I just watched Save the Green Planet! (2003), the Korean film serving as the base movie for 2025's Bugonia. It's an interesting, unique remake case as initially the director of the former, Jang Joon-hwan, was signed on to direct the latter, before he ultimately left the project for health reasons. He was reportedly thrilled that Lanthimos got the gig in his place, but I do wonder what Jang Joon-hwan himself would've personally done with the American remake of his own movie.
While it is much the same film, the feel is very different. There are a number of changes and subtleties that make each version of the story feel vastly separate despite following broadly the same plot. Both convey a deep hopelessness and a sense of unstoppable injustice, but Save the Green Planet! has this often cartoonish sense of grief and rage and misery, and a bizarrely convoluted backstory for its protagonist that is hard to fully take in given that it comes to us in the form of a rapid, confusing flashback.
What I do find particularly interesting in the original film is the focus on police (and other authority) brutality. The kidnapped CEO bloke here (not a woman, btw, in this case) more directly represents the world's networks of authority. He, like the protagonist's father and teachers, who abuse him, and the police officers who viciously attack him and other protestors, has unstoppable, unfathomable power to hurt and/or kill people. Our protagonist blubbers through an indelicate and unclear plan of seemingly unfocused, explosive retribution for the suffering he's had to endure, and accomplishes nothing. The way that this version of the story approaches death, human extinction, and indifference to suffering feels less subtle and more gory, more ruthless, than Bugonia's. There's even a sequence where we watch real holocaust (and other atrocity) footage. A real 'humans suck' moment.
Of course, the 'humans suck' moment is there in Bugonia, but Emma's version of the big boss is so much more complicated, so much more attuned to the pain of her subjects. Where her lip quivers extinguishing and stilling human life on Earth, her Green Planet equivalent slams the big alien button that will eradicate the entire planet in a blaze, his steely glare unbroken. Where she is a foreign creature neither right or wrong, he is the pure undistilled essence of authority's total indifference.
I like both for different reasons, and although I would say I prefer Bugonia for its subtler approach, its grounded elements, and its exemplary performances overall, I love the sheer inventiveness and style of Save the Green Planet! There are so many beautifully designed and shot journal pages, saved photographs, annotated clippings, etc. There is so much incredible visual flair.
Jang Joon-hwan saw Misery, and wanted to see a more complicated, weirder Annie. He read about some crackpot theory online claiming Leonardo DiCaprio was an alien. And bam, he had his movie. And what a movie it is.
Four bloodied men out of five.
★★★★☆
I finished Donkey Kong Bananza's exciting banana-finding plot and ventured into the post-game bananas and I just love it a lot. At the beginning of the game I felt mildly afraid of its smashing mechanic. I thought perhaps the smashing was too much, I felt an unease as the camera struggled to follow me through self-made tunnels. This game has gone too far, I thought. We were never meant to smash this much.
And then, oh God, a poison level attacked me. A world of hideous poisons eating away at me at every opportunity. It felt hostile, this sick world, towards my innocent Kong. And the Bananza transformations, too, seemed grotesque and freaky. I couldn't face this world confidently. I had a skittish fear about me that my powerful fists did nothing to assuage.
But as I pressed on, as my hand-slapping sonar improved (don't ask me about my technologies), and as my animal transformations formed a gaggle of increasingly farcical beings, culminating in the acquisition of perhaps the worst animal of all: the snake (his power is to bounce very unpleasantly - I try to avoid using him), and I soon became extremely into it.
There's a world themed around burgers and fries and stuff in this game. By the time I'd reached it I had fully succumbed to its magic. There's a level where you can punch huge fruits and they explode in a fabulous simulation of the world's juiciest exploded watermelon. It's really good. I like to do that sort of thing.
There is an unbridled mechanical thrill to Donkey Kong Bananza. It's a taste of pure, unadulterated big monkey power. I want to play it forever and smash every inch of combustable environment.
I want the cute little rocks with eyes to flutter their eyelashes at me.
Banana.
A memory appeared fully formed inside my head recently, a little sparkling pearl. And that pearl, dear reader, was So Little Time - Mary-Kate and Ashley's cute 2001 series about being teens. This thing was their last TV sitcom.
I used to watch this all the time, and it was my only real Olsen twins media, the only one available to me via the after school BBC One programming slot that dictated my taste. Something about the show spoke to me despite its overall boring feel, and I had to indulge this flashback and watch a couple of episodes.
