Inprint: Volver

Published in Inprint, Issue 5, October 31, 2006

Volver, Dir. Pedro Almodóvar, Starring Penélope Cruz, Carmen Maura, Rated R, Opens Nov. 3rd

Out of breath, Raimunda (Penélope Cruz) opens her front door slightly. Her friend sees blood streaked on her neck and asks if she’s hurt. She brushes it off, saying “Women’s troubles.” This is the essence of Pedro Al¬modóvar’s Volver, a film revolving around women, their lives and their relationships.

Volver, in Spanish, means “to return,” and here it means to re¬turn to Raimunda’s and her sister, Sole’s (Lola Dueñas) home village, to their family and to every¬thing else in their lives. Most importantly, this includes the return of the ghost of their mother, Irene (Carmen Maura), who died in a fire with their father.

Almodóvar is fascinated with strong women, and the actresses in this film hold their own ground. The female cast collectively won the Best Actress award at the Cannes Film Festival.

Cruz is perfectly costumed for the role in big teased hair, stylish clothes and lovely curves, both real and false (her ass is padded). Cruz exudes maternal strength and despair at the same time while remaining calm. Almodóvar always finds grittier and fleshier roles for Cruz as opposed to her American films and Raimunda is her best to date.

Volver also marks the reunion of actress Carmen Muera and Al¬modóvar, 18 years after Women on the Verge of a Nervous Break¬down. She flawlessly slips back into Almodóvar’s world flawlessly now as an older woman. Pretending to be a Russian immigrant, her cute, wide-eyed expressions hide her guilt as she attempts to reconnect with her daughters.

Almodóvar uses close-ups to emphasize key scenes, like the pristine, white quilted paper towel dropping onto a puddle of blood, the red quickly soaking the white and the overhead shot of Raimunda cleaning a knife slowly after dinner.

The film isn’t surrealist at all, fantastically real is a more suitable description. From Irene ap¬pearing out of nowhere in the trunk of Sole’s car, to strong winds that blow mementos and flowers off of graves, every ac¬tion in the movie makes sense and is believable, though it first seems out of place.

With my fading high school knowledge of Spanish, I know some dialogue was not translated properly. Despite this minor set-back, Almodóvar’s film remains clear, tinted with his signature red, speaking to (and never for) women everywhere.

The L Magazine: This too Shall Pass

From The L Magazine:

The Vanished Empire
Directed by Karen Shakhnazarov

Outdoor lines for beer, black market Pink Floyd and Rolling Stone records, Wrangler jeans — this is what Soviet Union has become by the 1970s. As the country slowly but surely falls apart, Sergei, our protagonist, comes together.

Director Karen Shakhnazarov shows us Sergei's story, along with his friends Stepan and Kostya, and the love of his youth, Lyuda, as they deal with the trials and tribulations of being young in the Soviet Union while obsessing over Western goods. We peer into their lives, watching a confrontation from beyond a cement fence, and watching the three young men walk away into the distance after a brawl. They drive around in shiny Tatra cars, decked out in American jeans, while outside, there are rusted playgrounds and soldiers stationed on every corner.

"Moscow still in one piece?" Sergei's grandfather asks.

"I guess," Sergei answers stoically.

Sergei's grandfather, once a famous archaeologist, tells him how he discovered the ancient city of Khurezm, Central Asia's "City of Winds." After Genghis Khan and his army shut the city off by filling its canals, it became the Vanished Empire, nothing left but wind-worn stone ruins where the great people used to live. This could be said of Moscow, and, at a certain point, of Sergei as well, but he can still change his fate.

Despite academia running in Sergei's blood, he is preoccupied with other things: he makes out with girls in class, and sells his grandfather's books to buy black market records and jeans. The love triangle between Sergei, Stepan and Lyuda is but a tiny part of the greater picture: Sergei needs to find his own path to his destiny.

"Our address says Soviet Union," the older Stepan tells the older but unseen Sergei in a concluding flash-forward, "but I don't recognize any of it." He continues, "What's left?" After the repercussions of his own personal fuckups and lost loves, Sergei leaves behind his superficial life — and the Soviet Union itself. Through posters and snippets of news clips, we experience the fall of Moscow and the USSR, which represents Sergei's past. The only way he could find himself was by leaving his home country. He manages to pick up his pieces and find his place in life — though the same couldn't be said of the Soviet Union.

