Chameleon Skink
Xholankha the lost one
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talk about anything while others review it
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Saddest moment in any book, tv show or game you have played/read/watched
- Thread starter Xholankha the lost one
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Carnasaur
Slanputin
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Succinct, yet one feels the author is lacking in drawing the audience in through expository dialogue. Whilst the temptation is there to girdle the piece in with a flourish of ornate description a degree of respect must be given to the simple, postmodern method through which the author details his story: not even grammar or punctuation can escape the minimalist scythe with which the author approaches his writing.
Chameleon Skink
Xholankha the lost one
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Hey I'm Norwegian don't judge, we beat the world any day in minimalist approaches
Ripperdactyl
Otzi'mandias
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No.
Hows that for minimalist?
Hows that for minimalist?
Slann
Bowser
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This piece tries too hard to be minimalist, while completely missing the point of minimalism. Maybe if the artist claims to be making an ironic statement about mksern minimalism this piece will still sell, but what is the price of integrity?No.
Hows that for minimalist?
Slann
n810
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Review is...
Chameleon Skink
Xholankha the lost one
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I had 30 seconds to make a title I'm a little busy atm
Slann
Bowser
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Even too busy for punctuation? It was a good comment, but a little too rushed. A nice sense of urgency to the statement which really brought it around.
The title is glorious.
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Scar-Veteran
spawning of Bob
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Yes, leaving any thread unattended for too long is asking for trouble in this neighbourhood.
Ripperdactyl
Hyperborean
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Chameleon Skink
Xholankha the lost one
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Argh! I wish I had the power to read peoples emojis as whole paragraphs, I mean I would've expected bob to put a comma or something but not you guys, back to the typewriter I guess......
Slann
Crowsfoot
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Three jump out.
1. The Champ, I was around 10 when I first saw this film and when his son is shouting "come back champ" tears were flowing.
2. King Kong, When Kong is mowed down
3. War horse, when the camera zooms into his eyes and the reflection shows the battlefield.
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Cold One
skipperyoss
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As a kid I had this book that was called Animals as Healers. One of the chapters this lady descriptively narrates taking her dog (who has cancer) to the vet one last time to euthanize her. I cried really hard there.
Another time in like middle school (dunno what to call it for the Europeans here) I read a book (whose title escapes me) it was about the Japanese living in Hawaii at the time of WW2 so a lot of racism and what not. What got me though was the main characters family had a flock of pigeons as a hobby, sending messages that kind of thing, well the US government steps in and has them kill all the pigeons so they couldn't "spy" for the Japanese. While the author wasn't descriptive he did tell us how he did it. That made me tear up too.
Anyway movies that have dogs usually are a tear show for me because 9 times out of 10 the dog doesn't make it and usually dies because someone was stupid, or Marley and Me/ Hachi.
For some reason as a kid I also cried when Tassadar sacrifices himself to kill the Overmind, of course Blizzard has kind of trampled over that now but again not certain why that struck a chord with me.
And uh, when McWatt kills Kid Sampson in Catch-22, really when Nately dies. At that point it's just Yossarian, Hungry Joe, the Chaplan and Danby. Then Joe dies and he's all alone. So I guess the saddest moment there is when he realizes he's all alone, and other minor characters who didn't like him step in and start having a bigger part towards the end. It was something you didn't notice til then too, quite profound to me really.
Another time in like middle school (dunno what to call it for the Europeans here) I read a book (whose title escapes me) it was about the Japanese living in Hawaii at the time of WW2 so a lot of racism and what not. What got me though was the main characters family had a flock of pigeons as a hobby, sending messages that kind of thing, well the US government steps in and has them kill all the pigeons so they couldn't "spy" for the Japanese. While the author wasn't descriptive he did tell us how he did it. That made me tear up too.
Anyway movies that have dogs usually are a tear show for me because 9 times out of 10 the dog doesn't make it and usually dies because someone was stupid, or Marley and Me/ Hachi.
For some reason as a kid I also cried when Tassadar sacrifices himself to kill the Overmind, of course Blizzard has kind of trampled over that now but again not certain why that struck a chord with me.
And uh, when McWatt kills Kid Sampson in Catch-22, really when Nately dies. At that point it's just Yossarian, Hungry Joe, the Chaplan and Danby. Then Joe dies and he's all alone. So I guess the saddest moment there is when he realizes he's all alone, and other minor characters who didn't like him step in and start having a bigger part towards the end. It was something you didn't notice til then too, quite profound to me really.
Troglodon
Y'ttar Scaletail
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For me it was Yossarian's walk through the city towards the end, seeing the sadness, evil, and depression of mankind. Then the horror and injustice when he arrives back at the hotel with what is lying outside and how despite the crime that has occurred is arrested instead for being AWOL. That and the death of Snowden. I'm cold... There there...there there...
Another book that really struck me hard was (of all books) Three Men in a Boat. Throughout the story is extremely light hearted and comedic until in one of the later chapters where they find
something black floating on the water, and we drew up to it. George leant over, as we neared it, and laid hold of it. And then he drew back with a cry, and a blanched face.
