Just saw: Gerald's Game (2017)

Not having read the book, I didn't know what Gerald's Game was about the story of a woman, Jessie, whose husband Gerald suddenly dies of a heart attack as they were about to have kinky sex, leaving her handcuffed to the bed. Alone. In a house in a remote cabin in the woods.

I'm sure I have a copy of the Stephen King novel lying around somewhere, but I probably didn't find the premise intriguing enough to put it on top of my reading list.

I read that director Mike Flanagan carried the book with him all the time for years, hoping to convince someone to turn it into a movie. Everyone thought Gerald's Game was either unfilmable or "not a movie." Years later, Netflix happened.

It's one of the movies that I thought I could watch without paying complete attention (some horror films are like that, at least to me, and too many Stephen King film adaptations are like that), but upon seeing the ending, I regret that I missed some details. I missed out on how creepy the Moonlight Man was, and I missed the symmetry in the script.

Gerald's Game has a "locked room" set up and basically has only three actors plus a dog. A younger horror fan me might have been a little bored by it because it doesn't have a lot of action (no jump scares!), but older me shares a little bit in Jessie's psychological torment, tied to the bed as much as she is tied to a past trauma that had her repeating patterns -- a horror more real to me these days.

Attempting to escape the handcuffs becomes a deeper emotional journey for Jessie (Gerald's Game been called a feminist movie), and the dialogue (an internal monologue actually, but Flanagan has Jessie talking to her imaginary self and an imaginary Gerald) shows beautifully how she talks herself out of giving up, subverting her trauma and its consequences in her bid to survive.

And because this is a Stephen King story, the moment Jessie is about to win is also the moment that has sent some viewers -- not me -- passing out or throwing up.

It's not a perfect film -- I found some parts of it corny -- but it's one of the better film adaptations of a Stephen King work and any fan of his should not miss it. Plus, the acting's great -- Carla Gugino as Jessie is almost mesmerizing. My only complaint is that the part with the Moonlight Man could have been done better.

They should also have told us what happened to the dog. Kidding.

Because I didn't pay complete attention the first time, I watched parts of it again. Upon second viewing, Gerald's Game reminded me of one of my favorite Stephen King novels, the lesser known (and, in my humble opinion, one of the best written) Lisey's Story.

I read that Flanagan also wants a shot at turning Lisey's Story into a movie. I'm keeping my fingers crossed.

I had a nightmare after watching IT (2017)

I watched the last full show of IT (2017) last night. I'll write an entry on it later, but first this.
This is the nightmare I had after watching IT.

***

I dreamt that I had grabbed a cute blue-eyed white kitten through the window of a car stuck in EDSA traffic.

I was walking on the sidewalk when I saw the kitten, a family pet, about to get crushed by a reclining seat, so I reached into the car and pulled it to safety, fully intending to give it back immediately.

I knew the driver, and I had been seeing pictures of her five-year-old son and the kitten named Brutus on Instagram. She mouthed a "thank you" and reached out for the kitten, but as I tried to hand it over, the traffic lightened. I half ran beside the car, hoping to toss the kitten back in.

"Stop for a few seconds," I said to the driver. But she didn't, or couldn't, and soon she had to drive faster up the Ortigas flyover. She sped away in her BMW, leaving me standing on the sidewalk with Brutus.

I played with him a little. He liked being babied, so I cradled him in my arms and rubbed his tummy. But on the way home, I had to put him in a small cloth pouch with a plastic cover and a zipper. He went in without complaining and promptly fell asleep.

I expected a call from Brutus' family. Two days later, still no call.

Why wasn't she calling?

Also two days later, while talking to my friends, I suddenly wondered where Brutus was and realized I had forgotten to take him out of the pouch. I ran to my room.

Heart pounding, I picked up the pouch from my desk. There was no movement. When I opened it, out came the dead kitten, stiff and dry, hair still fluffy but body a bit flat. A tiny leg fell off. There was no blood, only a deflation.

I was horrified. I had no idea how to tell my friend I had killed her beloved pet! I could say he just died of natural causes, I thought to myself. Or maybe I could just say he ran away. But maybe her son needed to see little Brutus' body for a proper goodbye.

I put the tiny corpse in a shoebox, still not knowing what to say.

And why hadn't she called?

