Third time's the charm

I've known the Prince of Persia way back when he was still in a side-scrolling 3-bit game. As a fan, I had a lot of expectations in the latest film franchise — expectations borne out of fantasizing. Kidding. Gyllenhaal's okay, but there's just too much to ignore, especially for a Masscomm dropout, who has seen the movie three times. Guess who.

This isn't a movie review, in fact there's much to say on the concept as a whole. I can't say I'm impressed, nor disappointed (towards the movie), as that will be your hypothesis by the end of this article. But, as far as you're reading on, there's one thing to ponder: What is an epitome of a typical Prince of Persia?— if there could be any.

I imagined the prince during my childhood wits as this paradoxical figure, a fierce but gentle soul; has an austere sense of justice; and menacingly handsome in appearance. Clearly, I wasn't any ordinary kid off the block. There was a lot to imagine way back when textual descriptions and visual sprites can't seem to provide a clear reference to this elusive being, whom I've been so curious about. As far as development and profit was concerned, there was a need to improve on the illustration, to delve in the persona of the prince to give more substance to his character, to market this prince. When I knew that Disney conceptualized their own interpretation of Prince of Persia, I scowled to the thought of them likening him to that conventional prince-charming archetype, who's reputably polygamous by connotation. My prince is mine. Growl. Well, they were kind of close to doing that and I was close to abhorring it without even being halfway through my own guidelines of a film review. In my thoughts I try to preserve his mystique by comforting myself to the fact that it is a cultural reference that's been widely improvised for promotion. The gaming franchise, so far, is creative but the focus is not on content. In fact, this scheme of heavy abuse on the graphics is an excuse that is most often foregone because it's purposefully driven to awe their (viewer) critical thinking into oblivion. And as for the 2010 movie, their accent had my eyebrows raised; the mostly-Caucasian cast was tolerable for a foreign production; the casting was, in a lack of a better term, close to satisfactory; and a true Persian beauty has no freckles. Gyllenhal seemed to lack a deep connection with the character but he certainly has the Persian package. Pun intended. Did they (Disney people) seriously think that by moderating its viewer discretion, people would stop paying attention to details? I would've preferred a production in an authentic Persian medium, that way, everything in the context but the subtitles are forgiven.

Anybody can have their own subjective views about the prince, especially if you're the type who is obsessed. Like someone I know. By now, you'll be able to tell that this is officially a rant. I guess it's back to imagining. It's the Prince of Persia and me, alone in the perversion of my thoughts.

Updates on the latest Video GAYmes

Got my fingers crossed on Prince of Persia ;)

† Disclaimer: No intended copyright infringement, just a re-post. All rights reserved on Infomania TV

A Separate Piece: Chapter 2 (partial)

The next morning I forgot about the whole thing and I was surprised to find him knocking at my doorstep. My bag was firmly clenched in his hand with unbearable strength of one's feelings, as though the inanimate object would almost squirm in pain. It took me quite a while to remember all the agitation yesterday from that unexpected misdemeanor he demonstrated. His unsightly appearance first thing in the morning already ruined my day. He reeked, so much I couldn't even smell my own morning breath. There was this sort of miasma issuing about him that I had randomly distinguished strangely similar to the odor of a radish. Assuming from how thick the sweat running from his face was, I figured that he was from a jog. More strange, he knew where to find me. I'm not a bit of a morning person, so my head wasn't functional enough to realize that my exploitation yesterday was due to his deplorable skill in rummaging without consent. In our native colloquial term, we call that the 'pakialamero'. Naturally, he would already be familiar with my contact information, which I've withheld from him ever since. By then, I've come to regret the neat-freak that I am for having completely addressed all my notes and journals that with them, even a primate could follow the directions to my residence. When it dawned on me that everything wasn't a dream, my disheveled appearance was just a euphemism of me being wretched beyond the pale. Something tells me this won't be the only time I would get myself involved in any way with this guy.

Before he could sport any attempts for an apology, I outstripped him with the most menacing look I could portray. I'm sure he was able to sense that I was really upset, he was able to realize the gravity of his offense, seeing the remorse on his face—that face, which is so painful to look at. Those eyes of his were in an effort to soften my rising tension, masquerading that uncouth attitude that he's been recognizably known for. He tried to appease my gurgling volcano of thoughts as he slowly handed me my bag without any single word. No sorry, not one bit of regret. That just irked my temper into a broiling pique. I was about to exhale the pressure out when he finally decided to open his mouth first.

