a submarine, Crimson Tide stars Gene Hackman, Denzel Washington and James Gandolfini. It's produced by Tony Scott and Jerry Bruckheimer, than whom few tell more gripping stories (CSI, Pirates of the Caribbean, Cold Case, Without a Trace, Close to Home, etc. - Bruckheimer and Numbers, Hostage, The Gathering Storm, Top Gun, etc. - Scott). It's not especially original nor as deliciously tense as some mutiny stories, but the acting and photography are marvelous. What pushes it over the top is the Hans Zimmer soundtrack, complete with men's chorus at just those moments when you are holding your breath anyway (and nice touch that an important character is named "Mr Zimmer"). If you enjoy a fairly old-fashioned war movie with Oscar-worthy cinematography and sound, be sure you catch it.
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