Aug 24
MOVIE SIGNATURES
These are some movie signatures that i found on the internet.Feel free to edit and use them.
Aug 23
YOU DON’T MESS WITH THE ZOHAN
It would be one thing if You Don’t Mess With the Zohan was simply bad; after the recent string of Adam Sandler comedies like I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry, Click and The Longest Yard, You Don’t Mess With the Zohan continues the Sandler career path where low comedy is intended to result in high profits. Sandler’s films now seem to function mostly as a kind of philosophical experiment: How lazy, sloppy and stupid can a film be and still make money? And let’s not mince words here, or hem and haw and add caveats about a few laughs or good intentions: You Don’t Mess With the Zohan is astonishingly, impressively, depressingly bad.
And no, this is not some sneering, soft-handed ivory-tower resident looking down on Sandler’s work from a lofty height; this is someone who loves a good smart dumb comedy telling you that if you see You Don’t Mess With the Zohan, you’ll witness a moment where Zohan — the Israeli commando-turned-hairdresser played by Sandler — wishes a sad farewell to someone with his junk. We get a close-up of it — bulging, frame-filling — and it waggles a little wave to us, sadly, as Zohan wishes goodbye to a girl he might have loved, eyes sad and crotch engorged.
And I think of myself as hard to startle, or fairly inured to the depths to which Hollywood will go to get what they think might be a laugh, but I actually shook my head vigorously at that moment in the theater on the off chance that I might simply be dreaming this in some unsettled nightmare where a major motion picture studio not only thought a sentimental wang-wave was funny but paid for the construction of the cock-animatronic in question, so that we could witness Zohan demonstrate the breaking of his heart by the shifting of his bulge. And if you think I’m obsessing over Sandler’s penis, let me assure you that its nothing compared to Sandler’s own obsession; I’m just relaying a portion of the smutty, unfunny sex-comedy in Zohan, where the whole comedic enterprise seems to revolve around the axis of Sandler’s stuffed man-bits.
I haven’t fully explained the plot, but there’s not much to explain; credited to Sandler, Robert Smigel and Judd Apatow, You Don’t Mess With the Zohan’s script can be summed up in a series of brief sentences: Israeli counter-terrorism commando tires of fighting, fakes his death, moves to New York to pursue his dream of being a hairdresser, is pursued by his Palestinian nemesis, finds the melting pot of America more peaceful than the constant battles of the Middle East, ultimately joining forces with his mortal enemy The Phantom (John Turturro) to stop a gentrifying developer who’s trying to drive a series of Israeli and Arab-owned business out of a New York block in the name of building a mall.
I can’t say if this pitch would have been funny with better execution, but I can say definitively that even this reed-thin spine is twisted and bent by supporting the crushing weight of Sandler’s sneering narcissism and infantile sexuality. Zohan can only get a job cutting hair at a Palestinian-owned salon, under the direction of the lovely Dalia (Emmanuelle Chriqui), but he soon becomes popular with the shop’s older female patrons — not solely because he flatters the customers and gives good style, but because he also takes them into the storage closet after each cut and services them sexually. So we’re expected to laugh, not just at the goofiness of Zohan’s dream and his ’80s styles (Zohan’s only hairstyling reference book is a Paul Mitchell Salon photobook from two decades ago) but also at the thought of virile, young Adam Sandler giving older woman a good solid rogering. When he shares his dream of hairdressing with his family, Zohan’s asked if he’s a “faygeleh” — gay — which he’s quick to assert he isn’t; perhaps Sandler, fearing collateral gayness, is overcompensating in the worst possible way. Or perhaps Zohan’s constant mentions of “making sticky” is an attempt at crafting a Borat-style character, the blithe idiot adrift in the modern world — but if we’re supposed to believe in Zohan as a bold, brilliant killing machine, making him dull and dim about sex and hairstyles actually works counter to the thrust of the film, or at least the parts of the film that don’t revolve around thrusting.
