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Stuporstar posted:But what if I intend my sex scene to be farce, huh? It's actually a parody of bad sex. It's satire! You plebs wouldn't understand anyway! Yeah my girlfriend didn't get it either
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Apr 30, 2020 06:39
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Stuporstar posted:But what if I intend my sex scene to be farce, huh? It's tragedy first
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Apr 30, 2020 08:46
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Mine are mostly slapstick.
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Apr 30, 2020 08:51
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Ghost Leviathan posted:Mine are mostly slapstick. That's fine if it's consensual
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Apr 30, 2020 13:54
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Stuporstar posted:But what if I intend my sex scene to be farce, huh? Finally getting started on that autobiography, huh?
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Apr 30, 2020 21:37
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Nah, it’s aspirational. I wish my sex with my husband was interesting enough to be called a farce
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Apr 30, 2020 22:03
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imo go full comedy of errors. just when he's about to come, be like "im your downstairs neighbour"
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Apr 30, 2020 22:24
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It would be really funny to mimic my upstair’s neighbor’s sex screams. I was joking one time about “Screamy” with my neighbor across the hall and she was like, “Oh, she’s actually really nice. Did you know she’s a ballerina?” And now I can’t not imagine her spinning on a dick doing a full splitz as she goes, “AaAaAaAa Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!” For like thirty whole goddamn minutes. I envy that woman her utter joy and ability to not give a gently caress about how insanely loudly she’s loving
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May 1, 2020 05:43
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Stuporstar posted:It would be really funny to mimic my upstair’s neighbor’s sex screams. I was joking one time about “Screamy” with my neighbor across the hall and she was like, “Oh, she’s actually really nice. Did you know she’s a ballerina?” And now I can’t not imagine her spinning on a dick doing a full splitz as she goes, “AaAaAaAa Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!” For like thirty whole goddamn minutes. I envy that woman her utter joy and ability to not give a gently caress about how insanely loudly she’s loving Do it
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May 1, 2020 06:09
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My sex life is entirely slapstick. Wait, what were we talking about? Oh yeah, bad books. I nominate The Pillars of Creation Terry Goodkind's crappy Ayn Rand fanfic/wannabe Serious Map Fantasy has probably come up here a time or three, but this one stood out for me. (I binge-read most of the series over a 2-year period. In my defense, I am not a careful reader.) It starts nowhere, ends nowhere, has no connection to the plot, and barely even involves the main cast. And ends with the Great Words of Wisdom "Life is the future, not the past." Wizard's Seventh Law, straight off an herbal tea box. There wasn't even any freaky sex or weird magic poo poo. And it stole the name of an awesome picture.
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May 1, 2020 07:44
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Cobalt-60 posted:The problem with sex scenes is that everyone responds to them in different ways. Everyone has different thresholds of what they feel is "not enough" or "too much" information. Add to that everyone has different turnons and turnoffs; one person's sexy scene is another's farce. So when authors write sex scenes, we get an uncomfortably intimate look at a total stranger's sexual desires (and possibly kinks). I feel exactly the same way but re: food scenes.
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May 1, 2020 13:49
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Everyone mashes cheesecake into their armpits this is extremely normal.
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May 1, 2020 18:46
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On to a different type of terrible book, the acclaimed and highbrow success that is actually awful. I was reminded this morning of Girl with a Pearl Earring by Tracey Chevalier. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Girl_with_a_Pearl_Earring_(novel) The plot? Peasant girl takes up a job as servant at the house of Vermeer the painter where: - she shows him how to mix paints better and paint better - they have a powerful attraction that they cannot fulfil because reasons - peasant girl is actually from a good family fallen on hard times - Vermeer's wife is a shrewish stuck-up nagger who doesn't appreciate his genius - everyone is so jealous of her beauty and talent! - Vermeer is Catholic and she is Protestant, oh no - Vermeer's lusty patron insists he paint the servant girl - As Vermeer is dying, he has the painting in his room so he can stare at it in his final moments - servant girl must marry the solid but unexciting butcher boy because money It's transparently awful, like a bit of fan fiction or at best a romance novel with a MarySue protagonist and endlessly cliches.