Opens July 10

The L Magazine: Sorry, Thanks

From L Magazine:

After finally taking his untouched bike out of the closet and attempting to ride down one of San Francisco's steepest hills, Max (Wiley Wiggins) gets a cut. As his long-term girlfriend, Sara (Ia Hernandez), cleans his wounds, he says, "It's kinda pretty but gross at the same time." Isn't that what relationships are all about?

Sorry, Thanks — which plays at 9:30 tonight at BAMcinemaFest — isn't about Max and Sara. Rather, it's about Max and his two-night stand, Kira (Kenya Miles). Writer-director Dia Sokol subtly and effectively treats viewers to a view of their fascination.

Kira is practical. Her goal in life is to become a fact-checker. She wants something more solid. During a job interview for a copyediting position, the interviewer asks, "Would you be up for something this regimented?" Kira would. Miles' wide-eyed look, though, seems to contain unplumbed depths.

Max is the awkwardly quirky guy who rambles on. His friends and girlfriend describe him as a sweet asshole; Wiggins speaks with a funny yet weird and uneasy tone. Despite his adulterous dalliances, he and Sara seem to be in love and completely comfortable with each other as they make funny faces and speak in silly voices.

Sokol's storytelling emphasizes how both Kira and Max try to grow into their lives, but are somehow stuck. Kira attempts bathroom sex with new boyfriend Simon (Donovan Baddley). Then she immediately sleeps with Max again. Max gets a cat, which he soon forgets about and loses. One step forward, two steps back.

Cinematographer Mathias Grunsky makes great use of the lines, sloping hills and vibrant murals of the Mission District, while the editing constantly juxtaposes the two lives, scenes complimenting each other perfectly: Max interviews two new staff members, Kira interviews for a position. But ultimately, you remember the tale Sokol tells: it's sad, but her understanding of Max's indecision rings so true to life that you can't help but place yourself in his shoes.

The L Magazine: All Eyes (and Ears) Are on Coraline

Coraline, the movie

This is my second piece for The L Magazine's website:

Coraline Jones makes fun of her new neighbor, Wybie Lovat, “Why be born?” she taunts. He responds: “Ordinary names lead to ordinary expectations.” Coraline, the name that came out of creator Neil Gaiman’s typo, is not ordinary in the slightest bit.

Coraline the novel, written by Neil Gaiman, beget the movie, directed by Henry Selick, which in turn beget the musical, directed by Leigh Silverman and written by David Greenspan. The result is three different yet similar yet wonderfully entrancing versions of Coraline’s story and her adventures in the Other World.

Coraline, our heroine in all three tales, moves with her mother and father into a new apartment in a new neighborhood. Her neighbors are Mister Bobo (Bobinsky in the film), the thickly Russian-accented man training unseen circus rats upstairs, and Miss Forcible and Miss Spink, sisters who are former stage actors now left to reminisce about their starry pasts downstairs. Coraline’s parents are too absorbed in their work to be concerned with her, so she keeps herself amused at exploring the house and area. During her navigations, she finds a locked door that is bricked up. This is the door that leads to the Other World, where she finds her Other Mother and Other Father and Other neighbors. This world is familiar to her – same furniture, same people – but there’s a different aura that Coraline falls in love with, a world where she isn’t ignored and is free to do as she pleases.

What exactly makes someone an Other? Their button eyes, of course. Soon enough, Other Mother and Other Father want Coraline to stay, and all she has to do is replace her ordinary eyes with those glistening black buttons. Creeped out, Coraline understands that not everything is perfect in this Other World, ruled by Other Mother.

