The Whole Wretched Business

Disgrace was a disappointment. I realised that so much of what disgusts, and enthralls me, is Lurie's thoughts. Coetzee leaves us with an understated sense of his themes, we feel we know nothing. Steve Jacobs, director, his screenplay-writing wife (Oh, god, I'm reducing a woman to a wife, again) made to much of the physical side of things. And they forgot the madness of his opera - the ridicule of him playing a child's instrument for the clubfooted dog. It must be tremendously difficult work, transfering a book to film. Disgrace in particular, because it is so very character driven. And so much of an interior monologue. Bah, I prefer the book.
Malkovich and Heines were divine. As was Petrus. I'll re-view it on DVD when I get it, and perhaps I'll enjoy it more. Certain scenes were even more powerful on-screen.

But the heavy fog from last night has fallen, and continues to fall. Everything is sheethed in white, and golden class shards glitter outside our windows. These are the times I love winter, and having to walk doggie. And then I have to mend my dress (the skirt' sown up, to create a dishevelled, sculpted effect), and find the buttons for my coat. Figure out what I'm going to do with the hair, re-growth is such a curse. I love, love, love my current colour - but I need to schedule a new appointment with my hair-dresser when I go to dye it next time. Once every six weeks. I can't take these roots. Pin-curls or a braided chignon-y mess? And make-up. I want it heavy, and I want to use my glitter eyeliner. Why didn't I buy false lashes?

The Whole Wretched Business

Disgrace was a disappointment. I realised that so much of what disgusts, and enthralls me, is Lurie's thoughts. Coetzee leaves us with an understated sense of his themes, we feel we know nothing. Steve Jacobs, director, his screenplay-writing wife (Oh, god, I'm reducing a woman to a wife, again) made to much of the physical side of things. And they forgot the madness of his opera - the ridicule of him playing a child's instrument for the clubfooted dog. It must be tremendously difficult work, transfering a book to film. Disgrace in particular, because it is so very character driven. And so much of an interior monologue. Bah, I prefer the book.
Malkovich and Heines were divine. As was Petrus. I'll re-view it on DVD when I get it, and perhaps I'll enjoy it more. Certain scenes were even more powerful on-screen.

But the heavy fog from last night has fallen, and continues to fall. Everything is sheethed in white, and golden class shards glitter outside our windows. These are the times I love winter, and having to walk doggie. And then I have to mend my dress (the skirt' sown up, to create a dishevelled, sculpted effect), and find the buttons for my coat. Figure out what I'm going to do with the hair, re-growth is such a curse. I love, love, love my current colour - but I need to schedule a new appointment with my hair-dresser when I go to dye it next time. Once every six weeks. I can't take these roots. Pin-curls or a braided chignon-y mess? And make-up. I want it heavy, and I want to use my glitter eyeliner. Why didn't I buy false lashes?