I love Blair Waldorf.

That’s not just a fact; I’m making a declaration. This is my heartfelt commitment to the adorable Miss Waldorf.

Given an opportunity, I would, of course, gladly trade places with her. I want her pretty, bouncy hair; her wardrobe; her phone; and, well, her money, of course.

That said, there’s a pretty huge difference between “wanting to look like her” and “actually doing something to look like her”. It’s a big gap; be careful not to fall into chasm people.

At first I thought Blair’s headband was pretty cute. I told my sister I would buy one just because. Ever the fashion expert, my sister agilely rolled her eyes to somewhere in the back of her head, smirked and pretty much told me to forget it. Look around, she said, and you’ll realize why you really shouldn’t buy those headbands.

And so look I did.

I found soon enough (after acting like Jane Goodall in a city of apes) that the new sartorial head gear of choice was none other than the ubiquitous “Blairband”. Please do not shoot me; I had nothing to do with that lame-ass semi-brain-dead moniker. Anyway, as you may have figured out by now, a “Blairband” is a cross between “Blair” and “headband”. No, it is not half-human. Yes, it is a headband that resembles the ones Blair wears in most of Gossip Girl.

It wouldn’t be as bad if people used these headbands as they normally would (i.e. push all the hair back and away from the face). Unfortunately, these people wear the “Blairbands” in a way that imitates Blair to a perfect B. With Blair, though, pretty tendrils fall gracefully and complement the poor little rich girl’s attractive face.

On the people I see around me, not so much.

What I’m about to say is nasty, as always, but quite honest.

People, why on God’s green earth would you ever assume that just because something looks good on an actor, it’ll look just as good on you? Actors have make-up artists and designers at their beck and call. No frame will be shot until the actor looks perfect. Perfect.

You, sitting on that jeepney with the wind breaking up your face — you don’t have a make-up artist. There’s no hairstylist to brush away those tendrils from your face and keep them in place. You can buy “Blairbands” and use them daily, but you’ll never look like Blair. Read my lips, baby:

Dream on.

The same goes for people who wear trench coats in this country.

This is a tropical country. You can pray for global warming to turn this country into a snow-covered arctic zone, but until then you have no business wearing Neo (or Trinity) clothes.

And yes, your futile attempts at looking like Wu Chun or some Korean guy-du-jour is pathetic. Scarves are not for men, no matter what those skinny Taiwanese/Korean/Japanese people say. You don’t look hot. You look gay.

And oh, you might want to lose the F4 hairdo, too.

That’s just so five years ago.

Loser.

So yes, this is late.

I never made it to the actual screening, thanks to a flurry of unexplainable incidents. Or maybe they’re explainable, I just sort of don’t remember them. I have amnesia.

Anyway, I finally got to watch 21, the movie that stars my beloved boytoy-to-be, Jim Sturgess, and the perpetual villain, Kevin Spacey.

Not that I care about Kevin Spacey at all. Yes, he was in Superman. Yes, he’s gay. Boooring.

I’m only watching 21 because of my darling Jim.

Honestly, the movie is barely watchable, considering the ginormous gaps in story-telling. Kate Bosworth’s character is particularly unmoving; I have no idea why she even agreed to do the film with such a flimsy part. Oh wait, I know. It was probably the promise of hot kisses and a steamy love scene with the aforementioned Mr. Sturgess that had her sign the dotted line.

But seriously, I was disappointed because I really thought it would be a good movie. The premise was interesting: kid joins card counters in their Vegas exploits to earn enough money for Harvard Med, gets screwed over by his mentor, takes revenge, gets screwed over by someone else and bangs token hot girl. The end.

Unfortunately, everyone in the movie had cookie-cutter roles. Even Kevin Spacey did little more than snarl and act smarmy throughout the film. Hard to do anything more than that, really, given the constricted space his cardboard bad guy is given.

Jim’s still good with the wide-eyed nice guy schtick, but his transformation to vindictive bad boy seemed a little force. The transition was far from smooth, and viewers are left scratching their heads. His performance was still engaging, though, because he is Jim Sturgess, and I will watch nearly anything that has him in it.

Yes, even porn.

As long as it has Jim, I’ll watch it. I might not like it, but I’ll drool over him predictably. I might slip on my own saliva and die, but at least the last thing I see is Jim.

So should you watch 21? I don’t know. I don’t care.

I want Jiiim.

