Office Space

Office Space [1999]

Director: Mike Judge
Actor: Ron Livingston, Jennifer Aniston, David Herman, Ajay Naidu, Gary Cole, John C. McGinley

This low budget movie is, to be honest, pretty fucking awesome. However, it might not appeal to those people not either a) working in an office or b) stuck in a job that is devouring their will to live. Much like the hit comedy series “The Office,” some of the characters are so recognisable, some of the frustrations hit so close to home, that you immediately want to give up your job and seek a change in career.

The premise of the movie is fairly simple; Peter (Livingston) is a software developer working for a relatively sizable IT company. Software developer might be too lofty a term to describe Peter’s position because he’s basically a code-monkey working on the Y2K problem in various software packages. For those of you who haven’t actively lived through the Y2K hype, or aren’t familiar with software development; this means sorting through thousands of lines of code, changing a 2-digit year variable into a 4-digit year variable. I can’t imagine more mindnumbing work without thinking of factories and production lines. He spends most of his morning zoning out, pretending to work and just waiting for his day to end, and if we are to believe him, spends about fifteen minutes a week doing actual work. Bureaucracy is running rampant throughout the company, and Peter is frequently asked by his manager Lumbergh (Cole) to work on saturdays and sundays. Needless to say, Peter is dissatisfied with his job. However, he’s also not the most ambitious fellow in the world, something his girlfriend tries to remedy by taking him to a hypnotherapist.

That’s where the problem starts; he explains how he’s frustrated with his life and the therapist hypnotises him, telling him to forget about his worries and his stress. Before Peter is revived from his hypnotisement the therapist gets a heartattack and dies, leaving Peter perpetually unstressed and unconcerned with his work. And just in time for a big reorganisation of the company in which everyone gets to do job interviews for their own job. Hilarity ensues.

This movie is kind of like the club skank; cheap, easy, but a lot of fun for one evening.

Mother

Today we heard that my mother has cancer in her liver. This is the third time and it’s really wearing my down. I’m sodisappointed. But I cannot complain because as much as this is killing me, it’s not me this affliction is killing. :(

Gone Baby Gone

Gone Baby Gone [2007]

Director: Ben Affleck
Actor: Casey Affleck, Michelle Monaghan, Ed Harris, Morgan Freeman

Patrick (Affleck) and Angie (Monaghan) are a couple living in the same troubled, lower class, blue-collar neighbourhood in South Boston that they grew up in. They know almost everyone, and as such have made a good living as private detectives, specialising in missing people. When a little girl goes missing just down the street, and a media frenzy ensues, they are asked by Bea McKenzie, the girl’s aunt, to aid in the police’s investigation of the case. They feel a little out of their depth, because the cases they normally work are people skipping out on their car-payments or runaway kids, but they quickly fall in love with the little girl, Amanda, and try their best to help out. The reason for their involvement is because of their close connection to the neighbourhood, and people will talk to them that won’t talk to the police. The mother of the girl, Helene (Ryan), is found to be a terribly unfit mother, drinking, snorting and engaged in drug-muling for a rather psychotic druglord. Patrick and Angie team up with detective Bressant (Harris) and detective Poole (Ashton), backed by police captain Doyle (Freeman) to do what it takes to bring Amanda home. They dive deep into the seedy underbelly of South Boston, and uncover dirt on almost everyone involved, including the police. Patrick and Angie taking increasingly bigger risks and have to deal with friction between each other as the two no longer see eye to eye on the moral choices they have to make.

This movie was written by Dennis Lehane, author of other acclaimed books, like the one that Mystic River was based on, and true to form his depiction of lower class, blue-collar neighbourhoods is phenomenal. Ben Affleck did a wonderful job translating his vision to the silver screen, capturing the grittiness and the ugliness in spades. One of the things I really liked is that they managed to make everyone look either plain, or ugly. Casey Affleck’s performance is pretty good, though I wonder if his aloof, almost dim acting style – the same one that he adopted in the Assassination of Jesse James – is an act or just part of his personality. Regardless, it works well for this film, especially when it’s exchanged for an occasional delivery of some bad-ass lines. A good example is when he’s threatening the psychotic, Haitian druglord Cheese; awesome.

I liked this film, and I’m looking forward to seeing more of Lehane’s films brought to the silver screen, as well as more of Ben Affleck’s direction.

Lieve

Yesterday was Moulsari’s birthday, and we were joined by several of her colleagues and friends at restaurant Lieve. The restaurant was not what I expected at all, but very cool, and very spacious, which, when you’re with a lot of people, makes quite a difference. Especially, the high ceilings somehow make a big difference to how crowded you feel. The food was pretty good, though I would’ve expected a little more from a restaurant that goes on a limb with the courses as this restaurant did. We got to pick and choose, before hand, courses to put on the menu for our group, which was interesting, and the courses we picked were all kind of adventurous, with a few exceptions for the traditionalists.

Afterwards we went for drinks at Werck, which turned out to be less exciting than anticipated. We were joined by three other people, which was cool, but at a certain point, Mouls summed it up best by saying; “I’m not feeling it.” For me, it was the annoying DJ, for whom I only have one piece of advice; Loud music does not a party create. The place was not even half full of people, and when you have the music cranked up to ridiculous volumes it all becomes a bit awkward.

I hope Mouls is happy with the gifts and well-wishings she received. :)

MMA

Last night I went by the Amsterdam branch of my MMA school, thinking that it’d be a great idea to train on tuesday-night, five minutes away from where I live, instead of on wednesday-night, straight after Kung Fu, in Hoorn, an hour away by public transport. I came to the conclusion that I seriously need to rethink my MMA-strategy. This class was filled with real competitors, with more than one professional Pride-veteran, a European BJJ champion, and a two-time Dutch amateur boxing champion. Needless to say, these guys are going to tear me limb from limb. “Oh, don’t worry, we’ll go slow and teach you all you need to!” Yeah, thanks, I know you will, you’ll teach me one punch at a time, one submission at a time. In the meantime, I’ll become hammered shit. I talked it over with the head-instructor, and he said that this class didn’t have too many beginners in it (gee, I wonder why), and that it was more focussed on true MMA than on BJJ. He said that it might be best to stay training in Hoorn for six months to develop a good fundament before I start mixing it up with these guys. I thought it was a good idea because I don’t really feel like getting demolished every tuesday.

So Robin, I’m afraid we’re going to have to figure something out for wednesdays, because I’ll be continuing the adjoining MMA class right after Kung Fu.

The gym that the class was given at yesterday was fun, though. Vos Gym is legendary in the European kickboxing community, cranking out legends like Ernesto Hoost, Gilbert Yvel, Clyde Petres and Remy Bonjasky, all of them successful K1, Pride or kickboxing veterans. The gym looks like Rocky Balboa’s old gym, with a leaking roof, single-glasing windows (which makes it perpetually cold) and dodgy bouncers and bodyguards training there. When I walked in I was approached by two tourists, standing in front of the rather dodgy looking door with a stairway leading up that could’ve easily come out of some dystopian sci-fi/horror film, asking me if this was the Supperclub, a well-known restaurant/club in Amsterdam. I told them that the only thing they’d be eating in there were fists! (Well, that’s what I thought, I didn’t actually have the balls to say that.)