It was about 15 minutes into 21 Grams last night that I realized I had no idea what it was about. At first I thought it was about a guy recieving a heart transplant from someone else’s dead husband, and then that guy trying to woo the widow, but then I remembered that was a David Duchovney/Minnie Driver romantic comedy, so I must be confused. Guess not. ‘Cept 21 Grams had gunplay. Before anyone gets all up in arms, I’m not mocking the film. I actually found it very effective, particularly the use of short, non-sequential scenes for maximum emotional impact leading into the climax of the film – they were like precisely placed kidney shots, each inflicting a carefully measured dose of misery on one of the three main characters and bringing the audience along for the ride. Even when something good seemed to happen, the fact that you already know how things turns out makes it that much more bitter. It’s for the sole reason that I didn’t feel emotionally manipulated that I think this was a good film, albeit one I doubt I’ll ever need to see again. Not even for naked Naomi Watts (let’s see how many google hits I get for THAT phrase… though most of them will probably be from me. Or Kyle).

Lighter viewing was provided by the Belle & Sebastian Fans Only DVD which has been sitting on my shelf for almost a month now. It’s a really-well assembled package, combining videos, live performances, interviews and general videotaped antics to give an idea of the wonderful world of B&S. While it is overwhelmingly twee at times (enough with the stuffed animals!), the sheer joy that most of the band seems to take from their lives touring the world and playing music really comes through. Even departed cellist Isobel Campbell looks like she’s having fun despite herself. Poor thing. The one thing that did alarm me was that after around the 1-hour mark, the sound and video started mucking up on my DVD player with glitches and dropouts and whatnot, but when I ran it on my computer it played fine, while the 21 Grams DVD played for its full two hours without a hiccup. Whassup with that?

I rarely have any of those textbook-type dreams, but last night I could have sworn I was in university English class about a week before finals and coming to the realization that I hadn’t been to class for the past three months. This is curious for a couple reasons – one, I never took English in university, and two, I am certain I had a dream some months ago where I actually made the decision to stop going to said English class. So somewhere, in my subconcious, is a dream-me who is living in real time, still in school and about to fail English class. Serves him right, the slacker.

np – Calexico / Convict Pool

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