Neil Gaiman’s language in Coraline the novel is accessible yet imaginative. Gaiman (who previously brought us The Sandman, among other titles) originally wrote the tale as a scary bedtime story requested by his daughter. The result resembles a much darker Alice in Wonderland. Both Alice and Coraline offer escapes for their female leads into experiences tinged with magical realism, creating the extraordinary out of the ordinary. Alice’s adventures are more out there, though, and aren’t as grounded in an askew version of reality as Coraline’s. In both, though, the readers are free to visualize their own heroine and her world, which turns us into participants in the fiction.

The musical, directed by Leigh Silverman, disregards the film and instead takes its cues from the book, with the added bonuses of music, singing, and dancing. Stephen Merritt – best known as leader of The Magnetic Fields and singer-songwriter behind their epic three-disc ode to love album, 69 Love Songs – understands the world of Coraline perfectly. His piano orchestra, performed by Phyllis Chen, plucks merrily and creepily with the songs and movements of the cast.

David Greenspan, who wrote the Coraline musical, is known for playing with identity and gender roles, and this production is no exception. He himself plays the eccentric, high-pitched growling Other Mother, donning a thick black and silver wig, red apron, and the signature button eyeglasses. The slinky Julian Fleisher plays Cat, the narrator, and, most amusingly, the tiny door that leads to the Other World. As Coraline, middle-aged actress Jayne Houdyshell isn’t what I pictured, but she completely embodies the character, seeming younger and smaller. Casting her in the lead matches the spirit of Coraline: you have to suspend your disbelief and trust what is in front of you. Houdyshell seems a young girl, dressed in green Wellingtons and a pink cardigan vest, and she plays it well. I can’t help but wonder, though, what a younger actress would have done in her place.

Unlike this stage Coraline, Henry Selick’s film version is a departure from the original story, and it might be my favorite of the three. The plot is restructured and there are new characters. There’s Wybie, whose grandmother is the Jones’ landlady. He gives Coraline a doll, which bears a suspicious likeness to her, right down to its yellow coat. This doll becomes the narrative vehicle that leads Coraline to the door. Selick (who previously directed The Nightmare Before Christmas and James and the Giant Peach) has a distinct visual style that’s very apparent in Coraline. Objects in his stop-motion adaptation swirl and pop out – even without the help of 3D glasses.

While occasionally more kid-friendly (it’s rated PG, after all), the film does have its darker moments. Instead of rats, Mister Bobinsky’s circus creatures are kangaroo mice that turn into rats in the Other World. On the other side of the door, the Other Mother transforms into a tall and thin spidery she-creature that towers over Coraline, throwing the girl into her web. The Other Spink and Forcible are awfully risqué, wearing skimpy costumes despite their fat frames.

One moment from the film that I sorely missed in the musical was Coraline’s story about being brave. Before embarking back to the Other World to save her parents, she tells the cat about the day she and her father escaped wasps over the hill. Her father yelled at her to run while he stayed, allowing the wasps to sting him as she got away. That was, as he said, doing what he had to do as her father. When they reached home, he realized he dropped his glasses and had to go back to retrieve them. He was scared, but he went anyway because he needed his glasses. That was, he explained, being brave. Coraline channels that bravery as she goes back to the Other World to save her parents and the ghost children, fully aware of the consequences of doing so. This comes across more in the book and the musical (film Coraline is saved by Wybie rather than by taking matters into her own hands). The movie's Coraline, though, is also endearingly quirky, walking around wearing a driver’s cap and using a forked branch as a guide.

Despite its kid-centric narrative, Coraline is for both children and adults. While Gaiman won the ALA Notable Children’s Book Award for the novella, he recognized the wider appeal of the story. Fairy tales aren’t just for children. Tim Burton is currently directing a remake of Alice in Wonderland, Through the Looking Glass, and it’s pretty much guaranteed to be a hit.

When I saw the film a couple brought their baby, who promptly started crying when the Other Mother transformed into her true, spidery self. While standing in line to pick up tickets for the musical, the ticket seller asked the mother with her two children in front of us whether she knew about the play. She said she did. There were more kids inside, and they gasped and laughed at the right times during the musical.

