This 2013 movie is set in Thailand. The plot revolves around a drug trafficker (Ryan Gosling) who has an icy mother (Kristin Scott Thomas) who sends him on a mission to avenge his older brother, who was killed for beating an underage prostitute to death.

This movie didn't gain much of an audience as it is a pretty avant-garde and unknown film. It is stylistically breathtaking, and the characters are all toned down a little so they aren't overstated or reaching. Gosling is a very quiet character who doesn't say much in this movie.


The movie begins in with men boxing and slowly moves to Gosling's older brother visiting a brothel. The brother is a disgusting human being. When he gets to the brothel he tells the proprietor that he wants a younger girl, when the proprietor says he doesn't have anyone younger, the brother tells him to bring his daughter. He ends up not getting the 14-year old he wants. In the end bad things happen and the brother ends up dead. Gosling goes on the lookout for the person or people responsible for his brother's murder, but when he finds out why we find that he has a high set of morals. The mother then arrives and we find that the relationship between her and her two children is somewhat complicated.

We meet several characters throughout the movie, and none of them have any redeeming qualities. Even with his morals Gosling is still a despicable human being. Now, don't get me wrong, I did not hate this movie. It wasn't a great movie and seemed very simplistic, but it wasn't terrible either. The best part of this movie was the stunning atmosphere. The brilliant and florescent colors were fantastic, and the scenery was brilliant in working with the flow of the movie.

From one scene to another the picturesque brightness and the dim park work It is almost as with each scene the director is setting the mood and making sure the viewer understands what is happening. For example the scenes with the other are often bright and she is often the center of the picture, yet of what the audience learns she is one of the worst mothers in history. Each scene of violence is expertly portrayed with both bright colors.

I don't know if I can recommend this movie based on the acting or the merits of the movie, but as a stunning picture it is wonderful to watch. It was also interesting to see Gosling play a man of few words and not really much in the way of muscular prowess.

So take this review as you want, and either watch the movie for the settings, or skip it, it won't hurt my feelings.

So I've moved. Moving is an interesting process. You cry over leaving friends and family (if you have them to leave). You cry over leaving stuff or getting rid of stuff. You cry over the idea and fact that most of your stuff not fitting in boxes. You cry in frustration. You cry because you have to take two cats in a car for 11 hours. You cry because starting over is hard. I did none of that. I didn't cry over any of it, although I worried. I worried that my 17 year-old cat wasn't going to be strong enough to take on an 11 hour drive. I worried that my boy cat might be stuck under a blanket the entire time and overheat. I worried that when I got to my new location I'd go insane because there was going to be so much to do and not enough time. But then, sometimes there doesn't ever seem to be enough time.

Moving is traumatic, and hard. Now that I am in my new location I haven't a clue what to do. I have to build a new writing community from the ground up. I have to build new friendships from the ground up. I have to put myself out there. That is frightening. Putting yourself out there is frightening. Not knowing what people will think about you when they first meet you. It is really hard, especially when you don't know how much strange to let out.

For a little while I am going to go insane. I'm going to try to learn my way around. I am going to learn my way around and eventually I'll get to a grocery store.

Well, that is all I can say for now, but only because I don't know where I am anymore. My life is in chaos, but that is okay because I thrive in chaos. I love it, and when things get organized I will be okay with that too.

But starting over is hard, and I hope I can meet some awesome new people soon, otherwise I just might go insane.

I cried yesterday, over my craft. I told several people that I was going to give up writing. I felt heartbroken and crushed. I wanted to give up. I wanted to walk away from it all. I no longer felt I wanted to write. I felt like none of it mattered. I haven't felt like giving up for a long time.

See I entered a contest, and I poured my heart into the piece I wrote, I actually cared what happened to it. For a long time I've done what a lot of authors do, I send things off and then try to forget about them. I don't want to worry and I try to believe I have developed a thicker skin, because rejection is everywhere. There is in fact, more rejection than acceptance in the world of art. It is there for everyone. And sometimes, I still cry.

