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Now I've told you all the particulars of how I pass my day away
1. I cannot imagine that I will be without internet at ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
schreibergasse and Grace's unless something improbable and apotropaically unnamed occurs, but that's where I'll be tomorrow; I still mind not being able to make my ungodson's birthday two weekends ago, but at least I'm not letting another year go by without actually visiting. I am now trying to decide whether I will be conscious enough to bake in the morning. Mostly I should not forget Peter's present.
2. I am currently reading Patrick Hamilton's Twenty Thousand Streets Under the Sky (1935) and Michael Peppiatt's Francis Bacon: Studies for a Portrait (2008), both newly scored. If I'm lucky, they'll do something to my brain.
3. I had not planned on seeing Red Riding (2009), but David Denby may have convinced me otherwise:
You don't see any of the murders, but there are shadows of death everywhere: pale corpses, brutality and cynicism, and hints of perversion and obsession—a sense of violation fouling the terrain. One writer, Tony Grisoni, did the adaptation, but each film has a different director and a different look. A few scenes in each episode—the repeated use of swans' wings as a portent, some fancy camerawork—border on the pretentious, but the dark power and the flowing organization of the material pull you into the narrative, which moves forward and backward in a single skein of visionary filmmaking. Forgoing digital effects, or any presence of the supernatural, "The Red Riding Trilogy" nevertheless achieves a terrific sense of the uncanny, an atmosphere so spooked and suggestive that it becomes oddly attractive, like an enchanted forest in a children's story. Flowers of evil are growing in the stony Yorkshire soil.
I can take or leave police procedurals, but I am always at home to the unheimlich.
4. The men's Olympic figure skating was quite good this year.
schreibergasse and Grace's unless something improbable and apotropaically unnamed occurs, but that's where I'll be tomorrow; I still mind not being able to make my ungodson's birthday two weekends ago, but at least I'm not letting another year go by without actually visiting. I am now trying to decide whether I will be conscious enough to bake in the morning. Mostly I should not forget Peter's present.2. I am currently reading Patrick Hamilton's Twenty Thousand Streets Under the Sky (1935) and Michael Peppiatt's Francis Bacon: Studies for a Portrait (2008), both newly scored. If I'm lucky, they'll do something to my brain.
3. I had not planned on seeing Red Riding (2009), but David Denby may have convinced me otherwise:
You don't see any of the murders, but there are shadows of death everywhere: pale corpses, brutality and cynicism, and hints of perversion and obsession—a sense of violation fouling the terrain. One writer, Tony Grisoni, did the adaptation, but each film has a different director and a different look. A few scenes in each episode—the repeated use of swans' wings as a portent, some fancy camerawork—border on the pretentious, but the dark power and the flowing organization of the material pull you into the narrative, which moves forward and backward in a single skein of visionary filmmaking. Forgoing digital effects, or any presence of the supernatural, "The Red Riding Trilogy" nevertheless achieves a terrific sense of the uncanny, an atmosphere so spooked and suggestive that it becomes oddly attractive, like an enchanted forest in a children's story. Flowers of evil are growing in the stony Yorkshire soil.
I can take or leave police procedurals, but I am always at home to the unheimlich.
4. The men's Olympic figure skating was quite good this year.
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I'm sorry no one does Scott Hamilton's backflip anymore, but my brother thinks it might have been competition-banned.
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