Внимание!
понедельник, 27 ноября 2006
15:42
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0374053/
отличный фильм - уzасно смешной и добрый, и, наверное, понятный только местным
סרט אחלה!
http://he.wikipedia.org/wiki/%D7%9E...%91%D7%AA%D7%90
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kino
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четверг, 23 ноября 2006
19:31
это самое точное описание нашей машины:
בסדקים שבין המושבים יכולתי להבחין בשרידים של צ'יםס. פירורים לא מזוהים נדבקו לריפוד. על הרצפה ליד רגלי היו מוטלים ציורי ילדים ושלל הודעות מטעם בית-הספר שנרמסו במגפיים בוציים.אני ישבתי על צעצוע קטן, מהסוג שמקבלים במקדונלדס יחד עם ארוחות הילדים. עטיפה של תקליטור שעליה נכתב "מוזיקה פיצוץ 14", נחה ביני לבין שריל, והציעה למאזינים להיטים עדכניים מבית היוצר של בריטני וכריסטינה ולהקות בנים תעשייתיות.החלונות האחוריים היו מוכתמים בטביעות אצבעות שמנוניות....
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16:59
Not all of my stories end happily, not all end sadly. But hopefully they all end truthfully.
...and there's just often some people in your life that no matter how honest you both are, how well suited you may be, even if they're likely your soul mate; circumstances keep it from playing out like a Hollywood movie.
I wrote this for me.
http://thehexfiles.net/viewuser.php?uid=50
And for me
еще один фик и то_е понравился - с такими темпами она быстро станет моим любимым автором
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вторник, 21 ноября 2006
14:10
Это Макс из "Полн.экспpесса".
http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000457/
כשראיתי אותו באיזשהו שידור בטלויזיה לא הבנתי זה הוא, תההיתי מי הוא יכול להיות , כשהתברר שהוא היה מקס - הייתי נדהמת, והוא ענה לשאלה דומה שזוהי התגובה הכי מוכרה לו - אף אחד לא יודע אותו בפנים.
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kino
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воскресенье, 19 ноября 2006
10:25
http://kozlodoev.livejournal.com/330402.html
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пятница, 17 ноября 2006
10:42
I was impressed from the beginning scene, as the camera "waltzed" from shot to shot, back and forth from Cruise and Kidman, as they prepare from a night out on the town, classic Kubrick.
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I do not think any director has successfully merged each shot and sound better then Kubrick has throughout his career (example 2001 and Thus Spake Zarathustra), and Eyes Wide Shut is no exception, with a piano note that made the theater nervous and uneasy. This seamless combination of film, audio and mood is a technical masterpiece.
Another brilliant thing about Kubrick's movies is that they rarely contain a definitive point, leaving interpretation open to the viewer...
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четверг, 16 ноября 2006
15:34
вот это да - как вернуться в детство - лагерь и песенники...
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13:16
Nocturne for Quill and Ink
The effect is the visual equivalent of white noise, and this is not exactly a co-incidence.
how he pushes the few Muggle items in the house into corners or open drawers and, when he thinks them forgotten, destroys them.
Since that day, he has gained a wary confidence in Harry's character born of careful observation and constant testing; it is nothing so sentimental as trust
All these months of Voldemort's barbarity had schooled him to steel himself against shock. He had not thought he could be taken by surprise any more. Yet here he was, the colour rising in him as ...
Draco communicates in accusations and demands, barbing his sentences with "you" and "they". When it comes to what really matters, the first person never shows.
memory holds on much tighter to physical sensation that to words
Draco laughing...moment seems so entirely alien that he wonders if it's ...
when the war had ended but the belief of it had yet to sink in. Three days when his world was as small and as simple the four walls of that master bedroom, and in it there was nothing but his body and ...
He still signs himself "M". The five unwritten letters are a deliberate withholding. Harry wonders what he would have to do to earn them
There came a point where the gesture of reaching out for D's body was instinctive. He did it in deep sleep. He did it an instant before his mind became aware of the first stirrings of desire. He did it every time memory threatened, which was less and less often as the days passed.