An artist gets rejected every day. Some days multiple times. People judge the art, and this next part is true for every creative person, people judge you. They say things like: I could make that. Why would I pay $100 for a painting my child could do? Since I'm family I should get a painting (or whatever) for free. That's not art, that's just porn someone is pretending to be art. These are so dark, I wonder what is wrong with the artist. And people say these things right in front of you. They don't care that you might hear them, they don't care that their words sting, and they don't care because creativity is judged.

If you are an actor/actress you are judged every time you walk into an audition. Often there is never feedback. Often you are told you are wrong for a part. Often you see the names of your friends in the post-audition list, and while you want to be happy for them, it hurts a little. Sometimes bitterness arises, and sometimes friendships don't last, but the actor/actress is the person who is hardest on themselves. More often than not we walk away from an audition hoping we get a part, but also critiquing what we might have done wrong. Every movie or play or commercial or TV show you are in is judged. Critics are not always kind, and often they don't take feelings into consideration. If someone is bland in a movie, they critique the person, and forget that the person is not the character they play. Again, they are constantly judged.

It's the same with writing. An author reads the story, book, poem, or play to an audience who may or may not enjoy it. They show people their heart and soul, just like every other creative person. They send out query after query, hoping to pick up a publisher or an agent, but often being told that their work is not right for the agent or publisher they sent their query to. Often authors are never told how to make things better. Often authors are never told why they are being rejected.

All creative people who share their works are putting their hearts and souls out there for people to view. Even if it doesn't seem like it, they are all in.

It has been a long time since I have cared what happened to something I submitted. I am so used to rejection I don't even hope.This time, however, I allowed myself to hope. I wrung my hands together wondering if people would like what I submitted. I was wondering if it was good enough. I was wrought with stress and anxiety going over and over in my mind what could have been written better. The play I wrote was personal. My soul bled when I wrote it. I cried when I wrote it. I teared up when I read it in a writer's critique group. My heart beat faster every day after I sent it on. Anxiety burnt through me, creating a hole that stress filled. The story was hard on me. After I wrote it I didn't want to share it. I was afraid anyone who read it would feel differently about me. I was afraid I had written too much of myself into it.

Then, through Facebook, I found that I wasn't selected as a finalist. I was crushed. I cried. I cried because I wanted this. I cried because I wanted people to know. I cried because I felt I was letting down my friend, myself, and every other military wife who has gone through the difficulty of being a military wife. I cried for my broken soul. I cried because I cared. I cried because I suddenly felt my heart breaking and doubt filling me. I cried because I wasn't good enough, once again.

In fact I cry as I write this blog. I'm not just upset for myself, I am upset for every creative person who feels beat down and broken. I am upset for every creative person who feels like they can no longer do it, no longer take the criticism, no longer take the judgement, no longer take the rejection.

I questioned myself yesterday. I asked if I was just kidding myself. I asked if I was a horrible author. I asked if I should just give up. Why write if I may am never good enough?

Then I told people I wanted to give up. I told people I was broken. And in turn they told me, don't. These people had heard the passion in my voice as I talked about writing. They had been there when I told others that if they felt like they needed to and enjoyed it, they too should write. They had been there when I invited hesitant new authors to the writer's critique groups I am in. I cried again. Most of these people haven't even read anything I have written, they had only heard me talk about writing, the process, the enjoyment, and the love of helping other authors grasp onto their own hesitant and fearful desire to write.

Creative people put themselves into the path of judgement and rejection every time they share their creative outlet. Most of the time they pretend rejection, criticism, and judgement doesn't hurt, in fact they are so used to it they no longer feel it. Then again, yesterday I cried.

I cried when I wrote conversation the wife of an injured soldier, and her best friend, had about her husband's PTSD.

I cried when I wrote a scene where this same wife hears a gunshot from another room as her husband ends his life.

I cried when that same wife stood as TAPS was played and stoically took the folded flag handed to her at her husband's graveside.

I cried when I wrote the last scene of that same wife sending her son off to boot camp.

I cried when I wrote this play. I cried yesterday. I cried today.

Maybe I need thicker skin.

