Maybe it's lint...Maybe it's evil lint
I'm late with this aren't I?
Just a bit...
As usual, recommendations are more than welcome ;)
Books
1. Eleven Minutes by Paulo Coelho.Despite her apparent freedom, her life consisted of endless hours spent waiting for a miracle, for true love, for an adventure with the same romantic ending she had seen in films and read about in books. A writer once said that it is not time that changes a man, nor knowledge; the only thing that can change someone's mind is love. What nonsense! The person who wrote that clearly knew only one side of the coin. Love was undoubtedly one of the things capable of changing a person's whole life, from one moment to the next. But there was the other side of the coin, the second thing that could make a human being take a totally different course from the one he or she had planned; and that was called despair. Yes, perhaps love really could transform someone, but despair did the job more quickly.
2. Elizabeth Costello by J.M Coetzee.She had spoken on that occasion on what she saw and still sees as the enslavement of the whole animal populations. A slave: a being whose life and death are in the hands of another. What else are cattle, sheep, poultry? The death camps would not have been dreamed up without the example of the meat-processing plants before them.
That and more she had said: it had seemed to her obvious, barely worth pausing over. But she had gone a step further, a step too far. The massacre of the defenseless is being repeated all around us, day after day, she had said, a slaughter no different in scale or horror or moral import from what we call the holocaust; yet we choose not to see it.
Of equal moral importance: that they baulked at.
3. The Forsyte Saga (The Man of Property, In Chancery, To Let) by John Galsworthy.It was such a spring day as breathes into a man an ineffable yearning, a painful sweetness, a longing that makes him stand motionless, looking at the leaves or grass, and fling out his arms to embrace he knows not what.
4. A Modern Comedy (The White Monkey, The Silver Spoon, Swan Song) by John Galsworthy.A drift of music came down the river. There would be a party at some house. They were dancing probably, as he had seen the gnats dancing that afternoon! And then something out of the night seemed to catch him by the throat. God! It was beautiful, amazing! Breathing, in this darkness, as many billion shapes as there were stars above, all living, all different! What a world! The Eternal Mood at work! And if you died, like that old boy, and lay for ever beneath a crab-apple tree - well it was the Mood resting a moment on your still shape - no! not even resting, moving on in the mysterious rhythm that one called Life. Who could arrest the moving Mood - who wanted to? And if some pale possessor like that poor old chap tried and succeeded for a moment, the stars twinkled just a little more when he was gone. To have and to hold! As though you could!
And Michael drew in his breath. A sound of singing came down the water to him, trailing, distant, high and sweet. It was if a swan had sung!
5. Going Postal by Terry Pratchett.There was a stir when they climbed up into the chilly morning air, followed by a few boos and even some applause. People were strange like that. Steal five dollars and you were a petty thief. Steal thousands of dollars and you were either a government or a hero.
Moist stared ahead while the roll call of his crimes was read out. He couldn't help feeling that it was so unfair. He'd never so much as tapped someone on the head. He's never even broken down a door. He had picked locks on occasion, but he's always locked them again behind him. Apart from all those repossessions, bankruptcies and sudden insolvencies, what had he actually done that was bad, as such?
He'd only been moving numbers around.
'Nice crowd turned out today,' said Mr Trooper, tossing the end of the rope over the beam and busying himself with knots. 'Lot of press too. What Gallows? covers 'em all, o' course, and there's the Times and Pseudopolis Herald, prob'ly because of that bank what collapsed there, and I heard there's a man from the Sto Plains Dealer, too. Very good financial section - I always keep an eye on the used rope prices. Looks like a lot of people want to see you dead, sir.'
Moist was aware that a black coach had drawn up at the rear of the crowd. There was no coat of arms on the door, unless you were in on the secret, which was that Lord Vetinari's coat of arms featured a sable black shield. Black on black. You had to admit the bastard had style -
'Huh? What?' he said, in response to a nudge.
'I asked if you had any last words, Mr Spangler?' said the hang-man. 'It's customary. I wonder if you might have thought of any?'
'I wasn't actually expecting to die,' said Moist. And that was it. He really hadn't, until now. He's been certain that something would turn up.
'Good one, sir,' said Mr.Wilkinson. 'We'll go with that, shall we?'
6. The End of the Chapter (Maid in Waiting, Flowering Wilderness, Over the River) by John Galsworthy.'The expression,' he muttered.
'I expect,' said Dinny, 'you want an unemployed look.'
'Naughty!' said the 'young man': 'Deeper. Could I play that piano for a minute?'
'Of course. But I'm afraid it's not been played on lately.'
'It will serve.' He sat down, opened the piano, blew on the keys, and began playing. He played strongly, softly, well. Dinny sat on the curve of the piano, listening, and speedily entranced. It was obviously Bach, but she did not know what.
An endearing, cool, and lovely tune, coming over and over and over, montonous, yet moving as only Bach could be.
'What is it?'
'A Chorale of Bach, set by a pianist.' And the 'young man' nodded his eyeglass towards the keys.
'Glorious! your ears on heaven and your feet in flowery fields,' murmured Dinny.
The 'young man' closed the piano and stood up.
'That's what I want, that's what I want, young lady!'
'Oh!' said Dinny. 'Is that all?'
7. Guards! Guards! by Terry Pratchett.It was called: The Laws And Ordinances of The Cities of Ankh And Morpork.
'This belonged to my great-grandad as well,' he said. 'This is what the Watch has to know. You have to know all the laws,' he said virtuously, 'to be a good officer.'
Perhaps Varneshi should have recalled that, in the whole of Carrot's life, no-one had ever really lied to him or given him an instruction that he wasn't meant to take quite literally. Carrot solemnly took the book. It would have never occurred to him, if was going to be an officer of the Watch, to be less than a good one.
It was a five hundred mile journey and, surprisingly, quite eventful. People who are rather more than six feet tall and nearly as broad across the shoulders often have uneventful journeys. People jump out at them from behind rocks then say things like, 'Oh. Sorry. I thought you were someone else.'
He'd spent most of the journey reading.
And now Ankh-Morpork as before him.
It was a little disappointing. He'd expected high white towers rearing over the landscape, and flags. Ankh-Morpork didn't rear. Rather, it sort of skulked, clinging to the soil as if afraid someone might steal it. There were no flags.
There was a guard at the gate. At least, he was wearing chainmail and the thing he was propped up against was a spear. He had to be a guard.
Carrot saluted him and presented the letter. The man looked at it for some time.