Amazingly, Zohan tries to position itself as a film with a message beneath the laughs, depicting how, in America, Israelis and Palestinians kinda sorta get along. But Zohan trafficks in stereotypes as Zohan uses hummus as everything from a toothpaste to a fire retardant. It has shameless mis-casting, with Rob Schneider expanding his long list of makeup-smeared missteps here as a supporting Palestinian character. It gives us weird woman-hating moments like Zohan’s sex-stud idea of extended service or explaining how Zohan’s nemesis Phantom has a stable of 20 wives or showing us Israelis and Palestinians bonding over which female politicians or political spouses they’d like to do. It’s nearly impossible to see Zohan’s can’t-we-all-just-get-along message as anything but sad posturing to rationalize bulge, buttock and breast jokes.
The idea behind You Don’t Mess With the Zohan — that a weary warrior would want to paraphrase the proverb and beat his sword not into a ploughshare but instead a curling iron — could have been funny, yes. But that would take filmmakers who can stick to an idea and explore it with wit and intellect, not a director like Dennis Dugan who has built a career out of saying “That was awesome, Adam ….” no matter how lame or bizarre or over-the-top his moneymaking star’s performance and ideas become. It would also take a comedic actor who thought there was more to shaping a character than stuffing your pants, and a supporting cast who were offered more to do than make jokes about their goat or look great in a low-cut top. It would take a script that respected human dignity even as it exposed the foibles in it, not one that made mealy-mouthed wishes for peace between men while degrading and insulting women. It would take someone, somewhere, with enough courage and judgment to tell Sandler the mass appetite for his films does not make them good, merely popular, and that standing on a high pile of hateful, dimwitted wreckage like what Sandler’s offered audiences shouldn’t be confused with a place at the top. “Don’t Mess“? More like “Don’t Bother.”
Aug 22
ROGUE
“Rogue” is the latest entry into the “pissed off croc” subgenre, which is basically a subgenre where some stupid humans travel into croc territory in some far away place, and end up food for the scaly beast. “Rogue” follows the same pattern, only it’s smart enough to make the human victims victims of circumstance, instead of dumb teens looking for a quiet, remote place to screw and smoke dope. The pic which stars Michael Vartan, has the “Alias” star playing a travel reporter…who takes a boat tour in Australia so he can gather up material for his latest article.
The tour, led by Kate (Radha Mitchell), goes smoothly at first. That is until some of the other tour members think they notice an emergency flare coming from a high up mountain. When Kate goes to investigate…she mistakenly leads the tour into crocodile territory, which results in the beast capsizing the boat and stranding the group on a remote island. Now it’s a race against time as the hungry crocodile looks for ways to pick them off one by one, while they look for ways to contact help before it can. “Rogue”, as an action/horror film does not measure up. It’s actually a bit, short…in the tooth.
However, it avoids the typical cliches of this particular subgenre…and does manage to put together a few nicely done and intense attack sequences here and there. That withstanding, it does manage to come out of the pile to be better than the grossly disappointing “Primeval”…but still does not reach that platform of being as good as “Lake Placid”. A film which has been the measuring stick for a badass killer croc flick since the late 90’s when it was released. Greg Mclean, who directed “Wolf Creek”, also directed “Rogue”. While he does manage to fill the movie with wonderful sceneries, and a few nice camera shots and angles….he seems to forget that his movie is a “killer gator” film.
And having your antagonist simply chill out for most of the picture is not a good thing. The gator, while vicious, and damn sure hungry…doesn’t attack often enough. And without many attacks, you can’t feel any fear for the characters…and without that element present…your film just comes out flat. Most of the few attack scenes that there are also take place in the dark, which is another major issue. I think this was mostly done for budgetary reasons…as having to show the croc in it’s full form in the daytime scenes would cost more money. As opposed to simply building a croc head, and having it latch onto, and snatch away victims in the pitch dark nighttime.
