Gorged myself

Okay, so I didn't do a thing yesterday except watch three films, which are all extremely different. And the mix kinda made me ill - a bit like motion sickness.

First up: THE GOLDEN BOWL. I just visited Syon House in the U.K. last week with my friend Amie and her son, Oliver, (although he slept through most of the house tour) and it has been used for a number of films (GOSFORD PARK, THE MADNESS OF KING GEORGE, and the GB) - and I wanted to see them. The GOLDEN BOWL is one of the lesser-known Merchant-Ivory films, and it's okay. It's based on the Henry James novel, it's beautiful like all M-I films, the story held promise (former lovers marry a wealthy man and his daughter and the chests start heaving with passion/lots of smoldering looks), but...frankly, I was just interested in watching hunky Jeremy Northam.

Onto KEANE, starring Damian Lewis as William Keane, whose daughter was abducted at the port authority bus terminal in NYC a year before the film starts. He's living in a local hotel, and drinks and snorts coke and participates in all sorts of self-destructive behavior while not maniacally running around looking for his daughter. With the exception of two other characters, Lewis is the whole film, and that's pretty hard to do. He is so talented, I can hardly stand it. The film is terribly depressing and hard to watch sometimes, and by the end you question his story (this is not a spoiler).

Lastly, it was SHOPGIRL. Read the novella, loved it, saw the picture, loved it. Loved it, loved it, loved it. Perhaps I was totally emotionally spent from KEANE and I was craving a little joy, who knows. But I really enjoy Steve Martin's writing. Bummed I did not see this in the theater, but better late than never.