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muckefuckLord love a duck, what a busy weekend. Thank God I passed on the Bullywood Merchant of Venice Friday night to stay in and make reubens (an Omaha invention!) for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
monshu. The rest of the plan was to watch Lantana, but NetFlix in conjunction with the US Postal Service cleverly subverted that by delivering us a cracked DVD, so we watched some forgettable shite instead.
I tried not to stay up too late since I was meetingmollpeartree, princeofcairo, and luckymarty for Saawariya at the 600 North Building. POC gave it a "solid B", which I think is fair since everything was pretty top-notch except for the male lead and he's in virtually every scene in the damn movie. As I quipped at the time, if this goofy-looking spazz represents the latest generation of ancient and proud Kapoor dynasty, then their blood is growing pretty thin.
Until Salman Khan's appearance in an extended flashback (even Khan-hatamollpeartree indicated that his smolder was super-effective), the most attractive man on screen for my money was taunty prostitute Rani Mukherjee, who may have carried off the film with her Chabeela number. (Sorry, no subtitles; basically, she--and when I say "she", I kinda mean playback singer Alka Yagnik channeling the great Lata Mangeshkar--is mocking Mr Hangdog Washcloth to within an inch of his spastic so-called life.) The real star, however, is the cinematographers' and set decorators' lavish fantasy of a European city. It's Saint Petersburg, Venice, London, and Paris rolled into one but with sari shops, Hindu idols, and a radiant Muslim quarter. And the creativity of the team ensures that it looks differently gorgeous in every sequence, meaning you always have something more rewarding to view than Sanbir Kapoor's goony face.
The ambipartisan couple and I then went to Intelligensia on Randolph for some deep talk about literature and food habits while they killed time before No Country for Old Men at the RiverEast. I figured since I was already downtown, I might as well tag along and was well compensated for my decision. It was not like any other Cohen Brothers film I've ever seen and in ways that were all for the good, IMHO. Be forewarned: The grimness is turned up high and the archness is switched low to accentuate rather than compensate. But we were still talking about what we'd watched eight hours later, which gives you an idea how much was there.
In between, we had burgers at Boston Blackies and grown-up drinks chezhisregard while I had the pleasure of introducing the men to the incomparable Bill Bailey, the inexplicably-neglected-by-straight-men Fischerspooner remix of Kylie Minogue, and many other words of our YouTube world. Not to mention, we gabbed incessantly.
So it was something of a minor miracle that I made it on time (in an aviationary terms) to my brunch date withmonshu and His Tallest. After that, I was off to Lakeview to meet up with My Favourite German for a tour of the local bookshops. Many important titles were purchases including TWO ENTIRE GIFTS! I'm off now--and it ain't even Thanksgiving yet! When I got peckish, we finally indulged our complementary urges to try out the tasty-but-spendy Belgian waffle joint on Clark and a met Nuphy at Sidetrack about an hour later with a stack of stroopwafelen in my hand. Dropped him off at Las Mañanitas and cabbed it home through the autumn drizzle for soup and sammies with the GWO.
Not a minute of it I would take back, but now I really do need All The Sleep.
monshu. The rest of the plan was to watch Lantana, but NetFlix in conjunction with the US Postal Service cleverly subverted that by delivering us a cracked DVD, so we watched some forgettable shite instead.I tried not to stay up too late since I was meeting
mollpeartree, princeofcairo, and luckymarty for Saawariya at the 600 North Building. POC gave it a "solid B", which I think is fair since everything was pretty top-notch except for the male lead and he's in virtually every scene in the damn movie. As I quipped at the time, if this goofy-looking spazz represents the latest generation of ancient and proud Kapoor dynasty, then their blood is growing pretty thin.Until Salman Khan's appearance in an extended flashback (even Khan-hata
mollpeartree indicated that his smolder was super-effective), the most attractive man on screen for my money was taunty prostitute Rani Mukherjee, who may have carried off the film with her Chabeela number. (Sorry, no subtitles; basically, she--and when I say "she", I kinda mean playback singer Alka Yagnik channeling the great Lata Mangeshkar--is mocking Mr Hangdog Washcloth to within an inch of his spastic so-called life.) The real star, however, is the cinematographers' and set decorators' lavish fantasy of a European city. It's Saint Petersburg, Venice, London, and Paris rolled into one but with sari shops, Hindu idols, and a radiant Muslim quarter. And the creativity of the team ensures that it looks differently gorgeous in every sequence, meaning you always have something more rewarding to view than Sanbir Kapoor's goony face.The ambipartisan couple and I then went to Intelligensia on Randolph for some deep talk about literature and food habits while they killed time before No Country for Old Men at the RiverEast. I figured since I was already downtown, I might as well tag along and was well compensated for my decision. It was not like any other Cohen Brothers film I've ever seen and in ways that were all for the good, IMHO. Be forewarned: The grimness is turned up high and the archness is switched low to accentuate rather than compensate. But we were still talking about what we'd watched eight hours later, which gives you an idea how much was there.
In between, we had burgers at Boston Blackies and grown-up drinks chez
hisregard while I had the pleasure of introducing the men to the incomparable Bill Bailey, the inexplicably-neglected-by-straight-men Fischerspooner remix of Kylie Minogue, and many other words of our YouTube world. Not to mention, we gabbed incessantly.So it was something of a minor miracle that I made it on time (in an aviationary terms) to my brunch date with
monshu and His Tallest. After that, I was off to Lakeview to meet up with My Favourite German for a tour of the local bookshops. Many important titles were purchases including TWO ENTIRE GIFTS! I'm off now--and it ain't even Thanksgiving yet! When I got peckish, we finally indulged our complementary urges to try out the tasty-but-spendy Belgian waffle joint on Clark and a met Nuphy at Sidetrack about an hour later with a stack of stroopwafelen in my hand. Dropped him off at Las Mañanitas and cabbed it home through the autumn drizzle for soup and sammies with the GWO.Not a minute of it I would take back, but now I really do need All The Sleep.
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Bollywood Has No Truck With Dostoyevskyan Sentimentality
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Slaap lekker!
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On the other hand, the misspelling does ensure that this entry is #10 for stroopwafelen when presumably it wouldn't even make the top 100 for stroopwafels!