First of all, let me just say it right away: I LOVED this movie. It is now my third-favorite Disney princess film, after "Beauty and the Beast" and "The Little Mermaid". Perhaps even tied with "The Little Mermaid". There's only one thing holding it back from placing higher than Mermaid: the songs. They're fun, and sometimes beautiful, and fit just fine within the framework of the film, but they aren't Ashman/Menken quality. I'm still absolutely buying the soundtrack and have had a few songs stuck in my head the past few days, particularly "Mother Knows Best (Reprise)", "I See the Light", and one pricelessly hilarious line from "I've Got a Dream". I also was a little disappointed that the last shot of the film *MINOR SPOILER* was of a character other than the two protagonists, *END SPOILER* but I can forgive the film that because the rest of it was so splendid.
All right, now a brief summary of reasons why I loved "Tangled". I do mention a couple extremely minor spoilers, but have included warnings where they appear, so if you don't want to read them, you can easily navigate around them. They do not give away anything essential to the plot. :)
1. Rapunzel. Not much is really given away about her personality in the trailers. It was a surprise to me, therefore, to realize at the end of the film that she's somehow become my second-favorite Disney princess--yes, beating out Ariel! I think the difference between her and Ariel is while Ariel was willful, Rapunzel is sweeter, though no less brave. Rapunzel is both hilarious and heartwrenching to watch because she is constantly attempting to define herself throughout the film, having been trapped in her tower all her life without any way of connecting with other people, apart from being emotionally abused by the villain of the story, Mother Gothel. What I really liked about her is how often she acts not on rationalized thought, but instead upon intuition, a 'gut feeling', if you will. Interacting outside her tower is an entirely new experience to her, and sometimes she's scared, and sometimes she's confused, but she's quick and intelligent and even though she has to slowly gain confidence in herself, she never hesitates in moments of trouble to do what she instinctively feels she must. The entire movie she's basically making one leap of faith after another, and that's sometimes taken advantage of by other characters, but it also is what saves her and develops her. One of my favorite moments of the film *MINOR SPOILER* is where she starts an impromptu dance in a market square and ends the dance in Flynn's arms; there's this shot of her dancing with a blissful smile on her face, her eyes closed and face uplifted, which to me was pure poetry, and really summarized her character for me. After trying to meet him throughout the dance, she only manages it with her eyes closed, letting her feet carry her as they will. *END SPOILER* She's a wonderfully endearing, complex, sometimes sad, sometimes hilarious character.
2. Flynn. I can't say too much about his character without heading into spoiler territory, but it was very enjoyable to watch his character arc progress. He and Rapunzel basically make the cutest couple ever, and he's both a hilarious character in his own right and surprisingly easy to form an emotional attachment to considering how little backstory he gets in comparison to Rapunzel. After watching some trailers I was worried he would be obnoxious, but he wasn't at all, so no worries there.
3. Mother Gothel. Again, I cannot say too much about this villian without giving away important plot points. I will mention something I found very interesting, however; I thought she was an extremely wicked villain, and quite scary, definitely one of my favorite Disney antagonists now. My brother, however, wasn't that impressed by her; he prefers Frollo and Ursula. So what I'm wondering, is whether she was designed specifically to work better with a female audience? I loved her subtleties and sweet venom, but he didn't find them that interesting I think. I won't say more for fear of spoilering, so just let me know what you think, if you've watched the movie.
4. The music. Alan Menken can do no wrong? Eh, maybe. There were moments where I missed the chillingly powerful beauty of "Beauty and the Beast"'s score, sure. But the more I think on the music in this film--a slightly more intimate, fun feel pervaded most of it--, the more it seems to fit it. And there were plenty of chill-inducing moments, too *MINOR SPOILER*; watch for the dancing scene, a beautiful moment involving Rapunzel's parents, and many of the darker scenes in the film, as well as one sweet romantic moment too. *END SPOILER* The magic is still there, definitely. The track 'Kingdom Dance' on the soundtrack is one of my favorite pieces of music ever.
5. The animal characters. I don't really have a peeve against animal sidekicks like so many people seem to, but whatever. These guys don't talk, but their facial and body language is plenty eloquent enough. I was worried they'd distract from the human story, but overall they enhance it, so yay :)
6. The animation. I watched "Tangled" in 3d, and I would say it is definitely worth spending the extra money for. The animation is astounding. The characters are as expressively and gracefully animated as hand-drawn characters from the Disney Golden Age, and that old artistic feel of 2d is somehow apparent in the scenery and location designs too, but all with the added warmth and detail and vibrant color of CGI. I honestly don't know how they did it. This is a CGI film that feels 100% fairytale, and I thank Glen Keane for that fervently. Rapunzel's hair is gorgeous, and speaking as a girl with very long hair I really liked watching how it moved and how it looked when it was wet, etc. All very well done. I no longer can really say I wish it was in 2d, hand-drawn animation, which I suppose is the highest praise I can bestow.
7. The story. Obviously I can't say anything about this really. But let's just say that I'm a sucker for romance, adventure, and self-sacrifice, and this story had them all.
All right, so that's all I'm going to say right now! I might have been able to think of more earlier, but I'm tired now and it's late so I'm just going to end here and get back to NaNoWriMo-ing. If you have watched "Tangled", comment and let me know what you thought! And if you have not watched it--what are you waiting for? Go ASAP; this is not a film you want to miss.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Book Reviews for October
I'm flooding the blogosphere with posts today, but hopefully no one's getting irritated at my sudden talkativeness yet. I would have put this off a day or two in interest of nice post spacing, but then I figured that it'd probably be best to post my Book Reviews for October before November is over, so here you go!
How to Train Your Dragon, by Cressida Cowell
I nearly chose this to be my Book of the Month. I knew nothing about this book series before I heard of the movie adaptation that came out earlier this year, and then I didn't even want to watch the movie. I ultimately did, however, and what a glorious surprise it was. "How to Train Your Dragon", the movie, is now one of my favorite films ever. That being said, even though I loved the film, I had read that it was basically nothing like the book it's 'based' upon, so I was not interested in reading the book at all either. When my younger sister got it for her birthday, however, I caved and decided to give it a try. The result? I know can proudly say I love both the book and the film. Yes, they are very different, but each is unexpectedly moving and funny in their own way. I strongly recommend this book. The author's writing style is very refreshing--witty, surprisingly poignant at times, and never dumbed down for children in the way that so many kids' books are nowadays. There's a smattering of crude juvenile humor in it which I could have done without, but overall it was such an unexpectedly delightful read, I loved it anyway. There are moments of real beauty here, and I'm interested in reading more of the series now.