We hear more snarling, breathing, and growling from the crocodile than we see any real limb ripping, or bloodshed. Certainly not good. Radha Mitchelle and Michael Vartan do manage to keep this would-be-sinker afloat somewhat with their good on-screen chemistry, and decent performances. Which is what sunk “Primeval” pretty much. Lack of croc action, and NO good performances. But anyone who is not interested in Michael Vartan as an actor or never was a fan, and isn’t that big on Mitchell either….will not like this movie. If you’re coming into this thing looking for croc action at every turn, arms, heads, and bodies being torn asunder, and chase sequences which will give you the chills, then look elsewhere.
Mclean’s “Rogue” is the type of crocodile film that takes it’s sweet time doing anything, and tries to make the viewing experience methodical…instead of action-packed like it should be. You add a poor supporting cast to the equation, and you have a film which should’ve been alot better than it turned out to be. “Rogue” doesn’t live up to it’s title to put it simply. A rogue is defined as someone or something which goes against the grain, who calls his, her, or it’s own shots, and in some cases…strieks fear into the hearts of others.
But this crocodile doesn’t put any fear into the viewer at all. It comes off more as a pissed off animal, angry at the humans who invaded it’s territory…rather than a vicious, hungry hunter which acts as king of it’s domain by annihilaitng anyone and anything that enters it, accidentally or not. While “Rogue” does have a few decent kills and a very exciting finale, it’s lack of blood, gore, action, and intensity for most of the duration, hurt it immensely.
Positives:Mitchell and Vartan deliver good performances, the final 15 minutes finally deliver some much needed action.
Negatives:Poor supporting cast behind Mitchell and Vartan, not enough daytime kill scenes, the crocodile doesn’t make enough appearances nor do enough damage.
Overall:Another disappointing croc tale from the swamps.
Aug 21
STAR WARS™: THE CLONE WARS™
With, presumably, no more live-action episodes coming, what can fans reasonably expect from “Star Wars: The Clone Wars,” the theatrical pilot for the upcoming animated television series?
Well, there’s knockout animation, facsimiles of popular characters and plenty of action. But anyone older than 8 with the majority of brain functions intact will have a bad feeling about this.
It’s all but given that the wonder of actual humans inhabiting the “Star Wars” galaxy would be lost in any animated feature. Still, these characters are so beautifully rendered and meticulously crafted, they resemble hand-painted wooden puppets — they’re works of art. Textures and inanimate objects look fantastic, often as convincing as in the live-action features.
But where new characters, plot threads and better dialogue might have made up for much, “Clone Wars” simply doesn’t aim high enough. For those who had expected improved writing from the last four films, your hopes will be dashed on the ornately realized rocks of Tatooine.
The off-putting narration replacing the characteristic opening crawl is the first omen that this movie is not aiming much above the new-reader level. You know it’s not your good old “Star Wars” when you hear electric guitars, a tween character call Anakin “Sky Guy” and the future Mr. Vader make a “Poltergeist” reference before a fight (”They’re ba-aack!”). All that’s missing is a skateboarding dog with sunglasses.
And the maddeningly repetitious dialogue is the worst of the series. Even die-hard fans will admit that’s an awfully low bar to crawl under.
Perhaps the greatest sin of “Clone Wars” is its abominable mimeographing of the “petulant apprentice/exasperated mentor” dynamic that so dragged down the last few movies.
Unstable hothead Anakin (the millstone around the series’ neck) improbably gets a Padawan, or apprentice — the carefully calculated-to-be-cute Ahsoka Tano — and their relentless back and forth brainless sniping, often amid combat, is parsecs from engaging.
After some poorly thought-out action sequences, “Clone Wars” plunges into a nonsensical and ultimately inconsequential plot involving the kidnapping of Jabba the Hutt’s baby. Seriously. Along the way we meet Sith henchwoman and likely series regular Asajj Ventress and Jabba’s fey Southern uncle, apparently Capote the Hutt.
