Saturday Night!

ODE TO MY EYELINER:
You were white
I thought you made my eyes look bright.
I fought it with all my might,
and you almost made me get into a fight
with my friend who showed me the light,
about my eyeliner that really was shite.

So I went to see a lady who helped me get it right
And much to Craig’s delight
I threw the eyeliner out, alright?

And now it makes me want to go out every night!

Where's Jon Stewart When Ya' Need Him?

SNOOOOOOOORE!

The Oscars this year were a bore. Ellen Degeneres? Boooooooooring. First hour of awards no one cares about? Snooooooring. Lacklustre song performances? Craaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaapy. Horrible outfits to make fun of?! Not a one! Where are the swan dresses and outrageous Bob Mackie gowns? Where was Imogen Heap with the squirrel in her hair?

Most satisfying/surprising wins: Alan Arkin, Melissa Etheridge, Martin Scorsese(finally!)

Best dressed: Helen Mirren. I could only wish to look that fabulous when I’m 61. (I could only wish to look that fabulous right now!) and actually, I really LOVED Sherry Lansing who wont the Jean Hersholt Award (the one presented by Tom Cruise) who had this very flattering black and red dress on. Lovely!

Other favourite dresses: Nicole Kidman, Cameron Diaz, Reese Witherspoon, Penelope Cruz, Queen Latifah

Least favourite outfits: Jennifer Hudson, Emily Blunt, Anne Hathaway, Gwyneth Paltrow, Meryl Strrep (blah), Beyoncé…there were many, actually.

Best acceptance speech: Everyone is making a big deal about Forrest Whitakker’s speech, but I didn’t think it was that great. I like ones that are short, sweet and funny. In other words, none from last night.

Other great moments: Jack Black/Will Ferrell/John C. Reilly musical number; rolling dance troupe—neat! And sound effect thing was neat, too.

Other improvements: I’m glad no one was accepting awards in the aisle this year.

That’s about the best I can come up with.

Let's hope they get someone better to host next year: Maybe Howard Stern or Anne Coulter? Why not Osama bin Laden? Shake things up a bit...

My Oscar Picks

BEST SUPPORTING ACTRESS

Should win: Rinko Kikuchi in “Babel”
Will win: Jennifer Hudson for “Dreamgirls”

BEST SUPPORTING ACTOR
I would love it if Alan Arkin won for “Little Miss Sunshine,” but
Will win: Eddie Murphy for “Dreamgirls.”

BEST ACTRESS
I would be happy to see any of these fine women win, with the exception of Penelope Cruz. She’s got enough going for her already.
My prediction: Helen Mirren for “The Queen”

BEST ACTOR
Should win: Leonardo DiCaprio for “Blood Diamond”
Will win: Forest Whitaker for “The Last King of Scotland.”

BEST PICTURE
Should win: “The Departed”
Will win: I have no idea, but I'm gonna go with “Babel”

BEST DIRECTOR
Should and will win: Martin Scorsese “The Departed: (God, but someone give this man and Oscar.

GREY'S ANATOMY HATE-A-THON

With all respect and recognition to my friend, Holly. Sorry, but you’re taking too long to spew forth the hate, so I am temporarily taking over the baton.

Dear Shondalonda, executive producer of Grey’s Anatomy:

I have long since thought that Grey’s Anatomy was all sizzle and no steak. Oprah has been raving about your show like you are the second coming of Christ; like your writing will find a cure for cancer and world hunger, while simultaneously making us all thinner, prettier and happier. The only reason I even started watching your show in the first place is because I have a sister who won’t let me turn the channel. And I’ll admit: I got roped in. I got fooled by your crafty yet improbable writing. But last night’s episode, last night’s episode deserves a special brand of admonishment and contempt which should normally only be reserved for pedophiles, child molesters and rapists.

What the hell was that? Meredith tries to drown herself and is unconscious, has no heart-beat for what, like 2 hours and then she just DECIDES that she wants to live and lickety-click: SHE’S ALIVE! It’s a Barba-trick miracle, everyone! Oh My God! The main character of your show is not going to get killed off? I am shocked and didn’t at all see that one coming. Wow. Where did you come up with that original idea? Were you up all night? Thinking, what’s the most unlikely and ridiculous scenario I can come up with to get a tear-jerk reaction from my viewers? Maybe you should have had J.R. Ewing come back from the dead. Maybe Joan Collins and Linda Evans should have had a fight in Meredith’s afterlife. Maybe Joan van Ark should have been thrown from her horse and become addicted to painkillers. Maybe you should get another job.

