Blocking

And, despite taking three times as long to write as any of its precursors, Precious doesn't work for me. All too obviously an exercise in blocking, like actors sorting out their marks onstage. Getting things from A to B. Joining the dots.

Ah well, never mind. There'll be plenty of other chances to get things right -- or less wrong -- in future. At least, I hope there will.

Some of this occurred to me while revisiting Desperate Housewives last night. (Channel 4 reshowed the first three episodes back to back, which means I feel even more guilty than I did already for inconveniencing a dear friend earlier in the week to fill a gap.) I like this show a lot, although the suspense elements are over-stretched, and there's too much suburban sitcom filler. It doesn't often hit the Twin Peaks rhythm it would like to, I think, but it's early days yet.

Anyway, there were a few moments of blocking last night. These things can slip past on a first viewing, if done with sufficient élan; it's only TV, after all. But at second sight I occasionally found myself thinking: "Say what? That makes no sense at all; doesn't ring true. It's a scene confected to achieve function X. They're just joining the dots."

I know the feeling.

Yesterday, I played badminton with my friend and intermittent gym partner Stuart. It was our second or third match in a year, and neither of us was in great shape after a rather drunken Friday night. (Augh.) I used to play quite a bit, but these days it's about once every 6 months, so I'm very out of practice -- and it's not like I was ever very good in the first place. Still, I won all three games easily. I hope it doesn't put Stuart off. He could be far better than me with only a tiny bit of work -- he has some great shots and often returns things I lazily expect to be winners -- but right now I have enough tricks up my sleeve to be comfortably on top, and that can be demoralizing. Anyway, it's more fun than lifting weights.

Afterwards, we went to see Elektra, which was rubbish. Not exactly surprising, but a disappointment all the same; the trailer promised more creative appropriation from entertaining Asian sources than the film itself delivered. (Creative appropriation from Asian sources being the whole foundation of Elektra in comicbook form.) The scene with Stick playing pool is amusing, though.

This evening there was more authentic Asian cinema in the form of Wong Kar Wai's quasi-sequel to In the Mood for Love, 2046. It's overlong and massively self-indulgent; also ravishingly beautiful and rather moving. I must admit I was flagging about two thirds of the way through -- and so, I reckon, was the film -- but things picked up again in the last half hour, and all in all I liked it. Not one for the impatient, let's say.

And now it's onto another working week. Oh joy.

It's going to be a tough one. Work is really fucking hard at the moment. I'm responsible for delivering an insanely complicated project next Monday and it's going to be a close-run thing. I suspect that by Wednesday I'll be tearing my hair out, so don't expect too many coherent blog posts. It's possible I'll have things to say; it's more likely I'll be desperately trying to hit my marks.

Getting things from A to B.

Joining the dots.
Posted by matt at January 23, 2005 08:43 PM