The filmmaking debacle.

One of the most debated debacle in the film world is, who is the most important - the writer, director or actor? Everyone will agree that they are all very important. But belying that they all secretly scorn each other for making a lesser contribution to their chosen art form.

It is safe to say that the director is the boss on set, the writer made the story, and the actor sells the cinema tickets/DVDs. However, just because I see Ryan Gosling on a movie cover it doesn't mean I'll buy it, David Fincher did Fight Club & Seven (love to bits) but also Zodiac & Benjamin Button (hate with a passion), and a bad writer will produce lines like the one in Fast and Furious 5. Rachel is more of a film snob than I am, and spent much of her time in that theatre giggling like a fool. 

Obviously the ideal would be for someone to be the complete trifecta. This practice is quite prevalent in Hong Kong, like Michael Hui and his marvellous contributions to comedy, and the Jackie Chan action-comedy powerhouse. Singapore's Jack Neo also frequently writes, directs and acts in his own films. Singaporean-English can be a very painful and ear-mangling thing, but Jack Neo's skills have churned it into something entertaining and personable and funny.

Off the top of my head, the first writer-director-actor person I can think of in Hollywood is Jason Segel. I LOVE Jason Segel! He is so cute and dorky and lovely and made the hilarious Forgetting Sarah Marshall. Unfortunately he did not direct, but did compose parts of it, so gets maybe half a point there. Francis Ford Coppola and Alfred Hitchcock were great writer-directors, but not actors. As far as Western filmmakers go, the one who takes the cake is..Charlie Chaplin. It seems that the perfect trifecta is most easily achieved by someone producing comedy.

Imagine a film set with a fantastic director, but a really bad script and actors. The lines would be unintentionally awkward and contrived, the actors would have no charm or chemistry, and even if the director was great the film would come out crappy, but possibly have good production value (read: CGI). Which would make people think the director was bad and that anyone could do it anyway.

Imagine some really great actors but a really bad director and script. The actors might emote really well and be good looking and smart and cool and awesome, but with bad lines they might look stupid, and with a bad director they might get huffy all the time – especially if they really are good actors and know it. People might still like the film for the actors, but not find it particularly outstanding.

Imagine a really great writer but a really bad director and actors. The film would really suck, but it's possible people would be able to look beyond that and acknowledge it as a great story, with great lines. If good enough it may stand a chance at being remade, if not the writer may be able to adapt it into a book, where it can be a standalone piece of work, instead of a mediocre film or a useless manuscript.

And with that, I just want to say that if I had to pick in order of excellent, good and okay, I would pick an excellent writer, good directors and okay actors.

Gosh Darn It.

It's Valentine's Day today, and when I decided to change my return to London from February to March, I thought hey at least on Valentine's Day when I'm alone I'll be at home with my friends & family, and not alone in London, which is scathingly worse (and colder). But I ended up getting a date for later after all, although in a thoroughly unromantic way. The fellow is a friend and newly back in town too, seemingly with no date in sight. I didn't really care or want to go out today, but I suppose I will. It also makes me happy that he is French, and if word gets around to this girl, it might make her angry or jealous or some small-brained girl thing.

I've been hanging out with my brother's friends during my return, partially because my own friends are too bloody busy for me, partially because when my brother goes out he drives and I don't have regular car access + my dad freaks out if I go out at night, partially because there are more guys than girls in their friend group and it seems to bother them (why?). 

Long story short there was the aforementioned girl I saw for the first time, and because of a facial similarity between the two, I jokingly told this guy later on MSN that he should date her (without mentioning the facial similarity). He said he didn't think he was her type, and that someone once asked her what kind of guys she liked, and she said Chinese, Japanese and Koreans were all out, and she only wanted to date a white fellow. (Erm, as a side note her self-given name is a Japanese one. This confuses me slightly but is unimportant to my objective of this post.)

WHAT A HO! This annoys me for many reasons.