One can't help wonder why has Gaiman’s story inspired these adaptations in such quick succession. Coraline offers a new take on the fairy tale in that she (rather than a “he”) is the daring adventurer. She dreams and seeks something more than a boring new life that presents the same old junk all the time. But when she gets exactly what she wanted, she finds out wishes aren’t always as magical as they appear to be, as Other Mother swiftly demonstrates. In the book and the musical, Other Mister Bobo tells Coraline that Other Mother will give her everything she ever wanted. Coraline pauses, and then says, “You can’t have everything you want all the time. Where’s the fun in that?”

It’s impossible to say that any one version can stand on its own, because each one informs the others, just like the books and films in the Harry Potter series: where the movie skips over something, the book fills in, and the viewers/readers are still able to follow the story.

In all three versions of Coraline, when the heroine and the cat have their first conversation, she asks him his name. He answers: “We cats don’t need names, we know who we are; you people, on the other hand, you don’t know who you are.” But it turns out she does know who she is: she’s Coraline Jones, not Other Coraline. And whether on page, screen or stage, her story remains captivating.

Performances of Coraline continue through July 5.

The Road Movie

Among articles about the new and old Western from last week's New York Times magazine, I read Walter Salles (director of Diarios de motorcicleta and Central Station) take on road movies, "Notes for a Theory of the Road Movie" (accompanied by beautiful photos of wide-open spaces in Australia. Salles looks at what defines a road movie, taking past and current movies into consideration and the state of road movies in today's world.

While I haven't seen many of the movies (i.e. Detour, The Searchers), I understand the concepts behind the road move.

First and foremost, the protagonist

"suffer[s] from a need to redefine [himself]...[being] uncomfortable in [his] shoes."
"Because road movies need to trace the internal transformation of their characters, the films are not about what can be seen or verbalized but about what can be felt--about the invisible that complements the visible."

The road movie embodies the search for (new) identity and meaning. Or, to put it in Salles' words:

"...the road movie is limited only by one obligation: to accompany the transformations undergone by its main characters as they confront a new reality."

And this search is a necessary search, there is no other option other than going out there, on the road, overseas, on foot, and finding whatever it is that everyone is looking for. Because of this, the movies are "driven by a sense of immediacy."

Other traits of road movies:

• improvisation
• unpredictablity/working with what you have (Salles recounted how he'd work with scenes he happened upon while filming Diarios de motorcicleta)

Despite the feeling that there is nothing left in the world to explore, Salles is still confident in the power of road movies:

"Road movies...are about experiencing, above all. They are about the journey. They are about what can be learned from the other, from those who are different. In a world that increasingly challenges these ideals, the importance of road movies as a form of resistance can't be dismissed."

"[R]oad movies are necessary as ever to tell us who we are, where we come from and where we're heading."

On another note, Salles is also working on the adaption of On the Road, of which the cast has yet to be chosen. I am iffy about this, since it's one of my favorite books, and it can very easily turn out messy. Looking at his track record, I'm hopeful, but there's always that fear.

And to end on a better note, as Kerouac wrote in On the Road (they released his original manuscript and I want to read it, and check out the new exhibit at my very first volunteer location at the New York Public Library):

"What is that feeling when you're driving away from people and they recede on the plain till you see their specks dispersing? It's the too huge world vaulting us, and it's goodbye. But we lean toward to the next crazy adventure beneath the skies."

I Now Walk Into the Wild

Emile Hirsch as McCandless hitching a ride. Photo courtesy of River Road Entertainment.

Into the Wild is an amazing piece of journalism, both the article and the novel. Krakauer knows how to investigate and report in a thrilling, spellbinding way.

Granted, the story is set up perfectly for him: a young newly graduated 22 year old man cut off all ties with his family and with anything else that could potentially tie him down to the kind of humdrum life that he was utterly afraid of (my opinion) and set off to traverse across America, making money only when neccessary to further his travels by way of purchasing equipment and this all led to his ultimate goal: Alaska, going to and truly being in and with Alaska, where he was later found dead.

Krakauer has an eye for interesting stories.

Now, it appears Sean Penn has the same kind of eye Krakauer does. After finding and reading about McCandless' life, Penn decided to write and direct a film based on Krakauer's novel, coming out September 21st.

