Why oh why did my Muse settle on chick flicks as an inspirational goad? This is getting progressively more painful.
Serendipity last night. That film annoyed the bugfuck out of me. By the end of it, I was ready to strangle the director, the writer, and anyone else associated with it who had a wringable neck. Mind you, it was supposed to be annoying. It succeeded nicely. It was good, and I ended up working on a scene because of it, so that's a little bit of all right, then. Don't be deceived by the fact I wanted to do bodily harm to everyone associated with it: it's actually quite a good little film. Just very, deliberately annoying.
I watched French Film tonight. Odd little thing, but oddly satisfying. Several moments that actually made me laugh. No surprises, alas, but then again, there weren't supposed to be. Very well done, and not one of those too-cute-by-half movies, which is a nice change of pace after some of the schlock I've been subjected to.
Unfortunately, it gave the Muse the yawns. I can never tell what's going to set that wench off. Ah, well, our pens got here today, and I have things to scribble even if she is snoring in a corner just now. She'll wake up soon enough.
Thankfully, that's the end of the chick flicks for a bit. Nothing but Spirited Away and The Ninth Gate coming up on the DVR. I'm actually afraid to watch Spirited Away. I've been told it's one of the very best movies of all time. Sometimes, those leave me depressed as hell afterward, feeling like a total inadequate loser, and inspire the Muse not one whit. Bad films are the ticket, the ones that make you rave and rage and swear you'll never repeat their mistakes never ever nosir not you.
But I'll screw my courage to the sticking place and watch Spirited Away.