I went back to my friends, silent about my accidental murder. They were talking happily about their babies.

One of them looked up at me and asked, "So, how's my baby? Did he behave?"

I had no idea what she was talking about.

What baby?

Why was she asking me about her baby?

I woke up when I was starting to remember.

Le Petit Prince

For when I'll never be a grown up, October 2015.

Not perfection

I watched The Equalizer last week. It was a fun movie, like Taken fun. I'd been overthinking a lot of things lately, so I welcomed every bit of onscreen violence as that day's catharsis. I was only after escape, but a line, one I'm sure I'd heard many times before, stayed with me: Progress, not perfection.

I've been feeling quite paralyzed lately. It comes and it goes, and the intensity varies, but there it is: I've been finding it difficult to make steps forward.

Perhaps it's because I haven't been doing what I want and creating things I love. And because I've put it off for so long, I have somehow convinced myself that when I do it, it has to be perfect to be worth the time I wasted.

Crazy, right?

Progress, not perfection. I have to remember.

Tonight I decided treat myself

At 10:17, I wolfed down the packed meal I had brought from home, threw away leftover chicken still with some meat on its bones, opened an umbrella and rushed out into the rain to catch the last full show of Begin Again.

Bow.

Hemingways

I just saw Midnight in Paris, and it's a beautiful little film. Here's a quote from Woody Allen's version of Ernest Hemingway, who was all about courage.

All men fear death. It's a natural fear that consumes us all. We fear death because we feel that we haven't loved well enough or loved at all, which ultimately are one and the same. However, when you make love with a truly great woman, one that deserves the utmost respect in this world and one that makes you feel truly powerful, that fear of death completely disappears. Because when you are sharing your body and heart with a great woman the world fades away. You two are the only ones in the entire universe. You conquer what most lesser men have never conquered before, you have conquered a great woman's heart, the most vulnerable thing she can offer to another. Death no longer lingers in the mind. Fear no longer clouds your heart. Only passion for living, and for loving, become your sole reality. This is no easy task for it takes insurmountable courage. But remember this, for that moment when you are making love with a woman of true greatness you will feel immortal.

Sometimes I still miss you

Nelson Fox: I just have to meet someone new, that's all. That's the easy part.
Joe Fox: Oh right, yeah, a snap to find the one single person in the world who fills your heart with joy.

Colors of the week

This week, in words and images.

I broke out in angry red rashes in the middle of the week. From stress, maybe, or from something in my cubicle. I swear, some days I feel like some little thing's biting me or crawling all over my skin. Sometimes, I'd like to know exactly what; sometimes, I'd like to just keep on wondering. (What if I've suddenly developed allergies to working? Such a delicious, disturbing thought!)

***

Patrick Swayze died this week. Dirty Dancing was big among my childhood friends, and it became big with me through osmosis. We tried to perform the (not so dirty, IMO) Dirty Dancing dance for one of the neighborhood Christmas parties, working overtime to get the climactic lift right.

It was at that time that I discovered, beyond reasonable doubt, that I was not really a dancer, no matter the number of programs I'd "volunteered" to join as a child. I'd danced Silent Night in a Hawaiian costume. I'd pranced around in a little red skirt and red-and-white striped socks, carrying a big polystyrene candy cane, dancing to Winter Wonderland. I'd dressed as an angel, throwing bougainvillea flowers in my path to the tune of another Christmas song. But it was Dirty Dancing that showed me all those had come to naught.

Still, I can probably sing the words to The Time of My Life. Off-key, of course. But that's another story.

***

Mary Travers died this week. I liked the music of Peter, Paul and Mary. It was by osmosis too, as when I was a child, my parents had a record player the size of a typical chest freezer, and one of their records was Puff the Magic Dragon. If I learned to love The Beatles later on, it was because I loved Peter, Paul and Mary first.

I watched the Puff the Magic Dragon movie some time after that. It's about Jackie, a boy paralyzed by fear.

I looked up some quotes from Puff:

Jackie, the first step in not being afraid is to see things as they really are.
Jackie, believe in yourself! Have the courage to try! That's the second step to not being afraid.
Like all small-spirited and stupid beings, they believe that they can deny beauty by hiding it.