'Mm?' he said, eventually.
'I think I've got to see Lupin Squiggle Sec'y pp,' said Carrot.
'What's the pp for?' said the guard suspiciously.
'Could it be Pretty Promptly?' said Carrot, who had wondered about this himself.
'Well, I don't know about any Sec'y,' said the guard. 'You want Captain Vimes of the Night Watch.'
'And where is he based?' said Carrot, politely.
'At this time of day I'd try The Bunch of Grapes in Easy Street,' said the guard. He loooked Carrot up and down. 'Joining the Watch, are you?'
'I hope to prove myself worthy, yes,' said Carrot.
The guard gave him what could loosely be called an old-fashioned look. It was practically neolithic.
'What was it you done?' he said.
'I'm sorry?' said Carrot.
'You must of done something,' said the guard.
'My father wrote a letter,' said Carrot proudly.
'I've been volunteered.'
'Bloody hellfire,' said the guard.
8. The House of Mirth by Edith Wharton. Lily dropped down on the rock, glowing with her long climb. She sat quiet, her lips parted by the stress of the ascent, her eyes wandering peacefully over the broken ranges of the landscape. Selden stretched himself on the grass at her feet, tilting his hat against the level sun-rays, and clasping his hands behind his head, which rested against the side of the rock. He had no wish to make her talk; her quick-breathing silence seemed to be part of the general hush and harmony of things. But Lily, though her attitude was as calm as his, was throbbing inwardly with a rush of thoughts. There were in her at the moment two beings, one drawing deep breaths of freedom and exhilaration, the other gasping for air in a little black prison-house of fears. But gradually the captive's gasps grew fainter, or the other paid less heed to them: the horizon expanded, the air grew stronger, and the free spirit quivered for flight.
She could have not herself have explained the sense of buoyancy which seemed to lift and swing her above the sun-suffused world at her feet.
Was it love, she wondered, or a mere fortuitous combination of happy thoughts and sensations?
9. Ringworld by Larry Niven.In the nighttime heart of Beirut, in one of a row of general-address transfer booths, Louis Wu flicked into reality.
His foot-length queue was as white and shiny as artificial snow. His skin and depilated scalp were chrome yellow; the irises of his eyes were gold; his robe was royal blue with a golden steroptic dragon superimposed. In the instant he appeared, he was smiling widely, showing pearly, perfect, perfectly standard teeth. Smiling and waving. But the smile was already fading, and in a moment it was gone, and the sag of his face was like a rubber mask melting. Louis Wu showed his age.
For a few moments, he watched Beirut stream past him: the people flickering into the booths from unknown places; the crowds flowing past him on foot, now that the slidewalks had been turned off for the night.
Then the clocks began to strike twenty-three. Louis Wu straightened his shoulders and stepped out to join the world.
10. Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea by Jules Verne. 'So, as I said he would, this man died in the night?'
'Yes, M.Aronnax.'
'And he rests now, near his companions, in the coral cemetery?'
'Yes, forgotten by all else, but not by us. We dug the grave, and the polypi undertake to steal our dead for eternity.' And burying his face quickly in his hands, he tried in vain to suppress a sob. Then he added -
'Our peaceful cemetery is there, some hundred feet below the surface of the waves.'
'Your dead sleep quietly, at least, Captain, out of the reach of sharks.'
'Yes, sir, of sharks and men,' gravely replied the Captain.
11. The Bean Trees by Barbara Kingsolver."I don't mean till death do us part, or anything," she said. "But nothing on this earth's guaranteed, when you get right down to it, you know? I've been thinking about that. About how your kids aren't really yours, they're just these people that you try to keep an eye on, and hope you'll all grow up someday to like each other and still be in one piece. What I mean is, everything you ever get is just on loan. Does that make sense?"
12. Pigs in Heaven by Barbara Kingsolver. "...I'm confused. I think of Jax and Lou Ann and Dwayne Ray, and of course you, and Mattie, my boss at the tire store, all those people as my family. But when you never put a name on things, you're just accepting that it's okay for people to leave when they feel like it. That's what your family is, the people you won't let go of for anything."
13. The Man in the High Castle by Philip K. Dick.Africa. For the ghosts of dead tribes. Wiped out to make a land of - what? Who knew? Maybe even the master architects in Berlin did not know. Bunch of automatons, building and toiling away. Building? Grinding down. Ogres out of a palaeontology exhibit, at their task of making a cup from an enemy's skull, the whole family industriously scooping out the contents - the raw brains - first, to eat. Then useful utensils of men's leg bones. Thrifty, to think not only of eating the people you did not like, but eating them out of their own skull. The first technicians! Prehistonric man in a sterile white lab coat in some Berlin university, experimenting with uses to which other people's skull, skin, ears, fat could be put. Ja, Herr Doktor. A new use for the big toe; see, one can adapt the joint for a quick-acting cigarette light mechanism. Now, if only Herr Krupp can produce it in quantity...
It horrified him, this thought: the ancient gigantic cannibal near-man flourishing now, ruling the world once more. We spent a million years escaping him, Frink thought, and now he's back. And not merely as the adversary...but as the master.
14. I Am Legend by Richard Matheson.He thought about that visionary lady. To die, he thought, never knowing the fierce joy and attendant comfort of a loved one’s embrace. To sink into that hideous coma, to sink then into death and, perhaps, return to sterile, awful wanderings. All without knowing what it was to love and be loved.
That was a tragedy more terrible than becoming a vampire.
He shook his head. All right, that’s enough, he told himself, you haven’t got time for maudlin reveries.
15. Dracula by Bram Stroker.The fair girl went on her knees and bent over me, fairly gloating. There was a deliberate voluptuousness which was both thrilling and repulsive, and as she arched her neck she actually licked her lips like an animal, till I could see in the moonlight the moisture shining on scarlet lips and on the red tongue as it lapped the white sharp teeth. Lower and lower went her head as the lips went below the range of my mouth and chin and seemed about to fasten on my throat. Then she paused, and I could hear the churning sounds of her tongue as it licked her teeth and lips, and could feel the hot breath on my neck. The skin of my throat began to tingle as one's flesh does when the hand is to tickle approaches nearer - nearer. I could feel the soft, shivering touch of the lips on the supersensitive skin of my throat, and the hard dents of two sharp teeth, just touching and pausing there. I closed my eyes in a languorous ecstasy and waited - waited with a beating heart.
