Finally saw "Where the Wild Things Are". I was reluctant to see it when it came out because, like for so many others, the book has a special place in my heart and I have a consistent track record of opposition to every movie that tries to adapt a favorite book. The reviews– from friends and strangers– were a complete mix of opposing opinions, so those were of no help; but finally, one night earlier this week, the stars aligned and plans were made to set (yes, set) down and watch the movie, at last, at last.
And! I adored it. The costumes and scenery were wonderful (wild and imaginative, but not flawlessly detailed or put together because what child's mind is?), the characters were developed just so, the music was perfect and the story… the story ripped at my heart. If the movie had been a hardcover novel, the original book would have been the summarized text on the inside jacket flaps. Every line of dialogue, every outburst, every interaction was so achingly well-done. How fitting that Dave Eggers co-wrote the screenplay. (This review says everything that I felt.) And how nice, that there's finally a book-to-movie adaptation that hasn't made me want to hurl objects at the screen in furious indignation.
It was "Free Admission Day" to the SF Museum of Modern Art on Tuesday, so Noah and I stopped by for an hour before they closed.
I like classical art well enough. I studied bits of the movements in college for literature and understood the gist of what each period was trying to do or say, and that enhances my appreciation for most paintings. I don't really feel like I "get" modern art, however, and the trip to the MOMA only reinforced this suspicion. Like, it's interesting to look at, but I don't understand the purpose or the statement or the emotion, or if there's even supposed to be anything. Maybe it's nihilistic art that reflects the meaningless existence of everything and everyone in the world? Existential art that is only for the sake of being?
I don't get it, and I rarely feel the urge to do so. I guess this is how a lot of people feel about canonical literature, or even just books in general, so that's a fair trade. I'll take the libraries, you take the exhibits of stools perched on each other and the erased sketches and the pool tables with the balls arranged just so.
Speaking of not getting/appreciating "art":
$3.50 for a hard-boiled egg that looks like it was dyed using a PAAS kit, and it's not really art because there's no way of keeping it indefinitely without it eventually decomposing (or maybe that's the "art"– nothing beautiful can stay so forever, so enjoy it while you can to the fullest extent?), so really it's just a $3.50 snack. Hmm.
And today, the new iPhone OS details were revealed. I'm still not tempted, although I have occasional moments of weakness when I hear (or see) everyone talking about (or demonstrating) the latest and greatest iPhone-only apps. Honestly, I'm beyond the phase where I snottily don't want to get one just because everyone else has one… I just still don't really want one for daily, primary use. I like my Android phone.
I like widgets, dammit.