I think I must have somehow rewired my DNA over the Christmas break, because I have gained the ability to defy sleep…
The family were away last night and I was left to my own devices (never a good thing), which meant I eventually forced myself to go to bed at around 3.30am…and I struggled to get to sleep even then…and I woke up three hours later to get ready for work and I feel absolutely fine. Invigorated. I can’t decide whether or not this is a Bad Thing.
I’ve got into the habit of watching loads of Lost re-runs over the last week or so. Frickin’ obsessed with that show. I see Hurley’s numbers everywhere, flickering behind my eyelids like Tetris blocks…
So, last night, I dug out the half-bottle of brandy that I bought for Christmas, stretched out on the couch and indulged myself.
Which brings me neatly to Day 3 of the Brain Candy Blow-Out. I feel that my cup may be starting to runneth over:
SEEN: Unleashed – Once upon a time there was a man called Bruce Lee. But he died. And then along came another man, and he was called Jackie Chan. He was known as “The New Bruce Lee.” Until Jet Li came along…and then he was “The New Bruce Lee”. Until last year, when people starting calling Tony Jaa “The New Bruce Lee”… But before I disappear up a Post-Modern Bunghole, let’s backpeddle a step to the Last New Bruce Lee.
Unleashed gives Jet Li the opportunity to do something he doesn’t often get the opportunity to do: act. Sure, he kicks much ass, but in between all the bone-snapping, the gravity-defying critter gets to exercise his thespian chops too. This Is Good. Unleashed reminds me an awful lot of Leon. Unsurprising, because the fingerprints of Luc Besson are all over this thing. Like Leon, this is the story of a killing machine who discovers love and emotions amongst all the crunching cartilage and arcing sprays of blood.
And it’s great. You get a full-on scenery-chewing Bob Hoskins, you get grey, rainy Glasgow, you get Morgan Freeman at his avuncular best, you get Mozart and underground fight clubs and the joys of vanilla ice cream and wire-fu. Also, you get a film that succeeds in convincing you that Violence is Wrong, whilst indulging in some brutal and exciting set pieces. Something for the sensitive adrenalin junkie in your life.
READ: The Pocket Essential Sergio Leone by Michael Carlson – When I started film critiquing years ago, we used to get handed books like this all the time to review. But they’re review-proof. It’s a brief whirlwind tour through a genre / director / actor (delete as applicable) which is readable enough and handy when you need to either research something or you’ve got some time to kill. This book is one of the better entries in the series, but the only truly essential Leone book is Christopher Frayling’s stunning Something To Do With Death which is exhaustive and perfect in all ways. My main gripe with the book is the number of typos. For such a slender volume, there’s a hell of a lot of them. Surely proofreaders aren’t that expensive these days?
CLICKED: So at around 1am, I fired up the laptop for an aimless surf, and I stumbled upon the nexus of all musical realities, Last.FM. I couldn’t leave it alone. Track after track of funky goodness delivered straight to my hungry earholes, from forgotten favourites to new discoveries. All my musical prayers have been answered. Loads of interesting bits to play with, and I’m thinking of adding something to the blog from over there, too.
One of my aims this year is to customise Sucker Punch a bit more, to move away from the feeling of Huge Chunks of Text. There will be The New and The Shiny here this year. Oh yes, there will, as I trick the blog out with lovelinesses. Think of it as Pimp My Site.
And this seems as good a time as any to remind you of the following: You love me. You all love me. I make women swoon, and I make men get all Brokeback on me. Why am I telling you all this? Because it’s time for nominees for the 2006 Bloggies. Go and vote. And spare a thought for the fella who sent you, eh? Just sayin’…
Still got that spring in my step, and that glide in my stride.