I've really got to stopI went to Porta again. I had actually planned specifically not to go there, as I was with my friend Alan, who shares my aversion to the place. However, our efforts in finding women in Red Bank were yielding no success, and my socialite brother had gone there with his friends, and I reasoned that being around them would improve our chances of "scoring." Alan was sober, so we drove from Red Bank to Porta. I reached the peak of my intoxication in the car, rambling on about my life, subjecting the patient Alan to my self-infatuated rant. It was probably the best I would feel all night. We get there, and wait in that daunting line. I tried chatting up the girls ahead of us, to no avail. I peered over the fence and spied my brother talking to a blonde. With my eyes on him, I called him, and what I saw would have made my head explode had I not been so drunk; he looked at his phone, and placed it back in his pocket. I sent him some angry (and probably bewildering) text messages. He responded to these, and claimed innocence. I’ve been detecting from him a coldness towards me lately. I was pleased when the blond parted from his company. I could feel a depressed lethargy building up as I waited in that line, anxious about the limited time I had to make things happen with a girl (it was approx 12:30, and Porta closes at 2). Then, I saw someone I knew leaving the bar; a girl I used to work for. Her name is Silvia. She was with another manager from the place we worked, a little fellow Sean, and another girl I don’t know. She had on a nice blue dress. I’d never seen her dressed to go out. She looked very pretty. I wish now I had said something, but I was worried she’d snub me; I didn’t leave her establishment in the best way, but we had spoken since, and she seemed alright with me then. I was surprised to see her there. Last I saw her, she was still with her boyfriend who kept very close tabs on her. She also had a grounded attitude that I admired, different from most girls I know. But she's still a girl, and places like Porta seem to hold an irresistible allure for girls. Music. Lights. Drinks. Boys. Dancing. Boys. See and be seen. I hate it so Despite the overt lack of respect that my brother had inadvertently displayed, I ostensibly forgave him when Alan and I got in. He seemed indifferent. I blathered on to his friends, lied about my occupation, tried breaking into conversations they were having with girls. One girl talked with me for a while. She was named Alex. I fed her blatant lies about myself, my upbringing, my education, my job etc. We got very close, and our heads were together, and I kissed her, but she withdrew. She didn’t leave, though. We kept talking, and as we talked I had my hands on her legs, which she didn’t seem to mind. She started to tell me about how she has been fucking the same guy for a year. I tried to segue that into a bit about “diversifying your bonds.” Didn’t work. Eventually, she said she had to find her friends. Then I did and big no-no and insisted she stay, holding her hand to keep her there, and she roughly pulled away and was gone. I spent a lot of time looking for her, much to Alan’s chagrin. Before I knew it, the lights came on and people were being herded out by security. I could feel the onset of depression kicking in, and asked Alan to stay with me for a bit after driving me home. I talked at length with him about my writing aspirations, and how I only wanted to do that, eschewing further education so that I may sooner realise my dream. Alan bid me to do some college, perhaps a 2 year course, but in the same breath dismissed that as a waste of time. We then talked about girls, and my goal to fuck “randoms", in which I was very discouraged given that night's failure. He suggested online dating. I’ve thought of that, too. Perhaps I should look into that. Alan left, and what followed was a desperate search through my phone for people who might be up to stuff. I called a coworker who was very terse with me and abruptly hung up. I later learned he was realising my own goal of hooking up with a girl we work with, which bothered me somewhat. Oh, well. Such is life. I ended up calling my friend Byron. He is Australian, so the phone call probably represented a unique expense which will likely require some explaining to my grandfather (I live in his home). I tried to tell Byron about the story I’m writing, but time was short as his battery was running low. Before he was cut off in mid-sentence, he managed to tell me about his new job which he is confident will provide enough money for him to come here and see me. I’d like that. Then, I succumbed to masturbation, breaking my two week streak of abstinence (which I was doing to cultivate “sexual energy” and vigor), and fell asleep. When I woke up, I felt so antsy and depressed that I masturbated again in the shower. I immediately regretted it. “Why did I do that?” I said aloud afterwards. The answer is simple. I’m not a very forward thinker. I wish I had more to say about him and my feelings re: his death, but I have very little in the way of grief. None, in fact. On my Facebook, I made a post that quoted Watchmen: "Heard joke onece: Man goes to doctor. Says he's depressed. Says life seems harsh and cruel. Says he feels all alone in threatening world where what lies ahead is vague and uncertain. Doctor says, 'Treatment is simple. Great clown Pagliacci is in