The Road to Civil War, by Brian Michael Bendis
My brother is very fond of graphic novels and even attempting to start his own webcomic. He's also a big fan of Marvel, and so he borrowed this from the library. I read it just because . . . eh, because I'll read pretty much anything as long as it's within grabbing distance. I am not well-versed in the ways of comic books, so I can't really compare this with any others, but I did enjoy it. There was a lot going on in the storyline, the art was mostly excellent, and there were some moments that made me chuckle aloud. Pacing was very good, and the script was stellar. It made for an entertaining half-hour or so of reading and looking at the pictures.
Flashforward, by Robert J. Sawyer
I'm a dabbler in science-fiction. If it gets too science-y, I lose interest. If it gets too silly, I lose interest because I can't believe in it any more. For me, the characters should always be the focal point of the story. So at first this seemed like a real winner to me: a story about a fascinatingly novel concept, with strong, sympathetic characters and a clever mind game running throughout the book. You might know the general premise from the television show which was loosely inspired by this book (the two are not much alike at all): During a science experiment the entire planet loses consciousness for a few minutes, everyone's collective consciousness leaping forward in time a few decades. When people return to the present, all sorts of scientific, sociological, and philosophical ramifications occur. All this was brilliantly entertaining, but then I felt the story fell apart in the last few chapters. I find this happens to most science-fiction books I read: they are let-downs at the ending either because the plot is suddenly vapid without the science, or the science flat without the plot. This was the latter, and what a shame it was. I cared intensely about the characters at the beginning of the book, but by the end I didn't care about them at all. Still, if you are a fan of science-fiction you might enjoy this book. It does contain scatterings of sexual content and language, so be warned.
Outlander, by Diana Gabaldon
This book hurt me more than any other I read during October. There was so much going for it--a historical time-traveling story going from post-WWII England to 1800's Scotland? YES PLEASE!--and so much research was obviously done, and so many characters were almost interesting--but Gabaldon absolutely butchers it. In the end the plot is just an excuse to write about graphic sex practialy every few pages, and that was such a heartbreaker for me because the book could have been wonderful. I have absolutely no desire to read this book again, nor any other part of the series. How sad.
The Widow and the King, by John Dickenson
This is a difficult book to review. The imagery and style are generally beautiful, a little reminiscent of Ursula K LeGuin and Madeline L'Engle, but distinct from each, and there were many elements to the story itself that I liked a lot. The story, however, flowed instead of progressing, so despite a large variety of characters I was interested in and liked, I ended the story feeling like I had been cheated out of knowing them better, as the author never really delves into any one deep enough, instead spreading himself too thin between them all. The story skips from person to person without letting you know how big a role each person will have, which is ain interesting narrative experiment but in the end just made for uncomfortable reading, as I couldn't tell who to form an emotional attachment to. Also there was a major character I simply couldn't care for until the last few chapters of the book, and a minor character that flitted on the edge of being major the entire book who I really liked and was frustrated by how his role in the story ultimately played out. Some serious editing and tightening of the story wuold have made this book amazing; as it is, I recommend it and am interested in reading the author's other book, but am still sad that it was not anywhere near as good as it should have been.
The American Revolution, by Bruce Lancaster
A history book is my Book of the Month! Who'd have thought it? But it's true! If you are interested in learning about the American Revolution at all, please read this book. It's an absolute gem and definitely one of the best history books I've ever read. Very clear to understand, solidly researched, and it manages to draw forth emotion from the reader, to make the reader invest his or herself in the events and people described without straying away from facts in favor of narrative power. I loved it. For instance, when Lancaster is describing the secret nighttime American retreat from New York, he writes of the boatsmen who ferried the army across the river: "this performance [all night ferrying men 2 miles across the river in constant danger of British artillery fire] of Glover's and Hutchinson's men had none of the desperate intoxication of the charge of Lord Sterling, Gist, and the Marylanders, none of the bitter heroism of unnamed, uncounted men who turned to face bayonets with empty muskets. But it had a grim, dogged glory of its own" (149). You see that? That, right there, is poetry, my friends. In a history book. I actually got emotional while reading a passage near the end of the book describing the American army triumphant. I copied it out because I loved it so much, and so can include it here for you as well:
How to Train Your Dragon, by Cressida Cowell
I nearly chose this to be my Book of the Month. I knew nothing about this book series before I heard of the movie adaptation that came out earlier this year, and then I didn't even want to watch the movie. I ultimately did, however, and what a glorious surprise it was. "How to Train Your Dragon", the movie, is now one of my favorite films ever. That being said, even though I loved the film, I had read that it was basically nothing like the book it's 'based' upon, so I was not interested in reading the book at all either. When my younger sister got it for her birthday, however, I caved and decided to give it a try. The result? I know can proudly say I love both the book and the film. Yes, they are very different, but each is unexpectedly moving and funny in their own way. I strongly recommend this book. The author's writing style is very refreshing--witty, surprisingly poignant at times, and never dumbed down for children in the way that so many kids' books are nowadays. There's a smattering of crude juvenile humor in it which I could have done without, but overall it was such an unexpectedly delightful read, I loved it anyway. There are moments of real beauty here, and I'm interested in reading more of the series now.
The Road to Civil War, by Brian Michael Bendis
My brother is very fond of graphic novels and even attempting to start his own webcomic. He's also a big fan of Marvel, and so he borrowed this from the library. I read it just because . . . eh, because I'll read pretty much anything as long as it's within grabbing distance. I am not well-versed in the ways of comic books, so I can't really compare this with any others, but I did enjoy it. There was a lot going on in the storyline, the art was mostly excellent, and there were some moments that made me chuckle aloud. Pacing was very good, and the script was stellar. It made for an entertaining half-hour or so of reading and looking at the pictures.
