The Proposal, starring Ryan Reynolds and Sandra Bullock, is unfunny, not interesting, predictable and, did I mention unfunny? Sobering? Frustrating? Because I cannot stress how not funny it is. It's annoying when you see a film that has the potential to be good, because this one really did. If they changed every intrinsic part of the film - i.e. cast an old, not generically attractive, actually believably demeaning and terrifying superbitch as Andrew Paxton's boss. Meryl Streep, perhaps. A Julie Cooper type.
Actually, after a prompted IMDB search, Sandra Bullock is forty-five. I didn't realise she was this old. So, if they were going to go for the older actress, why not go for someone who doesn't look mid-thirties?
I am not the biggest fan of the Bullock. Miss Congeniality bored me, and I don't know what the latter word of the film title means.
The Proposal is very much like Wedding Crashers, Failure to Launch, What Happens in Vegas, and every other expensive rom-com released in the past five years starring very famous people for no apparent reason other than for publicity purposes. The Proposal is not the best outlet for Bullock's comedienne attempt; perhaps her bedroom mirror may be more suitable.
Slapstick gags are plentiful: an eagle flying off with the family dog, then dropping the dog and swapping it for the mobile phone of the high maintenance career girl who's phone is, like, her life. Yes, an eagle. There is also the classic falling off a high-speed motor boat stunt whilst the driving companion chats obliviously. I cannot recall specifically seeing these scenes in previous films, but it felt like I had. It felt like I had seen the film before, and not only seen it, but wrote it, produced, directed, acted in it, and oversaw the whole production until it was released, I was that familiar with it.
That is the last time I see a high-budget rom com when it's at home.
Go and see The Hangover, it's really funny.
Wednesday, 29 July 2009
Monday, 13 July 2009
Little Italy
"The big boot of Italy, kicking little Sicily". What they don't mention is Sardinia, the serene observer, detached from the fashion (the boot), the violence (the kicking) and the tourism.
Having not known where Sardinia was before my boyfriend and I showed an interest in the Italian island for our summer holiday (I assumed from the phonetics it was near to Tunisia), I can inform you it is below Corsica, north-west of Sicily, and uncomfortably near to Africa. I say uncomfortably near just because of the intense influx of Looky-Looky men on every aspect of our holiday, proffering their wares at the worst of times. And by the worst of times, I mean at a pivotal point in my book on the beach, or when the waiter is taking our order at a rustic restaurant, which requires 100% concentration and no distractions because of the bullet-proof language barrier (Southern Sardinians not being used to many tourists).
We stayed in Cagliari - the capital of the island - a pleasant, lively but laid-back harbour town on the Southern coast. The people are friendly, the buses are free (well, not really, but we easily avoided paying for any) and the food is SUBLIME.
Our first day was indefinitely a matter of trial and error. Trial - walking from the hotel to the 'beach', or what looked like and technically should have been on the map, it was where the buildings stopped and the sea started. Error - after forty minutes walking ending up standing in silence overlooking industrial rigs, cranes and ships, seagulls shrieking overhead. Resolution - walking into a pizzeria and enquiring where the nearest beach was. Italian waiter sucks in his breath, processing our staggered English voiced in Italian accents, and directed us to the bus stop. Bus was free, beach was near, everything was fine.
Trial number 2 - asking at the reception of the T Hotel for a restaurant reccommendation and confidently leaving the hotel hand-in-hand, 70 euros between us, Cagliari is our oyster and we will hopefully be eating them soon.... Error - being entirely unprepared for a unique cuisine experience. At 4 Mori restaurant they serve whatever seafood is fresh, there is no menu. Baby octopus, buttery prawns in crunchy celery, mussels, tomatoes with tuna, calamari, snails (ew, my one no-go), and many more compulsary starters followed by a big steaming bowl of spaghetti with mussels and crab each...we had died and gone to King Trident's grand underwater feast. However, being forced to decline (in our best and clearest English) a fish course, dessert and a plate of biscottis to finish, we were presented with the folded bill by the beaming, red-faced, round-bellied host. It was more money than we had. Quite a lot more. After downing our (thank God) complimentary extremely strong alcoholic drink post bill-presenting, and more than a little red-faced, we remembered Matthew had his debit card handy and made a swift exit. MAJOR error.
