New Post. Can’t think up a title
Fifteen years ago Kenneth Branagh was absolutely gorgeous. Add period costume, Shakespearean dialogue and Italian scenery to the mixture and you have a very openly swooning Hira. John Abraham topless could not have a greater effect.
Just finished watching ‘Much ado about nothing’. Not one of Shakespeare’s best plays but then, according to the opinion of people whose opinion actually matters, his best plays were always the ones where everyone died in the end. In MAAN, everyone- surprisingly- survives. How un-Shakespearean.
By the way, that’s basically how you can tell the difference between a Shakespearean tragedy and comedy. In a comedy, only 2 people, or less die. In a tragedy, only two people, or less, live. Everything else is pretty much the same.
Though in the case of many modern day comedies (Adam Sandler ones especially) you wish to the high heavens that the death ratio was a bit higher.
So today I watched two completely unrelated films. Kenneth Branagh’s Much Ado About Nothing starring the director himself, Emma Thompson, Denzel Washington and Dr. Wilson from House (Do you know he was something of a star in the late 80’s and early 90’s? I didn’t!) and Pineapple Express (starring James Franco and a few others- sorry but the rest of the cast wasn’t much to look at) and I enjoyed both immensely. Though to be honest, the latter was a whole lot more fun 😀
And for what it’s worth, I’d take watching Pineapple Express over Dr. Zhivago any day.
I’ve changed a lot from the girl who would diss anything non- rock as bad music, and anything non-russian as bad literature. I’ve finally got over myself and learned to accept that just because I don’t like something doesn’t make it bad. And that just because some dead critic called something good, it doesn’t mean that (a) I should like/appreciate/ deem it worthy to be completed and not left half way; and (b) it has to be good anyway. Even if a hundred dead (or living) critics call something a masterpiece, it doesn’t make it one. If you cannot enjoy, appreciate, or even stand a ‘masterpiece’, you aren’t necessarily at fault and you’re not a philistine. It’s a matter of taste buds. If I can’t stomach caviar and turn to French fries, it doesn’t make me any less a gourmet; it just shows that I know what I like regardless of the hype. I’m a simpler person, not a tasteless one.
So now, if someone says they ‘lurve Celine Dion and Michael learns to Rock’ I may wince inwardly, but only because that person is most likely to be a die-hard romantic and that sort terrifies me. Celine Dion and Michael Learns to Rock may not be my favorite artists, but it’s because I can’t relate to them and end up feeling soul-dead, and not because I think they’re bad artists. As to the quality of their music- if they’ve found fans who appreciate their songs and would buy tickets to their concerts- then by all accounts, they’re awesome musicians.
The opinion of fifty thousand living people should (and IS, usually) much more important than one dead (or living) critic.