1. She is Chinese. How can someone discriminate against her own race? I believe it's okay to have preferences, but to discriminate against your own race, now that's just sad. If you don't think your own race is good enough for yourself, why should you expect another race to think you are? Like fat guys who expect to get hot, skinny girlfriends or sex fiends who expect to marry virgin girls - you are a farce, please look at yourself. Sure there may be some who are willing, but you have no authority to expect it.

2. I bet if one got a Chinese guy to stand there next to her, and say something like 'I don't think Chinese girls are attractive, I wouldn't date them,' she would lose her head! I would put my last dollar on this. Because... This other time they were all at some party which I wasn't at, and this other guy (who I coincidentally think is super cute) brought a girl they said were hot. So the guys were egging my brother on to go for the hot girl, and he was like 'Don't want to.. she's too tall'. Which is fair enough, because my brother is kind of short. Then Ho got all bristly and defensive like 'What is wrong with tall girls?!' WTF! Why you can dish it but not take it?

3. People end up grouping me, because I have dated white guys, with her. Sure, I've dated European guys, sure, I've dated American guys, but I never said I didn't like Chinese guys. I really like Chinese guys! But I look for the same things in guys of all races - attractiveness, charisma (just a little bit, not too much, on my level),  sense of humour, height-appropriate, boss-level English skills. The overlap between guys I like and guys who would like me just happens to contain more white than Chinese guys, partially because Chinese guys are so partial to girls thinner than I am. And that's okay. I'm very pragmatic about these things, and to be grouped in with some shallow, diversity-grubbing Ho annoys me supremely. 

Update: I told the French guy about her, and he thought it was stupid too, and he said he should date her just so he can say no. Although unlikely to happen, that makes me happy. 

Why Scott Tenorman Must Die

...is the best The Art Of War lesson you can get.

Scott Tenorman Must Die is a most amazing South Park episode. In it, young Eric Cartman is duped into buying teenage Scott Tenorman's pubic hair. Cartman tries to get his money back, but Scott manages to trick even more money out of Cartman, makes Cartman beg and sing 'I'm a little piggy' for it, then burns the money in front of him. Cartman plots his revenge...

The Art Of War is split into thirteen different sections, with slightly different chapter titles for each of its translations. I've taken out a few sections that were a bit redundant, and switched the order around slightly to better illustrate my points. The basic Lional Giles translation is here.  

Laying Plans

All warfare is based on deception.

According as circumstances are favorable, one should modify one's plans.

Cartman does not go into this war lightly. He allows himself to be made fun of by Scott multiple times in his attempts to get his money back, before finally laying plans to really get back at Scott. He tells the neighbourhood children about his plan to get a pony to bite off Scott's penis. They ignore Cartman and refuse to help him, but Cartman tries to train the pony anyway; and upon spying on Scott and discovering that Scott likes Radiohead, plots to embarrass Scott in front of Radiohead.

Waging War

There is no instance of a country having benefited from prolonged warfare.

Cartman lures Scott to come to the town centre, where Cartman has set-up a screen with his voice dubbed over the Radiohead members, talking about how much they hate Scott. Scott shows his own adept war tactics by intercepting the video feed and plays the video of Cartman begging for his money and singing 'I'm a little piggy'. Cartman is laughed at by the whole town, and Kenny dies laughing. Cartman quickly retreats.

Attack by Stratagem

Hence the saying:  If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles.  If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will also suffer a defeat. If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle.

Cartman regroups himself by writing to Radiohead, posing as a sick boy with cancer, begging them to come to South Park. 

Tactical Dispositions

Standing on the defensive indicates insufficient strength; attacking, a superabundance of strength.

After the ungainly failure, Cartman falls back and appears to resume his plan of having the pony bite off Scott's penis. Cartman tells Stan & Kyle of his plan to get the pony to bite off Scott's penis at his chili cook-off in front of Radiohead. Cartman then invites Scott to the cook-off, with a ticket for a free pony ride. Unfortunately he inadvertently creates  an opportunity for the enemy as Scott cooks up pubic hair chili with the intention of having Cartman eat it.

