Of the Beauty of the Beast

I saw King Kong yesterday. Completely blown away by it. Now before you judge me, take me not for some mindless movie watcher - connoisseur of Hollywood Austin Powers OTT shite. I would in fact think that most hollywood formula lovers wouldn't entirely love or appreciate the magnificence of this film - one that redefines the monster movie and gives us the epic without the scope of the easy go-to option - the trilogy.

But most of all, the vision of the film is extraordinary. Yes, I know I haven't seen Crash or any of the other unbelievably great films of the year - yet - but to me, Kong sits up there as one of the better films of the year with pride and grace.

And having said that, I move on.

I also saw Narnia this past weekend. And I really have little good to say about it other than there were some nice colors every now and again. That's about it. I didn't think much of it before I saw Kong and I think even less of it after. Arguably, it felt like LotR lite - for kids. Which, as a point has been made, most of the people who would have really read the books or be familiar with teh literature aren't going to be the rotten little kiddies - it would be the elder folk of this generation and of generations past - so to design the movie with this kind of childish sensibility is to go ahead and ignore the main audience in the first place. Kind of like a subtle kick to the nads if you ask me. As subtle as a nad-kicking can get.

I don't really exist, do I? A figment of my own imagination. Crafted by my own limited creativity, I live in this weird dream of patterns and nightmarish moments. It's an odd state to pass through. Nothing's entirely real - unless it's something that can hurt and then the pain becomes all too believable. Nothing good really transpires. It's all illusion. Every laugh and object of desire. It can't really be so, can it?

Till it comes around.