Top Five Comedies to Wet the Pants of a Pregnant Sheila.

Here’s my top five comedy viewing list, inspired by a cranky pregnant mumma who needs some laughs.

1. BRIDESMAIDS (2011) You cannot go wrong with badly-behaved bridesmaids, a dirty restaurant, and a posh bridal fitting.  Besides, it has Melissa McCarthy in it.  

2. DEATH AT A FUNERAL (2007)  Families, feuds, and f-ups.

3. KENNY (2006) A mockumentary with heart, great lead character, cracking dialogue.  

4. THE GOODIES  (TV Series 1970-1982) Fun, fun, fun.

5. GETTIN’ SQUARE (2003) David Wenham.  Leopard-print undies.  A window.  

c. Kylie Lawrence 2017.

 

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My Cousin Rachel

Is, or is not, Rachel Ashley a black widow?

Is she, or is she not, a dangerous woman to love?  Perhaps the danger lies not only in her flawed hands, but in the carelessness of her prey, the initially wary Phillip Ashley, played by Sam Claflin.

Ambrose Ashley (Deano Bugatti)  was everything to his orphaned young cousin Phillip: devoted guardian and mate.  His mysterious and unexpected death soon after a whirlwind marriage to beautiful, worldly Rachel in Italy, prompts dark questions in the grieving and angry Phillip’s mind.

A cougar with a potentially extinguishable cub, Rachel Weisz’s sympathetic portrayal of new widow Rachel Ashley, is almost disarming in her gentleness when she arrives at Phillip and Ambrose’s English working estate.  However, it is not long before the lines of Phillip’s loathing become blurred, and he throws the caution of good friends to the proverbial wind.

If, like me, you read Daphne du Maurier’s incendiary 1944 novel,  My Cousin Rachel, in the wee lamp-ringed hours of teenager-hood (it is a hood), and were no more apprised of the truth at the story’s end; then turned up to watch the film with no more expectation that cinematic interpretation would be equally obfuscatory in resolution, you would not be disappointed.  Writer-director Roger Michell’s 2017 adaptation is a classy rendition of an awful story.

Is Rachel Ashley lover, friend, or mortal foe?

 

c. Kylie Lawrence 2017

 

 

Berlin Syndrome

I deliberately avoided any 9.30pm sessions of Berlin Syndrome (2017) in case I scared myself on the dark walk home.  Some films are best kept for daylight hours.  Watching a thriller is as much a test of the film, as it is of my internal fear that I will remember painful, revolting, cruel scenes from the film, bring that fear into my sacred space, and not be able to sleep, perhaps even have a nightmare during which I cannot grab anything.  One could probably achieve the same by locking me in a room with a bird or a reptile (this is not an invitation), and saying, “Go to sleep.”

When I ‘get through’ a thriller, with minimal sensory ‘damage’ it is a small achievement.  Tonight though, I was too late to see a comedy, and settled for another film on my list of desired fillums[sic] to watch, the 7.10pm session of Berlin Syndrome.  So, really no different from the 9.30pm assault upon the visceral senses after all.

Director Cate Shortland’s Berlin Syndrome is an engaging, though at times slow-moving erotic thriller about a young photojournalist who has packed up her life in Brisvegas, Australia, for a creative endeavour in Berlin, but meets hell instead.  At first, Teresa Palmer’s Clare is your prototypical hiding-her-light-under-a-bushel solo backpacker, enjoying a fun fling.  She discovers too late that behind cute local Andi’s  (played by Max Riemelt) friendly mask, lies a wolf in waiting.  But within herself, Clare finds her own animal instincts in an increasingly excruciating, in more ways than one, fight for survival.

See the preview here: 

c. Kylie J. Lawrence 2017

 

Table 19

I don’t know if it is an ephemeral hang-over from last night’s Samhain*, but tonight, sitting alone in Cinema 9 at Dendy Newtown, I could feel presences, at first in the row behind me, to the left, then later, further along the right of that row.  Ghosts of patrons past?