"I didn't know that you were—," go ahead, say that word.

"—my neighbor."

I was speechless. That woke me up.

ʚϊɞ

See Jane Lynch like never before in Madonna's cover "Vogue"

This video will send Gleek tongues wagging—*wags*

† I do not own the rights to this video, Fox does.

A Tribute to a Friend Who's Found Peace (Repost)

It has only been just a while, since I could remember how Karl had been a part of my life. It was when I began my pursuit of music as a member of the school chorale back in high school, there, where i first met him. He was this very loud and cheerful person, dark, and I mean literally dark guy who possessed this extraordinary guttural voice, I almost thought he had a throat disorder. Later, I found out that we had the same vocal section, and I thought, it was such a drag to have him around. I was a person shrouded in mystery and silence back then, short-tempered and irritable, not to mention very fat... so I was quick to flee from his wake to avoid ridicules that were uncalled for. I never expected that he would actually be the greatest bully; a practitioner of the arts of trickery.

Some time during camping, I remember him being the one who gave me this awful nickname, a word possessing such graphic mockery to my physical form. He called me "butchokoy", a name which became quickly accustomed by the people around us. It was very tormenting for me to walk around having this metaphorical placard tied around my neck. I was the laughing stock most of the time, all thanks to him and his wonderful deeds of mischief. Eventually, he was starting to become a pain. Save all the comforts I imagined by joining the chorus, which would have been a great interest as I'd expected. It turned out the opposite when I started experiencing the same stratum of childish jeers I had back then. But this time, however, with his company. Though I can't say he was really a rotten fellow. The way I saw him changed only some time after he did me a great favor in teaching me hurdle through my very first piece, the "Rosas Pandan". Somehow, it changed my impression of him being this good-for-nothing, insensitive oppressor. From that point, I found a sense of responsibility from him, having seen him direct all his attention and efforts to me without having to bully me.

When I stepped up to college, I never gave up my desire to sing in a choir. This was where I thought we'd part ways. Surprisingly, I found out that he was as determined as I in chasing this dream when I saw him in the school chorale. I can't say acting maturely would have meant me having complacency with myself, but it proved to be the best way to cope with the situation. I was glad to know, we have both grown. It was a fresh new start. Like having to know the person all over again and see the good things in him. Though I can't really say it was the end of our childish ways, but it was because we were old enough to laugh about the silly things we've done. I have changed, and so had he. And here, I can really say, I changed for the better because of him. I was thinner then. Things were starting to feel okay and he became one of my greatest friends.

I never thought he would come to startle me once again. I received a text message saying he passed away. Knowing him, I was bound to be skeptical, or rather I had the right to be. Having thought that it was a nasty little game he was playing, I just had to see it with my own eyes. Seeing him lying down in the coffin just gave the impression that he wouldn't go this far. He still was the greatest shocker of all time. It was for real. I never cried though, not because I still hate him, but because I never really knew him very well. It took days until I became reminiscent of him. For some reason, I cherished the memories we had even though it wasn't really that nice to remember, because his acknowledgments were far better than the friends who promised me to be there with me but really weren't.

Karl was pivotal in my life. Without him, I would still have thickened to a bum sitting on the couch all day. If it weren't for him, I'd still be closed off from all the opportunities that went my way. Proudly enough, I could say he was formidable next to Vicky Belo or anyone else who offered slimming. It was the great push, the positive nudge in my life that he had been responsible for and it had made me eternally thankful to him. I pray with all the angels and the saints, that they would be able to send my blog to heaven...

Happy Anniversary, Karl. you will never be forgotten...

Alice in BLUNDERLAND???

When Tim Burton fans (myself included) have heard of his recent project on a spin-off of Lewis Caroll's long-time novelty, fans went mad as the Hatter. Things got curiouser and curiouser on how Burton's "re-imagining" of Alice would turn out. For those unfamiliar with Burton, he shaped goth through most of his subversive works, most notably with Nightmare Before Christmas and Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street. As expected, the film was subject to be texturized with Burton's signature dark and quirky theme, along with a Disney convention, in a clever mix of live action and 3-D animation. However, after the film finally hit the big screen, casual movie-goers and fans alike shared similar sentiments in a mix of disappointment and amazement. Although through the years there had been many adaptations of Alice in Wonderland that we came to know, this time however, we would wonder, is it really THE Alice we've known?

