'Tis but the funeral of the former year. ~ Alexander Pope, To Mrs. M. B, line 9
Technically, today isn't my birthday, as 1964 was a leap year. But then, more technically, tomorrow isn't my birthday, either. Do the math. Anyway, isn't it peculiar that we cheer the anniversary of births and mourn deaths, when the accumulation of birthdate anniversaries merely marks off the approach of death, which we mourn? Yes, it is most peculiar.
Cold and windy here in Providence. Cold. On my goddamn birthday. On May 26th. Cold. Currently 57˚F, sunny, wide carnivorous sky® blue as murder, with winds at 19-28 mph.
Last night, for reasons known only to....well, no one...we actually paid Amazon $4.99 to watch Richard LaGravenese's atrocious Beautiful Creatures (2013). Here's a film without even the balls to be bad. It's just dull. One hundred and twenty-four minutes of dull. There are many ways that a bad movie can redeem itself. Beautiful Creatures can't even manage, for example, camp...though Jeremy "I recently lost my bloody mind" Irons and Emma Thompson clearly, wisely, refuse to take their roles seriously. I have no idea if Kami Garcia and Margaret Stohl's novel on which this is based (and its three sequels) are any good, but based on the box-office figures from this bomb, they'll never be adapted for the big screen. I kept thinking what other directors could have done with the material. John Hughes, for example. John Hughes – ca. Some Kind of Wonderful and Sixteen Candles – could have made a poignant and funny coming-of-age movie out of that mess. Ah, well.
We also finished Season Seven of Dexter, which didn't suck.
More later. Maybe.
It Came From 1964,