Flashforward, by Robert J. Sawyer
I'm a dabbler in science-fiction. If it gets too science-y, I lose interest. If it gets too silly, I lose interest because I can't believe in it any more. For me, the characters should always be the focal point of the story. So at first this seemed like a real winner to me: a story about a fascinatingly novel concept, with strong, sympathetic characters and a clever mind game running throughout the book. You might know the general premise from the television show which was loosely inspired by this book (the two are not much alike at all): During a science experiment the entire planet loses consciousness for a few minutes, everyone's collective consciousness leaping forward in time a few decades. When people return to the present, all sorts of scientific, sociological, and philosophical ramifications occur. All this was brilliantly entertaining, but then I felt the story fell apart in the last few chapters. I find this happens to most science-fiction books I read: they are let-downs at the ending either because the plot is suddenly vapid without the science, or the science flat without the plot. This was the latter, and what a shame it was. I cared intensely about the characters at the beginning of the book, but by the end I didn't care about them at all. Still, if you are a fan of science-fiction you might enjoy this book. It does contain scatterings of sexual content and language, so be warned.
Outlander, by Diana Gabaldon
This book hurt me more than any other I read during October. There was so much going for it--a historical time-traveling story going from post-WWII England to 1800's Scotland? YES PLEASE!--and so much research was obviously done, and so many characters were almost interesting--but Gabaldon absolutely butchers it. In the end the plot is just an excuse to write about graphic sex practialy every few pages, and that was such a heartbreaker for me because the book could have been wonderful. I have absolutely no desire to read this book again, nor any other part of the series. How sad.
The Widow and the King, by John Dickenson
This is a difficult book to review. The imagery and style are generally beautiful, a little reminiscent of Ursula K LeGuin and Madeline L'Engle, but distinct from each, and there were many elements to the story itself that I liked a lot. The story, however, flowed instead of progressing, so despite a large variety of characters I was interested in and liked, I ended the story feeling like I had been cheated out of knowing them better, as the author never really delves into any one deep enough, instead spreading himself too thin between them all. The story skips from person to person without letting you know how big a role each person will have, which is ain interesting narrative experiment but in the end just made for uncomfortable reading, as I couldn't tell who to form an emotional attachment to. Also there was a major character I simply couldn't care for until the last few chapters of the book, and a minor character that flitted on the edge of being major the entire book who I really liked and was frustrated by how his role in the story ultimately played out. Some serious editing and tightening of the story wuold have made this book amazing; as it is, I recommend it and am interested in reading the author's other book, but am still sad that it was not anywhere near as good as it should have been.
The American Revolution, by Bruce Lancaster
A history book is my Book of the Month! Who'd have thought it? But it's true! If you are interested in learning about the American Revolution at all, please read this book. It's an absolute gem and definitely one of the best history books I've ever read. Very clear to understand, solidly researched, and it manages to draw forth emotion from the reader, to make the reader invest his or herself in the events and people described without straying away from facts in favor of narrative power. I loved it. For instance, when Lancaster is describing the secret nighttime American retreat from New York, he writes of the boatsmen who ferried the army across the river: "this performance [all night ferrying men 2 miles across the river in constant danger of British artillery fire] of Glover's and Hutchinson's men had none of the desperate intoxication of the charge of Lord Sterling, Gist, and the Marylanders, none of the bitter heroism of unnamed, uncounted men who turned to face bayonets with empty muskets. But it had a grim, dogged glory of its own" (149). You see that? That, right there, is poetry, my friends. In a history book. I actually got emotional while reading a passage near the end of the book describing the American army triumphant. I copied it out because I loved it so much, and so can include it here for you as well:
“There was a new tenseness in the crowds of onlookers as they turned to look at the bronzed, fringe-shirted men, staring in sudden comprehension that pages of their on history were being leafed through before their eyes. Here came Lafayette with Vose and Wyllys and Laurens, bringing on the New Englanders. James Linton led out New Yorkers under Goose van Schaick and Philip van Cortlandt, Jerseymen with Elias Dayton, Rhode Islanders with Jeremiah Olney. The trim panache of Anthony Wayne ushered in Walter Stewart’s Pennsylvanians, and loose-striding Virginians swung by under Thomas Gaskins, followed by Mordecai Gist’s Marylanders. Traces hissed, ironshod wheels thudded over sand, and here came fat Henry Knox heading the Continental artillery, with John Lamb of New York and Virginia’s Edward Carrington, released by Nathanael Greene to serve on Virginia soil.This book is interesting, informative, and poetic; it makes the times and peoples of the American Revolution real and immediate, stirs real emotion in the reader, and is extremely well-researched and supplemented with a grand variety and selection of quotes from contemporary materials. And so it is absolutely my Book of the Month.
The passage was dazzling, hypnotic. People stood on tiptoe to pick out leaders who, up to now, had been largely names on a smeared newssheet. They looked for Parson Muhlenberg, so closely identified with their own troops, rigid Baron von Steuben, the Georgia Colonel Samuel Elbert, the devoted Chevalier Duportail, or Moses Hazen of the Canadian regiment. Now they saw them all, men of whom they had heard or read, under whom or with whom sons or husbands or brothers had served.
Tramp of foot, thud of hoof and grind of wheel seemed to mutter out the whole story of these men and their absent fellows, of the American army in which they served, and the cause for which they, and their country with them, had endured so much for so long. There were sinister undercurrents that told of divided counsels, of selfishness local or widespread, of men who had made a profit from the sufferings and deaths of others--harder tones of plots, betrayal, and downright treason. But there were other, brighter chords telling of earlier days when men shouted that there must be no more Virginians or New Englanders or Carolinians, “but all of us Americans!” Repeated were the uneasy yet determined tones of Minutemen waiting on scores of village greens through an April night of ’75. The rowlocks of the Marbleheaders could be heard, creaking as they saved a beaten army to fight again. Icy ruts crunched under gun wheels along a winter road to Trenton, and unseen forest trails crackled as men glided forward to close on Burgoyne. The voice of a British prisoner of war could be heard, telling of a wide, poverty-stricken district where whole families had but one blanket, having parted with the others “to supply their soldiers, yet you would be surprized with what cheerfulness they bend to [such sacrifices] to obtain that idol, Independency.”
So harsh and ugly tones, bravely triumphant or eternally enduring tones told the story of a people and its army, that army whose men were always too few and were always just enough” (336-7).
Doctor Who Day
Is today!
So go brush off your favorite episode or two and make some TARDIS-shaped cookies or wear a bowtie or something. And in a little more than a month the Doctor will be back in the Christmas special, too. Huzzah!
I'm going to watch 'Caves of Androzani' and make a pot of tea, I think. It's suddenly gotten much colder here; I'm currently wearing two pairs of socks and two sweaters, which just doesn't usually happen in this area. And my toes are still like ice. Bleh.