Draco has finally done the unthinkable. This kitchen has been purged of its memories. Molly Weasley never ruled over this place, never overcooked the sausages while she fretted about her children's death. Sirius and Snape never picked each other to pieces. Banished from here are Ron and Ginny, Mundungus, Moody, Dumbledore - all the deaths and all the failures erased. This kitchen is only the place where Draco offered himself to ...
It comes to him that, of all the vague and unlikely plans he has made as he drowsed in the armchair or lay awake in the early morning, Draco is the keystone of every single one. He craves solitude and has spent months creating a wasteland around himself to achieve it, but Draco is meant to be part of that solitude.
Draco's body is the world that Harry lives in. The dunes of his ribs and the ridge of his jaw and the lowlands of his stomach are the only terrain that Harry cares to put his foot upon.
Harry's world drifts into stillness and he closes his eyes.
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среда, 15 ноября 2006
15:52
Fergus: Do they know?
Dil: Know what, honey?
Fergus: Know what I didn't know? And don't call me that.
Dil: Can't help it! A girl has her feelings.
Fergus: Thing is, Dil, you're not a girl.
Dil: Details, baby, details.
Fergus: So they do know?
Dil: Alright, they do.
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вторник, 14 ноября 2006
16:03
German
German's film captures the growing absurdity of trying to rationalize life under a beast like Stalin: His principal characters' lives (and brains) have become as cluttered and confused with attempts to make sense of their own conduct in the face of tyranny as the crazy, stuffed-to-the-gills, attic-like warrens of rooms they live in.
The violence creeps into everyone's lives...a kind of emanation of the violence visited on them from the ...
is great because it captures so much of the absurdity and brutality they experienced. It shows you how they lived through it, and also how the subterfuges that helped them to do so could often turn around and bite them back - making their survival tactics ultimately useless against ...
The direction is supple and endlessly perceptive. The B&W cinematography is gorgeous. There are signs of the influence of Orson Welles' films circa the 1960s, and especially of Welles' The Trial, with its characters moving through the cluttered warrens of rooms in the Gare St. Lazare. The way German choses to view his characters also reminds me of Bela Tarr's work.
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kino
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15:26
"As Time Goes By."
You must remember this / A kiss is still a kiss / A sigh is just a sigh / The fundamental things apply / As time goes by. / And when two lovers woo, / They still say, "I love you" / On that you can rely / No matter what the future brings
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15:00
You're a killer.
Partly. I'm a cop.
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T- Your future is all used up.
Tanya: The cop did... the one who killed him... he loved him.
Schwartz: Well, Hank was a great detective all right.
Tanya: And a lousy cop.
Schwartz: Is that all you have to say for him?
Tanya: He was some kind of a man... What does it matter what you say about people?
Quinlan: That wasn't no miss, Vargas. That was just to turn you 'round, so I don't have to shoot you in the back. Unless you'd rather run for it.
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суббота, 11 ноября 2006
19:28
http://valkorn.livejournal.com/322589.html
http://www-koi8-r.rusf.ru/kb/pict/migunov.htm
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пятница, 10 ноября 2006
22:28
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5-DrwzJzhLU
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZDhtJDF1_tE&NR
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вторник, 24 октября 2006
13:33
http://community.livejournal.com/ti...e_ru/56616.html
http://kozlodoev.livejournal.com/326248.html
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четверг, 19 октября 2006
18:37
The Moon's Significant Tremble
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because it seems the sort of thing one ought to do, like sending Christmas cards and giving a few pounds to the heroin addict sleeping in the bus stop. It doesn’t matter that there’s nothing in Wales, just like it doesn’t matter that the Christmas cards will doubtlessly rest on the mantle for a few days before they’re thrown away, like no one bothers to care that the money will only go for more drugs, not a hot cup of coffee and a sandwich.