16. Mort by Terry Pratchett.'They're very romantic,' she said. 'There's some really lovely stories. There was this girl who drank poison when her young man had died, and there was one who jumped off a cliff because her father insisted she should marry this old man, and another one drowned herself rather than submist too -'
Mort listened in astonishment. To judge by Ysabell's careful choice of reading matter, it was a mattter of importance for any Disc female to survive adolescence long enough tto wear out a pair of stockings.
'-and then she thought he was dead, and she killed herself, and then there was this girl -'
Common sense suggested that at least a few women reached their third decade without killing themselves, but common sense didn't seem to get even a walk-on part in these dramas.*
Mort was already aware that love made you feel hot and cold and cruel and weak, but he hadn't realized it could make you stupid.
'-swam the river every night, but one night there was this storm, and when he didn't arrive she -'
Mort felt instictively that some young couples met, say, at a village dance, and hit it off, and went out together for a year or two, had a few rows, made up, got married and didn't kill themselves at all.
He became aware that the litany of star-crossed love had wound down.
'Oh,' he said, weakly. 'Doesn't anyone just, you know, just get along anymore?'
'To love is to suffer,' said Ysabell. 'There's got to be loads of dark passion.'
'Has there?'
'Absolutely. And anguish.'
*The Disc's greatest lovers were undoutedly Mellius and Gretelina, whose pure, passionate and soul-searing affair would have scorched the pages of History if they had not, because of some unexplained quirk of fate, been born two hundred years apart on different continents. However, the gods took pity on them and turned him into an ironing board** and her into a small brass bollard.
**When you're a god, you don't have to have reasons.
17. Nostromo by Joseph Conrad.
Half a battery of field guns had been hurried over there from the Sulaco barracks for the purpose of firing the regulations salutes for the President-Dictator and the War-Minister. As the mail-boat headed through the pass, the badly timed reports announced the end of Don Vincente Ribiera's first official visit to Sulaco, and for Captain Mitchell the end of another 'historic occasion'. Next time when the 'Hope of honest men' was to come that way, a year and half later, it was unofficially, over mountain tracks, fleeing after a defeat on a lame mule, to be only just saved by Nostromo from a ignominious death at the hands of a mob. It was a very different event, of which Captain Mitchell used to say:
'It was history - history, sir! And that fellow of mine, Nostromo, you know, as right in it. Absolutely making history, sir.'
But this event, credible to Nostromo, was to lead immediately to another, which could not be classed either as 'history' or as 'a mistake' in Captain Mitchell's phraseology. He had another word for it.
'Sir,' he used to say afterwards, 'that was no mistake. It was a fatality. A misfortune, pure and simple, sir. And that poor fellow of mine was right in it - right in the middle of it! A fatality, if ever there was one - and to my mind he has never been the same man since.'
18. The Witch of Portobello by Paulo Coelho.He said that according to one of the most respected psychoanalysts in history, the Swiss analyst Carl Gustav Jung, we all drink from the same spring. It's called the 'soul of the world.' However much as we try to be independent individuals, a part of our memory is the same. We all seek the ideal of beauty, dance, divinity and music.
Society, meanwhile, tries to define how these ideals should be manifested in reality. Currently, for example, the ideal of beauty is to be thin, and yet thousands of years ago all the images of goddesses were fat. It's the same with happiness: there are a series of rules, and if you fail to follow them, your conscious mind will refuse to accept the idea you are happy.
19. Breaking Dawn by Stephanie Meyer."What was the point of me loving you? What was the point of you loving him? When you die" -the words were a snarl- "how is that ever right again? What's the point to all the pain? Mine, yours, his! You'll kill him, too, not that I care about that." She flinched, but I kept going. "So what was the point of your twisted love story, in the end? If there is any sense, please show me Bella, because I don't see it."
20. The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry.He could not say any more. His words were choked by sobbing. Night had fallen. I had let my tools drop to the ground. I no longer cared a fig for my hammer, or my bolt, or about thirst or about dying. On one star, one planet, this planet, the Earth, there was a little prince in need of consoling! I took him in my arms. I cradled him. I told him: 'The flower you love is not in danger...I'll draw you a muzzle for your sheep...I'll draw you a shield to put round your flower...I'll...' I did not really know what to say. I felt like a blundering idiot. I did not know how to reach him, where to catch up with him. It is such a secret place, the land of tears.
21-23. Out of the Silent Planet, Perelandra & That Hideous Strength by C.S. Lewis.Suddenly the lights of the Universe seemed to be turned upside down. As if some demon had rubbed the heaven's space with a dirty sponge, the splendour in which they had lived for so long blenched to a pallid, cheerless and pitiable grey. It was impossible from where they sat to open the shutters or roll back the heavy blind. What had been a chariot gliding in the fields of heaven became a dark steel box dimly lighted by a slit of window, and falling. They were falling out of the heaven, into a world. Nothing in his adventures bit so deeply into Ransom's mind as this. He wondered how he could ever have thought of planets, even of the Earth, as islands of life and reality floating in a deadly void. Now, with a certainty which never after deserted him, he saw planets - the "earths" he called them in his thought - as mere holes or gaps in the living heaven - excluded and rejected wastes of heavy matter and murky air, formed not by addition to, but by subtraction from, the surrounding brightness. And yet, he thought, beyond the solar system the brightness ends. Unless...he groped for the idea...unless visible light is also a hole or gap, a mere diminution of something else. Something that is to bright unchanging heaven as heaven is to the dark, heavy earths...
24. Sexing the Cherry by Jeanette Winterson.The Hopi, an Indian tribe, have a language as sophisticated as ours, but with no tense for past, present and future. The division does not exist. What does this say about time?
Matter, the most solid and the well-known, which you are holdng in your hands and which makes up your body, is now known to be mostly empty space. Empty space and points of light. What does this say about the reality of the world?
25. Tender Is the Night by F. Scott Fitzgerald."I knew you wouldn't," she sobbed. "It was just a forlorn hope."
He stood up.
"Good night, child. This is a damn shame. Let's drop it out of the picture." He gave her two lines of hospital patter to go to sleep on. "So many people are going to love you and it might be nice to meet your first love all intact, emotionally too. That's an old-fashion idea, isn't it?" She looked up at him as he took a step toward the door; she looked at him without the slightest idea as to what was in his head, she saw him take another step in slow motion, turn and look at her again, and she wanted for a moment to hold him and devour him, wanted his mouth, his ears, his coat collar, wanted to surround him and engulf him; she saw his hand fall on the doorknob. Then she gave up and sank back on the bed. When the door closed she got up and went to the mirror, where she began brushing her hair, sniffling a little. One hundred and fifty bush strokes Rosemary gave it, as usual, then hundred and fifty more. She brushed it until her arm ached, then she changed arms and went on brushing...
