So the other night, after flitting between the snoring symposia and paper-bag openings on offer in our fair city, we stepped into a local movie house to see The Island. Quite apart from whatever we may or may not feel about Scar-Jo—her wit, her voice, her youth, the sight of her already absurd lips magnified in extreme close-up in shot after shot after wondrous, unbearable shot—we found the film to be rather diverting. From a design point of view. Down to the platform beds and sweat suits, the clone farm is a perfect vision of Wallpaper* hell (redundant?), and the later scenes, once Obi-Wan and his young padewan have escaped from said hell, gin up the best near-future urbanscape (LA, alas) since Minority Report. Yeah, you heard right: we gave props to Spielberg. And it hurt. Like for real.

Posted in Simply Sublime