Lupin talks with his hands - slow, expressive motions that captivate and hold tight. They’re strong, Sirius thinks, absently, as Lupin talks of India: a cupped gesture to indicate the Ganges, the indelicate curl of his fingers to show the slow slide of a mango down one’s throat. The hands of someone unafraid to work.
“I wish,” he murmurs, too lost to follow the conversation, feeling the stray-electron hit of neurons firing, nothing to do with this, “I knew what India tasted like.”
There’s a long, startled half-blink from Lupin, as if Sirius has caught all of him off guard with the question, instead of just his mind and mouth.
“Like curry,” he says, finally, after a long pause, with a warm, quiet smile that Sirius feels complete the circuit. “Like curry, and like rain.”
“Kipling. No one much reads Kipling anymore.”
Sirius somehow doesn’t want to admit that he doesn’t particularly like it – too dark in the heart of things, too tense, as if the pages are too thin for all they hold. “I’ve only started,” he says, instead – not a lie, if three-quarters through is beginning.
He could have someone warm in his bed tonight, and she’s pretty, with dark eyes and small breasts that he can catch the edges of through her uniform, too cold in here for the short sleeves she wears. Let me give you my coat, he could say, you look cold, and then she might sit beside him, later, and in the slow, smudged blinks between now and four in the morning he might not be so alone. He can imagine, in half a second, what her breasts could feel like cupped in his hands, how her pulse might beat beneath his mouth, sweet and rapid in the hollow of her throat, how she might feel around him, warm and slow and oh god there.
He doesn’t want it.
“Hello?” the voice comes through, recognizable even through static, and Sirius thinks, for a moment, that he ought to have planned out what to say, because he’s close to saying everything he’s ever needed to say to a stranger he’s met once, on a train, in the middle of the night. I’m lonely, he nearly says. I’m afraid of staying like this for the rest of my life. He wonders if he’s turning into his mother, hearing voices in his head.
“It’s Sirius,” he says, finally. “Sirius Black, from the train.”
Lupin stands still, eyes half-closed, gilded in light and the dust moats of a thousand footsteps, steady with obvious reverence for this something. Sirius has always simply walked by, hardly even noticing the hulking statue, in a hurry to get to things more glamorous; the gallery of jewels, the human remains. Here, though, he can see the slow curve of age set in stone, the butterfly-wing fragility of this. He understands, for half a moment, what it is to be here, in this moment, and he finds it strange that he feels alive for the first time in months standing in the hall of a museum he’s never really enjoyed, watching a stranger enjoy a skeleton.
It’s like falling, slow and unsteady, with water and out held hands to break your fall. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt when you hit, he thinks, the only time the analogy occurs to him, but wariness is not enough to prevent trust.
he’s acutely aware that Remus is watching him, with the same scrutiny he applies to things he thinks are beautiful – dinosaur skeletons and small flowers and an exceptionally well-written paper
It’s surprising, Sirius thinks, how little things change between them. Every other friendship turned romance has been full of awkward pauses and uncertain boundaries, whether to tell your colleagues you’ve gotten together, whether to stay friends after, but this is easy. , Sirius stops thinking of twenty-six as just-this-close-to-thirty.
Being with Remus Lupin is easy, for three weeks and four days, and then Remus takes off his jumper, after their sixth official date, and undoes his cuffs, and murmurs
“I was going to take your watch,” the voice comes, almost asleep, against his chest.
“What?” Sirius says, finally.
“The night we met,” Remus murmurs, “I was going to take your watch. They’d
“I think,” Sirius whispers, the first time he’s told anyone, “I was going insane, before you
And yes, Sirius thinks, the burning answer to the unanswered question – yes, Remus Lupin tastes of India.
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четверг, 12 октября 2006
14:52
mahaliem - Voldemort in the Loony Bin
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The sheets were plain white as were the walls, so he knew he wasn't a guest at the Malfoy mansion because they considered that colour only suitable for skin and hair and beneath them in all other forms. Twits.