And for the second time tonight I sat in seat C5, though different cinema screening rooms.  Oooooh!

Speaking of veils between worlds, the second film I saw tonight, Table 19, was a bitter-sweet comedy about a table of wedding misfits, lead by sacked and dumped Maid of Honour, Eloise, (Anna Kendrick) at first lost in in wedding reception hell – having to spend an evening with strangers.  Although at times laugh-out-loud funny,  it was no Death At A Funeral (2007), and, like some weddings, tonally, it slipped between maudlin and comical.  It evoked Safety Not Guaranteed (2012), later it was no surprise to find out that Mark Duplasse was one of the co-writers.  I did find my heart beating and a romantic smile enveloping me, in a dance promising much, but delivering a plot twist servicing a morally conventional true love pas de deux.

See the preview here: 

c. Kylie J. Lawrence 2017

*I drafted this in May, so that’s Samhain Down Under.

 

Colossal

Pisshead Gloria’s life in New York is a mess.  An unemployed writer, Gloria’s mainstays in life are partying, sleeping all day, and borrowing money from Nice Boyfriend Tim (Dan Stevens). The do hits the fan when N.B.T. dumps her, kicks her out of his flat, and Gloria moves back to Mainhead, her childhood home town, where she is forced to face her demons, one of whom is not the drink.

Convinced that her emotional state is controlling literally monstrous events in far off South Korea, anti-hero Gloria’s unwilling journey to save herself becomes a mission to save the world before the world becomes complacent.  At times brutal, this comedy is more monster film than action film.  It evokes the quirky storytelling of writer Derek Connolly’s 2012 romantic comedy, Safety Not Guaranteed, and director Dan Trachtenburg’s 2016 seat-clencher 10 Cloverfield Lane.  A decent performance from Anne Hathaway as Gloria, who buries herself in a world of men, but is more King Kong than fey Fay Wray.  An increasingly plotty storyline resolves itself in a very clear-cut way, and over all, a satisfying film to watch.

Watch the Colossal preview here:

c. Kylie Lawrence 2017

Far From Men

Algeria. 1954.  Lone middle-aged schoolteacher Duru, played with increasingly unquiet soul by Viggo Mortensen (‘Lord of the Rings’ trilogy), lives a peaceful, spartan life, in an isolated valley.  Forced to escort a young alleged murderer to court in a distant town, the reluctant Duru comes face-to-face with his own past, in an increasingly dangerous journey through the shale and rebel-filled mountains, to redemption.   But whose redemption?

Cowed villain Mohamed, played beautifully by Reda Kateb, is arguably the more fascinating character of the two, his story peeling away to reveal a tragic core.

Far From Men is a character-driven, action-packed western leavened with heart, moments of levity, and a stillness befitting the extraordinary Algerian landscape.  From Albert Camus’ short story L’Hote, and directed by David Olhoeffen who also collaborated  on the screenplay adaptation with writer Antoine Lacomblez, Far From Men draws one in with decent performances, stunning cinematography, and a genuinely heart and gut-gripping climax.

Unfortunately I forgot to post this film review back in August when I saw it at the cinema and concluded that: “Far From Men is the best drama I have seen recently, and I would hasten thee to a cinema on the pronto.”

Now it’s November, I’d say saddle yer steed and hasten thee to a DVD or VOD!

c. Kylie Lawrence 2015.

She moves in mysterious ways…

She moves in mysterious ways.

Best Blogs in Goddess Worship

Thank you.

Femme/Feminine Essentials – An Abbreviated Lissssssst

Femme/Feminine Essentials:  what exactly are they?  And why do they matter?

I first heard of  ”feminine essentials” from a work colleague some years ago.  This terminology was a world away from ”women’s things,” the shy termininology I muttered at the blushing age of fifteen on a rural towns high school orchestra tour, to the elderly male bus driver who demanded to know my reason for wanting to get back onto the locked bus when everyone else was inside the hall tuning up.  Despite having a friend with me, I couldn’t bear to state the bleedin’ obvious.