Every night post-4 Mori 100 euros nestled reassuringly in our wallets. But was never needed - no bill ever came close. Cagliari is very good value for money and you get what you pay for. When you pay 4euros for a bottle of house wine, you get drunk. When you pay 11euros for a parasol and two sunbeds on Poetto beach, you don't get a tan because it's too hot to venture from under the parasol. When you pay 75euros for a Renault Clio for 24 hours, you get a full tank of petrol and a memorable day out, namely an hour's venture south to Chia where there are apparently the most beautiful beaches on the whole island. And I do not disagree - the sky was so blue we could see Africa and the sea was so clear we could see the tiny fish eating Matthew's leg hairs.
Why do so many people venture to overpriced, overtoured, overpopular Italy when there is a quieter, cheaper version just to the West? I have never been to Italy, and obviously want to go, but I would consider Sardinia as a great 'warm up'. This is not an insult. It is not overwhelming, you do not feel compelled to go go go every day, and it is quite acceptable to order an authentic pizzeria takeaway and buy a 3euro bottle of wine and eat and drink in the bath (nowhere, not even restaurants, open on Sundays).
Maybe the big boot of Italy was kicking little Sicily because it is jealous of Sardinia.
Having not known where Sardinia was before my boyfriend and I showed an interest in the Italian island for our summer holiday (I assumed from the phonetics it was near to Tunisia), I can inform you it is below Corsica, north-west of Sicily, and uncomfortably near to Africa. I say uncomfortably near just because of the intense influx of Looky-Looky men on every aspect of our holiday, proffering their wares at the worst of times. And by the worst of times, I mean at a pivotal point in my book on the beach, or when the waiter is taking our order at a rustic restaurant, which requires 100% concentration and no distractions because of the bullet-proof language barrier (Southern Sardinians not being used to many tourists).
We stayed in Cagliari - the capital of the island - a pleasant, lively but laid-back harbour town on the Southern coast. The people are friendly, the buses are free (well, not really, but we easily avoided paying for any) and the food is SUBLIME.
Our first day was indefinitely a matter of trial and error. Trial - walking from the hotel to the 'beach', or what looked like and technically should have been on the map, it was where the buildings stopped and the sea started. Error - after forty minutes walking ending up standing in silence overlooking industrial rigs, cranes and ships, seagulls shrieking overhead. Resolution - walking into a pizzeria and enquiring where the nearest beach was. Italian waiter sucks in his breath, processing our staggered English voiced in Italian accents, and directed us to the bus stop. Bus was free, beach was near, everything was fine.
Trial number 2 - asking at the reception of the T Hotel for a restaurant reccommendation and confidently leaving the hotel hand-in-hand, 70 euros between us, Cagliari is our oyster and we will hopefully be eating them soon.... Error - being entirely unprepared for a unique cuisine experience. At 4 Mori restaurant they serve whatever seafood is fresh, there is no menu. Baby octopus, buttery prawns in crunchy celery, mussels, tomatoes with tuna, calamari, snails (ew, my one no-go), and many more compulsary starters followed by a big steaming bowl of spaghetti with mussels and crab each...we had died and gone to King Trident's grand underwater feast. However, being forced to decline (in our best and clearest English) a fish course, dessert and a plate of biscottis to finish, we were presented with the folded bill by the beaming, red-faced, round-bellied host. It was more money than we had. Quite a lot more. After downing our (thank God) complimentary extremely strong alcoholic drink post bill-presenting, and more than a little red-faced, we remembered Matthew had his debit card handy and made a swift exit. MAJOR error.
Every night post-4 Mori 100 euros nestled reassuringly in our wallets. But was never needed - no bill ever came close. Cagliari is very good value for money and you get what you pay for. When you pay 4euros for a bottle of house wine, you get drunk. When you pay 11euros for a parasol and two sunbeds on Poetto beach, you don't get a tan because it's too hot to venture from under the parasol. When you pay 75euros for a Renault Clio for 24 hours, you get a full tank of petrol and a memorable day out, namely an hour's venture south to Chia where there are apparently the most beautiful beaches on the whole island. And I do not disagree - the sky was so blue we could see Africa and the sea was so clear we could see the tiny fish eating Matthew's leg hairs.
Why do so many people venture to overpriced, overtoured, overpopular Italy when there is a quieter, cheaper version just to the West? I have never been to Italy, and obviously want to go, but I would consider Sardinia as a great 'warm up'. This is not an insult. It is not overwhelming, you do not feel compelled to go go go every day, and it is quite acceptable to order an authentic pizzeria takeaway and buy a 3euro bottle of wine and eat and drink in the bath (nowhere, not even restaurants, open on Sundays).
Maybe the big boot of Italy was kicking little Sicily because it is jealous of Sardinia.
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