John took yesterday afternoon off work to see Before Night Falls, a movie by Julian Schnabel (Basquiat), starring Javier Bardem, Johnny depp, Sean Pean etc, _base_d on the life of gay Cuban poet Reinaldo Arenas. And because I was in recovery I went to. I did want to see the movie buut I have to admit the circumstances were not the best. The circumstances were also compounded by one of my cats having scratched me on the face in bed last night and I was doing my 'ohmigod, I can't be seen in public' type dramas. So we went to the Civic with me being somewhat reluctant . It was cold in the vast theatre and I did not feel comfortable for the whole time, but enough grizzling, what of the movie. It was 2 hours long and I thought it could have been trimmed to around 1.5 hours, however John was moved and there was sobbing at the end from the row behind us. So I feel sort of Scroogish in saying the movie did not quite work for me, but it didn't. It was lovely, there were some great pieces in it. Some scenes were just bravura film-making with a wonderfully fluid camera. It was a fab view of Havana and the Revolution. It was an interesting overview of a life buffeted by circumstance and at the mercy of states and politics. But it didn't grab me by the ballsnd it needed to. I loved Johnny Depp's drag queen. Depp also played the nasty little interrogator. Sean Pean had a bizarre role as a driver of an ox-cart. Bardem deserved his Academy Award nomination. I'm not sure why I was untouched by the movie as a whole when all around me succumbed. Sam was there with a cute Brit backbacker who'd asked him out the previous night at the bar. Callous Sam was flippant about this although, from having met him, I could say an invite from him would have made other men's lives. John had to go immediately after and I met Sam.'Where's the tourist?' I asked him. 'Oh,' said Sam, boredly, 'I told him I had to go.' So I went across the road for one drink at the London Bar, being reminded as soon as we got in that he looks 14 and I'm standing there thinking does everyone here think I'm buying a drink for a minor'. It's just that the London Bar is so 1950's Auckland after-work drinks that it is weird. They have a deer's head on the wall. So we both exchanged information on our respective lives. His 'Do I live with him or do I not' thing, my own 'everyone thinks I am well-loved but really I'm not because no-one understands me' routine, both of which are familiar to us so we can do them with our eyes closed. He was meeting his current boyfriend at 6:30pm. Marc phoned me at 6:15pm and yelled at me for being in a bar 'But it was only one drink' I said. 'Jesus, it's your fucking liver,' he said. I dropped Sam off for his boyfriend and wandered up to Marc's work. I was still a little sore at this stage and was grateful his car was parked outside, not somewhere in Ponsonby. I wasn't feeling hungry but I wanted to sort out dinner but we ended up getting him a pack of cigarettes instead and settled on leftovers. I was still feeling unloved and grumpy. At home I cooked him dinner but didn't really feel like any myself but I really wanted to do something, anything. Reheating leftovers helped. He was watching the shit-TV that happens between 7:30 and 9:00pm and I didn't mind this although I couldn't get comfortable and I knew I was being moody. At any one moment I could have said things like 'I don't think you should see me anymore' and the next 'I feel so wimpy, be nice to me' but all I did is apologise about being moody. I caught him glancing side-on at me every so often so god knows what I was like to be with. By the time he left I was really grumpy with myself because I absolutely cannot deal with this type of mood when I have it. I am hopeless at discomforts and moods because I have no idea how to handle them. It is like a kitten in a quandry - you are confused, and are confused about being confused. So I went to bed and couldn't get comfortable there. Then I wandered out to the kitchen and found a strange set of keys on the floor and phoned Marc to see if they were his work keys but just as I did John came in the door and said 'What are you doing with my Quaker keys' and I snapped at him and then realised that I hadn't pushed stop on the phone so Marc possibly got a weird answerphone message of John and I arguing with me saying 'Well I didn't know they were your bloody keys, how could I?' I had been vicious to the cats all day because of the facial scratch and told John that they weren't sleeping in the bed that I was over them, that Catullus could sleep in the laundry cupboard. I booted Catullus off the bed as soon as he got on and weirdly, as he has never done before, he pushed open the door and wenyt to the laundry cupboard and howled to get in, so somehow he'd picked up on the thing, to his credit. I found this amazing but if it meant he didn't sleep on the bed as he has done every night forever, well, so be it... Then it was very grumpily to sleep, me reading a bio of Greta Garbo, but at least sleep came easy... D.

But it didn't grab me by the ballsnd it needed to. I loved Johnny Depp's drag queen. Depp also played the nasty little interrogator. Sean Pean had a bizarre role as a driver of an ox-cart. Bardem deserved his Academy Award nomination. I'm not sure why I was untouched by the movie as a whole when all around me succumbed. Yes, I agree. I saw it last month and thought that it was an arty film about the revolution. I did however like it at an intellectual level. Johnny Depp's cameos really steal the film, don't they ? And Marc is bloody right about drink!