Now, if you’re already watching a “Star Wars” product, you’re willing to go with sound in space and faster-than-light travel and all that good stuff. But achieving the suspension of disbelief required by these plot mechanics, large and small, is like bull’s-eyeing womp rats from a T-16.
Despite some absolutely gorgeous animation and adjusting expectations for what “Clone Wars” is meant to be, the Force is not strong with this one.
“Star Wars: The Clone Wars.” MPAA rating: PG for sci-fi action violence throughout, brief language and momentary smoking. Running time: 1 hour, 38 minutes. In general release.
Aug 20
FORGETTING SARAH MARSHALL
Wrong as it is to objectify the male body, I’ll make an exception for that of Jason Segel in Forgetting Sarah Marshall. As anyone presold on the aptly classified ”romantic disaster comedy” probably already knows, the writer and star appears quite emphatically naked, from all angles, very early in the game: As struggling L.A. musician Peter Bretter, he’s first seen toweling off at home, anticipating the arrival of his girlfriend of the title (Kristen Bell), a TV star in the magnificently named CSI-like hit series Crime Scene: Scene of the Crime. Peter is feeling frisky, but Sarah, very much the perky media professional, is feeling fed up with the guy after nearly six years of using him as a handbag-holding service at red-carpet events, and has a breakup on her agenda. It’s a credit both to the vulnerability of the dumpee (and his refusal to make the business any easier for the dumper) as well as to Segel’s love of the hilarity of discomfort that Peter remains altogether in the altogether throughout the kiss-off. Shocked and pleading for a hug from his departing blond cutie, his exposed man flesh looks all the more alien and ungainly when pressed up against his about-to-be-ex’s clothed, compact form. Nakedness has rarely looked so…naked. And innately, universally comic.
As embodiments go, the Segel physique, a long, pale, uncooked dinner roll of a shape, is an apt one for the attractions of this very funny, very chewy, partially undercooked comedy. Indeed, with even more ferocity of purpose and Andy Kaufman-school fearlessness than that roly-poly Seth Rogen in Knocked Up or noodly-oodly Christopher Mintz-Plasse in Superbad, Segel embraces the destiny of male anatomy in yet another clever creation from the Judd Apatow Alumni Association; this one, too, speaks from the male heart (and other parts) in a language accessible to females. Yet it does so with a fresh yeastiness I haven’t already seen in other Apatovian products. The droopy physical doughiness of the hero (and his fearless creator), with his hangdog posture and flatfooted walk, is key to his unlikely attractiveness. He’s not a nerd, not a commitmentphobe, not an adult virgin in need of special handling or a stripling looking for experience. He’s just a less-than-ab-toned man of pleasant musical talents (his dream project is a musical about Count Dracula, with puppets) and recognizable neuroses, at least temporarily on the wrong end of the relationship equation.
And he’s got the breakup blues bad. Peter sobs, drinks, has meaningless sex (after which he sobs some more), screws up at work, and falls apart. And thus ”girlified,” with all the expressed neediness more traditionally ascribed to the touchier-feelier sex, he takes the advice of his intermittently apoplectic married step-brother (indispensable SNL player Bill Hader) to take a healing vacation in Hawaii, where flesh goes for braising. What are the odds that Sarah would be there too, at the same resort, accompanied by her new dude, a beaded, bangled, and tattooed British rocker with the perfect Blighty name of Aldous Snow (Russell Brand)? One hundred percent.
