Gone Girl

I watched David Fincher's Gone Girl today.  It has left me more than a little flummoxed.  Principally, I guess, I'm wondering what my reaction - broadly unimpressed by the content, alienated by the story's implausibility and irritated by the clunky, hole-ridden plot - tells me about my tastes (or lack thereof).

One of my first thoughts after watching the movie all the way through to its self-satisfied ending was the sentiment summed up best, in my opinion, by Charles Rennie McIntosh who wrote, "there is hope in honest error; none in the icy perfections of the mere stylist".  That sense of (my own) nagging doubt was strengthened by the conclusion to the generally supportive and positive review of the film by Xian Brooks in The Guardian.  He wrote, 

"Gone Girl, finally, may be no more than a storm in a teacup. But what an elegant, bone-china teacup this is. And what a fearsome force-10 gale we have brewing inside."

I enjoyed enormously (if that's not an odd term) David Fincher's Seven, so what is it, I wonder, bothers me about his latest film?  Not its moral ambiguity.  That much I'm sure of.  And not its fabrication, for sure.  It's about as well constructed a film as I've seen in a long time - beautifully shot (albeit in cool and alienating tones), well acted by a well-cast crew of actors (the stars are very good but the supporting cast adds real depth - Tyler Perry is revelatory, Kim Dickens as the lead investigator is excellent and the two television 'journalists' are delicious).  It's well directed.  

So what don't I like?  

It feels hollow and heartless.  I have never been a fan of nihilism and this movie has a cynical misanthropy that reaches all the way to the core of its being.  I worry too that it's predicated on a world view that asks us to believe most people are either stupid, gullible or fatally indifferent to reality.  I get that it's a satirical look at marriage in modern America.  At least I think that's what I'm being offered.  But I don't rally want to buy into that world view.  

I can see the roots of Hitchcock that support this modern dystopian fable.  And it's no great surprise to read that some of the team that brought us Gone Girl intend to re-make Strangers On A Train.  But, I just think, no thanks.  It's not simply that I don't want to live in their world. I'm not even interested in visiting. 

A storm and a tea cup

I submitted one of Spike's photographs of our visit to the first game of the Asian Cup to the Guardian's "Witness" section of  'were you there?' photo albums.  My favourite newspaper added me to the (admittedly small) mix today.  Fame at last.  Or not, as the case may be.  But I like Spike's photo, I enjoyed the experience of being at the game and - as anyone who knows me would not be surprised to read - I'm very pleased with the smart arse caption / title I gave to the photo (repeated as the title of this post).  The Guardian asked for a description which I've added below.  I've corrected my original typing mistakes ... vanity, vanity - thy name is Douglas.

"Huge thunderstorm hit Canberra just before Asian Cup game between South Korea and Oman. No shelter for most of the 12,552 spectators. Emergency panchos, umbrellas and for this Scottish resident of Australia's capital a Panama hat bought in Curitiba, Brazil during last year's FIFA World Cup. South Korea deserved winners of good game. Dougie Herd drinking tea. Photo by Spike Deane. Stylish pink poncho NOT by Armani."

And ... action

The true extent to which I am an unapologetic movie tragic is this admission of guilty pleasure - that I sought out and followed live updates of the mildly ridiculous - maybe much more than "mildly" ridiculous - Golden Globes ceremony.  I follow it liveevery year. Hell, I even sometimes enjoy the speeches (although, to be honest, there were fewer gems this year than in years gone bye.)

It strikes me as a bit odd of me that I have opinions about which people or films ought to win.  I mean - in the first and most obvious instance - frankly my dear, [the universe] don't give a damn 'bout what you think Douglas.  And secondly, ever mindful of how Joaquim Phoenix was so brilliantly pinned for pomposity by the hosts, the whole idea of awards ceremonies is so absurd ... and yet.  No less absurdly - one cares.  It's satisfying to me - even though I have nothing whatsoever to do with its making - that The Grand Budapest Hotel was recognised.  I would have liked Ralph Feinnes to have won Best Actor award even though I've not yet seen the winning performance by Michael Keaton in Birdman (and I have very little doubt that when I do see it I shall be no less captivated than were the voters of the Hollywood Foreign Press Association).  Silly, silly Douglas.  No less absurd than the event itself, perhaps more so.