town tonight. Go and see him. That should pick you up.' Man bursts into tears. Says 'But Doctor... I am Pagliacci.'" RIP RW I was worried about posting anything, worried that it might fall flat, with very little to no likes, but I knew I was on to something with the Watchmen quote. It related to comedy, was drawn from a highly respected (and trendy) source, and very relevant to Robin Williams self-purported struggle with depression. I posted it last night, and was very pleased this morning to see I had gained approximately 16 likes from various people from various circles. I probably would have got even more if I had more “Facebook friends”. I was even more pleased with a private message sent by a dear friend of mine; a Jew (I now it doesn’t matter, but it totally does) named Ben. We had a teacher, named Darren Williams, whom we both had problems with. The message read “What I really want to post on Facebook: Why couldn’t it have been DARREN Williams? WHY GOD WHY?” I typed out a long stream of “LOLO...L” which accurately conveyed my real life paroxysm. It was a welcome moment of levity to start my day, as I was anxious about an appearance in court that was to take place in the next few hours. The satisfaction of my choice of eulogy for Robin Williams made me smile in pride several times at work today. It’s such a fatuous thing, but it made me happy. I kept thinking about the sin of pride, but I try to let feelings overtake me. There’s a man I listen to, Elliott Hulse, who espouses “If you feel it, it’s right” (probably paraphrased). However, I later recalled a video where he explained how he personally avoids such feelings of pride deriving from others’ approval, comparing himself to a bird whose song is appreciated by human listeners but would sing anyway. I was exhausted at work, so maybe I’d have staved off the smug reveries if my willpower was fortified by adequate sleep. I suspect my fatigue also played a part in my indecision regarding some errands and a visit to my parent’s new house, where my mind was wracked by OCD thoughts (keeping to Hulse’s sentiment, I conceded to it this time; I felt it, so I considered it right). I brought up the death of Robin Williams to my mother and sister, who seemed nonplussed on the matter. I even, to my present shame, brought up the Facebook post I made, and tried, only half-jokingly, to cajole the two of them into “liking” my post. My reasoning is to accrue as many likes as I can so as to appear more popular. Humility, thy name is Jack. On the ride back home, I thought about doing standup tomorrow, and the idea occurred to me to do some of Robin Williams’ material. It would be a homage, and if my impression were to be good enough, an impressive one. And now I see that I’m no better than those sycophantic idiots I derided in an earlier blog post. I’m exploiting the death of another person to further my career. I’m no better than a maggot, nestling in the flesh of a body newly bereft of life. I reactivated my Facebook this night, and I already have misgivings. I always had gripes with Facebook in that it advertises that I'm a relative loner, and not a willing one at that. I've always been self-conscious about the scarcity of friends that I keep; I'd like to have more, but I don't. I deleted my Facebook partly due to my embarrassment at being seen as a loser. I also hated seeing the feed show me the fatuous thoughts of people who I despised receive likes in droves from sycophantic and idiotic people, though I also resented that they wouldn't similarly flock to mine. I suppose I never really did post much due to the humiliation I'd experience at having my posts go ignored by all but a few. Perhaps a self-fulfilling prophecy, though if the number of likes towards my photos are any indication, I would probably not have received much attention. I was prompted to activate it by the repeated urgings of another comedian, who emphasised the importance of networking to get ahead in this industry. I procrastinated the reactivation of my profile for the aforementioned reasons, though I also speculated about other ways to get ahead; the comedian who recommended using Facebook to network doesn't have the kind of career I want. His networking is useful to him, as he books guests and venues for his shows, but I want to be more of an auteur than he is. In fact, comedy is really only an avenue for my higher visions. With that said, networking will likely get me in more shows, and allow me to befriend more comics and possibly writers. I can use it to reconnect with my friends in Australia, to perhaps keep friends from the job I'm currently in the process of leaving, and to advertise my shows and perhaps get people to come who would otherwise not have attended. After the abject failure of this past weekend's show, I have learned the value of informing as many people as possible of a show. I also intend to start a Twitter account. I often have thoughts which bubble up in my mind in the form of humorous or curious blurbs which generally are forgotten. Why let these little ideas, no matter how transient or ephemeral they are, go to waste (unless they are offensive to modern sensibilities, as many of my thoughts are)? I suppose that the social networking thing is an unavoidable and vital asset to someone with aspirations of fame. I will probably have to put my difficult past with Facebook aside as I plunge back into the Social