17 March 2006

The Glut Of The Irish

     Well, it has been a while (again), hasn't it?  Seems like blog entries for the Good Doctor have become about as frequent as Queen Victoria's baths.  The past while has been dominated by two things: watching movies and marking essays.  The latter seems with each passing year to take longer and longer, and to drain more and more.  There was a time, hard as it now is to believe, when I would be able to get all my marking done within a week's turnaround.  Not any more; not by a long shot.  Is there a cure for pervasive lethargy?  I wonder....  At least the papers are done now. 
     The movie catchup has been a mixed bag, from watching anew old classics like Lawrence of Arabia and Dr. Strangelove to suffering through some genuine film travesties like The Brown Bunny to see if they were as bad as they were reported to be.  For the record, The Brown Bunny is Vincent Gallo's intolerable attempt to fashion a Kubrickesque revision of Joyce's Ulysses, replete with the hyper-symbolic crapulence you might expect-- torturously-extended silences, eye-numbing white-backgrounds, chilling anti-intimacies presented as agonies of thought and feeling.  In short, the film's a testament to self-indulgence, a term at which a friend of mine invariably cringes when I use it but which surely applies to a film that culminates with its director-star getting an on-screen blowjob from his onetime girlfriend (Chloe Sevigny, definitely going for the Ex of the Year Award).  Other films of late?  War of the Worlds, The Dreamers, Mean Girls, the latest Harry Potter exercise, and the truly disturbing French flick Ma Mère , which features Isabelle Huppert as a sociopathic Jocasta to end all Jocastas. 
     Alas, there's not much to write, which is why I've been out of contact with people almost completely.  (I will write sooner or later, but even writing this entry is almost as forced as The Brown Bunny.)  If anyone out there has any suggestions about how to remedy stultifying apathy, or at least writer's block, let me know.  Until then, I'm off to knock a few back for St. Paddy's Day, and remember all the great wisdom to be taken from this holiest of days:  Err and go braless.

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