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May 5, 2020 08:45
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That seems laser-focused to appeal to bored and horny book critics, aka all book critics
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May 5, 2020 09:13
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nonathlon posted:On to a different type of terrible book, the acclaimed and highbrow success that is actually awful. I was reminded this morning of Girl with a Pearl Earring by Tracey Chevalier. Oh god you just reminded me of The English Patient. On the bright side you just reminded me of the Adam and Joe toy version, which doubles as a handy synopsis of the original so I don't have to type it out: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=irEivzvZX9s
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May 5, 2020 10:13
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Runcible Cat posted:Oh god you just reminded me of The English Patient. That's hilarious and less a parody, more a straight recounting of the plot. There's a Frederick Forsythe review of The English Patient , where he just takes it apart for all the potholes and pandering to the reader. I wonder about a lot of literary fiction. The movie of Life of Pi was awful and basically just a CGI-fest. Smilia's Feeling for Snow is an interesting mystery until it suddenly jumps the rails and plunges into weirdness. There's an endless number of well-regarded novels about posh British people being sad in wartime.
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May 5, 2020 10:59
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Runcible Cat posted:Oh god you just reminded me of The English Patient. That's hilarious and less a parody, more a straight recounting of the plot. There's a Frederick Forsythe review of The English Patient , where he just takes it apart for all the potholes and pandering to the reader. I wonder about a lot of literary fiction. The movie of Life of Pi was awful and basically just a CGI-fest. Smilia's Feeling for Snow is an interesting mystery until it suddenly jumps the rails and plunges into weirdness. There's an endless number of well-regarded novels about posh British people being sad in wartime.
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May 5, 2020 11:04
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nonathlon posted:That's hilarious and less a parody, more a straight recounting of the plot. There's a Frederick Forsythe review of The English Patient , where he just takes it apart for all the potholes and pandering to the reader. It's a matter of translation. The same events described in literature can lose a lot of their impact when brought to film, especially when their narration makes heavy use of metaphor and allegory. It's much easier to connect to the idea of a tiger in a boat than actually watching one for two hours.
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May 5, 2020 14:49
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nonathlon posted:On to a different type of terrible book, the acclaimed and highbrow success that is actually awful. I was reminded this morning of Girl with a Pearl Earring by Tracey Chevalier. Didn’t they make a movie out of that? I didn’t know it was based on a book but I hate that painting so having a bunch of weird media about it annoys me.
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May 5, 2020 23:10
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They did. Critical concensus seems to be that the movie losses the subtlety of the book, which is amazing because the book has no subtlety at all.
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May 6, 2020 08:07
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nonathlon posted:That's hilarious and less a parody, more a straight recounting of the plot. There's a Frederick Forsythe review of The English Patient , where he just takes it apart for all the potholes and pandering to the reader. IMPATIENT WITH THE ENGLISH PATIENT It has the wrong aircraft at El Alamein, a double bed in a monestary, and a feeble story: Frederick Forsyth on the film of the moment I KNOW it is my fault, and I have no choice but to accept it. The trouble is, I like films with a strong plot, a gripping story and at least an effort made at verisimilitude, authenticity and logicality. Having read the simperingly reverential reviews of The English Patient, I was persuaded this was a 'must'. Frankly, I found it languid to the point of inertia, pretentious, self-indulgent and with all the authenticity of The Wizard of Oz. The story of a blighted and finally mortal love affair between the Hungarian Count Almasy and the wife of a British colleague is told in (I think I counted aright) 27 flashbacks and jump-forwards between the prewar Egyptian Western Desert starting around 1937 and VE Day in May 1945 in northern Tuscany. But time and again I had to ask myself: who are these people, what are they doing here, how did they get here and why? The story of a blighted and finally mortal love