Now, I was iffy about the movie because of Penn. While being an amazing actor (as seen in I Am Sam and Mystic River), he struck me as sort of crazy, but this might be due to my obsession with celebrity gossip. Nevertheless, I was worried as to what he would do with the film. After watching it, I am still mixed.

On the whole, I really liked (I can't bring myself to say I loved it) the movie—the cinematography was simply splendid—the expanse of the Californian and Nevadan deserts or the range of mountains flanking McCandless' walks in Alaska or the gushing Colorado River where McCandless' illegally kayaked (I have a thing for that). These scenes were set up beautifully.


Kayaking down the Colorado River. Photo courtesy of River Road Entertainment.

Emile Hirsch (who I've only seen in The Girl Next Door, so yeah...) became the embodiment of McCandless fully, with his desire to connect to the natural world and get away from everything materialistic, his naively reckless nature (i.e. parking in a flash flood zone) and just his heart. And, at the same time, Hirsch exhibited McCandless' unknowingly cold-heartedness, as seen in the scene with Ron (Hal Holbrook) who asked McCandless if he could adopt him as his grandchild. McCandless pauses and simply replies, "Ron, can we talk about this when I get back?" That really says it all.

Through seeing Hirsch as McCandless in his element, trolloping through the wild with his crazy hair and beard sticking up everywhere and making do with whatever he has available to himself, i.e. creating a showering can in Alaska, we as the viewers could feel his pure joy and you could almost feel free ourselves. It is inspiring.

At the end, Hirsch becomes that desperate, changed man who wants so much more than just dying in that Fairbank bus by himself because of a stupid mistake.

So, that's mostly the praise.

Now, at first, I enjoyed the opening credits—McCandless' words by way of letters are superimposed over glimplses of his life in Alaska (without really seeing McCandless' visage at first, which is a nice touch) accompanied simply with music and no narration at all. It gives us the setup in an absorable manner.

What gets annoying is when Penn employs the yellow handwritten lettering throughout the movie. There is no reason to do so and it detracts from its first usage.

And, this is sort of a minor thing to complain about, but being the girl who notices fonts and styles and all that, I think Penn could have done a better job with fonts throughout the movie. That fat, serif font with black borders doesn't fit in with the vibe of the movie. What would've been better in the thin, sans serif font used on the book jacket.

Then, there is the narration. We hear McCandless' voice, both in the present of his experiences and through his letters and words. There are nice moments where there are simply no sounds and all we have in front of us is McCandless himself. Penn, however, decides that there should be more voices to this story of a lone wanderer and uses McCandless' sister, Carine (Jena Malone) to depict a wholly other side of McCandless' story. While the sentiment is commendable (wanting to portray a more three-dimensional perspective as to who McCandless' was), Carine's voice was too dramatic. It would have been better if we were simply given McCandless story though the man himself and it was through his interactions with secondary characters that we see what it was Rainy, Jan, Ron and everyone else saw in him.

That would have been more subtle.

It is through Carine's narration that we learn about McCandless' home life. Although it's been a year since I've read the book, I honestly don't believe that we truly knew how much his parents' relationship shaped who McCandless was. The movie depicted a much more volatile situation than really was known. Too much screen time was wasted on this.


Urban camping in California. Photo courtesy of River Road Entertainment.

Directors get to play with the medium of film, but I think Penn tried too hard to utilize what he thought were interesting camera angles and film effects/techniques. Seeing McCandless walk through the snowy tundra in slow-motion as the soft sunlight casts his figure out of focus is impressive once, but seeing him embrace his shower against the sun is unnecessary.

And that one shot of the truck passing by over the camera that you know is lying on its side on the road? Yeah.

During his time alone, we are given McCandless in the whole. There were times where he'd sing or talk to himself (i.e. to the apple "of his eye") which were great. Talking to yourself when you're by yourself makes complete sense and sort of humanizes the entire endeavor a bit more. What got irritating was when McCandless looked directly into the camera, as if he had a secret to share with you.

Then, there is the death scene—I think it it could have been done more simply in a way that was more fitting to McCandless instead of quick flashes of the blinding white sunlight, McCandless' sunken, pale face and the random, deep scream. Penn, however, did an excellent job shooting the sickly McCandless staggering through his trailer with the camera unfocused on his barely-there body.