26. Just Listen by Sarah Dessen.I clicked back to the menu, then scrolled to PLAYLISTS. Another long list popped up: AM. SHOW 8/12, CHANTS (IMPORTED). And then: ANNABEL.
I lifted my finger off the button. It was probably just one of the CDs he'd made for me, I thought. But still, I found myself hesitating, the same way I had earlier in the truck. Wanting to know, but not. This time, though, I broke.
When I clicked on the button, the screen changed, pulling up a list of songs. The first one was 'Jennifer' by a band called Lipo. Which sounded slightly familiar. As was 'Descartes Dream', by Misanthrophe, the second song, which I went ahead to click on. It took only a moment to recognize it as one of the songs from the first show of Owen's I'd listened to. Not liked, but listened to. And discussed with him afterwards.
They were all there. Every song we'd ever talked or argued about, listed in careful order. The Mayan chants, from the first day he's given me the ride. 'Thank You' by Led Zeppelin, from when I'd picked him up. Entirely too much techno, every thrash metal song. Even Jenny Reef. As I listened to a bit of each, I thought of all the times I'd seen Owen with his ear phones on and wondered what he was listening to, much less thinking about. Who would have ever guessed that it might have been me?
27. Ender's Game by Orson Scott Card.He shuddered and tried to think of something else. Peter could have fantasies about ruling the world, but Ender didn't have them. Still, thinking back on his life in Battle School, it occurred to him that although he had never sought power, he had always had it. But he decided that it was a power to born of excellence, not manipulation. He had no reason to be ashamed of it. He had never, except perhaps with Bean, used his power to hurt someone. And with Bean, things had worked well after all. Bean had become a friend, finally, to take the place of the lost Alai, who in turn took the place of Valentine. Valentine, who was helping Peter in his plotting. Valentine, who still loved Ender no matter what happened. And following that train of thought led him back to Earth, back to the quiet hours in the center of the clear water ringed by a bowl of tree-covered hills. That is the Earth, he thought. Not a globe thousands of kilometers around, but a forest with a shining lake, a house hidden at the crest of the hill, high in the trees, a glassy slope leading upwards from the water, fish leaping and birds strafing to take the bugs that lived in the border between water and sky. Earth was the constant noise of crickets and winds and birds. And the voice of one girl, who spoke to out of his far-off childhood. The same voice that had once protected him from terror. The same voice that he would do anything to keep alive, even return to school, even leave Earth behind for another four or forty or four thousand years. Even if she loved Peter more.
28. A Great and Terrible Beauty by Libba Bray.But forgiveness...I'll hold on to that fragile slice of hope and keep it close, remembering that in each of us lie good and bad, light and dark, art and pain, choice and regret, cruelty and sacrifice. We're each of us our own chiaroscuro, our own bit of illusion fighting to emerge into something solid, something real. We've got to forgive ourselves that. I must remember to forgive myself. Because there's an awful lot of gray to work with. No one can live in the light all the time.
The wind shifts, bringing with it the smell of roses, strong and sweet. Across the ravine, I see her in the dry crackle of leaves. A deer. She spies me and blots through the trees. I run after her, not really giving chase. I'm running because I can, because I must.
Because I want to see how far I can go before I have to stop.
29. Momo by Michael Ende.Momo stared at the professor uncomprehendingly. 'What kind of illness is it?' she asked in a low voice.
'A fatal illness, though you scarcely notice it at first. One day, you don't feel like doing anything. Nothing interests you, everything bores you. Far from wearing off, your boredom persists and gets worse, day by day and week by week. You feel more and more bad-tempered, more and more empty inside, more and more dissatisfied with yourself and the world in general. Then even that feeling wears off, and you don't feel anything any more. You become completely indifferent to what goes on around you. Joy and sorrow, anger and excitement are things of the past. You forget how to laugh and cry - you're cold inside and incapable of loving anything or anyone. Once you reach that stage, the disease is incurable. There's no going back. You bustle around with a blank, grey face, just like the men in grey themselves - indeed, you've joined their ranks."
30. Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell by Susanna Clarke.She took his hands and her eyes were shining. "And you did it," she whispered. They looked at each other for a long moment, and in that moment all was as if used to be - it was as if they had never parted; but she did not offer to go into the Darkness with him and he did not ask her.
"One day," he said, "I shall find the right spell and banish the Darkness. And on that day I will come to you."
"Yes. On that day. I will wait until then."
He nodded and seemed about to depart, but then he hesitated.
"Bell," he said, "do not wear black. Do not be a widow. Be happy. That is how I wish to think of you."
"I promise. And how shall I think of you?"
He considered a moment and then laughed. "Think of me with my nose in a book!"
They kissed once. Then he turned upon his heel and disappeared into the Darkness.
31. Cold Comfort Farm by Stella Gibbons.She saw Charles' lips move, as the farm dropped away beneath them, and guessed what he was saying.
He was fully occupied with keeping the machine clear of the topmost branches of the elms, and could not look at her, but she saw by his troubled profile that he feared (so fantastically beautiful was the night and this discovery of their love) that it might be some cruel mistake.
Flora put her warm lips close to his cap.
'I love you,' she said. He could not hear her very well, but he turned for a second, and comforted, smiled into her eyes.
She glanced upwards for a second at the soft blue vault of the midsummer night sky. Not a cloud misted its solemn depths. To-morrow would be a beautiful day.
Films
1. Atonement.
2. 27 Dresses.
3. I am Legend.
4. The Nanny Diaries.
5. Su-Ki-Da (I Love You).
6. Jumper.
7. 10,000 BC.
8. Sky High.
9. Sugar & Spice: Fûmi zekka (What Little Girls Are Made Of).
10. The Graduates (Lemon no Koro).
11. Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron.
12. The Other Boleyn Girl.
13. The Spiderwick Chronicles.
14. Made of Honor.
15. Iron Man.
16. Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull.
17. Un secret.
18. Sex & the City.
19. The Bee Movie.
20. Sunshine.
21. The Dark Knight.
22. Get Smart.
23. Wanted.
24. The X-Files: I Want To Believe.
25. Star Wars: The Clone Wars.
26. Tropic Thunder.
27. The Duchess.
28. Australia.
29. Quantum of Solace.
30. Twilight.
31. Madagascar: Escape 2 Africa.
Just a bit...