"My loyal Death Eaters are here, as well?"
"Completely loony," Potter muttered, which Shacklebolt ignored.
Snatching up his fork, he speared a carrot on the tines and was lifting it to his mouth when his hand bumped something. In confusion, he laid the fork down and examined his face with his hands.
"A nose!" he shouted. "I have a nose!"
For the fifth time, he pointed a finger at Potter and yelled "Crucio!" For a fifth time, it didn't work.
"Mr. Riddle, take a seat on the examination table."
He recognized that voice. Whirling around, he saw Snape.
"Snape! Thank God! You have to get me out of here."
"That is my intention."
"What's your plan?"
"My plan is to examine you and provide you with the best healthcare possible so that you can return to the outside world and become a productive member of society."
Lucius Malfoy.
"That one's quite a character. He thinks he's God or something."
Obviously, Lucius hadn't changed a bit.
....
"That woman had red hair. I can't abide red hair. It's so very, very red."
"How'd you like to kill all the red-heads in the world?" Voldemort asked in a low tone.
Lucius turned and eyed him. "Go on."
"I plan to rule the world through abject terror and would like your help."
"It sounds like work," Lucius said dismissively, then turned back to his television.
......
"Will I be able to turn the television off?"
"Done," proclaimed Voldemort.
"Then I will gladly join you in your bid to rule the world. I so much prefer when the television is off for only then can I clearly see my reflection in the glass."
Voldemort stared at Lucius for a moment. He really was such a twit.
he heard a familiar ear-splitting scream coming from a heavily guarded corridor.
"That's the ward for the criminally insane," Shacklebolt explained. "They're much too violent to be among the rest of the patients."
Voldemort nodded in understanding. "Bellatrix!" he yelled. "Prepare! I'll come for you as soon as possible."
"Absolutely bonkers," Potter murmured.
Voldemort whirled on him, glaring. "When I am in power you will crawl on your knees and beg to serve me."
Potter glared right back at him. "Everyone just thinks you're nuts, but I know better. You're dangerous! This scar tells me so," Potter declared, pointing to the mark on his forehead.
They'd tried to pretend that there were several different nurses. They pointed out that the nurses all had different hair, eye, and skin colours, were different shapes and sizes, but they couldn't fool him. Voldemort was well aware that Tonks was a metamorphmagus.
. "You are ready?" he asked.
They nodded, except for Lucius, who flung his hair back over his shoulder.
"Twit," Voldemort muttered. Once again he addressed the group. "You have your weapons?"
The group brandished their paintbrushes that had been carefully denuded of bristles.
"You remember the words of the spell?"
Again, they all nodded except for Lucius, who was examining his nails.
Voldemort came face to face with Potter.
"At last we meet!" Voldemort announced. "Now you will die."
"In your dreams," Potter replied.
The last thing Voldemort saw before he blacked out was Potter's taser coming at him.
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11:09
more
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вторник, 10 октября 2006
18:03
?смотреть: The Departed
Двойная рокировка "Infernal Affairs"?
специфически буддистский посыл оригинала, в котором хорошего парня судьба за труды награждала пулей, а плохого манила возможностью искупления, а после приговаривала к благополучию и карьерному росту.
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kino
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17:38
...Вы думаете, всё это тяжело смотреть? Вовсе нет. Стараниями Гиллиама фантасмагория, происходящая на экране, выглядит совершенно нереально и сказочно, как сказка о новой Алисе, параллели с Кэрролом прут и лезут постоянно, но сделано всё настолько хорошо, что это совсем не раздражает.
Но постепенно из-под слоя сказки, весёлой нереальности происходящего на экране, проступают черты настоящей драмы, то...
...показать ужасные вещи так, что они воспринимаются совершенно без отвращения, сказочно, а потом незаметно подвести зрителя обратно к сути происходящего - это высший режиссёрский пилотаж. Терри Гиллиам ещё раз доказал
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