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I’d heard so many favorable things about “The Lobster” before seeing it that I almost felt I didn’t need to. But, seeing as “The Favourite” was enjoyable and by the same director, Yorgos Lanthimos, I gave it my time. Apparently he also wrote “The Lobster”, and it seemed lacking in effect ultimately. It came across as cynical to be cynical, without much purpose other than to examine sexual and domestic relationships in excruciating detail.

The idea that people would be turned into animals if they didn’t find a suitable partner within a few weeks of staying in a hotel with other single occupants is absurd on its face, but even more so when it’s depicted in a serious way. Absurdity is part of the point, but it didn’t entertain or enlighten, so it’s a bit of a disappointment. Some scenes were interesting, but didn’t merit a feature length film.

Now that I think about it, the process of turning people into animals was likely just a lie to cover up the fact people were being killed if they didn’t find partners. It would make more sense that way, anyway. But perhaps you’re not supposed to get stuck on this point. Hotel security was also very lacking, which made the whole thing even more absurd.

As for the ending, the female protagonist was blinded by a zealot who believed that no one should have a romantic partner, and her lover was therefore incompatible and decided he would take a steak knife to his eyes to match her in blindness, for compatibility? It’s left intentionally ambiguous as to whether or not the male companion blinds himself in a restaurant bathroom or not, but I choose to think he doesn’t. He probably would realize he didn’t “love” her enough to do it, or that it was a stupid decision and that he could pretend to be blind and she’d never know. Or, he just left here there, blind and alone. It really doesn’t matter, the whole thing was pretty dumb.

I can’t recommend it.

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I showed up a bit too early for a surprise birthday party, had a coffee and waited for nearly 40 minutes and decided to catch a movie while I was down in River Oaks. “The Favourite” looked passively interesting, in a darkly humorously way.

No regrets. It moved along at a good pace and it had one of my own favorite British actresses, Olivia Colman. You can dislike her one moment and forgive her the next, so I suppose she did pretty well. Rachel Weisz and Emma Stone did well in their parts, though Colman seemed to steal the show somehow. I honestly didn’t recognize Nicholas Hoult (Nux from “Mad Max”, again covered in makeup) until near the end and it was fun to see him in an obnoxiously over the top powdered wig.

The camera work was a bit too much at times, with plenty of fish-eyed angles and swirling about. Though it does enhance some scenes, it seems unnecessary at times. Minor complaint. Overall I liked “The Favourite”, it was entertaining and fun to stumble on by chance. I expect it’ll win some awards, period pieces seem to be automatically eligible for them. All in all, good times were had.

I even managed to catch up to the surprise party later, fashionably late.

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It’s all the rage to hate on Facebook lately, but this is nothing new for me, it’s almost a neurotic tradition. I still drop in occasionally and spy on my friends and acquaintances, but it’s kind of disturbing to me how little variety there is from people in terms of content. Or my own personal spam filtering system has become overly aggressive from years of hype culture and marketing. I’m sure it means something to some of them, otherwise why are they posting the pictures, videos, verbal diarrhea at all? Attention and micro-hits of dopamine? There are better, more fulfilling ways to get both, for most of us.

I’m writing because everything seems to be becoming too much for me, and I can only meditate so much and have the urge to express it somewhere. It might as well be here where someone has a chance of reading it, but where most probably will ignore it. I wouldn’t dream of writing all of this on Facebook, even though it might be productive in the end, I’d probably just get backlash about for not being enough of a normie. I’m not normal, and as it’s popular to say, “what is normal, anyway?”

I probably had a natural gift for writing as a child, at least that’s what I’d like to think based on the fact I was always writing horror stories, usually horror comedies. I had quite the imagination, and loved to draw and express myself in ways I wouldn’t feel comfortable with now. But for so many years I’ve just let all of that go in lieu of entertainment and struggling to ‘make it’ in this world. It’s not easy for anyone, and I’m no exception.

Now that I’m writing, or typing, it does fulfill a small piece of myself that has been left to die on the vine. It seems it isn’t dead, and I’m catching myself editing my true thoughts, and expressing myself in ways I can’t with spoken word. It’s good and bad. Writing like this sort of makes me feel like a fraud, like the words don’t reflect my reality accurately. How could they? I’ll have to come to terms with that too I suppose.

Maybe I’ll continue to write, when the mood strikes me. I imagine that I’ll have a curious reader eventually. For now, it’s just words to reflect on for myself. At the very least if I were to shift off this mortal coil there would be something substantial left to remember me by.

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