This novel came to my attention during the Booker Prize shortlist period. On paper, it’s right up my alley—a literary novel with a space travel/sci-fi theme—and so, when it won the award, I became quite eager to get my hands on it.
The novel puts us on board the International Space Station, along with its crew of six astronauts, as they orbit the Earth. It covers a 24-hour period, during which they go around the world 16 times. There’s no plot really, other than a growing typhoon over Asia, and the fact that another crew is launching a mission to the moon on that same day.
The prose is well-written, with many poetic turns of phrase and lyrical passages. It does a good job of evoking the hardships that the astronauts go through: their sense of time is all out of whack because they experience 16 sunrises and sunsets every “day,” and they’re fighting to keep their bodies healthy in an envirnoment that humans are not built for.
After six months in space they will, in technical terms, have aged 0.007 seconds less than someone on earth. But in other respects they’ll have aged five or ten years more, and this is only in the ways they currently understand. They know that the vision can weaken and the bones deteriorate. Even with so much exercise still the muscles will atrophy. The blood will clot and the brain shift in its fluid. The spine lengthens, the T cells struggle to reproduce, kidney stones form. While they’re here food tastes of little. Their sinuses are murder.
But ultimately, I was disappointed with my reading experience. I found it frustrating because there was little narrative drive for me.
The Dragon Ball franchise will always have a place in my heart. When DBZ was airing on YTV during my high school days, I watched it religiously everyday. I’ll always regret not being able to finish the series because I moved to university and no longer had access to my own TV. More recently, I caught up with Dragon Ball Super during the pandemic lockdown. It didn’t leave much of an impression, to be honest, but I think I needed some comfort viewing during those anxious times.
And now, there’s a new series called Daima. Unlike the previous shows, which went on forever (some would say, dragged on forever), this one is a limited series with only 20 episodes. In the show, Goku and friends are transformed into children, and must adventure through the “demon realm” to restore their normal bodies and defeat the demon king.
I don’t really have much to say about it… it’s mostly mindless action. It seems that the animation quality is more consistent than I remember of the other shows, probably because it’s a limited run. I’m not a huge fan of having the characters be children, though… it feels like a way to increase the cuteness quotient of the whole thing, but doesn’t serve any story purpose.
Anyway, I’ll always get a kick out of it whenever one of our heroes powers up and shows off a new fighting technique or a transformation. A silly but fun nostalgia trip.
I had a good time with this horror thriller, especially for the first two-thirds. The performances from the trio of lead actors are all impressive, and the characters’ respective stances on religion are all well-represented. On the downside, the villain’s plot suffers from being overly convoluted—it’s a long walk just to make a philosophical point.
There’s a point that I want to think through, which will require spoilers, so stop reading if you don’t want to know.
I’m really hesitant to say it, but I didn’t really enjoy this one… of course it’s revered as a classic and I don’t doubt that it deserves it, but could it be that its stature is due to the strength of the series that it started, rather than its own merit?
A big part of the problem for me is the way that the story is told mainly through dialogue. Almost every scene involves a few people in a room, talking about grand abstract political or sociological ideas. There’s very little shown of how the various crises play out on the ground.
What does work are the ideas themselves: it is a fascinating bird’s-eye view of how a future civilization would develop over time. At first, the Foundation is set up to create a compendium of knowledge called the Encyclopedia Galactica, but it turns out this goal is simply the means to another end: namely, to give a reason for a small colony of scientifically-minded people to grow and thrive. Inevitably, they run up against the forces of surrounding planets, and they have to use unconventional (i.e. non-military) methods to continue as a society, including the creation of a religion based on the seeming magic of atomic power; and later, the use of economic trade to control their adversaries. In both cases, it’s their superior technology that allows them to win; the story’s conceit is that because the Foundation started as an academic endeavour, it allowed them to have the intellectual resources to develop said technology.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t until I wrote out that last paragraph that the chain of cause and effect actually clicked for me. During my time reading it, I found it hard to follow because it’s told at such a distance, with characters that are more mouthpieces than people. The two prequel novels that I’ve already read managed to balance the sociological concepts with adventure and character, so I think that Asimov’s skill as a storyteller improved as his career went on.
I have fond memories of going to see this when it came out in theatres in 1998. Watching it now, I think I can see why… back then, I would have thought it was the coolest thing, when they introduce characters with a freeze-frame showing their name on the screen. And the scene where our main characters walk as a group in slow motion and glare smolderingly at all of the other students who have been taken over by aliens… so cool.
The way this film depicts high school students was exactly my image of what it meant to be cool when I was that age: be angry and swear all the time, and talk to teachers with no respect! And fighting off an alien invasion was exactly the kind of thing that I fantasized about as a kid.