Chris McCandless, the 23 year old man, in a way, inspired the creation of what I like to think of as the new Nadia. I wrote about the book in an essay for my senior work about my first solo venture across the continent. Though my trip was hardly comparable to McCandless' amazing treks, it was sort of done in the same vein. And it because of this, I am disappointed because the film didn't amaze me as much as it could have potentially.


Writing by the beach. Photo courtesy of River Road Entertainment.

The Cusp of Harry Potter

*May contain Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows & Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (film) spoilers. You've been warned.*


Welcome to Harry Potter Central (also known as Barnes and Noble at Union Square).

"And now, Harry, let us step out into the night and pursue that flighty temptress, adventure."
—Dumbledore in The Half-Blood Prince

It's difficult ending a series whether it be films, TV shows or in this case, books. Think of all the disappointing series finales. Take Sex and the City: big fuckin' deal, his name is John, wow. Compare that to Six Feet Under's beautiful series finale, which is hands-down the best finale I've ever seen. It is expected and unexpected at the same time, answers all of my questions from the entire series, doesn't get old and made me cry. Alan Ball knew what he was doing.

And in the same way, J.K. Rowling knew what she was doing with Harry Potter. From the amazing tale of a baby surviving the most notorious evil wizard's failed spell within a magical world where wizards and witches live along with Muggles (or, you know, non-magical people) and there is the fight between good (Dumbledore, Aurors, the Order of the Phoenix, Gryffindor and most of Hogwarts) and evil (Voldemort/You-Know-Who/Tom Riddle, Death Eaters), Rowling's story grew into a fully developed and wonderfully explored story and an enormous phenomenon, both for children and adults alike.

Because it was the last book, Josh, my sister and I decided to go all out and join the festivities at the Union Square Barnes and Noble after making a quick stop at Scholastic's blowout at Mercer and Prince Street where the mechanical Whomping Willow almost broke and a hand popped through one of its wailing branches.


Making wands at the wandshop.

There, as we were surrounded by people dressed up like Harry Potter, parents, a dog dressed up as a bat and random Harry Potter characters (my sister was terrified of the thestral), we drank potions at The Apothecary, made wands (where we waited near the travel section, thank god, and an adorable boy kept biting Josh), listened to Jim Dale read bits of Order of the Phoenix out loud, randomly ran into people that either of us knew (friends from college and my sister's elementary school friend), watching the press run around and get their interviews, videos and pictures, and just waiting, lots and lots of waiting. Because we didn't reserve the books ahead of time for gold wristbands (they didn't exactly advertise that, did they?), Josh waited in line that Friday morning and received a red wristband, which meant we would receive our books after all the lucky gold wristbanded people got theirs. And that meant we wandered around Barnes and Noble a lot.


Adorable little Remus Lupin.

After leaving the store at 2 a.m. and getting home at 3 a.m. I finished Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows at 12 p.m. Saturday. After all the hype, it didn't even come close to being disappointing.

I don't want to spoil the book too much. The sixth book, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, was completely spoiled for me and to this day, I hate that person. But like I said earlier, with the exception of one chapter, this book was amazing. Rowling dished out the expected but it didn't seem too cheesy or predictable. There were flashbacks to earlier books and she even brought up minuscule details that didn't seem important at the time but here in the world of Deathly Hallows, everything depended on them. She explained all without letting the readers down. And while Harry Potter is ideally for kids, she threw in more mature developments, such as the eagerness at which Harry kisses. The battles are epic, especially the final showdown and Rowling shows no mercy with who ventures to the other side, whether they be a Death Eater or member of the Order of Phoenix. She also has a wonderful way of creating scenes. My favorite in this book, besides the battles, was the house on the cliff overlooking the ocean.


Counting down to midnight for the official book release.