A dark-haired new woman helps Peter forget Sarah Marshall; she’s a cat-eyed beauty named Rachel (Mila Kunis) who works at the hotel and is as magically unpretentious, easygoing, and attracted to the hurtin’ Peter as Sarah is brittle and duplicitous. (In fact, Bell, from Veronica Mars and Heroes, is excellent playing the tricky role of Hardass Girl to Kunis’ more sympathetic Softshoulder Girl.) But Forgetting Sarah Marshall really does forget Sarah Marshall, or at least puts her in perspective — her and all the Sarahs who mess with the heads of their Peters. For better, and sometimes for worse, first-time director Nicholas Stoller (yet another graduate of the Undeclared Academy — will any feature-comedy maker today who isn’t please step forward?) lets the action shamble along, as Segel and his co-conspirators riff on varieties of male bewilderment. 30 Rock’s Jack McBrayer plays up his rube-at-the-luau skills as a virginal newlywed who can’t figure out which end of his lusty new wife (Maria Thayer) is up; Paul Rudd is priceless (yep, as ever) as a stoner surfer; Jonah Hill has a small, excellently cringe-inducing role as a suck-up to Aldous’ rock godliness. Jawing about pop culture with typical School of Judd razor wit, these men might be giants. The rest of the time, they’re merely hilariously mortal. B+
Aug 19
DEATH RACE
Ladies and gentlemen, the race is over. The competition is won. The arrival of Paul W.S. Anderson’s Death Race - even though it comes so very early in the year - has put a conclusive end to the race for the 2008 Razzie Awards. Worst film? Worst director? Worst screenplay? Worst actress? Not only will Death Race take all of these categories but the competition won’t even be close. There is quite simply no chance whatsoever that any other film will arrive on the scene to rival this - the latest in a long, ling line of very, very bad films from Anderson - for if anyone should even attempt to create another film at this level of ineptitude within the rest of the calendar year I have no doubt that the universe would spontaneously implode in protest of having to play host to such an indignity. This, people, is a Very Bad Film.
On the surface, a remake of the Roger Corman-produced cult flick would seem apropos, even timely right now. Death Race is a title primed to both exploit and comment upon the current craze for ‘extreme’ - read, ‘hyper violent’ - sport and the society that consumes it but there is neither the will nor the brain at work here to offer any sort of commentary whatsoever, nor the skill to properly exploit it. What do we have? Jason Statham is Jensen Aimes, a near future steel worker and former race car driver thrown out of work when the mill he works at shuts down, leaving him unable to provide for his wife and infant daughter. It’s not like he has long to worry about that, though, because the very same day Aimes is thrown out of work masked men invade his home, kill his wife, and leave Aimes unconscious with a bloody knife in his hand. Six months later he has a life term in prison.
But prisons are different in the future. They have become privately run, for-profit organizations. Rehabilitation? What’s that? The prisoners are fodder for extreme sports, corpses-in-waiting destined to battle it out for massive pay-per-view online audiences with potential release dangled in front of their eyes as a prize should they succeed multiple times in the gladiatorial combats. And the most successful of these games, the highest rated sport, is the Death Race - a three day, multi stage race run by prisoners in cars heavily modified to include steel armor and heavy weaponry. Hmm … new guy in prison happnes to be a driver, and the next Death Race is just days away, there couldn’t be a conspiracy at play here, could there? Of course there is! The prison warden orchestrated the killing of Aimes’ wife and his subsequent conviction, needing him to replace Frankenstein, a popular masked driver killed (though nobody knows that) in the last race. Bloodshed ensues.
For a brief, shining moment I actually though Death Race may end up being a servicable B-flick on the strength of it’s cast - arguably the best Anderson has ever had to work with. Sure, Statham aint a great actor, and he never has been, but he’s a charismatic guy, easily able to chew his way through this stuff. Throw the dependable Joan Allen and brilliant Deadwood baddie Ian McShane into the key support roles and this could actually work, right? Oh, hell no. The film fails on so many levels it’s hard to keep count.