As usual, recommendations are more than welcome ;)
Books
1. Eleven Minutes by Paulo Coelho.Despite her apparent freedom, her life consisted of endless hours spent waiting for a miracle, for true love, for an adventure with the same romantic ending she had seen in films and read about in books. A writer once said that it is not time that changes a man, nor knowledge; the only thing that can change someone's mind is love. What nonsense! The person who wrote that clearly knew only one side of the coin. Love was undoubtedly one of the things capable of changing a person's whole life, from one moment to the next. But there was the other side of the coin, the second thing that could make a human being take a totally different course from the one he or she had planned; and that was called despair. Yes, perhaps love really could transform someone, but despair did the job more quickly.
2. Elizabeth Costello by J.M Coetzee.She had spoken on that occasion on what she saw and still sees as the enslavement of the whole animal populations. A slave: a being whose life and death are in the hands of another. What else are cattle, sheep, poultry? The death camps would not have been dreamed up without the example of the meat-processing plants before them.
That and more she had said: it had seemed to her obvious, barely worth pausing over. But she had gone a step further, a step too far. The massacre of the defenseless is being repeated all around us, day after day, she had said, a slaughter no different in scale or horror or moral import from what we call the holocaust; yet we choose not to see it.
Of equal moral importance: that they baulked at.
3. The Forsyte Saga (The Man of Property, In Chancery, To Let) by John Galsworthy.It was such a spring day as breathes into a man an ineffable yearning, a painful sweetness, a longing that makes him stand motionless, looking at the leaves or grass, and fling out his arms to embrace he knows not what.
4. A Modern Comedy (The White Monkey, The Silver Spoon, Swan Song) by John Galsworthy.A drift of music came down the river. There would be a party at some house. They were dancing probably, as he had seen the gnats dancing that afternoon! And then something out of the night seemed to catch him by the throat. God! It was beautiful, amazing! Breathing, in this darkness, as many billion shapes as there were stars above, all living, all different! What a world! The Eternal Mood at work! And if you died, like that old boy, and lay for ever beneath a crab-apple tree - well it was the Mood resting a moment on your still shape - no! not even resting, moving on in the mysterious rhythm that one called Life. Who could arrest the moving Mood - who wanted to? And if some pale possessor like that poor old chap tried and succeeded for a moment, the stars twinkled just a little more when he was gone. To have and to hold! As though you could!
And Michael drew in his breath. A sound of singing came down the water to him, trailing, distant, high and sweet. It was if a swan had sung!
5. Going Postal by Terry Pratchett.There was a stir when they climbed up into the chilly morning air, followed by a few boos and even some applause. People were strange like that. Steal five dollars and you were a petty thief. Steal thousands of dollars and you were either a government or a hero.
Moist stared ahead while the roll call of his crimes was read out. He couldn't help feeling that it was so unfair. He'd never so much as tapped someone on the head. He's never even broken down a door. He had picked locks on occasion, but he's always locked them again behind him. Apart from all those repossessions, bankruptcies and sudden insolvencies, what had he actually done that was bad, as such?
He'd only been moving numbers around.
'Nice crowd turned out today,' said Mr Trooper, tossing the end of the rope over the beam and busying himself with knots. 'Lot of press too. What Gallows? covers 'em all, o' course, and there's the Times and Pseudopolis Herald, prob'ly because of that bank what collapsed there, and I heard there's a man from the Sto Plains Dealer, too. Very good financial section - I always keep an eye on the used rope prices. Looks like a lot of people want to see you dead, sir.'
Moist was aware that a black coach had drawn up at the rear of the crowd. There was no coat of arms on the door, unless you were in on the secret, which was that Lord Vetinari's coat of arms featured a sable black shield. Black on black. You had to admit the bastard had style -
'Huh? What?' he said, in response to a nudge.
'I asked if you had any last words, Mr Spangler?' said the hang-man. 'It's customary. I wonder if you might have thought of any?'
'I wasn't actually expecting to die,' said Moist. And that was it. He really hadn't, until now. He's been certain that something would turn up.
'Good one, sir,' said Mr.Wilkinson. 'We'll go with that, shall we?'
6. The End of the Chapter (Maid in Waiting, Flowering Wilderness, Over the River) by John Galsworthy.'The expression,' he muttered.
'I expect,' said Dinny, 'you want an unemployed look.'
'Naughty!' said the 'young man': 'Deeper. Could I play that piano for a minute?'
'Of course. But I'm afraid it's not been played on lately.'
'It will serve.' He sat down, opened the piano, blew on the keys, and began playing. He played strongly, softly, well. Dinny sat on the curve of the piano, listening, and speedily entranced. It was obviously Bach, but she did not know what.
An endearing, cool, and lovely tune, coming over and over and over, montonous, yet moving as only Bach could be.
'What is it?'
'A Chorale of Bach, set by a pianist.' And the 'young man' nodded his eyeglass towards the keys.
'Glorious! your ears on heaven and your feet in flowery fields,' murmured Dinny.
The 'young man' closed the piano and stood up.
'That's what I want, that's what I want, young lady!'
'Oh!' said Dinny. 'Is that all?'
7. Guards! Guards! by Terry Pratchett.It was called: The Laws And Ordinances of The Cities of Ankh And Morpork.
'This belonged to my great-grandad as well,' he said. 'This is what the Watch has to know. You have to know all the laws,' he said virtuously, 'to be a good officer.'
Perhaps Varneshi should have recalled that, in the whole of Carrot's life, no-one had ever really lied to him or given him an instruction that he wasn't meant to take quite literally. Carrot solemnly took the book. It would have never occurred to him, if was going to be an officer of the Watch, to be less than a good one.
It was a five hundred mile journey and, surprisingly, quite eventful. People who are rather more than six feet tall and nearly as broad across the shoulders often have uneventful journeys. People jump out at them from behind rocks then say things like, 'Oh. Sorry. I thought you were someone else.'
He'd spent most of the journey reading.
And now Ankh-Morpork as before him.
It was a little disappointing. He'd expected high white towers rearing over the landscape, and flags. Ankh-Morpork didn't rear. Rather, it sort of skulked, clinging to the soil as if afraid someone might steal it. There were no flags.
There was a guard at the gate. At least, he was wearing chainmail and the thing he was propped up against was a spear. He had to be a guard.
Carrot saluted him and presented the letter. The man looked at it for some time.
'Mm?' he said, eventually.