So go brush off your favorite episode or two and make some TARDIS-shaped cookies or wear a bowtie or something. And in a little more than a month the Doctor will be back in the Christmas special, too. Huzzah!
I'm going to watch 'Caves of Androzani' and make a pot of tea, I think. It's suddenly gotten much colder here; I'm currently wearing two pairs of socks and two sweaters, which just doesn't usually happen in this area. And my toes are still like ice. Bleh.
"Tangled" Tomorrow!
I am so extremely excited about this film, it's unbelievable. It's an obsession. I'm terrified it won't live up to my expectations. Augh, why do I do this to myself?
Here's a shiny new trailer--Japanese, no less!--which is a million times better than the standard American trailers. Why couldn't the American trailer been more like this one in tone? It gave both me AND my 16-year old brother goosebumps. Take a look. The audio is in English, never fear, although the voiceover is Japanese. I tried to get my brother to translate for me, but he was able to manage translating only about 60% of it.
I've been kidding my younger sister and saying that we shouldn't comb our hair until we watch the film. My younger sister is 10 and has never had a haircut, and my own hair is down to my knees, so we are major Rapunzel fans.
Sacramento was gorgeous and fun. The drive there and back went pretty well, all things considered--we got a new 12-seater van, which was really strange, especially since I was sitting in the back and found out the hard way that my parents in the front seats can't hear me when I'm way back there unless I yell at the top of my lungs. HR, my 6-week-old baby sister, cried sporadically but overall was extremely well-behaved. I'm very proud of her.
I did not recall in my championship, but I did place 22nd. To be ranked 22nd in the entire Western Region is not a bad thing; sure I wish I had placed high enough to be recalled, but I am grateful I was able to dance at all, and enjoyed myself. I haven't been to any big competitions in a long while.
My little siblings weren't that excited about the competitions, since they go to feises all the time; dance is old news now. Instead, they were excited about other things: a horde of cows we saw (and smelled) on the drive; trying to translate the Latin painted on the walls of the cathedral we attended Mass in; howling with laughter when the wind blew my umbrella inside-out during a rainstorm; seeing magpies for the first time; collecting the bright-red fallen maple leaves. I liked all that too, as well as the cold weather; it was nippy, but so refreshing a change, especially seeing all the fall colors.
There was a basketball court at the hotel we stayed at, so my dad got a basketball from the front desk and we all trooped outside to play. The littlest kids have never played basketball before, so it was fun teaching them and seeing them attempt to dribble and shoot a ball which is basically as big as them. Then we had an impromptu game after dividing up into teams. It was fun until my 16-year old brother for some reason decided to pass the ball to me by throwing it as hard as he could at my face while I was standing about two feet away from him. I was afraid I had broken my nose at first, but it seems okay now, though still very sore if I touch it. That was the end of the game for me, anyway.
Now I will spend the rest of the month focusing on exercising, "Tangled" (I am saving to buy the soundtrack and graphic novel), Thanksgiving, and my NaNoWriMo novel. Said novel is currently only at 15,000 words, partly because I spent the last week or so devoting all my writing energies to writing a birthday story for one of my sisters (it ended up being 38 pages long), and partly because of how dance has been eating up my time this month. I wrote a lot more on the car trip though, and I'm determined to get back on track. Somehow. I'll do it. I WILL.
Here's a shiny new trailer--Japanese, no less!--which is a million times better than the standard American trailers. Why couldn't the American trailer been more like this one in tone? It gave both me AND my 16-year old brother goosebumps. Take a look. The audio is in English, never fear, although the voiceover is Japanese. I tried to get my brother to translate for me, but he was able to manage translating only about 60% of it.
I've been kidding my younger sister and saying that we shouldn't comb our hair until we watch the film. My younger sister is 10 and has never had a haircut, and my own hair is down to my knees, so we are major Rapunzel fans.
Sacramento was gorgeous and fun. The drive there and back went pretty well, all things considered--we got a new 12-seater van, which was really strange, especially since I was sitting in the back and found out the hard way that my parents in the front seats can't hear me when I'm way back there unless I yell at the top of my lungs. HR, my 6-week-old baby sister, cried sporadically but overall was extremely well-behaved. I'm very proud of her.
I did not recall in my championship, but I did place 22nd. To be ranked 22nd in the entire Western Region is not a bad thing; sure I wish I had placed high enough to be recalled, but I am grateful I was able to dance at all, and enjoyed myself. I haven't been to any big competitions in a long while.
My little siblings weren't that excited about the competitions, since they go to feises all the time; dance is old news now. Instead, they were excited about other things: a horde of cows we saw (and smelled) on the drive; trying to translate the Latin painted on the walls of the cathedral we attended Mass in; howling with laughter when the wind blew my umbrella inside-out during a rainstorm; seeing magpies for the first time; collecting the bright-red fallen maple leaves. I liked all that too, as well as the cold weather; it was nippy, but so refreshing a change, especially seeing all the fall colors.
There was a basketball court at the hotel we stayed at, so my dad got a basketball from the front desk and we all trooped outside to play. The littlest kids have never played basketball before, so it was fun teaching them and seeing them attempt to dribble and shoot a ball which is basically as big as them. Then we had an impromptu game after dividing up into teams. It was fun until my 16-year old brother for some reason decided to pass the ball to me by throwing it as hard as he could at my face while I was standing about two feet away from him. I was afraid I had broken my nose at first, but it seems okay now, though still very sore if I touch it. That was the end of the game for me, anyway.
Now I will spend the rest of the month focusing on exercising, "Tangled" (I am saving to buy the soundtrack and graphic novel), Thanksgiving, and my NaNoWriMo novel. Said novel is currently only at 15,000 words, partly because I spent the last week or so devoting all my writing energies to writing a birthday story for one of my sisters (it ended up being 38 pages long), and partly because of how dance has been eating up my time this month. I wrote a lot more on the car trip though, and I'm determined to get back on track. Somehow. I'll do it. I WILL.
Monday, November 15, 2010
"Tangled"!
First of all, I am soooooo excited for this movie, it's almost absurd. As a "Beauty and the Beast" devotee I have the bar raised incredibly high for "Tangled", but I honestly think it'll clear that bar just fine. Everything I know about it just makes me fall in love with it more. Have you seen the clips Disney has released?
Only three words really to say about this clip: ALAN MENKEN MUSIC. Oh, and Rapunzel is adorable.
And the animation is beautiful too!
As for the characters? I LOVE them.
