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This is the blog of Ian Rosales Casocot. Filipino writer. Sometime academic. Former backpacker. Twink bait. Hamster lover.
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Bibliography
The Great Little Hunter
Pinspired Philippines, 2022
The Boy The Girl
The Rat The Rabbit
and the Last Magic Days
Chapbook, 2018
Republic of Carnage:
Three Horror Stories
For the Way We Live Now
Chapbook, 2018
Bamboo Girls:
Stories and Poems
From a Forgotten Life
Ateneo de Naga University Press, 2018
Don't Tell Anyone:
Literary Smut
With Shakira Andrea Sison
Pride Press / Anvil Publishing, 2017
Cupful of Anger,
Bottle Full of Smoke:
The Stories of
Jose V. Montebon Jr.
Silliman Writers Series, 2017
First Sight of Snow
and Other Stories
Encounters Chapbook Series
Et Al Books, 2014
Celebration: An Anthology to Commemorate the 50th Anniversary of the Silliman University National Writers Workshop
Sands and Coral, 2011-2013
Silliman University, 2013
Handulantaw: Celebrating 50 Years of Culture and the Arts in Silliman
Tao Foundation and Silliman University Cultural Affairs Committee, 2013
Inday Goes About Her Day
Locsin Books, 2012
Beautiful Accidents: Stories
University of the Philippines Press, 2011
Heartbreak & Magic: Stories of Fantasy and Horror
Anvil, 2011
Old Movies and Other Stories
National Commission for Culture
and the Arts, 2006
FutureShock Prose: An Anthology of Young Writers and New Literatures
Sands and Coral, 2003
Nominated for Best Anthology
2004 National Book Awards
Follow the Spy
Recent Crumbs
Blogs I Read
© 2002-2021
IAN ROSALES CASOCOT
Monday, January 17, 2011
9:25 PM |
The Wuss and the Rock
It took me several days to finish Danny Boyle's
127 Hours [2010], his screen adaptation of the real-life dilemma of Aron Ralston who in 2003 had to cut off his arm in order to free himself from a rock that was pinning him in the belly of a Utah canyon. I was wuss. I went into the film knowing I could not possibly stand the sight (or even the suggestion) of physical torture James Franco had to endure in the role, even if it's jazzed up in that Boyle way we've come to love in
Shallow Grave, Trainspotting, A Life Less Ordinary, The Beach, 28 Days Later, Millions, Sunshine, and
Slumdog Millionaire, films I've loved in varying degrees (although I always swear by Boyle's earliest efforts more than anything else). Finally, I told myself: "You've watched the despicable
Hostel by Eli Roth in one go, why couldn't you do exactly the same for a much worthier effort?" That, plus the fact that I had to free up some space in my hard drive, finally made me sit through the entire film -- and found it nothing short of amazing. One can read it as an adventure story, also a cautionary tale; a lot would come away from this film in that inspirational glow I usually come to suspect.
But here's the deal: it
is inspirational, despite its efforts to transcend the tendency. (Still, one can "accuse" Boyle for having a soft spot for such. Think of the kid in
Millions.) The film has things to say about individualism, the connection between people, the things we must value above all things, the importance of a Swiss knife... But its engine lies in the emotional truism that sometimes life has a way of reminding us, often in the most heartbreaking (or arm-breaking?) way possible, about what is important. That comes to a clincher when Franco, as Ralston, finally comes to a clear understanding where this tragedy stands in the grand narrative of his life: "You know, I've been thinking. Everything is... just comes together. It's me. I chose this. I chose all this. This rock... this rock has been waiting for me my entire life. It's entire life, ever since it was a bit of meteorite a million, billion years ago. In space. It's been waiting, to come here. Right, right here. I've been moving towards it my entire life. The minute I was born, every breath that I've taken, every action has been leading me to this crack on the out surface." That felt real. I understood that. It made me think of my own metaphorical "rock" in my life, or perhaps the possibility that I still have to meet mine.
I ended the film knowing a certain urgency about the things I need to do, and things I need to put more focus on despite being drowned by so much insignificant noise and my own need to people my world with just me, me,
me, divorced from the need of other people. I need to connect.
Heck, I need to de-wussify.
Labels: directors, film
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