I am moving. I currently reside in Northern Alabama. I arrived in Alabama a little more than two and a half years ago from Southern California. It was definitely a culture shock. First the produce wasn't as good or as easily found. It is almost impossible to find a ripe and ready avocado here, and I was living on avocados. I have food issues, for example I am allergic to apples. This allergy makes life difficult, do you want to know why? It is because apples seem to be ripe all year round, but it is so hard to find strawberries that are ripe all year long. Why am I talking about produce? Because moving makes me wonder what all I am going to be able to find and what I am going to be missing. 

I am moving from Northern Alabama to Northern Virginia. I leave Alabama on Sunday, with two cats in the car, and dreams of a bright future. Am I looking forward to moving, yes and no. Moving is a real pain in the ass. Packing your life in boxes and deciding what is important enough to drag along for the ride is rough. Little things have importance, but then you look beyond the stuff and think about what really matters. I have several paintings done by my grandfather when he was in the throes of Parkinsons. The paintings are wobbly landscapes with scattered trees and deep waters. I will forever cherish them. They are all I have left of him. Yet, I also have a tattoo of a stuffed animal he and my grandmother gave me when I was two. So, he will always be with me. So many things don't really matter, stuff doesn't matter, it is just things we drag along behind us because we can't let it go. Why weigh ourselves down with stuff we don't need?

Every piece of stuff we let go of lightens our load. Moving can seem a little like letting part of you die. When we die we leave everything behind. We leave our loved ones behind, all of the stuff we have collected throughout the years, the things that we thought mattered, but doesn't. We start over, in an unknown place, meeting new people and making new friends, which is what happens if you believe in the afterlife. We walk a path unknown to us and hope it leads to happiness.

Moving is also a chance to start a new life, reinvent yourself. At least that is what people keep telling me.

People ask so many questions about moving, like: are you ready? Are you all packed? Are you looking forward to it? Are you ready to be with so and so again? Yet, you know what they don't ask? Are you okay? Do you need anything? If you need anything let me know (and then if they say they need something, follow through). These are the important questions. These are the ones we should ask anyway, whether someone is moving or not.

When I ask someone how they are or if they need anything I mean it. I will follow through with a promise of help. I will provide an ear to listen, and I will refrain from giving advice unless it is wanted. I will just be there to sit in silence and watch a movie if that is what's needed. I am one of those people who has been disappointed so many times, that I don't want to disappoint. I want people to feel like they have someone to count on, I want to be that person people can count on, I want people to know they aren't alone. I guess that is the point of it.

I don't want people to feel alone.

When I moved from Southern California to Northern Alabama I told people that I had two weeks for them to come see me. I told everyone that they could come over any time, because due to packing and cleaning and house preparations I wasn't sure I would have time to meet outside of the house. Some of my friends had viable excuses for not having time to come over. Others made plans then cancelled. Still others didn't even try. It was a lonely time, feeling as if you spent 30 years building a life somewhere only to have one, just one friend, make time to see you before you left. It makes one feel as if they don't matter in the scheme of things. It makes you realize that people, too often, let life get in the way. Life isn't something we just do, it is everything we do, everything we are, everything we can be. We control what we do in our lives, not the other way around. 

Now I prepare to leave Northern Alabama. A life I only had two and a half years to make. It has been fun, meeting people, acting, teaching, working in an art studio, learning that Alabama isn't full of rednecks and incest. Alabama is full of interesting people, and variety, and social and racial issues. It has been a learning experience, and I hope that Northern Virginia provides the same exceptional opportunities to learn about life, people, and anything. I'm open.

Moving is hard, it feels like a part of you is constantly in chaos, and maybe part of you is. It feels like you are losing part of yourself, especially if it was unexpected. It is scary. And unless you are moving to escape something, it is always difficult. Honestly, even if you are moving to escape something it is difficult. Moving is an unknown, even if you are moving to be near family, you never know the reception you will receive.

So, here I go. Preparing to leave the home I just finished making my own, two cats in tow, one partner ready to be a couple again, and a life waiting for me to get started.