Just today, Inquirer Sunday published an article listing the most memorable lines in Philippine cinema. Sadly, not on the list is a classic line from the cinematic gem, Angelito San Miguel at ang mga Batang City Jail:

“Sa sobrang pagmamahal mo sa mga materyal na bagay, nakalimutan mo nang mahalin ang kapwa mo tao! Tandaan mo! Tao ang minamahal, hindi materyal na bagay!” ~ Angelito San Miguel (Raymart Santiago)

How eloquent. Why anyone would say that to Roy Vinzon is beyond me.

Anybody who knows me should know that I’m a huge fan of Pinoy movies. I love it all: horror, drama, action, comedy. I even watch the cheap “sexy” films that show up on PBO late at night. They never fail to entertain me, those bold stars. You can barely identify the starlets, let alone figure out the plot with all those cuts (yes, they do not show anything remotely “bold” even when it’s past midnight). It’s just funny, watching them strut around in whatever passes for acting in these pito-pito parts. Plus the dialog is unbelievably laugh-a-minute, particularly when the “actors” fumble through their lines.

And oh, not one of those starlets can be considered sexy at all. Half the time, I stare at the television screen thinking about what the hell the director had in mind when he filled his cast. I can’t exactly explain it, but these wannabes contort themselves into whatever sexy pose seems to appeal to them (or the director), all the while with their ginormous pusons hanging out for all to see.

Great.

Anyway, I also watch tons of action films, particularly those that feature my favorite action star, Ronnie Rickets, who is, by the way, not the brother of Mariz Ricketts. Sometimes I assume Mariz married Ronnie just so she could have a last name. But no, I was actually kidding. My favorite actor is Derek Dee. NOT.

I love Robin Padilla.

That’s actually true. I have a humongous, unforgivable crush on Robin Padilla, and I’m not ashamed to admit it. I also like watching movies starring my all time idol, Sharon Cuneta. Yes, that means I’m a closet Sharonian no more. Boo-yah! Of course that doesn’t mean I liked watching the horror that was the Sharon-Richard (Gomez, not Gutierrez) shower scene. No. No. No.

Moving on.

I like comedies, too, especially those that star Joey de Leon. I’m a big fan of his, and I can’t tell you just how many times I’ve seen “She-Man”. I love that movie, most probably because it includes a gay Joonee Gamboa. And oh, I love “Petrang Kabayo”, too. I can even sing the theme song, given the right “motivating” circumstances.

Going back to that gem of a movie, Angelito San Miguel. It was fun watching a young Raymart act all angsty and serious. His shift from happy to angsty to torn and weepy in seconds left me speechless. No actor can possibly convey such a diverse range of emotions in a split second. Raymart is God’s gift to Pinoy cinema. *cue tears*

Not at all overacting was Keempee de Leon. I must admit I had a big big crush on Keempee back then; I was a big fan of the Keempee-Carmina love team. Go ahead, gag. At least I didn’t go for the Sheryl-Romnick barf fest.

Before I get distracted again, I just have to say that the movie’s “Most Unnecessary Yet Still Highly Entertaining” award goes to Gary Estrada, who tagged along with the motley “Batang City Jail” crew just so he could use his gigolo skills on Dexter Doria while his friends sneaked off with her antiques. Seeing Gary in bed with Dexter Doria is really something else.

They just don’t make films like this anymore.

I miss Tora-Tora Bang-Bang.

I watched CJ7 yesterday. For people who don’t know, it’s Stephen Chow’s new movie, slated for international release.

Who is Stephen Chow? Drop and give me twenty you ignorant asshole. Stephen Chow, king of comedy and god of the Hong Kong box office, is the greatest actor/director/producer who ever lived. I say that even if I love Andy Lau with all my heart. Anyway, he’s the guy behind Kung Fu Hustle and Shaolin Soccer, as well as God of Cookery, Mad Monk, Fight Back to School and dozens and dozens of Hong Kong cinema gold.

I love Stephen Chow.

Okay then. CJ7 isn’t really as drop-dead funny as the rest of Chow’s movies. This time, most of the comedy comes from the little girl who played Chow’s son (yeah, you read that right). It’s sort of a feel-good movie with a cute and furry CGI alien pet instead of the usual Ng Man Tat. Digression: I love you, Ng Man Tat, please come back and show up in some HK screwball movie soon. The world needs you.

I thought the film was okay, it was funny, though lacking in the usual mo lei tau that the Chow is so known for. Maybe because it’s a film for the Western audience, and no one in the West (save for the Chinese immigrants, maybe) will be able to figure out what the hell he’s babbling about.