I want a copy of this film! I think I need to see it again. :-)

***

Little surprises:

Today, I found a baby dragonfly in our tiny lobby. I plucked it from the paper it was clinging on to and gently carried it outside. It flew away. It was the first baby dragonfly I've ever seen in my entire life.

Tonight, I came home with five balloons in different colors.

You can't plan these things.

Iris has the best lines

Today was a fun day for movies. First, I caught Bituing Walang Ningning on Cinema One. I texted Louie immediately and we had a blast giggling and gushing at the lines.

This evening, I caught The Holiday on HBO. Lovely script. I like Nancy Myers' worlds because she understands people are complicated, yet love is simple.

This one isn't my favorite part, but I love what she says here.

Iris: "I understand feeling as small and as insignificant as humanly possible. And how it can actually ache in places you didn't know you had inside you. And it doesn't matter how many new haircuts you get, or gyms you join, or how many glasses of chardonnay you drink with your girlfriends... you still go to bed every night going over every detail and wonder what you did wrong or how you could have misunderstood. And how in the hell for that brief moment you could think that you were that happy. And sometimes you can even convince yourself that he'll see the light and show up at your door. And after all that, however long all that may be, you'll go somewhere new. And you'll meet people who make you feel worthwhile again. And little pieces of your soul will finally come back. And all that fuzzy stuff, those years of your life that you wasted, that will eventually begin to fade."

More lines below. The last one's my favorite.

Arthur Abbott: Iris, in the movies we have leading ladies and we have the best friend. You, I can tell, are a leading lady, but for some reason you are behaving like the best friend.

Iris: You're so right. You're supposed to be the leading lady of your own life, for god's sake! Arthur, I've been going to a therapist for three years, and she's never explained things to me that well. That was brilliant. Brutal, but brilliant.

***

Iris: I've found almost everything ever written about love to be true. Shakespeare said "Journeys end in lovers meeting." What an extraordinary thought. Personally, I have not experienced anything remotely close to that, but I am more than willing to believe Shakespeare had. I suppose I think about love more than anyone really should. I am constantly amazed by its sheer power to alter and define our lives. It was Shakespeare who also said "love is blind". Now that is something I know to be true. For some quite inexplicably, love fades; for others love is simply lost. But then of course love can also be found, even if just for the night. And then, there's another kind of love: the cruelest kind. The one that almost kills its victims. Its called unrequited love. Of that I am an expert. Most love stories are about people who fall in love with each other. But what about the rest of us? What about our stories, those of us who fall in love alone? We are the victims of the one sided affair. We are the cursed of the loved ones. We are the unloved ones, the walking wounded. The handicapped without the advantage of a great parking space! Yes, you are looking at one such individual. And I have willingly loved that man for over three miserable years! The absolute worst years of my life! The worst Christmas', the worst Birthday's, New Years Eve's brought in by tears and valium. These years that I have been in love have been the darkest days of my life. All because I've been cursed by being in love with a man who does not and will not love me back. Oh god, just the sight of him! Heart pounding! Throat thickening! Absolutely can't swallow! All the usual symptoms.

***

Iris: "Shush. You broke my heart. And you acted like somehow it was my fault, my misunderstanding, and I was too in love with you to ever be mad at you, so I just punished myself! For years! But you waltzing in here on my lovely Christmas holiday, and telling me that you don't want to lose me whilst you're about to get MARRIED, somehow newly entitles me to say, it's over. This - This twisted, toxic THING between us, is finally finished! I'm miraculously done being in love with you! Ha! I've got a life to start living."

It's just love, actually

Everytime I start to feel a little bit jaded, I find myself going back to one of my favorite films of all time, Love, Actually, the many love stories of which I can relate to, depending on the stage I'm in.

This time, it's this exchange that I want to go back to:

Sam: There's this big concert at the end of term, and Joanna's in it. And I thought, maybe if I was in the band, and played absolutely superbly, there's a chance that she might actually fall in love with me. What do you think?
Daniel: I think it's brilliant! I think it's stellar! Uh, apart from the one, obvious, tiny, little baby little hiccup...
Sam: That I don't play a musical instrument.
Daniel: Yessir.
Sam: A tiny, insignificant detail.

Unfortunately, I can't find a clip of this scene.

But here's another one on the total agony of being in love. (Note: For those who haven't seen this film, Sam's mom has just died, and his stepdad Daniel is worried.)