Thursday, August 18, 2011

Jane Eyre

Well. It was marvelous. Rochester wasn't ugly enough, and they missed most of my favorite inner monologues, but what they used was mostly Bronte's, and therefore truly brilliant. I love this book. My DH doesn't. He spent the whole time irritated and confused by what was going on. Which is fine, I mean, it's supposed to be a gothic novel where you're wondering what's going on. It's fun. Oh, I liked Rochester. How nicely acted. I missed the scenes they skipped, the gypsies, the dialogues together, oh, I love their dialogues together, but they got some nice ones. Alice played Jane quite well. The cinematography was lovely as was the architecture. It was quite enjoyable. It would have been better seen with a group of like minded women, you know, who weren't asking all the time why Jane would like Rochester who is such a jerk, but that's all right. It's the romance, you know, the passion, the fact that he loved her when she'd always thought she wasn't particularly lovable. Besides that, he was interesting. Enough said. Well worth watching!

Wednesday, August 17, 2011

The Priest, or How to waste Acting Talent

If I were going to find someone to play a one dimensional character, I would find someone who embodies one dimensional characters. Like Aarnold Schwartzneiger or Jet Li, or you know, those action types. Not Chaucer. Bettany, whose first name slipped my mind although I googled it five seconds ago, is not one dimensional. He gives life and spark to lines as well as Snape, whose name I also don't remember, but wasn't he marvelous in that wine tasting film? Not like he isn't marvelous in anything he does, oh, but I digress. Bettany is casted as a soulful priest who hunts vampires. I was prepared to absolutely love this. I love the bad guy, he was actually the best part of this film. The guy on RED, the good guy bad guy who couldn't decide which side he was supposed to be on. Anyway, whoever directed The Priest saved all the coolness for the bad guy, when Priest could have been seriously tormented and interesting. With lines that carried. Oh well. The most memorable line was from a preview, don't remember what movie it was from, but it went something like, "Weapons: They have to choose sides too," and wasn't that a brilliant line. Not. It made me giggle though, and that is the purpose of movies. The music was truly melodramatic, and the only one who played with that was the bad guy. He was fun while he slaughtered things, didn't take himself soooo seriously. The Priest was too serious and boring. And what did they get rid of his accent for? Anyway, I liked the movie anyway, even though I kept waiting in vain for Bettany to be brilliant. The girl was absolutely madly lovely. I loved to see her slash people to bits and show all the internal turmoil that the Priest stoically (and slightly constipatedly) did not show.

Saturday, August 13, 2011

Hardy Fools

"Yes," I heard myself say. His smile glimmered showing predatory white teeth. My stomach clenched and I told myself that I didn't have a choice, that this beat the alternative, that saying no hadn't really been an option anyway. Even if he hadn't brought a few guards outside my shop, he was enough of a threat.

"I'll give you a month," he said turning towards the door.

I laughed. Yes, it was stupid to laugh at someone like him, dangerous, cocky, pretentious, all that goes with being a prince, but I couldn't help it. "If you want eternal life, you'll have to be a little more patient than that. There are ingredients that I'll need from the four quarters of the world."
He looked skeptical, but I used my mystical voice, the one that I'd worked hard at perfecting and apparently gave me enough heft that he didn't draw his sword and lop off my head then and there. Always good.
"How long?" He was not patient. It was just as well. When you came right down to it, I wanted to get my own out of this deal as soon as possible. The sooner I saw the last of this prince, the better.
"One year beginning with summer solstice. Each season must be inbued into the candlestick." Of course it wouldn't do to admit that it was all in the candles. Not at all. "Also, you must give me proof of payment before I begin. That gives you two weeks to bring me the first head."
He nodded because he didn't mind the idea of bringing people heads. Of people. Perfect.

Friday, August 12, 2011


It was never the candlesticks, always the candles, what you add to the wax. Not that the carving wasn't important. How could you remember what was in the mixture if you didn't have it labeled? Mislabeling could be very deadly.
He wasn't interested in anything I had on hand, not any one of the great three, health, wealth, love, no. He wanted to take on death. Which brings me back to the candle, the one that burns on both ends. How can you light such a candle and have it last more than one night? It's more than a theoretical impossibility. There will be finger burning involved at the very least. I had a notion that the least was not what I'd end up giving.
He wasn't the kind of person who took the least a person could offer and pay full price for it. So that was the thing. Was I willing to play this game with someone who was willing to face, no, to defeat death?

Thursday, August 11, 2011


His eyes were waxy, like at any moment they would drip and burn down his cheeks, searing to the bone. Or maybe that was only because she'd been doing too many candles lately. There was that quote, the one her father always told her, something about candles burning on both ends. He'd been a candle maker as well. He'd taught her everything she knew, but not enough to know how to deal with this crisis, this person in front of her who demanded so much, who offered her everything she wanted, needed, all she had to do was give him a candle that would burn for him. Forever. There were stories about such candles, but she'd never meddled with myths before. Myths were what destroyed her father.

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

Somewhere between here and there

Queen Anne's lace. Fluttering. Delicate fronds, open like a tablecloth over every doubt you ever had. What can we eat from such a spread of frothy? Peppermint jam, peachcombs and slatherberry tartes. It's like the emerging day, inmerging night, and all those stars, scattered, scattering even as you watch them, racing towards that dawn while the wind brings nodding tables, beneath the stars, and you and I may dine on delicious.