So, if I “drowned,” even though I could swim and was only 2 feet from the dock and about 10 feet from any number of people who could have saved me, and was unconscious for hours and doctors and nurses spent an additional 3 million years trying to revive me, then through the magic of TV, I would be able to speak within 2 minutes of coming to. Not only that, I would say something witty and coherent. And of course, there would be no brain damage and no rehabilitation necessary. In fact, I’m willing to bet that Meredith will be back to her usual self-absorbed, self-hating, shallow, tedious ways by next episode. ‘Cause you know, coming back from the dead has no repercussions what so ever in the magic of TV-Land.

I am sick of hearing Meredith whine. Her life ain’t that bad: First of all, she’s beautiful and sexy. Secondly, she is smart and dedicated enough to have become a doctor. Thirdly, she has a great group of friends, and let’s not forget that her boyfriend Patrick Dempsey is not only adorable, but also madly in love with her. Suck it up, buttercup. It aint’ that bad. And are we actually supposed to believe that you are going to try and drown yourself because your mom called you ordinary? Please.

Secondly, Izzie is a crazy loser who took, like 3 months to cash an 8-million dollar cheque. We’re supposed to believe that she is so philanthropic that she isn’t going to take a dime of that for herself in memory of the man that she loves?! And of course she’s not going to give up her day job, because on top of being beautiful and kind, she loves her job and is doing it for the reward of helping others; just like in real life. And she of all people is the LAST person who should be judging George about love. Didn’t she fall in love with one of her dying patients? Which she knew for all of, what? Four episodes? And if you don’t like your friends’ choice of spouse, KEEP YOUR SELFISH MOUTH SHUT. Once they’re married, it’s too late to say anything. You should stay at home and bake more muffins, crazy.

Last night’s episode was a bullshit ratings grab, Shonda, and not even a good one at that. Your show is shit. You should be ashamed of yourself.

You make me ill,
Karen

Just A Flesh Wound

Things to Help Mend One’s Bruises:

A scalding hot bath
An ipod with all the appropriately sad ballads
A nice glass of Beaujolais
Candles
When the wine’s gone, an ice-cold Corona with lime
Plenty of time to wallow
A cracking good night’s sleep.

Songs of the day:

Erased-Annie Lennox
Requiem for a Jerk-Brian Molko, Faultline, François Hardy
Boomerang 2005-Gonzales, Feist & Dani
I Love You (Me either)-Cat Power & Karen Elson
Lola R. for Ever-Marianne Faithfull
Those Little Things-Carla Bruni

I Am Surrounded By Cowards

Ooh, it’s a double- post day. That’s never a good sign.

I just got dumped by email. And for some reason, this one hurts more than some of the others. It’s that loss of possibility that really gets me every time. Mostly 'cause I really thought this guy was different from all the rest...the death of anything even remotely fledging…Ouch! And I suppose a break-up email is better than a break-up Post-it note…but still! I guess I can console myself with (a box of red wine...and...) the fact that at least this one—at the very, VERY minimum—had the courtesy to let me know where he stood, unlike the OTHER guy I’m supposedly dating, who just simply stopped calling. I of course could call him back, but fuck it. I have my pride. And what really gets me is my utter and complete shock every single time it happens. I am actually SURPRISED that these men don't want to date me. I really believe that they don't know how good they've got it. God! Men are so egotistical! Do they actually think that women are going to be so positively DEVASTATED by the fact that they don’t want to be with us anymore, that we won’t be able to carry on living? So it’s best not to say anything at all? For our own protection? C’mon. Get over yourselves, men.

Well, and of course, let’s not also forget the fact that no man ever wants to actually burn any bridges with the women-folk, just in case he gets horny in a few months’ time, he can pull the old I-just-found-your-number-in-my-wallet-wanna-fuck trick. Luckily, I haven’t forgotten the lesson I relearned from being with Raymond: IT’S NOT ABOUT ME! So two more guys to relegate to the Island of Lost Men (wink, wink, Lisa.)

