Skip to main content

trailer crawl

Watching the trailer for House of Flying Daggers has made various bits of me stand on end. Good grief, I hope it's half as good as the preview, which would make it leave it at a modest “amazing.” The Japanese release, titled Lovers -- in English -- for some reason, of the movie was a few months back, and the DVD is now available. So -- if there's any English in it, I'll pick it up; I'm still not at the point where reading kanji subtitles is a feasible way to enjoy a movie.

Darkness looks legitimately scary, but then, 13 Ghosts looked pretty interesting from the trailer alone.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

dan simmons’ fiction

“I came back for my own purposes,” said the Time Traveler, looking around my booklined study. “I chose you to talk to because it was . . . convenient. And I don’t want you to do a goddamned thing. There’s nothing you can do. But relax . . . we’re not going to be talking about personal things. Such as, say, the year, day, and hour of your death. I don’t even know that sort of trivial information, although I could look it up quickly enough. You can release that white-knuckled grip you have on the edge of your desk.” I tried to relax. “What do you want to talk about?” I said. “The Century War,” said the Time Traveler. I blinked and tried to remember some history. “You mean the Hundred Year War? Fifteenth Century? Fourteenth? Sometime around there. Between . . . France and England? Henry V? Kenneth Branagh? Or was it . . .” “I mean the Century War with Islam,” interrupted the Time Traveler. “Your future. Everyone’s.” He was no longer smiling. Without asking, or offering to pour me any, he ...
8 comments
Read more

jerks gone wild

It shouldn’t be too much of a surprise to find out that the guy behind Girls Gone Wild is a jerk. It is surprising to find out just how much of a jerk he is: Joe Francis, the founder of the Girls Gone Wild empire, is humiliating me. He has my face pressed against the hood of a car, my arms twisted hard behind my back. He’s pushing himself against me, shouting: “This is what they did to me in Panama City!” It’s after 3 a.m. and we’re in a parking lot on the outskirts of Chicago. Electronic music is buzzing from the nightclub across the street, mixing easily with the laughter of the guys who are watching this, this me-pinned-and-helpless thing. Francis isn’t laughing. He has turned on me, and I don’t know why. He’s going on and on about Panama City Beach, the spring break spot in northern Florida where Bay County sheriff’s deputies arrested him three years ago on charges of racketeering, drug trafficking and promoting the sexua...
Post a Comment
Read more