Sunday is the Oscars and my laptop is acting stinking peculiar especially when it comes to images and image editing, so I’m gunna hold off even more ridiculously with my London Fashion Week reports to bring you my love of 127 Hours and Gatorade (and James Franco).
A couple of months back my friend Matty who works for Stage brought me to a special screening of 127 Hours with a talk afterwards featuring director Danny Boyle and twitter of course. I hadn’t been paying attention to anything surrounding Boyle’s follow up to Slumdog so had no idea what the film was about. A girl sitting next to me whispered she’d heard reports of people vomiting in screenings on account of the gore in the arm scene. My whole body instantly sank with dread because although I’ve been working on it, I’m squeamish and my tolerance for blood, gore, bone and oddly wrists – even talk of blood - is pretty pointless. I might as well have never been born.
But like I said I’ve been working on it so I decided to relax and just look away at the appropriate time. What’s odd is I can prepare poultry like nobody’s business, even sever leg cartilage and backbone, no problem. When the time came I put up my hand and looked at just a little corner of the screen, which was like his hair and a bit of rock. Worked a charm.
Not enough people are seeing this film! 127 Hours is HOT SPIT. Right from the start it’s so steezy-steeze, very Danny Boyle, high-octane and James Franco is, well, I love how Boyle describes the star’s mastery of Aron Ralston's mindset and thensome. “They’re weird, American actors. I’ve always read this, about how relaxed they are and it is very different from British acting, British acting is quite stiff in a formal way. British actors tend to be, not uncomfortable with the camera, but they’re aware of it. American actors are like...he surfs into things, he’s so relaxed, everything’s relaxed. The camera feels very, kind of easy with him. And I think it’s 'cause it’s their art form, the American’s, really. The French and Indians would disagree, but I don’t really think it’s ours ultimately.”
Actually Boyle had been asked about Franco’s surprising decision to host the Oscars and responded by explaining how unpredictable he is, which made me think Franco is probably more genuinely eccentric than we realise. But I like how Boyle links Franco’s randomness (his tendency to dress up in drag, por ejemplo) to his talent: “Because if he was predictable, if you could double guess him you wouldn’t be able to watch the film because it puts an intolerable burden on a single actor. His freshness and ability to create new moods and tones and intimacies is what actually makes it survive.”
I say Franco deserves the Oscar.
I’m American and I love Gatorade, which I believe is now called G or some stupid shit. I hate ‘G’ so much over Gatorade I don’t even want to clue myself in by googling it. What if Google suddenly called itself G?
There’s a scene in this film about Gatorade and how amazing it is, especially when you’re thirsty because you’ve been exercising in the heat. I laughed my hyena laugh when the old-fashioned Gatorade (not G) bottle appeared on the big screen – I knew exactly how Aron must have felt, kinda.
O man, Gatorade takes me back to my Oklahoma youth. I think I have earlier memories of Gatorade gum than I do of the sports drink. There was only one sports store in Edmond, my hometown, where you could buy it and it was insane – I’m getting all puckery and mouthwatery just thinking about the foil wrapping.
I missed Gatorade so much when I moved to England, there was even a newsroom joke about it in when the RTT moved to Twickenham. I finally managed to get one of the nearby newsagents to carry it but then I got a new job and left Twickenham a month later. Everyone thought it was funny because nobody else bought Gatorade except me - their loss. Nothing is better for hangover, which is the main reason I wanted it back then (post press day balm for the system).
Gatorade’s real purpose in my life was for about a dozen years before that, guzzling after an eight-mile run in the Oklahoma blisterning sun, mid-summer. I remember holding a full half litre bottle once standing to talk to someone after a long run in 100degree heat (once upon at time I was a little badass). This acquaintance’s head was turned for like 4 seconds and when they looked at me again the magic tangerine liquid was gone. He gave me a squinty look like something was wrong with me.
I could chug keg beer faster than the entire swim and soccer teams in college – something I was rightfully proud of – all due to my early Gatorade gulping training.
Gatorade is the bomb, trust.
My husband who is British and runs and did not grow up with Gatorade now orders it in powder form from the USA. That’s the best way of doing it really because you can tweak the water-to-amazingness ratio based on how hot it is and how hard you’ve just worked your ass.
Anyway my point is: Gatorade and James Franco - go on and get you some.