The Law of Averages does state that I am eventually bound to find a prince amongst all these frogs I keep stumbling upon. I'm definitely earning my stripes, that's for sure. I am also painfully aware that I keep making the same mistake over and over again. And I am a firm believer that the cycle will never be broken until I actually learn the lesson I am supposed to learn and stop making the same mistake, which of course is my tendency to rush into things. Of course, I'll be over all of this come Saturday night, but in the meantime, I am going to lick my wounds by dousing them with copious amounts of red wine.

Bottoms up!

I'm Not Ready To Make Nice

My sister and I recently got a noise complaint from one of our neighbours. Now, this in and of itself is not all that surprising. I enjoy loud music. I dance often around my living room. I stay up late. I party hard. …That being said, I don’t think I’ve actually had a noise complaint for the better part of 10 years. It’s not like we invite Motley Cru back to our place on Saturday nights for jam sessions. My issue is not that we may have been too loud; my issue is that we weren’t even aware that there has been a problem until now and it has become completely and unnecessarily escalated. It also irks me how cowardly some people are when it comes to confronting a problem.

First of all, we received a typed letter under our door at 6 o’clock in the morning. Secondly, it was an anonymous letter—unsigned and with no indication as to what suite the complaint was being generated from. Thirdly, it was sanctimonious and had an entire paragraph about ‘respecting neighbours’ and in the same breath, threatened to have us evicted if we did not adhere to the rules and regulations set out in the condo guide. Ha! That doesn’t sound very respectful to me. Please lady! Get a life! And get yourself laid! She then went on to detail 3 or 4 examples when we were supposedly making noise. One of her complaints was legitimate; but the others did not correspond with times when either of us were at home or conscious. Her complaints were also completely unreasonable since most of the “noise” was during the afternoon or early evening. She complained because we were playing a Justin Timberlake CD at 4 o’clock in the afternoon. Hey listen, lady: if you can't handle me bringing sexy back (yeah!) on a beautiful, sunny Saturday afternoon, then you should consider living elsewhere. I think if the noise aint bein' made between the hours of 11 pm and 7 am, then too bad for you! Also, there was ‘some loud banging’ in our kitchen for several minutes. ?! What?! Are you for real? She’ll probably complain the next time we run our garberator too late at night, or flush our toilet too many times. And to add insult to injury, she has exaggerated her case and outright lied to the condo board claiming a) that we have had previous noise complaints (not true) and b) that we supposedly shoved the letter she wrote us back under her door, which would be impossible since we didn’t even know who had generated the complaint. Crazy, old, pathetic, sad lady! All of the unhappiness and misery in her own life is being directed towards us because of some unknown 'banging' in the general direction of our suite. What a waste of energy!

First of all, if you are going to complain, come and knock on my door and have the balls to face me directly. Secondly, do it immediately, and not 2 days after the fact when we are in no position to defend ourselves. Thirdly, make sure that you are complaining to the right tenants and not blaming them for every noise in the building. Then take a deep breath and accept the fact that you are living in a building with many other bodies. If you are a person who needs peace and quiet 24 hours a day, THEN CONDO LIVING IS NOT FOR YOU. Buy yourself a goddamn house and take a chill pill, Chiquita. No, instead, this lady phoned the condo board, who phoned our landlord, who phoned us. We are now expected to go down to her suite and ‘make nice.’ I told Jane that she had better do the talking, because I would end up lipping her off and then putting her in a burlap sack and beating her.

Britney Spears Is Bald

Now, I know that title isn't as catchy as Craig's 'Anna Nicole Smith Is Dead' post, but God, please. Someone save Britney Spears. I’m no fan. Never liked her. Think her music is ridiculous. But Lord chil’ please. Someone do something. The girl is SCREAMING FOR HELP. I saw a headline on CNN today—Britney: Cry For Help or Publicity Stunt? Please, forget the conjecture. She is so clearly lost and scared and going through a rough time that she needs some serious intervention. Now, she has made horrible choices in her life over the last however-many years, but who hasn’t? I can’t imagine all the stupid choices I’ve made in my life being constantly documented and held up forever for constant scrutiny by complete and judgemental strangers. That being said, the woman is 25. She should have grown out of it by now. God, who ever thought we’d see the day when I was defending Britney Spears?! But you know, I think it goes without saying that the girl has lost it. For crying out loud, she went to Vegas and got married to a gay man (or whoever that guy was); then married a leach and had 2 kids with him within 10 minutes of one another, and is now dealing with all of the fallout. The poor thing just needs some lovin’ from people who don’t want anything out of her. She needs to pull herself out of the limelight, go into therapy for longer than a day, and in some place that isn’t the Bahamas and TAKE CARE OF HERSELF. If she can’t do it, then someone else needs to take the wheel. Or it’s really only a matter of time before she ends up like Anna Nicole Smith. Seriously.

