In Which Is Considered Evil Dead 2013

An Evil Dead film done with a straight face,
In which the taxidermy never sings,
In which the slapstick's gone without a trace,
Might seem to be the silliest of things,
Yet earnest works when this much care is spent
On camera work, on angles, and on shots
That make each face strange ere malevolent
And gruesome art's applied. So there is lots
To recommend this movie. There is gore
Aplenty, speedy evil zooms, and all
That we expect, yes, that, and then much more:
This film is art! Yet funny, too. I'd call
It Evil Dead 3 -- Not Just a Remake.
Worth all the time and money that's at stake.

In Which An Uninitiated Chick Watches the New GI Joe Film

Since I took on a housemate, my abode,
Already quite a nerdy palace, yes
Is thoroughly and quite completely Joe'd
(And Who'd and whatnot), it's not hard to guess
What I've just come from. And as movies go,
Retaliation certainly has got
A lot of movie in it. We all know
It's just a toy commercial, and I'm not
Its target market, but I still had fun
(Except for all the screechy parts). But why
Does that one ninja chick, who surely must
Be stealthy, go on whizzing though the sky
In tights that emphasize her glowing butt?
How is that sneaky? Whatever, my brain
Is far too pummeled to end this refrain.

In Which I Start Another Blog

Sometimes I simply cannot say enough

Within a sonnet, though the challenge to

Pare down and keep it pithy, short and buff

Is good for me, it will not always do.

Thus my return to prose opinions should

Be no surprise. I've started with a rant

About an adaptation. Is it good?

It feels that way, though I really can't

Claim it's a masterpiece of reasoned thought

It's honest and it's what I think. No one

Should feel compelled to read it (though you ought

If my opinion's what you seek). I'm done

With settling for a shoehorn job when I

Can ramble on like mad, yell at the sky!

In Which I Shall Return My Opposable Thumbs Soon

Complexities exceed my grasp when down

With fever or with crappiness. Though I

Did start with Dan Deronda, in my gown

And robe, to make the lonely hours fly,

I didn't grasp it fully, I suspect,

And soon restorted to much simpler fare.

The Planet of the Apes seemed quite perfect,

Campy, with many sequels and a share

Of faux profundity. Alas, Netflix,

Hath only the first streaming. I have found

A way around this; meanwhile for my fix

Where else but Heavy Metal was I bound?

I am not over proud, but so it is:

When ill I soon devolve into, well, this.

In Which There WILL Be Turkey Leftovers!

The turkey's roasting in the oven; soon

It's pop-out timer will emerge. I'll laugh

And think of a Jean Shepherd tale and croon

To hide my mirth; I'll not repeat that gaffe.

No horde of hound dogs will invade and set

In motion such a chain of happenings

That send this bird a-flying, though the threat

Is not outlandish; next-door's dogs do sing

Like Bumpus' pack. And the trajectory

Our dinner might-could travel's similar.

It could land somewhere odd and pop out free

Hilariously. But this won't occur

Except within my head and, just perhaps

The universe next door, where I may lapse.

SONNET REVIEW: In Which I Chortle Through An Improved Christmas Story

"Be good, or Santa's coming," say the Finns.
"He'll spank you all to pieces, you watch out,"
Their children tell each other, all on pins
And needles at the thought of Christmas. Shout
A "Ho ho ho" and watch them scatter. This
Is not a friendly, shopping, merry Claus,
But rather quite a bugbear. I'm remiss
If I keep playing erudite, though, 'cause
I get me lore from filmic awesome, mates.
Rare Exports is the movie, and it brings
The funny till one's face hurts. It conflates
The Great Old Ones with Old Saint Nick and flings
The rulebook out the window. So much wrong
Is righter than the sweetest Christmas song.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

In Which A Nation Is Born

Cry havoc! Let the cone of silence lift.

We're starting our own nation, Paul and Pete

And I, and there has been a tiny shift

In foreign policy, and it is sweet.

Our military briefings go like this:

Your main objective's ice cream, but if you

Should happen, on the way, on terrorists

And feel impetuous, by all means shoot.

