I thought it was brilliant! It got a mixed bag of reviews with critics. Of course the movie is going to be a violation of the ancient texts of Homer � it�s Hollywood! I can�t help but love films with heaving bosoms, sword fights, period costume and beautiful, pouting stars. Plus, any very serious dialogue spoken in rich, deepened �man of war� voice cracks me up. Ooooh say it again baby. Another hilarious moment is when Achilles (Brad Pitt) is realising that his cousin Menelaus has been killed by Hector. Pitt pulls the most extravagant, seriously slapstick thinking face I believe I have ever seen. Eric Bana has the best part in the film and whooo is he hot. Far hotter than Brad Pitt who looked ever so slightly monkey-esque (maybe it was the helmet). So now everyone understands why with my literary critique of the cinematic qualities of Troy I should be writing film reviews for a living?
Speaking of hot, the air conditioning in the cinema broke down and temperatures were somewhat tropical. I had the biggest bucket (and I really mean as in window cleaning proportions) of popcorn. I had to give up eating it after an hour. I tried my best but was thwarted by the sheer quantity. I think my stomach reached saturation point. (You wanted to know that, right?) Whenever I go to the cinema I end up with popcorn down my cleavage. M finds it quite funny when I�m trying to surreptitiously ferret down my top for errant popcorn. This also happens with grass if you loll around in fields enjoying the weather (heheh)
I am a much correlated kind of girl because�
SPEAKING OF GRASS!!!
FUCKFUCKFUCKINGFUCK MY PRECIOUS EYES are weeping
Yes WEEPING and swollen. They feel as if someone has poured a tonne of grit into them. I love summer, I love flowers and I am, in general, a kindly person. I don�t think I deserve the kind of inflictions hay fever and Mother Nature um, inflict upon me. I want to plunge my face in to icy water. This usually works for the duration that my face is in icy water. Unfortunately, what with needing to not look like a freak with a sink attached to my head in day-to-day life and the general requirement for breathing, this is not possible or practical. In a very serious plea, if anyone knows any effective remedies or ways of slightly relieving this nightmare I will be ever so grateful. I take regular hay fever tablets which seem to do nothing.
Right, losing the interrelationship between paragraphs:
This is a photo of a corner of my bedroom and the view out of the window
(just because OK)
And yes, the item hanging out of the dresser drawer in the photo is disturbing me quite a lot
I am bitter that late Sunday mornings and early Sunday afternoons is luxurious time spent in bed in various stages of undress, chatting and doing other sexier things with the person that I love whilst Sunday evenings a total woe of doom encroaches and will not subside until I sleep. I hate Sunday evenings. I hate them more than Monday mornings because at least then things are moving along and less sickly static. Why is Sunday evening a time designated to reflect on everything melancholy and to ignite pointless arguments? I want to get rid of everything Sunday after 5pm. Knock myself out and forget the whole evening exists. And I do not understand why the TV programme controller people seem to want to exacerbate the whole thing with gently depressing you with pleasantness until you die set in some valley in the country twattiness. I want films with shooting, rage, death, blood, gore, sweat, horrific violence and general rampaging chaos to make me feel better.
Well, I will now climb back in to my dark box and close the lid tightly to be sure not to let anymore of that escape. Remind me not to update my diary on a Sunday evening again.
Slightly Morose Inkysoso