It was the dead body of a woman. It lay very lightly on the water, and the face was sweet and calm. It was not a beautiful face; it was too prematurely aged-looking, too thin and drawn, to be that; but it was a gentle, lovable face, in spite of its stamp of pinch and poverty, and upon it was that look of restful peace that comes to the faces of the sick sometimes when at last the pain has left them.
Fortunately for us - we having no desire to be kept hanging about coroners' courts - some men on the bank had seen the body too, and now took charge of it from us.
We found out the woman's story afterwards. Of course it was the old, old vulgar tragedy. She had loved and been deceived - or had deceived herself. Anyhow, she had sinned - some of us do now and then - and her family and friends, naturally shocked and indignant, had closed their doors against her.
Left to fight the world alone, with the millstone of her shame around her neck, she had sunk ever lower and lower. For a while she had kept both herself and the child on the twelve shillings a week that twelve hours' drudgery a day procured her, paying six shillings out of it for the child, and keeping her own body and soul together on the remainder.
Six shillings a week does not keep body and soul together very unitedly. They want to get away from each other when there is only such a very slight bond as that between them; and one day, I suppose, the pain and the dull monotony of it all had stood before her eyes plainer than usual, and the mocking spectre had frightened her. She had made one last appeal to friends, but, against the chill wall of their respectability, the voice of the erring outcast fell unheeded; and then she had gone to see her child - had held it in her arms and kissed it, in a weary, dull sort of way, and without betraying any particular emotion of any kind, and had left it, after putting into its hand a penny box of chocolate she had bought it, and afterwards, with her last few shillings, had taken a ticket and come down to Goring.
It seemed that the bitterest thoughts of her life must have centred about the wooded reaches and the bright green meadows around Goring; but women strangely hug the knife that stabs them, and, perhaps, amidst the gall, there may have mingled also sunny memories of sweetest hours, spent upon those shadowed deeps over which the great trees bend their branches down so low.
She had wandered about the woods by the river's brink all day, and then, when evening fell and the grey twilight spread its dusky robe upon the waters, she stretched her arms out to the silent river that had known her sorrow and her joy. And the old river had taken her into its gentle arms, and had laid her weary head upon its bosom, and had hushed away the pain.
It was the dead body of a woman. It lay very lightly on the water, and the face was sweet and calm. It was not a beautiful face; it was too prematurely aged-looking, too thin and drawn, to be that; but it was a gentle, lovable face, in spite of its stamp of pinch and poverty, and upon it was that look of restful peace that comes to the faces of the sick sometimes when at last the pain has left them.
Fortunately for us - we having no desire to be kept hanging about coroners' courts - some men on the bank had seen the body too, and now took charge of it from us.
We found out the woman's story afterwards. Of course it was the old, old vulgar tragedy. She had loved and been deceived - or had deceived herself. Anyhow, she had sinned - some of us do now and then - and her family and friends, naturally shocked and indignant, had closed their doors against her.
Left to fight the world alone, with the millstone of her shame around her neck, she had sunk ever lower and lower. For a while she had kept both herself and the child on the twelve shillings a week that twelve hours' drudgery a day procured her, paying six shillings out of it for the child, and keeping her own body and soul together on the remainder.
Six shillings a week does not keep body and soul together very unitedly. They want to get away from each other when there is only such a very slight bond as that between them; and one day, I suppose, the pain and the dull monotony of it all had stood before her eyes plainer than usual, and the mocking spectre had frightened her. She had made one last appeal to friends, but, against the chill wall of their respectability, the voice of the erring outcast fell unheeded; and then she had gone to see her child - had held it in her arms and kissed it, in a weary, dull sort of way, and without betraying any particular emotion of any kind, and had left it, after putting into its hand a penny box of chocolate she had bought it, and afterwards, with her last few shillings, had taken a ticket and come down to Goring.
It seemed that the bitterest thoughts of her life must have centred about the wooded reaches and the bright green meadows around Goring; but women strangely hug the knife that stabs them, and, perhaps, amidst the gall, there may have mingled also sunny memories of sweetest hours, spent upon those shadowed deeps over which the great trees bend their branches down so low.
She had wandered about the woods by the river's brink all day, and then, when evening fell and the grey twilight spread its dusky robe upon the waters, she stretched her arms out to the silent river that had known her sorrow and her joy. And the old river had taken her into its gentle arms, and had laid her weary head upon its bosom, and had hushed away the pain.
I suppose watching a news report on terminally ill children getting to go to Lapland as part of the Make a Wish charity made me very sad. The report has the build up and the excitement of these children and ends with them going to the event and having the time of their lives. And yet, I could not help but think "and then what?" They have built up this excitement for this one moment, this one great day, and it's over. It then made me think about how in less extreme ways all of us kinda do that. We will spend months preparing for holidays, birthdays, and other such moments. Then that day comes and it races away from us, leaving us only with the dulling and fading memories of that moment. With some yearly events like Christmas or Birthdays sometimes the magic and joy of them lessens over the years, they can start to feel like every other day. Fast, fleeting, and gone before you can truly grasp them. And yet, as I thought on this I realised that i'm going about this all wrong. Every moment, good or ill is a still a moment that can and will define us. That we even have these moments is mayhaps something of a blessing.
