Jackson’s new plans for The Hobbit: Three movies to entertain us all

You probably don’t know this yet since I’m betting that you don’t obsessively scan the internet for news about The Hobbit. If you do, then why are we not best friends? I’m serious. If you already know this, you better post your phone number in the comments section because we’re having a sleepover and painting each other’s nails. Again, totally not kidding.

The news is that The Hobbit is going to be split into three, and not two movies. Peter Jackson announced this yesterday on his Facebook page:

“So, without further ado and on behalf of New Line Cinema, Warner Bros. Pictures, Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, Wingnut Films, and the entire cast and crew of “The Hobbit” films, I’d like to announce that two films will become three.

It has been an unexpected journey indeed, and in the words of Professor Tolkien himself, “a tale that grew in the telling.”

You can read the whole note here.

Stretching the roughly 300-page book into three movies could just be a ploy to make more money. So say people like Harry Potter fans who don’t matter. But, I don’t think that’s what’s happening here. What’s happening is that Peter Jackson is a big LOTR dork himself, and he just wants to do JRR Tolkien’s glorious masterpiece justice. Again, I quote his note:

“The richness of the story of The Hobbit, as well as some of the related material in the appendices of The Lord of the Rings, allows us to tell the full story of the adventures of Bilbo Baggins and the part he played in the sometimes dangerous, but at all times exciting, history of Middle-earth.”

Also, Peter Jackson is not one to half-ass a project. The budget for the The Lord of the Rings trilogy was $285 million. That’s enough to buy a handful of private islands in the Bahamas, according to Privateislandsonline.com (“The world’s private island marketplace”!). $285 million says commitment. And, it paid off…literally ten times over.

Jackson, I think, is just investing the same time and care into The Hobbit. Chances are he feels, like, an itty-bitty bit of pressure to deliver with this movie, and he just wants to do it right. If I’m wrong though, and Peter Jackson is just rubbing his hands together and laughing maniacally in Mr. Burns fashion, while carelessly trying to stuff as much content into the movies as possible, then I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care. Because, it just means one more movie that I get to look forward to with dork-filled anticipation.  And, unless there are plans to turn The Silmarillion into a movie, it will be the last Tolkien story brought to life on the big screen.

But, I’m not worried about that scenario. Just, take a look at The Hobbit trailer if you’re worried. I first saw it during the preview for The Dark Knight Rises. I’m not exaggerating for comedic effect when I say that the trailer was the best part of the movie (I hardly ever do that anyway…). Please don’t misunderstand. The Dark Knight Rises was great, but I was a little distracted by my fear-driven compulsions: scanning the audience for someone with crazy eyes, and staring down anyone who lingered in the emergency exit doorways on their way back from the bathroom. (Which, by the way, was A LOT of people. A lot of very, very stupid people. With stupid tiny bladders.)

This blog is intended for a mature audience: Fifty shades of god awful

I like to keep abreast of the latest currents in literature. But, it’s hard. So, so hard. When I read I feel something deep, deep inside of me. I have a passion for books that makes me tingle with SEX… SEXXXXXXX….SEXXX!! Think of SEXXX NOW!

Welcome to the first five chapters of Fifty Shades of Grey.

In them, we’re privy to the interior monologue of Anastasia Steele, a 21-year-old whose list of things she’s never experienced includes getting drunk, having sex, and finding any man attractive, ever. But that’s all about to change. In a big way. A big, big way. (Notice the dick reference there.)

Well before author E.L. James gets into all the sadism and bondage (I’m serious), or even the initial sex scene, she slathers her prose–by prose I mean sentences strung together with as little effort as possible—with one “subtle” sexual allusion after the next. I mean, thank god I studied English Literature, or these precious gems would have been completely overlooked. Some personal favorites include:

“I swallow” and the variation “I swallow hard.” (Just wait, swallowing is about to get even harder.)

“He cocks his head.” (He later vaginas his wrist.)

“As I pull up outside, I know Kate is going to want a blow-by-blow account, and she is tenacious.” (So many blows, so little time.)