The Use of Spies

Having doomed spies, doing certain things openly for purposes of deception, and allowing our spies to know of them and report them to the enemy.

Cartman informed Stan and Kyle of his plan to get the pony to bite of Scott's penis, because he knew that they would betray him, and tell Scott of his plan. 

Terrain

Hence the saying:  If you know the enemy and know yourself, your victory will not stand in doubt; if you know Heaven and know Earth, you may make your victory complete.

Cartman has lured Scott Tenorman into his own yard by way of the chili cook-off, but Scott has brought his own ammunition – pubic hair chili. They verbally spar by cooing at each other about how much Cartman wants Scott to go on the pony ride, and Scott wants Cartman to try his chili immediately. Cartman also wrote to Radiohead as himself, so that they would visit him at his home, during the chili cook-off..

Weak Points & Strong

O divine art of subtlety and secrecy!  Through you we learn to be invisible, through you inaudible; and hence we can hold the enemy's fate in our hands.

Cartman knows that the pony is owned by an old farmer who shoots trespassers on sight, and that upon Stan & Kyle betraying him, Scott would tell his parents about an abandoned pony so that they would go out and try to save it. Cartman also anticipated Scott's pubic hair chili, and switched his chili with Chef's.

#####

Cartman and Scott sit at the table, and Cartman happily scarfs down what Scott and everyone else thinks is Scott's pubic hair chili, but Cartman has already switched it with Chef's. As Scott begins to reveal his secret ingredient, Cartman tells him that he knows, and that he is eating Chef's chili. He also reveals how he knew that Stan & Kyle would betray him, that Scott would send his parents to the pony, and that the farmer would shoot trespassers on sight, so he took the bodies and mixed it into his chili, which Scott has eaten halfway. Scott sees his mother's finger in the chili and starts to cry, as Radiohead shows up and berate him for being a wimp.

AMAZING YES? AMAZING NO? AMAZING YES!

If I could only have such incredible forbearance and tenacity, I think I would be a more successful person.

Two seconds with a retard, two months of a hairband.

I got a haircut a few days ago, and now every time I look at my own head I am angry, and leads to a long rant in my head. This is not a very convenient thing, as I happen to look at my head in the mirror quite a few times a day.

What happened was, I walked into this hair salon, and instead of the usual older Chinese woman/young-ish Chinese woman/young-ish Chinese fellow, this woman who looked like an Indonesian maid showed up. Fine. I've come to this place loads of times, this is a bit weird, but I shan't be racist. She layers the back of my head alright, I don't really know or care what it looks like, but she does accidentally jab her fingers/comb into my eye/mouth quite regularly. Then she moves on to cutting my bangs. I point at my eyebrow to indicate the length, and she picks up a section of hair on the left side of my head and cuts it, at a point above my eyebrow. Then she moves on to the middle, then the right side. She is so  inept that my bangs end up wavy, higher on the eyebrows and lower on the forehead. 

I am not kidding you, it looks like this.

She can see me getting agitated because I can see in the mirror how painfully short my bangs are, and puts on a serious face whilst brushing my fringe around my forehead with her fingers, pressing it down desperately so it sinks further over my forehead. 

'It's very short' I say, in the primitive language she speaks and I am not good at.

'No, no,' she says, brushing her fingers around quicker and quicker.

'Look, it's too short, and it's crooked.'

She keeps saying it's okay and I say it's too short, you're supposed to cut it longer and adjust from there, but instead you straightaway go and cut it there and it's too short – in a really garbled manner because I am really bad at their confounded language. 

She still keeps pressing my 'bangs' further down on my forehead like I am mentally challenged and will be fooled by that, and says – get this – 'your hair is oily now, and when it's oily it will rise up more.' WHAT THE HECK? Every retard knows that one's hair sinks down more when it's oily, and it's only oily because your rice & curry stirring fingers have been wiggling around through it excessively.