Nightmare. I was a diehard fan of Godzilla when I was a child. I watched virtually every one of the two dozen or so films that had come out, and could (and still can) name every monster that ever featured in a film with him and provide a highly detailed and enthusiastic description of them (from Anguirus to Megaguirus). I was obsessed with Godzilla, and loved everything about the films, from the camp acting, the shoddy effects, the preposterous plots, and out-of-sync dubbing. Watching these old films brings up childhood reminiscences of my ecstatic rapture with the alternatively silly and grim world that Godzilla dominated. As I matured, I fell away from the Godzilla films I enjoyed in my youth, and can now see that most of them were rather mediocre and ridiculous romps, despite a lingering and palpable nostalgia they stir in me. So, I felt like I was watching this latest Godzilla film as two different people; one being an aficionado of cinema, and the other a diehard Godzilla fan. In saying that, I find that this film is far more appealing to the latter, but even that “inner child” left the theatre somewhat wanting. By now, word has gotten around about the film’s pacing. The beginning is as slow and plodding as the King of the Monsters himself, as we follow father and son Joe (Bryan Cranston) and Ford Brody (Aaron Taylor-Johnson) in a rather tedious pursuit of the truth regarding a quarantined zone in Japan that livens up once the film’s first monster emerges, but reverts back to drudgery that is sometimes relieved by the film’s “bigger” stars. I should also add that that Breaking Bad fans expecting this movie to emphasise their beloved Bryan Cranston will likely be disappointed, since he is relegated to a supporting role (despite the trailers suggesting a starring role). The movie does start with Cranston seemingly as the star, with the beginnings of a strong character journey (i.e. his obsession with redeeming himself for the death of his wife in a nuclear accident), but there is a jarringly abrupt point where the movie diverts to Brody. Perhaps I was meant to see him as the protagonist once the film cuts ahead fifteen years, showing Brody as a lieutenant, with a wife and son, while Cranston has become a disgraced and unemployed conspiracy theorist, but Cranston’s acting is so superior that it demands attention and gets it. In fact, Cranston’s acting is so superior as to be conspicuous, since the rest of the cast seem to phone in their performances. It’s a shame, because I think that had Cranston’s character been the protagonist, or at least had a greater presence, this film could have been much better for it, since Brody’s journey is bereft of any and all character development; he isn’t changed at all by what happens in the film. Lt. Brody merely proves an already existing heroism in the face of monstrous danger. With Cranston’s quest for redemption, there could have been something more engaging than the extremely straightforward goal of Brody, which seemed to consist of merely surviving and/or defeating monsters. As for Godzilla himself, visually he is fantastic. I think that the creature design was true to the Godzilla which was the object of my childhood adulation, while having a quality of realism that fits in with modern effects. His presence has the slow menace that was apparent in Godzilla at his best (without looking clumsy or unwieldy), and his face has the expressive (and almost feline) quality that was seen in the animatronic faces seen in the various Toho films. And when Godzilla’s dorsal plates lit up, a wave of nostalgia coursed down my own spine because, as a fan, I knew what to expect next. As for his roar, it doesn’t sound quite the same as the one I grew up with, but its there, at the base of the perhaps overwrought sound design. My only gripe with this iteration of Godzilla is the persona they imbue him with. Expect to see an almost (if not entirely) heroic Godzilla, whose intentions aren’t made explicit, but are seemingly altruistic, fighting the good fight for the human race to “restore balance”, (as stated by Ken Watanbe’s Ishiro Serizawa, whose serves as a spokesperson for Godzilla throughout the entire film). In fact, all the damage caused by Godzilla seems to be an inadvertent result of his struggle with the other monsters. Expect a kind of mute heroism vaguely reminiscent to that which the Godzilla in the campy Shōwa era (i.e. the 60s and 70s) sometimes exhibited, which is incongruous with the Godzilla promised by the grim trailers that showcase him as a monumental (and almost otherworldly) threat far more akin to the Godzilla of the Hesei and Millenium movies. The benevolent quality is brought to an almost hilarious extent when, having fallen to the ground from exhaustion due to his battle, Godzilla comes face to face with Ford, and there is what seems to be a moment of genuine emotion between the two (interestingly, the CGI face of Godzilla communicates more than Johnson’s bewildered expression). I’m hoping that any future movies in this franchise will gloss over the “goodness” of Godzilla implied by this film. Despite the title, Godzilla doesn’t appear until well after his opponents do; two giant insect-like creatures codenamed (by the U.S. military) as M.U.T.O. And even after he appears, his battles with the other monsters are marginalized (e.g. the first encounter is only seen via a T.V. screen, and the second is