“The cork makes its loud pop, and Jose looks up and smiles.” (This one’s not even a stretch. This one can’t even be chocked-up to my perverted mind. Replace the last two letters in “cork” and we’ve got blatant smut on our hands, people.)

“What the hell is he doing here looking all tousled hair and outdoorsy in his cream chunky-knit sweater, jeans, and walking boots? I think my mouth has popped open.” (Blue, red, green: All suitable sweater colors that don’t conjure thoughts of semen. Oh, and then there’s that mouth popping open bit.)

…and the ultimate:

“My mouth pops open as I gasp and swallow at the same time.” (I’m pretty sure that’s…nope. It’s not possible.)

All this is juxtaposed nicely with Anastasia’s pre-pubescent vocabulary. “Crap” and “double crap” are her go-to expletives. In fact, a particularly helpful Amazon.com review mentions that Anastasia says some variation of the word “crap” 92 times. Even better are her choice words for describing Grey (“yummy”) and how she refers to her sexuality (“inner goddess”) and vagina (“down there”).

At one point, Anastasia talks about her desire to lick his face. She thinks licking his face is a sexy thing. Silly virgin. That’s just weird.

“I’d like to run my tongue along his jaw. He hasn’t shaved, and his stubble makes the prospect doubly tempting.”

Actually, stubble makes the prospect not tempting at all. Stubble makes the prospect less tempting than it was originally, which was definitely not tempting.

Following the first five chapters of alluded smut, are twenty-one more chapters of actual smut. I can’t criticize the sex scenes much—not because I’m shy, or find it awkward (though, my mother does read this blog), but because I couldn’t continue reading the book after the first one, where Anastasia comes three times in five minutes with almost no provocation. I think he touches her nipple and she then explodes into a fit of yummy orgasmic delight, or something.

“Double crap, I came too soon!” Just, kidding. She doesn’t say that. But, she should.

Really I lost interest after I figured out that once sex came into play, James had no intention of making Anastasia and Grey characters capable of meaningful communication, beyond their constant “gasping,” “shivering,” “quivering,” and “moaning.” Once Grey tells Anastasia “I don’t make love. I fuck…hard” and then reveals his “playroom” room full of S&M paraphernalia, any trace of humanity in the story dissolves just as quickly as an Anastasia orgasm.

At that point the book just became hilariously bad porn. Which, you know, isn’t worth the effort to read when you can watch it on the Internet for free.

“There are so many beautiful things in the world which I will have to leave when I die, but I’m ready, I’m ready, I’m ready” -Maurice Sendak

This Fire’s gonna burn

“Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey Amazon, don’t be a copycat.”

That’s what I would say to Amazon, if Amazon were a person. Amazon, though, is just another (sigh) greedy corporation with very little creativity.

Yesterday, Amazon unveiled a brand new line of Kindles—a new base model, a new Kindle Touch, and finally the Kindle Fire (double sigh). Apart from scrapping the keyboard and replacing it with a (this is just a guess) PAINFULLY ANNOYING “5-way controller,” the new Kindle isn’t that different from the old Kindle. With “special offers,” a euphemism for REALLY ANNOYING ADS, the new Kindle is 20 bucks cheaper than its older Wi-Fi counterpart, but probably not much better. (Actually it’s worse. I’ve decided.)

Then there’s the Kindle Touch, which costs 20 bucks more than the new base line Kindle because it has—you guessed it—a touch screen! (Hmm…this reminds me of something). As far as I can tell, apart from the touch screen (which is like, so “in” at the moment), the Kindle Touch offers basically no other benefits over the original. In fact, on their website, Amazon has resorted to listing “fast page turns,” as a cool new feature. (…not quite Amazon, not quite.)