The stars of the evening were, as we had all hoped and expected, the ever-brilliant hosts Tina Fey and Amy Poehler.  My favourite among their many perceptive jokes was their subtle, pointed but still fond dig at Hollywood with George Clooney at its centre.  Hadley Freeman references this joke in her good article in the Guardian Online here:

“George Clooney married Amal Almuddin this year. Amal is a human rights lawyer who worked on the Enron case; was an adviser to Kofi Annan regarding Syria; and was selected for a three-person UN commission investigating rules of war violations in the Gaza Strip. So tonight … her husband is getting a lifetime achievement award”

That and other observations stand in such contrast to the ways the women in the industry, who make hundreds of millions of dollars for the production and distribution companies, are scrutinised, assessed, praised or denigrated on the red carpet.  I doubt that any of the men run such a gauntlet.  But that's the point Hadley Freeman makes better than I ever could.

As absurd as the whole three ring circus may be I'll still seek out the Oscars and, if anything, care about the results more deeply.  I know that not a piece of it all - the Globes, the Oscars, the whole great caravan of movie makers, comic singers, dancers and players amounts to Humphrey Bogart's famous hill of beans (see Casablanca) but - beyond all its absurdity - in this harsh and sometimes hurtful world we live in it somehow matters more than I can say.

More fitba'

Refugee from The Beverly Hill-Billies

Asian Cup 2015.  Game 2 of my 9, United Arab Emirates versus Qatar.  Smaller crowd than yesterday but at just over 5,500 more than I expected after yesterday's rain.  There was no need for the emergency poncho today but looking at the photo of me here maybe it would have been an idea to cover up my complete lack of fashion sense or style.

The game was lively, there were five goals and the UAE ran out deserving winners by 4 goals to 1.  I'll be seeing them again on Thursday, playing against Bahrain.  Enjoying my Asian Cup so far.  And hugely indebted to Spike for keeping me company and taking on role of 'official match photographer'.

Drenched

So, it's the first of my nine games at the Asian Cup 2015.  South Korea versus Oman at the Canberra Stadium.

Another football selfie for Spike to treasure

As we drove towards north Canberra from Gilmore the sky darkened and grew more angry looking in that bruised manner which only an immanent thunderstorm can create.  As we arrived in the "VIP / Accessible Parking" area (full marks to someone for the choice of 'accessible' rather than the more usual 'disabled') the sky above opened to drop a month's worth of rain on everyone.  We were dry at that stage (not yet parked, still in the car) but the volunteers helping to direct us to the parking bay closest to the entrance were soaked to the skin.  It didn't take long for us to match them.  But we all seemed happy enough; to be there part of Australia's biggest football party ever. 

The game was good, enjoyable if you really like football and aren't too fussed that goals can be a rarity.  South Korea were in charge off the game pretty much throughout and deserved their win but Oman gave them a game of it and produced a few scares for the wacky, marvellous Korean fans who made up a very substantial part of the 12,552 members of the crowd.  We all went home wet but happy.

Heid the ba'

Kuwait v Australia 2011

My tragic footall fan is coming out to play again.  The Asian Cup kicks off (pun intended) tonight in Melbourne with Australia playing Kuwait in the competition opening match.  My first match is tomorrow.

Sports blogger Kate Cohen has an article in the Guardian today.  The article is headed "Asian Cup final four the minimum expectation for Socceroos".  I beg to deffer and wrote the thoughts below in the article's comments section.  (Not just a football tragic but a Guardian Comments tragic too.) 

FIFA Rankings are about as reliable as the bidding process to host the World Cup. Australia ranked 100 tells us nothing.

I think football is an infuriatingly, beautifully simple game. Score more goals than the other guys and you win. Forget that and you're toast.

I have my tickets for the 6 group games in Canberra (I shall cheer loudest for the team from Palestine but I don't really mind who wins here). And I have my tickets for the quarters, semi and final. They are a different kettle of fish.

When I went to Brazil last June I did not expect to see Australia at the Rio final (although there were a few minutes against Holland when getting out of the toughest group in the Cup did not seem impossible).

But please guys. This is home turf. We all expect to see you in Sydney. In the final. Winning.

Go Socceroos!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Je suis Charlie

Photograph: Marc Piasecki/Getty Images

Photograph: Thibault Camus/AP

Nothing more I can say.