I don't say this, WHY? Because I am crappy at their crappy language. I ask for the boss, but she says there is no boss there. I ask how long she has been working there, and she says 6 years, impossible because I have been going in for at least that long, albeit only 1-2 times a year. I have no choice but to let her cut the middle bit that is too long, and let it all be ridiculously short, but at least not look like a cartoon helmet.

Unfortunately upon later inspection it's still not even, but I've cut my own fringe enough times to be able to fix it. Seriously. What a dumb bitch. I'm quite chilled about my hair being cut since leaving high school (where everyone had to have mushroom heads), because as long as it's not too short it's fine, and I have a narrow face so I don't really worry about a haircut making my face look fat, but this is the first time I've left a hair salon seething.

And after my hair is clean and hey, more fluffy, I can see even more clearly how lousy the cut was.

Things I did wrong -

1. I should have walked out when I saw her, there are loads of places on that floor, another one that I've been to and is okay too. She gave me a sinking feeling and I should have trusted that.

2. I should have had the other hairdressers see how crappy she is, and told them to tell the boss (but also I looked so fugly with her curry-laced finger oil plastering my hair to my forehead I subconsciously didn't want more people looking at it).

3. I shouldn't have paid, or at least paid a very nominal fee. 

4. I should have told her she was the most disgusting hairdresser I had ever seen, and she shouldn't try to insult my intelligence by making up half-baked excuses.

Finally, is that or isn't that the worst set of bangs you've ever seen? It's even worse than the picture quality.

 

It looks like I cut it myself after watching 500 Days of Summer and smoking pot.

Quick update #1

My phone got stolen when I landed at the airport coming back from Taipei, which is just a really really really really big shame. I can afford to buy a new one, but I cannot afford to re-travel to these places I've been to and get pictures of them. I cannot believe my own stupidity at both letting it get stolen (I wasn't mugged, just.. distracted), and for not backing up my pictures earlier. I mean, 4.5 months of amazing pictures should be backed up, shouldn't they?  I've ended up buying 2 phones and 2 netbooks in the last 12 months, I'm appalled at both my own consumerism and misfortune. 

However, within the two weeks after my own phone incident, I've read some acquaintances' updates about being mugged. One girl got hit with something and has posted pictures of massive, deep bruises, and another one  went to the doctor to get checked out, although she didn't sound like she got attacked. 

This is just like my life. I'm unlucky enough to get my phone stolen, but not unlucky enough to get hit with a crowbar while at it. I'm unlucky enough to get more crap than the average person, but not enough to turn me into a famous talk show host. Just like the episode where Cartman is crying because he's not poor or stupid enough to be a NASCAR driver, my own mediocrity makes me want to. 

Wheeeee

I've always joked about how I've never dated guys (seeing as how I'm going to be 23 this year I might need to start referring to them as 'men', but I really don't want to..) in Kuala Lumpur. They don't like me, I'm too fat for them - both very true things - but things that don't bother me entirely. I have gone on one discernible date date, and a couple other things with friends of friends. The date date I decided not to pursue because it was just before I moved to London, and he was a bit too tanned for my liking. The friends of friends things I later wondered about, being unsure whether they were date things or friend things, but we ended up being friends.

So it ends up that the only guy I've gone out with in KL is Andrew when he was visiting, which I thought briefly about earlier, when I remembered a time I felt really sick and puked on him on a bus HAHAHA. This led to my realization that I have no bad memories of a guy in Kuala Lumpur.

There are no train stations I stood outside of crying, no bars I went to with them & another girl they ended up sleeping with behind my back, no favourite streets ruined by the memory of strolling down with them, no tourist hotspots tainted, no emotionally-loaded supermarket runs, no shared food products, no midnight bus stop dawdling, no pictures taken in my home city, no emotional baggage whatsoever. This is really a fantastic thing. I love it. I love that no boy has been to my house, pawing at me and spewing insincerity. My house and my city are completely douche-free. While I'm not going to intentionally refuse to date someone great based on this, it's unlikely to change because I'm still based in London. There is a God!