And the songs?
I can't wait to hear them in full! I'm going to be like a little kid at the theater.
If anyone else out there is as excited about this film as I am, here's a few giveaway contests you might be interested in; follow the links for the details: http://tanisharenee.blogspot.com/2010/11/disneys-tangled-giveaway.html and http://thedirtytshirt.com/walt-disney-pictures-tangled-giveaway
Before I can watch "Tangled", however, I have to get through Oireachtas, which is next weekend! I'm extremely nervous, and I'm not sure if it's more terrifying or reassuring to know that this time next week it will all be over. Today was a five-hour dance practice, and I'm still exhausted from that.
So, this will be a very busy week for me. I might not even post again until after the Oireachtas is finished! If that is the case, wish me luck everyone, and see you again on the other side!
Only three words really to say about this clip: ALAN MENKEN MUSIC. Oh, and Rapunzel is adorable.
And the animation is beautiful too!
As for the characters? I LOVE them.
And the songs?
I can't wait to hear them in full! I'm going to be like a little kid at the theater.
If anyone else out there is as excited about this film as I am, here's a few giveaway contests you might be interested in; follow the links for the details: http://tanisharenee.blogspot.com/2010/11/disneys-tangled-giveaway.html and http://thedirtytshirt.com/walt-disney-pictures-tangled-giveaway
Before I can watch "Tangled", however, I have to get through Oireachtas, which is next weekend! I'm extremely nervous, and I'm not sure if it's more terrifying or reassuring to know that this time next week it will all be over. Today was a five-hour dance practice, and I'm still exhausted from that.
So, this will be a very busy week for me. I might not even post again until after the Oireachtas is finished! If that is the case, wish me luck everyone, and see you again on the other side!
Friday, November 5, 2010
NaNoWriMo Novel, chapter 1!
I will post the entire thing, chapter by chapter as they are completed, on the Radish Room. For those of you who aren't members on that blog, however, I'm going to post excerpts here. Here is the only complete chapter I will be posting, Chapter one.
Working title is "The Outlaw's Hand". I'll try to post a summary later, but I'm having a lot of trouble figuring out exactly how to summarize this story, so we'll just see.
Enjoy, hopefully, and comments are always awesome!
The rain fell upon the town in a dogged, dispirited shower too heavy to be properly called a drizzle, but not quite enthusiastic enough to merit the label of torrent. It coursed down roofs of chipped, slanting shingle; soaked thatched roofs until they turned a sodden, dark color promising a healthy growth of mold and mildew in a few weeks; and slipped spitefully down even the flipped-up collars of the few men and women unfortunate enough to be still outdoors, hurrying through the narrow streets from work or to it, without any roof at all. There were not many of them, but such faces that showed were all stamped with an expression remarkably similar to the rain itself: surly and cold.
The largest gathering of people to be seen, numbering maybe fifteen in the darkness, was huddled outside a tavern which gave testament to the sort of clientele it serviced with the absence of any lettering upon the large, crudely painted sign which depicted a green fish stabbed through by a wicked-looking hook, garishly bright blood dripping from its sagging mouth. Some called the place The Bleeding Cod, others The Hooked Fish, but most just called it trouble. Sailors on leave, fishermen newly back in port after days at sea, and other types poor enough to be illiterate and to possess appetite without palate gave the tavern a steady enough stream of business to keep it running comfortably, but it still exuded an air of dilapidation rather than prosperity. Its bulbous and warped glass windows, so old and grimy as to be nearly as opaque as the walls which they were set in, were at the moment filled with a brown-yellow light, like smoke lit underneath by a sullen fire. The puddles in its little courtyard, lit feebly with that light, were iridescent with oily rainbows.
It was not the sort of place which typically drew bystanders, since any men passing were either of the type to go immediately within, or to hasten past before any brawling started. The crowd outside was not dispersing, however, but instead was growing, heedless of the miserable rain. There could have been a few reasons for this phenomenon, the first being the sound of a raised voice inside the building, which instead of being the usual bawdy slurring was sharp, authoritarian, and even through the thick stone walls had a clear accent not commonly heard in seedy port towns. Even more unusual, however, was the large number of horses standing and blowing steam in the slick and oily tavern courtyard. They were sleek, powerful beasts, and obviously well-trained to judge by their remaining in a stolid formation even though only a ragged boy--most likely a street urchin whose services had been bought temporarily with a tossed coin or two--stood guarding them, The rain dripped irreverently from their combed manes and tails, and soaked determinedly into the livery they wore, but even so the richness of the cloth and harness was unmistakable, and gleaming proudly upon each brow, breast, and flank was the winged crest of the king.
The girl, when she came hurrying around the corner and within view of the crowd, might have been dimly aware of some kind of disturbance and excitement taking place at the tavern, but the rain had drawn her hood up and her eyes down, and so she saw neither the horses nor the king’s crest they bore. But she did hear the sudden metallic crash which sounded from within the tavern just as she drew abreast of it, and, startled, she both involuntarily slowed her step and raised her head, taking in all at once both crowd and horses, crest and boy. While fights were not exactly uncommon at The Bleeding Cod, the sounds they made were far more likely to be the heavy, meaty cracking of fist against jaw or the crash of a wooden stool being used as a makeshift club, not the clear, cut-glass music of steel against steel. One of the larger of the bystanders, a wide-mouthed hulk of a man whose pierced ears and seamed, leathery skin clearly marked him as one of the tavern’s would-be patrons, took notice of the girl as she stood frozen and staring, and with the leering nonchalance of a man trying to endear himself to a woman, did his best to fill her in on the situation.
“Ye might want to be finding a different way home tonight, miss. That’s the king’s own men in there, and ‘tain’t for drink they’ve come. Came riding up like a storm they did, and burst straight-way through the door, swords out and shouting, though some went round the back and sides of the place too. I’ve some mates inside, meself, and I was to meet them, or I wouldn’t be here, but it’s not them your fine king’s boys are after; word is they have managed to trap--Hold, and where is it you be going?”--For the girl, instead of lingering to be regaled further concerning what was happening within the tavern, had begun to hurry away down the street, slipping a little on the wet track of mud the dirt street had become and clutching the empty basket she carried tighter in her arms. She had not gone more than two paces, however, when the tavern’s sturdy door was thrown open with such abrupt strength it rebounded with a loud crash from the tavern’s slimy wall. There was a sudden spill of yellow light upon the ground--real light, not the oil-slick dribbling from the windows. For a brief split of a moment, she saw the hard black silhouette of a man in the bright doorway. But then she felt a sudden firm grip upon her arm, and she before she could even cry out she was dragged through the crowd, which scuttled to make way, through the hot, steaming mass of horses in the little yard, and up to the man who still stood in the bright doorway. She had barely the time to comprehend that her captor was mailed and helmed, clearly one of the soldiers who had been in the tavern, and she had only just begun to struggle, when they reached the door. Bewildered and angry, and not a little afraid, she tried to speak to the man waiting there, but he scarcely even glanced at her face. His own face was lean but strong-jawed, and it was ridiculously elongated by the tall helm he wore, upon which a captain’s badge gleamed.