And that being said, I think her shaved head looks great. Too bad she didn't do it to make a statement instead of doing it 'cause she's crazy. Think impressionable young girls everywhere will now be following the cool head-shaving trend? It's "in" now, ya know?

Valentine's Day,whoopee

Cynic or optimist, there's a little something for everyone today:

http://postsecret.blogspot.com/

And and article by Josie Vogels.

Feb. 8, 2007
DREADING D-DAY
Valentine’s Day is a busy time of year for me.
I’ve always had mixed feelings about Valentine’s Day.
I understand the “Hallmark-holiday” cynicism. The “I’m single and thanks for reminding me how loveless my life is” resentment. The “god please don’t let me fail the test of proving I love you because I bought you lousy carnations instead of roses” pressure.
And for me, there is added pressure. As a sex and relationships columnist, with all the sudden public and media appearances, it’s a bit like being Santa Claus at Christmas. Maybe I should set myself up in a mall somewhere with some cupid-type elves and invite people to sit on my lap and hand out advice.
Yes, I agree that it’s a bit of a goofy, made-up holiday to keep the consumer wheel turning. (I was in the Dollar Store yesterday and the red cinnamon hearts and tacky red lace greeting cards were already being pushed aside to make way for shamrocks and leprechauns!)
But still, I can usually find it in my heart to drum up a little genuine enthusiasm for the day. Like Christmas, I don’t let myself get caught up in the commercialism. Christmas, for me, is simply an opportunity to spend time with friends and loved ones -- to eat, drink and be merry.
Similarly, Valentine’s Day is an opportunity to step off the merry-go-round, take a good look at my honey, preferably across a candlelit table adorned with some good food and a nice bottle of wine, and say, “Hey, you’re really special to me and I’m glad you’re in my life.”
Even when I’ve been single, I’ve made a point of taking the opportunity to get together with friends, preferably over a candlelit table adorned with some good food and a nice bottle of wine, to tell them, “Hey, you’re really special to me and I’m glad you’re in my life.”
No biggie.
Unfortunately, what started as -- well, actually there’s a lot of dispute over how it started -- but what has long been intended as a celebration of love and romance, has evolved into an annual venting of all that we loathe about love and romance – a sort of disenchantment clearinghouse.
It’s somehow became cool to be cynical about Valentine’s Day.
There are even books with titles like I Hate Valentine’s Day or The Anti-Valentines’ Day Guide cashing in (ironically) on VD cynicism.
I remember Donna Lypchuk, the once hip, snarky columnist for Toronto’s Eye magazine, suggesting we rename it “Co-Dependent Hell Day.”
“The kind of love that is celebrated on Valentine's Day is conditional love – ‘I only love you as long as I can stick my penis in your vagina. That's the deal. In return, you get this box of chocolates and bouquet of roses.’ What the hell is that?”
Hey, I’m the first to admit that, as a society, we generally have fucked up, unrealistic expectations when it comes to love. I get the letters every week and yes, love is definitely blind a lot of the time.
We project unrealistic expectations on our partner, fail to see them for who they really are and then become disillusioned and angry when they don’t live up to our projections.
But cynicism is a cop out.
Especially when it comes to love.
I’m not saying we have to fall for some idealized, unrealistic notion of love that can be neatly expressed once a year with flowers and lingerie (as Lypchuk also wrote: who needs a negligee if you’re truly turned on).
But “gathering a large amount of sympathetic malcontents together and declare February 14 as a Day of Hate,” as one internet campaign called for, while funny, seems a little counterproductive.
So this year, instead of spending your energy resenting the unrealistic romantic ideals shoved down your throats by the greeting card and candy companies, ignore all that and use the day to examine what love really means to you.
Maybe over a nice candlelit dinner.


I couldn't have said it better myself.

Song of the day: Scissor Sisters, 'Kiss You Off'

What's Behind Door Number Three, Monty?

I discovered something important last night : the importance of not giving up too much information about yourself too quickly. There is definitely something to be said about having a certain air of mystique about you; about leaving a bit to the imagination; about letting someone get to know you a little a time, instead of all at once, and draw their own conclusions.