CJ7 isn’t hard-core comedy and it sure isn’t Stephen Chow’s best. I watched it only because I’m an affirmed Chow-head and I’ll watch nearly anything with Stephen Chow in it. Anyway, there’s hope: Kung Fu Hustle 2 is in the works.

I miss From Beijing with Love.

**************************************************
I watched AI for two consecutive weeks because of the Lennon/McCartney and Beatles themes. So far, I think I’m hating that Archuleta dude (who royally screwed up when he forgot the words to “We Can Work It Out”) because he keeps giggling. He seems genuinely nice, but I hate the fact that he might win this contest because of his hordes of giddy teenage fans.

Obviously I’m rooting for someone else, and that someone else is Cook (I have no idea what his first name is). His rendition of Eleanor Rigby and Daytripper knocked me out of my senses. He must win. Must.

And oh, I like the Pinay girl. I saw her sing “You Don’t Have to Say You Love Me”, which is so Pinoy karaoke (you know who you are, you Lani Misalucha wannabes), and I just instantly liked her. Hope she does better, though. Her performance has been steadily declining since.

**************************************************
Horrible horrible horrible.

I won’t be able to watch They Kiss Again tonight because channel 66 has been AWOL for days. Blech. Screw you, Destiny Cable, screw you!

It’s just different watching the movie again on the big screen. I noticed some things that I didn’t see the first time (like Max was the cabbie who nearly hit Jojo) and generally speaking, it was just fun watching them all over again.

There’s nothing like watching a movie you love on the big screen, especially if it has a lot of psychedelic action. The scene with Bono as Dr. Roberts just lit up the screen and well, I felt high after that. I’m not a big fan of Bono (U2 fans, try not to hit me with things that’ll actually hurt) but his version of “I am the Walrus” is great. His performance was totally hippie and laced with LSD(like I’d know how that feels, heh). Of course no one can say “googoo g’joob” like the one and only John Lennon, but man, Bono comes in a close second.

This is not a Bono fan page. Moving on.

At one point, though, the screen just went nuts, like when you buy pirated DVDs and it conks out on you halfway. Somehow, the person manning the booth up there fixed it and the movie went on without a hitch. Anyhoo, watching my future husband Jim Sturgess singing on screen is more than enough compensation for that minor fluke.

It takes courage and willpower to stop yourself from singing along, and I have to say I failed. I sang a little (in a teeny voice — really) with Sadie in “Why Don’t We Do It in the Road”, with the pimp and his hos for “Come Together”, and started bobbing my head like an idiot when Jim sang “Revolution”. When “All You Need is Love” came I just lost it. I was grinning, too, in a manner rather similar to the Cheshire Cat.

Of course the only problem when you go to the movies is that you have to share the experience with approximately a hundred others (I don’t know the exact number, I’m poor at estimating and I suck at math). Sometimes, these “others” are retards, like the ones we had to endure a while ago. In the “Let It Be” scene, there’s a black kid singing and some poor sap who has no sense of humor (and apparently not enough common sense to realize it) cracked a very unfunny joke. He said it loud enough to inform the entire room, too, like he needed attention or something.

Retard.

But no matter. I loved watching the movie again, and will probably do so repeatedly because I still have the copy in my PC. It just doesn’t get old. By the way, this was the first time I stopped eating halfway through a movie. It’s difficult eating and swooning and singing all at the same time you know.

In my previous post I forgot to mention one thing that I super loved (as in to the nth power imaginable): Max singing she loves you yeah, yeah, yeah at the end of “All You Need is Love”. I loved it the first time but somehow forgot to mention it. Memory gap. It’s just lovely and sweet and I can’t believe they were able to include that bit in a fashion that made sense to the plot (you know, in the same way that John Lennon sang those lines in the original version of “All You Need is Love”). Yes I am cheesy. I don’t care. It’s just super swoon inducing, and my ability to use adjectives has just been reduced to one word: “super”.

It’s impossible not to fall in love with this movie.

Honestly, no matter how much I love my dear darling screwed up Keith, there’s no way a movie like this could be done with a Rolling Stones soundtrack. The entire discography of the Stones could be used endlessly on House and it would be perfect. But for a movie as beautiful as this?

It’s going to take more than that.

I’m talking about the movie Across the Universe, wherein, from the very title, you should be able to discern the band I’m referring to. Yep, The Beatles. The entire movie is completely Beatle-centric, from the music to the people to dialogue. People named Jude, Max, Lucy, Sadie, Jojo and Prudence populate the movie, with strawberries and a circus thrown in for good measure.

