cinematic repression therapy
Even though these days I feel like strangling my boss and attacking the dying computer I have to work on with a machete between 9 and 5:30, I have vowed not to let THEM get me down in my well-deserved me-time. What always does the job to get my mind off the futility of my job is watching a good film. Last night I went to see a Swedish film called Sa som i himmelen (As It Is in Heaven) which once more convinced me that there must be something in the water in Sweden which makes films of Swedish provenance so damn good. I can't actually remember having ever seen a bad or boring film by a Swedish director. Fucking Amal, Together , Kopps and above all, Jalla!Jalla! come to my mind, which were all brilliant.
I found As It Is in Heaven very moving and even the protagonist who seemed outright repulsive at the beginning really grew on me. I readily admit that it doesn't take much for me to cry my eyes out. In fact, if you tell me a sad story, I have to make an effort not to weep in sympathy. Despite that, I don't cry at all at most of the supposedly "romantic" or "tragic" things in typical Hollywood blockbusters, maybe because they're all so predictable. Same with their in-built thigh-slappers. Doesn't work for me. Give me a melodramatic, nostalgic, wickedly funny European/Asian film however and I feel almost drained from emotions when I come out of the cinema. Mind you, I don't like European films just by virture of their origin. Certain Austrian directors for example are more of a hazard for dislocating your jaw from excessive yawning.
*contemplates* After having outed myself as a crybaby will I admit that I was more than just close to tears of frustration this morning? I was holding the fort while crazy roommate was on her lunch-break and busy thinking positive non-office things when a colleague dropped by. He is known to park himself in my room for hours on end, obviously not completely adverse to my company. As I pretty much listed all the things I hate about working at Coma HQ in minute detail to him yesterday he asked me how the homepage-project was coming along. Wrong cue, very wrong. I advised him to better leave me alone which of course had him intrigued all the more and made him stay to watch me avert my tear-streaked face in speechless fascination. This is completely at odds with my office persona, the always cheerful (if cynical) and friendly colleague. Two minutes or so later I managed to snap back into chirpy mode and talked to him for 40 minutes until crazy colleague came back. Great, I'd violated unwritten office rule #2, Avoid Public Displays of Emotion at Work at all Cost (rule #1 is Never Fuck the Office in case you were wondering) Bummer, but here we go. I did not tell him but PMS does seem to have a lot to answer for...
Lunch-break purchases: The morning I had obviously called for what we call Frustshoppen (frustration shopping = retail therapy) in German. I bought a pair of trousers and tights with a really wild print at H&M before I hit Meinl am Graben for some overpriced imported goodies, including yummy French creme brulée (comes in little glass dishes with the brown sugar in extra sachets) for trying out the chef's torch I bought earlier this week.
I found As It Is in Heaven very moving and even the protagonist who seemed outright repulsive at the beginning really grew on me. I readily admit that it doesn't take much for me to cry my eyes out. In fact, if you tell me a sad story, I have to make an effort not to weep in sympathy. Despite that, I don't cry at all at most of the supposedly "romantic" or "tragic" things in typical Hollywood blockbusters, maybe because they're all so predictable. Same with their in-built thigh-slappers. Doesn't work for me. Give me a melodramatic, nostalgic, wickedly funny European/Asian film however and I feel almost drained from emotions when I come out of the cinema. Mind you, I don't like European films just by virture of their origin. Certain Austrian directors for example are more of a hazard for dislocating your jaw from excessive yawning.
*contemplates* After having outed myself as a crybaby will I admit that I was more than just close to tears of frustration this morning? I was holding the fort while crazy roommate was on her lunch-break and busy thinking positive non-office things when a colleague dropped by. He is known to park himself in my room for hours on end, obviously not completely adverse to my company. As I pretty much listed all the things I hate about working at Coma HQ in minute detail to him yesterday he asked me how the homepage-project was coming along. Wrong cue, very wrong. I advised him to better leave me alone which of course had him intrigued all the more and made him stay to watch me avert my tear-streaked face in speechless fascination. This is completely at odds with my office persona, the always cheerful (if cynical) and friendly colleague. Two minutes or so later I managed to snap back into chirpy mode and talked to him for 40 minutes until crazy colleague came back. Great, I'd violated unwritten office rule #2, Avoid Public Displays of Emotion at Work at all Cost (rule #1 is Never Fuck the Office in case you were wondering) Bummer, but here we go. I did not tell him but PMS does seem to have a lot to answer for...
Lunch-break purchases: The morning I had obviously called for what we call Frustshoppen (frustration shopping = retail therapy) in German. I bought a pair of trousers and tights with a really wild print at H&M before I hit Meinl am Graben for some overpriced imported goodies, including yummy French creme brulée (comes in little glass dishes with the brown sugar in extra sachets) for trying out the chef's torch I bought earlier this week.
posted at 2:03 PM
6 Comments:
If you want a tear jerker of the worst kind (which includes actual physical pain that won't leave you for weeks on end) try watching Mohsen Makmalbaf's "The Cyclist".
But I'm just like you - The English Patient (hated it) and Titanic (loathed it)left me dry eyed and indifferent. That said, I've been known to shed more than a few tears during the cheesyest of the cheesy Oprah moments. Go figure!
never f*** the office what - dog?
honey, you should have called, am in my post-pre- and middle-of-menstrual-japanese-hating-phase and could have used something really "geil" cheer up, only 26 years to go!
Poulette - Erm...I did actually really like (and bawl my eyes out in) "The English Patient. I sobbed! I agree with Titanic, though. The Celine Dion song alone was puke-inducing enough
BoB, Schatzi: I knooow, not much fuck-material around anyway. Z. (for non Coma HQ-inmates: the colleague who witnessed my un-cool performance) has just been here to make sure I haven't topped myself and to inspect my purchases.
meinl am graben ruls...only the prices are....a bit sky rocketing :-)
p.s.: can I link you on my web-site? wien-wien connection :-)
Hi, Tomaz. Well of course you can link here!Wien-Wien connection? I'm afraid my Slovenian isn't good enough for finding out about that on your blog but I'll definitely make a little sprehod on ulica na blog 3!
also wir koenner auch auf deutsch reden, mir ist wirklich egal. :-) oder wiener deutsch... :-)
or pure english :-)
but wien-wien connection sound good :-)
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