Ep 13 – The Man From Talahassee

Well, what to say? I just couldn’t resist anymore – LOST has got me in its tight grip, and when something grips me, I just have to write something about it. Hence my new site category: LOST reviews! Every week, I will attempt to review the newest LOST episode that aired in the US. Needless to say, these things will contain spoilers – and you can hover over the blank spaces to read them.

Well, so there ya have it. The writers kept their promise, and the viewers find out why John Locke is in a wheelchair. Apparently, being thrown out of a window eight (8!) stories high can do that kind of thing to you. For me, this episode was something I was on the one hand waiting for, while on the other hand I was hoping it wouldn’t come as fast as it would. Because, well, from a writer’s perspective: the cat’s out of the bag now – we all know what happened, and Locke has no more exciting backstory to tell us. I can only hope the writers don’t decide “his time has come” – he’s my favourite character on the show and I wouldn’t want him to leave.

What we can suspect, however, and especially now that the submarine has been blown up, is that Locke will leave the beach in favour of Ben. I can feel it happening, I can know Locke and Jack are to face each other one day, standing on completely different sides. Would be nice to have Locke turn into the ultimate bad guy. Face it, he’s got all the characteristics: he’s cunning, he loves playing games (his favourite one being Mousetrap – can’t get clearer than that), he’s a great hunter, he’s got a lousy relationship with his parents, he’s basically the voice of the island and… he’s got a damn wicked grin – a very important quality for a bad guy. Seriously, Locke could set a new standard for bad guys. Ben was sweet in this episode aswell. It was nice to have him in the wheelchair: while his body may be malfunctioning, his wits are there as ever. Does he really have two gigantic hamsters powering his fridge? Maybe he pulled them out of his box? Sarcasm aside, I’m kind of curious towards the box. I hope it’s a metaphore, but I reckon it’ll be an actual box. Having Eko see Yemi and Jack see his father raised questions about whether the island can revive the dead, but I don’t see that happening. My second guess was that the monster could turn into the dead – or the dead on the island. My newest guess is: maybe they pull clones out of the box? It would surely explain how the hell Anthony Cooper ended up in that

“You speak to me as if I were your brother.” (Yemi to Eko)
…It’s not the real man from Talahassee.

Favourite Quote: Locke: “The man from Tallahassee. What is that? Some kind of code?”
Ben: “No, John. Unfortunately, we don’t have a code for ‘there’s a man in my closet with a gun to my
daughter’s head’. Although we obviously should.”

Dagen Zonder Lief

Dagen Zonder Lief (for non-natives: Days without a girlfriend) is the new Felix van Groeningen movie. For those in the dark: he’s that guy that made Steve+Sky, one of those “young and hip”movies everyone keeps talking about. Well, rest assured, after seeing Dagen Zonder Lief, no one will ever be talking about Steve+Sky again!

Without going into detail, one could say that the story revolves around old friends getting back together, with mixed feelings this might involve. On top of that, the only female characters are called Kelly (refered to as Blonde Kelly and Zwarte Kelly – even though the latter ironically dyed her hair blonde) and you know you’re in for one crazy ride. The movie’s not big on events – just like Steve+Sky, by the way – but gives you a certain mood, a feeling of times long gone.

About halfway through the movie, it hit me. I’m not sure whether I ever said so on this blog, but the tragic comedy genre seemed long gone to me. It appeared dead, and I wanted Vlaams Filmpje to bring a nice salute to that dinosaur of a genre. Emotional stories, not high on exciting events, but very recognizable to everyone. One laughs along with the characters, one cries when they cry, one bleeds when they bleed (metaphorically speaking, I hope)…

But it’s not dead. Dagen Zonder Lief proved that the genre still lives on, and I’m happy that I’m not the only one trying to find balance between the world of exciting, fast-paced thriller stories and the world of dramatic “my husband stole my child that happens to have autism (because child autism is the most lovable handicap!)” saturday night TV movie. Van Groeningen balances this quite nicely through a fancy, artsy way of filming, and a nice, relaxing yet dramatic storyline. You won’t regret spending your money to go see this one.

Lord of the Flies (William Golding)

Remember how Anneke left a considerable amount of books in her room when she left? Amongst them are great classics, one of which I should but never have read. Remember high school? Remember having to read the great classics for English class? Brave New World? 1984? Of mice and men? Remember not reading any of them? I think it was time for me to return something to mr. Spriet and mr. Verhelst, a bit of culture I should’ve had almost five years ago. So, with great anticipation, I read William Golding’s Lord of the Flies. The story is easy enough: some youngsters strand on a deserted island, with no civilisation left whatsoever safe for their own. One thing leads to an other, and pigs die. Lots of them.

The book is written like a movie, and reads like a train (if this saying can be translated to English), from the very first to the very last page. It gets a bit predictive, but having studied the story in high school obviously has something to do with that. I remember having to read some parts aloud, and Marijn always did this hilarious “Kill the beast” chant. Good times, good times.

Since there’s only so much a review can provide (without leading to a boring plot analysis), I’ll just supply you with a quote:

Simon looked up, feeling the weight of his wet hair, and gazed at the sky. Up there, for once, were clouds, great bulging towers that sprouted away over the island, grey and cream and copper-coloured. The clouds were sitting on the land, they squeezed, produced moment by moment, this close, tormenting heat. Even the butterflies deserted the open space where the obscene thing grinned and dripped. Simon lowered his head, carefully keeping his eyes shut, then sheltered them with his hand. There were no shadows under the trees but everywhere a pearly stillness, so that what was real seemed illusive and without definition. The pile of
guts was a black blob of flies that buzzed like a saw. After a while these flies found Simon. Gorged, they alighted by his runnels of sweat and drank. They tickled under his nostrils and played leap-frog on his thighs. They were black and iridescent green and without number; and in front of Simon, the Lord of the Flies hung on his stick and grinned. At last Simon gave up and looked back; saw the white teeth and im eyes, the blood – and his gaze was held by that ancient, inescapable recognition. In Simon’s right temple, a pulse began to beat on
the brain.

(Do people still do blogs nowadays?)