How does it hold up? I think it’s still entertaining. And I couldn’t believe who was in the cast… Jon Stewart? Salma Hayek, who appears in only a couple of scenes? Daniel von Bargen, a.k.a. Mr. Kruger of Kruger Industrial Smoothing on Seinfeld?
The characters in this Korean supernatural thriller include a professional shaman and a geomancer. The former performs rituals that exorcise bad spirits and the latter is a specialist in finding the most auspicious plots in which to bury the dead. I got a kick especially from the film’s depiction of the rituals, which involve elaborate dances and musical chanting. On the other hand, I was left asking at several points, if they’re such experts and professionals, why are they doing the thing that will obviously lead to having a curse descend on them? Just leave that mysterious gravesite alone!
When the bad spirits are released, it leads to some effective scary scenes, where the ghost only appears fuzzily in the mirror. I did have some trouble following exactly what was going on sometimes, but that may be because of some specific Korean mythology that I don’t know much about.
Ultimately, the movie has an interesting message about the identity of the Korean people, and the long historical relationship between Japan and Korea. I don’t think I felt it, but I’m sure it would hit native viewers much more.
Set in a remote snowbound Polish village, this novel was a fitting read for the type of winter we’re having this year. The protagonist and narrator, Mrs. Duszejko, lives mostly in isolation. Most of the residents only spend their summers there, and she’s one of a handful of people who brave the cold over the winter.
The plot kicks off with her and her neighbour discovering the dead body of another neighbour, who had choked on a bone while eating. Soon, other villagers are found dead in increasingly bizarre circumstances. The book is sold as a crime/mystery novel, but it didn’t feel like that to me. Instead, the focus is on Mrs. Duszejko’s inner life.
After being blown away by The First Omen, I just had to go back and check out the original film that launched the franchise. I guess it’s considered a horror classic, but I had never seen it before.
Surprisingly, the movie made me laugh a lot. I mean no disrespect; I would characterize it more as “laughing with” than “laughing at,” even though I’m sure the filmmakers didn’t intend to produce a comedy. I laughed because I was charmed… movies have evolved since the 70’s, and the rhythms and beats that were used to create suspense back then now seem over-the-top. Compared to horror movies today, everything—the acting, editing, sound—feels slower, but bigger, more theatrical. Especially notable was the score, which was not subtle at all, transitioning from idyllic melodies into Psycho-esque stings at the drop of a hat.
Again, that’s not to say that I didn’t like it. I enjoyed the ride. With older films, since they didn’t have the ability to cram special effects into every other scene, the handful of wow moments really stand out. I also got a kick out of learning the context of the references in The First Omen. I look forward to a future double feature, watching the two back-to-back.
I started last year with an optimistic non-fiction read, and coincidentally, I recently finished another book with a similar tone, in Hannah Ritchie’s Not the End of the World. It feels right to start the year in a hopeful mood, so maybe this will become a quasi-New Year’s Resolution for me going forward.
Ritchie’s book uses a data-driven approach to examine the threats of climate change. She’s the lead researcher for the website Our World in Data, and as summarized by one of the articles published there, the book asks us to hold three truths at the same time: “The world is much better; the world is still awful; the world can do much better.” It’s easy to get gloomy and focus on the latter two parts of that statement, but this book tries to shine a light on the first, and I appreciated the boost of optimism that it gave me.
Part of Ritchie’s goal is to “sort” the issues by the impact that they have, in a quantitative way. Environmentally conscious people like myself tend to worry about many different things, and feel guilty about every action that may harm the planet. But if you look at the data, some things matter more than others.
For example, palm oil and plastic packaging get a bad rap, but their impact is small, and the alternatives may actually be more harmful. (Other oil crops require more land to grow; and not packaging food would lead to more waste.) Conversely, the most impactful actions include: reducing beef and dairy consumption, driving an electric car (or driving less altogether), and of course, transitioning off the burning of fossil fuels for energy.
Ritchie sums up her ideas in a couple of videos online. Definitely bookmark-worthy, and if I’m ever in a hopeless mood, she will serve as a reminder that there is positive change happening, and a path forward.
Another entry in the TIFF Secret Movie Club series, this film was an enjoyable rom-com about a gay Indian man who brings a boyfriend to meet his traditional parents for the first time. We hit most of the beats of the rom-com formula: the meet-cute, the big fight and temporary break-up, the grand gesture to get back together (although I felt that this scene was missing an actual apology and acknowledgement of wrongdoing), and of course, the happy ending.
Interestingly, there’s no coming out scene: the main character’s family knows that he’s gay from the get-go. But they’ve never seen him be with someone, and the difference between being accepting in theory, and being comfortable in practice, is one of the main themes of the movie.
I had a lot of laughs watching this and it was a good time. After the film, the lead actor and the director held a Q&A session over Zoom. It turns out that they’re a couple in real life, and they were able to express how personal the film was for them, which really enriched the experience for me.
