Go See Slumdog Millionaire

If there's one film to cap off this year and meet the new year with more hopefulness to muster, it would be Slumdog Millionaire.

I get fuzzy-wuzzy warm thoughts just thinking about it. Maybe it doesn't help that I have a pervy crush on Dev Patel. I can't help it! He reminds me of that geeky, over-achieving 12th grader Indian boy genius (who knew far too much British History for his own good) I had a silly schoolgirl crush on when I was 11. I completely forget his name, but whatever. He was cute. On that premise, it's not totally wrong, is it? I digress.

Slumdog Millionaire is hot champorado on a lazy Sunday afternoon. Familiar, comforting, modest and absolutely delicious.

The deliberate use of saturated colors and AH Rahman as its sonic master, brought out what Danny Boyle intended of this film: nostalgic and almost romantic. The world is beautiful and yes, there is beauty in the agony of being painfully poor.

If there's any forewarning I need to issue before you do scout for downloadable links and dibidi copies, it's that Slumdog Millionaire is totally a love story. And yes, like most Indian films, there is dancing! So if you're a total grinch, don't watch this if you're bent on keeping your neo-smartass political attitude towards the third world.

Here's the trailer that gave me goosebumps:



This is a short clip from the film with the boys on the train and M.I.A. declaring her fixation over paper planes. Gah, that remix is a killer.


P.S. I am going to the Taj Majal someday. Mister Gandhi, please make it happen.

Keep On Walking

This sonic mumbojumbo is dedicated to that lukewarm, distant, unfamiliar future, wherever the hell you are. This is from the brilliant garage extravaganza, The Mess Halls.





I feel like hitting something, okay, throwing furry lightweight stuff. Or reaching out for my pinhole picture-creature. Either or. Aim and shoot, baby.

Diyeeegoh And Everything Relevant

I know, it's a crime. I didn't finish Milk.

How could I? Diego Luna was battling with all my fantasies of him and Tuscany! Or some relevant Before-Sunrise scene!

Sean Penn is nothing short of a genius with his art, but so help me Gus, I cannot stomach him and my Diyeeegoh kissing! Oi! I thought I was prepared for it, too. I hoped and prayed that I wouldn't lose my sh-t when he'd ineffectively (of course, he would be) make goo-goo eyes at Harvey Milk. But I'm not too self-possessed these days.

Milk is a little film of mass proportions on the history of gay rights movement in the US. In the little over 40 minute footage I saw, the level of awareness and activism exploding all over my monitor screen was pure magic. You gotta love men on a mission. Gay or straight.

Watching Harvey Milk calling out to the sea of angry faces to march the streets of San Fransisco sent a familiar feeling you don't normally shake off at times like these. Like impatience, nausea and nostalgia exploding in a blender at high speed.

All I need now is Slumdog Millionaire to intoxicate me with its saturated reds. Someone give me a copy, pretty please?

Tis The Season

It's the most wonderful time of the year.. to be gullible and play victim.

Three days ago, my sister lost her phone to a stealthy secondhand merchandise enthusiast. He was on the prowl for the blood of defenseless phone-toting bystanders. Today, however, offered a more interesting turn in street-no-smarts.

In a jeepney ride from Sto. Nino Church, a passenger stole my five peso coin. He took it before handing the driver the rest of the fare. It was very criminal savvy. I didn't realize what had just gone down until the driver accused us as freeloading pansies as we proceeded to flee, err, terminate the carriage contract . Not his exact words, but the 50 year old scowl on his face said so, along with a few syllables that escapes me. The shame killed all neural traffic.

Was I to curse every fiber of this coin-napper's morally revolting being? Or was I to denounce my demons and bless him instead?

I chose to be a wuss, I took pity. I'm not saying this out of my ass: if he needed that five peso coin that bad, I would have offered my last 20.

I laid down my bases for an ounce of sympathy. The guy looked lost, in need of a shower(or three) and a meal. Someone you could easily pick out of the tens of faces that haunt the dingy streets of Colonnade. I realized, I do not make a good cold-blooded executioner.

The Christmas season invites the most creative and distorted versions of giving and receiving from common criminals and petty theives.

God bless you on yer merry way.

An Ode To The Cosmos

It’s week three of post-bar depression. And I’m this close of hurling myself off the deck with the amount of review material I’ve yet to eat in haste.

Yes, Virginia, I was not on that list. I was on the other one, which my dear sister, to her avid consolation, has dubbed the “normal” people list (whatever that means).

At times like these, we all need juicy fruit gum ---- and unconditional ( and unsolicited) pep talk and a generous swig of toxin. It’s coke floats for me. What did you think?

I’ve taken to blogging this point in my life purely for self-serving reasons-- to keep myself in check and throw that perpetual existential question to the void, in the hopes of being answered with a shinning beam of light. Why? Why? Why?!?

I’ve resigned to the truth that I may never know exactly why. The bar exam is not only a question of intellectual fodder -- how much you know, how much you don’t know -- but an agreeable nod from the cosmos, which hapless examinees have a penchant of calling Destiny. The only thing that has kept me from believing still is that adamant quote for everyone’s one-man crusade --- “its not your time yet“. Needless to say, this sucks colossal ass. I've become a statistic.

Despite the wave of self-doubt and self-deprecation, however, I’m still slightly optimistic. This will not kill me. I still keep to heart that line from everyday philosopher Paolo Coelho. He puts, “when somebody wants something, the whole Universe conspires in their favor.” Maybe this time around, ey?

Moments like these, I wish I had taken that different route and pledged my life to the circus.

Zombies!

Hey, Kids!

Click click for a little treat: Zombies!

In this mad-evil age where subliminal videoke shampoo commercials, the Pussycat Dolls, and ultra-consumerism are confused for teenage mentality, Tiny Masters of Today reminds us that there's still hope for today's generation of me-me-me's. I refuse to believe that the kids today aren't mindless sheep or zombies.



Hologram world was directed by the fantastic, fantastic Karen O. See if you can spot her in the vid. :)

I miss the Yeah Yeah Yeah's. 'Good news though, they're recording a new album! Yay! Fever to Tell is still making my head spin. Hee.

Tokyo and Friends