No Bursting My Babble

This entry is really on my recasting of ENM, but if l were to write the script for Goal IV (and do not bet against it-- Miko is known to float random ideas that exert upon Fangirl the compulsion of an irresistible force), Cesc Fabregas whose bad-hair-day-turned-to-a-bad-hair-week-stretched-to-a-bad-hair-month-then-two-then-three and, lamentably is still in declension, would take the plum role in playing... HIMSELF. Reason for Lamentation: This Hair Serum Impunity

Cause for Celebration: The knowledge that he can look like this

He is bound, soon, Lord, let it be soon, to get over the rank bizarreness of his hairstyle! Oh, I am overly optimistic, I think.

Support to his lead shall, of course, be in the persons of the following, likewise as themselves:

the perennially-injured darling Trez,

the raring-for-a-resurrection Henry,

the seems-always-to-smell good v. Persie,

the recently-bearded, newly-clean-shaven Walcott,

the freckled-all-over Torres,

the silly thumbsucker but cannot be unfavorited Garcia,

the presently underperforming but ever-coruscating Santa Cruz,

the Clued One Villa,

the habitue of houses of ill-repute and bruited lousy tipper C. Ronaldo,

the canine fancier and pass perfect Deco,

the unmatchable Zizou,

the man's man, ladies man, everyone's man Figo,

the poetry-in-musculature Puyol,

the I-may-be-diminutive-but-it-would-be-a-mistake-to-dismiss-me Clichy,

the persistently shirtless Ramos,

the now at lucid interval, now mad again Gallas,

the clumsy clatterer/own goaler (argh) Senderos,

the super bender Carlos,

the ducat-worthy profile Casillas,

the flourishing talent Ramsey,

the would-be face of English football Wilshere,

the startling find and great smile Vela,

oh and let us not forget...

the recently invisible Reyes...

plus, oh, oh, oh wait-- of course, Raul,

(Fangirl gets to a tentative Dream XXIII+II before reminding herself that this is not to be a football post. Darn... (remembers Annsley's no-cuss rule) ...those socks, Fangirl.)

I am, having been exhausted by the last paragraph's upswell of emo and ebb of coherence, now too lazy to write my own review of ENM, so click here for Steve Rhodes'. I haven't the foggiest idea who Steve Rhodes is, but find it ultimately strange that he gave ENM only 2.5 stars when he spoke of it in such glowing terms. If contrariety were a purely female trait, then I am guessing "Steve" is a girl. Hah. I do my sex no favors.

ENM is no sweeping panorama by way of the epic Titanic, (which film's-- it has to be said-- command of the box-office is matched cent for cent by its comprehensive flimsiness and utterly atrocious dialogue), but I saw ENM aaaaaaeons ago in Cinemax, and through the green and white mists of memory, remember a blanketing of the warm fuzzies. I only mention Titanic because I saw it at around the same time that I saw ENM--- having braved, against all prudence, the throng of Megamall masses, mostly girls, who (as fangirls are wont to), tittered noisily and sighed uniformly every time Leonardo di Caprio entered a scene.

ENM stars Matt Ross, who has bumble and bumble down to a charm, and Callie Thorne, whose role if only mildly better than decorative, at least turned out a finely executed performance. It is not to be suggested that this little find needs to be reworked, but I would be none too displeased with a Spanish version starring the Mexican actor Diego Luna (Y Tu Mama Tambien, Dirty Dancing 2: Havana Nights (groans); The Terminal) as Eddie and the Argentinean actress Natalia Verbeke (dot the i) as Lee.

DL, because he does rough-hewn roles best but ear-tugging uncertainty becomes him too, because he is easy on the eye without being impossibly beautiful, because he is capable of telling the tale of the Nice Guy's triumph.

See the salsaing DL in the HahaHavana Nights trailer with Romola Garai (Atonement, Inside Dancing).

NV because she is luminous and substantial, and if Nice Guy must get the girl, then we shall let her be a truly prize catch.

Watch NV dance the flamenco in dot the i as Gael Garcia Bernal (Y Tu Mama Tambien, Motorcycle Diaries, The Science of Sleep) watches.

Do not go getting any ideas that the film has anything to do with progressive philosophies or abstruse theories. This is popcorn and soda cinema. Hard-core Boy Meets Girly Girl-ness. Fluff to the nth power. And I would love to see it again.

Notes:
1. Alas, the erstwhile Captain England misses the cut... Again. He's bound to hurt himself with poses similar to this

2. The Dream XXIII+II is the Dreamy Dream XI plus other worthy dreams.
3. There is wisdom in having eleven strikers and no substitute keeper. Believe me.
4. The list is Fangirl's extempore itemization, and is subject to M's most welcome amendments. But M, I really do believe in the soundness of Note 3.

All photos courtesy of google images