affair between the Hungarian Count Almasy and the wife of a British colleague is told in (I think I counted aright) 27 flashbacks and jump-forwards between the prewar Egyptian Western Desert starting around 1937 and VE Day in May 1945 in northern Tuscany. But time and again I had to ask myself: who are these people, what are they doing here, how did they get here and why? We start (according to a flash-up on the screen) in October 1942 with a young man taking off somewhere in a howling wilderness of desert. Amazingly, he is flying an uncamouflaged, silver-painted Tiger Moth trainer with the registration number of a British flying club. (A minor skirmish called the Battle of El Alamein was in full flow that month in that place.) A glamorous blonde seems to be asleep in the front seat. Within minutes he flies over the world's most isolated German machine-gun nest, a small foxhole without any life-support system, stuck in a sea of sand miles from anywhere. But these Krauts are real aces; though they can never have seen a Tiger Moth (there weren't any at Alamein), they recognise it at once and open up with heavy machine-guns. In mid-air the bullets turn into cannon shells, leaving clusters of black flak over the blue sky. Disdaining to take evasive action, our hero is shot down. Of the blonde we see no more (yet), but the flier is burned to a human crisp. The Germans are pretty blasé, since they decline to investigate the wreck, but some inspiringly compassionate Bedouin wrap him in blankets and take him by camel to the nearest British RAMC post, a tented dressing station. Here he gets first aid before being taken by lorry to (presumably) Cairo for intensive care. Jump forward (or was that later, after some flashbacks? I forget) to a convalescent unit where the flier, hideously deformed, his face a gargoyle, is interrogated by a British officer. Alas, the poor Hungarian cannot recall a thing, so cannot confirm whether he is British or German. Montgomery's High Command then does something weird. We do not see it, but it must have happened. They take this helpless human wreck and, instead of shipping him back to Blighty on a Red Cross convoy, ran him up to Alexandria, then down to Benghazi, across the Med to Sicily, across the island, over the Straits of Messina, through Calabria, past Naples and Rome and up to the fighting front in northern Tuscany. God knows why. Anyway, we see the long-suffering flier, still in searing agony, bumping along in another lorry, coming south from the fighting line with a bunch of freshly wounded Tommies. It is now October 1944. The convoy hits a minefield in the road, amazingly untouched considering how many divisions of the Eighth Army must have marched over it heading north. The nurse in charge (Juliette Binoche) decides that her human crisp can take no more of being schlepped up and down the Italian peninsula, even less being ferried from continent to continent. I was not surprised; the crisp has by now clocked up more miles than Thomas Cook. Spotting an abandoned and ruined Cistercian monastery on the skyline, she flies thither with her single patient and installs him in a large double bed. (Naughty old Cistercians.) Here she reads to him from his favourite book of Herodotus which the Bedouin, who normally take everything including the testicles, have kindly left him. Through more flashbacks, we learn that since 1938 he has been one of the group of upper-class Hooray Henries mysteriously 'mapping the desert' of Egypt, whisked about their tasks not only by the trusty and incredibly long-range Tiger Moth but also by an American stunt plane. They have jolly evenings round the campfires and occasional furloughs in the prewar elegance of Cairo. In this environment Almasy falls in love with the wife of a colleague, and on Christmas Eve 1938 gives her a right seeing-to in an office while a group of Jocks celebrate outside. The cuckolded husband (Colin Firth) suspects nothing, but he was playing Father Christmas at the time. It apparently takes four years — until October 1942 — for him to suss that his wife is being humped by his mate. Then he gets annoyed. But back to Tuscany... The nurse is still gazing soulfully at the crisp and reading extracts from Herodotus when into this maelstrom of ennui walk two odd characters. One is a Sikh bomb-disposal expert who loathes the Empire but has nevertheless volunteered for the 4th Indian Division and acquired a commission. He quickly discovers a left-behind German booby-trap bomb right inside the piano on which the nurse is tickling the ivories. (Even naughtier old Cistercians; they are not supposed to have a knees-up after vespers.) This is a sign for her to fall in love with the Sikh and go to share his outhouse. Cue for another right seeing-to; several ladies around me in the cinema ceased nibbling popcorn when the handsome Sikh threatened to produce his biriyani, but it all happened off-camera. The other unexpected guest is a haggard Canadian called Caravaggio, a tortured soul (literally), for he lacks both thumbs. In another flashback we