But wait, I’ve saved the best for last—the Kindle Fire! And, by best I mean worst. Yes, yes, in addition to normal Kindle capabilities, the Kindle Fire can play movies and music and browse the web using Amazon’s new revolutionary web browser, Amazon Silk (sigh, sigh, sigh). Yes, yes, it has a touchscreen that’s—wow–an entire inch larger than its Kindle brothers. But, the Kindle Fire has one immutable flaw: it’s not an iPad. (Also it has a stupid name.)

Amazon is basically throwing the Fire into the Fire (hardy-har) by releasing it into a market saturated with the better known, and let’s face it, far superior, iPad 2. True, the Fire is nearly $300 less than the iPad2, but it also has a screen that’s 2.7 inches smaller, has half the storage space, no 3G capabilities and no HD video camera.

If Amazon had released the Fire two years ago, when apple launched the iPad, its affordability may have made it a contender. But, as it is, the Fire just looks like an inferior rip-off of Apple’s incredibly lucrative baby. And, that’s what’s disappointing. There’s nothing new or exciting or creative about the Fire (except its stupid name). It’s just an attempt to undercut the competition, which (quadruple sigh) might actually work.

Bumble-ardy gladdens my heart-y

Maurice Sendak just wrote a new book. It’s about a pig who has a birthday party. Genius. Really, it could be about a shoe that falls in love with a sock and I would still want to read it. It could be about anything and despite the fact that I’m clearly too old, I will buy it, and read it, and love it, forever.

It’s called Bumble-ardy, which is the name of the 8-year-old pig protagonist. (Since Sendak is 83 and also fucking awesome, I’m going to ignore the fact that the “ardy” was clearly tacked on as a way to easily rhyme with party.)

Maurice would probably be appalled by this slightly deformed, slightly satanic rendition of Bumble-ardy

Sendack wrote the book while his partner of 50 years, Eugene, was lying in the other room dying of lung cancer. In an interview on Fresh Air, Sendak says “I did Bumble-ardy to save myself. I did not want to die with him.” The nagging reminder of death that Sendak experienced while writing might explain why Bumble-ardy’s fat piggy parents are killed and eaten in the prologue.

A bit morbid for a children’s book, some might say, but I say, “hey some, what you don’t understand is that the best children’s books are seriously creepy.”

Take Where the Wild Things Are, the 1963 classic that made Sendak famous. Max sails away to an island full of enormous, sharp-toothed, scaly, horned monsters. They’re friendly enough, but at least in Spike Jonze’s film rendition (on which he worked closely with Sendak), Max is very nearly eaten by Carol.

The best children’s books are creepy because they don’t patronize kids by distorting the realities of life in a layer of strawberry frosting. Authors like Sendak aren’t afraid of to be honest. The result is books that are haunting, and lovely and lasting.

The scary stuff in children’s books isn’t  there to make tots terrified of the world. Instead, it sets up a clear distinction between “good” and “evil,” with good triumphing in the end (usually with the help of a little magic). In Roald Dahl’s  James and the Giant Peach, after James’ parents are killed by a Rhino (what ?), he is sent to live with his terrifically named aunts, Spiker and Sponge, who severely abuse their nephew.

But, with the help of some green wiggly magic thingies, James escapes into a new, delicious home, has a fabulous adventure with some giant insect friends, and then settles down in New York City to become a famous writer. The aunts, by the way, are arrested (though I think a giant peach pit through the heart would be a more satisfying end).

An article in The New Yorker talks about how adults criticize Roald Dahl because his books inadvertently teach kids to disobey authority figures (like when Matilda uses her telekinetic powers to screw with her trashy parents and the evil Miss Trunchbull). Whatever, adults. Dahl’s books show that bad people are punished, and if bad people happen to be parents, then so be it.

The fact that at 21, I’m still drawn to books (and their movie equivalents) by Sendak and Dahl–Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory is genius, and not only because I’m weirdly attracted to Gene Wilder–suggests that these aren’t children’s book, but rather, books for children. That being said,  when I buy Bumble-ardy, the newest release from one of my favorite authors, I won’t feel the need to fabricate a story involving a small child’s birthday… p-ardy.

(see what I did there.)