I had a date last night with the Hoover. It was…interesting…to say the least. When I got home and told Jane about it she was laughing so hard, she cried. First of all, he came to pick me up in a stretch limousine! It was the last thing I was expecting to see when I walked out my front door. (He is a limo driver, but still! Who does that?) Worse, there was no room in the front seat because he had all kinda papers and such up there, so I had to sit in the back! And I’m way back there trying to carry on a stilted conversation with him, slidin' around on the faux-leather seats all yelling up at him through the little window. Odd. And he took me to Tim Horton’s. In a limo. Except that it was 10 at night, so it was way too late for me to have a coffee. So then he decided to not to have one either. So we sat in the back of his limo in the Tim Horton’s parking lot and talked for 2 hours.

What the hell is wrong with men these days? What happened to the art of a good date? Dinner. Movie. Good conversation? And why did we drive all the way to Tim’s just to sit in the back seat? We could just have sat in the back out front of my condo. I’m missing Gray’s Anatomy for THIS? Maybe for Velentine's Day, he'll take me to the Starbuck's Parking Lot...

He then proceeded to tell me WAY too much about himself. And he laid all of his cards out on the table. Stop! It’s too much. Too soon! And basically what he had on offer was stunningly disappointing; I appreciate that he wanted to be honest and straight-up with me, but at the same time, I really wished he had scaled it back. All of his rambling and telling it to me straight did nothing except suck the romance and intrigue out of someone who I actually thought had quite a bit going for him. He managed to wipe all of it out in less than 2 hours. Basically, I feel like I was a contestant on a game show. And the last four months or so, I have been dealing with whatever was on offer behind door number 1. The problem being that I KNOW whatever is behind Door Number 3 is really what I truly want. Basically, this guy offered me Door Number 2. Still better than 1; not as good as 3. I guess I should be grateful to him for not wasting my time, but at the same time, I wish I could have been afforded the luxury of discovering things about him for myself, instead of just being told. I also know that people frequently misrepresent themselves. And for me, I would rather interpret his actions for myself and form my own opinions. I don’t know if that makes sense, but I came home feeling like I’d been ripped off; he made me feel like I didn’t deserve, nor would I ever get what was behind Door Number 3, so I should be happy with whatever I could get. No thanks, Howie. No deal. I'd rather risk it all and go home broke.

Slag Tags Be Gone!

Okay, so without going into too much detail and without actually revealing how utterly mortified I am, I have an embarrassingly large number of hickies on my neck. Although having threatened the culprit responsible with a fate worse than death if he ever does anything like that again, I am still stuck with the onerous task of covering up these horrible and offending ‘slag tags.’ So, where else is a gal going to look but to the ever-reliable INTERNET! What I found was likely the most useless advice I have ever been given, however has had me laughing all week. Obviously, written for 13 year-olds, who are probably the only ones other than me to ever actually HAVE to deal with this problem…the solutions seem messy, sloppy and downright painful! Or so obvious that I can’t even believe they wrote them down. So far, haven’t tried the ‘curling iron’ excuse yet, but you never know! Anyways, take delight in my white trash problem. #4 is my favourite! And best advice ever? definitely#7!

How To Get Rid Of A Hickie
1. Try the comb method. It’s important to remember that a hickey is a bruise, and most bruises just take time to disappear, so don’t expect a miracle.
2. Using any tubular object with a domed end, apply steady pressure over the hickey and twist. It will hurt, but it will help. Lipstick caps, pen caps, and blistex caps work. The goal is to work the blood deeper into the skin.
3. Apply a layer of toothpaste to the hickey. The toothpaste will stop tingling in a few minutes, when it does remove the toothpaste with a warm washcloth. The peppermint stimulates circulation helping to break down the clot.
4. Make the hickey worse - if you use a curling iron, have your ‘friend’ reshape the hickey to match the pattern that it would make if you had burned yourself accidentally. This can work with any likely burn or bruise scenario.
5. Apply a warm, moist, used tea-bag as a hot compress. Repeatedly re-wet and re-warm it as needed until the hickey disappears.
6. Conceal the hickey with makeup. The most effective makeup will be the green-tinted concealer, as it is designed to negate red skin tones..
7. Utilize turtleneck sweaters or scarves cover it up (weather-appropriate, of course!)