The blame, first of all, should rest at the feet of Paul W.S. Anderson. His direction is horrible, with the exception of a couple of admittedly stellar shots the car race scenes are actually kind of cluttered and boring, several normally solid bit players turn in career worst performances and the Anderson-written script is laughably, horribly bad. We like to joke about plot holes big enough to drive a truck through but this film has plot holes that people LITERALLY drive actual trucks through with nobody so much as batting an eyelash. And the dialog … oh, the dialog … but more on that later … Anderson wears a LOT of hats on this film and, without belaboring the point, it is very safe to say that the work he turns in for every single role he is supposed to fill is appallingly below standard.
The blame, second of all, should rest at the feet of the cast. Not Statham so much - he’ll brush this one off easily enough - or McShane, who is absolutely the only performer to rise above the level of the script he’s given to turn in something approaching a compelling performance, but all the rest are horrible. Tyrese Gibson hits an all time low as the primary on-track villain. Natalie Martinez as Statham’s navigator / love interest? Utterly abysmal every time she opens her mouth, but honestly she was cast for her cleavage not her ability to deliver a line and the cleavage is just fine, thanks, so it’s hard to fault her too much. But Joan Allen? Oh, Joan, what were you thinking? Did you not read the script when they sent it to you? When we get to hear Morgan Freeman cuss in Wanted it ends up being a high point of the film because Freeman so clearly is having a blast playing so far against type, he delivers the line so incredibly well, and it fits within the world Wanted has created. But when Allen cautions Statham, “Fuck with me and we’ll find out who shits on the sidewalk.” the response is just, WHAT? What the hell? What does that even MEAN? Never mind that the delivery’s clumsy, that’s just NONSENSE! And nonsense is never, ever bad-ass. Oh, Joan, I know I can’t blame you for writing it, but you agreed to say it and you really, really should have known better.
So, the film’s horrible. That leaves the question of whether this is a so-bad-its-good sort of film. Well, once the first openly mocking laugh burst out about half way through the screening I attended the crowd loosened up noticeably and got into the jeering spirit. Did we have a good time? Yes, yes we did. But, importantly, none of us had paid to be there. And, honestly, I can’t imagine any paying, sober audience being happy about having to sit through this.
Aug 17
SMS UPDATE FEATURE!
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Aug 17
WALL-E
The story of the film is deceptively simple. WALL-E (Waste Allocator Load Lifter - Earth Class) is the last of his kind, a robot created by the Buy-N-Large Corporation to clean up the piles of trash left on Earth by the conspicuous consumption of human beings. The humans themselves have evacuated the now-toxically trashed Earth for a Eden-like spaceship habitat called the Axiom (also created by BNL corp.), where they spend their days sipping meals out a cup and reclining on floating easy chairs. Though all his robotic compatriots have long since compacted their last, WALL-E continues plugging away at his job in an endearingly human way. He wakes up each day to the chime of a Macintosh starting up (score for the iFolks! Thanks Steve!) and heads out for another day among the trash heaps. He brings a battered coolie along with him to save the things he likes: a ping-pong paddle, a plastic dinosaur toy, a light bulb, a small seedling saved in an old boot. He ends each day in his home, watching an old video tape of Hello Dolly! - an important motif throughout the film.
Things change drastically for WALL-E the day EVE shows up. She is slick and futuristic and quite obviously a girl; WALL-E falls in love almost immediately. It turns out EVE has been sent from the Axiom to scan the earth for signs of habitable life. Their convincing courtship is done completely without dialogue, quite a feat for sound designer Ben Burtt who found a way to make ambient noise into recognizable words for WALL-E. Trying to impress the coolly modern EVE, WALL-E shows her the seedling he found, at which point EVE goes into a hibernation state and awaits the return of her spaceship. WALL-E, of course, cannot abide by his beloved EVE’s status and hitches a ride into space to save her.
