A somber mesmerized delicate fool caught a glimpse of the delectable shades of gray that covered the walls of the building where he used to amuse those who waddled in with artificially smelling green that crumpled and ripped whilst being handled by unaffectionate hands. He could still see the spectrum, the array, of jewel like fragments of light, sparkling across the floor, along the walls, and deep within the recesses of his mind. If memory served him right, the old place used to be so overtly beautiful, filled to the brim with colorful people and objects, yet this supposedly prime level of extravagance did not sway the old fool to stay. Rather, he was much more attracted toward the scales that existed outside this world of bland happiness.
Two summers ago, yes, around that time, I the fool left the keyboard of this silly hall in order to travel beyond the world of color and factitious delight. I did not yearn for darkness, nay, but upon my dismissal, perhaps even far before then, I sought the intricacies of the ineffably expansive linearity of complex yet simplistic differences between the often forgotten distinctive tones of gray. The gray scale spoke to me in far grander overtones than the false kings of optical seduction. It’s elegance came forth from its ability to be beautiful without calling attention to itself. Color on the other hand, the muddled form it is, is a massive amalgam of cacophonous and rude little children of pigment that all vie for the attention of the motherly eyes that graze over the wall, canvas, or what have you. Yet little gray scale remains still, in the corner, watching his supposed siblings leap over one another. Upon closer inspection however, the eye sees the growth of poor little neglected gray scale, it sees him grow and grow and grow.
Yet this fool. Oh, this fool. He see’s not, the truth of the vibrant jewels that stand aside old gray scale. Indeed they are obnoxious and chaotic as they clamor over one another as they try to stay in the light. But together, they are a concoction that transmutes itself into an image of anarchic organization, and a beautiful opalescent one at that. The single, idle gray scale, he but remains silent for he sees the truth, but he remains independent in the eye of this old fool. A fool that has been out of the race since the race started, a negligible fool, he plays by himself, up and down the scales he goes, why would he need the other’s, when he himself can be all. Yet a question arises.
Author: WillJang
Please Turn Off All Cellphones While I Watch The Grand Budapest Hotel, it is too Delightful to Miss a Moment
After having missed my opportunity to indulge in the latest Wes Anderson film this weekend, I waited eagerly to this day, to finally walk down the street to the State Theatre to finally quench my thirst. Fortunately, I was blessed with what the average student at this point in the semester is unluckily lacking: free time. Thus explaining my choice let alone chance to view a film on a Wednesday night.
I am writing this minutes after my viewing has ended, and quite honestly, the last thing that I remember is how virtually everyone cleared the theatre and did not stay for the credits. As the viewers left, of course they talked and what not. Not to mention that they talked when the first scene was playing out and also someone in front of me annoyingly turned on their bright fucking smartphone in the middle of the movie. Please don’t. But anyways, to say that I eavesdropped is distasteful but I of course overheard various conversations regarding opinions about The Grand Hotel Budapest. Terms such as “Wes Andersony” were thrown around casually. It seems as if the analysis of a Wes Anderson film has been simply restricted to his name changed into an adjective. Which oddly quite concise yet very limiting and paradoxically expansive. While being just one adjective, it still manages to encapsulate in a person’s mind, the vast styles and quirks of a Wes Anderson film.
I laughed while watching this film, quite possibly, I laughed more during this film than any other viewing of a Wes Anderson film. Possibly because the humour was much more aligned with my taste, or it could have been as something as silly as the state of my mood. Which was…happy with a twist of restrained excitement so as to not ruin and overhype the experience that I was about to undergo. But regardless, at the end of the 100 minute film (how cute that it is exactly 100 minutes), I felt more than happy. In fact, I am still thinking about it. Perhaps thinking is not the right word, rather, I am just purely feeling it and quite honestly, I feel that I am not sharing it properly with whomever is reading this blog post.
Let me tell you this then, in an attempt to persuade you to head on over to the State Theatre this week or weekend. It has been a long time since I have been so pleasantly pleased by a movie. It is not a feeling of hyperbolic excitement and brain-dead zealous fanboy extravaganza. Instead, it is a tamed enjoyment that lasts far longer and is undoubtedly far more concrete. It is a delightful film that I will most definitely go see again sometime this week.
Trust me, I cannot think of any recently made movie that I wanted to go see again. This is not really an extensive review of an sort and I will not write about this film ever again. So please just go watch the bloody film and enjoy it for yourself.
Jardin of the Mind and Heart
“There exists clashing pangs that reverberate between my bullet and chamber. Sitting at the table outside of the café, I could feel my leg fall asleep and escape from the dead-set conflict. How, despite being a part of the same vessel, can there be such… Yearnings, consisting of such empty paths aligned by the flowers of bold promises and blurred people who had spoken as conquistadors of introspection. By all means, this path does not even exist, I am not sure if it is even a path. It is as confusing and as ugly as a modern art masterpiece. The circle of conception and interest has certainly enclosed to the point that we now see rings on the canvas, floating in a foreign space that undoubtedly occupies us.â€
Such confusion. The day had been so dashing, yet now, our main character began to be picked apart by himself. Perhaps a change of scene is in order.
