Usually things appear sorted then a cold gust of wind turns things around. Where you want to be is on the Magic Faraway Tree to a land with a friend called Saucepan Man. You could dream if you like and be on the Wishing Chair, but if that's not your thing, then you can smile and look away.
In a moment there will be madness. And we shall allow it, or we can if we make the effort. Sit in circles, light the torch, play the guitar, sip wine, get lost in eyes -- a new pair of eyes -- or we can break the rose petals and believe we weren't there. It's easy, if you may. Follow the beat through the forest. Cinderella seems weepy, and Rumpelstiltskin thinks that life's nothing but an anomaly of twisted fingers and gold diggers. They want him, he knows, but not for his soul. For he's trapped in the ground. And Red Riding Hood is at the Vagina Monologues.
There will be darkness, my friend. But if the chimney is burning and all the children are sleeping, then the garden will rise and death will play chess. Cats and dogs -- sleeping crows and angry turtles, the crawling king snake slithers tonight, darling. And in a moment, I will want world peace. To break the chain of command and follow the orders of forgotten politicians, kings and popes -- who've got nothing else but a couple of coins and a cloth of luck.
Dreams and despair, songs of love and hate. They open the gates tonight. And in a moment, you will see.

I picked The Bucket List to take home this weekend. My visits home have become less frequent now and the city life seems to grow duller. My parents aren't great movie watchers. But they've grown up watching, so they know their stuff. Meanwhile, my learning films is all self-taught. Working in a news channel gave me a decent basic understanding of editing, camera and shots. (These days every second person I meet is a film collector -- so I get recommended a list of directors and films I should check out and I trade my favourites.) But mine is really a recent obsession. I look for cult films -- some of my favourite filmmakers are Kubrick, Scorcese, Allen, Lynch, Tarantino, Coen Brothers and the sorts. Mostly Hollywood, as you can gather. Quirky, a hint of noir, blood, sex and method.
Now The Bucket List seemed nice and it was rather an obvious choice, it has Morgan Freeman and Jack Nicholson. And there are few ways they can muck a film. The plot is essentially easy. Two terminally patients in a hospital room know that they have little time. So before they kick the bucket -- they list some of the things that they always wanted to do.
Jack Nicholson plays his classic best -- an embittered man; rich and pissed off with classic liners. Morgan Freeman plays the humble good guy, his voice is golden as ever. The chemistry between the two is like two goldfish in a bowl that aren't the best of friends, but somehow have only each other.

Here's something to remember when you're older Thomas - never pass up a bathroom, never waste a hard-on, and never trust a fart.
(Jack Nicholson as Edward Cole)

And in walks winter. Cool and gray. Silent and recluse.

In a moment there will be chaos. In a moment there will be a smile and in a moment you will be served a bowl of tears. Now the papers are burning in wastepaper baskets. A melancholy that lurks in an empty room now hangs above us. There are passionate sighs that play from the ghost clarinets. There comes confusion bending upon a broken rod of reason. A rubble of understanding. There is mutiny in the kitchen. The bookstores are empty. They've closed down the gates. The emperor wishes to call the listless knaves. The Queen of Hearts is broken. The Jack of Hearts is caught in the ladies room again. The jokers are clumsy. The Horror, The Horror!