As long as you don't let it interfere

With ice cream acquistion! T'was inspired

By one cool documentary -- sweet tooths

Just apres film played some part, too; we're wired

Just right to so respond to simple truths

As shown in How To Start Your Own Country.

And yes, our border's open, so feel free.

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In Which We Travel The World From Within A Very Small Space

A rush line's odd enough - much time to chat

With much like-minded strangers -- and one does --

A-trading tips and thoughts on movies that

We've gleefully discovered. And this was

Just part of what has made this day surreal.

Today began in Kyrgystan, then went

To Lappland for an odyssey (I feel

That was my fav'rite). Then lunchtime we spent

Exploring modern Congo - quite a tour!

But we weren't done with travl'ling; Uruguay

Was our next stop, and then, just to be sure

We'd hit another continent, our way

Took us at last to Hong Kong. Viva TIFF

(And thanks for fodder for this sonnet riff).

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Pondering the Toronto International Film Festival

I'm spoiled for choice, yet find as I check o'er
The offerings at TIFF this year that, while
I'm gasping lots and saying "ooh!" the store
Of what I must see there is small. I smile.
Once Winterbottom's next* would be the first
Upon my list, but I know it will be
An offering that I can catch, at worst
Within a few short months on DVD,
If not in theaters in old Cheyenne.
That's true of most; film fests are diff'rent now.
We've many options in this age; I can
But choose based on what will be coolest big,
Or what I want to see with Paul, you dig?
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*Sonneteer's note: I still may have to make for that film while there. The combination of Winterbottom, Steve Coogan and Rob Brydon is damned nearly irresistible Kate-Bait.

In Which We Happily Reprogram One Another

The list just grows; we're all compelled to share

What we love with our chosen family

Of course we want the source code, well aware

That we can do it, too. This week must be

The one most overwhelming info-dump:

Read this, watch that, you'll love it, add it to

Your list. When we're apart, you'll feel a lump

Rise in your throat, but really, working through

This subculture we've just created here

Will ease it. What has formed me now shall cross

The barriers between us, never fear!

We're always just a thought away. Though loss

Is how we came together we all gain.

It's wonderful to share a heart and brain.

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In Which I Get My Lamp!

You're in a cave, it's dark, what will you do?
GET LAMP, that's what! This film both made me smile
And stirred old wistfulness; the timeline through
Which we are taken largely took place while
Computers were unheard of where I dwelt
(Excepting those typesetting beasts employed
By newspapers). You'd best believe I felt
Deprived as I read how others enjoyed
Computer gaming in those early days,
How stories weren't just read but lived by those
Who solved their puzzles in ingenious ways,
How smart people were having fun! "But," crows
My fav'rite pusher "It is not too late!
(I paraphrase)" And thus he's sealed my fate.

In Which I Have A Strange Experience At The Movies

The power of suggestion's mighty strong --

Or else no film would ever work on us,

To say naught of how well we're strung along

When such a meta-movie comes. A plus:

There's lots of ways to watch this one, I'd say.

INCEPTION as an allegory, or

A comment on how easily we may

Be led to think our ideas our own, for

Such things are viral, subtle. Just whose dream

Do we think that we're watching? I, for one,

Found that I had my own within (a theme

To which it drew attention was no fun

For me; I know that grief): a phantom friend

Sat with me, held my hand until the end.

In Which I Lament Something That Is Lacking In Summer 2010

July's begun, a time when many seek
Surcease from scorching in the cool and dark
Of friendly local cinemas. I weep,
Though, as I once again survey the stark
And hopeless offerings for these great screens
This season's bringing. This year, there's not one,
I care to see at all. Some say this means
I'm just too picky; no, I have some fun
At stupid 'splodey blockbusters, as long
As they have ought to recommend them save
A bloated budget. Is it just so wrong
To want a story with what goobers crave
(A lot of CGI, they guess). I rue
This year. I think I'll stick to Doctor Who.

BONUS SONNET: Mea Culpa, Mea Culpa, Paul @Laroquod

I am no Marvel girl, but well I know

When I've committed heresy, of course!

