Two movies viewed in two days, and both linked by a common attribute: the playing about with, subverting, and otherwise playfully bruising of, time.
Honestly, it was almost impossible to find quotes and images that could be swapped for comic effect. Instead, the fun has to come from seeing such perfectly complementary swaps come from two movies that couldn’t be much further apart on the dramatic, ambition, and noteworthiness scales.
It’s the beginning of the term three school holidays. Lego reviews will follow. In the meantime, however, a short interlude:
I’ve been a lover of Bricktober since its inception, and one of the hardest things about moving to Karratha has been my inability to exhibit there.
In the wake of Blake’s one-year anniversary, though, I decided it was time I focused my life forward– no more wallowing on what the past has cost me (well, some wallowing — nobody gets over losing their son that quickly — but targeted wallowing. Specific wallowing.) while my own inaction costs me everything else. It’s time to face forward, and work on what I would achieve if I had thirty years in front of me and the only thing holding me back was me. Which is, kind of, actually the case.
One of those things was Bricktober. If it couldn’t come to me, then I was going to work out how to go back to it. Which meant planning to build something and take it to Perth. October 2021 is a year away. I could do that.
At which point my pal Stephen, who heads the organisation that runs Bricktober, popped up to tell me that, because of Covid, the whole thing was online this year, and if I could get something built in time — even something as small as a 20×20 stud diorama — I could have it included.
Oh, and it would have to be completed in a week.
Turns out, that was just the motivation I needed. So here’s a sneak peek at the first MOC I’ve completed in a ridiculously long time, and the first salvo of regaining my creativity. Bricktober will feature hi-res images, with some video and assorted goodies, but for now, here’s a quick squizz at The Hunting Lodge.
A year ago today I was standing in the middle of an oval in Dampier with members of the writing group to which I belonged at the time, preparing to read The Alphabet Book of Murderers to a crowd we were hoping would arrive any moment. And then I got the call.
Luscious. Three words.
Blake. He’s gone.
And I was already running for the car.
One year since he took his own life. One year since he left us with nothing but grief and questions, and no belief that either of them will ever be put to rest. One year since our world fell down around us. Since then we’ve lost all momentum, all desire to pursue our own lives, our own ambitions. I don’t write. I don’t build. I don’t exercise. Luscious is all that and more. We’re waiting for something that will never arrive, and we don’t have the energy to get up and find it.
I don’t have any more words. Just that. It’s not fair. It’s never going to be fair. It’s never going to be right. And it’s never not going to hurt.