'I think I've got to see Lupin Squiggle Sec'y pp,' said Carrot.
'What's the pp for?' said the guard suspiciously.
'Could it be Pretty Promptly?' said Carrot, who had wondered about this himself.
'Well, I don't know about any Sec'y,' said the guard. 'You want Captain Vimes of the Night Watch.'
'And where is he based?' said Carrot, politely.
'At this time of day I'd try The Bunch of Grapes in Easy Street,' said the guard. He loooked Carrot up and down. 'Joining the Watch, are you?'
'I hope to prove myself worthy, yes,' said Carrot.
The guard gave him what could loosely be called an old-fashioned look. It was practically neolithic.
'What was it you done?' he said.
'I'm sorry?' said Carrot.
'You must of done something,' said the guard.
'My father wrote a letter,' said Carrot proudly.
'I've been volunteered.'
'Bloody hellfire,' said the guard.
8. The House of Mirth by Edith Wharton. Lily dropped down on the rock, glowing with her long climb. She sat quiet, her lips parted by the stress of the ascent, her eyes wandering peacefully over the broken ranges of the landscape. Selden stretched himself on the grass at her feet, tilting his hat against the level sun-rays, and clasping his hands behind his head, which rested against the side of the rock. He had no wish to make her talk; her quick-breathing silence seemed to be part of the general hush and harmony of things. But Lily, though her attitude was as calm as his, was throbbing inwardly with a rush of thoughts. There were in her at the moment two beings, one drawing deep breaths of freedom and exhilaration, the other gasping for air in a little black prison-house of fears. But gradually the captive's gasps grew fainter, or the other paid less heed to them: the horizon expanded, the air grew stronger, and the free spirit quivered for flight.
She could have not herself have explained the sense of buoyancy which seemed to lift and swing her above the sun-suffused world at her feet.
Was it love, she wondered, or a mere fortuitous combination of happy thoughts and sensations?
9. Ringworld by Larry Niven.In the nighttime heart of Beirut, in one of a row of general-address transfer booths, Louis Wu flicked into reality.
His foot-length queue was as white and shiny as artificial snow. His skin and depilated scalp were chrome yellow; the irises of his eyes were gold; his robe was royal blue with a golden steroptic dragon superimposed. In the instant he appeared, he was smiling widely, showing pearly, perfect, perfectly standard teeth. Smiling and waving. But the smile was already fading, and in a moment it was gone, and the sag of his face was like a rubber mask melting. Louis Wu showed his age.
For a few moments, he watched Beirut stream past him: the people flickering into the booths from unknown places; the crowds flowing past him on foot, now that the slidewalks had been turned off for the night.
Then the clocks began to strike twenty-three. Louis Wu straightened his shoulders and stepped out to join the world.
10. Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea by Jules Verne. 'So, as I said he would, this man died in the night?'
'Yes, M.Aronnax.'
'And he rests now, near his companions, in the coral cemetery?'
'Yes, forgotten by all else, but not by us. We dug the grave, and the polypi undertake to steal our dead for eternity.' And burying his face quickly in his hands, he tried in vain to suppress a sob. Then he added -
'Our peaceful cemetery is there, some hundred feet below the surface of the waves.'
'Your dead sleep quietly, at least, Captain, out of the reach of sharks.'
'Yes, sir, of sharks and men,' gravely replied the Captain.
11. The Bean Trees by Barbara Kingsolver."I don't mean till death do us part, or anything," she said. "But nothing on this earth's guaranteed, when you get right down to it, you know? I've been thinking about that. About how your kids aren't really yours, they're just these people that you try to keep an eye on, and hope you'll all grow up someday to like each other and still be in one piece. What I mean is, everything you ever get is just on loan. Does that make sense?"
12. Pigs in Heaven by Barbara Kingsolver. "...I'm confused. I think of Jax and Lou Ann and Dwayne Ray, and of course you, and Mattie, my boss at the tire store, all those people as my family. But when you never put a name on things, you're just accepting that it's okay for people to leave when they feel like it. That's what your family is, the people you won't let go of for anything."
13. The Man in the High Castle by Philip K. Dick.Africa. For the ghosts of dead tribes. Wiped out to make a land of - what? Who knew? Maybe even the master architects in Berlin did not know. Bunch of automatons, building and toiling away. Building? Grinding down. Ogres out of a palaeontology exhibit, at their task of making a cup from an enemy's skull, the whole family industriously scooping out the contents - the raw brains - first, to eat. Then useful utensils of men's leg bones. Thrifty, to think not only of eating the people you did not like, but eating them out of their own skull. The first technicians! Prehistonric man in a sterile white lab coat in some Berlin university, experimenting with uses to which other people's skull, skin, ears, fat could be put. Ja, Herr Doktor. A new use for the big toe; see, one can adapt the joint for a quick-acting cigarette light mechanism. Now, if only Herr Krupp can produce it in quantity...
It horrified him, this thought: the ancient gigantic cannibal near-man flourishing now, ruling the world once more. We spent a million years escaping him, Frink thought, and now he's back. And not merely as the adversary...but as the master.
14. I Am Legend by Richard Matheson.He thought about that visionary lady. To die, he thought, never knowing the fierce joy and attendant comfort of a loved one’s embrace. To sink into that hideous coma, to sink then into death and, perhaps, return to sterile, awful wanderings. All without knowing what it was to love and be loved.
That was a tragedy more terrible than becoming a vampire.
He shook his head. All right, that’s enough, he told himself, you haven’t got time for maudlin reveries.
15. Dracula by Bram Stroker.The fair girl went on her knees and bent over me, fairly gloating. There was a deliberate voluptuousness which was both thrilling and repulsive, and as she arched her neck she actually licked her lips like an animal, till I could see in the moonlight the moisture shining on scarlet lips and on the red tongue as it lapped the white sharp teeth. Lower and lower went her head as the lips went below the range of my mouth and chin and seemed about to fasten on my throat. Then she paused, and I could hear the churning sounds of her tongue as it licked her teeth and lips, and could feel the hot breath on my neck. The skin of my throat began to tingle as one's flesh does when the hand is to tickle approaches nearer - nearer. I could feel the soft, shivering touch of the lips on the supersensitive skin of my throat, and the hard dents of two sharp teeth, just touching and pausing there. I closed my eyes in a languorous ecstasy and waited - waited with a beating heart.