Now I see that the term ‘feminine essentials’ has a broader application.

As a member of the Femerati, with a doubtless biased opine-yon, I have decided to set sail (without help from real sailors) upon a M.O.G.I. (no, not a cat, rather a Mission of Great Importance) which explores the feminine-gendered kind.  Obviously it’s of some small concern that the ‘femme’ reference may go down a G.G.R. (Grossly Girly Route), so I’ve boiled it down:

To Discover: What Are the Top 100 Feminine Essentials?  And why.

Rules, Disclaimers, and Other Procrastivatory[sic] Bollux: the following is not an experiment in E.S. (Exact Science).  Probably because I don’t possess a white coat.  True, it has an objective (reverting to high school biology here, rather than the more dramatic GOAL which has been seconded by motivational types), and something of Methodology,  and it is possible that a conclusion or set of conclusions may be drawn from Evemadence[sic]… ooh, just notice a girly inscrimination[sic] there.

I invite you to think outside social stereotypes.  So please avoid the following, unless you can offer a particularly feminist reading upon your selection:

  1. Shopping
  2. Cosmetic surgery (for purely vain concerns of perfectly fine-looking persons)
  3. Other socio-gendered crap

This experiment is not for the fainthearted, the lazy, or the J.I.I.T.R.T.R.G.B. (Just in It To Read The Good Bits).  Au contraire, I offer you, the reader, the marvellous opportunity to contribute your own wild and fabulous examples of evidence which I will publish after a very long time into the future.

And when the list of Feminine Essentials Reaches 100.

Thus, to begin with, a suggestion of my own, which one hopes you shall find charming and entrancing.

FEMMESENTIALS  – An Abbreviated Lisssssst

1. Firm Foundation Garments: what a Berlei-ooody load of gender-political bollocks.  Did Boadicea wear a brassiere?  Whilst cooking upon a brazier?  In brazen times of old…

The greatest women in history were very often triumphant with the firm foundations of strength of character, bbbbraaaaains, and spunk.  That’s Australian for good looking, and for guts.  Boadicea had better things to do than hitch her herself into an iron cage before hoisting herself upon her trusty steed.  Did Boadicea’s horse wear a bra?  No. And I’m sure that Napoleon’s didn’t bother either.

What say you are feminine essentials?  And why?

Leave Nigella Lawson Alone!

I usually don’t mind reading Sarah Le Marquand’s columns in the Snaily Telegraph.  She usually writes with intelligence and some decency.

But today she takes the cake with her patronising and pompous faux-feminist attitude to the way Nigella Lawson has chosen thus far to deal with the very public breakdown of her marriage to Charles Saatchi, the man who assaulted her recently at a restaurant.

Le Marquand demands of Nigella:

But she cannot stay quiet forever. Having found herself in the centre of a highly publicised matter, she owes it to herself – and to the countless women in similar situations now watching her closely – to speak up and denounce violence and bullying.

Daily Telegraph 11/07/2013

There is no singular perfect human response to trauma. 

Le Marquand’s smug,  insensitive,  patronising, and ignorant suggestion that Nigella get a wriggle on denouncing Saatchi publicly, and become the posh anti-domestic violence poster girl before she turns into a 50-something Rihanna, chooses underhanded and passive aggressive feminism at close to its worst. 

At no point in her article does Le Farquwittand[sic] open her heart to the possibility that Nigella’s refusal (thus far) to publicly denounce Saatchi or to make any comment about intimate partner violence in general, is anything beyond the mark of a very public figurehead maintaining the clichéd stiff upper lip in the face of public humiliation.

As one who was many years ago on the inside of a relationship marked literally by domestic violence, the last thing a person in Nigella and her family’s (yes, Le F. you didn’t think about the rest of the family did you?) situation need is judgmental outsiders casting cut-throat black and white aspersions their way during a shitty time of transition.

Le Marquand’s eager article reads as black and white about one thing:  Charles Saatchi is not the only pig at the fair.

This is a time less for heartlessness, than healing, and kindness.

c. Aroomofheroine 2013.