Grrr.

Libertine & Tristram Shandy still MIA. Libertine, between last week and this, has been pushed back to March 6th! Tristram opened to limited release last week, no word on a wider release.
This bluestocking needs her fluff fix! Gar!
Edit: at least Libertine as an official site now w/ preview! March 10th it sez.
On other news, I don’t think I’m quite ready for Heath Ledger’s Casanova after David Tennant was so fun in BBC’s whirligig of a production.
I’ve got a hankerin’ to see Nanny McPhee.
I finally tivo’d Alexander and O! Lordy! What a load of orientalist crap that was. Alexander: or, How the Irish in Mullets Kicked the Booties of all those Crazy Sexy Brown People Out East. I think it would have been MUCH better if they had cut all but the fab homo scenes… and then it would have made a great Ken Russell film. Homos were the only redeeming quality. Oh, and Rosario Dawson’s awesomely pendulous boobage. That pretty much goes without saying for most things. Kiss-kiss!
I finally received Innocence from Amazon UK. I’m uh, reeeeally excited about this one, I have a feeling that it is going to be my new favorite movie. They used my favorite font for the title!
innocence.jpg
Also, I love Stephanie Zacharakarakarakah at Salon.com reviews. Sigh.

Being a lover of the classics is such a humorless gig, particularly when it comes to movie adaptations of great books. Late last year, the Jane Austen Society, as well as many plain old Jane Austen fans, dipped Joe Wright’s lively “Pride & Prejudice” into their home test kits and found its Austenticity lacking: The country dance was too noisy and undignified, the characters took unforgivable liberties with the book’s dialogue, and too much of the story happened outdoors. The ending seen in American theaters, in which Lizzy and Darcy actually kiss, was the last straw; in Austen’s world, characters never kissed, even, apparently, in private.
The terrible and beautiful thing about adaptations of great books is that they’re always intruders, invading our already crowded imaginations and demanding a little space of their own. But their audaciousness is often mistaken for a kind of overwrite capability, a demonic code written expressly to erase (and not just accessorize) the joyful and intensely private experience of reading. How much power we cede to a movie adaptation of a beloved book is up to us, not it, and yet we can’t help seeing a “failed” adaptation as the dangerous enemy of everything we hold dear.