Mist in my vision

The Drop, James Gandolfini’s last performance, was wonderful, a neatly crafted, beautifully shot gangster movie.  Tom Hardy veers between lyrical romance and brute physical menace with such restraint that he can use virtually the same expressions to convey them both.  Noomi Rapace is not quite wasted as the utility grade girlfriend, and my ranting pants are at the dry cleaners so I’ll skip to the next part… it had a good score.

Enjoyed Knights of Badassdom, although the overarching conceit of the movie is that if a woman wants to be a meretricious poser and dump the insanely hot Ryan Kwanten that means she should be transformed into a succubus, tortured and summarily killed while Summer Glau looks fondly on. Boys, take your relationship problems a little further downwind before you next write a script.  Bechdel test oh come on now Allegra you’re being oversensitive.  No, I’m not, and neither do I need to belabour the point.

I LOVED PRIDE.  It was a lovely, cheerful, excruciatingly funny, tear-jerking, heartbreaking YA MY PEOPLE movie, and I wouldn’t change a thing about any of the performances.  The music was so good all I can say is anybody in their twenties when this music was the bee’s knees will think they died and woke up listening to CFNY.

Sue upped and back from church one congregant viz me, plus she brought cookies so bonus hit points for her.  I hope to feast her for her birthday. I love my little church. Marilyn’s been laid low with a cold for two weeks and only just struggled back to civilization, so taking on leading the service was much appreciated given her challenges.

Briefly saw Brooke and her Beancat, whose grasp of rhetorical artifice firms apace, and in whom I see alarming signs of possibly becoming an insanely highpriced lawyer.  Dood be smart.

Back to the grind of a mere 2000 words.  A bagatelle, if you can’t see the anchor tied to my ass!

The title of this post is taken from today’s homily, and is about a beautiful moment, not a sad one.