And since I've done it twice in public, lo

Must I atone in public, too, or force

Dire retribution from my fav'rite fan

Of ages Gold and Silver, Laroquod.

Although I still maintain John Hamm's the man

To play Steve Rogers and the Captain (odd

That I thought of this not myself! For shame!)

He is not blond, it's true, but tell me this:

At day's end, at the heart, will you, Paul, blame

My loving more a dark-haired man? Don't dis

Me overmuch, I pray, for going mad.

I'm sure Chris Evans won't be all that bad.

In Which I Emerge Rumpled And Blushing From The Theater

I feel like I've just come home from a date

I went on once before, decades ago.

This time around the guy proved, ere too late,

A dimmer version, prettier but so

Much not my type it's laughable. Yet I

Let him grope at me, kiss me, fumble at

My bra strap and my skirts there on the sly

Within the darkened theater, but when that

Quite witless fella pledged undying love

I couldn't help but laugh. The older one

Seduced me once with robot owls, one of

My cherished memories, but still just fun.

So when it comes to Titans Clashing, I'm

A bit 'shamed to admit I'd a good time.

In Which I Am Wonderwhelmed By Underland

A Lewis Carroll fan I've been for long,

Tim Burton, too, is someone I admire.

How could a combination go so wrong

Of these two? But that has seemed to transpire.

The look of this film lived up to the hype,

Though after Avatar, this 3-D seemed

Quite flat and lifeless, gimmicky, the type

Of gags I saw so long ago. There gleamed

Some diamonds in the dross, though: Johnny Depp

And Bonham-Carter managed to transcend

The dialog and story. I just kept

On thinking these resources would contend

Far better with the stories Carroll wrote

Than making this dull sequel. That's my vote.

In Which English Comes To Resemble A VUE Language

Not yet has Violent Unknown Event
Occurred, at least that I know of, so far.
Today, though, in my Twitstream, where I've spent
Quite too much time, I've come to see there are
At least two fine examples of just how
The English tongue resembles Betelguese
(The language, not the star), for I see now
That "nerd" no longer acts as just a terse
Description of an outcast or a strange
Or socially inept soul, witness two
New uses, showing great, dramatic change:
It's paired with "beauty" and with "fitness." "You
Keep saying that word," said one Inigo
Montoya, but that doesn't make it so.

In Which I Finally Visit Pandora And Don't Even Get A Lousy Tee Shirt

Predictability's beside the point

When such as Avatar graces the screen.

The outsider whom they'll come to annoint

Their leader, yawn. But story's not the scene

In films like this. The world is pretty, yes --

Not pretty 'nough to induce suicide

Because I can't live there, though I can guess

How some might feel that way. One's pulled inside

A lovely world, low-gravity and lush,

And luminescent when the day grows dark.

With sexy kittehs gyrating -- I blush.

Three hours of cut scenes, though, is not a lark.

At some point I did want to take control

And play the game that hides within its soul.

In Which I Indulge My Holiday Dork-a-dence

My family will be here soon, which means

Today's my last to take in, all in one

Great gulp, the three films with deleted scenes

Of Peter Jackson's LOTR. Fun?

It's more than that by far. It's truly not

The holidays without this silliness.

A sad compulsion, I know I have got:

Each year I watch and each year I'm a mess.

I tear up, a true fan girl, where I should,

Accomplish nothing ere its done, except

The popping of some corn. It's just too good

To start without a finish, though I've kept

On trying to just do one film a day,

I'm powerless to follow through. Hooray!

In Which I Become Concerned That Norway May Fill With Giant Snails

Last night in Norway, in the Arctic sky

Was filmed and photographed phenomena

That's so far ill-explained. I'm glad that I

Am not alone in thinking about the

Great horror manga-movie as I look

At this and read the explanations for

A green light and a spiral. It just took

Mere seconds ere Kurouzu's fate and more

Did cross my mind. O, Higuchinsky, did

You and Junji Ito ever believe

That Uzumaki would, heaven forbid,

Turn out prophetic? Or should we conceive

That more mundane ideas should hold their sway?

A rocket stage, or laser-nerds at play?