It’s sort of a love story, first and foremost, though it ventures into political territory in some parts. Overall, it’s about a guy and a girl, Jude and Lucy respectively, who find love and identity and love again while surrounded by clashing ideologies, drugs and death.

It’s interesting how the music of the Fab Four was woven so smoothly and artistically into the story. I love the part where Jude sings “Revolution” to Lucy, who was so smitten with the fight against the Vietnam War. Chairman Mao makes a cameo. Classic. The part where Jojo and Jude sing “My Guitar Gently Weeps” is well, simply heartbreaking. And of course, the allegory of strawberries and bombs is *ahem* bloody brilliant. I would never have thought it possible, but it worked.

Plus they stage a rooftop concert reminiscent of the Beatles’ final performance together, similarly performing “Don’t Let Me Down”. And well, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a better rendition of “Hey, Jude” (especially the ecstatic heyjudeheyjudeheyjudeheyjude part), except maybe Hugh Laurie’s chipmunk version.

Some parts seemed a little forced, though, like the Mr. Kite scene. After a psychedelic rendition of “I am the Walrus” on a hippie bus, they all end up in a circus tent with a guy named Mr. Kite. Is that really necessary? It was an extended trip not only for the characters, but for the viewers as well.

I think more effort could have gone into the “Across the Universe” part, too. Really. It’s the title of the movie. Wouldn’t you think they’d give the scene a little more oomph? And why does a pimp sing “Come Together”?

Anyway, that’s a tiny, tiny gripe. The rest of the movie proceeds flawlessly. The actors were great, too, by the way. Makes you forget Rachel Evan Wood is actually girlfriend to Marilyn Manson in real life. I don’t know if it’s just me, but Jim Sturgess, who plays Jude, looks uncannily like a young Paul (though infinitely more handsome and rugged, sorry Paul), while Max (Joe Anderson) pre-draft reminded me of John Lennon. All he needs are the round glasses and he’s all set.

It’s a very interesting movie, to say the least, and I’m really not letting my obsession with the Beatles get in the way of my objective judgment (or am I?). It’s moving, really, and I’m rarely moved, if at all — by movies especially. It’s a lot to think about while you’re watching and the beautiful music by the Beatles will simply refuse to let you look away.

I can’t explain it, but it’s like there’s a certain power within Beatles songs that can wrench out your deepest, most painful emotions, particularly when juxtaposed with the right scenes. There’s something about their songs that just reels you in and never lets you go. It stays with you. There’s this scene where a kid caught in the middle of a riot in Detroit sings “Let It Be” and it just won’t let go. Haunting would be an insufficient word.

In the last scene, when Jude sings “All You Need Is Love”, I sort of believed that there’s nothing that can’t be done, if you have love.

Maybe it really is all we need.

****************************************************
P.S. There’s this scene where an indignant Max states, “who you are defines what you do”.

I don’t know who I am, so what the hell should I do?

It takes genius to build a barber’s chair that drops dead people into a trapdoor that leads to a bakery down below.

And of course, it’s rather mad to have one in the first place, with the intention of slitting unwitting necks for meat pies.

Not that I care.

I have Johnny Depp singing at the top of his lungs in front on me. It would be quite ungrateful to say more. Do I even need say it? But I will: I love it. As always, nearly anything with Johnny Depp in it is worth watching.

It might be a disturbing symptom of the state of my sanity, but as the demon barber slashed neck after neck, I whispered to my sister, “ang guwapo talaga”. Not something a very normal viewer would do, but he really is quite guwapo even as he murdered several customers in a row.

I did think it was quite sad, particularly for Lucy. Benjamin Barker （aka Sweeney Todd) did get to slash more than a few necks and exact revenge from a lecherous Alan Rickman. Lucy, however, lived a horribly unhappy life as a vagrant （I’m quite sure vagrants don’t have happy lives, but, well, I’m not a vagrant). On a lighter note, little Joana and the sailor do get to live happily ever after — until they start having bills to pay, that is.

But no matter. Sweeney Todd is a wonderful film. Topnotch, even.

One gripe, though. Why does everybody neglect to mention the presence of Alan Rickman? Everyone goes about promoting a film and go: starring Johnny Depp and that crazy woman who married Tim Burton. But nobody tells us about the fact that Alan fricking Rickman is in the cast. Dogma did, though, and that’s why Kevin Smith is god.

I’ll stop now.

PS: Pinsan Mi, nood tayo. Taraaaaaaaaaaaaaa. Kahit 15 times, ok lang sa kin.