“She’ll do,” he said to the man who held her, in a voice both agitated and hard. “Take her in. Quickly, quickly--”
And the door was yanked shut once more, leaving the bystanders out in the rain once more, and hiding light, king’s soldiers, and girl all from view.
Once inside, the smell of rain and mud and wet stone was instantly replaced with that of sweat, sour drink, grease, and, more peculiarly, onions. But stronger than any of those smells was the smell of blood newly-spilled, so strong it stuck to the back of the throat like smoke, and could be tasted upon the tongue. To one side of the dingy common room, that farthest from the roaring fireplace, was a small and ragged group of men. They were mostly patrons, looking somewhat bemused and foolish, though there was also in their midst an immensely fat, immensely distressed-looking man who was probably the owner of the place. Standing before the windows and blocking the door were the king’s men, their swords up and wary but as yet unmoving. Upon the floor, almost tangled among the soldier’s booted feet, there lay in their still hot and stinking blood the bodies of two men, their skewed helms and the badge upon their surcoats flickering redly in the firelight. And backed into the farthest corner of the room, beside the fireplace, blade still red-running in his hand, stood another man.
He was not tall, but he did not stand like a small man. His clothing was very plain and very weathered, and he wore no cloak, though one hung discarded upon the back of a nearby chair that had somehow managed to stay upright during what looked to have been a fierce struggle. He was not breathing hard and did not seem agitated in any way despite the half-ring of king’s steel drawn up about him, but there was a dangerous, eager light in his eyes that was very like to that of a wild beast which has lately killed and which knows it must very soon kill again. His face was darkened by the sun, as were the backs of his hands and what little could be seen of the proud line of his throat, and his hair was long and dark.
One of the soldiers, the most senior under the captain, had been speaking to him in a low, wheedlingly reasonable tone of voice when the captain returned with the girl. His jaw was grey and stubbled, but his voice did not sound old.
“Give yourself up, man. The place is surrounded. You will not win out alive.”
“I have done so before,” the man replied cooly.
“Ah, but that was in Altressor, was it not? To each land its own, but here we do not allow men who are enemies of our laws and our king to escape. It was over for you the moment our man recognized you in the street.”
“So you told me once before,” the man answered, “and yet there lie two of your men dead. If you are so sure I am taken, why do you hang back as though afraid? I shall tell you: It is because you are afraid. But of the stories, I wonder, or of the man?”
The soldier was saved answering by the captain unceremoniously thrusting the girl forward, his left arm wrapped around her so that her arms were pinioned tightly to her sides, and a thin knife glinting where he held it poised against the quick-beating hollow of her throat.
“Not as afraid as she is, eh, Gold-Head?” He said, coldly. “Drop the sword, or she dies.”
“Sir! Please, sir, I was only passing, I was not looking, I swear I was not--”
“Silence,” he growled, tightening his grip on her arms. But she still struggled, furious at how pitiful and scared she must look to this roomful of armed men, and terrified all the same. She did not want to die.
“Please, sir, I have to be home, my mother--” She felt the sudden tang of king-forged steel at her throat, and a red wire of pain burning there. With a hideous sound, partway sob and partway gasp, she froze.
The man beside the fireplace had also gone very still, his sword held half-up in guard, but his eyes fixed upon the thread of blood trickling down into the girl’s collar.
“Ah,” he said. He had a peculiar voice. “So not even you can quite entirely believe your own propaganda, Matthew? That’s good.”
He did not wait for a reply. Quite calmly, he let fall the blade, and it rang upon the stones of the hearth. He raised his hands carefully into the air. Before the echo of metal had quite faded, they were upon him. He was slammed down across one of the few tables still standing and whole, and she saw a few quick flashes of silver as various knives and other weaponry were retrieved from his person. His hands they bound with a leather belt.
When, after a surprisingly short time, they dragged him upright again, he was pinioned, weaponless, and breathing a little erratically. There was blood upon his mouth from where his face had struck the tabletop, but his voice and carriage was just as courteous and bitter-calm as they had been before. He nodded to where the girl still stood, rigid in the hands of the man who held her, her eyes as round as coins.
“Go on, Matthew. Let the child go. She has served your purpose.”
Instantly she felt the vice-like grip upon her arms slacken, and the cold touch of metal against her throat was gone. The captain shoved her from him, impatiently rather than contemptuously, and replaced his knife in the leather sheath at his hip. His long face was alight with satisfaction, but his entire attention was now bent upon the captive swordsman, and as quickly as she had been dragged into the whole wretched business, she was now dismissed. Forgotten for the moment, she stood in the firelight, pressing trembling hands to her throat and then staring blindly at the red upon them when she drew them away, as the dead men upon the floor were dragged away and the tavern-keeper, plucking up some feeble semblance of courage at last, began to attempt to needle the captain about paying compensation for the broken furniture and the bloodstains upon his already filthy floor.
They gave her a silver penny for her trouble. Numbly, she took it, and when the youngest of the guardsmen lingered to offer to walk her home, she accepted the offer with the same wordless numbness. Several times on the way he attempted to engage her in conversation, bubbling and ebullient with the triumph at the tavern, but she replied not a word.
A lamp still burned in her mother’s window, when at last she stood upon the threshold of her own house, in her own quiet street. The young guardsman there took his leave of her. He was a handsome lad, with thick auburn hair and green eyes, and even though garbed in the leather and heavy steel of the citadel and king’s service, he walked with a spring in his step.
She stood watching him, dreamlike, until he had quite gone into the darkness, and then, shifting her empty basket upon her arm and smoothing her skirts, she tried to open the front door. More than a half-score times did her shaking fingers slip useless upon the latch. Suddenly, she wished she had cast the silver back in the courteous face of the man who had given it to her, and that she had walked the dark road home on her own.
