This sentence is thirteen words too many reviewing Olympus Has Fallen. It’s awful.
If I posted that on social media there would be a flame war over if that sentence is thirteen words or fourteen because it’s is two words: it is. Or is it? People would fall out over that irrelevant detail. The movie reviewed would not be discussed.
And perhaps the final two (three, if we must) words are unfair: for what the movie was, mindless, it was a superb example of its genre, I guess, and by sheer body count no doubt stands a chance of keeping the attention of Generation Text (between tweets, at least).
I’m not going to openly admit to having enjoyed it. Plus a silver lining. I’ve been experimenting with the sound system in my cinema room – I have a cinema room and it is a joy – and because more bullets and RPG’s are fired while Olympus (the White House) is falling to North Korean terrorists – there’s the plot – than over the whole of WWII and the Vietnam War, and more loudly, it was a great test of my new settings. Albeit I had to send wee Daisy Dog out from the opening noise so she wouldn’t suffer shell shock.
I read on a writing site you’re not supposed to use the word more, as in ‘more loudly’; it’s weak. I’ll say no more about writing sites on this blog. Or rules.
Daisy – who is a full indoor member of the Hubbard family, as all pets should be – has taken to watching movies with us as well as any dog would take to licking the final globs of ice cream from our Magnum sticks at intermission. I like our cinema room partly because we have intermissions; an institution sadly denied, commercially, nowadays – I don’t know why theatres stopped the ice cream break? And, obviously, Generation Text has a better bladder than I do. Eh, bladders … further conducive to civilised living is that we can hug our wine bottles through movies, although we should’ve cuddled up to something stronger to get us through Olympus falling.
Unlike a good artist, Daisy appears able to tell the difference between art(iface) and life (a subject of many upcoming posts [art and life, not Daisy]). We know this because while we have to keep her out of cities on Guy Fawkes night, she’ll yet sleep – where she sits between us on her seat in the cinema room – through fireworks in movies without a concern.
Goodness: ‘Unlike a good artist.’ Is there an emergent value system in this whimsical blog of mine? You’ll have to keep reading. I hope it doesn’t come to flame wars; that would be anathema to the joie de vivre I wish my every post to travel on, and might well have been the fork in the road I left off my old blog (if I think about it). It was getting too tawdry, too angry; the light was leaving it. And that was not who I am.
Are values, rules?
Have you noticed the new tagline under my blog heading? I just snuck that in there; I’m quoting myself, but more on that in a later post.
Returning to this blog, because it is new, hopefully, by now, you’ve learned that clicking on Daisy’s image in the header above will take you from whichever post you’re in, back to the directory of all posts. That’s our favourite photograph of Daisy, and when I last posted it on my old blog’s sign-off, artist Lindsay Mitchell, a generous, talented woman, a good woman, painted the below portrait for us as her appreciation for the years of documenting my thoughts on politics, economics and philosophy, despite those thoughts are – per a dear virtual friend named Tom – bonkers. I think we got a pretty good deal on the first, and beg to disagree, good-naturedly, on the second.
A point on editing: note how well Lindsay has framed that; what’s included (Daisy), what’s left out (the table).
Compared to Alfred Stevens La Villa des Falaises a Sainte-Adresse, painted in 1884.
A sumptuous painting from the broad strokes to the details, certainly, look at it up close, I love so much about it, but is that little dog doing what I think it is? Because I believe that art is life, they can’t be separated, explaining why so many artists once got themselves into trouble, as they should do because we must have a counter culture and Art has lost that role, it’s establishment now, and why art – good art – is so crucial to our lives, but, regardless, a little judicious editing wouldn’t have been remiss in this instance surely? Okay, that’s life, shit happens; but there’s a place for decorum. And I can’t say more than that.