learn he was a British agent spying against the Germans, was betrayed, caught and tortured. Amazingly he escaped, crossed the desert to British lines and has pursued the man he thinks shopped him from Cairo to an abandoned monastery in Tuscany. Again, God knows how. He interrogates the crisp in an attempt to confirm his suspicions and have revenge. The man on the bed can see a bit, but is himself unrecognisable. Wisely, he stays shtum. Eventually Caravaggio just sort of wanders off, unaware that he was right all along. It was the crisp who grassed him up... I think. After two hours we are getting the hang of things. Back in Cairo, Santa Claus has finally worked out that his permanently elegant wife (even in a howling desert) has been giving him the horns for four years and he is not pleased. Coming in to land 'Perhaps they had a mole?' one day, a hell of a long way from anywhere, he sees Almasy standing alone and seemingly abandoned (why?) on the desert strip. In a temper he aims his Stearman straight at the Hungarian and throws on the power. The propellers are supposed to do the rest. Almasy hurls himself to one side, the biplane crashes and kills the vengeful husband instead. But, alas, his wife, the lovely Kristin Scott Thomas, was in the front seat, and is cruelly wounded. Almasy (Ralph Fiennes) carries her to the cool of a cave, can do nothing for her, so sets off for help. For some reason (again, God knows which one) his Tiger Moth has been flown somewhere else, leaving him in the midst of nowhere without a jeep or truck to his name. So he walks, in temperatures of 120 plus, until he comes to an Arab village with some Tommies in it. He appeals for help. They refuse to believe he is not German, beat him up and lug him off to clink, (Don't ask, but for someone in a war zone he has no dog-tags or other identification.) Back in Tuscany, it is now May 1945, VE Day. Celebrations. Caravaggio has pissed off, still pissed off. The Sikh, having almost cleared the area of German mines, rides away. The crisp is still mumbling on his bed, still in agony, still dependent on morphine administered by Ms Binoche, who finally, with his ocular permission, gives him a terminal dose. He passes away and she jumps a truck to the nearest town, presumably to face the military police, having been Awol for eight months. Back in the desert we finally reach one of the climaxes. Escaping from durance vile, our hero discovers the village where his colleague parked the trusty Tiger Moth. Incredibly (most things abandoned in an Arab village become gutted skeletons in ten minutes) it is in perfect nick, fully fuelled and starts at the first kick. Away he flies back to the cave, but too late. Not surprising; he has been missing for several weeks. Miss Scott Thomas is very dead but looks amazingly glamorous considering the heat, flies, ants, maggots and other little critters that usually attend demise in the desert. Sadly the flier picks her up, dumps her in the front seat of the Tiger Moth and takes off. Ah, now we are back to square one of three hours earlier. He leaves the mountains and flies over the sand-dune sea in the midst of which that drat machine-gun nest is waiting. The trouble with three-hour films (for me) is that they have to be sustained by a mega-story, mesmeric characters, towering events. Dr Zhivago, Gandhi, Lawrence of Arabia could do it. This one, not. Lingering shots of the desert, however beautiful, syllable by syllable dialogue, soulful gazing In silence are not enough to sustain a gossamer story over three hours. Vincent Van Goatse has a new favorite as of 11:33 on May 6, 2020 |
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May 6, 2020 11:21
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Ghost Leviathan posted:Mine are mostly slapstick. How about pantomime?
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May 6, 2020 12:42
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I’ve never seen the English patient but I love the episode of Seinfeld where Elaine hates it.
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May 6, 2020 13:55
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Vincent Van Goatse posted:IMPATIENT WITH THE ENGLISH PATIENT That's it. I'm told that the book excuses a lot of inconsistencies because the Patient is hallucinating and it's unclear if what he remembers is the truth. But the film, as rendered, is nonsensical.
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May 6, 2020 15:16
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nonathlon posted:That's it. The author literally said they didn't really have any plot in mind, they just sat down every day and wrote whatever poo poo came to mind.
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May 6, 2020 15:58
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3D Megadoodoo posted:The author literally said they didn't really have any plot in mind, they just sat down every day and wrote whatever poo poo came to mind. I mean, not the worst creative process. Most people just try to put it together at some point.