Working title is "The Outlaw's Hand". I'll try to post a summary later, but I'm having a lot of trouble figuring out exactly how to summarize this story, so we'll just see.
Enjoy, hopefully, and comments are always awesome!
The Outlaw's Hand, Chapter One
The rain fell upon the town in a dogged, dispirited shower too heavy to be properly called a drizzle, but not quite enthusiastic enough to merit the label of torrent. It coursed down roofs of chipped, slanting shingle; soaked thatched roofs until they turned a sodden, dark color promising a healthy growth of mold and mildew in a few weeks; and slipped spitefully down even the flipped-up collars of the few men and women unfortunate enough to be still outdoors, hurrying through the narrow streets from work or to it, without any roof at all. There were not many of them, but such faces that showed were all stamped with an expression remarkably similar to the rain itself: surly and cold.
The largest gathering of people to be seen, numbering maybe fifteen in the darkness, was huddled outside a tavern which gave testament to the sort of clientele it serviced with the absence of any lettering upon the large, crudely painted sign which depicted a green fish stabbed through by a wicked-looking hook, garishly bright blood dripping from its sagging mouth. Some called the place The Bleeding Cod, others The Hooked Fish, but most just called it trouble. Sailors on leave, fishermen newly back in port after days at sea, and other types poor enough to be illiterate and to possess appetite without palate gave the tavern a steady enough stream of business to keep it running comfortably, but it still exuded an air of dilapidation rather than prosperity. Its bulbous and warped glass windows, so old and grimy as to be nearly as opaque as the walls which they were set in, were at the moment filled with a brown-yellow light, like smoke lit underneath by a sullen fire. The puddles in its little courtyard, lit feebly with that light, were iridescent with oily rainbows.
It was not the sort of place which typically drew bystanders, since any men passing were either of the type to go immediately within, or to hasten past before any brawling started. The crowd outside was not dispersing, however, but instead was growing, heedless of the miserable rain. There could have been a few reasons for this phenomenon, the first being the sound of a raised voice inside the building, which instead of being the usual bawdy slurring was sharp, authoritarian, and even through the thick stone walls had a clear accent not commonly heard in seedy port towns. Even more unusual, however, was the large number of horses standing and blowing steam in the slick and oily tavern courtyard. They were sleek, powerful beasts, and obviously well-trained to judge by their remaining in a stolid formation even though only a ragged boy--most likely a street urchin whose services had been bought temporarily with a tossed coin or two--stood guarding them, The rain dripped irreverently from their combed manes and tails, and soaked determinedly into the livery they wore, but even so the richness of the cloth and harness was unmistakable, and gleaming proudly upon each brow, breast, and flank was the winged crest of the king.
The girl, when she came hurrying around the corner and within view of the crowd, might have been dimly aware of some kind of disturbance and excitement taking place at the tavern, but the rain had drawn her hood up and her eyes down, and so she saw neither the horses nor the king’s crest they bore. But she did hear the sudden metallic crash which sounded from within the tavern just as she drew abreast of it, and, startled, she both involuntarily slowed her step and raised her head, taking in all at once both crowd and horses, crest and boy. While fights were not exactly uncommon at The Bleeding Cod, the sounds they made were far more likely to be the heavy, meaty cracking of fist against jaw or the crash of a wooden stool being used as a makeshift club, not the clear, cut-glass music of steel against steel. One of the larger of the bystanders, a wide-mouthed hulk of a man whose pierced ears and seamed, leathery skin clearly marked him as one of the tavern’s would-be patrons, took notice of the girl as she stood frozen and staring, and with the leering nonchalance of a man trying to endear himself to a woman, did his best to fill her in on the situation.
“Ye might want to be finding a different way home tonight, miss. That’s the king’s own men in there, and ‘tain’t for drink they’ve come. Came riding up like a storm they did, and burst straight-way through the door, swords out and shouting, though some went round the back and sides of the place too. I’ve some mates inside, meself, and I was to meet them, or I wouldn’t be here, but it’s not them your fine king’s boys are after; word is they have managed to trap--Hold, and where is it you be going?”--For the girl, instead of lingering to be regaled further concerning what was happening within the tavern, had begun to hurry away down the street, slipping a little on the wet track of mud the dirt street had become and clutching the empty basket she carried tighter in her arms. She had not gone more than two paces, however, when the tavern’s sturdy door was thrown open with such abrupt strength it rebounded with a loud crash from the tavern’s slimy wall. There was a sudden spill of yellow light upon the ground--real light, not the oil-slick dribbling from the windows. For a brief split of a moment, she saw the hard black silhouette of a man in the bright doorway. But then she felt a sudden firm grip upon her arm, and she before she could even cry out she was dragged through the crowd, which scuttled to make way, through the hot, steaming mass of horses in the little yard, and up to the man who still stood in the bright doorway. She had barely the time to comprehend that her captor was mailed and helmed, clearly one of the soldiers who had been in the tavern, and she had only just begun to struggle, when they reached the door. Bewildered and angry, and not a little afraid, she tried to speak to the man waiting there, but he scarcely even glanced at her face. His own face was lean but strong-jawed, and it was ridiculously elongated by the tall helm he wore, upon which a captain’s badge gleamed.
“She’ll do,” he said to the man who held her, in a voice both agitated and hard. “Take her in. Quickly, quickly--”
And the door was yanked shut once more, leaving the bystanders out in the rain once more, and hiding light, king’s soldiers, and girl all from view.
Once inside, the smell of rain and mud and wet stone was instantly replaced with that of sweat, sour drink, grease, and, more peculiarly, onions. But stronger than any of those smells was the smell of blood newly-spilled, so strong it stuck to the back of the throat like smoke, and could be tasted upon the tongue. To one side of the dingy common room, that farthest from the roaring fireplace, was a small and ragged group of men. They were mostly patrons, looking somewhat bemused and foolish, though there was also in their midst an immensely fat, immensely distressed-looking man who was probably the owner of the place. Standing before the windows and blocking the door were the king’s men, their swords up and wary but as yet unmoving. Upon the floor, almost tangled among the soldier’s booted feet, there lay in their still hot and stinking blood the bodies of two men, their skewed helms and the badge upon their surcoats flickering redly in the firelight. And backed into the farthest corner of the room, beside the fireplace, blade still red-running in his hand, stood another man.