16. Mort by Terry Pratchett.'They're very romantic,' she said. 'There's some really lovely stories. There was this girl who drank poison when her young man had died, and there was one who jumped off a cliff because her father insisted she should marry this old man, and another one drowned herself rather than submist too -'
Mort listened in astonishment. To judge by Ysabell's careful choice of reading matter, it was a mattter of importance for any Disc female to survive adolescence long enough tto wear out a pair of stockings.
'-and then she thought he was dead, and she killed herself, and then there was this girl -'
Common sense suggested that at least a few women reached their third decade without killing themselves, but common sense didn't seem to get even a walk-on part in these dramas.*
Mort was already aware that love made you feel hot and cold and cruel and weak, but he hadn't realized it could make you stupid.
'-swam the river every night, but one night there was this storm, and when he didn't arrive she -'
Mort felt instictively that some young couples met, say, at a village dance, and hit it off, and went out together for a year or two, had a few rows, made up, got married and didn't kill themselves at all.
He became aware that the litany of star-crossed love had wound down.
'Oh,' he said, weakly. 'Doesn't anyone just, you know, just get along anymore?'
'To love is to suffer,' said Ysabell. 'There's got to be loads of dark passion.'
'Has there?'
'Absolutely. And anguish.'
*The Disc's greatest lovers were undoutedly Mellius and Gretelina, whose pure, passionate and soul-searing affair would have scorched the pages of History if they had not, because of some unexplained quirk of fate, been born two hundred years apart on different continents. However, the gods took pity on them and turned him into an ironing board** and her into a small brass bollard.
**When you're a god, you don't have to have reasons.
17. Nostromo by Joseph Conrad.
Half a battery of field guns had been hurried over there from the Sulaco barracks for the purpose of firing the regulations salutes for the President-Dictator and the War-Minister. As the mail-boat headed through the pass, the badly timed reports announced the end of Don Vincente Ribiera's first official visit to Sulaco, and for Captain Mitchell the end of another 'historic occasion'. Next time when the 'Hope of honest men' was to come that way, a year and half later, it was unofficially, over mountain tracks, fleeing after a defeat on a lame mule, to be only just saved by Nostromo from a ignominious death at the hands of a mob. It was a very different event, of which Captain Mitchell used to say:
'It was history - history, sir! And that fellow of mine, Nostromo, you know, as right in it. Absolutely making history, sir.'
But this event, credible to Nostromo, was to lead immediately to another, which could not be classed either as 'history' or as 'a mistake' in Captain Mitchell's phraseology. He had another word for it.
'Sir,' he used to say afterwards, 'that was no mistake. It was a fatality. A misfortune, pure and simple, sir. And that poor fellow of mine was right in it - right in the middle of it! A fatality, if ever there was one - and to my mind he has never been the same man since.'
18. The Witch of Portobello by Paulo Coelho.He said that according to one of the most respected psychoanalysts in history, the Swiss analyst Carl Gustav Jung, we all drink from the same spring. It's called the 'soul of the world.' However much as we try to be independent individuals, a part of our memory is the same. We all seek the ideal of beauty, dance, divinity and music.
Society, meanwhile, tries to define how these ideals should be manifested in reality. Currently, for example, the ideal of beauty is to be thin, and yet thousands of years ago all the images of goddesses were fat. It's the same with happiness: there are a series of rules, and if you fail to follow them, your conscious mind will refuse to accept the idea you are happy.
19. Breaking Dawn by Stephanie Meyer."What was the point of me loving you? What was the point of you loving him? When you die" -the words were a snarl- "how is that ever right again? What's the point to all the pain? Mine, yours, his! You'll kill him, too, not that I care about that." She flinched, but I kept going. "So what was the point of your twisted love story, in the end? If there is any sense, please show me Bella, because I don't see it."
20. The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry.He could not say any more. His words were choked by sobbing. Night had fallen. I had let my tools drop to the ground. I no longer cared a fig for my hammer, or my bolt, or about thirst or about dying. On one star, one planet, this planet, the Earth, there was a little prince in need of consoling! I took him in my arms. I cradled him. I told him: 'The flower you love is not in danger...I'll draw you a muzzle for your sheep...I'll draw you a shield to put round your flower...I'll...' I did not really know what to say. I felt like a blundering idiot. I did not know how to reach him, where to catch up with him. It is such a secret place, the land of tears.
21-23. Out of the Silent Planet, Perelandra & That Hideous Strength by C.S. Lewis.Suddenly the lights of the Universe seemed to be turned upside down. As if some demon had rubbed the heaven's space with a dirty sponge, the splendour in which they had lived for so long blenched to a pallid, cheerless and pitiable grey. It was impossible from where they sat to open the shutters or roll back the heavy blind. What had been a chariot gliding in the fields of heaven became a dark steel box dimly lighted by a slit of window, and falling. They were falling out of the heaven, into a world. Nothing in his adventures bit so deeply into Ransom's mind as this. He wondered how he could ever have thought of planets, even of the Earth, as islands of life and reality floating in a deadly void. Now, with a certainty which never after deserted him, he saw planets - the "earths" he called them in his thought - as mere holes or gaps in the living heaven - excluded and rejected wastes of heavy matter and murky air, formed not by addition to, but by subtraction from, the surrounding brightness. And yet, he thought, beyond the solar system the brightness ends. Unless...he groped for the idea...unless visible light is also a hole or gap, a mere diminution of something else. Something that is to bright unchanging heaven as heaven is to the dark, heavy earths...
24. Sexing the Cherry by Jeanette Winterson.The Hopi, an Indian tribe, have a language as sophisticated as ours, but with no tense for past, present and future. The division does not exist. What does this say about time?
Matter, the most solid and the well-known, which you are holdng in your hands and which makes up your body, is now known to be mostly empty space. Empty space and points of light. What does this say about the reality of the world?
25. Tender Is the Night by F. Scott Fitzgerald."I knew you wouldn't," she sobbed. "It was just a forlorn hope."
He stood up.
"Good night, child. This is a damn shame. Let's drop it out of the picture." He gave her two lines of hospital patter to go to sleep on. "So many people are going to love you and it might be nice to meet your first love all intact, emotionally too. That's an old-fashion idea, isn't it?" She looked up at him as he took a step toward the door; she looked at him without the slightest idea as to what was in his head, she saw him take another step in slow motion, turn and look at her again, and she wanted for a moment to hold him and devour him, wanted his mouth, his ears, his coat collar, wanted to surround him and engulf him; she saw his hand fall on the doorknob. Then she gave up and sank back on the bed. When the door closed she got up and went to the mirror, where she began brushing her hair, sniffling a little. One hundred and fifty bush strokes Rosemary gave it, as usual, then hundred and fifty more. She brushed it until her arm ached, then she changed arms and went on brushing...