Now, taking a step back, the week before, on July 10th, the three of us watched the midnight showing of Order of the Phoenix. Director David Yates (previously of mostly British television shows) took the reins from Alfonso Cuarón (HP and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Y tu mamá también) and created a brilliant film. Yates focuses completely on the larger picture—the question of what is behind the door that Harry (Daniel Radcliffe, who is incredibly attractive and looks older than he actually is and is legal as of today so it's okay for me to say that) dreams of as he enters Voldemort's mind and everything that leads up to it: Dumbledore's Army, the Order of the Phoenix, being reunited with his godfather, Sirius Black (the wonderful Gary Oldman). Though I did wonder how Cuarón would have approached the dark halls of the Ministry of Magic's Department of Mysteries.


The Whomping Willow at SoHo.

I could have done without Harry's and Cho's awkward and near-romance. Yates also created more implications within the film than they were in the movie, which isn't a good thing. As Sirius and Harry duel Death Eaters, Sirius outrightly calls Harry James, the name of Harry's dead father and Sirius' best friend, thus not subtly showing that that Sirius viewed Harry as a James-substitute. And there were far more longing-/loving-glances at hopeful-significant others. Other than that, Order of the Phoenix ties with Mike Newell's Goblet of Fire (which happens to be one of my favorite Harry Potter books, along with Deathly Hallows now). Whoever directs the final movie must do an excellent job, especially with the epic battle.


The line outside of the Union Square Barnes and Noble. Sadly, those people couldn't buy the book because they closed the store after all the red-wrist-banded people got theirs. My friend, who was waiting on that line at first, walked over to the 22nd and 6th Avenue Barnes and Noble and got his book at 1 pm. Yeah.

And now that the tales of Harry Potter are over, there's nothing left to do but go back and reread the books, starting from The Sorcerer's Stone (or, if you prefer, The Philosopher's Stone) and look for all the details I previously missed and just wonder if Equus is really coming to Broadway.

Dreaming of the Surface of the Sun

**contains spoilers for Sunshine, so, if you don't wanna ruin the movie, then, don't read.**


Clliff Curtis as Searle in the viewing room of the Icarus. Photo from Fox Searchlight Pictures.

With hints of Space Odessey: 2001, director Danny Boyle masterfully tells and shows the story in Sunshine of the mission of Icarus II, the space crew sent to save the dying Sun by creating another star within it. Seven years prior, the first crew of Icarus I failed to do so.

He reluctantly uses to create effects that he himself cannot, but as he tells the New York Times, he tries his best to stick to real images as possible. He didn't want to create a fantastically world—he is simply depicting space. And he does, wonderfully. What stands out about Sunshine isn't really the plot, it is how the story is told,

Icarus II finds the lost Icarus I on Mercury. The crew decides to see what is left and what could be saved. On board, they find the captain's, Pinbacker (Mark Strong) last recording. With no more hope, Pinbacker rants about death, control of death and God through jumpy, digitized views where we are shown glimpses of his horridly disfigured face. Then Harvey (Troy Garity), second-in-command of Icarus II, stumbles upon their bodies, slumped over one another in front of the filter.

They died basking in the Sun.

Boyle depicts this beautifully and quickly—their bodies are gray silhouettes against swirling gray dust. Their deaths are explained by a quick glimpse at the darkly framed filter, its center pure white.

Before this, Icarus II's captain, Kaneda (Hiroyuki Sanada), clad in a glittery gold spacesuit, is engulfed by the sheer strength of the Sun's rays while trying to fix damaged Searle (Cliff Curtis) begs him to describe what it is like, staring and being in the sun, but he does not answer. He just allows himself to be consumed by its heat and then it is over. The music emphasizes this moment even further, the steady loud thudding beats of drums race both hearts and minds.

In fact, Boyle and Underworld create a beautifully epic soundtrack, complete with reverberated sounds and sweeping strings mixed with the delicate yet strong stepping notes of piano.

Searle tells Capa (Cillian Murphy) "We're only stardust," and with Sunshine, Boyle and screenwriter Alex Garland, offers a gorgeous new insight into a possible future.


Cillian Murphy, as Capa, worked well as the hopeful and ideal-in-a-twisted-way physicist on the Icarus with his brilliant eyes, scraggly long hair, hints of his Irish accent and of course, his acting. Photo from Fox Searchlight Pictures.