Freedom Writers, staring Hillary Swank (Erin Gruwell), Patrick Dempsey (Scott Casey) and April L. Hernandez (Eva Benitez). The movie was produced by Paramount pictures and the director and screen play writer was Richard LaGravenese.
Freedom Writers is a excellent movie. Erin Gruwell (Hillary Swank), and other major actors in the film like Eva Benitez (April L. Hernandez) really connected emotionally to the audience. I enjoyed this movie when it came out and equally liked it again when I re-watched it recently, even thought it was released in 2007 it is timeless. I thought it was touching because all of the students had there own story and there rebellion against the "Mrs. G" (Hillary Swank) was very emotional and acted well. The movie was based in Long Island in a hard city to live in with a lot of violence and anger, racism makes it hard for kids of all ethnicitys to attend the same school.
This movie reminds me of the book "The Wave" a difference between the two though is rather then the teacher stopping the violence like in Freedom Writers in "The Wave" the teacher accidentally created the violence trying to teach the holocaust.
I thought all actors in the film did a excellent job they emotionally connected to the film, although very few went on to act in other films I would have loved to see other work by some of the actors like April L. Hernandez. The soundtrack of the movie also played a huge part, there was no time that the music was out of place or that I thought a different song should have been played. Another important part was when Erin Gruwell brought in a tupac song to try to relate to the kids and they fought back and said "you can't teach us tupac", a very emotional moment that brought them closer together.
Overall I think this review has a great message that not just teens but people of all ethnicity's can get along.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Monday, September 21, 2009
The Final Destination
I choose to read the movie review of the movie The Final Destination because I thought it was a horrible movie. I enjoy the movie review though because it was relatively accurate, I've seen the movie and was extremely disappointed. Eric D. Snider was flat out honest. Some good points he had were that in The Final Destination had the exact storyline as every other Final Destination. Main character has a premonition, everybody dies in premonition, saves friends, all survivors die in the same order as his premonition. Repetitive? yes, very.
He also draws attention to the fact that the characters have no family, jobs, or other friends. Which is odd yes? I overall enjoyed the movie review because he was sarcastic and funny. Pointed out all the flaws but then again all the better parts of the movie, as few as they may be. To read the review click here.
He also draws attention to the fact that the characters have no family, jobs, or other friends. Which is odd yes? I overall enjoyed the movie review because he was sarcastic and funny. Pointed out all the flaws but then again all the better parts of the movie, as few as they may be. To read the review click here.
Friday, September 18, 2009
How To Get The Truth Out Of Somebody
Doesn't it just drive you up the wall when somebody blatantly lies to you. Looking you in the eye and refusing to tell you the truth. If you really need to get the truth out of them, you play it cool, act like there is nothing wrong. Then convince them to lay on the floor, on there back. Once there laying down you sit on there hips ands take consecutive 3 inch punches after every punch you say "Are you ready to tell me the truth" if they say no, continue. They will eventually get tired and admit the truth.
Monday, September 14, 2009
The Painter
After 64 years on this planet my body is withered, liver spots freckle my arms and face. My hair frail as the most primitive of dolls, the arthritis I've neglected to look after strikes my hands stiff. The puppet master to the soul fossil like remains of my life. Painting.
As I sit here in my regular coffee shop. I am tortured by spite as I watch today's youth carve their names easily, painlessly, into the circular wooden tables. Although there is an anomaly in the comparison of I and them, the four great rosewood chairs embracing there wooden table, are all occupied. Here it is just I. Just I and my disintegrated dismembered dreams, hopes and ambitions.
I once was a recognizable painter, respected in my field. I could paint ten, twenty compositions a day. None in which entailed any thought, just painting for my feeling. My own understanding on how good I was, may have been my greatest downfall. People used to travel to see my work, from all over the world people would walk in and drop there checkbook for any thing marked with my name. My name was seldom required though, everybody recognized it as mine easily buy the vivid blues and reds covering every canvas. The artistic world at that time depended souly on me, I was sure.
The letter came in the mail on a Tuesday, I thought I had it all in my hands. The world was mine, this was nothing but a confirmation letter to my priory established beliefs. A gala in my honour, most people would be counting their blessings, and praying to god that they wouldn't, they just couldn't lose this all, Me? no.
"Why would they have waited this long to honour I? I've been unsurpassable for years!" I bellowed scornfully. Acknowledgement and gracefulness were a untaught lesson to me, astonishing for a man of my stature not to comprehend the most basic of moral beliefs. None the less, I was delighted to go, as much as it did agitate me that it was only happening now.
The night of the gala, Jilian, who now seems to haunt me as the most devine of angels, she took so long. It must be understandable to you? I myself can not, but somebody I'm sure does. I don't know how I questioned her importance, she wore my ring, and was carrying my child. But it was always I, exclusive focus was always mine. You have to understand why I would leave her home, to drive herself. The time she took to get ready was time I spent watching my clock tick, seconds to her execution.
Charles Jeantaud did not create the limousine to be ridden in alone, although that night it was. The family car was reliable, a 5 minute drive would be fine, the snow was only light. My discretion low. Pregnant women just don't drive.
Today in this coffee shop I have a revelation, the future has no promise because we remember the past greater then it was, and the present less then it is. I want to share my thoughts with the adolescents who share the room with me. But I guess, its just a lesson you have to learn yourself.
As I sit here in my regular coffee shop. I am tortured by spite as I watch today's youth carve their names easily, painlessly, into the circular wooden tables. Although there is an anomaly in the comparison of I and them, the four great rosewood chairs embracing there wooden table, are all occupied. Here it is just I. Just I and my disintegrated dismembered dreams, hopes and ambitions.
I once was a recognizable painter, respected in my field. I could paint ten, twenty compositions a day. None in which entailed any thought, just painting for my feeling. My own understanding on how good I was, may have been my greatest downfall. People used to travel to see my work, from all over the world people would walk in and drop there checkbook for any thing marked with my name. My name was seldom required though, everybody recognized it as mine easily buy the vivid blues and reds covering every canvas. The artistic world at that time depended souly on me, I was sure.
The letter came in the mail on a Tuesday, I thought I had it all in my hands. The world was mine, this was nothing but a confirmation letter to my priory established beliefs. A gala in my honour, most people would be counting their blessings, and praying to god that they wouldn't, they just couldn't lose this all, Me? no.
"Why would they have waited this long to honour I? I've been unsurpassable for years!" I bellowed scornfully. Acknowledgement and gracefulness were a untaught lesson to me, astonishing for a man of my stature not to comprehend the most basic of moral beliefs. None the less, I was delighted to go, as much as it did agitate me that it was only happening now.
The night of the gala, Jilian, who now seems to haunt me as the most devine of angels, she took so long. It must be understandable to you? I myself can not, but somebody I'm sure does. I don't know how I questioned her importance, she wore my ring, and was carrying my child. But it was always I, exclusive focus was always mine. You have to understand why I would leave her home, to drive herself. The time she took to get ready was time I spent watching my clock tick, seconds to her execution.
Charles Jeantaud did not create the limousine to be ridden in alone, although that night it was. The family car was reliable, a 5 minute drive would be fine, the snow was only light. My discretion low. Pregnant women just don't drive.
Today in this coffee shop I have a revelation, the future has no promise because we remember the past greater then it was, and the present less then it is. I want to share my thoughts with the adolescents who share the room with me. But I guess, its just a lesson you have to learn yourself.
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