I Hate French Movies
Thanks to Minxiu's craftiness (and unbelieveable sense of urgency) right after he led me to saying something along the lines of "I guess we could do a movie tonight", with my stress on could, I stress here again, he went very happily ahead to book tickets online for Comme une Image. Before I knew it and could do anything more useful to stall for time, I found myself reading with mock horror an sms from him gleefully announcing his efficiency, thus sealing my fate for what lies ahead.
It's one thing to watch an arthouse film, another to watch one in French, especially when ill-prepared for such an adventure. There's a reason why I don't remember any of the French I learnt in secondary school. The entire experience has been painful and pretentious (it was my snobbish desire to be all uppity that led to such a bad choice in the first place). I remember trying my darnest in all my classes (before I quitted entirely) to be at least invisible. Together with Jonathan and Zhongyi, we will struggle with accents and french verbs and their inexcusable gender divide (everything is differentiated via gender; the French are most gay-intolerant). Saved for Zhongyi, we all said goodbye to French eventually, and the last I heard, he's on a scholarship in France studying architecture. Bizarre.
But back to French movies. So. I'm always rather wary of French whatever. *read* OVERRATED. Especially in the light of recent French arthouse flicks that failed impressively to earn my attention at all, even when I was the one who insisted on watching. I have the remarkable tendency to close my eyes after a while, after I realise the characters are still droning on in the same setting like forever, and the badly translated (I presume hopefully) subtitles failing to capture or communicate any redeeming gleam of brillance that's lost on me.
Comme une Image lost mainly on the account I was already suffering from a lack of sleep, accumulated from the past eventful month, and which it will take a really exciting (read: veins, romance, nudity, historical opulence, decadent era, my kind of genres, arthouse and otherwise irrelevent, I very the egalitarian one) spin to grab me. Despite the raving reviews, I remained stoically indifferent. Tried for a brief moment to be all literary and pretentious (which I can, effortlessly, usually) and read the nuances and blah but my eyelids came crashing down, thus crushing any attempts at appreciation. Quite sad. But it was really too vapid for me to feel anything other than sleepiness. I wasn't even bored. It didn't help matters that the subtitles read like they were wrong when placed in context with the expressions and gestures. After a while, I didn't care anymore.
Perhaps this is how Shinhao felt when we watched Jeux D'enfants. I don't blame him. I was bitterly disappointed myself at the film that promises so much in its premise but failed to draw out deftly its potential. I enjoy the childhood scenes very much though, in all fairness. Still, coming from the viewpoint of someone who is all too well-versed in the art of playing and daring, I'm very sure the writer and director have no idea what they are talking about. Far from being pleasing and poignant as a movie, it was self-indulgent and annoying.
It will take a really good French film, with excellent translation in a proper setting (when I'm well-rested) to make me change my mind that the French film is waaaaaaaaay overrated.
I lost my haircare product that I bought before the screening in the theatre. Forgot to lug the bag (beside the aisle) home. Like damn, it costs $42 and is sold at Paragon, and what I have at home is running out. So damn, I hate French movies.
At the end of it all, we ended the crazy night with a stint at KBox.
It's one thing to watch an arthouse film, another to watch one in French, especially when ill-prepared for such an adventure. There's a reason why I don't remember any of the French I learnt in secondary school. The entire experience has been painful and pretentious (it was my snobbish desire to be all uppity that led to such a bad choice in the first place). I remember trying my darnest in all my classes (before I quitted entirely) to be at least invisible. Together with Jonathan and Zhongyi, we will struggle with accents and french verbs and their inexcusable gender divide (everything is differentiated via gender; the French are most gay-intolerant). Saved for Zhongyi, we all said goodbye to French eventually, and the last I heard, he's on a scholarship in France studying architecture. Bizarre.
But back to French movies. So. I'm always rather wary of French whatever. *read* OVERRATED. Especially in the light of recent French arthouse flicks that failed impressively to earn my attention at all, even when I was the one who insisted on watching. I have the remarkable tendency to close my eyes after a while, after I realise the characters are still droning on in the same setting like forever, and the badly translated (I presume hopefully) subtitles failing to capture or communicate any redeeming gleam of brillance that's lost on me.
Comme une Image lost mainly on the account I was already suffering from a lack of sleep, accumulated from the past eventful month, and which it will take a really exciting (read: veins, romance, nudity, historical opulence, decadent era, my kind of genres, arthouse and otherwise irrelevent, I very the egalitarian one) spin to grab me. Despite the raving reviews, I remained stoically indifferent. Tried for a brief moment to be all literary and pretentious (which I can, effortlessly, usually) and read the nuances and blah but my eyelids came crashing down, thus crushing any attempts at appreciation. Quite sad. But it was really too vapid for me to feel anything other than sleepiness. I wasn't even bored. It didn't help matters that the subtitles read like they were wrong when placed in context with the expressions and gestures. After a while, I didn't care anymore.
Perhaps this is how Shinhao felt when we watched Jeux D'enfants. I don't blame him. I was bitterly disappointed myself at the film that promises so much in its premise but failed to draw out deftly its potential. I enjoy the childhood scenes very much though, in all fairness. Still, coming from the viewpoint of someone who is all too well-versed in the art of playing and daring, I'm very sure the writer and director have no idea what they are talking about. Far from being pleasing and poignant as a movie, it was self-indulgent and annoying.
It will take a really good French film, with excellent translation in a proper setting (when I'm well-rested) to make me change my mind that the French film is waaaaaaaaay overrated.
I lost my haircare product that I bought before the screening in the theatre. Forgot to lug the bag (beside the aisle) home. Like damn, it costs $42 and is sold at Paragon, and what I have at home is running out. So damn, I hate French movies.
At the end of it all, we ended the crazy night with a stint at KBox.
1 Comments:
ouch!! i hope the pricetag was still on the haircare product so at least maybe the usher will bring home & try instead of tossing it into the bin..
ruth
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