Subsequently after the movie release, Burton's Bettlejuice purists were fazed by this new installment, dissatisfied for lacking the same degree of "creepiness" prevalent in Burton's previous works. Literary loyalists of Caroll's original Alice's Adventures in Wonderland on the other hand, despise the reconstruction of the plot, sacrificing the minimal narrative coherence in the book. Much of its character concentrated on the "literary nonsense" it was supposed to delineate, that of which according to them, was lost, making Burton's undertaking on the plot not so well-received. Whether or not Burton had lost his muchness after deciding to derail the story from its original plot scheme to give ground to an emotional framework, which he felt was inadequately portrayed in the book, still, people come to enjoy its marvelous visual compensation.

Fortunately, the times have been able to cope up with the intricate demands of Burton's imagination. The CGI advantage rendered breathtaking ambience of the espousal between Burton's and Caroll's imagery. On top of that, the cast displayed a bedazzling gothic Victorian pomp spectacle as the flamboyantly whimsical entourage behind the concept, but few seem to have been able to stretch their characterization through the aisle. Let alone Johnny Depp, who played as Tarrant Hightopp, the Mad Hatter with his eccentric best. Though the noticeable disparity may give a wrong impression on his own interpretation, likewise, the instruction of Burton suggested that his delight in the oddity gave reason beyond doubt. Better yet, we know that Johnny Depp acted as a loosely-based Hatter, and not as himself.

Among the grotesques designed by Burton, is his franchisee and domestic partner, Helena Bonham Carter, as the imperiously shrewd, both literally and figuratively "bloody big-headed" Red Queen, Iracebeth of Crims, according to the ever evaporating Chessur, the Cheshire Cat voiced-acted by Stephen Fry. Alongside her is the menacingly cadaverous Ilosovic Stayn, Knave of Hearts played by Crispin Glover. Her completely virtual opposite is Anne Hathaway, who played the overbearingly dramatic White Queen, Mirana of Marmoreal. As for Alice Kingsley, she was played by Mia Wasikowska, specifically chosen by Burton. We have known her as Alice Lidell, this curious and imaginative little girl, who chased the unceasingly jumpy Nivens McTwisp, the White Rabbit, voice-acted by Michael Sheen, and fell down the rabbit hole 10 years earlier. But now she comes back as a 19-year-old ingenue, who appears to be "Not-exactly-Alice" as described by the sagely smoking caterpillar Absolem, voice-acted by Alan Rickman, although some don't completely agree like the tubby twins Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum, both played by Matt Lucas. Hereon, we find that the adolescence of Alice was a device used by Burton to dismember the lingering traces of her childish temperament for the sake of the film's plot development. She was the Alice we knew alright, but now she has grown, slightly different with a new surname, but all the same, striven to be in propriety with the book's conceived persona.

The film's overall composition was viewed indecisive in terms of the insignificant differences made to cover up for its flaws, but on the contrary, its appeal reconciles those changes made to be realized that Burton intended for it to be solely an extension in its own right. Compared to its predecessors, Burton escalates it into a whole new different worldview, an ideology possessed by directors based on their own personal foundation; a way of representation unique of his own perspective. Burton fans could not deny the feel to it, as to clearly he had already established his penchant for his subversive ways, which Burton fans came to love, long before in his older works. Even Lewis Caroll may fall into the rabbit hole of Burton's consciousness, and surprisingly he may find a Wonderland of macabre wonders he could relate to the underlying sadism that elude immature readers from his bizarre fantasy.

Simplistic—a word inappropriate to describe the elaborate redesign, but in the confusion of its making, it proves just as worthy. Obviously evident in the story pattern in the film was a succeeding climax, which proves necessary in my opinion, as a relief from the monotony of Caroll's intellectually evasive nonsensical word play. I personally had myself inflicted with a pounding head after reading Caroll's work, which compelled me to immerse myself in footnotes, later to find out that even serious scholars grovel over his works just to decipher and simplify it to bring out the sophisticated humor that it had been selfish of.

It is utterly useless to debate over things, which have not been fully grasped, especially to those brash movie critics who fail to put gravity on the weight of their accusations to justify the faults within the aesthetic values of the film. My sentiments goes compliant with the disposition of the Red Queen: Off with their heads!

☆☆☆☆

Reminiscence...

I miss playing this game...

So much more, I miss the one whom I've been playing it with...