8. Use a coin. This method is probably the most painful, but has proven VERY effective. First, stretch the skin flat (pulling away from the hickey on two opposite sides works well for this). Then, use the edge of a large coin to scrape the skin. Use the coin as if the red area of the skin was butter on toast that needed to be spread outward. The only difference is that you must press quite HARD (do it as hard as you can, but not so hard that you break the skin or cause bleeding). What this does is push the excess blood, which has escaped from the capillaries, out of the surface skin. There will be redness from the scraping of the coin, but that will go away much faster than the hickey. And in any case, a scrape is much less conspicuous than a hickey.
9. Put a spoon in the freezer for a few minutes. Apply pressure and slide the spoon along the hickey. The pressure and coldness help disperse the blood that has formed. You will need to repeat freezing, if the spoon starts getting warm it does not work. You will also need to use quite a bit of pressure with the spoon but you will see results over a few minutes of doing this.
Warnings
If someone suggests a hickey "cure" that sounds dangerous or stupid, don't try it. Use common sense; a hickey really isn't a big deal.
Tips
1. In the future, get and give hickeys where they won't be easily found -- or don't get one at all!

2. If someone notices your hickey, play it off. The excuse of the "curling iron burn" is a common one, but it doesn't work because a burn and a bruise look nothing alike. Try a different excuse, one that would cause a bruise. Explain that you got hit with a ping-pong ball or some other projectile. People probably won’t believe you, but at least it’s plausible.

All of this useless information was found on howtogetridofstuff.com. Also found on this site was advice on getting rid of love handles, man boobs and genital warts. Well, it's Parent-Teacher Interviews tonight! Wish me and my turtleneck good luck!

Movies Galore!

The Black Dahlia: I don’t know why this movie hasn’t gotten more attention! It’s fantastic! And as you all know, I’m a sucker for anything with Scarlett Johansen in it. Her taste so far has been impeccable, with the maybe exception of ‘Lost in Translation’ which—although I know was adored by many—never really floated my boat. Anyhow, with Josh Hartnett and Aaron Eckhart and Hilary Swank (whose film choices are also to be admired) how can you go wrong?! This story is intricate and delicious in its quest to solve ‘the most notorious murder case’ in Californian history; Go out and rent it today. Just remember: don’t take this movie too seriously. It is all conjecture and intrigue, but fashioned after 40s crime dramas which aren’t necessarily meant to be realistic or believable. Don’t over think or ask too many questions; just enjoy.

Kinky Boots: If you liked The Full Monty or Saving Grace, you are going to love Kinky Boots! Although terribly predictable, this is the perfect movie to watch when you are wickedly hung-over on a Sunday evening and you don’t have the mental capacity for a plot which is too maudlin or complicated. This movie is cute, endearing, funny and easy to watch. It is about a long line of family shoemakers who have spent lifetimes being the purveyors of sensible, durable, British shoes. When the father dies, Charlie Price is forced to move to the town he hates and take up his family’s business, only to discover that the company is not making any money and will soon go into receivership! What’s a guy to do? Well, how about making some hooker boots for the transvestite niche market?! There is love! There is betrayal! There is humour! But in the end, loyalty reigns and well…you get the picture. The film is worth it alone to watch the fantastic performance by Chiwetel Ejiofor, who plays Lola, a drag queen who I spent half the movie thinking was Ru Paul. Oh the outfits! Oh the shoes! Oh the high-jinx…

Babel: This movie is exquisite in its tragedy. Excellent. Terrifying. Engrossing. But sad. It’s about miscommunication and loneliness of the highest degree. And the importance of listening. It is a feast for the senses, with a set spanning the globe –Morocco, Mexico, Japan…it creates excellent insight into the beauty and tragedy of different cultures and the alienation which it sometimes causes. Also interesting and clever is the film’s title from the Bible, where men trying to build a tower to be closer to God spoke different languages and could not understand each other. This film deserves its nomination for best movie.

Notes on a Scandal: Superb! Performances both by Dame Judi and Cate Blanchett are a delight to watch, and Dench’s character is one of the most richly written and well-developed characters that I have seen on screen in ages! She is a perfectly wicked villain! A story you can really sink your teeth into. Less about the relationship between student and teacher, this explores the friendship of these two highly talented women. And the movie is surpisingly funny in parts as well, and at a refreshing hour and 25 minutes, it is well worth the price of admission!

So got out, or stay in. Either way, you can't go wrong with such a rich and varied choice of movies out these days! It's a cornucopia!