Review: In Time

Amanda Seyfried and Justin Timberlake in In Time. Photo: 20th Century Fox

I'd love to start off this review with a cheesy time pun like "time is literally money in In time", but that would be disrespectful to director Andrew Niccol who obviously went headfirst for the task of cramming every possible time pun into a 140 minute movie.

In Time is set in a future where everyone's life is dictated by a ticking internal clock - displayed on your arm like a tacky matrix tattoo - which kills you once it hits zero. The only comfort you've got while you earn, steal or have some transfer extra time to you, is that you stop ageing at 25. At the center of this is Will Salas (Justin Timberlake), a good-willing hard worker from the ghetto, who sets out to shake up the system of "the rich lives forever on the expense of the poor" after his mother (Olivia Wilde, yeah really) is cruelly "timed-out".

As much as I love a truly original story idea, I hate being projected far-fetched situations such as a helpless female lead running around in 6 inch heels as if they were a pair of Nike air. The helpless female lead in this case being Sylvia Weis the rebellious rich man's daughter, portrayed by Mamma Mia star Amanda Seyfried who merely convinces us that Sylvia has any guts at all or any facial expressions for that matter.

Timberlake doesn't really meet the Sean Parker standards with his Will Salas neither being rough enough nor affectionate enough. The only one who's leaving this flick with a gold star is Mad Men's Vincent Kartheiser. The 32-year-old is impeccably frightenining as Sylvia's 90-year-old aristocrat father.

Apart from time puns, the script (which is written by Niccol) also has a ridiculous amount of oneliners. Only 20 minutes into the movie and the audience have heard enough dowdy oneliners to make 24 Bond movies - leaving the dialogue extremely bleak and cringe worthy.

Despite running out of steam half way and having a pathetic fart as an ending, the concept of In Time together with scattered acting talent (having not mentioned Cillian Murphy, Big Bang Theory's Johnny Galecki and Matt Bomer) is still impressive enough to be worth a Wednesday evening trip to the cinema.

The long wait

John Lewis 2011 Christmas TV advert

The first time I saw this on TV I actually teared up. It's THE most precious ad I've seen in years (if not ever). The concept is absolutely genius, it's simple yet it hits all the right spots. How come no one has done it before?!

John Lewis, I applaud thee.


On another note, happy advent Sunday everyone!

Eastern promises

Dweller of Eastern things.

Something has happened to me lately. I don't know if it's good or bad, but in terms of finding true inspiration, I'd say it's leaning towards the former.

I'm going to be honest, in the past few months I've been trying really hard to hide my Korean pop obsession. It hasn't been the easiest thing to do. Writing cryptic tweets, private tumblr messaging, creating anonymous blogs -all while hoping it would pass soon enough.

The hoping, as you can tell, has been in vain. What's more, the Kpop thing has turned into a great appreciation for (SE) Asian culture and the minimalism that often goes with it, which prompted the birth of this blog.

It's a portfolio of everything Asian from pop culture to architecture. 'An Asian who likes Asian things', that's the cliché I'm going for here.

'An oasis of minimalist and Asian awesomeness'

A little thing called Fandom

The subject of my fandom for a very long time. Photo: Hollywood Records

I rarely claim that I know a lot about anything. I don't claim to know a lot about movies, photography, politics or whatever. I don't. However, I've come to realise that there's actually one thing that I'd consider myself an expert in; fandoms. Yes, the obsessive, stalkative and screaming kind.

With a little less than a decade of experience (sadly enough), I can say with certainty that I've gone through more or less all of it, everything on the right side of the law that is. Every inch of one's room walls filled with posters? Check. Midnight queuing for a new release? Check. Going abroad for a concert? Check. Waiting outside a radio station in the rain and a temperature below freezing? Check.

What's most often associated with crying or screaming (or both at the same time) young girls, a fandom starts out just like any other interest. Like your fondness over sushi, knee-length skirts or the Young Apprentice (which is rather awesome actually). But for it to turn you into a info hungry, squeal inclined, stalkative fan, there has to be a community of people who shares your newfound interest and a flow of material that keeps it interesting.

Once you've found those things, you're only a few overcomings of pride and a vanished good judgment away from joining me in the rain and minus 5 degrees outside BBC radio 1. Our heavily wired society -make that our heavily wired global society, isn't exactly making it any harder to stay away either.

Being a fan isn't flattering, I can admit that. Most of the time you're impelled to do things that you can't explain, you feel things that you can't explain, you want to buy things but don't know why. You dedicate yourself unconditionally to the fandom with no assurance of getting anything in return. And above all you're frequently subject to ridicule, be it from your friends, other fans or rabid tweeters. It's not glamorous.

However, I've come to think that people who make fun or belittle fandoms, can't possibly have been truly devoted to anything or actually had a fandom because if they would have, they wouldn't be bashing it. Why? Because they would know about the passion and pure happiness one so often feel while being a fan. Practically every waking moment is a natural high. Believe me, it's one of the best feelings there is.

So if you want to keep making fun of people who are genuinly happy, be my guest.

Destinations

Gröna Lund in Stockholm, Sweden

Fiskehamnen in Malmö, Sweden

Household cavalry museum, London

The thing with designer stores

Photo: Mine

I'm just one of those people who are excessively anxious about a lot. School (no kidding), the future, school work, work experiences, socialising, not updating my blogs enough, having to change tube at Green Park (everyone living in London know I'm quite serious about this) and the things just pile up.

One of the things that I get especially anxious about is: designer stores. You see, there's a reason as to why after three years of living in London I still haven't been to Selfridge's (GASP!) and avoid Harrod's like the plague - I know my place.

There's nothing more cringeworthy than people who aspirationally wear designer clothes and particularly; bags. With other words people who shows off their designer wear (might even be real for all I care) when obviously they can't afford the lifestyle.

So when we get assignments which require you to physically visit a designer store, and believe me it happens often enough, I dread it for my life (ok this I'd say would be journalistic sensationalism but you get the idea).

Going into a designer store when you obviously aren't there to shop is probably the most self-conscious thing you can do. Imagine this: a fancy well-lit, minimalist store with huge glass windows on Sloane street with its millions of security guards and well-dressed staff. You don't even have to step into the store with both of your legs before: BANG they see you're not there to buy something. They see it on your bag. They see it on your shoes. They see it on your coat. They see it on your watch. They see.

So if you know a secret sign that says, "Hey please don't mind me, I'm just here to check the country of origin labels. Just pretend I'm invisible and don't talk to me. Cheers!', please let me know.