Walking down Rue d’Assas, he passed by the lycée at which he had been studying that summer. Turning to the left and crossing the road, past Rue Guynemer, he walked past the gates to Jardin du Luxembourg. At the moment, gently protected by the lush deep green trees of the garden from the coarse sun, he slowly but surely made his way along the gravel towards the fountain the rested within the heart.
As the aligned trees led to an opening, once again the entity strongest dans l’été scorched and tore away at his skin, as if desperately trying to reach the innards. Exposing, especially at the top of his crown, the mind that would sizzle upon exposure to the real world. Yet, there the fountain was.
He rushed towards it, seeing that a gentlemen had just gotten off one of the reclining chairs. Claiming the seat for his own, he quickly made himself comfortable and directed his covered eyes towards the fountain. But, he wanted to see the fountain without the awful tint; he took his sunglasses off.
The surface of the water was covered by wooden toy boats, each hoisting their own colors. Overlooking the fountain was the Palais du Luxembourg, a foreboding building, each individual brick a romantic sentiment, all adding to the luxury of culture. The mind was an excellent thing for creating such a beautiful building. But to give the mind all the credit is unfair.
As it stood, daunting and proud, in its sight, the jewel that accompanies its presence, the fountain, remained littered with boats till the very sky began to darken as the sun began to fall asleep.
The children, in all their ignorance and happiness, were controlling their little vessels, making them dance upon the spirit of the Jardin.
Styles of Certain Filmmakers
Recently, after having found out that the State Theatre would be playing Wes Anderson’s latest creation, The Grand Budapest Hotel, I have drifted into a train of thought where I almost exclusively, when thinking about film, ponder about the various quirks of a typical Wes Anderson film.
He is certainly a director who has quite successfully developed his own niche in terms of style, very similar to how Woody Allen has created his own stylistic foundation. However, within Wes Anderson’s originality there is of course an amalgam of influences, yet, his ability to shape these influences into his very own creation is by in large where his individuality in the film world lies.
While browsing through www.thisiscolossal.com, a website that I recommend when you want to burn some time while looking at very interesting art, I found a post featuring various supercuts of certain visual styles of certain directors, including Wes Anderson. I found this very interesting so I wanted to share it.
Here are the rest of the videos made by the same person.
http://kogonada.com/
Arcade Fire: Reflektor
This Monday, I was able to head over to the Palace in order to experience Arcade Fire live.
By all means I am not at all a frequent attendee of concerts, however, I was very happy with my decision to go to this energetic performance.
In general, from the predictable concert finale of Wake Up, to the rotating man wearing all mirrors, to the odd break in the performance where they played two Stevie Wonder songs, to Win Butler mocking Wrecking Ball, to the pulsating music throughout the approximately two hour performance, the concert never seemed to really let up in terms of pure fun and energy. It was enjoyable through and through.
The set list was…for those who are curious…
Reflektor
Flashbulb Eyes
Neighborhood #3 (Power Out)
Rebellion
Rococo
The Suburbs
Ready to Start
Neighborhood #1 (Tunnels)
We Exist
Normal Person
Intervention
Keep the Car Running
Haiti
Afterlife
Hey Orpheus
Sprawl II (Mountains Beyond Mountains)
Superstition
Uptight (Everything’s Alright)
Here Comes the Night Time
Wake Up
Here is the music video for Afterlife, a song off of their newest album, Reflektor.
2001: A Movie To See
“I’m afraid. I’m afraid, Dave.â€
-HAL
The first couple of minutes are in complete darkness, and all you can hear is the mystifying orchestral music, making you feel both eager and irritated at the same time. Then we see the MGM logo followed by the famous opening sequence with the musical backdrop of “Thus Spake Zarathustra†and then we perceive that the movie has finally commenced. However, the movie already started before we saw anything, it started in absolute darkness and enigmatic sound: chilling, terrifying, mysterious, exciting.
“2001: A Space Odysseyâ€, is to me, a movie that is both boring and riveting. There is less than 40 minutes of dialogue in a movie that spans roughly two hours and 20 minutes and each scene seems long and elongated. But this is a story that needs to be told, not by dialogue, but by images and music. How can I forget, the sublime scenes themselves, perfect pairings of image and music, as if they danced together to the “Blue Danube”. You become invested in each scene, somehow magically, and as if all the wonder had culminated in the last sequence, the feeling of confusion and painful awareness of the sublime leaves you dumbfounded and holding your breath in the closing moments as the journey ends. When the credits rolled upon my first viewing, I let out a sigh of both relief and undefinable content. Your feelings for the movie may very well be as confusing as the movie itself.
However, I must stop myself from going on about the film, for singing its praises may lead to disappointment for a first-time viewer, and frankly, there is far too much to say about the film, most likely leading to an inconclusive end. So I beg you, watch this film. Watch a film that is not so much about the individual, but rather the journey. “2001: A Space Odyssey†is…