26. Just Listen by Sarah Dessen.I clicked back to the menu, then scrolled to PLAYLISTS. Another long list popped up: AM. SHOW 8/12, CHANTS (IMPORTED). And then: ANNABEL.
I lifted my finger off the button. It was probably just one of the CDs he'd made for me, I thought. But still, I found myself hesitating, the same way I had earlier in the truck. Wanting to know, but not. This time, though, I broke.
When I clicked on the button, the screen changed, pulling up a list of songs. The first one was 'Jennifer' by a band called Lipo. Which sounded slightly familiar. As was 'Descartes Dream', by Misanthrophe, the second song, which I went ahead to click on. It took only a moment to recognize it as one of the songs from the first show of Owen's I'd listened to. Not liked, but listened to. And discussed with him afterwards.
They were all there. Every song we'd ever talked or argued about, listed in careful order. The Mayan chants, from the first day he's given me the ride. 'Thank You' by Led Zeppelin, from when I'd picked him up. Entirely too much techno, every thrash metal song. Even Jenny Reef. As I listened to a bit of each, I thought of all the times I'd seen Owen with his ear phones on and wondered what he was listening to, much less thinking about. Who would have ever guessed that it might have been me?
27. Ender's Game by Orson Scott Card.He shuddered and tried to think of something else. Peter could have fantasies about ruling the world, but Ender didn't have them. Still, thinking back on his life in Battle School, it occurred to him that although he had never sought power, he had always had it. But he decided that it was a power to born of excellence, not manipulation. He had no reason to be ashamed of it. He had never, except perhaps with Bean, used his power to hurt someone. And with Bean, things had worked well after all. Bean had become a friend, finally, to take the place of the lost Alai, who in turn took the place of Valentine. Valentine, who was helping Peter in his plotting. Valentine, who still loved Ender no matter what happened. And following that train of thought led him back to Earth, back to the quiet hours in the center of the clear water ringed by a bowl of tree-covered hills. That is the Earth, he thought. Not a globe thousands of kilometers around, but a forest with a shining lake, a house hidden at the crest of the hill, high in the trees, a glassy slope leading upwards from the water, fish leaping and birds strafing to take the bugs that lived in the border between water and sky. Earth was the constant noise of crickets and winds and birds. And the voice of one girl, who spoke to out of his far-off childhood. The same voice that had once protected him from terror. The same voice that he would do anything to keep alive, even return to school, even leave Earth behind for another four or forty or four thousand years. Even if she loved Peter more.
28. A Great and Terrible Beauty by Libba Bray.But forgiveness...I'll hold on to that fragile slice of hope and keep it close, remembering that in each of us lie good and bad, light and dark, art and pain, choice and regret, cruelty and sacrifice. We're each of us our own chiaroscuro, our own bit of illusion fighting to emerge into something solid, something real. We've got to forgive ourselves that. I must remember to forgive myself. Because there's an awful lot of gray to work with. No one can live in the light all the time.
The wind shifts, bringing with it the smell of roses, strong and sweet. Across the ravine, I see her in the dry crackle of leaves. A deer. She spies me and blots through the trees. I run after her, not really giving chase. I'm running because I can, because I must.
Because I want to see how far I can go before I have to stop.
29. Momo by Michael Ende.Momo stared at the professor uncomprehendingly. 'What kind of illness is it?' she asked in a low voice.
'A fatal illness, though you scarcely notice it at first. One day, you don't feel like doing anything. Nothing interests you, everything bores you. Far from wearing off, your boredom persists and gets worse, day by day and week by week. You feel more and more bad-tempered, more and more empty inside, more and more dissatisfied with yourself and the world in general. Then even that feeling wears off, and you don't feel anything any more. You become completely indifferent to what goes on around you. Joy and sorrow, anger and excitement are things of the past. You forget how to laugh and cry - you're cold inside and incapable of loving anything or anyone. Once you reach that stage, the disease is incurable. There's no going back. You bustle around with a blank, grey face, just like the men in grey themselves - indeed, you've joined their ranks."
30. Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell by Susanna Clarke.She took his hands and her eyes were shining. "And you did it," she whispered. They looked at each other for a long moment, and in that moment all was as if used to be - it was as if they had never parted; but she did not offer to go into the Darkness with him and he did not ask her.
"One day," he said, "I shall find the right spell and banish the Darkness. And on that day I will come to you."
"Yes. On that day. I will wait until then."
He nodded and seemed about to depart, but then he hesitated.
"Bell," he said, "do not wear black. Do not be a widow. Be happy. That is how I wish to think of you."
"I promise. And how shall I think of you?"
He considered a moment and then laughed. "Think of me with my nose in a book!"
They kissed once. Then he turned upon his heel and disappeared into the Darkness.
31. Cold Comfort Farm by Stella Gibbons.She saw Charles' lips move, as the farm dropped away beneath them, and guessed what he was saying.
He was fully occupied with keeping the machine clear of the topmost branches of the elms, and could not look at her, but she saw by his troubled profile that he feared (so fantastically beautiful was the night and this discovery of their love) that it might be some cruel mistake.
Flora put her warm lips close to his cap.
'I love you,' she said. He could not hear her very well, but he turned for a second, and comforted, smiled into her eyes.
She glanced upwards for a second at the soft blue vault of the midsummer night sky. Not a cloud misted its solemn depths. To-morrow would be a beautiful day.
Films
1. Atonement.
2. 27 Dresses.
3. I am Legend.
4. The Nanny Diaries.
5. Su-Ki-Da (I Love You).
6. Jumper.
7. 10,000 BC.
8. Sky High.
9. Sugar & Spice: Fûmi zekka (What Little Girls Are Made Of).
10. The Graduates (Lemon no Koro).
11. Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron.
12. The Other Boleyn Girl.
13. The Spiderwick Chronicles.
14. Made of Honor.
15. Iron Man.
16. Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull.
17. Un secret.
18. Sex & the City.
19. The Bee Movie.
20. Sunshine.
21. The Dark Knight.
22. Get Smart.
23. Wanted.
24. The X-Files: I Want To Believe.
25. Star Wars: The Clone Wars.
26. Tropic Thunder.
27. The Duchess.
28. Australia.
29. Quantum of Solace.
30. Twilight.
31. Madagascar: Escape 2 Africa.