Red Cliff: a review.

Red Cliff, misdirected by John Woo, is a state-produced Chinese movie about men with dense, flowing black locks who enjoy wearing various armored outfits and commanding tens of thousands of expendable soldiers to their annihilation.



These men spend the majority of their screen time making awkward and sometimes creepy faces at the camera and at one another as they predict the weather ("If, during a warm winter, the clouds enshroud the sun, then a southeast wind will blow ...") and dictate nonsensical military philosophy at their numerous underlings. The remainder of the film is taken up by tedious violence of the most ludicrous order.





There is a strange echo of that scene from Shakespeare in Love in which Gweneth Paltrow gets spun out of her boob-binding wrap, but this supposed princess outdoes Viola De Lesseps by disguising herself as a soldier of the enemy and living in their midst for days as she sketches a map of their encampment on her boob-binding wrap; upon her return, greeted by her brother (a king) and all his buddies (generals and other important people), she starts undressing and insists upon getting spun out of her binding in front of everybody until it is finally revealed that J. C. Penney had some market share in women's underthings during the Three Kingdoms era.



Lest we forget that this is a John Woo extravaganza, there is this:





The U.S. release runs 150 minutes, and I felt every single one. It comes close to being so bad that it is awesome, and it partly succeeds by being so bad, but it is clearly not awesome. It made me ponder the essence of movies that are so bad that they are awesome.

Incredibly, in Asia it was released as a 2-part thinger running 280 minutes long combined. It was also a huge success, grossing $125 million worldwide. If we generously assume that each ticket pair was $20, more than six million people spent 280 minutes absorbing Woo-induced gore and facial contortions. That is 1,680,000,000 minutes that the world will never get back. Do yourself a favor.

A reading list for April.

Cormac McCarthy. In the past month I have read The Road, Blood Meridian, Outer Dark and Child of God. Never before has anyone written about murder, cannibalism, incest, filth and general human depravity with such grace and beauty. I am smitten.

Orson Scott Card, Ender's Game. Card is certainly a visionary; the kids at the academy are using iPads and Ender's sister is blogging on the internet, and Card was writing in the seventies. As a piece of literature the book falls short.

Paul Auster, Invisible. The book is great but in the end it does not deliver the toe-curling postmodern climax one expects from Auster. Lots of steamy and, ahem, unconventional sex.

[As an aside, incest has been a recurring theme in many of these books. Outer Dark is the biggest offender but Invisible comes close. Ender does not get with his sister but there is some sense that he wants to. Child of God has only a little bit. There isn't room for incest in Blood Meridian among the mass murder and rape, and no one in The Road is feeling much amorous.]

I am currently reading: Gary Jennings, Aztec; Roberto Bolano, 2666; Cormac McCarthy, No Country for Old Men.

A few words about the iPad.

All weekend I had managed to avoid the Apple store for fear that I might succumb to the siren song of the iPad, the ridiculous name and all. I reasoned that this was a device for which I literally had no need. Guilt would follow an impulse purchase.

But this week I felt strongly the pull of Jobs, and I found myself with an iPad this evening.

The second I "unboxed" the tablet, the air around me became remarkably free of allergens, my plants spontaneously grew half an inch, and my surgically repaired left knee rid itself of that pesky grinding sensation at full extension. Later I found that my bookshelves had ordered themselves into a category-and-author arrangement, and that the ring around the toilet had disappeared.

The user experience can best be described as that of the iPhone/iPod Touch, augmented by a psychedelic state of pure bliss and fulfillment, and a palpable sense of achievement every single time you swipe your finger across the glass.

There are frankly way too many applications available in the store to distract you from the obvious pastime of staring at the home screen until it goes dark, and then turning it on again.

The battery life is such that it actually generates surplus voltage that can be used to recharge the computer that has the honor of syncing with the iPad. And if this computer is a Mac and it is connected to your wall outlet, it will roll back your power bill and possibly earn you a decent living as a net producer of electricity into the grid.

I will report any further insights as I gain knowledge of its wonders and intentions.

And no, I have no buyer's remorse. The iPad has made guilt obsolete. It is carved from a billet of hope and assembled by a team of Chinese angels. It shall lift the veil of ignorance off the huddled masses and reveal to them the wonderment and spectacle that is the world.

...

Those looking for more objectivity: Ars Technica, Gizmodo, Engadget.

Snow

From a distance, Seoul is all apartment buildings and mountain peaks.


An accident somehow left this lone car perpendicular to the traffic in the middle of an elevated highway.


Nearing the center of the older city, north of the Han.


Our octogenarian taxi driver was very grateful for our fare. He sat extremely close to the steering wheel, NASCAR-style.


Wait! Watch out for motorcycles when getting out!


Insa-dong is an artsy neighborhood where the shopping is more my speed.


The man who sold us some of these necklaces was scolded by his wife for having given us a buy-five-get-one-free deal.


A lot of the shops here do not allow photography. Being a daring rebel, I surreptitiously took a bunch of pictures without looking through the viewfinder.


A restaurant with a traditional facade.


Poop bread! Strawberry bread! 4 for 2000 won.


I liked these lights last time I was shopping in Insa-dong. I still like them.


Snow.


Earthenware.


Bicycle man.


Walnut cookie man.


This is the street just outside my uncle's house, where I grew up. The Seoul that I remember is all narrow, hilly streets and walled-in brick houses, but that is not the Seoul of today.


All bark and no balls.


As a toddler I did a lot of playing in this driveway.


A snowy night in Seoul.


An empty bridge is a rare sight.

Seoul, Christmas 2009

Snack stand on a subway platform


Splitting noodles








Me, mom, and some random unkempt dude on the subway


Dad and mom


A subway station entrance that doubled as a pillow and bedding superstore


Fish cakes and meat on sticks on the sidewalk


Fried potato on a stick on the sidewalk


Shoes for sale


Leggings for sale


A building full of stuff for sale


Merry Christmas!

This Domestic Life

I have a cold. This is a good excuse to spend a sick day and do my homework. These days I rather enjoy the comforts of home.



Recent scientific evidence suggests that the common cold is caused by a deficiency of jook, which is what Koreans call congee. Fortunately, I am getting quite good at making it, and I have loads of rice.



I recently rearranged my apartment. I like the new layout very much.



I called Spider-man to crawl up to the ceiling and take this picture for me. He agrees that this is the best possible layout and encouraged me to become an interior decorator. He is so gay.



Plant life has exploded in my new place. I had a bit of a scale problem on my/Ginna's orange tree, but a bit of neem oil took care of that. I was going to try ladybugs but they are only sold by the pound.



If anyone can help me identify my plants, I would appreciate it.



Pigeons have achieved air superiority over Cobble Hill. I would like to encourage large birds of prey to take up residence on my fire escape and raise a family.

Odds and ends from Central America

This bridge hangs about eight trillion feet off the forest floor in the Monteverde Reserve and I motherfucking crossed it without soiling my pants all that much. Later I learned that it was built by a high school dropout with no engineering training whatsoever.



My favorite part about this picture is not that I just missed the ventilated buttcrack peeking out under the fluttering shirttail of the guy in the back of the pickup, but the smiling face in the rear view mirror at the right edge of the frame.



Someone somewhere considered Ometepe a contender as the most beautiful place in the world.



A coming storm.



This is what it looks like when you are on the bus and you are leaving Monteverde for some crazy, unconvincing reason.