Desert Bullies

The way teachers dealt with conflicts in our school was by putting students to fight each other in front of everyone. There were rules to the fights, and extreme violence wasn't allowed, but it nevertheless seemed like an unfair system to me. That's because I had a bully. He was tall and beautiful, with stylish black hair and a rich family. He was a strong fighter, originally from Italy; he was popular with everyone except me.

The reason why she and I became friends was because she had a bully too; he was the Italian's best friend, his henchman. He tormented her, but she tried to laugh it off by saying that it was his poor way of showing love. She watched from the sides the day I fought in the playground, pushed against the wall by my italian tormentor, the kids' cheers ringing in my ears.

One of the rules for starting an officially sanctioned fight was to hit your adversary's face with a glove. She thought it would be a laugh if she challenged her own bully to a fight; she thought it would put a stop to his torments if he was pressured into fighting her in public. We went to his house and knocked on the door. A young maid dressed in white opened the door and I introduced myself. He came to the door, not realizing she was hiding behind me, ready to strike his cheek with a glove. He was shocked; she laughed.

Walking home, a desert storm fell upon me. All the beasts ran across the dunes seeking shelter. I saw a rare giant spider, lightly-pink and confused, try to get away. I found her mother heading home, her head covered with a scarf that barely protected her against the whipping sand. We walked together for a while when we suddenly saw a figure ahead of us, stumbling, holding on to a wall. It was my friend. She was crying and covered in bruises and blood.

Sweeney Todd Slashed His Own Throat

2008, you are letting me down. The first film I watched on TV was the disastrous Catacombs; and now I've got my disappointing visit to the cinema to see Sweeney Todd: The Demon of Barber Street to add to the list. I'm starting to wonder if Tim Burton has ever made a good film. Sure, there are some decent, entertaining stuff out there; but I don't think he's actually done anything great. This one will certainly not change the stagnant patch his career has hit.

The best word to describe Sweeney Todd, as Kevin said last night, is trite. Whoever had the godawful idea of filming it as a musical deserves to have their necks slashed and their innards turned into pie. To take a "penny dreadful" such as Sweeney Todd and turn it into a musical is the equivalent of building a Disney resort right in the middle of London, and having a Coca-Cola branded Jack the Ripper greet its visitors. It's wrong. The musical aspect takes away from its grand guignol, its dark humour. It's as if Tim Burton doesn't have the guts (so to speak) to go all the way with his vision. Film execs, rejoice in all the musical lovers who will fill your theatres. Too bad so many people will leave the theatre not wanting to learn more thanks to the film's disposable nature.

I don't mean to say that the film should have been devoid of music. It could have worked if, for example, each character sang in a style fitting his station, his background. Operas, sailor songs, folk music from the period. Anything would have been better than the insipid, horrid musical numbers that lumber the film like rocks. Johnny Depp, Helena Bonham Carter and Alan Rickman - three actors getting better in what they do as they grow older - are thrown away in a visually beautiful but forgettable film.

God, I hate musicals.

Passing It Around

( From You to Me )