A bit disturbingly, all the humans on the Axiom have regressed to babyhood (enormously fat, with chubby extremities and little bone density) after 700 years of living up in space and drinking their meals through a straw. It seems that this may have been the aim of the BNL Corporation, who have instructed the ship’s Computer Auto (Sigourney Weaver) to never let the humans return to Earth, even if it is found to be habitable once again. Though WALL-E’s only aim on the Axiom is to find his beloved EVE, he finds himself wrapped up in a race to save the seedling he collected on earth from the treacherous tentacles of Auto. Along the way he meets a variety of robots, each with their own supposed job, all of which are related to cleaning up. It becomes clear that human consumption is what has trashed the earth and is now trashing Outer Space as well.
Though he is tiny and relegated to the dirtiest of the dirty jobs, WALL-E truly understands how to find value in sullied things and how to create magic out of useless objects. He is more human than the humans in that way and slowly, without preaching (he can’t even talk), WALL-E begins to show them how to regain what they have lost through sloth and over reliance on technology. It’s an environmentalist film, but also a poignant homage to simple joys in this era of iPods and digital everything.
Half of what is so enchanting about watching WALL-E, as in all Pixar films, is seeing how the filmmakers have created a working universe in which to play. There is no skimping here, no visible shortcuts. WALL-E himself has a million ways to express his emotions, from compacting into a box when he feels shy to wiggling his binocular-like eyes in awe when he first beholds EVE, all of which are related to physical, realistic components. That allegiance to authenticity allows the film to send its narrative to fantastic heights without seeming over the top or phony.
Like all previous Pixar films, the meaning of WALL-E is deeper and more profound than the merchandising opportunities found therein. It’s a love story, yes, but it’s also a story about staying true to your own heart in the blandly evil face of authority. It’s a tale about saving the small things and cherishing the world you live in, no matter how imperfect its surface might seem. Andrew Stanton, who won an Oscar in 2004 for Finding Nemo, has certainly earned his place in the pantheon of animation pioneers, but with WALL-E, he has taken not only the art of animation, but the art of storytelling to new, unimaginable heights.
As a bonus, Pixar have affixed a Looney Tune-y short about an arrogant magician and his hungry rabbit to beginning of the WALL-E. Presto! is pure Looney Tunes and a fitting appetizer to the lovely film to follow.
Aug 16
HARRY POTTER AND THE HALF-BLOOD PRINCE
Release Date: July 17, 2009
Studio: Warner Bros. Pictures
Director: David Yates
Screenwriter: Steven Kloves
Starring: Daniel Radcliffe, Rupert Grint, Emma Watson, Helena Bonham Carter, David Bradley, Robbie Coltrane, Warwick Davis, Tom Felton, Michael Gambon, Alan Rickman, Maggie Smith, Natalia Tena, Julie Walters, David Thewlis, Evanna Lynch, Matthew Lewis, Bonnie Wright, Jim Broadbent, Helen McCrory, Jessie Cave, Hero Fiennes Tiffin, Frank Dillane
Genre: Action, Adventure, Fantasy
Official Website: HarryPotter.com
Story :
The war against Voldemort is not going well; even Muggle governments are noticing. Ron scans the obituary pages of the Daily Prophet, looking for familiar names. Dumbledore is absent from Hogwarts for long stretches of time, and the Order of the Phoenix has already suffered losses.
And yet…
Aug 10
BEIJING OLYMPICS 2008
hey everyone..Did you get a chance to see the olympic’s opening in Beiking last Friday?Well..to be truthful , only the fireworks was amazing . other than that , the only thing that was keeping me awake was my handphone because my friends couldnt stop SMS’ing me lol..watching 3 1/2 hours of people walking isnt as exciting as it sounds..Ohh well , This Olympicsi think malaysia is going for Badminton and Basketball right?im not sure but i think Malaysia is going down..I have never seen Malaysia beat other countries in sports except Squash by Nicole David..If you see the newspapers back page theres my fathers name LOL!really..i dont know how it got there but it did..this olympics is going to be around for about 1-2 months right?Well , its gonna be another subject to talk about in school to kill some time .