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May 6, 2020 18:07
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3D Megadoodoo posted:The author literally said they didn't really have any plot in mind, they just sat down every day and wrote whatever poo poo came to mind. And it's a good story! Large and operatic love affair, with forbidden romance, massive deserts and fantastic timejumps. The problem lies with details that should have had a second pass. The historic main character who, in real life, lived to see the fifties. The insane travel distance that Forsythe picks up on. All the little impossibilities. It works in the book because the dude HAS to be imagining it, and that's awesome. It's a fairy tale that speaks the truth on an emotional level but refuses to say what 'really' (historically) happened, always one layer away like the identity of the burned titular patient. You can very much argue that the film does the same thing, but because it removes the doubt from it's own text it becomes weaker as a result. But if you watch it while keeping in mind that everything taking place before the monastery is purely myth, you see how it could still work. But it doesn't say that and becomes messy as a result. Still like the film, though. What can I say, I'm a sucker for epic melodrama.
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May 8, 2020 08:13
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That's a good defence, thanks. I can see how that could work but it's awful hard to capture a lot of that on screen. Confession: I loved the movie when I first saw it. On rewatch, not so much. Taking on a genre, when I was a teen I used to read a lot of airport lounge thrillers. In retrospect, the attraction is obvious: adults doing serious adult things, being competent and square-jawed and having a lot of sex in exotic locations. Some that stuck in my mind (and were wildly popular in their day): Airscream: a passenger jet crashes for unknown reasons in New Zealand, a lengthy investigation and court case ensues. It does the usual potboiler thing of giving lots of character details even for completely minor figures who die shortly afterwards. For example, we get to meet a New Zealand farmer, know about his life, follow him about his day, and then he is suddenly and graphically dismembered by falling aircraft debris. Sam 7: here, a terrorist uses a missile to bring down a passenger jet over London, where it crashes into Paddington station, crushing trains and passengers. The book focuses mainly on the rescue effort, with a ridiculous level of detail on the suffering of passengers maimed in the wreckage and the authorities having to make Hard Decisions. Inevitably, the terrorist is caught by a rescuing fireman, for completely contrived reasons. The Fifth Horseman was all about Gaddafi smuggling a nuke into New York and threatening the US, with a bunch of politicians making Hard Decisions (a theme?) and tough cops on the look for the terrorists. Reading the Wikipedia entry, it's awful and so reactionary: if we just threaten to use our nukes on everyone, we can rule the day. The authors wrote a lot of other books, some of which were well-received but this one seems to have faded from history.
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May 8, 2020 12:36
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As a kiwi, I'm laughing at the idea of a farmer being given a lengthy description as if he was some sort of exotic creature. Like Matt, from over in Hamilton? What's next, a lurid description of the salacious lifestyle of a retail clerk?
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May 8, 2020 13:26
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Serephina posted:As a kiwi, I'm laughing at the idea of a farmer being given a lengthy description as if he was some sort of exotic creature. Like Matt, from over in Hamilton? What's next, a lurid description of the salacious lifestyle of a retail clerk? Micheal's eyes followed the customer as she sashayed out the door behind her full... nay, overflowing trolley, paper products piled high like the weight of history. "I'd bag her, and give her double coupons" he reflected, as he turned behind the plexiglass shield to face the next customer - "Oh god", he said to himself, "he's wearing one of those stupid "thanks to our heroes" facemasks but here at the Piggly Wiggly there are no heroes, just survivors." Meanwhile, in aisle 12 and 12a, by the frozen vegetable sections where no-one ever lingered, a plan months in the making was coming to fruition.