It feels like a sort of baby version of 8 Simple Rules, a sitcom far more ready to delve into the sexual complications of its teenage sisters' lives (and far more ready to label its protagonists nasty sluts, a major source of the show's humour). So Little Time also centres its sisters' boy crazy inner world, but with a much more squeaky clean sheen. It's certainly a worse show for its cutesy lack of complexity, but there is something compelling about the twins and their dazzling male nanny.
What I was always drawn to the most, though, were the outfits. Both Mary-Kate and Ashley have a fun, eclectic, sort of boho style that is very of its time, but so nonchalant and comfy. They wore a lot of very lengthy cardigans, colourful button-ups, and long, flowy skirts. And I loved that Mary-Kate would sometimes have more tomboyish elements to her outfits. Long, baggy California boy trousers and such.
It also had a truly impeccible theme tune, and something about that opening, where they walk along the beach as cast members appear atop the beach architecture (a series of strange blue structures), spoke to me.
Fetch me a long stripy cardigan, stat.
I'm not a big manga reader. I occasionally remember it exists and read some volume of something, and then go back to forgetting all about it and only reading books with ZERO pictures. Like some kind of freak.
But today, spurred on by having watched an anime movie (Your Name, and I don't want to talk about it, I despise it), I ended up perusing a list of recommended manga series, and I was immediately drawn to Stardust Family by Aki Poroyama.
What got me here was the premise, plain and simple. The story takes place in a future Japan, which has introduced a licencing system for parents, i.e. you have to pass an approval in order to have children. This means inspections are carried out on couples who want the right to have a child, and these inspections are carried out by a special class of 'inspector' children.
Wow. That's crazy.
It's a two-volume manga, so it's very short, and what I loved was the pacing here, which is really rapid and steady. It just goes. I also think the characterisation is really well done. Each member of the main trio has their own complex emotional world, and the way they interact and unravel is masterful.
There's some twistiness within the story which is somewhat abrupt given the space it has to work with, but I felt these were weaved in adeptly and really kept that pace speeding along.
There's some really cool moments across the story, and the enticing dystopian premise held its weight throughout. And I love to see a sweet, nice boyfriend character. As all boyfriends should be.
Four stardust pieces out of five.
★★★★☆
It's been almost a year since my grandma, Norma, died, and I just realised recently that I haven't felt sad about it in a while. It's a weird thing to realise, but for about six months after it happened, I kept thinking about it and feeling stunned or sad. Suddenly, that thing isn't there anymore. I feel normal. This is just normal.
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| Here she is with a beautiful robot. |
It's kind of an impossible to externalise feeling, and I think every time someone dies it's quite different for a huge amount of reasons, but I really did feel changed by it. I felt, for a while, like the world was really quite different before and after. There are ways in which I feel like I know her better post-death. Like there are things about her I didn't really notice or think about when she was alive. The fact that she tended to wear dark reds and purples and pinks. That's something I think about often, for some reason. Just 'her' colours.
And in a way it makes me happy, not that she's dead but that I know how it works. That I know that there can be a weird joy in whatever it is that a person has left behind. Ideas, memories, objects, colours. That maybe if someone else died it would, in some way, at some point, just be okay.
I feel like now I've had the training unit about your grandma dying and I can easily do stuff like "have a grandma die". I feel oddly emboldened.
Death is really weird, and I hope it never happens to me.
It's 12:10am as I write this and it was such a perfectly sunny day today, I really felt true bliss circulating around me. I went over to the local library and saw some trees that had completely lost their pink blossoms, the evidence scattered on the ground but missing from the branches. In the library, there's a section with 2024-2026 releases, colour-coded by year, and I thought that was such a fun section to have. It's right by a large reading nook. Someone had left an Ali Smith book on one of the little tables.
I don't usually make direct blog posts here, I mean, accounts of my day, but there's something about it, when I do, that feels very satisfying. It's the pure blog post. The platonic ideal. The library is wide and mostly empty, and the particular way they had their sections organised interested me, because it was different from the library I visited last. I thought, hmm, I never really think about how different libraries can be. My other local library, that is, the one from where I grew up, has a lot more categories throughout the space. They have a little classics section, from where I pulled the short and delicious The Pearl, a genuinely magical book that I read earlier this year. But today's library has no classics section.
My aunt invariably sends our nebulous family group chat pictures from walks with her dog, just a thing to update us on, routine yet notable. There is something special about any little walk, this action says. And it's true, there is something special about any little walk, if you want there to be.
So of course, another picture of her dog, strolling alongside my granddad, his back to the camera, floats onto my phone. Like so much falling blossom.
Perhaps I will read a book that was released in 2024.