Written in the water Rodolfo Martinez's blog

Puckered the Borogovia cuddly

Saturday Boredom sometimes has these consequences. In the video store have plundered all the movies you want to watch (yes, some still go to the video store on the corner from time to time) and end up renting something you are not sure, something I suspect you're going to like and something that you're convinced you look like a Truño. But is it or see what's on TV. So you risk.

The result is that you go see a movie called Mimzy that, in principle, it seems one of those things with and for children, full of colorful moments silly fantasy that surely not going anywhere.

And to your surprise, it did not. That is a science fiction movie pretty decent. Okay, will not go down the history of cinema, sure, but is a well-made film, generally well-run, with a decent and well-constructed script and whose claims do not go much beyond an interesting story to tell and entertain during hour and a average.

And she succeeds. No need to put "black pudding" to win public and popping all the while being consistent with what we're telling.

As I say, maybe nothing to write home about, but it is a rather pleasant surprise. So when I was younger called "a series B rigged" and that, apparently, was really only a few years ago.

He left me wanting to read the original story on which it is based: "All mimsy were the Borogoves" by Lewis Padgett (the pseudonym group formed by the marriage of writers Henry Kuttner and CL Moore), whose title refers to one of the most famous poems of Lewis Carroll. What I read at the time of Kuttner and Moore (either alone or together) always struck me as interesting, and sure this story is too. Which, as we are, makes me wonder what the chances are of seeing one day in Castilian published the bulk of the work of these two interesting writers of the forties and fifties. Few, I suppose, considering that mostly wrote stories.

A pleasant surprise, as I said. Of those that occur occasionally.

POSTSCRIPT: As for the other two films on Saturday ...

One was Lions for Lambs, the last major remaining Hollywood Rojer (with permission of Tim Robbins and his wife) now that Paul Newman has died. As expected, I liked it, and once again made me marvel at the contradictions of American culture. Especially the strange coexistence of the critical and patriotic, especially the Spanish, we do not fit entirely finished.

The other was a thing called Gabriel. The worst of the night. An interesting premise (seven angels seven demons competing to see who controls the Purgatory) solved with not too much vigor, aesthetics stolen directly from The Crow (including any other plane, not to mention some decorated) and quickly degenerates into something without fish nor fowl, with claims to be super transcendent and becomes predictable after a few minutes of footage.

The books are among my advisors, the ones I like, because neither hope nor fear prevent them from telling me what to do.

Alfonso V of Aragon