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May 8, 2020 14:07
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thepopmonster posted:Micheal's eyes followed the customer as she sashayed out the door behind her full... nay, overflowing trolley, paper products piled high like the weight of history. As someone who stocks frozen vegetables people linger for way too loving long in those sections and I really wish they’d move the gently caress on, honestly
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May 8, 2020 14:15
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Serephina posted:As a kiwi, I'm laughing at the idea of a farmer being given a lengthy description as if he was some sort of exotic creature. Like Matt, from over in Hamilton? What's next, a lurid description of the salacious lifestyle of a retail clerk? It was weird. From memory, we go from some dramatic scene of the plane coming apart and whiplash into the farmers daily life, with zero indication how he's connected. And stay with him and his mundane day until suddenly, without warning, he's pulverised by a crashing aircraft. And you think "oh, that's how he ties into the story". Masterful, in a way. I wonder if it was something that hack authors of the day did, because there was a lot of background color and detail on characters that just weren't important. Something about gritty realism. nonathlon has a new favorite as of 14:56 on May 8, 2020 |
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May 8, 2020 14:52
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When I was a kid, I read a book called Comrades of War, about a wehrmacht penal regiment of condemned criminals sent to the russian front (I should probably not have had that book as a kid). There was one bit where an SS captain shouts at the main characters for one line, then we get two paragraphs about what happened to him, then like 1 line about the british soldier who oversaw his execution. Didn't tie into anything but added realism. But I was like 9, so
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May 8, 2020 15:02
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That “here’s a person whoops they’re dead” thing was very popular in 20th century fiction. The Bridge of San Luis Rey by Thornton Wilder was a bestseller and critically acclaimed, and it’s all “here are some people whoops they all died.”
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May 8, 2020 15:17
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Arivia posted:As someone who stocks frozen vegetables people linger for way too loving long in those sections and I really wish they’d move the gently caress on, honestly The slouched figures of Special Operations Team Delta Kohler Pfister straightened and then relaxed as the Major interjected "As you were!" into the stream of instructions he was giving Captain Milgram as they strode into the briefing room. "Gentlemen!" he said. "As of 0922 ZULU, we have received information that Target B has been observed in a major metropolitan area, entering a grocery store, apparently disguised as a vision-impaired individual with a service animal. We are leaving immediately in order to be closer to the theater of action. I pray we are not too late." "Ach! always with the nerves! All this time thinking and planning, and it all comes down to this -", thought the man known only as "Target B" as he moved through the aisles - " all I have to do is to get the dog to move past, and then heel."
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May 8, 2020 16:00
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nonathlon posted:
Gettin' paid by the word.
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May 8, 2020 16:52
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nonathlon posted:It was weird. From memory, we go from some dramatic scene of the plane coming apart and whiplash into the farmers daily life, with zero indication how he's connected. And stay with him and his mundane day until suddenly, without warning, he's pulverised by a crashing aircraft. And you think "oh, that's how he ties into the story". Masterful, in a way. It was a BIG thing in 70s/80s horror - James Herbert and the like. You'd get a couple of pages on the life of some teenager fingerbanging his girlfriend in the cinema and then RATS EAT THEM BOTH ALIVE and whatnot. Basically every victim of whatever the menace of a particular book was would get a bit of backstory and personality development before they got eaten or melted or their cock snipped off with garden shears by rampaging schoolboys.
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May 8, 2020 19:49
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Runcible Cat posted:It was a BIG thing in 70s/80s horror - James Herbert and the like. You'd get a couple of pages on the life of some teenager fingerbanging his girlfriend in the cinema and then RATS EAT THEM BOTH ALIVE and whatnot. Basically every victim of whatever the menace of a particular book was would get a bit of backstory and personality development before they got eaten or melted or their cock snipped off with garden shears by rampaging schoolboys. yeah it's a big thing in Ed Greenwood's writing (Forgotten Realms D&D setting) a lot too, that's basically the whole central Thing of the setting. You don't just get to know about Elminster the mighty mage but also the inner lives of that knight and that noble lady and that baker or innkeeper too.
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May 8, 2020 19:57
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While it isn't killing off a character the unabridged version of Les Miserables has a long rear end section about the battle of Waterloo which is ended by mentioning a side character was there.
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May 8, 2020 20:09
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Serephina posted:As a kiwi, I'm laughing at the idea of a farmer being given a lengthy description as if he was some sort of exotic creature. Like Matt, from over in Hamilton? What's next, a lurid description of the salacious lifestyle of a retail clerk? I grew up in the middle of nowhere NY and the way farming is romanticized blows my mind. Pretty much every farmer I know feels like they got stuck doing it and would rather do anything else.
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May 8, 2020 22:55
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