edited into segments spread out across the third act) until nearer the end. Obviously, they didn’t want the audience to get bored of seeing Godzilla fight the MUTOs, as that is, in my opinion, all that this film has to offer. Therefore, we are usually left watching the rather bland human drama that barely holds one’s attention between monster appearances. The MUTOs are insectoid creatures which seem far more “Cloverfield” than Godzilla. The concept artists obviously wished to have Godzilla’s foes appear more “alien” and “modern” than the rubber-suited lummoxes he has traditionally faced, but I wish that they had taken a page from the artists who conceived the Kaiju of Pacific Rim, who based their creature designs around a human outline, thereby harkening back to the obviously costumed villains of the old Toho films. However, despite the nonhuman strangeness of their form, the MUTOs are also made to be somewhat sympathetic. They emerge from different parts of the world and when their paths converge, the first lets out a call which the other reciprocates, bringing to mind a bird’s mating call. And when they meet, they nuzzle each other’s maws, making affectionate clicking sounds. I experienced the same kind of gushing affection one has when watching the happiness of dogs upon reuniting after a long separation. And then, in their battle with Godzilla, the monsters express true fright and anger as they witness the other in peril, screaming in anguish as they charge their attacker. My heart bled for these poor, wretched creatures, and as much as I was rooting for Godzilla in the battle scenes, I couldn’t help but pity all involved and hoped that there would be an outcome where none of them would have to die, despite the MUTOs being fierce, ugly, and gigantic parasites whose survival spells doom for the human race. Accordingly, I found the MUTO’s portrayal to be an unnecessary and perhaps cruel trick. Overall, I found the script to be a rather thin framework to support Godzilla and his monster costars. Most of the happenings going on around the monsters are obligatory and/or inconsequential, which makes each scene without the monsters an anxious wait for them to return. This was a point of particular disappointment for me, as I was hoping for an engaging story. Specifically, I was looking forward to some subtle discourse on the origins of this iteration of Godzilla that would serve to only tantalize and ultimately preserve the mystery (as was always the case in the Japanese films), though this hope was rather blatantly dashed in a terribly expositional scene where two scientists mete out everything needed to know about this version of Godzilla in one lengthy and one-sided discussion. The thinness of the script is most apparent in the film’s end, which is so clichéd, abrupt, and flat as to scarcely be believed. Akira Ifukube's original score is missed in this film (all that Legendary obtained from Toho was Godzilla himself, it seems), and we are left with an obtuse arrangement of blaring horns that seemed amateurish to me. György Ligeti's Requiem, executed perfectly in the first trailer, sounds out of place (and tired) when it features in the film in almost the exact same way it was in the preview. My suspicion is that the Requiem's use in the trailer was a touch by a fantastically skilled editor, and once the rather obvious-minded marketers gauged the fandom's favourable response to it, they thought it would be a good idea to feature it in precisely the way it was shown in the preview, not realising that many (such as myself) would have grown weary of that languid and haunting chant through repeated viewings of the trailer. The direction is fine in most regards except for the performances. Across the board, every actor falls short of potential proved in past films (with the possible exception of Bryan Cranston, who delivers when he is onscreen). Perhaps the actors were recalcitrant. Having dealt with actors myself, I know how temperamental and resistant to direction they can be once they detect weakness in their director, and in this case, Gareth Edwards was a young and untried director who I noticed looked very tired in interviews following the film's completion. Dealing with such high-profile names must have been a trying experience for him, and I hope he learned from it. In terms of cinematography, Edwards excels. Even in the crawling first act, Edwards provides excellent vistas of Japan's forests, rivers and cities, and once the monsters come into full play, Edwards consistently manages to convey their immensity. If it weren't for the poor writing and acting, I would have appreciated the coverage more. This film falls short of the grandiose and utterly apocalyptic return to form for Godzilla that the trailers suggest. Those expecting a thematically heavy film tackling similar issues as the original 1954 film with a modern twist will be sorely disappointed by the weak script and the mostly transparent performances from its actors. In fact, I would argue that the movie is really about nothing; it is merely an excuse to get Godzilla back on the screen and fighting monsters. In saying that, with the success this film has seen thus far, we can look forward to future outings with the King of the Monsters that may benefit from a better script and a more recognisable foe (or foes). Closing thoughts: I'm glad he's back, and hope he's here to stay for a while. |