He was not tall, but he did not stand like a small man. His clothing was very plain and very weathered, and he wore no cloak, though one hung discarded upon the back of a nearby chair that had somehow managed to stay upright during what looked to have been a fierce struggle. He was not breathing hard and did not seem agitated in any way despite the half-ring of king’s steel drawn up about him, but there was a dangerous, eager light in his eyes that was very like to that of a wild beast which has lately killed and which knows it must very soon kill again. His face was darkened by the sun, as were the backs of his hands and what little could be seen of the proud line of his throat, and his hair was long and dark.
One of the soldiers, the most senior under the captain, had been speaking to him in a low, wheedlingly reasonable tone of voice when the captain returned with the girl. His jaw was grey and stubbled, but his voice did not sound old.
“Give yourself up, man. The place is surrounded. You will not win out alive.”
“I have done so before,” the man replied cooly.
“Ah, but that was in Altressor, was it not? To each land its own, but here we do not allow men who are enemies of our laws and our king to escape. It was over for you the moment our man recognized you in the street.”
“So you told me once before,” the man answered, “and yet there lie two of your men dead. If you are so sure I am taken, why do you hang back as though afraid? I shall tell you: It is because you are afraid. But of the stories, I wonder, or of the man?”
The soldier was saved answering by the captain unceremoniously thrusting the girl forward, his left arm wrapped around her so that her arms were pinioned tightly to her sides, and a thin knife glinting where he held it poised against the quick-beating hollow of her throat.
“Not as afraid as she is, eh, Gold-Head?” He said, coldly. “Drop the sword, or she dies.”
“Sir! Please, sir, I was only passing, I was not looking, I swear I was not--”
“Silence,” he growled, tightening his grip on her arms. But she still struggled, furious at how pitiful and scared she must look to this roomful of armed men, and terrified all the same. She did not want to die.
“Please, sir, I have to be home, my mother--” She felt the sudden tang of king-forged steel at her throat, and a red wire of pain burning there. With a hideous sound, partway sob and partway gasp, she froze.
The man beside the fireplace had also gone very still, his sword held half-up in guard, but his eyes fixed upon the thread of blood trickling down into the girl’s collar.
“Ah,” he said. He had a peculiar voice. “So not even you can quite entirely believe your own propaganda, Matthew? That’s good.”
He did not wait for a reply. Quite calmly, he let fall the blade, and it rang upon the stones of the hearth. He raised his hands carefully into the air. Before the echo of metal had quite faded, they were upon him. He was slammed down across one of the few tables still standing and whole, and she saw a few quick flashes of silver as various knives and other weaponry were retrieved from his person. His hands they bound with a leather belt.
When, after a surprisingly short time, they dragged him upright again, he was pinioned, weaponless, and breathing a little erratically. There was blood upon his mouth from where his face had struck the tabletop, but his voice and carriage was just as courteous and bitter-calm as they had been before. He nodded to where the girl still stood, rigid in the hands of the man who held her, her eyes as round as coins.
“Go on, Matthew. Let the child go. She has served your purpose.”
Instantly she felt the vice-like grip upon her arms slacken, and the cold touch of metal against her throat was gone. The captain shoved her from him, impatiently rather than contemptuously, and replaced his knife in the leather sheath at his hip. His long face was alight with satisfaction, but his entire attention was now bent upon the captive swordsman, and as quickly as she had been dragged into the whole wretched business, she was now dismissed. Forgotten for the moment, she stood in the firelight, pressing trembling hands to her throat and then staring blindly at the red upon them when she drew them away, as the dead men upon the floor were dragged away and the tavern-keeper, plucking up some feeble semblance of courage at last, began to attempt to needle the captain about paying compensation for the broken furniture and the bloodstains upon his already filthy floor.
They gave her a silver penny for her trouble. Numbly, she took it, and when the youngest of the guardsmen lingered to offer to walk her home, she accepted the offer with the same wordless numbness. Several times on the way he attempted to engage her in conversation, bubbling and ebullient with the triumph at the tavern, but she replied not a word.
A lamp still burned in her mother’s window, when at last she stood upon the threshold of her own house, in her own quiet street. The young guardsman there took his leave of her. He was a handsome lad, with thick auburn hair and green eyes, and even though garbed in the leather and heavy steel of the citadel and king’s service, he walked with a spring in his step.
She stood watching him, dreamlike, until he had quite gone into the darkness, and then, shifting her empty basket upon her arm and smoothing her skirts, she tried to open the front door. More than a half-score times did her shaking fingers slip useless upon the latch. Suddenly, she wished she had cast the silver back in the courteous face of the man who had given it to her, and that she had walked the dark road home on her own.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
I've been wondering today about what book Belle is reading in the beginning of 'Beauty and the BEast'. I mean, Belle is one of my heroes (heroines?) and so I've wanted to know what her favorite book is since I was very small, but for some reason the question has returned to puzzle me today, I'm not sure why. When I was small, I was convinced that the book was "The Princess and the Goblin" by George MacDonald, but I couldn't really tell you why that is.
Three more weeks until "Tangled" is released, and I can't wait! A song, a romantic duet, has been released online by Disney, and it's utterly charming. I'm trying to not remember that before I can watch the film, I have to get through Oireachtas, which is the weekend previous . . . too scary a notion, that!
Another scary notion? The idea that NaNoWriMo is only 2 days in, and I'm already behind. Only by 700 words or so, but . . . eesh. I'm going to stay up now before bed to get caught up. Yes. Song currently running through my head: "Hushabye Mountain" from "Chitty Chitty Bang Bang". One of my favorite movies, but I haven't seen it in a while, I wonder why I'm thinking of it now?
Book reviews for October coming up soon! And there's actually quite a lot of reviews this time, too!
Three more weeks until "Tangled" is released, and I can't wait! A song, a romantic duet, has been released online by Disney, and it's utterly charming. I'm trying to not remember that before I can watch the film, I have to get through Oireachtas, which is the weekend previous . . . too scary a notion, that!
Another scary notion? The idea that NaNoWriMo is only 2 days in, and I'm already behind. Only by 700 words or so, but . . . eesh. I'm going to stay up now before bed to get caught up. Yes. Song currently running through my head: "Hushabye Mountain" from "Chitty Chitty Bang Bang". One of my favorite movies, but I haven't seen it in a while, I wonder why I'm thinking of it now?
Book reviews for October coming up soon! And there's actually quite a lot of reviews this time, too!
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